"There's peace between us, goblin," Stalia said, making an effort to keep her voice even. "This harassment will have… consequences."
At her final word she saw the goblins raise their weapons half an each, she felt the dwarves on either side of her tense up, readying for a fight. But the leader of the warpack which accosted them merely leered.
"I think," he paused to pick something out of his teeth. "Know what I think? I think, you're not a merchant, dwarf. They dress fancy. And hire guards. I think," he paused again to take a swig from a hip flask he carried – Stalia thought she recognized a stamp of Omentin smithdwarves under the grime, "you're not settlers either. The peace treaty you threaten us - it says, any new expeditions to be a joint effort. Togetherness and cooperation, right?" the goblin spat. "No. What I thin is, you're no one important, dwarf. A vagabond no one cares about. Or maybe," he stepped forward, his smile predatory, "fugitive. Maybe someone
will care – if I bring them your head."
Stalia reflexively took a step back, bringing her up against the wagon behind her. It couldn't end like this. She couldn't
let things end like this – not barely four days out of Standardblunt.
The brigand had her dead to rights – they were vagabonds and fugitives both. Stripped of their clan and banished from within the pristine marble walls of the First Mountainhome for the crime of being another useless mouth to feed in the overcrowded halls, forced to scratch out a living among the thousands of goblins of the Mudhole – a shantytown in the valley below, and now yet again in exile, this one self-imposed, in search of a better life.
Months it has taken her to persuade others that there had to be something better out there. A place where they wouldn't have to fight tooth and nail for every scrap of food on the table, where every day wasn't a battle for the right to see another sunrise. A place where they could sleep a good night's sleep without fear that the sentry would wake them yelling that their hideout's been discovered by one of the goblin gangs vying for rule over the Mudhole.
Then it was weeks of effort, and fights, and stupid risks to get the supplies necessary for the trek. They lied, they cheated, they stole – and worse. They left Mudhole with every single one of the three thousand goblins living there – as well as most of the other dwarf exiles – out for their blood. They've collapsed those mineshafts behind them – there was no going back.
To go through all this and then die to a bunch of brigands -
No."We don't have guards because we're working for a cheapskate," Stalia heard herself say in a cold, annoyed tone. "And all we're doing is taking a load of coal to Tangledchannels. Here, "she stepped to the side, pulling back the edge of the tarp. She turned to the side, as she did so, to hide her other arm reaching under the driver's seat, fingers closing around the hilt of the shortsword hidden there. "And then get out of my sight."
The warpack leader hesitated – a flicker of uncertainty crossed his leathery face. Even brigands knew better than to mess with sanctioned ore transports. Everyone still remembered the Onslaught of Gorging – and what led up to that massacre.
"Yes, I will take a look," the goblin growled, his bluster and good humor gone as he approached the wagon. "And then I will also take a look at your certificates and shipping list."
"Certainly," Stalia replied.
And then she shoved two feet of dwarven steel into his gut.
She followed that by grabbing his head and smashed it face-first into the wagon, feeling, rather than hearing the goblin's nose break and skull crack under her hand.
For a moment, everything froze. Everyone just stood there, staring with eyes wide with shock. For that moment, she still had the initiative.
"See?! Consequences! At them!" she roared, jumping forward.
And hoping like hell that the others would follow.
****************************************
Hello, and welcome to The Broken Clan – a community fort in exile.
Inspired by
Olonkulet (and sad that it never finished), I bring you a tale of seven brave souls in search of a new home.
Worldgen gave me a world the entire quarter of which is dominated by a massive, continuous mountain range – The Responsible Walls. These impenetrable peaks hide valleys wide enough to host entire kingdoms and deep enough to contain lakes the size of seas. Completely isolated from the rest of the world, with humans an elves naught but half-forgotten legends, this place has borne witness to five centuries of war between the dwarves of The Dye of Crosses and two goblin civilizations.
(there's also a bunch of kobolds, but who cares about them)
Fifteen years ago, after a massive battle, in which losses surpassed 95% on both sides, a tentative peace was reached. What followed was a new era and peace and prosperity, as well as a sequence of events that lead up to Stalia's current predicament. Fortunately, she decided to bring stalwart companions with her – or so she hopes.
I would like six dwarves to step forth and take up the mantle. As Olonkulet did, I hope to characterize them in the prelude leading up to starting the fortress proper. The rules are as follows:
- only 5 ranks to spend on skills, to simulate the rampant overcrowding and resulting lack of work plaguing the civ capital of Standardblunt.
- remaining 5 ranks to be spent on any combination of unarmed combat skills to simulate the school of hard knocks the dwarves have received on the streets of the Mudhole
- 100 points per dwarf to be spent on supplies they've managed to scrounge up before departure. Most items can be reasonably justified, except for the following: seeds, plants, and metal ores and bars, as the mountainhome keeps tight control over what supplies are allowed to trickle down to the exiled dwarves. Though the Mudhole does have (or perhaps had…) a single anvil.
No mods. Default graphics only. Final destination – across The Responsible Walls, and onwards, until supplies last.
