My name is Sibo Axesparks, and I'm a soldier -- an axedwarf, in case you've been hitting too much of the gutter cruor and thought I was a marksdwarf or somthin'.
My past ain't of no mentioning, I'm here to talk about stupid godsdamn me mechanics and nobles. I was a axe-dwarf of Gearsplashes up north in the Rough Points, when the king (may he set his beard on fire!) decides he needs to "contain" the goblins. His brilliant idea is to send dwarves that displease him in some way out into the plains to build "supply camps".
Idiot. I sometimes think they make nobles by seeing who can come up with the stupidest possible ideas. At any rate, before long, I'm assigned to one of the King's favorites as a bodyguard. The idiot promptly wanders outside while I'm on break, getting some ale, and gets torn to bits by a goblin ambush.
My fault? No. But I find myself packed away on a caravan to Granitegleam, one of the new "supply camps", along with about 10 other useless, assorted losers. 4 soap makers, 2 pump operators, a couple of peasants, a clothier, and a single noble, a Dungeon Master who had managed to piss off some Baron or another.
We arrive at this ... plain, sitting right in the open in the middle of a forest. There's a trade depot and a set of downwards stairs surrounded by a block-stone wall, topped with fortifications, and not a soldier in sight. Wonderful. It doesn't help the entire goddamned place is overrun with dozens of foxes and wolves, howling and baying for blood.
Once we settle in, though, I've just managed to examine what passes for a barracks in this hellhole when the captain of the guard decides to summon me. He's a soft-looking marksdwarf dressed in mud-spattered leathers with a scarred up crossbow and missing his right hand -- lovely, that.
"We have a little problem, Sibo. About a month ago, we found a magma pool. We decided it would make glassmaking and forging a hell of a lot easier, as well as allowing us to get below the water table for some actual stones beside what we brought with us. The problem is that the top level of the magma pool is on the same level as the water table."
I nodded. "So if you try to dig into the lava pool, you'll end up flooding it with water. "
"Exactly! SO. The mayor and the dungeon master have come up with a startingly good idea. First, we'll channel a hole through the pit roof, over the edge of exposed stone next to the lava pit. Over this we'll build a draw bridge. Next to that, we'll carve downwards stairs. Then we'll gather logs and soldiers, pile them onto the draw bridge, and drop them down to the lava cave. The soldiers can hold off the fire imps and magma men while the workers build a set of stairs back up to meet up with the downward stairs."
This had the makings of a truly stupid death. I kept my suspicion of discovering firsthand about how it felt to burn to death to myself and merely nodded. He continued.
"We have a squad of marksdwarves - 5 of them -- and two woodcutters who are decent with axes....but you're our first and only professional soldier. You'll lead the assault."
3 hours later, I'm standing on the drawbridge , at the back of which is piled a stack of heavy, rough cut logs. There are 4 of the 5 marksdwarves here -- frightened civilians in bits of leather armor, clutching badly made wooden crossbows and with quivers of fucking bone bolts -- those will do a lot of good, let me tell you. The so-called axemen are a pair of hulking lumberjacks, who's woodcutting axes are about as sharp as the mayor is. I sigh, pull out my steel battle axe and shield, and hunker down to listen to the mechanic.
"I've counterrigged this bridge, it should drop swiftly. It's a long fall, so try to roll with it. Once you're down, I'm closing it again. Good luck."
I nod, and he pulls, the final marksdwarf staying above to cover the area. We fall into darkness and heat, landing with a hard bang of logs.
The men are stunned except for me and the lead marksdwarf. I roll clear and pop up right in front of a magma man! The creature glows fiercely in the dim , red light of the cavern, even as fire imps clamber up shrieking.
I swung my axe downward, crashing the fine steel into the magma man's hip, severing his leg with a single blow, sending him crashing backward. Bits of molten rock spatter off my armor, one sizzling as it burns against the leather botos I wear. I jerk my axe up and down, crashing the axe into his head, sending it into the lava-filled abyss beyond.
The marksdwarfs open fire , bolts flashing out, as two imps return fire with their fireballs. One hits, and a explosion rocks the cavern as one of the marksdwarfs goes up in flame, his mouth open in a rictus of agony as he dances and staggers about before collapsing in a flaming pile of cooked meat. Two bolts take down one imp, flaming ichor splashing the ground. The lumberjacks charge two more, slamming their axes home into the waists of the imps as if they were trees. One is cut in half, his upper body slamming into the far wall of the cavern and rebounding to fall into the lava. The other is torn open, legs flying one way and upper body the other.
Another marksdwarf goes down to a fireball, as I take out the other magma man, parrying it's lumbering punch and then spinning on my heel, reversing my swing to crunch my axe into his chest. The magma man comes apart like taffy, one arm spinning wildly off into the magma pool, the rest tumbling end over end before slamming into a wall, splashing ichor in a crazed, star-shaped pattern. A few more bolts lash out, and then all is quiet, except the sobs of burned dwarfs.
I look around. One marksdwarf is dead, his body smouldering. Two more lay on the ground moaning. One's entire upper body is charred, his eyes and most of his face gone, his leg a mess. I doubt he'll live the day. The other has his entire right arm cooked, and is pale, but otherwise okay, although he looks shocky.
The two lumberjacks sling their axes and begin roughing up the framework for a primitive ladder, so that proper stairs can be built. I step close to the edge of the magma pool and look down, scanning for enemies. None.
A few minutes later, the heavily burned dwarf gives a sob and ceases to breathe. The dwarf beside him sighs heavily and tosses his crossbow to the ground in disgust. I merely purse my lips -- always bad to see a dwarf die, but it happens. Finally, the ladder is up and the others file out of the hellishly hot, dark cavern. I stay here, making sure all is safe, as the masons come down with carefully horded blocks of granite, and the miners begin sinking shafts into the obsidian floor to find rock.
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True story. I had a magma pool I wanted to get to, but it was surrounded by the aquifier, and I couldn't think of any other way to get into it but an assault drop. The battle was pretty bad, but I didn't lose as many dwarfs as I thought I would. The axeman immigrant I had made the difference, he dropped the two magma men in about 3 seconds! After that, I made him Captain of the Guard.
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Topic: Death From Above: A mini-story of the Magma Pool of Granitegleam (Read 1175 times)