The following is set in the BrikVerse, the community based setting for the BrikWars wargame.
(Content Warning: BrikWars)
The Grim hunkered down behind the hollowed out ruin of the Snub Tank and counted his blessings. There weren't any major holes in him and he still had with him his trusty Bloodbore, though the back half of the drill hammer was melted and useless. He rapped on his faithful helm with calloused knuckles for luck and in gratitude for its service so far. It had saved him from no less than three direct Force Blasts to the head and one nasty bit of shelling on the way in. He was, in fact, the only remaining member of his squad and he had the ancient helm to thank for it fully. Just one more rush, fifteen feet or so, and he could plant the charges that would make those smug sorcerer sons of bitches wish they had never set foot on Lyfja. The Grim breathed out slowly, preparing himself for the surge. Then, gripping his Bloodbore tight, he bulled out of cover, a warcry on his lips. No sound escaped the confines of his beard, however. In a brutal display of violence, his ancient helm crumpled about his head as though squeezed closed by the hand of some giant. His thick skull buckled beneath the pressure, gore spurting through the rapidly closing rents and openings in the old armor. The melted hammer fell to the ground with a dull clank and the dwarf's headless body tumbled after. The Ketir-Iah Arcanus smiled a wicked smile, her jackal snout splitting to show two rows of reddened, razor sharp teeth, and she unclenched her outstretched fist, delighting in the delicious pain that shot up her arm as the bones in her fingers shattered and the magic left her.
For further reading and source material, you can check out the wiki articles I wrote about these factions and their conflict on the BrikWars BrikWiki:
The Ecto Conflict
Next: Clearing the Eir, Post 2
(Content Warning: BrikWars)
The Grim hunkered down behind the hollowed out ruin of the Snub Tank and counted his blessings. There weren't any major holes in him and he still had with him his trusty Bloodbore, though the back half of the drill hammer was melted and useless. He rapped on his faithful helm with calloused knuckles for luck and in gratitude for its service so far. It had saved him from no less than three direct Force Blasts to the head and one nasty bit of shelling on the way in. He was, in fact, the only remaining member of his squad and he had the ancient helm to thank for it fully. Just one more rush, fifteen feet or so, and he could plant the charges that would make those smug sorcerer sons of bitches wish they had never set foot on Lyfja. The Grim breathed out slowly, preparing himself for the surge. Then, gripping his Bloodbore tight, he bulled out of cover, a warcry on his lips. No sound escaped the confines of his beard, however. In a brutal display of violence, his ancient helm crumpled about his head as though squeezed closed by the hand of some giant. His thick skull buckled beneath the pressure, gore spurting through the rapidly closing rents and openings in the old armor. The melted hammer fell to the ground with a dull clank and the dwarf's headless body tumbled after. The Ketir-Iah Arcanus smiled a wicked smile, her jackal snout splitting to show two rows of reddened, razor sharp teeth, and she unclenched her outstretched fist, delighting in the delicious pain that shot up her arm as the bones in her fingers shattered and the magic left her.
For further reading and source material, you can check out the wiki articles I wrote about these factions and their conflict on the BrikWars BrikWiki:
The Ecto Conflict
Next: Clearing the Eir, Post 2