My own most memorable combat log is the one regarding Tirist GraniteYawned, AKA, the Dwarven Porcupine, for reasons I'm sure you can guess already, and for being the most suicidal/brave dwarf I've ever encountered.
The year is 247, and the mountain-fort Paintedceiling is surviving, barely. Constant attack from skeletal goats and other zombified creatures makes progression slow and keeps the population small but stable. Soon after a migrant wave (mostly cheesemakers and wood burners) managed to avoid the skeletal beings and claw their way to my gates, a goblin ambush was spotted by them. my gates locked open thanks to an errant sock, there was no choice but to assemble the migrants into the militia and charge the buggers until my other dwarves could grab the sock. Two squads of militiamen (an 8 and 9) formed, they charged the three goblin crossbowmen, who oddly enough, were retreating, but not before taking down a good two dwarves.
As the seemingly victorious charge neared the edge of the map, the reason for the goblins' retreat quickly became apparent. Ambush. A dozen more goblin crossbowmen rose out from their hiding places, and unleashed a barrage upon my charging dwarves. The initial salvo was deadly, turning the mountainside into a streak of red. Twelve dwarves died from that alone, punctured hearts and shattered skulls, and all my other dwarves were now with some form of crippling injury. The second salvo destroyed four more, their corpses littered with arrows sticking out of their feet, chests, heads. Except for dwarf no. 7 of The Bolts of Defence. A broken leg, a cut arm, and two bolts in his chest, this soldier was the sole dwarf remaining, facing down a dozen angry goblins. The smart option would be to run away, to hide or to take cover. Not Tirist Graniteyawned.
No, he charged.
Bolts flew down around him, he took more, and more, and more. He kept getting staggered, kept getting knocked back, his sheet showed every limb, every finger, every toe, broken or cut open. But that didn't stop him. He charged, bringing his crippled body over to the nearest goblin and slashed with his dagger. It's head severed off. More bolts cut into him, he dodged even more. He had a dozen arrows lodged inside of him, covering his chest and legs. Then one hit him in the head. Not a glancing blow, but through the head. All it did was stun him, and he recovered quickly. He retreated to higher ground, vomiting, bleeding, crippled. But he wasn't going down like this.
He began a campaign of guerilla warfare. He would charge down into the Goblins, beelining for the nearest goblin before retreating into the mountainside like a midget Taliban fighter. This continued for a season, spring passing into summer. The mountain was covered in his blood, his vomit. His guts were trailing behind him. Two more goblins had been felled by his iron dagger. Finally, in one final rush, he launched forwards with all his might, his last remaining bastion of strength. The all-or-never moment. Half the goblins had run out of bolts and moved to pummel him instead. He slashed at them, bit, kicked. Soon he was standing on top of three more dead goblin bodies. And then he died. Not from blood loss, not from the sheer amount of bolts lodged within him. No, he succumbed to infection.
And so was Tirist Graniteyawned slain, surrounded by his vomit and the blood and body parts of half a dozen goblins. I name him The Porcupine for this reason. Trawling through the 90+ pages of combat reports, this was the final tally of bolts lodged inside him: 18 x chest, 12 x left leg, 9 x right leg, 6 x left arm, 10 x right arm, 4 x head. And he died from illness.
The sock was still stuck inside the door.
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Topic: Most Impressive Combat Reports (Read 35408 times)