This is the Legend of Dorgoth Episode 1, a Dwarf Fortress parody series. Join Dorgoth, a melodramatic Fisherdwarf, on his adventurous journey to start anew at a dwarf fortress. This is my first animation. The character voices were created using Parrot AI, while the music is an original composition of mine. Enjoy the goofy parody with ambient sound effects and art from the game.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kCgCSQ9AtsM

And this time a healthy dwarf was locked along with 3 possibly infected dwarf of a were-lizard lycanthropy strain. How do I get my hospital back? Is death the only cure for lycanthropy? I think I'll just make the hospital into a drownable zone and make the doctor's office accessible from another way this time...

https://preview.redd.it/ifl01tjpv2791.png?width=1680&format=png&auto=webp&s=a836e4de68217b1e90507700b194fdc96d5d54ff

https://preview.redd.it/hnk7bfkiw2791.png?width=1680&format=png&auto=webp&s=156ea18d6562e1b447114c1f9ff37ca34a44ea85

And there he they go...blood all over my nice infirmary...

This thing spawned in my cavern...

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I locked it down in my cage asylum. That thing was eating gorlaks and it was killing them almost instantly so I have no idea of how potent is the venomous bite and if there is even a way to extract it. Any idea anyone?

The beast seems to be almost unharmed by the gorlak pack it ate before being baited in my trap....a gander in exchange for this things is neat

https://preview.redd.it/eyjkqry4h9h81.png?width=1680&format=png&auto=webp&s=210dff9e49548f9cbe59e1760bb3a5ab86cf059b

This legend begin with a new fortress. but the setters never had the time to dig the actual fortress as planned because they struck a silver veins that would never end. Instead of ending the silver veins slipped into tree thick silver veins. They had to raise their cavy boars in the 3 silver veins's tunnel because it's the only thing that was dug yet.

The settlers dug the veins of silver all the way to mountain home and had to stop digging because it would have been past our frontier with mountain home. Apparently the mountain home have begun digging from their own side to get the rest of the silver veins. The legend itself is still very alived here at the Silver Boar Tavern were the floor itself is made of silver and the end of the wall is made one of the tree silver veins itself in the corridor toward the rooms. We can also see the end the middle veins of silver at the actual frontier in the legendary silver boarn tunnel were a large part of the wall is still natural silver, that's how thick was the veins all the was, according to the legend...

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https://preview.redd.it/0vrq8agz72h81.png?width=1680&format=png&auto=webp&s=a4f743a1fc36098756d2eab6320c552a4da87c81

We took care to seal the door to the infirmery after our leader Doomer Dark, who heroically slayed the first were-camelon was killed by two dwarf when he himself, turned into a were-camelon afterward. To honor him we will keep his were-camelon strain pure in a new burrow I'm building deep down close tp the first cavern.

We had already begun this new cage project earlier in an attempt to lure and weaponize a legendary beast who was discovered in the cavern. Our doctor says that since the were-gene is so pure they will always morph at the same time and not kill each others in their burrow. We are still investigating on how could we safely extract more of that pure were-camelon gene essence. We plan on expanding there were-cameleon-s burrow population in a near future. A large were-camelon squad, is well used might be a critical asset to the forteress and is not to be neglected. If any of you have any idea of how we could safely extract were-genes and administer to some volunter isolated in another sector of our new underground asylum and verify our latest hipothesis that anyone infected with this particular were-camelon gene strand would indeed morph all at the same time and thus avoid killing each others.

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We could change half our population into these self-regerating powerhouse who do not need to feed and who do not die from old age. according to our extensive observation of our current two live subjects. Please assist our research and find a mean of extracting dna from the two host we have at our disposal.

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https://preview.redd.it/vg1rglwuz1h81.png?width=1680&format=png&auto=webp&s=490cdabf0fffc9d8b758a213317088a2a0e06305

Now that I've emptied the Trading Post I;ve got half in mind of seizing my statuette back, but it's from mountainhome is it bad if I just take it back? Will my forteress be considered as trators and it could lead to not becoming baron that I;ve recommanded myself for?

https://preview.redd.it/zq9ktj620zg81.png?width=1680&format=png&auto=webp&s=439a670df31574e787ebaf2a2104518f308be982

4th Granite, 253

Blast but it's cold. The whole reason we wanted to arrive in the spring was so we wouldn't have to deal with snow. Oh well. We've arrived at the planned location so we might as well make the best of it and start figuring out where to dig. As expedition leader, I’ll be keeping this journal as a record of the founding of Diegolds by us, The Earth of Flight. Tomorrow morning I'll begin assigning tasks to the rest of the expedition, and get this new colony up and running. I feel very optimistic despite coming here to find snow.

7th Granite, 253

Me and my blasted mouth. A snow storm blew in yesterday the likes of which I haven't seen in years. Most of the others are hunkered down in the wagon right now. Logem and I are doing the best we can to carve out a place for everyone to move into. We'll start hauling everything inside as soon as there's an area big enough for it all to fit. I just pray to Limar that the weather clears up soon, we need to get planting immediately.

10th Granite, 253

Well it's still snowing outside, though not as bad as it was. Our mining is going much slower than I'd like. It turns out there's a lot of water in the ground around these parts. We're almost through digging though, so we'll be able to move everything inside any day now.

14th Granite, 253

I… I don't know what to say. The storm cleared up a couple days ago, and the snow all melted. Oh Limar, it melted so fast. We didn't realize it through the snow, but we parked the wagon on top of a frozen river. It broke through the ice and, and everyone inside…

12th Slate, 253

I really should continue this journal. It's just been a rough few weeks though. Of the original seven in the expedition, we're down to only three now. Me and Logem were underground when it happened, but Inod wasn't so lucky. She did survive though, so maybe luck still is with her after all. I'm worried about the little farm girl though. She makes friends so easy, and more than a couple of them were swept down the river.

On a less morbid note, we've been able to salvage a lot of the equipment from the wagon. Thank Limar the anvil is still here. We're continuing to sort through the rest of the wreckage, but we've already found some dimple cup seeds that still look good. I'm going to have Inod begin our first crop, hopefully some work will help take current events off her mind.

25th Slate, 253

She killed him! I don't know what set her off, but she killed Logem. We were carrying some barrels back to the storehouse when she just went nuts and started beating him.

I found a place to hide for the moment. I don't know where she is right now, but I - Oh Limar save me. I can hear her laughing.

26th Slate, 253

Inod seems to have calmed down, at least she isn't trying to strangle me anymore. Can't say I trust her, but I'll need her help if we're going to survive out here.

Of everything that's happened since we arrived, I think the only thing more disturbing than Inod is the cat who decided she'd be the perfect master. A choice the beast made while She Was Beating Logem To Death!

I pray to Limar every chance I get that some new faces will show up soon.

The journal of Doduk Kadolmuzish, miner and expedition leader, was found the following spring of 254 by a group of emigrants who wished to start a new life in the colony of Diegolds. They claim it was found inside a moldy leather backpack, miles from the Mine entrance. All of the 250 pages within the journal are blank, save for the first two which are recorded above. Confused and with nowhere to go, the emigrants returned to civilization so they may bear the news of the expedition's fate. No sign of Dadok or Inod was found, and the settlement of Diegolds was never reestablished.

|@kgIDE&☺|
|00μ☺E@&Θ|
|E@&☺&æ☺e|

Players:

• Noble (nob): has the Engraver engrave an engraving to commemorate the new year, and as a surprise anniversary gift.

• Engraver (eng) : Engraves a wall for the Noble, who he has shared a few strong drinks with.

Engraver: Do you like it?

Noble: Well, I find aspects of your work charming.

Eng: Fu'r instance...

Nob: Well I can't think of any way of putting it.

Eng: Speechless, this truly is my magnum opuses!

Nob: I mean, I would pay homage to such an engraving-

Eng: And here you get lay your eyes on it each wakening first thing!

Nob: [aside] And my beloved too.

Eng: You are not so dry as the other noble folk.
Here you stand strong and proud!

Nob: Well there are a few flaws.

Eng: Flaws?-

Nob: Inaccuracies.

Eng: Fu'r instance...

Nob: Would you stop- well the army of kobolds and goblins is a bit exaggerated.

Eng: Not so to me, the way you told it that night by the ale pot makes up for it anyway.

Nob: Oh goodness.

Eng: Why so distressed?

Nob: I don't remember telling you the dragon held so many whiten the tower.

Eng: Ha, that Kobold bulb ale from Deepthigh was very strong, but I'm sure the drunkenness was on my end.

Nob: The, er, unclothed demon?

Eng: Oh, yes, the perverse demon is a metaphor.

Nob: Then what is the third panel?

Eng: My tankard, I did not think you would notice!

Nob: How could I not notice!

Eng: OK, I'll admit to it.

Nob: [aside] and I'll see this fool be admitted to a proper cell.

Eng: I switched the third and the fourth panel.

Nob: The what? [Grabs the Engraver]

Eng: So hungry for more of my work?

Both: Oh Joy!

Eng: I figured I should let personal affairs be personal, so I flipped the third panel to face the wall. However, I can pop it out if you want a peak.

Nob: I can't even [Shakes the Engraver] And where did the Elf come from?

Eng: My lord I can't withhold the truth, but I believe, and so do the mates, that you where seduced and had no choice in the matter. That's how the whole rescue-from-the-castle thing works right?

Nob: I [Lets Engraver go] must depart. [exit]

Eng: What passions stir... My work does inspire my lord so to send him from his own safe chambers out into the world. My work is potent! An inspiration! A trophy! Now too spread the joy!

"Did I ever tell you the story of the Giant, multi-colored Cockatiel that menaced Osirdodok?"

In a dim corner of the tavern, the lone Dwarf's words silenced the crowd. She was the sole survivor of a doomed expedition, and ever since she stumbled into the small village, bloody and battered, she had not said a word. It seemed this night, her voice would be heard.

"Sigun was a Stonecrafter, and on a fine summer day, he was carting stone to a pile. Suddenly he screams, drops his stone, and runs. Sigun was not a brave Dwarf and when a six foot tall bird flapped it's wings and screeched at him, I don't blame poor Sigun from freaking out."

"I was ready for this. All of those years of hunting were going to pay off. No more would I be just a hunter. I would become a savior!" continued the doomed ranger, as she gestured grandly with her mug.

"I loosed an iron bolt from my crossbow and watched it fly though the air towards the Very Large Bird, lodging deeply in the stomach. A second bolt soon followed, lodging in the upper body and destroying the gizzard. Still the Giant Cockatiel stood, screeching as he ran towards me. When the third iron bolt struck the Cockatiel at short range, it ruptured the spleen. That was more than the bird could handle, and it fell to the ground."

A few in the tavern clapped loudly as it appeared the story was over. The Ranger held up her hand for silence, and continued her tale.

"I approached carefully, knowing these feathered fiends could still attack. A single muscle spasm racked the body, so I shot him again, pinning his leg to the ground with another iron bolt. Another struggle and the bird collapses again. I knew it was biding it's time, waiting for me to drop my guard. Twice more it awoke and twice more I shot it. The third time it awoke, I discovered I was out of bolts. The Giant Cockatiel sensed this, and stood up, jumping to attack me. I did what I had to do, swung my beloved crossbow as if it were a mace. I hit it once in the head, then again and again."

The crowd stayed silent as the Ranger took a long draw from her mug. A servant quickly refilled it and when her mug was full, she spoke again.

Her voice was soft now, and filled with dread and foreboding. "Three more times that foul bird rose from death. He could barely stand, yet each time he tried to attack me. Each time I hit him again, swinging my crossbow at it. I wondered if there would ever be an end to this. Would this bird and I spent all of eternity in this dance of death? I will never know. I was hungry and when the dinner bell rung, I left the beast to bleed to death, certain it would not last the night. The next morning, he was gone, a bloody trail leading down the mountain side"

After a long silence, a voice from the tavern crowd speaks up quietly at first, then getting louder, asking the question they all wanted answered. "Is that how Osirdodok fell? The Giant Cockatiel returned? Or was it a undead Cockatiel? Did it bring an army to overthrow the fortress? Tell us what happened!"

The ranger laughed loudly, a strangely demented sounding laugh. "No, it was not zombies, or necromancers, or even were-creatures. While I was out hunting, one stupid dwarf dug out the side of the lake before the floodgate was installed. Water roared down the main stairway, flooding the whole fortress. The only way out was up the stairs, and the water rushed down faster than a dwarf could climb up. I could hear their screams for hours, and then all was silent."

The crowd in the tavern bowed their heads and drank deeply in memory of the lost expedition. Each of them understanding a little bit more about the life of those who build new fortress on the frontier.

The next morning, the tavern keeper found the ranger, still sitting in the corner, with death's smile on her face. Her beloved crossbow in her hands, and several colored feathers drifted across the room. To this very day, no one sits in that corner, and when the wind blows just right, they say you can hear the Ranger still laughing.

The story goes, I was putting together my epic of Paddlehandle in installments, and I was hoping to make it an ongoing series with screencaps in Imgur. However, my computer coughed up a lung recently, and I have been unable to get the save file for this fortress :( Game over.

Luckily, I had screen grabs on my flash drive. So, I am giving you my ultimate story+cliffhanger in the form of a two-chapter short. Welcome to Paddlehandle, somewhere in the 50-shortest DF tales on the web! (Probably not).

Click here for chapter 1!
Click here for chapter 2!

A few hardy dwarves (4 females, and 3 males) tired of the long bitter wars, decided to start their own self-sufficient village, where they could raise families and focus on thier work. The original Seven (and their life's ambition) were:

• Fath Domasestun, Miner , female, 60, family
• Degel Namsibrek, Farmer, female, 84, masterwork
• Amost Letmoskasben, Farmer, male, 75, family
• Ustuth Monomdatur, Woodworker, female, 60, master skill
• Iden Thikutakum, Cook, male, 56, family
• Nomal Nishsobir, Brewer, female, 78, masterwork
• Sibrek Kathilzulban, expedition leader, male, 87, master a skill

Arrival in Spring

It was not the most ideal location, but it was well hidden. The first task upon arriving was setting up protection. A wooden palisade was quickly started, surrounding a good size chunk of land, including 3 water sources. Fath, the miner, dug down a few levels to lay out a farm area, and find some stone for future building. 2 farms were planted, one in plump helmets and one in dimple cups. The first 7 houses were raised and nearly complete by then end of spring. 3x3 rooms with stout wooden walls and roofs, one for each dwarf. A carpentry shop had been set up to provide the beds, cabinets, tables and chairs needed. Production of spiked wooden balls was started, to be used for trading with the homeland, with the furniture was scheduled for soon afterwards.

Summer of Building

After some confusion on building practices, a scaffold was erected inside the palisade to permit construction of a second story of log walls, and allow continued access to the roofing of the bungalows. Being a well designed dwarven scaffold, it would remain after the walls were built to provide shelter and shade for the ground level areas.

It was discovered that Iden, the cook, had some basic medical skills after a minor fight with a thieving goblin. The thief was driven off, but returned later with friends. The leader was killed, strangled by Iden, while the other goblins fled.

Everyone pitched in with building of the walls and roofing after that incident, except Fath, and her vein of silver. She was adamant about mining it all out. It was actually tetrahedrite, but it could be used for silver, or at the very least for copper.

Setting up for a Harvest

Construction on the second level continued through the fall. Ustuth, the woodworker had a fit and decided to chop down every single tree she could find, so she wouldn't have to do it later, and she managed to cut down quite a few before she was stopped. The rest of the village really wanted to go after the lumber, but it was decided that no one needed to haul wood at the moment. Not long afterwards, the trade envoy arrived with a few traders. All of the spiked wooden balls were traded for drinks, seeds, cloth, leather, splints, an anvil, and another pick. The traders left quite happy about the trades and excessive profits, but there was little more that was wanted by the dwarves. They did get another ewe and a sow, to provide our own meat, since no one had time to hunt, and there was little fish near the village. In total, they now had 14 meat producing animals, and 5 chickens.

The well was finished towards the end of the season, and most cottages had a bed, chest and door. It was almost like home, except for there were no tables or chairs, and a dirt floor. The chickens and the rooster were moved inside the palisade and given nest boxes. There would be eggs and fryer chickens in the coming years for an improved diet. Iden revealed that she had purchased some nice cooking ingredients while the traders were in, so their food would be a little fancier now.

No one said anything about ice!

The bungalows were completed and furniture was fully installed early in the season. All of the tables and chairs were in a the communal dining hall, which had been dug into the first layer of stone. The barrels of booze were also stored there. Sibrek, the administrator, bookkeeper, and broker, had his office in there too. Construction had resumed on the second story, and would continue through most of the winter. The plans allowed for more bungalows on the second floor, as well as some of the work shops.

Fath has set up a basic set of shops underground for her stone work, and was work towards getting a forge area set up. She had found magnetite, and was busy making plans for the iron. The main focus for the rest of the village was on the ground level and more wood work. Everyone was feeling pretty good, having their pwn place, a soft bed, and a place to store their gear.

A kea got into the poultry pen, but was quickly dispatched by the chickens, and it seemed like that would be the worst the winter had in store for them.

However, they awoke one morning to find the ponds frozen over. They had enough booze to last until spring, and they hoped the animals whould be alright for a month or so. Work was begun on a cistern, and all work on the second floor was halted. Nomal, the brewer, even offered to help dig, since there was little there was plenty of beer. The ponds thawed a couple weeks later, but that frost startled the villagers into doing something they really needed to do anyway.

Fath scouted a good area, not far from her precious silver veins, down 4 levels and everyone went to work on the digging. After it fully dig out, they finished the walls and floors to make certain it would hold water for a long time.

I am just a clerk. One of the dwarves who is essential, but entirely boring. Usually my job is waiting patiently for a politician or nobleman to decide what he wants to do and then relaying the orders. I didn't expect it to be any different when I was assigned to Libash Alathaned. I knew he was a very efficient manager, excellent at bring in projects on time and under budget. He was an competent appraiser and a great persuader. He was also egotistical and aloof. No one liked him and he never seemed to understand why. It was no surprise when he was named leader of a new exploratory expedition. No one would miss him at home, and he had an excellent record of completing projects.

Six stout dwarves were sent with him, a pair of miners, an all around woodworker, a farmer, a cook who could brew, and a hunter. We were sent to a quiet little valley, far from the front lines of the Goblin wars, but with expectations of large ore deposits desperately needed for the war effort.

Initially, things went well. The first year everyone did what they do best, and Libash Alathaned just nodded and smiled. When the first caravan showed up, we even had some crafts and excess mechanisms for trading. EXP showed up to trade wearing his best coat, and looking very impressive. The first round of trading was for all of the drink barrels the caravan had all 4 of them, and a some of the choice cheese. The caravan leader seemed quite happy to take the mechanisms. Once the craft bin showed up, EXP decided to take a hard stance and undercut the merchants. They counter-offered, but EXP would not alter his deal. We watched in dismay as they packed up everything and left. We did get some beer and cheese, but no seeds or additional food items.

"Don't worry my fellow dwarves. The land shall provide for us. The fruit from the trees, and the grass upon the fields shall give us all we desire." His speech continued on for some time, but there really wasn't anything important. He just liked having a captive audience.

We would have been fine, if nothing had gone wrong. We had enough beer to keep our small group and the first two waves of immigrants happy. Some extra labor helped, but we still didn't have any seeds for the farms, and no one knew how to gather the right fruits and grains. I tried to tell EXP, that a farmer is not the same as a harvester, but he didn't listen to me.

Just before winter set in, his excellency(?) Libash Alathaned took some time off. He said he wanted to be left alone. It wouldn't be a problem, because we all knew what to do, and he would be back with the next caravan. I had a very bad feeling, and I was right.

The next migrant wave was, let me put it this way, somewhat larger than normal. Our total population at this point was 23 stout, hard working dwarves. There were 21 adult dwarves, and 11 children in the new group. Half of the adults were trained in less than desirable jobs, and then there were the kittens, puppies, llamas, and geese. Every last one of the animals was a pet. It was chaos. We didn't plan on that many dwarves showing up, let alone that many children and their "cute" critters. Dwarves were sleeping wherever they could find a spot. Fist fights broke out among the farmers, because they all wanted to plant using the same seed bag. A clothier went insane, demanding bones and hide and looking at every passing worker with an odd look to her eye. We ran out of beer within a week, and then the river froze over. Our only hope was the caravan arriving quickly with Libash Alathaned.

By the time that caravan arrived, the fortress was in a sad state. We were forced to restrain the clothier in her shop, and builds walls around it to keep out the screaming. She likely died of dehydration, and her body was left there, but we didn't care anymore. We had no drinks, and scores of chicks, ducklings, and goslings wandered aimlessly through the halls. One miner started a fight with a stray dog, and by the time it all settled down, he was dead, 2 other good dwarves were severely injured, and 14 pets were dead. We had no coffins, so the bodies just lay where the fell. Dwarves gave up and threw tantrums, yelling at the walls.

Libash Alathaned did what all efficient mangers do. He cut his losses, declared the settlement a failure, and blamed it on lack of education in the migrants. He was later judged to be at fault for the loss of the fortress, and was sentenced to spend 25 years as an ambassador's aide to the Elven kingdom.

Since then, I have worked with three other fortresses, all of which have been abandoned within a few years by various leaders. But for all of my failings, I never refuse another expedition. Maybe this time I will be able to influence the manager a little better, and he will learn a little bit more, and we'll both survive until he can become Duke. After all losing is fun, or at least that is what they say.

As Urist Mckenuckle laid on the floor breathing his last breathes, he remembers what his father always said about Dwarfs. That they don't give up no matter what.

3 weeks earlier

It was an average day in the Fortress of Slavangard, the Fortress was alive with activity in preparations for the anniversary of their 15th year since arriving in the strange lands of Maklemora. Urist Mckenuckle was the son of a peasant, he was born while en route to the new lands, and grew up in the wilds surrounding the fortress.

Mckenuckle was a blacksmith's apprentice. He was fascinated by the types of weapons one could more with purified minerals. His master, Master Urist Jolenola, was the wisest of all the blacksmith. Some say he created the Master Piece Spear that slayed Armok himself, but those are simply stories my dear child, but do not let that make you believe less of the man, for he is a god among mortals.

Mckenuckle was only 3 months away from becoming a blacksmith himself, he was proficient in nearly all the weapon types, but he was kept around to help his ailing master. The fortress had scarcely faced extreme sieges, your usual 10 goblin siege, but it was still important to melt down the old weapons to ensure the militia always had sharp weapons.

Just as Mckenuckle was pouring copper into a spear mold, the earth began shaking as a loud ominous laughter was heard. A voice began to speak You mortal dwarfs believe that just because you have survived 15 years, that you can survive permanently? You have yet to meet fear himself. I am fear himself, and you shall not survive any longer.

That was when everything changed.

I just want to say congratz to /u/pt_fort for having an amazing story. Without him, this sub would probably still be around 40 subs.

And to give him the ultimate honor, I shall immortalize him, in Dwarven Lore History as Sir Urist PT_Fort of Brasshead! (Once I find CSS he'll get his own flair)

The fortress of Brasshead was situated on a plain covered with many trees just near the ocean. In the fall it was quite beautiful as the leaves fell in dizzying colours. The air smelled of sulphur, coming from the volcano in the distance, destined to power dwarven forges.

It was an idyllic time. Sure there was a rain of filthy slime just on the coast every few days, but it wasn't too bad. Dwarves caught in the slime would just pass out where they were and wake up with their entire bodies blistered and oozing pus. Could be worse.

The fortress was going well. Many migrants meant that work was beginning on expanding the dining room to a legendary size, and that the sounds of multiple industries resonated through the clay walls. A few dwarves grumbled about the lack of proper stone walls, cool to the touch and deliciously sound-proof. But they could see down the stairs, into the ever-flowing aquifer just beneath. And beneath the water lay the bones of the expedition leader. A brave dwarf of the sort to dig too deep too fast, his remains served as a warning to respect the awesome power of water.

The metal industry was just starting that fateful week. The felled trees provided the raw fuel to ensure that fires were constantly hot enough to melt metal. The dwarves felt secure that soon enough, they would have trained dwarves in metal armour, protected by a strong wooden wall surrounding the fortress.

But wood is not as impervious as it seems.

The hill titan was quite large. Appearing just around the volcano, its scream alerted the dwarves to the threat. The military scrambled to find its equipment and defend the fortress. This would be the military's first real engagement. They had slaughtered elven traders, but that was hardly a challenge was it?

Tobul the fisherdwarf was far beyond the fence, too far to hear the warning cries of 'retreat to the burrow!'. He was returning with his newest catch, food for the others, and talking with his fellow fisherdwarf Oddom when Tobul's skull was smashed in by the titan's iron crossbow. Oddom barely had time to register her friend's death before the titan charged. A huge mass of white, the titan seemed to be a giant monkey, but with strange features. Twin mandibles clacked in the air around the titan's mouth, as it let loose another roar. It moved impossibly fast, especially since it had scales of what seemed to be a hard and heavy white material. Possibly ivory? It didn't matter for poor Oddom, who was propelled away by the force of the crossbow directed into her lower body.

The dwarven militia stood inside the walls, ready to fight. They nervously fidgeted with their weapons, which were mostly wood stolen from the elves. Would it be enough to make a scratch on the beastly creature? If it was a few months later, they might have proper equipment. But the lack of drawbridges meant that there was no stalling the titan for even a moment. They were the last line of defense before all would be slaughtered.

As the tension and fear rose inside the walls, the hill titan circled around to the water's edge. It was not there to enjoy the sea, however, as it chased down the remaining fisherdwarves trying to hide behind the driftwood on the beach. The sand and surf stained red with dwarf blood as the creature finally turned towards the walls of Brasshead.

The militia saw the mass of white barrelling towards them. At a sign from the militia commander, the marksdwarves raised their wood and bone crossbows, and let loose a mighty barrage of bone bolts. They flew true, peppering the titan with their sharp tips. The melee dwarves cheered as red stains appeared on the creature's body. It could be killed! As the titan approached, and the dwarves settled into formation within the walls, the chest of the titan ran crimson with its blood, dripping onto the potato and rhubarb plants that surrounded the walls.

As the mighty creature passed the wooden walls of the fortress, the titan suddenly stopped. The dwarves stood ready, eager to make their attack and finish off their wounded foe. They raised their wooden weapons and hoped they would be sharp enough as the militia commander drew in a breath before ordering the charge.

The roar from the creature startled them. It seemed to last forever, with a booming sound. The dwarves could feel the rumble in their bones, like a volcano that is about to erupt. But a volcano's sound is comforting and right, with its promise of mighty magma and industry. This, this was something terrible.

The transformation of the creature into a volcano was not yet complete, however. At the end of the roar, smoke began to spew forth from the mouth of the titan. It enveloped some of the recruits, choking and blinding them. The creature continued to roar, the smoke growing darker and darker. Dwarves could not see into the cloud of smoke, but they heard as the choking sounds from within the smoke turned into screams. They saw bright flashes of light as the delicate cave spider silk clothes of the dwarves burst into flame, superheated by the smoke. Axes and spears which were strong enough to decapitate elves now turned against their owners, as the dwarves hands were burned by the combusting material.

The Axedwarf Lokum Gamilsarvesh (Trustfurnaces) ran as fast as he could up the ramp into the fresh air. He had been stuck in the stockpile room, which had become crowded lately with totems. The sight of gleaming puppy skulls, carved into grotesque shapes by an army of craftdwarves, did not sit well with him. How was he supposed to find his axe beneath their staring, empty sockets? He would be glad when some traders could take them away. But right now he was answering the call to arms. He heard the call to arms, but didn't know exactly what it was. More elves? Lokum grinned as he imagined that perhaps he could strip some silk socks from a corpse.

That grin faded as Lokum reached the top of the ramp and found that the beautiful fortress had turned into a demon's paradise. The protective apple wood walls, painstaking created to protect the fortress, were now burning barriers, trapping the remains of the militia. The stockpiles of wood, once needed to keep the fires of industry moving forward, now fed a massive wall of fire that towered above him. The intense heat instantly started to burn his skin, as he shielded his eyes against the bright flames. From every direction came the overwhelming sound of crackling and burning. Lokum heard a rushing noise, and quickly dodged to the side as a massive chestnut tree came crashing down from the hill to the side of the fortress, tearing through the burning wall like it was nothing. The flames were spreading through the hills, causing the earth to shake as giant tree after giant tree succumbed to the inferno and toppled over.

Tears formed in Lokum's eyes as he scanned for what had started this. He finally saw the beast in the corner of the fortress, mostly shrouded by smoke. Dwarves surrounded it and were always pressing forward looking for an opening. But the beast was brutal in its efficiency. It would swing its iron crossbow at one approaching dwarf, catching the dwarf in the side and almost tearing it in half. At the same time, almost causally, it would turn its head and let loose a flame that enveloped another dwarf in terrible heat.

The surface battle lost, Lokum retreated to beneath the surface. His mind quickly raced as he attempted to remember his training and discipline. He flew down the stairs to the dining room, where everyone was crowded around the well and chatting amongst themselves. As he entered, fear on his face and soot covering him, the crowd feel silent. Even the large number of children and babies in the fortress paused their play, sensing something besides a certain warmness in the air.

Lokum did not say much as the remaining dwarves organized themselves into squads and scrambled to locate the remaining weapons and armour in the fortress. They took up position in the entrance hallway, ready to die for their dwarf fortress.

A blur of white and red, the smell of burnt flesh, and the roar of flames. The hill titan charged through the halls of the fortress, knocking aside dwarves and war dogs alike. The clay tunnels channeled the flames deeper into the fortress. In an instant, the soft walls became fired and hard, giving no cushion to the dwarves as they scrambled to flee and ran blinded by smoke into the walls. Screams echoed through the fortress as dwarves with burning clothes attempted to disrobe. The hill titan burst into the dining room, and let loose a jet of flame. The wood tables and chairs instantly set aflame, while the barrels of food began to smoulder and smoke.

Lokum opened his eyes, before closing them to the blinding smoke. He had been knocked to the side into the metalsmith's forge by the creature, but had not suffered major injury. Crawling onto his hands and knees, his entire body felt scorched by the incredible heat in the air, sucking all of the moisture out of his face and lungs. He tried to open his eyes, but the heat and a haze of smoke prevented that. How was he going to escape the fortress without seeing? This was not covered in any military demonstration...

Lokum concentrated on the sounds he heard. If he could only hear the roar of flame from the creature, he might be able to steer away. Even if retreat was elf-like, it was preferable to being cooked alive. But it was so hard to hear anything. The entire fortress was roaring with burning crafts, food, and dwarves.

He slowly edged out of the metalsmith's forge and tried to remember where those blasted stairs to the surface were. Suddenly, to his right came the screams of the fortress children, who usually were hanging around the dining room well. His heart hardened to his fellow dwarves, Lokum turned to the left and visualized the fortress in his mind. A few steps away, and he stumbled on the stairs leading upwards, towards a way out of this demonic place.

At the top of the stairs, Lokum felt the first twinge of hope. He still had his axe, so he could survive for a bit out in the wilderness. Maybe not against bogeymen, but as long as he stayed away from that damned filthy slime, he should be fine...

Lokum barely saw the shadow of the iron crossbow projected on the wall in front of him. Thanks to training and instinct, he jumped forward, barely missing getting bashed in the head by the hill titan. The hill titan swung again, and Lokum struggled to bring up his axe to block with both his hands. A mighty clang rang out as the weapons clashed together. Luckily, Lokum had been assigned one of the few copper axes in the fortress. If only they had made more...

Lokum's luck ran out very quickly after that. A swipe from the creature took Lokum's left hand. Bleeding and in extreme pain, Lokum tried to jump away from further attacks. The hill titan charged at Lokum, sending him to the ground and winded. Another slash from the creature left Lokum with a deep sucking wound on the right side of his chest, and he found each breath was agony.

Lokum stumbled to his feet, battered, mortally wounded, and quite angry. The hill titan swung the iron crossbow, but Lokum was able deflect it upwards, barely missing his head. He decided that today, he was not going to die retreating like an elf, but die as a dwarf should - angry and on-fire. He lifted up his axe, and with a yell that shook the walls, charged the hill titan with his axe raised.

The hill titan breathed fire.

The fire engulfed Lokum.

The legends say that happened next is impossible, at least according to dwarven science. But what does dwarven science know?

The legends say: 'The hill titan was caught in a burst of Lokum Trustfurnace's boiling blood, and falls over.'

Is this a metaphor for the burning rage within Lokum? The anger in his blood from seeing his fortress and friends engulfed in an inferno? We shall never know.

But in any case, statues should be erected to this dwarf who used his very essence to take down the terror. After Lokum's heroic charge, the beast lay defeated on the floor of the fisherdwarf workshop in Brasshead. Many had been killed, but the survivors of Brasshead were and are a hardy bunch. Now they scrabble amongst the burned-out ruins of their wood fortress, trying to rebuild once again.

And as for Lokum Trustfurnace? He goes down in history as 'missing'. No body was ever found, and his copper axe is all that remains.

Maybe the last words of the administrator Rovod Bomrekkodor are best to conclude this inspiring tale of sacrifice: 'Our time in the Universe of Forever is so brief. Begone fear!'

I need your guys help to make this subreddit grow so that we have a constant flow of wonderful stories coming in. Make sure to spread the news however you can.

A tale from far back in the days of 40d...

Thobatol was a small but prosperous settlement of some sixty dwarves. Originally founded as an iron-mining town, it had found an unexpected niche after a humble tailor experienced a supernatural bout of inspiration, and became the premier supplier of wholesale clothing for the entire continent.

This put the locals on good terms with the elves, who always had an abundant supply of cloth and timber to trade, and their caravans were therefore a welcome sight. Unfortunately, the prosperity of Thobatol had attracted the covetous eyes of the goblins...

The caravan was passing through a narrow canyon when the ambush struck; a full squad of goblin swordsmen lead by a skilled marksman. Something had gone wrong though, and they were trailing behind the caravan when they were detected. A lone elven warrior armed only with a heavy oaken mace was left standing between his comrades and the oncoming threat. With a defiant cry of, "Oh aye? Come an' 'ave a go if yer think yer 'ard enough!"^1 he charged towards them to buy time.

The small fortress guard were slow to respond, being tied up with a second squad attacking the outdoor sculpture garden where many dwarves were taking their ease, but eventually half a dozen sturdy marksdwarves came at the double to render assistance.

Only to find their elven colleague clouting the goblins all over the canyon, launching one of them with enough force to splatter. He caught sight of the guardsdwarves and raised his mace in a cheery salute... at which point the squad leader shot him dead with a single bolt in the back.

Enraged, the guards charged the treacherous goblin and beat him thoroughly to death with their crossbows, too furious to even think of nocking a bolt.

The rest of the caravan survived with no casualties.

A year or two later, and Thobatol was still wealthier. A second bout of inspiration had struck a weaponsmith, leading him to produce a magnificent warhammer of solid gold. In the long run this would become the settlement's undoing, but for now the fortress was making a fortune selling the finest iron weapons in addition to their clothing industry. The elves were even more valuable trading partners now, supplying timber for charcoal as well as cloth.

But one day, they found themselves accompanied by an uninvited guest: A dragon.

Immediately, one merchant and their pack animal were broiled by its breath. The rest fled as a lone archer loosed shaft after ineffective shaft to try and slow it down. She died fighting, and bought precious minutes for a ramshackle militia to be assembled and armed with whatever was on hand. They piled on and eventually managed to kill the dragon with surprisingly few casualties; a half-trained speardwarf got the credit for the killing blow but it was really a group effort.

The fortress didn't last much longer; a huge goblin invasion happened not long afterwards, and while it was eventually repelled the losses were too heavy, and the ensuing tantrum spiral finished their work.

Nevertheless, their Avatar of Armok and spiritual guide has never forgotten that fortress, or the courage and determination of the elves who fought beside its citizens.

1. For reasons beyond the scope of this post, I like to imagine my elves having broad Scouse accents.

Hello, my name is Runkul Defanstol. I led the expedition to the New World, where we were tasked with finding and settling a new, and mysterious world. After the Goblinite Wars, with the Dwarven Population low, the King decided we must set up far away to ensure the Dwarven Race survives.

We left in the Spring of 113, sailing by boat to the destination. The journey sadly killed two of our cows, and our Milker Dwarf, Who thought that milking a cow on the ship wouldn't be smart? Anyways, we arrived in the New World in the Fall of 113. The only reason we survived was because our fisher dwarves, who are the best of the best.

We had decided to name the new fortress, Klumbakal Nuvoa, in honor of the god of life, Nuvoa. Everything went well, our population grew steadily for a few months, but then disaster struck in the form of a Goblin Expedition to our new world. Somehow they had learnt of the King's plans, and had sent their raiding party to rat us out, but I couldn't let the colony fail.

We prepared for war. I had our single blacksmith work 24/7 surviving on Beer and Ale for 2 weeks until we had built enough weapons and armor to defend against full scale invasion. That was when they struck. They had somehow found our trap door and broken it down, but were caught off guard when a large squad of armored Dwarves were smiling back at them.

The battle last for 3 days, we only took two casualties in the form of a Marksdwarf and a Axedwarf getting hit by two bolts. They survived, but sadly they were unable to continue their careers, I hear they're singerdwarves somewhere now. The Goblins attempted to escape but we couldn't let them do that now, that'd be rude of them to leave before the fun started.

We executed the survivors and broke down their boats. A trade ship happened to spy the smoke, and stopped by. They carried devastating news. The Dwarven Kingdom had fallen, and we were the last of our species. The Traders decided to remain with us, and we formed a new kingdom, with me as it's King. I can happily say that the Kingdom survived.

You want to know how I know? I was immortalized into the wall, as the first king, and watch over the Kingdom of Nuvoa. You may want to know how a ghost is speaking to you, well it's simple my dear child, you cannot kill a spirit that has already died in the living world.

My name is Sigun Bellwires, and this is a tale about vengeance. Soon it will all be over.

For as long as I can remember, they have been telling me stories. Stories of the boogiemen, yes, but those were not the scary ones. The scary ones were always about Smaz Truthmeadows.

Goblin hordes have been tormenting my people since time began, but we always held our ground - until the Savage War. It was in the Savage War that the demon came. Smaz Truthmeadows the Goldenrod Petal-fragrance, a true monster from the underworld that throws webs as thick as a finger, led the attacks, and our proud little nation of the Diamond of Secrets could not stand before him. Within 4 years it had conquered almost the whole kingdom. It's been more than 100 years since the first brutal attack, and 41 since our realms are officially at peace again. I, however, do not believe in peace with Gobins.

Initially, all I wanted when I started traveling was to see the fabled fortress of Buffsyrup with my own eyes. It was peace, wasn't it? No harm in visiting a fortress that used to belong to our people but now belongs to a nation we are at peace with. When I arrived, what I saw made something inside of me snap. They had taken a thing of beauty, once one of the biggest symbols of craftsdwarfship in this world, and turned it into a ruin. The once great magma forges and even the old bedrooms built right into the crater of a volcano in an amazing feat of architecture had become flooded with magma. The remaining parts of the great fortress were occupied by unwashed stinking goblins living in their own filth. Some humans were in the fortress as well, but the only way to distinguish them was by their height – they had taken on the goblin way of life entirely. Maybe some had even been born into their civilization.

I prayed to As, goddess of rumours, and waited for the fortress to fall asleep.

Then I took out my trusted silver warhammer and bashed all their heads in.

I don't remember how many there were – more than a hundred, I'm sure – and I don't remember much of the aftermath. Something bestial inside me had taken over. I must have wandered the caverns for days. I might have systematically butchered everybody with the little bronze boning knife I carry, judging from the amount of gore I was carrying around when I came back to my senses.

After what I had done, there was no way I could return home. If my people took me back it would mean another war with the Maligned Witch, and this time they wouldn't leave anyone alive. No, I was an outcast now.

For two months I wandered the wilds, slaying bandits and minotaurs, even whole goblin armies. Slaughter was the only thing left to me. I became known as The Golden Joys for the joy of death I brought to my enemies. Sometimes I traveled with companions, but none of them stayed with me for long. Most of them died, some just could not keep up. Once, I wrestled a Mountain Titan for two days, a huge scaly thing that looked somewhat like a scorpion but was as tall a house, and in the end I killed it too.

And then, two days ago, I realised my seemingly aimless wandering hadn't been quite so aimless after all. I found myself looking at a dark fortress: Sealstars, the seat of power of one Smaz Truthmeadows the Goldenrod Petal-fragrance. As be praised, for she surely led me here. According to reports, more than 10.000 goblins and 5.000 trolls live here, yet I sneaked past them all. Behind this door lies my destiny. Behind this door lies Smaz's lair. Everything I faced coming here has been nothing but preperation. The pitiful cries of his webbed prisoners and the sound of his scales sliding across the floor don't scare me. I probably won't make it out of here alive, but there is nothing left for me in this world anyway. As, bless my silver hammer, so that I may avenge the dead of our nation! Smaz, I am coming for you!

This sub only grows if you guys contribute, I don't care if you only write a short story that is 2 paragraphs long. You've all (I think) played Dwarf Fortress enough to have some stories that you can come up with, so don't feel afraid.

My name is Fernkul Dusblifsten, and I was a miner with the 12th expedition beyond the walls our the Dwarven Capital of Armoknoka. We were sent by the Dwarven King to find new lands, and the lighten the population load on the city, as it could only sustain so much, or that's what I was told at least by the Expedition leader.

We left in the early Spring, so early that the ice was still melting when we arrived at the site of the new fortress. The other miners and I were charged with excavating a starting cavity so that we could get underground as quick as possible, since we all know a Dwarve is most comfortable underground. While we were digging, I found a small kitten, born a few weeks before we arrived while we were still traveling. From the moment we met, we were friends.

I called him Armok, because he always seemed to be covered in something's blood, either it was a Rhino lizard or some wretched rats. He would follow me into the mines by day, and by night we exited together, or at least I thought it was night, I never went outside after we dug out the original cavern. I would give him small bowls of goat's milk every evening before I passed out on the stone floor.

Day by day, he grew larger, and we were the best of friends. That's when it all changed forever. The Expedition Leader had sent out Hunter-Scouts to find some source of protein, and had been ambushed by a Goblin Raiding Party. I had been assigned to Blue River Squad, detailed with defending the cavern entrance, while the other squads 'protected' our rear, but in reality we were really just sacrifices for Armok.

The Goblins had climbed over our preliminary walls with ease, and we were tasked with battling experienced warriors when the maximum training we have received was pounding the rocks in the mines. I was spied by a Goblin Hammerman and he rushed to bludgeon my head in, but my helmet saved me. As I scrambled to retreat further back, the unthinkable happened. Armok jumped on the Goblin's head.

Armok violently clawed the Goblin's head before he was brutally thrown off, and crushed under his hammer, and I lost it. I grabbed a dropped War Axe and proceeded to charge and slam the blade of the Axe onto the Goblin's head, splitting the skull in half. As the remaining Blue River Squad retreated, I was confronted by 3 Goblins, 2 more hammermen, and one crossbownman.

I dodged the first two bolts fired in quick succession before slamming the axe down onto the 1st hammerman's left leg. He screamed as his life force was draining out through his wound, but I had not the time to feel guilty. The crossbowman, being the nuisance he was, kept firing at me until I realized his aim was terribly inaccurate, so I dodged two more fired bolts and decapitated him.

Most of the goblins were retreating, except for the other Goblin Hammerman. He was furious for some odd reason, it's not like I wronged him. We proceeded to fight, he grabbed his slain comrade's hammer and repeatedly swung them both until they connected with my shoulder. I tried swinging the axe but he easily deflected it, sending the axe flying across the room.

The other dwarves weren't coming at this point, since they were all drunken cowards, so I knew it was my end, but at that very instant, a bolt flew from a Marksman Dwarve who had come onto the surface to see if there were any survivors.

As the Dwarven Child finished reading the last paragraph in the memoir of former Fortress Leader Fernkul Dusblifsten, all he could say was "I hope you saw Armok after you've left the world of the living grandpa..."

Notes from the Firebelcher Expedition: Last words of a dying dwarf

My name is not important. My fortress is not important. Only thing that matters are my fists! I love fist fights, wrestling and beer, and when the barrel was dry, what did they expect?

I was drunk when I woke up and found I was in wagon headed for a new future! Yep, I had been kidnapped by some dwarf who thought he was going to get rich quick. I got to admit, it wasn't that bad at the start. When the wagon wheel fell off and we stopped, the land was quiet and peaceful. Lots of trees, a river, and a nice sandstone cliff. Well, later in the spring it wasn't so bad. The river was frozen when we arrived. Who cares, we had beer!

Digging was easy, even I could do it. The manager wasn't very bright, but we did get some rooms dug out. Farm, kitchen and a still. Plenty of plump helmets for good old fashioned dwarf brew. We dug out a dormitory, tossed in a few beds and enough tables to make it almost a home. Yep, life was good. We worked through the year, finding some rocks, even some nice metal ores. Even had a bunch of migrants join us.

The plump helmets grew well and more seeds were planted. I should have paid attention, but I never did see the still actually working. One day, we ran out of beer. I checked the ale and mead barrels and they were empty too. Bloody manager told us to drink water, that is why we camped near the river! Fine, but only until the caravan arrives. For some incredibly stupid reason, they only had 4 barrels in the caravan. We bought them, and they were gone within a month.

Did I mention no beer and winter? You know what happens in winter? Water freezes! Now, I'm not the brightest dwarf around, but when the river didn't thaw until Slate and this was Timber, I knew it was going to be a long winter, a long DRY winter.

Livestock were the first to go, and then the woodcutter died of dehydration. We blamed the manager, but it didn't matter, he died the next week. The next manager lasted 4 days before he died. When the cook died, we discovered a barrel full of plump helmet casseroles! Then we discovered our brewer lied on his application and didn't really know how to brew. I hit him. A couple of times. He died.

Life got really fun after that! Dwarves would attack me, and I'd hit them and then throw them across the room. Blood splatters everywhere! There were only 10 dwarves alive by this time, but I won 25 fights! I was throwing anything that I could pick up, tables, chairs, legs, arms, spleens, and laughing. I was having a great time.

What is that? You say the river is thawed? No matter, it will freeze up again, and your beer will run dry. This place is cursed, no one can brew anything here. But I will be here, fighting, throwing and laughing forever!

*The unnamed laughing dwarf was buried in a beer barrel, and left in the ruins of the fortress. We moved on to another site, but we will watch our brewer carefully!