Vermintide: Dwarves Pt. 1

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic


Thank you so much to anyone who read through this. I am a HUGE fan of the Warhammer universe, and I am actually deciding to mix up the Vermintide game, and the game Total war: Warhammer 2. Some
cheatcheats for those who might be confused by my terminology: Dawi=Dwarf. Dawi is just the name of what the Dwarves call themselves. Bretonnia is a separate army I will be doing at a different
date after the Dwarf story is over. And finally the Skaven are literally ratmen. They consist of several clans, with clan Mors being the strongest and biggest, which is lead by Queek Headtaker.
Also the Vermintide is the name of the major invasion done by the Skaven.

Submitted: April 08, 2018

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Submitted: April 08, 2018

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War is normal. A world without war between the dwarves and the Orks is like an Elven city without riches, or a Chaos Marauder without a heart of hate towards all but his Gods. The mountains have forever been a place of war. A place of death and savagery. Yet without this war the world would be different. Without the Dwarves the Orks would run rampant throughout the lands of the Bretonnian kingdoms and ancient deserts of the Tomb Kings. Without the Orks the Dwarves would spread their wealth and grow their armies, invading those who have begrudged them. Both armies are stuck in an eternal war, forever clashing axe and shield, club and skull. 

The ancient cities found underneath the crust of the mountains have switched hands hundreds of times each, invaded over and over until the land is no longer seen as a necessity to the war. The prized kingdom of Karaz A Karak sits in the rightful hands of the Dwarves, the original owners of this land until the invasion of the savage Orks. The walls of the fortress are constantly bombarded with goblin launchers and boulders and the infested dead, all launched from the catapults of the Ork invaders. Constant battle cries are heard surrounding the supposedly impenetrable walls, until one day when the battle cries end.

The elders of the dwarves in the kingdom come together to discuss the current silence, something the Orks are not known to do. The current king, Thorgrim Grudgebearer sits with his close advisors, Grombrindal and Ungrim Ironfist. All three are surrounded by their most trusted, which is hard to become when it comes to the king and his advisors. Discussions of venturing beyond the walls with a full army come up, alongside the less popular idea of sending out small recon groups to check what the Orks plan. Eventually the idea of sending out a recon settles on the Kings mind, which he declares will be the tactic for this dilemma in the war. 

Ungrim offers his best men, a group of five slayers and a thunderer, all ready with the best axes and the best long gun the armories can offer. The king agrees to this small amount of Dawi being the recon personnel. After a feast in their honor, the king sends them on their way, having Ungrim show them the specific areas to investigate. The six brave Dawi march with enthusiasm, excited at the thought of cleaning Ork blood off their axes and armor later on that night.

Hours go by, and there is no sign of the Dawi returning, no indication of a fight; not until later the next day, when a lone Slayer stumbles up to the walls, blood dripping from wounds scattered around the Dawi’s body. He falls at the gate and is dragged in by his brothers, dried blood on the Dwarves head and chest, only to be covered again by fresh blood. Ungrim and a few of his personal guards show up to ask the dying Dawi the situation at hand.

He goes into detail of ruined Ork camps scattered at the designated areas of investigation. No bodies, few spots of blood. Further investigation led to following the tracks of an unknown horde of creatures, some having three toes, others with up to six per foot. The footprints were accompanied by both a noxious smell of rotting meat and uncleansed fur and marks in the ground that argued hundreds of bodies had been drug through the dirt and over the stones. Eventually the group had ended up at a large open are of land that had dozens of tunnels leading to the surface, the smell of rotting meat strongest. Before the group could investigate a screech was heard ringing out, quickly followed by a wall of black fur rushed out from the many holes, each wielding ramshackle spears and knives and few wearing armor. Tails of some wielding a knife, swinging out and striking at the armor of the Dawi. red eyes lit up the area, hundreds upon hundreds of enemies swarming the small group. 

Bodies began to pile up as the Dawi swing their axes, skilled in the art of killing more than their current nemesis from the years of fighting the Ork. But skill does nothing in a fight against an unlimited army. Slowly, exhaustion creeped on the Dawi, and the first to fall was the thunderer, dragged into the horde, hollers of pain quickly dying out. The rest fell slowly, all being dragged into the horde, their bodies disappearing. After what seemed like years to the remaining Dawi, the horde ended their assault, all standing back from the bleeding, wounded Dwarf. A large opponent stepped forward wielding a large pickaxe of Dawi making, red rusted armor covered the possible leaders body. Between snarls, the leader told the Dwarf to spread the word. that they are back. 

The dying Dwarf took his last breathe, lying limp in the ground. The story was brought back to Thorgrim, who grew pale at the knowledge of their current foe. 

This is an ancient foe. One the Dawi drove from these lands decades back. Clan Mors is back, along with its’ Skaven rat horde. Yet this is a new general of the army. One whose name is just faintly known throughout the land due to his merciless killings. Queek Headtaker. The Vermintide is beginning again. 


© Copyright 2018 Mack Foster. All rights reserved.

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