Ghost dwarves: lore

I've written before on the blog about my ghost dwarf army, this post is going to cover my lore for them. 

The short version is: they are the ghosts of dwarves and Sylvaneth who died fighting each other in the Age of Myth, and now their ghosts have risen up to defend the forest their bodies lie in against the encroaching forces of Nurgle. Read on for the longer version! I'm hoping to develop their story further by playing games with them once it becomes safe to play games again in the UK.

Ghost dwarf lore

Long ago, the duardin of the Zhalgrad Hold waged war against the Sylvaneth of Rhweandryn Thicket. The hold was set into a crag on the outskirts of the Wildroot forest, and the duardin mines ran deep under the wood, cutting through roots and scarring the ground. Many were the trees felled to fuel the duardin fires, and the smoke of their industry was smelt throughout the forest.

But in the heart of the forest stood the Rhweandryn Thicket, and there the duardin dared not go. There the trees were said to walk, and strange things were rumoured to lurk.

As the duardin hold prospered, the forest began to fight back. Miners in branch tunnels vanished without trace, or were found dead with tree roots wrapped around their necks. Small hunting parties failed to return. The duardin began to go more heavily armed, and to set more guards.

The duardin lord was Kargadd Zharrson, a canny warrior who paid attention to folk tales of walking trees and evil sprites deep in forest glades. The names of all those who fell to the forest were recorded reverently in the records of the hold, and he did not forget them. He bade his people to see the forest as an enemy, and not to let their guard down when they walked among the trees.

As the years passed, the Sylvaneth fought the duardin more openly, stealthy resistance giving way to open skirmishes. The duardin strove to keep the area around the hold free from vegetation, but it grew back almost as fast as they could raze it, and oft when the duardin ventured into the forest they would be attacked by dryads or tree revenants, or even great walking trees many times taller than the doughtiest duardin. And so the records of their dead grew longer, and the burden on Zharrson’s heart grew heavier.

Zharrson was growing old, and he worried about how the hold would fare when he was gone. He determined to end the threat from the forest once and for all. He called to all of the hold capable of bearing arms to follow him, and the duardin streamed out from their home with Zharrson at their head, to march to Rhweandryn Thicket. It was a hard march, for the forest rose against them, and the paths brought them in circles or closed up ahead of them, so that they had to hack their way through the undergrowth. But Zharrson was not to be dissuaded, and the duardin had brought fire with them, and war machines that crashed their way through the forest felling shrubs and saplings. And so eventually the duardin army stood at the bottom of the hill in the heart of the forest, looking up at Rhweandryn Thicket. Then the courage of many failed them, for the tall dark trees of the thicket rose many spans above them, and they knew that this was no place for their kind. But Zharrson rallied them, and reminded them of the vengeance they owed those who had fallen to the trees. And so the duardin host marched up the hill, into Rhweandryn Thicket. And none of them ever returned.

Those duardin who had remained at the hold looked out eagerly for their return, but the days passed, and no word came. When it became clear that there was no hope, they gathered up their possessions, and the records of those who had died, and fled to live with their kin. But they never forgot, and each new generation of duardin was told the tale of Rhweandryn Thicket.

The forest was now left in peace, and gradually the mines caved in, and new trees sprouted to replace those that had fallen. But at the heart of the forest, in Rhweandryn Thicket, nothing new grew. The trees still stood, but life faded from them, and there was no new growth to mark the cycle of the seasons. No birds flew there, and no animals disturbed the silence.

And so it was, for many years. Elsewhere, Sigmar’s Pantheon lost the Battle of the Burning Skies, and the Age of Chaos came. The forces of Nurgle ravaged the land, and the forest suffered. It became swampier, the trees grew gnarled and rotten, and its streams and brooks festered. But Rhweandryn Thicket remained untouched.

Time passed. The Age of Sigmar began. Alarielle was reborn, and gradually the land began to fight back against Nurgle. Her war song spread across all the forests and the glades, summoning her servants to her to scourge the land of pestilence. But nothing stirred in Rhweandryn Thicket.

Now it came to pass that in this time, some of the descendants of the duardin who had once fled Zhalgrad Hold settled in the city of Greywater Fastness, not far from the Wildroot forest. One of these was a young duardin named Rhugar Forrinson, who was said by family legend to be a direct descendant, through many generations, of Zharrson himself. Rhugar was an unusual duardin: he loved the wild places of the land, and felt out of place in the city. He was fond of music, and sought to capture the sound of flowing water and rushing wind in snatches of tune on a small harp that he had fashioned.

Rhugar was sickened by Greywater Fastness’ assault on its natural surroundings. He was also fascinated by the tales that had been passed down to him of Rhweandryn Thicket, and since childhood he had held a secret ambition to re-found the Zhalgred hold, and forge a new life for himself in the wilderness. One day, he sneaked away from the city with a small band of friends, and struck out for the Wildroot.

But ambition is no replacement for experience, and dreams are not enough to fend off the forces of Chaos. As Rhugar and his friends neared the Wildroot, they found themselves beset by Nurgle’s rot. One by one, the duardin fell, pulled into fetid streams by tentacled monsters, or struck down by bloated giant flies that struck without warning. Eventually only Rhugar remained, fleeing into the forest with a host of horrors at his heels. He had no plan and no idea where to run to, but a path opened up before him into the heart of the forest, and so he followed it. And eventually, he came out at the bottom of a hill, looking up at Rheandryn Thicket. He saw an impassable wall of dead trees before him, and behind him was the host of Nurgle. Rhugar knew that his end had come, and he resolved to face it bravely. Wanting to honor his ancestors who had died here, he took out his harp and began to play.

He sung a song of the deeds of his ancestors, passed down to him by his mother, who had heard it from her mother, and her father before. At first his voice sounded shrill and unsteady, for he was scared, and very much alone. But as he sung, he felt the presence of the forest around him, and though it felt vast and old it did not feel unfriendly. His resolve grew, and his voice strengthened. It became a war song, calling all who heard it to arms against Chaos. His song echoed through the trees, and it felt to Rhugar that the forest was singing with him.

He saw the first of the Nurgle beasts appear out the trees below, but he did not falter. The forces of Chaos were intruders here, and he felt the anger of the forest at their presence. Roots wrapped around their feet, crevices opened up in front of them and pulled them down. And out of Rhweandryn Thicket, an army marched.

Rhugar’s kin marched forth from Rhweandryn Thicket, an army of duardin ghosts risen up to fight alongside the trees they had once waged war with. From the soul pod grove in the heart of the thicket, that had sat undisturbed for many ages, new life sprang forth. The beings that emerged were marked with signs of their long ago fight against the duardin: some had axes embedded in their bark, and others were flame scarred from the duardin war machines. But these ancient wounds did nothing to slow them, and the dryads and tree lords that were birthed from the soulpods hastened to the fight. Sylvaneth and duardin ghost fought side by side, awakened by Rhugar’s song and united in their will to rid the forest of the pestilence that polluted it. And the forces of Nurgle died in droves. The song did not need Rhugar to sustain it any more, so he set aside his harp, and joined his kin in the battle. By the time night fell, the forest had been purged.

Rhugar never returned to Greywater Fastness, and none there know what became of him. But over time, new tales began to be told of Rhweandryn Thicket, that claimed that if the forest was ever threatened, a ghostly army would rise up to defend it. And that over the cries of battle would be heard the sound of a harp playing.