Stinthad crept up the rocky ridge out of the ravine with her squad. There was no point in trying to be quiet with the full suits of steel armour crashing about as they gained the crest of the trench that the goblins seemed so fond of. After 9 years of training her group of 10 migrants were deemed fit enough to attack the pits of Wardspider to the west. While her stay in Archcrystal was brief by dwarven standards, she was glad to leave the bureaucracy and decadence of the crystal spire. 440 years of isolation and inbreeding had made the City in Hell almost as unlivable to newcomers as the demons had centuries ago. The nobility invented crimes to lock them in the many dungeons of the glass fortress - disorderly conduct, vandalism, trading the wrong good, not making enough grates for a city that hundreds of unused ones collecting dust in the endless stockpiles. And it was almost always a migrant who "broke the law", the purebloods of the line of Bomrek and Cerol being far too important and wealthy to suffer the wrath of the injustice system that a brutal and bright eyed fanatical guard enforced with deadly fervor. And the worse part of it all, to Stinthad at least, was that there did not seem to be any retribution for their luxurious vices. In fact, they thrived under such a system. Their treasures uncounted, their armies unbeaten, and their souls untainted by the gods who honoured them with lavish burials and a lack of divine sanction. When she was young she was taught in her refugee camp that the rich and elite of Archcrystal had earned their status and luxuries through difficult labour and sacrifice, and that their glorious gains of success would benefit all dwarves as the industrious rewards flowed down stream unto them, the helpless poor. But now, as she looked upon the wretched goblin pits that she was to attack and conquer, she realized there was no such river of affluence. It had been damned at the source.
Her squad stopped and formed a phalanx at the top of the trench about 300 feet from the gates of the goblin city. She could see the green-skinned recruits rushing from wall to wall, readying their weapons at the sight of the steel-clad dwarven invaders shining in the sunlight. Guttural orders from the parapets echoed across the lower plain before the gates, and arrows sang through the sky from behind the walls towards the dwarven formation. Stinthad and her squad barely bothered to put up their shields as the aim of the goblins was terrible even by their standards. Most of the copper tipped projectiles deflected off the dwarves like pebbles striking a tin pot, as the rest were swatted out of the air with spears and shields. The goblins eager to see the result of their assault were met with no screams, no call to action, not even laughter at their impotence, but a stone-faced and unmoving stance of the disciplined dwarves which was more terrifying than anything else. As the defenders gazed from the behind their walls, the steel square of death began to march forward slowly towards the gates and more arrows descended upon them with equal ineffectiveness. Uvash, the squad leader, knew the key to a successful raid was conserving the stamina of his soldiers, so there was no charge and no needless waste of energy as they steadily closed ground on the front gates. They reached the crude copper gates and with one concerted thrust of bodies the soft hinges cracked and the gates smashed to the ground in front of them as the goblins prepared their meager defense in the courtyard beyond. Lined up to face the dwarves were a collection of unskilled conscripts scared and poorly equipped. Mixed among them were captured humans, elves, and even dwarves who had known no other life rather than servitude to their captors. At a command from their goblin commander they rushed the dwarves who stood firmly in their formation, spears outstretched and extended in perfect lines. The charge crashed into these horribly sharp weapons with screams and spurts of arterial blood. The limp bodies of the attackers at the front fell and slid down the shafts of many bismuth bronze spears lubricated along the way by blood and bile from internal organs before being tossed aside like unwanted food on priceless skewers. Stinthad advanced on a group of six defenders, whirling her spear from behind her back into a neck and another's forearm severing the tendons holding the weapon of the latter and almost decapitating the head of the former. Using her momentum she turned a full 360 avoiding the thrust of the silver short sword from her left, and then stabbed forward into the stomachs of two rushing attackers embedding her spear in them. She thought for a moment she should drop the weapon as she bludgeoned the teeth from her attacker to the left with her steel shield, before deciding to place her foot on the closest impaled chest and yanking brutally on the weapon so it came free. Pulling back it dislodged both victims complete digestive systems that were now wrapped around the shaft of the centuries old lancet and she pivoted to face the next attacker who was screaming a high pitched battle cry as they attacked the one who had massacred their comrades in a few seconds. Stinthad was caught off guard for a moment as she realized it was a dwarf rushing at her with a well-made steel mace, striking in quick succession which made Stinthad parry the blows awkwardly with her long spear and shield. In the next exchange, Stinthad's attacker over-committed the next swing downward missing to her dodge, and Stinthad seized the advantage by bringing her spear in a downwards arc over her head which shot through her attacker's upper torso and pinning them upright into the ground. The body then slid in slow motion down the shaft of the spear towards the ground and it stopped with a dull thud. Stinthad pulled hear spear tip out the ground and through the wound to retrieve her weapon, and as she did the crying began. What looked like a wine skin on the dead dwarf was actually an infant’s sling, out of which now crawled a baby dwarf no more than 10 months old. It was not uncommon for dwarves to take their babies into battle with them, but this was the first time she had seen it in an enemy from the other perspective. The baby was screaming horribly, part in terror, part in pain as Stinthad could see that its left arm was broken and bent at an unnatural angle. With its right arm the infant reached out towards the wound in its mother’s chest, seemingly trying to stop the blood from bubbling forth, while holding its mangled left arm towards the sky to shield itself from any further strikes. Stinthad stood still in shock. She had no idea what to do.
The sounds of the battle died down shortly afterwards, the defenders mostly killed, or fled. The other dwarves from her squad gathered around Stinthad who looked to Uvash with a vacant unknowing look. There was silence for a moment. Uvash then smirked, “Congratulations, Stinthad. It’s a boy!”
The dwarves laughed heartily as they walked away from her. Stinthad picked up the infant and frowned. Maybe if she was male, she would have found that funny, but she still doubted it and she went off in search off something for the baby to eat, and send the standard message home about the raid.
***
Meanwhile, about a day’s travel to the south east Ezost Shasargedor Bibarbanik, the Demon of Hatejoined, slithered down one of his immense slade hallways.
He was a gigantic lizard, but moved quickly and gracefully without a sound. His darting eyes could see well in the blackness of the tunnels which he knew well from frequent travel. He had been worried for a number of years now, ever since the dwarves had begun their march across the planet, conquering new territory every month.
His goblin armies were shattered in the north, and his forces seem to give up quickly. He had recalled his forces from the south, to prepare a large attack on Archcrystal. His warriors weren’t of the same caliber as the dwarves, but he concluded that overwhelming numbers would make the difference. It left his southern front against the elves of the Vine of Tornados dangerously unprotected, but the dwarves were the bigger threat by far. No armies had done what they had in so little time since the early days – and Ezost remembered those. Back then it had been easy for his goblins to raze a dwarven fortress or an elven forest retreat. He had led his armies personally all those years ago, until as the centuries past, he became satiated and over confident. He had laughed with his entourage upon discovering that the dwarves of The Dipped Spears had set up an outpost in the evil jungle over 4 centuries ago. The others who laughed with him were all dead now. He cursed his laziness, as he descended down a large stairwell surrounded by a deep dark pit. Well no more, he thought. It was time for these mortals to witness true power.
At last Ezost stood before a great door of slade. He turned his ancient bronze key into the massive lock and the mechanisms rolled and strained as the door pulled itself open. The Eerie glowing pits beyond were warm, but their light was muted by the mass surrounding it. 10,000 demons swarmed and gathered around the entranceway to Hatejoined. Ezost allowed himself a scaly smirk, if the attack above was not enough, his attack from below surely would be.
