Chapter 1:

The last vestiges of winter lingered in the air, desperately trying to cling on, although the hints at the
coming spring were already clearly visible. The first swallows were flying through the clear sky, returning
to the Old World after having spent the winter in the warmer climate of the Estalian peninsula. The first
buds were visible on the tree branches and a couple of brave young saplings were poking their head
through the soil, eager to catch the first rays of the morning sun. The world was ready to shed winter
coats and winter furs and enjoy the pleasures of spring.

High up in the World’s Edge Mountains, an old Dwarf was kneeling at a small monument, overlooking one
of the valleys of Karak Drazh, enjoying the weather and remembering; remembering the battle that was
fought here; remembering the friends and kinsmen that had fallen here.

Thousands of years ago, in the times when both the Dwarf Empire and the Elven nation of Ulthuan had
been at the peak of their powers, Elf had fought against Dwarf. All over the Old World, the war between
the Elder Races had been brutal, with no quarter given on either side. In the end, the Dwarfs succeeded
in claiming Lordship over much of the Old World, but the war had not been without its price. Karaz-a-
Karak, the then-newly finished Dwarf Capital, had been invaded, befouled and razed by the Druchii.
Although the Druchii were eventually ousted from the Old World, the loss of that once beautiful pearl of
the Dwarf Empire still stood as one of the great unavenged grudges against the Elf race. The battle at
Karak Drazh had been brutal but had resulted in swift victory for the Dwarfs. The Elves were repulsed
from the flanks of the mountain and driven through the south towards the coast, with the Dwarfs in hot
pursuit. In the end, during the siege of Orindor, the Elves only succeeded in evading the Dwarf army by
escaping by sea. Finding the city empty, the Dwarfs had simply raised the city to the ground and left.
The rest of the war had seen the Dwarfs driving the Druchii from the Old World, taking on the role of the
dominant superpower of the Old World.

In recent years, the Elves had started raiding the black gulf coasts again, taking human and dwarf
prisoners alike, taking them away to be used as slaves in the mines and in the black arcs. The little
monument marked the place where a advance party of Elves trying to flee back to their ships was
defeated by a Dwarf army, freeing the dozens of human and dwarf slaves taken prisoners from various
towns and villages. The faces of the freed captives had been mixed with the joy of their rescue and the
horrors which they had had to endure from their Druchii captors, and many Druchii prisoners had been
executed to set an example. To commemorate this victory, a small monument had been erected,
detailing the grudges that had been repaid and the fallen kinsmen for which revenge still had to be
enacted. The old Dwarf had made it his personal quest to bring swift retribution to the Elves, and chisel a
line through the names that had been avenged. Many names however still needed avenging. Remaining
motionless, the old Dwarf remembered.

The tranquil scene was disturbed by the appearance of a young Dwarf, following the snaking mountain
trail that led to the monument. Upon finding the old Dwarf lost in thought, the young Dwarf softly
cleared his throat, alerting the old Dwarf to his presence.

“The King asked for you. It seems the High King is mustering the throng.”

The old Dwarf slowly got back on his feet, taking care not to displace anything while doing so. He turned
around and threw the Dwarf a questioning glance.

“The High King has received some important information and is preparing to march to war, although no
one but the Council of Elders know why. Some say that the elves are once again up to something, but
that's all we've heard. It has caused quite a bit of a row.”

“I can imagine. Going to war is not a trifling matter. And I doubt the High King took the decision lightly.”

“That seems to be the situation.”

The old Dwarf cast one last glance at the monument.

“Let's go. Mustn't keep the King waiting.”

The old and the young Dwarf made their way down the mountain trial, following the slippery slope of the
mountain side, taking care not to start an avalanche. They were checked three times by patrols and
watchtowers and gates before arriving at the main gate, where after the young Dwarf explained their
reasons for entering the hold, the Gatekeeper nodded them to pass by.

Upon entering the throne room, the old and the young Dwarf found themselves to be in one of the
largest halls in the hold. The political nerve centre of Karak Drazh, it was large enough to hold an entire
army, and like all Dwarven halls, its architecture was built to impress. The walls were decorated with
stone cuttings inlaid with precious gemstones, depicting the origin of the Dwarfs, the Great Migration
from the south and scenes of legends of the Golden Age; huge tapestries woven from the finest materials
commemorating the victories of the Kings' armies and the settling of major grudges. The floor was
covered with intricate mosaics, some picturing the exploits of the Ancestor Gods and the founding of
Karaz Ankor, some showing complex patters of knots and spirals. Three rows of pillars, each one a
hundred meters tall, supported the roof and were inscribed with the histories of all clans of the hold. The
last pillar in each row was sculpted by the most accomplished artisans in the likeness of the Ancestor
Gods, facing towards the King's throne. Great banners supported by chains hung between the pillars,
each one the symbol and war banner of one of Karak Drazh clans. Some were hanging on only one chain,
reminding all of the loss of that particular clan. From the ceiling, great braziers filled with burning oil
illuminated the hall with a soft yellow-orangey light, connected to great ornately decorated
counterweights and a intricate pulley system allowed the Dwarfs to lower the braziers in order to refill
them. Light and ventilation shafts extended from the ceiling through hundreds of meters of rock and
stone before opening up to the outside world. Even then, the holes were cleverly designed and disguised
to be invisible to the untrained eye, in order to keep invaders from gaining access to the hold. Even the
Gates themselves, the very entrances to the hall were highly decorated works of art. The doors seemed
to be the teeth of an ancestor Dwarf, with the giant head looking sternly down on anyone who passed
underneath its stony gaze. The throne however was the finest piece of craftmanship in the entire hall. A
seat of pure gromril, standing on top of a flight or stairs, it was a sight to behold and frequently brought
a tear to the eye of many a Dwarf artisan, who realised that the skills needed to build it, had been lost to
the ages. Imbued with countless runes and beautifully cut gems and decorated with many reliefs, the
throne of Karak Drazh personified the stalwart nature of the Dwarfs themselves, and served to remind
everyone who neared it of the potent might of the Dwarven Empire.

On normal days, the hall would be resounding with all sorts of conversations, arguments, negotiations,
dealmaking and discussions. Lorekeepers and their apprentices would be running to and fro with all kinds
of documents to be signed by the King. Trade envoys and ambassadors of the human lands would
request audiences with the King to discuss current deals and trade concessions or to change or elaborate
on them. Scribes would be busy chiselling all agreements into a legal contract, and write down all the
decisions and outcomes of each and every audience. Petitions would be heard from the various clans and
guilds concerning the exploitation of new ore seams, legal disputes,... The list is endless.

Today however, the throne room seemed strangely quit. The hall was emptier then usual, and Dwarfs
were talking to each other in whispers, casting furtive glances round the room to see if they recognized
someone who might know more of the developing crisis. Even the Hammerers guarding the entrances,
stoic to a fault and fiercely loyal to the King, seemed to be on edge, although they did their best to hide
it, hiding their emotions behind a blank face.

Both Dwarfs calmly made their way to the throne, attracting strange looks and curious glances from the
other Dwarfs. Finally, they had crossed the hall and reported at the Greatbeard who announced them to
the king.

The King looked like he had missed a couple of night's sleep. He looked up from his conversation with his
advisers and saw the two Dwarfs standing in front of the stairs.

“Aah, Gimur at last. Good of you to come.”

“I came as soon I heard. Young Skalf here was good enough to come and get me.” replied the old
Dwarf.”What seems to be going on?”

“I've received word from the High King that we are to march to war. Our foes are on our doorstep.”

“The Elgi?”

“Yes, the treacherous Druchii are at it again. But we must look to our own borders. It seems the humans
are also massing their armies to attack us.

“The Reiksmen are marching on Karak Drazh?”

“No, the Southeners, the desert men of Nehekhara. They are led by a maniacal Priest-King who is said to
dabble in magic and witchcraft and what not. Always dabbling in matters that do not concern them,
humans are. Never know what's good for them and what not.”

This was met by a general murmur of agreement. Gimur took out his tobacco pouch, filled his pipe and lit
it, gently drawing in the bitter sweat smoke and blowing it out in great wispy clouds.
“How come you know this if I may ask?”

“Thane Baldor and his rangers recently returned from one of their cities. They said the armies were hot
on their tail. I've already ordered the farmers and herdsmen to gather all food supplies and to return to
the hold and put the watchtowers on alert. The clans are mustering their warriors and the engineer guild
is constructing additional munitions and war machines.

“Well your Highness, It seems you've got all the angles covered. So what do you want me to do?”

“I've asked for your presence here to give you a task. The High King has asked for every hold to supply
him with troops. I want you to lead the kantuzthrong-detachment of Karak Drazh. You'll be given the
title of Kantuzrik and function as the Expeditionary Commander. If you accept this of course. ”

“Why, I would be honoured to do so. When do you expect me to leave?”

“Tomorrow at the latest if you're to travel in safety. Any later then that and the mountain passes will be
riddled with advance scouts of these desert men. Your detachment is already prepared and is waiting for
you. The High King has appointed one Grogan Helgenhammer as his Warmourner, and he'll be in overall
command of the throng. You'll be reporting to him.”

“Well then, I had better get going. ”

“Indeed. Well, don't let me detain you. Good luck and may the Ancestor Gods smile upon you.”

“May they smile upon us all, my King.”

With a small head nod, the King indicated that Gimur was dismissed.

Gimur bowed before the King, turned around and descended the stairs.

Come on my lad, he motioned at Skalf, time to get started.

I’m coming with you?

Of course you are. I’ll need someone to hold up our holds banner, now won’t I? winked Gimur, and with
that he started making for the barracks. There was much to do, and not much time to do it in.

Chapter 2: