"OH NO! Please, please, don't!"
"Go on!" bellowed the wagon guard. "Go on, no, ya' foul purple-cloaked thief, git! Git outa here."
He gave the Duke Momuz Inkysears a hard kick to the back, and the rotund noble toppled from the back of the wagon. He landed in the sand hard, gasping as he inhaled sand and trying to hold back the sobs rising in his breast. He could hear his wife's cry of pain as she was given the same treatment. He rolled onto his back to see her laying in the sand, her body racked with uncontrolable shaking.
The guard in the wagon gave a shout, and slapped his palm on the side. As the wagon lurched he gripped the rail, widening his stance to keep from falling out.
"Wait," Duke Inkysears shouted, unable to control the terror in his voice. "Wait! Please, what are we to do? What are we to do!"
"Ya' can die to the horrors in the sands, or ya' can go die at the hands of the Dread Fortress. But it's because of yer ilk and it's folly that..." the guard, overcome with emotion, bellowed and hurled his helmet at the Duke. He cringed away from it, whining as it careened off his elbow.
"GET ON WITH YA!" the guard shrieked back. "GET ON! YOU AND YOUR KIND AIN'T LEAVING THESE WASTES EVER! DIE AT THE HANDS OF THE MAD!"
***
The Duke and his Wife stood before the half-destroyed gate. He felt numb as he stared at the rubble that once was a gate tower and the cracked draw bridge. The stones of the road were worn and shattered, and he could see... oh, he could see pock marks where arrows had hit it. Gouges were axes had struck it. Stains where heads had been smashed into it. The bridge was beginning to get stained red with the blood, having been washed with it for years.
He could see the gaunt figures of Dwarves milling about inside, hauling rocks and glass and mortar and barrels. Most had a haunted look in their eyes. Deep black circles as if they had not slept in weeks. He could count the ribs on some, though they didn't seem to notice. Many had patchy hair, their beards missing in clumps. They were unwashed.
"I can't do this," his wife said. "Turn back, please, let us turn back."
He looked behind him. As far as the eye could see was red sand, hills, and withered shrubs. Commanding it all was a glittering red monstrosity, towering spikes and foul red stones. To leave the fortress was death. This red marker lording over the sands proved that.
As he turned, he took his wife's hand in his and gave a squeeze for reassurance that he just didn't feel. With his other, he pointed to the peaks of a temple, and of the pillar rising atop it, surrounded by statues of Dwarves in various stages of life.
"Our only hope to survive is in there. We... we have to step in. We have to carry on, or we might as well just lay on the road and wither away."
"I'm scared."
"I am too. Come on."
Quietly, hand in hand, they stepped across the bridge, and into their new home. Into the place the remains of Dwarven Society referred to as "The Dread Fortress."
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Topic: Migrursut: What Comes After The World Ends? [Epilogue] (A Community Fort) (Read 388978 times)