Varitadrazh
Little Sea of the Night
Stealthy was mighty Gazul, Lord of the Dead and Judge of the Underearth. The shadow itself cloaked Him, allowed Him to journey where and as He wished, unseen and unnoticed by all the world. None could surpass Him among the Karaz Ankor in stealth, none could find Him if He did not want to be found, and none could journey so freely as He, so able and skillful he was in the art of the dark and shadow to bring justice and fire to those who would hide from His judgement in that place. After the parting of the Ancestors, some feared this might be forgotten; and so some took steps to ensure it would not be.
The greatest of these works, if only because it has endured so long to this, our, age, was the Varitadrazh. It is a mighty thing split into two portions: a higher cowl made of Thundertusk hide, worked until soft and pliant and smooth as silk and yet still tough enough to stop an arrow never mind what armor lies beneath, then dyed a dark, dark gray, dark as slate and yet still so soft and cleaned it shines. Dangling together with this portion until it reaches the ankles, Wyrm hide, dyed black as the night. Worked too, until though less pliant than the Thundertusk hide, still as flowing and free as the finest wool of Avelorn, shifting as easily as the Dwarf wearing it might. The clasp is an innate part of the ensemble, a finely made amulet carved of troll bone.
Dyed into the Wyrm hide, and where the truest artistry lies, is the Avenging of Dum, when Gazul marched against Hashut. Each image, each story, is lifelike in the extreme, and historically backed--insofar as one can trust a Longbeard to tell history rather than extort his own prowess and mock the youth--by stories offered by those who fought in that place, and saw Gazul and the handpicked throng of Igna Magnusdottir wage war against the deceitful Frundar who, hidden in the Wastes, now provide such weapons, engines, and armor of war for the Great Enemy as they can with all manner of Dwarf skill. Gazul Himself is forever created with the utmost detail, His stony appearance screaming hope for the Dwarfs, with all others rendered of much less detail, varying depending on importance. Interview for the piece, to ensure its accuracy, were, among others, Dwalin Hurgarsson, Lorna Dernasdottir, and of course, turning up like a bad penny once more, Snorri Gift-Giver, in the second most possible detail. It is a rare instance, however, wherein I am inclined to accept this essentially as is, since so many who were so present so more-than-adequately documented him. Thus culminates at the clasp, which is carved with the image of Gazul smashing apart one of the Shards of Hashut with His mighty sword Zharrvengryn.
On the Cloak there are, as you may expect, three Runes. The Master Rune of Concealment, fed the blood of a Mist Drake. The Rune of Berserk, given Grimnirzan. And the Rune of Misdirection, fed finest Obsidian, sold from the Princes of Nagarythe (not, of course, that the Dwarfs will acknowledge this). All together? The bearer becomes unseeable, undetectable, unknowable, a walking shadow. Until, and unless, such a time as they decide otherwise. Then, and only then, do they explode into such violence as is fit to shake the world, and no enemy can dare to touch them, and their own blows flow like finest rivers' water, ever striking exactly what they seek.
It is an extremely undwarfish way to fight and that, perhaps more than anything, is what has made it so effective. One goes to battle expecting expecting the honest clash of steel on steel, the breaking of thews, the beating of wood, and instead receives poison, shadow, and treachery. Many Skaven, Goblins, and yes, even Humans who underestimate the potential for base cunning within the Dwarf heart and the Dwarf mind have learned only too well exactly how capable of treachery a Dwarf truly can be, found dead in their tents with an ax lodged in their skull, a knife in their chest, or a poisoned bolt in their side.
This is also why this relic, for all it comes from the Golden Age, has never merited the glory and respect one might expect. The self-same Dwarf traditionalists who are so keen to argue Runesmithing peaked in the Golden Age are also the sort to turn their nose up as much as possible at a tool for fighting like a Skaven. This is not wholly unfair, for instance much of the Elven impetus for holding a Grudge for the War of the Beard is based upon the brutality the bearer at that time indulged in, destroying at the least many Dragon hatcheries to fulfill his Grudge nevermind who knows what else, but at the same time there is a certain painful taste to it.
The cloak was created by one Fjolla Igunsdottir, a personal piece to mourn the passing of the Ancestors, not that long after they disappeared and the first High King, Snorri Whitebeard, declared his kin were missing. However, as this was, again, in the Golden Age, "not that long" is still a goodly length of time for us mere mortals who must fear the ravages of age.
In a certain bit of irony, the cloak's history has been extraordinarily well documented, with every long-term wielder known and documented by the Cult of Gazul, who were gifted it and offered management of it by Fjolla, and who have maintained it ever since, ensuring it goes to one who is worthy of it. At the moment it is borne by Durak Guttrisson, Ranger King of the fallen Silver Pinnacle, who seeks to reclaim his ancestral hall with shadow and fire, waging war against Neferata with every tool at his disposal, a long running war between the two have rung out through the mountains around Karak Ungor.
-Leandre Agua, Relics of the Gods
