Atis's Story
“Good match, Atis. You’ve bested me once again. Why do you even bother to spar with the rest of us? You’re leagues above all of us in skill.”
“Because, commander, you can never practice too much. Besides, you all are here to learn from me, not the other way around.”
Atis leaned on her mace, Nethluslem, slayer of hundreds. Commander Stinthad spoke again.
“For that matter, why do any of us train? We’ve proven time and again that each of us is worth dozens of ordinary soldiers, who we don’t even get to fight any more. We just get a handful of recruits and a bunch of trolls every few years.”
“For the hell of it, I guess. None of us have any useful skills aside from fighting. I haven’t picked up a chisel in 50 years. At least young Domas can carve bone."
“Young!? I’m nearly 60!”
“Well, you’re young compared to the rest of us. I’m pushing 90, and none of us are getting any younger.”
There was a chorus of agreements from the rest of the squad. Bomrek spoke.
“I’ve been thinking… The rest of the world seems to be dying, while Bastiongate merely changes. We used to get giant scorpions wild in the hills, and now they’re all gone except for the tame ones we’ve got here. And we must’ve caught no more than a dozen.
What if the same thing is happening to the goblins? There were never more than a few thousand of them, and they’ve been attacking Bastiongate almost since it was founded. And we killed every greenskin that came. What if they’re all gone, now?”
“Well, that would explain a little, but why haven’t we heard anything?” said Atis. “We get all these visitors and nobody ever brings any news.”
“Maybe we just need to ask,” said Stinthad. “Nobody in Bastiongate ever really cared about the outside – it’s so good here. Okay squad, break time, let’s go quiz a visitor.”
The dwarves clanked their way down the stairs to the Great Hall, where most of the visitors stayed. They selected one human and began questioning him. He answered all their questions, including some they didn’t ask because being glared at by ten angry, well-armed dwarves will do that to a man. Finally, they asked the big question.
“Oh, I visited their capitol a few years ago. There must be no more than a few dozen goblins left in the whole nation.”
“A FEW DOZEN?!” shouted the squad.
“Wait, wait,” said Atis. “What happened? Where did they all go?”
“Well,” said the human, “they’ve been at war with pretty much everyone over the years. Especially you all. Why, between all the Bastiongate’s soldiers, living and dead, you’ve probably killed two-thirds of them. And they haven’t been having children, either, just like everywhere else. Only Bastiongate’s dwarves have children anymore,” the human said, sadly.
“So do you know how many there are now?” said Atis, thinking.
“Probably even fewer, since they’ve attacked Bastiongate a few more times between then and now.”
“A few dozen… Any one of us could go and wipe out the whole nation!”
“Yeah, but we’d have to leave Bastiongate to do it,” said Stinthad. “It’s dangerous out there.”
“More dangerous than me?”
“Well…”
“Think about it. The goblins are nothing. The great beasts are dead or captured – why, some of us even killed them! And what else is there that could possibly kill me?”
“Well, alright. What about the demon master, though? Wait, is he even still alive?” Stinthad thought for a second. “Is he even a he?”
The human spoke up. “He’s alive as anything. I was brought before him while I was there and he scared the shit out of me. He isn’t like the demons you’ve got in your zoo, though. All I remember is he looks like a huge, scaly bear man. Around the same size as your demons.”
“I can kill him. Remember that one time when those bird demons got past the demon trap and we had to kill them?”
“I do. Those were good eating.”
“I think I’ll go,” said Atis. “I’m the only one who remembers old Edzul and the others. I still regret being in bed when the call went up. Old Commander Ast was the only one who survived. Killed them all, and alone, too. He was the only one who could beat me.”
“You know, I’d like to leave a legacy besides passing on Nethluslem and my armor. Even old Ast had a son, which is why Domas is here. But my wife and I have nothing, on account me also being a woman. You know, I think I’ll bring her along. Rimtar is the best marksdwarf we have, and I’ll need help with the runners.”
“So you’re really going, then?”
“Well, what else am I going to do?”
And that was that. The whole fort heard about it before long, since no citizens had left Bastiongate for nearly 30 years. Queen Lorbam Ringedspears proclaimed a farewell feast. A bird demon was slaughtered and roasted over a great fire and the dwarves ate and drank and sang. And so a week later Atis and Rimtar staggered out into the hot desert sun, nursing hangovers, and carrying packs full of roast demon and waterskins full of beer.
“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” said Atis.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” said Rimtar.
“I can’t believe Master Smith Iton gave you Eserstagshil. That thing is her pride and joy.”
“Yeah, me neither. It’s way better than the old crossbow I usually carry around.”
The two examined the crossbow. It was a masterpiece of masterpieces. Made from the finest dwarven steel, its string made of hill titan silk. It was encrusted with gems of all kinds, studded with gold and platinum. On the stock was a depiction of the founding of Bastiongate in 250, crafted of bird demon bone.
“My mace and armor were made by her, too. The only thing that I have that isn’t is my shield, which was made by that one leatherworker girl whose name I can’t remember.”
“The new one or the old one?”
“The old one. I’ve had this shield a long time. And your crutch, too.” Rimtar’s leg had been savaged by a cave crawler when she was younger, necessitating a crutch. Her current one was solid lead and she enjoyed using it like a club when she ran out of crossbow bolts.
There was silence for a while, before Rimtar spoke up.
“There sure are a lot of powerful women in Bastiongate. You’re the best warrior. I’m the best marksdwarf. Master Iton. The queen. Four of the seven Founders.”
“Seven of the ten Blue Furnaces are women.”
“Six of the ten Connected Handles are women, too. The Hellguard I’m not sure about, I don’t know them too well. I only see them when we pick up crossbow bolts from the forges.”
“Well, when you flip a coin ten times, it isn’t so unusual to get seven tails. And none of the Blue Furnaces carry their babies into battle, so that old stigma doesn’t matter.”
“I guess so.”
The two women left Bastiongate’s lands and began heading northeast, rounding the bay and then heading southeast, toward goblin lands. They camped on the edges of the desert, under the stars. Atis had first watch, Rimtar took second. Neither had very much need for sleep. In the morning they continued southeast toward their target. Several more days passed like this, chatting about nothing much. Both were military dwarves and did not see the other much, though Rimtar often smiled down at Atis when she was patrolling the walls. They made a wide circle around Stokedheat, an old dwarven fortress that a dragon had destroyed and then taken up residence in. Smoke still wound out amid the ruined walls where the dragon had made its lair.
A few bandits accosted the pair, but quickly fled after Rimtar put a bolt through the leader’s eye and Atis killed three more. After that, they were left alone. And finally, after eleven days of travel, they arrived that their destination: the goblin settlement of Valleyhell.
There, they found the place in ruins. The old towers had crumbled, the defensive trenches had collapsed, the basements and tunnels had fallen in. The only person they found was a dwarf wearing goblin clothing, who Atis chased down and grabbed. Rimtar caught up and the two interrogated their prisoner.
“Please! No! Don’t hurt me!” cried the dwarf.
“We won’t hurt you if you tell us where everyone else who lives here is.”
“No! I won’t tell!”
“Atis, hold on a minute. I think there’s something over here. A staircase going down.”
“No! Don’t go down there! It’s… um… very dangerous!”
“We’re going down there.”
So they went down the staircase, single file. First went the prisoner. Then went Atis, Nethluslem in one hand and the prisoner’s neck in the other. Then came Rimtar, Eserstagshil at the ready. At the bottom they found many tunnels, leading off in several directions.
“Alright, which one do we take?”
“I won’t tell!”
“Wait, only one of these tunnels is used often. I was a hunter before I was a marksdwarf, remember?”
“I remember. And I was just a clerk with no social skills. We were an odd pair.”
“Good times.” Rimtar smiled. “But come on.”
The chosen tunnel opened out into a larger room. In one corner stood a sorry-looking bunch of humans, dwarves, and a few fire imps. They held weapons, but looked clumsy and unskilled. They were being directed by a goblin wearing finer clothes, going through their drills.
Atis, already frustrated at not being able to kill anything in days, charged. But before she could cross the room, a silver bolt flew from Eserstagshil and stuck the goblin in the heart. As she fell, the soldiers-to-be broke and ran. The prisoner also escaped in the confusion, leaving the two soldiers alone in the room.
Taking the time to look around, the two noticed a meagre food stockpile, a few scrawny trolls on ropes, and a large pile of crudely-carved stone coffins, each with an inscription on the side.
“Well, that’s depressing,” said Rimtar, flatly.
“If this is an example of the rest of the goblin civ, then all we have to do is kill the demon master,” said Atis. “It looks like they’re depending on the kidnapped children for soldiers, since they ran out of goblins. All that’s holding everything together is fear. And even that won’t last long, because if nobody is having children, there aren’t any to kidnap.”
“That explains why Kel Parchkey’s brother showed up a few years back, then surrendered. But let’s visit Doomeddance first. Just to be sure.”
So the two climbed back up the stairs, onto the surface. But before they left, Atis climbed a mostly intact tower to get her bearings.
“I think I see something!”
“What do you see?!”
“I think it’s a camp! I see people moving! Green people!”
“There’s a goblin camp out there?!”
“Yes! Let’s go check it out!”
So after Atis climbed down, the two set off. They reached the camp a few hours before sunset. Rimtar sneaked up and reported back to Atis.
“Yep, definitely greenskins. About two dozen. Some of them have very good weapons, but none of them have any armor. I think they’re bandits, and very experienced ones. They had guards posted, or I would have gotten a closer look.”
“I’m gonna kill ‘em.”
“Go ahead, honey.”
So Atis charged into the camp full tilt, then smashed three goblins into paste before anyone could figure out what was happening. Rimtar climbed a tree and shot the legs of anyone who tried to run. The leader and two of his lieutenants gave Atis some trouble, but she dispatched them easily after smashing the leader’s spear arm. Rimtar was behind the tree’s trunk, getting plinked right back at, but the archers soon found themselves facing 250 pounds of enraged, armored Atis. Afterwards, Atis bashed in the skulls of the wounded.
“I haven’t had that much fun since it was just me and Vucar against that whole army back in ’76. Now what’s for dinner?”
“Some kind of meat stew, apparently.”
“I think I’d rather have some more leftover bird demon than risk eating something that could talk. There were human skulls on their trash pile. Let’s walk for a while before setting up camp.”
“Okay, but I’m taking this tent. And by that I mean you’re taking this tent. We’re not in the desert anymore, so I don’t want to get rained on.”
“Okay, honey,” sighed Atis. “But why were there experienced soldiers within sight of a goblin settlement? Wouldn’t they be driven away, or at least drafted?”
“Maybe they were deserters. And you need a bigger army than the deserters you’re rounding up if you want to have a chance.”
The next day they arrived at Doomeddance and found that abandoned too, but not as fallen down as Valleyhell had been. They also found four goblins hiding in the ruins, which Atis killed. After that they set off toward the goblin capitol of Labordemon.
Upon arrival, they immediately noticed that this wasn’t like the other settlements. There had been many towers, once, but most had fallen down. The rubble had been piled into earthworks, though only a few goblins manned them. The two climbed right over, though Atis had to carry Rimtar sometimes. They were spotted by many goblins, but neither dwarf cared much. What were they going to do? Attack them?
After several fights in which Atis emerged victorious, the goblins stayed away. As they moved towards the center, they saw more intact towers, but still with few goblins. In the very center there was a massive fort made of black stone that seemed to suck in the light. Slade, the stone of hell, which could only be worked by demons. Bastiongate’s dwarves might grow gardens in hell, but they had brought down the soil manually. Atis and Rimtar stared at the fortress, worried for the first time.
They approached the entrance carefully, back to back. Inside it was hard for them to see, even with a dwarf’s natural night vision. As they travelled though the dark fortress, they were attacked by a few terrified soldiers and several war trolls, who were too stupid to be afraid. They all met the same end – the end of a mace. The pair noticed that all the doorways were enormous, as if to accommodate some huge beast. Finally, they reached the throne room. Inside, waiting, were two figures.
The first was a massive figure. It filled the room, ten times the height of a dwarf. It stood straight, but had the head and claws of a bear. Clear scales covered its body, so that the muscles could be seen underneath. Venom dripped from long fangs, hissing as it hit the floor. The other was a dwarf with a vaguely familiar face, holding a flail. Rimtar ducked back into the doorway, readying Eserstagshil.
The demon laughed, a horrible grating sound. “Who are you to come into my house? I am Yila Beetlespasm the Spiteful Stalker! I’ll bleed you dry!”
“You know why.”
The demon opened with a swipe of one great claw. Atis dodged, then brought Nethluslem down on the offending limb. The demon shrugged off the blow like it was nothing.
“I’ll grind your bones!”
Atis charged forward inside the demon’s reach, smashing Nethluslem into its left ankle. There was a crack of bone, but the beast was unaffected.
“Flay off your skin!”
Yila went down on all fours and kicked at Atis, a blow she barely avoided. She circled around the beast’s side.
“Devour you alive!”
The demon turned, springing forward at Atis. She sidestepped its clashing jaws, but was struck by the creature’s shoulder. She flew backwards, stunned.
“Rip off your limbs!”
The demon lunged for Atis’s torso, but she rolled out of the way. It got her shield arm instead. Teeth skated on steel, then found purchase.
“Hoask hou in hakha!”
Yila lifted her up by her arm and shook. Grimacing in pain, Atis used her momentum to sing Nethluslem into the side of the beast’s head. She heard the demon’s skull crack.
“Put out your eyes with hot pokers!”
Taking advantage of the creature’s pathological need to threaten her, she slipped her arm out from between the beast’s teeth, landing awkwardly.
“Break your fingers one by one!”
The demon, standing on two legs again, swept a paw at Atis. Dodging backwards, she kicked out behind her, breaking the knee of the dwarf. She collapsed in pain, dropping her flail and screaming.
“Pull out your teeth!”
The beast dropped to all fours, trying to bite Atis again. On a whim, she dropped Nethluslem and grabbed the dwarf’s flail.
“Fill your blood with poison!”
When the beast opened its mouth to bite again, she tossed the flail down its gaping maw. The demon began to choke.
“Hgkkk gkkkk glkk!”
Standing on two legs, Yila clawed at its throat, trying to dislodge the offending object. Snatching up Nethluslem, Atis smashed her mace into the beast’s left ankle, crack, crack, crunch!
“AAAAAAAARGH!”
The roar shook the fortress. Answering bellows came from far below… bellows Atis had heard before. Coughing up the flail, Yila fell sideways, its ankle unable to support its weight.
“THROW YOU IN ACID!”
Yila hit the floor, causing dust to fall from the ceiling far above. The creature levered itself up on three legs, still roaring in pain.
“SHATTER YOUR SPINE!”
Yila charged at Atis, who had her back to the wall. Atis looked around as if confused, then ducked between Yila’s legs. The beast slammed headfirst into the wall, causing the ceiling to release another cloud of dust.
“RIP YOU IN HALF!”
Pivoting, Yila charged Atis again. This time they were facing the door. Two silver bolts flew, striking Yila in both eyes.
“SPLIT YOUR LUNGS!”
Yila had heard reports of two dwarves, not one. Yila was wondering when the other would show up. Yila had heard that the two dwarves were very loving with each other. Yila could no longer see. But Yila could smell the other dwarf in the doorway…
“KILL YOUR WIFE!”
“NO!”
Yila charged forward, toward Rimtar. But even in full plate, Atis was still faster. She had trained most of her life for this moment. She was not burdened by a wounded leg. She drew on strength she didn’t know she had. She ran ahead of Yila, putting herself between Rimtar and the threat.
And Yila smashed her out of the way with a paw, jaws closing around Rimtar.
Atis slammed into the wall. She bounced off, got up while still sliding, and charged. She slammed Nethluslem into Yila’s skull over and over, dodging its feeble blows. Finally, the demon master died, collapsing with a sigh. Atis passed out with a crash.
“Atis… Atis… Help…”
It was so faint. It couldn’t be. Atis levered herself into a sitting position. She looked around confused. She walked over to the other side of the demon’s muzzle, where an arm and a leg stuck out. Numbly, Atis lifted a jowl.
She blinked.
Rimtar blinked.
There was Eserstagshil, jammed in between the jaws, keeping them from closing. Rimtar was still seriously wounded – a fang impaled her arm, and her leg didn’t look good either. But Yila’s congealing blood had helped close the wound, and the fang prevented Rimtar from bleeding out through her arm. She needed serious medical care. And there was only one hospital good enough to provide it.
Taking a discarded goblin sword, Atis cut out the fang. She levered the jaw open, wedging it with the sword. She pulled Rimtar out, making sure not to disturb the fang. Rimtar was numb all over, an effect of Yila’s venom. Atis shed her armor, propped her mace and shield up against a wall, and pulled some clothes off a dead goblin. Then, ignoring her wounded shoulder, she hoisted Rimtar onto her back.
Atis ran for three days. She waded creeks, leapt gorges, and stopped only to drink. She forced beer down Rimtar when she was awake. Upon reaching Bastiongate, she ran the final sprint down the road, flew down the staircase, gently placed Rimtar in a hospital bed, and then passed out. She awoke only to tell Commander Stinthad where she had left her weapons and armor.
Atis awoke again, days later. She found that Stinthad had led an expedition to Labordemon to retrieve Atis’s armor and mace, as well as Eserstagshil, which had also been left. Stinthad knew the dark fortress well, as he had escaped from there as a child. They had also come back one dwarf heavy – the dwarf with the flail was the lost sister of Spearmaster Mafol. Kikrost returned to her parents a full 72 years after her kidnapping.
As for Rimtar, both her arm and leg had to be amputated. Yila’s venom had something in it that caused the flesh to rot from inside. Master Iton built a wheeled device that could be propelled by grabbing the wheels and turning them, as well as a device for cocking a crossbow one-handed. She no longer patrolled the walls, but instead sat in her chair above the gate, watching. Atis went up whenever she could to sit with her.
Without a leader, without soldiers, the goblin nation collapsed. Scavengers took over the ruins. And as the world died, Bastiongate closed its gates one final time. The dwarves inside lived on, changing, dying, but always living. And some say that even when the world fell apart that Bastiongate was still there, floating through the void. Waiting to be born again.
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Topic: The Saga of Bastiongate (60 Years!) (Read 65729 times)