Durbin-Baeldrag has never been happy. He wasn’t happy when he was inducted into the ranks of his lodge’s Zharrgrim, he wasn’t happy when he was hammering new runes into young warriors, and he was especially unhappy when the Skaven turned two of the three runesons into that horrific Ummglug.
He watched with sadness from the sidelines, the runemaster was in charge of watching over the final son as he forged his new axe from the remnants of his brothers ones. Fury guided each strike of the hammer upon the grand anvil filling the magmahold with its ring, a steady melancholic beat that stoked the fire in every duradin’s heart.
Durbin wished he could’ve done more, his regret at his absence to the battle still ate at him. He had seen the runesons grow from whelplings. He had overseen the Heirborn days, helped to train and equip the Hearthguard Berzerkers, and taught them the values and glories of Grimnir. He had seen them all grow into mighty warriors and still it was not enough. So much potential, whole fyrelodges could’ve sprouted from the runesons, dozens of generations of fyreslayers suddenly erased from the possibilities of the realms.
Durbin’s runes flared for a moment as he thought of the abomination carrying about its horrid business with tainted ur-hold in its flesh. He had crafted those, and now they were helping the Skaven desecrate with their filthy putrescence. His anger simmered into a tepid rage, there was nothing he could do about it now and he didn’t know if he ever would be able to.
Months passed, The last runeson left to seek out Ummglug or at the very least the Grey Seer that created it. He joined into a Binding, a dire blessing but one with much power that comes with it. Durbin continued on with his duties, forging runes and exacting the rites of his fyrelodge. He attended all his duties in a quiet fury, stirred still by his thoughts of his runes being used to assist chaos. Stomping to his dwelling after a day of smelting, a door caught his eye.
It was a door he had never seen before, and walking these halls for a century one tends to memorize them. It was pristine and of duradin crafting, which was a good sign. He felt the familiar heat of a forge radiate from it, he opened it with a wary courage. He was greeted by an Ogor sized dwarf, with a beard of smoke and eyes like the embers of the forge. At home in a large but humble forge, all these signs pointed towards only one being, Grungni the Great Make. He had decided to invite the fyreslayer into his forge, to what end Durbin dared not assume.
Grungni spoke to him in a disarmingly informal fashion, like they were old friends exchanging tales over magmalt. He told the old runesmiter that he could feel his rage about his misused creations, and understood the pain of your own creations being used for foul deeds. He made an offer, to join in a Binding with another individual of faith who cares just as deeply for his own people as Durbin does his own, and in return he would guide the Binding in the direction of the abomination Ummglug. He asked that he needed help in defending Excelsis from a new threat, and some time to help it build back to its former glory.
Durbin knew the drawbacks of the Binding process, but those bothered him little. He wasn’t going to rear any children anyway, and every soul denied to Nagash is always a boon. He nodded firmly in agreement to the Great Maker’s offer. Grungni beamed with joy, and motioned in the man who was to entangle with his soul.
He felt the freezing mist chill his flesh, and immediately regretted his choice.
