Hello Bay 12 forums! This post celebrates two firsts. 1) First post on these forums, and 2) first DF story I ever wrote. I hope you guys like it.
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The White Walls of Gembishzasit
by Bilgewater
It was no surprise that Smige looked up to his mother Streti. An incredibly skilled warrior, Streti held the respect of everyone in the Chartreuse Kingdom. Smige, however, respected her love of adventure. With her rank and skill, she could have, and many thought should have, stayed in the noble halls of Ucimasla. Many speculated there was some reason she kept signing on to be a caravan guard, to journey once each year to the dwarven halls at Gembishzasit. Whisperings of some romantic interest followed her departure.
Smige knew this to be true, though Streti held love not for a dwarf, but for the dwarven culture. Each time she returned from the mountain home, she brought back stories, descriptions of the magnificent white walls, their curt but honest hospitality, and the beautiful engravings of the terrible dragon Ithi Jadeflickers lining their halls.
“Is this real?” she would ask. The dwarves would never answer.
She would return to Smige with fine dwarven wine, handfuls of beautifully cut gems, and carved stone toys.
Named partly for his size, Smige thought he could never be a great warrior like his tall, muscular mother, but he had been imbued with her love of adventure and fascination with the dwarves. All through his thirteenth year, he dreamed of going on those caravans, side by side with his mother, exploring the Tired Jungle and the Labyrinthine Murk and seeing the white walls of Gembishzasit. And so, in the spring of 132 of the Third Age of Myth, Smige convinced the caravan leader, Sazir Arothoddom to take him along as a wagon driver.
The journey was long and hot. Several detours had to be made to avoid the war parties of Azstrog Snus. Streti had fought and killed many goblins but had not seen this much activity from their foul halls since the siege of 127.
As they backtracked through the Tired Jungle a third time, Streti stopped in a clearing and stared at a blackened prickle berry bush.
“There was a fire here,” she said, the scent of ash filling her nose, “We should turn back.”
“Are you mad, Streti?” Sazir snapped, “We’ve less than a week left! You’re supposed to be the strong confident guard protecting us from those savages!”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. By the time we arrive, Gembishzasit could already be a tomb.”
“No!” Smige cried out, jumping from the seat of his wagon, “I must see it! You always told me of the strength and courage of the dwarves. How could they fall to a few meager goblins?”
“I know, son. But goblins are not to be taken lightly. What would happen if we arrived in the middle of a siege? We’d be cut to pieces. Besides, there’s… something else,” she said as she turned to look at the bush again.
“Streti,” Sazir said, lowering her eyes, “you are a contracted guard. We go to Gembishzasit. If you don’t come with us, you’ll face the axe back home.”
Smige grabbed his mother’s hands, “No! Mother, please come. We won’t be stopped by anyone so long as you’re with us.”
“Streti, listen to your son. If you force him to go with you, you’ll both be executed. We don’t know where these war parties are headed or when they’ll get there. Besides, I’ve seen the defenses of Gembishzasit. Dwarves don’t let goblins live long in their territory.”
Streti sighed, “Smige, why couldn’t you have born a year later?” Streti said, placing her hand on his head. “Alright Sazir. But know that I won’t be concerned with your welfare should something happen.”
“If I thought that that mattered, I might be concerned, but I’m not, now get your son back on his wagon.”
Fear pervaded the group for the rest of the journey. None of them wanted Streti to be right but they couldn’t doubt her experience as a warrior. A week after the argument in the clearing, just as they were leaving the Tired Jungle, one of the guards refused to go any further. The next night one of the trader’s mules broke free and sped off into the dark carrying a quarter of their goods.
After another five days, Smige finally got his first view of the gleaming walls of Gembishzasit. He hadn’t bathed since they left and had been chewing a piece of leather since the mule ran off to help him forget his hunger, but he couldn’t help feeling joy in his heart as they rode toward the western gates.
Streti, however, felt fear. She unsheathed her sword as they approached the wall. “I told you, greedy fool! The gates are closed! We have to leave now!”
“Calm yourself!” Sazir shouted back, “They’re probably just doing repairs. We’ll go around to the north gate.”
“Go ahead and get yourself killed. Let’s go home, Smige.”
“But mother…”
The spearman to Streti’s right let out a wail of pain as a goblin arrow pierced his side. To the south they could see a war party of goblin archers and pikemen closing in on them. From inside the walls, a dwarf’s voice called out, “The North Gate, run for the North Gate!”
Streti grabbed Smige off of his wagon and the two began sprinting, leaving their comrades behind. As they passed the northwest tower, Streti looked back to see a lanky goblin ramming a pike through Sazir’s chest.
As they turned the corner, they ran into a pair of trolls punching and clawing at the wall. Whipping Smige behind her, Streti took a running leap and plunged her sword into the neck of the bigger troll. Wrenching the blade from its neck, she turned to the smaller troll who smacked her to the ground with his large, hairy knuckles. The troll pounced and landed against her shield, snarling at her and trying to mangle her with its tusks, but Streti managed to get her sword into the creature’s torso. Smige pushed the beast off of his mother and helped her get on her feet.
They could see the North Gate now. Smige did his best to get his mother to the gate faster, but they couldn’t outrun the arrows of two-dozen pursuing goblins. Only one connected, but it hit the already wounded woman in the thigh. The lucky archer was lining up his next shot when a burst of flame came from the sky, igniting everything around him and obscuring the other goblins in smoke.
“Ithi!” Streti screamed, remembering the engravings, her disbelief lost in a column of smoke and fire. The goblins turned their attention on the terrifying beast as it flew overhead, burning the earth. They unleashed volley after volley into the dragon’s flank.
Stuck with a hundred arrows, Ithi Jadeflickers finally fell to its death, leaving a legacy of flame stretching out in all directions. The remaining goblins screamed as the fire overtook them.
Olin Oltarkivish wondered if any of the goblins had survived Ithi’s assault. He peered over the gate through the cloud of smoke and saw, at the edge of the wall of fire, what looked like one goblin carrying another. Grinning, he watched as the flames consumed them.
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