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The Real Adventures of Norgrim Grimsson, Exasperated Recluse (Warhammer Fantasy SI)

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I'm interested in this... The MC may be a bit "odd", but at least he isn't acting like an edgelord or something. Hell, despite knowing what world he's in he has yet to drive himself to insanity via worrying about going insane. He has serious promise!

Curious to see if he can avert his clan's "destined" downfall.
 
really looking forward to staking that mysterious monster's chest with the appropriate equipment needed to send that thing back to hell.
 
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The Ranger and the Mountain Princess Ch. 2:
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    • ━<><><>< 2204 I.C. ><><><>━​

    Here's the thing about Orcs.

    Like being a Dwarf, they suck.

    Hurr durr the funny English football hooligans, you may think, but you don't have to face the reality that behind the funny voice, crude logic and dumb jokes is at minimum, six feet and several hundred pounds of angry fella with a desire to kill you and then desecrate your body to steal stuff off your corpse or have a laugh. Now on moral grounds both are pretty heinous, but I used to think that the latter part really only upsets the people who live to tell the tale. Then I considered that my soul was a real thing that could get eaten, destroyed and/or hopefully sent to the Halls of the Ancestors, but with the caveat being that my preferred afterlife required a priest of Gazul enact the ancient rites of his order to safely get me there and that dying to Orcs made that difficult.

    Well the point is I am now upset by both notions. Dying sucks, dying again would therefore suck twice as much even without worrying about my immortal soul ending up in the wrong damn place!

    So the moment I see that brilliant green glow in the sky, my legs are booking it towards the nearest elder for a variety of reasons. First, it's simple ingrained instinct to go running for any Dwarf with grey in his beard when shit hits the fan, second, because it was what a young Ranger is expected to do when he sees the big expensive green Signal Flare being used rather than a whistle or the traditional horn call, and thirdly, because I'd rather risk fighting Greenskins in a group with my fellow Dwarfs than alone on the slopes of the World's Edge fucking Mountains.

    The cost to get an Engineer to make a Signal Flare, not that Dwarfs call it that but I stuck to the old life term in my head, in both materials and time made their use prohibitive so the resulting flare was even more expensive. Still well worth the cost though, the first and most obvious benefit is that they can be seen by other people from pretty far away and are pretty hard to miss or get interrupted compared to the sound of a horn. The second thing was that light from a flare obviously travels faster than sound, and even if that's a savings only measured in seconds that could make all the difference in plenty of situations. And lastly, when you were operating up this high up a mountain we also had to worry about triggering avalanches and no one wants to die buried under tons of snow. So yeah, flare expensive but useful, not that anyone with a working brain really need to lay that out so meticulously but I'm panicking and this is how I cope, so they get handed out to the elder Rangers and are used only for when the message is vitally important enough that others learn about it as quickly as possible.

    And if you couldn't guess, in this world there's really only a few real reasons for that and they all begin with "Enemy" and end with "Army."

    Heck, we even gave each unique variant of terrible its own special colour.

    Red for Raki, Green for Grobi, and InDigo for Dumi. Get it? They made it a mnemonic for us beardlings!

    Valaya preserve me.

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    I jogged for another half minute before I heard a bird call, Everpeak Brush Sage if you wanted to know, somewhere distantly to my right. It was a signal used by Rangers and not an actual Brush Sage based on the altered trill at the end, which made me adjust my course and turn towards it as I ran.

    Grimly, I realize this is probably the event that gets my Clan shamed and rendered outcasts. The Caravan is attacked, the Princess is slain or captured then slain by the Greenskins and the survivors are rendered outcasts, many likely becoming Slayers while others are forced to live on proverbial scraps. Flares are saved for big armies recall, and going by the direction it came from, it likely meant the ones who fired it were the Rangers closest to the main column. And in this territory, between Grom Peak and Gunbad? Only one Greenskin tribe capable of getting a Longbeard to straighten up and quit grumbling really came to mind.

    The Bloody Spearz.

    They were one of the larger groups of Night Goblins, the worst sort of Goblin, that operate in the area. Infamous among us Dwarfs because they operated on both sides of the Silver Road, preying on the weakened caravans that got through the White Face Orcs, but the truth was that their "territory" expanded far beyond that. They lurked at the edges of Karaz-a-Karak and her tributary settlements, from their fortress at Gunbad, once Karak Brynduraz, all the way south to Mad Dog Pass. A feat they managed through a mix of sheer numbers, dominating/vassalizing smaller tribes, and by using the shattered ruins of the Underway plus whatever else they built in the intervening millennia to get around. As a warrior Clan, Clan Growlsh fought them regularly enough that our elders made sure we were taught way more about them than the other tribes.

    So yeah. This was probably it huh? I'm calmer than I thought I would be, probably the shock? I'd probably have to move to the Empire. Get my family on side, find a career we could do. That would be an uphill battle, but the low morale after exile may very well be enough to at least convince my parents and brothers.

    Having absentmindedly followed the sound all the way to a line of bushes at the edge of a clearing, I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost forgot basic Ranger training. I was only a few footsteps shy of breaking through the brush when I realized I was liable to get myself shot at if I didn't reply, and I quickly let out the appropriate whistle to signal that I was a friend. And after a moment of waiting I breathe a sigh of relief when I get the confirming call back, and I walk through the bushes to see a party of seven other Dwarfs who were either looking at me in exasperation or already resuming their jog towards the flare.

    Logan Bramblebeard, a distant granduncle and the eldest among every Dwarf present, huffs as he unloads a quarrel from his crossbow.

    "Worst Mountain Warbler call I've heard in five decades, what has Malakai been teaching you lad? What to do when you get shot at by your allies?" he grumbles.

    "Master Malakai taught me all he could, not his fault my head's not big enough to remember it all," I answered back, earning a snort from my elder.

    "Hmph. Well come along now beardling, there are Grobi to hew and Grudges to be struck."

    Now relatively safe amongst my peers I silently fall in line behind Bramblebeard and resign myself to a good deal more walking, quietly praying and dreading what we'll reach when we get there.

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    Thing about jogging for minutes on end in silence, if you haven't realized, is that it gives you time to think.

    And I'm an imaginative fella. Not the useful kind of imaginative, where I can think of a novel ways to solve my problems, but the kind that lets you imagine either the horrible and various ways you'll die both right now and in the nebulous future such as either at the hands of the Bloody Spearz, or if Im unlucky enough to live for multiple centuries then maybe during the absolute fucking madness that is Asavar Kul and Great War. The other thing I end up imagining isn't that much better either; mostly being the carnage I'll have to face when we reach the Clan's last position before the flare was fired.

    It's something that's a blessing and a curse. A curse because I have now spent minutes thinking about the possible fates of my closest family members in excruciating detail, and a blessing, I think, because I definitely managed to pass the panic and fear stage and run headfirst straight into the calm zen of shock.

    This is probably why drinking became a cultural touchstone for us.

    Similar thoughts swirl around in my head even as the number of goblin tracks increases and the dull roar of an ongoing battle increases with each step.

    Thankfully my morbid musing is interrupted by Bramblebeard raising a wrinkled fist in the air signalling for us all to stop.

    I could make out a few pieces of the chaotic symphony ahead of us now; the ringing of steel, the delighted laughter of Greenskins clashing with the enraged roar of Dwarfen throats thick in the air. I idly note that the cacophony was perfect cover for a band of rangers to sneakily make our way over to a flanking position and fill gobbos with quarrels.

    When we finally get our first glimpse of the battle itself, I quietly grimace at what we find.

    The fighting proper was about what I expected to see, with the Growlsh warriors having formed a proper shieldwall around the Princess's litter, themselves surrounded on all sides by Night Goblins, squigs and all manner of gribblies. The ground around them was littered so heavily with dead Goblins, Trolls and Squigs that you couldn't see the dirt and bloodstained snow beneath, occasionally the carpet of dead greenskins was broken up by the body of a Clan member. It told that story of a prolonged fight, like all fights that involved Dwarfs tended to be really. One where my family were making the Bloody Spearz pay in blood by the gallon for every centimeter of ground, but it was a cost the enemy could pay easily and we could not. I spy the horns of Thane Grimbeard's helm and the battle standard of our Clan waving defiantly right in the thick of things.

    Not my first fight, but with this many combatants? Definitely.

    I take a breath, then grimace harder as the scent of blood and offal slams into my nose.

    A mistake, should've breathed through my mouth.

    Elder Bramblebeard, still keeping quiet, lifts and aims his crossbow with the rest of us following suit.

    Without a word, the Longbeard fires his weapon into the back of an unlucky Night Goblin's head, the nasty bugger falling over dead when the bolt strikes true. Taking the cue from our Elder, the rest of us quickly follow suit, beginning to fire our weapons at the backs of the horde. Several more fall before they even realize we've been shooting them, but it takes only one alerted Night Goblin surviving long enough to let out a squawk of surprise before a portion of the group, maybe two dozen Night Goblins and a third of that number in Squigs, break off from attacking our fellow Clansmen to turn and charge at us.

    "Closest first beardlings!" Bramblebeard shouts, "steel your nerves!"

    A half dozen goblins and two Sguigs fall as they charge, several more from the main mob of greenskins begin turning to see what the ruckus is about and to join the ones coming for us.

    Bramblebeard shouts something else, but I find myself falling into the rhythm of loading a bolt, aiming and then firing. Not really registering anything beyond the order, "keep firing."

    More Greenskins die, tripping over the bodies of their dead as they double back to try and reach us.

    I keep shooting.

    My bolt lands squarely between the eyes on an oncoming Greenskin, brainmatter sprays out behind him like a halo as he falls face first to the ground, adding onto the mat of bodies.

    I keep shooting.

    Bolt flies, Goblin falls, more bodies on the ground.

    I keep shooting.

    Just keep shooting.

    I keep shooting. I keep shooting. I keepshooting.Ikeepshooting.IkeepshootingIkeepshootingIkeepshootingIkeepshooti—

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    Alright.

    Turns out ramming headlong into a shock induced zen state doesn't actually preclude experiencing panic and fear.

    Good news is that apparently it made me a better shot, so much so that Elder Bramblebeard decided to reward my fine marksmanship with a ten minute breather with a few other stand out exemplars among us while the rest of the Clan went about the grim work of recovering our dead and piling up Grobi for the pyre. Which is how I find myself sitting on a log that I reappropriated from the pyre with my quiver in one hand and my bolts over my lap as I decompress and agonize over what's just happened.

    The first thought in my head is wondering if my Clan's canonical fate had been averted, or if the event that damns us is still to come. Realizing I wouldn't know until we either get back to Karaz-a-Karak or die screaming, I shove the doubt deep inside the corners of my mind with an ease borne from being both a Dwarf in this life and my previous life's worth of experience burying my traumas like every other kid from an immigrant family. So in the spirit of that poor coping mechanism I also move on from thinking about how many of my relatives have died, and I instead focus on trying to reassert the veneer of calm before my reprieve ends.

    A mug is shoved my way and I absentmindedly grab the handle and begin drinking.

    "Fine showing there cousin!" Gemlin congratulates, patting me on the shoulder, "Okri tells me you were shooting Grobi down like some Engineer's contraption there!"

    I hum in acknowledgement, busy chugging down the beer in great heaving gulps.

    "Thank you Gemlin," I tell him sincerely, "you know who we lost?"

    The upturn of my cousin's mouth twists downward for a moment before settling on something approaching satisfaction.

    "Twelve of us for the lot of them, and the wretches injured maybe twice that number. Most of the latter isn't anything a little ale and fresh air can't fix, but maybe four more are more touch and go."

    I grimace.

    "Is the princess?"

    "Safe and sound," Gemlin tells me, "Clan Growlsh shall hold to our oaths."

    "Aye," I rasp out despite having just drunk maybe a litre and a half of alcohol, "we do."

    With a grunt, I sit up from my spot on the ground and dust myself off with my free hand and head off to find somewhere to put this mug before rejoining my fellow Rangers.

    "Son," a familiar voice hollers.

    I freeze up, and turn to stare at the approaching form of my father, Grim Thugorsson blankly before offering a respectful nod at him.

    "Dad."

    "Plenty of dead gobbos by your hand according to Logan, acceptable shots for someone your age too," he says frankly, looking at me critically, "at least you're committing to this Ranger business."

    "Strive for excellence," I reply, falling back on the tried and true tactic of ignoring the implications, "What you taught me, after all."

    Can't quite tell what to make of the face he makes. Somewhere between pride and indigestion from what I can tell.

    "Good to know one of my lessons stuck," he mutters before patting me on the shoulder hard enough that I had to brace my knees from buckling, "no injuries."

    "No sir," I answered with a shake of my head, "Right as rain."

    "Good, " he says, patting my shoulder again, "Good. Your ma will be happy to hear that."

    I nod unsurely, "That she will."

    My father looks at me for a moment, pausing, before he sighs and pats me on the shoulder a third time, "Just be careful Norgrim? And remember what I said."

    "I know," I reply, hoping to pre-empt this particular song and dance, "I know."

    "Your ma wants you over for dinner after we get home."

    "I'll be there," I promise.

    He nods at me once before walking off in the direction of the crowd forming around Thane Grimbrew and the princess, both busy congratulating my family for holding off the Bloody Spearz so thoroughly.

    I wait until he's out earshot before I let out a sigh and rub the shoulder he'd been inadvertently tenderizing. That hadn't been one of the worst exchanges we've had, probably buoyed along by my actions today salving the disappointment of a son choosing to be a Ranger in my father's eyes I reckoned. Being the black sheep in a family that prided themselves on being cast from the proverbial master sheep mould would always mean I'd be looked at with some measure of chagrin. The only son out of four to not become a warrior, the only son out of four not to adhere to my father's wishes with as much gusto and enjoyment as his brothers, the only son of Grim Thugorsson to carry an axe and shield rather than a hammer and shield or prefer a pale ale to a cold lager, and to get it down in three gulps rather than two. Minor things that stood out all the more as I diverged further and further from what was expected.

    I was used to that too really.

    "Back to work me," I mutter, deciding to forgo finding the mug storage and just stuff the thing in my bag until a better opportunity presents itself.

    I begin walking towards the other Rangers, hoping that hauling bodies to the pyre will let me put that exchange and everything it brought up behind me.

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    It's the middle of the night when it happens.

    Clan Growlsh were celebrating the great victory against the Bloody Spearz in our traditional way, with copious amounts of drinking. For my part I'm still stone-cold sober, one of the "unlucky" Dawi tasked with watch duty, something I purposefully chose to take up instead of speaking with my family mind you, and keep an eye out while everyone else drank and made merry. We hear a terrible roar slam into us, echoing off the mountain walls for what feels like an eternity..

    Cupping my hands over my ears, I turn in the direction that sound originally came from and vaguely spot a dark shape fly away from one of the peaks of the valley lining us, its silhouette blocking out the stars as it passes overhead.

    I feel myself pale as I see through the darkness and notice the telltale signs of moving snow running down the sides of the mountain. I don't spare time for thought as I begin running towards the biggest fucking tree I can find. I almost stumble when the rumbling grows loud enough to make the earth shake, no doubt making the nearby peaks trigger avalanches of their own.

    Out of the corner of my eye I see a disturbing lack of movement coming from the camp, and though I'm just a meter away from the tree I was aiming for, I stop short and stand there like an idiot. After a moment to pause, and with a great deal of regret mind you, I make a dead sprint for the camp.

    Something is wrong.

    "Of course we'd get fucking exiled over losing to a fucking avalanche," I mutter under my breathe.

    The camp is dead fucking silent, Dawi lay safely sound asleep where they lay, unaware of the rumbling earth.

    I rush past them all, screaming about an avalanche and hoping they rouse themselves, still running to my destination despite every inch of me screaming to help my family, and stumble through the flap of the main tent to see the sleeping form of her Highness Princess Alrika Kemmasdottir, dozing away peacefully with her arms under her head to the right of Thane Grimbrew. The rest of Clan Growlsh present within all equally asleep.

    "What in Valaya's fucking braids is going on," I mutter, staring around in shock.

    "Wake up!" I scream, snapping myself out of it, "There's a Grungni damned Avalanche coming you Wazzoks!"

    The rumbling gets louder.

    I spot Logan Bramblebeard, a man who woke up from the sound of me breathing differently during a joint training exercise with my teacher, and find him dead to the world, snoring away peacefully.

    "Oh Valaya," I groan, starting and stopping by every Clansman to try and fruitlessly shake them awake even as the rumbling becomes so bad that I'm having trouble staying upright without leaning on something.

    "Damn it, damn it, damnit," I mutter, feeling tears well up in the corner of my eyes even as I'm taking a length of rope off my belt and cursing myself for leaving most of my supplies in my tent. I secure the princess around the main tentpole before doing the same to myself, holding her between me and the pole.

    The last thing I see before my tear stained vision is consumed by the white of the avalanche, are the sleeping forms of my friends and family.

    I'm sorry.

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    AN: Next chapter. Changes aren't as significant. Mostly clean up and changing some lines, but largely the same. Hope you enjoy, and C&C. :^)
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Damn losing his entire family to a avalanche that has to hurt especially given he's a dwarf and how grief and shame effect them a lot more heavily as well.

    Hopefully he'll be able to avert his clans exile here by saving the princess.
     
    TimEd said:
    Sadly, part of those responsible seem to be the clan itself, for lacking the ability to hold their drink while still in the line of duty.
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    Based on his comments about one of his fellow Clan members, it seems unlikely that it was solely due to their drink. In the snippet thread he suspected poison or magic, but whether that remains the case here is up in the air.
     
    Yeah, something definitely fucked with everyone that made them unable to wake. People - dwarves included - just don't sleep that solidly. Not the entire group. They walked into a trap that had probably been prepared for them.
     
    catDreaming said:
    Based on his comments about one of his fellow Clan members, it seems unlikely that it was solely due to their drink. In the snippet thread he suspected poison or magic, but whether that remains the case here is up in the air.
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    Possibly. The means and methods will need to be judged, but if it isn't something preventable by normal dwarf means (an almost impossible thing to prove), then the clan will still bear some blame for it. And in the court of public opinion, that will still be the case unless someone with real authority decides to back the clan despite the cost.
     
    Dragonofelder said:
    Like, say... a princess?
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    Yep. That'd work, especially if said princess did not drink as much as she should have, for some reason. BUT, if she did drink 'excessively' due to urging from his clan, her word won't carry as much weight as it normally would.

    And as an aside, spiking their drinks somehow doesn't count as a reasonable cause for failure, because obviously supplies should be kept safe. So it sort of has to be magical of some sort. Maybe vampiric, if that flier was a vargheist or whatever other winged thing vamps ride, though why said vampire would bother and also not instantly collect their spoils is a mystery.
     
    TimEd said:
    Yep. That'd work, especially if said princess did not drink as much as she should have, for some reason. BUT, if she did drink 'excessively' due to urging from his clan, her word won't carry as much weight as it normally would.

    And as an aside, spiking their drinks somehow doesn't count as a reasonable cause for failure, because obviously supplies should be kept safe. So it sort of has to be magical of some sort. Maybe vampiric, if that flier was a vargheist or whatever other winged thing vamps ride, though why said vampire would bother and also not instantly collect their spoils is a mystery.
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    Note that in the snippet thread the princess slept through the entire avalanche and for several hours after. It's clearly unnatural.
     
    Either magic or poison, and considering he was unaffected poison is more likely.

    And something big and flying caused the avalanche, could be a dragon but there are plenty of options.

    When in doubt, blame Raki or Elgi. Hell, blame both.
     
    Sono said:
    Either magic or poison, and considering he was unaffected poison is more likely.

    And something big and flying caused the avalanche, could be a dragon but there are plenty of options.

    When in doubt, blame Raki or Elgi. Hell, blame both.
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    Pretty much anything can cause an avalanche with a bit of prep. The only thing that combination says is that whatever it is is clever enough to set up the three prongs of this trap - the greenskin attack, the avalanche, and the drugged? enchanted? dawi.
     
    I've seen a few mentions of the snippets thread, so I'm curious to see how things will go once the Princess wakes up. MC is gonna have some trouble finishing this escort mission on his own. Damned NPCs always walk at a pace faster than your own walk but slower than your run!

    Jokes aside, this was a pretty horrible event for the MC to live through, I expect he's probably gonna break down once he next sees his mother...

    soulcake said:
    "Master Malakai taught me all he could, not his fault my head's not big enough to remember it all," I answered back, earning a snort from my elder.
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    I'd guess that the MC would have earned some respect from his elder for this. Ensuring the blame fell on him for his own shortcomings rather than his teacher's. Too bad said elder is... not going to be around to mention this to others.

    The last thing I see before my tear stained vision is consumed by the white of the avalanche, are the sleeping forms of my friends and family.

    I'm sorry.
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    God damn, Dwarf memory/emotional issues aside, that would fuck up anyone. He had just gotten some praise and respect from his father, only to lose him shortly after...

    catDreaming said:
    Based on his comments about one of his fellow Clan members, it seems unlikely that it was solely due to their drink. In the snippet thread he suspected poison or magic, but whether that remains the case here is up in the air.
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    Yeah, this was my immediate thought as well. Magic or poison. Maybe if he finds any of their supplies he can take it with him and the Princess for it to be examined latter? Sure as hell shouldn't trust it for consumption though. And who knows? While rare people HAVE survived avalanches before, and Dwarves are far tougher than humans. Maybe once he digs himself and the Princess out he might be able to find other survivors? (Also, please no one spoil me with stuff from the snippets thread.)
     
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    It couldn't have been the Night goblins (solely), why put them to sleep and bury them in a avalanche? A poison designed to have them bleeding out of every hole or vomiting their gut outs would have worked just as well. Goblins are cowardly and lazy, they wouldn't want the extra work to dig out the bodies to loot and eat. As far as I know Night Goblins don't have flying mounts. Skaven don't fit the bill either, no flying mount. I do see them using avalanche to kill them, but they're paranoid enough to have the Dwarf sentries killed even if their knocked out by sleeping poison. I'm putting my money on Vampires or Dark Elves using the Night Goblins as patsies and minions.
     
    I say Night Goblins cause using avalanches are a thing they do.
    While Goblin Warbosses are not as physically imposing as their Orcish cousins, this doesn't mean that they aren't deadly in their own right. Grottnik, the Warboss of the Broken Nose tribe, rose to power in a typical goblinoid fashion – by outfoxing his enemies. While Grottnik did best Orc Warboss Raggat in personal combat to claim the tribe rule, this was largely because the Orc was significantly wobbly from being drugged. This is typical Goblin cunning; rivals are more likely to encounter mysterious accidents or manipulative assignments that end in death than one-on-one combat for supremacy. Such tactics vary from tribe to tribe, from the hit-and-run assassinations of the Wolf Rider tribes to the precisely timed avalanches of the Night Goblins. In a Goblin tribe it is even possible to steal your way to the top.
    Knightlykobold57 said:
    As far as I know Night Goblins don't have flying mounts.
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    It doesn't need to be solely Goblins either. Orcs could be in charge and they use Wyverns as flying mounts.
     
    So Soul's soul seems to soulve , or at least greatly weaken the most problematic aspect of being a dawi, namely the tendency for self destructive choices when faced with the Grudge.

    Even if he doesn't marry the Princess, a dawi capable of keeping his head as well as he does is invaluable in a leadership position.
     
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