RHUNRIKKI STROLLAR (Warhammer Fantasy Golden Age Dwarf Runelord Quest)

[bird yells]

"You alright there, Alhild? You look a little out of it," Haursi said.

She sipped from her brew and smiled wanly at him. "I'm just tired, is all. Lord Snorri has brought out a new line of prosthetics, and the temple is running us apprentices ragged getting them sorted out." She coloured slightly. "Which is a good thing, of course! I'm very happy for those getting help, it's just a lot of work keeping up with Lord Snorri."

"Funny you should say that," Asmund said. "I heard from Folki yesterday that the blacksmiths have it pretty tough right now, because Lord Snorri's doing some maintenance thing on the gromril smelter at night and they have to work extra hard during the days to get everything needs doing done. And we saw him in Tunnel 317 earlier today, inspecting the runeworks."

"Arms and legs in the morning, excavating in the afternoon and smelterwork at night," Haursi muttered. "Ancestors, does the man ever sleep?" Only after having said his piece did he notice the warning look in Asmund's eyes; he was about to ask what was wrong when he heard something behind him that sent a chill up his spine. There was a quiet hiss and a subtle displacement of air, and he knew through that instinct peculiar to young dwarfs that what he'd noticed all too late was an old dwarf, taking a deep breath in preparation for a grumble. He turned to face his fate and, sure enough, there was a pair of old fogeys sitting further down the bar, both looking at him with brows deeply furrowed. It was the closer of the two who was about to speak up.

"So the young master has views on Lord Snorri's sleeping habits, has he? Thinks they're a deserving target for his sarcasm?" The man pointed accusingly at him. "You oughta count yourself lucky the lord don't sleep, boy!"

"I- I am of course deeply grateful for all Lord Snorri's hard work, sir-"

"'Grateful for his work,' he says. Pfeh! You don't geddit, youngster. I said you should count yourself lucky because a sleeping Lord Snorri is the scariest thing there ever was."

There was a moment of silence as Haursi and his friends all tried to figure out what in the world the old man was talking about. Then his companion nudged him, quietly amused. "The beardlings've all gone glass-eyed, Arvid. If you want them to understand, you'll have to educate them proper."

"Hmph, suppose you're right at that, Einar. Aright, beardlings, ears pricked and eyes front, because this old miner is gonna tell you what's up." Haursi allowed himself to relax fractionally, because the elder being in the mood for storytelling meant he might just make it out without too bad a tongue-lashing. "This is a story from long ago, when me and Einar were part of the work crews excavating the ungdrin. 'Course, we were youngsters ourselves back then, weren't we?"

"That's right. We would've been a hundred or thereabouts? No more than fullbeards."

"Fullbeards, yeah, bright-eyed and full of vim and with rune tools in our hands, each forged personal by Lord Snorri, may stone shield him from the sky always. I've used the pickaxe he gifted me ever since and it's reliable like only a true ancestor can make them- but anyway! Lord Snorri had finished his great forging-works and his gronti, and joined us down in the tunnels to build the underway."

"My grandfather worked on it as well," Haursi said, in what he hoped was an appropriately respectful tone. "He told me the Gift Giver was foremost among the runesmiths working alongside the miners and masons who shaped the ungdrin into what it is."

"You don't know the half of it, kid. Lord Snorri was down there, aye, working quadruple shifts and doing more than the rest of us put together, and when he did take a break, he slept right there in the tunnel, to save the time it'd take him to walk to any of the base camps and back again, you see. And his snoring! The noise of all that rock being cracked and hauled away is so loud it can strike an unprepared miner deaf, and yet over all that din we could hear the lord's snoring clear as you please, much as we wished we couldn't. Loud enough to wake the dead, it was." He paused to wet his throat. "Of course, we'd get farther away from him as we excavated new lengths of tunnel and the terrifying roar gradually receded behind us, so the first time, we figured we were pretty much in the clear after a while. Well, we couldn't have been more wrong."

"Why is that, elder?" Asmund asked.

"Because soon as he woke up, he got back to work on the sections we'd excavated while he slept, strengthening and reinforcing and laying many a devious rune-trap for our enemies, should they ever assault the tunnels. We young ones thought it excessive at the time, in our foolishness, but as always Lord Snorri could see clearer than anyone else and the defences he designed would prove their worth many times over during the Invasion. Why, I witnessed it myself when I fought under Prince Gloin (as His Majesty was titled then) and we faced down the foul crawling things who thought to make good dwarf tunnels their own-"

The second elder interrupted him with a scoff. "Think you're getting a mite off track there, Arvid."

The first deployed an immediate counter-scoff. "As if you had any clue what a track looks like in the first place, you blind old lichen-eater. But as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, Lord Snorri was working on the newest ungdrin segments, and the folk who tell you he works fast? They have a talent for understatement, let me tell you. Just as the terror of his snoring had begun to lift from our hindbrains, we could hear him again, cackling while he was catching up to us. Lord Snorri always indulges in a good cackle whenever he works on a particularly cunning snare, you see, and it's every bit as terrifying as his snoring, in its own way. But even that was only a prelude, because soon enough he was with us right at the front of the tunnel, and then we got to hear him express his deep disappointment we'd made it no farther than this, even with all the advantages he'd given us."

"These days a beardling's knees go knocking if anyone over 200 so much as looks at 'em," the second elder added. "They should have a go at receiving a real grumble sometime, see what it's like." He let his voice drop deeper in imitation of someone much older than he. "'You think I made that gronti so a bunch of ungrateful layabouts could ride around on its shoulders all day while it does all the work? Does the youth of today not have hands? If I'd known you wastrels would repay me like this I would've saved myself the trouble of forging all that rune gear and dug out the ungdrin with my bare hands instead, because it would damn well go faster!' Real good motivator to work harder next time Lord Snorri went to sleep."

"Not that we ever disappointed him any less, no matter how hard we pushed ourselves. We had to decide by drawing lots who had to work suicide shift, which is what we called the shifts when Lord Snorri went to sleep and came barrelling back afterwards. The winners got to work double shifts while he was awake instead and the losers envied 'em something fierce."

"Don't get hung up on the little details, now. C'mon, tell them about Complex 30."

"Pull your ponies, Einar, I was just getting to that part. This one time we were digging out side galleries during suicide shift, working on a part that would become a rest stop and fortified hardpoint. Since we were working in multiple directions from a central junction, we were still close to Lord Snorri even though he'd been sleeping for a while, when we unexpectedly broke into a natural cave system. And there were giant cave spiders on the other side." He snorted. "Always excitin' times, finding a giant spider warren where you don't expect it. We're facing down this big one while the lads are getting themselves in order, knowing the uglies're going down but not knowing if a few of ours are getting bit and dying to poison in the process, you know? When Lord Snorri comes charging through the tunnels. How he knew to wake up for the spiders when he could sleep through a mining operation at full blast I'll never know, but out he comes, and a single blow from his bare fist is enough to break the beastie's carapace into one thousand pieces. Lord Snorri has many names and titles, but for his feat that day, to us miners of Clan Hardpick he is forever known as Old Shatterhand. His decisive action buys us enough time to get the proper gear brought forward and the rest is just standard spider mop-up. Of course, afterwards we had to answer to Lord Snorri for interrupting his nap." The old miner leaned forward and spoke his next words with utmost gravity. "Being woken early by careless youngins made him... grumpy." For a moment, beardling listeners and hoary old miners found common ground contemplating the yawning abyss that was a grumpy living ancestor, before the teller shook it off and continued. "Then he went to our foreman and chewed him out for not having at least five redundant anti-spider contingencies active at all times, so old Arni got the worst of it... is what I would say, except Lord Snorri went back to sleep afterwards and then we were stuck with Arni. If only one thing I've said makes it inside your thick skulls, beardlings, let it be this: if you can arrange to avoid it, do not work under a foreman who has just been personally grumbled at by an ancestor."

The elders took advantage of this natural breakpoint in their story to holler for more beer. Once that essential matter had been seen to and they had fresh tankards in hand, the first continued. "A century or so ago me and Einar went up to Kraka Grom for a bit, to maybe help the beardlings there not make a complete mess of things. They were just as confounded about Lord Snorri working round the clock and never sleeping as you are, and I'll tell you now as I told them then: You should be glad the lord don't sleep no more, because the modern beardling couldn't handle it!" He laid the flat of his palm on the bar with a meaty thump. "We may have been beardlings ourselves back in the ungdrin, aye, but we knew even then that Lord Snorri was tempering us! Whereas with lily-livered brats like you lot, the real thing wouldn't stiffen your spines so much as turn them to dust, so you need something softer for your own tempering."

"Something like a stiff breeze, aye," the second elder agreed.

"So there you have it, the truth and the whole of the truth: Lord Snorri don't need to sleep. He used to do it anyway, but since the weak and feckless youth of today couldn't possibly survive what comes of it, the lord has decided in his infinite wisdom and compassion to forgo sleep these days, and if you had any sense you'd thank him instead of trying to squeak out a grumble about it."

---

The story had transitioned over into nonspecific grumbling shortly afterwards, until Haursi, in a moment of inspiration, had offered to pay for the elders' next round as thanks for the educational story, which had improved their moods enormously and even prompted old Arvid to allow there was a remote possibility the three of them might screw their heads on right and become proper adults sometime in the far future. The young and the elderly had withdrawn to each drink among their own kind, Haursi had spent an enjoyable evening in the company of his fellows and he was making his way home. By chance, he happened to glance in the direction of the main gates, on the other side of which lay Lord Snorri's workshop and the little settlement that had sprung up around it.

Haursi had been told stories about the Gift Giver for as long as he could remember, but most of them were so grand their protagonist was made out as someone inhabiting a different world entirely. It was exciting to hear of the great hero commanding the fire and the earth, and doing battle with demon princes, but the reality behind them was so far removed from a mortal like Haursi that he couldn't honestly say he grasped what they meant. The runesmith apprentices he knew sometimes talked about living in the shadow of an unconquerable mountain, and he'd never quite understood them... but having heard the old miners recount their experiences, he supposed he had an inkling of what the mountain felt like, now.

 

[Thor's Twin]

The Forged Storm

Today, we will continue our lessons on elementals across the breadth of Mallus. Or, should I say, those constructs used by cultures and societies that are elemental adjacent. As calling some of the constructs we have discussed as elementals would be a disservice to the minds which wrought such beings, or a disservice to the elementalists within our own ranks. But, no matter! Today, we will talk about the constructs our stout allies utilize, for in many ways the Dwarves actually align for once with other magics we have discussed. And, as expected, in others they diverge radically. First though, a review.

We have discussed the High Elves and their magic, specifically the few ways it connects to constructs of other cultures. Few elves today practice the art of magical construction, frowning down upon it as one step away from the summoning and chaining of demons. This dismissal of the art does draw a few more reclusive of their number to it though, the taste of the almost forbidden tantalizing to them. And, when in desperation or in foolishness, these elves are called upon to work their wonders, the devastation they can bring to bear is as breathtaking as it is horrifying. Pure constructs of a Wind of Magic stalking the battlefield and slaughtering all in their path. Chained and directed by tenuous links to an elvish will. Such workings will inevitably destroy the enemy that seeks to stop the elvish mission, but it will also fray the barrier between the unreal and material. In the event that demonic forces wish to enter our world, such a stretching of the divide makes it easier for them to enter and exert their will. Not to mention the effects on the landscape and wildlife that such an outpouring of concentrated magic will have.

Turning, then, to our own traditions of elementalism, we discussed the differences between what our colleges do and what the High Elves have been known to do. Limited in scope to the four base elements of the material world, our fellow wizards are sharply limited in the uses that such constructs possess. Fire, Earth, Water, Air are all that can be created with traditions dating from before Sigmar and the Empire. Difficult to create, difficult to maintain, and susceptible to being dispersed by the cunning or magically powerful foe, nevertheless these beings are useful in specific circumstances. While not as powerful as the Elvish works, ours do not fray the material and empyrean making them incredibly safer when being used.

Cathay, that far-off land of mysticism and superstition, was where we turned our attention to next. Instead of creating a being of magic, leashed and chained to a singular will, the mad mages of Cathay instead work to bring about endless terracotta legions. Animating shells of clay with simple directives and chaining them to human officers, these creations are more simplistic in their design and purpose. To be fodder for the endless wars that their Dragon Emperor engages in. While these constructs might not be impressive in their quality, they are certainly impressive in their numbers.

Sands cover our destination after moving away from Cathay. For the Land of the Dead is where our instruction led to next. For in that desolate land wanders the shades and skeletons of a civilization who, by all appearances, reached too far into the darkest of magics. For that ambition, their entire land is now cursed and plagued with undeath. Expeditions into that land speak of more than the dead and dying though, they speak of colossal titans and stone statues which move with savage purpose. While the specifics of which magic that culture used to achieve such a result are lost to sand and time, it is my opinion that the souls of the wandering dead, those who have lost bodies themselves to the desert and wind, seek shelter within the works of their ancestors. It is this possession, I believe, which begets the movement and aggression of the statutes. But unless one wishes to converse with those who deeply envy the living, it is unlikely we will ever know for sure.

Now, finally, we turn to the mountains which hold our allies. It may seem inconceivable for the beginning student in the traditions of magic to think that the Dwarves hold a firm pedigree of magical constructs, given the Dwarves' famous dislike for the magical, but that could not be further from the truth. For, based on the histories and timelines as we understand them, it is the Dwarves who hold one of the oldest, if not the oldest, traditions in magical constructions. The rare Gronti, and the even rarer Stormborn. We will first discuss the Gronti.

Wrought from earth, stone, and metal, these are no simple constructs like the clay terracotta of Cathay or the blighted statues of the Dead Desert. Instead, these constructs are crafted by runesmiths of the highest caliber, lovingly carved and formed from base materials to take the shape, most commonly, of a Dwarf. Imbued with enough runic energy to boggle the mind, these constructs form the bedrock of any army they are awoken to take part in. More akin to moving fortifications, these behemoths are directed by their creator, or, seemingly, any dwarf of sufficient ranking and status to give it orders. How the Gronti distinguishes those who can give it orders from those who can't, or even how it distinguishes from friend and foe, is a mystery to all who have observed them in battle. For unlike all other constructs previously mentioned, the Gronti do not fight separate from the living, instead fighting alongside them. However, these are not the most powerful magical constructs that the Dwarves have to offer their enemies. No, that would go to the Stormborn.

Understanding how rare the Stormborn are would be akin to understanding how many honest men there are in Marienburg. A futile effort spurned more by legend and hearsay than any possibility. In fact, if it was not for the Great War of Chaos which unveiled their existence for the first time since before the birth of Sigmar, they would remain that way. Rumor and hearsay. But wizards of the Colleges were able to see them, to witness the devastation they leveled against the foes of Dwarves. And it is beyond any previously mentioned construct. Clad in skin like dark thunderstorms, stitched together with blazing lightning, with eyes of blazing coals, these constructs take all the power, all the fury, all the wrath of the greatest storms and compresses it into a single being as tall as two men. Chained and given purpose with the strongest of runic magics, these entities stride across the battlefield like gods. The strongest arms blasted apart by their weaponry and the wickedest of magics akin to a breath of air against their skin.

When asked how these beings were formed, the dwarves who stood witness to the destruction unleashed by such a construct could only shrug. Legend and rumor say that only the eldest and wisest of the runesmiths known even the story of their construction. But the tale is that when the stars are aligned in the most peculiar way and when the earth trembles at the coming of Chaos, a runesmith who holds the secret knowledge can test their will against the Storm of Magic. It is in this battle of wills that the runes are struck and the construct is born. Should the smith succeed in his battle, then a Stormborn is created, something crafted by dwarven artifice and given purpose by dwarven will. Should they fail though, then the dwarf is consumed by a power that can never be contained and blasted into ash. For this, the dwarves say they have nothing but the highest respect for those who crafted these Stormborn. It is when the days are darkest and the nights are longest, that a dwarf of incredible prestige, power, and potential is willing to sacrifice it all to provide their Everlasting Realm one of the most devastating weapons devised.

A/N: Well, here is a look at what I envision the divergent gronti tree could look like at the higher end. Chaining the wrath, fury, and power of incredible storms in order to give them form and a purpose. The annihilation of Dwarven enemies. I hope you enjoy the read!

 

[Thor's Twin]

Runic Research: A Peaceful Rest

Moonlight, clear and pure, pierced the clouds that hung low over the mountain valleys which Rarbloc Ironbranch carefully maneuvered through. Black rocks, slick from recent rains, tried to slash at his hands and feet, but his boots and gloves kept them at bay. They were not the primary danger for this trip though. That would be the shambling dead. Gathering around various cairns, like moths to a flame, the undead posed the greatest threat to would-be travelers in this section of the World's Edge Mountains. So grievous was the threat, that it was his belief that he was the first of the living to make the trip to the Mortis Tarn, source of death and sorrow across all of the accursed lands of Ancient Nehekhara, since the tragedy that befell it.

Carrying a barrel of silvery wood, teal light of inscribed runes glowing from it, Rarbloc made good time through the valleys. A cloak draped around his shoulders keeping the dead quiet at his approach, letting him pass them without causing conflict or ire. So it was for all of the dead who walked this night, be they zombies, skeletons, or wights. None impeded him, none noticed him. Which meant the runes were working. When the light of Mannslieb was at its brightest, then he reached the cursed lake that had doomed a nation. He watched the red liquid, viscous and dark, burble as it slowly flowed downstream. The wind was silent here, fearful of what had occurred. Great congregations of the dead gathered on desolate shores, each one whispering of the source for all their hatred, all their wrath. Nagash. It was the only thing they consciously remembered, the being who denied them rest and peace.

But their vengeance and pain was not Rarbloc's concern, at least not at the moment. In due time, he hoped, vengeance and justice could be meted out to he who denied the dead rest, but things had to come in the proper order. Even the peace he wished to give these poor souls was not possible. Not yet. However, as he dipped the barrel into fouled waters, he anticipated that it was just a matter of time and dedication. Of which he had plenty. Sealing the barrel with a few taps from his cooper's hammer, he hefted the weighty thing upon his shoulder and began the long trudge back up the mountains to his workshop.

It took two sunrises before he was able to reach his workshop. As he entered, greeted by a sanctuary lit with runic lights, he did not stop to rest. Instead, he dragged his barrel and hooked it up to a large alembic. Connecting the other end to a different barrel, he began to watch as red liquid slowly worked its way through the various glass tubes.

----------------​

Puttering around the workshop for the next few months, Rarbloc kept a close eye on the distillation process. Each time it was complete, he would start the process over. With each repetition, he was left with less of the material than he started with. Finally, though, he had a single vial of water that glittered purple in the light. With a few light taps to the right stones in his temporary abode, a false door shifted open letting light spill into a room that had been empty for the years he had worked here. Quickly, with a sense of urgency to his steps, Rarbloc opened up a leather carrying case holding nine different tuning forks. Each crafted from pitch black obsidian, each containing a different ingredient enmeshed within the stone tongs, and each stamped with a different mark.

With sift motions, taking all nine tuning forks and the vial of glittering water, he entered the empty room. Closing the door, Rarbloc felt the tension gathering in his shoulders and tingling in the roots of his beard ease. The danger had passed, for now. Time to test his theory. Carefully grabbing a tuning fork marked with the symbol of disaster, he tapped the vial of water with it. The tink of stone against glass resounded throughout the room, but no more. No dhar. That was good. But that was expected through the purification process. Testing seven of the other forks produced the expected result. Nothing, no sound other than the ring of stone on glass. It was the final test though, that mattered. Gathering the last tuning fork, marked with the rune for death, Rarbloc tapped it against the vial's glass. Instantly, the tuning fork began to vibrate, letting out a keening wail that reverberated and echoed in the small room.

It had worked! Water from the Mortis Tarn, the water that had killed an entire civilization, ending them before their time, created by one of the most potent expressions of dark magic the world had felt, purified into powerful shyish. Endings and death in liquid form. The perfect reagent for his masterpiece. His legacy. A rune to slay the cursed vampire.

A/N: Another Omake from the throne @soulcake! I hope you are doing well! This piece has been in the works for quite a while and I finally got around to putting pen to paper and finishing it. It came to mind when discussing Alchemy and how purifying different ingredients could make a better reagent for more powerful runes. Which got me thinking... what would happen if a dwarf could take the waters from the Mortis Tarn, the lakes that Nagash plagued and polluted with dark magic to taint the Mortis River and kill Khemri, and purify them into a useful reagent? I have to imagine that it would be a potent source of reagents for Shyish. So much death caused by that pollution, a civilization ended before its time. Then turning that into making a rune for ending the most persistent of the undead seems particularly fitting.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the read! I certainly enjoyed the writing of it.

 

[soulcake]

Next​

━<><><>< 6827 A.P. ><><><>━​

The winds biting harder than a Grobi's starving varag, Jorri thought, grunting as another hand-sized flake smacked him across the face. His crossbow hung loosely in his hands, but at a moment's notice, he could raise, aim and fire in the less than five heartbeats if it came down to it. Farther ahead the billowing red cloak of his uncle and his cousins were the only spots of colour in the turbulent white haze.

Why did I come here, he thought to himself, absentmindedly scraping the build-up of frost off of his beard as he kept trudging.

You had nothing to lose and neither did they, an insidious and decidedly un-Dwarfy voice supplied.

He shook his head and quashed the thought, however right it may be.

Jorri was a son of Winterhearth. A Clan with as storied a past as any of the Royal lines in the eldest Karaks of the Karaz Ankor. They were the Clan of Klausson, a Clan of Runesmiths, a Clan of legends! Even in the bitter chill he feels his chest thrum with warmth as his mind recalls the stories passed to him over the fire.

But those days are long behind you, that same voice from before cackles.

Jorri frowns.

Much as he wished that voice to shut up and loudly die in a ditch he cannot lie to himself. The Clan Winterhearth he grew up hearing about was not the Clan Winterhearth he lives among. No Dawi blessed with Thungni's Gift has graced their blood in centuries, the closest link they had to their storied past was the fact that the legendary Runelord Thorek Ironbrow could trace his mother's line back to theirs. One Gerta Vallasdottir, who married into Clan Ironbrow in the year 4030 to strengthen their Clan after the fall of the Old Winterhearth Hold and better integrate themselves in their adopted home of Karak Azul. Nowadays Clan Winterhearth was a Clan of Blacksmiths, Runescribes and Rangers broken up across the Karaz Ankor; pitied for their lack of a home and fall in fortune by other, better to do, Clans.

Jorri's father had scoffed at such, "nonsense."

Remember this lad, in the Golden Age, our kin spread themselves far and wide! Across the breadth of the realms, you could find a Winterhearth in a tavern, a smithy or at the head of a merchant caravan. Aye, our home is lost to us for now, but at least some part of our traditions remain unspoilt! Take heart in that Jorri, and never let your sorrow cloud your mind nor smother your hope!

Hope, he thinks as the answer slides into place like a puzzle piece, that's right.

Hope was what made them latch themselves onto Thorgrim's band. Just as much as the promise of Gold and Glory did at the very least, though the other party members would not believe such.

Jorri, his uncle and several older cousins were those few members of the Clan who had held on to their hope. Different from the grim acceptance and lethargy of their kin, they dared dream of Winterhearth ascendant; of the Old Hold being reclaimed, their vaults filled to bursting, and of Thungni showing His favour and blessing them with Runesmiths once more. Theirs was a dying breed, cut down over the millennia by Grobi poison, Urk blades or Rakki treachery on the front and by hopelessness and grief of their kin at home. His aunt called him foolish and reckless, for filling himself with the memory of good ale and shunning the tankard in front of him.

Bah! Let their future be filled with sour ale and split ends, he grumbled uncharitably in his mind.

If Jorri was going to die on this expedition, he'd die hoping even if he was proven wrong. He'd die hoping even if it was just to spite a world that seemed to delight in trying to break him and his over its knee. He feels his back straighten and his chest puff up in defiance.

A quiet whistle from up ahead draws him out of his musing.

Contact, his uncle signs, split formation, combat ahead.

Jorri readies his weapon and moves to comply, falling in line beside cousins Grim, Gotrek and Gazul as part of the western flank.

━<><><><==><><><>━​

Thyk roars, his axe splitting the shoddy Dumi armour like a hot knife through goat's butter. He carries through with his swing, the blade arcing out and striking a manling that was fighting Vardek across the neck, killing him in seconds.

"I had that well in hand on my own!" his fellow recruit roars in annoyance.

"Stuff it! I'll buy you a pint back home after this is over!" Thyk thunders back, hefting his axe and making his way towards another foe, Vardek not far behind.

"Can't see shite in this blizzard!" his companion grumbles.

"We have to kill the wizard. Otherwise, we'll be picked off like goats in a…well, like goats in a snowstorm."

"Where in the Ancestors' name is Thunderfall?" Vardek mutters, searching the sky in vain.

"Not a clue, we can worry about him later. He's tougher than a Hearth Guard anyhoo," Thyk replies.

A roar pierces the howling wind, and after sharing a glance with his fellow Dwarf, both he and Vardek jog towards the sound of conflict, the latter grabbing a hold of Thyk's shoulder plate with his free hand so as not to get lost.

When they can see the source through the blizzard they see Thane Borek fighting two Chaos Warriors, one armoured the other less so, on his lonesome. The Longbeard's face scrunched in concentration while the Runes on his great hammer and talismans burn furiously in the presence of the Great Enemy.

"Come on!" Thyk yells at Vardek before charging headlong into the fray, not bothering to see if his companion is following.

"For Kraka Drakk and King Silverbeard!" he roars, drawing the attention of the more lightly armoured warrior while he swings his axe in an overhead strike.

The pawn of the Dark Gods mutters something in his guttural tongue, raising his greatsword to block the oncoming blow for a second before he rapidly adjusts so that the blade also catches Vardek's swing as well. The three of them stay like that for a moment, Dwarf muscle struggling against demon blessed flesh before the latter wins out, and with a grunt, pushes them away with a mighty shove.

Both Thyk and Vardek prepare to take on the warrior, readying their axes in preparation, but are denied battle when a barrage of bolts buries themselves into the enemy from behind. The warrior, wounded and bleeding from a bolt that had buried itself in his neck, nevertheless turns to face the new enemy with a roar of rage. Though seemingly unfazed by the blood gushing from his musclebound neck, he is not so immune when another wave of projectiles slam home into his chest and head.

"Did we have rangers?" Vardek asks, staring at the dead warrior.

Thyk slams his axe downward, separating the head from the rest of the body before turning to look at him.

"Don't know. We can solve it later though, Elder Borek's gonna win but we still ought to help him."

Vardek stares at him for a moment before nodding.

"Fair enough."

━<><><><==><><><>━​

Borek Grimbrow grimaces, hefting his axe and eyeing the oncoming band warily. Whoever they were, they had seemingly slain the wizard given that the Blizzard that had blinded them was no longer active, without, any effort on the Runesmiths' part.

Six wounded, two dead, his mind supplies clinically, outnumbered five to one if it comes to a fight. Thunderfall can carry two at most. Runesmiths are more valuable, can't let the Dumi get them, no matter what.

They were Dwarfs, but nothing like he'd ever seen. Turning his head slightly he eyes the beardlings under his command staring at him questioningly.

Ancestors, I hope you understand my choice, he thinks, mentally preparing himself to potentially cosign the remaining Dwarfs under his command to a fatal rearguard action.

"Grim!" he hollers at one of the two apprentices attached to their group, "Is this some Zhuf born trickery?"

"Nai my Thane!" the boy answers, a look that no doubt matches the confusion on Borek's at the admission.

"Well this just got odd," he mutters quietly to himself before straightening up and taking a long, perhaps final, whiff of clean Northern air.

"Form up beardlings," he orders, voice carrying over the air, "We'll see what this is about, and if it goes tits up Thunderfall will take Grim and Yorri back to the nearest camp and get help. The rest of you buckle down and stay behind me. Understood?"

" Aye Elder!" they rumble back in unison.

Borek scoffs and marches towards the party of strangers, axe ready, before stopping ten meters from them. He and the opposing elder take each other's measure, while the beardlings behind both of them stare in confusion.

"Ho there!" he says to the band of odd rangers, finally breaking the silence, "What Karak do you lot hail from? I've not encountered that kind of colouring before and there should be no patrols in the area save ours."

The old ranger across from him makes a confused face.

"Pardon? What speak you say?" the lead ranger replies in Khazalid so odd that Borek thinks even his uncle Snaresson would have trouble parsing it.

"What. Hold. Are. You From!" Borek shouts in the oldest Khazalid he knows, enunciating slowly and gesturing to get his point across despite the distance between them.

He sighs in relief when some semblance of understanding crosses his features. That relief is short-lived however when the old ranger replies with an equally slow and deliberate tone.

"We. From. Karak Hirn,"

Horn Hold.

That…

That was no Hold Borek knew of.

"Ah bugger me," he grumbles quietly to himself, though he does notice the ranger blink before raising his brow. No doubt growing as confused as he was.

━<><><>< Khazalid Trivia ><><><>━​

Varag - Mad Dog, Wolf.
Grobi - Goblin
Urk - Orc/Foe
Rakki - Rat

━<><><><==><><><>━​

Next​

AN: Behold! A thing I wrote in the heat of the moment. This is non-canon in the extreme and has no real bearing on events in the quest. I just got inspired. :^)

 

[Remake]

I don't know if this counts as an omake and this is the first time I am giving something like this a try. @soulcake

The purpose

"Runelords from the far south may decry the very act of opening my workshop to youngsters as heretical. And every comfort and service I offer from then on as a means of controlling scions of Thugni antithetical to his teachings which emphasize free will and independence of runesmiths. To them, I say I care not what contracts they accrue or reagents they acquire. I care not which contacts they make and how many runes they share. I care not which books they pursue and for how long they read. I simply care they wish to learn knowledge and are worthy enough to learn it. And let it never be said I stopped a rune lord, radical or conservative, old or young, from the far south to east to west from sharing either their knowledge or their experience irrespective of the rune lord's feelings towards me.

So you ask then why Snorri student of Yorri, the odd do you do this? Why create this behemoth of an institution if you are so ambivalent to its function? Why do you wish this change? A scant few centuries back I was one among the first waves of dwarfs that came to the far north in hope and wonder. And within two decades the north challenged our hold's establishment which required a rune lord's personal attention for the very survival of its throng. But I took courage in the fact that I was not the only rune lord and far north boasted of plenty of rune lords, elders in age and experience, Kremma Fieryheart, Yorag Stonecutter, Grimmi Coalhand, Yargrim Yorreksson, and the like. But within a couple of centuries, the first magical storm occurred, and in that crucible of the far north, two-fifth of the dwarf holds have fallen in a single incursion and resulted in a similar amount of casualties for my own hold with me protecting it. And as for my fellow rune lords

Kremma Fieryheart, slain in the defence of her hold, the two greater daemons responsible killed and Grudge avenged
Yorag Stonecutter, buried under the bodies of four cygors, bled out even as his Gromril armour withstood the weight above him.
Grimmi Coalhand, last stand at the Undergates of Karak Gorrakul, dying to buy the survivors of his hold time.
Yargrim Yorreksson, died defending his son, Yorrek Yargrimson from a Daemon Prince, who slew his killer in turn.
Galrim Goldeneye, flooded a section of the Underway with a torrent of Molten gold, holding the horde in place as he was consumed by the metal….

Names upon names, stories upon stories. Each condensing heroic deeds down to but simple sentences. But what grows the awful pit in your stomach is the awful realization, that of the Runelords who came north with you-

-Only one dwarf remains alive.

Click to shrink...

It was not only far north that the incursion affected and one in ten rune lords of the realm lay dead. But in the entirety of the far north, with all those accompanying me It was me alone that survived it. And at scant 700 years of age, I was the one the beardlings were turning for wisdom. A grand conclave had to be called and Thugni himself had to attend for the losses pf so many runelords had to be tallied and replaced. But the wisdom which was lost by the death of so many experienced rune lords is irreplaceable. It was only by the silver tongue of Otrek that Brynna Gildedeyes joined us and it was only the grace of Thugni that the conclave accepted so many of my nominations to replace the fallen Runelords. In the south attacks by the enemy can be repulsed, sieges can be borne without runesmiths or runelords for help can arrive and grudges can be avenged. But in the far north where the unseen winds blow a magnitude stronger, where every troll, manticore, and ogre uses magic in ways unheard of in the south, where time itself can be bent and enemies dare to use entire clans of runesmiths as reagents any throng or holds that lacks runesmiths is liable to fall. Never again the holds of the far north fall for we could not disperse the foul magi that is ever present in the air. Not for want of knowledge, or reagents or contracts, and especially the beardlings of the far north will never have to rely on a single elder for wisdom. And finally, Thugni will never have to call for a grand conclave just because the runelords of far north failed in the duty to their holds and their apprentices.

I am Snorri , son of Klaus Runelord of the far north, a member of the Burudin. I funded and supplied my entire hold, runic equipment twice during the siege for duty demanded it. I negotiated and funded the creation of an entire Karak when duty required it. And now my duty to the realm, in the far north demands the increase of quality of rune craft. It demands an increase in the quantity of rune craft. And it demands the increase in the number of rune smiths producing the rune craft. With this institution I shall deliver.

 

[soulcake]

Previous

━<><><>< 6827 A.P. ><><><>━​

When his uncle tells them their Clan their erstwhile allies blink before several of them scoff in disbelief.

"Winterhearth? Big story, you weave. Large and healthy Gromril mine with no rats I have to sell to you too," the leader grumbles, his Khazalid almost unintelligible, but annoyance and suspicion clear as day.

Behind him, several of his party nod in agreement while the Griffon squawks for good measure.

"I do not lie," his uncle grunts out, eyes squinting in anger at the accusation, while pointing to the Clan's sigil emblazoned proudly on his shield, "I am Kraus, son of Storri, son of Grimgar, Elder of Clan Winterhearth."

"If Winterhearth, where proof? Wazzok can paint sigil, word and honour shiny, but can maybe be gold or maybe pyrite!" one of the other dwarfs shouts before spitting onto the ground.

"What proof then?" his uncle barks, "Would be enough for you lot?"

The foreign elder raises a brow before turning back to his own band. They huddle together, even the giant Griffon, and whisper among themselves for a good few minutes.

Jorri dares walk up to his Elder and asks "What exactly happens if they don't believe us? Odd Dawi or no, they aren't…them."

"Hopefully it won't come to that, but in the best case I can stall them long enough for Thorgrim and the rest of the group to catch up to us here. They shouldn't be too far out after all."

"And what will they think, when they see a band of odd Dawi come marching over the hill?"

"We'll have to see," uncle Kraus says, moustache shifting as he puts his pipe to his mouth. There is no smoke, let alone any tobacco, his aunt had gotten uncle Kraus to swear off the stuff, but apparently, the act of nibbling on its end is a comforting sensation for him.

It's also something, Jorri and his cousins know, that uncle Kraus only does when he's unsure, nervous. Like the time when aunt Sigrid was giving birth to cousin Okri or when the little wazzok went on his first ranging.

Not that they say such a thing.

Before he can think or say anything more, the other elder turns back to face them, his face impassive, and says a simple thing to them.

"Runecraft!" he barks.

They stare.

"Winterhearth mighty Runesmiths. Show work to this one," he continues, gesturing for a young Dwarf to walk forward, "And he will speak true."

Jorri can feel the anxiety build.

Runecraft.

Runecraft that they did not have.

He and his cousins stare at uncle Kraus, the old Dwarf's eyes squinted in thought.

"Swear," he finally says to the odd group, "On your beards, your honour and Clan that you shall not betray us."

They stare at him, the other elder furrows his brow before looking at the young Runesmith, for what else could he be, who only nods back.

"Swear," the young Dwarf says, "I Yorri, son of Skarri, on Clan, on Honour, on beard. No traitor I am."

Kraus nods, then turning to his cousin Bokri, simply says "get the bundle I had you lot bring."

His cousin looks confused, but complies nonetheless, trudging over to cousin Ragni, who only shrugs before unslinging a bundle of cloth from his back and dropping it in Bokri's hands. The atmosphere is tense as all eyes watch the ranger trundle over and pass his cargo over to their uncle. For a time he merely holds it in his hands, staring through the fabric at whatever it concealed before he starts to gingerly unwrap it.

When the first hint of Gromril peaks through Jorri, and likely the rest of the party, realize what exactly uncle Kraus has somehow brought north with them.

Bludbaraz, the Blood-oath.

The axe of Karstah, daughter of Klausson, one of the oldest heirlooms Clan Winterhearth yet possesses shines in the cold air proudly, bewitching all with its craftsmanship. Passed down from generation to generation, through the Time of Woes and the Fall of Old Winterhearth Hold. On through millennia of the Silver Age, until it found itself at last in his uncle's hands. The axe that they all thought he had left behind just in case things went wrong.

It's where it needs to be, he remembers uncle Kraus saying.

Oh aunt Sigrid is going to kill him if he doesn't die here, Jorri thinks faintly.

━<><><><==><><><>━​

Thorgrim's party arrives thirty minutes later, having far greater difficulty passing the snow after that odd blizzard had piled on a further few feet of the stuff. A Dwarf can march through a lot, but when there's risk of him sinking from the weight of his armour caution must understandably be exercised.

To his surprise, he finds not only the band of rangers who had come with him north, hale and whole, sitting and drinking merrily on freshly cut logs around a roaring fire, but sees that their numbers have grown.

Curiously, yet with a degree of caution, who knew what happened this far north after all, he and the rest of the party approached the celebrating band of Dawi.

"Hail!" he shouts when they get close enough, "Elder Kraus, may I inquire as to how you gained over half a dozen Dawi and a Griffon in your company?"

The Winterhearth ranger turns away from the Dwarf he was speaking with, and after a few short words, gets up from the blanket-covered log he was sitting on to march over to them, an uncapped horn of foaming ale in his hands.

"Lordling," the old Dwarf greets, "Come. We have made…a discovery of supreme importance."

"Oh? Does it have to do with the presence of these new kin and their Griffon that you're sharing a fire with?" Thorgrim asks, eyeing the mighty weapon strapped to the ranger's back that he certainly did not remember being there before.

Kraus nods, "It's a complicated situation, but it's better if they explain themselves."

Sharing a few confused glances with his compatriots, they nevertheless follow Kraus to the makeshift camp where one of the new Dwarfs, the oldest of them given the length and fullness of his grey-black beard, has already gotten up and is making his way over.

Thorgrim's eyes scan his attire, and it takes every ounce of will within him not to boggle at the sheer display of wealth on this Dwarf's person. The glint of Runecraft shimmers over his Gromril armour, nestled within decorative knot engravings. Scenes of mighty monsters slain by Dawi hands, grand halls, and mighty griffons decorate its surface. From his gold and jewel-covered belt a similarly designed helmet with curling, downward-facing horns hands alongside potions and yet more Rune inscribed equipment. On his back, resting atop the fine fur cloak he wears, a bearded greataxe of exquisite craftsmanship, though not as beautiful as the one Kraus now carries, glints in the light.

"Hail there," Thorgrim greets, voice low and loud just as his uncle taught him, "I am Thorgrim, of the Clan Durazklad. Who might you be?"

"Cousin! Borek I am, leader of this patrol is my craft," the elder shouts in jumbled, oddly accented Khazalid, a grin on his face, "Good tidings! Come, sit by fire and drink with us! Drink in victory and success!"

Despite his misgiving, the other Dwarf's mood is certainly infectious enough that he can feel his lips begin to quirk upwards.

"Why my cousin, do we drink this evening?" Thorgrim asks, letting himself be dragged over and pushed down onto a log.

"Because we have found each other kin of another Hold! Not since the shattering of the Ungdrin have we seen Dawi from the south!"

Thorgrim blinks, then turns to a nearby Kraus with confusion clearly written on his face.

The old Dwarf merely shrugs.

━<><><><==><><><>━​

 

[Thor's Twin]

The Inevitable Institutionalization of Aetheric Education

During your studies, there may be a tendency to deride studying the historical cultures that surround our Empire. Such effort can better be spent on innovation some say, to better the current lives of citizens instead of learning how foreigners far away lived long ago. After all, how can the study of pottery-making trends from Ancient Nehekhara produce better rifles to keep our roads safe from the terror of Beastmen? It will not. But neither will better rifles provide insight into how to use those rifles, for that is the purview of history. For history is the study of the glories and tragedies of people, of mistakes and successes of those who came before. Not just of the Empire, but of the Dwarves and Elves as well. By learning from the past of our ancestors and allies, we can predict the future, and see where the trends that occupy our minds will lead us. This is why we discuss, today, one of the most relatively recent trends in the Empire, but a trend that has been around since our allies first learned to bend reality to their whim. We speak of the inevitable institutionalization of aetheric education.

We will eventually reach the humble foundations of our Colleges of Magic, but first, we will have to trawl through the historical trends that led to this place. I hope that while studying these other institutions and their long history, it will become apparent why the Colleges of Magic were inevitable as well as the direction such an institution will proceed in. For there are many examples to study, from the Tower of Hoeth of the Elves, to the ancient Mortuary Cults of doomed Nehekhara, and the Celestial Academy in Grand Cathay. We will also discuss the Dwarven institution, the Halls of Everlearning, as a study of contrast to other traditions.

To begin with, we shall take a look at an institution that the Colleges of Magic most resemble. The White Tower of Hoeth, in Ulthuan. It is here that Elvish archmages learn at the feet of those who came before them, where they delve into the mysteries of the aethyr, and where their findings are recorded. Generations of the greatest High Elf minds have worked tirelessly to beat back against the darkness of ignorance and light safe paths forward with lamps of knowledge. Within this monument to magic and wisdom, Elves learn to master the winds of magic, allowing them to combine all the disparate winds into a single mighty spell. Such education may take centuries of careful study and dogged pursuit, but the results speak for themselves. In all the World, no culture or state can boast of having greater wizards than the Elves. With these mighty persons, the terrors of the Northern Wastes, and those which lurk beyond, are kept at bay.

Next on this brief overview is the ancient Mortuary Cults of Nehekhara. Admittedly, not much is known about this institution of magic and learning, and much that is known is guarded jealously by undead horrors. However, from fragments that have been retrieved from those blasted lands and records of neighboring polities, a broad picture can be formed. The people of Nehkhara were a people obsessed with death and its avoidance. So much so that they plied every effort into crafting means of holding onto this world after death. It was the Mortuary Cults who were tasked with this grand undertaking, securing wealth and power with promises of eternal paradise. And it was the Mortuary Cults who seemingly succeed, just not in the manner promised. Whether it was a tragic accident or a grand ritual that went wrong, the Nehekharan people have avoided death, by sacrificing all the joys and pleasures of life. A tragic reminder of what happens when knowledge is pursued at all costs and institutions of such pursuit have no higher authority to curtail their excess.

Next, we have the Celestial Academy of Grand Cathay, a more modern contemporary of our own academy. Located in the heartlands of their land, this institution takes those men and women who can see and touch the Winds of Magic and molds them into weapons of war, similar to their terracotta soldiers. Following a different tradition of magic than those descended from Elvish lore, these wizards combine the eight different winds of magic into two disparate groups. One called Yang and the other called Yin. How these wizards avoid being affected by dhar is not known, or if they simply consign themselves to the risks and consequences of such exposure. What is known, though, is that through the different lens of understanding the Winds of Magic, these Cathayn wizards can avoid the common bottleneck of magical learning primarily through long apprenticeships. Apparently, the safety of mind and soul granted through careful apprenticeships are not needed for those they mold as merely tools of war and state. A troubling aspect given the historical troubles rouge wizards have caused in Cathay. While a powerful force to be reckoned with, it is also a dark mirror for the Colleges of Magic and a state that should be avoided lest we further sharpen the dangers that plague those who study magic for the defense of the Empire.

Lastly, and assuredly not least, is the Halls of Everlearning in the Karaz Ankor. Of all these institutions mentioned, the Dwarves are proud to boast that their's is the oldest. Formed in the Northern reaches of their Empire in the Golden Age of their state, the Halls of Everlearning seeks to further refine the secretive art of runesmithing, of bolstering the number of runesmiths around the land, and to form a repository to keep at bay the degradation of knowledge from accident and tragedy. It was here that legends say the wisest and most knowledgable runelord in generations traveled after creating the Rune of Sorcery, the most important rune for Anvils of Doom. It was here that he worked with other runesmiths to refine and hone that marvel into the Master Rune of Shackled Magic, used to power wonders all over the Karaz Ankor. Tournaments of valor and skill are held regularly with prizes of potent reagents, knowledge, or artifacts going to the winner. Academics debate with enough rigor to start physical confrontations. Enemies of the Dwarves know that they must strike here to stop the advancement of runic lore and power, and yet the Halls of Everlearning still stand. Guarded by runic works older than nations, secured by wonders more powerful than mortal armies, and protected by a city's worth of soldiers, this marvel of knowledge has stood the test of time. And as it is protected, it, in turn, provides the tools and weapons to the Karaz Ankor to protect itself from its enemies.

This brings us to the purpose of this general overview. The pitfalls that the Colleges of Magic can fall into as well as the successes it can endeavor to reach. History teaches us the dangers of molding wizards into pure weapons of war, as the damage they can do should their resolve shatter is horrific. Neither, however, should we let ourselves be dictated by desires to reach ever onward into the aethyric for the means to realize our ambitions. That way leads to tragedy and heartbreak. Instead, it would seem, that recognizing the good wizards can do and supporting their efforts in protecting our empire is a path forward that is well lit with examples from our allies' past. And each year they succeed is a year in which the Empire grows stronger and more able to realize its goals.

A/N: @soulcake Another omake for the omake throne! More Ink spilled! I hope you all enjoy the read!

 

[Oleg Shilov]

I had not written omake before, because I thought that the auto-translator would make the text unreadable. But now I'm in quarantine, so I have nothing to do. I want to ask English-speaking visitors of this site to make a more readable version of this text. I apologize for the mistakes.


Nain Kazzarsson was thinking on the preparations for the companies to settle the grievances of the Fimirs. Master Snorri was finishing his convalescence. And as soon as his body allows him to fight at full strength, he will join the crowd of karak, as befits an elder of his beard length. The very thought of fighting alongside a living ancestor made Nain work much harder. But what kind of help will be the most effective for Davi in the coming battles. Nain could concentrate on the production of weapons, but the warriors of Karak Drakka, in which the Gift Giver had lived for centuries, had little need for regular runic weapons.

Reflecting on this dilemma, he came to the conclusion that he would most likely have to fight in the company of the warriors of the Stoneplate clan. Because as according to legends, it is difficult to walk next to Master Snorri in battle because of the forged miracles he wears.

The first thought that comes when you think about strengthening the crowd is a banner. But banners were not Nain's strong point, In search of inspiration, he decided to consult with the mages of Brann and Lady Ebonsi. However, the conversation with the elf (who transferred knowledge to an outrage easily, even if they are not guild secrets) suddenly turned to discussions about the traditions of creating artifacts, as well as about the winds of magic. The knowledge that the flame is metaphysically connected with feelings. It helped to look at the banner problem from the other side. Nain may not know much about banners, but like any blacksmith worthy of this knowledge, he understands fire.

When, in gratitude for the unspoken advice, he showed Menlinwen the result of his work, she called this artifact the small forge of Vaul.

Forge of battles (Small forge of Vaul). Despite the fact that in runic essence this item is a banner, it is a full-fledged forge made of basalt and gromril. Decorated with figures of davi forging weapons and marching to war. Their forge and eyes are made of hearth stones When a fire is burning in the furnace, it creates a small thrust in the cavities of the walls of the forge, which with the help of the simplest (for a Davi) mechanics makes the figures move (Nain is not a master of creating complex toys, but still a student of Snorri).In the midst of a battle, a pillar of flame, fueled by the rage of the dwarves, rises to a height of several meters. The banner makes the anger of the dwarfes manifest more clearly. Linking it with fire and vice versa. The greater the anger of the detachment to which the banner is attached, the more fiercely it is fighting. Gives the squad protection from the flames. The bleeding wounds of the squad members are cauterized. The squad's weapons are capable of burning opponents. Makes the squad fearless. Will the metal obtained from the smelting produced during the battle acquire properties ??? Requires four dwarves to carry. (Rune of Grimnir, Rune of Fire, Rune of Fury)

Dragon Bellows: A talisman designed to work in tandem with the forge of war. It is made of gromril and the skin of a magma snake. In the form of a dragon in the recognizable manner of the masters of Karak Drakka. He called to fan the fire of the squad's fury. And also, if necessary, to draw in this flame and molten metal, and then spew it at opponents. ( Rune of Burning, Rune of Ferocity, Rune of Smelting)

 

[Luxon]

Apprentice Creations of Note

Fjolla​

Maiden's Rebuke (Talisman)

Turn 22
Maiden's Rebuke: An amulet made from silver and a large, and supremely fine cut piece of Shining Stone at the center. The design was made to look like a dragon wrapping around the gem that was its treasure, the drake itself is incredibly detailed to a degree even you could call meticulous and certainly required an incredibly precise hand and keen eye. The Gem glittered with the light of silver in the firelight, water in the sun, snow under stars and rain in the moon. Surrounding it were three equally fine, but incredibly small gems, a ruby, a sapphire and a diamond, whose shone brightly from the incredibly small but finely wrought Runes inscribed upon them. [Combo, Spitestrike: Rune of Might, Rune of Parrying, Rune of Fury]: When the bearer is struck, an equal amount of damage is flung back at the attacker.

Lhunegal Brynwand (Talisman)

Turn 33
Fjolla's Epic Creation of Note, Lhunegal Brynwand (Rune Staff of Shining Moonlit Gold): A Rune Staff, something more commonly found among the Runesmiths in the more southerly Holds, that is a blend of that traditional and her native northern style. A small Gromril Drakk's head serves as the item's cap, inset with Brightstone eyes each the size of a Dwarf's palm and encircled by beautiful gold knotwork. The Runes are inscribed on squares of finely wrought gems bordered by Gromril, stacked underneath the staff's head.
-- Combo, Valaya's Indignance: [Master Rune of Spellspite, Rune of Lightfright, Rune of Lightspite] Spells cast against the user are broken down and the caster is burned and they forget how to cast the spell for a time. The magical energy is stored by the staff, and at the user's command, the energy can be fired back out as bolts of blinding, searing light, or be used to fuel terrible visions that can instill terror.
-- Gem Eyed
-- Perfectionist's Touch

Dolgi​

Skyguard Plate (Armour)

Turn 22
Skyguard Plate: A massive, but finely made suit of Pure Gromril armour built for a Griffon. The metal is thick and requires that the bearer be strong of body even for a Griffon, but so well fitted that whoever was capable of wearing it could move with no loss of mobility. The Gromril is polished to a sheen, the only decorations being simple, but precisely made, silver inlay that gives the plate mail the appearance of feathers or fur depending on where it is on the body. Across the chest plate, the Runes glow fiercely. The helm encloses the Griffon's face save only for their beak, and its forehead is adorned with a Gromril spike a third of a meter long. A suit of armour meant to evoke the grumbling appearance of a Longbeard or Huskarl. [Combo, Gromril-like: Rune of Steel, Rune of Spelleating, Rune of Fortitude] The armour is far tougher than its construction suggests, withstanding blows with little to no damage that would have ruined it otherwise.

Grimhazkalrik Klad (Armour)

Turn 32 results
-- Epic Creations of Note, Grimhazkalrik Klad (Unyielding Fireplate): The one on the left is made of thicker plates, its helm bears an axe-shaped horn atop the beak, that glows with heat. Each individual piece of thick overlapping plate is etched in a mix of Kraka Drakk knotwork and the flowing scratch script of the Branakroki, the Runes proudly engraved on the chest plate and each flank. A suit of armour made for one who would wade into the thick of the fighting and stand as an unbreakable terror.
---Combo, Zharrkazad(Burning Fortress): [Master Rune of Infernos, Rune of Vitality, Rune of Fortitude] The bearer can spew a coat of flames around themselves that improves their regeneration, heals minor wounds and burns their foes.
---Sky Armourer
---Crow Crafter

Gromwyrren Klad (Armour)

Turn 32 results
-- Epic Creation of Note, Gromwyrren Klad (Brave Coldplate): Its sibling meanwhile is a thing of sleek plates and ever more finely articulated plate and scale layers. Slim, and slender, the horn atop its helm is perfect for diving plunges into the bodies of enemy lords. Its slender form emits soft curls of icy vapour that flow from the ends of the scratch script upon them, sheets of scale can be seen covering otherwise exposed joints and openings in the armour. A suit made for one as swift as the mountain winds, whose blows come rarely but are aimed at the heart and with the force to sunder mountains behind each one.
---Combo, Wyrrakdrengi(Snow Slayer): [Master Rune of Blizzards, Rune of Speed, Rune of Impact] The bearer can launch themselves forward at incredible speeds, forming a Gromril hard ice spike at a desired point on the armour.
---Sky Armourer
---Crow Crafter

Snerra​

Shield of Unyielding Stone (Armour)

Turn 25
Shield of Unyielding Stone:
A stout Gromril shield, the shape and weight balanced to such a degree that it could easily be mistaken for the work of a Dwarf centuries older. The surface is bordered with a band of decorative Silver, inlaid with Gromril knotwork and Sapphire studs. The central space is dominated by three knotwork mountains. The knot patterns used to draw them were made from Gromril bordered with blue-silver, and the Runes inscribed with exacting detail and precision atop each "peak." Through a trick of craftsmanship, the light they generate is funnelled such that it looks like the glow spreads out from the Runes, down knotwork paths, into the intricate patterns on the shield's border.
- [Combo, Gromril-like: Rune of Steel, Rune of Spelleating, Rune of Fortitude]: The armour is far tougher than its construction suggests, withstanding blows with little to no damage that would have ruined it otherwise.
- Prodigal Touch

Queen's Oathplate (Armour)

Turn 25
Queen's Oathplate:
A set of Pure Gromril Armour, the plates so well made that they shift silently as the wearer moves. The suit is so finely tuned that despite the layers upon layers of tough Gromril the bearer can move like they were in nothing more than a set of leather armour. The metal of the plate itself has been put under processes that give it an almost shimmering quality, while the fine, intricate chainmail beneath almost looks as if it shifts colours under the right light. The knotwork designs on the armour are similar to the shield it was made alongside, a Rune inscribed on each shoulder and over the bearer's heart. Capped off with the anvil-shaped helm favoured among Runesmiths with horns in the distinct style that has become more and more associated with Kraka Drakk. A slot in the back sits empty, waiting for a battle standard to bear.
- [Combo, Magic Breaker: Rune of Spellbreaking, Rune of Warding, Rune of Stone]: Enemy Magic breaks down around the wearer, unmade by the swirling energies of the Runes.
- Prodigal Touch

Shining Standard (Banner)

Turn 25
Shining Standard:
A battle standard made from the finest cloth available, treated to be strong enough to survive the tough conditions of battle with as little wear as possible. The mix of black and grey dyes give it the appearance of a cave, a dwarf holding a torch illuminating a small section of it. But what draws the eye is the multihued shafts of cloth all leading back to the three Runes inscribed on its surface. Taken whole, to the average Dwarf it is clearly a depiction of Thungni's discovery of the Ankor Bryn, but to a Runesmith it went beyond that. The image seemingly pulls at them, some even claiming to see the scene on banner move as if it was actually happening from the corner of their eye. None, however, can deny the skill, care and effort put into its creation.
- [Combo, Glittering Beacon: Rune of Spellbreaking, Rune of Spelleating, Rune of Thungni]: Runesmiths feel an intrinsic pull to the banner, the effects of the Runes they cast grow in strength and their ability to deny enemy magic magnified.
- Prodigal Touch
- Visions of ???

Grong a Grom (Talisman/Anvil of Power)

Turn 34
- Snerra's Legendary Creation of Note, Grong a Grom(Anvil of Power): A large anvil of Pure Gromril inscribed with Runes. Its inward face bears the symbol of Clan Winterhearth, the Rune of Thungni within burning bright. To its left the Rune of Stone and to its right what could only be a Master Rune. Its decoration is simple yet masterfully done. The anvil's base resembles a Karak in miniature, structures jutting out of the mountain. The knotwork on its surface chiselled to resemble scenes of creation and the dispelling of enemy magic. On its outward-facing side, the visage of Thungni stares out, gazing uncompromisingly and contemptuously at any would-be magician with his literal flaming gaze. It rests on a wheeled platform which is itself inscribed with Runes of Protection and pulled by two large Goat Gronti. Meant to be rolled out to a vantage point over the battlefield so that Snerra may cast her Runes without impediment.
-- Combo, Amplifier [Master Rune of Amplification/Snerra Magnasdottir, Rune of Thungni, Rune of Stone] Enemy magic is broken up and used to greatly improve the casting of all Runes around the anvil's very immediate vicinity.
-- Genius's Touch
-- Prodigal Mind
-- Visions of ???
-- ???

Azulak Azrilundi (Gronti)

Turn 34
- Snerra's Epic Creation of Note, Azulak Azrilundi (Dependable Silver Guardian): A two meter tall Gronti in the shape of a goat with long straight horns. Its silvery body is decorated with knotwork that enhances the imagery of its metal fur and horns. Lightning crackles along its body, withs sparks jumping between its horns. Along with its brother, both are tasked with pulling the Anvil platform behind it.
-- [Master Rune of Waking, Rune of Load Bearing, Rune of Lightning]
-- Genius's Touch
-- Prodigal Mind
-- ???

Dawrak Rilundi (Gronti)

Turn 34
- Snerra's Epic Creation of Note, Dawrak Rilundi (Reliable Gold Guardian): A two meter tall Gronti in the shape of a goat with great curling horns. Its Pure Gromril body is gilded in pale gold while its horns are gilded in far darker gold. Tongues of flame lick its feet while smoke bellows out of its nose. Along with its brother, both are tasked with pulling the Anvil platform behind it.
-- [Master Rune of Waking, Rune of Load Bearing, Rune of Fire]
-- Genius's Touch
-- Prodigal Mind
-- ???

The Eye of the Ancestors (Prosthetic)

Turn 47 results
Snerra's Legendary Creation of Note, The Eye of the Ancestors: An eye of Pure Gromil decorated with gold and black opal to mimic the appearance of an eyeball, seven triangular holes around the "pupil," emanate the light of Runecraft from within the hollow sphere. The works of the enemy are put under the exacting eyes and standards of the brothers Smednir and Thungni, and they find it wanting. Its flaws are made as obvious to the mortal world as they are in the eyes of the sons of Grungni. No shoddy work, be it mundane or arcane, shall stand before the Ancestors and remain unseen and unbroken.
-- Combo, Fracturesight: [Master Rune of Thungni (???), Rune of Forged Eye (???), Rune of Smednir (???)] Errors in creations are made apparent to the user, on command the eye glows and causes the faults and mistakes of an item before it to become more and more evident to the point that it can fail completely. Magical enchantments falter or find themselves undone entirely.
-- Genius's Touch
-- Prodigal Mind
-- ???

Karstah​

Karin a Karak (Armour)

Turn 45
- Karstah's Epic Creation of Note, Karin a Karak: A set of armour that was clearly inspired by your own. Interlocking plates of Gromril that almost fully encompass the upper half of the body with steel chainmail covering what the Gromril does not. The lower half consists of a skirt made of finely linked scale mail, the base layer of solid steel covered by a thin layer of bronze and silver alloys over which two large Gromril tassets rest. The Gromril plates are covered in lines of black stained steel and rubies that evoke the image of the peaks of the eponymous Black Mountains.
-- Combo, Steelborn: [Rune of Ironskin, Rune of Fortitude, Rune of Iron] The user's skin and bones become as hard as the strongest Azul steel, and thicker than armour with no loss in speed. Their body takes on a metallic sheen.
-- Beastbane
-- Mind for Metal

Nain​

Gorldrazh (Weapon)

Turn 45
- Nain's Epic Creation of Note, Gorldrazh: A massive great hammer as tall as a Runestaff. The hammer's haft is a length of stout Wutroth and steel bands stained pitch black accented by dull gold filigree. The hammer's Pure Gromril head is shaped like an Anvil, darkened like the rest of the body and marked by a glowing trio of Runes learned from the foot of the legendary Hammerspite himself. Plainly decorated, there is a spartan beauty to it, the maker knowing how to make the most out of his self-imposed limitations to create a beautifully sleek and simple-looking hammer.
-- Combo, Anvilbreaker: [Rune of Gottri Hammerspite, Rune of Echoblow, Rune of Strongarm] The user's blows ring like a gong, drawing strength from the foe they have struck, storing that energy and choosing whether to release it in one blast and/or have it rebound as a hit opposite of where the blow originally landed.
-- Hammerhand

All of the Apprentice creations of note all on one page. Mostly so I need less tabs open when using them as references but also so we can all see Snerra flex on the rest of them.

 

[Franksson]

Snorry whf 8th rules

━<><><>< Snorry Klausson ><><><>━


Eldest runelord of the north​

point cost 500.

	M	WS	BS	S	T	W	I	A	Ld
Snorry	3	6	4	4	8	3	3	4	9
Mhorni	3	6	4	5	8	4	3	4	9

TROOP TYPE: Infantry character (Snorry), Monstrous infantry character (Mhorni).
SPECIAL RULES: Golden age Grudge, Relentless, Rune Lore (only Snorry), Shield Wall, Resolute,Magic resistance (2).


Winds Denied: All enemies spells have a -2 to their casting roll if Snorry isn't fleeing.

Two runic weapons!: Snorry is wielding two magic weapons, you have to declare how many attack are you going to use with them and gain the benefit of the weapon for evry attak, you must alway use at least one attak with each weapon.

Mhorni,elemental guard: Mhorni is a separate Character that must always be part of Snorry unit, he benefits of all the magic items that Snorry is benefitting from, any effect that would target Snorry also targets Mhorni, Mhorni can't declare a challenge but can accept one.
If Snorry were to die or Skarrenbakraz destroyed Mhorni is destroyed.

This Far and not further!: Snorry and his unit can reroll all leadership test.

MAGIC ITEMS:
Zharrgal (Magic Weapon)
Attacks done with this weapon have strength 10 and the Flaming Attacks special rule; for any succesfull hit roll destroy a random magic item owned by the target of the attack on a 4+.
The user can make a single breath weapon attack with strength 5 that count as magical and has the Flaming Attacks special rule.
Any foes charging a unit including this weapon subtract D6" from their charge distance (roll after their charge distance has been determined, (this ability does not stack with the rune of slowness or similar effects).
If the enemy fails to make contact, all the rules for failed charges apply.


Barak Azamar (Magic Armour)
This armour gives: +3 thougthnes (already included), armour save of 2+, 2+ ward save against flaming attack, regeneration (5+).
If playng storm of magic all arcane fulcrums owned by the dwarf player count as two to estabilish who controlls more arcane fulcrums.


Skarrenbakraz (Magic Banner)
This banner confers a Ward save (5+) against Wounds caused by shooting attacks and all magic missiles to any friendly units within 6" of the bearer and the ablity to reroll all hit roll of 1 in close combat to all friendly units within 6".
At the start of the combact phase evry model in base contact with the bearers suffers a strengt five hit, if Snorry is in a unit with someone that isn't Mhorni the strengt become four.
The bearer has a Ward save (4+).

The Eye of the Ancestors (Enchanted Item)
All stay in play spell that Snorry can see are automaticaly dispelled on a 2+, once per game nominate a magic object whose bearer Snorry can see, destroy the item on a 4+.


Rune axe (Magic Weapon)
Attacks made with this weapon have: armor piercing, +1 to hit and wound a model with daemonic special rule, +1 attack (already included).


Wardstones (Talisman)
Snorry has a 2+ ward save against the killing blow and heroic killing blow special rules.


Ruby and Diamond Amulet (Talisman)
This talisman has two runes of spellbreaking and gives a ward save of 6, if Snorry manages to dispell an otherwise succesfull enemy spell he can reroll ward saves of one.

Golden age grudge is supposed to be part of the quest fanmade armybook if I am goin to make it, it works like ancestral grudge but skaven and orcs and goblin aren't automaticaly hated, daemon are.


@soulcake
omake for omake throne

Spoiler: commentary

I did say I was working on this (did your forgot?), it was months ago but I was hoping we would have seen Skarrenbakraz in action by now and I would have been able to be more precise on what exactly it does, similar problem emerges with the eye, I will edit both of them once we have a clearer idea.
I did my best to make Snorry compatible with 8th ed design choices of almost never give immunity to something and using already present rules instead of making up new ones, the keywords scattered on the text should be all correct and make him compatible with the book.
The effects of the runes when possible were taken strigth up from the army book, when I had to make them up I tried using effect of older or newer editions.
I started with the profile of the normal runelord.
Zharrgal was tricky, in the sense that it had to be almost all made up, luckly the hammer of Kragg the grim was there, there is a rune that destroy a single weapon on a 2+ after a hit, I figured a 4+ for evry hit was fair enoug, and Snorry doesn't just break weapon with this in quest, the flaming was at strength 4, I increased it when I remembered Snorry used it to melt minotaurs, -d6 charge because he can make obstacles on the way.
Barak Azamar, normal gromril armour is a 4+, I increased it twice because rune of stone and Adamant, gave regen because the master rune, gave 2+ ward against flaming because lava blood, of the +3 to thougthness, well rune of fortitudes gives a +1 and the +2 comes from the combo, the fulcrum bits is to represent all the synergy the set has with the storm of magic.
Skarrenbakraz, all the wards came from the Master rune of Grugni, rune of fury was made up, a plus one attak unit wise was way to much so I gave a weaker eternal hatred rulewise, the ability to cast innate bound spell is very strong and now Snorry is de facto a mobile anvil of doom, but keep in mind bound spell only sucks, in 8ed dispelling a bound spell is almost easier than it is to cast.
The rune axe and the wardstones were easy, all the runes are copy from 8ed.
I know the amulet is a strong antimagic object just do not remember the runes.
So TT wise Snorry is a massive no you don't to your opponent magic phase and with Mhorni can beat up anything whilst surviving easly, he only losses decisevly against Hellebron and Malekit, and they eye could very well prevent that.
Nice trick, Mhorni also gest to use the eye and the breath weapon.
Is 500 points because he wouldn't be legaly playable otherwise and can be easly avoided with his movement of 3, his ranged attack aren't game winning and eats up all the lord and heroes point allowance, so you simply beat anything else that isn't Snorry and his unit or you mistcast a pit of shades agains him and you kill him 50% ot the times.
Funnly enough he doesnt give armour piercing to his unit so as far as buf goes he is WORSE than a normal runesmith, he compensate by basicaly winning evry figth.

Spoiler: edit log

Added the rules for the talisman now that Dark as Silver managed to found the runes that make up his combo. Made Mhorni mostrous infantry and corrected Skarrenbakraz effect now that I can see what it does, added the table for the stat.

I hope you all like it.
If you have any sugestion or advice please you are welcome.