The Blood and Snow (Story)

Part 1

It was a cold morning, much like any other in this wretched place. The camp fires were already lit by the time I awoke. I was still tired and had the beginings of a monumental headache forming.
I really should not let the lads drink so much before a battle again. I went out into the very bright sunlight, even more bright due to the fresh snow on the ground.
I washed my face in some freshly melted snow water, the warm water soothing against the cold and bitter winds, a little touch of comfort before the hard work begins and the greif afterwards...
I walked around our camp, seeing faces I have known for years and years, countless faces I have stood beside in the heat of battle, all were nervous. We had never faced such a large force before, and knew it was going to be a tough fight. Those same faces went through their preparations before the battle, all little rituals in the attempt that today is not the day they fall into darkness. I had my own ritual, I polished the axe of my father, Gurthang, until it gleamed against the sun, I sharpend its edge countless times until you could just about cut yourself from looking at it. I strapped Gurthang to my back, so a little part of my father would be watching over me in this fight. I strung my basic bow, still not used to it though. I could here the archers outside practicing, I could here the snapping sound of their bow strings and the dull thud of their arrows hitting the wooden target, the archers honing their aim for the upcoming battle, every so often there would be a cheer from them if someone missed.

It is a good thing to go into battle with high spirits it blocks out the doubt of your own courage, the fear of the enemy, the fear of death. That is why I let them enjoy themselves before a fight, lest they instill self-doubt and fear into their hearts...

I picked up my twin axes, Urutheng and Hallabar and swung them round a few times, getting used to their weight, also I used it to loosen up my body, stiff with cold and age. This will probably be my last campeign, I'm getting too old for this now, I am the grey dwarf to the others the old one... That much is true, I might be old but I still have never lost a sparring match to one of my lads. I buckled Urutheng and Hallabar to my belt, and finished putting on my armour. Such an unusual thing, a dwarf wearing elf make armour, but its lighter and allows me to move with greater ease on the field. I rebuckled my belt and waited for the horn call for us to form up. Despite the cold I did not wear my cloak, I would soon be warm from fighting and killing.

It seemed to be a long time I waited in my tent, waiting for the call to form up, I got restless and began to pace about my tent... then the sound came, it was the horn, time to head into battle... I placed my full head helmet on, the plume of horse hair dangling in the breeze, I went and joined my lads in the line.

The goblins were a black mass larger than I have ever seen, cresting the ridge, like night was about to rise up again and sweep the land. All the faces along the line, all the dwarves I knew, I had fought beside now stood along side me once more, all knowing what we were up against. They were all readying their spear, axes, bows and swords for the job to come, I am told we shone like the sun against the darkness of night. And the night moved towards the sun at a fast pace....

Note: this is part of a story based around my other character, Fallian the dwarf. Originally posted on the LRPA forums I decided to post it here also. It is still a work in progress so I hope you like this one also. The names of his weaponry are all fictional creations of me, and the Name "Hallabar" is one I cannot get out of my head so it seems to be making a lot of appearences.

~Falli~

We stood there at the bottom of the valley, not the best place to stand but we had no choice, we had been outflanked and now we had to stand and fight like the harbour wall against a strom, and how we shone.

I looked along our thin line only three deep; spearmen, then swords axes and sheilds and finally our bowmen, we did not have cavelry for two reasons. One dwarfs are not very happy ridding the great animals used in the armys of men and elves, and the second it was not good terain for a charge anway. So our thin line of three dwarves deep stood in the valley and watched as the great horde of goblins come down from the safety of the ridge, like a wave of pure black hatred and malice.

I looked along our lines, seeing the grim determination on those faces I knew through many battles. All steeling themselves to hold back the tide muttering a few more rituals of saftey before the hard work begins. I look along these lines of our hard bretherin and I see my own brother, my younger brother, and I feel a pang of guilt bringing him to this place of cold and blood and death, but still I smile feiging a confidence that we will get through this, but in my heart I feel it is impossible, I turn to my brother and say:
"Remember this day little brother for when you grow old and may you tell this story many times over to your children."
He gave a short reply "For our father, Falgrim" he then bowed his head in respect to the name of our father and raised his sheild. And how we shone in the sunlight of that morning.

We could hear the drums, the great goblin drums, pounding their kind into a bloodlust that over ruled their sense and fear of sunlight... Then the drums stopped, replaced with the sound of rushing feet and the deafening cry of the goblin's war cries. I touched my father's axe for luck and waited. The air was still that moment the breeze from earlier had fallen, so all arrrows flew true and the first volley from our ranks snapped past my ears sending a great mass of black shafts into our enemy, there were a few yelps and screams as arrows found their targets, but the black tide moved over their dead like a small sandbank.The goblins then replied to our volley with their own ragged firing of arrows, all I could do is order for my lads to put their sheilds up. Some arrows thudded into their sheilds, some landed in the snow leaving their black feathered shafts protruding from the ground. But my attention was brought back to the battle as own such arrow struck my armour and sent me staggering backwards into the dwarves behind. All their eyes on me fearing their captain was dead before the battle began, but I grinned to them and despite the searing pain from where the arrow hit there was very little damage, barely even a scratch on my elf-make armour. I removed Urutheng and Hallabar from my belt and watched the dark mass come forth. The arrows were begining to fly continuously now from our bowmen, but their efforts seemed to make little affect on the enemy, the just stepped over their dead still coming at us.

We waited until the last possible second for a counter charge, so we would not be driven back. We came together with a sickening crunch the night fighting the day, the darkness against the light. The sounds of battle surrounded me, spears, sheilds, axes, swords all clashing with their metallic ring and the dull thud if they hit flesh. Our spears pulled back, putting our swords and axes into play I along with them. We charged their ranks, our battle cries ringing in that valley, hacking, slashing, killing. We were good at our job we relished a good fight. The footing became slippery underfoot slicken with the black blood of the goblins, spattered with the bright crimson of our own casualties. Both Urutheng and Hallabar sang as they sought to find flesh of goblins never tiring, never resting, biting deep into goblin flesh, so deep I could not pull Urutheng out again, so I put Hallabar back on my belt and took Gurthang from my back. My father's great twohanded battle-axe and she swung true thumping into goblin after goblin. The second line, my line was begining to tire of the slaughter, they were becoming clumsy with their attacks against the seemingly never ending horde, we were ordered back to let the spearmen have more fun, so we went back behind them, and I made a breif headcount. We had only lost a few, but all were dear to us. I found my brother had survived and I greeted him.
"Not dead yet brother?"
"Not yet Fallian"
And we both laughed a little breathlessly and began readying for our second counter charge. Our spearmen were forced back again, the sheer mass of goblins pushing them back. before they were back against our second line, my line. We charged into them crazed and fighting for our very lives. Scores of goblin dead were laying dead at our feet, but there were always more. We fought until the sun went to its evening home, we no longer shone; we were tired, dirty, bloody but victorious. we had suceeded in holding off the goblin advance... For now.

~Falli~

The stench of rotting meat was begining to fill the air, the bodies of goblins and dwarfs littering the ground still. The others have gone to look to see what there is of any value on the corpses. I sat with my brother, he was quite a bit younger than me, and I will admit he was probably a better fighter, but I had something he did not... Luck. So now I sat with him, his face pale and cold, his body lifeless in my arms. I howled at the cold moon letting my remorse for my brother's death known to the world. The other dwarfs gave me a wide birth, knowing that my anger would be peaked by the death of my brother. The shaft of that fateful arrow was still buried in his chest when I found him, the black feathers moving silently in the bitter night breeze. I took my brother's axe Farfeng, and the body to be burnt with the others, no tomb for my brother or our soldiers, no long sleep. They would burn and rise into the sky to be with our loved ones. None celebrated that night, no drinking, no feasting only sorrow and anger festering in our hearts, aimed at the goblins who caused our greif. But we did not have to wait long until we would have another fight with them

It was the early hours of morning, most of my lads were still in their slumber. I lay awake in my tent going over the events leading to my brother's downfall, over and over again I asked why that arrow hit him, why the armour did not help him, why, why, why...

There was a clatter from outside in our camp somewhere, but I paid it no heed as I thought it to be one of my lads being half asleep and very clumsy, I returned to the questioning in my head, that was until I heard shouts and the sound of the mustering horn, I hefted my father's axe, Gurtheng. I ran outside to find some of our tents ablaze and the sound of swords ringing and the sounds that had become familiar on the battlefield sounding so foreign and strange at this hour. From the ashes of our dead the embers of a new battle arose, and we were not doing well...

~Falli~

Note: This is the third part of this story and a lot shorter than the previous parts, part 4 will come as soon as I come up with the plot ehem... so I hope you enjoy reading these three parts while I get the fourth ready

The morning dawned on the second day of this battle, both sides bloodied but neither completely broken. The night was bitter in the darkness; the goblins unleashed a fury in that blackness that they had not shown in the day. All of those in my company knew that if we were ever to defeat the goblins, it would have to be this day, or not at all. By the morning of this second day, there were very few of our dwarves left, against so many goblins still able to fight.

Our dwarves formed their lines after a rushed breakfast, eaten cold without having enough time to light any fires. And how very bitter that morning was, a biting eastern wind blowing the snow all around us in the spiral, the sky and sun covered by great grey clouds unbroken for miles in the sky. The time passed slowly as we waited in that hateful valley, we waited for the word to do our jobs and be out of the place as soon as possible, but our commanders stalled, ever waiting for an opportune moment. But the dwarves of my companies were growing ever restless, shifting from foot to foot, and flexing cold and stiff limbs, constricted from the lack of sleep from the previous night of assault after assault against our camp. All I could think about is the fall of my brother, known to be braver and stronger than I, but then so many things change with the flight of an arrow.

Still the order was not given, even when we saw the goblins coming over the crest of the valley, but there they stayed, hurling insults down at us in their vile speech, taunting us to come up the slope to attack them, but neither of us made such a move. Soon the taunting stopped and various brave goblins, if there is such a thing, coming into bow range and firing a vile black shafted arrow into our mass. Most of the time the arrows bounced off armour, shields and helms with little damage caused, however some shafts still managed to find their marks, the gaps in the mail about the neck and the shoulder. Our bowmen could not reply to this steady shower of arrows, as the goblins held the higher ground meaning they could fire their bows further than ours. And yet we still waited on that bitter morning, waiting for the word that would never come. Then a sigh of despair came from the dwarves surrounding me, I turned to look up at the ridge once more, to see the larger shapes… of trolls.

~Falli~
Yup it has been a long time coming but Part 4 of the Blood and Snow is here, for your enjoyment. And there is more still to come.