Thaggorakikul
~][~
The foreign company stood down for two days while the Hold's clan-companies turned the rally-hall and its nearby tunnels into a fortress from which to launch raids into the surrounding tunnels and mines.
Thane Oreheart broke the foreign company into axe-and-hammer teams. The small axe-teams were made up of five members – one quarreler, a local miner, and three warriors. And they were sent out in two minute increments, each team within calling distance of another. In a spreading pattern, they were to scour every tunnel, passageway, hall, room, latrine, and closet for remaining skaven – killing them if they could, or ideally driving them into the large tunnels and halls and into the unkind embrace of the waiting hammer-teams – twenty strong units of warriors and thunderers – who would blast and battered them into whatever hell existed for the wretched skaven.
Imrak, Azgrim, and Breggi were matched with the local miner Largs Aldinson and the quarreler Belgrond Dadrinson.
Following Largs's instruction they made their way into the Durazrinn Hall, home to the Durazrinn Clan. Other teams had been this way already, so the initial walk was without incident. When they arrived at the hall they found a Thane stood at a stone bench, in front of a towering stone statue of Valaya. The polished granite Matriarch was robed and held in the crook of one arm a cloth wrapped baby, the cloth-carved stone was gilded with gold, and in her other hand a stein of ale, the stein was forged from priceless gromil.
The thane had one boot up on the bench, lit pipe in his mouth, and was issuing orders to a collection of armed and armored dwarfs. Hammer-teams lounged around the hall.
They went to the Thane and introduced themselves.
The thane nodded and chewed on his pipe, "Any of yous been around here before?"
Largs grunted, "Aye. This is my old stomping ground."
"Good lad. Head north, follow the lanterns. Others will direct you to your specific locations." The thane pointed at a large chest and said, "Candles. Take as many as you need."
Largs took off his helmet and after heating the bottoms of three thick candles, affixed them to the brim of miner's pot helmet. He shoved another half dozen into his shoulder bag. Breggi, a miner himself, refreshed his own helmet candles and stashed a handful as well.
Belgrond pocketed some as well, but did not attach any to his helmet. Claiming that since he'd be the first into the rooms and silhouetted anyways, he did not want to give the enemy anything else to aim for - the light was uncomfortably close to his face he complained. Azgrim mounted a candle on each of the five spikes of his helmet, shoved some more into his pack.
Irmak fitted a few candles to his newly forged helmet. The helmet was so fresh from the forge it did not have its leather interior lining yet. It was just raw steel on his head. To help cushion the damage of any blows to the head, he had braided his long hair and wrapped it around his skull.
The helmet was gift from Azgrim. While the foreign company rested, the armourer had hiked back to Amoursmith's Hall in Karak Hirn, and forged the helmet in less than two days. It was hastily made, and had none of the refinements the talented armourer would have liked to add, but it was all he could accomplish in the limited time he had before they moved out.
He gave it to Imrak without ceremony. He just walked over to him as they were preparing to march, and presented it to him
Imrak took it in surprise. It was a fine helmet, and hastily made or not, it was crafted by an expert. It was a domed-helmet with a nasal guard and hinged cheek-plates. There was no ornamentation and not a single hammer mark to be found. It had been polished to a dull shine, and oiled to resist corrosion. He slipped it on. It fit well, and the dwarf steel would protect his head a great deal better than his own thick skull. "Thank you, cousin. I'm honored. With your craft you do your ancestor's proud."
Azgrim nodded. "Sorry for its rough state. You owe me the cost of materials."
Imrak nodded, "Labour?"
Azgrim waved a dismissive hand, "I'll gift you that." He gave a rare grin, "We can't go havin' all those precious rhuns knocked out of your head, now can we?"
The team headed off, following Largs out of the Durazrinn Hall and into the clan corridors. Other teams had already been through these halls, but even so, the team checked each room thoroughly. Skaven were notoriously sneaky, after all.
Every so often Largs would call out in a high-low HEE-HOO, and listen for a reply in the distance. These calls kept the axe-teams kept in touch with each. At intersections waiting dwarfs with weapons held ready would direct them which way to go.
They headed deeper and deeper into the tunnels, and as approached an axe-team guarding a dimly lit intersection the team-leader called out, "No one's been down that one yet," he pointed into a dark tunnel. Largs looked up, reading the angular script carved onto the lintel of the tunnel archway. "This leads to the clan's forges."
The waiting team-leader said, "Call out often. Use your whistle if you have too."
Imrak looked around at the dim corridors, then looked at the five waiting dwarfs and asked, "And the hammer-teams?"
The other team-leader just shrugged, "They haven't arrived here yet."
"Let's be getting on." Largs took off his helmet and lit the candles affixed to the brim. The miner then took ten steps down the tunnel, pulled a candle from his pouch, lit it, dripped a few drops of wax on to a small shelf on the wall, and fixed the candle to a small shelf. They'd leave candles every so often to mark their way.
The rest lit their candles, and shifted their grasps on their shield and weapons.
"Grimnir watch over you," said the other team-leader, and all ten dwarfs tapped fists over their hearts.
Belgrond went first, crossbow to his shoulder, steel headed bolt pointed straight down the dark tunnel. They moved slowly, but quietly. Stealth was more important than haste. After a hundred paces he passed a door, paused, and pointed at the door.
Azgrim stepped up to the Belgrond, and put his shield up and watched darkness in front of them. Breggi stood to one side of the door, Imrak to the other. Largs faced back the way they came, shield held up defensively.
Once they were set, Belgrond turned back the door and faced it, crossbow aimed at the central bronze handle. He stared hard for a few moments, puffed out his cheeks, then he nodded sharply. Imrak pushed the door open with his hammer. The heavy door, five feet tall, four feet wide, three feet thick and made entirely of a single piece of granite, swung open smoothly, soundlessly.
Belgrond ducked his head down and stepped swiftly into the room. He panned his crossbow right to left. The light of the tunnel lit a common room ten paces long, and the same wide. There was a cold hearth at the far end, with a heavy lintel, carved with a pray to Valaya. The room was lined with benches carved directly from the stone, stone shelves lined about them. There was a long wooden table and benches in the center of the room. There were two doors out of the common room, one to each side, both open.
The quarreler braced himself, and spotted a furry shape darting for the door on the left. He fired at the shadow's center mass. The twang was metallic sharp in the quiet room.
The pained squeak was even louder.
He strode forward, straight at the squealing skaven. Imrak and Breggi pushing into the room after him, their helmet mounted candles bringing light into the room. The skewered skaven was trying to crawl away, Belgrond pinned its tail down with a heavy boot, then smashed in its skull with the steel-shod crossbow butt.
Panicked squeaking came from the left tunnel. Imrak stepped over the dead skaven, and stood in the doorway, shield held up. Belgrond reloaded, stepped up behind Imrak, tapped him on the helmet, and the two advanced.
The hallway ended at three doors, these would be the family rooms. Squeaking could be heard from within the leftmost; its door was closing a skaven's snout poked around the edge, glittering red eyes glaring. Imrak held up his runehammer and kicked at the door. It jerked back and Imrak shouldered his way into the opening, and swung hard at the space behind the door.
He felt the hammer connect and the squeals echoed around. He pushed against the door, and it flew open with a bang as it slapped against the wall. Belgrond stepped up and fired. Hitting the back of a skaven racing away. Imrak moved to the center of the room, head twisting around, spotting a cowering skaven holding a broken arm, and killed it in one blow.
He and Belgrond scanned the room again, checked behind the furniture. No exits, two dead skaven.
They backed out, and moved to the next room. Then the third. The family rooms were cleared.
They moved back to the common room, and saw the others coming out of the other tunnel.
Breggi asked, "How many?"
Imrak held up two fingers, while he scanned the room.
Breggi said, "None down there."
Largs said, "Let clear out."
Belgrond fetched his bolts out of the corpses. Both were reusable so he cleaned and tucked them into his quarrel. The others carried the corpses out into the corridor and stacked them up by the door.
They scoured room after room for the better part of half-a-day, slowly working their way deeper into the Durazrinn clan's property. They killed twenty-four, mostly runtish, cowardly, and terrified skaven. Their superior skill at arms, heavy armor, iron discipline, and ruthless tactics meant that between the five dwarfs they only had a few bad scratches.
They came to a three-way intersection and stood, looking down dark corridors. They lit a few candles and put them down the tunnel they had came from, and waited.
"Lunch?" suggested Breggi.
The rest nodded.
After some time another group of armed dawi thumped down the corridor. Breggi called out to them, "Come to join the Thaggorakikul?"
The leader stumped up, he looked harassed and ill-tempered, "What?"
"It's like grobkul, but instead of artfully stalking goblins, we're stalking rats."
The leader just grunted and pointed, "We're going that way. And if you're done running your mouth, perhaps you could listen for our calls, eh?"
Breggi huffed and grumbled, but stepped back. The rest of the new axe-team just nodded and went on their way, heads turning slowly to examine the surrounding darkness.
"Grimnir protect you too," Breggi shouted after them and tossed them a rude gesture.
~][~
The campaign to drive the skaven out of Karak Hirn took more than two years. Imrak and his axe team worked in shifts of five days. They spent five days clearing rooms, killing skaven and stacking their bodies, then they'd return to a nearby clan hall for two days of rest and to restock on rations, bolts, and fix any broken equipment. It was grim, grinding work. Hours of stressful inaction would be shattered with moments of terrible violence. Especially as the dwarfs drove deeper and deeper under the mountain.
They eventually left the outer working of the mines all together, and followed their foe down the skaven carved tunnels. The skaven tunnels were irregular in size, shape, and direction; though uniformly greasy with skaven fur-oils and stank of rat musk. The tunnels were carved, often by fang or claw of the lowest of slaves, through were the stone was the weakest, and as such made them difficult to map, even for the miner's guild map makers, or the Hold's cartographic loremasters.
While the clearance was going on every member of the military might of Karak Hirn did their part to retake the Deeps. The professional warrior brotherhoods, the Hammers and the Ironbreakers, the Thunderers and the Quarrellers, though outnumbered in every single battle stood at the forefront of the campaign and led powerful attacks or defended vital halls and corridors with a tenacity that would make theirs Ancestor's stroke their beard's with pride. The Hold's Clanwarriors, thousands of axe and hammer wielding part-time warriors stood resolute in twenty stand-up battles and a hundred vicious skirmishes – the Longbeards never once taking a step back or retreating, the younger warriors taking their lead from their elders.
Rangers, while usually they worked on the surface, employed their skills of stealth to track and monitor the skaven's movements. In a brilliant move a company of rangers lured a horde of skaven into the main hall of the Skundrik clan – and held the only entrance, the rest had been bricked up days before. Then, with permission from the King of Karak Hirn and the Skundrik Clan Elders, Engineers brought down the ceiling of the Skundrik clan hall, crushing more than four thousand skaven. Only seven of the hundred rangers survived, the rest were honored with the highest accolades the King could offer.
While Karak Hirn was a notoriously conservative Hold, even by dawi standards, they possessed all the modern war-machines. The cannons and their engineers, while not at their most flexible in the war deep underground, proved their worth in defending the long sloping tunnels between Deeps. The gunners would line up their cannons and blast down lengths of tunnels where the heavy iron balls would travel hundreds of feet, plowing bloody lines, or shot canisters of gravel and nails would mow down ranks of tightly packed skaven by the dozens or hundreds. If after the terrifying bombardment, the skaven managed to reach the cannon line, the Flame Cannons would spew out cones of naphtha to incinerate whole packs of skaven, and panic whole swarms.
The Mining clans, enraged by the invasion of their home, the defiling of the halls, and the theft of their revenue were particular cunning and fearsome – using their knowledge of the tunnels, or would dig new ones, to appear behind enemies and use their heavy picks to killing thousands of skaven.
The skaven's vile warp-sorcery was counter by the runesmiths. The tough and cankerous dwarfs earthed the energies of the white-furred rat sorcerers with glowing Runes of Spelleating, Spellbinding, Spellbreaking carved into their staffs. During the battle to drive the skaven from their last pawhold in the Karak Hirn's mines, Kazadar Burlokson himself challenged an elderly Grey Seer to a fearsome melee – thunder boomed and lighting crashed as the two magical titans battled – in the end the runesmith smote the ratman.
Slayers, never under any command, except that of Grimnir himself, carried out their own personal wars against the skaven. Their tales were of bold madness, bravery beyond compare, and redemption through an honorable death. Often a trail of dead and broken ratman led to the corpse of a slain slayer, surrounded by a pile of hacked up ratman. That is, when their bodies were found at all. Skaven who survived battles with slayers usually ate them afterwards.
In a war of attrition against the seemingly numberless skaven, causalities were expected, and they were many. Over the two years of battling the skaven the dawi from Karak Hirn suffered hundreds killed, and ten times that number in wounded. The volunteers from Karak Kol suffered as well. Elgrom Grunnardson joined Yorri Thorison in the hall of the ancestors. He never recovered consciousness from his gut wound. Madras's leg wound took months to heal, and he walked with a pronounced limp, but he eventually returned to the deeps to continue fighting. Breggi broke his arm, when a balcony he was fight on collapsed, and it took fourteen weeks to heal enough for him to return to the fight. Gurni Bromson broke both his ankles in the same collapse as Breggi and though he walked with a pronounced gait, he eventually returned to the fight. Only to be killed by a rampaging rat-ogre his first day back in the ranks. Skaldor Skaldorson was killed during the reclaiming of the western workings, choked to death on his own blood, the result of inhaling the skaven's poison gas. Imrak, on top of his head wound, had his forearm chewed on by a madden, diseased -ridden skaven dressed in dirty robes and filthy rags, which left him bed-bound with a crippling fever for six week and added a dozen fang puncture marks to his growing collection of scars. Azgrim received some nasty scratches, and had his nose broken, again, but was relatively unharmed throughout the campaign; though he did have one frightful encounter with the skaven in the mines.
In their effort to clear the southern galleries the Foreign Company assaulted a skaven stronghold. They broke through, and drove the skaven out. However, the skaven soon counter-attacked.
In the intense tunnel fighting around the galleries, skaven swarmed the dawi shieldwall, in the chaos Azgrim got pulled away. Regardless of all the mayhem, the Karak Kol dawi rushed to get him back, but Thane Algrim screamed for them to the maintain the shieldwall. Conditioned by a life time of warrior-culture discipline and years of experience of battle the Kol-folk reformed the line, knowing one life was less important than making the entire thrung weak. But they roared at the Thane to do something.
Algrim re-tasked his crossbowdwarfs.
Once the ratman got their dirty paws on Azgrim, they fell back ten paces. The furry swarm tried to lift Azgrim up to carry him away, but the combination of Azgrim's ferocious kicking and punching, and great weight, made the skaven drop him.
Amongst the pile of furry bodies he battled his way to his feet, punching and kicking like Grimnir himself, his comrades not ten paces away, all screaming oaths and encouragements. He knocked one skaven to the ground, then grabbed it with both hands, heaved it into the air. Pulling down hard, he smashed it down over his knee, breaking its back. Azgrim discard the bent skaven without a second thought.
The skaven gave up on trying on drag him away and turned back to attack him. One grabbed hold of his beard, pulling hard, while another stabbed him in the upper back, and yet another skaven tried to bite him on the face – only to break its teeth on his steel helmet.
Bolts started to land amongst the skaven, one punching deeply into the chest of the beard-puller, jerking it away - strands of beard hair clutched tightly in its filthy claws.
Imrak kept glancing between Azgrim and Thane Algrim, his teeth clinched. He roared, "Come on! come on!"
"Thane!" screamed Breggi, and gestured with his axe down the tunnel, "That's my Hold cousin!"
"Hold the line!" the fat thane screamed back.
"I'm going," yelled Breggi, lurching to movement.
"Scoff yourself, hold the line!"
From behind them a deep voice shouted, "Watch your backs!"
Imrak felt himself get shoved aside, "Oy!" he shouted.
A massive, two-axe wielding slayer carelessly pushed through the ranks. His towering red crest and outlandish blue tattoos all but glowed in the lantern light. He put his head down and dashed down the tunnel. His bellow was thunderous and as he closed in on the fighting scrum around Azgrim he launching himself at the skaven.
Each axe killed a skaven with every blow. He started up a death-chant, roaring the Ode of Grimnir for all, including his Ancestors, to hear.
The berserker's murderous whirlwind created a space around Azgrim in less than five heartbeats. Azgrim stumbled, tripped, and righted himself as the Slayer slaughtered his way past him. Without looking back, the Slayer yelled, "Back to the ranks with you! Tell them Grim of No-Hold seeks his doom!"
Azgrim spat blood and grunted his thanks. The armourer turned and walked down the tunnel; he did not run, he had nothing but utter contempt for the skaven. A few paces from the line he stooped and collected his axe, his shield is nowhere to be found.
He squeezed himself back into the ranks.
"Welcome back," Breggi said with a relieved grin, "With you on their shoulders, it looked like they were going to carry you off to the bridal chamber."
Azgrim grunted angrily, "I'd been back sooner, but the vermin wouldn't stop tickling me." Blood dripped down his back, the mail was slick with blood. He delicately stroked his wounded beard with a trembling hand.
~][~
More than a mile below the blue sky, the green lands, and the warmth of the sun the Dawi of Karak Hirn, and the volunteers, finally brought the hated skaven to a final battle. They met in a natural underground chamber. It was the result of the underground lake, long since emptied, the Ruf, the domed chamber was tear-drop shaped and huge. Nearly a mile wide and nearly that long.
Even after losses amounting to thousands, the skaven still outnumbered the dwarfs more than four-to-one. However, the ratmen had nowhere else to run. They could not return from whence they came from, and the Dwarfs would not let them go into their Hold. Their breeding chambers had been found the month before and the King himself, with one of the Princes, led the assault that saw them burned and buried under thousands of tons of rock. This was the last of the horde. Though numerous, the horde lacked the lethality it once possessed. Most of their elite black-furred warriors had been killed, the remaining rat-ogres were sad, pathetic specimens, bellowing listlessly, the bizarre skaven who wore goggles and threw glass balls of poisonous gas had mostly been killed, the rats that totted long-barreled rifles lurked at the rear and their number were few, the robed diseased skaven were noticeable absent.
One thing that gave the dwarfs pause was in the center of the horde stood a strange contraption. It was a huge bell, set within a crude scaffold framework and it could be wheeled around on large wooden wheels. Though silent, its sinister nature could be felt across the chamber.
The dwarfs marched in, Ironbreakers first. Their armored shells protecting them from any shenanigans the Skaven might attempt while the throng deployed into battle formation. Quarrellers followed to cover their flanks. Engineers were next. They erected tall A-frames of wood at the back of the chamber and mounted large polished metal disks. They then set lanterns up, the mirrors reflecting the light hundreds of feet, and became brighter with each lantern added.
Once the chamber was lit, the warrior companies marched in. Regiment after regiment of angry, vengeful warriors. Hardened after years of fighting, and remorseless, they chanted in time with their stomping boots, "Khuzak un uzkul, Khuzak un uzkul, Khuzak un uzkul." Battle and death.
The skaven horde flinched and slunk back. The terrified chittering and growing smell of musk showed they had no will to fight. It had been beaten out of them over two years of relentless battle.
Then the bell tolled.
As the ringing faded, the chamber dulled to a hush. A bellowing rat-ogre swung a huge metal maul and the bell tolled again.
Apart the bell's carriage climbed a white-furred, ram-horned skaven, wearing grey robes and holding a skull-topped staff that glowed with an evil green light.
It screamed and howled and waved its staff in a particular pattern. Bright green scratchy-looking runes began to glow on the bell's surface.
The rat-ogre continued to pound the bell, every ten time heartbeats, regular as clockwork. With each blow the horde stood a little taller, hissed a little louder, whipped their tails more aggressively.
Imrak spat, "Sorcery!"
Breggi popped up on his boot tips and looked back, "Where are the cannons?"
"They can't get them down that narrow tunnel," Azgrim replied. "We'll have to destroy that thing the old fashioned way."
"My favorite way of doing things," Imrak said.
"Alright Imrak, you're the Rhunki here, any thoughts?"
"Aye," Imrak looked around then called out, "Thane!"
After two years of war Thane Algrim Goldteeth was a few inches thinner around the waist, but not by much. He would let no amount of campaigning shrink his girth – that would be tantamount to letting the enemy win.
The fat thane stumped over and yelled to be overheard the growing metallic din, "What?"
Imrak pointed with this runehammer at the skaven bell, "It rings in our doom."
"And?" Algrim said impatiently.
"We must destroy it."
Algrim furrowed his brow and looked away for a moment to compose a brutally abusive phrase to deliver to Imrak for wasting his time.
Imrak cut him off, "I have a plan."
~][~
Imrak Brightbeard stood proud in front of some powerful beards. Azgrim and Breggi stood a few paces away, watching their friend. Thane Algrim stood with Thane Stonebones at his side, Runesmith Kazadar stood quietly, one hand on his staff, Thane Oreheart stood with this boots braced apart, hands clasped behind his back.
"Your idea is utter madness," Oreheart said to Imrak, then he turned to Algrim, "We're moments away from battle and you bring this nonsense to me. I will be speaking to your Clan when we're done here. And they won't like what I have to say."
Imrak frowned. Algrim glared at Imrak.
Oreheart cleared his throat, "Right, get back to your companies. We fight."
"A moment, Thane," Kazadar said.
"By Grungni's beard, not now, we must go!" Oreheart yelled.
"The beardling's plan has merit. I think if young Maggrim agrees we should try." The Ironbeard's head twitched to hear himself be called 'young.' Kazadar continued, "Can you not feel it? This is evil magic. Look at our kin. With each toll they tighten their shoulders, they hold their shields closer, they lower their heads. And look at the vermin, they're getting down right frisky."
Oreheart grunted, "We'll win this battle."
Kazadar nodded, "Oh aye, we will. No doubt. But, I think Brightbeard's plan will make it so that fewer trommi die here. Die in this dark, lonely place under the mountain, far from home and hearth."
Oreheart stared at the aged runemaster, muttered something, and looked to Maggrim Stonebones, "And you Ironbeard, you want a part in this madness?"
Stonebones shrugged. He looked directly at Imrak, his eyes were just barely visible behind his heavy helmet's faceplate, but they glimmered with excitement, "I always planned to die in some dark, lonely place under the mountain, far from home and hearth. This will make for a great story to tell my Ancestors." He gave a thumbs up, "Let's do it."
Oreheart stood quietly for a moment, listening to the ever-increasingly loud bell. He said, "Grimnir grant you all a good death," then walked away to command to the throng to re-deployed.
Kazadar nodded to Imrak, "Speak quickly."
Imrak rolled out his neck then began to issue orders in rapid secession. "Azgrim go find Kraznik the Strong. Breggi you need to find Hardid Flintgut. Both of you need to bring them to the Ironbreakers, quickly. Go! Go!"
The two turned and dashed off. Imrak turned to Algrim, "Thank you Thane, for this chance."
"Do not fail. I don't reckon either of us suit Red," was all Algrim said before stomping off. Imrak knew what he was implying, but he did not have time to dwell on it.
"Thane," Imrak looked to Stonebones, "let's go."
The three hustled off.
When they arrived at the company of Ironbreakers the entire chamber was ringing softly. No not ringing. Screaming. And growing in volume, and dread.
Kazadar and Imrak quickly inspected every Ironbreaker, looking over their amour, shields, helmets, gauntlets, and boots. When they found what they were looking for they slapped the warrior's pauldron and shouted, "This one!" Maggrim waved them over and soon twenty-five Ironbreakers stood alone.
"Imrak!" Breggi shouted as he ran up, a staff-wielding runesmith with him. Azgrim arrived as well, with another runesmith. Kazadar drew the two other runesmiths aside and spoke quietly to them. All three looked at Imrak, there was a lot of frowning and beard waggling and tutting. Ignoring them Imrak turned to his friends, both of whom were limbering up for a fight, "Sorry lads, you can't come with me on this. This is rhunki business. Go back to Madras."
Breggi's face turned angry and he looked like he was about give Imrak a piece of his mind when Azgrim spoke up instead, "Easy does it, boki."
The big armourer look at Imrak, "Destroy the bell." He pointed an armored finger at Imrak's face, "And I don't want to see any elf-dramatics over there. Don't go dying a hero's death."
Imrak couldn't help but laugh. He watched his friends turn and jog away, Breggi looked back and gave a thumbs up. Imrak returned it and turned back to Stonebones and the Ironbreakers. Kazadar and his runesmiths were ready.
Imrak looked across the chamber. The bell tolled, the horde hiss and thrashed, the Grey Seer shrieked.
"Let's stop that bell from screaming ever again."
~][~
The bell was a weapon of terror, it's tolling rang in the doom of all who heard it. Dwarfs were notorious stalwart and resolute in all things, but especially in the face of magic. But each step forward was a struggle. Dwarfs were not immune to its terrible magic. They were mortals, after all, and even the bravest feared death – except the trollslayer, of course.
Not fearing death was a key feature in Imrak's plan. When the army reached crossbow range, the whole army halted. Anyone with a ranged weapon had been re-deployed to flank the Ironbreakers and they began firing, directly at the center of the enemy line. The skaven began to die.
When the line stopped, twenty-five Ironbreakers, and one Ironbeard; three journeymen Runesmiths, one without a staff, and one Runemaster continued to march at a horde of skaven that numbers into the thousands.
From all along the Dwarf line the surviving trollslayers burst out of the ranks, and ran ahead of them, oaths to Grimnir spewing from their raging lips.
The Grey Seer screamed at the rat-ogre to beat the bell faster, and then screamed yet more at his forces to hold their ground. The bell's metallic screaming drove the skaven into a mad frenzy.
Hundreds of skaven were wounded or killed by bolts and shot.
The twenty-six Ironbreakers formed a triangle around the four runesmiths, with Stonebones at their head. The Ironbeard hummed a marching song, pleased, as this is what they were born to do. Each had been selected because their gromil armor bore the Runes of Warding, which deflected the energies of the screaming bell. The runesmiths chanted in unison, their staffs glowing white and forming a moving orb of light that drove the worst of the ratman's magic away. Still the warriors' runearmour glittered and steamed from vile warp-sorcery as they got closer and closer to the bell. The runes on Imrak's bracelet glowed and it burned hot to the touch.
The missile barrage stopped before the fearless berserkers reached the skaven, and when they did, the carnage was staggering. Like so many red-crested cannonballs, they punched holes in the skaven line. Most were quickly overwhelmed, pulled down by scabrous paws and hacked to death by rusty blades. Those were good dooms. But for those whose shame was so great they seemed cursed by Grimnir himself to live long and painful lives of disgrace, continue to plow on, killing and killing again. But the disruption was enough. The metal triangle marched into the pack of maw-foaming skaven directly in front of the bell.
The missile troops re-tasked their aim to the fire on the skaven to either side of the iron triangle, doing what they could to protect their flanks. But soon the horde, overwhelmed by the bell's magic, burst from their disordered lines, hurling themselves at the dwarfs. The iron triangle was on its own.
~][~
"Push! Push!" yelled Stonebones, "Drive forward!" The Ironbreakers hacked and stomped their way into the furry mass of skaven, axes and hammers mangling skaven on all three sides of the triangle. They were maybe fifty feet from the bell, but they might as well be fifty miles. They had ground to a halt, the space between them and bell was, literally, full of blood-crazed skaven. The noise of the bell of all consuming.
A blast of green energy zapped down at them, then turned sharply and struck Kazadar's staff. One of the runes atop the staff exploded like a dropped glass bowl, shattering blazing metal shards.
Imrak saw that his plan wasn't working. The bell continued to toll. They could not move forward, nor could they move backwards. They were a small gromil fortress in a sea of fur and claws. And still that damned bell rang.
"Bugrit!" Imrak swore, and pulled his dagger out. He flipped it up and hurled it at the rat-ogre, yelling, "Stop ringing that damned thing! I can't hear myself think!"
The dagger flipped through the air and struck true. It embedded itself into thick shoulder muscles. The rat-ogre paused a moment dully staring at the dagger, then flicked it away. It returned to the ringing the bell.
Imrak looked around at his feet. There were bodies everywhere, though the second rank of Ironbreakers did their best to keep the space in the center of the triangle free of corpses it was impossible. Along with the corpses were weapons. Most were crudely made, barely even allowed to be called forged. But they'd do for Imrak. He picked up a sword, and hurled at the rat-ogre. It bounced off its chest. Next was an axe-shaped rock wedged into a wooden handle. Another sword, then two daggers. Then a spear; which stuck nicely in its chest. That did it.
Having to block itself from the incoming barrage enraged the rat-ogre. It gave a roar and leapt off the carriage. Landing on the skaven in front of the triangle. The monstrous creature tried to push its way forward, but it was trapped by the press of skaven as well. With a tremendous roar, it swung its maul around, crushing a dozen ratmen heads. Two more swings cleared space around it enough for it to stomp forwards. The triangle lurched forward too, bringing Stonebones faceplate-to-snout with the rat-ogre.
Imrak watch the greyseer pause in its litany of squeaks and look down at rat-ogre, then at the platform where it should have been, then back rat-ogre again. It howled with frustration. The ringing was already fading for the chamber, the entire skaven horde paused a moment.
"Make room!" Imrak screamed and Ironbreakers pushed out in every direction, attempting to form a square.
Imrak pushed up and past the front line of Ironbreakers and into the mob of disorganized skaven. As he dashed past the rat-ogre, battering at Stonebones's shield, he took a moment to swing hard at its foot. He smashed three of the toe-claws to paste, and the beast hopped up and fell to its side, howling in pain.
He dashed past, tossed his shield aside, and leapt onto the carriage. He started to climb the rudely constructed frame, dozens of normal sized rats squeaked and scattered.
~][~
The greyseer glared down at the rat-ogre, watching one fully armoured fur-face hack off an arm with a glittering axe, while another with long, white face-fur spear it through an eye with a glowing staff.
The bell rang no more. While normally he would blame his minions for any failure, imagined or otherwise, it this case he actually could blame traitorous rat-ogre for abandoning his post.
He heard a huff-puff behind him, and quickly twitched around. Much to his surprise he saw a copper fur-face lurch up onto the top of the carriage's arch-platform with him. Under a steel helmet his eye's blazed with fury. The fur-face said nothing, only swiftly swung a rune-blazing warhammer at his legs. His knee broke and buckled. With a pained squawk, he pitched off the arch.
Instead of falling to his doom, he was again surprised to look up and see the fur-face had caught his tail. While a roar of, "Oh no you don't!" the fur-face pulled him up, and slapped his body back down on the top platform.
The greyseer gasped for air, and quickly as he could spun around, he hissed violently, held up his claw-paws, beginning to glow as warp energy gathered, and died as the copper fur-face swung his glowing warhammer again.
~][~
Imrak smashed its chest three times, and its skull twice as well, for good measure. Alone atop the screaming bell Imrak reached down and grabbed the greyseer by one of its curled horns. He hauled the ruined corpse up and held it out high for all to see.
He roared at the top of his lungs.