The Bastard Axe is a common weapon of the warriors of Vikingheim, a sturdy weapon that can be used with one or two hands, or simply thrown at an enemy
Sneaky bastards, the lot of them
100 word submission, rumors from the Burning Lands, south of Abodroc
Six gruesome blades forged from dwarven blood in the pits of ancient bol-Pakash. Six knives the dwarves wish never existed.
A story about a young Dwarf, the girl he met and the Goddess he insulted.
Beard grooming is a life-long process divided between two schools of thought: harsh mineral treatments or more the natural approach. The popular naturalist approach requires beard-spiders that live off lice, fleas and other small insects.
Hi Ho, Hi Ho....not included
All dwarves in the Ven mountains are familiar with this simple game. Though elaborate and colorful game board have been craft, the game is simple enough that you could out line a board in the dirt and play with four handfuls of stones.
The King always has the coolest form of transportation.
A gun made by the God of the Dwarves
The Dwarves are often thought to be a greedy and miserly race, but there are times when they will give rewards to those who have genuinely earned them.
(OOC-I added the names of all those who did submissions but only mine has shown up, for some reason. The others are the following; axlerowes, Echomirage, Ancient Gamer ,Dossta , Pariah.)
Dwarven Undead with a hunger that won't be satiated by simply your blood, brains, or flesh.
It looked like a massive landslide, but, just before it slammed into us it turned into a bunch of laughing dwarven children!
Get to it, you mealy boned maggots! That stone isn’t going to cut itself!
*Sphhisshh* *Sphhissh* *Sphhissh*
Space-Faring, Hard-Rocking, Metal-Grinding, Star-Tripping, Deathdealing, Dwarves.
A rare sight, but one dreaded by the foes of dwarvendom.
The accepted mode of getting otherwise unobtainable information is to go visit the cranky old hermit living in the mountains. It's just the sensible thing to do. So, naturally, everyone takes their monthly excursion to the hermit's hovel to consult him on everything, from lock-jaw to lovesickness, necromancers to nasal viruses.
Now, if everyone's always visiting the poor old hermit, there's going to be an enormous queue... "Wellcome to the Hermitt's Hovele, Please Take Ye a Number and Have Ye a Seate" reads the sign outside the packed dwelling.
Imagine the poor hermit, having retreated into the mountains to escape this precise situation...