BANG!
Another shot reverberates through the air as Skaven Slaves rush to rearm the comically large rifles that balence on a mess of planks and nails
The dwarfs (or beard-things) were already cutting up the infantry miles ahead, so every shot counted
“You! Hurry and reload-rearm the gun-thing!” The sharpshooter yelled his orders from behind the huge jezail, polishing the sight mounted on top of the thing and removing any dirt specks that had gotten into it
“Beard-things will come if you don’t hurry-quick and load-aim the gun! Now-now!”
Usually you’d have another slave to help you out with aiming, but the rotting corpse beside you with a bullet hole through it’s face left you with double the workload
Better hurry up before that happens to you as well