54 replies to this topic

[Hadenwolf]

Love The Dwarf Extertionists!!! Totally great!!!

[Skuffi]

These are some of the best stories this side of Karaz-a-Karak. Keep it up.

Edited by Duran Ironbrow, 06 February 2011 - 04:46 AM.

[Thunderforge]

When they looked there cupboard was bare...

Bronze alarm bells clanged along the stone hallways, armoured dwarves ran hither and thither; the ancestral hold was in uproar. Voices shouted orders and the tramp of booted feet filled the air. It was from deep down in the bowels of the hold the alarm had sprung; a few dwarves had gone down into the storehalls and found them almost bare. The King of the hold was alerted instantly and the age old warning system dragged sleeping guards and barracked soldiers into sudden action.

The King stood in the centre of the Great Hall amid the chaos, bellowing orders and organising the many people involved. The longbeards rolled their eyes and went about their business; it was not their day to die. But the Royal Hearthguard had formed in slightly breathless ranks, hammers in hand, and the clan's Deepguard, clad in traditional solid armour were forming up behind them. Among them rangers and crossbowmen ran, gathering amunition, axes, bags; barrels and crates.

Finally the throng was gathered and primed for combat. King Thunderforge tightened a gauntlet strap with his teeth whilst orderlies brought his bearskin cloak, finally he looked up and grinned at his warriors. Durak Strongbrew, Sergeant of the Guard, raised his hammer. "All present and correct Sir!"

Amongst the clamour of arming an unexpected figure had appeared; the extremely bearded Loremaster Ethgrim Axehandle leaned on his axe and watched the proceedings with a disapproving look. The King turned and addressed the ancient in the accustomed manner.

"What now?" Modsogni asked bluntly. Ethgrim glared from beneath avian eyebrows.

"What would your grandfather say if he saw you now?! All this nonsense for such a trivial matter? All these diverse alarms? Any good king under a mountain would employ people to do this for him; in fact in the World's Edge they even get humans to do it." King Thunderforge took a deep breath and hauled his belt up angrily. He knew the longbeard had never shown him the true respect due to a dwarf king, and it nagged at his temper that customs and traditions had to be bent because their hold was in such isolation and danger.

"Neverthless!" barked the King. "I am to provide for the clans such as I see fit. In the World's Edge Mountains there aren't so many things as can see your thoughts. If our actions today had been planned out there would be ambushes out there waiting for us; if we don't know what we're doing neither can the enemy! Now if you don't mind - I've got a job to do."

Checking the axe strapped to his back the King trudged to the Great Stair which decended down in to shadow and up into darkness. He struck a heroic pose.
"Clans of the Thunder Forge! Are you with me?" the assembled throng roared. "Let's go farming!"

+ + + [to be continued] + + +

Edited by Blunderforge, 15 February 2011 - 02:04 PM.

[Skrum_MountainSmash]

lawls.... i kind've want to abandon the fluff of my own karak and just join as one of the assembled clans of the Thunderforge. awesome work Blunder forge!

[Thunderforge]

"Cor," said the king, sitting up from the flagstone floor. "How long 'ave I been asleep then?"
He fumbled around until he found his helmet, scratched his beard and rubbed his eyes. Then he looked around at the other dwarves lying flat out across the inn floor. "GET UP!!!" he roared. "Someone tell me how long we've been asleep - somebody fetch me a pint of breakfast and something to eat!"
The door creaked open and a wearisome Chief Engineer dragged himself in. King Thunderforge clapped him on the shoulder "Glad yer up and about so early, things 'ave changed up there, peopl'll be forgettin' who's King under this mountain - we've got work to do!"

[Thunderer]

I love these stories. So well written with nice humor scattered through out like little lost pearls of wisdom. Great job and please keep it up.

[Thunderforge]

All fun and games until someone gets hurt...

It was Deep Seam night, an annual celebration of the mining clans of the Thunder Forge. It celebrated the time, many years past, that an unsuspecting miner struck a goblin lair; during the grobkul that ensued many small greenskins found their way into the hold causing mayhem and chaos. Every year this was marked by a raucious drinking binge accompanied by jokes and pranks usually unheard of by the sour-faced and downturned clans.

The King and his mates sat round the head table in the Axeman's Arms, the sound of singing and shouting filled the air, the fug of alcohol added a warmth and fuzziness to everything. Durak Strongbrew was chugging from a tankard whilst the crowd beat their hands on the table in rythmn. "Choke! Choke! Choke! Choke!"
Durak made bubbling noises and slammed the mug down, slopping ale all over the ale already coating the table. He shoved the tankard across to Ethgrim, the white bearded loremaster cackled horribly. He raised it, pouring a trickle into an another mug so the group could see the inside.
"Rune of plenty!" he explained.
"Ruddy good stuff mind" replied Durak with a belch.

Modsogni stood carefully, his helmet revolving round his head so the horns stuck out at an outlandish angle. "Right, I gotta go open Zhufbar's Gate" and marched unsteadily towards the latrines. The assembled throng rubbed hands and began conspiring about how to prank their king. This time the Chief Engineer slapped his hand down.
"I got this 'un." he drawled in a voice deeper than the depths. He picked up the tankard of plenty and drew a lump of clay from a pocket. This he carefully squished to the bottom of mug. The dwarves looked on bemused as he went on to sprinkle a fine black powder into the ale within and carefully, very carefully, placed it back on the table where the king had been seated. A look of quiet satisfaction settled on his face as he folded his hairy tattooed arms and sat back.
The burble started again and Govan struck up a crude little song called 'Hergle's Hearthcrack' as Modsogni pushed his way back through the crowds.
"...and wind it blows there still!" he finished loudly. "Ah! Finish this one then little brother!"
Modsogni laughed loudly, gripping the handle. "If Durak can't find the bottom of a jar then it's time someone showed him the way!" and knocked back the tankard.
An observant onlooker might have noticed the King's cheeks go red as the sulphurous mixture of blackpowder added seven shades of hell to his throat, but the king valiantly chugged on. The motley crew banged fists and started the chant "Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!"
The King gasped, held the tankard out in front of him, and with a cry of "HAH!" slammed the mug down on the surface of the table.
With a flash of white light and an almighty BANG! the tankard rocketed up and embedded itself in the wutroth ceiling beam above them. A ring of bearded faces stared up at it whilst Surt, the Chief Engineer laughed deep, slow laughs.

Modsogni was the first to recover and glared through the smoke at Surt. "What sourcery is this?!" he demanded. Surt leaned forwards, conspiratorially.
"Shhh! It's thunderclay. Contraband susbstance, don't tell th' Ironbreakers. Made some up specially!"
The King stared ahead for a moment, and then back up to the ceiling. "D'you realise what you could DO with that stuff?!"
A gleam sparkled from his eyes. "We could blow ore straight out of the rockface... You could send fifty tons of iron from the Sump Hall to Topside in seconds... I could rain down rocks from the mountainside against the trolls!!"

Chief Engineer Surt grinned wryly, "Aye, 'cept you'd have to be up before the council in the morning. Contraband substances? that's a Cogging and no mistake." he wound up the clockwork on his pipe, and clamped it in his mouth firmly.
"Six hundred forty six years ago it was," began Ethgrim, in the bleating tones of one about to embark on a long tale of ancient days.
"Yes, yes we all know!" interupted the King. "King Burlap got shot in the arse whilst surveying the battlefield from up on 'is shield. The Engineer Mhangle was trying out a new blackpowder weapon and shot him in the arse. That's why we don't use handguns. Makes sense to me if yer don't mind. I'm the king around here, I'm the one who has to stand on the shield. It's MY arse on the line when we go into battle."

Like loose nails to a magnet the dwarven faces returned upwards to the entankarded roof-beam.
"But I'm sure the technology has advanced a little..." muttered Govan.
"And I remember Mhangle had a funny eye..." added Ethgrim.
"If precautions were taken..." put in Durak.

"If Burlap can make a law to ban something I can ruddy well make a law to un-ban something." announced the King. "D*mn fool got shot in the arse for gold's sakes! What does that tell you about 'im?!"
Loremaster Ethgrim snorted into his beer "I'll make a note of it. Wish your line wouldn't keep changin' things, that's the fourth law since Dargle's time I've had to re-strike. Just make sure it stays this time!"

"Capital!" the King grinned. His finger drew a mushroom cloud in the ale suds on the table as he leaned in. "Testing starts tomorrow. Tomorrow after I've woken up. And had some fresh air. But there must be precautions mind!"
Engineer Surt waved his pipe in the air while he swilled more ale. "No no no! Not having elfin safety in my workshops! Things'll be done to good dwarf standards, like I've always had." he plonked his mug down on the table and planted his pipe back in his mouth. The dwarves watched as the mug, which had balanced momentarily on the edge of the table, fell to the floor.
"Govan," the King turned to his brother the Runesmith. "how soon can you knock up a pair of chainmail trousers? With the Master Rune of not getting shot in the arse on 'em. Size seventeen, extra short, with bootcuts and plated on the knees..."

Edited by Thunderforge, 26 June 2012 - 10:58 PM.

[Snugg Thistlehammer]

King Burlap? Pfff . You know, I've recently finished reading Grudgebearer and I've realised your work is only one or two shades away from that book. When I read these tales I picture the dwarves exactly as I pictured the Grudgebearer dwarves. Except, you know, funnier.

[Thunderforge]

The creator of the famed runic 'Vest of Burlap' no less!

I often wonder if my dwarves aren't too Pratchett-y, I love his dwarves. I'm seriously thinking of doing a longer novel, just need to work out a decent plot!

Thanks for reading and commenting, it's very much appreciated.

[Snugg Thistlehammer]

But sadly not the runic 'Pants of Burlap' or was there a matching 3 piece suit?

No, I don't think they're too Pratchett-y. Pratchett plays on standard fantasy tropes anyway so even if there are a few paralells I wouldn't think to hard about it. The setting is definitely more Warhammer than Discworld as well. If anything they remind me of the "old" warhammer dwarves, before the grim/dark tone took over when alot of the background was much more tounge in cheek.

Please, let us know if you decide to plan a longer work!

[Thunderforge]

Work in progress...

 

Deep within the flame filled halls in the bowels of the earth, a terrific hammering and howling came. A wailing and a cursing which had not been heard in a long time. Modsognir, King of the Dwarves had journeyed long to reach this place, to find the source of the clamour. He pushed open the great iron doors and entered in. Pits of fire lay to either side of the path, amongst great skeletal frames of twisted metal he trod. Fearsome machines with many wheels and chains shrieked, hissing with steam's burning breath, and again there came a mighty cursing from the far chamber. The King beheld a mighty frame of black iron in which was held a great flat hammer to beat out metals, and it was from behind this that came the sound. With care he pulled a horn from his belt, and filled it from a small barrel with foaming ale, and holding it ahead of him he entered the central chamber.
Before him on the stone floor were many things great and small, twisted tubes and wheels, frames and anvils, tools, weapons and chunks of raw metal. A lone figure seemed to be fighting against a hard-skinned daemon, beating it down with his hammer. But it appeared that the beast was still, and made not of flesh, but bronze and iron and stone. Then, as the dwarf brought the hammer down again there was a great wailing, and he flung the hammer from him in a fit of anger. He turned around and glared at the King with wild eyes, holding his throbbing thumb.
"What?!" he cried. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
The King passed him the horn, and the smith drank eagerly. "We were getting worried Surt, you've been down here for three weeks now..."
"I've been improving things" Surt replied, wiping his face. "Nearly there..."
Modsognir looked up at the metal beast and nodded. "So I see... care to explain?"
The engineer picked up a bit of bent pipe and pointed. "Cannon uses blackpowder to fire a projectile forward down the barrel, so scale it down and you get the handgun. With a few modifications. I figured if you mount a rank of handguns on a revolving frame, the work of one dwarf can fire off say a dozen shots."
He waved vaguely to a many barreled device looking like some sort of organ, which was still half in bits. "Then I came up with a hopper to re-fill the breaches; but that had too many flaws, so I tried a chain-fed revolving barrel. To which I fitted an oil burning steam engine to run it." again, he waved to another heap of half finished machinery.
"While I had the oil out there was a bit of a problem as somehow the feed-pipes got mixed up and vented flaming oil a little bit."
The King noted a large section of the stone wall was cracked and blackened.
"That's when I decided to run with it and mount a pressurised keg on a wheeled frame to blast burning oil at short range... which nearly works. In the mean time I've been working on the steam drive to move it, and this fearsome dragon frame to house it in." he patted the wheeled iron-beast with fatherly pride. "Did you bring any food?"
The King scratched his head and sighed. "So... what have we got that works?"
Surt looked puzzled for a moment "Oh, it'll all work, it just needs a bit more adjustment. I thought perhaps two smaller cannon on the sides... Or some sort of endless belt round the wheels to help it over the rocks... If I could get some decent wings together and get it off the ground..." The engineer trailed off and began scratching out wing designs on a curled sheet of tin.
King Modsognir sighed again and headed off back up to the main halls. This was the problem, he thought, so much inventiveness and creativity in our race, but it takes such a long time to get anything done!

Edited by Thunderforge, 21 January 2013 - 11:07 PM.

[Skuffi]

Excellent. Surt reminds of Leonardo Da Vinci. Always coming up with brilliant idea's and constantly expanding old ones but never actually finishing any of them, as such. Also I thoroughly enjoyed the thought/invention progression. Can't wait for the next tale. Though try not to keep us waiting so long 

[Thunderforge]

You are what you eat...

 

As usual, when the whistles blew for end of shift on Friday night, forges were left to cooling and mines rang to the sound of silence. But in places not so grim the throngs gathered. Fires were stoked, barrels were cracked open and spirits were high. Behind the bar of the Axeman's Arms Algrim Axehandle filled jug after jug of ale, coins rattling into his coffer, whilst the beardling ran around mopping up spills, gathering dirty mugs and separating small fights. Shadows danced around the roof as the blacksmiths and masons talked and sang and drank the night away. But in the back room things were a little less jolly.
A cauldron of stew grumbled over the hearth, sending vapours of steam into the air, through the mist two dwarves laboured over an anvil and a third working a mighty bellows nearby. A hammer gave a rhythmic wallop, between beats the grizzled longbeard muttered and growled.
"Turn it boy!" he snarled, whilst the sweating youth twisted the lump around with tongs. "Better. Now slake it and put it in the oven."
The small round lump was dipped into a turbid vat of egg-white and with great care, placed beside its brothers in the oven. The longbeard wiped his brow and straightened, consulting a small clipboard. "That's table four done; table twelve want six bowls o' stew, three stonebreads, one jug o' porridge an' a granite bun. Orek, get the stews; Durak follow me." As he headed into the backroom, Orek began ladling stew whilst the dwarf on the bellows obediently followed his father.
"See lad, this is what keeps the hold alive" he muttered as they passed shelf upon shelf of stonebread. "Grain is worth its weight in go- well, grain is very hard to come by in the hills, and it rots so fast these days. Our work is to make it last; this little store could feed them greedy buggers fer a week or so, but down in the vaults there's enough o' the good stuff to keep us in siege fer a year. The rangers up there go out huntin' for boar an' horse an' the like, but that's all just sauce at the end o' the day. A good breadwright can grind up the grain with enough stone content to make it last fer years, then you've got yer ash, though some prefer sawdust, which all 'elps make up the weight. Ah, 'ere we are."
He reached up and took down a large round bun, with tiny sparkles of ground granite twinkling in the lamplight. Durak took the bun and tucked it under his arm, following his father back to the kitchen.
"Father, I heard from Ironfinder Gorrin that the humans don't even use stone grindings..."
Ranek spun around and gave Durak a harsh look. "And what would they know?!"
"I wondered if I might one day try it without? Just to see?" Durak cowered slightly, wishing he had never mentioned it to his father. The longbeard cursed under his moustaches and stormed onward.
"You'll follow the recipies I give you. Stone is the way we've always done things. Start mixing up plainbread an' everyone'll go soft, like the elves. Blast their poncy sponge cakes an' crussants."
"Croissants..." corrected Durak. Ranek swung round and caught his son a blow on the ear, just beneath the rim of his helm.
"Dare mention that word in my halls again an' I swear I'll break yer arm." he shouted. "Start making food they enjoy eatin' and they'll double their appetite in days. You don't think I use bauxite 'cause I like the taste do ye? It's Thundercrust's Stonebread that maintains the moral fibre o' this hold. Remember that, lad. You are what you eat they say; start feedin' 'em fluffy cakes an' brioche and the throng'll fold faster than a damp pie-crust. Now for recompence you can dust off all the shelves in the vault after work an' I'll have no more talk of manling nonsense!"

 

EDIT: If anyone can tell me the Khazalid for 'Friday' I would be grateful!

 

Edited by Thunderforge, 21 January 2013 - 11:05 PM.

[Bonecrusher]

EDIT: If anyone can tell me the Khazalid for 'Friday' I would be grateful!

 

Is there a word? I'm not sure what the days of the week are called in the warhammer world, but since most of our days are named after Viking gods, perhaps dwarfs name them after their gods, and empire after their old gods.

[Alebelly_Cragfist]

EDIT: If anyone can tell me the Khazalid for 'Friday' I would be grateful!

 

Is there a word? I'm not sure what the days of the week are called in the warhammer world, but since most of our days are named after Viking gods, perhaps dwarfs name them after their gods, and empire after their old gods.

 

"The widely-used Imperial calendar is based primarily on the Dwarf calendar. The only differences are the year in which the calendars begin and the fact that Dwarfs do not separate the days of the week from one another. Since there are no Khazalid names for the days, Dwarfs refer to them by their Imperial names in their dealings with Humans."

 

An Imperial week lasts eight days.

1. Wellentag (Work day)
2. Aubentag (Levy day)
3. Marktag (Market day)
4. Backertag (Bake day)
5. Bezahltag (Tax day)
6. Konistag (King day)
7. Angestag (Start week)
8. Festag (Holiday)

You could replace 'tag' with 'deg' or 'dag' the Dwarf word(s) for day

[Bonecrusher]

HAHA!! What a week. Start day...hmm better have a day off straight away

[Alebelly_Cragfist]

Indeed, I have to question the validity of my source, but it's the only one I've found to date. Mind you, just picked up some Empire fluff, may have a read through

[Thunderforge]

Here's one I dug up from the archives...

 

Far over the World's Edge Mountains cold,

To dwarfhalls deep and karaks old,

We shall kill trolls, when six is rolled

We'll thank the sprues from which we're mould.

 

The dwarves of yore made mighty runes,

On ancient wheeled Anvils of Doom,

In cupboards deep, our box is keep'd,

Behind cat's food, beneath the prunes.

 

For skaven thing and elvish lord

There ranked our throng upon the board,

We shot and fought, with points we'd bought,

Great axes, armour, shields, in horde.

 

With silver are our crossbows strung

For elves who can't smell their own dung

Our bolt thrower, rune'd well to fire

I've heard they don't like it up 'um.

 

Goblins are out for just themselves,

To steal the gold a miner delves,

Us dwarves are strong, they wont last long,

They're worse than trolls and rats and elves.

 

The dice were rolling from the heights,

The players moaning in the night,

The rules were read, the flame-cannon spread

it's blast 'til goblins blazed with light.

 

Far over World's Edge Mountain s cold,

To dwarfhalls deep and karaks old,

We shall kill trolls, when six is rolled,

We'll thank the sprues from which we're mould.

[Snugg Thistlehammer]

I like it.

[baldbeachbum]

Very nice collection of short stories.  Look forward to reading some more.