Dwarves and the Rat-kin : Extinguishing the candle

[Movrak]

Rumours persist of rats the size of gnomes that walk on two legs (though I have yet to witness such a creature, personally).

Several entries in the Book of Grudges speak of protracted tunnel battles against these creatures, and of the poisoned claws they attack with.

It is yet unknown where they come from, but evidence shows they make their tunnels inside old abandonned mines, quarries and caves, where the dark, damp environment is best suited to grow their numbers.

It is 300 years ago that they emerged from the depths and now litter the underground of Azeroth.

Dwarves have reported sightings of the Rat-kin in Gol'Bolar Quarry and the Iron mines to the east, but they've been seen even in the distant lands of Stormwind, in the Elwyn forest.
Humans in those parts call them Kobolds.

Most infamous is the period after the First War, when the Black Plague swept Azeroth and the rat-kin emerged from their burrows to attack the dwarf lands en masse.

It would appear that the rat-kin have a labyrinthine tunnel network that spans the entier continent, intersecting all major cities and roads at several points.

What is apparent though is the growing canker of the dwarves towards this race of intelligent rat mutants.

Rat-kin were first discovered in Loch Modan, in the Silver Stream Mine.
On this day, miners of the Ironjaws clan, excavating a lucrative seam of silver break through into a vast warren of tunnels. Upon closer inspection, the tunnels are revealed to be of rat manufacture, crude and foul of stench as is the rat-kin’s mark.

Prospector Kazarak does report the tunnels are impossible to map and stretch for many miles. A war party of rat-kin broke through the tunnels and did slay Kragg Firehelm and sixteen miners of his clan.

Clan warriors are mustered but the rats flee into the warrens and pursuit is impossible. A grudge is hereby lodged against Kazarak Ironjaws, and the Ironjaws clan, for failing to shore up the breach discovered by them.

Fifty rattails each is demanded as recompense against the ratkin for the deaths of Kragg and his kin.

[Movrak]

The attacks of the rat-kin grows daily in frequency.

The vermin are emboldened by their increasing numbers. They appear oft without warning, striking from their tunnel warrens.

Three mines at Iceflow lake, fall. Defending the first mine, dwarf clans of the Copperback, Flinthand and Bronzefist are slain, fifty in all, as a great poison cloud engulfs them, wrought by a band of rat-kin with strange contrivances strapped to their flea-infested muzzles and clutching globes of greenish gas.

Master foreman Ankmar Bronzefist shoots one with his blunderbuss and quickly musters quarrellers to slay the others.
In their wake come scores of rat-kin, led by a bigger, black-furred warrior wielding a broad-bladed halberd and clad in thick armour. The mine is overrun.

Sappers collapse the tunnels at the behest of foreman Ankmar, the vermin kept at bay by quarrellers, and the mine is abandoned to the hated foe.

At the second mine, the wooden supports are rendered to ash by an evil contraption of the rat-kin, as are numerous dwarves of the Ironback clan, and the mine itself collapses, burying all but a scant few survivors.

Those that do escape to tell of these deeds, die quickly afterwards.
By Muradin's beard, such foul deeds are an affront to any dwarf!

The cowards attack from the shadows and slay a great many dwarves before any retaliation can be meted out.
With typical vermin courage, the rat-kin flee as soon as they are met by stern dwarf resistance.

As news of these events reach Ironforge, the Khaz Modan Infantry is mobilized and dispatched to counter the filth of the Rat-kin.

Search for them in every cave, tunnel or mine you come across and slay as many as you can !

Commendations await those who kill them in great numbers !


For the King!
For Ironforge!
For Khaaaaz Modaaaan!

[Movrak]

Rat kin : Origins



The creation of the Ratkin is one born in agony and madness.

Their desperate life began under the ruthless watch of a Dark Iron Dwarf called Khazarak the Grim, master foreman of the mines in Blackrock Mountain.
Desperate to fuel the sacrificial pits of Molten Core, he needed more victims to appease the Old Gods.


Khazarak began to experiment.

Consumed by his madness, he locked himself away while he worked in a frenzy on his project, rarely seen.
Strange chittering screeches and agonised wails came from behind the locked doors of his laboratory.
After a while, Khazarak was forgotten and a new foreman took his place.

Some thirteen years after Khazarak had sealed himself away, the heavy doors opened once more and Khazarak reappeared triumphant.
As he emerged from his self-imposed exile, behind him streamed a vast pack of rats, but not rats as they had been.
These were something new, something terrible - a horrifying hybrid of rats and humanoids.

In their eyes there was a smouldering malignancy and their rapid, jerky movements were spine-chilling and beyond natural. Khazarak had bred a new race to sacrifice, a race he named Kobolds.

Ones that could do more: work harder, work longer and, most importantly, produce more sacrifices for the Old Gods.


With the biggest brutes he had created, Khazarak reasserted his authority and quickly rose back to a position of power, even greater than before.

Over the years that followed, the Ratkin became a commonplace sight in the worker pits, and their endless supply saw them sacrificed, tortured, maimed, worked, and discarded in inconceivable numbers.
The Ratkin were bred for oppression and were thus cruelly exploited.

But vermin thrive in adversity. The darkest, most miserable places in the world are the domain of rats.

They watched. They learned. They plotted and schemed.

The revolt and breakout were a maelstrom of blood, fur, teeth, and gore. When they turned on their masters and creator, they showed no mercy. Thousands of Dark Iron Dwarves died as the vast pack boiled though the halls on its way deeper into the earth.

Unknown to their overlords, the Ratkin had been preparing for this moment for years. Miles and miles of new tunnels had been burrowed away from Blackrock Mountain, far away in an escape route that could expedite the flight of a new species of evil, somewhere they could form their own destiny and plot revenge on the wickedness that had spawned them.

More than a century after the exodus, the Ratkin are a menace that have plagued many of the civilised lands.

The Ratkin have learned from their masters too. They have built their own weapons, having stolen the knowledge from the war factories of the dwarves and fashioned them in their own image. They have learnt about cruelty and suffering first-hand as they watched from their tunnels.

They saw the blacksmiths in their forges, making all sorts of weapons and armors, lethal artefacts of war.

The result is a new menace that burrows its way into the very heart of Azeroth… and it is only starting on its journey to bring the land to its knees.

Soon all will squirm like a cornered rat !

[Movrak]

Kobolds are a prime example of the Lesser Races that tend to appear and reappear on Bounty Boards, second only to Gnoll infestations.

Keeping in mind that Kobolds are rarely competent combatants, any potent warrior should have little issue dealing with them in a single-hand situation. Due to their loosely nest-based nature, Kobolds rarely fight alone;

Their most common strategy of approach is to rely on traps and backpeddling, dragging their foes into said traps, rather than direct combat. Kobolds also employ simple earth magic, including ice shields and fire bolts, though most of their number are warriors, skilled only with their mining picks. Their style of fighting involves attacking with as many allies as possible, and beating the offending person(s) to death with the aforementioned mining picks.



However, there are three simple ways to exterminate Kobold infestations.

The strongest recommendation is to use light. A torch would practically do, as Kobolds are phobic against their own shadows; If they see their own shadows, they usually react as if they've seen an unimaginable terror - and tend to run away, stricken in fear. Not to mention the fact that they are underground terrestrials, which means that they have very little in the way of dealing with bright light - and subsequently tend to be blinded by direct sunlight or a close-proximity source.

Scattering a pack of Kobolds this way is very simple, and is how most civilian settlements deal with outrooting Kobold infestations, and dwarven miners tend to use the same technique.



Another possiblity is to destroy or otherwise blacken their own candles which they wear on their helmets; these are iconic in their shamanistic belief and they tend to think that, if their candle is destroyed or unlit, they are 'lost', and subsequently tend to again, run away in fear - for this candlelight is their guidance in life. Some do however respond agressively and tend to become enraged when their candle is at harm.



A third way is to decieve them, using their lower intellect and drawing them into a trap or other way of manipulation; the usual military strategy is to bait them into an abandoned shaft in their tunnels, placing a bait - usually in the form of a gold coin or other riches - and then destroy the entrance by using an explosive device or something similiar to seal the entrance. Beware though! The Kobolds are nifty when it comes to mining, and may escape their entrapment before starvation is due.

[Movrak]

Battle at Silver Stream Mine



We found vermin in those hills and not the kind that you might keep as a pet. These were big bastards, walking on two legs! They gave us a right hiding that day… Yeah, I'll tell you the tale. But it’ll cost you another ale and a few more by the time I’m finished.

We had been mining the tin in the hills. Sending it up by rams to Thelsamar. The vermin problem had been there from the start y’see. But the Clan had invested too much to back out of the operation. To begin with we suppressed them. But they got bolder. Eventually we faced a whole army of the things. Where they came from, I don’t know. I was a ranger. Scouted them hills every day and didn’t see head nor tail of them!

My guess is that they live in burrows. Sometimes they would collapse our mines and make off with a few of our numbers.

Small attacks. Nothing major. These losses were acceptable to the Clan and their families compensated. Then the Ironbreakers came. Two of them. Weird folks are Ironbreakers.
I guess they had heard about those Dwarves that were lost in the mines. Came to exact vengeance on the vermin as the Clan was intent to do nothing. That’s when the problems started.

The Ironbreakers had been stirring up trouble.

Protecting the honor of the Clan and ensuring the Oath of Protection was upheld they said.

Yes, one more ale. Where was I? The Ironbreakers. They follow the old ways. The Old Gods they say. Wear amulets and not much else. Spend their time praying and pursuing oathbreakers.

Ah yes, they were here to hunt the Vermin. Make sure the Clan’s honour was maintained. But they stuck their beards in and stirred up something vile under them hills. Silver Stream Mine the locals called it, aye.

It was a dark night when they came. Cloudy but no rain. I was about to head out with my band of Riflemen when the alarm went up. We were out the gate and drawn up for battle in no time. We weren’t ready for them. We assumed it was just a rag-tag raiding party. Nothing organized. When we looked across the field that night, I admit that I felt fear in my heart. They had come in force…

Yes, I know it’s my fourth. Do you want to hear this story or not?

…Those Ironbreakers speak of Old Gods but there were no Gods helping us that night, I tell you. I’ve never seen anything like it. From out of the sky came a fiery piece of mountain! How unnatural.

Rock, falling from the sky. This was clearly the work of the vermin. It hit us square in our midst. One of the Ironbreaker. Bravest Dwarf I ever met. He saw it coming. Stood right there. Sang a prayer to these Old Gods and took it. Right in the face. The rock was huge. Completely pulverised him along with our artillery! Made a crater the size of this ale house! The other Ironbreaker, you might know him as Thurian? Aye the same Thurian.

Well he was smart enough to get out of the way. Maybe his faith in the old Gods was not as unwavering as the songs sing, eh?

We were under fire from falling mountains and the battle had hardly been joined by the rest of the lads. I knew here that it would be a long night.

No, I haven’t had enough… stop interrupting me. I need a drink in my hand when I praise the dead!


We gave ‘em hell back, let me tell you! Back in my day I was a crack shot. After a few volleys those rats fled with their tales between their legs. We were too much for them. Shame about the rest of the clan. Those boys were dropping and there wasn’t much we could do about it.
Aye lad, I saw him. Saw it when Thurian died. It was glorious. These Ironbreakers, they eschew armour you see. Think it dishonours the old ways or something. It’s all superstition. Yes, I know the ballad. I was there.

Well if he wore armour, he might have survived, ay? Anyway. Thurian gave the beast a mortal blow, right in the side of the neck. His axe was buried deep in the monstrosity. How big you say? As big as this table. Ive never seen a rat so big. And one of their leaders was riding it like a horse. Madness.

Anyway, his axe got stuck, and well, the monstrous rat took chomped right down on his shoulder, its teeth sinking into his stomach and lower back. An equally mortal blow. Right away the colour washed from his face. He knew he was done. With a roar, Thurian ripped out his axe. All this blood and pus followed. Acid it was. Burned all his arm and face. That’s why they call him the Bloody-Handed.

With his death blow, Thurian smote the beast a final strike right back into the wound he had made. Almost took the things head clean of, it did. As I said, those Ironbreakers are a brave bunch. The beast came down on top of him, rider and all. Was a sad day. We lost a lot good Dwarves that day. Here’s to them! Thurian !

I didn’t see the last stand of the Greybeards. Those old codgers. Stubborn to the last I bet. Here’s to them! I was well away by then. I’d lost most of my unit and the Hold Banner was in the dirt. And another! For my fallen comrades and the lost banner! Those damned Vermin. The Khaz Modan Infantry will be back to the Silver Stream Mine.


The ballad? Aye, the ballad. Get me another ale and you’ll hear it...