Just a foreword, I am working on various articles whether they are taken from Dwarf Army Book, Citadel Journal,

White Dwarf Magazine, or Internet research that I can find. I do not claim any rights nor credit for these articles, as they are for my own personal use and Dwarf players alike, also any story that I have found on the Internet and used I will add the authors name when I can as to give them their props . I do not claim to know everything about Dwarves, but I am learning about this awesome race, be it their love for gold, weapons smithing, strength, or just their everyday life in general. The Dwarves remind me alot of the Indians, due to races trying to take their homes, lives and treasure from them. Thank you all for your input and most of all the help to make this small bit of Dwarf History come true. INDEX: 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Dwarf Warriors 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Slayers 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Runesmiths 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Anvil of Doom 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Thunderers 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Rangers 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Miners 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Hammerers 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Ironbreakers 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Longbeards 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Engineers Guild 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Flame Cannon 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Dwarf Organ Gun 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Gyrocopter 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Forces of The Dwarves The Internet, Dwarven Language (Khazalid) 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book & Bugmans Brewery, Words & Meanings 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Dwarf Runes 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, A Rune Rite of Forging The Internet, Dwarf Gods The Internet, Dwarf Timeline The Internet, A Brief History of the High Kings Of the Dwarven Realm White Dwarf # 249, Dwarf Realms The Internet & White Dwarf # 265, War of the Beard The Internet, The Battle of the Three Towers The Citadel Journal #47, The Battle of Blackmire White Dwarf #251, The Fall of Karak Eight Peaks White Dwarf #252, The Assault on Karak Eight Peaks White Dwarf #252, The Reclamation of Karak Eight Peaks White Dwarf #253, The Battle of Black Water Pass White Dwarf #254, Heinmann's Debt Nemesis Crown Booklet, The Nemesis Crown Bugmans Brewery, Ironbreaker Bugmans Brewery, Battle of Blood Crag Bugmans Brewery, The Saga of Thorek Bloodfist Bugmans Brewery, The Enemy of My Enemy is My Friend Bugmans Brewery, Undermountain Forewarning Bugmans Brewery, Sons of Grungni Bugmans Brewery, Tales of Icefang Camp Bugmans Brewery, Death of Oathbreaker Bugmans Brewery, The Fall of Karak Vlag Bugmans Brewery, The Legend of White Widow 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, The Gates of Karaz-a-Karak 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Barak Varr

6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Karak Azgal Bugmans Brewery, Karak Vlag Bugmans Brewery, Karak Ungor Bugmans Brewery, Karak Izor Bugmans Brewery, Mount Gunbad Bugmans Brewery, Karak Varn Bugmans Brewery, Karak Norn 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Dwarves at War: Sagely advise given to King Alrik when a young prince. 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Dwarves Abroad. Bugmans Brewery, Guild Kult Bugmans Brewery, Royal Clan Bugmans Brewery, Guild White Dwarf #329, Legends of the White Dwarf 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Dwarves of Legend 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Thorek Ironbrow, Dwarf Runelord, Master of the Weapon Shops of Karak Azul 6th Ed. Dwarf Army Book, Dwarf King Alrik Ranulfsson of Karak-Hirn White Dwarf #253, Kadrin Redmane Nemesis Crown Booklet, Thorgrim Grudgebearer Dwarf Warriors: Durgrim Redmane cast an eye over the crowd, ignoring the snores of the weak-headed who had already succumbed to the ale. "Course," be declared to those still conscious, "the real test of a Dwarf's mettle is in battle. Like as not some of you young'uns have been called up by the Thanes to fight, like all Dwarves are sworn to do. Aye, that's a sight and a half-seeing the ranks of the Hold arrayed for war, their fine armor and well-forged weapons gleaming in the lamplight. He sighed deeply at the thought before taking another tremendous gulp of beer from the horn in his calloused hand. "Still, back in the old days, there were armies the likes of which you've never seen, and even the shortbeards like you soft'uns were hardened warriors. Utterly loyal, they was, not come and go as you please like some folk I could mention. Sturdy fighters, respectful of their Thanes and King, sworn to lay down their lives in the defence of the Hold, staunch in the face of the greatest dangers. Stand fast against anything they would; nary a dragon or a great daemon would cvause them to raise an eyebrow, and perish the cur who thought of saving his own life before protecting his kinsmen." Redmane downed the remainder of his ale and wiped the froth from his beard on his sleeve. "like a well-crafted mail shirt a Dwarf army is, each warrior and iron-hard link, kniotted together by duty, respect and loyality. And, like a mail shirt, never a blow shall pass them as long as all the links remain strong." He looked accusingly at the assembled youngsters. "No weak links here, I hope..." There was a cry of disapproval and proclamations of courage rang from the low rafters of the tavern and set the shields on the wall to shaking. "That's what I thought." Dwarves live in family units called clans. In times of war these clans muster together any Dwarf old enough to fight and form into regiments. The warriors of these regiments are expected to maintain their own armor and weapons, which are often ancient family heirlooms which have been handed down through the generations and presented to the Dwarf when he comes of age. Dwarf Warriors M WS BS S T W I 3 7 4 4 5 3 4 3 6 4 4 4 2 3 3 4 3 3 4 1 2 A Ld 4 10 3 9 2 9

Dwarf Lord Dwarf Thane Dwarf Veteran

Dwarf Warrior Crossbowman

3 3

4 4

3 3

3 4 3 4

1 2 1 1 2 1

9 9

Dwarf Special Rules: The following special rules apply to all the models in a Dwarf army. Ancestral Grudge: Dwarves hold grudges for a long time, possibly forever. They have never forgiven the fall of their strongholds at the hands of the Orcish enemy. Dwarves hate all types of Orcs, Goblins and Snotlings, including Night Goblins, Black Orcs, Hobgoblins...in fact all greenskins of any description! Resolute: Dwarves fight with grim determination and are slow to abandon their position. Dwarves flee and pursue 2D6-1" instead of the normal 2D6". Relentless: A Dwarf on the march is as implacable as the turning of the years, and just as impossible to halt. Dwarf units may march even if there are enemy within 8". Slayers: Leaning back in his chair the old Dwarf cleared his throat with a deep cough. "Back before you were mere lusty twinkles in your father's eye, I was fighting Goblins at the shores of the Black Water pool. A warrior at the young age of one hundred, I was proud to be fighting with the High King and his kin. Those were the days, when Goblins were real Goblins, not like the skinny green wretches you get nowadays." Redmane pulled a pipe from his pocket handing it to one of his audience to fill. "Now as I was saying, before the High King was treacherously pulled to his sad demise over the icy falls, I was lucky enough to meet a Slayer bearing the name of Garaith Ungrim. It was from him that I learned of the tale of the very first Slayer; Gudrun was his name, and he was best friend to King Snorri Morgrimson. The pair had grown up together as beardlings and fought side by side in many a battle. That having been said, you can imagine the honor that he felt when the King asked him to protect his only son Furgil as he attampted to infiltrate the lower halls of Karak Ungor. Swearing an oath to his King, Gudrun followed Furgil on his mission. When the party was ambushed by a band of Night Goblins accompanied by a huge Troll, Gudrun fought valiantly to save his prince's life. It is said that over sixty of the vile Grobi lay at his feet but still they came until a lucky blow struck Gudrun unconscious. As blackness enveloped his eyes, he saw Furgil being carried away by the Troll." The small crowd that had gathered around Durgrim sat in silence enraptured by his tale. "When he awoke he found himself alone, the Goblins had left hime for dead although they had stolen his hammer and even robbed the very boots from his feet. Gudrun tracked the Troll, treading barefoot down through the dark depths of Karak Ungor until he found its lair. Upon discovering the slain mutilated body of the Dwarf prince, such was Gudrun's rage that he took the dead prince's rune-axe and beheaded the vile Troll with a single blow. Gudrun's shame upon failing to protect his ward was so deep that he knew he could never return to Karak-a-Karak and face the KIng. Now before his murder, Prince Furgil sported a deep fiery red beard that was the envy of every Dwarf this side of the Worlds Edge Mountains. In his grief Gudrun dyed his own hair orange in respect to the fallen prince. Unable to fulfil his oath to his King, Gudrun wandered the mountains. Seeking death as a release from his sorrow, he spent the remainded of his years hunting down and slaying every Troll that he could find. To this day, Dwarves unable to fulfil an oath still dye their hair bright orange and wield an axe in respect of Gudrun and Furgil. As for Gudrun, no one knows of his fate, but none shall forget his name." Old Redmane sucked on the large pipe which had been filled and lit for him. "Call this pipeweed!" He coughed out a great billow of musky smelling smoke. "I've smoked hay that tasted better." Dwarves are very proud individuals and do not cope well with failure or personal loss. When a tragedy occurs, a Dwarf may be driven to take the oath of the Slayer. He will break all ties with his Hold and his clan and seek death by hunting down and fighting a monstrous beast. Many achieve their wish to die at the hands of a foul creature, but some survive to fight more beasts until the day they meet their final destiny.

Daemon Slayer Dragon Slayer Giant Slayer Troll Slayer

Slayers M WS BS S T W 3 7 3 4 5 3 3 6 3 4 4 2 3 5 3 4 4 1 3 4 3 3 4 1

I A 5 4 4 3 3 2 2 1

Ld 10 10 10 10

Slayer Champions: Any Slayer regiment may have as many Giant Slayers as you wish-the normal limitation of having only one Champion per regiment does not apply to Slayers. Specail Rules: Unbreakable: See the Warhammer rulebook, pg.112. Note however that Slayers still hate greenskins. Loner: Daemon Slayers and Dragon Slayers may only fight alone or join a Slayers unit. Daemon and Dragon Slayers can never be the army's General. Slayers: All Slayers have an uncanny ability which makes them particulary effective against especially tough opponents. When rolling to wound, a Slayer's Strength, including any modifiers for weapons (eg, a Great Axe), is increased until it is equal to the Toughness of his opponent, up to a maximum of Strength 6. If the opponent's Toughness is lower than the Slayer's Strength, including any modifiers for weapons, the Slayer does not recieve any Strength bonus. For example, a Slayer armed with a Great Axe (S5) is fighting a Dragon (T6): normally he needs a 5+ to wound, but because of the Slayer skill his Strength is increased to 6 and he therefore wounds on a 4+. Note that the armor save modifier is calculated at the modified Strength score, in this case it is -3 for a Strength 6 hit. If the Slayer were fighting a weedy Goblin (T3), he would use his normal Strength of 5 and would therefore wound the Goblin on a 2+, with an armor save modifier of -2. Runesmiths: "Well, if you ask me, it's all that dabbling with wizards and their like that has all them other races in such a poor state, "Redmane continued, lugging a keg of ale from the bar and thudding it down on the table in front of him. "No true Dwarf has truck with that kind of wild magic, oh no. In the olden days our ancestors realized the perils of dabbling with the forces of magic in its raw form, and they knew best. Runes they made, powerful runes to capture the magic, not let it float about all willy-nilly where it could do no end of harm. Everything had runes on in them days, not like now where they're something rare and special. Even had me a rune-lamp once, and a rune-cloak, but now there isn't the Runesmith who can make'em." The old Hammerer prised the top off the beer keg and dipped his drinking horn into the foamy, lumpy liquid within. "The Runesmiths you see, they're a rare breed now, and getting rarer. And the magic, that's going too. Only the Runelords, the venerable ones with a good five hundred years under their belt, only they can try to make really powerful runes these days. Was a time when an apprentice would be forging them types of runes, but not nowadays. I remember great-great-graet-uncle Snaddri had a rune-axe that could take the top off a mountain if he had a mind to do it, which he didn't 'cause attacking mountains is something only a daft Manling would do. Still, them Runelords have got their Anvils of Doom, keep them in good shape still. Lug one of them up to the battle and you'll see waht good old fashioned rune lore was like, not like the cantrips and petty nonsense you'll get today." Runesmiths are ancient and powerful individuals and as such are accorded a great status within their stronghold. It takes hundreds of years for an apprentice to master the skills nedessary to forge a rune. They uphold family traditions of working metal and magic into mighty runes of power.

Runesmiths M WS BS S T W I A Ld Runelord 3 6 4 4 5 3 3 2 10 Runesmith 3 5 4 4 4 2 2 2 10 Special Rules: Rune Lore: A Runesmith or Runelord gives the Dwarf player an extra Dispel dice in the enemy Magic phase. Anvil of Doom: The Anvils of Doom are ancient devises forged with great skill by the Runesmiths of old in the bowels of Thunder Mountain. Using the energy of the volcano's heart, Kurgaz, the most skilled of the old ones, melted gromril to forge the anvils. As they cooled, Kurgaz beat the Rune of Sorcery onto each gleaming anvil. No one knows how many anvils were forged before the secret of the Rune of Sorcery was lost. The Dwarf Book of Grudges records how an evil dragon attacked Thunder Mountain and slew the old Runesmith in a mighty battle which rent the mountain apart. During the devastation, the forges of Thunder Mountain were destroyed and many Runesmiths slain. In present times, the Anvils of Doom are ancient and valuable heirlooms, and the Dwarves value them more highly than any of their other possessions. Runesmiths use the Anvils of Doom for making magic items. Most anvils are owned by the various strongholds or by the Guilds, and the Runesmiths make use of these when they need to. A few Anvils are owned by Runesmiths, but these tend to be the sedentary Runesmiths who reside in the halls of Karaz-a-Karak and the weapon shops of Karak Azul. The Anvils are objects of great power, and in times of extreme need a Runesmith can unleash fire and lightning upon his foes. With a might blow of his hammer, the Runesmith can release the Anvil's power. Lightning strrikes as mighty energies unfurl, the sky darkens with brooding energy and clouds of multi-colored magic swirl and sparkle in the air. A Runelord, one of the oldest and most revered Runesmiths, may bring an Anvil to battle. The Anvil is mounted on its own platform, normally deployed on a dominating hill overseeing the battlefield, and the Runelord stands proudly beside it. The Anvil is protected by two Dwarf Anvil Guards who have sworn to defend it to the death. The Dwarf army can use the Anvil to draw energy from the winds of magic, the nebulous source of magic power that flows over the battlefield. Just as Wizards draw upon the winds of magic to cast their spells, the Anvil absorbs magical energy to power the runes engraved upon it. Anvil of Doom: M WS BS S T W I A Ld Anvil Guard 3 5 3 4 4 1 2 2 10 The Anvil in the Game: A Dwarf army may have one and only one Anvil of Doom. In gaming terms, the Anvil is treated as a piece of terrain; it cannot be moved or attacked ay all (no more than you can move or attack a hill!). The Runelord and the two Anvil Guards would rather give their lives before abandoning this most ancient artifact, and must remain for all the battle on the platform. They are Unbreakable, may not declare charges and will never pursue beaten foes. The Anvil and crew have a Unit Strength of 3. Enemey units which charge the Anvil model are placed in base contact with the platform. The Runelord and the Guards place themselves between the enemy and the anvil, without leaving the Anvil's platform. The Anvil and crew count as a unit with a 60mm wide frontage for the purposes of who can fight who (this is the width of the Anvil's base). When shooting at the Anvil of Doom, randomize hits evenly between the remaining Dwarves. To take into account the protection offered by the Anvil, the Runelord gains a 4+ Ward save against any form of missile (this includes magic missiles as well as normal missiles). If the Runelord and Guards are killed, the enemy scores the points of the Anvil (plus an extra 100

victory points if they are killed in close combat). If the Runelord is killed but there is still at least one Guard alive at the end of the game, the enemy scores the points for the Runelord, but not the points for the Anvil. The Anvil and the Dwarf Magic Phase: During his own Magic phase the Dwarf player recieves D6 +2 Power dice. During the enemy's Magic phase everything is as normal, though the Anvil adds an extra dice to the Dwarves' dispel pool. The Runelord uses the powers of the Anvil of Doom by striking the appropriate elemental rune upon it. In gaming terms, the Runelord may cast each of the four runic powers one per Magic phase using the Power dice provided by the Anvil. He may use a maximum of four dice to power a runic spell. If the Runelord is fighting in close combat, he will not be able to cast runic spells. If the spell is miscast, the Runelord does not have to roll on the Miscast table, but the Dwarf Magic phase ends immediately and all remaining dice are discarded. Runic Powers: Rune of Water 6+ When struck properly, the Anvil's magic pulses out into the ground, drawing water from underground lakes and rivers and causing it to swell up onto the battlefield to create a mire. This power can be cast on any enemy unit on the tabletop. The unit's Movement is hlved until the end of its own following turn. If forced to flee, for whatever reason, the unit flees at half speed (determine the flee distance of the unit as normal and then hlave the score, rounding up). This spell has no effect on flyers or ethereal creatures. Rune of Air 7+ If successful struck, this rune causes a dark cloud to gather over the battlefield and a storm of lightning cascades down upon an enemy unit. This spell can be cast on any enemy unit on the tabletop, causing D6 Strength 4 hits. These hits are distributed exactly like hits from shooting. Rune of Fire 8+ Each blow of the Runelord's hammer causes a fiery ball to explode into his foes. This rune releases a magic missile with a range of 30". If successfully cast, the fireball causes 2D6 Strength 4 hits. Rune of Earth 9+ The clang of hammer on rune reverberates across the battlefield, causing the gound to tremble before exploding under the enemy in a hail of rocky shards. This spell can be cast on any enemy unit within line of sight. The Anvil causes D6 Strength 5 hits on any one enemy unit on the tabletop, plus a further D6 Strength 5 hits if the unit is partially or wholly within a rocky feature (all hills, rocly outcrops, ruins, or any similar area which has been identified as high ground, rocky or ruinous before the game). Thunderers: "Now, don't get me wrong, I'd rather be on the right end of a handgun than the wrong end, but what's wrong with proper, old-fashioned crossbows?" The old Hammerer was mumbling to himself as much as talking to the Dwarves around him. "I mean, it makes as awful stink, for Grungni's sake, and smaoke everywhere, stings your eyes something rotten it does. Still, they're better than those contraptions the Manlings cart about these days-least you can hit something at fifty paces. Crossbows have been around for thousands of years, but you youngsters have your heads turned by the latest whiz-bang to come out of the Engineers guild. Progress, they call it. Fixing what isn't broken, I've half a mind to say." Some clans are rich enough to purchase handguns from the Engineers Guild. Extremely proud of these weapons, they go to great lengths to maintain them. Dwarf handguns are exceptional works of craftsmanship and are more accurate than the shoddy constructions of the Empire. Thunderers

Thunderer Veteran

M WS BS S T W I A Ld 3 4 3 3 4 1 2 1 9 3 4 3 3 4 1 2 2 9

Rangers: "That's a well made crossbow," exclaimed Redmane turning the weapon over in his hands and examining it carefully. "Hunting design, if I'm not mistaken. You practising to be a Ranger, lad?" he asked the owner, who noddeed slightly, unsure whether this would meet with the old Dwarf's approval or not. "Something odd about a Dwarf who likes being up on the surface all day, hunting and such. In the olden days we wouldn't have gone above ground for more than an hour unless we had to. All that sun and air's bad for your health you know, and there's plenty a Ranger gone missing never to return. Course, some say they got sun-touched and wandered off, others think the Trolls and Orcs got them. Who am I to say?" The would-be Ranger shrugged and made a half-hearted attempt to retrieve his crossbow but it was drawn just out of reach as Redmane turned towards the bar. "In the old days, we didn't need Rangers to tell us what was happening. We'd have messengers running along the Underway from Hold to Hold, telling folks what was going on, if the Orcs was on the move or whatever. Sneaking about in the rocks and woods, spying and watching, that sounds like something an Elf would do, no offence to you lad. I guess we needs to know what's going on, and who's going where and what not, but I don't envy you having to spend all that time in the open air; it'll stunt your beard, so it will." Rangers watch over the mountain passes that snake their way through the Dwarf relms. They keep watch for approaching danger and hunt down Goblins and Orcs. When they spot an approaching army they will send signals to the watch posts of the stronghold, and, once their Karak has been warned, they will gather together at an elected meeting place. Once all their number have arrived, they get into battle formation and hound the invading army. Rangers M WS BS S T W I A Ld 3 4 3 3 4 1 2 1 9 3 4 3 3 4 1 2 2 9

Ranger Veteran

Special Rules: Foresters: Rangers suffer no movement penalties when moving through wooded terrain. Scouts: Rangers are scouts (see page 112 of the Warhammer rulebook). Miners: As he wandered back to the tavern's bar, Redmane's eye fell upon a pile of shovels and picks carefully piled up at the end of the counter "Some of you young'uns work down in mines?" he asked, answered with a few cautious nods from the young Dwarves who were slouched drunkenly at the main trestle. "Good!" he boomed, a wide grin splitting his face. "Mining, that's a proper Dwarf job, none of this messing about with Grungni knows what. Just good honest stone and metal, that's a miner's work. Still, the mines aren't what they used to be," he continued, followed by the sound of other Swarves heads thudding the table. "There was a time when you couldn't dig more'n a few inches without finding a nugget of gold or a seam of iron ore. Not like the mountains these days, they're swallowed it all up, so you have to grub for weeks just to find a bit of dull copper. And no one these days knows the tunnels like the old mine masters used to. Could go anywhere for a month without ever setting foot in the daylight, as it should be. A few of the old-timers, proper miners to my mind, know the secret ins and outs of the caverns around abouts, but was a time when you could ask a miner in Zhufbar about the digs in Karak Zorn and he could draw you a map from memory. Still, you lads know how to swing a pick, I trust, whetehr it's for a piece of gold or at a damned Elf's head." Dwarves have an insatiable thrist for gold, and construct deep shafts into the heart of the mountains in their quest to acquire the valuable metal. They also mine ores and gemstones, and

very skilled at digging tunnels at incredible speed. The networks of mines and tunnels run through every mountain range. In battle, they use their knowledge of the tunnels and mastery of the pick axe with deadly intent. Miners M WS BS S T W I A Ld 3 4 3 3 4 1 2 1 9 3 4 3 3 4 1 2 1 9

Miner Prospector

Specail Rules: Underground Advance: Miners are famous for using their extensive knowledge of underground tunnels to make their way to the enemy's rear and turn up on the battlefield from a completely unexpected direction. Miners do not have to be deployed on the table at the beginning of the battle. Instead, starting from turn two, at the beginning of every Dwarf turn roll a dice: on a 4+ the Miners will arrive. For every successive turn after the second, add a further +1 to the roll, so they arrive on a 3+ in turn three; and so on (but an unmodified roll of 1 is always a failure). In the movement phase of the turn when they arrive, Miners can enter the battlefield from any table edge and will be treated exactly like a unit that has pursued an enemy off the table in the previous turn (see page 76 of the Warhammer rulebook). If the Miners fail to turn up for the entire game, they have obviously got lost in the tunnels, but their points value are not awarded to the opponent. Hammerers: Durgrim Redmane paused in his storytelling long enough for a young barmaid to bring him yet another tankard of beer. Pouring the contents of the vessel down his throat in a matter of seconds he thanked the young Dwarf with a curt nod. "How do you get to become a Hammerer sir, if it's not too presumptuous of me to ask." Handing the empty tankard back to the serving girl he motioned for her to fill it again. "Thtough hard work, skill and much practice, like any good warrior will tell you. There ain't no short cuts, only quick deaths." The old Dwarf's mood had become sullen and somber. Dwarves never took talk of battle lightly. For Dwarves, battle was a necessary evil which had taken a heavy toll on their race after many years of long protracted warfare. "it's my kin that've been responsible for the Hammerers being the bodyguard of the Dwarf Lords to this very day." A few of the younger Dwarves murmured to themsleves. Old Redmane was renowned for his outlandish tales but this was an extravagant claim indeed. One look at the scowling face of the old Dwarf was enough to shut them up. "As I was saying, 'twas my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, no less than Kadrin Remane himself. In those days he was working as a master craftsman in the forges at the gold mines of Gunbad. King Morgrim Blackbeard had decided to pay the mines a visit to bolster morale after years of vicious fighting. As creul fate would have it 'twas that same day that the accursed Night Goblins broke through the mine's walls. The King was at their mercy, for his small bodyguard were overwhelmed as hundreds of gibbering Grobi poured into the mines. As the last of the King's bodyguard fell, Kadrin Redmane, seeing the desperate situation, took the hammer that he had been using to work the gold and charged out of the forge to protect his liege, Seeing his brave act, the other smiths followed him. Grabbing their forge hammeres, slowly they cleared an escape route out from the mines." Durgrim by now had silenced the youngsters in the crowd. Every Dwarf in the tavern was engrossed in the story. "As a reward, the King presented Kadrin with a magnificent rune-hammer." An overenthusiastic young Dwarf couldn't keep his excitement in check and spoke out of turn. "Was that the same hammer that he threw into Black Water to prevent it getting into Orc hands?" Durgrim reached down to his belt and pulled out his own hammer. Intricately carved runes were inscribed upon it. Rainbows of color danced around the room as the light of the candles reflected through the project prism of the multifaceted gem fixed into the metal. "So legend would have you believe." The old Dwarf slowly rose from his stool. Tucking his hammer back into his belt, he picked up and old worn cloak and stepped out of the tavern. He turned at the door and gave one

last piece of advise. "One thing you'll learn as you grow older. Don't believe all that you hear." The Hammerers are the King's personal guard and so are accorded a high status within the stronghold. They are very skilled warriors and are personally selected by the King himself. If a Dwarf should prove himself courageous enough over the course of many battles he may be selected to join the Hammerers. Hammerers: M WS BS S T W I A Ld 3 5 3 4 4 1 2 1 9 3 5 3 4 4 1 2 2 9

Hammerer Gate Keeper

Special Rules: Bodyguard: As long as the army's General is with the unit, Hammerers are stubborn 9see page 85 of the Warhammer rulebook). Ironbreakers: "Down in the mines, that can be dangerous work." Durgrim expounded, waving a tankard as he strolled back into the tavern, heading straight for the bar. "Not as dangerous as it used to be, mind, but then that's why our ancestors formed the Ironbreakers. Head to foot in the best gromril armor, it'd be a brave Goblin, Troll or ratman who faces an Ironbreaker and doesn't turn tail. And even if the roof caved in, not that a good proper Dwarf roof would do that, nine times out of ten he'd climb out again, dust himself down and get back to the fight, not like you young whelps..." The Ironbreakers guard the deep abandoned tunnels from the numerous dark creatures that would otherwise invade the hold. They spend much of their time below ground in the deepest, least visited parts of the stronghold. Because of the extreme danger of their duty they wear suits of gromril armor to protect themselves. Ironbreakers: M WS BS S T W I A Ld 3 5 3 4 4 1 2 1 9 3 5 3 4 4 1 2 2 9

Ironbreaker Ironbeard

Longbeards: The old Hammerer stroked a hand through his beard. "Course, if I weren't a Hammerer, I'd be with the LOngbeards these days," he announced to the occupants of the smoky tavern. "When you've got proper beards you might understand what a bit of gnollengrom means, what it's like to respect a Dwarf for the fullness of his beard. This beard here says I'm old, and that means I know best, and you knows that too, so that's why you're going listen to my advise, then you can grow up to be proper Dwarves and pass on your advise to the next generation. Remember, a Dwarf's only as big as his beard." Dwarves are taught from an early age to respect their elders, and the oldest Dwarves in the stronghold are accorded the greatest respect. Their beards must stretch down to the floor before they are given the prestigous title of Longbeard. The ceremony that follows when a Dwarf finally joins this elite caste is a great occasion; many a tavern has been drunk dry in the ensuing feast. Longbeards M WS BS S T W I A Ld 3 5 3 4 4 1 2 1 9 3 5 3 4 4 1 2 2 9

Longbeard Greatbeard

Special Rules: Immune to Panic: LOngbeards expect the worst, and spent a long time grumbling about the inadequacies of Dwarves/weapons/Goblins these days, as they're not as brave/well made/scary as they were in the olden days. It takes a lot to unsettle a Longbeard from a good grumble. Longbeards automatically pass any panic tests they have to take.

Engineers Guild: "If somebody would care to refresh my palate then perhaps I can continue." Old Redmane, as he was more commonly known agomgst the Dwarves that frequented the Black Dragon Tavern, had emptied yet another keg of Bugman's ale. Unlike many of the younger Dwarves who currently collapsed asleep on the tables, he was showing little if any sign of intoxication. His red, bulbous nose was a clear indicator that he was a seasoned veteran to drink. "Back when I was a lad, any elder recounting tales of the past would have filled this bar twice over with people, all eager to hear his words of wisdom to pass down to their children." Durgrim took the freshly filled tankard off the barman, thanking him politely. "Still waht with all those newfangled contraptions such as the likes of Gryocannons and Flamecopters it's hardly surprising that your generation has the attention span of a Troll. I remember my great grandfather telling me about the day the Engineers discovered blackpowder. Now I'm not one to belittle the Engineers Guild, even if they are a bunch of dangerously insane lunatics, but there are Dwarves amongst them that'll have you believe that the invention of blackpowder was quite intentional." Durgrim chuckled to himself, "You try telling that to the poor Dwarves who found themselves blown straight up to the cavern roof. It took them days to clear up the mess. There's still a dent or two in the ceiling so they say." A few of the crowd that had gathered burst out in laughter. "Still, for all their bumbling about they certainly know how to make good cannons. You'll rarely see a Dwarf cannon blow up, not like those shoddy, cheap, oversized poip guns that the men of the Empire are so proud of. Great Cannons bah!" Durgrim spat his contempt "The only thing great 'bout them is that 'twere a Dwarf who invented'em. Dwarf cannons are built to last. We won't even consider taking one to battle unless it's over five hundred years old. Unless the Engineer who built it has a beard down past his boots the cannon ain't worth the iron it's forged from. You see, an Engineer has to be that old to be able to help the Runesmith inscribe the correct runes. Still I rekon we'll live to regret the day that we gave the secrets of blackpowder to the Manlings. It won't be long before it's turned against its creators." The audience murmured in general agreement with Old Redmane. "Mind you, I still can't see them becoming too popular there ain't nowt a cannon can do, that a determined Dwarf with a hammer can't achieve." Dwarf Artillery: Dwarf armies can include Cannons, Stone Throwers and Bolt Throwers. These follow the rules given on pages 118-125 of the Warhammer rulebook. Note that a Dwarf cannon is the smaller of the two included on page 123. Engineers: "The Engineers Guild, they calls themselves," REdmane snorted. "Messing about with blackpowder and whatnots is what I calls it. Still, them Engineers can cast a good cannon, and they know how they work like no one else. You want to land a shot on a Goblin a mile away, ask an Engineer to lay the gun for you, and he'll ask you which eye you want to hit." If a Dwarf shows particular aptitude with machinery, he may be granted and apprenticeship within the Engineers Guild which maintains the numerous working devices of the Dwarves. Guild members spend much of their time repairing broken components and cursing the shoddy work of the engineer who first constructed it. They are also responsible for inventing new devices. If the Guild thinks a concept is worthy enough it will fund the Dwarf with all the equipment, materials and help needed. Most inventions never quite take off, but others, such as the legenary Gyrocopter, quite literally do. Engineers: M WS BS S T W I A Ld 3 4 4 3 4 2 2 1 9

Engineer

Special Rules: Artillery Master: A Cannon or a Stone Thrower (but not a Flame Cannon) which has been joined by an Engineer may make two guesses when declaring the range they are firing at (one for the

crew, one for the Engineer). Measure the two points you have guessed and then decide which one you wnat to use for that shot before rolling any dice. A Bolt Thrower which has been joined by an Engineer may re-roll failed rolls to hit. Note that if the Engineer uses his ability during the firing of the war machine, he will not be able to shoot with his own missile weapon in the same Shooting phase (he is too busy grumbling about the crew's poor aim). Remeber that you must fire all the weapons requiring you to guess the range before any normal shooting. In addition, you must remember to fire a Bolt Thrower which an Engineer has joined before he opens fire with his own weapon. If you fired the Engineer's own weapon then you cannot use his re-roll ability in the same turn. When firing his own missile weapon, an Engineer can always choose a different target from the one fired upon by the machine he has joined. Extra Crewman: An Engineer can also replace a lost crew member of a machine he joins (including Flame Cannons and Organ Guns), but if he is operating the machine, the Engineer cannot fire his own missile weapon. If a machine with an Engineer attached to it misfires and explodes, the Engineer will be killed with the rest of the crew if he is replaced a crewman or used his Artillery Master ability during that turn. Flame Cannon: "now, something half decent that the Engineers have given us, though still a new gizmo in anyone's books, is the Flame Cannon," Durgrim informed his dazed audience. "one of them tried to explain to me how it works once. He said a volatile concoction of hot oil and molten tar is mixed in the barrel of the Flame Cannon. He told me air is pumped into the barrel until the pressure inside is very great and the barrel is almost ready to burst. At precisely the right moment, the crew place a burning oily wad into the nozzle and release the pressure inside. The mixture catches fire as it spurts from the barrel and burning oil arcs into the air towards the enemy ranks. With a bit of luck, the flaming oil lands right in the middle of the enemy, spraying fire and boiling tar over the target. Well, that's how they say. To me, it goes whoosh, there's a huge blast of flame, then the enemy goes running off with smoke trailing from'em." The Flame Cannon is a deadly weapon capable of inflicting extreme damage at short ranges. It is a brave Dwarf who volunteers to crew this extraordinary cannon, as there is a strong chance that when the flammable concoction is set alight the cannon will instantaneously explode. Firing the Flame Cannon: Falme Cannons shoot in a similar way to cannons, but instead of firing a cannon ball they shoot a gout of flame-use the Flame template to represent this. To fire the cannon, first it on the spot so that it points at your intended target. Now declare how far youwish to shoot, up to a maximum of 12", eg, 12", 10", 8", etc. This represents the gunners elevating the barrel to get the required trajectory. The jet of inflammable liquid will travel the distance you have nominated plus the score of an Artillery dice (marked 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 and misfire). Roll the Artillery dice and add the score to the distance you have nominated. The jet travels the total distance and will land short, hit the target, or pass over it depending on how accurately you have guessed the range and what effect the dice roll has. Damage: When you have established where the jet of flaming liquid hits the ground, place a marker on that spot. The jet sprays out from this point and scorches a line through any targets in its way. To determine the sathe cut by the burning liquid place the Flame template with the narrow end on the point where the jet hit the ground and the wide end pointing directly away from the cannon so that the flame continues in a straight line. Any models completely under the template are automatically hit and models partially covered are hit on the roll of a 4+. Any model struck by the flame takes a Strength 5 hit and any model wounded by the flame takes D3 wounds. Saving throws apply as normal (ie, -2 armor save). A unit which suffers casualties from the Flame Cannon must take an immediate Panic test to represent the horrific effects of this weapon.

If you roll a Misfire on the Artillery dice then the Flame Cannon has malfunctioned. Roll a D6 and check the Flame Cannon Misfire chart below to see what happens. Profiles: Max Range Strength Wounds Armor Save 12" 5 D3 -2 You can move the Flame Cannon at the same rate as its crew, assuming they are all alive. If any crew are slain, the Move rate is reduced proportionately. The Flame Cannon may be turned on the spot to face its target, but cannot otherwise move and fire in the same turn. Move Toughness Wounds As crew 7 3 The Flame Cannon is a large and well constructed device, but by its very nature is vulnerable: all the hot tar, oil, high pressure and flame is a recipe for disaster. The Flame Cannon itself is reasonably sturdy, but if it suffers damage it becomes unreliable and dangerous. For each wound suffered by the Flame Cannon, deduct -1 on the Misfire chart for all Misfire rolls. This means that a Flame Cannon with two wounds left would deduct -1 from a roll on the Misfire chart, and any roll of a 1-3 would therefore destroy it. Suffering wounds does not increase the likihood of a misfire, but it does make misfires more dangerous when they happen. Loss of Crew: The Flame Cannon requires a full crew of three Dwarves to work it properly: to pump up the pressure, aim the gun, fire the nozzle, etc. If one crewman is slain the remaining pair can just about cope without slowing down the rate of work. No penalty is therefore imposed for the loss of one crewman. If two crewmen are slain, the remaining crewman won't be able to prepare the weapon properly, ie, the Flame Cannon can only be fired every other turn. Should all the crew be slain, the Flame Cannon is useless. Flame Cannon Misfire Chart: D6 Result: 1-2 Destroyed: Smoke begins to pour from the barrel in a worrying fashion and a few seconds later it explodes into a fireball, engulfing everyone nearby. The Flame Cannon is destroyed and the crew slain. 3-4 Malfunction: The mixture fails to ignite and the cannon squires smelly hot oil and tar into the air. Although unpleasant, this is not deadly, and has no effect on the target. The crew must prepare the cannon for firing again, so the Flame Cannon may not shoot this turn or next turn. 5-6 Phut: The pressure is not high enough, so the Flame Cannon may not fire this turn. Dwarf Organ Gun: "There was this Engineer only a few hundred years ago, Lokri Snarrison, who had this real ear for music, "Redmane the Hammerer told the patrons of the tavern. "He had this idea of some kind of big instrument that used pressure and pipes to make different noises. Anyways, he called it an organ and it sounded terrible. However, another Engineer, Durin Kurganssonson, had an idea and took all those pipes, laid'em flat and made a big multi-barreled cannon out of them. The Organ Gun he called it, and a few other Engineers liked it so much they copied it." He took a swig of ale to clear his throat. "Still them pipes weren't big enough for cannon balls. but then putting five of them together means you can fire all the barrels at the same time, and mighty devastating it is, if it hits. Not like a proper cannon that you can train and elevate and actually aim proper, but you gets lucky every once in a while and you'll see chariots disappear into firewood and minotaurs spattered across the grass. One of the Engineer Guilds' stranger creations, the Organ Gun has been known to decimate entire regiments that have been foolish enough to stand before it. Whilst not as powerful as a cannon, in the right hands it can prove just as effective.

Organ Gun Misfire Chart D6 Result: 1-2 Destroyed: The gun explodes with a mighty crack. Shards of metal and wood fly in all directions leaving a hole in the ground, a cloud of black smoke and the stench of burnt beards. The gun is destroyed and its crew slain or injured. Remove Organ Gun and its crew. 3-4 Malfunction: The gun fails to ignite and does not fire. The crew fuss around, banging it with hammers and muttering to themselves before working out what is wrong. The gun cannot fire this turn or next turn. 5-6 Fzzz...Clunk: A minor fault prevents the gun firing. Perhaps the fuse is not set properly or maybe the young crew mishandled the loading procedure. The Organ Gun does not shoot this turn. However, it is unharmed and may shoot as normal next turn. Firing the Dwarf Organ Gun: In the Shooting phase, turn the Organ Gun so that it faces its target. Roll the artillery dice and then measure the range. If the target unit is within range it will suffer a number of hits equal to the number rolled on the Artillery dice. Hits are resolved using the profile below. If you roll a Misfire, the cannon has misfired and may explode. Roll a D6 and consult the Organ Gun Misfire chart above to see what happens. Profiles: The Organ Gun has more barrels than an ordinary cannon but these are smaller and lighter. Its range and the damage it inflicts are considerably different from a cannon's. Range Strength Armor Save 18" 5 -3 Organ Guns are stoutly made from iron and solid wood and can sustain considerable damage as shown on their profile below. An Organ Gun can be moved by its Dwarf crew at 3" per turn. If any crew are slain, the Move rate is resuced proportionally. The Organ Gun cannot move and shoot in the same turn, other than to pivot on the spot to face its target. Move Toughness As crew 7 Wounds 3

Loss of Crew: An Organ Gun requires a full crew of three Dwarves to work it properly. If one crew member is slain, the other two can just about get by and the gun may fire as normal. If two crew are slain, the remaining crewman can still operate the weapon but it will take twice as long to reload-two turns instead of one. If all the crew are slain then the gun is useless. Gyrocopter: "When the Underway started cracking up under all the earthquakes and such, the Engineers found another way to get messages from one Hold to the next," Durgrim explained, resting his tankard on the head of a Dwarf who had flopped across the table next to him. "Couldn't go underground, and there was Orcs and Trolls and the like swarming everywhere so you couldn't go across ground. Some bright spark decided you could go over ground, and built the Gyrocopter. It's got big spinny blades powered by a steam engine, height of making small engine technology, one Engineer told me. And it can take off from a small space so it can buzz about the mountain tops with nary a worry about what's below." He imitated a swooping Gyrocopter with his free hand, flitting across the table and resting on the tobacco pouch of a Dwarf sitting across from him, before returning with its cargo to his pipe. "Then some Dwarf Lord, Thane Orgri I reckons, thought about putting a little cannon on one. The pilot, as they call the fool who flies the contraption, must be mad as a halfling to go up there, if'n

you asks me. A Dwarf should have his feet on the ground or, more preferably, a hundred feet below it. But they're nippy little beggars, I can tell you, and useful for getting behind the enemy and givin'em a good wallop up the backside with that rapid-firing gun." The brave and would say insane pilots of these crazy contraptions gather together in their own distinct regiments. Due to the high costs, maintenance of the machines comes from the royal treasury and so this elite unit are known as the King's Flying Corps. M WS 4 BS Gyrocopter: S T W 5 3 3 I 2 A 1 Ld 9

Gyrocopter Pilot

Unit Strength: The Gyrocopter has a Unit Strength of 1. Flying Machine: The Gyrocopter can, of course, fly as described on page 106 of the Warhammer rules. Gyrocopter always end their move hovering at very low altitude, and may be charged by enemy troops in the same way as flying creatures. If the Gyrocopter can't fly for any reason, it can't move. If a Gyrocopter has to flee when it cannot fly, it will be removed and counts as destroyed (but won't crash). Note that the Gyrocopter does not suffer the -1 penalty to its pursuit and flee moves and so will travel the full 3D6 inches. Steam Gun: The Gyrocopter is armed with a steam-powered gun that unleashes a hail of lead bullets similar to a cannon's grapeshot. To represent the blast of the steam gun, use the Flame template. Place the template with the broad end over the target and the narrow end touching the muzzle of the gun. Any models completely under the template are automatically hit and models partially covered are hit on the roll of a 4+. Profile: Range Strength Steam Gun Flame Template 3 Armor Save -1

Damage to Gyrocopters: Close combat is conducted as normal with a few expections. If a Gyrocopter is broken in close combat then it will automatically crash. Otherwise the Gyrocopter functions normally until it has sustained three wounds, at which point it can no longer fly and crashes. If a Gyrocopter is wounded by an Attack which is Strength 7 or more, it will crash automatically. Crashes: A Gyrocopter will crash when the machine is destroyed or if the machine is beaten in close combat. When the Gyrocopter crashes, roll the Scatter dice to determine the random direction in which it moves (if you roll a Hit, use the little arrow included in the symbol). Now roll 4D6. This is the distance in inches the Gyrocopter moves before it crashes. When it hits the ground the machine explodes, killing the pilot. Bits of Gyrocopter and spinning blades mangle anything nearby. To represent the explosion, place a large blast template (5" diameter) where the Gyrocopter hits the ground. All targets under the template suffer a Strength 4 hit due to the exploding engine and debris (models partially under are hit on a 4+). Gyrocopter pilots may not crash deliberately! Forces of The Dwarves: The purpose of an army list is to enable players with vastly different armies to stage games which are as fair and as evenly balanced as it is possible to make them. The army list gives each individual model a points value which represents its capabilities on the tabletop. The higher a model's points value the better it is in one or more prespects: stronger, tougher, faster, btter

leadership, and so on. The value of the army is simply the value of all the models added together. As well as providing points costs, the list divdes the army into its constituent units and describes the weapons and optional equipment that troops can have and occasionally restricts the number of very powerful units an army can include. It would be very silly indeed if an army were to consist entirely of thundering cannons, or crazed Daemon Slayers. The resultant game would be a frustrating and unbalanced affair if not a complete waste of time. We employ army lists to ensure that this does not happen! How the Army List is Intented to be Used: The army list enable two players to choose armies of equal points value to fight a battle, as described in the main body of the Warhammer rules. The following list has been constructed with this purpose in mind. The list can also be used when playing specific scenarios, either those described in the Warhmmaer rulebook, or others, including ones invented by the players. In this case, the list provides a framework which the players can adapt as required. It might, for example, be felt necessary to increase or decrease the number of characters or units allowed, or to restrict or remove options in the standard list such as certain runes or specific weapons. If you refer to the Scenarios section of the Warhammer rulebook (pages 196-213), you'll find some examples of this kind. Army List Organization: The army list is divided into four sections: Characters: Representing the most able, skilled and ancient individuals in your army, characters are extraordinary leaders such as Thanes and Runesmiths. These form a vital and potent part of your forces. Core Units: These represent the most common warriors. They usually form the bulk of the army and will often bear the brunt of the fighting. Special Units: This category includes the best of your warriors and common engines or war. They are available to your army in limited numbers. Rare Units: So called because they are scarce compared to your ordinary troops. They represent unique units, uncommon creatures and unusual machines. Choosing an Army: Both players choose armies to the same agreed points value. Most players find that 2,000 points is about right for a battle that will last over an evening. Wahtever value you agree, this is the maximum number of points you can spend on your army. You can spend less and will probably find it is impossible to use up every last point. Most 2,000 points armies will therefore be something like 1,998 points or 1,999 points, but they still count as '2,000' points armies for our purposes. Once you have decided on a total points value it is time to choose your force. Choosing Characters: Characters are divided into two broad categories: Lords (the most powerful charaters) and Heroes (the rest). The maximum number of characters an army can include is shown on the chart below. Army Points Value Less than 2,000 Max. Tatal Characters 3 Max. Lords 0 Max. Heroes 3

2,000 or more 3,000 or more 4,000 or more Each + 1,000

4 6 8 +2

1 2 3 +1

4 6 8 +2

An army does not have to include the maximum number of characters allowed, it can always include fewer than indicated. However, an army must always include at least one character: the General. An army does not have to include Lords-it can include all of its characters as Heroes if you prefer. At the beginning of the battle, choose one of the characters to be the General and make sure that you let your opponent know which one it is. For example, a 2,500 points army could include a Runelord (Lord), a Thane (Hero), a Runesmith (Hero), and a Dragon Slayer (Hero) (ie, four characters in total, of which one is a Lord). Choosing Troops: Troops are divided into Core, Special and Rare Units. The number of each type of unit available depends on the army's points value, indicated on the chart below. Army Points Value Less than 2,000 2,000 or more 3,000 or more 4,000 or more Each + 1,000 Core Units 2+ 3+ 4+ 5+ +1 minimum Special Units 0-3 0-4 0-5 0-6 +0-1 Rare Units 0-1 0-2 0-3 0-4 +0-1

In some cases other limitations may apply to a particular kind of unit. This is specified in the unit entry. For example, the Hammerers Special Unit entry is accompanied by a note explaining that a maximum of one unit of this kind can be included in the army. Unit Entries: Each unit is represented by an entry in the army list. The unit's name is given and any limitations that apply are explained. Profiles: The characteristic profiles for the troops in each unit are given in the unit entry. Where several profiles are required, these are also given if, as in many cases, they are optional. Unit Sizes: Each entry specifies the minimum size for each unit. In case of Core Units this is usually 10 models. In the case of other units it is usually less. There are exceptions as you will see. In some cases, units also have a maximum size. Weapons & Armor: Each entry lists the standard weapons and armor for that unit type. The value of these items is included in the points value. Additional or optional weapons and armor cost extra and are covered in the Options section of the unit entry. Options: Many entries list the different weapon, armor and equipment options for the unit and any additional points cost for taking them. It may also include the option to upgrade a unit member into a Champion. While this model usually has a specific name (the Champion of a Miner unit is called a Prospector, for example) all the rules that apply to Champions apply to them. See the appropriate section of the Warhammer Rulebook for details (pages 108-109). Special Rules: Many troops have special rules, which are fully described elsewhere in this book. These rules are also summarized for your convenience in the army list.

It would be a long and tedious business to repeat all the special rules for every unit within the army list itslef. The army list is intended primarily as a tool for choosing armies rather than for presenting game rules. Wherever possible we have indictated where special rules apply and, where space permits, we have provided notes within the list as 'memory joggers'. Bear in mind that these descriptions are not necessarily exhaustive or definitive and players should refer to the main Warhammer rulebook for a full account. Lords: Dwarf Lords (Lords, Runelords and Daemon Slayers) are the most ancient and powerful characters in the Dwarf List. Dwarf Lords are limited in number and expensive, but make the best army Generals. Remember that Dwarf Lords all bear the Ancestral Grudge and are also Relentless (see page 6). Lord: Point/Model: 135 M WS Lord 3 7 BS 4 S 4 T 5 W 3 I 4 A 4 Ld 10

Weapons: Hand weapon. Options: May choose either a Great Weapon (+6pts), or a pistol (+10pts). May also choose either a crossbow (+15pts), or a Dwarf handgun (+21pts). May wear either light armor (+3pts), heavy armor (+6pts), or gromril armor (+12pts), and also carry a shield (+3pts). May choose runic items from the Weapons, Armor and Talisman lists (pages 20-23), with a maximum total value of 125 pts. Runelord: Point/Model: 140 M WS BS Runelord 3 6 4 S 4 T 5 W 3 I 3 A 2 Ld 10

Weapons: Hand weapon. Options: May be armed with a Great Weapon (+6 pts). May wear either light armor (+3 pts), heavy armor (+6pts), or gromril armor (+12pts), and may also carry a shield (+3pts). May bring an Anvil of Doom to battle (+200pts). If he does, he can't choose any extra weapons from the list above. The Anvil of Doom comes with two Anvil Guards equipped with hand weapon, gromril armor and shield. May choose runic items from the Weapons, Armor and Talisman lists (pages 20-23), with a maximum total value of 150 pts. Special Rules: Adds 1 dice to the dispel pool (see the Warhammer rulebook, p.136). Daemon Slayer: Points/Model: 130 M WS BS S T W I A Ld Daemon Slayer 3 7 3 4 5 3 3 2 10 Weapons: Hand weapon. Options: May choose either a Great Weapon (+6pts), or an additional hand weapon (+6pts). May choose runic items from the Weapons lists (page 20), with a maximum total value of 100pts. Special Rules: Slayer; Unbreakable; Loner (see page 7). Heroes: Heroes (Thanes, Runesmiths, Engineers and Dragon Slayers) are the bravest Dwarf warriors in

the army, so make great leaders. The total number of characters you can field in your army can be found on page 25. Remember that Dwarf Heroes bear the Ancestral Grudge and are also Relentless (see page 6). Thane: Points/Model: 55 M WS Thane 3 6 BS 4 S 4 T 4 W 2 I 3 A 3 Ld 9

Weapons: Hand weapon. Options: May be armed with a Great Weapon (+4pts). May also choose either a crossbow (+10pts), or a Dwarf handgun (+14pts). May wear either light armor (+2pts), heavy armor (+4pts), or gromril armor (+8pts), and may also carry a shield (+2pts). May choose runic items from the Weapons, Armor and Talisman lists (pages 20-23), with a maximum total value of 50 pts. Army Standard Bearer: One Thane in the army may carry the Battle Standard for +25 pts. This Thane cannot be the army's General even if he has the highest Leadership value in the army. The Thane carrying the Battle Standard cannot choose any extra weapons, nor can he use a shield. The Thane is carrying the Battle Standard, he can have any runic banner (no points limit), but if he carries a runic banner he cannot carry any other runic item. Runesmith: Points/Model: 70 M WS BS Runesmith 3 5 4 S 4 T 4 W 2 I 2 A 2 Ld 9

Weapons: Hand weapon. Options: May be armed with a Great Weapon (+4pts). May wear either light armor (+2pts), heavy armor (+4pts), or gromril armor (+8pts), and may also carry a shield (+2pts). May choose runic items from the Weapons, Armor and Talisman lists (pages 20-23), with a maximum total value of 75 pts. Special Rules: Adds 1 dice to the Dispel pool (see the Warhammer rulebook, p. 136). Engineer: Points/Model: 65 M WS BS Engineer 3 4 4 S 3 T 4 W 2 I 2 A 1 Ld 9

Weapons: Hand weapon Options: May choose either a Great Weapon (+4pts), a pistol (+7pts) or a brace od pistols (two pistols +14pts). May also choose Dwarf handgun (+14pts). May wear either light armor (+2pts), heavy armor (+4pts), or gromril armor (+8pts). May choose runic items from the Weapons, Armor and Talisman lists (pages 20-23), with a maximum total value of 50 pts. Special Rules: Artillery Master; Extra Crewman (see page 14). Dragon Slayer: Points/Model: 65 M WS BS Dragon Slayer 3 6 3 S 4 T 4 W 2 I 4 A 3 Ld 10

Weapons: Hand weapon Options: May choose either Great Weapon (+4pts), or an hand weapon (+4pts). May choose runic items from the Weapons list (pages 20-23), with a maximum total value of 50pts. Core Units: Core Units are the most common warriors in the army. There is a minimum number of Core Units that must be fielded, depending on the size of the army. There is no maximum limit on the amount of Core Units that can be fielded. On this page are listed the Dwarf units that are regarded as forming the backbone of the Dwarves strongholds. All Dwarves bear the Ancestral Grudge and are Relentless and Resolute (See page 6 for rules). Warriors: Points/Models: 7 M WS Warrior 3 4 Veteran 3 4 BS 3 3 S 3 3 T 4 4 W 1 1 I 2 2 A 1 2 Ld 9 9

Unit Size: 10+ Weapons & Armor: Hand weapon & light armor Options: Any unit may be equipped with heavy Armor (+1 pt/model). Any unit may be equipped with Great weapons (+2 pts/model). Upgrade one Warrior to a Musician for +5 pts. Upgrade one Warrior to a Standard Bearer for +10pts. Promote one Warrior to a Veteran for +10pts. Crossbowmen: Points/Model: 12 M WS Crossbowman 3 4 Veteran 3 4 BS 3 3 S 3 3 T 4 4 W 1 1 I 2 2 A 1 2 Ld 9 9

Unit Size: 10+ Weapons & Armor: Crossbow, hand weapon & light armor. Options: Any unit may be equipped with shields (+1pt/model). Upgrade one Crossbowman to a Musician for +5pts. Upgrade one Crossbowman to a Standard Bearer for +10pts. Promote one Crossbowman to a Veteran for +10pts. Thunderers: Points/Model: 14 M WS Thunderer 3 4 Veteran 3 4 BS 3 3 S 3 3 T 4 4 W 1 1 I 2 2 A 1 2 Ld 9 9

Unit Size: 10+ Weapons & Armor: Dwarf handgun, hand weapon & light armor Options: Any unit may be equipped with shields (+1pt/model). Upgrade on Thunderer to a Musician for +5pts. Upgrade one Thunderer to a Standard Bearer for +10pts. Promote one Thunderer to a Veteran for +10pts. The Veteran may carry a brace of pistols (ie, two pistols) instead of his handgun for +2pts. Core Units: On this page are listed the troops who, whilst still being classed as Core Units, perform more

specialized roles when Dwarves go to war, the Rangers and the Miners. Only one uit of Miners and one unit of Rangers may be fielded in an army. Miners: Points/Model: 12 M WS Miner 3 4 Prospector 3 4 BS 3 3 S 3 3 T 4 4 W 1 1 I 2 2 A 1 2 Ld 9 9

Unit Size: 10-20 Weapons & Armor: Pick (Great Weapon), hand weapon & heavy armor. Options: Upgrade one Miner to a Musician for +6pts. Upgrade a Miner to a Standard Bearer for +12pts. Promote one Miner to a Prospector for +12pts. Special Rules: Underground Advance (see page 11). Rangers: Points/Model: 12 M WS Ranger 3 4 Veteran 3 4 BS 3 3 S 3 3 T 4 4 W 1 1 I 2 2 A 1 2 Ld 9 9

Unit Size: 10-20 Weapon & Armor: Great Weapon & light armor Options: The unit may be equipped with shields (+1pt/model). The unit may be equipped with crossbows (+5pts/model). or throwing axes (+3pts/model). Upgrade one Ranger to a Musician for +6 pts. Upgrade one Ranger to a Standard Bearer for +12 pts. Promote one Ranger to a Veteran for +12 pts. Special Rules: Scouts; Forestors (see page 10). Special Units: Special Units are extremely specialized troops which appear on the battlefield less often than Core Units. There is a maximum number of Special Units that can be fielded, and this varies depending on the size of the army. Hammerers are the personal bodyguard of a Dwarf King and are amongst the most skilled warriors in a Dwarf army. Only one uit of Hammerers can be fielded in a Dwarf army. All Dwarves bear the Ancestral Grudge and are Relentless and Resolute (See page 6 for rules). Hammerers: Points/Model: 14 M WS BW Hammerer 3 5 3 Gate Keeper 3 5 3 S 4 4 T 4 4 W 1 1 I 2 2 A 1 2 Ld 9 9

Unit Size: 10+ Weapons & Armor: Great Wepon, hand weapon & heavy armor Options: Any unit may be equipped with shields (+1 pt/model). Upgrade one Hammerer to a Musician for +6 pts. Upgrade one Hammerer to a Standard Bearer for +12 pts. A Stanard Bearer may carry a runic standard worth up to 50 pts. Promaote one Hammerer to a Gate Keeper for +12 pts. Special Rules: Bodyguard (see page 12).

Longbeards: Points/Model: 14 M WS Longbeard 3 5 Greatbeard 3 5

BS 3 3

S 4 4

T 4 4

W 1 1

I 2 2

A 1 2

Ld 9 9

Unit Size: 10+ Weapon & Armor: Great Weapon, hand weapon, heavy armor & shield. Options: Upgrade one Longbeard to a Musician for +6 pts. Upgrade one Longbeard to a Standard Bearer for +12 pts. A Standard Bearer ,ay carry a runic standard worth up to 50 pts. Promote one Longbeard to a Greatbeard for +12 pts. Special Rules: Immune to Panic (see page 13). Ironbreakers: Points/Model: 13 M WS Ironbreaker 3 5 Ironbeard 3 5 BW 3 3 S 4 4 T 4 4 W 1 1 I 2 2 A 1 2 Ld 9 9

Unit Size: 10+ Weapons & Armor: Hand weapon, gromril armor & shield. Options: Upgrade one Ironbreaker to a Musician for +6 pts. Upgrade one Ironbreaker to a Standard Bearer for +12 pts. A Standard Bearer may carry a runic standard worth up to 50 pts. Promote one Ironbreaker to an Ironbeard for +12 pts. Special Units: Although they usually prefer to fight alone. In times of war Slayers group together on the battlefield. Only one unit of Slayers can be fielded in a Dwarf army. The Dwarf army includes specialized artillery (cannon, bolt throwers and stone throwers) which they use to great effect. Note that you may include either one or two Bolt Throwers as a single Special Unit choice. Slayers: Points/Model: 11 M WS Troll Slayer 3 4 Giant Slayer 3 4 BS 3 3 S 3 3 T 4 4 W 1 1 I 2 3 A 1 2 Ld 10 10

Unit Size: 10-30 Weapons & Armor: Slayers are extremely skilled with all manner of axes. Regardless of what weapons the model is carrying. Troll Slayers always count as being equipped with two handed weapons. Options: Upgrade one Slayer to a Musician for +6 pts. Upgrade one Slayer to a Standard Bearer for +12 pts. Promote any number of Troll Slayers to Giant Slayers for +15 pts/model. Special Rules: Slayer; Unbreakable (see page 7). Cannon: Points/Model: 100 M WS BS Cannon Crew 3 4 3 Number of Crew: 3 S 3 T 7 4 W 3 1 I 2 A 1 Ld 9

Crew's Weapons & Armor: Hand weapon & light armor Special Rules: See pages 122-124 of the Warhammer rulebook. Bolt Thrower: Points/Model: 45 M WS Bolt Thrower Crew 3 4 BS 3 S 3 T 7 4 W 3 1 I 2 A 1 Ld 9

*Note that 1-2 Bolt Throwers count as only one Special Unit choice. Number of Crew: 3 Crew's Weapons & Armor: Hand weapon & light armor. Special Rules: See pages 124-125 of the Warhammer rulebook. Stone Thrower: Points/Model: 85 M WS Stone Thrower Crew 3 4 BS 3 S 3 T 7 4 W 3 1 I 2 A 1 Ld 9

Number of Crew: 3 Crew's Weapons & Armor: Hand weapon & light armor Special Rules: See pages 120-121 of the Warhammer rulebook. Rare Units: Rare Units are the scarest in the Dwarf army, comprizing of the more recent war machines which have been invented by the Dwarf Engineers Guild. These machines are viewed with sceptism by other Dwarves who do not feel comfortable with a war engine unless it has proved itself in many battles over many centuries. In times of great need a Dwarf Lord may open up his treasuries to hire mercenary units such as Long Drong's Slayers or Ludwig's Wondrous Grenadiers. Organ Gun: Points/Model 125 M WS Organ Gun Crew 3 4 BS 3 S 3 T 7 4 W 3 1 I 2 A 1 Ld 9

Number of Crew: 3 Crew's Weapons & Armor: Hand weapon & light armor Special Rules: See page 16. Flame Cannon: Points/Model: 140 M WS Flame Cannon Crew 3 4 BS 3 S 3 T 7 4 W 3 1 I 2 A 1 Ld 9

Number of Crew: 3 Crew's Weapons & Armor: Hand weapon & light armor. Special Rules: See page 15. Gyrocopter: Points/Model: 140 M WS BS Gyrocopter Pilot 4 Pilot's Equipment: Hand weapon. Armor Save: 4+ Special Rules: See page 17. S 3 T 5 W 3 I 2 A 1 Ld 9

Dwarven Language (Khazalid): The Dwarves are very proud of their tongue which they rarely speak in the company of other races and never teach to other creatures. To humans it is the 'secret tongue of the Dwarves, occasionally overheard, but never proplerly understood. The Dwarf language includes very few words of obviously Human of Elvish origin. By cantrast there are many loan words from Khazalid in the tongue of Men. This is most obviously so in the case of words to do with the traditional Dwarvish craftskills of masonry and smithying, skills which Men learned from the Dwarves many centuries past. These loans from Khazalid mean that some Dwarf words sound simialr to the equivalent of Human words. Of course, some Khazalid words are all too familiar to Dwarf enemies' namely the fearsome battle cries, oaths, and curses of the Dwarves at war. Of these, the most famous is the cry of 'Khazukan Kazakit-ha' or its common shortened form of 'Khazuk! Khazuk! Khazuk!' which means 'Look out! Dwarves are on the warpath'. It is also usual for Dwarves to call upon their Ancestor Gods during battle.It is said that the guttural sound of Dwarves bellowing Grungni's name is enough to make an Elf's knees knock and a Goblin turn a sickly shade of yellow! The sound of Khazalid is not much like Human speech and very unlike the melodious sound of Elvish. Comparisons have been drawn to the rumble of thunder. All Dwarves have very deep, resonant voices and a tendency to speak more loudly than is strictly necessary. This can make Dwarves sound rowdy and irascible, which for the most part is a fair reflection of Dwarvish temperament. Khazalid vowel sounds, in particular, are uncompromisingly precise and heavily accented. Consonants are often spat aggressively or garbled at the back of the throat as if attempting to dislodge a recalcitrant gobbet of phegm. A drinking hall full of loud, drunken Dwarves sound like a frightening place even when fists aren't flying which isn't often. The vocabulary of Khazalid reflects the unique preoccupations of the Dwarf race. There are hundreds of words for different kinds of rock, for passages and tunnels, and most all for precious metals. Indeed, there are hundreds of words for gold alone, reflecting on its qualities of color, luster, purity and hardness. When Dwarves gather for an evening's drinking, which is most evenings, a popular entertainment is the Gold Song. During the Gold Song the Dwarves sing about gold and each drinker sings a verse in turn. Each Dwarf must use a different word for gold when he sings his verse, and any Dwarf who repeats a word already sung or who is unable to think of another word for gold pays a forfeit. As the forfeit is inevitably to but another round of drinks a Dwarf will often invent a new word for gold rather than admit defeat. If this new word goes unchallenged then he avoids the forfeit and another word for gold is added to their vocabulary. In their dealings with other Dwarves choose their words carefully. A Dwarf will not venture an opinion on anything that he has not considered deeply, and once his mind is made up you can be sure his view will be as immovable as a mountain. Dwarves don't change their opinions except in the face of overwhelming necessity, and not always then. Many would rather die stubbornly than admit to a mistake that costs them their life. For this reason Dwarves take oaths and promises very seriouly indeed, and this extends to their business affairs even those with other races. In all the Dwarf language the word Unbaraki is the most condemning of all it means 'oathbreaker'. Given how seriously Dwarves treat words their sense of humor tends to be especially unnerving. A common jest takes the form whereby two or more Dwarves conspire to make another feel deeply uncomfortable by pretending to know something about his circumstances, state of health, or past life that in reality they do not This can go on for hours, days, or many years and is generally reckoned to be very funny indeed. More commonly a Dwarf might make some provocative statement, wait for another to take offence, and then start a fight. Surprisingly these things tend to end in good humor, much back slapping and mutual congratulations with honor considered to have been satisfied all round. The Runic Script: Dwarf runes were invented for carving Khazalid onto stone, hence the letters are formed from straight lines which can be easily cut with a chisel. The script consists of a core alphabetic script which can be used to express any words, and additional individual runes each of which is a shorthand sign that represents a single word, ides, or name. This means that many words can be

written in two forms, though this is commonly seen with the names of people and places. Magical runes always take this second individual form and for this reason all non-alphabetic runes are regarded as having special significance or power. Runes are usually carved left to right, but can also be carved in alternate rows starting from left to right, the second row right to left, the third left to right and so on. Runes can also be carved vertically from top to bottom, this being a common form for monuments and important carvings. Written forms generally go left to right horizontally. The core alphabetic runes are called Klinkarhun meaning 'chisel runes', and these are the most commonly used and easily recognized. Although the sound of Khazalid does not exactly match the sounds of Human speech, the chart shown on the next page gives the closest approximations. The sounds should be pronounced with force and the 'r' and 'kh' sound in particular are made as if enthusiastically clearing the throat, whilst 'z' is always given extra emphasis as in 'buzz'. In addition to alphabetic runes the Klinkarhun also includes a numeric series, as shown on the following page. The Dwarf words for numbers are different depending on what it is they are counting, which can be very confusing, but it all makes sense to the Dwarves and serves to baffle other races. Dwarves also count many things in twelves or dozens multiplying up to a gross (twelve twelves or one hundred and forty four), and other things in twenties or scores, as well as counting things in tens in a more conventional manner. There are no words for twenty, thirty, or so forth, rather a Dwarf will say 'six tens and five' and 'three score and seven' , or 'Sizdonun Sak' and 'Dweskorun Set'. Khazalid Basic Structure: Whilst Khazalid undoubtedly has a formal grammatical structure it is very hard for an outsider to figure out what it might be. In general, Khazalid places the subject before the verb and the object afterwards, but emphasis of pronunciation alone can sometimes determine a word's position within the structure of a sentence. In other cases the importance of a particular word can demand that it be placed first in the sentence. Such words are often placed first out of respect and then again in their proper place later on, for example, 'the KIng, I went to see the King.' When repeated words are written or carved they commonly appear as individual runes at the start of a sentence and Klinkarhun elsewhere. The first principle of the Dwarf tongue is that almost all of its words represent solid physical things. There are surprisingly few specific words for abstract concepts. As a result many words double up as both a physical thing and an abstract concept strongly associated with that thing. For example, the root word for 'big-stone' is kar and the most common word for a mountain is karaz the 'az' ending denoting a single material thing or specific place. The same root word, kar, is also used to mean enduring in the form 'karak' the 'ak' ending denoting an abstract concept. Thus Karaz-a-Karak, the name of the Dwarf capital, means 'enduring mountain' or litterally 'big stony stone place', though the name is more attractively rendered into Human speech as Everpeak. Curiously the Dwarf word for the race of Men is umgi whilst its abstract form of umgak means 'shoddy' the Dwarf word being the equivalent to 'man-made'. This demonstrates just how important it is to look at the end of Dwarf words for it is these special 'signifiers' which usually tell you what the word actually means. Root word Signifier (1) Signifier (2) Kar-az -i Big stone place race,person,trade Karazi-Mountain trible/tribesman/mountaineer Some root words don't exist in a separate form at all. If a root word consists entirely of consonants it is usually written with an extra 'a' at the end but this is dropped when a signifier is

added. For example, 'Ska-' is the root word for 'thief', 'theft' and 'to steal'. Ska-az Skaz-thief in general 'a thief' Ska-azi Skazi-a specific thief 'the thief' Ska-ak Skak-theft Ska-it Skait-steal As in the example above verb signifers usually appear at the end of words. In Khazalid, almost every noun has a verb form which is usually denoted by '-it' in the present tense and 'ed' in the past. Tenses other that the simple present and past are denoted by additional words before the verb rather than by different endings the equivalent to 'will steal' (an skit) in the simple future tense. Although separate words, these are often written together as shown. Skit steal Sked stole Anskit will steal Adsked had stolen Anadsked will have stole Commone Signifiers: In the case of all signifiers a 'g' or 'k' can be added immediately before the signifier of the ptrceeding root ot signifier is a vowel or weak consonant such as 'l' or 'r'. This avoids placing two vowels together which is something Dwarfish strenuously avoids. However there are no rules for this, and in many cases one of the vowles is simply missed out, especially if it is the weaker vowel 'a' or 'i' (which are almost the same sound in Khazalid and the same rune in Klinkarhun). -az: This is a very important and common signifier and it means the word represents a specific physical thing or place a particular mountain not mountains in general. It is usually placed directly after the root and before any other signifiers. That much is easy unfortunately there are many things that the Dwarves regard as so real and solid that the -az signifier is used even though they are talking about something which is neither a place or a material object. For example 'Galaz' which means 'fearless'. In this case the -az refers to the 'real essence' of the idea. So, from the root 'Dur' which means 'stone that can be riven' comes Duraz which means a stone slab but also Durak which means 'hard like a stone slab'. Although it is perfectly right to describe a tough Dwarf as Durak (rock hard) it would also be correct to describle him as Duraz (literally stone). -ak: This is the other major common signifier and means that the word represents a concept, something abstract such as honor, courage or fortitude. Of course, Dwarves being Dwarves, really important abstract concepts are accorded the status of real things, so 'a grudge to be avenged' is Dammaz, not Dammak, but Dammak still stands for the general concept of outstanding grudges. -ar: This signifies something that continues indefinitely over time usually an activity such as trade (urbar) but also an experience such as chronic pain (urtar) and natural forces such as the movement of the sun (Zonstrollar sun-walk-ing).

-en: This signifes something that is currently ongoing but not indefinite, such as journeying (strollen), marching (gotten) or carrying a heavy burden (hunken). -i: The signifier 'i' shows that the word refers to an individual person, or a profession, or race. In general, it is most easily thought of as representing the definite article 'the' or even 'that person just there'. Many personal names end with this signifier too. -al: The signifier 'al' shows that the words refers to a group or band of people or creatures rather like a collective noun. So, whilst the word for both the race of Men and 'the Man' is umgi a band of Men is umgal. It is also used to encompass a person's kinsfolk in the form Grummal Grumm's people often translated as Grummlings. -it or -git: This signifier when applied to a noun indicates something small or trivial. It is also used for a present tense verb but Dwarves are used to such things and rarely let it confuse them. -ul or -kul: This is a common word ending for Dwarf words and not always a signifier but often means 'the art of, understanding of, or master of'', for example Grungkul the art of mining, and Kazakul the art of battle or generalship. -ha: This signifier always appears at the end of a word and is the equivalent to an exclamation mark. It is pronounced very abruptly and can read as 'so there' or 'so watch it' definitely fighting talk. Useful Elements: The following useful words are the Dwarf equivalent of conjunctions, relative pronouns, and other common grammarical elements. Although words in their own right they are often appended directly before other words to form new compound words such as 'Okrik' which means usurper King (literally Why-King) and Aguz which means 'replete' (literally with-food). A Of, with, within, to Ad Did, done, (preceding a verb) Af They, you, (plural) Ai, I ,Ap and Ip All forms of yes An Will, shall, am going to, with purpos, (preceding a verb) Anad Will have done or shall have done Bin In, on, beside Anu Soon, very soon, any minute now Bar But, bear in mins, except for (also the word for a fortified gate)

Ek He, she, it, you (singular) Nai, Na or Nuf All forms of no, not, and never Nu Now, at this time Ok Why, how Or I, me, myself Sar May, could, might (preceding a verb) Um Them, those, these Un And Ut Us, we, ourselves Wanrag Where Wanrak When (preceding a verb) Khazalid Runes of the past and present: Akrak-Rhun: The Rune of Fortune. A common rune found on swords and axes. Alabrin-Rhun: The Rune of Swiftness. Devised by Thurgard the Treacherous and said to incorporate Elven rituals in its making. Azamar: The Rune of Eternity. A rune so powerful that only one of it can exist. It is currently marked on the Throne of Kings and makes that artifact indestructable. Azul-Rhun: The Iron Rune. Azz-Rhun: The Rune of Cleaving. Used on the first Dwarven metal armor. The use of this rune among Dwarves predates its use among Elves. Bakraz-Rhun: The Berserker Rune. Suggests that this rune was devised for a now lost Dwarf Berserker cult-the remnants of which can be found among the Norse Dwarves. Dang-Rhun: The Rune of Striking. First used on the earliest metal weapons of the Dwarves. Drakk-Dreng-Rhun: The Dragon Rune. This rune's existance may indicate that there was once a Dwarven Dragon-Slayers Cult.

Drengdang-Rhun: The Might-Strike Rune. An old rune, possibly from a time when Dwarves had no metal-lore. Duruk-Rhun: The Rune of Might. The invention of this rune is claimed for several different ancestors. Whatever, the majority of weapons bearing this rune were made in Karaz-a-Karak. DWor-Rhun: The Rune of Fear. Invented by Okri Two-Hoards. Ghull-Dreng-Rhun: The Rune of Banishment. Said to have been devised by Snorri Spangelhelm and protects the living from the undead and ethereal creatures. Grimnir-Rhun: The rune sacred to the Dwarf deity Grimnir. Grungni-Rhun: The Rune of Grungni. First created in Karak Azul by an ancient Runesmith. Hakka-Rhun: The Rune of Cutting. Perhaps the oldest of Dwarven runes as it is found on stone hammers that predate their discovery of metal. Klang-Rhun: Rune of Parrying. One of the more ancient runes. Kuzz-Rhun: The Rune of Courage. Narga-Rhun: The Spelleater Rune and one of the more difficult runes to mater. It can nullify nonrunic magic and is the speciality of Karak Azgal. Thrung-Rhun: The Shield Rune. Valaya-Rhun: The Rune sacred to the Dwarven Goddess Valaya. It has special powers of protection against magical attack. This rune is only ever inscribed during rituals in the temple of Valaya in Karaz-a-Karak. Za: The Rune of Kingship. A potent rune that makes one steadfast and sure. Words & Meanings: Agril: Silver metal. Agrul: Stone carvings; lines in face of very old dwarf. Akrak: Fortune, luck. Alabrin: Swiftness, quick. An: Will, shall, am going to, with purpose. Anad: Will have done or shall have done. Angaz: Ironworks. Ankor: Domain or realm. Anu: Soon, very soon, any mintue now. Arkhandrazkal: art of inscribing runes on precious metal with a Troll's tooth. Arm: The Khazalid irregular verb to be (present tense arm-past tense urz). Az: War Axe. Azamar: Eternity, forever. Az-Dreugi: Great Axe Azgul: Treasure hoard. Azkahr: Massive masonry. Azul: Metal of any kind; dependable; a sturdy dwarf. Azz: Cleaving. Bak: Fist, Punch. Bakraz: Berserker, nutter. Bar: But, bear in mind, except for; A fortified gateway or door, tower, wall. Barag: Warmachine, siege machine, cannon

Baraz: A bond or promise. Bin: In, on, beside. Boga: A candle which blows out unexpectedly plunging the tunnel into darkness. Bok: Banging your head on the roof of a low tunnel: vharacteristic scar on forehead caused by same. Boki: Slang word for Dwarf miners. Bolg: Large fat belly. Also a state of extreme wealth, age and contentment. Bran: Clever, alert, mentally sharp. Bron: Bread cake. Bryn: Gold which shines strikingly in the sunlight; anything shiny or brilliant. Chuf: Piece of very old cheese a Dwarf miner keeps under his hat for emergencies. Dal: Old, good. Dammaz: A grievance grudge, or insult to be avenged. Dammaz Kron: The Book of Grudges. Dang: Strike, hit. Dar: A challenge or bet. Dawr: As good as something can get without it being proven over time and hard to use. Most Dwarf words for 'good' imply age and reliability too but Dawr simply means 'look like it might be good: It literally translates as 'like Dwarf'. Deb: New, untried, raw. Doh: Stupid, slow-witted, gullable. Dok: Watch, observe, see the eye. Dongliz: The parts of a Dwarf's body impossible for him to scratch. Dork: Giant, tall, unstable. Drakenendrengi: Dragonslayer. Drakk: Dragon. Drangthrong: Huge Dwarf Army. Drazh: Black, night. Drek: Far, a great distance; great ambition or enterprise. Dreng: Slay in combat, mighty strike, killing blow. Drengi: Slayer, one of the Cult of Slayers. Drin: Road, highway. Dron: Thunder Drongnel: Dragon stew with cave mushrooms marinated in strong ale. Drung: To defeat, vanquish. Duk: Low, narrow tunnel. Dum: Doom or darkness. Durak: Hard. Duraz: Stone or slab. Duruk: Might. Dawi: Dwarfs Dwor: Fear, the concept of fear itself. Ek: He, she, it. Ekrund: A stairway descending beneath the ground. Elgi: Elves. Elgram: Weak, enfeebled, thin. Elgraz: Construction that looks as if it is about to collapse. Endrinkuli: An engineer ot mechanic (generally a Dwarf Engineer). Fleg: Banner, standard. Frongol: Mushrooms which grow at the back of a cave. Galaz: Gold of a particular ornamental value. Gand: Find, or discover. Garaz: Fearless, or rebellious. Gazan: Plains, or wasteland. Gazul: Ancestor God and Protector of the Dead. Ghal: Skull.

Ghull, Ghull-dreng: Banishment, exile. Gibal: Fragments of food enmeshed in a Dwarf's beard. Ginit: Small stone which works its way into your boot causing discomfort. Girt: Broad tunnel with plenty of headroom. Git: The Khazalid irregular verb to go (present tense git-past tense ged) the word is related to Got (ibid). Gnol: Old, reliable, proven, or wise. Gnollengrom: Respect due to a Dwarf who has a longer and more spectaular beard. Gor: Wild beast. Gorak: Great cunning, or uncanny. Gorl: Gold which is especially soft and yellow; the color yellow. Gorm: Old, high, wise, powerful, bearded Gorog: Ale; high spirits; a drinking binge. Goruz: Horn, made of horns. Got: March or travel quickly and with purpose. Gov: Thane. Grik: Pain in the neck caused by continually stooping in low tunnels. Grim: Harsh or unyeilding. Grimaz: Barren place. Grindal: Long flaxen plaits worn by Dwarven maidens. Grint: Waste rock or spoil left by miner's excavations. Grizal: Poor meat. Grizdal: Ale which has been formented for at least a century. Grob: The color green, also Goblins and Orcs-literally greenies. Grobi: Goblins. Grobkaz: Goblin work; evil deeds. Grobkul: Art of stalking Goblins in caves. Grog: inferior or wasted alw; mannish brew. Grom: Brave or defiant. Gromdal: An ancient artifact. Gromthi: Ancestor. Grong: Anvil. Grongol: Tomb vaults of ancestors. Gronit: The Khazalid irregular verb to be (present tense gronit-past tense gird). Grontdrengi: Giantslayer. Gronti: Giant, giants. Grumbak: A short measure of Ale; trivial compliant or grumble. Grumbaki: A grumbler or whiner. Grund: Hammer. Grung: A mine. Grungnaz: Making or smithying. Grungni: A Dwarf ancestor, god of mines and smiths. Grungron: A forge. Guz: To consume food or drink. Guzzen: Feed, insert, push. Hakka: Cut, cutting (byword). Har, Haraz: Fire, lava Hazkal: Ale brewed recently; a fiery young warrior. Hirn: Horn (instrument). Hunk: Carry heavy rocks or other burden. Huzhrung: Massive city wall. Ik: Putting your hand in something slimy and unpleasant in the darknes. Irkul: Pillard vault hewn in rock. Izor: Copper. Izril: Jewels. Kadrin: Mountain pass.

Kalan: Clan. Karag: Volcano or barren mountain. Karak: Enduring, mountain,stronghold. Karaz: Strong, enduring, old. Karin: Shield, temporary protection. Karugromthi: Living ancestor. Kazad: Fortress, city. Kazak: War or battle. Kazhunki: Knight, cavalry, rider lit. Carried warrior. Khaz: An underground hall. Khazid: Town, village, settlement. Khazukan: Dwarfs literally hall-dwellers. Khrum: Wardrum. Klad: Armor. Klang: Parry, render useless in combat Klinka: Chisel. Klinkarhun: Common runes. Kol: Black stone, the color black or sombre. Konk: Gold which is ruddy in color; large bulbous nose. Krink: Bad back due to countinual stooping. Kro: Crow, raven, dark bird. Kruk: A seemingly promising vein of ore which gives out suddenly; an unexpected disappointment; a venture which comes to nothing. Krunk: Underground rockfall; a disaster! Krut: A discomforting disease contracted from mountain goats. Kruti: A Dwarf suffering from krut; a goatherd, an insult. Kuchungkuchung: Water pump, water wheel. Kulgur: The art of cooking Troll. Kuri: Meat stew boiled up by traveling Dwarves from whatever ingredients are on hand. Traditionally spiced with wild berries. Kuzz: Courage, heroic. Langk: Length, long. Lhune: Crescent, moonlight. Lok: Highly embellished or intricate; praise-worthy. Makaz: Weapon or tool. Maraz: Splitter, cleaver. Mhornar: Shadow. Mighdal: Fortifies outpost, blockhouse, gatehouse. Mingol: Tall watchtower built on lowland. Mizpal: Volcanic glass. Morgrim: Ancestor God of Engineers. Muzkhgrum: Blast furnace slag. Naggrund: An area of great upheaval, devastation or industry. Nai, Na, Nuf: No. Nar: Sunrise, east. Narga: Dispell, spelleater. Nathgar: Leather embroidered with gold thread in runic or animal designs. Nogarung: Drinking tankard made from the skull of a Troll. Norn: Barren land, area limited in resources. Nu: Now, at this time. Ogri: Orge. Ok: Cunning or skillful Okri: Craftsman-a common personal name. Ongrun: Mercenaries, allies. Onk: Comradely accretion of dirt and grime on company of Dwarves who have spent many days underground.

Or: I, me, myself. Ori: Work. Orrud: Red cloud, volcanic plume. Ragarin: Coarse and uncomfortable clothing made from Troll's hide. Rhun: Rune, word or power. Rhunki: Runesmith. Rik: King or lord. Rikkaz: Hammer. Rikkazen: Crush, to beat to a pulp, to turn to rubble. Rikkit: A small stone which falls on your head as you walk down a tunnel. Ril: Gold ore which shines brightly in rock. Rink: Command, to give orders, lead. Rinn: A Lady Dwarf: king's consort. Rorkaz: Informal shouting contest. Ruf: A large underground dome either natural or constructed. Runk: A one-sided fight; a sound thrashing. Rusk: A one-sided fight; a sound thrashing. Rutz: Slackness of bowels caused by drinking too much ale. Ruvalk: River, flood. Sar: May, could, might. Skaud: Song, loud, booming sound. Skarrenruf: The color bright blue, the day time sky. Skazi: Thief. Skof: A cold meal eaten underground. Skrat: To search for gold amongst rock debris or stream bed; scavenger; sparse living. Skrati: Poor prospector. Skree: Loose rock on mountain-side. Skruff: A scrawny beard; an outrageous insult! Skrund: To hew rock; to get stuck in! Skuf: A drunken brawl or skirmish. Slotch: The sodden mix of water, mud and pulverized stone found at the bottom of a mineworking. Smak: Punish physically. Smednir: Ancestor God of metalworking, jewelsmithing and artisans Stok: To hit or strike. Strol: Walk or travel leisurely. Stromez: Stream. Thag: Slay by act of treachery. Thaggoraki: Skaven, assassin, footpad. Thagi: Murderous traitor. Thindrongol: Secret vault in which ale or treasure is hidden. Thingaz: Dense forest. Thongli: Headband worn by warriors who have slain an orc or goblin. Thrag: Wound. Thragh: Tribute. Throng: Army; huge assembly of Dwarves, a clan. Throngrik: Clan elder. Thrund: A hand gun, gunpowder, explosion. Thrung: Shield shieldwall. Thrynaz: Rules, laws, code of honor. Thryng: Shrine of ancestors, temple. Thungi: Ancestor God of Runesmithing. Tiwaz: Rest, catching one's breath after hard labor, inn or boarding house. Trogg: A feast or heavy drinking bout. Troll: Troll. Trolldrengi: Trollslayer.

Tromm: Beard; respect due to age or experience. Tusk: Tooth. Ufdi: A Dwarf overfond of preening and decorating his beard; a vain Dwarf; a Dwarf who cannot be trusted to fight. Um: Them, those, these. Umanar: Roughly or approximately, and also indecision or vacillation. Umgak: Shoddy, poorly made. Umgi: Men. Un: And. Unbak: Break permanently. Unbaraki: An oathbreaker-there is nothing worse than a Dwarf estimation. Und: A watchpost carved into the mountain-side. Undi: Watcher, keeper, guard. Ungdrin Ankor: Underway, the ancient underground roadway of the Dwarves. Ungor: Cavern. Ungrim: A Dwarf who has not yet fulfilled an important oath; an untrustworthy Dwarf. Urbar: Trade. Urbaz: A trading post or market. Urk: Orc or enemy. Urkdrengi: Orcslayer. Ut: Us, we, oursleves. Urkk: Orc or enemy. Uzkul: Bones or death. Uzkular: Undead. Valaya: Ancestor Goddess of the hearth, healing and brewing. Valdahaz: Brewery. Varag: Mad dog, wolf. Varf: Wolf hound. Varn: Mountain lake. Varr: Sea. Varrkhulg: Chief of enemy tribes, and insult. Vengryn: Vengeance, revenge, justice. Vithang: Merchant, trader. Vlag: Lonely, desolate. Vongal: Raiding ban of men.. Vorkhul: Migrating horde of Orcs and Goblins. Vorn: A farm. Vulkhrund: Cavernous hiding place. Wan: On its own the start of a phrase Wan shows the phrase is a question. It's the Dwarf equivalent of a question mark. This is usually missed off where a standard Wan-question word is used instead (Wanrag, Wanrak, Wanrum). Wan-is also used immediately before another word to frame a question (Ek Wangit? 'are you going' literally 'you go?', Wandar 'is it good?' literally 'good?'). Wanaz: A disreputable Dwarf with an unkept beard; an insult. Wand: Magical rune staff. Wanrag: Where. Wanrak: When. Wattock: An unsuccessful Dwarf prospector; a down-at-heel Dwarf; an insult. Wazzok: A Dwarf who has exchanged gold or some other valuable item for something of little or no worth; a foolish or gullible Dwarf; an insult. Werit: A Dwarf who forgotten where he placed his tankard of ale; a state of befuddlement. Wulthrung: Payments, obligation, reward, money. Wutraz: Spear. Wutroth: Wood from ancient mountain oak. Wyr: White, snow, ice. Yar: Sunset, west.

Za: Kingship, lordship. Zagaz: Remembering, sage, history. Zak: An isolated hut in the mountains. Zaki: A crazed Dwarf who wanders in the mountains. Zan: Blood, the color red. Zanen: A bleeding, wound. Zangunaz: Vampire. Zank: Cleave, cut, divide. Zaraz: Gift. Zharr: Fire. Zhuf: Waterfall or rapidly flowing river. Zilfin: Windswept, breezy. Zon: Sun. Zorn: Upland plateau or high meadow. Zunthrum: Statues, monuments. Numbers: Ong: One Tuk: Two Dwe: Three I Swear to much: Four Sak: Five Siz: Six Set: Seven Odro: Eight Nuk: Nine Don: Ten Kantuz: One Hundred Millus: One Thousand A Rune Rite of Forging: Seek the mountain's heart. Take it on third moon's last day. Stoke the furnace at midnight. When the ore glows red. Hammer it before dawn. Seven times bend the white hot metal upon itself. Seven times sing the forging song. Quench in dragon's blood. Slake red hot in Karak Ungol's quicksilver. Do this in Haki the ancestor's name. Temper in Varn's water. Hone the blade upon a dragon's horn. On winter's third moon, carve the slaying rune. Anoint ith blood of troll, slain on Grungi's day. Bind the hilt with dragon's hide, with hornside inside. Haft the hilt with Azgal's gold, bind with Azul-metal. Mark the Orc's fang pommel with Grimnir's sign. Make the naming rite with ale upon Valaya's altar. The slaying of a troll by night will make the rune to glow. For a thousand years. Dwarf Runes: Magic pervades the Warhammer World and premeates all things. It flows into the material realm from beyond the Chaos Wastes as an ever-shifting flux of energy. This energy can be preceived and used by the races of the Warhammer World. Some races, such as Elves and Men, can use

magic to cast terrifying and destructive spells. Dwarves, on the other hand, are extremely resistant to magic and its influence, neither perceiving its presence nor feeling its effects. Dwarves have learned to use the power of magic in a different way, by incorporating it into magic items such as hammers, axes and armor. The Dwarves are the greatest and most successful of all races when it comes to making magic items. Indeed, many of the most powerful magic weapons used by Elves and Men were made by the Dwarves using their unique skills. A Dwarf who makes magic items is called a Runesmith. As Dwarves have no direct equivalent to a Human Wizard, he is a very important individual. The Runesmiths are an ancient guild of craftsmen, and for thousands of years they have preserved the secrets of how to forge magic runes and how to make weapons, armor and other items of incredible power. The Dwarf Language is written in runes, inscriptions specifically designed to be carved in stone or engraved in metal. Magic runes are different to ordinary runes in shape and detail, but much of what makes a rune magical is how and when it is engraved. Magic runes trap magical power-their presence binds and holds magic just as a nail holds together two pieces of timber. Most Dwarf runes can trap weak amounts of magic if engraved in a special way, but magic runes can entrap much greater power. Such runes include the awesome master runes and certain secret runes known only yo Runesmiths of the temples of Grungi, Grimnir, Valaya. Weapon Runes: Weapon runes are inscribed onto hammers or axes to turn them into runic weapons. Note although Dwarves may inscrbe runes on weapons, none of the bonuses/penalties for the original weapon apply. The fact that the weapon is magical supercedes any normal rules for such weapons. Master Rune of Snorri Spanglehelm (75 points) Runesmith to the High King in Karaz-a-Karak during the time of Kallon, Snorri wrought the exquiste war panoply of the High Kings for several generations. He fought in many battles and was renowned for his magnificent gromril armor as well as this unique weapon rune. Any blows struck by a weapon engraved with this rune will always hit. No roll to hit is necessary. Master Rune of Skalf Blackhammer (75 points) The legendary Runesmith Skalf forged many great hammers, and some say even Sigmar's hammer was his work. Many of his hammers were later held by Dwarf Lords as heirlooms of their kingship. Any weapon bearing this rune will automatically wound if it hits. Roll to hit as normal. No roll to wound is required. Use the character's Strength for the save modifier. Master Rune of Alaric The Mad (50 points) No one knows exactly what happened to Alaric the Mad after he forged the famous Runefangs of the Elector Counts of the Empire, though some say he wrought rune weapons for the Khan Queens of Kislev. This rune cancels an opponent's armor saving throw. When wounded by this weapon, the target is not allowed an armor saving throw of any kind. Master Rune of Flight (50 points) The original inscription for this rune did not specify that the hammer return to the wielder's hand, and many Dwarves found themselves knocked unconscious as their own weapons returned to them. This rune may only be inscribed onto a hammer. The hammer can be thrown at any model in sight and within 12", including models which cannot be singled out by normal shooting (like characters inside units). The target is automatically hit once if the two models were in close combat, then the hammer flies back into the wielder's hand. Master Rune of Breaking (50 points) First used during the War of Vengeance, this rune was inscribed upon King Gorrin's axe, which destoryed the High Elf General Elthior's enchanted blade. It has become a popularly

used rune ever since. If the Dwarf character scores a hit against and enemy with a magic weapon, the enemy's magic weapon is destroyed immediately. Multiple runes have no further effects. Master Rune of Swiftness (25 points) First struck by Thurgrom the Hermit, the last Runesmith to work in the Elf cities of the Old World. A weapon engraved with this rune always strikes first. In situations where both sides are entitled to strike first, the highest Initiative value has priority over the lower value. If Initiative are equal, both sides roll a D6 and the highest score strikes first. Rune of Might (25 points) Though short in stature, a Dwarf using a weapon inscribed with this rune is a powerful opponent. Double Strength against any enemies with Toughness 5 or more. Multiple runes have no further effect. Rune of Fury (25 points) The Dwarf wielding the weapon must concentrate upon an unavenged grudge, causing him to become enraged at the wrongs his race have endured. The wielder of this weapon adds +1 to his attack characteristic. Rune of Cleaving (20 points) Originally forged upon the axes of miners, enabling them to break through the hardest rock. The wielder of this weapon adds +1 to his Strength. Grudge Rune (15 points) Often an enemy's misdeeds are so great that a Dwarf will have this rune put upon his weapon and will not rest until his foe pays for his wrongs with blood. Nominate one enemy character or monster at the beginning of the game. The wielder may re-roll misses in close combat when attacking this enemy model. Multiple runes of this type have no additional effect (a dice can only be re-rolled once). Rune of Striking (10 points) The properites of this rune enable the weapon's wielder to find an enemy's weak points with ease. The wielder of this weapon may add +1 to his Weapon Skill. Rune of Speed (5 points) This rune enhances the Dwarves awareness. The wielder of this weapon adds +1 to his Initiative. Rune of Fire (5 points) A skilled Runesmith is able to inscribe this rune on the metal when it is still white hot from the forge. Flaming attacks. This can cause extra damage on some targets (such as Treemen, Mummies, etc). Armor Runes: These runes are the most powerful protective magic known to the Dwarves. They are inscribed on armor or shields. Any Dwarf character who has armor or a shield may be given up to three Armor runes. The maximum armor save that can be reached by combining runes, or runes and normal equipment, is 1+. Master Rune of Steel (75 points)

Once this rune has been forged, it binds metals together making them more resilient. Armor with this rune never rusts through weathering or age. Your opponent must re-roll successful rolls to wound against the character. Master Rune of Adamant (75 points) First forging on a shield as a gift for the flamboyant Dwarf Prince Gudii Twoboots, the shield was subsequently stolen by a lone bandit who stalked the Undgrim preying on small parties of travelers. This rune adds +1 to the Toughness of the character. Master Rune of Gromril (25 points) A small amount of pure gromril is the most important element used when inscribing this rune. If the sample is even slightly flawed, the rune will not work. Confers a 1+ armor save that cannot be improved in any way. Rune of Fortitude (50 points) It is rumored amongst those Dwarves who have worn this armor that it becomes sentient. Whilst no Runesmith has ever confirmed this rumor, they make no attempt to deny it either. This rune gives its bearer +1 Wound. Rune of Shielding (30 points) This rune was created during the War of Vengeance as a protection against the superior missile fire of the High Elves. The character has a 2+ Ward save against missile attacks only (including magic missile). Multiple runes have no further effect. Rune of Resistance (25 points) First used on the armor of the Thane of Karak Azgal by Gorgi Strongbeard, this rune is thought to have been lost amongst the ruined stronghold. Fortunately the Runesmith survived to replicate it. This rune allows the character to re-roll any failed armor saving throws. As you're only ever allowed one re-roll, multiples of this rune would have no effect. Rune of Iron (15 points) When iron is saturated with magic it is known as lodestone. This rune focuses the magnetic properties of lodestone to create magical armor. This rune confers a 6+ Ward save. Two of these runes confer a 5+ Ward save, but three canoot be taken, because only the Master Rune of Spite can bind such huge power. Rune of Stone (5 points) Dwarf tradition tells that the ancients were created from the rock of the first mountains, so the Rune of Stone is the first rune an apprentice learns. This rune adds +1 to the charactewr's armor save. The Rune of Stone is an exception to the normal Rule of Pride which forbids the same combination of runes to be used on several items, so a single Rune of Stone may be inscribed onto any character's armor. The Rune of Stone is also an exception in that it cannot be used more than once on the same item, so it is not possible to give two or three Runes of Stone to the same character. Runic Standards These runes may be inscribed on standards and offer the entire unit protection from psychology and magic. They may also be inscribed on the Battle Standard. Master runes are placed upon Battle Standards by the priests of the temples of Grungi, Grimnir and Valaya. Master Rune of Valaya (125 points) This ancient rune is said to have been invented at the dawn of time by Valaya the Ancestor

Goddess. The rune adds +2 to all attempts to dispel made by the Dwarf player. Any spell which remains in play is dispelled automatically at the start of the Magic phase if the target it affects is within 12" of the standard. For example, a wall of fire will be dispelled if it is within 12" of the standard. Master Rune of Stromni Redbeard (100 points) Stromni Redbeard made this rune in the days of Bael, Lord of Karak Azul. It was first carved onto the battle standard of Durgin, son of Grindol, son of Grimnir. The Battle Standard adds a further +1 to the combat result of all Dwarf units within 12" of it. Master Rune of Taunting (75 points one use only) This runes focuses the Dwarves ability to chant and gesticulate in such an offensive manner that they enrage the enemy beyond all self control. Nominate one enemy unit within 12" when it is time for the enemy to declare charges. The unit must be able to charge according to the normal rules. The enemy unit must either declare a charge against the unit with the banner, or must flee in the Compulsory Movement phase as if it had failed a panic test. This rune has no effect on units that are Immune to Psychology. Master Rune of Fear (75 points) The clan that takes this banner to battle give the illusion that they tower over the enemy. Dwarves are a styrong enough opponent in their own right but a unit of giant Dwarves is enough to scare even the strongest enemy. The unit causes fear exactly as described in the psychology rules in the Warhammer rulebook, page 81. A unit which causes fear is not affected by fear itself. Master Rune of Groth One-Eye (60 points) Groth One-Eye, famous for never backing down in an argument, struck this rune in the time of Kurgan Ironbeard when the greenskins were driven from the west. The unit is stubborn. Rune of Courage (50 points) Resonating with the power of duty and loyality, this rune further bolsters the resolve of Dwarves near it. The unit is Immune to Psychology. Rune of Kadrin (50 points) It is said that any who have undergone the pilgrimage to the shrine of Grimnir at Karak Kadrin will forever be blessed with good fortune. This rune glows bright red at the shrine and has been forged onto banners to bless them with good fortune too. The unit re-rolls all rolls of 1 to hit when shooting and in close combat. Multiple runes have no further effect. Rune of Slowness (50 points) This rune creates an almost physical barrier from the intractable nature of the Dwarves around it. Any foe charging the unit subtract D6" from their charge distance. If the unit fall to make conatct then all the usual rules for a failed charge apply. If multiples of this rune are used, the charge reduction is not added up, instead roll a D6 for each rune and choose the best score. Rune of Battle (25 points) Each of the Dwarf strongholds once had a banner with the Rune of Battle upon it. Many of these banners are now lost, but those that still remain in Dwarf hands are held aloft with pride. The unit adds a further +1 to its combat result score. A banner cannot have multiple Runes of Battle.

Rune of Sanctuary (20 points) This rune creates an area of anti-magic, using the defiance of the Dwarves to deflect mystical attacks. Each rune adds one dice to any dispel attempt against enemy spells cast against the unit. Engineer Runes Dward Cannons, Stone Throwers and Bolt Throwers may be inscribed with up to three of the Engineering Runes described below. The newfangled (to the Dwarves) Organ Gun, Flame Cannon and Gyrocopter may not have Engineering runes. Note that a shot from a war machine inscribed with Engineering runes counts as a magical attack. Master Rune of Defence (40 points) Dwveloped as a defensive measure during the War of Vengeance against the firepower of the High Elves, this rune has saved the lives of many crew. All incoming missiles (including magic missiles) hit the machine itself on a 1-5 and the crew only on a 6. Master Rune of Disguise (3) points) This rune magically distorts space around the machine, rendering it almost invisible. Until it moves or shoots, the machine cannot be seen, and cannot therefor be targeted with spells, shot at, or charged. Once the machine has moved/fired, or if an enemy unit moves to within 3" of it, the machine is revealed and can be seen and attacked as normal for the rest of the battle. Master Rune of Immolation (30 points) Devised to stop machines falling to the enemy, it is invoked only in desperate circumstances. The Dwarf player can cause the machine to explode at any time. If the machine explodes, place the large circular template on the machine. The machine is destroyed and all models under the template suffer a Strength 4 hit (models partially covered are hit on the roll of a 4+). Master Rune of Skewering (25 points) Elf mages helped create this before the War of the Beard. There's no mention of this in Dwarf records. This rune may only be inscribed on a Bolt Thrower. Once per game the Bolt Thrower hits on a 2+ with no modifiers. You must choose to use this rune before rolling to hit. Rune of Forging (35 points) When making a cannon, with each hammer blow an Engineer strikes, a Runesmith must recite a special litany. THis can take weeks to complete. Can only be placed on a cannon. Allows Dwarf player to re-roll Artillery dice when he rolls a Misfire. If you roll a Misfire when rolling Artillery dice either to hit or to bounce, then you can roll again. You are bound by the second roll even if it's another Misfire. Multiples have no effect. Rune of Reloading (30 points) After a cannon has proved its reliability, a Runesmith may deem it worthy of this rune. Cannon can shoot every turn, as long as there is at least one crewman left, even if the machine has rolled a 2-3 on the Misfire table in the previous turn. Multiples have no effect. Rune of Accuracy (25 points) Once a missile inscribed with this rune is launched, the rune glows, invoking the winds of magic to blow the stone in the right direction. May only be put on a Stone Thrower. The Dwarf player may re-roll the Scatter dice if he wishes, enabling the machine to shoot more accurately. If you re-roll the dice, you must accept the result of the second roll. Multiples have no effect.

Rune of Fortune (25 points) Discovered by Magnus Hammerson, who broke Runesmith tradition by selling it to the Engineers Guild. If a machine has the Rune of Fortune the palyer may re-roll a dice rolled on the machine's Misfire chart. For example, you can re-roll a result on the Cannon Misfire chart, or the Misfire chart for Stone Throwers. However, you must accept the result of the second dice rol. Multiples have no effect. Valiant Rune (25 points) Dwarf crews are famed for always defending their machines to the bitter end when attacked. As long as their war machine is not destroyed, the war machine crew are Unbreakable. Rune of Penetrating (25 points) This rune is inscribed onto the war machine's ammunition, making it more hard-hitting. The Strength of a hit from the war machine increases by +1. Flakkson's Rune of Seeking (25 points) This makes bolt Throwers deadly against flyers by magically directing the bolts to their target. Each rune adds +1 to the bolt thrower's to hit rolls against targets with the fly special ability. Stalwart Rune (20 points) Many Dwarves believe that a machine with this rune on it will last forever. The rune adds +1 to the crew's combat resolution score. Rune of Burning (5 points) Any ammunition shot by the machine bursts into flames as it hits its target. The war engine makes flaming attacks. Runic Talismans Talismanic runes can be inscribed upon amulets, belts, crowns, helms and other ornamental pieces, though they are most commonly found on rings. Every character is assumed to already have the relevant item in his possession. Master Rune of Kingship (100 points) Gotrek Starbreaker was the first great Dwarf Lord to have his crown adorned with this rune. Such a crown is a priceless artifact and the loss of one is dearly mourned as it absorbs the wisdom of its former master and passes this on to the next crown. This rune may only be engraved on the crown of a Dwarf Lord. The Lord and the unit he leads are stubborn and completely immune to fear and terror. Master Rune of Balance (50 points) Runesmiths/Runelords only Forged in the embers of a captured spell book, this rune hungers after maical power, stealing it from the enemy. During the enemy's Magic phase, this rune allows the Dwarf player to remove one dice from the opponent's pile of Power dice and add it to his own Dispel dice pile. Master Rune of Spellbinding (50 points) Runesmiths/Runelords only This rune allows a Runesmith to channel away the winds of magic with greater ease, thwarting the magical attacks of their foes. +1 to all attempts to dispel. Master Rune of Spite (45 points)

Created to protect the gates of Karaz-a-Karak, this rune has since been transferred onto other devices. This rune confers a 4+ Ward save. Master Rune of Dismay (40 points) One use only When a war horn with this rune is sounded, its uncanny voice causes all foes to tremble. The horn may be sounded once per battle, at the end of the Dwarf player's turn. All enemy units on the field which are not immune to Psychology must take a Leadership test. If they fail, they are so dismayed that they may not declare a charge in their following turn's Movement phase. Units that move in the compulsory Movement phase are not affected. Spelleater Rune (50 points) Runesmith/Runelords only-one use only This rune makes Runesmiths and Runelords almost invulnerable to magical attacks. This rune works exactly like a Rune of Spellbreaking (see below). Also, when the enemy spell is canceled, roll a dice. On the roll of a 4+ the enemy spell is lost and can't be cast again for the rest of the game. Rune of Fate (35 points) One use only A Dwarf possessing this rune will dream portents of the future the night before a battle, and he will know each blow that the enemy will strike at him. The model has a 2+ Ward save against the first wound suffered. Rune of Spellbreaking (25 points) Runesmiths/Runelords only-one use only Once a Runesmith has mastered the Rune of Warding he will learn this more complex rune. The rune may onlybe used once per battle, and will stop enemy magic instantly. The rune may be played to automatically dispel one enemy spell-there is no need to roll. This rune won't help against spells cast with irresistable Force. Rune of Luck (25 points) One use only First inscribed on a ring worn by Magnund Hammerson, who then went on to acquire a fortune through gambling. This rune allows its bearer to re-roll any single dice roll once during the game. Rune of Warding (20 points) Apprentice Runesmiths are taught the techniques necessary to create this rune early in their studies. This rune adds a dice to any attempt to dispel enemy spells cast against the character or the unit he is with. Rune of the Furneace (5 points) Designed to aid Dwarves working in the hot forges, this rune was soon adapted for use in battle. The bearer of this rune is immune to fire and cannot be affected by fire attacks (including magical fire, the flames of a Skaven warpfire thrower, etc). Dwarf Gods: Dwarf Ancestors and what they are the Ancestor's of: Grungni-Ancestor of Mining Grimminar- Ancestor of the Warrior Valaya-Ancestor of the Clan

Rukh-Ancestor of Metal Making Morngrim-Ancestor of War Mordred-Ancestor of Weapons Hrungnor-Ancestor of Death and Lost Causes Alfginnar-Ancestor of the Dwarven Stronghold Azram the Mighty- Ancestor of Stone and of the Heart of the Mountain Dwarf Timeline: Dwarven timeline dates are noted in Dwarven reckoning, which begins with the founding or Karaz-a-Karak as the Empire's capital, and Human reckoning, which begins with the founding of Sigmar's Empire. (-2000,-5000) Led by Grugni and the other Ancestor Gods, the Dwarves begin their slow colonization of the World's Edge Mountains. Vala-Azrilungol (Karak Eight Peaks) is founded. (-1650,-4650) Dwarf migration reaches the northern edge of the World's Edge Mountains. Some clans turnwestwards into Norsca, while others settle in the Mountains of Mourn. Most return to the Dwarfholds. Karak Azul and Karak Izril (Karak Azgal) founded. Grugni slays Urmskaladrak (Dwarven name for Kalganalos), the father of all dragons. (-1550,-4550) Karaz-a-Karak founded by Valaya. Grugni constructs the Throne of Power. High Elves establish fortress of Sith Rionnasc-namishathir. (Star-Gem of the Sea) at the mouth of the Reik. (1500,-4500) The coming of Chaos. Dwarf kindred to the northwest and northeast cut off from the World's Edge Mountains. Dwarves and High Elves meet for the first time and friendly relationship is established. (1420,-4420) Grimnir the Fearless dissappears into the Chaos Wastes. With the Defeat of Chaos, the Ancestor Gods Grugni and Valaya depart. (-1200,-4200) Establishment of Karak Drazh, Karak Kadrin and Karak Varn in the World's Edge Mountains. Isolated Norse Dwarves establishe their stronhold of Kraka Drak. Human tribes migrating from across the sea begin to settle the southern coast of the Old World. (-1119,-4119) Dwarf and High Elf armies drive the last remnants of Chaos from Old World. Trade between both races flourish. Dwarves establish many new strongholds (Karak Vlag, Karak Ungor, Zhufbar and Barak Varr). (0,-3000) The Golden Age begins as the Dwarf Empire (Karaz Ankor) is founded and Karaz-aKarak is established as its capital. (161,-2839) Pledge of friendship between Dwarves and High Elves. The High Elf Phoenix King Bel-Shanaar visits the newly founded Dwarf stronghold of Karaz-a-Karak where he is made welcome by the aged but venerable Snorri Whitebeard. The two great kings swear an oath of friendshipand, Malekith remains in Karaz-a-Karak as his king's ambassador. Dwarves build the sea wall (now called Vloedmuur) around Sith Rionnasc'namishathir. Elves and Dwarves prosper until the Elves are drawn back to Ulthuan where civil strife is tearing their land apart. (500,-2500) Alliance of Dwarves and High Elves allows taming of the Old World. Using the volcanic fires of Thunder Mountain (Karag Dron), Master Runesmith Kurgaz melts gromril to forge the Anvils of Doom. (712,-2188) After many centuries the Elves return once more to the Old World. The Dwarves learn of the civil war amongst the Elves and the threachery of Malekith. The two races begin to trade once more. Bargains are struck and Dwarf craftsmanship reaches new heights of ambition

and accomplishment. (955,-2005) The Great Betrayal mars relationship between Dwarves and High Elves. Dwarf traders are ambushed and murdered. Dwarf settlements are plundered and honest Dwarf traders cheated their gold. The Dwarves blame the Elves for the Dark Elf attacks by Dark Elf raiders, sent by Malekith to sow dissent between the two races. Many Elves are slain by Dwarf travels believing themselves under attack. The Elves reatiate in kind. Soon both sides muster armies. (1000.-2000) Human tribes arrive in the Old World. (1003,-1997) DWarf High King Gotrek Starbreaker sends an ambassador to Ulthuan in a last ditch attempt to prevent a war. The Dwarf demands for fair recompense for Elf hostilities are met with arrogance and the ambassador is thrown out. As a final insult, the Elves shave off the Dwarf ambassador's beard, and it is from this incident that the following war takes its Elf name of the War of the Beard. The Dwarves, not a people to take such matters lightly, refer to the conflict as the War Against the Elves, of War of Vengeance. (1026,-1974) Snorri Halfhand, son of Dwarf High King Gotrek Starbreaker, slain by High Elf King Caledor II. The evil dragon Tyrennus attacks the forges at Thunder Mountain, and slays Kurgaz in a mighty battle. During the devastation, the dragon destorys the forges, and kills many runesmiths. (1032,-1968) Dwarves defeat the Elves in the Battle of Oeragor in western Bretonnia. Morgrim Elfdoom, cousin of Snorri Halfhand, kills the Elf Lord Imladrik. (1050,-1950) Looking for ore, a wandering Dwarf clan settles in the human city of Tylos, between what are now called the Irrana Mountains and the Tilean Sea. (1052,-1948) The Elf city of Maraya on the northwest coast of Bretonnia is razed by Dwarves led by Morgrim Elfdoom. (1120,-1880) Humans begin construction of their great temple in Tylos. Dwarves are recruited as human gold helps to offset the poor quality of ore in the nearby mountains. Work goes on continuously for the next 100 years. Battle of Black Gulf ends in Dwarf victory as tiremes from Barak Varr outmanoeuvre the Elven fllet in the narrow water near the Dwarfhold. (1220,-1780) Temple of Tylos is completed and warpstone starts to rain down on the city from Morrslieb. Within a year, the city is overrun by swarms of giant rats and dissappears into the Blighted Marches. (1440, -1560) Battle of Three Towers at the gate of Tor Alessi. (now the Bretonnian port L'Anguille). Dwarves defeat Elves in cataclysmic battle. Phoenix King Caledor II slain by Dwarf KIng Gotrek Starbreaker, who takes the Phoenix Crown as compensation for Dark Elf attacks and the many wrong his poeple have suffered. (1491,-1509) Phoenix King Caradryal recalls High Elf armies from the Old World. Elf colonies see this as a betrayal. (1498,-1502) Sith Rionnasc'namishathir falls to the Dwarves after a long siege, and is razed to the ground. (1499,-1501) The War of Vengeance ends as High Elves withdraw from the Old World to battle resurgent Dark Elves. Dwarves are victorious but decimated. Athen-lorn, the Wood Elf capital, is founded in Loren Forest. (1500,-1500) Volcanic activity and earthquakes destroy the Underway, isolating the Dwarfholds

from one another. Dwarf armies return to Karaz Ankor. Goblin wars begin as Karak Ungor falls. (1501,-1499) Karak Varn, already flooded when eathquakes split the rock apart allowing water into the lower workings, is destroyed by Goblins and Skaven. (1502,-1498) Badlands overrun by greenskins. The Dwarf mines of Ekrund in the Dragonback Mountains fall to the Orcs after many months of heavy fighting by the vastly outnumbered Dwarves. Galleys from Barak Varr control the Black Gulf and repel further Orc attacks. The watchtowers of Mad Dog Pass are all either abandoned or fall to the greenskins. (1543,-1457) Mad Dog Pass and the gold mines of Gunbad fall to the greenskins. Gunbad was the largest and richest mine in the Wold's Edge Mountains and the unique sourse of Brynduraz or brightstone, a brilliant blue crystal rock much valued by Dwarf craftsmen. Dwarves from the Dragonback settle in the Vaults. (1613,-1387) Silver Road Wars begin. After 20 years, the mines of Mount Silverspear fall to the Orcs, led by Orc Warlord Uruk Grimfang. He further fortifies the mine and renemes it Mount Grimfang, which still bears the name to this day. (1638,-1362) The Dwarves abandon the mines and smaller settlements in the eastern World's Edge Mountains. Some clans from the fallen Dwarfholds settle in the Grey and Black Mountains. Karaz Ankor disowns them. Karak Izor is founded in the vaults. (1750,-1250) Troll Wars begin. The volcano Thunder Mountain erupts, driving Orcs. Goblins and Trolls northwards. South of Karaz-a-Karak, the settlementss of Valhorn and Budrikhorn are destroyed by rampaging Trolls. (1755,-1245) King Morgrim Blackbeard leads forces southwards. After several pitched battles, he drives away the Orcs and other evil creatures from the mountains north of Mad Dog Pass. Another Dwarf army led by Logazor Brightaxe heads east and suceeds in his recapturing of Mount Gunbad, but is forced to abandon the mines when Orc reinforcements arrive. Mount Silverspear is attacked by Dwarves, but the army is compelled to return westward when a horde of Trolls and Orges move towards Karaz-a-Karak. The horde is succesfully repulsed from the Dwarf captial and the bodies of many Trolls piled into a huge mound and burnt. Over the following 300 years, the Dwarves continue to re-establish their hold over and under the mountains. The Underway is parially cleared in places, and some minor settlements retaken. The tombs of ancestors destroyed in the Time os Woes are refurbished. (1815,-1185) Runesmith Kadrin Redmane leads an expedition which retakes Karak Varn, driving the Skaven down into the deepest Underhalls. Dwarves mine the rich vein of gromril discovered by Redmane. Karak Hirn established in the Black Mountains. (1864,-1136) Redmane is ambushed and killed beside the shores of Black Water while leading a mule train of gromril ore to the High KIng. Kadrin slays thirty-six massive Orcs before he sustains a mortal wound and fails. His last act is to throw his hammer far out into the Black Water to prevent it from falling into the hands of the enemy. After Kadrin's death, the Dwarves hold on Karak Varn becomes increasingly tenuous, until Orcs and Skaven force the Dwarves out of Karak Varn. Karak Norn is established in the Grey Mountains above Loren Forest. (2025,-975) Battle of a Thousand Woes. King Snorri Morgimson leads a massive Dwarf army northwards in an attempt to recapture Karak Ungor. The Dwarves clear their enemoes from the southern valley and gate, but are ambushed and driven back when they attempt to enter the stronghold itself. A few Dwarves, including Furgil, Snorri's youngest son, manages to infiltrate the lower halls, but they do not return. Skorrt leads the remnant of his army back to Karaz-a-Karak and dies shortly afterwards.

(2250,-750) Orc attacks on Karak Vlag fails. Karak Azgal is attacked by Goblins. They are repulsed after heavy fighting but go on to attack Karak Azul where they manage to gain a foothold in the western halls and lower regions for 10 years. The Dwarves continue to fight and slowly gain the upper hand, expelling the invaders only after many valiant defenders have been slain. (2260,-740) Karak Azul in finally purged of Goblins. (2280,-720) Dragon Skaladrak Incarnadine, later to spawn many powerful dragonkin, including Graug the Terrible, awakened from age-long slumber by ambitious Dwarf miners. (2299,-701) Miners stmble upon Skaven Tunnels deep under Karak Eight Peaks. Many Skaven are slain before the Dwarves discover the extent of the Skaven burrows. (2350,-650) Baragor, the first Slayer King, dedicates the great shrine of Grimnir in Karak Kadrin. He takes the name of Ungrim which means "Oath-bound" or "Unfulfilled oath". His descendants bear the name of this day. (2487,-513) Karak Eight Peaks falls to greenskins and Skaven. Over a period of more then 100 years the number of Goblins and Skaven had increased in and around the Dwarf Stronghold until even daily life becomes a struggle for survival. The Dwarves find themselves driven into an ever diminishing realm as one after another of the Eight Peaks falls to the invaders. The end comes suddenly with Skaven poisoning the wells and using noxious gases to choke the Dwarfves. King Lunn orders the tombs of kings of Old to be rune-sealed before the hold is abandoned.The King and remaining Dwarves vow to return and claim their own one day. (2500,-500) Rise of human city-states in the area around the southern end of the Apiccini Mountains. Dwarves of Barak Varr begin limited trading with humans. (2531,-469) Orcs destroy and abandon Karak Azgal. Karak Drazh falls to the Orcs and is renamed Black Crag. Except for Karak Azul, which is besieged but holds out, its number of defenders having been swollen by the influx of Dwarves from the lost strongholds, the lands between Mad Dog Pass and Fire Mountain are dominated by the Goblins. Many nurse bitter memories of defeat and humiliation. The High Kings of Karaz-a-Karak offers the Dwarves of the Black and Grey Mountains and the Vaults forgiveness if they return home. Some comply. (2580,-420) Karaz-a-Karak shaken by explosion as Dwarf engineers and alchemists discover gunpowder. (2620,-380) Orc Warlord Ugruk Beard Bearer leads the Orc hordes borthwards and attacks Karaz-a-Karak. Cannons used for the first time and the Orcs are driven back. Many samller settlements however are destroyed, countless mines are overwhelmed and many Dwarves die. The Dwarf High King, Logan Proudbeard, is captured by the Orcs and suffers great humiliation at the hands of his tormentors. Driven into a fury by the seizure of their King, the Dwarves, led by Gorazin Silverhorn, finally drive the Orcs away from the captial. One year later, the greenskins are beaten back at the Battle of Black Water. (2750,-250) Dwarves intensify trading with humans in lands that will become the Empire. Men are poor craftsmen and learn comparitively slowly. Dwarves encounter the Wood Elves of Loren with diastrous results. (2766,-234) Imperial Dwarves of Karaz Ankor re-establish cordial relationships with the Dwarves of the Black and Grey Mountains and the Vaults. Human armies from the southern Old Wolrd defeat Orc tribes along the Badlands coast of the Black Gulf. (2892,-108) Daled Strombreaker leads an expedition to recover the lost treasures of Karak Azgal.

(2985,-15) A trading convoy from Karaz-a-Karak is ambushed on its way to the Grey Mountains. King Kurgan Ironbeard is captured by the Orcs but is later rescued by Sigmar, Prince of the Unberogen tribe. This is to prove a fortuitous event, for the friendship between Sigmar and Kurgan Ironbeard will blossom into the great alliance between the races of Dwarves and Men. In gratitude of his rescue the Dwarf King gives Sigmar the rune hammer of Ghal Mharaz, an ancient heirloom of his clan. (2999,-1) Battle of Black Fire Pass. This battle is the culmination of a long campaign waged by the Dwarves and Sigmar. The greenskins are gradually driven from the lands west of the World's Edge Mountains and many Orcs and Goblins are destroyed or flee into the Mountains. At the Battle of Black Fire Pass a massive Orc army is destroyed by the combined forces of Sigmar and Kurgan Ironbeard, ending the domination of the land by the Orcs. The remaining greenskins are driven back into the Dark Lands. (3000, 0) Establishment of Sigmar's Empire. The creation of the Empire opens up a new age for the Dwarves. Many Dwarves travel to the Empire where they help the humans build their first cities. Dwarf masons, carpenters and smiths are much in demand, and Dwarf workmanship is everywhere admired. As the Empire grows the Dwarves and Men establish valuable trading contacts and prosperity returns once more to the Dwarf realms. Dwarf and Human armies keep the Orcs and Goblins at bay. Several expeditions are mounted to reclaim lost strongholds, but none come to anything. (3050, 50) Sigmar abdicates and disappears in the World's Edge Mountains. (3287, 287) Miners discover the nest of the dragon Mordrak in the mountains south of Karak Azul. (3500, 500) Intensive deforestation and cultivation in the Old World as humanity spreads. (3051, 501) Emperor Sigismund II the Conquerer annexes the Wasteland. With his armies, the Dwarves return to the old Elf Colony of Sith Rionnasc-namishshathir now known as Marienburg. (3657, 657) Thori Gundrikson discovers gromril in caves west of Black Water. Dwarves extract great quantuties of ore over the years. Engineers in Zhufbar develop hydraulically powered heavy machinery and pumps to increasure mining and smelting capacity. (3662, 662) Discovery of the Lost Heartstone of Aldin Getgold in the Dragonback Mountains by Dorin Heldour and Katalin Kandoom. (3665, 665) The mines near Black Water are destroyed by Skaven, but not until the gromril vein is almost tapped out. (3684, 684) Dorin and Katalin discover the Axe of Dain Deep in the ruins of Karak Varn and return to High King Finn Scoursecowl in Karaz-a-Karak. (3685, 685) Dorin Heldour brings the skin of the Dragon Fyrskar to the High KIng. Heganbor the runesmith fashions the skin into a cloak engraved with potent runes. (3742, 742) Dorin and Katalin rescue Elmador and Oldor Finnson from the dungeons of Black Crag, Elmador later becomes High King. (3892, 892) Destines to become the greatest and most longlived runesmith of his age. Kragg the Grimm forges his first rune under the eyes of his master Morek Furrowbrow. (4022, 1022) Karaz-aKarak engineers develop the steam engine. Escaping the King's forces, some of Bretonnia's nobility and their retinue carve out their own petty realms in the lands called Border Princes. Trade established between these Bretonnians and the Dwarves of Barak Varr.

(4032. 1032) Skalf Dragonslayer kills the dragon Graug the Terrible and claims the kingship of Karak Azgal. The Dwarves make no attempt to recapture the hold, which is infested with Goblins, Skaven, and other foul creatures. Instead, Skalf and descendants establish a town in the valley below the old entrance. (4111, 1111) Devastating outbreak of the Black Plague begins in the Empire and spreads throughout the Old World over the next 5 years. The Dwarves seal their Strongholds during the inital stages of the Plague, and fight of underground Skaven attacks. The Dwarves hold out despite many casualties. (4152, 1152) Engineers and shipwrights of Barak Varr unveil in the Empire their first steampowered, armor plated vessels (the Monitors). Inconclusive Electoral Council in the Empire starts the 200 year Age of Wars. The Dwarves proclaim their neutrality. (4350, 1350) A dwarf army from Karak Norn is decimated by the Wood Elves of Loren in the Battle of Pine Crags. (4360, 1360) Starting of the Imperial Civil War. All sides of conflict try to ally themselves with the Dwarves. Remembering their oath to Sigmar, the High King reiterates Dwarf neutrality. Dwarves refortify their holdings to preserve the disintegrating Empire from eatern invasions. (4420, 1420) Lands around Karak Kadrin are tormented by the great dragon Skaladrak Incarnadine for the next fifty years. Dragon Slayer Thorin the Crazed eliminiates the threat. (4547, 1547) Age of Three Emperors begins in Sigmar's Empire. Nuln Emperor signs treaty of friendship with the Dwarves. Still the Dwarves refuse to be dragged into the Empire's troubles. Emperors in Talabheim and Middleheim pledge their friendship with the Dwarves, neutralizing Nuln's reapproachment. (4550, 1550) Karaz-a-Karak's engineers and alchemists develop a naphtha-based flame cannon. (4681, 1681) Night of the Restless Dead. For one night throughout the Known World the dead stir and walk the Land, sowing terror and confusion. Entire villiages and towns are overrun and destroyed before the night of terror ends. Dwarf strongholds put the flame cannons to good use against the undead. (4707, 1707) The Orc Warlord Gorbad Ironclaw invades the Empire from Black Fire Pass and devastates the land. The Orc army disperses five years after Ironclaw dies. (4812, 1812) Led by Cragbrow clan, the engineers and shipwrights of Barak Varr unveil the first steam vessels, the "Ironclads". Arquebuses are introduced into the Imperial Dwarf Armory, Middleland forces lay siege to Middleheim and are repulsed with the aid of expatriate Dwarves. Dwarves seal Middleheim's Undercity. (4979, 1979) Magritta of Nuln becomes the last elected Empress for 400 years. "Wizard's War" begins in Middleheim and spreads throughout the Empire. Dwarf witch hunters join their human counterparts in hunting daemonologists and necromancers. Grand Theogonist of Sigmar refuses to acknowledge election of Magritta and Imperial system is effectively ended as central authority completely collapses for the next 320 years. (4991, 1991) Gunpowder and cannons find their way into Imperial Armories. (1510, 2010) Wars of the Vampire Counts begin with devastation of Ostermark by Vlad Von Carstein, first of the notorious Vampire Counts of Sylvania. Battle of Hunger Wood: Imperial and expartriate Dwarves take part in the Night Siege of Castle Tempelhof and the defeat of Vampire

Contess Emmanuelle. (5205, 2205) Battle of Black Falls ends in rout of Goblin army by Dwarfes after High King Alrik and Goblin Warlord Gorkil Eye Gouger are slain while fighting along the rim of the Black Falls. The Goblin Warlord is mortally wounded by the Dwarf, but pulls his adversary to his doom over the falls. The Goblin army routed into the icy water and most are swept over the falls and perish with their leader. Imperial Dwarves learn of the corruption of their eastern kin, now the Chaos Dwarves. Karaz-a-Karak engineers develop the gyrocopter. Smaller, more maneuvrable gunboats are introduced by Barak Varr engineers to patrol parts of the Blood and Skull River basins which are inaccessuble to the older and larger Monitor class-ship. (5301, 2301) Chaos forces descend upon Praag and Northern Kislev. Karak Vlag disappears in the intial stages of the Chaos Incursion. Karaz-a-Karak is attacked, but holds out. (5302, 2302) Praag falls. Dwarf troops join the Tsar's army within the city of Kislev and defend the besieged city. Together with an Imperial army led by Magnus the Pious, the Dwarves are instrumental in lifting the siege and defeating Chaos. (5303, 2303) In the final battle of Groved Wood, the Imperial Dwarves from Karaz Ankor are reunited with ther Norse Dwarves. The High King invites the Norse Dwarf Great King of Kraka Drak to join the Day of Remembrance festivites at Karaz-a-Karak. (5321, 2321) Battle of Bloodwater Sound ends with Dwarf Ironclads from Barak Varr defeating a Skaven Fleet in the Black Gulf. (5350, 2350) Heavily mutated Dwarves are discovered in the Northern World's Edge Mountains. (5420, 2420) The Goblin Warlord Grom the Paunch defeats a Dwarf army in the Battle of Iron Gate. He then commences a four-year rampage throughout the Empire. (5462, 2462) Engineers' Guildhall in Karaz-a-Karak is destroyed by the pressure vessel experiments of Burlok Damminson and Sven Hasselfriesan. (5473, 2473) Belegar, a descendant of King Lunn, declares himself King of Karak Eight Peaks having arrived there and set up camp on the site of the old citadel. What had begun as a treasure expedition turns into an attempt to recolonize the hold. The Dwarves descend into the depths and recover many treasures, but are hopelessly outnumbered and live in a state of permanent siege. (5488, 2488) Engineer Mungrun Steelhammer of Barak Varr introduces the Nautilus submersible and clockwork torpedoes into the Dwarf Navy. (5498, 2498) Battle of Jaws. Orc army is defeated at west end of Mad Dog Pass by and army of Dwarves led by Duregar. Ambushed once more at the East Gate of Karak Eight Peaks, the Dwarf army fights its way in despite many losses. Engineer Hengist Cragbrow of Barak Varr launches the large and powerful Dreadnought class of warship. (5500, 2500) Incursion of Chaos grow increasingly active. (5503, 2503) Orcs inavde Karak Azul, loot the Dwarfhold and capture many of King Kazador's family. They leave his son, Kazril, shaved and nailed to the throne as a final insult. Orcs escape with captives to Black Crag. (5510, 2510) Battle of Broken Leg Gully. After ten years of constant raiding and pilliaging, the Orc Warlord Gnashrak is defeated by King Ungrim Ironfist of Karak Kadrin. Battle of Iron Peak: During the first day after Geheimnisnacht, an Orc and Goblin army commanded by Gorblum the Magnificent attacks the villiage Eisenhof after having attacked two Dwarven mines. Clanleader

Thorgrim Greybeard gathers his forces and attacks this army. The Dwarven forces are annihilated. Thorgrim escapes. (see WD #159) (5519, 2519) Battle of a Hundred Cannons. A Goblin horde assaults Zhufbar without warning but fails to breach the defenses. An army from Karaz-a-Karak rapidly marches to the beleaguered hold's aid. The Goblins are quickly dispersed but it soon becomes evident that the Goblins have actually been fleeing a greater threat. Within weeks a powerful Ogre army bypasses Karak Kadrin and marches on the Moot. The armies of Karaz-a-Karak, Karak Kadrin and Zhufbar inite under High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer and give battle as the Ogres ford the River Aver. Just as the Ogres turn at bay, their forces divided by the river, an army of Men from Nuln arrive on the scene. Caught between the Dwarves and Men, the Ogre ranks are swept by the Largest concentration of artillery yet seen in the Old World and utterly destroyed. (5523, 2523) The Storm of Chaos erupts. Every pass through the World's Edge Mountains becomes a battlefield and every throng is mustered for war. Under the Leadership of King Thorgrim, the Dwarves honor their allieances and defend their holds. While Orc tribes flock to Ironhide's banner, High King Thorgrim commands King Alrik Ranulfsson to clear the Silver Road of Goblins and attack Mount Gunbad. Without the fighting power of the Orcs to oppose him, King Alrik settles many grudges with the Goblins and recovers many long-lost treasures. A Brief History of the High Kings Of the Dwarven Realm: The Golden Age (-3000, -2000) Snorri Whitebeard reigned -4420 to -2800 Undoubtedly the first High King after the departure of the Ancestor Gods. His reign sees the Golden Age of the Dwarf Empire, and the establishment of friendly relations and trade agreements with the Elves of Ulthuan. It was also under Snorri's rule that the Dwarves built the seawall (now called Vloedmuur) around the Elf colony of Sith Rionnasc'namishathir (Marienburg). Thorik Snorrisson reigned -2800 to -2572 Gorim Ironhammer reigned -2572 to -2400 Vikram Gorimsson reigned -2400 to -2286 Kallon Vikramsson reigned -2286 to -2146 Lived during the Golden age of the Dwarf Empire. Gurni Hammerfist reigned -2146 to -2050 The Age of the War (-2000 to 0) Gotrek Starbreaker reigned -2050 to -1502 The High King during the War of Vengeance. His attempts to avert the war were rejected by Phoenix King Caledor the Second's pride. Gotrek's longevity is due to the desire to avenge the affront inflicted by the Elves. Gotrek killed Caledor the Second and took the Phoenix Crown to Karaz-a-Karak. High KIng Gotrek died as the last Elf colony burned to the ground, at the ripe old age of 655 years.

Snorri Halfhand Son of Gotrek Starbreaker, who would succeeded his father to the throne, but was slain in single combat by Caledor the Second in -1974 I.C. His cousin Morgrim became heir. Morgrim "Elgidum" Ironhand reigned -1502 to 1460 Nephew of Gotrek Starbreaker, Morgrim became High King after Gotrek Starbreaker dies. He distinguished himself during the War of Vengeance by killing Imladrik, brother of Caledor the Second, in the Battle of Oeragor, in -1968. Morgrim also entered Tor Alessi at the side of Gotrek in -1502. He ascended to the throne at a very old age, which explains the short duration of his reign. It was his misfortune as High King that the first of the Dwarfholds and mines fell to the Greenskins. The massive gates of Karaz-a-Karak were erected during his watch. Morgrim Blackbeard reigned -1460 to 1220 He tried to rectify the situation after the catastrophes of the preceding reign, but without success. His attempts to retake Mount Gunbad and Silverspear in -1245 were celebrated, in spite of their failure. It was in the early years of his reign, that the veteran regiment of Hammerers were created. In -1362, Morgrim denounced the Dwarves who settle in the Black Mountains and the Vaults and created a fissure in the relations with these Dwarfholds. Dwinbar Morgrimsson reigned -1220 to -1140 Kadrin Redmane attempys to retake Karak Varn in -1185. Zamnil Irongrip reigned -1140 to -1052 Kadrin Redmane is slain by Orcs and Dwarves forced out of Karak Varn in -1136. Yorri Stormcrow reigned -1052 to -975 Maldrek Stoneanvil reigned -975 to -843 Olin Maldreksson reigned -843 to -645 Enik Olinsson reigned -645 to -512 Kazgar Eniksson reigned -512 to -441 Offered the Dwarves of Black and Grey Mountains and the Vaults forgiveness if they return home. Logan Proudbeard reigned -441 to -376 Under his reign, Greenskins renew their attacks against the Dwarf capital. Alchemists in Karaz-aKarak discover gunpowder in -420. Logan is captured in -380 and released the following year. Cannons are used at Karaz-a-Karak to drive back the Orcs. Gundrun Blueaxe reigned -376 to -252

Hagred Gundrunson reigned -252 to -168 Under his reign, Dwarves intensify trade with the Humans. Norgrim Sharpedge reigned -168 to -102 The Age of the Heroes (0 to 1500) Kurgan Ironbeard reigned -102 to 215 Captured by the Orcs, and then delivered by Sigmar. Kurgan bestows Ghal Maraz to Sigmar in gratitude for his rescue. Thus began the long friendship and alliance between the Dwarves. Together, the Men and Dwarves drive out the Orcs of the Empire and destroyed their armies at the Battle of Black Fire Pass. A period of relative peace ensued for the Dwarfholds of Karaz Ankor and a return of prosperity. Kurgan Ironbeard was still High King at the time of the disappearance of Sigmar. Grom Kurgansson reigned 215 to 290 Rorek Scarface reigned 290 to 402 Skag Ironhelm reigned 402 to 498 Duregar Giftgiver reigned 498 to 604 Sent envoys with a gift of a runic hammer to Emperor Sigismund the Conqueror. Finn Sourscowl reigned 604 to 755 Under his reign, Dorin Heldour and katalin Kandoom found a series of old artifacts lost at the time of the bag of fortresses. Elmador Finsson reigned 755 to 920 Son of Finn Sourscowl, he was captured by the Orcs with his brother Oldor. Dorin Heldour and Katalin Kandoom freed him from the keeps of Black Crag in 742. Mordin Axehelm reigned 920 to 995 Snorri Mordinson reigned 995 to 1112 Dwarf engineers invent steam engines in 1022 I.C. The High King died of the plague. Gorim Snorrison reigned 1112 to 1252 Thungni Oath-Holder reigned 1252 to 1368 Remembering their oath to Sigmar, the High KIng reierated the Dwarf neutraility with respect to the Imperial Civil War.

Hakon Orcbane reigned 1368 to 1440 Grundhar Bronze Bandages reigned 1440 to 1532 Under his reign, Karaz-a-Karak was beseiged once again. The siege was relieved by the timely intervention of Bretonnian Errant Knights. Grundhar gave a large Gromril Helm to their leader in graditude (around 1452). 1500 to Recent Hargrem Greybeard reigned 1532 to 1630 Gottri Strongwill reigned 1630 to 1707 Night of the Restless Dead (1681) finds the Dwarves putting their new flame cannons to good use. New Orc invasion (1707) carries into the Empire through Balck Fire Pass. Kendrak Gottrison reigned 1707 to 1810 Ulther Kendrakson reigned 1810 to 1970 Bardin Ultherson reigned 1879 to 1972 Grindol Mardison reigned 1972 to 2010 Wizard's War breaks out throughout the Empire and beyond (1979) and the Wars against the Vampire Counts begin (2010). Alrik Deathdealer reigned 2010 to 2205 Alrik helped the Empire in its fight against the Vampire Counts of Sylvania. Alrik died at the time of the Battle of the Black Falls, having fallen in the Falls along with his foe the Goblin Warlord Gorkil Eye Gouger. Balun Alriksson reigned 2205 to 2303 Balun died a little after the incursion of the Chaos in 2303 begun. It is his son Thorgrim Grudgebearer who ascened the throne of Karaz-a-Karak and brought assistance to Kislev. Thorgrim Grudgebearer reigned 2303 to present The son of the previous High King, Thorgrim led the defence of Karaz-a-Karak and destroyed the besiging forces of Chaos. He then sent reinforcements to Kislev. Upon his ascension, Thorgrim swore to settle all grudges against Dwarves listed in the Book of Grudges. Dwarf Realms: The Dwarves live deep beneath the mountains in mines and halls carved by their own hands from solid rock. In ages past the Dwarves prospered and their settlements grew into flourishing underground cities. The most important of these were built in the World's Edge Mountains, the long chain of mountains that runs from the north of the Old World far into the Southlands. In ancient times this Dwarf Empire was connected by underground roadways as broad as three

fully-laden wagons. Dwarf balads tell of the wealth of those days, of gold and silver dug from the mountains, of fabulous jewels won from the rock, and of the percious stones, marble, onyx and jade, that adorned the glittering halls of the Dwarf Kings. Decline and Fall: Sadly those days are long gone, though they are recalled fondly by the Dwarf bards in the stone halls of the strongholds that still remain. The sagas reveal little about the fall of the Dwarf Empire. but clearly their cities succumbed one by one to the Goblins from above and the Skaven from below. Today only a fraction of the Dwarves' old underground empire remains. The Dwarves are few and their wealth is much reduced compared to former times. Still, they remain a proud and defiant people, as grim as the mountains and as hard as the rock itself! War of the Beard: The War of the Beard (referred to by the Dwarves as the War of Vengeance or Great Betrayal) was a great conflict fought from around -1997 I.C. to -1560 (though some battles occurred later, notibly the Siege of Sith Rionnasc'namishashir in 1502) on the Imperial Calender betweenthe proud High Elves and the unforgiving Dwarves. While the war itself was orchestrated by the Witch-King Malekith, both the Asur and Dawi hold much of the blame for the tragedy. The whole affair was a great travesty and served only to weaken each race-neither the Dwarves nor the High Elves have ever recovered. After the war, the Asur who stayed in the Old World became the Asrai or Wood Elves. Prelude: Long before The Empire, Sigmar or Gilles Le Breton, during their Age of Discovery, the High Elves allied themselves with many races and perhaps the most powerful of these the Dwarves. Although a simple people when the Asur first met them, they were well versed in the secrets of the anicent runes and made the finest weapons in the world, which the mightest Archmages of the Asur. The Elves taught the Dwarves how to enchant items on their own and of arts, such as literature and poetry. Trade between the races flourished, Elven sik and steel was much valued by the Dwai and Dwarf clockwork toys were the delight of Elven children. The fortress of Sith Rionnasc'namishathir was established at the mouth of what is now the River Reik (present day Marienburg in the Wasteland). Other colonies, such as the mighty city of Tor Alessi (present day L'Anguille in Bretonnia) were also founded. In the Age of Strife and tragic civil war called the Sundering, the Phoenix King Caledor the Conquerer steered the High Elves through their time of turbulence, after the murder of the previous King Bel Shannar by Malekith, the son of the first King Aenarion. However as long as Malekith and his followers still lived there would be no peace. After his defeat at the Marches of Maledor and the exile of the Dark Elves to the cold land of Naggaroth, the Witch King hatched a plan. In the Imperial Year -2005 I.C. his warriors attacked a caravan of Dwarves, stole their weapons and massarced those defending it, Malekith created a spark that would become an inferno. The Failure of Diplomacy: The High King Gotrek Starbreaker was furious when he heard of the attack; unaware of the civil war that had just taken place within Ulthuan he assumed that the Elves were still all of one race and that the High Elves hence responsible. The concept of a warbetween kin at the time incomprehensible to the Dwarf race. Gotrek sent a message to the Elves demanding to know the reason for the attack and that he be compensated. The reply was immediate and unwavering, if Gotrek wanted recompense he should come to Lothern, the High Elf capital; and beg for it. Gotrek was insulted and in -1997 I.C. sent an envoy to the Asur demanding both recompence, and explanation and an apology. When the envoy arrived the Elves realized how serious the claim was, and at first the Asur welcomed him. However so enraged by the attack on the caravan was the envoy that he refused to hold his temper in check. Swearing by his beard that he would not leave until justice was served, the envoy raised his axe in front of the current Phoenix King, Caledor II (the foolish son of Caledor the Conquerer), and

started yelling. This was the final straw for the Asur. According to Elven law, they were allowed to kill himwhere he stood for threatening the Phoenix King but instead they humiliated him by shaving his beard and casting him out of Ulthuan, gravely insulting the envoy, the High King and the whole Dwarf race by extension. The ambassador became a Slayer due to the shame the incident placed upon him. War of the Beard: If Gotrek was angry when he heard about the attack on the caravan then his blood boiled when the envoy returned with his beard shaven and without an apology from the Asur. Dawi armies marched to war, drawing troops from the far ends of their empire, Karak Ankor. Ironbreakers of Karak-a-Karak marched with Longbeards of Karak Azgul, Slayers from Karak Kadrin marched with Hammerers of Ekrund. Upon reaching Tor Alessi, Gotrek made an oath that he would extract recompense either in gold or blood from the High Elves or he would shave his beard. With a desire to avenge to their injured pride, the Dwarves were not about to let their King break his promise. Upon hearing of the assault on Tor Alessi, Caledor was outraged and ordered his generals to send an enormous fleet to relieve the city. The force that left Ulthuan was truly huge, dwarfing any navy before or since, and though the Council of Princes was worried that this would leave their lands undefended, Caledor was determined. Elves and Dwarves fought bitterly until -1947 I.C. Caledor slew the Dwarf Prince Snorri Halfhand after Snorri challenged him to single combat. Being tired of slaughter, and wishing to reduce their losses, the Elves then retreated. Seeking revenge for his cousin's death was Morgrim Halfhand, and giving in to their need to avenge their pride the Dawi pursued the Elves. For two days the Asur retreated, hoping that the Dawi would eventually come to their senses and stop the fruitlesswar. Alas the Dawi wanted blood and would not stop until they had bathed in it. Tired of running the Asur decided to stand and fight. Elven bows and Dwarven crossbows exchanged shots while the glittering line of Asur and the stonewall of Dawi advanced, this was the Battle of Oeragor (1968 I.C.). When the lines met, rivers of blood flowed and hundreds of each side lost their lives until Lord Imladrik, the pince commanding the High Elf main army, was slain in single combat by Morgrim and the elves retreated once again, this time leaderless. Morgrim was crowned a hero and he continued to rampage the Elven towns and cities across the Old World, notably razing the city of Athel Maraya in -1948 I.C. The heroes Lord Salendor of Tor Achare and Brok Stonefist of Karak Azgul, who had previously fought many grat battles, eventually lost both their lives in the doomed city, crushed by the burning crumbling towers. The Dwarves were quite any foe the Elves had ever faced, refusing to give up even when doom or defeat was assured for them. Unlike Chaos hordes of Aenarion's time, the Dawi used advanced military strategy and were highly disciplined. The war became a stalemate, the mountain fortresses of the Dwarves were unassailable and the Dawi laid siege to Tor Alessi thirteen times, but could not seem to penetrate the city's walls. In retaliation of the envoy having his beard cut, the Dwarves chopped down entire virgin forests to spite the Elves. The war would continue for almost 450 years. In the mists of time, before the rise of Man, a tragic war was fought between Dwarves and the Elves, two powerful races at the pinnacle of their strength. This was a time of legendary acts and powerful magic, and countless heroes rose and fell over the course of the War of the Vengeance. Set against the backdrop of this epic conflict, the Dwarf legend Brok Stonefist and the masterful Elven Lord Salendor fought each other numerous times during this bitter war, each one refusing to back down from the other. Thousands of years later, in these days of decline for both the Dwarves and the High Elves, they would be regarded as two of the mightiest warriors in the known world, but their own time there were many legendary individualsjst as powerful as they were. Thousands of lives were lost in the brutal and uncompromising clashes between Brok and Salendor, and they are remembered by their descendants with fierce pride. Brok Stonefist of Karak Azgul was a mighty warrior, ancient even at the time of the War of the Beard, He had led his clansmen to countless victories early in the tragic conflict and became mush hated and feared by the Elves who fought his armies. Brok rose to his position from humble beginnings, spending several decades as a messenger, running communications along the ancient tunnels connecting the various Dwarf holds that in times of old were still in use. He knew the tunnel layouts like no other living Dwarf and seemed to have a mental map of everywhaere he

had traveled. As his beard grew longer and decade upon decade rolled past, he was sought out by many Thanes and Lords to lead mining expeditions into unknown territory and soon became renowned for his subterranean navigational skills. When the war broke out against the Elves of Ulthuan. Brok was called upon to guide forces from Karak Azgul beneath the plains and attack the Elves from behind their lines. On one such mission, Elven arrows struck down the Thane leading the army, and Elven cavalry encircled the Dwarves, who then formed a defensive shield wall. Seizing the initiative, Brok screamed a warcry and stormed out of the shield wall. Without thinking, the Dwarf warriors leapt after him, a counterattack that shocked the Elves who were hacked down before theu could react. With Brok at the forefront, the Dwarves managed to puch their way through the Elf line and make a fighting retreat back to their tunnels. Once there, the Dwarves looked to Brok for leadership, and reluctantly he accepted. That night Brok led the sorely depleted Dwarf force through tunnels that had not been in use for hundreds of years and directed the miners to excavate to the surface. The tunnels came up in an undefended area, and Brok led the Dwarves ona savage surprise attack against the same Elf army they had fought earlier that day, crushing them completely. From that day forth, Brok was greatly respected by those who followed him. He was given the honorary title of Ungdrin Ankor Rik, Lord of the Tunnels, and over the next hundred years became one of the most accomplished of all the Dwarf generals in the War of Vengeance. He led the Dwarves of Karak Azgul to countless victories and earned a fearsome reputation amongst the Elves. They named him Arhain-tosaith which translates roughly as 'the shadowy one of the earth'. It was only when Brok Stonefist faced the armies of Lord Salendor of Tor Achare, who would become his ultimate nemesis, that he was ever matched on the field of battle. Salendor was a young and brilliant Elf Lord who led his troops with a mastery far beyond his youth, having been alive barely two centuries. The young Salendor was a calculating tactician and a skillful master of the blade, who was also versed in the magic arts. His cool demeanor and quick strategic mind served him well against Brok, and the two quickly became fierce rivals. Whenever the armies of Karak Azgul appeared behind the forces of Salendor he managed to counter the attack, and every ploy Brok attempted was efficiently responded to the young Elf. At the Battle of Blind River, Brok attaempted to undermine the ground beneath the feet of Salendor's army that was marching through the night. Rumored to have been gifted with mystical prescience. Salendor realized the ruse at the last moment. He sent a troop of Ellyrian Reavers galloping over the traps and the ground collapsed behind them as they raced through the night. When the dust-covered Dwarves launched their attack from the subterranean tunnels, they found the Elves waiting for them with spear and bow. Over the next hundred years, Brok and Salendor clashed numerous times in the midst of bitter combat, and the meeting of these two mighty heroes was always an epic confrontation that could last hours on end. Neither foe could overcome the other, and niether backed down an inch in these contests. Brok was as strong as the mountains themselves, and it is said that no Elf ever moved as swiftly as Salendor, as if he knew every move that his foe was about to make even before his enemy did. The pair sought each other out in battle whenever possible, hacking their way through countless enemies to face each other in single combat. It was the battle of Athel Maraya that the pair had their final confrontation. Several Dwarf armies, including a strike force led by Brok, besieged the doomed Elf city. Miners guided by Brok tunneled beneath the fair city walls, undermining them and causing several wall sections to collapse, creating breaches that the Dwarves marched through. Dragons circled the elegant towers, descending in devastating attack through the city streets, incinerating hundreds of Dwarves who were cooked inside their red-hot armor. Brok and his battle-seasoned troops came to the surface in the middle of the city, striking with brilliant timing to concide with the fall of the walls, and confusion filled the streets. The Dwarves fought fircely for every inch of ground they gained, suffering horrendous casualties from archers within the towering buildings, dragon-fire and desperate Elf militia who were fighting to protect their own homes and families. Dwarves bearing torches and flaming brands lit fires, which combined with the dragon-fire, resulted in a rapidly spreading inferno, turning the city into a deadly furnace. Both sides of the battle were forced to abandon the city or face being engulfed within it. Just as these fires took hold of the center of the city, Brok came face to face with Salendor for the final time. As the city burned down around them, the two warriors weaved a deadly dance of sword and axe, ignoring

the entreaties of their comrades to flee the city. Elegant bridges toppled and delicate towers collapsed, raining a fiery shower of debris around the heads of the combatants, but still they fought on, ignoring all but the movement of their foe. Eventually, the Dwarves and the Elves were forced to flee the intense heat, leaving the two heroes battling until the city was completely engulfed. Thus the two rivals are remembered, neither willing to back down from the fight, and the flaming city falling around them until they were consumed. Amongst the Elves, it is said that even after death, the two rivals continue to wage their war, battling each other through the millennia as ghostly shades. Amongst the Dwarves of Karak Azgul, Brok is revered as the pinnacle of Dwarfishness, personifying the stubborn fighting spirit of his people. Both will live on in memory as two of the most brave and uncompromising warriors of their people. Morgrim Elgidum, the Elfdoom, steeped up onto the large, icy rock. His nail-studded boots sounded sharply in the silence of the cold, crisp air. Unconsciously stroking his full beard, he gazed over the edge of the precipice. Through the slowly drifting clouds he could just make out tiny figures on the plains far below. His cold, grey eyes narrowed, and he felt the slow-burning rage inside him flare. The news had arrived that morning that the High King's son, the proud warrior Snorri Halfhand, had been slain; cut down dishonorably by the black-hearted Elven King Caledor. Snorri was Morgrim's young cousin, and the pair had fought and feasted at each other's side on many occasions. Tomorrow, Morgrim and his stalwart kin would face the treacherous Elves on the plains and crush them utterly. They would much relentlessly through the night, descending along the twisting mountain paths through the darkness, their desire for vengeance pushing them ever onwards. Turning, the proud Dwarf Lord surveyed hiskinsmen as they marched down through the deepening chasm, some fifty feet from his position. The steady beat of hard boots on stone and deep resounding chanting echoed up towards him as darkness slowly descended. Smiling grimly to himself, Morgrim stepped off the rock, sinking up to his knees in the snow that had begun to fall again, and began to work his way back to join his comrades. A deafening roar suddenly echoed up from behind him, and Morgrim swung around, pulling the heavy, rune-encrusted axe from his back. Standing looking over the cliff face, the hellish noise got louder until, with a tremendous burst of air an immense blue dragon screamed up over the precipice from below. Squinting his eyes against the biting cold wind, Morgrim snarled up at the immeanse creature as it shot into the sky overhead. An armored figure rode upon the back of the proud creature and, seeing Morgrim below, gestured towards him with an ornate lance. The dragon twisted effortlessly through the air, coiling lithely overhead to face the lone Dwarf. It plummeted from the sky, dropping through the falling snow towards Morgrim, immense talons poised to strike and the Dragon Prince's lance aimed squarely at his chest. A flurry of crossbow bolts streaked through the air towards the diving creature, ricocheting harmlessly off its gleaming blue scales. Huge, slitted eyes filled with intelligence and cunning were locked on the Dwarf Lord. As it neared, it reared up so as to pass over the Dwarf, and several black-shafted bolts punched into its soft underbelly. It screeched, more in shock than actual pain, and veered to the left. The skillful Dragon Prince compensated for this sudden movement, changing the angle of his lance, and struck out at Morgrim as the dragon swept overhead. Holding his double-headed axe tightly in steady hands, Morgrim slashed it across his body with astounding swiftness, shattering the lance that descended towards him. Runes on the axe-haft left a glowing trail of light through the air. With a lightning follow-up move, Morgrim whipped the axe over his head, cutting a deep gouge along the dragon's hind leg as it rolled through the air above him. Although he could hear the shouts of his comrades, who were running heavily through the snow to reach him, the grim Dwarf knew they would not arrive in time to aid him. The dragon rose into into the air, turning gracefully before descending towards him once more. Pulling up sharply just before the Dwarf Lord, the creature opened its mouth wide, its jaw overextending and its chest expanding with a sharp intake of air. A burst of roaring flame billowed out of the serpentine maw, rolling over Morgrim. Steam rose in a great hissing cloud as snow and ice melted under the furnace, but the grim figure remained untouched. Flames gushed around him harmlessly as ancient runes on his armor and helmet glowed brightly.

Frustrated, the dragon lurched towards the Dwarf with a savage roar, eyes filled with malevolence. Snow and ice remained untouched by the heat in a perfect circle around Morgrim, who let out a roar of his own, raising his axe high above his head. The dragon lunged forwards, its head darting out to snap at the lone figure. Morgrim swung his axe in a powerful arc, impacting with the side of the blue dragon's head just as it came into range, cutting deeply into the tough, scaled skin and battering the dragon to the side. Leaning forwards in his saddle, the Elven rider slashed his sword towards the Dwarf, but the attack was smashed aside with a disdainful swat of the axe. Leaping forwards, Morgrim struck a thunderous blow with the ancient rune weapon into the dragon's neck. The decorative blade hit deep into the sinuous creature, nearly severing its head. The dragon jerked backwards with a grugling screech, dark blood pattering into the prefectly white snow. It crashed down into the ground, thrashing wildly in its death throes. The Dragon Prince tried frantically to free himself of the harness holding him to the saddle, but before he could manage the buckles, the dragon rolled over the edge of the precipice. Just as it fell, the Elf looked up and locked eyes with Morgrim. Behind the ornate helmet, Morgrim could see pale grey eyes filled with fear, and the next moment the flailing pair disappeared from view, plummeting down into the clouds. The Dwarf stood looking over the drop, his eyes cold. As his kinsmen arrived breathless at his side, they gazed at their Lord in reverent silence. Eventually he turned to face them. "Tomorrow," he said in a gravelly voice. "Tomorrow, the field of battle will be awash with Elf blood. We will take a heavy toll to make them pay for their treacheries." Without another word Morgrim turned, shouldering his bloody axe and began walking. The Battle of the Three Towers: In the year -1560 I.C. at the fourteenth siege of Tor Alessi (later called "The Battle of the Three Towers"), for over a hundred days Dwai engines of war (at that time, the Dwarves had not invented black powder) attacked the cities mighty walls and what proved fruitless, they instead focused upon destroying the finely constructed towers. The Dwarves had been surprised at the strength of the High Elf forces, judging the strength of the Asur by the least of their provinces, but in true Dwarf fashion were not about to admit a mistake. The Dwarves looked at row upon row of shining Elven warriors who stood beside powerful Archmages and Dragon Princes, at the time riding actual dragons.These formiddable warriors confronted the Dwarves. Eventually, the dwarves gained entrance to the fortress and Gotrek finally comfronted Caledor at the heart of the city. Elven Scholars claim that Caledor did not wish to kill Gotrek and deepen the hatred between the two races. If this is true then the Phoenix King's hesitation was the death of him, however the Dwarves claim that foolish King attacked Gotrek and that Gotrek was forced to cut him down. As a trophy, the Dawi took the crown of the Phoenix King from Caledor I's body and with their honor sated, retreated to their mountain keeps. The Asur sent an envoy asking for the return of the crown, and the Dwarves sent an envoy in return, saying that if the Elves wanted the crown back, they should cone to Karaz-a-Karak with an army and beg for its return. The Asur began gathering an army to lay siege to the everpeak, the world's most assailable fortress. However by this time Malekith's plan had to fruition and the Druchii had launched a titanic invasion of Ulthuan, their legions of warriors raising the ancient sunken city of Anlec from the depths of the Great Ocean. It was ordered that all the Asur, soldiers, civilian and otherwise retreat from the Old World to defend Ulthuan and to stop the pointless slaugther that was named The War of the Beard. To this day, though another crown was made, the first Phoenix Crown lies in the great treasure hoard of Karaz-a-Karak. The main part of the war was over, though some isolated colonies still existed, the fortress of Sith Rionnasc'namishashir, (Star Gem of the sea in Eltharin) was razed in -1502. It marks the last major conflict between Elves and Dwarves. Aftermath: Although the Dwarves claim to this day that they won the War of Vengeance, the truth is that neither the Asur nor the Dawi won. The war cost the Dwarves two things; the lives of thousands of brave dwarves and more importantly, a powerful ally. With the Asur gone and the Dawi severly weakened, thousands of Greenskins overran the Old World, Night Goblins and Skaven conquered many Dawi strongholds and Beastmen swarmed into the forests. These marauding

hordes would not be subdued until the migration of humans over a thousand years later, and the time of Sigmar, a thousand years after that, though they have never been fully exterminated from the Old World. The exception to this was in the magical wood of Athel Loren, where the Elves who dwelt there chose to remain even after the Asur had left, they are now known as the Asraithough they retain a scintillating hatred of the Dwarves. To this day, the Dwarves refer to the High Elves as Oathbreakers and there exists a great distrust between the races. The Dawi may have won the battle against the Asur but in doing so they had weakened themselves and the Elves enough to put both civilizations into a decline which continues into modern times. The Battle of Blackmire: Boru stood firm atop the hill, looking down across the dark marshy lowland before him. To his left and right stretched the Dwarf battleline, grisly faced mailed warriors held their shields close together, exeheads and hammer heads bristling over the shield tops. Above the line banners fluttered in the breeze. High above ravens wheeled and cawed forlornly in expectation of rich pickings. Below, the greenskins army waded through the marsh, drums thrashing and horns blaring in the cold dawn. The army was led by huge Orcs riding great grunting warpigs, all brawny muscle and sharpened tusks. The unholy pig riders carried long barbed spears and jeered at the distant Dwarves., singing war songs to Mork and Gork. Behind followed rank upon rank of Orc warriors and Goblin archers, squabbling amongst themselves, drunk on fungus wine and the prospect of slaughter and loot. Far to the north Boru couls see a long line of greenskinned Wolf Riders, loping around the marches hoping to work their way through the woods behind the hill and take his battleline in the rear. "Should we not send the crossbows to stop them, sire" asked Thorgrund, the chieftains cousin and second in command as the Wolf Riders circled wide of the hill. "We keep out strength together." Boru replied sternly. "But they'tt take our lattleline in the rear sire" "By Grimnir, everything is in hand Thorgrund, now look to the defence of the wagons and leave the rest to me" Boru rebuffed him angrily. Everything was going as plan... Soaked and muddy from their march the Orc Boar riders emerged from the swamps and began to fan out below the Dwarves. More greenskinned warriors followed behind, hundreds of fur clad, iron bound greenskins with axes, swords, spears and crudely daubled shields, their banners of skulls and rags flapping overhead. Dwarf war horns blared out their challenge and the Longbeards began to sing the ancient Battlesong of Grimnir, a truimphant chorus of death and victory sung by Dwarf warriors in battle for thousands of years. The song swelled as the younger warriors joined in, firing them with courage. Ale horns were passed along the lines, a last gulp before facing death was all any Dwarf warrior asked for. On the slopes below the Orc lines continued to thicken, rank after green rank. The Orc drums suddenly ceased, and their lines fell silent. In the center the boar riders parted as the Orc Warlord rode forward, kicking the flanks of his big pig to drive it up the slopes. The Warlord was a huge brute, heavily scarred and wearing bands of roughly wrought iron, his helmet was mounted with massive horns of a wyvern, and he carried a huge clever, the size of a Dwarf warrior, with ease. He dismounted and threw his shield and clever on the ground to indicate he wanted to talk. A smaller black robed Goblin shaman danced around him, waving a staff in the air and screaming wildly. The Warlord strode boldly forward, defying the Dwarf chietain to meet him. Boru grumbled into his beard. He had no desire to talk to the brute, there was nothing to say. But perhaps the Orc would offer personal combat to resolve the battle instead, so he pushed through the shields in front of him, gave his rune axe to a warrior to guard and placed his own shield on the ground. His cousin, Thorgrund, stepped after him, to act as a bodyguard against treachery.

Side by side they marched down to meet the Warlord. "Surrenda ye'self, and I will show ya mercy," the Warlord spat, mocking the Dwarf chief. He snarled out his terms, exposing sharp yellow fangs. He required only Boru's life, all his treasury, the contents of the convoy and all his warrior's weapons as tribute. Then the warriors would be free to return home, minus their beards and right hands. Enraged by the Orc's mocking Boru growled "You foul bag of guts, I shall take your skull as a drinking cup for my ale to celebrate our victory, unless you crawl back under the bpulder you came from." The Orc laughed off the response. As the two bandied insults the Goblin shaman danced around them, shrieking curses at the two Dwarves. His every move was carefully watched by Thorgrund, axe held ready to strike should the little shaman try to incant a spell. "Run away stunty, go empty y' bowels in terror.: He laughed. Neither side would give the other any quater, the racial emnity was too long and too deeply felt. The parley over, each satisfied they had thrown all the insults they wanted. Boru returned to his lines, cheered by his men for facing down the Warlord, Thorgrund's shield guarding his back until they were beyond bowshot. "By Grugni, I want the bullfrog's head" he declared loudly to the batteline. "His weight in gold and a barrel of six-ex to the one who takes it!" he offered, and the warriors roared their approval at the blood price. They did not have long to wait before the Orcs attacked. Wading through the Blackmire the Orc horde surged forward. The Boar Riders driving their squeeling and snarling beasts up the slope. A great Waaagh! went up as the charge slowly gathered momentum. "Bogbrum!" ordered Boru in Khazad. The Dwarf line quickly reformed, as the horns sounded. The line split into three, each regiment scurrying to form a triangular wedge, the front rank kneeling and the behind holding their shields forward to protect their comrades. Each unit became a small fortress, bristling with weapons and facing in all directions. Standard bearers and musicians safely concealed in the center of the schiltrons. The formation was Boru's secret weapon, a strong defence against cavalry attack and well pratcied Dwarf tactic since the War of the Beard. Cavalry would fing it difficult to press home a charge against the hedges of spear tips and axe heads, and each warrior found great comfort knowing that the line could not be broken and his flank and rear were protected by his fellow warriors. Stren faced, each warrior braced himself for impact. The thunder of boar's hooves seemed to shake the world as they pounded up the slipe, heads lowered ready to gore upward, long spears leveled for the attack. As they crested the hill Boru saw the Warlord at the head of the charge, his cleaver held aloft. "Hold Fast!" he commanded his warriors as the barded spear points closed on the central bastion. The charge struck with terrible power, lances shattered, boars squealed, hooves thrashed as axes and spears rained blows forward. Dying warriors cried out in pain, kicking and screaming under the boars, but the Dwarves held. Boru urged his warriors to stand, still hacking ans slashing savagely as Orc warriors recoiled from the bristling hedgerow of steel weapons. Orcs plunged from their mounts or were catapulted into the Dwarf ranks, as their mounts died beneath them, eack to be hacked to death themselves on the ground. Whilst the front of the wedge endured the inpact of the boars, the wolf riding Goblins, who came howling from the tree lines, faced the rear facing rank just as Thorgrund had predicted. Thorgrund himself stood guarding the convoy's wagons and ponies, with a group of hand picked warriors. Each warrior had sworn a death-oath not only to allow any of the gold to fall into the Greenskin's hands. The Goblins attacked, snarling and whooping, but lioke the boar;s attack it floundered, unable to break the steadfast Dwarves. amidst the swirling, snarling wolves Thorgrund and his warriors launched themselves into the Goblins. Thorgrund swinging his glowing axe in a figure eight above his head, bringing it down to behead a wolf, which collapsed, sending its rider tumbling. His next mighty swing killed the cowering Greenskin. The wolves turned tail and fled

quickly back into the woods, their attck spent. Bloodied, the Dwarves remained steadfast as the Orcs began to mill around before them, the impetus of their charge gone. Circling the crouching Dwarves the Orcs jabbed their spears into the schilton's walls, but could find no gaps in the Dwarf shields. Wounded Dwarves retired into the center of the fortress, cursing their luck, but they knew the cavalry had been defeated-for now. Bellowing commands the Orcs reigned in their snorting, foaming mounts and turned back down the hill to regroup. One by one the others followed, as they withdrew the Dwarves jeered after him in triumph. Next up the hill came a host of Orcs and Goblins. A massed rabble of infantry, of which it seemed no two warriors were armed alike. Urgently the Dwarf horns sounded the reform, and the wedge broke apart, as the battleline was dressed. Ahead of the charge came a hail of arrows, spears, clubs and rocks, which clattered into the shields, several Dwarves fell wounded by the rain of missiles. Crouching in the front rank Boru raised his shield above his head and felt the jarring impacts of arrows and rocks as they clattered against it. Next to him Boru saw a warrior impaled by an arrow through the neck, he died gurgling, his blood washing the grass red. Others fell wounded around him. From under his shield Boru saw the ragged shaman cavorting, waving his staff to the heavens. Green and yellow light flickered about him as he summoned his spell. "Vallaya protect us" growled Boru, bracing himself for the impact. Like lightning, sorcseous energies split the sky, burning a trail of destruction across the hillside and through the Dwarf ranks. The first warrior hit was incinerated, the second fell to the ground, his unprotected face charred and blistered, a third was sent reeling backwards his beard on fire. The warriors had no response to such and attack but to stand firm and spit curses to the hated Orc Gods. On the left end of the line a big Blackskinned Orc, led the charge against the Longbeards, the veteran warrior's of Boru's small army. The Black Orc hurled himself into their shields, knocking aside several blows with his own shield before bringing his axe down with skull-splitting force. The Longbeards' leader fell, mortally wounded. Encouraged by this example a wave of Greenskin warriors crashed home, shield met shield with a thud, steel rang on steel. Howling and cursing blows where traded. Dwarves and Orcs fell terribly wounded, and the pressure of the Greenskins seemed it must break the Longbeards. The old Dwarves gritted their teeth and redoubled their efforts, pushing forwards into the thick Orc ranks, slashing left and right until they were soaked in green blood and gradually they began to gain the upper hand. Disciplined and proud they eventually drove back the attack, and watched as the Orcs again retreated in disorder down the hill, leaving many brave old Dwarves lying dead or dying. The Orc center fared lttle better; unable to drive the Dwarves back they soon lost their appetite for the fight. Boru stepped forward from the ranks, rune axe clasped in both hands dripping green blood, and demanded the cavorting Goblin leader face him in combat. "You lice ridden maggot," he roared over the din of battle, today your rancid sould shall know the terrors of Grimnir." The warty little greenskin look horrified at the prospect. Boru beckoned him forwards, but instead he turned and ran. His kin followed, leaving their wounded and dead strewn across the slope. Boru ordered the Goblin wounded executed as vengeance for his own losses. The Orc attacks had gone ill and many Goblins looked to quit the field, splashing away through the marches desperately trying to escape their Orc masters. At the marsh edge the Warlord rallied and reorganized his army, beating heads together to reinstate some discipline. Atop the hill Boru surveyed the field of slaughter. The charges had been defeated but the day was not yet won. Thorgrund approached, panting hard from the fighting. Stepping over the Goblin bodies that littered the hillside, his face and armor were spalttered with green blood. "I want you to remain here with the wounded and guard the wagons, incase the Wolf Riders return. I shall lead our warriors down there and drive the greenskins into the marshes before they get reorganized." Boru

pointed down the hillside at the still squabbling Orc rabble. Thorgrund nodded agreement, too exhausted to speak, wiping blood from his face and beard. "Sound the advance," Boru instructed the horn blower, who gave two long blasts. Quickly falling into line the remaining Dwarves paced forward careful to avoid stepping on any of the wounded who moaned and groaned at their feet. Boru took his place at the center again and the advance gathered momentum. "Keep the Line" cried Boru as the steep slope threatened to turn the carefully co-ordinated advance into a hurtling rabble. Still the speed of the downhill charge caught the Orcs before they had reorganized. It was going to be a slaughter, and the unstoppable mass of mailed warriors, shields interlocked, crashed into the unprepared mob. The Orcs recoiled from the shock of the impact into the waters of the marches, splashing to escape the Dwarves' fearsome axes. Chaos reigned as knots of Black Orcs tried to hold their ground. Some Dwarves broke ranks ro shase the beaten foe, wading into the water up to their waists, swinging axes into fleeing orc Backs. Orcs and Dwarves grappled in the marshes plunging underwater as they attempted to drown each other.Suddenly, the dark water in front of Boru exploded in a great cascade. From below the surface a scaly green monster surfaced, roaring a challenge and bearing long yellow fangs. The River Troll loomed up from its hiding place, snatching a long bearded old Dwarf in its clawed right hand before biting his head off. Stunned by its sudden ambush and almost overpowered by the rank fishy smell of the brute, Boru gazed as the creature swirled round, lashing out at Orcs and Dwarves alike. It hurled the headless corpse back into the water and punched a passing Orc off its feet before wading towards Boru. Boru hefted his axe and raised his shield, "Karak!" he cried as the brute swung a webbed claw at him. He took the blow clean on the shield and almost tumbled backwards from the force. He did not fall and instead drew back his axe, aiming for the creature's bulbous belly. The runes on his axe glowed red as the axe swept in a fiery arc, landing square against the creature's stomach. The heavy gromril blade split the abdomen like a ripe melon, it's contents gushing out to soak Boru in foul stinking bile and half digested fish. The stench sent Boru fleeing for dry land, gagging and coughing. Behind him the Troll bellowed in pain, and sank below the water, vanishing. The battle was over, Dwarves were already regrouping on the hillside. Exhausted, Boru sank to his knees. "Somebody get this filth off me," he demanded. The Fall of Karak Eight Peaks: Snikkit ducked as the cannon ball thundered into the rock face, inches above his head. Shards of granite scattered through the air. Under the light of the full moon, he could clearly make out thousands of dark-robed Goblins moving like shadows through the steep valley. "Boss are you sure that dis cunning plan of yours iz gonna work?" he whined, brushing a thick layer of dust off his black robes. "Dat wall looks really thick and I don't fink we iz gonna get over it, even without those stunties shootin' stuff at us." His words were drowned out by a scream that was half terror, half delight. A Goblin Doom Diver sailed over their heads, catapulted high into the night air towards the thick walls of the Dwarf stronghold. The solid Dwarf bastion was dotted with small indentations from other Doom Divers' failed attempts at flight and yet, much to the amusement of Snikkit, a long queue of enthusiastic Goblins still stretched back quite some distance. Along the length of the east wall of the hold, siege machines covered the flat granite surface like vines. From this distance the Goblins manning the towers were just small specks. Occasionally, a ladder would be raised, and the Goblins would begin to scale it. Each time, defenders would appear at the top of the wall and send the ladder and the unfortunate Goblins crashing back to the ground, but for each ladder they felled another would take its place. The siege of Karak Eight Peaks had reached a horrible stalemate, and at some point soon one army would have to give. Countless numbers of Goblins scurried to and fro. Somewhere amongst the sea of Greenskins, Grotbag Dungbreath hoped that the warbosses were keeping some kind of order amongst the

thousands of Gobbos that had converged in the pass. It was hard enough keeping his own small tribe under command, let alone coordinating the attack of a dozen or so tribes. He'd already seen the Blackfangs let a hail of arrows loose on the Broken Tooth tribe. Fortunately, most of the Goblins seemed intent on killing the Dwarves and the army's formation was holding. Admittedly, not holding in tightly knit formations or organized ranks, but the fact that they were facing the right way was as good a sign as any. "Snikkit, me old mate," said Grotbag, grasping his companion tightly by the throat, "now is not the time to question me, right." The Goblin warboss let go of his banner bearer. "Da rat fing said he'd be here, and be here he'd better be." Grotbag was beginning to have doubts himself. Those Skaven hated Dwarves almost as much as the Gobbos did, but he knew better than to trust them. Their leader had made a deal with Grotbag that would sort out those Dwarves forever, but whilst Grotabg's boyz were getting blows to smithereens, the rats were nowhere to be seen. He's probably skulkin' down some comfy hole muchin' on some cheese, the Goblin mused to himself. As the bitter though of betrayal crossed the Goblin general's mind, he heard a loud cheer go up from the Goblin throng. From the arrow slits and windows in the walls of the hold he could make out a strange gas escaping. It was a putrid green color, thick and noxious. Even the Goblin general could smell it from a good distance away. More and more of the foul fumes poured from the hold. The Skaven had done it; they had penetrated the lower levels and released poisoned gas, just as planned. "I knew old Skarclaw wouldn't let us down, I knew I could depend on dem rats." The Goblin general waved his sword high in the air. "Wait for my signal boys, wait for it." Grotbag hollered above the chanting mass of elated Goblins. The green gas was now beginning to seep over the top of the stronghold. As he spoke, he could see Dwarves flinging themselves from the parapets. Falling to their doom seemed preferable to suffocation and poisoning amongst the choking fumes. The Goblin army was on the verge of storming the fort and the Bosses were desperately trying to hold the lines back. Slowly the doors to the stronghold opened. It was the moment he'd been waiting for-the Dwarves were unable to stay within the thick walls of the hold. He knew Dwarves too well, they would rather die fighting than choking to death in the thick noxious gases. "Charge! Get'em ladz! We'll be roastin' stunties before dawn." With a high-pitched roar the whole Goblin army charged forward. Thick ranks of spears closed in upon the Dwarves and the moon disappeared, obscured by missile fire from the hundreds of Night Goblins that lined the slopes of the mountain pass. The first wave of Night Goblins hit the Dwarf formation, but the Dwarves were disciplined troops, and Grotbag was dismayed to see his attack faltering. Wave after wave of Goblins smashed against the solid shield wall of the Dwarves, only to be cut down within a matter of seconds. The stunties were resolute in the defence of their hold, and what should have been a great Goblin victory was slowly turning into a slaughter. Looking for his best Shaman, Grotbag spied the tall, brightly-colored hat of the strange Goblin in the center of a unit of Boyz. Making his way towards him, he pushed through the dense ranks of troops between them. Snikkit ran behind him, proudly waving the battle standard before him. Fazbang the Shaman had spent the last few hours gathering a personal retinue of Night Goblin Fanatics, but instead of fighting at the front of the Goblin attacking force, they stood gibbering together at the rear of the army. "What's goin' on?" Grotbag growled as he eventually reached the Shaman. "You said we'd easily smash through those Dwarves." He could sense a Goblin retreat was imminent; already he'd spied some fleeing the field of battle and, to be quite honest, the way things were going he was tempted to follow. "And so we shall. See these?" Fazbang calmly replied. The Shaman pulled out a handful of mushrooms from a small pouch, their caps sparkled with a golden glow in the dark night. One by one Fazbang handed them out to a select few Goblins who had gathered around him, each taking one and carefully nibbling on it. "What's dem?" Snikkit asked pointing to the glowing fungus which the Shaman was carefully placing back in his pouch. "Wait and see" the Shaman replied pointing to the Goblins who had eaten them. Snikkit raised a puzzled brow. The fanatics picked up their heavy metal balls which were attached to each Goblin by means of a short lenagth of chain. As they passed through the crowded troops Snikkit noticed that the other Gobbos were quickly making way for them and within a matter of seconds they had

reached the front line. Then he realized why such a wide berth had developed. They began to swing their balls and before long the momentum combined with the weight of the balls sent the crazy Goblins hurtling forward, spinning towards the Dwarves defensive formation. Foam drooled from their mouths and their manic cackles sent a shiver down Snikkit's spine. Most of them were cut down by crossbow bolts, but a couple hit the solid line and sent fragments of shields, helmets and Dwarf flesh flying through the cold night air. Just two single crazed Goblins had punched a small hole in the defensive line, but it was enough. Seeing the gap in the formation the Goblins of the Crooked Moon tribe launched a full scale charge. Before the Dwarves could close up the holes in their defensive position the Goblins had broken through. The rest of the green horde was soon crashing against the Dwarf line. In a brief moment the stout defenders were overcome. Each Dwarf was skewered by dozens of sharp spear points, Engulfed by the sheer number of attackers, the brave Dwarves stood little chance. The gates to Karak Eight Peaks stood open to the whole Goblin horde. Regiment after regiment of the Greenskins poured through the gigantic archway to plunder the citadel. Hours after the battle, Grotbag could hear the screams of Dwarves as they were hideously tortured by his Boyz. The fumes had dissipated quickly and Grotbag now sat upon the King's throne in the Great Hall. All around the hall Goblins had gathered, and at his left stood a smaller number of Skaven. These were the Skaven Seer's guard, whom he had already reached an agreement with. The Skaven could keep possession of the lower mines whilst the Night Goblins would take command of the stronghold itself. Grotbag had little trust that the devious Skaven would keep their word, but he had plans to deal with them too. Before long Karak Eight Peaks would belong to the Goblins and the Goblins alone. Tonight though, united in a glorious victory, the two races drank together. It was a night to celebrate. "Boyz, Gobbos and rat fings, lend me your ears." At this a number of necklaces, each made from the grisly trophies of Dwarf vixtims were hurled towards him. Grotbag continued: "I tell yer, today is a great day for da Gobbos-today we kicked dem stunties outta out mountain. Tomorrow we;ll kick em off the face of the world, but tonight let's feast." With his victory speech over Grotbag jumped from the throne and made his way to the cellars where the banquet was being prepared. He grabbed the Shaman as he passed him "Fazbang me old mate, do ya know what I fancy to eat?" Fazbang looked at Grotbag his suspicions already raised. "Ere, no What Boss?" Grotbag snatched the small pouch from around Fazbang's neck "Dwarf and mushroom stew." The Assault on Karak Eight Peaks: The rising sun glistened off the finest armor in the Old World as the Dwarf guard of Karak Eight Peaks were driven from their ancestral home. Poisonous gases, released by the Skaven to drive the Dwarves from the safety of their hold, had permeated throughout the fortress. The vast machieries if the shining Grimni's Gate ground loudly as the doors to the hold closed once more, shutting with a heavy thud that reverberated through the very mountainside. What had been a doomed siege of an inpenetrable fortress had turned into a fight to the death, a last stand against the vile hordes of Goblins besieging the ancient Dwarf hold. Thannock Oakenhaft couldn't be more glad. The Flame Cannon he had helped build was a true masterpiece, a hulking bronze testament to the Dwarf Engineer's prowess. He remembered fondly when he had first seen one of these beautiful machines in action through the green glass vision-slit of his steel mask, felt the backwash of intense heat as gallons of highly violatile fuel streamed burning from the dragon-mouthed nozzle of the war engine. Time to test it in the field of battle, thought Thannock as he helped wheel the heavy war machine into place behind the ramparts. Uncle Gnargrim had told him the flames worked wonderfully against Trolls. He would do his best to prove this theory. He already knew that those black robes the Goblins wore were nice and flammable.... This should be over by lunch-time, thought Thannock. The seething wall of Goblins to the east had started after hours of squabbling, a couple of the tribes moving into range of the Dwarf crossbowmen barring the doors of the hold. Over the distant racket of bickering Greenskins, a series of bleating horns were sounded across the enemy battle line, sounding like the howls of sick dogs. Thannock chuckled to himself as the Goblins opened fire with their appallingly constructed artillery. The contraption to his right, a so-called Doom

Diver, launched a suicidal Goblin with bat-like wings far into the sky, soaring hundreds of feet in the air over the parapets of the hold. His brother and fellow crew member Bjarl gave a low whistle as the green figure impacted into the side of the mountain behind the fortress, leaving a messy stain like a squashed mosquito before the remains tumbled down the sheer mountainside. If that was their best shot, the threat that lunatic machine posed was paltry indeed. Pulling a telescope from his belt, Thannock watched the Goblin bolt throwers winch the Troolgut taut. They've completely overstretched that for a start, thought Thannock, and a moment later the bolt flew sideways from the machine, flailing in the air before landing harmlessly in the middle of the Battlefield. It certainly looked like holding the Gyrocopter in reserve was an unnesseccessary precaution. Another chuckle died in Thannock's throat as the hairs on the back of his thickly muscled neck stood on end. Come to think of it, his whole beard was bristling with static. A crow dropped from the sky, bouncing from the barrel of the cannon and landing, quite dead, in front of Bjarl. Frowning, Thannock had an unexplained urge to look up, and to his horror he saw the sky buckle and split above him. The air was thick with the most noisome stink Thannock had ever smelt, and the unmistakable crackle of magic. Suddenly a massive clawed green foot took form, hovering for a second before crashing onto the cannon with a sickening crunch. Thannock blacked out for a second, his helmeted head clanging on the metal platform of the Flame Cannon. When he came to, blood seeping from his nose and eardrums, his fellow crewmen were dead. His mouth set in stern line and his brow furrowed behind his metal mask, Thannock resolved to set about avenging the death of his brother crewmen. Scanning the battlefield for a target in range. Thannock growled under his breath. Four stinking, lumbering Trolls move into view behind a statue of his ancestors, and he wasted no time in spinning the values completely open for a shot at maximum range. That should do it, he thought, tapping a dial, and pulled hard on the release trigger. A high-pitched whine grew painful in its intensity before culminating in a sharp crack, the Flame Cannon discharging a burning fireball that hit the ground just short of the Trolls, bursting into a rolling inderno that set light to one of them and even caught a Goblin behind it in fiercely burning fuel. Screaming the Greenskin ran through its own ranks, sowing the seeds of panic throughout his unit. A good start, mused Thannock> We'll see what happens when they get a little closer. "AAAARGH! Cut that out or I'll feed you to the wolves!" shouted Garbag irritably as the Goblins around him prodded each other with their spears. This wasn't that unusual, but when blood was drawn he invariably had to step in. Stepping into the ranks, the Great Shaman delivered a ringing slap to the main protagonist. He could fell bile rising in his throat-he hadn't come here to fight Goblins. One of them was still laughing rausouly behind him. Spinning around to confront him, Garbag shoved his gnarled hand into the bald fool's open mouth, yanking out his black tongue in a spray of blood.The Goblins got the message and shut up immediately. That was a bit more like it, though Garbag, tucking the severed tongue into the recesses of his robes whilst he took stock of the situation. To his right, a Wolf Chariot and the wickedly bladed Pump Wagon took up position on the flank, waiting for the correct moment to catch the Dwarves unaware. The Trolls, Squigs and archers had all started forward, but the Goblins to his right were busy shouting obscenities at each other, apparently because one had thrown his companion's boot far out onto the battlefield. Nagrat was restoring order, smashing heads together in an attempt to restore some kind of discipline. This was already looking pretty shaky. The only semblance of efficiency was being displayed by Rotbelly, his protege, leading the archers to his left. The younger shaman was stamping and hollering, summoning the aid of the Greenskin gods against their ancient, hated foe. Across the open plain he could see a massive imbalance in the winds of Magic open in the skies as the almighty Foot of Gork stomped on a Dwarf war engine. That's my boy, thought Garbag. Suddenly, with a hideous shriek, the Trolls to the right of Garbag were consumed in flame as the Flame Cannon scored a direct hit. He was just about to making himself heard over the ensuing chaos when a burning cannonball rocketed from the ramparts, smashing a Troll clean apart in a spray of burning flesh. A cloud of crossbow bolts appeared in the face and chest of another Troll. The wounds started to heal over, but then the monster toppled slowly like a felled pine. As another cannonball smashed into Rotbelly's boys, sending black-robed bodies flying out of the back of the unit, the Thunderers to the right of the main gates also opened fire with a loud crack,

and the two surviving Trolls turned and loped off howling. Trolls were stupid, but to face down that awesome display of firepower would have been suicidal. Something needed to be done about that cursed artillery before the entire battle line was smashed apart. Mumbling incantations and spitting words of power, Garbag felt the surge of Waaagh! energy building. A moment later, he spat blood as the words were torn from his lips by some runic trickery. Up on the ramparts of the fortress, a Runesmith glared down at the Great Shaman. More worryingly, at the walls of the keep, the Dwarves had started moving towards them! This could be bad, Garbag mused. If the rat-things turned up too late, his Goblins would be in for a real kicking. Still, they could always run away. Cheered by this thought, he returned the Runesmith's gaze with an obsence gesture and kicked his boys onward. Thannock was momentarily eclipsed by a shadow, shuddering before he realized it was the Gyrocopter passing overhead. He looked up to see the gravity-defying machine monoeuvre in a circle about the redoubt he was stationed in. To his left, the female Thane Birgit Grogrildottir approached him, closing the eyes of his dead comrades' mangled bodies before she came to check whether he was alright. He couldn't here her words of solace as his ears still rang, but answered her nonetheless with a grim nod. He would stay with the machine until the bitter end, and make the evil runts pay tenfold for the blood of his kinsmen. The Trolls had gathered their courage out of range of his war machine, but it was only a matter of time before they met their doom. Deathfist, the Daemon Slayer whose name was now legendary amongst the Dwarves of Karak Eight Peaks, was walking resolutely toward him. Thannock muttered a prayer to Grungni as a cold realization crept over him, the Goblins were ignoring this flank as they expected, and intended to deal with the well dug-in war machines with magic. Tracing the rune of Valaya in the air, he gripped the controls of the Flame Cannon, blood clotting inside his metal helmet. From the corner of his eye, he could see that the crew of the Doom Diver catacult was ready to launch another winged volunteer to his death. Tutting contemptuously under his breath, he watched as the screaming Goblin disappeared into the clouds above. To the left, the warrior clanmen were marching deliberately toward the end of the ruined causeway, a relic of Karak Eight Peak's former majesty when every race paid court to their King. Now it was to be stained with blood once more. Thannock could see flashes of red at the far end, a pack of strange creatures clambering up the steps toward them. Goblin cave-beasts, he presumed, hideous hybrids of fungus and snarling carnivore. He wondered if they would burn. Garbag barked his commands at the Night Goblin units flanking him and the Fanatics were brought to the front of the ranks as the distance between the two battle lines closed. He saw Nagrat, his rival and fellow Great Shaman, delve into his scalp-pouch. He was pulling forth several pieces of gold-flecked mushrooms, holding his breath in case he should inhale some of the spores. Garbag hated this bit. Nagrat never stopped boasting about the destruction his mad cap mushrooms could cause when fed to one of his Night Goblin Fanatics. Those things would fell a bear, and their effect on the Goblin metabolism had to be seen to be believed. After ginerly feeding the dribbling Fanatics pieces of the fungus with a pronged stick, the Great Shaman stepped well clear. With a heave, the Goblin ranks disgorged three spinning, ball-and-chain wielding manics toward the Dwarves. Too soon, thought Garbag, as the Fanatics began to lose momentum. On his left, the same thing was happening, the initial push not being enough to reach the Dwarf lines. The jeers of his ancestral enemies rang in his ears as the Fanatics failed to connect. Where they went now was anybody's guess. In frustration, he ordered his Goblins to open fire with their bows. Five of them actually managed to fire the arrows the right way round, and one Troll Slayer died with a black-feathered shaft through his throat. That was no warrior's death, thought Garbag. He sniggered and prepared to summon the aid of his gods. He could just make out dark shadows scuttling from the trees in the distance. They weren't Dwarves, and they certainly weren't his Boyz. A Skaven scouting party, guttercrawlers or something. That was a good sign. He half wished the rest of them were here already. Incanting a prayer his mentor taught him when he was no bigger than a Snotling, Garbag ensured the watchful eye of Mork would prevent the tumultuous magical energies flying around the battlefield from overloading his Shamans' minds. As the magic flowed through his frail body, he attempted to summon Gork to the Battlefield, but

once again the energies he had marshalled were dissipated by Dwarf runes. Rotbelly's boys were getting quite close to the Dwarf lines now, and Garbag winced as he saw a mirror flashing on the ramparts, a dancing spot of light landing in front of Rotbelly himself. The Great Shaman knew this stunty tactic well; the entirety of the Dwarf artillery would focus their fire on this point. His suspicions were confirmed as the front ranks were blown apart in a shower of bloodly green limbs. A heavy oaken shaft, tipped with steel, thudded into the turf between Rotbelly's legs, burying itself deep into the rocky ground. Garbag felt reassured that Mork was certainly watching over that one. Goblins were dying all around Rotbelly, however. The massed fire of the Dwarf Thunderers smashing into three of the Boyz next to him as yet another rank collapsed, crossbow bolts protruding from their corpses. There was no way they could hold under such heavy fire. The few surviving Goblins fled, their panicked wails rising above the echoing rumble of the Dwarf guns. The squigs were being bullied and herded up the ruined stairs of Karak Eight Peaks' main causeway, hopping, squealing and roaring as they neared the Dwarf Clansmen blocking the ancient path. Behind the pack of beasts, a Goblin Wolf Chariot sped past the Gateway of Kings. Thannock felt a sudden surge of anger. How dare these stunted, ugly creatures desecrate his ancestor's work with their ridiculous, flatulent beasts. Lining up the sights of the Flame Cannon, he worked the valves until pressurized, violatile chemicals hissed through the sturdy pipes of the war engine. Thannock squeezed the release shutter and with a sharp retort a sheet of flame seared across the battlefield, consuming the front rank of the Squigs in a raging fire. The Goblins, previously herding the beasts along with crude cymbols and irritating honking noices, turned tail and ran. Like a giant, corpulent flea, one Squig bounced clear of the flames. Another followed suit. Suddenly they were all bouncing in random directions as their herders sprinted away from the Dwarf lines. Thannock watched in amazement as the bizarre creatures hopped and leaped, roaring like demented bears as they caused havoc within their own ranks and those of his Clansmen. To his left, he could see Birgit, the Thane of his mighty clan, running towards the front lines. She was an inspiring leader and commanded the respect of all his kinsmen, despite the fact she was a beardless maiden. He was amazed to see the speed with which she moved; the gromril armor she wore was a true work of art. Ahead of her, the Daemon Slayer Deathfist marched quickly towards the Trolls. He had felled more formidable foes, and Thannock knew that he swollen, misshapen monstrosities would prove no challenge for the ancient warrior. Gradually, as he was refuelling the Flame Cannon, Thannock felt the hair of his beard stand on end once again, the air growing heavy and oppressive around him. Static crackled around the Flame Cannon and the sound of battle seemed muffled and distant. Heart pounding, he stood stock still, chanting the names of his gods as the pressure above him intensified to an incredible degree. Thannock was brought to his senses by a loud clang as a badly-made spear rebounded off the platform of his cannon. Shocked that he was still alive, he made a prayer to his ancestors and stepped up to the controls once more. Valaya had once again granted him her protection. He vowed it would not be in vain. Nagrat could see a Goblin collapse was imminent. Using all his concentration he directed Gork's attention towards the Dwarf Gyrocopter, but still the runes of the Dwarves wee silencing his calls. Reaching into his pouch, he pulled out a massive fluorsecent spotted piece of fungus. As he nibbled on it, the energies within his small Goblin skull began to reverberate. The mushroom was amplifying his powers beyond even his own control. Upon hearing Nagrat's command, Gork brought his foot down squarely upon the flying machine. Unfortunately Gork had also noticed the Gutter Runners scurrying into position behind the Dwarf lines and stepped on the vermin, crushing their wiry bodies into the ground. Nagrat shrugged his shoulders-who cared if a few rats died? Checking to see that the giant foot wasn't about to stomp on his Boyz, he noticed another speck descending from the heavens. The Goblin Doom Diver who had shot up into the clouds earlier was now falling back to earth at an alarming rate. With pinpoint accuracy it smashed into the crew of of the cannons on the parapet, splattering Goblin and Dwarf alike across the battlements in an explosion of bones and blood. The cannon rocked on its wheels but held fast, and miraculously one of the Dwarves survived the impact,

wiping pieces of Goblin from his astonished face. Things seemed to be going well, all internal differences had evaporated from the Goblin ranks. Even the Trolls shambled forward, although they were confused by the loud noices erupting all around them. For a brief second, Nagrat could see the Goblin plan coming to fruition. The chariot and Pump Wagon had come into place on the flank, and the Trolls were gaining momentum as their prey came into view. Unnoticed by the Dwarves, Nagrat made out the Gutter Runners clinging to the shadows of the mountain walls ready to make a charge to the rear. Thay had the Dwarves surrounded. A movement in front of him snapped his attention back to more immediate problems as Rotbelly sprinted into the front ranks of his unit, burrowing his way into the ranks. Nagrat's eyes narrowed as he detected the slightest change in the crisp morning air. Witha sickening slowness, the Goblin Fanatics had started to whirl in vicious arcs back towards their own lines. Ulthar Hammerfist stood at the fore of the armor-clad unit of Ironbreakers. The advance of the Goblins was of little importance to him. He knew that his Dwarves would soon cut a swathe through the foul Greenskins. More worrying than the Goblin horde that stood before him was the presence of half a dozen ball-and-chain wielding maniacs spinning towards them. As if to demostrate the threat that these crazed Fanatics possessed, a couple swept back into the dense ranks of Night Goblins, killing almost a dozen of their own foul kind. Ulthar's prayer to Grungni was answered immediately as the two of the remaining Fanatics collided into each other. A messy, bloody pulp was all that remained from the accidental collision. Ulthar gave thanks to his gods as the remaining loon that stood before him wrapped the chain around his thin scrawny neck, snapping it instantly. The immediate threat had disapeared, but the Goblin advance was gaining speed. Ulthar raised his rune-encrusted axe, signaling for the Dwarf advance to cease. "Ironbreakers, brace your shields and hold fast!" He motioned to his left flank where a Goblin chariot, pulled by two snarling wolves, was charging into the Dwarf formation. Beside the chariot a strange contraption powered by the frenetic pumping of its Snotling crew was somehow keeping pace. He turned his attention back to in front of him in time to see another cloud of Goblin arrows fall into the midst of the Troll Slayers. The cries of those wounded stung the Dwarf Lord-without the Gromril armor that his Ironbreakers wore to protect them, the oathbound Dwarves stood little chance against missile fire. Vowing to avenge their deaths, he raised his shield to meet the charge of the Night Goblin Spearmen. From behind he heard the clamor of yet more fighting. What foul trick was this? Ulthar had no time to turn, the Goblins drove into the Dwarves in tightly formed ranks. Spears, scythes and spikes rebounded off the solid wall of gromril. Impervious to the combined assault to the Goblins, Ulthar felt his blood boil in a rage of anger. With a wrath fuelled by the wrongs that his ancestors had suffered, Ulthar brought his axe down upon his most hated foe. Goblin after Goblin was hewn apart in his fury, it was as though his axe thirsted for more blood. He would grant its request. Beside him he could see Runesmith Hargrim's hammer crushing a similar number of vile Greenskins' skulls. Unable to withstand the savage slaughter of their number, the Goblins broke and fled screaming in fear. As his senses returned, he surveyed the carnage around him. A few of his warriors were still hacking down the remaining Snotlings, but all around him were littered the bodies of the enemy. Ulthar turned to aid his fellow warriors in smashing apart the Pump Wagon. Grendel breathed in a lungful of the crisp morning ait as his fellow Miners assembled into ranks behind him, brushing the dust and mud from their armor. He rested his heavy pick against the stump of a tree he had felled only months before, and shook the loose earth from his boot. High time to join the battle and, judging by the Goblin chariots skirting the edge of the woods, not a moment too soon. He could see shadows moving in the dark of the forest. They weren't moving like Goblins, that much was certain. A shaft of the new day's sun penerated the thick canopy of pines, falling across a shrivelled, snarling face. Red eyes gleamed from the darkness between the trees, Skaven. He hefted his pick and shouted the alert to his men. Hrundalf hoisting the banner high as the other Miners ranked around him. The figures in the woods were growing more numerous. He turned to Brindir next to him, about to askan estimate of their number. The flame of Brindir's helmet-candle was flickering a sickly green.

"COVER YOUR MOUTHS! NOW!" he shouted, feeling his lungs burn as something crashed into the ground behind him. Turning, he saw tendrils of a thin green vapor curling up from a mound of broken glass. Masked, black figures were creeping towards them, crouched over like hunchbacks under the weight of their metal backpacks, lobbing globes of deadly warpstone gas into the ranks of his kinsmen. Skialfi was choking, his face drained of all color. Next to him, Brindir was on the floor , vomit clotting his beard as he gasped his last. Through the poisonous green mist. Grendel could see many more dark, hissing shapes scuttling towards him. Holding his breath and gripping his pick tightly, the prospector peered into the distance. The Skaven held something aloft, something vile. One by one, the candles he and his men wore atop their mining helmets flickered and went out. Mjoni's blood pumped fast through his veins. The Ironbreakers had slaugthered everything the Greenskins could throw at them. Lord Ulthar himself, a mere two hundred years old, had set about the Goblins with a fury that would have made his grandfather proud. Mjolni had chanted with his kinsmen as Ulthar's axe had cut apart the pair of scythed chariots on the flank as though they were feeble saplings. The bodies of Thulgar and Hemlock were impaled upon the blades of one of the contraptions, only serving to stoke the furnace of Ulthar's anger. Mjolni felt the fierce pride and burning wrath of his brothers in the front rank as they cut down the hated enemy, wading deep into the Goblin lines, their gromril armor impervious to the Greenskins' spears. He himself was covered in gore, the ground below piled with dead grren bodies. No shortage of necks, Mjolni thought to himself. This had been a good day to fight. There, in front of them, was one of the twisted little Goblin Shamans that had been causing so much trouble. Mjolni had been present when the unit's banner had been inscribed with the Rune of Sanctuary; they had nothing to fear from the shamanistic powers of the gaudily-painted runt. A surge of hate-fuelled energy drove him forward, the Ironbreakers around him gathering momentum as they started toward the wretched thing. It blanched within its black robes, and fled into the woods. Ulthar sounded the horn, and the unit formed up once more. Garbag witnessed the wholesale slaughter of the Night Goblin Spearmen scant feet ahead of him. The Dwarf in the fancy armor was attacking so fast he could hardly see the separate movements, and limbs were flying from the unit in a storm of blood. The Night Goblins turned and fled, running with a speed borne of fear for their lives. He might have known that Nagrat would run and cover from the first sign of danger. Things looked pretty bad for his Gobbos, and, as if to add further insult to injury, he could spy the Skaven banners approaching on the far right flank. He spat out curses as the rat things. They had spoiled his plans, turning up just when all was lost. This wasn't ho it was supposed to happen. Garbag pulled a face that could sour milk. By now the Troll Slayers had gotten within close range of his Boyz and, as they charged, Garbag decided enought was enough. A dismal note of pure despair rang out from a Dwarf clarion, and his Boyz shrank back "Leggit, get outta here, we're done for!" Garbag shouted at the top of his lungs. Before his command had left his lips, almost every Goblin in the army was fleeing the battlefield. It was as good as over. Only a miracle could save them now; he thought to himself. The temperature around him rose for a second, and a foul stench seemed to fill the air from the north. Then a sight so awesome crossed Garbag's vision that his prized staff dropped to the ground and his jaw fell open. His prayers had been answered, he thought, choking on a fly. Gork himself was taking form, towering unimaginably vast above the battle lines, blotting out the sun with his gargantuan size. Garbag was shaking violently with fear as the shadow passed over him, and all he could do was point a shaky finger at the Dwarves. Gork raised a gnarled green foot and brought it down on the Dwarf crossbowmen as the gate, smearing four of them across the steps of their sacred home. An enormous heel kicked at the battlements, crushing a Dwarf cannon like a tin toy. The scabrous, long-nailed toes ferreted around in another parapet, killing a Runesmith as he frantically shouted the names of his gods. Two of the Slayers died instantly, hollering defiant and obsence curses as the Orc god raged around the battlefield. Unit after unit was trampled under the foot of the marauding deity, and slowly Garbag's Goblins began to cheer until the entire army was shouting at the top of their lungs. Garbag leered. He was so happy, he almost came out of hiding. The rat-things were worryingly close when they had marched clear of the nauseous green mists, thinking to take the battle to their foe rather than stand helpless as their breath was taken from

them. Grendel's vision was clearing, he was sure the noxious gases of the Globadiers has dissipated. A phalanx of Skaven, clad in heavy armor, marched towards the Ironbreakers as the Goblin ranks converged. He turned quickly to survey his men. Many were coughing, but few had been claimed by the poisonous wind that had driven his kinsmen from their ancestoral home. Turning back, he was confronted with a living nightmare. A solid wall of vermin was racing toward them, a pulsing, heaving mas of sharp teeth and evil, squinting eyes that held nothing but hate. Shaking his head, he tried to clear the vision from his mind., these were mere Skaven warriors, wielding nothing more fearsome than rusty swords and badly mahe shields. But at their head was a banner of such raw, unadulterated evil,encrusted with blood and litanies of hate, that he could only stare as his troops broke around him. The filthy tide of teeth and fur was almost upon him, the sigils bled into the banner burning into his mind, every instinct screaming at him to run. But he would do no such thing. Gritting his teeth, pain wracking his lungs, he raised his pick as the howling, chittering mass of Skaven fell upon him, and the last thing he felt was a jagged sword bursting through his armor into his gut. Something arced towards the Ironbreakers from the trees to the right, a glittering black sphere that was quickly followed by three more. The Dwarvesto Mjolni's left instinctively raised their shields, and the thin glass of the poison wind globes smashed apart upon ancient Dwarf heraldry, clouds of pungent, lethal green gas bursting around the flank of the Ironbreakers. Mjolni had seen this account for too many comrades throughout the years, but could not shout a warning to his fellows without drawing breath. But these were Ironbrakers, they had fought Skaven before, and they could hold their breath if neccessary. Suddenly their was a burst of noise as something crashed into the back of them. A unit of Stormvermin had assaulted the Ironbreakers in the rear, the heavy blades of their halberds crashing down to concert upon the gromril of the Dwarves. To Mjolni's horror, one of the blades pierced the neck of Bilgrim behind him in a spray of blood. He turned fully to see a hideously scarred, plague-ridden rat-thing swing at his head with a massive oaken staff. For a moment, he thought it had missed, until the heavy beam smashed his clansman Ghatrik's head clean from his shoulders. The thing was screaming, going berserk, blood dribbling from its gaping maw. The oak beam, far too heavy for a normal warrior to hold, samshed Old Tharl's hammer from his hand and ripped his arm from his body, Mjolni took his chance, smashing his axe down deep into the shoulder of the screaming Skaven. Simultaneously, Brock Fireforge swung his hammer into the thing's ribs, and Mjolni swore he heard them splinter. Gushing blood, it fought on regardless, samsking Brock's helmet askew and plunging its rotting, diseased teeth into his exposed neck. Worse still, the stinking green gases around his feet were rising, and in the heat of battle, he had neglected to hold his breath. One by one, Dwarves he had fought with for decades collapsed, clutching at their armored throats. Eyes stinging, he cursed their improvidence, cursed himself for not shouting a warning. A full half of his warrior brothers lay dead or dying, and the Stormvermin were pushing forward with considerable force. Threnn Finnson was the first to flee. The retreat was sounded, ringing clear in the cold air. For the first time in their long and illustrious history, the Ironbreakers broke and ran. Garbag watched in astonishment as the Skaven attack managed to break the heavily armored Dwarves that had slaughtered Nagrat's boyz. He knew the rat-things would come through, he had never doubted them for a moment. To his consternation, the Dwarves seemed to be running his way. His Gobbos were already backing away, an excellent idea in Garbag's opinion. On his left the second Wolf chariot had chosen to make its presence felt. charging headlong into the flank of the Troll Slayers, chopping three apart as the wicked, rusty scythes and barbed spears cleaved through unarmored flesh. Once again the Shaman was reminded of the tenacity of his ancient enemy; the Dwarves held their line without faltering for even a second. In the disctance, he watched a series of dark figures detach from the shadows of the mountain and leap toward the Dwarf Thunderers at the gate. Blades flashed in the morning light. These were the Gutter Runners that had been beaten off by the heavily-armored Dwarves. Apparently they were back for another go. He watched as one of the Thunderers leveled his gun at the leaping figure before him and blew its head open, the sprawling body bearing the firer to the gound. Five more of the Skaven reached the line of Dwarf gunmen, and blades snickered from the black-clad rat-things, slicing deep into Dwarf flesh. Garbag realized he was making cutting

motions and stopped abruptly. A split second later the smile dropped from his face as the Dwarves, their handguns turned around at a barked command from their female leader, smashed two of the Gutter Runners' heads open. The Skaven were hesitant, their momentum gone, and the female Dwarf led the countercharge that cut them down to a rat. Th his right, Nagrat was attempting once more to summon Gork, drool hanging from his protuberant lips and his robes billowing as the energies of the Waaagh! course through him. This was going to be a powerful spell indeed. Garbag's black heart was warmed by the fact that his rival seemed to be gathering more power than he could harness. Suddenly bright green light poured from Nagrat's mouth, eyes, and ears and he started shaking violently. His scream rose to a painful crescendo and with as audible crack the Shaman fell over, steam rising from his robes. However, Gork was again doing his work over at the gates, and as he watched, the Shaman got to his feet, shaking his head. Show-off, thought the Great Shaman. To Garbag's dismay, the Dwarf Lord had marshalled his Ironbreakers once more, forming up in tightly-packed ranks. They had started marching resolutely toward the Stormvermin, singing an anicent war chant. The Troll Slayers fought on regardless of casualties and even the direct intervention of his god had failed to break the enemy lines. Despite all they had done, the Dwarves seemed no closer to giving up their ancient fortress. Garbag sighed. This could go on all day. Afetr a long day of battle, Thannock watched the vivid colors of the sunset from his watchpost on top of the redoubt. His face was as grim and stony as the statues of his ancestors silhouetted against the evening sun, and the last few rays could not warm him. He had been silent for many hours, waiting, thinking over the day's events. Although Grimni's gate was still unbreached, the day's battle eventually seeing off the combined assaults of their enemies. Karak Eight Peaks had fallen. The thousands of Greenskins attacking the East Gate, in conjunction with the poisonous gases of the Skaven, had driven his kinsmen to their doom. Now the vast mountain fortress was riddled with vermin and grobi. Below him, amongst the shattered brickwork of the fortified position he had utilized in the battle, glowed the battered bronze of his beloved flame cannon. It had come under such punishment that day that it was a miracle the thing was still in one piece. Thannock knew that the damage it had sustained was irreparable without access to the finest tolls and a good few weeks in a Dwarf workshop, impossible now that the hold had been taken by the Goblins. The mountains had rung with his curses as he had tried to fix it for hours on end, but his efforts were in vain. Not only that, but his brother Bjarl had died along with his fellow crewman Thorgin. He alone was left, the only survivor of the lethal attentions of the evil green god Gork and the spears of the Goblin war machines. He saw a shadow flicker out of the corner of his eye and saw a gnarled green limb hook over the wall of the redoubt. He knew it. Rather than build more spears for their crude, shoddy war machines, the Goblin crew had decided to reclaim the originals from the ruins of their targets. Thannock waited until the two Goblins had climbed onto the stonework and jumped down from his vantage point with a bloodcurdling war cry. The Goblins froze in fear, the first feebly raising its scrawny arm to ward off Thannock's axe as it whistled down in an arc that nearly sliced the Goblin in two. The other had recovered its senses and had turned to run. Yanking his blood covered axe out of the first Goblin's corpse, Thannock threw it as hard as he could at the fleeing enemy with a roar of pure hate. The axe embedded itself deep into the cowardly Greenskin's back, splitting it open and flinging the creature to the ground. Its pitiful wails stopped abruptly as Thannock snapped its neck under his boot. It was not enough. His comrades were dead, his machine and heirloom damaged beyond repair. His home had fallen to the Gobins. With fire in his eyes, Thannock took up a Goblin crude knife. Incanting oaths as old as the hold itself, he started cutting away his long thick hair.... The Reclamation of Karak Eight Peaks: The warriors gathered together in close ranks atop the ancient burial mound. They were grouped in a defensive formation, the Dwarves sturdy shields creating a circle, which protected the crossbowmen at the center of the mound. Totally surrounded by the enemy, they were but a small island in the center of a vast sea of Greenskins. Another wave of Night Goblins surged

forward, once again assaulting their position. A great pile of the vile creatures lay dead or dying at the Dwarves feet. These Goblins were no match for the courageous fighting skill of the Dwarves, and more small fiends fell to the blows of the Dwarves finely crafted axes. Nonetheless three of the stout defenders collapsed as the Goblins'harp spears pierced through gaps in the Dwarves shieldwall. More and more of the Greenskins came scrambling over the still warm bodies of their dead brethen. Every muscle in Lord Duregar's body ached from the endless slaughter, but he knew there would be no respite from the fighting. "Hold keep the line." His voice was calm, remarkably so considering the Dwarf army's predicament. Though a dozen of more Goblins had fallen for each Dwarf, hundreds more still surrounded the mound. It seemed to Duregar that his warriors had been fighting for an eternity. Ever since they had hurriedly left their hold, the Dwarves of Karak-a-Karak had been at war. It had been nearly a week since they had recieved word from King Belgar that he had managed to take the inner keep of Karak Eight Peaks. The King's warriors had suffered heavy losses and needed reinforcements if he were to keep control of the hold. Duregar had quickly mustered his class together and marched south. As his force had reached the mouth of the Mad Dog Pass, which led to the besieged stronghold, an Orc force had suddenly attacked. His warriors, filled with vigor and resolve to aid their kinfolk had quickly seen off the Orcs. Mad Dog Pass was open to his passage. With a mighty swing of his axe, the head of a Goblin fighting him was sliced from its shoulders. In the brief respite Duregar surveyed the carnage around him. The last few Goblins of that wave of attackers were currently running from the mound. "Crossbowmen, ready your bolts." He called out to the line of troopers who stood behind him on top of the mound. As he spoke he could see the Night Goblins, the hems of their robes wet with the blood that flowed down the mound, readying themselves for the next charge. "Watch for their arrows, shields high." Duregar commanded, his warriors raised their shields. These lulls in fighting were always followed with a cloud of arrows that would fall onto the mound. It was a standard Goblin tactic; weaken the foe with missile fre, before committing masses of troops in a savage assault. The clatter of arrows striking shields was accompanied by groans from those whose armor had failed to save them. The Dwarf Lord wiped the Goblin blood from his thick brow. If only the Troll Slayers still fought by their sides then they might stand some chance. As his relief force had advanced through the pass he had expected resistance. They had met none. That was until they came within sight of the gate. It was then his suspicions were confirmed; they were marching into a trap. Hundreds of Goblins had poured out from the ruined tombs of the Dwarves ancient ancestors. The Orc force they had defeated at the jaws of the pass had regrouped and blocked any retreat. Before them the gates of the Karak were shut. Spying Stone Trolls descending from the steep slopes, the Troll Slayers had marched off to intercept them and meet with their destiny. What became of the fearless warriors? Duregar knew not. He had been kept occupied with organizing his own forces. The fact that the Trolls had yet to rear their ugly heads before them gave Duregar a good idea of what had happened. Whilst the soild front rank prepared itself for the inevitable charge of Goblins, the center of the formation was all but destroyed as a massive boulder crashed down into the tightly grouped ranks. The Night Goblins manning the Stone Thrower positioned on the gate tower had finally found their target. A large Goblin weilding a wickedly barbed saquig prodder pointed towards Duregar, screaming what could only be a challenge of some sort in his savage guttural language. At the Goblin's side an enormous Squig bared its bloodied fangs. This was obviously the leader of the Goblin force. Duregar fekt the courage of his ancestors flow through his veins. If he were to die then this loathsome creature's head would be held in his hands as he fell. The Dwarf Lord stepped forward raising his axe high to respond to the challenge, "I Duregar, Kinsman of King Belegar of Karak Eight Peaks, command these warriors. I tell you now that we shall all willingly die here on the land of our ancestors before surrendering to you, foul Greenskin!" As he spoke Duregar saw malicious intent spark within the Goblin Warboss's eye. In response the Goblin horde charged forward gibbering and cackling manically. With the once disciplined central ranks in disarray behind them, the Dwarves formation bagan to collaspe. Duregar knew that it would be soon be all over. He called out defiantly to his warriors. "Kinsman, we sell our lives dearly today. Though we may perish, the Grobi victory will be bitter for them to taste." As he said this an almighty explosion blew shards of rock and debris into the air.

"What manner of foul trickery do they play now?" Duregar cursed. His standard bearer called to his general. "My Lord, 'tis no evil. Our salvation is at hand for 'tis Belegar and his kinsmen." Duregar turned round to face the gates. He saw that the gates of Karak had been blown apart. Through the cloud of debris he could make out the standards of King Belegar's Dwarf host marching forward, cutting a swathe through the Night Goblins. "To Belegar!" The Dwarf Lord commanded. With fresh flowing through them, the Dwarves fought with a new determination. The Goblins fell before the Dwarves fury as they descended from their position. As Duregar battled through the massed ranks of Night Goblins he could see Belegar's force. His cousin fought to the fore of a wedge shaped formation, surrounded by his bodyguard. On his head the gold crown of Karak Eight Peaks glittered in the evening's light. The Hammerer's great weapons crushed the skulls of any Greenskin that dared stand between them and Duregar's men. Within minutes the two Dwarf armies met and the two cousins, Belegar and Duregar, stood back to back hacking at the Night Goblins, who had by now recovered from the shock of the initial assault. "Well met Duregar, Doth thee fancy heading back to my grand hall for some ale?" Belegar called out as he clove straight through a particulary ugly looking Goblin. "Aye. Slaying Grobi builds up a thirst for sure," Duregar replied matching his kinsman's prowess with the axe as another assailant fell to the Dwarves weapon. Belegar shouted a command to his army. "Ironbreakers, form a rearguard. Back to the hold." Arrows, fired from the slopes of the pass, rained down on the united Dwarf clans. The missiles hit both Dwarf and Goblin indiscriminately and many Greenskins fell, killed by their own troops. The well-forged armor of the Dwarves protected them from most of the barbed arrowheads. Slowly the solid mass of Dwarves pushed its way back to the gate where a unit of handgunners waiting at the entrance fired their lead shots, quickly seeing off any Goblins who tried to pursue after the retreating Dwarves. Torches illuminated the walls of the great hall, where stone carvings depicted the history of the Dwarves of the Karak. The remanants of the two armies sat on long benches at the front of the hall. The mood was sullen, many Dwarves had fallen that day and every warrior in the massive chamber contemplated the loss of their kinsfolk. Belegar raised his tankard and spoke out to the gathering of Dwarves. "Tomorrow we shall mourn the loss of many of our family and dearest friends." "Tis a sorrow that we cannot bury them in the tombs to rest with their ancestors. For that we shall ne'er forget." He opened a thick leather bound tome. "For over two thousand years the Eight Peaks' Book of Grudges has been silent. Now let us mark this day with a new account." He dusted off one of the pages and began to record the grudge. Duregar, who sat beside Belegar's throne, spoke up. "Though tomorrow we shall mourn, tonight is a night of celebration. Gathered under the roof of this hall are enough Dwarves to ensure this hall never again fall into Grobi hands. Long live the King of Karak Eight Peaks!" With this he raised his tankard towards Belegar and emptied the contents in one gulp. A loud cheer echoed around the hall as the Dwarves joined in the toast and celebrated the retaking of Karak Eight Peaks until the early hours. The Battle of Black Water Pass: In ancient times, long before even the earliest Dwarf records, a vast meteor struck the world. Gouging a huge crater, the meteor broke up and scattered chunks of valuable meteoric ore across the surrounding area. Over the following centuries, melted water from the surrounding mountains slowly filled the crater. When Dwarf scouting expeditions discovered that the meteoric iron had strong properties and could be used to forge the hardest weapons and armor. Over the subsequent years a small settlement grew and prospered until, one year, the deep mines that the Dwarves had built disturbed a monstrous beast. The beast, enraged at being woken from its centuries long slumber, surfaced to investigate. It is recorded that hundreds of Dwarves were dragged into the lake to drown as they fended off the attack of the many-tentacled creature. The Dwarves were determined to stay even after the discovery of such a monster on their doorstep. They quickly built a stronghold whose walls faced the lake. The lake was renamed Varn Drazh or Black Water after the tragic incident. Over the years the Dwarves have made good use of the torrents of melt water that rushed down through the mountains into the pools. They constructed huge water wheels and used them to power the drop hammers in their hot forges. The tunnels honeycombed the mountain and many of the clans discovered large deposits of special iron deep

beneath the lake itself. Digging their mines deeper and deeper beneath the waters of the lake, little did the Dwarves know they were sealing their doom. When the earthquakes that destroyed much of the Dwarf Empire struck Karak Varn, great cracks were rent open by the powerful tremors. The waters of the lake poured through them, flooding the mines. Countless Dwarves perished in the flood and many clans were utterly wiped out, their treasure hoards washed away by the gushing torrents. Soon afterwards, the vile Skaven seized the opportunity to attack the ruined mines and halls from below. Hoards of Orcs, whose cave systems had also been destroyed, attacked the stronghold from above. Of the strange tentacled beast, none know wheather it survived the earthquake. The beast has never been surfaced again. though some claim it still lives to this day. Many reported sightings of tentacles reaching out to grasp an unsuspecting-passer-by still send shivers of fear through all those that have to trek along the treacherous path that surrounds the lake. Durgrim swung his stout legs upwards and crashed his heavy, iron-capped boots onto the top of the thick oak table. Sitting back in his chair he put a match to his ornately carved pipe. The barmaid cast him a disapproving glance but knew better than to scold him. Had any the younger Dwarves in the dimly lit tavern dared to do the same, they would have been thrown from the premises, but Durgrim Redmane was a valued customer, and tales would draw quite a crowd. "Twas a good fight by all accounts, not like the little scuffles that you young'uns call battles. The kinfolk of Karak Eight Peaks defended the gate to a man. That were in the days when the Dwarves didn't know the meaning of retreat. A warrior would rather die in combat than return home in defeat. They'd have seen odd the attack of those vile Greenskins were it not for their evil magics. 'Tis said that the gods of the Orcs themselves appeared to help the puny Goblins, but I reckon that's more rumor and superstition than truth." Taking a deep draw on his pipe he billowed out a thick cloud of smoke. "Mind you, they should have been prepared for such treachery. The Orcs and Grobi have always sneaked and skulked about. They prefer to hide and ambush than face us Dwarves in an open fight, just look at the Battle of Black Water. Have I ever told thee about my great-great-greatgreat-great grandfather Kadrin Redmane? You'll have heard his name before, no doubtin'.... Karak Varn was once a prosperous center for Dwarf mining. The stronghold, which is now known as Cragmere was hewn out of the cliffs overlooking Black Water. The mountains around the hold were loaded with strata of unique and extremely precious minerals including the highly prized meteoric iron, which the Dwarves call Gromril. Clans arrived at Karak Varn and laid claim to sections of the mountain, where they would tunnel deep in search of the increasingly rare metal. the tunnels honeycombed the mountain and many of the clans discovered large deposits of the special iron deep beneath the lake itself. Digging deeper and deeper beneath the waters of the lake, liitle did the Dwarves know they were sealing their doom. A series of great earthquakes and volcanic eruptions caused the tunnels and passages collapsed. To further add to the disaster, the waters of the lake flooded into the lower halls drowning many Dwarves. The few Dwarves that survived were then attacked by Orcs who had been forced out of their cave systems by the great upheaval that struck the land. Outnumbered and weakened by famine and disease, only a handful of Dwarves escaped with their lives. Unbeknown to the Dwarves, the very same earthquakes that had destroyed the wealthy stronghold revealed new seams of precious ore. In the Imperail calendar year -1185 a mining expedition working in the ruins of Karak Varn discovered a particulary rich vein of Gromril. Upon its discovery, Runesmith Kadrin Redmane, leader of the expedition, petitioned the High King to fund a full-scale operation. Rumors of hidden treause quickly spread throughout the Dwarf realms and so began what became known as the Great Gromril Rush. Hundreds of miners flocked to the old stronghold and over the following years began to dig great fortunes of the precious metal. By -1136 the mines were beginning to dry up, and Kadrin Redmane decided it was time to return home in Kazaz-a-Karak. He would depart with one last shipment of ore and escort it back himself. Leaving the artillery at the Hold for the protection of the few brave Dwarves who decided to settle in the ruined, abandoned halls of Karak Varn, he sat off on the long journey home. The prospectors loaded their ore onto a large wagon, gathered their possessions and set off for the great Dwarf capitol. The Dwarf wagon and its escort followed the ancient road through a pass to the shores of Black Water. Many of the Dwarves kept close watch on the still waters of the lake lest the beast of

legend that dwelled there should choose this moment to resurface. But it was no monster that watched the Dwarves slow progress through the treacherous route. A small band of Orcs returning to their caves spotted the party, Relishing the opportunity to kill some stunties and steal their mysterious load, the Orcs hurriedly gathered together the rest of their tribe. As the precious ore reached the shores of Black Water, the Dwarf convoy was ambushed. Clouds of deadly arrows rained down upon the convoy. With a menacing cry the Orcs surged down the mountain to steal the cargo. Without any of the mighty Dwarf cannons to fear, the Orcs attacked with a savage ferocity in clinging on to their hard-earned ore. Kadrin Redmane was an experienced fighter and quickly organized the Dwarf defense. He knew that if hwe wanted to protect the ore that the miners had spent over a year collecting, then he would have to give the wagon time to prevent the Orcs from reaching it whilst it was slowed down by the boggy lakeside path. If the Dwarves could somehow withstand the Orc attack, then at least it would reach the main road and hopefully be able to distance itself from the Orc raiders. Gathering the Dwarf escort around the wagon he fought a reargaurd action. His warriors bore the brunt of the Orc assault and a vicious fight ensued. Wave after wave of attackers crashed against the Dwarves solid defensive line. One by one the Dwarves fell, selling their lives dearly. It was not long before Kadrin stood alone on a vast mound of Greenskin and Dwarf bodies. As he saw the wagon in the disappear safely into the distance he turned to face the Orc horde. With his long, red beard matted together and his tunic soaked and stained red with the blood of those slain, Kadrin looked a fearsome sight. Swinging his hammer high and charged into the midst of the Orc force. As he disappeared into the center of a group of huge Orcs the rest of the horde broke and fled in fear of this awesome fighter. At the end of the battle Kadrin Redmane lay mortally wounded by the side of the lake, his last act having been to throw his hammer into the water lest the Orcs return to claim it. It is said that when his body was recovered, a pile of thirty-six Orcs lay dead around him. At the command of the High King, Kadrin's broken body was brought back to Karaz-a-Karak where it was laid to rest in a vault beneath the Great Hall. Heinmann's Debt: Thialfi wiped the sweat from his forehead, leaning heavily on his spade as the sun shone unforgivingly on his burning shoulders. The summer heat was intolerable, and his thick, heavy clothing was, for once, proving to be his enemy. "It'll be fine once we make it underground." he told himself. "only a few more meters before we're through to the catacombs." Although in the space of a morning they had constructed some damn fine earthworks and dug a massive trench into the ground behind them, this was one of the most unpleasnat day's work Thialfi had ever done. The heat was insufferable and the humid air unbreathable. Down in the cold belly of the mountain, that was the place to dig. If his father could see him now he'd be out of his crypt and across to Nuln to give him a good dressing down. But Thialfi knes that undermining was the best way to fell a wall without the enemy even knowing they had arrived. It worked, simple as that. And King Toldavf wanted to make an entrance. "Get back to work! Do you think you're here to bask in the sun, Thialfi Ranulfsson?" King Toldavf, accompanied by two Ironbreakers in fall gromril armor, strode up to the earthworks with his mighty hammer gripped tight in gauntleted hands. He had the look of a Dwarf with but one aim in mind revenge. "Dig! Get through to those catacombs and take that wall down by sunset, or I'll have your beards! By Grungni, we'll see that oath-breaker's heart in our hands by nightfall." "Lord Heinmann! My Lord! Listen, I implore you!" The chamberlain, robes gathered, scurried toward his employer with a look of ashen shock on his face. The Lord of the castle, Pietr Heinmann, was in a dark mood indeed, and Chamberlain Geiss did not relish breaking the worrying news. But he had no choice, and a momnet of tarrying could cost him his life. "The Dwarves, liege! They have been sighted in the woods to the east! And...they're digging! At any moment they could be through to the lower levels, and we shall all die!" Heinmann slapped the man out of his hysteria. This was ridiculous. So he hadn't paid the Dwarf Engineers who built the east wall and his prized tower to full. That was six years ago. Six years! He'd almost forgotten the vitriol in their threats. But it seemed that the Dwarves were back, and they had brought the rest of their grubby clan. Wearily preparing himself to defend his home,

Heinmann summoned the captain of the guard. Sergeant Greiss peered into the gloom, eyes squinted. He knew that the flickering torches would be of limited use, but this was ridiculous. He could barely see twenty feet in front of his troops' position, and he knew that there were Dwarves down here with them. Crossing the broken flagstones of the catacombs, Greiss spat into the darkness. While they held torches, they may as well be shouting out their location at the top of their voices. He knew full well that he would probably spend his last hours in the impenetrable darkness of the catacombs. He had seen the earthworks himself, and he knew that the Dwarves would choose to fight underground. So be it, though Greiss, ordering his Greatswords forward. On the left, Captain Obermann's Spearmen were closing the distance, the detachments of Halberdiers keeping close. In the distance, he could hear the low thump of heavy boots marching towards them. Thialfi marched onward through the dark, glad to be out of the scalding rays of the sun. This was more like it, he thought, back where Dwarves belonged. Suddenly, the Thane barked an order, and the marching column stopped dead. He could smell others in the tunnels, torches betraying their presence in the hallway ahead. He and fellow miners extinguished the candles atop their helemts, their natural night vision compensating for the lack of light. To his left, he saw the party of Rangers, lead by Thane Sigrid, split left to intercept a unit of Men clad from head to foot in shining armor. Silently, Thialfi slid his pick from his backpack, and began wordlessly mounthing a battle prayer as the lines of Dwarves closed in. Greiss ordered his men past the Dwarves. He could make out figures in the gloom, and he knew that to-to-toe the Dwarf warriors would like as not cut the Spearmen and the Free Company to shreds. Outmaneuvering them, unlikely as it may seem, would be their only chance. Over by the ruined shrine, the Spearmen were backing away, buying the Greatswords time. The smaller unit of Dwarves, originally detached from the main body to inercept Greiss and his men, had rejoined the miners. If he could only charge their rear... They were backing away like the cowards they were, though Thialfi. At least they had sence enough to keep formation. The charge was sounded, and the Miners barreled forward like a pack of bulls into the ranks of the humans, one of them falling to a well-braced spear as the units either side of them closed in on their flanks. But they were fighting underground, as Dwarves had done for a millennia, and fancy maneuvers would not break their spirits. With chagrin he saw the human leader fell the prospector Lothau, but on the flanks, humans were being cut down like corn. Although there were enemies pressing in on all sides, the Dwarves held fast. Suddenly, Greiss saw a unit of Dwarf rangers, led by a female. For some reason they had stopped. Their actions became clear when two of his men fell to the floor, one with a Dwarf throwing axe deep in his throat, the other screaming as another axe cleft a bloodly slice from the side of his head. The eyesight of the Dwarves was evidently unhindered by the gloom, and Greiss had no choice. Hoping that the Free Company had enough discipline to attack the flank, he commanded his men to charge. They bit the Dwarves hard, the Free Company whooping as they sprinted headlong into the Dwarves flank. His men were effcient and deadly, cutting two Dwarves down with their initial charge. But the Dwarves did not falter. As luck would have it, Greiss ended up facing off against the female leader, his great sword whistling down in an arc that smashed her parry aside and embedded the long blade in her shoulder. With shock, he realized he could not wrench his great sword free as she swung her shield over the fine blade, locking them together and closing the distance, taking his head from his shoulders with a sweep of her axe. The fighting rang throughout the dusty catacombs, screams and battle-cries mingling as the organized ranks of the Empire fell into blind melee with the Dwarf Miners. Despite the countercharge and the advantage which the halberds gave them, the Empire could not break their foe. They founght with utter determination, Spearmen falling left, right and center to the great picks wielded by the Miners. One group of Halberdiers fled into the darkness, convinced that the fight was lost. The Dwarves were merciless, culling the ranks of the humans for their impudence, laughing at the desperate attempts of the human soldiers to fend off their unseen foe. Torches guttered and went out as Spearmen fought desperately for their lives. In the pitch dark, the humans' spirit broke, and they were cut down as they scrambled and fell on the rough flagstones. Thialfi was wiping the blood from his pick as the Greatswords hit them in the flank. Almost simultaneously, a large body of unskilled mercenaries had charged the miners in the rear. How

could this be? What of Sigrid and the Rangers? In the confusion and darkness, the humans had crept up on the desperate battle like thieves in the night, coming up behind them before closing the jaws of their trap. All around him his brothers in arms were being cut apart, barely able to turn to face their confusion of bodies. The Dwarves fought bravely, but to no avail, they were being pushed forward by the press of unwashed soldiers behind them. One Dwarf's footing gave, another stumbled, and the MIners broke ranks. The last thing Thialfi saw was a dully shining blade swinging out from the darkness. The remenants of the Greatswords, covered in grime and blood, could see light at the end of the mine shaft leading up to the surface. They had become hopelessly lost in the catacombs, and headed toward the nearest light sourse, the enlisted men of the Free Company stumbling around behind them. Jaeger unsheathed his two-handed blade the moment he came into a pool of low light and turned to address the shattered remenants of the counter-mining force. "Right, this looks like the way the Dwarves entered the catacombs. There may well be some left up there, but if we're lucky we'll be in a perfect position to butcher the sons of goats minding the artillery. Form up on my count, we charge." Jaeger steeled himself, his comrades shoulder to shoulder around him. With a piercing cry, the Empire troops charged into the light of the searing summer sun Jaeger realized too late that his whole unit was blinded by the brightness of the day, and the charge of the Greatswords distegrated into an awkward stumble. A small unit of Dwarf Clansmen, left to guard the rear of the Dwarf lines, extinguished their pipes and grabbed their axes, diving into the blinded Greatswords with shouted oaths and loud war cries. Jaeger lashed out in instinct, feeling his blade connect, but he could hear the screams of his men all around him. His mistake had been a costly one, and they had no choice. His unit broke, and the Free Company soldiers fled with them, running blindly into the trees. The Nemesis Crown: For long centuries, the Nemesis Crown has rested hidden deep beneath the Howling Hills. Few know of its origins, of its mad creator, or of the terrible curse that will echo down the ages if ever it is disturbed. A Bygone Age: Two and half millennia ago, the Old World was a wild and benighted land. Savage beasts and fell beings haunted the forests and plains, and survival for the warring tribes of Men who dwelt there hung ever in the balance. It was into this savage world that Sigmar was born, and his first great deed was the rescue of the Dwarf King Kurgan Ironbeard from a greenskin raiding party. Ironbeard gifted Sigmar with a great runic warhammer-Ghal Maraz-with which Sigmar fought against the greenskins and ultimately untied the scattered tribes of Man. Years later, Sigmar and Kurgan stood together at the Battle of Black Fire Pass, and in recognition of their great victory, Kurgan ordered his master Runesmith to forge the Runefangs. Alric the Mad: That Master Runesmith was Alric, creator of some of the greatest weapons ever wielded in battle. A century in the making, the Runefangs were gifted to each of the Empire's Elector Counts. Some say that the century Alric spent toiling at his forge drove the Runesmith to obsession and paranoia. His peers considered the Runefangs Alric's greatest achievement, but the Runesmith himself refused to accept that he had reached the heoght of his art. Alric sought a new rune, and in time, found a variation on the Rune of Kingship-the Rune of Ages. This rune would not only retain and distill the wisdom of each of its bearers and pass it on to those who followed but also give the bearer control of his very destiny. Any who carried the rune would become master of his fate and that of his entire race. But Alric found that no matter what material he set the Rune of Ages upon, it would shatter as the last blow was struck. Stone, iron, gromril, draon scales-all proved too weak to contain the mighty energies of his new Master Rune. He set out upon a great quest to find a substance strong enough to bear the rune's awesome power. For long decades, Alric wandered the dark roads of the Old World, through mountains and forests. Nowhere could be locate the material he sought. As time went on, he became more and more obsessed, prompting Dwarves and men to give him

a new name-Alric the Mad. While passing along what is now the Old Forest Road, which at the time, was little more than a well-trod woodland path, Alric was ambushed by a band of Skaven. Though now aged and stooped, Alric was a veteran of many battles and dispatched the vile ratmen with ease. From nearby, he felt the presence, as only a Master Runesmith could, of some unknown but incredibly powerful ore. He followed his uncanny instinct. Deep beneath the knotted roots of a twisted oak, he found a chuck of material strong enough to hold the Rune of Ages-warpstone. Alric barely hesitated before he pried the chuck of rock out of the ground. Prehaps his once wise mind was clouded by his overwhelming desire to prove himself the greatest Runesmith the world had ever seen, of perhaps the evil of the warpstone reached out and touched his already weakened powers of reason. The next chapter of Alric's story is rarely told. It is said that he traveled to the Grey Mountains, where he constructed a mighty forge fueled by the volcanic lifeblood of the peaks. Alric worked upon the weirdling ore day and night, until he had produced a gleaming crown, upon which was struck the Rune of Ages. As Alric looked upon his creation, his mind cleared. He had been blinded by madness and obsession. The crown would not distill the destiny of those who wore it, but would instead draw out even the smallest shred of evil intent and transform him into the vessel for all the malice of every former wearer. Alric was horrified by what he had created, but he knew that the crown could not be destroyed. Thus, he resolved to hide it away. He traveled to the Great Forest and the wind-swept Howling Hills and descended into the depths of a worked-out Dwarf mine from the times before the War of the Beard. There, he sought a place in which to hide the crown for eternity. Alric hewed a chamber from the living rock, placed the crown within, and sealed the chamber with the most potent of warding runes. Evil Reawakened: The crown lay hidden for many long centuries. The chamber remained intact, even as the mine entrance eventually collapsed upon itself. Then, a mighty earthquake shook the Howling Hills and brought tales of fresh gromril seams and wealth to be had in the area of the old mine. A band of Dwarf miners was dispatched to investigate. They found far more than they had bargained for. Discovering the uncovered mine workings, they came upon the breached chamber. What happened next is unclear, for only a single Dwarf emerged, blood-splattered and raving, into the light. A short time later, a band of Night Goblins, ever on the search for new cracks and crannies to infest, came upon the mine, where they found the insane Dwarf and his dead companions. The lone miner was captured by greenskins, who discerned from his rantings that an object of great power was to be found somewhere in their new lair. The Goblins tortured the mad Dwarf but could get little more from him. Perhaps the location of the Crown would thus have remained secret, but a Dwarf rescue force led by Thane Grombold of the famous Krud clan came in search of the lost miners. During the chaos that followed, a black-hearted Night Goblin came upon the crown by chance, slaughtering his fellows, and fled with it into the forest. Now, armiesmuster to retrieve the crown, for wild rumors of its powers have sprerad far and wide. The Dwarves seek to return it to their holds where Alric's madness can be hidden for all time. Grimgor thinks that, should he gain it, the strongest warrior in the land will come to fight him. The Emperor sees in the crown an invaluable artifact of the Age of Sigmar and believes that its power could be harnessed for the good of Man. Whoever succeeds, they will do so only at a terrible cost in blood-a cost each is prepared to pay in the return for possession of the Nemesis Crown. Ironbreaker: By: Ironbreaker Grimnir It was a quite night at Karak-Gratzin.Every dwarf was heading back to his home to get his hard earned rest.Only those on guard were the ones to stay awake.Because every night noble dwarfs stay awake to protect the city from unexcepted attacks and to make sure that none is caught midsleep.Some of the bravest,are these that guard the underways and the dark underground

tunnels.They are the elite unit of the Ironbreakers.Fearless,grim and well-trained dwarfs dressed in fine gromril armor guarding the underground paths from the foul skaven or greenskin scum! Snorri Goldbeard was to patrol the city's underway as usual,along with other twenty-nine Ironbreakers,that night.The unit was small compared to other nights and it was under the command of Arik Grimfist,a very experienced warrior when it comes to tunnel fighting and formations.Snorri and he were friends for many years but they've been doing this patrol for three months,from the last city siege,this is.It was one of the biggest sieges the city had ever experienced.Thirty-thousand ratmen were at Karak-Gratzin's doorstep,attacking from everywhere.Every single mine,road,gate,even the smallest path underground or above was a battlefield.The siege lasted for sixteen monthns.Ratmen slowly started to fall back as their casualties were heavy and those left alive were clearly not a match for the defenders.They left behind only dead bodies and the half-destroyed stronghold.That period was also important to Snorri because that siege resulted in the death of many friens and clansmen and amongst them his old friend Stromni.He saw his death with his own eyes.It was ugly...He fell while trying to close a gate in an underground fight,a stormvermin came from behind and stabbed him at the back with its rusty blade multiple times before bringing him to his knees,leaving him bleeding and facing his slow and painful death...Snorri swore that day that he would avenge his fallen friend with the first opportunity given. The unit gathered in a hall with a huge gate.That hall was the very last of the city in that direction.After drinking his last mug of ale,Arik swept his lips with his hand and stood up.After a quick look around he said "Alright lads,that's enough drinking for now,there will be plenty more when we return"and smiled.His fellow warriors slowly got up and got eventually into formation.Snorri was the first to stand up as he took those patrols very seriously,so he did not approved of loose formations or slowness.Longbeards said that for a dwarf with only a hundred and fifty years under his belt,he was very disciplined.So,even without having the longest beard in the unit he was co-leader with Arik."OK,open the gates!"Arik shouted and the two gurds opened the gate."Let's go Ironbreakers"Arik said and the whole unit started moving towards the gate.They passed through the opened gate and continued on to the dimly lit underway.The underway was 160 miles long and led to Zhufbar.So every night two patrols from each hold would meet at the middle,report and return.But it wasn't that simple.The underway had some tunnels,paths and offshoots that led to old camps,mines and ruins that needed to be kept an eye on as well. After a few hours of walking,a young'un asked why they where still making that patrol,since never anything happened.Before Snorri got the chance to reply,Arik said with a humorous tone on his voice"Because we wouldn't want a goblin sneaking up on us and stealing our beer now,would we?","Right..." replied the young'un and lowered his head in shame.After the short dialogue silence took over the underway once more.Only the metal dwarven boots could be heard except from little pieces of stone falling off the wall or some little licks now and then.Snorri liked to notice the great stonework on the walls while walking.They where truly magnificent.Kings,foes,grudges and battles where carved with detail on the hard mountain rock. Arik's voice disrupted Snorri's thoughts about the great stonework."Alright you know the drill,lads.We will split into three squads,ten men each.Me and my squad will go to the right,through the old mines.Snorri,you and your squad will continue through the underway and Faragrim,take yours and go to left,through the old underway.We will meet on the other side."By hearing that,Snorri,understood that they had reached the most dangerous part of their journey.At that point of the underway there were two exits.The one on the right led to an old dried up gromril mine.The one to the left was and old, half destroyed part of the underway that after the last skaven invasion,engineers believed that it wasn't worth repairing and they built a new one.Snorri turned to see the ones that were on his squad.He noticed that five out of the nine squad members were only beardlings.After a few seconds of absorving he said them "Stay alert.If you hear anything strange,say it!Got it?".The warriors nodded at him and he nodded back.He then turned around and all started walking forward in the cold underway...

Battle of Blood Crag: By: Rundskal Falgrim slid down the scree slope, his warriors following behind with their bodies covered in dark chainmail, axes and shields bared and ready for the oncoming enemy. Behind him up on the slope Grundi heaved the cannon into place, tilting the barrel so it aimed across the low flat in front of them. Across to his left Thane Falgrim had positioned his Thunderers, the stout kin of his hold kneeling and aiming down their sights, checking the range. Even further to the left of the army he saw the familiar helmets and weapons of his miners led by the brave Gloin who even from this distance could be seen chugging on his clay pipe stuffed between folds of white beard. With his army arrayed across the small ridge Falgrim turned his attention across the small expanse to the enemy army, advancing at some pace towards them. Ahead the goblins of the White Claw clan were rampaging down towards them with bristling spears. He could spy behind them a small gaggle of archers, pulling their bowstrings back. Falgrim watched as the cruel black tipped arrows flew into the sky and arched over their heads. At first he thought the goblins had missed, but then a bark of pain sounded from the ridge and looked on as Grundi pulled one of the engineers away from the cannon, an arrow stuck fast in his neck. Falgrim grumbled at the thought that the goblins across the pass had gotten first blood, he would remember that when the time came to put axe to flesh. The entire goblin line advanced forwards, to the right their tamed spiders and their small riders were leaping between the stones towards the dwarf line, Gloin moving his miners to intercept them as they came on. He had to admit to himself that he did not think that his kin could hold against the poisonous fangs of their monsters, but he sent a prayer to the gods all the same. Falgrim turned his attention back to the matter at hand and moved to the front of his small unit of warriors as the black robed and red-eyed menaces scampered towards his position. They were many in number, nigh on forty of the goblin scum were chattering and wailing, their champion howling madly as they came on. A crack and a boom behind him was the sign of early shots from the Thunderers. He watched the projectiles flash towards the oncoming regiment of goblins and the wail of pain was satisfying as three of their number were bowled down by those behind, dead and crumpled. Accompanying the thump of gunfire was a boom of cannon fire from Grundis cannon. The heavy missile thudded into the ground before the goblins and tore through them, killing another dozen or so of the blighters before they had time to reform the line. Falgrim allowed himself a smile as he heard the laughter of Grundi behind him up on the hill. Everything seemed to be going well for his kin, but as he and his warriors braced for the charge of the still wailing goblins he saw the foreboding shadow of a troll lumber from behind a rocky outcrop. He was not the only one to notice the troll, hearing Grundi yell commands to wheel the cannon around, followed by a snap of rifles. The bullets did little but aggravate the blundering troll who roared and ripped a large dwarf cut stone from the ground, and roaring with anger hurled it across the battlefield. It did little, smashing against the ground before the Thunderers. Falgrim thought of wheeling the warriors round to deal with the troll, but at that moment an orange haired blur leapt from behind the Thunderers and roared across the battlefield. The blur was Borank, a slayer of the deftest skill. Yes, he had shamed himself when he had left his kin to die, but now he was famed amongst Falgrims hold. He had slain trolls, giants and dragons and this troll would be little trouble. Borank leapt the stones and rubble and with his two axes high in the air he tore towards the troll. But he had bigger troubles to deal with. The goblins were closing in, a few spears thudding into the front rank. The spears bent and snapped, some sticking from their thick oaken shields, but no damage was suffered as the goblins slammed into them with enough force to break most units. Falgrim lashed out, his axe cutting down a pair of goblins in an instant; his warriors did the same equalling his death toll. The goblins however were more numerous and with a savage look in its eyes the champion of the fiends hacked down one of his warriors in a blood thirst before delivering the same punishment to a second. A squint eyed musician banging a skin drum found himself before Falgrim and with a squeak of terror tried to run between its friends. Falgrim pursued the blasted greenskin, knocking aside a spear and smashing the skull of another goblin before hefting his axe and slamming it into the back of the running goblin. The goblins around the fallen musician panicked and the silent work of the dwarfs began to tell, hewing down more as

they moved forwards. The champion of the goblins caught Falgrims eye and a spear thrust towards his shield arm. He blocked it with a bash and yanked the curved weapon free from the goblins grip. The goblin resorted to trying to savage Falgrim with his clawed hands, leaping on top of him and trying to get within his helmet. With a grunt Falgrim punched the pitiful thing in the side of the head. Stunned it fell to the floor and was all too unaware of the axe that Falgrim finally slammed into its skull. With their champion gone the goblins began to loose their heart for battle and turned their tails to run, but Falgrim was not going to let that be the end of it. To me my kin! he called, chasing forwards after the stumbling goblins run them down and leave none alive! The dwarfs rallied behind their Thane and with a great crushing of goblin underfoot they ran down the greenskins with a vengeance born of generations of pain. The route was bloody and painful, not a single goblin was left twitching when Falgrim and his kin had finished their swings. Falgrim turned, looking to see how the battle was faring for the rest of his followers and dismay dawned on him as he watched the gigantic spiders of the goblins, oblivious to their champions demise, overrun and slaughter the miners. It would take the them many months to resupply their ranks now with hard working and well honed miners, and they could ill afford more causalities. Falgrim turned to his musician, a large horn resting on his shoulder. Signal the Thunderers, they must about face to take the enemy head on he grunted, looking around for a new target for himself. He could trust the stalwart gunsmiths to do their work, and he had to keep in mind the pressing matter of the troll. He spied for the gigantic creature and found it in the midst of a swirling melee with the slayer Borank. The deft slices of the broad axes in his meaty fists carving chunks from the beasts stomach and limbs, but even as Borank hacked and slashed the flesh seemed to reform as if it had not been touched. With a heavy heart Falgrim watched as the troll sent a swift kick at Boranks face, sending the slayer sprawling backwards. The kick would have been enough to bring down even a knight of the chaos gods, but Borank simply stood, cracked his neck and dived back towards the trolls roaring face. Behind them he heard the crack of rifle fire and as his warriors moved to close on the goblin archers still taking pot shots from their hill he turned to witness almost half the number of spider rides fall to the ground, their mounts twitching and reeling in pain. Still, the spiders hit home and the Thunderers dropped their rifles, pulling small hatchets from their belts and readying shields. Falgrim knew his gunsmiths would do their best, and he hoped they would pull through. Just then another boom sounded and a cannon ball rocketed through the sky landing before the goblin archers and splattering three of them with its following bounce. The goblins, scared for their lives turned tail and ran even as Falgrim and his kin closed on them. They did not seem to be reforming and instead Falgrim turned his attention to the flank of the ominous troll. Borank swung and missed, his axes cleaving at mid air as the troll, with some extraordinary skill dodged his sweeping attacks. In return the troll kicked hard once more, breaking Boranks jaw with a crush of bone. Still the brave slayer fought on, hacking apart the trolls leg with a cruel axe strike, but the wound reformed just as before. Borank frowned, and tried to wipe blood from his brow as it trickled down into his eyes. The troll sensed its opportunity and just as Borank cleared his vision the stone the beast was carrying crashed down on his skull. The world span for a moment as Borank teetered on his feet before a fist connected with his skull and he collapsed to the floor. The chortle of the troll was the only sound he heard as his vision turned black. A moan of anguish filtered down the ranks of Falgrims warriors as they watched the slayer fall, but it seemed Grundi was on the case. A boom sounded again and a great black cannon ball slammed into the trolls side. The arm hung limp from its blasted socket, but still the creature roared on, crushing the body of the slayer ignobly beneath its feet and racing towards the rear of the Thunderers. Falgrims mind raced, up on the slope the goblin archers had reformed but the troll was about to sweep his way through the rear of their gun line. His moment of hesitation was answered by a roar from the Thunderers. He watched as the champion ripped the goblin riders leaders head from its shoulders and threw it aside, his unit turning and retrieving their guns to fire on the troll. The crack of guns had not been suspected by the troll and it reeled and howled in

pain as great welts grew on its chest and face from the many rounds. Sensing it would have its luck in fighting another day the troll turned tail and ran, but not before Falgrim and his warriors had their chance. His warriors charged, leaping at the troll with shouts and curses of vengeance. Their axes hacked and hewed at its flesh and the troll fell to its knees in agony. Falgrim slammed his axe into the things spine, severing bone and nerves before climbing aboard its shoulders and with a sickening crunch drove the blade of his axe through the trolls skull. A gurgle of pain and a fumbled swing were the trolls response before it fell flat on the bloodied stone and moved no more. The day seemed theirs as Falgrim stood and wiped sweat from his lips. The Thunderers raced past him and unleashed a volley into the archers who had again turned tail and ran. A few more hit the ground, smoking holes in their black tunics before the riflemen stopped their fire and stood still nearby. Up on the hill Grundi could be heard shouting to his crew while a dwarf with a backpack took out surgical tools to remove the arrow from one of his apprentices. Falgrim panted and removed his helmet, glad to be free of the choking closeness. The miners were all dead, Gloin too, his body being pulled from the mass of other dwarfs by a stout pair of Thunderers. A full half dozen of his other kinsmen had fallen during the battle, but it was nothing on the pain they had caused to the goblins. Even now as he gazed around the blood soaked field of war there was a carpet of green and black that not even their biggest Warboss could turn to a victory morally. The Thane delighted in the knowledge that when the archers returned to their Warboss they would most likely be eaten by the savage greenskins. A struggling sound and shouts of anger from behind him made Falgrim turn as a dwarf dragged along a goblin by its leg, the pitiful thing scrabbling in the dirt to try and get free. Found this skulk sitting in a tree atop the barrows the dwarf warrior snarled, casting the goblin forwards with ease so it landed at Falgrims feet. Please! the goblin begged, stuffing its hands together and staring around madly youz leave me alive and me can ged you good stuff! Information yah yah? Falgrim was disgusted at the creature, his face contorted by rage. The goblin was one of their shamans, his distinctive hood revealing his true identity, and Falgrim had little patience for those who used magic, let alone a goblin spellcaster. He bent low and grabbed the goblin by the scruff of its collar, lifting it clean off its feet and snarled into its face. The last thing my people would do is ally with your kind greenskin! before pulling a pistol from his belt and aiming it at the goblins skull. The shaman squealed and wriggled free before running off at full pelt. Leave it Falgrim said as his warriors went for their weapons. The Thane aimed down the barrel of his pistol as the goblin ran as fast as its little legs would carry it and with a squeeze of the trigger let his pistol spit forth a rune scarred shot. The bullet smacked home and the shaman toppled over onto its front, twitched for a moment, then died, smoke rising from a hole in its robes. Falgrim turned to his warriors who trudged back towards the ridge and beyond, their hold. A grim face of determination was etched on all their faces and Falgrim knew like they did that this fight was far from over. The goblins were only the beginning of the greenskin menace, and where goblins roamed, so did their cousins, the Orc. Burials and feasting would honour the dead this night, the slayer Borank foremost in his words and prayers to the gods. Tomorrow morning they would follow the tracks of the archers, and maybe seek their own doom as well. The Saga of Thorek Bloodfist: CHAPTER 1: Life in Azgul Karaz Sweat poured down Thorek's brow as he swung his heavy pick. For hours now he had been working in the mines in his endless search for the precious minerals that his people loved so much. Like all miners he dreamed hitting gold, finding a seam of iron ore, or in his wildest dreams even a vein of gromril. Yet life was not made up of dreams and for the past month Thorek could find nothing but the dullest of copper. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted as a hand reached out and shoved him aside. Losing his balance, Thorek fell down and lost his grip on his pick. Looking up in anger, the young dwarf saw the scowling face of Drahnz. Drahnz stared down at Thorek with undisguised disdain. "Go elsewhere wanaz (bad beard), ye type isne wanted here.

These ere mines be for real dwarves, not ye foreign bastiches!" Thorek's face turned red with anger as he looked up at the older dwarf's scowling face. Thorek grabbed his pick and for a second was ready to strike, before he looked around and saw that the other miners had ceased their work to support Drahnz. Gritting his teeth, Thorek stalked off, the cruel laughter of his socalled "kin" ringing in his ears. Thorek sat alone in the crowded inn known as the scalded grobi. All around him the sounds of laughter filtered through the room as many dwarves left the mines to relax with a strong ale. Yet there was no merriment for Thorek, for he was the son of Bjarn Bloodfist...an adventurer. Thorek bitterly looked around the room. What right did these dwarves have to scorn him? He was born to the hold of Azgul Karaz like all of them, so why was he treated like a third class citizen? With a deep frown Thorek threw a handful of crowns onto the table to pay for his drink and left. The barmaid gave him a dirty look as she picked up the coins before moving on to the next table. Thorek returned home late to find his father sitting alone in front of a roaring fire, slowly nursing a stein of ale. Slumping his shoulders, Thorek propped his pick by the door and removed his thick leather gloves. Without a word Thorek walked over to his father and pulled up a chair to sit next to the ancient dwarf. Thorek took a second to look over his father. Bjarn was an ancient dwarf by most dwarves' regard. His beard was pure white and was so long that he had to wrap it around himself like a belt. His craggy features stared ahead into the fire and his eyes had a distant quality as if he was lost in thought. His hands were gripped like a vice around his stein so strongly that Thorek thought the stein would crack under the pressure. Thorek even took a second to give his father a measure of respect for his bulging muscles gained from a hard life of fighting. He had not let decades of relatively easy living make him go soft. Without turning his head Bjarn quietly but sternly said, "So lad, how was ye day in the mines?" There was a long pause before Thorek dropped his head and Bjarn let out a deep sigh. Suddenly Thorek looked up and finally voiced a question that had burned in him for his entire life. "Father...why were ye an adventurer? Why did ye leave our clan?" Now it was Bjarn's time to remain silent. He set down his stein and turned to stare into Thorek's eyes. His gray eyes seemed to go right through Thorek, and for a second Thorek thought he had angered his father. Then his father said in a very soft voice "Well lad, I reckon ye are old enough to know. I guess that I ne'er wanted ye to know because the story would be too hard for me to tell. Ye see, like ye I was ne'er born surrounded by me true kin, I have nay been able to see our ancestral home neither." Thorek was taken back by this, but restrained himself from speaking for fear that his father would stop his speech. "The fall of our clan dates back to the time of the war of vengeance." "We are of Clan Bloodfist, which was once a prosperous clan within the great hold of Karak Eight Peaks. When the war of the beard broke out, the entire dwarven empire mobilized to fight the treacherous elves of Ulthuan. Our clan went to Krag Bryn in response to the plea of aid from Queen Helgar to avenge the death of her husband Drong the Thrundling at the hands of the elves of Tol Eldroth." At this point Bjarn broke off from his tale as if he was being forced to remember things far too tragic to easily speak about. "It was a long and hard fought war, not only within the distant battle grounds in Queen Helgar's territory, but the whole old world. The war ended with both the dwarvish empire and the elvish armies of Ulthuan taking horrendous casualties. Neither race would ever truly recover. Our clan was no exception, as fully one out of four dwarves who went to fight the elves died during those horrible battles. The elves in their part had lost heart when their king died by the hammer of Gotrek Startbreaker and no reinforcements arrived to save them. They could not replace their casualties and we refused to give up our campaign of attrition. The elves of Tol Eldroth realized the folly of the war they started and sailed back to Ultuan and abandoned their homes to the axes and fires of the victorious dwarves. After the burning of Tol Eldroth, the remnants of our clan left the bloodied lands to return to the fair Karak Eight Peaks. But the mountains were filled with all manner of vile beasts and the journey back was long and hard. Upon reaching our home, the clan found it had fallen in their absence to the greenskins and the skaven. Many of our clan saw this as their fault for leaving to fight the elves instead of staying to protect their families. Overcome with grief, many took the oath of the Slayer. The rest of our clan split and went their separate ways, each with their own hopes of some day returning to take back our home."

With this Bjarn fell silent. Finally Thorek broke the silence. "But why are we...hated so?" Bjarn replied "That is because of me, lad. I was born in Karaz-a-Karak. Me own father was very poor and me mother had died giving birth to me. I was full of the fire of youth and refused to accept me lot in life. Instead I saved up what money I could, bought what equipment I could and abandoned me hold and me father to live the life of a mercenary and adventurer." Thorek looked at his father in surprise. He could not believe what he was hearing. But before he could say a word his father continued: "I lived such a life until the day I met ye mother. Me company was hired to help fight off the greenskins that had been plaguing this ere hold. After the campaign I ran intae ye mother, Bryndrika. Her father was a wealthy merchant and had high hopes to marry her off to a noble family. I cannae say what really happened between us. It was truly a chance meeting when I ran intae her in the bar...but I..." At this point Bjarn's face seems to turn a bit red. "I fell in love with her and her with me. I proposed to her then and there. She accepted. I quit me life as a mercenary to come and live here with her. But as ye may expect, her father was outraged and in his anger disowned her. We decided to stay in the hold, but the animosity towards us has never died down. To this day I am hated for me life as a mercenary and she is hated for marrying me against the wishes of her clan." For a long minute the pair sat in complete silence. Eventually that silence was broken by the heavy footsteps of Bryndrika. She stopped once she saw the faces of her family. "So...you know then?" Thorek looked up at his mother and slowly nodded. She looked down at her son with a mixture of sorrow and love. She finally said: "I am sorry. But it is late and we all must work tomorrow. Your father has to patrol the deeper portions of the mines, ye must keep on mining and I have my own errands to run. We should all get some sleep." Thorek stood up and put his hand on his father's shoulder. Thorek looked into his eyes and said "Thank you" before walking off to bed. Thorek sat alone at his usual table. The mood in the bar was dour as a silence settled over the usually joyous environment. All the dwarves were nursing their mugs in silent thought or engaged in their own quiet conversations. Suddenly a hacking cough broke the silence of the bar and every eye turned to look at the dwarf who made it. Silently all around him began to slowly move away from him, each finding some excuse to leave. Thorek could hardly blame them. A dreadful plague seemed to be spreading through the hold as of late. The diseased seemed to slowly waste away over the span of a week or so. Already a dozen dwarves were known to carry the plague and three had already died. The youngest seemed to be the most susceptible to the disease and all the deaths were from the rare dwarf children. The dwarf who had let out the cough abruptly stood up and hurried out of the bar, muttering something about seeing a priestess of Vallaya. Thorek nervously looked around. It was easy to see that everyone in the bar was also afraid that they too had caught the plague. In fact only the priestesses seemed to be willing to go anywhere near the sick now and the area around their temple was deserted by all but the ill. Thorek finished his ale, threw down a coin and left the bar. No one seemed to even notice him. Thorek returned home with all haste. He had a stuffed up nose and was sneezing. Thorek devoutly prayed to all of his ancestors that he did not carry the plague. Such a fate was something he would not wish on even the likes of Drahnz. Upon reaching home Thorek strode in and called out to his father. Thorek was a little shocked to find himself alone in the house; his father should have been home by now. Then he noticed a small note by Bjarn's favorite chair. It read "Thorek come to the temple. -Bjarn" Forgetting everything Thorek turned and ran out of his house and straight to the temple of Vallaya. As Thorek strode into the temple, the echoing coughs of the sick seemed to hang in the air. Thorek quickly made the sign of Vallaya over his heart and then covered his face with his sleeve in a desperate attempt to stop the plague from reaching him. He heard his father's voice call out to him. Thorek ran to the source of the sound to find his worst fears realized. His father was sitting by the bed of Bryndrika. She was asleep, but beads of sweat ran down her forehead. Bjarn looked up at Thorek, fear and anger written upon his craggy features. Thorek looked down in shock at his mother, all he could stutter out was "What..." Bjarn looked down at his wife and put his hand over hers and gripped it tightly as if he feared that

she would fall if he let go. Without looking up, Bjarn told Thorek how he had come home to find her passed out on the floor. He had carried her to the temple with all haste and delivered her to the priestesses. Thorek looked down and saw that on the back of her neck horrible green boils had grown. Thorek felt the urges to run and stay in equal measures; fear and family loyalty warred inside him. Bjarn seemed to realize his son's fear and merely said "The priestesses have done what they could. They say that the blessing of Vallaya is over her and that as long as we keep our faith we should not contact the disease." The thought of being so close to a plague carrier was unthinkable, but Thorek could not leave his mother. Finally Thorek pulled up a chair and put his head in his hands. It was all he could do to stop himself from crying. The next morning Thorek went to work with a heavy heart. The hours rolled past him as Thorek tried to concentrate on the task at hand, though he found it very difficult. Thorek swung his pick again and again into the hard surface of the rock face. His timing was off and the blows were clumsy, for instead of concentrating on his job he was trying to overhear a nearby conversation, both to end the tedium of work and to get his mind off of his own woes. Kadrin- "I'm tellin ye Magni trouble is commin-" Magni- "Bah! What the fook are ye talkin about?" Kadrin- "If ye will jus' let me finish I'll tell ye. Now as I was sayin' my brother Lokri is a ranger, and he has been tellin' me that his unit has been seein' more in more mutants coming into our mountains." Kadrin- "He says that three units have already been all but wiped out trying to fight them back and they have got orders to go to all the outlying mining towns and to tell the miners to fall back to the hold. 'Course that was a week ago and I have nay heard a word from him since." At this, Thorek's pick missed the rock wall entirely and he momentarily lost his balance. Laughter seemed to echo throughout the mines as his fellow dwarves saw his discomfort. Thorek quickly pulled himself together and began to actually pay attention to his swings. Still a nagging thought played in the back of his mind, "what horrible fortune to have the plague hit and then this!" Once Thorek had finished his rounds in the mine he returned straight to his house. He was surprised to find his father there who had barely left his mother's side since she fell ill. Bjarn saw Thorek's questioning face and said in a voice that was as calm as he could manage Bjarn- "The disease has been getting worse. Even the priestesses have begun to fall ill. They sent me out as fast as they could sayin' that it was nay safe for me to stay." At this Bjarn sadly shoot his head before adding Bjarn- "But they promised to keep me informed on her condition." Thorek looked at his father blankly for a second. Thorek- "This is a trying time; perhaps you would like it if we went to the bar and got a drink? Maybe it'll calm ye down?" Bjarn gave Thorek a small smile before exclaiming Bjarn- "Aye, that'd be nice. But ye are paying!' Thorek sat with his father at his usual table, each nursing their own drink. The bar was full as a steady stream of refugees from the surrounding mining settlements sought shelter in Azgul Karaz. Suddenly the doors were thrown open by a dwarf bearing the colors of Thane Gudrum, lord of the hold. The dwarf held in his hands a scroll, which he held out in front of him. In a loud voice he called out for all to hear "Thane Gudrum Brightaxe, lord of Azgul Karaz, has called for the raising of an army to fight against the chaos mutants who have invaded our lands. The following dwarves have been called upon to take up arms to fight alongside their lord. All who are called upon should go home immediately and prepare. We leave in three days. You each know which regiment you belong to and you should all own your own armor and weapons. Those who don't will be provided for." This announcement was followed by a long list of names. Each dwarf who was named stood up and left the bar and as each did his name was struck off the list. The reading was long and Thorek could guess that close to four hundred names were read aloud by the tireless messenger. With his task done the messenger turned and left the now emptied bar, obviously going off to some other location to recruit for Gudrum's army. Thorek did not know whether to feel relieved or insulted that neither he nor his father was called upon. Bjarn on the other hand obviously took this as an insult and was starting deeply into his ale, quietly muttering beneath his breath.

CHAPTER 2 Stubborness in the face of doom: A mournful silence had fallen over the hold, for seven days after Gudrum's army marched out, a dozen dwarfs had come back into the hold, bearing his body. Each of them was covered in untreated wounds and wore dented and torn armor. Only one of them belonged to Gudrum's hammerers. Out of the dozen survivors, only half lived past the next five days, their infected wounds claimed them with alarming swiftness. All the while, the plauge sweeping through the hold got worse and worse. On the same day that Gudrum was layed down with his ancestors in the halls of the dead, his only son, Thraki, went through the ceremony that made him the new lord of Azgul Karaz. On the sixth day after the survivors of Gurdrum's army came back, Thraki's few rangers that where left reported that the army of mutants was approaching the hold itself. Alarmed by the prospect of a full scale siege, Thraki decided to send for aid from Karak-Kadrin, which lay two weeks march north-west of Asgul Karaz... Thorek was in the temple of Shalaya, sitting by the side of his dying mother, when a messenger came for him. Thorek turned around in surprise when a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, he turned around, expecting it to be his father's, but found that instead it was the same dwarf who he had seen draft dwarfs from the tavern. "Thorek Bloodfist, ye regiment has been called up by Lord Thraki to go to Karak-Kadrin to find aid. Tommorow morn ye will report to ye regiment leader for more instructions." With that the messenger left the temple, leaving Thorek alone to his thoughts. Inside Thorek raged "Why me? Why my regiment? Why have I been sent away from my home and my family when I should be here?" Thorek looked down at his mother and with a shock realized that she wasn't breathing. He ran out of her room screaming "Priestess! Priestess! Someone help me!" The next morning Thorek woke early with his father, in preparation of leaving for Karak-Kadrin. Thorek sat in front of the fire place, lost in thought, when Bjarn came to him, holding a mail shirt, an iron helmet and a warhammer. Bjarn laid them down in front of Thorek almost reverently. "Lad, I always feared that someday ye would have to use these. But use them ye must. Prepare yeself to go serve our hold. I...I am nay a member o' ye regiment, so I shall have to stay here to bury me wife." Bjarn was silent for a long time before he finished "Bring pride to our clan." With that he turned and left, wondering if he would ever see his son again. The gates to the hold opened at the dead of night. There was no ceremony, there were no parades, such might be thrown in the lands of men. The only thing to mark the passing of the regiment was the good byes of their friends and family, for it was likely that few would be seen again. The regiment was a full twenty strong. Each dwarf was armed with their own weapons and armor, but the common theme among them was their shields and chain armor. Besides that each dwarf was armed as best they could, with either axes forged by their forefathers or even the same hammers they had used to work the forges. To Thorek, it was the first time he had ever left the hold with his regiment, and the prospect both terrified him and instilled a sense of excitement. As the gates of Azgul Karaz opened, Thorek spared a glance back at his father, and the look on his face easily ended any excitement that Thorek felt. As the gates closed Thorek wondered if he would ever see them open again. The regiment had been marching for hours and the sun was beginning to rise. Drakor, the leader of the regiment rose his hand and signaled for everyone else to stop. The scarred veteran looked around as if expecting an ambush. He muttered "I could have sworn that I heard..." It was the last thing he ever said as an arrow appeared from amongst the debris that flanked their path and went straight into his neck. Even as the old warrior fell all of the other dwarfs raised their sheilds up and fell into formation. Thorek looked around, but as he was in the center of the regiment he could see nothing. Someone shouted "Grobi!" as more arrows fell into their formation. Thorek heard a scream as another warrior fell to the ground and panic began to grip him. He was almost happy when the arrows stopped raining down upon them and a tide of goblins in black robes charged out of their hiding places and into the regiment of dwarfs. All together there where but two groups of the night goblins, each numbering ten. But they had the element of surprise and had charged into the flanks of the unit. The melee was swift and brutal, leaving three more dwarfs laying dead on the ground and five of the goblins. The goblins, realising that there element of

surprise was lost, retreated back into the debris, leaving the dwarfs chasing vainly in pursuit. It was only until one of the more veteran members called them to halt that any order was restored. Thorek looked at the goblin corpses in a mixture of wonder and hate. He had never seen any greenskins before, and somehow he had expected something more. In death they seemed almost child like. But one look at the bodies of the dwarf warriors told a different story. They where brutal, savage creatures that prefered to hide in the darkness and would flee the second a fight became fair. Thorek thought grimly to himself that it was only the first day of the march and already four dwarfs had been lost. Brundar, the new leader of the regiment and the dwarf who had restored order, bent down to look at the goblins that were killed. Once he was finished he stood up and spat on the corpse he was examining. "These here goblins be of the broken fang tribe. Their territory is far east of here. It seems like they were driven out of their territory." The broken fang tribe had been a trouble for Azgul Karaz for as long as Thorek could remember. The thought of anything being so powerful that it could cause the goblin tribe to scatter like that into such small bands convinced Thorek to agree with Thraki's wisdom in sending for aid. The regiment of dwarfs had completed their first week of marching and were half way to Karak Kadrin. Brundar was getting more and more desperate to make better time and for the past two days he had insisted on marching through the night. Even the constitution of a dwarf can be worn down by constant hardship, but to their credit not one dwarf complained about the decision or fell out of line on the forced march. It wasn't until the third night that Brundar finally ordered what was left of the regiment to break and make camp. Thorek gratefully helped start the fire that would be used to make the first real meal he had eaten in a week. But even on this break from marching, all ten of the survivors acted with hurried movements, as if by taking their time they would doom their kinsmen; though in reality it just might. When the regiment finally retired for the night, Thorek gratefully drifted off to sleep. In Thorek's dream, he returned to his home to late. The returned alone to find the gates broken down and bodies littering the ground. As the dream progressed he found himself walking through the halls of his home. He could see all of the dwarfs he had ever known going about their daily businesses. The only difference was that each bore the scars of the wounds that killed them. Here he past by old Thundin, he smiled at Thorek, even though his gut had been ripped open and his insides had long since spilled out. There was Arik, working at his forge. The dwarf worked without stop, dedicated to his craft, even though half of his head was missing from when a beastman's axe took him in the face. Thorek walked through the halls of his people, seeing each of them in their state of life and death. Finally after seeing what he thought to be countless corpses, he came to his own house. As if he had no control over his own body he opened the door and stepped in. Sitting in his chair was his father. The old dwarf stood up and walked over to his son. Bjarn lifted up his arms as if to embrace Thorek. Thorek took one look at his father's face and"Thorek! Ye fook head, wake up. By Grungni's beard lad, it be your watch." Thorek nodded to the dwarf who woke him up and pulled himself to his feet. The dwarf noticed that Thorek's hands were shaking and the dwarven warrior shook his head sadly. "Dunnae worry lad, we'll bring help. Azgul Karaz had ne'er fallen before and it ne'er will." Thorek mouthed his thanks to the warrior, though in his heart he could not bring himself to believe him. As Thorek walked out in the cold air of the night the warrior muttered to himself "Looks like the lad's been touched by Hrungnor." The group of dwarfs marched on for what seemed like an eternity. The stress of their journey was beginning to tell on them, as each dwarf was beginning to have the same nightmares as Thorek. To make matters worse, food was running low and water had run out. But still they marched on, the salvation of their home forcing them to keep moving. Thorek was taking the ordeal hard, the nightmares had begun to seep into his waking hours. Combined with a general lack of sleep and water, he was slowly losing it. Every once a while his vision would black out for a second and when it came back the world seemed drained of color, almost lifeless. Sounds from dwarfs close by would seem to be distant echoes. Then as suddenly as the attack came, it would disapear. Yet still he resolutely marched on, grimly taking the slow torture. One dwarf could not take the ordeal, and young lad by the name of Thraki. One morning when they stopped to rest for the night, he was found tearing his eyes out. Everyone was at a loss

about what to do with him when the young dwarf suddenly screamed incoherently and lashed out blindly at everyone around him with his axe. One good blow put the young lad out of his misery. No one knew what pushed him over the edge. Talk spread about sorcery, others blamed Thraki for being weak. Thorek was suffering from one of his attacks when the incident happened, so the entire event seemed unreal to him, as if he was just remembering a dream. At times his condition would panic him, and he would pray to the ancestor gods to save him, other times he was just to tired to care. The regiment was about one days march from Karak Kadrin when a goblin wolf rider scout saw the band. A depleted regiment of tired dwarfs was something that the goblin could not pass up, and the rider silently slunk away to find its' mates. An hour later the attack came. The dwarfs never saw it comming, especially not so close to their destination. Ten goblins on their wolves charged out of the shadows and into the dwarfs. Leading them was a goblin shaman, waiting at the back, shouting its followers on. The dwarfs never even had a chance to form up into a shield wall, instead the goblins caught them by surprise. Five dwarfs died in the first charge, ripped apart by the jaws of the wolves or impaled on the spears of the goblins. But to their credit the dwarfs did not break, instead the goblin's charge was halted at the cost of dwarf lives. A viscious meele erupted with goblin and dwarf alike falling. The fight was in the balance, with a full half of the goblins having fallen, but they had reduced the dwarf ranks to just three. Thorek saw a jap in the wolf riders' line and he had a clear shot at the shaman. With a curse Thorek threw his axe at the goblin, but the axe was not balanced for throwing, and instead of hitting the goblin dead on, it spun slowly and the handle hit the goblin in the head instead of the blade. Still, the force was strong enough to knock the goblin leader from its wolf and to the ground. The other goblins, believing the leader to have died, turned their wolves around and fled into the night. Thorek stood in shock as he saw the goblins retreat. He was tired to pursue. One of the survivors, a warrior by the name of Albrecht, calmly walked up the unconcious goblin leader and beheaded the beast. Albrecht turned and looked at the wounded dwarfs laying on the ground. "Well then, best see to their-" Thorek surprised himself when he snapped "NO!" Albrecht turned to face him in surprise. "We cannot waste any more time here. If we do not get to Karak Kadrin then our entire hold may fall." Albrecht looked at Thorek in disgust. "We cannot just leave them here to bleed to death." Thorek returned his stare. "Oh yes, that is just what we will do." The third dwarf, a young lad by the name of Barik muttered "Well I'm not leaving me kin." Thorek glared at his two comrades. If you two do not have the stomach to do what is neccessary, then I will go on alone. Thorek turned and left, the two other dwarfs did not follow. Thorek hoped that he was doing the right thing. CHAPTER 3 Duty's Reward Thorek marched through the night and reached the gates of Karak Kadrin alone. It was a welcome sight to Thorek...he had come so far and suffered so much to get there. To him it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Thorek made his way to the gates with a new energy. The guards there looked at Thorek with concern as they saw him approach. Thorek did look like he had been pulled through * I Swear too much * and back; his armor was torn in many places, and he was covered in dried blood which he never had time to wash off. Not only that, but the exhaustion he went through was clearly written on his face. Guard: "What the fook happened to ye?" Thorek: "I am...an ambassador from Azgul Karaz. My home is under siege even as we speak and most of our warrior have already fallen in battle. I need to speak to Ungrim Ironfist. At this the leader of the guards nodden and motioned for Thorek to follow him. Thorek to the palace of Ungrim. The palace itself was more of a fort that anything else. Dug right into the mountain was his home. One large gate led into it, and miles the tunnels from there went on. Deep into the mountains they went on, with rooms hand carved for him. Besides all of the things needed for a lord, their was also an armory and a guards barracks, so in times of need the palace itself would also become a strong point. Not that such a thing would ever happen, as to

get to the palace itself and all of the guards within it, one would have to fight through the countless slayers in the city proper. As Thorek was led on, one of his attacks came upon him. The little light in the tunnels seemed to be sucked away, and a dark gray tinted everything. The guard who led him down was explaining quickly what they were passing, obviously thinking that Thorek was some special ambassador sent to them. But Thorek heard none of what the dwarf was saying. His words also sucked away. All he could hear was a soft ringing. Thorek did not panic, in fact he did not feel anything. It was as if nothing was real, not even Thorek himself. He couldn't even bring himself to panic. As the attack faded away and the world came back into focus, he heard the guard finish "...here and I will get ye an audiance with the king." He was in a large room with at least three dozen comfortable chairs. Each one was covered in soft, white fur. At least a dozen men and dwarfs were seated their, each one was well dressed and were obviously either very rich merchants or nobles. Many of them tried their best to ignore Thorek and his smell, or they looked at him as if he was an orc who had just walked up to them and asked them if he could marry their daughter. Thorek ingnored them all and stood still with his back straight, as if he was standing within his regiment with a commander looking them over. Thorek stood their for a good ten minutes before the guard came back. "He will see ye." At this there was a great murmer of disconent from everyone else who was already waiting. Thorek followed the guard without giving any of them a second thougt. Thorek was lead straight into the thrown room of the Slayer King himself. The king was talking to one of his advisors when Thorek arrived. His throne room was nothing less than amazing. It was large enough to house the entire army of Azgul Karaz within it. A path of runes led up to the thrown itself, which was made entirely out of steel and was covered in intracely carved runes. Behind the thrown was a tapestry of King Baragor taking the slayer oath. Ungrim waited expectanlty for Thorek to start talking. Thorek told the king the tale of what had come to his hold. Throughout the story the king had a strange glint in his eyes, which Thorek thought was akin to longing. Perhaps it was true, maybe the king's two conflicting oaths had driven him insane. Ungrim waved Thorek away. "I will consider what you said." Thorek was about to protest when he noticed that a pair of hammerers were holding their great hammers at the ready. Thorek nodded and walked out. The guard who led him in led him out as well. "Come with me lad, I will find ye a nice room to wash ye self up." Thorek fell asleep the second he got to his bed. He didn't even bother to wash off any of the blood and dirt that covered him. As always he dreamed...he dreamed of walking through his home, and seeing the dead stare at him with their accusing eyes. In his dream, Thorek could not stop himself. He was forced to walk on and on. Eventually he came to the temple to Griminar. The dead had followed him. He turned around and saw them all staring at him. Then as one they raised one of their hands and pointed at the temple. Thorek awoke with a start. A dwarf guard was standing over him. "Follow me, lad." Thorek got up, a new energy taking over. He saw his dream as a sign that there was still hope yet! He could save his home. Thorek was not led to the throne room, instead he was led out of the palace. Waiting outside was a small army of Slayers, standing a full three hundred strong. Ungrim though was no were in sight. The dwarf guard pointed at the slayers. "The king sent messengers to every tavern in the city. These slayers couldn't resist the lure o' an army o' chaos and a besieged hold of their kin. Ye will be their guide." Thorek smiled and thanked the guard. He felt...hope. The throng went through the mountains unmolested. Even the remaining goblin tribes stayed away from the large mass of slayers for fear of being overhwhelmed by the insane dwarfs. Thorek marched as hard as he did on the first journey. On the two occasions that he did sleep though, the dream he had in Karak Kadrin came back to him, and each time he woke up as he reached the temple of Griminar. Thorek took this as a sign that the ancestor god of the warrior wished him to march with all possible haste to relieve the siege. Hope filled Thorek, and for the march his attacks where the world would fade out seemed to stop. Thorek was filled with anticipation when the throng reached Azgul Karaz. The hold was carved right into the mountain, and it loomed over the surrounding lands. Thorek's heart dropped when he looked at it. Surrounding it where the corpses of mutants, blasted apart by the now silent guns sticking out of the mountain side. The great gates now had a huge cylinder like whole in it, Thorek

could only guess that some horrible magic had been employed to do such a thing. The hold now looked like some gigantic monster with its jaw open, having swallowed up his kinsmen. The cannons with the dead crewmen pointed out in the distance. The entire throng stopped to look at the site. A murmer of disapointment rose from the slayers; they had been promised a heroic death here. Thorek broke ranks and ran as fast as he could to the open gates. He held onto a last shred of hope; maybe his kin had managed to hold out still, and they had won the desperate tunnel fighting. As he reached the gate, he found behind it a slaughtered regiment of warriors. Each dwarf had fallen in near perfect rank, trying to stem the tide that must have swept over them. Without truly knowing why, Thorek walked past them. He walked further and further into the hold, every tunnel seemed to show signs of fighting. To Thorek's horror there where much more dwarven corpses than mutant. Thorek could imagine the horror of what must have happened. With the gates open, the horde of mutants must have swept into the hold, and with most of the warriors having died in battle, the siege must have been a slaughter. Most of the dwarfs who had fallen were not even armed for battle, many of them were armed with naught but their mining picks or the hammers that they must have been using in the forges. Few of them even had any armor on them. Thorek felt numb as he witnessed the horrific scene. It was almost as it was un real, like it was happening to someone else. That was until he reached his own home. Thorek walked inside it and realized that it was empty. Somehow he had expected to see his father sitting in his chair by the fire, and his mother finishing up her daily chores. It hit him like a hammer, he home was gone. His kin were dead. It didn't matter how fast he marched to get to Karak Kadrin, nothing that he could have done would have made any differences. The fate of his home was determined when the horde first entered the mountains. Thorek's suddenly felt very tired. As Thorek left his home, closing the door behind him, he remembered his dream. The dead told him to go the shrine of Griminar. Thorek took a deep breath and steadied himself. Perhaps there he would find a tool to take his vengeance. Thorek reached the temple and found ten dwarfs dead at the gates. They were all hammerers, each died where they stood. Here where at least two dozen mutant corpses. The elite guards had sold their lives dearly. They must have been protecting something important. Thorek walked through the mess that was once a viscous meele. He walked into the darkness of the temple and into the great hall. Thorek eyes widened at what he saw and he fell to his knees. Before him stood the great statue of Griminar. Griminar was bellowing, his arms were spread out, in both hands he held a pair of massive axes. But that was not what caused Thorek to fall to his knees. Nailed to the statue was King Thraki, son of Gudrum. Now Thorek knew why the hammerers were guarding the temple, their lord had come to the temple to pray to Griminar for victory. Thraki's head was tilted down, his only wounds were those from the nails that were driven into him. The mutants had nailed him to the statue and then left him to die. Thraki's dead eyes stared at Thorek, just like the dead in his dreams. The Enemy of My Enemy is My Friend: Chapter 1 The sound of marching Dwarfen boots filled the valley. Thane Gorak Durgrimsson marched at the head of his scout force, clutching his runic axe and shield with meaty fists. His eyes scanned around him, looking up the valley walls on either side of him and checking that nothing is in front of them impeding their march. The rear guard sent reports every ten minutes, and so far, nothing of serious import had occurred. A band of small goblins had attacked them, but were no match for the eighty or more heavily armed Dwarfs who crushed them without mercy. Gorak smiled to himself. It was his third and last patrol around the lands surrounding Kazad Grim, and Lord Morgrim would be pleased to hear the land was empty. A thought occurred to Gorak. These mountains aren t normally empty. Gorak cursed himself for a fool as he realised that in his daydreaming he had forgotten about the Blackclaw Goblin Tribe, which resided in a cave in this very valley! Gorak ordered his warriors into a fast march as he attempted to reach the cave

entrance before anything nasty poured out. Gorak and his troops reached the cave without event, and the Thane ordered his men into guard positions around the cave, and ordered the rear guard to keep their eyes peeled. Gorak stepped into the Goblin cave, and grimaced as he recognised the foul musky smell Goblins emit. However, the smell was much weaker than it should be for a cave inhabited by hundreds of Goblins. Gorak also smelt something else. Blood. Goblin blood, and lots of it. Gorak stepped further into the cave reluctantly, his knuckles white from gripping his axe too hard. His bodyguard of heavily armoured Dwarfs followed cautiously, their expressions grim under their beards. Sweat beaded Gorak s brow. Blood slicked the walls of the cave. What manner of foul ritual had these Goblins been performing? Had they been summoning daemons? Then Gorak emerged into the main hall of the Goblin cave, and he knew the Goblins themselves had nothing to do with the blood. Goblin bodies, torn to shreds and hurled all across the room by some immense force littered the gigantic room. The smell was overpowering. The bodies looked as if they had been raked by gigantic claws, but Gorak did not have to wonder about the cause of the carnage for long. A huge creature, that looked like a mutated cross between a rat and an ogre, lay slumped against a wall, a huge gash in its stomach with entrails hanging out obviously the source of its death. Gorak saw more of the creatures, until he had found four of the Rat Ogres lying lifeless at different places in the room. Grungni s beard, who what could do such a thing? asked one of the Dwarfs who had followed Gorak, echoing what everybody was thinking. Fall back to the entrance. We ll be coming back in, but not without the rest of the company. Gorak scanned the room one last time before turning and following the rest of his Dwarfs to the cave entrance. He went to leave, when something caught his eye. Something was moving. Gorak turned to look. A tall figure in ornate red armour stepped out of the darkness, clutching a huge blood-slicked blade in one hand. The figure took a few steps into the light of a torch so Gorak could see him, and the figure was obviously amused by the Dwarf s reaction. The figure s smile creased his white skin, and revealed two very pronounced canines. Greetings bearded one. My name is Meldrak Von Kriegan, but Meldrak will suffice. The creature smirked before continuing. These creatures were powerful adversaries , said the Blood Dragon, pointing at one of the Rat Ogres. Powerful, but not very intelligent. I wish to fight a foe more interesting, one that understands parries and other basic fighting manoeuvres. I recall I recall the only foe who ever bested me was one of your race Dwarf. I wish to fight him again. Do you know where I could find him? His name was Grimgar. Gorak s eyes widened as he realised who the Vampire seeked. I would never tell you where to find my Lord foul Vampire! I shall fight you and die on your blade, but you will never learn of the location of the ancient Hold of Kazad Grim! Gorak hefted his shield and axe into a fighting position. The Vampire seemed amused. There is no need for you to die. You have told me what I need to know. Leave this place now, and not a hair on your beard, or the beards of your troops, shall be harmed. You have my word on this. Gorak was not prepared to run in the face of such a threat to Kazad Grim, and he prepared to fight nonetheless. A frown crossed the Vampire s face, which deepened as the sound of battle rung out from the cave entrance. It seems I was justified in not trusting you creature of darkness! Those are not my troops attacking you. My troops lack imagination, or independence for that matter. They would not attack you unless I ordered them too. The troops attacking you are not under my command. This is an unfortunate event, and I will leave you now to fight for your life. You have been most helpful, so I will gift you with this one piece of information. Your troops are fighting bravely, but they will die. Their foes are numerous, and they are led by one who burns with hatred of your race. This creature led an invasion force into your fortress some years ago, and was thwarted. He will attempt once again, and he will do so with my help. The creature watched the battle with anticipation and delight. The Dwarfs were fighting brilliantly, forming a powerful shield wall and fighting with desperate skill and stubbornness, slaying dozens of the attacking Skaven with powerful strokes of axe and hammer, and hurling Skaven back from their lines with mighty swings from shields and meaty fists. The Skaven continued to fight ferociously however, heartened by the thousands of ratmen around them. The Dwarfs had maybe two score troops left, but surrounded by the valley walls on their sides and Skaven at their front

and back, the Dwarfs were bravely fighting to the death, preparing to sell their lives dearly. And fight well they did, slaying at least eight of the Skaven for every Dwarf that fell. These casualties, however, were not even worth considering compared to the size of the Skaven horde. The Skaven pressed forward, unable to bring their numbers to bear but the weight of their attack still pushing hard on the Dwarf shield wall. As another Dwarf was slashed across the neck by a notched and rusty blade and torn to pieces by the vengeful Skaven, another Dwarf emerged from the cave entrance, and hurled himself into the furry masses. He fought with great strength, blocking the weak Skaven attacks with his shield and cutting the ratmen down with quick sweeps of his axe. A Stormvermin squad moved to engage him, and the lesser Slaves and Clanrats happily moved out of their way to let them do the fighting. The Dwarf roared a challenge at the Hostleader of the Stormvermin, who accepted. The black-furred Skaven swung quickly with its halberd, the swings clanging off the Dwarf s shield. The Dwarf parried one of the Hostleader s blows with his axe and knocked the Skaven s weapon aside. The Dwarf s axe sliced downwards towards the Skaven s head, and the Skaven brought up its arm in a vain attempt to block the blow. The Skaven s heavy black armour was no protection, and the Stormvermin s arm was cleaved off at the elbow. The Skaven fell to the ground giving voice to a horrified shriek of pain, and the Dwarf hero slammed the haft of his hammer into the fallen Skaven s skull, pulverizing it s head and smashing it s skull to splinters. The Dwarfen hero leapt into the surprised Stomvermin, laying about them with his axe two handed, his shield discarded and forgotten. He slew at least seven more of the elite Skaven before they surrounded him. The Dwarf tried desperately to block all the incoming blows, but a blow from a halberd struck off his hand in a spray of blood, dragging an enraged roar from the Dwarf s throat. With a wild light in his eye and his beard soaked in black blood, the Dwarf leapt at one of the Skaven and throttled it to death with his one remaining hand as he was hacked apart by the rest of the Stormvermin. Seeing their leader fall, the twelve remaining Dwarfs roared and tried to press through the mass of Skaven to reach their fallen commander. They broke their small shield wall and leapt crazily into the Skaven horde as if they had just mentally taken the Slayer oath. They hacked brutally at the Skaven and kept moving forward, advancing through a haze of blood. The horrified Skaven shied away from the Dwarfs and some tried to pull away from them, allowing the Dwarfs to reach their fallen leader with seven remaining troops. They stood around his body and fought until their last breath, slicing Skaven in twain and crushing skull. At last the final Dwarf fell, and the Grey Seer chuckled and swung his tail in delight as his Skaven began feasting on the fallen Dwarfs. Grey Seer Skritch Whitefang had enjoyed watching Dwarfs die all the more after his defeat at Kazad Grim. Skritch growled to himself as he thought of that defeat. The amount of warpstone tokens wasted because of that battle still disturbed his sleep. Skritch had been forced to deplete almost his entire fortune to purchase another army! Skritch thought he had been ruined at the time, but his next expedition had paid off, a stroke of luck though it was. Skritch was planning to destroy a few Empire outposts and use the technology he gained from the attacks to sell to Clan Skyre, prisoners to Clan Moulder and keep weapons and armour for himself. Skritch had destroyed one outpost and was planning to invade another when his Gutter Runners, led by the two assassins who survived the siege of Kazad Grim, had spotted a small and vulnerable Elven host. Skritch hated Elves, if for no other reason than because they were tall. Skritch couldn t help but smile at the memory of that battle. A few regiments of Elven Spearmen and Archers, supported by a single cavalry squad. Skritch could not believe his luck. The Elves were defenceless against magic! Skritch remembered fondly the feeling of all his formidable magical power flowing through his body with nothing to nullify it. The finely crafted weapons and armour from that battle had solved all of Skritch s troubles, and Skritch was finally able to purchase the one thing he had wanted most in the Underempire: A Screaming Bell. Skritch turned to admire the magical bell that adorned the tower, and his furry chest swelled. Skritch s good mood faded as soon as he saw the leader of the Dead-things approach him. Skritch was still unhappy at the Vampire for slaying his Rat Ogres. One of those creatures cost more than four breeders! When Skritch first passed through this valley, his Rat Ogres had become restless when they smelt prey in a large cave. Skritch was not one to deny them, so he followed them in as the Rat Ogres begun slaughtering the Goblins who resided in there. Skritch just enjoyed the show, occasionally blasting though a swathe of the diminutive greenskins when they surrounded the Rat Ogres. Only one Rat Ogre fell, by the axe of the clan s Warlord, whose flesh was flayed from his bones by one

of Skritch s most potent Warp Lightning spells. After the Goblins had all fled or been killed, the Rat Ogres beastmasters had left them to feast, and Skritch had followed them. Skritch heard more fighting as he left the tunnel, and turned to see what was happening. When he arrived his Rat Ogres had been all slain by a blood-drenched figure standing calmly over the body of one of his Rat Ogres. The Vampire sunk his teeth into the neck of one of the slain Rat Ogres, and drank some of its blood before spluttering in disgust. The Vampire turned and saw Skritch. Skritch could not believe the Dead-thing had defeated all four of his prized Rat Ogres. Skritch had begun to summon all his power in a rage, fully intent on blasting this impudent creature apart, when his power s dissipated. Skritch searched for the source of this dispel, and saw three Necromancers standing at the corner of the room. Two of them were expressionless, and one, who Skritch took as the most powerful of the three, wore a mocking smile. Skritch angrily reached for his bag of Warpstone chunks, prepared to eat every last one of them if it gave him the power to blast apart these ignorant fools, when the Vampire spoke: Please desist my good Grey Seer. We would not want to have your blood split in these halls would we? Skritch s fur bristled at the suggestion that these imps had the power to kill him, as the Vampire continued. Your monsters are dead, and I suggest you listen to what I have to say, or you may still follow. The Vampire s eyes twinkled in amusement as he continued. First of all, I am Meldrak Von Kriegan, a Vampire of the Blood Dragons, and these are my loyal Necromancers, Cassius Moar and his apprentices. Now before you do anything hasty, tell me. Do you know of Kazad Grim? Skritch s anger burned even brighter as he remembered that accursed fortress that had caused him so much trouble. Yes-yes I know of that cursed place! Now tell me why you wish to know of this place before I flay the flesh from your rotting bones! The Vampire simply smiled. Does the Dwarf known as Grimgar reside in that fortress? I understand you suffered a defeat at that fortress. Skritch s face burned as the Vampire so carelessly mentioned the single worst thing that had ever happened to him. You dare to mention my ill-fated battle there? You re testing my patience dead-thing! Tell me why I should not kill you now, and remember that you speak to a Grey Seer of the Horned Rat! The Vampire s looked deeply into Skritch s eyes, and Skritch could swear he was reading his mind. Skritch quickly used a mild mind spell on the Vampire before the Necromancers could respond. The spell was so mild as to do nothing other than cause a stab of pain, but Skritch still enjoyed causing the Vampire any discomfort. Meldrak shook his head to dispel the pain and spoke quickly. I did not appreciate that. Do not annoy me any more, or I will destroy you and your army. Now I am not sure, but I believe a Dwarf named Grimgar resides in Kazad Grim. Do you know him or not? The name means little to me, but what does one Dwarf-thing matter anyway? The Vampire looked almost uncomfortable for a second before responding. I fought the Dwarf and he .was a worthy adversary. Now enough idle chit-chat. I want the Dwarf, you want the fortress. I m sure together we could easily destroy that fortress, and more importantly, slay all within it. Skritch s interest was instantly perked. I have no interest in the fortress, so when we have won our battle, I will give the fortress to you. All I ask of you is that you commit your forces to assist in taking the fortress. Skritch could not resist such an offer. I humbly accept your proposal Dead-thing It seriously irked Skritch to abase himself to anyone, but Skritch wanted Kazad Grim. Skritch promised himself one thing: Once Kazad Grim was in his paws, Skritch would punish the Vampire for his impudence. There is an approaching Dwarf force , stated Meldrak. Do not attack them. I want to ask their leader a question. Very well Vampire, you have my word. The Dwarfs shall not be harmed. Skritch tried to hide his smirk. The Vampire should know a Skaven's word is worthless. Skritch snapped out of his daydream as Meldrak spoke to him. I told you not to attack them. True, but they are Dwarf-things! They deserve to die-die, and nothing more! There was no honour in your victory. Attacking their troops while their leader was elsewhere was

not a true battle. Skritch tittered in amusement, drawing a frown from the Vampire. Honour? I win-win my battles, and it matters not how I defeat my most unworthy foes. Did you win your battle at Kazad Grim? Skritch hid his anger, but inwardly renewed his oath to slay the Vampire once his usefulness was over. No, but can a leader as brilliant as I be blamed for the incompetence of his troops? A brilliant leader does not have an incompetent army. My army is has no such issues. Perfect? Most of your dead-things fight as badly as my slaves, and they fall to pieces when their enemy begin to kill-kill them! You shall see the worth of my army, Skaven. At least they are not cowards. Now begin the march to Kazad Grim, and don t take too long about it. My army may not get impatient, but I do. Skritch didn t dignify the Vampire s words with a response. He walked over to his Screaming Bell and propelled himself onto it with his magic. Skritch always felt powerful atop the screaming bell, and he gave his orders with confidence. Begin the march, quick-quick! We go to Kazad Grim, to take revenge on the Dwarf-things! Skritch couldn t help but notice his army s hesitation at the mention of that feared place. Some of them had been survivors of the battle there, and others had heard the stories of the bearded daemons that defended the fortress. I said move-move you fool-fools! Skritch had to blast apart an entire regiment of slaves to get his troops going, much to the amusement of Meldrak and his Master Necromancer. It was times like this Skritch wished he still had some of his warpstone snuff. High above, a large winged shape circled in the air. The Elven Prince held tightly onto the reigns of his mighty Dragon, directing the serpentine creature with firm jerks of the reigns. The Elf had found the Skaven sorcerer he seeked, and now it was time to prepare his host for battle. First of all, the Dwarfs would be warned. They would prove useful allies in the coming battle. Satisfied that no-one had seen him above them, the Elf and his Dragon flew off into the distance. Far below, Meldrak Von Kriegan looked up and smiled to himself. Finally, a beast worth killing. Chapter 2 Sweat beaded Grimgar s brow, his face was red and his arm felt like it was about to fall off, but he kept pushing nonetheless. Grimgar s father was also showing strain. Sweat made their hands slippery, and their concentration was almost broken numerous times by the madly cheering spectators, as Grimgar and his father arm wrestled for the second time that night. Grimgar had won the first one, forcing his father to pay for the next eight rounds of Bugman s XXXXXX. Since then they had drunk fifteen rounds, and they were wrestling once again to decide who would pay for the rest, and of course buy the winner another round. Veins popped out on the arms of both Dwarf Lords, and it would seem that Grimgar and his father were evenly matched. It was not so. They had been at it for the last two minutes, and Morgrim was starting to inch Grimgar s arm towards the table. Grimgar bit his lip and pushed with all his might, succeeding in pushing his father s hand back a couple of centimetres. They continued to wrestle for another ten seconds, before Grimgar s strength failed him and his father slammed his arm onto the table with a resounding crack that woke more than a few dozing Dwarfs. There was uproar in the tavern, and gold could be heard exchanging hands all over the tavern. Dwarfs were banging their flagons on the tables, demanding a rematch, but Grimgar s arm was now far too sore to consider such a thing. Looks like you owe me twenty-one gold crowns and another beer laddie! said Morgrim with a proud smirk on his face. Grimgar caught his breath before responding. Well that makes us even then! Tis good you beat me this time father, cause first time you wrestled like an Elf! Is that right lad? Well I ll happily wrestle an Elf, because he d sure be a lot tougher than you! I should hope that s the beer talking father! I m sure you d happily wrestle and Elf now, but when you sober up I m sure you d come to your senses and admit an Elf would be too much for you to handle in your old age! Morgrim ruffled his son s beard. You see that lad? That s a nice orange beard, just like we all have in our family. The biggest difference between your beard and mine is that mine is twice the size of yours, which means I ve

been choppin up greenskins since before you were born! Now quit stalling and fork over the gold lad, I m thirsty! Grimgar pulled out twenty four pieces of gold from a pouch at his waist and dropped them into his father s outstretched hand, one at a time. Take your time Grimgar, we ve got all night. By that I mean hurry up, I m thirsty! Good things come to those who wait, Lord Morgrim said the Runemaster of Kazad Grim, Thyron Whitebeard. Speaking of waiting, how long until you ve finished testing the Runesmith aspirants? There were only three of them, surely it wouldn t take eight months to test them all! As I said Morgrim, good things come to those who wait. I have nearly finished training the final one, young Byron here . Thyron gestured towards a nervous looking Dwarf standing next to him. These three are a promising group, and young Byron just succeeded in forging his first rune, a rune of burning, which we put on one of the Bolt Throwers. It works perfectly, and in another decade or two I m sure he will be forging much more potent runes . Thyron, you didn t answer my question. How long until Byron has finished his tests? We need everyone we can get who knows runelore to help in strengthening the defences of our walls, and the most senior Runesmith of our hold is the only one not involved! Patience, Morgrim. Patience. I have just a few more questions to ask him . Now lad, tell me this. When do you stoke the furnace to forge a Rune of Might? At midnight on third moon s last day You quench the rune in what? Dragon s blood In whose name do you do so? Haki the ancestor And how do you make the rune glow The slaying of an Orc by night Thyron slapped the beardling over the head. A troll! A troll Byron! By Grungni, how would killing an Orc do anything? Thyron turned to Morgrim. Well the tests are complete, and I can assure you that won t happen when he actually attempts to make the rune in the future Good Morgrim said Tomorrow morning I expect you to begin work on the runic defences of our walls Of course my Lord. I will try not to get too much of a hangover said Thyron as he stepped over to the bar and pulled his mug from its place on his belt and filled it with a round of Troll Brew. Thyron sipped it, grimaced, and then drank the whole lot in a single go. He held his hand to his forehead with one hand, while dipping his mug into the barrel of the potent beer with the other. Raucous shouting and yelling filled the bar as Dwarfs emptied barrel after barrel of Bugman s and started fights all over the bar, joking and backslapping after they were too tired to keep hitting each other. The occasional beardling lay unconscious on the floor, and the Longbeards sat around the tavern grumbling into their beer or commenting on the good old days to all the Dwarfs around them who liked a good tale. Thanes and Veterans sat around the tables, recounting recent battles and grudges, the Gatekeeper of Kazad Grim, Kadrik Hammerhand pulled up a stool next to Kragg Blackfist, the Battle Standard Bearer of the Kazad Grim Expeditionary Force, and offered to buy him a round. Skarl Stonehelm and Gudrak Blackfist, the two Runesmiths of the Kazad Grim Expeditionary Force stepped into the bar and walked towards Runemaster Thyron, to the amusement of Kurgrim Ironbeard, leader of Grimgar s Ironbreaker regiment, who always commented on how the two always travelled together, and as he said, Skarl was more brother to Gudrak than Kragg . He said so as he had numerous times in the past, which angered Kragg as it always did. Kragg threw his stool at Kurgrim, and Kurgrim ducked it and aimed a punch at Kragg, beginning the fight the two had at least twice a week, a source of much betting by the other Dwarfs. The Kazad Grim tavern was packed with thirsty Dwarfs as it always was. Grimgar decided to step outside for a breath of fresh air. As he stepped out of the tavern, a huge shadow loomed swooped over him. Grimgar looked into the sky, seeing the vague outline of some sort of flying creature. Grimgar s Dwarf eyesight quickly recognised the creature. DRAGON! Grimgar yelled. Dwarfs from inside the tavern poured outside, most of them clutching weapons in response to Grimgar s warning. Morgrim ran out of the bar hefting his axe, and looked up to the sky to see the Dragon circling above them.

Why won t it attack? asked the Gatekeeper, Kadrik. It looks like it has a rider said Kurgrim. Being an Ironbeard, he spent more time underground than the other Dwarfs and had better night-sight. The Dragon circled a few more times, and then swooped down to the ground in front of the furious crowd of Dwarfs standing at the tavern entrance. The ground shook as the Dragon landed, and the light from the tavern uncovered the mysterious rider. What do you want Elf? yelled Morgrim We have no business with you or your bloody Dragon! A chorus of angry yells from the Dwarfs washed out, with a lot of choice insults regarding Elves and Dragons in the middle of it. Some Dwarfs threw stones, and the few Slayers who were in the tavern tapped their axes and directed furious scowls at the Dragon. The Dragon roared, quieting most of the Dwarfs but causing all of them to lift their weapons. Skarl hefted his hammer, ready to throw it at the Dragon at the first sign of trouble, confident of the runes on the weapon to damage the creature enough to help the others finish it. There is no need for such hostility, I come in peace said the Elf You come in peace indeed, you bloody oath breaker! yelled one of the longbeards. The Dragon growled menacingly, and the Elf scowled. This is no time for your stubbornness to show, for I come with a grave warning and an offer of assistance. Whatever it is, we don t need your help Elf! yelled Grimgar, to shouts of affirmation from the rest of the Dwarfs. You would be wise to listen to what I have to say before you say such things Dwarf. There are two armies heading this way, and both of them are powerful. One army, its ranks filled with the dead, and the other of the Skaven. Angry growls and oaths rippled throughout the crowd, and Grimgar stroked his beard thoughtfully as he guessed who must be at the head of the armies. Could the Vampire and the Grey Seer possibly have made an alliance? I have seen their combined horde with my own eyes, and I assure you it has the power to destroy this fortress. Shouts of disapproval filled the air. I offer you my help in defending your fortress Why would you offer your help Elf? asked Morgrim This army is our common enemy, and the Skaven have already slain a number of my troops. My offer is unconditional- it is simply an offer of alliance in the face of a common enemy. We must put aside our racial animosity for the time being. It is important that we fight as brothers against this menace. Grimgar looked at his father, who nodded, but did not say anything. This caused a few grumbles, but Morgrim was the Lord of Kazad Grim, and his wisdom was unquestioned. Grimgar cleared his throat before responding. Very well Elf, Kazad Grim accepts your offer Skritch s tail involuntarily stiffened at the sight of the Dwarfen fortress-city. Skritch had never done much research on the outer defences of the fortress, as his first invasion had come from the mines and sewers, and Skritch in his brilliance had bypassed the Dwarf-things main defences. The Grey Seer lashed his tail in agitation at the memory of his defeat, even though it had happened a long time ago. Skritch thanked the Horned Rat he was not a lesser Skaven, doomed to one or maybe two decades of existence before oblivion. Skritch had lived for nearly fifty years, and he planned to live much longer than that. There were many things that had to be accomplished before his death, and foremost among them was the destruction of Kazad Grim. The Grey Seer snapped out of his reverie and concentrated on the fortress once more. Kazad Grim was unusual for a Dwarfen fortress, and was completely situated above ground. The mountains that stretched off into the distance were at the back of Kazad Grim and a large area had been cut out of the mountains. The fortress had been built inside it, and a large wall stretched from one side of the fortress to the other, ensuring that the impassable mountains covered all sides but the front of the fortress. Skritch assured himself that his original plan had been planned meticulously and correctly, and of course would have worked flawlessly if not for the utter stupidity and incompetence of his minions. Skritch stopped daydreaming again, and wished he hadn t used so much of his warpstone snuff for the second time. The white furred Skaven admired the beautifully crafted Dwarfen walls. They stretched twelve metres into the air, and were adorned with runic defences. There were numerous Dwarf-things working on the wall.. He raised

a long tube of brass to his eye, staring through the magnifying glass of the telescope to observe the working Dwarf-things. They seemed to be working on the runes on the walls, and Skritch saw many of the individuals called Runesmiths empowering the magical carvings on the walls, and the albino-furred Skaven hoped the walls wouldn t be too resistant to his magic. The Grey Seer growled in anger as he spotted the Runemaster of Kazad Grim, reminding him of the failure of his previous invasion. Skritch s anger rose even more as he pictured his magic bouncing harmlessly off of the walls, denying him the revenge he craved. Skritch took another pinch of his warpstone snuff, and his eyes blazed a bright green for a second before dissipating. Skritch imagined himself the size of a dragon, smashing his gigantic foot into the walls of the Dwarf-thing fortress until they collapsed. Skritch imagined himself walking through the blazing rubble of Kazad Grim as he obliterated the entire fortress with blasts of magic. Skritch imagined the look of horror on his Blood Dragon ally s face as green flames consumed him forever. Skritch shook his head to dispel the images. The Dwarfen fortress looked formidable, but not as formidable as some Dwarf holds Skritch had seen. It was all but inevitable- Grey Seer Skritch would destroy Kazad Grim this time, and he promised himself that the Chaos-thing would not take the fortress from him once it was his. Meldrak Von Kriegan smiled inwardly as he saw the Grey Seer s tail stiffen at the sight of the Dwarfen fortress. Meldrak took in the Dwarfen defences with a trained eye, observing that in the manner of most Dwarfen fortresses it would be well protected from magic, and all the firepower the Skaven had at their disposal would most likely be ineffective. Meldrak stopped thinking about the Dwarfen defences as he remembered why he was really here. The fate of the fortress did not matter, only the challenge. As soon as the Dwarf Lord Grimgar was dead, there would be no reason to remain, and he would leave the Skaven to their well-deserved fate. Meldrak did not hold much hope for the siege it would require to level the fortress, especially since before the walls could be overrun the Elves would arrive. The Grey Seer would be slain and the Dwarf Lord would win the duel. Meldrak cringed as he saw the hammer descending toward his head to end his unlife. Meldrak shook his head. What was that? He never usually saw the future so clearly, and he never saw himself die. Cassius assured him that the visions were not of the exact future, but of the future as of now. Meldrak thought about the vision. His plan was to kill the Dwarf and leave the Skaven to his fate. Visions once more crossed the Vampire s mind. A large gout of flame from a Dragon incinerated an entire regiment of Skaven, sending all the surrounding ratmen fleeing for their lives. Elven cavalry crushed his skeletal infantry, and the Skaven army broke under the pressure of the Elven flank charge and Dwarfen advance at their fronts. The Undead army began to fall apart as Meldrak and his Necromancers had more trouble sustaining the magic the kept them undead, and the battle turned into a massacre as the Undead were completely destroyed. Meldrak put his hand to his head. This could not happen! It mustn t happen! Meldrak suddenly realised what the vision meant: He must support the Skaven siege with all his might to destroy the fortress quickly. The Blood Dragon looked at the Necromancers marching to his side, and Cassius returned the gaze. Cassius nodded. Meldak was taken aback. How could he know about the visions? He decided to ask him. Cassius, I need a moment of your time Of course my Lord, I have all the time in the world . Cassius smiled coldly at his own joke. How do you know about my visions? I never tell you of them, but you always know. How is it? My dear Meldrak, can you not also read minds? Meldrak nodded quickly, somewhat annoyed by the Necromancer s over familiarity. Meldrak wished for not the first time that he was as mindless as the Wights that accompanied him into battle. You have visions, and you read minds. Have you not yet discovered why? Magicians of all kinds find themselves with new abilities as a result of their magical knowledge. Before I discovered Necromancy, I served the Empire, curse my soul, and I was an accomplished user of Fire magic. Of course I could manipulate and create flame, but I also had other abilities that required no effort to maintain. They became natural. When I was near, existing flames burned brighter, and I could pinpoint the exact position of the source of a single mundane flame in a room full of candles. This was odd, as it meant I could feel flame in my consciousness even when I wasn t exerting any magical power. That is unusual. Necromancy modifies the body, changes it and restores life or gifts death. Some Necromancers find themselves able to read minds and see the future. This does not make sense at all if Necromancy does no more than kill or restore life. I have thought

about this, and Necromancy shares some similarities to the powers of Tzeentch, which leads me to believe that Necromancy is a variation of Tzeentchian magic. Necromancy has a direct effect on the recipient, simply killing or restoring life. Mutation magic, or Lore of Tzeentch, does everything in between, changing the form of the target and the user, though of course the mutations cause the death of the original form and the birth of a new Chaotic form, sometimes completely different, sometimes similar, but always different. You do not need to understand the why, or the how, but you must understand that these powers are an advantage and a disadvantage. You can see what will happen in the future, which allows you to alter your path through time, but you will grow unused to being in the dark and not knowing what is about to happen, as is the case when you modify your actions to change the future. Do not ignore your visions my lord, but do not rely on them . Cassius hobbled away from Meldrak and rejoined his apprentices, leaving Meldrak to ponder his words. The Blood Dragon turned his attention back to the fortress and began to wonder what this battle would have in store for him. Meldrak s sharp eyes picked up a disturbance in the air on the top of a cliff in the distance, but he dismissed it as inconsequential. Not too far away, but far enough that magic users cannot sense his presence, a lone figure stood atop a cliff, cloaked by his spells, watching the horde of Undead and Skaven. The two armies were camping a few kilometres away and out of sight of a Dwarfen fortress, and were obviously planning to attack it. The Undead merely stood in ranks while the Skaven set up camp. The ratmen used extreme caution not to go too close to one of the Undead, and the Skaven scurried quickly and nervously when in the presence of one of the many skeletons, zombies and other creatures that made up the Undead horde. The figure found this amusing but unsurprising. Skaven were cowards. The figure was dressed in a bluish robe and clutched a shield and halberd that blazed with unnatural flames. The figure felt his magical powers flow through his hugely muscular form, and he clutched his halberd with a strong arm as he scanned the two armies for the individual he seeked. Grey Seer Skritch sniffed the air and looked around, convinced that someone was watching him. Thralgarr Darkflame smirked as he saw the Skaven Sorcerer sense his attentions. The one known as Skritch had been useful so far. Hopefully he would not fail. Chapter 3 A haze of dust was on the horizon, blurring the magnificent sunset. The Elven army was on the march toward Kazad Grim. Rank after rank of Spearmen and the rare regiment of Swordmasters in glittering mail armour marched silently in perfect unison as squadrons of Elven cavalry trotted along the sides of the foot troops, and chariots rolled across the ground on the army s flanks, throwing rocks and dust into the air. At the fore of the army was the bearer of the Elven battle standard, and high in the air a gigantic white dragon bearing the general of the High Elf army swooped gracefully, surprisingly so for a creature of such size. On the flanks of the dragon flew two giant eagles, raised and nurtured by the Elves and trained to fight alongside them. Indeed, the mighty Elven host was on the march to Kazad Grim, but it would not arrive in time to meet the siege from behind the considerable safety of the Dwarfen walls. Kazad Grim would need to hold for at least three days and keep their enemy from passing the walls. Both the Dwarfs and Elves knew this, and both were confident there would be no complications. After all, with the entire Dwarfen army at the defence of the walls, who could possibly stand against them? The runic defences on the walls that protected it from magic were complete, and were now nigh on invulnerable to most magical attacks. An attack from below the city through the mines was believed to be now impossible with the new underground defence force and countless traps. Neither the Skaven nor the Undead would be able to overrun the underground defences without committing a significant part of their force, and that would allow a section of the Dwarfen defenders to fortify the underground defences, which would make it very difficult indeed to break through before the Elves arrived and routed the enemy. Kazad Grim had been sieged before, and had survived. Now the fortress and its army was stronger than ever. The enemy would need to completely take the fortress very quickly to claim complete victory. It seemed impossible, but things are sometimes not all they seem. Thralgarr Darkflame watched impassively as his Marauders and elite Warriors of Tzeentch ranked up. There were not many of the Warriors, but Thralgarr knew that with their supreme

fighting abilities and ability to enhance his magic with their blessings, no more were needed. Thralgarr had roughly three hundred troops under his command, and over two hundred of them were Marauders. The Chaos Lord laughed quietly to himself, a deep chuckle that didn t seem to come from his throat but from the air around him. He had more than he needed. Thralgarr had been fighting for his Lord Tchar for ninety years, and he had never suffered a defeat. His army had been defeated on a few rare occasions, fighting other Chaos war bands, but no mortal had ever bested him. Not in a battle of army s, not in a battle of magic. No mortal could defeat him, surely. The thoughts of the Champion of Tzeentch turned back to the task at hand. The Skaven had given his word that he would let the Dwarfen leaders live for his use, but Thralgarr knew enough about Skaven to know that he would take the fortress, betray his Undead ally and then attempt to kill Thralgarr, all after killing every last Dwarf in Kazad Grim. That was obvious, but it would not happen. Thralgarr turned to the pale faced Elf that stood next to him. The Elf s features were mostly hidden by the shadow of his black cloak, but Thralgarr knew perfectly well that the Mark of Khaine sat upon his brow. The Dark Elf Assassin held a short blade in each hand, and both dripped with a bluish venom. I have paid you well Elf, and if you fail your mission then I will take from you what I see fit. Namely, if you fail I will need an extreme amount of power to destroy the Skaven sorcerer while he is powered by Warpstone, which he will be, and I will need to concoct a potion to assist me. If you fail, I will take from you your tongue, one eye, seven fingers, your hair, one lung and your heart, and seven litres of blood. I m sure you would be inconvenienced without these things, so I tell you now- failure is not an option. I know your thoughts. If you attempt to strike me down, I will know of it. If I discover betrayal, you will feel this for eternity Thralgarr grabbed the Elf by the throat and lifted him into the air. The Assassin tried to strike, but he could not move. Thralgarr took his other hand and held it in front of the Elf s face. His hand begun to glow blue before discharging a bolt of energy into the Elf. The Elf began to scream as the energy surrounded his body and its changing powers took effect. The Elf stopped screaming as his entire body turned soft and began to ran, changing his form. Thralgarr dropped the Assassin, who was clutching his neck and writhing piteously. After a while he stopped and clambered to his feet, feeling fear for the first time in his long career. "I m sure you get my point. DO NOT FAIL! With the rising of Thralgarr s voice, a blue mist surrounded him, and the sound seemed to echo from the ground itself. The Elf watched with fearful eyes as Thralgarr s dark eyes glowed white, then blue, then back to normal as his voice subsided. I will give you the body of the Vampire to help you in your task. Administer this poison to the Grey Seer. It will psychically link me to his body, so that when the time comes I can possess his body, which I will use to slay the Vampire. Then I will shall we say, turn the Grey Seer s own weapons against him? Give him the poison, then leave. Do not let the Vampire or any of his pet Necromancers see you. Do. Not. Fail. With that, Thralgarr grabbed the Elf by the head with both hands. The Elf once again found himself paralysed, and he groaned in pain as his body was enveloped by changing energy and warped into a much larger, more powerful form. The Elf, now as large as Thralgarr and with incredibly powerful muscles and sinews, stood in amazement. The Elf surprised himself by accidentally biting his lip when he went to close his mouth, being unused to having large fangs at the front of his mouth. The Elf flexed his arm, and his robes ripped. Thralgarr drew the Mark of Tzeentch in the air with his finger, and in a flash of blue light a heavy red suit of armour appeared on the ground, next to a large two handed sword. The Chaos Lord then dropped to his knees, panting, as the strength of the spells he had cast drained much of his power. He looked up at the Assassin, daring him to speak, before addressing him again. Blood Dragon Full Plate. I am aware you are not used to fighting in armour, but with your new abilities you should not find it very difficult. Thralgarr continued talking as the Assassin donned his new armour and picked up the greatsword. Once again, I don t think you would be used to fighting with a two handed weapon, but I can tell you it is not very difficult, and I am confident you will not find it too difficult . Once again, stay away from the true Vampire and his weakling Necromancers. If any of them spot you, slay them . Thralgarr smiled, a humorless smirk. Though it would be interesting to see you duel with the Blood Dragon. I mean the other one.

Thralgarr smirked again. Now go. You have until midnight, then I will deem your mission a failure. With that, the Assassin set off toward the Undead and Skaven camps, frowning as his armour clanked together when he moved. Meldrak Von Kriegan stood unblinking in the moonlight atop a cliff that gave him an excellent view of both Kazad Grim and the Skaven camp, watching the Skaven mill around still trying to set up camp, with a smile on his face. Living creatures were so unorganised. Meldrak stopped thinking about the Skaven when he saw a flash of red armour dash between some rocks at the back of the Skaven camp. Meldrak shook his head. It was not possible. How could it be? Meldrak set off at a run towards the camp, running down the path that led to the top of the cliff and back through the ranks of Undead standing at attention. The Vampire ran with incredible speed for something wearing so much armour, and before long he was in the middle of the Skaven camp. He couldn t think of where else to look, so he set off towards Skritch s tent. He arrived inside the tent just in time to see someone standing over Skritch pulling a vial of a viscous blue liquid from a pouch at his waist. The figure looked up to see Meldrak staring blankly at it, and its eyes widened in surprise. Meldrak was looking at himself! How could this be possible. The Assassin s hand flashed and was all of a sudden clutching a small dagger. He threw it at Meldrak, the blade bouncing off of Meldrak s armour. The Assassin threw another dagger aimed at Meldrak s neck, but this time the Blood Dragon was ready, dodging the knife with unnatural speed. Meldrak pulled his sword from his scabbard and pointed it at the Assassin. I smell magic upon you intruder, and whatever you are, you are not me, and you are not a Vampire! You may have my body, but lets us see if you have my skill! I challenge you creature! Meldrak leapt at the Assassin swinging his blade in a deadly arc, expecting his foe to be unable to move fast enough in his armour to meet the blow, but the Assassin easily pulled his own blade, identical to Meldrak s, from his scabbard and block the blow. Meldrak was surprised, but he had seen more surprising stuff and he quickly reversed the blow, swing upwards towards the Assassin s head. The Assassin blocked it once more, and was thrown to the ground as Meldrak kneed the Assassin in his armoured stomach. Meldrak spun his blade into a thrusting position quicker than the eye could follow and stepped toward the fallen Assassin, prepared to end the duel. The Assassin quickly rolled to his feet and swung a quick blow at Meldrak s head as he rose to his feet. Meldrak blocked the blow single handed, but was unprepared for the force of the swing from a creature that was supposedly only Vampire in looks. Meldrak was thrown from his feet, and his sword clattered across the ground. Grey Seer Skritch finally woke from his warpstone induced dreams and prepared a mighty blast to slay whoever dared to disturb his sleep. Skritch s eyes widened as he saw two identical Blood Dragons fighting in his room, both with the face of Meldrak. The Vampire that was standing saw Skritch rise and took a step toward the Skaven and prepared to swing his mailed fist to knock his victim unconscious, but Skritch quickly unleashed his blast at the intruder s face and scuttled between his legs into the night as the Assassin fell to his knees, clutching his face. Meldrak got to his feet and grabbed for his sword, feeling its metal grip in his hands with satisfaction. Meldrak waited until his foe got to his feet before hammering his foot into the back of his head, throwing him into the ground. The Assassin rolled to his side as Meldrak s blade crashed into the ground beside him, and Meldrak lashed out once again with his foot, knocking the Assassin down as he tried to rise while simultaneously bringing his sword down once more. The Assassin, with both his heightened reflexes and centuries of experience, caught the blade on both sides with his hands. Meldrak shifted his weight and spun the sword with all his strength, cutting the Assassin s hands and breaking his hold on the sword, and he hit the Assassin in the head with the blunt of the sword before thrusting it down again. The Assassin kicked Meldrak s legs out from under him before he could land his blow, and Meldrak cursed himself for his lack of concentration as he fell to the floor. The Assassin lashed out at Meldrak s face with his foot, and Meldrak turned his head to absorb some of the impact and avoid the bulk of the kick, but the foot still skimmed him on the side of his head, crushing bone even with the minimized force of the blow, Meldrak roared in pain, but leapt to his feet nonetheless, trying to ignore the pain. The Assassin picked up his blade and spun to meet Meldrak as he attacked. They traded blows with incredible strength and speed for minutes, slashing, stabbing, blocking and parrying flawlessly countless times, lashing out with feet only to

have their kick blocked by the other. As the fight carried outside of the tent, surprised Skaven scattered. Meldrak swung with his sword for the hundredth time to find it blocked, then ducking and sidestepping the enemy return blows. Meldrak hammered the butt of his sword into the side of the Assassin s head, knocking him to the side. The Assassin spun and before Meldrak could react kicked his sword from his hands. The Assassin now advanced on the unarmed Meldrak, but this was where the true Blood Dragon held an advantage. He was an expert in countless forms of unarmed combat, and could easily slay the finest of swordsman unarmed. The Assassin swung at Meldrak and he ducked the blow, and knocked the blade to the side with one of his hands while he lashed out with his leg and knocked the Assassin s feet from under him. The Assassin fell and attempted to rise, but Meldrak grabbed onto his wrist with both hands and broke it. The Assassin dropped his sword with a cry of pain, but quickly grabbed one of his short swords with his other hand, swinging at Meldrak s side. The Vampire grabbed the blade as it swung toward his side and with a twist of his hands, snapped the blade. The Assassin stood, cracking his wrist back into place with a grimace, his now advanced physiology allowing him to use his hand once more, and then jumped into the air, delivering a roundhouse kick to Meldrak s head, hurling him backwards. The Assassin jumped and tried another identical kick, but Meldrak grabbed the Assassin s foot and hurled him through the air. The Assassin landed on his hands and he flipped back into a standing position. Meldrak inched towards the Assassin, and both had their hands raised in the positions of their respective fighting styles. Meldrak lashed out a powerful swing, and the Assassin blocked it, swinging his palm upwards towards Meldrak's face, Meldrak caught his hand and twisted the arm. Then he pulled the Assassin s own arm behind him and Meldrak grabbed onto the Assassin s neck with one arm. The Assassin spun in Meldrak s grip and head butted Meldrak, knocking the vampire back in a spray of blood. Meldrak kneed the Assassin and knocked him back, swinging at his foe unarmed once more. The Assassin fended off his blows and began to fight back. They traded blows for about twenty seconds as fast as the eye could see before Meldrak head butted the Assassin, sending him reeling. Meldrak stepped forward and hammered a fist into the Assassin s face, and then finished with a thunderous right-cross to the chin. The Assassin fell and tried to rise, but Meldrak crushed his face with a powerful kick and the Assassin fell screaming. Meldrak put his foot on the Assassin s chest and pinned him down. You have been a most worthy adversary, and you have earned yourself the supreme honour. You will now join me in unlife, and I will teach you the ways of the Blood Dragon. Meldrak smiled a predatory smile as the Assassin s eyes widened at what he had suggested. I ve always wanted a Thrall as skilled as you. Well, it seems I found you Meldrak kneeled over the struggling Assassin, and gave him the blood kiss. The Assassin s struggles ceased as life left him, his breathing stopped and his eyes closed. An incorporeal mist engulfed the Assassin as he was returned to his original form. Meldrak stood, wiping the blood from his mouth. The Assassin s new eyes opened as its new being came into the world. The Thrall looked around himself, as if he had never seen the world before. He looked at his hands, and clenched them. The Thrall stood, continuing to take in his surroundings with a now interested eye. The Thrall looked at Meldrak, who smiled, and said: Welcome to my world, brother. Grey Seer Skritch was not happy. He was very unhappy. What in the thirteen names of the Horned Rat had happened? He had been happily dreaming that he was crushing human cities under his mighty paw, when all of a sudden something woke him up and the Vampire was in his room! Two of him there were! Skritch shook his head. It could not be possible. Maybe he should slow down on the Warpstone Snuff. Skritch shook his head again. Such an idea was also ridiculous. The Grey Seer took another pinch of snuff and took a moment to allow it to take effect, then he got up from the rock he was hiding behind and started walking back toward his tent to discover what happened. Skritch had his powers at full flux, and he wasn t about to be surprised again. The Grey Seer arrived at his tent after a short while, to see holes torn in the side and Meldrak standing outside, in front of someone Skritch didn t recognise. Maybe this was the intruder? It didn t look like a copy of the Vampire. Skritch tweaked his whiskers in though for a moment, then walked up to Meldrak and looked up at him. What in Skavenblight just happened dead-thing? I know not Skaven, I simply found an intruder in your room, and I challenged him. He was a worthy adversary, and he stands with me now as my brother

Brother? You are in league with my would-be Assassin? And wait you were in my tent while I was sleeping? Explain quick-quick, before I see fit to end your miserable existence! . Skritch punctuated his sentence by gathering a ball of green energy in each hand. Meldrak laughed. Foolish Skaven. I gave him the Blood Kiss. I will not waste your important time with the details, but it will suffice to say he is one of my kind now. And to answer your rashly considered questions, I am not in league with this Assassin. If I wanted you dead I would do it myself The Skaven s lips curled into a sneer. I found him in your room, most likely attempting to slay you. He had my form, and true to my first guess I found him a worthy adversary. Skritch tittered. So, you killed yourself dead-thing? Would you like to do it again by any chance? Meldrak s eye glittered and flashed red for a moment, causing Skritch to flinch. I do not find you amusing Skaven, he was in my form, that was it. He had a different fighting style, and was extremely skilled in both armed and unarmed combat. However my guess is that he is more suited to fighting unarmoured and with two weapons, and the only time I have seen a being with such a fighting style accompanied by such skill would be when I fought in Naggaroth, where I perfected the skill of fighting many foes in the darkness. My belief is that it was an Assassin of the Elven Dark Kin sent to kill you, but I am clueless as to who could cast such a powerful spell as to change someone s form and physiology, not to mention copy my armour and sword. Skritch growled as his cunning Skaven mind added the facts and discovered who must have done this. The Chaos thing would pay dearly for this, and would die as soon as he was seen again. Skritch made sure the Assassin had plenty of warpstone chunks for the inevitable showdown. We must attack Kazad Grim now, we can wait no longer. The Elves are on the march and the fortress must fall quick-quick they arrive, or the fight will become much more difficult. Gather your troops Vampire, we attack now. The sound of drunken brawling and yelling filled the air around the tavern of Kazad Grim, and Dori Gundriksson wished for the hundredth time that he could be in there, deep in a barrel of Bugman s, instead of out here on night patrol on the walls. Dori sadly turned his head away from the tavern and turned back towards the open wastes that dominated the landscape in front of the walls of Kazad Grim. Dori knew that any army that approached Kazad Grim with hostile intent would be ravaged by the Dwarfen firepower and crash on the impenetrable walls as they vainly attempted to penetrate them. The mountains on the sides of the fortress were impassable, and the founders of Kazad Grim had made sure hundreds of years ago that there was no cover whatsoever on the approach to Kazad Grim. Dori smiled grimly to himself. Kazad Grim would not fall. He took a swig from his hip flasket and coughed. He then hit his chest with a meaty fist and stamped his foot as the powerful drink travelled down his throat. This bet wasn t worth it. Dori was a Hammerer, and the leader of his regiment, Kadrik Hammerhand, had bet him twelve gold crowns that he could not drink two flaskets of Gyrocopter motor oil in one watch. Well Dori was halfway through his second, but had a splitting headache worse than any hangover, and his eyes were watering. Twelve gold crowns would get him four flagons of Bugman s, so Dori figured it would be worth it in the end. His watch only had another hour left, and he swore he would finish the rest of the oil before then, even if it knocked him out. Dori s thoughts on Kadrik, oil and Bugman s evaporated as he saw what looked like movement over some hills about a kilometre from Kazad Grim s walls. Dori squinted, the water in his eyes blurring his vision. He could not make out the figures. Dori yelled over to Kundar Ironarm, a member of Kurgrim Ironbeard s Ironbreakers. Hey Kundar, can you see any movement over that *hic* hill? I don t see anything Dori you oil-swigger, your mind is playing tricks on you! I would ve thought all that time you spend underground with cheese under your helmet would improve your eyesight, and I would hope that you would show some gnollengrom to a member of the King s bodyguard! Kundar stared mockingly at Dori before looking into the darkness. By Grungni s beard Dori, I think you re right! Mother of an Elf! There s a huge army out there! Friend or foe? I don t know. By this time the stench of the Undead horde had reached the walls.

By the ancestors, no! The army is not prepared for an attack yet! Dori, there are Skaven as well! Sound the alarm! We are under attack! Chapter 4 Grimgar bellowed the battle cries of Kazad Grim as he swung his hammer once more, hurling a ratman from the ladder it was using to clamber onto the walls, and sending it screeching to the ground to land among the rest of its kind. Grimgar looked up and down the walls and checked to make sure his troops were holding. The Skaven and the Undead had begun their attack not four hours ago, and they hadn t let up since. The Skaven had clambered up old and poorly built ladders, some of which collapsed under the weight of the armored Skaven, continuously in an attempt to gain a foothold on the walls of Kazad Grim. So far the Dwarfs holding the walls had stood as strong as the walls themselves, resisting all magical and mundane attempts at breaching them. Grimgar searched for his father and the hold s Hammerers, and was unable to find them. The Ironbreakers and nearly four hundred of the hold s warriors lined the walls and stood against their foes, sweat and blood matting their beards and their boots slippery with the blood of their foes. Not many Dwarfs had fallen, and the Skaven dead were piled in their hundreds at the base of the walls, though that was a drop in the ocean compared to their true numbers. The Skaven were a wall of fur and claw at the base of the walls, countless chittering ratmen waiting for a chance to scale the walls. The Undead were almost as numerous, still standing in ranks behind the Skaven army, with their leaders watching the battle, waiting for the right time to commit their forces. Grimgar finished his daydreaming as another wave of Skaven clambered onto the walls. Grimgar lashed out with a gromril-clad boot, connecting with the chest of a clanrat and crushing his ribs. The Skaven fell screaming back over the walls, knocking one of its fellows from the ladder as it fell. Grimgar swung his hammer again, slaying more of the ratmen. The Dwarfs around him lashed out with hammer and axe, crushing bone and splitting flesh with every blow. They lashed out with meaty fists as well, throwing yet more of their foes from the walls. The Dwarfs rushed forward and grabbed hold of some of the ladders, pushing them away from the walls and sending them crashing to the ground, ending the lives of more Skaven. The Skaven milled about in confusion, unwilling to keep trying to scale the walls in the face of such resistance. The leader of the Grey Seer spat in frustration as his lackeys fell back. He could only just make them stay in the battle by blasting his closest troops, but they had lost the will to fight. Grimgar took advantage of the momentary lapse in the attack to bring havoc to the Skaven hordes. All Thunderers, git yourselves on the walls now for Grungni s sake! Unload every single shot you have into their scabrous hides right now! Where s the artillery? I want to see some burning ratmen in the next minute ye lazy gits! Come on lads make it quick, we ve got the upper hand! Git shooting! Dagar Blacksmoke, Veteran of the Thunderers, began yelling orders across the walls. Some of the Dwarfs on the wall dropped their weapons and pulled handguns from their back, while more Thunderers ran up the steps to the walls and prepared to fire into the Skaven. "Ye ready lads?" Dagar yelled "Load!" The Thunderers loaded their handguns with practiced skill, pushing the powder down into the barrels calmly and quickly. "Brace!" The Thunderers aimed their weapons into the seething mass below them, sighting down their weapons and taking careful aim. "Fire!" A choking cloud of smoke engulfed everyone on the walls as the Thunderers began firing. Black blood spurted into the air as the tightly packed masses of Skaven were hit by the deadly bullets. "Fire at will boys! I want to see almost as much blood as smoke!" Skaven screeched and panicked to escape the carnage as scores of them were slaughtered by the Thunderers. Bullets tore through fur, flesh and armour alike, splintering bones and rupturing organs as the Skaven sought to escape the onslaught by hiding under the bodies of their kin. Booms and hisses filled the air as the Dwarfen artillery fired, cannonballs, large stones and gouts of flame engulfing the Skaven on the ground. The cannons wreaked a bloody toll as the large

balls crashed through the ranks of the ratmen, completely crushing everything in their path, slaughtering many more of the ratmen. The stones landed amidst the tightly packed Skaven and caused horrendous damage, obliterating large pockets of the ratmen, sending blood spurting in all directions. The sound of bodies being crushed and bone being splintered added to the cacophony of panicked screeching and the volleys of the Thunderers and artillery. Large balls of flame hissed through the air, causing terror in the Skaven who saw them coming down. The flames landed with a satisfying impact, swallowing hundreds of Skaven in a whirlwind of flames and burning them to a crisp. The screams of burning ratmen rang out as the flames spread outwards, burning up many more of the Skaven and causing the Dwarfs to wrinkle their noses at the unpleasant stench. The artillery and Thunderers continued to fire, slaying yet more of their enemies. Under this horrendous barrage, the Skaven were unable to hold, and began to flee. Grimgar laughed out loud with delight as he watched the ratmen flee. You see? The yellow-bellied rats don t have the stomach for a real fight! That ll teach em to mess with the Dawi of Kazad Grim, won't it lads? The Dwarfs along the walls yelled cries of affirmation and joy as they watched the Skaven run away from the walls, but their yells died down as they saw what happened when the Skaven reached the Undead lines. The Skaven did not continue to flee, but instead when they reached the ranks of Undead they stopped and lay on the ground, panting for breath. The Vampire leading the Undead walked out in front of the armies, his hands holding the reins of his skeletal steed, with his new thrall by his side. From behind one of the hills in the distance, a huge machine that looked like a bell on wheels was pushed into view by Skaven slaves. The Grey Seer mounted the bell, and said something to a Skaven also riding the bell who held a large hammer. The ratman swung the hammer back, and Grimgar s eyes widened with horror as he realised what the machine was. The Bell of the Horned Rat. Thyron Whitebeard, also standing on the walls, begun to activate some of his runestones to fight the Skaven magic, but even he was not powerful enough. The ratman hit the bell with all his might, and the earth began to shake almost immediately. Rocks from the mountains splintered and Dwarfs were hurled to their feet, some nearly falling off the walls. The gates of Kazad Grim began to shake. King Morgrim and the Hammerers of Kazad Grim, who were standing behind the gates in case they were breached, took a few involuntary steps backward. They sky roiled as clouds gathered over the fortress. The Undead Necromancers and the Grey Seer gathered their powers together in an unstoppable mass, and Thyron, Skarl and Gudrak were unable to stop the magical powers from gathering. Thyron activated a Rune of Spellbreaking, but to his horror the magical power gathered for this unknown spell was too great. A great blast of energy erupted from the three Necromancers, who with the Grey Seers help had amassed an incredibly powerful magic missile. The spell blasted towards the gates of Kazad Grim with incredible speed. The runes on the gate glowed an incredible red, and the magical blast halted an inch before the gates. The runes and the magic fought a powerful battle that no mortal could fight, sparks flying and causing the hair on the nearby Dwarfs to stand on end. The Necromancers and the Grey Seer put all of their power into the spell and continued to power it, slowly overrunning the gates runic defences. The Skaven and Undead hordes began to march towards the walls once more. Runemaster Thyron and his Runesmiths, Gudrak and Skarl tried dispelling the spell again, but it was too strong. They added their runic powers to that of that gate, and were able to push the spell backwards until it was about a metre from the gate. Grey Seer Skritch, his eyes blazing green, took a shard of Warpstone and popped it into his mouth with one hand, strengthening the spell. The spell pushed back toward the gates once more as the Dwarfs of Kazad Grim watched with bated breath. The three Runesmiths began chanting the Rite of Dispelling, their words resonating with power and stopping the spell about a foot from the walls. It was a stalemate. Meldrak looked towards the fortress, then to his new apprentice. He was holding his own skeletal steed s reins, wearing blood red full plate and holding two swords. He was ready for his mission. Meldrak then looked back towards his Necromancers. Then he added his own powers to the spell. With the addition of this new power the runes were over powered, and in a spectacular explosion of magical energy, the gates of Kazad Grim were forced open. The Hammerers rushed forward to brace the gates, but Skritch propelled Meldrak s apprentice towards the gates. The Vampire flew through the air leaving a trail of green sparks behind him. He lost his grip of his steed, who went flying backwards through the air. The skeletal steed landed in a crumpled heap, many of its bones being knocked out of place. It got up and began to trot in

an ungainly fashion towards its master. The Blood Dragon landed just outside the gates. Two Hammerers rushed to stop him, but he lashed out with his two swords almost faster than the eye could follow. The Hammerers were skilled with their weapons and blocked the first few of the Vampire s blows, but were far too outmatched. The Vampire decapitated one of them, and chopped an arm from the other, who fell with a grunt. The Blood Dragon ran with awesome speed through the gate and leapt over the Hammerers with surprising agility. He landed in front of King Morgrim and pointed one of his swords at him. There is no point closing those gates Dwarf, they won t stay shut . The Vampire smiled mockingly. Morgrim growled at the Vampire and hefted his large axe. If you re looking to slay a Dwarf, you ve come to the wrong place Vampire! Prepare your blades, and I swear by Griminir that you will be a pile of ash before long! The Vampire smiled. I was just about to suggest the same thing. The Vampire lashed out at Morgrim with his two blades. Morgrim swayed to avoid one of the blows and parried the other. The runes on the axe gave him incredible strength, and the Vampire s arm was knocked backwards. Morgrim swung his axe in a wide arc and as the Vampire leapt backwards then lunged forward to attack again, Morgrim quickly reversed his strike to block the Vampire s return blows. Grimgar watched with horror as his father duelled with the Vampire in the gateway, stopping the Hammerers from closing the gates. The Blood Dragon was an awesome warrior, nearly as powerful as his master in death. However, Morgrim was a Dwarf King, not a beardless whelp, and the fight was not one sided in the slightest. Grimgar rushed down from the walls to watch the duel, praying earnestly to Valaya, Griminir and Grungni that his father would be victorious. All the while the armies of the Undead and Skaven continued to march closer The Dwarfs defending Kazad Grim were frantic. War machine crew dragged their machines into new positions to account for the breaching of the gates while Thunderers and Crossbowdwarfs loaded weapons and rushed into firing positions. Dwarfs yelled orders and warnings as they organised themselves along the walls and in front of the gate and brought forward the reserves. Kragg Blackfist, the Battle Standard clenched in one meaty fist, led his squad of warriors to the gates, the banner fluttering in the unnatural breeze. The Hammerers ranked up around Grimgar, watching the duel between their King and the Vampire helplessly, and Ironbreakers split up into detachments and spread themselves out along the walls. Kurgrim Ironbeard, Champion of the Ironbreakers, stood on top of the gatehouse, directly above the spot where his King now fought for his life. Dwarfs began yelling encouragement to Morgrim and cursed the Vampire as the two continued to duel. The runes of Morgrim s axe gave him even more formidable power and speed than he had, and put him on even footing with the inhuman monster he was fighting. The Blood Dragon wore no expression on its face as it dodged blows and attacked with lightning speed, as if it was only doing what came naturally. Morgrim swung his weapon is powerful arcs, spinning the axe around as his completed each swing to allow him to continuously attack while defending himself. The Vampire struck blindingly fast with its two swords, swaying away from and deflecting axe strikes while attacking with the other. Sweat beaded Morgrim s forehead and matted his beard. He had already been struck by the Blood Dragon twice now, the blows being deflected by his armour. The Blood Dragon got another blow through his defence, Morgrim quickly turning to his side so the blow glanced off a shoulder pad, the runic energies absorbing the force of the blow. Grimgar and the other watching Dwarfs breathed a collective sigh of relief. Though they all knew this stalemate could not continue. The Vampire reached a new crescendo in its attacks, attacking faster and harder than before and testing Morgrim to his limits. His muscles began to ache. Grimgar continued to watch, horror showing on his face as his father began to slow in his attacks and the Vampire got even faster. The Vampire got another blow through Morgrim s defence, but this time the armour could not protect him. The Vampire had aimed a prefect stab between his shoulder plates and his breastplate, and his sword buried itself in Morgrim s flesh. The King let out a cry of pain and fell to the ground, blood gushing from the wound. The Vampire dropped one of his swords and stood over the fallen King who was breathing deeply on the ground, staring up at the Undead with hateful eyes. The Blood Dragon smiled, grasping his sword in both hands. He put one foot on the King s chest, pinning him down. Grimgar stood transfixed, disbelieving, as did the King s Hammerers. When their Lord needed them the most, they were unable to protect him. Grimgar whispered under his breath; Please, Grungni, no!

Morgrim looked up at the Vampire towered over him, hate and defiance in his eyes. The Vampire savoured his victory, holding his blade over the King s neck and looked rather amused. King Morgrim knew it was not yet over- the Undead lacked imagination. Morgrim pulled a small but thick blade from a small scabbard on his leg with his wounded arm. With a grunt of pain yet considerable speed, Morgrim slashed the dagger toward the Vampire s gut. The Blood Dragon reacted quickly knocking the blow away and using the return sweep to sweep the blade from Morgrim s hands. The distraction was all the time he had needed. When the Vampire looked back to Morgrim s face, all he saw was amusement. The large axe Morgrim was still holding in his other hand smashed into the Vampire s head, severing it completely. The Vampire s head began turning to dust even as it sailed through the air, as did his body. Within seconds all that remained of the Vampire were two piles of ash, one smaller than the other. Grimgar rushed to his father s side, as did the Hammerers, and the Dwarfs let out a cheer for their victorious King. Grimgar tried to help his bleeding father up, but Morgrim waved him off and got to his feet with minimal assistance. Runemaster Thyron rushed over and looked Morgrim up and down with a slight smile under his beard before hurriedly scooping the Vampire s remains into a sack and ordering a nearby warrior to take it to the forge and burn it. Morgrim looked out at the Skaven and Undead armies, who were now very close to the walls, and then walked back inside the walls. Close the gates Kadrin . Kadrin Hammerhand and his Hammerers rushed to the gates and pushed them shut. Thyron, Skarl and Gudrak rushed to the gate and began to empower the runes once more. Even with all three of them they would not be able to restore the gate to its former power, but it would buy time. Two Organ Guns were dragged from the artillery line and placed inside the walls, aiming at the gate. Grimgar looked up at the walls for Dagar Blacksmoke. Dagar! Get some Thunderers down here! Dagar beckoned to one of his Thunderer regiments and pointed down to the gate. They nodded and rushed down the steps along the walls and lined up beside the Organ Guns, preparing themselves to fire and receive the inevitable charge when the enemy broke through the gates. Morgrim shrugged off the Priestess of Valaya that was tending to his wounds and ordered the Hammerers to rank up with him. They would hold the enemies when they broke through the gate. Morgrim turned to find his son, who was quickly giving the Organ Gun crew their orders. Grimgar! Grimgar my lad! What is it? I need you to Morgrim broke into a hacking cough, wincing in pain as he felt his shoulder wound rub against his armour. He cleared his throat before continuing. I need you to get on the wall. Get up there and make sure we hold. This is our fortress, and if they take the walls or the gates, we will not be able to hold the fortress. Grimgar nodded and jogged towards the walls, his heavy runic plate clanking as he moved. He climbed the stairs onto the wall and stood next to Kurgrim Ironbeard. Grimgar gave a sharp intake of breath as he saw the armies marching toward Kazad Grim. They were endless. Foul ratmen and Undead as far as the eye could see. Quite a wee sight, isn t it my Lord Kurgrim said, turning to Grimgar and looking at him through his full gromril helm. Grimgar looked back at him. The words almost wouldn t come. Tis Your father ll fine. He be a tough Dwarf. He ll be fine. Grimgar nodded. Aye. True. He ll be fine Kurgrim nodded and looked back at the reeking sea of death coming to claim Kazad Grim. Meldrak scowled as he watched, and felt, the death of his apprentice. It was unfortunate, but insulting. Very insulting, made more so by the dishonorable fashion of the apprentice s death. The Dwarf was defeated in the challenge! He should have died! Meldrak s rage built as it occurred to him that the Dwarf most likely would have won the challenge if the fight had been completely fair. Meldrak turned and looked up at Grey Seer Skritch, who was giggling maniacally as the warpstone he had consumed took effect. Skaven! Skritch, still in his trance looked down at Meldrak with white eyes. You re very small dead thing! Yet I m sure I could touch you! Skritch leaned forward with his arm outstretched as if he thought his arm was 12 feet long. How odd. I can t quite reach Skritch leaned forward further. Just as he overbalanced and began to slip off the edge of the Screaming Bell s platform, he snapped out of his trance and leapt

backward, saving himself from a pointless demise. Skritch, breathing heavily, got back to his feet and looked down at Meldrak again. You said something? You interfered with the challenge! Just a little frenzy spell. Nothing overpowerful dead-thing. Keep your fangs on! You interfered with the challenge! I heard you the first time. It s you that has trouble hearing! You interfered. My apprentice s challenge was none of your concern. If you want to continue your short life, then do not interfere in my business again Skaven! Skritch sneered. Very well dead thing. It matters not, your apprentice failed. The gates are closed. We can open them again. We need to get inside now! We can t scale the walls, we need to get through the gate and overrun them! If what you say about the Elf-things is true, then it is a matter of life or death for us, not them! We have to take the fortress quick-quick! Do not worry Skaven. Our armies are marching. I will lead them into the gate. You will stay here, with Cassius and his apprentices. You will provide magical support. I wasn t going anywhere anyway fool-fool! I ll do my job, just make sure you don t fail yours dead-thing! Meldrak s faced remained impassionate. The time to deal with the Grey Seer would soon come. Meldrak climbed onto his steed and rode towards the gates, which the Skaven and Undead army had almost reached. Meldrak payed no heed to the sound of the Dwarf artillery firing another volley. Chapter 5 The Thunderers fired again, slaying yet more of their foes. Scores of ratmen were blown squealing from their feet and Undead crumpled noiselessly into piles of bones and rotting corpses, the weak magic sustaining them destroyed by the damage to their bodies. Balls of flames and large stones tore huge holes in the ranks of the armies, crushing and burning alive hundreds of foes. Cannonballs and Bolts tore through the enemy, continuing to wreak a bloody toll on their enemies. Still the numberless hordes marched on. They were now so close to the walls that the artillery was no longer useful. The crews reloaded their weapons and prepared to lay down another volley of fire if the worst happened and the Dwarf lines broke. The Thunderers continued to fire, but as the Skaven put up ladders once more and began climbing, and the Undead began trying to push the gate back open, they put their handguns away and armed themselves for combat. The Dwarfs on the walls began pushing ladders off the walls, sending Skaven screaming to their deaths, but there were over a hundred ladders up at the moment and there were many more waiting to be used. The Skaven began clambering over the walls once more, the Dwarfs slaying scores of them, hacking them apart, crushing their bones to splinters and throwing them from the ladders and walls, but they still came heedless of their casualties.. The Dwarfs fought ferociously, giving no ground and keeping the Skaven from gaining a foothold on the walls. Only a few Dwarfs had fallen, but there were many more Skaven than Dwarfs. The situation was under control for the time being however, and Grimgar rushed back down to help hold the gate. If the gate fell, Kazad Grim may not be far behind. The Undead beat mindlessly on the gates, causing no damage whatsoever to the powerful gromril. The Hammerers were having no problems holding the gate shut against such weak foes. Skarl, Gudrak and Runemaster Thyron stepped back from the walls, frustrated at their inability to reactivate the runes. Without any other way to help, they each ran off to the walls to help the Dwarfs fighting there. The Undead continued to push and beat the gates, to no avail. Grimgar began to think the Undead would never get in as he watched the Hammerers holding the gate. Then something huge impacted the gate. The gates shook visibly, and many of the Hammerers were knocked backward. They ran forward and pushed against the gate with all their strength, wondering what was now trying to breach the mighty gromril doors. The gates were hit again. And again. And again. The Hammerers began to tire, and the powerful impacts quickened. Kurgrim yelled down to Grimgar. Rat Ogres! There must be a score of them! Grimgar chewed his beard, and ran forward to help the Hammerers hold the gate, as did

Morgrim. Grimgar put his arms on the gate and leaned his weight forward. Nearly four score Hammerers were doing the same. The beating stopped, for a few seconds, then began again with renewed ferocity. "I swear too much" roars of rage and frustration rang out, and the beating grew in power. Grimgar was thrown off the gate numerous times, and many Hammerers were knocked to the ground. The gate opened a few feet, and almost instantly four or five huge clawed arms came through the gap. Some of the arms had huge cleavers and blades instead of hands, and all of them were poxed and hairy. The Rat Ogres pushed the gate open despite the Dwarf s best efforts, and as the gate was hurled open the Hammerers rushed into ranks with practiced efficiency, Grimgar and Morgrim at their fore. As the Rat Ogres pushed their way through the gap, they looked at the Dwarfs arrayed before them and let out a chorus of barking sounds, presumably laughter. Kragg Blackfist and his warriors scowled. The Hammerers split into two separate groups, with Grimgar and Morgrim each leading one. Grimgar stood next to Kadrik Hammerhand, Kazad Grim s Gatekeeper. Kadrik looked at Grimgar . This should be a good show, shouldn t it sire. Aye. It better be. The Rat Ogres growled as they saw over the Dwarfs heads. Two Organ Guns and at least thirty Thunderers stood aiming their assorted weapons at the Rat Ogres. The Organ Guns fired, as did the Thunderers in a deafening chorus of musical blasts, the explosive discharge of Dwarfen handguns, and the maniacal laughter of some of the Organ Gun crew. The Thunderer s shots were deadly accurate at such short range, striking hard into the flesh of the Rat Ogres. For the most part no noticeable damage was caused, but here and there a bullet pushed right into a Rat Ogre, dragging a cry of pain from its "I swear too much" throat. The Rat Ogres flinched under the hail of bullets, and three or four fell, but there rest were mostly unscathed. The Organ Gun shots were a different matter. The small explosive shells launched from the Organ Gun exploded when they hit the Rat Ogres, blowing huge chunks of flesh from their muscular frames. Arms and legs were blown off their bodies, heads were destroyed and a huge sprays of arterial blood arced through the air. The Rat Ogres roared in pain and fear as more than half of them were blown apart by the shells. The rest rushed forward in all directions, howling in animal fury. Kragg and his warriors charged to meet them, as did the Hammerers and the many other warriors holding the gate. The Rat Ogres hit the Dwarfs with incredible force, breaking through their shield walls with ease and throwing some into their air. The Rat Ogres roared in anger as they lashed out with their assorted weapons, disembowelling and eviscerating many of the Dwarfen Warriors. The Dwarfs held their ground and struck back, hacking into the thick hides of the Rat Ogres and dragging them down one by one. Kragg pushed the Battle Standard through the throat of one of the Rat Ogres, and began hacking at its legs with his axe. The creature fell gurgling. Kragg pulled the banner from its neck and brought his axe down with his other hand, cutting deep into the Rat Ogre s head and slaying it. Morgrim swung his runic axe with great power despite his wound, hacking limbs from a Rat Ogre with each sweep of his axe. The last one fighting his Hammerers had its leg cut off below the knee by Morgrim s axe. It fell bellowing in pain as Morgrim jumped onto it chest and beheaded it. Morgrim picked up the head and threw it at the Undead pushing though the gate, bellowing in adrenaline-induced fury. Grimgar swung his runic hammer with incredible speed, giving the Rat Ogres no time to react before his hammer impacted with their huge bodies, crushing bones and organs. As the last of the Rat Ogres were slain after a quick and bloody fight leaving nearly two score Dwarfs dead, the Hammerers and Warriors once more arranged themselves back into their ranks. The Undead began pushing through the gate in great numbers, skeletons and zombies shambling through the gate slowly toward the Dwarf s lines. The Thunderers and Organ Guns fired again, the hail of shells and bullets tearing the Undead apart as they advanced into the barrage. A cloud of splintered bone and rotted blood mixed with the smoke from the Thunderers, creating quite an offensive odour. Huge numbers of the Undead were slaughtered by the shooting, creating large piles of bones and rotted corpses just inside the gate. The remaining Undead, who far outnumbered those who had died, continued to shuffle toward the Dwarfs. The Organ Gun crew and the Thunderers armed themselves and ran to join the combat as the Hammerers and Warriors rushed forward to stem the tide of Undead pushing through the gate, and the second Battle for Kazad Grim began in earnest. Kurgrim Ironbeard swung his battleaxe in a wide arc, taking the head off a Skaven and burying

itself in the ribs of another. Kurgrim lashed out with his mailed fist as he freed his axe, sending another Skaven screeching off the wall. The smashed the handle of his hammer into another Skaven, crushing it s skull, and reversed his blow to knock another Skaven of it s feet screeching in pain, blood streaming from it s crushed chest. Kurgrim took the moment he had to check how the rest of the Dwarfs on the wall were doing. Dwarfs slashed and crushed Skaven all along the wall, slaying them in their dozens and throwing them off their ladders. A Dwarf wrestled with a Clanrat who had gained a foothold on the wall. The superior size and power of the Dwarf won over, and the Dwarf hurled the Skaven bodily over the walls. The Dwarf stooped to pick up his axe, and his eyes widened in surprise and pain as a Skaven hurled a rusty blade through his back. Blood dribbled from the Dwarf s mouth as he fell to the ground, the chittering Skaven being pulled to the ground with him. Another furious Dawi stepped down hard on the ratman s skull, smashing it to splinters. The Skaven had probably lost over a thousand troops, yet still they came. Their numbers were showing, and at least forty siege ladders were now on the walls, the defenders too busy fighting to throw them off. No matter how hard the Dwarfs fought, the Skaven were still able to gain a foothold somewhere, dragging Dwarfs away from other ladders to drive them back. Stormvermin were now being used in the attack, their superior size and skill making them more formidable than their lesser kin. They slashed and stabbed at Dwarfs with their halberds with commendable speed and skill, slaying numerous Dwarf warriors. The Dwarfs were just as skilled and tougher however, and some took the halberd in the flesh and killed the ratman holding it. Even the Stormvermin were not powerful enough to overrun the Dwarfen defenders. The Ironbreakers were deployed in contingents of three at each ladder, their awesome skill and armour proving an impossible obstacle for the attacking Skaven. The Dwarfs had lost maybe forty Dawi, but Kurgrim could see things were getting worse. Kurgrim s thoughts snapped back to staying alive as he heard one of his Ironbreakers calling to him. They ve taken control of the left wall! We ve got to get down there! Kurgrim watched in horror as skeletal hands grasped the ladders on the left wall, pulling themselves up effortlessly with no thought to their own safety. The Wights were far more formidable than the Skaven, and they were able to fight their way through the Dwarfen defenders. The Wights had gained a foothold and were taking a heavy toll on the Dwarf defenders, their blades slicing through flesh with ease. The small amount of Ironbreakers over there were holding their own, defending themselves from the attacks of the Wights and smashing them apart with strong axe and hammer blows. The Dwarf warriors rallied to the Ironbreakers to form small bastions of resistance. The few Longbeards on the walls stood where they were, swinging large two handed weapons and smashing them into their foes with a loud curse and a grumble, not paying much heed to their casualties. Kurgrim rushed down there and begun hacking into the Wights, finding it difficult to hurt their powerful forms but still destroying a few of them. The Dwarfs begun pushing the Wights back with their numbers, and the elite Undead warriors begun falling apart, the magic that bound them to unlife weakening. Kurgrim watched as one of the last Wights lashed out with his blade, slicing the head off of one of the Ironbreakers as if his armour wasn t even there. The last of the Wights were slain, but the damage had been done. The distraction had given the Skaven just the opportunity they needed, and scores of them were now on the walls with thousands more waiting to follow. Kurgrim roared in exasperation as he ran back to his place above the gatehouse to try and repel the Skaven attackers once more. As impossible as it might seem, by the sounds of things the battle was even more ferocious down at the gate. Grimgar swung his hammer in great arcs, the Zombies and Skeletons being smashed asunder by the magical powers bound within his weapon. Grimgar struck with such speed that the Skeletons and Zombies didn t have time to make any reaction but to crumple in a heap. The runes on Dammaz-Grund glowed brightly as Grimgar continue to slay the foul Undead, the weapon greatly enhancing his speed and strength. Kragg Blackfist and King Morgrim also fought relentlessly, slaying more of the Undead than they cared to count but still making no difference to their numbers. Kragg s warriors looked dreadfully afraid of their unnatural foes, but at the gate to their fortress and under the shadow of their Battle Standard, none of them would consider flight. King Morgrim swung his huge runic axe in huge arcs, reversing the strikes with great speed and slaying three or four of the Undead with each sweep. The Undead were dying in droves, bones and flesh no longer bound into a form lying all over the ground, making it difficult for the Undead to clamber over, though such things were trivial to them. The Hammerers and Longbeards fought

ferociously to defend their fortress, smashing apart hundreds of their foes without rest and without a step backward. No great number of Dwarfs had fallen since the attack of the Rat Ogres, and though the Undead had lost hundreds upon hundreds of their number without inflicting any serious casualties, they still kept up the attack without pause. Being Undead, that wouldn t change Grimgar knew. They would just have to kill enough as to weaken the spell binding them to unlife. Grimgar, Morgrim, and Kragg yelled encouragement their troops lifting their spirits and spurring them onwards. Keep it up lads! They might not know fear, but neither do we! They ll give up before we do! For Kazad Grim! Grimgar yelled to his Hammerers, followed by the King adding his own cries.: Not a step backward boys! Keep smashing them apart, and they ll fall to pieces like an Elven sword! Victory is life, and there is no other option! Hold the line! The bellowing of the King and his son greatly heartened the defenders, their voices carrying to the Dwarfs on the walls and helping them to keep fighting. Kragg Blackfist pushed the Battle Standard through the chest of a Skeleton Captain, slaying the creature. Kragg crushed the ribs of the skeleton with his boot and lifted the Standard into the air. Plenty more where that came from! Pick up your game beardlings, you haven t earned your ale yet! Hearty jeers and cries met this statement, which had it s desired effect, lifting the Dwarf s spirits even higher. The Undead had no hope of breaking through anytime soon. Grey Seer Skritch watched with delight as his Skaven continued to clamber onto the walls. It was only a matter of time until the fortress of the Dwarf-things was in his paws. Skritch tittered in joy, and took a sniff of warpstone snuff to enhance the experience. Green drool hung from his lips and his eyes were glazed, but Skritch was having more fun now than he had in a long time and wasn t going to let a little thing like a dangerous warpstone addiction stop him from enjoying it even more. Might as well feed the beast. The Grey Seer was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle as his favourite type of battle- one where he wasn t involved. Skritch was leaving the spellcasting to the Necromancers. Meldrak had almost reached the gates and was slowly making his way through his huge horde, slashing out with his greatsword to clear a path more quickly. Skritch dearly hoped one of the Dwarf-things would take the Vampire s head off. Skritch s joy turned to fright as he looked through his telescope, over the heads of the Dwarfs. Thralgarr Darkblade and his army had exited the sewers, and were in the city. The Marauders and Chaos Warriors were marching toward the back of the Dwarf lines unnoticed, and though they would most likely break the Dwarfen lines once the attacked, the Skaven Sorcerer knew that after the battle, Thralgarr would have no use for him. And being a Skaven, Skritch was not interested in duelling with one such as Thralgarr. All of a sudden, a brilliant idea popped into Skritch s cunning mind. They Grey Seer chortled as he comprehended his incredible genius. It was foolproof, and it would take care of his only worldly problems in one fell swoop! Skritch took a deep breath and shoved two of his warpstone shards into his mouth and begun to gather his powers. Eyes blazing and fur standing on end with blazing energy, Skritch turned to the Necromancers. I help-help your master, yes? Cassius Moar, the Master Necromancer, nodded his approval and stopped casting spells to watch Skritch's actions. Skritch sneered, then cast his spell at Meldrak. A green glow enveloped the Vampire, and he was lifted into the air. He was carried right over the walls, over the heads of the surprised Dwarfs, and landed right in front of the Tzeentch Lord. Skritch laughed aloud as he watched the surprised Thralgarr stagger backwards from the Blood Dragon standing in front of him. Meldrak looked around himself, seeing a circle of Chaos warriors and Marauders. Meldrak turned and saw Thralgarr, Meldrak smiled, showing his canines. Finally, a foe truly worth fighting. Meldrak pointed his blade at the Chaos Lord. A challenge! Step forward and meet your doom! Thralgarr Darkblade, not one to be shown up in front of his troops or under the gaze of his god, stepped forward, dropping his shield and grasping his huge halberd with both hands, preparing to wield it as a great weapon. Magical energies blazed along the weapon, and Meldrak guessed that it was not a weapon, but a magical staff in form of a weapon. I accept your challenge. Do not take too long about this, I have things to do and empires to destroy. Skritch laughed maniacally as Meldrak swung his huge sword at the Champion of Tzeentch, who blocked it and attacked back with powerful yet incredibly fast swings. Thralgarr was in every

respect a foe worth of a Blood Dragon. The Grey Seer fell to his knees atop his Screaming Bell, laughing maniacally. His foes would kill each other! Cassius and his Necromancers, seeing the predicament the Skaven had put their Lord in, turned to Skritch and begun gathering their power to slay him. If Meldrak died, so did they. Skritch turned and smirked at the Necromancers. He had prepared for this. Skritch unleashed a powerful blast of green energy at one of the Necromancers, his warpstone induced powers too much for the spellcaster and obliterating him in a blast of unnatural flame. The other Necromancer summoned a troop of skeletons to aid them, and Cassius unleashed a powerful missile at Skritch. Skritch strained to stop the magical blast, and with sweat drenching his fur, dissipated the spell. The incredible amount of warpstone he had induced made him an unrivalled wizard. Skritch cast Skitterleap on one of his Assassin s, pulling him through the air and landing him in front of the lesser Necromancer. The surprised Skaven recovered quickly, and guessing what his master wanted he decapitated the Undead spellcaster with a quick sweep of his poisoned blade. Cassius conjured a shield to block the Assassin s blows, and summoned the magical powers of shadow to drag the Assassin screaming into a hole of darkness that opened up beneath him. Skritch used the distraction to his advantage, gathering all of his power into a huge blast of pestilence, and this time the Master Necromancer could not dispel it. The flesh rotted from his bones in a matter of seconds, leaving a withered skeleton lying on the ground amidst a cloud of green fumes. The summoned skeletons fell apart, and Skritch collapsed with exhaustion and joy. Everything was working. Skritch clambered back to his feet and begun stroking his tail as he tossed up whether he wanted to watch his mighty Skaven claim victory, or watch the death of one of his two rivals. Life truly didn t get any better, and Skritch muttered his praises to the Horned Rat as he imagined which of the four greater Clans he would buy once the fortress was his. Chapter 6 Kazad Grim was in chaos. On the walls, Dwarfen warriors, Longbeards, the Runesmiths and Kurgrim s Ironbreakers fought ferociously against the Skaven, their lines beginning to falter under the weight of so many Skaven swarming the walls. The Skaven had gained a foothold on certain parts of the wall, diverting the attention of the defenders and splitting their forces. The Skaven were fighting like cornered rats to keep their place on the walls, and with their limitless numbers they were almost impossible to dislodge. Still the Dwarfs slew a score of Skaven for every foot of ground they gained. Below there, the Dwarfs holding the gate were beginning to be completely surrounded by the tide of Undead pouring through the gate. The Hammerers, at the fore of the battle, still had not given an inch of ground despite the fearful nature of their foes, and being almost surrounded it seemed certain that every last one of them would fall exactly where he stood. The warriors led by Kragg Blackfist were not in such dire straits, and fought with a grim yet furious intensity to stop their King and his son from being swamped. Morgrim and Grimgar fought like Dwarfs possessed, cleaving through the frail bodies of the Undead with ease and smashing three or four asunder with each powerful blow. The Undead were limitless however, and the Dwarfs were getting tired. They would not hold forever. And in the city itself, overlooking the main battle, a clash of epic proportions between two incredibly powerful beings was taking place. Meldrak fought furiously, as did his foe. Neither of them were human, and they both had the advantage of incredible strength and resilience. Both had landed blows, but none of those were serious. Meldrak was the more skilled fighter of the two, having perfected his art over centuries of bloodshed. Thralgarr however had his own powers, having fought countless battles over centuries of life himself. Meldrak wielded his blade with more skill than he had ever used, relishing the experience of fighting someone that truly challenged him. Thralgarr had incredible skill and speed, but his pursuit of magical knowledge had taken much of his time, and he was slowly losing the battle. His magical staff, right now in the form of a flaming halberd, left trails of blue flame as it clashed with Meldrak s great sword and cut through empty air. Thralgarr lashed out with his armoured fist and thrust forward with his halberd simultaneously, Meldrak knocking the hand aside and twisting to avoid the halberd. With incredible agility, he spun around to swing at Thralgarr s back. Thralgarr thrust his halberd between his back and Meldrak s blade as he spun himself, deflecting the blow with a speed that made Meldrak laugh with excitement. The Blood Dragon rained a flurry of blows each more powerful and quicker than the last. The Vampire

grinned as he attacked, relishing his own skill which had improved immensely in the recent months. He aimed blows at Thralgarr s head, then others at his feet in the time it would take a skilled mortal to lift a blade. The speed of the blows was too much for Thralgarr, who deflected Meldrak s blade once more and lost his balance for a heartbeat, more than enough time for Meldrak to aim a killing sweep at his neck with the intent of decapitating him. Thralgarr, unable to block the blow, aimed a blow of his own at Meldrak s midsection. The Vampire s blow hit the Chaos Lord s neck, but just before the blade made contact with his neck a bolt of blue lightning streaked down from the sky to interpose itself between the blade and Tzeentch s champion as the changer of ways himself intervened. The lightning looked insubstantial but was harder than steel, Meldrak s blade bouncing back. Thralgarr laughed, a deep sound that seemed the shake the earth. The halberd sheared through the Blood Dragon s full plate, but did nothing to harm the Vampire as a necklace the Undead creature wore absorbed the energy. Thralgarr sneered and pulled back to strike again, muttering praises to Tzeentch. Meldrak blocked his blow and begun to attack once more, and the duel continued. Meldrak was angered now, cheated of his victory by his foe s diabolical patron, and attacked with a speed and fury he had never tapped into. His blade knocked the halberd aside and thrust towards Thralgarr s heart but was knocked aside by the Chaos Lord s weapon. The Blood Dragon continued to attack, pushing Thralgarr backward step by step until he was at the edge of the circle of onlookers. Meldrak aimed a punch at Thralgarr and stabbed toward his groin. Thralgarr twisted his head to absorb most of the blow s power, and knocked Meldrak s weapon aside with his fist. The Blood Dragon attacked again, too quick for Thralgarr to fully react, slamming his boot into the Chaos Lord s armoured shin and smashing him in the head with the hilt of his sword. Thralgarr s helmet was knocked right off his head, revealing an almost handsome and young looking man with blazing blue eyes, long black hair, his strong features covered in blood and dominated by a sneer of hatred and pain below wild eyes. As Thralgarr s shin was shattered to pieces by Meldrak s kick, his eyes turned from a light blue to a dark red, and the Chaos Lord roared in pain as he fell to the earth. The ground shook as if it felt his pain. Meldrak laughed as he heard the cries of anger and disbelief from the Chaos followers, and he looked down at the kneeling form of Thralgarr as he tried unsuccessfully to rise. As Meldrak raised his sword to claim a head that would take pride of place in his collection, Thralgarr looked up. The sneer of pain and hatred and the fire in his eyes was gone. His face was blank, and the halberd began to warp into the shape of an ornate staff that crackled with magical energy. Clouds roiled in the sky, and a blast of orange lightning struck the staff, surrounding Thralgarr with orange flames. Meldrak snarled in surprise and took a step backward, wondering what was happening. As Thralgarr, bathed in the magical flames he had summoned, rose to his feet, the sneer and blue eyes returned. He felt no pain from his wounds. His staff morphed into a huge flaming blade, not dissimilar from Meldrak s own. Meldrak eye s widened in rage and disbelief. Foul sorcerer! What manner of duel is this? Thralgarr smirked and replied: A duel I intend to win. In answer to Meldrak s disbelieving face, he continued: I am not stupid Vampire. I know magic is not allowed in this challenge. However, I have many great and mighty things I want to accomplish as a mortal, and I wouldn t want to disappoint mighty Tzeentch by letting a little thing like honour stand in my way. Now prepare to become one with the wind Thralgarr saluted Meldrak mockingly, then moved to attack. Meldrak, for the first time in his unlife, felt fear. The magic he sensed surrounding his foe was powerful, and it gave his skill and power that not even he possessed. Meldrak looked around at the faces and helms of the amused onlookers, then back at his advancing foe. There was no way he could best his foe in magic. Meldrak cursed the Grey Seer and his Necromancers, and moved to attack. The Blood Dragon attacked furiously, forcing Thralgarr backward as he defended himself. Meldrak got a blow through his guard and struck at a weakened spot in his armour, but was surprised to find his attack deflected by Thralgarr s armour. The spell even strengthened his armour. Meldrak roared in impotent rage as Thralgarr begun his own attacks, far faster, more powerful and with more skill than before. Meldrak knew he was as good as dead against a magically enhanced foe such as this, but he would be damned if he let this break his own code of honour. He would not fight magic with magic, and he would not run. He would fight and die here as Aborash the ancient would. Thralgarr s unnatural attacks overwhelmed Meldrak and threw him to ground, weaponless. Meldrak looked up at Thralgarr with nothing but incredible

hate in his eyes. Defeat. It tasted bitter. Meldrak heard Elven horns in the background, guessing that the allies of the Dwarfs had arrived to assist them. It was all over. You won a foul and hollow victory today Chaos spawn. Foul and hollow! Thralgarr smiled. My dear Vampire. A victory is a victory. Thralgarr cut Meldrak s head from his shoulders, and the body of one of Kazad Grim s greatest enemies fell to the ground. Meldrak died with the knowledge that he had still never been defeated in a fair duel. For some reason, the Undead began to fall apart. Slowly, then gathering speed as the Dwarfs began attacking with renewed vigour, the Undead begun to collapse into it s component bones and piles of flesh. The Wights continued to fight on, pulling no insignificant number of Dwarfen warriors into death with them, but still falling apart after a short time, with a little help from the Dwarfs. The bats that swarmed the sky and the huge ones that fought with Dwarf machine crew began flying off, the larger ones falling apart or being picked off by Thunderers who had drawn their weapons. The Skaven horde, seeing their allies begin to fall apart, started to panic. Some kept attacking furiously, and some ran toward the gate, but when the Hammerers led by Grimgar and Morgrim emerged, followed closely by the Battle Standard Bearer and his warriors, they decided against it. Horns began sounding in the distance, and regiments of glittering spearmen appeared over a hill not too far in the distance, flanked by cavalry and chariots. The Elf general atop his Dragon swooped down from the sky and landed amidst the teeming Skaven horde, ignoring their pitiful attacks and tearing them asunder, sowing terror amongst their ranks. There was no blood, only a hissing sound as Meldrak s corpse turned to dust. Thralgarr bent down and scooped the ash into a magical pouch. I m sure I will find a use for all of this Thralgarr donned his helm again, and watching the Dwarfs begin to gain the upper hand over their foes decided against an attack. Thralgarr ordered his disappointed warband to get back to the tunnels. Thralgarr felt no large amount of disappointment. He would have other chances to claim the blood of the Dwarfen leaders, and he had a long time to pursue them. He turned away from the battle and left. Grimgar Thunderhammer charged out of the gate screaming battle cries, smiting the few Undead in his path with mighty swings of his runic hammer and hurling himself into the Skaven. The Hammerers and the warriors followed, ploughing into the ranks of the Skaven and causing incredible carnage. The surprised ratmen squealed and tried to defend themselves, but very few Dwarfs were struck and none of them fell. The Skaven, already panicked by the Dragon in their midst, the loss of their allies and the Elven army marching toward them, began breaking away from the battle. In a blaze of green energy, Grey Seer Skritch was in the fray, heartening the frightened ratmen and blasting Dwarfs with blasts of magical energy. Runemaster Thyron began battling the Grey Seer for magical supremacy, chanting the Rite of Dispelling and weakening Skritch s powers. The Grey Seer was far too powerful with the warpstone he had consumed, and was still able to cast a few spells, flaying the flesh from the Dwarfs he blasted in a blaze of green flame. Skritch tried to cast frenzy spells on his troops, and in the few cases Thyron was unable to stop him, the Skaven visibly began to swell in size and froth at the mouth, attacking with unrestrained fury. The Hammerers were far too skilled to be halted by frenzied Skaven however, and led by King Morgrim and Kadrik Hammerhand they continued smashing their way through the furry mass with swings of their great hammers, pulverising bone and crushing organs. Grimgar roared and headed toward the Grey Seer, slaying any Skaven who dared to stand in his way as he approached the brains behind the two greatest attack Kazad Grim had ever endured. King Morgrim bellowed grudges against the Skaven, clearing some of them as he fought, his axe cleaving through flesh, fur and shoddy armour as he led the Hammerers into the thick of the Skaven horde. As Grimgar finally found his way to the Grey Seer, his own roars of promised vengeance were echoed by those of the Dragon. Things were not good. They were very bad-bad. First of all, he could not even cast all of his spells thanks to the blasted Runesmith on the walls, and second of all his brave Skaven would not be able to hold much longer under the enormous pressure being exerted on them. Skritch looked around, seeing his panicked warriors fighting ferociously, not for victory but for their lives. For every twelve Skaven that fell, a Dwarf was slain, and Skritch was proud of his warriors under the circumstances. The Grey Seer turned and could not restrain from squirting the musk of fear as he

saw a furious looking Dwarf Lord standing over him, hammer clenched in his fist. Skritch quickly cast a barrier spell, which blocked the main force of the incredibly quick hammer blow but still hurled him through the air, breaking a few ribs. Skritch threw a blast of energy at the Dwarf Lord, which hit the Dwarf in the chest, knocking him back a few steps but otherwise being dissipated by the runes on his golden gromril armour. Skritch was sure he could slay this Dwarf but it probably wasn t wise to risk it. As Grimgar charged forward once more, slaying Skaven barring his path without even slowing his stride, Skritch thought it was time to go. He disappeared in a blaze of green, which arced through the air and far into the distance, placing the Grey Seer well out of harms way for the long trip home. Skritch cursed as he realised he had left his Screaming Bell behind him. He briefly considered going back for it, but it wasn t necessary. A powerful spell would get the bell back to him later, and that was the only part that mattered. The Dwarfs couldn t destroy it if they found it, and he would need to find a few of his kin to carry it first anyway. Skritch looked back and watched his army break and run. The Grey Seer cursed and turned, kicking a rock in front of him as he trudged home. It was going to be a long walk. Grimgar cursed as the Grey Seer escaped, narrowly avoiding his wrath. He lashed out at the Skaven nearby, who looked panicked and terrified. They put up no fight at all as Grimgar smashed them from their feet and hurled them through the air with powerful bone-breaking blows. The Skaven finally gave up. They abandoned the walls, and started running from the fray. The terrified ratmen were pursued a short distance by the vengeful Dwarfs, but Morgrim called off the pursuit before long. The Elf Lord pulled the reins on his Dragon, which flew through the air and begun breathing flame over the routing Skaven. The Elven cavalry also broke off their force to give pursuit, and the Dwarfs watched satisfied knowing no significant number of them would survive. Grimgar turned, and with a cry of joy, raised his hammer to the sky. The King gave voice to the cry, as did over a thousand Dwarfs. The ground shook with the noise, and the sun glinted off Grimgar s hammer. Victory belonged to Kazad Grim, and after the burials and ceremonies for the dead, the celebrations would not end for a long time. The Elven infantry finally arrived, lining up their force not too far from the walls to await the return of their commander. Kragg Blackfist put a hand to his mouth and shouted to the Elves. Too busy hugging trees and sipping wine to rush to the aid of your allies eh? The Elves laughed, a high melodious sound, and one of them yelled back. Whether we took our time or not, we still got here faster than you would have! The Dwarfs jeered, and began trading humorous quips with the Elves for hours, until they decided it was time to honour their dead. The Elves helped the Dwarfs carry their dead into the fortress and bury them. Though the Elves did not realize the honor they were being done by being allowed to bury some of the Dwarfen dead, they were at least happy to help. Lights from the tavern illuminated the darkness. Noise from inside Kazad Grim could be heard from kilometres away, as the entire Elven force was inside Kazad Grim, and both the Dwarfs and Elves celebrated throughout the entire city. Inside the tavern, Dwarfs and Elves bustled to watch Lord Grimgar arm wrestle the Elf Lord, easily besting him and slamming his arm to the table with a surrounding crack. The Elf Lord was gracious and did not seem to mind he was beaten so easily, or even that it sounded like a lot of his own troops had bet on Grimgar. It was all in good fun. Dwarfs and Elves had drinking contests all over the bar, the Elves being surprisingly immune to most of the effects of alcohol. Still, they felt the effects of Bugman s strongest vintages, and many an Elf lay unconscious on the ground after challenging a venerable Longbeard. Many beardlings also lay unconscious. The Elves seemed to fit right in, disproving the ideas that they didn t know how to have fun. Drunken Dwarfs and Elves brawled here and there, one in particular dragging the attention of many of the bar s patrons from their drinks. Kragg Blackfist, his face flushed red from the huge amounts of ale he had consumed, fought with the Battle Standard Bearer of the Elven force, both their banners in a place of honour over the bar. The Elf had a hand to Kragg s head, simply holding him back as Kragg swung meaty fists at the Elf, his swings falling far short. The Elves laughed and Dwarfs grumbled, but it was the Dwarfs turn to laugh as Kragg stepped back and spear tackled the Elf, both of the rolling around the bar, knocking chairs out of the way until they both got tired of it. They stood up, brushing themselves off. The Elf dizzily rubbed fresh fist-shaped bruises on his head, and Kragg rubbed similar but much smaller bruises on his own face with one hand, holding his tankard with the other as he headed back to the bar for a refill, bumping into numerous tables on the way. Spirits were high, and the general

feeling of festivity in the bar was felt all around. King Morgrim stood up on the bar and yelled trying to get everyone s attention, which was difficult over the noise. Finally he yelled: All hail the Dark Elgi! The silence was deafening, as Elves looked up, both confused and angry at the mention of their dark cousins, and the Dwarfs started bemusedly at their King wondering what exactly he had been drinking. Don t take offence to that my fair friends. I swear by my beard that the day I even take a second look at one of your dark kin before punching him in the knackers a Wood Elgi would burn a tree! The Elves laughed at this jest at the expense of their wood-dwelling cousins, who they themselves saw as cowardly and foolish. Their mood lightened, and the Dwarfs who realised that their King just wanted their attention did just that. We won a mighty victory today my friends. We fought as mighty a horde as I have seen in a long time, and drove them from the walls of this mighty fortress. I understand that you Elgi fought greenskins on the way here, and I thank you for ridding us of more of their foul kind. To my fellow Dwarfs, we have defended out fortress once more thanks to your efforts. There is no Dwarf in the Old World that I would rather fight aside than all of you! The Dwarfs and Elves cheered, the noise shaking the tavern. Morgrim beckoned to the Elf general and to his son, Grimgar. Grimgar pulled himself up onto the bar, and the Elf Lord leaped nimbly atop it. Morgrim put his arm around the Elf, who was sitting down so he wasn t towering above the Dwarfs. May the blessing of Griminir, Grungni, and Valaya go with you, and know that the Dwarfs of Kazad Grim swear with you an oath of eternal friendship. We will one day come to your aid, as you came to ours. Morgrim turned to Grimgar next, and put his arm around his son. Your brave actions saved our hold this day, young Grimgar. You are truly a son I am proud of. Name what you want, and it will be yours lad. Grimgar thought for a minute, and looked back to his father. I want to give you a good arm wrestle, and I want you to put up a fight for once! Morgrim laughed and slapped his son on the back. You ve got it lad! Dwarfs and Elves begun placing bets furiously as Grimgar and Morgrim made their way to one of the tables in the centre of the room. Runemaster Thyron, still sitting at the bar sipping Troll Brew, handed a few coins to the other Runesmiths, Skarl Stonehelm and Gudrak Blackfist and told them to place his bet, and to bet on the same Dwarf as he is they wanted to win. Kragg Blackfist, already in a brawl with Kurgrim Ironbeard, was also a source of furious betting, as Kadrik Hammerhand, leader of the Hammerers, sat in discussion with the ex-engineer Dagar Blacksmoke on what it would be like to fly a Gyrocopter over Altdorf and drop huge sludge-bombs on the Emperor s palace. Kazad Grim was back to normal, but this by no means the last challenge it would face. Undermountain Forewarning By: Zenpotato Valin raised his left arm to signal a halt to the company. The stench of skaven that filled the corridor was increasing the further they went. Valin Forgebond had been an Iron Breaker since the time many of those with him were beardlings. He and seven others were in the tunnels far beneath the hold, in the deepest parts of the mountain, on a patrol. There had been a marked increase in signs of skaven in recent weeks and the Lord of the hold, Thur Wodenssohn, had directed the under watch to double patrols and use caution. About five meters in front of the Breakers, the tunnel curved sharply to the left. From having patrolled these tunnels for decades, Valin knew that 100 yards beyond that curve the tunnel opened into a large cavern which contained an underground lake. "All right lads," he said in a hushed voice. "If the rats are gathering, there's a good chance it is happening around this bend. As much as we may want to run in and start cracking skulls, our goal is to protect the hold. We'll do our best to observe their numbers and gauge whether this is a raid or an invasion, and then we'll head back. If it looks like an invasion, we have to make it back

to the runegate and be sure it gets closed." "Aye sir," sounded off the troops in whispers. Valin turned back toward the direction they were travelling and began to approach the bend as silently as possible. He cursed the heavy clumsiness he felt in the suit of gromril armor he wore. The discomfort of good dwarven gromril is far superior to a skaven blade in the back, he thought. The verminous reek of the skaven was incredibly strong as he peered around the bend in the tunnel. Just as he poked his head around the corner a quick chitter told him he had made a mistake. A sudden crack on his helmet told him that the descending blade had hit his head. Fortunately for Valin, his armor easily stopped the cheap, dull blade from harming him, and he raised his shield to stop a second blow from hitting him as well. As the blade bounced off Valin's shield, Gotrem and Culli leapt around the corner. Gotrem smashed the ratman that was attacking Valin in the head with his hammer. The blow managed to crush it's muzzle with a crunch, followed by a shriek of pain from the thing. It fell, clutching it's face and Gotrem stomped it's neck as he sidestepped a blow from another skaven. Culli's ax whispered past his raised shield and severed the arm of the ratman who had swung at Gotrem. The thing howled briefly before having it's skull split by a now fully recovered Valin. Suddenly the tunnel was filled with only the dull rumbling of the waterfall in the cavern ahead. Valin spoke, "So much for stealth. Let's get up to that openning and see what we're dealing with." He looked back to be sure all his Breakers were with him. They nodded eagerly and followed as he turned to lead them. One of the worst parts of tunnel fighting was being in the back of the troop. While your comrades were fighting just a few feet ahead of you, you could do nothing but wait for them to fall or finish off the enemy. Crowding them from behind did them more harm than good. That was until they went down, of course, then there was a chance you could step in and save them. The dwarves filed down the corridor, two abreast. They walked as silently as possible, and the lighted opening of the tunnel got larger. Valin became aware of the fact that the rumbling of the waterfall contained another noise as well. There was a dull, intermittent rumble echoing through the tunnel. The dwarves split into two groups and made the last 10 yards to the opening with their backs to the wall on either side of the corridor. Valin shook his head in dismay at what he saw. From their vantage point about 8 meters off the floor level they could see across the entire cavern. Inside were dozens of skaven warriors milling about in what appeared to be total confusion. The rumbling sound they had heard was the wooden wheels of a large construction that was being pushed by several ratmen, and upon which hung a giant bell. There was another giant bell sitting on a litter next to a heap of wood that some ratmen were attempting to put together to carry it. Among the many ratmen present there were a few who were grossly overgrown, "rat ogres," whispered Valin. At the end of the cavern to the left of the opening stood a small, robed skaven on top of an outcropping of rock. He bore a staff which glowed green at the tip, and was attempting to direct the skaven on the floor. The robed rat appeared not to notice that none of his brethren were paying him any heed. Valin heard an alert from one of the other Breakers in his troop. He looked back to see three skaven warriors approaching quickly from behind them. The Iron Breakers at the end of the line, Jotun and Heimi, were already turned to face them. With a screech the first ratman attacked Heimi, he was easily able to duck under the blow. Before the creature could recover, he slammed his hammer into it's face with more than enough force to shatter the skull beneath. Valin looked back out of the tunnel and saw that the screech had attracted the attention of host below. Many of the skaven down there were heading toward the ramp which led up to the opening where the Iron Breakers stood. Valin looked back down the corridor to see that Jotun had finished off the second skaven. As he and Heimi converged on the third, it turned and fled. "Back to the runegate, quickly," said Valin. The dwarves began to make haste back in the direction they had come. If they could get to the runegate and close it, it would easily hold back anything the skaven could throw at it. The runegates beneath the hold had stood for hundreds of years and were imbued with the most powerful dwarven runes of protection. If they could get the gate closed they would have plenty of time to warn the dwarves living above, and have enough clansmen gathered to easily deal with

the threat. Despite the large head start they had, Valin knew there was no way they could outrun the skaven all the way back to the runegate. They were no doubt easy to follow due to the large amount of noise they made as they followed the winding tunnels. Valin heard the ratmen drawing near and knew they would have to stand and fight. Jotun, who was now leading the troop, turned right down a side tunnel. The gate was close now. Valin followed the turn that the rest had taken and called a halt, the rats were close on his heels. "We'll make a stand here, if we can fight them back at this point, we'll easily make it to the gate," he said through short breaths. He and the rest of the dwarves turned and lined up three abreast, just as the first of the skaven rounded the corner. The three dwarves in the front charged up and began slaying the startled skaven who were being pushed ahead by those flooding up from behind. Valin hacked with his ax and blocked with is shield, finding himself falling into a rhythm. Culli, also in the front, shoved a skaven back with his shield as his ax sheared part of the head off another. He could feel the force of blows bouncing off his armor constantly, but as yet he remained unscathed. Therin, fighting between Culli and Valin, found himself in the same situation. He swung his hammer with the fury of the grudge and the skill of the experienced dwarf warrior. He heard a bellow next to him, and the clank of armor on the floor. He knew that meant that Culli had gone down. Searing pain ran through Culli's leg as a lucky skaven blow found a way through his encasing armor. He cursed loudly as he fell over into the wall and then to the floor. Valin and Therin fought with renewed fury, pushing back the skaven immediately in front of them. Gurni, who was behind Culli, leapt over the downed dwarf and smashed into the skaven who had wounded him. His momentum was halted as the ratmen slammed into the one behind him, and Gurni brought down his hammer hard and fast on its exposed ribcage before it could recover. Those behind helped Culli get to the back of the troop. He stood up shakily, wary of how much damage had been done to his leg. He found that it could still support his weight, despite the pain. "I'll continue back to the runegate," he said to Jotun, "if I can make it, it should have plenty of time to close. I'm sure we'll meet again." He laid his hand on Jotun's shoulder then turned and limped quickly down the dark tunnel. Valin's ax arced back and forth. The first swipe struck the shield of an unlucky skaven and the second slashed down into it's collarbone. The next skaven to step up onto the mounting bodies of it's kin didn't look nearly as bold about it has the last five or six. It lacked the savage sneer on it's mouth and the bold glint in it's eye that it's predecessors had. Valin roared a warcry and raised his ax. At that point the ratmen had apparently had enough. First the ones in combat turned to flee, and were rewarded with cold dwarven steel smashing into skulls and backs. The ones behind them saw this and momentarily it became a complete fall back as the skaven behind turned to flee. "They won't run for long," huffed Valin. "Lets get back to the runegate before that robed rat brings them back around." He turned on the floor which was slippery with skaven blood and entrails and followed the rest of the lads in the direction Culli had gone. Moments later the tunnel was filled with a bright green flash which came from behind them. They continued running regardless. The dwarves rounded a bend in the corridor minutes later, and the tunnel straightened out. They could see Culli less than twenty feet ahead of them, approaching the area where the tunnel widened slightly. On both sides of the corridor there were large pillars reaching up, and it was wide enough between the pillars for three dwarves to stand side-by-side. "Keep going lads," yelled Valin. They could hear the skaven pursuit closing once again, "we'll stand and fight as close to the gate as we can! If Grungi is with us we can get through before it closes." They continued running until they were about twenty meters from the gate. Culli didn't stop there, he ran on to get through the gate so he could flip the switch and begin the closing of the doors. Valin and the rest of them turned and continued backing toward the door briefly before the first of the skaven reached them. Valin, Heimi, and Millur took the charge. Valin raised his shield to block the charging skaven's spear. The haft shattered on impact and brought the skaven well within Valin's reach. He struck out and decapicated it. Heimi felt the impact of the second skaven's sword on his shield arm. It didn't come close to penetrating his

armor, the same wasn't true for the effects of his hammer on the skavens thigh. The beast screeched as Heimi's hammer impacted its leg with a crack. Millur made quick work of his assailant, it's attack went wide to the right, and Millur's hammer slew it easily as it crashed down on the back of the vermin's neck. The three continued to back up when there was no enemy presenting himself. Slowly, fighting, they made their way back to the runegate. A loud click followed by the slow grating of stone on stone meant that Culli had made it to the switch. Within two minutes the runegate would be closed, and sealed. There would be no getting out until those on the other side threw the switch again. Valin's goal was to fight his way backward, through the closing gate, then hold the skaven at the door while getting all his lads through. Fortunately the narrow corridor would not allow the overwhelming numbers of skaven to be beneficial to them. A cry next to Valin told him that Heimi had been struck. A quick glance showed him that a skaven spear had gone through his beard and into his throat beyond. Blood already ran down the front of his armor in a wide stream. The skaven pulled back it's spear and Heimi slumped backward into the waiting dwarves. Jotun stepped forward over the fallen Heimi and bellowed his rage at seeing his comrade fall. He kicked the ratman low in the shin, then brought his hammer down hard on the rat-like face. Two of those behind lifted Heimi by the shoulders and dragged him the last few meters through the runegate. The gate was about a third of the way closed when they set him and his hammer down next to the wounded Culli and headed back to the fray. Culli shook his head in dismay at seeing his dead friend. A roar from the end of the hall caused a momentary break in the raging combat. Valin risked a glance as he swung his ax down on the distracted skaven in front of him and saw that one of the huge rat ogres had entered. The skaven in the back seemed to be parting to let it through. Durring the quick lull in the fighting, the dwarves took the opportunity to back up further. They passed the slowly closing gates and lined up to prevent any skaven from passing through. Many skaven rushed forward after the dwarves as the rat ogre stomped through the hall. Any skaven unfortunate enough to be in its way were swatted about like insects. Valin lost hope that the door would close before any skaven could get through. The hack and slash resumed, with Valin, Millur, and Gurni doing the fighting. It looked like the gate would be closed enough to prevent the rat ogre from getting through by the time it reached the front of the hall. There were already seven skaven between the closing doors and the dwarf line, none more could push themselves into the press of bodies. The dwarves fought with fury, blocking, slashing, ducking, chopping. Many lives above depended on their ability to hold the gate. The more skaven they killed, the more that piled in through the heavy stone doors that swung slowly shut. Valin saw the rat ogre finally reach the gate. The creature's width was too great to allow it through. It reached it's arm through, swatting the skaven, both live and dead, which stood on the dwarven side. If that thing would just turn sideways, it could likely slip through, noted Valin. He smirked under the concealment of his helmet at the stupidity of the beast. The few skaven who were left on the dwarven side of the nearly closed runegate were being forced to pay as much attention to the flailing appendage of the stuck rat ogre as to the dwarves. Whenever one came within reach of the dwarf line they were quick to strike it. The last fifteen seconds of the gate closing was a spectacle to behold. The remaining skaven that had made it through were killed, and just outside the gate the rat ogre screeched and thrashed about trying to reach for the dwarves. The thing threw itself against the magical doors time and again, but it was quite pointless. As the doors were nearly shut, the beast's arm became stuck, and it was unable to remove it. Thrashing about and attempting to free itself, it succeeding in tearing it's own arm off. In a spray of blood that covered the defending Breakers, and with a wail that was almost enough to make the defenders feel pity for it, the monstrosity broke free. It's arm still hung between the doors seven or eight feet above the floor, and the last sight the dwarves had of the other side was the rat ogre furiously thrashing around amid the mob of skaven, killing left and right. Valin gave Gurni the job of assisting Culli back up to the hold to see a medic, Gotrem and Jotun were given the honor of carrying Heimi back to the upper levels, while the rest of them made

haste back to the halls above to warn of the skaven forces below. Sons of Grungni By: Orcslicer Prologue Kazad-a-Gnoll was a formidable bastion of defence, built in the husked crater of some long extinct volcano. The crater provided natural defence bolstered by thick basalt walls that towered high over the fertile pastureland about its base, making the hold all but impermeable to external attack. The age of the mountain hold was forgotten to all but the most knowledgeable of scholars, for it had been constructed during the reign of High King Snorri Whitebeard, over six millennia past. Its runic gates stood wide enough for a score of dwarfs to walk abreast, dozens of runes etched into the elegant arched stonework. The sculpted face of Grimnir towered above the keystone, surveying all who entered his descendants domain. Engraved underneath the dwarf god was a simple phrase in the runic script: Or An Gand Ek Unbaraki, Un Hun Ek Uzkul , a grim warning to those who would consider betraying the trust of the dwarves. I will find you oathbreaker, and bring you death . The mountain air was quiet, the gentlest of breezes filtering through the valley, rippling the long grass upon which a handful of mountain goats brayed balefully at the setting sun. Between the sparse scree that littered the mountainside wound a neat cobbled path, leading to the mine workings east of the hold. The dull clumping of goatskin boots interrupted the peaceful silence as a cloaked figure came stomping up the path. Little could be seen of his face, but a silvery beard wound about his body, so long was it that he had tucked it under his copper buckled belt. Gentle clouds of smoke trailed away behind him as he sucked at a simple wooden pipe, glittering embers illuminating his cracked and lined face. Humming to himself tunelessly he made his way up the wide causeway that led to the gates. Glancing up at the face of Grimnir briefly with his dark twinkling eyes he smiled and nodded, as much to himself as anyone else. The gates silently swung open at a few mumbled words and he passed steadily through, the iron doors closing behind him with a dull thud as he entered into the great stone city. From the edge of the crater, the enormity of the hold became apparent, the wide cobbled path from the gatehouse ran straight down hill to the centre of the crater, where the colossal citadel seemed to grow out of the ground, its highest tower lost in the clouds themselves. Around it were layer upon layer of neat masonry buildings, like great tendrils spiralling upwards and outwards from the great stone fortress. Dusk began to fade to night and stars began to appear in the sky above the old dwarf, who stood by the gatehouse, watching the shadows lingering about the cityscape lengthen into darkness. Have faith kinsmen for we are the sons of Grungni, and no harm shall befall us in his domain. Muttered the old dwarf to himself as he looked up to the heavens above. Letting out a contended sigh, he began to walk purposefully down to the residential district. As he progressed down the slope, lantern lights began to materialize along the five main causeways through the hold, fanning out from the citadel as young dwarf runners dashed from light to light with oil and candle in the darkness. The pinpricks of light illuminated the wide walkways, making the journey for the old dwarf a pleasant affair. Still, he thought, it was a shame that the under-city was too dangerous to be inhabited anymore. Once, this crater had been but the mere entrance to the great hold, sprawling for miles underground into vast chambers and mine workings. But centuries of warfare had destroyed vast stretches of the dwarven labyrinth, and most of the remainder was unsafe. To survive the dwarfs had been forced above ground. Turning off the main pathway onto a side street he met the sounds of raucous voices and deep laughter echoing out into the street. Smiling to himself he glanced up at a worn tavern sign proclaiming Troll s Head Tavern in white spidery writing, and depicting a leering river-troll s face, an axe buried in its skull. Passing through the doorway and down a steep flight of stairs he was met with the overpowering smell of dwarfs, beer and smoke. Throwing off his cloak he moved through the smokey haze to the corner of the packed tavern, nodding briefly at the barman as he passed. The grizzled dwarf behind the counter paused in the act of tapping into a new ale barrel,

a faint look of confusion and awe crossing the elderly dwarf s eyes as he watched the newcomer move to the corner. The visitor now stood by the fireplace, a look of mock severity lining his features as he glared at a bearding occupying a squashy velvet chair by the warming hearth. The young dwarf, quick to notice jumped up respectfully. Goodevenin Master Longbeard Greatbeard.. Sir? asked the beardling somewhat awkwardly, at a clear loss as he looked for the mysterious elder s approval. The old dwarf surveyed him with a critical eye, stooping to the cosy fire and tapped his pipe gently on the wall, spewing the glittering embers of pipeweed into the flames. In good health thankyou young Thargi, although I m mighty parched after meh journey responded the dwarf in gravely tones, producing from his belt a fine tankard and sliding it along the worn table to the younger dwarf. Nodding in understanding, Thargi took the tankard and went over to the bar, now looking dazed and as confused as the barman felt. How did this mysterious and yet oddly familiar dwarf know his name? Entering a hushed conversation with the barman, he continued to steal glances at the dwarf. From the comfortable chair the longbeard looked about the tavern, eyeing with passing interest the young miners that Thargi had been talking to, and the forty odd other dwarfs in the spacious tavern, conversation noisily echoing round the room as the swigged from tankards of frothing ale. After a few moments of sitting in silence the beardling returned with a drink and the longbeard gratefully took it with his worn broad hands. Leaning back in his chair, the ancient dwarf took several deep swigs of honeycomb ale and burped contentedly. Squinting at the nearest dwarf next to Thargi he cleared his throat nosily, sliding the emptied tankard towards him and motioning for him to get it refilled. Are you are you Grombrindal? The words burst from the beardling s lips before he could stop himself. The tavern lapsed into silence, and all eyes turned on the longbeard. Letting out a low chuckle the dwarf looked at Thargi with some attempt at severity. Young beardling, I hope you don t accuse all weary travellers that stop for a quiet drink in these parts of being living legend. Nay, my story is far longer and less simple than that of the white dwarf s. Seeing all eyes turned on him in rapt attention the dwarf sighed heavily. Right, I can see that you beardlings are going to require some educating. Barkeep, maintain a steady supply of yer finest ale and I ll tell you all one of the greatest stories heard in these parts for over a millennia Now then, Began the longbeard.. Have any of you young uns heard the great saga of Drokki Hirndour? A grumble of ascent echoed through the tavern. The name of King Drokki was familiar from the distant past of the hold, although much of the memory of his reign had been lost in the mists of time and confused accounts of those that remembered. With a satisfied nod, the longbeard continued. Back in the old days - and we re talking the days of your great-great-great-great-grandsires here - Kazad-a-Gnoll was under the reign of King Drokki Hirndour. Back then, the Silver road was a lot more dangerous than today. Gone was the golden age, when it had once been decorated with real silver and all manner of beautiful craftsmanship. T were not long after the end of the goblin wars - greenskin scum still holding a threatening position in the more remote parts of the world s edge mountains and the ratmen burrowing away below us. The longbeard paused for a moment to retrieve his pipe from his britches. Defeat of the grobi at backfire pass may have signalled the end of the Goblin wars, but they were dark times none the less Chapter one The iron-rimmed doors slammed shut to the council chamber as the hermit was ushered in, shaking Drokki out of his musings. Raising his head slightly he looked round the great council hall, at the ancient stone pillars supporting the high arched ceiling high above them, the colossal archway that marked the entrance to the great chamber, and at the beautifully crafted semicircular pulpits that surrounded his throne. At regular intervals great stone seats were

interleaved with the masonry where the designated members of council usually held court. The seats were mainly empty; the morning s business was only just in session and only a handful of the usual number of the council was present. Drokki sat motionless on his throne, an imposing figure. His long beard was a goldish-white, yet to lose its colour from his younger days, he sat in red and white silk clothes, his crown topped with an eagle carving, swooping from the sky. His lined face was creased with concern as he stared at the goat herder that requested such an urgent audience. The dwarf was ancient; that much was obvious, but his grime covered clothes and teared face told Drokki that whatever would be said was not going to be good. As the dwarf approached his throne and dropped to one knee, Drokki smiled. There will be no need for that master dwarf, you clearly surpass my years by a century. I should be the one bowing to you! In response, the dwarf just let out a quiet sob in response and bowed further. When he finally spoke his voice trembled with dejection. R-ratmen came Lord Drokki They killed my Hilda and my s-son Bali. They are c-coming here. Skaven? Responded Drokki, his eyes narrowing in concern. Yes l-lord, they came down the Silver road. Our farm is was along the pass that leads to this hold. I went to get wood, and when I came back the goat herder looked up at Drokki with tearstained eyes filled with guilt. Our home was burning to the ground, my family were trapped I couldn t There were too many They murdered them as I watched from the trees. I-I failed to protect them. A greater dishonour I cannot imagine., my life is as forfeit as theirs. Drokki stepped down from his throne and kneeled down to the goat herder s level. His eyes filled with pity. Master dwarf, then I should surely bow to you. You have been through great pain and sorrow, yet still had the courage to come here and warn us. I must ask of you only one more question, how much time do we have? The goat herder held the lord s arm with a surprisingly firm grip. Not enough. They will cut us off by dawn tomorrow. He looked into Drokki s deep blue eyes in resignation. I fear there is little hope for any of us, but I have made my decision to die fighting. I go to swear the slayer oath this night. Maybe tomorrow Valaya will grant me forgiveness and I shall meet my family again in the halls of the ancestors. Drokki stood up with the goat herder, deciding that arguing with the old dwarf would be pointless. His determination was apparent even through his sorrow. Then may the spirit of Grimnir guide you in battle master dwarf.. Spoke Drokki as he stepped back to his throne. Aye, and you Lord Hirndour. Replied the goat herder solemnly as he walked towards the door. As Ironbeard Dorin Skalflinson escorted the dwarf from the hall, Drokki motioned the rest of the councillors to step up to their pulpits, letting his piercing gaze rest on each of them in turn. Balik, summon the rest of the council. he ordered curtly. From his stand near the centre of the circle Balik Greymane, one of the wisest longbeards in the council cleared his throat slightly. Right away ye lordship. Came his accented response as he hurried from the hall. The minutes passed slowly in the council chamber, the members already present speaking in low urgent voices amongst themselves while Drokki sat immobile in his chair deep in thought. With less than a day to prepare the hold was in a dangerous position, even with defences offered by the great fortress they would struggle to hold out long enough to allow reinforcements from Karaz-a-Karak to come to their aid. But a more pressing question lingered at the back of his mind. Why had the skaven picked Kazad-a-Gnoll? Was it coincidence or did they somehow know what was held deep in the underground vaults of city, hidden there for six millennia safe from those that would abuse it s power? Drokki could only hope that if the hold fell it would remain undiscovered The king s musings were interrupted by the shrill sound of the great iron doors being swung open by the two helmed and gromril-clad guards armed with ornate great-hammers. Balik Greymane strode into the chamber with worried steps, his grey beard scuffing the paved stone floor haphazardly. Behind him followed a stream of council members he had been sent to fetch. Quite unlike Balik, they had expressions on their haggard faces ranging from mild interest to outright irritation. No doubt many had been disturbed from their late morning breakfast s. Drokki waited

patiently for then to take their positions around the throne before he spoke. Thank you brothers for coming at such short notice, but I fear that that the circumstances of your summoning are dire. The race known as Skaven march on our hold as we speak. We expect an attack by morning The king paused for a moment, gauging the reactions of the hold elders. The room was in stunned silence, some of the faces filled with disbelief, others in anger or fear. When no one spoke, Drokki turned to his right, where Grogar Morgrimson, commander of the city watch and leader of the Hammerers, the king s personal bodyguard sat loyally. Grogar, Give orders to light the fire beacon, and double the standing wall guards. Once that s done send out conscription orders to every dwarf able to wield a weapon. We need every available dwarf to report under one of our thanes. He looked to the ten thanes who sat in their council seats momentarily, as they nodded in agreement. Turning to Dorin Skalflinson, whose ironbreakers guarded the underways of Kazad-a-Gnoll, Drokki similarly ordered increased watches in the unsecured tunnels in the darkest depths of the hold. We must expect an attack from below, Skaven are a subterranean race and have been a long-standing threat to the undercity Next he looked to Grogar s father, one of the late elders brought in by Balik. In his younger days, he had been a highly capable ranger, but had long hung up his crossbow for a seat on the council. Morgrim, I must ask of you to once again take up your crossbow and great axe. The rangers need a leader with experience and wisdom, and I wish you to lead them to battle old friend. Morgrim nodded in consent, holding up a hand to silence Grogar who looked like he was going to protest. Send scouts to watch the surrounding mountain passes for Skaven progress. Find out their numbers and exact distance away. Also make sure that no dwarf ignores the beacon fire, any who refuse to leave there homes to the safety of the city should know that they will not survive the night. Finally, Drokki faced the council as a whole, his voice steely and his tone urgent. I do not need to explain to you how dire the threat on our hold is. Time is short, we are unprepared and the nearest holds are days away. We will not receive aid until long after the skaven arrive. Drokki strode slowly along the length of the chamber as he spoke, his voice projecting and echoing about the pillars and arches of the long hall. But we are the sons of Grungni and by stone and steel we will not surrender our hold to the abominations that seek to take it. Long has the Dammaz Kron held grudges that the ratmen committed against our race, and Grimnir help us we shall make them pay for their treachery in blood by the gallon! Or An Gand Ek Unbaraki, Un Hun Ek Uzkul! The council gave a low rumbling cheer of support. Their dispositions turned to hate and fury as they banged their fists against their pulpits in support. Waiting for the cheers to die down Drokki sat on his golden throne once more, interlacing his fingers as his gaze swept over the council. Time was short and much had to be discussed about the holds defence. Chapter two The late afternoon sun began to creep lower in the sky, tinting Kazad-a-Gnoll with the palest of red. From far above, the hold appeared to sparkle and shimmer, as the sun glinted off thousands of suits of armour and weapons borne by the defending dwarfs. In reality, Drokki s morning command to conscript dwarfs for the defence of the hold was a formality. It was expected that any able clan would bear arms at the request of his king, and news of the hold s peril had travelled fast. The wide streets and parade grounds were packed with clansmen proudly clutching heirloom weaponry, ready to defend their hold with a sense of stubborn pride that dwarfs were famous for throughout the old world. It was through this scene that a black-cloaked figure emerged from a darkened doorway and into the teeming crowds. Of approximate dwarven height and build he went mainly ignored, clinging to the shadows of the buildings as he travelled purposefully towards the south gateway that led down to the undercity. The four hold underpasses were the main routes of passing from the surface to the lower city

levels, where many of the mine workings and guild buildings had been constructed. About a fifth of the population of the city lived underground, the preferred living conditions of dwarven kind. Holding residence in the dark and cool subterranean world that the ancestor god Grungni had hewn was widely considered preferable to living above ground like the strange fledgling race of manlings or the treacherous elves, but it was a luxury beyond the means of all but the richer guild members and prospectors of the hold. Since the Goblin wars, space in the undercity had been limited as many of the lower residential levels were destroyed or remained unsafe. Although in recent years the hold had been expanding downwards once more, progress was painfully slow, and many areas remained uninhabitable. The cloaked figure strode confidently down the steep slope, descended rapidly underground. He glanced without interest at the vastness of the passage that bored deep into the volcanic rock of the mountainside. The accomplished method of holding such a large weight of rock up without visible support was a secret fiercely guarded by the masons guild, and one that had been used throughout much of the hewn underground caverns, removing the need for supporting columns in many of the Deeping halls. The figure turned abruptly off onto one of many smaller tributary passages that led off the main underway, one of far narrower and rougher construction that descended even faster underground. Steeper and steeper the passage spiralled, taking the cloaked dwarf into the depths of the abandoned mine working. The room could have once been the collection chamber to an ore seam, but the random jumble of machinery that remained was derelict and corroded, the stone ground smeared with a thin layer of grime and soot. Towards the far end of the chamber, the cloaked dwarf slowed to a softer pace as he neared his destination, melding with the shadows once more as the flickering glow of a torch ahead eroded the darkness surrounding him. At the far end of the chamber, on a couple of low rocks jutting out of the ground sat two ironbreakers, Bali Redmane and Snorri Thoreksson. Behind them a large stone disc reared out from the rockface, barricading the passage that led off the chamber further underground. Two simple lines were etched onto the rock, horizontally and vertically intersecting at the centre of the disc, where a single rune shone with a searing brightness that hurt to look at. The only other source of light was a slow burning torch embedded in the loose dirt by the base of the rocks where the two ironbreakers sat. Both sucked from empty stout pipes as the watched the darkness, the luxury of smoking real pipeweed denied to them by the already stuffy underground air. As if it matters anyway, continued Bali, who had been complaining about this very point for a while. What kind of rat s going to break through a solid foot thick of granite? Not to mention that Vungar Gotrason himself cast the rune of protection on that seal. If the skaven come at all, then they re not coming this way, you mark my words. Snorri, the older of the two friends only half nodded in reply, not really interested. Dorin ll be guarding the main tunnels then? asked Bali, to fill the ominous silence in the chamber when his friend didn t reply. Snorri nodded. Then paused. Had he been imagining things, or had the darkness in front of him moved? Aye, an we ve been put on guard duty again, on some pointless errand. Why not put a couple of the beardling s up here on duty is what I say, the Ironbreaker continued, spitting on the ground with distaste. Snorri held up a gauntleted hand in response, slowly getting to his feet. He was adamant that something was not right. Drawing his axe with one hand he squinted into the darkness for any sign of movement. Bali paused, noticing his friend s gesture. He in turn reached for his axe, resting against the rock he had been sat on. His eyes registered surprise as he turned. His axe was gone. What the- he murmured, cut off mid-sentence by the glimmer of metal flying from the darkness to his left. The throwing knife struck him cleanly in the throat as he stood stupidly for just a moment, before toppling lifelessly to the ground. Snorri turned just in time to see Bali clatter to the ground, his eyes wide with shock as blood began to pool around his head. Breathing heavily, Snorri fought back the bile that was creeping up into his mouth. Wrenching his gaze away from his fallen comrade, he warily scanned the darkness around him.

Met with complete stillness he began to back up against the wall, to prevent attack from behind. Feeling the reassuring cold stone behind him gave him courage. Face me you thagi! he called out into the darkness, fury etched in his voice. Seconds passed. Slowly a cloaked figure stepped into the torchlight, holding an axe at his side. Their eyes connected for an eternity, Snorri s deep hazel eyes locked with two dark cold pupils glittering with malice as they sized each other up. The stranger threw off his hood and revealed his face fully in the torchlight. Snorri lowered his axe in surprise for a fraction of a second. A fatal mistake. How? he managed to splutter before an axe cleaved into his head and sent him crashing lifeless to the ground. Chapter Three The cloaked dwarf wiped his axe clean on a rag and returned it to his back. Kicking aside the ironbreaker s corpse with contempt, he looked to the stone seal the dwarf had died against. With a smirk he began to rummage for something at his side. He had been well informed about this passage. None would expect an attack from such a well-sealed entrance; his kin were foolish to underestimate it. Finding what he was looking for, he withdrew a small metal contraption and held it up to the light. It was of crude construction; a small needle held by thin metal straps, encircling a pulsating green stone that seemed to deform the air about it. Warpstone, thought the dwarf. How crude. His skaven allies had explained to him how to use the device, and crude though it seemed, he was confident that it would work. He dabbed a finger in some of the blood on the ground, smearing it against the rune on the seal. In response the rune began to glow furiously bright, casting light into the depths of the cavern. The dwarf hesitated, doubt washing over him as the air seemed to crackle and spark. Could this be some trickery? Trust was not an issue here. He knew that the skaven were using him to their own ends, just as he was playing them to his own means. Their alliance was a fragile one, and lasted only as long as they could be of use to each other. In all likeliness the first to stab the other in the back would be the victorious. But I am still useful to them. Reassured, the dwarf clamped the device to the rune. It held itself against the trapped magic almost hungrily, and began to emit a shrill whine. Retreating to a safe difference, the cloaked dwarf watched with mild interest. Skaven devices were never to be considered for reliability, but their effectiveness was rumoured to be excellent. The warpstone began to pulse steadily, slowly at first, then faster and faster. The needle at the end began to whirr and lower itself towards the rune. The tip came closer and closer, making contact for the briefest of moments before the entire room exploded with blinding white light, followed by an ominous crack and shudder. Silence. Dazed, the cloaked dwarf staggered quickly to his feet, hand on his axe hilt. As his sight slowly began to return he could make out the passage once more. The tunnel was open; the disc lay cracked in four on the ground. Out of the darkness stepped a stooped figure, long muzzled and covered in thick brown fur. It stood on two hind legs, a thick rope-like tail waving behind it. Gleaming red eyes shone above its small, sharp teeth. Then came another. And another. Streams of skaven began to pour into the cavern, seemingly endless in numbers. Minutes later the room was a sea of fur, eerily silent, a thousand red eyes gleaming in the darkness from the far reaches of the vast chamber. Slowly, all eyes began to turn towards the entrance by which they had entered. A wash of nervousness and fear spreading through their ranks as three more figures emerged from the haze. One was jet black, two smoking green fighting claws that glinted deftly by its side were all that distinguished it from the darkened passage. It moved with swiftness and grace dulled by matching the pace of his two slower companions. The second was also dark furred, but covered in whitish scars where fur refused to grow. It stood a full head taller than the other skaven in the room, glaring around it with its one good eye. The

other was milky white, a large jagged tear passing from its eyebrow down to its muzzle. Its muscular arms sporting a large rusted flail, which it swung in slow but menacing arcs by its side. The third stood between the other two, easily the most unsettling of the three. Curling chitinous horns sprouted from the back of its head like some deformed ram s. Its eyes were purple swirling pools of energy. It was garbed in blue robes, beset with amulets and necklaces that clinked noisily as it walked. In its clawed grasp it held a staff, black gnarled wood twisting upwards into clawed branches, clutching a large chunk of warpstone at its head. Greetings-greetings dwarf-thing. A most promising start, yes-yes? Spoke the grey seer, in unctuous tones. It bared yellowing chisel teeth in a sly smile. The dwarf merely nodded in return. Reaching into his cloak, he brought out two sheets of worn, yellowing parchment. Our arrangement still stands Arquel? Spoke the dwarf in quiet tones, somehow more menacing when he spoke than when he remained unnervingly quiet. The Seer eyed the parchment greedily, barely restrained from grabbing it from the dwarf s hand. You re planning on killing me and taking it? Said the dwarf, a smirk playing about his lips. The seer recoiled, lowering its staff to its side. You forget Arquel; you need me alive for it to be any use to you Yes-yes. Very well, you will not be harmed. Now give-give. Skittered the Arquel impatiently, holding out a claw again. I have your oath? Yes, Arquel swears it. The skaven tried to hide a smile from the cloaked dwarf. Dwarf-things were such stupid creatures. Seemingly satisfied, the dwarf tossed one of the papers across to his ally, returning the other to his pouch. The seer eagerly opened the folded sheet, scanning it greedily with his eyes. This is only one half, dwarf-thing. Give me the other sheet. Snarled the seer, gesturing for his two companions to ready their weapons. Not until I have the hammerhorn Arquel, the Grundhirn. That was the deal. That was our arrangement. Replied the dwarf in a venomous hiss, furiously stepping forward. The skaven with the flail began to edge forward. Lower your weapon Skarpaw. We need this one alive. Snapped the Seer, displeased that the dwarf had been smart enough to evade death. For now thought Arquel seething. Good. The dwarf stopped, shouldering his axe again. You will need a diversion. I can provide one that will cripple the king s army. Arquel twitched in excitement, his tail beating the ground behind him. Above this chamber are the blackpowder stores. If set off, this whole cavern will collapse. So? Why would I want to destroy this chamber dwarf-thing? Said Arquel irritably. The dwarf sighed mentally, why were skaven so stupid? If it collapses, it will kill everyone inside. If you were to lure in the dwarf forces in here to fight The dwarf trailed off deliberately, letting the seer come to the conclusion itself. Arquel smiled cruelly. Yes, this strange dwarf-thing was smarter than he gave him credit for. His army was expendable, only he was irreplaceable and he had no intention of standing in harms way. Yes-yes, most clever dwarf-thing. Liskit, you will lead-lead the clanrats in battle. Said the seer, pointing at the assassin armed with fighting claws that stood to his left. But how do we lure dwarf-things down here? Asked Arquel, looking back at the dwarf. Throwing his hood back on, the cloaked dwarf replied. Leave that to me. Tales of Icefang Camp By: Thunderer Chapter 1: Slayer Genesis Naud, returned to consciousness with some severe pain to his head and to discover the broken shaft of the Silverhelm's lance still protruding from his let. He touched his forehead and pulled back his hand with sticky blood on it. At least he wasn't going to bleed to death.

Naud pulled the lance out and very nearly passed out from the extreme pain. He sacrificed his formerly white shirt sleeves of his thunderer regiment uniform to make a lightly wrapped bandage over the entrance and exit wound from the lance. He took his belt off and put it over the bandage and tightened it down to staunch the flow of blood from his bandaged wounded right thigh. Around him he saw the remains of the destroyed dark elf cavalry who had volunteered to join up to defend the critical crossroads south of Karak Kadrin. There was a burned caravan of supply wagons that would have brought the much needed food from the Empire to Karak Kadrin. He and his small detachment had failed against the remnant high elf rebels that had stayed in the old world after the Storm of Chaos battles. But now Chaos had retreated to the north back in to the wastes. Naud had never failed in a task but he knew that he would take the slayer's oath when he returned to Karak Kadrin for his failure and for leading his fellow warriors to their doom. He took the shattered lance and used it as a crutch as he checked out the wagons and fallen warriors for survivors. There wasn't any, but several of his warriors and a couple of his thunderers approached him as he limped up the road. "Naud," said Bork Bronzehelm "We thought you were dead after that lance shattered in you. Our courage failed us and we fled the field of battle." Naud waved off his companions as they were trying to check on him. "It seems we failed our mission. I'm reporting back to Karak Kadrin where I'll visit the Shrine of Grimnir to take my oath. We failed. Because of that our brothers will be hungry this winter. Ale will be in short supply. We should have fought harder and been more fearless." "Aye," said Bork looking down at the ground in dispair for his and his companions' cowardly action. "Naud, you were our leader and we failed you. I too will take up the Oath. I will fight by your side again and this time my heart will be strong and pure like Gromril. Never again will I run from combat. This I pledge to you," bellowed Bork throwing his shield and helm away in the first overt actions of becoming a slayer in the discarding of his protective gear. Around him the other seven survivors did likewise. "Boys, lets go do our duty. I didn't mean to lead you into this and you shouldn't have to sacrifice your honor and future for my failings. However, if you are dead set on maintaining this course we will go to the Shrine together," finished Naud with a shrug of his shoulders as he again took up his slow painful walk up the mountain leading to the gates of Karak Kadrin. Over the next several days the remnants of the doomed escort mission trudged back up the mountain through the snow. The going was slow because of Naud Fyreberd's wounded leg. Gone was the joking and singing of their previous trips outside of the mountain stronghold of Karak Kadrin. Four days of blinding snow and the group of tired warriors entered their halls via the heavily armored cunningly wrought steel and iron gate. "Comrades, I will report to the Council of Thanes the failure of our mission," said Naud quietly in the fortified entrance hall. "I would recommend that each of you go visit with your families this evening and rejoice with them. Tonight at moonrise I will be in the Shrine of Grimnir to take my Oaths. If some of you should decide otherwise remember that only us few know of the shame of our failure. And after tonight the memories of this life, of this time, and these events will forever be behind those of us who will give up our claim to hold and clan." His small band of six survivors each met his gaze before coming forward to clasp his forearm in a strong hand shake. As they each shook his hand for the last time their gazed became grimmer with the weight of their decision and its everlasting ramifications. When next they met he would no longer answer to the name of Naud Fyreberd, no longer be a clansman, no longer call Karak Kadrin home because a slayer forsakes all vows of earthly bonds in their quest to seek redemption in a glorious death. He would be a homeless traveler looking for combat to ease shame that their failure brought onto him as a combat leader of his clan's military might. The group broke up and each went his way. Naud watched them go before he limped off to the Council of Thanes to deliver his bad news. As he walked through the carved halls of Karak Kadrin Naud saw his favorite sites, some of his friends, and cousins but he didn't stop to greet them and they avoided him because of the determined look in his eye. The older clanners knew what that look meant for they had seen it in the eyes of many of their generation. To them he was already a slayer even if he lacked the orange hair, tattoos, and frenzied attitude. There was that look in his eyes that communicated to his fellow Dawi that this was a Dawi seeking death, seeking redemption for an act known only to him, an act that wouldn't share with his clansmen that he

used to call family. It was nearing mid-night on the mountain that was Karak Kadrin. Out on a cliff there was an ancient open roofed shrine of Grimnir, this wasn't the Shrine of Grimnir, just a minor shrine that for generations Dawi seeking redemption had journeyed to on their first step along the path of redemption. It wasn't much to see there were two arches on opposite sides of a round courtyard, on the entrance arch were ancient dwarven statues four times normal size holding up the base of the arch on their armored shoulders, their shield in front of them with an axe on one and a hammer on the other resting on the shield. This was the warrior gate, the entrance. The arch on the other side was the slayer gate; the statues were of naked tattooed slayers, one with a great weapon the other with two axes. The floor of the shrine was the RAW rock of the mountain but running through it was a small vein of gold that bisected the open air temple. In the center was a large stone anvil made of black granite. On the anvil were numerous non-descript steel axes, hammers, swords, maces, and metal shod clubs. Standing on the round stair leading up to the ancient anvil was the Slayer Rune Lord of Karak Kadrin, Kaaz Zruum. He was missing his right arm at the shoulder, and thick scars covered his right side of his face, neck, chest, and stump from where he was burned by troll spittle in a battle nearly a century before. He was topless in the falling snow displaying his blue, black and gold slayer tattoos. Attached to his waist was his night black hammer, smaller than most dwarven hammers due to the loss of his arm but rumored to be powerfully runed. He wore pants made from the big horned sheep that favored the rocky terrain, the long wavy woolen fibers having been trimmed short and then dyed with more runic patterns favored by the slayers. The pants were roughly sewn with leather thongs and his boots were made much the same as the pants but with the leather on the outside. Kaaz Zruum pointed to a spot by the warrior gate where a grey and orange haired older slayer waited standing stoically in the falling snow in woolen pants, boots like Kaaz's and a wolf skinned cloak over his bare chest. Over the next half hour as the moon rose higher into the sky nine other Dawi marched into the shrine without saying a word. Naud noticed Bork standing two spots away from him. As each entered Kaaz directed them to a spot on the warrior side of the shrine and a slayer quietly entered and took up a vigilant stance behind the disgraced. "Shame has brought you here," said Kaaz in a gravelly deep voice that had the resonance of a late winter avalanche racing down the mountain. "The bonds of honor and duty have been broken," he continued as he eyed each of the Dawi in front of him with their brown, black, red, grey, or blond hair and beards. "Beside you is your guide. Each of us here has no reason for pride anymore. The garments and other items you wear belong to a person who no longer exists. Cast them off," said Kaaz in a commanding voice. The ten dishonored Dawi stripped in the cold of the mid-night snow storm high up on the mountain as the winds started to pick up. First reluctantly then as they looked around at their companions they stripped with greater vigor hoping to rush the proceedings along in the cold winter night. The slayer guide beside each of the dishonored gathered the clothes as they were stripped and placed them in a flaming pit in front of the anvil where two more slayers were slowly pumping the bellows. The clothes, weapons, and jewelry caught fire and burned or melted as the bellows fanned the flames. "Each of you arrives here under the judging gaze of Grimnir as we first arrived from the womb of your mothers. Naked. Defenseless. Into a cold cruel world. But unlike a baby from the womb we are not allowed to be comforted. That privilege was stripped from you during your moment of weakness when pride, duty, and honor bonds were broken. You ten are born again in Grimnir's eyes as a tool to defend your people against that which they have no defense against." He paused and walked near the fire pit where there were numerous metal rods sticking out it with wooden or deer antler handles on them. "You will fear not for your safety for you are already dead." He picked up a rod from the pit and walked toward Naud. The rod had a curve favored by slayers and was glowing white hot. "Dead one tell me your crime so you may begin your passage," commanded the Slayer Rune Lord. "I failed to defend the crossroads where our winter supplies were to arrive. When the enemy charged me my courage faltered in the heat of combat. Though wounded I should have been able to continue to fight had my faith and resolve stayed strong. Because I faltered and succumbed to my wounds the crossroads were lost. My warriors and troops lost heart and fled the field of battle.

The caravan was burned and now the winter will be spent on rationed meals for our hold further weakening the defenses in our time of need. I failed to achieve my mission. I failed to complete my duty," said Naud. "Grimnir will show you the way," said Kaaz. He pressed the glowing rod into the skin on Naud's right front leg on top of the wound from the lance. Naud screamed out as the pain exploded through his body. Kaaz dropped the brand and back handed Naud cutting off his scream as he saw stars and tasted blood in his mouth. "You bring disgrace by crying out. Don't you not know that the dead feel no pain? Return to your spot," commanded the Rune Lord with anger and disappointment in his eye. Naud pulled himself up off the ground and shambled back to his spot by his guide. He began to shake as the cold sank into his bones. Kaaz returned the brand to the fire and picked up another and walked to the next Dawi becoming a slayer. The process continued through out the night with the slayers to be confessing their sins and shames. Through out the early hours of the night the slayers were branded numerous times. Always in a spot that coincided with their continued confessions. Slowly the branded marks formed patterns that spread outward in spirals, shapes of runes, bars, and lines until the novice slayers bodies were bleeding from dozens of burns each and the sickly sweet stench of burned flesh was rich in the mountain air. It was hours later when Kaaz spoke to Naud in a different manner. "As a baby emerges from its mother it is bald. The hair which covers your head and your beard belongs to someone of a different time in a different life. Grimnir's teaching state that the color of his chosen will be that of metal heated in the fires of adversity. Heated metal is orange. Kneel." Naud went to his shaking knees from the pain of the branding. Kaaz pulled out black iron sheep shears. "A slayers hair is a warning to his family that he Dawi they knew is no more and a site that chills your enemies. Long flowing locks are favored by the Elves, on your path you will wear mohawks in the beginning," with that he began to roughly chop Naud's hair. He cared not if he cut the scalp of the Dawi before him. He was becoming a slayer. Pain was his due. Pain was his deliverance. Pain and suffering would be his only companion on his quest for a glorious death. As the hair came off his guide collected every strand and held it. Kaaz motioned to his slayer assistant. A small coal black cauldron was brought over and placed in front of Naud. "You will stand and place your head into the liquid and you will not come up until I pull you out. Do not drink or inhale the Blood of Grimnir or you will die right here, right now," said Kaaz in a menacing growl. The Slayer Rune Lord placed the shears into his assistant's hand and Naud saw droplets of his blood fall off of the blade and onto the thin snow that covered the stone floor of the shrine. A hand cold as iron and strong as steel grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and lifted him up off of the ground and slammed him head first in to the steaming cauldron of liquid. Naud didn't even have time to take a breath or close his eyes as he was man handled into the cauldron up to his shoulders. His feet were off the ground and he we struggling for purchase as the Blood of Grimnir burned his eyes like strong acid and it felt like a million bees were flaying and stinging his skin. In a fit of panic he screamed and spent the last of his air into the Blood of Grimnir. He felt the grip on the scruff of his neck tighten until he thought his spine would pop. His lungs began to burn like the molten stone of the earth and he was twitching from head to toe as he felt the Blood seep into his ears and nose. He wanted to breath but knew down that path lay certain death. Slowly his struggles stopped as his oxygen starved body started to shut down. His vision was dimming as he felt himself yanked out of the keg and thrown away from the alter to lay naked on the snow covered ground struggling weakly as a baby to get a clean breath of air into his liquid blocked nose and to clear the Blood of Grimnir that was trying to run into his mouth. "Slowly dead one, take it slowly, remember how it was in the beginning. Exhale first to clear the way and breath. Breath in the breath of life. Grimnir has given you this second chance," said his guide beside him in a quiet tone. Naud finally was able to breath and then he layback exhausted, trembling and shaking from the bitter cold and his near death experience Time passed and he was led back to his spot as it slowly neared dawn. The trials had lasted hours and were yet to be completed. Kaaz approached him again. "Grimnir offers his servants protection through his marks." He dipped his hand into a pouch on his belt and pulled out some black mud like pudding. "Black is for death, made from trolls blood and that of dragons it hardens the heart and dampens the mind. Grimnir has determined that his tools shall know no fear," he

said as he rubbed the black mixture into Naud RAW branded wounds. As the mixture hit the Dawi blood a whole new level of pain was felt by the Dawi as his wounds began to smoke from the acid and minerals mixed into concoction. Naud gritted his teeth and bore the pain, Kaaz met his determined gaze and for a split second Naud could almost swear that the Slayer Rune Lord nearly smiled. Kaaz made the circuit putting the black tattoo base into each future slayer's brands. He then returned to Naud. "Grimnir is steadfast like the foundations of the mountains. Though the winds of change might wear the facing of the mountain down over centuries Grimnir is unshakable in his determination. Blue is the color of the stone and gems at the base of the mountain. With the weight of all of creation resting upon it the foundation knows it must be strong or all will fail. Grimnir marks his servants with blue so that they and those around them know that their steadfastness is unshakable, their will in battle is that of Grimnir's own. The teachings of Grimnir state that his tools, his axes, his servants will be unbreakable." With that Kaaz spread some blue powder over the black charred tattooed brands. The blue cooled the black like forged metal being dipped in water or oil to cool and temper the metal. Kaaz completed his circuit and then moved up to the anvil where he placed a basket on it. Working with his assistant he pulled two mountain vipers out and milked their venom into blood red marble bowl. He returned the snakes to the basket and motioned for the next container, a clear glass jar that held what appeared to be hundreds of black widow spiders. These were dumped into the bowl and Kaaz pulled out his hammer and gently started to smash them into a pulp with the mountain viper venom. After that thirteen deadly Deathshroud mushrooms were put in as Kaaz continued to work the hammer into the pulp again. Kaaz's assistant moved to his side holding the bowl with the black hammer still in as the Slayer Rune Lord centered himself between the anvil and the fire pit being stoked by the two slayer anvil assistants. Kaaz pointed at Naud and waved him forward. "Grimnir decreed that his chosen be schooled in the ways of death. You must be swift like the viper, patient like the widow, and brutally effective in battle like the Deathshroud is at taking life from the unwary. Grimnir stated that these tools be called what they are tasked to do," he took the hammer with the toxic mush on it and carefully traced over the fresh tattoos. "You are a slayer of the foes of Grimnir. You are a slayer of the foes of the Dawi. You are a slayer of the foes of Karak Kadrin. In battle seek out that which chills the hearts of the Dawi. Seek trolls, ogres, giants, dragons, and the undead. When your allies are frozen in fear you will attack with the strength of and determination of Grimnir. When you strike, you strike to kill. When you strike you strike with out mercy. When you strike, you strike without regard for your personal safety because this night you have died. This night you were born a slayer. Slayer I name you Sqalliq Oneleg," said Kaaz putting his hammer back into the bowl. He turned and took a non-descript set of axes from the anvil. "Sqalliq these axes are pure like Grimnir's hatred for the Green skinned. These axes have slain hundreds of orcs and were forged from the armor of Grodduk Shieldbreaker, an orc warboss that ravaged the holds to the east three centuries ago. In the time since then they have been born by ten slayers like yourself, the last one was Brud Ridgerunner; he died trying to dispatch a giant. Will you carry these axe's with the honor that the slayers before carried them? The deeds you do with them will help you on your path to redemption in Grimnir's eyes. Even a slayer may one day know honor as he awaits Grimnir's liberating kiss on the battlefield fighting the enemies of the Dawi." Sqalliq Oneleg looked deeply in to the gaze of the Slayer Rune Lord. "Kaaz I will carry Brud's blades into combat against any foe that I meet until I am blessed with the liberating kiss of Grimnir," he said with more strength of conviction than he knew his tortured body and exhausted mind had left after the long night's trials. "Sqalliq, I welcome you to the Slayer Brotherhood of Grimnir," said Kaaz grasping Sqalliq's forearm in a Dawi handshake. "Your guide will dress you and lead you onto the road of Grimnir beyond the Slayer's Gate," said the Slayer Rune Lord motioning to the arch behind him held by two slayer statues. Sqalliq left the Anvil with nothing but the two unadorned axes of Brud Ridgerunner in his hands. Naked as the day he first came into the world. Naked as the day he first came into the world as a Slayer of Karak Kadrin. As Sqalliq emerged from the arch the sun peaked over the mountains in the east and bathed him in its light. His guide stopped him with a hand on his RAW and tattooed shoulder. "Sqalliq, I am

Torin Kegsmasher. There are some clothes over here for you," said Torin leading him to a pile of crudely made bighorn sheep leather boots, pants, and a cloak. "We will wait for the rest and then we set out for that pass over there," said Torin pointing off across a gulf to the next mountain over and a pass over twenty miles away in a straight line. "There in the high pass is the giant that killed Brud. Generally the first mission of a new group of slayers is to kill that which killed the slayer to receive the first weapon. In this case it is a giant; the giant is weary and knows how we fight. He has been raiding caravan's coming up the pass since summer and has survived three excursions against his territory. We are going to kill him or die trying," said Torin as he fell into a brooding silence as the rest of the new slayers slowly emerged from the Shrine of Grimnir and dressed in their novice slayer outfits. Chapter 2: Slayer Initiates Sqalliq Oneleg followed Torin Kegsmasher down the narrow icy trail heading down from the outdoor Shrine of Grimnir from their initiation. The weak winter sun shinning on the snow and ice sickles on the cliff above and beside them was bright in the late fall. The days were growing shorter and colder up in the mountains of the far north. But the sun provided enough warms to make the footing treacherous so the band of twenty slayers had to step carefully. They were making good time and around noon all of the fur clad slayers were ready to stop and eat having descended several thousand feet and having traveled nearly five miles on the ice. They came around bend in the trail and noticed a small rough hill fort nearly a half mile away. "Sqalliq," said Torin. "That is Icefang Camp," he said while pointing to the low walled fort. Unlike most dwarven holds this one only had a short shoulder high two to four foot wide stone fence and five or six small short buildings, one in each corner and another in the middle. "Icefang is an outpost for slayers," he continued as the rest of the initiates fell in behind the two as they continued to walk slowly on the widening path. "Each of the buildings in the corner belongs to a mature slayer who has been unsuccessful in his quest for redemption. When we arrive you will be broken down into smaller groups and briefly trained in the slayer way of fighting. There is more to taking down a troll than just swinging an axe. No longer will you young slayers have leather, chain, plate, helm, buckler or shield to hide behind. Here there are no handguns, crossbows or artillery." "Torin, how long will that take us to complete," queried Sqalliq tiredly. "Being a slayer is like forging an axe. There is always another detail to add to the blade. A slayer is never done training and honing himself to be Grimnir's weapon. We will cover all of this later," said Torin abruptly as he took longer strides and put the initiate slayer behind him. As they neared the gate Sqalliq noticed that the wall besides having stones was lined with hundreds of skulls. There was orc, goblin, snotling, some that looked like rats, ogres, giants, minotaur, deformed dwarvish looking ones, elf and even a few humans. The small huts in the corners looked like they could hold around twenty to thirty slayers each. The building in the center was larger and had two stories with a balcony on each side on the upper level. Unlike typical Dawi construction there weren't any beautiful carvings on the RAW stone. The narrow windows were lacking the thick stained glass having only cedar shutters made from the wood that grew lower on the mountain below the snow line. As the band from the shrine marched into the slayer hill fort Sqalliq thought it seemed weird that no one was on sentry at the open "gate" which was just a spot where there was no wall. A slayer or two could be seen moving around in the court yard going from building to building, carry firewood or water from the well in two buckets on a pole over their shoulder, but there was no sign of a guard. Torin chuckled and punched Sqalliq in his shoulder. "Don't worry about security here. There isn't a monster or enemy in these mountains crazy enough or suicidal enough to attack this fort. Didn't ye' see the skulls out side the walls. Generally each slayer will bring back one skull from an expedition to serve as a warning to all that would be foolish enough to seek combat with us on our territory," growled the veteran slayer. Torin raised his beastman's horn horn to his mouth and blew a long sorrowful note into the cold crisp mountain air to alert the hold that he an his new charges had returned from Karak Kadrin and Grimnir's Shrine. With in minutes there were nearly fifty or more slayers out in the courtyard.

Each of the corner huts had between nine and fifteen slayers each and the only slayers that came from the central building were a few very scarred scary looking slayers, a slayer cook, and what looked like a slayer scribe or rune smith. "Don't mill around you blokes you new guys get in line and act like the Dawi warriors you used to be," commanded a one eyed bald slayer with burns over most of his body that had erased his tattoos. "I'm Qwudd slayer of the Black Chaos Dragon Slizziq and the commander of this here sorry excuse for a pit stop on your trip to your grave. While here you new slayers will do what you are told, when you are told, with no questions." He stopped and glared at the new initiates before he continued to yell at them in a frenzied deep voice. "I will train you. I will hone your fighting skills like a sharpener brings the blade back to a dinged daggers edge. I will strengthen your mind and body through exercises and drills like a master blacksmith folds the iron in a blade." Qwudd stopped and walked from slayer to slayer looking at their physical make up. He stepped in front of Sqalliq first. "So you sure are a sorry excuse for a Dawi. I guess your pappa didn't make you work when you were a boy," he said holding up Sqalliq's arm and checking out his muscles and lack of definition. "Before every meal you will take that boulder over there," he indicated a rock two feet thick and nearly three feet long and around six inches wide. "And you will place it on each shoulder and run around the fort. After those two laps you will hold it in front of that sorry excuse for a chest with both hand and walk around the fort backwards." Yelled Qwudd into Sqalliq's face. Sqalliq shivered in the cold wind and from the warm breath on his face. "What you never experienced any cold in your pampered life back at Karak Kadrin. If you think this is cold just you wait until you do your laps in the snow naked and with no boots," yelled Qwudd. "Torin, this worthless maggot is in your pack. Get him running his exercises with his friend over there Thane Rock!" Qwudd stepped to the next slayer in line and carried on with his welcoming of the next victim to Icefang Camp. "You heard Dragon slayer Qwudd strip those clothes and grab your rock you snotling whelp," screamed Torin into Sqalliq's ear as he came up from behind the new slayer and pushed him out of the formation and toward his boulder "Thane Rock". Sqalliq felt his heart beating faster as he threw off the cloak and awkwardly ran towards the ice covered rock while kicking off his boots and trying to pull off his pants. He stopped at the rock and tossed his pants beside it and threw Brud's Axes on the ground and hefted the boulder onto his right shoulder. Sqalliq felt something hit him in the back of the head as he was knocked to the ground crushing his right hand under the boulder. When he rolled over he saw Torin standing over him as his boot was coming towards his face in a kick. The kick connected with his mouth and nose splitting his lip and he felt a loud crack as the bones of his nose surrendered to the force of the kick. "You never drop your weapon grot. How do you slay something unarmed? Pick them up and carry them with you always. When you go to the outhouse they go with you, when you clean pots after dinner they are with you, when you run this god forsaken rock around this camp they are in your other hand. You and them are inseparable. Where they go so do you," screamed Torin as he rained kicks down onto the prone slayer initiates body. "Get up! Get up! Get up troll scum today is not your day to die but I will make you wish you had," yelled Torin. Sqalliq managed to roll over nakedly in the snow and retrieve Brud's axes and pick himself up off the ground while receiving kicks from Torin. He amazed himself by picking up the eighty pound boulder and getting it to his shoulder but not without cutting his scalp with the blade of one of his axes. He tasted the copper of his blood as it trickled into his mouth from his nose and slit lip. Ever so slowly he managed to first start walking and then to job in the numbing cold wind and snow as he headed toward the gate of Icefang Camp on his first hour of training on his first day of being a slayer of Karak Kadrin. Sqalliq jogged awkwardly around the front and side wall of Icefang Camp. The boulder, Thane Rock, was very nearly freezing to the touch and he felt his hands go numb by the time he rounded the second corner. Torin was jogging right behind him and he could hear Sqalliq labored breathing as he sucked in the freezing cold mountain air. As Sqalliq rounded the corner he was greeted with a site that he wasn't expecting the back wall was lined with half sized dwarven slayer statues. "Keep running Sqalliq," said Torin with out a lick of anger in his voice. "Those are statues of the fallen slayers of Icefang Camp. The disgraced are buried here among their kind. In time you will learn of the deeds and deaths of each of these slayers. Below each statue is bones of the slayer

laid to rest. Karak Kadrin didn't won't our dead's corrupted karma polluting the hallowed Vault of Ancestors, so we buried them here. At least here they will know peace at last." Torin finished as they came up on the far back corner from the gate. "Torin, will all of my training be this painful," queried Sqalliq carefully to his guide who it seemed could release his anger like a keg of black powder that a spark touched. "Sqalliq, I will be as hard on you as I have to be to ensure that when the time comes for you to die that you will take as many enemies of the Dawi and Grimnir as you can. I will not hurt you out of malice or for petty reasons." He spoke easily while running noticed Sqalliq who while he was freezing was now sweating profusely from carry the eighty pound boulder carefully but awkwardly balance on his shoulder. "I am merely using the tried and true techniques to condition you mind and body to pain and to following orders. At times we will be under the command of a Dawi Lord in battle. When he orders our unit to sacrifice itself so that his army may achieve victory we will do it with out question, quarter, or thought. Reluctance to act instantaneously will be beaten out of you. Your will is not strong enough to survive against the like of Dragon slayer Qwudd's instruction. Before his fall he was a great warrior, now he is a legendary slayer. The King of Karak Kadrin posted him here where he is unable to fulfill his destiny so that he may train people like you and me to be the weapons and the way for Karak Kadrin's success in battle. Question him not, doubt him not, and respect him always." Sqalliq heard Torin sigh, "But, to answer your question. Yes your training will be this painful and it will get worse. All this exercise is to do is to help you become stronger and to get that fat off of your frame." They arrived at the gate and Sqalliq changed shoulders while continuing to jog. The rest of the run was completed in silence and when they finally returned to the courtyard all of the other slayers doing other physical activities in the nude just like Sqalliq. One slayer was pushing himself across the ground on his back with his hands behind his head from one wall to the other, two other were fighting with clubs, and another was pulling water up from the well by running with the rope attached to the bucket. A slayer near the well would take the bucket and wait for the runner to come back before dumping it on the runner, they would then switch. The last four were pushing a huge rounded boulder six feet in diameter around the inside of the walls. Three would push while the fourth was balancing and walking on top of the boulder. At each corner one would swap out. Along the way their senior slayers would beat the initiates for not moving fast enough, for falling off, or not pouring all of the water on the other slayer. Sqalliq stood stiffly where Torin directed him and over an hour the rest of the naked, cold, wet, dirty, bloody slayers completed their task and fell in beside him shivering in the cold of Icefang Camp. When they were all done Qwudd walked down the line. "You may think that this is bad. You may think that you can't go on. You may think that you will die from the cold or the pain. But that is because you are still thinking about things that have no bearing on your current circumstances. You are dead. Dead things don't think. Dead things don't question. Dead things don't feel pain. Dead things don't feel cold. You were dead as soon as you started on the path of the slayer." He said with his gravelly voice. "But in time you will learn when it is required to think and when it isn't. You will begin to ignore unimportant pains and aches so that you can achieve things that you thought were impossible before your Slayer Path began. You will be stronger and more deadly than any Hammerer in the king's guard. You will be like a handgun waiting for the trigger to be pulled. And when I pull your trigger you will learn to kill with out question, with out fear, with out the emotional baggage that you might have thought was so important in your previous incarnation. Here there is only two things you need to know. That you are dead and that you will kill on command." He stopped and looked at the slayer initiates that were all huffing, puffing and shivering in the cold of the Karak Kadrin fall weather. "Torin, get these corpses cleaned up. Dinner is in an hour and they will learn the meaning of service by serving their fellow slayers. Send them through the pool," commanded Qwudd as he turned and walked back towards the two story building in the center of the compound. "Alright you skaven slaves, this aint no time to gawk follow me and quickly or I'll beat you down like a gnoblar being bludgeoned by an ogre for spilling his beer," yelled Torin as he led them to a small iced over pool that was fifteen feet in diameter. A small trough led to the well where the pool was refilled one bucket at a time. "Dive on in ladies and get clean. There are no warm baths in Icefang Camp." The ten slayer initiated jumped in the frigid water breaking the quarter inch of ice

on the surface. The stood shaking in the water as the four giant slayers tossed in pumice stone and rough bars of soap. "Lather up, rinse and get out. You all have kitchen duty," yelled one of the giant slayers Sqalliq didn't know. The quickly scrubbed clean and put on their rough clothes that were dirty from sitting in the mud and being walked on by the other slayers. And so the new initiates were welcomed to Icefang Camp on a forgotten cliff on the west side of the mountain that housed Karak Kadrin. The ten initiates served chow, scrubbed dishes in nearly boiling water and ate the scraps and remains of the meal after all the other slayers had had their fill. Not much was left but some bread heels and gravy, the only drinks they were allowed was water that one of them had to fetch from the well. They all shared a ladle to drink out of from the bucket. When the meal was complete the initiates split up into their appropriate group lead by their giant slayer and headed toward one of the barracks huts in the corner of the compound. Their first day as a slayer had been long and hard. They knew they didn't have much to look forward to for some time to come. They each were shown a cot furthest away from the one fire place in the barracks and collapsed quickly into a dreamless sleep. So ended Sqalliq's first day as a slayer. The next morning Sqalliq was awoken by a persistent shaking on his arm that was sticking out of his rough woolen blanket. "Hey new guy," said a soft masculine voice. "New guy get up," said the voice again as Sqalliq cracked his eyes and squinted into the lantern light. "What," said Sqalliq groggily? "Get up and come with me," said the thin scribe looking slayer he had seen come out of the two story building that Qwudd and the Slayer Runesmith resided in. The thin slayer waited patiently for Sqalliq to slowly and painfully crawl out of his bunk. He pulled his pants and boot on and retrieved his cloak and axes while trying to make sense of what was going on. "Come on new guy, dawn is still two hours away and we have breakfast to start and chores to be done." He turned and led Sqalliq out of the Torin's Barracks with the deeply sleeping but noisily snoring slayers behind them as they stepped out into the frigid cold of the night time on the mountain. The moon was full and peaked through clouds occasionally while a light snow fell quietly to the frozen ground that belonged to Icefang Camp. "I'm Berriq Stonehead," said the scholarly slayer as they trudged across the frozen court yard past wooden practice dummies. "I am Dragon slayer Qwudd's cook, assistant and scribe for Icefang Camp. Every morning you or one of the initiates will help me cook breakfast, muck, feed and milk the goats, collect the chicken eggs, bake the daily bread, and start the stew before the training day begins. It's a lot of work, especially when there is only one initiate in the barracks," he continued as he led Sqalliq into the central building. Sqalliq noticed right away that while the building wasn't constructed of better quality materials that it was cleaner and more decorated on the inside than the outside led him to believe. In the entrance hall he noticed that each stone on the inside wall had a slayers face carved into it a name and two dates. "Memorial stones," said Berriq. "Soon yours and the others will join them. The first date is the day you became a slayer, the likeness is of how you looked as an initiate, and the second date records when and where death occurred. Some like this one here records a honorific of those that achieved forgiveness in Grimnir's eyes by dying from a worthy opponent. That one over there has been gold leafed because he has been exceptionally unlucky and is a Demon slayer now, but he has killed many beast and fell creatures, he just hasn't been granted Grimnir's Kiss," said Berriq wistfully as he turned and led Sqalliq through a great hall with five tables that replicated the layout of the barracks and the central hold. Arriving at the kitchen Berriq handed Sqalliq several buckets and a basket. "We need six buckets of clean water, get all the eggs from the hen house near the barracks opposite yours near the front gate. We'll need four baskets of wood for each of the four main fire places, and I will milk the goat while you do all that. In half an hour you should be done, with that and ready for the next set of chores," finished off the scribe as he picked up his milking bucket and headed out a back door of the kitchen trough a pantry with potatoes, onions, garlic, several kegs of Bugman's XXXXX ale, numerous bottles of wine, and urns of oats, corn, and wheat. Sqalliq grabbed the six five gallon buckets and followed. Once outside he headed to the well and started to complete his chores. The well took quite a while fill the larger buckets. The chain and heavy steel bucket held only a gallon of water so Sqalliq had to hoist it up more than thirty times to get his thirty gallons of water. He grabbed the buckets two at a time and took them into the

kitchen; three trips later he was headed to the hen house to gather eggs. The hen house was attached to the side of the barracks with a radiator type heater that connected to the barracks's fireplace to keep the chicken from freezing in the cold mountainous air. When he entered he noted that there was a sign to feed the chickens two scoops of corn and one of cracked oats. Additionally there was a two gallon bucket for water. Sqalliq fed the chickens and fetched the water while they ate and then he took the eggs out of the twenty or so nest in the stinky stone coop. He returned carefully to the kitchen with his trophies. When he arrived at the kitchen he noted that Berriq was angrily banging around pans and bowls. "Put them over there and get the fires started. You need to move quicker or else every slayer in this frozen ((Oops)) hole will hate you today and you will regret it come training time," quipped the scribe angrily. "The wood is on the back fence. Hustle or it cold biscuits for sure." Sqalliq went running out the pantry and as he hit the snowy ground with a wood basket in each hand his foot slipped out from underneath him and he lost his balance. He fell hard to the ground landing on his left elbow before smashing the back of his head into the ground. He laid there puffing as his vision darkened briefly and the world spun with a sickening sense of vertigo. Slowly he forced himself up off the ground and noted that there was blood on the ground from his head but he decided that could wait until after he had the fires going. Sqalliq fetched the wood that was covered in snow and ice. Each basket weighed in at thirty or so pounds of wood and he jogged them back into the kitchen where Berriq was stoking up the fire from the night before in a large cast iron stove. "Good job bleeder now hustle and get four more for each of the fireplaces in the Slayer Hall. You need to be done with that in a quarter of an hour if we are to have all the eggs cooked and other food started for this evening," heard Sqalliq as he fled the hall with two more baskets. Eight times he made the trip in and out of the kitchen and into the Slayer's Hall. He would drop the full baskets of wood and grab the empties before racing back outside for more. "Done," said Sqalliq with an exhausted voice after his eighth load for the Slayer Hall. "Far from it Initiate, the day hasn't even begun yet," came Torin's voice from behind him as Sqalliq jumped and Berriq looked up from his mixing of the biscuit dough. "Berriq how is Initiate Sqalliq Bleeding Head working out for you this morning? Do I need to take outside and kick his "I swear too much" for moving so slow," queried the giant slayer. "No but I could use some help getting the food going," said Berriq in a frenzy of activity. "Show clumsy here how to crack eggs and cook them while I set the bread aside to rise," said the scribe moving quickly but effortlessly through the busy kitchen. "Aye," replied Torin. He walked over to Sqalliq with six eggs in his hands. "Watch," he commanded. He put some bacon grease into one of the six cast iron skillets on the hot stove. "Hold the egg like so, hit it gently on the edge of the stove and gently squeeze so as to not get shells in the pan," he said while demonstrating. "Watch again. Hold, hit, squeeze," he did the eggs effortlessly before dropping the empty shells in to a waiting bucket. He then handed the last four eggs to Sqalliq. "Your turn." Sqalliq was much slower and he nearly totally destroyed the shells in his strong tired hands. "Gently Initiate Sqalliq, everything you do here is training. The attention to detail you exhibit in the kitchen serving your fellow slayers in the same attention to detail you put into slitting the throat of an orc when six of them are attacking you at the same time. Focus and do it smoothly, in all your actions seek efficiency and grace. For that will ensure that you have the energy to fight for hours and to not over commit yourself in battle by swinging your axe in a futile manner while giving your opponent the opening he needs to end your miserable existence." After the fourth egg Torin took up a spatula and showed the initiate how to scramble the eggs in the pan, the proper color and consistency for the properly cooked eggs. When they were done he put them in a large flat serving pan. "Now initiate we are going to cook the rest," said Torin walking eight feet away to where the basket of forty or so eggs was sitting near the pantry. "Initate one egg goes in each pan. I will throw them to you from here. You will catch them, crack them and cook them. For each one that hits the ground there will be a set of laps with Thane rock around the camp. For each pan with shells another set of laps. Prepare yourself for battle slayer," said Torin with a serious look on his face. With a sense of grace that Sqalliq didn't think the other slayer had in him the giant slayer quickly

and effortlessly tossed an egg to Sqalliq. Sqalliq quickly and effortlessly crushed the egg while catching it ruining that one. "That's one," barked Torin as another egg sailed his way. Sqalliq caught this one two handed and rushed cracking it that resulted in the egg splattering over the front of the hot stove. "That's two," barked the giant slayer again. The eggs kept coming and quickly Sqalliq resolved to do better. Soon there were two or three eggs arching though the air at once as the giant slayer picked up the pace in short bursts to test his trainees dexterity and handeye coordination. With in minutes the scrambled eggs were cooking and Berriq came by with some sea salt, chopped onions and diced garlic. "Mix that in klutz and try not to waste it, you're going to wish you had made more of those eggs in the pan," he said in a peeved tone. Sqalliq mixed the seasoning equally into the skillets and was rewarded with a savory smell that had his taste buds watering. The scribe looked over his shoulder, "Torin I see shells in five skillets, plus the eight broken eggs, looks like your initiate is going to be very tired come dinner time." The scribe walked to the other stove with several tea pots starting to boil. "Initiate Sqalliq when the eggs are done one skillet worth goes on each table. Poor each teapot into a pitcher with the tea leaves and put one pitcher of tea per table. In the ovens are six sheets of biscuits, one per table, finally there is a vat of boiled oats and barley, fill up six bowls one on each table," said Torin walking over to where Berriq was frying up several small slices of ham. Sqalliq set the food on the five tables in Slayer Hall. The tables were filling up with hungry slayers and he was being insulted for being a sluggard and an unmotivated orc whelp. He noticed that the slayer hall was rather cold and looked at the cold fireplaces with wood stacked beside them. He had a bad feeling as he headed back into the kitchen. "Slayer Berriq was I supposed to start the fires as well in the great hall?" Torin and Berriq looked up with an amused look on their face. Berriq put his slender hands on his narrow aproned hips. "Torin when I was a young dwarf lad a lifetime ago before becoming a slayer my parents taught me to respect my elders. In the morning I fetched wood for the family's hearth. I fetched water so my mother would be able to cook and clean and worry about more important things. I guess you impertinent initiates don't respect their elders these days," quipped the Scribe. "Berriq, that is true," said Torin with a grin on his face. "I too did those things in another life and in this one as a fresh initiate. If I was an initiate I would set the table ware and get those hearths stoked before Qwudd arrives. And incase you are wondering the last table worth of food stays in here for the cooking staff, but your lazy "I swear too much" might not be eating today if the Slayer Hall is unheated in another ten minutes or so," yelled Torin as he and Berriq burst into a fit of laughter at Sqalliq's expense. Sqalliq yanked open a stove and reached is hand in for fresh log that wasn't burning on one end and ran with the flaming log into the Slayer's Hall. He put it into one of the hearths and started to heap some of the smaller sticks and kindling then several logs before racing back into the kitchen for yet more flaming logs. His hands were burned but in less than five minutes he had some fitful fires going in each fireplace. The other slayers were patiently waiting for Qwudd to come into the hall for his breakfast. The older slayer entered minutes later and paused at the bottom of the stair that led to his personal quarters. All the slayers stopped talking and rose to their feet in respect. Qwudd looked towards the kitchen doors as Berriq came through with his hot food. Torin and Sqalliq followed him out with fresh biscuits and butter from the pantry. Qwudd walked to his table and stood behind his high backed stone and wood chair with carvings of dragons, giants, and demons being attacked by an unstoppable horde of slayers. "Berriq, your kitchen help is slacking. When I come down stairs in the morning I expect the Slayer Hall to be heated with the fires of our fervor. Torin," said Qwudd turning to look at the Giant Slayer in the eyes. "If your initiate likes the cold so much then your barracks can go without heat for ten days. Maybe then your sorry excuse for an initiate will understand that heat is a luxury for when we aren't on campaign. Double his penalties for the day and not warm tea." "Yes Master Qwudd," said Torin and Berriq together before backing away from the head slayer's table. Sqalliq followed them quietly to the wall beside the kitchen door where they stood quietly. Sqalliq received a quick hard slap on the back of his head from Torin. "When Qwudd is done talking to you, you will respond with a Yes Master Qwudd' in the future!" Growled Torin between

clinched teeth. The three slayers focused on the head table where Qwudd was the center of attention. The Dragon Slayer looked around and then began to speak. "Slayers of Icefang Camp, let us give thanks to Grimnir for this fine food and drink that he has put before us today. We are also thankful for the warmth, mediocre that it is. Let our thoughts turn towards training our new brethren and we ask for your guidance and wisdom, give us patience not to kill these initiates when they move too slow or ask the wrong questions. We beseech thee to hasten our chance to serve you in battle and receive your promised liberating kiss. Amen," finished the slayer who then sat down and started eating with vigor. Around the room the rest of the slayers sat down. One initiate reached for the eggs first and was rewarded with a punch to the nose that propelled the slayer out of bench seat. "Initiates are served last stinky grot maggot. Stay on the floor until you are called cur," said the giant slayer at that table. The rest of the slayer initiates took the lesson well and waited patiently for their food and drink. "Back to the kitchen Sqalliq," said Torin as he turned and headed to his table. Berriq led the way back into the hot kitchen and the two slayers sat down and Berriq served Sqalliq some eggs, biscuits, and jerky. Berriq poured him some hot water in a mug, added some honey and several slices of dried apple. "Qwudd said no tea. Before this day is done you will be needing that warmth and sugar," said Berriq with a chuckle. They ate their meal in silence and for the first time in nearly a week Sqalliq wasn't hungry or cold. "Go fetch the plates and dishes from the hall. Wash them, dry them and return the plates and mugs to the tables. When all the dishes are done and the floor mopped report back to you Giant Slayer for training, I suggest you hurry because your day is going to be very long with all those laps around the camp today." Berriq walked off laughing to check on the bread and stew that he had cooking. Nearly two hours late the dishes were done and the Slayer Hall cleaned up. Sqalliq stoked the fires and added several logs before heading back to his barracks to find Torin. Torin was outside his barracks with his squad of slayers going through mock drills several were doing one on one sparing matches while others were doing one on two or one on three matches. Who ever scored a kill then had to defend against the others as the attackers changed up. Several of the slayers were bleeding from fresh cuts and other had wicked bruises. Torin stepped out of his sparing match as Sqalliq approached. "Initiate Sqalliq, you owe Qwudd and Berriq twenty six laps around the compound with Thane Rock. That will take most of the rest of the day. When you are done with your corrective training, you will report back to the kitchen for supper preparation. You can keep your boots and pants today but no cloak, that is for not having Slayer Hall heated for breakfast. Finally no stopping for breaks or drinks of water initiate. Pace yourself on your laps and sound off with the count when you pass the barracks. I and the rest of the squad will continue to drill until you are done," with that he turned his back on the initiate and stepped into a one on five match with his two short swords flashing he tapped out the current defender and then took on the six slayers in a series of lighting strokes that were nearly too quick to watch. Sqalliq dropped his cloak by the door to his barracks and retrieved Thane Rock and set out on his twenty six laps around the camp. Several hours later he completed his laps and stumbled into the camp where he deposited the blood slickened rock near the door to his barracks. The rock had rubbed his hands RAW as well as broken the skin on his shoulders from rubbing against his collar bones. His breathing was coming in quick painful hammer strokes as he put back on his cloak and staggered towards the well for water. Ever so slowly he pulled up the bucket of water with tears nearly coming to his eyes from the pain and exhaustion forced upon him for his failings earlier in the morning. He choked back the emotion and started to drink the ice cold winter water as he surveyed the training going on in the camp. Torin was giving a class on tactics of two weapon use versus spear armed infantry in his corner. Another giant slayer and his squad were drilling with great weapons, the other squads were squared off and attacking each other in mock combat. Who ever died first then had to do one ten push up with the victorious slayer standing on his back. Sqalliq finished his water and silently promised himself that he would redouble his efforts to be the best slayer he could be. He had let down Berriq, Torin, and his squad. He didn't want to do it

again. He reported back to the kitchen after the washed the blood off of his hands, bruised and swollen face, and shoulders. The dinner that night went off with out a hitch and after he had cleaned up the kitchen he reported back to his barracks where Torin put him to work cleaning the barracks and scrubbing the cold fireplace clean. At nearly eight o'clock that night he was done with his chores, had cleaned himself up and his clothing, and had climbed into his cold bunk furthest away from the cold fireplace. Sqalliq had never before felt so alone in all his life. He had never felt his body screaming at him with pain in every joint and muscle. He hurt in places he didn't even know existed before. He fell into a dreamless exhausted sleep still thinking about his physical pains, his second day as a slayer was complete. The next day it was a different barrack's turn to cook which meant that Sqalliq was able to sleep until nearly dawn. He was awakened by Torin kicking him gently in his bunk. "Sqalliq bring your axes it is time for some real training before we eat breakfast," said the giant slayer before he walked outside the cold barracks. Sqalliq laid in bed for a few more seconds feeling every fiber of his being aching from his broken nose, split lip, cut scalp from his axe blade cutting him on the first day, to his swollen bump from falling yesterday. His shoulders and hands ached from carrying Thane Rock around the camp twenty six times yesterday and his collar bones were rubbed RAW and ached every time he breathed because of his skin being stretched by the rising and falling of his chest. Finally his fresh tattoos still ached from the brands and then what ever it was that Kaaz Zruum the Slayer Rune Lord had rubbed into them. He heaved himself painfully up out of his bunk, exhaled into the cold frosty air and noticed that inside the barracks his breath was making small clouds of condensation because of not having a fire. He quickly pulled on his boots, pants, and cloak and headed out side with his axes held in his left hand. Torin was waiting not far from the door. "Lets go talk by the well so the other's can sleep," he said as he led his initiate away from the barracks. "This morning I will share the Slayer philosophy on axes and their use as tools of death. Do you know which part of the axe a slayer uses for killing," queried Torin. Sqalliq let out a chuckle at the stupid question. Every Dawi boy and girl was skilled in what part of an axe was used for killing. "Torin the blade is used for killing," replied the initiate with a laugh. He wasn't laughing when he was sliding across the ground from the giant slayer's back hand that hit him in the mouth splitting his lip again. Sqalliq blink his eyes in shock as the giant slayer kept walking towards the well. Sqalliq quickly pulled himself up off the ground and jogged to catch up with his trainer. They stopped at the well and looked out over the mountains. Far to the west the almost full moon was setting behind the mountains in a nearly cloudless sky. Torin sighed as if far away and then looked at his pupil. "Initiate Sqalliq the answer you gave would be correct in the regular forces of the Dawi. But we are slayers. We kill by what ever means we can," said Torin in a speech he had given to many slayers. "The blade of the axe will cut through armor, flesh and bone but it isn't the only part of the axe that you will use for killing." As he was talking he was demonstrating an over arm strike and then pointed at the blade as it neared Sqalliq's arm. "An axe also has the flat of the blade; you can use it to slap an opponent's weapon away or his face on a back stroke to make him blink. That move will open him up for a killing blow." Again Torin demonstrated the axe stroke in a back hand way. "Or if you over shoot and then have to duck a counter stroke you can bring the axe back low to the ground hooking it behind your opponents foot and then with a swift strong pull you can cause your opponent to fall to the ground where he will be defenseless against a strike on his thigh which could sever his artery or you could crush his knee by using the opposite side of the axe blade or sever his foot. Either way you will have defeated that opponent." "You can use the top of the blade to push the opponent backwards," he said while gently hitting Sqalliq in the chest with the top of his axe and heaving the sore Dawi back a pace or two. "This gives you time to size up your opponent or lop off a hand if the opportunity presents itself." "Furthermore the axe also has a handle. You can punch with it in your fist if you are too close to swing or you can get in close where they can't swing at you and hit them with the end of the handle. That is why most slayer weapons have steel knobs or points by the handles. Finally if it

gets really bad the leather thongs that you loop around your wrist can be used to kill an opponent if you should sneak up on one." He talked as he demonstrated. "See hold the handle in one hand palm downward. Grasp the thong in the opposite hand, pull the thong down over an opponents head and place it below his chin. Pull back and up quickly as you lean back while tightening up the slack," he released the slayer. "If you do this quickly you will lift them off of their feet and you might even break their neck. However if you do not all you have to do is break the bones near their larynx and they will slowly suffocate. But before you leave them to die I always like to either brain them with the back of the axe or cut the artery with a swift strike to the side of the neck." "Finally," said Torin stepping in closer. "When you get close or the enemy is rushing you every part of your body is a weapon. You will crave death in time but you must not surrender easily. So if you have to punch, punch but then try to follow through with an elbow shot to a joint or large muscle group. Get in close and use your forehead against their nose. You can hit their thigh with your knee; it is very painful and might throw them off enough to finish them off. If you are in really close stomp on the arch of their foot and then shoulder them back. You need to not think but to react with a primal urge to kill and survive. You are a predator now. There is no flight or fight syndrome in you anymore. Now all that is left is a fight or kill syndrome. Get in close and be like a badger on a bear, like a sparrow on a crow, like an ant on a spider. Your fury will carry you through," finished the slayer before taking a deep breath. Torin paused, "We don't fight like civilized warriors. We can't afford to. If we fight we fight to kill and to kill quickly. That being said it isn't uncommon to have to accept a challenge if you are a leader of a unit but even then it doesn't have to be a fair fight. Fighting fairly is for Brettonians, Thanes, and pretentious Lords. I'm a Giant Slayer and I fight to kill." He chuckled as he looked up and noticed all the other slayers heading into Slayer Hall for breakfast. "Let's eat and then I will start your instruction on how to use two weapons," he said as he walked his initiate to the great hall for their first meal of the day. Breakfast was completed quickly and with out incident. When the slayers of Torin's squad got together after chow all the slayers were relaxed and informal. Most had a dour outlook on the rest of their doomed lives but one thin slayer with blondish red hair and a braded beard named Chukku seemed to be the unit's practical joker. Chukku was busy throwing snow balls at the other slayers until Torin came out of the central compound and headed their way. "Qwudd has ordered our section to mount an expedition to go down below the snow line and bring back fire wood. So Chukku you like playing around so much you will get your chance to lead for a bit. Fetch the axes, saws, and sleds. You'll probably need to bring back two trees a day for the next four days. In five days we will be setting out looking for that giant so Sqalliq can avenge Brud Ridgerunner's death," the rest of the slayers grew quieter and a slightly crazy look seemed to glaze over half of their eyes at the thought of combat with a giant that had killed so many slayers. "Well don't procrastinate you have several miles to go get the trees." Chukku took charge and soon the ten other slayers in Torin's squad were heading down the mountain with two sleds pulled by four slayers each. Sqalliq could see numerous axes, saws, snowshoes, skis, and other gear packed in the sled. Each slayer was also carrying his own personal arsenal of axes, short swords, clubs or maces. "Come Sqalliq now we begin to train with two weapons," the giant slayer led him to a flat open spot in the sun. "First let me tell you that fighting with two weapons is the hardest thing to train your body to do. You will have to learn that there is no dominate side to your body, no favorite hand or foot. This requires more hand eye coordination than you are used to because in a moment of weakness or a second with out concentrating you can injure yourself or open yourself up for your opponent to finish you off." "Now during the first half of today we will be using your left hand only," he said. For the next several hours Torin drilled Sqalliq on the proper way to use the axe left handed. Generally after showing him a specific stroke and telling him how and where to use it he would put the young slayer on a dummy to work at it until we was able to do it correctly ten times. Torin went away and came back several minute later carrying a heavy black smith's hammer that was the same length as the axe but weighed at least five times as much and a long leather strap. "Here," he said throwing the hammer to the slayer. "From now on you will use this in your left hand to drill with. You are right handed and that left arm is slow, weak and uncoordinated. Come here. I am going to bind your right arm behind your back to also help you work on balance." Soon

he had Sqalliq's arm bound behind his back and back to drilling. The hours past with out a break and finally a hour before dusk Torin led called Sqalliq away from the dummies. "You are looking tired," said Torin standing ten feet away from the sweaty tired initiate. "I am exhausted," said the young initiate. "I thought we were never going to finish. I don't think I could swing this hammer again to save my life," jested Sqalliq. Sqalliq looked up from the ground and noted that Torin's face was red with fury. "Defend yourself grot," bellowed the giant slayer as he pulled his two short swords from their sheaths and lunged at the initiate. Sqalliq still had his right arm tied behind his back and his eyes went wide with surprise. In the blink of an eye Torin had gone from being nice and caring to red faced, furious, and with an angry frothing cry to a homicidal maniac seeking Sqalliq's death. Sqalliq back pedaled quickly as the two blades shot in towards him. He clumsily wielded the heavy hammer and managed to block aside the blades in a swiping side stroke. He was rewarded with a head butt to his broken nose that made tears spring to his eyes and blood to flow from his nostrils. But that wasn't the end. Torin's shoulder followed him in pinned his left arm with the hammer across his chest. Sqalliq felt himself lose his balance as the giant slayer's body weight drove him to the ground. On the way down the felt the other slayers knee hit him painfully in the left thigh making his leg go numb. As he hit the ground the other slayers body weight on his chest drove all the air out of his lungs as punches and elbow blows were rained down upon him. Sqalliq felt himself nearing his end and with a final grunt he gave a weak backhanded strike with all of his remaining strength at Torin's head. The hammer connected barely and Torin's body was flung off him. Sqalliq rolled over onto his right side and was using his left arm to get up when he felt Torin's foot in the center of his back push him to the ground. He heard the whistling of the short swords coming in and then they stopped on either side of his neck just barely breaking the skin. "Initiate, you will always have enough strength to defend your self," came Torin's calm voice from behind and over his prone body. "Don't ever tell yourself otherwise. Until you expel your last breath you will fight for victory every step of the way." Torin stepped off him and sheathed his swords. "Good match. Now let's get cleaned up for dinner." He continued as he helped the initiate up off the ground and untied his right arm. "I thought you were going to kill me," said Sqalliq incredulously. "I could have but you are not an enemy that needs to be killed. There would be no honor in killing a fellow Dawi," said the Giant Slayer as they walked to the pool. Torin stripped down and stepped into the freezing water with the pumice stone and soap and started scrubbing himself clean. Sqalliq followed suit on the opposite side of the pool. "Words have meaning. Say what is important. If it isn't important keep it to yourself. Otherwise you will end up like Chukku." "What's wrong with Chukku," questioned Sqalliq. "Nothing is wrong with him. But he is hard to believe with his Elfish attitude. I don't think he is really cut out to be a slayer." His eyes went distant as he went into his thoughts. "He doesn't have the right outlook to succeed at what we do. You can't be a joker when something is trying to kill you. You have to find the animal instincts deep in side of you and tap into it. He can't do that. He is quick witted and very fast, but he lacks focus. He won't last long," trailed off the giant slayer as he ducked under the water to rinse off and then climbed out of the pool back into the freezing winter air. He picked up his clothes and weapons and walked barefooted across the snow as if it was summer time the fifty meters to their freezing barracks. Sqalliq followed after rinsing and was shivering by the time he had picked up his clothes, two axes and the black smithing hammer. They changed in the barracks and reported to Slayer Hall for chow. After chow Sqalliq cleaned the barracks, which was eerily quiet with out the other ten slayers. The other slayers arrived several hours after dusk. They all padded in after eating and taking a bath in the frozen pond and bedded down for the night with out the usual banter. They all knew they were in for a long hard week. And so ended Sqalliq's third day as a slayer. Sqalliq was awoken the next day by Chukku before dawn. "Let's go," was all he said. He tossed Sqalliq a woolen shirt and headed outside with the rest of his squad. The gathered up the sleds,

put snow shoes on their feet and started trudging off heading down the mountain for the snowline and the trees. The slayers passed around a bag of jerky and hard biscuits for breakfast. Later a skin of water was passed around, it tasted like Berriq's apple flavored sweetened water from the day Sqalliq had worked in the kitchen. Sqalliq noticed that today all the slayers were quiet and alert as the headed down the mountain to bring back the trees they felled yesterday. Torin and Chukku were near the front with their weapons out and they also carried two long heavy javelins each. Sqalliq had never seen slayers carrying javelins before and he was intrigued about the goings on of the wood cutting expedition. Sqalliq and three other slayers pulled the second sled down the snowy and rocky slope. He looked at an old wrinkled gran-Dawi slayer beside him laboring away. He cleared his throat and then turned to him and said, "Hello. I'm Sqalliq Oneleg!" The older gran-Dawi slayer looked at him underneath semi-gray eyebrows. "I know dang well who you are grot. You're the lazy "I swear too much" that is making me old bones hurt from not having heat in the barracks," said the grumpy old slayer. "If'n ye got enough energy to talk ye can be pullin' the sled your dang self." He finished in a huff and tossed his hemp rope line to Sqalliq as he walked off to join the sled in front of them. A younger slayer beside him laughed. "Don't fret Ol' Jokkon, he is as grouchy as Bugman was when he discovered his brewery had been attacked. He don't like none of the new guys. If you live through your first five or six battles or ten or so years he might actually learn your name." He finished and stuck his hand out. "I'm Lorruuq. Welcome to Torin's Terrors. Well that's what we call ourselves, when Torin can't hear us. No one else really calls us anything else but Torin's Squad." Sqalliq took Lorruuq's calloused hand and shook it vigorously. He noticed that Lorruuq looked to be about twenty years younger than he was and had thick black hair peaking out through orange hair that the Blood of Grimnir had permanently changed during the slayer ceremony at the Shrine of Grimnir. Sqalliq was happy to finally meet a happy face at Icefang Camp. "I'm Sqalliq Oneleg," he returned. "Yeah," chuckled Lorruuq. "I heard you introduce yourself to Jokkon remember. Around here you listen to every word because there not spoken too often and you can never tell when they will be that slayer's last ones. Death stalks us like a ranger tracks a deer. Most slayers are even more dour, taciturn, and angry than regular Dawi." The sled was slowly starting to wear down the three slayer crew with its awkward weight. "This big fellow is Tur," Lorruuq introduced Sqalliq to the largest Dawi he had ever seen. He stood almost five and a half feet tall, on par with most human males in the Empire. And his shoulders were at least three feet wide. His biceps were the size of Sqalliq's thighs and his pectoral muscles were massive and well defined. Beneath his skin individual striations of muscled fiber could be clearly seen. Tur's head was shaved bald except for a small braded pony tail in the very back of his well muscled head. "Tur is the strongest Dawi any of us have ever seen. I have personally seen him wade into Torin during a sparing session and pick up Torin one handed and throw him more than fifteen feet away." Tur reached across Lorruuq and took Sqalliq's hand into his massive grip. "Good to meet you Sqalliq. I suggest you redouble your efforts over the next several days to accomplish all of your tasks," said the huge dwarf with a voice so filled with base from his large chest that it was hard to understand him. When he spoke it sounded like an avalanche had let loose and was rumbling towards you. He talked slow as if he thought of every word he was going to say and then said it. "Tur I have already set my goal on net letting down my squad mates anymore," the three nodded at that and Lorruuq chuckled quietly beneath his large beard. The slayers made their way down below the snow line into the evergreen forest that filled up the steep walled narrow rocky draw. The slayers the day before had felled several hard wood cedar and softer wood spruce trees, stripped their limbs and cut them into manageable logs between three to four feet long. The two sleds were loaded up quickly by the twelve slayers and then they set off back up the mountain. As they traveled up the mountain in the snow the clouds opened up and a heavy snow began to fall. With in an hour visibility was reduced to the white snow covered ground in front of them. Pulling the loaded sled of wood that now weighed in excess of five hundred pounds each was wearing down the four mule' slayers. Their squad mates that had been guarding them fell in

behind the heavy sleds, placed their javelins on top of the wood and started pushing on the hand rails to help their mule' teams handle the load. The joking from earlier in the morning was done with as the sun overhead rose to the middle of the sky. But they couldn't see the sun because it was hidden behind thick dark grey clouds that were dumping nearly an inch of snow on them per hour. All of the slayers were heaving with the effort of breaking the trail through the snows newly formed drifts, keeping the sled on the track that they knew with their innate ability was below their feet, and with just keeping some forward momentum going while heading back to Icefang Camp. To make matters worse the wind was increasing reducing their visibility even more and taking away their ability to communicate. By two o'clock in the afternoon Torin figured they had made it half way back to the camp. On a normal day they would have been half way back down the mountain for their second load, but today was not a normal fall day. Sqalliq felt his sled get heavier all of a sudden. He continued to fight forward for purchase while turning around to see what had happened. He could make out Torin's still shape looking behind him in the gathering fall blizzard. He was about to turn around and continue pulling when all of the slayers heard a muffled deep toned horn blast come echoing up the stone walls of the mountain in a hauntingly morose long winded tone. In unison every slayer in the twelve member squad stopped pulling or pushing the sleds, dropped the rope they were tugging on and turned in the direction of the blast that was coming from behind their avenue of march. The squad quickly fell back on Torin's location. Torin looked at Jokkon and yelled to him across the three to five feet that separated them in the howling snow storm as the rest of the squad circled close. "Did that sound like a Slayer Horn from Gnashrak's Doom Hold on the eastern end of Peak's Pass?" "Aye, that be one of their wyvern war horns from that slayer camp," yelled back Jokkon. Sqalliq all of a sudden gained insight that Torin looked up to and highly respected the older slayer. "But why would they be here in this weather?" The other slayers eyed each other and Sqalliq noticed that some were getting red faced, glazed eyed, and slightly frothy at the mouth. "Torin, they only blow their horn's when their doom is neigh," finished Jokkon. "Aye," yelled Torin. "Drop your cloaks and shirts slayers. Wood can wait for after this battle if there is one," he yelled as he stripped to the waste and lost all of the material that an opponent could grab onto him in battle. His skin goose pimpled quickly as his shrugged off a shiver. He dropped his cloak and woolen shirt in a small bundle behind the nearest sled. He then retrieved his two javelins, turned and jogged off down the snowed over trail that they had just pushed their sled up. The rest of the slayers were quickly shedding clothes and water skins to catch up to Torin with their weapons at the ready. Jokkon took some extra time because he pulled out an eight foot long black lance that had some three skulls attached to it and some black cloth that he unfurled in the howling wind. The skulls included an a dark elf skull still in their helm, a huge orc's skull that had an axe cut slicing it half way through from the top front, through the nose and into the upper jaw causing the orc to lose most of its front teeth. But obviously it lacking its front teeth was the least of its problems. And the last skull was affixed on the old Dark Elf lance through the bottom of the skull where the spinal cord came out and a hole was punched through the top. The two horns on it declared it to be a skull from a minotaur, probably a Doom Bull judging from the size of it. Chukku jogged past Sqalliq with a large copper horn looped over his shoulder. Sqalliq found himself between Tur and Lorruuq with another slayer behind them. He figured if it came to it that they would make up the third line of the small block of slayers that were sprinting down the mountain looking for an unknown danger. Sqalliq thinking about the oncoming potential for combat felt the butterflies appear in his stomach. He wasn't sure if he was ready for what he was getting into, he was still very sore for his initial trials and training. He hadn't mastered his axes yet especially not in a two weapon fighting style that it seemed the rest of his squad favored. But he felt his options waning when he heard the third call come from the horn come screaming up the mountain. It was crystal clear now, echoing off the steep wooded walls of the draw they were barreling down hill in search of the horn blower. They were seeking doom. Chukku looked to his right at Torin as he raised the horn to his face while asking permission to sound their presence. Sqalliq nodded only once as he continued to sprint down the steep mountain. Chukku slowed slightly raised the shiny copper horn to his lips and his cheeks puffed

out as his face turned bright red. A thunderous horn blast escaped from the horn held by the slim stringy slayer it lasted for a good thirty seconds and when it was done Chukku sprinted to catch back up to Torin and his command group. Sqalliq heard the horn echo once as it bounced of the rock face far away. Heard it twice as a bloody figure emerged from the foggy wall of snow in front of them. The figure was bleeding from several arrows through their grey woolen cloak. The slayers didn't stop but continued to barrel down the mountain as the last echo of the horn call from Torin's Terrors bounced off the mountain. Sqalliq had only a split second to blink his eyes as the mass of goblin wolf riders and wolves burst into view among his squad mates. In the next split second his squad and the wolf riding raiders were locked in a dance of death in the snowy "I swear too much" of the fall blizzard high up on the mountainside. A snarling wolf broke through the scattered slayers in pursuit of the grey cloaked figure. Torin spun around tracking the wolf with his eyes as he fended off a spear from another wolf rider with his flashing short swords. He noticed instantly that only Sqalliq was in position to save the figure. With his left sword he pointed at the figure and the charging wolf rider, in the next split second he was fighting off both the wolf and the spear of the angry goblin that was assaulting him. Sqalliq sprinted towards the figure as the wolf and goblin closed the distance. His axes were gripped tightly in his hands. As he neared the figure he noticed that it was short and slender and missing the orange beard that slayers and Dawi were most readily identified by. He only had a split second to make eye contact with the deepest blue eyes he had ever seen before he roughly shouldered the cloaked figure into a snow bank. The wolf was very nearly on him, the rider's spear was leveled to charge the cloaked figure that was no where there anymore. Sqalliq leaped towards the goblin over the wolf's lunging snarling teeth filled mouth. The spear cut a line down his chest to his left thigh as he felt blood flow from the painful but shallow wound. He twisted in mid leap as a frenzied hatred for all things green submerged his conscious mind beneath his animalistic urges to kill and to survive. With his left axe gliding along the spear he pivoted in his lung and swung his right axe at the back of the goblin's head, being rewarded with seeing the top of the pointed eared green skull explode away from the rest of its body in a black spray of blood and brains. Sqalliq landed in the snow from his headlong dive at the goblin wolf rider. He rolled once and came up in a shower of white powder letting out a ragged yelled war cry. "Icefang!" He spun around looking for another opponent but was surprised to see two spinning axes on delicate gromril chains come flying towards him from the most beautiful dawi female he had ever seen. He only had a split second to admire her. Her hair was cut in a long mohawk with a braided pony tail that looped over her shoulder and around her neck twice. She wore light deerskin pants of flat woven leather strips interworked with small gold studded icon of Grimnir and the Dawi deities. Her top was a lightly woven leather sports bra that kept her athletic but shapely breast from moving around to much. She had the most delicate blue tattoos over her body in long flowing bands but unlike most slayers her's had a blue and black border of roses and thorns working into her perfectly tanned skin. Around her waste was a thick belt of gromril with a gold buckle attacked to the belt was the chains that led to thick gromril and leather bracelets on her wrist with large holes for the chain to pass trough as they played were played out during the doomseeker's death dance. He ducked backwards by bending at the knees and waist. He lost his balance and fell onto his back in the snow as the flying axes continued to pass over him. He was showered with red and black blood as a goblin wolf rider and wolf was cut to pieces and flew over his now prone body in an attack that they never completed due to the female doomseeker from Gnashrak's Doom Hold. Sqalliq was amazed to see her spin while extending her arms and grasping the chains in her heavily ringed hands. The axes made a cracking sound like a whip when their forward motion was stopped abruptly and then as the pivoted her body and moved her arms the axes went into counter rotating circles on each side of her body. The axe in her right hand made a high pitch eerie whistling sound and the left that spun slower sounded more like an owl's hoot but it was a continuous note as she continued its vertical spinning. "Get up and quit gawking," she said in a commanding tone scanning the battlefield. "There's still plenty to kill," she finished as she ran back into the melee that the other slayers were in. Sqalliq noticed the two goblin arrows sticking out of her right shoulder and another in her right thigh that

seemed to only be a flesh wound. With the hooting and whistling axes coming closer the remaining six wolf riders bolted as she got closer. It seems that they knew what a doomseeker of Gnashrak's Doom Hold could do to them in battle. The thirteen slayers secured the perimeter and checked on all the goblins and wolf riders inside their circle. Torin tapped Sqalliq and the female doomseeker on the shoulder as he inspected the perimeter. They followed him into the middle as the other slayers closed the circle's boundaries. Jokkon was in the middle with the three skulled standard on the Druchii lance. "Jokkon bandage them while we talk," said Torin to the other slayer in a respectful tone. He then turned to Sqalliq. "Sqalliq you did well back there. Once you are bandaged claim the goblin's head to add to our wall. Today you are a true slayer; no one will call you initiate anymore." He slapped the young troll slayer on the back in congratulations. "However, you will still have to undergo more training in weapons and how we fight. But no more initiate chores for you. The other barracks will be stuck doing all the cooking for a while." When he finished he turned to the thorn and rose tattooed she-slayer. "I am Torin Kegsmasher, Giant Slayer of this troll slayer squad from Icefang Camp. How may we be of assistance to our Doomseeker Sister from Gnashrak's Doom Hold," queried the giant slayer as Jokkon was wrapping some strips of white linen bandaged over Sqalliq's long but shallow wound. Blood was flowing down his chest to his leg every time the young slayer's heart beat. "I am Fyrmaul Qwyqangst and I come with a message for Qwudd Dragon slayer, commander of the Icefang Slayers," she said in a soft but strong voice. "When I and my companions set out we were twelve slayers and three doomseekers. For the three days my fellow slayers and I fought our way through the longer trail below Peak Pass, for we were forewarned that Peak Pass was blocked by a force of Ogres with some newly captured slave giants," she said through gritted teeth at the end. "We come seeking assistance. A goblin that we captured has confessed to us that the goblins of from the Blasted Waste are in alliance and headed this way. Our hold is the first to be attacked, which brings joy to our hearts in our quest for salvation. But the Ogres and Giants in the Peak Pass are to seal us off from re-enforcements and supplies." She paused and gritted her teeth as Jokkon started to work on her wounds. He cut the arrow head off that was protruding from her leg and then removed the arrow. Quickly he and Sqalliq bandaged her leg as she continued to talk to Torin. "Our hold is smaller in number than yours because we are the training ground for the doomseekers of Karak Kadrin. We beseech you and your hold to pass notice of our plight to the Slayer King and to aid us by destroying the Ogre and Giant force in the Peak Pass. If you can do that then we can attempt to lift the siege of Gnashrak's Doom Hold together." She stopped as Jokkon put his left hand on the arrow in her back. "Miss, this is gonna hurt like you wouldn't believe," said the older slayer that acted as Torin's Terrors healer. He grasped the arrow with his right hand and started to push it forward through the upper part of her chest looking for a space between her ribs in the front. "Sqalliq brace her shoulders boy, she won't be able to hold on for long." Commanded the healer as the young troll slayer grasped her delicate shoulders in his bloody, raw and sore hands. Sqalliq looked down into her eyes as she gasped for breath while Jokkon continued to push the arrow through. Her eyes were tearing up; she broke out in a sweat. Sqalliq saw her bit her lip enough to make a small stream of blood come out of the corner of her mouth as her forehead crinkled in agony. Finally the arrow poked though a couple of ribs right below her collar bone. "Its through Jokkon," he said in excitement as he forgot his own pain. "Snap the head off so I can pull the arrow out." He snapped the arrow head off with his hand and watched the as the arrow disappeared out of the front of her chest. As soon as the arrow disappeared fresh blood stated to pour slowly out of the wound. Jokkon tossed Sqalliq a wad of linen. "Push it on the wound to stop the bleeding," said Jokkon as he continued to treat the wounded doomseeker. Sqalliq applied pressure with the flat of his hand just above her right breast. He heard her inhale sharply and looked down at the wound and the heaving skin just above her leather bra wrapped breast. He took a deep breath because he had never touched a woman in that way before. He quickly looked up into her face and saw an amused painful smile on her perfect lips. They parted slightly so he noticed her red rimmed teeth from the blood and her small bite mark on her lip. She chuckled slightly at his discomfort. "Your not much of a ladies Dawi are you," she joked. And as

she laughed Sqalliq felt the skin and breast beneath his hand jiggle and he was even more uncomfortable now than he had been while running Thane Rock around Icefang Camp twenty six times two days before. "No Ma'am," he stuttered his reply at long last as he looked beyond her at his squad mates. Chukku was making a grabbing motion with his hand and a kissing face. Tur had a smirk on his face but was trying to ignore his slender prankster beside him. Sqalliq looked back at Fyrmaul. "I never had time to court a young Dawi Dame before my failings put me on my current path." Jokkon waved his hand away and started to tightly bandage her chest wound. She put her bandaged right arm up away from her body to make it easier on the healer. She rested her right hand on top of her reddish orange hair as Jokkon worked quickly and efficiently to tightly wrap her last wound. Her pose make Sqalliq look at her slender athletic feminine figure. Her thighs were large but he could see the individual striations of her well formed feminine slayer hardened muscles beneath the woven leather and gold icon britches. She wore deerskin boots over small delicately formed feet. Her stomach was flat and he could see every muscle in her abdomen. Her ribs were clear to see and her chest wide with muscles and ample athletically formed breasts. When she turned to let Jokkon tuck in the ends of the bandage, Sqalliq observed her well muscled ripped back and shapely rounded buttocks. She was easily the most beautiful Dawi Dame that Sqalliq had ever seen. Her skin while tanned had a thin spider work of scars from previous combats. She looked at him over her shoulder with a sigh which made her breast heave out and upwards even more. "Well, remember young Sqalliq. You're a slayer; you're not dead yet." She laughed a very sexy laugh and then grasped her side in pain from laughing. Torin brought her cloak over and handed it to her. "You two lovers ready to get moving," he said brusquely. Chukku brought over a fur wrapped object for Sqalliq with blood leaking out of it. Another slayer in the squad gave Fyrmaul a chopped sapling staff to use as a crutch. She hitched her doom seeker's chained axes to her belt, put on her cloak and took the proffered staff. In a short while the slayers had gathered their cloaks, furled their standard, and resumed their trek up the mountain while being assailed by the first blizzard of the year. It would take the rest of the day to push and pull the two sleds of wood up to the camp. Little did the slayers care that behind them following in their wake the goblin tribe was tracking them back to their base at Icefang Camp. At midnight the goblin big boss looked down from a small rise at the smoke coming from the camps eight fire places. The snow and wind were still blowing but not nearly as bad as it had been during the day. Meanwhile inside Slayer Hall the four giant slayers, Qwudd, Berriq, and Fyrmaul gathered to discuss the current situation that the two distant slayer camps found themselves embroiled in. The rest of the slayers of the hold gathered in the hall as well listening to the talk at the head table. Not since the Storm of Chaos had the head table seated more than Qwudd. Qwudd motioned for Sqalliq to come over to him from where he sat at Torin's squads table. The conversation at the table died down when he approached. "Torin was telling me that I might have been wrong about you in my initial assessment. I thought you were soft and fat but he told me about your steadfastness in battle with the raiding wolf riders. Good job," said the older scarred slayer. "Though you are a full fledged slayer you will still be trained and will continue to work off your punishment. However my assistant is the newest full fledged slayer in Icefang camp. You will report to Berriq each day he will assign you chores beyond what your squad leader assigns you. But tonight you will serve us and may join us. Berriq sits to my right and you sit to his right," finished the Dragon Slayer pointing out an open spot on a bench. Sqalliq quickly sat down at the table as Qwudd spoke to Fyrmaul. "So you were telling us about the siege. Please continue," finished the Dragon Slayer. "Aye, we have seen portions of three tribes so far. From our interrogation of the goblin captive it leads our hold's Demon Slayer to believe that the goblins are seeking to expand. Because Grimgor Ironhide didn't use them during the Storm of Chaos their numbers have grown and nothing makes a goblin braver than having several score of their brethren behind them. To date we have fought the wolf riders, some regular foot goblins, and have seen some purple clad night goblins in the distance. The other forces we have observed include trolls, squigs and snotlings. We were surprised to find no orcs masterminding the harassing assaults but their numbers are much reduced from Grimgor's folly and they are fighting amongst themselves. "The only reason we haven't been attacked yet is they know that our hold has numerous

doomseekers," she continued after taking a pull from a pewter mug of Bugman's XXXXX. Berriq it seemed was sparing no expense to entertain and to break up the monotony of the winter storm keeping the slayers inside. "Our hold is much like yours but we have six squads of ten or more doomseeker trainees with several doomseekers per squad. Our Demon Slayer Snulli Grotblight coerced the plan for the ogres' mercenaries and giants out of the captive. Unfortunately it was a lethal questioning session." She finished off with a cruel smile. When she looked around the table her manner was all business until she arrived at Sqalliq. With him she paused and took another pull on her ale, when no one else could see her she gave him a quick wink and she watched as Sqalliq blushed a deep red. "Snulli's plan was to hold our hold until re-enforcements from Karak Kadrin could arrive. He assumed that some or all of your slayers would be willing to engage the ogres and giants up in Peak Pass before joining the forces of Karak Kadrin in lifting our siege. I and my companions were to be under Qwudd's command until the siege was lifted, I will honor that commitment no matter the decision reached by this counsel," she fell silent and returned to her bench seat. She and the rest of the slayers took a long draft of their ale while they all pondered the news and decision. Qwudd set his empty mug down on the table. "This is a tough decision but here is my plan. In the morning Gordooq's squad will set off for Karak Kadrin to summon some re-enforcements. Malfyq and his squad will maintain this camp; we will need four guards, two at the gate and two roving to fend off those wolf riders. I will lead Torin's and Burrin's squads along with Fyrmaul to engage the forces in the mountain pass. Gordooq if you finish passing the message to the Kaaz Zruum he will send us help and inform the king. If you move quick enough link up with Malfyq here and then meet us at the base of Split Rock Falls. There we will mass our forces and then relieve Gnashrak's Doom Hold." Qwudd looked around to his five dragon slayers of which Berriq was the fifth. As he stared into their eyes they each nodded assent to his plan When Qwudd settled on Sqalliq he smiled a devious grin on his scared face. "Looks like I get to join in the hunt for that giant of yours," laughed the old slayer with a mad glint in his eye. "Yes master Qwudd," replied Sqalliq. Qwudd looked around at each of them again before issuing his last commands. "Berriq, ensure each squad has the rations. Pass out the skis and snowshoes, for those that haven't used them before give them a brief introduction. Everyone can have one more mug but rest is essential." He stopped and looked at Malfyq. "Get your guards posted after their last mug." He stood up as a mug was presented to him from an initiate. "Slayers of Icefang Camp," he addressed the slayers in Slayer Hall. "Drink well, hone your blades, sleep well for tomorrow we seek combat with the Giant in Peak's Pass." He raised his mug in cheer and then drank it down with out stopping. When he was finished all of the other slayers cheered and then finished off their ale. The five giant slayers of the hold set about ordering their squads to make ready. The twelve slayers in Torin's Squad packed ruck sacks with bandages, jerky, dried biscuits, beans and oats and a bed roll. Each slayer received an issued pair of snow shoes and Torin took Sqalliq outside with his and walked him around the camp once until the new troll slayer was used to the contraptions. After that the camp bedded down except for Malfyq's squad which started lighting pots of oil at intervals along the wall an the gate opening. The blizzard returned in the early hours of the morning with more snow and wind. In the distance the slayers of Icefang Camp heard the distant howls of the wolf riders reminding the slayers of their presence and so ended Sqalliq's fourth day as a slayer. The next morning Sqalliq awoke to Torin kicking his feet as he shivered in his bunk. "Breakfast in five minutes, we're setting out in half an hour." He continued walking through his barracks waking the members of his squad. Sqalliq felt all of his wounds that he had accumulated in the last five days and wondered, and not for the last time, if it would ever get better. Breakfast was quick with some boiled oatmeal, bacon and ham grilled, and lots of hot coffee before the forces of Icefang Camp set out. Sqalliq and his chums from Torin's squad set out with snow shoes on their feet heading along the trail that would lead them to the giant in Peak's Pass. Gordooq and his squad headed up the mountain leading to Karak Kadrin and the slayer king to let him know of the impending hostilities between his out lying camps and the forces of the Orcs and Goblins. Burrin's squad fell in behind

Torin's and the raiding force set out with Qwudd and Fyrmaul up front with Torin. The first day of the trek down the mountain hurt Sqalliq's thighs and calves as he was learning the ropes of the snowshoes. The wide slow deliberate steps was like doing squats and leg presses in an unending succession. Finally as the sun set behind the mountain to their west they reached the valley's bottom and set up camp in a snow blanketed pine thicket. No fire was lit that evening as they two squads of slayers ate cold biscuits and jerky, drank some ale. Before bedding down Torin and Burrin drilled Sqalliq and the initiates with great weapon and two weapon fighting style. After a grueling hour of drilling Torin's squad settled into guard duty for the night. Sqalliq drew first shift with Torin and they discussed the advantages of the various types of weapons favored by their green skinned foes to the east. They were relieved by Tur and Jokkon later and so ended Sqalliq's fifth day as a slayer, but at least today he had managed not to get injured for the first time in his short slayer life. The eighth day dawned as the slayers from Icefang Camp surveyed the Giant Hunter's camp below them. The Ogre hunter had managed to bag themselves a slave giant from the pass and had managed to starve it during its first days of training and breaking. The giant slayers, Qwudd, Fyrmaul and Sqalliq were looking down on the ogre's camp of the giant's former lair. There was a small sheltered area at the top of Peak's Pass that the giant had pitched a hide tent in. Out side was a pile of logs for his fire pit. Nearly twenty feet away was some stacked frozen bodies of dwarves, slayers, and human caravan guards that the giant had preyed upon and then let freeze to see it through the winter. The arrival of the Giant Hunter and supporting ogres had disrupted the giant's plans for the winter. Several dead ogres and gnoblars were scattered over the site in various poses of death that the giant had put them in during their initial engagement. Qwudd counted less than ten ogres and the giant as they observed the site from the rise. "Burrin your job is to handle the ogre bulls. Torin and his squad plus myself and Fyrmaul will go after the giant. After that we consolidate and take on any survivors." The other slayers looked at the bald scared Dragon Slayer. He was looking for suggestions or recommendations. All he received back from his companions was confirmation that they were in the early throws of the berserker fury that troll slayers were notorious for. When the silence finally drug on long enough Qwudd looked them each in the eye. "Lets get it done." They all crawled backwards away from the ridge line and headed back to their units. With in minutes all the slayers gathered around Qwudd. He looked at them one at a time. "Over that hill there is a giant and several ogres. Hopefully in an hour or less the battle will be done. Grudges erased. I hope some of you are successful in your quest for absolution. May death find you swiftly, with an axe in your hand. Lets go," and with that the two squads formed up and headed up to the rise. The twenty eight slayers went up the hill. Sqalliq was near the back of Torin's Terrors because he was the newest member. He looked at Burrin's Bashers and noted that the great weapon wielding slayers had a glazed look to their eye; the faces were turning red as they worked themselves up mentally. The slayer forces of Icefang Camp crested the hill and three dwarven horns signaled their attack. In the next instant Sqalliq was left standing alone on the rise as he watched the Ogres dashing about below as they kicked off sleeping skins, grabbed weapons and formed up. There was only five remaining ogres alive and one of those was holding onto a large iron chain and whipping the giant into standing to face the slayers running the three hundred yards to the encampment. Sqalliq clenched his axes in his now sweating hands and sprinted to catch up to his squad. He found himself falling into the second rank of six slayers with Torin and Qwudd in the center of the first rank. He looked to his left and noticed that Fyrmaul was pacing a few yards away covering that flank and that her axes were already spinning on their thin gromril chains. She looked at him with rage on her face. "Look at the foes, club head," she yelled at him as she suddenly darted ahead. Her axes were changing their tones in their circling paths playing her battle hymn with their whistles as she altered their speed and angles. With in moments the Torin and his boys had closed the gap with the giant and the Giant Hunter ogre that was in command of the giant. As the slayers neared the giant it lunged out on its chain and smashed the squad with its cedar club that impaled and smashed hunters on its shortened sharpened tree limb points that it had stripped from the trunk. Sqalliq only remembered the club

screaming in from his left as he and others were knocked to the ground several yards away. He laid on the ground for several moments trying to grab his breath. At some point the thin air of the mountains finally made it back to his lungs and vision finally cleared when he looked up he looked at his left arm and chest and notices that he was bleeding from several deep cut inflicted on him by the sharpened cedar spikes, of which one was still stuck in his chest. His left arm was nearly useless but he managed to recover his axe and look it around his weakened wrist. He rose to his feet looked around to see two unconscious members of his squad bleeding in the snow. Burrin's Bruisers were engaged with the Bulls and the Ogre Bruiser that was smashing slayers around with a large metal rod. The Terrors were surrounding the giant but what impressed Sqalliq was the fury that three particular slayers were displaying. Fyrmaul was in between the ogre hunter and giant lashing out with her humming axes at both of the larger beast. Torin was nearly blood red in the face, frothing at the mouth and was laying about with his lightning quick short swords. He smashed the giant on the back of his hand as he was preparing to grab on e of Torin's slayers. The giant pulled back the bruised hand and Torin stepped between his legs flicking out his swords in quick succession to slowly wear down the giant's strength and health. But in contrast was Qwudd engaging the hunter with his now blood red glowing axe. He was as calm as a black smith meting out calculated hammer strokes on a piece of metal being formed on the anvil. He knocked aside a spear strike and then jumped the chain that the hunter swung at him. For the old dragon slayer this was just another day at the office. He was totally devoid of expression or emotion. Sqalliq started to walk as he felt fury rise up from his gut. His buddies were fighting and dying doing his quest. Finally he could take no more. Slowly he stalked into the fray. The giant was huge and angry it had had enough of the annoying stinging thing flaying his calves he bent his knees and jumped up. When the giant hit the top of his jump he bellowed a yell that shook snow from the sides of the pass and sounded like an avalanche in his pained rage. Another slayer pushed the giant slayer out of the way and was crushed to death because of his sacrifice, hot thick red blood erupted from the dead slayer and splashed all the troll slayers in the melee. Torin looked at his slain comrade and raged. "Kill em!" He lunged back into the fight his blades moving like lightning each hitting the same spot one right after the other like a drummer laying down a marching cadence. Sqalliq found himself beside Tur lashing out with his axes. In his anger he didn't even notice that he had started to use his axes like those used by mountain climbers. Every time he sank the blade in with one arm he would aim the next one a little higher and climb up. His left axe was much weaker but he continued to advance up the giant's leg. He went to swing again and was surprised in his rage to find that he could no longer breath and then discovered that the giant had plucked him off of his leg with his left hand and was holding him out at arms length over his head. "What?" Queried the surprised slayer in the next instant he was hurled with all the giant's might into his squad mates. He was buried in the snow once again unable to breath and feeling more pain than he had ever felt in his life. He rose up moments later to discover that the battle had moved further away. Tur and Jokkon were beside him but both were bloody and unconscious. Sqalliq felt like he was nearing his end as he felt right leg to discover that the standard from Jokkon had shattered at his impact and impaled him in his right thigh. He pulled the broken standard out of his leg and looked at the battle field. His squad had been reduced to only six. The giant was bloody and slowed. The bulls fighting Burrin and Berriq and the other squad had been reduced to one bull and the bruiser. Sqalliq saw a small ledge leading up the side behind the giant and shrugged off his pain and put himself to the task of getting to the giant. He had had enough. It was pay back time. Too many of his squad were down for him to let this go on longer. For the first time in the battle he was calm, the fear and terror of the ogres and giant was gone. He could hear everything as he crunched through the snow towards the ledge. In moments he had flanked the giant and approached him from his back right as his squad kept the giant distracted. The giant swung his club back smashing the rock and snow right above Sqalliq showering him with rock shards and shattered ice chunks that bruised and cut the

Sqalliq's tortured bleeding body. When the club went screaming towards his mates Sqalliq launched himself onto the giant's back. His left axe buried itself into the giant's back near but missing his spine. His right one landed up near the giant's unprotected neck and a fresh gush of blood sprayed out as the giant bellowed in pain. Then Sqalliq's weight hit the giant and it lost it's balance. Sqalliq climbed and continued to swing his axes in a rapid beat as he climbed. He felt himself riding the giant down as his left axe hit the giant's left side of his tree trunk thick neck his right axe bit deep into the right side of the giant's neck as arterial blood gushed out of the bone deep strike. They were falling and then Sqalliq was flying as the giant snatched and threw the young slayer with his left hand. Sqalliq was content as he flew head over hills through the air towards the opposite side of the pass. As he spun he saw that his mates were thrashing the prone giant then all went black as he hit the deep snow drift covering the granite sides. He thought no more and felt even less as all went black. For Sqalliq the battle and earthly concerns were over with, he embraced the darkness. His pain subsided and he exhaled into the cold bloody snow. Chapter 3: Slayer Siege It was day twenty for Sqalliq as a slayer. It had taken the reduced remains of the two squads of troll slayers seven days to return to Icefang Camp from the former giant's lair in Peak's Pass. The trip out had taken the twenty six slayers only a few days to cover the hundred miles but the return trip bearing the six wounded and bodies for twelve other slayers much longer to complete. Some of the dead slayers were from an earlier attempt to clear the pass. Sqalliq stepped out of his barracks for the first time in a week and noticed the assembled army that was to march to Gnashrak's Doom Hold to break the siege if any of the slayers there was still alive. He wasn't wearing a shirt and the freezing cold wind goose pimpled his skin on his hairy chest. He looked at the new pink and stitched scars from the giant's cedar club that had smashed into his left arm and chest. Brud's axes had been decorated with some one golden inlay of Sqalliq attacking a giant from behind on one side of one of the blades. They had also been attached to his share of the giant's horde of gold. He now sported lockable golden bracelets with a short one foot long gromril chain from Fyrmaul Qwykangst's doom seeker chained axes. One bracelet was able to be attached to each wrist so that he would never lose his blades in battle again. His initial quest to avenge Brud had been completed but he had been cheated out of his righteous death by the retreat of the ogre giant hunter, bruiser and last bull upon the death of the giant. He looked out at the forces that covered the courtyard with their tents and fire pits. There was several small bands of Brotherhood of Grimnir, a few doom seekers, other individual slayers had formed into bands, and a few standard regiments of Karak Kadrin warriors. Icefang Camp was packed to its gills with bearded warriors. During their absence the forces of Icefang Camp had been attacked by two separate goblin warbands. The wolf rider warband had pursued Gordooq's squad all the way to the gates of Karak Kadrin reducing their numbers from seventeen to four. Malfyq's squad had defended Icefang Camp from a persistent night goblin war band that shot arrows at it all day and assaulted the walls at night. There was squig heads and several new rows of goblin heads stacked neatly along the back wall. The night goblins had finally retreated when the remains of Gordooq's squad and some hasty reinforcements from Karak Kadrin had showed up. It was at that point that they had decided to await the arrival of more forces from Peak's Pass and Karak Kadrin before marching to Gnashrak's Doom Hold. Sqalliq noticed a slender figure marching towards his barracks in the moon light and his spirits were lifted as he discovered it was Fyrmaul heading his way. She was sporting several new scars including one on her face over her left eye that ran from her mohawk hairline to her chin, but at least she hadn't lost the eye. She stopped several feet away from him and punched him in a jovial way that sent pain screaming through his entire body as the punch landed on his left shoulder. "So I see the invalid has learned to walk like any year old baby, and it only took you two week," she quipped with a light hearted grin that because of her new facial scar now had a natural wicked sneer quality to it. "Ouch," exclaimed Sqalliq. "Yeah, I can walk and talk like a toddler. I'll be ready to march with you and the rest of the survivors from the pass. I might move slow for a day or two but I'll keep up if I

have to hobble along all night long while you all sleep," he said as he leaned against the door jam as his legs grew weaker from the exertion of standing. "Well I have to admit that I am grad you survived that fight up there," she said stepping in closer to the troll slayer. "You need to stay focused on the foe and quit looking at all the pretty girls if you are ever going to reach your objective." She leaned in closer and her arm touched his as they huddled in the door way of Sqalliq's barracks. "And what objective have all the pretty girls kept me from reaching," he asked. She stepped back and looked him in the eyes searching them deeply. "you can be such a block head," she said as she punched him even harder. She turned and walked back to Slayer Hall in the center of the encampment. Sqalliq was glad to see her go because when she was finally inside he collapsed onto his knees from the pain of her blow on his wounded body. Torin stepped out of the door and noticed his young slayer on his knees trying to suck in air. "Sqalliq, buddy not even a troll slayer would take on a mad female. You need to be careful of that one. She will surely kick your butt if you don't get your head on right and after seeing how she conducted herself in that battle while you were busy sleeping not even I am crazy enough get her mad at me." Torin helped the young slayer up and walked him back into the barracks. The hearth was crackling with a fire to fight the winter chill. Sqalliq had inherited a closer bunk when four of his squad mates had succumbed to their wounds during the battle with the giant. Torin set him on his bunk and returned a few minutes later with a big bowl of steaming soup and a mug of ale. "Drink up lad. You'll be needing the strength over the next few days as we move out to Gnashrak's Doom Hold. And besides no one wants to eat jerky and frozen parched biscuits when healing," said the giant slayer. Sqalliq looked up at the scarred veteran and asked him a question. "Torin does it ever get easier burying squad mates after a battle." Torin turned from him, looked towards the fiery hearth and started to walk away. But then he stopped and turned back around. "Sqalliq, I have buried seventy three squad mates in the last five years. I remember the jokes, jabs, training, cooking, talking and gaming with each of those lads. Generally each month I will visit their graves if their bodies were recovered." The bigger slayer paused in thought and then exhaled. "No it never gets easier but I know that with death they are finally free. We all crave death like and alcoholic craves beer and spirits, but unlike and alcoholic we are the dealers of death. While we crave death's embrace remember your training like you did on that pass and make sure you cheat it for every single heart beat you can. And in each and everyone of those last heart beats you swing those axes like you did against that giant. You bring them down on the enemies weak point with more force and vigor until you finally strike something that make them give and then you keep hitting until they are dead. Only then will you have the peace of mind to let it go and embrace the bringer of death, but you keep swinging until the very last beat of that stubborn heart of your lad. You do that and I'll fondly remember you until I to have the chance to embrace my doom." Sqalliq took a pull of his ale as he watch the giant slayer return to the hearth and talk to some of the replacement slayers that had joined his famous squad. The soup and ale did its job soon Sqalliq was sleeping a dreamless sleep while his body was busy mending his many wounds in preparation for the march to lift the siege of Gnashrak's Doom Hold. And so ended Sqalliq's twentieth day as a slayer in the forces of Icefang Camp. The three goblin warlords Git Git, Gotsnot, Rudfang, four other war bosses and the ogre giant hunter Krushun Mountainstalker sat on the distant rise looking at the smoking slayer hold of Gnashrak's Doom Hold in the distance. For nearly a month the rock hard slayers had beat back the eight tribes of goblins that had been sent against them. Slowly but surely the slayers were being reduced in numbers but the green skin horde had taken many loses as well. The wolf riders of Git Git's Fangrunner tribe were growing tired of waiting. They had pursued the messengers deep into the mountains to the frozen encampment and nearly killed the last doomseeker of that expedition after running down her slayer guardians. They had then conducted a running battle with the force from the frozen camp to the very gates of Karak Kadrin before retreating back to their current location. Git Git looked over at the fat Rudfang of the Flamefang tribe. "Ye's boyz nedz be fir'in more arrers at demz stunties Rudfang. Yer yeller ladz hazn't beenz doin' theyz job while me and me riderz

were maraudin' in dez mountainz," barked the wolf skin and scalped slayer hair covered Git Git. Rudfang stood up from the fire with great effort. "My boyz be getting' the job done. With the ogres and giants of Gotsnot's tribe we should be ablez to break the wallz soon. Itz just demz doomiez be so ard to shoot with demz whippin' axez and wallz. When the shamanz get done with their rantin' and ravin' durin' the no moon time we will crack them. Three more dayz and that hold will be ourz," said the fat goblin looking at the other war bosses gathered around the fire. The other five nodded and looked to Rudfang. "I'llz summon up the giantz's that I'd been savin'." He looked around at his cronies. It had been his plan to bring the Goblin Great Alliance together in the first place. His two giants and numerous shaman had mad him unstoppable so far. His only opponent was the missing night goblin great shaman that was leading the ceremonies to Mork and Gork to unite all the shamanic powers for the last push to break the walls. That shaman had been working with the other in the seven other tribes to usurp his power; he just knew it in his wicked little bones. "Whenz the fingle wagglers are ready they giantz's will be herez to stomp and bawl demz orange haired freakz into the ground." He laughed and the other goblins laughed weakly and then stronger as they looked to their fellow war bosses for support and actions. Rudfang looked around his cronies and felt power coursing through his veins as their actions emboldened him. "Ladz gather the boyz and keep them fired up. Serve dem whiskies and shrooms to keep their heartz ard. We'll finish dez blokes in a couple dayz and den dem wallz will shield us for few dayz while we plunder and refit with demz stuntie axes of glittersteel. Den we move into the mountains and seek the stuntie glittering caravans." He laughed and then tossed another log on the fire. Mean while down below in the besieged keep of Gnashrak's Doom Hold Snulli Grotblight looked through his telescope at the hill and knew that he was seeing the leaders of the siege make their plans. Snulli was a big powerful demons layer that commanded all the slayers that wandered through this way seeking absolution. His force used to encompass five squads of slayers with each squad having three doomseeker trainers. Seventy five slayers garrisoned this fort during its peak now there were only twenty slayers and five doomseekers left. His giant slayers were all dead as was his dragon slayer assistant. He knew things were grim but he couldn't help but feel that he had killed many more gobbos than they have killed slayers. He had patiently awaited is daughter Fyrmaul Qwyqangst's return but it seemed that she had failed in her mission to summon help from the closest slayer camp of Icefang Camp or from Karak Kadrin. He had discussed with his boys torching the hold, its food, fuel, and poisoning the water well and then breaking out when their numbers were reduced to just ten. They were getting there slowly, now every day they were losing more. A light rain started to fall and in the rainy gloom he lost sight of the opposing generals as he heard more arrows come in from the night goblins and goblins surrounding his once grand keep. He sighed and ducked back indoors as the arrows plinked in around him. The end would come soon; he could feel death's embrace closing in on his hold like a money changer clearing the counter of coins. This hold was now a tomb. He went down to his Slayer Hall and tapped the last keg of Bugman's XXXXX that the hold had. "Drink up lads and remember our freed chums. Their debt is paid; pain is no longer their companion. They know the freedom of woes that only a cold stone tomb can bring. Drink and be merry," he raised his silver covered ogre skull mug from one of his first kills. "Hopefully tomorrow we will all die under a mountain of green skin maggots swinging our blades." His wounded, tired and doomed slayers hoisted a mug and let out a shout of "Huzzah!" as they remembered their departed squad mates. A few of them were already frothing at the mouth at the thought of the oncoming end. The slayers of Gnashrak's Doom Hold were awaiting their end. Day twenty one dawned with low slate grey clouds hugging the mountains over Icefang Camp. The temperature was below freezing in the gusting winds that picked up waves of snow and blew them from one spot to another in swirling mobile white walls that totally obscured the assembled army of Karak Kadrin moving to relieve the siege of Gnashrak's Doom Hold. Qwudd talked briefly with the other thanes, lord, rune smith and slayer leaders. Soon the various drums, horns, and standards of the units were sending signals. In short order the iron shod boots of the army of Karak Kadrin were sending echoes of their stomping reverberating down the clefts and valley in a slow steady cadence.

Torin nudged Sqalliq and his squad. "Lads, we're moving out fifth in the order. Two columns," said the giant slayer shouldering his huge pack. Each of his guys were carrying spare weapons, clothes, tent, wood, oil, dried food for nearly a month. They also had their sled packed tight with other supplies for healing and large cooking pots. "Lets go," he said quietly as they fell in to the army marching out of the now muddy and tent less courtyard of Icefang Camp. Sqalliq started out in the middle near Tur but with in a few hours he was slowly falling back as his wounds were sapping his strength. The Army of Karak Kadrin set a grueling pace. There was no breaks as this was a forced march from dusk to dawn. Occasionally a slayer or dwarf would break ranks to relieve themselves or adjust their packs. After a bit they would sprint to catch up with their units. Near lunch time Sqalliq was watching the rest of the army pull away from him steadily as he continued in pained silence. There was no concern for a lone wounded slayer. If he died marching or in battle the Army of Karak Kadrin would mourn him not, he was dead to them already. Ever so slowly the wind and snow picked up. Nearing dinner time the sun was obscured and the winds reaching gale force. It would seem that the second blizzard of the year was upon the mountain screaming its displeasure at the granite sides and hard as stone inhabitants of the mountain that chose to carve their hearths and homes out of the heart of the mountain. Sqalliq squinted his eyes behind his cloth visor with long narrow slits that kept the snow out of his eyes. He felt his beard freeze and watched slowly as his world was reduced to a narrow white tunnel of vision directly ahead of him. He endured the pain and loneliness carrying Brud's Axes in his gloved hands at the ready as he had been taught by Torin. The hours passed and at some point near midnight the winds started to subside. An hour later he stomped in painfully to the cold camp made by the Army of Karak Kadrin and their allied slayer forces from Icefang Camp. He found Torin sitting acing back down the trail as he arrived at his squads camp. Torin approached the shivering exhausted wounded slayer with a steaming pot from a small portable oil burner used in the mines to cook small meals. He led Sqalliq to a spot and helped him shrug off his frozen clothes and pack. "Sit here Sqalliq and drink this," he said wrapping the young slayer in his sleep roll and Torin's extra blanket. Sqalliq started to eat the contents of the pot and had never tasted anything as wonderful as the honeyed coffee with pieces of dried biscuits floating in it. He at the liter pot and discovered some chopped up jerky on the bottom that was easier to eat after having been cooked for several hours. Torin looked at him when he was nearly finished. "Each of your mates had been waiting for you to get here. Sleep young Sqalliq, well wake you when it is time to march," with that Torin returned to his bedroll and huddled under it as he watched his squad mate Sqalliq sink into a deep unfeeling shivering sleep and so ended day twenty one for Sqalliq on his slayer journey. Snulli Grotblight was awakened abruptly by one of his slayers carrying a candle. "Snulli the gates are being attacked," said his follower with apprehension in his voice. Snulli swung his tired feet out of his bed and grabbed his axe. His boots would have to wait until later. At least his hold wasn't up in the mountains where he had sent his daughter to gather reinforcements. "Let's secure the gate, tell my seekers to meet me there," commanded the demon slayer. "Aye, Snulli," said the slayer running of to gather the last of the doom seekers. Snulli walked rapidly to the gate. He went down the stairs of the keep to the Slayer Hall and then through the gate room under the murder holes. Out over the small draw bridge that slid out as a shelf to the stairs on the other side he started to jog toward the gate as he heard the ominous cracking of his gates eight in wooden planks. Snulli was sprinting when he heard the gate bang open and saw the horde of snotlings and night goblins pour into the courtyard in front of the giant that had cracked the gate. Snulli was proud to see ten of his last twenty slayers holding the line and dealing death to the unskilled masses of green skins that poured in like the tide coming in on the beach. "Borq and Jorg to me," commanded Snulli in his horn blast battle voice. He was calm and could count every single beat of his slow heart as he surged towards the gate. Two of his last five doom seekers sprinted to his grey-orange bearded naked form. Borq was short and fat with thick club like doom seeker gear that just bludgeoned the enemy into

submission with numerous hammer-like strikes. Jorg used typical doom seeker gear of axe blade on counter weighted chains wrapped around his body. They came in on either side and Snulli crashed into the fray using the skills that he had gained fighting skaven and dark elf assassins. Snulli used two light hammers with flat heads on one side and a wicked spike on the other. He didn't believe in using runed items but he was one of the most proficient dealers of death that the dwarves had seen in years. With his two doom seekers flanking he stemmed the green skin tide pouring in on the right flank of the slayer line. His axes were flashing in like jack hammers and his ability to deal efficient death blows by striking at the neck, temple, or spine was racking up more kills than the two doom seekers flanking him or the three doomseekers on the opposite flank that was slowly pushing the green skinned horde back to the foundation of the shattered gate. "Jorg seal the gap," commanded the demon slayer. Jorg looked back at his leader and surged through the open gate into the night goblins pouring in. Snulli was causing a wave of panic by dropping between six to ten goblins per minute with no goblins getting the ability to strike at him. For a few seconds the tide was stemmed as Jorg held the flow back beyond the gate, the other four doom seekers and Snulli eliminated the remaining fighting foe in the gate alcove. "Slayers seal the gate," commanded Snulli. Jorg looked back over his shoulder for a split second before the gate was to be sealed behind him and spiked close. Snulli looked at his former student and fianc of his daughter. Jorg was furious but he winked back at his lord and then the gate was slammed shut with a final "Boom" of the wood hitting the raised stone door stop. Snulli watched as his slayers labored to brace the door of Gnashrak's Doom Hold. Beyond the gate he heard Jorg bellow as he attacked single handedly into the assaulting night goblin tribe. "I am Jorg, dealer of death, champion of Gnashrak's Doom Hold come grobi and meet death on my blades." Snulli placed his head against the door and listened to what was to have been his future son-inlaw. Again he heard the repeated challenge as he heard the roaring whistling of Jorg's axes. "I am Jorg, dealer of death, champion of Gnashrak's Doom Hold come grobi and meet death on my blades." Snulli heard the heavy steps of a giant coming towards the gate and the screams of goblins still dying. He could feel the effects of a shamanic spell being disrupted by his doom seekers. For the third time he heard Jorg's chant. "I am Jorg, dealer of death, champion of Gnashrak's Doom Hold come grobi and meet death on my blades." The axes were still falling but he heard Jorg sign and one of the axes went silent. The foot steps of the giant were near. Snulli could picture the horde surging over the lone doom seeker striving to hold the dark tide at bay while the giant moved in. Jorg spoke again but in a tired, strained, and pained voice. ""I am Jorg, dealer of death, champion of Gnashrak's Doom Hold come grobi ... uggh!" Snulli heard the tree like club crack the stones outside the gate as it crushed his would be son-in-law into the ground in the middle of his challenge. Snulli looked at Borq and passed his command. "Burn them all," was his quiet command. Borq raised a horn and blew three short rapid blast. Above the gates six slayers poured two vats of boiling oil and cinders onto the horde of night goblins and the giant below them. Two torches followed and Snulli was driven back away from the door as the heat wave hit him and some of the burning oil seeped below the blood slickened stone from all the slaughtered night goblins. Snulli smiled wickedly as he heard the nigh goblins outside running around on fire and the giant retreating rapidly and bellowing in burning pain. Snulli was happy that his young friend had earned his glorious death. But his sacrifice had kept Gnashrak's Doom Hold safe for another day. Another day for his daughter if she still lived to bring the much needed reinforcements to his besieged hold. "Borq hang this trash over the gate for the next batch to see if they choose to meet their death here. Ensure their entrails are exposed so the vultures, crows, and flies can feast on these maggots of grobi kind." Snulli walked back to slayer hall still coated in stinking grobi blood. He found a mug and poured himself a mug of cheap ale. He held it in the empty hall and then raised it in salute. "To Jorg, a fine dwarf, a fine slayer and a dang good doomseeker. May your heart travel freer the glorious death you achieved is my desire. Till we meet again my friend," with that Snulli downed the cup and none were there to see him place the mug down with solitary tear in his eye. The lone old demon slayer walked slowly and painfully back to his room to clean up and go back

to sleep, dawn was still and hour away. Three hours later Sqalliq was awoken by Torin. "Lad its time to shoulder your pack and push on," said his giant slayer by gently nudging the wounded former initiate. Sqalliq crawled out of his bed roll and noticed that his squad had already broke camp and was moving along. Torin handed him some breakfast and then the giant slayer packed some of Sqalliq's gear in his own pack to lighten the load. When Sqalliq was done eating the soaked warm oats with honey and bits of jerky he cleaned his bowl in the snow and then placed it back in his pack. "Lad," addressed Torin to his young squad member. "I have to march with the boys. Do your best to keep up today. Me and the lads will be waiting for you at the next camp," Torin clapped the young slayer on his broad shoulders and then moved out. Sqalliq set out and as the day before was quickly passed by most of the Army of Karak Kadrin. But he didn't falter; failure was never an option for him as a slayer as long as he drew breath. And so he continued to march all through the day snacking on bits of jerky and rationing his water. Two hours after dusk he arrived at the camp. His warmed food and travel mug of ale was waiting for him. His squad members cheered him on especially Chukku and Tur. He sat down still wearing his pack, tired and exhausted. After the food and ale he fell asleep where he sat never noticing that out beyond the circle of the dim fire light from the tunnel stove that he was being watched by a certain doomseeker traveling with the forces from Icefang Camp. The same routine was repeated over the next three days and so ended days twenty two to twenty five for Sqalliq. On day twenty three the army of Karak Kadrin dropped below the snow line and on day twenty five they were only a few miles from Gnashrak's Doom Hold. But the high point of the journey for Sqalliq was that on day twenty five he finished the march with his mates, the exercise had toughened his mind to the pain and speeded his healing. On day twenty four for Sqalliq journey the siege took a turn for Snulli and his forces. It was one in the morning when the sound of several giants were heard approaching gates. Three times the forces of Gnashrak's Doom Hold had held the gates. But now there was only twelve slayers left, Snulli and three doom seekers. They all knew the end was coming. Snulli huddled with his doom seekers under the murder holes of the outer gate waiting for the tide behind him five slayers held the line, the rest either above the gate with the last barrel of oil or scattered on the towers to detect any feints. And so they waited in the cold darkness listening to the giants slowly approach. Snulli who had been a decorated general and lord for Karak Kadrin before taking his vows had already exhausted all of his counter siege skills on this numberless foe. His boys had been trying to bleed the enemy white but against a goblin foe that was just impossible. He figured that his and his seventy five lads had killed at least ten times that number in the last month of the siege but they had culminated. Now their dwindling numbers were like the last remaining sands in an hour glass; they just seemed to fall quicker than their foes. "Lads, we hold until the last moment then Borq, Khuzziq, Kroog and me will fight the rear action to the keep," said Snulli to his slayers behind him. "Make them grobi vermin pay for stepping into our hold with their lives," commanded the Demon Slayer. He heard a "Huzzah!" from behind him as he felt the giants near the gate. He could also hear goblin gibbering and other heavy breathing that was foul scented. "Careful lads," said Snulli. "They have committed their trolls for the first time." He grimaced. A quick look behind him showed his lads frothing at the mouth, rage filling their faces, as his lads were entering into their slayer fury at the mention of trolls. Then all grew quiet except for the wind. What was this thought Snulli? Even the Grobi were quiet. Snulli crept closer to the gate and listened, he was a keen general and had survived many battles and wicked traps by the enemy but nothing had ever made a goblin horde go quiet or still the breathing of stupid trolls. He felt the tingling of magic near the gate and knew this was a trap. His hair stood on end like it had never done before. Snulli couldn't even hear himself breath. Magic most foul. For the first time in years he felt a slight twinge of fear. He turned and sprinted from the gates as he felt more than heard gates shatter behind him as he broke through the dome of silence. "Pour the oil and retreat," commanded Snulli. In that instant all manner of things happened. Parts of the shattered gate flew past him, goblins

poured through the opening, squiq riders dropped in off of the walls and he saw his two oil pourers bodies tumble from the top of the gate. His trap for the foe was foiled. The foe was numberless around him and he was drug under by their sheer numbers being trampled and then he heard the whizzing, whistling, humming and singing of the doomseeker tools coming towards him and the foe covering his body like lice. "I am Borq and this wall of Gnashrak's Doom Hold you will not cross," came Borq's challenge as Snulli heard panic in the gibbering goblins over him. Blood and limbs were hitting him as the doom seekers went to work stemming the tide pouring in through the gate. "I am Khuzziq, killer of foes of Gnashrak's Doom Hold. Come meet your peace that only the grave can bring," was Khuzziq's challenge. Slowly Snulli made it off of the ground and then his hammerers went to work it was like Moses parting the Red Sea all of a sudden there was a gap in the masses as bodies of Grobi started falling in a circle limited by the Demon Slayers reach with his weapons. "And I am Snulli. I have killed so much that death is my mistress if ye' want this hold ye' will be takin' it over me dead body," bellowed the now angry demon slayers. "Krooq, trip the oil and light it. We will hold the stairs over there and then fight back in a box formation," commanded Snulli. In an instant Krooq was sprinting to the stairs leading up to the oil on top of gate house. He was issuing his challenge as his went. "I am Krooq smith of Gnashrak's Doom Hold on the anvil of my body I break my foes." The squiq hoppers were still dropping in randomly. He mounted the stairs and took them three at a time with one axe continuing to hum all the way to the top. Snulli, Khuzziq, and Borq were wading through the tide of goblins when they each smelled the stench of trolls. The slayers were surrounded by goblins and squig hoppers when the five trolls closed in. Soon all three were ducking club strikes, dagger and sword jabs and slices, and the large fanged mouths of the rabid squigs. "Deal with the masses," commanded Snulli as he stepped in between two trolls. "The trolls are mine." And then he began to dance. The troll on the right was large and swung a shattered road sign. Snulli ducked below it, dodged the swift left handed grab and the kick that the troll lashed out at him with. In return the demon slayer aimed a blow at the inside of the right ankle, knee, groin and base of the troll's neck. Each hit landed and the troll crumbled. Snulli spun to engage the troll beside and behind him. He turned just in time to catch the troll spitting it's acidic vomit at him. He felt dread in his heart. There was no way to avoid an attack like this. The vomit hit his left arm and it was like all the fire of the chaos waste of favored by Khorne was engulfing his left arm and side and dripping onto his leg. His flesh of his fingers melted and fused around his axe and the stench was most foul. Then fury took over. He rained four quick blows about the tall beast's head with the last being the spikes of his left and right hammer penetrating from each temple seeking the dim creature's diminutive brain. Snulli was rewarded with a glazed look on the trolls face as it fell towards him. Snulli stepped aside and let the troll fall and then hopped up on its prone back. The troll on the right had regenerated some of its wounds and it was coming back at him although not at its full potential. Another troll was closing in as well from his left. He smelt his flesh still boiling from the remaining acid in his system and continued his dance while his doom seekers mowed through the squiq hoppers and goblins that were starting to flee. The troll on the right watched dumbfounded as the little burned orange haired blue tattooed dwarf launched himself at the larger troll. Eight hammer strikes dropped the troll into an unrecognizable mass of punctured and crushed chest and misshapen head. Snulli spun to his troll on the left and once again the vomit came in. Then he knew. The trolls had been commanded to use this type of attack. He felt the cold fingers of fate start to creep in as once again the acid was received on his left side. He saw some bone protrude through on his finger and the acid was caught on his chest and face this time. His left eye lost it's sight and he bellowed with rage at the pain. He crumbled to the ground for an instant and felt a strong arm lift him; "Snulli stand steady," Khuzziq had lifted him from the ground while continuing his assault. "The foe retreats under the wrath of our rage." Snulli steadied himself with all the intestinal fortitude that he could summon. "How is Krooq doing," queried the severely wounded demon slayer.

"The fire burns but he is engaged up top," answered Khuzziq. Snulli focused on the burning gate through the retreating bodies of the goblin and troll horde. Then he heard multiple club strikes from the giant's onto the top of the gate house and looked up in time to see a body trailing two chains with axes attached sail towards him. Krooq's shattered body landed not far in front of him, Khuzziq and Borq. His face was smashed in and his left torso crushed in a mass of shattered bones, leaking blood, and internal organs escaping from his broken internal cavities. "We can do no more here. Get me to the keep and pull in the gate," commanded Snulli in a weak voice. With that the demon slayer passed out into Khuzziq's arms. Sqalliq awoke the next morning when a messenger was sent to summon Torin and Qwudd for a war council. Torin looked at Sqalliq before he jogged off, "Sqalliq you are in charge until I return." The big slayer and scarred veteran dragon slayer went to the council meeting. An hour later they were back with all the other leaders returning to their units. Torin rounded up his lads. "Listen up slayers. There are at least parts of eight tribes of goblins over that hill. They have breached the walls and appear to be besieging the keep of Gnashrak's Doom Hold. We don't know if how much help the survivors of the hold will be able to help us," he paused. "Now here is the plan," he continued to explain that the war machines were being deployed on the crest of the hill and that the slayer part of the army would lead the way as the rest of the Army of Karak Kadrin would advance under war machine and thunderer fire as the slayers cleared the way. Torin then went into bad news of the enemies' deployment. "Slayers there are at least three giants, two or three bands of trolls, and snotlings. To make maters worse there is a tribe of wolf riders that we will have to advance through to gain the gates. Good news is that the gates are shattered. Bad new is that is a tribe of archers manning the wall firing arrows at the keep, soon those arrows will be headed towards us." Torin paused and then continued. "Here is Qwudd's plan. You will be the forefront of the army. We will push directly through and not stop until all of us are either in the keep's courtyard securing the stairs leading up to the keep or we will die trying," Torin stopped. Jokkon sneered and then laughed as he unfurled the banner of Torin's Terrors. "Heck I've been waiting years to die in battle. I always hoped it would be against a giant or a troll not a sea of grobi," barked the cantankerous old slayer. Tur laughed at the jest as he dropped his cloak and pack near the side of the trail. His rumble of a voice spoke next, "Death in battle be honorable no matter what foe it be against. Even a groblar can slay a dragon if there be enough of them." Chukku chuckled and added his gear beside Tur's as he loosened his horn. "Can we get this over with," queried the impatient skinny slayer. "I haven't had a good meal in days and when I am done with these maggots I plan on finding Berriq and making him cook me up a big pot of something. And besides its not our squad's day to help cook or do dishes." He turned and headed up the hill. Sqalliq and Torin followed suit with the rest of their squad. Behind the rise three cannons and four bolt throwers and their crew were hiding behind the crest waiting to push their machines over the rise to see the enemy. The slayers of Icefang Camp, some Brotherhood of Grimnir, and a few random doom seekers were waiting with a glazed frenzied look. Kaaz Zruum walked to the top of the rise with Qwudd. "Qwudd, sound the charge!" Came the command from the Slayer Rune Lord of Karak Kadrin. Qwudd looked to Torin and nodded and then to his other three giant slayers. They turned to their musicians and soon four horns were sounding the charge, they were joined by several more Brotherhood of Grimnir and troll slayer horns and soon the mountains were shaking with the sound of slayer feet beating their way over the rise and into the valley. Each slayer sounded off with his own personal challenge and the air was thick with the loud dwarven voices. Before them the several hundred yards away was the enemies' camps forming a ring around the keep three hundred yards from its scarred and damaged walls and shattered gates. A reply to the challenge was heard from three giants, more than twenty trolls, and over two hundred wolves raised their heads to the dawning sun and let out their deep throated howls as their Grobi riders raced to their mounts. The battle of Gnashrak's Doom Hold was about to commence in earnest. Sqalliq felt the oncoming tunnel vision of his slayer rage constraining his vision as a squadron of

wolves broke out the camp and headed his way. He was oblivious to everything until he heard the eerie hum of a doomseekers whirling axes beside him. He turned and focused on Fyrmaul who was sprinting ahead now bare footed and nearly naked except for her gromril belt, wrist bands, and axes. Her face was a mask of frenzy and hatred. And then all at once the axes were quiet at they lashed out and a wolf yelped and his rider died. The battle had begun. Sqalliq and his mates received the charge of the wolves as he hear the twang of bolt throwers and explosions of cannon shot from behind him on the rise. The wolves pushed the slayers back and flowed around them until axes spilled wolf guts and freed goblin heads from goblin bodies. Sqalliq was swinging his axes in a blind fury of action beating off the attacks of two wolf riders and the snarling attacks of the wolves and then they were dropping to his counter strikes. First the goblin on the left lost his spear hand, and then the goblin on the right was beheaded as his wolf sprinted around the angry slayer and right into the naked doomseeker's spinning axes beside Sqalliq. The last wolf bounded away as its guts spilt out of its slashed side yammering like a pup looking for the first milk from its mother. Torin's Terrors was back to sprinting forward as the wolf riders fled, a few were drug down but most made it away into the goblin camp. The Terrors were in front of the rest of Karak Kadrin's army and their speed was keeping them safer. Sqalliq looked behind him and noticed that a giant was closing in on some slayer from the right flank with a weird snotling wheeled machine and on the left flank more wolves and some night goblins in ranked formation were forming up in a line and firing arrows. Several bolts and cannon balls zoomed in to the goblins from the rise with the artillery battery of Karak Kadrin unleashing their fire. Sqalliq turned around again and closed the gap with his squad mates. They burst into the tents and ran right into a unit of night goblins heading their way with nets and clubs. But what was worst is that three crazy frenzied night goblin fanatics were kicked out right in front of the terrors. "Get em," bellowed Torin and soon there were slayers being knocked around by the madly spinning balls of the three fanatics. Torin's Terrors had been plussed up with extra independent slayers. When the battle started there was twenty of them unlike the usual twelve from Icefang Camp, eight after the battle with the giant and ogres. But the goblin fanatics had suddenly cut that number in half. The rest of the terrors piled into the night goblins and two were trapped under nets and beaten with clubs but the rest of the Terrors shrugged off the nets and received the initial charge. The goblins weren't great fighters but they were numerous. There were forty goblins to the ten slayers that made it through the fanatics that were still spinning with their unwieldy iron balls near by. The goblins flowed into the slayers and attacked with club, mace, sword and dagger. Three Terrors went down leaving seven. And then the slayers unleashed their pent up rage into the mass. Arms were separated from bodies, heads cleaved, guts spilt, spines shattered. Three goblins died and then they flowed around the slayers. The goblins attacked first again because they were so fast. But their blows were deflected by the now focused slayers. Then the counter attack happened. Torin, Sqalliq and the rest of the Terrors shrugged off the nets and dropped nearly one quarter of the goblins that now turned and fled from the meat grinder before them. The terrors surged after them slaughtering the goblins as they pursued their foe slaying each of the cowardly night goblins as the Terrors rampaged partially through the camp. The remaining seven slayers pushed through the camp and entered the open space leading towards the keep and stronghold beyond. The sun was rising in a clear sky and the sun was the brightest Sqalliq could remember since before he had become a slayer. Torin looked around at his diminished squad, "Lads there be plenty of enemy behind us and still more in front. Let's trust in Grungni that the rest of the army will make it through. Let's go stir up some trouble in the keep. Watch for arrows, don't travel in a straight line and then we will rank up in front of the gates and unleash doom on what ever we meet inside." He paused. "Let's get it done." They were off sprinting across the bodied strewn plains. Then a mass of arrows were launched into the sky from the goblins manning the walls. The distinctive twang of bows could be heard to echo. "Now sprint," roared Torin. The seven slayers sprinted forward and each zig zagged to try and avoid the arrows. Tur took one arrow to his foot that pinned him to the muddy bloody ground as he tripped. When he stood up another series of twangs of bows was heard coming from the walls. The goblin boss up there

had focused their fire on the prone struggling slayer. Sqalliq watched helplessly as the arrows arched and then descended towards the giant of a dwarf. His unarmored slayer body took three more arrows and then another flight was sent his way as he stood and ambled forward. Two more black arrows hit the big slayer and then Sqalliq saw the doomseeker Fyrmaul's axes cutting arcs over the big slayer as he walked and then jogged with the six arrows protruding from his body. "Run Tur," came Sqalliq's hoarse yell as the gromril chained axes formed interlocking arcs over the wounded slayer's head like and umbrella shielding a maiden from the rain. "Move you big oaf, only an idiot gives one hundred archers a stationary target," was Fyrmaul's yell to the wounded slayer. She placed one axe in her belt and grabbed Tur's arm and drug him towards the gate. Ever so slowly the Terrors reached the gate outside and saw all the burned bodies of Trolls, goblins, and a dead giant. The battle had lasted nearly half and hour so far and Torin's Terrors was the only unit to reach Gnashrak's Doom Hold gate. Behind them near the camp units were attacking and counter attacking the assaulting dwarven forces. The Goblins were slowly bringing their disjointed defense together and they had temporarily stemmed the tide of dwarven forces flowing in to the inner ring between the camp and the keep. Torin shook his head as him and his slayers quickly gathered their breath. Fyrmaul and the wounded Tur arrived. The big slayer was gravely wounded but looked like he would make if for several more hours if he managed to avoid anymore injuries. Fyrmaul noticed something as they huddled to move in and dropped to her knees looking at something in the charred mass in front of the gate. "Things must be worse than I thought here," she said in a far away tone as she lifted a charred doomseeker axe and chain that was attached to a hacked up and cooked doomseeker surrounded by many bodies. "What," queried Torin. "This is the body of the Champion of Gnashrak's Doom Hold," she replied in a hoarse quivering voice. "He shouldn't have been out here unless directly ordered by Snulli, the Demon Slayer of this hold." She choked by tears and fought to find the voice to continue. "This is the body of Jorg, he trained me at my father's command. He was the strongest, swiftest and most accomplished warrior in this hold. He was a great warrior." She stopped talking and looked back at Torin and Sqalliq standing behind Torin. "He and I were to have been wedded on the new year's day. Then these vermin came," she went quiet. She replaced the weapon in its original place and then returned to standing with soot covering her sweaty legs and hands. She stood facing the gate as she took her weapons up. She wiped her eyes dry and then bellowed a challenge into the keep. "I am Fyrmaul Qwyqangst, daughter of Snulli Grotblight, messenger of Gnashrak's Doom Hold, summoner of the forces of Karak Kadrin. I am the doom of all that comes before me today. Meet me if ye' seek yer doom," with that she stalked into the tunnel leading through the gate house. Her axes were wizzing around her like two mad hornets who's nest has been disturbed. Torin and Sqalliq had never heard her axes make such a loud doom filled tone. Torin shook the blood off of his two short swords and started to walk in behind her. "Follow me lads and stay close to Fyrmaul. She is our protection and we hers," the rest of the Terrors entered into the Gnashrak's Doom Hold knowing that this might become their tomb at any moment. They formed up in a single line right behind the angry doomseeker. The tunnel leading through the gate house was the shortest mile they had ever walked in the shadow of doom. When the sun hit Fyrmaul's spinning axes she went from walking to sprinting and then the battle was joined. She crashed into the goblin regiment that had formed up awaiting the slayer charge. She foiled their plan by pivoting and hitting them and the four trolls securing the left flank and braced against the wall of the gate house. Her axes was licking out like bull whips and leaving the cracking sounds similar to whips. Two trolls took light wounds. One healed almost instantly and then the goblins were dropping like wheat under a farmer's sickle. She bellowed like a banshee again as she continued to attack while dodging the trolls two mace attacks and a wicked back hand. . "I am Fyrmaul Qwyqangst, daughter of Snulli Grotblight, messenger of Gnashrak's Doom Hold, summoner of the forces of Karak Kadrin. I am the doom of all that comes before me today. Now ye are meetin' ye doom ye' vile foes of Gnashrak's Doom

Hold," she was dealing death like a figure skater doing her well practiced routine. The Terrors sprinted forward and hit the line of goblins to the right of Fyrmaul. The goblins received the charge and watched at their entire front line was crushed under the weight of the slayers rage. Sqalliq was near Fyrmaul and to his right was the wounded Tur. Tur was fighting but weakly he wasn't killing anything but he was defeating the attacks of between two to three goblins while his flanking slayers dealt them the death they deserved. The trolls were holding tight and Fyrmaul was continuing to engage them and the goblins at the same time. Every time a slayer stepped back from the goblins there was a series of twangs and arrows falling around them from all the archers on the gate. The dance of death continued and ever so slowly the goblins to their front were being reduced to a dead, bleeding, disemboweled mess on the stones of the courtyard of Gnashrak's Doom Hold. Then all at once the goblins before them fled and the slayer wheeled in running the remaining goblins down and wrapping around into the trolls and the newly arriving wolf riders from a distant corner of the hold. Sqalliq watch the troll in front of Fyrmaul pull back and prepare to attack the naked doom seeker to its front. She was engaged trading blows with the troll beside it and was temporarily distracted as she was trying to tug her trapped left axe out of the quickly regenerating troll flesh. Sqalliq dived and pushed her out of the way as he rolled into a ball right in front of the now left most troll. The troll's weapons shattered stone and jarred Sqalliq's teeth in his mouth with the force of its blows that hit the ground instead of the doom seeker. In its rage it kicked out at Sqalliq and connected with the slayer but to his distress the little orange haired freak didn't fly across the courtyard. Sqalliq had taken the blow and followed with two of his own as he suck an ax into either side of the troll's thigh. The wounds healed quickly temporarily holding his weapons there. What the troll failed to account for was that Sqalliq was chained to his axes with his gold bracelets. Sqalliq flew back one foot and then the chains arrested his flight and he came back with a vengeance. In seconds he had pulled his axes out of the troll's thigh and rained a small typhoon of blows all over the troll's front as he began to climb up the troll's body, in much the same tactic that he used against the giants back. His rage was complete, in less than thirty seconds he had rained down one blow per beat of his heart as he slowly mounted the troll's shoulder. He continued to chop in his berserker fury the troll lost and eye, a nose, another eye, had its teeth and jaw shattered and when it finally exposed its neck to bellow in pain six quick blows freed the troll's head from its now dead body. Sqalliq was still raining blows on the dead troll as he rode it down to the ground. Finally, when the body impacted he launched himself off of it in a jump and landed beside Fyrmaul who was standing in amazement. Sqalliq stood erect and for the first time that day or in his entire slayer life bellowed his own slayer challenge, "I am Sqalliq Oneleg, bearer of Brud Ridgerunner's axes, slayer of Torin's terrors. My blades hold the promise of your death; my fury is complete. Come to me and receive your doom," he screamed in anger. "Well we can ask for a scald to record that challenge later there," said Fyrmaul with a sardonic grin on her scarred face. With that she whipped the axes into a frenzy and was unleashing a flurry of blows against the troll that she had been engaging at a distance. Her blows were nipping at its shoulders, elbow, thigh and then abdomen. The troll became disoriented trying to follow the bee stinging bladed and finally bellow in agony and rage. It pulled back both of its arms and let out a thunderous roar as it sucked in air and the acidic saliva started to flow. Then its eyes went wide in fright. Fear was a new emotion that the stupid troll had never experienced before. It watched as the female doomseeker lunged in close to it and launcher her right gromril chained axe at its left side of its neck. She missed the axe flew out wide and in an arc. The doomseeker back handed her left gromril chained axe out. It too had missed. The big towering stupid troll laughed deep in its acidic saliva filled throat as it prepared to cover this naked troll in its spittle. But something was wrong. The female didn't pull the chains back but lithely jumped up onto the trolls front left knee that was planted for its spitting attack and then he hear the sonic pop of the axes reaching the end of their arc and the doom like whistling began as the troll felt the chain on either side of its neck snap tight. The naked doomseeker pushed off of the troll's knee and somersaulted in the air. The two axes started to spin tight around the troll's neck as she landed on the ground facing away from the troll and planted her feet and then lunged

away leaning with all of her body weight into the ground pulling the towering beast towards her. The two gromril chains spun tight around the neck and then the big stupid oaf knew the true meaning of fear as the two shiny blades spiraling rotations kept getting shorter with each orbit. First one and then the other blade impacted on the side of the troll's neck. While the blades had bitten almost one third of the way through on either side the troll managed to eek out a small chuckle as it discovered that it wasn't dead deep inside it diminutive walnut sized brain. It started to laugh more as the acid started to bubble of its neck searing and charring its skin on the way out. The pain was exquisite; the troll was more used to inflicting pain than in receiving it but it was happy to feel pain. But what was this. The little naked female stood up and tugged pulling the troll closer. The chains tightened and cut deeper against the rapidly healing flesh. "Keep chuckling while you can trog," laughed Fyrmaul with and angry tug. The troll dropped its weapons and grabbed at the chains as the gravity of the situation slowly sank in. Fyrmaul had had enough, she put both hands together and grabbed the opposite hand chain pulling both tight and then spun as she lunged away from her hooked troll. Its eye bulged for an instant and then the head came free in a spray of blood and acid. With the head still attached to her axes she lunged into the next troll wacking it with the head as her bladed came free and starting singing and nipping at the troll tough hide. Then Sqalliq, Tur, and Torin were there hacking the troll apart at each of its major joints. The last troll seeing the destruction of its buddies turned and ran away. Torin stopped for half a second to assess the situation and then commanded, "Bound up the stairs into the archers or we are dead here!" With that the eight slayers including Fyrmaul bounded up the steps. Chukku was up front and blew a mighty blast with his horn as he made it to the top of the stairs. There was a loud twang and the archers fired in unison. The twenty arrows streaked towards him and many pierced his body. He weakly blew one last blow as Torin came up beside him. The youngest member of the Terrors looked at his Giant Slayer and leader. He was silently trying to mouth some words as the blood started to flow out of his mouth and then Torin grabbed his horn as he dropped it to grasp an arrow in his chest. Torin had the horn and then the slayer was falling back wards dragging Torin towards the edge of the wall and down to the hard stone below. Torin heard the leather thong snap holding the now dead slayer's body to the horn and he fell back against the crenulated wall behind him as he looked at the horn in dumbfounded understanding. Another one of his slayers had died. Tur and Sqalliq led the charge into the goblin archers of the Flamefang tribe. Tur hacked one goblin in half from shoulder to groin in a powerful blow. Sqalliq killed one and lunged into another as the goblins received the charge. The six remaining Terrors and Fyrmaul were pushing onto the wall looking for foes. The goblins surged back against the slayers as wicked short iron swords and daggers were pulled after worthless bows were dropped. An evil scarred goblin followed by a musician and a standard bearer surged in through the horde of goblins and lunged at the pin cushioned Tur. The goblin boss was wielding a captured dwarf axe and Tur tried to block it but lost his wounded left arm at the elbow. The goblin laughed as Tur bellowed in pain and agony and Sqalliq for the first time heard the big slayer not sound like an avalanche. The big slayer was still bellowing when the death blow came in from the left side as the goblin reversed the swing and opened up the slayers mid section spilling all of his intestines in a squirming bloody mass. Tur tried to hold in the snaking sausage like mass with his right hand and the bloody stump of his left arm but it was futile. He was dying and he collapsed onto his knees and fell against the wall on his left crying like a baby as his end grew near. The tunnel vision was back. Sqalliq was only seeing through pin "I swear too much" of black hate and rage of the green skins that were slaughtering his comrades. The fury took over and the Brud's axes were raining in the blows prize fighter smelling money. The goblin boss was still celebrating as Brud's axe in Sqalliq's left hand cleaved into his exposed right kidney. The axe in the right cleaved its head from its body as it fell dead at Sqalliq's feet. The musician stepped in close following its leader and received Sqalliq's forehead to its nose and jaw that shattered the smaller goblin's skull as the slayer fought to pull his axe from the dead goblins body. Sqalliq instinctively threw his right axe up in a block and stopped the standard from

crushing the back of his skull. He tugged his trapped axe free and then the Terrors and Torin surged in relieving the pressure on Sqalliq. The battle on the wall continued for several minutes in a daze of strike, counter-strike, parry and feint as the out numbered slayers held of two small regiments of Flamefang goblins. Fyrmaul was guarding the rear to keep more goblins from arriving up the stairs or through the door from the gatehouse. Torin, Jokkon, and the rest of the Terrors took time surging through the regiment of Flamefang goblins that they were slowly forcing back along the wall towards a tower behind them. In a slight pause Sqalliq looked around the keep and saw that it was still packed with trolls, wolf riders, goblin archers on the other three walls plus this one. Out beyond the hold some small bands of slayers were through the now burning camp. But was struck him with dread was the three ranked goblin tribes and an ogre tribe forming up beyond the range of the cannons. They were advancing against the scattered slayers and follow on regular dwarven forces of Karak Kadrin that was still engaged with two to three goblin tribes and a scattering of trolls and squadrons of wolf riders in the camp. "Torin they are getting organized out there and here. We will have trouble if we don't do something heroic here soon," said Sqalliq as he bounded into the fray to relieve the tired giant slayer that was bleeding from a score of small cuts and bruises received during his attack against the archers. Torin sucked in a few deep breaths of air. "Haven't we been doing something heroic since we arrived on this god forsaken battlefield?" The big slayer looked worried as he though How many more of my boys have to die to pay the price for peace here.' Sqalliq was blazing away with Brud's Axes spraying the goblins in the blood of their fellow goblins as he hacked first one to death and then another and another. He spoke over his shoulder in a yell with out taking his eye off the next opponent. "Yeah! We have been heroic but what have we accomplished." He ducked a blow and shouldered his opponent back and then leaned back in with his axes in a flurry of blows. "We are isolated and trapped on this wall as long as they keep throwing disposable goblins at us. We are wearing them down but we have been marginalized on this wall." He hacked down the goblin he was fighting and stepped to the side as he grew winded. Torin surged past him with his short swords moving in a blur that killed a goblin, then another and another. Sqalliq stepped in close and pointed to the stairs leading down behind the goblin regiment, "We need to get down those stairs." He pointed to the wolf riders forming up below them, "Through that squadron of wolf cavalry." Sqalliq then pointed to the stairs leading up to the keep that was being assaulted by a giant and a regiment of night goblins lead by an old wizened goblin in a purple and gold robe that looked like it used to belong to a human wizard and had been cut down to fit the smaller goblin shaman. "And through them to relieve the garrison and get some freaking help out here," yelled Sqalliq. Torin continued to fight as he quickly scanned the course of action outlined by the young Sqalliq. "Sqalliq! I agree! That would be a heroic course of action!" Torin bellowed and lunged in between two goblins and penetrated into the goblins milling on the parapet. "Follow me Terrors. Death to the green skins," he bellowed as he started to slice left, right, forward and backward as he continued to race forward towards the stairs leading down. Behind him the Terrors and Fyrmaul stated to rout and then ran down the goblin archers on the wall they were battling on. The stone top of the wall became slick with spilt green skin blood as the now five Terrors and Fyrmaul reached the stairs and bounded down them. Several of the Terrors launched themselves off of the stairs and onto the wolf riders bringing them down and scattering their ranks in the fury of their hasty assault on the squadron of twenty wolf riders. The small surviving band of slayers went from the frying pan to the fire with their hasty assault into the wolf riders of the Fangrunners goblin tribe. The slayers were out numbered but their leadership and confidence in seeking their doom was unshakable. Fyrmaul landed in the corner and set her gromril chained axes to spinning and they began to sing their mournful tune of doom. The first goblin and wolf she targeted wasn't the one directly in front of her but one in the middle of the rolling chaotic formation. The rider was small with no helmet. Her right axe flashed out from its spinning and cleaved his skull in half. His now uncontrolled wolf leaped about the formation and tried to flee spreading chaos and confusion as it bit some of its fellow tribes' wolves that quickly turned on the wolf and tore it to shreds. Fyrmaul didn't stop there but dropped two more before her other attacks were foiled by shields.

She looked confident at Torin. "Three for me Giantslayer'!" She chuckled in her hoarse but husky voice. "Try to keep up if you can," she quipped as she lunged into the milling goblins dealing death. "Alright Terrors," roared Torin jumping in beside the naked doomseeker. "Tis' a competition ye be wantin'," he barked at her as he drew up to her side felling a lunging wolf by plunging right sword deep into its' throat and then pulling back his bloody and slightly torn hand as the wolf died sending its scared rider over its shoulders. Torin spun as he ducked a spear from a goblin behind the dead wolf. He quickly stabbed the goblin though its exposed side ensuring its death when he punctured the grobi's lung. "Only one Goblin Slayer," laughed Fyrmaul. Sqalliq, Jokkon, and two more Terrors dropped two goblins as they noted the arrival of yet another squadron of wolves. But this one had a large goblin with a wolf skin and slayer scalp cloak. Torin looked up the new arrival trapped behind the other goblins and felt rage at the mohawk scalps decorating the Grobi's cloak. Torin looked at the big goblin and stopped killing with his left sword that he kept pointing at the large older goblin in a silent challenge. He didn't stop slaughtering the goblins in front of him or their wolves; he just did it all one handed. Git Git focused on the slayer with the two short swords one of which stayed pointed at him. "Kill demz stunties," he roared as he fought to close the gap to the big slayer. Sqalliq was standing beside one of the replacement Terrors that fell under a wolf that latched onto his neck and ripped through the flesh severing the artery. A bright pray of blood splashed across Sqalliq's face as he watched the wolf swallow the gulp of dwarf flesh and then the tunnel vision was back. His axes blurred into short quick interlocking slices. The goblin died then the wolf he was riding followed by his grobi buddy beside him. He felt the rage bubbling up in him like magma in a volcano. "I am Sqalliq Oneleg, bearer of Brud Ridgerunner's axes, slayer of Torin's terrors. My blades hold the promise of your death; my fury is complete. Come to me and receive your doom," he barked in blood rage. Torin was beside him and then Sqalliq was past him unleashing vengeance as three other goblins fell as the remaining slayers fought to stay together in a tight formation. "Fyrmaul, the lad is getting blood "I swear too much"," he said when he bumped into the back of the doomseeker fending off a grobi attack against him. "Aye, this doesn't bode well for us if he loses his head," she huffed back while killing several goblins and wolves with the scythe like swinging chained axes. She had to chuckle at her pun though. She was unable to see Torin's quick pained look that flashed across his face as he gritted his teeth. Torin lunged into the grobi riding the wolves and the melee started to swirl with the nearly forty combatants giving and taking minor wounds. The slayers were more skilled and unshakable in their moral. One squadron of wolf riders was starting to falter as they were receiving all the blows. Jokkon was calm like an old man on his death bed. His standard kept attracting the grobi to him but he was a canny warrior that would bash with the pole, set it to receive a charge or us it to distract his opponent. His next action was always to finish off his opponent with a short focused axe strike that conserved his energy and kept him defended. The Terrors and Fyrmaul were penetrating deeply into the first squadron as the unit wrapped itself around the slayers. Jokkon found he was fighting the grobi unit champion when the unthought-of happened. Git Git with the slayer scalped cloak hacked him down from behind when he was focused on the other units champion. Jokkon watched as the standard he had carried for so many years fell way from him. He willed himself to hold the standard high but his left hand failed to react. "What..." he mumbled and Torin turned to him. They both watched at Jokkon's left arm still holding the standard came to rest of the ground with their unit's icon. Torin turned to his old friend. Jokkon looked from Torin's face down to his left shoulder that looked weird because it was missing his arm. He never looked up as the sword came through his chest for just a brief moment and then it was gone. The arterial blood came pulsing out of the long thing hole the size of Git Git's blade's width. Torin was still watching in dumbfounded amazement when Git Git's wolf pulled the dead standard

bearer to the ground and savaged his throat ensuring death. Torin felt the world start to cave in. Another of his beloved Terror's had been hacked down and he was powerless to stop it. Jokkon his friend of so many year, so many battles was dead! Bimdib Buddub watched as his only worthy competitor the Warboss Git Git was engaging the last of the slayers that made it to the Stunties fortress. Bimdib was the nigh goblin great shaman that had taken control of the shaman and was executing a coup under the War Bosses haughty noses. Bimdib looked at his subordinate night goblin unit commanders in his body guard units. He had sixty gobo lads in his own personal guard plus two flanking units of thirty more. "Grud and Twok flank Git Git's wolf boyz from the left and right and release yer' fanatics," said the shaman in an intelligent voice. He had apprenticed for a while to a human sorcerer as an unwilling slave but had learned to speak through his daily beatings from his failings. "Look like you are attacking the slayers," chuckled the goblin as he turned his attention back to the giant trying to break through the keep's gate. Grud and Twok moves out their goblin quickly and soon were in place to launch their assault on the Slayers and Git Git's personal wolf riders. Torin was slowly getting into a near blinded berserker fury and then the unexpected happened. The first squadron on wolves he and his Terrors had assaulted broke and fled. Torin, Sqalliq, and Fyrmaul surged into Git Git's unit. But Torin was swept away from the slayer scalp wearing Git Git. Torin hacked down a wolf rider by slicing through a bounding wolf's neck and then his sword continued up into the goblin rider's stomach. The goblin was lifted out of the crude saddle before being dropped to the ground where he quickly bled to death. Fyrmaul was reducing them two or three at a time. Sqalliq was frothing at the mouth. Most of his clothes had been ripped to shreds and his veins were clearly visible and pulsating under his sweat covered skin in the morning sunlight. He ducked a goblin spear and when he finished rolling he came up from the ground carrying the Terror's standard that he used as a quarterstaff. He whipped the quarterstaff in an arc that shattered a goblins skull then unseated another goblin as it caught it across the chest sending it to the ground. He spun the standard in a tight spin then plunged the spear pointed end that was used to sink the standard in the ground into a wolf like a pig on a spit. He bellowed incoherently as he lifted the two hundred pounds of wolf and rider in an arc above him using the momentum of the wolf. The goblin was flailing like a baby as he landed head first in the ground with a sickening crack from shattered spin and neck. Sqalliq pulled the end of the standard out of the dead mess and bellowed his challenge. "I am Sqalliq Oneleg, bearer of Brud Ridgerunner's axes, slayer of Torin's terrors. My blades hold the promise of your death; my fury is complete. Come to me and receive your doom!" Torin was watching in disconcerted amazement Sqalliq's actions. In a detached portion of his mind he saw the new capabilities surfacing in Sqalliq. He had truly embraced the slayer ethos and values. In many ways Torin knew that Sqalliq had surpassed him and he was slightly jealous. Torin noticed Fyrmaul reposition herself and saw some night goblin infantry moving in. He quickly scanned the battlefield and saw some heading from his way as well. Luckily they were behind the wolf riders. In the next moment all Torin and the other two slayers saw were wolf riders and blood splattering as the six fanatics were released into swirling melee. Git Git bellowed in pain as he took a wound and watched his wolf have its neck snapped. That back stabbing shaman had stuck dez boyz on me ladz,' thought Git Git as he watched his courageous riders being reduced from fifteen survivors to only five. He hopped on a fleeing wolf as his boys broke and fled towards the night goblins assaulting the steps to the keep. His only consolation was that the two night goblin units had hurt each other with their own fanatics. Torin and Sqalliq were knocked sprawling when Fyrmaul knocked them down after she took a hit from one of the iron ball wielding psychos. "Fyrmaul," yelled Torin. "Are you okay?" He pulled her back to her feet. "I think some of my rib are broke," she winced as she spoke. Torin could see through the blood and nicks that her naked ribs were displaced and a large quickly swelling bruise was on her right side. Sqalliq sighed as he chased after the fleeing wolf riders. He let out a low growl and then noticed he was all alone.

Torin looked at his last Terror and recognized the longing to get the enemy at weapon range. "Come on lad w still have some of that heroic stuff to do," said the giant slayer in a defeated tone. The three slayers started trotting towards the large night goblin regiment and giant assaulting the keep. Torin growled as Git Git and his boys fled out of the keep with his cowardly wolf riders. That one I'll see again,' though Torin. Else where in the battle things were turning. The dwarven artillery, crossbows and thunderers had forced a rout of the goblins from the camp near the base of the hill. The disciplined ranks or regular dwarven missile troops were bounding forward. The thunderers putting down a wall of lead and smoke as they slowly advanced. Beside the thunderer the crossbows would shoot and sprint to catch up with the wall of dwarven flesh and shield. Behind them were the hammerers, warriors, iron breakers and the ale drinking long beards. In the semi deserted camp the slayers were breaking foes and forcing them to leave the cover. Most of the remnant forces from Icefang camp had made it through the goblin camp burning it as they went. There were still some forces tied down especially as the bumped into the reformed goblin army from the far side of the camp. But most importantly a few small bands of slayers were rushing into their fallen hold. There they found a site of utter devastation as three bleeding blood splattered slayers, one of which was a doomseeker, was laying into the rear of a night goblin formation that was trying to advance into the keep that two giants were slowly breaching the door. The newly arrived slayers were quickly set upon by murderous arrows fired from the walls. In true slayer fashion the slayers set about their grim task of securing the walls. Over the din of clashing and crashing metal on metal and metal on wooden shields was the calls of wounded and dying wolves, goblins, and dwarves. One slayer stood in the corridor leading through the gate houses gates and saw the approaching goblin horde attempting to re-enforce the beleaguered forces in the contested keep. He tapped one of his giant slayers on the shoulder and said "Seal this gate. No one get past you unless he has an orange beard or is wearing the colors of Karak Kadrin." The giant slayer pulled his remaining eleven slayers out of the battle and hastily closed and braced the gate. They they took up their stance and waited impatiently for the enemy to come to their justly deserved death on their blood soaked axe blades. The dragon slayer looked at the his giant slayer and the remains of one of his squads and the female doomseeker locked in combat with the night goblins. He was darn sure not going to let Torin and the Sqalliq have all the fun with the naked doomseeker over there nursing a hurt side. "Berriq," said the old Dragon Slayer. "Grab what's left of your lads. You ensure that no other green skins pile in over there. I'm going to pitch in and help those three. It seems that being by Torin's side is the quickest path to glory." He watched only long enough to see his scribe pull his last six slayers of his squad together and charge into the flank of a unit of goblin spear infantry. The Dragon Slayer was off seeking his doom. He eyed the giant on the left and set off at a jog. His axe glowing brighter and lighter as his anger was fueled. The giant's club cracked the door sounding like a striker hitting a gong. There was a shower of splinters and the door gave way. Bimdib Buddub seeing the spray of blood from the slayers slaughtering his rear ranks thought that getting into the keep might be his best chance of survival. He looked at the giant to his right and shouted, "Kill the orange haired!" The big giant was stupid but it liked combat. He turned and lumbered to the back of the goblin formation where anarchy reigned. Bimdib Buddub turned to the giant on his left and was surprised to hear it scream in pain as a lone orange haired dwarf lunged into combat against a foe twenty times his size. Bimdib screamed "Kill him," as he released a quick spell that hit the lone slayer with pain like a great horn ram had just head butted him. Blood dripped from the shattered blood vessels in his nose and one of his eyes clouded over as blood filled it. The Dragon Slayer looked over at the great goblin shaman and marked his face. 'You die later,' though the dragon slayer as he continued his dance against the giant. Snulli and his last slayers bled anew as splinters from the shattered door pierced their body. One of his seven remaining troll slayers fell with a large splinter of wood transfixed through his chest. Another went down blinded in the wooded maelstrom. Their torches flickered as the wind from out

side nearly blew them out. The keep Stank of death and dying slayers. And then there was the smell of night goblins as the horde burst through the door. Borq, Khuzziq, and Snulli were there to stem the tide and instantly chaos rules in the entry alcove. The droning of three doomseekers fighting in a closed area was eerie as the goblins squealed in panic, rage, pain and anger. Then the magical bolts started to lash out and drop goblins and slayers alike as three fanatics were kicked in to the joined melee releasing more black and red blood onto the slicked stones below. In mere seconds only six goblins remained and fewer slayers. Bodies of slayers and night goblins laid intertwined in the final stance of their dance of death. Snulli came face to face with Fyrmaul. She gasped as she saw his tortured and scared hand and visage. "Father?" "Aye, lass," replied the Demon Slayer as he lunged towards the goblin great shaman that was fleeing from the ruined front of his hold. "Khuzziq left giant. Borq?" A nameless slayer replied that he was dead quickly as the Demon Slayer assessed his remaining troops. Snulli pointed at Torin and Sqalliq. "You two right giant. Daughter with me." The remains of Torin's Terrors and his assault force broke up and scattered as the Demon Slayer and his daughter and remaining troops went to work clearing the remnants of the night goblins loyal to Bimdib Buddub from around the entrance. Qwudd was hard pressed when two more of his slayers joined him in harrying the giant. Torin set about slicing up the left Achilles tendon while Sqalliq launched himself into his giant climbing tactic up the rear right calf. The giant bellowed in pain and rage as the three skilled slayers set about flaying it alive. Deep inside its stone thick skull it came up with a cunning plan. Instantaneously he latched onto Qwudd and stuffed him in his smelly tunic while lashing out at the giant slayer with the lightning like swords hurting its leg. Qwudd felt his left arm break and his right ankle get twisted into a useless position. It hurt. Bad. The sickly stench of the giant was nauseating and he felt his dinner come up as the giant lunged one way and he slid into the giant left arm pit. Qwudd gagged again and released his lunch into the giant's arm pit. At least it smelled better now. Torin was being methodical in his dance of death. This wasn't his first giant and he was considered an accomplished giant slayer with years of skill and several large skull back at Icefang Camp back wall to his credit. But he had but a split second to react as the giant lashed out reflexively with its nearly destroyed left foot. Sqalliq saw the leg flick out as he hacked away with Brud's axes in a futile attempt to sink his axe's heads deep enough into the giant's stinking hide covered leg. Finally, his left axe bit and he was climbing. Torin was smashed against the stone stairs leading up to the keep and felt numerous bones get shattered. His vision was dimming as his last conscious thought went through his barely functioning brain. Finish the giant's mobility.' Sqalliq had half a second to cast a glance Torin's way. He was hurt and leaning against the wall. He looked stunned but Sqalliq had seen him shake off the shock of an attack and get back to the business of slaying. Then he watched the left sword slip from Torin's hand and bounce of the ground. Torin opened his mouth to sigh. Blood and shattered teeth poured out in a steady stream of blood with bubbles in it. Sqalliq noticed the whites of Torin's eyes turn red from the shattered blood vessels in the white part of his eye. They went distant and then Sqalliq felt his own heart tighten with resolve as hatred filled him to the point of screaming his fury. His axes were no longer hindered by the badly tanned hides covering the giant. Torin was hurting. Sqalliq resolved to finish this as quickly as possible. Instinctively Torin threw his right short sword at the tattered remnants of the giants tendon. He was rewarded with an audible snap and twang as the razor sharp blade that he as carried for so many tortured lonely years sliced through and then continued to spin through the air and land in the snow and gravel with a tinkling sound. Qwudd felt the giant startle and lose its balance as his chest quivered with vibrations from and ear splitting pain filled yell. Qwudd still had his one hammer and he put it to good use. In between retching he slammed his hammer into the giant's ribs and felt the bone break in a loud snap. Instantly he reversed his swing and buried his hammer's spike into the same space he just made. Like a badger he went to work tearing through his opponent's chest. In seconds he was covered

in giant's blood and chunks of destroyed flesh. Qwudd was reminded of the stench of the dragon's lair and the beast that had crippled him. His fury was righteous, his hammer swift. Torin felt his heart stop as he fell towards the ground. He collapsed as the giant came to rest beside him. He was listening to the last sounds he would hear. A giant bellowing in pain and agony as the trapped dragon slayer Qwudd fought to cut his way out of the giant's tunic. Then there was the rhythmic chanting and piston like slice of axes through giant flesh as two axes were doing their task. He could only just barely make out the chanting. "I am Sqalliq Oneleg, bearer of Brud Ridgerunner's axes, slayer of Torin's terrors. My blades hold the promise of your death; my fury is complete. Come to me and receive your doom!" Sqalliq could see Torin slump to the ground. His bones and joints strangely out of place. Sqalliq raced to the giants head and while standing on its back hacked of the right ear and then bit deep into the giant's left neck. It was growing cold and Torin exhaled. He had done his best and fought to his last. Now was time to rest. Qwudd strangely was standing inside the giant's reeking tunic hacking and smashing away with his hammer. He needed air; Qwudd could feel the giant trying to get up. Qwudd was having none of that. His pain felt better while he was swinging away. One of his strikes finally broke the crudely sewn seams of the giant's tunic and Qwudd gulped fresh air. Then he saw Torin. And still the chanting went on. "I am Sqalliq Oneleg, bearer of Brud Ridgerunner's axes, slayer of Torin's terrors. My blades hold the promise of your death; my fury is complete. Come to me and receive your doom!" Brutal hatred filled his every thought as he saw Qwudd emerge from the giant's now shredded left shoulder seam under the giant's arm. He swung away at the back of the skull and felt the skull shatter as he was doused with hot blood and grey fatty like bits of brain intermixed with loused chunks of hair. Hatred. Dark. Cold. Relief. "I am Sqalliq Oneleg, bearer of Brud Ridgerunner's axes, slayer of Torin's terrors. My blades hold the promise of your death; my fury is complete. Come to me and receive your doom!" There was peace. Qwudd fought to free his leg from the entangling giant's clothes and felt to the ground. He lashed out with his hammer's point and buried it in the ground. He pulled himself like a cripple towards his sorely wounded friend of so many tears. "Torin. Lad hang on," whispered the scarred slayer. "I am Sqalliq Oneleg, bearer of Brud Ridgerunner's axes, slayer of Torin's terrors. My blades hold the promise of your death; my fury is complete. Come to me and receive your doom!" Sqalliq was coated with gore. The remnants of the giant's head was barely recognizable but there was still hate. Still the burning agony that needed to be seared out of his brain. Qwudd at last reached the body of his friend and rolled him into his arm. His friend was fading as he looked deep into the hemorrhaged eyes of his friend. He could feel his body grow still. Then there was nothing. Torin was no more. Qwudd felt the end and knew his friend was gone. Another of his own hand picked lads had passed and still he was cursed with his own failings, his own dishonor. Some blood fell on him. Qwudd looked up and felt fear. He hadn't felt fear in decades. Sqalliq was there holding his blood red axes. He looked like a follower of Khorne. His hair and beard looked like blood tentacles of a chaos champion. His eyes burned with hatred and as he exhaled in the warm sun his body heaved like the bellows of a black smith through gritted white teeth. "Sqalliq One Leg, Giant Slayer of Icefang Camp your mentor Giant Slayer Torin, my friend for many years, is no more. His burden has been lifted. His death was glorious. His last thought and action was to bring ruin onto the foes of his people. On this day Karak Kadrin has lost a most valuable asset. On this day, in this place Torin earned his most glorious death. I will never let his sacrifice be forgotten," said Qwudd as tears fell down his scarred face and onto his friends. Where the tears hit the blood and grime were washed away. Qwudd's chest heaved in racking sobs as waves of grief and sadness swept over him. He was strong but his last friend was gone. Else where the battle swirled goblins died by the uncountable scores and individual dwarves fell like heroes often time alone with a tide of green skins dragging them under. But the tide had turned. With the arrival of those crucial few brave slayers to the contested courtyard the heart of

the green skin foe was broken. The wolf riders sensing that they had been betrayed sounded their horns and then retreated from battle in good order. The night goblins did the same. Their power was broken when their squigs and fanatics were exhausted. One of them watched the fleeing wolf riders and knew that his plans had been foiled this time. He would have to work through another night goblin warboss but the great shaman was patient. He had put this entire fiasco into effect with a few whispered words here and there. He had his network of shamans and they would come together again. But first they needed some more giants, trolls, and a host of the fearless snotlings before he would try again. Too many of his giants and fellow shaman had fallen in this battle. The Ogres sensing that the money wasn't here for the risk fell back under the covering fire of their lead belchers. The thunderers of Karak Kadrin finally fell back out of range and started sniping at lone goblins while the warriors and slayers cleared and then burned the eight goblin camps. Inside the wall of Gnashrak's Doom Hold slayer were cleaning up the routed wolves and stragglers of the goblin host. A few trolls were there as well and they took a heavy toll on the forces of Karak Kadrin but at long last not a green skin was left alive in Snulli's hold. Torin returned at the spot of Torin's demise and found Qwudd still there holding his friend. He was being tended to by some of Karak Kadrin's battle field medics. Kaaz Zruum was there was well working his medicinal runes upon the severely wounded Dragon Slayer and commander of the forces of Ice Fang Camp. "Sqalliq," said Qwudd. "Have we a tally on the survivors from out camp?" Sqalliq looked around the desolate hold as the flies circled the bodies of the fallen dwarves and green skins. The scavengers would have their feast tonight. "Aye, of the five giant slayers only Berriq survived the battle. I am the last of Torin's Terrors. Beyond that there are twelve other survivors of the four squads that were quartered at Icefang Camp," said Sqalliq with no expression in his tired exhausted voice. He noticed that the old slayer seemed to sink even further into himself. His last friend gone, him wounded, and his brave slayers dead on the battlefield. Qwudd was quiet for several moments and then his spirit rebounded as he looked behind Sqalliq has his other eleven survivors. He gently set Torin's crushed body aside and rose to his feet with out the aid of the medics or Kaaz. He graciously accepted a troll club as a crutch and walked over to his lads. Sqalliq fell in beside him. "Slayers of Icefang Camp today you all showed your merit. Now I would ask you to scour the battlefield for your companion's bodies so we may deny these vermin the glory on feasting on the bodies of heroes." He paused. "Giant Slayer Berriq see to the recording of the departed's final glories. Giant Slayer Sqalliq I'll need you with me as my aide here with Snulli Grotblight and the rest of the Thanes, Lords, and Kaaz Zruum." They departed to the council of lords that was held in Gnashrak's Doom Hold Slayer Hall. Snulli was there with his last two doomseekers of which one was Fyrmaul. His force slayers had been reduced to just four dwarves, including his doomseekers. The council of lords recounted the battle for the scribes of Karak Kadrin. The three holds involved recorded new grudges and erased grudges as the tale of the battle was recounted. The dead were listed and the heroes recorded. Near midnight the council broke and the slayers found their way to their sleeping quarters. For Qwudd and Sqalliq it was a small grouping of tents in the court yard. As they walked to them Berriq was posting the banner of Icefang Camp near Qwudd's tent. In the back ground through the destroyed gate Sqalliq could see the large mounds of goblin bodies burning on the gathered wreckage of the eight goblin's camps. The thick black oily clouds poured high into the midnight sky and the stench of burning death was over powering, but at least it smelled better than the goblin camp. "Berriq, tonight we draw guard for the gate. We few have been directed to leave for our garrison in the morning. The forces of Karak Kadrin will hold this site until more slayers can be stationed here. The goblin foe struck us hard here. For months there will be a shortage of doomseekers due to all of the trainees and doomseekers here being eliminated," said Qwudd. "Aye," said Berriq. "I'll see to the guard posting tonight. Why don't you two rest? Your day was

more hectic than mine it seems," said the scholarly slayer with a weary smile. Sqalliq and Qwudd took the Giant Slayer up on his offer. Qwudd retired to his tent and drank some of his and Torin's favorite beverage, Slayer Stout. It's recipe was jealously guarded but the green beer was rumored to contain troll's blood as one of its ingredients. Sqalliq retired to the tent with the Terror's standard and horn in front of it. It felt strange to be the last of his squad. But it felt right that he should travel back to Icefang Camp alone. He was sitting on the camp cot thinking of Torin Kegsmasher, Jokkon, Chukku, Lorruuq and the big Tur when sleep finally overcame him. He was awakened an hour later by a knock on the tent post. "Yes," he said with a sleep filled voice thinking it was probably his turn for guard duty. The tent flap opened and he smelled her before he saw or heard her. Fyrmaul had found him. "Sqalliq I wanted to express my joy and sympathy to you for Torin's passing. He was a honorable warrior and had become a great friend over the last several weeks." She stepped closer and he could see that she had several bandages on her wounds to include he crushed chest being wrapped. "My father has commanded that I stay here to start training the next slayers that would choose to walk the path of the doomseeker. I will need time to heal but in a month or two I will come visit you and Qwudd at Icefang Camp. There I will pay my respects to all of your brave comrades that died to that my father and this camp could be free of the blight of the green skins. While this fortress still stands Icefang Camp and Karak Kadrin are safe." She paused. "I couldn't ask for a better friend than you right now. I have lost much and will need time for my heart to heal before I visit you." With that she opened the flap and left the tent with out hesitation or a back wards glance. Sqalliq felt the void she had left and for the rest of the night he slept uneasily. The next morning the forces of Icefang camp set out. The twelve wounded slayers bore four litters, one for each of the fallen giant slayers and their weapons. Torin, Burrin, Malfyq and Gordooq were going to be missed at Icefang Camp. Death of Oathbreaker: By: Grimgar Thunderhammer Kergar Thunderhammer stood resolute atop the walls of the Citadel of Vaul, clutching his hammer. Even after close to half a year since the Elven treachery, his fury still burned strong. The Elgi had insulted the entire Dwarfen race, and would pay with the deaths of every last one of their treacherous kind. He stared unmoving, jaw clenched out into the bleak vista that dominated the landscape. He could not see the World s Edge Mountains, but he imagined he could. He missed the clean, crisp mountain air, and the comfort of life below the stone. As night began to creep along the ground and the walls were shrouded in darkness, his thoughts began to wander, and he remembered back to the events that led to him to be where he was now, and the terrible things he had witnessed *Five months earlier* Stories and rumors had been trickling from Elven isle of Ulthuan for some time. Rumours of mighty battles, of magic tearing the land apart and flights of Dragons fighting over the land and oceans. Of thousands of Elves marching to war against their own kin. Of great feats of bravery and bloodletting, of war. The stories were not believed at first. How could anyone be sure what was happening so far away? As more respected and venerable Dwarfs began telling their own tales of what they had seen and heard from outside the Old World, a terrible truth came to be realised. The Elves were in the grip of a violent civil war. Unbeknownst to King Gotrek, the war ended and the Elves under Caledor sailed to the Old World and settled near the magical forests of Athel Loren, in an attempt to escape the predations of their evil cousins. The court of High King Gotrek received messengers asking for the aid of the Dwarfen armies, but the Dwarfs had no reason to grant such a request, though Gotrek did grant

permission to dwell in the Dwarfen lands. Soon after, another Elf was accepted into the courts of King Gotrek. This Elf claimed to be the King of Ulthuan, and was hunting down traitors to his throne. Longbeard Felgar, advisor to Gotrek Starbreaker, informed the Elf as to the location of his traitors. The Elven King left shortly after being given the information. However, King Gotrek was suspicious as to who exactly were the traitors. He had sent his son to warn the Elves under Caledor of the approaching army. Prince Snorri was by all accounts successful in his mission, and was supposedly travelling back to Karak-a-Karak. The King sent out a call to all of the great Dwarfholds to send a representative to discuss the Elves. That was how Kergar found himself waiting outside the chambers of the High King, along with many other representatives of their respective holds. When it was made known that the King desired to meet with a representative from each hold, King Brogar Rockarm of Karak Vlag chose the Thunderhammer clan, a clan closely related to his own, to represent his hold. Kergar was seen as a capable Dwarf and was a member of the Karak Vlag Council of Thanes, and so was deemed worthy to represent Karak Vlag and meet the High King himself. The honour placed on him was incredible, and Kergar swore he would uphold it or die doing so. The King was still having a meeting with the King of Ulthuan, or whoever he claimed to be. Kergar had seen him only briefly, and despite his lighthearted dress and glowing visage, he seemed intensely untrustworthy, and Kergar did not like him in the slightest. However, it was not his business to question who the High King met with. The meeting did not go for as long as expected, and Kergar was surprised to see the Elf emerge after only ten minutes with the King. As the Elven King left, he spoke: The King wishes to think, and does not want anybody to disturb him . The Elf left, striding rather quickly down the halls until he disappeared into the darkness. One of the Hammerers guarding the door grumbled. There s something wrong here lads, mark my words. It was bizarre enough that the King dismissed his loyal guards for this meeting, and now he doesn t want us with him after the meeting is over? There s something wrong here, mark my words. Another Hammerer spoke up: And I ve never known the King to think alone about anything. He always wants his advisors around to discuss options and opinions; it s always been the Dwarfen way, and his way. Kergar listened intently, as did the other representatives. A wizened old Runelord who Kergar had heard referred to as Dumac Thunderbrow sat quietly nearby, a look of intense concentration wrinkling his old brow. Kergar shuffled his feet. There was a feeling in the air, a feeling that something was very wrong. Over an hour later, one of the Hammerers decided it was time to check on the King: He could have fallen asleep, he could still be thinking, or he might need our help. I say we open this door. The other Hammerers agreed, and eight of them began the process of opening the door to the King s chambers. The door opened, and an unpleasant stench wafted out. Nobody could see past the broad shoulders and tall heads of the Hammerers, but it was obvious there was something wrong. One Hammerer dropped his weapon. A Hammerer is supposed to keep his weapon on his person at all times. Another fell to his knees. Two staggered backwards and fell over. Kergar and numerous other Dwarfs looked over the fallen Hammerers. Kergar gasped, and his eyes filled with tears. The Hammerers who were not disabled by shock and grief lurched and charged into the room to kneel crying at the body of their King. Runelord Dumac and a few other high ranking Dwarfs walked into the throne chamber, confusion evident in their steps. Kergar could not bring himself to move, and all around him Dwarfs fell to the ground and onto the walls, sobbing and yelling their pain into the uncaring stone, filling the King s halls with wails of anguish and failure. All Kergar could do was fall to his knees and look at the ground. The Hammerers shed tears onto the dessicated corpse of their master and the severed head of his son. Some began tearing the hairs from their beards with their hands. One expressed his feeling of failure between choked sobs: We swore an oath, and oath never to let this happen! We swore an oath! And on our watch, we let the King lay dying, and we did nothing we broke the oath, and failed our King!

The sight of such strong Dwarfs, who had remained stoic as they saw friends torn asunder and brethren trampled under the feet of monsters, breaking into tears and losing all self-control, added to the pain that every present Dwarf felt. Kergar climbed to his feet, and with a roar, swung his axe into the wall next to him. Other Dwarfs began grumbling and growling in a furious fashion. For some the sadness began to wear away, and was replaced by rage. Vengeance would be had. The Elves would pay with every last drop of blood from their entire race. Their women and children would suffer. The Dwarfs would take their vengeance in the blood of those who killed their King, and nothing would stop them. *Four and a half months later* Kergar s first image of Barak Varr was not one he would soon forget. He was expecting it to be bizarre, not being a proper Dwarfen mountain-fortress. He was expecting its denizens to be bizarre, considering the type of Dwarf it would take to go out onto a ship and sail the oceans. Sailing was an Elven occupation and not something that any self-respecting Dwarf would indulge in. Yet all his expectations did not prepare him for what he saw when he arrived there. Kergar did not find Barak Varr particularly interesting once he got past the huge stone walls that surrounded the port fortress, and even those were nothing Karak Vlag didn t have. Even the bizarrely dressed merchants and sailors did not surprise the gruff Thane, though some of his warriors stared interestedly and the Longbeards growled in contempt. It was the sight of the true Barak Varr- the part one will only see when you venture to the sea side of the fortress- that was such a memorable sight. Hundreds of Dwarfen pirates, with their peg legs and eye patches, limped and stalked on and off ships and around the port. The occasional Elf could be seen, but they were eyed scornfully by each and every Dwarf that passed, and were obviously feeling very uncomfortable. Huge seaside Bolt Throwers protruded from the rock, and many more lined the rim of the defensive sea wall. Dozens of Dwarfen ships were patrolling the waters or lying at anchor while their crew went about their business. Kergar turned his back to the sea and spoke to the head of his Longbeards, Skalf Degrinsson: Let s go find Dumac. All this fresh air is making me sick Skalf nodded in agreement, eyeing the Dwarfen pirates imperiously as they went about their business. Indeed my Lord, the sooner we are done here the better. This is no place for a Dwarf. *Four hours later* Kergar stepped into the Troll s Skull tavern, his beard messy and unkempt from wandering around in the heat of the streets for four hours. He had been forced to find a barracks for his warriors to wait and was accompanied only by Skalf and three of his most venerable Longbeards. The streets were overcrowded, and it was nigh on impossible to move a fully armed Dwarfen force through them. Frustratingly enough, a few of the Dwarfs had even been pick-pocketed by the thieves that frequented the streets, and one had been harassed to the point of violence by a wazzok trying to sell him a trinket at an exorbient fee. Most of the Dwarfs were happy to be left out of Kergar s search, and Kergar was happy not to have to worry about them while he wandered the strange town. He stroked his beard as he wandered the tavern, his other mailed hand straight at his side. The tavern was hot and crowded, Dwarfs clad in some truly bizarre attire wandering around laughing, drinking, and swapping tales. Skalf and his Longbeards marched behind him, doing their utmost to disguise their desire for a drink. Kergar was not lost on this, and allowed them to get themselves a beer or three while he searched for Dumac. As he made his way through the throng of bizarrely dressed Dwarfs, an armoured fist rapped on the back of his helmet. Kergar turned and before he could protest, a Dwarf clad in leather armour and chainmail, with a crossbow strapped to his back, grinned and spoke: Greetin s milord Kergar, Dumac s been waitin for ye. Me name be Thordred. Thordred Greenbeard they call me! I ve come from Karaz-a-Karak to fight for Runelord Thunderbrow. Kergar frowned at the Dwarf s attire and manner before replying:

Very well. Take me to Lord Dumac Kergar followed the Dwarf as he wove his way through the crowd. The Dwarf was obviously of a rank similar to Thane if not as much, but his manner suggested something entirely different. He definitely did not act like a Dwarf of noble birth. In fact, he was likely a Ranger. They tended to speak improperly and act like they d been hit on the head. Kergar stared at his crossbow and decided he must be some sort of Ranger leader. He stored that nugget of information for later. Thordred led him to a table, where a gruff-looking Dwarf that could be none other than Dumac Thunderbrow sat, his runestaff leaning on his lap. On his left sat another Dwarf in full battle armour, who stood and saluted to Kergar. Greetings Kergar Thunderhammer, I ve been looking forward to meeting you. I am Balin, noble of Karak Eight Peaks, here to serve under our Lord Thunderbrow. Kergar nodded back. He already liked Balin a good deal more than he liked Thordred. Dumac looked up at Kergar with wizened eyes, a twinkle of youth sparkling there despite his age, and smiled briefly at the mention of his name. He grasped his staff with both hands and used it to help him stand. Then it was Kergar s turn to smile. From what he had heard, Dumac has no trouble fighting with the vigour of a much younger Dwarf, and certainly didn t need the staff to stand. Dumac continued to stare at Kergar, as if judging his worth by looking him in the eye. He began to feel acutely uncomfortable. Finally, Dumac spoke: Kergar Thunderhammer, I have been expecting you for a while. It is good to finally meet you. Kergar bowed briefly. The same to you Lord Dumac. I have been looking forward to fighting under your command. What are your orders? A twinkle of amusement flashed in Dumac s eyes. Quick to get into business are we? Indeed, Balin seems to be the same- Balin gave a small frown, -but I think I have stayed here long enough myself. Balin. Kergar, Thordred, gather your troops and meet me outside the gates. I have other Dwarfs for you to meet before we get moving. With that, Dumac sat and began reading a small book produced from a pouch on his waist. Obviously that was the signal to get moving. Balin marched from the bar, Kergar quickly went to retrieve Skalf, and Thordred began conversing with a crossbow armed pirate. *Two weeks later* Kergar shook his head to clear his helmet of the dust that descended on him. The body of a Dwarfen warrior had fallen and just missed him, kicking up a cloud of choking dust while wicked crossbow bolts continued to rain down upon them. Skalf yelled oaths at the Dwarfs climbing the siege towers, willing them to move faster and fight harder. Kergar looked up, seeing the Dwarfs and evil Elves fighting ferociously in pools of blood for the walls. The Dwarfs had the advantage of numbers, but the Citadel of Vaul was not going to be captured without a fight. Thordred was commanding the Quarrelers, directing deadly accurate volleys that scoured the walls of Elves before more stepped up to replace the dead. His fire support was crucial for the Dwarfs waiting to climb the walls and those attempting to crash the gate. Clouds of dust thrown up by booted feet, falling bodies and bolts that missed their target made the battle seem all the more hellish. Many a Dwarf received a bolt through the head without even knowing he was being shot at, and even their finely crafted helms were not perfect protection. Balin and his warriors were manning one of the siege towers, and were making excellent headway onto the walls, advancing through blood and screams to take more and more ground on the walls. Druchii mages attempted to stem the flow of Dwarfen warriors, but most of their spells were dispelled by Dumac and the less senior Runesmiths. The spells that got through did too little damage to turn the tide, and the Dwarfs pushed resolutely through the storm of magic and bolts to strain the Elves all the harder. Batteries of Grudge Throwers poured rocks over the walls, crushing Elves, destroying buildings, collapsing walls and throwing up more dust. Kergar looked around him and decided it was time to join the assault on the walls. He grabbed Skalf and pulled him into the protection of the closest wooden construct. It irked any Dwarf to build something out of wood and not stone, but there was simply not enough time to craft stone siege towers. Even if it would ve been useful, thought Kergar, as he looked at the siege towers that had collapsed and crushed the Dwarfs inside them. Fury filled him at the thought of more of his brethren dying every second they waited. He and

Skalf climbed the floors inside the tower, pushing past the less eager Dwarfs, and shortly after emerged on the walls. Dark Elves screamed chaotic battlecries and spat furiously at the Dwarfs they fought, their faces burning with insane hate. Yet insane hate was not enough to stay the vengeance of the Dwarfs, and slowly the Druchii were being forced to abandon the walls, one way or another. Once the walls belonged to the Dawi their superior numbers would do the rest. Kergar shook his head. That was the thinking that would lose a battle. He hefted his hammer and lunged into the press, crushing shoddily made chainmail and pulverisng frail Elven bones with every swing. Skalf and his Longbeards fought like the professionals they were, cleaving their way through the Elves with vengeance in their hearts and fury on their faces. Under assault from such stubborn enemies, and so many, the Druchii began to much more actively abandon the walls. They swarmed down ladders and steps to reach the ground, and as they retreated back to their next line of defence the few Quarrellers on the walls followed them with accurate volleys of bolts. The Dwarfs charged furiously, trying their hardest to catch the fleet footed Elves. The last organised Druchii turned and hastily made a spear wall, but the Dwarfs were not to be denied their vengeance and the Elves were quickly overrun. *Three hours later* The Dwarfs celebrated throughout the night, raucous shouts and inebriated yelling filling the night sky. Kergar drank until he was content, but no much that he couldn t think straight, and discussed the battle and the war s future with Balin, Thordred, Dumac and the other Thanes. Dumac was speaking: It was a great victory today here lads, but there will be a lot more to come. The Elves are a powerful foe, not easily routed. From here we move onto Ekrund, and if everything goes to plan we should be moving to retake Mount Silverspear within the month. High King Durgan will personally assist us. The Dwarfs nodded. Kergar spoke next, raising his mug in a tribute: To our victory today, and to the glory of the Everlasting Realm! The power of the Dwarfs shall win this war, and shall never fade! The Dwarfs cheered and raised their own mugs. Dumac smiled once again and stood, leaning on his staff as he did so. For Griminir! Every Dwarf in the bar cheered. For Valaya! The Dwarfs cheered once more. For Grungni! The cheering reached such a crescendo that the roof started to shake. For the Everlasting Realm and the mighty Dwarfen Empire! Amidst the mad cheering of their fellows, the Thanes stood. As they raised their mugs into the air to complete the toast, images of vengeance and victory filled all of their heads. The war would continue strong and fierce, and they who betrayed the Dawi would die a traitor s death. Cheers! From outside the tavern, a solitary Dwarf dressed in simple clothing watched the celebrations. The handle of an axe protruded from his cloak, and a brilliant white beard that trailed to his feet made gave him an appearance of grandeur, despite his humble attire. He smiled. The Fall of Karak Vlag By: Grimgar Thunderhammer Kergar Thunderhammer was named after one of his distant ancestors from nearly 4000 years ago, who was a great warrior of his clan during the War of Vengeance. His family name was Kergar Kendriksson, after his father Kendrik Thunderhammer. Kendrik had another son, Morgrim, who was his heir. Kendrik was the general of the Thunderhammer clan and son of Ferghar Thunderhammer. Ferghar was the head of the Karak Vlag Council of Thanes and the Thunderhammer clan, and answered directly to King Thurgrim Rockarm, the High King of Karak Vlag. He was the son of Thelgus Thunderhammer, who was the Runemaster of Karak Vlag before he was slain in battle against the hordes of Chaos. Thelgus was the son of Helgrun

Thunderhammer, who was the son of Morgrim Thunderhammer, and so on for around thirty generations. The ancient Kergar died in his bed, a wizened and respected Dwarf who had defended his hold as long as he lived. The current Kergar was aware of the great ancestry that his name held, and he knew the honour contained in the name given to him by his father, Kendrik. Kendrik was a fierce warrior with a fiery orange beard any Dwarf would be proud of. He was a giant, nearing five and a half feet high with the shoulders of an Ogre. His entire life had been dedicated to becoming the pinnacle of the Dwarfen warrior, and he was physically ideal for it. Kendrik was beyond a doubt one of the best warriors in the hold, a fighter to rival King Thurgrim himself. He had earned his position as the general and champion of the Thunderhammer clan. He wore golden armour, which was a wonder to behold, covered in dull runes that glowed bright silver during battle, and his helmet covered his thick orange hair. The helmet was also a runic wonder, with horns fully two feet protruding from the sides, adding to Kendrik s fearsome appearance. Fully armoured at all times and always wearing a huge fur cloak, he had a fearsome and intimidating appearance He was a senior Dwarf of the Karak Vlag War Council, and few disputed him on any matter. Kergar s brother Morgrim was following in the footsteps of his father, as a powerful warrior. He had inherited some of his father s powerful build, and was growing what would eventually be a very impressive orange beard. Morgrim s predilection for war sometimes clashed with Kergar, who saw the need for politics in the Dwarfen life. Kergar dabbled in the arts of the warrior like any Dwarf, and Morgrim likewise with the intricacies of royal life, but each stuck for the most part to their own gifts. Morgrim was a warrior like his father Kendrik, and Kergar had inherited his grandfather Ferghar s charisma. Kendrik s father Ferghar was not quite as physically imposing, though he was still tall, around five feet. Ferghar s beard was turning grey, but for the most part was still orange, and his eyes still had the fires of youth. Ferghar was the Dwarf that had taught Kendrik his fearsome fighting skills, and in his old age still retained some of those abilities. Though his son had surpassed him, he was still a warrior that demanded great respect. However, unlike his son, battle was no longer his primary business. As the head of the Thunderhammer clan and the Karak Vlag Council of Thanes, his duty was to advise his King in the never-ending business of defending the hold against the ravenous forces of Chaos. The Council of Thanes was the ruling body of Dwarfs in Karak Vlag, second in power only to King Thurgrim Rockarm himself. The Council of Thanes was in fact made up of more Dwarf Lords than Thanes, owning to the increased status of the heads of larger clans. There were fifty odd clans in Karak Vlag, and each clan leader had one or two advisors on the Council from his own clan, usually blood relatives or more commonly, children. As the head of the Council Ferghar could over-rule any decisions made by the council and had power second only the King Thurgrim. Kergar was his advisor, as opposed to Kendrik who disliked the politics. This was how Kergar found himself accompanying his grandfather into the huge stone hall that contained the Council. Seated around a gargantuan stone table was each member of the Council. Ferghar took his seat at the head of the table with Kergar by his side, and King Thurgrim took his place on his throne overlooking the gathering. As the King was seated, the Dwarfs fell silent and waited for Ferghar to address the council. Kergar looked to his grandfather curiously. Kergar knew nothing of today s subject matter, nor did any other Dwarf but King Thurgrim and Lord Ferghar. Whatever it was, it was serious. Ferghar s gaze caught every Dwarf in the room before beginning. None of ye know why we are meeting here today, I am sure. It has been necessary to keep some of this secret due to the importance of the issue, but rest assured lads, I ll fill ye in completely . He cleared his throat before continuing. No Dwarf moved a muscle. I m sure all of ye are aware of the mining operations underway under our beloved Hold as we speak? There was a murmur of acknowledgement. And I m sure ye are all aware that with the increased advances of Chaos recently, we need any precious metals we can find. King Alrik has assured our King- , he gestured toward King Thurgrim, who remained impassive, -that if we are attacked he ll send help, and as much as I trust the word of the High King, he cannot arrive instantly. As the most northerly of the great holds, it be our duty to hold the line against the forces of Chaos come what may. Is that not our duty? The Dwarfs voiced their agreement vigorously. We have discovered the means by which we could hold against any foe. But it comes with a price

. Ferghar let the sentence hang. Many of the Dwarfs were leaning toward him, physically caught on his words, Kergar among them. A Lord of another clan could not contain himself: What price? What in Grungni s name could possibly stand in the way of doing our honour-bound duty? The assembled Dwarfs voiced their agreement, shouting oaths and banging the table with powerful fists. Kergar kept quiet, and soon Ferghar raised his robed hand. After a moment the room fell silent. I agree, nothing should stand in the way of doing our given duty. But the risks must still be discussed. Our mining crews have discovered a huge cavern filled to the brim with gold, gems, armour, wealth beyond our ken. The eyes of every Dwarf in the room instantly glazed over. We have discovered the lair of a Dragon . The reaction was instant. Many of the Dwarfs started spitting oaths and grudges from ages past. Many leapt to their feet and began yelling furiously: Kill the beast! It must not be allowed to live any longer! We should go down there right now and slay the creature! Why have we not already slain it? By my ancestors By Grungni By my beard The noise was outrageous, and at length the King lost patience and stood. Some Dwarfs nearly choked in their effort to shut their mouth as quickly as possible. The King put his hands behind his back and strode closer to the table, his dark blue cape billowing behind him. Ferghar took his seat in honour of the King, who opened his mouth to speak. Not just a Dragon lads. A Chaos Dragon! A foul spawn of Chaos, and it stands between us and our prize! Thurgrim turned to address Ferghar, and Kergar sat ramrod straight under the King s gaze. What do you believe we should do, Lord Ferghar Thelgusson of the Thunderhammers? The honour of being addressed as such was great, even for one of such rank as Ferghar, and Kergar felt his chest swell with pride at the honour done to his family. Ferghar scratched his beard for a moment, and then answered thoughtfully. Hmm, well milord, I believe we cannot leave this treasure to the beastie. It will be sorely needed in the coming days, and the Dragon itself could awaken at any time. However, if we can avoid the loss of Dwarfen lives, then we should. Place a guard down there and prepare the lower defenses, and alert the senior Dragonslayers of the assembled clans. Ferghar s hand swept over the assembly, many of whom nodded. I believe that should hold the Dragon at bay if it awakes. Meanwhile, we should begin moving the treasure into the hold and preparing for any imminent attacks. The Dwarfs murmured in agreement, and with a wave of King Thurgrim s hand, the assembly was dismissed. As Ferghar strode out of the hall to begin planning the removal of the treasure, Kergar fell into step beside him. Are you sure this is the best way to go about this milord? I mean, a Dragon is a nasty enough bugger as it is, but a Chaos Dragon? None of them have been sighted for hundreds of years! What if the beastie is superior to the normal Dragons in some way? I ve even heard tales of Dragons that could wield magic! If those tales are true, then this Dragon must be one of them! I think we should seal up the chamber and trust inDo you have any idea lad, how much metal we need if them northern b.astards start splashing against our hold? We need new outposts, we need to reinforce the wallsBut this is the most powerful fortress in the Old World, apart from mighty Karaz-a-Karak! Our walls are fifty strides high, and the mountains themselves protect us! Our walls are as thick as they can be, made of reinforced iron, and there are five defensive layers before any foe can reach the central hold, and even then they have to force their way underground! We don t need more metal, we need more Dwarfs! Kergar regained his breath after his outburst, slightly regretting it as Ferghar squinted at him. The decision is not yours to make lad. More material sure as spit won t hurt, and by Grungni s beard I won t have you second-guessing a decision made by the Council! In the future, temper your words with some gnollengrom for a change! Kergar held his simmering temper in check, nodded in respect, and stormed off. Ferghar s eyes followed him for a while, then he turned his attention back to the huge amount of treasure within easy grasp.

Kergar stormed into his father s chambers, knowing that Kendrik would be fine-tuning his martial skills there along with Morgrim, Kergar s brother. He walked into the training room as he saw Morgrim land a solid hit on his father with a golden mace, the head of the finely crafted practise weapon sliding off of Kendrik s magnificent armour. He always insisted on practising with his real armour. If it failed him in the practise room then it would fail him in battle he always said, and he was an advocate of making training as realistic as possible. Of course that didn t extend to using powerful runic weapons, which could cut through even his magnificent gromril plate. Good! Kendrik s voice boomed in response to his son s hit. Land one of those in a real battle, and you ll a broken foe whimpering before ye! Now lad, let s see if you can do against a foe that s actually trying! Kendrik lashed out with a fist just before he finished talking, forcing Morgrim to duck into his boot. He was knocked off his feet by a powerful swing from Kendrik s mace, leaving rocks dancing around his head. Morgrim grinned. Always got to be ready lad, always got to be ready. Morgrim climbed to his feet without assistance, trying to hide his pain. Kendrik smirked, then turned to his other son. What can I do for me blossoming politician today? Kendrik had a tendency to speak rather louder than was necessary. His sons were well accustomed to that, but some could find it rather intimidating. Kergar hid his grin at seeing his brother humbled so, and cleared his throat before responding. Yes, I was wondering if you had heard anything from Ferghar concerning his plans for the newly discovered treasure? Kendrik shook his head, and Kergar went on to explain all that had transpired during the Council of Thanes meeting. Kendrik looked ready to explode by the time he had finished, and began speaking even louder than normal. Which was rather loud. They must be kidding emselves! How dare they not consult with the War Council over something this important! This is a direct threat to the safety of the fortress, INSIDE our defences! Kendrik built up force as he launched into his tirade. How can they be so careless with the lives of the Dwarfs who live here!? It s a Chaos Dragon for Grungni s sakes, doesn t anyone remember the tales? How dare they!? How many Dwarfs are down there in preparation for the Dragon to awake? Kergar thought for a moment, then replied: The lower defences are mobilized, and there is a guard in place in the chamber. Dragonslayers are supposed to be overseeing the operation. Kendrik snorted. There should be an entire battalion of artillery trained on the creature should it stir an eyelid! Kendrik roared. He gestured for Morgrim and Kergar to follow him as he made for the hallway adjacent to his chambers. I ll not have the safety of this fortress gambled upon like this! My father must be reasoned with, but not before I personally oversee the security in and around the cavern! How long do we have? I would assume that with the volume of treasure in the chamber, they would begin retrieval operations immediately. Then we d best get moving, there s no time to waste! Morgrim stated. He could not have been more right. Ferghar watched with a smug expression as untold riches were piled as carefully and as highly as possible on iron carts to be pulled out of the cavern. The treasure retrieval operation was moving smoothly, and Ferghar again marvelled at how quickly he had set it up. Barely an hour ago had he been given the order, and he was already carting the gold and gems away. He shivered involuntarily as the slumbering Dragon took another deep, echoing breath. The entire cavern shook along with the rumble of its stomach, and Ferghar gulped as he eyed the creature. Kergar did have a point; there was great risk operating under the nose of such a powerful creature. He readjusted himself and took heart in the presence of over four score warriors, each one with Quarrels trained on the creature. Five experienced Dragon fighters sat at different positions around the Dragon, fingering their axes menacingly as they watched the beast. But by Valaya, the Dragon was something to behold! It was obviously greatly mutated and extremely old. It had two heads and the entire creature was covered in bony protuberances, misshapen scales, and obvious mutations that did not belong. It was a riot of black and purple with other colours mixed in around the scales on its back. It was gigantic and every part of it was incredible to behold, but it was the heads that were most curious. The heads almost seemed to be from two different Dragons. One was contorted into a permanent snarl, jagged and cruel teeth protruding over it s lips, horns and spikes protruding all over its

head. It looked a right evil b.astard, Ferghar thought. But the other head was different. It looked more peaceful and noble, less mutated than the other head and without the snarl. It was of a lighter colour than the other and was generally less offensive to look at. In fact, it was similar to the White Dragons that the Elves flew in the War of Vengeance thousands of years ago. Ferghar spat. It was still a Dragon head, and was impressive and fearsome nonetheless. The Dwarfs filling their carts to the brim grinned constantly, and even the guards kept looking back to the gold and treasure. Some went into trances for minutes at a time, forgetting the Dragon completely. One such entranced worker reached up as far as he could to retrieve a large winged helmet, likely Elvish. He grasped it with his right hand, his feet planted firmly into a pile of gold pieces and diamonds. One of the diamonds rolled under his booted foot, and he fell forwards into the gold. He lost his grip on the helmet, which went clattering down over his back and along the rocky floor. A treasure chest was dislodged and fell from higher up in the pile, spilling precious gold and rocks all over the ground. Compared to the silence of working Dwarfs a moment before, the noise was horrendous. The embarrassed Dwarf retrieved the helmet and placed it in his cart, and went back to work. Only one of the Dragonslayers noticed the Dragon s left eye twitch, and he simply squinted suspiciously at the creature and continued tapping the haft of his axe. A Dwarf as experienced with these dirty beasts was not easily intimidated by them. Kergar, Morgrim and Kendrik marched briskly through the great stone halls of Karak Vlag. They didn t stop to admire the fine Dwarfen craftsmanship everywhere they could ve looked; the statues of Dwarfen heroes carved into the walls, the gilding on the mighty pillars, or runes crafted intricately into the walls, many of which had some magical properties. They were headed for the defence perimeter around the cavern in the bottom level. Kendrik was "I swear too much"-bent on making sure there was no way the Dragon could cause any damage if it awoke. Kergar worried for the safety of his grandfather, who was as much his mentor as his own father. Morgrim also worried, but less so. Ferghar was watching the Dragon curiously now. It seemed to have stirred a couple of times now, moving its head ever so slightly. These movements were not lost on the Dragonslayers, and they were prepared to hack into its weak points as soon as it opened it s eyes. Every Quarreler in the room was aiming at the Dragon s head. This was not lost on the Dragonslayer standing vigil at the head, who shuffled further down the body to a safer spot, much to the relief of a few twitchy Dwarfs. The Dragon growled; a sound it had not made while it was sleeping. The Dwarfs piling the carts stopped working, and watched the Dragon nervously. Some of them began taking halfempty carts out of the cavern. Kendrik arrived at the outer perimeter of the cavern guard. The guard captain, an average sized Dwarf with huge forearms and black hair under a bronze helmet, saluted as he saw the Dwarf Lord approach. He shifted his chainmail and stroked his plaited beard thoughtfully. What brings ye here milord Thunderhammer? Kendrik scowled in reply. The Dragon bloody well brings me here! I demand in Valaya s name to know the full extent of your preparations here! The captain scowled back, but answered with more respect than he showed. We be prepared sir, there are almost five score armed Dawi in that there cavern, ready to tear the thing to shreds should it move. Kendrik s face began to go red, but he kept his voice level, appreciating that the captain was not responsible for this disaster-waiting-to-happen. That s not nearly good enough lad! I m sure I don t need to explain to ye the ramifications of a Dragon stomping down the hallways of Karak Vlag! If that Dragon gets through your preparations here, it ll have free reign of the entire lower fortress! Our defences are not designed for such a situation, and at the very least there will be a lot of dead Dawi! Let alone the fact that this Dragon is no normal Dragon, by Grungni s beard Kendrik bit his tongue and stomped past the chastised guard captain. He approached the entrance to the cavern, and Ferghar turned to meet him. Kergar and Morgrim stayed at the entrance as their moody father approached his own. Ferghar and Kendrik grasped each other s forearms, but before either of them could say a word, a cry of alarm rung out as the Dragon opened its eyes. Before anyone in the room could react, one of the Dragonslayers was bodily crushed by a colossal spiked tail. Panic enveloped the workers as they scrambled for the entrance. They left their carts where they were, or in some cases lay, knocked over in the mad rush to vacate the room. A flurry of crossbow bolts filled the air and impacted on the Dragon. The unholy resilience of the creature

protected it from most of the bolts, but enough penetrated to make its head look somewhat like a pincushion. None went into its eyes, the bolts bouncing off the large, dark orbs. Galrauch opened his maw and loosed an earth-shattering roar of incensed fury, successfully intimidating most of the Dwarfs in the room. As another volley was loosed from all sides toward the Dragon s head, a cloud of orange and yellow flames enveloped the creature and stopped almost every last bolt in its tracks. Several more embedded themselves in the Dragon s face, but these were mere annoyances. The Dragonslayers stationed around the Dragon found it near-impossible to penetrate the magical barrier with their runic weapons. One of them was able to force his axe through the barrier and cut into the Dragon s hindquarters, which were less protected than most of its body. The weapon bit deep, drawing black ichor from the wound and drawing another loud screech from the creature. With another sweep of its tail, the Dwarf was thrown bodily through the air to land on a pile of treasure, his life s blood spoiling the rich gold. The Chaos Dragon growled as he staggered to his feet, nearly slipping off of the mountain of gold he was sleeping on. The gall! There sheer audacity! How DARE these mortals disturb his rest, and steal his treasure! Never had Galrauch felt such rage. Well, he had felt such rage numerous times, but it never lessened. Mortals never ceased to amaze him in their stupidity. Because they were ignorant, he would only slay those in the room, and would spare the rest. Surely that would teach them to never again disturb his rest. Yes, there was no need for mindless slaughter, only a simple lesson. Galrauch was merciful. The hundred or so Dwarfs in the room would serve as ampleGalrauch shuddered unnaturally, his entire body coursing with evil energies. The flames around him doubled in intensity, and his eyes began to glow a baleful red. The spines and horns and mutations covering his body lengthened, and his tail whipped frenziedly. Memories came flooding through him as his second head, the evil one, began to roar. This noise was not simply powerful like Galrauch s, but it had unnatural, mind-altering power and echoed in the deepest recesses of the minds of everyone present, none more so than Galrauch Elves gritted their teeth as they pushed forward with all their might against the daemonic horde, but to no avail. The front line of Elven spearmen was pierced, battered, torn and blasted apart, and another rank stepped forward. Spears and shields glittered along with brilliant mail coats, light in the all-consuming darkness that covered Ulthuan. An Elf pushed his spear as hard as he could through the flesh of a Tzeentchian daemon, splashing daemonic blood all over his silver chain before it turned to mist, a mist that filled the air and mingled with the blood of the firstborn. The daemon s form burst apart as one of its brothers, a completely different form, leapt forward onto the Elf and immolated him with a blast of energy from its distended jaws. The daemon was swatted off of the corpse by a sword-wielding warrior, who was himself torn bloodily apart by a crazed Horror. These scenes were commonplace in the incredible carnage taking place on a massive scale. Hundreds of thousands of Elves bravely held back the tide against a never-ending horde of daemons, millions and millions of which stretched back across the plains of Ulthuan. From Galrauch s point of view, the battle was both beautiful and horrifying. From so high up no individual detail could be picked out, even by the keen eyesight of the Dragon or its noble, goldbedecked rider. What could be seen was a sea of silver and blue, the hordes of the Elves. The front of that sea glittered from the thrusts of spears and swords, and clouds of white fletched arrows flew over the heads of the desperate warriors. The last of the Elven resistance was gathered here, and it was dwarfed by the size of the horde assailing, an offensive riot of purple, yellow, blue, mists and magical flames, flailing tentacles, and flying creatures. Magical blasts flew from the Tzeentchian horde, and it pained Galrauch and his rider to know that each one of those blasts claimed the life of yet another noble Elf. On top of a cliff overhanging the battle could be seen Aenarion s desperate battle against the Khornate horde, the frenzied blood-skinned daemons tearing bloodily into the impressive but battered ranks of Aenarion s soldiers. Galrauch knew that similar battles raged where he could not see, against the followers of Nurgle and Slaanesh. The hope of the Elves lay with Aenarion and his magnificent steed, but every Elf had to do their duty if victory was to be achieved, as impossible as it seemed. Galrauch growled as he saw the form of a mighty daemon, the Lord of Change, not much more than a pinprick from their height, causing bloody carnage in the ranks of the beleaguered Elves who were powerless to fight back against such a creature. At the command of his master, Galrauch flew down to meet it.

The terrified Elves cheered heartily as their fearless leader landed astride the mighty Galrauch, second only in power and majesty to Aenarion s legendary Dragon. The Lord of Change pointed its huge staff at the Dragon and loosed a bolt of coruscating red energy, bouncing harmlessly from Galrauch s mighty hide. The Dragon roared in defiance as its rider nocked an arrow on his magical bow and loosed it at the Daemon. The arrow glowed blue as it penetrated the magical defences of the Lord of Change and wounded the creature such as no mortal weapon could do. The Elves cheered once more as they fought with renewed vigour, and the daemonic horde lost some of its impetus as Horrors and Flamers began dissipating, their hold on the mortal world slipping. Galrauch s maw opened to launch a burst of flame at the Greater Daemon, who held out his staff and deflected the blast of flame into the battle below, immolating numerous daemons and soldiers. The Daemon renewed its attacks, pushing Galrauch back with sweeps of claws and arcane blasts as it magically assaulted the Elf with the magical bow. The Lord of Change faltered along with his army as another arrow struck him. The birdlike form of the Daemon flickered in and out of existence for a moment. The Dragon renewed its attacks, tearing great gouges in the form of his foe. The Greater Daemon screeched with unholy rage, unleashing the full chaotic power granted to it by Tzeentch on the Dragon and its master. His master gritted his teeth as unnatural flames enveloped him, and screamed as his form was obliterated. His bow fell from his hands to be lost in the battle below. Galrauch bellowed in rage and despair, and a collective moan rose up from the Elves. The daemons began making headway through the wall of spears, swords and shields, and the Lord of Change cackled evilly. With a glow of insane fury in his eyes, Galrauch closed his jaws around the head of the Lord of Change, tearing it apart and letting the body fall, its form unravelling as it fell. The head burst into a multicoloured mist and enveloped Galrauch, twisting his mind, body and soul. The Elves cheered heartily. The Dragon thrashed his wings powerlessly as his form mutated, his once noble form sprouting ferocious spikes and mutations. His jaws were open but no sound came out. An incredible pain wracked him as his body began changing shape, and to his horror, among the mutations he sprouted another head. With an evil glow in its eyes, this evil head took control of every part of Galrauch but the deepest recesses of his mind. He whimpered inwardly as he turned his new, mutating breath weapon on the confused and terrified Elves, slaying hundreds of them. Galrauch could see the despairing, unbelieving faces of his friends looking up at him as he killed them, but was powerless to stop himself. After the battle, Galrauch flew away to avoid being slain by his brothers. He managed to temporarily gain some measure of control, and spent many nights ferociously battling with himself, biting at the other evil head. He could not win, but the pain he inflicted upon himself dulled the pain inside. Galrauch s thrashing began to abate as his Chaos possessed self continued to take control, leaving him to watch helplessly. The Quarrelers kept firing to little effect, and the surviving Dragonslayers were now attempting to direct fire to the vulnerable sections of the Dragon. Ferghar and Kendrik began ordering the Dwarfs to fall back as the guard captain sent for reinforcements. Kendrik turned to Kergar and Morgrim. Alert the King! We have to be prepared, there s no way we can stop the Dragon here! Morgrim opened his mouth to protest, but his father interjected. There s no time for objections lad, ye have to go now! By Grungni, I say NOW! With that, Morgrim and Kergar left the brave warriors to stall the Dragon for as long as possible. The Dragon still appeared to be struggling with itself, though less violently. The main head was biting half-heartedly at the more chaotic one, but it looked as if whatever battle the Dragon was fighting, it was losing. Kendrik and Ferghar continued organising the retreat of the Dwarfs in the brief respite they had. As brave as they were, both of them wanted to leave as soon as possible, and as the last of the Dwarfs were leaving the room, Kendrik and Ferghar followed. As they made for the exit the Dragon came to its senses, or lost them completely. Ferghar turned to the Dragon, to his son, and with a sad, knowing nod from Kendrik, Ferghar drew his runic weapon and charged at the Dragon. Kendrik withdrew from the room, leaving his father to die bravely under the watchful gaze of the ancestors.

Morgrim ran ahead of Kergar as they made for King Thurgrim Rockarm s throneroom. They passed countless Dwarfs, some of which gave curious looks, some of which payed no attention, but none who knew the danger they were immediately in. The carnage in the lowest level of the Karak had not yet carried to the upper levels, but that would soon change. Guard captains and the few Thanes who knew of the danger were working as fast as possible to organise the Dwarfen defences, including the war machines. As they reached the throneroom, the Hammerers guarding the door halted them. Halt Dawi, what is your business here? inquired a burly Dwarf clad in magnificent gromril and holding a huge hammer effortlessly in one hand. Kergar answered between great sucking gasps of breath. Dragon lowest level awoken hold in danger! Dwarfen court society is not overly impractical, and the two Dwarfs were admitted entrance. The doors were opened, and four more Hammerers flanked them as they approached the King as fast as was polite. Thurgrim eyed them curiously as they prostrated themselves before him and began speaking hurriedly, still out of breath. My Lord Thurgrim the Dragon is awakened too powerful to stop. Kergar began. Morgrim continued, less breathless than his brother: Our father Lord Kendrik and his father .Lord Ferghar are down there trying to buy time. We don t have long, we must prepare our defences immThe Dragon somehow knows Chaos magics, the Runesmiths must also be notified! Kergar interrupted. No more needed to be said, Thurgrim stood from his throne and beckoned to his gatekeeper. Curiously, the news that the Dragon wielded magic did not surprise him. Summon the War Council and alert the custodians- The custodians were the watch captains of each level- Until we have prepared a response to take care of this problem, it will be the responsibility of the custodians to keep Galrauch contained . Kergar raised an eyebrow. Galrauch? How do- King Rockarm waved him away and the two Dwarfs retreated. When they were clear of the throne room, Kergar raised his suspicions. Did you hear that Morgrim? King Rockarm knows the name of this beast! Maybe he knows more about this he appears! Morgrim shook his angrily. Aye, maybe, but I should hope ye are not suggesting our King is not doing his utmost to help Karak Vlag! Might I remind yeI'm not suggesting any such thing, but if he knew the capabilities of the Dragon then he should have organised more stringent defences! It matters not, we d best be heading back down to help our kin. Lord Ferghar and our father will need our help! Morgrim nodded and they both began the run back to the lower levels. Back inside the throneroom, King Thurgrim sat on his throne with his chin on his fist. His gatekeeper and a few Hammerers had already left to carry out his orders. His remaining Hammerers shifted nervously. The King looked more worried than they had ever seen him. Kendrik ran. He could hear the ghastly sounds of Dwarfs slower than he being consumed by the Dragon s magic and torn apart by huge claws. It took all of his willpower not to turn and face the Dragon with his runic axe to avenge the death of his father and the Dwarfs that had died so far, but he kept running. He had to rally the surviving Dwarfs in the lower levels and organise the defences while the King summoned the War Council, who would amass an army to face the Dragon. At least, he hoped they would. The Dragon was taking its time, killing any Dwarfs it saw, chasing some down who evaded him. He thundered down the bottom level s main hall, pausing only to fill adjacent chambers with fire or enter those that the flames could not efficiently scour. Many of the Dwarfs attempted to resist, firing at Galrauch with old and trustworthy crossbows and handguns. The magical, flaming barrier around the Dragon still burning strongly, adding to the creature s terrifying visage. The Dwarfs who attempted to face the Dragon with ancient family axes and hammers were left unburnt by those flames but were still unable to wound the creature. The ineffectiveness of the protective flames against flesh was of little consolation to the warriors who were crushed, roasted or spitted by Galrauch s fearsome array of weaponry. The Dragon bled from a few minor wounds and there were still bolts sticking out from its face, but its strength had not diminished and hundreds of slain Dwarfs were left in its wake. Galrauch was not sparing any of his magical power in subjugating the lower levels, and though the walls of the fortress were reasonably protected against magical assault, the very air was

becoming saturated with RAW magical power. The Dwarfs still alive in the lower levels could feel unnatural winds ruffling their beards and stinging their eyes, despite there being no wind blowing so far underground. Despite the obvious unnaturalness of it all, it was the last of the problems of the Dwarfs in the lower levels. They were concerned with escaping to the more heavily defended upper levels, or in fewer cases, buying time for their kin to escape by sacrificing themselves. The only Dwarf who paid much attention to the winds of magic inside Karak Vlag was Grundus Blackhelm, a Runesmith who was busy maintaining the anti-magic runes in the walls when the Dragon awoke. He feared that if the magic saturation in the lower levels kept increasing as they were sure to do, the energy could be used in the form pf a portal to the Realm of Chaos, which could be opened by a skilled magic user. The Dragon was a skilled magic user, and it would turn out that Grundus fears were fully warranted. Grundus knew he had to get to the other Runesmiths as he could not fight the Dragon s magic alone. With that in mind, he used his knowledge of he runes in the fortress to open enough hidden doorways for him to evade the Dragon and head for the upper levels. The Dwarfs gathered around the map. The Karak Vlag War Council had acted quickly, and some of them had not even answered the summons in favour of preparing their troops immediately. Those that had come were anxious to leave, so King Thurgrim was brief. As ye all know, Karak Vlag has nine levels below ground. The beast has almost complete control of level nine and there are reports that he is approaching level eight. At the rate he is moving, we cannot summon any meaningful resistance until he reaches level seven. This means we need to open all the secret tunnels and doorways to evacuate as many Dwarfs as possible from levels seven and eight. We can t help anyone still in level nine. The atmosphere darkened as the Dwarf Lords and Thanes absorbed this information. The Runemaster of Karak Vlag, Balgrum Silvermane, spoke next: We believe that this Dragon is a powerful user of magic. As such, conventional tactics concerning Dragons will not suffice. From what we know, the Dragon is physically superior to a normal Dragon, and is the equivalent of a mighty sorcerer in its knowledge of magic. The only sufficient means of fighting this creature is to summon an army, especially artillery batteries, with strong support by my Runesmiths. We can nullify the Dragon s magic, and I trust your forces have sufficient firepower and bravery to crush this creature? The Dwarfs gathered snorted as if the very question was foolish. Balgrum nodded, and turned to King Thurgrim. I believe we can destroy this creature sire. Do we have your blessing? Thurgrim looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. Before he dismissed the gathering, he spoke one last time. This Dragon poses the greatest threat our home has faced in hundreds of years. Do not underestimate its power, and end this disaster as quickly as possible. May the ancestors be with you all. The Dwarfs stood, saluted to their King, and left hastily. When they were all gone, Thurgrim sighed and turned to face Runemaster Balgrum. Will this be over soon, Balgrum? Balgrum nodded. Aye, my King. The b.astard has no chance. Thurgrim looked unassured, and retired to his chambers. Kergar and Morgrim reached the stairway leading down to level nine as their father came back up. Kendrik was sweating profusely but showed no signs of fatigue, unlike the stream of frightened and angry Dwarfs pouring up the staircase. Kendrik grabbed his sons and almost dragged them with him as he kept running. It s too dangerous lads, ye shouldn t have come back down ere! The beastie ll be here any moment! Kergar and Morgrim didn t hesitate to follow their father, paying no attention to the bizarre stench wafting from the lower level. Grundus Blackhelm clutched his chest and panted heavily as he ran. His heavy hammer on his back was weighing him down, and despite being as tough as any other Dwarf he was not as fit as those whose occupation was fighting. He climbed another staircase to emerge into level five. Runemaster Balgrum would likely be with the King on level three, the most secure level in the entire fortress and home to the King s main throne room. Whenever visitors came to Karak Vlag the King would meet them in his receiving throne room on the first level, just below ground. Grundus knew his position as a Runesmith should secure him access to Balgrum Silvermane s chambers. He only hoped what he had to say would be heard.

In level nine, the stench of death and magic permeated the entire place, and the walls were almost glowing with magic. Galrauch had turned the place into a charnel house filled to the brim with unnatural energies, which he needed to use if he was to destroy this fortress. The power of Chaos in the outside world was waxing strong, and it would answer if called. The Chaos Dragon took a break from the systematic slaughter of the level s inhabitants to begin the ritual. Knowing exactly what was taking place, the first head growled in impotent fury as it tried to exert some control over his evil otherself. He could not win, but he could buy time. Buy time for the Dwarfs to slay him. Death was what he craved, but would likely never receive. Despite Galrauch s best efforts, he still began performing the summoning ritual which once begun, could not be stopped. Arcane movements of the tail and claws accompanied complicated movements of the tongue that no mortal could ever hope to comprehend, and the winds of magic now moving freely around the area were drawn to this one place. A tear in the fabric of the dimension opened slowly, at first a pinprick but soon a hole large enough for a man to crawl out of. The Dragon s four eyes glowed brightly as one head growled furiously and one continued performing the ritual. Chaotic energies surrounded the Dragon and flowed through the dimensional rift. Through the rift could be see the Realm of Chaos, blackened skies with clouds that would burn the eyes to see. Misshapen forms roamed the landscape and magic flowed freely, warping everything it touched. Lightning of random colours struck the landscape as the ground cracked in places for no apparent reason. Nothing made sense and everything was corrupted. Forms began to materialize, forms that had haunted the dreams of mortals since the Old Ones roamed the world. Creatures with birdlike heads, brazen horns, cloven hooves, lashing tentacles, snapping jaws, acidic drool and twisted claws formed until there were more than could be readily counted. And more came. And more. They kept coming until there was an army of daemons that would make any mortal quake in fear. This army began to claw, climb, slither, hop and generally make their way through the portal to gather inside Karak Vlag. As the Dwarfs prepared their forces in the upper levels, Galrauch prepared his. The Legend of White Widow By: Zenpotato Roars of laughter rolled through the smoky tavern as Roald Torrew spun another tale of romance, battle, and epic victory. It was late into the night, and the musicians had stopped their playing hours ago. The ale still flowed, however, and the celebration continued. The men of the small town of Waldenburg had come home from battle. They were victorious against their greenskin foe, and even more important, they were still alive. Heinrich Hospen, the closest thing the small town had to nobility, smiled. He smiled at Roald, a laborer who had earned glory and respect for himself on the field of battle. He smiled Adulf Tannerson, alive and home again despite overwhelming odds. Heinrich smiled as he saw Josef Lehre, a butcher, forget the different sort of butchery he had committed in large steins of ale. The men of Waldenburg were alive, and they were home. For two weeks they had been away, marching to the east and then the north. They met other men from other villages along the way, and they became an army. A vicious tribe of greenskin goblins had risen up in a remote valley, killing all who came near. The men of the region gathered, and they went to war. The militia had been supplemented by a wandering band of knights. Old spears and swords were sharpened and tested; some had not seen use in a generation. Those weapons were tested, just as had been the men of Waldenbur. Tested, and found worthy. Heinrich smiled as Roald, the same Roald who had saved his life by standing over him after a fall from a horse left him on his back and defenseless, that Roald who he had saved moment later from a goblin spear, finished his tale. It had a happy ending, though not all the tales told that eve did. There were remembrances of those fallen in battle, those who did not survive the march home. There were tales of lost loves and fallen heroes, loves denied and heroes unheralded. Roald and the men around him called for one more round of strong dwarfen ale, an old tale he had heard as a boy, and then once again as a young man far from home, drifted out from the dim corners of his memory, just like the smoke escaping through small cracks in the thick-paned windows of the tavern.

"Ale of the dwarfs? Strong brew, that," said Heinrich. Roald looked up at him, a grin splitting his face. Though separated by wealth and trade, the two had become friends. Roald settled back, sipped at his ale, and let Heinrich take his place as storyteller. Roald could tell a tall tale like no other, but Heinrich's stories had a depth that stirred the soul. From the far off look in Heinrich's eyes, Roald knew this one would be good. "What do you really know of dwarfs? You drink their ale, and if you're lucky, wield their blades. But what do any of us here, in the Empire, truly know of those who live under the mountains? They come to our aid, and we to theirs, for we share common foes. We know they smith, and brew, and carry a grudge like no one else who walks the world, but what do we truly know of them? "This is a tale told to me when I was a boy. My father's youngest brother was a soldier, and he had traveled far and came home only after he had lost his left arm in service to the Emperor. He barely survived, and only because a dwarf and another man carried him to safety once the battle was won. The dwarf himself needed treatment, though his wounds were not grave. As the three of them convalesced, they told each other tales of their homelands. They became fast friends, and once they had healed, they took to carousing together. One night, the last night before the dwarf warrior was to leave with his brothers for their mountain home, the other man, named Adulf, asked the dwarf about a story, almost a myth, that he had heard as a boy." At the mention of his name, Adulf sat up a little, his eyes glazed over from too much drink. Those around him chuckled, as he quickly sank back into his drunken stupor, likely to fall asleep any second. "The dwarf listened to the tale, his expression stony throughout. When Adulf had finished, the dwarf shook his head slowly, and made Adulf promise to never tell it again. Adulf did so, but only reluctantly, for it was one he liked to tell over a campfire to fellow soldiers, and he had never heard it told by anyone else. My Uncle Karl, however, made no such promise. The dwarf was angry, or perhaps too drunk, to think to ask Uncle Karl for his silence as well. "Regardless, my uncle had a great deal of respect for this dwarf, and kept the tale to himself. He told it to no one, he claimed, until he told it to me. This, he told me, is the tale of the dwarf they called the White Widow. A tale of revenge, battle, and, oddly enough, a female dwarf." Laughter sprung up around the table, and from those next to it who were listening in as well. Dwarf women were themselves almost a legend, a myth. No one ever saw them, and they never marched to war. Who could say for certain that they even existed? Some people claimed that the dwarves carved their own sons out of solid rock, or that they crawled out of a dwarf's beard, fullgrown and ready for battle. A story of a female dwarf, and one full of battle at that, was one worth listening to. Heinrich had their attention. "Long ago, in the mountains which men no longer remember, and even dwarfs have abandoned to time, there stood a small hold of dwarfs known as Mun-Dodr. The sons of Mun-Dodr went to war against their greenskin foes, generation after generation. In the deep mines, in the snowy passes, and in the rocky highlands, the dwarfs lost ground. They won battle after battle, but no matter how many foes they took down, more sprung up. The same could not be said for the dwarfs. Even in the best circumstances, a few brave dwarfs would die killing off ten times their number in orc or goblin scum. We've seen how fast even a small horde can grow--and the greenskins that plagued Mun-Dodr were no small horde. They had orcs, some acting as feral wizards called shaman. They had others, larger and taller than the others known as black orcs. They had uncountable numbers of goblins, so many that they loaded them into their primitive war machines and launched them at dwarf lines. "There came a day when there were no more sons of Mun-Dodr to fight off the enemy. There came a day when the husbands, sons, and brothers of the women there were dead. When all you know and love has been taken from you, when there is no one left to care for, and when there is nothing left but vengeance, what else can you do but pick up the axe that has fallen? When every insult ever done a dwarf is remembered, written into a Book of Grudges, how can they have done anything else? That is how the White Widow and her rangers were born. Every one a grieving wife, mother, sister. They would take their revenge, even if it meant death. "The White Widow struck back, from behind enemy lines, laying traps here, ambushes there. She was both the white haired widow, and like the vicious spider of the mountains which her name evokes. Deadly and cold, able to execute her plans perfectly. She did not save her people, the war was beyond that. Mun-Dodr was lost. She did claim her vengeance, however. The grudge which drove her and her band was so strong, so fundamental to their nature, that they did not,

could not, die of old age as long as their grudge was not avenged. The Widow and her rangers struck back, killing every greenskin who had killed one of their own. Twenty years, thirty, forty. It did not matter. They haunted those mountains until every greenskin who had ever drawn blood from the sons of Mun-Dodr was dead. And they haunt them still. "The White Widow is there, coming out of the blizzards that assault the mountain's peaks bear her grudge into battle. They say her rangers are as white as she is now, barely able to be seen in the falling snow. Their handiwork is easy enough to follow, though. Blood-drenched snow and hacked apart goblins mark the passing of the White Widow. She comes with the blinding snow, and is gone in moments. "Now, this is where the legend of the White Widow gets interesting. That same dwarf who swore Adulf to secrecy, began to tell a tale of his own. That dwarf's father claimed to have seen the White Widow once, during a desperate battle in a high mountain pass. Things were going poorly, greenskins pouring through crags and crannies. The wind picked up, blowing snow everywhere. The fight dragged on, and things looked hopeless. Axes fell down on greenskin heads, but more heads always appeared out of the snow to take their place. It became apparent that there was to be no victory, only death in battle. Still, the dwarfs fought on. "Then there rose a cry. A wailing lament sailed on the wind, and the greenskins went into a frenzy. They began fighting something behind them, presumably their own troops. The dwarfs had seen that before. Greenskins were notorious for the animosity they held for one another. It quickly became apparent, though, that this was something else. Some deadlier. "A lone dwarf among the dozen who survived that battle saw something, briefly, through the blinding snow. White hair, framed an aged face, a face that he would never have expected to see here in battle. It could have been his own grandmother's face, he claimed, the face of an aged dwarf twisted with fury, unsatisfied even though it had taken some vengeance. There are grudges, and then there was this. How do you describe a face consumed by hatred, eyes with a single cold purpose? That face was like the mountain itself--cold, hostile, and lined with age. And then it was gone, as the snows intensified for a moment, and a gust of wind cleared the sky. "In front of those surviving dwarfs, hundreds and hundreds of greenskin corpses lay steaming in the snow. Death had visited that pass, and it came bearing a grudge." Heinrich paused for a long time, letting his audience picture the cold mountain pass, and the ghost of vengeance hidden in the snows. "A wild and outlandish story, I know," said Heinrich. "But I swear, that's how it was told to me. Even as a child, I thought it was something my Uncle had made up to entertain me. That was, until I heard the same tale, a decade later, far from home. It was a tavern like this, in a small town, the kind of town whose name is only known for a few days ride in any given direction..." Heinrich watched, as his audience was drawn back to him, ready for the next part of his tale. It was good to be alive, and in the company of men who knew life's value. Heinrich waved to the bartender, signaling him to bring over more fine dwarf ale. The men of Waldenburg continued drinking, and Heinrich Hospen, merchant and tradesman, continued his tale. Yes, Heinrich remembering the grim tale of the White Widow, it is good to be alive. It is even better to be home. The Gates of Karaz-a-Karak: Karaz-a-Karak, translated into the Human tongue, roughly means 'the Pinnacle of the Mountains'. It is the largest of the Dwarf strongholds and is one of the most magnificent pieces of architecture in the world. Hidden from view by a winding pass that cuts its way through the Worlds Edge Mountains, as you round yet another outcrop on your long trek through the steep treacherous pass the full splendour of the gates of Karaz-a-Karak suddenly looms before you. The sheer size of the gates will take your breath away, standing at over four hundred feet tall, the gayes appear to be carved into the mountainside. A solid flat bastion of stone reaches up to embrace the clouds and if you turn your head towards the sky you can just make out the glint of a multitude of armored figures patroling the upper wall. Carved into the gate is the symbol of Valaya, the Dwarf ancestor-goddess. Her image on the gates is said to protect the city from harm and evil magics. No visitor ever approaches Karaz-a-Karak unannounced. Miles before even a lone traveler reaches the gates his progress will have been spied by many hidden watchposts that overlook the Everpeak pass. A lone dwarf in full clan regalia will await you on your arrival. He bears the

title of Gatekeeper and it is to him and him alone that you must state your business. Few these days are allowed access to the Great Dwarf City. Once, the gates stood open to all visitors and the Dwarf race was more than welcoming to strangers in their realm.Years of war and devastation have changed that forever and now they do not encourage contact with other races. Should a visitor have good reason, and very good reason only, to enter the kingdom of Karaz-aKarak, the gatekeeper will knock rhythmically on the door five times with his intricately carved rune hammer then trace the sign of a secret rune into its flat surface. Silvery seams once invisible to even the closest inspection of the smooth granite surface suddenly appear. Seemingly from out of nowhere a doorway no more than four foot high and three foot wide opens. It has been many centuries since the High King gave instructions to a Gatekeeper to open the main gates. In the year following the terrible earthquake that shook many of the Dwarf realms to their very foundations. Morgrim Ironbeard, the High King of the time, ordered the gates to be closed. The dour period of Dwarf history is known as the Time of Woes. Many of the Dwarf strongholds were under attack from hordes of greenskins and Skaven that flooded out from the caverns to take advantage of the devastation that the earthquake had unleashed on the Dwarves. In his wisdom the King shut off access to the great city. In doing so he also shut off Dwarves from contact with the outside world and it has remained much this way to the current day. The gates are only opened to allow the High King's army to march to war. In the rare event that this happens, the gates are opened in silence with no ceremony. Dwarves do not celebrate war and a Dwarf army on the march from Karaz-a-Karak, whilst a sight to behold, is a solemn affair. The gates of the city have only ever been besieged twice in its long history and both times the besiegers have been forced to abandon their attempts. Even the largest of the great war machines that the Orc Warlord Ugrok Beard Burner brought to bear on the gate barely caused an indentation into the thick stone. The Orc Warlord himself reaized the futility of trying to break down the gate with the giant battering ram he had constructed, and the Dwarves sallied forth and destoryed his horde as he lifted the siege. It is said that amongst the defenses of the city great rivers of molten lava can be poured from the mouths of the carved stone dragons that sit atop the upper wall of the gate. Also, it is claimed that the hills around the approach to the gates are filled with powerful steam engines, which can cause avlanches and rockslides, and even drop lenghts of the path into hidden chasms and crevasses. All Dwarves hold hope in their hearts that one day the giant gate of the great stronghold will open once more and that fine Dwarf craftsmanship will once again be available to trade across the world. Until that day the Dwarves continue to remain safely protected from the outside world, behind the stone fortress that protects their city. Of all the great halls in all the Dwarf kingdoms none has ever surpassed the size, grandeur and sheer elegance of the High KIng's Hall in Karaz-a-Karak. Few outsiders have ever been granted an audience inside the hall. Those who have been so fortunate tell tales of a great vault so large that it could contain a small human town. The tall roof of the vault is supported by a forest of pillars. Precisely one thousand of these pillars stretch towards the ceiling. Each pillar has been ornately carved by one of the Dwarf clans. On them is carved the symbols and histories of each of the clans. Many of the pillars are only carved just over halfway; these are the pillars of those clans whose line has been wiped out. Others are almost fully carved from the foot to the top. Each decade a member of the clan will travel to the great hall and spend months recording the history on to the stone. The ceiling of the hall is embedded with sapphires and diamonds. These are placed specifically to represent the constellations of the stars. This planetarium is believed to have been the work of High Elves in the distant days when the two nations were untied, though no Dwarf will ever speak of this. These stones glitter as they eflect the light cast upon them from the many bronze braziers that are placed at equal short spaced intervals down the length of the Hall. These braziers are finely cast and each one has a ruby set into it. Each of these rubies are the same size, and each one has been identically cut to have the same number of faces on it. If a jewelsmith were ever allowed to examine these stones he would be astounded at the flawless quality of the gems. The glow of the flames illuminates the intricately carved walls. The carvings depict the history of the Dwarf race, beginning with the legends of the Ancestor Gods and telling of each major event, and a few of the more obscure minor affairs that have shaped Dwarf history. When a new king is crowned he must be able to recite this history word for word before the

coronation takes place. This cermony can take days and the king is fully expected to know every name and detail of each and every incident. Unlike the short-lived memories of Men, Dwarves are able to recall precisely even insignificant moments of their long lives. A red carpet runs down the mile long length of the hall to a wide and very steep set of steps made from black marble that reaches up towards the dias. Upon the dias is the High King's Throne. The Throne of Power has been in use by the High King for over four thousand years. Four bodyguards lay claim to the honor of being the Throne Bearers. This honor is given only to the strongest of Dwarves who have proved themselves loyal and brave in many battles. It is said that the Throne of Power was carved by Grungni himself. He worked the great rune of Azamar into it, known as the Rune of Eternity and such is its power that no Runesmith has ever been able to copy it. Dwarf legend foretells that should the rune ever fail to protect the Throne then the Dwarf race will be doomed. The hall has been cleverly designed so that when the King gives audience, he is able to speak in whispered tones and even a Dwarf at the very back of the hall would be able to hear him as clearly as if he were standing next to him. Twice every century a Dwarf representative will travel to the hall for the day of Grudgement. On this day the representatives will each take turns to recite which grudges have been righted and then they will in turn list those grudges which have since been added to their own books. The High King himself will either strike these out from his own Great Book of Grudges or add them to it. As it is a magical tome, only the High King himself knows whether the long list grows or shrinks, but from the dour demeanor of the High King it seems that the Dwarves will be bearing grudges for many more centuries to come. There are many halls built in Karaz-a-Karak, most of which lie deserted and have not been entered in many centuries. The Dwarves gather in numbers in the west halls of the old city but they still send their armies off to cleanse out a hall if they hear word that it has been overrun with Goblins or Skaven. When they cleanse a hall they will spend many years restoring it to its former glory before sealing the doors until the day that the Dwarf nation is once again strong enough to reclaim the mountains. Barak Varr: Barak Varr, or 'The Gate to the Sea' is unique amongst the Dwarf strongholds. Approaching from the land there is no indication at all of the busy port that lies ahead. In fact, even standing on the cliff edge it seems to the unsuspecting eye that the ships are destined to smash themselves into the cliff face. The powerful tides of the Black Gulf have carved out a deep cave system into the tall white cliffs. Here in these vast sea caverns the Dwarves harbor their trading fleet. The stronghold of Barak Varr is small in comparsion to the other strongholds that tunnel deep into the Worlds Edge Mountains, but the Dwarves of the Hold enjoy a relatively cosmopolitan lifestyle, and are less dour and introverted than other Dwarves. Not only is it one of the few strongholds that has remained open to traders from other nations, but the Dwarves of Barak Varr are renowned for their hospitality. It is said that a Dwarf breakfast is a feast large enough to fill even the belly of the plumpest Halfling. Dwarves have a strong dislike for water and the Dwarves at Barak Varr are unusal in that some of them become sailors. Even so, they still do not relish setting foot on flimsy wooden ships which could easily break up in a strong gale. They put their faith in huge iron constructions driven by paddles powered by steam boliers which are located deep within the armored hulls of these vessels, the workings of which are kept secret by the Dwarf engineers. Traders of every realm, from Araby to Lustria, gather together at Barak Varr, knowing that they can expect the legendary hospitality of the Dwarves to refresh them on their arrival. Amongst the most famous locations within Barak Varr is the White Pony tavern where they stock a variety of beers and spirits from all around the known world, and a traveler can spend days there without ever sampling a drink twice. In the market area of the port a visitor can buy anything, from fine Araby silks to exotic Lustrian statues, Halfling mixed spices to fertility charms from the Southlands. Because it is tunneled into the cliffs the stronghold is almost impervious to attack by land. More than one nation has tried to assualt Barak Varr by sea in the past, but the immense firepower of the Dwarf fleet has always driven away enemy armadas. Combined with the many cannons whose barrels bristle from revertments along the cliff face, an enemy fleet has to be very brave to appraoch the stronghold. Only a fool fights a fort.

Although it is strictly located in the lands of the Border Princes, this is diplomatically ignored by the estranged Dukes and Barons, as the stronghold protects them from invasion. The generosity favored to the Dwarves also extends to the Dwarves' free passage along the many trade routes that lead through the Border Princes. If truth be known, the Dwarves inhabited the Border Princes long before any other race laid claim to the land and probably constructed the roads themselves. It is in fact the Dwarves who put up with the presence of Men in their ancestral realm purely because there is very little mineral wealth to be mined from the land. Karak Azgal: In its heyday the City of Jewels, Karak Izril in the Dwarf tongue, formed perhaps the most extravagant Hold that has ever been built. Once ranked amongstthe largest Dwarf settlements, whose wealth exceeded that of even Karak-a-Karaz, this fortune would ultimately lead to its downfall. Built within a mountain range that contained particularly large deposits of a variety of gemstones, it is said that such was the wealth in the city that every Dwarf house had a large gem as its doorknob. With the fall of Karak Eight Peaks many of the trade routes to the other Dwarf strongholds were opened to Orcs, already encouraged by their victory, poured through these passes and assaulted the neighboring Holds. Even the Orcs had heard of the wealth of Karak Izril and flocked to breach its sturdy gates. The attack caught the fortress by surprise and was orchestrated with an intense ferocity fueled by greed for the Dwarves' gemstones. The greenskins amassed on the north wall. This section of the fortress had particularly weak defences as the Dwarves in their pride had thought Karak Eight Peaks, which faced this wall, would never fall.Following the destruction of Karak Eight Peaks the Skaven had begun to swarm into the Southern Mountains. The Skaven masses had for many years been tunneling into the deepest Dwarf gem mines, and their leaders decided to use the Orc attack to their advantage. The Dwarves of Karak Izril found themselves under attack from their weak north wall and from the mines below. Faced on two weak flanks by far superior numbers, the Dwarves knew that they stood no chance of saving the city, but Dwarves would rather die than give up their treasure. The Dwarf defenders gathered in a deep vault and it was here they made their stand against the massed attack from both Skaven and Orcs hungry for Dwarf blood. As the last Dwarf fell the Orc general realized that the defence of the vault had been a clever ruse. The moment the Orcs breached the wall and poured into the city, a small unit of Engineers, accompanied by the Runelord Stormbeard, had carried the treasures to a separate vault away from the main city and sealed up the vast hoard in the cave. Whilst the doomed Dwarf warriors sold their lives dearly to gain time, Stormbeard had inscribed special Runes of Hiding so that only he would ever know of the exact location of the door to the treasure. The Dwarves vowed to return and what better incentive than an enormous pile of precious stones. On leaving the doomed city, the Runelord renamed the once grand stronghold Karak Azgal or 'Hoard Peak'. After the destruction of Karak Azgal, the dragon Graug the Terrible made his nest within the ruins. Dragons have the unique ability to smell gold and precious stone and so Graug soon discovered the vault. These monstrous creatures attract a mate through the size of their treasure hoard, and Graug added to the already vast hoard over the following centuries. Where there lies treasure and dragons there also follow adventurers and treasure seekers. Many expeditions were sent by the Dwarf jewelsmith's guild, but it was a young beardling by the name of Skalf who finally discovered the lost vault and slew the dragon. His descendants have used the wealth to build up a small fortress within the ruined city. This small stronghold has become a haven for adventurers to strike out in exploration of the Goblin infested ruins. Ever since Karak Eight Peaks was retaken, the Dwarves hold out against attack in this remote outpost in the hope that one day soon the southern Holds will flourish once again. Karak Vlag: Although the most northerly of the major Dwarf Realm is Karak-a-Kadrin, there used to be another hold situated on the southern side of the High Pass. Karak Vlag was famed for its quality of Stone-Mason ship. It had vast qualities of Iron Ore in the rocks below its walls. The Blacksmith's of Karak Vlag were among the best in the Dwarf Realm, some say even as good as the blacksmith's of the High King in Karaz-a-Karak. The Iron Gates of the stronghold were a

wonder to behold. They were as big as the walls themselves and pictured scenes of battle from the days when the Dwarves made their homes there, battling the Dragons for possesion of the mountains. The Stronghold was said to be the most strongly fortified in the Wolrds Edge Mountains. The Mountain passes leading up to the Hold were watched by watchtowers built into the sides of the valleys themselves. Even inside the stronghold the corridors were fortified by gates and portculles at every turn. The KIngs of the Stronghold had need for such security. During the Great Wars against Chaos the influence of Chaos spread down from the north and encompused the Hold. When Chaos had been defeated and the influence driven back, the Stronghoild was eventually reached. When the Dwarves got there they found that the Hold had disappeared, as if it had never existed. The true fate of the Hold has long been a talking point in the Old World. What ever happened the Dwarves do not talk much of the Holds fate, each consigned to their own woest fears. Karak Ungor: Karak Ungor was the first of the Dwarf Strongholds to fall to the Orcs. This was nearly 4,000 years ago, and since that time the Goblins of the Red Eye tribes have made it their own. Amongst men the Stronghold is known as Red Eye Mountain. Karak Ungor means "Delivering Hold' in Khazalid and it is called so because of the vast network of tunnels and mines are the deepest of all below the Hold onto the roots of the Mountain itself. The mines are the deepest in the Dwarf Empire. Some say that the Dwarves of Old tunneled so far into the earth, creating so many tunnels and many caverns that some say that they even forgot where they led. In the end the Goblins of the Red Eye tribe found their way into the tunnels. By the time that the Dwarves were alerted the Goblins were alrerady into the mines of the upper levels. The Dwarves tried to cover their way to the surface but many were cut off and killed. In the end the Goblins got into the main keep and those Dwarves who could fled, the others well, one can only guess at what happened to them. Karak Izor: Karak Izor is built on a mountain that contains vast quantaties of copper and other assorted minerials. The Hold is built amongst the mountain chain known as the Vaults. These mountains were a haven to many Dwarves after the fall of the strongholds in the Worlds Edge Mountains. The valleys offered a place for the Dwarves to stay and live plotting the day that they would take what was rightfully theirs. The valleys and chasms of the Vaults are some of the deepest and narrowest in the world. There land is so hard to live on many creatures apart from the Dwarves have shunned the area due to its quality of living. This means Karak Izor has been generally left alone over the years. Meaning that the Dwarves have had time to do what Dwarves do (drink, mine, eat and sing.....). This has led to the mines here being some of the deeepest in the Old World. Mount Gunbad: The Hold is basically just a set of fortified mines. The mines were amongst some of the richest in the Dwarven Empire. In -1457 the gold mines fell to the Night Goblins after years of fighting. Mount Gunbad was the richest mines in Wolrds Edge Mountains and the unique sourse of Bynuduraz or Brightstone, a brilliant Blue Crystal rock mush valued by the Dwarf craftsmen. Karak Varn: Karak Varn was hewn out of the cliffs high above Black Water. The Stronghold itself was part og the cliff face. The cliffs surruonding the hold were rich in unique minerials and especially rich in Gromril. For many hundreds of years the Dwarves tunneled and mined into the mountains. The mines beneath the hold became ever deeper and more and more widespread. The cliff face that the Hold was built on were honeycombed, weakening the entire mountain. During the great earthquaked that ended the Great Dwarf Empire the Mountains around the Hold started to shake as the earthquakes grew in frequency and intensity until the cliff face that the hold was built on started to crack and shake violently. In the end after months of shaking the cliff face split right up the middle and the dark waters of Black Water poured into the Hold's lower workings. As the

rocks split the foul Skaven poured into the workings. The Orcs and Goblins realized their opportunity and started to pour into the upper mines and halls, even into the keeps on the surface themselves. The Dwarves, stuck between two unmovable foes had no choice but to fight their way out of their own stronghold. Many of the Dwarves chose to stay behind and guard the ancient hold against a certain death. The day went down in Dwarf history as the blackest day in the whole Dwarf Empire's history. Many of the Dwarves in the hold sold their lives dearly and every turn. From the walls of Zhufbar, which is only one days trek the funeral pires could be seen as the bodies of Skaven, Dwarves and Goblins were burnt. Over the years the Dwarves (and others) have ventured into this fractured hold searching for the treasures of the once great hold. Many of the areas of the hold which are of great importance to the Dwarves have been resettled and the Dwarves now count the hold as one of their own again. Although the hold has not been recolonized for long, the Dwarves have started mining the precious minerials and ores again. Karak Norn: Karak Norn is built amongst the Grey Mountains. On one side of the hold lies the forest pf Loren and on the other side lies the Black Mountains and Bugmans Brewery. The inhabitants of the Hold have tended to keep themselves over the years. The Dwarves have been forced in many repects to develop their air transport as due to the Grey Mountains being amongst some of the highest and most difficult in the Old World to navigate. The Dwarves have built such machines as the war balloon (basically designed for hunting gobbos and orcs in the mountains) and also the infamous Karak Norn airship which is used to ferry the Dwarves to and from the mines around the stronghold. The Dwarves in Karak Norn have had their problems over the years, what with the Wood Elves being so close and the always present threat of Skaven in the tunnels and mines of the mountains. The hold has fallen once, a long time ago but was captured shortly after a huge counter attack from the air, where the Dwarves were air lifted into the hold by their air ships and attacked the Skaven from the inside. Karak Kadrin: Called 'Peak Pass' in the Dwarf tongue because it guards one of the main trading routes through the Worlds Edge Mountains from the distant East cities of the Old World. It is also an invasion route for Chaos Warbands and the rampaging armies of Orcs and Goblins. Karak Kadrin has never fallen, despite being besieged on many occasions. Perhaps this is because it is home to the Slayer Clans it houses the greatest number of Slayers in the entire Warhammer World, everything from the frequently found Troll Slayers to the rare Deamonslayers, even the Slayer King took rulership over this hold. The Hold is also home to a vast number of elite Dwarf castes who take residence in these great halls. The hold stands on top of the eastern end of the trade route through the mountains and the hold has built a series of gates to guard the approach along the valley. The Dwarves take tolls for the protection of the trade caravans as they make their way along the valley. This has meant that the Dwarves are some of the richest in the Old World as the trade caravans will often pay huge quantaties of gold pieces for the Dwarves protection. It has been noted by some of the travelers of the area that since the Dwarves have started to protect the trade routes that the Troll and Giant populations have been vastly diminished. Some say that there are no trolls for up to 50 miles around and that the Ice Giants only now live at the very top of most snowy peaks, occasionally coming down the mountains when their are no Dwarves about to feed on the orcs and gobbos who live in the bottom of the valley. Karak Hirn: Karak Hirn or hornhold, as it is called because the winds blowing through an especially large cavern act like a mighty warhorn, sounding a frightening blast throughout the mountains. The Dwarves have exploited the natural phenomenon to such an extent that they have the ability to alter the pitch and tone, even the duration of the blast of sound. This is done using large doors in the caverns and by lighting fires to draw the air through the caverns. The mountain horn is used to signal outlying settlements of danger and to frighten away Trolls and Giants. It has also been used in many other different ways, including to signal the arrival of Josef Bugman to the hold and to tell the locals that he had finished his brewing.

Dwarves at War: Sagely advise given to King Alrik when a young prince. " As King, upon your shoulders will fall the task of making war upon the enemies of the Hold. These foes are many and varied, from the numerous barbaric Orcs to the devious Elf folk. There are two reasons to wage war, and two alone. The first is to protect the Hold from invasion and to safekeep its lands and the passage of your subjects among your realm. The second is to restore honor in the Hold, whether it be for an unpaid debt, an oath sworn or to demand reparation from those who have wronged us. These are the only reasons to take up the axe, to don the battlegear of your ancestors. Never must you wage war for personal gain, out of jealousy, spite or other low feelings. As in all things, war must be done honorably, for though other races may slink and crawl and be treacherous and insincere, only by adhering to the traditions and tenets of your forefathers will you be able to meet them in the Halls of Grimnir when he calls your name. Dishonor your clan and your Hold and there shall be respite for you, and the dragon's flame will torment you for eternity. Thus did Grimnir speak at the dawn of time, and thus shall it be forever after. To protect your home and the homes of your subjects, there are many strategies and contingencies of war that you can employ. If the force is inferior, seek them out on the mountainsides, use your knowledge of the hills and rocks and high passes to bring you to an advantage over the enemy, and then wait their arrival. Greet them with the roar of cannons and the hail of the crossbow, and bright shall the sun shine on your axes and hammers. Once you have driven them off, however, be cautious and hold your ground. A rash pursuit may lead you into a disadvantage, where an enemy may lie in wait. Better to hold and repel than to flounder into danger. If the force arrayed against you is great, then the mountains and your Hold itself are your best weapons. Withdraw within your gates and bastions; there is no shame in saving Dwarf lives, and it is a great crime to have your kin slain because of foolish pride. Our stone walls have endured for generations, neither Man nor Orc nor Elf have breached their defences, and none ever shall. Pour upon their heads the molten metal from the forges, and dash their engines of siege to pieces with rocks and cannon balls. Use the underground paths to strike at their rear, and send discord and fear through their ranks. Destroy their war engines, such as they might have, burn their baggage and scatter their livestock so that they will hunger and thirst and lose the heart for battle. Only when they have scattered should you venture forth, to clear away any stragglers and remove the last vestiges of their presence from your lands, but remember the lesson of due caution, and drive not your army far from your gates lest the enemy unexpectedly gather and relaunch their assault, catching you unaware. If you must, by dint of oath and duty, wage war upon a foreign land then remember these words well. In comparsion to the hordes of Orcs and the teeming masses of mankind, we are few, and to attack them in much force would require you to leave your Hold undefended. This is unforgivable, so when marching to war in others' realms muster what force you must and march with all haste. Win the battle and return to your defence, for others have eyes and ears and will see your brave warriors march forth and hear their boots upon the passes and may decide that you are weak and vulnerable. Except against an isolated fastness, it is a waste of Dwarf lives to dash your army uponj the walls of the enemy, shoddily built as they may seem. Instead, take up a position to the passes and highways that he must use for commerce and military expeditions, so that nothing shall pass. Choose a position that is well defencible and await your enemy's attack. A hill overlooking a town is good, from where your war engines can hurl shot upon his people and force him to show his hand, or the sides of a valley where he must pass his armies through and so must clear your army from its place before he can defend other parts of his kingdom. When he attacks, await him in full force, let him waste his strength upon your armor while you punish him for his assault with crossbow, handgun, stone thrower and flame cannon. Be wary of your warriors dashing from cover of your engines and missile fire, for, sturdy they are, a faster foe will outflank them and come upon the undefended engines, or they shall become surrounded and cut off from aid or retreat. If your foe be a coward or weakling and does nothing to prtect his lands or people from the threat of your force, you have but one option. You must then, and not before, march upon him with your

warriors and force him to do battle, beating upon his door with your axes and hammers if need be. In such a force, you must return your enegines of war to the Hold, for you must often march hard and far, and these engines will not only slow your warriors but will provide targets for ambush. Unfettered by defending your engines, your warriors can drive into the heart of the opposing force and bring them to dreadful battle. Seek out the hardest of his units, for they will be no match for you and your veterans, but march as a single army; do not scatter your warriors hither and thither for they should fight as a whole and not be unsupported. Crush his regiments in turn, turning the full force of your army upon them, until they are lying upon the ground or scattered to the hills. If the enemy surrenders, temper your treatment by their conduct and that of their peoples. If they fought bravely and with honor, as some Men on occasion may do, then you can be lenient and simply demand reparations for the expense of your war. If, like the Grobi and the followers of the dark gods, they are beneath contempt then feel no remorse if you slay them out of hand, for no good can come of sparing them. Elf folk should not be executed, though harsh imprisonment and hardship is well deserved, for on occasion ransom can be demanded from their King for their return, as is right for they still owe us much for what they stole during the War of Vengeance. Others you might fight, and upon your judgement lies this burden, but remember always that Grimnir and your ancestors watch you. Upon the execution of the battle, return with all speed to your home. Dally not on the field to glorify with prideful triumph, but see to the defence of the Hold. Victory celebrations are permitted, according to ancient ceremony and tradition, but first always observe the proper rites for those who will fight no more, for they shall never again celebrate alongside you until you are ushered to the Hall of Grminir. Then upon the anvils and in the furnaces must you repair your battle gear, for, though you may win a victory, ever are there fools in this world who will rise to challenge your might again. So fought your father and his father and your forefathers before them, and so fight should you." Dwarves Abroad: The might of the Dwarf Empire rests in the craggy peaks of the Worlds Edge Mountains, where their legends claim that the Ancestor Gods dug the first Hold. However, in the golden days of the Dwarf realm, they traveled far and wide, seeking new seams of minerals and gems and trading with other races. In this time, a number of Holds were founded across other parts of the Old World. Dwarves from outside the Worlds Edge Mountains are regarded with a bit of suspicion bt Dwarves from the older Holds-less respectful of their seniors and tradition, more likely to have truck with other racesand tamper with things. Of course, to an outsider there is little difference to discern, although possibly the Dwarves of the Grey Mountains, Black Mountains and further afield may have a slightly more adventurous spirit. The most hardline Dwarves of the Worlds Edge Mountains have various words for these outsiders, such as wanaz (bad-beards), zaki (mad wanderers), skrati (poor prospectors) and garazdrak (which roughly translates as distant rebels). For their part, the Dwarves outside the ancestoral Holds, as they are sometimes referred to, have a tendency to call their distant kin grumbaki, which means grumblers or whiners. Even with this slight animosity, a Dwarf would always put another Dwarf before a person of another race-Dwarf solidarity runs in the blood, and to the outside world there is not much difference between a Dwarf of Karak-Hirn and a Dwarf of Karak-Kadrin. There are also those Dwarves whose forefathers wandered even further afield, and settled in more distant or strange lands. To the far north lies Kraka Drak, home of the Norse Dwarves. So long ago did their ancestors enter the Norscan mountains that these Dwarves have a different language and customs, something which unites all of the other Holds together. In many respects they share traits and traditions with the Men of Norsca, both in dress, beliefs and behavior. However, this is because they have become more like the Norse, or the Norse have become more like the Dwarves, is a matter of conjecture and speculation. The Norse Dwarves are regarded as even madder than other expatriate Dwarves by many, and much of this is blamed on their Hold's closer proximity to the Chaos Wastes and Chaos-worshipping humans of the cold and bleak north. Norse Dwarves are famed even amongst other Holds for their drinking, holding annual quaffing contests to determine the greatest ale-throats. They also reputedly have a

peculiar variant of Slayers called 'berserkers' by Men-Dwarves so grief-stricken and dishonored that they shave off all of their hair, foam at the mouth and charge into battle determined to hurl themselves into a glorious death on the enemies' weapons. Over the years, many Dwarves have also settled in the towns and cities of the Empire and Bretonnia, and even as far as Tilea. Here they do not build Holds, but instead fortified guildhouses can be found, surrounded by a Dwarf quater where all of the Dwarves live. Frequently these houses will have vast cellars and catacombs, so that a small building above ground may well house a considerable clan beneath the surface. Even among such outgoing Dwarves, old habits die hard. The services of these Dwarves are highly prized as engineers, stone masons and mining overseers. It was Dwarves who first introduced blackpowder to the Empire and helped with the founding of the Nuln Gunnery School and the Imperial College of Engineers. Many of these Dwarves are considered renegades by the Dwarf Engineers Guild, having been kicked out at a young age for outlandish experiments of for voicing opinions on matters that did not concern them. Others are the descendants of refugees from the captured Holds, lured to human lands by promise of gold, or unable to face the shame of asking another Hold for sanctuary. These Dwarves are even more embittered than their kin of the mountains, begrudging the day they were dispossessed, yearning for a chance to reclaim their ancestral lands. Guild Kult: The Dwarf Clans make up the majority of every Stronghold. The Clan is an extended family group, and forms the basis of Dwarf social organization. Each Clan tends to specialize in one trade, for example: Mining, Smithing, Brewing,etc. The elders of the Clan are also the masters of their profession, taking and training apprentices from their descendants. Regiments of Dwarf Warriors are the easiest and (in my opinion) best way to represent most Clans in battle. Crossbow Dwarves, Thunderers, Miners and Rangers can also be used to represent special abilities of a Clan. Varying equipment will also help give individual units their own identity. Thanes are the obvious choice to lead a Clan. Royal Clan: Most strongholds are led by a Royal Clan; often the founding family of the hold. They are organized along similar lines to the other Clans, but are larger and have more responsibility. Often led by a powerful and Ancient Lord, whose sons and grandsons hold prominet positions of authority in the Stronghold's armies. A bodyguard of Hammerers usually accompanies the Lord at all times. Guild: Guilds are essentially Clans with particularly specialized trade, the most famous of which are the Runesmiths and the Engineers. These are similar in overall structure to other Clans, but are spread throughout many Strongholds rather than staying together. This is because their unique skills of their trade are in demand throughout the Dwarf Realms, with all but the smallest holds housing representatives of each Guild. Legends of the White Dwarf: The events that caused Josef Bugman, Gotrek Gurnisson, and the White Dwarf to cross paths have been committed to legend by the greatest Dwarf historians, and history books of several Dwarf Holds. This first fateful meeting took place at the Battle of Cragmere, near the sundered Dwarf Hold of Karak Varn. At the Battle of Cragmere, a small Dwarf Army of just a hundred or so Dwarves, mostly inexperienced beardlings and weary old veterans, faced a numberless horde of Goblins, Orcs, and foul Chaos Beastmen. It was a battle that the Dwarves could never have won. Yet, when hearts were at their lowest, new hope was stirred, for a hero from legend arrived. Josef Bugman slipped stealthily through the enemy ranks to stand beside his kinsmen. The arrival of Bugman rekindled a small flame of courage in the hearts of the Dwarves who stood surrounded on all sides by mountains and monstrous foes. Even as the Goblin war drums beat out their steady rhythm, a new player entered the game. With steely eyes and hair as bright as

flame, Gotrek Gurnisson, most renowned of all Dwarf Slayers, strode forth from the shadows and vowed to die alongside his Dwarf brothers. Gotrek's axe glittered in the moonlight, and his one good eye gleamed with malice. All gathered knew of Gotrek's prowess, and many whispered that, while there could not be a victory for the Dwarves, perhaps a heroic death was within their reach. The, even the most pessimistic Longbeard gained cause for celebration, as moments later, the last new participant was revealed. Casting off a dirty cloak, an ancient Dwarf with a beard as white as snow announced himself. It was Grombrindal, the White Dwarf himself, come not to die beside his fellows, but to fight and live! The battle that followed was brief and bloody, and all three heroes steeped themselves in glory. The songs that tell of it say how Grombrindal slew five thousnad Orcs, while Gotrek waded thighdeep through black blood, the corpse of every last Beastman strewn around about him. They say how each Dwarf there fought like an ancestor god and how not one was slain thanks to the restorative powers of Bugman's brew. The truth of such events, of course, is unknowable, for such things are ripe targets for embeelishment. However, one grain of truth seems to remain. All who claim to have been at the fateful battle bear witness to two facts: that after there was feasting the like of which none had ever seen, and that Grombrindal, Bugman, and Gotrek swore an oath of kinship that could never be broken. This oath they took upon the legendary Ancestor Shield of Karaz-a-Karak. Each swore that should Dwarfkind ever need their aid, that they would come-breaking whatever bonds of death held them-to do battle for their kin. They would fight as one, and just as on that day at Cragmere they would triumph over evil! Grombrindal, The White Dwarf (Points 1,000) The White Dwarf M WS BS S T W I A Ld 3 7 4 4 5 4 4 4 10 The White Dwarf model consists of Grombrindal (the White Dwarf himself), carried by Gotrek and Bugman. In these rules "The White Dwarf" refers to the entire palying piece. It is one Lord choice and has a unit strength of 3. Special Rules: Ancestral Grudge: See Dwarf Army Book. Bugman & Gotrek: Grombrindal does battle where the fighting is most dire, and only the hardiest heroes could hope to bear him into battle and live. Josef Bugman, most renowned of Dwarf Brewers, and Gotrek Gurnisson, the deadliest Dwarf Slayer of this age, are two such individuals. Gotrek and Bugman each add their own attacks to those of the profile above. All the attacks made by the White Dwarf piece, whatever their source, are magical. Bugman's attacks are resolved as 4 Strength 5 Attacks, with an Initiative of 4. Gotrek adds 4 Attacks at Initiative 5 that automatically wound any target and allow no armor saves. Wounds inflicted by Gotrek cause D3 Wounds. In the case of Daemons or Dragons, this increases to D6. Grombrindal Has No Fear!: Grombrindal has faced such horrors that nothing daunts him, and Dwarves draw courage from his example. The White Dwarf is Unbreakable and Immune to Psychology. Unlike other Unbreakable characters, the White Dwarf may join units without that special rule and, in so doing, makes that unit Unbreakable while he remains with it. Strong Drinking and Strong Oaths: The alliance between Grombrindal, Josef Bugman, and Gotrek Gurnisson was first forged over a jug of Bugman's XXXXXX. Such is the case whenever such individuals meet (and drink!) that their strong personalities will sometimes cause a difference of opinion. The controling player must roll a D6 at the start of each of his Movement Phase and consult the table below. If the unit is enraged in close combat, the three Dwarves are too busy to argue, and there is no need to roll.

1-2 Beer!: Josef Bugman decides that now is a jolly good time to avail himself of a tankard of beer. The White Dwarf may not move at all that turn. However, any Wounds suffered up to that point ate restored. 3-4 Wisdom of Ages: Grombrindal's wisdom prevails. They act normally this turn. 5-6 By Grimnir's Beard!: Overcome with rage that a heroic death has thus far evaded him, Gotrek hurls himself and the group at the enemy. This turn, the White Dwarf must move 12" toward the enemy unit with the greatest points value. If this move results in the White Dwarf making contact with an enemy unit, it counts as a charge. Magic Items: Rune Helm of Zhufbar: Grombrindal's helmet is imbued with powerful magic that fills Dwarf hearts with courage. In the Rally Fleeing Troops part of the White Dwarf's turn, any fleeing Dwarf unit within 12" will automatically rally-even if it has been reduced to below 25% of its starting strength. Amor of Glimril Scales: After the Battle of Thraag, in which the White Dwarf slew 10,000 Warriors of Chaos, a single scale of armor was found clenched in the teeth of the Lord of Chaos. The Runesmiths were mystified and called it Glimril, believing that the Ancestor Gods themselves had forged it. Grombrindal's Glimril armor gives the White Dwarf model a 1+ armor save and a 4+ ward save. Rune Cloak of Valaya: The runes embroidered on the great cloak worn by the White Dwarf display without a doubt that it was woven by the Goddess Valaya. Sagas relate how Valaya fell in love with Grombrindal on account of his magnificent white beard and gave him the cloak as a token of her esteem. The White Dwarf model has Magic Resistance (3). The Rune Axe of Grombrindal: The axe has slain countless foes. Though the blade is pitted and scarred, it remains as deadly as the day it was forged. None but the White Dwarf can answer the question of its origins, but it is said that its power rivals even that of the axe of Grimnir wielded by Thorgrim Grudgebearer. Grombrindal's (but not Bugman's or Gotrek's) hits are resolved at Strength 6. In addition, Grombrindal (but not Bugman or Gotrek) must reroll all failed rolls to hit or wound, and opponents wounded by him must reroll any successful armor saves. The Ancestor Shield: The air around the shield throbs with power, an arrows, bolts and cannon shot are halted by its awesome influence. The Strength of any ranged attacks targeted at the White Dwarf, including Magic Missile, Cannonballs, Arrows, and anything else which might be considered "ranged" and attack, is halved. Such is the magic of the Ancestor Shield, that nothing (not spells, magic items or anything else) can take away its powers. It also protects the Magic Items that are carried by the White Dwarfthey will always work, and that's that! Dwarves of Legend: The history of the Dwarves is one of battle. They have been betrayed by their former allies and their homes have been overrun by countless monsters from the depths. But in all this time the Dwarves have not given up hope. They are stubborn to a fault in their unwillingness to contemplate surrender, and even the loss of the one of their ancestral Holds is seen as only a temporary setback. Their Golden Age will come again, or so they believe. However, there are some of their number who stand out as exceptional even amongst this race of valiant warriors, and as the Dwarves never forget either a favor or a slight we can recount a few of those tales here. Ungrim Ironfist, The Slayer King of Karak Kadrin:

The meaning of the unfortunate Ungrim's name, 'oathbound', tells his story well for he is bound by two oaths that he cannot reconcile. The first is his loyalty to the people he rules, the second is his inherited Slayer oath to seek a noble death-something he cannot honorably do whilst his people still need him! Gotrek Gurnisson & Felix Jaegar: Just as in the sagas of old, this mismatched pair of adventurers seemed doomed to wander the world until the fate the gods have decreed for them is at hand. Legend has it that the man, Felix, a minor poet and general ne'er-do-well, fell in with the Slayer Gotrek during an epic drinking binge. It is said that Felix made a vow to enshrine Gotrek's quest for a noble death in a poem, and that he would stay with him until his doom came to pass. It is an oath he has learned to consider a trife hasty as it has led him into the darkest and most lethal corners of the Old World and pitted them against the most heinous of foes. Gotrek, however, seems all but unkillable and, as long as he breathes, Felix cannot find it in his honor to break his oath. Who knows which battlefields they will fight on next, or which monstrosity will finally be Gotrek's doom? High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer: With the blood of Grungni himself running in his royal veins, it is hardly surprising that Thorgrim is deeply concerned with the fate of his race. It is this concern that makes the Dammaz Kron, the Great Book of Grudges of the Dwarves, his constant companion. Whether it is resting beneath his pillow at night ot accompanying him to one of his many battles atop the Throne of Power, Dammaz Kron is never far from his side. Thorgrim rules from the heights of Karaz-a-Karak and ventures forth frequently to avenge one or other of many wrongs he has studied in Dammaz Kron. Even though the Dwarves are reluctant to go to war and risk the lives of their diminishing number of warriors, the cause of vengeance is considered so just that they rally to Thorgrim with eagerness and follow his wherever he leads. Josef Bugman: The most famed Dwarf Master Brewer of all time, his Bugman's XXXXXX is responsible for many a royal hangover. Since the tranquility of his peaceful brewery was smashed by Goblin raiders who destroyed the vats and killed or enslaved his workers, Bugman has sworn revenge and now fights greenskins wherever he can. His small band of Rangers are seldom noticed as they roam the Badlands in search of Goblins to slaugther and prisoners to rescue, but every now and again they will turn up at a Dwarf camp to offer their aid as the army readies for battle. Burlock Damminson, Engineer Guildmaster: Burlock has been an engineer for centuries, and althought something of a rebel in his youth, the loss of his arm in an accident and a furious repremand from his father showed Burlock the error of his ways. Now his is a staunch traditionalist and resists any thought of innovation in the Dwarf Engineers' Guild. His missing arm has been replaced by a mechanical contrivance of his own devising, and over the many years since the accident he has improved it so that it now works even better than his natural arm. Thorek Ironbrow, Dwarf Runelord, Master of the Weapon Shops of Karak Azul: "Now you young'uns might be thinking that nowt's as good as it used to be," grumbled Durgrim Redmane, eyeing the gathered beardlings. "Well there's summat in that, but it's not all bad. Take this here tavern," he continued, including the whole of the smoky room with a wave of his hand. "Couple of hundred years ago this was all rock." His drunken audience admired the bar anew with bleary eyes. "And that's not all. There are even a few folk, like myself, who try to follow the old ways. Not many, but enough to give you young'uns all hope. Take old Ironbrow, f'rinstance. You've all heard of him, haven't you?" Durgrim glanced over the rim of his ale mug at the attentive Dwarves, but didn't bother waiting for a reply. "Thorek's a Dwarf of the Old times. Karak Azgal's where he lives and where he's master of the armories. Lucky lot to have him too. He's got one of them Anvils of Doom that were made by Kurgaz and he knows more of its secrets than most of those that have'em.

He's also not afraid to use the power in it, not like some so-called Runelords I could mention. Anyway, like I was saying, he's a proper old fashioned Dwarf with little time for them modern ideas on how to forge weapons and armor. Nor does he care what runes are fashionable this century or that. If it was good enough for our ancestors in the War of Vengeance, it's good enough for Thorek Ironbrow. I've heard him say as much himself, and I felt right proud to hear it. Now I can see that some of you are thinking 'What about progress?' Well, that's all nonsense. Anyone can tell you that's just muddle-headed Elf thinking. After all, we're doing worse not better, and what we really need is a return yo the good old days, not some new-fangled replacement for things that weren't broke. Thorek Ironbrow is a worthy role model for any of you that fancy yourselves as Runesmiths. You could do a lot worse than try to impress him with your skill and understanding of the old ways, though it'll be right hard. He demands the highest standards and expects nothing less than your total commitment. Can't afford to mess with the power of an Anvil of Doom if you're all half-hearted." Durgrim paused, a far away look in his eyes. "When they were made, all the Anvils could use the rune they're named for, but now I reckon it's just Thorek's that can do that. Mainly that's down to old Ironbrow himself. He knows more about the runes than any other Dwarf alive, and that's just 'cos he's spent his whole life reading the ancient texts and talking with the oldest and wisest Runelords." Durgrim eyed his audience carefully. "And paying attention to his elders." Thorek Ironbrow Thorek Kraggi M WS BS S T W I A Ld 3 6 4 4 5 3 3 2 10 3 4 3 3 4 1 2 1 9

Thorek is the Master Runelord of Karak Azul and, some say, the greatest Runelord alive. He can be taken as a Lord choice in a Dwarf army, but will also take up one of your Hero choices as well. He must be fielded exactly as presented, and no extra equipment or rune items can be bought for him. The cost of his rune items, Anvil of Doom, Kraggi and two Anvil Guards is included in his total cost. Points: 505. Note that while Thorek still lives, no Victory points are scored-this is different to the normal Anvil of Doom rules. Weapons: The rune-hammer Klad Brakak. Armor: Thorek's rune-armor. Rune Items: Klad Brakak: Thorek's anvil-headed hammer is a formidable weapon of war as well a useful tool. In his position as Master of the Weapon Smiths of Karak Azul he has access to a vast amount of ancient rune lore. From his researches and experiments, he has designed a new rune which he has struck onto his hammer. This rune is unique to Thorek's hammer, Klad Brakak, as he only made it a couple of centuries ago and wants to give it a fair trial before using it again. In battle it is easy to find Thorek as his hammer shatters armor when it strikes, making a sound like thunder. No armor saves are allowed against Klad Brakak and if the target fails its Ward save (or does not have one) then any armor they were wearing and shield they were carrying are destroyed. This includes magical armor and shields. In addition, Klad Brakak bears the Rune of Fury which gives Thorek +1 Attack. Thorek's rune-armor: This is inscribed with the Master Rune of Gromril. Anvil of Doom: Thorek always brings his Anvil of Doom with him to battle. Assistant at the Forge: Kraggi, the best of Thorek's assistants, accompanies him to battle and helps him by preparing

some of the runes. Most of the time is a big help and speeds things up, but occasionally his lack of experience (he's hardly been smithing a century) lets him down and he makes a mistake. Kraggi is treated as a unit Champion and fights with his forge tongs (counts as a hand weapon) and wears an apron to protect him from the intense heat (light armor). While Kraggi is alive Thorek gains one extra dice per turn to cast runes with. However, it's important to keep track of which one this is (by using a different colored dice, for example) because if this extra dice rolls a 1 kraggi has done something wrong and the rune is miscast. Rune of Doom: 12+ to cast When Kurgaz forged the Anvils of Doom many centuries ago the most potent rune they had beaten onto them was the Rune of Doom, after which they were named. However, this rune is so difficult and dangerous to use that its secret has almost been lost. Some have not ever dared to use it or have never seen a threat they deemed sufficient to warrent its power. Others have tried and failed to contain and focus its might and their anvils have been torn apart by the uncontrolled energies. Today, the only remaining Runelord who has the skill and courage to attempt it is Thorek Ironbrow. When this rune is struck, the air grows chill and the skies turn dark. Ghostly forms of ancients warriors appear amidst the Dwarves on the battlefield, bolstering their ranks and their courage. These are not ghosts as such, but a manifestation of the Dwarves' own grim and doom-laden nature. Their anger at the loss of their mighty civilization and the descration of their holds fills them with a righteous fury that is terrible to behold, and their normally grim faces are set with an expression of black vengeance. All Dwarves in the army cause fear. Once cast, the effects of the Rune of Doom last until it is dispelled, until Thorek chooses to end it (which he can do at any time), uses another rune or is slain. However, if you miscast when rolling to cast the Rune of Doom then disaster has struck. The power of the rune tears the Anvil asunder. Thorek, Kraggi and any surviving Anvil Guards each take a single Strength 7 hit from the blast. The Anvil is destroyed and the survivors form a skirmishing unit. Dwarf King Alrik Ranulfsson of Karak-Hirn: "Now if anyone could help soothe the parched throat of an old warrior I could continue. When I was a young'un there was never any need for a battle-scarred veteran to ask for a drink as his cup was always full. Nor was.... oh, thank you." Durgrim drained the newly-filled flagon in a single long draught, wiping the foam from his moustache with the back of his hand as he banged the mug on the table to be filled again. "Now where was I ? Oh yes. The few noble Dwarves left that keep the old ways. Thorek I've told you about, but there's also King Alrik Ranulfsson of Karak-Hirn. Even though he has to deal with all the lesser races who come to trade with him, King Alrik has stayed true to the old ways. The army of Karak-Hirn is a sight to make your heart glad, with ranks of Clansmen and Ironbreakers backed up by loyal Dwarves with crossbows. Just like it was in the old days. None of your modern rubbish like flame cannons and Gyrocopters littering the place and stinking up the clean mountain air with their fumes. Don't know what those engineers were thinking anyhow. Karak-Hirn is one of the younger holds, founded after the Great Quakes. It was a tragic time and what were needed were great leaders. The founder of Karak-Hirn, Alrik's great-great-greatgrandfather, was one such Dwarf. Kurgaz was probably the tallest and strongest of our kind ever to smite an Elf. He stood head and shoulders above his followers and could lift an entire ore wagon single-handed. As he fled the disasters of those dark times with his army of follwers, he happened upon the mountain which would be his new home: Karak-Hirn, the Hornhold, Kurgaz was camped with his kinsmen above ground in a small valley, an unusual and troulbing practice but necessary when the trembling earth is twisting even the finest Dwarf-wrought tunnels. As dusk drew in, the deep blare of a Dwarf warhorn sounded across the valley. Thinking his kind were in danger, Kurgaz rallied his bodyguard about him and set off towards the sound. They climbed for hours, feeling for handholds as they approached the sound which still sounded eerily across the mountains. Just as dawn broke, they reached a large cave and stopped to rest.

Without warning, the wind blew through the entrance of the cave, down the passageways and all around them, causing the deep roar that had summoned them. Kurgaz roared in turn, but this time with laughter, and soon the whole of his guard had tears running down their cheeks. 'It is a sign from Grungni,' he said, 'To show us how to laugh even in such times as these, and to show us a safe haven.' And with that he sey about exploring his new domain. Over the years the caverns have been greatly enlarged, and the winds still blow through the Hornhold of Karak-Hirn. Cleverly constructed doors, valves and bellows amplify the sound just so, and cunningly set fires draw the air through the sounding chambers so that the mountain itself can be sounded to call the warriors to battle or scare away Trolls. Now as I said, young Alrik is even more traditinal than his father Ranulf, and his armies are a sight to make an old warrior glad. But there's more to him than that. For he has taken KarkaHirn's Book of Grudges and sought with single-minded dedication to erase every slight. To this end he campaigns against greenskins, Skaven, or Elves and extracts a payment in blood for their past misdeeds. It is often that you hear of how our kin have been badly mistreated, but few seek vengeance like Alrik. He would erase every grudge ever held by his clan, and if he lives long enough by Grungni he'll do it. Already he carries one of the volumes of the Book, completely scoured of unpaid blood-debts. This alone fills his followers with boundless hope, as it does me and should you." King Alrik Ranulfsson M WS BS S T W I A Ld Alrik & Bearers 3 7 4 4 5 5 4 6 10 Alrik is the King of Karak-Hirn and is borne into battle on a great shield carried by his loyal followers. He acn be taken as a Lord choice in a Dwarf army, but also uses up one of your army's Hero choices. He must be fielded exactly as presented here, and no extra equipment or rune items and Shield Bearers is included in his total cost. Alrik and his Royal Shield Bearers are treated as a single model with the profile given above. If he fights with a unit he is placed with his Bearers in the center of the front rank. Note that when in a unit he benefits from the Look out, Sir! rule. Points: 425. Weapons: The Axe of Retribution. Armor: Hrappi-klad. Unit Strength: Alrik and his Shield Bearers are treated as a single model with a Unit Strength of 3. Lord of the Hold: If Alrik is included in your army he must be your army General. Shield Bearers: Alrik is carried into battle on the Great Shield of his ancestors. This makes him very easy to see and so friendly Dwarves within 18" of him may use his Leadership value, rather than those within 12" as normal. The fighting abilities of the characteristics for Alrik himself as all three fight as a single model. Traditional Army: Alrik doesn't trust the unusual machineries of the Engineers' Guild and only rarely includes them in his army. If Alrik is in the army then Gyrocopters, Flame Cannons and Organ Guns cost twice the points they do normally. In addition, your army cannot have more models armed with a handgun than a crossbow. Rune Items: Axe of Retribution: As the Karak-Hirn Dwarves fight their enemies, the bright flash of sliver is easily seen as the Axe of Retribution rises and falls in deadly arcs. Alrik had his axe made especially for his crusade to avenge the wrongs done to his Hold, and he has sworn not to let it rest until they have all been struck from the Book of Grudges. The Axe of Retribution has been inscribed with the Grudge Rune and the Breaking Rune. Hrappi-klad: Suits of heavy golden armor are the traditional battle garb of the King of Karak-Hirn and his Shield Bearers. They are plain and unadorned in the functional manner of the Dwarves,

but the protection they offer is far greater than any suit of finely filigreed Elven armor. This heavy armor gives Alrik and his Bearers a 4+ Armor save. It has also been marked with the Rune of Shielding. Kurgaz's Shield: This ancient shield bears a protectiove magical rune, but is of tremendous size and is far too heavy to use normally. However, since it is a valued heirloom of their founder, the Kings of Karak-Hirn still take it to battle-nwadays as a fighting platform borne by two of their strongest followers. The Shield gives Alrik and his Royal Shield Bearers a 5+ Ward save. Helm of Eagles: The cunningly wrought runes on this ancient battle-helm give the wearer the sharp eyesight of the hunting eagle as he soars above his prey. No lurking assassins can hide from him, nor secrets be held from him whilst he wears this helm. Alrik can see the details of enemy troops wherever they are on the battlefield. At the start of each Dwarf turn (before declaring charges, etc.), Alrik may gaze at one enemy uint. Your opponent must reveal any hidden troops within the unit (such as Assassins or Night Goblin Fanatics) as well as all magic items carried by models within the unit. Karak-Hirn's Book of Grudges: The Great Book Book of Grudges, Dammaz Kron, is held by the High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer, but this is not the olny such book. In fact, each Hold has their own book, as indeed do many individual Dwarves. Actually this is only one volume of the many that comprise Karak-Hirn's collection of grudges. However, this is a unique volume because all the grudges described in its pages have been avenged! In battle, this has the effect of allowing friendly units within 12" of King Alrik to re-roll failed break tests, just like an army standard anf therefore gives no combat resolution bonus and cannot be captured by the enemy for extra victory points. Kadrin Redmane: The Redmane clan can trace its roots back to when Dwarf records first began, and Kadrin Redmane is undoubtably the most famous Dwarf of this prestigious line. He first made his name as a great warrior at the Battle of Three Towers, during the War of the Beard. As the Dwarf army of Gotrek Starbreaker crushed that of the High Phoenix King Caledor II, Kadrin Redmane's valor and skills caught the attentions of an ancient Runesmith. He took Redmane as his apprentice and began to teach him the long and arduous process of forging Dwarf runes. Over the following centuries, Kadrin's natural talent surprised and even surpassed that of his master, and so it was that he became Runelord of Karak Varn. He presided as Lord of the Hold during a rare time of peace and prosperity for the Dwarves. Kadrin retained his position as Runelord of Karak Varn until the Worlds Edge Mountains were struck by cataclymic earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. Many of his clan died as Karak Varn was reduced to rubble. The Dwarves call this period of history the Time of Woes. Kadrin barely escaped with his own life. He and the few remaining survivors sought safety in the great halls of Karaz-a-Karak, where he made his new home, teaching other Dwarves the secret arts of the Runesmith. It is during this time that he created the Shield of Stone and his mighty warhammer. In the year -1185 he returned to Karak Varn in search of some of the valuable family heirlooms and artifacts that had been lost in the earthquake. It was during one of these expeditions that he discovered the rich veins of gromril which the quake had opened up. Kadrin Redmane M WS BS S T W I A Ld 3 6 4 4 5 3 3 2 10

Kadrin

Points: 215 Weapons: Hammer of Ages, Dwarf handgun Armor: Gromril armor, Shield of Stone Special Rules: Stubborn. Adds one dice to the Dispel pool.

Magic Items: Hammer of Ages: The Hammer of Ages is inscribed with an ancient family rune. Kadrin Redmane was the only Dwarf with the knowledge of how to create this rune. Models that are hit with this hammer must take a Leadership test for each hit suffered. If failed, the Hammer automatically wounds with no Armor save allowed. If the test is passed, roll to wound and take armor saves as usual. Shield of Stone: The Shield of Stone is made of the purest gromril mined from the pits of Karak Varn. Redmane forged the shield himself, inscribing it with mighty runes of protection. The Shield of Stone confers a 2+ Ward save against any missile attacks (including magic missiles). Thorgrim Grudgebearer: Thorgrim Grudgebearer is the High King of all Dwarves. His has been a glorious reign, and he has had many opportunities to strike ancient wrongs from Dammaz Kron, the great book of grudges. The rediscovery of the Nemesis Crown could be a source of great shame for the Dwarves, and he will not let it become so. Thorgrim Grudgebearer: M WS BS S T W I A Ld 3 7 6 4 5 7 4 4 10 3 5 3 4 - - 3 4 -

Thorgrim Throne Bearers

Special Rules: Large Target, Royal Blood (see pg. 29 of the Dwarf Army Book). Thronebearers: The four Dwarves carrying the Throne of Power attack in combat with the single profile above. These attacks do not benefit from Thorgrim's weaponry and can be aimed at any enemy model in base contact with the throne. Magic Items: The Armor of Skaldour: This gromril armor bears the Master Rune of Skaldour, which confers a 4+ ward save; a Rune of Preservation; and Rune of stone. On his throne. Thorgrim has a 1+ armor save. Grungni-Wrought Throne: The throne is largely invulnerable to harm and protects Thorgrim. It provides the High King with a 5+ armor save, and gives him 4 additional Wounds. The Wounds have been included in his profile above. The Great Book of Grudges: The bearer Hates all enemies. Thorgrim's Thronebearers are also affected by Hatred, as are the members of any unit Thorgrim joins. The Dragon Crown of Karaz: The Dragon Crown has been worn by the High Kings of Karaz-aKarak since the hold's founding. It bears the Master Rune of Kingship. The Axe of Grimnir: Before Grimnir disappeared, he gifted his son one of his legendary axes. This axe has been passed down through his noble line ever since, and it is possession of this artifact that identifies a High King. The axe bears the Mater Rune of Skalf Blackhammer, the Master Rune of Alric the Mad, and the Giantbane Master Rune turns each Wound inflicted by the axe into D3 Wounds, or D6 if the opponent is a Troll ot Giant. There is no other runic item that combines three Master Runes in this way.