Race: Dwarf

Career: Giant Slayer (Daemon Slayer)

Main Profile
WS BS S T Ag Int WP Fel
39 37 33 41 22 31 32 21
64 37 48 56 32 31 52 21
Secondary Profile
0 12 3 3 3 0 0 1
2 18 4 5 3 0 4 0

Skills: none


Armor: none



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Size: Dwarf XXL
Age: 75
Eye Color: Hazel/Brown
Hair color: Grey/Orange
Distinguishing Features: Beard, ugly scar, different colored eyes, corpulent.
Birthday: Born on the 13th of Vorgeheim, 2448 years since the founding of the Empire
Astrology: Dragomas
Religion: Glorious Death and Grungni


Sufficient to say, I am a Slayer. We don't tell anyone what happened to make us choose this path.

Since that time I have hired on protect a mining group with my life. That didn't work out so well either. They are all dead or insane, and I remain quite alive.

The orcs attacked at night when I was catching a bit of shut eye. One moment I was falling asleep in a blissfully drunken stupor and the next moment I was tied up in a shack watching others of the group be eviscerated. That's the kind of failure that plagues my pitiful existence.

Before my turn came, an odd collection of individuals showed up at the camp, killed the pathetic orcs, and freed me. I had no doubt all along that they would come. Death by orcs while tied up in an old shack is no death for a Slayer. This new group consists of a Brettonian Knight Errant, a sickly elf (pardon my redundancy, but he really does look like he can barely keep himself upright), and a priestess of Valya.

The only weapon available to me was a crude, unbalanced "choppa." I hefted the dull item with distaste and offered my services to the group who freed me...if they were going after the other orcs. Since they were, I led them up the obvious blood trail to the Groz Zorn meadow.

We entered Groz Zorn and explored the antechamber a bit. I decided to search the room which housed the entry murder-holes. Inside I spied what was sure to be my glorious doom: a giant spider capable of overcoming any single dwarf. The fight was ferocious, and my weapon ineffective at first. My death was certain, until the elf entered and interfered. That's the kind of failure that plagues my pitiful existence.

Once I was used to the imbalance, I dispatched the vile creature using the crude choppa; I couldn't allow the elf to die while I was his guardian. However, we have both been wounded by the giant beast. Dire signs portend doom for all of us in this ruin, and I intend to be at the forefront.

For the adventures of Mordrin, follow:


Father missing, mother deceased and 1 sibling. Sibling perished in childbirth.


Tibalt DesRochers AWOL
Udrin Sor-Valdir
Gustav Jaeger
Atosass Leafpriest Deceased
Ludovic Hasselhoff
Ehrwig Hofstetter

Book of Grudges

Farnoth and Harrond, High Elves in the Reikland forest approx. 30 miles due east of Holthusen (see Insanity Point #3)


Mordrin's Character Sheet

I took the lead into a temple of the dwarf goddess Valaya. The statue of Valaya had been desecrated and patched up to resemble the Father of Darkness, a chaos dwarf god, Hashut. This drove our dear Ella insane, but I was able to hold her hand and get her back on the path to finding the item she came for. It figures I got here too late to protect the sacred room from its defilers. That's the kind of failure that plagues my pitiful existence.

The very next room was the library the priestess was looking for. She charged into it, and I was hot on her heels to guard her. It turns out the library was empty, except for pods containing the spore of a fungus called Kruts. Luckily, only Ella and I, as the toughest members of the party, were infected. The elf and the human remained safe.

We explored the ruins further, as the book Ella was looking for was not in the library. The book was found, but we continued to explore, hoping to find the beasts that desecrated the temple. The party elf interrupted a path I was following to tell me about one single solitary goblin he noticed. The ensuing fight was a bloodbath hardly worth my time. I know he needs protecting, but even an elf should be able to dispatch a lone goblin.

We left the ruins to return the valuable book to the plagued town. The hike down gave me plenty of time to convince the Elf to become my chronicler. He was reluctant at first, but all I had to do was explain that the job involved a lot of writing. He fancies himself a student, so he jumped on my offer to chronicle my doom. You just have to know how to deal with these elves.

The book we were looking for was about herbs and healing. Ella, with some help from the elf since she was itching so much, tried to find some relief for the Kruts. We ended up burning our clothes and rubbing our rash with a paste she had the elf prepare. I looked a powerful menace, naked, covered with red spots and dark paste!

Morrslieb, the chaos moon, animated an eviscerated human body, which (literally) dragged its innards out of a building to attack us. Undead don't have the presence of mind to fear the sight of a Slayer, no matter my current state. However, its punch was so ineffective it could not even hurt the human.

The elf decided to light on fire the building the zombie came out of because he feared more of its kind escaping. I got as close as I could to the building for as long as I could to be first in line in case other zombies appeared. It also helped to burn off the fungus. We should be safe the rest of our trek back, as none would dare attack a naked dwarf with a rash, dried,flaking paste, and steaming/singed hair (front and back). Thus does my doom elude me even as I keep my promise of protecting the party.

Tonight was just one (relatively) large night battle with an assortment of evil creatures who followed us down the mountain. There was a large orc "boss," his three goblin underlings, and a hobgoblin. The elf also thinks he saw a dark elf and a chaos dwarf. Since I didn't see them, I'm skeptical.

The elf made a pincushion of the orc boss, almost killing him before we even entered melee.

The orc boss started battle by getting aggressive against his underlings and beheading one of them. He muttered something that I think might have roughly translated to "the beatings will continue until morale improves."

The knight softened a goblin up, and I split it's skull. I softened the hobgoblin up with 19 points of damage rolled in one hit (Ulric's Fury), and the knight took it out.

I got a new weapon, one of the hobgoblin's swords. It is lighter than my Choppa, and I assume better balanced.

We let the priestess flee down the mountain before the fight began, so she could try to return our precious cargo to the town we're trying to save. I don't think it helped. There's an orange glow from the area where the town should be, and the air reeks of smoke.

We reached our destination to see that the town was burning. The goal of our quest was to return with a cure for the pestilence raging the town so it didn't have to be burned to the ground. Major goal FAIL.

The priestesses of Shallya are carrying rapiers and burning down their own temples...which, by the way, are also orphanages! I personally felt like I needed an insanity point just for hearing this. My 1e sensibilities were trained that priestesses of Shallya were forbidden from taking a life for any reason ever.

The horrendous chaos moon caused those who died from the plague to rise up as zombie and attack the townsfolk. What a trifecta we have going here.

The townsfolk were held inside the burning city by barred gates. When the Shallyan fanatic opened the barred gates to escape my doom, I followed her in. As she was not worthy of my time, and certainly was not going to provide me with an epic death, I ignored her in favor of letting the humanlings out of the burning town through the newly opened gate. Who says a Slayer can't be civil?

I couldn't hear anything over the roar of the burning town, so I climbed the gatehouse to the top of the wall to see what needed killing. What I found was our Brettonian Knight about to get ambushed by the rising dead. I did what any noble dwarf would do and I leaped off the wall to attack the undead (which also happened to be the source of my greatest injury of the night).

After saving the Knight from the undead, he turned and ran off as 5 more zombies rose to attack me. Needless to say, the dwarf is not very impressed with the Knight at this moment. I'm pretty sure I'll go so far as to call him a coward and majorly impinge on his honor.

The elf, who is supposed to be my rememberer, took off to try to put out some of the fire engulfing the town. Look, I know he might not expect zombies to be my undoing, but my rememberer is supposed to be around to record my doom when it comes. I'm not too impressed with the elf at this point, either, though I suppose I could be convinced that he never thought zombies would kill me.

Apparently the person in the party I get along with best at this point is the scribe...who I haven't met yet. I'm at the southwest corner of the town fighting zombies. Everyone else is in the north part of town killing zealous priests and priestesses.

So far I have 5 zombie kills.

Narrative interlude to what happened previously.

Mordrin fights determined against the undead mob. His girth and recent activity level, however, have left him unable to fight from dusk to dawn, as a proper slayer might. He starts to flag, getting clawed by hungry zombies and stabbed with the arm bones of those he severed. As his strength fails, Morrslieb disappears behind the mountain. The remaining zombies fall, leaving a battered and bleeding dwarf who can scarce lift his weapons. The scene is gruesome. The dwarf is barely distinguishable from the corpses. Luckily the townsfolk are too distracted to see how the dwarf has maimed their dead kin. He shuffles off in search of his companions, more due to exhaustion than a desire to rejoin the party.

Mordrin stumbles into the common, seeing the elf, knight, the manling "that knows his letters" standing over the torn bodies of a priest of Sigmar and the insane priestess Mordrin himself nearly dispatched. Seeing the dwarf's state and association with the heroes and town guard, he is given care, if reluctantly approached at first by Imperial barber-surgeons. Mordrin's wounds ache and are red from infection.

Mordrin is finally pushed into a bath by the doctors of the Markgraf, ordered to scrub clean by Shallyan attendants and properly bandaged. The lye soap prescribed by the priestesses seems to have cleared up the rash as well. However, the dwarf won't know that for a few hours, as the bath and holy ministrations have allowed him to slip into a deep slumber, unable to be interrupted by anything less than the roar of a dragon.

The town of Helmgart is trying to hail us as some kind of heroes. I guess they feel pretty guilty that they couldn't kill their own evil.

From what I overhear, the Scribe is getting credit for my zombie kills and the Knight is lauded for killing the Shallyan fanatic...the same one who I gravely wounded and let run away so I could open the doors of Helgart and save fleeing townsfolk.

There are two runes on my new war-hammer. One I identified as a Smashing rune (+1 damage). The other is dimmed because the war-hammer was used in shameful ways by the priest. I want to identify the rune and get it glowing again, but I don't know what the rune is. I tried to ask other learned dwarves in town, but they didn't know either. They suggested I find a Runesmith/Runelord. That's next on my list of tasks.

I tried to get sheaths for my sword and my choppa, but they are not even close to any standard equipment the town has in stock. I might have to leave the two weapons behind instead of taking them as spares.

I finally got outfitted in adventuring gear. I've come a long way since the party found me with no possessions, about to be sacrificed by orcs.

The town had their precious Knight "hero" jousting for the "honor" of which door was opened first to admit trade. Humans throw these words around without even knowing what they mean. There was enough trumpeting and fanfare to deafen a musk ox. In the end, the two door were opened almost simultaneously, so it seems like it was all a bunch of human hullabaloo about nothing.

The Knight Errant won his jousting match, so the local taverns are feeding me free ale. Amazing how that works.

The party continues to enjoy the status of heroes for our key involvement in saving the town from purification by fire. We helped put out the fire and helped the town become purified by herbal remedy instead.

The night of our celebration, the high elf pulled us aside and told us of an adventuring opportunity, back to the ruins of Groz Zorn. It's an abandoned dwarf hold in the mountain above the town of Helgart. You didn't have to ask me twice.

We visited the town's stoneyard owner, who wants us to go up to Groz Zorn to prove to everyone it's safe and there is nothing wrong with the stone. I told him there's nothing wrong with it, but that doesn't seem to be good enough for him. He wants us to bring back the keystone from the arch over the hall. I pointed out that the keystone is necessary to keep the rest of the arch in place, but he didn't seem to care.

Our new employer sealed the deal with a barrel of Bugman's Best. It was a beautiful thing, even if the Knight had more than his fair share.

In the morning, I helped myself to loading up the high elf's cart, waited for everyone until bored, and then looked around for some of my companions to keep me entertained.

I went with the scribe and the high elf to the temple of Verena. The manling wanted his dreams interpreted. I could have done that for him, but for some reason he didn't ask. His dreams tell him to seek grim and perilous adventure. He needs to come with us to the ruins. Case closed.

At the temple, the priest of Verena asked about dwarf social habits, specifically with the priestesses of Valaya and their interaction with dwarf troops during war. I opened my mouth the educate the priest and the high elf cut in. He went off on a long diatribe concerning how dwarf culture worked. Krutting elgi thinks he's an expert.

The priest started spouting recruitment propaganda at our manling, so my attention drifted a bit. I need to make sure the library is good dwaff stonework, else all those books could go up in flames.

We had a small battle at the zorn (meadow) of Groz Zorn. My new warhammer is a thing of beauty, smashing the first goblin we met to pulp with one hit. Next I'm going to try it out of the defaced shrine inside.

We began the sitting with Mordrin charging the defaced shrine. He hopped up on the base and swung his magical warhammer directly for the head of the statue. The resulting impact apparently caused a wave of psychic power that negatively effected the wood elf and the knight. Mordrin was oblivious as he continued pounding the statue to bits.

We chased a cowardly goblin from last sitting down the ruin's stairs and into the second level. It was having a bit of trouble getting through the door at the foot of the stairs, and Mordrin smashed him with the warhammer. He then used the warhammer to "pick the lock" of the door.

There was little in the first below ground level of the ruins but goblins and a couple orcs. They met a quick demise.

One goblin went to get the "big unz" back-up crew, which were 2 12-foot tall troglodytes. These massive creatures were pounded mercilessly with bow, sword, and hammer (and Drop spell!) until they crumbled beneath our might. Mordrin can only claim the death blow on one of them. (He does, however, claim 5 goblins and an orc under his tally.)

Our path led us to a large cavern, filled with a dark orb of pulsating evil magic (see below). Mordrin's first thought was to go whack it with his magical hammer, but he second thought was that the hammer might not survive. This reveal was where we left off for the night.

We began where we left off last week facing an orb of great and ruinous power. There were grey pillars spaced around the orb and an evil elvish voice casting unseen from the other side. I charged the evil elf voice, as the other elves in my party had given me permission to kill an elf. There's something I don't think any Warhammer dwarf could resist. Anyway, as I got closer to the pillar, I noticed it was actually a humanoid form in grey burlap writhing to the casting of the spell. I hit it with my hammer, hoping to disrupt the integrity of the circle and the casting. Later it turns out that the writhing pillar forms were likely captured human sacrifices. I hope I at least put the wretch out of his misery.

The knight reached the dark elf well before I did (curse these short dwarven legs sometimes!) and shield bashed the creature out of his spellcasting. However, it wasn't until the druchii saw me charging that he abandoned all hope and launched himself into the orb. I was preparing to follow, when the room flashed in a white haze and we we all transported elsewhere.

It turns out we were transported more than 120 miles NE from our original location. I was the first to awaken from the magic that knocked us out. My companions were face-down in muddy water, looking like they did not survive the potent elf magic. The elf was several yards away regaining consciousness himself. I redoubled my resolve to kill the creature and continued charging after it, adding vengeance to my fury.

The diagnosis of death was a bit premature. My companions came to as I was charging the elf. They all did the same, and though I was the first to begin the charge, I was the last to arrive at the elf. By the time I got there, everyone else had beaten him down. There was no challenge left, and I was sick of running after the pathetic husk that was attempting to crawl to freedom in the surrounding forest. I let the others have their revenge.

I pointed the way back toward the Grey Mountains, and the knight led the group in that direction. We came upon a small town that was very welcoming to dwarves, luckily for my beaten companions. I don't think Udrin could have walked much farther. He's rambling on about some orc attacking him, but I didn't see such a thing. I think something about the druchii magic scrambled his brain.

We began in a tavern called the Northern Pony. The town is 150 miles or so from where we should be. We were teleported here by advanced druchii magics.

The elf scholar may be bleeding to death, but all the knight and the dwarf care about are getting some drinks.

We are joined in the Pony by a couple of High Elves pretending to be Wood Elves. Seriously, it makes no sense, but these are elves we're talking about. All elves look the same anyway, even the men and the women.

The new elves wanted to go somewhere where the conversation would not be overheard. We went to a secure room in the back of the inn. The knight didn't come with us. Later, when we heard someone eavesdropping on our conversation through the wall, Mordrin used his hammer to see who it was. It was our party knight. The dwarf will not pay to have the wall fixed.

The elves offer to take us to their camp if we will share what we know about the powerful druchii magics/goings on. Usually this is not an offer that would interest Mordrin, but they did mention something about it being a perilous part of the forest. Oh, and they also slipped in something about daemons. Mordrin agreed to go immediately.

Before we left, Mordrin went to the temple of Verena with the Initiate, where he overheard that the initiate was actually an Investigator of Verena. Mordrin is keeping this little tidbit under his hat until it is of use to him.

Mordrin is sent with a tome that the human says belongs to the druchii. Mordrin is to guard the tome while an acolyte brings it to a learned scholar in the building for translation. Mordrin tried to get the acolyte to read it, but she wouldn't bite.

Upon arrival at the quarters of the learned scholar, Mordrin deftly avoided his inquisitions and brought the man to Gustav for details. Mordrin is really getting the hang of this intrigue that his travel companions seem to like so well.

Mordrin went to sleep in a small clearing, his head resting on a rock. He awoke in a tent, on a bed, with a wispy piece of cloth draped over the bed. He did not know where he was nor how long he had been out. He reached for his hammer.

Mordrin exited his tent at the same time he companions were coming from theirs. They were in an elven military camp in the middle of the forest. No one in the party knew how they had gotten to this spot. The elf the Knight stopped for answers was less than forthcoming.

The party thought back on their travels from Holthusen to this place. None could remember traveling past the small clearing. Someone pointed out the party had been cleaned. The Slayer's hair smelled of bee's wax rather than pig fat.

Someone suggested the party's memories had been wiped of the remainder of the travel between the small clearing and this military camp. Mordrin searched his memories desperately to recall the shame that brought him to the Slayer cult. The memory was there. Also there was a memory...dream...nightmare? of being cleansed by a white-haired elf during their recent travels.

Mordrin bristled at the violations the elves had done to him to this point.

Udrin, Ato, and Gustav pleaded caution from Mordrin in the midst of the elven camp. They had come willingly, after all, and they were surrounded by an overwhelming number of elves that would rain an ignoble doom down on dwarf if he attacked.

Mordrin grunted and followed his nose to the mess tent.

The food was slim elven pickings, but Mordrin was able to find something resembling meat: thinly sliced venison. As he set his mighty hammer against the chair to free his hands, the knight jokingly grabbed the slayer's food out from under him. Mordrin roared and set to strike the human thief, but the scared and pitiful look on the knight's face caused the dwarf to pull his punch at the last moment. Naturally the human was frightened by current events, and Mordin should be seeking to help his traveling companion rather than lash out at him. More venison was brought by the obsequious elf Farnoth, and Mordrin thought no more on the matter.

Now rested and fed, the group consented to be led to the camp's general. Before entering, Udrin practically begged the rest of the party to be on their best behavior in front of this supposedly powerful elf. Mordrin figured the only way to not get in an argument would be to not pay attention and let Udrin do all the talking.

The elf general displayed the noble bearing of a warrior, initially impressing Mordrin. However, the general's obvious haughty tone, the insults that Udrin couldn't neutralize though he was the one translating, and the tiresome questioning of unrelated, inconsequential events by the general soon tried Mordrin's patience. When questioned directly, Mordrin gave flippant half-answers and referred the general back to the fawning Udrin for clarifications.

Though Mordrin was trying not to pay too much attention, lest the insults of the elf overwhelm his tenuous self control, Mordin did hear Atosass translate one part of the conversation between Udrin and the general. Apparently the High Elf Scholar had secreted a piece of dawi zharr (dark dwarf) black plate armor upon his person. Udrin made some glib promises of his intentions for destruction and repurposing of the armor, but Mordrin was already ignoring the elf again. He thought, not for the first time, how foolish he was to allow an elgi to be his Remembrancer. Even the Initiate (Interrogator?). a fickle human, would not stoop to such vagaries.

In the end, the elves told us of a nearby druchii camp, in an abandoned elf village called Cairnmere, the creatures holed up therein, and their plans to attack once scouts returned with more news. The elf general promised Mordrin could slay wyvern, daemons, and druchii to his heart content if the party agreed to join forces with him. Mordrin needed someplace to vent his overwhelming frustrations, as soon, so he immediately agreed to join.

Mordrin would slay these so-called dark elves, and he would picture one of the elves of this camp for every druchii he slayed.

Mordrin is a prized curiosity in the elven camp, or so it seems. The elves remain standoffish, but Mordrin can always catch, and feel, their gazes. Farnoth mentions in passing at dinner that the slayer cult of the Dwarves, and the Dwarves that take the oath, are subjects of bed time stories told to young or naive elves thoughout the Drakwald and beyond.

It is then that two elves muster courage to approach. Farnoth says they are quartermasters, of a sort, to the gathering forces of the elvish command. They offer finely hammered tins of silver leaf and muted jade inlays. Elvish is exchanged and Farnoth translates, "They are giving you new dyes and wax for your hair. They respect the bright oranges of your oath, but, suggest... that such colors will be a target for druchii archers or mages. They suggest these muted tones of orange and red as well as unscented waxes."

Mordrin scorned the attempts to camouflage him from the druchii. However, before they leave, he is interested in what the tones they are offering are made of...just in case it's better than beeswax...Mordrin secreted away the two tins and gave a mighty frown, eyebrows bristling, to anyone who he caught nosing into his business.

The party was summoned to the general's tent for a briefing. They were told the attack was going to take place in the morning. Mordrin was assured that the druchii have been summoning daemons. From then on, he narrowed his focus, ignoring his surroundings, and mentally prepared himself for this promisingly epic battle.

The elves woke the party early in the morning, if it was yet morning, and tromped the humans through the forest in the dark. A part of Mordrin's brain noted that the elves seemed to be pulling the party's strings at odd times and in dizzying directions. His conscious brain didn't care that they were seemingly manipulated for the elgi's purposes. He was focused on daemons.

The party investigated a tower that was still standing in the ruined elf town. Mordrin kept his senses alert for the sound of daemons. Finally the sound was heard, but it was not one the slayer was expecting. The guttural roars and otherworldly barking allowed identification not of daemons, as such, but of demonic hounds dedicated to the sacrifices of Khorne. A look of indecision crossed Mordrin's face, unseen as another shadow in the dark. At that moment the elgi and the manlings needed his help getting into the tower.

Mordin stepped up to "knock on the tower door" and by knock, actually swinging his hammer into its center, tearing it from hinge and jamb... while a force of elves and druchii smashed into each other and Flesh-Renders (or "Khorne Dogs") meet a fusillade of arrows from the tree line.

Once the door was open, Mordrin turned his back on what was inside. He gritted his teeth, gripped his hammer tightly, and strode purposefully toward the sound of the daemonic hounds. As he walked into the forest, he could be heard muttering to himself in Khazalid, with the words "honor," "bravery," "vengeance," and "doom" discernible to any who could understand.

Deadly elgi arrows shot out from the tower behind him. One sliced deeply through the dwarf's hardened sinews. His hand let go of his hammer of its own will.

The pain of the wound slammed hard against the determination of the dwarf. Another piece of his sanity snapped as the two warred in his mind. He grabbed his hammer again, ignoring the pain. Mordrin charged the hellish beasts, visions straight from his very nightmares. (+1 insanity point).

Mordrin called after his Remembrancer, certain his doom was at hand. The elf was returning cover fire into the tower and ignored his duty to the dwarf. Instead the human Gustav turned to follow the slayer, determined that someone should witness the dwarf's end.

Mordrin set toward the sound of the hound with a vengeance. Fleeing, injured druchii stepped in his way only to be felled with half-strokes of his hammer. Mordrin screamed with wild abandon, oblivious to his own safety, "KHAZUK!". The creature turned and seemed to go feral.

From somewhere out of the corner of his eye Mordrin saw the foolish human ran ahead, swing at the beast, and miss. Continuing his roar, the dwarf swung his hammer and connected with the chaos creature with the fury of a dwarven ancestor. The beast was crushed. A large crack of thunder sounded as the beast was returned to its own plane of existence.

Seeing no other daemons about, Mordrin returned to the tower to help the rest of the party. The druchii archers were dead, and the party was setting about exploring the rest of the tower.

The knight found a door and sensed great evil behind it. He called to Mordrin to join him in entering the room. Before they could enter, they heard the sounds of distress from others in the party who had scouted perpendicular passages. Mordrin went right while the knight went left.

Mordrin found the human Gustav facing a 9 foot tall patchwork created made out of various pieces of elves. Sounds from the other hallway indicated a group of zombies were attacking.

Mordrin swung at the patchwork elf beast with the same intensity as the daemon hound. This time one hit did not fell the creature. It took a second hit to kill the giant elf. The zombies in the other corridor fell as the patchwork elf toppled.

Back to the door with the portent of evil, the fighters flung the portal open. Inside was a flying daemon called a chaos fury. The knight stood in abject fear, while Mordrin stepped forward to smash it with the magical warhammer. An arrow from the elf Farnoth killed the creature before Mordrin could get a second hit.

Inside the room was a sort of summoning circle. Mordrin readied himself in front of the circle, waiting...hoping for more furies to arrive. The rest of the party searched the room while Mordin waited in vain.

Following one of the perpendicular corridors, the party opened the room to a large pool of water. A seductive creature inside, identified as a daemonette of Slaanesh, attempted to lure the party into her pool of water to "play." Mordrin roared a challenge, and the daemon stepped out of the pool to attack.

The elves shot arrows, but it took a deadly hit from Mordrin's hammer to knock the creature back to her home plane. She fell into the water and disappeared with another thunderous sound, splashing the party with pool water.

In the room past the daemonette was another of the orbs of ruinous power. This one was smaller and showed various city scenes in its depths. The knight stepped into the room to explore. Some time of chaotic power pulled him into the orb like a giant magnet. The party stopped, stunned.

The choice to follow the knight was slow and deliberate in coming. The party searched the room at the other end of the hallway first (the last unexplored room in the tower), found nothing, and returned to the orb to discuss their options.

Mordrin had no problem jumping through after a full assessment of the situation: all the enemies were dead here, the knight was gone, and the knight was in no condition to take care of himself. The knight may have been arrogant and insulting, but the option of the unknown was much preferred over remaining with the "good" elves to celebrate their victory.

The Daemon Slayer jumped into the orb, warhammer first.

Udrin has been talking to Imhol, a librarian of sorts from the place where we appeared. He has concluded that we have traveled back in time 5000 years! Currently in this place, doomsayers are talking of star metal that is going to fall and change the world.

We met up with the rest of the party, who appeared in the same time but a little further away when they came through the orb. They made a fascinating discovery that if the inhabitants of this time-frame are touched, they disappear.

The party as a whole has come to the conclusion that we are not completely in the past, but are experiencing an echo of Cairnmere as it was 5000 years ago. With that in mind, Mordrin didn't bother to pay for the vials of healing potion we took from the uninhabited alchemist shop.

We encountered some druchii and daemonette's along our travels through town. They were real enough, dying when hit with Mordrin's hammer. Also, amazingly enough, Mordrin was able to succeed a Dodge Blow!

Mordrin tried to intimidate the last druchii for information before killing him. Since we were dealing with followers of Slaanesh, Mordrin tried: "If you don't tell us, we won't torture you." It failed miserably.

The end of the session found Mordrin in a stream, washing off the goo the daemonette's left behind when exploding back to their own world. It's OK to be dirty, but daemonette goo is not cool.

The academy was full of elves using some kind of magical gate to flee Cairnmere/Tor Taiga for the isle of Ulthuan. Most all of the elves were echoes, or memories, of the past event and not really there. We couldn't touch them without them disappearing. When they reappeared, they seemed to forget any previous interaction we had with them. There was one druchii, however, that wasn't a memory. We dispatched him but never really figured out why he was in the academy.

Also in the academy was an ancient version of the dark orb that brought us to this past place. It was smaller and more...solid. Mordrin thought to destroy it with a mighty blow from his warhammer. It turned out the orb was indestructible, and all Mordrin got for his troubles was a horrible ache and tingling feeling up his arms. Also, the orb was too big and too heavy for him to pick up, though he tried.

Personally, Mordrin was getting pretty sick of all this stuff that couldn't be killed or destroyed.

With nothing more interesting at the academy, the party headed to the tower, which they realized should have been the goal from the get-go. It turns out the tower was shaded in illusion to make a castle-shaped structure appear more circular/towerish. The druchii guarding the outside and inner entry room of the tower were killed relatively easily.

Going through the rooms of the castle one-by-one, Mordrin opened a door to reveal a large room containing one of the druchii's pet wyvern. Both Mordrin and the creature let out ear-piercing battle roars and charged each other.

Mordrin commmented, "Kinda small for a dragon," and charged the creature, swinging for the first body part that came near.

Mordrin and the beast traded an opening volley of blows, leaving the wyvern superficially wounded and Mordrin near death...yet still standing. At this point, the inebriated knight and the well-meaning, yet ineffectual, human charged into the room, distracting the wyvern from executing Mordrin's certain doom. The creature's attention was split from the Slayer.

This aggravated Mordrin, and his rage fueled a particularly mighty blow to regain the creature's attention. The pair faced off again, trading feints and dodges. Finally the wyvern darted it's head forward for an overbearing bite into the Slayer. It never connected.

The dwarf swung the hammer mightily over his head and brought it down in a deadly arc that connected with the top of the wyvern's head. The creature's head was driven into the floor, where it was smashed between the hammer and the stone. The roar that was billowing up the beast's throat instead ended with a spray of blood, bone, and brain matter across the dwarf and the wall behind him. Mordrin spit chunks out of his mouth and reaffirmed, "much too small for a dragon."

Opening southern tower doors, the party found the wretched elf Harrond, shackled and beaten. Mordrin used the hammer to remove the manacles from the wall. His interested, then, was captured by the knight who was opening other doors out of the room.

A last door entered into the atrium of the tower, where there were stairs leading upward. The second and third landings were empty, but the top landing held another chaos orb and a druchii who sought mastery over it.

Heedless of his wounded state, Mordrin charged the hated elf. His mighty swing missed, carrying through into the battlement wall instead. The elf had slipped to Mordrin's right.

Mordrin reoriented himself and swung again. The creature disappeared in a pop, like the other echoes of elves in this strange reality. There was skirmishing behind Mordrin, and he turned to assess the situation.

The druchii's twin was assaulting the party from across the other side of the parapet. As Mordin watched, Gustav the Inquisitor shot an arrow into the dark elf's vital organs. The druchii's bowels let loose in a humiliating death. The dark elf threat was no more.

In the distance was the bright light of an explosion, akin to the sun shining over the horizon. Our elf scholar, who was nowhere to be seen during the previous fights, tried to convince us we had just witnessed the creation of Black Water.

The earth began to shake and other stones began to fall from the sky. Mordrin, figuring death by falling stones was not a particularly noble doom, headed back down the tower stairs. At the bottom, he grudgingly suggested grabbing the wounded Harrond and returning through the orb. The elf scholar wished to play with amulets found on dead druchii first and insisted on collecting them before our return. With the amulets, we returned back to the elven camp in the forest before succumbing to fatigue and collapsing.

The remainder of the group's time in the forest was spent healing and describing their adventures. The elves were aflutter with exploration and discovery of hidden this and that in Cairnmere's cellars. The rest of the party was dismayed by rumors of an avalanche taking out most of Helmgart.

But Mordrin...Mordrin stewed on his doom that once more was so close, yet escaped his clutching grasp.

Mordrin followed the rest of the party around as they were led back through the woods to the human town of Holthusen. He occasionally perked up during mention of the battle with the wyvern but only to complain how wimpy the beast was. Talk of the star metal that fell from the sky on the town of Helmgart also caught his attention.

In Holthusen, Mordrin returned to drinking, accompanied by the knight Tibalt and his fruity elven drinks. Mordrin heard of a dwarf smith who had begun working in the town and decided to track him down and share a new idea.

The smith's name was Moradil Skragromson. He worked for a coaching inn between Holthusen and Eilhart. Moradil had left his human apprentice at the inn, The Broken Cup, to shod and shoe (simple enough tasks that the inn keeper charges too much for anyway and shares only a fraction of the charge with Moradil anyway). Moradil had loaded his kit (and an anvil) and pressed north to Holthulsen to catch the prospectors of star metal first. He was a armorer of fair talent as well.

Mordrin described a small metal plate which would be riveted over the (healing) hole in his left hand. Moradil was an instant comrade. He took Mordrin's commission and went a step further recommending not a riveted plate, but a half gauntlet.

"I've had too many hand injuries," He paused to show Mordrin a missing pinky and the first digit of each thumb missing, the stubs suggesting crushing loss under his maul, "to let you cover a healing wound with a plate young slayer. You don't want to die of Nurgle's touch! Nay, you need a gauntlet. A half gauntlet I think. Something you can remove. No? What of a gauntlet with a locking, no, a riveted clasp! Permanent, but flexible and you can still clean that wound. I can make this for you... say two crowns and 10? You won't be disappointed." 

Mordrin replied, "I think a gauntlet would be too thin and too much like armor. Remove the half gauntlet's wrist and thumb protection, make the rest of the metal at least...3 times as thick so no arrow, bolt, spear, or sword could penetrate it. You're working with a slayer here, smith!"

Moradil acquiesced, "It will only cover the top. It can be cleaned from below, though I doubt such a thing will be necessary."

The smith took a solid day to craft the gauntlet to Mordrin's specifications. It was a wonderful piece of black iron with new leather loops for his fingers and wrist. Set on the knuckles were four short studs shaped to hard points, that when his hand was clinched, he could see the effectiveness of the gauntlet. Moradil had hammered four lines that mimic the muscularity of the hand into the face of the gauntlet extending from the sharp knuckles to decorative rivets at the wrist. He had also taken Mordrin's suggestion to hammer and etch a depiction of the covered wound into the gauntlet. Finally, the flat part of the gauntlet on the back of the hand had four small holes that set into the piece.

When asked about the holes Moradril handed Mordrin a ring and four screws. "It's a clan set of course. You set your clan's token..." the smith saw the slayer's ire rising, "or other rune here. you can set the screws only if you like of course."

Moradil was a goodly dwarf, and Mordrin found himself lamenting that he himself wasn't. In a previous life, the two could have been friends.

Before leaving, Mordrin allowed the smith to admire his warhammer.

Mordrin had a half-gauntlet formed for his wounded hand. On his way back to Helmgart, Mordrin practiced with the flail of another guard and became proficient with it. He still favors the warhammer, but will can a flail if necessary. Also, Mordrin has lost some weight during the last couple months of marching and fighting. He would now be considered more 'overweight' than 'corpulent,' as far as dwarves are concerned.

Mordrin and the party arrived at the outskirts of Helmgart where a complete shanty town had been hastily constructed. From the look of the residents, there were as many people from afar living here, trying in vain to pass through the east gate into the city, as there were refugees from the ruins of Helmgart.

Mordrin, Udrin, and Gustav entered a makeshift temple to Shallya where they were greeted by a foppish human dandy acting as concierge. His manner was slimy and obsequious, yet he efficiently managed to find Gustav's friend Sister Perdita. The two talked among themselves, while the dandy, a Ludovic Hasselhoff, sat the elf and dwarf down to hear their tale. He purported to be an entertainer of sorts and fed them a relatively potent drink that he called Dog-Blinder Ale, advising caution while drinking. Mordrin downed the drink in one quaff.

Mordrin and Udrin were suspicious of Ludovic, not caring to tell him their business, until Sister Perdita assured Mordrin privately that the man was alright...for one who belonged to the seedier underbelly of the refugee town.

During this private conversation, Mordrin handed the priestess a small bag of Gold Crowns from the amount that he was awarded last time he was in town. He muttered something about pursuing a blessing from the merciful aspect of Shallya, however it is possible the gruff, battle-hardened dwarf was also showing a small amount of compassion for the ruins of the town that had once called him hero.

Sister Perdita let slip to the temple area that these people before her were the Heroes of Helmgart. This was met with reluctant belief, as the most well known Hero, Tibalt, was missing. The people's insistence upon Tibalt's presence started Mordrin's short fuse burning. He refused to have his quest to redeem his honor be overshadowed by a besotted human knight. When asked what happened to the knight, Mordrin simply stated, "he left."

The group (including Ludovic, though he wasn't part of the party) marched to the well-guarded East Gate and demanded entrance. There the head guard denied them entrance, again proffering disbelief at their claim to be the Heroes as they lacked the presence of the Brettonian Knight. The scoffing at this and at the names of some of their other benefactors sent Mordrin off the deep end. He pulled himself up to his impressive dwarven height and started roaring at the guard, poking him in the chest for emphasis as he yelled.

"Look, just because some armored human mounts a four legged beast and knocks another human down with a pointed stick does not make him a hero! He left!" Before he could continue, the guard had hidden behind another and ran off to check the party's credentials. Mordrin berated the new guard with "who are you looking at?" before backing off to wait things out.

The head of the Verenean temple arrived to usher the Heroes and Ludovic inside the gate. They viewed the destruction of the city as they walked to the temple...the city they once worked to save. Talk of explorers heading out the West Gate to explore the fallen star metal and never returning caught Mordrin's attention, but he followed to the temple for a more complete update of the town's situation.

At the temple, in almost mid-conversation, the party witnessed the head priest anoint Gustav Jaeger into the full priesthood of Verena. Others in the party dismissed the audible flutter of wings that accompanied the impromptu ritual, but Mordrin knew that the gods were watching his party. Grimnir, Shallya, and now Verena. The heavens were taking their seats for the spectacle of Mordrin's doom.

The others might convince him to help out around town for a bit, but Mordrin knew that the West Gate and the dangerous mysteries beyond would call to him daily until he went out after them. The question was, would he be alone or would the others join him once more?

The Verenean's know the value of a hero. They put us up in their temple overnight, ousting some of their own to make room. The elf states they are using us to add legitimacy to a political power play. Either way I got a decent meal tonight.

We were summoned to the estate of the Markgraf, the Imperial Governor of Helmgart. Apparently word finally got to him that we were back in town. He asked me to serve in the town's rebuilding process. He seems to know the value of good dwarven ingenuity, dwarf craftsmanship, and our ability to keep order. He also desires some stupid ambassador work out of me. I'll pawn that off as soon as possible. The hard physical labor of rebuilding and the cracking of human heads to get people in line may keep me occupied for a while, but it is the uncertainty of the wilderness outside the west gate that really calls to me.

Before the Markgraf's scheduled dinner, I decided to visit the habitation of Clan Kargin. Their stone building seems to have survived the meteor storm. Their windows are patched up, and the roof is already replaced. They are a shining example to the pathetic manlings in this town.

The dwarf matriarch, Granny Ella, is concerned about our trip to Groz Zorn. Apparently the small fortress was designed to protect and keep an artifact created by the ancestors millennia ago. The artifact has now become a chaos orb. She worries about its fate since seeing the beam of light streak out of the mountains.

She also indicated she knows about more of these stones. I tried to discuss this with her, but she went off on a tirade about me not yet finding my doom. I tried, vehemently, to get her to listen to reason, but the mental instability that plagues her daughter seems to run in the family. She is close to being named in my Book of Grudges.

Our conversation, turned argument, turned conversation lasted well into the night, and I missed the appointment for dinner. There are no complaints, as Clan Kargin fed me well. When she has calmed down, I will ask Granny Ella more about these stones. My doom may be linked to them.

Mordin asked the Dwarfs of Helmgart about taking over the job of clearing the pass...or finding another worthy clan to do it. He wanted to get this responsibility off his shoulders as soon as possible so he could go about his own business. He wasn't really paying attention to the manling's (the Markgraf) ramblings before he agreed to this charge.

On hearing that there was an offer on the table to organize the flood of dwarves seeking riches or rescue in the pass or mountain holds, several dwarves left the room. They soon returned with a wizened dwarf dressed in the finest of tailoring for dwarves. Mordrin immediately recognized this dwarf as Baragor Yorrisson of Clan Dronaz ("Thunderaxe"). He was a de facto emissary of Thungni to Helmgart and the Empire. He at one time had a major trading post in Helmgart, but retired to the mountains.

Baragor was introduced, and immediately told Mordrin that his arrival and news of the Markgraf's extension of assistance is welcome and that Mordrin could expect him to organize the flood of dwarves coming into Helmgart. As a matter of fact, because he was the de facto emissary, he would consider it an insult to his honor if he was not given the position. His years of trading and negotiating between the dwarves and the Empire should not be taken for granted by these short-term memory humans.

Mordrin was glad to get that responsibility off his shoulders. His shoulders are mighty, but for the slaying of chaos, not managing politics.

Mordrin returned from his night in the dwarf quarter of the city and told Udrin the tidings that came from Granny Ella regarding the history of Groz Zorn and the existence of many chaos orbs. These seemed like the little bits and bobs of information that kept his Remembrancer happy when there were no beasts around to vanquish. He also brought Baragor the dwarf with him to reintroduce to the Markgraf.

At the Markgraf's estate, Mordrin met a newly arrived Imperial knight. At first Mordrin though the Brettonian knight had returned from his desertion. It turned out, however, this knight was a different human in a bulky suit of that spoke the smooth talk of a courtly human, not the drunken lecherings of the previous knight. Mordrin didn't let his disappointment show. The return of one who had battled side-by-side with Mordrin against deadly foes would have been more welcome.

At dinner, brigands managed to slip into the dining room. One, with an eye patch, came with Gustav and Sis. Perdita. Another slipped from the shadows behind the Markgraf, holding a rapier at his back. The one with the rapier insisted we listen to the other's demands. Mordrin was content to sit back and listen to what the manlings had to say, but the others in the party were not so patient.

The new Knight arose from his chair to charge the man behind the Markgraf...a witless bawd who had somehow managed to drop his sword at the most inopportune time. Mordrin looked to over to where Gustav and the other stranger stood, to find that they were engaged in melee combat. Ludovic had taken Sis. Perdita to safely, so Mordrin stood and charged the man who dared strike at his comrade. Mostly he charged because the priest was useless in a fight, and Mordrin didn't want to see him killed in the Markgraf's dining room.

Mordrin punched the interloper 3 times with his new gauntlet, and the man amazingly held his feet. Gustav's final clumsy swing with his sword chopped the man's arm off. The fight was over before it got good. Mordrin returned to his seat, congratulating Ludovic on a job well done in protecting the priestess.

The dinner party retired to the parlor, where the Markgraf shared his plans for big festivities that he wanted to party to show up at. Udrin agreed on their behalf and informed the Markgraf of the party's plans to return to Groz Zorn before heading out the West Gate to see what has befallen the Brettonian side of the pass. Also, we understood that the Entertainer was seeking a change of lifestyle and would likely accompany us on this journey.

The Markgraf offered the party the services of the recently arrived knight, Ehrwig Hofstetter. Udrin made sure the knight knew what he was getting into, and went on to explain the party's dire adventures to the recruit. Mordrin listened in silence as every foe Udrin mentioned was a reminder of how the slayer had failed to find his heroic doom.

Mordrin didn't care if the human came, as long as he agreed to stay out of the way.

The Heroes of Helmgart left the city, riding beasts of burden, determined to be sure Groz Zorn was still clear of the influence of Chaos. The wizard and the priest spent much time speaking of all things magic. Mordrin occasionally yelled at his mule for being stubborn.

The party reached the stone quarry, and the elf ran off to check on the horse he had left here many, many weeks ago. Mordrin, Gustav, and Ehrwig were distracted by a magic ritual going on in the ruins of a building.

Mordrin recognized the mad dwarf, young Ella, even while Ehrwig charged her to stop "her evil spell." Mordrin had no way of knowing if the spell was evil, and he knew the knight didn't either, so he stepped in front of the attacking knight.

Mordrin parried the knight's attack, while Gustav fiddled with Ella's magical accouterments. Udrin ran over, alarmed by our outcries, and helped the priest sort things out. Udrin skimmed through the book of magic Gustav had snatched and came to the conclusion that Ella was indeed casting an evil ritual of vengeance.

Udrin attempted to get the dwarf to mete justice out on Mad Ella, stating it was up to dwarves to judge other dwarves. Mordrin's place as a slayer kept him from being willing to participate. He stated, "I am dishonored. She is crazy. I have no right to mete judgement on her, but I will not stand in the way if you wish to." Mordrin walked away from the situation, not knowing who landed the killing blow on the crazy priestess.

(Aside: This was a great opportunity for an insanity point for Mordrin, but he passed a willpower check.)

In the meadow of Groz Zorn, the overtired party encountered a line of twelve piked, tortured dwarves. This sight was enough to disturb the mind of the dwarf, until he recognized them as dawi zharr (chaos dwarves). Someone powerful had left quite a warning display.

Groz Zorn itself was eerily empty, though the party found multiple charges of gunpowder lit to go off. Someone had been there recently, set the place to explode, and left. The party set about putting out the flames very carefully. Further review of the underground areas confirmed it was deserted. The chaos orb was hardened and deactivated.

Further to the east of the solidified orb was a path leading to an underground river. A bridge spanned the river, with a doorway on the other side. The elf activated the doorway, and the party charged through.

They appeared in a room with windows overlooking a beach. There were small villages scattered about, and everywhere pipes stuck out of the grounds expelling noxious smoke. Some of the party became seasick as they figured out the land they were on was moving. The elf was able to use his astronomy skills to orient them somewhere in the ocean to the west of Brettonia...floating in the sea on an enormous island.

He has not explained the ramifications of this find, but Mordrin hopes it includes a heroic doom. Drung Azgul has been unused for too long.

Mordrin stepped through the portal into a laboratory of some kind. There were jars and paperwork all around. He scanned the room for any more explosives and, finding none, set his sights on a set of spiral stairs going down. At Udrin's suggesting, Mordrin heads down the stairs with Ehrwig to search for the origin of a loud thumping noise.

Standing in a corner at the bottom of the stairs are three robed Elves discussing a book. The three look to the stair. Wide eyes, mouths drop, save one. Mordrin and Farnoth lock eyes. In the next moments, everything happens in a burst:

Farnoth shoves the book into the hands of one of Elf, speaks something arcane and presses the other two directly in their chests and they collapse. Farnoth gathers his robes and rushes to the stairs a broad grin on his face.

Ehrwig raised his sword to threaten the approach of Farnoth, but Mordrin shoved by, saying "the elf is mine. He's in me book of grudges." He raised his hammer and charged the approaching elf.

Farnoth begged for his life and, unsure that was working, begged for a quick end, leaving no blood behind in the druchii quarters.

Mordrin held his hammer in front of him. "Ya know, elgi, not all grudges have to be paid for in blood. You could beg for your life and maybe settle for a shaved head." He ignored the elves on the floor, leaving room for Ehrwig to get by. "Of course, I don't expect you to choose that option."

The look in Mordrin's eye indicated he may not be holding onto sanity as closely as before.

At that moment, Farnoth was distracted by Udrin's appearance at the top of the stairs. He started rushing toward Udrin, cheering something about being saved. Out of the window a guttural, screeching call could be heard on the wind. Ehrwig went to the sleeping elves and snapped their necks. Their bladders released in death, leaving puddles of urine on the floor.

Mordrin whacked Farnoth in the back of the legs with the hammer, sending him sprawling back down the stairs. "We aren't finished with our business, elf." Mordrin pulled a knife from his belt and started hacking at the elf's hair. "We've got to finish this up; I hear my doom calling outside the window."

"Mathlann's Tears! Dwarf! No cuts. No blood!" screamed Farnoth as Mordrin cut his hair off in long sawing strokes with a dagger. Farnoth struggled a bit and fell away as a huge handful parted from his scalp. Farnoth rolled over with his hand on his scalp inspecting for blood in a panic. "NO BLOOD!"

Gasping, and just out of reach Farnoth collected himself and stood, panicky and inspecting his scalp for blood, "This is no place for grudges, Fool! Someone stay this Slayer! Slaanesh's blessings course through the cursed frame of the Claw of Dominion. The flayed bodies of slaves, the torturing armor of Slaanesh's knights, and the blood of scores of prisoners are soaked into the very energies that power its furnaces! We all die if you spill blood here as every Druchii devotee would sense it hitting the floor."

Mordrin sheathed the dagger, gripped the warhammer in his free hand and looked out the window for the origin of the gutteral screeching.

Udrin questioned Farnoth. "Us? Farnoth, how many are here in this accursed place? And how did you open the gate?" Udrin's faith in this elf was somewhat failing, for Farnoth had been missing and and this elf was wrapped in shadow magic. "And Mordrin, for Grungni's sake, get back from the window."

Mordrin snapped back at Udrin, "it is not for an elgi to swear by Grungni. Watch your tongue if you wish to keep it. You don't need it to write my doom."

Udrin replied in Khazalid "Or an baraz dum, bar wanrak na nu. Ut got. A gromdal grobkul un throng thagi elgi. Ut urk anu. Rink bar kazad.*"

  • I promised you doom, but when is not now. We must travel quickly and with purpose. Within this ancient place lurks evils deeds and and army of murderous, traitorous Elves. We must retreat or be overrun any minute now. Lead us through the gate to a place of safety.

Mordrin sneered at his companion. "Why do you get to choose the place and time of my doom, elgi? You speak of evil deeds and an army of elves deserving of death here and now, but seek to lead me away. What are you keeping me from? Do you conspire with the very gods against me?"

Udrin continued in Khazalid to try to calm the slayer. "I am not choosing anything for you Drengi. The umgi (men) need your grim grund (unyeilding hammer). You are the duraz (stone) against which the enemy will break. The humans are doh (new) and deb (gullible). Here in this grimaz (barren place) the urk lie surely. But it is not the last time we will be here. Let us return with purpose for the grobkul (goblin hunt). To die now will allow thousands to die with us."

Mordrin turned back toward the stairs. "Your plans always sound grand and promising, elf, yet I'm still alive." He walked by the dead bodies and pointed to two wet stains on the floor, "You don't think someone's going to smell that?" He threw the scalp of elf hair in his hand onto the floor and started up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, Farnoth had recovered himself enough to get an exit plan going. He began making a smoke bomb, of sorts, and directing the humans to gather some books and papers. There was another guttural screech and a large shadow crossed in front of the window. Mordrin couldn't hold himself back from going for another look.

Outside the window, Mordrin saw the shadow's owner: a massive winged lizard, saddled. Aside the shoulders, an elf of the palest skin in black-purple robes. The lizard, larger than the wyvern of Tor Taiga, spread it large wings and buffeted them to land just out of sight of the window, but below, the ground shuddered as the creature clawed and settled in landing.

Farnoth turned to the group, "Thalubinding, a deadly and masterful magister of the highest ranks of Druchii slaves to Slaanesh, is landing just below us returning from certainly depraved rituals on the shores of Bretonnia! He'll find the bodies and find us. If we can delay him… just til Udrin can open the gate, we may just survive this!"

"I'll delay him...and his tiny drakk." Mordrin saw possible doom in the larger lizard and headed out the door..

Farnoth called out, "Slayer! Take the Rauchbombe." handing the glass globe of yellow-brown powder, was cloth stinking of the worse spirits sold in human taverns, and a match. "If you wish fulfill the oath of your cult, purchase us what time you can! Light this and set it on the stairs to the lower levels before you go to meet your doom. It should produce a stinking cloud of smoke to mask the urine and leave Thalubinder worried of a fire in the lower levels."

Mordrin grabbed the glorified smoke bomb and headed down the stairs mumbling something about "no elf knowing anything about dwarves, no matter how smart they think they are." Mordrin set the Rauchbombe on the stairs going down from the library below and lit the cloth. Moments later a thick yellow brown sweet smelling smoke began pouring out of the glass globe.

Behind the double doors to the south a crude, guttural, phrase was yelled. It sounded like an elf with a sore throat. The voice spoke loudly and with anger, and a thick yellow smoke rose through the stairwell.

Mordrin lit the smoke bomb and once again heard the deep elgi phrases from the other side of the door. He smashed the doors open with his hammer and surveyed the room on the other side. There was a dark elf near the door, shocked at the dwarf's violent entry. The wyvern on the other side of the room held Mordrin's attention.

Mordrin ignored the elf, having slain many of them in the past and not finding them worth his time and effort. The creature on the other side of the room was much larger than the last wyvern he encountered. And he was alone to fight it this time.

The beast was also surprised at the dwarf's entry and didn't react at all to the slayer's charge. With one last cry of "Khazuk!" Mordrin swung his hammer and connected with the creature's chest. The beast began to slip off it's perch, and Mordrin grabbed on to it with his gauntleted hand.

The momentum and weight of the dwarf through the creature completely off balance, and the two tumbled in a long fall off the side of the ark toward the unrelenting ground below.


+1: Being kidnapped by elves (though arguably "willingly"), having his memories taken from him (had he found the memory of his shame missing, he would have gone berserk), having been violated (cleansed) by elves, having his mohawk stripped of it's pig fat and having bee's wax added instead (sweet smelling garbage), being surrounded by an encampment of elves, being routinely taunted by them regarding his hair, the revelation that his traveling companion had been secreting dawi zharr (dark dwarf) contraband, and Mordrin keeping this all internalized relatively well (other than a small breakdown in the mess hall).
+1: Shot in the arm by a Druchii arrow while running toward a Fleshhound of Khorne. (Ulric's Fury)
+1: Tortured, pike dwarf bodies found on the meadow of Groz Zorn.


Daemonette of Slaanesh: 2
Druchii: 7
Fleshhound of Khorne: 1
Giant Spider: 1
Goblins: 9
Hobgoblin: 1
Orcs: 2
Patchwork Elf: 1
Troglodytes: 2
Wyvern: 1
Zombies: 5