Warhammer: Vermintide

[CONTEST] A Tide of Their Own

warhammer 2 - [CONTEST] A Tide of Their Own
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The waves of vermin crashed against the stalwart defenses of the dwarves. Axes slashed through the endless sea of slave rats, hammers crushed their weak bones, and a blustering bombardment rained upon them. The dwarves were nearly impenetrable versus the weak skaven armies. They fought like mountains that day, immovable against the ocean’s ebbing tide. Yet, every rock will wear in time, and every ocean will rise with fury. Some things are inevitable.

“Rakogri!” Shouted the dwarves as they witnessed rats being tossed effortlessly into the air. They were forced to slowly retreat as vermin were tossed behind their lines. It looked as if the earth was trying to shake the skaven off of itself. “Hold formation! Focus fire on those rak…” The captain who yelled the orders was cut down by a massive black axe.

“WAAAAAAAGHHH!!” The battlefield rumbled with their war cries. The pitiful rats were quickly pinched between the two armies, as the greenskins overwhelmed them from their flank. Soon the orcs were toe to toe with the dwarves. “Deez stunties be breakin fast! Cut ‘em down, boyz!” Screamed the black orc who was leading the war band. The dwarves held their own, and were true to their style; an unbreakable front. The orcs pushed against them, railing against their shields, and as one greenskin would fall another would take its place with fury. The dwarves who had been fighting off the skaven all morning began to exhaust. Their shields began to crack, their hands could barely grip their weapons, and their legs gave way beneath them.

The battle came to a sudden end as the green tide washed over the battered dwarves. The Black Pass was filled with the slain bodies of dwarves, skaven, and greenskins. A large fire grew in the middle of the war camp as the orcs and goblins began to feast on the spoils of battle. Agboar Gutrip, a massive black orc, sat among a heap of dwarven armor that’ll likely be melted down and assimilated into their army at some point. He used their whetstones to sharpen his axe. A goblin walked past him eating the arm of what was likely a skaven, or perhaps a dwarf. Agboar stood up and ripped the grub from the gobo’s hand.

“Eyyy! What’d ya tink yer doin’? That’s mine!” Whined the gobo as he barred his sharp teeth. His tiny little hands balled into fists whilst he became enraged.

The brutish orc huffed and looked at the gobo. “Keep talkin’ n’ I’ll be eatin’ ya next.” He barked, then ripped into the flesh with his fanged maw. The gobo lightly hissed and disappeared into the war camp. Agboar sat back down and cleaned the flesh from the bone.

The bone pile grew as the boyz celebrated their victory and talked of their next battle. That’s all the greenskins ever wanted, war. And war they would have. Agboar stood upon the pile and spoke to his Waagh. “It’ll be glorious, boyz! We’ll show dem gits how to truly fight! Sharpen yer choppas, Ironhide wants tha Black Pass cleared! We march forward to the hummies fer a real fight.” An uproarious war chant began.

The cavernous Black Pass towered over the band of orcs while they marched deeper into it. They chanted, banged their drums, and yelled ferociously. They didn’t care if their enemies heard them. Matter of fact they wanted their enemies to know. They wanted to strike fear into their foes, or entice them to prepare for a better fight.

Like thunder, a cannonade cracked through their war cries. “Stunties! Let’s gut ‘em!” The orcs looked around trying to figure out where their attackers were coming from. The mountainous walls that surrounded the valley pass was home to the dwarven cannons that began to rain hell upon the orcs. Several iron balls landed around the war band. They hissed and smoke began to pour from them. The greenskins gripped their weapons and feverishly looked for something to charge. Suddenly, gunshots began to reverberate against the canyon walls. The bellowing screams of greenskins began to join the symphony of doom.

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“Don’t retreat, ya fools! Deez stunties tink dey’re smat! We’ll show ‘em what for!” Agboar roared and charged fearlessly into the smoke. His boyz followed him and charged through. Soon enough they found the enemies they were looking for. Many of the orcs were cut down by the line of Grudge-Rakers that met them within the smoke. From the hills, rifles hailed down onto the greenskins. Agboar didn’t care for any of it, though he was shot, he fought with ferocity. Even if he were told that he was shot, he wouldn’t believe it, nor care.

Like a beast unleashed he roared, and he swung his axe into the dwarves, cutting down many with a single cleave. His fellow black orcs joined him and the dwarves began to buckle. Or at least those surrounding Agboar did. More smoke bombs landed at the feet of the orcs, the dwarves retreated, and the green tide moved forward. “Dey fight like cowards! Don’t let ‘em run!”

An orc bumped into the back of Agboar, forcing him to turn around. He looked and saw that his boyz were flanked by a brave company of dwarves. Almost all of his gobo archers were dead. Their attention was now split, and they were being squeezed. Agboar Gutrip could only growl and grit his teeth as he went deeper into a rage. He hacked his way through the dwarves, and his heavy boots crushed the bones of the fallen. Grudge-Raker ammunition was bouncing off his thick armor, and what bullets found their way through felt like bee stings to him.

Boom. Boom. Crack. Click. The sound of the dwarven guns wreaking havoc on his boyz began to drive him insane. He ripped an axe out of the hands of a dead orc and began to swing both of the massive battle axes into the line of dwarves. Hundreds of dwarves were slain by him, and dozens more fell in his ravenous whirlwind of black steel.

Across the field a dwarf aimed at him, and sent his scatter shot towards the orc’s face. Quickly enough Agboar raised an axe and blocked the pellets. He lowered his axe and laughed, then the second shot knocked off his helmet, and some shrapnel hit his face. That one stung. He spit blood and a chipped tooth from his mouth, then charged the dwarf.

The dwarf glared at the orc and dropped his Grudge-Raker. He unsheathed two axes from his belt and stood stalwart against the coming storm. As Agboar swung his axe the dwarf slid between his legs, pivoted, and hacked at his calf. The black orc roared in pain and dropped one of his axes. He gripped one in both hands and brought it downward towards the dwarf, who sidestepped the blow. His battle axe stuck into the earth, and the dwarf cut off Agboar’s fingers with quick strikes from his axes.

The black orc bellowed in pain, then kicked the dwarf in the chest, sending the small lad backwards into the air. His breath was forced from his lungs as the heavy boot smashed against him. One of the dwarf’s axes landed nearby, but the other was lost. Swiftly he gripped the axe and threw it at the orc who was now charging him. The axe broke through the leather on Agboar’s stomach, impaled his gut, and forced him onto a knee. The dwarf wielded a hammer from one of his fallen brethren. He cursed under his breath and raised the hammer. “Dreaded grob.” He said and began to smash the skull of Agboar Gutrip.

Blood splattered his face, and tears filled his eyes as he furiously pulverized the greenskin into a bloody mess. All around him the broken bodies of his brethren laid slain and it was all he could do to right this wrong.

“Okri! Okri! Enough!” Said one of the dwarves who pulled on Okri’s shoulder. “We have won this battle.” He dropped the hammer and allowed his ally to pull him off the greenskin.

When the smoke cleared the war banners of another Waagh could be seen marching from the Badlands. “Aye, my brother. We’ve won this battle, but many more are before us.” Okri retrieved his Grudge-Raker, sheathed his axe, and the hammer he newly acquired.

The heavy sighs, and subtle sobs could be heard as the dwarves said their farewells to their fallen. “Thoggraki beneath us, greenskins march from the south, and reports of chaos in the north. What are we going to do?” Asked a dwarf, perhaps rhetorically.

Okri loaded his Grudge-Raker and looked at his brother in arms. “We fight.”

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