Leader... of Destiny!
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Life under the elves wasn't that bad. Sleeping on grass, drinking their faerie drinks, watching them consume the blood of their enemies...
Ok, I lied, it was fucking awful.
Still, when the rumors came to us that Swordthunders had been reclaimed, my first reaction was an involuntary shudder. There were things worse than elves in the world, after all. And Swordthunders was legendary. It had taken a red hot poker and shoved it up the ass of those things, causing Armok himself to strike it down.
Faced with the choice of certain doom or sleeping on grass, I chose to sleep on grass. I'm a practical dwarf. But some of my fellow slaves snuck off to Swordthunders. And at least one of them made it.
I know it because they sent dwarves back for me. For me!
Don't look at me like that.
Let me explain. Like any proper dwarven fortress, Swordthunder is covered in carvings. Many of these are exactly what you'd expect - records of history - but as Swordthunders descended into chaos and madness in its final days some moron handed a seer a chisel. Anyway, they found a prophecy, that the true heir of the kings had a birthmark in the shape of a hammer.
So our escaped fellows finally stumble into Swordthunders and become aware of the prophecy, and one of them recalls a dwarf with a birthmark shaped like a hammer. Yes, that's right, me. Lucky for them the elves don't clothe us, isn't it?
So anyway, there's a small group beyond the ridge over there waiting for me. King of all dwarves. Its like I've got a retarded faerie godmother - you get to be king, but your kingdom is fucking cursed and a cesspit of misery. Hell on earth.
What am I going to do? What else am I going to do? Better to be King in Hell than server in Heaven and all that... and this isn't Heaven by a long shot.
You're right, I should get going.... I'm just... I'm going to miss the soft grass...
Fuck it. I'm out of here. I'll burn some elves in Magma for you boys.