It is well known that the War of the Beard remains a deep scar in the relationship between elves and dwarfs.
At least for the dwarfs, they have something to boast about, having ultimately emerged victorious. For the elves, however, the War of the Beard was an unequivocal disaster. Not only did they lose nearly all their colonies in the Old World, but it also led to the further split of the High Elves, with the Wood Elves permanently separating. The conflict decimated the High Elves' elite forces, leaving them unable to fully suppress the Dark Elves. But perhaps worst of all, they lost the Crown of the First Phoenix King.
Many might wonder—what's the big deal about losing a crown? Can't they just make a new one? After all, didn't the High Elves eventually create another?
It's not the same.
The Crown of the First Phoenix King was no ordinary artifact. Beyond its construction from priceless materials and gemstones, every single Elven god had imbued it with their blessings and divine power during the height of the ancient Elven Empire. At that time, the gods were not as diminished as they are now, nor had they been fractured by division. Even Asuryan personally responded to the plea of Aenarion, the first Phoenix King.
The sheer power contained within the crown could elevate a mortal into a demigod.
This is why the High Elves have made countless attempts to retrieve it from the vaults of Karaz-a-Karak, the Everpeak. Unfortunately, they have never succeeded. The last major negotiation attempt came when Finubar visited the Everpeak. During those peace talks, the Phoenix King, then still a famed seafarer, offered a fortune in gold, rare materials, pure Ithilmar silver, and even some of the High Elves' rune secrets in exchange for the crown and other stolen treasures.
It was all for nothing. The dwarfs rejected the offer outright. High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer declared that the only way the elves could retrieve the crown would be for the Phoenix King to personally lead his princes to the Everpeak, kneel before the dwarfs, and loudly declare: "We are sorry, Dwarf Brothers."
Needless to say, the negotiations went nowhere.
However, with the reclamation of Karak Eight Peaks, a new opportunity arose. The awakening of Valaya, the dwarfen ancestor goddess of hearth and healing, during Ryan and Belegar's joint campaign to reclaim the hold changed everything. Valaya issued a divine decree to the dwarfs: the End Times were drawing near, and it was time to let go of past grudges and unite.
No matter how stubborn the dwarfs, they could not ignore the commands of one of their three great ancestor gods. High King Thorgrim's attitude softened ever so slightly. Meanwhile, for the High Elves, the War of the Beard was so long ago that even with their extended lifespans, most had come to regard it as ancient history.
"So, the two sides are planning to make contact again," Belegar explained.
In the banquet hall of the newly-built palace in Mousillon, Belegar's Angrund Oathguard were enjoying a lavish feast hosted by Bretonnian nobility. The King of Karak Eight Peaks himself devoured his meal with gusto, though not without complaining about the cooking. With a massive gulp of Bugman's Best Ale, his white beard soaked in foam, Belegar laughed heartily and said, "Seems like those pointy-eared fools think it's a good idea to send that little queenling—what's her name? Alisara? They say she can make even the fiercest beasts weep at her feet. Bah, who knows? With Valaya's divine decree, maybe this whole thing might actually go somewhere this time. What do you think, Ryan?"
"Is the Everqueen truly willing to send her daughter?" Ryan asked with a puzzled expression. Sitting beside Belegar, arms crossed, the Knight King was intrigued. "This doesn't sound like the elves. When I visited Ulthuan, not only did I not meet this young queen, I didn't even get to meet Everqueen Alarielle herself."
"That's a shame," Belegar said, tearing into a roasted goose leg with his greasy hands. "She's a remarkable one, that Everqueen. Even us dwarfs have heard her legendary tales. A real firebrand, that one—always at the front lines. Unlike Finubar, that Phoenix King of theirs, who seems to avoid war at all costs."
"Indeed," Ryan remarked. "They say the Everqueen's beauty rivals even that of Lileath, the Moon Goddess. Too bad I didn't get to see her in person during my visit to Ulthuan. And as for this young queen traveling to the Old World—"
"Ow!" Ryan's face suddenly contorted in pain.
"What's wrong, Ryan?" Belegar asked, his mouth still full of food, staring at the Knight King with confusion.
"Darling~" Su Liya, sitting on Ryan's other side, smiled sweetly—perhaps a little too sweetly. "You're very busy. There's no time for such trivialities. If you think you have plenty of free time, as your wife, I'd be happy to arrange your schedule for you!"
"Er... yes, of course." Ryan winced, his expression bitter as he nodded. "Thank you for your help, my dear."
"No problem! That's what I'm here for, darling." Su Liya finally released her grip on Ryan's waist, her smile never faltering. Yet something about it seemed intensely threatening.
"Belegar, will the young queen pass through Bretonnia?" Su Liya turned her attention back to the Dwarf King, still smiling.
"No, she and her High Elf delegation will sail directly to Barak Varr," Belegar replied, oblivious to the marital power play happening beside him. "From there, they'll travel up the Blackwater River to the Everpeak."
"Would you like us to provide an escort?" Su Liya continued with a pleasant tone.
"What's it got to do with you Bretonnians, Lady Su Liya? Ryan?" Belegar dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "By Valaya, this is a negotiation between the pointy-eared fools and us dwarfs. Best if you lot stay out of it. Even we Karak Eight Peaks folk aren't sticking our beards into this—let Thorgrim handle it."
"Are you sure about security, then?" Ryan asked, genuinely curious. He had hoped for an excuse to meet the young queen but found none.
"Don't worry about that. The Badlands are safe enough along the northern route," Belegar assured him. "Ever since the Great Eight Peaks Expedition, the northern routes are clear. Nothing's going to happen."
"Well, if you're certain," Ryan conceded, though he was left feeling a tinge of disappointment.
Belegar's visit to Bretonnia had multiple objectives: to strengthen ties between the two nations, inspect the industrial progress in Mousillon, and negotiate new trade agreements. However, his primary purpose was to make a significant request—one that he revealed by presenting a set of ancient blueprints.
Blueprints for a Dwarf Rune Colossus.
Deep within the vaults of Karak Eight Peaks, in its innermost chambers, lay the remnants of one of the Dwarfen Empire's ultimate war machines from its golden age: the Rune Colossus.
These towering constructs, standing over 15 meters tall, were the pinnacle of dwarfen engineering. They were originally designed during the height of the War of the Beard as a countermeasure against the vast armies of the Elven Empire. Unfortunately, the war ended before the colossi could be completed. What remained were a few prototypes, about 80-90% finished, and the blueprints. But with no immediate threats of such magnitude, and the catastrophic Great Cataclysm coming just decades later, the project was abandoned. Over time, the knowledge required to complete these war machines was lost.
Now, with the rediscovery of the blueprints in Karak Eight Peaks, the project could be revived. Modern advancements in dwarfen engineering, such as steam power, gunpowder weaponry, and precision metallurgy, could overcome the limitations that had hindered their ancestors.
Each Rune Colossus was a 15-meter-tall behemoth, operated by a crew of three. Armed with massive axes, hammers, and drills, these machines also boasted magma projectors capable of incinerating vast swathes of enemy troops. The newer designs even incorporated organ guns and steam-powered rotary cannons.
However, Belegar needed help to bring the project to fruition. His requests were twofold:
He sought to hire 500 skilled Bretonnian workers to assist in manufacturing and restoring the Rune Colossus. He required the cooperation of the dwarfs of Zhufbar, as they still retained much of the lost knowledge and rune lore needed to complete the project.
Belegar, flush with gold and resources thanks to the reclaimed wealth of Karak Eight Peaks and its reopened trade routes, was ready to pay generously for this assistance. His wife, Queen Komarnik, had proven to be an exceptional steward of the hold's finances, ensuring that Belegar's coffers were never empty.
After hearing Belegar's terms and offers, Ryan didn't immediately agree. Instead, he sighed and remarked, "Belegar, you're taking away a significant portion of the skilled labor I've worked so hard to build."
"Come now, Ryan! Don't be stingy with your brothers!" Belegar exclaimed, slapping Ryan on the back with a hearty laugh. "We Angrunds are your eternal allies. I know you've only got two or three thousand skilled workers, but hear me out—we'll share the blueprints with you! Once the Rune Colossus is complete, we'll even give you one!"
"Oh? Truly?" Ryan's eyes lit up.
"By Grungni, it's a promise!" Belegar extended his fist, and Ryan met it in a firm dwarfen-style pledge.
With this new alliance forged, work on the Rune Colossus could begin. According to Belegar, there were eight such colossi in total—five buried beneath the Everpeak and three under Karak Eight Peaks. If all could be restored and reactivated, they might offer the dwarfs a crucial advantage in surviving the End Times.
After the banquet, Belegar and his Oathguard spent the next month touring Bretonnia, visiting notable landmarks and enjoying the kingdom's hospitality while waiting for Zhufbar's response.
Meanwhile, Ryan convened his ten marshals (excluding Northern Marshal Raun and Badlands Marshal Lucien) and his court ministers for a council meeting in Mousillon. Midway through their discussions, an urgent military report arrived at the palace.
"The Battle of Tal Fjord has ended in martyrdom!" Talleyrand entered the chamber, leaning on his cane with an unreadable expression. Under the watchful eyes of the council, he handed the dispatch to Ryan. "Your Majesty, the Church of Sigmar's forces suffered over 17,500 casualties, while the Chaos forces lost around 13,000. It was a bloody and Pyrrhic victory."
"When the Church finally declared victory, fewer than 500 of their soldiers remained."
"Five hundred?!" François de Léon, Ryan's father-in-law and one of his most cautious marshals, was stunned. Known for his preference for calculated, low-risk strategies, François was utterly shocked by the scale of the losses. "That's how Volkmar fights battles? On his own territory?"
"And Alfred?" Ryan's sharp gaze narrowed.
"Archbishop Alfred's whereabouts are unknown."
"What?!" Ryan's grip faltered, and the letter fell from his hands.
A Few Days Earlier
Empire, North of the Talabec River, Ostermark, Shadow Forest.
A ferocious and bloody battle raged within the depths of the forest. The human forces, driven by religious fervor and the personal leadership of Grand Theogonist Volkmar the Grim, fought with unrelenting madness.
On the other side, the Chaos forces, under the command of the fearsome Khorne champion Grak'sor Fire-Axe, had laid an intricate trap. Occupying favorable terrain, the Chaos army prepared a three-pronged pincer maneuver to annihilate their opponents.
The battlefield was littered with broken bodies and shattered limbs. The Shadow Forest was soaked in blood as both sides committed their full might. Cannons roared, spells and prayers crackled, and the cries of fanatics, Chaos worshippers, and knights filled the air. Saints clashed with monsters, while mortals were torn apart.
In the forest's shadows, a lone observer watched the carnage with amusement.
It was Manfred von Carstein, the last Vampire Count of Sylvania and the current head of the von Carstein bloodline. Leaning casually on his staff, the vampire smirked at the chaos.
"What a delightful scene," Manfred mused. "Humans and Chaos tearing each other apart. Such exquisite suffering... their bitter souls and broken corpses will be most valuable to me."
Yet even as Manfred relished the slaughter, his true focus was elsewhere.
He was studying Grand Theogonist Volkmar's methods and strategies.
"Soon," Manfred whispered, his crimson eyes gleaming. "Very soon, Volkmar. You will be mine."
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