This is not the first overrun ruin that the Acolyte has delved, even if it's the first he's had an army behind him for. Ruins are often the best places to find lost Knowledge, so excursions with fellow knowledge-seekers often plumbed their depths. It's an almost familiar feeling, mapping out the twists and turns, filling his head with the space of this place, this Karak Raziak. There is no worry he will get lost or turned around, not unless the tunnels are actively rearranging themselves. Indeed, his group is likely amongst the quickest progressing.

After days of slow creeping progress and more ambushes than he can count, the tunnel-fighting slows. More and more groups are stuck just holding strong-points, or are unable to take the next point without unacceptable losses. 

Eventually, the Acolyte receives a runner calling for him - one of the groups has been attacked by trolls, and reinforcements are needed urgently. 

A part of of the Acolyte begins preparing for the worst. The rest of him follows the runner back to where he's needed at full speed.

The fighting on the main road had fallen back to a wider tunnel where the streltsi's rifles could best do the work of slaughtering incoming orcs, but the trolls survived what volleys could be placed, and now the line is utterly disrupted. The trolls have, they said, broken and fled three times thus far, but it's so hard to convert a wounded troll into a dead troll that their cowardice just lets them come for another go half an hour later. Compared to Klomm, these trolls are fat and stupid, not using any tool or clothing more sophisticated than a tree-trunk and a loincloth, but clearly the goblins using long pointy sticks to point them in the right direction don't skimp on feeding them. When the Acolyte arrives, the local command is holed up in an ancient storeroom a few hundred meters from the main battle. 

Sad creatures. Dangerous, but sad. Not sad enough to stop the Acolyte from cutting them down along with any goblins or orks that come out alongside them, though. Trolls can come back from a lot, but the Acolyte can dish out more than just 'a lot.'

Plausibly, they will not be recognizable as more than meat by the time he's done.

It takes less than that to get them out of the fight for an indefinite period of time - even a troll takes a good bit of time to heal up a missing limb or four, but mince-meat is needed to truly get them dead, right this second. 

With the trolls gone, the fight normalises. Casualties have been taken, but they can keep fighting, and they're nearly at the final keep, where the warboss will be with his elites. Without the Acolyte's presence here, everything could have ground to a total halt - this tunnel-fighting can't be allowed to bog down into attrition, given how limited supplies are. 

It's good that the fight is progressing. The longer this takes, the more everyone suffers, that's for certain.

He will continue to go where he's needed to keep this flow from halting.

The war proceeds as expected, the enemy slowly worn down, tunnels claimed one by one. Another two days pass, thier supplies of food drifting nearer and nearer to the point where they must leave, or face starvation, when the warboss of the goblins, a strange fellow about three feet tall, wearing voluminous black robes and a pointy hat of black fabric another three feet tall by the name of Glitnank Mushroombrewer, challenges the Tsar to single combat for the fate of the two armies. Tsar Vladimir declares his champion to be his son, Boris the red, and Glitnank in response declares as his champion a particularly burly orc "big 'un" as his - the boy is about 10ft tall and about as wide, wearing armour of leather and crudely worked iron, studded with gold. 

The Acolyte experiences some temptation to meddle here. His magic is subtle, more subtle than most it seems to him so far, He could add the bite of his Flames whenever Boris struck true, or distract Glitnank by attacking his clothes, or lend a bit of Power to Boris to use at his own discretion, or any number of things, all without so much as moving a muscle.

But, why should he break the bounds of honor? It's unlikely that Boris needs the help in an honest fight, he seems an excellent fighter. Better instead to wait, and perhaps counteract potential mischief on the part of the goblins.

The goblins, for thier part, seem to be treating this more like a sporting event than a crucial duel. Both sides have gathered in a large neutral cavern, the goblin side jeering and cheering as Glitnank commentates and rabble-rouses, while the kislev side is stern and silent and prepared for violence at any moment. A priest wails dreadful prayers to Ursun, Tor, Dazh, and Salyak. 

Glitnank's champion and Boris are equally silent as they approach, the champion weilding a crude sword as long as he is tall, while Boris has a glaive shining with icey enchantment. Both take a moment to size each other up, and they're at it. Each exchange of blows is rapid, the champion having the size advantage and Boris having the skill advantage, ever remaining out of reach of his foe while inflicting minor wounds which have next to no impact on his inhuman foe. 

Glitnank continues his bizzare commentary, describing the details of the fight and providing technical insight and historical context that's only rarely correct, or even meaningful. As the fight goes on, his shouting gets wilder and wilder, even as the fighters start to slow down from exhaustion and blood loss, with the cheers and boos of the goblins all around becoming louder to match. 

And then the crucial moment comes. Boris trips, catches himself, and falls to one knee. His opponent rushes to capitalise on this failure, but as he charges in, he stops dead - Boris having pulled up his polearm at the last second and impaled the champion during his reckless charge. The goblins scream with rage, and the kislevites risk a hesitant cheer, and then, within seconds, another melee breaks out. But it seems like the goblins don't really have the heart for it. 

What an utterly bizarre spectacle.

Given the goblins don't seem to be too passionate about this fight, the Acolyte will hold back from simply slaughtering every one of them he can see and instead, focus on protecting the lives of the kislevites, and perhaps wade out to Boris if he seems like he needs help, what with being exhausted and bled from the duel.

It's easy enough to keep them off the backs of any vulnerable kislevites until the goblins break and retreat, grumbling and complaining more than screaming in terror but fleeing the fight nonetheless. 

Boris has obtained what help he needs almost immediately, in the form of prayers in his name from the priests that close his wounds and restore his energy, and his oversized, armoured bear running to his rescue. He rides her from cluster of enemies to cluster of enemies, leaving death and destruction in his wake. 

After this, the remaining greenskins present little unity - their faith in their leader has been shaken, and they stop following orders or acting as a group. Infighting starts to kill as many of them as the pulk can, and many groups leave into the depths of the earth, far beyond where the forces of Kislev can afford to chase them. So eventually, it comes, to a meeting, of the Kislev high command, the spellcasters, including the Acolyte, and the Dwarvern leaders, in one of the ancient halls of the dwarvern ancestors, debating what must be done next  - they've taken the keep, but supplies are low and they have no way of getting more. 

Healing prayers. An unexpected commonality with the Acolyte's home world, though not an unwelcome one. Has he heard of a Healing God here already? Perhaps, or maybe he's simply recalling the Healer of his old life. One of the few gods worth the title, in his opinion.

The Acolyte doesn't have much experience running a keep, or managing a large group of people in general, so he has little wisdom to share on that. He's eager to help with Knowledge, either with his own expressions or by teaching it. Power in particular can help conserve strength, let people get by on less food, less water, less sleep without hampering their productivity, which might be of some use here? If wood or stone needs to be cut, perhaps Flames can ease the load?

Salyak is the Kislevite god of healing and comfort, both the one who tends to your wounds and the one who digs your grave - Salyak's Mercy is the name of the brew of hemlock and kumiss that is given to the dying amongst the soldiers to speed them on their way. The priests were also offering prayers, in this case, to Dazh, the god of summer and industry and hearth, whose battle-prayer is the preventing of exhaustion; with the explanation, the Acolyte will recognise the commonness of their symbols, of Salyak's white dove, and Dazh's golden sun, in the jewellery and home decorations of the Kislevites he has met. 

His suggestions about the strategic situation are taken with the caution of one receiving a suggestion that they take doses of radium for their health, particularly by the dwarves, who consider wizardry unreliable and are happy to be very explicit about that. Besides, even if it did work, they have no way to get more food - so they have to leave eventually, if not today then next week, no matter how well supplies are stretched. The Dwarves grumble, especially the oldest among them, those whose white beards are long enough to be worn like belts around their waists, but they agree - there's no sense in trying to hold a place so destroyed with the forces at hand. Perhaps, in the future, they can arrange a true colonisation force and a second campaign can reclaim this place for good, but such things are expensive and dwarfdom is oh so conservative, in this ruined age of vengeance. 

The only thing left to do, then, is to decide on exactly how they're going to leave. 

Fair enough. He's tempted to ask if he could try and figure out some expression of Determination to lay on the keep itself, to try and make it harder for greenskins or other non-dwarves to come and take it again, but he resists the urge. He doesn't actually have such an expression ready to go, even if he's already begun formulating the basis for one, and given their distrust he doesn't think they're likely to accept it regardless.

Maybe some mundane traps, would be good, though? The Acolyte is certainly familiar with leaving a fortified position behind without leaving it undefended. Other than that, though, his expertise remains limited and he will leave the further details of evacuation to those with the appropriate knowledge.

As long as he keeps good documentation about what he's trapping and where for the benefit of future generations, everyone is pretty happy to let him lay as many traps as he cares to. Anything which kills greenskins is a plus, really, as long as it doesn't also kill dwarves or humans. 

The evacuation will proceed fairly smoothly, and the army will return down the valley to the newly-constructed fort Jakova, where further groups have brought supplies for the returning heroes. There is much feasting and celebration, at this victory, which was longed-for, but not expected; fighting underground greenskins is one of the tasks for which the army of kislev is least suited. 

The Acolyte will provide perhaps the most comprehensive and detailed documentation of the traps he lays (of which there are many) that the dwarves have received from a human in a long time, only hampered by the relative newness of the local script to his writing hand. None of the traps are revolutionary on a technological level but his thoroughness is, hopefully, appreciable.

The Acolyte won't brag, at least not more than his modesty allows, but he will certainly be filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment that he was able to help deliver this victory in most unfavorable circumstances.

He will receive (grudging, reluctant) praise for his thoroughness, and (extensive, detailed) criticism for his engineering - some of these traps won't last out the century!  

The Acolyte will eagerly drink up any critique the dwarves willingly give. He is a knowledge-seeker, after all, and even if this isn't Knowledge it is still an area of interest to him. Probably they won't reveal anything really advanced, anything secret, but even so the Acolyte will take it as a learning experience.

They are rangers and not masons or smiths, so their knowledge is principally related to the practical use of the traps, but no dwarf is without insight in this matters and rangers were often once something else, or in need once of what a dwarf would call slip-shod improvisation and a human would call hard-earned professional mastery, but they have much to say, to one who will listen. Their insight combines an ideal of perfectionism with an infinite well of stubbornness, a need to make everything last as long as possible to carve their deeds and vengeance into the bones of the earth for all time, that resonates with the Acolyte's understanding of Determination. 

Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating! The Acolyte will be thinking about this for a long, long while. Honestly, even if this entire project turns out to be a bust and he has to run from Kislev entirely, that nugget of wisdom makes it all worth it. Honestly he kind of wishes he could head back into Karak Raziak to go implement some of the advice he's received, but he's not going to demand the army come with him and he's not going to split off for probably days just to rush into improving his traps. If he wants to emulate the dwarves' Determination in truth, he should focus on reaching a level of quality they can tolerate first.

The dwarvern understanding of determination, or at least the glimmers of it which can be seen in these rangers, does seem to be fundamentally tied up in the link between the demand for perfection and the dream of eternity, all slathered in enough stubborn pride to make that even sort of possible to approach in the real world. The Acolyte will hear stories from the rangers of "Living Ancestors", dwarves so stubborn, so Determined, that age itself does not touch them, leaving them alive through the millennia to pursue their goals in the face of the uncaring wider world. Of the Ancestor-gods themselves, who once walked the world and still walk the heavens. Presumably, whatever these dwarves have within them, that allows them to better-resist the passing of the ages and the crushing weight of entropy and chaos, those dwarves have still more of. 

But yes, the first thing to come must be quality, the sort of quality which most humans will never achieve. 

it remains to be seen whether the Acolyte is one of the exceptions, but he still burns with (perhaps un-dwarf-ish) hope. He doubts he'll get there any time soon, but, he refuses to assume it will never come. Even if it is not soon to come, it may be late in coming, and everything that is late in coming will, one day, be soon, and then will be here.

For now, he will split his time between socializing with every dwarf who will tolerate his presence, attempting to refine his designs in private, and maybe occasionally demonstrating his magic and offering lessons to those whose curiosity or desire overcomes their hesitance.

The dwarves are celebrating the vengeance of many grudges, as only a dwarf can (such celebrations, if nothing else, tend to give human alcohol poisoning). While none of them are experts in grudgelore (and thus cannot keep account of exactly which grudges will be struck out as avenged), they have recorded events dutifully, and many of the myriad crimes of the greenskin race will be removed for such things. The Tsar also benefits; by performing such a campaign, he redeems himself of some of the crimes of his predecessors and lightens the burden of grudges upon the Kislevite peoples. 

The beer is both of high quality and very strong - and if the Acolyte says this, he will be treated to the mournful tale of Joseph Bugman, the finest dwarf brewer to ever live, whose many Ale's, of which Bugman's XXXXXX was the finest, are renowned throughout the old world, and whose brewery was destroyed by perfidious greenskins. It's said he still lives, stalking the World's Edge Mountains as a ranger with his remaining followers, seeking to fullfill an oath to slay all those who killed his family and robbed the world of such fine ale. Stocks of those fine brews exist, and it is said a single sip of them can restore a dwarf's soul and bring health to the wounded, but they dwindle with every year that passes.

The dwarves will also tell him the broad strokes of history as the dwarves understand it. Dwarves were born in the ancient days of the world, as all races were, and the Ancestor-gods came from beneath the mountains to walk among them as mortals, and become their first kings and queens - Grungni their first king, the first to delve into the earth and return with it's riches, his brother, Grimnir, the first warrior and the first Slayer, their wife Valaya, the first mother, baker, brewer and healer. Gazul, her brother, who hunted monsters and tended the dead and Grugni's sons, Smednir, metalworker and smelter, Morgrim, the first engineer and the second king, and Thungni, the first runesmith. Under the rule of the Ancestor-Gods, the dwarves were prosperous and righteous, every just tradition being laid down in the image of these forefathers, but they departed one by one. The golden age that followed the principles of the ancestors was long and great, and came to an end when the treacherous elf-king betrayed the dwarves, leading to a war of vengeance that shattered both peoples forever. Now, many thousands of years later, the dwarves are a shadow of what they were. Their ancestors would be disappointed in them, but they will do their best nonetheless, even as they dwindle. The current high king, Thorgrim Grudgebearer, has declared this to be the Age of Vengeance, a final reckoning where the dwarves will see every grudge fulfilled in the dying age of their people, and spit in the eye of everyone who has every wronged their race or contributed to their current fallen state. Dwarf history is not a happy thing. 

Boy, it really isn't!

The Acolyte will play along with the drinking if it gets him more information, surreptitiously filtering the alcohol out of the drink (or, really, filtering the drink out of the alcohol with how high proof it is) with a subtle application of protective flames.

He'd already drawn the comparison earlier when he was working with second-hand information, but as he learns more about them, especially this stuff about an Age of Vengeance and ancestor-gods and the inevitable dwindling of everything good, the parallels with the cairn-dwellers seems to be real, though it's certainly still not perfect. Dwarves don't seem to all be in a state of living death, for one, which is a major difference. Still, if the Acolyte ever goes back to his homeworld, maybe he'll see if he can learn anything of Determination from the cairn-dwellers there as well. It's not something he'd considered before, but it seems like a real possibility at least.

As he interacts with these dwarves, he will try (but not push) to see if any of them would be willing to let him observe them with his sense of Determination, to see if he can get a feeling for when and how the aspect is strongest, if it fluctuates, or even just to immerse himself in it to see if he can resonate with it on some level. He doesn't expect this to work, but his curiosity burns too hot for him to not at least make the attempt.