Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

He went unchallenged. Bones were the only things he saw.

After a time a pair of richly carved gates materialised in his lantern light. They were ajar, the gap between them an impenetrable black. The drafts of the tunnel were forced into sighing winds by the narrowness of the gap, and Drokki smelled slow decay.

He squeezed between them, and came into the outskirts of Gaenagrik. The road split, half going upward, half down. Doorways to deserted guardrooms showed as dark holes. Nervously he sniffed the air, his zharrgrim-trained nose searching for ur-gold. The smell of ur-gold was like no other, a tingle at the back of the sinuses, like before a good sneeze. It didn’t take him long to find it. That would help him find the duardin he sought. Doing so would either save his life, or end it. He patted the pouch of fresh ur-gold runes at his belt, hoping that they would be enough.

Glancing around, he set off on the upward path.

Once in the hold, Drokki had no concern about encountering the enemy. This was the renegade grimwrath berzerker Brokkengird’s territory, and that made Drokki very nervous, more nervous than if he were facing a horde of pleasure-worshippers. Never mind that Drokki had come to find the grimwrath; Brokkengird was insane.

Not the best of allies, but Drokki could see no other way. Only Brokkengird knew the safe route to Gaenagrik’s realmgate.

Drokki followed his nose. The road continued upward at an unvarying incline. A canyon, carved straight by duardin picks, opened up to his side. On the far side roads switched back and forth up the cliff, leading to the open mouths of mines. Lava glow came from the bottom of the crevasse, so faint it must have been hundreds of feet down. Strange sounds came out of the dark, louder and odder the further in he walked.

When Drokki reached the top of the canyon road, the smell of ur-gold had the back of his nose tickling. He held up his runic lantern, playing the bright yellow cone of light over a wide plaza, its walls carved with friezes showing the daily life of duardin centuries dead.

Something barged into Drokki’s back, sending him flying. He rolled over and over, coming to a halt face down over the precipice. His lamp flew from his hand, clattering from the canyon walls before spinning away. The light of it dwindled to nothing. He did not hear it hit the bottom.

A hard hand gripped him by the scruff of the neck and threw him backwards as if he weighed nothing. He flew across the plaza into the carved walls. Stone met his back, bruising his ribs and driving the wind from him, and he slid to the floor, gaping like a landed fish for breath as a figure advanced on him from the dark. He saw only the gold at first, glowing runes studded into skin in such numbers they should have torn the bearer apart with their magic. The smell of ur-gold was maddeningly strong, almost strong enough to overcome the powerful stink of unwashed duardin.

Brokkengird had found him.

‘Ur-gold for Brokkengird!’ said the duardin gleefully, aiming his axe at Drokki’s head. The runemaster rolled out of the way as he swung. Rock chips stung his cheek as the axe blade bit into the pavement.

Drokki kicked out in desperation, his feet meeting a body as yielding as rock. The priest wriggled back, but Brokkengird grabbed his ankle and yanked hard, dragging Drokki right towards him. The berzerker jumped onto the runemaster’s chest, laid his axe haft across his neck, and began to throttle.

‘Ur-gold! Ur-gold! Brokkengird kill, Brokkengird keep!’ He laughed madly.

Drokki pushed at the axe haft, but Brokkengird burned with the might of Grimnir, and his strength was terrifying.

‘Stop, stop!’ gasped out Drokki. ‘I can bring you more, much more.’

‘They all say that to Brokkengird when Brokkengird comes for them,’ said Brokkengird, and pressed down on his axe harder. The haft closed Drokki’s airway.

‘Pouch!’ he squeaked. ‘Ur-gold I brought for you! It’s… in… my… pouch…’ He flapped at his belt helplessly. A roaring filled his head. Blackness spotted with dancing colour crowded his vision.

Brokkengird removed his axe.

‘Ur-gold in pouch? No promise to go away and come back and never return? Many try to bribe Brokkengird, to keep their worthless beards.’

‘I have it, in truth!’

‘Then show Brokkengird.’

Drokki drew in a great wheezing breath and clutched at his neck.

‘Go on then,’ said Brokkengird. He grinned nastily. Even his teeth were made of ur-gold, haphazardly hammered into his gums. ‘Show me what you have.’

Drokki sat up. Still gasping, he undid the strings of his pouch and tipped out three new runes. ‘These are freshly forged,’ he croaked. ‘Warm from the forge and full of Grimnir’s might.’

Brokkengird reached out and took one of the runes reverently. He fingered it, and his face lit up with greed. ‘Good. Now Brokkengird will kill you.’

‘I can get you more!’ said Drokki hurriedly, holding out the other two.

‘How much more?’

‘Lots.’