@NW_Kohaku, that is grade A cheese
(but thanks anyways)Also, in terms of tactics, it would have been much better to have simply ignored the South encampment until it started moving up to the courtyard before throwing the lever to let the zombies free, pinning the humans between the zombies and your own forces... Why not just temporarily raise a drawbridge, though? I'm sure when the bridge is up, the zombies will turn around and look South for food...
That could've been brutal, but I believe at the time I had issues with getting the corpses all thrown in the moose pit and the Dwarves throwing the lever at the right time (humans were not taking the bait, probably suspecting an obvious trap).
The undead herd finished devouring the last scattered cavalry and camelry trapped north and focused their attention south. For months the encampment dealt with the undead attacks, keeping them far away from the perimeter with well-placed arrow shots, but the undead just kept attacking. Several hundred humans and their cavalry began retreating in an orderly fashion, carving a path out via the southern gate. I noticed one crossbowman holding back the entire horde by themself quite heroically - Aspa Shadowseed. Aspa fired off bolt after bolt into the undead because at some point in the assault, his mount had bolted off and something ate his foot. Still he moved on, dragging himself away towards the gate, and he continued fighting even long after he ceased having working limbs. Aspa single handedly bought them many days.
The army set up a new camp in the southeastern quarter, at which point things began to die down (though the dead did not remain dead), with the human rearguard keeping the southern gate occupied and clear of undead. A series of months passed in which only skirmishes occurred, as the Dwarves focused on fixing the recovered wounded.
Arduous work, the medical Dwarves and Architect Kogan in particular (who had few buildings to design and plenty of spare time as a result of the war) set about fixing broken Dwarves. Only one Dwarf died, having perished of thirst, the rest having made full recoveries.
At the brass palisade the dead littering the streets began to raise.
Seen above - the horde descends upon a poor horse, desperately trying to escape the many hundreds of grasping teeth chasing its heels. The piled dead and littered war detritus awakens with bloody vengeance, only the smallest and most damaged of limblets and corpses escaping this curse - the dwarf scurrying on through to the farms no doubt appreciative of the blessed stone keeping them out. The horse is not so fortunate, with nowhere left to run. There are only corpses in its future.
Pictured here is a human warrior. She was safe in the southeastern camp patrolling near the gatehouse when elf corpses and raven corpses drove her horse away from the human camp. To my surprise the humans still had war lions and war mosquitoes which fell upon the undead in hungry league with the great army, driving them off with minimal casualties. Yet for this poor halberdier, Sporro her name was - her horse was driven far into the southwest into the spidery forest's evil grasp. The wild horse was tired and crazed, and its eyes tried blinking out the falling dwarven blood snow. Sporro had her cloak wrapped around herself and her fingers frozen on her axe, and as she realized she was very alone, with death itself surrounding her - she shivered.
A lunging camel galloped towards her at full trot, using every muscle with total disregard for self-preservation, those terrifying toes clanking on the metal of the rarely-used brass road, clanking through the crunching slush of the blood snow. With a swoop of its neck it tried to grab Sporro, but she deftly dodged its swipe and opened its belly with her halberd, spilling its rotten guts onto the ground. This seemed to have stayed the camel beast for the time until even dead things undied, but with dread Sporro realized her horse was not stirring - for her horse had died.
I expected Sporro to perish not soon after, but to my surprise Sporro dodged and weaved through the masses with expert dexterity, against monstrous beings that could snap her in two if they managed to grab a hold of her. Sporro was no champion, no great warrior or lord of war. Sporro was just some guard who got sent to fight a war against reclusive alcoholics. One Dwarf family pause their lunch to watch Sporro through stone windows, fighting her way to victory.
Unfortunately, fighting in the wrong direction. The masses of bodies pressed further and further, restricting even this most resourceful survivor's movements.
Sporro would finally go down after attacking an undead horse, I like to think that perhaps this was the horse she rode into battle. Operating off of the few reflexes its decaying nerves could still carry out, the horse kicked her in the face, killing her instantly. Her corpse walks again, with a broken face.
Thus ends the brief legend of Sporro.
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Topic: Ravens are murder. [SPOILERS] (Read 163281 times)