ASCII art reward/M-S

ASCII Art Rewards (alphabetically by contributor)
A – F	G – L	M – S	T – Z

MacGyvers_Mullet

Rognar:(11 November 2007)

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The sword slid through the goblin's throat and the dying creature fell to the ground sputtering. Rognar had been born into a world of violence, and he would not share it with these stinking beasts. Striding upon their unnumbered broken bodies, the warrior reached the summit of the corpse mound and surveyed the carnage. The siege had been broken. Here and there, a wimpering slave of darkness put up resistance or simply clung to life, but soon they would all be vanquished and the sun would bring a glorious dawn to the blood-red battlefield. Rognar smiled. It was a great day to be a dwarf.

-Tarn

Neandar Begin:(3 July 2008)

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He would never let the fiend escape again. That was what Neandar the dwarf thought before he flung himself into the black air of the chasm after the skulking kobold thief. For many seconds they fell, time enough for Neandar to recall his short life and short career on the Fortress Guard. Wet matter slammed into the dwarf's face and gave way. The dwarf smashed through a dozen giant spider webs and hit the ground running, hot on the trail of the kobold scum.

A huge standing ring of fire dominated the floor of the chasm. The kobold made for the hell portal with all speed. Neandar stopped in his tracks. It was one thing to plunge to certain death in order to retrieve a granite puzzle box. It was quite another to cast oneself into a dimension of ultimate evil. Yet these kobold cowards could not be allowed to run about as they pleased. Lifting his axe over his head, the dwarf charged into the portal of doom.

-Zach

MasturNater

(30 November 2015)

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Shouts could be heard further down the mine tunnel. None of the dwarves figured they had too much longer to live. The rules had been broken and the miners had begun to harvest adamantine from the forbidden ore vein. At first it appeared that everything would be okay. The magic ore fell away from the tunnel wall leaving a black hole beyond. It didn't seem like a large enough portal for a demon to get through, but the miners weren't as well versed in demonology as Kogan was.

“We have to get out of here,” said Kogan. “Now.”

The assistant scribe rolled up all the scrolls he could carry as Kogan barked orders. The dwarves could smell smoke and the sounds of chaos were growing closer. Together, Kogan and the scribe made their way out of the library and through the twisting corridors of the fortress. As they watched the other dwarves rush by they knew there was no telling who would survive.

-Tarn and Zach

McDoomhammer

(5 May 2008)

T,.ggUggg..TT------,TT,.T.U.UU.,..TTT

The three chosen warriors left the Citadel of Hope, strapped on with all manner of magic weapons that the Council of Elders had presented them. Shizenbubin was the tracker of the group, always hot on the trail of danger. Shizentubin was her sister, skilled in the ways of the blade so that no enemy neck was safe. Azoul Buck was the leader. She ran her fingers through her short blond hair, her muscular arm flexing, covered with the crude tattoos of her tribe.

This would be a short quest indeed. A party of goblins had ambushed the prince on his way to the castle. All the heroes need do is return him unspoiled. It would be easy to intercept them then on their way to the Black Fortress, given Shizenbubin's incredible skill. However, time was not on their side. Goblins grew bored easily and might make sport of the prince's bodily members. Azoul set the pace, a quick trot through the woods. She smiled at the easily-won glory that awaited her squad at the end of the journey.

McMe

(13 January 2010)

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A knock came at the mead hall gate. A powerful blow, nearly tearing the doors from their hinges. King Wrathbeard drew his sword and strode to the entrance, flanked by his elite warriors. He nodded to his men and they unbarred the door. The doors swung open, revealing the enormous, heavily-muscled body of Grum, half-giant, lord of the hills.

"Where are my chickens?" growled Grum. "You are to offer me four fried chickens on every Tuesday! Friday it is!"

Wrathbeard stroked his whiskers. "What have you done for me lately, Grum?" asked the king. "Goblins still haunt the highways. Jackal men still harass my herds."

Grum left the hall in confusion, sure he had been tricked. Back on his hill, Grum watched as a carriage was stopped by goblin bandits and the nobles stripped of their valuables. Feeling his stomach rumbling, Grum stood and ran toward the highway.

"Where is the rest of the gold!" yelled the goblin.

The nobles coward, fearing for their lives. The goblin raised his whip, better to lash them again. A huge hand caught him by the wrist. Grum tossed the goblin into the air. The nobles screamed. The half-giant scowled.

"I will have my chickens," he said, "whether you live or die."

Md5i

(12 May 2007)

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"That ought to keep 'em out," Doran said confidently, patting the granite block which he had just slid into place. Ever since the Baron had insisted on mining out the gold vein in the wall, Doran had been dealing with the rats. It couldn't be helped. Gold was gold after all, but it was just Doran's luck that the miners had broken through to a large chasm not far from the craftsdwarf's room.

The dwarf laid down on his bed and began to think about the next project. A puzzlebox, perhaps, something challenging. Just as Doran was drifting off into dreams of the design, he heard a scratching on the block.

"Ha! Keep trying you little demons," the dwarf chuckled. The scratching continued. It was irritating, but the dwarf could block it out. Then there was a grating scrape as the block moved an inch. The dwarf sat up and stared at the wall in amazement. Impossible, he thought.

The block slid forward further. Small, clawed fingers worked their way around the stone until a gray, furry hand grasped one corner of the block. The stone turned slightly.

Doran seized his chisel from the nearby table and leapt toward the block, stabbing downward. The tool grazed the hand, leaving a spatter of blood on the stone. There was a shriek, and the bleeding hand disappeared into the dark crack.

The craftsdwarf pushed the block back into place and backed away, chisel in hand. After a moment, the scratching began anew.

(07 Jun 2007)

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"Leave me be, you fiend!" Doran yelled, his chisel held toward the stone block. The scratching became louder and more persistent.

Once again, the block moved, but this time no fingers poked through the crack. The beast had learned. The slab of granite was being pushed directly from behind, and it glided slowly toward Doran. The dwarf backed toward his bed.

The block stopped sliding. There was now enough space to allow something to pass through the hole in the wall, but the block was large and Doran could not see behind it. For a long moment, nothing stirred. The craftsdwarf knelt and opened the chest by the foot of his bed, muttering.

At once, a creature leapt from behind the block and faced Doran. It was a ratman, ravening, its long yellow incisors surrounded by froth, its patchy-furred flesh stretched tight over its starved body. The thing hungered and would have Doran for its meal.

The dwarf stood, a vial in his hand. The ratman lunged forward and Doran hurled the vial at the beast's face. The glass shattered, and the creature clutched its black protruding eyes as they steamed. Doran rushed forward and stabbed the ratman repeatedly with the chisel until it stopped moving.

"Pity about that. I was going to ask Mul to do some etchings for me."

(15 Jul 2007)

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"Yes, I'm sorry, Mul, it would have been a thrilling project," Doran said, pausing to take another swig of whiskey. "I can't believe how much trouble we've been having with ratmen lately."

"Perhaps there's a larger beast down in the chasm riling them up," Mul replied. "Kogan's child was taken not long ago."

"Yes, surely something unusual is afoot."

Meanwhile, Kogan stood with his axe by the chasm bridge. Ever since the boy Aliz had been lost, the soldier had tirelessly patrolled the walkways along the deepest parts of the rift, killing dozens of ratmen and a few large spiders. He would not be satisfied until the depths were devoid of life.

A foul wind blew up from the chasm. Kogan leaned to the side and peered down over the edge of the bridge. The impact was sudden and the dwarf was knocked on his back in the middle of the bridge. Kogan heard the sound of stone being scraped without respect, and he.found himself staring into the rotten eyes of a giant decaying reptile.

Met

(June 2011)

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"I am innocent of these crimes!" cried Fuglin as he was dragged away. Sitting in the dungeon cell, he could recall the cheers of the dwarves as the judge pronounced the verdict. It wasn't fair. The adamantine wasn't his. He was just holding it for somebody. Now in prison, he was left to rot. A guard stopped by his cell and poured a cup of gruel on the cold stone floor. Anger and despair were all he felt now. From now on he dared not hope.

--

It had begun as such a small thing. Fuglin and the goblin had known each other since the construction of the fortress. Fuglin was young then.

One day Fuglin visited the goblin, this time locked in the stockade.

"You know the path through the stone?" said the goblin. "The one we built as children? You must go there and bring me what you find. It is the key to my release."

(July 2011)

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The space was not built for more than a child, a narrow, twisting tunnel winding its way through the foundations of the fortress. At the bottom, Fuglin saw a light, a silvery glowing rock at the end of the tunnel. This must be it, thought Fuglin, a bribe to set the goblin free. Hastily, Fuglin took up his pick and chiseled off a piece of the silver metal.

Something lay beyond the tunnel. A hole the size of a dwarf's fist opened where Fuglin struck. He could hear a strange howling within, no doubt another subterranean jungle. The dwarf didn't stay to find out. He squirmed as fast as he could, finally reaching the exit where he found the goblin, free from his bonds.

"You survived," said the goblin. "Keep the adamantine as a token of our friendship."

"Wait!" cried Fuglin, but the goblin had disappeared.

(October 2011)

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What happened next was hard to say. There was a lot of smoke and fire. Dwarves ran screaming through the fortress. Captains shouted orders to soldiers they could not see through the clouds of burning vapor. Fuglin was scared beyond reason. He tried to follow the others, ducking when the monsters swooped down.

It seemed it would never end, then Fuglin came rolling out of the fortress gate just as another fire blast rocketed overhead. As it was, the demons could not, or would not set foot outside the fortress. What few dwarves that were left gathered at the hills below. Fuglin recognized a blacksmith which with he had apprenticed. Before he could speak the blacksmith pointed his finger.

"He is the one!" the dwarf cried. "Look! He still has the rock in his paw!"

Fuglin looked down, having until now forgotten the adamantine in his hand.

(July 2014)

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"You have a visitor," said the prison guard.

It was the goblin, dressed in a dark cloak. Fuglin had blamed his fate on the goblin, but now that he saw him it all seemed so pointless. In the morning, he would go to the hammerer to be forged anew. Fuglin began to wonder why the goblin showed up at all if not to gloat at his handiwork.

"Take this glass pill," said the goblin, holding out his hand, "and bite down with your teeth. Death will come swiftly."

The goblin dropped the pill into Fuglin's open hand. The fluid in the green glass capsule looked black and foreboding. Still, it beat a humiliating public execution. The goblin turned and left without saying another word. Fuglin put the pill in his mouth and bit down hard. A moment's dizziness was all he had time to experience.

"Where am I?" asked Fuglin.

"Quiet," said the goblin. "We are in the catacombs. The dwarves believe you committed suicide."

"But I did commit suicide," mumbled Fuglin.

"You can take that up with your deity later," said the goblin. "For now we must get you out of these funeral shrouds and escape before we are discovered."

(October 2015)

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Why had he been rescued? Fuglin was a traitor and had to be forged anew, but to do that, he had to die. The goblin held his hand as they exited the tomb. There was a family of dwarves mourning just outside. As they passed, the goblin held Fuglin close, pretending to be lovers lost in grief. It worked this time, but in order to start a new life, they needed Fuglin to exchange his sackcloth for real clothes. The goblin led Fuglin through a maze of corridors to the fortress market.

“You look like a scribe to me,” said the goblin.

“Like those creeps that spend their whole lives in the library?” complained Fuglin.

“Forget your old life,” said the goblin. “That is what it means to serve in the Order of Nadir.”

(November 2015)

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Writing prose under the pen name Robinor, Fuglin began his new life as a scribe. Life was different out in the periphery. The monastery where the scribe worked was built into a hillside deep in the Forbidden Forest. Not many people would risk a journey there, but Robinor's works ended up being so skillful and filled with such beauty that he gained the one thing he could no longer afford, fame.

None of the brothers spoke to Robinor as they had all taken vows of silence, but the dwarf could still tell that they were pretty mad about all the visitors they had been attracting lately. Robinor greeted his fans with the humility one would expect from a monk, but it was easy to tell that the dwarf was succumbing to the sin of pride.

One day, Robinor was praying in the shrine to Nadir when a bird landed on the creepy statue of the god of the depths. It was a parrot, out of place in the cold northern climate. Robinor stood on his feet and walked over to the statue.

“Pretty bird,” said Robinor. “Pretty bird.”

“You are all going to die,” said the parrot.

(December 2015)

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“What?” asked Robinor, stupidly to the bird.

“Fuglin,” said the parrot.

The monk's face went white as a sheet. Someone had taught the parrot to speak these words, someone connected to his old life. The scribe, Robinor, had thought he had left all of that behind. Occasionally a dwarven survivor from Robinor's old fortress would appear at the monastery, but they never recognized him. This was something far more sinister. It had to be the goblin.

“You have a visitor,” croaked a monk.

“Your holy vow?” asked Robinor, panicking.

“See for yourself,” said the monk. “Then you will understand.”

It could only be one person, the phantom from the past. The goblin stood at the entrance of the building, the parrot on his shoulder. He smiled at Robinor as he approached.

“Fuglin!” said the goblin. “It's been a long time, my friend.”

“I am no longer that person,” said Robinor. “I have a new life here.”

“You have the life I gave you,” said the goblin, the smile fading from his lips.

(January 2016)

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“The king has grown attached to the writings of this 'Robinor,'” said the goblin. “This puts you, Fuglin, in the unique position to get close to him. You remember this?”

The glass pill was unmistakable. The black fluid danced inside as the goblin shook it in Fuglin's face. It was the ill-fated dwarf's job to poison the king in any way he could. When Fuglin went to retrieve his writing material, the goblin took him by the arm and removed him forcibly from the building. He would not be needing any of that stuff where he was going. Fuglin fell silent as he boarded the wagon that the goblin drove with its team of mules.

On the way to the capital many travelers stopped the wagon to ask if the dwarven monk was indeed the famous Robinor. The dwarf writer allowed himself to forget the evil quest he was on. Word spread quickly of the scribe's journey to see the king.

“You better do what you're told,” warned the goblin.

Metorical

(November 2009)

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Dwarves hurled boulders down on the invaders as they advanced by ladder. Sharkra smiled, for this meant they had run out of ammunition for their war machines. She dodged out of the way as a human invader plunged down past her to a rocky doom. Sharkra grimaced. Machines or not, these dwarves would fight the death to save their blasted mountain. At last she reached the battlements.

Battle master Sharkra was an evil genius of combat. It was rumored she had sacrificed everything she loved for riches and lost it all gambling the same night. Her very aura smelled of the underworld. Now she soldiered for anyone who would pay her. Pay her and her elite troop of mercenaries, the Unholy Band. This time is was rat-lord Gomra that hired her.

Sharkra pulled herself onto the fortress wall. Members of the Unholy Band leapt over the battlements, light on their feet. Together they advanced on the dwarves. Sharkra wielded a giant mace, while the Band pulled rapiers from polished sheaths.

“We have you,” said Sharkra. “Throw down your weapons and die quickly.”

Something sailed through the air and struck Sharkra in the face, a glass flask filled with fuming liquid. The glass shattered sending pain coursing through the evil woman’s body. She put her hand to her face and it came back covered in slime. She straightened up and looked around. The Unholy Band was laughing at her. Sadly, this wasn’t the first time.

“What are you standing around for?” screeched Sharkra. “Kill them.”

The vain and evil Sharkra pulled a mirror from her pack which she carried at all times. Her face was never much to begin with, but now it was utterly ruined. Gomra, thought Sharkra, it is all his fault. The warrior woman whistled and the Unholy Band followed her as she retreated from the fortress.

“It is said,” intoned dwarf captain Duzelm, “that evil shall always turn upon itself.”

“What is your plan master?” asked Bally, the dwarven squire.

“We shall follow this villain back to Lord Gomra,” said Duzelm “and catch all the rats in the same trap. Go to the humans in Gelthtown, they have the quick steeds we require.”

Before the day was through, the men of Gelthtown had assembled the horses, along with master rider Jorna. She was blond and lean, draped in the leathers of a Gelthtown tracker. The dwarves climbed onto the horses and strapped themselves in.

“Are you sure you can keep up with the Unholy Band?” asked Captain Duzelm.

Jorna laughed. “Just pray I don’t reach Gomra before Sharkra does,” she said.

Midelne

Fish Dwarf Begin: (6 August 2007)

~~@~~X

They called him Fish-Dwarf. He was the only worker in the outpost willing to brave the depths of the cave river in order to service the floodgate mechanisms when they became clogged with the seasonal muds.

It was that time again. The farming gates weren't operational, and the planting had to begin immediately. Fish-Dwarf had his tools, and the special fins he had manufactured were secured to broad feet. Everything was ready. The frightened faces of the onlooking children would not dissuade him. Fish-Dwarf understood that this was his calling. He was the only one that could save the outpost. The dwarf inhaled, and his chest swelled to nearly double its original size. Clearing his mind, the dwarf dove into the water.

(8 November 2007)

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Fish-Dwarf swam down the narrow tunnel to the gate mechanism. The water was murky and even with his superior vision he could only just see his hands sweeping ahead of him.

The upper portion of the mechanism appeared suddenly before him. The dwarf inspected the machinery quickly, mindful of his air, yet confident that he had at least a few minutes left. The top assembly was clear, so the mud must have worked itself into the lower gears. Fish-Dwarf pushed his way down.

The swollen rotting face of a lizardman greeted him, twisted into the gears. Not again, Fish-Dwarf thought, dejected. It would take at least three trips to dislodge all of the chunks. The dwarf removed the chisel from his tool case and began working it into the sticking jam.

(10 December 2007)

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"Fish-Dwarf, you have saved us!" the children shouted as the wet dwarf pulled his way up on to the bank. He had finished his last cleaning run, and already the floodgate was rising, ushering in the waters that would prepare the way for the summer harvest.

"Truly, Fish-Dwarf, your mastery of the murky depths never ceases to amaze us. You are a hero," the Mayor Kogan said, offering Fish-Dwarf a mug of the outpost's best.

"I am glad I could help," Fish-Dwarf said, draining the mug in one motion. "If only the river waters were whiskey, my life would be complete."

"I fear we would never see you again if that were the case!" the Mayor jested.

Fish-Dwarf pondered a moment. "Indeed. Yet the search for the Whiskey River is a quest for the young, I'm afraid."

"We here at Gladanvil are happy to have you," the Mayor replied as the crowd dispersed. As the others left, the mayor pulled Fish-Dwarf aside.

"-- and yet, I fear you cannot stay long. I've received word from King Dorazar. He has heard tell of your talents, and our liaison from the Mountainhome has conveyed his request for your presence at the capital."

"My presence? Surely the engineers of the Mountainhome can manage the mighty floodgates and channels of Steelpoint without my help."

"It isn't farming trouble, Fish-Dwarf," the Mayor said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Many fisherdwarves have been lost to the waters. There is something lurking in the Lake of Columns."

(18 January 2008)

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Innumerable stalactites hung from the ceiling of the expansive gem-lit cavern, many dipping down through the still surface of the black waters. This was the Lake of Columns, the source of life for Steelpoint, and now a place of dread.

Fish-Dwarf fit the blades into place on his fins. The citizens of Steelpoint did not know what the creature was, but no fewer than seven fisherdwarves had been lost at the shore. No matter, thought Fish-Dwarf. King Dorazar had charged him to slay the lurking threat, and that is what he would do. Still, the nature of the creature eluded him. It had been years since his last combat with an aquatic beast, and then it was only the cave crocodiles and lizardmen that occasionally harassed his own community. Steelpoint would not have sent for him over such a triviality. Hefting his mighty trident, Fish-Dwarf nodded to the gathered onlookers before leaping into the lake.

The water was clear, and he could see the broad columns well ahead of him down to where they joined the submerged floor of the cavern. Behind any of these formations, the beast could lurk.

There! Nestled between three columns was a gigantic bloated form on the lake bottom. Fish-Dwarf swam closer, almost drifting. What manner of beast was this? Great tentacles it had, and a toothy maw which flopped open as it slumbered, surrounded by half-consumed bodies of the dead.

Fish-Dwarf was almost upon it now, his trident lifted above his head as he sank slowly toward the sleeping fiend. As he prepared to strike, the lurid thing's lone eye flashed open.

(15 May 2008)

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Tentacles lashed out, looping around Fish-Dwarf's torso and pinning his arms to his chest. A force stronger than any he had ever experienced crushed his ribs and a stream of bubbles shot from his mouth as the breath was squeezed from his body. Fish-Dwarf desperately slashed at the tentacles with his fin blades and as his vision faded to black he saw that the water was thick with curling purple ribbons of the foul beast's tainted blood. The monster's grip loosened and Fish-Dwarf was able to free his arms. His sight had not returned, but when he stabbed his trident downward, he felt it sink deep into the creature. The monster's body convulsed and it raced into the open water, Fish-Dwarf still clinging to the imbedded weapon.

I cannot let go so long as I cannot see, or I will surely be devoured, Fish-Dwarf thought, though the beast continued on into the depths at such speed that the diver could not maintain his bearings, and suddenly in the back of his mind arose a strange sensation... it was the need for air, such as he had not experienced for many years. A tingling came to his throat and nose, and his head began to feel numb as he became more desperate for breath, and yet slowly, his vision was returning.

The beast slowed, its energy spent, and it settled on to the lake bottom, unmoving. Fish-Dwarf jammed the trident into it a few times; the thing was dead. Now, the surface! Fish-Dwarf pulled his weapon from the monster and swam upward, but he stopped immediately. As far as he could see in the now-dark water, a smooth ceiling of limestone greeted him. The monster had fled into a great crack in the lake bottom, so far and so deep that the light from the gem lamps was no longer visible. Just the endless water and rock of the submerged tomb of Fish-Dwarf, he thought, as he chose a direction and swam.

Fish Dwarf End: (1 July 2008)

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He had chosen the wrong direction. Either that or the beast had dragged Fish-Dwarf so far into the mountain that the fires of the underworld were closer than the light of the lamps. His breath was long since gone -- moving forward was all that could keep him from panicking. After every few kicks, the dwarf would reach up to feel the limestone. If anything, the rock was closing in. No... what's this? His hand curled up around a sharp corner. Fish-Dwarf grabbed it firmly with both hands and pulled, launching himself upward.

The dwarf fully expected to meet a wall of rock, but instead he glided freely until at long last he broke the surface of the water, gasping for air. As the dwarf calmed down, he realized that he could still see nothing. He felt walls close by in all directions, as if he had just swum up a shaft, though there was a ledge overhanging the water on to which he could haul himself and rest his weary body. Fish-Dwarf passed in and out