Just as there are giants, there are also dwarves in the Lands Between. These men of small stature, only reaching up to a human’s chest, find it hard to subsist in this world of the tall. Being so short, there is little that they can do that the larger races can’t also, and it is obviously much more inconvenient for them as well. As a result, it is impossible for these dwarven men to gain decent employment based on merit, their poverty reflected in the patchwork nature of their clothes and equipment. This naturally causes human society to look down on them in every sense. Subjected to scorn for their physically lowly existence, their only choice is to embrace a metaphorically lowly existence also. Thus was the vulgar militia born. Despite the English name, these “base soldiers” (卑兵) aren’t a citizens’ army so much as mercenaries. Whether it is the most stomach-turning aftermath to a battle or a place so dangerous it is better left forgotten, they are willing to act as its guardians. They take on the most dishonorable work that no one else will or, for their clients, can afford to.

Fortunately for the little men of charcoal skin, they excel in these jobs. The militia prefers sickles chained to morning star flails and polearm saws or scythes to bleed out their opponents, even carrying kukris to that same end. What they cannot make up for in strength, they make up for in wiliness, using their light frames to jump and twist so as to better slit throats or debilitate knees. If draining the blood doesn’t work, they always have trick caltrops ready to slowly choke intruders with poison gas. Either way, they will be there, waiting to ambush after throwing a smoke bomb to further disorient their prey. Again, humans may find such methods dishonorable, but it gets the job done, and for the militia’s clients, that is all that matters. Patrons can also appreciate that they are so thorough — when apparently guarding the Grand Lift of Rold, one unit blocks the way from both the Forbidden Lands above and the Hidden Path to the Haligtree below. With soldiers even taking the time to tame baby land octopuses infesting the watery catacomb, you can trust them to give the duty their all.

This vulgar militia have certainly enjoyed a long history of work. Guard duty for the various units has gone back as far as the Cliffbottom Catacombs, no doubt hired by sorcerers to keep any outsiders from discovering and leaking the high treason against the Greater Will being researched there. The Erdtree kingdom likewise sought their services when embarking on their crusade against the Hornsent. Dressing in a shadowy new executioner’s uniform for their station under Messmer, the soldiers found the perfect place for themselves in the Realm of Shadow, patrolling now forbidden land where corpses rot in the fields of battle. Besides their watch over the Shadow Keep and its Specimen Storehouse, the petite troops have also been stationed outside catacombs, otherwise only collecting the poison from the bogs below Pillar Cross Pass for their caltrops which they throw in place of smoke bombs. They were also hired by Maliketh, the vassal beast sharing the power of Destined Death and later his incantations as Gurranq to secure their loyalty as bodyguards alongside the Blackblade Kindred.

Armor of base soldiers, dark like shadow.

The ill-odorous ruins of battlefields none dare approach, or forbidden areas that should be forgotten.

If those are the base soldiers’ places to belong, the Land of Shadow is probably truly appropriate.

Morgott especially loves to employ the tiny sellswords. Not trusting an imp statue seal to keep Godefroy locked away, he has a few soldiers additionally block the main route to the Golden Lineage Evergaol — evidently, the rancor-harvesting revenant servant fighting alongside them isn’t a concern. The Omen King employed even more to guard the Sealed Tunnel, securing the Divine Tower of West Altus from would-be Great Rune robbers. Another unit was hired to oversee mining operations in the Ruin-Strewn Precipice, perhaps as a counterbalance to the Cuckoos who only recently switched sides to him. Considering the Grace-Veiled Monarch’s past use of mercenaries, this rampant outsourcing of labor doesn’t come as a surprise, especially when he cannot risk soldiers needed to defend the royal capital. If anything, the honor of serving Morgott shows that the militia’s jobs don’t need to be most vulgar.

That hasn’t stopped other factions in the Shattering from rendering their services. The Redmanes have installed vulgar militia as Gaol Cave’s wardens, managing the prisoners and maybe even the experiments as they see fit. The soldiers’ drab watch has had but one interruption, which is the frenzied duelist already inhabiting the deepest reaches of the cave. The bodies strewn about the boss room confirm that the militia are already aware of this madman lurking in the shadows, yet failed to bring the old gladiator down. They have recovered some of their comrades, but clearly there are still bodies to add to the pile, and ultimately, the unit agreed to just haphazardly board up the cavern entrance and lock the area behind another gate a few troops stand guard by. Then there are always the odd jobs, like helping Adan keep the Fire Monks and others from discovering his hiding place in the Malefactor’s Evergaol. By and large, they aren’t picky about who their client is, so long as they presumably pay.

One might think that the base men both in stature and character would be satisfied with their current lot in life, though they still have a complex about their height; the pointed helmets help the militia bridge the gap between them and humans just that slightly more. Indeed, they go to the extra effort to dismember their foes after death with those bloody saws, leading to rumors of man-eating. No one has actually seen this, however, and they don’t ever attempt to eat our raw flesh. More likely, they just want to cut humans down to size, an outlet for the life of jeering they endure. They are certainly sadistic, cackling all the while attacking. If this is their small revenge against the tall, the soldiers take full pleasure in it. Perhaps it was the big folk who made them this way, but the little pygmies have truly justified others’ low opinion of them. Their fate is to forever be mistrusted with anything but the scraps. But at this point, what should they care? If scorn is their malady, cheer is their cure. No one can take that away from them.

Weapon which attaches a saw to the tip of a long handle. Choice weapon of base soldiers who force bleeding with saw the blade.

The saw is used for even the dead’s dismemberment, and the base soldiers are rumored to eat them. None have ever seen it though.

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