This story is imcomplete and much too long to be posted in one bulk, so I have decided to cut it into smaller sections. I will post a section each week or so (maybe two plus times a week) and this will happen with or without comments.

This is the first saga of mine, and this is chapter one. Basically I decided to do a nice dwarf story focusing on a slayer but to make it a bit different, actually have more than just fighting involved in it. A challenge eh? :D

Now the story, note it's not finished and

IT HAS NOT BEEN SPELL CHECKING IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM.

So please don't point it out.

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Zagaz A Kadrin Grimjaw

Remembering of Kadrin Grimjaw

Told By Thargri Greybeard


Chapter I

Thargri Greybeard wandered down the long corridor, the guard had told him this was the way to the King's audience chamber but he maybe too late to see him. Muttering his thanks he had started off down the corridor. Thargri was a dwarf of elder years, to many – manling's mainly – he would seem old and decrepit. But of course all dwarfs knew this was wrong, the strength of their race increased through their age, Thargri was now a prime aged Longbeard. A long off white beard wound it's way around him, tying off at the waist. Also around his waist was a belt bearing various pouches, many held tobacco or a pipe – and spare ones – leaving a couple for gold and jewels. Dangling from a small loop of leather at his hip was the only weapon he owned, a hammer. It's steel head was marred by the use it had seen in recent years, the wooden handle was notched and the once rich oaken wood now was a pale shadow. He wore plain, travel clothing consisting of; a green hooded cloak – once dark green now a pale colour; a pair of worn brown breeches; a white shirt; a brown overcoat; and a pair of sturdy black boots. Upon his back was a pack, it constantly jingled as the items inside jumbled about – many of them were cooking instruments, others were clothing. But one stood out above all, wrapped in a rich purple cloth it stuck well out of his pack – swaying back and forth with each step.

Looking about him Thargri could see why the city was named Kazad a Zunthrum – the City of Statues; for every few dozen of steps loomed a figure . Most were carved from ,marble – the artisans had lovely carved every feature of the dwarf, who were presumably great hero's or previous king's, down to the very rune's upon their armour. Then there were the few who truly stood out, for they were carved in gold. Among these stood the Ancestor Gods, but a few others filled in the numbers as well. Also along the passage he noted the presence of guards, the elite Hammerer's of the king stood silent and stern looking in hidden alcoves. Finally he approached a door twice the size of a dwarf with the words “Here In lies the King, speak and he shall listen” in runic script across them. He noted a small door used for entry into the hall and pushed his way through.

The first thing that struck him upon entering the King's Hall was the immense size of it, but that quickly past as he had seen a far more impressive sight in the lost hold of Kadrin a Izril. But even so by his judgement this single hall could hold a large portion of the manling city of Altdorf; an impressive feat none the less. Lining the walls were axes or hammers, below each weapon was a shield and a plaque stating who they had previously belonged to. Great pillars rose from the floor to support the roof above them, each one represented a clan within the hold. The clan's entire history was carved upon them - every name, every deed and every death. At the very top was the icon's and name associated with each clan, many of them were very old; the names of the dwarfs from that line stretched well over half the way down.

In front of him stood a large crowd of dwarfs, it appeared most of the clan's had appeared to hear the King. Each clan stood two hands breadth away from the closest clan, leaving a small avenue down which Thargri could see. As he gazed down the gap he spied the King, and what a sight he was. His throne rose high off the floor, the steps leading to his seat each bore a name of the kings who had previously reigned here. At the top of the stairs was the Seat of Armongth, so named after the great golden dragon that sat perched upon the top of the throne back; the wings of the dragon were at full stretch catching the light and making them seem as it they were on fire. The throne itself was covered in golden runic script, words of strength, of power and of kingship. Seated upon red velvet, deep within the large chair was the King. King Balain. A heavy crown of gold and gromril was firmly set upon his head, a long white beard fell from his face like the rushing waters of a waterfall. Two deep, knowledgeable eyes peered from beneath a brushy brow. Even within his own court he wore his armour, it's silver surface still shone as brightly as the day it was forged. Two golden patterns intertwined as they wound their way down the polished surface. Stood leaning against his throne was an axe. All could see it was runic, the icons caught the light making rainbows dance across the hall. A long sturdy handle struck from the axe head to finish in a plush leather handle – icons to the Ancestor gods dangled from the weapons pommel.

As Thargri watched the aged king began to rise, indicating the session was over. But Thargri had to see the King. Barging his way past the dispersing crowd he began to call out to King Balain.

“M'lord! M'lord!! I request to speak with you! Please!” Turning the elder dwarf had heard his call,

“Please come back tomorrow. Today's business is done” he replied. Not willing to give up Thargri pushed on through the milling dwarfs, and again continued his quest to see the King.

“Please M'lord, tis important!” his pleading took a desperate sound to it. As he exited the throng of dwarfs, who had now stopped to see what the commotion was, he found his way blocked by two Hammerers – their great weapons crossed in front of him, blocking his path. The King carried on walking, waving his hand in acknowledgement that he had heard him. Thargri had but one chance;

“I bring news of Kadrin Grimjaw, your Majesty!” The mention of that name stopped King Balain in his tracks, turning he waved the guards to permit Thargri. A longing look of concern had entered the King's eyes,

“Kadrin? You know him? Where is he?” the questions spilled from the old leader's lips.

“He is safe M'lord. Last time I saw him he was well on his way to the Iron Halls, he remained so that I, his friend and rememberer, may escape and return word to you. Alas I never saw his dying moments, but I am assured he acquitted himself in the eyes of the gods.”

The King seemed to physically sigh, as if a great weight was lifted from his shoulders. Returning to his seat he looked down upon Thargri, with a click of his fingers a table, chair and a barrel of ale was set before the steps of his throne.

“Come my friend, tell me. Twas a long time since I last saw Kadrin. If you were indeed his remember I desire to hear his tale. You shall stay until it is told, and you will be looked after.” The last words were said with such certainty that Thargri knew he would not leave the city till his tale had been told. The elderly traveller strutted forward, dropping his pack to the hard stone floor with a metallic clang. He drew himself an ale from the tap and sat down heavily upon the chair, with a deep sigh he began;

“I met Kadrin when he was in the manling city of Aldorf, in an inn. I mentioned to him that I was a scribe, forced by family tradition – but I wanted to have a bit of adventure. Unfortunately my father didn't see this my way, and banished me from my family and clan, but that is by the by. Kadrin took quite an interest in my recording skills. And after a few more drinks I discovered why. He told me of a city; the lost hold of Nar Kazad, the City of Gold. He spoke of a once great city in the lands of men, thousands of years before even the manling Sigmar was born Such was the city's wealth it was rumoured to match that of Karak Eight Peaks or Karak Agzul, but it was ultimately doomed. In this time the greenskins ruled the manling's lands, a great host was gathered and as one they fell upon the fair city. The warlord had 'employed' Night Grobi to tunnel into it from below and the dwarfs were trapped, they had no other choice. They fled.

The city's Runelord remained to seal the vaults himself, the king had been swiftly taken by his bodyguard to safety by hidden routes known only to the dwarfs. Kadrin told be more about a number of certain relic's from the city. Two were weapons, he spoke of them in a hushed whisper – as if to speak their name aloud would invoke some curse or draw unwanted attention. One was an axe, Drakkghalaz, The Dragon Skull Axe. It was forged from the remains of a great dragon, that the throne the king sits upon takes it's name from, the dragon was felled by a great warrior – his name was lost through the ages – the Runelord Skalli Fellhand took up the beasts skull and with all his skill he wrought a weapon. An axe of immense power, the blade was sharper than any forged before or afterwards – runes known only to Skalli were inscribed upon its head. A solid ask handle extended from the white bone head, golden runic script ran the length of the wood. A hard leather grip finished the weapon off, the binding was believed to be the scales of the slain drake. It was said no armour or weapon forged by a mortal could withstand a blow from Drakkghalaz, the opposing force was shattered before it's might.

The second was a hammer, a hammer larger than any others. Only the strongest of dwarfs could wield this weapon, and even then only those pure of heart could truly use it. Grimnir's Fist it was named, for the twin heads of the hammer were stylised in the form of a clenched fist. A shaft twice the length of a Hammerer's weapon held the elegant head, the power of the weapon could be felt through the handle alone” An odd look entered Thargri's eyes it was as if he spoke like he himself had held the weapon; “Kadrin told me that as the rumours went the hammer was powerful enough to rival that on the weapon the High King gave the manling's Emperor Sigmar. If the true wielder was enraged it could level cities, nothing could withstand the wrath of Fist. Alas these two weapons were lost, for all great treasures but these two were locked away by Skalli. These two were given to the two greatest warriors in the hold and they were forced into a fighting retreat. As records go these two fell mere feet from the exit, the weapons were lost into legend.

Bah! Look at me! I start from the middle and not the beginning. Forgive me, M'lord. Now I swore an oath to tell his tale, and tell his tale I shall – as he told me. And like all great tales this one begins with a battle...”

KU

i need more! This is a great story.You allmost got me interested in dwarfs again. Allmost.

Kadrin stood looking out over the assembled horde before them, thousands of them had gathered from the mountains to feast of dwarf flesh. Even at this distances he fancied he could smell them and their stench angered him. Instinctively his grip tightened upon the shaft of his hammer, the icon of his position as loyal Hammerer to King Balain. His gromril armour was covered by a lengthy ash grey beard, with flecks of white and black were laced throughout, it was held into place by golden clips. The purple cloth signifying royalty or protectors there of stuck out from underneath his protective shell, the small helmet upon his head was engraved with the rune of Kingship. Encased by the helm his face looked squat, wrinkles lay in furrows across his forehead and his high brow protected his ice blue eyes. A shuffle to his left caused him to look that way and then behind him as a dwarf moved rattling his armour, as he did he was reminded that the greenskins would not find breaking this wall an easy task. A solid line of steel waited them as the dwarfs all stood there with fierce determination written upon their faces; this battle would determine the lives of their families. Looking to the right Kadrin gazed upon his King's face, Balain's sight had not wavered from the enemy before them for many moments.

“M'lord?” Turning to face the head of his bodyguard, and close personal friend, King Balain of Kazad a Zunthrum spoke.

“It will be bloody old friend. I fear we may not hold out. Look at that..” Balain gestured towards the waiting host before them, “That field of green. What hope do we have my friend? Can we hold them this time? Out numbers ever dwindle whilst theirs ever increase. Do we fight for nought?” The King sounded old, and frail at that moment. It was widely known that he was prone to fits of depression and Kadrin knew how dangerous one of these fits would be in battle.

“Tis only a few grobi M'lord. Well and the odd urk too. Nothing we can't handle, though I was thinking maybe we send just the young beardling's to deal with them. They need the experience after all.” he finished speaking with a chuckle and looked once more upon his lord. This time the frown that had previously creased his lieges brow was replaced with a broad grin, the brief bout of doom and gloom was washed away by his friend's light hearted manner.

“What and let them have all the fun? Nay my friend, while I am still strong enough to bear my axe I shall not let the young un's face our foes alone. Wouldn't want to be upstaged now would I?” Balain winked at Kadrin and began to walk down the line of his troops, the elite bodyguard following his very footsteps.

The King's calculating eye passed over his troops. Proud dwarfs were these, all who were able had taken their arms to defend their home; the greenskins will have a hard time breaking these lads Kadrin mused as he shadowed Balain. Calls of greeting and praise were called out from the throng as they passed by, the King returned the calls with challenges and jokes of his own. Finally he came to the end of the line to where the artillery sat waiting, the crews of the renown weapons busied themselves with the preparations and the calibrations for the machine to be most effective. The King nodded to the crews as he passed in an indication that they should continue with their work, at the middle of the battery was who Balain sought.

“Ah, Gurni there you are.” Turning at his name Gurni Blackbeard bowed. Gurin was the Master Engineer of the hold, he was in charge of every great machine that was upon the field, for a dwarf he seemed slightly odd. His manner was different to the other engineers, he refused many to touch the machines least they 'curse' them; his accent was also different Northern by the sounds of it Kadrin thought. His black beard seemed never to grow any longer than it's current length, looking at it as they stood there the hammerer could see why – it was on fire. Fortunately Gurni had noticed too and quickly padded it out.

“So Master Engineer, tell what we are facing.” the King once more serious. Gurni handed Balain his telescope and began to tell him;

“Well, ye Majesty, I's sees many grobi and urk. But nothin' special there eh? And beings an Engineer I's been looking at whats theys have” he spat contemptiously on the floor “Apart from the odd stone thrower, if yous could call thoses things war machines – whichs I's don't mind you – we haves nothin' tos worry aboot. I's also spies somes of those wolfie riders lurkerin' over yonder near those trees” with his hand he indicated where and Balain trained the scope upon the small corpse, in which he could see goblin wolf riders – many of which were fighting one another, poking and prodding with their spears.

“So, this is the great host that threatens us? Bah! I've seen more fearsome elgi than this lot!” he drew a nervous laughter from those nearby and then he turned back to the engineer “I trust you know what's best to target Gurin my friend, so I shan't tell you otherwise. May Grungni, Grimnir and Valaya watch you and guide your aim.” shaking the engineers hand he turned back to rejoin the main battle line.

The two sides stood still watching one another, nothing moved – apart from the odd squabbling greenskin – as they all waited for the order. At the front of the orc lines, sat atop of a large snorting boar was the so named warlord. Raising it's axe high into the air it silenced it's entire army, there they stood silent. Suddenly it levelled the weapon at the dwarven lines and with their traditional roar of “WAAAGH!!” the greenskin army charged, it was as if those words started an avalanche of green. At a single command the entire dwarf army tightened their formation, their shields interlocked unto a solid mass of wood and steel. They waited for that green tide to wash upon them, each dwarf running through the grudges they will avenge against their ancestral foe that day in their minds.

King Balain stood staring at the on coming foe, his hands tightened their grip upon his weapon as he began to mutter curses and grudges. Beside him his loyal guard steeled themselves and closed tight to the King. To the far left a loud crack followed by a black cloud descending upon the dwarfish lines marked the opening of the Thunderer's and artillery. Kadrin glanced up as watched as a stone almost the size of the weapon that fired it arced overhead, it sailed almost gracefully thought the air before it's rapid descent was cushioned by the floor – and those greenskins too slow or stupid to get out the way. Black blurs flashed across the land as cannonballs bounced their way across the mountain floor; spattering orc and goblin alike. A black shadow passed overhead and Kadrin thought it was another stone passing over but when he heard screams from behind he realised his error, the orc crew had found their range and landed their own attack deep into the dwarven lines. Kadrin prayed that they didn't have brains to keep doing the same. But such thoughts became secondary as the orc lines were almost upon them. Even as the gap closed he watched as black clad goblins clinging to large balls by a length of chain were expelled from their kin;

“Fanatics!!” he bellowed. And in response many of the crossbow and handgun wielding dwarfs adjusted their aim; taking many down. But a few still connected with the dwarf line. And they unleashed mayhem. Where they touched the solid dwarf line it crumbled into dust. Fully armoured dwarfs were tossed about like rag dolls, their bloodied and battered bodies landing back among their comrades with a crunch. The odd brave dwarf stood his ground and tried to take them down and instead they received a iron ball in the gut or head. Two finally collided mid-air and fell to the floor in a mangled heap, yet another was brought down with a well placed throwing axe and the final few were quickly overcome. But their deaths came at a great price. At one point the shield wall was shattered, and the greenskins had a way in.

The orcs fell upon the dwarfs with a vicious roar, attacking their ancient enemy with claw, choppa or tooth – in fact with anything at hand. But true to their nature the dwarfs held, their solid line held and the greenskin bodies began to pile up. In unison axes and hammers rose and fell in time, each swing ending a life – their skulls bludgeoned or their chests carved open. Here and there a dwarf fell to a spear thrust between the gaps or a momentary break in the wall but in all the line was still intact. Except for one part. Where the orcs saw a weakness they pounced upon it and tore it apart like a troll with a human; and there spared no dwarf. Soon the section was no longer possible to save and there were only but a score of islands of dwarfs fighting for survival in the sea of green, but ultimately they were lost. The numbers swamped each ring and one by one they fell, drowned under the waves of orcs. There was nothing to stop them now and they rolled up the flank and lashed at the burly dwarfs already in combat.

But these were dwarfs, no manlings or weak links here, and with true determination they fought back. Outnumbered but not beaten for as each dwarf that fell he took two greenskins with him, and soon the orcs began to falter. They had thought it would be easier, slaughter a few stunties and then feast on the spoils. The dwarfs had other ideas. As the greenskins drew back for another charge a change took over the dwarf lines, for they knew they was going to die but they would make sure they acquit themselves in the eyes of their gods and go down fighting. Right then, in that time they knew nothing else but hatred and vengeance. It started slowly, a solitary dwarf, a death chant; his weapon upon his shield as his voice rang out. But then another took it up, and another, then another. Suddenly when the orcs began their charge their found their war cries drowned out by the bass tone of death and death they got.


KU

This story is getting good.I really like it.

Kadrin heard the rumble of dwarven voices chanting to the gods. Turning his head towards the noise he silently prayed. In his heart he wept, many of those brave dwarfs would die. From his fears came a fierce determination, he swore their sacrifice would not be in vain for he shall not let them down. Turning back to face the front he stepped forward once more and into the maelstrom of battle. To his left an orc hacked down a warrior in a fierce frenzy of violence, in two swift moves he had landed a sharp blow on it's ribs - breaking a few in the process – before his second swing shattered it's skull. Leaving the orc he waded further into the throng of greenskins, his shield and armour blocked blow after blow while his hammer shattered skulls or splintered ribs with each crushing blow. He realised he had been seperated from the King, as he looked up he spotted him and swung himself in the King's direction; dealing death where ever he met an orc or their smaller cousins.

Suddenly the fighting split and Kadrin saw an orc that towered over even it's own bodyguard - the warlord. And it was heading towards the King, meanwhile Balain had his back to him and was faced off with two other burly orcs. Shouting a warning could end badly for the king and doing nothing could mean the same thing. Seeing no other choice Kadrin moved as quick as he could to intercept. With an upwards swing he almost tore the head of an orc, it's body toppled before the leader and Kadrin stepped out in front of the warlord and placed his foot upon the corpse and pointed his hammer at the larger being. The greenskin warrior halted in his advance and eyed Kadrin before nodding it's head. Slowly the pair circled one another trying to spot any weakness in their opponents defence. Axe and hammer clashed time and time again as they sought that opening, Kadrin could see in a prolonged battle he was going to loose – his arm had been jarred from the fierce strikes. Once more he searched the beast for an opportunity; it towered over him and each foot of it was a solid mass of muscle and sinew. Gripped in one of it's ham sized fists was an axe, a full three feet of wood ended in a dull metal head; primitive icons of the twin gods Gork and Mork were engraved upon it and a green crackling light played about the axe head. Strapped to beings shoulders, chest and thighs were battered metal plating; scavenged from the many battles it had appeared in no doubt. In fact, as Kadrin looked over the armour he could see there were pieces of cannibalised gromril armour and shields of his own race. Screaming a war cry in Khazalid the diminutive warrior lashed out in a fit of rage his weapon spun and twisted him his grip as he reversed and swung upwards, his opponent was dumbfounded and forced on the defence by the smaller, bearded warrior. Kadrin struck with the strength of a wild boar, his blows cracking the wooden handle of the orcs weapon or against the iron hard flesh of its torso. But, finally, he took a step backwards gulping down deep breaths, his attack had faltered and he now awaited the orcs answer.

If Kadrin's bout was fury and hatred, then it's strikes were like a tempest. Blow after blow fell upon Kadrin, it took all his skill to either block or dodge them. His hammers wooden shaft was notched from the attacks - great gouges had been eaten out of the wood of his his shield but yet the ringing blows still came one. His strength was waning, suddenly it gave. The warlord battered aside his hammer and struck him fully in the chest, his armour parted like a ripe melon as the blow connected and flung him a full three feet backwards. He hit the floor and slid in a mass of iron and flesh before finally coming to a stop with his back to a large rock, his hammer had slipped out of his grip and now rested not more than three feet from his hand. Kadrin tried to raise himself up but as he moved he quickly sat back down as the pain collapsed his legs from beneath him The shadow loomed over him, axe raised above it's head and as Kadrin looked up into its beady red eyes he knew the bell tolled for him – the Iron Halls of his forefathers waited. He closed his eyes. A metallic ring above him snapped his eyes open and mere inches from his prone form was the warlords axe, blocking its descent was the runic axe of King Balain.

“He's not yours to take, scum.” the old king muttered and with strength belying his size he pushed upwards and backwards forcing his opponents weapon away from his downed bodyguard. For the second time that day the beast found itself facing off against a brave and defiant dwarf but unlike Kadrin, King Balain had over three centuries of experience against the greenskin menace. It had been orcs that had ravaged his father hold and as his son Balain had inherited the intense hatred and loathing of the race, he had been schooled in the ways of killing an orc quickly and swiftly. He knew everything about them, and now he showed it. His axe sang as it swept through the air, the musical note changed sharply as Balain's axe reversed to block a low swing from the warlord then in answer his own attack swept the orcs axe up and over the dwarf's head before slicing the abdomen of his erstwhile opponent. The orc reeled in pain, the runic axe had slipped through the armour as if it was nothing and dug a furrow in the hard flesh. Now the orc turned from placed attacks and became a storm of attacks. It's blows were still being turned by the calculating dwarf with precision but many more blows were getting past his guard and glancing off the gromril plating as the King brought his axe up once more into the the defensive position. Balain swung to the left as the greenskins enchanted weapon missed him by a hairs breadth, turning the King brought his weapon up to strike at the beasts back but he had misjudged his opponent. The orc had recovered quicker than Balain had expected and instead of facing the unprotected back he was once more face to face with his opponent – but ultimately this move had saved his life for the orcs weapon struck his helm instead of the weaker neck armour. Balain was knocked to the floor as the blow clanged fiercely off his helmet yet he was not down long, with a grunt and a grumble he slowly made his way to his knee. His armour protested as he begun to rise fully to his feet but as he was almost there he was forced to block another attack from the warlord, who fully knew it had the upper hand now, pushing away the attack he was greeted by a leather clad foot to the face and once more he fell back into the dirt.

This time he made it to one knee before the attack came but Balain was waiting for it, as the enchanted axe descended towards the downed King the orc was surprised as the King spun and his own weapon rose to meet the greenskins own blade in a flash of sparks. Ancient power of the dwarven race pitted itself against greenskin magic, the two weapons blazed with red and green light as the two fought for supremicy but finally it was the aged old power of the dwarfs that won out. In a final blaze of blinding light the King's axe shattered his opponents weapon into pieces yet as the stunned look slid across the greenskins face the King reversed the blow and struck it fully in the chest, the enchanted blade found no resistance as it split the orcs chest open. It fell heavily to the floor, the red eyes sunken deep into it's thick skull had a dazed confused look in them as if it didn't know what had happened. Balain stumbled over the the cooling corpse and looked it in the eyes

“No. No peaceful death for you.” and with that he swung his axe high about his head and brought it down with all his strength upon the creatures neck; severing it's head from the body. Picking up the defeated greenskins head he clambered onto the body, brandishing the trophy in one hand and his axe in the other he bellowed;

“Uzkul a urk!! Dawi a kazak!! Death to them all!” The last thing Kadrin saw was the orcs falling back from the furious dwarfs and then he fell into the dark oblivion.


KU