1st of Granite
So. This is all that has been left to me. Dirt and grime clog the corridors and the wind whistles emptily through the rooms. The only other sounds to be heard are the roars of the Minotaur outside…and I would rather not hear that. Well, NAV said that he wanted to concentrate on “Beer Smithing,” whatever that is. This would be all fine and well, except for the fact that this has left us without a leader. The rather annoying solution to this was for NAV to bestow the rather dubious honour upon whoever he first passed in the hall. Why did I have to leave the mines for that drink…
Well. I did, and now I am in charge of this hell hole. But to work now; the first thing on my depressingly long list is to stop the endless battering of our chief medical dwarf by the resident unfriendly Minotaur. So, drafting some dwarves, I prepare them for a noble charge. I’ll admit that I know little of military matters, being a lowly miner, but a charge is ALWAYS noble. Right? Even in Necrothreat, it HAS to be. The bards can’t all be wrong, now can they?
The noble charge ensues and… Well, we meet some Trolls. Blood sprays, they get through the traps and two die. The door is blocked open by knives and clothes. NAV valiantly attacked the Trolls and drove two of them into cage traps. His spine was broken and bruised, but he lives.
This is a sobering moment for me as I look up from my mad dash in doors. His sacrifice steeled my determination and, realising that with the door wedged open we would have no hope, I ordered an entire fortress attack. As 20 dwarves came pouring into the trap area, I turn and face the trolls. I. Will. Stand.
Like a vengeful horde we crash upon the trolls, wiping them from their miserable existences.
Buoyed by our success, I order the advance upon the Minotaur who was still futilely bashing at the medical dwarves head. Pathetic beast! Does it not know that a dwarves skull is thicker than his brain.
No matter. As we, the few dwarves remaining of 34 not children or unconscious, charge I notice what the chief medical doctor was being beaten upon. Underneath his bruised and bloated body lay…lay Jenny, dead. No more will the dwarves be so eager to rush to hospital for stitches administered by her fair hand. No more. Rage in my heart, I flung myself at the enemy, pick reaching for Minotaur blood. But alas, it was not my blade which tasted blood that day, but the mace of our broker:
No casualties in fighting the Minotaur. It was not bright and through its efforts to kill the chief medical dwarf had grown exhausted.
The chief medical dwarf was brought to the hospital where it was watched over by the vacant and murder-driven
Through the bars of the cage.
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Topic: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods! (Read 471339 times)