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The Kalarian Precipice - Chapter Six
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<blockquote data-quote="97mg" data-source="post: 7436296" data-attributes="member: 6799460"><p><strong>Interlude: Hills Behind a Curtain</strong></p><p></p><p>The long and reverberous note of a downtuned gong bounced it's way through the mountain’s bowels. A once in a lifetime event, or maybe less given a dwarf’s average lifespan of some 350 years. Not a sleeping child, chiseling mason nor wandering drunkard was spared the ominous arrival of this people’s urging.</p><p></p><p>For a handful of days now, ugly and hard-hided beasts had picked and poked at this demihuman community of highlanders. The first sightings stirred curiosity and disbelief, but the intentions of these strangers were clear from the onset. Obliteration. Genocide. What had begun as small packs of scouting many-legged beetles, poisonous tusks and stinging barbs, was now a great dark curtain. A mass of primeval hatred had been spotted, moving down the mountainside as though a dark and living river had burst.</p><p></p><p>Even the shade of an elaborately carved cave entrance, and the natural insulation of a great summit of rock, didn’t prevent Warruv from breaking a sweat. The heat had become inescapable, as thermally charged desert air persistently blew southwards, bringing both grit, sand and the stench of death upon it's back.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #0000FF">“Harrukkk!”</span> The order was given from an elder, somewhere behind Warruv and the bearded footsoldiers by his side. Short but tireless arms pulled then, dragging down the ropes that would see this access point closed tight.</p><p></p><p>Clicking. </p><p></p><p>Clattering. </p><p></p><p>The sounds of thousands of legs upon the hard granite of a dwarven land. </p><p></p><p>Warruv felt himself deafened, tensing, squeezing the grip on his axe tighter and tighter.</p><p></p><p>The stone door was almost closed, only several feet apart when they arrived. Like a plague of vermin, hungry and angry, the swarm came rushing through the gap.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #0000FF">“Rocks!”</span></p><p></p><p>To the entrance’s sides, great boulders were released, rolling down into the Sandsborn mass with crushing effect. Creature’s squealed as limbs, body, head and more were flattened. It was a good start, but neither Warruv nor his companions would be calling out in celebration yet.</p><p></p><p>They were still coming. </p><p></p><p>Warruv sucked in a breath. This was it. He and his kin, his dwarven brothers and sisters, were at war.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #0000FF">“Charge!”</span></p><p></p><p>There was no turning back. He moved forwards as quick as those stubby little legs would take him, into the jaws of the unknown, and probably the mandible of a beast...</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="97mg, post: 7436296, member: 6799460"] [b]Interlude: Hills Behind a Curtain[/b] The long and reverberous note of a downtuned gong bounced it's way through the mountain’s bowels. A once in a lifetime event, or maybe less given a dwarf’s average lifespan of some 350 years. Not a sleeping child, chiseling mason nor wandering drunkard was spared the ominous arrival of this people’s urging. For a handful of days now, ugly and hard-hided beasts had picked and poked at this demihuman community of highlanders. The first sightings stirred curiosity and disbelief, but the intentions of these strangers were clear from the onset. Obliteration. Genocide. What had begun as small packs of scouting many-legged beetles, poisonous tusks and stinging barbs, was now a great dark curtain. A mass of primeval hatred had been spotted, moving down the mountainside as though a dark and living river had burst. Even the shade of an elaborately carved cave entrance, and the natural insulation of a great summit of rock, didn’t prevent Warruv from breaking a sweat. The heat had become inescapable, as thermally charged desert air persistently blew southwards, bringing both grit, sand and the stench of death upon it's back. [COLOR="#0000FF"]“Harrukkk!”[/COLOR] The order was given from an elder, somewhere behind Warruv and the bearded footsoldiers by his side. Short but tireless arms pulled then, dragging down the ropes that would see this access point closed tight. Clicking. Clattering. The sounds of thousands of legs upon the hard granite of a dwarven land. Warruv felt himself deafened, tensing, squeezing the grip on his axe tighter and tighter. The stone door was almost closed, only several feet apart when they arrived. Like a plague of vermin, hungry and angry, the swarm came rushing through the gap. [COLOR="#0000FF"]“Rocks!”[/COLOR] To the entrance’s sides, great boulders were released, rolling down into the Sandsborn mass with crushing effect. Creature’s squealed as limbs, body, head and more were flattened. It was a good start, but neither Warruv nor his companions would be calling out in celebration yet. They were still coming. Warruv sucked in a breath. This was it. He and his kin, his dwarven brothers and sisters, were at war. [COLOR="#0000FF"]“Charge!”[/COLOR] There was no turning back. He moved forwards as quick as those stubby little legs would take him, into the jaws of the unknown, and probably the mandible of a beast... [/QUOTE]
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