Chapter VIII: The Roaring Sieges Urdim, mayor of Vigorropey, and as everyone knew, the power behind the new Baron, was not the type of dwarf to rest on his laurels. Sure, he'd gotten rid of that irksome alchemist, Zas, but he still had to look at him every day. There he was, on the wall of the Great Stair, founding Vigorropey. There he was in the dining hall, creating Frostyfresh, the most beautiful coffer in existence. There he was, on the wall of Urdim's very bedroom, although this one Urdim didn't mind - it was a carving of Zas being denied by the other dwarves, Zas looking perplexed as Urdim became mayor. The fact was, these reminders of Zas were Urdim's own work. He'd commissioned the carvings, hell, he'd even commissioned a solid gold statue of Zas which stood in the Entrance Hall. Many of the dwarves still grieved for their unlikely founder, and Urdim made sure he went through the motions of grieving. He'd even given a speech about the Hero Zas at the Alchemist's funeral. Politics, nothing more. Zas's image may still be all over Vigorropey, but Vigorropey belonged to Urdim. And the Baron of course.
If anything, now that Zas was dead, the alchemist was more useful to Urdim. The mayor hadn't been able to use Zas's plans to improve the Watery Grave while his rival still lived, for fear of making him look too good in the next election, but now that he was dead, Urdim could claim the idea as his own. He traced Zas's plans to more quickly drain the Grave and handed them to the Manager.
"There's been a lull in goblin attacks. We may not get another opening like this, so lets take advantage of it. I want you to have the miners finish digging out the new drain near the floodgate, here, draining all the way down to the caverns to flush the water quickly."
"You got it boss," the sturdy dwarf said, scampering off to get to work.
No sooner than the miners got to work, Urdim received news of an Elven Caravan making its way to the fortress entrance. He leaped up and rushed to meet them at the Depot. Other than the yearly autumn caravan from Mountainhome, Vigorropey had not seen a caravan in years. The elves sent one every spring, but each time they were massacred by whatever nasty things were besieging the fortress at that time. The humans had suffered a similar fate, until they'd finally gone to war with the Dwarves over the lack of protection, sending a siege of their own last summer. The industrious dwarves of Vigorropey had vast storerooms of goods to sell, enough junk and jewels to buy entire caravans at a time, but nowhere to spend it. Urdim couldn't wait to see what sorts of things elves might have. Mithral? Exotic and dangerous pets/potential meals? He rubbed his greedy hands together as he rushed upstairs.
He got there just as they were starting to set up. Giving orders to gather up Vigorropey's junk crafts, he put on his pleasant negotiating face. He'd taken up the broker job after the broker who replaced Zas had been killed in the Ignited Betrayers. He was one of the only social-minded dwarves around, and his greed made it difficult for him to trust others with trade.
This caravan was important for another reason. Thanks to Tode's constant assaults, it had long been too risky to gather wood from the surface. For a while, the various subterranean wood that grew in the caverns under Vigorropey seemed as if they would be enough to support the fortress's limited needs for fuel. This past year had changed that. THINGS had been seen down there, terrible Things That Should Not Be. Serious Things. There had been three of these Forgotten Beasts sighted down there, and Urdim had ordered the drawbridge to the cavern raised temporarily, until the milita could be mustered. When that number raised to no less than seven forgotten beasts, he gave up on the caverns entirely. The stockpile of wood had been dwindling, and the elves always brought a good bit of what had become a precious substance. Urdim could happily see that the elven wagons were bursting with woody goodness.
A report came in that a goblin thief had been sighted trying to sneak in behind the caravan. It had gotten away, like most of them did, and he put it out of his mind, salivating over the captured great cats the caravan had brought.
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The goblin thief dropped to his knees and prostrated so deeply his face pressed into the earth.
"O, Great King Tode, Lord of Nightmarewrath, I bid thee humble greetings."
"Report, worm," the dwarf said in a sneer. These weakling thieves disgusted him, even if he admired their cunning.
"I followed the Elven Caravan as instructed until I was discovered. I made it farther than my brethren, into the main entrance hall, before I was forced to flee. I bring great news, Lord."
"Speak quickly, I grow tired of your annoying voice."
"Yes, Lord. The dwarves appear to be enlarging or repairing their notorious water trap. They've dug a large drain, but it remains unfinished. I don't believe their foul trap can be used until the alterations are completed. It is an auspicious moment, sire."
Tode smiled, dismissing the thief with a wave of his hand. Yes, an auspicious moment indeed. He called for the goblin leader.
"You will have the honor of leading the first wave with your goblins and drowspider mounts. Bring glory to your race and victory to me!"
They saluted and gave a great war-cry as they left to see to their deadly mounts. Tode's orcish bodyguard seemed angry.
"Sire, why has such an honor fallen to the lowly goblins? Why do you not honor your own orcish men the same way?"
"Silence, you thick-headed fool. The vanguard is not an honor, it's a suicide mission. Vigorropey is like a titan or giant - it's best to wait until it trips up or is knocked down by someone else before attacking. They way you can stab it in the face without a ladder. You and your men will have their moment of glory. There will be enough blood for all of us."
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There were two waves to the Roaring Sieges, and the first began shortly after the arrival of the Elves. A goblin army numbering about seventy including mounts, marched for the entrance of Vigorropey. When Urdim heard the news, he was shaken. It was the worst possible moment for something like this to happen. The drain had been dug, but the floodgate was not in place. If the Watery Grave were activated, it would just constantly drain, never reaching drowning depth. He ordered the entrance bridge, the one which stood before even the Grave, closed, but was in for another shock.
"Sir, the bridge won't close."
"Why in hell not?"
"Well, sir, it appears no one got around to hooking it up to the lever."
Panicked now, and able to hear the goblin war cries as they charged towards the tunnel entrance, he ordered the bridge which protected the Trade Depot closed instead. It appeared that Vigorropey's main entrance could not be closed completely, but with the Depot entrance closed, any goblin raiders would have to come through the labyrinth, single file. Activating all three militia squads, as well as the crossbow-wielding Fortress Guard at the entrance to the Labyrinth, he went back to the depot to molify the elves who had been told they could not leave until the siege was over.
The sounds of fighting in the Labryrinth tore him away from it after just a couple of minutes. He excused himself and went to Iden the Mauve Mobs, who stood playing dice with soldiers at the entrance.
"What's going on? Who are the goblins fighting in there? I thought I told everyone to wait here."
"Yeah, but private Urist left his shield outside so he went to get it. His buddy Bob went with him. Guess they ran into some goblins." He laughed. Urdim couldn't believe he laughed.
"What's wrong with you? We can't afford to throw away men. Get your people in there after them and then pull them back. I'll open the Watery Grave's floodgate to slow down the goblins."
Iden put his dice away and led his men into the Labyrinth while Urdim ran and pulled a lever. Water poured into the hall behind the bridge, but was sucked down the massive new drain before it could reach the Labyrinth. Sentries watching through peep-holes saw that the water flow did slow the goblin advance, allowing Iden and his men to have an easy time with the goblins and drowspiders who were the first into the Labyrinth. They also noted that while the Goblins were decent swimmers, the Drowspiders seemed to loose their footing easily, and couldn't make it past the water flow. Three goblins dismounted and rushed into the Labyrinth to help their fellows, leaving their mounts struggling, directly under the Depot Bridge. Urdim saw his opportunity, and took it, the fool.
Hearing that three spiders were under that bridge, he pulled the lever and atomized them, slashing water and mud all over the hall. He laughed at the carnage, and quickly pulled the lever to raise the bridge again so none of the other goblins could get in.
Nothing happened. The bridge did not move. Later, some would theorize that lowering the bridge onto three feet of muddy water had forced the mud into the mechanisms, and jammed them. Whatever it was, there was nothing standing between the remaining goblins (a thinning number) and the Trade Depot. Urdim recalled the Mauve Mobs from the Labyrinth and organized a stand near the bridge.
They fought bravely, but there were many losses. At last, the remaining goblins turned tail and fled, dwarven jeers ringing in their ears. Urdim wasted no time.
"Get that floodgate in place immediately," he yelled at his workers, "and for god's sake lets rebuild that bridge. There's nothing standing between the fortress and the goblins but the Mauve Mobs."
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Tode reflected that he must look much taller atop his Drowspider. It was nice to be tall. It was nice to ride a venomous giant spider with a penchant for decapitation too.
His men had camped outside the front entrance of Vigorropey, and he waited until he saw the handful of goblins streaming out of the entrance before ordering the attack. He himself would wait here of course. Why risk his own life before he had to. His orcs, glad that their "honor" had finally arrived, charged down into the tunnel, and he gave a little tap with his heels, urging his spider forward, but much more slowly.
Somewhere in that dark hole were the secrets of eternal life. He would squeeze this place until it gave them up.
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The dwarves of Vigorropey were in chaos. Many of them were still trying to bring junk crafts to the Depot, as if oblivious to the existential danger they were all laboring under. For Urdim it was painful. Watching the dwarves go about their jobs, the militia milling around, waiting for the appearance of the mechanics in the entrance, the only ones who could install the floodgate and fix the bridge. Finally, a dwarven hauler emerged from the Great Stair with the floodgate. It was Tosid, the Alchemist, looking his usual Idiotic and Serious self, and Urdim hurried him on to install it.
Too late. The orcish cry was heard, and they poured in.
"Iden," Urdim shouted over the din, "you have to get your men up there. You have to hold them up until Tosid installs that floodgate and repairs the bridge. Keep them busy."
With a grim nod of his head, the Mauve Mobs led his squad past the painfully slow-working Tosid to the entrance where he and his men stood shoulder to shoulder before the orcish horde. Ten dwarves against fifty orcs and mounts. Their bravery would be honored forever by the survivors of Vigorropey. Armok bless them, they held that line just long enough for the floodgate to be put in place. It saved the fortress, although at the time it appeared as if they failed.
"Get down there, Tosid! The fate of the fortress is in your hands. You need to install that floodgate and get the bridge working again."
Tosid straightened up at the Seriousness of his task, and long accustomed to his alchemical dignity he strode towards the drain, his secret smile still hinting at wisdom he did not possess. He solemnly placed the floodgate in place as if it were a sacred stone, and turned to begin work on the bridge. The floodgate was placed, but there was no time to hook it up to a lever. It would block the drain, but not work as a drain quite yet. Enough to activate the Watery Grave once the bridge was rebuilt. Tosid worked on the bridge with all the Seriousness he could muster, but he was too slow, far too slow.
Of the elite squad sent to hold the line, the Mauve Mobs himself died last. Surrounded by orcs and giant drowspiders, he was doomed. Drifting into his martial trance, he felt no pain when one of the spiders bit into his arm. It lifted him off the ground, flinging him about by the bitten limb until it tore itself free from his torso. Still he fought on, trying to bite the spider to death until he lost consciousness from blood loss.
Tode's orcs pressed on, falling upon Tosid and the other the mechanics working on the bridge, killing them without losing their momentum. Whatever secret Tosid had been guarding fell into the abyss of death. The orcs rushed down the great hall to the depot, where the remains of Vigoropey's militia met them, Urdim standing behind them with the gape-mouthed elven traders at the Depot, urging them on, desperately.
The Mayor looked over his shoulder. If the orcs got through the militia, which seemed quite likely now that Iden and his elite squad were dead, only two sets of double doors stood between them and the Great Stair. If they reached the stair, Vigorropey was done. There were no more traps, no more bridges, no more militia to stop them. He turned to lock the doors.
Both sets were jammed with detritus and junk crafts dropped by fleeing civilians. These doors could not be closed, let alone locked. Desperate, he grabbed a fleeing mason.
"Wall up the entrance to the stairs. We can still get to the stairs through the barracks, don't worry about us. We have to seal off the depot. Please, if you value your lives, seal it up!"
The mason grabbed several of his fellows and got to work. The remnants of the militia and guard lasted only long enough for the wall to be built before they too fell before the vicious onslaught.
Some of the elves fled into the underground fortress. The elven caravan guards stayed to fight alongside the dwarves, something that had not happened since the Dark Days. Urdim himself shouted encouragement from behind, finding in his greedy nature a spark of bravery. Some of those who blamed him for Zas's death would later judge that his courage and leadership in this desperate moment redeemed him. Others would say that while he was certainly brave, it was his own poor leadership and greed which produced the tragedy in the first place.
His men falling around him, Urdim picked up a mining pick and prepared to defend himself, looking over his shoulder to see the last bricks sealing the jammed doorway behind him. When he looked back at the fight, there were only Orcs and Drowspiders ahead of him. No one saw him die, but the masons heard his screams through the wet mortar of the wall.
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Far below the battle, where not even the sound of the forges could be heard, Baron Res sat indulgently admiring his greatly improved bedroom. It really was quite nice. Especially now that Frosty Fresh had a place of honor near his bed. Quite an exceptional piece.
His wife had told him about the battle, but he was sure that the Mayor and the Mauve Mobs could handle it. The Mayor would probably just give him that look if he tried to help. He hated that look. Like the mayor didn't take him Seriously. It made him feel as if he wasn't really the Baron after all. So he sat and tapped a keg in his private dining room, admiring the fine furnishings instead.
After hours of staring at Frosty Fresh, a thought occurred to him. He'd never actually seen the inside. It never occurred to him to actually use the splendid coffer as an actual coffer. Most objects of this level were really not intended for daily use after all. But maybe there were more beautiful carvings within...
At first, he couldn't figure out how to open it, but when he pressed on the image of the coffer that was carved into its side, there was a soft click and the lid raised. There were no carvings inside, just tightly rolled vellum scrolls and loose papers. Intrigued, he started to sift through the papers.
Strange characters, unusual glyphs and seals, chemical recipes, and blueprints for innovative workshops. Designs for a chemist's workshop... These were Zas's secrets!
Res could scarcely believe what he was reading. Much of it was difficult or unintelligible, clearly coded in some way, but what he could understand excited him. Zas's last experiments hinted at a miraculous black powder that exploded when in contact with flame. The alchemist noted that such a thing could potentially be weaponized. Was such a thing possible, Res wondered? What potential lay in these cryptic notes?
For hours he studied them, shut up in his quiet and beautiful room. Finally, his wife interrupted his reverie.
"What are you doing down here, you fool," she shouted, "Don't you realize you're about to lose everything?"
"Hey, look what I found," he said, holding up a scroll. She slapped it out of his hands.
"I don't care what you found. The orcs have taken the entrance. The Mauve Mobs is dead, the Mayor is dead, even the Bookkeeper and Manager are dead!"
Res's jaw dropped to his toes. If they were dead, who would give the orders? Who would organize the defense? He closed his jaw tightly as he realized that, with a stroke, all of the responsibility for Vigorropey's survival fell to him. He carefully piled Zas's notes back into Frosty Fresh and began to climb the Great Stair.
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What followed was completely unexpected by the other dwarves. No one really imagined that a noble would lift a finger to save himself, let alone a fortress, especially not gentle Res. Res quickly proved to be a very different kind of Baron.
As he marched up the stairs towards the battle, he grabbed every able-bodied dwarf and organized them into a desperate last ditch militia. The door linking the Depot to the Great Stair had been walled up, but the Mauve Mob's barracks had been just off the Depot, and there was a passage that led around to the leatherworks and back to the Stair. It would have to be held while Res assessed the situation. He sent his civilians up to the barracks. Desperately they held. Only one drowspider and rider had thus far found their way into the barracks, and they killed him while suffering atrocious casualties. Once they took the room, they barred the doors.
The Baron considered his very limited options. The enemy had completely taken the Depot area and the entire Entrance Hall. He could order a retreat out the hilltop Keep, but could not imagining abandoning Vigorropey now. This was the first time he was ever responsible for something, and he did not want to blow it, especially considering what he had found inside Frosty Fresh. But the only way Vigorropey could survive would be with the defeat of the orcs now camped out in the Depot. The professional militia of the Mauve Mobs was dead to the last dwarf, and the rag-tag bunch of civilians would be no match for the drowspiders. He did the only thing he could. It was something Urdim in his greed could never do. He ordered the Watery Grave activated.
"But sir, there's no bridge! It will flood the whole first floor, not to mention destroy most of what's sitting at the Depot. It will take years to drain! The Mayor said..."
"The Mayor is dead," the Baron said, "and if we don't flood the entrance it's only a matter of time before the spiders tear down those doors. Pull the damned lever you fool!"
The lever was pulled and the waters began to flow into the Hall.
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Tode finally strode into Vigorropey's Entrance Hall, smiling at the carnage he saw. He saw the proud Mauve Mobs in pieces and gave an armored piece of meat a kick for good measure as he passed. As he progressed beyond the Watery Grave, he could not help but admire the carvings on the wall. That, he presumed, must be the famous Zas, looking Serious as he founded the fortress only five years past. He was sure his orcs would have a good time defacing these masterworks later. Reaching the depot, he stepped over a dead elf and demanded a report from his subordinates.
"We nearly have them sir. It appears they've walled up the main entrance, but we're working to tear down these other doors to find another way in. It's only a matter of time."
Tode worried. Time was rarely on an orc's side. Give the dwarves time and they could regroup, as unlikely as it seemed. He looked around. His spies told him that there had been about a hundred dwarves at Vigorropey when he attacked. Eye-balling it, he estimated that there were at least sixty or seventy dead dwarves piled around him. What resistance could they muster? Yet, why was Tode still worried?
Then there was a great creaking groan which echoed from the Entrance Hall, followed by the sickening sound of rushing water.
"Back to the entrance! Back to the surface," he cried, leading the way. He reached the ruins of the Depot bridge before the water washed his mount out from under him.
Shortly thereafter, he emerged, sputtering and coughing up riverwater, and fell exhausted onto the dry ground outside Vigorropey's main entrance. He was alone, the orcs having fled or drowned. For a time he slept, shivering, cursing his fellow dwarves in his fever-dreams. They seemed to dance around him, taunting him. Especially that moving stone carving of Zas. It poked at him, called him a dirty traitor. It teased that he would never know what Zas knew, would never find the Secret of Life. It laughed, and told him that instead of living forever, he would die here, cold and alone, a traitor and a failure.
He awoke, but in his fever, Zas was still there, taunting him as he tried to crawl across the rapidly freezing ground. He reached the riverbank, but could go no farther. He collapsed, exhausted and shivering in a ball. Suddenly, he felt much warmer, and a pleasant drowsiness overcame him. He embraced it, drifting into the oblivion of his final sleep.
Weeks later, a goblin scout, sent to learn what had happened, found the Lord of Nightmarewrath still curled in a ball, frozen to the ground.
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The depot and the entire entrance floor had flooded, and while it had taken nearly a month to fill, dozens of orcs and spiders drowned. Draining it would likely take a full year, if not longer, but Res was in no hurry. With no bridges to stop an invasion, the flooded entrance would be Vigorropey's new wall.
He called a meeting at the Great Hall, and was at first saddened by what he saw. Twenty dwarves had survived, barely enough to fill a corner of the long table which dominated the Hall. Most of them skilled craftsmen, metalworkers, smiths and farmers who had been kept far from the battle. Many would now have to take up lowly hauling jobs, which would lower morale even further. Vast Vigorropey felt hauntingly vacant, and those who walked its halls felt much like the ghosts which had begun to appear to plague the living. The faces of his compatriots were long and he saw no hope there. He knew that the only thing he could do was to try to provide it for them.
"Citizens of Vigorropey," he began, stepping onto the Speaker's Podium, "We here are all who remain of the brave souls who have built this incredible edifice to Dwarven Persistence. We have lost so much, but we have not lost all. Our situation is only hopeless on the surface, but I want to assure you that Vigorropey can and will survive.
"I have heard some say that we are trapped here, and this is indeed true. The main entrance is flooded, and as you have no doubt heard, the goblins and orcs have now been replaced by a squad of Frost Giants, the great enemy of our people. The surface is indeed lost to us for now. So too are the caverns. At least ten Forgotten Beasts prowl the caverns beneath us. They too cannot be retaken in our current state.
"But what is that to us? What do we need from the surface, or from the caverns that we do not have right here in Vigorropey. I have asked my wife, the Baroness Consort, to fill in as Manager and Bookkeeper for the time being and she reports that we have enough food and alcohol to feed us for hundreds of years. We have plenty of ore to smelt, we have hundreds of metal bars ready for forging, and we have the Armok's gift of magma for fuel. We twenty dwell in a space crafted for ten times that number. The only thing we are short on is wood, which as long as we are careful, what we have will last us for years yet. We cannot leave, but we have no
need to leave. We will wait this threat out, and in the meantime we will work to prepare for future emergencies. To this end, I would like to take this opportunity to announce two initiatives that will take Vigorropey into the future.
"The first arises from the realization that the Water Grave, however useful as it has been, is not without limitations. It is a good trap, but it is not enough to protect us. We must look past it. Therefore, I propose a second system, set to destroy our enemies on the surface rather than waiting for them to come to us. We will construct a stack of iron pumps to drain part of the volcano into a reservoir inside the upper hilltop, powered by windmills at the top of the hill. When the opportunity comes, we will retake the upper hill and remove the last ramps that link it to the lower. This will allow us not only space for above ground crops, but for a ring of floodgates that, when activated, will flood the entire valley with magma. This project will take years, I know, but it may be years before the entrance is useable again.
"The second project is... well, a little different. You see, my fellow citizens, I have found inside Frosty Fresh Zas the Alchemist's records and secrets, and I have been diligently working to decode them. I have found little concerning the famous elixir, but a great deal of potentially lethal weaponry. While our defenses are being slowly rebuilt, I and a few select others will set ourselves to the task of realizing Zas's dreams for a new age of dwarven science.
"None of this will be easy, especially with our diminished numbers, but if we put all of our energies behind it, Vigorropey will endure. Can I count on you?"
The vast echoing chamber made it sound like two hundred people cheered instead of a mere twenty. Res smiled at them. It had worked. Their spirits had been lifted. Around them stood nearly twenty artifacts, the fruit of Vigorropey's genius, as well as legendary carvings which told the story of their fortress. Surrounded by these tributes to dwarven persistence, and lifted by their Baron's words, they almost forgot the legion of Frost Giants and goblins which camped above them, the dozen or so unthinkable Forgotten Beasts which lurked below, and the murderous ghosts of their kin which lurked among them. No one complained. No one tantrumed. With Res at the helm, the dwarves of Vigorropey got back to work.
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Topic: The Ancient and Serious Fortress ☼Vigorropey☼ (Read 2394 times)