"....They are upon us. The goblins, led by their human Master, Ago Ngulomato, launched a truly horrendous attack upon we of noble Inkdelights of the Abbey of Legends of the Road of Nails. It is early in the month of Malachite, of the year 1056.
They were as numerous as the grass itself before our mighty gates. But we were impregnable, or so we thought, renowned as we were for the thick, fortified walls surrounding our perimeter on three sides, a sheer ravine on the fourth. Many a wave of goblin aggressors had risen up against us, only to crash and fall against this barrier: countless gruesome corpses feeding the carp in the waters below.
But they found the secret entrance. It was little more than a hole at the base of the cliff! If we had had time to complete the protective earthworks, they wouldn't have been able to even reach it. But no; the scum Ngulomato arrived too soon! He murdered those civilians left outside, and sent his trolls to tear open the hatches. The goblin tide flooded in.
Even with our impregnable perimeter breached, we were not ready to give up easily. Our standing army was quickly mobilized, nearly half our number (we are a proud and warlike people), all clad in the finest Dwarven steel, all armed to the hilt with the keenest blades our smiths could produce. Our mighty champions waded through the vile invaders, slaying left and right, corpses falling beneath them in piles.
To no avail. They were too many, we were too few. We were valiant, but overrun. I watched in horror as the goblin scum descended the grand staircases, screaming and snarling. Terror overtook us. They had taken the tower, killed the warriors. We had no choice but to flee as they filled the main corridors. They took the waterfall room, smashed the jewel-encrusted statues, overturned the magnificent dining hall where I had so often held a merry court. So many died, cut down where they stood, blood and gore and corpses were everywhere - animal, dwarf, splatters and gouts lay strewn across the masterful engravings on our opulent rooms.
I knew, then, the only way I could save my people was by getting them down into the mines. Down there in the dark we had cut many grottos, many tunnels, all in our search for wealth. And we knew of the great dark caverns. We could hide down there in the dark, and the goblins could spend months searching to no avail.
I fled, urging as many to follow as I could. I saw whole families slaughtered as cattle before my very eyes; mother, daughters, sons. In the end, only I and a lone engraver escaped into the dark below the fortress. But we were not yet safe. We could hear the hordes spreading through the thick darkness behind us. We fled deeper, locking tight all the doors we passed.
By happy chance, we found three of our advance miners laboring away down there in the deep. They had been down here working all along, unaware that in the fortress miles above them their friends and families had already spilled their lifeblood on the stone. We brought them these bad tidings, and stricken with grief as they were, they showed truly admirable, unbreaking dwarfen spirit in guiding us to a place where we would be safe. There, they walled all five of us in, lamenting only that those above us could not be properly laid to rest, and that they could not die avenging them.
But we had no time for weeping, for although safe from the hordes above us, we were still not out of danger: we had no food, no drink, no prospects beyond miserable death down here. I think the engraver's wits were broken by this tragedy, for she would not rest, and she would not talk, or perhaps could not. Instead she frantically began to smooth and engrave the rough stone walls around us, horrible images depicting attack and gruesome death. She is not long for this world, I fear."
(Journal of Countess Medtob Astobir)
"It was in the late autumn of 1054 when the Kas Alhoiquob the Brilliant Pulps the hydra attacked our fort. Though eventually killed, she shattered my spine. I never walked again, or even left my bed. Here I lay, destitute, in my room, each day blending into the next in a litany of misery. I, Litast Lenshammeng, who had once been mayor, forced to subside on what scraps the others remembered to bring me, and water, WATER, as if I were some beggar-leper? Such treachery! How I hated them, how they went so merrily and industriously on with life without me - planning excavations, digging, smelting, crafting, growing wealthy and prosperous and yet not once passing by my lonely door for a chat, or to bring me my favourite ale. Often I wept, and cursed black curses upon them and myself and the world, but never did my lot seem to change."
"The miners and I have a plan. We know of a deep secret muddy patch of cavern, the floor of which is strewn with shrubs and giant mushrooms. It will be difficult, but if we can tunnel up under it we can get food for our bellies and maybe brew drink for our parched throats, if we can find a way to cut barrels. The miners say they will cut away the slopes of this pit bottom to prevent any dangerous creatures wandering in on us, and that there is a solitary metal-forge tucked away in a secluded cavern in the tunnels with a smelter and a pile of bars. If we can somehow tunnel up there too and wall it off, we could make axes - which means barrels, and beds. I see the glimmers of hope in their eyes when we speak of this, and they began the excavations immediately. Maybe we do not face a future as comfortable and as wealthy as we were once accustomed, but now at least we have a chance at existence. All who pass above will think us perished, but we WILL be alive down here, perhaps to begin again someday. We can only hope.
Why are the miners taking so long?"
(Journal of Countess Medtob Astobir)
"No, never did my lot seem to change, not until I was woken from my fitful dreams by their screams, and the clash and zing of war. Goblins! Somehow, they have breached the interior and killed the guards, and in my blackest, deepest of hearts I know that my curses have been heard - and have been answered with a vengeance. Nobody will even remember my existence now, much less come to my aid - and what could an invalid do against an army of the goblins of Esroxutes?
But some resolve strikes me: perhaps I could seal my own fate this time? It has been long since I was master of anything, even my own affairs. No, I will not give any goblin wretch the satisfaction of lashing my gizzards out through my back. And by seal my fate, I mean seal the door.
I drag myself heavily to the floor and haul my useless body to the passageway, my once strong frame atrophied and shriveled from two long years abed. But I manage to shut and seal the heavy stone door before the vermin invaders reach this level, and here I lie prone, breathless and dizzy, face mere inches from the jamb, listening to the screams and the slashing and the thunder of many plate boots on stone - many, so many. They will all be dead soon. Am I crying or am I laughing? I don't know anymore.
Then suddenly all is still, and there are no more screams. The silence that now lies heavy on the stone is worse than the battle, far worse. I imagine sneaking goblin thieves skulking just beyond my door, prying around, their wicked ears picking up the faint sound of my ragged breaths. I imagine then the troll that would smash the stone open to find me there, before bringing me before his master. I would be flogged, tortured, pincushioned with bolts...
My heart pounding at me like a hammer, I crawl with terror-fed strength to my bed and there I lie, barely moving or breathing, while all through the tunnels around me the enemy lurks and skulks"
"The miners are dead. The caverns were our undoing, a terrible beast had woken down here. Shash Elcursethal Lur Shash is his name, Shash Plaguespider the Hate of Hell, a gigantic eight-legged noseless otter, ravening and of scarlet hair - and curse us, for his wakening is our own doing. Hark! His roar fills the tunnels ahead. I cannot flee, the tunnel is sealed. He is coming. He is coming! The engraver babbles now, she runs toward the sound. He has rounded the corner! She strikes, but he takes her head in one swipe. Now he is snarling at me. He approaches slowly. O Kovest, O Armok, save me! There is no escape. I die with my back against cold stone. Remember the dwarfs of Inkelights! We were mighty, we were rich! We delved deep, we delved broad, and far!
Remembe-"
(Journal of Countess Medtob Astobir)
"So now that I've calmed down a bit, I figure that I'm the only dwarf left alive in the place, and that means not only has the fortress not yet truly fallen, but that now I'm mayor! Ha, ha haaa! I shall sit here until I starve, ruling over the rats and the roaches, and no goblin invader will be able to say that he slew the last dwarf of Inkdelights! A crippled wretch of a dwarf, defying the might of the entire goblin army! I am the stuff of legends!"
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Topic: What's going on in your fort? (Read 6129082 times)