1st Hematite.Goblin forces have been seen approaching from the south of the fortress! All civilians are to get to the siege-burrows; all military are to report to their posts and ready to march against the Goblin menace!
Ah, hell, the Black Axes and others just returned – right into the path of the fragging Goblins!
This is going to be ugly.
You are ‘Zon’ Datanlised, Commander of The Slammerlords, and you are swearing a blue streak.
The watchdwarves weren’t kidding when they said that ‘a vile force of darkness’ had arrived – twenty-odd Goblins, plus a dozen or more Beak Dogs and some trolls. About one-fifth of a standard Gobbo Pit’s forces. Armok above, they truly must want you gone.
The Crescent Blades are gone entirely, their stilled bodies lying near the very edges of the site; a few meters from that, two Beak Dogs tear at the body of a fallen Mason. Your squad is barely coherent at the moment, arriving piecemeal from the barracks and the fortress corridors. You can’t wait for them, though – the bridge is currently down, a few Axedwarves of the Black Axes are still fighting, and the bastard Goblins are far quicker than they look.
Behind you, rising up from the courtyard of the fortress, a cry goes up: “Raise the bridge!”
Your heart almost stops for an instant. What madness is this?! The Spearmasters are yet to arrive, and the rest of the military is still scrambling to intercept; these actions will all but certainly cut you off from any reinforcement or retreat. A simple siege has now become a serious threat to you and your squad.
There is no time to call for it to be raised. With a snarl of hatred, you motion the gathered Hammerlords forwards. “Forward, for Smithsoldier and Armok!”
You charge the Goblins without a second word. Your hammer crashes into the legs of a Goblin, sending it squalling to the floor; your second in-command breaks the back of a second with a swing. The Goblins turn, chittering and howling, recognising the enemy now in their midst. Hammers rise and fall, breaking bone and bruising muscle with each strike. The answering blows skitter off armour or inflict only minor scratches; only one takes any serious wounds, the soldier’s hand bleeding severely.
The two remaining Axedwarves fight with the skill and calm of the entranced; Armok’s ruthless calm runs through their blood as they hack, slice, and occasionally crush the attacking Goblins and their attendant creatures. Blood soaks the ground, accompanied by the occasional limb or bits of broken teeth and bone. Their wounds, though, ultimately prove too much, and both soldiers die standing – one with the pike of a Goblin through her heart, and the other collapsing to his knees from blood loss to be trampled underfoot.
Cog Tholčrith Mis staggers free of the press of bodies. His shield is lost entirely, and wounds litter his body; one leg is barely intact, with the marks of numerous pike-strikes on it, while one entire arm hangs limp and useless. An iron bolt strikes his chestplate, sending him reeling backwards, only for a pike to tear fully through his chest and protrude from the broken breastplate.
Cog stares at it for an instant, mutely, before it tears itself free. The Goblins swarm him almost immediately: a lash tears into his left shoulder, a pike slams against his iron helmet. One of them – a female, royalty of some sort – tears the helmet from his head before a silver axe slams into the skull. The hammer falls from his grasp, and a pike lands the final, fatal blow.
The creature pulls the pike from Cog’s head, and
laughs.
Your vision turns red.
A massive hand grips your shoulder, and you spin about, hammer raised to strike. The stern features of a Spearmaster stare back. “Enough, sir!” She raises a hand to point. “It is dead.”
You look to her pointing hand, and twitch sharply at the sight.
The Goblin Pikeman that slew Cog is mangled beyond recognition. His broken ribs protrude from a mostly-pulped chest, and his flesh rendered into little but paste; his brains lie exposed and spread across the ground, a sickly greyish-white mess of parts, and its blood soaks the ground to the point where you half-expect it to be red from this day on. Your hammer still has bits of bone and flesh clinging to it. Discipline re-asserts itself, and you look to the sub-commander with a grim face. “How many did we lose?”
She grimaces, pale features wrenching. “The Crescent Blades are dead to the last. Same with the Black Axes, since they got cut off,” she points off towards the slopes. “We found a couple dead civvies there, but we’re not sure why they weren’t in the War Shelter.”
You shake your head. “Unfortunate. Take their names, and a headcount of the squads.” Your voice raises, addressing the troops as a whole. “One of you, shout down to the fort and tell ‘em the siege is broken! Get a salvage team up, too: there’s a load of metal we can melt!”
The siege has been broken, though the cost to us is dear.
5th HematiteTen good Dwarves and one good man have laid down their lives to break this siege – The Black Axes and Crescent Blades have been destroyed in their entirety, while The Slammerlords have lost two of their number. An unfortunate pair of civilians were caught outside and slain, though I know not why they were so far south. Two patients are currently in the hospital: some poor bastard of a Shearer with his legs damaged, and a Hammerdwarf with a cut foot. The soldier should walk again, but the Shearer’s probably going to require further treatment.
I will see they are honoured for their actions, and that the dead are properly memorialised. If the Overseer refuses, or fails to do so... well, unfortunate accidents always happen in siege-time.
14th HematiteBuckets are being rushed into production at the Overseer's order. Apparently, jugs are not considered buckets, and the wrinkled old bag of a saw-bones refuses to use them for water. Personally, I can’t see the issue, but I’m not arguing with her – not when it’s likely that I’ll be going under her care after a battle. Armok knows she can take someone apart as easily as putting them together.
These bastards were packing some serious weapons and armour. Silver and iron supplemented by copper – and quite a lot is high quality. Far higher quality than the previous waves, if my memories aren’t faulty. Either they have more skilled metalsmiths than we thought, or something far darker is going on. No matter – the minute we have enough troops to rebuild the destroyed squads, we’re going to burn the nearest Pits to the damned ground and avenge our dead.
15th HematiteHuman Caravans arrived. Boss ordered that a shitload of wooden shields and such be moved to the depot for trade - can see why, due to how outdated they are.
26th Hematite
The Mayor, in all his infinite wisdom, has mandated the construction of two crowns. At a time when we should be gearing up for war, he demands petty baubles and trinkets! Were it not for his skill in other things, I would cave his head in where he stands. Worse, the idiot made a wasteful trade with Human merchants – shitload of wooden shields for bolts, glass, books, and a whole mess of other bits, with them having a few thousand in profit by the end.
Maybe he has some big plan in mind for the long term, or some other line of bollocks he'll feed me when I confront him over it. If it ain't gearing us up for war, it's a waste at the moment.
Much needed migrants arrived - I'll get to work on drafting the more useless ones into the squads, when I'm done with this.
3rd MalachiteWe have begun the creation of a new defensive system – one that, with any luck, will help deal with those Gobbo bastards.
Behold, the beginning of the Termination, Rending and caPture Construction Of Real Ridiculousness, Intending Death Or Revenge – A.K.A.: TRAP CORRIDOR.
The intent to is to carve out a trio of channels here, leading down into a 3-ish level drop. The Gobbos'll go running cock-first into the tunnel, thinking it's a way in, only for the drop to greet them. The fortifications to the left and right will be staffed by Marksdwarves, letting them rain death on the invaders when they hit the bottom.
Assuming that all goes to plan, and that the engineers display a modicum of competence, the besieging troops should impact the ground in that narrow corridor. That remotely-locked door, rigged up by that lunatic Mechanic, should keep them penned there – adding some cage traps may be an idea – until the squads can muster over in the larger of the two chambers. Once the military is ready, we can then lock the doors behind them and open the ones penning the Gobbos in; this should funnel them into a small killing zone (perhaps that should be expanded), where the troops can rush in and paint the walls green with liquid Goblin. The Marksdwarves – pathetic as they are – and any preceding traps should weaken them to the point where it’s no problem to finish or capture them.
(In the margins, scribbled)
If it doesn’t work, of course, we’re deep in the shit. Side note: we need to find the idiot who made this acronym. My creation isn’t ridiculous! 11th MalachiteAn unearthly howl echoed up from the caverns earlier today. Not sure what it is, but it sounds big, pissed, and very willing to fight. Sent a scout down to check - low skilled worker, of course, so we won't lose anyone valuable.
The scout showed back up, looking like he’d seen a damned ghost. Maybe he had, considering the Carpenter still lurking out near the front. He was talking so fast I could barely make sense of him, but I did get a few things out of his ramblings – there’s something big in the caverns. Apparently, it’s big, stony, and is spewing vapour whenever it moves. Nothing about it is in the Bestiary beyond a name, ‘Xubkib Usankul’, but I’ve ordered the remaining Hammerlords and Spearmasters to gather in the caverns in preparation for an attack.
Huh. Apparently, the thing’s running around after some hammer-toting Human down in the cavern-passages. Doubt he’ll last for long, but at least he’s buying us more time, biting and hammering away at the it.
Why the hell are the Captain and the Broker in the caverns?! Oh, hell- the Beast has them!
All soldiers, move in! We’re killing that abomination now, and hurling it back to the Hell it crawled from!
You are ‘QD’ Practicedlashes, and the fight in the caverns is raging.
The Beast is truly like nothing you have ever seen before: a great, bloated mass of stone shaped vaguely like one of the Humans, albeit with a pair of antennae. Some sort of misty substance drifts from the open jaws of the Beast, but it seems to have no effect beyond reeking to high heaven. Even so, you’d rather not take the risk.
Its massive foot smashes down where you stood moments before, stone floor shaking under the force of the blow. You hammer strikes hard against the stone of its leg. Stone splinters under the force, chips of the Beast’s body flying in all directions under the force of your strike. It staggers, roaring in rage as your teams press the attack.
“Hammerdwarves, aim for the head! Spears to the legs and arms!” You bark. The teams hasten to obey, switching their attention as best as they can.
You switch your target accordingly, slamming your silver Warhammer against its head. Your partner follows suit, her own Warhammer driving deep into the stone. A Recruit joins your assault, chipping away at its eyeless face with a spear. It fractures upon the second hammer blow, a spiderweb of cracks flowing across the featureless skull; the abominable creature still stands, thrashing about with its legs and arms and spewing its terrible-smelling mist in random directions.
The three of you dodge away from its clumsy, flailing limbs, moving in to strike once again. The sooner this thing can be crippled, the better.
Your attacks slam home – stone breaks under the force of you and your partner’s blows, the Beast’s upper left and right legs cracking and fracturing violently. The spear of the Recruit, though, doesn’t hit as expected: out of position after the last strike, the spear chips away at the massive creature’s left hand.
Usankul wheels about, swinging in every direction, unable to hit a thing. Two more Spearmasters join the fight, simultaneously driving their spears into the right upper arm and leg. It does little more than make the creature even angrier.
“Come on,” Your partner roars, eyes flashing “Fall, you big bastard!”
Two more attacks strike home, on the arm and the foot; the usual cycle of assaults repeat, both of you battering away at Usankul’s limbs. It’s starting to get frustrating, this mindless cycle of attack, fracture, repeat; your limbs burn mildly with exertion, but the Beast looks as fresh as ever.
The Recruit from earlier charges past, spear raised to strike. You’re not entirely certain what he’s trying to do – that pig-sticker of his has done nothing but chip away so far – but Armok favours him this day.
Xubkib Usankul’s lower body finally gives way under the trauma. A single, well-placed spear strike all but tears the Beast in half, the massive body giving way and almost breaking in two. Usankul’s death-howl rings from the cavern walls and it collapses amidst a cloud of breaking stone and dust; the Forgotten Beast, after what feels like hours of struggle, lies dead upon the floor.
(OOC: That was disappointingly easy; damn thing barely lasted a few seconds when the soldiers got to it. From the logs, it looks like the Hammerlords and Spearmasters brought it most of the way down, then some Recruit kill-stole with a spear to the chest. We lost the Broker, CotG, and a Hammerman to it – first two went to collect webs and got wiped before I could stop them, while the latter got ambushed.)18th MalachiteAnother Werechameleon showed up. One of the Human Swordsmen now calling this fort home took care of it. Far as we can tell, he didn’t get bit or even clawed: apparently, he took its left arm off and spent the bulk of the fight wiping the floor with it – finished it off by driving the blade right through its skull and into the brain.
Not bad, for a shallow-dwelling sky-gazer of a Human.
8th GalenaItatmostod is missing from its proper place; this is the second Artefact to go missing in a relatively short space of time, and I am starting to wonder if those dammed Goblin-and-Human visitors have something to do with it. Maybe I should order the guards to interrogate a few of them, see if they’ll spill their guts or if we’ll have to do it for them.
13th GalenaOne of the Metalsmiths has gone funny in the head – ran off screaming about a ‘proper surface to work on’ and ‘inspiration’ before claiming one of the Forges. Whatever comes out of there better be good, or I’ll flog this crazed fool bloody myself.
15th GalenaThat troublesome Carpenter-ghost has finally been laid to rest. Turns out we had his slab engraved and in storage, but it was never placed down, causing his continued lurking within our fort. Either way, he’s gone for good now – hopefully, that should see no more Artefacts misplaced. If that is not the case, we have a far bigger problem.
20th -23rd GalenaArtefact constructed: Desgirsterus Ison Ngilok, ‘Goaddriven the Plan of Evisceration’. Nice name, for its purpose.
But, how, in the name of Armok’s hairy arse, does it menace with spikes of
sheep wool?1st LimestoneAutumn has come. With it, another vile force of darkness... Only for them to turn their tails and run. Wonder if it was the dead Gobbos we still haven’t cleaned up.
(OOC: Game gave me the usual ‘goblin siege’ message, and they spawned in right at the map edge, but they vanished a moment later and the siege warning went away. What that was all about?)
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Topic: Smithsoldier, Year 12: Clothes, Madness, and Beasts (And Candy) [47.04] (Read 63655 times)