Location
A large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Corrupt and conquer the subterranean landscape
Week 1
The Ashen Depths, usually steeped in eerie quiet, began to tremble with a new presence. For days, the nomadic tribes who eked out their existence along the shores of the endless black lake felt it—a faint shudder from the grounds, too subtle to be a quake, but enough to send whispers through the caverns. They knew something was coming, though few dared to guess what.
It was at the crack of what passed for dawn in this sunless land that the first signs appeared. From hidden tunnels and crevices in the trees, they came—an endless tide of Eshkin, filthy and hunched, moving with the stealth of vermin. Clad in piecemeal armour and wielding jagged blades, their numbers seemed to grow from the shadows themselves. Their eyes gleamed in the false twilight of the cavern, catching the dull glimmer of the illusionary clouds above. They moved swiftly, striking with brutal efficiency against the small, scattered settlements around the lake’s edge.
The Eshkin had long eyed Pestilence Hollow from their deep warrens, coveting its isolation and the hollowed-out expanse beneath the surface. For the ratmen, this province represented more than just land—it was a place of power, a realm to infest and corrupt, a new breeding ground for their twisted faith. They did not seek to raze it to the ground, for that would leave nothing behind to claim. Instead, they sought dominion over its vast, ashen plains, its towering skeletal trees, and its hidden resources.
The first settlements fell quickly. The nomads, unprepared for the ferocity of the attack, were slaughtered with little resistance. Bodies were left where they fell, the ash beginning to settle over them like a burial shroud. For the Eshkin, it was not just conquest—it was purification. Their faith demanded they cleanse the land of its weak and diseased inhabitants, spreading their own vile doctrine in its place. The twisted banners of their clans began to rise, staked into the soft ash, marking the beginning of their dominion.
In the shadows of the Ashen Depths, the Eshkin stir, their insidious presence swelling like the tide beneath the false sky of Pestilence Hollow. The ancient caverns, long forsaken by most, resonate with the echoing sounds of war drums, beating in time with the hearts of those who dwell in the darkness.
As the sunless day waned, the black lake began to reflect the grim reality of the province’s future. The Eshkin, now entrenched along its shores, had made their first foothold in Pestilence Hollow. And beneath the still surface of the lake, as if in response to the blood spilt upon its banks, something began to stir.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Corrupt and conquer the subterranean landscape
Week
1
As the sun rises over the desolate surface of Pestilence Hollow, its light fails to penetrate the darkness of the Ashen Depths. In the cavernous expanse, the Eshkin have established a foothold, their presence unmistakable, with remnants of their brutal conquest scattered along the shores of the lake. The smell of charred flesh and smoke hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the thick fog that drifts like ghosts through the skeletal trees.
Over the past couple of days, the Eshkin have launched a series of calculated strikes against the remaining nomadic tribes, who had retreated deeper into the bowels of the cavern. These tribes, once guardians of the Ashen Depths’ secrets, have been reduced to desperate survivors, struggling against an onslaught they had neither anticipated nor prepared for.
Krathor the Wretched a warlord sent to subdue this province, emboldened by his early victories, has shifted his strategy. No longer content with simple skirmishes, he has begun orchestrating a more coordinated effort to dismantle the tribes’ defenses and claim the entire lake as Eshkin territory. Ratmen scouts, sent forth to survey the landscape, return with information about the tribes’ movements, revealing their hidden camps and fragile alliances. With this intelligence, the ratmen are poised to strike again.
On the evening of the third day, the Eshlin launch their most ambitious assault yet. Under the cover of darkness, they gather in swarms, a relentless tide of fur and claws, with Krathtor leading them towards a large encampment of the last standing tribe. Unbeknownst to the tribe, their numbers have been thinning, and their morale is faltering under the weight of constant fear.
As they close in, the Eshkin employ a terrifying tactic: they set ablaze bundles of ash-soaked wood, casting flickering light and shadows that dance eerily across the cavern walls. The effect is disorienting, and the tribespeople, already weary, are caught off guard as the vermin pour into their camp like a living wave.
The ensuing battle is brutal and chaotic. Rat warriors unleash their crude weaponry, a cacophony of screeches and snarls echoing throughout the cavern. The tribes fight valiantly, but the sheer number of Eshkin overwhelms them. Panic spreads among the defenders as they realize their fate. One by one, they fall, their struggles lost in the tide of ratmen. The lake, once a source of life and mystery, soon runs red with the blood of those who dared to defend their home.
As the first light breaks over the horizon, the lake gleams ominously, a silent witness to the blood spilt in its depths. The Eshkin have made significant strides in their conquest, but the war is far from over. Their gaze now turns to the heart of Pestilence Hollow, where more tribes lie in wait, unaware of the approaching storm. The next phase of their dark campaign is already brewing, and with each victory, the shadow of their corruption grows ever deeper.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Corrupt and conquer the subterranean landscape
Week
2
The air hangs heavy with tension. The Eshkin, emboldened by their initial victories, are not content to rest on their laurels. Krathtor the Wretched understands that to maintain momentum and consolidate their gains, they must unleash a devastating strategy—a plan that would shake the very foundations of the Ashen Depths.
In the shadows of the cavern, vermin engineers toil day and night, employing their ingenuity to divert the waters of the vast lake. Using crude but effective machinery, they begin to dig intricate channels and ditches, manipulating the landscape to create a series of floods. Their aim is twofold: to confuse the remaining tribes that lurk in the deeper recesses of the cavern and to fortify their own position by overwhelming their enemies with the very waters they once feared.
On the morning of the eighth day, the first signs of their insidious plan unfolded. The once-calm waters of the lake begin to churn ominously, the surface roiling as if disturbed by an unseen force. Eshkin scouts, stealthy and unseen, slip out from their hidden nests to observe the chaos that ensues.
Word spreads swiftly among the tribes rumors of an impending flood reach their ears. Panic ensues as they attempt to gather their belongings and flee to higher ground. Those who have witnessed the Eshkin's earlier brutality know that these ratmen will not hesitate to drown any who resist them. In their desperation, the tribes fall prey to fear, fracturing their already fragile alliances.
As the day wears on, the engineered floods unleash torrents of water into the caverns. The floodwaters rush through the channels, swallowing up the tribal camps and sending creatures scurrying for safety. The cacophony of rushing water drowns out the cries of those caught in the chaos. Eshkin warriors, waiting in the shadows, emerge to capitalize on the confusion, striking swiftly at the disoriented tribes.
The vermin swarm like a wave, attacking the vulnerable remnants of the tribes that have not yet escaped. Claw and fang rend flesh as the rats overwhelm their foes, each victory feeding their insatiable hunger for dominance. The floodwaters become a grim ally, dragging bodies into the depths as the ratmen establish their power over the lake’s shores.
Krathtor watches from a distance, his sharp teeth bared in a predatory grin as he surveys the devastation. "Let them drown in despair yes-yes," he sneers, the echo of his voice melding with the roar of the waters. He knows that each death brings the Eshkin one step closer to complete control of Pestilence Hollow.
By nightfall, the floodwaters have receded, leaving behind a grim tableau of destruction. The remnants of the tribal camps are scattered like driftwood, and the stench of death hangs thick in the air. The rat armies, revelling in their success, gather around bonfires, sharing tales of conquest and bloodshed. They drink deeply from the spoils of their victory, celebrating the chaos they have unleashed.
Yet, in the back of Krathtor’s mind lingers a sense of caution. The tribes may be weakened, but they are not yet eradicated. There are whispers of pockets of resistance forming in hidden caves, gathering strength away from the chaos. He knows the war is far from over; the tides may have turned, but the Eshkin must remain vigilant.
As the last embers of the fires flicker into darkness, the lake shimmers under the false light of the cavern's ceiling. The Eshkin's corruption spreads like a shadow, but so does the resolve of those who still dare to resist. With the ratmen's plans set in motion, the battle for Pestilence Hollow continues, and the next phase of their campaign looms on the horizon.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Corrupt and conquer the subterranean landscape
Week
2
Two days after the devastating flood orchestrated by the Eshkin, the Ashen Depths lay eerily quiet. The lake, once a symbol of life to the scattered tribes, now carries the weight of loss, its dark waters concealing the bodies of those caught in the vermin's ruthless trap. But in the midst of the devastation, something unexpected begins to stir—a spark of defiance that refuses to be extinguished.
Deep within the twisting tunnels that snake away from the lake’s shore, a group of survivors gathers in secret. These are not mere nomads; they are dwarves, their strongholds carved into the very bones of Pestilence Hollow, hidden away from the Eshkin's prying eyes. Hardened by years of living in the hostile depths, these dwarves are no strangers to war. Yet the arrival of the ratmen has shaken even them. The ratmen’s overwhelming numbers and relentless cunning have forced the dwarves into retreat, but now, in the face of annihilation, they have resolved to fight back.
Led by Thrakur Stonefist, a grizzled and battle-scarred dwarf with an iron will, this small but determined band of warriors is determined to resist. Thrakur, whose clan once held dominion over parts of the Ashen Depths before the rise of the Eshkin, has seen his people scattered and slaughtered. His beard, singed from battles long past, is braided tightly, a symbol of his defiance. He stands before his people in a hidden chamber lit by flickering torchlight, rallying them for what may be their final stand.
"The ratmen think they’ve taken our home," Thrakur growls, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "But they’ve underestimated us. They know nothing of these depths, and even less of the strength we dwarves possess. We will make them bleed for every inch of our land they dare tread upon."
The dwarves murmur in agreement, their eyes glinting with determination. Though their numbers are few, their knowledge of the tunnels and hidden passageways that lace through Pestilence Hollow is unmatched. They know that if they strike strategically, they can cripple the Eshkin's momentum, buying precious time to regroup and mount a proper defence.
As night falls over the Ashen Depths, the dwarves move swiftly and silently through the labyrinthine caves. Using paths forgotten in time, they position themselves for ambushes near the outskirts of the ratmen's newly claimed territory. Armed with axes, crossbows, and explosives crafted from the minerals of the cavern, they wait in the shadows, ready to strike.
Meanwhile, the rats, still drunk on the euphoria of their recent victories, remain unaware of the danger lurking in the depths. Krathtor the Wretched, ever the cautious leader, has ordered his forces to fortify their positions along the lake’s shore, preparing for the next phase of their conquest. Yet, for all his cunning, even he has grown complacent, confident that the flood has shattered the resolve of the remaining inhabitants.
At the break of dawn on Day 12, the dwarves make their move. From the shadows, they launch a series of well-coordinated ambushes against the vermin patrols, striking with deadly precision. Bolts fly from the darkness, striking down Eshkin warriors before they can raise the alarm. Explosives collapse tunnels and barricades, cutting off ratmen reinforcements and sowing chaos among their ranks.
The invaders, unprepared for such an organized resistance, scramble to respond. Panic spreads through their ranks as rumours of a larger dwarven force grow. For the first time since the invasion began, the Eshkin face a coordinated enemy that knows the terrain far better than they do. Krathtor, furious at the setbacks, quickly realizes the threat posed by the dwarves and orders his forces to regroup, but the damage has already been done.
By midday, the dwarves have retreated back into their hidden tunnels, leaving behind smouldering ruins and dead rats. The losses are a bitter blow to Krathtor, who had believed the conquest of Pestilence Hollow to be all but certain. Now, the Eshkin find themselves fighting an enemy who will not simply flee or be cowed by terror. The dwarves, though fewer in number, are fiercely determined to defend what remains of their home.
In the aftermath of the dwarves' ambush, Krathtor convenes with his top war boys, demanding answers. The Eshkin, unaccustomed to such defiance, murmur of curses and underground ghosts, but Krathtor is not swayed by superstition. He knows that the dwarves are not to be underestimated and that if they are allowed to regroup, the vermin's foothold in Pestilence Hollow could be at risk.
As the Eshkin regroup and lick their wounds, the dwarves prepare for the next phase of their resistance. They know that they cannot defeat the ratemen in open battle, but they also know the depths better than anyone. The war for Pestilence Hollow has taken a new turn, and the echoes of resistance now resonate through the darkened caverns. For every step the vermin invaders take forward, the dwarves will be there in the shadows, ready to strike.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Corrupt and conquer the subterranean landscape
Week
3
The caverns of Pestilence Hollow buzzed with the sharp sounds of Eshkin chatter. Among them, whispers of rebellion stirred, stories of dwarven ambushes spread like a fever. Yet Krathtor was not swayed. His mind, unable to give up, knew one thing: the strength of an enemy could be broken from within.
Day 15 arrived with little fanfare, the rats waking to their routine of patrols and fortifications. Yet, something unseen was already at work—a quiet, insidious act of infiltration. Within the very heart of the Ashen Depths, there was a movement that the dwarves had yet to detect.
Three Eshkin, handpicked by Krathtor himself, crept through the jagged tunnels that led deeper into enemy territory. They were different from the masses of warriors swarming the surface—these were trained infiltrators, taught to move in complete silence, their pale fur blending with the rocky shadows. Their mission was not to fight, not to spill blood in open combat. No, they were the architects of discord.
The dwarves had long prided themselves on their strength in unity, their iron will to hold fast against invaders. But the Eshkin knew all too well that unity, once fractured, was more fragile than bone. That day, the infiltrators found their target: a small but well-guarded outpost carved into the base of the hollow stone tree. It was a dwarven refuge, one that had survived the vermin flood. There, the remnants of the dwarven leadership gathered, forging plans for future strikes against their enemies.
The infiltrators waited, watching from the shadows, their beady eyes glowing with malice. Through narrow cracks in the stone, they observed the dwarves as they debated in their fortress—leaders like Thrakur Stonefist plotting their next ambush. The dwarves didn’t know that every word spoken was being carried back to Krathtor.
As dusk fell, the infiltrators made their move. Not with blades, but with whispers. They slipped into the dwarven camp like phantoms, placing pieces of carefully forged letters, murmuring false rumours, and planting seeds of doubt among the already-stressed warriors. A few subtle suggestions here, a misplaced document there—enough to sow confusion and erode trust.
The dwarves, already exhausted from constant rat attacks, began to turn on each other. Old grievances resurfaced, fueled by paranoia. The leadership, once united, now questioned the loyalty of their peers. “Why was your clan spared in the flood?” one dwarf hissed at another. “And why did our scouts not return after you sent them? How could the ratmen have known where to strike?”
Rumours spread like wildfire—accusations of betrayal, of clans working with the invaders to secure their own survival. Each time a dwarf went missing, each time an attack struck a little too close to home, the doubts grew. Thrakur Stonefist, though respected, found himself overwhelmed by the rising tensions. His once-loyal warriors started to watch each other with suspicion, their morale crumbling.
It wasn’t long before the Eshkin infiltrators had done their job. By the end of Day 17, the dwarven leadership was fractured, their plans delayed by internal squabbles. Where once there was cohesion, now there was hesitation. And hesitation, in war, was death.
Back in the depths of the ratmen encampment, Krathtor smiled, his twisted teeth bared in triumph. His infiltrators returned with news of success, their quiet acts of sabotage already taking root. They had not spilled a drop of blood, yet the Eshkin were closer to victory.
The battle was far from over, but the foundations of the dwarven resistance had begun to shake. Just as the rats knew how to gnaw through stone, they also knew how to burrow through the minds of their enemies.
Day by day, inch by inch, Pestilence Hollow would fall.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Corrupt and conquer the subterranean landscape
Week
3
The chaos sown by Krathtor’s infiltrators three days prior still rippled through the dwarven ranks like a crack in a stone wall, slowly growing under the pressure. The once-cohesive resistance had splintered; suspicion and mistrust festered like rot in their hearts. Thrakur Stonefist had managed to quell outright rebellion within his ranks, but the damage had already been done. Dwarven scouts were now fewer, patrols less coordinated, and ambushes poorly timed.
Krathtor’s strategy had been nothing short of masterful. Without shedding a drop of blood, he had brought the dwarves closer to collapse, and he knew it. But the Eshkin were not a patient race, and victory through cunning alone would not satisfy them. Blood would still need to be spilled to claim Pestilence Hollow once and for all.
Thus, Krathtor turned his gaze to the deeper reaches of the Ashen Depths—the forgotten places, where the last vestiges of life clung to the hollow caverns. These were not warriors, nor were they part of the resistance. They were the remnants of Pestilence Hollow’s older inhabitants, tribes that had long abandoned hope of holding their ground. They hid in the crumbling ruins of once-great underground cities, far from the Eshkin's main offensives, hoping to avoid the storm altogether.
But no one would be spared.
On Day 20, the vermin launched a new phase of their conquest. Waves of ratmen surged into the deep, sprawling labyrinths where these forgotten tribes had sought refuge. Unlike the organised and tactically savvy dwarves, these tribes were unprepared for the onslaught. The Eshkin poured into their dilapidated villages like a flood, tearing through walls of wood with the ease of an unstoppable tide.
Shrieks and screams echoed through the caverns, the sounds of those who had thought themselves safe now facing their end. The ratmen took no prisoners, and while they sought to claim Pestilence Hollow rather than destroy it, this purge was absolute. Fire, sharpened claws, and blades—these were the tools of the raze, and soon the once-hidden tribes lay in ruins, their homes burned, their people slaughtered.
By nightfall, the forgotten were no more. The ancient, crumbling ruins of their homes had been reduced to smouldering heaps of rubble, their ashes now part of the very stone that made up the cavern floors.
Krathtor stood at the edge of one of the ruined settlements, surveying the destruction with a sense of satisfaction. The purge had served two purposes: eliminating any potential pockets of resistance and sending a message to the remaining dwarves that nowhere in Pestilence Hollow was safe from the Eshkin's grasp.
The Raze of the Forgotten was complete, and the vermin's dominance spread like a plague, inching ever closer to total victory.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Kill everyone
Week
3
The once-unified resistance had become a shadow of its former self. The seeds of discord planted by the Eshkin infiltrators had taken root, and the razing of the forgotten tribes sent a chilling message to all who still dared to defy the vermins's wrath. Those who had survived the purge in the depths were now scattered, their hope shattered like brittle stone. But the dwarves, proud and stubborn, were not yet ready to yield.
Thrakur Stonefist, though worn by the weight of mistrust among his people, had one last plan. In the deep, hidden chambers of a long-abandoned dwarven hall, he gathered what remained of his war council. It was a meager group now—what had once been a gathering of several clans was now reduced to a handful of leaders, their ranks thinned by treachery and battle. Tensions simmered beneath the surface, old grudges reignited by the ratmen's tactics.
"These rats will keep gnawing at us until there’s nothing left," Thrakur growled, his voice rough as gravel. "We must strike back, not in scattered ambushes, but in one decisive blow. The vermins numbers give them the advantage, but they spread themselves thin. If we target their supply lines, we cripple their advance."
The room was silent for a moment, the leaders exchanging uneasy glances. Trust was a scarce commodity. One dwarf, Rurik Ironjaw, slammed his fist on the table, frustration evident in his voice. "And what of those who abandoned us to the flood? What of the clans who vanished when we needed them? How do we know they aren't working with the rats?"
"Enough," Thrakur snapped, his eyes burning with determination. "The time for suspicion is over. Either we fight together, or we fall separately. The enemy we face is not one of our own—it is those vermin who have turned our home into a battlefield."
The words hung heavy in the air, but they struck true. The dwarves, though still fractured, knew they could not afford more division. Reluctantly, the leaders nodded, and a plan was formed.
Meanwhile, the Eshkin, always watching from the shadows, had caught wind of the dwarves’ intentions. Krathtor, ever the strategist, knew that if the dwarves targeted their supply lines, it could delay their conquest. Supplies were critical—feeding the ever-growing swarm of rat warriors required constant resupply, and the dwarves, despite their disarray, were skilled at sabotage.
Krathtor dispatched his swiftest scouts to survey the dwarven movements, ensuring that his forces would not be caught off guard. The vermin were nothing if not adaptable, and while the dwarves planned their strike, the ratmen prepared their countermeasures.
As Day 21 drew to a close, the dwarves prepared for what they hoped would be a turning point in the war. Thrakur led his warriors through secret tunnels, toward the supply routes the Eshkin had established near the shores of the lake. The mood was grim but resolute. The dwarves knew that failure would mean the end of their resistance, the last blow in a war they were quickly losing.
But what they did not know was that the Eshkin were already waiting for them. Hidden in the shadows, the ratmen poised for ambush, ready to turn the dwarves' last hope into a final, crushing defeat.
The battle for Pestilence Hollow had reached a new stage—one where both sides, despite their differences, knew that only one could emerge victorious. And as the dark waters of the Ashen Depths lapped against the cavern walls, the air grew thick with the scent of impending bloodshed.
The Ambush at Hollows Root Province
Pestilence Hollow
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Kill everyone
Week
4
The dwarves had chosen the massive Hollow Tree, its roots sprawling across the shore of the Ashen Lake, as the site of their ambush. The Eshki used the ancient tree as a key node for their supply line, delivering war materials and provisions from the depths of Pestilence Hollow to their lakeside camp. Severing the supplies here would strike a critical blow to the rat’s campaign.
Unbeknownst to the dwarves, Krathtor had anticipated their ambush. His scouts had reported dwarf movements days earlier, but he believed the assault would be no more than a minor disruption. Confident in his superior numbers, he had not reinforced the convoy as heavily as he might have otherwise, underestimating the dwarves’ determination and tactical skill.
Thrakur Stonefist’s warband crept silently through the shadows beneath the tree’s massive roots, waiting for the perfect moment. When the Eshkin convoy—laden with carts of food, weapons, and ammunition—reached the base of the Hollow Tree, the dwarves sprang into action.
With a thunderous boom, dwarven explosives detonated, shattering the gnarled wood and sending chunks of root crashing down onto the Eshkin. Dozens of ratmen were instantly crushed or sent sprawling as the dwarves descended from their hiding places. Crossbows fired in rapid succession bolts striking down rats as they scrambled to regroup.
Krathtor’s forces, though forewarned of the attack, were not prepared for the ferocity of the ambush. The Eshkin convoy, believing itself safe beneath the shelter of the Hollow Tree, was thrown into chaos. Thrakur and his warriors charged forward, axes swinging, cutting a bloody path through the scattered ratmen.
But the Eshkin were not so easily undone. Krathtor had stationed his elite warriors nearby, albeit fewer than needed, confident the dwarves would be no match for them. From the shadows of the tree’s roots, these hardened fighters emerged, launching a vicious counterattack. With brutal swiftness, they turned the tide, using the twisted roots to outmanoeuvre the slower attackers.
The dwarves, though outnumbered, fought fiercely, but the vermins’s overwhelming numbers and speed began to wear them down. Crossbowmen, pinned down by slingers hidden in the tree’s crevices, fell under a relentless barrage of stones and darts. Thrakur and his front-line warriors were surrounded, their backs to the lake as the Eshkin pushed forward, pressing their advantage.
Realizing the battle was turning against them, Thrakur ordered a retreat. The dwarves withdrew toward the shores of the Ashen Lake, regrouping as the Eshkin snarled and hissed in the distance. Though they had severely damaged the convoy and scattered the vermin’s forces, the Hollow Tree still stood, and the supply line remained partially intact.
Krathtor, watching from the rear, sneered at his underestimation of the dwarves. They had proven more formidable than expected, but the ratmen had held the ground. As night fell over the Ashen Depths, both sides prepared for the inevitable next clash. The battle for Pestilence Hollow was far from over.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Regroup and plan next attacks
Week
4
The Ashen Depths were filled with heavy tension as the Eshkin war council gathered under the shadow of failure. Krathtor the Wretched stood at the head of the gathering, his eyes scanning the room, cold and calculating. The dim chamber echoed with silence, the torches casting flickering shadows on the walls as the vermin leaders stood uneasy, aware of the disaster looming over them.
Two days ago, their forces had suffered a humiliating defeat—not at the hands of the weak nomadic tribes they had been slaughtering for weeks, but by a sudden dwarven assault. Heavily armoured warriors from the deep reaches of Pestilence Hollow had emerged from hidden tunnels and crushed the rat’s supply route near the southern caverns. The ratmen had underestimated their enemies greatly, their numbers overwhelmed by the dwarves’ superior tactics and relentless combat style.
The cost had been enormous. Supplies meant to sustain the Eshkin war machine were obliterated, food carts burned, and hundreds of warriors slaughtered by the iron-clad enemy. Even worse, the southern passage—a critical route Krathtor had planned to use for a flanking manoeuvre—was now under constant dwarven attack. It was a crippling blow that had left the ratmen reeling.
Krathtor’s voice cut through the silence like a knife. “Fools-fools! You grew fat-fat and lazy from easy kills, yes-yes, and now we suffer, suffer for your failure!” Krathtor’s voice crackled with fury, his sharp teeth bared. His beady eyes locked onto Skryth, his second in command, daring him to challenge. He would blame the rat commander for what had happened, it was easier than admitting his own failures.
The defeat had stirred whispers within the Eshkin ranks. Dissent was growing—talk of Krathtor’s leadership faltering in the face of this setback. The warlord knew that failure would embolden rivals like Skryth to plot against him.
“The dwarves are not like those weak-weak tribes! No-no, they are strong-strong, too strong! But they will not stop-halt us! We will swarm, take back what was lost-stolen! More-more warriors, more-more supplies! Yes-yes, we will crush-crush them! Retake the dead trees!” His voice dropped to a venomous hiss. “Next failure, next defeat will not be tolerated-allowed! No-no mercy for those who falter, no-no! You will pay with your blood-blood.”
The tension in the chamber thickened. Krathtor knew the real battle wasn’t just against the dwarves—it was also against the treachery festering among his own kind. The Eshkin were bleeding warriors and supplies, but a more dangerous war was brewing beneath the surface: one for power, and survival within their own ranks.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Regroup and plan the next attacks
Week
4
The caverns of Pestilence Hollow were never silent, even in the darkest corners where the flickering torchlight could not reach. The constant skittering of claws and the whispers of unseen dangers filled the depths. But in a forgotten tunnel, far from Krathtor’s watchful eye, a secret meeting was taking place.
A few select Eshkin, all leaders of minor clans, had gathered in the shadows. Their eyes darted nervously, claws twitching as they glanced over their shoulders, ensuring they had not been followed. At the center of this gathering was Skryth, second in command of Krathors forces, his face twisted with barely concealed hatred. The defeat at the hands of the dwarves had not just embarrassed him—it had exposed a weakness in Krathtor’s rule. And Skryth intended to exploit it.
“Krathtor grows soft-weak,” Skryth hissed, his voice a low whisper, but sharp as a dagger. “The dwarves crush our warriors, and yet he makes excuses-blames us for his failures. He thinks he is untouchable, yes-yes, but he bleeds-bleeds just like the rest of us.”
The gathered Eshkin nodded, their eyes glinting with greed and ambition. They had all suffered under Krathtor’s harsh leadership, and the recent losses only fueled their discontent.
“What do you suggest-plan?” one of them asked, his tail flicking in nervous excitement.
“We wait, yes-yes, but not long,” Skryth replied, his teeth gleaming in the darkness. “Krathtor thinks he still holds all power, but we weaken him from within. When the next battle comes, we let him fight-bleed while we stay back. His forces will break, and so will he. Then we strike-strike!”
“But what if he suspects-knows?” another questioned, his voice trembling with fear.
Skryth’s snarl silenced him. “He will suspect-suspect nothing. Krathtor is too focused on the dwarves, too blinded by his own pride-arrogance to see what grows beneath his feet.”
The conspirators exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing more. They all knew the risk. To plot against Krathtor was to dance with death itself, but the promise of power was far too tempting to resist.
While Skryth’s scheme took root in the dark, Krathtor remained unaware of the treachery festering among his ranks. His focus was on the upcoming assault, determined to reclaim the lost tunnels from the dwarves. But beneath his feet, the true battle for control of Pestilence Hollow was already brewing, and the rats who plotted against him were sharpening their claws, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Regroup and plan the next attacks
Week
4
The caverns near the southern tunnels echoed with the clang of pickaxes and the steady rhythm of marching boots. In a well-fortified dwarven outpost, Commander Thrakur stood atop a rocky ledge, overseeing the preparations of his growing force. The dwarves had tasted victory, and with it came a surge of confidence that spread through their ranks like wildfire.
Two days had passed since they had driven back the Eshkin, ambushing the ratmen’s forces and destroying their supplies. The memory of that battle still burned brightly in Thrakus's mind, rat bodies scattered across the cavern floor, their war cries silenced beneath the crushing weight of dwarven shields. It had been a hard-won victory, but it was just the beginning. Now, their numbers were swelling as more clansmen and even the nomadic tribes of Pestilence Hollow flocked to their banner, seeking to rid their land of the vermin infestation.
“We can’t just defend our tunnels,” Thrakur growled to his gathered captains, his voice deep and steady. “We have the upper hand now. We know these caverns better than any Eshkin ever could, and we’ll strike-strike them where it hurts most their supply lines. Let them bleed.”
The plan was simple: disrupt the ratmen's war effort by targeting their supply convoys, destroying provisions, and leaving them starving and demoralised. The tribesmen who joined the dwarves, once scattered and leaderless, brought crucial knowledge of the terrain and the rat's movements. Under dwarven command, they became fierce scouts and skirmishers, perfect for the kind of guerilla warfare Barak envisioned.
Over the next few days, the dwarves launched a series of lightning-fast raids, hitting the Eshkin supply caravans hard and then vanishing back into the labyrinthine tunnels before the ratmen could muster a proper defence. Their ambushes were precise and devastating, each one further sapping the strength of the vermin forces. Every smashed crate of rations and every broken weapon left behind was another blow to the ratmen’s dwindling morale.
The tribesmen, many of whom had lost homes and kin to the Eshkin's merciless advance, fought with fierce determination. They saw this alliance with the dwarves as their last chance to reclaim the Hollow, and their zeal spurred the dwarves on. For the first time since the war began, there was hope that the tide could truly be turned. The vermin could be driven out, and Pestilence Hollow could be theirs once more.
Thrakur looked out over his assembled troops, dwarves and tribesmen standing side by side, their eyes burning with the same defiant fire. “The rats think they can claim these caverns,” he said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “But we’ll show them that Pestilence Hollow belongs to us. We’ll break their backs, crush their spirits, and send every last one of them scurrying back into the dark.”
The campaign was far from over, but the dwarves had found their resolve, and their strikes would only grow bolder as they sought to drive the Eshkin from the depths.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Regroup and plan the next attacks
Week
5
Deep in the heart of the Ashen Depths, a sense of unrest simmered among the Eshkin horde. Whispers of treachery echoed through the dark tunnels, growing louder with each defeat. Krathtor the Wretched could feel the tension building within his own ranks, as doubt gnawed at the hearts of even his most loyal followers. The recent setbacks the loss of supplies and the dwarven ambushes had shaken the warlord’s grip on his chaotic army. And as the threat from the outside grew, so did the threat from within.
Krathtor stood on a jagged rock outcropping overlooking his gathered war council. His eyes gleamed with paranoia as he scanned the faces of his clan leaders. “We are not beaten, no-no,” he snarled, his voice sharp and strained. “The dwarves fight hard, yes, but we fight harder! Any who say otherwise are weak-weak, traitors to the horde!”
His words hung in the air, met with silence. There were no cheers, no snarls of agreement only the sound of claws scraping against stone. The defeat near the southern tunnels and the constant losses to ambushes had chipped away at the horde’s morale. Even now, Skryth and a few other leaders exchanged quiet glances, their eyes filled with mistrust.
In the shadows, groups of lower-ranking Eshkin huddled together, muttering amongst themselves. They blamed Krathtor for leading them into disaster after disaster, cursing his name with venomous spite.
“He wastes our strength, yes-yes,” one hissed. “Too much blood lost-spilled, not enough gain. We should be ruling the Hollow by now!”
“Krathtor grows mad-mad, paranoid,” another added. “Sees traitors in every shadow. He’ll kill us all before the dwarves do.”
Word of these whispers reached Krathtor’s ears, and his fury was swift. He dragged suspected dissenters from the tunnels, making a brutal example of them. The sight of twitching, dying bodies nailed to cavern walls served as a reminder that dissent was a path to death. But even as the warlord tightened his grip, the cracks in his control widened.
The ratmen's infighting had given their enemies a precious window. While the warlord tried to quash the brewing rebellion, his horde was growing restless, and the dwarves, ever cunning, were poised to strike again. The vermin's claws were turning inward, even as the true enemy gathered strength beyond the darkness.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Kill all adversaries
Week
5
The reverberations of marching boots filled the tunnels as the dwarven army, emboldened by recent victories, prepared for a bold assault deeper into the Ashen Depths. Commander Barak Stonehelm had set his sights on a key Eshkin stronghold, an old fort near the eastern caverns. Scouts had reported weakened defences, ripe for an attack. Unbeknownst to Barak, however, Krathtor the Wretched had orchestrated an elaborate trap, using both his rebellious kin and the overconfident dwarves to his advantage.
Hours before, Krathtor had given his orders to trusted lieutenants. He knew the dwarves would target the fort, and he had learned of the band of treacherous Eshkin who had been undermining his rule were planning to use the chaos for their own schemes. Krathtor let his plans unfold quietly, sending word to lure the traitors to the fort first and ensuring the dwarves would arrive soon after. Every detail was in place, and the Wretched One remained far from the battle, confident in the destruction to come.
The rebellious rats arrived under cover of darkness, believing they had found the perfect opportunity to strike. Moments later, the dwarves stormed in, axes gleaming as they breached the outer defences. Barak’s forces clashed fiercely with the traitors, thinking they had caught the vermin unprepared. The narrow corridors erupted into chaos, filled with the sound of clanging steel and desperate cries.
Far from the battlefield, Krathtor sat comfortably in his war den, surrounded by loyal warriors. He had arranged for the fort’s lower chambers to be soaked in oil, with trusted agents ready to ignite the flames at his signal. As reports reached him of the unfolding conflict, a twisted grin crept across his face. “Let them fight-fight, yes-yes,” he chuckled, “They know not what awaits.”
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Kill all adversaries
Week
5
As the battle raged, Krathtor's hidden agents lit the oil, and a roaring blaze quickly swept through the fort. The smell of burning fur and wood filled the air, and thick smoke billowed through the halls. Dwarves and Eshkin alike stumbled in the choking fumes, realizing too late that they had been caught in a death trap. Barak shouted orders, trying to rally his warriors to break free, but escape routes had been sealed long before the first axe had been swung.
In their panic, the rebellious rats turned on Krathtor’s loyalists, seeking a way out amidst the flames. Their infighting only hastened their doom, while the fire spread unchecked. Back in his den, Krathtor laughed as messengers reported the fort’s collapse. “Burn-burn, yes, all of them!” he cackled. “None shall return to challenge Krathtor!”
Within the heart of the inferno, Commander Barak Stonehelm stood amidst the chaos, forced to watch as the flames devoured his warriors. One by one, those who had trusted him, who had chosen to fight and die for the honour of their kin, fell to the blaze. Some clawed at the doors, others swung their weapons in desperate fury against the unyielding stone. The once proud dwarven soldiers collapsed, choking on smoke or succumbing to the searing heat. Their cries for aid were drowned out by the crackling of the fire, and Barak’s heart sank with every agonized scream.
Barak's own strength was fading; his armour felt like molten iron against his skin. Coughing as his lungs burned, he cursed the Eshkin for all they had done, for the trickery and cruelty that had led them here. His voice was a hoarse rasp, "May you rot in darkness for all eternity, rat-filth!" But even as he shouted, the fire closed in. There would be no warrior’s death, no heroic last stand—only the slow, suffocating agony of being swallowed by the flames.
The fort crumbled in on itself, burying Barak and his warriors in a mass of ash and rubble. Krathtor’s trap had worked flawlessly, eliminating both the traitors and the dwarves in one calculated move. His laughter echoed through the caverns, a chilling reminder that the Wretched One's cunning was as deadly as his claws.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Continue the offence against the remaining survivors
Week
5
In the shadow of the burning fort, the dwarven forces faced the heavy toll of their recent defeat. The absence of Commander Barak Stonehelm was palpable; his warriors had looked to him for guidance, and now despair clung to the remaining dwarves like a shroud. Rumours circulated among the beleaguered ranks—tales of Barak’s final stand, of his bravery and sacrifice, but also of the ignoble way he and his kin had perished. These stories stoked the fires of grief and rage within the dwarves, but they also sowed seeds of discord.
Fractures appeared among the dwarven leaders. Some advocated for retreat, while others insisted on retaliation, believing a counter-offensive could still turn the tide. Tensions ran high, and bickering erupted over strategy and honour. The weight of loss hung heavy in the air, further fracturing their unity.
As night fell, a sombre silence enveloped the surviving dwarves. They gathered around a flickering campfire, each warrior lost in their own thoughts. One by one, they began to share tales of their fallen comrades. Old Gruff, a seasoned warrior, recounted the story of Thrain, his childhood friend who had fought valiantly his whole life.“Thrain… he was the first to charge into the Cavern of Echoes,” said Gruff, his voice heavy with grief. “He said he’d sing our victory song after the battle. But the dam vermins were waiting. I still hear him screaming.”
Others joined in, “Remember the ambush at Ironbridge?” Thalgrin chimed in, his eyes glistening. “My brother Elda held the line while the rest of us fell back. I swear he took down ten of those wretched rats before they finally overwhelmed him. ‘Hold fast!’ he shouted, right until the end.” The camaraderie they once enjoyed felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the relentless terror of the ratmen.
Meanwhile, deep within the tunnels of Pestilence Hollow, Krathtor the Wretched revelled in his victory. The tales of the fallen dwarves served as propaganda, amplifying the vermin's reputation and spreading fear among the remaining forces. Krathtor sent out scouts to survey the chaos among the dwarves, confident that the time was ripe for a renewed offensive.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, an ominous rumble resonated through the tunnels. It was a sound that sent shivers down the spines of those left among the dwarven ranks—the ground trembled under the weight of approaching Eshkin reinforcements. The air filled with the high-pitched screams and chittering of the ratmen, a sound that echoed like a war cry, signalling the end of any hope for the disorganized dwarves. Krathtor’s forces had arrived, ready to capitalize on their enemies’ despair.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Continue the offence against the remaining survivors
Week
6
Only scattered remnants remained, stumbling through the ashen barrens, their morale broken. The sky above flickered with a dim, diseased glow, as though the false heavens themselves were wilting. Echoes of distant war cries and guttural chanting carried through the air, a constant reminder that the Eshkin reinforcements had arrived. Each step forward felt like a march into the jaws of doom.
The darkness was not empty. It breathed, it shifted, and from it, countless eyes emerged. Glowing crimson, they dotted the landscape, watching from the shadows between the dead roots and hollowed ground. The eyes seemed to follow every movement, waiting for the right moment to strike. As night settled across the province, the silence grew more oppressive, with only the distant scratching and chittering of rat claws to disturb the stillness.
The remaining survivors tried to regroup, but coordination was nearly impossible. Fear gnawed at their minds, and every whisper of wind seemed like the sound of unseen claws scraping closer. Some saw the glowing eyes vanish, only to reappear moments later in a different spot, as if the vermin were toying with them. The darkness itself felt alive, a living veil that concealed the enemy, always lurking just out of reach.
And then, the first attack came. A guttural snarl broke the stillness, followed by a sudden rush of fur and steel. The Eskin burst from the shadows with terrifying speed, their black-furred assassins slipping from the darkness like liquid shadow, striking with poisoned blades. The survivors fought back with what little strength they had left, but the ratmen were relentless, their ranks swelling as more poured from the hidden tunnels below.
The resistance broke apart, scattering into the night. Those who could escape fled, their footsteps heavy with despair, while the ratmen’s howls of victory echoed behind them. The eyes in the dark grew ever closer, like the glowing embers of a fire that refused to die. It was as if the province itself conspired with the ratmen, wrapping the remnants of resistance in a shroud of despair.
And in the distance, a faint, bone-chilling chant arose—a deep, rhythmic drumming that reverberated through the ground, spreading terror with every beat. It was a sign that something far worse was coming, a herald of ruin that promised Pestilence Hollow would soon belong to the Eshkin entirely.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Continue the offence against the remaining survivors
Week
6
Amidst the chaos and the spoils of war, the Eshkin uncovered something curious within a cavernous chamber near the lake's edge—weathered wall paintings etched into the stone. The crude depictions showed scenes of an ancient people, long before the tribesmen, revering a dark, submerged treasure buried deep within the Ashen Lake. Twisted symbols and grotesque forms danced around a glowing mass, half-hidden beneath the waters, promising power and riches beyond measure.
The discovery reached the ears of Krathor, his hunger for wealth and influence knew no bounds at this moment. His greed stirred, he declared the treasure must be unearthed, no matter the cost. The carvings spoke of secrets lying dormant in the lake's murky depths, and Krathor saw it as a prize worthy of his name—an opportunity to gain power over even the other rat warlords.
Driven by Krathor's decree, the ratmen scoured the ruins for any clues, leaving nothing unturned. Captured tribesmen were dragged before him, beaten and tortured until their screams echoed throughout the caverns. They were questioned relentlessly, their minds broken in the hopes they would reveal hidden knowledge of the treasure.
But even as the ratmen pried for information, there was little the tribesmen could offer; the Ashen Lake was a place shunned, its dark secrets feared and left unspoken. Undeterred, Krathor commanded his war parties to delve into the lake’s depths. Riches awaited—along with whatever else might dwell in the darkness.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Continue the offence against the remaining survivors
Week
6
The war parties descended through the caverns, following winding tunnels that sloped toward the lake's edge. Doomstone lanterns cast a sickly green light over the jagged, rock-lined shores as the Eshkin war party emerged from the tunnels and began to fan out. The air was thick with an unnatural chill, and the lake’s waters gleamed faintly, reflecting the glow of the false sky far above. Blackened roots jutted up from beneath the lake, their gnarled forms creating twisted shapes on the surface. There was no movement, save for the faint rippling of the water..
Driven by Krathor's decree, the Eshkin set about probing the lake, casting nets and driving sharpened stakes into the depths to stir whatever lay below. Those few captured tribesmen who had spoken under torture had revealed little; it was said that the Ashen Lake harboured creatures born from the darkness itself, and even the bravest hunters had never dared to explore its full depths. But the Eeshkin did not fear what lay in the dark. Their thirst for expansion outweighed all other concerns.
The warlords barked orders, sending their scavenging packs to the water's edge. The ratmen scurried down, some slipping into the shallows to probe the depths with crude spears and hooks. Others cast nets into the water, searching for signs of life or doomstone hidden beneath the lakebed. Yet, as they delved deeper into the ash-gray waters, a sense of unease began to creep into their ranks. The stillness was unnatural, and the lake seemed far too quiet for a place so shrouded in legend.
It began as a faint tremor beneath their feet, a rhythmic pulse that grew stronger with each passing second. The ratmen froze, their eyes darting toward the water. A deep, resonant sound reverberated from the depths below, like the groan of an ancient leviathan waking from a long slumber. The surface of the lake began to shift and swell, disturbed by something massive stirring beneath.
The warlords snarled commands, urging their soldiers to prepare for whatever lay below. But before they could act, a colossal shape loomed just beneath the dark waters, and a pair of glowing eyes emerged from the depths larger and more ominous than any rat could have imagined. The water surged upward, rippling outward as the massive form began to rise from the lake, its silhouette breaking the surface like the jagged peak of a black mountain.
The Ashen Lake was no longer quiet. It roared to life as the beast from the depths emerged, an ancient terror awakened by the vermin's intrusion, ready to reclaim its domain.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Continue the offence against the remaining survivors
Week
6
The surface of the Ashen Lake erupted in a torrent of churning water as the ancient beast emerged, casting its colossal shadow across the Eshkin ranks. The creature was a hydra—its many serpentine heads snapping and hissing as they rose above the waves, each one as thick as an oak tree and covered in scales as dark as night. Eyes like burning embers glared down at the ratmen, seething with a wrath born of centuries beneath the lake’s depths.
The vermin warlords wasted no time, screeching commands as their forces scrambled to form a crude battle line. Rat ogres were unleashed, massive hulking brutes bred for war and mindlessly loyal to their masters. With roars that shook the caverns, they charged into the water, splashing forward to tear at the hydra’s scaly flesh. Behind them came swarms of frenzied Eshkin infantry, wielding jagged spears and rusted blades, while Ratling guns ignited the air with bursts of sickly green bullets.
But the hydra was undaunted. With a terrible roar, one of its heads lunged forward, jaws snapping shut around a rat ogre and lifting it high into the air. The beast thrashed and struggled in its grip, but with a single twist of its neck, the hydra crushed the brute’s spine and hurled the broken body back into the water. Another head swept down in an arc, snapping up a cluster of rat soldiers and dragging them beneath the surface, where their screams were quickly drowned.
The ratmen pressed on, undeterred by the losses. Climbing over one another in their desperation, they launched themselves at the hydra’s coiling necks and clawed legs, gnawing and hacking away at its scaled hide. Ratling guns burst their vile doomstone towards the beast, scaring its flesh, but still it held firm, using its many heads to lash out and tear through the Eshkin ranks. Each head moved with terrifying speed and precision, striking down rat ogres and swatting aside swarms of smaller vermin as though they were nothing.
The hydra’s roar echoed through the caverns, and with a powerful thrash of its massive tail, it sent a wave crashing over the advancing ratmen, sweeping dozens of them into the depths. But even as the bodies sank beneath the dark waters, more Eshkin came, drawn to the battle by the promise of power and the fear of Krathor’s wrath. The lake became a churning mass of water, scales, fur, and blood, as the ratmen threw every beast they had at the monster, trying to wear it down.
Though the hydra was an ancient terror, it faced a relentless swarm. The ratmen's numbers were endless, and with every wound inflicted, the beast’s strength was slowly gnawed away. Yet even so, it fought on, tearing into the ratmen with savage fury, holding the line against the invading tide. The battle raged on, the hydra's wrath unyielding, as the fate of the Ashen Lake hung in the balance.
Location
Large hollow cavern named Ashen Depths, it spans almost the entire province
Objective
Continue the offence against the remaining survivors
Week
6
The battle raged on in a maddened frenzy, the Ashen Lake boiling with blood, fur, and scale. The hydra, ancient and enraged, thrashed its many heads, snapping rat ogres in half and dragging rats into the watery abyss. Yet even its legendary strength began to falter under the unyielding assault. Doomstone bullets seared into its flesh, and countless gashes oozed black ichor into the dark waters. Bit by bit, the swarm wore down the great beast's endurance.
With a final desperate surge, the hydra raised its heads for one last savage strike, its guttural roar echoing through the caverns like a death knell. But the ratmen, sensing the beast’s impending collapse, sprang forward in a tide of claws and malice. Rat ogres clambered onto its necks, tearing into its scaled throat with brutish force, while Warpeye shots pierced its eyes, leaving it blind and bleeding.
From the shore, Krathor the Wicked took aim with his Ratapult, loading a shot imbued with pure doomstone. The projectile streaked across the dim light, striking the hydra’s chest with a sickening crunch and tearing through its weakened scales. The massive creature shuddered violently, its death throes shaking the lake itself as it writhed and collapsed. The hydra sank beneath the surface, its legendary form vanishing into the depths with a final, haunting wail.
The ratmen's chittering cries of triumph echoed across the cavern. Without delay, the ratmen plunged into the dark waters to drag the hydra's colossal corpse ashore with ropes and ogres. The warlords issued orders to strip the beast’s carcass of all useful parts—its scales, bones, and organs would fuel the vile experiments that would follow. In its death, the hydra would still serve the vermin's twisted ambitions, reshaped into horrors yet unseen.
But the true prize lay below. Where the hydra had fallen, veins of doomstone glowed faintly beneath the water, scattered across the lakebed like the treasure foretold in the ancient carvings. The Eshkin descended upon the deposits with frenzied glee, prying up the shimmering green crystals that pulsed with dark energy. The warlords' eyes glinted with greed as they beheld their newfound wealth. This was no mere fortune—it was power incarnate, enough to reshape the course of the war.
Krathor’s raspy voice echoed over the gathered ratmen as he declared his plan. With the doomstone to bolster their science and the hydra’s remains fashioned into new monstrous creations, they would at last storm the final bastion of the dwarves. The last defenders of Pestilence Hollow would be flushed from their tunnels, purged from their stone halls, and the province would belong to the rats in its entirety.
The path to victory was clear, and the ratmen would stop at nothing to achieve it. The time for final conquest had come.
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