Close to Kharond Kar

The entrance into the Underground Sea was obviously not natural, something or somebody had shaped it to their liking. It was immense, allowing the passage of Black Arks without a problem. Of proportions no human or elven builder would make, it was deeply impressive and led to a featureless darkness. Naggaroth was governed by near-immortal beings for more than 5000 years. They had no inkling who had erected it.
They had used the Underground Sea regardless nearly as long as that to circumvent the blockades of their decadent, treacherous cousins. There were fortifications inside and outside of the gate, the rulers of Kharond Kar wanted their cut from anybody who used the Underground Sea.

Presently the tunnel mouth did not present the usual darkness, it was filled with fire and smoke. The tunnel distorted the sound of whatever went on inside, but it was obviously highly destructive.

The Druchii warriors manning the outer fortifications held their weapons with white knuckles. They lacked a word for cowardice among themselves, but whatever was attacking them had done so without warning and using powers they hardly knew. It was not doing morale any good.

It was a relief when the enemy finally presented himself. Black ships moved from the entrance, moving slowly and deliberately.

The rulers of Kharond Kar had paid good money for the cannons that were now aiming at the intruders. The smooth-bore barrels belched white smoke when they released their projectiles. Fin-stabilized like the mortar grenades they were derived from, they were accelerated to a moderate speed and dropped on their targets. Filled to the brim with explosives they would ignite any wooden ship and damage even the famed German warships if they were in range.

They hit the armored sides of their targets well enough and exploded with fire and fury. When the smoke drifted away it showed mostly undamaged ships to the Druchii.
They had to watch as huge turrets turned their way with glacial speed and the muzzle flashes of the great guns were the last thing most of them saw.

The Chaos Dwarfs had arrived in Naggaroth.

Pi=3.152

Barak ar Varbadaudassoda had led a vast Chaos Crusade from the Northern Desert. He had brought them out when his people had killed or subjugated anybody and anything worth the effort. And when there was no more challenge to be had, no more souls to be and no more secrets to be torn from unwilling bodies; he had led them into the realm not graced by the favor of the four real gods.
That he had been in this lofty position, just like the others who had already led Crusades from the desert, that he had fought the losers and the rejects was better not mentioned within earshot. His shamans and sorcerers had told him that campaigning in Kislev would only bring disaster and disgrace, so Naggaroth and the arrogant torturers would feel his wrath.

He had expected that he would traverse the icy tundra that bordered on the realm of the four gods on this world, lay siege to the Guard Towers that demarcated Druchii territory and smash the dandelion eaters when they finally offered battle.
It was not to be. He had been fighting ever since his Legion exited the desert. How the Druchii were able to live and fight here was a mystery to him as was the source of their new weapons and tactics. Their effects were no longer a mystery for him, his Legion had paid for the tuition in blood, limbs, lives and questionable sanity.

Besides the insight he had gained 30 kilometers of totally worthless tundra, had expended the lives of warriors with a combined combat experience measured in millennia to gain one set of hills after another. And now he was slowly running out of warm bodies to expend. The problem was that he could not just stop the Crusade, that would see him deposed and killed in a cool minute and his Black Legion would tear itself apart from infighting. Damned if he did and damned if he didn't.

"Master, there is somebody to see you"
"Who is it imbecile?"
"I don't rightly know. He is beautiful."

Barak ar Varbadaudassoda realized he had let his guard down too much, had wallowed too much in misery, he should have gotten the scent far earlier. Were his followers mere mortals, then his camp would be in chaos by now. There would be an unending orgy by many, some would gorge themselves on food till they burst and others would descent into full-blown madness.
At least this camp had no mortals left, even so the effects would not be good. The helmet he wore for the last century hid all emotions, but the light that shone from all gaps in his armor turned a deep red. His retinue tried their very best to become invisible.

When he left his tent he found exactly what he had been expecting, it had just taken a different form, as none of them were ever made the same. This one was elegant, with far more slender limbs that something organic topping six meters should have. The Keeper of Secrets wore what seemed only strips of cloth, enhancing instead of hiding a physique that was male and female at the same time and yet was not. It had a skin like fine marble and moved like an oil stain on water, silently, without a hurry, without pause and corrupting all in its way.
Had he displeased the four gods so much that they had sent an emissary of the Dark Prince to end him?

"Well met Barak ar Varbadaudassoda, Lord of the Black Legion. I am N`Dhama, Keeper of Secrets, close to the Prince of Pleasure."
"I would say well met if knew why you were here."
"I hear you have a most marvelous campaign here."
"We offer battle to those bereft of honor."
"Yes, yes you do that, wonderful. So much blood, so much pain, such heroics, such treachery. I must partake in this, I will savor these moments."
"This is my army."
"Oh, by all means General, I am yours to command. As are these."

One moment there was only the stained whiteness of the tundra badly trampled by the armies that had fought over it which vanished into the white mist. The next moment the mist parted to reveal an army.
Scantily clad demonettes rode their horses as if they were on a beach. Marauders hid their hulking bodies under well-maintained furs. The ground between Barak's Black Legion and the parts of the tundra still hidden by the mist was covered in bodies who purposefully marched towards the camp.

Wonderful, just wonderful. Now Barak no longer needed to fret whether he had displeased the four gods. Now he could wonder about the price he would have to pay for the aid he just received.

Karond Kar

Karond Kar, the Druchii city that proudly specialized in the slave trade that was the Dark Elves' life blood, had expected to die slowly due to economic decay over the next decades. These expectations were proven wrong today, it would die quickly, violently and in flames.

Karond Kar's location between the Great Ocean and the Sea of Malice had made it the place most Druchii slave ships used for offloading their captives. The citizens remembered those days well when they could afford to race the naked beings down their main roads, how they would delight at those trampled and how skillfully the priests would flay the losers. It was great fun, a worthy display of Karond Kar's wealth and a supplication unto Khaine.

Such beautiful memories and such regret that they firmly belonged to the past. These days every slave was a precious commodity and had to be treated with care lest he would die before making any coin. In the halcyon days which were not so long ago Black Arks would make a grand display when they left to dominate the seas. Fleets of hydra ships and shoals of reavers would use favorable winds and daring to make raids that would become the stuff of legends with the Druchii and of laments for their victims. These days the ships would leave, but far too often they would come back with meager pickings or empty and consider themselves lucky. Those who dared as they had in the olden days would vanish as if they had never existed.

Raids into Germany were strictly forbidden and any who voiced such plans would find his skin blowing in the winds while hanging from a tower's wall. The retribution wreaked by the Germans was in the Witch King's mind. The thought of attacking German ships brought shivers to the most hardened captains. The Empire was now allied to Germany, as was Kislev. Ships that ventured too close to the Old World or Ulthuan reported being shadowed by the magic flying machines the Germans made and even those who were not allied to them received warnings. A net of Free Harbors spanned the globe and attacking them or ships close to them was akin to attacking the thrice-damned Germans.

The world had been the true elven hunting ground, it was severely restricted now. One could raid Norsca, provided one did not attack the Confederation, but that was hard going and the Norscans made bad slaves. The Southlands still worked after a fashion, but that was a long way away. To add insult to injury most slaves these days were captured in the unending campaigns in the icy north and were handled by Hag Graef.
In short only very few slaves reached Karond Kar these days and its citizens suffered badly for this. To be more precise, the Druchii thought they had been suffering, the Chaos Dwarfs were about to show them what suffering really meant.

Karond Kar Docks

Ernutan Doomshackler examined the Druchii defenses before him with a practiced eye. The dandelion eaters had erected three concentric sets of walls interspersed with towers. Of course they had made them high and slender, had adorned them with useless spikes and tastefully decorated them with flayed skins. That was the old thinking, the way before Lord Mordred revealed Hashut's true ways to the DawiZharr. There were new powers in this world, powers that demanded respect. Like fire they were good slaves and bad masters. If you needed to fortify you needed to dig, to sink your walls into the ground. Making them slender and high just asked for artillery to tear them down.

And that was what the three cruisers that provided fire support for this invasion did. Hashut's Glory, Fire Breather and Thunderchild each had four single turrets with 9 inch guns, of which three could be brought to bear on any given target at one time. Every other minute they belched fire and white smoke hammering at the walls' foundations. Well carved stones, black and hard as obsidian shattered under the onslaught, throwing razor sharp fragments in all directions. With every hit these foundations were weakened, with every shell exploding within them more fractures appeared even in those stones not yet thrown outside while the weight of the tall wall above them pressed on as before.

Ernutan saw the lines between the blocks before him widen in distinct lines and turned around. Four stout DawiZharr surrounded Thauram Steelblaster, his aide. They protected him better than they would do so for Ernutan and for a good reason. Tauram's hands held a small, inconsequential looking box and all of the true dwarven army had less than 50 of them. The never sufficiently- -damned Germans carried ZharrNaggrund`s lifeblood away, its ore and metals and gave back food that they claimed was pure and uncontaminated. Some of them were susceptible to sufficient coin, others had been introduced into Lord Mordred's grace. They had been able to supply a few things here and there. No weapons or any sizable equipment, but their contribution was priceless even so. The wireless sets allowed Ernutan to coordinate with the other battalion commanders, to listen to his superiors and to report in ways unthinkable before.

"Thauram, call the companies, the walls will come down any minute now. We will begin the assault once the rubble is settled. And contact the fishheads, they are to shift fire once the assault starts."
"Immediately Sir."

His aide was still talking when there was a groan that managed to be heard above the naval gunfire. It started as a deep groan that indicated things ripping apart that were meant to stay together, changed to a rumbling when large masses moved which had remained at rest for millennia and ended in a prolonged crash. The stones that had been a wall, that had shielded desperation, depravity, murder and torture had come down. All hail Lord Mordred.

"Thauram, sound the charge, now. We take the breach in our front."
"Sound charge Sir, immediately."

A few years before, before Mordred's grace had converted his useless hands from stone to flesh again he would have been part of that charge. Now he needed to stay back, now he had to watch, to see and to order. If that assault would have gone in a few years before he would have been part of a well ordered block of DawiZharr, marching shoulder to shoulder to defeat Hashhut`s foes. It would have been an impressive sight and would have prevented anybody picking out Ernutan by his lonesome. It would also have been an example of old thinking. Now the Dawizharr were advancing in crooked lines, with ample space between each other. Instead of marching they sprinted from one cover to the next one. It did not look so impressive and it was much harder to control. Its wisdom became apparent when a whistle announced the approach of shells and when there were rumbling explosions on the ground among his warriors. In the old days it would have killed countless true dwarfs, now it eradicated but a handful. And with their new weapons the DawiZharr had more than enough might to smash anybody in their way, especially the dandelion eaters. All hail Lord Mordred.

Ernutan followed his warriors when the first two companies had made their way through the breech. The first platoons made good progress, then a steady hail of mortar projectiles, some rifles and a great lot of crossbow bolts pelted his warriors. They were only lightly armored and the crossbow bolts went through that protection at times. Given that the projectiles were poisoned even scratches led to gruesome deaths.

The Chaos Dwarf was turning to his wireless operator when several shockwaves ruffled his greasy beard. The groan of collapsing stonework came earlier this time, the tower was even more vulnerable to heavy artillery than the walls had been. He made it through the breech and directed his warriors up the walls. It was hard going, with shifting rubble of razor-sharp obsidian threatening to bleed any DawiZharr dry who lost his footing. Things were not helped by the mortar rounds that still fell, by the crossbow bolts that searched for chinks in the light armor and the sheer terror of being under fire by several sources he could not see. And then his first warriors made it to the parapet and the threat lessened immediately. Their rifles and shotguns barked loud replies to the near-silent crossbows, grenades made a mockery of whatever cover was left for the Druchii.

Ernutan was breathing heavily when he made it to the top and the huge revolver in his hands swayed alarmingly from exhaustion. He regained his breath quickly enough and found a good spot for himself inside a redoubt. His orders were to secure the breech and that was what his battalion was doing, mostly from the walls on both sides. It was a good position, with plenty of cover against fire from below, limited avenues of attack for the Druchii and excellent firing arcs for for his people.

His company commanders seemed to have things in hand well enough, so he could afford to take a look at his surroundings. The city below his position looked like it would be a cast-iron bitch to assault. There was a main avenue which was broad enough, but whatever alleys branched from that were really tight. All buildings that faced these roads looked like small fortresses, ready to pour fire into whoever assaulted them and reasonably well reinforced so that breaching them would be difficult. Given the pointy ears' backstabbing lifestyle that impression was likely true. His warriors were mighty as they had repeating rifles with good range and punch, but they would not be worth much down there. The true dwarfs had brought assault units, but this city and its denizens would go through them like shit through the goose.

All of that would be bad if not for Lord Mordred's promise of something that would help the DawiZharr. He stole a few glances towards the docks and found one of the transport ships offloading just this aid through a cunningly constructed ramp that had dropped to the quay. What emerged from it was either totally untested or had a bit of a mixed reputation due to their performance in the last battle they took part in.

The first one to emerge from the ramp looked like mechanical hounds from hell. About the height of a pony they were broader and sported far shorter legs. Made from steel they still ran forward as if they were bloodhounds on a hunt and in a sense they were. Much smaller than the Golems the DawiZharr had built in the past they could go where the earlier ones could not. Armed with a flamethrowers in their mouth, claws on their feet and a turret on their back with two machine guns in it they were deadly enough that denizens of the warp were willing to be bound into them. Two dozen of them made their way down the ramp followed by two scarecrows. For whatever reasons the Renegade Germans who made them insisted to calling them Vulcans but the DawiZharr warriors called them scarecrows for their slender frames. Machine guns and an autocannon made formidable enough, but the flamer built into its right arm raised even Ernutan's hackles.

True dwarven storm troopers followed these into Karond Kar proper and the screams that rose reminded Ernutan not to doubt Lord Mordred and his human pets.

Albion, 50 kilometers from the Citadel of Lead

"Come 'ere glaikit beast"

The sheep had jumped the low stone wall in search of greener pastures or whatever tickled its ruminant mind's fancy. It had to be brought back before something else became too interested in it. The range of possible threats ran from wolves to some really nasty beasts or poachers who did not much care about property rights.

Bran Walters was a trained soldier, fit even for his age and profession, and even he struggled to drive that stupid animal back into the pasture. Had his shepherd dog been with him it would have been no problem at all, but that stupid animal was back home with Ailish. He had gone here to mend the fence, not play catch-up. But planned or not, the bloody sheep gave him quite a run for the money.

"Ye dae nae wantae be eaten yit, dinnae ye"

In the end he caught a double handful of wool and dragged the bleating sheep back into the enclosure. Not exactly approved procedure, but nobody was looking. Given that it was summertime the wool was quite short, but this year had yielded an acceptable amount of wool. The German textile industry had snapped it up like it always did, and the Reiksbund had given Albion favored nation status. As long as there was a Citadel of Lead it was really important that its surroundings were politically stable. There was a 50-kilometer circle around it that was Reiksbund, plain and simple. But it was around that area that things got more interesting. German aid meant that more than a few of the Clans got into this "Confederation of Tribes" thing that the Krauts had trialed in Norsca.

More than a few soldiers of the Royal Highlanders wanted to stay in Albion. They wanted to make something more of it than a collection of blue painted savages killing each other over feuds caused by issues forgotten by all involved. They wanted to make Albion into something more than a playground for any interested power, something to be proud and something that would carry some of the Britain's legacy into the future.

The Reiksbund had been interested stable, somewhat advanced Albion on friendly terms and a deal had been struck. The Royal Highlanders were employed guarding the Citadel together with other troops. They were asked to expand to division size with the stipulation that two regiments would be territorials, working the land and being called up for training and emergency only.

Bran had taken up that offer, he started to feel a bit old for being a full timer. The Niìalegs, Ailish's clan, had accepted him and together with them and some old regiment hands took up sheep farming. It yielded wool for the Germans and meat for the not-so-discerning locals. They were role models for the Albionese, showing how to live much better lives and it certainly caught on.

A new Albion would rise, but this time it would be molded by the Scots.