So It Be War, So Let It Be
If you asked me which I loved more, fighting or gold, I'd punch ya down and take your coin for asking a stupid question. We're dwarfs—it's always both!
So imagine my surprise when some shadow thing tries to talk to me after killing my men, as if I would live and drink like it's no biggie.
No, no, my friend—you want war? You got a war. Just as soon as I finish my drink, we'll talk the only way dwarfs like to speak: with blades that lead to coins, since anything else ain't worth a thing.
King Mog of the dwarfs, preparing for war
Spirits were at an all-time high. Trade would be expanding with the removal of those damn thieves—they were a thorn in their side for years. Never risk more than one caravan. The thefts got old quick, even if the king paid double. It was bad for business if you can't trust the man giving the coin not to have another steal it back...
The laughter echoing off the walls made him beam with pride. He loved his stupid drunk-ass people, every one of them. Even the poor second class had worth—they served a necessary evil on the surface, and he welcomed them as brothers whenever they earned their place back home.
It was why it was a particularly effective punishment whenever anyone committed a crime. You don't send them to jail or steal their beer—it's only half as effective. No, make them work the surface. They straighten up real quick and are thankful they're worthy as underground citizens...
A slap on his back—he returned with a punch in the face, followed by a round of laughter as he helped the man up. "That hurt, ya bastard!" The slap would have been harmless any other time if he wore his armor, but he was relaxing in loose leather, and the ass had metal mesh gloves, trying to show off his craft. It was good work, and he told him so afterward, but he needed to remember to be mindful: I am the king, not some barrel to slap.
After some yelling from the men and him shouting back, things settled for a bit as a meal was brought to start the celebrations once more. They thought of the windfall beyond coin—since elves tended to give them most things, well, besides grains. If the damn rot wasn't so stubborn in the land, they could force the surface dwarfs to farm and profit even more, but it has not worked so far...
A young messenger scout was whispering something to one of the advisers of trade, which annoyed me. I knew about the new trade windfall—no need to be coy.
"HEY, YA FOOL! TELL THE ROOM! DON'T BE WHISPERING LIKE A GIRL LOOKING FOR A KISS, OR YOU CAN PLANT ONE ON MY ASS!"
The messenger and adviser were the only ones not laughing. What, it was a joke—don't act like I pissed in your drink... But as I asked, he did speak up, and the sound died down as all listened to the news that made my smile turn to a frown as I smashed my drink down.
The caravans were gone and the dwarfs were presumed dead since no word came inbound... And two things a dwarf knows well about trade: you don't lie for more coin, and you don't delay delivering payment.
So no goods and no dwarfs? Means they're dead... These were his best merchants that learned of this deal, and he trusted them with his last drink and them not to touch a drop.
"WHO DUN IT? EH? ANSWER ME!"
Nobody could answer as they were not there. "SO SOMEBODY THINK WE JUST GOING TO SIT AND DO NOTHING? EH?"
"WHAT WE GOING TO DO, BOYS? SIT AND PISS OR FIGHT?"
"FIGHT!" was what roared back, and already they prepared for war. He understood their desire to whisper the bad news, not wanting to sour his drink, but he dealt with bad news before—it's life. It used to be more common before the champion culled the majority of monsters. It cost them a bit of coin but saved more dwarf lives, so it was a bit of a wash how to feel, since those lives he saved would have died doing what they loved: fighting and getting paid...
Two Days Later
It was hard to enjoy a good drink with everyone badgering him for oversight. It was pissing him off—he sent one of his better men with the caravans, keeping him back for logistics since it was supposed to be an easy trade and he wanted to make sure it went smoothly...
Now he had to train a few greenhorns eager to kiss his ass to prove their worth versus actually overseeing the logistics. He finally burst, letting them know how he felt...
"I DID NOT PICK YA ALL TO KISS MY ASS BUT TO RUN THE BUSINESS! IT'S WAR, YA DAFT FOOLS, SO PREPARE FOR IT!"
They scattered like young girls afraid their man ran out of good ale and would show them why a dwarf should never be out of it. But finally things seemed to be moving forward as he was mostly there to inspect the weapons...
Cannons—good to break mass swarms. Even coated the cannonballs in blessed ash just in case it's monsters, not human fools.
Axes and pole arms—stacked in rows, blades sharp enough to shave a beard if any fool felt like losing one. Mixed with nature magic in the wood and a little metal to help cut the beasts.
War hammers, his favorite—solid, heavy, built to break bone and steel both. Also mixed with nature magic—the deals with elves ensured it.
Crossbows—for the lads to have an option for ranged fire when cannons are not an option. They needed a lot more blessed bolts, but they had a start.
I ran my hand across the various armors that were crafted with time, some still warm to the touch even in the cold halls, being newly made. This was our answer to the thieves, or anything that thought dwarves too drunk to fight or too stupid.
"You want war? Then you'll get a war with so much malice you'll choke on it like cheap beer."
He headed back to the main chamber to rest a bit. They played music to cheer his mood and it helped a little. They wanted to leave yesterday, but it seemed they'd been cutting corners trying to save coins and lacked a few supplies, mostly things from the elves. They could still start the war now and probably win, but he did not like unknown variables and wanted ten ways to drink versus relying on one...
Distracted, a voice whispered in his ear and he almost slapped him for tickling his ear with his beard... "Sir, a messenger says he's an envoy and brings a letter about the missing dwarfs."
It took him a moment to recover and hear what the messenger said.
"WHAT? BACK OFF, FOOL! AND WHO THINKS I'LL JUST LET THEM TALK WHILE I LISTEN?"
"He's there, sir..." The messenger pointed beyond me to the side, making me jerk to look, and a tall slender shadow man? Stood there, smiling, presenting a letter.
He looked human enough—maybe just really dark skin? Was that normal? He knew black-skinned humans existed, but this color seemed unnatural? A drow? No... human ears... and color still off... more a...
Monster.
"Get my axe." He said it calmly but loud enough the thing could hear him, yet it never lost its smile, as if mocking him. Even with blade in hand, the joy on the freak's face never faded, and he did not know why...
"My lord regrets what happened to your men and offers a letter to explain the mistake—it was not done with malice. My only purpose was to serve this letter to you. My life is complete, and I have not failed my lord..." The smile bloomed once more with those words, proving everything he said was a lie and lacked sincerity. Only a monster could look you in the face with a smile while saying sorry he killed your men...
The thing was taller than him, but he arced the blade easily enough up, slicing the head clean off. Yet surprising him was not that the thing never lost its smile, but that it wasn't human—he suspected it, but it acted human and could speak, so was unsure... till he saw no red blood spilling from the slice. But it did spill darkness, and where the nature-blessed blade cut and touched the thing's flesh, it boiled and turned to smoke and ash... The letter fell harmlessly to the ground as he went and sat down, bored.
"Burn it, letter and all. Whatever this is, they still killed my men and offer no gold but words. That's an insult I can't let stand."
Drinking deep of his now sour drink, he spat a mouthful out to the side where the remains of the monster were being pulled away, annoyed once more at the reminder of the slight. Maybe they had been too lenient with the humans for gold due to easy trades. They needed a reminder—dwarfs can and will fight for less... as he listened to the bickering in the background.
An hour passed and he finally calmed enough to enjoy a drink when this time he did see the messenger and slapped him in the head when he started to lean in to whisper again, like he would let him do that crap again...
"YA DAFT? SPEAK! I'M RIGHT HERE! DON'T BE WHISPERING IN MY EAR!"
"Uh, right, sir—message from the elves. An inquiry, it seems."
He did not see the messenger this time—it was just the letter. Left annoyed, he snatched it and read it. It was already open, which he did not care about—nothing he knew his men would not know soon after. It explained how he knew its content.
Dear King Mog,
I hope this letter finds you well. I fear my request is a selfish and secret one. I'm tasked with learning of an unknown dark threat and wonder if any word came your way. I will be sending scouts to the rot lands—should you see them, please understand it is to seek the unknown threat, not an act of aggression. We are happy with trades.
This is not the queen but a selfish request from a worshiper of the light, so this is no official request or decree, but I would still thank you for any assist.
They did not give a name, but hinting they are a worshiper of light and not the queen? Why so many things happening so much lately? The champion culling the monsters, thieves stealing their supplies, now a new dark threat starting a war? Something happened beyond them, but what...
Does it matter? They would wait for the supplies needed from the elves, and nothing changed. He wasn't sure if it was humans that started this or new human monsters, and did not care—we've fought enough—I feel we got this. We did not make it this far waiting things out. No... we act, they bleed, and they will listen. Monsters or not. Looking around, bored with those thoughts. Now, where's my drink?62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKrVhYLj5zD
and then Add to home screen.