Whill of Agora woa-1

by Michael Ploof

The dwarf ran down the long tunnel. Screams and sounds of battle echoed off the walls and filled him with dread. He clutched his great axe, frantically trying to get to the fight. One hundred dwarves followed Roakore, holding similar axes or war hammers. The Draggard had invaded the mountain. The Draggard! The dwarves had not seen the attack coming, hadn’t even considered it a possibility. But now it was a grave reality. Roakore turned the corner of the great tunnel into a larger hall. Before him was a sight that would haunt his dreams until the day he went to the Mountain of the Gods. Hundreds of Draggard were within the hall, and hundreds of his kin alike. Roakore’s shock was short-lived, however, as a seven-foot Draggard came barreling at him with a long, mean spear leading the way. Roakore spun with the attack and came around with his axe in one smooth motion, burying the blade deep in the monster’s back. The Draggard fell to the floor, writhing and twitching in agony. All around him hundreds of similar battles played out. But it did not take the dwarf long to realize that most of the battles were ending differently. For in the great hall the dwarves were outnumbered three to one, and still more Draggard came rushing in through the tunnel they invaded from.

  Axes clanged, hammers fell, spears dove, and blood poured. Rage welled within Roakore as he watched his kin fall one after another, Draggard after vicious Draggard pouring into the room. He knew that this battle would soon be lost. The dwarves’ only hope was to go to the chambers of Erakknar, a series of tunnels, halls, and chambers used in the ancient days in times of invasion. Never before had the mountain been lost, for no army of foes could withstand the defenses set forth within the chamber of Erakknar. Roakore turned to his fearless band of dwarves and roared, “To Erakknar!” His companions repeated the command. The tunnel to the chambers, however, was at the other end of the great hall. Roakore led his group straight into the heart of battle with a war cry that echoed through the hall and grew as it was taken up by his fellow dwarves. The cry grew to such an intensity that for a moment the Draggard lost their momentum in the fight. The expressions on their lizard-like faces turned from rage and bloodlust to doubt and fear. Roakore and the others jumped at the hesitation. A wave of rage-filled dwarves barreled into the Draggard, relentless in their attack. Holding a tight V-formation as they went, and adding many to their ranks as dwarves who had been in the middle of the battle joined them, they made a steady charge for the tunnel.

  The Draggard fought violently, fighting with spears and teeth and claws and long, spiked tails. Roakore watched as the dwarf next to him went down as a pointed tail impaled him through the chest. Roakore swung hard with his axe and took the head off the shoulders of the attacking Draggard. Again he swung, and again and again until he was covered in the blood of his enemies. Before long he had led the band of dwarves to the tunnel. The Draggard army was considerably thinner, but as one Draggard fell, two more poured in from the tunnels. The deadly swarm followed closely behind the dwarves, picking off those at the end of the thick line. Roakore and the rest of the dwarves ran as fast as their stout legs could carry them down the tunnel. They did not run in fear, they did not run to save their own hides; they ran to meet with the rest of the dwarf population who had undoubtedly gone to the Chamber of Erakknar when the warning horn had blown.

  Light emanated from the end of the tunnel-blue it shone, telling Roakore that the defenses where ready. He and his men, fewer now, rushed into the first chamber. It was narrow at first but then widened with every step until it met the adjacent wall. The shape of the room resembled a smooth triangle, the tunnel they had come from being at one of the three points. Before them was a great staircase that climbed high but then zigzagged to a balcony landing. Atop the balcony Roakore was glad to see fifty or more dwarves holding great boulders over their heads, ready to crush the oncoming army. Roakore waited at the stair and rushed his men past, waiting for the last before he ascended. He quickly questioned his actions, however, as the last dwarf ran past, followed by an ocean of teeth and claws and spears.

  Roakore followed closely on the heels of his fleeing friends as the Draggard filled the chamber and also started up the stair. He knew that the defensive attack would not begin until he reached the first landing, but he wondered if he would make it. Claws scratched at his armor as a Draggard tried to catch him when finally he reached the landing and spun around with his axe. Whether it was his rage or the adrenaline rush or a little of both he did not know, but as he turned on the Draggard he chopped it clean in half with one mighty swipe. On cue the boulders began to fall like rain upon the Draggard as they ascended the steps. The Draggard were effectively cut off from the stair by the shower of rock. All but five were on the safe side, along with Roakore.

  One Draggard bounded at the dwarf foolishly and was met with an axe to the head. But the other four took the opening and charged, leaping after the dwarf as well. Roakore ran at the Draggard who were now in the midst of their long leap. Roakore used their momentum to his advantage, and as he passed under them he turned and chopped at the closest one. His mighty axe found the Draggard’s chest and tore through the scale armor and sunk deep, bringing down the vile creature but also Roakore. He bounded to his feet in a flash and struggled to free his axe as the other three Draggard landed. Unable to free his axe, Roakore removed the hatchets he had strapped to his outer thighs. He clanged them together as the Draggard hissed and growled at him. Roakore returned the growls with one of his own.

  “Urrr, come on!” Roakore roared in defiance. The Draggard again hesitated before the crazed dwarf-just what Roakore needed. He raised his arms and cried, “Ohn zrak kytho sjendi zwikor henin ty!” The Draggard hesitated no longer and advanced on the dwarf. Roakore made no movement to defend, he only repeated the chant. As the Draggard charged, two of the great falling boulders changed course and flew directly over Roakore’s head, smashing two of the Draggard hard against the wall. Before the remaining Draggard knew what was happening, the dwarf was upon it, hacking and chopping, fire burning in his eyes until all that remained of the Draggard was a heap of gore.

  “Come, Roakore!” came a voice from above. Roakore quickly retrieved his axe and ascended the stairs to the great balcony. Looking down upon the carnage that was the stairway and tunnel opening, he was not pleased. More than fifty dwarves continuously heaved great stones down onto the Draggard. This had stopped their approach so far but still the Draggard poured into the room. Roakore peered into the stone holding room and discovered to his dismay that only a few hundred stones remained. Also, upon turning back to the chamber, he discovered that dozens of Draggard had begun scaling the walls. To his left Roakore saw his three brothers and his father. They had begun the chant to the stone, and Roakore quickly joined in. As the dwarf before him tossed a great boulder, Roakore took control of its momentum with the power that only he and his family possessed. He sent the boulder smashing into one of the climbing Draggard, squashing it like a bug. The crushed and lifeless beast, along with the rock, then fell to the waiting horde below. Roakore and his brothers and father successfully kept up this attack until every rock had been thrown.

  The scene below was a slaughter. Hundreds of Draggard lay in waste, their bodies crushed and bloody among the rocks. But though the stones ceased to fall, the Draggard did not cease to enter. The tunnel entrance had been essentially barricaded with the rain of stone, but still gaps remained. Through the gaps in the fallen stone the horde of Draggard continued to pour.

  “To the next chamber!” Roakore’s father ordered. The dwarves retreated from the balcony and past the stone holding room. Beyond was a descending staircase and another chamber, the Chamber of Fire. Roakore stayed behind the group as the dwarves hurried to the end of the chamber and up another staircase. Unlike the other chamber this one was rectangular, with a high ceiling and a stone-tiled floor. Between each of the stone tiles was a three-inch gap, two inches deep. At the top of the staircase Roakore could see that the five large barrels of oil had been tapped. Oil poured forth down a circuit of stone gutters and onto
the floor, filling the gaps between the stone. Fifty dwarves waited at the top of the staircase, which led to an arched doorway to the next chamber. In the chambers beyond, more than one thousand dwarves waited, armed and ready. Roakore, however, stayed within the Chamber of Fire, shoulder to shoulder with his kin atop the staircase, waiting for the Draggard. The trap’s effectiveness counted on the dwarves’ waiting until the room filled with Draggard, which also meant that they had to hold them off for a while.

  Soon they came, hissing and spitting, shrieking and growling, slowly down the adjacent stair. On a perch high above Roakore stood a lone dwarf with a torch ablaze, waiting for the right moment. The Draggard were few at first, as it took some time for the horde to maneuver through the fallen stone in the last chamber. But quickly their numbers grew, as did their confidence. They filed onto the stairway and began to descend, eyeing the awaiting dwarves with fierce glares and vicious snarls. More than one hundred of them now descended the stairs as the front line came upon the oil-soaked floor. They stopped, inspecting the cracks in the floor suspiciously and sniffing about. The Draggard had a superb sense of smell and no doubt could smell the oil, for the vapors filled the room and burned the eyes of the awaiting dwarves. The Draggard were not stupid, however, and knew what lay before them. Roakore spat at the beasts and yelled insults and curses at them, trying to egg them on. The other dwarves followed his lead, mocking and challenging the lingering army.

  Though the Draggard at the front line thought better of the idea, those higher up on the stair snarled and hissed, pushing the group forward into battle. The whole of the Draggard upon the stair and in the room beyond suddenly charged, filing into the chamber by the hundreds down the stairs and across the wet floor. “Hold!” Roakore bellowed to his fellow dwarves. The army ran across the room now, some of the beasts on all fours, others erect. They snarled and hissed, drool falling from their open mouths, bloodlust shining in their demonic eyes. As the Draggard neared the stair below the dwarves, Roakore yelled, “Hatchets at the ready!” All fifty dwarves produced two hatchets each, one in each hand, and took a throwing stance. The Draggard reached the stair and bounded up, taking the steps two and three at a time. Behind them the room quickly filled with the demonic horde.

  “Now!” came the call from Roakore, and the dwarves let loose their hatchets. Though the Draggard scales were as thick as any armor, the dwarves possessed strength five times that of the largest man. They threw the deadly blades with such power and accuracy that any who stood in the way were cut down. The deadly attack of the dwarves dropped the entire front line of Draggard as they ran up the narrow staircase, but still more came. The beasts trampled over their fallen kin and surged forward as another volley of hatchets tore into their ranks. The Draggard were relentless, however; many charged on though they had been hit with many of the blades.

  “Ready your axes!” Roakore ordered as he took a battle stance. The Draggard filed up the stairs and charged straight into the reach of the awaiting blades. Roakore let out an angry bellow as pain suddenly shot through his left thigh; he looked down to see a Draggard spear protruding from his leg. Quickly he found the wielder in the onslaught of the army and hewed him down with his mighty axe. With one arm he pulled the spear from his leg with a growl and impaled yet another of the charging demons. Still more came, and more fell to Roakore’s great double-headed axe. The dwarves held the line well, though the Draggard kept coming.

  “Back to hell, ye foul beasts!” Roakore roared as he caught another Draggard in the groin, lifting the screeching creature off its feet and sending it flying halfway down the stairs. The dwarf perching above suddenly signaled with a whistle that the time had come. Roakore and his men slowly began to back through the arched doorway to the next tunnel. Roakore blocked a swinging tail with his axe and came down into the neck of the beast before him. As the monster fell, Roakore saw the torch fall to the crowd below. The torch bounced off the shoulder of one Draggard in the middle of the room and found the floor. The Chamber of Fire erupted with such force that it shook the very stone and sent Roakore and many dwarves flying nearly twenty feet into the tunnel as a great rolling wave of fire rolled over them.

  Roakore had landed hard on his shoulder but paid it no mind as he scrambled to his feet, utterly blinded by the bright pyre. He helped his fellow dwarves to their feet and led the way to the next chamber. Behind them dozens of Draggard, shrieking like hell demons and fully engulfed in flames, stumbled from the chamber in frantic terror. Of the fifty dwarves who had made a stand atop the stair, now only forty remained. Roakore guided them down the long tunnel and into the next chamber, the Chamber of Arrows.

  This chamber was much larger than the previous one, but like the first it was built in the shape of a triangle. Its ceiling was over two hundred feet high, and another two hundred feet at its widest. Roakore led his men across the chamber to the steep, one-hundred-foot-high staircase as the Draggard screams echoed down the tunnel. Atop the landing a thin drawbridge of stone expanded ten feet to a large balcony that extended the wide wall. Once all of the dwarves were safely across the bridge, it was quickly lowered. Atop the balcony more than one hundred dwarves with crossbows awaited the Draggrard army. Roakore and those of his following dwarves who were able also took up crossbows and awaited the Draggard.

  Minutes seemed like hours as the dwarves waited for the first sign of the beasts. Their screams and howls echoed forth from the tunnel like a chorus of damned souls. Roakore watched the tunnel entrance below through his crossbow sights, waiting. Could they have killed the last of them off? He dared to hope. He was confident that he and his people would be successful in fighting off the demonic army; it was just a matter of time. How many could there possibly be? The dwarves of the Ebony Mountains had fought off countless invasions over the past two thousand years, and they did not plan on losing the dear mountain to this half-breed dragon scum. More than a thousand armed dwarves waited to join in the fight in the other chambers of Erraknar. They would no doubt fight until their last breath, for the sake of the thousands of female and child dwarves who were huddled within the very last chambers of Erraknar.

  “They will not break our defenses!” Roakore roared. “Let them come and let them bleed!” His fellow dwarves returned the call with a loud war cry that echoed down the now-silent tunnel.

  At least twenty minutes had passed. Roakore assumed that the Draggard were beaten and fleeing the Mountain, or worse, they were regrouping. The latter was proved true when suddenly a great wave of Draggard poured into the Chamber of Arrows. This group of over one hundred veered away from the stairs instantly and began climbing the walls. The dwarves began their assault at once, sending a huge volley into their ranks. As the dwarves tried to pick off the wall-climbers, another hundred charged straight in and headed for the stairs. Roakore’s father’s voice rang out into the large chamber. “All to the left o’ me, shoot for the climbers; those to the right o’ me, hit the walkers!”

  The bowmen instantly complied, as did Roakore. “Let ’em come taste me blade!” spat a burly old dwarf next to Roakore. He smiled to himself and gave a triumphant growl as he shot one of the Draggard in the eye. Roakore was confident that the battle would end here, for never in the history of the mountain had an attacking army ever made it past the Chamber of Arrows. Though the Draggard roared with what sounded like triumph, they had failed to notice the thousands of small holes that covered the stairs and side walls.

  More than four hundred Draggard were now within the chamber, some climbing the walls to get to the shooters’ balcony, others ascending the stair. The entirety of the staircase was now covered with so many of the foul beasts that not a hint of stone could be seen. They poured onto it with such aggression that many fell over the sides and to their deaths one hundred feet below. Those at the very top of the stair, only ten feet from the dwarves, leapt with reckless abandon across the ten-foot gap towards the balcony. The left flank of archers cut them down in midair, dozens of arrows hitti
ng the beasts with enough force to send them hurtling lifeless back toward the stair.

  Another call suddenly came from Roakore’s father. “Bring the chamber to life!” he bellowed, and somewhere in the chamber a dwarf pulled a single lever. Roakore watched with great pleasure as thousands of arrows sprang forth from the holes within the steps of the stairs and side walls. The entire horde of beasts upon the stairs was thrown ten feet into the air, their bodies bristling with arrows, and fell lifeless to the stone below. Those Draggard that had been climbing the wall were torn to pieces by the thousands of arrows. Even those still just entering the chamber did not fare well, for they were cut down where they stood by the great crossfire produced by the barrage of arrows upon the side walls. The chamber was suddenly deathly quiet, a literal tomb.

  The dwarf archers erupted into cheers at the sight of the massacre, but their celebration was short-lived. Giving no heed to their personal safety, still more beasts came pouring in from the tunnel. Over their fallen kin they climbed, and advanced upon the stairs once again. The Draggard were not known for their bravery, and the relentless attack unsettled Roakore. He sensed, as did others, that these beasts were being controlled by an unseen force. They would not stop until they were killed, or until they took the mountain. The dwarves cut into the ranks of the advancing group as it ascended the stairs. But their numbers were again overwhelming. They poured forth from the tunnel by the hundreds, up the walls and stairs.

  “Draw weapons!” Roakore’s father’s call echoed as many of the beasts made it to the balcony. Roakore took up his axe as a Draggard jumped from the stair to the balcony. With a powerful sideswipe Roakore downed the hissing monster in midair, only to be met by three more leaping demons. The balcony had broken out into an all-out brawl as the dwarves angrily cut down the invaders.

  “To the next chamber!” someone called, and the dwarves again began their retreat down the next tunnel. Slowly they backed shoulder to shoulder into the wide tunnel as the horde advanced after them. The dwarves fought valiantly but the Draggard numbers were too great. As they downed one, another stood to replace it.