[Note: This is a work in progress, so it isn’t complete. If you feel the need to comment, please do and tell me what you feel works and doesn’t.]
Part 1
The cold winter winds beat against the fort’s unflinching stone walls, it’s banner waving in the stormy bellows as snow drifted down from above. Standing at the top of a tower was a short stocky figure, whose only sources of light were a hooded black iron lantern and what little bit the moon and stars could shine down upon through the foul weather. Protected from the elements by his fur-lined coat and big bushy black beard speckled with flakes of white, he looked out through wooden goggles into the valley before him, his mittened hands clasping hold of his trusty crossbow like it was a loaf of bread during a famine.
For the past ten months he had been at the outpost, and for the past ten months there had been no trouble. However, a week ago, a man from the valley came to them and said trouble had been brewing: barbaric raiders from the seas had came to the shores. They were cultists, led by a horned demonic chieftan bearing a fiery axe. They were vicious warriors who pillaged and raped, dragging men and women to their boats to never be seen again.
With such fearsome knowledge presented to them, the outpost was now full of fear and worry, with a heightened sense of paranoia. Traps had been set up in the pathway leading down into the valley, hidden under the snow, and barriers placed down. Meanwhile, the man had been sent off to the capital, to inform the military and bring in support from the army. However, there had been no word on that, and the outpost commander doubted any sort of armed force would arrive in time.
Suddenly, the man felt a hand on his shoulder, followed by a gruff but feminine voice. “Brok.”
The dwarvish soldier turned around at the sound of his name, almost firing off his crossbow into his commander as he looked face to face with her. “Oh! Sorry sir! I didn’t realize you were there!” he stuttered out apologetically, but soon he quieted down as the dwarf commander simply glared at him with her stone grey eyes, before ripping his crossbow from his hands and handing it to a soldier who hadj just stepped out, following the authoritive woman.
The woman, Holly Ironbrook, was young for her rank and kind, being a mere 42 years old and red in the hair. However, she was more adept than her youth would suggest, having graduated only two years ago. Of course, some doubted that she had gotten her position fairly: she was noticeably attractive, having hefty curves and a pleasant face, many assumed she had only gotten her position through her looks.
However, these rumors usually stopped being discussed when she was in the room, as her ears were sharp and she wasn’t afraid to punch someone in their face or, if they are especially egregious, knee them between their legs. This may have been why she was here instead of a more respectable fort, as well as why Brok’s eyes had not drifted to her considerable chest, which heaved underneath her coat with the weight of a thousand sunken ships.
“You’re shift is over,” Holly said, her tone unchanged as another dwarf soldier came out from the tower. “Now go to the mess hall and eat some food.” She then turned around, going back into tower. Knowing not to delay further than he needed to, the dwarf soldier followed, going down into the more habitable indoors.
——————————————————-
Brok walked down the stairway, going from the frigid temperatures of the tower, to the more forgiving chambers below. Candlelight illuminated the way forward, as well as made the cold more tolerable as he made his way down. Still, he felt relief once he finally reached the warm mess hall.
The room wasn’t particularly large, being ten boars* down and eight across, with seating space for up to fifty dwarfs. There was an inn-like quality to it, including both bar and beer. It was overall not an unpleasant place to be, although it could get noisy at times.
Hanging up his coat, Brok walked up to the bar before sitting down next to a blond haired dwarf with a forked beard and broken nose,who had a mirthful touch to the corners of his lips. “Say, Brok,” the dwarf says, “glad to see you’re alive. See anything interesting yet?”
“Not a damn thing,” muttered the black-bearded dwarf gruffly. “Besides our commander, of course. Almost shot her, with how much of a fright she gave me.”
The blond dwarf chuckled, taking a sip. “Holly sure is some woman, I grant you that. Sometimes, I wonder how such a pretty young thing like her could be so cold.”
“Maybe,” said a woman’s voice behind the two, “you shouldn’t try to talk about the commander so casually while she’s in the same room, Himr.”
As the crooked-nosed dwarf turned to look, expecting to see a pair of a stony eyes followed by a punch to the face, only to see the smiling face of his sister, who was similarly blond, although her nose was still intact.
“For granite’s sake!” Himr shouted angrily, “don’t scare me like that, Yalda! You nearly made me choke!”
“I wasn’t joking,” his sister stated matter of factly as she sat on Brok’s other side, “she is in the room, after all.” She then nodded her head slightly left. “See?”
Looking in the direction Yalda has indicated, the two dwarf men could see the commander sitting at a table carving off slices of tough venison. Now in her blue wool tunic instead of her coat, her breast was much less restricted and more visibly large. However, even so, nobody wanted to risk catching her glance while scoping out her body; while she wasn’t wearing any armor, she still had an axe on her belt.
“Ah,” Himr said with a face like a burial, “so she is.” He then looked back at his sister. “I suppose an apology is due...”
Yalda, smiling, shrugged. “Well, I don’t actually give a shit about what you think of her, as long as you don’t say them outloud.” She then finished off her drink, before slamming the tankard down on the counter. “More drink please!” she said as she slipped some coppers over to the bartender, an older dwarf with grey hair. Grunting, he nodded and went to the large keg, refilling her drink. Ale lactated from the sprout, slowly trickling into it while Yalda, unconcerned, started talking again with the other two.
“Anyway,” she said, giving a big toothy grin,” I was thinking of playing a song for the night. What do you think, brother?”
“Well,I suppose it can’t hurt. I would personally go for an old mining ditty like ‘the Wife on the Rock’ or something,” Himr said, before nudging Brok, who prompted to speak merely nodded in agreement.
Yalda groaned, rolling her eyes. “I am TIRED of having to play those old songs! I want to play stuff that I haven’t been forced to listen to a thousand times over, because unlike you and all your friends, I spent some time actually getting out of the cave and spending it with people who actually have a voice.”
“Well,” Himr replies, somewhat sharply, “unlike you, I’ve been doing good, hard work and developed a backbone instead of just wandering around playing on some fiddly instrument!”
“Why you-!” Yalda shouted, readying to punch her brother in the face when suddenly something slammed down on the counter. “Drink filled,” he said, looking at her dourly before walking off. Attention diverted, she said a momentary “thanks,” before picking up her tankard while her brother, somewhat amused, chuckled as he then looked the Dwarf next to him.
Brok, however, had his attention diverted from the quarreling siblings; rather, he had been looking at a hole in the wall, only big enough for a rat to get through. He hadn’t seen the hole yesterday, nor the day before. This was quite ominous, especially since the walls were made from sturdy stone; he doubted an ordinary rat would have made it.
However, these thoughts escaped him as he was nudged by the firm shoulder of a laughing Himr. Brok looked to see Yalda, spitting out the ale and wiping her tongue, her face screwed up in disgust. “He pissed in my fucking drink!”
—————————————————-
As the dwarfs headed out from the mess hall, they walked down the hallways to the barracks, with Commander Holly heading off to her own room. While Himr and Yalda were busy arguing, Brok felt a hr
———————————— —————
*one boar is roughly equivalent to one and a half meters or five feet.
Part 1
The cold winter winds beat against the fort’s unflinching stone walls, it’s banner waving in the stormy bellows as snow drifted down from above. Standing at the top of a tower was a short stocky figure, whose only sources of light were a hooded black iron lantern and what little bit the moon and stars could shine down upon through the foul weather. Protected from the elements by his fur-lined coat and big bushy black beard speckled with flakes of white, he looked out through wooden goggles into the valley before him, his mittened hands clasping hold of his trusty crossbow like it was a loaf of bread during a famine.
For the past ten months he had been at the outpost, and for the past ten months there had been no trouble. However, a week ago, a man from the valley came to them and said trouble had been brewing: barbaric raiders from the seas had came to the shores. They were cultists, led by a horned demonic chieftan bearing a fiery axe. They were vicious warriors who pillaged and raped, dragging men and women to their boats to never be seen again.
With such fearsome knowledge presented to them, the outpost was now full of fear and worry, with a heightened sense of paranoia. Traps had been set up in the pathway leading down into the valley, hidden under the snow, and barriers placed down. Meanwhile, the man had been sent off to the capital, to inform the military and bring in support from the army. However, there had been no word on that, and the outpost commander doubted any sort of armed force would arrive in time.
Suddenly, the man felt a hand on his shoulder, followed by a gruff but feminine voice. “Brok.”
The dwarvish soldier turned around at the sound of his name, almost firing off his crossbow into his commander as he looked face to face with her. “Oh! Sorry sir! I didn’t realize you were there!” he stuttered out apologetically, but soon he quieted down as the dwarf commander simply glared at him with her stone grey eyes, before ripping his crossbow from his hands and handing it to a soldier who hadj just stepped out, following the authoritive woman.
The woman, Holly Ironbrook, was young for her rank and kind, being a mere 42 years old and red in the hair. However, she was more adept than her youth would suggest, having graduated only two years ago. Of course, some doubted that she had gotten her position fairly: she was noticeably attractive, having hefty curves and a pleasant face, many assumed she had only gotten her position through her looks.
However, these rumors usually stopped being discussed when she was in the room, as her ears were sharp and she wasn’t afraid to punch someone in their face or, if they are especially egregious, knee them between their legs. This may have been why she was here instead of a more respectable fort, as well as why Brok’s eyes had not drifted to her considerable chest, which heaved underneath her coat with the weight of a thousand sunken ships.
“You’re shift is over,” Holly said, her tone unchanged as another dwarf soldier came out from the tower. “Now go to the mess hall and eat some food.” She then turned around, going back into tower. Knowing not to delay further than he needed to, the dwarf soldier followed, going down into the more habitable indoors.
——————————————————-
Brok walked down the stairway, going from the frigid temperatures of the tower, to the more forgiving chambers below. Candlelight illuminated the way forward, as well as made the cold more tolerable as he made his way down. Still, he felt relief once he finally reached the warm mess hall.
The room wasn’t particularly large, being ten boars* down and eight across, with seating space for up to fifty dwarfs. There was an inn-like quality to it, including both bar and beer. It was overall not an unpleasant place to be, although it could get noisy at times.
Hanging up his coat, Brok walked up to the bar before sitting down next to a blond haired dwarf with a forked beard and broken nose,who had a mirthful touch to the corners of his lips. “Say, Brok,” the dwarf says, “glad to see you’re alive. See anything interesting yet?”
“Not a damn thing,” muttered the black-bearded dwarf gruffly. “Besides our commander, of course. Almost shot her, with how much of a fright she gave me.”
The blond dwarf chuckled, taking a sip. “Holly sure is some woman, I grant you that. Sometimes, I wonder how such a pretty young thing like her could be so cold.”
“Maybe,” said a woman’s voice behind the two, “you shouldn’t try to talk about the commander so casually while she’s in the same room, Himr.”
As the crooked-nosed dwarf turned to look, expecting to see a pair of a stony eyes followed by a punch to the face, only to see the smiling face of his sister, who was similarly blond, although her nose was still intact.
“For granite’s sake!” Himr shouted angrily, “don’t scare me like that, Yalda! You nearly made me choke!”
“I wasn’t joking,” his sister stated matter of factly as she sat on Brok’s other side, “she is in the room, after all.” She then nodded her head slightly left. “See?”
Looking in the direction Yalda has indicated, the two dwarf men could see the commander sitting at a table carving off slices of tough venison. Now in her blue wool tunic instead of her coat, her breast was much less restricted and more visibly large. However, even so, nobody wanted to risk catching her glance while scoping out her body; while she wasn’t wearing any armor, she still had an axe on her belt.
“Ah,” Himr said with a face like a burial, “so she is.” He then looked back at his sister. “I suppose an apology is due...”
Yalda, smiling, shrugged. “Well, I don’t actually give a shit about what you think of her, as long as you don’t say them outloud.” She then finished off her drink, before slamming the tankard down on the counter. “More drink please!” she said as she slipped some coppers over to the bartender, an older dwarf with grey hair. Grunting, he nodded and went to the large keg, refilling her drink. Ale lactated from the sprout, slowly trickling into it while Yalda, unconcerned, started talking again with the other two.
“Anyway,” she said, giving a big toothy grin,” I was thinking of playing a song for the night. What do you think, brother?”
“Well,I suppose it can’t hurt. I would personally go for an old mining ditty like ‘the Wife on the Rock’ or something,” Himr said, before nudging Brok, who prompted to speak merely nodded in agreement.
Yalda groaned, rolling her eyes. “I am TIRED of having to play those old songs! I want to play stuff that I haven’t been forced to listen to a thousand times over, because unlike you and all your friends, I spent some time actually getting out of the cave and spending it with people who actually have a voice.”
“Well,” Himr replies, somewhat sharply, “unlike you, I’ve been doing good, hard work and developed a backbone instead of just wandering around playing on some fiddly instrument!”
“Why you-!” Yalda shouted, readying to punch her brother in the face when suddenly something slammed down on the counter. “Drink filled,” he said, looking at her dourly before walking off. Attention diverted, she said a momentary “thanks,” before picking up her tankard while her brother, somewhat amused, chuckled as he then looked the Dwarf next to him.
Brok, however, had his attention diverted from the quarreling siblings; rather, he had been looking at a hole in the wall, only big enough for a rat to get through. He hadn’t seen the hole yesterday, nor the day before. This was quite ominous, especially since the walls were made from sturdy stone; he doubted an ordinary rat would have made it.
However, these thoughts escaped him as he was nudged by the firm shoulder of a laughing Himr. Brok looked to see Yalda, spitting out the ale and wiping her tongue, her face screwed up in disgust. “He pissed in my fucking drink!”
—————————————————-
As the dwarfs headed out from the mess hall, they walked down the hallways to the barracks, with Commander Holly heading off to her own room. While Himr and Yalda were busy arguing, Brok felt a hr
———————————— —————
*one boar is roughly equivalent to one and a half meters or five feet.
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