The bearded and bloodied clan of iron willed Dwarves breached the impossibly sturdy wall of clanrats and their Stormvermin coubterparts, every member from either sidr had tasted blood now. In the end, as history had written it all those years ago, it had been been that stubborn tenacity of the mountain dwelling folk and the near sacrifice of their king at the critical junction that had sealed the fate of the rat scourge.

Of course there were many more that would have died if not for the actions of that strange party of mercenaries that had come from the grey range far beyond the steps of their homeland. 

Mariannes Mantis had made a fine impact on the line as it skewered rats with impunity, the others rallying around its feet as the savage Greenskinned battlerager tore into the armored rats with the same unrivaled fury it had displayed when the fighting had began. 
Such things often inspired others to redouble their efforts in an attempt to rival such a display. 
It helped that the Orcs axe, as it swung about in a blind fury, had managed to distract the War pick wielding stormvermin that had cornered the translucent Sylvia. While not seriously injured, it had lost sight of its prey and become overrun with foes. Forced to retreat or be destroyed.

The Skaven line had fallen to nearly half its size it minutes as it was caught under the pressure of a concentrated effort. Their king was already being pulled from the fight, to the steps of his throne, and the few other rats left were struggling to dig through the solid stone wall.
In the end.. they were just rats.
Siph had come to the aid of the King as the golden figure lay broken on the steps breathing their last. Two deep wounds had delivered fatal injuries to the proud ruler. Siphs strange healing mist had only slowed the process but could not save Cragshield from his fate.

"Rest, king. If your gods have no more need of you.. You will find peace."

The Dwarf king did not respond, would not, but simply nodded. Eyes closed in respect.

Siph rose and strode from the steps, stolen axe in hand, to the breach, and entered without a word. He would beat the group to the Shaman. Hopefully silence the bell, or kill the shaman, but that was something he doubted would be accomplished alone. 
The group would need time to recover, lick their wounds if only a little, before toppling the final piece of this grand retelling. Siph would pay for that time with his own two hands.
Through the breach made by the assassins during their flank he disappeared from sight, the heavy curtain of true darkness swallowing him completely as the torchlight faded behind him.