3. Malak Steinforge

Malak Steinforge


  • Character Name: Mala Steinforge
    Log in: beng4eva

    _The fifty shield dwarves marched forward in the customary warblock formation, shield front, pike second rank, Priests and what few arcanists there were in the third ranks. The cavern opened up a way to both the Block's left and right flanks, the flank shieldmen swinging forward to form fourtyfive degree angles off the main force.

    The Block came to a halt as one, disciplined and prepared for the on rush of their unseen foes.

    Silence. Not a sound from the darkness. The dwarves of Clan Steinforge stood ready, sure that today, they would remove the problem that had been plaguing their hold-fast for weeks.

    Then, the greyed, scarred, eyeless creatures swarmed the Block, cries of alarm erupting among the ranks, the sound of shields setting for a charge, the various prayers to Moradin, to Berronar Truesilver, and loudest of all, the prayers to Clangeddin, the din of a dwarven battle.

    Small, bright flaming orbs shot out into the back ranks of the grimlocks in unison, detonating in giant fiery whooshes, decimating almost a quarter of the swarming creatures.

    –-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Malak found himself, as usual, out of place. He was a true son of Moradin, and had always stayed endarkened, but no matter what he did, he seemed to end up at the wrong place at the wrong time. This time, he had somehow gotten himself pulled into the second rank with the pikers, rather than on the edge of the battle with his trusty crossbow. There was nothing for it, but to press on and do what he could, for clan and kin.

    His Maul swung in time with the battlechants, his skill at arms no less than his brothers. A grimlock fell, his head caved in by a single mighty blow that he hadn't expected, but another rushed forward to take his place._

    (D) Farkin blind bastards are dumb and deaf as well, dinnae they notice that they're losin? Fark em!

    _The dwarves around him answered with their own calls… some insulting the enemy, others invoking Moradin or Clangeddin's might against their foe.

    Blessings went off around him, healing those who had taken wounds, and the Grimlocks began to falter, the might of the dwarves of Clan Steinforge far more than they could handle. As the battle turned to a rout, and the Grimlocks tried to retreat, Malak saw a glimmer of darkness moving behind the foe. He almost called out, but decided against it. If a drow truly was involved in this, then he would be dealt with as soon as the Grimlocks were dead.

    A few moments later, his world was pain. An explosion went off above the battle, rock falling on friend and foe alike. He tried to take cover, but what cover is there to take in the middle of a battle?

    True darkness took him._

    Several days later…

    Malak awoke to hear the sounds of stone being moved aside, and was it gnomish? Yes, definitely gnomish, his ears struggling to distinguish sounds after being nearly deafened by that cave-in.

    (G) Oi! You farkers gonna come let me outta this stone coffin, or do I gotta eat my way out?

    _The gnomes, if that's what they were, seemed to discuss something amongst themselves, and a few moments later a great weight was lifted off him like it was nothing. Once his vision cleared, he could see a massive Earth Elemental, moving about the battlefield, and yes indeed, there were gnomes. Rock gnomes, to be precise.

    Apparently their city wasn't too far from here, they'd felt the reverberations of the cave-in, and had come to investigate after some debate between elders. His head was still rattled, but a few blessings of healing from the gnomish priest who had come along saw that fixed up, along with his wounds.

    Malak brushed himself off, and took a moment to take stock of the situation. Crossbow, Chainshirt, Maul, check. Kin? Those who were still there were dead… he was the only one they'd found alive so far. The bastard grimlocks were dead as well, but there was no sign of any drow. Damnable bastards, always pulling some shenanigan.

    There was no sign of Alabastyr, or some of the others though. Perhaps they'd escaped! Muttering his thanks to the gnomes for their rescue, he began to scout around the edges of the battlefield, looking for dwarven tracks leading away from there.

    He found them, heading east. Burying kin was a good and proper thing to do, but he had to get back to the living before he could honour the dead properly. He needed a priest or priestess to say the rites. And so he set off, not looking back._

  • ICC

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