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.