Vander's Pride, written and performed by Owen Staton,
Chapter 2. The lead, Belcher Vander
Einfury, the second son of the Lord of Zafbah, grinned fiercely
as the stale, twisting depths of the ancient mine shaft blossomed
with the rich, earthy aroma of dwarven pipe smoke, a scent that
had not graced these forsaken halls for untold centuries.
Before him loomed the lost hold of Karaksagar, A glittering
prize of legend, its reclamation a dream that had burned in the
hearts of his clan since the days of his Grandsires.
Grandsires victory was not merely within reach, it
thundered in his blood, a promise of glory to his kin and
mountains of gold to fill the coffers of Zafbah.
The mountain itself seemed to tremble in anticipation of its
rightful master's return. Perched upon a jagged, damp
boulder deep beneath the Black Mountains, Vander ran a
calloused hand through his iron grey beard, his mind ablaze with
the trials his expedition had already conquered.
The collapsed mine Shafter Head was but a trifling obstacle
compared to the horrors they had endured.
The gruelling March through the festering beastman haunted
forests where the air reeked of rot and the trees themselves
seemed to claw at their armour. The treacherous ascent through
the wind lashed foothills where icy gales howled like the whales
of the damned. Many of his stout hearted
warriors had faltered, some turning back in despair, others
claimed by fates too grim to recount.
Yet Vander bore the cost with a grudging nod.
The prize was no less than the restoration of a great hold, a
beacon of ancestral pride. Around him, his dwindled band of
warriors stood resolute. A group of engineers, their
faces smeared with soot and grit, hammered the final stakes
into a web of explosives encircling the block tunnel.
Nearby, Rangers and Thunderers lounged in stoic silence,
wreaths of pipe smoke curling from their lips, while the groan
of an ancient winch pierced the stillness.
Above them swayed their pride, their arsenal.
A massive, ornate cannon, its barrel etched with ruins of
vengeance, It had been hauled leagues across.
Perilous mountains and valleys Under Vander's unyielding
command, it dangled 6 feet above the cavern floor, its crew
leaping to steady its descent as the ropes creaked under its
weight. A sharp gesture from the lead
engineer snapped the group to attention.
Down he barked, and Vander dropped to a Crouch, muttering A
gruff ick as his hand sank into a slick, unidentifiable ooze,
coating the stone. The cavern held its breath, the
only sound the strained squeal of the cannon's winch.
The engineer struck a Flint, igniting a fuse with a hiss that
spat across the gloom. The flickering light danced over
the tunnel walls, revealing a riot of glowing fungi and
grotesque mushrooms, alien Sentinels of this buried realm.
The Engineer sprinted past Vander and dove behind a slab of
rock just as the world erupted. A blinding flash and a
thunderous roar tore through the shaft as a barricade of fallen
stone exploded outwards, hurling a Tempest of shards and dust.
The dwarves flattened themselves against the earth, hands clamped
over ears as the caverns shuddered and groaned.
Fragments of rock reigned like the wrath of the mountain itself
as the old dwarven adage rang in their minds.
Nobody moves until the mountain stops moving.
When the storm subsided, Vander rose shaking off dust and
silence. The cannon's squeaking grew
louder, its bulk swinging wildly above.
But a new sound, a sinister grating clatter, drew his gaze
into the freshly blasted passage.
His blood turned to ice. 50 yards ahead a gang of scrawny
loincloth clad goblins scurried with malicious purpose, dragging
an abomination into view. A dwarven 3 barrelled organ gun,
its once majestic craftsmanship defiled by crude goblin hands.
A grotesque trolls flayed face was lashed to its shield, its
empty eyes glaring as if the weapon itself were a snarling
beast reborn to spit death charge Vander Rd. hoisting his
rune forged warhammer aloft, its head glowing with the fury of
Grangy's forge. His warriors surged to their
feet, 50 iron shod boots pounding the stone in Urison.
They war cry, a deafening avalanche of defiance that shook
the caverns roots. Pride swelled in Van Der's chest
as they Thunder down the slick corridor towards the monstrous
engine. They resolve A blazing furnace
against the dark. But the goblin's wicked Glee
betrayed his hope. A squat, yellow toothed Wretch
capered atop the gun, its grin illuminated by the fiery brand
It thrust towards the fuse. Get down.
Vander bellowed, diving to the ground, arms shielding his head.
Too late. The organ gun unleashed its
fury, a cataclysmic volley of flaming lead and jagged iron
that screamed through the air like the breath of a vengeful
dragon. The shaft became a Crucible of
chaos. Smoke choked the lungs.
Stone splintered, and dwarven screams mingled with the shrieks
of ruptured steel. The barrage tore through
Vander's ranks like a landslide through brittle timber, leaving
a trail of blood and ruin for a heartbeat, A cavern drowned in
haze, pierced only by the goblin's triumphant cackling.
Vander hauled himself upright, his hammer's grip A lifeline.
The toll was grim. Over half his force lay dead or
maimed, their armour rent asunder.
The survivors staggered, eyes wide with shock as the tunnel
reverberated with the ghosts of that unholy salvo.
Yet surrender was not in Vander's blood.
Clutching his hammer tighter, he strode forward, his heart a
forge of Moat and hatred for the desecrators of his people's
legacy. Behind him, his brothers
rallied, their boots striking the stone once more.
A drum beat of vengeance. The goblin smug jeers faltered
as they fumble with their weapon, realizing too late that
a second shot would not come. With a chorus of panicked
squeals, they abandoned their prize and fled deeper into the
dark. Vander's spirit fled.
A victory beckoned anew. But as he crested the gun's
position, the sight beyond snuffed his fleeting hope.
The shaft widened into a vast cavernous chamber, and within it
seethed a nightmare tide. A horde of goblins.
Great goblins towering with brutish might, Night goblins
skulking with venomous cunning, lesser goblins swarming like
locusts and snotlings gibbering in their wake.
They filled every inch of the ancient hold.
Their eyes blazed like 1000 malevolent stars as their ragged
weapons, Spears, clubs and blades scavenged from forgotten
battlefields rose as 1A guttural, earth shaking war cry
erupted from their throats and the hoard surged forward, an
unstoppable flood of malice. Vander planted his feet, hammer
raised high, its runes flaring brighter than ever.
Behind him, his dwindle band formed a wall of steel and fury.
Their voices joined his in a defiant hymn to their ancestors.
The mountain trembled as the two forces hurtled towards
collision. Dwarf.
An honour against goblin savagery, a clash to echo
through the annals of Carrick Cigar.
Here, in the shadow of his greatest triumph or his final
stand, Vander Iron Fury knew the true battle for the Hold had
begun. A saga worthy of the Halls of
the Ancestors to be carved in stone or sung in blood.
Hello my friends, this is Owen. Thanks for listening to another
episode of Vander's Pride, A dwarven saga based on the 4th
edition dwarf book and something that's been going on in my mind
for as long as I can remember. As some of you might know, I'm a
long time dwarf player and Vander was always in command of
my armies. He's based off a small marauded
war figure with a bald head and a big hammer which came out back
in or the early 90s. I've got to thank Timothy from
Canada actually, who recently sent me his Vander figure as I'd
lost mine, although he is just on an adventure somewhere and
will surface again, of that I'm sure.
These stories in an earlier form appeared in the first couple of
issues of the Hero Hammer fanzine from a few years ago.
I've given them a bit of a Polish.
I've added some of the words from the Dwarven dictionary from
the 4th book, 4th edition book, and just tried to give it a bit
more character. If you'd like to hear more of
Vander's adventures, why not drop me a line?
You can find me at my website at welshstoryteller.com or drop me
a line at owenstanton@aol.com or you can find me on Discord.
Obviously I enjoy doing these, I enjoy writing them, I enjoy
performing them for you and sometimes I find they provide me
with a little bit of inspiration when it comes on your painting,
just to hear adventures of characters you've invented, and
I feel that's a big thing in Warhammer.
If I can create the character, a story, a background for the
armies I'm playing, it makes a big difference to me.
You can support me by buying me a coffee at ko-fi.com/owen
Statement or if you visit and listen to my podcast Time
Between Times. That would mean a great deal to
me as well. It's a podcast all about stories
and folklore and ghosts and things like that, and I think a
lot of people have said it's good background listening if
you're painting. I want to thank Josh as well,
who's been a great supporter of mine and publishes all these
things that I do, and it's a wonderful thing We have here the
Crown of Command community. If any of you have any ideas or
stories you'd like to hear me read or anything like that, just
be in touch. And it's good to be around here.
It's good to be doing this. And let's see where Vanda goes,
eh? Let me know if you want to hear
more about him. Would mean a great deal to me.
Take care my friends, no stop.