I just had a goblin siege totally and utterly decimate a dwarven caravan that arrived only seconds before the siege announcement. The events that followed were pretty darned nifty - enough to inspire me to write a short summary of them.
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It had been a fairly busy season in Reinhammers. The fortress, recently made the mountainhome of Dishmab Shazak, or 'The Rampart of Symmetries', had become famous as a center of architectural and artistic prowess. Dwarves were sent from all over the continent to the stronghold to learn their trades. Visitors to the city stared in awe at the hundreds of workers scuttling over the surface of the city's newest project, a giant water tower that stretched far into the blue sky.
Early autumn had arrived and there was a crisp, refreshing breeze blowing as the dwarven merchant caravan arrived at the kingdom's mountainhome. They had brought with them goods from all the far corners of Dishmab Shazak to trade, and they knew they would get exorbitant prices for them here at Reinhammers. The traders here were known for their generosity.
But at that moment, an awful cry arose. An army of foul goblins was charging towards Reinhammers. The merchants had chosen precisely the wrong moment to arrive.
Catastrophe struck - the goblins crashed into the wagons of the merchant caravan with the force of a tidal wave. The merchants were cut down mercilessly. The guards, however, put up an admirable fight. Many enemies were slain and the blood of both dwarves and goblins ran bright red over the grass and rock.
One by one fighters on both sides fell. But the training of the dwarven guards prevailed; soon all of the goblins had been repelled. But then disaster struck once more, this time in a way none could have predicted.
A merchant trying to lead his pack-laden donkey to safety glanced back at the battle. His friends were dead and dying. A wave of despair engulfed the poor dwarf.. and then turned to rage. Rage at the goblins for killing his people; rage at his own kind for their own failure; rage at himself for his inability to do anything. With a fierce, insane cry, he hurled the poor donkey halfway across the field in a display of temper-fueled strength that would have impressed the greatest dwarven champions. Then, turning from the broken beast, he began to cut down the survivors of his own caravan. The few other straggling merchants who had escaped became melancholy at this awful spectacle and stood about blankly, waiting for death to take them. One even began to babble incoherently and crawl about on the ground like an animal.
Soon the crazed merchant had killed nearly all of his remaining comrades. It was only then that one of the wounded guards, enraged at the terrible acts committed by his fellow dwarf, gave in to the same dark force. He crushed the berserking merchant with a swing of his steel axe, then went running off across the grassy fields, screaming insanely and eventually disappearing.
The dwarves of Reinhammers stood upon their fortifications, watching the scene of carnage with a mixture of awe and horror. It was only then that one of the marksdwarves, glancing down from the perch, noticed what the others had not. Taking advantage of the dwarves' distraction, a squad of goblins had charged the city. Their stealth paid off, and they had come too close to the fortifications for the marksdwarves to effectively repel them. Worse yet, the city gates had somehow become clogged with several bolts. There was now seemingly no way to keep the intruders from gaining the fortress.
The dwarf standing on the battlements watched his fellows panic. But he knew what had to be done. The goblins were almost upon the southern bridge. He bolted down the stairs and yanked the dolomite lever protruding from the wall. A moment later a cacophony of screams could be heard - at the moment the goblins stepped on the bridge, it had retracted back into the canal-bank. The enemies went flying in all directions, some of them landing in the canal itself and drowning. But others waded to shore and began a rag-tag charge at the city.
But by now the military of Reinhammers had organized itself. They met the goblins head-on and tore through their ranks like a knife through butter. Vengeance was delivered that day for all of their doomed kindred, and once again goblin blood ran red. The dwarves of the mountainhome sent up a great cry of victory that only lasted for a few seconds; after all, there were many graves to dig - and many bolts to whittle out of goblin-bone.
-Fin
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Topic: Oh, the horror.. (Read 1036 times)