Part 146: Daeren: Update 9
It was a massacre. An absolute massacre.
The fortress's peasants and peons surged into the hall, desperate to loot the bodies for their precious giant cave spider silk shoes and socks, and turned the blind corner into a veritable meat grinder of teeth. The choking surge of bodies inhibited the Champions' ability to fight, and many of the peasants got away.
Not all of them.
Horrible screams echoed through the earth as dwarves were scooped bodily into giant mouths, had organs torn from them, and were smashed into paste. Even pets were not freed from the slaughter, as one of the Spawn appeared to have a taste for small furry animals.
Chance II valiantly fought against the spawn, beating them back, but soon grew tired, and limped to the entrance. He was about to go into the grinder one last time, when he felt a cold hand on his shoulder.
Dirt Five-Of-Eight was there, pick in hand.
"You stay. I go. No following."
The golem strode into the massacre, pick in hand, and hacked away at the walls of flesh, ignoring his own wounds until he was unable to function. He saved countless peasant lives by distracting the spawn for those critical moments, long enough for me to forbid the passage to anybody but the military.
As the golem was torn apart, Sirocco and tehsid's squads burst down into the halls, striking down Spawn left and right.
Sirocco was a whirling dervish, crippling Spawn left and right for the rest of the dwarves to kill. He was magnificient to watch.
He didn't see the Spawn coming from behind.
The spawn grabbed his off-hand, ripped off his arm, and bit down on his hammer-hand. It tore Sirocco's hammer, and his hand, from his arm, and knocked Sirocco to the ground. The rest of the military looked in horror as the other Spawn gathered around Sirocco and methodically began to dismember him.
Through it all, the expression on Sirocco's face was one of mild surprise, as though he was rather certain he wasn't supposed to be able to die.