A siege came knocking at my door not long ago. With too few dwarves, I enlisted several noobies and set them to work in my newly crafted Danger Room. I didn't have the luxury of picking out the genetically best dwarves, but what I got was tooth and nails domination. Within two dwarfmonths I raised a small army of about 4 elite marksdwarves, 3 swordsmasters, 3 hammerlords(one macelord, but same thing), and 2 axelords. All had well-crafted steel armor as I knew the fight ahead would be a deadly one. Since all but one of the trolls had managed to so graciously place themselves in cages, the rest was relatively easy, however. The only real casualty was my Macelord commander Reg. Reg had managed to break his right hand and was laying almost on the edge of the map unconscious from the pain. I was wary of ambushes and had one choice dwarf make the trip to fetch him.
Unfortunately, the danger was not over. Another, even more fearsome siege befell my humble fortress. The siege before held about twenty units overall, but this army contained at least fifty enemies. Among them were several more elite units, come to take back their Elite Crossbowman who I had captured as he tried commanding his army through my front door. They were nothing when I saw something even more peculiar. Ivil was a beast told only in legend, but it was accompanying these things to my doorstep. Ivil was an Elk, warped and twisted into a relatively human shape. It was raggedy and looked ancient. Its hairs seemed matted down with some disgusting essence, no doubt a deadly poison. It told its army to surround the compound and they obeyed.
My army ran straight form Ivil's squad of mounted pikesgoblins, though I told them to stay inside until a better plan was hatched. All of the mounts seemed strange, however. Dizzy and sick, before I noticed that Ivil was billowing out clouds of a white vapor. Ivil was crippling his own squad, perhaps on purpose. The delirious mounts were dispatched quickly as my entire force rained hell upon them. Corpses littered every which way until Ivil was only left. He stood there as my dwarves stared him down, but he seemed to have no weapons. My dwarves, warily, walked away to fight other, more important foes. Ivil may have been more important than they thought, but only time will tell.
Three casualties added to the pool. Rigoth, a legendary swordsmaster, had head out alone to face a ten-goblin lasher squad - and it's elite lasher leader. I did not witness his fight, but I saw the aftermath. The corpses of all, including the leader littered the plateau. Rigoth lay there, bleeding from everywhere those whips could reach. He laughed despite the blood flooding his lungs and stared into the raining clouds that had moved overhead. Apparently, with his final moments he drank his last portion of Dwarven Ale he brought as rations. His final thought before he died was "Had a legendary drink."
Second was Ber, or "Bear." He had gone back to base for rations as the battle wore on when he was attacked by six trolls and two swordsgoblins. He fought valiantly and held his own for very long. He dragged his cripple body towards the entrance in an attempt to capture them in the cage traps, but he was simply too slow. The surrounded him and despite cutting off the legs and arm of one of the trolls and maiming another, he was cornered. He was beaten until he couldn't breath before his death came from a single copper arrow. Aban, now a close comrade of Ber, had started running back to grab ammo when she saw. Ber looked at her with blood all over his face before he gave her a nod and took of his helmet. In the next moment, Ber was dead. Aban ran past the trolls and they chased. She ran and jumped over to the cage traps and, as the fools that they are, every last one of them was captured. Aban was sure their deaths would be slow. Death by firing squad, herself leader, using the bones of their brethren as bolts. She was sure of it.
Third was Obok, the leader of my squad of hammerdwarves. I realized his plight when I noticed a circle of goblins around a single dwarf. Obok was fighting an entire squad of axe-goblins. He blocked almost every strike that came his way, though he was heavily wounded. He fought for half a dwarfmonth before Aban arrived, no bolts in hand. She raced forward and tackled the master axeman. It would try to strike, but she'd block and bludgeon him with her masterwork steel crossbow. She beat him and smacked him and struck him and he couldn't land a single blow. She beat his head in just as one of Obok's subordinates rushed in and broke the formation of goblins. He and Aban made short work of the goblins, striking their heads with ease and killing them instantly. When they went back to Obok, they didn't know what to do. He was alive, but every limb was gone except for his right arm, still clutching his favorite hammer. With his last breath, Obok ordered them north. Someone needed saving more than him. It was his time. Obok died of blood loss shortly after, his final mood: "Ecstatic".
That "someone" was Reg. Eight trolls seemed to be converged near the edge of the mountain, trying to pound at him. They were all trying desperately to dispatch Reg, unconscious, but still clothed in full masterwork steel plate He had survived for over a dwarfmonth being beaten by savages and constantly strangled. Zulgar, Obok's subordinate, and Aban rushed into the preoccupied trolls. All of them were exhausted from beating the wall of metal that was Reg and were dispatched quickly. Reg stayed unconscious and as Zulgar tried to carry him back, Reg died. The trolls had collapsed his windpipe with their incessant strangling and he died in his sleep, never knowing just how long he had kept those trolls at bay.
The siege has now ended, Ivil had stolen away to someplace far from here and the stragglers either escaped or were dispatched by my remaining military. Three more tombs are to be carved out of the mountain near the barracks. Ber already had one ready, but Reg, Rigoth, and Obok deserve just as much. I am reluctant to open the outside to the civilians for fear of further ambushes, but after that, I doubt the bastards would be able to try. The mayor is demanding fine pewter and I'm searching for tin for the dumbass. He'll be voted out soon for sure. Now we await the Elven Caravan for wood and booze. I should also buy clothes, as almost all the fort has fairly worn clothes.
Aban has now earned many new names. "Troll-beater" for smashing in three trolls' heads in the span of a moment, "Axe-crusher" for defeating an axelord with only her humble crossbow, and "Leader" as with Ber gone, Aban is now the new leader of her military. She isn't the commander, a job fit for pencil pushers, but she is one who will go out into the thick and fight with her dignity. With an even more battle-hardened military of (then twelve, now eight) dwarves I am confident that any attack can be bested. No titan will claim our home as a playground and no Forgotten Beast will torment our tunnels. I will train up new dwarves to make up for the loss of manpower, but nothing can come close to the losses we've faced. Friends were slain and moods were low, but with the outside now open for travel, the dwarves pick up the remnants of battle. The dwarves will soon be as happy as they were before the siege, and all will return to normal once more, but all will remember that in Spring of the year 131, a group of dwarves not much larger than a single squad bested two armies of vileness.
This is the story of GearPleated.
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Topic: When it says "Legendary"... (Read 2942 times)