Barak Ongazi - Storm at the Gates
posted on 2017-05-31 01:27:21
posted on 2017-05-31 01:27:21
The steady beat of huge rawhide drums echoed through the valley. Whip cracks accompanied the low chant of a thousand goblins driven before the horde. They trudged over the decaying corpses of their former comrades--some stained with fresh blood other chewed by handfuls of maggots. The battle fury of the first assaults had abated, and only the will of their warboss still drove the waaaagh forward.
The Dwarven cannons kept silent, not wanting to waste precious shot on the innumerable goblins. Their stronger brethren advanced behind with rams and ladders in hand. Drooling trolls dragged stone throwers over the stony ground with many a thump. Behind the parapets, the Dwarves readied their crossbows.
The horde stopped and their chanting dwindled away. Across the plain, Freyr Fairhair peered over his defenses. The chatter of the greenskins reached his ear like a whisper of wind. He extended his looking glass and caught sight of a big boss draped in a bearskin. Both drums and rambling ceased as the orc began to bellow. Snatches of his guttural tongue reverberated over the walls.
Lodin Steelhorn paced on the rampart. The young dwarf hefted his axe.
"Why do they wait? Let them come! What is the ugly one saying, Lord Fairhair?"
"No Grobi ever said anything worth hearing," Freyr fumbled with his ear trumpet, "but I can try to make some sense of their orcish doggerel. A moment, please. He promises ruin. Something about a heap of skulls and a mountain of dirt. No. That can't have been it. Hard to make out the words. Now he's gabbing about skewering a pile of short folk. Wonder whether he thinks we're keeping halflings here."
A long roar rattled from the orc's throat. The horde shouted back and the force of their cry shook the wall. Twice more the warboss shouted and the greenskins echoed his words back. Then they began to chant three words again and again.
"Kill! Barbecue! Eat! Kill! Barbecue! Eat! Kill! Barbecue! Eat!"
Freyr wrapped his eardrum in a white cloth. "As I said, nothing worth listening to."
The horde marched and the earth trembled under their boots. Several marksdwarves raised their crossbows but Fairhair motioned them to wait. The chanting swelled louder.
"We've a few things worth hearing." Lodin raised an eyebrow as he smiled. The older dwarf nodded and began to sing. The others joined in and the low baritone settled into their bones like cast iron melting into shape.
"Sons of Grungi, look to morning
Can't you see the grobi burning?
Here our warrior steel is gleaming
On this battlefield."
A shower of quarrels burst from crossbows as handguns and cannons erupted into smoke. Greenskins squealed as they fell or died in a breath. The horde burst into a dash for the walls.
The Dwarves raised their axes. "For the fore-fathers!"
Behind the goblins, behind the orcs, behind ever the trolls at the drums, a thousand weary voices whispered as one. They whispered the single word remembered from life, the name of their ancient master.
"Nagash."
The Dwarven cannons kept silent, not wanting to waste precious shot on the innumerable goblins. Their stronger brethren advanced behind with rams and ladders in hand. Drooling trolls dragged stone throwers over the stony ground with many a thump. Behind the parapets, the Dwarves readied their crossbows.
The horde stopped and their chanting dwindled away. Across the plain, Freyr Fairhair peered over his defenses. The chatter of the greenskins reached his ear like a whisper of wind. He extended his looking glass and caught sight of a big boss draped in a bearskin. Both drums and rambling ceased as the orc began to bellow. Snatches of his guttural tongue reverberated over the walls.
Lodin Steelhorn paced on the rampart. The young dwarf hefted his axe.
"Why do they wait? Let them come! What is the ugly one saying, Lord Fairhair?"
"No Grobi ever said anything worth hearing," Freyr fumbled with his ear trumpet, "but I can try to make some sense of their orcish doggerel. A moment, please. He promises ruin. Something about a heap of skulls and a mountain of dirt. No. That can't have been it. Hard to make out the words. Now he's gabbing about skewering a pile of short folk. Wonder whether he thinks we're keeping halflings here."
A long roar rattled from the orc's throat. The horde shouted back and the force of their cry shook the wall. Twice more the warboss shouted and the greenskins echoed his words back. Then they began to chant three words again and again.
"Kill! Barbecue! Eat! Kill! Barbecue! Eat! Kill! Barbecue! Eat!"
Freyr wrapped his eardrum in a white cloth. "As I said, nothing worth listening to."
The horde marched and the earth trembled under their boots. Several marksdwarves raised their crossbows but Fairhair motioned them to wait. The chanting swelled louder.
"We've a few things worth hearing." Lodin raised an eyebrow as he smiled. The older dwarf nodded and began to sing. The others joined in and the low baritone settled into their bones like cast iron melting into shape.
"Sons of Grungi, look to morning
Can't you see the grobi burning?
Here our warrior steel is gleaming
On this battlefield."
A shower of quarrels burst from crossbows as handguns and cannons erupted into smoke. Greenskins squealed as they fell or died in a breath. The horde burst into a dash for the walls.
The Dwarves raised their axes. "For the fore-fathers!"
Behind the goblins, behind the orcs, behind ever the trolls at the drums, a thousand weary voices whispered as one. They whispered the single word remembered from life, the name of their ancient master.
"Nagash."
DulargSpineSnappaIronnose
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Posts: 139
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