An evil looking and foul-smelling diary was recently unearthed in the midden heap behind the famous Toothless Hoor Inn in Altdorf.  Scholars have managed to piece together fragments of the scrawled and heavy handwriting of an unusually gruff and not altogether pleasant Dwarf Ironbreaker named Shaggus.  Here for the first time are the uncensored private thoughts of a very angry little man.

Day 31. Made mah way to Praag to rejoin Kylia and the weird crew she’s got followin’ her. Dunno why the lankies find Elf lasses so easy on the eye but she’s a fine leader and can sniff out the Scum like all get-oot. On the way, ah stopped at the Stinky Bucket Tavern and got a few under me belt and got me mongrel on.

Found the mob mannin’ the walls of the Southern Garrison. This fort’s a funny one, to me it’s facin’ the wrong way. Thinkin’ aboot it tho ah reckon it’s to stop the Chaos crew from hittin’ further south after they burn Praag to the ground. Just don’t tell that to the lankies that live hereaboots!

Got in and up on the wall jist afore they closed the gates and the Scum appeared yon. What a sight a couple o’ hundred Scumbags is shamblin’ toward ye. Orcs, Gobbos, lankies for Chaos, them nasty Elfs all a-cussin each other and gettin’ some serious mongrel on. Ah had a couple o’ quick ales with some of Mergi’s lads ah’d bumped into. We’d just dried our beards oot when the swedge got goin’.

Not much to do whilst the Scum is knockin’ on the front door and your crew is tippin’ hot oil all over them. What a racket! Ah love a quiet ale but this fookin' noise was gettin' mah mongrel up, ah can tell ye. Eventually the door cracked so we had a tidy ale on the stroll back to the keep. It was decided that we’d leave the keep door open so’s we didn’t have ta pay for a new one. We took up oor positions on the inner ramp and had a quick ale. Right on time, the Scum mindlessly crowded up the ramp like a tidal wave o’ stupid, to be met with some serious fookin' mongrel.

The swedge was pretty fierce and ah got some nice new scars. One big bugger of an Orc named Beefa had a couple o’ the lankies worried, seein' that he'd cut their guts oot, but ah met him half way doon the ramp and tripped him up. By tripped up ah mean, ah cut the bastard’s fookin legs off at the knees an’ shoved him off the ramp onto his Scum mates below. It only made the big fooker more angry but there wasn’t much he could do aboot it the noo, exceptin’ holler and bleed to death. Another notch for the old axe handle.

Kylia had meanwhile led a crew oot the secret rear door and oot aroond behind the Scumbags and hit them hard from behind. With the Scum noo coppin’ it like dear old Moxie the Poxy Doxy from back home, ah took that chance to have meself a cleansin’ ale on top o’ the keep roof.

In all, not a bad scrap but ah hope and ah know that the Scum can and will throw some more at us soon. Praag is a fookin hole and the ale they serve in the Vomiting Dog Inn is famous for its honest taste – honest to the name o’ the joint - but it did the fookin job, ah can tell ye.