Tunnel below Hag Graef, Naggaroth

The lantern's light shone on the rough tunnel walls as its bearer ran down its length. The flickering flame illuminated the natural faces as well as the places where chisels had left their rough marks. The floor bore all the marks of similar work, it had never been smoothed by the passage of many feet. The slaves that had made it long ago had been killed as soon as they were finished, as were their overseers and their killers as well. The tunnel was known by a few and used by less, which was a good thing as far as Isilvar Darkmoon was concerned. If the tunnel would have been detected by the never-sufficiently-damned DawiZharr it would have granted direct access into his very fortress. Now it allowed him to escape certain death. Hag Graef's citizens defended every inch of it, taking a terrible price for every one of them. Still, they died doing so, singly or in groups and Isilvar thought the fallen might be the lucky ones. Giving in to a hunch that came to a being that had been on top of Hag Graef's intrigues, assassinations, and plots for centuries he had sent out his last two assassins. They were not to kill, but to gather that most precious of gifts, intelligence.

They had and one of them had actually made it back, even if he had not survived that by long. He had brought an inkling of why the Chaos Dwarfs had invaded Naggaroth at all. This tidbit of information might bring the Witch King's forgiveness for having cooked the numbers of modern weapons in Hag Graef way past its fair share. Isilvar had killed the assassin so that he was the only one with the news and was very sure that the worthy would understand. Now he could make good his escape instead of seeking a hero's death that would be far preferable to suffering Malekith's displeasure.

A shadow moved silently into the lantern's light and Isilvar brought his weapon to bear before recognizing his own bodyguard. Instead of shooting, he lifted an eyebrow minutely and the Druchii warrior just nodded. Isilvar had been quiet before, now he made no sound perceptible to the lesser races. The tunnel soon turned upwards and the spymaster doused what little light there was. The darkness seemed to close on him, making the passage seem even smaller and the air stale and hard to breathe. A hand in the tunnel wall provided the guidance he needed to continue his passage even slower than before. At first, it seemed a mirage, another of the green light that went in and out of his field of view, but soon enough the light of a quarter Morslieb helped his passage.

He emerged into the cold Naggaroth winter night and took neither heed of the brilliant stars nor the snow-bedecked mountains before him. He looked for the other members of his bodyguard and found one prone under an old tree. He had hidden well and made no movements that attracted attention, only Isilvar's fine true elven senses could perceive him. The same senses needed a second longer to parse the shape that struck out of the bodyguard's back. He jumped from where he stood before he had made a conscious decision to do so. Something large and soft missed him by a few centimeters and he pointed his revolver at a dark shape he barely saw. The muzzle flash illuminated a stocky Dwarf that clutched a polearm in his hands. He dropped it when two heavy lead wadcutters pierced his broad chest, leaving ruin in their wake. Something moved in the corner of Isilvar's eye and he fired in its general direction. His ringing ears still managed to hear the choking of his last bodyguard and he had to fight the temptation to look.

He managed to get close to the forest's edge when his foot tripped on something. He rolled with the momentum of his run and was about to regain his feet when something slipped by his neck and spiked metal pushed him forward into the snow. A booted foot pinned the hand holding the revolver, breaking bones in the process.

Isilvar was pinned under heavy, unyielding, stinking DawiZharr bodies when he heard the deep, cultured and amused voice of something more than Druchii.
"If you are so interested in my great work you would just have to ask. Allow me to introduce it to you in person."
Isilvar Darkmoon had seen every cruelty the Druchii were capable of and had endured much and inflicted even more on his way to the top. He was far too afraid to voice anything when he heard Mordred.

Leviathan, 800 kilometers from Kislevite Coast

Hartmut Klawitter's brow formed several lines when he saw the new lever that had been shoehorned into an already cramped cockpit. In theory, this sounded very useful, but whoever had come up with it was not flying a wooden biplane into combat. The mechanic that briefed him had been flown in with the same plane that brought the parts that attached to the simple lever. He seemed quite enthusiastic about his work.

"The system had been developed for the new Karaz-a-Karak to Karak Eight Peaks rally. You must have heard of it; they use the old underground roads now that they are mostly cleared. They have these armored off-road cars and allow only engines of Dawi construction. Pretty awesome and from what I hear they made a pretty penny from the TV-rights. They do not regulate the accessories too hard though and this is where this comes in.

You now have this pressure tank and do not worry, we placed it at the center of gravity. When you need lots of power right now you check that you are not overheating already and then you pull this lever. It will release N²O into the passage before the aftercooler and will provide for even cooler air. That means the supercharger can shovel even more air into the carburetors. And when all that lovely mixture reaches the cylinder the N²O will decompose, heat up the mix, and provide even more oxygen to burn.

I have changed the choke jet on your carbs to provide even more fuel for a much richer mix. It will give you a bit of soot on a cold start, but mix this and the nitrox, and I guarantee you quite a party. You must remember to pull the choke though, otherwise, otherwise your mix will be too lean to no end and you'll melt down the engine in no time flat."
"About how much of a party are we talking here?"
"We put it on a dyno at sea level and it peaked at 750 hp."
"750? This crate is good for 450 at most."
"No longer. Mind you the longest run we had was 11 minutes, after that we could see connecting rods without opening the engine. Keep it below five minutes and you should be safe enough."

Hartmut Klawitter's voice had more than a little skepticism in it.
"Care to be my co-pilot when I test this?"
"I don't see a co-pilots seat in this crate, so sorry. But probably beats crashing into the sea when you try to take off with too high a load, won't it?"
"Probably."

Hag Graef, Naggaroth

What little of Ernutan's Doomshakler's face normally visible through his beard was now hidden in his huge hands. His color party kept their distance as it would not do to watch their leader in this state. It was much safer that way, he would not have to kill them when he came to his senses again as not to spread the rumor of his weakness. Ernutan did not dwell on this at all, but if he did, he would have thought it meant they wanted no part of his shame. And his failure was inexcusable indeed. He had conquered Hag Graef in Lord Mordred's name indeed, inch by inch, stout DawiZharr warrior by DawiZharr warrior. Every hovel, every ally had been a battleground hard fought for, no piece of soil not drenched in the mingled blood of DawiZharr and Druchii alike. He had seen no other way to fulfill his mission and a generous Lord Mordred had tolerated his failings and sent reinforcements whenever he asked for them.

And now the same Lord Mordred had made his failings so clear when he captured the Druchii leader and stormed their command post with little loss. The Lord had given him well-trained, disciplined troops, weapons of great might, and above all his trust. How he had failed Lord Mordred…
Ernutan was so deep in his misery that he did not realize that his color party went elsewhere, did not see other Dawi take their places, and did not hear the soft footsteps approaching him.
The voice was deep, without the slightest bit of malice and warmed the soul.

"What ails you, my friend? It pains me to see such a stout warrior brought low. Anybody who discharged their duties to me so well should rejoice, not look into the abyss of despair."
One moment ago, Ernutan Doomshakler would not have thought to have the energy to move, now he seemed to jump in his eagerness to abase himself before Lord Mordred.
"I have dishonored myself, Milord, I did not see you coming. Praise be Milord, please have mercy with this unworthy.."

Mordred did not raise a voice that was as smooth as an oil slick on water. It stopped Ernutan's babbling cold.
"General Doomshackler, how in the Prince's name did you get the idea that you have failed me? You have discharged your duties in an exemplary manner, and I know no DawiZharr who could have done better."
"Milord, have you seen the graves? So many good DawiZharr dead as I found no better way to take this city in your name. My people, your people are not many and we take a long time to raise more of us, every loss is a tragedy. And I have lost so many."
"And from what little I know about warfare there was no better way to do it. Despite the losses, despite what it must have cost you and despite a ferocious enemy you managed to fight within the restrictions I placed upon you. How much it must have pained you and yet you never wavered Rise General Doomshackler, you are to be praised for your efforts."

The hand that touched Ernutan's neck was light as a feather, but the warmth that radiated from it felt like a blazing hearth. Like boiling lava, a stream of energy went through the DawiZharr's veins and lifted his body and spirit at the same time. To look at Lord Mordred's face was as to look at the bright sun itself, making Ernutan look downward after a brief moment.
"Come then my general, look at what your efforts have made possible. Watch so that you may know why I have to ask you to do even more in my name, of spending even more stout DawiZharr lives so my great work might be accomplished.

It took Ernutan and Mordred's party a while to reach the holding pens outside Hag Graef. He did not understand what he saw there at first and when an inkling reached his brain despair nearly overwhelmed Mordred's blessing. Before he could voice anything, the hand was back, as was the warmth and love that burned all doubts away.

Dark Tower, Naggarond, Naggaroth

Malus Darkblade's missive had taken quite the trip. The first part of the journey had been on board a train filled with the mangled refuse of an army under siege for far too long. Those on board had a decent chance of healing of mind and body, so they could serve the Witch King in some way. The others had been disposed of long before they could be a drain on the Druchii's resources. Then the courier had boarded a supply ship, making a fast trip hugging the coast and fearing the approach of a DawiZharr ship. Finally, a fast horse had brought the courier to the Witch King's court. Malus Darkblade's personal seal fast-tracked it to Malekith's daily reading. Most of the functionaries who handled the report would not dare to delay news from Malekith's chosen general. Others hoped he would finally supply enough rope to hang him with.

It was in a row of reports that told of lines barely held, lines of communications cut or endangered, and cities under threat. None of these brought any visible reaction but for a fast scribbling of questions and orders. The Witch King's scribes were adept in translating them into something readable which would bear Malekith's ' report drew Naggaroth ruler's ire at first as Darkblade dabbled in things which were not his concern. Torsten Breitkopf and Neustadt answered to the Witch King alone, too much power, and Naggaroth's potential salvation was involved. Then he started to realize what the report really said, about slaves that were fed meat, about others working less than 12 hours a day with a day off. Even more incredible the report stated that Neustadt's precious resources were wasted nursing slaves who had outlived any usefulness. When he read about teaching children subjects they had no possible need to know witch fire could be seen coming from the Dark Tower's highest levels.

Kouran Darkhand did not cringe when the Witch King's summons reached him. He was the rarest of Druchii, loyal to Malekith to a fault and without the slightest shred of deceit. He had managed to rise to lead the Black Guards completely by his combat abilities and his ruthlessness. He had removed the halberd in his hands from the lifeless hands of his predecessor, while the rifle on his back was less than a year old. He came to attention before Malekith's desk and the very fact that he was permitted to do so, standing and with his arms spoke volumes about the trust Malekith placed in the Black Legion's captain.

"What is my liege's will?"
"I have received news from Malus Darkblade about Neustadt, news I can hardly believe. The report speaks of waste beyond reason, of slaves pampered and the useless nursed. This must be investigated to the fullest."
"The human Dread Lord is weak, all humans are."
"So, you hope Kouran and most are. I need you to take the Black Guard to Neustadt without delay. Check on this report, leave no stone unturned until you get to the meat of the matter. If you find nothing, I might well dispatch you north. But if you find this to be the truth you must stamp this out. Do not, under any circumstances, kill any of the Germans. You will protect their lives at all costs, they are too valuable to lose. Make sure production continues, whatever happens, we need every bullet and every gun."
"Your will be done my liege."
"More than ever Darkhand, this is crucial."

Half an hour after Malekith had given his orders the Black Guards' quarters were a beehive of activity with slaves running here, there, and everywhere. Horses had to be saddled, wagons to be packed, and provisions to be requested. This would take a while and the journey to Neustadt during winter was not to be underestimated. Most of the screaming was done by the Druchii, most of the labor was performed by the slaves. The slaves who nobody really saw, who were totally ignored when marching orders were discussed and rumors exchanged. One of the slaves managed to slip past her masters and made her way to one of the deepest cellars. She settled into a cross-legged posture on the dirty ground and cried. She took a while before her breathing went back to normal and her spine straightened. She pulled a small bag from under her garments and extracted a tiny amulet. She looked at it for long minutes before she cut her finger and drenched it in her blood. While she mouthed the words of power she had learned from her predecessor her eyes turned up till they showed only white. She kept like this for long minutes before she started to speak into the empty air for far less than that.
When she recovered from the ordeal she prayed the few words she had learned from her people before pulling the spoon from her shirt. It was her only real possession, the only thing that was indisputably hers. She had sharpened the handle during the last weeks whenever she was unobserved. It was still not sharp enough to open her arteries without much pain, but the cut was jagged enough to bleed profusely with every weakening heartbeat. She died less than ten minutes later, having escaped what the Druchii could do to her.

Neustadt, Naggaroth

Torsten Breitkop looked at the papers before him, but his brain did not parse what was on them. His brain was about to shut down from sheer exhaustion when the door to his office was thrown open and Anja stormed inside. Looking at his wife with incomprehension he was wide awake when she reached his desk.

"It is happening Torsten , they are on their way. My love, what can we do now?"