AN: lolololol this is my first Story, guyz. go easy K?
Seriously though,
<3 you for even taking a moment of time to read this story. Any praise or criticism is
always appreciated.
Deeves
TormentHug
Wheel Bronzeplan was a deep sleeper indeed. The Dwarf shifted only slightly at the distinctive twang of crossbows and screams just beyond his cozy apartment’s granite door. Wheel Bronzeplan was a fair dwarf, a spry young adult at the age of eighty four, who had a meticulously combed over and braided brown beard. Fair cut and clean shaven, of which he always took pride. Wheel Bronzeplan took pride in a lot of things. His work as a runner, a transporter of gold bars from the smiths to the metal forges, for a start. He took pride in his community, and took pride in being a honest dwarf of honest labor. He took pride in the village TormentHug, a fortress with gold veins so rich, it would surely stand the test of time and would no doubt be where he would spend his life. Imagine Wheel’s surprise, when instead of stirring to another wake up call by the roosters from the animal pens, he is jolted out of his bed by a fortress shaking earthquake.
The dwarf slid open his modest apartment door to find he was standing in the middle of a war zone. The granite hallway was host to a large amount of craters pocketing the ceilings and walls. To Bronzeplan’s left, Foul warlocks and witches were casting lightning down the hallway, towards a makeshift barricade held by Torment Hug’s soldiers on the opposite end. Bronzeplan was about to place back his agape jaw when a crossbow dwarf rose from the makeshift barrier to line up a shot. A witch twisted out a crude gesture and lashed together a vitriolic phrase that sent a halo of flame down the hall - cooking the crossbow dwarf inside her gold armor. A bald warlock ginned a cruel grin and wretched around his fingers as if puppeting a marionette. The gold plated charr arose, a pale neon bright blue light emitted from her eyes and her mouth. Her gaze slowly shifted on to Bronzeplan, peeking out his door. Upon seeing her prey she moaned a low in-dwarven howl; A howl of the damned. Bronzeplan’s pupils widen to the unfathomable as the realized this was truly happening.
“Is this it, then? Is this all you bastards can truly muster!?” A Grizzled voice called from the end of the hall.
The thrall’s jaw twitched anxiously, hungry for flesh. With a start she lunged for Bronzeplan; But not before being rammed to the side by the buckler of a dwarf charging out of the smoke of the ruined barricade.
With a scowl the head wizard prepared another spell, his neon red mohawked understudy unsheathed his dagger. “Fourauith Al Khaulouc ~ *Gak*”
The dwarf shoved his golden plated metal gauntlet down the wizard’s throat and grasped something deep down inside. With a grunt, the soldier ripped out the old man’s spine, from axis to coccyx. The remains of the wizard went limp like a suit of made flesh. Blood exploded from the body, covering the walls, covering the dwarf, covering the warband of wizards, covering Bronzeplan, covering the thrall - covering everything. The understudy mouthed “Holy s-” before throwing a desperate thrust at the dwarf with his knife. The dwarf dropped the spine and grabbed a hold of it again by the base. He used the spine like a whip, twisting the bone weapon around the acolyte’s extended arm. The bloody bone viscera entrapped the wizard; The poor fool could do nothing but gawk as he was destroyed by the Militia Commander of TormentHug.
Meanwhile, the shattered dwarf thrall shambled back on to it’s splintered bones with It’s eyes still trained on Bronzeplan. Bronzeplan made a gasp and tried to close the door - but the monster was too strong. It shoved the door open with ease.
The gray and grizzled militia commander snapped the black cloaked and magically fueled youngster’s arm in twain and proceeded to punch him mercilessly. The dwarf ended him with a curb stomp that was as efficient as it was painful. The witch gathered herself and went to dark work twisting a spell to life with a fell string of words and a whisk of her hands. The dwarf sent his rebuttal in the form of his buckler: His flung shield bi-sected the witch's skull and embedded into the stone behind her.
The thrall was on top of Bronzeplan now. The dwarf could do nothing but grunt and yell for help as the pinning thrall snapped her jaw at him with a hunger.
The commander sneered and rolled his eyes as he unsheathed his golden gladius. He grabbed his post mortem compatriot by the hair and beheaded her with a swift sweeping cut. “Get up, boy.” Gear Netsorrow commanded. He grabbed the prone dwarf by the collar and jerked him up to an awkward stand.
“W-what has happened?” Bronzeplan asked, raking a hand through his hair, still trying to get a grip of himself.
“The fell beast Chonta happened.” The hatchet faced dwarf uttered, his piercing steel blue eyes filling up with fire. “Damned giant blade spider ascended from the deep, webbed up the Obscene Lashes for dinner. Then tha’ bleedin Warlocks came out to play.” The commander sat on Bronzeplan’s bed, which sagged and made a dangerously strained creek from the weight of the gold plated titan. He took out a tool from a leather satchel around his waist and adjusted pieces of his cracked, smoking armor. “Bloody useless-” He unfastened his shattered right pauldron which fell to the floor with a clatter. He also took off his bent in gold helmet and shook the blood out of his shoulder length silvery gray hair. “The - The warlocks we could have held back, but the thralls - A caravan and a convoy of migrants arrived to the village at the same time, gave them the fuel they needed to break past the gates.” The dwarf’s eyes danced back and forth as he recalled the siege in detail. “Even with the traps, they were too many. The Obscene Lashes never joined us; Something was wrong. We retreated back into the mountain.”
Bronzeplan tried to grasp what this meant. “Then has, has TormentHug fallen?”
The corner of Gear’s mouth curled up in a smirk. “No. We sent out criers and got all the civilians into the dining hall. Closed up tight. Chonta is dead. Everyone is fine and well. The rest of my squad is sweeping the halls for any more Warlocks, when Hate gives the word of when it’s all clear, then we’ll let them loose.”
Bronzeplan eased a little, knowing the situation was relatively under control. “Ah, so then, I , uh, I guess I should join them in the dining hall. Thank you, Commander Gear.”
Commander Gear blocked his path with a bearish arm. “Sorry, but no, no you’re not.”
“W-what?” Bronzeplan stammered.
Gear shoved his gold Gladius into Wheel’s hands, who grunts and buckles at the weight of the thing. “I’ve lost three good dwarves already. You’re being conscripted, boy.” He gives a wry smile at the dwarf. “Welcome to the Anal Smiths, Soldier.”
Bronzeplan swallowed hard.
He was being drafted?
Hate Tattoopimple slid her way to the edge of the wall, to take a sneaking look around the corner. The catacombs, with rows upon rows of honorable dead, still lay in their coffins. Undisturbed, thank the gods. Hate sighed in relief. Her amber pony-tail flicked back and forth as she issued orders to her squad with a discrete militarized sign language.
Hall Clear. Ancestors safe. Check next level. She gestured out. The dwarves nodded, and headed back the central stairway. The six golden dwarves were covered in the forgotten beast Chonta's webbing, which smelt ungodly, akin to a putrid kerosine oil. Chatter broke out between the soldiers as they descended to the metal refining level; the dividing barrier between the caverns and the fortress.
“So, do you think there could be more of those things?” Desk Revolvingpot asked with a timid tenor.
“More of what? Wizards, Goblins, or Giant blade spiders?” Urn Humbletaint asked with a gruff.
“The spiders, of course. What if there are more?” Desk replied.
“There are not.” Hate replied back simply.
“And, how exactly, do ye’ know tha’?” Volcano Twilightgrip piped up.
“Because if there were more, we are all already dead. I don’t ‘know’ but because of implications of the former I choose to believe in the latter.” Hate replied honestly. She raised her hand in a balled up fist, telling the squad to halt.
They were at the base of the rock stairway, their boots matted down the soft green cavern moss. The squad currently stood on the fortress side of the cavern plateau. Directly in front of them was a grand retractable stone bridge; Cocooned dwarves dangled off the edges and the bottom of the bridge from web tethers, food which Chaunta must have stored away for later use. Beyond that bridge was the cavern wilds. Hate's orders were to check on TormentHugs wealth on the other side of the bridge, which was raised. A lot of bloody good that did against a monster who could crawl up sheer rock. She had to lower it somehow. She tried to recall here the levers were installed. She was almost certain the levers were in a rectangular stone office that maintained the bridge, which was immediately to their left. Almost. About sixty, sixty five percent.
Hate unslung her crossbow and stalked to the wooden office door in a crouched run. She rattled the door with her knuckles. “Come on, Menacemourn, open the damned door.” She uttered under her breath.
No reply.
“Sod it.” Hate uttered. She kicked in the door and whipped her weapon around, sweeping the room. All she found was Macemourn, webbed up tight and sucked dry of fluids at his office desk.
“Curse Chaunta ...” Hate simmered. She strode over to the two levers Macemourn kept oversight on, built into his rock desk and pulled them back.
Outside, The bridge’s chains began to hoist, lowering the bridge. The dwarves caught in the web cocoons bounced softly, shifting back and forth like softly pushed pendulums. She peered back out of the doorway. "Add Macemorun to the list and move out - we don't have any time to waste."
“Dunne’ look down.” Volcano told Desk with a matter of fact, burske tone.
Desk instantly looked down and saw miles of vertical nothing backdropped by a black swallowing void. One of the dwarf cocoons unfastened and fell, falling until it became a white speck amongst the black. Desk winced and cupped his head at the vertigo. "Ach, Volcano, why did 'ya say any thin' at all?"
Urn thought it was a tad too dark, and grabbed a torch from his backpack. He held the flammable end next to his left hand and snapped his fingers. Nothing happens. With a frown, Urn snaps his fingers four more times. Again, nothing. He bit his tongue and really concentrated this time; with a strong audible snap a small magical spark of fire leapt from his tips and caught the oiled linen alight.
"Sure is dark down in the depths..." Urn states.
Hate blows a bang out of her eyes, keeping a constant eye for any movement on the opposite side of the bridge. "What an astute observation, Urn. I'll make sure to mark it down. Do elves have pointy ears a swell?" She asked, mocking him.
Amena twisted out a butterfly kick that shattered poor Shablok’s sternum to pieces. The elf landed with the grace of freshly fallen snow, in time for another goblin to snarl and jab a crossbow into her chest; which the twisted out of his short stubby hands effortlessly before he could even pull the trigger. with a single fluid motion she grabbed the goblin by the neck and pointed the crossbow behind her, firing a bolt that sent the great goblin Warchief Khalizox tumbling off his war-goat without even aiming. She threw the grabbed goblin into an enchanted wooden cage which seemed to lock the vermin in with a will of it’s own.
“That’ll hold you. I weaved it into life myself.” The elf chided pridefully.
The goblin threw itself against the bars and chittered all manner of foul vulgarities at her. She looked down and dropped the crude ineloquent weapon in her hands with a snarl.
“Amena! The hoarding little monsters are routing!” Acorsaul Said, crouched atop the mountain of elven goods which he had converted into a makeshift sniper’s nest. He eyed three goblins trying to make a desperate escape into the forest. He grabbed three arrows from his quiver and notched them all simultaneously. With a gust like ~thwisp all three of the poorly armored gretchens fell to the ground within seconds of each other, a silvian gift embedded in each of their backs.
“About time!” She shouted back. “That was brutal. I hope this TormentHugs is worth it, Brother.”
“How is Braulun, Ewer?” Acorsaul asked with concern.
“Not bad as first impressed, He will be able to walk as far as the dwarf village for real treatment.” Braulun shouted in pain as Ewer wrapped up his deeply hewn calf, a lucky slice from a crude goblin dagger. “Shh, Braulun, all will be well. A little mandrake root and Nightshade will set you right as rain.” She smiled, preparing a herbal remedy with a mortar and pestle.
“Get the beetles moving! I want to trade with TormentHug by sundown and have us be done with this little venture!” Acorsaul commanded.“If it weren't for their gold coffins, we would not have even come ... I hope the lord and lady of the forest reward us all well for satiating their vanity ...” He muttered to himself.
Amena nodded and ran up the convoy's heading giant beetle's sleek black carapace as if it were no feat at all. She grabbed the beetle's reigns, brought an ocarina to her lips and played a sharp octave.
The giant beetles of which the caravan were set a top of began to move again. The sun wanes to a low sunset by the time the elves reach the dwarven bazaar. the four elves look up at the awe inspiring encarved dwarven door, waiting for it’s opening at their arrival.
“Why aren’t the dwarves coming out of their hole?” Amena said with a caution.
“I am confident someone will come to greet us shortly.” Acorsaul put her to ease with a hand on her shoulder. “Dwarves are many things, but able to turn down a profit? They must be organising their trade goods as we speak.” Outwardly, Acorsaul looked confidant. Inwardly however, he was starting to get a bad feeling about this trip. He looked at the warlock and dwarf skeletons littering the grass outside of their village. He knew the dwarves were a practical sort, too preoccupied smelting away in the dark to do a little spring cleaning, but this ...
Hate kept her crossbow trained down the hallway as she and her squad continued moving to the metal refinery.
“... I’m just saying I’d feel safer if we didn’t wear a bright gold and blue for a uniform, a dark grey uniform, maybe? It would be much harder to see us.” Desk uttered.
“Gray and black is the uniform of the mercenary, the assassin, and the bannerless, Desk. You will wear your homeland’s colors with pride like the rest of us.” Hate retorted, her agitation rising.
Desk knew when he was being talked down to. He raised his crossbow and and walked alongside her. “Look, I’m new. I was only put on the squad a month ago. I’m sorry if I’m asking too many questions.”
Hate flicked her eyes in his direction for a second, then back down the hall. “It’s not the questions I find bothersome about you ...”
Desk looked aggravated. “Then what is it, then?” he said, staring back at her. He shifted his attention from the hall and stepped on a stone, which suddenly shot into the ground.
Hate grabbed him by the collar and reared him back. As a set of nine spikes shot up from the floor. Desk looked agasp.
“It’s not the questions, it’s how you waste your time asking them instead of paying attention to the job at hand.” She growled, shoving him forward. “You take point.”
She squad entered the chamber door to a vast cavern divided down the center. On the left, Unrefined gold, a
mountain's worth of it dragged from the mines. Dotting along the center of the cavern were matched sets of forges and and smelters, constantly working in tandem. and finally on the right was TormentHug's heart: a mountain of finished gold products.
Hate's eyes scanned the area. “Well, no giant blade spiders. That is a good sign.” She sighed in relief.
sssssssssshhssssHate scrunched up her face. “Wait, what was that?”
The hissing continued.
Hate motioned at Urn. “Urn, hand me that torch!” She commanded. Torch nodded and threw her his stick of light. She leered into the dark, trying to find the source of the sound. She suddenly reared her head back and gulped. She looked at Volcano, the scraggly drunken mess of a Dwarf, uncorking his waterskin which was filled to the brim of ale. In the gold pile behind him, a scorpion tail the size of an arm slowly motioned back and forth. “Volcano -”
Two more tails joined the first. They were attached to indego pelted giant cats, which were striped with incandescent lime green; Their eyes pulsed red. They slowly, groggily sauntered out from their hiding spot amongst the gold and continued making their low deadly hiss.
“Aye? Wha?” Volcano asked.
Captain Bluth Hemminguard eyed the elves at the entrance of the dwarven fortress with indecision etched across his face. His army had orders from the king himself to lay siege to TormentHug, with the aid of orc mercenaries. The elves are a complication. He did not want to start a political incident, yet neither did he want the dwarves to be reinforced with powerful warbeasts. He tapped his pointer finger on the bronze spyglass, conflicted. They were not supposed to be here, either of them. “Bollocks!” He shouted.
“Capitan? Orders?” An artillery battery officer asked.
The Captain seems increasingly tense. “ .... Sod it. They may have seen us on their way to TormentHug. Not a soul must know of our siege and break our element of surprise! It could reach the ears of the dwarf homeland.” The old and hardened commander gives the order. “Fire when ready.”
Amena has had enough standing around. She looked to her brother. “This, this is odd. We should leave. Now.” She said with an air of fear on the tip of her tongue.
Acorsaul scruffed up his long golden hair, a tell tale sign he was thinking on how to best proceed. “Yes. something is wrong here, indeed. I know an inn - a few miles. If it comes to that. perhaps we should move on soon and stay there for the night.” He said with a heavy sigh. “Sorry, Braulun.” He murmured to himself. “Looks like the doctor isn’t in.” He took out his compass and took a good few paces. Then his elf eyes caught something. A glimmer in the hills 1440 feet away. Were those soldier tents and siege cannons off in the distance?
A crack of thunder let loose from the hill and a lead ball tore through Acorsaul’s heart. The elf looked surprised more than anything.
Dots of blood flecked onto Amena’s face. “Brother?” She asked,her eyes wide as moons.
He turned to her sister, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Amena - Humans. Ru-” Amena and Acorsaul and the entire beetle caravan were obliterated from a barrage of human cannon fire. It rocked the dwarf trade depot until it was nothing more but a fiery crater.
Captain Hemminguard condensed his spyglass. “Good shot, chaps!”
Wheel Bronzeplan shuddered at the sudden impact from above. “by gods, what was that?”
Gear looked up at the ceiling, distrustful of it and the surface in general. “Nothing good.”
“Gear!” Hate shouted down the hall. “Commander Gear!”
“Sergeant Hate!” Gear called back “How goes the sweep and clear?”
“Not without it’s complications!” She said as she walked toward Gear with Volcano in her arms. “Volcano is stricken with venom. Bad.”
Gear looked Volcano over. He had several sting wounds and looked positively green. “Right. First order, Recruit. Get this dwarf buckets of water and keep his temperature stable with ice. Hate,” He points to an apartment room down the hall. “Put ‘em in there. It’ll have to serve as a buggered hospital room for now.”
“Yes, Commander.” She sounded off.
“The rest of you! We need the Doc and the Fort is clear. It’s time to uncork the dining hall and let the peasants out!”
“Yes, commander!” The Anal Smiths shouted.
“Uh, yes, commander.” Wheel said with an awkwardness.
The squad splits up; Gear moves out to the dining hall while Hate and Wheel lay volcano down on the newly christened hospital bed.
“Wheel was it?” Hate asked. “We need to thin the blood as well, can you grab a bucket of leeches while down at the well?”
“Sure.” Wheel leaves the room to gather the medical supplies from the stockpiles.
Hate turns to Volcano. “Ugh, Volcano, you’re not going to like the next bit -” She takes off his shirt and observes the awful discoloration of his swollen skin. “- But we have to get the infection out of you." Volcano only moans a response. " I am no medicine dwarf, farthest from, but I know a bit about blood. I am certain the body must somehow make more. Once, once I saw a soldier lose a barrel of it! A month later he was back on his feet. You will be too, once the leeches suck out the tainted venom."
"It'll ... It'll be back like ... Like hair?" Volcano murmured.
"It'll be back like hair." Hate assured him.
Wheel returned with a bucket of water in one hand and a bucket of leeches in the other.
"Good." Hate nodded. "Let me affix these." She started to apply the leeches into the infected and necrotic areas.
"Aw feth!" Hate shouted. She looked Wheel's way. "Soap." She said apologetically, as if sorry for not telling him to grab it on the first trip.
Wheel facepalms. "Ack, how did I forget?" He goes back for the soap.
Volcano begins to struggle against the bloodsuckers.
Hate felt his forehead and poured him water. “Stop exerting yourself. It’ll all be alright.” She tilted his head back and helped him nurse on the mug.
Then, one especially plump leech caught her eye. She looked almost transfixed with it. "You just gotta ..." She trailed off. She licked her lips as she pried the leech off. "... Fight ..." She bit her lower lip, as if summoning all the self discipline she had. She suddenly looked to the doorway, where Wheel was looking at her with an odd, curious expression and soap in his hands.
"I have to fight it. I- I mean you have to fight it. The infection, I mean." She said, trying to collect her self. She re-applied the leech."You have to fight it."
Ewyen coughed as she tried to breathe through the thick smoke that used to be her caravan just less than a moment ago.The left side of her was lacerated to hell and back from wooden shrapnel, and she flew to the ground from the rocking percussion of the blast. She flung her head around in distressed confusion, until she saw what was directly in front of her; two caged unicorns trying to smash their way out their burning wood cages. Upon seeing that, all was immediately clear.
"No! Not the forest born!" She gasped. With no hesitation she inched herself forward with her forearm towards the cages. "Ayüś tá la rÿaœ!" She shouted, commanding the cages, every last one to release their contents. The animals in the cages all started galloping, flying, running, crawling and slithering away in a panic. "Praise Tâo..." She exhaled, lying back into the dirt. She knew this small deed would not be unrewarded in the afterlife, at least that much she was certain.
Gear arrived at the mountain’s dining hall, confident the threat was now over. The dining room door was barricaded by a thick wood beam both inside and out. The floor was littered with hastily laid out bear traps , warpstone landmines and other defenses. “Come on, lads. Let’s open it up.” Gear said, impatient. The dwarves all grunted and lifted out the barricade on the count of three. The doors flung open, and to Gear’s horror, dead dwarves tumble from out. They had been trying to claw their way out. All that was in the room, was a hundred and forty undead dwarves, and a torn apart dwarf necromancer who had betrayed them, each and every one. Their eyes, their accursed eyes, all of them pulsed sinister neon blue. The huddled mass of bodies stopped shoveling the the ill fated creator’s viscera into their gullets to slowly lock their phantom eyes onto Gear’s chilled soul.
{End Chapter 1}
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