The defenders of the fortress fought back desperately, but for every undead a crossbow bolt laid low two more shambled over its corpse to continue the fight. Eventually, the undead made it into melee range of the archers, and the battle was all but lost. With undwarvenly strength, the undead pulverized bone with every strike, and only a few dwarves made it back across the bridges before they once more rose, sealing the undead on the outside. 4maskwolf was among the first to fall, fighting at the forefront of the battle, and though he did not kill any with his crossbow his battle fury had inspired the others for just a moment longer.
Once more a spirit, 4maskwolf surveyed the scene of the battle. Only five military dwarves had made it back across the bridge, his own squad has been nearly wiped out. Two almost untrained dwarves from Jim Groovester's squad had made it back, one member of his own squad, one uninjured ranger from the other archer squad, and a badly injured mechanic, another member of the second squad, whose spine had nearly been shattered by the blow of an undead fist. He sighed and watched as the fortress attempted to recover, reeling from the shock of the battle.
The undead still arrayed themselves outside the walls, but the battle had cost them much of their numbers. They were weakened, but in a melee battle they would crush the feeble resistance of the fortress. However, Playergamer insisted on fighting them alone, and so he was given a full suit of copper armor, newly forged, along with a copper hammer and sent to fight the undead. He, too, fell quickly, failing to score a single kill to his name.
4maskwolf sighed, watching yet another spirit float past him into the great unknown. Some force was keeping him here, he knew, locked in an endless cycle of death and rebirth. So he chose a dwarf, a plucky young peasant who had, with his bare hands, slain many an undead. His soul merged with the youngling's, and he experienced it once more: the binding of souls, the fusing of spirits. His own was always stronger, but just like all of his possessions the soul of the peasant remained intact, even though it was now a part of him as much as he was a part of it. But this time there was a strong pull, a force driving him to a crafting shop. Something to make, yes... something shiny...
The fortress slowly began to recover, dwarven corpses stowed in temporary, honorable storage in hastily built coffins. Better resting places were needed, but there was so much to do. Slowly, the remaining undead were sniped out by archers from across the river, firing whatever bolts remained in the storage under the archer tower. The dwarven caravan had already turned back, however, and with heavy heart the dwarves returned to the task of cleaning up the battlefield and honoring the dead.[/i]
Pictures of dwarven kill lists (dead and alive) up soon.
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Topic: Long Live the Queen! A Mafia-Themed Succession Fort. [Year Two complete!] (Read 35619 times)