Jewel posted:

Which tileset is this?

program666 posted:

building good quality poo poo to manage humors is an aspect that I really like of this game but there is too few pressure to do so, you just need a big dinner room with some statues and everyone is happy forever. The only real pressure to do it is for nobles' rooms.

KillHour posted:

If it's an artifact furniture, just like any other piece of furniture. If it's an item, you can designate a stockpile that only accepts artifact quality items of the specific type.

DarkAvenger211 posted:

How do you specifically place artifacts somewhere?

KillHour posted:

If it's an artifact furniture, just like any other piece of furniture. If it's an item, you can designate a stockpile that only accepts artifact quality items of the specific type.

Additional work was completed -- cleaned up some problems with partner dance display, got the mercenary and monster hunting resident occupations working a bit better, handled petitions that are ignored, did a bit with phrase length and registers in musical form descriptions, a little more child decision-making... I also added a numbered tag to reactions so that they won't use up entire bone stacks making multiple products if you don't want them to (the dwarves were making giant piles of bone plectrums out of a single yak skeleton all at once). I don't remember if this was already possible in some way, but there's a new tag anyway.

My dwarves accepted a monster hunter's request to descend into the lowest depths of the fortress. She's beating up troglodytes down there.

canepazzo posted:

Did dwarves always move stone and other obstacles out of the way when building? I distinctly remember getting cancelled build job messages if a piece of dacite or someting was in the way, but lately I noticed that dwarves actively move the stuff out of the building space just one square away, and then build whatever they were doing.

I didn't even update versions lately - are my dwarves getting smarter?

canepazzo posted:

Did dwarves always move stone and other obstacles out of the way when building? I distinctly remember getting cancelled build job messages if a piece of dacite or someting was in the way, but lately I noticed that dwarves actively move the stuff out of the building space just one square away, and then build whatever they were doing.

I didn't even update versions lately - are my dwarves getting smarter?

king salmon posted:

do dwarves get a happy thought from items that are in a stockpile?

program666 posted:

building good quality poo poo to manage humors is an aspect that I really like of this game but there is too few pressure to do so, you just need a big dinner room with some statues and everyone is happy forever. The only real pressure to do it is for nobles' rooms.

Crimson Harvest posted:

Does DFHack cause lots of crashes? 3 out of my 5 attempted forts today crashed before the first annual autosave.

Crimson Harvest posted:

Does DFHack cause lots of crashes? 3 out of my 5 attempted forts today crashed before the first annual autosave.

Crimson Harvest posted:

Does DFHack cause lots of crashes? 3 out of my 5 attempted forts today crashed before the first annual autosave.

GenericOverusedName posted:

It tends to prevent more than it causes. You can use the quicksave command to save whenever you want without going thru the menus. Also, seasonal autosave is a good idea.

Moridin920 posted:

Sometimes it'll cause a crash but that's an abnormally high number of crashes.

It's usually only if you try to do some series of commands the game takes exception to.

necrotic posted:

There is still a bug around building next to trees (leaves maybe?). Make sure that ain't happening.

GreyPowerVan posted:

First solution to crashes is just re-download df

GreyPowerVan posted:

First solution to crashes is just re-download df

Dongattack posted:

You guys have any tips for finding bears to make into WAR BEARS? Afaik you can't trade for them, and i have yet to make a fort where i have seen a bear.

my dad posted:

This might sound silly, but you might want to try out adventure mode and ask the locals about regions until you find one they mention having bears in, and then settle there in fortress mode.

my dad posted:

This might sound silly, but you might want to try out adventure mode and ask the locals about regions until you find one they mention having bears in, and then settle there in fortress mode.

Moridin920 posted:

I forgot how but there's a way to enable an elf trader person that you can negotiate trade agreements with. Usually the elves have a lot of animals and you can request they bring bears next time.

posted:

Here's an interview with Software Engineering Daily.

posted:

Bookcases, handling some issues with long-term residents staying in your inn's rooms properly, more location interface stuff... it's a process. I managed to get a skeletal 64 bit DF program running, finally, and I'll continue to work out problems with that once this release is out (this release will still be 32).

quote:

I managed to get a skeletal 64 bit DF program running, finally, and I'll continue to work out problems with that once this release is out (this release will still be 32).

quote:

64 bit DF

scamtank posted:

so uh what did the 64-bit thing mean again

quote:

"v,"v".v",vvv",.@,.v"vv,v""

Doran floated disembodied above a scene of unimaginable carnage. They
were everywhere, the cave voles, and not a plump helmet remained
unscathed. Bits and pieces of their torn purple flesh lay in the mud
-- no, these voles did not eat everything they killed! It is a dream,
a dream! Doran thought, but he remained in that exact place, fixed in
that posture, branded to the dank air as the massacre continued for
what seemed like an age.

The dwarf awoke in a cold sweat. Casting aside his bedding, he ran
out of his room without putting on his boots. He had to see it -- he
had to see the farm!

~~~~vv,...,,.\@,.

Doran was greeted by a scene of total devastation. Into the mud, his
dwarf-toes sank with his broken heart. The mushrooms were gone --
devoured. Slowly, the dwarf crawled through the muck, unable to come
to terms with his loss. He found himself against the cavern wall, his
hand resting on his dull trowel. He treasured it, but it was as old
as he was, and now it would serve him one last time.

With renewed vigor, Doran stood, facing the barren mud flat with wild
eyes. Cave voles don't travel far and they always nested by water.
Their burrows would be nearby. The trowel's edges might not be keen,
but that wouldn't stop him from bifurcating every last vermin he
ferreted out from their stinking pits. Crazed, the dwarf ran toward
the river bank.

~~~~,%.%@/%%,.V,....

Down the trowel hacked, pressing apart another vole with its blunted
side. Doran ground the tool hard into the moist earth, then slid it
toward him across the mud to break off adhering chunks. Pieces of the
vile pests littered the river bank, and the river itself ran red.
Forty he had slew.

Suddenly his feet felt unsteady as the cave rumbled around him. Up
from the ground tore a giant vole, as large as a cave crocodile. No
doubt it was this demonic creature which had drawn the brood around it
and haunted his dreams with visions of wanton crop slaughter.

Yet Doran felt no fear. This was his time. He held his filthy trowel
out in one hand and with the other he pointed straight at the fiend.
"Your nightmare hours are over, devil-vole! A stab of the trowel for
every mushroom that perished! Even if I die, our blood will nourish
the next crop. You can never stop the harvest."

~~~~?,."."@"""

Doran leapt upon the beast and brought the trowel down repeatedly, but
the dull blade deflected off of its demon's hide and was eventually
knocked out of his hand, landing in the mud with a splatter. The
giant vole shook back and forth, attempting to dislodge the dwarf, but
Doran held on to its disgusting matted hair tightly with his hands.
Crawling forward, one fist of fur at a time, Doran straddled the
thing's neck and bit down violently on one of its veiny ears. Vile
vole ichor filled his mouth but the dwarf was crazed, and he gurgled
and shouted as he tore the ear free from the monster with the sound of
torn cloth.

Reeling, the giant vole fell to its side, finally tossing Doran to the
ground. There! The soft underbelly. Over a thousand mushrooms had
been devoured -- many stabs of the trowel, indeed! Revenge! Doran
seized up the muddy, blunted weapon and plunged forward, eviscerating
the foul creature, covering himself with gore as if he were harvesting
its guts.

The red glow that clouded his vision faded and the dwarf fell to his
knees. The foe was dead, but he was ruined. After grieving for some
time, he could see nothing else to do but rise and return to bed,
leaving the gore-field behind.

When he awoke several hours later, his body ached, but he thought he
might as well bring the bones of the great beast to the craftdwarves.
Perhaps they could make some bauble to comfort him after this tragedy.

He could scarcely believe what he saw when he returned to the farm.
Corpse pipes! This rare fungus only grew on the bodies of the dead,
and rarely at that. Yet the ground was shot full of pale tubes rising
from the decomposing filth, and from these morbid beginnings, a fine
seasoning could be made. As Doran prepared for the hard day of work
ahead, he was in good spirits, humming his favorite drinking song so
loudly that he did not hear the chittering coming from the river
bank...

quote:

kkkkss~~~c@~~~

The terrible sun baked the cracked earth below as Aliz staggered on.
The caravan left him for dead after a sketetal bear attack. It must
have been an ancient being, from when this dry land was once green and
alive. Now the undead were all that crawled here. One foot in front
of another, that was the only way. The dwarf wrapped a scarf around
his beard to keep out the dust. Ahead was a steep dune.

As Aliz approached the mountain of sand, the tracks of the caravan
disappeared. There was no wind to erase the tracks. No, some evil
was at work here. He went down to inspect the tracks and jerked his
hand back just in time. A cobra! It shouldn’t be here. Nothing
lives in these wastes. He dove out of the way as a dozen scorpions
flew through the air straight at him. This could mean only one thing.
Desert kobolds.

###@,.,..,\@,..,.,,.kkk

Aliz’s stubby legs moved with verve across the shifting sand, fleeing
the yapping monsters as they threw stinging insects at him. Once he
crested the dune he spun around and whipped out his crossbow, sliding
on his stomach down the sand. Blood pounded through the veins in his
neck as he looked down the sights, waiting for the monsters to come
over the top.

But the kobolds did not come. Aliz sat, frozen in place, for what
seemed like an eternity, then he took his crossbow and stood up. The
sun was still low in the sky. He must find shelter before midday, for
no living thing could survive the blasting sun of the desert at high
noon.

Ahead was a rocky cave, jutting out of the sand. Aliz was grateful to
the Forge Father for this blessing, but loaded his crossbow, for he
knew such a place must be crawling with monsters. As he approached
the cave, it did look creepy. As he walked inside, aiming his weapon,
he saw a girl.

“At last,” said the girl, “my savior.”

*##,.,.@@,..,,.

Aliz wasn’t born yesterday. This could only be the ruse of some
uninspired night creature. Why else would such a pleasing creature
stalk in a cave out in the wilderness like some kind of wild bear?
Her hair was short and she wore a dirty soldier’s tunic. It was a
weird disguise for a night hag, but a disguise all the same. Aliz
reached out with his free hand and pinched her.

“Ow!” shouted the girl. “What are you trying to pull?”

“You are real,” said Aliz.

“I could have told you that,” she said.

There went any chance of rescue. She had survived in the undead
desert for two weeks, only to be rescued by the stupidest dwarf
outside the mountain homes. What little hope there was had gone. Now
she would never deliver the star jewel to the citadel of light and
break the evil curse that sapped the land of life.

“You had better come inside,” said the girl. “The sun can be deadlier
that the zombies.”

##,,.,.,.@@,.,.,.??

“What is your name, girl-child?” asked Aliz. “And what do you have in your pocket?”

“Asreal,” said the girl, pressing the star jewel further beneath her tunic. “Stay if you will, but come inside before the kobolds find us.”

They were some interesting hours, there in the cave before the sun went down. Asreal told Aliz of the citadel of light and the quest. The dwarf didn’t really care about all that. All he wanted was to catch the caravan and the wicked Hamsman who left him to die. After his crossbow was clean, Aliz set out into the desert with Asreal in tow.

“This Hamsman sounds like a real tool,” said Asreal.

Aliz wouldn’t have described him in such glowing terms. The evil caravan leader would sell his own mother for what he wanted in this world. When Aliz caught up with him, it would be Hamsman who walked the desert alone. Pausing, he looked to Asreal. How much could the star jewel be worth?

axelsoar posted:

Lets it run native in a 64-bit operating system instead of a 32-bit emulation, and more importantly, lets the program utilize more than 4(ish)GB of your RAM.

Met posted:

Does anyone else donate and go for the ASCII/Story rewards? The wiki pages aren't updated as much as I'd expect from the money they're pulling in.

http://dwarffortresswiki.org/index.php/ASCII_Art_Reward/M-S#Met

quote:

|%+++@+|

“You will obey me,” said the plump helmet resting on Bidok’s shelf.

The crazed dwarf held his hands over his ears. But the words sank home in his fracturing mind. To create the ultimate artifact, the plump helmet must have blood. Bidok tore at his beard and moaned. There was no future. There was no past. Now was murder.

The sheriff of Talltower lounged at the forge, showing his biceps to the ladies or any who would look at him. A small dwarf ran up and whispered in his ear. Another body was found floating in the irrigation channel, headless, like the rest. The sheriff snarled and called for a meeting of the captains.

“It’s not a goblin,” said Captain Ermis. “Goblins always leave the weapon with the body.”

“Then it's one of us,” said the sheriff.

A dwarf barged into the room, lacing up his tunic. He took a seat at the table. “Did I miss anything?” asked Captain Bidok.

@@++@+++++||++++%|oooooooooo||

The two law dwarves looked at Bidok. He was a mess. His beard was unkempt, his tunic undone, and a red stain trailed down his shirt. At first Ermis thought it was helmet juice, but he knew it to be blood.

“Where did you get that bloodstain, captain?” asked Ermis.

The fell dwarf said nothing.

“Yes, Bidok,” said the sheriff, “where does that blood come from?”

Bidok raised a finger to his nostril and blew a fine red spray out of his nose.

“Freak,” growled Ermis.

No one liked, trusted, or really cared about Captain Bidok. He graduated the law academy at the bottom of his class. The only reason he got his post in Talltower was his noble father the Duke. Ever since then it had been a disaster.

Bidok drank heavily, even for a dwarf. He punished the innocent and let the guilty run free. His descent into madness would have been obvious if anyone paid attention to his wicked ways. As it was, no one wanted to look at the revolting dwarf.

The pile of skulls in Bidok’s closet reached almost to the ceiling. It was a delicate thing to open the door and place the newest one inside. Bidok looked to the shelf. The plump helmet watched him.

Furiously, Bidok washed his hands in the water basin.

“You are right to obey me,” said the plump helmet, “and you have been a good boy. There is only head left, and the construction can begin. It is that of Aliz, King of Talltower.”

@@@@@@@|@_@+@/+++++|#@/

“Congratulations on pulling guard duty on feast day,” said the sheriff. “Isn’t it that toad Bidok’s turn?”

“He ‘has a headache’,” said Ermis. “Probably drunk again. I tell you, one of these days I’m going to cleave his skull.”

The feast hall was packed, all the dwarves awaiting the arrival of the king. The war was over, a glorious victory for the dwarves. Banners trailed down from the ceiling and torches burned bright. Dwarven guards stood at attention, shining bright in adamantine armor.

Behind a banner, beside the throne, Bidok waited, a curved blade in hand. The royal procession arrived at the far end of the hall.

Captain Ermis lead the way in his red painted tunic, marching with his staff held high. Next came the King Aliz, riding resplendent on his sedan chair.

As the king took his seat on the throne, Bidok pulled the mask over his face. He felt an electric shock to his spine. The voices in his head grew louder. He leapt out from behind the banner and drew his blade across the king’s neck. With one mighty yank, off came the
head.

“S… Seize him!” cried Ermis.

+++@u+\@++

Ermis and the guard chased the assassin through twisting corridors. All around dwarves screamed and ran. Then Ermis saw him, Captain Bidok, stumbling down the hall carrying a large lunch bag. Ermis came to a halt in front of him. He poked his fingers into Bidok’s chest and looked him dead in the eye.

“If you have something to do with this, I'll drag you to the hammerer myself,” Ermis said.

Bidok burped up into the bag and looked up at Ermis sheepishly.

Disgusted, Ermis released him and resumed the chase. Bidok continued to stagger toward the living quarters, but when he cleared most of the crowd, he broke into a full sprint.

“You have been a good boy,” said the plump helmet. “And now you may begin the construction.”

A few days later, Bidok showed up in the guard tower. He was glowing with pride. Not only had he completed the construction of the ultimate skull goblet, but because of Ermis failure and subsequent demotion, he had been named Captain of the Guard.

quote:

,.,|u@@e|gBB.,.,

“You must remember,” said the old dwarf, “always to be a good boy.”

“Father,” cried Zanor, “I won’t let you go.”

“It is too late for me, son,” said Zanor’s father. “Remember what I
taught you.”

With that, the old dwarf died. Zanor lifted his eyes from the bloody corpse and stared across the battlefield at the goblin that had cut his father down. The leather-clad killer swiveled his bald head and met Zanor’s cold blue eyes. A instant of recognition passed between them, then the goblin ducked, narrowly dodging Zanor’s expertly placed
crossbow bolt.

Ignoring arrow and pike thrust, Zanor charged at full speed after the fleeing villain. He soon found himself behind enemy lines. Many goblin slaves and war trolls were just plain confused as they watched the dwarf warrior run by. Always Zanor’s eyes were on the prize and revenge, waiting for his long legs to trip up.

At last they reached a strip of dirt with many horizontal posts attached to great poles in the ground, a giant bat hangar. The goblin climbed onto one of the flying monsters, making ready to escape into the air. Zanor loaded his crossbow. It was all a matter of seconds now. The goblin launched into the air as Zanor lifted his weapon.

The dwarf took a deep breath.

Crack!

----

“Father?” asked Zanor.

“He keeps asking for daddy,” said a mean-looking goblin.

“We don’t usually take them this old,” said another goblin. “They never last.”

“Listen to him,” said the first goblin. “Surely you can turn him out.”

With the exchange of fifteen golden skulls, Zanor was sold. He awoke in a cage, rolling down a dirt path somewhere near Dark Mountain. He looked at the other prisoners in the wagon, elves, dwarves, goblins, all kids. Soon they would be in the lands of Tremoda, where the dead were said to walk. It was over. But how could it be, when his father’s killer still drew breath?

,.@,.@,.,|%%|g,.

For about a month, Zanor toiled in the shadow of Dark Mountain. He watched as his fellow prisoners were forced to fight in gladiator matches or were fed to wild beasts. It seemed that such a fate would soon befall all of them. Only the memory of his father, and insult to his honor, gave him any reason to go on living.

“You look particularly wrathful today,” said the girl.

Ejas had once been beautiful, but seasons in the goblin dungeon had left her gaunt and stretched. Zanor could just barely tolerate her. She was just another him between him and the wall. The politics of survival meant that he should trust no one, and that was just fine with him.

“It’s the fat goblin on watch today,” said Ejas. “Perfect time to make a break for it.”

“And why should I trust you?” asked Zanor.

“Because I am going first.”

Zanor reached out to grab her, but she was too quick. Together they ran toward the gate. The cart had just arrived with barrels of slop for the trolls, and it was Zanor’s aim to get some. He couldn’t remember the last time he had something decent to eat.

He watched as Ejas ran past the fat goblin and began scooping out turnips from an open barrel. As she fed the goblin ran after her. Now it was Zanor’s turn. He ran toward the cart, but stopped when he neared the open gate. It would be suicide to try and escape with all the archers on the tower, but somehow, he wanted more than just a turnip.

.TTTT,,g,,@./.@

It came one day that Zanor was shining a goblin captain’s boots when the call for war rang out. A hundred horrid trumpets sounded throughout the goblin compound. Slave masters called the captives to form a line against the barracks. Zanor stood and the goblin captain spoke to him.

“You are a good boy,” he said. “Stay on the left side of the line today.”

The hairy goblin dungeon master looked as if he could have been half troll. He stomped past where Ejas and Zanor stood and went to the right side of the line. One after another, he tapped the slaves on the shoulder with his cudgel. Just as he reached Ejas, he stopped and led the chosen into the dungeon from which no one returned.

“It seems I owe you one,” said Ejas.

“You owe him nothing,” said the goblin captain. “You owe me everything.” The captain pulled a knife from the sheath at his back and tossed at the girl’s feet.

“Kill him,” said the goblin, “and you are free.”

Ejas dove for the weapon, but Zanor slammed his knee into her face. He seized the dagger from her flailing hands and stabbed her once in the abdomen. She curled into a ball and grew still. Zanor stood and dropped the dagger next to the body.

“There is a place in the Army of Tremoda for men such as you,” said the goblin. As Zanor followed the goblin back to keep he stole a backwards glance at Ejas’s body. As the trolls lifted her up, her head rocked to the side and she gave him a wink.

@Tggggggg.,.@@@

Streaks of smoking matter fired out from behind the goblin lines, crashing amidst the army of the Nation of Man. Zanor stood upon the shoulders of a great grey troll. Out before him stood row upon row of goblins and assorted slaves, all bound by the power of the evil wizard no one ever saw. It didn’t matter. The goblins feared him, and that was the true nature of power.

Horns blasted and forward was the command. The evil forces moved across the open field toward a line of crossbow dwarves three deep. The goblins reached out and took death, an end to the cruelty and suffering that was their pathetic lives.

Zanor didn’t dread the end for he knew he could not die. Not until he had taken the life of his father’s killer. It had been many months, many battles, and there was still no sign of the goblin. The second volley from the marksdwarves caught Zanor’s troll in the knee. As the creature crashed into the ground, Zanor rolled off of its back and shielded himself behind its body. Another bunch of arrows flew over Zanor’s head, decimating the goblin troops behind him.

“Surrender!” came the call from the National lines. “Your death will be swift!”

“Ejas?” cried Zanor.

,U.@/,@

“Just kill the trog,” said the great blond warrior.

“No,” said Ejas. “I owe him my freedom and more.”

The warrioress held out her iron-clad hand. Zanor took it without question. It had been years since anyone had shown him the slightest bit of kindness or mercy. She could kill him right now and he wouldn’t mind, so terrible his life had become. The hatred that kept
him alive had twisted his soul and he had become just another pawn in Tremoda’s game. He had forgotten what he had come to live for.

“We found him,” shouted Ejas, over the din of battle.

“Who?” cried Zanor. They ducked low as a dwarven bomb exploded nearby tossing goblin bodies into the air.

“The goblin that killed your father!”

Everything became silent and clear, time slowing to a crawl. All Zanor could see was Ejas’s smiling face. Slowly the face darkened and changed into the semblance of the goblin killer, now laughing at Zanor’s plight. Zanor pulled his knife and lunged at the phantom. His breath was knocked out his lungs as the blond warrior tackled him
from the side.

“He is crazed,” said the fighter.

“Take him back to camp,” said Ejas. “There he will see reason.”

/@U,.@,UUUU\,.., ?gB? ?N?

“Father,” said Zanor.

“You will see him in time,” said Ejas. “But not yet.”

The war tent was loud and boisterous. The Nation of Man had won the battle. They need only advance and trap the dark wizard’s army in his tower. The key was Zanor, and the military plans of the enemy locked into his hallucinating mind.

“His name is Cirl Makda,” said Ejas, “ace bat pilot and hero to the other side.”

“How can I kill that which flies through the air?” mumbled Zanor in his feverish fit.

“The elves are testing a secret weapon,” said Ejas, “a giant bird that can match the giant bats in turning radius and rate of climb. You may be the first hero to fly one. Just give us the plans to the wizard’s tower.”

“I have never been to the wizard’s tower,” said Zanor.

The blond hero, who had been waiting silently by, kicked the table where Zanor had been lying and knocked him onto the floor. Zanor tried to scramble to his feet, but the warrior was on him in a second.

“Stop, Peacock,” shouted Ejas. “We need him. I need him.”

The warrior looked at her, questioning. Ejas approached the downed anti-hero.

“You will fly the giant nuthatch,” said Ejas, “and you will kill Makda, and the wizard as well.”

##gB###@N##

The howling wind rushed past Zanor’s ears. He could just barely make out Peacock’s voice as the giant birds soared through the air. As the battlefield passed under them far below, Zanor felt power and freedom. It seemed that Cirl Makda’s days were numbered.

“Watch your six,” cried Peacock. “There are bat riders everywhere!”

“Watch my what?” asked Zanor.

A pair of crossbow bolts struck Zanor’s bird in the wing, followed by a giant bat flying directly out of the sun. Such a dirty trick. Zanor pulled back on his reins to gain some altitude. Peacock spotted the bat and dove after him.

Now alone in the sky, Zanor pulled the bolts from his steed’s wing and kept going straight ahead for the wizard’s tower and the mission. Searching the sky for enemies, Zanor prayed that Makda would find him first. Let it be over.

The ballista bolts flew thick around Tremoda’s tower. Zanor loaded his crossbow, aiming to put a bolt through the wizard’s black heart. Flying over the castle, Zanor couldn’t make out his target. Just as he was about suicidal second pass over the tower, the ground fire ceased.

Ace Makda had seen some crazy pilots in his time, but none as wild as the bird rider that now circled his master’s fortress. It seemed a shame to shoot down a warrior so brave, but Makda wasted no time. He slapped his nightwing on the flank, threw his scarf over his shoulder, and dove.

@@@..|ggg#####gB#@N#>O<

Far above the battle, two giant bushtits flew. The wizard’s tower, Tremoda’s tower, was on fire. But still, the combined forces of the human race and its allies could not finish the job. The goblins seemed to crave death the way they fought on. Why didn’t they just
surrender?

“Peacock!” shouted Ejas over the roaring wind. “Where is Zanor? The dwarven sappers are almost to the castle gate!”

“There,” said the blond warrior, pointing at a pair of spinning specks down above the tower. “He does battle with Makda.”

“Makda?” cried Ejas. “Cirl Makda is here? Why aren’t you with him?”

“Look,” said Peacock. “His suicide mission has drawn the goblins away from the gate. It is the perfect time for the attack.”

“We must help him,” said Ejas as she turned into a dive.

Crossbow darts ripped into the nuthatch’s wings. Zanor’s bird couldn’t take too much more of this. The hero pulled back on the reins and brought the giant bird into a climb. Makda grinned while he loaded his crossbow one last time. It would be easy to hit the slow
moving target.

Fifty five bird pilots downed, and Cirl Makda could remember every one. When he was alone in the barracks he often recalled their faces. It brought him great joy that they were dead, and that he was the one that had killed them. This one before him now was brave, but foolish, an easy kill. Makda squinted his eyes as the nuthatch disappeared
into the blinding sun.

@,U.,!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!![g/@]!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was a signature move from Makda’s own playbook. The wounded nuthatch, badly damaged, soared up into the sun, where the nightwing followed blind. Then Zanor let gravity take over as the great bird swung around and dove, the nuthatch letting out a mighty chirp as
Zanor let Makda have it with a blast from his double-barreled crossbow.

Suddenly blinded by a splash of blood, Cirl Makda lost control of his mortally wounded steed and the two spiraled out of control, falling straight toward the wizard’s tower. Zanor calmly reloaded his weapon as the nuthatch dove after its prey. Makda leapt from the dying bat and grabbed a hold of the tower’s roof. Just as Zanor was about to squeeze the trigger, the whole ground exploded.

The dwarves cheered as flames erupted from every building inside Tremoda’s fortress compound. Ejas and Peacock circled above. Nothing at ground level could have survived the blast. The wizard’s tower was rocked to the foundation and was now unstable. Ejas could almost make out two figures atop of smoking roof.

It was Zanor and Makda, embracing at last in a dance of death. Makda held a long knife over his head, the blade pointed down at the Zanor’s neck whilst the hero held the goblin by the wrist, his other hand on the villain’s throat.

“I don’t have a shot,” shouted Peacock.

“Hold on,” said Ejas. “I’m going in.”

.,U,.@@,..~g~.

“You will die a traitor’s death,” hissed Makda.

The knife dug into Zanor’s throat. It was clear now that the dwarf boy would die, killed at the hands of his father’s slayer. Life sometimes deals us a bad hand, but this was just too much. Zanor struggled heroically but his strength was failing. Spittle dripped
from the goblin’s snarling lips. Zanor could feel blood trickling from his neck and he knew it was all over.

Screaming murder for the mission, Ejas launched from her diving bird and tackled Makda off the side of the building. Zanor stared in disbelief as the pair plummeted toward the burning ruins. A split second later, Peacock’s nuthatch slammed into him and snatched him off the roof. Together they dove toward the falling fighters with incredible speed as the tower collapsed.

The sound was deafening. Something in Tremoda’s tower was magically unstable, and when the tower fell, it exploded with the force of a thousand dragon fireballs. Every soldier within sight of the tower was blown off their feet. After the smoke cleared, the National
soldiers began to cheer. The tower was gone. The war was over.

“Ejas!” cried Zanor. “Ejas!”

Peacock and Zanor wandered through the grey, smoking ruins calling their dear friend’s name. They found Makda first. His broken body was lying limp across a pile of rubble. Zanor looked on him without regard. Now he only cared for Ejas. They found her lying on top of a dead nightwing, wounded, but still breathing. Zanor took her hand and she opened her eyes.

“Zanor,” she said. “We made it. We are free forever.”