[IC] Legacy - Warhammer Fantasy-inspired War NRP

[ClocktowerEchos]

BEASTMEN OF
THE MOON CALLER

---

---

---

---

The Old World had known relative peace for almost a decade now, its landscape filled with farms and not soldiers, merchant caravans and not marching armies. But this would not last, Varkex the Moon Caller knew it would. Under the trampling of a thousand hooves, he would lead his race to war against all those foolish races of dwarves and elves and humans who thought they owned the land. Land that was granted to the beastmen by those above and that was stolen from them. The Alphagor stood atop a great rock, looking down at his great warherd that he amassed with everything from petty ungors to the towering Minogors. These would the ones who would bring reckoning upon the civilized races in his name as they reclaimed their long lost land, righting the wrongs of their forefathers.

"BEASTMEN!" the Alphagor bellowed at the cheering and braying mass of bodies below him, all armed and armored for war, "Tonight is the night which we will burn the Old World to the ground! We will slaughter the humans! Gore the dwarves! And slay the Elves! All of which think that they can control the will of the wilderness from their walls!"

A sudden outcry of cursing and jeering paused the speech as beastment insulted and jeered at the races who thought of them as primitive savages. Generations of burning hatred was instilled upon them; these warriors didn't just want to kill the enemy of old but they wanted to slaughter them. Eat them alive. Skin their hides. Ground their bones to such a fine dust that not even their soul could reach their pitiful gods.

"We will make the filth pay for their insolence! We will set fire to their 'great cities' and turn their roads and rivers red with their vile blood!"

The braying got louder as a thunderous storm of chest beating and weapon thumping filled the air. Great crack of war drums soon followed, banners flying high and wild in the wild winds that hollowed over the campsite. The helmets of former soldiers and officers from other races who foolishly tried to beat the Beastmen clattered in on their pikes, some still baring the heads of those who wore them.

"WE SHALL BURN THEIR 'CIVILIZATION' TO THE GROUND! WE SHALL MAKE THEM PAY EVERYTHING THEY OWE US IN BLOOD! WE SHALL NOT LET A SINGLE ONE OF THEM LIVE!" Varkex's voice was now so loud the very ground he stood on shook, "AND THEN! WE WILL FINALLY HAVE OUR RIGHTFUL LANDS BACK. WE WILL CORRECT THE ERRORS OF OLD. WE WILL FINALLY HAVE OUR LEGACY!"

The crowd went wild as Varkex finished his speech and the captives of previous raids were forced out of their cages. Soon it became little more than a orgy of blood, violence and hedonism as the Beastmen's rage and bloodlust were at their apex. Varkex soon came back into sight with a whimpering and fearful human who prayed to gods who would not hear him. And in his fury, the Alphagor dug his mighty hands into the eyes of the man, turning them into a bloody white jelly as he pulled his head off from his body through brutal force alone, pulling it head out along with half of his spine before throwing both of the body parts into the mob below him which promptly tore the remains to pieces.

"FOLLOW ME BROTHERS! WE HAVE A WORLD TO KILL! WE HAVE A LEGACY TO MAKE!"

---

That morning, the civilized lands had been given a brutal wake up call as a beastmen army tore through the lands, ravaging farmland, collapsing mines, and cut down any resistance any local garrison could manage to put up if they did not flee. Four small villages had already been decimated and now eyes were set upon a fifth; a small frontier hamlet called Highbridge that found itself too close to the wild and untamed forest than the beastmen would like.

The frail log palisade the dwellers put up was quickly turned to splinters as the beastmen horde charged them as swift as the wind from out of no where. Villagers ran while some men tried to pick up arms only to be gored the second they stepped foot out their door. The dirt streets were filled with beastmen who left blood and viscera in their wake, minogors chraged right through huts, trampling anyone unfortunate to be under them. Blackhands cackled madly as they threw their unholy pots of fire on to thatch roofs and squeeling in delight as buildings were set on fire and burning inhabitants tried to escape out doors or throwing themselves out of windows. Harpys and Ungor Raiders picked off anyone who tried to run while several Besitgors let loose a pack of Razorgors to hunt down the local noble, watching as he and his horse was devoured within seconds as the spiked beasts caught up to him.

Varkex himself was dueling the captain of the local militia who proved as much of a challenge as a dying tree despite all his bravado and shivering bravery. "Come at me you monster!", the captain shouted as the Alphagor lazily shrugged off whatever blows landed on him, the man's blade too weak to deal any real damage to Varkex's thick hide. With a single strong punch, Varkex sent the captain flying on to his back before ordering some gors to capture him, "Throw him in with the rest of the filth we captured, he will make for a fine sacrifice to the Moon."

Although being killed by a Beastmen might be considered brutal, those who are captured are cursed to have even worse fates. Those who are captured are often used as blood sacrifices or meatbags in violent celebration. Some Beastmen Witchdoctors are even known to turn these poor souls into beastmen for the horde to grow with, tainting their mind with the same hatred of their original race that the beastmen have. Elves are favorite targets of this type of magic corruption by sadistic beastmen with a twisted sense of humor.

---

Little more of hour later, the village was no more. It was a burnt husk with smoldering remains of buildings and streets full of blood and death as limbs were scattered around like toys as feral warbeasts roamed what was left of the hamlet. Bodies hung on crude hooks from even cruder totem poles or impaled on long spikes after being desecrated. Homes where nothing more than charred timber, anything and everything of even remote worth looted. But at the village center lay a twist monument to the Beastmen's moon god, a great monolith surrounded by a bonfire full of flaming remains and hanging off a crude cage of bone and wood, was the body of the captain of the militia, his face twisted into a pained look of fear.

The Beastmen did this to every place they raided. It was the tell anyone who passed by:

"The Beastmen are here. Run if you will, but you cannot out run the wild."

[Lauder]

The Red Fang Orruks

The night was dark and cold of the wetlands that the Orruks so called home, no humidity plaguing them as the moon soared across the sky in a most elegant dance. However, while the night was calm, the orruks were wanting blood against their old foe to the north. They gathered in the streets, roaring and causing quite a ruckus before a deafening roar put them all to silence. It was Zippy Blood Fang, leader of the Red Fangs, who had silenced them all. It was he who waved the axe in the air to gain their attention, shouting incomprehensible battle cries which made the orruks begin to snarl or roar themselves. Once all the attention was on Zippy, he slammed his axe into the ground before inhaling deeply.

“Dem humans to da norf dink dat dey betta dan us! We show ‘em what it means ta’ be an enemy to da Red Fangz!,” the larger orruk roared to the populace as he gripped his axe.

The populace began to get riled up, they began brandishing their own homemade weapons. Some of them seemed professional. Some were yapping, but none were roaring quite yet.

“Dey dink we weak! Dey dink dat we can’t break deir wallz! Our Grotz would kill dem endlessly in da old times! It time ta’ show dem dat we mean business!”

The populace then began shouting battle cries before Zippy pulled his axe out of the ground and began to run at the crowd, roaring himself. The crowd of green and black parted to let their leaded and soon began to follow suit. An army of two thousand began heading north, slaughtering many human slaves and lizardman slaves alike. It wasn’t until they descended upon a poor camp close to the border that Zippy would make his example.

“DEEZ HUMAN DINK DEY ARE FANCY! WATCH AND SEE DAT DEY DIE!” Zippy roared, plunging his axe into a poor man who wasnt even a threat to the orruk horde. After slaughtering the rest of the camp, they proceeded to push to a bordering village.

---

---

It was late noon, the Orruks had travelled for many days and stopped to rest before the attack, organizing their ranks in case the humans had prepared for them. Soon the order to charge was given, the horde began stampeding towards the small farming village, the Ridaz took the lead and smashed into a small resistance line that the farmers had attempted to put up. There was the sound of horses giving war cries and Orruks roaring as they slaughtered innocent farmers. The Ridaz then began to follow after any one who tried to flee from the village, throwing nets on them or even outright killing them.

The Grotz and Skulltakaz smashed into the remaining human lines while Shootaz and and Zingas fired their arrows to support the front line which would have won without their help. Zippy, however, was destroying some barns and slaughtering anyone hiding in them while some who had went along with him began to steal all the animals.

Zippy then ran to join the battle before seeing a human barking orders to buy the people enough time to escape, must be the leader. So the black Orruk let out a savage roar and charged him, with one swing the man’s arm was gone and with a swipe of the axe was to throw the man to the ground. Zippy walked over and wrapped his large hand around the leader’s head before saying, “Dis is what happenz when ya’ underestimate da’ Red Fangz.” With a final scream from the man, Zippy proceeded to eat the man’s head while the battle began to wrap up and the village be converted into a small Orruk camp.

[TemplarKnight07]

The Under-Republic of Rodents

---

---

---

Rattus Regius Ignatius Fell-Eye looked out upon the assembled mass of the united Rodent Army before him, The Vermintide. It had been many generations since a Vermintide had been called, and few living rodents could boast that they'd seen one, let alone participated. It was a call to war unlike the raiding campaigns which clans organized independently, or calls to defend the Under-Republic from invaders, this was an offensive campaign of complete and total war, and one which sought to deliver retribution upon the races and their empires and nations above whom had mistreated them, and it was a war that would not stop until either there were not enough capable rodents left to persecute it, or until their vengeance was satisfied.

Ignatius had gotten the approval of the fellow members of the Ring of Rodents, whom all stood about him in their full war regalia on his raised platform before the gates of Petrus' Maw, the largest single gateway into the Under-Republic and out into the world above. For as far as the eye could see into the massive Ratway into the mountains were hundreds of thousands, if not millions of Rodents, from the small Rattus Commenus packs with their shepherds, the upright Rattus Faber who were either organized into their clan units or Vermin Units if they were regulars, and the comparatively giant Rattus Gigantai who all stood out from their kin, Bubonic Philosophers close by.

The call had been sent out a week ago into the tunnels from the capital of Verminia, and basically everyone who would be coming to seek glory, riches, and the chance to kill their former oppressors was here, so now Ignatius stepped forward, and the unfathomable legions of Rodents all quieted and looked up at him, their whiskers twitching and green eyes gleaming.

"My fellow Rodents, today we set forth on a campaign that most of us have never lived to see in our short lifetimes. A Vermintide has not graced this world's surface in so long that most of them have likely forgotten what it is and why it used to be a word spoken of in terror and fear. But that changes now! We will teach them that we are not merely pests to crushed and exterminated, that the descendants of the oppressed Rodent forebears will not merely stand by and let the murderers of our kin around the world go about unpunished!"

The assembled army of Rodents was yelling affirmatives after each of Ignatius' sentences by now.

"I will be honest with you, my kin. Many of you likely will not return to the Under-Republic. None of us are exempt when death calls to us, no more than our enemies, and many of us will fall before this campaign is finished. But you all know who I am, and that I'm not in the business to throw Rodent lives away needlessly, I'm in the business of making sure we win, for only a fool fights a battle he knows he cannot win. And though the surface races may call me foolish, I'm standing in front of the largest and greatest army of Rodents that this world has ever seen! We will show that no matter how many of us fall, there will always be others to take up the spear, bow, or sword!"

The Vermintide's shouts are deafening in the echoing tunnels, the cheers reaching likely to the deepest foundations of the World's End Mountains. With a flourish of ringing Adamanthine, Ignatius draws Retribution, the cutlass signifying the Rattus Regius' authority as Master of the Vermintide, and used to strike at the enemies of the Under-Republic and all Rodent-kind.

"Now, as our ancestors before us have done, as Rattus Regius of the Under-Republic, and with the authority of the Ring of Rodents, I formally declare upon the world above, and all who have transgressed against Rodent-kind once again. Let us not stop in our conquest until we are satisfied! March, Rodents! March and let us teach them why their ancestors feared the Vermintide!

With that, and with a upward flourish of Retribution to thunderous cheers and war cries, the mighty gates of Petrus' Maw opened wide, and the Vermintide began its march out into the sunlit world above, with Ignatius and the Ring of Rodents hopping down to join them and the multitude of their kin march and file out around them into the massive swarm formations of old. It would take 3/4 of a day for the massive gates to shut again as the entire army made its way out and started the long march east across mostly uninhabited wilderness that cordoned off their mountain homes from the outside world.

Many miles ahead, they would find their enemies and show them war as had not been seen in generations, a new Vermintide had begun.

[RisenDead]

The Empire of Rhune

---

---

Breakfast Room of the Empress

"Orruks and Beastmen, your majesty, burning in the Southern Reaches again, in the New Territory." An exhausted looking courier rider was sitting at the long table, the only other occupant being the Empress herself. A mug of water and food had been placed before him but he refused to eat until his report was complete. 'You have to admire that kind of dedication in a man.' The Empress did not say the words out loud but nodded, showing the man she was listening.

The Breakfast Room, as it was widely known, as a long room with windows all down one side that looked out over the menacing battlements of the Imperial City and towards the mountains beyond. It was tastefully decorated with fine wood panelled walls, rich carpets, and the table was made of a single slab of wood, the chairs intricately carved to show scenes of famous Imperial victories. The windows, reaching from floor to ceiling were broad and framed by purple drapes. There was no doubt that this room, like every other, was designed for however. Two cannons squatted on either side of the fireplace, muzzles aimed towards the far mountains, a stack of cannonballs for each resting in corners of the room should they be needed. The room reflected the Empress well, organized, tasteful, attractive, and ready for a fight.

"At least a dozen villages have been razed, much of the population captured and by all accounts eaten or enslaved." Huge black bags decorated the mans face just below his eyes and from the way he had walked in, the Empress could tell he had been on horseback for some time. "Field Marshal Aoyne was preparing to march south when I rode to carry her message. She has already dispatched the 13th Devonian Dragoons, and the 9th Bowridge Dragoons, to intercept, track, and harass the enemy. That is all your majesty."

"Thank you, and well done soldier." The Empress stood and the messenger instantly sprang to his feet but she waved him down to his meal. "Rest and recover soldier, you have earned it. When you are fit you can return to your unit." She snapped her fingers and a guardsman and lady-in-waiting appeared as if by magic. She pointe first to the guardsman and then lady-in-waiting. "Summon the General Staff. And a purse for our brave messenger. He is welcome to stay with unless until he is fit to travel."

The Lady-in-waiting nodded and hurried away, the guardsman pushing open the hanging drapes that closed off one end of the room. "They are assembled your majesty, and awaiting orders."

'As they should be.' She nodded her thanks to the guardsman and passed through the draped doorway into a narrow corridor that immediately offered stairs up and down, or a passage further along. These passages, known as the "Empresses Way" had been built to allow the Empress to move about the Castle to vital rooms quickly, without having to navigate the more opulent and lengthy hallways and great rooms beyond.

'Down we go.' She stepped quickly down the spiral staircase, her velvet slippers making no noise on the stone stairs. She dressed in a loose fitting pair of black pants, a purple shirt, and wearing a thing circlet of diamonds inlaid to silver on her brow. The Empresses of Rhune had never been ones for gaudy displays and she was not going to break with that fine tradition.

---

The New Territory - A Description

Beastmen. The diluted, disgusting, degenerate, disappointing and most of all, dastardly, of all the races to exist in the world. Their ability to appear almost at random had been an increasing problem for many generations and only intense patrols inside the Empires borders had prevented more than minor tribes managing to make their way into the homeland. This was different though. The New Territory, as it was labelled on Imperial maps, was a region along the border with the Orruks. It had been utterly obliterated by the Orruk invasion one hundred and eighty years before and had been left mostly empty as a buffer zone. But now, with the population straining at manageable levels within the Imperial borders, the Empress had decreed the New Territory available for settling once again, albeit with limited protection from Imperial Armies.

Ten of thousands had jumped at the opportunity to settle the land, land they did not have to purchase, and an exodus of humanity had left the cities and countryside of the Empire and moved south. For some twenty years they had been left in relative peace. The odd Orruk raid and Beastmen Horde, possibly even some Vermin from the under lands. Those raids had been isolated and easily contained and dealt with by the New Territory Regional Guard, also known as The Regionals. This adhoc military force was mostly volunteer and, save for some veterans, not particularly well trained.

The Regionals Commander, a bull of a man by the name of Shay Markin, has done his best to prepare the New Territory for the certain eventuality that they would be attacked. The recent destruction of villages has been dismissed by some as nothing more than "enthusiastic" actions by savages but Markin requested immediate aide from Field Marshal Aoyne, Commander of the Southern Imperial Armies. Help has arrived in the form of two Imperial Dragoon units who have made their name fighting skirmish actions against the Orruks.

---

The New Territory - To War!

Sergeant Algar, 2nd Company Senior NCO, of the 13th Devonian Dragoons, slowly slid his Carbine free of its holster. Around him, concealed by dense brush, a hundred or so Dragoons did the same, each man quietly checking the priming was secure. They were a grim lot, faces scarred by powder flash and blade, some missing ears, eyes, fingers, and even the odd nose. But they were fighters, soldiers who had paid for their reputation in blood and savagery. Even their horses matched the riders, armour scoured with a thousand failed cuts, skin nicked here and there, the odd ear half chopped off. None made any noise, horse nor man, for all knew that even a single whiney or spoken word might betray their presence to the Beastmen beyond.

The wind blew into their faces, the horses sniffing at the smell, a smell so strong even the far weaker senses of the human Dragoons could tell, Beastmen were close. They stank. They stank of horror, tears, blood, sweat, and shit. It was the smell that brought disgust and hatred to the forefront of every riders mind as they cradled their lethal short carbines.

Then, clear in the early morning air, a carbine shot sounded. The shooter was not aiming for the enemy but rather had been placed to alert the main force of Dragoons when the Beastmen had entered the killing ground. The Beastmen might have been warned but their scouts were dead, five of them nearby the waiting horsemen, looks of stupid surprise stamped on their faces, crossbow bolts jutting from their chests and throats. A trumpet screamed and the Dragoons charged.

They exploded from the woods less than fifty yards from the Beastmen vanguard. No fools, and certainly good fighters, the Beastmen had already began to turn towards the trumpet which had sounded from the wood on their far side. The first volley hit them from behind, sending the creatures into a panicked chaos as turned to face this new threat. No sooner had then done so than a second line of Dragoons appeared from the direction of the trumpet call and more bullets thudded home.

For a moment it was pure slaughter and pandemonium. Then a Minogor, enraged by his wounds, charged blindly through his comrades, trampling some beneath his hooves, as he drove straight towards the Sergeant.

Sergeant Algar did not panic. He moved with deliberate calm as he slid his carbine home into its leather holster and drew two pistols. He aimed one, pulled the trigger and watched the bullet hammer into the Minogors chest, slowing it down. The second bullet hit the crazed beast below the collarbone and stopped it dead in its tracks. It blinked for a moment and then slowly collapsed into the crushed crash, hooves kicking frantically for a moment and then going still.

The trumpet sounded again and the Dragoons turned their horses and vanished into woods once again. They rode hard until a line of horsemen loomed up out of the brush. The Beastmen, in hot pursuit, fast and dangerous, met a second blast of gunfire that further decimated their ranks. Then the humans were gone. Riding north to rejoin their comrades and regroup.

Beastmen could afford casualties, that much was true, but they could also feel fear and maybe, just maybe, they would not be so confident now.

[ClocktowerEchos]

BEASTMEN
VS
ORRUKS

---

---

---

---

Bhahac Bloodmane vs Warboss Daka

(Collab between @ClocktowerEchos and @Lauder)

---

---

---

---

With the successful raid on the human village, Zippy requested that any willing come to the new orruk camp in order to stage their next attack on the human lands. Many Orruks frothed at the chance to go and gain glory in the name of themeselves and the clan, after all this had been their first major attack in a while. An army of one-thousand souls were making their way to where the camp supposedly was, passing through the same terrain that the others had before them. There seemed to be a bit of a more professional looks about this army, there were Skulltakaz with shields, Grotz, Shootaz, Horsestoppaz, and a thirty Grognaks brandishing heavy armor and weaponry. They were being led through the border by a temporary commander, not good enough or big enough to be on the level the Zippy was.

“Suh, we run low on da woodstuffs.” A grot spouted as he ran up to the temporary commander, Daka.

“Den w’ll cut down ‘em tree ovah der,” Daka stated as he pointed his sword in the direction of a nearby forest. The grot nodded and began to run through the army, relaying the message to the others. Thus, those who could (mainy grotz and skulltakaz) began going to the woods in order to chop down trees while the others began keeping a watch in case any enemy humans decided to ambush them, being in such close proximity to the border. They looked eager to fight; the same eagerness that the main army had with them before their battle. Some orruks took up the leisure of doing some hunts close to the forest, others just talked.

The Beastmen watched the incoming Orruck band as they stalked the shadows of the trees. They studied the greenskins as they hustled and bustled amongst themselves before they came towards the tree line, hungrily looking at the tiber before them with axes in hand. The local Alphagor, Bhahac Bloodmane, waded in the shadows as the Orruks dashed towards his trees, covering swathes of land in their hastly strides.

As Ungor Scouts took their place in front of the Alphagor, notching their bows and readying their aim, Bhahac looked towards his Witchdoctor who in turn nodded back as he began to wave his wretched staff, the unholy powers of nature slowly collected around it. Bhahac waited for the greenskins to come closer. And closer. And closer. His archers became jittery and his soldiers impatient but they didn't dare break out of line at the moment, their Alphagor far to close to them for their liking of rebellion as all they'd get were broken skulls.

Then, with a mighty stomp that shook the earth itself, Bhahac's archers let loose as their arrows filled the sky and crashed into the group of orruks, cutting them down with sheer volume. The Alphagor himself snatched a spear from a nearby ungor and threw it at the largest orruck he could see coming towards him, piercing his flesh and pinning him to the ground at an angle which he couldn't possible recover from, struggling to free himself as the earth began to see its drink of blood.

Surely letting the foe know of his existence, Bhahac let out a mighty roar as war horns blared from every meter of forest. A thousand hooves stamped on the ground with roars and bellowing yells to match as if a challenge to the camp of orruks right ahead of them. Lowering their heads to bare their horns, the beastmen charged out of the forest towards the orruks as their Warbeasts and Razorgors lead the charge ahead, hungry for greenskin flesh.

The battle had begun in proper, it was time for the Warherd of the Bloodmane to live up to its name.

It only took for the first volley for the orruks charging towards the forest to turn and retreat back to the camp, surprised by the beastman who had come out of no where. They hooted and hollered to get the attention of the camp before the mighty beastman leader let out his war cry and charged out from the forest with a horde of beastmen. The camp was equally surprised, but they did not see the slaughter and instead saw the bodies in the dirt and charging beatsmen. Horsestappaz raced forward and made a wall of spears while the shootaz began letting loose their arrows in a made rain to lessen the charge of the tide that was closing in fast.

"Don' let dem intimidate ya'! We orruks! We'll fight dem to da end!" Daka yelled as he grabbed his sword and shield, his heavy armor shining with the other Grognaks that formed behind those weilding spears, ready to move to either side in order to deter a flank. They wielded there shortswords and began roaring back at the beastmen, not allowing themselves to be intimidated.

The Grotz and Skulltakaz that were left rallied in the center of the camp, getting their weapons together before some of the skull takaz began throwing their axes at the beastmen as they drew closer to the shieldwall. Resorting to using their backup axes in case the melee would happen, which it would.

In a daring act, the shield wall then began charging toward the beastmen not breaking their formation and wanting to engage in this melee quite eagerly. The grotz and skulltakaz followed after Daka continued with them, they were roaring and were not going to be so easily beaten even if the beastmen got the jump on them. Afterall, an orruk army would be just as brutal as any beastman if not twofold if they were in the mood.

The arrows of the greenskins pelted the bestial charge of the warherd, piercing the hides and flesh of those took weak to withstand it. Gors and Ungors fell on their way, trampled upon by their kin who cared not of their troubles as they stomped them into the dirt. The larger or and tougher beastmen simply shrugged off the projectiles as their bared their savage horns at the orruks as they closed the distance, their roars matching the loud guttural cries of their foes.

Suddenly, the wind crackled with magic energy as a great arcane line shot out of the Witchdoctor's staff as he casted Skyfather's Lance, cutting an opening in the line of spearmen right before his comrades made contact. The bone crushing impact of the two charging armies shook the very earth, the Beastmen's minogor and animal vanguard easily crushing through the shields their smaller counterparts couldn't, impaling the greenskins as they waded into the the green tide. Gors flooded the opening in the line of Horsestappaz, exploiting the opening only to be surrounded by more forces.

The earth soon ran red as every axe and blade left deep wounds in their targets. For every limb the Orruks would rip off a beastmen with pure strength, the beastmen would gore an Orruk until their entrails spilled out only for the Orruks to crush heads and cut their foe in half; such a gruesome deadlock continued as each side increased in savagery. Heads rolled and limbs flew about in a red mist the winds carried over the lines. The Witchdoctor casted another spell, Call of the Moon as beastmen howled towards the sky as the spell too effect on them.

Finally seeing the time as right, Bhahac with a retinue of Minogor Executions stormed into the frey, their shear weight decimating a unit of Skulltakaz who routed at the damage. Another greenwave crashed into the Alphagor and his guards, Orruks hacked and slashed and even tried to climb up on to their backs, succeeding in bringing down one Minogor who roared in pain as he was chopped to bloody bits. But Bhahac was no weakling, he threw those foolish enough to mount him across great distance as his two great axes with ease, cutting down swathes of green bodies until he saw Daka.

With a mighty roar, the Alphagor challenged the warboss to a duel as their soldiers fought each other in savage ways only non-humans could. The beastman even had the nerve to throw one of the poor young orruks at Daka cementing his challenge, "This is our lands, you worms! Our forefathers were here long before you pitifully rolled over the mountains here!"

The unrelenting savagery continued on, as Skulltakaz would decapitate more Ungors which was least of their atrocities, the worst being that they would actually begin using their mouths in combat to gore their enemies as well. Some even dropped their weapons completely to just punch their enemies in order to break their bones and in essence cripple their foes.

Though Daka was not at ease with the beast an using their magics and being challenged by their supposed leader. The young Orruk that had been thrown at Daka was unfortunately sliced in half with a mighty swing. All he could do was stare at the Alphagor with pure rage and bloodlust in his eyes.

"Den yer ancestas shoulda fought harda!" Daka roared raising his weapons once more, accepting the challenge. Though, he was not done giving orders to his men. "Fire into da treez! Don' let dem use more magics!," he roared to a group of Shootaz who then began firing at where they saw the source of the magic come from.

Daka then charged in to meet the Alphagor in combat raising his shield and readying himself to stab his challenger. The fright around them only growing more brutal as the seconds passed, the true slaughter about to truly begin.

Although Bhahac was immediately stabbed by Daka's blade, the two traded blows as if nothing had happened. The clattering and clanging of their blades was just one of many of thousands of other weapons meeting as their uses brawled it out in the savage melee. Minotaurs continued their rampage as they chopped, hacked, slashes, gutted and rammed their green foes while the more disciplined Bestigors fought side by side like true soldiers.

Both warlords were soon surrounded by a mob of their soldiers as they bled out from their wounds and the Alphagor roared, "You filth know nothing of what war is! You know not of your proper place!" Seeing an opening in the Orruk's stance, Bhahac shot out his hoof to kick the greenskin back into his own troops.

On the far side of the battlefield, things were not looking well for the Beastmen. Centigors who had been preforming cycle charges on the green mob as ungor warriors held the foe in place. But the Orruks had gotten the upper hand and smashed through the ungors and butchered them, those who didn't have their blood and entrails sewn about the ground fled in a panic leaving the centigors unprotected as the greentide descended on them. Like many cavalry, Centigors where devastating on the charge as shock troops, but their lances were only a weakness and a problem once they were in prolonged combat. The half-horses found their legs chopped off or their bodies separated in two as the Orrucks threw them around like toys at both each other and other beastmen.

Daka raised his shield just in time to block the blow from the beastman, still strutting backwards just a bit as he recoiled from the force of the Alphagor. However, Bhahac did not gain his advantage without sacrifice as a group of Shootaz turned and fired on him, seeing that their commander was out of the way of their arrows for now. In fact, it seemed those who were not in the thick of battle were actually coming up with plans to defeat the beastmen.

After a group of Skulltakaz routed from the field, another group of Skulltakaz charged into the Ungor line and attacked as one unit within the fray. This showed what the cunning capabilities of the Orruks when they worked together, sure they were still being brutal by ripping enemies in two, but they were being cunning nonetheless.

Back to the duel, the small amount of Grognaks appeared to help their commander in the fight. They were trained and hungry for blood, they began encircling the beastman while Daka recovered from his light daze. The Grognaks rushed in and out, stabbing the Alphagor when they could and running away when they knew that Bhahac may attack.

Panic was running wild through the beastmen lines as units where routing or collapsing entirely. Gors and Ungors dropped their weapons in an attempt to get away from the greentide but were swallowed whole as some of the hungrier orruks decided to try out what beastmen taste like as they bite and ate the living bodies of fleeing beastmen on the spot. The elite Bestigors and Minogors held their ground and continued to fight but wether or not that was due to training and discipline or knowledge that they'd be cut down if they fled is entirely up in the air for debate like the limbs that were flying around.

What few crazed Blackhands were alive began their sacrificial ritual and smashed their tar pots onto their hides. With the remaining pots of flammables left, they lit themselves on fire and hurled themselves at the largest clusters of green shouting "WITNESS ME" at the top of their lungs. The Blackhands Creed state that they were to live by the fire and to die by the fire, and die by the fire the would as they exploded, sending bloody chunks and charred fur into the air leaving black craters in their wake.

Bhahac realized that he was at his end but he kept on fighting. Beastmen were strong and Alphagors the strongest of them, he swore to himself to slay the great green foe even if he would loose his life in the process. As he continued to hack his way through the greentide, his mind drifted to the Beastwomen and children, the does and the fawns, and wondered what would happen to them. It was no matter though, not amount of thought could save them, now all the Alphagor could do was fight and be ready to meet the moon god in death.

Grotz fell by the dozens as Alphagor hacked his way through them, refusing to route for whatever reason despite being surrounded by all sides. Though, that would soon change as Daka did something, that something may just have led to him being seen as an epic monster in the eyes of his comrades. He had taken one of the screaming Blackhands and threw him at Bhahac before the beast exploded in mid air right before the Alphagor's eyes.

Before the smoke of the blast dissipated, a sword came flying through the smoke to impale the Alphagor in the chest. Soon after came a roaring Daka, jumping through the clearing smoke and grabbing the sword as he came down. The sword was pulled down by the weight of the Orruk and opened the gut of the Alphagor.

As Bhahac roared from pain, Daka continued with his assault and sliced the beastman's stomach cavity casing more intestines and guts to come spilling out. "Dis how you die! You die ta' me, an Orruk!," Daka roared victoriously as the other Orruks began charging after the routing enemies, killing them or letting them lead the horde to the rest of the pack.

---

---

VICTORY - ORRUKS

---

---

[POOHEAD189]

Thundrim Kadrin Throne Room

The Throneroom was modest for a Dwarf High King, though it that still gave it a sense of majesty, grandeur, and craftsmanship no longer seen in this day and age. The stone of the mountain was hewn and shaped to fit a Dwarf King, the hall at least 20 Dwarfs high and 50 Dwarfs wide. Intricately carved, albeit stout and functional pillars lined the sides of the great room. Symbols of hammers, axes, and the Ancestor gods were etched upon the stonework.

The Dwarf messenger, along with Gorrick the Hearth Guard, strode down the length of the room toward King Bagrick. The Dwarf King was a powerful figure to behold, grim of visage and long of beard. He sat there doing what any sensible Dwarf King would. Counting his gold. The Reckoner Scribe sat beside him, marking down each gold piece as he placed them in the opposite pile. The heavy footsteps of his fellow Dwarfs echoed across the room. Bagrick did not look up.

"Who interrupts a King when he is counting his horde?" He asked. Two Dwarfs stood under him, holding up the table of Gold, standing as still as statues with the discipline only Dwarfs could muster. His Hearth Guard knelt before his King, the Dwarf's visage covered in his great helm. Only his brown beard was visible. "My King, an urgent message from the Manling lands of the Rhun." he said. "The Manlings call for something?" he asked. "No High King, but our Rangers report that Orruks and Beastman have begun to invade their lands in great numbers. The largest incursion we have seen in many years."

It was only then that Bagrick Grimbeard looked up from his great wealth. The gilded and bejewled crown of Gorrak'zuhm upon his head. It was said other than various powerful, albeit mundane enchantments were upon it, it gave the King the wisdom of all of the Dwarf Kings of Old who had worn it. With a rough word in Dwarfish, his table bearers moved the Gold out of his way, and the powerful King set his massive fist under his chin as he thought for a moment. "Send word to Grimbold in the Southern passes."

"War, my King?" the Hearth Guard asked. Bagrick shook his head. "No. I will not risk open war....not yet. But a reckoning is to be done on the past offenses of the barbaric races. How many Dwarfs reside in Barak-Kazul?" he asked his Reckoner scribe. The Dwarf looked up from his great book that recounted all of the gold, deeds, oaths, and grudges of the Hold. "Close to 50,000, my King." he replied. Bagrick nodded. That means they would perhaps have less than 30 thousand to fight. "Tell Grimbold to send five thousand Dwarfs to the manlings aid. He can lead the throng if he wishes-" Of course he would, Bagrick knew. Grimbold was known for his fierceness, prowess in battle, and hastiness (to be fair, hasty for a Dwarf is settling an argument before your great grandchild dies, so...) "and send back a report of their progress when they can."

"Yes, my King." the messenger said, and was lead out of the Throne room, making his way through the outer part of the great hold, before being lead up to the top of the mountain through the caves of Troll Hewing, named after the great slaughtering of Trolls that allowed the Dwarfs to take the peaks for their own. It was at the highest peak he took the 'trolley,' a room hung up by steel cords that allowed quick access across the holds. It led him to the Gyrocopter that would take him there.

[KremeSupreme]

Paganea Circle Garden

The Circle Garden of Paganea stood grand and proud. Or rather, sad and pathetic, but grand to the Dark Elves who had learned to accept their sick nature the way it was. In the surrounding buildings, nobles entertained themselves with words and music played by slaves, derived of their bright futures simply to play the same repetitive tunes.
In the center garden of Castle Paganea, the Eight Circle Leaders sat on differently ornated thrones arranged to form a cone, from a single Dark Elf in black armor who proudly stood several feet before them on orange grass in a meek puddle that reached his ankles. One throne was made of crooked wood, with black leaves hanging from small twigs and orange mushrooms cracking their way through wood. The second throne was crafted into the shape of black feathers. The third one had patterns that mimicked expressed faces of pain and regret. The fourth, who was sat on by one of the only two women in the room, was made from two horribly disfigured bodies, that were skinned and stuffed to create a chair that could hold the woman comfortably. The fifth one was black, with patterns of raging waves. The sixth, the second woman in the room, simply sat in thin air. And the sixth one, the only Werebear in the room, sat on a red chair with wooden charms and totems protruding from it.
The Leader of Circle Aeius spoke first.
"Arrak, Child of the Pagan."
Arrak kneeled in the murky puddle, looking down.
"You have completed your training" Each of the Circle Leaders said at once.
"You have expressed not love for nature, but will to survive it. You have prayed for no blessings, yet let your fate into her own hands," said Willoke, King of Circle Sporebeard.
"You have remained ever watchful of the Paganlands borders. Not a single hound, beast, or man has entered our woods without your watch," said Corvus, Lord of Circle Aeius.
"You have not denied your pain. Instead, you used it to hone your ability," said Neuropa, Duke of Circle Revus.
"In an endless abyss of torment, you have saught out few bastions which could deliver you from such, however short a time it may have been," said Haara, Queen of Circle Slah'na.
"You became one with your trauma, melding it, allowing it to become you," said Toros, King of circle Meron.
"..." Sayla, Lady of Circle Hidden Princess, remained silent.
"This world that has hurt you so terribly has felt the pain it has caused you. For that, you have my acceptance," said Lycor, Chief of Circle Loth'Gar.
"For all of your trials, you have proven yourself worthy for title of General." Each Circle Leader said in unision. A Servant shuffled from a doorway left to the thrones, and placed a black helmet with yellow accents on the kneeling Arrak's head.

Arrak rose, and turned to leave through the massive doorway behind him. It led to a high balcony off the southern wall of Paganea, where on the battlements below, hundreds of thousands of soldiers stood beneath him at full attention. Thousands of Dark Elves, Lesser Pagans, Blights, and Werebears. Another servant came to Arrak holding a black case. Flicking it open, inside was a black sword with a red line across the blade. Arrak hesitated as he reached for it. Instead of grabbing and raising it proudly, as almost a hundred generals have done before him, he grasped it with a gauntleted hand, and threw it to the side. Instead, he waved his hand in a circular motion, and the space around his hand warped, bringing a black sword with an entirely red blade.

He raised that sword instead, and the crowd roared with approval. That night, thousands of soldiers from each city in the Paganland borderlands stormed across their western borders, slaughtering thousands of unaligned Beastmen. In just that one night, the Paganlands control had been expanded across dozens of miles of territory. Already, the forests would begin warping, becoming uninhabitable to any Beastmen that would attempt to reclaim the territory for several months while Dark Elves build new towns and cities.
No longer would the Dark Elves be subject to defending the last of their territory, other than small village raids. Now, they would retake what was rightly theirs. Not Old Lombilar, not just the West, but the whole world would suffer the way they had for thousands of years.

[SomeChap]

The Tomb-Empire of Harri'Kan



The Grand Pyramid of Rimal-Mutaharrika

The Grand pyramid of Rimal-Mutaharrika was an imposing sight over the citadel of bone on which it overlooked, a monolithic building built from carved and etched sandstone, and topped with a solid gold cap. The building had been commissioned some thousand years ago, and had stood tall despite the intrusions of the savage tribesmen of the deserts, or worse, upon these lands. The interior was equally as lavish, upon all the walls were etched and coloured hieroglyphs denoting the ancient history of the Harri'kan people, from the earliest days as rock-flinging savages into their current, damned, existence as undead. In each corner of the main hall, wherein the throne and thus the Lich-King himself sat, were immense sandstone columns etched with ancient runes and lined with gold, all the most lavish of luxuries from a millennium of unending toil.

The main hall itself was a huge subterranean design, first designed by Sottom the Perfect, though perfected by the hand of the Lich-King. It was easily the size of any living-creature's throne room, and echoed with a history, a discernible past of which it's builders still remembered. The room was dimly lit, save for several braziers that spat out an ethereal, ghostly-blue flame, and it had relatively few occupants today.

Upon the main throne, a lavish marble design that was fitted with red velvets and silks, was a robed being, monstrous in size and possessed of a most strange aura. In his hand was clasped a staff of gold and of bones, that gave off that same ethereal blue light as the braziers did. His face was a foul imitation of life, as dried and gnarled skin barely clung to his skull, his eyes replaced with a foul, flickering fire. Upon his head, he wore a crown of Obsidian and bone, shaped like an immense effigy to some, undoubtedly, dark gods. This man, this poor imitation of life yet so vastly powerful, was Horsophkekh Ekochen Fashke Anos, the overlord of this Empire.

Flanking him on either side, were immense stone statues – clad in ancient, guided plate armour and wielding immense halberds many times the size of a man. They didn't move, nor breathe, but the haunting life that echoed across their existence was enough to send shivers down s lesser man's spine.

Several other undead stood tall in the room, some dressed in fineries and lounging around while others were clad in full armour, some several were even in the attire more fitting to a Hierophant, all of them had their attention upon one man, however.

Before the Lich-King, however, was a living man, dressed in simple tribal clothing and currently kneeling as if in prayer. The man's face said otherwise, for it spoke of untold levels of terror permeating across his very soul, he felt the steely gazes of the undead fixed firmly upon him, and they indeed found him wanting. Abdul Maalik Farhat, was his name, first born son of the Chieftain, Jaarallah Anwar...and currently, a tribute to the Lich-King in order to spare the father's own mangy hide.

The relative din of the room continued for several more minutes before an immense commotion became audible, and an undead messenger appeared, his alabaster skeleton and ragged clothing a start contrast to those around him. He walked, with some anxiety despite his undeath, towards his master before kneeling and delivering.

“Grand Lich-King Horsophkekh, I bring you word from the stronghold of Amini and their currently progress. The Overseer Mourad reports that his task is nearly complete, yet the ranks of this living-one's tribe do harass his workers...”

The mortal in the room protested and pleaded against this, arguing that his people were peaceful and would never be so foolish. His outcry was cut short when his entire body was flayed alive by a casual flick from the Lich-King's hand as he arose from his throne.

“Then inform Overseer Mourad to obliterate them, just as he shall do to any of the savages dwelling with my Empire.”

The messenger nodded at this, before delivering his second message.

“The Master of Horses has reported strange creatures at the northern borders, towards the forested regions and presumably past that. Strange red-furred humanoids with tails and lupine snouts. No conflict has come, yet we fear that they may try yet to establish themselves further.”

The Lich-King almost chuckled at this response, but instead his response was a muted scoff as he dismissed their existence entirely.

“This continent, our continent, is changing it seems. No longer are the races of Man, Elf, and Dwarf dominant...and yet interlopers come to claim the carrion corpse. This will not be allowed, send them a warning informing them that any intrusions into this land will be met with their death and subsequent reanimation into corpse-subjects. No exceptions, am I made clear?”

The messenger nods before scurrying off back into the streets of the capital city, however one of the more lavishly dressed herirophants approaches the Lich-King, his staff creating a soft tapping as he went.

“Lord, should we not be more concerned with the recent expansions of those monstrous Greenskin creatures to our west? After all, they do border us...and their dead would make a fine warrior caste. Finer than whatever fiction the Master of Horses spouts, that is...”

Horsophkekh was not amused by this, yet responded with some respect for the ancient.

“They would, yet you tell me this numerous times. We understand their ranks, yet we do not understand the ranks of these...new creatures... in any case. We shall await to see who acts first, the long war is our ally, after all...”

[TemplarKnight07]

The Under-Republic of Rodents

---

The Commonwealth's Northern Borders

Rattus Regius Ignatius Fell-Eye had issued orders to the Ring of Rodents, the Under-Republic's campaign plan was simple, they would divide the Vermintide into three divisions, with four members of the Ring commanding each one, and Ignatius himself commanding from the central force as a fifth member and supreme commander.

Having left the mountain pass in which Petrus' Maw was located in, the campaign could begin in earnest, with the first target of being the Northeast plains and farmlands and various settlements of The Commonwealth. Ignatius intended to cut a swathe through the soft and rich underbelly of that fertile region, clearing the path not only for the Vermintide to march clear to the Empire of Yore, but also to the Dwarven Kingdom of Thundrim Kadrin. That would be the point in which the Vermintide separated, but for now, all three arms of the Vermintide would cast their might against the Commonwealth's frontier regions.

Hundreds of thousands, if not millions of rodents marched, the sea of fur going from fur, to clothed, to ironclad, to steelclad, and punctuated by the units of Rattus Giganti the further back one got in the massive army.

The outlines of farm houses and human settlements could be seen in the distance, and Ignatius then called over one of his Steel-fanged bodyguards.

"Call for a full stop and break camp. Have the troops setup a trench line all along the army's southern flank, make spikes out of whatever trees you can find, and set up foraging and scouting parties, we're staying here for a week."

One of the Ring of Rodents members, a Aurus Goldclaw overheard these orders as the call was made along the line as trumpets and officers for miles along relayed the orders to the massive swarm. He, like many others in the army, particularly the non-Vermin units, were confused and perturbed by the Rattus Regius' sudden order.

"Regius Fell-Eye, you do your own bold words at the Maw discredit! How exactly can you defend calling a stop to the army before we've even begun? And within sight of Human settlement!?"

Ignatius flicked his whiskers in slight irritation and tapped his claws upon Retribution's grip as he thought of his next words.

"Aurus, I didn't become Rattus Regius merely because I was born of a clan with wealth, I earned it through martial might and the boons that came from it. We may be camped here, but don't be so foolish to think that we'll be idle just doing trenches and spikes."

He signalled for another bodyguard again to come over.

"New orders for the Bubonic Philosophers, have some of them go to our slaves and Commeni packs. They're to pick some choice specimens and send them off to our neighbours in the Commonwealth frontiers bearing "gifts". They are to herald our coming. I want the Commonwealth to know that the Vermintide has come again to their lands, and to make them fear our name before they've even seen our forces."

Ignatius then started to turn before making one last remark.

"And notify the clan levies, within three days they will have liberty to launch raiding parties if they choose to within 20 miles of the camp, no more, no less. All slaves, loot and material are their for the taking, but all food supplies are to be given to the army stocks. All Vermin will remain in the bounds of the camp and ensure order."

The orders sent, within an hour, several members of the Virulent Academy had set about their task, and several packs of Rattus Commeni were released to scatter in various directions south, with slaves "released" and thrown out south as well. Both were loaded with a particularly gruesome pestilence that had become iconic of the Rats, the Black Death would come again to the Commonwealth, and it would be the harbinger of the Vermintide, whilest the army itself sat along its massive lines, tens of miles long, setting to work preparing the ordered rudimentary defences, pitching lean-tos and tents, and lighting campfires. Within three days, some of them would have liberty to raid, and all were anxious to fight their enemies, and more than a few perplexed by Ignatius Fell-Eye's odd strategy so far.

[Slamurai]

Benas shook his head. There was hardly enough room for them all inside the walls, and the line stretched far beyond the gates. Benas watched from his window as they trod the road to the city. They carried what belongings they could from their homes, some guiding carts drawn by braying oxen. They looked like one, writhing snake in the drab colors of peasant's clothing. With so many refugees close together, disease would run rampant through Krychnov. And with the Vermintide on the Commonwealth's border, it would play right into the ratmens' hands.
Earlier that morning, a lone scout had made a beeline for Krychnov, and sputtered the news of a massive vermin host amassing in the north between panicked breaths. The rest of the north seemed eager to follow suit, abandoning their villages and seeking shelter within the closest city. Already, Benas had dispatched men to relay Krychov's plight to the south. He just hoped that help could arrive in time.

"My lord," a voice said from the doorway, and Benas turned to regard his steward.
"Ignas. Krychnov's walls will strain to keep them all inside. The city wasn't built to accommodate the entire countryside."
"What are we to do? It will be impossible to feed every mouth, and if we are besieged, then our food stores will not last a week."
"The rest will have to make camp outside or make for Prostějov. Tell the Guard to cut them off. It's for their own safety as much as ours."
"Yes, my lord. And what of our defenses?"
Benas sighed. He'd played the vermintide's attack on the city hundreds of times in his head now, and it always ended in disaster. What was one city to do against the force of a horde?
"We can only pray word reaches the capital before the vermin decide to attack. I won't sugarcoat it, Ignas. The survival of Krychnov hinges on time."
The steward's head sagged for a few seconds, before it bobbed back up, and there was a light his eye. "What of the dwarves? They are not so far. A threat to the Commonwealth is also a threat to Thundrim Kadrin."
Benas regarded the thin man, fingers prodding at his beard. "Very well. It can't hurt to try, not when we are this desperate. Send a courier to King Bagrick. Hell, send one to Yore as well. The Empire won't suffer an incursion on its doorstep. We'll take what help we can." His quill danced on parchment, and he handed them to Ignas when he'd finished.
"As you wish, lord." The steward turned with haste and disappeared.

Benas leaned back in his chair, wiping a hand down his face. His eyes drifted to the suit of black three-quarter armor at the far side of the room and lingered there. He would have to don it very soon, and possibly for the last time.

[POOHEAD189]

Thundrim Kadrin Throne Room

It was almost comical how the same Dwarf courier that had met King Bagrick not two days previous shuffled back into the throne room, huffing and puffing through his thick brown beard, a parchment in his callused hands. "Urgent message, High King!" the courier, Halfen, called. King Bagrick was still counting his gold, having only stopped to sleep four hours at one point. Counting Gold was a serious past time for the Dwarfs, one that the King would never take lightly. He might have another few weeks before he finished, and then he would recount in case he had missed any. It was not greed, but an appreciation of hard work and how he had served his Kingdom honorably enough to be granted such a sum of wealth, for only wisdom, honor, and strength bred wealth.

If he kept getting interrupted however, he wouldn't finish! "This better be important." he grumbled, and grabbed the message from the courier's hands. Opening the parchment, he read the message with a careful eye. When he lowered the message, his kingly face was full of wrath and honor. Noble was he, and he crushed the paper in his meaty fist as he stood from his Throne of Ancestors. The Vermintide had returned, and were now threatening the Commonwealth. Manlings, but a hardy breed of men the Dwarfs had given their friendship to. Not only that, but the movement of the Vermintide meant the Low-ways beneath Thundrim Kadrin could be attacked any day now. He enjoyed counting Gold as much as the next Dwarf, but this was his calling...to smite the enemies of the Dwarfs.

"Muster the Throng." King Bagrick said. The Dwarf courier knelt before him, for the King was truly magnificent to behold, so broad of shoulder and long of beard was he. Clad in his finely wrought chainmail of Valdium, with a Baldr chest piece and pauldrons, his shoulders adorned with the hide of a great wolf he had hunted and killed in his youth. The bejewled crown of Gorrak'zuhm upon his head. Gorrick the Hearth Guard gave a bow in obedience to the command. "Should I summon the Council, my king?" "The Council will assemble before the gate on matters of war and tactics. Send word to my brother to prepare the Low-Ways for defense and double the guard forces. We leave in two days. Tell each of the 12 great Clans to provide 2,500 warriors each and form at the Rez'kazul gate to the west. We march to the aid of the Manlings, and a Reckoning will be had for the wrongs the foul Vermin have wrought upon our ancestors of days long past. Send word to the outposts of the farmlands to send small forces to the Manling city of Krychov. So orders Bagrick!"

---

The Northern Passes to Barak-Kazul

A day previous, the Dwarf courier in the Throne room known as Halfen, had given a parchment to another courier to be flown to Barak-Kazul (Otherwise known as Ironhammer Hold) and Grimbold Ironhammer. The Dwarf courier he had given the message to had set off from the peak of Thundrim Kadrin via a Gyrocopter. At the top of the peak, most men would find it hard to breath, and hard to live with the cold. To the stout Dwarfs of Thundrim Kadrin, they might as well have been at sea level on a mild day. The engine revving and the rotors beginning to spin, the relatively light vehicle lifted off and began its day journey to its destination in Barak-Kazul.

The message was received in Grimbold's hands just as King Bagrick was given the distress parchment from The Commonwealth. The Warrior Thane was all too eager to receive such news, even if he was feasting at the time of receiving the message. The Dwarfs in the room drank heartily and regailed their brethren with tales of heroism and old grudges to be settled. Grimbold smoked his long pipe at the head of the table, his Axe and shield at his side even during such a peaceful event as a feast.

When he announced to the fellow High Ranking Dwarfs at his table (Greatbeards, Reckoners, Captains of the various Dwarfen military units, as well as the High Rune Priest, Geradin Farforger) that they were to summon 5,000 Dwarfs and march southwest to engage Grobi and Beastman, there was much grumbling and toasts that followed. They would not disobey the High King however, nor would they want to.

"The fires of war we will bring upon the Orruks" the Honorguard Captain Grummrund said, standing out of his chair and raising his guantleted fist. Sketti Hammerhand chuckled with glee, patting his rifle. "To War we go indeed!" Grimbold announced. "And woe befall any of the foul races that have raised our ire and wrath. To the death!" He was greeted with an assortment of roaring approval and the guzzling of mead.

[ClocktowerEchos]

BEASTMEN OF
THE FIREBREATH

---

---

---

---

With the words of the great Alphagor Varkex resonating in their vengeful hearts, more than a fair few warherds looked at the dwarves with longing of death of the stunties. For too long the tiny bastards had looked down upon them from their mountain keep and with the herds on the move, many a beastmen believed that the great holds of the dwarves could use some “redecorating” with a new paint scheme and interior décor options.

“Onwards beastmen! Burn their holds and spill their damned blood!” the Alphagor bellowed as his gors of all variety cheered around the nightly bonfire in their camp. Tarkur FIrebreath raised his cannon high in the air with two hands, his third wildly throwing around skulls on a stick. Tarkur was an interesting breed of beastmen, a so called “mutant alphagor; on his left side, he had two arms, one growing out of his side giving him quite the monstrous appearance. Needless to say this third arm has served him well and allowing him to weild his signature weapon: a stolen dwarven cannon.

It wasn’t quite as much “stolen” as many would think but more like “beat the cannon crews with their own artillery piece before taking it not realizing he hadn’t killed one of the crewmen (crewdwarves?) but only broke his spine and most of his limbs”. The cannon was the reason why he now has the name of Firebreath and also the reason why some brave if not fool hearty dwarves have tried to kill him. Retaking the cannon for honor or something, Tarkur honestly never understood the motivations of the lone suicidal dwarves that sometimes wandered close to him other than that their livers tasted good after being grilled. Just the liver though, the rest of dwarf was a bit too tough and chewy for his taste.

Stuffing his cannon full of looted powder and pitch along with scrap metal and weapons of fallen enemies, Tarkur let out a might roar that was echoed and amplified by his warherd as they set out to stamped over the dwarven lands. With his massive amounts of Blackhands fire bombers, the herd marched, war horns and drums bellowing in the wind as they dashed through the forests, driven by the scent of blood and powdered

[POOHEAD189]

Barak Kazul

They fucked with the wrong Dwarf Hold.

Grimbold had received word overnight as he had been preparing his small army outside of Barak Kazul to set marching the next day to find any greenskins and beastman that were threatening the Manling lands. It seemed the Beastman had already given an invitation to the Dawi, having actually attacked one of their lightly armed outposts to the west. It was an affront this Dwarf could not stand.

No one ever wanted to get on the bad side of a Dwarf, but Grimbold was a special case. He was a renowned for his ferocity in killing the lesser races of Vermin and Greenskins, and the Beastman were on that particular list. With a will that could move mountains, he set himself upon a path to wreak havoc on those Beasts that had brought about his wrath, and set his war machine in motion. Even with less than half his hold's full strength, his sizeable army of 5,000 strong would be enough.

Due to the close proximity to regions such as the Orruk lands, his army, while relatively small, was made up of veteran Greatbeards. "The throng is ready, my Thane." his Anvil Guard Captain Snorri said to him, halting his approach and standing by him in salute. It was a cool morning, just before the sun was to rise over the horizon. The smallest ember could be seen from the pipe Grimbold had in his mouth. Behind him, the southern mountain of Thundrim Kadrin loomed over his force that had just formed ranks.

The Throng moved. Five hundred Anvil Guard, five hundred Iron guard, four hundred bolter Dwarfs, four hundred Rifle Dwarfs, fifty Hammergun Dwarfs, a score of Dragonbreath infantry, a hundred rangers at the fore, two hundred Honor Guard, not to mention nearly two thousand warriors (mostly Greatbeards) with various berserkers having fallen in at the flanks. A fine force. Behind the throng there were two hundred sappers Dwarfs along with four engines of each siege weapon, a steam tank, as well as a dozen scout Gyrocopters that had just lifted off.

As the day progressed and the throng marched tirelessly, the scout Gyrocopters began to filter back with reports of a Beastman force perhaps thrice the size of this force. Grimbold was not perturbed. In fact his grim resolve only strengthened. "Keep to open ground." he told his Captains. "We can match them in the woods, but we're not here to match them. We're here to slaughter them. Send an extra hundred warriors and Ironguard at the flank to keep us secured."
@ClocktowerEchos

[TemplarKnight07]

The Under-Republic of Rodents

---

Vermintide Camp outside of the beseiged Commonwealth city of Krychov

Several weeks had passed and the Vermintide's position hadn't shifted that much, and the assembled mass numbers of Vermin were growing restless. The regular Vermin units themselves had their hands full keeping the Clans in line and preventing internal conflicts over petty issues and the Court Martial already had a substantial backlog of reprimands, demerits, fines, and penal sentences to dish out to the point where they couldn't even afford to prosecute them all, they'd be left with no scouts, patrols, or foraging parties.

All of this was expected, Ignatius had led large Rodent armies before and such disorder was the norm with Clan Rodents that were not part of the Vermin in situations where they were basically left to themselves. The siege itself was going very well, for he knew that the Commonwealth forces there would never possibly be able to launch a sortie unless they desired quicker deaths, and that with so many civilians and soldiers within the settlement from the surrounding lands, food stocks would not last forever. He wagered they were already on half rations if not quarters, and the burnt flesh-smelling black smoke rising from within its walls bespoke that The Black Plague was having a noticeable effect within as well.

But Regius Ignatius cared little about Krychov particularly or the siege at the moment. If his scouts he'd sent far afield had reportedly correctly, the city had served his purposes well enough already, and the frightened humans within had called upon the aid of one of the oldest foes of Rodent kin everywhere, the Dwarves.

Battle with his people's oldest rivals called to him, and he figured now was the time to re-ignite the Vermintide in earnest before they got even more bogged down in this siege. To this end, he had called forth the Ring of Rodents, and given the order to divide the Vermintide into three large swathes.

The first and foremost named "Fang" for simplicity's sake, under his command and four other members of the Ring, would march south and meet the Dwarven Army on the field of battle and work to prosecute their campaign against the short and bearded people along with their King right to his mountain of gold, failing in that they would at least leave a fresh mark on the Dwarven memories again.

The second, named "Claw", under the command of four other members of the Ring, with Ignatius appointing supreme command of that arm to Caius "Man-Eater" Patchfur, a supporter of his on the Ring of Rodents, and a competent commander himself. Caius' instructions were to strike out east and south, in search of civilization and foes of any kind to make war upon. Ignatius wasn't entirely sure what they would encounter, but reports from clans which had visited such lands had in the recent past claimed the land belonged to a band of Uruks calling themselves "The Golden Horde", they would make worthy opponents if they truly did stand in their path.

The third and final arm, aptly named "Tail", would remain behind and persecute the current siege and continued campaign against the Commonwealth before pushing onwards to either meet up with Fang or continue onward to further campaigns as needs be. Aurus Goldclaw was appointed from the four Ring of Rodents members to command this swathe. Ignatius partly wanted to get back at the Rodent by denying him the challenge and potential glory of marching east in search of foes, partly didn't want him in his company when he marched to face the Dwarves to deny him that glory of facing ancient foes, but still made him an offer he couldn't refuse by giving him the prestigious position of commanding a whole arm of the Vermintide. To deny would be to make the Ring of Rodents member look like a coward who couldn't even prosecute a campaign against Men. Thus, Ignatius knew he would accept.

Now, the orders were underway, and Fang and Claw were forming up in their respective divisions and the Ring of Rodents had convened for the last time before they were to split off to their own respective forces, each numbering in multitudes so vast that one who was not knowledgable in such matters could have mistaken them for each being the single Vermintide itself. The Rodents leaving were excited, while those forced to stick around were grumbling and complaining or more loudly voicing their displeasure if they could get away without being struck by a Vermin soldier nearby. The orders given, Caius gave a salute with his spear to his Regius before leading his fellow Ring members with Claw out of the tent, and Aurus gave a slight bow before Ignatius himself left the newly vacated tent to the begrudging Ring member and his party.

Fang and Claw were on the march with the dawn, and the besieged people of Krychov beheld the sight as one massive column of Rodents marched south further into their territory, another marched east outwards to their borders, and a diminished but still massive army remained to continue their siege.

[ClocktowerEchos]

BEASTMEN OF
THE FIREBREATH

---

---

---

---

The sky soon filled with the sound of working gears and chugging engines, hearlding the arrival of the blasted Dwarven gyrocopters, no doubt out for a scouting run. Hoping onto a high rock as his troops paused to look up, Tarkur Firebreath raised his cannon and bellowed, "Look on at the horizon! Gyrocopters! GGGYYYYRRROOOOOCCCOPPPTTTEEERRRRSSSSS!! Our enemies scout with FLYING MEHAL BAWKSES, DA KAWARDS. TEH FEWLS! We should..." Tarkur paused for a second and catch his breath, it seemed that bellowing this loud with the polluted air of the dwarves in his lungs wasn't good for his voice or his lisp, "WE SHOULD TAKE AWAY DERE FLYING MEHAL BAWKSES!!"

With a mighty blast of his cannon, Tarkur sent a hail of metal and stone at the closest flying dwarf, either being too brave or too foolish by approaching the horde at such a low altitude. The beastmen cheered as the machine spiraled into the ground, a trio of Centigor rushed to the crash and hauled back its wounded pilot. Snatching the poor dwarf, they found him in thick rope and brought him before the Alphagor who was already reloading his looted gun (aka stuffing his cannon with as much powder and pitch as he could). Picking up the dwarf with his third arm, he wave him around wildly, "This is the pitiful enemy that we face! Look at them, the tiny maggots can' even grow properly!" The horde threw insults at the captured dwarf and cheered as their leader stuff him into his cannon, firing it off and letting it rain bloody dwarf chunks on to them.

"WE SHALL CRUSH THEM!" Tarkur cried once more as he leapt off the rock and lead his troops on a dash towards the Dwarven hold, soon after the stone work came into sight. Without orders, the warriors of the beastmen rushed towards the dwarves with reckless abandon, their bloodlust getting the better of them as they ran in whooping and hollering and braying. With another deafening shot of his cannon, Tarkur "officially" began the battle. He was going to destroy the dwarves and burn their buildings to the ground. And then, he'd raise a new settlement under the banner of the Beastmen. His forefathers would be avenged and the beastmen would have reclaimed yet another for their own.
@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

A host this great had not been summoned in centuries, since Bagrick's father's time. It had taken hours to cross the great bridge the Dwarfs called Cornerstone Bridge within the Commonwealth's lands. The throng of 30 thousand Dwarfs had just stepped into the Commonwealth proper, reforming its lines with practiced precision when their Gyrocopter scouts had just come back reporting of movement from up ahead. A vast army of Vermin approached, they said.

An hour later, Rangers returned from the front and reported that the army was at least half again their size. They gave what information they could on the forces formations, but they would meet on the field in an hour at the latest. Immediately the Dwarf King began to order his units to hasten their lines. He ordered for his army to set up on the lowland plain just before a small rise in ground to the north.

Their lines were two miles from the tree line. Dwarfs hastened to put their Cannons and Multi-shot Cannons upon the rise. Dwarf Great Beards and Honor Guard stood just below the rise, as well as behind and around the artillery to protect their guns. RifleDwarfs stood at the front of the army, trained to fire two volleys before they would give way for their melee fighters to take over. A formation of Anvil Guards stood at the center of the line, and two more stood at the flanks. Across the line, Dwarf warriors lined up and roared for the Vermin to dare attack them. Behind them, crossbowmen and Catapults were loaded and ready, as well as Hammergun infantry. Berserkers bristled and growled, ready to charge with abandon. Fire Dwarf throwers were set in reserve for now.

The Rangers still within the forest began their retreat across the open ground, having harried the Vermin in the forest. Their short legs pumping, they ran as fast as they could to get to their lines. Upon the flank of the rise, the 500 Dwarfs mounted as Heavy Cavalry awaited an order to relieve their Rangers if they were too closely pursued.
@TemplarKnight07

---

The Dwarfs opened fire with their artillery, aiming their Cannons at the huge Beastman that had defiled one of their own guns with its foul fingered touch. Grimbold had ordered that Beastman dead first, aiming half of the artillery at it alone while spreading the fire of the rest among the Beastman host now approaching. The Ironguard stood at the flanks of the front line, whereas the Anvil Guard stood at the center. A thousand heavily armored and stalwart Dwarfs awaited for the Beastman to crash into them. Behind them, they were flanked by Greatbeards, the two thousand warriors surrounding their flanks all around.

Berserkers, Riflemen, and Crossbowmen attacked as the horde advanced. The Berserkers broke through the Dwarf front lines and waded into the enemy army, hacking and slashing with no sense of self preservation. There was no way most of them would live, and if any did it would only be by sheer luck of being overlooked if the battle ended quickly, but they killed many themselves. Suddenly, grenades and alchemical fire tore over the ranks of Dwarfs in a quick volley to break up the charge that was coming, before it would then be decided in melee. Grimbold stood at the center of his Greatbeard warriors, ready to cleave through Beast flesh.
@ClocktowerEchos

[ClocktowerEchos]

BEASTMEN OF
THE FIREBREATH

---

---

---

---

Violence erupted as blood splattered on to the ground, dying it a dark crimson as Ungors were cut down by rifle fire and hacked to pieces by the dwarven melee. The Bestigors however, they proved their worth, their armor shrugging off bullets as they ricocheted off (or they were just tough enough to ignore the flesh wound), their axes meeting that of the Beserkers. War cries and braying echoed along the Beastmen lines as the ground shook from their mighty hooves. With a guttural roar, a pack of Razorgors charged into the Dwarven left flank, soon followed up by chariots whose riders cut down the warriors as their beast devoured them in armor and all.

As for the Alphagor himself, he ducked and weaved as the cannon balls came in but a lucky hit knocked him off his feet. Enraged, he picked up the shots that landed near him and stuff it into his cannon before firing again, sending a wild hail of iron and lead that went everywhere. No one was safe from his lead rain as it hit dwarven soldiers, beastmen warriors and artillery alike.
@POOHEAD189

[TemplarKnight07]

The Under-Republic of Rodents

---

Several leagues north of Cornerstone Bridge, and the Commonwealth/Barak Kazul Territory Border

Rattus Regius Ignatius Fell-Eye had marched his army southwards steadily for the past few days, encountering scattered and weak resistance from what few Humans had not already fled west to the perceived safety of their more developed heartlands, his foraging bands had looted everything they could find, killing those who resisted, enslaving those who cowered, and burning what remained in their wake. Of their lesser-minded Kin within the Commonwealth, they had come across some and subsequently liberated them into their own forces (though their instincts compelled them to join their fellows more than anything), subsequently replenishing some the Rattus Commenus Packs he'd scattered when first entering Commonwealth territory.

When messengers came to his ear and told of Dwarven troops harrying his scouts, Ignatius grinned. The Dwarves had come to face his challenge to the Humans, and now the true mettle of The Vermintide would be put to the test for the first time in living memory.

Less than an hour of marching later brought them over a hill and through a small woodland, and brought him face to face with the Dwarven Throng itself upon a wide field likely used to once allow herds to graze upon. Banners were flying in the breeze, the Dwarven ranged units and warriors all neatly assembled with their infamous artillery seting up on the rise of a hill on the western flank, he spied the whole menagerie of Dwarven troops, Rifles, Crossbows, Warriors of all stripes and experience, Catapults, and even the rarely seen Heavy Cavalry the Dwarves fared for supporting such large hosts. His past raids from years before had given him a knowledge of what heraldry represented which Dwarven clans, and he spied dozens of them represented here, but one in particular made him grin all the more, the banner of the Royal House of Thundrim Kadrin, the banner of the self-proclaimed High King of all Dwarves.

Hated enemy of him though he was, Ignatius could respect the Dwarf King's bravery and intent to face the threat to his people in person rather than leave it to lackeys. He would have to make it his job to not disappoint him and his eager Throng, then.

Putting aside his more amusing thoughts for the moment, Ignatius directed his orders to his fellow Ring Members who were with him. The Vermintide would form ranks and prepare for battle immediately, and the chaos of tens of thousands of Rodent-kin poured onto their side of the field, coalescing into semblances of order. Allowing the Rangers whom had harried their scouts to flee without pursuit as they readied their own lines.

The Clan Packs gathered at the front, the freshly conscripted Rattus Irregulars and Militia all ready and eager to finally face a real challenge and earn glory and loot on the battlefield. With the various clan leaders all struggling to keep their troops in a semblance of order and stop them from breaking ranks and just rushing out with the help of slightly more experienced and better equipped Ironclaws. Their rag-tag groups of Hunters all gathered at their flanks and immediately behind them. Behind the lines of Clans, The Vermin Guard assembled in practiced and ordered discipline, their own banners and armour the uniform of the Under-Republic rather than clans, with their own Marksmen doing likewise in regular and practiced formations. The lines and gaps were punctuated by the massive towering forms of the Rattus Giganti, their handlers close at hand to lead them and the swarming packs of Rattus Commeni all about them and underfoot.

Bubonic Philosophers walked between the lines, preparing themselves to assist officers and lend their own aid to the fray when the time came, checking their potions, bombs, and other equipment they carried on their persons.

While in the center of the fray, surrounded by his own unit of Steel-Fanged Rattus Faber, Ignatius climbed atop the back of a Rattus Gigantus to survey the sight before him. Retribution was sheathed at his side, he stood on the shoulders of his great and lumbering Kin and looked left and right at the massive number of Vermin assembled with him. A shrill horn blown by one of his Steel-Fanged silenced the mass of chittering and squeaks among the host.

Several hundred metres of plains separated the two huge armies, but even at this distance they could hear the warcries of the Dwarves. So, responding in kind, Ignatius let out a great hissing snarl, and the boom of nearly 60,000 rodents echoed him. He drew Retribution, the Adamanthine blade ringing as it did. Scanning the field, he spotted the area where the High King's banners would be, and glowered over in the High King's direction with the most carnivorous grin he could muster.

He shouted over the pall in the warcries, he spun Retribution and pointed it at the Dwarven lines:

"Now my kin, let us exact our vengeance upon these Dwarves as your ancestors once did, so long ago. Clan Rats! Charge!"

Shortly afterwards, the deafening cries intensified as the first lines of the Vermintide, some 20,000 strong, broke into sprints across the field towards the Dwarven lines, the mass of Clan Rattus Packs almost literally looking like a wave heading towards the harden point that the Dwarves had made for themselves.

@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

Twenty five hundred RifleDwarfs had just finished loading as the Rangers hoofed past them, heading into the Dwarf lines. The Dwarf front line hefted shield and readied themselves. Just behind, on the rise of the ground, Thraggi Fwalinson the head Artilleryman had just readied the Dwarven artillery and gotten them loaded. Not a moment too soon.

"Fire 5 volleys of the multi cannon." he ordered them. "On my mark." The brown bearded Dwarf wearing his nose guard helm gazed at the oncoming horde. He'd been told the strategy with how they'd deal with this first wave, and they needed to save ammunition for the bulk of the forces. "Catapults...fire! Multi-shot, fire!" he ordered, throwing his hand down.

All save the great Cannons fired. They were loaded and in reserve for later. Suddenly, the 'ka-chuck' of the Catapults and the concussive 'boom' after 'boom' from the multi shot gun filled the air. Still hundreds of paces out, the clan rats were not quite in accurate Rifle range. The Artillery was perfectly placed however, and soaring death now rained upon the Vermintide as rocks the size of Dwarf shields and high powered cannon shot tore through fur, armor, and flesh, soaring into the ranks. Every shot killed dozens upon dozens.

As the mass continued forward, the second volley of artillery was fired just as twenty five hundred RifleDwarfs hefted their Caplock rifles, aimed, and fired. Countless 'cracks' resounded in the air as their bullets tore through the first and second ranks of the vermin. They reloaded with practiced efficiency and the concentration only a Dwarf could muster, hefted, and fired again. They could now see the whites in the Vermin's eyes as they were gunned down.

After their second volley, they retreated behind the lines in unison, given cover fire by the two thousand crossbow Dwarf bolters upon the hill. While the crossbow wasn't as armor piercing as a bullet, it was still very reliable when it came to punching through armor, and it had greater ranged. Their crossbow quarrels thudded and shredded into the Vermintide. The Dwarf King hefted his hammer high into the air, and as their ranks closed shields again for the Dwarf Riflemen to take a high ground, he cried out to the ancestors for their blessing on this day.

As if on cue, over three thousand Berserker Dwarves ran out of the flanks and within the temporary gaps in the Dwarf army just before the shields closed, streaming forward as an avalanche of muscle, hair, and gleaming axes. They could smell the thousands of dead Vermin, bringing them a bloodlust as they charged forward with reckless abandon and violent roars. @TemplarKnight07

---

The thunder of hooves and roars of the Berserkers filled the air as butchery was had in the center of the melee. Blood spurted and limbs were shorn off. One Berserker was gutted, but even as his entrails fell out of his thick stomach he cleaved the head of a beastman and ended its life. Havoc and chaos raged in the maelstrom of bodies.

The Ironguard gave off warcries of Khadrin (the Dwarven language) and held their PoleAxes out as if they were defending against cavalry. These Dwarfs were noteable at punching through charging armor, and many Razorgors were spitted on steel or pierced by the heads of the PoleAxes. The Beastmen's weight was still something to be reckoned with, as was their savagery. Some of the Ironguard were ripped down or tackled. The chariots cut down a few Ironguard caught unaware, some of them being mauled by the beasts pulling them. However, the tough Dwarves hacked and stabbed at the beasts with their pole weapons. Some even had the reach to attack those beastmen in the chariots.

Beastman and Berserkers were torn by the Alphagor's insane volley. Grimbold pointed at the beast and roared in Khadrin to destroy that monsters. Alchemical fire from the flamethrowers showered and melted the beastmen that were distracted by the berserkers, and Grimbold ordered a charge of his Greatbearded warriors. The venerable Dwarves hefted their shields and rune weapons, crying out, and then moving as one, stepping over the charred remains of the burnt Beastman corpses. Before they reached the lines, the ranged Dwarfs fired off another volley of bolts and bullets.
@ClocktowerEchos

[TemplarKnight07]

Ignatius saw the carnage playing out several hundred metres away and was not too perturbed. The Clan Rats and Irregulars traditionally bore the brunt of assaults like this. They were easily replaced and hot-headed, and could only be tempered through the fires of war. Those that were lucky enough to survive would be forever changed, and truly become a Vermin, just as all before them had. Those that didn't . . . well with any luck their lives will have gone towards the greater good of the Under-Republic.

The Clan Rats and Irregulars themselves were fighting valiantly, but against such disciplined units and disciplined fire, they were slowly being torn apart in much less adequately equipped and trained selves. Were it not for their numbers giving them false courage, they probably would have broken and started running back already.

Winning strategies often necessitated sacrifice though, every Rodent general worth their skin knew that, and Ignatius was no exception.

If Ignatius could pull off a victory, that is. And now was the cue for phase two since the Berserkers had engaged. He eyed the lines for enemy positions and shouted down to the orderly lines of Vermin beneath him.

"Vermin, Twin Fangs! Giganti, spread out! Everyone, charge!"

Twin Fangs was Vermin-code for a type of formation. Too complicated for unruly, divisive, and eager Clan Rats to pull off effectively, but easy for battle-hardened Vermin. The Vermin Guard formed up along the lines as they charged in a steady pace, forming four sets of triangular formations connected by lines, the Marksmen behind them and at the sides, Rattus Giganti punctuating the lines with their taller and bulkier frames.

The number of remaining Rats were close to double what they had already thrown at the Dwarves, and with such vast numbers their formations could be huge as they showed, with the inner two triangular sets of formations or "fangs" set to smash into the engaged Berserkers and fellow Kin, while the outer two fangs would keep going beyond the front lines and up the hills.

Ignatius charged with him, his officers, fellow Ring members, and handfuls of others in the Berserker attack lines taking Fevered Blood potions to give the Blood-crazed Dwarves some of their own medicine. He felt the euphoric bloodlust almost immediately.

The cannons and waiting cavalry were his biggest concerns, everything else he was confident he could overwhelm with superior numbers if he could eliminate those two elements. With any luck, his Vermin units would prove their worth.
@POOHEAD189