Loud, my boy, are you still discovering the wonders of humanity?
Apologies for the lack of updates, I don't post anything if nothing in particular is happening, otherwise there's no point. To answer the question, it appears the human assault is over, though the discoveries have not yet ended.
An end of sorts did arrive in time slowly, though only the end of the human siege crawled to some closure.
The eternal siege of the Lord of Life and War, the aptly named Sazir Razorbelts, remained in its usual state of unconquerable blockade. Even with the retreat of the hÜmans, the undead still remained, forever isolating the Fortress from the outer civilizations.
I felt some pity for the humans. Their number was vast but the Dwarves had worn them thin whilst the undead broke their skin, there was only so much they could do against months and months of never-ending warfare against the undead, some of whom they may have known in life. Knights galloping forth with their faithful war lions, surrounded by their pikemen and rangers into the Dwarf Fortress, returned out as idiot corpses seeking to return death to their former family. Thus ended the western vanguard.
The northern divisions were led by highly determined officers leading highly determined cavalry and camelry, by the standards of the already courageous western vanguard that foolishly entered an area they knew was heavily trapped and fortified. They got so far, enduring crossbowfire, explosive charges and Dwarven counter-attacks with sheer force of will. Their fortune would run out when they were attacked by a surprise assault of undead elf corpses, that had somehow managed to surround them through the machinations of Sazir Razorbelts. The survivors would go down fighting the war god Ibruk, the black bronze titan of venomous syndromes that treated them like iron, hammered between his hands into shapes he more enjoyed. The beleaguered humans managed to against all odds defeat Ibruk, chipping away at its legs with mighty cavalry charges until it fell, magma consuming it in the end. The northern divisions would no longer pose any threat. The undead consumed the leftovers.
The aerial corps of giant mosquito riders was immediately killed with extreme prejudice by marksdwarves.
The eastern assault was met with better results, with the worst occurrences being vast swathes captured or severely maimed by repeating spike traps designed to injure, not kill. After all the traps were jammed or disabled the many, many survivors managed to join their forces with the southern host, and scored a major victory by forcing the marksdwarves from the walls through excellent marksmanship.
This massive host of soldiers killed the most Dwarves, but steadily found itself pushed further and further south, further and further east, past the gatehouse and across the magma moat. From this fortified position they held their ground and set up camp, determining that if they were not to conquer the Fortress by assault, they would conquer it by siege.
By day the surviving army wrapped themselves in their cloaks to shiver out the excesses of Winter around their campfires, by night the campfires would be their guiding beacons around which human life persisted, ever wary of the undead that would enter view with increasing frequency to take a bite out of those too weak to stand.
By summer all would melt and the skies would pour down dwarven blood, into their clothes, soaking them with gore, the taste of strong iron on their tongues and in their noses, inside the linings of their lungs. With breathing difficult and the mosquitoes arriving for the feast, it is not worth considering what horror of a beast an undead mosquito is - life itself was growing evil, the humans were suffering for it. So many human heroes were made and unmade in the same week that the stone masons had trouble recording all their names on so many gravestones. The final life for these humans was to see after years of near-constant warfare, those who were injured were left behind to fend for themelves with a handful of confused volunteers, whilst all of the humans who still had horses and camels rode away in retreat back to the safety of home.
The Dwarves began emerging from within the Fortress when an auspicious sign had been observed. A wild eagle flew high above in the skies, something that had never been seen for most of the Fortress - having only been born in a time when they knew of domesticated eagles, and only domesticated eagles.
The wild eagle, tired of its awe-inspiring flight, sought to find a safe perch on Silentthunders' walls. It did not see the disguised wall spikes, and thus was terminated. The spikes intended to keep undead ravens from using the walls as a roost worked indiscriminately against the wild fliers. If the Elves still visited, they would no doubt be aghast. More significantly the appearance of a flier that had not been shot down and eaten by the humans or Dwarves was proof that the world was no longer in total contest, only moderate struggle.
The surviving humans formed isolated bands of human villages, each huddle appearing on the periphery of Silenthunders out on the edges of the Spidery Forest. They were almost too small for the undead to notice and of no especial threat to the Dwarves, but with the signal of the eagle it was time to evict them dwarvenly (better an adamantine axe than an undead jaw to deliver death to the remaining). There mustn't have been more than 60 of them in total, yet they still fought bitterly for some unknown reason. A will to live? Vengeance? Survival instincts? I know not, only noting that one last human archer had apparently been saving his arrows for the Dwarves, for he managed to take down a few more before being hacked to death.
All this commotion was of course noticed. The undead that were held in check by the human forces began spilling through, the Dwarves summoned a force of 60 soldiers to deal with the incursion in the most efficient manner possible, by drawing them into the lands where the dead stayed dead.
The Dwarves had a very long cleanup operation to conduct. The youngest soldier on duty in the frontlines was R. Logem Wheelscale Bimbidok, at age 13. The youngest soldier who was content with being on duty in the frontlines was R. Ral Dyecombed Ralidos, at age 15.
Ral found the most annoying thing about being outside was the sun, and took any solace she could find in hacking apart dead things. Hundreds upon hundreds of fallen warriors and their mounts, the immeasurable offal of the moose pit upturned on the world, it is somewhat amusing to note that characters with their entrails spilled on the ground leave little tildes trailing behind them.
~~Ü
The new recruits handled their task amicably, though the old guard still outperformed them in every regard. There were some additional casualties which were felt painfully, though all injured were recovered and only one died in hospital. Special commendation was given to Captain Ber Tiger L. T. who complained of minor injuries, "minor" being his leg and hand broken, two of his fingers smashed open, whilst he was already on crutches due to a slight medical condition where his foot was eaten by a titanic spider.
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Topic: Ravens are murder. [SPOILERS] (Read 165695 times)