Garrok was making new Cartridges when the peaceful ambiance of the dwarven fort was abruptly shattered by the ringing sound of an alarm bell. Startled, the inhabitants hurriedly made their way toward the source of the commotion, their hearts pounding with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. A ranger patrol had returned, their faces etched with exhaustion, bearing wounded comrades and a captive figure bound in rope with a sack draped over its head.

As the most heavily injured dwarf was swiftly carried to the hospital, the captain arrived on the scene, his eyes scanning the gathering. Eager to uncover the events that had unfolded, he commanded the patrol leader to provide a detailed account of the encounter. What followed was a tale of unexpected confrontation and the emergence of a new adversary.

The patrol had stumbled upon a group of orcs escorting several strange figures, swathed in brown robes and concealing their identities behind scarves, and a covered wagon. The dwarves swiftly assumed firing positions, and unleashed a barrage of shot that felled the orcs with precision. However, to their astonishment, as the covered wagon fled the robed figures retaliated with weapons they did not expect—guns of their own.

The revelation sent shockwaves through the gathered crowd. Whispers of fear and concern reverberated through the air as the captain, determined to maintain order, raised his hand, demanding silence. He implored the patrol leader to continue the report, hungering for every detail that might shed light on this unforeseen danger.

It was revealed that amidst the exchange of gunfire, one of the Rangers had been struck in the shoulder by a bullet. Despite the initial surprise, the Rangers demonstrated their exceptional marksmanship, managing to eliminate several of the robed figures before they beat a hasty retreat. In a twist of fate, the dwarves managed to capture one of the fleeing enemies—a goblin.

The captain's eyes burning with fury tore off the sack covering the goblin's head. A collective gasp escaped the onlookers, their gaze fixated on the creature before them. Standing at a mere 1.1 meters tall, the goblin exuded an aura of ferocity and battle-hardened resilience. Its dark green skin, marred by scars and bite marks, bore witness to a life filled with hardship. Bald-headed, the goblin's sharp, yellow eyes glimmered with malice, reflecting a hatred forged through years of conflict.

The captain glared back. “Who are you?” The captain Demands. “What are you Doing here?”

The Goblin just sneered and said in a voice filled with contempt “I am Janizary, we Kill you all. Your men will break under our lash, your women will carry our young!”

Nearby Tink starts to shake in fear, she had heard stories of all the atrocities the goblin armies committed on those they captured. Her imagination running wild with what might happen to her.

The captain, struggling to maintain his composure, delivered a resounding blow to the goblin's face—a defiant act meant to quell its insolence. He had heard of the Janizary. Of the Goblins among the “disposables”, those who distinguish themselves were promoted to an elite unit who were paid, given better equipment and had earned the right to keep slaves instead of fighting over whichever slaves were given to the goblin masses. They were the Janizary.

The scout leader then reports that they had the goblin's belongings, he presents to the captain a powder horn, a pouch of shot, a sheathed scimitar and to everyone’s astonishment a gun.

It had a 30-inch barrel and a curved buttstock, which was adorned with decorative carvings. The lock mechanism however was strange. Instead of a piece of flint, it held what looks like a piece of rope cord.

The captain stares at the strange weapon while the goblin laughs.

“You like my tüfenk?”, the Goblin grins. “We took many of your “Şark Yay” with us during the last great raid, along with many of your women. Our artificers made us these new guns, while your women made us many sons.” He taunts maliciously.

Tink sways and almost faints in fear, but Garrok who was next her grabs her shoulder and gives her a reassuring squeeze. She’s still shivering but visibly relaxes.

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The captain barely controls his rage.

“Bring the prisoner to the stockades!” He commands. “Summon the Greybeards, we know how to deal with his kind, we’ll make him talk.” He grumbles.

“Bring the Gun to Master Smith Garrok, I expect a thorough report on its capabilities. Dismissed!”

The captain walks away and the crowd slowly disperses.

Exhausted Tink finally collapses, swiftly reacting, Garrok caught her, his strong arms encircling her fragile frame as he gently lifted her.

“Bring the gun to my workshop, I’ll study it later.” Garrok tells the nearby scouts.

“Aye Master Smith.” The scout carrying the gun acknowledges with respect.

As Garrok carries Tink he whistles for his wolves, and they come bounding to him. He carries Tink to her bedroll where he gently tucks her in. As he looked upon her, and whispered words of reassurance. He orders Nyx and Fang to stay by her side and guard the exhausted Gnome.

Hours later, Garrok received a summons from the captain, beckoning him to deliver his report. Making his way to the citadel, where the captain and his lieutenants convened, Garrok entered with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. He greeted them respectfully, his eyes meeting the captain's, awaiting his turn to speak.

With measured words, Garrok began his report; Instead of a flint the gun uses a burning piece of oil-soaked cordage to ignite the powder. It’s simple mechanism would require minimal mechanical components and can be easier to manufacture and maintain compared to the more complex mechanisms like the flintlocks that they use. Also the simple “Matchlock” mechanism would in theory be less affected by external factors such as rain or humidity that could potentially impact the functioning of a flintlock mechanism. And finally the simpler design and fewer mechanical components result in a more cost-effective firearm meaning that matchlocks are generally less expensive to produce compared to flintlocks. “In short, they are simple and cheap.”

A chorus of grumbles erupted from the dwarves, their pride in craftsmanship stung by the notion of simpler and cheaper firearms. Garrok, undeterred, shot back a retort, a hint of mischief playing on his lips.

"Of course, what else would you expect from guns not of Dwarven make?"

The retort elicited chuckles from the dwarves, momentarily easing the tension that had settled in the room. Garrok continued, highlighting the flaws of the goblin-made matchlocks.

He reports that the Matchlocks have a slower ignition process compared to flintlocks. The match cord or matchlock mechanism requires time to transfer the flame to the powder charge, which can result in a slight delay between pulling the trigger and the ignition of the gun. Matchlocks rely on a burning match cord or match to ignite the powder charge. This means the shootist must constantly attend to the match, ensuring it remains lit and properly positioned near the flashpan. This external dependency makes matchlocks more vulnerable to adverse weather conditions or accidental extinguishing of the match. The exposed match cord or match can pose a safety risk if mishandled or left unattended. The open flame can be a hazard in certain situations, potentially leading to accidental fires or injuries if not properly controlled. And finally, the Matchlock guns generally have a shorter effective range compared to flintlocks. The slower ignition process and potential for variations in burning rates of the match cord can impact the consistency and precision of the shot.

“In short the Matchlock has Slow ignition, has External dependence from the match, has some very serious safety concerns, and a limited effective range.”

The lieutenants, appreciating Garrok's insight laugh and clap at Garroks report. The captain just smiles and thanks Garrok.

"On to the next topic of the meeting, Garrok you might as well stay and listen as this information will soon be disclosed to the rest of the fort. It took some time but the Greybeards and I have managed to make the prisoner confess".

The goblin, stripped of his defiant façade, succumbed to the captain's tender mercies, revealed that the Kapudan Pasha of the Corsairs wants to build a port and secure control of the trade routes in the region in the name of the Goblin kingdoms. He further elaborated that several Bey under the command of the Pasha had bribed the nearby orc tribes with gifts and promises of tribute in exchange for their aid in capturing and holding the region. His unit was escorting one of these treasure gifts to appease the fury of the Orcish chieftain who lead the attack on the first expedition.

A tense silence falls in the room, then the lieutenants, erupted into a lively discussion, brainstorming strategies to counter this newfound threat.

"I will compile a report of the situation, and send it using the communication orb. It'll take me all night to send the report using the blasted thing." The captain laments.

"We will discuss this first thing in the morning after we get some rest, you are all dismissed."

The inhabitants of the Dwarven Fort brace themselves for the coming storm on the horizon. It was a storm that threatened to test their mettle, but they stood proudly, fortified by their unwavering determination to confront this new threat head-on.