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The Events of the 26^th of Granite, 1080
Part 4

The fortress in the sands belched smoke into the sky, blackening the cloudless azure above. If there were friendly observers out in the dunes - for that matter, if there were friendly observers out in the world - they would not be remiss to think that the walls had been fully breached, that the inhabitants were now soulless shells of meat and bone.  Assuming that the dead hadn't been greeted by a hungry God, or an excitable army of Goblin-Demons with minds full of filth.

But that would just be assumptions. 

A lull in the battle had taken place just before nightfall.  A few fliers had been spotted fluttering among the smoke-filtered moonlight.  They were quickly dispatched by Likot, who herself was whispering instructions and praise to a very excited Crispin.  This time was spent hauling corpses instead of relaxing, dragging both the bodies and their detachable parts inside the walls.  Crack teams of haulers tossed their gory prizes onto the ever growing shambles in the courtyard.  Despite the source, there was hushed talk in the halls of eventually using the meat to restock the burning supply room.

But as the sun lazily began to rise over the distant eastern planes, one thing became very visible out on the sands.



The Demon Olsmo was resplendent and horric, a shadow of madness capering it's way down the road.  The journey had been long indeed.  Millenia had passed since Olsmo had been birthed from his own gaping, slavering stomach-womb, the afterbirth sloshing over the southern lands to wriggle and crawl into monstrous abominations never meant for this world.  He had crawled and fought and consumed the others and himself once more, lavishing about on the wines and fruits of the land.  And he smiled - in the past, and in the now, the oil-slicked skin that made up the corners of his cheeks spread to near splitting as he thought of all that had come in. 

Great Olsmo briefly stumbled as he lifted the large jug dragging in his right hand.  Bifurcated tongue slithered inside the mouth, vanishing as Olsmo's lips smashed up against the glass.  He rested on the great thorned staff in his left hand, paying no mind to the dribbles of blood that sizzled and smoked the stones underneath.  Lagging far behind were a quartet of Half-Breeds.  The foul beasts were not their usual boisterous self.  In the presence of their master, they were skittish and timid compared to their previous visits to the fortress.

***

Assembled at the gates were the remnants army, steel eyed and weapons drawn.  Merkil stood at the head of the wedge, head bowed, lips moving in silent prayer to the Dawn.  His tongue was dry, sticking to the backs of his teeth as recited the liturgy.  Fingers tightened imperceptibly around the handle of his Hammer.  They tightened slightly more from his surprise.

"...fer' putting in the soul that lights up a gem in torchlight; I'm praying to you, Delar, for the lives of the fools standin' here with me."  Maggarg's gruff voice stopped.  Stuttered.  Started on again too quiet to hear.

He lifted his head at the clatter behind him.  In front Olsmo capered and consumed, and he was unfortunately accustomed to it now.  But behind...

"Damn it all Rice!" Luke shouted.  "Get back!  In the gates!"
"No!" Rice's voice had cracked and gone hoarse with his bellowed reply. 
"We're staying," shouted a smith.  Other voices chimed in in agreement. 

Merkil was genuinely surprised.  He turned to face the newcomers, their numbers raising near thirty by his quick counting.  Maybe a few more, his head was spinning with suppressed anxiety. 

"If you want to piss your lives away you idiots, form up in rank and try to follow suit.  We're going to kill a demon that dreams it's God today."

***

Many had fallen, either wounded or dead, but they had made great strides.  No army came to replace the Half-Breed honor guard, though a haze rose in the distance as they milled in whatever served them as a camp.  But they had learned two things in the awful venture so far.  Don't try to get behind Olsmo, and don't get too close to Olsmo.  Helmgem, one of the few remaining fishers, flopped around a few yards from the demon, gurgling and sobbing as his legs both melted and burned from the bile that had been lurched up on him.  Bolts littered the ground and sprouted from his forearms and thighs like quills.  But they had shattered his jug earlier in the fight, and his jovial mood began to dwindle. 

Merkil, Maggarg, and Adol briefly held palaver.  When the foursome broke, they stalked toward Olsmo, the demon glaring at them as he leaned on his staff. 

"Everyone hold rank.  I don't think he can vomit since he ran out of hooch.  Ya'll just don't go about doing anything dumb an' we're all gunna walk outa here alive." Wilbur said. 

Adol clanked his shield against his shoulder-plate.  "Damn, damn, damn, he followed us out!"

"Don't act rash, Wilbur," Merkil said quietly.  "Just..."
"WILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLBUR ANNNNNNNVILQUIETTTTTTTTTTTT!"

There was a scramble to reach the demon first, or at least before their daft charge could.  But he was crafty and quick, and Maggarg lost a tooth to his steel shod heel.  Olsmo quickly lost a finger as well, the disconnected digit bursting in to ash before it hit the stone.  Wilbur was acting a dervish, whirling and slashing at anything in reach, though usually he clanged ineffectively off the metal staff.  The others crept closer, trying to take advantage of the clamor, but it did not work as planned.  It never did.  A hasty flash of wings, and a quick strike, brought a strike to Wilburs chin.  He dropped to the stones on his belly, unmoving.  Maggarg caught the staff as it arced downward, the blow shattering and searing his wrist, the thrust that followed caught him in the throat. 

"G-* ulk..." he dropped down to his knees, one working hand clawing at his throat.  Olsmo had turned his head, lazy eyes trying to focus on the pair left standing.  The barest wisp of a smile.  A step towards the Dwarves.

Olsmo's bellow rattled the walls of the fortress.  Some of the hardened glass where the bridge had once stood shuddered and crumbled into the ocean below.  A sword thrust through the Demon's middle. 

Fire licked up the blade, but they were dying down rhythmically, slowly ebbing spurts of curling flames.  Goat Legs buckled underneath the Demon, and it sank, seemingly melted, into a crumpled heap. 

Kuli slid in close behind Olsmo, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder.  Jools was ashen, his eyes as wide as saucers, his hands shaking so hard his fore-plates rattled. 

The Great Demon Lord, the Master of the Southern Lands, the Drunk God, leaned his head to the side, gawping up at the weakened Maester. 

"Shhh..." Kuli squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.  "There is no need for you to speak." The thin blade slid upwards with Kuli's other hand, sinking deep into the demon's skull.  The Maester sank with the body, cradling it's fall, kneeling underneath the gurgling head even as his robes and hands sizzled from bile-blood-ichorsplatter. 

***

From the top of his glass tower, Aryn watched the events taking place far on the shower.  It wasn't the arrogant Demon after-all!  He barked a laugh, short and sharp and was startled by it when the ocean lapping at the tower echoed it back.  Good.  The best of scenarios.  To hell with it all then.   Now the goblin armies, cut loose from any semblance of a leader, lay waste to everything in their path.  Dwarf is an extinct species.  Man and Elf will do no better at their hands. 

He slapped the spyglass and it swiveled on it's tripod, axis creaking. 

"Lock it up when you're satisfied, Hikan. That's a dead world now.  You're a sicker man than I if you get any pleasure drooling over it."

Hours passed while Hikan stared down at the sea.  Down at the slabs of glass and misting waves below him. 

He could jump so easily.

The Events of the 24th of Granite, 1080
Part 2

Pandemonium.  The first floor halls were filling with smoke, and filling quickly.  Somehow when of the monsters had gotten through, and though blame was the farthest thing from their minds, Cokho knew.  He let it in, the fire belching beast with the glowing eyes and laughing face.  Huddled in the corner of a hallway, the hauler kept his arms wrapped around his blood soaked torso, and his eyes locked firmly on the open door to one of the store rooms.

The beast stalked about, chasing another cat.  The animal, frightened past any semblance of reason, hissed and spat, darting between barrels.  When he could see it, Cokho's thoughts shifted to how that cat could be from the same litter as the headless corpse the Goblin-demon had thrown at him hard enough to knock the air from his lung.  He thought about how the cat might be saved when Varen rushed into the store room, his spear at the ready, his face set with grim determination.

"Kneel, beast, and I'll make this quick for you."

The response was swift, and sudden.  It's wings stretched out to full size, one of the clawed tips catching Varen on the cheek.  Snarling, he thrust with his spear, cutting through the leathery membrane - the polearm wrenched from his hands as the wings beat furiously.  He was then blasted backwards by a jet of flame - smoldering and dead midst the barrels of gems and trinkets.  The cat soon followed - a living, shrieking fireball running about the storeroom.

***

"Why are they killing the animals?" Mookie wailed.  Her voice was cracking, her face streaked with tears - she clutched onto Dodik's arm, watching from the main gate to the fortress.
"I don't know," the madam replied.  "To terrorize us, perhaps..."

Mookie winces, and buried her face in Dodik's shoulder.  "They won't stop screaming..."

***

"Enough!"

Adol stalked through the halls toward the supply room, muscling past the throng of bleeding, shrieking Dwarves stampeding towards the stairs.  His mask of calm, that legendary even temper of his, had slipped.  That these foul monsters were attacking was a given - they would always come.  But to make it inside of his home, to bring this fear to the population, to wound and maim and kill his friends. 

He had reached his point of no return.

Maggarg was outside trying to deal with the fliers, his bulky and armor-clad form taking the brunt of the damages as the workers were able to flee.  But Adol?  He was dealing with the bigger threat alone.  The door was sent off it's hinges by a steal-shod kick, the stone slab skittering across the storeroom.  The Goblin-Demon lifted it's head from the cat carcass it was gnawing on, it's eyes blazing with Hellfire.

Blood splattered in an arc as the head was ripped clean off it's shoulders, sent spiraling through the air.  Adol's warhammer crashed into the floor, shattering stones, his elbows hurting from the force of the wide circular swing.  With a sickening thlop, the head bounced and rolled onto a dusty corner, the trunk spraying blood as it toppled over.

***

As the Goblins fought and the Dwarves attempted to find safety and shelter, a single figure strode up the eastern rode.  It was immense, and it's cloven feet left sparks and sputtering flames behind in each footprint.  It was naked, it's body inky black, though copious veins throbbed in a charcoal ash up along its torso, up its neck, down over ungainly twice-bent goat legs.

It could not help but let it's tongue, long and bifurcated and thrashing, dangle out of an open, smiling maw.

Olsmo lives.  And he comes. 

Hello, favourite story thread.

Please don't go.  The dwarves need you.  They look up to you.

I'm not gone!  There are just... let's call them challenges to get things moving forward.  I was complaining to Stravitch the other day about them.  There's actually progress on the horizon, but I'll be honest, it's incredibly slow going since I'm using a lot of modding trial and error and tons of restarts.

Stravitch, you are not allowed to stop HF from playing DF while you're there!

The best laid plans of mice, and men...

Stravitch, and some of the company, had a real hand in distracting me both during and after the trip.  With that said, I'm planning something special for this weekend when I have the time to be able to sit down and really focus for a few hours at a time.  Just turn off the net, let DF roll, and get things done. 

Also, yell at Rice for encouraging me to take breaks

The Events of the 20^th of Granite, 1080

"Please Rice, don't go.  Please!"

Her pleas tugged at his heart strings.  He shut his eyes, breathing deeply, getting himself calmed down before he deigned to speak.

"Love, you know I have to.  I need to just see what's going on top-side.  It's important."
"We're down here now," she said.  "And we're safe.  For good.  You promised we'd wait this out.  You promised."

Rice turned to her then, feeling the heat on his cheeks as his own words came back to haunt him.  Of course he had said that!  He'd meant it, damn it, he'd meant it all.  But you don't just stop caring about your home, or your friends... with the family that's grown up around such a small knit community. 

He locked his gaze with her.  He willed himself to granite as he saw a tear spill down her cheek, as he watched her arms clutch tighter around their newest, little Thob, not even a week old.

"It will only be for a minute, Lucy.  I promise I'll be right back down.  Just a moment."

***

The trio of beasts descended from the sky, and the dwarfs below spiraled outwards, shrieking and tumbling.  They had seen horrors, yes, but never anything like these lanky, gnarled monstrosities, their smashed nose and tusked faces the only thing that showed them once as Goblin.  The workers - those that were still outside the domes - dashed into the fortress and behind it's walls.  Though, what good would it do, with one tower still down?  What could would it do against beasts that could fly?

Towersacks and Luke stalked towards the bridge, the firsts on the scene, their weapons at the ready.  But the beast made no movement towards them.  Instead it smiled, and extended both hands outwards, grotesque fingers beckoning.  When it spoke, it's voice seemed unearthly, as if it was speaking through the voice of many others, as if it's voice wasn't even its own.

"Come come brave little Godman, come come and spend a moment talking with us?"

Towersacks glanced briefly over her shoulder, and reluctantly took a step to the side as Maester Kuli strode forward, his robes sending swirls through the dirt.  His face was stony, the knuckles on his left hand bone white as they gripped the hilt of a sword at his hip.  Rice watched this from the roof of the church, his mouth slack, chills running down his spine.

"How noble, how proud!" the beast cooed.  "Such little things out here in the sands, holding against the world.  You're fierce, yes, but you know that already.  Great Lord Olsmo, drunkard, fool, king, master, he comes with a single offer.  Shall you like to hear it?"

The silence was palpable.  The air so charged with tension it could have been cut.  Beads of sweat dripped into Luke's eyes, but he dared not lift a hand to them.  He blinked instead, trying to stop the stinging.

The beast only shrugged at the silence.  "He offers you to... join us?  Yes.  Of course.  Of course!  And why not, you are all that keeps us from marching west, you have proved your mettle.  We could take you, yes, your silly little domes?  Your damaged walls?  Your soft bodies... we could have you now, if we wished.  But you have proved yourself to the Great Lord himself, he would be honored to accept you, smallest of stature, simplest of minds, hardy little bodies of meat and bone.  It will be painless, our joining.  And it will be glorious, our mission for him."  With a smile, the beast dropped to it's knees.  The rocks underneath splintered and hissed, cracks spider-webbing out around it.

"Your answer, littlest Dwarf?"

In response, there was a faint whistling, and a dull groan from the beast on its knees.  A bolt, carved from bleached bone, jutted from the creatures sternum.  Hideous noises, choking gurgling gasps, spilled from it as long fingers traced the shaft of the bolt. 

"I did it," Crispin said, her voice carrying from the walls.  "I hit the damned thing!"
"HA!  Of course you did little one.  You've listened to me.  Prepare another.  Hit the eye, I'll give you a coin and buy you a steak."

Kuli closed the distance, and gently placed his right hand on the shaft of the bolt.  It took him a moment to speak, to gather himself, and slowly he wrapped his fingers around the bolt. 

"I didn't ask them to do this, you know.  I would have sent you off without injury.  But I suppose that in the end... this barbary would have been necessary.  Tell your Great Lord Olsmo that we respectfully decline.  I do not renounce this fortress, or those that live in it."

With slow motions he lifted the bolt up.  Squealing, the beast came to a shake stand, moving with the Maester's hands.  Once on his feet, Kuli let go.  And with a twirl of his robes, he turned and stalked towards the fortress.

And look at that... I've managed to recover my novels, and Dwarf Fortress, and a LOT of pictures of cats and some game saves.  Everything else, toast.  I've got the drive in the freezer right now as a last ditch attempt to get a little more data off of it, but it's looking bleak for the years of accumulated junk.  C'est la vie. 

The kicker here is the drive went down while I was in the middle of backing it up. 

So, the point of this?  Still on target for this weekend, just depends on how how quickly I give up this recovery. 

What are those lazy bums doing not helping out.

Congratulations on filling up the lake, by the way.

Thanks!  I'm really happy with the result of the flooding.  I didn't think it would look that good, or not really drain performance that much.   And for once I can say, "Heavy Flak didn't screw up some kind of project involving water and mechanics that inadvertently flooded the world / killed half the fort"

I notice there is still a single wood worker wandering around on those maps.  I guess Dodik-Come-Lately has yet to meet her doom?

You would indeed be correct.  She's a tough girl, and also has a real knack of never being around wherever the danger is.