Marianne followed Grendrick calmly towards the fortress. It seemed the lupine was still eager for more combat. She herself was neutral on the matter. Fighting to her was simply a thing that she had to do. She was not passionate nor hateful towards it. If she had to fight, then she would fight. And she would do it well to the best of her abilities.

Thought she would lie to herself if she didn't find any amusement from the sight of her enemies being swarmed by her bees.

Her walk was soon interrupted by Nove who seemed to be excited about something as he approached her. It turned out he had discovered some magic rings too. But not being educated in the language, he had to ask her what the runes etched on the rings meant and what effects they brought.

"Let's see here..." Marianne took the black ring first, examining it closely under her eyes, "This seems to be a life regeneration ring. It will heal your wounds periodically as long as you wear it, though not by much, I reckoned. So I wouldn't recommend going careless in battle just because you have it on." She then put the ring back and took the other, silver one. "Now, this one seemed to be a ring that increases your toughness, that is, how resistant your body is to blows and what not. Once again, I don't think it increases it by a lot, seeing how I can only sense a faint magical property from it, not strong enough to be anything significant. It's as to be expected, I suppose, seeing how we're just started."

She then returned the ring to him with a smile and said, "You know, it's curious how we both receive artifacts that fit our respective fighting styles. I receive a mana efficienty ring, and you receive a life regeneration ring and a defense ring. If I had gotten, say, a strength ring, I would have no use for it. Well, except for making my swings with this axe better, I suppose." She raised the dwarven axe she had on her right hand, smiling at the image of her swinging the thing around like a barbarian. "It's as if the rifts itself are watching, and making sure that each of us receive useful rewards from our fight."

Finishing her business with Nove, she followed Grendrick and the dwarves into the fortress. And as she had expected, it was the very image of a dwarven fortress she had read in her books. Tough, strong, and full of winding passages only the dwarves could understand. She imagine she would have gotten lost if she tried to walk through the place without a dwarf as a guide. Also, she noticed all the statues made of gold they passed by as they continued on forward. Marianne had known that dwarves really respected their ancestors to the point of worship, but even this was too much for her. She couldn't even begin to imagine the wealth those golden statues could bring if they were to be stolen. Though if the thieves were unwise, they probably would end up crashing the gold market, turning the gold they had stolen worthless. And besides, there were many objects and items out there far more desirable than gold, like extremely rare artifacts only found in the far depths of the Rifts. Someone who possessed them would gain great strength far more valuable than any ordinary wealth.

As they reached the main hall, Marianne readied her insects once more as she saw how the skavens were trying to break the dwarven line as they swarmed the hall. When she saw Fariha firing a volley of her arrows, she decided to send her bees as well. They could disturb the skaven line well enough that the dwarves could begin pushing back the waves of skavens that poured into the room.

"Yes, we did it. Thanks Marianne."

She sank to the ground as her staff crumbled away under her weight. Better it than her, but what was she to do now? All that remained was little better than a charred stick. Her fiance's gift had served her well, though she wished it served for longer.

She drank a mana potion and let the rush of liquid elation run through her for a moment. When it passed she brought her numb arm up to look at it. The gashes were puffy and swollen, a sure sign of infection, and would require care. She brought her fire to hand and let the flame filter into the wounds to lick at the foulness left behind by the skaven that bit her. She gritted her teeth to ignore the sting and retrieved her bandages to make a simple wrap.

Restored and patched up, Ayse turned her mind to the looting everyone else was wrapped up in. She did gather a little gold, which was fine, Grendrick's treatment of the dwarves appalled her. So soon after their loss too... The real prize came when pushed aside a skaven corpse to reveal a spear.

Nothing really made it stand out. Dwarven weapons were almost universally works of art, but as she hefted it and felt its weight in her hands she could also feel its warmth. Something of the fire that forged its metal head and hardened its leather bound shaft remained within. It wanted to be used again by hands more deserving than a rat. It had been a long time since Ayse read runic script. Her fingers easily found the notches though.

"Brandr."

---

Rushed and pushed along, Ayse obeyed when the king shouted his orders. Her spear lashed out, to skewer a ratkin pressed against the wall of bodies. It truly was a well made spear, but Ayse had other plans for it. Raising it aloft, she let the fire flow out from it to caress the defenders, devouring the filth from them.

It might have been the battle, but Ayse swore she could hear her spear laughing, goading her for more. The flames expanded now the scourge the skaven beyond. This, she felt it laugh, is how a dwarf makes a fire.

The greenskin easily manage to keep pace with Grendrick as they decent deeper into the dwavern hold. For Gormarr was impressed by what he saw in the mountain fortress. The orc had never seen such advance form of stone carving in his life. He took careful note of the statues and tapestries as he passed studying them. As the group decedent deeper into the fortress Gorrmar couldn't help feeling a sense of being cramp as the party arrived at the throne room. The sounds of battle greeted them as they enter the room. The orc didn't need much encouragement by the dwarf king to throw himself into thick of combat swing his ax into the crowed of skaven attempting to kill as many as possible.

Grendrick entered the Dwarven Throne-room and was taken by a beautiful sight. It was truly a serious of magnificent allure. The Golden statues, the tapestries, the marvels of Dwarven craftsmenship. They were all dull. They were nothing to Grendrick as he marveled at the real beauty present in the massive room. It was the combat, the Dwaren King and his men's shield wall, the blood lining the floor in scattered pools and the felled bodies that danced like artwork across a canvas. It was a sight to behold for someone who enjoyed the beauty of combat and an aspiration of seeking the Apex status such as Grendrick.

He was instantly in the fray and he wasted no time asserting any sort of commands or issues at this time. He was eager to jump back into another fight so soon, which meant he was ignoring his own injuries even as they bled actively the whole time. A few ribs on his right side were still draining blood as they punched through to the exterior of his body, and his left still had a rib on the edge of breaching his left lung. He wasn't in the best condition if someone were to observe him closely, by their standards, however Grendrick was fine and normal in his own mind. He had suffered minimal damage if any at all by his own standards because all it was, were a few broken bones, bruises, and measly scratches. He felt more annoyed by these injuries than anything as he felt no real pain from them.

Nove had passed by Grendrick, but only for a split second as the Lupine had halted himself to give Ayse a passing few words, before Grendrick would quickly overrun the boy Nove once again.

"Flames from floor to ceiling, Lil'Lady. It is time we showed them some real power!" Grendrick hounded to Ayse in an invigorating tone to help ensure her that he was with her in his next action. He was dedicated to his action as well, even without words to the others of what his plan was entirely, he knew he could yet again making a breaking point for his allies and show them just how powerful his mind could be when used properly. That was when he charged past Nove and Gormarr, and the entire party, to enact his beautiful artwork.

Grendrick was a fleeting thought to most who saw him, something of a problem or something that no one really cared about unless he gave them a reason to dislike him. It wasn't easy for many to see him as anything outside of a beast when it came to the City. However on the battlefield he was more than just a beast. He was THE Beast. It was at this moment that Grendrick's sprint was dealt to put Grendrick at the frontlines before the whole of his team. Here he actually sprinted head-on into Ayse's flames and he let himself be consumed by them wholly before he continued his artwork with a breath-taking stroke of his brush. He gathered his strength and darted up onto the backs of the dwarves holding their shield wall, and he used them as pedestals as he leaped high into the air. He was a soaring Lupine, blazing with flames, roaring into the throneroom and the breach with his call to fury and battle. He descended once he reached the peak of his leap and he came down swiftly through the air as he finally impacted the ground. He landed atop three Skaven and not only killed with the impact force, but the flames devoured them as he slammed and crushed their skulls into the floor. He immediately began swiping, raking his claws across the throats and bodies of nearby Skaven. He was was a war-machine and he was ablaze with the hunger for blood and was literally ablaze. Each swipe would allow either Grendrick's claws to reap a kill, or would allow him to at least touch a foe and bath them in a wreath of searing flames. He was unstable at this point, once more in the focus of his job as a killer and a beast on the battlefield. His enemy the Skaven, the Dwarves a neutral party to be left alive, and his allies were his team. Those who didn't discern a trust for yet, but were those who it would be wrong to kill as of this moment.

This was his way, his own style, to throw himself into battle head-first and challenge each foe that he faced as he was meant too. He was the Apex Predator.

THESURI / ARGRIMS SIEGE

@Rekaigan@Hammerman@ManoftheNorth@eemmtt@Renny@berd

Skaven dropped to the storm of axes, hammers, sword and shield, even the werewolfs claws found targets plentiful amidst the throng of the filthy rat creatures swarming from the breach stretching out wide enough for over a dozen dwarves to stand shoulder to shoulder. As it stood, the Skaven cared little for the swarming bees nor the fire that consumed their brethren hungrily. A squad of Skaven filing up from the rear dropped their crude weapons to take out stolen crossbows, dwarven weapons of intricate design and deadly power, and let loose a flurry of quarrels towards Ayse, Fariha, and Marianne as they stood in the back of the room. The Dwarves' shield wall was too low to offer any protection as the skaven made use of their own meat wall.

In the frontline, a dwarf possessed with the spirit of a demon it would seem, swung his hammer with purpose and force to cleave the rat abominations out of his path by any means he felt was needed. Teeth and fur flew in clumps around the red eyed fury of the Dwarf king. yet even amidst the chaos of holding back the vermins seemingly endless numbers, he rang out his commands clear.

"Shield wall, form up and advance! Pikes through the holes and push these rats away. SLINGER TEAM, KILL THOSE RAKI IN THE BACK! THEY WILL NOT DISHONOR OUR CRAFTSMANS LEGACY WITH THEIR FILTHY PAWS!"

His commanding presence in the thickest patch of the Skaven inspired his people to fight with every ounce of their stocky frames behind every swing. As a singular unit the Dwarves began pushing back the scourge, with the aid of the adventurers amidst the chaos of the invading rat force they had even begun to take back ground.
A single Rat with a trick in its claws changed that.
Leaping on the backs of its vile cousins the runner clutched a talisman in its filthy paws and leaped into and behind the wall of stalwart defenders only to meet the waiting pikes. Its scream was drowned out as the paper in its hand detonated, a ball of flame erupting in the center of the Dwarven line. The devastation was complete as the shield wall collapsed amidst the smoldering remains of skaven and Dwarf alike.

The rats wasted no time flooding the opening to break the shield wall.

King Cragshield bellowed to close up the ring, his boys in the back tried to prevent the breach from getting worse by the shock had been to perfect. With the shield wall falling apart as Skaven crawled over their kin and defenders, all semblance of order was lost as pockets of fighting began to sprout.. and still more rats were marching from the tunnels.

"OPEN THE LINE! WEDGE THROUGH! GET ME TO THE TUNNEL ENTRANCE, BOYS!" Though the king had called for his loyal guards to aid his plan, he looked to the Werewolf and his companions. All they needed to do was stop the tide for a few moments. The crossbowmen fired into the entrance of the tunnels in an attempt to slow down the ratkin as their king boldly began advancing through the stubborn and persistent enemy.

Amidst the din of battle, the sound of stone cracking had begun.

(Go nuts! Kill Rats, slaughter them! Show me what you can do!)

Sylvia kneeled on the cobblestones, trying to catch her breath. She couldn’t wound it, not enough to kill it at least. She felt its thick muscle and bone deflect her dagger like it was steel plate. She watched the ogre fall, its massive bulk crashing down from from its extensive wounds.

I really need a better knife. I don’t want to buy one from the city though, those smiths never sharpen them enough…

Among the piles of dead Skaven and Dwarves, she saw an irregularly shiny glint within. She reached in, and felt something metal. A ring. She held it in front of her face, a bronze-shaded circle which she slipped onto her index finger.

Suddenly, she felt more… fleet. Her heartbeat quickened, her eyes darted here and there, her hands twitched. Whatever the ring was, it seemed to slightly speed up her movements. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but it would help.

Also, among the corpse heap, she managed to scavenge a few gold coins. They would definitely fetch her something back home, maybe another dagger. She saw that the others were making their way into the Dwarven fortress, and she followed them in.

Her lust for blood was still going strong, despite her near-death experience with the rat ogre. If Grendrick hadn’t intervened, she would have been killed. Painfully. She made a mental note to thank him later, after they got out of the rift. If they got out of the rift. Even with Siph, a veteran adventurer, Sylvia knew the worst could happen to the best. In her experience, it usually did.

The interior of the Dwarven fort was quite beautiful. Shades of metal she never even knew existed shone before her eyes, and seemingly master-crafted statues and architecture made the whole place have sort of an uncomfortable feel to it, like she was a guest inside a rich man’s house. Everything inside seemed to be out of her reach, out of her understanding.

Now, however, she heard the sounds of battle: Screams, metal clashing upon metal, and since the Dwarves were here, loud crunches that could only be made by their warhammers. The Dwarf king, who was presumably the one clad in golden armor, rushed out in front of his men, caving in Skaven skulls as he went.

Sylvia checked her armor. The rings were broken in places, leaving wide exposed gaps where a stray blade could get through. She was faced with a choice: The chainmail was heavy, especially for someone of her size. If she ditched it, she could move much more freely, dodge attacks and whatnot. However, if she got hit by the Skaven, it would most likely be a mortal wound, if not a fatal blow. If she kept the armor, she could take another hit, but after that the armor would just be dead weight.

I swear, I am going to kill the man who made that chainmail shirt. If I didn't kill him already...

She sighed, and removed the chainmail, dropping it to the ground next to her. She could still feel the aching bruises from when that Skaven stabbed her earlier. She breathed short, quick breaths, trying to will the pain away. She drew her knife, blood from earlier Skaven crusting on the blade.

Come on, you vermin. I’ll draw your blood tenfold before you draw mine.

@zelosse @TheDarkTemplar

Things were never quite as they were on paper it seems. Ailsa did expect an enemy to face and defeat, but a goblin was what she was prepared for. An orc was definitely a much more...interesting challenge to say the least. Still, she made an immediate and necessary visual cue. A spear instead of some sort of rod for magicks. She smiled. A battle of blades...That felt far closer to her speed and skill than having to evade spells.

The orc made accusations at the two of trespassing. Her smile quickly disappeared as she pointed her sword in his direction. She was willing to fight this creature, especially as the chances of it fleeing this elven outpost were next to none, but she will not stand for the error he presented. “That’s quite the claim sir. For you have also trespassed on a land belonging to another, and as such, we have come to fix that issue!” With that, she went into a stance with her sword still having her right hand gripping even harder on the hilt. Her legs fastened themselves as she calmly walked around the area of the armored orc. They were ready to move as need be and in any fashion that need be. While orcs may be of a more simple mindset, it’s unwise to underestimate the opponent. More importantly, it was disrespectful. Even to a brute, she could not let that offense slide.

As she calmly eyed the orc from...well under her arm, she decided to chime in with a question. “What is your name sir? It’s common in my lands to give name before a confrontation…” She said, though her face took a look of analyzation at her vary words. “Then again, we tend to give our names in my affairs dealing with swords…” She shook her head before looking back at him. “Anyway, I am Lady Ailsa of Snowgael. What is your name, opponent?”

Admittedly, however, she seemed to have forgotten the important fact that she was with a companion as well. On top of that, she had, for the most part, acted of a separate accord without even realizing it.

Marianne had been setting her bugs to attack the frontliners of the skaven army, keeping her attention on them. Thus, she didn't see the backliners grabbing some dwarven crossbows and firing off a flurry of bolts towards her direction until it was a little too late.

"F-gods darn it!" Marianne shouted, changing her expletive to a more proper one as befitting of a lady raised in a good family. She just had the shameful habit of cursing rudely when bad things took her by surprise. She suspected she got that from her sailor uncle. He often visited and he would play with her, or, to be more accurate, tease her. He loved riling her up, and as a child she used to have quite a temper. He said she was adorable if she was mad, so he wanted to see that mad face of her every time he came by, which didn't stand well with her at all, as she wanted to be viewed as a mature lady, not an adorable little child.

She always chuckled when she remembered her young self. She was such a hot-tempered tomboy. It was a miracle that she ended up becoming a fine lady like she was now.

Her uncle would also tell stories about his adventures at the sea. Being a naive child she was, she just trusted all of it, no matter how outlandish they were. And the uncle would tell his stories uncensored, with crude sailor expletives and the like, which her young self thought was really cool. Marianne's father was okay with it, but once her mother heard her cute daughter cursing like a sailor, she blew her fuse and lectured the poor uncle for hours. She really wanted her daughter to be a proper lady, it seemed.

And so Marianne grew up with two conflicting teachings, ending up making the person she was now. A lady, for sure, but with some rough streaks inside that you would never find out if you were not her close acquintance. Quite similar to her mother, in retrospect. Perhaps that little contrast was how her mother ended up charming her father.

Back to the battle, Marianne realized that she couldn't move fast enough to dodge all the bolts raining down towards her. So she ordered her beetles to concentrate on her upper body including her head. It was quite a sight to see as a swarm of beetles covered her pretty face entirely, making her look like someone out of a horror novel.

And sure enough, just as she had predicted, one bolt managed to land on her left shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain from her mouth. It was nothing fatal however, as the bolt's force was mostly blocked by the beetles, who had nobly sacrificed themselves to protect their owner.

I must... pull it out...!

With her entire body trembling, not being used to this kind of pain as she had never been wounded in a battle to this level, she pulled out the bolt from her shoulder, letting out another cry of pain in the process. She looked at the healer of the group, Ayse, and she saw how she was dodging her own sets of bolts. She couldn't possibly ask for her healing at this moment.

So she decided to retreat for now, entering one of the nearby side rooms. She couldn't be too far from the fight or else she would lose her link with her bees. And at this distance, she could already feel the link weakening so she could only give general directions to them.

She could feel her blood pouring out of her wound, soaking the sleeve of her dress. Some of it also trickled down across her exposed skin, seeping through the white underclothes that covered her chest, turning it dark red. She quickly ripped apart some of the frilly garments on the hem of the skirt, to be used as a makeshift bandage. For now, she just had to stop the bleeding. It was one of the basics of adventuring her father taught her.

Djin eyed the orc's movements, from the slightest twitch to the adjustment of his stance. He nocked an arrow from its quiver and drew back on the bowstring, at a moments notice it would find itself somewhere on the stinking carcass of his orc combatant. "If I can get his leg he'll be slowed. After that tis just a matter of...what is she doing?", Djin lowered his bow upon seeing his decapitated friend attempting to converse with the orc. While he admired the fact she'd be so civil in such a situation, to him the hour for civility had passed and it was time to do battle, no matter how bloody it may be.

"If were to be giving introductions I may as well do the same.I am Djinsuir Ibn Al-Ghumari, Sirahli of The Great Sand Sea of Omujir. You may call me Djin if you wish but it matters little to me", as he spoke, Djin drew his bow once more and began stepping to the side and around the orc, hoping to get a flanking angle on him before the start of this battle. "Unlike my friend here, I need not know your name", upon the conclusion of his sentence Djin began to let loose a number of arrows, a total of four made its way towards the orc to serve as both a diversion and a direct attack. Turning his aim towards the various torches, Djin fired remaining arrows at most of the wall torches, knocking them to the ground and reducing their range of illumination quite noticably. With only a select few still standing, the room now was dotted with pockets of darkness. Throwing his bow to the side, Djin unsheathed his khopesh and made his way into the shadows. "Like the Qatari of my home, I embrace darkness", his Sektephi eyes, glowing ever so faintly in the dark, allowed him to see the whole room and its occupants in perfect clarity.

"These eyes are the last thing you shall see, orc!", while his eyes might have given away his position, his movements would still ve obscured. The orc would fumble in the dark trying to land a hit, while Djin would be able to maneuver the battlefield easily. What's more, while his opponent would be busy with him, Ailsa could easily use the shadows as cover to move in for the final blow if not simply harass the enemy.

@ZekariVoblis@TheDarkTemplar



The big orc didn't back down from the gazes of his opponents, did not wilt under the stare of the Dullahan and her bow wielding ally. The way of the orc was direct confrontation. Kill or be killed. Glory in life and death. Mogesh, who had claimed the title of Warlord, would never allow himself to be bested without giving everything he had to the confrontation and earning his place beside his gods.
The two began talking in long-winded explanation of names and customs but the Orc merely tracked the Dullahan as she made a slow turn about the room hoping to force him to turn his back on the archer. Not that it mattered.

"Your names are meaningless to me." An almost idle wave of his hand initiated the fight. With the Archer dealt with, or at least occupied, Mordesh returned his attention to the Dullahan woman with nothing but contempt hiding behind his helmet. wordlessly he crossed the space between himself and Alisa, his strides eating up the distance in seconds, to sweep his axe from right shoulder to left hip before halting the momentum of the downward swing and pushing forward with the handle of his weapon to simultaneously block any attempt at counter attacking and also throw the girl back.
With such a power difference between the two, even a glancing blow would tear open the Dullahan.



The archer never realized his shots. Triangular pieces of sharpened metal took every arrow out of the air mid flight before a fifth cut the string of his bow. The only shadows in this room would be Syndana. Last of the Lost. When an elf betrays their kind, kills their kin, and forsakes their homelands, they are branded Lost. Syndana was one such Elf.
From the skylight she dropped into the room, a tight roll that put her back on the balls of her feet in a lunging rush at Djin. Twin daggers flashed in a dizzying display of thrusts, jabs, swipes, her footwork was losing momentum as she continued her sudden rush upon her opponent but confidence oozed from every inch of her.
With a quick double slash of her twin daggers, Syndana disengaged with a simple springing kick backwards. Her next move was one of complete grace as the Elf deftly tossed her dagger up into the air and flicked another sharp metal triangle before catching her blade again in the same movement.
Then she came right back in again.

@Hammerman @Roughdragon1 @ManoftheNorth @eemmtt @Renny @Rekaigan
"Just don't try to get yourself killed!" she shouted after the werebeast before complying.

The flames rose in a towering inferno. It was fortunate that she did. The fire consumed most of the bolts heading her way, Marianne's cry alerting her to the danger she couldn't see. If the flames hadn't been there she would have died. Then came the explosion.

Her ears rang. She used Brandr to help her find her feet again. The skaven swarmed and the dwarf line broke. Another hopeless situation. She was sick to death of hopeless situations. Her flames lashed out at the ratkin and Brandr's red-hot tip skewered the ones that got too close. In that she took stock and began to shout to her friends. She'd said fire was ambition right? It was time for her to try something ambitious.

"Grendrick, stay with the king."

She traced a flaming sigil on the ground.

"Nove, Gorrmar, help fill the gaps in the line."

Another.

"Sylvia, Fariha, take out their archers."

And another.

"Marianne, I think it's time for the mantis."

The final sigil in place, Ayse brought the but of her spear down on it. It shattered, sending the sigils swirling around her. Brandr approved. These new flames licked at the cloth covering her bite wound. Beneath the fabric the edges of the wound curled like flaming parchment before burning away, leaving fresh flesh and skin behind. Tendrils of flame snaked out to wash over her comrades and the dwarves, fallen or not. With a firm voice Ayse spoke aloud the spell she had writ.

"Heal!"

Grendrick was amidst the fight of the Skaven like a brilliant flame dancing in the darkness of a Midnight ritual. His body darted and dove between the packs of rats all the while Dwarves made their way in and out of the flanks. It wasn't until two noises erupted into the air that Grendrick was pulled from his blood-thirsty haze of combat.

Close to him was the frontlines, the Dwarven shield wall was short but mighty by many standards and their metal clanged with the Skaven forces trying to force their way through. Grendrick aided their metal-shelter by swatting away small arm-fulls of the Ratkin at a time, tossing and launching them back towards their breach while the dwarves moved in little by little with the progress made for them. However it didn't last long as eventually a Rat decided to enact a tactic befitting the filth. A singular rat used it's small size and agility to dash and maneuver through the field before leaping off the shield-wall into the backline of the Dwarves. There it was a skewered Skaven, but it's tactic was solid as it unleashed the raw power of a magic scroll. A massive hole now sat where there was once a stalwart defense of Dwarves and the corpses of Skaven. Now there lain the bodies of both kin as they roared with flames and died down into smoldering embers. Smoke rose from the large blast area and Grendrick felt the pressure of the Skaven rising heavily on the Dwarves. The short mountain-folk did all they could to bolster the hole in their ranks.

This act alone made Grendrick step up his game, he was unwilling to lose to mere rats and his pride was too large to let them get away with such a cowardly tactic. This is when Grendrick's flames died away and the warmth of Ayse's spellcraft left his body, but it wasn't without benefits. The flames had boosted Grendrick's natural healing and his skin now felt anew where it had been bruised, battered, and cut. His ribs that had punctured through his skin to the outside were still very much stabbing through, but the skin had closed up around them and healed to prevent his bleeding. He was a rested man, a healed warrior, and a hungry wolf and this was the perfect time to show such nature with great vigor and power to the enemy.

Grendrick was faced with a small horde of enemies, ranging around ten bodies with a few dancing in and out of this number between oncoming Dwarven foot-soldiers. Grendrick started this engagement by quite simple leaping onto the first and with the crushing weight of his body collapsed the first one's chest. Then the mighty Wolf took the Rats on each side of him and laced his massive hands around their necks and crushed their necks and spinal cords into a smattering of bone shards before letting them fall to the ground in agonizing screeches. The wolf then grabbed the next one on his right by the tail as it tried to run and he yanked it closer, causing the rat to lose it's footing and fall. It scratched and clawed at the ground while trying to prevent the Wolf from catching it, but the weak animal was a joke compared to Grendrick's strength and within seconds the Skaven's ankles and legs were handles for Grendrick and the mighty Lycanthrope used the ratkin as a club. He swathed the filthy creature across the air cracking two Skaven's heads open with a single strike, and causing his weaponized foe to screech and bleed profusely as it flailed and was used to wallop a final Skaven into the ground like a hammer on a nail. The blood that sprayed all around Grendrick and his madness of combat was grand, showering himself in yet another bath of the rat's blood. The rest of this small horde ran in terror of Grendrick as the wolf discarded the Skaven he wielded as a weapon without a care. His enemy viewed this Lycan like a monstrosity, a god of War, like a war machine, like an unstoppable force of nature. But they weren't ready for the Beast's next action.

Grendrick was just about to push more of the frontline before he heard the second erupting sound that echoed across the room to him, moreso than the first ever could have, and it was Marianne.

Her cry of pain and agony raised something from Grendrick that he thought he had left behind after the first fight, as the voice was clearly Marianne's but he couldn't help but hear Her voice over Marianne's. It was like an illusion that played a foul trick on Grendrick's mind and it enraged him. He was hearing her voice, and her image, but Marianne was the one in agony. He couldn't fathom letting either of them get hurt, it was almost as if Marianne had become "Her" for a moment and it caused Grendrick to resort his earlier tactic.. this was the only real reason Ayse's words seemed to "fit" as a command. He didn't actually hear her say anything to him in his mindset, but he acted on his own accord and his accord looked listening for most purposes.

The mighty wolf leaped and sprinted through the lines of Skaven and the Dwarves, only stopping once he reached the King and the units surrounding him. There is where Grendrick let his body and his mind slowly dissipate once more, this would be the last time he let his mind play these unnerving tricks on him while in this rift. The Lycan coiled his body up tightly behind the guards, he was hunkered against the ground, his body seized up, his muscles tightened and began to writhe, his body shook, and his head curled into his chest. It seemed like an eternity passed while he held this position, but really it was only a few seconds. Then, once all Grendrick could hear in the world around him was silence, the Lycan exploded from his curled position. He thrusted his head higher into the air than before, reaching the peak of his height as his body extended to the tips of his claws and toes, his arms wide and his claws exposed to the world, it was now that he howled. He let out a Howl that resonated with power beyond belief into the depths of the Breach, it echoed out the main entrance into the Chasm, it vibrated deep into the bones of the Dwarves and Skaven, it pierced the souls of every living being and it was a Howl that could instill fear into even the most ferocious demons and other-wordly powers.

(Thanks to Zelosse for helping me edit this)

Gormarr felt his heart beat quicken as the rush of battle coursed through his veins. The greenskin threw himself into the thick of the nearest Skaven horde, planting himself in the center of the battle like a flying banner. As was the way of the Orcs he used great sweeps of his axe to cut, chop, bash, and even slam his forehead into those who came to close. It wasn't until a sudden explosion caught the Greenskin berserker and the dwarven line by surprise.
Not keen on allowing the filthy rats any more advantage than they already had, Gormarr waded through the swarm and propped himself where the Skaven menace had overtaken the dwarven line. Taking his main axe and the intricate crafted axe he had found on the plateau, the angering Orc marauder put both to powerful use. In a show of ferocity and rage that could put even the werewolf to shame, Gormarr swung both axes in either hand like a hurricane. Every sweep took life or limb, his roaring overhead chops cleaved flesh and bone in half like paper, even lashing out with his feet or fists if opportunity came. Amidst so many targets all screeching for blood it was impossible for the battle drunk Orc to miss! His armor stopped some of the more potentially fatal attacks, but the ones that found their way in only served to bring the snarling Orc further into his bloody trance.

When the King ordered the Dwarves (and the party by extension) to get him to the wall, Gormarr was quick to begin his bloody work. One dead rat at a time.

As the combat continued, Fariha had to dart around the battlefield, searching for ammunition whilst taking down the ratkin. Her hunting knife seemed to be more than sufficient for dealing with the disgusting beasts. As she began retrieving unbroken arrows, a ratkin pounced at her, his rusted sword raised high above his head. As always, the skaven were much too slow for Fariha's agile movements; she simply sidestepped the swing, stabbing the rat in the neck before it had even completed it's movement. It fell lifelessly to the ground as Fariha withdrew the knife.

Dwarves and Skaven fought as she scavenged the field, their bloodlust towards each other was enough to let the wood elf slip by. Often she'd have to duck and weave as a stray weapon swung passed her. She made her way back to where the backline of her team was, with Marianne and Ayse. However it wasn't long before a volley of crossbow bolts flew their way. Ayse burned away at some of the bolts, however the ones aimed at the elf and Marianne weren't touched by the flame. Confident in her skills and reflexes, Fariha quickly drew and fired an arrow from her bow, intercepting one of the bolts. Sidestepping, she used her right hand to catch one of the bolts out of the air, however she failed to see a third bolt. With a meaty thud, the bolt sunk into her right calf. The wood elf doubled over in shock and pain, gritting her teeth to stop herself from screaming, thus the sound of her groaning in pain was drowned out by the sound of combat.

It seemed as though Ayse had tried to heal every, given the words she exclaimed, however the flames that came forth only licked at her wound, not accomplishing much at all. Fariha took in deep breaths as she grabbed the shaft of the bolt. Ripping the bolt out of her leg, she growled in pain, the blood spilling out of the wound. She quickly rummaged through her hip sack, taking out a small vial of red liquid. The elf popped the stopper and gulped it down. She sighed in relief as the wound closed up as quickly as it had opened. Fariha got to her feet, tilting her right foot upward to stretch the new muscle that had regenerated in her leg.

The huntress had heard the mage's 'command' to take out the Skaven archers, which was not something she had to be told twice to do. The problem was that there was a group of combatants in the way of a straight shot. But that was no challenge for a seasoned huntress like Fariha. In quick succession, she fired two arrows into the air, arcing over the group. The arrows found their mark, slamming into the chest of their ratkin targets, their bodies slumping onto the stone floor.

As Fariha nocked another arrow into her bow, the sudden howl from Grendrick made her stop moving. Her gaze moved over to her bestial team-mate as the room shuddered from the sheer volume. She had heard the howls of mighty beasts before, but not many had been comparable to Grendrick's. Even the most seasoned of hunters would be instilled with fear. However the forest spirits within the wood elf were able to create some mental stability for her. The moment a beast instils fear within a hunter, is the moment that hunter has failed.

THESURI / ARGRIMS SIEGE

The screeches of terror were many as the flames licked and bit the filthy ratkin, burning their dirty fur or even igniting the myriad oozes and liquids coating their makeshift armor. In other places the flames distinguished friend from foe as the dwarves embraced the pain and healing simultaneously to unite with their Kings brave march. As a single mind they sang the Ballad of Gazra Starcrusher, hero of the stone city below who singlehandedly held the line against a host of 6 armed demons.
They drew strength from their legends and turned it to that stubborn determination to overcome and survive as they always had. None sang louder than King Cragshield.

The rats ignored the bees as best they could, but with the swarm harassing the backline it was all too easy for them to idly swat one of the nuisances away. Only to catch a blade in their chest as the Dwarves easily seized the attack of opportunity. The other defenders took care to leave the Greenskin, a fury unlike any they had seen, and the werewolf as much room as possible while still trying to keep the filthy Raki from swarming their flank.

Victory was only a small distance away. Grendricks mighty roar again proved the most effective, the overwhelming lossed were piling high about the rats and they could not ignore it. Numbers were failing and defenders were not falling!
The howl of the Lycanthrope echoed deep and long throughout the smooth stoneways of the Dwarven fortress, even to the heart of the Skaven commanders deep in the tunnels. They secreeted feat and shock but would not relent.
Not with their victory all but assured.
None could hear the march of the Stormvermin over the werewolfs unearthly cry. Armed with exquisite steel armor over boiled leather and wielding long finely crafted steel spears or halberds, the elite enforcers of the Skaven empire emerged from the darkness in mass. A tidal wave of polished steel and fury they came, cutting down their own allies without mercy until finally clashing with the Dwarven phalanx hard.

Weapons bounced off their armor, their spears cut through armor like paper. All of them were focused on a singular task with unwavering determination even in the face of a werewolf or King Cragshield.
As if the gods themselves planned the fall of these proud beings, the second phase of the attack had begun. The breach was much smaller in comparison to the main forces entry, with this new tunnel on the opposite side of the throne room crumbling from chaos magic to open a hole large enough for 2 rats side by side to pour out of. But the creatures flooding out were not clan rats or storm vermin.
A half dozen black furred killers funneled out with precision. Garbed in black with no armor, these assailants wielded sharpened steel daggers and swords in eother hand. Assassins. More agile than anything on the field, these beasts charged out of their hole in an instant to cover the ground between them and the party.
Blades flashed and blood spilled as the nearest dwarves turned too late to defnd themselves, their necks neatly cut as the shadows flew past them.

King Cragshield roared in pain as the tip of a longsword poked him hard in the shoulder, cutting through his armor and chainmail to draw blood. A wide ring had been cleared for just him, cut off from his allies, as a rat easily Grendricks size sauntered through the opening. Obsidian plate armor decorated his chest and arms, leg plating etched into screaming faces adorned his legs, with skills lining his waist. It wielded a black longsword to match.
The ratkin commanding the stormvermin had come.

Grendrick had enjoyed the cries of his foes, the results of his howl were plenty and inspiring of prideful nature for the Lupine. However under the guise of this howl many new threats marched and made their way into the presence of combat, the rats were many in numbers and the Dwarves were being picked off little by little as they tried to hold back the foul vermin. This effort was failing under the pressure of the new foes however, these new armored Rats forced weaknesses in the Dwarven lines and presented greater challenge than their lesser trained kin. It was bleak at beast for the present, to many of the short-folk, but Grendrick was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He reveled in the gathering of stronger prey, of more powerful enemies, of the dangerous granted to him for furious behavior.

Grendrick was still near King Cragshield, unable to move and aid him in time of his injuries, but plenty able to swath away the normal ratkin before turning to the stout dwarf with a seemingly evil chuckle.

"New Rats, old tricks. Come Dwarf, it is time I show you how to fight!" Grendrick then growled to the large Rat-Commander as it snarled and stared down the King with a desire to end the Dwarf's life. Grendrick acted hastily without much concern for the consent of the King of the Dwarves. He uproared his body and matched the commander in a display of size and power, but then the mighty Lupine hoisted the Dwarf by the collar of his armor and planted the short-folk on his back. The angry wolf than smirked in a wicked, beastial, way that only one such as himself could do as he tore out on all fours towards the mighty Commander. The duo were now jousting the Skaven Commander like a peasant and the Ratkin would have to be more wary than before as they pair seemed to meld rather quickly.

The King of the Dwarves, Cragshield, planted his feet firmly on Grendrick's back and tightly wound his shield hand into the thick fur, all the while his sword arm raised in a steady stance for combat. The short-folk gave a hardy testament of disdain to the Wolf's tactic as it first happened, but as Grendrick sailed off towards their target the Dwarf couldn't help but grin at the idea. The Dwarf was over-come with a sense of combat glory and the stories that would be told of "Cragshield the Lycan-rider!" This made the Dwarf holler in glorious tones of robust slander to the Rats and their filth. He was ready to bathe in the blood of the vermin and sing tales of their valor the moment the last rat was slain.

Grendrick was mere feet from the Commander before his sprint turned into the iconic pounce of a beast. The ten foot tall Lycan lunged with a Dwarf upon his back and he latched onto the Commander of the pathetic mice, his lupine snout snapping into the shoulder of the Commander as they Rat-Leader's arms were too busy trying to hold off Grendrick's claws and arms from wrapping around him, and his leg armor protected him from any damage, but made perfect holds for Grendrick's feet. The two were locked together, and all the while Grendrick was tearing into the armor of the Skaven's shoulder, he growled out words to the mounted temporary comrade.

"Tiny! Go! Attack the pathetic being!" Grendrick's words were loud and clear to the Dwarven mountee who rode upon the wolf's back, and his actions were equal proof to his understanding.

The Dwarven King raised his warhammer and dropped it upon the Ratkin Commander's, the head of his weapon was pristine even after all the bloodletting of the war that has been raging, and it crashed onto the obsidian helm with an immense sound. It was the sound of glass shattering against a ten-ton hammer. This dazed the ratkin commander, but it also broke the helm into three pieces and caused it to fall to the ground with a plinking sound that was lost to the noise of war. The Skaven recoiled it's head and fought Grendrick away in a flurry of arms and body-turns that forced the brutish wolf off the hold of the Rat. Grendrick was now on all fours a few feet back form the Skaven, and Cragshield stood atop the mighty wolf like a true warrior. They pair roared out together and the Skaven returned the favor with a bellowing screech and a snarl that rallied cries of his lesser units as they fought against the Dwarven forces, but Cragshield responded with something much louder than a warcry's holler.

"I am Reirsun Cragshield, Son of Roirsun, Grandson of Rothsun, King of this Mountain! You filth will not push me out of my home! You will fall to my Hammer! DWARVES WE FIGHT FOR OUR GLORY AND OUR HONOR! WE FIGHT FOR OUR FATHERS UNDER THE MOUNTAIN!" These words rallied more than just soldiers, it rallied Fathers, Brothers, Husbands, and Men. It rallied their hearts, souls, minds, and bodies all at once. Their was little that could be done to dwindle the spirit of a proud Dwarf, and even less for a proud Dwarf with the crown of a King and the words of a Friend. Reirsun Cragshield refused to let his fight be lost so easily and he vowed to personally smash the skull of every last Skaven that dared to enter his halls.

Marianne felt the effect of Ayse's spell, even though she was quite a distance away from her. Her wound quickly stopped hurting like before. This must be her purification flame healing effect. As a member of the church, it would only make sense that she would know how to cast it.

And thank the gods for that.

With this, Marianne could jump back into battle once again. The wound still didn't heal completely, as Ayse's healing prowess seemed to be maximized only on herself and the more distance there was between her and the subject, the weaker the healing effect would be. But it was enough, as she now had regained her composure once more. A mere minor aching wound like that would not stop her.

She returned to the battlefield, and heard the howl Grendrick let out. It was as intimidating as the howl he gave before, but now when she had heard it once, the effect to her was somewhat lessened. She saw the lycan making short work of any skavens that was unfortunate enough to get close to him. Gormarr was there too on the frontline, with his berserker rage chopping off any limbs or heads he could get to. On the backline, Fariha was also doing her work, as she took out the distant skaven archers that had showered them with arrows before.

Marianne smiled. Served them right, she thought. They would've lived longer if they just stayed on the back and not try something stupid like sniping their backline. She would've told her bees to swarm them if Fariha had not taken care of them.

But then, just when she thought the fight was turning back to their favor, the cavalry arrived.

Stormvermins. Elite guards of the skavens.

They are really putting everything on the line for this assault, Marianne commented as she nervously looked towards them.

She knew about them. Heard that they made the common skaven soldier look like a normal rat. They were strong and unyielding. She doubted her bees would be effective against them.

And to make matters worse, another squad of elite skaven troopers had arrived. Assassins. A squad of greatly agile rats who could manuever around the battlefield freely as they killed critical targets like commanders and such.

And unfortunately, their party was deemed as those targets.

She had no choice. She had to use her trump card now.

"Mantis, manifest yourself right now!" she shouted. And as she did, a simple normal-looking tiny mantis popped out under the white underclothes on her chest. It quickly leaped into the air with an amazing leap strength. And as it was flying across the air, it grew big. And bigger. And bigger. And bigger. Until it towered over the battlefield. Its size was even bigger than Grendrick and the rat commander he was battling with the dwarf king.

The mantis quickly grabbed Marianne, putting her above its shoulders. It was certainly an uncomfortable ride, as Marianne had to hug the insect if she didn't want to fall off. But it was necessary to go there so she would be safe from any rats that tried to attack her directly.

First off, the Assassins!

Like them, she also intended to kill the important, dangerous targets first as her time with the mantis was limited. So she set her sight on the assassins. They would be particularly dangerous to the squishier members of the party who couldn't do close-combat well.

An assasin bravely jumps forward to the air, intending to strike at her directly. However, the mantis was just as fast, as it bisected the rat into two before it could do anything with its claw. Blood and entrails rained down, but it didn't deter the rest of the squad.

Now they knew that attacking directly like that would be a bad idea. What would they do now, Marianne pondered? Would they try to take down her mantis first? Or would they aim for the others first?

"Everyone, get close to the mantis! It will protect you!" she shouted as loud as she could. This way, they would have to face the mantis if they wanted to kill anyone.

THESURI / ARGRIMS SIEGE


@Hammerman@Renny

Siph stood at the entrance to the throne room observing the carnage from a respectable distance, likely to the disappointment of the party he was advising, and watched the unfolding carnage with the same cheerful smile from the entrance. The werewolf was a powerful adversary indeed, considering how recklessly it charged into combat against superior numbers alone, but the rest of the group seemed content to not allow the creature a quick death. They all fought with the tenacity befitting a top adventurer and that was more than enough to get the blood coursing through his veins pumping.

No one who stood at the top could resist their urge to fight forever. Despite it being against the guild rules in aiding as a rift escort, the burly barbarian found himself headlong in a charge as the Stormvermin and assassins began their dance. Realizing the commander was out of his reach, Siph opted for a better use of his time.

The Mantis towering above them was giving ample cover, and would collect its kills rather quickly he surmised, so that left the option of aiding young Nove.

Retrieving a fallen two-handed axe from the ground he came in fast with a high chop at the distracted rat aiming to take Nove from the left side, the blades sharp edge took the creature in the throat and cleaved down to its stomach before getting lodged. Rather than struggle to get the weapon free, Siph claimed the Stormvermins halberd for his own. Redirecting its attention from the boy to the new threat, the stormvermin thrust at his midsection with its own razor sharp glaive. Putting all its weight forward in an attempt to overpower the new foe it was met with the seemingly elder humans alarmingly fast reaction time.
Siph snaked his hand up and onto the shaft of the halberd just below its blade to pull it forward, dragging the Stormvermin forward as it attempted to keep hold of its own weapon, and took a blade to the neck the same way the other had with the same after effect of having its weapon commandeered from it.

"Nove, stand tall! We will win this fight for our ancestors!"
With a warcry of his own, the Viking charged the frontline in an attempt to break through the Skaven line.

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~Stormvermin~ / ~Assassins~

The armored elite Skaven troops flooded from the mouth of the breach, the wolfs howl had shaken them but their training and fear of what lurked behind them, drived the soldiers on with newfound fury in an attempt to quickly overwhelm the stubborn but persistent defenders. The assassins were proving effective at spreading disorder amongst the line and it seemed as if the Dwarves would be unable to help their king achieve his goal of closing the breach.
Two assassins had been killed off, but the other 4 were swarming towards prime targets among the battlefield.

The savage Greenskin Gromgar, The fire priestess Ayse, Fariha the archer, and another was waiting for an opportunity to strike at Marianne atop her gargantuan Mantis.

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@ManoftheNorth

~Skaven Commander Argrim Blightfur~

Shaken and Dwarf alike fought with bitter determination, but few did so with the same furious zeal that Argrim did. Chosen to ascend as a warlord onto the council of 13 when this siege was over and the dwarf king dead at his feet, the obsidian armored rat wielded its longsword deftly, at times using the dagger sheathed at its hip in its offhand to fend off the Dwarf king even as the lupine nuisance tried to overwhelm it with its brute strength. Indeed their sudden mounted combat had nearly cost the prideful Ratkin its life but it learned from its mistake and began to ease its aggression, waiting for openings to slide the sharpened steel between their defenses or push them back.

King Cragshield bided his time for an opening, striking at every angle he could find to push the rat around their 'arena' while managing to defy the odds and deflect lethal blows aside. It was becoming a stalemate of block and retreat for Blightfur, pressed on both sides by powerful opponents, but determination shone in its eyes the same way it did in Cragshields. Stubborn races indeed.

"I got a plan.. Wait for my signal."

The flow of rats coming out of the breach had been slowing down, the advance of Blightfur had signaled the elite guard to advance so the lesser filth would be skulking back to lick their wounds.. It was almost time.
A high sweeping attack of Blightfurs longsword came in savagely, and the King responded in kind. Ramming his shoulder into the rats chest as the swing came down to miss its target entirely, he forced the Skaven to stumble back out of balance for the briefest of moments as it tried to reestablish its weight with the heavy armor on.

"NOW!"

Rather than deal the killing blow, Cragshield turned and sprinted from the commander and through the ring of distracted Stormvermin, going as far as to crush one of their skulls and open the circle long enough for him to reach the wall. Every footfall brought him closer to his doom. To that final moment of a Dwarfs life when they knew everything they cared for was to be abandoned for the sake of Kin. His hammer glowed with runic inscription, empowered by craftsman and enchanted of the clan for centuries as it was passed from leader to leader in a tradition almost as old as the stones he stomped over.
With a grunt he brought the glowing weapon up behind his back.

"FOR THESURI! FOR THE DWARVES!" He cried, and swung.

Two halberds cut through the plate and leather of his armor even as the hammer collided with the wall next to the breach, creating a thunderous shock of force vibrating through the stones themselves as the enchanted weapon sundered the rock with ease. Like an earthquake it tore through the room and the tunnel violently, shaking the compound but even moreso the tunnels as its unsteady ceiling shuddered in protest. Stone and gravel fell like rain as the breach collapsed in on itself to seal off the Skavens invading force.