Efeneweemebeca, the Unthinkable Shovel

Dwarves, a species that hardly needs introduction. The Sons of the Mountain, Lords of the Underdark, Masters of Masonry, Kings of Craftsmanship. A proud and noble race who prides themselves on their glory and intelligence, and superiority to Elves of course.

But the Dwarves I write about today are, in fact, not that race. They are a race of belligerent drunkards who often have trouble with the most simple tasks, and yet they still manage to build some of the greatest works known in all the world. Of course, how they gather the brainpower to do so is beyond the reasoning of mortal beings. Perhaps it is their god, Armok, who grants them the powers to do such things, or maybe its simply their innate Dwarvishness, the world is likely not prepared for a full answer.

The Dwarves that our story is focused on in particular, are the denizens of the very famous, at least among Dwarves, Fortress of the Unthinkable Shovel. The Unthinkable Shovel was founded over 500 years ago, when the world of Timeless Feetstench was young-ish at the tender, toddler-like, age of 250.

Of course exactly how these Dwarves reaches such a peaceful, and terribly named, place like Equis has yet to be mentioned. So, let us begin what may be called a 'Prologue' to our actual story, shall we? Though i think ill just call it . . .

Slaves to Armok, God of Blood

Chapter Two One: Dwarf Fortress

Dwarven Fortress, 'Of Little Note' - Year of Armok, 250

Facy Okungetku attempted to wipe the sweat from his brow, but was ultimately unsuccessful due to the rather odd looking hat the dwarf wore. It was a large thing, resembling the top hats some humans were so fond of, with an added 'addition'(read: crudely stitched add-on) of what he learned was called a 'Wedding Vale'. He had no idea what this was of course, he had merely seen in in one of the main stockpiles and decided he liked it. This was a common occurrence as Dwarves liked being, a term they learned from human traders, 'Fabulous'.

Of course Facy's outfit was radically different from his fancy head piece, in fact it was quite grubby. His shirt was made out of what appeared to be an old potato sack, fashioned into some crude tunic. His pants were no better, and had a stark color difference, being made of the 'finest' plant filaments and leaves. His boots were rather non-descript pieces of old leader, except for the emeralds encrusted all over them in large amounts of course. Nothing to see here.

The reason for Facys sweat was not the amount of work he was under of course, he was a Dwarf and does not tire through mere manual labor. Rather, it was the ever-present 'Sky' that stretched above his head, punctuated by a glowing yellow orb known as 'the Sun', to some 'Dwarf-bane'. For it is known that to spend any large amounts of time under the Sun is to risk ones sanity, something that Facy has in abundant amounts of course.

The particular task that Facy was performing was digging out a channel with his trusty pick. The task had been ordered by the King as he mumbled something about 'Bloody Elephants' and 'Filthy Elves', both perfectly reasonable concerns in the eyes of most Dwarves.

Facy had been going at his task with vigor, expected of any Dwarf, for several hours when his pick struck something rather solid. This wasnt too unusual, so he merely took another swing while putting a bit more strength into his blow.

Tink

The sound was punctuated by his pick bounding off the surface of whatever he had found.

Kneeling down, Facy used his ungloved hands to pull back the dirt directly around where his pick had struck, looking for the material that dared defy Dwarven steel. When enough dirt had been removed, Facy took a good look and was couldnt contain a gasp.

For what lay beneath the dirt was a bright, one might say hideously so, pink piece of stone. Engraved into it were runes of many shapes and sizes, all far beyond Facys' meager linguistic skills. The engraved stone appeared to extend beyond what he had uncovered, hinting at it being rather large.

Facy was quick to retrieve his pick-axe and begin running inside to alert the King of this. If one listened carefully as he re-entered the fortress they would hear him mutter to himself,

"Obviously of Dwarven Make . . ."

Two Months Later

The large, and grotesquely pink, portal was fully revealed. It had taken two full months to uncover and move the monstrosity closer to the entrance of the Fortress. The King had originally ordered it be brought inside, only to cancel the order, citing that,

"The expansion wouldn't be symmetrical and would make some diagonal entrances to the rooms . . ."

Whatever that meant, the thoughts of the King are often outside the realm of understanding for most of his subjects. He often said things such as this, sometimes raging at those around him or sitting eerily in his office staring into nothing, with orders still somehow managing to make it to various areas of the fortress.

It is of note that upon being brought next to the entrance, and a hearty application of dwarven engineering(Read: bashing it with a hammer), the portal activated, and had not shut afterwards. It was even uglier than the gateway itself, a swirling turquoise with varying shades, each of them more disgustingly bright than the last. The runes glowed with a very out of place black, contrasting sharply against the 'Hot Pink', as dubbed by Human traders, surface.

The King had gotten it in his mind that there must be something valuable on the other side of this portal, and so had organized the standard Dwarven Colonization Team(TM). Seven hardy fools given two pickaxes, plump helmet and spawn, a wagon and some booze. All one needs to found a thriving civilization.

And so at the beginning of Spring, in the Year of Armok 251, a new chapter of Dwarven History opens . . .

Strike the Earth!