Battle Report:
Dwarves (multiple) (x608)
Total XP Earned - 4,864
Industry was more than a matter of will. To pursue the dream of technological superiority, a nation was forced to divert most of its natural resources towards research and development. The Dwarves, who for the better part of five centuries had consistently outmatched their neighbours in sheer industrial output, had developed a unique relationship with the art of ingenuity that bordered on obsession. And there was no greater testament to that truth than the steam-choked pits of their workshops.
From forges to tailors to wood shops to breweries, it seemed to Lieze as if every sweat drop of Dwarven labour had been condensed into that cramped district. Quivering pipes jutting from the tunnel ceilings seethed with steam and spurts of boiling water. Crucibles the size of cottages stood ready to tip their white-hot contents into moulds racked upon deafening belts sidling along independent of any operators.
Lieze had never seen so many wonders - nor as many opportunities. Her favourite toy had to be the presses in the goldsmith workshops. Nice and big, with enough presence to convey danger by merely existing. Once raised, the presses were just large enough to fit a bar of soap underneath - or something much more dangerous.
For the past 10 minutes, screams of the most shrill and pathetic variety had been howling from one of those humble goldsmiths. When Lieze spun the valve to raise the press, a cake of thickened blood, ruptured skin, and bone fragments connected the cylinder and steel frame with a web-like mesh. A Dwarf's hand slid out from underneath, freshly deprived of a third finger. A Deathguard held the fellow from behind with a knife trained at his throat while Lieze forced one of his wrists down. Caught between sobs, the Dwarf's words had melted into indecipherable pleas.
Lieze sighed, "I do hope this is helping to clear the fog from your head. Let me be quite clear when I say that I don't take any pleasure in doing this. But for as long as you withhold information, I'm more than willing to carry on with this charade for at least another hour."
"I-I don't know anything else! I've told you everything!" The Dwarf screamed.
"You've told me about the blast powder stores. That was very helpful." Lieze nodded, "-But I'm really more interested in hearing about Alberich's armour. Some say it makes him invincible, and I doubt it suddenly appeared out of thin air one day. A metalworker like yourself must have the first idea of whether those rumours are true or not."
"I don't know! I don't!" The tears sinking into the crevasses in his rugged face reminded Lieze of a waterfall, "Alberich enchanted the armour himself! It's been passed down through Dwarven kings for longer than any record can date!"
"Is he truly invincible?" Lieze asked.
"I…" The craftsman resisted another scream as pure agony radiated from the stumps of his crushed fingers, "I don't know… that's what we're told! I've seen him struck with greatswords, warhammers - he even had a cannonball fired at himself just a few months ago! It didn't even leave a dent!"
Lieze closed her eyes, "Very flashy, but I doubt Alberich's armour is completely invulnerable. Enchantment spells do have their limits, even if it's a Scion casting them. But do we even have anything that could deal enough damage to harm him…?"
"...I-I've told you everything I know." The Dwarf panted, "Please… the pain…"
His captor, the Deathguard with a knife to his throat, leaned forward to take a look at the victim's eyes, "He's becoming delirious, Lieze."
She nodded, "We're not getting anything else out of him. Do it."
With a remorseless flick of the wrist, the Dwarf's throat was slit. Lieze brushed off the gore staining her fingers as he held both hands to his neck and collapsed. While the Deathguard raised his corpse, Lieze collected the blood into her Bag of Holding. "I want those barrels of blast powder located." She said, "While the rest of us depart to rejoin the others, collapse these workshops to cripple the mountains and prevent them from rebuilding in case we need to retreat for whatever reason."
"...Of course." Once his victim had been raised anew, the Deathgaurd turned to her and lowered his head, "Are you planning to launch an attack on the Royal Delve?"
"A courier from Drayya's group came with a report not long ago." She mused, "It seems that Alberich's brother and acting general of the Dwarven army, Mime, is also a Scion. I don't think I've ever heard a piece of news so exhilarating and yet so worrying."
"Worrying…?" He repeated.
"You might think of it as fortunate that two Scions are present here in the mountains since it saves me the trouble of tracking another down." She continued, "-But that also means we've been saddled with the responsibility of killing two at once. I know that Alberich must be the Scion of enchantment, but Mime has yet to reveal any evidence of his own powers."
With three remaining and one already revealed, Mime was either the Scion of restoration or transmutation. She didn't like the idea of either, much less knowing he was allied with another. She'd managed to isolate Helmach, Morgan, and Alistair during her conquest of Tonberg, but it was likely that she would be facing Alberich and Mime simultaneously.
Coupled with the extraordinary presence of soldiers within the Royal Delve, she would be diving headfirst into the lion's den. Victory had suddenly become all the more sweet a prospect, but twice as elusive in the process.
"...There's nothing for it. I knew this wouldn't be simple from the get-go." She said, "I'll use everything to bring them down. We've managed to conserve our thralls efficiently up to this point. It's about time we took advantage of that prudence. I'll be relying on you to make sure these workshops are destroyed."
"Uh… yes. Of course." The Deathguard gulped. He couldn't quite wrap his head around how calmly Lieze had surmised the situation. No matter the odds, she always wore an expression that seemed unbothered, as if the danger of placing one's life on the line was as common to her a problem as hunger or thirst. Not even Sokalar himself had been so calm in the face of resistance.
As she waved off the last flecks of blood from her hands, Lieze peered towards the progress of her current quest.
'Extermination' Progress - 79.76%
The Royal Delve was divided into checkpoints, each more secure than the last. Unlike the rest of the mountains, its tunnels were intentionally wide to prevent a bottleneck in the case of an attack, and to provide range for elevated positions to rain fire upon distant foes. For most soldiers, it was nothing more than a tiresome, ceremonial walkway, but on that day, activity surged through the Delve like a tidal wave.
"Report to the king for an enchantment if your weapon doesn't already have one!" Mime barked out orders from a ledge overlooking the first checkpoint, "Don't waste wood on those barricades! Keep them ankle-height! Load the ballistae with arc pylons! Don't waste your explosive bolts on single targets - use them to scatter groups once they're clustered together!"
A soldier hammering away at one of the flimsy barricades below raised his visor and sighed, "Hah… Mime's really workin' us to the bone…"
"I heard his entire unit was killed by that Star-Eater who was kickin' up a fuss just a few weeks ago." Another replied, "I'm surprised he escaped without a scratch on him… guess that's the king's brother for you, eh?"
"So that fucker was a traitor after all!" The first frowned, "My father always told me never to trust an Elf! This is what happens when we start placin' our trust in outsiders! If we'd killed that Star-Eater and his cronies, I wouldn't have had to send my family up north!"
"Why didn't you go with them?" His comrade was disappointed, "There's nothin' left here. Nothin' at all. You'd have been better off runnin' like the rest if you've got a family."
A gauntlet slammed into the side of his helmet, "Agh! What the fuck was that for, you bastard!?"
"Fuckin' idiot!" The Dwarf shouted, "You can't call yourself a Dwarf if you don't stand and fight! We've never once lost a war, and we're not about to lose one now! Those corpse-fuckers won't know what hit 'em as soon as they try to push through here!"
"...That's what they said about the gate." The other winced as a dull pain ran through his temple, "Impregnable, they said. Never breached, they said. But these aren't humans we're fightin' here. Thralls couldn't give less of a shit about how many bolts are flyin' their way or how much lightning's coursin' through their veins! They keep comin', and for every man we lose, that's another we have to fight!"
"D'you get off stealin' folks' hopes and dreams like this!? You fuckin' coward - if you've got nothin' helpful to say, then shut your gob and get back to work!"
The air between them was a stray spark away from igniting. But that quarrel came to a sudden recess when a third voice entered the conversation, "You two."
"Urp…" The first Dwarf stood up and turned on his heels, "S-Sir… we were just-"
A hand came up to silence him.
"It's only natural to fear our enemy's tenacity." Mime began, "-But what they make up for in numbers, they lack in intelligence. These barricades are a prime example - a living creature would simply step over them, but a mindless thrall will shamble forward and trip over, delaying their advance while peeling off layers of their offence."
The Dwarf averted his eyes, "Mm… well- I won't argue with your wisdom, sir."
"Listen here-" Mime took a step forward, "This battle will be ruinous. Agonising. Unending. My brother may claim otherwise, but the threat posed to our nation by the Order of Necromancers is greater than any Dragon. If we do not stand together as brothers, then our defeat is all but assured."
"...But, you know, sir…" The soldier muttered, "It's been many a year since we last defended our home. Who's to say the spirit of this nation didn't die with the old guard? When you see how fearful some of these boys get whenever they face down those thralls…"
"To be fearful - that is not a sin." Mime replied, "-And neither is it cowardly or envious to compare oneself to the heroes of old. Fear is the hurdle. Without it, we cannot overcome. We cannot prosper. It is because you are fearful that I find myself hopeful of our chances. If a man did not fear, then I would not want him to fight at my side. To fear is to live. That is our light in these dark days - the zeal for life flowing through our veins. The Order, forsaken by fate, cannot extinguish our lamp of love for this world."
Every other Dwarf within earshot had fallen into silence. Something about Mime's words, however broad, had struck a chord within all of them. Just as he would not tolerate a world without his comrades, they could not tolerate a world without him. For the sake of a 'tomorrow' glutted on the same love that had propelled their mountains into prosperity, they had no other choice than to fight.
"Our fight is the fight that shall decide the fate of this world - no - the fate of the very cosmos." Mime continued, "So whether for kin, or love, or glory, or wealth, we shall triumph where humanity could not, and trample the corpse of Lieze Sokalar into a world filled with splendid possibilities!"
Conjoined into a single chorus, every Dwarf present raised their arms in gleeful anticipation of the future that awaited them, sending cheers spiralling down the breadth of the Royal Delve to where even Alberich, standing proud at the threshold of his onyx palace, could hear the commotion.
"Hmhm…" A rare smile appeared on the king's face, "Mime… of all the valiant souls collected here, only you could ever be called my brother!"