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?

Now the story, note it's not finished and


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...?