Michael Pearce - Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

Each volley sent a rain of lead, bolts and quarrels rippling across the creature’s surface to no discernible effect. As Engvyr watched a ball formed from the surface of the massive body, then compressed into a tube and burst, sending a spray of spears far and wide over the formation. One of these weapons transfixed a nearby soldier. As he fell the end of the spear protruding from his chest collapsed into a plate. The portion standing out of his back writhed like a snake and spouted hundreds of legs and began to drag him back towards the creature. There was a ripple of movement across the battlefield as the same happened to other soldiers, some still screaming. With a cry of disgust Engvyr sprang forward, slashing through the 'spear' with his bayonet. It squirmed on the ground for a second before dissolving into foul-smelling smoke that made the dwarf choke and cough.

He heard shouted commands passing through the ranks before him. Someone down there was thinking; as the next sphere formed, thousands of guns focused on it and it burst almost instantly, some form of liquid rolling down the things flank. The soldiers cheered as the creature shuddered. The flesh around the wound did not immediately heal.

Another tentacle slashed through their ranks, reaching deeper and deeper into their formation as it advanced. Well, thought Engvyr, that's about it for the Baasgarta. Now the tentacles slashed into the ranks of the dwarves.

A bolt from one of the siege engines smashed into the creature. That got its attention. Small tentacles formed and probed at the wound. Another fired and this bolt too vanished into the creature’s bulk. A psychic scream hammered them to their knees once again, but the effect was less this time and they recovered quickly. Another tentacle lashed out towards the siege engines and the tip broke off, separating into dozens of balls that landed among the massive weapons. Screams rose from that direction and the firing stopped.

The creature now bled from three wounds but it did not even slow its advance.

“We can't stop it,” he heard someone shout.

Engvyr noted that Grimnael was not looking at the battle spread out before the command post, but back towards the valley that his forces had emerged from the night before. He was muttering something that sounded like, 'Any time now…'

Just as Engvyr turned back to the carnage, flashes lit up the valley from opposite the city. Great rents appeared in the eldritch horror's flesh at the same time a massive 'BOOM' rolled across the battlefield. As the creature actually staggered back, another psychic scream washed over them, but either they were growing accustomed to them or it was weaker.

Engvyr looked back towards the flashes and saw the area was obscured by white smoke. He peered at the cloud trying to pierce that veil to see what had happened but he couldn't make out what lay behind it. It was just beginning to disperse when a dozen huge blasts of red-orange flame burst forth spreading still more smoke. This time he actually heard the projectiles whirring overhead and he turned to see them smash into the leviathan.

The scream that blasted through their minds this time was less of pain than despair as the Dead God toppled backwards, crashing into the ruined city. Fluid gushed from the massive wounds that peppered its body, and it seemed to collapse into itself as the ground shook under the impact of the titanic being.

Cannon! Engvyr thought as a cheer rose from the surviving soldiers. He looked at Grimnael in disbelief. That lunatic brought Cannon!

The mighty guns spoke a third time and as the projectiles slammed into the Dead God the cacophony of alien perceptions faded from the background of Engvyr's thoughts, then winked out like a snuffed candle. The pain in his head slowly began to diminish as he looked out over the carnage of the battlefield before him.

We've won, he realized, It's not over, but we've won.

As the dawn broke they stood and stared out over the devastation before them. The command post was naturally situated on a rise to give the officers a good view. There was still much to do in the aftermath but for now, just for this moment they could only contemplate the havoc wrought in the night.

The great city of the Baasgarta was in ruins; what the siege engines and fires had not destroyed was smashed by the advance and fall of the Dead God. The mountain had collapsed into the underground city, and Engvyr doubted that any that close to the resurrection had survived anyway. Tens of thousands of Baasgarta and Braell wiped from the face of the earth in mere hours, he thought, we’d have shown them scant mercy but some would have survived…

As for the field of battle itself the Baasgarta forces were simply gone . Less than half of their own force appeared to have survived. He watched as regimental banners were raised by the survivors. There were none for the 2nd and 4th Heavy Infantry regiments that had led the assault. There might be scattered survivors but the regiments had effectively ceased to exist. Other banners were missing as well, from the Eastern force, but he was too tired to recollect which units they represented. In any event he guessed that they had taken fifteen to twenty thousand casualties, more than the dwarven kingdom had ever lost in a war, let alone a single battle. Add to that seventy to eighty thousand Baasgarta dead in the city and on the field … The numbers were just too big for him to wrap his mind around. He felt anguish, sorrow, jubilation all at once, but mostly he felt tired, exhausted of body and soul. He dragged himself away from his reverie and turned to the commanders. There was much yet to do.

Engvyr and Grimnael watched as goblins in blue and red rolled keg after keg of blasting powder into the ruins and surrounded the corpse of the Dead God with them. The explosive needed to be disposed of as quickly as possible and this would solve two problems at once; there would be no second resurrection for this god.

“I still can't believe that you brought cannon and blasting powder,” Engvyr said, shaking his head. Cannon, like other firearms had not been used in many centuries. It was just too easy for battlemages to detonate the powder at a distance. “ Nobody does that.”

Grimnael favored him with a grin and said, “That's exactly why we did. Who would expect such a thing?”

“After word of this spreads everyone will. It was still crazy to take that chance!”

The goblin shrugged and said, “If it's crazy and it works…”

“…it's still crazy,” Engvyr finished for him, “Still and all I'm glad the tribal Elders picked you to lead. Maybe 'crazy' was the only rational response to this insanity.”

Grimnael changed the subject, saying, “Now might be a good time to give you those things that I brought.”

He gestured to one of his aides and spoke quietly to him. The aide nodded and trotted off, returning in a few moments with a bundle that he handed to Engvyr. At the goblin’s urging he unwrapped it to find the sax-knife that his father had given to him and The Hammer. He cradled the big handgun and looked at the goblin in shock.

“Where in the world…?”

“Many years ago some dwarves came into the territory of the Tribes,” he said, “These were bad dwarves, criminals fleeing from your law. They were apprehended, and they had these things with them. When I gave your name to the elders one of them remembered seeing it on the frame of this knife sheath, and I was able to verify that they were yours. I was told to return them to you, along with the gratitude of the Elders for your warnings.”

Engvyr felt a flood of conflicting emotions. He had long since given up the idea of revenging himself on the dwarves that had destroyed his family, but to finally know that they had been brought to justice… It was not the sort of closure he would have hoped for but it would do.