Chaos Dwarves Do the Multiverse: Elder Scrolls Edition

I know it’s been a good long while, but such is the life of a doctoral student/father/husband/employee/terrible model painter. I just moved past a big milestone in my studies, however, and I’m rewarding myself by pursing a plot bunny which hopped through my head on many a night, on many long drives in the country, through many lunch breaks, and even when just daydreaming. With my son’s interest in battling against the grey as well as my own displeasure at the creative direction of many fantasy/sci-fi franchises, I’ve found myself called back to Warhammer Fantasy Battle - though I hope that this narrative can fit with fans of Lost Kingdoms, Russian Alternative, the 9th Age, and any other similar story settings.

I’ve spent too much time planning this and not enough time writing anything, so I finally decided to post the first chapter of this. My updates might be sporadic, but unlike my previous story, this one will be finished, God willing - of that I’m certain. Feel free to give me a kick in the rear if you actually enjoy this drivel and feel I’ve neglected it for a spell; I won’t mind.

I’ll make multiple posts eventually as the narrative shifts from one dimension of fantasy to another. I don’t own Warhammer or, for this first leg, Elder Scrolls; this is purely a work of fan fiction and admiration for entertainment purposes only. I’m back, fellas.

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From the top of jagged crag beneath burgundy skies, Darbakh Smokestack peered through his brass looking glass across the ashen plain between his squad’s trench and the foreign camp built against a porous rock formation just under a quarter of a mile away. Minutes ticked by while he stared patiently at the movement of bodies, mostly humans, amidst an unfinished fort which was walled off by ramparts made from - of all things - wood. One of his hobgoblin lookouts, fidgeted anxiously next to him.

“Wood…where did they bring wood from?” Darbakh murmured while still staring.

The hobgoblin cleared his throat. “I think the humies ain’t from around here, boss.”

Darbakh snorted roughly, shushing his scout into silence, and then handed the looking glass to him. “They’re trespassing. Take your boys to Malund and await his instructions.” He didn’t even wait for the hobgoblin to reply before kneeling at the edge of the crag and sliding deeper into it. Below them, nearly a combination of thirty dwarves and goblinoids awaited his orders. “Raggrund, the ramparts are twenty feet high and made of wood.”

One of the older dwarves assembled behind the cover of the crag met Darbakh in a circle formed by their warriors. “Wood?” Raggrund said while scratching his balding head. “They couldn’t have brought that much with them. Not without notice.”

“Unless they conjured it here.” Darbakh waited a long moment, ignoring the hobgoblin who finally scampered off while eavesdropping for information. He ran a circular comb down his reddish beard while thinking. “We need to keep their leaders alive, whoever they are. I want to know what they’re doing here and who sent them…everything.”

Raggrund pulled glass goggles over his head by the strap, but he paused before taking his leave. “Should we be gentle with the fort?” he asked, with the faintest hint of a smile on the dwarf’s centuries-old stone face. They both smiled without laughing out loud before Raggrund walked among the assorted troops in their skirmishing force. “Drag it up here,” the older dwarf ordered the others while Darbakh continued combing his beard.

Down in the deep trench the crew had carved into the rock, a shrill hiss emitted from among the throng of dwarves. Malund, the only bull centaur with them, directed the hobgoblins onto the surface where they formed a half circle to both protect - and cut off the escape of - the crew’s heavy weapon. Snarling and struggling, a flamer of Tzeentch was dragged in a mutilated mess, its limbs severed and the remains of its torso barely visible in trapping of chains, bands, and plates. Raggrund set up the sentient light mortar on the nearest level spot of ashen rock and took measurements of the distance and angle to the target. What would have taken Imperial engineers minutes to calculate took him a matter of seconds, and by the time the moving bodies at the fort stopped moving and took notice, the weapon’s aim had already been refined.

The entire crew moved behind the mortar and covered their ears while the junior engineer shoved a gunpowder-laden skull down the flamer’s throat with a ramrod. The demon choked and cried, belching sulfur as the trophy from a slain foe burned in its gullet. Raggrund lit a fuse injected into the demon’s back, covering his own ears just before the mortar fired. Shooting into the sky, the skull wove a high arc of sparks as it soared to its maximum range, covering the quarter of a mile and landing inside the ramparts of the fort rather than directly against the walls. The explosion reached their ears a few seconds after the even larger explosion of a flammable object inside. Screams faintly reached their position, signaling that the light mortar had found its mark on the trespassers in the Darklands.

The dwarves all nodded in approval, and Darbakh’s hobgoblin lookout even reached up for a high five before being shoved away by the despot. “We have two more, right?” he asked.

From an ammo bag, Raggrund produced another skull and a dried heart. “Will do,” the engineer replied, already understanding the point.

Two more shots from the light mortar fell on the trespassers, one landing within the fort again and another directly striking the front gate of the ramparts. Whatever portions of the wood hadn’t been destroyed immediately burned brightly, illuminating the silhouettes of the trespassers as they scrambled inside. A few arrows shot in similarly high arcs flew out from the plumes of dark smoke, and the entire crew - dwarf and goblinoid alike - all murmured in subdued joy.

Darbakh turned to his crew, facing his black orcs and more heavily armored dwarf brethren first. “We’re moving in. Shields out front, guns behind them.” His main force saluted and assembled for their march, and he turned to Malund next. “Have the crew and ammo brought up behind once we clear out their archers.”

“Leave some for us,” the bull centaur replied, voicing the closest sentiment to talkback any of the crew would dare to try.

“That’s a maybe,” Darbakh replied, ignoring another high five attempt from the hobgoblin lookout as he joined his infantry in the front.

Their march was slow and deliberate, with the black orcs screening out incoming arrows with their shields. Whoever was behind the smoke and flames seemed desperate, as the arrows flew with little to no coordination, landing sporadically in the ground. “Load the ass bazooka,” Darbakh ordered.

Two of his gunners behind him knelt down, one of them carrying yet another bound demon on his shoulder. Similarly shorn of its limbs and encased in metal trappings, what remained of a bloodletter of Khorne groaned deeply as its organic parts were aimed backwards at the enemy. One of the crewmen loaded the innards of a former sacrifice into a barrel leading up the demon’s rear end while the gunner braced the weapon.

“Aim,” Darbakh said while plugging his nose. The others did the same, save the two crewmen who had to use clothespins. “Fire!”

The crew lit the bazooka’s fuse, causing the barrel to spark with chaotic magic. “Haayungeeaaarrgggh!” the demon screamed as a loud, flatulent pop burst out of its rectum.

A trail of green smoke streaked in a straight line, mixing with the black plumes of the destroyed ramparts as the hellish projectile. The explosion wasn’t visible, but it was audible, and the outline of the wooden watchtower which had been built against the sheer face of the rock formation behind the fort collapsed into a pile of debris. More shadows wavered in the bright flames behind the smoke, displaying the flailing limbs and pumping legs as the trespassers panicked. Most of the shadows grew smaller in front of the light.

“They’re making a last stand; load the blunderbusses!”

The bazooka team knelt down behind the rest of the infantry, leaving the black orcs out in front and the remaining chaos dwarves in the middle. After a few seconds spent loading the guns with gunpowder, ball bearings, and bone shards, they took aim with their weapons in between the shoulders of the orcs. Although the uniforms and visages of the enemy weren’t clear, the first few of them charged out of the smoke, weapons in hands.

“Fire!” Darbakh yelled.

The tiny imps bound to each blunderbuss screamed inside as the burning splinters of bone and metal projectiles flew out of the barrels. Shields splintered, chainmail links frayed, and blood spilled as the bullets pierced armor and flesh. The first wave of the trespassers fell into the dirt, alive but crippled and slowly dying, but the second wave climbed over their bodies in desperation.

“Weapons out,” Darbakh ordered, and the dwarves slung their guns over their backs and pulled out scimitars. The black orcs stood up, shields forward and choppers ready.

Amidst the smoke, Darbakh could barely see who exactly were hurling themselves against the shields of the orcs only to be cut down in such futility, but he caught glimpses. Humans, horns, and hooves crunched beneath his boots as his troops marched forward, pressing through the bottleneck created by the destroyed ramparts. More of the trespassers waded into the smoke and began shield-to-shield pushing against the black orcs, holding them back only by sheer numbers until the dwarves started pushing against the backs of the orcs. Darbakh turned back to wave down Malund, standing many yards behind him with their supply train.

“Send the hobs up front!” he yelled to the bull centaur, who began driving the smaller goblinoids forward. The bazooka team instinctively retreated to Malund’s position with the mortar team, leaving the infantry up front.

The trespassers began jabbering in one of many mongrel languages spoken by foreigners, but Darbakh couldn’t recognize this one. He raised his halberd and began stabbing a few of them in between the shields of his orcs and over their shoulders until the hobgoblins arrived. The smaller goblinoids began pushing on the backs of the dwarves, adding to the unit’s strength and moving the line forward regardless of the orcs’ displeased grunts at their traitorous kin. The hobgoblins also stabbed their spears over the shoulders of the black orcs, who, true to their reputation, didn’t start squabbling in spite of their obvious ire.

Enough of the trespassers fell that even desperation could no longer propel them forward, and those who remained ran back toward the collapsed watchtower. Waving their hands amid the wreckage, they threw down their weapons in surrender, all half dozen of them for what it was worth, leading Darbakh to raise his fist.

“Hold and fan out” he ordered, causing the assembled goblinoids to form a perimeter around the surrendering foes. Malund brought the artillery teams into the defeated fort as well, walking through the gradually dissipating plumes of smoke. “Make sure that none of the injured survive; these wretches here are enough for interrogation.”

The bull centaur snorted in subdued approval. Malund began walking from one fallen body to another by the ramparts, stabbing each one with a sword as he performed his rounds. Darbakh left him to his own devices before turning to the surviving trespassers, pushed to the ground by the hobgoblins and finally granting a clear look at them.

Reaching for his comb subconsciously, Darbakh began brushing his beard while staring in wonderment at the groveling knaves in front of him. Seven in total, they were absolutely foreign in origin and unlike anything he’d ever seen. A few of them looked like elves, but their skin was ashen and grey just like many chaos dwarves themselves. Other trespassers were some strange cross between elves and beastmen, bearing the same ashen skin along with horns. Stranger still was what appeared to be a lizardman - or lizardwoman, he couldn’t really tell - who was wearing pants, a shirt, and shoes. The shoes in particular confused Darbakh beyond belief.

“I don’t think they’re from around here, boss,” the hobgoblin lookout said while rather presumptuously ambling up next to Darbakh, though the dwarven despot didn’t shove him away this time.

“This one, here,” Darbakh said while jabbing his finger toward the only human among their new prisoners. Clothed in rags and less heavily armed than the others, the lean human looked like some sort of diseased northman. “He looks Norscan. You, find out what languages he speaks.”

The hobgoblin saluted. “Right, boss.” He than began jabbering back and forth with the human in multiple languages, all the while confusing the ragged prisoner even more. “I don’t think he’s Norscan, boss; he doesn’t understand their language, or any other I tried. He just keeps saying his name is Havas Jargarson.”

“That sounds like a Norscan name. Ask him about Walhut, lord of our brothers to the north.”

“I already did, boss, and he doesn’t…”

Both of them turned when the sickly human known as Havas cleared his throat and began speaking. His language sounded weak and disorganized, with none of the sounds resembling one another. The human’s pallid skin strained as his voice rose, as if he were listing off his last requests.

“Shut your pie hole!” Darbakh said while grabbing Havas by the collar of the human’s robe and lifting him off the ground. “I’m not done talking!”

Havas continued mumbling, letting his head roll back as if he were mad, or in a trance. His voice began to echo against the rock formations behind the destroyed fort, growing louder in spite of the human’s half-starved, dirty frame. Only when a series of runes began to glow red on the ground all around him did Darbakh notice the similarly red glint in the human’s eyes. He swiftly grabbed Havas’ throat with his other hand and attempted to choke the words out of their prisoner.

“His eyes - he’s a vampire, boss!” the hobgoblin said just as the runes exploded with light all around the fort.

In a giant red bubble, the entire area in and around the fort disappeared into a puff of smoke. The dwarves, the hobgoblins, the black orcs, their prisoners, their equipment, the debris and corpses around them, even the top layer of soil on the ground were all dragged into the interdimensional portal opened by Havas’ chant. Nothing was left in their wake except for a plume of smoke dissipating into the air in a signal to their teleportation.

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Very well written piece, I thoroughly enjoyed that and hope for more.

Small piece of trivia: The Elder Scrolls is actually the only fantasy franchise I’m aware of that took heavy inspiration from the chaos dwarfs with the Dwemers, a for all intents and purposes extinct race of technologically advanced elves, oddly quite frequently referred to as dwarfs in the lore – here is a concept art from the third installment, Morrowind where the parallels are most obvious

Moreover, the whole Dunmer (dark elf) culture features various aesthetics and place names that look and sound Assyrian / Babylonian. It’s not far fetched that Warhammer served as heavy inspiration when you look at what one of the chief concept artists / lore writers of Morrowind, Michael Kirkbride, is spending his time on these days (also the original author of the concept art posted above).

Please don’t let this discourage you, I’m eager to see your vision of chaos dwarfs in the TES universe - I just thought it is an interesting side note. :smiley:

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On a raised, beaten path in a bog, surrounded by mushrooms the size of oak trees and guar rooting in the mud below, swirls of red runes danced through the air like parchment carried on the wind. Bolts of energy crackled on a patch of the road in front of a modest castle’s gatehouse, scaring away the guar and a few crows as the energy burst outward into a sphere, and popping loudly as numerous objects burst into existence on that plane along with it. Groans and grunts rose as bodies and debris fell, marking the dimensional shift from the Known World to the Aurbis.

Darbakh’s thirty plus men, in addition to their six captives, hit the ground along with their gear, a few corpses, and the entire top level of soil from the Darklands. The ashen grey mismatched the richer volcanic soil of Morrowind, marking them as truly from a different plane. Everyone coughed and reeled from the dimensional travel, but Darbakh leapt to his feet before anyone else and seized the pale human, Havas, by the throat.

“What was that?” the dwarven despot yelled while slugging the human in the gut with his other fist. Havas gasped as the wind was knocked out of him and fell to his knees, but Darbakh pulled the human up. “What the hell did you just do? Men, grab the other prisoners before they run!”

Scrabbling and crawling over the dusty road, the amassed soldiers chased their captives as if drunk. Disorientation from the portal revealed itself in their sluggish movements, and one of the five remaining prisoners, the weird horned elf, even escaped to the modest wooden door of the gatehouse down the road, banging and shouting in his foreign language. The dwarves and orcs busied themselves subduing their remaining captives, and the hobgoblins largely pretended to remain on standby while trying to do as little as possible.

Their concentration, if the fracas on the road could be referred to as such, was broken by more foreign shouting from atop the gatehouse. Looking over the parapets, another strange elf with ashen skin glared with red eyes which glowed in the early twilight. To either side of him, skulls arose, hollow yet mobile atop bony shoulders. The skeletons, along with the elf’s red eyes, granted Darbakh’s forces pause. Until the bonebags raised their bows, of course.

“Fall to the bog!” he yelled with a hand cupped over his mouth.

He dragged Havas down into the muck with him, and his troops began doing the same with their own captives, just as the first volley of arrows struck the ground on the road. His fellow chaos dwarves were hesitant to leave the road, walking away more slowly than the black orcs who jogged, and the hobgoblins who outright ran. Arrows pelted the group irregularly, bouncing off of Darbakh’s heavy armor as he dragged Havas, outright killing one of his hobgoblins and an associated prisoner, and striking his bloodletter bazooka in the skull. The mobile ass artillery shrieked before exploding, grievously burning the dwarf crewman who’d been carrying it.

“What! What! Douse him with water, quickly!” Darbakh yelled while Raggrund carried the injured crewman amid the giant mushrooms. “Those bastards hit one of our men!”

The dwarves converged on Raggrund’s position with their burnt comrade on the other side of the raised road, exiting Darbakh’s field of view, while the black orcs dragged the three other prisoners over on his side. Cool and collected, the stared at Darbakh with their beady eyes, waiting until they were told what to do. He was quite the opposite, grinding his teeth and shoving Havas face-first into the mud while trembling with anger.

“Further down the road! Everybody converge around the bend down the road!”

Dragging their prisoners with them, Darbakh and the orcs trudged amid the forest of giant orange mushrooms until the gatehouse of the small castle could no longer be seen. Once they climbed onto the main road, tracking dark grey mud on the lighter grey of the cobbled road, the rest of the dwarves converged with them. Hobgoblins trickled in one-by-one, knowing better than attempting to flee in hostile territory. The injured crewman limped over to the middle of the group, clutching his singed shoulder and arm covered in boils and shrapnel wounds.

Darbakh growled upon seeing his crewman’s injury, and inadvertently, he squeezed Havas’ arm so tightly that he fractured the human’s wrist with a loud pop followed by a scream. “Quiet!” he said, silencing Havas with a kick to the gut.

Raggrund removed his goggles and inspected the crewman’s wounds, also irately but with more self control. “There’s time to reduce the effects with medical attention. We need more supplies than we have now.”

Malund trudged forward. “We aren’t in the Darklands. We aren’t even in the Far East or the Old World. This is someplace different. We need a lot more than just those supplies.”

“We’re going to have that and more!” Darbakh said acidically, squeezing Havas’ broken wrist again. “Those rat bastards, a bunch of elves using skeletons, they think they can injure one of us? By Hashut, I’ll tear their castle down brick by brick as a fair punishment! The whole lot of them isn’t worth a single hair on our beards!”

“Who are they, though?” Raggrund asked. The older dwarf began poking Havas, who groaned and whined on the ground in pain. “We found these foreigners on our land, and they seem to have brought us to their land. How can we get back?”

“One step at a time, old friend; we need medicine, food, water…labor.” Darbakh let go of Havas, who was a useless crying wreck, and walked over to one of the other prisoners, the apparent lizardman. The reptile cringed and groveled, displaying more wisdom than the human had. “You. Skink, or whatever you are. Find us food.” Darbakh held his hand to his mouth to demonstrate eating. “Food. Find us food, or we eat you.” He pointed to the lizardman and then his own mouth, making his point abundantly clear.

Nodding and babbling, the lizardman crawled past Darbakh as if accustomed to humbling itself in front of superiors. Further down the road, beyond the entire crew, the it stopped and squatted while pointing excitedly. The road led further into the forest of overgrown toadstools beneath a sky almost as dreary as the Darklands except more humid. The amassed crew all lined up, looking at Darbakh and awaiting orders. He combed his beard again, feeling the pressure of responsibility for his whole group trapped in an unknown land.

“We follow the skink,” Darbakh said, “and we sack any town we find around this blasted castle. I’ll see every fat fungus in this blasted bog destroyed if we have to!”

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I like the story very much, I have no idea about the “Elder Scrolls” and I like to let you lead me into this new world! :metal:

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Indeed! I’m actually looking forward to portraying all the various linguistic and cultural misunderstandings which might arise (followed by serious ass kicking, of course).

Cool, I’m glad I was able to bring something new to the table. What better way to venture into a new world than by having chaos dwarves enslave it?

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Fires had already arisen in the ash fields of strange red vegetables and purple fruit grown by the locals. The fungal flora of Deshaan confused the chaos dwarves and their thralls, and while they pillaged their way toward the remote village, they started burning any plants and killing any animals they couldn’t eat solely because they were so confounded by their alien surroundings.

Although their prisoners squirmed in sight of the destruction, the skink-like creature leading them seemed to share in their stress release at the countryside raid. The dark pinkish reptile, clad only in torn pants and a leather harness, had actually begun to grow on Darbakh. He didn’t even beat it when it pattered around inanely a few times, simply waiting for it (and his troops) to finish chewing through the marshy farmland before pushing the skink thing back toward the main cobblestone road. Eventually, a high stone spire sporting frilled awnings broke into the sky just as distant shouts and screams broke the air over the fires the group had set behind them.

Eventually, the road straightened out, and their reptilian guide came to a halt when the warband moved into view of a wooden village gate at a dead end. What appeared to be village guards in brass-colored steel armor stood atop a crude wall of piled stones, watching the raid cautiously. Darbakh walked out first, leaving his men to eat their fill in the pools of swamp produce amid the cypress trees to either side of the road.

“Those,” he said while pointing toward the brass-clad beings watching them from the walls. “What are those?”

As had been its habit, the skink creature jabbered in its language while making a series of gestures, implying that the village militia watching them wanted to fight. Then, without asking permission, the reptile yelled at the beings and performed a series of obscene hand motions related to defecation; the brass beings didn’t respond directly.

“How many?” Darbakh asked, grabbing the reptile so it would hold still for a moment. He held up his fingers. “Ten? Twenty? Thirty? Them, how many?”

Before his guide could answer, the wooden gate swung open, attracting the attention of his troops. The chaos dwarves and black orcs lined up behind him in an orderly fashion; the hobgoblins attempted to surge forward until Malund strode in front and pushed them to the back of the group. “Back, not until we have the word.”

Two of the brass beings road out of the gate on bizarre lizards with tiny forelegs. The guar looked unfit as mounts to the dwarves, but the two representatives of the village still rode rather quickly. Darbakh walked with his guide to meet them halfway on the road. Although he had no idea who the Militant Ordinators were, he recognized the carved faced on their helmets and designs on their cuirasses as signs of military discipline.

One of the two gazed down at him snidely, already stoking a fire inside the dwarven despot much like the fires in their fields. He openly grit his teeth just at the mere look they’d given him.

Dwemer?” one of the Ordinators asked skeptically.

The skink nodded its head, but Darbakh had no interest in polite conversation. “Your village belongs to me now,” he said, pointing to the gate and then himself while the skink roughly interpreted his intent. “Your choice is to belong to me or die.” The skink excitedly mimicked the way he drew his index finger along his throat and then pointed at the Ordinators, causing them both to mutter in offense.

One of the two temple enforcers dismounted and unfurled a scroll from his belt. Roughly a yard long, the parchment bore House Indoril’s design of the Tribunal Temple symbol, and this time, the Dunmer pointed at the symbol, then Darbakh, then the ground. The haughty display of defiance, along with a direct order, was all it took to ignite Darbakh like a naphtha bomb.

“You do NOT talk back to me!” he yelled, immediately enflamed without any escalation as his fist soared toward the Ordinator’s stomach. His blackshard gauntlet dented the Dunmer’s cuirass, bending the armor inward on the dark elf’s stomach and sending it reeling to the ground and coughing up blood.

The second Ordinator attempted to trample the dwarven despot, but Darbakh held the guar by the head and twisted its neck until it toppled over. The supposed skink leapt on the second enforcer as the man fell to the road, dragging him back toward the hobgoblins who’d swept forward and poured over the man like vultures. Darbakh didn’t even reprimand them as they beat the man to death, instead dragging the Ordinator he’d punched to the rest of his troops and standing on the man’s back like a soapbox. His compact mass damaged the Ordinator’s armor further and elicited a pained cry from the zealot.

“Raggrund, bring the light mortar up here. I need you to feed one of the prisoners to it and bombard this village.”

Battle cries reached their ears as an infantry block of Militant Ordinators marched out from the gate. Clad in mostly brass-colored medium armor, their disciplined visage was more impressive than that of the ragged trespassers who’d first entered the Darklands; they stepped in line with one another, they chanted their heresies in unison, and they numbered even more than Darbakh’s warband. They beat their shields with maces to fill the narrow space between the boggy woods and orchards on either side of the road, and one of them even bore a standard consisting of the Tribunal symbol, causing the hobgoblins to retreat for their shields.

Raggrund waved the crew to bring their only piece of artillery forward. “We’ll need cover from their troops," he said, stoic and focused in his voice despite the approaching enemy, though he made haste in pulling one of the strange little beast-elf creatures for the other crewmen to begin dismembering it alive.

“Guaranteed. Guns up front!” Darbakh waved his fellow dwarven warriors out front, pushing the orcs and hobgoblins aside for a moment to make space on the narrow road.

Somehow, five of his warriors managed to line up shoulder to shoulder, with the same number behind them loading their blunderbusses. The Ordinators marched in lockstep but didn’t yet raise their shields, not knowing what guns were and thus not realizing that they were already in range.

“Fire!”

The scattershot guns were loud, echoing more loudly than the maces banging on shields and drowning out all other sounds. Burning shrapnel and debris tore out of the smoking barrels and into the Militant Ordinators, piercing the armor of their legs and weapon arms, and even striking a few of the first rank in their faces. Disciplined or no, cries of multiple voices rose into the air in a pleasant chorus of pain, and the first row of Dunmer temple enforcers fell to the road writhing as the pellets continued to burn in their flesh. The remaining dozens of Ordinators slowed down in their march, unsure of what had happened since the blunderbuss shells were too fast to see in midair. The second row of them stumbled over the bodies of the first, granting the chaos dwarves in their front row to kneel and reload while their fellows stood behind them.

“Fire!” Darbakh yelled again.

The second row of Dawi shot their volley, similarly maiming the second row of Dunmer who fell to the ground. Before the remaining rows could react, Raggrund’s voice joined the cacophony from the back of Darbakh’s warband.

“Ready!”

The demon bound inside the light mortar fired, having eaten pieces of the sacrificed prisoner and screaming its tortured fury into the air. The fiery projectile soared in a high arc before landing within the stone walls of the village, striking the roof of unseen buildings. The deep thud of collapsing stone and crackling flames, along with screams, echoed to their location, confusing the village defenders as to how and why their ranks were falling along with their buildings behind safe walls. The third rank of Ordinators continued their march, stepping around their fallen and groaning fellows in an attempt to reach Darbakh’s troops, who were now the foreign trespassers.

“Reloaded,” one of the dwarves in the first rank said once all five of them had prepared another volley.

Darbakh ordered them to fire again, and then the second rank again; Militant Ordinators fell to the road again, and then again. More than a dozen of the fanatical defenders of Dunmer faith, so loyal and zealous to their cause, laid broken and bloody on the road, alive but unable to continue the fight. The survivors outnumbered them twice over, but their march ceased; they were falling to projectiles moving too fast for them to see, their armor couldn’t withstand the hail of blunderbuss shells, and their village behind them began crumbling as Raggrund fired another mortar within the walls. The Ordinators broke, waving for a strategic retreat - for words weren’t necessary to recognize that - and began to recede behind their village wall. Darbakh marched out in front, right behind them.

“Raggrund, continue bombardment while we handle these,” Darbakh said while waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the fallen Ordinators. He then looked to his assorted goblinoid troops. “Break their limbs and prepare them for display. We need a show of force.”

A wall of green skin hurried past him as a competition of sadism broke out. The black orcs in particular, so orderly among their kin, relished the permission to finally act freely, and they took the Ordinators own maces to carry out their grisly task. Wounded from gunshots they couldn’t understand, the Ordinators couldn’t fight back, raising their hands either in defense or to plead for mercy, though a few gained the attention of the hobgoblins by trying to crawl down into the bog. Armor broke along with bones under the blunt force trauma, and the Dunmer casualties screamed in unison with the villagers behind the wall. The chaos dwarves were content to enjoy the soundtrack to their impromptu meeting as they formed a huddle, save Raggrund and the artillery crew who continued their work.

Formed into a circle as they did in their Blood Bowl matches, the other dwarves all looked to Darbakh. “These miscreants fear the sound of heavy weaponry; you all saw it in their eyes,” he said over the loud thunk of another mortar shot landing in the village. “We could cut them down, but that wouldn’t terrify them as much.”

“Will we occupy this city?” Malund asked.

“We must, for now. We’re still lost, and our trespassing prisoners seemed to have known the inhabitants of that castle we teleported outside of. In order to get home, we’d be best off interrogating whoever lives at that castle and forcing them to send us back with the same magic.”

“That human prisoner brought us here with his damned chanting.”

“I know he did, and we could always force answers out of him, but we have a better chance by taking more prisoners from the same group,” Darbakh replied. “And if we want to invade that castle, we’ll need to lay siege to it.”

“Which mandates a supply line,” Malund said.

“Exactly. This village had decent enough crops. We’ll sack their countryside, occupy their city, and drain it of everything they have until our siege is done. These creatures possess a discipline which the trespassers on our land lacked, so in order to win this with minimal losses, we need to demoralize them. Raggrund will bombard them until our original prisoners have all been fed to the light mortar, except for Havas, and then we move in shooting. Business first, melee fun after.”

Malund clopped his hooves on the road. “Alright, let’s do this!”

“Hands in,” Darbakh ordered, and the chaos dwarves all laid their hands on each others’ in the middle. “Three two one go!”

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As the wooden roofs of stone hovels and terraced shops burned, littering the muddy elven village’s walkways with even more debris than usual, the high double doors which had sealed the brick walls of the settlement broke and fell forward, slamming into the mud with a subdued thud beneath the onslaught outside. The chaos dwarves had used the corpse of a dead Militant Ordinator like a battering ram, mutilating the dead body until they finally broke the rusty hinges off the poorly crafted doors. They flowed inside with their forces, followed by the hobgoblins and black orcs who dragged their varied assortment of prisoners through the streets.

Darbakh marched out in front of the group, following the sound of screams amid the crackling of flames all around them. He waved for the weird lizardman creature and then pointed to one of the Ordinators they’d captured. “This one. Where did the others go?” he asked, rotating his wrist toward the sky in a questioning gesture. When the skink-like being looked confused, he swept his arm across the narrow streets and rundown huts in front of them. “Where? The other ones like this wretch, where?”

The weird lizardman’s eyes lit up, and it hobbled forward and pointed down one of the roads. A few more gestures evoked a fortress or other structure around a bend, which the warband walked down cautiously as they passed more and more bombed out devastation. Walls had collapsed, basements had caved in, and the streets were lined by the bodies of villagers who hadn’t managed to escape the artillery shots. One of the carcasses was at least partially intact, revealing the ashen grey skin possessed by the foreign elf they’d encountered at the wall of the nearby castle.

“Look at that…they have a nice grey complexion to them,” Raggrund said while the rear of the marching column passed by the body. “I’ve never seen an elf like that before. They’re almost not ugly.”

Leaving the troops to talk amongst themselves, Darbakh remained quiet as they wound their way through the crowded, unsanitary village’s remains. They approached the center of the miserable little hamlet ringed by uneven stone walls quickly, guided by a single vimana tower rising above the one story hovels which were largely on fire. Around a bend in the muddy street, they reached a courtyard full of burning debris in front of a stone temple, obvious in its architecture, into which the locals were fleeing. Ordinators were ushering the tattered, bereaved villagers inside the temple’s doors, shouting orders even more loudly once the chaos dwarves entered the courtyard from the village streets. Even more screams echoed in the center of the village, but Darbakh held out an arm for his troops to wait.

“Hang their troops from these two trees,” he said to his hobgoblins, sending the malicious goblinoids to tie the battered, broken bodies of the Ordinators they’d shot to the low-hanging branches of two trees lining the sunken walkway leading to the temple. Still clad in their pierced armor, the prisoners of war strained to avoid crying out as they dangled from their bound wrists, their knees dragging on the ground. “Beat whatever parts of them aren’t broken yet,” Darbakh said while the hobgoblins were still tying the Ordinators with rope they’d scavenged from the village. “I want the dregs in that temple to hear.”

While the dwarves all lined up behind Darbakh, the hobgoblins beat the legs and arms of their victims, now suspended from the branches of the two trees. The orcs practiced football with the heads of the prisoners who were on the ground, for the tree branches couldn’t bear them all, sending a chorus of cries into the air. Up the steps of the tower-topped temple, the remaining Ordinators turned toward the courtyard, shouting at one another and pointing at the display of their comrade’s public humiliation. The last few villagers shut the doors to the stone structure, leaving the morally outraged Ordinators as their last line of defense. Darbakh gave his back to them while only thirty yards away, incensing them further.

“They only outnumber us two-to-one,” the despot said to his amassed brethren, who were wielding the maces they’d taken from their previous victims outside the village walls. “I rescind my earlier command to take prisoners; do as you wish.”

That frivolous permission motivated the troops sufficiently, and the ten chaos dwarf warriors followed Darbakh up the steps as they marched in unison. Their steel boots thudded loudly on the stone steps leading up, but they made no threatening displays like how the Ordinators had banged their maces on their shields; instead, the dwarves advanced stoically, silent and prepared, while staring down their enemies.

The discipline of the Militant Ordinators was broken. Frightened by the unfamiliar technology in guns and artillery, demoralized by their swift loss to the less numerous invaders, and incensed by the sight of their fellows being beaten, the brass-colored warriors charged down the mossy steps of the stone temple bereft of their previous discipline. Their ranks dispersed and their files faltered, leaving them to throw themselves against the heavy armor of Darbakh’s displined dwarves like a disorganized horde. The berserk tactic didn’t suit the Ordinators, neither in training nor in build, and the chaos dwarves marched straight through their ranks like a wrecking ball. The bodies of the Ordinators were battered and broken as they were beaten down to the steps or sent fleeing back toward the temple proper. Darbakh’s men sustained only a few minor injuries and no casualties in the mace-to-mace melee, and they followed the seven survivors to up the steps just in time for the doors to swing open.

Within, a pyramidal idol sat at the end of a long hall lined by sniveling villagers, poorly chiseled pillars, and pews which must have been carved by amateurs. Fear filled the villagers’ eyes when, as soon as they opened the door for their protectors, they saw the chaos dwarves there in their red and black armor, heads covered by either helmets or hats (or a hat helmet in Darbakh’s case) and maces swinging into the backs of the Militant Ordinators. The village’s last line of defense fell to the floor in a heap as the soldiers wept for forgiveness from whatever the idol represented, and the villagers crowded to the back of the long temple like piglets in a corner as they watched in horror.

Darbakh spoke casually while stabbing the tip of his halberd beneath the belt of an Ordinator. “Kill them slowly while our guide comes…you!” he yelled over his shoulder toward the weird skink thing, leaving his troops to slowly beat the Ordinators to death. “Get up here!”

Scurrying like a skink, even if it wasn’t one, the reptilian guide pulled its ragged pants up and ran to Darbakh’s side, its eyes shining in joy at the sight. “Stop gawking and get to work. Can any of these weasels talk normal?” Darbakh pointed from his ear to the skink creature, then to the villagers, then back to his own ear. “Can any of them speak a language other than gibberish? Talk, I need one of them who can talk.”

Screams range out at both ends of the hall while the reptile began jabbering at the unwashed villagers. The Ordinators threw their hands in the air in defense, and a few even prayed toward the idol while being struck with maces, and the villagers wept and held their hands out to their former protectors even while crowding, maybe a hundred strong throng of civilians, against the far back wall. Eventually, one of them wearing the burgundy vestments of a cleric stood up, slightly more stoic than the others and catching Darbakh’s eye.

“Him,” the despot said while beckoning for the cleric to approach. “Figure out what he speaks.” The cleric stepped forward nervously, his long brown hair matted in sweat and his ash grey skin covered in mud and blood. Gibberish spilled from the cleric’s chapped lips, garnering a sneer. “Don’t give me that gobbledygook. Speak like a sentient being, or at least a valid language of darkness. I’m already in the mood for more beatings, and your blah blah blah noises are bothering me.”

As if translating Darbakh’s rather obvious demeanor, the skink thing began jabbering at the weird grey elf, granting the despot a glimpse of the social dynamic in that weird land. In spite of being under siege, the cleric recoiled from the reptile’s speech and scowled, a deep, scornful resentment marked on his sullied face. As the taskmaster over serfs and servants himself, Darbakh recognized the sentiment fast: the cleric regarded the reptilian guide as some sort of a peon barely worthy of his attention. Embarrassment and subdued outrage were written into the cleric’s tense shoulders and flexing fingers. And then, the cleric gave him the shock of the whole bizarre day.

“Can you understand me now?” the cleric said in the Dark Tongue.

The dwarven despot’s thick eyebrows shot up, and the enlightenment swept over all three men like the fires of a forge. “So you can talk like a being with a brain,” Darbakh replied to the furtive glances of his troops, some of whom understood the Dark Tongue. “You know the language of demons.”

“What?” the cleric asked, overemphasizing his pronunciation of the H-sound in the word. “Demons? I’ve not known the Daedra to be referred to as such-”

“I could write a book about what you don’t know, mongrel.” Darbakh’s reply as swift and hard, and the skink thing laughed so hard that he realized it understood the language too. “You can talk normal, so hear me now: I want to know who the hell is in that castle in the direction of the sun, beyond your fields; I want to know why they were trespassing on my land; I want to know how they cast that spell to bring us here; and I want to know how to reverse it. I don’t want any other details, including whatever the hell this pissant place of yours is, so answer what I’ve asked if you want to live much longer.”

Recalcitrance etched into the cleric’s sour face, confirming that these elves were used to ordering others with impunity. Even with no protection and foreign invaders, the cleric hesitated to an extent which bordered on defiance, but he answered all the same.

“My name is Tabdreth, and I’ll answer to the best of my knowledge. I assume you’re referring to the castle of Lady Paranya, for that’s the primary landmark around our humble region of Deshaan.” Tabdreth paused to see if he’d be allowed to speak further and then continued. “She’s a vampire, and an outcast of the noble House Indoril, known for strange experiments. She’s our enemy, and from what you say, I believe she’s also yours.”

“Then she’s good as dead. Answer my other questions.”

“Right, very well; I can only hope that my honest answers will earn the safety of my flock.”

Darbakh laughed out loud. “Don’t hope; do as I say. Now.”

“Alright. You asked why she was trespassing on your land, yet I don’t know which land you mean. If you truly are the Dwemer, then I can only imagine that you’re present due to a ripple in time.”

“Stop calling us Dwemer; I’ve never heard of these Dwemer,” Darbakh said, much to Tabdreth’s visible surprise. “Wipe that look off your face and any association of us with whatever people you’re talking about from your mind. We’re the Dawi Zharr of the Darklands.”

“Then I really can’t say what Lady Paranya’s forces were doing in your lands because I don’t know of them. I’m assuming that you came from outside Nirn.”

Granted pause, Darbakh stood silently for a moment. The whimpers of the villagers echoed more loudly now that the chaos dwarves had beaten the last Ordinators to death, and while the sound was music to the despot’s ears, the cleric’s words weighed heavily on him. He knew neither Nirn nor the Dwemer, and he began to wonder just how far he was from home.

Anxiously, he began to comb his beard again. “They had a human cretin with them, a Norscan named Havas. He chanted in a sort of mongrel language, causing red winds of magic to sweep us here, near the castle. Do you know anything about such a teleportation spell?”

“Only that such magic exists. If you must know about the spell, then I suggest you interrogate this Norscan - I assume you’re referring to the Nords. I’m prepared to do so on your behalf if you can guarantee my people-”

“You’ll do so whenever I tell you solely because I tell you, and if I didn’t need you intact, then speaking out of turn like that would have incurred my wrath, Badbreath.”

The skink snickered, causing Tabdreth to scowl at it, but the cleric soon returned to his previous plea. “I can help you. We have the same enemy: Lady Paranya. She trapped you and your men here, and she demands a tribute of our citizenry to satiate her bloodthirst; she’s a vampire. We know when we’re defeated; I don’t appreciate the killing of our temple’s enforcers, but let us look past that and work together toward defeating Paranya. Our village possesses two forges, fertile fields, and a considerable stock of slaves in the form of these Argonians.” The skink hissed at Tabdreth acidically, garnering another scowl. “Quiet, you.”

As with the upstart Ordinators outside the village gate, the cleric garnered immediate anger without escalation, and Darbakh backhanded Tabdreth hard enough to send the spindly cleric spinning. “Only I give out orders here!” He then stepped on Tabdreth’s back, pinning the grey elf to the floor with a boot as the villagers began to weep more loudly. “And my orders will be translated by this skink.”

For a second, the Argonian looked as if it would correct Darbakh, but it decided against the act while watching Tabdreth struggle to breathe on the floor. “You say, I tell,” said the Argonian - or skink, if that’s what it had to be called from then on.

Darbakh turned to face the hundred or so villagers crowded at the back of the stone temple. His ten brethren lined up behind him, unmoving and unspeaking as he delivered a sermon of his own in the temple.

“This town, and all that grows in its fields, are now property of the Ziggurat of Mordigath. What was once your resources and labor are now my resources and labor.”

The Argonian began to translate Darbakh’s instructions into Dunmer. “Bakka dakka trakka lakka,” it said, or something which sounded like that, as the temple was filled with the gasps and lamentations of the grey elves.

“Your defenders have been slain, your households broken, and your properties seized. Whatever deities you believe in have failed you, and you’ll demolish this temple and that very idol you huddle around with your own hands. The luxury of death isn’t an option for you.”

“Abee deebee doobee,” the Argonian began to translate, and as it spoke, its voice raised in volume and filled with excitement, as if the chaos dwarves were some sort of prophecy. The grey elves shrieked and held each other, and a few pulled at their own hair and clothes.

“And these lizard skink things are no longer your slaves; they’re our vassals, and you’re their slaves. Your every move will occur under their watch and at the behest of their whips. I take your entire social order and cast it in the trash.”

The Argonian’s eyes lit up, and it turned its whole head to gaze upon Darbakh beatifically. Unappreciative, the dwarven despot cast a glance in the Argonian’s direction, prompting the reptile to pull its tattered pants up again, take a deep breath, and translate with pride. When it began translating the last edict, however, the shrieks and cries became harsh and angry. In spite of their miserable condition, the ragged, bereaved villagers stood on wobbly feet and stepped forward, wagging their fingers in defiance and cursing the Argonian translator. Moral outrage at being commanded by their own slaves propelled them, and without instructions, the dwarves marched forward like a solid wall. Aiming to punish rather than kill, they waded into a crowd of villagers who outnumbered them ten to one, swinging with impunity as the unarmed yokels failed to harm them through their heavy armor. Blood was spilled and even the very young and very old were thrown to the floor of the temple as the Dunmer villagers, once so haughty and self-assured, watched their pride ripped away from them and handed to the Argonians.

Tabdreth crawled toward the pyramidal idol amid the crowd and reached out to it, his hand shaking, fingers trembling, as he called out the names of the Tribunal. His body slid away from his imagined salvation as Darbakh grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up.

“You’ll not be with the common rabble, wretch; I have need of you and Havas.” Darbakh stopped by the temple door while dragging Tabdreth out, the Argonian in tow, for a final order. “I declare one full day of rapine and terror, followed by a week of preparations. Preserve the lives of our new acquisitions!”

Screams continued to ring out from the stone temple as the dwarves disciplined the elves one time, as an introduction, with such a roughness that they’d never forget. Down the moss-covered steps, Darbakh dragged the cleric, but he still listened to the sweet sound of misery behind him.

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Where a temple to the Tribunal had once stood on a muddy knoll, a ziggurat fashioned from the former building’s rubble now sat. Open to the air and the light rain which drizzled on Darbakh’s appropriated chitin coat, the newly minted ziggurat had not only served as a marker of chaos dwarf domination, but had pleased the new Argonian leadership of the village too.

Taking a swill from a local grog mixed with rainwater, Darbakh sighed contentedly as his gaze swept over the dilapidated ruins of what had once been a Dunmer village. Stone and brick from the homes had been scavenged to repair the town walls, and wood from the roofs had been used as kindling for the forge. The Argonians had taken over the former Dunmer homes, building filthy mud huts in their own style to the west, close enough to marvel at the ziggurat and the evil dwarves who’d elevates their status. To the east of Darbakh’s vantage point, the forge burned brightly on the overcast day. His own troops were also wearing garb taken from the locals as they worked, recasting the weaponry of the Ordinators while the black orcs assisted them. To the south, Malund led a public sacrifice on an altar of Hashut which the Dunmer had built from the rubble of their own idols and shrines; the builders were, ironically, the first to be laid on said altar. In the fields beyond the repaired walls, the hobgoblins trained the Argonians in the finer details of labor management as both groups oversaw droves of Dunmer in chains - chains which the Argonians had once worn.

Darbakh hummed in approval while shaking a cup fashioned from a Dunmer skull and taking another long sip.

“You could be harder on them.”

Raggrins spoke from the center of the ziggurat’s apex, atop a marble throne covered by an umbrella held aloft by Havas and Tabdreth. Both the Nord and Dunmer were gagged, shackled, and blindfolded, unable to do anything other than keep the rain off of Raggrund while he skimmed through the former Tribunal Temple’s books. Darbakh grunted quizzically.

“Those lizardmen, Argonians as they call themselves. They were already slaves; you could’ve just thrown the Dunmer into the pens with them.”

The two chaos dwarves were alone, and Raggrund was actually a bit older, this Darbakh allowed the expression of dissent and paced around the ziggurat calmly. “There are tactics, and then there’s strategy. We could have held this entire town in the slave pens, but there are considerations.” He walked to the north end of the ziggurat, overlooking a newly carved cobblestone road lined with starving Militant Ordinators tied to wooden posts.

“We’re foreigners here; we don’t know this land. Even in certain areas of the Darklands, we differentiate between slaves and vassals. These Argonians know the land, and they know how to scout around this Paranya’s castle.”

“I hate to say it, but the Dunmer seem more educated,” Raggrund said while tossing the book aside. It landed in a bronze brazier, catching fire and rekindling the flames. He then grabbed another book from the pile. “They might have been able to help.”

“Might? Yes. Likely? No.” Darbakh spoke comfortably even though he’d have clobbered most anyone else for open disagreement. He took another sip and folded his free hand behind his back. “They’re haughty and proud, and they wouldn’t have obeyed well enough. The Argonians hate their former masters more than anyone else; they think we’re saviors sent by their false idols. Not only have we gained local vassals, but we’ve also undermined the local social order.”

“This land is full of these Dunmer, apparently,” Raggrund said, tearing a few pages from the book and tossing them into the fire. “These Argonians will lose control in the end.”

“Probably. But if all goes to plan, we’ll be gone by then. These two cretins here, Havas and Tabdreth, broke under our hobgoblin taskmasters in less than ten minutes. They’ll open a portal back for us, and when we invade that Paranya lady’s castle, she’ll be glad to help.”

Pausing in his reading and discarding, Raggrund finally leaned back; Darbakh could feel his old friend’s look of concern on his back. “How long do you reckon we’ve been gone from our dimension? If that is what happened…and it seems likely that it did.”

For a long while, Darbakh didn’t answer. His shoulders tended up, and even the despot felt anxiety clawing at him. “There’s no point in speculating. The same time we’ve spent here? Less? A second? A year? We just need to get back. We bring in as many captives as possible from the castle as a gift and declare the mission accomplished; the trespassers on our land were eliminated.”

“And if we end up home a hundred years later?” Raggrund asked, only half rhetorically.

“Then Mordigath will already have been petrified or deposed by then. We return as a long lost expedition with tales to tell, gifts to bring, and experience to share.”

Raggrund listened quietly before turning back to the book he’d taken from the stack. “You’re never this optimistic.”

Those words cut deep, reminding Darbakh of his own doubts. He watched the Ordinators moaning below for a while before turning halfway to his old friend and changing the subject.

“Anything worthwhile in those scraps of theirs?”

Raggrund tossed another book into the brazier’s fire. “A bit. Their alphabet looks like chicken scratch, but it’s the Dark Tongue. The people of this plane are backward and ignorant, but some of their ideas on different dimensions and travel between them are okay.” He set a book down in a safe pile, away from the brazier, before picking up another. “These should make up for our absence once we return…if we return. Speaking of which, it’s been a week.”

Darbakh nodded before turning westward, in the direction of the castle. “It’s been long enough; I’ll announce tomorrow’s march once the skinks bring these grey elves in from the fields. At dawn, we ride.”

The castle wasn’t visible over the horizon even on a sunny day, and the overcast midday sky obscured the landscape beyond the farms. Fear of being stranded on Nirn caused Darbakh to fixate on the castle’s direction, however, and as he stared to the west, he could imagine every turn they’d take to return to it. The light rain drizzled on into the afternoon as the despot stood atop the ziggurat, trying not to think of how many ways their plan could go wrong.

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Dawn had only just broken by the time Darbakh’s warband reached the final stretch of that lonely road lined by giant toadstools in front of the decrepit castle. Reinforced by a score of shackled Dunmer marched out in front of them, his force of chaos dwarves, hobgoblins, and black orcs came to a halt on the muddy road. Rain from days prior caused the cobblestones to come loose, providing unstable footing as the fifty-plus troops stared at the bobbing skulls between the parapets ahead of them. Another red-eyed servant of the castle’s reigning lady hovered atop the outer stone wall of the castle, watching the approach of the same visitors from more than a week ago. Darbakh stood next to Malund and stood for a long, silent moment.

The bull centaur spat into the bog beside the road. “Both the Norscan and the grey elf drew identical maps of this place once the hobs beat it out of them. It should be accurate.”

Darbakh held his combination hat-mask-helmet beneath his arm while they watched the motionless, stalwart skeleton archers, barely visible white dots on the horizon. The morning air was damp, just like the mossy walls of the castle, and the dwarven despot wiped the sweat from his brow with his bracers. “The design reminds me of the dumps built by elves back home; their schematics seem legit.” He shook his head ever so slightly, still uneasy. “We have little else to go on; it’s time. Raggrund: no negotiations. Load the mortar and fire at will. I want that entire wall demolished.”

His trusted friend saluted, all business on the march. “Aye!” the older dwarf said while moving down the road to the back of their troops, where the Flamer of Tzeentch tortured into the shape of a light mortar sat. “You heard him; time to load!” Callously, Raggrund pulled a severed head from a sack, one of the last Militant Ordinators to die, and fed it to the sentient piece of mobile artillery. The demon mortar gnashed and belched while gobbling up the head, eating it faster than normal ammunition could be loaded. “Fire!”

One of the crewmen pulled a lever impaled into the side of the sentient artillery, launching a fireball high into the air. Their mark was true, bringing the infernal projectile down onto the center of the wall. A crack one meter long was broken from the top of the wall down, breaking apart the eroded stones and smashing a skeleton archer to pieces before exploding. Several more of the skeletons flopped around, helpless and outranged by the artillery, and the red-eyed servant of the vampire lady tumbled to the ground in flames. All fifty troops stood and watched in delight as the servant rolled around in the mud in vain, almost unaware of the crewmen reloading the light mortar. Even the Dunmber slave soldiers, their heads shaved and their necks collared, looked rather pleased to see the destruction of their old enemy by their new one.

“Fire!” Raggrund called out again.

A second mortar launched into the air and landed within the castle walls, sending smoke and flames rising to the sky. One of the skeletons reached a bell tower barely visible, ringing the brass artifact with a sound which was subdued.

“The volume is low; that bell is only meant to call up more of their own troops,” Malund said while watching.

“Let them come,” Darbakh replied with relish. “They trespassed and then dragged us here. Total domination is the only acceptable response.”

A third and fourth mortar fell, demolishing the castle gate into a smoldering heap and breaking off the top layer of the castle wall’s east side. The skeleton archers had either been destroyed or knocked away, clearing an entrance for them into the rubble which was now the frontal wall of the castle. Darbakh raised his halberd in the air.

“Orcs first, then slaves, then hobs, then us. March in that order, five to a row!”

Like clockwork, the black orcs filled in the front ranks, their shields raised and refurbished heavy armor gleaming. The hobgoblins pushed the Dunmer, who were minimally armored but wielding numerous blades, followed by the treacherous overseers themselves. The chaos dwarves followed the column lest any treachery occur, pushing the line forward into the muddy courtyard of burning mangers and dismembered corpses. The bodies of a few zombies lied strewn about amidst the bones of the skeletons, but more of the ivory troops began rising from the fresh mud and debris in the castle courtyard. The castle’s high double doors swung open on their own accord, creaking ominously in a manner which frightened the Dunmer slave soldiers. In spite of the early morning light, the interior of the castle appeared unnaturally dim, partially obscuring the further ranks of skeletal soldiers which began to march out.

“Halt!” Darbakh yelled, bring his troops into formation. “Let them come to us and then lap around them! Raggrund, bombard their castle!”

“Aye!” Raggrund replied while the crewmen loaded the light mortar.

The skeletons marched ceaselessly, spears raised as they met the black orcs shield-to-shield. The bony troops were weaker but much more numerous, filing out of the castle door continuously until they outnumbered the entire warband two-to-one. The orcs held firm, pushing back rather than lashing out as less disciplined greenskins would have, but the skeletons slowly gained ground. The orcs’ heels slid backward in the mud until the Dunmer spilled out to the sides of the formation.

The ragged grey elves threw themselves against the flanks of the skeletons, flailing with tired limbs now energized by hatred. The chaos dwarves had defeated them, taken their freedom, put them in chains, shaved their heads, and dressed them in rags, yet the Dunmer still tore into the ranks of the skeletons with a fury fueled by decades of resentment toward the castle’s vampiric mistress. Slow to react, the skeletons were cut down in droves, and by the time the outer flanks had turned toward their assailants, the hobgoblins had joined in too. The skirmish seemed finished until screeches from the skies above.

Pebbles and stones fell from the upper balconies of the castle as large, dark figures took flight against the dreary morning sky. To the dwarves, the creatures appeared to be chaos furies, but Tabdreth, now shackled alongside his countrymen, backed out of the fight and looked to Darbakh.

“Gargoyles! We need to fall back-“

One of the hobgoblins shoved Tabdreth back into the melee. “Don’t talk to the boss like that!” the overgrown goblinoid said.

“Take them out!” the despot shouted to his brethren.

Large, stone creatures come to life, the gargoyles circled above the fray like vultures. When the first of them descended within shooting range, a volley of blunderbuss fire rose to meet it. Only a few of the dwarves had fired, but the burning pellets ate holes in the gargoyles membranous wings, injuriously sending the creature to the ground in a broken heap. Demonstrating relative intelligence, the gargoyles avoided the dwarves and instead descended upon the Dunmer, sending the the captive elves and a few of the hobgoblins fleeing. Swooping with an agility which defied their mass, the gargoyles began to snatch up the Dunmer one by one, pulling more than a few of them to the balconies lining the side of the castle where they were eviscerated alive. Screams lining the side of the castle’s main tower were silenced only by the explosions of the mortars, smashing apart the balconies and the gargoyles in rhythm with the symphony of breaking bones below.

The skeletons continued marching out of the castle doors, but their part in the battle was for naught; the orcs begrudgingly joined the hobgoblins in the offensive, smashing through shields and rib cages alike as the greenskin troops hacked and slashed. One of the gargoyles made the mistake of attempting to enter the melee on the ground, landing on a black orc but failing to lift the mercenary’s weight up off the ground.

“Get it!” Darbakh yelled while pointing to the gargoyle.

Three of the chaos dwarves took their turn to descend on the flying creature, grabbing the flailing monster and pulling it away. Like ants ganging up on a spider, they swarmed the rather large gargoyle and ripped off one of its wings, then one of its arms. The third dwarf grabbed it by the horns and twisted until it was pinned down, leaving it in a helpless heap while the hobgoblins returned to beat it to death. A second gargoyle landed, mauling a Dunmer for a few moments until Malund charged it with such force that its head cracked open with a single blow.

The remainder of the courtyard battle rolled down a proverbial hill. More gargoyles descended until the entire castle tower was bereft of the living statues, only for their wings to be shot out by blunderbuss fire. Large chunks of stone hurtled toward the ground dangerously close to the warband as Raggrund’s crew demolished the tower’s face; bodies of red-eyed vampiric thralls fell alongside furniture and blocks of stone, leaving the magically dimmed stairwell and guard rooms of the tower partially exposed to the morning light. Panicked cries arose from the now-exposed rooms of the tower as thralls fled into the dimmed bowels of the building in a symbol of their losing effort. The black orcs surged over the remaining skeletons, and Darbakh’s brethren butchered the last remaining gargoyles they’d shot down. A final wave of skeletal troops attempted to barricade the high double doors as all the greenskins converged.

Darbakh charged in first, wedging himself amid the sea of green and breaking reanimated bones on his halberd. “Swords out!” he ordered when a shot of vampire thralls joined the skeletons at the castle door. “Let’s cut them down!”

The chaos dwarves finally joined the front line, leaving a trail of severed gargoyle limbs behind them. Their scimitars found purchase as evidence by the screams of thralls, yet that sound was the only evidence, for as soon as they pushed into the threshold of the tower, the magical dimness overtook their vision. Even for creatures so used to working underground, the chaos dwarves could barely see the outlines of the undead creatures they were cutting to pieces as they pushed down the smooth stone halls of Castle Paranya. Unseen plinths and display cases were knocked to the unlit floor as the undead were crushed, granting the troops from the Darklands a firm position within the musty hall. Only when the double doors closed behind them did they realize how far they’d fought into enemy territory.

Stone scraped stone as the floor tiles gave way beneath their feet. Starting from the center of the hall, the floor angled downward into an unseen pit, sending bodies both living and dead sliding into the darkness.

“It’s a trap!” Tabdreth cried while scrabbling helplessly against the solid walls. “Tribunal help us!”

The same hobgoblin from earlier paused in his fearful screeching to slap the Dunmer leader. “Praise Hashut!” the shifty goblinoid said before sliding down into the dark pit with Darbakh and all the other troops.

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Like bloody bandages down a laundry chute, every being in the wrecked tower’s entry hall fell until they either slid against the uneven dirt walls of the deep pit or plummeted straight downward to the rocky bottom. Chaos dwarves, black orcs, hobgoblins, vampire thralls, Dunmer, skeletons, and all the rest fell for an inordinate amount of time before skidding to a halt at the uneven floor amid a small chorus of death groans and broken bones. Even Darbakh felt jarred in spite of his dwarven constitution, and when he began rolling down the dirt slope forming the walls, he lost his sense of balance until he slid into the muck and grime at the bottom. The sound of the last few falling bodies echoed like a soundtrack as he immediately reached beneath his gauntlet and pulled out a piece of flint, striking it against the steel of his armor and igniting a bit of paper he’d hidden in his beard.

The burning paper shed just enough light for him to see everyone groaning and rolling around in the muck, stones, and even spikes. Darbakh rose to his feet before anyone else, taking stock of the few obviously dead bodies, bodies of those who’d fallen straight down the middle of the pit rather than against the walls like he had. A Dunmer sporting the dull, sullen glowing eyes of a vampire thrall rose next to him and then fell again when Darbakh’s fist crashed into its face; once it fell, he pressed the burning paper in his hand to its skin, setting its undead flesh alight like tinder. Bodies glowed more clearly in that mud-filled garbage pit - bodies from both sides alongside corpses which included a few of his own warriors. They were all dazed, and when he saw at least four of the vampiric thralls rising, he left his men to recover and handled the dirty work himself.

One by one, the thralls fell as Darbakh marched over them and dashed their heads against the rocks; not even one was left alive. A few piles of bones attempting to rise up, but they were smashes by the other dwarves as they all struggled to their feet. Once the vampire thralls were formed into a pyre to light the pit, Darbakh had all the surviving troops line up.

“Status report! Who did we lose?” he asked.

Raggrund walked among the troops as they milled about, unable to properly line up due to the uneven terrain of the watery pit. The old crewman grabbed Tabdreth and Havas both and pulled them to their feet. “One of our crewman fell directly onto the spikes; he joins our ancestors now. Oh, plus, two black orcs and five of those Dunmer conscripts.”

Clenching his fist, Darbakh growled to himself. “Damn this whole blasted castle…I’ll see the whole thing brought to the ground. This whole damn country doesn’t equal the life of one of our own.” After muttering and pacing for a few seconds, he noticed the hobgoblins all pointing and staring to a separate source of light off in the distance. “What’s that?”

The hobgobin who always asked for high fives spoke first, hopping over to Darbakh before his fellows could. “Another one of those sick vampire slaves, boss! It was holding a candle, it was!”

One of the black orcs shoved the hobgoblin aside, competing for Darbakh’s attention. “Boss, Skodald here. This trap killed our boys too. Let us lead the charge. Our revenge can clear the path for you.”

Tabdreth wormed his way in between the two greenskins next. “Doomed! We’re doomed, and all is lost!” he said before being flung to the ground by Skodald.

“Fine; Skodald, scout toward the direction of that light and kill anything that isn’t useful. Report back when you’re done.” The black orc saluted Darbakh and left with his fellows. “You, hobgob. You’re name is ‘Five’ now. Lead your boys into the shadows and remove any traps or skulkers in there. Come back when you’re sure you found everything.” The hobgoblin reached for a high five but, after receiving Darbakh’s cold shoulder, left to run security. Darbakh turned to Tabdreth, weeping and soaking into the muddy water. “Stop crying, idiot.”

The Dunmer cleric rose to his hands and knees. “You don’t understand, we’re in Paranya’s domain now. I thought you had a chance when firing on her from a distance with your enchantments…we’ll become her experiments now.”

Raggrund raised a fist to punish the Dunmer, but Darbakh raised a hand to stop him. “Tell me about the experiments.”

“She’s mad, she’s beyond redemption of the Tribunal,” Tabdreth said while slapping the muddy water in frustration. “She collects mortals such as ourselves down here and attempts to engineer more obedient servants. We’ll be held here and starved until we break.”

Ever the tyrannical taskmaster, Darbakh combed his beard and hummed intriguingly. “So this Paranya…does she already have mortals held here? In the castle?”

Raggrund and Malund’s eyebrows raised as they realized their leader’s intention, though Tabdreth continued lamenting like a loser. “Yes, dozens…maybe even a hundred! She holds them in terrible cells like cattle-”

“Boss, we found some other greenskins here!” Skodald yelled from further down the cramped, winding chamber.

“Jackpot,” Darbakh said while dragging Tabdreth like a limp doll. At the end of the cavernous pit trap laid shattered bricks from a broken wall leading in to the castle proper, albeit the basement. “What is it?”

Skodald knelt by the broken wall, staring at a Dunmer dressed in the light armor of a guard staring back, unsure of how to react. There were iron bars forming a long single jail cell against the wall, the limp form of uncountable scrawny bodies barely visible as silhouettes.

Darbakh’s heart pounded as he stood at the entrance of Paranya’s dungeon, the air thick with the stench of despair and decay. Together, he and the survivors of his troops entered the dimly lit chamber, their eyes scanning the rows of chained prisoners.

The flickering torchlight revealed a sea of gaunt faces, emaciated bodies, and vacant eyes. Among them were goblins, their expressions a mix of fear and curiosity. Five’s keen senses detected a familiar dialect among the goblins, and he strained to understand their words, his brow furrowing with concentration.

Darbakh approached the largest goblin in the long jail cell along the wall, his voice low and commanding. “Listen up, you lot! I am Darbakh, leader of this force. Those who wish to prove their loyalty will have a chance to fight by our side. The choice is yours.”

Tabdreth stood at Darbakh’s side, ready to translate his words to the prisoners. As the Dunmer relayed the message with occasional corrections by Five, outrage marked the prison guard’s faxe, but hope flickered in the eyes of the goblins. They looked up to the hobgoblins, seeing them as superior beings. The opportunity to join forces with them was a chance for redemption.

To test their loyalty, Darbakh cast a steely gaze at the nervous prison guard, a newly turned Dunmer vampire. The chaos dwarf leader raised his mighty warhammer and struck the guard with a bone-shattering force. The sound of bones cracking echoed through the chamber, sending shivers down the prisoners’ spines.

As blood pooled around the lifeless body of the guard, Darbakh’s voice thundered through the dungeon. “Now, goblins! Show your loyalty! Take whatever tools you can find and dispatch the Dunmer and human prisoners! Prove your allegiance to me!”

With fear and desperation etched on their faces, the goblin prisoners hesitated for a moment. But the fear of death and the desire to please their new leaders overcame their doubts. They grabbed whatever makeshift weapons they could find – broken shackles, jagged rocks, and rusted iron bars.

The chaos dwarves and their allies watched without intervening, their gaze fixed on the unfolding spectacle. The goblins hesitated no more; driven by a newfound loyalty, they attacked the other prisoners with a desperate ferocity. Some prisoners fought back, but the goblins overwhelmed them, their hunger for survival fueling their strikes.

Amidst the chaos, Darbakh observed the prisoners closely, noting those who fought with tenacity and skill. These survivors, bloodied and battered, had proven their loyalty through violence. They had earned a place in Darbakh’s force.

As the clash of screams and the clash of improvised weapons filled the dungeon, the chaos dwarf leader saw the loyalty he sought. The eighty or so surviving goblins stood before him, their loyalty now intrinsically tied to his cause. Darbakh nodded approvingly, acknowledging their commitment.

“Now, we break free!” Darbakh bellowed, his voice rising above the chaos. With the goblin prisoners now loyal to him, he led the charge, marching up a winding staircase at the other end of the dungeon, toward a pair of wooden doors at the top leading into the great hall of Paranya’s castle.

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Fantastic fun
I am loving this

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Darbakh led his formidable force of chaos dwarves, goblins, hobgoblins, and black orc mercenaries into the grandeur of the great hall. Their expectations were high as they barged through the imposing wooden double-doors, ready for a clash of blades and the cries of battle. However, their excitement swiftly turned into disappointment as they found themselves standing in a musty, unlit hall devoid of enemies.

The silence hung heavy in the air as Darbakh’s gaze swept across the empty expanse. He glanced to his side, where Raggrund and Malund stood, their expressions mirroring his own confusion.

“Where are they?” Darbakh grumbled, his voice tinged with frustration.

Raggrund scratched his balding head, a puzzled look etched on his weathered face. “I expected resistance. This silence is unnerving.”

Malund, the loyal bull centaur, snorted with impatience. “I smell something fishy, Darbakh. This is not right.”

Darbakh nodded, his fiery red beard bobbing with the motion. “Agreed, Malund. Keep your senses sharp. There’s more to this than meets the eye.”

The chaos dwarves and their subordinates shifted uneasily, their eyes darting around the hall, searching for hidden threats that eluded their senses. The absence of enemies fueled their restlessness, and they looked to Darbakh for guidance.

Darbakh’s gaze locked with his fellow dwarves, who awaited his command. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Stay vigilant, my brethren. We may be walking into a trap. Prepare for anything.”

The chaos dwarves nodded in unison, their expressions hardened with determination. Their weapons remained unsheathed, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. The goblins, hobgoblins, and black orcs shifted nervously, their eyes glancing around, mirroring the unease of their dwarf comrades.

As the tense silence lingered, Darbakh’s mind raced, analyzing every detail of the hall. He scrutinized the flickering torches lining the walls, the shadows dancing on the stone floor. Paranoia gnawed at him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.

“Spread out,” Darbakh commanded, his voice firm. “Search every corner of this hall. I want eyes on every inch. We cannot afford to miss a hidden threat.”

His chaos dwarves sprang into action, fanning out across the vast hall, their footsteps echoing in the silence. The goblins and hobgoblins followed suit, their nimble forms scurrying through the shadows, while the black orcs moved with a deliberate, menacing presence.

The search continued, the tension thick in the air. The minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity as the chaos dwarves scoured every nook and cranny, their eyes trained for the slightest sign of danger.

Yet, the hall remained empty, devoid of adversaries.

Darbakh’s brow furrowed in frustration, but his determination didn’t waver. “Keep searching. They’re here somewhere. We won’t let our guard down until we find them.”

And so, the chaos dwarves pressed on, their spirits braced for an unknown threat lurking in the shadows. Tension hung in the air as they cautiously navigated the hall’s ancient wooden floor, their eyes scanning for any signs of danger. The goblins scurried ahead, their nimble forms darting among the chaos dwarves and their allies.

As the force continued its advance, Five, the cunning hobgoblin leader, suddenly bellowed at one of the native goblins to halt. The goblin, caught off guard, froze in place, inadvertently stepping on a small, innocuous-looking rune etched into the wooden surface beneath their feet. In that moment, an invisible shockwave burst forth from the rune, spreading with alarming speed and filling the entire great hall in an instant.

The effect was immediate and bewildering. The shockwave, instead of causing harm to the force, had a mesmerizing and terrifying effect. Every member of Darbakh’s battalion, chaos dwarves, goblins, hobgoblins, and black orcs, were frozen in time and space. They stood like statues, their bodies motionless and their expressions forever fixed.

The spellbound troops remained suspended in their last moments of movement. Chaos dwarves were caught mid-stride, their hammers poised in mid-swing. Goblins, with mouths agape, stood on one foot, frozen in a perpetual stumble. Even the air seemed still, as if time itself had halted within the confines of the great hall.

But for Darbakh, the experience was different. Though his body stood immobile like the rest, he retained his awareness and senses. Panic surged through him as he realized the extent of the paralysis. He tried to shout, to call out to his comrades, but his voice was trapped within his throat. Only silence emanated from his lips.

His eyes darted around the hall, taking in the eerie scene before him. He could see the expressions of fear and confusion etched on the faces of his frozen troops. The sudden sense of helplessness amplified the terror within him, knowing that he alone retained his faculties while everyone else was trapped in an unfeeling stasis.

The stillness enveloped him, magnifying the deafening silence. It was an immobilizing fear, a nightmare come to life. The realization that he couldn’t move, couldn’t communicate, intensified the suffocating dread that gripped his heart.

Desperately, Darbakh’s mind raced, searching for a way out of this enchantment. But with every passing moment, the panic threatened to consume him. The weight of the situation bore down heavily upon him, taunting him with its cruel grip.

Darbakh’s mind surged with determination as he fought against the paralyzing grip of the rune trap. Every fiber of his being strained against the unseen bonds that held him captive. It was an arduous battle, his will clashing with the powerful magic that had ensnared him and his troops. Sweat trickled down his furrowed brow as he channeled every ounce of his strength to break free.

With a final surge of defiance, Darbakh’s indomitable spirit prevailed. He felt a release, a sudden rush of freedom that cascaded through his frozen form. Falling to one knee, he gasped for breath, the weight of his triumph mingled with exhaustion. The strain of breaking through the rune trap had taken its toll.

Gathering his remaining strength, Darbakh called out to his troops, his voice echoing through the stillness of the great hall. “Rally, my warriors! Break free from this curse!” His words reverberated, yet there was no response, no movement from his comrades. The silence that greeted him pierced his heart with a mix of anger and fear.

Moving with purpose, Darbakh walked among the ranks of his motionless troops. His eyes roved over their frozen forms, their vacant expressions haunting him. He reached out to touch Raggrund’s shoulder, but there was no reaction. He tried shaking Skodald, desperate for any sign of life, yet their bodies remained inert, unmoving.

Anger and fear mingled within him, a tempest of emotions. Frustration gripped his heart as he grappled with the helplessness of the situation. He wanted to scream, to shake his troops awake from this nightmarish stasis. But his efforts yielded no response, no glimmer of consciousness.

Darbakh’s mind raced, searching for a solution, a way to awaken his comrades from their unnatural slumber. He tried different methods, shouting, shaking, even slapping their faces, but all his efforts proved futile. The realization sunk in, a bitter realization that his troops were truly unaware of their surroundings, trapped in a state of suspended animation.

The chaos dwarf leader’s fists clenched in frustration, his heart heavy with a mix of anger and sorrow. He couldn’t comprehend how this could have happened, how he alone could perceive the truth while his troops remained locked in this nightmarish limbo.

Exhausted and disheartened, Darbakh rose to his feet, his eyes scanning the frozen hall one more time. He knew he couldn’t afford to linger, to wallow in despair. The fight wasn’t over yet, and he had to press forward, to find a way to break the enchantment and awaken his troops from their unsettling slumber. While he sought a route of escape from the situation, someone spoke to him. He couldn’t see the speaker, nor could his ears detect the source of the sound, yet he heard the call loud and clear. And the speaker seemed to know who he was now that he was trapped in her domain.

“You’re their commander, aren’t you? The one who destroyed the façade of my glorious castle?”

Paranya’s disembodied voice resonated through the vast expanse of the great hall, her words dripping with surprise and a hint of mockery. “Well, well, Darbakh. It seems you’ve resisted my little trap. Color me impressed.” Her voice echoed, taunting him from the shadows.

Ignoring Paranya’s jeering words, Darbakh pressed on, his focus unwavering. He continued his futile attempts to shake his troops awake, to rouse them from their motionless slumber. But his efforts were in vain, the enchantment holding them captive.

As he struggled with his troops, his eyes caught sight of another set of double wooden doors at the far end of the hall. A glimmer of hope sparked within him, as he realized it could be a way forward. Determination etched on his face, he made his way towards the sealed door, driven by an unyielding resolve.

With a surge of strength, Darbakh attempted to open the door, using all his might to force it open. But the magic that bound it was unyielding, holding fast against his efforts. Frustration crept into his veins, his muscles straining as he grappled with the unyielding barrier.

Paranya’s voice, laced with passive-aggressive taunts, echoed once again. “Oh, you’re persistent, aren’t you, Darbakh? But you’ll find no escape from me. Your troops will make such delightful minions once I’ve turned them to my side.”

Darbakh gritted his teeth, frustration boiling within him. He couldn’t let Paranya’s words weaken his resolve. He pounded his fists against the stubborn door, feeling the vibrations resonate through his body. But still, it remained resolutely shut, impervious to his attempts.

His heart sank with a bitter disappointment, a brief moment of defeat washing over him. Paranya’s voice echoed in the hall, her taunts like daggers in the air. “You’re nothing more than a trapped rat, Darbakh. Powerless and at my mercy.”

Darbakh’s hands clenched into fists, his eyes narrowing with determination. He refused to let Paranya’s words crush his spirit. With a renewed sense of purpose, he vowed to find a way to break through the sealed door and confront his adversary. The battle was far from over, and he would not relent.

Darbakh’s frustration grew with each futile attempt to open the sealed doors. He grabbed a motionless goblin, desperation etched on his face, and hurled it towards the door with all his might. The goblin’s lifeless form collided with the unyielding barrier, but it had no effect. Darbakh’s eyes narrowed with determination as he refused to give up.

He tried a different approach, raising his halberd and forcefully ramming it against the doors, hoping to break through. The impact reverberated through the hall, but the doors remained steadfast. He unleashed a powerful kick, channeling his frustration into the blow, but still, the doors remained closed.

Paranya’s voice, dripping with disdain, intermingled with Darbakh’s relentless assault. “Oh, Darbakh, your feeble attempts are almost entertaining. But you’re just wasting your time, my dear,” she taunted, her voice filled with mocking amusement.

Ignoring her taunts, Darbakh drew a pistol from his belt and fired at the doors, the sound of the gunshot echoing through the hall. But the bullets merely ricocheted off the magical barrier, leaving no mark.

His anger swelled within him, mingling with a growing sense of defeat. Paranya continued her barrage of mocking remarks, relishing in his apparent failure. “Such determination, Darbakh. It’s almost admirable, if not for your utter incompetence,” she sneered, her voice laced with arrogance.

But Darbakh refused to be deterred. Finally, he turned his attention to his trusty war hammer. Gripping it firmly, he raised it high above his head, its enchanted runes shimmering with an otherworldly glow.

Paranya began another taunt, her voice laced with derision, but her words were abruptly cut short as a surge of energy pulsed through Darbakh’s body. Sparks flew, and a crackle of energy filled the air.

With renewed hope and determination, Darbakh poised his war hammer, ready to unleash its power upon the stubborn doors. The next chapter of their confrontation was about to unfold, and Darbakh would not be denied.

The enchantment of the war hammer crackled with energy as it collided with the magical barrier on the door. Arcs of power danced across the surface, the chaos dwarf sorcerer’s magic challenging Paranya’s enchantment. Darbakh swung the hammer with all his strength, striking the door with a resounding crash. The impact reverberated through the hall, shaking the very foundations of the castle.

With a second swing, Darbakh shattered the door into splinters, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. A surge of triumph coursed through his veins as he stepped through the broken threshold. The sight of the destroyed door filled him with a renewed sense of hope.

Paranya, her voice laced with surprise and shock, attempted to regain her composure. “You… you insolent fool! Do you truly believe you can defy me?” she exclaimed, her words tinged with disbelief.

Undeterred by her taunts, Darbakh advanced further into the castle. One by one, he encountered three more enchanted doors that blocked his path. With each swing of his war hammer, he shattered the barriers, breaking through the enchantments that had kept him at bay.

Paranya’s attempts to mock him grew more frantic as each door crumbled before his might. “You cannot possibly overcome my power!” she shrieked, her voice tinged with desperation. “Your feeble attempts are futile! You are but a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things!”

But Darbakh pressed on, his determination unwavering. The destruction of her enchantments left Paranya exposed and vulnerable, her once confident demeanor shattered. “How… how can this be? No one has ever defied my wards before!” she stammered, her voice filled with disbelief.

As Darbakh destroyed the final enchanted door, he felt a surge of triumph. The path before him lay open, leading deeper into the heart of the castle where Paranya’s undead court awaited.

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Go Darbskh!
This is great.
Good rollercoaster ride.

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Thanks for reading it! I’m having a great deal of fun writing it again.

Very cool twists and turns, can’t wait to see what happens next! :beer:

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Darbakh’s heart pounded with renewed hope and fury as he lifted his war hammer high, infused with the power of a chaos dwarf sorcerer. With a mighty swing, he shattered the last pair of wooden doors, sending splinters flying. The doors crashed open, revealing the dark and eerie atrium beyond.

As he burst into the atrium, Darbakh stood alone, his fellow chaos dwarves still frozen in suspended animation due to the rune trap. The room was an unhygienic ballroom, typical of a castle maintained by undead creatures. Dimly lit chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting flickering shadows across the decaying walls adorned with ancient paintings. The air was heavy with a musty smell, and cobwebs stretched across the corners.

His grand entrance caused pandemonium among Paranya’s trusted court of half a dozen vampire thralls, who were gathered on a central dais. They hissed and snarled, taken aback by the unexpected intrusion. Their eyes glowed with an unnatural crimson as they prepared to defend their master.

Darbakh’s presence alone was enough to cause panic among the vampire thralls. They had never encountered a foe quite like him—a lone chaos dwarf warrior, filled with fierce determination and undeterred by the odds stacked against him.

He took a step forward, his red eyes blazing with fury. His heavy footsteps echoed through the atrium as he surveyed his adversaries. Paranya’s court, once composed and confident, now seemed disarrayed and uncertain.

The vampire thralls exchanged nervous glances, their perfect façade of immortality shattered by the unexpected intrusion. Paranya’s court, which had been so carefully chosen and cultivated, was now reduced to rabble, their composure crumbling like ancient ruins.

Paranya herself watched the chaos unfold with wide eyes, disbelief evident in her expression. The confidence she had exuded earlier wavered in the face of Darbakh’s relentless presence.

“You thought you could defeat us, but you underestimated the might of the Dawi Zharr,” Darbakh declared, his voice firm and commanding.

Paranya tried to respond, her voice laced with bravado, but Darbakh’s words seemed to echo louder in the atrium, drowning out her attempts to intimidate.

With Paranya on the defensive and her once-powerful court now defeated by his mere presence, Darbakh knew that he had made an impactful entrance into the heart of the castle. As the vampire thralls fumbled to find a way to counter that presence, Darbakh remained resolute, the flickering chandeliers casting shadows over his stoic expression. His eyes remained fixed on Paranya, unwavering in his purpose.

In the dimly lit atrium, Darbakh glowered, his red hair reflecting the flickering torchlight. Paranya’s court of undead creatures stood in disarray, but her second in command, Vorenthas, rose to the challenge.

With a commanding presence, Vorenthas stepped down from the dais, flanked by four skeleton warriors. His eyes, glowing with an eerie crimson, locked onto Darbakh’s. He raised a pale hand, and the skeletons fanned out, surrounding the chaos dwarf.

Paranya’s voice cut through the tension. “Defend me, Vorenthas. The legacy of my entire bloodline empowers you now.”

Darbakh’s contempt for the junior vampire was palpable, yet he remained silent. He clenched his warhammer tighter, ready to face whatever dark magic Vorenthas would unleash.

Without a word, Vorenthas lunged forward, moving with unnatural speed. Darbakh deftly sidestepped, bringing his hammer down on one of the advancing skeletons. The bones shattered upon impact, but Vorenthas didn’t hesitate. He swung at Darbakh with inhuman strength, the claws of a vampire aimed at his throat.

Darbakh parried the attack, the clang of metal against claws echoing in the atrium. He countered with a powerful strike, aiming to break Vorenthas’s guard. The vampire dodged gracefully, his movements almost ethereal.

As the confrontation intensified, Paranya watched intently, her earlier bravado replaced by a calculating expression. She knew the stakes were high, and she needed Vorenthas to be victorious. The undead court remained silent, the air thick with anticipation.

Darbakh’s eyes never wavered from Vorenthas, studying his opponent’s every move. He felt a surge of determination, the weight of his fallen comrades urging him to prevail. The chaos dwarf and the vampire circled each other, their clash a dance of life and (un)death.

Vorenthas unleashed a barrage of attacks, his supernatural agility allowing him to dart around Darbakh with ease. But the chaos dwarf held his ground, parrying and countering each strike with unmatched ferocity.

The fight reached a crescendo, the two adversaries locked in a fierce exchange of blows. Darbakh’s heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The atrium echoed with the sound of metal clashing and bones breaking.

Amidst the fray, Paranya’s voice rang out once more. “You can’t defeat him, Darbakh. He is now the embodiment of our bloodline’s power.”

Darbakh remained resolute, his gaze unwavering. He saw through the vampire’s façade, recognizing the desperation beneath the arrogance. He sensed that Vorenthas was still haunted by his own past, a slave to his dark transformation.

As the duel raged on, a flicker of doubt flashed across Vorenthas’s face. His movements faltered for a moment, and Darbakh seized the opportunity. With a powerful swing, he sent the vampire crashing into a nearby pillar.

The impact cracked the pillar, and a cloud of dust filled the air. When it cleared, Vorenthas emerged, his composure as shaken as his posture. Darbakh’s unwavering determination bore down on him, and for the first time, the vampire felt the weight of uncertainty.

The chaos dwarf’s eyes burned with fury and purpose, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness of Paranya’s castle. The skeleton warriors closed in, but Darbakh stood firm, locked in a tense standoff. The atrium seemed to hold its breath as the battle between darkness and determination played out.

The four skeleton warriors closed in on Darbakh, their bones rattling with each step. With uncanny coordination, they lunged at him from all sides, their bony claws poised to strike. Darbakh’s eyes narrowed, and he readied his warhammer.

As the first skeleton swung its clawed hand, Darbakh deftly sidestepped the attack and brought down his warhammer on its skull, shattering the fragile bones into pieces. Without missing a beat, he spun around, parrying another skeleton’s strike with the haft of his hammer. The force of the impact sent the skeletal warrior stumbling backward, and Darbakh followed through with a crushing blow that reduced it to a pile of bones on the floor.

The remaining two skeletons pressed on, their movements mechanical and relentless. Darbakh’s heavy armor protected him from their feeble attempts to harm him. He dispatched one with a well-aimed swing, and as the last one lunged, he pivoted and delivered a devastating blow that shattered its ribcage.

Vorenthas, seeing his minions defeated, finally entered the fray. His gaunt face contorted with rage, he lunged at Darbakh with inhuman speed. But the chaos dwarf was ready. He parried Vorenthas’s attack with his warhammer, the force of the collision sending the vampire reeling backward for a second time.

Darbakh pressed his advantage, advancing on an injured Vorenthas with relentless determination. The vampire attempted to laboriously strike back, but each increasingly sloppy blow was deflected by the chaos dwarf’s unyielding defense. With a powerful poke with the butt of his warhammer, Darbakh knocked Vorenthas off balance, leaving him vulnerable for a moment.

The chaos dwarf seized the opportunity, delivering a fierce strike to the leg that sent Vorenthas crashing to the ground. The vampire groaned in pain, struggling to rise. Darbakh stood over him, his warhammer poised for execution.

The atrium was now littered with the broken remains of the skeleton warriors. Darbakh’s chest heaved with exertion, but he remained resolute. His eyes locked onto Vorenthas, his contempt for the vampire burning bright. Vorenthas struggled to rise, his gaunt form trembling with pain and frustration. As he managed to prop himself up on one elbow, he glared at Paranya, who stood nearby with a look of displeasure on her face.

“You disappoint me, Vorenthas,” Paranya chided, her voice echoing in the atrium. “I granted you the power of my bloodline, and yet you failed to defeat this mere Dwemer!”

Vorenthas winced, his eyes narrowing. “You didn’t empower me as much as you promised,” he retorted, his voice tinged with bitterness. “I can’t fight at my full strength.”

Paranya’s expression darkened further. “Excuses won’t change the fact that we’re on the verge of defeat,” she snapped. “I thought you were the key to victory, but you’ve proven to be nothing more than fool’s gold.”

Darbakh, who had been standing nearby, waiting impatiently, couldn’t help but interrupt their argument. “Are you two done bickering?” he asked, his voice laced with irritation. “I have more pressing matters to attend to.”

Both Paranya and Vorenthas turned to glare at Darbakh, their anger and disbelief clear in their eyes. The chaos dwarf sighed in exasperation, his patience wearing thin.

“Fine, I’ll finish this myself,” Darbakh declared, raising his warhammer. “Your squabbles won’t save you from the wrath of Hashut.”

The two vampires exchanged a wary glance, their confidence shaken by Darbakh’s unwavering determination. Paranya’s voice dripped with venom as she spoke. “You may have defeated our minions, but you won’t prevail against the might of our magic.”

Darbakh remained undeterred, his grip on his warhammer tightening. “Enough talk,” he said, his voice steady and resolute. “Let’s finish this.”

As Vorenthas struggled to his uninjured knee, he clenched his bony fists and focused his icy gaze on Darbakh. With a sweeping motion of his skeletal hands, he unleashed a torrent of freezing magic, a blizzard of icy shards hurtling towards the chaos dwarf.

Paranya, sensing her protege’s desperation, channeled more power to him, drawing from the life force of her own court members like bloody, energized mist pulled from their wind pipes. The undead thralls surrounding the dais convulsed in pain, their energy draining away as Paranya cannibalized their life force to bolster Vorenthas’ magic.

“More power, Vorenthas!” she urged, her voice tinged with panic. “Crush him with everything you have!”

Darbakh’s eyes widened in disbelief at the traitorous sight before him, but he had no time to dwell on it. He focused all his attention on the incoming magic, raising his warhammer with both hands. The enchanted weapon pulsed with the power of Hashut, the dark deity of the chaos dwarves. With a mighty swing, Darbakh deflected the barrage of icy shards, sending them scattering harmlessly around him. Each blow of the warhammer created a shockwave that dispersed the freezing magic, leaving the chaos dwarf untouched.

Paranya’s desperation grew, her face twisted with frustration and fury. “Vorenthas, you fool! Destroy him!”

Vorenthas’ bony fingers trembled as he attempted to conjure more magic, but his power was draining rapidly. “I… I can’t!” he stammered, panic creeping into his voice. “I need more power!”

Darbakh smirked, his eyes gleaming with confidence. “You won’t find it here,” he taunted. “Your master’s desperation won’t save you.”

The senior and junior vampires exchanged panicked glances, realizing that their plan was falling apart. Darbakh had deflected their magic effortlessly, and Vorenthas was rapidly losing his strength. The chaos dwarf stood his ground, focused on defense and deflecting their attacks without making a move to strike back.

As Paranya continued to drain the life force of her own court members to empower Vorenthas, her well of magical energy began to run dry. The desperate look in her eyes mirrored Vorenthas’ growing sense of betrayal. The vampire had always been confident in his power, relying on Paranya’s magic to bolster him. Now, with that source of power fading, he felt a sense of vulnerability he had never experienced before.

“You promised me victory!” Vorenthas hissed, his voice laced with anger and fear. “You assured me that I would crush him!”

Paranya’s usual air of superiority faltered, replaced by a sense of defeat that was unfamiliar to her. “I did not anticipate this,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “He is stronger than I thought!”

The two undead beings locked eyes, their faces reflecting mutual terror as they realized the extent of their predicament. Darbakh, the chaos dwarf, stood before them, undeterred and ready to end their reign.

“We must… retreat,” Paranya stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Vorenthas’ eyes widened in disbelief. Retreat was not something they were accustomed to. They had always been the ones in control, the ones instilling fear in others. The thought of fleeing from their own fortress was unthinkable, yet they knew they had no choice.

“But… but we cannot!” Vorenthas protested, his voice filled with desperation. “We are powerful! We are immortal!”

Darbakh’s unyielding presence seemed to crush their confidence. The chaos dwarf had defied their magic, and now they were cornered. They had no more tricks up their sleeves, no more power to wield. As the reality of their impending defeat sank in, Vorenthas and Paranya shared a silent moment of terror. They knew that their life after death was coming to an end, and for the first time in centuries, they felt the cold grip of fear around their unbeating hearts.

Darbakh’s patience had reached its limit. He charged at Vorenthas with a fierce bellow, laying down his hammer and swinging unarmed like a devastating force of nature. The vampire attempted to counter with unarmed as well, but his powers were feeble compared to the chaos dwarf’s fury. With each punch, Darbakh battered Vorenthas mercilessly, the blows landing with bone-crushing force. The vampire’s body writhed with pain as he tried in vain to defend himself. He felt his own power slipping away, and the fear in his eyes intensified with each futile attempt to resist. Darbakh’s assault was brutal and thuggish, his rage and frustration channeled into each strike. Vorenthas, once so confident in his abilities, now found himself dominated and mentally broken under the onslaught.

Meanwhile, Paranya, the once proud and defiant vampire countess, was reduced to a pitiful state. She groveled before Darbakh, her bravado gone, her voice trembling as she begged for mercy.

“Please… spare me,” she pleaded, her voice barely audible. “I-I will do anything you ask… just spare me.”

Her regal demeanor was shattered, replaced by desperation and vulnerability. She had underestimated the chaos dwarf’s determination, and now she faced the consequences of her arrogance. Darbakh proved unforgiving, fists poised to deliver a final blow. The once formidable enemies were now at his mercy, their reign of undeath reduced to a pitiful whimper. The chaos dwarf’s gaze hardened as he surveyed the defeated vampire lady and her pathetic protégé. For a brief moment, Darbakh hesitated, considering their fate. But the memory of his single fallen comrade at the pit trap of these creatures fueled his resolve.

“No more,” he declared, his voice firm and unwavering. “Your defiance ends here.”

With a final curb stomp, Darbakh brought down the junior vampire, and Vorenthas’ form crumpled lifelessly to the ground. Paranya’s desperate pleas fell on deaf ears as she, too, faced the wrath of the chaos dwarf. The once mighty vampire lady was now at the mercy of the very beings she had tormented. The tables had turned, and Darbakh stood victorious.

As the dust settled in the atrium, a sudden interruption pierced the tension. Raggrund and Malund burst into the grand hall. Their eyes widened with surprise and relief as they saw Darbakh standing there.

“Boss! We’re all awake, but we couldn’t find you!” Raggrund exclaimed, his gruff voice echoing in the vast chamber.

Darbakh smiled beneath his heavy beard. “You missed all the fun,” he replied, a hint of mischief in his tone.

Malund chimed in, “Yeah, next time, save some for us!”

Paranya, no longer defiant, confessed, “The runes were drawn by one of my thralls. I… I cannibalized his life energy to empower Vorenthas.”

Raggrund scowled. “Shortsighted.”

Darbakh’s gaze turned to his comrades. “No matter,” he said, reassured by their presence. “The fun is just beginning.” As the chaos dwarves stood united once more, a sense of camaraderie and determination filled the air. “Our not-so-gracious host has a lot of explaining to do.”

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Fabulous. What a great read.

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