The little goblin had to be quick to avoid the grasp of the black orcs. He was quick by virtue of being a squig herder who spent most of his days avoiding the chomping maws of very large and ill-tempered squigs. Black orcs were slow lumbering creatures by comparison, though the squig herder wasn't sure whether the grasp of an orc or the gullet of a squig was a worse fate.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally spotted the shaman, gathering his courage and deftly slipping between the massive legs of the Warboss himself.

"Shaman Skarlix, I got news from da Squig Brigade!" he said with as much confidence as he could muster.

Skarlix brought his gaze slowly down from the face of Azzog the Swordbreaka to the tiny goblin between the great Warboss' legs. He waved his hand to stop Azzog from crushing the insolent goblin under his boot. Skarlix strained to remember if he had met this squig herder before, but the red paint covering half the gobbo's face and hands made it a difficult task. No, thought Skarlix, this goblin was unimportant except for his message.

"This fool has information necessary for the attack. You can try to stomp him once he has relayed his message, but not before", instructed Skarlix. The little squig herder went pale green and only a stern look from the Warboss convinced him to finally relay his burden.

"We'z done as you axed us. All da boyz know dere job if'n da stunties are dumb enough ta attack", he squeaked. A giant mailed foot smashed down and the squig herder narrowly dodged a second stomp by Azzog. Skarlix scowled at his exceptionally large ally as the tiny goblin ran full speed back to his brigade.

Now the stunties could make their move.

==============================

The dwarves of Dun Kharan had run out of powder. Waaagh Azzog had fallen upon the stronghold and cut them off from their usual supplies. What's more, they'd managed to cut off the last few convoys of black powder so that the dwarven supply of explosives was dangerously low. The dwarven scout outpost on top of a nearby hill had been taken by the greenskins at great cost. The dwarves who held the post had made their bitter enemies pay dearly for that piece of ground. It was worth it. Once the greenskins had control of the hill they wasted little time installing rock lobbers, archers, and rudimentary defensive structures. The location of the hill put the greenskins within range to rain little barbed arrows and large boulders into the dwarven stronghold. The boulders were the problem.

Two nights ago a dwarven strike team was sent to destroy the rock lobbas but had met with disaster. Under the cover of a moonless night the dwarves had nearly avoided detection by the greenskins. In fact it was the squigs sharing the hilltop with the greenskins who had uncovered the raid. The dwarven attempt failed and the rock lobbers continued their barrage. Even now the dwarves could see dozens of the hated squigs on the hilltop.

Tough times call for tough measures and these dwarves were no stranger to tough times. As hard as the mountains they live in, a dwarf defending his home is worth ten greenskins. By all accounts the Waaagh they faced only numbered a few thousand, so the thousand dwarves in Dun Kharan's garrison were confident they could win a defensive engagement. With enough explosives the dwarven cannons would have cleared the hill of rock lobbas and goblin archers, but without powder the guns stayed silent.

The dwarven plan was simple and brutal. The garrison would spill out of their gates and form a defensive line, cutting off the greenskins on the hill from the rest of the Waaagh. As the greenskins attacked the dwarven lines, a company of hammerers would scale the hill and wipe it clean. A section of engineers would then demolish the rock lobbas and retreat with the hammerers back into the stronghold. Once the task was accomplished the main body would also retreat behind the walls of Dun Kharan. Without their catapults, squigs, and archers, the Waaagh would surely give up the assault.

==============================

The calm of morning was shattered by the blaring of horns. One thousand dwarves, the full garrison of Dun Kharan, poured forth from the gates and formed an impenetrable wall of steel. The orcs reacted with amazing speed and formed a line of their own a mere hundred yards from the dwarves. To the surprise of the Dwarves a lone black orc stepped forward from the orc lines and did a most peculiar thing: he did nothing. No cry of Waaagh started the inevitable orc charge. No sword on shield signaled a challenge to the dwarven general. No, the titanic Azzog the Swordrenda just stood there in front of his Waaagh and waited.

The hammerer company raced out behind the main host and reached the bottom of the hill. Early morning fog would keep the hammerers hidden for much of their climb so the arrows of the goblins would be ineffective. Despite the fog the squigs had already smelled the dwarves, and a steady rain of goblin arrows began falling on both the hammerers and the main dwarven host. Despite the range and power afforded by their perch, the goblin arrows were ineffective against dwarven armor.

Skarlix the shaman stood in the middle of the greenskin lines just behind the orc Warboss. At a signal from the tiny shaman, Azzog began stomping his feet. The rest of the warband quickly followed and soon the whole valley was shaking. Stomp, stomp, stomp, the ground shook with the force of thousands of orc feet. The dwarves gripped their weapons tightly and prepared for the charge, but still the orcs held fast. Behind the orc lines, several orcapults were filled with rotting meat and giant bones, ready to fling at the dwarven lines.

The hammerer company continued their rush up the hill through the thick morning fog. They could vaguely make out the round red forms of squigs streaming down the hill to meet them, but nothing could be heard above the din created by the orcs in the valley. The dwarven hammerers broke out of the fog nearly a third of the way up the hill, just in time to see the front half of the approaching squigs veer off sideways towards the greenskin lines. The sudden move by only half the squigs was confusing until the dwarves saw the second half of the squig assault.

From his vantage point in the orc lines Skarlix could only imagine what was happening. He couldn't see the hill through the morning fog and he certainly couldn't hear what was happening. For that matter neither could the dwarven host.

Only the Squig Brigade could see the squig sized boulders, painted bright red, slamming through the ranks of hammerers and destroying the entire company in a matter of seconds. Only the Squig Brigade was able to watch the boulders as they picked up speed and plummeted towards the entrenched dwarven lines in the valley. Skarlix saw the destruction on the hill, his mind's eye replaying the scene just as he'd witnessed it in his dreams for the past week.

As the first boulders broke through the fog towards the main dwarven host the dwarves could only stare in amazement, unsure how the squigs had overwhelmed the hammerer company so quickly. The squig red boulders stuck the dwarven formation in the flank and dwarven steel was no match for the momentum of the giant rocks. Squigs are whirling balls of teeth and death. Squigs are horrifying creatures but in a thousand years their fury will never match the absolute destruction brought to the dwarves that day by fast moving stone.

Unfortunately the squigs who had been running in front of the boulders were now streaming back towards the orc lines. Pressed from behind by the rockslide and in front by the dwarven defenses, the entire squig herd had chosen to flee back towards the familiar greenskin army. Hundreds of the creatures were charging the orc lines and would cause untold havoc unless somehow they could be stopped. Of course Skarlix had planned for this as well.

Magically enhanced by the power of the assembled Waaah, the diminutive little shaman's voice whistled out over the valley. "Here boy, here boy, want a stick?" stopped the squig herd in its tracks. This call was followed by a signal to the orcapults. Hundreds of pounds of rotting meat and bones flew from the orc lines into the already devastated dwarven host. The dwarves never stood a chance.

Azzog looked back at Scarlix and the little shaman finally nodded his approval.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAGH" yelled Azzog as he led the charge.