Turn 4

Lack of the unexpected can spell death to a story, or to those who follow you

'Sergeant, take ten men and clear that hall! Sfaroza, pick up a chisel and remove those writings! You three, there's carts that need to be taken back to Barak Kruti, so get to it! We don't have all day!'

A nearby explosion caused feldoberst von Heidenmund to flinch momentarily, before a wide grin appeared underneath his well-groomed moustache. The noise signaled that his men had finally breached the Dawi vault, no doubt laden with treasure untouched by the Dragonback goblins. Some wards proved too strong for goblin hands, but they would fall short against human engineering!

The wizard, Kaspar van Gelding, waited for him ahead, as did the mercenary Atlas and lady Anya. They, too, were busy directing their men. Operation: Blackfire needed to create as much profit in as little as time possible. While the dwarves were strangely absent, scouts had delivered reports of Waaagh! Grimlit
making their move against Mount Bloodhorn.

Mathi's plan was not intended to oppose the Waaagh!'s advance- if the orcs wanted the old keep so badly, then let them have it. As long as the Expansion Effort first extracted every bit of gold from the mountain they could find. When the enemy got here, all they'd find would be some rather upset Dragonback goblins- the Effort would be long gone. Minimal risk to their own assets, and maximum profit- a good plan indeed. The fact that the dwarves would be sorely distraught to find their ancient home emptied was simply a nice bonus.

A long note from a signal horn caused the men of the Effort to momentarily lay down their tools and plunder. Twice the horn was sounded, and all knew what the twin notes indicated. Mathi walked up to his fellow generals, and nodded, his eyes stern. 'Right then, enemy in sight. We all know what that means.'

The gold wizard replied first, his sonorous voice booming through the hall. 'Indeed. We have what we came for- even some runic items, which I look forward to study. Our coffers are full, and the enemies' will run dry. Sound the retreat.'

The three other generals nodded, and walked away, barking orders at their troops.

Operation: Blackfire pass was a success.

===========

Victory is not always measured in blood- sometimes, it is measured in gold. It is an old saying, attributed to a Tilean general who's name has been lost to time. The saying is a logical result of Myrmidian doctrine- to hit the enemy where they are weakest. Soon after the Effort's troops left Mount Bloodhorn via Barak Kruti, Waaagh! Grimlit invaded Ekrund's ancient seat of power, only to find that much of its wealth had been taken- their victory diminished.

Meanwhile, the men of Marienburg made off with their stolen plunder, losing only a few men to the Dragonback goblins. And when they returned to Barak Kruti, they found the permanent camp set up there by Atlas had attracted a great many number of Tileans and Arabyans, ready to negotiate a price for their enlistment...

While the wealth of Mount Bloodhorn was vastly diminished by the time the Waaagh! arrived, they claimed the city nonetheless. Supported by a large number of Dragonback goblins, who'd rather accept shinies and fight for the Waaagh! than be crushed by it, the hordes of goblins led by Borag, Dularg and the resident warboss Gobzag Grotwrangler gleefully smashed aside the last few goblins who refused to serve under Grimlit. Ekrund's crown city was theirs, and while the sight of empty halls was somewhat disappointing, the addition of dung heaps and filthy banners soon made the place feel a lot more like home.

Further south, the greenskins who had remained at the First Delve found themselves bossed around by a sickly pale gobbo- after he'd put down several attempts on his life by ambitious underlings, of course. Skirgit Crowbait, goblin warboss of the Bone Locust tribe, felt rather pleased with his new position. While Borag and Dularg were doing the heavy lifting, Nabba was throwing rocks at a fort outside the mountains, and da Kaptain was doing Mork knows what up north, he had a cozy job lording over the gobbos in what was possibly the safest place in the greenskin territory. Still, it wouldn't do to sit idly by while there were enemies outside, and so he had the mine's entrances boarded up a bit. Whether he'd open them again for Borag and the others remained to be seen...

While the humans and greenskins plotted in the south, the Dalazidrungak Drekaz secured the northern parts of the mountains. Fearing for the safety of the dwarves in Mingol Varr, lord Ironhelm had these beardlings and venerable craftsmen moved to the relative safety of Khaz Vithang, within range of his armies, much to their chargin and accompanied by mutterings of never retreating back in the old days. The seaside city was left an empty husk, both its population and its wealth moved away, just in case a certain orc pirate decided to turn his black sails towards Mingol Varr.

While the settlers brought new life to Khaz Vithang, the dwarven throngs secured all access points to this, their new inner hold. Rakam Ironhammer led the reclamation of Barak Gorm, securing the path for Mingol Varr's refugees. In this he was aided by two new thanes; Brask Alpsbane, a northern dwarf from Kraka Drak, and Luthor Steelhorn, both fought bravely to rid Ekrund's northernmost gate of the spiders, squigs and worse which hade made their nests there.

Meanwhile lord Ironhelm and his thane, lord Fairhair, moved to secure the last of the northern gates still unclaimed by the Drekaz, Barak Ongazi. Unfortunately their efforts were not as successful as that of their kin at Barak Gorm, as a trio of wyverns, which apparently roosted high above the gate, attacked and threw the throng's plans into disarray. Two of the fell beasts were slain, yet the dwarves could not best the third, and fell back to the safety of the hold. Nonetheless, the beast was wounded, and the dwarves vengeful- no doubt the creature will join its kin in death before long...

==========

Prince Lorenzo Aquila smiled as the first of his subjects arrived at Bar Drakk. Yes, this would make an excellent home, he thought, looking up at the imposing dwarven architecture. Much better than that mud hole he had called home for so long. He felt good about himself- siding with the dwarves had been a gamble, but it had paid off. Where else would he have found a dwarven hold, with a small nook for him to settle his people?

The blaring of a trumpet woke the prince from his thoughts. In an instant, his nurturing thoughts of building something for his people here were set aside to deal with the reality announced by the trumpet signal; an incoming attack. Lorenzo rushed from his place by the gate to take up position among his men, who already formed lines to deal with the threat. They knew what was coming- they'd been training for days to take on this threat.

Blacksquig.

The orc pirate had fought his way past their blockade some time ago, and had harried the prince's camp ever since- apparently not finding any sport up or down the Black Gulf, or simply finding himself without a ship. Either way, Lorenzo was glad. Not at the propect of fighting the legendary orc again, mind you- that part, he was very much unhappy about. But since there had been a real possibility that the orc would attack Mingol Varr, an undefended dwarf outpost, having him fight his men here instead was certainly preferable, and incidentally provided an opportunity to prove his worth to his dwarf allies.

He could see the orc now, parading in front of his band of orcs- few in number, but massive in size. With them stood a band of night goblins, no doubt natives to the Dragonbacks who had decided to follow the orc boss around. Lorenzo waited. Rushing the orcs in an unorderly fashion would be suicide- better to have the greenskins charge his shield wall and see them break on it.

Suddenly the prince noticed something peculiar- the wind was picking up... From all sides at once? Confused, he and some of his more perceptive men began looking around, until finally Lorenzo had the presence of mind to look up- and gasped.

In the skies above him, the clouds began to roil with green arcs of lightning, forming a vortex looming dangerously over his subjects, a hole in the skies. Then, the unthinkable happened.

A massive green foot burst from the sky and smashed down on his people, once, again, and a third time. His men cried out in fear, and Lorenzo, for a moment, was stunned.

The moment did not last long. While the ghostly foot pounded the landscape, Lorenzo shouted new orders to his lieutenant.

'Take charge here!' he called out, over the roar of the gale and the tremors caused by the foot. 'I need to deal with this!' Or rather, he thought, find someone who can.

Lorenzo ran back to the gate as fast as his armor allowed, all the while seeing his people being crushed and dragged through the sand by the translucent giant foot. He allowed himself no pity despite the cries of those caught underfoot, for he needed to appear in control to the people he passed. Appear being the operative word.

Finally he reached the gate, where he found the one man he knew could end this madness. 'Lucio!'

The old man watched the unholy spectacle with as much dread as any man present, but there was something more in his eyes. Indecision, as if he had a plan in mind, but was unsure whether he should follow through with it. That indecision turned to doubt as Lorenzo shouted his command. 'Do it!'

The old priest of Ranald clutched his old fingers around his god's holy symbol- a pair of dice. 'My prince,' the man spoke in a feeble voice once Lorenzo was close enough to hear, all he could muster in his advanced age. 'Are you certain? The Protector will help us, but the Trickster... He might ask for a terrible price.'

Lorenzo stared at the man for a moment. Then, without a doubt, he spoke his command. 'Any scenario more terrible than losing our people to a giant foot is something I'd rather not imagine.'

The priest nodded, then knelt, holding the dice up to his face. He whispered a prayer to them, which Lorenzo did not hear due to the howling wind. Only the priest heard his words- and, hopefully, his god.

He cast the dice, his eyes filled with fear as they clattered on the stone steps.

And then he smiled.

Double six.

Immediately the foot stopped smashing and grinding, retreating up into the vortex as if it had stepped on something sharp- and for a moment Lorenzo thought he could hear a faint "ouch" booming from the hole in the sky. Meanwhile in the greenskin's ranks, something shrieked during the sudden silence, and a light pop announced that a shaman's head had burst.

And from his position at the gates, Lorenzo could hear the orcs...

Laughing?

With a grim look in his eyes, the prince drew his blade. 'Tend to our people, Lucio- I have a battle to lead.'