Turn 8

Like the message read between the lines,
it is the hidden foe who has the greatest impact

King Durak Ironhelm stood at the head of his throng, his army spanning the breadth of the wide tunnel leading south and downward from Mount Bloodhorn to the First Delve. Scouts had reported that a splinter of Waaagh! Dularg, led by the Deffless shaman Borag and his accomplice, Sneakin' Nabba, had left the safety of their barricades in the mines below. In the distance, the dwarf king could already see the reddish light of greenskin torches spreading across the darkness, like spilled blood welling up from a gangrenous wound.

And yet, the king was calm. In fact, he was quite content. For thousands of years, his family had maintained their claim of kinship to Ekrund's royalty, and now he was so close to cementing that claim. To avenging the Ekrundfolk, whom's bones had been gnawed on by the squigs, their works defaced by goblins, for far too long. All that remained was to drive out the greenskins of Waaagh! Dularg, and they were kind enough to come to him.

His most trusted lords and thanes were further north, protecting the hold from the greenskins who dared attack the gates. But this was Mount Bloodhorn. This was the king's seat of old, and so it was the king's duty- his privilege- to earn the glory here.

The king smiled as the greenskins drew near. Fools, all of them. Running uphill, it would be impossible for them to gain the momentum required to push back his warriors. They would run up to the Dawi only to break upon their shields.

The horde of greenskins advanced nonetheless, slowly breaking into a sprint as they drew ever closer. Durak ordered his thunderers and artillery crews to open fire- while the line would hold, picking off some goblins before they made it up the slope would nonetheless make the dwarves' work easier.

The goblins kept on coming, which caused the king to frown. Why would the goblins walk straight into the line of fire and keep coming, apparently without fear or sense of self-preservation? Casting his doubt aside, he ordered his warriors to part and allow the Irondrakes to the front line. The goblins had come too close now to for the artillery and thunderers to be effective, the downward slope making it difficult for those in the back to get a clear line of fire.

For the Irondrakes' spouts of liquid flame, no such objections applied. Their flames arces over the masses of goblins, raining down sparks which set alight both flesh and armour. In the bright light provided by the flames, Durak could recognize the goblins. He had heard tales of these mindless cretins, their heads covered in thick blue veins, their eyes dull. According to the manlings of Marienburg, these were victims of the Deffless Shaman's experiments. Their brains infected with the blueblot spores, they followed the shaman's every command, even if it meant death.

They were disgusting, but no reason for concern. Mindless or not, they were still only goblins. As they drew near, Durak ordered the signal to attack to be given. A loud horn's bass note reverberated through the hall, the dwarves surged forward as one, axes raised.

Durak was at the front line- it would not do for a king to be seen cowering at the back, not here. After the dwarven line had smashed into the ranks of the goblins, the king swung his axe at his hated foes with wild abandon. Here, in this moment, there was no distinction between warrior, thane or king, beardling or longbeard- all were Dawi, and all fought together against the hated foe.

The Blueblot goblins kept coming, and the Dawi put them down. These infected went down as easily as any goblin. If this was the best the Deffless shaman had to offer, the day would surely be won with little effort.

As if on cue, that was when the other goblins broke through. This new wave was as affected by spores as the mindless Blueblot victims, but the madness in their eyes showed that these creatures had been given an entirely different mushroom.

Swinging steel balls the size of a head on long, spiked chains, the Mad Cap fuelled fanatics tore through both the Blueblot goblins and the ranks of the dwarves. The response from the thunderers was almost immediate, putting down as many of the hideously dangerous goblins as they could.

'Form the line! Form the line!' The king's voice echoed through the hall, audible even over the din of battle. As the dwarves quickly formed up again, hoping their shieldwall would offer some protection against the fanatics- or at least, slow them down- a runebearer reached the king.

'Sire! Word from the sentries! They are overrun with grobi!'

'Impossible,' Durak exclaimed. He snatched the inscribed stone tabled from the messenger, and quickly read its contents. 'No grobi or urk have passed by us!'

'Seems they burst from hiding places, sire. Apparently the Waaagh! left them there during their occupation of the Mount, so they could ambush us when the time was right!'

Durak let out a cry of frustration, shattering the message on the ground. Going back to the city would mean allowing the goblins victory here. But crushing the grobi here would mean losing the city. The choice was obvious, but vexing.

'Sound an orderly retreat! The hold is under attack! Dawi, follow your king!'

Under the sound of horns, the dwarven throngs retreated, hounded by the eerie laughter of the Deffless Shaman...

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The Dalazi Drungak had secured great victories in the east, but their work was far from done. Warboss Dularg Spinesnappa Ironnose and the pale goblin, Skirgit Crowbait, rather than retreat after their recent and narrow defeat, resumed their assault against the First Gate. Waves of orcs and goblins erupted from the countless caves and crannies of the Dragonback Mountains, renewing their efforts to claim the gate and, thereby, secure passage into the mountain hold itself. Caught behind enemy lines, they had little choice but to throw everything they had at the dwarves.

Under the protection of Freyr Fairhair and Luthor Steelhorn, however, the gate's defenses held. Hard-pressed to hold off the attack from both the goblins and their new Nehekharan allies, the dwarves managed to keep the greenskins from overwhelming the gate's warriors, if only just. Indeed, at the end of the day the greenskins had reaped a bloody toll among the dwarves, and forced them back ever so slightly behind their gate.

That was when reinforcements arrived. Luthor's son Lodin, having seen to the recuperation of clan Steelhorn's warriors at Khaz Vithang, now returned to aid his father and Freyr Fairhair in the second battle of Barak Ongazi. These new warriors, fresh again after a few nights of resting, forced the greenskins back, leaving the banners of the Dawi hanging from the battered parapets, in defiance of the Waaagh!.

Further down south, Luca of clan Alpsbane, her skin freshly scarred with runes of oath and vengeance, was not content with merely defending the gate. The hot-blooded northern warrior pressed the attack, laying siege to Mingol Grom, the Waaagh!'s stronghold. Her berserker warriors charged across the plains between the fortress and the Bitterstone Mines, cutting down scouts and hurling themselves at the walls of Mingol Grom. Bolt throwers constantly hammered the gates of the fortress, and eventually the fierce dwarven lady breached the outer defences, slaughtering those within. The greenskins still held the inner fortress, but none could deny the effectiveness of Luca's assault.

Yet despite their successes, the dwarves knew that victory over the greenskins was still far away. Countless greenskins still dwelled in the regions controlled by the Drekaz, and it would take but the slightest push to break them and deliver these regions to the Waaagh!...

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Again the Kaptain's pirates charged, while the cannons of the Morka Lisa spat their red-hot ammunition overhead. Human slaves grabbed from Myrmidens stood chained to the artillery pieces, forced to load and fire the guns at Mingol Varr's outer wall. They laboured under the watchful eye of orc bullies, ever waiting for a chance to snap the neck of whatever humie got the idea in his mind to refuse work.

Meanwhile the pirates themselves charged across the beach, dodging crossbow bolts fired at them from the battlements. Most of these bolts missed, while others bit deep into orc flesh but were ignored by the thick-headed brutes. Some managed to fell their targets, leaving the beach littered with the orc pirates, their gnoblar underlings, and a handful of slaves pushed into the line of fire by the greenskins.

Thane Rakam Ironhammer stood upon the battlements, shouting orders at his warriors. There was little hope of holding the walls- this was not a holding action, this was an effort to win time. In the distance he could see the black-sailed ship of Kaptain Blacksquig and the ships of Zandri. This was not the first time he had fought the Kaptain, and he'd relished the opportunity to settle their earlier score. But then he had fought with prince Aquila beside him, and the Kaptain hadn't had scores of manlings to be used a shield- not to mention the undead. The presence of innocents caused his warriors to be more careful with their shots and, thus, less effective at halting the greenskins.

A nearby explosion turned Rakam's world black for a moment, leaving his ears ringing. Twenty feet to his right, a cannonball had impacted against the wall, sending shards of rock flying in every direction. Several of his warriors had been killed by the attack- others were sprawled on what remained of the wall's battlements.

Rakam grabbed the arm of one he recognized- Ordin Flintfinger, a veteran who acted as leader and mentor to a band of his younger warriors. Most of those were now dead or dying, and the look in Ordin's eyes told Rakam how much the dwarf regretted the deaths of these beardlings.

Another dwarf ran up to the pair, a young warrior whose name eluded Rakam. 'Preparations are done!' the young dwarf shouted. 'We are ready to retreat at your command!'

Rakam frowned. Retreat. Such an honourless word, he hated giving the order. Ordin bowed his head.

'Go, lord,' the dwarf said softly, a hint of regret in his words. 'Help me lads back to the inner hold. We will see how many orcs it takes to get past the last of the Flintfingers.'

Rakam nodded, knowing full well that the dwarf didn't intend to return. 'Your name will be remembered,' he said, his respect for the dwarf evident from his tone. 'I will raise a monument with the names of all of today's heroes inscribed upon it, and yours shall be at the top of that list.'

Ordin looked around him, indicating the bodies of those who had fallen under his command. 'More honour than I deserve. At least my shame shall be short-lived. Go now, thane.'

Rakam nodded, ordering his warriors to help the wounded back to Mingol Varr's main hold. The walls were lost- all that could be done now now was to buy time for a retreat, across the courtyard and into the fortress proper. Those few dwarves who had volunteered to remain behind would see to it that others would live.

Rakam heard Ordin sing the song of his family, of glories gained and victories lost. Only when the last of the wounded were secure did the song cease, abruptly, unfinished. The sound of handguns died down, and the sound of orcs drew closer.

Rakam Ironhammer waited, waited for that sound to grow even louder. When he was sure that the orcs were within the outer walls, he gave the order.

'Light the fuse.'

A nearby dwarf lowered his torch, igniting the blackpowder trail which began at his feet and ran across the courtyard, back to the outer walls. The blackpowder was of superb quality, sending a spark swiftly towards the outer walls and into the carefully placed blasting charges. Rakam's warriors had placed dozens of the explosives throughout the walls, and the chain reaction ripped apart the dwarven masonry- and the orcs within.

When the dust settled, the wall was reduced to rubble. Rakam looked at it with a pang of guilt- to see the craftsmanship of forty centuries lost within moments pained him greatly, but it would hold off the orcs a little while longer, force them to regroup. When next they attacked, they would have to cross the rubble of the wall. And the dwarves were that much farther away from the Morka Lisa's guns.

Rakam hoped that, when the orcs returned, this hard-won advantage would be worth it.

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After liberating the city of Monte Castello from orcish occupation, feldoberst von Heidemund took steps to ensure that such a fate would never befall the Tilean port again. Rather than leave the city defenseless, he instructed a number of his men to raise a militia in the city.

Nominally, soldiers from all of the Tilean city-states would be garrisoned at Monte Castello, as a joint effort in keeping their lands safe from the Border Princes. These troops had suffered greatly from Kaptain Blacksquig's attacks, leaving few to defend the city. With no reinforcements coming from Tilea, and after seeing the civilians of Monte Castello put up such a fight against their oppressors, Mathi "Todt" von Heidenmund instructed his lieutenant, hauptmann Mainz von Warnung, to raise the Monte Castello Homeguard, nicknamed "Vati's armee".

Among these men was lance-corporal Johanns, a former butcher, who was given the task of leading the day-to-day drills. During these he would often extoll the virtues of close-quarter combat, as was evident from the following phrase, reputedly uttered at one of the training sessions;

"I will tell you how to defeat orcs! I fought them many a time, I still remember Omdurmanz in Araby. They came in thick as a duststorm! But they are afraid of the STEEL, zee! They don´t like the pikes up´em, zee!"

Confident that his men would do good work, the feldoberst crossed the Black Gulf to link up again with his colleagues in the Effort. Unfortunately he did not reach the battle in time, for Kaspar von Gelding, Atlas and Anya had already begun their assault on the First Delve. Since the Delve reputedly gave access to great veins of ore, coal and silver, the Marienburgers could wait no longer to try and claim the mines for themselves.

Not taking any chances, the three armies of the Effort advanced cautiously through the halls leading from Barak Urbar to the First Delve. Earlier they had lost many men to traps laid here by the cruel goblins, but now the soldiers were prepared. Cracks in the wall were sealed with explosives, for fear of them containing greenskins lying in ambush. Dogs were released into the final part of the tunnel leading up to the greenskin barricades, revealing more traps and hidden squigs, which were easily picked off by the Effort's marksmen.

When he was certain that no more traps remained, von Gelding ordered the attack. The memory of the Effort's men dying was still fresh in the memories of the survivors, who were eager to exact their revenge on the greenskins.

The barricades were easily overwhelmed, and the goblins who manned them were quick to scurry off. No Blueblot goblins remained here, and there was no sign of the Deffless Shaman or his companion, Sneakin Nabba. The greenskins were nigh leaderless, and their bag of tricks had seemingly been exhausted.

The Effort's attack was ruthless. No quarter was given, no greenskins were spared. Those captured were either put to the sword on the spot, or led away in chains by the slavers of Lashiek. Some of the greenskins rallied around the grotesque image of a goblin face, hewn from the wall- evidently carved from the remains of what had once been a depiction of a dwarven hero's face. The statue seemed to bolster the greenskins' courage, but in the end it did not help them. While the face remains, the goblins who rallied to protect it are no more.

The First Delve was claimed by the Effort, a great boon to both the morale and the coffers of the soldiers of Marienburg.

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Four thousand years ago, the greenskins came to Ekrund, and drove off the dwarves. Now those greenskins have been all but removed from the mountains, as dwarves and humans claim the north and south of the Dragonbacks. While the orcs still fight with the savagery only a greenskin is capable of, they no longer dominate the dwarven halls, finding themselves isolated and cut off. Indeed, the tale of the Dragonbacks may end sooner rather than later.

Yet nothing is set in stone. While the orcs no longer claim territory inside the mountains, their warbosses are still alive and fighting in the depths of Ekrund. The pirate orc Blacksquig raids the coasts in the north. And what of man and dwarf? Have their differences truly been set aside? Or will hostilities between them erupt once more, now that the greenskin threat seems contained? And is it truly contained? And what part, if any, will the fiercely independent prince Mario da Gama of Myrmidens play?

And deep beneath Ekrund, in halls yet undiscovered by even the dwarves, another treat looms. Only a small group of dwarves, sent to reclaim the long-dead runesmith Droskar's legacy, are aware of the darkness below. Yet whether they will live to inform their kin of this danger is a tale yet untold.

Even on its final pages, a story may surprise the reader...