Late night at the forge - Revision history

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71.192.10.129 at 04:21, 17 April 2013

2013-04-17T04:21:19Z

1d4chan>Mon-keigh: /* Gallery */

2012-12-16T16:49:57Z

Gallery

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	Image:SandwichxAnvil5.jpg		Image:SandwichxAnvil5.jpg
	Image:SandwichxAnvil6.jpg		Image:SandwichxAnvil6.jpg
	Image:~~Sandwich_Underwear_by_morelikecg~~.jpg		Image:Sandwich underwear by morelikecg.jpg
	Image:~~Sandwich_Underwear2_by_morelikecg~~.jpg		Image:Sandwich_underwear2_by_morelikecg.jpg
	</gallery>		</gallery>

	[[Category:Stories]]		[[Category:Stories]]

1d4chan>Mon-keigh: /* Gallery */

2012-12-16T16:47:44Z

Gallery

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			Image:Sandwich_Underwear_by_morelikecg.jpg
			Image:Sandwich_Underwear2_by_morelikecg.jpg
	</gallery>		</gallery>

	[[Category:Stories]]		[[Category:Stories]]

1d4chan>Mon-keigh at 05:59, 20 August 2011

2011-08-20T05:59:36Z

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	{{Promotions}}		{{Promotions}}

	[[Image:~~Sandwich portrait~~.jpg\|thumb\|right\|Sandwich the Drow.]] /tg/ can't resist portraying the characters it's made in some sort of sexual situation. While Sandwich's lovable reserved nature managed to ward off most pairings that could lead to sex, one thread introduced a partner that finally caught on; An Anvil. Strange, but true, like any girl in her youth, an innocent moment lead her to experiment a bit with a large chunk of tempered steel.		[[Image:Sandwich1 by Greenmarine.jpg\|thumb\|right\|Sandwich the Drow.]] /tg/ can't resist portraying the characters it's made in some sort of sexual situation. While Sandwich's lovable reserved nature managed to ward off most pairings that could lead to sex, one thread introduced a partner that finally caught on; An Anvil. Strange, but true, like any girl in her youth, an innocent moment lead her to experiment a bit with a large chunk of tempered steel.

1d4chan>Mon-keigh: /* Gallery */

2011-08-20T05:45:14Z

Gallery

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	Image:SandwichxAnvil1.jpg		Image:SandwichxAnvil1.jpg
			Image:Sandwich1 by Greenmarine.jpg
			Image:Sandwich2 by Greenmarine.jpg
			Image:Sandwichdicked by Greenmarine.jpg
	Image:SandwichxAnvil2.jpg		Image:SandwichxAnvil2.jpg
	Image:SandwichxAnvil3.png		Image:SandwichxAnvil3.png

76.202.176.241 at 00:06, 10 June 2010

2010-06-10T00:06:54Z

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	The face of Braega kept coming to mind, all the cruel things she and her friends would whisper across the room, just loud enough for Sandy to hear. Long-ears. Dark-filth. Spider-kisser. Table-top.		The face of Braega kept coming to mind, all the cruel things she and her friends would whisper across the room, just loud enough for Sandy to hear. Long-ears. Dark-filth. Spider-kisser. Table-top.

	''Tap ta-KLANG.'' Sandy's hammer skipped off the rim of the flywheel as she clamped her lips together, shoulders shaking slightly, willing herself not to tear up, not to show weakness. The rest, she had grown used to over the years. It was easier to ignore; she wasn't really a...one of those. Not really.		''Tap ta-KLANG.'' Sandy's hammer skipped off the rim of the flywheel as she clamped her lips together, shoulders shaking slightly, willing herself not to tear up, not to show weakness. The rest, she had grown used to over the years. It was easier to ignore; she wasn't really a... one of those. Not really.

	But as she and the girl-children around her had grown toward adulthood, Braega and the rest had...developed. Pudgy, girlish bodies had grown womanly, sprouting hips and breasts, causing the boys to trip and stammer. But Sandy had just grown...tall. Inches taller than any of the boys, and slender as a brush-bristle. No matter how tightly she bound her bodice around her waist, she could scarcely emphasize her hips, the meager handfuls of her breasts, the way that the others did so effortlessly. It wasn't fair...and she was the only one! Not even Auntie Vera could know what this was like.		But as she and the girl-children around her had grown toward adulthood, Braega and the rest had...developed. Pudgy, girlish bodies had grown womanly, sprouting hips and breasts, causing the boys to trip and stammer. But Sandy had just grown...tall. Inches taller than any of the boys, and slender as a brush-bristle. No matter how tightly she bound her bodice around her waist, she could scarcely emphasize her hips, the meager handfuls of her breasts, the way that the others did so effortlessly. It wasn't fair...and she was the only one! Not even Auntie Vera could know what this was like.
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	Sandy waited for a second, but Arguss said nothing more, finally turning awkwardly back to his work. She went about collecting the emptied mugs, stacked on one workbench, and wandered more slowly back to the hall.		Sandy waited for a second, but Arguss said nothing more, finally turning awkwardly back to his work. She went about collecting the emptied mugs, stacked on one workbench, and wandered more slowly back to the hall.

	She was kept busy the next few days, at forge and at arms-training; and she didn't happen to cross paths with Arguss before the workers moved to a new site, another column a few streets down from Torgisson Square. In the late afternoon, she went to the finished column, admiring the new carvings adorning it; portraits and scenes in relief, between elegant vertical flutes and scrollwork. Here and there, engravings of dates, names, quotations and captions. One face of the column featured several scenes from the Victory of the Beardaxe "Axe-Beard," two hundred years ago. Her eyes moved down the column, the well-known events depicted in chronological order. At the base of the column was a broad mural depicting the Triumphal Feast of the Beardaxes, the victorious general being shown amid dwarves and humans. The Beardaxe was lifting a mug; the dwarves were celebrating. The humans were laying grateful tribute at their feet. She inhaled sharply as her eyes moved to one corner of the panel. There, just behind a cluster of the Beardaxe's bodyguards, an elven woman stood, serving ale to the dwarves. She blushed, her ears burning. There were no elves in the histories of this battle, or the parade of triumph. ~~Moreso~~, the elf was nearly nude, wrapped in a sort of billowing, thin strip of fabric, which clung improbably around her carefully-sculpted curves, only scarcely preserving her modesty.		She was kept busy the next few days, at forge and at arms-training; and she didn't happen to cross paths with Arguss before the workers moved to a new site, another column a few streets down from Torgisson Square. In the late afternoon, she went to the finished column, admiring the new carvings adorning it; portraits and scenes in relief, between elegant vertical flutes and scrollwork. Here and there, engravings of dates, names, quotations and captions. One face of the column featured several scenes from the Victory of the Beardaxe "Axe-Beard," two hundred years ago. Her eyes moved down the column, the well-known events depicted in chronological order. At the base of the column was a broad mural depicting the Triumphal Feast of the Beardaxes, the victorious general being shown amid dwarves and humans. The Beardaxe was lifting a mug; the dwarves were celebrating. The humans were laying grateful tribute at their feet. She inhaled sharply as her eyes moved to one corner of the panel. There, just behind a cluster of the Beardaxe's bodyguards, an elven woman stood, serving ale to the dwarves. She blushed, her ears burning. There were no elves in the histories of this battle, or the parade of triumph. More so, the elf was nearly nude, wrapped in a sort of billowing, thin strip of fabric, which clung improbably around her carefully-sculpted curves, only scarcely preserving her modesty.

	Sandy pressed her fingers to the stone, mouth open. Then she turned and fled back to her room.		Sandy pressed her fingers to the stone, mouth open. Then she turned and fled back to her room.

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	"Sandy! Where are you, girl?" Auntie Vera's voice could seem to shake the dust from the masonry, when she chose, booming through the hallways. Sandy started awake, lifted her head off of the History of Mine and Tunnel Architecture, Vol XXI, and slammed the massive tome closed. She hopped to her feet, scampering down the staircase.		"Sandy! Where are you, girl?" Auntie Vera's voice could seem to shake the dust from the masonry, when she chose, booming through the hallways. Sandy started awake, lifted her head off of the History of Mine and Tunnel Architecture, Vol XXI, and slammed the massive tome closed. She hopped to her feet, scampering down the staircase.

	Vera stood at at one of the gallery windows in the upper foyer. She waved the young drow over, nodded outside. "They're finally doing the finish-work on those viaduct columns, the masons have been there all day." She harumphed. "And about time. That plain stonework was an eyesore--it made the whole square look shabby. Now, make yourself useful, and fetch some ale for them from the kitchen. I believe we tapped the Green-Eye Barleystout last night; that should do. Now go! Shoo!" She waved her hand at the girl, before turning back to the window.		Vera stood at at one of the gallery windows in the upper foyer. She waved the young drow over, nodded outside. "They're finally doing the finish-work on those viaduct columns, the masons have been there all day." She harumphed. "And about time. That plain stonework was an eyesore--it made the whole square look shabby. Now, make yourself useful, and fetch some ale for them from the kitchen. I believe we tapped the Green-Eye Barleystout last night; that should do. Now go! Shoo!" She waved her hand at the girl, before turning back to the window.

	Sandy blinked, then sputtered, "Yes, Auntie Vera," before turning to scurry out of the room, braids trailing behind her.		Sandy blinked, then sputtered, "Yes, Auntie Vera," before turning to scurry out of the room, braids trailing behind her.

	"And stop running about, you little goblin! It's not ladylike!" The voice followed her out of the room, and Sandy forced herself to walk, briskly. Fetching ale was better than studying, anyway.		"And stop running about, you little goblin! It's not ladylike!" The voice followed her out of the room, and Sandy forced herself to walk, briskly. Fetching ale was better than studying, anyway.

	Four earthenware tankards in each hand, Sandy stepped out into the Torgisson Square, in front of the Stoutaxe hall. Her fingers were aching already, and she tried to walk quickly, yet without slopping ale from the heavy steins. Vera must be especially pleased, she thought; the Green-Eye was very good, expensive stuff, normally reserved for guests and celebrations. Or Tuesdays. She approached the worksite, the masons having assembled a scaffolding around one of the massive columns that rose high overhead, arching elegantly to support the walkway above. She saw the foreman--the only one carefully measuring and marking out the designs, while the others worked with hammer, chisel, and file. And the occasional muttered curse or burst of laughter.		Four earthenware tankards in each hand, Sandy stepped out into the Torgisson Square, in front of the Stoutaxe hall. Her fingers were aching already, and she tried to walk quickly, yet without slopping ale from the heavy steins. Vera must be especially pleased, she thought; the Green-Eye was very good, expensive stuff, normally reserved for guests and celebrations. Or Tuesdays. She approached the worksite, the masons having assembled a scaffolding around one of the massive columns that rose high overhead, arching elegantly to support the walkway above. She saw the foreman--the only one carefully measuring and marking out the designs, while the others worked with hammer, chisel, and file. And the occasional muttered curse or burst of laughter.

	"Uh...excuse me, sir?" Her voice cracked a bit, as she spoke. Several of the workers had paused to look down at her, and she couldn't help feeling self-conscious.		"Uh...excuse me, sir?" Her voice cracked a bit, as she spoke. Several of the workers had paused to look down at her, and she couldn't help feeling self-conscious.

	"What in the thunderin' hells do ye want, can't ye see I'm--Oh!" The foreman's grumping stopped as he saw the fistfuls of ale she carried, his brows rising slightly as he finally tore his gaze from her mugs to her face. "So what's this about, lass?"		"What in the thunderin' hells do ye want, can't ye see I'm--Oh!" The foreman's grumping stopped as he saw the fistfuls of ale she carried, his brows rising slightly as he finally tore his gaze from her mugs to her face. "So what's this about, lass?"

	Sandy ducked her head, a very slight curtsy as the ale caused her grip to sag. "Ale for th' workers, sir, Vera Stoutaxe's compliments."		Sandy ducked her head, a very slight curtsy as the ale caused her grip to sag. "Ale for th' workers, sir, Vera Stoutaxe's compliments."

	"Well then..." He seemed to make a show of being reluctant, before reaching out and plucking one heavy tankard from her hand. "Best to be polite an' accept, with me thanks to th' fine lady. Now, just don't be spoilin' th' lads, makin' them think they'll be gettin' free ales all the day." He took a sip, his eyes widening in his dust-greyed face. "Horteg's low-hangin' hammer, that's fine stuff!" He raised his voice. "Break time for ale, ya lugs! But no loiterin'! Quickly, now!"		"Well then..." He seemed to make a show of being reluctant, before reaching out and plucking one heavy tankard from her hand. "Best to be polite an' accept, with me thanks to th' fine lady. Now, just don't be spoilin' th' lads, makin' them think they'll be gettin' free ales all the day." He took a sip, his eyes widening in his dust-greyed face. "Horteg's low-hangin' hammer, that's fine stuff!" He raised his voice. "Break time for ale, ya lugs! But no loiterin'! Quickly, now!"

	The masons seemed to swarm down from the scaffolding, quickly crowding around her, divesting her of her burden in a few seconds. She was left with one tankard--one of the carvers was still hunched over his work. The foreman scowled. "Don't be gobbers, boys, thank th' kind lassie." A few muttered words of appreciation, the sound muffled by upraised mugs. Sandy wandered over to the last worker--Arguss! She paused--don't blush, don't blush--and came over behind him. She tapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped slightly, looking up at last.		The masons seemed to swarm down from the scaffolding, quickly crowding around her, divesting her of her burden in a few seconds. She was left with one tankard--one of the carvers was still hunched over his work. The foreman scowled. "Don't be gobbers, boys, thank th' kind lassie." A few muttered words of appreciation, the sound muffled by upraised mugs. Sandy wandered over to the last worker--Arguss! She paused--don't blush, don't blush--and came over behind him. She tapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped slightly, looking up at last.

	"Oh! Uh...g'morning. Er, after-noon," he stammered, voice trailing off at the end. He was looking up at her face; she almost shoved the ale at him.		"Oh! Uh...g'morning. Er, after-noon," he stammered, voice trailing off at the end. He was looking up at her face; she almost shoved the ale at him.

	"For you! Um. It's from Vera."		"For you! Um. It's from Vera."

	"Who?" He took the ale.		"Who?" He took the ale.

	"Vera Stoutaxe." She tilted her head at the hall behind her. She couldn't think of anything to say. She rubbed her sore fingers against the bodice of her dress, working the blood-flow back into them.		"Vera Stoutaxe." She tilted her head at the hall behind her. She couldn't think of anything to say. She rubbed her sore fingers against the bodice of her dress, working the blood-flow back into them.

	"Oh. Much obliged, then." He tilted the tankard back, made an appreciative sound around its rim. He drained it in a few seconds--the rest of the workers were already breaking up, reluctantly, the foreman gesturing at the work left to be done. Arguss handed the tankard back, Sandy freezing as his fingertips brushed over her knuckles. "Thank ye, Sandy. That was very--um. Nice." He brushed his fingers on his dusty apron, pulled a chisel out of one of its pockets, examining its edge carefully.		"Oh. Much obliged, then." He tilted the tankard back, made an appreciative sound around its rim. He drained it in a few seconds--the rest of the workers were already breaking up, reluctantly, the foreman gesturing at the work left to be done. Arguss handed the tankard back, Sandy freezing as his fingertips brushed over her knuckles. "Thank ye, Sandy. That was very--um. Nice." He brushed his fingers on his dusty apron, pulled a chisel out of one of its pockets, examining its edge carefully.

	Sandy waited for a second, but Arguss said nothing more, finally turning awkwardly back to his work. She went about collecting the emptied mugs, stacked on one workbench, and wandered more slowly back to the hall.		Sandy waited for a second, but Arguss said nothing more, finally turning awkwardly back to his work. She went about collecting the emptied mugs, stacked on one workbench, and wandered more slowly back to the hall.

	She was kept busy the next few days, at forge and at arms-training; and she didn't happen to cross paths with Arguss before the workers moved to a new site, another column a few streets down from Torgisson Square. In the late afternoon, she went to the finished column, admiring the new carvings adorning it; portraits and scenes in relief, between elegant vertical flutes and scrollwork. Here and there, engravings of dates, names, quotations and captions. One face of the column featured several scenes from the Victory of the Beardaxe "Axe-Beard," two hundred years ago. Her eyes moved down the column, the well-known events depicted in chronological order. At the base of the column was a broad mural depicting the Triumphal Feast of the Beardaxes, the victorious general being shown amid dwarves and humans. The Beardaxe was lifting a mug; the dwarves were celebrating. The humans were laying grateful tribute at their feet. She inhaled sharply as her eyes moved to one corner of the panel. There, just behind a cluster of the Beardaxe's bodyguards, an elven woman stood, serving ale to the dwarves. ~~She~~ blushed, her ears burning. There were no elves in the histories of this battle, or the parade of triumph. More so, the elf was nearly nude, wrapped in a sort of billowing, thin strip of fabric, which clung improbably around her carefully-sculpted curves, only scarcely preserving her modesty.		She was kept busy the next few days, at forge and at arms-training; and she didn't happen to cross paths with Arguss before the workers moved to a new site, another column a few streets down from Torgisson Square. In the late afternoon, she went to the finished column, admiring the new carvings adorning it; portraits and scenes in relief, between elegant vertical flutes and scrollwork. Here and there, engravings of dates, names, quotations and captions. One face of the column featured several scenes from the Victory of the Beardaxe "Axe-Beard," two hundred years ago. Her eyes moved down the column, the well-known events depicted in chronological order. At the base of the column was a broad mural depicting the Triumphal Feast of the Beardaxes, the victorious general being shown amid dwarves and humans. The Beardaxe was lifting a mug; the dwarves were celebrating. The humans were laying grateful tribute at their feet. She inhaled sharply as her eyes moved to one corner of the panel. There, just behind a cluster of the Beardaxe's bodyguards, an elven woman stood, serving ale to the dwarves. He blushed, her ears burning. There were no elves in the histories of this battle, or the parade of triumph. More so, the elf was nearly nude, wrapped in a sort of billowing, thin strip of fabric, which clung improbably around her carefully-sculpted curves, only scarcely preserving her modesty.

	Sandy pressed her fingers to the stone, mouth open. Then she turned and fled back to her room.		Sandy pressed her fingers to the stone, mouth open. Then she turned and fled back to her room.

	==See Also==		==See Also==