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[Dustan Hache]

at this point, the attacking army would have been mostly destroyed aside from a small group that stayed out of range. That group would begin to create a siege camp, though a lucky mortar shot or a quick raid would probably send it packing.

[TheBiggerFish]

>COWARD PHYSICIAN: DO YOUR ARMOK-DAMNED JOB.  BEFORE I COME DOWN THERE AND MAKE YOU.

[Amperzand]

>GM; Hope Murdoc acts before tomorrow morning.

[Chevaleresse]

>Murdoc: Be sorry. Also, try to mush the thing by smashing it on the elevator floor (not swinging the sharp part at the floor, mind you.)

[Amperzand]

The Woundbinder calls to the sentries of the gate.

"WE'VE GOT WOUNDED! GET THE PHYSICIAN OUT HERE!"

One of them, having exhausted his ammunition, turns within and runs into the lower halls.

The White Priest, in his gold-trimmed robes, brings himself to your attention.

"I have had some education in the field of healing, and am free to aid the living against such horrors as these. Need you my help?"

The Budding Engineer continues his work, making new advances in the field of coal-coking.

In the elevator, our honorable Foreman turns his strength to squashing the blob of unlife clinging to his pick. This only seems to anger it further, causing it to spread out and stick against the grated floor, trapping Murdoc's pick, which is really very badly corroded by now, rot spreading up the wooden handle.

The Necromantic Stranger who accidentally created it seems to be suffering from some sort of infection, the flesh of his leg turning pale, streaked with cruel red.

[TheBiggerFish]

>OB: Indicate assent and also the wounded mage and others.

...Oh joy, it's not just a zombie flesh blob, it's an omniphagic zombie flesh blob.

[Amperzand]

{Corrosive? Ah, heh. Not exactly. Corrosive would imply that it uses some caustic substance. Consider Entropy. Hache asked for a little lump of the stuff that Skalewyrm burned in fear and anger, so that is what I gave him.}

[TheBiggerFish]

((I made a new word today!))

[Amperzand]

{ Quite possibly.}

[Chevaleresse]

Let go of the pick, yell for help in the hopes that someone who knows how to deal with pint-sized eldritch abominations is close to the elevator, get to the other side of the contraption, and hope dearly that we're near the bottom.

[Amperzand]

{Somehow forgot to include the actual besieging army in the last 'dop.  }

The remnants of the besieging forces' sentient component leave the last few zombies to cover their retreat beyond howitzer range, presumably in order to reconsider. A few long-shot shells spray them with dirt, then the great guns fall silent. There is a lingering rattle of small arms and two of the gunnery crews manning the walls fire canister-loads into the writhing remnants of the undead, but soon even that is at an end, leaving the dust to settle and the smoke to fade.

The woundbinders, many themselves wounded by splinters of rock or mercenary arrows, move among the surviving defenders. Nearly fifty dwarves are dead or maimed, and among the remainder, those wholly unharmed could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Three of the cannons along the walls exploded, killing their crews, and all four of the repeating half-kilo guns will likely need to be rebuilt.

The rifles and other small firearms used by the militia, barely-prototype-worthy assemblies of hope and improvisation, have suffered a great number of lesser failures, leaving many of their users with burned faces and patchy beards, even depriving a few of eyes.

The White Priest, his gold-stitched robes stained with a foul sludge of blood, filth, and ash, kneels amongst the wounded to offer aid, cleaning wounds, removing arrows, cutting ruined forms loose of their mangled armor.

In the lower halls, a soldier enters the hospital at a run to find the wheelchair-bound "Nurse", another, less fortunate soldier assigned to indefinite hospital leave, attempting to pry loose an improvised barricade around the supply closet, where the fortress' one true physician has chosen to take refuge. The two begin, resignedly, to tear apart the pile of wooden thrones and gurneys.

Deeper still, an unconscious stranger and a frightened foreman are trapped in a moving elevator with a rapidly-growing abomination of ill-formed flesh, the horrific thing consuming a steel pick in its entirety before spreading through the grated floor towards them. Foreman Murdoc, having prudently armed himself with a simple revolver after the first few incidents, fires into it, not expecting much, but with little other hope.

Then, with a clunk, the elevator stops, the door slides open, and a pair of very paranoid guards, alerted by gunfire in the shaft, level their weapons into the opening, surprised to see the well-known mining foreman scrambling out of the confined space, followed by a groggily half-conscious Stranger.

They are even more impressed by the horrific thing that spreads across the walls towards them,  immediately opening fire into the elevator box with a thunder of crude automatic weapons.

[Gwolfski]

Gwolfski hear the gunshots, comes running round with the newest prototype that is likely to explode when fired.#

'What is that noise? can't anyone invent in peace h- On Armoks beard, what is that .... thing?'

[TheBiggerFish]

((Amp, am I awake yet?))

[Amperzand]

{You're in the process of being treated for a concussion and multiple broken ribs.}

[TheBiggerFish]

((Right.  Joy.))