Tales of a Slayer: Ungrim Drengial

[luy22]

PART 1: Axes, ale, and troll intestines

Ragnar charged through the darkened halls. He had been lost down in this ancient Dwarf hold for a week now. He spat onto the ground. He lived off whatever meat he could steal from the Goblins that infested this now-d**ned place. He cracked his neck, looking around. Ragnar leaned against his massive waraxe. This room was massive, a large hole was in the center. He peered down it to see many Grobi. One, unfortunately caught sight of him. It screeched something to it's fellows, forcing it after him. He turned and bolted down another passage. One small black-robed goblin got into his way, but he hacked it, spraying himself with blood. There was a door at the end...

*****

A wave of euphoria swept over Kazaril - with this many trolls in one place, he couldn't possibly survive! Gleefully setting about taking a many of the beasts with him as possible, Kazaril prepared Drengidum and let the music of the bagpipes spur him on. Lifting Drengidum over his head and back, Kazaril bellowed out a mighty roar that got the trolls' full atention before hurling the great rune-axe at great force into the torso of the nearest troll.

The enchantment of heat made sure that the wounds would not regenerate but the troll was not hurt terribly as no major organ was hit. Enraged, the smelly creature ripped out the large axe with one monstrous hand and flung it to the side, to strike sparks off a wall and fall to the floor. But by this time, Kazaril was already upon it. Yelling out praises to Grimnir, the doom-seeking dwarf chopped away at the hurt troll's legs with his twin hatchets.

Chunks of flesh were being torn from the beast's legs but unlike the first wound these began to heal with unnatural speed, right before the enraged dwarf''s fiery eyes. About to redouble his efforts, Kazaril caught the motion of one of the massive legs moving upwards, then coming down to crush him. Normally (after taking the Slayer Oath), he would have been all too happy to die, but right now he was just too pissed at the stone troll for not doing the same, and rolled to the side as a gigantic foot slammed into the rock with a prodigious clap!

Again, Kazaril dodged the troll attempting to crush him with its feet, using his lower center of gravity and quicker reactions to weave around underneath the monster while hacking away at its legs, for spite's sake if nothing else. Then, a wicked idea crossed his deranged mind, and he knew he had to try it - after all, he had nothing to lose! Shifting the axes in his grip, the backspikes were now pointing forward. Waiting for the troll to make another clumsy attack, Kazaril moved behind it and stabbed both backspikes into the backs of its legs. As the troll roared in pain, Kazaril took an axe out and stabbed it into the troll a little higher, pulling himself up.

Using the axes like ice-picks, Kazaril was able to climb up the troll's back while the idiotic creature frantically waved its arms trying to dislodge him. However, once he was located in the small of the giant creature's back, he was in the proverbial 'one spot it can't scratch'. Exhausted for the time being, Kazaril hung there from his axes in the troll's back, momentarily too winded to do much more than hold on and watch the brutal combat unfolding before him.

*****

Karzan charged a troll angrily, holding up both his axes. An insane laugh and a ferocious warcry came from his lips as he charged. The troll thingyed its head stupidly at the tiny creature running at it and yelling. Karzan jumped, holding both his axes up and yelling. Both axes landed deep in the troll's chest and the troll cried out in pain, swatting at Karzan. The slayer lost grip of one of his axe as he flew backwards into a cave wall. The slayer spit blood from his mouth and glared at the troll.

"Come here yeh ugly as sin monster!" yelled Karzan as he steadied himself. The troll laughed and stared at Karzan hungrily then began to lumber forward. The troll's meaty hand came down, but Karzan stepped to the side nimbly. The troll's hand cracked the floor of the cave and sent pieces of stone everywhere. The troll raised both its hands above its head and swung at Karzan again. The Dwarf rolled between the troll's legs as it swung down and chopped at it's legs, almost hacking through the leg at the ankle. He pulled out his axe with a "shunk" and swore as the flesh began to regenerate. The troll kicked its useful foot back and caught Karzan in the jaw. The slayer flew up in the air a few feet and landed with a loud thud. Karzan felt something warm dripping down his jaw and realized he'd bit his tongue.

"Alright yeh bastard! Let's do this!" yelled Karzan as he charged the laughing troll.

Seeing the rest of the charging slayers take their toll on the trolls, Kazaril roars and then redoubles his efforts, despite the ex-ranger's muscles screaming out to him for rest. There would be time for rest when he was dead. Ripping out one of his axes, he again drove the backspike into the troll's back, using both his axes like ice-picks to scale the furious monster's body. Its deformed arms lashed out frantically to knock the slayer off, but he was determined to kill the vile beast and made his way up to its beasly neck. With a foot planted on either shoulder, Kazaril slammed both backspikes into the abomination's spine, and as the blood spurted from the wound, the troll began to drop to the ground as its nervous system was mostly useless.

Luckily (or not) for the slayer, he landed on top of the troll, winded from the fights in the cavern and then from the fall, and he began to get to his feet. He was bruised, battered and cut but he would die fighting the beasts to the end. Then, astonishingly, there was motion - as the "dead" troll just vanquished began to stir and regenerate! Howling out his anger at the troll's impudence, Kazaril tucked both axes into his belt and scrambled across the room to recover the rune-axe Drengidum, dodging stomping troll feet all the way.

Grasping Drengidum in both hands, Kazaril barely reacted in time to lash out at a troll's leg with the rune-axe, taking away a chunk of flesh from Karzan's opponent's leg, the wound steaming and burnt. That one would not regenerate. Again crossing the room to his now-rising opponent, Kazaril made faster progress as he lashed out with Drengidum at any trolls that came near him. With a roar of phenomenal effort, the doomed dwarf hurled the mighty axe over his head twenty feet to embed in the face of the rising troll. As the beast screamed in pain at the magical axe burning through its face, Kazaril caught up with his weapon, running up the sitting troll and again standing on its shoulders to rip out the axe savagely and then decapitate its foul head.

He managed to hit the ground and roll to the side as the troll's body collapsed for the last time. Getting to his feet wearily, he picked up Drengidum again and stared at the vicious battle going on. Already resigned to his fate though, the odds only exited him and he roared again to Grimnir before charging at the nearest unoccupied troll, its doom already certain in his mind.

The nearest Troll to Jax picked him up. The grip was icy, cold and dark. It held the Slayer up to it's own bestial eyes. Jax stared back at it, insane anger in his own sockets. The Slayer was now probably defeated. Just then, the troll slammed the Slayer against the wall, throwing him at it. Jax grabbed onto a burnt tapestry with his hand and kicked against the wall to jump back at the beast. Now he flew, unarmed at the monster, then grabbed onto it's large head. The troll tried to grasp him, but Jax hugged the monster's face tightly, and began to punch it's eyeballs, still keeping balance and sitting on it's ugly nose. He turned his head in time to see the troll's massive paw become a fist, which flew towards him. A grim smile crept across his face. He looked up and leaped to grab a stalactite. The beast smashed it's own face. It's nose was bleeding quite badly. One eye actually fell out and rolled down to the floor, the creature, too stupid to know what had happened, stumbled back and forth, smiling stupidly, and then crashing into a hard stone wall, causing more blood to be exposed on it's face, then, eventually collapsing, unconscious, onto the hall's floor. Jaxs' grip slipped and he fell to the stone floor. Now he ran over to where his weapons were. His rune axe and normal axe. He picked up the two, and, in his bestial rage, he charged the unconscious troll, and began to chop at it's head so that there would be no way it could live. He was covered completely in it's blood as he chopped away at it, almost lost in the rage of battle. He then chopped down at the beast's now-exposed brain with his runeaxe. He chopped one more then left the older more withered axe in the monster's spine. The Slayer was now completely bloody, literally from head to toe in blood. The runeaxe almost slipped from his grip. He used it to keep his balance as he was a bit dazed from getting knocked in the head. Once his vision returned to the norm, he spotted the troll's eyeball, which he had caused to fall out. He brought the axe above his head and cleaved the eye in half. Then the Dwarf fell unconscious from exhaustion.

Jax heaved himself up, using the axe sort of like a crutch until his vision finally cleared. He wiped some of the blood from his eyes and looked around the room. Other Slayers were here, and he had forgot about them in his battle rage. "Hmmm... If I help em, maybe they can help me get outta 'ere!" He smiled, his blood-covered mouth turning into an upsidedown arc. He walked over to the other Dwarf axe. It wasn't his, it was one he had recovered from a Dwarf's corpse while he had been lost down here. It was incredibly rusty and old, and made a nice throwing axe. He ripped it free of the troll's spine. The other Dwarfs continued to do battle with their trolls around him. He sheathed his new throwing axe and knelled for a moment, still trying to catch his breath. He would do anything to escape these halls and breathe fresh air again, and to drink Dwarf ale. He heaved himself up, redrawing the throwing axe. The fire runes on his runeaxe glowed faintly as he charged another troll. This one, unlike it's ally he had just killed, had one eye missing already. It had scars all over it's chest. It carried a mace made from an old Dwarf pillar, at the end of which was a large boulder with many Dwarf skeletons and axes tied to it. The Dwarf entered rage as he took a leap, dodging the first blow from the mace. He threw his small rusty axe and it skidded along the monster's nose, causing some blood to drip, and it was eventually lodged in the scales between it's only eye and it's nose. He jumped upon it's nose, like he had done with the last one. Instead of punching the beast in the eye, he realized he still had his runeaxe, which he used to cut into it's remaining eye. Blood splattered over the Slayer once more. He drew both axes and started chopping away but the troll grabbed him and threw him at the wall. He got up to his feet, his vision was hazy but he could still see. The troll was walking towards him, it's remaining eye bleeding horribly, it's arms were outstretched trying to find him. He picked up his axes and started a run to it, and jumped upon it and with his runeaxe cut it's nose off, making it bellow a roar. The other axe plunged into it's eye, and then jumped down and cut it's leg off, making it collapse. He stood on it's back and brought the runeaxe in a mighty arc upon it's skull and cleaved it's head in half, right through the brain. Now he was entirely covered in blood. He spotted a bucket of water not far away. he charged towards it and poured the liquid over himself, washing off most of the blood. He turned back towards the battle. The slayers were still battling what was left of the trolls. Thurador Thorgorsson seemed to be unarmed, as Jax could see. Thurador was on the ground, the axes Jax once saw him with were not in his hands, instead he held two knives. Jax didn't notice the troll that was about to crush him. He was pushed out of the way by Thurador, and a massive rock that the troll was carrying crashed upon the other slayer's skull. Jax could see and hear the flesh separate from the bone as the rock connected to the Dwarf's head. Blood splattered Jaxs' front side.
Thurador Thorgorsson had met his heroic death by saving Jax Ragnar's. Jax was grateful, yet he still had his Slayer's oath to fulfill. He leapt upon the stone as the troll brought it up once more. He and the troll were face-to-face now. Both eye-level. Jax jumped, the fire-runes of his axe burning with feriosity. The axeblade landed, burning the monster's large blue, scaly skull. More blood splashed everywhere as the blade buried itself within the beast's brain. The Troll let out one last mighty roar as it collapsed to the ground, dropping the rock where Thurador Thorgorsson's corpse was attached, like a bug at the bottom of one's shoe. The corpse was completely flat, and Jax turned away to the other Dwarfs in the fight. He turned to the door from which he had come. The night goblins that had chased him here would likely catch up any minute. He ran over to the door, and pushed both large wooden doors shut, and pushing the bloody boulder (Thurador's "tomb") to block it. He picked up the slayer's bloody knives and axes and placed them on the flat corpse. Thurador shall make sure that the night goblins did not catch up with them. He looked to the others now, still in the thick of it.

Grundi stood in between two trolls, roaring with maniacal laughter at the carnage around him, and taunting the trolls to attack him. The slayer held his huge single-bladed great axe firmly in huis clenched fists, and spat onto the ground adding to the foul fluids and blood which all ready decorate the earth.

Without waiting for the trolls any further, he held his axe high above his head and leaped forwards leaping towards at the nearest troll's foot. The limb was completely severed, but grew back almost instantly. Grundi Goraksson whirled around in a flurry of blows, cleaving to the left and right of him with an energy which could crumble manling walls to the ground. But the flesh on the trolls seemed to regenerate faster than he could rip it from their tainted bones!!!

One of the trolls went to kick the berserk dwarf, but Grundi rolled to one side and rumbled with furious laughter as the bloated green foot connect with the other troll's shin. The troll howled in pain and thumped his fellow around the head with a gnarled fist.

"Oi! Don't ye go clobberin’ each other! Ye're mine!"

Grundi dived forwards and plunged his axe into one of the troll's sides; the troll howled but continued to attack its ugly ally. Another almighty chop sent the troll's dirty rag of a loincloth falling to the floor - revealing parts of a troll which are best left unseen. Without any hesitation, Grundi unloosed the fire grenades from his belt and unpinned them; he then did something disgustingly disturbing but incredibly effective.

The slayer held the three grenades in one meaty feast, he ran up to the troll’s exposed rear and rammed his arm up the troll's arse. Letting go of the grenades he yanked his arm free with a sickening squelch and dived to his side. The troll shrieked in surprise and began scratching frantically at its rear, but by then it was too late - the grenades exploded and the troll's lower half was completely blow away. The creature lay smoldering in a pile of bloody gore... the troll he had been arguing with was desperately trying to beat out the flames which raged across its arm.

Without giving the troll a chance to kill the flame, Grundi swung his axe in a murderous arch and completely severed the scorching limb. The troll growled and bellowed in anger, and Grundi bent down to pick up the troll's ex-arm, with a grunt he then launched the arm into the beast's face, causing its hair to furiously catch aflame.

In moments the troll whole head became a towering pillar of fire and as the creature fell to the floor in pain, Grundi rushed over and howled a curse; swinging his axe with such deadly ferocity that he decapitated the troll by its black blistering neck. The slayer kicked the monster twice for good measure and spat on its corpse, looking around for any more victims.

"Grimnir, grant me my doom!!!!" cam a throaty shout above the din of battle.

Grundi saw an incredibly gore-covered Durgrim Dargrimson running up the spine of a winded troll, his heavy chains being dragged up with him. The slayer held his chains in both hands and swung them over the troll's neck whilst bellowing in fury, trying to choke the monstrous creature. The troll's tongue stuck out in an almost comical fashion and it began to splutter for breath, its arms scrabbled hopelessly at its back trying to dislodge the dwarf atop him. Durgrim spat foul curses in khazild at the creature; his muscles bulged as he tightened his grip around the things neck, slowly bringing the creature to its knees.

The troll reared in desperation as it realized it was going to die; it threw itself backwards and slammed into the huge rock of warpstone in the center of the hall. Durgrim hit the huge rock with a sickening crunch and he fell to the ground limp; the troll gasped for air and then howled its anger at the prone and dazed slayer. It curled both of is claw-like hands around the dwarf and raised it high above his head, tilting its chin and its mouth wide open.

Dargrimson shook his head gruffly and regained his vision just in time to see the leering face of the troll underneath him; it seemed as if the hour of his doom was upon him, the dwarf tugged his chains and caught the axes on the end of them before spitting into the creature's face.

Even as the troll shoved the dwarf into its massive gob, Durgrim clove a huge chunk of flesh from its face. Regardless; the troll gobbled the dwarf down with a twisted grin and hopped on its feet in triumph.

As the troll was about to let loos a tremendous belch, its eyes widened and it tried to screech - but no sound came from the ugly brutes lips. It fell to the floor clutching its throat as blood burst forth from its green lips, it collapsed on the huge warpstone rock, and lay still, sprawled across the ground.

It looked like Durgrim Dargrimson choked the troll to death after all.

Another Troll spotted Jax. Jax did a roll to evade it's first lunge at him with a long Goblin spear. He grabbed onto the spear and repeated his new TrollSlaying procedure. He hugged it's face and began punching it's large yellow eyes. It bellowed a loud roar as it's vision became bloody and wet. Once it was weakened, he buried his fiery runeaxe into it's monstrous skull. The monster screamed loudly as it felt the steel of the runeblade eat into it's scaled flesh. Eventually the steel bit into the brain and the monster fell. Jax held on tightly to his axe as it did. It smashed the stone floor, sending blood gushing from it's stomach puddling around it. Jax ripped his blade out and dug it into the creature's back and sat to watch the fight. He needed to rest and regain strength. He watched as two Dwarfs did battle with two Trolls. One had only one arm but a gigantic axe. The other fought with gauntlets and boots, some odd design. Jax sat and watched.

Skrall jumped upon one Troll as Zakat was beating the hell out of the other one. Skrall sat atop his troll's head, waving his single arm at the other troll, who stared at him. It muttered something odd, and barely even noticed the Slayer that was continuously punching and kicking it. The troll raised it's fisted arm and smashed the Troll's head. Skrall had attempted to jump but the beast had smashed his body as well. The Troll fell onto a pile of rubble, it's brain had been smashed to mush by the impact, the same had happened to Skrall, who lay crushed next to it. Zakat Climbed up the remaining troll's leg, and continuously punched it's crotch. The monster roared, and slapped him off. The Troll now picked up a chunk of rubble from under the deceased troll that had just died upon it. The Troll smashed the rock against the Slayer but Zakat was holding it off with his gauntlets and boots, attempting to shove it away. His muscles were bulging, along with his veins. His eyes were filled with the red cracks and were eventually tearing. Sweat covered Zakat as he struggled to push off the rock.

Jax Ragnar ripped his runeaxe free and charged the monster trying to crush Zakat. Holding his axe in both hands, he charged full speed, like some sort of a super-Dwarf. He leaped, raising his axe. The Troll the crushed the Dwarf, conquering Zakat in single-handed combat. This was happening while Jax amputated the troll's arm. Blood squirted from it's stub of a shoulder now. Jax was on Zakat's rock, from which blood seeped from underneath it. He raised the axe over his head and jumped at it. The axe was swept away and skitted across the stone floor. Jax jumped down to avoid the troll's remaining claw. The fire rune thankfully made the troll unable to regenerate it's lost arm. Jax ripped Zakat's gauntlets off. He smiled at the texture of the runes. He put them on and jumped upon the troll, each grab into it caused smoke to billow from the wound. The reached it's head and mounted it's nose. He bellowed a warcry that all in the hall could hear.

"FOR GRIMNIR!!!"

Jax now began beating the troll's eyes. Now that he was using the runed gauntlets of Zakat, the damage done was greatly increased. The monster screamed to get rid of him. Now it's eyes were bloody and burnt. With a final blow he reached behind the burnt blob that was once it's eyeball, and grabbed a hold of the thing's brain.

"GRIMNIR!!!!"

He ripped the Troll's brain free, blood splashed everywhere as he ripped it right through the eye sockets and threw it down towards the floor. Jax jumped down to it and hit the mushy surface, and slid down onto the ground in a roll, and got back on his feet. The troll still stood. It was a mess. burn marks up it's stomach, burnt eyes with blood still seeping from them, and with one arm still dripping blood. It was a Trollslayer's job well done. The beast now finally fell forwards, soundless, over the corpse of it's brother, missing Skrall's crushed corpse by several inches. Jax Ragnar dropped the bloody gauntlets atop the massive boulder that had crushed Zakat, and hopped over to his large axe. He really was tired now. He looked to the other Slayers that still fought on.

"Gar, I could use some food and a beer..." He said as the door which Thurador's boulder blocked was hit with great force, like something was trying to get through the thick oak. It was the Night Goblins that were hunting Jax. "d**n! The Night Gobbos've caught up with me!"

*****

Notes whirred and screeched from the pipes, the bag pumping up and down beneath Bran’s arm, a mad Dwarf in a skirt with what looked like an octopus under his arm would surely be enough to frighten any normal foe but, as all dwarfs readily agreed, anything to do with the Greenskins were abnormal especially Trolls.

It seemed one of them had had enough of his playing, its footsteps stamping and shaking the earth as it moved faster and faster towards him, its large yellow eyes were locked on him whilst a deafening roar issued forth from between a pair of twisted and mutated lips.

Before it could reach him however Gimmor Thrak launched himself into the space between the two figures swinging his double-bladed axes around and around in a whirlwind of destruction that took chunks of flesh out of the beasts body and tore muscle and skin away at a crazed rate.

In spite of his efforts nevertheless the Trolls flesh regenerated faster than even the berserk slayer could attack, the Troll leering down at the Mohawk haired dwarf, two fists swung in wide arcs in an attempt to snap him up and tear him in two but failed miserably as the girthed but nimble being leaped away and came in for further blows to hammer onto the lumbering dolt.

Not to continue much longer Bran watched as the Troll dug its claws into the dwarfs chest, lifting him off the floor to eye level without much effort and by Gimmor’s own skin, thunderous headbutts rained down upon the unfortunate slayer breaking bones and causing blood to fly all over the cave.

Instead of a final headbutt to finish the pitiable slayer off the creature opened its maw and, driving its malevolent head forward, ripped off the entirety of Gimmor Thraks face to leave only a gaping ugly hole that brain matter and blood slithered out of.

“Guess ah git tae fight a’ner all…”

Screaming a war-cry Bran gripped his pole-axe and, placing his pipes neatly beside his pack, flung his whole weight forward and into the attack.

*****

Karzan glared at the Dwarf who had just attacked his troll with a rune axe.

"Oi'! He's mine!" bellowed the Slayer before running at his troll again.

The troll may have been maimed, but he was still very alive and very dangerous. His axes hacked and slashes, but the troll kept regenerating all its wounds. A meaty hand smashed down, an inch from Karzan. The Slayer's axe came down on the wrist, cleaving the hand from the troll. The troll roared angrily and smashed his stump into Karzan, already growing a hand back. Karzan tumbled head over heels, losing one of his axes. The troll smiled at the Dwarf hungrily and picked him up, pinning his arms to his sides.

"What the bloody 'ell do you think yer doin'?!" asked Karzan angrily as the troll licked his lips. The troll heaved repeatedly, opening and closing his mouth with a grin on his face. Karzan realized the ugly creature was laughing. The troll opened its mouth and tossed Karzan in.

*****

Jax Ragnar was now surrounded by the trolls he had killed, along with the three Slayers who had already met their heroic dooms. He spotted something moving in the shadows on the other side of the hall, opposite of the battle.

The Goblin horde had found another entrance to the hall!

"d**n!" Jax growled. "d**n!!" He looked over to where the other survivors still fought on. Then he examined the opposite end, where the Goblins had just entered and were spilling into the hall. He spotted a pillar that was loosened by a Troll that he had just slain. He jumped up and put himself between the pillar and the wall. With all his strength he pushed, until the pillar finally budged and came down. "TIIIIIMBERRRR!!" Jax bellowed as the large pillar crashed up the several Goblins that had only just entered the hall. Now there was no way to enter the hall for them. A grim smile crept across his face as the night goblin began firing arrows at him. He dodged most, only one or two hit him in the arm, but he ripped them out. He jumped into the center of the rabble and cleaved three down in one sweep. "PATHETIC GREENSKINS!!" He said as he lopped heads and limbs. Then he had killed the all. He jumped up to the other pillar and did the same. It crashed upon the rubble of the first pillar, now not a single Goblin would enter. He smile to himself as a troll came up behind him. He jumped up and pried it's eyeballs out with his axeblade, then once the socket was wide enough, he plunged his axe into it and cut the brain, killing it instantly. The Troll was dead. Jax leaped down, leaving his battle rage. He looked around for any more entrances for the Goblins to enter from, he could find none. "d**n... How're we supposed ta get out? Ah well.."
He heaved his axe in both hands and rushed back into the battle. But, he had realized, that by pushing over the pillars that held up that end of the hall, he had cause a few to collapse over on the opposite end as well. Wendell Weriksson swung his mighty warhammer at one of the last Trolls in the hall. The hammer bashed into the Troll's leg, forcing it to walk with a limp. The Slayer's eyes widened as a pillar behind the troll collapsed, crushing the troll. The troll collapsed atop of Wendell Weriksson, causing him to loose his grip on life and suffocate. Now there were only a few Trolls left. Jax would then forever leave this place where he had been lost for countless weeks! He would taste ale and ham again! He raised his axe and ran over to one of the last Trolls in the chamber.

Then the pile of rubble bulged as green paws ripped free like the dead breaking free of their graves. The Night Goblins had dug through the rubble. Then it heaved, followed by loud laughter. Then it finally exploded. A full grown Cave squig hopped into the hall, followed by what looked like countless Goblins in black cloaks. The Cave Squig ran for Jax, before he could pick up his axe, it was upon him, and pinned him down with it's large taloned claw. The beast let out a strange roar as saliva poured from it's massive maw. The rider atop it laughing furiously. Before it could consume him, another Slayer came to Jax's aid. It was the one they called Haggrim Haggrimsson. Haggrim cut down the rider and then the cave squig. He looked to Jax. "We leave NOW!!" Jax nodded, getting up and grabbing his bloody axe. He looked over to the other remaining Slayers. "C'mon, we gotta get outta here!!" Jax yelled to them. Jax looked back to see the Green Tide crashing over Haggrim. "We need to get out!" There was now only one troll in the chamber left, the beast's neck was round, like it was choking. He stared at the other Slayers. "My name's Jax Ragnar!! I guess I'll be joining you're little party 'ere!!" They all looked back. Haggrim had cut a massive swathe through the Goblins but they were still coming. He could no longer see the slayer. Then, he saw a Slayer atop a cave squig, hopping over the horde towards them. Haggrim rammed his weapon into the thing's head, killing it as it slid to a halt in front of them. The Goblins were getting closer. They could take a lot, but they were not gods. And Jax wanted to meet Doom in a battle with a great beast, not a rabble of Greenskins! He hoped the other new Slayers thought the exact same. He looked towards them. "Well then, let's go!!"

*****

Karzan grunted, holding onto the walls of the troll's esophagus with his bare hands. He looked down into the steaming, bubbling, stomach acid and grunted, not going to let himself be digested. Troll stomach acid is the most corrosive substance known in the Old World and one of his boots had already tumbled in and been dissolved instantly. Karzan remembered what his brother, Arkaz the Engineer, had given him a while back and bit onto the pack across his back. He eased it off his hand, slipping it past his fingers on the slippery esophagus lining and then dropping it. He grunted and began climbing hastily out, not wanting to be ANYWHERE near the troll when his sack hit the stomach juices. He climbed into its mouth and punched its uvula with all his might. The troll gagged and opened its mouth. The young slayer ran as fast as he could out of the troll's mouth, rolling on the ground and grabbing one of his axes as he did.

"Run! Run!" bellowed Karzan as he kicked off his remaining boot and hit a goblin in the fore-head so he could run faster. The troll was staggering lazily from gagging and in the middle of the mess of Night Goblins spilling into the room. Suddenly the troll's eyes widened and it exploded. Pieces of flaming gore flew everywhere. The goblins closest to the troll were blown to pieces and others were crushed by falling chunks of molten troll meat. Steaming blood splattered Karzan's back and he grunted as they burned him slightly, still running towards the other slayers.

"Well, at least meh brother's bombs are good fer something!"

*****

Jax watched as the Troll exploded, it's chunks of meat flying into the Goblin horde. There was a loud splash as many of the Goblins that were nearest to the troll were splattered with the acids and burnt horribly, their skeletons exposed. Jax turned away from the sight. Karzan slipped on his way over and Jax helped him up. "Ye got some burns on yer back there laddie." Karzan just stared at the only exit. It was very high up in the chamber. It was on the ceiling of the hall, where a very, very thin beam of light shimmered through. All the slayers started climbing on ruined pillars, and rubble. All the While, the Goblin horde was now swarming around the debris, any attempt to climb, a slayer would threaten them away. Jax had been the first to get to the hole. He pounded it with his fist and the axeblade until a chunk fell towards the horde, and crushed two Goblins. The Slayers began to climb out of the hole. Jax climbed out, and he was blinded by the light. They were in the mountains. A waterfall roared nearby. Trees were covering the mountainous landscape. He helped the others out of the hole, and then picked up two large rocks and blocked the hole so that no Goblin could get through. "Good to be back on the surface, eh?" Jax smiled. He looked around at all the beautiful scenery of the mountains. Then his attention turned back to the rocks bulging upwards, so he grabbed a massive rock and dropped it. Problem solved. "So, now what lads?"
"We build camp, and set off in the morning." Jax noticed it was getting dark, and nodded. The Slayers built a camp. Their tent was made of several squig and troll skins sewn together, and they slept on piles of hay covered with wool. They had lost several Slayers over this one adventure. Jax was just glad to be alive and out of that dark evil place. He sat outside on a rock, staring at the brightness of the stars. All of the other Slayers were in their small camp. Jax had decided to go wash the dried blood off his body in a stream in the woods near the camp. He walked through the soft green grass with his bare feet. He stretched his arms outwards and walked into the stream. The water was very cool. Fireflies buzzed around in the bushes nearby. He washed off his whole body. His tattoos stayed solid, even though he spent hours refreshing himself in the bath. He got out of the stream and lay his wool blanket next to his rock. He took another roll of wool, transforming it into a pillow and lay himself down upon it, staring at the stars again. The moon shown brightly upon the large pile of troll intestines that had been collected just before they had escaped the clutches of the Goblins. As they were setting up camp, one of them, Grundi, had told Jax that they would use the intestines to bungee jump from Karak Kadrin's mighty bridge. It made him laugh.

[luy22]

Part 2: Adrenaline Junkies!

The scene in the glade was like something out of a picturesque human painting, nothing moved except the birds and the forest beasts, no noises came except the random hoots of owls and the small yelping and chirping of rabbits and foxes. Everything about the landscape and clearing screamed abnormal and something would have to be done about it before the ordinariness of the situation got out of control.

“Bluidy hell!”

As soon as it was there the silence was broken by the cursing of a gravelly and deep voice, a large pile of rocks shifting slowly this way and that near the perimeter of the glade, it was an exit from a network of tunnels and only now after centuries of being undisturbed had it began to move.

The gray mound began crumbling inwards and a figure emerged from it, looking like some sort of Dwarfish ghost, the strange haircut was encrusted by flecks of dirt and stone-ash causing it to become whiter than white in color. One heavy arm clawed up the small sliding mass of dirt and heaved the squat skirted Dwarf up and out of the tunnels, the other arm hauling along a leering head.

Around the Dwarfs shoulder was a mass of bloodied innards, intestines taken from one of the foulest creatures to walk the earth, as soon as he was out the Dwarf lobbed the severed head ahead of him and twisted about to peer back down the tunnel.

“Well here we are, alive and kicking...”

*****

Crawling through the small tunnel after Aonghus, Kazaril the Bitter scowled as he emerged to the bright sun, fresh air and forest scene. He had not counted on experiencing any of then again. There were cuts and bruises all over Kazaril, and two significant wounds, but it did nothing to nullify the fact that he was not dead yet.

Turning back to help pull the next dwarf out of the tunnel, Kazaril heard Aonghus speak. "Well here we are, alive and kicking..." Kazaril grunted in response. "You don't have to sound to happy about it," the disappointed slayer said. "How were we supposed to know the trolls wouldn't be as challenging as the stories would say?" Still though, after that Kazaril maintained a respectful silence, his mind on the brave vindicated slayers-to-be that they had left behind in those blood-covered caverns. He and the other survivors had slain their share of trolls, but over half of the group had perished. Envying them, Kazaril waited for the rest of the new troll slayers to emerge from the tunnel so that they could move on to complete the ritual of initiation to the Troll Slayers' Cult and then be about finding something else to slay that was more likely to help them achieve their dooms.


*****

Jax Ragnar was aided by Kazaril out of the hole. He dusted himself off, hanging his axes back in the cloth belt that held up his ragged torn pants. His entire body, from head to toe, was covered in Grobi blood and dust. His crest of orange-dyed hair hung a bit. He shook his head, allowing some of the blood and dust covering his face in beard to fly off into the glade. He had seen at least three other Slayers die today, and would make sure their names were written.

"Aye... Thanks laddies... Ah was trapped in tha' hold fer weeks 'fore ye came..." He looked around, and cracked his neck. "Weh aught teh move out... These woods meh beh filled with grobi by tha mornin'..." He spat blood onto the ground. "Once weh find a waterin' 'ole or anythin' lok tha', then we kun stop tea clean arselves up... But now... Now we just gutta git aught o' 'ere... Ah... And I guess I'll beh joinin' ye..."

*****

"Dang and bloody blast it!!"

The gore covered form of Grundi Goraksson clawed its way up to the surface, his huge single-bladed crescent axe held in one gritty paw of a hand. Dried blood covered his torso, concealing the few tattoos that were marked on his flesh, and there were shards of bone stuck within his short orange crest. It had been a tremendous fight against the warp-tainted Trolls, over half of Ungrim Drengial had died in the dank caverns below, their past deeds forgiven and their souls redeemed - now they were welcomed into the great halls of their forefathers, striding through the mighty gates together to accept their first taste from the golden tankards.

Over one brawny shoulder was wrapped a hideously bloated and gory-covered Troll intestine, cut from his foe in the old mine below them. With these tough and stretchy innards, Grundi Goraksson would perform the Slayer's Leap on the Karak Kadrin bridge... it was a custom that some Slayers chose to undergo, bungee jumping into the goblins to show their lack of fear.

Grundi shook his head gruffly and spat blood onto the floor, his form was covered in blood, but yet more of it was covered in dust and rubble. Up and up the Dwarfs had clawed their way back to the surface, their grim eyes set upon the faintest window of light above them. Back to the world of the living they had climbed, and life tasted disgusting.

"The sooner we get back to Karak Kadrin the better." Grundi spat, swinging his rune axe heavily into the earth and turning to hoist up the next Slayer.

Eventually, Bran Aonghus McHalvorson, Kazaril the Bitter, Grundi Goraksson, Thorim Milluzthril, Jax Ragner, Karzan Gilgriksson, Gorrel Willcrusher, Haggrim Haggrimsson, and Wendell Weriksson all stood atop the stony hill they had crawled out from. They had all been denied their deaths at the hands of the Trolls... and now they would seek bigger prey.

And their long journey would continue until they were no longer capable of drawing a single breath through to their lungs, nor capable of swinging their blades into the flesh of those that stood before the one thing they all craved. Such was the life of a Slayer.

*****

Jax Ragnar now waited as the last of the Slayers were pulled out of the ground. His body was covered with less dust from shaking off. He had also discovered a nearby pond where he washed off the majority of the blood, revealing the large star-shaped tattoo on his back. This tattoo expanded along his back and went down one arm into a ring around his wrist, and had marks on his fingers. On the other hand, his entire hand was painted blue, covered entirely in a tattoo. From his cloth belt hung his small throwing axe, his large runeaxe (which he also used as a crutch and walking stick), and the troll intestines which were coiled up like a rope. Along with that was a single grobi skull, which he had just cleaned off in the pond. His beard was large and bushy, with a few of the strands braided with tiny rune-encrusted beads. His entire almost-nude body was covered in bloody scars.

He wandered back over to the hole, where he helped push a massive boulder over the hole, plugging it so they would not have any followers.

"Soo... Ah weh goin' back ar wha'??" He said, spitting another glop of blood onto the ground.

*****

After Ragnar, Kazaril helped the remaining six slayers out of the tunnel, after whom was Lokri Greybeard. After slaughtering all the trolls to be found in the cavern complex, the slayers had backtracked to where they had left Lokri, surrounded by a dozen dead goblins and staggering drunk, a condition brought about by the rapid consumption of most of the ale in his minecart to prevent it falling into goblin hands.

Peering down at Lokri in the tunnel and reaching out to help pull the old prospector out, Kazaril said, "It seems the minecart won't be able to fit." As he was being pulled out, Lokri's eyes widened. "Nonshenshe!" Back out in the open, Lokri began scrabbling at the rocks with a drunken vigor. "Ah've killed more grobi than Ah can count to protect that ale, and Ah'm not leavin' it behind!" Sighing, Kazaril helped the Mad Miner, clearing a hole barely big enough for Lokri to re-enter the tunnel and pass the heavy minecart up to Kazaril, his intoxication lending him strength.

Muscles bulging, Kazaril brought the cart out and then helped Lokri out again before Jax rolled a large stone across the entrance. Lokri apparently did not fancy the bright light after being in the dark of the tunnels, and the drunk prospector staggered about looking for his sense of balance. Snorting, Kazaril looked to the other slayers. When they were ready, he was ready to move on.

*****

Jax Ragnar's muscular stomach heaved as he leaned back up against the boulder. He surveyed the area. To the east was the pond. All around them were trees. A tall stone structure was on the tree edge. Jax took out the small flask that hung from his belt.

Empty.

"Ahhh... Ah dea ned sum gud beer 'ere lads!! Anywun git anythin'??"

*****

Grundi ripped his huge crescent-shaped runeaxe from the earth, and hefted it over his shoulder one more. The group were weary after the almighty struggle in the once troll-infested mines below them, but Grundi was in no mood to rest - he was ready to leave. As far as Grundi Goraksson was concerned, the sooner his doom seeking resumed the better. The Dwarf's axe was thirsting for combat, and although his limbs were tired, his heart was aflame with determination. In the dank depths of the caverns he had failed to find an end to his journey; if the Slayer had his way, he would not fail again.

Grundi Goraksson...

Grundi understood now why Kazaril had replaced his surname. Grundi felt ashamed to even utter his father's name after his own, for his father had been a Dwarf to walk the mountains with sure enough!! Gorak's beard had been long and grey, his eyes shone with strength, and his willpower was unbreakable... a more honourable father a Dwarf could never want. And Grundi had let the proud Dwarf down, by securing his place amongst the cult of the crested. A new name was in order, for he was the son of his father no longer, he was a Slayer, and until he redeemed himself he deserved no links to his clan or bloodline, lest he bring shame upon them more so.

Grundi stared at the now sealed exit from which they had crawled out from, his eyes flickered to his still dripping axe, and then his gaze fell upon the intestines wrapped around his shoulder like a rope. He couldn’t decide on a name yet, but by the time they made it to Karak Kadrin and performed the leap, he would have it.

"Right then, let's get a move on.” Grundi grunted, his voice rumbling from behind his beard, “Standing around here is a waste of time – unless some of you are planning on dying of old age. To Karak Kadrin we trudge, and then onwards to our mighty dooms.”

And so the orange crested Dawi of Ungrim Drengial began the slow walk down the mountain, their feet carrying them in the direction of the Slayer Keep.

*****

“Standing around here is a waste of time – unless some of you are planning on dying of old age. To Karak Kadrin we trudge, and then onwards to our mighty dooms.” Said Grundi. Jax laughed hoarsely, specs of blood flew from his mouth as he did so.

"Nay, meh new friend, nay... If ye wanted tea know, meh name beh Jax Ragnar, but ye kun call meh Ragnar, or Rag, if ye prefer... Not meh real name, meh real name's long forgotten... Ah've shamed meh famileh name, and I took up this new one..."

Bran just smiled to himself and took humor in the others slayers hilarious dialect, giving him a hard slap on the back before shaking dust out of his crest and off his body, he could see though that all the rest of his comrades were in no mood for laughter and went deadly silent as they moved along towards Karak-Kadrin.

“Bluidy crap Trolls if you ask me, couldn’t even kill a few Dwarfs, I mean what the hell is that all about?!”

Unlike the other Dwarfs McHalvorson cared not a jot that they hadn’t died, like them he had been shamed by not being there when his family was wiped out yet he was nothing like them. In his culture each Dwarf was taught to value honor and death in battle as sacred and, though he was not dead, he took great comfort in the thought that he would now be able to go on and fight larger more dangerous foes in the name of his dead kith and kin.

He snorted and slung his pole-axe over his shoulder as they walked, thinking that he too might remove his clan-name and replace it with something else after the bridge-leaping was done and over. Now all he had to do was think of an astoundingly excellent sounding name for him, coming up with something good would be hard seeing as he had not yet done anything worth recording in name.

Another snort and a gaze over his arms told him he’d need to get some more tattoos too.

They began to march. After what seemed like forever, Jax could finally see the bridge in sight...

*****

The party had finally made it to the skybridge that led to the Slayer Keep at mid-morning. As they began to wander over the bridge that extended over the deep chasm, Jax began to take in the scenery. Many small statues were built into the rock surrounding the keep. The keeps entrance was magnificent. It had to gigantic stone pillars with the heads of two slayers carved into them. Fires of torches burnt all over, giving it a great light. Orange-dyed beards hung from posts around the entrance beyond the skybridge. Jax finally got to the center of the bridge, where he undid the troll intestines and wrapped them tightly around one of the slayer statues in the middle of the bridge. He then secured it to his foot. He stood on the edge, and spit down into the abyss.

"Ready, mates??"

Bran stood silently, unwrapping the intestines from his shoulder and wrapping the bloody organs round his feet before he managed to shuffle his way to the edge of the chasm, he gestured for another slayer to tie the rear end to something sturdy and cracked his knuckles in anticipation of the leap. All he could see down below was pitch blackness and watched with interest at Jax released a mouthful of spit into the gorge.

“Weel ah’m ready…” He snorted, running a hand through his orange crest and letting out a slow snort of breath, his eyes resolutely staring into the pit below. Awaiting and impatient of the other slayers he decided to take matters into his own hands, twisting about to see that his soon-to-die colleague was ready for when he jumped to haul him back up…dropping into a near bottomless rift was not his idea of an honourable dead by any account.

“Ah’ll see youse guys in a minute!”

His shout echoed and faded away as he leaped, head downwards and arms outstretched, the sensation was like flying with Grungni himself and if Bran hadn’t been so caught up in trying not to throw up what little food he had actually eaten recently he’d probably have thought about the very same sensation being the type he’d imagine when a Dwarf dies and goes to join their ancestors in the eternal drinking halls.

Weightless and blameless of anything for at least a few seconds he muttered a small prayer to his ancestors, the tiny wisps of his small crest picking up the rippling airwaves on the way down, now the extremely supple Troll-organ backlashes and sent the Highland Dwarf firing back up towards the bridge where he knew his life of dishonor and death-seeking would begin all over again.

It was reinforcement, some might say an oddity, that as he was dragged by his legs back onto the cold stone of the bridge once more he felt no fear at all in death. He knew what awaited him on the other side, for he had seen and he had prayed, knowing that once he took the final step into death he would once more join his ancestors on the other side like so many other slayers had done and….finally…be absolved.

*****

Jax jumped as soon as Bran could be seen once more. He just stepped off, rather than jumped. He plummeted straight down, bellowing curses of mostly all races that inhabited the old world. His curses echoed throughout the chasm. The chord finally ran out and he bounced straight back up. Jax flailed his arms as he flew upwards. The intestines wrapped upwards, around the bridge, but Jax hit the stone of the floor of the bridge before it could fully wrap him around. He had a crazed look in his now wide eyes.

"Who's up for round TWO!?" He bellowed as he hopped up, walking around swinging his arms like he was drunk.

Grundi strode forwards, his eyes blank and expressionless, his face grim and set. The thick bloated coil of troll intestines had been tied to a secure part of the bridge, and now Grundi stood on the very edge of bridge, less than an inch away from a drop that could leave an imprint on the earth far below - should you fall from it. With no sound, Grundi tied the other end of the troll's insides to his legs, then he pulled his gigantic crescent axe from his back and held it before him in two iron-like fists.

Brandishing the axe, Grundi stared at the almighty chasm below him. This was the purpose of the jump, for now Grundi realized that he truly had nothing to fear from death. In fact, the consequences of dangerous life-risking actions could no longer concern him, for he was a slayer, and fear had no place in his life. Here he stood, staring into the pit of oblivion, and he felt nothing. His life was in the hands of Grimnir as far as Grundi was concerned; if he fell and died here then it would be a just punishment for his sins - doomed for eternity to never enter the scared halls of his forefathers. Grundi knew now that he could spit into the eye of a Daemon, and he would feel nothing but the longing for combat.

Grundi swept his axe down in a murderous arch as if he were striking at rabble of critters, and then he simultaneously leapt from the ledge. There were no thunderous battle cries, no savage shouts of hatred, rage, or defiance - there was only the sound of rushing wind as he plummeted through the air with his axe held before him. The Dwarf reached the bottom of his fall, and experienced a brief moment of weightlessness; Grundi strained to lift his head against the force of gravity and he stared up at the bridge high above him.

The moment passed, and Grundi began to soar upwards like a rocket, and this time a bellow did erupt from his throat. Thunderous rage exploded forth from behind his bristling beard, and his burning eyes were fixed upon the bridge that grew closer and closer to him in his flight towards the world once more.

Grundi's axe shot out with blinding speed, and the inner curve of the crescent-shaped blade bit into the bridge like a hook - the Dwarf pulled himself back upwards onto the stone, his throat silent once more, and a strange feral glint glowing in his eyes. The axe swept down and freed his legs of their gory bindings. All that awaited him now was his doom, but first he wished to make one or two changes to his... apparel. A Slayer's profession, if they survived for long enough, often drove a Dwarf insane - and Grundi was ready to embrace that madness, for it would fuel his limbs towards the doom he craved.

Grundi slung his huge two-handed axe over one of his shoulders and turned to the others.

"I'll find you lads later."

And with that, Grundi trudged towards the great gates of Karak Kadrin; somehow this experience had changed him even more so than the day he had shaved his beard, he was grimmer and somehow more unstable. He was Grundi Goraksson no more - he was the beat to the war drum, the harbinger of destruction, and the Dwarf would not cease his bloody slaying until something could topple him from his path of bones.

*****

"Ya, mates, I'm gonna go have a bit of a break..." Jax said, waving to them, and walking towards the keep. He entered the massive gate. Grundi was already lost in the sea of orange crests. Jax walked through the massive hall of the keep. Everywhere were Slayers getting tattoos, shaving their skulls, and dying their hair and sharpening their weapons. He wandered into what seemed to be a large tavern made out of stone. Drunken slayers were everywhere within it. Jax pulled up a stool to the bartop, which was a number of stone blocks pushed together.

"Bugmans... Any kind..." Jax said. The slayer 'bartender' behind the blocks took out a large barrel, popped a cork from a tiny hole, and poured some of the liquid into a wooden mug. He handed it to Jax, who eagerly took it. Jax drank it all down in one helping.

"More..." He said, and the bartender refilled the mug.

"Easy there..." Said another slayer, sitting next to him. Jax looked beside him. There sat a much younger-looking slayer. A beardling, he had guessed. He looked like he had just taken the slayer's oath recently. His arms had two tattoos each. He had an axe sitting right next to him. Jax realized it wasn't an axe. It was two large axe heads bound by chains, and were wrapped around the slayer's forearms.

"You're a doomseeker, are ya?"

"Aye..."

"Kill anything??"

"Aye... A few clansmen... by accident..."

Jax felt he should not have to push the beardling so far as to tell his story of how he became shamed.

"Why don't ya come join me on my doomseeking quest... What be your name, beardling??"

"My name's Furki Drongninson..."

"Aye, laddie, ye can join me if you'd like..."

"Nay... Maybe some other time... For now, I must work alone..."

Jax was confused at this. He watched as the beardling slayer got up, dragging the chained axeheads along with him as he left the tavern. Jax just shrugged, and went back to drinking.

*****

Bran was torn between staying and watching the other slayers leap from the bridge, his limbs not seemingly wanting to move from his now fixed position near the edge of the overpass, there were still a few slayers left to dive but in the end he decided it would just be better to do the same as two others had already done and find something else to do whilst they were here.

“I’ll see ye later laddies” he muttered as he swiveled about on his heel and marched through the gates of Kadrin once more. Just inside was a sort of slayer compound, tents and what not mingling together with a market of sorts, there were Dwarfs selling all sorts of merchandise of the blade, of the flesh and of the rune-kind. Every bit of his surroundings was filled with orange and the gleaming blades of steel alongside a few of the Dwarfs who actually lived in Kadrin, not being slayers themselves, who ran the stalls and stands about the place.

Passing by a window, one of the rarest things within a Dwarf-hold let alone Karak-Kadrin, he viewed himself and let out a loud sigh. His beard was short and his skin mostly unblemished, though his muscles were in grand shape he believed, eyes he could see glaring at him from all about and he took it down to his mode of dress…though a sneaking feeling gave him the idea that it may well have been something more obvious.

Letting a grunt pass his lips he tore himself away from the reflective surface and began looking about for something to ease the internal shame he felt. Looking about as his roughened and bare feet plodded through the inner-corridors of the slayer-keep he could see grandly decorated Dwarfs, piercings and tattoos dripping from them, he had never been a big fan of having any part of his body pierced by anything without a d**ned good reason so instead he looked to the second option of having his body decorated by ink and by pain.

Upon entering a large shop, examples of the tattooist’s works displayed on flayed pieces of Greenskin and Troll skin, Bran placed aside his weapons at the doorway and made his way over to the elderly looking Dwarf sitting behind a small simple counter of wood.

“Excuse me…” Two eyes looked up from something and a smile split the long-beards face “well, well, a Dwarf of the north comes to my shop…I’m honored…” Peering at the tattoos already on the slayers body he nodded and hobbled about to get a look at the rest, the smile never leaving his face.

“What can I get you then, sir?”

Bran left the establishment with vastly larger numbers of northern knotting covering and wrapping its way about his and up his arms, a large knot of gold and silver ink covering his back and another blue swirl on the opposite cheek. It was only after leaving, weapons in hand, that he realized his pipes had been lost within that collapsed tunnel and although it wasn’t much of a loss to any other it was one of the biggest losses to him.

“Aff I go again.”

Off he did go, though few in number, the musical shops within Kadrin were said to stock a vast array of instruments.

*****

Jax wandered out of the tavern, his bare feet plodding against the stone ground, carrying his axe around on his shoulder. He walked down the hall through the many other slayers until he had come to the shrine of Grungni. He walked up and looked upon the massive tome that sat upon it. He flipped over to an empty page, and began scribbling down the names of the deceased slayers who he had seen meet their dooms within the mines against the trolls, and how they had met their dooms. After the inscribing was done, he put down the large quill pen and looked upon his work.

"May Grungni watch over them in the hall of ancestors... And may their shames be forgiven..."

*****

Securing one end of the trollsgut to the bridge and the other to one leg, Kazaril gazed down at the bottom of the chasm so far below as he secured Drengidum tightly to his back. As he took a few steps and then hurled himself off the bridge, Kazaril could not help comparing it to how he hurled himself into the arms of Death, how Death had spurned him. For a while as he was in free-fall, Kazaril entertained the notion of the gut not pulling him back up, of merely continuing his fall until hitting the ground - and peaceful oblivion. It would not be a death against a mighty foe, but perhaps Grimnir would be content in the gesture of courage that it took to dive off of the Sky-Bridge. He was nearing the point of no return and was beginning to feel that his hopes were justified when he felt his rate of descent slowing to a crawl, then stopping for just a moment.

In that heartbeat of stillness before returning upward to the bridge, Kazaril stared longingly at the ground just a few hundred feet below him, before rocketing back upwards at speed to overshoot the bridge. On his way back down Kazaril reached out two burly arms to catch hold of the bridge, jarring him. Clambering back onto the bridge before severing the trollgut, Kazaril held the length of intestine in his hands before letting it drop off the edge, watching it until it hit the ground as he had not been able to do.

Kazaril supposed that if he truly wished for death he could jump off after it, but he also knew that if Grimnir had willed him to die in the fall, he would have the first time. He could die by jumping off now, but it would be without honor, and the fate of dying without honor chilled the slayer to the bone. No, he would go on and live for a time, and die with honor later to redeem the honor that could not be his in life.

Trudging for the Gates of Karak Kadrin despondently, Kazaril entered the Stronghold and made his way to the Shrine of Grimnir, to give the priests the names and deeds of the fallen slayers and to raise many tankards to the reclaimed honor of his now-vindicated friends. He had not known them, but their deeds and their deaths were an example to him, and he cherished the fact that he had been there to see their escape from dishonor and shame. It was many hours later that a more-than-slightly-drunk Kazaril wandered over to the square near the Temple of Grimnir where the dwarfs of Ungrim Drengial had assembled for the first time, hoping that the others would show up in time for them to go seek their dooms one last time.

*****

Jax Ragnar needed a new name. His current one made no sense. He didn't even think it sounded Dwarfish enough. No no, it was not a name worthy of a Slayer...

He wandered away from the shrine of Grungni, catching sight of Kazaril as he went. He wandered into the chambers where the Dwarfs were shaving their hair and dying it. The ground here was covered with hair. He walked over to a stall, and grabbed the blade used for the shaving. He cut his a bit of his crest off, because it was getting in the way of his eyes, and was annoying. He wandered out, hunting for more things to do before they left on yet another journey of doomseeking...

He still needed a name, he thought to himself silently as he cleaned his large axe. He finished cleaning every spec of dried Grobi and troll blood off of the weapon's immense blade. He finished, getting up and striding over to a balcony that overlooked the entire entrance way and skybridge to the hold. He stared at a flock of eagles drifting by in the mountain breeze...

Ragnar Dumi was his new name...

------

[luy22]

Bran looked about the shop, filled to overflowing with all sorts of odd and exotic musical instruments, the keeper of this particular store had directed the Highland Dwarf towards a stifling corner of the store where a number of dusty instruments were piled and unkempt away from the more common things that Dwarfish musicians might select when marching towards or away from a battle.

It took him a good few minutes until he finally managed to shake the dust of a plain black sack, three tubes expanding from it, checking it all for dust-damage and giving it a quick drone the freshly tattooed slayer gave a quick smile to the shop keep and handed him the remaining money that he had been keeping in his plaid for such an occasion.

Only once he had headed out of the shops did he go to pay his respects in the temple of Grimnir, marching steadily past the busts of former slayers and the crimson robed carers of the shrine, he saw the rear view of Jax as he left the holy-place. After kneeling and giving a quick prayer for those who had fallen in the Troll-raid he overheard one of the assistants talking about ‘skazal’ or thieves before they moved on to something a lot more interesting.

From the shrine assistant’s scuttlebutt he could make out that a squad of Ironbreakers had recently been sent down into the tunnels of an abandoned series of mineshafts and catacombs, shafts that were directed and flowed around for many miles under a mountain range some miles to the south-east of Karak-Kadrin.

It seemed that none of the sturdy warriors had returned from the expedition and that King Ungrim himself was very soon going to release a public announcement to all slayers regarding it but, for now, it was private knowledge.

Armed with this guarded information Bran decided to find the other surviving slayers of his ‘group’ and inform them of everything he had heard. It didn’t take him long to ask about for their whereabouts and discover that a number of slayers had been seen heading towards the place where all of the current slayers first met to set out against the Trolls.

“Sae, here ye laddies are.” He snorted as he trudged over to Jax and Kazaril, eyes gleaming with something bestial, his lips curved upwards into an undying crescent grin. With his new set of pipes slung over his back, secure in the brown leather backpack and his pole-axe over one shoulder he began.

“Ah’ve got great news fer each of ye but ah’ll wait till we’re all here.”

*****

Some time had passed since he had left the others, and his appearance had changed quite dramatically. Grundi Grimuzkul stood with his huge crescent-bladed axe in one meaty hand, his body was decorated in several green and blue tattoos which covered most of his torso and even stretched up to the side of his skull. The Slayer now had several studs and golden piercings embedded in various parts of his skin, and horizontal fang-like spikes ran down his spinal column.

The Dwarf trudged through the halls of Karak Kadrin. He glanced at no one and likewise no open really glanced at him - Slayers were common here, and the sight of one was not unusual. Grundi was eager to leave the hold and set off on a new venture, the others had better be ready when he got to the meeting point, for his doom would wait for no one.

Grundi Grimuzkul stomped in the general direction of the Shrine of Grimnir, as he reached the steps he spotted Bran and the others - he trudged over to them slowly and halted. They said nothing concerning his new somewhat more fearsome and repulsive appearance, but they acknowledged him with nods. Grundi put all his weight on his great-axe and leaned on the gromril weapon silently, he waited for to see what was to happen next.

*****

Bran had no idea who else the dramatically altered Grundi was looking for, his eerily daemonic eyes sweeping about as if expecting another slayer to join them at any moment, needless to say he clearly knew how unhinged most slayers were and decided to ignore his comrades eccentric behavior for now as it didn’t seem dangerous in any way…yet.

“Reet, well, ah wis hearkening on a couple o’ temple attendants an ah haurd something verra interesting indeed. Seems a nummer o’ Ironbreakers wis sent doun unner a muntain range nae hyne awa frae here…but thay ne’er cam back frae tha patrol.”

Stopping to let the other members of the group attempt to endeavor to analyze exactly what he’d just said he scratched the rapidly growing strip of hair atop his head with a grin and decided that when they next stopped somewhere or found some wild beasties he’d need to refill his animal-fat pot.

“Onywey, tha muntains are riddled wi’ catacombs and auld heuch-shafts frae auld pickmen, clatter and whimper has it that rattan-men mey weel be leevin doon thare an aw!”

With that the pole-axe wielding slayer went silent, scratching his fuzzy chin and awaiting any other reports or news from the others of the group. Either way he knew that the mention of rat-men and missing Dwarfs would be enough to spur his fellow slayers into another suicidal mission to the underworld.

*****

Ragnar thought of this.

Ratmen. One of the Dwarf's true enemies. He spit down to the floor, heaving his large axe over his shoulder.

"I'm ready to move out, my friend... Many a vermin shall lose a head tonight... I do know a good way to find them... At the back of the keep, there's a old mine passage that'll lead us all down to the catacombs... They may be there..." Ragnar finished giving what he knew, then cracked his neck.

*****

Grundi spat on the floor, his mouth still tasted foul and bloody from the troll battle. The Slayer pulled his flask from his belt and swigged back from its contents, he gargled the alcohol and then swallowed it. The Dwarf took another swig and then, once satisfied, slung his axe over his shoulder and cleared his throat to speak - his feral green eyes met Bran's strong gaze.

"Dead Ironbreakers eh?"

Bran said nothing, but stared at the other Slayer grimly, obviously not intending to repeat what he had just said. Grundi scratched at his nose and then continued, his voice was low so as not to draw any eavesdroppers to the conversation.

"If there are Dwarfs going missing then we can't sit idly by. It is possible that they still live, though I doubt it, so we should try and find out what happened to them. Of course, as we all know, Ironbreakers are veteran tunnel-fighters and expert troops - if something below those mountains wiped out their patrol's, then there's a pretty good chance it could do the same for us."

Grundi Grimuzkul stared at his comrades slowly, they were all obviously following his line of thought; even an orc with a bad head injury could work it out.

"I say we venture to these mountains and try and find out what happened to these Ironbreakers. We will either avenge them, or find our dooms in the attempt to do so."

Having nothing more to say Grundi fell silent, he waited to see if anyone else had anything more to add, or if anyone had to make any more stops. Preferably though Grundi Grimuzkul would like to set out as soon as possible, for his axe craved blood and his heart burned for combat... Ungrim Drengial would be traveling into the unknown, not knowing the numbers or even the nature of their enemy. And that's just the way Grundi liked it.

*****

"Hrm, fightin' skaven in th'tunnels. Bad business, that. But, if those ironbreakers're missin', methinks ye'll need a dwarf with a head for th'deeps. Lot'sa strange things down there. Dangerous things, ratmen besides." Kazaril stared at Lokri, who had just appeared from somewhere behind him. The crazed miner couldn't possibly intend to accompany the slayers on their quest for doom! It was madness for a dwarf with his honor intact! "So, Ah gues Ah'll be goin' with ye, if ye don't mind." Kazaril wasn't exactly going to stop the old prospector, but he was still incredulous at his decision and decided once and for all the Greybeard was insane. The other slayers had no objections, though: they remembered the prospector's fine taste in ale and saw that his minecart full of supplies had some new kegs in it that weren't all full of blasting powder.

As for himself, Kazaril shrugged his shoulders and stretched before running a hand across Drengidum his rune-axe. "Let's be goin' if there's nothing keepin' us."

*****

"Let's be goin' if there's nothing keepin' us."

Well there was nothing keeping them and, although none of the slayers had an accurate map towards these mines and catacombs, they were sure that a series of tunnels wouldn’t be that hard to find for a group of Dwarfs who had spent most of their lives beneath the ground. Even Bran, who was not of the Old World Mountains, had spent a good few hours beneath the cold and silent earth carving tunnels and mining with others of his ilk.

As they left Karak-Kadrin for yet another term the bitter cold of a chilling night began to set in, the sunlight that had washed over them during the day now retreating over the mountains from whence it came, as slayers none of them showed any sign of any pain caused by the sudden drop in temperature and if there was any it was kept well hidden beneath humor, bitter faces, or some other sort of decoy away from the truth.

Contained by the mountains and the pockets of freezing cold weather they marched, grim faces set and all signs of communication breaking down to silence. Trudging as only Dwarfs could, barefooted and alone in the middle of Greenskin and Gods knew what else infested peaks. Eyes of the group were constantly on the lookout with only the old prospectors cart and its non-oiled wheels making any sort of sound, in this case a loud creak, that echoed along the peak-path and down into glens and valleys in the region of the group.

Bran unpinned the top of his plaid, wrapping it about his shoulders in perfect calm, eyes roving across the peaks and tattooed cheeks wincing as the journey decided to get even better. It wasn’t the season for it but in the mountains of the World Edge anything could happen and in this instant it did, white flakes of ice beginning to fall upon the group, though they were only mid-way up the side of the peaks following an old goat-herders track, soon enough a thick carpet of snow had began to descended upon them and large flat footprints were left behind by the bare-feet of the suicidal Dawi for anything large or stupid enough that might want to attack them.

It was a safe bet to assume that these catacombs and mineshafts were near the desolation of Drakenmoor as well as the Greenskin and Skaven occupied Mount Gunbad which, if true, would mean that even if they didn’t meet anything down in the depths they could always try assailing the mountain by themselves and assure themselves of a nice death.

Hours had passed and still the snow fell, the group’s path descending down into a gully that as by now filled to the brim with snowfall, soon enough it would turn into a full blizzard and freezing to death was surely no death for a slayer. Half walking and half sliding down the hill, the mine cart causing the most problems, Ungrim Drengial began to search for a suitable place to stay until the whiteout past them, be it a cave or some sort of deserted ruin, anything was better than having your toes and fingers turn black before they fell off.

*****

Kazaril trudged on through the cold, frost beginning to form on his head-crest and barely-grown beard. Drengidum was cold as ice against his bare back, and he had to constantly move his fingers and toes to keep the circulation going. He muttered to himsef in unintelligible Khazalid; he had set off to meet his death at the hands of the skaven, not those of an out-of-season snowfall a few miles from the Karak.

Something was handed to him by Lokri, and Kazaril took the flask. Raising it to his lips, Kazaril inhaled most of the strong liquor, already beginning to feel its warmth fuelling his body. The slayer handed it back to Lokri, who gave him another full flask. Passing it up the line, Kazaril muttered, "It'll warm yer bones."

*****

Ragnar followed close behind them. His bare feet left deep tracks in the snow. His orange crest beard, nose, and axe grew icicles as the night progressed. He spat. The spit hit the stone wall of the mountain and froze very quickly.

"I think we should make shelter!! We don't want to die of cold!!" He said, looking to the others. Snow just began to whip at them. A blizzard was on it's way.

"Well mates??"

“Well ah think ah’ve found something…” Bran raised one hand to peer into the distance through the ever-increasing blizzard about them and gestured to the others “…there, an entrance tae a cave.”

Without waiting for the others he ploughed forth, pole-axe held ready in two hands, chilled and near-enough numb legs wading through the whitened layer of snow before him and carving a trail leading towards a gaping opening in the mountain-side. It was a large opening, large enough for a human anyway, as wide as three armored Dwarfs and within it seemed an adequate amount of shelter was present if there was nothing contained by those stone walls that would try to kill or eat them.

Dwarfs were known for their exceedingly good eyesight in the dark and as it were it was getting both dark and snow was attempting to kill them before any enemy did. Bran trudged onwards until he finally reached the cave-mouth, eyes peering inwards before he let out a sigh and entered further. Nothing leaped out to confront him nor did something shoot from beneath the barely snow-sprinkled floor of the cave to devour his essence.

“Al’reet…caves clear…” He shouted to the others, hoping that the weather wouldn’t hinder his yell. Out of instinct the highlander made his way to the very back of the cave and found nothing but more solid rock, satisfied that nothing would be coming from their rear at least he made his way back to the entrance and awaited the others.

*****

Kazaril looked about the cave warily with a hatchet held in each hand ready to throw or strike. Grunting to show that he was satisfied that the dwarfs were the only occupants, Kazaril sat down on the hard cave floor and began massaging the cold out of his feet, which were already beginning to turn blue. He was trying to help circulation of blood to fight off the encroaching frostbite, but there was only so much he could do. His fingers and hands were in better shape since they had not actually been trudging through the snow, but they needed to be worked as well. Another shot of Lokri's liquor had Kazaril feeling warmer, if not comfortable.

Sitting with his back against the wall, Kazaril kept the flask as Lokri was handing out more to those that wanted one and watched the snow falling outside, apparently lost in thought, or memory.

*****

Ragnar stepped into the cave, breaking off a icicle hanging from the tip of his crest, and shook off the rest. He grabbed the flask and took much of it down, and handed it back to it's owner. He looked around at the other slayers.

Grundi said little, he sat at the back of the cave with his huge crescent-bladed axe lying across his lap. The Slayer had glared around the dark interior of the cave slowly, his eyes not resting until he was finally satisfied that Bran was correct - the Dwarfs were the only inhabitants of the cave... at the moment at least. Now Grundi lay with his back against the rough stone wall, its cold surface felt warm to the touch; which meant the Slayer's body temperature was low indeed. Frost and snow were stuck within his beard, but as long as his fingers were still able to grip the haft of his axe then Grundi Grimuzkul would not complain.

"How much further, eh lads?? I don't think we can continue today..." Ragnar spoke.

Grundi shot Ragnar a grim stare; the other Slayer was right - the weather was harsh and unyielding, it would be better for the Dwarfs to remain within the slightly warmer environment of the cave until the worse of the blizzard was over. The Slayer was not tired however, and so instead he warmed his stomach with some Troll Brew which he kept within one of his flasks clipped to his belt.

A fire would be helpful, but the only sticks nearby were frozen solid and would not burn; it seemed that the Dwarfs would have to put their much fabled stamina and endurance to test, and attempt to shrug off the freezing weather until morning.

Something caught Grundi's eye, and he turned his head down to noticed a rather fat and ugly bug crawling over his axe blade. The Slayer’s hand swept down and crushed the bug into a sludgy mess, before flicking what could only be described as its burst remains to one side.

Nobody other than Grundi touched his axe, be it beast or bug.

*****

Hours had passed with the blizzard raging as violently as ever without and even sending its bitter chill within the cave to challenge the resilience of the near-naked Dwarf within. Most sat lazily with their backs against the cave wall or peering at their weapons or into the distance where only the white swirls of nature’s fury could be seen and not much else. Bran himself sat tight nearby the actual entrance, his plaid wrapped tightly about his shoulders, thankful for the extra warmth it gave him and not caring if it made him look soft compared to the others.

His eyes swept over the others, one hand clutching a flask he’d been given by the old prospector, noticing only now how much Grundi had actually changed. It seemed the other Drengi had become somewhat….madder…since he had leaped from the bridge, both mentally and bodily. If closely watched one might well be able to see a smoldering rage burning within the slayers eyes, his tattooed form rigid and hardened and his mood even more depressing that even your average slayers was meant to be.

“Bluidy snow…” He took a large swig of the alcohol he’d been given, warming his belly and spreading through his body if but for a moment “…reminds me of elves and I bluidy hate those Elgi traitors.”

Further moments passed in stillness, only the occasional cough or sniff of an upcoming cold breaking the serene, yet subzero, scene that had been created surrounded by the chilled stone walls of the cave. Probably because of this tranquil immobility Bran peered out into the snow, one eye open and one squinting against the whitened glare, one hand rising to shield his squinting orbs from the whipping wind.

“Laddies…” He said to the others, not facing them, but slowly picking up his pole-weapon and gripping it firmly “…erm laddies, ye may wan’tae cam here the nou.” His voice held a slightly edge of urgency mingled with one of excitement, his breath shortening, it seemed they were not the only ones to have been lost in the blizzard and now it seemed others were looking for a similar place to shelter.

“Grobi!”

Not waiting to see how many Greenskins were out there nor if the others were following the Highland dwarf charged headlong into the blizzard, shimmering hides of dull green and glinting blades could be seen ahead of him as red eyes directed themselves to the shouting and crazed warrior.

“Cam an gae some ye ugly bastart…” The first Orc swung a cleaver at the enraged slayers head, the arc being deftly blocked by the thick wooden haft, only for the weapon to be twisted about and the spike, meant for dismounting armored foes, swung with full force into the Greenskins face to leave a massive puncture and dribbling brain-matter.

*****

One moment Bran was sitting quietly lost in his thoughts, the next moment he was peering out into the white torrent beyond the cave mouth with his pole-axe gripped tightly, and the next he was charging headlong through the blizzard, shortly afterward his now familiar battlecry sounded above the raging winds; one word reached Grundi’s ears before Bran had surged forwards; Grobi.

Goblins.

Grundi Grimuzkul was the next on his feet. The Slayer's body and limbs felt stiff, and he uttered a foul oath as he hefted his axe before him; all of the Dwarfs would be inhibited by the immense cold, and so would their enemies. The good news was that a little combat would almost certainly warm the Slayers up, there was nothing like some goblin stomping to get the blood pumping again!

These thoughts dashed through Grundi's mined in several heartbeats as his heavy feet slammed against the stone floor, he brandished his axe before him as if he were going to attempt to cut through the very mountain winds themselves. The Slayer charged from the cave mouth, and as the furious blizzard roared around his ears he bellowed forth thunderous yet nonsensical rage. The blizzard was still thick, and it very nearly blinded Grundi, forcing the Dwarf to squint against the harsh winds and the stinging snow - Bran's warcry sounded from Grundi's left, and so Grimuzkul set off to the right as fats as numb legs would carry him.

He could see them now, ugly disproportioned faces leering from the mist, red eyes glinting in surprise as well as hatred as Ungrim Drengial began to fall down upon them akin to a rockfall. Grundi span on his heel, seemingly oblivious or uncaring to the slippery footing, and span straight into a group of filthy grobi; his huge axe cutting in a lethal 360 degree circle. The attack sheared through the flimsy neck of one goblin and obliterated the skull of another; the rest scattered from the Slayer’s wrath but then quickly regrouped to attack the wild now-white-crested berzerker.

A goblin leaped towards Grundi but was batted aside by the flat metal of the crescent shaped blade, another goblin darted forwards with a club held high but its brains were soon splattered to the carpet of snow beneath. A serrated dagger bit into Grundi's arm, the Slayer grunted and fended off one goblin by holding his axe one-handed, this slowed him down but allowed him to pull the dagger from his near-blue forearm and ram it into the eye socket of its former wielder. The Slayer then gripped the haft of his axe with both hands once more and turned to face the rest of the Grobi warband, his eyes glinted with intention; carnage and mayhem. Grundi’s roaring words were only just audible above the blizzard's furious wind.

"Grobi, you have found only death! I'll be sure to wash my beard in your blood!!"

*****

"ARGH! Not these bastards again!!" Ragnar said as he heaved up his large axe, rushing with it in one hand, his smaller axe in the other. He threw the smaller one. It hit one of the Goblins right in the face, making it scream as it fell to it's death in the snow. Ragnar ran over, ripping it out. He was now surrounded by the goblins. He roared, beginning to hack them limb from limb. He felt their tiny bladed swords ricochet off his now gore-covered muscular body. He ducked under the swinging ball of death of a idiot drunken insane Grobi. He first cut the chain connecting to the mace, and then with the other, he hacked the goblin's head off. He sheathed both his axes in his cloth belt, and wrapped the chain around his arm, securing it. He began to spin around insanely, smashing goblins away into the blizzard.

"HOW DO YOU LIKE IT YA GROBI BASTARRRRDS!??!?!"

*****

After an hour or two Kazaril found himself lapsing into a sort of aware sleeping state, his eyes closed and his body resting yet still ready to lurch into action if in danger. He was not certain how long he spent in this semi-sleeping state, but after a long while he was brought to consciousness by Bran at the cave's entrance. "Laddies..." Kazaril opened one eye, looked around, opened the other and fully woke up before beginning to rise to his feet. "...erm laddies, ye may wan’tae cam here the nou.” Kazaril made his way over to the entrance, though he was not able to see past Bran and Grundi who were in front of him. The reactions of the other two were enough to clue Kazaril in though.

"Grobi!" Bran was off, running full speed through the snow to the left and cutting a bloody swathe through the orcs and goblins. Only a second or two after, Grundi took off to the right, shouting at the top of his lungs as he separated goblins from their limbs. A new heat coursed through Kazaril's veins as he beheld his most hated enemy - greenskins! And goblins in particular!

As he unslung Drengidum from his back and ran out of the cave, Kazaril's mind was in two places - the conscious part focused on the orcs and goblins in front of him, on how he would use his axe an an extension of the violence that filled his mind, and the unconscious part filled with images. As Kazaril took the first few steps, the images came one at a time, images more vivid than the present could ever be to Kazaril.

A swift-flowing mountain stream, sparkling beneath the shade of a stand of pine trees, where the dwarfs of Kazaril's old ranger cadre rested and drank their fill of water, rested while unbeknown to them the goblin tribe marched on their small village. Kazaril's feet crunched into the snow as he ran forward while Bran ran left and Grundi ran right.

A view of a small dwarf surface village nestled into the foothills of the World's Edge, a view that would have been picturesque and scenic had the village not been in ruins amidst the smoke and ash filling the bright blue sky. Kazaril shouldered Drengidum as he closed the distance between him and the goblins, a snarl forming on his lips as he closed on the closest greenskin.

Kazaril and the rangers formed up in the rubble-strewn square as they watched the return of the goblins who had heard their cries of grief, watched the goblins advance, readied axes and hammers as they died just like the village they had failed to protect. Kazaril came upon the first greenskin, evidently some sort of minor leader by the stolen human short sword and large helmet perched on its head. Even as he met the goblin and it raised its arm to strike, Drengidum swept across and hewed the goblin in half as Kazaril ran past. The goblin's blood reddened the snow in the wake of Kazaril's passing, and the blood that touched Drengidum ignited the runes on its surface, bathing the axe blade in a fire fed by the blood of greenskins, just like the fire that now burned in Kazaril's eyes.

Kazaril waded into a knot of three goblins and he did not slow, nearly bisecting the middle goblin with a downward chop and charging forward with all his momentum intact. He strafed to the right, swinging the long haft of Drengidum with him to clothesline that goblin, continuing his momentum to run around to the left and engage the third. That goblin turned about to face him, raising back a small hatchet to strike the slayer as it raised up a buckler to try and block Kazaril's great axe. It would not have saved the foul creature even had Kazaril's rune-axe not been enchanted. As it was, Drengidum parted the layered metal and leather with ease before burning its way through the greenskin's arm and into its torso, cutting its foul little heart in two.

Invigorated by releasing some of the violence that made its home in his mind, Kazaril cast about him for more enemies to fight, but his sight was not focussed in the present time anymore. All he saw was memory. Now several images at a time, Kazaril experienced the terrible events that led him to take the Slayer Oath all over again. He remembered the goblins advancing on him! All in ranks and clattering their little rusted and jagged swords against their wooden shields. Kazaril looked left and right but instead of Bran and Grundi saw his fellow rangers, no longer able to differentiate between dead and alive, past and present.

"Stand fast and die well!" Kazaril cried, and though it was applicable to the other slayers they were not addressed. Two goblins in the lead charged Kazaril, shouting high-pitched war cries in their foul language. Kazaril roared his rage and defiance at the destroyers of his home sweeping his great-axe to the left to behead both of the goblins. The charging, six-foot-tall orc stopped in surprise as the orange-crested dwarf in front of it slammed its burning axe into its leg just above the knee, its keen edge and searing enchantments cleanly and painfully severing the leg. Dropping to the ground at the slayer's feet, the enraged orc could only think of inflicting similar pain on the stuntie that had hurt it, swiping at the dwarf's legs with its heavy curved sword. The orc's expression of anger was quickly replaced by one of surprise, however, when the dwarf jumped the speeding sword to avoid the blow of which he could have no knowledge. The orc bared its fangs at death, but after a moment noticed that the death blow had not fallen. The orc watched as the crazed dwarf ran off into the snow towards a knot of goblins, and tried to get to its feet but before it could, the cold and massive loss of blood had taken their toll, and the orc's spirit was breathed out of its quickly cooling corpse.

After Kazaril's axe had decapitated both goblins, the ranger sergeant rushed past their crumpling corpses, jumping the goblins' bodies as he pressed forward into the heart of the massed grobi. His men he left to meet their ends as they chose, but perhaps he could meet his end in the midst of the foe and redeem something of his shame with a worthy death. Surrounded by goblins now, Kazaril lashed out all around him like a madman, shouting angrily every time a goblin's cruel blade sliced open another part of his skin, calling upon the names of Grungni, Grimnir and Valaya to help him win a noble death.

After leaving the orc to die, Kazaril ran right past a group of goblins right in front of him, startling them too much for them to land a blow on the slayer. They followed after the dangerous dwarf who seemed oblivious to their existence, hoping to dispatch Kazaril while his back was turned. Up ahead though, the frothing dwarf had run into yet another knot of grobi, and was clearing a wide space for himself with that dreadful burning axe of his. Every now and then a brave goblin, or one that was punched forward by its fellows, would venture within the arc of Drengidum, and promptly be cut into smoldering pieces. The goblins were content for the moment to keep this one separated from the other dwarfs, who were doing quite enough damage on their own.

*****

Everything was going well, for the moment, to his left he watched the altered Grundi speed through the snowstorm shortly to be followed by Ragnar and eventually by a strangely acting Kazaril. The last of the trio seemed to be caught in between two minds, leaving Greenskins clearly before him untouched by the blade of his rune-weapon, a weapon that none of the others cold ever hope to wield until after years of slaying foul denizens and creatures. Cries came from his lips that seemed not even of the present but of a distant time, his actions awkward as if he was slightly blinded previous to passing some goblins and surging forward into a whole ring of them.

It only now occurred to the kilted dwarf how many opponents they were actually fighting. It mattered not truthfully but he was just interested so that he could be at peace if he died fighting a greater number of green filth. Throughout the blizzard, hand wiping sweeping snowflakes from his vision, he could make out a throng of hooded night-Goblin fighters arrayed in ranks making their way towards the cave, followed haphazardly by their larger cousins of which there were a lot fewer than he’d hoped. The Orcs however were large and burly, armored in scraps of plate and mail, armed with scimitars the size of his head and crest as well as shields that had been covered over with the flayed skin of fallen foes.

A bitter chill surrounded his naked legs and entered his very soul, the weather numbing his body just as it would do to his enemy, all the easier to endure injuries because of it. So far he had killed one opponent and taken no injuries, too busy surveying the enemy and not busy enough slaughtering them; he would have to remedy that as soon as possible. Already the Goblin cohort was moving closer and closer, the leader a rather large Goblin with a dwarf head hanging from his shield. Such a thing made the slayers blood boil like molten iron, warming his insides more than any alcohol could, quietly he swore an oath that he would see the Grobi scum dead by the end of this scuffle.

“Aye…” His voice was like granite but so low that only he could hear it “…bluidy stone deid.”

Bran let out a roar, with pole-axe twirling about him as he charged, a feverish bloodlust upon him, straight down the slight arc in the hill towards the myriad of greenskinned interlopers on clearly dwarfish territory which he would make them pay for in their own blood.

Slow comprehension dawned on the ugly features of their leader, beady red eyes glaring at the ginger-haired maniac as he shrieked something in his own unfathomable tongue, waving his notched and notably well-made blade towards the newly arrived threat. Deep purple cloaked bodies billowed ahead in a deluge of pointy spears and bared fangs that would make any other mortal question fighting against them. With a slayer it was not so, after the leap there was no going back, fear had no place in his life above all on the field of battle.

“Khazukan Kazakit-ha!”

Swinging the pole-axe with all his might Bran watched as if sailed through the air and decapitated a Goblin with one swing, neck bones cracking as the head separated from the collar, his heavily built form barging into the Grobi ranks like some sort of plough through a field of grain. Blades flickered towards him but were deflected or parried; return strikes and stabs covering him with black gore, weak things these Grobi and so easily massacred. It shocked Bran therefore when he noticed them swarming over him like the tide over the sand, pushing them back over and over again only for the green bastards to ignore their own losses and return his strikes tenfold.

After what seemed like an age the Goblins swarmed over the highlander, clinging to his crest and plaid, ignorant to their own dead with only Dwarf killing on their mind. Wearisome from so much killing, the cold taking its cruel toll on his body, muscles began to slow and ever-so-slowly the slayer went under the carpet of squat bodies, taking more lives as he did so. With a cruel laugh the Goblin Big Boss strode into the mass, ranks separating before him to allow him through, Bran standing like an anvil now surrounded by leering faces that watched with hate for the slayer and awe for their leader.

One twisted hand now held a net and the looted blade was clutched in the other, both opponents circling each other, the Goblin taunting his enemy into attacking in his own language. Bran however was calmer here than he had ever been before, the whole scene clear in his minds eye, moving away as the net lashed out to entangle him and feeling the shudder as his haft was blocked only to be attacked and now be on the defensive. He felt the crack of wood as the pole-axes shaft split in twain and he swung them up to wield them independently, bellowing as he charged towards his enemy, fleet evasion saving the greenskin from ten instantaneous deaths.

Bran knew he couldn’t win like this, girl thingy footing about like some sort of manling waltz, he would finish this and finish it quickly. One eye squinted and with meticulousness and a sputtered prayer to Grimnir the hammer-headed half of the pole-axe was thrown straight and true into the enemy leader, its head caving in as the weapon impacted to shower all present with gore and bran-matter, only the spiked end of the weapon left in his fist now.

Everything was silent as the Grobi Big Boss hit the snow-covered floor, red eyes filled with hatred and malice turning on the Dwimmerdim Dawi, in a matter he was once more covered in stabbing and biting bodies. After taking a Goblin through the eye he set about himself with pummeling fists, the sound of larger Greenskins moving closer, snorting Orc breaths crystal over the tittering and cackling Goblin shrieking. If he was to die now, the feeling of multiple weapons already piercing his suitably numbed skin, then at least he would go down with honor and pride intact to the halls of his father.

“LADDIES…” He bellowed into the snowstorm, gripping a Goblin and crushing its windpipe with one hand, head just above the mass that was about to overwhelm him “MHINZ ABEIR!”

*****

Grundi was caked in goblin gore, but he heard the call of Bran Aonghus McHalvorson; the Dwimmerdale Dwarf had slain a particularly ugly Goblin and was now about to be overwhelmed by near-impossible odds; and there were Orcs rampaging towards his location... there was no doubt about it, Bran was definitely in thick of the action; and as a slayer, that was the best place to be. The Slayer's voice rang out, thundering across the snow-capped mountains.

“MHINZ ABEIR!”

Grundi's return roar was equally deafening, and was clearly audible above the winds and clanging of metal; "Z'YOR ROND!!!"

Grundi Grimuzkul surged forwards, his numb body pumping blood into his veins as he hacked and whirled his way towards Bran and the approaching wave of Orcs and Goblins. A Grobi foolishly got in his way and soon Grundi's humongous axe separated one side of its head from the other, Grundi's boot lashed out and sent another goblin flying into the freezing earth, another goblin leaped at the Dwarf but the Slayer headbutted it in mid flight. As far as the Grundi was concerned, nothing was going to stop from reaching the thick of the battle where the injured Bran now stood defiantly, gory pole-axe in hand.

A rusty axe shot towards Grundi's face, and the Dwarf only just tilted his head in time to avoid the blow, the axe head smashed into the Slayer's shoulder and remained embedded there. Grundi smashed the butt of his axe-haft into the face of the assailant and then smashed his feet into the creature’s face as it fell to the floor. There was no time to remove the axe from his broad shoulder, for Grundi was not far from Bran now, and he could hear the other Dwarf's battle shouts.

In one mighty shove Grundi barged forwards, knocking down three Goblins; none died, but it allowed Grundi to move onwards. Finally, now bleeding from several minor to mediocre wounds, Grundi Grimuzkul was but a few strides away from the rabble of Orcs that now swept towards them. Up ahead he could see Bran brandishing his large pole axe… Grundi pumped his legs and charged forwards in the direction of Orc grunting.

*****

Bran threw down the spiked end of his shattered pole-axe; both pieces now lying in different locations in the midst of the action, sweeping his numb hand down to unclip the heavy iron mace from his belt. One Goblin came for him at the same time but was too slow, the huge head of the weapon caving in the side of the beasties cranium, a return swing cracking the ribs and mashing organs of another.

“MHINZ ABEIR!”

No doubt Grundi was approaching, probably at very high speed; he could have seen the other slayers advance had it not been for the overwhelming number of green bodies throwing themselves at him and into combat. Blood and gore covered the whole area around him, the snow a deep black mixed with his own crimson, more being added as his mace carved a swath from the Grobi ranks. Only now did the sound of bigger prey alert him to an immediate threat, a mass of larger Orcs had finally managed to heave their bodies up the mound, red eyes fixed on the bloodied but defiant dwarf, brandishing large scimitars and hefty battle-axes that’s heads were the size of his own.

Goblins flung themselves aside, content to torment Bran from the fringes, as the larger greenskins let out bellowed roars and leaped into the fray. One axe was swung at the highlander’s head, a roll taking him to the side, a swing of the mace splintering a knee-joint and causing the bigger opponent to crumble forwards for a killing blow to the back of the skull. Another came forward with an iron scimitar, letting loose a terrifying bawl before slicing downwards, raising an arm to ward off the blow, Bran made no sound even as the weapon sheered into his flesh and cracked the bone of his arm. His own cry echoed out as he head-butted an Orc in the groin before finishing him off with a weakened two-handed swing to the gut, causing it to explode within the green stomach.

Pain burned in his side as he twisted about to see a Goblin spear protruding from his side, his own blood oozing from the wound, only for another to impale itself into him moments later, anger overwhelming all his senses as he continued to carve a bloody path through the filthy scum that were the Grobi waste. By now his plaid was tattered and torn, a million cuts and slashes visible on his pallid skin, he stood tall even as three Orcs made to finish him off. Bones cracked and howls of pain echoed from green throats even as he throttled an Orc with his bare hands, tearing off the thickly muscled neck to throw at a close by Goblin.

“ANCESTOR GODS…RECEIVE YOUR SON!”

He could go on no longer, his strength was draining, and he was not longed for this world of mortals and magic but for an altogether better one. Already, as he sustained his killing rage for a few moments longer, he could hear the shrill calling of the bagpipes within his mind and see the face of his father and forefathers smiling at him. His elbow slammed into a green windpipe and another enemy life was taken, his mace flung into the sea of repulsive scum, so it was that an end was his and that made him smile.

One knee, two knees, both knees in the snow. His strength was gone and his blood all but spent, seeping into the lands of his ancestors to become part of it, eyes feeling ever so heavy and the effort of living just too much for any earthly creature. He had atoned for his sins and his brothers-in-arms would await him in the halls of his fathers. Laying face-down in the snow he moved no more.

Cackling and tittering the Greenskins, who had lost so many to this maniac, moved in to mutilate his corpse.

*****

"BASTARRRDS!!" Ragnar bellowed loudly, charging into the pack of barbaric wild greenskinned beasts as they attempted to shred the slayer's corpse limb-from-limb. Ragnar leaped, his axe biting into the nearest Orc's head. It fell with Ragnar's small axe protruding from it's forehead. Ragnar ducked beneath the swing of a Orc choppa. He cut it's leg off, making it roar in pain and fall to the ground. It was almost as if it were all in slow-motion. The blizzard began to run red instead of white as Ragnar butchered his way through the pack of bloodthirsty enemies, screaming like a wild animal. He smashed his axe into the face of a black orc, taking it down. He jumped onto a wolf, choking it, rolling off and retrieving his axes. He took down one more before the Greenskins began to break away, pushing and shoving and climbing over each other to escape the berzerker rage of Ragnar Dumi. The young slayer's muscular chest heaved in and out as he stopped fighting. Still holding the axes in both hands, he turned to the mutilated corpse of Bran.

"Ancestors watch over him..." He whispered to the corpse and sky.

*****

In some cultures of the far flung east they call it Karma; in the Imperial regions they call it fate and destiny, though within the Dwarfish holds there isn’t really a word for one life being taken and another gained. This time it wasn’t an entirely fresh life, such as a tiny babe from a womb, instead it was another body appearing for the service of Grimnir and his own pantheon of Gods that were as foreign to the inhabitants of the Old World as the Gods of the Lizard-men of Lustria.

Bran McHalvorson had left the mortal plain and ascended to a greater place where he would be welcomed by his ancestors and live like a king in the spirit world as hundreds before him. With his death came another to replace him on the path of the slayer, one who had shaven themselves in the traditional manner before and now sought the same glorious fate as he too had gotten against the scum of the earth.

As suddenly as the snow-storm began it swiftly stopped, to be replaced by flashes of lightning and the rolling boom of thunder overhead, droplets of rain began to shoot from the sky and patter downwards onto the remaining survivors of the Greenskins attack. Blood flowed from the great wounds of the deceased slayers corpse and each slayer’s sodden crests flopped with the very weight of the humidity.

********

“Hva helvetet er denne…”

Slowly the squat figure, dressed in nothing but a pair of skin-trousers and fur-lined boots, raised his head towards the sky and let the droplets of rain pour down upon his face and run over his whole torso. The heavy snow had been replaced by a downpour that was near enough a monsoon in its intensity and ferocity. It was nothing that the fiery-crested combatant had not encountered many times before in his journeying but, in his bones, he could feel something almost mystical about the rain and religiously touched the pendant that hung about his neck.

Attempting to block out the best of the rain with one large hand, he peered downwards at the animal-skin map that was clutched in the other hand and now stretched between the two. One large finger traced his route downwards from his north-easterly homeland, tracing it towards a location he had heard rumor of, towards a series of mineshafts and catacombs beneath the World Edge Mountains. The Trolls and Chaotic men within his own homeland had not given him the death he sought and now he would seek in a far-off land.

Trudging on grudgingly, muttering a prayer to his patron God as he went, the odd dwarf knew he would get to his destination in spite of this rain or he would die trying.

*****

Fueled on by the cries of his dying comrades, Kazaril redoubled his efforts, and to his disbelief, the goblins began to flee! Now wading forward, Kazaril laid about him with his great axe, hewing down grobi like so many trees. "Press forward, lads!" He called, chopping his way through the despoilers. In reality, things were not looking so good for Kazaril, or the other dwarfs either. As soon as Kazaril began moving forward instead of defending his position, the goblins in front of him were quickly cut down, but the rest were now faced with the slayer's back, and they leaped upon him, biting, clawing, punching and kicking. But Kazaril still paid them no mind, crawling forward. "Press forward, lads!" The grobi could not for the life of them fathom what was wrong with the slayer, but they were not about to pass up a chance to beat him to death while he ignored them.

The goblins were fleeing before Kazaril, and he chased them down. Whenever he caught up to a greenskin, his axe would put an end to it. Unbidden, a solitary thought floated across his mind. Mhinz Abeir.... Why had he thought that? Confused, Kazaril stopped. Z'yor Rond.... For some reason, Kazaril glanced over his shoulder. And saw the dead forms of his entire ranger command. It was at this moment that Kazaril knew that he had seen this exact same scene before. Only this time there was one difference. Sitting propped up against a large piece of what was once the foundation of a house, the glazed-over eyes of Bran Aonghus McHalvorson stared up at Kazaril, who dropped his axe in surprise. Bran was covered in blood: his own, and that of orcs and goblins. A huge gash ran up the length of one arm and at least two large holes had been stabbed in his side, to say nothing of the hundreds of cuts and bruiss that covered the dwarf. Abruptly, Bran lifted up his head with a snap of the neck, and flecks of dried blood fell from his crest and beard. Blood poured from Bran's mouth as he spoke. "Mhinz Abeir, laddie."

Shocked back into reality, Kazaril yelled out in the pain of a thousand cuts that he had been able to ignore until now. Rolling the goblins off of him, Kazaril dropped Drengidum and slowly, painfully got to his feet as he brandished his two hand axes. Pressing forward through the haze of pain, Kazaril advanced on the shocked goblins. He had to reach his friends! Even as his axes hacked their way through the screaming greenskins, Kazaril knew he was too late. "ANCESTOR GODS...RECEIVE YOUR SON!" An axe split open the head of the last goblin near Kazaril and he almost sank to his knees in the red snow in exhaustion and shame.

But he knew that if he fell now, he might never rise again. Taking off at a run towards the goblins that were now poking at Bran's body with their spears, Kazaril blinked away the tears of his guilt as he charged the greenskins along with Grundi and Ragnar. "GRROBBIIIIIII!!!" The goblins had time to turn their heads before the slayer was upon them.

-----

The surge of fury within the surviving Slayers of Ungrim Drengial suddenly faltered; all the Orcs and Goblins lay dead, or had fled out of axe-range. Still brimming with anger and fury, Grundi Grimuzkul roared and planted his axe in the middle of a dead Grobi's corpse - cleaving the frail figure in twine. The angry Slayer then booted the remains and watched as the goblin rolled down the mountains, bouncing on rocks and leaving bloody splatters behind it.

The Dwarf's fury was quelled and was suddenly replaced with sorrow and respect. Although Grundi had become particularly grim as of late, he had liked Bran McHalvorson a lot - the Dwarf heralded from the north, and was as tough, enduring, and relentless as a Dwarf could be...

"You met a good doom Bran." Grundi muttered, eying the mutilated corpse solemnly.

Grundi moved forwards to where Bran lay and he hefted his axe as if it were a shovel, slowly he began digging huge clumps of snow from the mountain side - thankfully the deadly blizzard had finally yielded, which made the Dwarf’s task easier. Grundi's arms strained as he continued digging and he was soon joined by the grim-faced Kazaril and the gore-covered Ragnar. Together the Slayers dug out a deep grave for their atoned companion and gently lay him into the cold pit, his mighty pole axe clenched in one lifeless fist.

The three Dwarfs stared at Bran for a few moments, but none spoke, for no words could be said. What they had seen was a brave Slayer standing defiantly to meet his doom, taking down a multitude of the green bastards with him - Bran would be welcomed by his forefathers as a stalwart warrior.

Grundi pulled out his flask, it was the last of the bugman's he had left, but he placed it within the grave and placed it within Bran's other hand. There were no riches to give, no huge piles of wealth, and no barrels of ale to be buried alongside the warrior; but most Slayers didn’t receive a grave at all. Without a moments more hesitation the Dwarfs filled the grave with earth and snow; the ice would keep the dead Slayer's corpses maintained for a long time. Grundi walked to the side of the mountain and felt for a weak piece of jagged stone – as a Dwraf he could feel the textures of the rock like no other race could, and it didn’t take long for him to find a slab that was weakened from the weathering of the ice.

With much prolonged straining which finally ended in a grunt, Grundi tore the jagged rock clear of the mountain side, the effort sending him tumbling to the freezing snow beneath his feet. The Dwarf pulled himself to his feet and lumbered back to the grave; he planted the huge makeshift tomb stone in the snow; marking the death place of Bran McHalvorson.

With their slain companion buried, the Dwarfs turned and wearily trudged back to the cave, leaving Bran amongst the colossal amount of dead orcs that he had slain.

*****

The Dwarfs had slept in the cave until morning,uncaring whether the surving goblins came back or not. The worse of the snow storm had seemingly passed and the trio could set out once more; Slayers had very few possessions, and so it wasn’t long before Ungrim Drengial were ready to move out. The three orange-crested warriors trudged from the cave mouth and moved on past the former ground of battle; yet more corpses in the wake of Ungrim Drengial, yet the three of them still drew breath. Grundi picked a path down from the snowy slopes. He didn’t give so much of a backwards glance, for he had said his farewells, and his doom awaited.

Ungrim Drengial continued onwards, heading towards the mountain mines that Bran had informed them of; hoping that something perilous indeed lay within the underground tunnels.

*****

Kazaril quickly lost feeling in his hands as he silently scooped away the snow alongside Grundi and Ragnar to make Bran's grave. Staring down at Bran's cold body, Kazaril felt a shiver that was more than the mere physical freezing cold of the snowy mountainside as he noted how every wound on the now-redeemed slayer exactly matched the ones Bran had borne in Kazaril's trance. The other dwarfs seemed lost in reflection too; even Lokri, the clotted gore in his beard and on his pick-axe forgotten, was silent. Grundi broke off a suitable slab of rock to serve as a crude marker, and the slayers and the miner glumly trudged back to the cave.

No one was in a mood to talk, but Kazaril was not interested in such pleasantries anyway. Rolling over on the hard stone floor to face away from the others, Kazaril placed his head on his pillow of rough rock and fell into sleep, haunted for a long time by the silent but accusing and blood-drenched visage of his dead friend...

---

Kazaril was up before the others that morning; he had not been able to get much sleep anyway, instead wondering whether Bran would still be alive if he had not yielded to the reliving the horrors of the past. The fact that if this were so then he would have been helping Bran achieve his doom did not console the ex-ranger captain; he still felt that he had a duty to his companions and that he had failed in it.

Gripping Drengidum tightly to reassure himself, Kazaril resolved, neither for the first nor the last time, that his next encounter would not be another failure: he would get the doom he deserved or...die trying.... When the time came for Ungrim Drengial to set off, Kazaril marched along with a new resolution putting vigour into his steps, daring a troll or a band of orcs to show their ugly faces where Drengidum could reach them.

*****

It could have very well been a trick of the Norns, the three elderly women who sat and spun and wove the tapestry of life and death, though it could also just have been a case of bad timing that brought the drying slayer into the very area of the former four slayers tragic (or elated) mêlée of the night before. His slate-grey eyes swept over the view of carnage and took in especially the green-skinned bodies and limbs laying pell-mell about the place.

One point particularly aroused his interest, a huge pile of specimens laying about a central, focused, point. Slowly he made his way down into the small gulley; taking care to step over body parts and attempts not to disturb the field-of-battle anymore. Seconds passed before he reached the grave-marker, no inscription evident on the freezing stone; though it was clear someone had fallen here fighting against many opponents.

Footprints, mostly covered by the snow but still visible to those who were used to tracking things, were sure enough signs that he had just missed whomever had been staying in the nearby cave he proceeded to stare at. Rolling out his map once again, gazing into the sky for the sun briefly, he grunted at the knowledge that they too seemed to be heading towards the catacombs he was destined for.

Doubt about their identity filled his mind…humans?

No, the work was too precise and well done for manlings…

Dwarfs…Perhaps, only mad Dwarfs would wander into the mountains like this.

“Så, jakten begynner med en oppdagelsen…”

Still muttering to himself the dwarf pressed forward, knowing he was hot on the tail of whoever made the tracks and determined to find out who they were for certain. Slowly but surely the heavily tattooed and muscled warrior ploughed forth in the snow.

*****

Before they had left, Jax had taken the skull of a Goblin, skinning it's green thick skin, and washing the blood and gore off with snow, until nothing was left but a clean, brainless, thick skull. The area where the nose was was smashed in a bit. He took a small chain, creating a necklace of death. Death to all Grobi who cross his axe's path. He drank some beer from his canteen, eventually finishing it, making him swear a Man-curse. Then, they continued on, after looting the Greenskins. Through the sleet and the snow they carried on... Eventually, they had reached the entrance to the mine. It was a tight-fit indeed. And it reeked of death. Perfect.

-----

[luy22]

Part 3: Leaving a Dwarf behind...

Ragnar awoke.

What time was it? Where was everyone? It was all white, all around. He knew not where the others were. He remembered they had been wandering to the skaven-held mountain for a while. But where was he? Where were they?

The lone Dwarf got up. What had happened? Was foul magic at use here? Was he in the presence of a Chaos sorcerer? He knew not the answer to any of it...

He began to walk, in which direction, he did not know, he just walked. Eventually he would have to run into some sort of civilization. Was he even in the mountains still? He spat, the saliva turned to ice before it shattered on the cold ground. He continued, but eventually, the short red-crested monster could take no more. He dropped to his knees, and then fell to his face, in the snow. The blizzard swept over him. His body turned blue, his crest, gray. He slept.

*****

Ragnar awoke. It was warm. He looked around, seeing he was in a dark, wooden chamber. He felt movement. They were definitely moving.

"Ah... good to see you've awakened, Dwarf..." Ragnar spun to the voice, it was calm and quiet. "Who's there?"

"A Human. An Imperial. Do not worry, and lower your voice, I can explain..."

"Then do so with haste, manling! I came up here with several other Dwarf Slayers, hunting down some vile ratmen! Where are they?"

The man, shrugged, coming closer, on his hands and feet. "I do not know..." His face was somewhat aged, and the edges of his beard and long messy hair were gray. "My name is Rick Dunderland. I am an ex-general of the Empire..."

"So, a traitor?? You basta-"

"Let me explain my story, Dwarf..."

"Do so quickly, manling..."

"When I was twenty-four years old, around four to five years ago, I joined up with my militia, and left with General Kurt Von'halsing, to fight in the last Chaos Incursion. I was at the walls of Middenheim, where my general died. He gave me the command, as I was a great servant and friend to him throughout the entire conflict. When the Storm of Chaos had ended... We had all become hired swords. One year later, I had paid all of my men, and took the rest of the money and retired to a quiet cottage along the Imperial coastline... I began to miss fighting... Years past, three or four... I don't know, maybe even five or six... But then one day I went out hunting and bandits attacked me. I fought most off but in the end, I fell unconscious. When I awoke, they were selling me off to some Ogres, I saw the beasts, big gluttonous monsters of the east."

Rick yawned, and paused. Ragnar nodded, sitting on his rear, and wanting to hear the rest.

"So then, the Ogres brought me to their village, or camp... they fed me well, and then threw me into a work camp. A year later after horrid labor, I was thrown into this slave caravan. Been in this wooden cage ever since. They are drawn by immense wild beasts. Forgot what they're called. Gnoblars crawl around every now and then. And the Ogre... chefs... feed us meat every few hours. Stinks like a ox's arse, though..." he chuckled a bit. "Just about three days ago, the caravan came to a halt outside a blizzard. When the scouts came back, they returned with you, and tossed you in here with me, took all your weapons, of course..." Rick could see the Dwarf's face redden with anger. But he calmed himself down.

"So, manling, where do they take us? Where are we now?"

"We are approximately east of the mountains of mourn, thousands of miles away from any Dwarf hold. I'd say we are in the Dark Lands now..."

"What?" Ragnar was fumed, and a little scared. To the north was the Chaos Dwarf empire. The bastards... "Where? Do you know where?"

"Not exactly. I think we've already stopped at an Ogre encampment in the past day. Was also attacked by a horde of Greenskins. I'm surprised that didn't wake you up..." He spat, as the door slid open. Bright, blinding light flashed in, causing Ragnar to withdrawal. A large, pale meaty fat arm reached in, handing Rick a platter of meat, it did smell horrible. The door slid shut, and he heard a shout in some other language, the caravan began to move again.

"W-what is that...?" Ragnar asked as Rick began to dig in. "Wolf and boar meat..." He smiled. "The Dark Lands are full of Greenskin tribes, and since the green monsters have lots of these beasts with em, the Ogres butcher the animals to use as food."

"You know where they're takin' us?" Ragnar tilted his head to the side a bit.

"Cathay, if I'm not mistaken. Xen Huong needs more mercenaries to fight against the Hobgoblins in the north."

"Goblins? To fight such is an insult against a slayer!!" Ragnar was still angry, grabbing some of the meat and stuffing it into his maw. "So all of us are to fight??"

"Aye, all of us are to fight. I have heard stories of Cathay. It is supposed to be a beautiful land..."

"My left arse-cheek!!" Ragnar spat out bone. "I will gut every last Ogre once we arrive..."

"Good, because escape is hopeless. The Dark Lands are death all around, dragon and undead to the south, Chaos Dwarfs to the north, and Greenskin and Ogre tribes everywhere else. You're stuf here, Slayer..."

Ragnar Dumi just huddled up into the corner, and attempted to get some sleep...

[Deraj]

Finally finished reading what you have up, and.... wow. That is a very good story. Amazingly well written, congrats.

[luy22]

Jan 20, 2009 14:55:11 GMT -5 Deraj said:

Finally finished reading what you have up, and.... wow. That is a very good story. Amazingly well written, congrats.

Thanks. I'm gonna keep goin' with it.

Cathay and the rest of the eastern lands aren't really mentioned in the fluff that much so I'd like to give it a shot.

[Deraj]

Are you doing anything with the rest of the Dwarves?

[luy22]

Jan 20, 2009 18:06:05 GMT -5 Deraj said:

Are you doing anything with the rest of the Dwarves?

The first few parts of this were a part of an old RP back on the old Warhammer Alliance forums. The guild (Ungrim Drengial) is now long-disbanded. Sooo, I took it all and formed my own story out of it, attempting to continue on that which is no more but now it's only me writing.

No, no. It will be explained what had happened to him later, though.

[luy22]

The several Dwarfs wandered into the mine. Ragnar's eyes widened as a bright light began to pulse in the distance. The lot of them went forward, weapons at the ready. The light flashed out.

Ragnar Dumi awoke, wrapped tight in a wool blanket he had found in the corner of the prisoner wagon. He heard the Ogres shouting incomprehensibly outside the wooden planks. He noticed Rick Dunderland in the opposite corner, looking somewhat sick. The Dwarf had no bloody idea where in Grungni's name they were.

The slave caravan moved across the deserts of the Dark Lands, moving closer and closer to the lands of Cathay. They were now in the mountains that belongs mostly to Ogres, far below was the Kingdom of Ind. The Ogres were now lumbering themselves into the tiniest outpost ever, made up of two small huts and one massive hot half-dug into a mountainside. The mountains here were mostly foggy, and grassy. No snow at all. Was warm also. The slave compartments of the caravan were being unhooked by a immense Ogre with a iron facemask shaped like a skull with a bloody handprint on it. This Ogre slid open Ragnar and Rick's cabin and grabbed each and dragged them out, Ragnar putting up somewhat of a fight. The Ogre smashed his face against a rock, not hard enough to kill him, but he lost a few more teeth, blood filling his mouth.

The Dwarf was put in chains now, and sat on his bloody boulder with a dark and brooding grimace on his face. Rick stood with more chains, his wrists chained up behind his back. Other men and Dwarf prospectors were around as well as captured knights, Brittonian Templar knights, and a small horde of livestalk. Ragnar saw a few of the small green things, the 'Gnoblars' harassing a Halfling in a cage, poking him with sticks, and making fun of his size and hairy feet. He was getting quite frustrated, almost to the point of crying. Halflings were good cooks, Ragnar knew, but fighters? Were they going to eat the poor little bastard?

It was hot, Ragnar thought to himself, perhaps an hour after noon. He spat blood into the warm dirt, and cracked his neck. A rather large beast with a immense spiked club walked out of the large tent and began blabbering in its' native tongue. Rick looked down at him. "I believe we are taking a night's rest here, and are starting again in the morning. It is going to get cold the deeper we go into the mountains. Then... we must travel through northern Ind, and finally get into Cathay..."

"I need a ale, is what I need..." Ragnar muttered, angry.

And then night soon came. All slaves were put under the two tents, whilst all Ogres went into the large one, into the caves, to feed and drink and whatever the hell it was they did. Ragnar couldn't sleep. So could not Rick. Gotrek got up, halfway through the night to see Rick standing out staring over the cliff at Ind to the south. It began to rain gently. Ragnar had wrapped the wool blanket around him to keep him warm, wandering out to meet his new Human friend, probably the only friend he would have out this far east. He looked with the man.

"We can escape..." Rick said. "I know we can. We are going to have to act quickly and quietly."

"Aye, manling. But where do we go?"

"To Cathay, of course. We'll take a rest stop in Ind, though. I know a place by the sea, my father was a merchant, I grew up on his ship, I know a lot of places down there. We lived there for a few, long months..." He went deep into thought. "Something the matter, manling?"

"No, no..." Rick looked down at him, his beard was dripping wet. "Let's get these chains off us, for one thing..."

They wandered through the caravan, trying their best not to make the chains jingle. They met a few sleeping Gnoblars, but those who did awake were quickly strangled to death. Eventually the two of them reached a Ogre weapon wagon. Ragnar smashed his head on the wood door, breaking a hole wide enough for him to crawl in. Rick waited outside in the rain while he crawled back out, with him, two Cathayan longswords, both in his mouth, in scabbards. He struggled but eventually got them in his belt. "We'll adorn em later, aye?" Rick nodded.

"Now to leave..." The man said. He led Ragnar down, past the large hut, careful not to step in the view of the doorway, where over a hundred Ogres sat inside, mostly too drunk to care, a few even outcold. Rick stopped in his tracks as they came to the end of the outpost. He turned to the Dwarf.

"Should we save the others?""

"Nay, manling. They will be freed but not today. Dun worry 'bout'a thing." The Dwarf simply winked. The outpost had a gate, with a watch tower. "We're going to have to climb the gate and jump it..."

"I'm game for that, human..." It was hard, the Ogre up in the tower was asleep. They managed to go up the wide stairs without awakening him, and slid over the gate, landing hard on the other side, in a loud plump as they landed in a deep muddy puddle. They got up, and began to jog down the pass, but, instead of going through the pass into northern Ind, they headed south, straight down the mountain.

"Maybe we should wait until the storm is over..." Rick said, coming to the cliff edge. It was wet and muddy and looked too slippery.

"No one lives forever, laddie!" Ragnar said, nudging Rick along. They got on their rears, and slid down the mountain. The two fo them going through some pain as they went over wet rocks. They came to a large rock, the base of a cave! They two fo them wandered in, and sat down, taking shelter. Ragnar smashed his bindings on a rock, and began to aid Rick with his.

"Gonna be one hell of a trip..." Rick said.

"Aye, but lad, once we get there I'll buy ya a few ales-..." He had no money. Everything was taken from him by those monsters. He sat there, in rage. Rick took one of the Cathayan longswords, straping it to his belt. Ragnar, an hour after Rick had fallen asleep, had done the same.

[luy22]

He was being dragged down a dark hall. It was dark, everything, He could swear he could hear the painful moans of his comrades, his fellow-slayers. Of Ungrim Drengial. They came into a large chamber. He saw the fuzz. Fur everywhere. It was madness. he saw dead Dwarfs, humans, and livestock. Everywhere, slaughtered. This was no way to die...

The next day, Rick was sitting on a rock within their little cave hide out. The roots outside covering the mouth like arms cradling a scared baby would hide them, but for how long, Rick was not sure. Ragnar was in the back, swatting his longsword at a tall boulder. He was doing his best to get a feel for it, but, Dwarfs were just better at using axes and hammers. He wandered over to him. "Did I insult you, Herr Dwarf?"

"Eh?" He said, looking upwards to him, wiping sweat from his brow. "Nay, lad, nay..." Rick rose an eyebrow. "But you are a slayer, wouldn't you have rather of slaughtered the Ogres?"

"I'm not lookin' to kill just Ogres, manling. I am hunting the big beasties..." The Dwarf thingyed his head to the side a bit. "And ye need not worry, manling... Not all slayers are as cold as steel and as hard as a rock. Before I shaved my head..." He began, sitting on a rock. "I was nothin' more than a diplomat. Was sent into another hold, and, a few lies later... a Greenskin horde went in and butchered every last Dwarf in the hold. I was corrupt. This forced me to shave my head and don the crest of the Slayer. I was not much for usin' axes but a mate in the slayer keep fixed me up with one good. He sent me out to fight trolls and goblins. I set out to the hold that was taken, only to get lost into those halls for several... I forgot... but, I ran into the other group of slayers I told ye about. We did battle with that greenskin horde. It was amazin'..." The Dwarf took a deep breathe of air in. "And now... all of this..." He sighed, standing up.

"I could... show you how to wield a sword properly, Dwarf."

"Ragnar, lad."

"Ragnar."

"Rag?"

"Fine, then, Rag."

The Dwarf smiled. The two of them practiced sword fighting the next hour, in this dank and somewhat smelly cave. Then came the sound somewhere far above of yelling, belching, and atrocious singing. Rocks and pebbles and light dust fell from the cave mouth roof. A gnoblar smashed down on the ledge outside, and groaned weakly. As soon as the caravan finally passed, Ragnar went out and crushed its' skull with his boot. "Well, let's get goin', manling." He smiled.

The road down into northern Ind was long and dreary. The two of them had to slid down the dry mud of the mountainside, and eventually crash into brambles. They got out, and came onto a long, long mountain road, heading back up the way they came. The Ogres would be coming this way into Cathay, but not for a long, long while. It was somewhat hilly here, with green hills all around and a vast, clear blue sky. The two of them went south, running along rivers and streams, stopping at small a merchant camp along the way to eat, drink, and get some rest. The next day, they were at the edge of one of the forests.

Both drew swords and began to cut their way through the thick reeds, trees and branches. It was green here on all sides, and getting very hot. Rick had rolled up his sleeves all the way, while Ragnar had sold his wool blanket for some money back at the merchant camp. They went over logs, through large hollow trees, and went by loud roaring waterfalls.

They had set up camp by a river. Their camp was simply a large sheet of cloth and some stakes, forming a lean-to. There were no stars here, as the canopy covered all, shadowing all, enveloping all the forest life into darkness and shadow. The Dwarf and man were glad to be alive thus far. Rick brought out a map he had traded one of his useless trinkets for. He spread it out on a boulder, and did his best to read it in the dark.

"On the other side of these woods, there's a small fishing village. They'll bring us to the harbor."

"Manling.." Said the slayer, pointing to two eyes in the darkness. A tiger. A large cat-like beast. It roared, jumping with amazing speed. The Dwarf got in between it and Rick before it could land on him and rip him to shreds. The Dwarf held its' neck in a stranglehold, attempting to crack it. He did, with a loud snap. Out of the darkness came loud purring, and people with the body of men and the heads of tigers, with the fur patterns of tigers, came out of the darkness. They wielded curved Ind swords and shields. Some with blades as big as Rick was tall. The duo held their weapons at the ready. "C'mon, we came take em!" Shouted Ragnar. "I'm not so sure..." They were being cornered into the jungle night...

[luy22]

PART 4: The jungle book

As they came closer into the moonlight, their furry orange feet-paws stepping over wet stones and roots of the immense trees here. Their faces were just like that of the tiger, save more evil. In their furry, muscular fists, they wielded scimitars, halberds, and other strange, alien weapons. All sent fear into Rick's heart. He had fought beastmen before, long ago in the Storm of Chaos, and soon after when they were sent out to cleanse several forests, but these...

These were beastmen of Ind.One looked upwards to the dark night sky, and let out a feline howl. A "MRRRAWWRRRRRR!!" Of a tiger. It looked to them, pointing its' massive weapon at the two. Ragnar sneered, holding his Cathayan longsword, and charged. The beastmen also charged. Left and right limbs and organs were flying. Rick's palm felt cold on his sword as he ran up and stabbed one of the creatures beneath the gut. he turned and slashed anthers' neck. "RAGNAR, TO ME!" He shouted. The Dwarf began butchering his way towards the man, and the two ran off into the jungle.

They were hot on their heels, thought Ragnar, as he heard the mews and howls of the enraged monsters behind him. Ragnar skidded to a halt in the mud, turning and climbing up a wall of roots while Rick continued on down his own muddy path. Ragnar got behind a massive boulder, and began to push. His veins bulged, his head ached, his skin reddened with intensity. Eventually, the boulder, and the entire tree and its' roots hugging it, when flying down, crushing the mass of furry warriors and blocking their path. It was too dark for the Dwarf to see any of them. He heard them, however, and the slayer turned to find his companion.

*****

Rick Dunderland was charging, sweating, down the muddy path. Dark shadowy trees and eyes looked at him with every corner he took. The man slipped, and rolled down a hill into a stream. He was wet and dirty beyond reason now, and the stones in the stream has cut him in several places. His beard was caked with mud. Rick looked around, only to see cold, wet darkness. He heard roars every now and then. This was what drove men to madness.

Soon, he heard somebody calling out his name, he tried to move, but his leg sent up a jolt of intense pain to his head, and he screamed in agony. He saw a dark shape tumbling down a hill that morphed into Ragnar, running towards him, his sword sheathed on his back. "Manling, ye alrigh- nevermind..." Ragnar said, dragging Rick out of the stream and sitting him on the warm bank against a rock. "I stopped the bastards, if ye was wonderin'..." Said the Dwarf, snorting. "And it seems ye twisted yer ankle..." Ragnar thingyed his head to the side.

"...are you a physician at all, Herr Dwarf?" Replied Rick, looking at him in pain.

"Nay, but it seems we'll have to continue on foot. On Dwarf feet anyways..." He laughed, trying to brighten up the situation a little. Ragnar picked up Rick and slung him over his shoulder.

"I lost the map and my sword..." Said Rick with a mixture of pain and terror in his voice.

"Good, well, we can make it manling, dun worry!" Ragnar said, spitting. "Sah, how'd ye get contacts in Ind again?"

"Well... As I said, my father was a merchant." He swallowed. "Our ship one day picked up an Ind mercenary, good man, named Arnav. He sailed with us on that ship for many days. I stayed on the ship most of the time, but when we docked at a human realm, I got to go off. I usually hung out with Arnav on and off board as he taught me most things I know today, and my father... was a busy man and would rather sleep with womenfolk in his quarters..."

Ragnar's expression soured, but he spat, and simply said "And then?"

"And then, one day, our ship came under attack by a fleet of pirates. Arnav took me and a few big pieces of treasure that they were after, and fled, leaving the ship to burn. We docked at Merainburg, and he left me at my mother's house. He told me he was going back to his homeland of Ind. The next day I awoke and he was gone..."

"Touchin' story, manling. Touchin'..." Ragnar coughed as the sun began to rise. "How long would ye say we've been walkin' in this jungle?"

"About a day or two... Why?"

"Hm..." Ragnar put the man down on a rock, and turned him. To the south, far across a vast canopy of tree tops, he could see the signs of a city. The harbor! "I think it'll take us another day to reach, though... with goin' down this here mountain and all..." He said, pointing downwards. "We'll arrive by dusk, if we can hurry. First thing we'll go to is a physician, then yer mate." Rick simply nodded, and Ragnar picked him up and they started down the path into the dawn...

[luy22]

It got to be early morning. And the land of Ind was very humid at this time.

Dew was on the tree leaves and other plants. Colorful mushrooms covered the ground in places. And the slayer walked with a man twice his size on his back through this wilderness. The mountain was rough climbing down, and in several places, Rick had to get off for Ragnar to take a break. He was only a mortal.

After many hours, at noon, Ragnar came upon a watering hole, where a small herd of elephants were gathered. The moment Ragnar saw the beasts, he wrapped his sausage fingers around his sword's handle, but Rick stopped him. "No, slayer. These are elephants... I saw them in the Emperor's zoo on a trip to Altdorf one day. They're herbivores. They eat plants."

"I know what that means, manling..." He set the man by the water, and bent down to drink some up, the crest of his hair dipping into the liquid. It was quite cold and tasted amazing after walking for so long. Rick bent down and drank some up., coughing after coming up.

"Ye men dunno how to drink properly..." He laughed, looking at the elephants. His eyes squinted, and he stared at them. "I dun trust em. They have Orc tusks..."

"...those are for defen-... Nevermind..." Rick was just glad to be able to drink.

After a five minute break, they continued onwards towards their goal, heading back through the jungle. They soon came upon a chasm, where they could see nothing but mist and fog below. A stone bridge was built here, along with some vine-raped pillars and ruins. The Dwarf began to walk across the stone bridge. On the horizon, past much more fog, he could see the black silhouette of some sort of temple, but he wanted to avoid it. Once they had crossed, they wandered on past a massive tree, and soon, after more trekking through harsh wilderness, reached the city gates.

The outer-walls of the harbor city were extravagant. Covered in beautiful tarps and lined with gold and other markings. The gates were already open, many armed guards in bronze armor, wielding crossbows, at guard. They paid no heed to the slayer and man slung over his back, but the many civilians did.

They gave them odd looks. Most of the people looked the same: Dark skin, colorful cloths covering their bodies.

They walked down the streets and entered a physician's office. Thankfully, it was a man from the empire. He said his name was Rex Borginov, was an explorer from the Empire who came here with a group of adventurers that set out for gold. Rex was smart and stayed in the city to make a living, the others, in search for gold, died. By morning, Rick's foot was already feeling better and was back in its' boot. They now walked the streets for Arnav's building.

*****

Arnav was now an old man, smoking a pipe, in his tavern. Not much people were here now. The stray man or village idiot once in awhile. But none much.

The door opened and a bearded man and a rather large Dwarf slayer wandered through. "Dunderland? Little Dunny? The cabin boy??" Arnav smiled, his three teeth showing.

"Aye, it's me, Arnav." The two hugged.

"I've your father's possessions, if that's what you've come for!"

"That would be great full, thank you. For for now, we just got back from a long journey, and we only wan-"

"DRINK AND SLEEP!" Shouted Ragnar angrily, putting what was left of his money on the bartop, and stomping up the stairs. He left the two of them to get up to speed with one another, while he laid down in a beautiful silk blanket and fell fast asleep. In the morning, he intended on parting ways with the man, and heading west somehow, to finish off those d**ned Ratmen once and for all.

*****

Rick finished his story as Arnav led him down the cellar, where he showed him a secret passageway. "Where I put all of your father's treasures..." He nodded, walking in.

Gold, lots of it was here. among it were two shimmering weapons, an axe and a cutlass.

"This is your father's cutlass. He used it many times over in swashbuckling." He handed the weapon to Rick. "And I imagine your friend would like the company of this..." He handed Rick the massive waraxe. "This axe was discovered in a lost Dwarf hold, somewhere in the Southlands, long time before I was taken aboard..." Rick looked at all the runes on the weapon. "Must have some powers of some kind. Anyways, get some sleep..."

Rick went upstairs, took a bath, shaved off his beard, and went to sleep.

*****
Meanwhile, back at the Ogre prison camp

Slurr, a Skaven Gray Seer, had followed that one nasty Dwarf-thing's scent. It had led him into an Ogre war-camp, and they had captured many more subjects to experiment on, along with the Dwarf-thing's companions, who now hung boneless, their entrails on large stone tables being poked at and prodded by insane twisted rat people somewhere deep underground. The Ogres had moved out long ago but had left a few weak Halfling-things for them to take, and little goblin-things as well.

"Yes-yes!" Slurr said, picking up the a skull of one of the tiny creatures. He had not much time to look at it, as now a group of bloodthirsty furry white ogre-things were charging at them, roaring insanely. "EEK!!" He shouted, dropping the skull and dashing behind a horde of his own people, carrying serrated blades and wooden shields, dressed in rags and screeching and squeaking at the oncoming Yeti beasts.

[luy22]

PART 5: Into the House of Death

The next day, the Ind city was bustling brightly, a shining jewel in this darkened part of the world. People of different races (though Men, a few Dwarfs, and a couple of Halflings were the only thing he could spot amongst the crowds). Boats and trading ships floated in the harbor. Gulls squawked overhead, swooping down to steal food from people.

Ragnar Dumi looked upon it from the ledge overlooking the great city. His new war axe was in hand, and he used it as a walking stick. It was then when something caught his eye... Out in the distance, in the ocean. A black fleet. A black... Arc... He had heard of them before, these Black Arcs. Fortresses of Dark Elgi, they were! He spat. Around the great floating fortress was a number of smaller ships. He watched as they readied for war through the spyglass that Rick's friend had given him. He spat once more, and began his long trek down the mountain. Looks like they would need his help after all!

~

Selgan Malice, a Dark Elf corsair captain, stared off from the fleet. Humans. Men. All in their happy city. They would not be for long. Already they had seen them coming. Where would the worms go to? The jungle? A place full of death? He laughed, drinking blood from the skull of one of his latest victims; a Dwarf Ironclad that they had taken out a few days ago heading home from an oil rig.

Selgan ripped his long, poison-tipped, purple-bladed scimitar from its sheath. He was ready. The many Dark Eldar behind him also stood ready...

~

Arnav and Rick were already rushing through the town, where Ind militia were rushing around panicked to get to the defending areas. People were running, screaming. Those out in the harbor tried to escape only to be taken down by the harsh, cold sea.

"This way, boy!" Arnav grabbed Rick by the shoulder, pulling him along to the entrance to a stone building. "This is my escape. It leads out into the ocean, but a few miles away... Should be nothin' too bad..."

"Are you mad?" Rick asked, his voice quivering.

"Aye, lad, I am..." With that they heard the whump of a fire igniting. They were arrows raining and hailing down upon them. The storm of black terror had begun. The first of the Dark Eldar ships had reached the shore, unleashing the elven warriors, who gave no mercy. People were now getting cut down in the hundreds.

Arnav shoved Rick along, just then, there came a mighty warcry. A Dwarf Slayer charged through the militia, slamming his mighty axe blades into the mid-section of one of the warriors. He turned to Rick.

"I came to warn ya, Rick, but I guess ya already knew!" Ragnar laughed heartily, swinging again. "Now get out here and help me! Cowarding man!!" Rick smirked, swinging his father's cutlass and taking down a warrior.

The battle lasted until night, where the final duel had began. Bodies were everywhere. Selgan sweeped his blade over the Dwarf's head, managing only to cut off a bit of his high crest of orange hair. Ragnar clashed with the Elf, both of them growling in each other's faces. Ragnar punched him, the ham-sized fist slamming into the Elf's face, and he stumbled back, falling off the cliffs into the burning harbor below.

"Now, to me!" Arnav yelled. Ragnar and Rick quickly followed. A single Elf crossbowman charged across the blood-soaked docks, aiming, and firing. The bolt hit Rick right in the back, the force of the blow knocking him off his feet and sending him down onto the ground, giving him a few more cuts and bruises than he had bargained for. The man turned, looking to his cutlass, he began to crawl towards it. By this time Arnav and Ragnar were at the escape tunnel, the ladder leading down to darkness and unknown. Arnav was beginning to descend when Ragnar turned to see the man who had helped him, Rick Dunderland, lay flat on his face. This was no way for a true warrior such as Rick to die. Ragnar picked up his axe as another bolt slashed into his friend's back. Ragnar charged, a blood-curdling warcry echoing throughout the dying city. Now came the final straw, a corsair pumped a final bolt into Rick's back and he fell just as his fingers barley grazed the hilt of his weapon. Ragnar beheaded the first, and roared out a challenge to the second. By now the enemy morale had clearly broken. Dark Elves were falling left and right.

"Dwarf!" Yelled Arnav. "You cannot kill them all to avenge him! Follow me! More are coming!" He said, pointing. He was correct. Another wave of ships was headed this way. Angry, he grabbed the man's body and dragged him, pulling him down the tunnel and locking it behind him.

The way out was dark until it led to a light at the end of the tunnel. They came out to a ledge on the cliff-wall. Ragnar could hear the noises of battle as the bastards sacked what was left of the Ind city. They crept along the ledge.

"This is taking too long..." Said Arnav. "They will be upon us if any had seen us. Disappear with me, Dwarf!" The man jumped, waving his arms like a deranged bird and hitting the water with a loud splash. Ragnar took a gasp of air, tied the corpse of Rick Dunderland to his back, and jumped...

[luy22]

Ragnar gasped for air as he came up, every ounce of power being used to keep his rock-like body afloat. The Dwarf swam. He spotted Arnav near the shoreline, shuffling up the beach like a zombie. He reached the beach, made up mostly of pebbles and rocks. He crawled, letting the corpse, now entirely pale as a ghost, fall from his back. The slayer fell, gasping.

~~~

The two of them stood before the grave. "Bolts." Voiced Arnav. "He was a good lad, Master Dwarf. A good lad indeed. And he had died by bolts. Better a death than his father had..." He chuckled gently. Ragnar just stared down at the lump of dirt. The noises of battle around the cliff side still had not ceased, and the black ships of the Dark Elves could still be seen. "We should leave now, Ragnar."

"And go where, Arnav?" He asked the ex-sailor. "Ye've nowhere to go. I'm headed north, to the war up there."

"Into Cathay?"

"Aye. Cathay... Care to join me?"

"No, Dwarf. Ragnar, I can not... But you do need my help, obviously."

"Why's that?" He asked. Arnav summoned him over to a stone, where he lay out a large map.

"Because..." He said. "Cathay is south. If we make our way along the coast, we will eventually come to the wall they had built to keep the Hobgoblins out. Heh, Rick was no map-reader, my friend." He laughed hard. "Now, let us make haste, before the Druchii make their way to us to capture stragglers. You know not what they do to them, and it is best that way..."

And so, they made their way along the coast, eventually coming to a fisherman, who they had bought a small boat off of, to head south into the realm of the Dragon.