Domas Imushakrul plodded through the cavernous tunnels, nervously cradling a copper spear in her arms alongside a wooden tower shield. "This is stupid...so stupid..." she muttered. The others, mostly other haulers like herself, did not respond. She had just come of age, her life was just beginning...and here she was, waiting to die at the hands of some goblins in the middle of the main hallway with a bunch of other haulers. Above, three more squads of haulers moved to take up positions by the trade depot. Domas thought she could almost see them, and Itun, through the glittering gem windows which overlooked the hallway from the training rooms. She silently wished she had told Itun to be careful, but then realized that it wouldn't matter. Itun was never careful.
In the courtyard the grass and trees were soaked with blood. Rotting corpses littered the ground, torn clothing and rusted swords and armor beside them. What weapons and shields that had been worth using still had been squirreled away by the Doctor's squad, and those squads that would be making a stand in the temple with him. Deler gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on his damascus steel sword. He exchanged a silent nod with Captain Asmel of the Golds of Craft, who idly twirled her twin steel axes as she waited, and Guard Captain Likot, who nervously paced and held his iron blade away from his body like it was a viper ready to strike. Turning, Commander Deler pulled his horse hoof horn from where it hung at his waist and let three long mournful blasts.
The squads waited.
Urdim Tongsrope lowered his hand from his brow and turned to waddle his corpulent form towards the ramp, pulling his copper dagger from the folds of his leather cloak. "Yyyep," he murmured in response to the expectant looks of the haulers who shared his tower with him, "The bridge is lowerin'. Best get ready to open the hatch and charge the depot when we hear th' fightin'." No response came as the grim-faced peasants took up their shields and spears and prepared to follow Urdim the alchemist into battle.
The Ghost of Ducim, who's corpse had been on the other side of the wall, rose from the ground to join his old platoon just as the battle began. Deler wondered if the boy could be of any help, or if was forced to watch as his old friends joined him.
The Bog Trolls came first, swinging their great axes before them with the ferocity of a thousand dragons. If the rocks that tumbled down from the surrounding wall effected them at all, they did not show it. With a roar to match his foes, Deler pinwheeled his short sword and charged into the fray, the Bronze Typhoons hot on his heels.
The Bog Trolls were easy, though by the time they fell Ok the Guardsman's head had been split in two, poor Nish had lost his right arm, and Kulet of the Golds of Craft was soaked in blood and fleeing back into the caves in terror. Deler and his men only barely had time to catch their breath and assess their condition before the war cry of the goblin siegers, who had been waiting so patiently for the past year, reached their ears.
The Goblin Leader arrived first, astride a Jabberer. His iron spear glistened with the blood of...Deler wasn't sure. As he rode up and over the bridge, Nish ran forward to meet him. The Leader's spear found its way into Nish's skull with little trouble. And with those strangled and dying cries of their friend, the eleven-odd remaining dwarves raised their axes and swords, and charged.
The Spearman rode past the dwarves, skewering a Golds of Craft as he passed. The bloody axe slipped from lifeless fingers to clatter onto the ground beside so many others. Behind the Spearman, over twenty lashers, each mounted on some vicious beast from the caverns below the earth, sallied forth. To the south, mounted on giant bats, several more circumvented the walls. The soldiers were soon surrounded.
Kalur let out a shout of pain as an axe removed his hand. Deler saw him turn to run, and heard a strangled shout and a thump a moment later. Asmel heaved her axes and brought low the spearman's jabberer, rallying what remained of her squad about her in the corpse pile before the spear found its mark in her chest. Gasping for air, the Captain surged on. Nearer the bridge, Fath Uristesh stared down at a gaping wound in his chest before tumbling forward into the water.
On the bridge, Likot let out a shout that quickly became a whine of pain and then silence: The Bog Trolls had returned.
Deler staggered away from the trolls till his back was pressed against a wall. Passed his attackers, he saw Asmel collapse beneath a great tiger with even greater teeth. Collapsing to his knees in grief, the last thing Deler saw was a Bog Troll's club.
In his Tower, Urdim pressed his ear to the hatch. A battle raged below for all of a moment, and then fell to silence. The corpulent alchemist staggered to his feet, smiling as he tucked his dagger away. "Well, lads! It looks like they didn't even need us! Let's say we get a drink, eh?"
Hope filled the eyes of all gathered in the room with him as he flipped open the hatch, and descended the stairs.
The siege was eventually broken, at the cost of all but a single axe dwarf and pretty much everybody in the fort who wasn't actually useless. Deler almost survived, but he bled out just as Urdim was leading a band of 30 dwarves (Urdim made 31) into the courtyard to kill the remaining trolls. The bridge is going to stay down for a while, because there's a lot of crap that I need to stockpile, wounded beyond the walls, and also because this fort has FPS death and I'd rather everyone die than I just abandon. As I'm typing this I'm waiting for the next swarm of ambushes and thieves.
If I'm lucky, maybe a caravan will come and we can trade away some crap. Then again...maybe not.
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Topic: What's going on in your fort? (Read 6221236 times)