Zopoter Straße, Berlin Schmargendorf

The wheel turned towards Robert Herder and ground at the blade that was at his knees. It was made from one of the special alloys that was hard, flexible and would not stain quickly, rivaling the best of damascene steels without the hassle of forging several steels into each other. It was not as beautiful, but his customer did not care about that. They cared about the Solingen style grind that he applied to the blade. Instead of having a cutting surface that started somewhere in the lower 20% of the blade he started at the very back of the blade and ground a very fine "v" all across the blades considerable width. The edge was so thin that it was possible to bend it slightly when pushing on it with his finger nail. It was somewhat fragile and needed to be treated with respect. It would cut all the way through a tenderloin steak under its own weight when just pulled, no additional pressure needed and would leave the cleanest of cuts.

He had to learn this style of grinding from one of the last German masters of that art, Werner Lehmann. Going into apprenticeship again was not something Robert had been too keen on, but it had been a surprisingly easy apprenticeship. Lehmann had never beaten him, had paid him and even gave him a room for his stay. When he had shown that he could grind the blade as good as Werner he had arranged for a loan that allowed him to buy the store and keep the business in operation. Ever since then he had a bit more work than he could take care of and thought about getting himself an apprentice of his own. If the Germans would not have erected a barrier of red tape around that he would have done so already. The way things were he had to take courses in management, bookkeeping and something called pedagogic before he was allowed to call himself Master.

Ten years ago he would have scoffed at the idea of being a mere knife grinder, he wanted to become a sword cutler. His parents had paid good money to Hans Lichtenau so that he could learn everything about that trade. He had toiled and sweated, his back still had some scars from the old master. And when he was finished, when it was time to become a journeyman and learn work with different masters nobody needed sword makers any more. Well that was not completely true, there was still a demand for good blades, but these days they were plasma cut and ground by machines.

He needed a way to earn a living and the thought of toiling ceaselessly in a German-owned factory, even for a good wage did not appeal to him. It had been sheer coincidence that he had read about the job offer and it had taken quite a bit of his savings and all of his courage to make the trip to far off Berlin.
He had shown a dagger and a knife he had made to Werner Lehmann who was 87 at that time. And old Lehmann had looked at him for a long minute without saying anything. And when Robert had wetted his throat to say something the knife grinder had extended a hand.

No, grinding knives did not have the same reputation as making legendary swords. But practically all of Berlin's chefs were his customers and he had a huge discount at the best of all Halfling restaurants, "Satt". That, together with an income he could not have imagined ten years ago more than made up for it.

Karond Kar

The room was round, taking all of the floor offered by the slender tower and had a breathtaking view from its windows. The floor was seamlessly black from meticulously laid obsidian tiles and the wall had a mosaic that tastefully depicted the ritual tortures Karond Kar's rulers had inflicted annually on their vassals. The view was partially blocked by the smoke that rose from many places and there were hard-to-remove bloodstains on the smooth floor. None present had any eyes for this as they were taken by the being that had called them to attention.

The small crowd was made up from the stocky figures of the true dwarven officers that had just completed taking Karond Kar from its former owners. Their attention was on the being standing before a purple banner. Much more slender than them, with a skin like fine marble and long hair he was obviously not of the DawiZharr. And still any of the Chaos Dwarfs considered him to the be the epitome of physical beauty, his voice to be music to their ears and his words the wisdom of ages.

Mordred was not DawiZharr, he was Druchii, a people the dwarfs should despise. He was also the son of Jasla and Malekith and that union had the sponsorship of none other than the Prince of Pleasure. There was a lot of speculation what he was, the leading contender among the theories was that he was the god's avatar.

What was without any question was that he was the uncontested leader of this expedition, commanding all DawiZharr in Naggaroth.

"Splendid my warriors, simply splendid. You fulfilled my bidding, you took a harbor for us, a beachhead so we can marshal our forces. From this place we can take the backward Druchii, from here we can take these lands. Here is the promised land the DawiZharr deserve, here we can have slaves, here we can farm uncontaminated grounds, here we can mine the raw materials we need to forge our future. And best of all, the thrice damned Germans are the least interested in it.

Karond Kar today, Naggaroth tomorrow"

"Karond Kar today, Naggaroth tomorrow."

Ernutan was one of those who cheered with the others. There was a future for the DawiZharr, a glorious future to be cut from Druchii corpses and he would be part of it. All hail Lord Mordred.

Teotihuacan

"Putzmeister"

The name on the concrete pump was a reminder that there had been a Germany on Earth, even when this machine was built by the Chinese company which had bought the German machinery maker a few months before the Weltensprung.
The pump was working hard and would push the concrete only a part of the way to its destination. Between here and the cavern were two more of its kind so the pipes would not be filled by solids before the concrete reached its final destination. Similar models had pushed concrete more than 800 meters up, they had no problem pushing it down a couple of hundred.

Mathis Lambert should not be watching the pump, but his men, he was providing security after all. Still there was so much boredom to go around that even a concrete pump provided a bit of distraction. When he forced his eyes and mind on his job he found things as before. His people still manned a couple of heavy weapons emplacements in case the snakes and Nagas returned. The only snakes he could still see were the carcasses of those which died in the fighting.

He knew very well that it would not do to let down one's guard. Still, his and the gut feeling of everybody involved said same thing: That the mission was over.
Two weeks ago Gotrek and Felix were taken from the final cavern. No search would provide any clue about their whereabouts and it was just a few hours later that the gravity over the strange plate in the cavern returned to normal.

Both Master VanderSchantz and that arrogant Elf had declared the chamber void of any magic. Whatever had powered it had disconnected for the moment. The first tests and studies undertaken by the few scientists that both the US and the French government trusted had been disappointing in an interesting way. At first, they could not find anything inside the circle that hinted at anything that might have powered it. It was only when a few samples were checked with a scanning electron microscope that they found things. They might be what made the gizmo in the cavern tick, it might be something completely differ. Whatever it was it baffled the scientists to the point where they were about to call it quits.

"Compared to this we are probably at the point where some Neanderthals watched a tree trunk roll down-slope and thought this might be the start of something. We cannot make heads or tails of this and we will not for a very long time."

So they had taken samples and measurements, they had shaken their heads in wonder and then they had taken their leaves.

Others had arrived, workers who seemed to have only first names and who did not talk much. They had covered the floor of the cavern with lots of polyethylene foil and then followed up with polyurethane foam. On top of this, they pumped concrete, lots and lots of it. Humanity could have another go at the secrets of the cave when it was readier to tackle them, probably in a hundred years or more. Till then Xenon Communications had this access sealed shut.

Another job well done.

Tower of Cold, Naggrond, Naggaroth

Torsten Breitkop was in a city full of enslaved humans and psychotic torturers who often had a special deeper niche for Germans in their abyss of hate. The architecture was literally inhuman, having towers and edifices in proportions that were just off to the engineer's eye. The Druchii idea of decor ran very much into obsidian spikes, artful mosaics of murder and torture or just plain flayed skins.

He was currently in the Tower of Cold, the place that distilled all things Druchii to its most concentrated essence, host to the one being that frightened them all. The Witch King was inscrutable inside his armor, powered by hatred and a frightening intelligence that was backed up by a sanity of a different kind.

The king, his mother who was as beautiful as she was deadly and Malekith's advisers were all intently watching the presentation before them. Several Hung were strapped into high chairs, displaying their partly removed skullcaps and the needles that penetrated deeply into their brains. They allowed the Dark Elven rulers of distant cities to partake in the meeting.

All of this would have paralyzed nearly any other human with fear, revulsion and dread. Torsten Breitkop had gotten used to the pressure by partaking of it in small doses, was too taken with the potential for more tinkering and projects and too exhausted to really care.

Isilvar Darkmoon pointed to various places on a map of Naggaroth.

"We have now lost all communications with Karond Kar. Even magical probing reveals nothing as something or someone is projecting a veil around the island. All witches who try to gain insight say they are overwhelmed by sensations of all kinds. We have to conclude that the town is indeed lost to the DawiZharr. The last reports we gained spoke of mechanical monsters that were immune to all but the heaviest weapons, about armored flying disks armed with cannon and armored ships with huge cannon. They all support an infantry armed mostly like the troops in Lord Darkblade's command. They seem to be of the DawiZharr, the Chaos Dwarfs. Why these would attack us or their intentions are unknown to us.

What is most worrying is that they used the Underground Sea to approach Naggaroth and have now gained access to the Sea of Chill. From there they can attack nearly all of our cities and interfere with our internal trade. Given that the enemy cruisers were able to lay waste to Karond Kar's defenses I doubt that our ships are able to stop them from doing so."

"Thank you, Darkmoon. It seems that another power deems us so weak that they think we are prey. We will teach them the folly of that notion. Lord Darkblade, you have something to add?"

The Hung's head was the only part of the body allowed any movement and it turned minutely before it started to speak. Any of those present could see the despair in the slave's eyes, all ignored it.

"My King, I am not sure if there is a coincidence or not, but ever since the last week the enemy has redoubled his attacks on our lines. No matter how many of them we kill, there seem to be more of them. This is most unexpected, I expected the Chaotics to cease by now."

"Could you hold the line with less troops then you command today?"

"No, I have too few soldiers to man the fixed defenses and keep up patrolling at the same time. My army has next to no reserves presently. Even if I were to break off I would need at least three or more months to march my troops back to Naggaroth proper and then they would need time to rest and recuperate."

"So noted. Lord Breitkop, you said you might have an idea why those degenerate Dawi presume to invade my realm."

"Yes, my king. From what news I gather via long-wave radio and the internet access we recently gained the DawiZharr have a problem in that they contaminated the soil of their homeland to the point where it would no longer bear fruit suitable for ingestion. They tried to capture lands in the World's Edge mountains to make up for that and tangled with the Reiksbund. After initial successes, they were beaten back and have a treaty that allows them to sell resources for food. They were said to have used units similar to those we now face.
It stands to reason that they would try to secure a source of foodstuffs they control."

"And why did they attack us then? Most of Naggaroth is not that well suited for agriculture given our weather."

"What other countries are there? The Southlands are probably too far away, the Old World is now a Reiksbund domain and Cathay has built up considerable modern armed forces. Ulthuan would probably receive German help if the DawiZharr would invade. Your realm is one of the few they have good access to through the Underground Sea and cannot expect help from the Reiksbund."

"Do you believe me and my realm is so weak that it cannot defend itself Lord Breitkop?"

"No Sire, I do not. It is just that going against the Reiksbund is simply impossible for any realm for the time being. They have what the rest of us lacks: global reach, instant communications and the ability to sink any fleet and best any army they so choose. They have spent the last decade proving that to this very world. The Reiksbund killed a god Sire, probably with 80 % of the race that gave fealty to it. Nothing is currently in the same league and any strategic planning has to take them into account. It is not an insult to your realm or you, it is the simple truth."

Exhaustion and lack of sleep can have effects remarkably close to alcohol intake, including a decided lack of self-control. It took the upsurge in the Warpflame from Malekith's sword to remind the German engineer of that. Nobody and nothing moved inside Malekith's throne room for eternal seconds.

A hand fused to its armored glove pulled the sword fractionally from its scabbard, revealing a blade forged from madness. With a sound that rolled a closing door and breaking glass into one it was pushed back a second later.

"The truth, the simple truth. Lord Breitkop, if anybody else in this room would have uttered such a truth he would face consequences direr than you'd care to imagine. You are not of our people, you cannot know how many rules you just violated. Much more importantly you are useful to me. Even so, remember that this usefulness is a finite resource as is my patience. Stay useful to me, you do not want to be out of that if you try my patience again. So, what can you build that helps us fight the DawiZharr?"

"I cannot build you Mechs and flying disks as the ones which attacked Karond Kar as they are not the products of technology alone, they are a combination of magic and technology. Unfortunately, the Chaos Dwarf magic runs strongly into demon-possessed Golems and other constructs and these are then easily armed by comparatively primitive weaponry. If you could provide me with a flying platform or a walking metal statue I`ll gladly build you something that equals these."

"As you put it so succinctly Herr Breitkop, the DawiZharr magic runs that way, making dead metals move. We prefer to influence minds and deal with the secrets beyond the veil of death. Surely a gifted engineer like you can do without such crude crutches."

Torsten Breitkop was exhausted to the point where he did not care about being surrounded by beings who promised lethal danger or worse if he played his cards wrong. He still did have a "gentlemen reflex", as would have any male, human or otherwise when Morathi took an interest in them. Like all of them there was a part of his brain that wanted nothing more than to please Malekith's mother, to prove himself worthy of her attention, to show himself off in the best light possible. He had been warned about this, he had been warded unobtrusively, and he was too exhausted to care. And still, he regretted the answer he had to give.

"It is not that I cannot offer something to fight the Chaos Stumpies and their creations. Given time and more access to German markets I could build tanks and planes that would easily best them. Given the means and the time available different solutions need to apply. For the flying disks I suggest a stopgap, a shortcut on a project that I persued for quite some time. It is about a 37 mm autocannon with high muzzle velocity and a good rate of fire. In a year or two I might have delivered that, a weapon useful even against the helicopters used by the Germans. Yet a year or two is not what we have and so I suggest to build a semiautomatic version of that. I have built versions of that for testing which yield about 30 rounds per minute and which should be useful both against the flying disks and the smaller mechs.

That leaves the problems of their bigger brethren and the Chaos Dwarf cruisers. For both I have solutions in mind that indeed combine your magic with technology."

"Do tell."

"I will in a moment. But before I do I have another issue that needs addressing. I have heard several suggestions that the Dread Lords should provide overseers to my factories to increase their output. Let it be noted that my slaves work better and produce more and better products that those of any Lords who made such suggestions. It is highly likely that such interference would not increase but in fact decrease output and quality. I have been named Dread Lord of Neustadt and I intend to run my fief to the best interest of the Druchii realm. I have no more interest to live under the Chaos Dwarfs than anybody here. I will provide you with the weapons to fight this war if you let me do it."

"As long as you deliver we will keep your fiefdom free of interference. Just see to it that you deliver."