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[center][h2]Thundrim Kadrin Throne Room[/h2][/center] 

It was almost comical how the same Dwarf courier that had met King Bagrick not two days previous shuffled back into the throne room, huffing and puffing through his thick brown beard, a parchment in his callused hands. "Urgent message, High King!" the courier, Halfen, called. King Bagrick was still counting his gold, having only stopped to sleep four hours at one point. Counting Gold was a serious past time for the Dwarfs, one that the King would never take lightly. He might have another few weeks before he finished, and then he would recount in case he had missed any. It was not greed, but an appreciation of hard work and how he had served his Kingdom honorably enough to be granted such a sum of wealth, for only wisdom, honor, and strength bred wealth. 

If he kept getting interrupted however, he wouldn't finish! "This better be important." he grumbled, and grabbed the message from the courier's hands. Opening the parchment, he read the message with a careful eye. When he lowered the message, his kingly face was full of wrath and honor. Noble was he, and he crushed the paper in his meaty fist as he stood from his Throne of Ancestors. The Vermintide had returned, and were now threatening the Commonwealth. Manlings, but a hardy breed of men the Dwarfs had given their friendship to. Not only that, but the movement of the Vermintide meant the Low-ways beneath Thundrim Kadrin could be attacked any day now. He enjoyed counting Gold as much as the next Dwarf, but this was his calling...to smite the enemies of the Dwarfs.

"Muster the Throng." King Bagrick said. The Dwarf courier knelt before him, for the King was truly magnificent to behold, so broad of shoulder and long of beard was he. Clad in his finely wrought chainmail of Valdium, with a Baldr chest piece and pauldrons, his shoulders adorned with the hide of a great wolf he had hunted and killed in his youth. The bejewled crown of Gorrak'zuhm upon his head. Gorrick the Hearth Guard gave a bow in obedience to the command. "Should I summon the Council, my king?" "The Council will assemble before the gate on matters of war and tactics. Send word to my brother to prepare the Low-Ways for defense and double the guard forces. We leave in two days. Tell each of the 12 great Clans to provide 2,500 warriors each and form at the Rez'kazul gate to the west. We march to the aid of the Manlings, and a Reckoning will be had for the wrongs the foul Vermin have wrought upon our ancestors of days long past. Send word to the outposts of the farmlands to send small forces to the Manling city of Krychov. So orders Bagrick!" 

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[center][h2]The Northern Passes to Barak-Kazul[/h2][/center] 

A day previous, the Dwarf courier in the Throne room known as Halfen, had given a parchment to another courier to be flown to Barak-Kazul (Otherwise known as Ironhammer Hold) and Grimbold Ironhammer. The Dwarf courier he had given the message to had set off from the peak of Thundrim Kadrin via a Gyrocopter. At the top of the peak, most men would find it hard to breath, and hard to live with the cold. To the stout Dwarfs of Thundrim Kadrin, they might as well have been at sea level on a mild day. The engine revving and the rotors beginning to spin, the relatively light vehicle lifted off and began its day journey to its destination in Barak-Kazul.

The message was received in Grimbold's hands just as King Bagrick was given the distress parchment from The Commonwealth. The Warrior Thane was all too eager to receive such news, even if he was feasting at the time of receiving the message. The Dwarfs in the room drank heartily and regailed their brethren with tales of heroism and old grudges to be settled. Grimbold smoked his long pipe at the head of the table, his Axe and shield at his side even during such a peaceful event as a feast. 

When he announced to the fellow High Ranking Dwarfs at his table (Greatbeards, Reckoners, Captains of the various Dwarfen military units, as well as the High Rune Priest, Geradin Farforger) that they were to summon 5,000 Dwarfs and march southwest to engage Grobi and Beastman, there was much grumbling and toasts that followed. They would not disobey the High King however, nor would they want to. 

"The fires of war we will bring upon the Orruks" the Honorguard Captain Grummrund said, standing out of his chair and raising his guantleted fist. Sketti Hammerhand chuckled with glee, patting his rifle. "To War we go indeed!" Grimbold announced. "And woe befall any of the foul races that have raised our ire and wrath. To the death!" He was greeted with an assortment of roaring approval and the guzzling of mead.