Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest

You want to rejoin the fighting. Clearing the greenskins out of Karag Nar in a timely fashion is crucial, as then everyone currently exposed in the Valley can pull back to defensive positions and at that point the battle is exposed greenskins against entrenched Dwarven siege engineering and that's the Dwarves' favourite kind of battle. But you're forced to admit to yourself that you're tired. Not just physically fatigued, though you're definitely that - or whatever you'd call it when your muscles have recently been filled with Waaagh energy and then deflated again. Not even just magically fatigued, having cast quite a few spells, some quite tricky, in a short amount of time. You're tired in your soul. Being used as a conduit first by Mork and then by Ranald, and for an amount of power you can't even begin to comprehend... you're fortunate to have not suffered worse, but what you are suffering is more than enough. You'll settle down here and wait for the Dwarves to reach you, and guarding this Hoard gives you a perfect justification in doing so.

You consider the bed and quickly reject it, and are in fact tempted to set it on fire to rid the room of the smell of rotting leaves and fur. So instead you lean against a window and witness the rare spectacle unfolding below. The Colleges only knew the very basics of what an Anvil of Doom was capable of, and now you get to see it for yourself, as conducted by the oldest and most powerful of Runelords. Kragg the Grim did not research, rarely journeyed, and was very difficult to convince that anyone was worthy of the products of his art, so what has he been doing with his centuries of life? The answer, it seems, was crafting Runes for his Anvil of Doom.

In the context of one of the Anvils, a Rune did not mean a carving upon an object, but an object in its own right - a piece of metal in the shape of a single Rune, but itself covered in dozens or even hundreds of smaller runes. Once fully crafted, it would begin to siphon magical energies from the air, and days or weeks or months later it would be ready. When properly positioned on an Anvil of Doom and struck by someone skilled in its use, the energies would be unleashed in the way dictated by its runes, the Anvil's runes, and the will of the wielder. For year after year, decade after decade, Kragg had shut himself in his workshop in Karaz-a-Karak and channeled his hatred of greenskins and Skaven and Elves and all other enemies of Dwarves, and all of his bitterness at the decline of the Karaz Ankor, into an arsenal for his Anvil, waiting for a reason sufficient to justify his presence. The lost hold of Karak Eight Peaks, once second only to Karaz-a-Karak in population and wealth and power, had finally given him that reason, and the Grobi in the Citadel and in the caldera beyond received the full force of his hatred and his skill. Lightning struck from above with pinpoint accuracy, and the ground at the Citadel's foundations split open and molten rock exploded forth.

[Greenskin reaction to magical attack: 100.]

Truth be told, you don't know if the tide of greenskins heading into the Citadel was part of an internal religious schism or them taking the shortest route between their current location and Karag Nar to try to avenge what Ranald did to Mork. But if it was the former, Kragg's unleashing of magical power nips that conflict right in the bud. Somewhere in the Citadel, someone - likely an Orc - has had a loud enough voice and a powerful enough blow to bring order to the chaos and cement his own leadership over all those present, and pointed them at the approximate cause of their suffering. Boiling forth from the structure is a gushing sea of Orcs and Goblins, and even as some tumble into lava-flooded ravines or are obliterated by lightning strikes, the majority keep going as the power of the Waaagh fills them with bloodlust.

[Dwarven artillery: 92+20=112.]
[Codrin's archers: 18+15=33.]
[Kragg the Grim: 3+30=33.]
[Greenskin leadership: 71+25=96.]
[Karag Nar assault: ???]

The constant rumble of thunder is joined by a volley of cannonfire and, unheard but just as brutal, the firing of Grudge and Bolt Throwers, and wood and rock and metal scythe through the charging forces without mercy. Though the site of Mork's mugging lay to the east and the source of the magical assault to the northeast, the battle lines of men pulls them inexorably southeast instead. From this distance an arrow is invisible, but a volley of thousands shouldn't be. So if the archers are firing they're not coordinated enough to form a volley, and the greenskin lines surge forward, now free of the lava and lightning that torments the Citadel.

[Dwarven artillery: 43+20=63.]
[Codrin's archers: 63+15=78.]
[Kragg the Grim: 46+25=71.]
[Greenskin leadership: 84+25=109.]
[Karag Nar assault: ???]

As the greenskins close to medium range, both the archers and the lightning seem to adjust their aim, and a volley cuts down hundreds and electricity jumping from Orc to Orc accounts for just as many. But this is the side of the greenskins that makes them a blight upon the world: propelled by the fury of the Waaagh and united in purpose to destroy their foes. Thousands fall and are trampled underfoot by thousands more and the discharge from the Citadel has not even begun to slow, fuelled by the influx from the caldera. Seemingly unstoppable, the press of bodies approaches the lines of men.

[Dwarven artillery: 67+20=87.]
[Codrin's archers: 12+15=27.]
[Kragg the Grim: 90+25=115.]
[Greenskin leadership: 29+25=54.]
[Karag Nar assault: ???]

With a terrible groaning that drowns out everything else, the earth tears itself open in front of the lines of man as the greenskins near, and hundreds, thousands tumble in as the press that continues all the way to the Citadel makes stopping or even slowing impossible, and the embrace of molten rock accounts for every one of them. The greenskins falter and a volley of bolts scythes through their exposed ranks, sending enough flying that those now foremost have enough room to halt their charge and a fraction of a second to reconsider before they are shoved forward by those behind.

From this distance the activity can be summarized in seconds, but with the amount of time passing you're starting to worry about why you've yet to hear any activity closer to you. The assault of Karag Nar should be well and truly underway, and just from comparing the forces of Karak Izor to the greenskins you saw while scouting they should be making good progress.

[Dwarven artillery: 62+20=82.]
[Codrin's archers: 29+15=44.]
[Kragg the Grim: 27+25=52.]
[Greenskin leadership: 30+15=45.]
[Karag Nar assault: 100.]

The greenskins falter and their lines spread out across the ravine, seeking a way across even as the constant fire of guns cuts through them time and time again. The ravine does not stretch the entire length of the valley, and the outermost of the greenskins reach it and resume their close on the lines of man, but each second wasted is horrendously costly for them and you can see them begin to falter.

Your worries for the fight below are proven groundless as a crunch of metal on metal and then confused voices in an almost familiar tongue reach you, and you finally turn from the view at the window to head towards the doorway. Skaroki and a score of Longbeards are inspecting the door's guards in a great deal of confusion as one tries to pry his axe from the chest of an unmoving figure that remains stubbornly upright, even as blood pours from its mouth. With a gesture you release the spell on it, and the rigor mortis of a simulated death is replaced by the Black Orc collapsing as his actual one approaches. At your instruction a deeply sceptical Longbeard delivers a similarly fatal blow to the other guard so you can release its ensorcellment as well, and they drag the bodies away to stand in their place.

"The lower floors put up more a fight than we expected," Skaroki says as he enters the room with you, frowning at the disguised treasure. "But once they broke we swept through the rest of the mountain without trouble. Good thing too, by the sounds of it things are heating up outside."

"There's an entire greenskin town in the caldera, and half of them are charging through the Citadel to try to get at us," you report, and Skaroki scowls down in the direction of your pointed finger. "They're faltering but damn close to our lines."

"Nick of time, then." He unfastens a horn from his belt and you hold your hands over your ears as he blows a long, deep note, and within a couple of seconds it is taken up elsewhere by those that had been waiting for the signal. There's nothing left to do but watch and hope, and Skaroki seems to agree, finding the view your lenses offer to be stronger than his distrust of magic. If battle comes to Karag Nar, there'll be plenty of time to head down there while the rest of the forces of Karak Izor present hold the line.

[Codrin's archers: 39+15=54.]
[Kragg the Grim: 16+25=41.]
[Greenskin leadership: 74+10=84.]
[Codrin's mercenaries: 91+10=101.]

The volleys of cannonfire are cut off immediately as the crews stop firing and, with the help of those that had been standing ready for this purpose, reattach wheels and ropes and begin to haul their precious cargo back towards the East Gates, leaving behind piles of unspent ammunition. Without the constant obliteration of their foremost, the greenskins seem to surge forward and with an enormous cry of WAAAGH they slam into the ranks of men, but to their surprise (and, admittedly, your own) the men hold. Perhaps they can see their payday just around the corner, or perhaps the attrition that you suspect Codrin has been encouraging has cut out the least worthy of their number, but whatever the reason, an incredibly varied assortment of weapons were ready to meet the charge and more Orcs fall to human weapons than men to Orcish choppas.

[Codrin's archers: 8+15=23.]
[Kragg the Grim: 87+25=112.]
[Greenskin leadership: 44+10=54.]
[Codrin's mercenaries: 98+10=108.]

Codrin's archers were to be next to disengage, but you suspect them of jumping the gun as the greenskin tide surges forth again as they are freed of the arrows that had been tormenting them. But Kragg has no need to withdraw, and to your surprise his magic does not manifest to torment the greenskins but to bolster the men, and a roared battlecry is shared amongst the mercenaries as the Dwarvish enmity of greenskins floods through their mind and strengthens their arms. An instant of silence falls upon the battlefield as those Orcs closest to the men are struck down and none are willing to step forward to take their place, and the bloodlust of greenskins furthest from the enemy clashes with the cowardice of those closest, and for a second the combined shouts of thousands of greenskins commingles into an eerily familiar roar of frustration.

[Mork's intervention?: 26.]
[Greenskin leadership: 43+10=53.]
[Codrin's mercenaries: 47+10=57.]
[Kragg the Grim: 84+25=109.]

The stalemate stretches, and another horn sounds on the battlefield and the men under Codrin's command pull back as one, leaving only the dead as the wounded are hauled up and dragged away. The chaos amongst the greenskins only increases as energy coalesces into an almighty force that strikes like the fist of an angry god, shattering the earth and crushing dozens of greenskins, and it takes you a moment to realize it's not Kragg: it is the literal fist of an incredibly upset God, and Mork's pummelling of those who are failing him does nothing for their faltering morale. You wonder how Kragg felt to have not disrupted the formation of greenskin magic, and you smile as you see him channel his frustration into bolts of lightning that strike into the thickest parts of the crowd that aren't currently being tended to by the Fist of Mork.

There is a single nexus of order amongst the rapidly growing disorder, and as you aim the view of your lenses you're quite surprised to see it's another Black Orc. Perhaps he claimed ignorance of the plot inside Karag Nar, perhaps he promised Mork his service, perhaps he was just loud enough and strong enough to take control of the crowd and point them at the enemy. Whatever it was that allowed him to take control, he's doing his best to rally his forces as fear of both the men and of Mork shatters their resolve.

[Greenskin leadership: 5+10=15.]

And he fails, and as he surrenders to rage the swing of his choppa becomes just one more thing for the greenskins to be terrified of. With still more greenskins pouring out of the Citadel there's no retreat to be had there, so instead they shatter in every direction at once.

[Titus' Halflings: 81+15=96.]
[???: 66+15=81.]
[Mathilde's watchful eye: 87]

Those heading directly in your direction are very quickly given cause to regret that decision, as arrows, javelins, slingstones and darts mercilessly cut through them; you frown to yourself as you spot a thorn bush springing from the ground to entangle a mob of larger Orcs who had stuck together, and within seconds the immobile targets were peppered with arrows and slumped to the ground as the growth of the plant retreated once more. Having obeyed your own sensible impulse to keep out of the battle when exhausted, you're a little peeved to see that Panoramia had apparently decided not to follow your good example, not to mention your order.

[Quarrelers: 30+15=45.]
[Greenskin retreat: 37.]

To the north, the sudden retreat seems to have taken those guarding Karag Lhune by surprise, and the disorganized fire barely slows their retreat up the stairs. Thankfully, greenskin cowardice reasserts itself and they rapidly about-face instead of taking advantage of the element of surprise they'd inadvertently acquired.

[Eastern Gates: 65+20=85.]

To the south, those foolish enough to try to find safety in the open Eastern Gates were very quickly convinced not to by the siege weapons that had remained in place against exactly this eventuality, and the withdrawing forces are left in peace.

[Demigryph riders: 66+20=86.]
[Winter Wolves: 92+20=112.]

Amongst it all, both wolves and demigryphs prevent any of the routing forces from reforming, and you smile to yourself as you catch a glimpse of Esbern and Seija having a grand time amongst them. With death on all other sides, the Citadel clogged, and cavalry running rampant amongst them, the only escape is to their southeast: the Sentinels and Kvinn-Wyr. You doubt they'll find much better a reception there, and wonder how the resident trolls will react to the sudden influx. The battle is well and truly over, and a chuckle from Skaroki tells you he's realized the same, and he pats you on the back before heading downwards to let those standing ready against the possibility of invasion know to stand down.

Later, there'll be meetings and celebration and ale, but for now things are near enough to settled. With another extremely dubious look at the Warboss' former bed, you instead clamber atop the pile of wealth to perch upon the second-softest thing in the room: a rolled-up rug, presumably from Ind or beyond. To the sound of the grumbling thunder of a fading storm, you quickly surrender to fatigue and fall asleep.

---

When you finally wake, the immediate post-battle concerns will have been dealt with and there'll be a Meeting of War. How much will you report?

[ ] The death of the Warboss.
[ ] The death of the Warboss and the shattering of an Almost-Rogue Idol.
[ ] The death of the Warboss, the shattering of an Almost-Rogue Idol, and the weakening of Mork.
[ ] The death of the Warboss, the shattering of an Almost-Rogue Idol, and the weakening of Mork and strengthening of Ranald.


Panoramia seems to have disobeyed your order and joined the battle. How will you react?

[ ] No harm, no foul. Say nothing.
[ ] You'd have done the same once. Tell her you understand, but treat her to a lecture on the risks and dangers of miscasts.
[ ] She disobeyed a superior Wizard and her commanding officer. Lecture her harshly but inflict no punishment.
[ ] This is a matter between Wizards, and while you're not of the Jade Order and cannot directly punish her, etiquette dictates that you report this matter to them.
[ ] She disobeyed her commanding officer. Eject her from the Expedition.
[ ] Other (write in)


With Karag Nar taken and the Citadel's forces greatly weakened, the Expedition might be considered concluded. Do you concur?

[ ] The job is done. Ale and riches for everybody.
[ ] The Citadel should be destroyed before we can consider our position secure.
[ ] The residents are weakened, taking the Citadel is now a possibility.
[ ] Taking Kvinn-Wyr would mean we have every Karag flanking the Eastern Valley.
[ ] Other (write in)