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2nd topic up to 100 in the same day
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what if you attached a hole load of small, sharp metall pieces to the dwarf? Wouldnt you get some kind of flak bomb then?

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What are the actual height (or lack thereof) requirements? Also, can non-dwarven, non-halfling, etc. beings qualify if short enough?

No tall races can apply, because the height requirements are such that only immature members of the taller races could take part in this unique form of long-ranged combat. And that's of course not allowed.

There is no specific height requirement as such among the shorter (or as they put it, the Quite Tall Enough, Thank You) races for throwing. The tallest dwarf on record was well under the 4' 6" point at which a degree of instability appears. (This is the Sven Point, so-called after Sven "Lutefisk" Johnson, a teenage beserker who decided once at a tourney to climb onto a catapult in order to get a better view. When they picked up his various pieces afterwards, it was found that the lower 4' 6" of Sven were more or less intact, give or take a few bits here and there, but that everything else had been sprayed across a large area in a rather regular pattern. -Hence, Sven Point, and we're all sure Sven would have wanted it that way.)

The shortest halfling on record, incidentally, was Greentoes Stanarski, who measured just under 2' 10". Unfortunately, he was mistaken for an unusually large acorn while wearing a new brown suit by a particularly nearsighted group of squirrels, and was embarassed to death. His remains are on view at the Hazelton City Hall Museum, between the hours of 10 AM and 4 PM, Tuesdays through Sundays, with the presentation of a special pass.

[ 05-11-2001: Message edited by: fable ]

Unfortunately, though, there are those that, due to unhappy family lives, try to run away and join the airborne corps. We all remember the glorious death of Keely "Windskimmer" Brown, so named because, while defending the Klerack Mountain passage, he was hurled into the air by a catapult, and actually bounced off of three clouds, to land in the enemy's fuel storage tent. However, few knew that he left his village to escape constant pestering about the size of his knees- which were shaped, amusingly, like bowls, but not really a suitable subject for a hinterland Laughing Epic of Ridicule. The epic, "Kleery's Komikal Kneekaps" (which, incidentally, is recited every day by the followers of Viznik the Obsessively Pedantic) is, frankly not that good.

Beings join the airborne corps for all sorts of reasons. Some of them are noble, some are depressing, but all of them result in the individual being smeared across the landscape, and, hopefully the enemy. In these desperate times, that will have to do.

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A well-deserved *Bump*

I am acting upon my parental responsibility for this topic by hurling a dwarf at it, bumping it back into activity.

Unfortunately, this plan has a few drawbacks.

First of all, most of the troops in the Airborne Dwarf Army can't read. Thus, they can't attack the right parts of this post.

Secondly, even if they could read, they would be most unhappy to be indentured into service as sources of inspiration. In fact, the manifest put out by the ADA includes the following lines: "When your enemies get it into their heads to get in the way, call the ADA- we'll knock 'em out!" (143.62.3c)

This is, however, an appropriate venue for a garrison of gnomish gliders. They'd be happy to fly in and tinker. The only drawback to this approach is that the gnomes are likely to be concussed after their flight, and any reparations they make are not covered under any warranty.

Ladies and Gentlemen I am proud to say that a member of Jan Jansen family has in fact been thrown by a catapault! Young cousin Bifflechips it was who was thrown a great distance as Jan Jansen admits. All hail Bifflechips!

[ 06-07-2001: Message edited by: Nippy ]

I have been doing a little historical research, and I came across this story, apocryphal though it may be.

With the transcontinental railroad being completed across Nebraska in 1865, homesteaders flocked to the state and many small communities arose. Naturally, these communities were proud and friendly. But one small community, the Town of Foxtail in northern Buffalo County had a problem. You see, every town traditionally put on a great fireworks display to celebrate the Fourth of July. But in the mid 1870's the town’s coffers had dried up and explosives were very expensive. The people despaired at the thought of all the sad children, unable to appreciate how great a country they lived in through explosive aerial displays. Things were particularly dire since the country’s centennial was fast approaching.

A group of young men from the local Grange hit upon a possible solution. Over the hill, there lived a small tribe of “gypsys” who were actually an extended family of halflings who had emigrated to the US in 1845 during the Irish Potato Famine, and had wandered ever since. On the night of July 4th, the young men enticed several of the halflings to the town commons with the promise of much food and drink. Of course the halflings came. The halflings were shown to seats of honor at the feast table, though the seats were actually the cups of disguised catapults. The halflings gorged themselves on the food without knowing that their food was also laced with significant quantities of locally occurring phosphorescent and combustible minerals. Copious quantities of grain alcohol was also involved, and small boys under the table made sure that some of the alcohol was dribbled on the hairy feet of the halflings.

Then, at the moment of ultimate engorgement, the boys touched fire to the halfling’s feet, and the catapults were triggered. The halflings flew into the air, and in that moment of weightlessness at the apogee of their flight, they each let loose with a great belch of gaseous, combustible vapor, which was ignited by their burning feet, and erupted into bright, colorful displays of light and fire. The children were delighted.

The halflings fell to the earth relatively unharmed and unperturbed. Unharmed, you ask? Yes, it seems that the satisfaction derived from a really good belch provides momentary immunity to most forms of damage.

The town of Foxtail was more frugal the following year and was able to purchase proper fireworks. The halflings had moved on, anyway. Seems they had a fondness for potatoes, and corn just didn’t measure up. I think they moved to Puru.

So, my question is, has Exploding Thrown Belching Halflings ever been effectively used in a military campaign?

The record for gnomish gliding was in fact set by Fromish MacSnorkle, of the Highland Gnomes. (One of his ancestors was the famous Gefnis MacSnorkle who declaimed the famous battlecry, "There can only be one!" just before his body was sliced, diced, and turned into puree by a telemarketing troll.)

Fromish had a notable penchant for gliding even during his youth, as witnessed by the fact that his mother repeatedly threw him out the dining room window after he tracked muddy footprints across the walls. (It should be remarked at this point that the southern exposure of the MacSnorkle hereditary residence provided a scenic overlook of Mount Gfern, and a 500 foot drop. This was, by chance, the window in the dining room, so Fromish had considerable practice from an early age in developing and honing his flying skills.) After being arrested eight times for vagrancy and obfuscation, our young hero decided to take his talents to the world; and at the indiscreet age of forty-two, ventured forth from the old homestead with nothing more than two hard rolls, a sleeping bag, and a sixty-piece silver dinette set that he had pilfered while the maids were having a pillow fight.

Thus equipped, Fromish began life as a flying advertisement in nearby multi-ethnic communities. He could be seen at all hours hovering several hundred feet off the ground, a banner attached to his feet and cravat proclaiming, "DWARVES LOVE BEER-GUT ALE" or "READ THE ELVEN TIMES THE ONLY NEWSPAPER PRINTED ON LIVING TREES!!" Over time, Fromish became quite well known in the area, at least at a distance. People would look up when his shadow passed across the sun's path and ask their friends, "Is he housebroken?" With his popularity founded upon such a bedrock, it was only a matter of time before Fromish MacSnorkle attracted the attention of the great, the good and the powerful.

He first came to the attention of Henry Spritzix, Jr, the scion of a notable poltical family for more than eight generations. This particular Spritzix was known as Henry the Affable Idiot, or sometimes, just as "idiot," from his remarkable ability to repeat anything he was told by his advisors with complete conviction and a total lack of understanding. At the time we are considering, Henry Spritzix was in his sixties, exceedingly wealthy, and with an eye, the good one, on the high public office of Lord Mayor to the foremost human city in the land, Dyslexia Trop. For most humans being in their sixties meant mandatory retirement, as urged by politicians, but human politicians themselves looked forward to twenty or thirty more years or active, senescent behavior in the public eye.

Fromish literally dropped on Henry's advisors one day, due to a sudden wind shift and the failure of a new material the gliding gnome was testing on his wings. (Salt water taffy. It didn't work well as a binding material, after all.) Fortunately, Fromish was only a couple of dozen feet off the ground; and following the exchange of groans and fisticuffs, all parties were able to disengage themselves and stand up without aid. It was then that fate struck, as a relatively unrattled advisor, looking at Fromish, asked the question, "Hey, you. What will you do for money?" The gnome replied, with transparent honesty, "You name it." That single comment became the cornerstone of young Fromish's career.

Ah, but you're probably wondering what that career was, and how gliding figured into it. For that, you will have to wait until another day, as this researcher desperately needs his rest.

[ 06-07-2001: Message edited by: fable ]

bump!

Sorry for BUMPING into you!

Originally posted by BraveSirRobin:
<STRONG>You forgot that Dwarves are always drunk and well saturated with alcohol. This allows them to be ignited to create flaming thrown dwarves. </STRONG>

First ye want to threw me! Then ye want to ignite me?

I do be likin' the "saturated with alcohol" part though.

Bump/Spam(whopps