By fluke or just poorly trained recruits being subjected to combat, a single squad of White Tigermen massacred all twelve of my copper-armored, steel-armed militia without much issue and marched right on through to become trap meat. Unfortunately, at the same time a gobbo ambush sprung and they charged in through the now sprung traps, and I succumbed to the invasion. It's 3:30 and I'm having a creative streak, so let me put it in story form.
Shorast stood at his post, sighing as he looked out on the bridge, which was the only entrance to Westwires. It had been a boring season, naught but a few Dralthas to kill, and nowhere near as exciting as the previous siege (however devastating it had been). Sibrek, his second-in-command, stomped up to him, copper armor weighing the still fairly inexperienced dwarf down.
"Evenin', commander. Anything on t'a horizon?" he inquired, hoisting his heavy axe onto his shoulder.
"Nay, no' even a goblin t' kill, jus' like every ot'er night..." Shorast sighed, peering down his spyglass once more.
"Hmph." grunted Sibrek, before marching back to his post on the other side of the gate.
In the center of the fortress, the hall of crafts, several dozen dwarves bustled about. Some chatted, some worked, and others hauled stones and crafts to the hoards. Below, the clanking of weapons hitting armor could be heard from the barracks as the ten dwarves below sparred ceaselessly in preparation for inevitable invasions.
Last time it had been the verminous Ferric Elves, who couldn't get enough after the beating they had been originally given, and time before that the fearsome Nagas, who were no match for the late ex-commander, who succumbed to infection from a single bite-wound to the throat. The life of a militiadwarf in Westwire was a tough one indeed - not a single soldier from the original force only two years back was still around to talk about it, at least none that could still hold a weapon or stand up.
In the distance, there was a deep, monotonous roar. Shorast's ears perked, and his eyes scanned the horizon. The roar came again, slightly closer this time. As it sounded the third time, and as curious dwarves and even some of the recruits trotted out into the snowy winter aboveground to investigate the noise, the commander realized something: it wasn't a roar - it was a battle horn.
"Battle stations! Get those civilians inside, Sibrek!" he shouted, leaping into action. Snapping a quick salute, Sibrek Earthlances led the civilians into the reinforced halls of the fortress, and on the way back he flipped a small lever and two dozen clicks marked the arming of cage and spike traps.
By the time the full militia had assembled, the Tigermen were in sight, marching forward, some snapping in the direction of the handful of warriors and leaping towards them with bestial vigor. Moments later and the had reached the bridge which connected the fort to the outside world, and began progressing across.
"Hold..." growled Shorast, holding his shield in position. "Hold... Now!"
With a warcry some would say matched anything that the Tigermen could produce, Shorast Platepounded and his motely crew of copper-clad warriors charged forth.
It was apparent the freshly raised soldiers were too fresh-faced to be in a combat like this. Urist Doorplanks was the first to fall, his skull smashed in by one of the deadly copper hammers carried by the invaders. He was followed into the grave by Cog Wheeledgears, one of the more veteran militia, her legs broken out from under her and her spine snapped, she was left to suffocate in her own blood as it filled her lungs.
Shorast sliced this way and that with his trusty axe, the steel blade gleefully finding itself suddenly covered in sweet blood. Two of the invaders fell to the commander, but his short spree was not destined to last. Behind him, the leader of the squad stepped forward, and with a single swing of his axe the commander felt a dull thump as his right arm separated from his body. Before pain or shock could set in, four more of the beasts set upon his stunned form, tearing him to shreds in mere seconds.
"No!" Sibrek cried, beating away a charging invader with his shield and trying to fight towards the commander's fallen form. Without warning, he found that as he ran his feet were touching air, and he suddenly felt the grip of an incredibly powerful paw on his body. No time to react, he was hurled, his head smashing into one of the large statues set on either side of the fort's entrance and his neck snapping. He gave a few sputtering convulsions before his world faded into darkness.
The other militia were faring no better. Kogask Boatclutched smashed the butt of his spear into a Tigerman's stomach, before it leapt forward and tore his throat out. Beside him, Mosus Earlduked clutched his shattered leg in pain, before his life was ended by an invader's boot. The slaughter continued until the last warrior's body hit the stone below, blood coating the ground - most of it dwarven.
Meanwhile, some ways away from the fort, eight goblins chuckled to themselves as they watched the carnage. Slowly, each pushed himself from the foliage covering their forms. As several began to jog towards the combat, Uklol held up a hand, stopping them.
"Wait for it..." he commanded, sneering. As the Tigermen rushed forward past the broken forms of twelve soldiers, there was a multitude of clicks that was audible even from the ambush's location. A moment later, every trap sprung. The lucky beasts found themselves surrounded by bars as the cage traps enveloped them. The less fortunate ones had only moments to comprehend the error in their haste before a plethora of metal disks spun up from the ground and tore them to shreds.
With a guttural cry, Uklol signaled to charge, rushing forward himself. His crossbow in hand, he fired two bolts into the masses of dwarves which had gathered near the entrance to watch the combat. Both found homes in flesh, one striking true between the eyes of a brewer and the other lodging itself in the leg of one of the fortress's many masons.
Moments later, the main force crashed into the fort, and a dozen civilians were dead within seconds. The ambush party dispersed, flinging dwarf blood and guts every which way with malicious glee as they rampaged through the broken halls. With a panicked yet solemn flip of a lever and crank of a gear, a loud siren sounded throughout the fortress. Wasting no time, the living civilians did their best to flee. Many fell, many more would be crippled for life.
Westwire was lost. The dwarves' strength was broken, and for the eigth consecutive expedition, the Faithful Lenses found themselves with no profit and a dead colony.
Phew, that felt good to write. Now I can feel my fortress has been memorialized here.
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Topic: Tonight is just NOT my night (Read 2465 times)