Pendarvin War Report!: REDUX

Greetings, Pit-Pups.

Having taken notice of the wishy-washy excuses for wartime information upon this wall, the Pit Dog has taken it upon himself to show you folk how handle these kinds of tales with kind of quality only a Dwarf could bring to the table. Doubtless, my many fans and bastard children have wondered precisely where I and my brothers have been in all this time, and as a supremely generous bonus, I shall even kowtow to your soft human language, with its slender rods and sensual curves, just so nearly all of you (with the exception of the unwashed, illiterate greenskins) may understand and perhaps even learn a few things for yourselves. However, certain Dwarven phrases and terms that I enjoy using in my writing tend to translate into grievous insults in the Common tongue, so as a precaution, I shall protect the delicate, tear-filled eyes of the ponces who would be offended by words that they would consider "lewd", or "crass", or "capable of making a Costhavenite courtesan blush", by leaving said phrases untranslated in their natural Dwarven iterations.

08 July, 1212

Word of the encroaching Goblinoid forces reached Glangsdale, where we Grumbleguts had been making a living as blacksmiths/Gladitorial fighters/military instructors/impromptu taste-testers/Dwarven sports savants, as well as keeping our eyes peeled, ears alert, and fists cocked for any word of our many, many siblings passing through the area. The messenger who delivered the proclamation to our local brawling den should have taken care to stand to the side of the doorway rather than in front of it, however.

After some coersion and a lot of embellishing, we managed to convince Baron von Grumgarth that we were the best-suited for leading a small skirmishing force to join the battle against the twin Goblinoid empires, and he in turn supplied us with a healthy force of Dwarves and Humans, enough rations to last us a month (PIT DOG'S NOTE: Or about three days, for Angus), and a few wagons to transport supplies and the injured. Troops in tow, we set out to Travance in order to re-stomp our stomping grounds.

Troops: Hengis Grumblegut, Targus Grumblegut, Angus Grumblegut, 10 Dwarven Pit Fighters, 10 Dwarven Crossbowmen, 20 Human Militiamen
Enemy: N/A

Casualties, Friendly: None
Casualties, Hostile: None
Injuries Sustained: Two broken ribs and a shattered left elbow sustained by the aforementioned messenger. (PIT DOG'S NOTE: He really should have gotten out of the way. Silly, smooth-faced drum'sheg.)
Prisoners Taken: None

10 July, 1212

Two days into the journey, and no signs of Goblinoid activity, Gaaldronian or feral (PIT DOG'S NOTE: Not that you could tell the difference, either way all they do is scream, bleed and vlorn in the corners). We have begun a strict training regiment in preparation for the upcoming battles, especially with Angus, whom we've chained to the corner of one of our wagons and starved, whilst intermedantly donning Goblin masks and giving him severe beatings with sticks and other blunted devices. Many of the other soldiers expressed distaste and outrage at our methods, until we reminded them that it was Angus's own idea.

Troops: Hengis Grumblegut, Targus Grumblegut, 10 Dwarven Pit Fighters, 10 Dwarven Crossbowmen, 18 Human Militiamen
Reserves: Angus Grumblegut
Enemy: N/A

Casualties, Friendly: Two Militiamen slain during heavy training drills. At Targus's behest, feathered pillows will be fastened around my fists during future exercises.
Casualties, Hostile: None
Injuries Sustained: Right ear gnawed off of a militiaman, whom mistakenly tried to free Angus from his "captivity". Angus was shortly after returned to his chains and given another round of stick-beatings.
Prisoners Taken: None

13 July, 1212

First contact was made, although it was not with the Greenskin forces. A small group of tribal Kobolds had set up their own little toll-collecting booth at a bridge overlooking a fairly large river that we happened to require access across. After a very brief deliberation, we unanimously agreed that Kobolds looked an awful lot like Goblins, and were just as good at being insufferable gol'whorgs as well.

Troops: Hengis Grumblegut, Targus Grumblegut, 10 Dwarven Pit Fighters, 10 Dwarven Crossbowmen, 18 Human Militiamen
Reserves: Angus Grumblegut
Enemy: 10 Kobolds, 2 Kobold Shamans

Casualties, Friendly: None
Casualties, Hostile: 10 Kobolds, 2 Kobold Shamans
Injuries Sustained: Minor itch on Targus's upper-right thigh. Possibly unrelated.
Prisoners Taken: None

15 July, 1212

Our first bit of real action, having finally come across a scouting party of militant Goblinoids. Our troops, eager to shed Greenskin blood, set into them with a ferocity that would almost make me proud to watch, if not for the fact that they kept jacking my prag'wollin kills.

Troops: Hengis Grumblegut, Targus Grumblegut, 10 Dwarven Pit Fighters, 9 Dwarven Crossbowmen, 18 Human Militiamen
Reserves: Angus Grumblegut, 1 Dwarven Crossbowman
Enemy: 12 Goblins, 3 Orcs, 3 Ogres, 1 Hobgoblin Scout-Commander

Casualties, Friendly: None
Casualties, Hostile: 12 Goblins, 3 Orcs, 3 Ogres, 1 Hobgoblin Scout-Commander
Injuries Sustained: Three Militiamen and one Pit Fighter sustained minor injuries in the battle, were given soiled Goblin loincloths to bind their wounds and told to suck it up. Broken left wrist sustained by a Dwarven Crossbowman who couldn't keep his bolts to himself. (PIT DOG'S NOTE: You never, ever interrupt the Pit Dog's finishing moves. He's lucky that's all he got.)
Prisoners Taken: None

16 July, 1212

More Goblinoids spotted as we neared Nedrinfail. No contest.

Troops: Hengis Grumblegut, Targus Grumblegut, 10 Dwarven Pit Fighters, 9 Dwarven Crossbowmen, 15 Human Militiamen
Reserves: Angus Grumblegut, 1 Dwarven Crossbowman (Injured)
Enemy: 10 Goblins, 5 Orcs, 5 Ogres, 1 Hobgoblin Scout-Commander

Casualties, Friendly: Another 3 Militiamen slain during heavy drills. At Targus's behest, feathered pillows will be strapped around my feet as well.
Casualties, Hostile: 10 Goblins, 5 Orcs, 5 Ogres
Injuries Sustained: Stricken with a sudden fit of Narcolepsy mid-battle due to the lack of challenge presented, and fell asleep. I awoke to the sight of Targus's bor'rip as he attempted to don'gab me while I was down, much to the amusement of the others. Heavily bruised bor'rip, sustained by Targus.
Prisoners Taken: None

20 July, 1212

Troops: Hengis Grumblegut, Targus Grumblegut, 6 Dwarven Pit Fighters, 6 Dwarven Crossbowmen, 10 Human Militiamen
Reserves: Angus Grumblegut, 5 Hogs, 12 Chickens
Enemy: 10 Goblins, 5 Orcs, 3 Ogres, 1 Hobgoblin Scout-Commander
8 Goblins, 5 Orcs, 5 Ogres, 1 Hobgoblin Scout-Commander, 1 Hobgoblin Priest
10 Orcs, 8 Ogres

We have been shacked up in Nedrinfail for three days, now. Skirmishes with Goblinoid forces have become more regular, and injuries have begun to pile up among our men. On top of that, we ended up losing 3 Crossbowmen and 2 of our Pit Fighters to a Bedouin noble in a high-stakes bet on a game of Far'fragh Dolim'on (PIT DOG'S NOTE: 'Far'fragh Dolim'on' roughly translates to 'Dwarf Push' in Common), however, we also won several hogs and a coup of chickens. After losing two Militiamen and causing severe property damage to the town in a particularly raucous party, we were kindly asked by the nobility to never return to the town again. In a bid to make room for our new livestock, we made the decision to leave our wounded behind to fend for themselves in the town. We were not entirely heartless, of course, as we left each soldier with a pewter beard-comb, to ensure that they were well-groomed even during the worst bouts of poverty and homelessness. The humans were a little less grateful for the parting gifts than the Dwarves, however.

Casualties, Friendly: One Militiaman slain by heavy alcohol poisoning, one Militiaman lost in small, alcohol-related fire.
Casualties, Hostile: 25 Goblins, 18 Orcs, 12 Ogres, 1 Hobgoblin Scout-Commander, 1 Hobgoblin Priest
Injuries Sustained: Broken leg sustained by Dwarven Pit Fighter, was left behind at Nedrinfail, Crushed ribcage sustained by Dwarven Pit Fighter, was left behind in Nedrinfail, heavy fever sustained by a Militiaman, was left behind at Nedrinfail, severe concussion sustained by a Militiaman, was left behind at Nedrinfail, stubbed toe sustained by a Militiaman, was left behind at Nedrinfail.
Prisoners Taken: None

23 July, 1212

Troops: Hengis Grumblegut, Targus Grumblegut, 6 Dwarven Pit Fighters, 6 Dwarven Crossbowmen, 9 Human Militiamen
Reserves: Angus Grumblegut, 5 Hogs, 12 Chickens
Enemy: 1 Goblin "Spy"

Hostile located within a more-than-likely stolen hovel on the border of the Rift. Despite his best ploys to trick us into thinking he was civilized and peaceful, we quickly determined that he was a Spy for the Gaaldronian armies and also that the bulge in his pocket was clearly a knife. After some thorough pummeling, the Spy attempted to feign surrender, obviously trying to allow himself to be led back to our war camp in order to reap crucial intelligence before making his escape. To ensure proper privacies, we gave it no such quarter.

Casualties, Friendly: One Militiaman slain during heavy combat drills. At Targus's behest, an additional pillow will be tied around my head for future exercises.
Casualties, Hostile: 1 Goblin "Spy"
Injuries Sustained: None
Prisoners Taken: None

24 July, 1212

Troops: Hengis Grumblegut, Targus Grumblegut, 5 Dwarven Pit Fighters, 6 Dwarven Crossbowmen, 6 Human Militiamen
Reserves: Angus Grumblegut, 3 Hogs, 12 Chickens
Enemy: 12 Flying Trolls, 5 Furred Mummies, 5 Bandaged Wolfman

The Rift was as unhospitable as one would expect, terrible monstrosities had a tendency to swoop at you from every corner. I was just lucky I packed my fists with me.

The Mummies in particular proved to be a hell of a nuisance, garbed in strips of Wolfskin and howling terrible curses at us, until Targus had the bright idea to stuff large quantities of explosive bombs up the vlornholes of a few hogs and send them into the battle. The resulting carnage wiped out the bothersome beasts, as well as a fair few of the leftover humans. The tactic also had the added bonus distracting the Wolfmen with delicious, smoked pork-bits long enough to let us beat him down as well.

Our war-caravan was briefly held up at the other end of the Rift as we were searched for possible contraband and infection by the humans. The searchers almost mistakenly thought we had stowed a Dark Dwarf in our wagon, but it turned out that it was just Angus, rolling in the hog-filth. We gave him another round of stick-beatings, and chained him to a cleaner corner while we ate pieces of the detonated hogs in front of him.

Casualties, Friendly: Three Militiamen, caught in the blast of our makeshift hog-bombs. One Dwarven Pit Fighter, who decided to ride one of the hogs' backs into the fray (PIT DOG'S NOTE: Will be suggesting a posthumous commendation for valor and bravery).
Casualties, Hostile: 12 Flying Trolls, 5 Were-Mummies, 1 Bandaged Wolfman
Injuries Sustained: Dislocated an elbow by punching a Troll too hard, snapped it back into place and it was good as new.
Prisoners Taken: None (PIT DOG'S NOTE: I hope some of you pansy pacifists have been paying careful attention to the pattern here. This is a war, after all.)

27 July, 1212

Troops: Hengis Grumblegut, Targus Grumblegut, multiple Travancians of no real importance.
Reserves: Angus Grumblegut
Enemy: 1 Hobgoblin, 1 Ogre
[strike]20[/strike] [strike]50[/strike] 100 Skeletons

Finally, the Pit Dog has come back to Travance. Having no desire to lead a band of wimps and crying women now that we were in the thick of the fray, we gave them the boot and told them to find their own way to the frontlines, before turning our attention on creating piles of dead Greenskins to stoke our forges. However, we were struck with a torrid bit of luck for the first night, only being able to join in on a skirmish that was almost finished, with merely one fat-arse of an Ogre left to be pummeled by several dozen Travancians. However, as the Ogre was being subjected to a slow, painful death by multiple beatings (PIT DOG'S NOTE: The best kind of death.), I found myself face-to-face with a Hobgoblin who would later be identified as a general of the New Gaaldron forces. The ponce of a Hobgoblin proved to be hardly worth the effort of a proper tussle, however, and I was so disappointed in his performance that I let him go, in hopes that he could train for ten or so years and offer me a halfway-decent challenge then. The general, soiling himself from both ends, bolted off into the woods, only to run into my brother Targus, who also beat him into the ground and let him go out of pity. As you can see, we Grumbleguts can be very compassionate when it comes down to it.

While the Goblinoids might have been in limited supply, Targus and I did find a healthy grouping of skeletons to whet our teeth upon. Back to back, we slew at least [strike]20[/strike] [strike]50[/strike] 100 of the beasts. We were truly the bane of their bones on that night.

Casualties, Friendly: None
Casualties, Hostile: 1 Ogre, 300 Skeletons
Injuries Sustained: Ruffled beard, 1 oz. spilled mead.
Prisoners Taken: None

28 July, 1212

Troops: Hengis Grumblegut, Targus Grumblegut, Angus Grumblegut, multiple Travancians of no real importance.
Reserves: None
Enemy: ~15 Elementals, all types
1 Hobgoblin Kennel-Master
~10 Messed-up Humans and Dwarves(?)
1 Avatar of Enax, 1 annoyingly-fast Hobgoblin, more Goblinoids than I'd care to count

Early-morning conflicts were numerous, but hardly a challenge for a Grumblegut, much less three. Alongside a hearty Celt, I personally showed the Greenskin army's worg master a dog he couldn't leash, as well as kept my reflexes sharp by taking on all challengers among the insane slaves that the Goblinoids kept. None could last even one round with the Pit Dog, much less three, and so my record kept.

Of course, the grandest of battles was yet to come, and after a healthy feast and even healthier rounds of drinks, we met the bulk of the Greenskin army outside of the Dragon's Claw Inn. Alongside my brothers, some Travancians, and a few domesticated Greenskin slaves (or something like that), I led a flanking force in a glorious swathe of destruction across the Gaaldronian lines, plowing through Goblinoids like an Umber Hulk through an Elven tea party. It was then, after saving Ostcliffe's battle-standard from the clutches of the unwashed, pilfering hands of the enemy (PIT DOG'S NOTE: A little compensation for that gracious favor would not be unkind. Just saying.), that I came face-to-face with the Goblins' ace in the hole: A gruesome Avatar of the pig-God Enax, belching forth the flames of filthy Goblinoid "order" across the battlefield and standing no less than 10 30 feet tall. The very sight of such a beastly being offended me to the very core, and I knew I must personally end the wretched thing's life. A fierce battle ensued, my fists clashing against its dark, blessed armor and blades, as all assembled idly watched the spectacle, lacking the intestinal foritude that the Pit Dog had to join in the fray. Finally, I spotted it: a weakness, a proverbial chink in the Avatar's armor. You see, the Avatar made a terrible mistake when it crossed me: it had arms. And it was those very arms that I tied in a roughly noose-like knot in my patented Pit Dog Vice Grip, the puny muscles of the Divine being unable to overcome my own bulging pythons. And so, my brethren finally snapped out of their daze and leapt in for the kill, pummelling the fel beast into submission, and then pummelling it further for a good while until we were sure it was finished.

I could have taken care of that speed demon of a Hobgoblin too, but, not wishing to hog all the glory to myself, I left that up to the rest of the citizenry.

Take note of my deeds, scholars, and record them in all of your flimsy parchment-books for generations to come. If needed, I can also pose for renditions and other artistic commemorations for the occasion.

Casualties, Friendly: None
Casualties, Hostile: Everything
Injuries Sustained: A satisfying amount of scratches and bruises.
Prisoners Taken: None

P.S. I have yet to recieve my medal, human General.

What in the name of Galladel did I miss?

I am gone for a few months and everything goes to the Howling Abyss in a handbasket!

On a side note though: Good work taking out that Avatar Pit Dog, not many would go to toe with one.


Signed:
Father Elric Ashby.

It may not be much coming from me but I just wanted to say I am very impressed after reading about enemy casualties. You do some fine work Pit Dog.

Pit Dog,
First I would like to say how much I enjoyed reading your war report. As it stands you are a fine addition to city and I thank you for all your help.
However one thing did bother me about the report. You mentioned that there was a Eleven Tea Party, I was not invited too. If you could please tell me who was having this party that I was not invited to it would be much appreciated.
Thank you,
Anhîl

It's the little things like this that make me proud I was raised by dwarves.