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    Home Unlabelled Dwarf Fortress My dwarf Titanslayer reveling in the blood of the Marsh Titan in his little jute skirt.

    Dwarf Fortress My dwarf Titanslayer reveling in the blood of the Marsh Titan in his little jute skirt.

    July 06, 2021

    Dwarf Fortress My dwarf Titanslayer reveling in the blood of the Marsh Titan in his little jute skirt.

    My dwarf Titanslayer reveling in the blood of the Marsh Titan in his little jute skirt.

    Posted: 06 Jul 2021 01:01 AM PDT

    First time using hunting dogs and the giraffes were their first prey. So proud.

    Posted: 05 Jul 2021 01:21 PM PDT

    Interview with the Madman - Part 1 (DF Tournament VI)

    Posted: 05 Jul 2021 09:25 PM PDT

    (This is part of the continuing story of Kikrost Osodlokast, an entrant in the 6th DF Gladiator Tournament. Stay tuned for more!)

    -----

    "Good morning, Kikrost. How are we feeling today?"

    As he settles into his seat, the doctor offers a smile – a mirthless thing, but warm nonetheless, like the ember made by woodsman's bow-drill. It is offered, as ever, in the hope that it might find purchase in the kindling of his dour patient.

    But Kikrost says nothing. He has made no complaint in these many days of travel, as the bitter sun and its unwelcome light bleed through the wagon's canvas. Even the chains at his ankles, which rattle gently with every bump in the road, have earned no response. There is only the axe, and the slow grinding of the whetstone which Kikrost drags along its edge. But this purpose, at least, is an improvement.

    The doctor abandons his first question in favor of another. "I see you're sharpening your axe. Do you like it? How's the weight?"

    "Fine make," he replies, his gaze never leaving the blade. "Good Dwarf iron, from Rintorngalak."

    "Oh, is it?" the doctor chimes, pretending not to notice the crafter's mark on the axe's head. "That's quite sharp of you to notice. And it looks like you're sharpening it well."

    Kikrost grunts in affirmation. "Needs a clean cut."

    The doctor sees an opening. "What do you need to cut down, Kikrost? Trees?"

    There is a sudden waver in his hand, and his eyes seem to lose focus. For a moment he seems to be staring elsewhere, a time and place away from the wagon, away from the long road to the Arena and the death sentence that waits there.

    "No. Not trees," he murmurs. "Bodies."

    "Magicians," the doctor offers. "You mentioned magicians before."

    Kikrost's clarity seems to return. "Yes. I must cut down the magicians. For what they did to Bridgepit." He returns to the axe, to his whetstone, with renewed fervor.

    The doctor's breath catches. This is the first time Kikrost has mentioned the fortress – the site of his crimes, of his madness.

    "I have never been to Bridgepit," he says cheerfully. "Tell me – how did it come by its name?"

    Kikrost pauses, staring off as he grinds. "We built a bridge. Over a pit." A few more passes of the whetstone, and he continues. "There was a little crack that went down and down. We widened it, dug deeper. Found good iron, good stone."

    "And the bridge?"

    "Goblins. Forward base – strike out, and retreat. One way in. One way out." He stops to test the edge of the axe against his thumb, caressing it gently. "Angered their masters. Sent a siege, to break us. Make an example."

    "Yes, I heard about the battle. The bards still sing about it." The doctor adjusts his glasses, choosing to remain silent about the saga's second half - and Kikrost's part in it.

    "Bridge was widen enough for three. Marksdwarves shot their legs from below – like flying hail, but upwards. Dozens fell over the edge, tripping over each other, slipping on blood. We slew the rest." His gaze wavers again. "Some of ours fell, too. Screamed on the way down."

    "You are not the first soldier to lose sleep after a battle," the doctor offers.

    Kikrost shakes his head. "Only the first time. Haulers had it worse." He flips the axe to the other side of its head, comparing the battered edge to its sharpened twin. After a moment, he lets out a tired sigh. "If I had known before... if I had gone down, and seen how much needed to be done... I would have started the work sooner."

    The road dips down into a hill tunnel, one of many dwarven shortcuts. But it is not creeping shade or the pressing of the earth that sends a chill down the doctor's spine.

    "What work?" he asks, fearing the answer.

    "The butchering." The bitter sun vanishes at last, and Kikrost offers nothing more. There is only the axe.

    submitted by /u/Cheapskate-DM
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