The Dervish Horn

There are few sights as terrible to behold as the path a dwarven dervish leaves behind as it tears through the enemy.

— Jasper Cameron, Leader of the Bronze Ravens.

Ah, the Dervish Horn. Its a myth that, similar to a dogs whistle, only a dwarf can hear it sounded. It rings true across the battlefield as any clarion call. In dwarvish plays the presance of a dervish horn in a scene fortells death of one of the characters in that scene. In life, its sounding heralds the same.
For a dervish is only used in dire need, and the ceremony to bestow the honor upon a dwarven warrior is a closely guarded secret. The deeds of each Dervish are recorded, as far back as during the latter years of The Storm Giant Empire. Its most common use is as a last defense of a dwarven hall, or as a defensive siege breaker. The only offensive uses of a dervish ever recorded were during the Necromancer Wars.

At the farthest north point of the Outh mountains, a desperate aliance had assembled to make its stand against the undead horde. Ten thousand elven warriors, deadly archers and swordsingers. The kindoms of the north had mustered together a calvalry of nearly five thousand and 4 legions of foot soldiers. Several mountain tribes had joined the army as well, numbering around 3,000 and bringing with them valuable griffon riders. And lastly, the twelve clans of the Outh Dwarves, spread thin though they were defending the many passes and tunnels through the mountains, sent 500 warriors and 100 Ghostwalkers.
The plan was simple enough to explain. Casters would need to be defended for a week as they attempted to create the largest piece of hallowed ground in the world, making a ten mile stretch between the high cliffs of the mountains and the sea anathema to the undead and demonic forces advancing across the continent. Defensive fortifications were build, plans were drawn up, lines of communication were established, and the ritual was started.
The first two days little enough happened, some outriders were killed, the occasional group of zombies appeared and was dispached with casual ease. Around noon the third day everything went to shit. One of the necromancers had made it to the front, and after about a half hour of posturing they realized that no one was listening to their threats and unleashed the full fury of the assembled undead. For two days the fighting was constant, for the undead need neither rest nor light to keep fighting. The lines held strong. On the third and fourth days of fighting small breaches started to appear, quick closed, but fatigue was setting in for everyone.
On the fifth day nearly a thrid of the calvalry was lost. A group of nightwalkers, boneclaws, and death tyrants had managed to sneak in amoung a group of zombie giants and before anyone knew what was happening it was already to late. The northern most end of the line started to crumble, as that is where the most open terrain was. Breaches were bigger and would last longer. More and more wounded were unable to return to the fight as healers were taxed to their magical limits.
At sunset on the seventh day of the grand ritual, the lines were breached yet again and one of the towers that kept the area of fighting illuminated at night was destroyed. Hope started to wane. Then a blast rang out across the battle field. Thirteen horns sounded thirteen times, and 169 dwarves unleashed beautiful carnage upon the battle field. Then, they pushed forward, and for the final 6 days of the ritual, those dwarves never stopped fighting. As the ritual was completed on the 13th day, they all turned into stone and then crumbled to rubble. For that is the price the Dwarf Gods demand of a dervish, the strength for a chance to give your people a future you will never see.
It is but myth that the hills in that area are the covered mounds of undead left behind from those last 6 days, but as someone who was witness the myth has basis in fact. Wherever one of theose dwarven warriors went, unded fell as surely as a scythe reaps the field.

— Waves-Against-the-Hull

by Drunkenpanda951 with Midjourney

Make a hole, and make it wide!
Death is coming like the tide
Run now while you have the chance
and you might survive this deadly dance.

Whack with a hammer, swing your broad-axe
Leave them bleeding on the floor
We will fight until the morning light
And if a foe still stands we'll fight some more

Whack with a hammer, swing your broad-axe
Count your kills now, one-two-three
We will fight until battles won
So sound the Horn and and fight with me