A Glorious Fall
The fortress was thriving: Adamantine had been found in a large spire in the centre of the magma sea.
It was being carefully mined and processed into wafers, then forged into marvellously light, sharp weapons. The first of these, a set of axes, was being tested in the lower caverns. Crundles and other weak creatures were hunted by the fort’s champions, three axelords. It was like any other training scenario: use the stalactites as cover, sneak through the forest, and then leap upon the unsuspecting enemy. Then these guys joined the party:
Two Blind Cave Ogres, each the size of a full grown elephant. Kadol knew that he stood no chance against them alone, but his companions were much too far away, and the peasants that were busy ignorantly smelting adamantine needed time to get away. Calling a warning to the workers and a plea for help to his squadmates, he rushed the two behemoths.
Despite the axelord’s amazing speed and skill, he only managed a single strike before he was entirely on the defensive. He hacked at one of the beast’s arms as it came in close to grab him, failing to severe it but leaving a deep gash in the flesh. Then the other one backhanded him across the chest with enough force to send him flying ten paces back and into a wall. He heard the crunch of a bone. Desperately he scrambled away from his foes, parrying and blocking strikes from massive fists. Just as his strength gave out and he began to slip into unconsciousness, his comrades arrived. Now that the numbers were even, the tide began to turn in the favor of the smaller, more skilled dwarves.
A lucky shot to the head killed one of the monstrous ogres as he leaned down to grasp at these irritating insects that assailed him, and then a slash that landed in the already wounded arm of the other one sent him fleeing out of the dwarves territory. But there was no rest for these dwarves; just as they left off pursuit of their running enemy, they heard the faint, distant call of war horns.
Leaving their injured friend in the care of the adamantine workers, the two uninjured soldiers rushed to the surface.
As they arrived, it was chaos. The goblins had breached the outer traps with minimal losses, and enemy archer fire had forced the woefully unprepared army back down the staircase. They were standing in a loose ring around the hospital doors, while their marksdwarves shot ragged volleys into the mass of enemies. The two axelords, heedless of their own safety, rushed into the midst of the enemy, destroying their momentum and pushing them back up the stairs. The field was won, but not without loss: almost half of the soldiers were dead, and the marksdwarves were almost out of bolts. The worst loss, however, was the axelords; their reckless charge to save their fellow dwarves had left them both pale from lost blood and limping from injury. They were brought to hospital, where they sunk into a deep, exhausted sleep; so deep that they didn’t hear the horns signalling another goblin assault.
This attack was even worse than the last: two squads of goblins mounted on evil cavern creatures, led by a macelord and a pikemaster. The injured, scared military crumbled beneath the assault. A fortunate recruit managed to push one of the enemy leaders into the pond, drowning him, but soon, each soldier was a rapidly sinking island in a sea of enemies.
Then Sakzul came.
He had always been an oddity; while the rest of the fortress had trained in triples, sparring and laughing he had always been by himself, with only war dogs for company. He trained with the dogs, blocking their playful attacks with his shield, sometimes lightly striking back with his dagger. That was all he ever fought with: a leather shield and a kobold’s knife, wearing civilian’s clothes and a leather cloak. As he came up the stairs, followed by an old dwarf wielding a hammer, once a hero but long since too old to serve in the army, this was still his only armor, but he was definitely a force to be reckoned with.
He whirled through the enemy ranks, dodging their mounts’ attacks, rolling under biting maws, gutting beak dogs and cave crawlers. His elderly companion followed close behind, crushing the skulls of the stunned riders with a strength that utterly belied his frail appearance.
The two of them managed to kill half the opposing army along with their mounts, but finally, Sakzul was overcome. The goblin pikemaster managed to stab him in the shoulder, his copper pike lodging firmly in the wound. Sakzul tried to fight on, but every goblin left alive turned on him, eager to avenge their fallen comrades. Held in place by the pike, the dwarf couldn’t dodge, and there were far too many blades to block with only a shield. He died bleeding from a dozen cuts.
The old hammerdwarf also died there, his weathered frame unable to handle the stress of battle for any longer. He fell unconscious and was set upon by evil, ravenous monsters.
The fortress was destroyed that day, goblins running through the halls, looting and pillaging as they went. They rushed into the hospital, killing the axelords as they lay defenseless. Not a single dwarf survived the onslaught. But before they died, one last defiant order was carried out:
“Release the Giant Cave Spider.”
The halls were filled with screams long after the last dwarf died.
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Topic: A Glorious Fall (Read 913 times)