Warlord Queek Headtaker observed the battlefield with his elite Stormvermin bodyguards, the Crimson Hunters, at his side. This famed and feared Skaven warlord squinted as he watched the chaos unfold in the distance.
To be honest, Queek was not particularly thrilled about the alliance with the greenskins, especially with the cunning Skarsnik. From the beginning, Queek had no desire to ally with him, believing that any such alliance would inevitably be broken. In Queek's eyes, both Belegar Ironhammer and Skarsnik were destined to lose their heads to him, trophies to showcase his might and glory.
For the Great Horned Rat!
However, the alliance with the greenskins was an extension of the Horned Rat's will. When the Great One appeared before him, even Queek knew he could not refuse. Thus, when Skarsnik finally decided to make an alliance and offered to fight together, Queek had no choice but to agree.
And so, the unholy pact between greenskins and Skaven was forged, dubbed the "Unbreakable Alliance."
Now, Queek led his army to the battlefield from the south. His forces included fifteen Rat Ogres, five Skaven plague catapults, a regiment of Warpstone Jezzail snipers called "Death-Eyes Devourers," and a Warp-Grinder machine gun team. After the loss of the Warplock Cannons and Stormfiends at Valaya's Gate, Queek had sent a request for reinforcements from Clan Mors' Karak Red Cloud base.
The response from Clan Mors' leader, Gnawdwell, came quickly. He dispatched two regiments of elite Stormvermin: the "Iron Guard," led by warlord Rikk Flayer, and the "Jagged Fangs," commanded by warlord Sokk the Jagged. Additionally, Gnawdwell hired a contingent of Plague Priests from Clan Pestilens to support Queek with their deadly plague gas grenades.
Of course, there were also the endless hordes of Clanrats and Skaven slaves.
"Forward! For the Great Horned Rat!" Queek snarled, brandishing his Dwarfsbane sword as he pointed at the Eight Peaks expeditionary forces. "Destroy the enemy! Destroy everything!"
A massive, golden bell made of Warpstone was pushed onto the battlefield by the Rat Ogres.
It was the Skaven's most feared artifact: the Doom Bell!
The bell reverberated with the blessings of the Great Horned Rat, and its ominous chimes filled the battlefield with foul magic, the bronze bell inscribed with dark and powerful runes. Its presence seemed to warp the very air, driving all who heard it to dizziness and madness.
Dooooom~!
With the first toll of the Doom Bell, the battlefield shifted. A wave of despair swept across the land.
The human forces, farther from the Skaven, resisted better, and the Dwarves, as always, stood resolute. But the Wood Elves were immediately affected. Many cried out in pain, blood pouring from their noses, their sensitive souls overwhelmed by the bell's dark magic. Even Alaloth clutched his head, taking several seconds to regain his composure.
Fortunately, the greenskins were also struck by the bell's power. Orc boyz and big 'uns grumbled and rubbed their heads, but managed to endure. The goblins, however, fared much worse. Many began to bleed from their ears and noses, and the weaker ones even had their heads explode on the spot.
In stark contrast, the Skaven reveled in the sound. To them, it was the sweetest of music, a blessing from their god, the Great Horned Rat. They chanted "yesyes!" as they surged onto the battlefield.
"Rikk! Attack! Attack the pointy-ear things!" Queek roared, feeling invincible as the power of the Horned Rat surged within him. "Sokk, go for the outpost!"
"Attack!" The Skaven swarmed in from the south, hitting the flank of the Wood Elves. Alaloth saw this and shouted, "Eternal Guard! To me! Form the shield wall!"
"Yes!" Three regiments of Eternal Guard turned, advancing in perfect formation toward the incoming Skaven. They raised their shields and prepared to meet the ratmen. The Glade Guard unleashed a volley of arrows, but the sheer numbers of the Skaven pushed forward, determined to break the Elven line.
The Skaven quickly discovered they had made a grave mistake. The Wood Elves were fierce warriors, and the Eternal Guard's shield wall was like a dam, halting the tide of ratmen. Their spears pierced rat flesh, their swords cleaved through fur and hide. The Clanrats and Skaven slaves were slaughtered mercilessly.
Alaloth, riding his mighty stag, fought at the frontlines, spearing and slicing through dozens of Skaven with each attack. But the foul blood of the Skaven covered him, even splattering onto his cherished helmet.
Despite the courage of the Wood Elves, the Skaven horde seemed endless. Thousands upon thousands of ratmen poured into the battle, and even the Glade Guard had to draw their blades. Each Wood Elf found themselves facing more than ten Skaven at a time.
Casualties began to mount.
An Eternal Guard struggled to hold his shield up as four or five Skaven jumped on him. He was knocked to the ground and stabbed to death by a flurry of blades.
A Sword Dancer showed off his incredible skills, but the ruthless Skaven surrounded him with shields from three sides, jabbing him with spears and daggers through the gaps. He was stabbed over ten times, collapsing in a pool of blood.
Meanwhile, the greenskins had also recovered from the Doom Bell's toll and launched an attack on the Wood Elves, subjecting them to a brutal pincer assault. Alaloth, now fighting on two fronts, desperately tried to hold the line.
As he fought, a mechanical sound caught his attention. He looked up to see five Skaven plague catapults hurling diseased boulders toward Streamwatch Outpost. The stones sailed through the sky, crashing into the decaying walls, reducing them to rubble. The remaining defenders fired muskets and arrows, but it was in vain. Queek had already given his orders.
Five Rat Ogres, each carrying Warpstone bombs, charged toward the outpost's walls. They rammed the walls with their bodies, setting off the explosives in a deafening blast that shook the entire battlefield. Huge holes were blown into the outpost's defenses, and through these gaps poured endless streams of Skaven slaves and Clanrats, storming into the outpost to engage the defenders.
Seeing this, Alaloth felt a surge of uncertainty. His army was being overrun on both sides. The Eternal Guard and Glade Guard were falling one by one. He decapitated two approaching Skaven with his blade, then shouted, "Where is Ryan? And the Dwarves? Tell them we're fighting on two fronts and need reinforcements now!"
A minute later, a Waywatcher arrived with a message: "King Ryan says to follow the original plan. The Wood Elves must hold the line!"
"Cursed be Kurnous! What line?!" Alaloth bellowed in fury, his face contorted with anger and heartbreak. "I won't let my people die as stepping stones for the humans and Dwarves! I warned them to defend the fortress! Defend the fortress! And they didn't listen. Now it's clear—I was right!"
"What should we do, my lord?" A Waywatcher asked hesitantly, his eyes flicking to the crumbling lines. "The plan doesn't seem to be working."
"… We retreat!" Alaloth's face twisted in indecision, but he finally gritted his teeth and made the call. "We fall back to Streamwatch Outpost! It's our only foothold here, and it must not fall. Relay the order—begin the retreat! Spellweavers, cover our withdrawal!"
"But..." The Waywatcher hesitated, whispering, "This wasn't what we agreed with King Ryan."
"Retreat! Retreat to Streamwatch Outpost! Soldiers, reform the rear! Spellweavers, hold them off!" Alaloth cut him off, issuing the order. "Troops, fall back!"
The Wood Elves began a coordinated retreat under Alaloth's command. As the Skaven and greenskins attempted to pursue, the Spellweavers pooled the last of their magic to unleash a devastating spell.
"Isha's Thorny Vengeance!"
Dozens of massive, poisonous thorn vines erupted from the ground, growing tens of meters into the air and stopping the pursuing enemies in their tracks. The vines tore apart any Skaven or greenskins caught in their grasp. Then, at Alaloth's command, the Glade Guard, Waywatchers, and Deepwood Scouts all aimed their bows at the sky.
"Loose!!!"
In the moment that the magical thorns receded, a storm of arrows fell upon the enemy like a torrent. Goblins and Skaven alike were caught in the deadly rain, forced into a chaotic retreat. The Wood Elves withdrew with relative ease, their terrifying ranged firepower covering their retreat.
However, with the Wood Elves retreating, Belegar and his central army were suddenly exposed to the full brunt of the Skaven horde!
Caught off guard by the Wood Elves' withdrawal, Belegar and his Angrond Clan warriors found themselves vulnerable. They had successfully held off the greenskin assault, slowly pushing them back, but
now faced a new wave of Skaven crashing into their flank. Even Belegar was momentarily stunned.
"Treachery! Betrayal!"
"The pointy-ears have betrayed us again!"
"Cowards! They ran away like spineless cowards!"
"By Valaya! They've abandoned us!"
The Dwarves shouted in rage, but their fury couldn't stop the Skaven tide. Belegar knew that if they were attacked from the side, they wouldn't last long fighting on two fronts.
"My King!" Angrond Clan's chief engineer, Harhaf Goldgetter, rushed over with his Dwarven Thunderers, his face pale as he saw the Skaven swarm approaching from the side. "I'll take my men to hold them off!"
Belegar, covered head to toe in greenskin blood and gore, gazed silently at his chief engineer. After a long moment, he nodded slowly, saying nothing.
"For Belegar! For Eight Peaks!" Harhaf saluted his king one last time. The Dwarven Thunderers stowed their guns and drew their axes. They raised their weapons high, bravely charging into the Skaven tide. Though their numbers were small, the Dwarves held the line valiantly.
From a distance, Queek sneered as he watched the Dwarves fight to their deaths. He knew Dwarves too well, as well as he knew his own kind. Dwarves would never run. In the face of certain death, Skaven, greenskins, and humans might flee, but most Dwarves would dig in and fight to the end. When surrounded and overwhelmed, they would quietly die off, never erupting like a volcano in a final blaze of glory.
Belegar's head is mine! Queek thought, gripping his sword with bloodthirsty excitement. "It's mine~mine! Forward, Skaven, yes-yes!"
Harhaf fought valiantly, cutting down dozens of Skaven on his own, roaring for more to challenge him. But the cunning Skaven had no intention of fighting fair. From the swarm of ratmen, several capturing nets were thrown, ensnaring Harhaf. As he struggled to free himself, the Skaven swarmed over him, stabbing him more than a hundred times.
The engineer's blood soaked the earth, and he collapsed on the chaotic battlefield.
He knew he was dying.
His only hope was that his death would give Belegar time to reorganize the defense.
The battle raged on. Belegar, leading the Angrond Oathsworn, continued to fend off the greenskins. He coughed weakly, blood streaming from his face, body, and mouth. The Skaven, thinking him dead, moved on to attack other Dwarven Thunderers.
Harhaf, with the last of his strength, turned his head toward the west, yearning for one final glimpse of Eight Peaks.
But before his vision could fade entirely, he saw something extraordinary.
Greenskins, goblins, Skaven, and even a few ogres in the vicinity suddenly began to flee in terror, shrieking as they tried to escape. Those not quick enough were cut clean in half.
Through the chaos strode an old dwarf, his power undeniable, his skill unmatched, and his presence as grand as the mountains and the sea. The enemies recoiled in fear, terrified by his sheer strength and the divine light surrounding him.
The Dwarves' crisis was averted.
The old dwarf threw off his cloak, revealing himself fully. He wore rune-inscribed battle armor, a long white beard adorned with golden rings trailing to his knees, and a gleaming silver helmet. His armor radiated with the glow of runes, and the mighty ancestor rune-axe he wielded was inscribed with ancient power. With just a few swift strikes, all the nearby enemies were cleaved in two. The dwarf strode to Harhaf's side, gently taking his hand.
"Sorry, lad, I'm late," said the old dwarf.
"Grim...Grimnir...Grim Brindal..." Harhaf gasped, eyes wide. "The...the White Dwarf?"
"Breathe deep and relax, my boy," said the White Dwarf, his eyes burning with hatred and sorrow. "By Grungni, the Elves...it's the Elves again! They've betrayed us once more! But rest easy now, lad. I'll make sure they pay."
"The Ancestors'...Hall?" Harhaf murmured weakly, his voice filled with doubt and resignation.
"Aye, it's the finest place in the world," the White Dwarf assured him. "Endless black ale, roasted turkey legs, and the best crispy bread. And gold...so much gold! Your plates are gold, your chair is gold, your weapons, and armor too. All our ancestors, your ancestors, sit in the grand halls, toasting and singing songs of heroes and betrayals alike. Go now, boy, and enjoy your peace and happiness."
"You've made us proud, lad," the White Dwarf whispered, his voice low and solemn, his eyes reflecting both rage and sadness.
Harhaf Goldgetter could say no more.
Knowing the chief engineer of the Angrond Clan had passed to the Ancestors' Halls, the White Dwarf gently laid his body to rest. Rising to his feet, he raised his ancestor rune-axe, Grimnir's Rune-Axe, high.
"White Dwarf! White Dwarf! White Dwarf!"
"Grim Brindal!"
The Dwarves rallied around the White Dwarf, regrouping and reestablishing their lines.
At that moment, the reinforcements sent by Ryan finally arrived, led by Juan Carlos and over a thousand knights. They charged into battle, bringing with them the righteous judgment of the Lady of the Lake and the fury of Bretonnia. Their steel tide crushed the Skaven, sending them fleeing once again.
The White Dwarf, Grim Brindal, nodded curtly to Juan and the knights before gripping his rune-axe tightly and striding forward into the fray.
"Brothers, follow me! It's time to exact vengeance!"
"An oath sworn is as strong as stone!"
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