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Nachgeheim-1-24-2492
This campaign had taken on a formidable pace, to the point that now thousands of dawi were being trained in the use of firearms and in the formation of pike squares. To them were added thousands more who had emerged from the overcrowded caverns around Karaz-a-Karak, where the pressure of numbers was unbearable, and who now found in war an opportunity to reclaim the place their ancestors had lost. Dozens of thanes, each with their clans, had descended into the tunnels with the determination to retake the forgotten strongholds that for centuries had been stolen from them.
Almost thirty thousand additional dawi had joined our forces. Though many lacked the heavy plate armor that marked the veterans, they fulfilled their role: reinforcing the weaker lines, guarding the freshly raised walls, and holding back the green-skin advances with discipline. The mere sight of them standing shoulder to shoulder against orkish charges was reason enough to acknowledge that change had taken root.
The hardest task had not been arming so many, but getting them to set aside their ancestral rivalries. For that I resorted to the one tool that, in any society, binds stronger than powder or steel: blood ties. I arranged treaties of future marriages between clans—promises that, though still distant, compelled both fathers and sons to look in the same direction. The number of dwarf women had always been scarce, and I knew such pacts were more valuable than any treasure. I even contributed part of my own rewards to ensure the dowries, a gesture that the clans deeply respected. The betrothal ceremonies were public and celebrated with fervor, though the true wedding rituals remained secret among the dawi. That mattered little to me; what was essential was that the oath was sworn, and with it, the clans stood united.
That common front became reality. Some clans specialized in the production of firearms, others in forging armor, some traded with the human principalities to obtain timber and other resources scarce in the mountains, while others contributed food and ale thanks to fertile lands under their influence. There were also the clans devoted to reinforcing tunnels, raising gates and walls, and those who sent masses of their youth to be trained, having either large families or a greater share of women. Step by step, the diversity of efforts meshed like cogs in a mechanism, shaping a war-machine both solid and, above all, cohesive.
As for myself, I kept pushing the campaign forward with greater speed thanks to the new weapons the dawi engineer had placed in our hands. His creations proved brutally effective: at close range they tore through orks in a storm of lead, and as for the goblins—they were pierced as if made of parchment. Their efficiency was such that I made a risky decision: to divide our forces and cleanse two karaks at once. It was a perilous move, demanding we spread both firepower and logistics thin, but in the end it doubled our pace of advance. Fortune favored us, for the greenskin presence in the tunnels was not as strong as we had feared, and with constant pressure and the methodical use of powder and steel, we overwhelmed them with ease. What once seemed impossible—forcing their retreat and securing firm ground—now unfolded as a series of methodical engagements, door by door, corridor by corridor, until each karak was restored to its rightful owners.
Though I had set out with the intent of reaching Karak Eight Peaks, or at least reclaiming another fortress of renown, I could say without hesitation that to have liberated nearly ninety karaks was already, in itself, a monumental achievement. With that, we had secured almost two-thirds of the Southern Mountains, especially since the greenskin resistance, though numerous overall, never gathered in a single front. Added together they numbered in the hundreds of thousands, yet we never faced more than two thousand at a time—allowing us to advance with relative ease, crushing scattered garrisons and poorly defended camps.
To the misfortune of those thanes who had not yet reclaimed their strongholds, I could go no further. Harvest season was drawing near, and I was bound to return to my lands. That time of year was always critical: without my presence, the cults tended to stir unrest among the folk, and there was also the risk of Norse raids that might exploit any weakness. My duty to the Empire and to my people called me back, even if the dawi tunnels and vows had to remain unfinished for now.
Trusting that what I had left behind was strong enough to withstand the greenskin onslaughts, I resolved to organize our return. I immediately began sending my wealth back to Reikland: coffers brimming with gold, ingots stacked in columns, and chests of gems and silver, all transported in successive aerial convoys to prevent losses. It was not a swift process, but a secure one, and it allowed my men to return by air before the weather turned. The cold in the mountain peaks could make any journey a torment.
Upon leaving the tunnels, I found that the great dawi camp at the mountain's edge had diminished greatly. Of the countless clans that had gathered there, nearly a quarter million dwarfs had already returned to their restored karaks, easing the suffocating overcrowding that plagued Karaz-a-Karak. Those who remained were the thanes still awaiting their turn, hoping that the oath-keeping umgi would one day come to reclaim their homes. I could promise nothing immediate, but I assured them that, as soon as my obligations allowed, I would return to continue the unification of the mountains under the banner of the dawi.
For myself, the campaign left me burdened with gold—so much that its transport would take months—and armed with more than a hundred runic pieces, gifts from grateful clans that could no longer pay me in treasure. With that hoard secured, we began the return to Karaz-a-Karak, taking my entire host with me.
Before departing to my domains, I requested an audience with the High King. I had to make clear that my Sigmarite pilgrimage had concluded, and that I intended to return to my lands—but I also wished to depart with his blessing. It was necessary he understood that I was not fleeing my obligations, but rather summoned by higher duties in my homeland.
This time, thanks to the prestige earned in the campaigns, there was no delay. I was led at once into the throne hall. There sat Thorgrim, the High King and Bearer of Grudges, upon his stone throne, stern and immovable, the eternal Book of Grudges open before him upon a rune-carved table. The quill rested in his hand, stained with that reddish ink, while the elder councillors muttered around the chamber.
"So then, umgi… what brings you once more before me?" asked Thorgrim, his deep voice echoing across the walls like the strike of a hammer upon rock.
"I requested this audience, High King, to inform you that I must soon withdraw to my lands. The harvest season approaches, and with it, troubles. My people need me, and my duty to the Empire calls. Much as I wish to finish what I have begun, cleansing the Southern Mountains entirely of the urks, I must first see to what is mine," I answered respectfully, bowing my head.
"So you would consider your mission complete…" murmured Thorgrim, closing the Book for a moment with a heavy sound. "From what I have heard, you have rendered great service to many of our thanes. But before I allow you to depart, there is a matter that weighs upon me. And since you have won a measure of honor in my eyes, I grant you the right to answer before I decide whether to write your name in these pages." His eyes fixed upon me like burning stones.
I tensed, surprised. To my knowledge, I had done nothing to provoke such a grievance.
"Please, High King, allow me to hear what just reproach lies against me," I said calmly, though the tension in my lips betrayed me.
"It has been told to me," Thorgrim continued in an inquisitorial tone, "that you have been arranging marriage contracts between dawi clans… and more than that, that you have funded such promises with your own gold. Tell me, umgi, what was your intent? Did you seek to meddle in the secrets of our sacred traditions?" His words rang with suspicion, and several councillors growled low.
"No, never, High King," I replied firmly, raising my voice. "I never wished to profane your customs. My only purpose was to ensure that rivalries between clans would not weaken them before the true enemy. The mountains are infested with greenskins, and without cooperation, each clan would fall isolated, one after another. I feared that in my absence, internal disputes might condemn your folk. That is why I urged them to seal oaths of union, and in some cases, I aided with my own gold to cover the dowries demanded. All so they might see one another as kin, not rivals. To fight together, not divided."
I fell silent, letting my words settle like dust in the tunnels.
Thorgrim placed his heavy hands upon the table, the quill unmoving, his eyes hard upon me.
"Hmmm…" he growled slowly. "I believe your words, umgi. You have shown honor in restoring ancestral homes to my people. I will accept that your intent was sincere, though I shall watch that your deeds bear no hidden shadow. Let it be known in this hall: I place my trust in you. Your actions shall be remembered."
Then he raised his voice, so grave it thundered through the chamber like a storm in the mountains. "You have my blessing to return to your home."
"Thank you, High King," I answered, bowing my head. "It is my hope to return soon, to fight once more alongside your honorable warriors and continue the reclamation of the lands that belong to your ancestors. You have my word."
"Wait, umgi…" Thorgrim interrupted, lifting a hand. "I will not allow so great a service to my people to go unrewarded. It would be dishonor to me… and to the whole line of Grungni."
He turned to his councillors and began to speak in Khazalid, his deep voice mixing with the elders who replied with fervor. The debate was long and intense.
I waited in silence, watching how they leaned toward one another, how grave voices rose, until at last the High King looked at me again.
"In consideration of your friendship with the dawi of the Grey Mountains and the service you have rendered our people, you shall be granted a runic weapon of great power. I trust you will put it to good use, and that many foes of the dawi and the Empire will fall beneath its blows," declared the High King, his voice echoing through the chamber.
At once, a reverent silence fell over all present. Minutes passed before a group of royal smiths emerged from a side entrance. They walked slowly, firmly, bearing a great chest covered in runes that glowed faintly under the light of the shining stones. The elder councillors fell into silence.
The smiths halted before me. The eldest of them stepped forward and, with ritual gesture, opened the chest. Within lay a runic mace, forged of gromril.
"It was wrought for my ancestors by the greatest rune-masters, when our craft still bore the blessing of the Ancestor Gods, in the darkest hours of the War of the Ancients," Thorgrim explained, leaning forward slightly. "It has remained guarded for generations, awaiting one worthy to wield it. With it many elgi perished, and I expect more enemies yet shall fall. May this weapon, born of forge and rune, carry the judgment of the dawi wherever you raise it."
The King allowed himself the faintest smile, a glimmer of pride as he recalled the days when the elgi had fallen beneath that very weapon.
I took the mace with both hands. It was heavy, though still possible to wield one-handed, yet I felt at once that the runes etched into the gromril pulsed with an inner power that coursed through my arms. As I moved it for the first time, I understood this was no mere relic: the mace exuded tremendous force.
"Thank you, High King. I shall put it to good use. I swear I will destroy the enemies of the Empire and of the dawi with this weapon."
"Good, umgi," Thorgrim answered, striking the stone table with his closed fist. "You are invited to the ceremony of settling grudges. There, before the Ancestors, you must speak with your own voice of the wrongs that have been mended and those that yet remain. Thus it shall be recorded forever in the Book."
"Of course, High King. I shall be there," I replied, gripping the runic mace firmly as a barely contained smile spread across my face.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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