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Ok, so apologies if this isnt the place for this, as its not reeealllly fluff, but nor is it fiction (being only a snippet rather than a formulated story) but anyway this is the scene i had in my head while painting some of my Dwarfs lately. Sven may well grow up to be my Dwarf Lord if i can be bothered to write more and pad it out a little more...anyway here you go, hope you enjoy.
The Saga of Sven Strongarm, Part the First: Death up High
Rain thudded onto the helmet of Sven Strongarm, warrior of Zhufbar, as he hurried along the mountain pass. His keen dwarven vision, used to the gloom of underground workshops, saw the shapes running along the scree on both sides. His brothers in arms moved with him, their heavy armour clanking as they jogged towards the mouth of the pass.
He could hear the signals from the Rangers floating in the night air as they flitted from boulder to boulder. Strange fellows, he thought, but handy in a scrap. The thunk of cord against wood told Sven that the greenskins had come within range of the Rangers crossbows. He hefted his axe in his hand and looked to his companions.
The meagre dwarf force was strung out across the floor of the pass, not many of them but good lads all. Beneath the faceplate of his ancestral helm Sven smiled, today would be a good day after all.
All of a sudden a massive shape barrelled out of the scrub to Svens left. A great hulking beast with random scraps of armour fastened about its muscular torso came roaring into view. In one fluid motion Sven swung his axe up in a glorious arc, slamming the head of his weapon into the creatures jaw. The Orc bellowed in pain and anger, lashing out with a wild swing of its blade. Sven grunted and shouldered his shield, taking the blow and, with a deft movement of his left arm, sliding the Orcs choppa off his shield face. Before the creature had time to react the shield boss broke its nose and sent the creature reeling. Down came the axe of the Strongarm clan. Black blood spurted high and the beast was dead.
Sven surveyed the mountain pass. His companions were fighting bravely as he knew they would, a veritable pile of greenskins lay dead already, but still more came and the Dwarfs ranks were starting to thin. Burlock was stretched out a little way off, dead, by the looks of the damage to his helmet. Aelric was down too, a spear shaft having pierced his mail he was holding his guts in with one hand and trying to trip up attackers with the other.
More Dwarfs were falling, the sheer weight of numbers turning the melee against them. Sven started to moan his families death song, and broke into a slow trot, casting aside his shield he started to swing his axe in intricate patterns, eyes fixed at the nearest Orc, ignoring all else.
Enemies flung themselves at him, meeting gleaming deathat his hand. Two, three, four enemies met their end to his advance. A sudden pressure stopped him. An Orc warrior had jumped from a boulder onto Svens back, forcing him onto one knee. Unarmed, the creature was attempting to twist the head from Svens shoulders with great strength. Screaming the final verses of his song Sven flung himself forward into an improvised forward roll, pitching the creature off him. Taking hold of his axe Sven prepared to deal bloody death to his adversary when a roar of anger made him look sharply up to the mountain top. Dwarfs were coming. Naked, flame haired warriors.
“Slayers!” Sven exclaimed.
The Orcs let out a cry of anguish as the onslaught began…
Last edited by Sir Theobold the Lame; January 24th, 2007 at 22:54.
PLAN CLAN MAN!!
He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man- S. Johnson
Very nice. Cant wait to see more.