“This can’t be happening… this can’t be happening… Please Armok, spare me…”
Various snippets of panic and undwarvenly murmuring floated down the crudely-cut sand tunnels, and reached the group of six, perched near the mouth of the ‘entrance’ to their ‘fort’. Assembled hastily and named a ‘military’ despite none of the dwarves having a day’s experience in such matters, they were chosen mainly because they happened to own weapon-like items.
For instance, miners lived and died by their picks anyhow, and they were good, sturdy picks that had dug a promising new page of dwaren history throughout the year. In a pinch, they figured, they’d serve against rotten flesh and bare bone. Neither looked exactly happy, but they weren’t quaking in their dirty, dusty boots as much as, say, the ‘expedition leader’.
Like everything about Workedlengths except the sand that entombed them all, ‘leader’ had to be put in quotation marks because this particular leader had only gotten the job through minor medical and economic skills. They’d figured he could negotiate with the caravans and whatnot.
Thus, he was also made the ‘leader’ of this ‘military’ ‘squad’ of six. The rest of the fortress, animals and dwarves, had been recalled inside as soon as the enemy had been spotted.
Naturally, none of his ‘squad’ had ever faced the Undead before, but from the legends, they always seemed eager to get at anybody who was alive, and yet…
“Where the Hell are they?”
Half an hour passed and there was no sign, or smell, or even noise from outside. The weather was mild, and birds were even still chirping outside in the chilling near-winter air. The tension mounted as they waited, but there was nothing.
Too afraid to even peek out, for the Undead could still very well be out there and attracted to the scent of fresh dwarf, the expedition leader turned towards their woodcutter, a stout lass. “Get down to the mechanic’s shop and get a few of the chalk mechanisms. If the work order got done they should be ready to hook up to a lever in the ‘great hall’ we were digging out.”
At her confusion, he let out a sigh and pointed towards the finely-crafted and meticulously-designed drawbridge, sized through exacting measure to cover up the only way into Workedlengths should the worst happen. Naturally, it wasn’t hooked up to any machinery to pull it up. “Look. If we’d hooked that damn thing up just a bit faster… but that’s beside the point.”
“Right now, that bloody bridge’s as useful to us as a clump of sand’n fending off the dead,” One of the miners rumbled in his working-caste accent.
“Precisely. If the Undead want to take their time, we’ve still got a chance to make it through this. Get down there, grab the mechanisms, hook up the lever, and run the rest up here and attach them to the bridge.”
If their luck held for five more minutes…