Diggy Diggy Hole Chapter 6 (Patreon)

With father setting up small barrels of his less impressive ale to sell to the humans, and I myself setting out a large number of knives and smaller blades that clearly had runic enchantments upon them.

We had swiftly drew the gazes of the Umgi merchants.

"I say. Aren't you too young to be making enchanted blades? Or has your beard been stolen from you in a vicious attack?" One merchant spoke and I could see my father's face twitch in amusement as the fat merchant chuckle as well.

I shook my head and I spoke as seriously as I a child could do so. "I am still Master Snorlot's apprentice. And I am trying to acquire the resources to continue my tutelage rather than causing issues within the clan as they rightfully want my master's more advanced work."

The merchant nodded and he leaned in closer to take in the thicker blades with him saying with a hum. "These blades are rather heavy for such short things. What are the enchantments?" 

I smiled and said. "The thickness plays a part in the enchantments, all my blades have the enchantments and runes of Sharpness and Unbreaking. So with a heavier blade, they can be used with much more force."

I blinked as a merchant who seemed to be from Bretonnia pushed in and he gazed upon the knives and short blades before asking. "Young master Smith, could you forge larger blades? For example a knight's arming sword?" 

"Aye, I know how to make a larger blade. But I do not know the Bretonnian style swords frankly." I admitted honestly to the merchant who nodded in understanding before he went back over to his larger convoy of Brettonians who were here for good Dwarven Steel.

Soon enough a more plain merchant inspected the knives and spoke. "So are the handles that important to the enchantments?" 

I slowly shook my head and the merchant smiled before taking out some chipped gold coins and buying five of the twenty-odd knives I had made. "Then I will be buying these then. If they serve me and my men well, I will certainly be back for more." 

And my father gave a snort at hearing that with him saying. "My boy makes quality steel I say. I even bet his blades can cut directly through your bodyguard's bog iron pig stickers."

Both myself and my father looked with disdain at the clearly less rich merchant's bodyguards who were standing behind him. In particular, their weapons that were to my eyes a piece of shit honestly.

The man raised an eyebrow before pulling his hands through his beard and spoke. "Master Dwarf, your word has weight to it you know. Would you care to put a wager to your words against my men?" 

And my father snorted with him saying bluntly. "Umgi, your greed will be your undoing. But aye, your men's tools are poorly made and my boys blades can cut through them should they be pitted agaisnt one another."

There was a moment when the human considered things... And then I saw him nod before he tsk'd and without another word, he stalked off to another dawi's wares.

"Hngh, Umgi's love to try to pull deals to save them coppers let alone silver or even gold... Beware the shoddy my son. Although they can have cores of steel. All to often the men of the surface are weak of integrity and heart." My father spoke to me and I nodded in agreement.

I was all too aware of the failings of humanity both from my knowledge of this universe. And of course my own past life as well.

So for the next while, I sold off the blades I made under Snorlot's training, while my father quietly shared some life advice as the Umgi's tried a dozen be damned tricks to undermine my beyond fair prices for my blades.

Like they weren't going to immediately take them to the Empire or Brettonia and sell the clearly enchanted dwarven blade as something that was made by a 'master' runesmith. Hiding deep within the mountains they had to walk through lakes of fire and a million demons to get to said blades.

All ploys to hike up the prices on their own end of course. 

But beyond some of my younger peers coming to realize I was a runesmith, nothing of note really happened as I sold a few of the blades for a good amount of silver and gold that I could use for my own smithing.

And what plans I had for my own smithing as well.

I was going to spend a good deal of the gold and silver I was getting from these transactions in order to order and trade for some good ore and metal. I was particularly interested in trying make some good brass. 

I was a dwarf and I wanted my Skyrim dwarf armor... And I also really wanted to try to make a dwarven Centurion. As they would be the perfect tool to get rid of the fucking Skaven that infest this world.

A giant mecha construct that could shoot out boiling steam to kill and cleanse the stink of the vile vermin was the perfect tool to say nothing of the other dwarven automations I could take inspiration from.

And thankfully no matter how Snorlot didn't like automatons and the like to be used in combat. He still used a good bit of steam-powered 'power' tools in his workshop and his door for example was steam-powered.

So I did have a good way to learn the way of binding intent to a construct.

'Cathay has their giant Terra Cotta and Jade constructs... Why can't dwarves have steampunk mecha?' I mused before I heard and felt a dull rumble ring out.

"Doesn't sound like an earthquake?" I spoke as I tilted my head to the side and I saw my father scowl deep and darkly as another loud rumble rang out with the merchant's shifting uncomfortably as dust fell from the ceiling.

"Yeah... Just an earthquake, Kharn, in fact, take this ale and bring it over to Master Snorlot." He ordered me and I raised an eyebrow at his tone.

But not wanting my ass to get tanned by his hand or my mother to twist my ears I nodded and rolled up the last couple of knives I had available but paused and said. "Ok father. Uhh here by the way. I want you to have this." I spoke as I handed him one of the longer blades that were sheathed in some somewhat simple leather sheaths.

"I want you to have one of my blades father. I know you are proud of me... But I want to see you holding one of mine you know." I spoke earnestly.

My father gave me a long look before he pulled me into a crushing hug with his long beard covering my face as he hand-capped my back a couple of times roughly before he said. "Alright, Kharn... I will carry a blade, but I need a proper axe at some point you hear me son?" 

I grinned and nodded with my father giving me a slight push so I loaded up the barrel he wanted me to take over to Snorlot only the wheeled dolly and quickly began making my way into the depths of the clan.

-

Uzrak Anvilhammer, Regretful Brewmaster of the Flooded Trove took a long breath seeing his son. His beloved, most proud creation a dwarf could hope for. Making his way to the depths of the clan. 

To safety...

Although Snorlot and the rest of the clan weren't heaping praise upon the boy... But there was no hiding the almost fanatic gleam in the old beards eyes of the clan at realizing the sheer ridiculous potential Kharn had as a Runesmith to say nothing of how the other Ancestors had clearly blessed his boy.

Not only had Grungni and Thungni clearly blessed his son with his talent for smithing and runesmithing. But the clan wasn't stupid, they could tell that when Kharn rallied other children in the small war games they played, they visibly became stronger, more durable, and according to Snorlot, they even became more resistant to the winds of magic.

So clearly Grimnir the Ancestor God of War and warriors had also taken a clear shine to his boy.

"The laddie got sent away." His friend and fellow Brewmaster Grismnir spoke gruffly as he brought a large axe that Uzrak took with a nod of thanks.

"Aye. He will be safe from the Thaggoraki incursion inside Master Snorlot's workshop."

A much louder rumble rang out and Uzrak's fist tightened around his axe as he knew the clan's greatest grudge had come for direct battle as already the clan had worked to collapse all the Underpath tunnels running beneath the mountain they were mining into.

Clan Skryre was here for war and the Dawi would give them their war!

"Where are they coming from?" Urzak asked his friend.

"They are using their infernal Warp-Machines to dig through the main atrium supposedly. They are using Warpstone bombs to clear out the area's they already mined probably." 

Urzak silently followed his friend as a couple of women pushed the human merchants through some tunnels leading into one of the many tunnels leading out of the city that could be easily collapsed once the Umgi merchants were out of the way.

A loud voice came through the tunnel they were rushing through. "Men! Arm thyself! The Thaggoraki will be upon us in their vermintide! Clad thyself in your ansectors armor and let us take the head of Ikit Claw who has the greatest of Grudges!" 

But minutes later Urzak had clad himself in his ancestor's heavy armor that had the runes of Shielding upon it to protect from arrows and foul magic and he stood ready with is large axe in hand at the front of the line as the loud sounds of the infernal warp mechanical instrument rang out.

The Drill Blaster the clan's mechanics called it. The be dammed tool that allowed the Skaven to flood their previous hold when they had the drill, drill down through a lake directly into their hold so far below the lake's bed.

The drill worked as a normal drill would... And to follow the madness of the Skaven and more particularly clan Skyre, the drill would occasionally blow its drill bit forward with a 'controlled' Warp stone ignition of an explosion.

So each deep rumble was the sound of the high speed spinning drill being blasted into the rock's face to increase the speed of the Skaven's mining.

But this time there was no lake for them to flood the clan with. This time there would be Skaven blood painting the floors of the hold of Clan Barruk.

And all too soon, Urzak's hot blood was rewarded as the rock face of the atrium exploded outwards with the three Umgi cart tall monstrous glowing with Warpstone drill falling into the atrium with a mighty noise as it cracked the floor where it landed. 

The dwarves fell silent for a spell...

The world seemingly went silent.

And then a harsh shriek rang out followed by an unholy skittering noise as endless uncountable clawed feet scratched across the ground before from the hole came... A Vermintide.

A wall of flesh streamed from the gaping hole and the Clan Elder roared. "Baruk Khazâd!" 

And as putrid filthy blood exploded from the wave of Skaven running down the walls towards the dwarves they roared out as the hand gunners and riflemen unloaded their guns onto the Skaven.

"Khazâd ai-mênu!" With Urzak roaring alongside them as he charged towards the Clan Skrye Clanrat's who were the disposable troops to soften up the dwarves and make them waste their ammo.

"Haha! Urzak, I got three already!" Grismnir roared as he used his even larger axe to do large sweeping cuts that would hew through the unarmored Skaven slaves in all but name without any mercy.

But Urzak kept his breath, kept his coldly burning fury buried inside him. As he knew... That this was going to be a very long battle unless a true miracle happened.

Already the clan was moving its larger war weapons into the main atrium underground. But it was slow going as such machines were large, slow, and built to protect the surface from the far more common Greenskin and Beastmen hordes that prowled the forested mountains they were within.

And the stream of Skaven?

Never ending. And worse, the dwarves could clearly hear more drills punching more holes in the same direction to open more holes for the Skaven to pour out of.

"The stones beneath your feet belong to your ancestors and the future generations! Do not pull back!" The clan elder roared as his runic Greataxe rumbled with great lightning as he roared with righteous fury as he cut three Storm Vermin down that had seemingly come to push direction in the lesser Skaven.

Skaven by their very nature were... Messy, prone to infighting and quite literally stabbing one another in the back as even while several hundred Skavenslaves died via the masterwork axes of the Dawi.

A good dozen died to one of their comrades behind abruptly shivving them in the back with a sharp rock they were armored with and shoved into the lines of dwarves in front of them to make them stagger.

But the Dwarves held strong. Their strong heavy armor could not be pierced nor their wills broken by slaves armed with rocks and sticks at best.

And the few Skavens who ran out of the whole who had any amount of authority were quickly gunned down from a distance as siege towers were being quickly erected within the massive atrium as the Dawi themselves knew they were in this for the long run.