The Journal of Lourdecooper
They called it the Mountain King's Ball. A yearly 'party' arranged on the eve of the new year, for all the pissy nobles to come together and discuss what they deemed 'important matters of state'.
Of course, a mere miner such as myself would not be welcome in such company, so I settled for the coarser and altogether more enjoyable servants party being thrown in the dungeon. Let the nobles sip strawberry wine and dance like the fucking elves! Me? I'll settle for wrestling matches, good Dwarven Ale and a game of Stick-An-Axe-In-The-Kobold any day of the year!
So there I was, quaffing down a pint when I notice the Sheriff dashing down the corridor.
"Now what's he doing out of the Ball?" I thought to myself, and stuck my head out the door. Good old Urist. Sure he's a bit noblish, but he's one of us really. "Urist! Get in here and get some proper booze in ya!"
He just ran off and ignored me. Fucking nobles, all the same really.
So anyway, thats when a load of soldiers, fucking AXELORDS no less stormed round the corner and started chasing after him.
Well at this point I realised Urist must really be in the shit this time and decided that I hadn't seen nothing. I ducked my head back into the room and went to get another drink.
"Lock the damn door, there's civilians in there." The slow, rasping voice of the Hammerer ordered.
The room went silent as we heard the rusty key being turned in the lock and then heavy footsteps heading off into the distance.
It hit me with the force of a cave-in. We were going to be left here to rot. One too many mandates ignored I guess.
A scream in the distance showed just how wrong I was.
The room erupted into a frenzy of movement as each dwarf tried to get either as far from the door as possible, smash the damn thing down, find something to use as a weapon, or in many cases to shield the booze from any possible danger.
A bloodcurdling scream had even myself huddling against the far wall as the door opened and the Hammerer dragged in a body.
So he's managed to kill whatever threat there wa-
The Hammerer was bleeding from his chest and his left arm hung limp and useless by his side. The King... the King was dead...
Instinctively, about half the dwarves in the room bowed their heads and formed a line for the ritual. We dwarves do not fuck about much with ceremonies, but this was our damn King! The first in line spat a mouthful of ale on to the body of the King to show that she drank only for him and the next moved forward to take her place.
That was when things went crazy. A creature resembling a goblin, but about three times the size and waving a sword longer than a dwarf is tall stepped into the room.
Myself and three others rushed the fell creature, but it swept us aside with a mere swipe of it's weaponless left hand. My head cracked against the wall and darkness took over.
I woke to the stench of blood, smoke and vomit. Ignoring the small trickle of blood coming from the back of my head, I took in the grim scene. Every dwarf in the room was still. Some were missing limbs, some were mangled beyond recognition. The booze was spoiled as well, each bottle smashed upon the floor. Pausing only to spit respectfully on the King, I grabbed the nearest pick and walked cautiously to the door.
The corridor was blocked to the left where a charred support had collapsed, bringing the roof of the tunnel with it. Not willing to risk one of those vile beasts hearing me hacking my way through and waiting in ambush, that left me with one choice. To head deeper into the Mountainhome and search for another way out.
After wandering through the inner fortress for several hours I came across a familiar face at last. Webadict Razdacost, woodcutter and all round farmer. Woodcutter meaning he had an axe, a fact which made me very well disposed to him right now.
He caught sight of me and waved me over, a little too enthusiastically for my tastes.
It turns out Webadict had taken charge of a small group of dwarves and they were working on a way to regroup with others and beat off the invaders. His party consisted of three I vaguely recognised; Jakkarra Eshonurvad the Carpenter, SanDiego Memadcatten the novice builder and maker of traps, and the bizarrely named Leeroy Jenkins the renowned human loremaster, as well as four others I had never seen before.
After digging our way out a short distance from the main entrance, I dropped to the ground in despair. The Mountainhomes were drenched in the blood of the fallen and a horde of the ghastly invaders strode around the outer fortress. Smoke obscured the sky, belched forth from the many fires lit by the attackers. Close by, magma flowed slowly down a channel dug into the mountain. All seemed lost.
But Dwarves are made of sterner stuff than this. I leapt up and seized Leeroy, demanding to know how we can kill the demons.
"How to kill Orcs? Why, with a vast army young miner. Either that or some kind of ingenious and complex trap." He sat calmly with his legs crossed and addressed the seven dwarves. "Do not be concerned, as this has happened many times before. Every two hundred years an army of Orcs appears and slays all but the most worthy seven dwarves who in turn repopulate the land and decimate the Orcs."
Just like a loremaster to lecture at a time like this. "Bullshit! Then how come there's fucking eight of us the-"
An Orc, larger than any I had yet seen leaped from an outcrop above and landed heavily on one of the unknown dwarves, crushing his skull instantly and let out a roar of challenge.
With surprising speed and strength for a human, Leeroy leapt at the Orc, grabbing hold of it's leather armor as they both tumbled into the magma.
A violent hiss and then, "Oh, um, seven it is then..."
*****
I sheltered my eyes from the sun as it rose upon a new day. We had travelled far overnight, taking only the shirts on our backs and the contents of a wagon we found further down the mountain.
It is the first of Granite in the year 201 1 and as far as I know there are seven dwarves alive in this world.
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Topic: Stranded! (Succession fort) (Read 7258 times)