C4:The Storm King (and in which Ainz accidentally flex before the dwarves)
Nazarick, 7th floor
If the 7th floor of Nazarick could be described in a word, most would choose the term "hellish".
Indeed, the lava rivers, temple ruins, the demonic monsters and fire-immune undead makes it the picture perfect "hell world" it was always meant to be.
Inside a huge chapel, stood Demiurge, master of the 7th floor and his demonic minions of varying ranks.
The chapel exuded demonic imagery due to the arts depicting demons and devils casting out the heavens and its inhabitants, claiming the domain for their own and twisting it into a twisted, perverse realm of horror and unlife.
The chapel and by extension the floor is now housing a guest. An unwilling guest that was sent to the Floor Guardian by his Supreme master.
An Orc magic caster, otherwise known as an Orc Shaman.
The 7th floor is said to be so hot that the scorching air strips throats and skins of moisture in seconds. Yet the orc was able to resist somehow, albeit with a lot of struggle and anguish.
While Demiurge wants to relish in its agony, he did not indulge in wasteful torture nowadays, that would be too irresponsible considering the Tomb's current predicament. The orc was given flame immunity buffs from Elder Liches, for Demiurge needed it to be healthy during the duration of the creature's stay.
The Orc was not his only test subject from this new world truth be told, but it showed the most mastery of its school of magic for now.
While the other greenskins made excellent farms for magic scrolls and undead minions, only this particular orc showed proficiency in magic, and hence it was "persuaded" in aiding with certain tests.
In the time Demiurge has spent studying them, numerous discoveries were made; from their fungal biology and the black ones' differences in physiology to the beginnings of the workings of this new world's magic.
One could say such experiments are becoming somewhat of a routine these days.Those blacker orcs are such interesting subjects to have a look into. Through dissection and comparison of their corpses, the data and analysis of his research told of a far more refined group, far fitter and physically adept for warfare than their fairer counterparts in seemingly every aspect while the overall anatomy of two groups still remained almost the same.
Under the more conventional circumstances, such an overall superiority could only be the result of an incredibly long natural process via adaptation and evolution in an incredibly harsh environment throughout many years, just like what the fascinating knowledge graciously shared by the Supreme Beings in the Library of Ashurbanipal had told. But considering how strange this world's foreign magic could be and how it could theoretically very much come into play, he also hypothesized that the creation of these brutes might actually have a far more deliberate and at least somewhat potent artificial origin. If it was the latter possibility, with how hard to control these green "orcs" are even with his mantra and mind control magics, it can be safe to theorize that they are also, at best, the result of massive hubris from beings too overly confident for their own good.
Despite how interesting these subjects can be, right now and for most of his time however, he was trying to have a better insight on something all within the tomb believed to have a far greater importance.
"Again!" Demiurge ordered the captured Orc caster using his command mantra.
Among the plethora of spells the Orc "demonstrated" for him during the weeks spent as Demiurge's latest test subject, the most destructive one had caught his eye.
An armored demon summon stood in front of the caster. The spell in question seemed to be good enough for low level fodder troops, and so the Floor Guardian decided to test it out against a stronger entity.
The orc muttered something in its savage tongue and made wild gesticulations at the red sky above.
However instead of forming the usual giant green apparition that would have stomped on the target of the spell, Demiurge was greeted with a sight that was most unexpected.
A whirling portal appeared, which sucked the orc caster into it.
It tried to do the same to Demiurge, but with a quick backstep, he avoided its sphere of influence.
Out from the portal leapt a deep red-skinned entity.
The portal closed as soon as its goat-like cloven feet touched the ground.
The body was slim, with a muscled wry strength. The horn and claws blackened and flecked with crimson.
The head was stretched tall with two ridged horns colored as bone, sprouting from its temples.
It was naked, except for scraps of brass armor here and there.
It stood in a stooped stance, with its spiky crimson blade raised high. The red hot blade, shrieked in terrible disharmony, and radiated with heinous enchantment.
The entity let out a snarl, the beastial expression revealed sharp fanged teeth and a long black tongue.
However, Demiurge noticed that the uninvited guest was….steadily disintegrating.
He activated a spell after ordering his minions to stand down. There was a hunch he needed to test.
[Life Essence]
'Interesting. That confirms my hypothesis."
With a guttural scream, the entity leapt in a blink of an eye, aiming a thrust at the Arch Demon's torso.
[Aspect of the Devil - Razor Sharp Claw]
A sidestep was perfectly performed by the Guardian, and with a swipe of his claws, a squelch was heard.
It seemed that the entity was disarmed…literally.
It let out a blood curdling shriek, a howl that exuded disharmony. A mortal may have reacted with disgust or even fear.
But Ulbert's creation reveled in it, soaking in the anguish of the pathetic lifeform that dared to soil his assigned domain with its presence.
"As much as I'd love to continue this farce of a fight, I have more pressing matters to attend to. Still, I wonder who your master is to be able to summon such a sad excuse of a demon," he taunted while turning his back to the red skinned entity and leisurely walking away.
The foreign demonic entity let out an enraged snarl and moved towards Demiurge with its fangs bared.
Unfortunately for the entity, it had fully disintegrated before it could reach the provocateur.
The Arch Demon's chuckle was the last thing it heard before the bloodletter regained sense of the "homely" atmosphere of its native realm.
Barak Varr
"Enter."
Karnji Ravenbeard entered the study chamber upon hearing the command.
The room could have been considered spartan were it not for the legendary two handed axe Rhymakangaz that was placed on the wall beside the fireplace. The runes etched on the axe still radiated power; it would not be incorrect in one's assumption to say that it could still put the hurt on sea dragons.
Karnji bowed before the speaker. His liege.
On the chair, behind an oak table just as ornate and regal, made by great craftsmanship of dwarves of old, filled with papers and documents, sat the grim king of Barak Varr, Byrrnoth Gundadrakk, "The hammer of the dragons".
His beard was as long and white as the eldest of longbeards, while giving a hint of blond. His eyes spoke of harsh experiences and wisdom of his years.
His bald head and face showed scars of his most famous battle at the Dragon Isles. They were some of the reminders of the day he finally settled the grudge against Mauldekorr the sea dragon, besides his half-crippled leg.
He gestured to the leader of the Storm Wardens to take a seat. There was much to be discussed.
"What do you have for me, Karnji?" The king spoke in a stern yet respectful tone. Contrary to what one would assume, the traditionalist monarch held the creative commander in a high regard.
"After the events of the report I've sent…" Karnji began, rightly assuming his king is up to date with his intel.
He went into detail about the mysterious aid he received and their facts the enigmatic individuals revealed about themselves.
"Certainly sounds outlandish. Different worlds, warrior beetles and the like. Yet it would explain the current situation in Iron Rock in the report." Byrrnoth had almost raised an eyebrow when Karnji talked about Ainz's explanation of coming from another world. From a beardling, it may have been an ill-timed joke, but the commander embodied the concept of a "veteran", and so his words are always taken seriously.
"However… I have to ask," his gaze became more focused on the Storm Lord, continued in a questioning tone, as he noticed the minor inconsistency in their claims. "They claimed that they come from a different world, yet they spoke fluently in Old Worlder?"
"Different worlds need not be so different. As I have mentioned my Lord, at least some of their names are not too different from the eastern ones I've heard here." Karnji replied.
"That can be true, then... Are you sure that mage is not an Elgi?" The voice became increasingly more interrogating, soured with the ancient ancestral as well as his own personal grudges against the elves, and his eyes were that of storms. After all, it is not an uncommon knowledge that elves had access to translation magic.
Karnji innerly cursed himself when it came to his realization. He had to secretly admit, it had been at least somewhat uncharacteristically careless of him to not have made a check on that, considering their history with the elgi.
Although the grudge between the two elder races was one that ingrained deeply within each self-respected dawi, it might as well be more so for the proud Barak Varr. Being the only hold with clear access to the sea, this great fortress had endured constant attacks from the sea during the War of Vengeance; up till now, there were still occasional incidents now and then, with the most recent being one with a specific pompous and aloof Elgi Prince named Aislinn.
"If he is, definitely not one from here." Some nervousness could be found deep in Karnji's voice, yet it was eclipsed by instinctual conviction and an unwavering sense of duty. "At least from what he said, he saved a Dawi kingdom, and I doubt any Elgi would save a Dawi hold if there had been bad blood or something like the War of Vengeance happened in their world."
Byrrnoth's expression slowly became less tense as Karnji continued.
"Despite his appearance, and although his voice was proud and noble, it was devoid of pompousness of a human noble, much less an Elgi, with an attitude far too open and humble to others for the standard of any of them. Ancestors! He did not even tell me how to call him, our conversations were mostly pleasant! For that my Lord, it is very unlikely that he was an Elgi, even if he was, he could be at least tolerated as he was not the sort from this world or ones we have a history with."
Taking his trusted veteran's words in and a moment of careful consideration, the King of Barak Varr slightly nodded in acceptance as his face's muscles relaxed and returned to that of a cautious pleasantness. Yet despite it all, the toiling of thoughts concerning the information were evident in his stern gaze.
"You also mentioned that what they had on them was top notch, did you not? Can you elaborate more on that?"
"Top notch would have been a great understatement my King," the Storm Lord said, still partially astonished by what he saw and felt. "The majesty of what on the mage, from the robe to the accessories to his very presence, was more than what an Elgi Prince would have from the perspective of a human. And the power coursing and so casually radiating from them as well as from the blade of his guard, immense but tame, not unlike those blessed with the power of great forgotten runes described in tales of old. Yet, for sure, it was not something this world may have ever encountered."
"Hm. Doesn't sound like a commoner at the very least. I would like to check it for myself." Byrrnoth repliep, hints of intrigue and amusement were in his words.
"Yes. By my estimation, probably a lord or at the very least an influential noble where he is from. One with quite a few eastern contacts apparently, if their East is similar to ours of course."
"And you also mentioned that the reason they took Iron Rock was because they were transported here with too much of a baggage to carry around?"
"From what he said, yes my King." Karnji affirmatively said. "There are some proofs of this however, as I have mentioned."
"Yes, an entire army of golems sure did whisper the volume of what was transported with him," the king's gaze squinted toward Karnji, not unlike a hunter to its prey, seemingly questioning as much as his tone. "Especially considering somehow it was more convenient for them to take over an infamously formidable Greenskin stronghold, a fallen Dawi Fort no less than just using them to move things to a safer position…"
Golems, as much as they are magical constructs, are not something the Dawi were unfamiliar with.
Their kind also had and used to be able to create such constructs, but far more refined and blessed, came in the form of Rune Golems stretched back to the time of the oldest of ancestors and Rune Guardians of the later era. Indeed, the grand, awe-inspiring tales of runic masterpieces of stones and mechanics respectively, led by legendary Ancestor Runelords of old, holding the lines against all odds and crushing roves of enemies, whether they are daemons, elves or greenskins, are some of the most popular stories of dwarven parents to their children and especially among the lineages of Thungi. They, along with many others, were stories of both bitterness and inspiration, reminders of the greatness and mastery that their Ancestors had achieved that are now lost, but always can be achieved again by the descendants that carried their blood as long as they are steadfast in the old path.
'If these golems were comparable to these masterpieces of old, with the guidance from the right hand, this army would truly be a force to be reckoned with, a rather permanent powerhouse in this everchanging region even.' Byrrnoth silently thought.
"Your Majesty, consider the situation of the surrounding area there and the nature of the Greenskins," Karnji affirmatively speculated. "I would not be surprised if those brutes attacked them immediately the moment they arrived, thus making pressing on a far more pragmatic approach than to retreat but clueless of where to go. And it definitely felt like he was a person of experience and resolve, capable of gauging situations with precision."
"And maybe with quite a hefty amount of luck as well, knowing how erratic things can be in the Badlands." Byrrnoth observed, relaxed but focused, his hand slowly stroking his long snow white beard, "And even then, to pull such a move, it sounded like quite a bit of manpower and resources came with him, perhaps a little too much for an ordinary lordling."
"Quite so, my King."
After what could be considered as a slight pause, the King continued.
"Have you discerned their plans?"
"From what I gathered, they are more interested in going back to their world. They did not seem too keen on staying here anyway."
"Understandable," Byrrnoth admitted. "This world is not exactly a safe place by any standard. Anything more? Something more recent and immediate perhaps?"
"He has also requested your presence. I've stalled him for now, but sooner or later I'll have to say something to him." Karnji said.
"I see…" Byrrnoth slowly nodded, Karnji could see a slight perk of interest in the old, near permanent stern gaze of his King before he looked down onto his table, resting his right hand on his lips.
Then, for a time, a subtly thoughtful silence dawned upon them.
As it brought some sense of clarity to the mind for the King, it too made their surroundings far clearer than before.
The crackling sound of burning wood.
The subtle sounds of breathing.
The almost silent creaking of a slightly moved chair.
The details on the walls, as well as on the furniture, could also be seen with greater clarity, but the most eye-catching was the King's great double headed axe. With the dark silver gray of ancient gromril, gold of artificer embroiment and blue hue of ancient runes all shone brilliantly and harmoniously in the presence of the yellow fire, truly, it was an artificer masterpiece of might and aestheticism.
With curiosity in his mind, almost without making a move, Karnji stealthily took a peek at what his liege was looking at. And what he saw was a detailed map of the Borderland - one seemed to be the most "up to date" and "accurate" version out there. Yet, as someone who had traversed that land frequently, such a concept is relative, at best.
There is a popular saying about the Borderland, one that was understood completely by all those have experienced it at least once:
"Beside the Princes, riches are to those who lead the dogs and those that make the maps."
Indeed, the Borderland was and had ever been an ever-shifting place, one where "nations" - at least that is what their "Princes" claimed to be, rise and fall constantly. It is not uncommon for a "prince" to claim a random plot of land for themselves, only to have it lost to someone or something else just some time later. Compared to any other human states in the world, truly these so-called nations are epitome of what their kind considered to be "umgak".
Thus, it was no surprise that such a constantly changing state did not please even some of the more outgoing dwarves at all. So much so, some would even argue that it was far more reliable to make a deal with an Elgi of all things, than to even have a short term investment in any of these "nations".
Yet, such a permanent condition had made this whole region a treasure trove for map makers. Up to date versions of the map were always in high demand around the area for the constant stream of newcomers, with Barak Varr's government also being one of the regular customers. As annoying as it was, it was still more worth it than doing it themselves, especially since constant change is not something favorable for their kind. And if there was some minor error in the map on the places, unless you are somebody with experience of the area, the mapers could always argue that it was a new sudden development and no one could really argue against it.
Then, when Karnji returned to his original position as if he had not moved a bit, almost suddenly, Byrrnoth slightly looked up and began again.
"Since you are rather accustomed to the surrounding area and the people there, do you believe those Umgi princes will stand with us once those greenskins or skaven inevitably launch another rampage?"
Karnji thought for a moment, slightly unnerved by the perceived sudden change in topic.
"Some of them would, while others would be….preoccupied." The rabble of small confederacies would often be wrapped up in their own conflicts when they're not busy dealing with the greenskins.
Ever since Byrrnoth was crowned king, he had spent decades trying to raise up and arm a standing throng: a more permanent solution than to rely on the Umgi princes against land invasions.
In many ways, the Storm Lord agreed with the notion of Barak Varr being diluted by outsider culture. It was a good decision to bring the old ways back.
An overwhelming majority of Dawi supported this noble cause, although they can never turn away Umgi settlers, through the old practices like sending away beardlings to Karak Kadrin, as well giving the Longbeards and Hammerers more authority, one could say Byrrnoth made Barak Varr great again.
Or perhaps, it would be more correct to say it was still a "work in progress", one that is progressing well, but nonetheless, incomplete.
While Barak Varr's population hadn't seen as much of a decline as the other Dawi kingdoms during the Time of Woes, it is still a hard, albeit necessary undertaking to train and arm an adequate number of warriors. Hard and time consuming.
And thus, Byrrnoth's mind went over to the foreigners, a shine of pragmatism could be seen in his gaze, thinking over a potential involvement over a certain scheme he had.
Their presumed complete ignorance of Chaos was distressing, he swore by his Ancestors, his eyes had opened as wide as a pair of dwarven shields when he received that information. Yet If the mage and his entourage were truly as exceptional as presented, then it would only be a matter of time until they become acquainted with the Dark Power.
"Very well, I'll grant his request, but you have a job to do. Something a tad bit different to what you were doing till now."
Karnji raised an eyebrow as the king detailed this supposed task.
…..
Meanwhile, at a crowded street past the gate, a certain mage looked over a parchment of a cartographical nature.
He felt a rather strange yet familiar feeling. If he had a human body, he was sure that he would have sneezed by now. It seemed a certain Asian superstition plagued him even in different worlds.
With a slight shake of his head, he ignored it and spent a few minutes studying the map in question.
'Figures auto-translate won't work for written material, I will need to use the glasses later. At least this looks like English.' Ainz thought as he tried to make out the named locations.
Even though the common language called "Old Worlder" was just English, unfortunately for Suzuki, his primary education did not include learning that language back in Japan.
"Is this to your liking?" The map merchant asked with a hidden nervous tone behind the counter. He was lanky and pale with hints of gray in his hair.
"Umu, this is fine, I'll take it. Although I must confess, I may not have your currency. " Ainz said while placing three coins of pure gold on the counter.
"I trust this should suffice." He said in a tone that left no room to question before placing the map in his inventory under the cover of his robe.
He then left the building even before the merchant was done weighing the gold, Ainz took the lack of protest as a sign that it did in fact, suffice.
'What did 'Kingship for dummies' say again? Righteous arrogance is the language of kings or something, can't remember. Would have been awkward if he had called me back though.'
"Got what you needed?" One of the more elite dwarf warriors wielding a hammer asked as Ainz stepped outside.
Ainz gave a nod.
"Good. Let's go then."
The last couple of hours were spent in this very…..uneasy tour. It seemed that stoic battle hardened elite warriors did make for substandard tour guides.
At the very least, the crowd did not seem to be interested in causing issues on account of Cocytus's presence. Hegren the smith had mentioned to Ainz that Hammerers had that kind of effect on the normal populace.
As they began to move, Ainz saw more squat houses as well as a huge building with lit braziers built on its surface on both sides, further illuminating the cavernous metropolis. In the middle, was a stone carving of what Ainz guessed to be one of the so called "Ancestor Gods" wearing a horned helm. His stone beard formed a pillar which ended just below the entrance.
After another few minutes of walking, they were past the large building and in front of a smaller one with similar architecture. The top of the roof had a flag showing a pickaxe over a snow tipped mountain against a green background. A little above the entrance was a sign written in Khazalid followed by what was assumed to be its Old Worlder translation just underneath.
"Hold on, where are we going?" Ainz asked the Hammerer in front.
"I am under orders to take you to specific locations, and this should be the last of them." He said in an emotionless and professional tone.
"Hm. And what exactly is this place?"
"The Ironedge miner's guild. The clan settled here a long time ago from Iron Rock."
Before Ainz could protest, he quickened his pace and whispered something to a dwarf guard standing beside the entrance, which looked big enough for Ainz and Cocytus to enter.
Ainz mentally sighed and followed the hammerer onto the building after the guard motioned them to proceed.
'Well, can't say I didn't expect this. But a heads up would have been nice, Karnji.'
The inside of the building was no worse than the best of taverns in E-Rantel to say the very least with the overall dimension itself quite spacious and everything was appropriately arranged. But unlike them, this was built with a far sturdier structure of thick and finely refined wood and stone. Here and there, carved on the smooth stone surface and on caramel colored wood, he saw seemingly simple but delicate decorative carvings in their own right shone brilliantly with great details in the nearby light.
The first floor was the main area, with a counter further within. That counter was backed by barrels and shelves that contained dozens of bottles of alcohol.
The smell of drinks and hot food lingered in the room. And inbetween it, seemingly stood independently from any other, a distinctive and fragrant but faint scent of what he could guess was freshly brewed beers, telling of a brew stronger than even what is served by the dwarves of the New World.
A staircase turned up in the corner of the dining area. The place was bustling with humans and dwarves, in various clothes from all walks of life and myriads of culture. Yet, armed or unarmed, either plain utilitarian clothes or silken elaborate garments, different kinds of large foreign robes or the more familiar combo of vest, a shirt or a tunic and trousers; whatever it was, all of them came here for the simple reason to have some fun and to socialize.
Coming with the vibrance of color was the liveliness of sounds. All around them were sounds, dominated by that of small talks and stories to tell, of drunken songs and small tavern games. Yet, somewhat hidden in this sea of casual talks but still quite prevalent, Ainz could even hear some of the more formal and professional conversations of knowledge being told, of deals being made and proposals being rejected.
It did not take long for the entourage to be noticed.
Silence ensued as the people paused whatever they were doing.
Everyone had their caution raised up to several levels instantly.
Some looked at them with heightened but mere curiosity and scholarly intrigue.
Some held some sort of amulets and symbols that they had and muttered words of prayer.
Some were simply confused, dartingly looking around, wondering about what was going on around them and what would happen next.
A couple of them reached for their weapons and thought of motioning for the others to rush the mage and the large blue monster. A stern glare from one of the hammerers shut that intent down, and hence they remained seated, yet they kept their grips on the axe handles.
They watched them proceed upstairs after a hammerer muttered something to an elder Dawi and were led by him through the hallway.
Although it was just a hallway, it was already more formal looking than the bar below as the ornament and decorations were far more prevalent, with seemingly decorative armor stands and murals which told of their history.
They were then led into a closed room. As they came inside, the chandelier illuminated the contents of the room, which included various books and scrolls arranged in ornate shelves. The center of the room had a long round table with chairs around it and a more refined banner of the clan could be seen hanging on the wall at the end of the room, above the fireplace.
Most of the inhabitants possessed gray or white beards that were long enough to almost touch the floor.
In the New World, all adult dwarfs had beards, no exceptions. It was through sheer luck that Ainz understood that fact before he had a chance to jump into assumptions that might have caused diplomatic disasters.
Here at least, the same rules did not apply.
During the "tour", Ainz noticed that there were around three women for every ten male dwarves. The same did not hold true for this building it seems.
"Well, I can't say I expected those who took Iron Rock so quickly to look normal, but you weren't what we were expecting." A strong and heavy accent, but no less velvety and feminine voice spoke up, belonging to a slightly wizened looking Dawi kvinn. She wore attire similar to the other longbeards in the room, there were hints of chain mail in the cover of the "civilian" clothes.
"Yes, it seems that young Elag was right and the Storm Lord has not gone insane after all." Said an approaching dwarf elder who had a big long scar across his face.
The comment drew an angry look from a hammerer, to which the scarred elder at least deigned to look apologetic for.
"Be that as it may, good to meet you Ainz Ooal Gown, that is your name I believe? Thank you for ridding our hold of those savages, while I prefer it to be one of us, it is indeed a good day to see that grudge settled once and for all." He extended a hand towards Ainz, who proceeded to accept the handshake.
"Now then, enough pleasantries." Said another elder seated near the table.
"You will not be giving back Iron Rock to us will you?" He said, slightly frowning, a hint of begrudgingness seemed to be hidden in his gaze. The expressions of the other clansmen in the room also suggested that such an outcome is unfavorable, albeit expected.
"I'm afraid not. At least, not yet anyway. We hope our stay will be temporary, but I'll be frank with you. There is no guarantee how long it'll take for us to find a way back home".
"If at all." Ainz said, ending the statement with a veiled tone of sorrow and despair. It had seemed the inhabitants of the New World were charming enough to be sorely missed. From the resourceful alchemist Nfirea, the peasant girl turned Goblin Queen Enri, to Jircniv-dono to whom Ainz owes most of his kingly mannerisms.
The previous radiant light suddenly felt dimmer, a heavy atmosphere of solemness seemed to flood the room. The Elders became silent, their facial muscles more relaxed, seemingly feeling what the stranger in front of them felt as well, some clearer than others. After all, such was the nature of the current situation of their clan and why they are stationed in Barak Varr of all places.
Originating from the grand and holy Karaz-a-Karak, their clan was a small one, but an incredibly elite and pious clan they were, more so than many of their contemporaries. Yet, it was neither their more exceptional piety nor ability that made them really stand out, it was rather a distinctive sense of adventuring and discovery more prevalent within each member, young or old, than many others of their own race.
As such, their kin always dug deeper, farther and more daring than most. But with a constantly maintained precision in each strike and a sense for stones and ore keener than many as if they were their second instinct, they always tended to find more and get more, always doing more than what is required and coming back intact.
And so, a few standard dwarven generations ago, they decided to be more daring than ever and sent the best retinue they had to venture far beyond the riches within the mines of their Ancestral home to search for a new. Using their profound knowledge and experience of the earth, they found what later be known as Iron Rock with all the riches beneath it completely untouched.
Seeing it as a gift from Grungnir, the news was immediately sent back and the reply was the immediate mobilization of the clan's resources as they marched to what they deemed as their destiny, filled with hope and enthusiasm for the bright future of the clan. Due to the distance, how remote and inhospitable the surrounding area was, and the mountain filled with flows of lava and brimstone, the travel and the overall operation was expensive, full of hardship and danger was always around the corner in countless forms.
Yet, it did not stop or hinder their determination in the slightest, for they deemed it as just another test of the Ancestors to prove their worth.
In the end, with ingenuity, might and resilience that conquered mountains, what was known then and forever as Iron Rock had finally been tamed, and the newly established settlement was ready to be put into good use for the Dawi race, and their clan especially. To mark the beginning of a new and brighter era of their clan on the next dawn, an entire day of great celebration commenced, as hope, enthusiasm and smell of dwarven ale could be felt in the air.
Yet, good things were not meant to last… Especially in this world of theirs.
Before a single speck of ore could be mined, when the sun rose the next day, heralded by a Warboss later remembered in history as Gorbad Ironclaw, a storm of green arrived in many thousands. Despite their effort and the allied dwarven force that accompanied them, the Waaagh was simply too much for them to handle and only a handful of survivors miraculously escaped and fell back to safety within the walls of Barak Varr.
Filled with grief for the death of many of their kin by the Greenskins and the loss of the future that was supposed to be, they collectively swore by the Gods names from that moment forth that they would not return to Karaz-a-Karak until this grudge is dealt with.
Some turned to the path of the Slayer, yet most remained. Ever since that day forth, they waited and prepared whatever they could for the day of reckoning. With the abnormal sense of exploring and adventuring came greater adaptability to their surroundings. Now stationed in Barak Varr, a hold that was not exactly famous for mining for obvious reasons, they decided to change some aspects on how they normally operate. And so, beside the duty of dwarven miners, they established this tavern, one where beside being a means to help sustaining themselves, it was also a way to fund and rally valuable combatants from all corners willing to help them in this fervor of theirs.
As if their history has been seen and empathized by Valaya herself, their new enterprise had proven to be quite a success as it continuously rose in popularity and had brought them greater riches with every passing year. But greater than that, their children grew up healthy and an unusually great density of them were just like their mothers, who had the traditional charm of dwarven women but were also no less resourceful than their male counterparts.
With their rise in name and popularity, their story followed. And so, throughout the years, whether it was for the sake of fortune or kindred sympathy, many have taken up the offer and marched to where their fallen dream laid. Yet, despite all the enthusiasm and good will, and despite their clan's ever burning determination to join each time a new rally was called, none was even substantial enough, the Greenskins remained far too plentiful to handle even when the legendary Warboss responsible had long perished.
For that, regardless of their best effort, regardless of whether their souls and minds are always looking toward the direction of their two homes of Karaz-a-Karak and Iron Rock with burning conviction, they could only wonder when the day of return would come… Or whether it would even come to begin with.
That was until today, when Elag Ironedge - a beardling who served in Karnji's retinue, returned to them in hurry and told them of the news on what happened in Iron Rock.
"However, I do believe a compromise can be reached." The former Japanese salesman continued, one that no less piqued the interests of the old dwarves.
The complex mine networks were comparatively difficult to guard with trash mobs. While the stronger summons and mercs could do it, that would be suboptimal. Besides, the Nazarick forces had limited experience with subterranean combat and while it could be overcome with sheer difference in raw power, the risk of running low on high leveled NPCs was a substantial one. After all, their supply of data was running low, in fact some of them have been fully depleted.
The fact that he had to use irreplaceable level 80 hanzos for dealing with a bunch of low level ratmen would have earned him a "talk" with a certain grapevine strategist.
And so, Ainz began his proposition.
"I would not be opposed to your people living in the mines. I'm told your kind do not like the surface much anyway."
"You are well informed," an elder nodded, sarcastically replied and smirked at the seeming sarcasm before returning to his previous sternness. "Sun-kissed, we are not. Although we do not mine as much anymore since that cursed day, our honorable miners and prospectors still very much prefer either finding themselves busy maintaining the ancient halls of the Underway or emerging from the branching tunnels to flank any enemies. Just like how Grungnir and the Ancestors intended things to be."
"Of course, there are other finer details to sort out, for instance the expectation that you will be joining its defenses."
'And of course, that would also mean I won't be able to use undead or even demonic troops in Iron Rock. Perhaps I could just use the Old Guarders and make up an excuse for them taking vows of silence. Even then, it is still quite risky considering how this world's dwarves react to anything that is considered as a possible threat from what I have seen.' The sorcerer pondered over this potential solution to his subterranean problem. 'However, it is nonetheless an effective and efficient substitute for the pest problem for the time being.'
"Thus is the nature of fairness." The oldest of the elders admitted. "As long as it is not something too outrageous, you have to get something in return for all your troubles after all, more so one that is even problematic for our own. And for that I believe it is required for us to have a more in-depth discussion. Isn't that right lads and lasses?"
"Aye." Every elder replied in unison as their expression became far more neutral, some could even be considered as welcoming and pleasing, ready to consider deals and proposals that were to be made.
"Yes, then I believed we could sta…"
But before he could officially start the negotiation, suddenly, Ainz received a [Message].
His tone became sterner and his posture stiffened to everyone's suspicion.
"Excuse me for a moment, there has been an incident that requires my attention. I shall return in a few hours at most. In the meantime, Cocytus here will note down your concerns."
[Gate]
A whorling portal appeared, and the masked mage casually walked into it.
The portal and the occupant then disappeared leaving behind Cocytus alone with wide eyed dwarves.
Badlands
Ruffles of grass were heard as soldiers set up the last of the tents.
Their flag showed a golden chalice on a blue background with two flowers on the sides, below a golden star. The standard of the Border Prince Confederacy of Pontenne.
One of them, named Thomas, wearing standard brigandine with chainmail underneath, tossed another of the goblin corpses to the nearby river. Quite a few of them were littered here and there. In fact, the last two days were spent hauling corpses for the space to make camp.
Before the footsoldier left the site, he heard multiple splashes on the river below. Taking a look, he saw several splashes followed by green blood and the skeleton of the tossed corpse slowly sinking.
One would think the Skull river gets its name from the bones present on the river bed, yet that is not the case. The river is home to skull headed piranhas.
The small skull shaped predators of the river prefer their prey to be alive and fresh, yet for creatures like these, a meal is a meal.
As they dispersed, Thomas was alerted to loud ramblings of someone within one of the tents.
"I will not be denied by an upstart nobody! At this rate, those Imperial rejects will soon come to our doorstep! How will you handle them if you can't even drive out a bunch of bandits and hedge knights?!" Bellowed the speaker.
The voice belonged to one named Philippe Rousseau, their prince and ruler.
Tensions between Pontenne and its neighbor, Raachwald were at an all-time high. The only reason why their "illustrious prince" has not launched a full scale invasion was because of constant greenskin attacks and the aforementioned "bandits".
Although, the past few weeks had seen absolutely no raids by Greenskins. Philippe, upon being suspicious, had sent scouts to see if this was a prelude to another one of their deplorable WAAAGHs. Turns out a huge walled fortress was erected near the Howling River, guarded by "golden knights with greatbows".
Greatbows aside, seeing knights in the Badlands would not be considered a strange occurrence. Indeed, many Brettonian questing knights roam the Border Princes and Badlands to attain their goal of obtaining The Lady's favor.
Although, from the choice weapons the gold ones wielded, it can be deduced that they were not Brettonians, as no self respecting knight of The Lady would ever dare to wield ranged weapons.
Still, the prince had tried to "evict" them by sending a group, claiming he is the rightful owner of the land they are now currently trespassing on.
Their answer? Complete silence followed by a huge arrow, apparently almost the size of a spear, to one of the scout's throats.
Their reply was loud and clear.
'In hindsight, perhaps he should have sent more than just twenty men to drive out a fort.' The pikeman silently judged as he picked up his helmet from the ground and made his way back to join the others. Perhaps he could get some rest before they resume the march.
"Oye Tom!" Came a familiar voice.
"You done feeding them fishes?" Said his friend Rogier with what Thomas would term as a "shit-eating grin".
He wore the same armor set as Thomas and had tanned skin. He had short black hair and a beard that can be described as "extremely thick".
"Aye, they have feasted enough I think. Was hoping I could get some rest before we have to move out." Thomas replied while following Rogier to the tents the rest of the pikemen and men at arms rested.
Crude pointed fences encircled the camp, and was guarded by patrols. After picking up the ration for the day which thankfully included booze, they sat next to one of the campfires.
"See those dogs out there?" Rogier said, pointing to a group camped a little separate from the regular forces of Pontenne. They possessed armor and weapons similar to the Empire state troopers, it seemed even this far, they kept their roots.
Among the weapons, he spotted their signature handguns; oh how he wished they had some of them. But no, as someone belonging to a territory of Brettonian origin, they are not allowed to wield arms that could inflict heavy damage to knights.
"Yeah, what of them?"
"Mercenaries that used to fight for the empire, that bunch. For someone who hates 'Imperial rejects', our noble prince sure doesn't mind hiring them."
Mercenaries of the Old World are affectionately called "the dogs of war". Running their noses in battlefield dirt, if the world calls for wetwork, they answer not for the greater good or just cause. But for glory, wealth, and perhaps adventure.
"Hm." Another peg was downed by the pair.
Thomas then spotted an individual among the group wearing flamboyant robes and a hat that seemed to be made in Tilean style, set fire to a steak the man was having.
"I've never seen a mage before. A bit overkill for a mere fort don't you think?" He said to Rogier with slight shock.
"Perhaps. Maybe he thinks those knights will surrender when they see a mage? Your guess is as good as mine. The only thing I'm sure of is that the bastard is probably the one getting paid the most here."
Thomas nodded at that, there were times he wished he had become a soldier of fortune himself. He had been dissuaded by friends and family. "Oh it's too risky", "very selfish", he had heard time and time again.
Yet recently he had given it a more serious thought. He was already a footsoldier here, that too in close proximity to the Badlands. The risk is already there, no harm getting paid more for it if one thinks about it.
And then there is the idea of selfishness.
If the reward for being selfless is to live in a glorified hamlet; haul corpses all day and relegated to being cannon fodder, then perhaps the idea of selflessness can go rot in the Infernal Realm.
He shook his head to break off such melancholic thoughts. Perhaps the day was too tiring for him.
They finished their meal and went to their tents, no doubt tomorrow will be a long day.
The next day at sunrise, they were already prepared to leave and make way for the fort.
At the front were the group of heavily armored mounted knights numbering around twelve, decked out in layers upon layers of steel that looked quite heavy to move let alone charge with. But, as former knights of the realm, they were some of the finest of knights anyone could ask for. If it weren't for them, Thomas would have called this expedition a waste of time and men.
Leading in front of the knights was Philippe himself, wearing gilded armor with the Pontenne coat of arms, and the same style of helmet as the other knights which had a pair of narrow slits that allowed sight. Thomas was not surprised as whatever might be said of the prince, cowardice was not one of the attributes used to describe him.
And lastly in front of Thomas and the rest of the men at arms were the hired mercenary bands. The flamboyantly dressed fire mage was spotted among them owing to his eye-catching Tilean hat.
Even at the brightest of days, the path ahead seemed to be bleak and exuded feelings of despair and hopelessness. One of the reasons was probably because there is a site of legend somewhere to their west amongst the mountains which spoke of a tomb of an ancient monarch from the Southlands which held vast riches and an artifact of great power guarded by undead sentinels, forever bound to ensure their king remains undisturbed.
Either Philippe doesn't believe in the legend or is ignorant about it, otherwise there was no doubt he would have made everyone raid that place into oblivion for the treasure and renown. It was for the best, Thomas thought, one less battle to survive indeed.
Nevertheless, even if such a place had never existed, the arid plains and marshes of the Badlands were never pleasant to look at, now that he thought about it.
After another two hours of marching, they were greeted by more dead goblins as well as the stench of their rotting bodies. Quite a few were impaled by giant arrows, while others looked like they were mauled by wolves and bears, judging by the size and amount of marks on what was left of the corpses.
At first, Thomas wasn't that concerned about the potential upcoming battle. The pompous collection of knights, including Philippe were tested, trained and earned their renown in martial prowess. If he were being honest, most of the men at arms were just backup, the knights and mercenaries alone should be able to take on most forts by themselves.
Yet as the body count kept rising, Thomas began to harbor some doubts.
'Kislevites maybe? Perhaps this won't be easy after all. Glad we have a fire mage.' Thought Thomas.
He has heard about the ice-bound lands of the far north called Kislev, albeit in a limited capacity from traveling merchants and such. While greatbow wielding golden knights were not something he heard about, he is aware that they do in fact, have bear cavalry.
It was said that once a fully armed Brettonian knight begins a charge there are very few things in the world that can stop him. This might be the day where that claim is tested against fully armored bears charging full speed.
A shiver went through his spine as they neared the fort, the howling sound from the river did not help. The walls were over ten meters high and looked like it could treat cannonballs like pebbles.
However, contrary to what the scouts reported, the walls looked deserted, and the gates were wide open. One could say it looked inviting. No doubt the prince took it as a sign of unconditional surrender, even masked, one could sense the smug expression behind the helmet.
But to Thomas, and perhaps the rest of the party, there was a sense of dread; an instinct honed by years and years of natural evolution telling him to run away and never come back.
As they approached the gate, at the top of the central part of the wall, they noticed a very well made flag that flew proudly above. Very well made, yet strangely designed.
Most Border Princes designed their standards in such a way that their symbols represented their roots before leaving it all behind. Whether it be Brettonian ones like Pontenne or Imperial ones like Raachwald and Esselhaffen, they all gave obvious tells as to where the Prince was originally from.
But this was nothing if not completely foreign.
It showed an elaborate gold insignia of he guessed to be a winged skull of a beast being split by a sword or spear against a crimson background.
–xx–
A/N: Well, that took awhile. I guess blame Elden Ring? Jokes aside, this was a tad difficult to write, but the next one shouldn't take this long. Probably.
And of course, special thanks to Remembrancer Of Tales (on )/or Inquisitor of the Sorcerer King (on Grand Library of Ashurbanipal Discord server) for helping me with writing the entire sequence in Barak Varr. He is basically the co-author of this story, so do check his works out.
Thanks to The Usual Gang of Drunken Perverted Idiots for the beta reading.