“T’aint right you know!“ opined Domner the ranger Captain during a moments lull in the barrage of attacks by the crazed Zealots,

“I’d rather make a final stand than all this bloody scamperin’ ‘bout”

Gasten couldn’t agree more, but he prided himself on his loyalty and honour to the Empire he had sworn to aid, a loyalty repaid in kind many times during the life of his father and the numerous Greenskin invasions of his childhood. So he prayed for forgiveness from his ancestors and noted all the grudges that he dreamed of one day repaying. For now though he must concentrate on the duty of preparing for the final push that the enemy hoped would finally break the empires right flank and lead to the resounding victory that had seemed so close at hand for the past several days.

The stone courtyard where they now stood offered only one avenue of attack and only one of escape should the tide of battle not be turned. Gastens decision to lead the remainder of his troops here had been a desperate one and their odds of survival were extremely thin; after the shame of having to retreat form the battle field Gasten realised he would have had it no other way. The chance to stand toe to toe with the enemy and attempt to overcome overwhelming odds was all the dwarfs around him would ask for.

So the anvil on which many foes had broken themselves was to be formed, perhaps the wheels could be put in motion to create the hammer also, if only time allowed…..

The rangers and all those who could be spared from the main fighting force were dispatched with ranged weapons to the upper storeys of the stone and brick built buildings that surrounded the square and many were the grunts and sighs of disapproval that came from those who believed this a very un-dwarfish task they had been set.

Rune priests scampered around laying their markings on every defensible position within the courtyard before turning their attention to armour, weapons and their fellow defenders. They came last to the group of volunteers who were to form one of the most feared ‘tactical’ squads of the Runehammer Clan,

The Slayers. They stripped of their armour and handed it to those who had lost theirs in the previous battles They then finished off what beer they had upon them as the Rune Priests etched the most powerful and dangerous runes directly into their skin and added the ink blessed by their ancestors in a ritual as old as the clan itself.

Gasten addressed the remainder of his force who had formed a tight line three dwarfs deep and the width of the square,

The stone courtyard where they now stood offered only one avenue of attack and only one of escape should the tide of battle not be turned. Gastens decision to lead the remainder of his troops here had been a desperate one and their odds of survival were extremely thin; after the shame of having to retreat form the battle field Gasten realised he would have had it no other way. The chance to stand toe to toe with the enemy and attempt to overcome overwhelming odds was all the dwarfs around him would ask for.

So the anvil on which many foes had broken themselves was to be formed, perhaps the wheels could be put in motion to create the hammer also, if only time allowed…..

The rangers and all those who could be spared from the main fighting force were dispatched with ranged weapons to the upper storeys of the stone and brick built buildings that surrounded the square and many were the grunts and sighs of disapproval that came from those who believed this a very un-dwarfish task they had been set.

Rune priests scampered around laying their markings on every defensible position within the courtyard before turning their attention to armour, weapons and their fellow defenders. They came last to the group of volunteers who were to form one of the most feared ‘tactical’ squads of the Runehammer Clan,

The Slayers. They stripped of their armour and handed it to those who had lost theirs in the previous battles They then finished off what beer they had upon them as the Rune Priests etched the most powerful and dangerous runes directly into their skin and added the ink blessed by their ancestors in a ritual as old as the clan itself.

Gasten addressed the remainder of his force who had formed a tight line three dwarfs deep and the width of the square,

The rangers and all those who could be spared from the main fighting force were dispatched with ranged weapons to the upper storeys of the stone and brick built buildings that surrounded the square and many were the grunts and sighs of disapproval that came from those who believed this a very un-dwarfish task they had been set.

Rune priests scampered around laying their markings on every defensible position within the courtyard before turning their attention to armour, weapons and their fellow defenders. They came last to the group of volunteers who were to form one of the most feared ‘tactical’ squads of the Runehammer Clan,

The Slayers. They stripped of their armour and handed it to those who had lost theirs in the previous battles They then finished off what beer they had upon them as the Rune Priests etched the most powerful and dangerous runes directly into their skin and added the ink blessed by their ancestors in a ritual as old as the clan itself.

Gasten addressed the remainder of his force who had formed a tight line three dwarfs deep and the width of the square,

“My brothers! If we are to die this day be safe in the knowledge that our grudge will be repaid a thousand times upon the filth we now stand against and we shall find our selves honoured in the halls of our ancestors whose proud and honourable company we shall keep for the rest of time!”

“My brothers! If we survive this day we will repay this grudge ourselves, a fury the likes of which has never been known. We have been given the honour of holding this position by our friends who entrust us to put down the hordes of the vile gods who would destroy our clan and all that we hold to. I ask of you one thing, hold this line! BY OUR REVERED ANCESTORS THIS LINE SHALL NOT FALL!!”

“My brothers! If we survive this day we will repay this grudge ourselves, a fury the likes of which has never been known. We have been given the honour of holding this position by our friends who entrust us to put down the hordes of the vile gods who would destroy our clan and all that we hold to. I ask of you one thing, hold this line! BY OUR REVERED ANCESTORS THIS LINE SHALL NOT FALL!!”

From the dwarfs came a roaring cheer, an oath to complete this task or die trying, shields and weapons raised a thunderous rumble of defiance that could be heard for a mile echoed out from the village square.

Gasten took up his position within the centre of the ranks to await the hordes of the bloodied one and thought of the last time he had stood upon this very spot only a week ago.

Gasten was pulled from his reverie by the sound of the first shot from his rangers. The sound of a hundred CRACKs answered it as the horde charged, slithered and crawled into view. First came the Zealots and Wyrd Spawn, jostling and trampling each other in their impatience to reach the enemy. Behind them, still out of range of the gunshot were the Champions of Khorne in their full plate chaos armour, bloodied by battle and twisted by devotion.

A number of Zealots fell to a well placed bomb hurled from the second story window of the town house and many more fell to arrows and powder charges but still they came, whipped up into a fury by their bloodlust.

The Slayers began to pound on each other with fists, head butting their fellows in order to build their berserk fury. As they began to froth at the mouth the Rune Priests awoke the markings in their skin and the slayers charged the host.

Gasten followed them until they were lost in the mass of on-rushing bodies. He saw several covered in the blood of enemies, their runes giving out an unworldly light, their axes falling and rising in great sweeps and arcs, who had made it to the rear ranks of the enemies first wave. They broke out from the back and bellowed a huge war cry as they continued toward the knights that followed.

The line of dwarfs raised shield and weapon as the horde lurched on, a sea of red, gold and black, twisted forms and savage banners, steel and spikes.

Bellows and war cries drifted away as Gasten raised his axe, Deliverer, a gift from Zeke during their last campaign together, and charged toward the oncoming horde,

“FOR THE FALLEN!!!” he heard himself cry as Deliverer swam with purple fire and bit into the skull of the nearest foe.

Irresistible force met immovable object and as the sea of the host broke against the rock of the dwarf force the ancestors of the Runehammer Clan shook with the anger of the Ages and answered with a war cry of their own.

**************************************************************************************

A hand as large as his skull lifted Gastens head and placed it on a supporting knee. He swam in and out of consciousness where time was as nothing.

A glowing hammer and the bellow of Sigmars name

The crack of thousands of pistols, hooves and gentle words drowning the sound of battle.

Screams of pain and the rushing of wind.

Quiet………………………

Irresistible force met immovable object and as the sea of the host broke against the rock of the dwarf force the ancestors of the Runehammer Clan shook with the anger of the Ages and answered with a war cry of their own.

**************************************************************************************

A hand as large as his skull lifted Gastens head and placed it on a supporting knee. He swam in and out of consciousness where time was as nothing.

A glowing hammer and the bellow of Sigmars name

The crack of thousands of pistols, hooves and gentle words drowning the sound of battle.

Screams of pain and the rushing of wind.

Quiet………………………

Chaos engulfing the world, a single candle on the beach set against a tidal wave of anger

The form of a man rushing toward a host of hundreds and his own out stretched hand pleading for the figures return.

Light and dark, shape and light spinning in an endless struggle.

gasten

Gasten.

“Gasten.

“Gasten”

He opened his eyes, face wet were Zeke had washed away the dried blood and saliva.

“Do not attempt to speak my friend, your strength has not yet returned.”

“..wo…won?”

“No the battle continues, but the flank was held and has now been supported by reserves from the Empires forces.”

“Y…you ..ca..came… hammer to our a.a..anvil”

“Sigmar foresaw your valiant stand and allowed me to glimpse the fall of the village to those we shall not name. I am sorry to have left you to this fate but my ministrations were required elsewhere. When the opportunity arose I met with the reserves who were to strengthen the main force and bought them here.”

With Ezekiels help he sat and surveyed the square. Bodies lay all around him twisted by axe and sword or by the vile magic of chaos.

“When I arrived the main body of your force was spent. The Rangers, out of ammunition, were jumping from the windows of the buildings with axe and shield or, as in the case of Domner, holding explosives in a last attempt to stem the flow of chaos.”

“none survi..ved?”

“A handful were still on their feet - your Ancestors were looking on with pride and Sigmar granted them his final reward.”

Gasten looked into the eyes of his friend and saw sadness with a slight edge of guilt. Pain flared through his battered body and swiftly passed.

Ezekiel dropped the knife to the ground and kissed the dwarfs forehead,