Right then, I'm back from the state so its back to Daggerstatic! If anyone is still reading that is
So without futher ado...
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The spring thaw brought little respite for the dwarves of Daggerstatic. The triumph of the recent battle with the orcs fading with the reality of the prospect of future sieges. The great cavernous underground river roared into life with the brook now feeding it once more; another year had began in the home beneath the earth. Valdred Knucklehead strode purposefully through the halls grinning, a roll of parchment in his grubby hands. Pushing through the hustle and bustle of the workers he made his way to the staircase that would take him to the stone caverns. In recent weeks Valdred had become something of a local hero, his accomplishments in the art of engraving were increasing at a phenomenal rate and to the amazement of his peers he still managed to keep up with his duties as head carpenter.
Rounding a corner he came to the large felsite door marking Forge’s office, the door was simple yet displayed the distinct influence of the Daggerstatic mason ‘
Emorf’ Valdred really didn’t care for Emorf who was always trying to get his way at the expense of others. Perhaps today would change that, knocking on the door Valdred entered the room to see Forge deep in discussion with Olon Blackhammer who was looking even more dour than usual.
“Yes?” came Olon in an incredulous tone.
“Reports on our militia training and a missive about the elves, seems they’re decided to return.” Forge smiled at the level of professionalism Valdred was displaying, Olon had a knack for ruffling even the most agreeable of dwarves and the way he treated Valdred was near sadistic.
“Very good. Olon, you are dismissed.” The grey dwarf rose, you wouldn’t know to look at him but Olon was actually younger than Forge, indeed where it not for that he may have not stomached the indignant dismissal. With a stiff bow to his fellow dwarves Olon set off, grumbling. Valdred moved forward and handed the reports to Forge who eyed them intensely as if they might be disappear any second.
“I see” he ran his hand through his beard, toying with the single braid that kept it so kempt and tidy. “Tell Dentarg that as acting head of Militia he is to continue the training scheme with Stinthad, Edzul and Morn.”
“Very well sir.”
“Also, see to it that we have enough goods at the depot, we could use the trade and I don’t want to lose the elves’ trade again.” He took out his leather journal, now torn and tattered and began to write, signalling for Valdred to leave. Valdred nodded and left the room, closing the door and leaving Forge to contemplate the future in silence.
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Up on the surface Dentarg Ironhide was enjoying the sun, with more Orcs undoubtedly on the way it was wise to take every moment outside the fort one could get. Leaning on his axe he stood along with a group of herbalists and woodcutters that were taking a break for their afternoon of labour. The conversation was loud and hearty, as usual but for once Dentarg didn’t feel like joining it, something was tugging at his senses, putting him on edge. He sniffed the air, drawing the attention of several of his fellow dwarves who stopped talking and looking on in wonder. Someone was coming and a lot of someones at that, wasting no time Dentarg raised his axe and gritted his teeth, it’d be a cold day in hell when anyone sneaks of on him.
The nearby dwarves didn’t ask questions, the whistled and signalled to the sentries up above who brought their focus onto the western gate. One of the herbalists, stood forward, placing a hand on Dentarg’s shoulder.
“What is it? What do you smell?” he asked, voice flimsy with concern. Dentarg remaining silent, eyes fixed at the gate “We have
‘guests’ approaching” he growled. The air was soon thick with tension, the gentle spring breeze and the distant gushing of the brook the only sound to be heard.
In the trees, figures appeared, the dwarves readied their shots and prepared to give the order to bunker in, all they needed was a look at their foes. Yet as they came closer it was clear that this was no goblin ambush, no orc siege, instead dwarves, a whole party of them. They staggered closer, the steely gaze of the sentries turning to riotous joy, they called for assistance even as the first few immigrants staggered through the gates and into the courtyard. Dentarg had lowered his axe and still suspicious he approached a migrant, a young woman who sat catching her breath on a boulder. She told him to speak to their group leader, she gestured to the back of the group which is when Dentarg and the rest of the Daggerstatic dwarves caught their first glimpses of them.
Two dwarves, tall, at least be dwarf standards and noble looking. Both wore steel armour, not the finest craft but dwarf make non the less, it shone in the sun despite the coating of mud and blood that was still dripping off. Their grey-blue beards were long and regal, their air was that of quiet honour and courage, inside their eyes burned the very fire of dwarfkind, a tenacity that lives eternal. Dentarg was dumbstruck, the two dwarves approached and bowed before handing a missive to him.
“This is the list of all who have come” one spoke
“It was once far longer but weeks of skirmishes with our foes have thinned our numbers considerably.” came the other.
“And where is it you have come from?”
This time both dwarves spoke in response. “From the Venerable halls of Oldale, may Armok bless it.” Dentarg and all the dwarves nearby stood in awe. Oldale was a fine and respectable fortress that hand long been the home of many famous dwarves, the presence of immigrants from there could mean only one thing; Oldale had fallen.
“Dire news indeed..” Dentarg seemed riled. “Did you see any werewolves on your way here?”
“We did, aye.” Spoke one twin. “We came across their den, pulled some captives from their and cleared the place.” both looked sullen. “We lost the remaining soldiers there, went from thirty to sixteen..” Graciously Dentarg bowed in respect and with the other immigrants in tow lead them into their new home of Daggerstatic.
It was a grim tale at best, half the population of Oldale had left for Daggerstatic and only sixteen had arrived, the story spread quickly through the dwarf halls as the weary settlers set in for the night. It soon became apparent that the fall of Oldale had been brewing for sometime with constant attacks on her farms and breweries, the new arrivals spoke of their lives of fear and the desire to see it all ended. Yet even as the others were informed and the procedure taken Dentarg couldn’t help but feel as though something wrong, he had smelled a unusual sent, the question was, what was the cause?..
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Topic: Daggerstatic - Terror in the Cursed Woods [Community Fort] (Read 4736 times)