Yes, there are always free dwarfs. Well, for now.
Update soon, etc.
or now!
Stories from Oceanbridge: The Never-ending SiegeTirist was beginning to worry about Gar. During the first month or so of their imprisonment, the man had been constantly coming up with new ways to escape, usually ways that involved killing as many goblins as possible in the process. (the last suggestion had involved blowing up the fortress by setting all of the alcohol on fire, which had also worried Tirist a lot). But now, Gar had gone very, very quiet.
Then there was the ghost. He decided that he had to mention the ghost, at least. He cleared his throat, and said, "Hey... Gar? I don't want to worry you, but there's... sort of a ghost, hovering over you?"
Gar shrugged, and looked up. His expression of mild disinterest changed when he saw the ghost itself, to one of shock. "Holy hell... Kill it! Bash it to pieces with a barrel... no, damn it all, set the barrels on fire! Blast that thing to shit!"
Tirist did the only thing he could think to do. He picked up a handful of their only weapon, (sand) and threw it. Not at the ghost, but at Gar. It was a desperate, possibly suicidal move, but he was in no mood to get burned alive in booze. Drowned, maybe. But not burned.
It worked, sort of. By the time Gar had stopped cursing and had got the sand out of his eyes, the ghost was gone.
Tirist waited a little bit longer, hoping the pause would help bring Gar's anger down. "Sorry about that... but your were kind of talking like a mad man. What was that?"
"Something that shouldn't have been there, man. Something that shouldn't be a ghost. Now help me with these barrels, I think I finally figured out a way out of here." Gar rolled his eyes when he saw Tirist cautiously picking up another handful of sand. "I'm not going to blow us up, damn it, though I might kill you if you do that again. Just help me. We're getting out, now."
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Meanwhile, Mr. Anderson had finally been slain by the goblins.
But he had survived worse things.
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From the Journals of Aban Brothertreaties:Well, to melt down aluminum, we need a furnace operator! The problem: all of our furnace operators are long dead, and they haven't come back, at least not in any ways that I recognize. Well, this weaponsmith is going to have to do the job:
Billon is his name. Another refugee. (Are there any of us left who aren't?) Anyway, I hope that he doesn't get the blame when he inevitably fails to produce our new mayor's all important "item". He seems nice enough.
There are actually more important things going on now, though the mayor doesn't realize it. Neo, the Soldier, Firehawk, and some others (and yes, myself, though I'm not enthusiastic about swords) are going to try to break back up into the first floor. Onto? One of those things.
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Next: Taking Back the First Floor
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Topic: Oceanbridge - A Fortress Defense Community Fort: Reclaimed, Again! (And Again) (Read 182847 times)