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Kaldezeit 29 Ulriczeit-15,2489 IC
The Dawi were so absorbed in reading the knowledge of their ancestors that they ignored us most of the time, engrossed in examining every single tome. I used those hours to stabilize most of my wounded. Around two hundred had died, and nearly a thousand men were injured in this battle against the greenskins. It was a heavy blow, but the orks were too many.
Had this battle taken place on the surface, they could have easily overwhelmed us by sheer numbers. We probably killed around ten thousand in a matter of hours, thanks to the goblins being easy to pierce and their bodies slowing down those behind them. The orks, however, were tough—very tough—especially when wearing armor. It took several shots to bring them down.
Fortunately, the organ gun could sweep away hundreds of goblins at a time, but against the orks it barely scratched them, their skin, muscle, and armor absorbing most of the impact. Still, as long as the dawi cleaned thoroughly using their techniques, no more greenskins should appear, provided they clear the cavern, which was surely filled with spores. That was most likely where they had entered to attack Duran's ancestral fortress, bringing about the fall of a clan that must have been powerful, having been seated on one of the largest gromril veins I had ever sensed in the Grey Mountains.
If that ore was as valuable for runic arms and armor as I believed, it would bring great prestige to Duran's clan. It would surely attract many dawi and secure the clan's lands against the skaven, who seemed to be active in the area. Their Under-Empire tunnels must have reached even this far, probably in search of resources or food for their endless population of slaves.
Leaving nearly two hundred men to care for the wounded and prepare the dead, I continued with the rest, marching down a tunnel that, for hours, was nothing more than a long, empty passage lit only by dawi stones. Eventually, we reached an exit built by the dwarfs themselves.
Following the path, we found dozens of orks guarding the place, but nothing that a generous amount of hot lead couldn't solve. Once the threat was eliminated, we saw that the exit was blocked, forcing us to remove massive boulders that sealed the entrance.
When we finally broke through, a huge gust of wind rushed into the tunnels. As we stepped outside, I recognized the place instantly.
"Bretonnia… I hope you haven't missed me," I said, noting that we stood high on a mountain, yet with a manageable descent toward the Bretonnian plains stretching far into the distance. "Good… we're going back. We have a direct route to Bretonnia. We'll get horses and establish an outpost here."
I left a group of men with supplies to make preparations before we returned with large numbers of horses. We set out immediately for the trip back, resting in the newly reclaimed dawi karak. The dwarfs remained engrossed, reading their ancestors' secrets. They seemed thrilled by the tomes' contents, so we simply loaded our wounded onto the empty supply carts and began the return to Reinsfeld once rested.
In a single day, we emerged from the tunnels and brought the wounded to the Cult of Shallya for the best care possible. The dead were delivered to the Cult of Morr to be buried with full honors. My mind was already on how to replenish my forces: though two hundred dead might not seem like much, nearly a thousand wounded—most severely—meant many would likely never wield a weapon again. I would have to recruit soon.
Wasting no time, now that I had a path into Bretonnia, I decided we would go on the offensive. It would be a cavalry raid; I couldn't rely on sheer numbers as I had in other battles against the Bretonnians. Winter would not allow me to move large forces, so I preferred short, hard strikes to discourage them from making more incursions into my lands.
Once my duties of delivering the wounded and dead were complete, and after the ceremony at Reinsfeld's church to honor the victory over the greenskins and our aid to our mountain allies, I locked myself in my laboratory. I had to create something better.
I'm no gunsmith, nor do I know much about weapons; I know the parts of a modern rifle, but the problem is always the material. However, there is one major difference: I am a wizard of Chamon.
I took one of the pistols my gunsmiths had made for me and began to analyze it with my magic, replicating it with materials I had on hand, many of them "borrowed" from my own gunsmiths. I worked the lead, shaping the bullets to better use the rifling of the weapon and make reloading from the muzzle easier.
Using the Winds of Chamon, I created a smaller bullet, reducing the weight from nearly a hundred grams to barely thirty. Then I modified the pistol's barrel, as a smaller bullet required a barrel suited to ensure the powder did its work efficiently.
By removing steel, reducing the size, and recreating the rifling, I ran tests. Sometimes the barrel was too large, causing the bullet to lose power; other times, it was so small that the weapon nearly exploded in my hands. Thanks to my armor, the wood splinters merely bounced off, and the metal shards remained suspended in the air by my magic.
At last, I achieved the exact measurements. The pistol was far lighter and, due to the type of ammunition, offered better penetration—though it would not deal the brutal damage of firing a heavy lump of lead into someone's chest.
After melting down and reusing steel from other pistols, I made the mold for a new round, designed for easy mass production.
When I had a fully functional handgun ready—faster to reload and perfect for a constantly moving war, like the one we would wage in Bretonnia—I prepared several prototypes and delivered them without delay to my blacksmiths and gunsmiths. To the former, I handed numerous bullet molds, ordering them to abandon the previous models and devote all available lead to the new ammunition. To the latter, I gave the pistol prototype with instructions to implement it in all weapons they manufactured from that point onward. I also took almost all the pistols they had ready—about forty in total—which I personally modified to speed up production once back in my workshop.
For weeks, I dedicated myself almost entirely to supervising the mass production of bullets and pistols. In parallel, I gathered horses, prepared a massive amount of supplies, and from time to time encouraged the wounded who were recovering, also rewarding those who, although incapacitated for battle, continued serving in other areas.
At the same time, I selected the best marksmen from my personal army and began training them in horseback riding. Although the training would not be long, it would be enough for them to fire effectively from horseback, taking full advantage of the new pistols. It was two weeks of uninterrupted work.
At night, with Hieronymus' help, we began modifying captured Bretonnian armor to adapt it to the Imperial model, making drastic changes. We replaced the original design, which offered full protection, with one focused on the front: chest, arms, face, and legs, leaving only chainmail to cover the back. The weight reduction was considerable, and with it, our mobility increased significantly.
Thus the preparations continued until we finally decided we were ready. With abundant supplies, we set out back to Bretonnia. Along the way, we discovered that the dawi had kept their word: the route to Helmgart was blocked by a small stone wall defended by a detachment of militiamen.
Taking the western route, we found another fortification: a second stone wall guarded by my own militia. Further ahead, upon reaching the empty karak, we saw that the dwarfs had erected defenses in the area, with several warriors standing watch. They greeted us as we passed, and we continued on to the great karak.
When we reached it, we discovered that much of the fortress had been repaired. At the entrance, the dawi were clearing the collapsed cavern. They used a machine that boiled water and expelled steam under pressure through pipes, likely to burn spores. It was operated by a heavily armored dwarf, while others removed rocks and cleared the way.
In the upper halls of the karak, I looked for Duran, but he was not on the throne. One of his warriors led me to a chamber where there was a secret forge. I immediately felt a magical accumulation in the air, as if something was drawing in the Winds of Magic. They made me wait outside for a while until finally the guardians allowed me to enter.
nside there were few dwarfs: Duran, a runesmith, and what seemed to be his assistants. The runesmith, burly and with arms as thick as my head, was drenched in sweat; he wiped his face with a cloth, his muscles tense from the effort.
"Dawongi… I apologize for the delay in receiving you, but my kinsman was finishing some runes," said Duran.
"I can see that. Duran, I'm on my way to Bretonnia… it would be of great help if your dawi could build fortifications at the tunnel exit, in case we return with company," I replied.
"Of course, dawongi… I'll send whoever is available," the thane answered, nodding.
The runesmith's assistants approached with measuring instruments and began taking my measurements—arms, legs, torso, and head. I crouched to make their work easier.
"And this?" I asked curiously.
Duran smiled faintly. "When you recovered Karak Kronaz, the Fortress of Books, we found knowledge we thought lost forever. Among its archives were copies, of copies, of copies… until we reached what seem to be original texts, legacy of the first heirs of the ancestor gods. Dawongi… what those books contain is worth more than all the gold, and perhaps even more than all the gromril in this fortress.
"Recently, I sent my fastest with a message to High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer, informing him of what we have recovered… and also of what you have done. I have asked the High King to intercede with the Runesmiths' Guild to grant me permission to present you with a gromril armor with runes. The specific runes still need to be determined… but if the information in those books is correct, we may… we may have rediscovered how to forge master runes," Duran said, barely containing his excitement.
"Ah, well… no wonder you were so excited about the books. Of course… it makes perfect sense, that information is worth more than all the gold in these mountains," I said, resting my hands on my hips.
"Exactly. This must be reported to all the karaks. All must know the valuable information these walls safeguard. This karak must never fall again… it must be protected as the relic it is," Duran replied solemnly.
"Calm down, my friend, all in due time. I'd like to assign more guards, but this year, with the war in Bretonnia, no soldiers were discharged, and those are the ones I usually hire for this work. However, I believe I can send another thousand men to garrison this karak until more dawi arrive to guard it properly," I replied, noting the satisfaction on the dwarfs' faces.
"If all goes well, perhaps in the coming centuries, when we regain the skill of the ancestors, master runes will be forged again as in the glorious days. They will protect the great lords, their personal guards… and also you, dawongi… or your descendants," said Duran.
"I'm glad to hear that. I'd like to stay to celebrate with you, but duty calls… and the Lady's feet lickers won't stop bothering me until I make them bleed, my friend. I'm counting on you for the work," I replied, bidding him farewell with a wave before leaving the karak.
We resumed our ride towards Bretonnia and reached the camp, where a group of my men kept a sharp watch for any threats.
"Ah… Bretonnia… time to kidnap more peasants," I said with a grin, checking that the six pistols integrated into my armor were ready.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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