Chapter Twenty-Four: The Last Hold (Part V)
Location: Khazrik Hold
Date: 890.M30 (Imperial Standard Time)
The Orks had come. Millions if not Billions of the Greenskins had landed upon Grungron. Marshalled by their Warboss and aimed at the mighty fortress of Khazrik Hold. The lava moat and constant rivers of molten rock flowed across the Holdfast and protected it from most forms of assault. Turrets and Flak-Spires dotted the surface of Khazrik Hold. Hiding between lava flows and cooling obsidian. There was only one entrance into Khazrik Hold for the Ork hordes. The Ancestor Gate.
Tall enough to accomodate Titan Walkers of the Golden Age and built into a gatehouse the size of a city. Recessed into Khazrik Hold, the Ancestor Gate was the grand entrance into the subterranean Squat Kingdom. Defended by the full might of the last Khazkhun. A mighty bridge crossed the volcanic ocean-moat that seperated the Ancestor-Gatehouse from the ash-plains of Grungrons surface. Carved from Adamantium by centuries of Squat craftsmen it was where the last stand of the Squats of Grungron would be.
Every day for over a millenia, a Greentide pushed across the elder-bridge only to be beaten back by the firepower and grit of the Khazkhun. Many times the Orks had made it fully across the elder-bridge. Entering the hollow of the mountain that held the Ancestor Gate. Each and every time they had been beaten back. The cavernous Gatehouse acted as a kilometer wide kill-box. Where bolt, and blast smashed the Orks and a controlled river of Lava cleaned the filth of Orkish blood and bodies from the cavern. Gargants and Squat Hearth-Golems had dueled atop the elder-bridge. With great sweeps of the Golems storm-hammer knocking scores of Orks into the volcanic abyss below.
The Orks had been pushed back time and time again. Yet their number was endless and the call of War held absolute sway. Even by Orkish standards WAAAGH Grunhag had reached a pathological level of obsessive violence. Unlike most Orks they resisted boredom and fear. Gladly plunging themselves into the fray with manic energy. The reason for the sheer persistence of the Orks had long mystified the chroniclers and Archivist of the Squats. The ancient golden data drives and the memories of the eldest Living Ancestors told a different tale of Orkish behavior. Of a easily distracted breed of idiotic killers who wandered between Wars with little direction. Not the focused cudgel of green-tinged malice they now faced. What the Squats did not know and would likely never discover was the true purpose of WAAAGH Grunhag.
The Greenskins are an artificial species of incredible complexity. Analogies modeling their behavior must call upon examples of Eusocial arthropods, Rogue Machine Armies and Fungal infestations. The single greatest masters of the biological and warp sciences had crafted them to be the ultimate weapon. Even millions of years later and long decayed that nature still shone through. The ancient Krorks were designed to hold the line against the Silver-Extincion of the C'tan. Designed to be able to rapidly evolve and devolve as needed. To calibrate themselves to whatever threat they faced. Allowing economic use of resources and adaptable defenses.
In the Age of Failed Heirs, as the Necron chronicler Trazyn the Infinite called the period between the War in Heavens conclusion and the Fall of the Eldar. The Krorks had regressed. Their devolution was guided and controlled by the Aeldari, K'nib, Kinebrach and Mankind. Turning the now uncontrolled weapon into a galaxy wide infestation and nuisance. Now in the Age of Strife no great powers existed to push back the Greentide. Only war awaited the Orks. Which they relished. Unconstrained by the will of the Old Ones and robbed of purpose the Orks warred across the galaxy with glee. Steadily advancing higher along the designed evolutionary path gifted by the Old Ones.
Yet things went awry. The Krork had been guided and controlled by the Old Ones and had this process of development regulated. With the "Brain-Boyz" gone, the Orks started to slip into something new. Something unseen except for perhaps during the Dawn Age of the Aeldari Empire. The Orks were not evolving into true Krork as some scholars thought. They simply started becoming better Orks. With all the knowledge and power instilled in them unleashed. No longer the Twin-Headed War of the Old Ones. Now little more than a feral Beast. Even if they had millions of years of bloody conflict to marinate in. The Orks would never become what they once were. Any guidance or control was either dead, gone or unwilling to act. Instead of Krorks these Greenskins if unmanaged would become a Great Beast of Extinction and Destruction.
This process of leaving the path set forth during their genesis had many unusual effects upon the Orks. Foremost of these was WAAAGH Grunhag. Where the other WAAAGH and Greenskin empires consolidated under the Beast-Bosses and their Kingdoms of thuggish-malice. Some Orks refused this "progrest" wanting to continue the old ways of raiding and wild brutality. The Great Green psychic field of the Orkiod species lacked a proper response for these rogue elements. Much like the feral Orks who refused to surrender rock and spear for Slugga and Choppa. The Orks of WAAAGH Grunhag refused to become something new. Shirking the dreams of conquest and domination that rose upon Ullanor. Propelled on by primitive urges and long buried programming instilled by the Old Ones. WAAAGH Grunhag threw itself at the single most powerful enemy it could find and go out in a blaze of glory. Feeding the Great Green psychic field of Orkind and seeding countless worlds with Orkish spores
Thus WAAAGH Grunhag continued its millenia long suicidal campaign against the Squats. Compelled on by Gork and Mork themselves and the madness of Grunhag. For the Warbosses point he had no desire to die. He wanted to prove his ways and his WAAAGH was better than the Ullanor or Gorro Beast-Bosses. Crushing the Squats and looting their worlds. Drawing greenskins away from the Beast-Bosses and to his great WAAAGH!!! The self destructive nature of the Orks struck once again. Just as Gork and Mork fought within the Warp. Grunhag and the Beast-Bosses struggled. Fighting over what future the Orks would take. If Grunhag could destroy the Squats and prove he was the "ardest" Ork around. Then just maybe the old ways might triumph over the new.
To the Squats this amounted to a never ending tide of maddened Greenskins. Focused and directed unlike anything the Khazkhun people had ever dealt with before. In every engagement the Orks took hundreds of casualties per each fallen Squat. Which meant nothing to the Greenskins and everything to the defenders. The stone of the Khazkhun was steadily being worn away by the Greentide. Still the Ancestor-Gate held. No Greenskin had gotten close enough to even touch its Adamantium bulk. Cut down in the surrounding Gate-house cavern. Which in its own way was a masterpiece of Squat engineering. A hollow in the mountain with murderholes, artillery emplacements, shifting deployment tunnels and armored ramparts.
Grand ballads and sagas were written of the battles for the cavern. Stories of how the Orkish Great Gargants had dragged themselves across the elder-bridge at the head of a mob of Orks and Stompas. Pushing through lines of Hearthguard and field guns to reach the Cavern. Only to meet their end when a throng of Hearth-Golems ambushed them within the Cavern. Smashing the orkish meks to pieces as a flood of lava poured down from the Gate-houses defenses. Squat bound-silica and Ork war-walkers dueled in a river of lava up to their mechanical knees. That swept and burned away the Orkish horde.
The Squats had existed in a state of constant siege for thousands of years. Fighting a losing war for generations. A great sense of weariness could be found among the Khazkhun. Not apathy, or a desire to give up. Instead, a general exhaustion. A melancholic affliction brought on by the slow death of their civilization. Where most of humanity had only the vaguest ideas of what they had lost to the Galaxies cruelty. The Squats and their ancient records kept a near-perfect recollection of all that was taken from them. Every lost world, every destroyed clan, each lost wonder and ruined relic. Hope of any kind had long since been lost, and yet the Squats endured. Partially out of sheer stubborn pride, but mostly out of a single desperate desire. To stave off the end for just a little longer. For maybe one or two more generations to live. In that terrible mentality of fighting for each day. The Squats survived for millennia.
Until one fateful morning, when the bloated red giant of the Karag system crested the horizon of the heavy-world of Grungron. The defenders of the Last Hold were met with a curious sight. A strange Orkish procession of trukks, transportas and other contraptions approached the Mountain spire. In the middle of this train of greenskin machinery was a massive device of unknown purpose. Easily the size of the largest Gargant the Squats had ever seen it was roughly cube-shaped. With great brass lined indents across its front. The Khazkhun defenders opened fire with a few testing shots. Great mortar shells spit from the great mountain's crevices. Arcs of green lighting shot out from the convoy and blasted the shells from the sky. The Orkish procession eventually stopped, outside the range of the most powerful guns of Khazrik Hold.
A steady bombardment of mortar shells continued as the Squats observed a force of Mekboys and Gretchins making modifications to the massive cube. Then frantically fleeing it after nearly an hour of tinkering. With a great thrum of energy, the cube activated. Emergency Void-Shields and countless defense measures were prepared by the Khazkhun. Fearing whatever Orkish weapon was to be unleashed.
Instead of any great gouts of plasma or world-cracking gravity surges the Orkish machine spoke. In a technologically amplified voice loud enough to damage the eardrums of Squats manning spotter posts upon the mountain many kilometres away. "OI! IS DIS TING ON!?" Bellowed the machine. It seemed the Orks found the easiest method of getting a message to the Squats was through sheer volume. In the pigeon language of the Orks, Grunhag addressed the last hold.
"AIGHT YA STUNTIES! ERES DA DEAL! I IZ GETTEN BORED AND NEED SOMTING NEW! SO MORROW IMMA COME TO YUR BIG ROCK AND FIGHT THE DEAD ARDEST STUNTY YA GOT INNA DOOL! IF HE BEATS ME MY BOYZ WILL LEAVE! FINDA BETTA FIGHT! IF I WIN, WELL WE GETS SOME PROPA FUN! AND IF YA DUMB NOUGH TO TURN ME DOWN! WELL I'LL BE FORCED TO GET PROPA NASTY! SHOW YOU STUNTIES WHAT WE ORKS DO TO GROT-GUT HAVING COWARDS!"
With that the giant vox-caster the Orks had constructed overloaded. Unleashing a small mushroom cloud in its detonation. No Orks assaulted Khazrik Hold for the rest of the day. Leaving the Squats to debate the Greenskins message. Deep within the ancestral meeting halls of the Last Hold a great debate raged. Clan Elder and Guild Masters from all varieties argued. Not over whether the Khazkhun would take the Greenskins challenge. Instead they argued who would be the Squats champion. The Silica-Smiths wanted to unleash an experimental Golem to strike down Grunhag. Guriai the Granite, Living Ancestor of the now extinct Clan Redaxe wanted to personally avenge his kindred. The Hearthguard of the attending leaders compared deeds, seeking the greatest of the power-armored warriors to take the challenge.
Every Squat alive wanted to be the one who ripped Grunhag the Flayers head from his shoulders. This opportunity to enact vengeance could not be squandered. After several hours of spirited debate, a conclusion was reached. A group of the eldest Living Ancestors came before the War-council of Khazrik Hold and declared that only one Khazkhun was worthy of this mighty deed of slaying Grunhag. The oldest living Grudgekeeper. Ur-Dammaz: the breaker of grudges and bastard of Grimnir
His identity long forgotten, he had been one of the first to take the Oath of Penance. Having the sins and misery of millennia of squats transferred into his mind. The Sin-Eater for an entire abhuman race. Yet more than a living confessional. Ur-Dammaz and all his ilk had been changed by Grudgekeeping. Every grudge and every dark memory the Living Ancestors had transferred into him had power. It was not memories given to the Grudgekeepers, but emotions. Maddened fragments carved off the grieved by the psychic skills of the Living Ancestors. Enough so the Squat in need of this service could cope with the pain. Turning the burning pain of loss, grief, anger and shame into a survivable ache. For millennia the Ur-Dammaz had taken in pieces of souls at their most powerful and potent.
This process of Grudgekeeping was a primitive apotheosis. Shards of Soul-Stuff conglomerating in the Grudgekeeper as spiritual sediment. Crushed under its own weight into something strong and unbreaking. Granting the Keepers powers beyond even the Living Ancestors. Innate psychic ability that knitted together broken bones and torn muscle stronger than before. Flames of fiery wrath so hot they materialized in waves of fire pouring from the Keeper. Adamantium willpower and dogged obsessive focus. Creating berserker demigods. Who knew only the pain of their kindred.
The incredible age and amount of Grudges and Sins Ur-Dammaz had taken alone did not make him what he was. During the Golden Age of the Squats the Grudgekeepers held a secondary role aside from locking away collective pain. When clans, guilds or even holds got into conflict it was up to the Grudgekeepers to settle it. By manner of ritual combat. The Keeper bound to each body represented in the conflict would face in a sacred arena. The idea was simple. Grudgekeepers are empowered by the pain they held. The more grieved parties Grudgekeeper would be stronger by power of misery and win the duel. Trial by combat mixed with arbitration.
These ritual duels would only end when the losing side surrendered. Not the losing Grudgekeeper, but who they represented. The patron could choose to let there Grudgekeeper die in the conflict. A drastic action only done in the most severe circumstances. Usually, these duels ended when a victor was apparent. The Squats unwilling to risk dishonor or the loss of their groups Grudgekeeper. No matter the outcome the losing side would find its Grudgekeeper relieved of some or all of their burden. Living Ancestors would transfer an agreed sum of Grudges from the loser to the winner. Or all of them in case of death. Leading to generations of increasingly powerful Grudgekeepers, empowered and tormented by victory.
According to the ancient Gilded Archives Ur-Dammaz had never lost a ritual duel. Even electing to take on the burden of Keepers who lost their patron during the Ork Wars. Over the millennia Ur-Dammaz had become incarnate of the Khazkhun people's pain. So powerful and psychically resonant he was kept in stasis-sleep when not needed. Wrapped in chains of Mourn-Metal. A psychically enhanced Adamantium alloy. Forged using the remains of dead Living Ancestors and Grudgekeepers. Kept in a temple near the Mountain's heart.
The council quickly fell behind the Living Ancestors decision and preparation to awake the Grudge Breaker started. His armor was pulled from the deepest armories. A suit of Power-Armor forged from Adamantium, Mourn-Metal and lost technologies. The most powerful relics and inventions of the Guilds were assembled. Clans donated heirlooms and treasures from before the diaspora. All used to arm Ur-Dammaz for his duel. Living Ancestors skilled in artficary and greatest smiths and Guildsquats set to work. In turn the Priests of Grimnir, God of War, Grudges and Vengeance. Prepared to awake the living avatar of their deity. All across the subterranean world of the Last Hold, great bells rang. Brass artifacts echoing in a melodic cacophony. The symbolic hammer of the Squats ringing out with each mighty boom.
Every Khazkhun from the oldest Living Ancestor to the youngest child knew in their hearts what was coming. This would be the last day of glory for the Squats. Even if Grunhag was struck down and his WAAAGH left. So much had been lost. The Homeworlds had been devastated and they would never recover before the next great threat arose. One way or another the end of the Khazkhun was upon them. They would not go without a fight. As they had done since the days of the Iron War the Squats would struggle against the inevitable. Ur-Dammaz would be the Axe of the Squats and he would carve a red ruin into the Orks. The Greenskins would fear the Khazkhun. Khazrik Hold would etch its tale into the Orks like a chisel through stone.