Varag a Grung
~][~
"So, how do we rescue them?" Imrak asked.
Azgrim and Breggi stood quietly and stared into the distance as they processed what Imrak had told them. Dwarf prisoners were held captives by goblins within walking distance from where they stood.
After a time Breggi moved slowly to the keg and poured himself a drink. He took a considered gulp and then leaned against the wall and frowned into the darkness.
Azgrim crossed his arms and glared into the small fire in the forge, "You say you saw a dozen or so?"
Imrak nodded, "Aye, with no doubt more then I could see squatting in the rubble or rooms nearby."
"To many for us to just steam in there and ruck 'em," Azgrim thought aloud.
Imrak nodded, "We'll have to draw them out. Get them to some place were the three of us can hold them off."
"Not here," Azgrim said gesturing to the small forge, "we'll need this place to hide out."
"Aye, aye," Imrak replied, "we could manufacture some traps to thin their numbers." He took a quick glance at Breggi and snapped, "Oy, Breggi, you waiting for a golden invitation to participate?"
Ignoring the sharpness of Imrak tone, the miner replied slowly, softly, "Did I ever tell you my brother and uncle were taken by grobi." Imrak and Azgrim shared a quick look. This was new to them. "Took us weeks, but my father and I were with the crew that found them, and a few other miners of my clan. They'd shaved 'em, and branded them with hot pokers. Tortured 'em bad. Did terrible things to their hands," he paused and looked at his own big hands. To a people who placed enormous social, cultural, and religious value on skill and craftsmanship to purposefully damage or destroy a dwarf's hands was an act of pure blasphemy. Short of forcefully shaving a dwarf's beard there were few more grievous, and entirely unforgivable, crimes in Dawi society.
"Drengtromm," Azgrim whispered.
"In the end the grobi skinned 'em alive." Breggi wiped his eyes and looked at the two of them, "We can't let more brothers and uncles be killed, aye?"
"No, we cannot," Imrak stated fiercely.
Breggi walked to the hearth, put his mug down and placed both big hands of the retaining wall. When he looked up they saw that the low light lit his stone-hard face and murderous eyes. "I have a few ideas."
~][~
The howls of a wolf echoed into the Mountainheart clan Hall. The goblins stopped chittering or fidgeting and move their large heads around in small jerking motions, trying to identify the sound. A few stood up and glared around the hall, they whispered to one another. Goblins, also known as Grobi, are scrawny creatures, standing between three to four feet high. They have large, pointed ears and noses and long, slender fingers perfectly adapted to pilfering what does not belong to them. Behind their cruel eyes and mocking toothy grins lies a malevolent spirit and ruthless desire for self-preservation that feed their selfish and backstabbing nature. Goblins rely on their keen cunning to survive. Like all Greenskins, they are not renowned for their intellect, but their wits far outstrip those of the bestial Orcs.
The howl came again, closer, louder. More goblins rose up, they gathered their crude weapons. A few hundred paces away the entrance to one of the corridors began to glow, as if someone with a torch or lantern was moving towards the hall.
The biggest of the goblins glared at the corridor entrance. His pulled back his lips in a soundless snarl. He twisted around quickly and grabbed a cowering, smaller goblin by the neck. The runt squealed and flailed, and the mob-boss had to knock him on the head a few times. Once the runt was subdued the mob-boss heaved him around and gave it a hard shove towards the distant tunnel. "Get ta lookin'."
The small goblin was having none of it and tried to return to the protection of the others only to be kicked by the big goblin. And kick by every other goblin that could reach it too. They crackled at it harshly, violently.
The little goblin managed to get away from the assault and the big goblin pointed at the glowing entrance with his spear. "I said, get ta lookin'!" The little goblin slunk towards the tunnel with great trepidation and fear.
The howl resounded in the hall. The little goblin jumped and spun around. The goblin mob-boss screamed and shook his spear. The goblin runt shivered and crept towards the tunnel with all the haste of a man walking to his own execution.
The goblins all clustered around the boss, watching avidly as the runt made it to the tunnel's entrance and looked back out his mob. The boss bared his large yellow teeth, and yelled, "If ya don't wanna taste my spear, getta up that hole!"
The runt trembled in fear and stepped into the tunnel. The others saw his shadow against the wall as walked out of view.
As he walked into the tunnel his shadow grew larger and larger as he approached the source of the light. The mob of goblins saw another shadow appear behind the runt. Its shape was difficult to make out, but its head was that of a huge wolf. The runt must have heard the wolf-shadow at the last moment, and spun around. The wolf-shadow lunged and engulfed the runt. There was one, high-pitched, shrill cry that was cut off two hearts after it started. The mob squawked and chittered in awe and fear. They watched the wolf-shadow rise up and suddenly turn its canine head, as if it looked down the tunnel, towards the noise of the mob. The wolf-shadow took a step towards the hall and whatever the light source was, it simply turned off, casting the tunnel into darkness.
The howling came again.
The goblins began to panic. They pushed and pulled at each. The boss slapped the nearest goblins and screamed at them, "Be still! Let me do sum thinkin'!"
"Boss! Whatta we do?!"
"Did you see the size of it?!"
"Run away!"
The mob-boss turned on his band and roared, "Shutz it!"
The band quieted some, but not much.
"Getz everyone here, now! Pick up yo pokers 'n stickers, lads, we're gonna haz a look-see and maybe have a wolf-hunt!" The mob-boss then howled his own shrill version of a wolf's howl. That display of fearlessness and strength put steel into the spine of a goblins.
Chittering abuse at each other the mob gathered up arms and got the torches lit. Under his cruel supervision it took only a few minutes to get his mob ready, they were nearly forty strong, and he was confident. He ordered them forward, poking those to frightened to move with the alacrity he expected. As he walked by the iron cage, he rattled his spear along the bars and held a torch up to inspect. The captive dwarfs cowered away from him. He laughed wickedly and pointed at the one missing a leg and licked his lips. In crude Khazalid he croaked out, "Nom Nom, later." Another dwarf, tall and thin, stepped in front of the crippled one, shoulders squared and fists bunched.
The boss's nostrils flared with rage at the defiance.
He lunged at the bars and bared his fangs, he gnashed them together loudly and the defiant dwarf flinched, but stood his ground.
"You burn, later!" He laughed evilly.
With the numbers, and the boss's encouraging/threatening words, the mob worked themselves into courage and set off across the hall, many torches lighting the way. When they reached the tunnel entrance they screamed out WAAAGH and raced in. They were surprised that no wolf creature lurked there. Instead they were greeted with corpse of the dead goblin runt thirty paces up-tunnel, and of three armed and armored dwarfs standing shoulder to shoulder a hundred paces away.
As one all three shouted, "Kazuk!" and promptly fled into a side tunnel. The mob suddenly relived of supernatural horror and confronted with their mortal, and mortal, foes raced after them with shrieks of bloodlust.
The mob turned into the side tunnel, much narrower and sloped upwards, they pounded along the tunnel and were pleased when two of the dwarfs paused, each grabbed a box, and spilled the contents down in front of themselves. The third dwarf stepped ahead of them and stood strong, holding an ornate staff high. As the goblins got close he roared out "Zonbryn" in a deep-voice and the staff head ignited with powerful blast of light, causing the foremost goblins to flinch aside and hide their eyes. Those behind the first half-dozen were shielded from the bright blast of light and shoved at the blinded goblins, or even pushed past them. The front ranks stumbled onwards and underfoot were dozens of caltrops.
Imrak and Azgrim had forged them quickly; making nails with points at each end, and then twisting two together so that one point always aimed upwards. To make the brutal antipersonnel weapon even more potent, the two smiths had hooked back the points, so that when they spiked through the foot, it was incredibly painful and crippling to simply pull out.
The first dozen goblins howled in terrible pain and collapsed. Some fell onto even more caltrops, hands, forearms, and even faces were spiked with terrible tetrahedrons.
The mob pulled to a sudden stop, some goblins were shoved, accidentally or otherwise, and had to hop over the prone, mewing goblins, and they too were crippled by the few remaining caltops. Eventually, all of the spikes had found homes in feet and bodies of the goblins; the rest of the mob was not endangered. The cleverer, or more fearful, goblins simply hopped on the writhing bodies of their comrades. During all the confusion and pain the dwarfs had disappeared further along the tunnel.
~][~
The three dwarfs raced down the tunnel, they grinned at howls of anguish behind them. When they reached a T-junction they paused.
"Follow the plan!" Imrak said.
The other two nodded, "We'll draw them away. You get the captives and we'll all meet back to the forge."
"Grungni watch over you two." Imrak tapped knuckles with both and turned down a different tunnel. Azgrim and Breggi watched him go and stood at the junction long enough for the goblins to see them.
"Ready, Tenstone?" Breggi asked, malice heavy in his voice.
"Born ready, Bighands," Azgrim growled back. Around them were four rounded stone balls, each was twice the size of a skull and weight fifty or more pounds. Both put down their weapons and shields and gripped a heavy ball. Breggi had quickly sculpted them while the smiths had forged the caltrops. They had brought them here specifically because the tunnel slopped downwards at a goodly angle.
"Age before beautiful," Breggi said and let Azgrim go first. Rogwak was a common game played by Dawi. An improvised team game played underground and using anything to hand as a ball: often a rock, preferably a goblin's head, or even a whole goblin. Rogwak was a game as simple as it was brutal - one team had to move the ball from one end of a patch to the other. The other team had to stop them, by nearly any means necessary – but no beard pulling, eye gouging, or kicking opponents in the stones. The ball could be carried, thrown, kicked, head punted, or rolled.
And that's what they did now.
Azgrim stepped up and rocked the ball back and forth to get his form right, and lunched the heavy stone ball straight down the tunnel and into the rushing goblins. It was a low-bowl and the first greenskin managed to clumsily leap over it, but the one behind took the full force in a leg. The heavy stone ball simply snapped its thin knee and crushed its lower leg before going onto cause more havoc.
Breggi stepped into his bowl and shoulder launched it high with the roar, "That's for Dreggi!" His bowl bounced nicely and took a goblin square in the chest, knocking it aside and crushing most of it ribs. It smashed a second in the shoulder, nearly de-limbing the goblin.
Azgrim flung his second. Another low-bowl, the ball went on to the crush more feet and break more legs. Breggi's second bowl, this time a low-bowl like Azgrim's was accompanied with the roar of "That's for uncle Fingel!" Goblins leapt fearfully aside or savagely climbed onto each other to avoid being harmed by the unstoppable stone balls.
Once their ammo was expended the dwarfs grabbed their weapons and shields and dashed further down the tunnel, away from Imrak's route. The disorganized goblins muddled about until a terrorizing shout of "Shift it or I stabz you!" from the mob-boss got them moving.
As the boss reached the junction, he saw only two dwarfs running off. Hoping to lead his band into more traps, no doubt. But only two of the beardy stunties. He had counted three earlier. He glared the other way.
"Oy lads, hold it up!" he shouted loudly. The much diminished mob came to hasty halt. They chittered to one another in low tones, nervous.
The boss glared back to the empty tunnel, the opposite way of the two dwarfs. He tilted his head, thinking about the tunnel, after a moment's thought he snarled, "Har har har, youz a cunning stunty, ain't ya."
~][~
Imrak raced down the tunnel, following it back to the hall. He knew where he was going. Though it had pained him to wait two days before launching the rescue, they had carefully planned all their traps and scouted out the routes beforehand. Azgrim and Breggi would hopefully lead the goblin mob away into more traps, while Imrak hastened back the hall and freed the captives, and lead them back to the smith's forge by another route.
When Imrak reached the hall, he came out onto a section of balcony. He made his way down the balcony and came to section that had collapsed. He half-jumped, half-slide down the rubble and paused to listen. He heard nothing, so he dashed across the hall to the cage.
As he ran up he saw Kallon standing tall and holding onto the bars tightly. "Tromm!" the runebearer shouted with mad glee. The others lurched up and shouted at him too.
Imrak grabbed the bars and pulled fiercely at them. Kallon said, "They're too damn tight to the move!"
"Step back," Imrak growled, set his runestaff down, and pulled out his runehammer. He took a step back and took a mighty swing at the bars. With a loud clang two bent in the middle. He swung again, and those two bars snapped and two more bend. Two more swings snapped enough bars for the captives to squeeze out.
"Imrak," Kallon said and pointed away and upwards. The runesmith glanced and saw some of the goblin mob had followed Imrak and were making their way down the balcony towards onto the rumble slope.
"Burgit!" Imrak snarled. He took a quick look around him. Three of the four dwarfs could stand, and would certainly fight to the death to avoid capture again. And the fourth was missing a leg and looked near death, but even his eyes burned with ancestral hate, the grudge-born fury every dwarf felt towards greenskins. With Breggi and Azgrim at his side he would have stood his ground and fought. But with these four tired, hungry, barefoot dwarf he was not certain he could win.
And he hadn't rescued them just so they could be killed.
He passed his runehammer to Kallon and with a stern warning said, "Have a care with this, or else. You're at the front, listen for my instructions." The runebearer took the hammer in to both hands and snarled at the approaching grobi. Imrak turned to the others and said, "You, Skalager, right, get a length of bar. Belegar carry Yadrig on your back, we're making haste. Kallon, straight up the tunnel until I shout otherwise. Go!"
Imrak took them around the rubble and back up the original tunnel. It was a close run thing, with Imrak having to turn at the last moment and smash aside a particularly quick running goblin with his runestaff.
His first blow come from low to high, the bronze-fist endcap catching the goblin the chin, snapping its head back. The next blow was from high to low, breaking it collar bone and battering it aside. His runestaff end with a short spike and Imrak rammed it spear-like into the goblin's chest. Imrak had taken ten years to forge his runestaff, and additionally he had spent those ten years learning to fight with it.
The captives were ferocious with rage, all oaths and curses, but slow on their feet. "Go faster!" Imrak shout. Belegar in particular was already huffing loudly, growled, and put on a little burst of speed. They were not even to the tunnel filled with caltrops and already the goblins were in at the hall's entrance and racing hard for them. They were not going to make it. Imrak yelled, "Into the tunnel there! Watch your feet and watch for wounded grobos! Kallon to me!"
The runebearer slide to the stop and waited at the tunnel entrance, watching the goblins. The others turned and laboriously ran upwards.
"Go!" Imrak shoved the runebearer, "We'll use the tunnel to keep their numbers from overwhelming us." Imrak said to Kallon moving a few dozen paces into the tunnel. The runebearer nodded, "We'll hold them here, let the others escape."
Imrak shrugged. "I had hoped to rescue you."
"You did," Kallon said, "and I owe you."
"Stay at my side, don't let any pass you."
The goblins turned into the tunnel and slowed considerably. They recognized the tunnel and they hesitated, wary of more traps. The mob-boss poked his big green nose around the corner and glared evilly up at them.
"Come on up, you filthy, poor, cowardly wretch!" Imrak shouted, with a brush of his hand the runestaff started to glow. "Come and try me on for size."
The mob-boss flinched at the display of magic, but he flared his nostrils and stepped fully into the tunnel. The remains of his mob clustered behind him, snarling encouragement. Tall for a goblin he wore dark robes, dirty beyond description, with bits of bones and stone for decoration. His pointy teeth were a vile yellow with rotting black roots and his eyes glinted red in the runelight. He held a spear and shield – the face decorated crudely with the likeness of a spear stabbing a face.
In broken, brutalized Khazalid the mob-boss shouted, "I Muglum Stabberzyou! An' I is gonna stabz you!"
Kallon muttered, "I'm going to kill him just for ruining our language."
That comment made Imrak laugh, and that noise, the sound of mockery, made the boss boil with rage.
"I stabz you!" With a shrill scream he raced up the slope.
Imrak held his staff two-handed, set his feet, and stood ready to slap aside the mob-boss's spear.
"Down!" roared Breggi from behind Imrak and Kallon. Without a thought Imrak dropped to all four. The miner yelled and hurled a lit lantern full of flammable oil at the goblin. The mob-boss got his shield up, but it did him no good. The oil caught instantly and splashed all over him. A moment later another lit lantern flew high and smashed against the wall above the mob, spraying flaming liquid down on the goblins.
It did not harm many of goblins directly, but it was a shocking display and the after being spiked, crushed, and now burned, the goblins turned and fled, tramping each other be first away.
They left their mob-boss rolling around on the ground, smoldering and squealing in pain. His face had been badly burnt, both eyes ruined. His spear arm and right leg were charred and blistered. His robes had melted onto the flesh of his shoulders and chest. Kallon walked up, and stared down darkly. Hatefully he said, "Burn me, will you!" He swiped Imrak's runehammer high and smashed down on the mob-boss's head. There was a satisfying crunch. Kallon spat the corpse and turned back.
Near the runesmith stood a big black-bearded dawi, with a black wolf cloak over his shoulders, the wolf's head on his own. "Varag a Grung" Kallon said, nodding respectfully. Breggi smiled happily, showing bright white teeth, "Oh ho! Wolf of the Mine, I like that!"
Imrak jabbed an elbow into Breggi's side and commanded, "Shift it, Bighands, we're going!"
The miner laughed and said, "We saw they weren't following us, so we got the lanterns and doubled back. No need to thank us!"
Azgrim shouted, "You two can comb each other's beards later, they ain't gonna be away forever, lets go!" He stood with the other captives waiting beyond the caltrops, watching. Imrak flick his hand at them, and Azgrim hauled Yadrig onto his shoulders. The one-legged dwarf flinched and wriggled at the spikes on Azgrim's helmet until the armorer grumbled in irritation, "Pull it off me and put it on yourself, already."
The party started up the tunnel at the quickest pace of the slowest of them. Imrak stomped past the wounded goblins, which had wisely remained silent during the brief exchange. As he carefully passed the caltrops he heard a whimper and dull crunch behind him and spun around, staff ready. Kallon was thoroughly bashing in every goblins skull. There weren't many goblins alive or conscience, their mob mates had either tramped them as they raced up the tunnel, or cut their throats and robbed them as they passed. Kallon was methodically and once finished he walked up to Imrak, used what was left of his tunic to clean the runehammer, and passed it back.
"Nice hammer, that," he commented casually and trotted up the tunnel after the others at a steady jog.
~][~
The three had planned for success. At the smith's forge the fire had been left to burn slowly, heating the room nicely, and they had filled the slack tub with clean water for washing. With what little bread they had left they cut up half their cheese and dried meat to make sandwiches. Mugs stood ready to be filled with Brokk's Old Red. The old aprons and boots had been pulled out, ready for the captives to try on.
Being proper dawi, the three did not like to leave anything to chance, so they had also planned for failure. Their things were already tightly packed, including the other half of the food, and their bags stood ready for a quick grab and go. Furthermore, they had planned for disaster. In case they couldn't make it back to the forge they carried on their persons their most precious belongings – Breggi his pick and wolf cloak, Azgrim his helmet and his father's axe, and Imrak his runestaff and runehammer.
The rescue had been a resounding success, but still they hurried. Though they only encountered one band, mobs of goblins usually nested near one another. No doubt down below the few goblins that survived the traps and assault were now racing to another mob, spilling their cowardly guts about the fight. Soon, many more goblins would be boiling up from the mines eager for dwarf flesh.
Breggi and Azgrim acted as the hall-hosts; moving amongst the tired dwarfs, passing out beer and sandwiches, "Here drink this. And eat up quickly, ladz. We can't wait around here for too long. Try these boots on. Mountain's a bit gritty this time of year, and I don't want you stubbing your toes." Yadrig took the boots Breggi passed him, held them both up, frowned, and then gently put one down.
Kallon had plopped his whole head in the water tub and rubbed at his face and beard under the water for as long as he could hold his breathe. He pulled his head back and shook off like an animal. Imrak had an old cloth and tossed it to him. Runebearer Kallon Khazadson had a blond beard and bright blue, but mournful, eyes. He was also usually tall. He was noticeably taller then Imrak without his boots, and Imrak was considered tall by dwarf standards. And Kallon was thin too, and though his face and shoulders showed the wearing-away look of starvation, he looked like he might have been thin to begin with. Now he was positively skinny by dwarf standards. Imrak fetched him another sandwich, "Eat up, you're looking thin. The kvinns don't like them sculpted like elfs, you know." Kallon smiled, and shoved half a sandwich in his mouth in one bite.
After the boots were passed out, which fit well enough, Imrak and Azgrim gave their wolf cloaks to Skalager and Belegar, both looked exhausted and weak, and huddled under the furs. Breggi passed his to Yadrig, after fondly stroking the wolf's muzzle, "Wolf of the Mine, heh." Kallon took all four of the aprons and put them on, two to cover his front, the two other to cover his back.
"How'd it happen?" Imrak asked.
There was some shamed faces, Kallon looked away and pulled at his beard.
No one spoke.
Imrak just nodded and left it at that.
~][~
They rested for less then two hours when Azgrim got them going. Everyone was ready when he signaled Yadrig to get on his back. The dwarf said hotly, "I can walk."
Without hesitation Azgrim replied, "We'll be quicker if you didn't."
Yadrig's face flushed. "I'm walking out of here."
Azgrim cleared his throat once, then said, "You either get on my back, or, I knock you senseless and drag you out of this mine by your beard." He cracked his knuckles and continued, "What's it gonna be?"
Everyone watched. Skalager and Belegar shared a worried look, Imrak crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, Breggi smirked with amusement, and Kallon anxiously tapped his foot.
Yadrig muttered a few words into his beard then grunted, "Fine."
With that they moved out of the smith's forge as quietly as they could. Imrak went first, staff aglow, followed by Skalager, then Azgrim with Yadrig on his back, Beregar, Kallon who volunteered to carry Azgrim's pack, and finally Breggi. The last thing the miner did was heave the beer barrel onto the forge retaining wall. With a quick prayer to Grungni and Valaya he poured the remaining beer into the forge, dousing the fire in a hops smelling hiss. Kallon hesitated at the door, watching, and Breggi said vehemently, "I won't leave any Dawi brew of the damned grobi."
Kallon nodded in agreement and gave him a thumbs up.
The seven dwarfs made haste to the watchtower stairway. The trip to the stairs was quicker then the initial exploration, and once there they hastened up. Kallon took a moment to snatch up the old cloaks from camp-spot at bottom of the stairs. Breggi closed the door, but there was no way to lock it from the inside. The toughest part of the journey out of the mine was just walking up the stairs. Skalager and Beregar suffered greatly. They paused often, and when they did, they could all feel a tiny vibration in the stone steps. Goblin war-drums. Azgrim, with Yadrig on his back, just plowed on, never once stopping. Just placing one foot, pushing up, then placing the other foot, and pushing up for over two thousand unbroken steps. Once he reached the watchtower and set Yadrig down and he gave himself a moments pause, putting his hands on his lower back and stretching out fully while exhaling loudly. Imrak moved around above them on the viewing platform scanning the lands, Skalager had laid down and was moaning softly in pain to himself.
It took nearly an hour for all of them to climb the stairs. Beregar joined Skalager in laying down and moaning, Kallon sat on the top step of the stairs, huffing, and stared blankly down into the darkness.
"Sorry lads, no time to rest," Imrak called from above.
"Where are we headed?" Kallon asked without looking up.
"Where were you headed?" Imrak returned.
Again there were was a long silence. Kallon looked at the runesmith and frowned. Imrak grunted, "Karak Hirn is three days west. Karak Gantuk about the same to the east."
"No," Kallon snapped quickly. Imrak raised an unhappy eyebrow at him.
Kallon looked that others, they just shrugged. Softly, almost like he was defeated, he said, "Barak Varr."
"That's a ways from here. You know how to get there?" Imrak asked.
"I don't get lost," Kallon replied and stood up stiffly. He walked out of the watchtower and climbed onto a nearby boulder. The others joined him outside.
They looked south. They couldn't see the ocean from where they stood, but the mountains height let them see the forested slopes of the Hvargir Forest, and just at the edge of sight to the soft green hills and dry plains of the Border Princes.
Kallon looked to his right for a hundred heartbeats spotting and muttering mountain peaks names to himself, then he did the same on his left for the same amount of time, then up at the sun, then to the left again. He looked south then very slowly pointed his finger. He checked the sun again, and then moved his finger ever so slightly to the left. "There," he said, "that's Barak Varr. Three hundred and twenty, maybe, three hundred and forty or so miles. As the gyrocopter flies"
"That's weeks of walking!"
"Best we get started, eh," Kallon replied, hopped off the boulder, and moved quickly down the mountain trail.