May this advent of our humility not be our fort’s final days, that we may survive long enough to learn.
The necromancer of Oilfrill, our southern neighbor, is no longer content with his horrific intricacies. Our recent raid there has made us an eager enemy:
They slaughtered the sentry pets at our borders, innocent creatures alerting us with their cries as crossbow bolts pierced them. I hope these torments are evil whimsy, not some grand plan. My heart could not bear to fight zombie kittens.
These horrors are faintly recognizable as former dwarves. Twisted by vile art, now they are beings of slaughter, yet keeping enough of their wits to bear armor and crossbows – what a compromise! Wiser than a naked beast, too cruel and mindless for parley!
As we boggled at the necromatic mockeries, our sentry spotted the East Mechanisms returning from another mission at an inopportune moment.
I count too few returned soldiers, and one with stained garb and painful hobble. Their sad tale will have to wait until it’s safe to open the gates again.
The fists of night are eager for murder, and as civilians rushed within the burrow and mustered the Cobalt Gears to the main entry, one foe leapt madly from the awning to attack.
The others are not as eager to make the leap – thus divided, we have a chance to counterattack! Before they sight their weapons down our entry hall, CHARGE!
Go, Cobalt Gears – write the first verse the bards will sing of today!
CURSE YOU! No one pulled the last gate lever – the other 2 foes in this squad dashed inside to aid!
EVEN SO! Let us see what they can do against THREE TIMES their number of axedwarves…
Bards will tell how Onul Kolurvad lost her life, shot through the heart as we rushed to her aid. She died with honor, a sacrifice to distract attackers as we hacked them to bits. But the siege is unbroken. Seven survive, a mockery of our Seven who came here first.
Miners frantically don armor still warm from the forge. Kadol Dreamygem the bard offers a fervent, lyrical prayer to Victory. Some of us anxiously shelter, peacetime chores forgotten. Others gasp for air as they churn forge bellows, their partner whirling the hammer, crafting our first STEEL equipment as every iron-glut smelter blazes with light. Above us, outside, Armok honors us with a matching forge in the sky, lightning blasting down from His anvil…
Alas! The East Mechanisms have attempted to return to the West Gate – and with their empty quivers and incomplete leather armor, they are not well prepared to face the waiting foe. Numerous enemy bolts find easy purchase in their bodies, but still, superior numbers have their effect:
We will remember you, Nil Stinthadbekar. You neglected crossbow practice – but not wrestling! The bolt that bled you out could not stop you from a decapitation SUPLEX, after which we now nickname you in death. Was he peerlessly strong? Did he find a moment of supreme luck? Or dare we hope that these ‘fists of night’ are less durable than we thought? Let us not show hubris.
Five of the foes are cackling over another cat’s body. The open field is defensible with their five crossbows and we will not approach them here!
Meanwhile, another has wandered off alone to the northwest… let us try to intercept.
Bomrek Zeggoden shows he is truly one of our Seven Founders by sprinting savagely to attack, without even awaiting the rest of his squad. May every friend and foe know who we are!
The fist of night is no match for Bomrek. His foe managed a single pot shot, before being tackled violently to the earth. Moments later, it lies dead in four or so pieces. With ten soldiers now mustered to 5 attackers left, we open our west gate with confidence. Urist Orbmagic the stoneworker dashes inside to safety at last, after skirting our perimeters nervously for the last several days…
The remaining invaders are far more prudent, and are not splitting their party. However, perhaps we can take them by surprise as they pass one of the closed gates.
The lever pulled, a tense and terrible moment passes as the gears grind and soldiers wait…
Good gods! One of our naive and ambitious guests has made a terrible mistake. Setoc the swordsman has made a foolhardy attack against four foes, and was shot in the head almost at once. But this confusion gives us an opportunity.
The counter-charge succeeds immediately. Flanked, distracted, and scattered, the foes are slew!
The siege is defeated at last. Now we tend the wounded, and bury the dead. And there is still time before the autumn caravan arrives – what a blessing.
Before the blood is dried, the stately elf Zepave, who has already spent so many months in our halls, makes the formal request we had been hoping for. Her several talents are legend.
Our triumph in battle has finally won her over – she will never leave our hall! It prides us to embrace her. To give up an elf’s love of wandering and remain indefinitely is a true honor to us, and with her talents she could be welcome anywhere. We will give her every chance to excel in her crafts.
And the caravan is here, at last!
While we prepare to trade, I think it’s time we gave Oilfrill a bit of payback. The Cobalt Mechanisms suffered zero injuries during our siege, so let them mete out vengance for our dead. I’m sure we don’t need our full military might any time soon.
And because fate is a mirthless jester, this is the very moment we face the incursion of a GIANT… I am TRYING to have a conversation with the liason of our own Sorcerous Mirrors! Must this happen now?
Our scouts tell me that an errant necromancer/salesman is on his way to the fortress?? No idea what business he seeks with us, but I hope he and the giant don’t start trouble. I also hear that some wandering poet may have gotten caught outside the gates when we closed them… his chances are slim.
Seems my worst nightmare has been realized – the necromancer reanimated one of the cats slaughtered by a fist of night! This was a workable diversion and he escaped, as the giant punched it to a mangled mess. But I hope I may live long enough to forget those sounds.
The Cobalt Gears returned in the nick of time, slaying the giant easily as they returned – inside, they tell of Oilfrill where they slew foes, but at a cost:
Erith Blockademine is one of the Seven Founders. We cannot rest until he is freed from his captivity – and we are sorely missing his broker skills besides! Our trading will proceed, but we can’t be confident of our bargaining without him.
We have drawn upon our talented hunter Fikod, known to be a cunning ambusher, to lead a new squad – this is the Tin Appearances, and their singular purpose shall be not defense of our fortress, but outside forays into the world. When need calls, we will pull volunteers from other squads – with myriad equipment and skills! – to give Fikod soldiers.
A mighty roar echoes as though from everywhere at once: the bards tell me this is the voice of Athrig, Forgotten Beast. It is a massive emaciated water elemental laced with strange poisons, or so the stories of the survivors tell. After some investigation, we determine the sounds are coming from the second cavern layer, and wall it off in haste! We will not deal with this until our military might is secure.
Our young Ushrir is exceptionally fond of our alpacas and has taken to naming them all. What a promising child she is! The fort continues to dote on her “pets”, and our elven newcomer weaves breathtaking cloth from their yarn. Meanwhile, several other elves have petitioned to be formally taken as citizens. Most we accept, eager for their performance and their crafts, but one laggard of no known trades nor arts is encouraged to prove himself further.
Zepave is as brilliant a craftswoman as we expected. Her other recently immigrated fellow is just as brilliant a tailor, and we eagerly anticipate the finished garments they will produce together. We need to secure more sources of dye, so we can truly do their elven handiwork justice!