Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer, Vermintide, or the RWBY series owned by Games Workshop, Fatshark, and Rooster Teeth, respectively.
Olesya could not sleep; it had been putting out one fire after the other these past few months. The Skittergate destroyed, and the Weave repaired after sending the five into those misbegotten realms formed from the winds broken free of their worldly tether, or as whole as it ever will be.
Ribsplitter, Burblespuke, Ratsnik, and many other lords now lay dead. Still, for every Ratman, Rotblood, and Beastman scheme she found, every Skaven or Rotblood Lord killed, numerous others always seemed to be coming out of the woodwork. She set Saltzprye and the others of the Ubersrike Five after them like attack dogs, and they have yet to fail. She was used to such things as her duty to the world, but there was only so much they could do, so many schemes she and Lohner could bring to light. She had to face the facts. The world was ending. She could feel it through the grey wind just as she could tell Sienna did as well through the bright.
It didn't have to be the end for them, though. The Bridge of Shadows was more than it appeared, more than even the elves knew, for they only had appropriated something beyond their understanding, what was still beyond her. There were connections elsewhere, beyond this world; she could feel it. She'd need to get Lohner on board first, then get the Five drunk enough to listen.
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Later
"So you're telling me there is nothing we can do to stop the BLOODY WORLD FROM ENDING? There's got to be something we can do! We're the Fucking Ubersrike Five, for peat's sake. We've chopped Northlanders and Skaven from here to Norsica, for crying out loud, killing multiple Chaos lords between us five." Markus Kruber said in outrage, looking between Lohner, Sienna, and Olysya before him.
"The world is dying, Kruber. There is nothing we can bloody do, but we can still save people. Start a new life, free from Chaos and Skaven. We can bring the good things, like cheese, brandy, and a dwarven laggard. Bardens practically jumped at the chance, and Olysia sent him home to fetch what kin would listen. We won't get a lot, but enough to get some good ale," Said Sienna in an attempt at humor.
"There is more to life than drink, Sienna. Also, it's not that simple, and you know it. Packing up your life to get out of the way of war is one thing, but a whole different world?" Kruber spoke, leaving the room in silence.
"Markus, these people will need soldiers to protect them from a new world of horrors. The old world is doomed, but we can save what little we can and start anew. Think not of yourself in this; the cowardly thing would be to go out and get yourself killed for your own sake. Karl Franz is dead, Aldorf burns, and everyone important is running around like chickens with their heads cut off. This isn't about the Empire or us. It's about having our race to see another day, make that races with Bardin bringing most of Karak Norn along, as well as any of his people that listened," Spoke Lohner.
After several long, awkward, and tense minutes of silence, Kruber sighed. "Alright," there was another pause. "Never liked this bloody world anyway; now for the real question. Who's going to tell Saltzspyre?" Sienna went as white-faced as one could be for a bright wizard, their face likening to blood-stained chalk. "Well, it can't bloody well be me; sometimes he's still wanting to put me on trial even after all we've been through," said Sienna as the other three looked at Kruber.
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"UNACCEPTABLE!" candles, glass vials, tankards, and the table went flying across the room as the Warrior Priest of Sigmar positively exploded in incandescent rage. "I can understand the dwarf with his people, the cowardly witch, and the elf, but you, Kruber?! We should be over there fighting in the final battle, not fleeing! What are you thinking!" the former witch hunter asked with all the zeal of those of his former and now current order combined.
"Now I know it sounds bad, sir," the Footknight attempted to get a word in. "BAD? You swore an oath to the Empire and its people, and" the Knight cut off the Warrior Priest as he interjected,
"And I'm FULFILLING that duty by evacuating them somewhere safe. Think about it like clearing everyone out before a siege. Sigmar's going to be there at the final battle, right? We don't want his mind on all these civilians. Better get them out of the way so he can focus on the battle, and we can come back after his inevitable victory, right? It's your duty to Sigmar to shepherd his people, after all. Every civi taken out of harm's way is one less sacrifice, one less pox walker, spawn, or any number of things a loyal citizen of the Empire can be corrupted into against their will. We'd do better getting them out of here than being there." Ended Kruber.
"Your words are sound Kruber, but what of your motivations? I go to seek guidance from Sigmar. You may continue your work until I receive an answer from Prayer."
It was not long before Victor Saltzpyre received a firm and direct answer from his god. Sigmar willed it, and so he obeyed. Saltzpyre and Lohner's men vetted the refugees, while the other four of the Ubersriek five surveyed the worlds connected to the Bridge of Shadows.
Some of these new worlds were of volcanic rock; others were complete voids with only the Bridge of Shadows and its protective bubble in place, and some were absolutely teaming with life but had air chocked with pollen and fungal spores. None of these worlds so far were fit for Dwarven and Elven habitation, let alone human.
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Three days later
The Bridge gate, its purple, protective sheen, gleamed in the night. Kirillian, as usual, was the first to step out of the portal and took a short, then a long breath. "You can come out, Mayflies. The air is clean." Carefully, the others stepped out. With his steam crank gun at the ready, Bardin looked about before going down on one knee to inspect the stone.
"Stone seems normal enough, though there is a mineral I don't recognize within it. It's got a power of a sort, but I don't feel any foulness from it." Bardin finished, then Kirillian spoke,
"Not a whiff of the taint of Chaos about the place, though this Weave be strange. Untainted, less wildly. What say, you wizard." asked Kirrillian.
"The bright wind feels more. . . refined, untainted but distant, Aqshy is. It is hard to explain; just let me show you." Sienna explained as she formed a fireball in her hand, then threw it and stopped it before it hit the ground; then she cast another, then another, another, ten fireballs now lay floating in the air, each cast within succession.
The others swiftly back away from Sienna as she continues casting, stopping at fifteen, where she looks like she is now starting to look tired. Not straining for control or of the inhuman sensibilities that corrode the psyche of human wizards but winded from overuse. The others look astonished at the wizard, some fear at the back of all their minds falling away. Most of them liked the rambunctious, bright wizard, but all feared that her falling to her firelust was inevitable at some point. Some of that fear was gone as she demonstrated a control that was impossible in the old world for a human wizard of her age.
"Well, I think we have a winner here; let's look at the place and see if it's habitable as it first appears. We don't want a repeat of the Mangrove Snatcher plain, do we?" Kruber laughed while the other three groaned. "I thought we'd agreed not to talk about that place, Umgi," Barden said as he hobbled up the steep cave exit with the other three. "Only Cousin Okri could survive in that pit of a place. I've seen Skaven slave pits more habitable."
An hour passes as the Four comrades search the land around the cave. The land is somewhat close to a sea and has been found on three sides of the forested hills, with green underbrush of grass, vines, herbs, and other foliage. It is not long before something more sinister is discovered.
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Kirrillian stares out at the pack of black-bodied, skull-masked creatures. To call them wolves would be a travesty and utterly wrong. They felt like holes in the world, almost like daemons, but . . . different like holes in the Weave itself. Kirrillian was about to pull back to warn the others when.
Crack, Crack, Crack Crack
The sounds of gunfire can be heard in the distance. Likely, Krubber's repeater rifle could be heard. The pack of wolf daemons turns their collective heads in sync, sprinting off toward the noise and Kirrillian curses. "Damn, Lumberfoots." Kirrillian knocks her bow and fires as they turn tail; as the first arrow hits, the "wolf" breaks up into dust, the other of its kin suddenly stopping to look as three others suddenly turn to dust as well. The Bayowolves turn and suddenly break off from each other. Kirrillian chuckles as she picks them off one by one with her bow before turning and taking out her pair of knives. The daemon thought it could sneak up on her fat chance of that. Stabbing the elvish steel into what would be its neck and yanking it to the side, the wolf daemon falls dead. "almost too easy," Kirrillian says as she runs off to the sound of the gunfire. As she gets closer, something smells off. The normal bletcherous smoke of the black powder weapons was not present but instead replaced by something that smelled vaguely of the aftermath of one of Sienna's fireballs hitting sturdy metal. The elf stopped her advance and stalked into the clearing, going down into the base of the trees and out of the canopy, where she saw a mayfly in what appeared to be possible clothes for human make.
Fighting with what appears to be a scythe against a number of those voids in the Weave in the shape of boars. She watches in amusement and confusion at what appears to be a farmer fighting for his life against these void daemons, which is what she decided to call the creatures until a consensus on what to call them was reached.
She resigns herself to "helping" the poor worker of the fields to capture him for questioning. She'd rather not deal with the peasant, to be sure, but she supposes these are the sacrifices she must make for the sake of her people. Sending three blue arrows from her bow with a word of power into the daemons facing the farmer, she sprinted to the man. Three wisps of magic race through seven of the boar daemons, each with their accompanying black-masked wolves and even an ape-like creature, as Kirillian yells in an Etherial tone, "Safernus." All the daemons now lay dead, dispersing into black smoke. The "farmer" looks about confused before facing Kirrillian, guard up a tense silence reigns for but a moment before the man speaks.
"What's cooking good looking? I like the strong, silent vibe you have going on. Goes well with the pitch black eyes, names Qrow, Qrow Branwen. What's yours, and do you care to explain what that blue-white was just now? That your Semblance? Magic?" The farmer said the last in a joking manner as if in jest.
Kirillian was baffled, to say the least. Not only was this man speaking Riekshpeal in what was supposed to be another world, but also his manner of speech was a travesty even against the crude language of the humans. On top of this Mayfly no, this gutter trash had the audacity to flirt with her. She would hand this reprobate to Saltzpyre, for his way was much cruder, crueler, and drawn out than outright killing him. A punishment to match his crime, for she did not wish to sully her hands with the farmer any more than she had to. All these things were going through her head when Kruber, Bardin, and Sienna popped out of the woods.
Damn, mayflies, she was so focused on repaying the child's crass comments that she wasn't paying attention to footsteps. "What's this now? An Umagi here? I thought this was supposed to be a whole different world. What gives? You wouldn't happen to be one of Lohner's men now, would you? No, Kruber wouldn't let one of his trainees be caught dead with a weapon like that," Bardin chipped in as they caught up to Kirrillian.
"You got a problem with my scythe, shorty?" asked the farmer
"SHORT! BY MY FATHER" S BEARD, I'LL." Bardin screamed before getting cut off
"Not now, Gorrekson. We have a prisoner to interrogate." Kirrillian said as she suddenly set upon the "farmer" with her two knives. She was fast, and the "farmer" could keep up with the elf. Surprisingly enough, the fight was going okay for him, with him having some barrier about him, keeping him from harm and giving him strength and speed surpassing that of a baseline lumberfoot, "Stop playing with him, Wetelgi. Finish the Wozzack up," said Bardin before two cracks rang out and something shattered over the man as Krubber fired off his repeating rifle, one barrel cycling over to the next the bullets came in too fast for the man to dodge; the ruins on the barrel alight as some unknown effect was shrugged off, the "farmer" doubled over. Surprisingly unharmed.
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Qrow was somewhat terrified. He didn't know what Ospin was thinking, sending him to this damned rock in what amounted to Salem's home turf, but apparently, Ospin was able to sense something of an unknown magical artifact going off, and it fell on him to investigate. He didn't know the old headmaster still had enough magical ability to sense this type of thing, but he didn't question it. Much. There was still so much that old fart was hiding from him, and quite frankly, it was pissing him off with how much he had given up to stay his errand boy, and he still didn't trust him enough to tell him everything, but you can't take chances when it comes to Salem he supposed. Qrow thought to himself as he changed out from crow form and took a swig of cheap booze from his flask.
He flew over the area brothers knew how many times and hadn't spotted shit, so he was forced to go on foot to get a feel for the area. Soon enough, he was set upon by Grim, probably brought in by his attitude, in all honesty. He started making some quick work of the spawn when he spotted something, no someone. Then there was a flash of blue and a flash of arrows of all things that whipped and zipped through the eyes of all the remaining Grimm. He got a closer look at the woman as they jumped down from her perch and couldn't help but be struck by her appearance, so he dropped a line almost instinctually and wanted to smack himself for his foolishness when the lady with the pointed ears (?!) and pitch black eyes almost immediately set upon him with speed he thought couldn't be anything but aura enhanced.
He set out with his Sythe, eventually putting the strange women within a tempo he was used to before others came from the trees, and he spoke the first thing that came to mind in an attempt to stall but ended up causing the battle to resume with his Semblance "enhanced" charisma, he saw the armored man raise his rifle, Qrow gave himself time to dodge, but the bullets flew out must faster than expected, the shear volocity of the bullets catching him by surprise, as his aura shattering trying to protect him from the impacts and he blacked out.
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"You will only speak when spoken to as it is I who will ask the questions HERETIC." A solid punch hit Qrow, cracking his aura just a bit. Qrow Badwen was having a bad day. Having been kidnapped by what appears to be medieval fantasy cosplayers, he was questioning his sanity.
The man asked about things involving some Empire, Daemons, and other things that made no sense to him. The portal of purple light, the primitive rifle of that man who fired bullets with such a high velocity it was just outright impossible to dodge. Thinking back on that, he might have been able to dodge if he was aware despite the bullet's increased speed, but even then, it would be a close thing, especially at that range. What was that 30 meters? "You will speak or die, heretic!" The extremely large man in plate armor caught his thoughts short by another punch to his now sore and bruised gut. This now being the twelfth or so punch, Qrow's aura was now broken, shattering like glass. This guy, whoever he was, was strong, even without an aura.
The man in plate armor looks quizzically at the shattering aura for a moment. "What matter of sorcery is this? The elf did not tell me you were a witch 'farmer." The man in plate opens the door to the cell where Qrow gags at the site. There, he saw a dead thing. (a Faunus?) It looked like a bipedal rat, complete with face, tail, and even fur, strapped to a stone slab. The man in plate unrestrained the rat-faunas thing, tossing its limp, bloated corpse to the side as he moved Qrow towards it. At the side of the slab was a box containing strange implements more at home in a high school biology lab. Then it suddenly hit him, the dank smell of blood, the gothic architecture. This man wasn't just some insane cosplayer. He was a serial killer and would die the same way that rat faunas did if he didn't do something fast. Qrow was about to shift into a bird when a tunk, clink, tunk, clink noise was heard, footsteps. Another one of this madman's friends? How many even were there?
"I think that is enough, Saltzpyre," An old, raspy but firm voice sings out like music to his ears. An old woman on a peg leg of all things, complete with an eye patch and cane, comes walking down the stairs into the dungeon.
"The elf put this man into my care, woman. Don't you have another expedition to be planning?" said Saltzpyre. "I supposed, but that can wait as I feel my methods would allow us to be more. . . Punctual," Finished Olesya. "You have a flock to attend to, and I feel your time would be better suited there. It has been a while since you have applied your more." Olesya paused, looking at the dead rat-man. "Gracious talents."
The man in plate, now identified as Saltzpyre, took a bit more convincing from the one-legged woman, but he eventually left. "Now, young man, my name is Olesya Pimovea. What is yours?" said the hunched woman.
"My name is Qrow, Qrow Branwen. I work as a professor at Signal Academy. Now, if you could tell me what this all about, what are a bunch of cosplayers doing in the woods, fighting grim, kidnapping, then torturing people for!" Crow said, framing it more like an accusation than a question.
Olesya cocked her head to the side in consternation. "What is a cosplayer? No, never mind. That's on the topic. What is this device." Olesya plops something vaguely brick-shaped onto the hay of the cell. In the light of the candles, he barely makes it out.
"That's my scroll. Be careful with that."
"A scroll? It does not appear to be paper, and whatever cipher you have placed on it has averted my eyes from its contents. Tell me, what does this 'scroll' do?" She questioned. Qrow had a long, long night cut out for him and not the good kind.
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Kazalid, a brief introduction
Khazalid (Dwarf Speech)
Umgi-Human (meaning "dirt people")
Umgak: Shoddy
Wetelgi: Wood Elf
Elgi: Elf
Dawi: Dwarf
Dawri: Dwarf Friend, as close to a dwarf as a nondwarf can be.
UmgDawi: Dwarves who live amongst humans
Valaya: Dwarven Ancestor god of the family, home, among other things (Bardin's Patron God)
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"The House of Volkstien is one of honor and duty, tracing its history to the Empire's founding! I will not have you call my family integrity into question!" the Imperial Noble said.
"None are above judgment, and all must be found clean before leaving through the gate, sir. Sigmar presides over us all and it will be by his blessing that no corruption shall fester in the new world. Blessed be his name," said the former witch hunter.
"Blessed be his name," said the other witch hunters.
Many had come to the keep, few of whom were witch hunters, but some came, and the workload became somewhat lighter for everyone that appeared. However, their numbers were still too few for so many, with many more refugees arriving daily. He and his former brethren would find themselves preoccupied for a long time to come, and there would be no rest for the righteous till there were heretics to burn.
A witch hunter stepped forward and tore the tunic from the noble's son, who was restrained against the wall with manacles, revealing a cursed mark of Slaanesh upon his bosom.
"Guards send this one to the pyre," the Witchhunter said.
"Your son's corruption was evident to me when he came to this keep, sir; Sigmar, preserve us. I will not have another world ruined by the taint of Chaos. One world in its clutches is enough. Do not make a fuss about it lest you be found guilty of collaboration," said Saltzpyre.
Two of Lohner's men began carrying the noble heir off; his corruption laid before all to see who stayed in line. Suddenly, from his back, a claw similar to that of a crab attached to his back came out, slashing at the guard. However, his partner was ready for such a thing, bringing out a pistol and executing the mutant with the loud crash of gunpowder followed by the smoke. Now dead, the guard unshackles the mutant, tossing him out the window onto a pile of bodies; there, a work detail of men moved the tainted corpses onto a massive funeral pyre somewhat away from the keep by cart. The plume of smoke could be seen from miles around.
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Kirillian was thankful they now spent most of their time outside the keep. Tahl's Horn was not meant to house so many, with many now camping outside in the open. With so many, they became an ever bigger target for Skaven scouts and Beastmen herders. If the pillars of smoke from Saltzpyre's cleansing of the populace did not give such things away already, she found herself, as did many of the other four of the Ubersriek five, busy if not with preempting small warherds of beastmen finding their way to the keep, then with the clearing of the new world's various pockets of "Grimm" as she found them to be called by that world's natives, there is also the matter of the refugee hoards needing to be escorted through the Bridge of Shadows. Olesya lit up the entire sky using the Bridge of Shadows in such a way, getting so many through and attracting all manner of things, but no. We have to bring every mayfly caravan we can. Not like there aren't enough of the Lumberfoots on the other side, regardless.
Though if she were honest with herself, she'd much preferred the simple, smelly, crude commoners and the bratty and almost equally smelly nobles to the ill-spoken wretch that was the farmer Qrow who dared to call himself a Huntsman, what hunter in their right mind would use a farming implement for hunting beasts by Lilieath she would never know. For all the danger the Grimm posed to the world of Remnant, it was a damn sight better than the old world; she'd almost border on calling them civilized if it weren't for the fact that their people were more bratty than an inbred noble on weird root if Qrow were anything to go by.
Kirillian was brought out of her thoughts as an arrow embedded itself into one of Lohner's men's throats, the now-dead man crumpling to the floor. The arrow's crude workmanship gave away its origin. "Beastmen, best get your wits about you, Lumberfoots." She then set about her work as the warherd got closer, knocking one arrow after another into the incoming herd of skin changers, mutants, gores, and bestigores. They fell before her onslaught like grapes on the vine, as they should. After running out of arrows, she began in earnest as she hacked, slashed, and stabbed her way through the herd in a dozen minutes with the help of Lohner's men and what passed for the caravan's militia. The trash was soon dealt with as Kirrilian heard a raw, ear piercing roar. It was a Minotaur closer to the tail of the caravan. Krubber seems to have found himself on the receiving end of its Ire as the foot knight with one of his longswords danced around the beast, dodging the hulking beast's blows as he used the beast's size against it.
A fireball came flaring by as it exploded on the Minotaur's chest, also hitting Kruber in the process. "Sienna, stop it! Your scorching my undeserved ass!" said the Knight.
"Oh, stop being such a baby, Markus." The bright wizard said as she launched a series of fire bolts at the creature, pot marking the Minotaur with a series of burns. Kirillian continued her work cleaning up the filth that was the various goat and cow-headed creatures.
"The caravan seems to have run its course through the portal. Can we go now, Lumberfoots?" said the elf as she caught up with Markus and Sienna. The Minotaur was now lying dead, giving up its corrupted soul to the vile gods it served in life.
"We got one cart still going; it's carrying the food. Can't have a riot on our hands back at the keep, can we?" The elf groans. Food was a problem enough as is. You can't be having the lumberfoots trying to storm the keep to leave preemptively due to misplaced anger and desperation. Bardin's little project wasn't ready yet for so many.
Killian sighed. She'd been escorting mayfly caravaneers for the past few weeks. What's one more cart? The three moved to guard the four-wheeled cart, its bed covered by a tarp, the smell of stale grain giving away its contents long before she reached it; it was already beset by arrows when they got there.
Sienna was the first to be set on by them, one of the arrows finding a place in her leather jerkin in the stomach; the wizard only snarled with the pain, having experienced many such wounds before, many more have been much more fatal, sending one fireball after another in retort before the archers gave up any pretense of lateral thinking before rushing towards them and the cart. They did not make it far. Between the elf archer, the foot knight with his multibarreled repeater rifle, and the bright wizard throwing fireballs, few made it to the cart to engage the party in melee. Finally, the portal neared Lohner's men guarding it while it remained in its state of openness. Anything or anyone could go through right now, so they had to be much more careful guarding it than usual. Cracks began showing in the ancient monolith as the strain of carrying so many at once took its toll.
"I'd say that was one of our better escapes, eh, darlings?" joked Sienna as the cart, the four, and Lohner's men withdrew into the portal.
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"I'm afraid no more portals can be opened within this world if we want to make the jump. The bridge has become overstressed, having so many come through at once." Olesya said.
"So that's it then. We have what fifty-odd thousand Umgi's, around thirty thousand Dawi, and around a thousand or two of Elgi?" asked Bardin.
"We've had a hard time gathering exact numbers, but yeh. More elves have been showing up uninvited recently, though. Don't know how they got word of what's going on, though." said Lohner, the former innkeeper, raising a brow at Kirrillian, her haggardness somehow making itself known on her elvish features.
"Don't look at me, mayfly; they've come of their own volition, and they are not 'My people' just as much as you aren't kin with Bretonians," said Kirrillian.
"We aren't bringing any of their kind along, are we?" asked Saltzpyre almost drunkenly as he had had such little sleep.
"No, it would have stressed the gate more than for the number of people we would need," said Sienna.
"That's just an excuse not to portal there, and you know it," said Olesya, huffing a bit. "So childish, though some may have snuck in with the regular caravans, who knows who else go in."
"BRETONIANS OUTSIDE MY KEEP," started Saltzpyre as the rest of the table began shouting beside Bardin, who lay sleeping on a tankard of ale.
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Eight weeks prior
"Getting my kin here was the easy part." Bardin Gorekson thought of the various clans, some Umgdawi, and various other craftsmen of note. Right now, the conversation went from getting the city in a livable condition for a Dawi and what to do about living amongst humans to planting barely and when Hops production can get underway. He loved his casks as much as any Dawi and agreed ale was substantial. Still, the city needed to be able to house a minimum of fifteen thousand to begin as the city expanded to fit the full number of refugees if Lohner's projections were correct. Any city fit to be the new home to all dwarves on this misbegotten pile of Umgak would be built up to a Dawi's standard with cobbled roads, a sewer, and proper running water through its wells. The new Karak would not be home to any workmanship considered Umgak, and that was that. "Now, how do we get them to start working? He had several . . . No, I," Bardin thought of the Dawi ale casks numbering fifteen he kept stashed away he and the other of the Ubersriek five pillaged during their little drinking binge in Helmgart. He shed a single small tear. "Please, Valaya, grant me clemency for what I am about to do."
So it was that Bardin issued a contest for the city's completion, with his prized ale casks as its reward. There are very few things to motivate a dwarf beyond coin (which was distinctly lacking amongst most of the refugees). Still, the drink was one of them, and Bardin offered up a good quality Bugman's vintage reserved for the former dwarven inn's owner. Based on where it was looted back in Helmgart.
The competition was fierce in the coming weeks, and with fifteen entire casks of vintage Bugman's on the line, the Dawi craftsmen and gatherers went into overdrive. Gold fell like leaves from those fortunate enough to bring it, and whole sections of the island (later discovered as a peninsula) were quarried and later filled as aquifers for irrigating the land. Canals were built as entire families of Dawi carved and bricked channels for the precious casks. Water would be essential for the movement of freight throughout the city, as it is much cleaner than carts. For those fortunate few families that were fortunate enough to carry similar barrels with them, it became more about pride as winning the competition would prove a great boon to the clan's reputation and finances in the city's future as any tenants who lived there would have to pay off the building's costs eventually. Any grim who dared stand in the Dawi's way, be it deathstalkers, Ursa, or Bayowolve, all fell before their axes, picks, hammers, Thruds, and even tools of their trade. Nothing would stand between a Dawi and an end to Sobriety, especially at the hands of the legendary drink. The promised future of coin also helped.
Soon enough, a city of seventy thousand was built. It is still expanding and is behind schedule, with thousands more homes needing to be built.
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Lohner looked over the group of fellow humans before him. It was mainly comprised of laborers and their families. Many were farmers. Some were logisticians, and even a few merchants were mixed in. It was around the second score group going to the new world. The witch hunters gave it a secondary sweep to make sure. One family became singled out eventually, a child being dragged out kicking and screaming. His clothes became torn in the struggle, revealing claws and a furred chest. Lohner shook his head, looking away from the skin changer and its sires. He couldn't bear to watch. There were few things worse than a family misguidedly protecting their mutant progeny.
Lohner looked at the sky at Manslieb. It'll all be over soon.
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Kruber stood at the Palisade outside of Tahl's Horn Keep. Many were there with him, militia, men at arms in various colors, their lords having either fled here or slain, horsemen in the forms of outriders, even a few slayers seeking to meet their doom so that their kin may live happily elsewhere, some of them consider it a more noble doom than a hopeless last stand against the dark that would be the final battle. A one-eyed slayer and his blond companion among them, he'd read some of "My Travels with Gotrek" before, but he thought it was fiction. Looking back to the battle line, he saw a hodgepodge of troops; civies scared shitless, fools, and madmen. He helped train a few groups of militia, and what good would it do against the coming hoards? He managed to get his first night of sleep in days last night. He looked up at the moons in the sky. Though it was day, it seemed they had decided to grace their presence on him one last time. The white glow of Mannslib and the green of Morslieb grew ever closer together. The last war between Order and Chaos seems to have reached even the heavens itself. Did they seem to be getting larger? "Thank Tahl, I won't be here to see it," Kruber said to himself.
Kruber was brought from his thoughts as a cCrackk could be heard throughout the mountain range. He looked behind him, seeing Talh's Horn Keep sending a giant purple ray into the sky. "Welp, there's the single if I ever heard it. Alright, men, fight like it's payday," Kruber shouted, beating his mace against his shield with the armsmen in his column. Horns sounded as advance scouts reported Beastmen on the move toward the keep. Other horn signals sounded two long notes.
"Looks like Chaos has come out to play. They think we deserve to die with the rest of em boys. What do we say to that"
Kruber continued riling up the soldiers as the battle drew nearer. He did his best to keep the men's minds off the battle to come and make them less scared by the time fighting came around, but he knew most of the people around him would die this day, possibly even him if Sigmar didn't smile on him. Cruder warhorns with a much deeper base sound out. One he recognized and heard a thousand times over from Helmgart, Usingun, and Fort Bratsinburg. The tale tail glowing green eyes begin cresting the ridgeline along with the chants and clatter of the black-furred, StormVermin.
The Skaven and Pactsworn have finally found Tahl's Horn Keep.
Author's note: This chapter has been updated to account for various spelling mistakes.
