The forces were more misleading than any real tactic could ever be in a situation like this, and the disguise was perfect for the Skaven. As quickly as they had appeared they disappeared, the Assassins were nowhere to be find among their kin. The Stormvermin were immense and pushing back the dwarves slowly but surely as they engaged from all fronts ont eh crumbling line. The black-furred Skaven that had jumped the backline were nowhere in the chaos of it all to even the most well trained eye. But they were still present in their own misguiding holes of subterfuge.

The first to make their appearance was among the boldest and one of the most outwardly thinking assassins the Skaven had at their disposal. This fact was shown in the assassin's movement upon Ayse. Her flames were bellowing forth like waves over the battlefield for a time, however even such a move as that didn't detour this filthy rat. The assassin pulled a satchel from it's belt as it darted behind the mage and then chucked a handful of powder from inside the satchel towards the fire-wreathed Magi. The powder instantly swelled in the air and collided with the flames only to reveal the death of the ambitious heat. The flames diminished and fizzled as the powder seemed to smoke out the flames instantly in a window large enough that a Rat Ogre could traipse though but instead the assassin launched a trio of poisoned daggers at Ayse with relative ease and all the while the Skaven strafed to the mage's right side. He wielded a crude war-axe that was honed like a serrated butcher's knife, but it was lightweight and agile, the unique curvature of the handle made the axe a weapon to watch as it was spun and whipped about the Skaven's hand. This tactic would all but set her off-kilter and off-focus, her magic would be interrupted and her ability to react to the nature of it all would be slow. The Skaven was a brilliant combatant and was taking his opponent's weakness into accord with great benefit. Although this wasn't the only threat to Ayse, for the assassins were know for opening windows and where there is an open window a rat is sure to sneak in, this is where the numbers the Skaven held were always powerful, and the truth to the saying was proven as two Stormvermin Skaven warriors charged at Ayse with their armo strong and their halberds well aimed.

The second of the assassin's was more of an opportunistic skirmisher than an assassin, paired with his pair of devilish looking swords that curved ever so subtle across the fore-neck of the blade's edge and into a back-hook for disarming. This Skaven was an ideal duelist and while most would expect the nature of a duelist to seek another duelist, Skaven weren't so kind and honor-bound. This foul retch dove and glided beneath the shadows of his allies before finally reaching his target. The Rat all but licked his lips in anticipation as he ambushed the Elf, Fariha, from behind and instantly locked his left hook inside the lower arm of her bow. His leverage and surprise made it easy for him to begin prying the bow away from her, and her fight for it would have to be strong if she intended to keep her weapon, but as he tugged at the weapon he also thrusted thrice like a mice with his right sword towards her center mass. He was a skaven with a disgusting degree of finesse that was almost more unsettling than his smell. While he was a Skaven, he was by no means weak and she would never easily retrieve her bow, or avoid his attacks, at the same time due to her injured leg. She would have to make a dire choice of more injury or her primary weapon. She was surrounded by a flood of lesser Skaven kin and taken advantage of all at the same time, and time was something she was losing quick, she had to make her judgment call and soon.

The third of the assassins popped up only for a moment to unleash a rather pin-point arrow fro a bow retrieved off the field, the arrow's mark was odd however as it flew through the air and was planted at Sylvia's feet. The action wasn't a miss, rather the Skaven gave a chuckle after watching it land at her feet with a loud clank against the stone floor. The Skaven then became unseen as it seemed to vanish and disappeared, Sylvia would certainly need to keep her wits about her now as the Skaven assassin marked her for death and with her surrendering her armor she would be much more easily indisposed. It was mere seconds after the event and already she was met with an opponent as they war raged on around her, but it wasn't the assassin though for rather it was a trio of Stormvermin that were moving in to close the lapsing dwarven flanks. All this time Sylvia had been oblivious to the deaths of a handful of dwarves near her position and now she was faced with three heavily armored warrior Rats. They weren't clanrats, they weren't cannon fodder, and they weren't idiots because they immediately surrounded her and left no gaps for her to escape. The two in front of her taunting her with squeaks and chattering fangs while the one behind her gave off an ear-piercing skaven whistle before cat-calling her sarcastically. The first to her left wielded one of the many Halberds among their ranks, the one to her right hefted a large kite shield and began to wind up the weight of it's spiked flail, while the third behind her was boasting a pair of mighty war-axes that looked like they could fell a tree a piece with a single swipe. She was certainly in for a real fight, as the flail-wielding Skaven pushed into her front harder, he was winding up and emphasized the start up of an attack, but without her knowledge he feinted his attack and the Skaven with the Halberd jabbed his long weapon from behind and under the shield of it's frontline comrade to stab at Sylia, aiming for her chest with ease, she was given little wiggle room, should she back-step the long range weapon she would enter the chopping block of the skaven behind her, and side-stepping would leave her open to a million and one opportunities for the Skaven, she would need to be wise and careful less her choice to leave her armor behind become her death-bringing Achilles's heel.

The fourth and final black-furred assassin reared it drooling head, but not to the party or the dwarves. It chattered and snickered to a group of clan-rats and slinked behind them in their shadows as they rushed and sprinted their own demise against Marianne's Mantis. They numbered a dozen or more as they flung their bodies at the giant insect with careless nature. They were killed off easily but slowly to the lack of more arms, and this caused the Skaven to be able to swell around it's legs, their misshapen and crude weapons impacting it's exoskeleton and being swung at it's leg joints. All the while the fourth assassin was right under Marianne's nose and she never knew it, not until the stench was so bad she swore it was right behind her...

"Peekaboo! I was hiding!" The Skaven cried out in surprise to her before she could even turn to face her attacker. The Skaven assassin had slinked through it's brethern and then snaked it's way up the Mantis' body like a moving ladder with ease. The silent rat never even gave a hint of it's presence until his body odor gave him away to Marianne's olfactoy senses, however for someone like her it wasn't a trained reaction. This meant she was faced with a sheer ambush, her body and mind unready for this type of flanking and attack, it was an astounding feat for someone to pull off such a precise and unique ambush, and this deranged rat loved it! He cackled like a mouse with a cheese wheel before drawing his pair of deadly daggers. They gleamed with a thick and pugent poison that would surely lay waste to a petite gal like Marianne if they so much as brushed her with their edge. She would have to act insane to escape her even more demented pursuer. By the time she could turn, she would see that instantly the Skaven had launched both blades like a pair of scissors to cross against her neck. The Mantis, despite it's size, isn't a marvelous platform for combat and this was her own decision. She planted herself in one of the most awkward combat zones and the Skaven had a clear advantage with it's familiarity to uneven and odd combat floors. Their digit-grade legs give them superior support and balance, as well as their tails add to the balance, on uneven and interestingly mapped platforms. She would surely find herself either fighting back or surrendering to the ground beneath her and fleeing.. if she could make it past the swarm of Skaven under her.

As Marianne called to her allies to gather around the Mantis, Fariha decided to ignore her. Getting near a massive target was a bad idea for anyone, especially her allies. The wood elf stayed near the backline as everyone advanced forward, the Stormvermin halting the advancement through their power and size. Fariha attempted to slay the armoured rats from afar, but their movements were swift enough for the arrows to harmlessly bounce off their thick armour.

Down to her last arrow, she nocked and drew it as she took some time to carefully aim it. Small gaps in the Stormvermin's armour were the only valuable targets on the field as the Gutter-Runners disappeared from sight, the clan rats were nothing to really worry about. Fariha immediately regretted her brief complacency as she felt something pull at her bow. Having a firm grip on the bow was essential for any archer, but to also have a relaxed grip was something that had to be trained. The bow slipped easily out of her grip as she unsheathed her hunting knife with her other hand, the primary weapon skittering across the stone floor. She spun around, greeting the thrusting blade with her knife. However such a movement put her slightly off balance due to her recent injury. She cursed as she launched forward, grabbing the Gutter-runner's outstretched arm, pulling it toward her to the side. Her boot planted itself firmly into the Skaven's ribs, dislocating it's arm and breaking some of the cage.

The elf was surrounded by lesser clan rats by now and she needed to find an escape route. The rats may follow closely on her heels, but if she could somehow lead them to a dwarf or two, she'd be fine for the moment.

The wood elf rushed towards one of the clan rats that circled her, dodging it's sword thrust before cutting it's throat open. She swiftly took the damaged blade from the dying rat as she pushed passed the dead body. For now, she had abandoned her bow. She was confident that she could retrieve it soon enough. As she broke through the line of Skaven, she noticed that Marianne was also being ambushed. She could tell that the insect mage was in a bad position. Fariha took it upon herself to try help the mage, but she first had to make her way to the mantis.

Marianne looked around at the battlefield atop her mantis. As she had expected, it made short work of any rats that got close to it. Their skin and armor never stood a chance against its sharp scythe claws. It could easily bisect them without any effort at all. And if any rat was lucky enough to swing their weapons against its legs, they would find that its armor was not so feeble as theirs.

Unfortunately for her, she didn't realize that those rats were merely acting as a distraction, as the real threat sneaked around inside the mantis' range unnoticed. Indeed, one of the assasins' managed to get close to the giant insect, even to the point that it climbed onto its back, heading straight for where Marianne was, her being none the wiser. It would have not given its presence at all if not for the horrid stench that surrounded its filthy body. But even with the odor, it still moved quick enough that when Marianne noticed something terribly smelly coming from her, it already was ready with its pair of poisonous blades.

And, when Marianne turned around to see what was behind her, it already launched its blades like a pair of scissors towards her neck.

Her eyes widened as wide as they could go, her face quickly turned into that of horror. She could only watch as the rat's blade inched slowly towards her neck in slow motion. They said that in the moment of your death, everything would slow down to the point that you could watch your death coming, without you being able to do anything about it.

Her reflex automatically made her swing her dwarven axe towards the rat. It wasn't any skilled attack. It was merely a desperate and sudden move, done without thinking, as she had no idea at all that an attack was coming.

It was too late however, as the rat's blade thrusted more swiftly than the speed she swung her axe.

Now, this was the part where why a bond between a beast trainer and their creature was so important. It made the creature they tamed willingly sacrificed themselves to protect their master, even if the master themself didn't order them to.

This was exactly what happened, as Marianne's beetles swarmed to her neck near instantly, the moment they detected a change in their master's body. It was not a command Marianne ordered, as she was too much taken by surprise to think properly. Instead, they acted by their own instinct, as their instinct worked far faster than a mind of a human like Marianne. All those hours spent with them clinging to Marianne's skin taught them the subtle changes that happened when their master switched to a different state of mind. They could tell when she was happy, when she was nervous, when she was scared, and, most importantly, when she was in a mortal state of shock and terror.

Thus, with their bodies, they acted as a buffer to stop the blades from touching Marianne's neck.

Now it was the rat who was taken by surprise. Here it had a clean surprise attack to its target, but suddenly, these bugs came out of nowhere and blocked his assault.

And that surprise was enough for Marianne's axe to connect with its body, sending it down below to join its brothers who were distracting the mantis.

It didn't die of course, as the blow was weak. But it was enough to foil his almost fatal attack towards the girl.

The beetles that protected her soon died, whether it was from the blade's sharpness or the poison. They dropped like dead flies, some of them going to Marianne's lap, some of them got stuck on the mantis' body, and some of them fell down to the floor beneath her.

Marianne could only sit up there, still in a daze. Her brain was still freezing, trying to process what just happened.

She would need someone to snap her out of it, quickly, as the rat she just repelled would surely go for a second round if she didn't order her mantis to kill it first.

@Rekaigan

Sylvia was in a bind, to put it lightly. She was surrounded by three stormvermin. The one to her left held a long halberd in its armored hands, the one to her right wielded a spiked flail, already red with blood, paired with a kite shield, and the one behind her twirled two nasty-looking axes in its hands.

She was on edge, knowing that at any moment, the stormvermin could strike, and with her unarmored self, a direct hit would most likely prove fatal. At first, she couldn’t see any way out. They had her too backed up, too cornered. If she tried to dodge away from the flail-wielding stormvermin, she’d be skewered by the one with the halberd. If she tried to back away from both of them, the axe-wielding skaven behind would make short work of her.

She had to decide quickly, however. The skaven on her right exaggerated an attack, and Sylvia knew that it was going for a feint. The real threat came from the halberd-wielding stormvermin on her left side. As it stepped in to thrust its weapon towards Sylvia, it seemed that her choice had already been made for her. Considering all the present factors, she had one foreseeable option. So, instead of dodging away from the rat’s halberd, she instead dodged towards it. Or more accurately, slightly to the left of it. Considering the pole arm's length, if Sylvia could dodge the head of the halberd, she could get close.

In a quick movement, Sylvia launched herself towards the attacking rat, and felt a sharp pain below her ribs. She knew she had been cut, but couldn’t risk looking down to see how bad it was. Instead, once she bypassed the dangerous part of the rat’s weapon, her hand shot up, dagger drawn, and then embedded it into the rat’s neck. Sylvia twisted the blade, quickly ending the vermin’s life.

She spun around and immediately ducked, narrowly avoiding a deadly flail to the skull. The rat raised its shield, and with that barrier blocking her way, she couldn’t get past and attack the skaven. Instead, she turned towards the dual-axe rat, who was preparing to swing both instruments in a powerful attack. The two skaven made the mistake of being too close, however, and Sylvia took advantage of this. She deftly stepped out of the way of the attack, and instead of hitting her, the rat’s axes collided with the other stormvermin’s shield, knocking it out of the way and providing Sylvia an opening which she immediately took advantage of, jamming her dagger into the side of the vermin’s neck, killing it.

She yanked the dagger out, spurting crimson streams through the air. She could tell the wound below her ribs was bleeding badly. She felt blood run down the right side of her body, damping her clothes. She had to carry on, though.

One more, just one more.

The rat clanged both axes together, squeaking out a war cry. Sylvia took a deep breath, focusing herself, tuning out the other battles, tuning out the other sounds, tuning out all other distractions. It was truly a sight to behold. In the midst of battle, in the midst of chaos, the two combatants faced each other, preparing to deliver their final strike. And seemingly, at the drop of a hat, they charged.

The stormvermin lunged towards her, both axes swinging wildly, aiming to hit something, anything. Sylvia waited, and saw the perfect moment arise: The rat came into a wide stance, and had both its arms extended out to the sides of its body, like it was going to give a bladed hug. Sylvia dodged to the right, and quickly sliced the rat’s wrist between the joint gap of armor plating. The rat screeched in pain, cancelling its attack and holding its wounded wrist, and at the same time Sylvia grabbed the Skaven’s axe as it fell. She felt the weight pull down her arm, but with strained effort, she raised it over her read, and brought it down upon the skaven’s torso, in the unarmored area between the pauldron and the helmet. It fell to its knees, gravely wounded, and Sylvia finished it off by slitting its throat.

There was a period of respite, but then she too fell to her knees, gasping and coughing from the effort. Her wound was still bleeding due to her exertions through combat, and her every limb burned and ached with a dredging pain. Her heart sank as she looked around her, realizing that the assassins were still present and wreaking havoc among the dwarves, and many, many skaven and stormvermin were still up and fighting.

How… How many will we have to kill? How many until one gets a lucky hit in?

She wanted to give up, resign to her grisly fate. No matter how many they killed, it seemed like with every one that fell, five more took its place. She knew the guild could bring her back should she die, but the pain of death was not a happy prospect to her. In fact, she wanted to avoid it at all costs. Even so, should she fall in battle, there was a risk that she could be captured and taken away. If anything, she planned to avoid that fate.

And so, despite her almost unbearable state, Sylvia slowly got up on sore legs, and with shaking hands drew her bloodied dagger, ready to enter the fight once more.

(Thanks to Zelosse for helping me edit this)

Gormarr was slick with sweat and blood as each of his mighty axes buried deep into the flesh of any Skaven that wandered too close. Ripping his axes free of the worthless rat corpses, the Orc carried his momentum from one wave of Skaven into the next. Despite the burning rage boiling his blood the toil of his efforts was starting to show as he gradually began to swing slower, his armor faring no better as it became scratched and dented performing its function. With the thrum of battle in his heart, and the howl of the werewolf in his ears, Gormarr failed to see the Assassin rat approach.
Few rarely did.
A roar of pain bellowed from his throat as the Skaven lodged its daggers into his back, breaking him from the battle trance. Overcome by shock and pain he fumbled his Dwarven axe to clatter on the bloody stones as Gormarr swung wildly in a maddened turning swipe at the source of his anguish before thrashing wildly at the flighty blackfurred backpedaled away chittering at its own cleverness. The poison in his veins would be lethal in moments.

Had it not been for the big Orcs monstrous tolerance, aided by Ayses flames. Gormarr had tasted the lesser poison from the rats on the plateau earlier and, while not having a tolerance, his body knew how to keep the Orc swinging..
A roar that was more rage than pain heralded his counter attack. One foot kicking a fallen helmet like a dropped ball to crunch into the Skavens grinning face. His axe took to creature in the shoulder but he was not finished. The rage had not played itself out. In one meaty hand Gormarr tore out his axe and grabbed the rats head, its eyes already fading from the world, and smashed its smug face into the ground with all his considerable strength. The skull burst like a rotten melon to splatter his armor but he cared not at all.
Retrieving his fallen weapon, the Orc was quick to realize his companions were in need of help and so fought his way to rejoin the others. His entrance came in the form of his axe popping through the back of one of the two stormvermin distracted with Nove.

Grendrick could feel it, it was like an empowering jolt through his body. It was at that moment that Cragshield had leaped from Grednrick's back and was on the move. The tiny Dwarf's resolve was powerful and it was inspiring for most to watch. However to Grendrick it was more business than anything, all he cared for was the fact that they had set the Commander of the Skaven off balance. This was the time to act for both of them.

Cragshield was pressed to close the breach, and Grendrick was going to make good use of it before it became a wall. The mighty wolf launched off his right foot and put all of his weight into a forward slam. His large body connected with the Skaven Commander and kept moving, he forced his power against the rat and ran. They duo shoving through Skaven units before Grendrick finally halted and used the momentum to throw the Skaven Commander deep into the tunnels past the breach, then the wolf turned with words to his Party.

"Go! Fight through this, and Siph will lead you though the other breach! Find the Wolf in the Rat's Nest." His words were simple at first, but the last of them had a lost meaning to the group up until those who saw him watched his next action.

Grendrick once more took off on all fours, darting into the darkness of the tunnels just before Cragshield closed up the breach. It was this that Grendrick had spoken of in hi words. He was no longer united with his party. It was now him and the Skaven Commander in the dark of the Tunnels, in the lingering depths of Skaven territory. It was here though, that Grendrick could feel himself and not have to worry about anything. This was by far the place where he could get Her out of his mind.

"Now you foul wretched Vermin! I will kill you!" Grendrick roared out to his foe in the darkness of the tunnel, all around them was nothing but stone, loose rubble, and the eerie dripping of water inside the bleak depths. Vision was limited, for most.. but Grendrick wasn't most. His eyesight quickly adjusted and the visuals of the terrain were accented by growing hue of gentle orange, this was refracted light from much further down the tunnel, it was Grendrick's primal eyes giving him a sort of low-light vision. It was just enough to make out his foe too, but that was needed to find him. Grendrick could smell the rat the whole. The Commander was no more than several feet away on the ground with a small stalagmite running through his left calf.

"Kill me? I will walk out of these tunnels with your pelt, mutt." The Skaven Commander rebutted without hesitation. All the while he had ripped his leg up off the Stalagmite and then raised to his feet. His adrenaline was pumping furiously and his leg was being planted on the ground without so much as a scowl to it. His poise was unfaltering before even a beast such as Grendrick, and he raised his hands and readied his body for a fight.

"My Pelt? My fur will only do one thing.." The Wolf coiled his body in as he raised his body upwards, his arms tightened against his chest and his head raised up high and leaned back, before the wolf lashed his arms outward and he gave a deathly stare through the darkness to his foe. "...Bathe in your Blood!"

Grendrick lunged forward towards his foe and cleared the few feet with ease. The Wolf brought his right hand hand to punch directly against the Skaven's head, but the Skaven Commander skillfully brought up his left arm to catch the blow, the pair then tried to counter with jabs to the gullet, only to find their fists connecting against one another. It was at this moment a split-second pause happened between them as they stared at the anger they gave one another, it built up for a moment before the Skaven Commander tried to peel back his right hand and throw a right cross against Grendrick's snout, but the Wolf was too eager for it and that was the Skaven's unknowing fault. Grendrick latched his powerful jaws against the Skaven's hand and crushed down while snarling the whole time. The Skaven's right hand quickly began to crumble and break internally, leaving only fragments and pieces to sit within the flesh. However the Skaven quickly utilized his left hand to throw three jabs to the side of Grendrick's head, this caught the Wolf off-guard for only a moment before Grendrick released the hand and then quickly stabbed his hands into the belt of the Skaven. It was here he utilized a weakness. Grendrick's strength was unmeasured to many degrees, and the mighty wolf quickly began to pry and pull. Before the Skaven could even react it's breastplate had been torn from it's body and slung down the tunnel, and then the Skaven could only cough up blood as Grendrick's right hand pierced the skin of the Skaven, but it wasn't over.

Grendrick felt a slight sting outside of his own adrenaline, the tickle of metal, in his left side just under his ribs. There sat a rather unique Obsidian dagger the Skaven kept hidden, and it had been shoved into Grendrick's left side four times, during the time Grendrick had ran the Skaven through with his claws. They had both injured one another with lasting wounds, and yet they both refused to give up as they both began to fight against the other's weapon. The Skaven gripped at Grendrick's arm and tried to push out while holding the blade into his side, and Grendrick was ringing his left hand around the wrist of the Skaven and cutting at it's arm with his claws to try and pry the blade out. Neither could get much head-way at first, but Grendrick would not be over-powered so easily and he refused to die to such vermin. Grendrick immediately latched his fangs into the neck of the Skaven and he tore away, shredding skin and muscle alike as well as clipping the Skaven's left juggular.

The Rat cried out in pain as it released Grendrick and reached for it's neck, and this was Grendrick's moment as he quickly made a bit of distance between him and his opponent and then unleashed a flurry of attacks, he swung his long arms with arcing razor claws to cleave against the Rat. The Rat was helpless for a moment and while it seemed it would be over quickly, the Rat wasn't ready to die either for it pushed against the odds of Grendrick and the Rat raised it's arms to withstand the attacks and then it quickly tucked itself down and rolled to left, avoiding the last few attacks from the wolf and putting them once again at a fair distance apart, outside of each other's reach.

"Filthy Dog! I use your fur as a loincloth!" The Skaven Commander screeched out in pain and anger at Grendrick as he panted and scowled. The Rat couldn't help but grunt and squeal in moments of pain as his injuries over-rid the adrenaline.

"Foul Mouse! You will make a great snack!" Grendrick roared back at the Skaven in anger and dominance, his own wounds very much evident and writhing in pain, but Grendrick would have to push past it, if he planned to face his enemy, and survive to reach reality once again.

@Roughdragon1@Hammerman@eemmtt

The slippery assassin tumbled off the Mantis' back with a light shriek as the axe clipped the side of its chest to crack the ribs and draw a small bright red line of its filthy blood before it fell into the crowd below. It never made it to the ground. Like the beetles, the Mantis could feel its masters emotions and lurched forward to swallow the assassin rat in its mandibles with a sickening crunching of broken splintering bones.
The body it spat out into the throng of Stormvermin was unrecognizable.
Maria had managed to fend off one threat but the many clan rats and the surviving Stormvermin still posed a serious threat to the groups chances for victory. With the king bleeding out on the stones alone it was only a matter of time.

A scream caught their ears as the fire priestess Ayse felt the keen edge of a Raki blade to the stomach, already its vile poison was robbing her of strength. Her eyes heralded the onslaught of fire that erupted from the priestess in a bright circle of death, turning the clanrats in her immediate vicinity into ashes in the pyroclasm of spent magic.
The flames did not subside as she channeled what was left of her magic into one more burst of healing flames to her nearest allies. Gormarrs toxic affliction burned away as his wounds closed, the aches to Sylvia were dulled to a manageable level, and the clanrats were quick to falter. More and more of their kin were dieing and even the stormvermin were being slain. As the last immediate threat to the mantis, Marianne, and the archer Fariha, were taken care of, Sylvia slumped to the ground exhausted and cradling her stomach where the blade had met flesh. A full dosage had entered her system and while it had a large portion burned away, the last lingering threads would put her out of commission for quite some time.

"RETREAT!"
"FLEE FLEE!"
"DRAW RANK!"

The disorganized vermin called out to the stormvermin and clanrat alike, the line of armored warriors was holding well against the tiring Dwarves, but then it happened. With a shout to his forebearers and the gods under the mountain, king Cragshield struck the breach with his hammer and the battle took a drastic change.
Two halberds had pierced his armor and found the hard flesh beneath, eliciting a howl of pain and anger from the stubborn dwarf that echoed over the rocks tumble to the floor. The breach had been sealed. Grendricks call echoed across the hall in the otherwordly howl that so marked him.
The rats were cut off from reinforcements.
Their commander had been shoved into the collapsed tunnel, left for dead beneath the blood soaked rocks.
Worse still - The Dwarves saw their King bleed upon the stones of his homeland.

Their fury became not the song of the mountain, of the river of gold beneath their feet or the heroes of the past, but a mournful wail of outrage and disgust. Strength flowed in their stocky framed as their hatred burned hot in their inner furnaces. For the first time since the rats coming, the Dwarves of Thesuri mountain pushed their ancestral foe back one step at a time. One swing of their weapons at a time. One huffing breathe of smoldering madness at a time.

The sinister ring of a bell far below the halls rattled its sturdy foundation..

Siph fought with the clanrats as they retreated into a single corner of the room near the breach, their instincts to flee forced a few to try and dig their way out as others clawed over the Dwarves in an attempt to bolster the Stormvermin line.

The Barbarian heard the ring of the Bell and his face showed his sudden fear. Calling out to the group, he motioned for the opposite wall where the assassins had come through.

"Finish the rats, quickly! We must find the Shaman from the bridge."

"Haa...haa...haa...haa..."

Marianne was panting. She panted like she never did before in her entire life.

She had snapped out of her adrenaline-fueled fight-or-die mind. She now realized with every inch of her body just how close she was to a certain death back there.

Her entire body shook. She could feel sweat drenching her dress in its entirety. She was thankful that it was just sweat, as it wouldn't surprise her if she had soiled her knickers as well.

She grabbed her chest, trying to calm down her furiously beating heart to no avail.

The dread she felt right now was incomparable to anything she had ever experienced before. The scene where the rat assasin almost stabbed her with his blade replayed on her mind over and over again.

"So this is what Father meant back then..."

"Listen, Marianne, if you have chosen the path of an adventurer, know that one day you will find yourself on that dividing line between life and death. It will be really frightening, no doubt about that. But if you can overcome that dread, then you can be called a real adventurer, someone who has wrestled with Death and comes back alive. Your father here had ended up in so many of such situations that he lost count of them. But with every dire situation you overcome, the more mature you will become as a fighter, and as a person."

"It's alright if you decide to give up. But I have faith that my daughter will be stronger than that. She will truly become a true adventurer, just like her father."

"This is... true dread... I have stood in the border between life and death..."

"And now... I shall overcome it... I shall overcome this feeling and grow stronger from it...!"

Marianne hugged her own body, trying to calm her shivers. She focused on the fact that she had triumphed, and the rat had been defeated. She was the victor, thus there would be no reason for her to be scared like this.

After what seemed to be an eternity to her, she finally calmed down. She thanked her father for his advice before surveying the situation below her.

The fight had returned to their favor it seemed, with a lot of the stormvermin having being obliterated and the rest of the rats squealing for a retreat. Their reinforcements were cut off and their leader was nowhere to be found. However, the king of the dwarves were in a dire state also, as he was losing blood rapidly thanks to his wounds.

And then, she heard it. A sinister sound of a bell ringing from the halls down below. It sent a familiar chill down to her spine.

The Shaman! The Shaman was still alive!

"Finish the rats, quickly! We must find the Shaman from the bridge."

Siph had the same idea as hers. The bell was really the work of the Shaman. Who knew what foul magic he would conduct to turn the tide back to their side once more?

They had to finish off the rats here first before going after the creature.

Marianne ordered her mantis to put her down, which it immediately obeyed. Then, with a loud voice, she shouted, "Mantis! Kill all the remaining rats as quickly as you can! Show them no mercy!" This, it also obeyed, as it used its legs to walk towards the remaining rat forces. It would have leaped towards them if not for the ceiling hindering his movement.

Of course, Marianne didn't have to shout to order the insect. But she did so to bolster her own courage, to display her dominance over the rats that had humiliated her. She would not fall afraid to them. Her father once said that an adventurer who's afraid of her enemy already lost to it before the battle even began.

As she attempted to make her way to Marianne, she was constantly hindered by clan-rats that obstructed her path. Such creatures would have been a walk in the park, had she not been injured earlier. Her problems were compounded by the fatigue that settled in with every sword swing she made. Fariha may be a seasoned hunter but like most living beings, her stamina wasn't limitless.. Especially after using a chunk of magical energy for a single spell.

A scream rang out amidst the combat. Ayse. The huntress made the simple mistake of being distracted by her injured ally and the clan rat took advantage of it, thrusting his crude dagger forward. Fariha narrowly dodged the strike with a sidestep, however the blade still drew blood, making a shallow cut to her abdomen. She cursed as she cut the clan-rat's head clean off with her blade. Too many mistakes were being made in such a short period of time, and it was making the wood elf agitated. This was precisely why she preferred to work alone. Less room for error, less need to care about allies. The only person she could blame is herself.

Fariha retreated slightly as Ayse's flame consumed the area, anticipating a damaging flame since the caster was consumed with pain, but to her surprise, the flames burned away at the clan-rats and healed her wounds. The wood elf took this opportunity to retrieve her bow after noticing that Marianne seemed to be just fine on her own.

Siph's call pierced through the noise. His words causing Fariha to click her tongue in distaste. "If only I hadn't missed..", she muttered to herself as she fought her way toward her bow. As she cut down the clan-rats, in the corner of her eye she noticed that her bow was being carried away by a skaven who thought it could claim it for it's own. In a swift action, she flung her hunting dagger at the thief, the dagger lodging itself into the rat's neck. The bow clattered on the stone floor as the creature dropped dead.

Fariha pulled the dagger out of the rat's neck, it's blood pouring out as the wound was left open. Picking up her bow, she scanned the area. Most of the Skaven had fled if they weren't already dead, the Stormvermin hadn't budged, their resolve much stronger than their lesser comrades. The clan rats that remained seemed confused and lost in panic. Easy prey. If she knew where the Shaman was, he'd be dead in an instant. He's lucky that he's not in her sights... Yet.

Pulling his axe free from the dead stormvermin the orc quickly turn to face the second stormverim swinging his axe at the second one. The second armor rat was warned to the orc presence by the death of its comrade it was quick to react. The rat could reflect the incoming axe swing by Gorrmar. The stormvermin quickly retaliated by jabbing at the greeskin heart hoping to end the fight there. Thankfully Gorrmar could recover in time to doge out of the jab and quickly embed his axe into the rat’s neck. Suddenly the familiar flame of Sylvia engulfed his body. The greenskin grunted as the magic fire washed over him. As arcane fire burned the toxin out of the large greenskins wounds he could felt his strength returning in force. With his renewed state the orc quickly butchered the clanrats that were trying to sneak up on him.

The cries of the dwarfs drew Gorrmar drew his attention to the main battle. The orc joined with the dwavern ranks helping kill the surviving clanrats and the stormverim. As he and dwarfs were eliminating the last of the skaven he could hear Siph warn about the shaman. Hearing that the shaman is here he doubled his efforts trying to quickly finished off the surviving skaven.

“Ah! God dammit!” Sylvia looked over to the source of her pain: Ayse, who had used her flames to burn away the poison inside her. Of course, this helped her rid the deadly venom, but there was a side effect: There had been burning flames inside her, at least for an instant, and it felt about as painful as it sounded.

“Thank you, but damn, that hurt!!” Sylvia held her wound, and besides the earlier blood, she felt no new blood flowing out. Most likely, the flames had dried up the wound in a way. Probably not enough to cauterize it, but enough to at least staunch the bleeding. She quietly recited the words to her transparency spell, and she felt the familiar lightness overtake her.

She was see-through now, nearly invisible. All around her, the battle raged on. Dwarves clashed with Skaven, hammers breaking skulls and swords piercing flesh. The sounds and stenches of battle and death filled the air, and occasionally a Skaven or Dwarf would come near her, missing her hunched silhouette.

At this point, she was really regretting getting rid of her armor earlier, but still, not getting rid of it my have gotten her impaled by that halberd, which would have been a fate much, much worse.

I suppose I’ll just consider myself lucky.

She still had her dagger in her hand, in case a Skaven tried to get a stab at her. When -- if she got back, she made a mental note to buy some better armor, something more, well, stab resistant.

She felt the remnants of the rat poison coursing through her body, numbing her limbs and making them go lax. She kept hitting the back of her hand on the ground to regain feeling in them, so much that she had begun to see bruises form on her knuckles. Still, anything was better than losing the ability to fight. Once that was gone, she might as well be dead. The good thing was, however, the poison seemed to be fading. Once it did, she would be able to fight properly again. Well, if the cut on her belly was ignored.

She saw a pair of armored paws shuffle in front of her, stopping in their tracks. She looked up to see another Stormvermin, sniffing at her translucent form, turning its metal-encased head in an inquisitive way.

Well, guess I have no choice, then.

From her crouched form, Sylvia rose up quickly, attempting to stab the skaven through its vulnerable mandible. She saw its eyes widen, and at the last second, it batted away her hand. Sylvia staggered to the side, struggling to keep her form. However, her limbs were reacting slowly, sluggishly, like they were under water.

And I have your bastard halberd friend to thank for that.

The Stormvermin wielded a vicious-looking warpick, the single spike at its end bristling with razor-sharp protrusions and dwarf blood. The weapon looked like it could bring down the most heavily armored warriors in a single, powerful strike. And judging by the dead dwarves around them, it already had.

And what did Sylvia have? Her own bloodied clothes, and an excessively sharp knife.

The bearded and bloodied clan of iron willed Dwarves breached the impossibly sturdy wall of clanrats and their Stormvermin coubterparts, every member from either sidr had tasted blood now. In the end, as history had written it all those years ago, it had been been that stubborn tenacity of the mountain dwelling folk and the near sacrifice of their king at the critical junction that had sealed the fate of the rat scourge.

Of course there were many more that would have died if not for the actions of that strange party of mercenaries that had come from the grey range far beyond the steps of their homeland.

Mariannes Mantis had made a fine impact on the line as it skewered rats with impunity, the others rallying around its feet as the savage Greenskinned battlerager tore into the armored rats with the same unrivaled fury it had displayed when the fighting had began.
Such things often inspired others to redouble their efforts in an attempt to rival such a display.
It helped that the Orcs axe, as it swung about in a blind fury, had managed to distract the War pick wielding stormvermin that had cornered the translucent Sylvia. While not seriously injured, it had lost sight of its prey and become overrun with foes. Forced to retreat or be destroyed.

The Skaven line had fallen to nearly half its size it minutes as it was caught under the pressure of a concentrated effort. Their king was already being pulled from the fight, to the steps of his throne, and the few other rats left were struggling to dig through the solid stone wall.
In the end.. they were just rats.
Siph had come to the aid of the King as the golden figure lay broken on the steps breathing their last. Two deep wounds had delivered fatal injuries to the proud ruler. Siphs strange healing mist had only slowed the process but could not save Cragshield from his fate.

"Rest, king. If your gods have no more need of you.. You will find peace."

The Dwarf king did not respond, would not, but simply nodded. Eyes closed in respect.

Siph rose and strode from the steps, stolen axe in hand, to the breach, and entered without a word. He would beat the group to the Shaman. Hopefully silence the bell, or kill the shaman, but that was something he doubted would be accomplished alone.
The group would need time to recover, lick their wounds if only a little, before toppling the final piece of this grand retelling. Siph would pay for that time with his own two hands.
Through the breach made by the assassins during their flank he disappeared from sight, the heavy curtain of true darkness swallowing him completely as the torchlight faded behind him.

Sylvia was prepared to engage in a bloody brawl against the vermin wielding a warpick, analyzing all manners of attack and how to minimize the injuries she would receive. However, the massive axe-wielding orc was wildly swinging nearby, causing chaos and confusion within the ranks of the rats.

The warpick rat staggered back along with the rest of the Skaven, driven back by the wildly swinging orc. Sylvia let out a breath. For now, at least, she was safe. She looked among the corpses of several fallen warriors beneath her feet.

Surely, they wouldn’t need their things in the afterlife.

Among the first things she found was a few gold pieces, good to spend on shops after they got out of the rift.

A curiosity she had found on one of the Skaven corpses was a small, glass bottle topped with a cork. The inside was filled with a sick, nearly luminescent liquid. Just looking at it nearly made her retch. Certainly, this was the poison the Skaven coated their weapons with. To think that this stuff was inside of her body a few minutes ago.

Her wish for some better armor was fulfilled, as she found a set of plate gauntlets from a smaller dwarf, of course, dead as well. Surprisingly, as she slipped on the gauntlets, they fit surprisingly well around her slender forearms. They were a bit weighted, but at least her hands wouldn’t be cut off.

Another curiosity was the hilt and a bit of blade of a former sword, now broken. She didn’t know why, but she felt compelled to keep it with her, despite its initial perceived uselessness. Who knows, maybe someday it would turn out to be some hidden relic of a time long past. Or it could have just been junk.

The best thing she had found, in her opinion, was the last. As Sylvia picked through the remains of the dead Dwarves and Skaven alike, she found a flat, wide blade, the shortsword of a former Dwarf. As she picked it up, she almost cut herself, as the blade was surprisingly light, almost too light; a weight comparable to her dagger. She grinned, imagining the bloodshed she could wreak with such a special weapon. She had decided to name it the “Feathered Blade” for both its weight and its shape, which reminded her of a bird’s feather.

To her right, she saw something peculiar: The party’s guide, Siph, had disappeared into the Skaven breach, all by himself! The torchlight faded as he went deeper into the darkness. Like a true assassin, Sylvia stalked towards the breach, walking cat-like through the darkness. The absence of light wasn’t much of a problem for her, as she only had to follow the light casted by Siph’s torch.

Now, where could you be going?

Marianne watched as her mantis did its work. The ordinary ratmen stood no chance at all against its fury. It easily decapitated them with just a single swipe of its scythes as the rats were too slow to dodge them. And if they somehow managed to dodge them, the orc's berserk rage would be the one to end them.

It was clear to her that the fight was now back to their favor once more.

Suddenly, she felt tired all of a sudden. So tired that she had to kneel over and prevent herself from falling with her knee and hand while panting. She then saw the mantis' huge form disappear from the battlefield.

She had ran out of mana, it seemed. She hadn't noticed it thanks to the adrenaline filling her entire blood system thanks to her fight with that rat-assasin. And now the tiredness hit her all at once like an elephant.

She ordered with her mind to the mantis and any bees of hers that still remained out there to return. She was thankful that the fight was pretty much over when she fell down as she doubted she could fight for much longer. As her insects returned, she could tell that they were tired too so she thanked them deeply from her heart for their valiant efforts in fighting her opponents. She made a mental note to give them double the amount of the food they used to receive.

It wasn't all joy however, as she sensed that some of her bees were missing. No doubt the rats had got to them. Not to mention the steel beetles that perished protecting her from the fatal blow of the Stormvermin. Once again, she thanked them for sacrificing their life for her.

After recovering her breath, she stood back up and checked upon her allies. She thanked the gods when she discovered that they were mostly fine and none had really fallen in battle. She didn't saw Sylvia though. Where she could've gone too? She knew if she were in a mortal injury, her stealth ability should turn off by their own and she would be able to see her.

Her thoughts were interrupted however by one of the dwarves approaching her, one of the dwarf king's aid, judging by his introduction, thanking her for her help in fending off the rat vermins. With him was an old rusty iron chest coated with dust. He opened it and gave her two items. The first was some sort of hammer, and he told her to give it to the werewolf. With his strength, Grendrick should be able to wield the heavy hammer easily, she thought, but she wasn't sure if he would like to fight with it over his claws like he had been doing all this time. The second one was for her, and it was a quiver. She thought it was an odd gift for her, since she wasn't an archer and she didn't even have a bow with her. And the rest was just gold to be shared with the group.

"Do not worry," Marianne replied with a smile, "We would make sure to remember the courage of the dwarves as well." She looked at the body of their dead king and continued with a respectful tone, "Especially the courage of your king, and how he fought valiantly with all his might. Without him, we would've lost this battle for sure." She walked slowly to him and kneeled before him, lowering her head with respect. She felt bad that they hadn't managed to save him, but she knew casualties were unavoidable in battle. She herself almost died and it could've been her instead of him if the gods decreed otherwise.

"Rest in peace, o mighty one..." she whispered.

---

After giving her respects to the fallen dwarf king, she began to think on what their next course of action should be. First of all, she decided she would use the ticket for the quiver, as she couldn't use it right now. She could feel magic flowing from it and she thought she would take it to the mages on the Emporeum to be examined. She would also use the ticket for the gold, as there were quite a lot of it and they would just encumber them if they had to carry them around.

As she looked around further to find either Grendrick or Slyvia, or Siph for that matter as she also couldn't find the man anywhere, she found a chainmail glove lying near the corpses of both dwarves and Skavens. She picked it up and deciphered that it gave its wearer bonus strength. That should work well with the axe she was holding, she thought, and she decided to wear it on her right hand, the same hand holding her dwarven axe. It certainly contrasted with the dress she was wearing, but this was neither the time nor the place to care about such things.

She also found a rusted dagger, a broken straight sword, and some more gold coins. Instead of throwing the former two away, she decided she would bring them to the mages as well just in case they were some magical weapons that could be fixed. The coins, she decided to ticket them as well since combined with the coins she had picked up earlier, they began to weight heavily on her dress. No need to carry them around in the realm. She wasn't going to go shopping here after all.

After all that was finished, she decided to go towards the hole where the skaven breach happened. She remembered Grendrick going there mid-battle after all.

As the climax of the battle drew to an end, Fariha decided to let the remaining dwarves and other combatants deal with the dwindling skaven numbers. She observed the bloodied arena, the scent of steel, blood, and death filled the air around her. Death was a normal sight to her from her experience in the Rift, before the guild's rules had changed. She looked upon the deceased dwarves, then to the dwarven king. She slowly walked over to the king, a warm smile on her face as she gazed upon him. His soul was long gone by now. Fariha sat beside him, dipping her finger into the fresh blood that seeped from him, before drawing a small circle upon his forehead. A circle that symbolised the completion of life, his cycle had ended. The crimson circle glowed slightly and soon faded away, as if it had evaporated off his skin.
"I will dance for you, your highness. I shall celebrate the life you and your fellow warriors lived." She whispered to him as she got to her feet.

Fariha looked around, her mind shifting from religion to looting. It was difficult to find anything of value among the corpses, as most of the armour and weapons were battered and broken. However, among the piles of damaged items, there were a few that looked unused. From a single Stormvermin, she took his longsword and armour, placing talismans upon them. She had no need for them, but perhaps they'd fetch a reasonable price due to their good condition. She also found a rat totem, which she tossed aside as she deemed it useless and of no value to anyone. She already had a Shaman symbol anyway.

The dirty leather armour that she found wasn't even her size, but after a little bit of cleaning, the leather could be crafted into something else. The gold began to pile up in her pouch, thus she slapped a talisman onto that as well. Finally, she found a pair of boots... which were strangely her size, if not slightly larger. She felt a magical energy flow through the material. The elf closed her eyes, focusing upon the boots. Images of wind magic flowed into her mind, however it was weak. Boots that increased the speed of her movements.. Would prove very useful to her. However, she needed to clean them before putting them on. Blood had been splattered upon them beforehand. Thus she placed a talisman upon it as well.

As she scouted around for items, she had been retrieving unbroken arrows from those she had shot. It became evident to her that the gash in her quiver had grown larger, making it completely unusable. Fariha sighed to herself as she undid the clasp, removing the quiver from her side. She thought it would've survived a little longer, but evidently not.

The archer noticed some of the others following behind Siph, which she decided to follow suit. She only had 3 arrows left, hanging between her fingers. But hopefully her magic would suffice if something was to happen. Into the darkness she followed, her eyes quickly adjusting to the low-light allowing her to see as if there was daylight.

As the final skaven died Gorrmar let out a roar of victory along with the dwarven warriors around him. striding over to the fallen king given him the warriors salute and a silent prayer to Gormerrok to watch his honorable soul. The orc took a moment to check around the battlefield for loot. One of the corpse stormverim corps one caught his eye. Approaching the dead stormverim he carefully looked it over "Dat git has some flashy kit," Gormarr said to himself as he stared the stormvermin armor. The greenskin took a quick once over at the condition of his own armor and made a decisions.
With efficiency the stormverim was strip of its armor while the greenskin quickly replaced his ruined armor with stormverim's armor. The first bit of armor the greenskin equipped on the plate gauntlets. As the enchantment activated the magic flowed into strengthen the orc. Gorrmar swiftly fitted the skaven armor while stuffing the totems he found into his bag. Picking up a halberd he checked it over the condition polearm. The greenskin grinned as he came up with an idea as he holsters both of weapons. The orc made his way to the hole were Siph went. He saw the elf enter the tunnel. The orc decide to follow the elf and enter the tunnel.

(Insert rat shaman pic here later.)

Skritch Greatscar paced back and forth in his new robes. Like the previous, they were tattered and dirty scraps of cloth and leather sewn together haphazardly but they served well enough. At his hip was a grimoire made from the preserved flesh of dwarves and penned in their own filthy blood. It spoke of chaotic atrocities and worship to the Horned Rat.
Even those inept with the ways of magic could feel the unholy creations power at a distance.

To the Grey Seers left was a construct of wood and metal, built like a mobile battering ram and pushed by the faithful clanrats who fanatically served their chaotic god.
A gigantic bronze bell sat on a bloodied swing designed solely for this very purpose. The screaming bell inspired terror in the hearts of those who denied the absolute power of the Skaven Gods power, and sewed within the many castes of ratkin a familiar savagery that defied all reason.
Two rat ogres flanked the bell, one grafted with twisted weapons where its hands should be. The other had a single grafted weapon, but both ratkin abominations were heavily armored. A third such creature wandered the wider tunnels where the assassin rats had gone.

What worried the shaman was the many rats that had retreated down the main tunnel even after the Storm rats had marched out with Amgrim.

Those who had returned with their tail between their legs had been summarily discarded. The Ogre responsible for ringing the bell had crushed their worthless forms across every jagged of the altar, their blood coating the bells bronze frame in dripping wet black.

"YOU!" Skritch pointed one clawed finger at the single armed ogre. "ENOUGH WAIT WAIT. RING BELL!" The tootht mawed smile of the pious leader of the invasion revealed rotting gums and teeth as it clambered to his position atop the construct.
Skritch would ride the bell and channel the dark magic of his god and finally destroy the wretched dwarf menance that had held their kind back from ruling the surface for centuries untold.
The bell raised up slow and steady until at last it reached its apex. Releasing its grasp of the heavy chain, the gilded bronze bell swung at last. The heavy echo of its evil being struck by the warpstone clapper inside. Of Grendricks howl inspired terror, this dark thrum was worse. The stones beneath your feet would shake as the vibrations rattled your to your very soul.

It echoed a single thought: Doom

Over the noise of the bell the Shaman called to his people to prepare. The would dig through the block and retake the tunnels. For the Horned Rat!

-------------------

@Rekaigan

A lone Dwarf in bloodied armor watched the heroes of the breach drift into the dark hole. First the bearded human who wielded the heavy vermin weapons with ease, followed by what he presumed was his mate armed with a knife and shortswors. The orc was the last to follow into the lightless underdark carved from the many dwarven mines.
All but one left.
Rairsun Cragshield, son of Reirsun Cragshield, Son of Roirsun, Grandson of Rothsun, limped towards his father with a heavy heart. It now came down to him, barely a man by dwarven standards, to lead his broken clan back to glory in the wake of this atrocity. But a boy was not capable of such a thing when faced with the death of his friends and family. Overtaken with grief, he wept quietly with each faultering step, until at last he collapsed to his knees at the steps where his fathers fierce spirit had finally met with the end.
3 centuries of life and knowledge gone.

"Ye durned rats. Ye come here.." Rairsun mumbled, fumbling with bloody hands for his fathers hand, and closed his eyes. The few others nearby not dealing with the survivors and Skaven, gave the boy the space he needed. "Ye come ta me Da's home. Pillage us! Ye kill an' murder me boys ta death! I promise ye Father, here on yer steps, this won't stand. E'en if it takes a hunnerd thousand years!" Enraged beyond tears of grief, he tenderly removed the horned helmet of his deceased father and placed it upon his own head before moving to the throne.
To a one, the dwarves turned to view their new king.

"SUFFER NO VERMIN TO LIVE, BOYS. FOR THE DEAD, FOR REIRSUN, FOR THESURI!"

Every last voice echoed the new kings passionate declaration of hatred and memory. They would never forget or forgive such an atrocity as this. It was an old foe, but a new grudge had been made. The memory of a Dwarf was long indeed.

Marching down from the throne, more limp that stomp, Rairsun Cragshield whistled to an aide who ran off after a few quick words.

"Listen Elf. Me kinds hurtin' bad. But we still got a way o dealin' with whats xomin' don't ye doubt!" The ground beneath their feet shook with the heavy pang of the screaming bell. At this distance it was only powerful enough to test your will. The newly crowned king didn't even flinch. "We ain't got a way o fightin' them as a group. I must ask of ye a service, an offer ye whatever you want in return." Rairsun bowed so low his beard touched the floor. "Please go with me ta silence that infernal bell, and save my kingdom!"

From the side, the Aide returned with a quiver stocked with mithril tipped arrows, nearly 70 of them all crammed together.

Finally leaning up to look her in the eye, the king put his hands on his hips and stared at Fariha. Four shield bearing dwarves armed with bloodied weapons stepped behind him. All ready to march.

"Will ye aid us one last time, lass?"

---------------------

@ManoftheNorth

Argrim traded blows between gasping breaths, exhausted and injured but stubborn, the Ratkin commander refused to be bested by some filthy dog. No matter how large it was!
A swipe of Grendricks claws had drawn 4 jagged lines across his gleaming longswords otherwise polished surface and forced Argrim to scowl in frustration. Few could match his ferocity and cunning in single combat, but this feral monster was steadily pushing him back! The injuries were throbbing in agony with every step but he kept going.
His swings came in hard, missing the werewolf by mere inches. Every swing that failed to kill the beast only invited retaliation, but still they kept going. The sword firmly in Argrims hand was all ot had ever needed to survive and thrive in the harsh world of the Skaven.
Argrim had risen from a feeble clanrat to commander of the biggest warparty in their known history!

The Screaming Bell rang through the tunnels where they fought.
Its effect was immediate.

Adrenaline could dull the pain of most injuries, but the holy bass of his god echoed into every ache of his body like wildfire as it rekindled that most primal of feelings in his core. To survive! To kill!

Renewed in fury and body the commandet threw himself at the werewolf, deflecting its claws in a flurry of swings and stabs that scored hit after hit upon the massive creatures chest. It was a large target but few of the attacks that went through were more than a slight nick at its flesh.
The poison coating his blade was ineffective against the snarling menace, most of it having rubbed onto the damn wolfs fur.

"YOU WILL NOT SURVIVE BEAST BEAST. I KILL!" It chittered, coming in again with a series of short slashes and thrusts meant to push the wolf back. If it stumbled into a wall, or tripped on the rubble, Argrim would kill it then and there.

-----------------

(Put picture of Siph here)

Siph ran with as much haste as he could muster in the tight tunnels, having been carved for much more slender figures, and prayed he would arrive in time. With every strike of the bell these whiskered fiends would be bolstered. There were thousands more likely coming to reinforce the initial attackers, drawn fromevery contested tunnel where they fought the defenders still holding to their defenses throughout every inch of the subterranean kingdom.
Like moths to open flame they would swarm this exposed entrance to the heart of the castle.

As the tunnels expanded into the smooth carved pathways of the Dwarven mines, Siph knew he would need to double his pace. But the others might not know the way like he did. With the head of the weapon he carved an arrow into the stone walls and ran, discarding the torch in favor of holding his axe in both hands.

The Rat Ogre failed to catch him by surprise, but the burning torch caught its attention. Stupid beyond belief, it watched the flickering flames dance in the darkness. Transfixed by the strsnge sight.
It stood in the middle of the hallway blocking the advancing party from aiding Siph without even realizing it.

@eemmtt@Rekaigan@Hammerman@Roughdragon1

@Zelosse@ManoftheNorth Collab

---

Varesh, faithful to the Silent Lord above, adhered to his vows of service even after so many years of hardship. Born without a voice but brimming with a desire to bring peace to his troubled home, this man traversed the world in search of knowledge that would give his people a way to fight against their ancient shadowy foe and banish them for good.

His search had led him to Apothicus, from there to the adventurers guild, and from there into the forming party calling themselves the Midnight Lace. Whatever that meant..
Through them Varesh had been paired with an accentric scholar by the name of Alister Valencia.

Some would call this non-stop smooth talking magician a visionary, a trail blazer in search of wonders lost to the universe. Varesh wanted to call him insane but had no voice to do so..
The group had cleared a lower rift that had taken place in a long dead volcano, thousands of years had come and gone since the last time of an eruption and yet the ground beneath their feet was still warm to the touch.
Of course that heat could have been a by-product of the cultists work in trying to summon a gateway to the abyss to bring forth a legion of demons to help raze the world back to dust and darkness. The group had been capable and quick in dominating the flow of combat as they cleared the rift with relative ease, leaving only Alister and Varesh alone in the silent world of the rift as they examined its contents hungrily for lost knowledge replicated by the infinity stone.

That usually boiled down to Alister touching something he shouldn't and Varesh getting them out of the disaster alive..

"By the great Gleaming Glitters of the Heaven's! They managed to construct a gateway deep in here? It is actually standing? How though, the heat, the tremors, the constant inconsistancy of magic... something as unstable as one of these would either never function or be destroyed. But here it is!!" Alister was practically giddy in his nature as he took a flurishing step towards Varesh and then quickly pressed his hands to the Omijurian man's shoulders with a lift of his feet. This brought Alister up and off the ground to spin on his palms around the silent comrade.

"Say something! This is a marvel of magic... Dark magic, but who cares!" Alister poked and joked to Varesh before he took a leaping step toward the center of the room.

There in it's center stood a massive gateway arch, comprised of what seemed like obsidian and crystal with mettalic poles and plates. The monstrosity was a great thing in the over all assembly of magical constructs. It presence in such a place meant it was well built and designed to hold up to the force of a Volcano.. literally. The chamber it was housed in was a large rotunda of hollow volcanic rock. The floor was steaming with warmth and lit by torches of the Occult brimming with a brilliant purple flame. Eight were placed across the the circumference of the chamber and they lit the chamber more than one would expect. A purple hue glew across every surface in the chamber, and the Gateway seemed to faintly react as tiny carving in it's face sparkled in the light.

The Cultists may have been slain, but the journey was far from over for Alister. This was evident as he pressed his hands to the gently humming face of the Arch-way and he began to murmur to himself as he tried to understand the arcane runes that were splattered across the face. He knew a few here and there, but it was taking time to discern the proper words to form phrases and sentences.

You couldn't see his face, but every time this man touched Varesh and said something along the lines of 'speak up' it made his face twist into a grimace. All in good fun, he supposed, but his inability to tell the man to shove it was a constant outrage for his normally quite mellow ways.
But if you wanted to find power you needed to follow people that could find it. Varesh had no training in the ways of magic and could not learn even if he wanted to; many powerful invocations required lengthy incantations and even then.. few were the spells that could truly harm a Qatari being for long. Weapons imbued with magic or holy power were best used to deal with that particular menace.

The warhammer resting in his right hand, coated in a fresh paint of bright red blood, showed it could be useful against a lot of other things too. Demonic beings summoned by deranged lunatics like the cultists of this Volcanic hellscape were just one of many that learned what it could do.

Alister was raving like a madman, lips flapping in awe at the crafstmanship of some devils totem, and a part of the holy man prayed for the strength to simply crush the foul thing here and now. It was an abomination of dark magic that could have been the end of every being on the planet once upon a time.
It had been destroyed hundreds of years ago by the jointed efforts of brave men and women who had waged war on this place and shattered the cultists reign for good. But in the rifts, it lived on still. It would be destroyed before he left as homeage to those that had done so in the past. But only once the more experienced practitioner of this strange art learned all he could from it, to better combat it in the future.

Knowledge was power.

Varesh took a step forward and yanked on Alisters shoulder, pulling the man from the gateway his hands were idly climbing over. using what little sign language he could, Varesh tried to explain that hitting the wrong room could 'make boom', accentuating that moment by imitating the sound of an explosion poorly.
Pointing to Alisters eyes and then more aggressively to the runes, he hoped the point would be clear. Look. Not touch.

"Ok, but you see.." Alister was watching Varesh's hands with a slight knick of his own bottom lip between his teeth, and a gentle sigh to the silent partner as he pointed out the clear possibility of an unstable gateway.

"Yes, yes. Boom, big, possible. But you also know that we could possibly harness it for more understanding of the rifts themselves right? No one has ever effectively gotten a gateway working in a rift, and survived to tell about the experience! Imagine if I could! Imagine if I could get it to work and it ported us from this rift into another rift? Or another location in this same rift? [i]Or even to a location back in the true reality of the present!" Alister quickly drew his rapier with his right hand from his left hip and pointed out a few of the runes from a distance to appease his compatriot.

"These runes here signify planar shifting, anchoring, and travel. Think about it, Varesh. Think about stepping through his portal now, in a recreation of ancient history, and popping out the other-side in long forgotten ruins of the present. A connected gateway, or this very chamber, in the present, in a realm where this portal is already destroyed. We could use that knowledge to instill the Infinity Bridge with back-up portals, back doors! A way to send reinforcments to rift parties, a way of giving rift parties a way out.. instead of making them die and come back through their blood-shards. A way to end the deaths of others would promote a grand statment.. It is what I seek, a reason to explore magic, to explore the rifts. Magic is what I desire, Varesh.. to know it, is to know the world."

Alister quickly turned back to the Portal and he lowered his rapier and then he sheathed his blade and stepped to the opposite face of the arch-way. It was there that Alister found a particularly redundant rune that was more or less a sign for beginning. It was commonly used for the charging of power, or the storing of magic, and it was often the first in a sequence of rituals or runic commands to activate grand magic.

"You know, I bet one of those Torches would make a great substitue for Mage-light and I am certain it would burn unendingly." Alister said pointing out the closest torch high on the chamber wall. Alister hoped that Varesh, as the Silent onlooker he was for the moment, would turn to see the brilliant purple flame with his own eyes, and whether he would or not, Alister quickly slipped a hand over the "Beginning" rune in the nature of activating the Arch-way's simpliest function. Charging up power to be used..

Varesh shook his head at the explanation. Backdoors to rifts would be a disaster, as mixing dimensional magic in a rift would be disastrous. Everyone knew that. The last time something like that had occured, a team of rift dwellers had been torn to shreds in a cataclysmic eruption of their rifts reality. Everything that existed within that created world of the infinity stone had shattered.
The party that ventured there have never returned to the infinity bridge.

Caught a little off guard by the magical lighting suggestion he turned to view the torches lined across the area bathing the surroundings with their strange purple luminessence. Such things were not common in Apothicus, but there were other imitations of-

Wait a second!

Varesh turned back to the magician as he slipped his hand over one particular rune. At first it seemed harmless, just idly tracing his finger over the smooth lines etched into the crystaline surface, but the thrum of magic that pulsed in the cavern like an earthquake a moment later only confirmed his fears. That damned fool activated the gateway!
No holy word could stifle the flow of magic to the construct as it began the arduous process of activating one rune at a time as it sucked in the ambient magic around them to fuel its demonic purpose.
One by one the glowing glyphs and sigils flared to life in angry hues of red and purple so bright it hurt the eyes to look upon, an unseen set of runes had been carved into the stone floor surrounding the gateway now began to flare with a similar dull hue as the gate. It was circling around the obsidian arch over and over in an expanding spiral.

Varesh lunged forward and grasped Alistar by the front of his shirt and easily lifted him off the ground, an angry shake as the holy man pointed at the growing spiral with concern. If that thing activated, who knew what would happen. Putting Ali back on the ground, he pointed at the portal and gestured frantically to 'stop'.

"Stop isn't a rune!" Alister angrily kicked the arm of the Omijurian and he spun his body in the grip to drop to the floor and he gave a nod before spiraling his hands about his body before his right hand came twisting and bent upward with extended fingers infront of his face, while his right hand flicked behind his body and his fingers curled into a fist.

"You see, I have a plan! Stop may not be a rune! But Change certainly is a rune!" Alister immediately let his own magic begin to flow from his body, eccentric twirling strings of magic lashed out from his finger-tips and entwined with the magic that sprung from the floor. The red was being latched onto by Alister's blue magic, and the strings and runic symbols began to dance around another.

"Time to give ole Ali a hug Varesh, standing too far away might make it messy. We may not have much wiggle room! But this will be the most marvelous dance!" Alister began to spin his body once more, his quick footsteps preformed a sashe of movements that formed magical runes with his sliding toes and heels, and as each one was made they flung themselves to the Gateway and tried to replace previous runes, and eventually the blue hue of Alister's magic began to more solidly meld with the Red. Now the purple in the room was emphasized by the now purple rings of magic around the room. However the dance was short as Alister stomped his foot to a rythyme that seemed to only play in his head and upon said stomp the magic would pulse ever harder and Alister would curl his body together as if he was about to scream to the heaven's. His magic was pouring out at a pace he hadn't ever tried before and it was draining him much quicker than he anticipated.

"We might, just survive... Maybe." Alister murmured to himself a moment.. "Who am I kidding! I WILL NEVER DIE! Let's ride this Baby all the way home Varesh! Long live Alister Valencia."

Marianne looked at the hole the skaven made. Pitch black. No doubt the skavens had better eyes that could navigate such a place with easy unlike the human eyes she had. She certainly couldn't just stroll in without any light, which was why she took a torch first with her. With her axe in her right hand and her torch in her left, she entered.

Her steps were certainly slow and cumbersome compared to Siph and Sylvia. Even though she had a torch with her, she couldn't march forward with certainty like Siph could, while Sylvia had the advantage of her sharp eyes that could navigate in the dark well. Her heart for some reason started to beat more frequently as she walked forward. Perhaps it was her battle instinct, she thought to herself. There was something beyond this passage that held immense power.

Her doubt was soon answered when she heard the bell rang. Its terrible noise stroke deep into her very soul, surprising her and making her torch fall to the ground, extinguishing the flame it carried. Her eyes widened as she crouched down, covering her ears with both of her hands. Cold sweat dampened her dress once more as her entire body shook. The noise... the noise was so... so horrid. It was definitely worse than Grendrick's shout of terror.

Doom. That word filled her entire mind.

Marianne stayed like that for as long as the bell echoed, and even some time after that. Only after she regained her composure then she rose up from her crouching position, with her body still shaking from the terror. Her panicked mind urged her, pleaded to her to retreat, as they told her that whoever made that noise was something she couldn't even dream to conquer. Doom still echoed in her thoughts. And the darkness surrounding her certainly didn't help. She tried as hard as she could to calm her mind down but even her rational mind told her that she would certainly have difficulties if she had to fight an opponent as strong as the Stormvermin, if not more, as she no longer had her mantis available to use. In the end, she rationalized that she should regroup with the others still behind her as the opponent at the end of this passage was something they should all tackle together.

And so she turned back. And this time she actually ran instead of walking. She didn't get far however before she bumped into something, making her fall to the ground. However, that something soon spoke, revealing the familiar voice of Fariha.

@Rekaigan

Fariha silently watched the dwarf as he limped up the stairs towards the deceased king. He seemed a lot younger than the royal, but it was always hard to tell when it came to dwarves, their thick beards and wrinkled skin were all the same to her. The elf frowned slightly as the young dwarf wept for the dead king, his words echoed around her making her realised that this was the Dwarven king's son. The prince, if lack of a more suitable term. It seemed strange to her that someone could simply crown themselves right after a large conflict, however politics weren't her strong suit.

His exclamation was filled with passion, and hatred. She felt sympathy for the Dwarves, but she couldn't possibly understand what it's like for them. The loss of many kinsman.. family.. The young elf began to think of the kind of dance she will perform for their spirits.

However, such thoughts were for another time. Their duty was not yet completed; this piece of history had not been fully retold. She stood up to meet the new Dwarven king. The screaming bell caused her to flinch as a sharp pain stabbed into her ear. The woes of sensitive hearing. She leant down to bring the Dwarf back to his feet, "There's no need to bow to me, I'm just a traveler." She responded with a smile.

The quiver of arrows that was given to her were packed full of mithril tipped shafts. The quiver was quite heavy, meaning that it would weigh her down significantly if she was to take all of them. The huntress removed half the arrows from the quiver, handing it back to the aid. "I mean no disrespect, but my mobility is of upmost importance to me. I can't accept so many arrows." She explained, clipping the quiver to her belt.

"I will aid you." The elf said simply before turning away. She made her way toward the hole that everyone else went through, surely it was a single path. The skaven couldn't possibly make an elaborate network for an ambush.

Her eyes adjusted to the low-light, allowing her to see more clearly than most in this kind of environment. Further down the tunnel, she hear steps.. running. A figure in a dress ran right towards her, she realised who it was within moments. Marianne. Fariha firmly grabbed the girl by the shoulders, her grip releasing gently as the mage stopped her forward movement. "Mari, are you alright? Why aren't you with the others?" She asked, feeling somewhat concerned. Siph and Sylvia should've been up ahead, so it was relatively odd that the girl would run away from such powerful allies. Marianne.. was shaking. The elf had never met someone filled with such fear before. Poor girl.

Taking Marianne by the hand, Fariha lead her back through the tunnel toward Siph, "Everything will be fine. We need to catch with the others and silence the bell." Fariha hoped that her confident statement would calm the girl down. Of course, even she had her own doubts, but an Alrotharen huntress should never back down from a challenge.

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@Hammerman