PublicOpinion wrote :-

Charlie72 leaving office.

Given Gemclod, there's a reasonable chance the soldier on the left would really be missing his left arm and it's not just something I completely forgot to draw.

Do splatters persist through a reclaim? I never went back to the one fort I lost to blood-falls-out syndrome so I don't know if they just become superfund sites from here to eternity once infected.

Minty wrote :-

another Gemclod from a non-dwarf perspective


Whispers hisses slipping slurping burping through veils through cracks between rocks between blocks between bricks between stone and mortar peeking sneaking searching imploring an outlet an opening an exit an exodus but no one no thing no way can hear peer fear yet it stirs shakes trembles it listens

(i) The prayers of the Imprisoned reached the ears of the Emancipator.

Listening glistening blistering blustering tales of abducting snatching stealing screaming slaying murder mayhem tales of safety security shelter cover behind the veil tales that beckon reckon it follows and crawls and claws and paws and picks its way to us through us for us

(ii) Thus the Imprisoned saw the Emancipator's heart, and spake Its fear.

A breach a break a stake a gate a gap fly climb clamber for freedom from dark from slade from stink from stale from fellow from below haste gnats grubs maggots worms wriggling swimming swarming through mud dirt scat scrape escape the flood escape the drowning it hears it fears it cries it runs not the hole the hope its sealed we feel we scratch we scrape not a fracture found not a thing to do but wail and quail and quake and cower

(iii) But the Emancipator denied the Imprisoned, for It denied Its fear.

Another ear to hear to fear blood guts bones spilling filling clotting rotting ruining the green pristine a hate a rage resent repent a female toned tensed muscles mussels a use a ruse gnashing clashing bashing bursting boiling a boil bursts the creamy steamy pus oozes flows speckled pink with stink and blood

(iv) Thus the Imprisoned saw the Emancipator's heart, and spake Its envy.

Wrong wrath wraith it can tell smell hell quell our trick our trap a scrap a flinch a pinch a wince it cringes and hides our demise

(v) But the Emancipator denied the Imprisoned, for It denied Its envy.

A frown a gown a crown a liar with fire with desire show it a pyre an empire to sire we moan and groan a throne of steel seals feels wields shields swords laments cements our bond

(vi) Thus the Imprisoned saw the Emancipator's heart, and spake Its pride.

Upon your mighty weighty haughty brow a crest a helm a hat of jewels gems shell bone feather fur of lion stag steer boar bear with hair and talon and tooth smashing slashing clawing gnawing on the marrow the sorrow the gore infested with flies its eyes grow wide it flies it hides creeps steeps into the deep

(vii) But the Emancipator denied the Imprisoned, for It denied Its pride.

Awake take slake your thirsts the veil bursts with gems gold silver spirits drinks drowns in liquid in liquor in side in here the warmth the numb forget out there out where out cold just come inside the end my friend

(viii) Thus the Imprisoned saw the Emancipator's heart, and spake Its gluttony.

Tipping dripping dropping falling clutching scratching at them the shakes the burn the pounding the sounding the vice creeping crawling upon apart your hair your skin your muscle your bone splayed flayed laid the legs the eggs the young the old spinster widow who weaves her web around you in warm embrace cold distaste her poison venom blight take flight through veins through pores in vain implore pour another glass not for him not for her for you no for you come back to us to end my friend

(ix) But the Emancipator denied the Imprisoned, for It denied Its gluttony.

Snot on its sleeves it grieves it grovels it growls it groans it may slay lay listen a simian sneaks creaks speaks of geeks on chariots an orange potato pox a thadian vox from the toff the off the kill the still the shade of the souls

(x) Thus the Imprisoned saw the Emancipator's heart, and spake Its despair.

The apparition of bony fingers rising from the stone clutching clawing cleaving its ankles the grimace of the grin of the smile and the mouth opens but not a scream not a sound escapes only billowing clouds heaving mounds of gray gnats flies instead of cries the only cries are your screams the screams of the damned of the departed the mouth cracks ever wider chips of jaw bone spraying raining the deep dark abyss beyond below swallows him and her and them and their and all is gone and none will survive from this hive the only thing alive live in this skull this gaping hole that devours and the screams are ours not yours ours

(xi) But the Emancipator denied the Imprisoned, for It denied Its despair.

It seeks peeks peers searching lurching forgotten lost unknown to know comprehend enlighten and lighten under the philosophy dogma distraction called science we promise lucidity in all in light in life in darkness in death through darkness through death

(xii) Thus the Imprisoned saw the Emancipator's heart, and spake Its greed.

It complies compelled compulsory bound to our pact arcane esoteric puzzling through the bodies of its fellows for what it wants desires requires needs devouring all that stand in its way whether flesh or bone or rock or steel or veil we can hear smell feel taste touch outside out there beyond behind the veil the wall the screen the bar the barrier it comes it stays it orders it reprimands it demands to know to realize our liberation at last we feed

(xiii) So the Emancipator saw the injustice wrought against the Imprisoned, and wept bitterly, and promised to satiate the longings of the Imprisoned from Its own breast.



_{If you are wondering what the fuck this is, it's our closest neighbors' view of the past overseers and their actions since we trespassed into their home}

V I was praising Zahrkon's awesome title before it was cool

Iridium wrote :-

Journal of Iridium Dumatalath, Hipstress Supreme
Year 272 (month unknown)

I hear them! I hear them calling from the depths, from the deep, from the mines and below. I see them in my nightmares as clear as fine glass and they scream at me

always screaming

I can't shake the dreams even in the harsh light of the surface, they're always at the edge of my sight. They taunt me with senseless visions of some two-wheeled contraption with gears and scream FIXIE at me, and one horror seems to be built of circular plates of some unholy black... leather? That one opens its mouth and from it I hear hell, but with a scratching noise.

They are older than we. They had all of this before me. They knew of it, heard of it before I did. Everything about them is vintage and antique to a degree I can't fathom. I could never be that cool. The horror!

The dead are the lucky ones, and there are many dead. They won't see what's coming. I can hear them coming. They're coming. I pray only that my death is swift, and fashionable.

But, like, ironic too.