The hold of Karak Eight Peaks has fallen, claimed by a massive greenskin horde united under the Warboss Grumlok and his always-present advisor Gazbag. The loss is a devastating one, and many Dwarfs feel it is a sign that their time is at an end. Aware of the faltering spirits of his proud people, High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer issues a call to arms; Karak Eight Peaks must be reclaimed.
Chapter Story Edit
High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer surveyed the vast throng of Dwarfs gathered before him. Every soul in the great hold of Karaz-a-Karak had answered his summons. Pleased, the High King raised his hands high in the air and the great crowd fell silent.
"Hear me, sons of Grungni! You all know that Karak Eight Peaks has fallen to the greenskins. A new warlord has risen from the ranks of our ancient enemies, and on his hands is the blood of every brave dwarf who fought to defend our mighty hold. I've come before you today to tell ye that the time has come to repay that debt in kind!"
A chorus of cheers answered the High King, and he let the sound echo from the towering stone walls of the chamber before he continued.
"I've heard it told that some of you think the end times may at last be here, that the doom of the Dwarfs is at hand. Some say we should grab what gold we can and tunnel deep down, to spend our last days cowering in holes while the world is consumed in the fires of war. I stand before ye today to say no!"
At this, the High King held aloft the great Dammaz Grom, the Book of Grudges, so that all could see. "We'll not run and hide while there are grudges still to be answered! We will retake Karak Eight Peaks, and we will slaughter every last Orc and Goblin we find inside!"
A mighty roar erupted from the crowd. The High King nodded and set the book down before him. He now lifted a finely-wrought hammer from the ground at his feet. It shone as bright as the full moon, and was adorned with large blue gems of perfect clarity. He held the masterfully-crafted hammer high, and the Dwarfs before him fell into an awed silence. Never before had they seen a weapon of such magnificence.
"Behold, the first Doomstriker. Forged by our greatest smiths from the finest materials to be found: ore from the Bitterstone Mine, oathgold from the Marshes of Madness, brightstone from the mines of Gunbad, and gromril from the lost vaults of Thunder Mountain! It is a weapon the like of which has not been seen since the golden age of our people, and 'tis but the first of many."
Excited whispers spread through the crowd, but the High King was not yet finished.
"To forge more Doomstrikers, we must renew our supplies of ore, gold, and gems, but we will only use the finest of each. For this task I hereby decree the founding of a new order which shall be called the Oathbearers. Any Dwarf who thinks he has the grit to venture to the most dangerous places in the Old World may join, but any who enlist must swear an oath to me, to fight, and if necessary to die, in defense of hold and clan!"
"As a reward for this service, each Oathbearer will receive a Doomstriker weapon, and will have the honor of leading our attack on the greenskins! Now, who among ye will do his ancestors proud and join the Oathbearers?"
The great throng of Dwarfs surged forward, hands raised high as they clamored for attention. The High King beamed with pride, and raised his Doomstriker high.
"Uzkul a urki!" he cried out. Death to the Orcs!
"Uzkul a urki!" roared the Dwarfs in reply.