How silly of me to think I'd have time today instead of appointments and clinics and medical pickups and waiting for incorrect supplies that we can't use hahaaaaaaaaaa and traffic and driving back and forth across town. I wanted to finish this tonight, but boy it was just one of those days that started with a doctor's appointment at eight in the morning. Blrugh. Tomorrow though. This, I make as a solemn vow to myself and to ya'll.
In the meantime. A small, teensy tiny excerpt:
The throng and the armies milled about as was the wont of such masses of bodies. Some manned the barricades, others patrolled, and others sat and waited, or lay upon their bedrolls and slept the sleep of soldiers who know that they may never get another chance. By now, the occasional shaking was almost comforting in its familiarity, if it weren't something indicative of the enemy gathering greater and greater strength which which to try and batter the Three Gates of the Ancestors down. Given dwarf masonry and runework, the gates shouldn't have even been moving at all. But then, neither should the Great Gate of Karaz-a-Karak have ever trembled from any blow, yet in that regard the foot of Gork - or Mork - himself had torn the proud mein of many a longbeard. Even without the wizards of the Magic Colleges providing their ways, the dwarfs were not blind to the enemy outside. Through clever construction and ancient ways, sound and even sight could be funneled with precisely crafted miniscule tunnels and perfectly made mirrors that allowed those behind the gates to peer and listen to what was occuring on the other side. In any case, the defenders of the Everpeak saw that the greenskins had once more begun marshalling their shamans, though many of them still hobbled about, the lingering wounds to their feet seemingly remaining despite most of the other orcs and goblins recovering by now. Trolls battered at the gates day and night with clubs that glowed with ugly green WAAAAGH!! energies, with the occasional swinging thump from one of the titanic metal clubs held by the slave giants. Despite everything, all the promises, all the glories, all the trust in the works of the Ancestors, it was impossible to mistake the fact that dents were starting to be made.
This time around, the dwarfs would not simply wait around for the damned urks to once more blaspheme upon their great works and earn a great many new Grudges in the Dammaz Kron. There had been whispers aplenty, amongst the commanders, and therefore a storm of conspiracy and speculation amongst the soldiers, about what was to be done.
When the answer came, it came loudly, and boldly.
"OH!"
It came from the depths, the eldest halls and greatest vaults, and with an expanding wave of silent awe and joy amongst the dwarfs.
"HO!"
It came with belching steam, and cranking gears, and crackling rope that had been alchemically treated thousands of years ago for optimal tensile strength and durability.
"HO!"
It came with thunderous, steady steps of plodding stone carved from quarries mined out before Sigmar breathed his first breath. Of gromril so finely wrought that there was no unpleasant clang or clank as it moved forward.
"HO!"
It came as a blend of ancient masteries, with purely of runecraft, and others from ancient pacts and exchanges with those who carried on the legacy of Morgrim himself.
It was an answer that scarcely could ever have been believed to be breathed into reality by the dwarfs. For so long, had they fallen back, ever backwards, into shrinking populations into fewer and fewer holds. Their greatest creations gone silent for lack of the power and knowledge to reclaim them. Their greatest works never to be replicated, for none could match the Ancestors of the past, Ancestor God or otherwise. This was known. Shamefully, this was the truth that a great many of the dwarf people had learned to accept, that they were destined to decline ere there were nothing but their crumbling creations to be remembered by in the world. A truth turned lie, by the wondrous and stalwart leadership of Thorgrim Grudgebearer, who had through his deeds and words reignited the guttering flame of defiance and kindled the light of hope in the darkening hearts of his people. Yet even those great efforts had seemed to falter with the siege of the Everpeak, the loss of the Great Gate, and incursion of the greenskins.
No longer.
It had been spoken of in the tales of Karak Ungor, and in the impeccably done chronicles of the Rememberer Evangeline Hertwig, but even then, so many more had not quite believed in their hearts.
They did now.
With mouths open, and some of the longbeards even shedding tears at a sight they never thought to see themselves, the dwarfs watched alongside the mystified humans of the Empire.
They watched as gronti-duraz walked once more.
Not the greatest of their kind, no, not yet, but that any walked at all was a marvel. They walked, runes blazing to life upon their bodies, accompanied and technically outnumbered by their admittedly somewhat lesser but nevertheless effective descendant creations in the gronti-jiffaz. Mixtures of runecraft and engineering, crafted in the Time of Woes, awoken to fight once more. At the head of the procession was none other than Kragg the Grim himself, expression as severe as it had ever been, yet he walked with great dignity and presence befitting the one who had once more struck the Rune of Awakening, and had instructed others that it not be lost again amongst other Runelords. Runelords and Runesmiths that walked at the sides and rear of the formation as well, keeping an eye on things. Though he had dared not wake the greatest of the gronti-duraz within the Everpeak's vaults, for he was determined not to suffer the fate of Silverthumb, what he had awoken was a legion of stone, gromril, and truesteel that would serve quite ably indeed.
Though, perhaps, the severity of his expression had something to do with the gliding woman of gold and silver who strode along with him at the head of the legion, her laughter pointed and loud to draw all the greater attention towards what now marched.
"Have I not proven my sincerity? My worth?" She said with shocking quiet, the many bangles on her wrist and voluminousness of her sleeve covering her mouth.
Kragg's frown did not deepen, such a thing was simply not possible given the geographical depth and severity it had long engraved into his face, but his eyes did narrow ever so slightly.
"Your aid was...acceptable," he finally grumped out, keeping his head high and not even looking towards her, instead his glare was quite locked onto the Gate of Grungni they were now approaching. "Unnecessary, however. I knew what needed to be done."
"Of course, of course," she nodded deeply, transforming it into a twisting half-spin and skip forward, forever dancing when good simple walking would have done. "And yet, to draw the magic forth in amounts enough to wake those runes...,"
"I have already considered your request," Kragg ground out.
For a single second, the Matriarch of the Gold College was still. Only a single second, but notable for that alone.
"Perhaps," he concluded with a deep nod.
"Excellent!" She smiled broadly, each barefoot step a heavy thump against the stone. "Excellent."
"I said perhaps," he repeated, to which the irritating human just smiled again.
The Gate of Grungni awaited them, and if Kragg was lucky, quite a few urks for him to work out his frustrations on.
