20th Granite, 355
The same nightmare. Always the same nightmare.
A battle. Bolts, crossfire everywhere. Struggling through the melee, through the press of shadows, he raised his axe and cut. Shadowy figures fell apart, but there in the distance he could see one clearly, a shining silver apparition. He fought towards it, the edge of his blade growing brighter against the shades. Suddenly they came, the violet figures. Three of them, from different sides, catching him on the mountain's edge. The first crumbled into wisps of shadow as his blade passed through it. Another caught him on the shoulder, but he shrugged through the pain and sliced away the top of its head. A well-placed kick and the third was down. He raised his axe to end it-
And then it happened, as it always did. A bolt of black light, an impossible thing, passing through his chest from behind. He turned, saw the shimmering silver figure standing above him, glaring brightly even as the darkness grew. The silvered dwarf seemed to regard him for a moment, then it became liquid and drained into the ground. He fell, tumbling through the shadows toward the endless sea of blue mist below...
Datan breathed in sharply. He looked around, blinking, his muscles tense for attack. He sat up, rubbing his face and moaning softly. It was clearer now, clearer in his mind than ever before. He spared a sad glance at the sleeping figure of Jora beside him, then sighed and fell back onto the bed, running his fingers through his hair.
Then the horn sounded and everything went to the underworld.
One of the marksdwarves had seen the first group approach, a dwarf and pikegoblins sneaking up on the lone miner, Ascubis, as he was trying to perform a little late night digging on the foundations for the southern district of the town. The scout had cried out in time for Ascubis to dodge the arrow the enemy dwarf sent toward him and start running for the town gates. He almost made it before another cry called him back. Another dwarf, the mason Eshtan, had also stayed on to work. The pikegoblins had him cornered, edging toward him with their spears. Letting out a cry of fury, Ascubis lifted his pick and charged toward him.
Perhaps Eshtan might have lived a few moments longer had he not attacked, had he not scared them into stabbing rashly so they could focus on the mad miner approaching them - but it is unlikely. The pikegoblins turned Eshtan swiftly into a fresh sieve, then attempted to do the same to their second foe.
Ascubis proved a little harder to manage. With a mighty swing of his pick, he shattered the shafts of their weapons, then began laying into them afresh with the sharp end of the tool, mining fresh seams - into their skulls and chest cavities. Oblivious of the bolts from the dwarven defenders around him, even of Jora's arrival and decapitation of the bowdwarf who very nearly shot him in the back, Ascubis dug deeper and deeper into the mounds of grisly flesh around him, immersing himself in an orgy of gore.
Unseen until it was too late was the second squad, an elite pack of bowgoblins sneaking toward the new apartment complex as their pike-wielding brethren served as a distraction. By the time they were noticed, the first arrow had already planted itself in a dwarven chest. Terrified citizens began running across the Onolite bridge in an effort to save themselves, but the goblins merely shot them through the gaps in the statues flanking the edifice. Iden, the captain of the marksdwarf defenders, called for his squad to take cover as they began their own return fire.
Datan rushed toward the goblin archers, axe at the ready to save the day. His breath felt cold with rage at the attacks, his chest beaded with sweat. Perhaps, had he not been so intent upon his goal, the axegoblins would not have ambushed him so easily. As it was three of them sprung up from hiding, each concealed behind rocks on the mountain's steep slope. They closed in on Datan, hacking savagely as he did his best to try and fend them off with his shield.
The world went grey...
And suddenly they weren't goblins at all, but three violet, shimmering figures, their eyes burning with purple light. They had not axes, but blades stemming from their very arms, and in Datan's hand his axe had become a thing of bright fire and fury. He saw them move to attack and then he foresaw where they would move - no, he remembered where they would move. And he struck.
The first goblin's scream was cut short as its jaw crumbled away beneath the mad dwarf's swing. His chest and guts followed suit. The other two froze momentarily in fear; the dwarf no longer seemed to even notice them, as if he were someplace else, some place in his mind filled with death and horror. That moment was enough, as the second's arm came away even as he tried to swing. The third, Olngo, pushed his former companion in front to catch the axe's next blow, but lost his grip on his weapon and cowered before the bloodstained terror before him.
Datan paid the second spirit little heed as it unravelled into the shadows. He raised his axe to end the cowering third and then-
Then he remembered, and swung around instead.
The marksdwarf sneaking up behind him let out a gasp of anguish and surprise as the blade bit into his hip. Almost on reflex, the crossbow discharged.
The silvery dwarf extended his hand, and a spear of black light passed through Datan's chest, stealing away his life. He staggered weakly, brought up the axe, and as it passed through the dwarf the apparition melted into shimmering silver.
Olngo screamed as the halves of the marksdwarf tumbled down the mountain's side, but his scream was cut short when he was, and his head rolled down along with it. And then, soon after, did the dwarf who had killed him.
The blue shadows swam up to greet him now, promising their cool embrace. He could feel dirt and rock, his body tumbling over them, but all that felt like a passing dream now. Here, in this place of shadows, he flowed like crystal water toward the sea below.
Not yet.
He didn't know if he thought it, or if the thought was placed into his mind. He grabbed with one hand, and his fingers found purchase. There was no breath in his chest, there never would be again, but somehow he found the will to hold on. And bit by bit he dragged against the rock, the blue mists coming up and flowing into the holes where his chest had been, giving him strength, spurring him on.
Stug stabbed furiously, trying to fend off the waves of goblins crashing against him. Where were they all coming from?! He twisted, shoved, but they just kept piling against him, dragging and clawing with their bare, dirty fingernails, blotting out the light. He lost grip on his spear, heard it fall to the ground somewhere away from him. He dived toward it, but the wrestlers piled atop of him, crushing him beneath their weight. In the moment before he died, he could see nothing but their mud and bloodstained green bodies, smell nothing but their sweat and hear nothing but their curses.
And then instead he heard their screams. Light flooded back into his world as burly arms pulled them away, freeing Stug's arm so he could reach and grab the spear he had lost. He wriggled out of the desperate melee, stabbing and punching where he could until he could catch sight of his saviour. And there he was.
Datan, the bright starlight gleaming against the slick blood on his platemail, cutting away the goblin horde like so much wheat to a farmer's scythe. He fought as if in a trance, as if in some other place, some other more beautiful world. And even Stug could see that he would never return. Two holes had been pierced in his breastplate; one at the front, one at the back. The path would have passed through both lungs. There was no way he could have been alive.
Stug drove his spear through the throat of the last greenskin and turned to his companion. He called out to him, but he did not hear. Instead Datan trudged across the barren rock toward the tiny brass shrine on the town's outskirts, dragging his axe at his side.
The light shone brightly from the citadel, a gleaming blue edifice of glass and cobalt stone. Datan could feel it upon his skin, a cool, refreshing sensation like fresh spring water. He trudged towards it, and some part of him knew it was hard, but he did not feel it. His axe fell from his fingers and dissolved into light. He passed through the great archway of the tower and stood before the brilliant light between the brass pillars, basking in its beauty. And then the story ended.
Stug watched in silence as his friend knelt before circle of rude brass pillars. Datan seemed to look upward at something in the sky, as if in recognition. Then he slumped sideways to the ground, and he moved no more.
------
Far too long coming, this one. Pretty much accurate, though. Datan got ambushed during the attacks, held his own easily against the axegoblins but got a bolt through both lungs. I thought he was done for then, but he followed the marksdwarf that had killed him all the way down the mountainside (with two red lungs, I might add) and killed him, then dragged himself all the way up to the top of the mountain to kill the goblins ambushing Stug. He lasted about a day longer before finally dying, keeping himself alive through sheer legendary Toughness.
Poll
Author
Topic: Olonkulet - Bloodlines (Read 62420 times)