A link of music to set up the mood:
This is a tale from a man who had retired from the war upon the mountain, but not the war within. Atop the peaks of Ellador stood a regiment of Dwarves and Orcs that kept close watch over the main entrance, just above the ballistas. It was a normally easy job, as they mostly just had to ensure no Isldar would creep over the mountainside during a sky-battle, which was a relatively rare occurrence in the past. On this day, however, a truly rare thing happened indeed: Nikkidroth lived.
Nikkidroth Bristlemail; unit #12 of 34, the last Dwarf in a line of 12. That was exactly who Nikki was at the time. While many knew him by name, the soldiers called each other by number instead of by name so that the Isldar who kidnapped Humorrin could get no information aside from where a soldier was in a sea of hammers and honour. This could be deemed as emotionally draining to most, but to Nikki, this was now his life.
The horrors of snow and ice had been sieging the Hold of Grebor for months now, making any and every able-bodied Dwarf and Orc destined to live and die by the hammer. Wyverns and javelins flew through the sky with a danger greater than that of the hail and gale-force winds that roared through the day and night of Ellador's highest peaks. When none of the above were present, Dwarves more dead than dust and corpses more damned than a Vampire were clambering up the frigid rocks in hopes of bringing more into their ranks. This day in particular had the relentless winds and powerful Wyverns screaming through the sky. There stood a regiment of 12 Humorrin Vasarans and 22 Orcish mercenaries of many different backgrounds at the peak of Grebor, huddling together to keep themselves warm. Of the 12 Vasarans, 8 of them were mere Fighters (javelins weren't as dangerous to the armoured Dwarves as the folk tales would have you hear), whereas the Orcs were mighty barbarians (surely of a Warrior stance) that were willing to trade their lives for any coin that was drenched in blood. They stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking the Hold's entrance, standing guard while they could hold up their shields to protect themselves from the hail of javelins from both the Isldar and their own siege-machine fire. This alone made quick work of those who weren't fast enough protect themselves, ending the lives of multiple Orcs and Isldar riders who refused to carry armour or a shield of any kind.
Nikkidroth went out into the battle today with the knowledge that his mother was watching over him. While he was-- and had been for a while-- an adult, there was something relieving about knowing that someone he trusted was helping to aim and fire the siege-bows at the encircling dragons. He had the belief that his mother was never going to miss a single shot, and technically, he was right; the one shot she personally fired tore right through the left wing of one of the Wyverns. While the Dwarves cheered upon seeing the dragons slowly backing away, their celebration was ended as soon as it had begun as the Wyvern falling out of the sky came right for them. Unlike last time, the soldiers quickly scattered and managed to get themselves out of the landing zone. Before Nikkidroth dove and sank into the snow, he saw the Isldar rider topple off of his mount only moments before the ground thundered with the weight of the dragon crashing down upon it.
A time of complete silence fell upon the regiment. The world held its breath, halting its gusting winds for just a moment while no one had fully perceived what was the fate of the Frost Horror and his mount. After almost ten seconds of tension, the soldiers breathed a sigh of relief.
This was the last breath some of them ever took.
The dragon reared its head out of the snow, wailing and flailing in pain as it tried to protect itself. Nikkidroth was aggressively ripped out of the ice as an Orc brought him back up to his feet; just in time to see many of the rookie Vasarans get beaten off of the cliff-side as the creature's wings summoned a hurricane of hate. The Orcs had been used to fighting creatures as strong as this, but not ones as fierce. They cast their nets and hooks over the dragon, struggling to try and bring it down onto its belly. The Dwarves that remained ran right into the fray, slamming down their hammers upon the wings, tail, and feet of the monster. Many were caught in the teeth of the Wyvern, which made horrifyingly short work of steel armour and meaty skin. Meanwhile, the Orcs were slipping and sliding around all over the snow and ice as their weight was failing to keep them on their feet. Nikkidroth rushed into battle, grabbing on to the ankles of one particularly half-green companion that almost toppled over the side of the mountain, narrowly saving him. The same could not be said about a few others. Right after this, he focused all of his offensive might into charging the dragon's left leg, swinging at whatever joints and soft spots he could find. In his negligence of perception, the Isldar rider that had toppled moments before hopped back up to his feet, thrusting his javelin at the right breast of Nikkidroth.
While the strike was true, the chain-mail beneath the many plates of armour he wore saved his life, but left him in a lot of pain. The sheer force of the blow sent Nikkidroth to his back once more, his eyes looking right into the sky as he had the wind knocked out of him. By the time he sat back up, the Wyvern was screaming in agony as the Orcs finally managed to bind it, stabbing and poking at the beast as violently as they could while the Dwarves began bombarding its head. The Isldar rider was thrown off of the cliff-side by the Half-Orc he had saved only moments before. The last Dwarf not caught in the teeth of the beast was suddenly torn away from the ground, shouting for help as another rider began to take him away from everything that Dwarf had fought for. Once the screams finally stopped from those that remained of the regiment, Nikkidroth peered over the ledge to see just how well his unit had protected the ballistas.
They didn't.
Only shattered machines and mangled corpses remained of the engineers and clockwork professors. The Wyvern that they had once thought to be retreating instead made a straight-shot for the main line of defense for the Dwarves. The machine his mother was once operating was now the remains of wood scrap and chain, but he could not find the remains of his own mother. Off in the distance were the riders slowly vanishing into the blizzards of Ellador, taking with them multiple Dwarvish bodies that were both dead and alive alike. He could only assume what was the usual; he would never see them again. The terror of the day did not end there, either. Nikkidroth turned around, going to count out what remained of his unit after the brutal fighting based on pairs and lone wolves alike.
1, 3, 5, 7... 9. Out of 34 soldiers, only 9 remained from the battle. 7 Orcs lay dead on the ground, 4 Dwarves were ripped to shreds, and everyone else had surely toppled off the mountain or had been kidnapped in the chaos. Nikkidroth could swear that he saw some feet hidden beneath the dragon, but given only an odd number of feet were left, he decided against checking. The corpses grunted and groaned as they tried to come back to life, but the bone horrors had already began freezing over as the merciless snowfall was the only burial that would be given to once great men. A realization-- rather suddenly at that-- came to Nikkidroth that he could no longer stay. Soon after he was brought back into the Hold with his wound tended to, he fled back to the soldier's sleeping quarters to retrieve his possessions, planning to run within the same hour he could finish packing. As a Vasaran soldier, he lives only to protect others of his kind. As of the moment, he no longer had a reason to live in this cold world any longer even though he wanted one. His mother was taken, his regiment was decimated, his chest was greatly wounded, and worse yet...
He was the last Dwarf in a line of 12.
(( This is the story of Nikkidroth deciding to leave Grebor and come to Regalia. The only usable character (at the moment), Nikki, was a part of this among many battles in his past. If there are lore inconsistencies or things I should definitely not have, please tell me and I will modify this accordingly! ))
Bullets for the TL;DR folk:
Bullets for the TL;DR folk:
- Nikkidroth begins the day with 12 other Dwarves, mostly rookies, and 22 Orcs at the top of Grebor as guards during a raid, protecting a line of ballistas (one of which is manned by Nikkidroth's mother). 3 Orcs die during the crossfire of javelins since they refused to wear armour.
- 1 Wyvern and his rider are knocked out of the sky, but they both live.
- 6 Dwarves, all rookies, are knocked off of the mountain while 7 Orcs are slain when trying to restrain the Wyvern.
- Nikkidroth saves a Half-Orc and begins attacking the Wyvern, but he is wounded by the Isldar rider.
- The Isldar rider is thrown off of the mountain by the same Half-Orc Nikkidroth saved, and the Wyvern is soon slain after due to severe blood-loss.
- The ballistas are destroyed during the second wave, and the remaining Dwarvish engineers and soldiers are kidnapped while they try fighting back. Nikkidroth wasn't taken because he was laying down, the riders thinking he was dead.
- Nikkidroth decides to flee as he finds that 25 of his 34 person regiment is slain (10 Orcs mutilated, 4 Orcs tossed off the mountain (14 Orcs), 4 Dwarves mutilated, 6 Dwarves tossed off the mountain, 1 Dwarf kidnapped and assuredly later tortured to death (11 Dwarves)).
