A Tale of Silence and Thunder
In a small mining hamlet outside of the city of Nozkam there lived a family with two sons; brothers as close as any two boys could ever be. They were as close as blood could ever bring them, and yet they did not share blood. Not even race.
During the terrible raids by Shadows, a family of trolls was murdered, all but the youngest babe, which as mercy would have it was rescued by a neighboring family of dwarves, who adopted the young troll as their own child.
It was assumed that the troll babe had suffered a trauma from witnessing his parents death, because he never once spoke a word, and seemed slow to understand, but clever with his hands, so they named him Silence. The slowness and the lack of speech made the troll lad a bit of an outcast, all except for his adopted dwarf brother, Molhir.
The two were inseparable throughout their childhood, but soon they grew up, Molhir to a good dwarven stature of four foot six inches and Silence to a slouching ten feet tall. When the army came recruiting for brave soldiers to end the Shadow threat, Molhir joined the infantry, and Silence became a camp follower, doing odd jobs, chopping fire wood, working the bellows for the smiths.
And so the stage is set.
The Battle of Warrens
Molhir marched with the army, lockstep and shields at the ready, but it was hard to do so with a straight face while watching Silence skip like an overgrown child next to the army. They had met relatively little resistance from the Shadows, and being that he marched in the center of column, Molhir had yet to actually fight one, but he'd at least seen the bodies.
Silence had enjoyed the trip; he seemed immune to the feelings of dread that filled the rest of the army as he merrily split firewood with a troll sized maul.
Movement in the woods snapped Molhir out of his revere. Shadows! An ambush! As he took a breath to voice his warning, the sergeant bellowed out
"Shield Wall! Divide to the flanks! Support Group, enter Turtle formation!"
The training took over, Molhir snapped to his right and locked his shield with the dwarf next to him, spear out and resting on the shoulder of the dwarf in front of him. The shadows leaped out at the first line of speardwarves, only to be impaled on the points or bashed to the ground by a wall of shields. Mohir felt like he was going to be sick as he saw a shadow's skull and brain matter turn into a pulpy mess by a particularly savage shield strike, but he held his position firmly.
~----~
Molhir finished throwing up after the battle. His stomach felt a little bit better, but his pride felt a whole lot worse. Silence offered him a bowl of what passed for soup in the army camp with a silent grin.
"Don't you start with me too brother dearest"
Silence stared at him with a chastened look on his face, and Molhir took the soup.
"Sorry I snapped at you, I just don't really know how I'm going to get through a full battle if I vomit every time I see the insides of one of those monsters"
Molhir stared at the soup for a brief moment, and handed it back to Silence.
~----~
Finally! The Warrens, the source of the vile Shadows and the end of them is nigh!
"Molhir! Your squad is to hold back and guard the baggage train!"
Outwardly, Molhir cursed and lamented the lack of glory like the rest of his squad mates, but on the inside he praised the Stone for her mercy.
The other squads locked shield and made their heroic march into the tunnels, side by side with the screaming, wild orc troops. Molhir was glad to let them have their glory, with any luck he wouldn't have to see any more blood for the rest of his days. The rest of his squad took turns between gambling and standing watch, but Molhir went looking for his brother, and was just barely in time to see Silence slip into the mouth of one of the shadowy tunnels.
"Silence! No!"
Molhir had no choice but to follow his surprisingly quick troll brother, into the shadows.
~----~
Molhir may have been a dwarf, and grown up in a mining town, and so the underground held no fear for him, the darkness little enough of an obstacle. But dwarf tunnels made sense. There was a pattern. These tunnels made
no sense to poor Molhir, and he became lost in a matter of moment, with no idea where Silence had gotten to.
"I'm going to die here. I tried everything I could, and I'm still going to get eaten alive by monsters."
One of the shadows on the wall coalesced into a more solid looking form and threw itself at the unaware Molhir. Claws and teeth shredded into his flesh, and he screamed like a little dwarf girl.
The feeling of a coming wind.
There was a
whoosh and a
crack and the shadow became a bloody smear on the wall, its tooth filled head
exploded between the stone wall and a troll sized maul.
Silence grinned dumbly at Molhir, then darted back down the tunnel.
Molhir stared for a moment at the blood, and then where his brother had run off too. He vomited, then ran down the tunnel after Silence.
~----~
Molhir had a much easier time tracking his brother now, as they reach the occupied tunnels all he had to do was follow the trail of annihilated bodies. Eventually they reached a chamber, where Silence stood staring at a locked battle, the dwarven troops holding back the shadows while a
massive orc with a glowing axe battled a true Horror, its black cloak whirling, every creature it touched was hurled backwards, friend and foe a like.
Silence charged it. And was batted back despite his massive size.
Molhir ran to his brother, who for the very first time Molhir had ever seen, looked angry. Silence's first sound was a murderous howl that rivalled the loudest thunderclap Molhir had ever heard, picked up his dwarven brother, and
threw him at the Horror.
Molhir had never been so very terrified in his entire existence, as when he was hurtling through the air, as a monster from legend. Only by the grip of dwarf to scared to let go, was Molhir able to hold on to his spear, and only by the very luck of the Stone itself, did that spear erupt from the face of the back turned Horror.
Molhir stood up, shaking for all he was worth, and the first sight to meet him are the bloodshot eyes of a furious Orc.
"You stole my kill" he whispered deadly quiet.
Molhir... wet himself.
"Y-y-y-you c-c-can h-h-have it-t-t"
The Orc took his great glowing axe, and removed the head of the Horror, then helping up a falling orc, cried out Victory!
The Orcs swarmed around their leader, declaring him their savior and the greatest son or some such, and the Dwarven troops hoisted Molhir up on their shoulders, still not higher than Silence, cheering him the victor! His sergeant was there as well, and looked him dead in the eye,
"I always thought you were a cowardly little sh*t, but you disobeyed my orders just to kill the Horror? You've got bigger stones than I ever knew!"
On the march home and at the victory feasts the soldiers all told stories about Molhir, whom after the fierce battle cry they heard they named Thunder, how he leaped farther than any other dwarf could have to slay the Horror, and avenge his wounded troll brother, and how afterwords he stared the Strongest Son dead in the eyes! Then, in his modesty he told the Strongest Son that he could take the trophy! On the return they had found a tunnel, than no troop and marched down, but was
filled with dead shadows, completely obliterated skulls, all done by one dwarf! He much have the strength of a troll!
The legend of Silence and Thunder is born, but by no means over.
)
Great stories, both of you. Good to see both sides of the battle, let's just hope that your civs never have to agree on which one is true!
