Introduction: No army would be complete without a background! So I wrote those short stories for you guys (well, actually, I wrote'em for me...). The first one, Training Day, shows the Darklanders in their everyday life, doing what they spend their entire lives doing: training for battle! It also shows how life goes on in general in their fortresses. The second story, The Battle of Zharr-Naggrund, explains with more details how the Overlord's raid against the city of the Chaos Dwarves actually happened. This story is a good way to see how Darklanders fight, and also tells us more about Skardron. Finally, the third one, History of the Darklanders, is, well, the history of the Darklanders (what did you expect?), from the fall of the Dwarves of the Dark Lands under the banner of Chaos to the Overlord's war to unite the men of the East.
Training Day
Rashken, Warlord of Rakhavan, finally tore his eyes from the contemplation of the dry and empty wasteland below him and went back to business. Watching the Dark Lands was just too depressing, and he had no time to be depressed. The news brought yesterday by the bunch of Patrollers who had come trade a few goods and buy food in the stronghold were very alarming: according to them, a huge army of Chaos was coming their way, and from what they said, demons walked with them. This was no time to watch the ash desert. This was time to train the men and prepare Rakhavan, the Grey Fortress, for a terrible battle.
The Warlord got down the tower and took a few minutes to see how things were working. Most men and women were already at training. A hundred Orcs were re-building the western wall that they had destroyed themselves one week ago, when they had attacked. Their army had been massacred at the gates of the city and the few survivors had been enslaved to repair what they had done. Rashken had always thought that Orcs were the best slaves: they were strong, tireless and too stupid to even get the idea of escaping. Unlike Skaven, who were weak, sneaky and good only to wash clothes and armors. The re-building of the wall was going fast: the lord had told the slavemasters to get every drop of sweat out of the foul green-skinned beasts so that the fort would be ready for the battle.
The afternoon sky was blue, but the air was chilly as usual. The Warlord went to inspect the Honor Guard that stood in shining ranks on the public place. All had their halberds pointed up at the very same angle, and no trace of rust was to be seen on their magnificent armors. Most of them were bare-headed. A few of them had a helmet, but no visor to hide their scarred and clean-shaven faces, to make sure that the enemies see their fate in the eyes before they die. And die they will, thought the Warlord. All the Darklander soldiers who were standing before him were grim and determined. They would not fail, Rashken was sure of it.
Walking toward the center of the fortified city, the dark-haired man decided to go to the War Academy of Rakhavan to see how young people were training. Everyone in the town was in shiny armor and wore a sword, as usual. In the streets, warriors and civilians alike were fencing against each other to improve their skills. A few beautiful young women were training too, ready to take part to the battle. It was said that in the Empire, women were not sent to battle and not even taught to wield a sword. Rashken knew full well that most women in his city were as good in battle as male Imperial soldiers. In the Dark Lands, you learn to fight or you die.
The Academy was, like everything made by the Darklanders, plain and practical, with no foolish consideration for beauty. It was a fortress of its own and had a central courtyard in which aspiring warriors were preparing for battle. About twenty bare-chested boys, of twelve years old or so, were wrestling on the dark grey sand of the training yard. Most of them already had an impressive strength and agility. They had been practicing their combat skills from the age of six and now they were very promising recruits. Rashken watched a hand-to-hand duel between two young boys for a few minutes, until one of them finally managed to pin his opponent on the sand. The loser took only five seconds to take his breath before going back to wrestling. Despite the fact that they had been fighting for hours, none of them seemed to sweat.
The Warlord went to the central training ground, where the young men were fencing with swords with an amazing accuracy, some of them managing to graze their opponent's skin with the tip of their blade without even spilling blood. Some of them were duelling against Beastmen or Orcs kept under slavery. Those were showing no pity, and the only thing that could end the fight was the death of the slave. Rashken finally spotted his own son Drakhran. The young fourteen-years-old boy was fencing against a massive Orc for over half an hour now. He could have killed it long ago, but he was merely playing with it to improve his own skills.
Drakhran was the pride of the fortress: he was already better than most veterans of the army. When the Greenskins had attacked last week, he had slain four Orcs by himself, including a Black Orc boss. The young boy was tall and strong for his age. No trace of sweat was to be seen on his forehead. His movements were fluid, swift, graceful and accurate despite his heavy armor (it was commonly said that he moved better with his armor than without) and his sword met his opponent's with a great speed and strength. The Orc was fighting with a growing anger and striking with fury, but Drakhran's moves were instinctive, almost casual. Finally, the young boy decided that it was time to end the fight. Swinging his sword even faster in deadly arcs, he managed to remove the Orc's head from its shoulders in a matter of seconds. The animal stood for a few seconds, than heavily fell at Drakhran's feet. The Warlord congratulated his son for his performance.
"But don't kill too many of them," he told him. "We'll need those beasts to re-build the castle after the battle."
The boy brought back behind his neck his long, wavy dark hair that delighted all the girls from the fort and had a dangerous grin that revealed most of his sharp, wolvish teeth.
"If we are well trained," he said with a cruel spark in his grey eyes, "the only job for the slaves to do will be to burn the corpses of our enemies."
"Good point," Rashken admitted. "Continue your training, son. You'll make a great warrior."
The Warlord of Rakhavan got out of the Academy and took the road to the arena of the fortress. Pit fights were the only entertainment of Darklanders, but during this day of training, only a few people were watching the combats. The pit itself, however, was full of people. Ranks of fully armored knights stood, divided between two teams of thirty men each: one with red flags and one with blue flags. Rashken went nearer and one of his rare smiles grew on his thin lips. Charging cavalry was something he had always loved to see during a battle.
A horn was sounded and the knights charged forth, their lances levelled. In a great clash of steel, the weapons stroke and nearly all the knights were unhorsed. There were two casualties and three injured, but dying or being crippled during training was common in the Dark Lands. After all, if a man had never faced danger before a battle, how would he react to it in the middle of the battle? Dangerous training methods were also an excellent way to get rid of the weaker warriors. They were real soldiers, not those wimps of the Empire.
The unhorsed knights painfully got back on their feet. Rashken estimated the number of knights who were still mounted and found out that the team with the blue flags had won. He left the arena and took the narrow street to the smith's forge. Rakhavan was cleaner than any Imperial city thanks to the very harsh military laws, but like all fortified towns, buildings were very close to each other. The forge was one of the most important buildings in Darklanders' eyes, since it was there that were created weapons and armors that they needed so badly. The smith had been taught his lore by the famous Dwarf smiths and none in the stronghold could make better swords. He had just created a new set of armor for Rashken.
"Here's what you wanted, my lord," he said, bowing. "I'm sorry it took so long. My clumsy Orc slave had broken the breastplate while trying to repair it."
"No problem," the Warlord said. "This armor you created is worthy of your masters of Kharaz-a-Karak. I will take great care of it."
Rashken put on his new set of shining armor and admired himself in a mirror. Tall and impressive in his war gear, he felt no more doubts about the outcome of the battle against Chaos. They would triumph once more, of that he was now convinced.
"You did great work, Thargren," the warrior told the smith. "My enemies will learn to fear the wearer of this kingly armor. We shall massacre our invaders as usual in the name of the Overlord Skardron, and all our foes will fall under the blades of the Darklanders. Be confident, my friend, for one day, we will stand as one great nation. We are eternal."
The Battle of Zharr-Naggrund
Skardron sniffed the chilly air of the Dark Lands and his gaze became even colder than usual. The reek of oil, smoke, rotten flesh and decay was almost unbearable as he and his knights were trotting towards the foul capital city of the Chaos Dwarves, Zharr-Naggrund. The fortress was now very near and it was almost sure that the guards of the dark citadel had seen them. They were probably already gathering their forces and preparing for battle. Skardron had had little hope for a surprise assault anyway, but he knew that the evil cousins of the Dwarves were more than able to give him trouble.
The city itself was impressive in size. It looked like a smoky ruin and smelled like an open sewer. From here, the Overlord could see the numerous slaves (Orcs, Skaven, Hobgoblins, humans and even other Dwarves) working like beasts in the factories of the evil creatures. This foul place would not stand for long, Skardron decided. This was an important part of his war, and he intended not to leave Zharr-Naggrund until the whole place was in ruins.
The Overlord's crusade to unite the Dark Lands had started no more than one month ago. He had already, by political means, convinced the warlords of two other fortresses to join him, but now he had to prove himself worthy. Knowing that a strike against the Chaos Dwarves would make him a hero, he had led his army into a bloody war against evil. Starting his conquest slowly and burning all the Chaos strongholds that stood in his way, he had finally let his infantry behind and, assisted by his cavalry, was now about to send a raid against Zharr-Naggrund. His army was not numerous, but he was sure that the Chaos Dwarves didn't expect the attack so soon, being sure that the Overlord's host was still thirty leagues to the West.
Skardron was a tall and strong warrior who had merciless steel-grey eyes and long dark hair tied into a ponytail behind his neck. He was only twenty-nine year old, but his grim face was already scarred and tanned by uncounted wars and adventures. His sharp features, his dangerous gaze and his general bearing made him look like a bird of prey. He was sitting on a fully-grown male Arthrag that was already thirsting for hot blood. Gesturing his knights to follow him, the Overlord Skardron took one last gaze at the city before the attack. As he had expected, the evil Chaos Dwarves were already preparing their cannons and crossbows for battle. But it was too late to go back. Raising the Sword of Conquest high toward the late afternoon sky, he shouted:
"Men of the Dark Lands! In the name of honor, charge!"
As one man, the Overlord's heavily armored cavalry charged forth. From the towers of Zharr-Naggrund, the cannons and bolt throwers shot. But already the Darklanders were moving away from each other, and few men fell. When they got closer, the Dwarves sent them a hail of arrows with their deadly crossbows, but few of the projectiles found a way through the knights' armors. Seeing that they could not bring down enough men to protect their city with shooting alone, they hurriedly sent a few infantry units to stand before the cavalry. This was one of the worst mistakes they would do this day: the Overlord's cavalry teared through the Dwarves like a red-hot sword would cleave through butter. In a thunderous clash of twisted steel, five whole ranks of the bearded warriors were ripped and the remainder broke and fled, only to have their skulls shattered under the hooves of the knights' horses.
Soon the defenders found themselves overwhelmed by the fury of the Darklanders. The men of the Overlord were everywhere, butchering all the Chaos Dwarves they met.
"Fight freely!" Skardron shouted over the din of the battle. "Kill every creature of Chaos you meet, set all the slaves free, and burn everything! From now on you fight the way you want, until I order you to retreat!"
The disciplined Darklanders, who weren't used to be allowed to fight how they wanted to, were all too glad to be permitted to battle how they felt like it. Torrents of stinking, dark blood were soon running down the narrow streets of Zharr-Naggrund. Within a few minutes, dozens of slaves found themselves free and helped the Darklanders to slaughter the Chaos Dwarves. The evil inhabitants of the city were fleeing everywhere, but no place was safe for them now.
Fighting at the lead of a little unit of elite Thrag Knights, the Overlord himself was one of the most deadly threats of the city. His greatsword was already dark-red to the hilt and his silver armor was flecked with drops of a blood that came from at least ten Chaos Dwarves. His wake was clearly indicated by numerous corpses and a wide river of gore. Skardron's eyes were icy and determined as his sword went up and down in lightning-fast arcs. Below him, Kherrak, his powerful Arthrag, was savagely devouring the wounded Chaos Dwarves alive, and even then, the tiger-shaped creature needed more blood. Slaying their way through the battle, the Overlord and his four best warriors found themselves in front of the entrance of a cavern.
"It's a mine," one of the men informed Skardron. "They use hundreds of slaves to exploit the coal that can be found in the depths. We should go take a look and see if we can free them."
"Good idea," the Overlord agreed. "Let's get in."
Leaving their Thrags outside, the five Darklanders entered the cavern. The inner light of the Sword of Conquest was more powerful than any torch to lead them in the darkness. Horrible creatures, mostly Chaos Dwarves, Hobgoblins and mutated Skaven, tried to stop them, but it was no use: all were mercilessly slain without even managing to scratch one of the armored warriors. The Darklanders finally reached the lower levels of the mine, where the slaves lived.
"Free all the humans, Dwarves and Elves you find in the cells," Skardron commanded. "Kill any other creature you meet."
The Overlord's men dutifully obeyed and soon, they had freed forty slaves. They were in various states of hunger, thirst or disease since their masters had treated them like beasts. One of them, though, seemed in a better shape than the others: a Dwarf, tall for his race, who wore a long white beard. He told the Overlord that he had been a noble before becoming a slave. His name was Gradnor and he was willing to give him a great reward if he got him out of the city.
Skardron and his men led the slaves out of the mines. They had to abandon the weaker ones who could barely stand up, but they finally made it to the upper levels. When the Overlord got back into the fading light of the day, one of his men ran to him.
"My lord!" he shouted. "We must hurry. Another army of Chaos Dwarves is already coming from the East. We have to gather our men and flee."
"We burn this city first," Skardron replied. "Then we leave."
"Impossible. The buildings are made out of stone and metal."
The white-bearded Dwarf's eyes became sly.
"There is a way," he said. "Not too far from here, there is a huge machine that pumps pure oil from the ground. If we find black powder, we could make it blow up. The explosion will level all the center of the city to the ground, then the blazing oil will spread everywhere. Within a few minutes, half of Zharr-Naggrund will be on fire."
Finding the Dwarf's idea of his liking, Skardron had a few of his men find a keg of black powder and put it near the oil-pumping machine. He lit the wick himself and shouted:
"We leave now! No time to waste! This city will be an inferno soon, so we better get out!"
He called Kherrak and invited the white-bearded Dwarf to ride behind him on the scaly beast. Reluctant at first, Gradnor finally accepted when he remembered about the pump that would soon blow up. Skardron ordered his men and all the slaves they had freed to flee as far from Zharr-Naggrund as they could. Following his knights, he rode straight ahead with only one thing in mind: surviving. Then what felt like the end of the world came. In a thunderous and blinding explosion that sent a burning wind in all directions, the pump annihilated itself, soon to be replaced by a column of blazing oil that looked like a hundred-feet-high fountain of fire. The Overlord felt as though he was being flayed alive by the heat.
But finally he and his men gathered in the plain that surrounded the city. Exhausted and covered with blood, the Darklanders saw that most of Zharr-Naggrund was being devoured by the red flames. Even the enemy reinforcements, who had just entered the city, were probably dead. One of Skardron's rare smiles grew across his face as he set Gradnor back on the ground. This day, he felt invincible. For he was the Overlord, and none could stand against him.
History of the Darklanders
(Reported and written by Khein Zhargoth, lieutenant of the Overlord)
Read my writings and learn from them. Learn how a great civilization can fall into evil. Learn how a handful of men can manage to survive, day after day, even when everything seems to have plotted to destroy them to the last. Learn how those men, struggling every minute to keep themselves alive in a hostile world where few even dare to go, can find the time to build, to write, to dream, to love. Learn, whoever you are, how one single man can rise and, with his words then with his sword, bring together under one banner thousands of people who, not so long ago, were still warring against each other for petty matters like territory or pride. Learn how, united as we shall be soon, we will spend every of our waking hours to wage merciless war against Chaos and thus drive evil away from our land.
The Winds of Chaos
Who knows exactly when, how and why all the Dwarves of the Dark Lands fell under the dominion of Chaos? They, perhaps. Not us. What we know is that long ago, while the men at the West of the World's Edge Mountains were gathering into what would become the Empire, we Darklanders were also an united people. No one knows for sure when the men settled in the Dark Lands, for we didn't write our history at the time. But it is told that where we live now wasn't a wasteland yet. The Dwarves of the region were our allies and taught us how to make weapons and armors. In return, we helped them at war, for the land was already populated with uncounted Greenskins. We never were powerful or numerous, but our skills in battle were already good and we had at the time no need to send to war every man able to stand up.
What happened then? This is only a vague blur in our history. The few writings we still have from that time tell us about a great collapse. No one knows for sure what collapsed exactly, but this is what caused Chaos to enter like a flood of darkness in our lands. The ruinous powers of Nurgle, Khorne, Tzeentch and Slaanesh corrupted the air, the earth, the water and the people. From that moment on and for the following five centuries, one child out of four was born with horrible mutations and had to be immediately executed. The trees died, most rivers became dark and poisonous, the weather got colder and terrible creatures invaded the lands. We begged our allies the Dwarves to help us, but they had the same problems, even though they seemed much more resistant to mutation than we were at the time.
As the territory we lived in became what would be called the Dark Lands, our population began decreasing: the famine, the mutations and the wars against the creatures of Chaos thinned our people by half within ten years. Again we sought the help of the Dwarves, but with every passing year, they became cold, disdainful and completely uncaring about our fate. They started building cities of terrible size without caring anymore about the nature. They dug even deeper to find minerals and exhausted several layers of coal and iron. They had no more respect for the world they lived in: they built huge factories that polluted the waters even more, they cut down the very few forests that had been spared by the winds of Chaos and they started experiencing gruesome things like controlled mutation, sometimes on their own race. They allied with the Hobgoblins, who had always been their enemies before. And they finally broke all bonds with the Darklanders.
The Age of Darkness
During the following years, the Darklanders' numbers thinned even more. They were no longer an united race. Now that they found themselves in a hostile land, their mind focused on one thing: surviving. Realizing that they could not live for very long in small settlements that were attacked often, they finally started building fortresses, just like the Chaos Dwarves had done too. The Darklanders finally found themselves separated: anyone who got out from one of the strongholds was almost sure to be slain by a creature of Chaos or to die slowly in the desert. All communications and trade between cities stopped. Now it was every fortress for itself.
Centuries passed, and our race changed during that time. We became grim, warlike and proud. Probably because of the influence of Chaos, our hair turned dark and our eyes became dull, cold and lifeless. Our skin darkened and took greyish or olive hues. We grew in size and in bulk, and some of us were even born with scars. We lost all the foolish attitude that other races call humor and our mind became more logical, more matter-of-fact.
Warped children were still born. Most were immediately killed, some were abandoned in the Dark Lands, and the very few who were bred in our society died at war, either because their mutations made them weaker or because their generals got rid of them by placing them at the forefront of the troops, where they were slain first. Some people were born with mutations of the mind and not of the body: most of them were just mad or mentally retarded, but a few had powers similar to the ones the sorcerers of Chaos had. They were feared and shunned in the society of the Darklanders and sometimes had to flee in the wastelands. Needless to say, very few of them were to be seen again.
During this age, we were in a state of everlasting war. We waged war against ourselves, because every stronghold wanted to conquer the others. We waged war against the Greenskins, that had overran the Dark Lands now that our people was no longer united. And above all, we waged war against Chaos. The Chaos Dwarves were now our enemies and tried to enslave us. Helped by their foul servants the Hobgoblins, they launched several raids against our strongholds, sometimes even managing to conquer one. The number of fortresses we had went from twenty-five to sixteen, then from sixteen to twelve, and was finally reduced to the ten we still have now. During the Age of Darkness, we were alone against everyone, and we still wonder how we could have survived this terrible time of our history.
The Age of Hope
Yet this dark age would not go on forever. After grim centuries of war and misery, we finally started to realize what was happening outside when merchants from the Empire started to cross our territories. Some of them went to our forts to buy goods to continue their travel to Cathay or other countries and kept us informed of what was going on to the West. Our people learned about the men of the Empire, Bretonnia, Tilea and Kislev. We started to understand that we were not alone in the world. We also heard that the Dwarves who lived in the World's Edge Mountains had not been corrupted by Chaos. The Darklanders tentatively began to go out of their fortresses and travel to the Old World.
It's Khendor, Warlord of the fortress of Brakhan, who was the first to prepare a real well-organized expedition to the Empire. At the head of a group of twenty warriors, he went to the West with gold, weapons and armors to trade. When he came back six months later, his team had been reduced by half because of a few battles against the Orcs in the moutains and the Undead in Sylvania, but the survivors had plenty of tales of all kinds to tell. From what they reported, they had gone to Altdorf and had been very impressed by the wealth of the Empire. They had traded their merchandise for inventions like the crossbow and the cannon powder. Khendor had even managed to speak to the Emperor himself and negotiate a commercial and military alliance.
The success of this expedition encouraged the Warlord to send another. This time, he went to the West with a strong army and, during his travels, met the Dwarves of the World's Edge Mountains. He managed to speak with the High King of Kharaz-a-Karak himself and, after a long conversation in private, forged a solid alliance with him. He went to the Empire once again and stayed much longer, visiting a lot of nobles and sharing with them merchandise, news, war strategies and equipment. Khendor also visited Bretonnia, Tilea, Estalia and even Kislev during his long travels.
A lot of things were gained from the trades with the kingdoms of the West. Knights were integrated to the army of the Dark Lands, magic became a bit more accepted in our society and some of our people made themselves merchants or mercenaries. Our discipline and our skills in battle were shown to the men of the West many times: our Silver Guard fought to the last man at a battle against Chaos at the gates of Kislev, our warriors held an Elector Count's castle against a force of Skaven eight times their numbers and one of our Warlords managed to unhorse the king of Bretonnia's personnal champion during a joust in the city of Couronne.
There were less children who had mutations and it seemed that the winds of Chaos were not as powerful as they had been before. Our people was no longer spending every breath trying to survive. The raids of Greenskins and Chaos Dwarves were not too numerous. But times were still hard in the Dark Lands, for we were still divided. We knew that we could not be content of what we had as long as the powers of the Dark Gods were still hovering over our territory. Our hope was union. And one man would bring it to us.
The Overlord
No one knows for sure when Keth Skardron came to the world and no one even knows the name of his parents. What is known about his childhood, though, was that he was found half-dead, in the wastelands, by a Commander of our army who was going back with his men to the fortress of Khairyn. The boy, who was only twelve years old, was badly wounded, feverish and almost naked. On his right arm was burned the sign of Zharr-Naggrund that all the slaves of the city of the Chaos Dwarves wore. No one knows how he has managed to escape, but he had a crossbow bolt in his back, a sure sign that his masters had tried to kill him as he fled. The fact that he was found miles away from any settlement proved that he had an unusual willpower to be able to run that far after he had been wounded.
The Commander brought the boy back to his fortress and cured him. The young man fought against fever for days before regaining consciousness. When he woke up, he remembered only his name and didn't recall anything else about him or anyone. Skardron was raised like any other Darklander boy: hours of military training every day and harsh rules. He soon became one of the best warriors of the fort of Khairyn, but was also characterized by a rebellious temper and a great ambition. When the Warlord of the stronghold died without a heir, a great tournament was organized and the winner would be declared lord. In various trials like jousts, duels and military strategy, Skardron won against warriors much more experienced than he. Crowned Warlord of Khairyn at the age of nineteen, he made himself almost immediately famous by repelling a raid of Orcs and slaughtering the populations of Hobgoblins of the region.
Thirsty for power and glory, he forged the Sword of Conquest, gathered his warriors and started the Great Purge to rid the Dark Lands from Chaos and unite the Darklanders. Using his legendary charisma, he managed to convince two Warlords from other fortresses to join him. His deeds became famous when he led a successful assault against Zharr-Naggrund and burned the city after freeing the slaves and killing thousands of Chaos Dwarves. Following this battle, two more Warlords pledged allegiance to the Overlord.
His army still growing, Lord Skardron proves his courage at each battle. Refusing to stay back and watch his men do the job, he is known to be extremely reckless and to always charge in the middle of the carnage, where the fighting is the bloodiest. His ambition becomes worrying for a lot of Darklanders, who fear that his thirst for domination will have no bounds. Already, he has conquered three more fortresses by force and had their Warlords executed for resisting to the Great Purge. Graskhar, the mad Warlord of Thorgrak, is preparing his army to face the Overlord and is determined to fight him as long as one of them lives.
However our lord is wise and brave. Under his rule, we Darklanders will soon be united like we were before, and as one people, we will purge our land from Chaos. Men of the Dark Lands, all hail the Overlord! Let his light shine through our courage!
