First on the agenda: psychological warfare. All workshops were ordered to produce as many random trinkets made from the corpses of our enemies as possible.
Next, ceremonial beatings for the new arrival. The fertility of the dwarves in this fortress is rather frightening, to be frank.
After that, I laid the groundwork for breaking the dam in the river. This would obviously be done at a later date when we aren't all being killed, but it's a start.
Then, the real plan started. I ordered the bridge into the fortress repaired, and a lever to be built beside it. While most of the fortress opposed this project, I took great pains to assure them I had a plan (and had Charlie72 build the bridge while I distracted them).
A beak dog made a break for the entrance the moment Charlie72 laid down his tools, just as I had anticipated, and Private Veinless rushed out to meet it.
Have you ever seen a dwarf beat a beak dog to death with nothing but a shield and his enormous brass balls? I hadn't until then.
For once, my plan seemed to be going off without a hitch. As the goblin camps swarmed forward to attack the fortress now that I'd given them an opening, their movements attracted the attention of the demon flocks, who swooped down upon them. The pteranodon lead the charge, howling and screaming as gray dust boiled forth from its maw.
A few goblins tried to flee, but those caught in the clouds of dust began to collapse and gasp for air in seconds, their bodies betraying them as the pteranodon leisurely walked between their prone bodies and tore them apart with fang and talon.
Meanwhile, the Fiends of Snow had found Veinless.
As anticipated, any blunt trauma to the beasts knocked huge chunks of their snowy bodies away, Veinless dancing away from their sluggish blows.
Until they pinned him up against the wall.
At least the bastards will have something to remember us by.
Despite my extremely strict "under pain of not being crippled when Judgement Day comes" orders, a few idiotic dwarves decided that now was the best time to loot the battlefield.
They realized the error of their ways quickly.
OmegaDarkcat actually charged the pteranodon devouring the paralyzed goblins, and fled once its attention turned to new prey. He actually evaded the demon's breath for an impressive sprint, but was caught in the cloud you can see forming near him.
The results were...less than pretty.
After biting off OmegaDarkcat's head, the beast intercepted another squad of goblins at the entrance. They put up a brave fight, for Tree-fucking greenskins, but fell to the deadly clouds one by one. The time from contact to full paralysis could be measured in heartbeats.
The beast, which we dubbed Slitheredlow due to its sinuous and cunning nature, had wounds all over it, but they only served to enrage it and send it into a frenzy as they sealed up before my eyes. Some more recruits rushed in, desperate to kill the beast and the incapacitated goblins while they were weakened from fighting.
It did not go well.
Even Vadoc, who was so strong he was able to punch through a goblin's skull, inhaled a whiff of the dust cloud and collapsed long enough for the demons to slaughter him.
TravBot tried to grapple with Slitheredlow, and got torn in half for his efforts. I realized that no number of recruits thrown at the beast would kill it, so I changed plans.
I shifted focus from the massacre at the gate to try to deal with a particularly deadly but mangled Fiend of Snow lurking near the walls, hopefully away from the danger of the dust clouds.
I had to change plans again when Slitheredlow sprung an ambush on the drawbridge.
Up close to the fortress I could see the dust closer. It was actually a hail of snow-like clumps that clung to the target and rapidly began boiling after short contact with the air, releasing gas that could incapacitate even without skin contact. So long as you were in the general area when it was released, you were fucked.
Recruits piled into the entrance only to get ripped apart one by one, before Slitheredlow apparently grew bored during a lull and flew back toward the fleeing goblin squads.
The battlefield was eerily quiet.
There were only three or four invaders left that we could see, most of them in the process of fleeing for their lives from Fiends or Slitheredlow.
The demons, bizarrely, have decided not to push the offensive on our fortress for the moment. I know for certain they could bash down our temporary door if they wanted to, but they almost seem to get a sadistic pleasure out of prolonging the inevitable. I fear I've only traded one menace for a far more cunning and powerful one, and I dread the day they grow tired of playing with us.
In accordance with the Lore, I have dubbed our nemesis Slitheredlow the Loyal Scrap, for if you want a fight, she will always be happy to oblige.
Grey Hunter wrote :-
So decided to see what the most common causes of death were. the numbers are a bit rough, but you can get the idea.
