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The Awakening

Chapter 1

The High Kings eyes lay fixed in a glazed stare at the charred object in his old hands, and in the depths of his steely-blue eyes his soul was centuries and leagues away.

"Ahhh, my friend" he whispered to the one standing near. "Vengeance and hatred make a strong alloy in the heart, but it is a bitter one to the taste."

"You feel the blood of our fathers, my King" muttered the Runesmith with a age-worn voice broken by sadness and grief. "Ever has it granted us strength, but courage and vengeance melded with too much hate is a poisonous broth. In these dark times me must ask of our ancestors the strength to be the perfect alloy, for when we are balanced we can never be defeated."

"The sword that is forged from an uneven blend shatters in battle." recited the King. "Yes I have heard that spoken from many lips, and yet in these times I now understand its true meaning."

Turning his eyes away from the Runesmith, the King looked back at what lay in his hands.

The battle axe had been melted into a charred lump of blackened oak, and the runic script of the metal had been warped by an intense heat. The handle still bore a faint resemblance of the Kings family rune, for this was the battle axe of Thori, King Osrics son. He now feasted in the halls of his ancestors in Valaya, but would await his final peace when vengeance for his death was wrought.

Three days earlier the body of the Kings son had been carried through the Dwarven city down into the burial crypts at the roots of the mountain. It had been a day so silent that the faint pattering of falling scree in the mountains chinked echoingly throughout the stronghold. The Kings first spoken words had been only this morning, and it had been an oath of vengeance bellowed in grief.

Now in the Kings Throne Room under the flickering light of wall lamps, the Kings heart had cooled slightly and he was at council with his trusted friend the Runesmith Tel. Here he stood by the Kings side, pondering on the mystery and dread that had awoken in their hearts with the news of the Princes death. Soon they would find out the truth of what had happened, and Tel had a terrible feeling it would prove further ill for the Dwarven people. The air was stuffy and thick with the winds of magic, and to Tel it felt as if a storm was fast approaching.

The last time King Osric had seen his son alive had been the day he had left the Stronghold in high hopes leading an expedition to a recently rediscovered ancient fort many leagues to the east on the borders of the accursed Ash Lands. Word had come from scouts ranging in that area of a lost citadel from the times of the ancestors which had lain forgotten for countless centuries, for activity of the accursed Dark kin of the east had increased over the years troubling the Thanes of the mountains and their advisors to see what evil they were up to. Over the millennia of battles the Dwarfs had waged in the Old World, they had come to learn never to underestimate the utter corruptness and evil of the worshippers of Hashut, their Dark Kin, and ever had they been a shame on the name of their race. No other enemy were hated more, for they showed that even the proud race of the Dwarfs was not uncorruptable and that the granite foundations of their race had deep splits running through its base.

The ancient citadel was on the borders of their dark territory in the east, and from the scouts reports seemed long deserted and home only to the twisted scurrying creatures of that grim border land that made lairs in its dark passageways, although the cursed brethren were once more active in the area. As soon as word reached the King that the Dark kindred may have uncovered one of the ancient lost citadels, it was immediately agreed that efforts must be made to prevent it falling into their evil hands. The Kings son Thori had volunteered to lead a fully armed expedition to reclaim this ancient citadel and to defend it against the Dark Ones. Troops had been sent from the Thane guards of the surrounding cities from all across the Dragon Spine Mountains, and soon a large force many hundred strong had assembled before the Gates of Karaz a Karak. They had left many moons ago singing deeply as their footsteps faded up the steep and twisting mountain paths, now the city echoed only with the mournful songs of grief and sadness.

"My friend, are any of the survivors able to talk?" asked the King gruffly.

"From the expedition sixteen returned whether standing... or carried upon their round shields." muttered the Runesmith, his deep brows furrowing in worry. "Only five remain alive. I think we will get answers now, but the healers will not be happy for they are in a bad way"

The King nodded glumly and raised himself from his crystal-crusted throne. "Let us go at once" he muttered and the two proceeded out of the throne room to the healing chambers.

After a brief exchange of words with the healers, they retired from the main chamber reluctantly, leaving the King and the Runesmith to question one survivor they deemed fit enough to speak. The Dwarf lay moaning in a stretched bed, much of his body covered in bandages. The first thing the King noticed was that the Dwarf was clean shaven, and he later found out that this was because most of his beard had been singed away and had to be removed with little hope of ever growing back. Half of his face was wrapped in bandage so that the poor Dwarf could only look at the King through one blood-shot eye, and when the King addressed him he tried valiantly to rise but Osric quietly bade him relax and tell them what happened...

Their force had marched directly eastward towards the dust-blurred rising sun in the east, and ranger teams of gunners had been sent to scout ahead and make the passes safe. Minor skirmishes with mountain Goblins had been fought, but all had been destroyed by the scouts themselves and the Troll Slayers who accompanied them with no need of the main force having to go into battle. Yet all around them the Dwarfs could sense that the Mountains were growing wilder and untamed the further east they went, and they felt that the rocks just beyond the edge of sight were full of leering eyes, watchful and filled with cunning hatred. For a week the force had marched keeping a steady pace, and often they would pass ancient crumbling towers that had not been used for centuries and had fallen into decay, standing lonely as rune stones to the fall of their mighty Kingdom to the enemies of the Dwarfs.

On one occasion a fool-hardy pack of Stone Trolls had actually leaped down from their layers onto the forefront scouts and had slain many Rangers before the Slayers could bring them down. It was a shocking example of how more wild and dangerous the land became the further eastward they went, for Trolls would never normally have the courage for such a bold attack, no matter how foolish it had been. Yet apart from the occasional skirmish with filth Goblinoid creatures, their pass went relatively unchallenged, and on the second week of march the force climbed the last of the eastern range mountains and looked beyond into a vast Dark land stretching far below to the edge of sight that looked as lifeless and twisted as the northern wastes themselves. At the foot of the Eastern range hidden in a valley, they could now see the crumbling stone walls of the ancient eastern fortress the scouts had reported of, and they set an eager march towards it, tightening their grip on their weapons and bringing together the scouts into closer formation as they felt the dangerous watchfulness suddenly increase. Each Dwarf had advanced feeling a dreadful threat in the dusty air increase with each step, and at any moment they expected an attack. The Captains were glancing nervously all about them for they could feel the danger they were in but knew not where it would come from. Only Prince Thori held his eyes fixed straight ahead towards the ruined gateway of the ancient fortress as he lead a march resolutely towards the dark entrance.

They had hardly past the two ruined outposts when the expected attack came in a billow of acrid black smoke and the screaming and vile sniggering laughter of twisted Hobgoblins which suddenly leaped down from the rocks on either side. Thori had expected such an attack however, for reports of the Dark Kins activity in this area had not gone unheard, and so quickly the force assumed a defensive position so that the pitiful Goblinoids broke on a wall of steel and fell to the skilled axe blows of Prince Thoris' honour guard in droves before scampering in a disorganized retreat back up the slopes. Yet this had merely been a cunning distraction, for while the Dwarfs had been busy slaughterring the Hobgoblins, a deep column of accursed Dark kin armed with brazen blunderbuss guns had formed behind their steel lines, and from out of the dark entrance to the ancient citadel ranks of heavily-armed Dwarfs in black spiked amour emerged followed by monstrous snarling beasts with bull-like lower muscular bodies red as flaming embers,  and a twisted Dwarven torso with a tusked bearded face of a dark one. They had walked straight into a trap...

In terrible moments deafening with the crack of gunpowder blasts the mountain air was filled with the acrid stench of sulphurous smoke, and in that instant of chaos before their ranks tightened themselves into a defensive formation many warriors fell riddled with bloodied shrapnel holes from the dread blunderbuss weapons of the devil spawn kin. It was then that the air was torn by the screaming whistle of vile Death Rocket cannons forged from Hashuts' black fires of the Ash lands, and the Dwarven ranks exploded in violent yellow flashes where they hit, sending bloody bodies tumbling through the air. Many of the devil fire spiraled uncontrollably spewing circling streamers of dirty smoke before landing amidst their own foul warrior ranks, but this seemed only to grow their sniggering laughter for their dark masters care not for the lives of their followers who are indeed slaves to their terrifying will.

It was clear that they were in a very bad situation, but the sight of the corrupt brethren fuelled the hatred in their veins and many Dwarfs in the front ranks rushed forward yelling battle cries. Seeing it was hopeless to escape, Prince Thori raced after his fellow soldiers and blew deeply on his golden-gild battle horn, sounding a full thunderous charge towards the black kin. They knew that if their ranks could be broken, the rest of the vile army, mainly made of cowardly Goblinoid slaves would scatter. But it was a desperate plan for the ranks of the dark kin were well armed and deep and their black hatred burned just as brightly as the Dwarfs from the western Mountains. In this instant the evil brethren were stunned for to see ranks of well armored angry Dwarfs charging towards them was not something they were expecting for warriors of such cruel hearts prefer attacking with greater numbers and from a distant with foul-smoking weapons, not hand to hand with a determined and deadly foe. They hardly had time to raise their cruel blades before the front wave of charging Dwarfs slammed into their ranks with a deafening grinding of steel and a bellowing of deep voices, and the battle swiftly descended into a chaotic melee with Dwarf fighting Dwarf, and with the hatred bubbling between the two brethren neither side would give an inch.

Outside the ancient gates of the ruined Dwarven citadel it was bloody chaos. Monstrous Bull Centaurs snorting fire stomped through the masses of warriors hewing left and right with their gigantic bludgeoning blades, not caring that they often felled their own dark brethren. Heroes were born and lost in that battle as both sides were equally matched in skill and weaponry and neither side was willing to give ground. For even though the evil kin had embraced the evil underworld god Hashut and had been twisted by the tint of the dark gods of Chaos in days long ago, they were still partly Dwarfs and so possessed the skill of the metal craft beyond mere Elves and Humans could dream of and were fuelled with their races stubborn bravery to stand and fight to the last.

The harshly croaked battle songs of the dark kin were in old Dwarvish which they could understand even though it was in a mocking cruel tone. The words were spiteful and talked of the fall of the Dwarf kingdom to be consumed in the terrible black fires of Hashut, and this taunting turned their blood to boiling fury. Back they chanted in spitting roars and oaths of vengeance of the fall of darkness to the gods of Valaya, and this became more than just a battle, it became a spiritual fight for the purity of their race against corruption. Neither side backed down, as in all eyes the fury of the Dwarven race was set to flaming hatred, and the dead piled up on both sides giving a great feast for the flocks of hungry carrion crows that circled and cawed evilly in the choking dusty air above, making it difficult to keep a foothold on the slippery carpet of bloody hacked bodies and fallen smeared weapons. Even in the days of the War of the Beard when the weakling white-faced Elves had been annihilated from the Old World and fled back over the seas to their Isle in their white swan ships, such hatred as this was unknown, for no other enemy under the sun stoked the fires of the Dwarfs fury more than their Dark Kin, for they were a shame on their ancestors and a curse on their race.

Through the visors in their gromril helms the Dwarfs could hardly see anything, for thick black smoke rolled over the battlefield and their hearing was deafened by the constant cracking of gunners from both armies and the screaming whistle of Death Rockets roaring over head and exploding in the ranks. In front of them they could see the amassed forces of the enemy, their evil flaming eyes burning red from beneath horned helmets of ash-forged black iron, advancing upon them with the dark blades of their lightless slave forges. Often fiery explosions would bloom from the side of the cliffs nearby, for the War Machines of the dark kin were very inaccurate up to a point that some even found their mark in the midst of their own ranks as if they had been crudely wielded by greenskins and not Dwarfs. No one knew how long the battle raged; for the smoke blanketed all sight of the baking hot eastern sun and the battle never ceased for none were willing to stop slaying the other. Yet sometime in the midst of all this carnage a deep brass horn note bellowed loudly above the scream of rockets and the blasting of powder weapons. This had a very strange effect for the Dark Kin immediately raised their bronze shields into a defensive wall of metal and backed away slowly, spitting taunting curses at the Dwarfs through foul tusked mouths and blood-streaked beards.  The Dwarfs would have pursued them then and there had it not been for their leader Prince Thori who bellowed a command to hold, for in his heart he feared they were leading them into another trap. Their numbers had been felled dramatically with merely half their numbers still able to stand and they could ill afford another battle whilst the enemy still outnumbered them more than two to one with fresh reserves of Hobgoblin slaves at the ready which could be seen high on the cliff sides in dark masses under their crude black banners, watching and waiting for their cruel masters whips to command them. Backwards the evil dark Kin marched, crushing the dead and dying of both armies underfoot with evil relish. Their black ranks fell back and swelled around a trio of strange-looking figures that had appeared from the ancient crumbling entrance of the citadel. It was easy to recognize them as accursed Black sorcerers, for parts of their foul bodies had been hideously turned to stone because of their evil acts, and a dark corona of black magic swirled around the three like a sickening plague. In their midst was a large object that pulsed with a light none could focus on completely. It stung the eyes to look at it for it seemed to shift and change and move of its own accord between existence and nothingness, yet from its strange metallic surface burned bright flaming runes of a script none of them recognized and looked nothing like any language carved under a sun. One of the Dwarf sorcerers hobbled forward dragging a leaden leg of crystalline volcanic rock in a grotesque show of how corrupt the kin had become. It was said that when Grungi had awakened the first seven sleepers under the mountains, he had warned them never to use the dark magic, and that if they should ever dare to go against the command of their maker; they would be turned back to the stone from which they were molded in the time of starlight. From the front ranks Thori yelled a command to the standard bearer, and he unfurled the shining battle standard of Valaya which pulsed with silvery protection against magic, for it was clear this new devilry was the dark-rumoured magic of Hashut.

At least that is what they thought...

With a shrill chattering of an evil dialect, the closest Dwarven sorcerer turned round and slammed a red crystalline object into the strange metal shard the other two carried. Instantly the air burned hotter than a forge masters pit and the vision of the lands behind them blurred and wavered as if the lands had been turned to roasting desert, and from the strange objects warping surface there shot a huge torrent of spluttering fire into the sky towards the front ranks of Prince Thoris guard. No one was sure of what had happened next, for sheer chaos fell on the ranks of the Dwarfs and the air shattered with the terrible screams of the dying. The front thee ranks of warriors collapsed with screeches of agony onto the blood-soaked ground as their beards burst into flame and their flesh charred. The very armour of their bodies began to glow red and the stink of burning bodies smote the air as the Dwarfs were cooked alive within their own armour. Thori himself was in the first rank, and through tear-blurred eyes the survivors saw him fall in burning agony as beside him the battle banner blazed into fluttering ash and embers. With the fall of the front ranks the enemies charged forward in a mass attack chanting evil songs and laughing at the pitiful screams of the dying. Somehow, before the enemies could reach them some Dwarfs managed to lift up the blackened body of Prince Thori though it scorched their hands to the bone, and beat a hasty retreat while others sold their lives dearly against the dark kin to give them time to escape. All that could be remembered after that was the mad dash to escape under the command of the surviving captains, and the horrible sound of the evil mocking laughter from behind them as the evil kin took chase and hunted them down one by one. They managed to break through the ranks of the Blunderbuss armed warriors to their rear and fled into the mountains on their long run back home to warn the kingdom of the terrible new weapon the Evil Kin had found. Those few dozen that made it back alive returned the burned body of Prince Thori to the High King before collapsing with exhaustion.

Now, piecing together the strands of information from the wounded survivors, the Runesmiths had delved deep into the old archives of the ancient Days. There in old dust-shrouded tombs written in an ancestral runic script unused for millennia and known only to the oldest longbeards in these days, they pieced together a possible explanation of this dread new weapon. There is a legend that in times far back when the ancients lived before even the dark days of the first Great War against the dark gods, great beings from the stars walked the earth and had powers beyond imagination. Lands they raised and fell, and great armies of strange servants they had at their call. It was they who taught the seven ancestors the craft of tool making and of mining for metals, and sowed the seeds of their first language.

So powerful were they that it was said the very elements of nature were at their command...

If such beings truly ever did exist, then they must have been Gods. But the legends say that they did not themselves control the elements with will, but with machinery and intelligent craft. These were not beings of magic as the Elves in their foolishness believe them to be, but beings of engineering and craft who were respected as mighty by the Dwarven ancestors. It is said they fashioned eight machine devices to control the four elements, two for each, and that with these machines land and life itself could be created or destroyed.

But most records and knowledge of these mighty machines of the Old Ones was lost when the time of Darkness came unto the World many millennia ago in the ancient past, and it is thought that in this time when the great Old Ones perished and their kingdoms were smashed into ruin, those machines had been destroyed. Somehow in those dark days the ancestors of the Dwarfs and Elves managed to fight off the Darkness from the North, for they had learned well from the Old Ones. In that time even the primitive tribes of humans showed their strength and courage, and where the Old Gods had fallen in daemon fire mere mortals somehow prevailed.

But things that should not have been forgotten were lost from record. Perhaps the ancestors assumed all craft of the Old ones had perished with them, but it was not so.

Now piecing together the tragic story of the fall of Prince Thori and his army to the accursed Dark Kindred, the Runesmiths had looked over the scrolls concerning this ancient eastern citadel they now learned had been called Karak Ange'loch, translated from the ancient tongue as "The Gods Forge". What they learned filled the Runesmiths with fear when they discovered old scrolls referring to something that they called 'the fire of the gods' which the King of that eastern citadel had mined from deep beneath the great eastern ash steppes, and others referred to is as the 'fiery gift from the skies' that had hurtled to the ground in ancient days as a burning star that was buried deeply in the ash of the east. How this knowledge had been lost is uncertain, but all that is known is that the Dwarf Empire had lost contact with the citadel in ancient times very suddenly. This happened long ago at the start of the Days of Woe when many citadels fell into ruin and were conquered by the enemies of the Dwarfs, and it was assumed that this far eastern citadel, isolated and cut off from the other struggling citadels who themselves were ringed with foes, had fallen long ago to enemies in a similar way...

Now the Runesmiths of King Osric fear differently. Such a device was never meant for mortal hands, and the ancient scrolls suggest that shortly before the citadel suddenly perished, their ancient Runesmiths were experimenting with the dug up shard of the Old Ones machine. 

If this truly is the Fire of the ancient Gods and it has been awakened, then it must mean that the machinery of the elements was not lost with the Old Ones as was always believed. If that is the case, the Dark Kindred have awoken a power that should have slept forever, and dark times have fallen upon us. The power of the elements has been awakened...

Chapter 2 - Dark secrets unlocked

“Heave! Quickly, his tank is nearly spent!” came the gruff echoing bellow of Drendi Saltbeard, Barak Varr’s eldest miner and leader of the excavation party of sixteen.

The clinking sounds of the anchorage chain being quickly passed from rough hand to hand and the painting of the Dwarves from under their salt-matted beards echoed within the rocky sea cavern, punctuated regularly by the roaring surf and the powerful salt spray bursts that entered  the dark cavern from submerged rocky outlets to the swelling sea below the ledge. The swirling foamy water welled and ebbed loudly with the incoming tide, wetting beards and causing the miners wax candles to sizzle and spit. From deep below in the dark turbid waters there rose the faint glimmering purple light of a divers phosphorous torch, making the miners frantically haul up the still body of their companion from the foamy blackness. Salt spray poured off his water-proof diving suit as the Miners dragged their companion onto the rocky cavern ledge and heaved off the  sealed helmet. Shoving aside his men in concern for the drowned Dwarf, Drendi lurched forward and pressed his lips to the blue-tinted cold lips of the mining diver lying before him, thumping his barrel-like chest in a frantic effort to bring life back to the Dwarfs cold body. Again and again he slammed his palms downwards onto the Dwarfs muscular chest, the thick seal-skin dwarven diving suit ripped open. When it seemed all lost to the other companions and their heads were bowed in sadness and grief, the still Dwarf suddenly gave a huge shuddering gasp and sat up with his wide eyes staring at the captain.

Only then as he rose his thickly gloved hand did they notice the strange staff of metal the Dwarf held clasped in an iron-strong grasp.

“Captain Drendi!” spluttered the Dwarf in heaving gasps “There…there…”

“Steady lad” muttered Drendi and patted the Dwarf on the back even though the Dwarf before him was more than a hundred years old “Take your time, then speak your report”

After a moments pause of coughing and taking sips from the strong brew flask one of the miners offered him, the Dwarf composed himself and continued.

“ Sir, this submerged cavern connects with a series of underwater caverns as our mining parties had reported, yet they extend much further than has previously been excavated!” said the Dwarf with eyes gleaming as the other miners crouched and listened with interest.

“ Long weathering of the surf has cut deep circular tunnels through the basalt and black Dolomite cliff rock, wide enough for three divers to swim through.  As I passed through these tunnels in my diving gear the phosphorous candle showed gleaming veins of rich Magnetite ore as well as grades two and three Quartz veins and some grade one Bauxite.” To this the fellow Miners muttered in surprise for Bauxite was hard to come by and a precious Aluminium ore when melded as an alloy with Iron: - much valued by the other trading citadel cities for making strong artillery components and armour.

“Yet as I searched further I passed into a vast cavern in section seven a few hundred paces north, and there at its base was a large tunnel submerged beneath in the rock into which a strong current pulled me downwards.”  As the Dwarf described his search of the sea caverns, Captain Drendi and the others nodded gruffly knowing that Dwarfs have never been strong swimmers, their bodies are adapted more for mountains than the depths of the sea. So it was no surprise to them that a diver could not swim against the strong currents which twist through the labyrinthine sea passageways beneath Barak Varr.

“I know not how long the tunnel stretched for though it was not carved naturally by the surf for its walls were straight and angled in the light of the phosphorous torch as I tumbled through its depths, but it cannot be longer than the anchorage chain for when I awoke from unconsciousness I found that I was still attached. Thank Grungi, I had a way back though I could not guess as how to swim against the strong current back up the submerged tunnel. I found myself lying on the rock ledge of a mighty cavern floor, crystalline stalactites of pink Dolomite grown into the calcified rock (they appeared grade two though I cannot be certain) and black quartz hung from its huge silicon ceiling. Yet my gaze swiftly went from the rock structures I was assigned to survey to a strange formation in the centre of the caverns floor. I approached and found it was a large raised circular platform carved with obvious skill and power into hardest black dolomite! How this could be possible I no not for it is clear that this cavern has lain hidden deep underground for what must be many score millennia!”

This drew gasps from the surrounding  Dwarfs for Black Dolomite in its purest form was harder than a vein of grade one diamond and required the heaviest drilling equipment of the Dwarfs to blast and no other races heard of were capable of such skill.

“Aye, but stranger was to come. I searched the platform and in its thick circular centre (approximately thirty hand widths wide) was forged of a metal I have never seen before.” With these words he lifted the artifact he had been clutching even as he was dragged half-drowned back up through the under water tunnels. They gazed at a oblong shaft of metal carved perfectly straight about ten hand breadths tall and one wide in the shape of a square-ended pole. Its substance was unlike any the Dwarfs had ever seen, made of a silvery-red metal that felt harder than thrice forged mithril and showed magnetic properties when Drendi placed it near his pin compass, scrambling the field and sending the pin spinning in wild circles.

“By Grungi!” gasped the Miner Captain as he handed it around his puzzled and awed crewmen for inspection. As it was passed from Dwarf to Dwarf in the flickering light of their helmet candles, the Dwarfs began muttering and discussing its possible forgery, by which hands it had been forged and where it may have come from. The strange runic script etched  deep into the metal shaft was most puzzling of all, for none of the Dwarfs recognized even one of the symbols and was of no language they had ever encountered, even though Barak Varr traded with many ships from all lands.

“Stranger still” continued the soaking Dwarf Diver “was that into the runic script covering the flat surface of the platform was chipped into the rock and filled with this odd silvery-red metal as if to conduct power along the script lines, and there were 8 large circular holes one and a half hands widths wide and perfectly spherically carved deep into the Dolomite platform, set into the rock in pairs of four and connected by flowing lines of this strange runic script I cannot read. “ The Dwarf scratched his head with brows furrowed in puzzled wonder and continued.

“In its centre stood this metal rod, left in its carved square shaft by some unknown hand. I searched for any other artefact which may have given clue as to its origin but could only find this metal runic shaft. When I attempted to return, seeing my air tanks were low, I passed out somewhere in the depths of the submerged corridors, and thank Grungi I was still attacked by chain to the anchorage for otherwise you would be looking at a dead Dwarfs fish-eaten corpse.”

At this the other Dwarfs nodded and lifted him to his feet.

“In my bones I feel this discovery harbours ill portents for never before have I seen anything crafted as this, especially from the age you deem it to be.” muttered Drendi Saltbeard darkly. “The Runesmiths must be told of this. Leave markers for our return as I expect more divers will be sent to investigate this find. Come.”

In the citadel of Barak Varr that night:

Shrieking wind howled furiously above as it roared up from the sea and spiraled around the massive sea fortress of the Dwarfs.  The booming sound of crashing waves echoed through the granite corridors of the keep as the three Runesmiths sat in silence around a blazing log fire, their furrowed brows and the long platted beards of their ancient faces glowing red in the splintering ember light. None had spoken to each other for hours and each was muttering and grumbling under their beards  as they looked at the runic metal shaft lying on a stone table in their midst.

Eventually one of them, Jalnir Gazefreeze broke the silence in a rising grumble like the awakening of a volcano:

“This should not be possible. All relics of that ancient time were long lost millennia ago in the early days of our honoured ancestors, and yet brothers, the evidence of hidden relics still to be found from that ancient age lies before us.” he muttered in a heavy grinding voice like the shifting of granite monoliths.

“Aye,” said another of the ancient clan leaders “we all recognize the long-unused runic script of the Old Masters, I recognize some of the runes from the sacred scrolls of Grungi in the vaults of  Everpeak, yet not even the old ancestor master Runesmiths in days when our race was more mighty and times were better could read them, only Grungi himself had the power of the old speech.” the Dwarf finished with a rumbling sigh, thinking back to the days when the kingdom of the Dwarfs shook the very foundations of the earth with ancient might and prevailed over all dark enemies… now though the world had changes and the darkness was everywhere to be seen, infesting every corner of the Dwarf realm while their race dwindled.

After a long pause, a voice from behind them spoke causing the Runesmiths to turn in surprise as their King walked forward.

“Forgive the intrusion my elders” said the King as he stepped forward and seated himself within the royal hall. Even a King respects his elders in Dwarf civilisation, especially venerable Runesmiths such as these.

“But I have long listened to your talk of the diving exploration teams findings hidden beneath our very city. Of course I bow to your superior elder wisdom in these matters, yet I must bring something to your attention concerning this.” The Runesmiths relaxed and their eyes gleamed with prideful pleasure seeing such respect from their King - a young Dwarf barely more than two centuries old yet he showed signs of being a very fine king for the fortress city of Barak Varr after the honourable death of his father High King Osric, and showed the proper respect to his elders. They each nodded in turn as his gaze went around the three seeking permission to enter their talk and the King continued.

“And I am sure you are aware, an expedition from Everpeak lead by the Royal Prince Thori was sent out for the long abandoned fortress of Mount Silverspear on the edge of the accursed Ash Lands wherein the unspoken names of our direst enemies have their strength.” he said in a growl, the faces of all Dwarfs in the room darkening at the mention of their Dark Eastern  Kin whom all Dwarfs had sworn to destroy above all other enemies for the disgrace they brought upon their ancestors.

“I have been sent word of the fall of Prince Thori and of a direst awakening of power in the east…”

“We have felt it” the three Runesmiths muttered together, interrupting the king.

Runesmith Jalnir continued in a sadder tone “Our hearts are not deaf to the powers of this world, yet it is with grievous sadness we hear of the fall of Prince Thori, he would have one day became a great High King.”

“Aye ‘tis true.” replied the king bowing his head to show his grief. “Yet there were survivors from the expedition, and they told tale of an awakening evil power of flame the unspoken enemies of the east have now in their possession which they have dug from the very roots under the ancient citadel of Mount Silverspear.

The survivors told tale of seeing strange runic artifacts from their cursed dig site, and though message has only arrived from Everpeak of their report the survivors traveled to the halls of our fore-fathers near a moon ago, long before the Divers uncovered this artifact you name to be of the ancient old ones.” muttered the king darkly, motioning towards the metal runic shaft lying on the stone table between the fore Dwarfs.

Long moments passed in silence between the four Dwarfs as the three venerable elder Runesmiths absorbed the news from their king and its meaning.  Within the silence the king removed a finely-crafted ivory pipe and began blowing streams of blue-grey pipe weed smoke from between his lips as he waited patiently for his elders response.

Eventually one of the elders, a Runesmith named Thugrim Twinebeard grumbled into voice.

“This news brings dire ramifications.” he said in a grumbling voices, the other two Runesmiths and the king nodded in agreement. “It is clear our accursed black enemy in the east” he spat with words with bitter hatred before continuing “have unearthed an ancient power of the Old Ones, and that the artifacts of power which lie beneath our fortress of Barak Varr are linked with the power they have awakened from ancient slumber.

“The strong mountains and the cold sea speak to me of other powers awakening across the old world and beyond” grumbled the third Runesmith, Dorr Copperhand. As he spoke his brows was furrowed in concentration and his head was slightly tilted to one side in the flickering firelight as if he were listening to the very groaning in the rock walls and the voices in the pounding surf

“Some power has also awoken beneath our feet.”

“Word must be sent to the to all the Cities of our realm to prepare for an eastern attack ” Runesmith Jalnir announced to the King, rising slowly to his feet as the others did so with a pulse of battle energy rising in their muscular stout frames “Word also must be sent by sea to the Empire, Kislev and to Bretonnia to forewarn out Human allies of the imminent attack rising from the east. And we must seek out these sources of power that are awakening across the land, for if they were to fall into enemy hands, the power of the ancients would be used against us.”

“Then they will be coming for it!” muttered the King with a gleam of battle in his eye. “The steel fleets of Barak Varr will send word to our allies of this peril my elders, we shall not fail.” To this the Runesmiths slowly nodded in grim agreement, their own eyes shining with the thought of battling the east and bringing the furious judgement and vengeance of the Dwarfs against their most hated enemies.

“Aye, they will come, and we will be ready…”