Nothing stops us from carrying a sword and a staff. We should generally be in the back when we need every drop of magic for something, or have time to simply switch.
One point I'd raise is that there's an item to prevent miscasting that we could make: Earthing Rod. But you can't use a staff alongside it.
Uh, IIRC a 'staff' doesn't have to be physically staff shaped or sized does it?
My thought on it is essentially:
-If the staff MUST be approximately staff sized and a handheld implement -> We commission a well crafted, but non-runed greatsword to enchant as a staff.
Simply put its just too awkward to juggle two large, long objects with or without a pistol and be effective in combat without being a Techpriest or Doc Ock. You'd get entangled in yourself even if one is slung on your back while you use the other and neither will be held with a remotely effective grip.
Best to get a really well made sword that you can cast through.
-If the staff does not need to be staff sized, but must be a handheld implement -> We get that badass runic greatsword, and then make a 'staff' thats either a wand or an athame.
In effect the staff takes the same role as the pistol, we take one hand off the blade, draw the focus to cast, then jam it back in the holster and resume swording.
-If the staff does not need to be a handheld implement -> We make a focus thats a bracer, ring or amulet, which leaves our hands as free as they were.
We do whatever the heck we want with our weapon.
"You scout like a Ranger," he comments. "Were you seen at any point?"
So...Rangers tend to scout with lots of fire too huh?
The more you know!
"You're welcome to," he says. His facial hair twitches in a way that suggests a smile underneath. "I'd normally find a spot for you in the shieldwall, but it seems traditional tactics don't work that well with this many rune-weapons. So we're just going to mob up, charge at anything green or furry, and when it comes time to write the songs they'll sing of this day, we lie like hell."
Bulwark of civilization vs unwashed hordes makes a good story.
It seems to me that a good dwarfly strategy would be to embed rune-weapon users in a shieldwall of high quality, but non-runic weapon users like concrete reinforcing steel rods.
The problem is keeping them separated in the press though. Hmm...without inhuman drill and discipline(which dwarfs CAN pull off, but not when their blood is up due to grudges).
Safest would probably be a squad of maybe a dozen regulars with a rune weapon embedded each, but that wouldn't be something they use for hold taking.
The task of breaching the gate goes not to Dwarvern siege weapons or explosives, but to a single individual. Kragg's default expression is one of deep disapproval, but the look he gives the gate is one that would send you running if it was aimed at you. He grips his hammer tightly, and you feel waves of heat come off him as the blackened steel begins to glow red-hot with runic magic and Dwarvern fury. The swing he takes is that of a craftsman, not a warrior - it winds back as far as possible and swings in an almost lazy arc, designed to be a pace a smith could maintain for hours at a time. The impact delivered to the gates cares nothing for simple physics, for the power of the rune on Kragg's hammer, one that exists nowhere else in the world, delivers an impact greater than that of a cannon. The wooden bar on the gate surrenders in an instant, and the hinges in another, and the two gates fly backward and out of sight, lost in the darkness of the Hall.
#Banhammer
Kragg steps smartly aside, and the keenest-eyed of the Rangers gives the call of "Trolls!" To your right, an over-eager youth of Clan Angrund takes half a step before halting himself, and almost loses his balance. To both sides, a joyous howl goes up, and over a thousand Slayers stream inward. Half a year ago they gathered at Karak Kadrin for help in seeking their doom, and Karak Kadrin pointed them to Belegar, and Belegar has lead them on a three-month march over a significant portion of the Old World, and at long last that journey will reward at least some of them with not just death, but death acceptable to their Gods and their Ancestors.
[Slayers vs Trolls: Martial, 93+15+10(this is what Slayers do)=118 vs 99+10=109.]
On the heels of the Slayers are you and Clan Angrund, and you draw to a halt at the sight that greets you. Hundreds of Trolls gathered in the abattoir that the King's Gates entrance hall had become, feasting on a thousand slain Goblins; you call to mind the few glimpses you got of the pit underneath the false floor, and realize it must have been an entrance of its own to a vast network of Troll-infested caves. You try not to imagine what would have happened if Clan Angrund had charged in first, expecting Goblins rather than Trolls. You've heard stories of what Troll vomit does to a heavily armoured victim, when steel that should have protected instead traps the terrible acids against the skin. The carnage would have been terrible.
Not that the events unfolding before you are much better.
A Slayer goes into battle unarmoured - Hell, damn near unclothed - and while this so often leads them to the deaths they seek, it is entirely an advantage against Trolls, with slow reactions and slower minds. Geysers of stomach acid are nimbly sidestepped around and axes bite deep into stomachs to spill out their most disgusting weapon, then ankles until the Troll falls, then spines or throats to finish the beast, and the Slayer moves on to the next. Hundreds of them lose their lives, not because they can't avoid an attack but because they choose not to to drive home a crippling blow moments before their doom reaches them.
To your eyes, this is a tragedy. But to the Dwarves that flank you this is a moment of beauty, as every second a dozen more Slayers find glorious ends and are accepted into the arms of their Ancestors. Tears run freely down faces to soak into beards as Clan Angrund stands witness to redemption.
Finally the battle ends, and the only sounds remaining are the howls of agony of soon-to-be-dead Slayers, and the broken sobbing of those of them that survived.
Jesus, those troll rolls would have SMOOSHED whatever hit them by surprise.
Trolls are nasty.
Too tough to down with missile weapons before they reach you, armor bypassing acid...I'm thinking the normal solution, lacking Slayers to use, is artillery, expendables or wizards.
[How did things unfold after you left? Skaven vs Goblins: 2+15=17 vs 62+10+20(outnumber)=92.]
The Skaven may suspect but that won't matter if they're all dead!
As you approach, the chatter of Night Goblins rivals and then swallows the march of Dwarf footfalls. Clan Angrund's path diverges from the one you took when you fled, as the side door you used isn't suitable to the reconquest. Instead they march to the doors that rival those at the King's Gates which hang open, the greenskins either too stupid or too arrogant to defend the Hall. You emerge blinking from the dim and intermittent light of the tunnels into the stark illumination of the bonfires of the Hall of the Moon, and you have a moment to take in the sight that greets you before the Night Goblins begin to react.
[How high up in the Tribe was the Boss you killed?: 100.]
And the sight is one of chaos.
Everywhere you look, there is pandemonium. Some Night Goblins scream abuse at each other, and this is as close to order as it gets, as elsewhere weapons clash and fists fly and hands shove. Fire rages out of control in at least three places, burning merrily through the countless layers of Goblin hovels built atop each other. The pit that was once filled with enslaved orcs is now empty of them, their place taken with Night Goblins who have been shoved or thrown or tripped into there, and yet they continue to fight amongst themselves for who, presumably, is in charge of the slave pit. The only places where there aren't squabbling Goblins is where there are the rat-beasts you saw earlier, free of their cages and happily preying upon the Night Goblins that supposedly purchased them.
Wheres that gif of the guy returning with pizza to a room on fire?
Achievement Unlocked: [One Shot, A Hundred Kills - Cause mass hostile casualties through decapitation triggered infighting]
It's like no battle you've ever experienced, and if anything seems more like Sigmartag back when you were a mere apprentice, when the Magisters would conceal candies throughout the Grey College and encourage you all to seek them out.
That sounds fun...that also sounds like an impromptu security test, if an apprentice seeking sweets can get into a spot its not secure enough(also Mindhole).
Once it becomes clear that nothing can dissuade the Night Goblins of their disputes, any notion of an orderly line of battle is lost and everyone rushes ahead of each other to bloody their weapon while they still can. You manage to account for a half-dozen, including a pair that were wrestling with each other and you're quite proud to have decapitated in a single swing of your greatsword.
Achievement Unlocked: [Two Gobs One Sword - Kill two goblins in a single attack]
Free kills!
Behind you all, watching with befuddlement clear on his face, Belegar watches it all unfold. With a scrap of greenskin cloth you wipe your blade clean as you return to his side, having decided to stop competing with Clan Angrund for what fun there was left to be had. In the distance, the faint chorus of arguing from adjoining tunnels begins to transform to shrieks of surprise and agony as Dwarves spill out, seeking any as-yet unpurged greenskins.
"I guess that Boss was more important than I thought," you say, nodding towards the platform where his corpse still lay, though someone had gathered up the Warpstone shards and pried their remnants from the dead Goblin's gums.
He has no response, as what he expected to be the climactic battle of the Expedition's reconquest ends with one of the younger and more boisterous members of Clan Angrund using the corpse of a dead rat as a projectile to finish off the last living Night Goblin in the slave pit.
Belegar: "This is going to take a lot of lying to fit in the sagas isn't it?"
Also huh, someone thoroughly looted the warpstone.
Skaven or just part of the chaos?
Any result above about 85 or so would have made him a Warboss. A natural 100 made him a Warboss that was poor at delegation and lacking a clear successor.
It does explain the bling teeth and anyone unwise enough to stuff their mouth with warpstone PROBABLY isn't into the clear successor thing.
Or consequences of failure in general.