Turn 3

At first chapter's close, the plot thickens...

The lines have been drawn. The Dalazidrungak Drekaz have taken their stand in the northern half of the Dragonback mountains, while Waaagh! Grimlit has carved out its lair in the south. Meanwhile the Marienburgers and Tileans have secured the lands outside the Dragonback mountains, apparently distancing themselves from the battle between the two ancient enemies- until one shows weakness. When that happens, the Dragonback Expansion Effort will be ready to pounce whoever is left at a disadvantage. For the Dragonback goblins, only one refuge remains- Mount Bloodhorn, Ekrund's seat of power. Whether the greenskins are aware of this site's significance is unknown- for them, it is simply their home, the eye in the storm created by three invading armies. In the darkness they prepare to sell their lives dearly- not because they are courageous, but because they have no other place left to go. But the Dragonback's invaders would do well to rememer that a beast is most dangerous when cornered...

After the Expansion Effort conquered Thragazi Zagazal, the human mercenaries wasted no time in plundering the Slayer shrine. While the abandoned tent camp seemed to hold little of value at first, the greedy merchant's thorough search has unearthed a number of ancient dwarven heirlooms. While the search turned up mostly pots, kettles and used bedpans, left behind by the slayers who came to Ekrund to die, there were some runic items amidst the debris, which fetched a pretty price from the merchants supplying the Effort.

As Todt, Atlas and Anya searched the tents for riches, their figurehead leader Kaspar van Gelding had his eyes set on something else. Setting up a more permanent excavation crew, he employed the newly arrived workers to search for maps and documents. In this, they were successful. Some of the slayers who had stayed at Thragazi Zagazal, knowing they would not return, had left behind their maps of the region, intending to lose themselves in the shadows of the mountains. One of these maps detailed the destination van Gelding had in mind- Barak Kruti. This ancient, narrow passage was used by the Ekrundfolk's goatherders, and had remained undiscovered save by some dwarves armed with the knowledge of their ancestors. While not as grand as many of Ekrund's gates, the roughly hewn Goat Gate once served as an escape route for those dwarves who fled their hold four thousand years ago. Now, it provided entry for another kind of invader. The darkness of Ekrund looms before the Effort, and the ancient seat of the hold's power, Mount Bloodhorn, lies within reach.

While the humans search for Ekrund's throne, the dwarves of the Dalazidrungak have taken great strides in reclaiming their ancient hold. Ankor Drakk, the seat of power before Mount Bloodhorn was settled, grows ever stronger. Determined to restore the majesty of these ruined halls, Durak Ironhelm spares no expense in strengthening the hold's defenses. Already some among the more impressionable warriors have begun to refer to Ironhelm as the new Garudak lord, and some have even begun naming him king. Whether this gesture will turn out to be overconfidence or prophecy remains to be seen, although the dwarf lord has already undertaken steps to unify support for Ekrund. While Barak Varr, Karak Hirn and Karak Izor begin to squabble with one another over ancient oaths and unsettled grudges, Ironhelm and his closest generals have sent each of them a clear message- Ekrund does not play favorites, and Ekrund is no hold's pawn. The Dragonbacks are to be the first step in the age of reclamation, and it shall be won through unity among dwarves. A gamble, some say, which will only pay of when the old hold's faith in the Dalazidrungak Drekaz is vindicated.

As the dwarves secure the northern half of the Dragonbacks, Waaagh! Grimlit takes great strides in securing its southern half. A great horde of orcs and goblins launched themselves at Barak Urbar, eliminating both the temporary garrison outside the gates left by mercenary general Todt, as well as the trolls he had been unable to shift. Chief among these were the hordes of goblins, a pack of squabbling greenskins at their head, holding aloft a massive pole upon which a dung totem rested, crackling with green energy. From the pole, a banner bearing the Waaagh!'s sign dangled in the wind. This was da Banna uv Waaagh! Grimlit, and the goblins who were chosen to bear it were filled with pride- a rare sensation among that craven race.

On the other side of the Dragonback mountains, the most trusted advisor of the Waaagh's warboss, Borag, secured Bar Bolg. In this he was aided by the native goblin boss Gobzag Grotwrangler, who had clearly chosen survival over independence- for now. For who can say how long a night goblin's loyalties last, and if they are true to begin with? Nonetheless, Gobzag's squigs and trolls enabled the Waaagh! to claim the gate, securing an escape route for the Waaagh! should they require it. Where once countless carts filled with coal left these gates, goblins now marched in their thousands, bolstered by the Waaagh!'s successes.

The armies were prepared, the lines had been drawn. All that remained was to shift the Dragonback goblins from Mount Bloodhorn- a great prize to whoever would claim it. Once this final stronghold of the night goblins fell, the greenskins who had held the Dragonbacks for thousands of years would be all but removed from Ekrund. All that remained then, would be to see who would claim it now. Would the dwarves reclaim their ancient hold, would it fall to human greed, or would the old greenskins simply be replaced by those of Waaagh! Grimlit?

Only time would tell...

============

'Oi, gobbo, dis is my turf! Go find yer own place!'

Dularg's voice revereberated through the First Delve. His boys were behind him, carrying the haul they had found back to their camp. They'd found a good stash of coal- blackstone, as they called it. The boys paid lots of shinies for blackstone. Something about building their fires bigger, Dularg didn't really care- as long as he got paid. More shinies meant more boys, and more boys meant bigger scraps, which was all he really cared about. So why now was this weedy goblin standing in his way, demanding the spoils?

The goblin looked at him evilly, its face a mask of anger. 'Yer turf? You lot know who I iz? I'z yer warboss, Grimlit, ya zoggin' snot! And all dis,' he said, casually waving his choppa around, 'all dis is mine! Now hand over da black stonez, and mebbe I'll let ye off wiv a warning.'

Dularg grinned his teeth bare, his claw on the choppa at his belt. He wasn't especially big for an orc, but he was fast and vicious enough to have his own tribe following him- after he'd deposed of their former boss, of course. And he was still bigger than this goblin, warboss or not. 'So, you'ze da warboss, eh? Been tryin' ta figger out which one of ye gobbos thinks he can boss me around. Mebbe it be time fer a change in management...' He slowly began to draw his choppa, the crude weapon several times bigger than the goblin's. In response the greenskins serving as Grimlit's bodyguard drew their own weapons, confident as they outnumbered Dularg's boys three to one.

One of the goblins quickly stepped forward, whispering in Grimlit's ear. 'Boss,' it said, 'dis place is really zoggin' big. Plenty uv black stonez left. Mebbe we ken let da orc keep his stones, and get 'im ta foight da humies and da stunties instead?'

Grimlit rubbed his pointy chin for a moment, pondering his advisor's words. 'Mebbe yer roight, Borag,' he said eventually. 'Fine den, da orc ken keep his black stonez. But you lot better remember 'ow generous I iz!'

With that Grimlit moved on, his following in tow, leaving Dularg with his prize. As Borag walked past the orc, he failed entirely to hide his crafty little smile. It was not every day you could undermine the warboss' authority and befriend an orc in the process, not without getting krumped that was. Grimlit had served as a fine figurehead, someone to carry out Borag's "recommendations", but nothing lasted forever...

============

The day had been won. Lorenzo Aquila surveyed the field of battle, standing just outside the Dragon Gate, which he and his dwarven allies had just fought their way through. He took in the fresh air, thanking the gods for finally showing him the sun's light after what seemed like an eternity in the dark and confined halls of Ekrund. Countless spiders the size of horses had launched themselves at his men from hidden nooks and crannies, goblins had assailed them with spears and crude arrows, and even a few trolls had popped up, making the reclamation of Bar Drakk all the more complicated. Yet his ally, Rakam Ironhammer, had proven himself a most capable tunnel fighter, and the dwarf they called 'Grobidum' had done the rest. Once they reached the gate, trading the pitch black of the tunnels for the blinding light of the sun, Lorenzo and his men had surged forward, intent on clearing what resistance remained. At that point his men were mostly still fresh, and the goblins, their eyes sensitive to the sunlight, at a disadvantage.

'A fine battle,' he heard a low, growling voice behind him. As Lorenzo turned, he saw the dwarf thane Rakam Ironhammer standing behind him. 'The gate is well and truly ours now. As it should be.'

Lorenzo smiled at the dour dwarf. 'As it should be,' he repeated. In the distance he could see the mad dwarf, Grobidum, kneeled over a goblin, striking the prone greenskin again and again with his meaty fists, until nothing but mulch remained. Then he got up and repeated the process for the next goblin he found- dead or dying, it mattered not. Lorenzo felt uneasy around the mad dwarf. All of their kind were rather alien in their mindset, but the one named Grobidum was absolutely terrifying. He fought the greenskins with unrelenting abandon, but Lorenzo had instructed his men to give the mad dwarf a wide berth nonetheless, in case the dwarf stopped making the distinction between goblin and everything else.

Suddenly, a loud roar echoed from beyond the gate, followed by a few dozen more- something was still alive inside the tunnels, it seemed. 'Form up,' Rakam shouted, his dwarves immediately forming ranks around him. At his command Lorenzo's men did the same, albeit with slightly less efficiency than the dwarves. The mad dwarf, meanwhile, happily kept mutilating the slain goblins- apparently they wouldn't be able to count on him until every goblin had been rendered into paste. No matter- whatever they'd missed on their way out wouldn't be much trouble, the pair figured.

Then the orcs burst from the tunnels, screaming their war cries. At their head stood the biggest orc Lorenzo had ever seen, wearing a dark longcoat and a black ship captain's hat bearing a skull and bones symbol- the mark of the pirate. With a crude sabre in one claw and a pistol in the the other, the orc boss took a moment to take in the scene before him, then grinned beneath his seaweed and moss beard.

'WAAAAAGH!'

At his command, the greenskins rushed forward, steadily closing the distance between them and the line held by Lorenzo and Rakam. 'Looks like there aren't a lot of them,' Lorenzo started, somewhat more confident now that the orcs' numbers had been revealed to be far less than the combined forces of the Dalazidrungak Drekaz present. That confidence ebbed, however, when he saw Rakam's expression.

'Pray tae yer gods, manling,' the dwarf said, slowly, his eyes on the oncoming greenskins, 'for we need all tha help we can get. That orc be none other than Kaptain Blacksquig, whoms name is written countless times in our books of grudges.'

'Hold the line!' he shouted at his dwarves. 'Ekrundak-Kazakit-Ha!'