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As The Dwarf Tunnels

12/02/2012 in Warhammer Fantasy

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“Can we not just go around?” Cal asked irritably from his seat on the boulder, leaning back on his elbows as he stared wearily at Rognus’ helmeted head, the dwarf ignoring his companion’s tone with ease born of long acquaintance.

“No,” Rognus replied. ”We go as the dwarf tunnels.” He adjusted the fastening of Neckbiter’s holster, settling the rune-inscribed battleaxe more comfortably against his back.

“What?” Cal scratched his beard irritably. Though he could not wait to arrive in Bierdorf and wash the past fortnight’s grime and travel from his weary body, he would rather add a few days to their journey and avoid facing the thing that waited ahead.

Straightening his domed helm, Rognus pointed towards the obstacle. “Straight. We go straight, longshanks. Now, get up.”

Cal groaned in protest, but he stood and walked over to join Rognus in spite of his complaining, shouldering his heavy pack as he did so.
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Beneath the Black Water

28/07/2009 in Warhammer Fantasy

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Now the Albion bastard sword is a handy weapon, mind. All the length of the Imperial longsword, but with enough heft to allow a decent cleaving stroke too. Single edge means less time over a forge, and that extra weight backing it also means more strength down the length of the blade. No decent point, mind, but I always say knife work’s to be done with a knife. Now you’d struggle a bit off of a horse, mind, the weight’d pull forward, but for close in bloodletting you’d be hard pressed to find a better blade.

Aye, a handy weapon.

Which, of course, is a great consolation when it’s snapped of a hand span above the hilt, and seven or eight foot of monstrous creature is pounding on the door you are so carefully bracing, wanting to finish off the job it began in the far room of this god-forsaken hole in the ground.

“Redmane!”

The hint of hysteria in my voice is, I think, entirely justified in this situation. Not only has that damn pint-sized, beer-swilling mobile carpet inveigled me, against my better judgement might I add, to accompany him into this foul smelling pit, but now he had managed to lose me in it too.

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The Saga of Geir Winter-bane

19/02/2009 in Warhammer Fantasy

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This being the Saga of Geir Winter-bane, as told by Njarlgrim Raven-feeder, White-bearded and Golden-tongued, in the great Halls under the Mountain. Though long since it was, and but the first of his deeds, it is still sung throughout every keep, as an example for those not yet full of beard:

“And grim it was, winter, chinbiter howling –
all-consumer roaring, could not bar cold.
Axe-wielders all, few remembered
a sun-hiding like it, not known since whitest beard bore colour still.
Rumbling death, from sky-piercers
often walked brave shields to death’s halls –
no fell beast was it, to meet in combat fair.
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