Desert Shadows-WHII DLC Contest

Shadows in the Desert

By BioArchineer

It was quiet on the secluded crag overlooking Cobra Pass, and the seemingly endless desert that lay before it. Night had finally overtaken the Atalan Mountains, providing some relief from the relentless assault of the sun that scorched every living thing that dared stick its head out from shelter. Now the mountains and the sands were lit only by the twinkling stars above, and the sickly green light of Morrslieb as it hung ominously in the desert sky.

Orik Stonebeard shifted in his ranger cloak, trying in vain to get comfortable on his perch high above the pass. Finally, he gave up, resigning himself to another night of misery. Somehow, even this high up, sand still managed to find its way everywhere, including underneath his camouflaged clothing.He swore under his breath, cursing the long list of individuals responsible for his current situation. Chief among them being himself, he noted bitterly. Being a ranger had never been a bad gig. A little lonely, sometimes, wandering the forests and mountains of the Old World all by himself, but he’d never had much need for companions. He’d been able to settle many a grudge as he hunted down greenskins and other filth that trespassed on dwarfen lands, and if it had never made him rich, it had at least made him content.

Until that damned representative from the Greybeard clan had showed up in Karak Azul while Orik had been delivering the carcass of a troll that had been preying on the local goat herds. Gold, silver, jewels of the finest quality, wealth beyond imagining. All contained within a mountain range just beyond the Arabyan coast. All ripe for the taking, for those brave dwarfs who would join the expedition. Orik had tried to ignore it, but even a ranger could be tempted by the sirens call of mines filled with riches.

To their credit, the Greybeards had not lied about the treasure. Orik had already seen some of the egg-sized gemstones that had been dug out from the new mines as he arrived at the main hold in Vulture Mountain for the first time. He had no doubt that further riches would soon be unearthed by eager Dwarf miners.

What the Greybeards had not mentioned was the endless stream of undead that came shambling in from the desert. Orik snorted. Distasteful things, undead. Between that and their occasional dabbling with the power of the Ancient Enemy, how was it that the umgi had such a talent for finding the most unwholesome uses of magic? Even the thrice-blasted elves were not so ghoulish as to parade around the corpses of their ancestors in the pursuit of power.

And so, rather than making his fortune beneath the dark, cool earth, Orik had been sent to join the dwarf garrison that stood sentinel over Cobra Pass, the gateway to the Atalan Mountains and the dwarfen treasure contained within.

He shifted again in his cloak. Kruting sand. He sighed, once again returning his gaze out over the desert, peering through his spyglass for any disturbance in the sea of sand. His keen eyesight, honed from years tracking gobbos and trolls out in the forests of the Old World, had landed him permanent duty as a lookout for the garrison. Bands of skeleton warriors had assaulted the camp twice in the past week. Fortunately their ancient, crumbling weapons had had little success piercing the heavy armor of the dwarf defenders, but the attacks were becoming more frequent. Orik had a nagging suspicion that whatever necromancer was controlling the foul creatures was merely testing their defenses before he sent in the real invasion force. Regardless, the undead could show up at any time, and so sentries were posted all along the pass during all hours of the day, watching for signs of the next attack. Orik smiled to himself for a moment. At least he wasn’t one of the poor fools who had to stand watch during the middle of the day, when the sun was at its most unforgiving.

A scratching noise from nearby disturbed his reverie. He turned, frowning, his eyes straining to try and pick out the source in the dark. Few animals called these mountains home. The scratching grew faster and more frantic, until it was replaced by a single long scrape, and then a screaming wail that soon faded into the night. He rushed to the edge, just in time to see a blob slightly darker than the rock around it rapidly shrinking as it fell downwards to the valley floor hundreds of meters below. And as the shape flailed in vain to escape its inevitable doom, Orik saw a long, thin shape whip out from the blob. A tail, as if attached to a giant rat.

The horn was nearly to Orik’s lips as he felt the cold steel of a blade pierce through his sand filled armor, and into his no longer beating heart.


Snulk Lurktongue hissed in distaste as the dwarf-thing sentry fell dead at his feet, the horn dropping from lifeless fingers. That fool Blacktail had nearly given the sentry time enough to sound the alarm. And he had most certainly awakened every dwarf in the encampment with his pathetic screams as he fell to his death. Snulk worked quickly, unfurling the signal flag which glowed faintly with warpstone-tainted paint, and rose it high over the crag. Soon, he could see hundreds of dark shapes emerging from the sands and darting for the dwarf encampment. He scampered back to the cliff edge, drawing out his climbing claws, and began making his way down to join the rest of the Clan Esshin warparty. He made his way slowly, not wishing to meet the same fate as his former subordinate. It gave Snulk plenty of time to fume silently.

The assassin had been handpicked by the Deathmaster himself to clear the way for the skaven army as they sought to clear out the dwarf-things from the mountains and claim their treasures for Skavendom. Snulk had of course been honoured to be selected; he was eager to prove his skills as an assassin. None were quieter, more deadly, yes-yes, he thought. Well, perhaps save for the Deathmaster. For now.

But recent events had awakened Snulk’s paranoia. Had the Deathmaster assigned him such incompetent lackeys just to see him fail? Perhaps he feared Snulk’s growing prowess, yes-yes, he thought, trying not to think of the oft-repeated stories of the Deathmaster’s legendary skills. Surely not all of them could be true.

Snulk finally reached the valley floor, and began slinking his way to the dwarf camp. It was already a frenzy of noise, the dying screams of skaven and dwarf alike echoing throughout Cobra Pass. The skaven had managed to close most of the distance to the camp without being spotted, due to Snulk and his team of assassins silencing the sentries, but Blacktail had managed to awaken the camp with his dying screams, and the skaven horde had been spotted soon after. Snulk avoided the main battle; let Eshin battle-slaves try their luck against the dwarfs’ prepared defenses. He had more important work to do.

With a single leap he easily scaled the short wall the dwarfs had erected around their camp, and began searching for his prey. He soon found it, standing on top of a stone tower in the middle of the camp. A dwarf engineer, barking out orders to the battery of flame cannons poking out of the tower’s ports. One cannon barked, and a glowing ball of fire arced over the camp, bringing light to the desert once more. It landed a moment later, a huge gout of flame erupting upwards as the valley filled with the screams and stench of burning ratmen.

Snulk scampered his way up the tower, his claws finding purchase in the slightest of cracks, and he lept up into the air, alighting on the tower roof. The engineer had four thunderers standing with him, taking potshots at any skaven who dared into their sights. The first dwarf blinked in surprise at the furry blur that shot up before his eyes. He had little time to do anything else before Snulk grabbed him and sent him shouting over the side of the tower. The second marksdwarf was faster; he was already bringing his handgun to bear when he suddenly dropped to the tower roof, mouth frothing, one of Snulk’s warpstone shuriken buried in his throat.

The other two marksdwarfs dropped their guns and drew their axes, swinging wildly at the black cloaked skaven in front of them. Snulk dodged their blows with contemptuous ease, gutting one with a flurry of blows from his warp-blades and slitting the throat of the other a moment later.

As the last corpse dropped, Snulk’s instincts bade him to dive to the side, a hail of shot tearing up the floor where he had been standing a moment before. The dwarf engineer took aim again, but Snulk had already closed the distance, his warp-blades flashing in the night. The engineer managed to block the first blow with his rifle, and swung with his weapon, hoping to bash in his foes skull with the gun’s heavy wooden stock.

But Snulk had already lept over the dwarf’s head, landing lightly behind him. With a single fluid motion from his warp-blades, the engineers head was freed from its body, eyes still wide open with surprise. Snulk stopped for a moment, panting, as he surveyed his handiwork. Below, the flame cannons still fired. He heard shouting from within the tower, and the sounds of someone trying to open a hatch against the weight of a dwarfen corpse.

Snulk produced a heavily padded pouch, gingerly removing a glowing green globe from within. He walked over to the hatch, kicking the corpse atop it aside and swinging it open. A shocked artillery dwarf stared up at him. Snulk snickered, tossed in the globe, and slammed the hatch shut. A few moments later, green mist began trickling from the edges of the hatch, the acrid stench of Skryre science accompanying it. Snulk felt the hatch beneath him lurch as something began desperately beating against it, but a few moments later the thumping ceased. A few moments after that, Snulk noted with satisfaction that the cannons had ceased firing. He watched from atop his perch as the skaven horde swarmed forward, no longer held at bay by the dwarfs’ bombardments. The Eshin army had brought artillery of its own, great clouds of gas bursting around the camp as mortars began firing. More than a few landed in clumps of skaven troops; Snulk watched bemusedly as clanrats clasped at their throats trying to draw in breath.

He began clambering down the tower, eager to find more dwarf-things to kill before the night was over. There was still much to be done; taking Vulture Mountain would require all of the dirty tricks Clan Eshin could bring to bear. And Snulk had heard rumors that they would soon be hunting some elf-thing and his sea fortress.

Whoever it was, he thought as he ran through the camp, they should have stayed home. Because once the Deathmaster found them, there would only be one possible outcome.