Beyond the empire of man, over the worlds edge mountains where the dwarf empires lie, through the ogre kingdoms of the mountains of mourn, far beyond even the ash wastes that form the empires of the Dawi Zharr lie the rolling plains that form the��kingdoms of the Hobgoblin Khans. Upon the great prairies that form the mainland, great tribes of steppe nomads roam the hills, in search of the way to relive the curse that had hung over there people for times untold, Great slaving expeditions come from the Ziggurat cities of the chaos dwarves, ever eager for new meat for the mines and the Dread forces of chaos find a testing ground to prove them selves to the gods.
In one of the entrenched settlements of the hobgoblins themselves, a single figure emerges from one of the only stone buildings. It is barley 5 feet high, and heavily set. A long and twisted beard hung from it’s chin, that may once have been great but now barely worth notice, 2 great tusks and a long crooked nose where great distinguishing features upon the face. The outlaw chaos dwarf thane, Krogi Erssonkin, realised it had been 30 years since he and his warriors had performed he suicide mission��for the damn sorcerer who had owned them before, a trivial thing to the sorcerer, yet a thing that would have cost the lives of his kin if it had not been for the figure standing in the shadow of the village hall
“Good morning, thane Erssonskin, I hope that your rest was not interrupted by your …problem” He was always surprised when his old slave used the name he had always with such respect, though the words where hard to make out through the hobgoblins thick accent . “The Low Khan requests your presence at the war council at the rising of the first moon”
“the low khan, thank you for the information Orgorla” whilst staring at the retreating hobgoblin, Krogi’s mind began to wonder why he had been summoned by the low Khan, the ruling body of these plains. In his 20 years he had only been called to aid the low Khan once during the storm of chaos. Then he had been called upon to provide weapons to the Low Khan in the name of Hobgobla himself. This time he hoped for a less serious task.
Upon the great plain of Steppe, in the hills of the Garrakrock sits a man, he is alone, and clothed in the skins of the great beasts of the eastern lands. He sits by a fire, watching, waiting. Suddenly, he reaches to his side, grabs in his gnarled hand some of the dirt around him. Where this meets fire, an unusual phenomenon occurs. After just a few seconds, a face appears in the flames.
“no, this should not be happening” came a startled gasp “Not now"
His hopes had been in vain, and as he stood, in the great tepee’ that was the Low Khan dwelling, the only living thing still to do so, surrounded by 20 heavily armed and armoured hobgoblins, surrounded by what remained of his kin, the rest having become target practise for the greenskin, gazing at the screen of animal pelts that hid the hobgoblin leader from sight
“Now, great Dawi Zharr, we allowed you to live here with us, to spend your exile in comfort rather than the life trapped in the darklands the masters had prepared for you” hissed the Low Khan, his voice dripping with sarcasm” and now, you dare, you dare to defile our land with your tools of destruction, you dare to fell the forests our beasts need for survival and you dare, with callous disregard to slaughter our people. Well now you will loose kin equal to the amount of hobgoblins you killed.
Kroggi opened his mouth to answer, yet before any sound escaped we was immobilised by a heavy blow the head, knocking him momentarily unconscious , when the darkness faded and he opened his eyes the court was in panic as the Low Khan fell from his throne, a steel arrow jutting from his rib cage