As Khan rides toward the orc/dwarf line, he’ll try to spot Bloodjaw among the horde. If he sees the Orc leader, Khan will attempt to cast control beast on the boar, instructing it to attack its rider.
Dur’dan looks at the hin,
“I am…” he takes a labored breath “… AN IRONBEARD!” Takes another labored breath, and then says very quietly, “I will not leave me Dwarves.”
And he will find a mount.
“He’s an iron-dead at this rate,” Hob says in a voice that only he can hear, and then walks after Dur’dan in whichever way he went to find a mount.
Dur’dan will head off back towards the Shelic camp in hopes of finding a warcamel or something of the sort.
haha warcamel…
There are no mounts nearby. The entire western force went into battle on foot, the nearest animals remaining back at the dwarven camp along the southwestern edge of the Shelic camp. Dur’dan and Hob turn eastward to head towards the camp and see their exit cut off by the greenskin horde as it completes its surrounding of the dwarven force. To the south the bulk of the dwarven force is beginning to get swamped by greenskins, to the north the Hadburgs and Yellow Suns are fighting for their lives with the dwarves there, to the west Bloodjaw and his horde are mopping up and to the east a loose mob of orcs and goblins are pouring in.
Karikhan has found a camel and is driving it beyond exhaustion as he races westward. A portion of the Shelic force is behind him, the rest remounting or giving chase to the goblins. It can’t be helped. Auren-hal zips across the desert sky towards the battle to the west.
Here is an updated battle map.
Dur’dan can’t help but feel overwhelmed. His Dwarves on the verge of death, every last one that he could call on to end his family’s plight. Everything is riding on this battle, and he is too wounded to help. And now there is no way out. He is surrounded. He turns to Hob,
“Looks like we are surrounded my little friend… any ideas? And Even if I weren’t wounded, all i have is me hatchet.”
If there is a way out, a way to run, Dur’dan will take it, if not he will turn back, and die along side his men.
He will not make haste to rejoin his men in battle, he will try and stall for as much time as possible in hopes the Shelic will arrive in time.
Hob looks around him. The battle rages around him worse than a Hin-wine hangover. Still, through some fortuitous twist of fate, neither Hob nor Dur’dan seem to be in immediate danger.
I’ve never seen such a god-forsaken battlefield. But, I’ve certainly been in tighter spots before. At least there may still be a little time left… Hob thinks, and reminisces briefly of his past adventures.
Snapping out of his brief daydream, he pulls out his Hin-weed and pipe from his pocket. Turning to Dur’dan he replies, “Not even the dwarves of legend could mine a tunnel fast enough out of this mess. Care for a smoke before the tide comes in?”
John is not inclined to abandon the fight. “Come on, men; just a little longer. One way or another… the bards shall sing of us for generations to come!”
“Focus on making a way to retreat if we have to so we’re not boxed in!” Arrow screams to his fellow Yellow Suns and anyone who is listening.
“Hin I can barely breath… But I will not decline…”
Dur’dan takes a toke and enjoys it thoroughly.
Hin and Dur’dan enjoy a few puffs of Hin-weed. Amidst the carnage and smoke, time dilates into a red spiral of infinity, like a a particularly gorey etch-a-sketch with the dials twisted just right.
Dur’dan looks over to Hob,
“This may possibly be, the best pipe weed to ever grace this Dwarf, fitting, as it may also be the last…”
Dur’dan, for once in what feels like ages, lets out a hearty laugh, but soon grimaces as his most likely broken ribs throb.
“I hope those tribal men get here soon…”
You all have my deepest apologies for the delay! I should be updating at some point later tonight. This thread has not been forgotten. 
In the meantime, I hope you enjoy something I’ve been working on:
Dur’dan and Hob enjoy their pipeweed as what feels like an eternity passes. They regard one another in silence before the sound of the battle rushes to their ears and they are ripped back to reality. Dur’dan pulls Hob out of the path of a goblin spear with one hand as he plants his handaxe into the wretch’s skull with the other. Hob hacks at a second incoming greenskin but his attack is turned aside and the halfling nearly loses a hand from a dagger’s swipe.
Dur’dan is backing towards his own line now, greenskins pouring in slowly from all sides, many of the runts afraid to charge the hacking and cleaving longbeard. There is a roar from behind and Dur’dan turns to see Bloodjaw, bereft of other targets, frantically casting his gaze around him in a search for fresh victims. Dur’dan nearly falls over his own legs as he turns to make away from the huge warlord, but an orc longsword meets him as he goes, slamming lengthwise against his belly and ringing against chain and leather. The wind is knocked out of the dwarf, but Dur’dan keeps on his feet. Hob and Dur’dan are out of sight of one another now, goblins circling around each of them.
Dur’dan has taken one bashing damage, putting him at six lethal and three bashing. He’s passed his check to remain conscious.
The Yellow Suns and the Hadburgs have, by some miracle, formed a solid island alongside those dwarves that remain alive nearby. The greenskins arrayed against them, particularly the goblins, are hesitant to charge and many of the smaller grubs are sent scattering and fleeing, if only for a short distance, with every attack directed against them. Arrow is with them now, Kittix keeping between him and attackers wherever he can. They just need to hold out…
Khan and the Shelic are closing in on the greenskins now, their mounts carrying them rapidly across the desert field. Bloodjaw can be seen in the distance, towering over his men. The shaman, still some distance away, is shouting at the top of his lungs, his voice an unintelligible mess of roars and grunts.
Bloodjaw turns his boar towards one of the final remaining pockets of dwarves and urges it on, both cleavers raised high over his head. The animal snorts and drives forward, but when Khan’s voice reaches its ears its response is immediate. The creature locks up its legs and grinds to a halt, its rider tumbling overhead and to the ground yards ahead where it rolls to an eventual stop. Those greenskins closest to the warlord fall still, stunned and staring. Bloodjaw’s body is unmoving for several long and painful moments, dust from the fall settling about it. At last a great arm stirs, weapon still locked tight in its hand. The boar squeals and charges at its former rider, tusks ready. Bloodjaw is slow to get to his feet, stumbling and dazed. He locks eyes on the approaching animal, face twisted with rage and confusion.
Dur’dan goes searching for Hob, as Hob did for him, He will slay any greenskin in between him and Hob’s last known location, screaming “HIN!” as he slashes through the sea of green monsters.
“YOU BASTARDS CAN’T HAVE HIM!”
Dur’dan will use willpower for attacks and for rolls for him to remain conscious. (If I can even do that.)
Karikhan knows an opportunity when he spots one. There may not be another chance to catch Bloodjaw distracted. He gallops toward the orc warlord, as Karikhan speaks to his horse with the Voice.
“We are Fate, friend. We are guided by the Voice, an instrument of wrath. We are not the warrior; we are the sword, wielded by divinity! Strike down the unworthy! Charge!”
Karikhan will use Willpower to leap upon Bloodjaw, spear-first. As he leaps from his horse, he will shout to it, “Trample this creature! Send his demon spirit back to hell!”
John shouts to anyone remaining who will listen, “The battle is almost won! In a few moments, the great horde of Shelic savages, bless their souls, will ride through, slaying the last of this horde! And we will all be heroes! And rich, we shall all be rich! And noble! And respected! And appreciated! And…” He continues on and on, naming another fine quality he will soon posses with each stab or swing of his weapon.
The Shelic dismount as one twenty or thirty yards from the edge of the battle to clear the rest of the distance on foot, but Karikhan keeps riding. He zips past the Shelic and into the sea of greenskins, his mount knocking aside goblins as it carries Khan forward in a frenzy incited by the still-chanting shaman.
Dur’dan is at the center of the battle, soaked in blood and covered in a patchwork of injuries, left arm nestled painfully against his stomach. “HIN!” He hacks a goblin aside with his handaxe, others scattering clear of the path of the screaming dwarf. “YOU BASTARDS CAN’T HAVE HIM!” He spots Hob a few yards to the north, the circle of greenskins growing tighter around the halfling.
A camel carrying Karikhan crashes through several of the greenskins separating Dur’dan and Hob, its rider not stopping for either of them on his course to Bloodjaw. To the south there is a new roar as the human warriors clash with the southernmost greenskins several tens of yards away from their position.
As Khan nears Bloodjaw he can see the huge boar charging. The warlord shouts in a fury, running at his former mount at full speed, both cleavers held high above his head. The two impact with a crunch and both are sent sprawling. The boar has taken a hideous injury to its side but it is still alive, struggling to get upright. Bloodjaw is pushing himself to his feet and is uninjured, one of the heavy iron plates laced over his chest marked by the animal’s tusks. His blades are scattered beside him and his helmet is on the ground at his feet, mangled beyond use. He is wrenching one of his weapons from the dirt when the spear-wielding human dives upon him.
Bloodjaw falls back into a seated position, Karikhan lying beside him, hands tight on the spear buried deep in the orc’s belly. The greenskin is outraged, if not otherwise visibly affected. He rolls onto the shaman, both hands finding their way to the human’s throat. His fingers each exceed ten inches in length, thick as rope. He is doing with two hands what he could just as easily do with one, and Khan gasps a final few breaths as his windpipe is closed. The orc’s face is a foot above his own, twice again as large as a human’s. He is the perfect example of a greenskin, his face set very low on his head, a pair of huge tusks protruding from a mouth set with teeth, all thick, sharp and yellow. Khan is crushed beneath the impossible weight of the orc and his heavy armor and finds his vision beginning to fade as his lungs near bursting.
Karikhan has taken nine points of bashing damage. He is a human possessed of nearly superhuman stamina and none of this has spilled over to lethal yet. He will take a -2 penalty to all rolls until he has healed, however.
Khan’s camel circles around until it and the boar are side-by-side, each about to charge at Bloodjaw.
To the north John, Arrow and the others can hear the arrival of the Shelic but they cannot yet see them. The battle is starting to thin out as the more cowardly of the goblins begin scattering. The fight is not yet over: The braver of the goblins remain and retreat is unknown to an orc. “We shall all be rich!” John Fredrickson swipes his sword in the direction of a goblin. “And noble!” The goblin turns and runs. “And respected!” The surviving dwarves to their rear are shoulder-to-shoulder now, fighting as dwarves do best, as an armored, shielded and many-weaponed tank.
