Tobil Rockstriker

outpost leader of Snake Pits dungeon

Tobil was having a really bad day.

He could even venture a guess that it was one of the worst times of his life. And that meant something.

While leading a band of dwarves in ass-end of nowhere was already a hateful chore, the fact that each one of them was an oathbreaker only made it worse. Despite being a part of the lowly caste himself it didn’t mollify his distaste.

At first, his experiences with the worst of the worst were terrible. And it continued to be that way for quite some time.

Thankfully a few broken bones and squashed noses later the situation improved and he somehow turned into an unquestionable leader of the small settlement. His strength, cunning, and ability to deal with unexpected trouble made many of his subordinates wonder what was the pre-Debt profession of their scarred commander. There wasn’t a man or woman courageous enough to risk asking, though.

The Snake Pits weren’t manned by a dwarven clan, like it was normally done, but instead by a collection of various individuals chosen from the oathbreakers caste - a practice that was followed when guarding underground holds of small importance.

The dwarves sent here were unruly folk, but after getting a taste of Tobil’s disciplining they quickly fell in line. A sense of camaraderie and duty was born amongst them, even if at least half of the inmates weren’t simply shouldering the Debt - instead, they were the ones who knowingly broke the olden laws, forcing their sins on the shoulders of their children and kinsmen alike. Shaming their ancestors’ hard work.

This solidarity of transgressors kept them afloat even in the worst of circumstances. They were thieves, thugs, corrupt officials, liars, conmen, murderers, rebels… And they had nowhere else to go, hovering one step from oblivion. One more sin was enough to turn them into hated outcasts.

The Dwarven Holds society had them exiled and the only way for their children to return was to fulfill their duty or die trying. Preferably both. This punishment would continue until the Debt was fully repaid and their kin were returned to the underground nation of Dwarven Holds.

Ancient magic made sure that no one was free from these rules. Not heroes, not merchants, not kings.

Snake Pits outpost was a rugged, self-contained society. A dirty, hopeless place where monster attacks were common and blood was spilled day after day. A hole in the ground where the local inhabitants carved a piece of safety from the constantly shifting world of an enslaved Dungeon Core. Worse. It had become a home to Tobil and his brothers.

And they would die before allowing anyone to take it from them.

*BOOOOOOOOOOM*

A loud noise echoed, forcing a few short figures to immediately start racing to the wall, evaluating the extent of the damage. They cursed and spat, rough, calloused fingers tracing the ever-enlarging cracks in the stone and creaking material of a large, wooden door.

“Hold it, hold it, ya fuckers!”

“Get the nails ready, munchkins!”

“Not many left...”

“Then I’ll keep the door in place with yer teeth! Nails, I say!”

“Ya, ya…”

The constant noise in the background returned Tobil to reality, ending his self-pitying session. He grunted, as his gaze focused on a frayed map laid down on a shaky table before him.

The dungeon they were in charge of wasn’t that big, yet with only one hundred fifty dwarves under his command, it was hard to get trustworthy information about what was happening out there. Especially since nearly half of them were dead or unaccounted for. The rest were confined in this makeshift fort, forced to await their doom.

Only a few scouts remained out in the open, barely avoiding the monster patrols, every now and then their dying screams echoed outside the stronghold, weighing on his conscience and adding to rising impatience. These were men and women he had trained and it hurt to lose them - even if most of his subordinates believed that blood spilled in a righteous cause would lessen their Debt. For their commander, the Debt didn’t matter. The job he was entrusted with did.

Tobil squinted his black eyes in hesitation, intentionally ignoring the sounds of battle. A few more dwarves were hunted while he waited, planned, hoping for a chance that may never happen. The oathbreakers would rather die than see their home destroyed, but to fall in a line of duty was an acceptable sacrifice. In a moment the noise would stop, squashed by a constant chittering of these filthy rats. The indignity of all this... Of all the monsters in existence, they were being slaughtered by ancestor-damned rats!

“We’re getting fucked over.” Muttered one of his captains, only to get silenced by a bloodshot glare.

“I know that, ya basterd!” Tobil huffed. “What I want to know is how a bunch of lowly monsters is using tactics against us.”

“Tactics!” The other captain grumbled, his face full of disgust. “Only weaklings need tactics!”

“Fer’ yer ancestors’ hairy asses! Tactics are nuthin’! They have a freakin’ air fleet!”

“Bah! These are only overgrown dragonflies, boss!” Protested one of the subordinates.

“If it was only that then I wouldn’t be so worried, ya daft tool!” The dwarf’s clenched fist hit the table, adding to the already existing cracks.

“They’re not divin’ and scratchin’ us as a proper monster should!” One of the men present gnashed his teeth in anger. “Nay! They go and drop bombs, rocks, and other weird sheite!”

“Not good.”

“Ya right.”

“Damn goblins!”

“Wut? They not goblins, though?”

“It’s always the goblins’ fault, though. Creepy green little buggers!”

“Ay, the goblins be bad business!”

“Kill them!”

“Oy! What are you old fucks even talkin’ about?” Tobil growled, instantly silencing his subordinates. “These are no goblins, but weirdo rats!” He bellowed.

“But the goblins are surely…”

“Oh shut up ya crazy old git, before I’ll throw you out to feed the Core!”

“Aye, aye, boss…” His subordinate instantly deflated in response.

“Like I was sayin’, before bein’ rudely interrupted…” Tobil’s eyes searched the surroundings for inspiration.

“We’re properly fucked, ain’t we?”

“Yes… yes, we are…” Gasping with anger, the outpost leader hit the innocent table once again. “THAT’S NOT IT! Ya moron!”

A slew of laughing voices surrounded him as the cleanly shaven dwarves, each with grey tattoos visible on their head almost spat out their lungs. Amongst them, the commander’s stout figure wearing menacing bone armor stood out even in the eyes of an outsider. An eye-catching small emblem of a hand holding a hammer was stuck to his chest - a widely recognized symbol of Dwarven Holds.

Tobil’s rugged skin was decorated by a large number of scars and tattoos, yet his monstrous impression was softened by a wide grin that seemed to split the man’s wrinkled face.

*BOOOOOOOOM*

The loud noise followed by angry screams and creaking wood returned the dwarven leadership to reality. Four stout figures followed their commander’s footsteps as he returned to the crude map lying on the table in the center of the room.

“Enough jokes, ya idiots. What is the state of supplies, Grummit?”

A small, yet sturdy dwarf strode forward to answer the question. “It’s no good, boss. We can afford to survive for a few more days. Up to a full week, maybe a week ‘n a half if we ration our food. At least the water isn’t an issue.”

“Thank the ancestors for the well…”

“Thank the boss, ya dolt! Also… weren’t you the one who said it wasn’t needed?” Grummit's wrinkly face turned even uglier as he observed his comrades.

“H-ha-ha-ha!”

“Don’t try to laugh it off!” The small dwarf huffed in annoyance.

“Anyway, the ancestors are tellin’ us to rally out!” Screamed one of his companions, a pale dwarf missing an eye.

“Shut yer trap, Hind!”

“But... boss!”

“Ya want the Debt to grow even heavier on yer’ kin shoulders?”

“Why? We’re planning on fightin’ and dyin’ in the name of the Holds!” Hind’s pale face turned red, highlighting a spiderweb of scars spread on his face.

“Yer an old dwarf and yet so stupid… No wonder ya got so easily dumped in here.”

“Boss!”

“What is our purpose out here, eh gits?” Tobil sighed before glaring at the rest of his subordinates.

“To protect our stuff?” One of them shyly answered.

“To get rid of the Debt!”

“To fill our role as sacred defenders of the Dwarven Holds.”

With a sudden nod, their leader stood up once again. “Yes. We’re bound to defend this place. Do you morons think that simply dying without achieving anything would be allowed? That it would alleviate our burden? Huh?”

His red-hot anger surged violently from the small figure, forcing Tobil’s subordinates to take a few steps back, the powerful warriors avoiding his black, heartless gaze like children caught by their parents.

“T-then… what can we do, boss?” Sniffed one of them.

“Maybe we can send some dorfs to the nearest outpost? To warn them about these ratties n’ stuff?” Another added.

“No. We can’t.”

The room drowned in silence, and after a moment Tobil sighed loudly when nobody dared to ask “why”.

“Remember your oath. We are to defend this place. To never take one step outside unless ordered to.” He gazed at every one of the captains before scratching his grey tattoo in annoyance. “Anyone breaking the pact would turn into a black-faced outcast. And you know damn well that no proper dwarf will listen to a word from the outcasts!”

“Then at least we’ll die honorably… Try n’ take as many as we can with us.” Murmured Hind.

Another captain spat a thick glob of saliva on the ground. “Our sacrifice will be less with the cost of losing this place to the monsters takin’ to account.”

“And worse… not warnin’ the folks at home.”

“Shame… shame on us.”

“That was what I was thinking about, lads.” Tobil’s black eyes once again bore deep in his subordinate’s skulls. “Any ideas?”

*BOOOOOOOOM*

Another explosion shook the air. A cloud of dust rose, before slowly falling on the ground as the defenders scrambled to keep the doors closed. The amount of debris and furniture blocking the way in was enough to stop their enemies, yet the living battering ram of the rats did not stop for even a moment.

The atmosphere turned solemn, as the dwarven leadership became fully aware of the hopeless future. Yet despite his words, Tobil’s burden didn’t feel any less.

“Maybe we should sortie in a blaze of glory?”

“Ya! That’s better than slowly starving to death.”

“Aye, aye.”

“I agree. The Debt and the ancestors will look proudly on our sacrifice.”

“No. There is no need. We still have a chance.”

Tobil’s cold words cut the depressing atmosphere, returning the light of life to the eyes of his subordinates.

“Boss! What’s yer plan?”

“Show us the way.”

“We need to hold on.”

“But for what?”

“Dying on an empty stomach isn’t fair!”

“Grummit? Can you guess?” Tobil’s attention turned to his chief quartermaster. Feeling the pressure, the small dwarf started to murmur under his nose.

“A few days? Which one will it be? Under the ground, it all kinda meshes together...” His eyes suddenly widened. “The merchant! The yellow--, I mean the bureaucratic caste representative! He’ll be coming to check on Snake Pits outpost in three days!”

His words broke the dam, as all the people present started to talk at once. The sudden influx of hope was just too much, their emotions getting rowdier and rowdier.

Some of the wilder-eyed dwarves even called for a drink.

Tobil’s black eyes were quietly observing his happily bouncing companions.

*BOOOOOOOOM*

Another attack at the gates sobered the captains and their warriors. While there was a light at the end of the tunnel they were still forced into dire straights.

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“Ahem.” Tobil coughed, focusing their attention. “Any questions?”

Hind was the only one to raise his hand.

“Yes?”

“I guess the plan is to rescue the yellow-face and then escort him an’ his surviving guards back to the outpost’s border, right?”

“That is correct.”

“How will we know that they even make it that far? The monsters hate our guts an’ attack on sight. What if they’ll get their throats slit the moment they appear? What then, boss?”

A murmur of agreeing voices followed the scarred dwarf words.

“We don’t.” Tobil sighed loudly. “I won’t lie - it’s a gamble. And yet...” The armored dwarf left the innermost room of the forts. He walked to the crumbling barricade and peeked through one of the cracks.

“Out there, these monsters patiently wait for our demise. They attacked with cunning and had shown the discipline rarely seen in their kind.”

“We already lost nearly half of our number to various traps and ambushes. They murdered our brothers and sisters with methodical precision. The unknown is always dangerous. We need to bring word about them to our leaders.” Tobil stopped talking, glaring at the rats visible in the distance. “Or the Dwarven Holds may very well share our fate in the future.”

Behind him, a wall of grey-faced dwarves kneaded the handles of their weapons in a bright red silence. They wore only snake-skin vests and were armed mostly with clubs, stone axes, and spears. And yet there was a feeling of unity rare in even the most experienced formations.

“You asked why are we gambling our lives on a chance, Hind.” The black-eyed dwarf continued. “It’s simple. Considering their cunning, do you think they’ll risk that any of the inspectors will get away?”

“I think not.”

“They will wait until Blirust and his entourage enter the outpost and then, and only then they’ll strike.” A cruel smile appeared on Tobil’s face. “We will use this to our advantage, escort the inspector out of this place… or die trying.”

“And… if yer wrong, boss?” Hind still pressed on. “If we’ll wait for nothing, or if the ratties strike before we can help the yellow-face?”

“I think you didn’t hear me correctly, friend.”

“As I said before… we’ll do it. OR DIE TRYING!” Tobil glared at his subordinates, not only four captains but also the rest of the surviving dwarves.

“I won’t promise you survival. We’re far beyond it at this point. I won’t promise you glory - you’ll be the ones to earn it. What I can promise you is to deal the greatest blow to our enemies. To shatter their plans and lay waste to their warriors. And to redeem ourselves to our ancestors.”

He took a large breath.

“ARE YOU WITH ME?”

“””YES!”””

“CHILDREN OF STONE! SOON WE’LL MEET OUR ANCESTORS!”

“””WE WILL MEET THEM PROUDLY!”””

“FOR THE DWARVEN HOLDS!”

“””FOR THE HOLDS!”””

The chanting continued as Tobil heated his audience, before continuing in a slow and low voice.

“Return to your posts. I will tell you when your sacrifice will be needed.”

“Yes!”

“Aye, aye!”

“We will serve!”

“Ya!”

The various voices answered and soon the only ones remaining were four captains and the outpost leader. Despite tiredness, there were fires of devotion burning brightly in their eyes.

“Boss… no. Leader.” Hind was the one to break the silence.

“What is it?”

“I humbly beg… is there no way for you to survive?”

“H-hey, what are you saying, stupid?” Other captains quickly tried to silence their comrades, their faces instantly turned fearful. They all remembered the last time that somebody asked this question.

Weirdly enough Tobil’s reaction was mild, the words producing only a tired smile on his face.

“My companions in the Cursed Legion were the same.” A quiet gasp of shock wandered the room as the wide-eyed dwarves understood who stood before them. “They thought that by saving me something grand would happen.“ He rapped his fingers on the wall. “And yet here I am. An oathbreaker. They wasted their lives in vain. And… I am tired. Tired of running. Of giving orders that get others killed. Of always being more important, of being the one that has to survive and then collect the pieces.”

“B-but… leader! We may need you - the Holds may need you! The Cursed Legion veterans are pillars---” Grummit's speech was interrupted by a steely Tobil’s voice.

“I am a grey-face, like you. I abandoned my path and I had given my new oath willingly. If this place falls, we will finish our last duty. We will warn the dwarven people about the powerful evil that stirs in this place.” The leader’s black eyes stared into the darkness. “May ancestors give us the strength to weather another disaster.”

“Ancestors give us strength.”

“Ancestors give us strength.”

“Ancestors give us strength.”

“Ancestors give us strength.”

His subordinates solemnly repeated his last words.

***

Three days had passed since that moment, the dwarven fort barely keeping the horde of the monsters out. Every so often a Ratling would find a crack big enough to squeeze through and a bloody battle would ensue before it would be plugged for good.

The constant danger kept the dwarves on their toes, exhausting them physically and mentally despite Tobil’s efforts to rotate his warriors and save their strength.

Morale started to sink, only to rise again when on the fourth day a small caravan of fifteen dwarves had been sighted on the horizon. Amongst them, the yellow tattoos of Blirust were especially eye-catching, especially when compared to dark brown lines drawn on the faces of his escorts. Both bureaucrats and warriors had their colors so they were easily recognized.

The caravan consisted of two wagons, each pulled by an earth horse - a calm and strong species of herbivore lizards used as beasts of burden in the Dwarven Holds. Around them, warriors marched in a loose formation, clad in iron armor and wielding battleaxes and shields, unlike oathbreakers.

“Prepare the ladders!”

“Get your weapons!”

“Quickly, drink whatever water and ale you can get your hands on!”

“Get your rations!”

“Team one, to me!”

“Fours, where are you, fours?”

Contrary to the caravan's lazy advance, the fort was buzzing with activity. The four captains were preparing their attack squads, their roles had already been discussed hundreds of times. The snake-skin-clad oathbreakers were returning to life, the prospect of the ultimate sacrifice giving them strength.

“Quickly, quickly! I can see movement!” Screamed one of the lookouts.

“Team one to four, respond!” Tombil roared, overcoming the chaos.

“Team one, ready!”

“Two, in position!”

“Three can whoop some rattie ass!”

“Team four. Ready to kill, leader.”

“Good!”

Tobil closed his eyes, calming his breathing as the surrounding noise slowly faded to nothing. What remained were hundreds of eyes hungrily staring at his face.

“GO! DEFEND THE CARAVAN! MAKE YOUR ANCESTORS PROUD!” He screamed, before pushing the ceiling stone block out of the way. The stone screamed as he forced his way out, the thick muscle prevailing over the stubborn material. This way of leaving the fort was only possible for his kind - both accomplished stonemasons and monstrously strong warriors. All around him, the other dwarves were doing the same, effectively dismantling the fort’s upper level and surging forward like a wave of angry locusts.

The caravan stopped, surprised by the sudden and incomprehensible action of their brethren. Its leader, Blirust, stood up from his seat and shouted a few questions into the air, only to be met with silence.

Nobody wasted breath on answering them, and soon the lead bureaucrat would know why. Around them, hungry eyes started to appear in the surrounding greenery one after the other. Hundreds of them.

The yellow-tattooed dwarf instantly knew that something had gone wrong in the outpost. He might be young, but anyone traveling through the wastes had to deal with bandits, monsters, and undead.

Those who couldn’t react quickly simply died.

That was how he had risen to this position, despite his age.

“Defensive positions!” He turned and screamed orders to his guards, a dozen veterans quickly abandoning the supplies to surround the first carriage.

One of his subordinates wasn’t quick enough as the wave of rats dragged him out of the seat and into the bushes. Soon his screams turned to gurgles and then quietened down completely.

“Tsk.” Blirust shook his head. It was a good dwarf that died. It would be hard to replace him.

The first attack came like the sea tide, churning hatred, and madness at them and left as suddenly. None of his warriors were even scratched. Instead, they started to relax, trading banter and jokes. Even the chief inspector like himself smiled, stroking his perfectly shaven chin.

“Now I see why the grey-folk are so frantic. Too bad these things are no danger to a fully armored dwarf.” He chuckled.

“Yes, inspector. We’re not like these weaklings!” His guard leader laughed proudly, hitting the iron breastplate a bit too hard for the Blirust's ears.

“Hoh. They’re attacking again! Let’s spill some blood!” Shouted the warrior, seeing the greenery moving once again.

This time however what surged from the bushes were not common enemies, but rather strange machines and large, dwarf-sized rat monsters.

The former could be described as egg-like contraptions with arms replaced with sharp spikes. They moved jerkily along the battlefield, a green sheen sometimes radiating from within the shell.

The latter were large rats with heads armored with bone and spiky metal gauntlets tied to their upper and lower limbs. Their preferred way of attack seemed to be to charge straight at the closest enemy.

Despite the rabid advance of their enemies, the dwarven defense hasn’t broken at the first strike, at most some of the warriors had their insides shaken. Their counter-attack sunk many battleaxes in the rat flesh, eliciting a wave of screams. On the defenders’ side, one could only hear the sound of laboring breathing. They were like a wall of lumberjacks slowly cutting down the encroaching forest.

That was however the moment that the machines were waiting for.

With their clumsy movements, they were mostly ignored by the dwarves, who instead tried to break the armored rats’ morale.

It was a mistake.

The egg-like machines surged ahead, suddenly gaining the grace and momentum they lacked a moment before. An attentive observer would notice that the sickly green sheen they were emanating had risen in intensity.

Too bad nobody had time to appreciate this sudden change as the machines bounced, and flew through the air, aiming at the heads of the unsuspecting foes to pierce them with their sharp appendages.

Most of them missed their mark, the screech of metal being the only effect of the assault. A few of them managed to pierce dwarven armor, drawing blood.

In retaliation, the eggs were smashed… and they exploded, easily breaking iron, flesh, and bone. The air was filled with smoke and dust, reducing visibility to a meter or two at most.

“My leg! My leg! Aaaaaahh…”

Screams and sounds of begging filled the air as the chaos continued.

“I can’t see! My eyes. Can somebody? My eyes!”

“Oh, ancestors! Save me!”

“Retreat! Re-----!”

*gurgle*

“We’re doomed.” Murmured Blirust, squeezing his dagger in a pudgy fist. “What even are those?”

One of the machines noticed the young chief inspector and drunkenly stumbled towards him. It would normally be funny, even adorable, if not for the knowledge of what it could do.

As he helplessly watched the monster getting closer a small prayer escaped his lips.

“Ancestors give me strength.”

Blirust took a stance and charged forward, only to stop as an armored figure emerged from the smoke, before running ahead and kicking the monster away. The enemy rotated a few times in the air before falling to the ground and exploding in a fiery blaze.

“Defend the caravan! Save the browns and yellows!” Shouted the man and snake-skin-clad figures started to appear behind him, joining the fray.

After a quick look, the dwarf clad in the bone armor turned towards the chief inspector. “Come on, friend. We don’t have much time. They will regroup and counter-attack. We still haven’t forced them to commit all their forces.”

“Thanks for the rescue… Tobil?”

“Yup, that’s me.”

“Who are they?”

“The monsters who now control this outpost. We call them Rats or Ratties, depending on who you ask. They can use tools, and magic, and have bigger and meaner mutated variants.” Tobil stopped to give a few more orders, the screams and squeaks in the surroundings never stopping. “We need to get you out. You and your surviving guards. This place is lost.”

“No, no… wait. We can stop them. You are stopping them, right?”

“This? You call this stopping?” The outpost leader looked at the Blirust with a strange gaze. “We’re bleeding people to simply hold them back. There are more of them, they have their weird machines and a lot of nasty surprises.” He shook his head. “No. What we’re doing now is dying so you can get out.”

“Let’s go. Don’t waste any more of my time.”

“Wait, what are you… You can’t just...”

“This is non-negotiable. Sorry.” Tobil sighed heavily, before slugging the other dwarf right in the head with his hammer. Blirust fell instantly, losing consciousness. The bone-clad warrior checked his pulse before calling out.

“Hind!”

“Yes, boss!” A bloodied dwarf emerged from the dust cloud that surrounded them.

“Carry the inspector.”

“Ya!” One-eyed man huffed, lifting the body. “This fat-ass… eat less, ya parasite!”

“Grummit!”

“Here!”

“How many guards survived?”

“Three.”

“Fuck. Warriors my ass.” Tobil massaged his head in annoyance. “No matter. Get the earth horses loose and group them up. Saddle the warriors, I’ll get Blirust out.”

“Yes!”

The oathbreakers worked like a well-oiled machine, moving people and trading blows with the enemy. However, even the endless courage was nothing in the face of pure violence.

“Boss, the big un’ is here!”

“Shit! It’s too fast!”

“What are ya orders?”

Tobil’s face twisted in a bitter expression.

“Half of the soldiers will retreat to the fort! The rest escort the earth horses!”

“Ya heard it here, team one and two - the fort is yours! Move it, people!”

“Haha, we will meet soon, brothers!”

“May ancestors remember us!”

“Team three and four, go! NOW!”

The sounds of battle turned quieter and quieter as the dwarven soldiers fled in silence. Their comrades were giving their lives at this very moment just so they could get the warning out. They mourned, but there were no tears. Their companions’ Debt was paid with lives. With blood. It was a good death to have. It may be even enough to repay it in full.

“Ancestors give us strength.”

The murmured prayer came and went across the ranks.

The world seemed hostile and dark, their small figures quickly moving through the bushes and rot-smelling swamps. The reeds swayed softly, completely uncaring just like what happened half an hour ago was just a fever dream.

In the next 30 minutes, the inspector woke up, still trying to get rid of the confusion. He just sat there for a moment, contemplating. Then his eyes turned to the bone-clad figure walking nearby.

“You know that I can get you killed for that? Attacking an official means death.”

A slight chuckle escaped from under Tobil’s helmet.

“Why are you laughing? Are you turning insane? It’s your life we’re talking about!”

“No.” The outpost leader took a big breath. “But you see, threatening violence on dead men walking is just that funny.”

“What?” Blirust blurted out, before turning his head, only to meet dozens of frigid gazes.

The surviving oathbreakers were covered in blood, dirt, and sweat. But that was not important. What defined them at this moment was their piercing eyes. They focused on both him and the surroundings, ready to instantly sacrifice their lives. The atmosphere they excluded silenced even the normally boastful warriors, their iron armor making them look like scared turtles.

“I see.” The yellow-tattooed dwarf exhaled. “You’re not coming back with us?”

“Our place is here.”

“It will be your grave.”

“The oath I’ve - we have all - taken is clear.”

“I can free you from it. I have this power. If what you told me - if what I saw is real, then you’ll be needed elsewhere. And your men too.”

“We will need to open a second underground front. A second Cursed Legion will be called into being. And we will need warriors. Leaders.” The dwarf quietly continued, trying to convince Tobil. “You can’t just die here.”

Another chuckle escaped Tobil’s lips.

“What’s so funny?”

“There are exact words that my subordinates told me before the battle.”

“Then…?”

“No. I will not abandon my men once again.”

“I can pardon all of you…”

“You don’t understand.”

“What are you---”

“We are already surrounded.” Tobil turned to his troops. “PREPARE TO FIGHT!”

“Ancestors protect.”

“And you… get to safety while we’re distracting them.”

Bone-clad warrior strode forward, without waiting for an answer.

“COME OUT, BEASTS! COME AND TASTE OUR WEAPONS!”

His warriors screamed in defiance, adding to the cacophony.

“COME, MEET THE CHILDREN OF THE MOUNTAINS!”

From the surrounding darkness, countless rats emerged, rank after rank. Those armored in bone, those armed with spearthrowers, those riding their unstable machines and violent dragonflies. Their eyes resting on the survivors were full of hatred and desire.

Yet they stood in eerie silence as if waiting for something.

The dwarves were prepared this time, getting into formation, drinking, and eating whatever was left of their supplies. And praying to their ancestors.

Soon a loud, rhythmical sound could be heard.

*BOOM*

*BOOM*

*BOOM*

*BOOM*

A large, two-meter-tall rat emerged, completely armored in bone, flanked by its lesser kin. Unlike them, it didn’t need any artificial gauntlets or spikes - even its monstrous tail was more like a huge ball on chains than a normal appendage. It stared down at the oathbreakers as if sizing them up.

“Aren’t you one ugly fucker!” Laughed Tobil. “Let’s go for one last dance! Charge, men! CHARGE! Let’s proudly meet our ancestors!”

The last battle of the Snake Pits started with this order, the dwarves bleeding themselves dry on an uncountable tide of enemies. It took a whole hour before the last of the defenders had fallen, a hole-riddled body joining his brethren on the ground.

Not all of them were dead, though.

Those still alive were dragged deep, deep into the dungeon, and close to the underground river, where a pulley system was being installed.

But before the dwarven prisoners were shipped out another transport was being retrieved. Crates full of a strange, green ore, radiating a sickly glow.