The Siege of Durmohldurn
“Cut off from all sides! Surrounded! I don’t think we’ll be gettin out of this one without some Khuzûd blood bein spilled aye Thorun.” Came between the panting breaths of a dwarf wearing an exquisite armor of plate and in both hands he was carrying a greataxe, carved beautifully of some golden russet brown metal. Sweat beaded down his face and stained the upper most portions of his beard as he ran, along with another dwarf alongside of him, slightly taller and a beard just as much longer, as if it made any difference to anyone not a dwarf. They both charged with haste through halls tall and wide, beautifully carved of stone with gems and gold laden in nearly every decoration. Statues of dwarven warriors taller than giants lined the corridors, along with sconces holding geometric stone carved torches with a deep pit carved into the tops of them to protect the flames if it were windy.
“Shut yer mouth and pump those legs Firin, the walls on the eastern side of the mountain will give out first, so that’s where we’re meant to hold, plug the leaks where we can!” Yelled the taller dwarf, Thorun. They both charged through the halls and winding corridors, across bridges and down intersections as if they knew each path like the blades of their axes.
“They’re tryn’ta break through already?! Can you hear that? It’s not goin to be a pretty fight this time around.” Said Firin. “Ah said shut up! You’re always so negative it makes me beg to go deaf!” Responded Thorun. The beating of war machines against the solid thick metal gates rang a bass through the halls of the mountain that shook everything as the two ran. Outside, even from deep within, the groans of undead wailing foretold of the waves of darkness they would have to endure this time around. Upon arrival at the inside portion of the gates, dozens of rows and columns of dwarves, armor at every inch of each of them, waited as their doors braced against each of the swings of the rams. At the tops of the gate walls were dwarves with crossbows firing down, reloading and spending bolts so fast by hand it was as though they were being chain fed.
Both Firin and Thorun stopped to catch their breaths as they grouped up along with the others, Firin unable to keep his mouth shut for very long still, “I’m just sayin, undead at this gate, Uruks at the other, what could possibly be next? It might just be best if we blow the bridges to one side and worry only about the other.”
After taking a moment to watch the gate being bombarded, Thorun responded again. “I don’t know what is in store for this fight but we’ll hold them back to every last dwarf if we have to. Neither the men nor the elves offered us help, and if we survive this we won’t offer them ours, on my oath!”
They both gripped their weapons tighter as the braces of the gate buckled and loosened. The wails of the dead stole through the open cracks in the doorway now and drowned out any other sounds of whispering or conversation, as every dwarf stood on edge before the precipice of battle.
When the doors finally did burst open, they fell hard, but all dwarves knew this would happen and had stood far enough back to brace for it. Before the doors could ever even hit the floor, skeletons in gear and corpses in armors from hundreds of different long dead ancient nations spilled through, one over top of the other until the hordes were stampeding their own forces to break through the gaps. Dwarven warriors held them back at the chokehold of the gate for what seemed like half an hour of continuous axe swinging and bolt loading, until the front line’s arms grew too tired to hold back the unending horde of the dead that kept flooding through. Like a well oiled machine, dwarves that grew too tired to swing their axe would step to the side in unison with their adjacent brothers, and a dwarf from the rear would step forward to take their place as they stood back and braced for their turns at combat yet again.
Though seemingly infinite in number, the undead could not initially penetrate through the hold the dwarves had over the choke, and it seemed this battle would be easily defended against by them. The bodies of zombies and bones of warriors piled up high over the dwarves heads for what felt like ages of never ending combat. Then came a rumbling, and a roar that startled the back lines of the dwarves, although they knew it was coming, they had hoped it would wait until the necromancer’s forces were dealt with.
The dwarves in the very back turned themselves and braced through the halls, guarding against the impending tide of footfalls that shook the fortress. After several brief moments, the halls were flooded with the ear shattering thunders of hundreds of orcs charging around the corners, with goblins riding the biggest of the orc’s shoulders giving their own battlecries. Like a wall of flesh and metal they crashed against the Dwarven back line, the goblins launching off the shoulders of orcs and landing far into the center of the dwarves to force them to engage in combat at the same time. For now, there would be no reprieve, no shifting of the lines as every single dwarf was occupied with killing something. The heads of goblinoids rolled, but the orcs were far stronger than the undead waves in front and each one drained the resources of dwarves much more to kill.
The Dwarven crossbowmen at the top of the gate above pulled levers along the walls, bringing stone pillars from the ceiling crashing down in front of the doorway to crush dozens of undead soldiers as well as to block off their entry for a few moments more, giving the dwarves in front the time to catch their breaths once more. Thorun and Firin still fought beside one another, both covered in the blood of orcs, covering one anothers blind spots and fighting together as if they were a dwarf with 4 arms to defend in every direction.
In the hearts of the dwarves, everything was going as planned, not a single brother had fallen to either side of the battle, but it was far from over they knew. There were still legions left to slaughter, and the Khuzûd knew these halls better than either opposing force ever could. But it was only after moments of no undead spilling through did the dwarves quickly realize something was wrong. The dwarves at the top of the gates looked down through their arrow slits, and turned back, hailing to all of those on the ground to retreat away from the stone pillars now blocking the doorway. They pushed themselves as tightly as they could away, and the line of dwarves defending against the orcs began to push them back and deeper into the halls to make room for escape if need be.
In a flash, the stone crumbled and boulders went flying in every direction as gargantuan arms of bone burst through them. With a roar, a behemoth formed of undead skeletons in to the shape of some manner of giant four legged beast crashed through, reopening the doorway for legions of undead to spill through even deeper into the keep than before. The dwarves braced against the line of soldiers that threw themselves at them, but a section of it broke against the undead monstrosity before them. It leapt into the lines of the dwarves and their axes only left chips in the beasts legs as it swatted at groups and bit at others, leaving a gap wide open for more soldiers to spill between the dwarves and break their organization. Utter chaos had broken out and the dwarves in the back had to push through disorganized lines of orcs with every last fiber of their strength.
Eventually they were able to push the orc line back to the bridges of the grand chambers that towered and connected miles high above the great mining pits below, pressing forward and throwing orcs off the sides of these bridges at every chance to gain one more step of ground. Back to the front line, they followed closely behind, stepping backwards in the ever thinning halls which choked most of the waves of undead into thinner groups far more dispatchable, until they reached a point when the undead behemoth could not fit through the tunnels and reach their lines any more. To make this ground, the dwarves had to lose dozens of their warriors in the chaos, their bodies littering the floors of the great entranceways.
Having lost a third of their forces, the dwarves stood filed perfectly along the length of their bridges as they defended against both sides of their foes. Thorun looked to Filin and spoke again finally now that they could think. “I think you were right about that idea of yours, but do you have the tools to do it?”
Filin patted around his satchel and pouch’s until he pulled one up with a resounding “aha!” Before smugly showing it off to Thorun. “I’ll be right back, don’t you go killin Uruk without me now before I do!” He said, pushing through the lines of dwarves towards the waves of undead. As he moved through, he made sure to tell each of them of his plan so they were well aware of what to expect. Placing his satchel bag down at the feet of the dwarves just before the front lines holding off the undead, he pulled out some chords and powders and fiddled with them until he was able to set up a makeshift bomb with a small fuse. “Don’t need no stinkin help from men or elves anyways.” He grumbled to himself. With a yell, he gave the signal for the lines to fall back and let the undead advance, and with a spark he lit the fuse. The dwarves moved back to allow the line of skeletons to push forward and nearly overtake the bomb, but as Filin was looking to make his break, he looked upwards to the ceiling as it began to slowly crumble and screamed “No!”, realizing what was about to happen. He charged forward to reach the dwarven line but before he was able, a hole in the ceiling of the chamber was bore through by the behemoth, clawing its way through the stone and dirt of the mountain, and when it saw the bridge far below, it leapt the distance and crashed against the side of it, throwing several dwarves off the bridge and down the cavernous fall. The monstrosity impeded his movement forward and the lines of undead soldiers charged behind him, over the bomb he had prepared.
With a battle cry Filin charged forward and dropped his greataxe, unsheathing the two handaxes at his hips, as he jumped and attempted to latch on to the beasts back as if he were climbing with picks, laying his axes deep into the bones to hold him. In mere seconds he had climbed far enough up the beast that he was standing at its head, laying into it with every swing, sending shards of bone hurtling away. The beast reared back as if to shake him off, but just as he held on and braced himself, Firin looked back at the bomb he had lit, watching as it blew.
With a fiery explosion that engulfed half of the bridge, flames were sent down the hall, immolating waves of the undead army, while the bridge beneath them in that direction collapsed. The shockwave blew the backside of the behemoths legs off, and the creature along with Firin attached, tumbled off the side of the bridge. Firin in his last desperate moments frantically darted his eyes back and forth in milliseconds to look at the dwarves he had saved, until his eyes finally met Thorun’s. Thorun watched in horror at the fall of Firin, the whole way down their eyes never left one another’s, until Firin was no longer visible and passed into the abyss. Firin gave a mocking laugh from his chest at the forces of the necromancer, as he knew the remaining dwarves would be able to handle the small forces of dwindling orcs by themselves. Thorun looked up and watched as orc after orc was slain, and looking back at the hall across the gap he saw the undead warriors turn back and run down other halls to try and find their way through the maze-like keep.
After another half hour of fighting, the remaining forces of the dwarves had managed to push the Orc army back to the western gate of the keep. Thorun led the charge, and in the midst of combat was able to look past the orcs for just a moment. The reinforcements of dwarves from other keeps had finally arrived, crashing into the orcs from behind and routing them completely.
Once every orc had perished or fled, and with dwarven forces refreshed in the hundreds, without fear they charged head strong down the winding tunnels of their keep to fend off the remaining forces of the necromancer. The day was surely won for now, but losses were staggeringly high. Thorun stayed behind for a moment as everyone charged ahead, and went up to the western gateway left wide open. Looking out over the hills and land, he saw rivers and lakes burning in the wake of the orcs. The rivermen dwarves of laklend’or and the Great Lakes of the north east could be seen defending their homes as the forests all around burned and roared.
Shortly after he had seen enough, Thorun gripped his battle axe and followed behind the others, charging into the bowels of Durmohldurn keep.
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