Death comes to the fortress
The weaponsmith smiled to himself as he strode down the long winding stairway into the guts of the mountain. Custom made facilities - multiple smelters, all providing him with steel and fuel, all dedicated to him creating his masterfully forged weapons. New sleeping quarters, walled off from the cavern. Yes! The cavern! It was on this level wasn't it? Curious, he took a few steps. He'd just peer in, see the vast expanse before it was walled off. He had heard Ludwig, that miner who'd been here since the very start, reporting the find to Persephone. It was bound to be a spectacle! Maybe he would inlay it on a blade in the productive years to come. Surely it would be a sight not rivalled for the rest of his days!
The hunter moved silently through the cavern, crossbow ready. Death could come swiftly here, he knew that, but it called to him. Hunting above ground was easy, and dull. Here he hoped to find more worthwhile prey.
No other dwarves had trod this section. He'd had warnings not to remain here too long, lest the masons walled it off behind him. This was wild cavern, where real dwarves should be, and those other, *civilised* dwarves would die quickly.
A flash of movement, and he raised and fired instinctively. The beast reeled back, a bold embedded in its guts. A blur of scales and it was gone. Silently drawing another bolt, he slid after it, recognising it as a cave crocodile, realising that if his instincts had failed him he would not have got a second shot.
He saw vomit - partially digested fish, and...other things. He'd wounded it greviously. Now to finish the kill. There it was! Thwang! A shard of bone split out of the lizard's leg, seperating scales. Thwang! a bolt thudded into another leg. Vomit spewed from the cave crocodile's mouth as it stumbled round another corner. The hunter stepped around the corner a few moments later, and took careful aim. Thwang! "The cave crocodile's heart is split by the iron bolt". It took 3 more steps, then slumped, and died. The hunter slung his crossbow over his shoulder, and moved to pick up his kill. He grinned a smile, more terrifying than anything the recently deceased croc had ever managed. Dwarves would toast the name of Dave Morgan, when they dined on fresh croc meat in the coming days.
The metalsmith peered out. It was enormous. Spanning out before him, filled with tall fungi-trees, with wispy cave spider nets dangling, seductively harmless in appearence. He shivered, imagining for a second the kind of beast that spun those webs. He turned, to return to the stairs and his new forge.
As he did so a movement caught his eye, and he turned back. And screamed. A huge beast, horned, with thick leathery green skin loomed in front of him, tusks jutting upwards from its slobbering mouth. The weaponsmith was no coward, and aimed a punch at the things thigh, level with his head. The thing grunted slightly, and lumbered forwards, first swinging it's hand at his torso, breaking a rib, then ramming him, so dwarf and troll went over in a heap. The troll recovered first, and pinned the weaponsmith by his throat.
He flailed at it, not even bruising the skin, while its grip constricted around his neck, and he started seeing stars. His vision grew dimmer, and he barely heard the things fetid breathes rasping in and out as it gleefully throttled him. What of the fortress? What would they do against such a beast? His thoughts turned, lazily now, to friends who were surely doomed by the same giant hands that he was.
Thwang!
Thwang!
Thwang!
The troll grunted, and turned to see a single dwarf, aiming for a fourth shot. It turned to finish the other dwarf, its simple mind overloaded with the new situation.
Thwang!
Thwang!
Now it was hard to breath, and it felt sick. It gripped the other dwarf harder and harder.
Thwang!
And then it's hands relaxed, as it slumped unconscious to the ground, just as a metal dwarf stumbled down the stairs and into the corridor.
The metalsmith felt the troll roll off him, and saw a militiadwarf standing over it. He recognised the sword - it was fine steel, and he'd put such an edge on it as to...as to...
"The troll's lower body comes off, and flies away in an arc"
Everything would be okay. Everything would be fine. Why can't I breathe? Why can't I breathe? Oh gods, my windpipe! I can't breathe
The metalsmith looked pleadingly up at the two standing dwarves. Then he slumped sideways.
The recruit stayed standing over him for several minutes, unable to help but unsure what else to do. Dave shrugged, picked up his crocodile, and began walking up the stairs. Caverns were dangerous.