(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]