Turn 5

Nabeel el-Amini reclined in the massive, pink velvet pillows which supported his rather scrawny physique, being fed grapes by one slave while another played music on the kanun. Sunlight seeped into the sultan's chambers through the mashrabiya windows, colored a soft red by curtains meant to keep the worst of the heat out. Nonetheless the air in the room was stifling, made bearable only by a third slave waving a fan the size of a grown man- which only the sultan profited from.

Another slave brought el-Amini a small, dark oaken box, brought by the messenger standing before the sultan. The master of Lashiek would never stoop to accepting a gift personally from the unwashed hands of a traveler- he would only accept things given to him by his slaves, whom he made sure were properly cleansed before handling his affairs.

The sultan pried open the box with his thin, bony fingers, greedily retrieving the trinket inside and holding it up to the light. It was a white pearl the size of a fist, eerily reflecting the red light bleeding into the chamber. Smiling for a moment, he put the small treasure away again, folding his hands, urging the traveler to speak.

'A gift, your excellency, from your friends in the Dragonback Expansion Effort. A token of appreciation for your continued support and friendship.'

The sultan snickered after the messenger's words had been translated. 'Of course,' he began, his words immediately repeated in Reikspiel by the aged interpreter. 'Tell them their gift is acceptable, and that I look forward to continuing our cooperation.'

The messenger smiled, first at the interpreter, then at the sultan. 'We are honoured by your support, sultan el-Amini. I take it we may expect your servants to join our efforts, then?'

'That you may,' the reply came. 'My corsairs will render the seas hostile to those who oppose you, and will accompany your soldiers into the tunnels, as long as any prisoners of war are turned over to their custody.' He smiled thinly. 'After all, it would be unwise to deny them their profits...'

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It seemed that, after the capture of Mount Bloodhorn by Waaagh! Grimlit, the warring factions retreated again to lick their wounds. The Marienburgers and Tileans of the Expansion Effort, their coffers laden with dwarven treasures stolen from Ekrund's seat of power, made a quick stop at Barak Kruti to replenish their losses with Arabyan corsairs and Tilean dogs of war. After this short reprieve they moved south, strengthening their grip on Gronti Mingol. Only feldoberst von Heidenmund had other plans; he traveled west, to Thragazi Zagazal, the slayer shrine. While it were his hands which had defiled this place of remembrance for the dwarven warriors, now he seemed intent on redeeming himself by restoring a measure of its riches to the area.

Meanwhile the dwarves, too, were focused on rebuilding rather than reclaiming. In the west and east, they shored up the defenses of Bar Drakk and the fortress which had become their stronghold, Ankor Drakk. Meanwhile, in the east, lord Freyr Fairhair slew the last of three wyverns keeping the gate out of dwarf hands. With this act the last of the northern gates was reclaimed, a feat not accomplished since the fall of Ekrund four thousand years ago. These were the lands ruled over by the Garudak lords, the vassals of the king, during Ekrund's heyday, and they were finally in dawi hands again.

Yet while the region was reclaimed, its halls were empty save for the soldiers patrolling the dust-filled corridors. The greenskins had been repelled, but traces of their defilement were still present. It would take great effort to restore life to these halls. Of all the Drekaz's halls, only Khaz Vithang was inhabited, providing shelter to the refugees from Mingol Varr. A temple was even raised there in honour of Valaya, the dwarven ancestor of hearth and home, who was named patron of Ekrund. It was a fitting choice, declaring to the world that the Dalazidrungak Drekaz wished to rebuild, rather than blindly butcher. Already the priestesses of Valaya trickled into the hold, tending to the needs of wounded soldiers.

Despite the dwarves' defensive approach, some gains were made. The dwarves Brask Alpsbane and Luthor led their throngs agains the greenskins at the Bitterstone Mines. No Dragonback goblins nested here- the greenskins who guarded these mines were left there by Waaagh! Grimlit. While the mines fell easily enough to the pair of dwarves, this marked the first true battle between the forces vying for control over Ekrund.

While their underlings were being slaughtered at the Bitterstone mines, the warbosses of Waaagh! Grimlit, too, retreated from the front lines in order to claim more lands to the southeast of the Dragonbacks. Mingol Dwe fell to them, as did the Dragonhorn mines. But while most of the Waaagh! busied itself clearing the area of the last of the Dragonback goblins, in the west Kaptain Blacksquig turned his band of pirates against Monte Castello, plundering the rich harbor and burning several docks before vanishing again, carrying a mighty haul of gold.

The most defining battle, however, the greenskins fought against themselves. Sick with Grimlit's failures, and sick of being bossed around by a mere goblin, the orc Dularg Spinesnappa Ironnose took it upon himself to kill the uppity warlord, and claim the title for himself.

And now, with the southeast secure, Waaagh! Dularg was free to pick its next victim...

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Three men looked up at the newly founded temple dedicated to Handrich. Obviously, it showed signs of dwarven architecture- while it had been in a thoroughly ruined state before its renovation began, the building had clearly once served as an inn. All dwarven iconography had been removed, however, to make room for the crossed fingers and golden coin of the god of trade.

'Looks nice enough,' one of the men remarked, wiping the sweat from his brow. 'Under the circumstances, I mean. You think the priests mind using an old dwarfish building?'

One of the others shrugged. 'Probably not. The old priest back home always said Handrich thinks the ends justified the means. So I bet they'll be more happy about getting a temple than they are upset about it being an old dwarf building. Besides, the dwarves used to make money here, didn't they?'

'Suppose you're right,' the first one said again. 'Now all it needs is a priest,' he finished, chuckling.

'Oh, that's right,' the third one now piped up. 'You know me cousin, who cooks for the generals? He told me he overhead one of their assistants talk about a priest coming in from back home!'

The other two raised their eyebrows. 'Didn't know we were big enough a community to attract them,' he said incredulously. 'Normally they don't go anywhere unless there's money to be made.'

'Then again,' the second joked, 'those old money-grubbers can make money anywhere.' This earned him a half-hearted laugh from the others. 'Even here!'

'Well, you won't hear me complain,' the third one said. 'Say what you will about Handrich's lot, but they are great for business. The other gods might protect, but the Dealer brings in the merchants and businessmen. And that means gold.'

'Right,' the first one said, 'not that we'll ever see one damned copper of it. Now come on, we still have to set up the altar. I want to be home before dark.'

The three men went inside, back to work, as the sun began to set on Handrich's temple, a clear signal to the world that trade ruled in Gronti Mingol.

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Khaz Vithang was the beating heart of the dwarves' new hold, its lifeblood the many refugees from Mingol Varr, as well as many of prince Aquila's subjects. Lorenzo's subjects and the dwarves formed a surprisingly tightly knit community- alone in the reclaimed but still dark and empty halls of Ankor Drakk, the new inhabitants of the hold had learned to work together.

Nothing could have prepared them for what came that day, however. Far above them, at the massive hall's ceiling, green energy began to build up, swirling and slowly forming a vortex, a hole of sorts, lined with floating debris and green lightning. The humans ran and the dwarves took cover, the memory of the massive foot stomping down on them, which had appeared through a similar portal, still fresh in their minds.

Nothing seemed to come at first, however. The vortex just hung there, with no foot coming out, and slowly the curiousity of men and dwarves won out over their caution.

In the silence of that moment, some later claimed to have heard the words "pull me finger!" coming from beyond the gate. Then a thick, foul green cloud was vomited from the hole, accompanied by high-pitched whine. Those who breathed in the gas fell to their knees, coughing and hacking. The cloud roiled through the hall, affecting all those who breathed the noxious vapor.

Most escaped the vile smoke, needing only several days of bedrest and never quite regaining their sense of smell. Some, however, never rose from where they fell, having suffocated on the stinking fumes.

And as the portal closed, some who were present could've sworn hearing the words "'scuse me!" being shouted through the portal...