The Story Of Twilah Goldbrew
By: Twilah
Twilah woke on the beach, the sun blazing in her eyes and her head pounding. She had been on one of the Ironclad ships that attempted to break through the Greenskins blockade. Their mission had been to bring supplies to aid in the defense of Barak Var, but the ship had been damaged so badly breaking through the blockade. They were able to stay afloat, but the battle had waged most of the day and by the time they approached the harbor it was apparent the Lighthouse had been extinguished. The tattered ship had finally broken on the rocks, with every dwarf grabbing what supplies they could and trying to make it to shore.
She sat up slowly and scanned the beach. Early morning, and no movement in sight. Only a few supply boxes and kegs littered the sand. Gazing further up the hill she spied a small cave in the rocks and decided it was a good place to cool down and collect herself.
It had been months since Twilah had heard the speech of High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer. She had taken the Oathbearer vow and set out with her remaining cousins to settle the grudges of the great Dammaz Grom, and mine the materials needed to create the Doomstrikers.
Letting her head fall back against the cold, cave wall her eyes started to close. The image of the High King swelled in her mind and the beauty of the weapon he showed them all that day, a shining beacon of hope in their ever darkening hearts.
"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."
"To forge more Doomstrikers, we must renew our supplies of ore, gold, and gems, but we will use only 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 grint 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?"
She had answered, as loud and proud and angry as any dwarf among them. Having lost her parents in the previous battles her brothers and cousins were all that was left of the Goldbrew clan. Each of them (there were eleven in all that day) knew the secret family recipe for one of the most renown brews a dwarf had ever tasted – Goldbrew. Their clan had been brewers as far back as anyone could remember, and their recipe was a secret they guarded with their lives.
They had lost everything in the attacks, including their parents when the brewery was attacked and destroyed.
They took a vow to fight proudly as Oathbearers and settle their grudges. Once that was done they would come together again and rebuild their tavern. Every surviving dwarf would enjoy the taste of Goldbrew again.
Two of her cousins had been on that Ironclad with her. Silently, she said a prayer…they were already down to seven remaining. Now separated from her troop and apparently alone Twilah had no idea where to go next. She had no knowledge of these shores.
Slowly peeking her head out from the cave she made out a warband moving in the distance. As they came closer she saw a sea of green against the crystal blue waters of the sea. Not greenskins though, they rode steeds instead of wolves.
She watched as they drew near. A tall elven woman rode in front, obviously in charge by her haughty stature and endless signals to the ranks. As Twilah watched, the band dismounted and began gathering supplies as scouts wandered out to secure the area.
A dwarf scout was coming in her direction and spied her inside the mouth of the cave. “Hey ‘der! Are ye alright in there?â€
Twilah walked out, robes still soaked and head pounding. “Who are ye? I think I’ve lost my entire troop on that Ironclad. We were bringing supplies in for Barak Var.â€
The elven woman approached and looked at Twilah, noticing the mantle of the Runepriest she wore around her neck. “We are GaiscÃoch, and if you wish to travel with us you are more than welcome in our familyâ€.