They are all dead. The end.

Ok so maybe not ALL of them! But we’ll get to that shortly.

From the start of the Blackhearts chapter campaign which began I believe back in 2021 (where does the time go?!?) to the finish line in 2024; we’ve had four Player Character deaths and several npc deaths occur over the course of the campaign. Ingo, Bash, Crash and Wick, followed by the departure of ‘Spooky’ Anya.

This was the longest running chapter I’ve done. It’s more standalone and only ‘loosely’ aligned with the rest of the Enemy Within chapters, but I’m glad for having run it as it was great fun and filled with high-fantasy tropes that I normally tend to avoid in these games.

I asked my group for some feedback for the campaign, and I’ll post a snippet here from one of them:

Honestly, a little bit relieved, from start to finish being the captain and always being the point of authority to make the big decisions is very overwhelming sometimes and puts a lot of pressure on me to try and do the right thing because sometimes if I make the wrong decision it will impact everyone in a bad way. Thoroughly thoroughly enjoyed the game and all aspects on it from dealing with undead and being chased by orcs seeing beast men and trying to negotiate our way through tense situations with higher points of authority to receiving the mission and even all the funny parts along the way

Chris – Rylan Karth

If I was to look back at my campaign, as I do with all my campaigns, I would spot areas where I would change things. For this, I would trim off the fat a little. 3 years is a long time for a chapter and running WFRP twice a month (for the most part) means chapters will last a long time. I’d have gotten rid of the whole Lhen storyline and place ‘Beaky’, the necromancer threat elsewhere in the story. But other than that, the story flowed nicely. At the start I was very tempted to create a closer tie-in with the previous chapters, but that would have gotten messy considering the format for the Black Heart chapter. I opted to keeping it very much standalone but including Ernst and traces of the Purple Hand (particularly at the start), allowed for that connection to survive without it being the focus.

So, onto the final part. Since the post about Part III was put, we’ve had about 6 more sessions. I’ll keep it brief and only go over the important details.

As the party retreat from the skaven and make their way into the door, shutting it behind them and bolting it, they are faced with a grim scene. Some kind of battle unfolded here, and it happened between dwarves. Dwarven skeletons lay scattered in a bloody carnage of violence. It seemed like two factions were warring against one another, with one faction barricading the way further in while another sought to fight their way through. The dwarves in the party, Mallus and Magda, were unsettled by this rare display of dwarves fighting amongst themselves.

Moving past, they enter the main chamber.

A vast circular chamber dominated by an enormous statue of a stern-faced Dwarf depicting Grungni, Dwarf Ancestor god of Smiths, Artisans, Mining and regarded as the chief diety. Near the statue’s head, a ragged hole in the shape of a smoking pipe belches thick, acrid smoke, which swirls ominously before dissipating into the air. The smoke causes the runes upon the statue to flare with a eerie light, casting shadows that dance across the room’s cracked and weathered walls.

They discover that this is a furnace, but not just any furnace, a runelord’s furnace. Hot air from the lava flows inside bellows out. They explore their surroundings and the side chambers.

They come across Throngzharr’s Vault of Lore, as denoted by the engraved runes nearby. A library collection of ancient knowledge. Through a secret narrow passage they discover a hidden part of the library and reveal a collection of books that are under lock and key.

Amongst them, the most interesting is titled The Black Anvil Chronicles and appears to be a heretical text on the workings of warpstone and how to forge with it. Atop it is a scroll; The Grudge of Grungni, and it appears to be a warning for whomever dares try to gain knowledge from the book. Magda considers the collection of works to be of ‘historical importance’ and puts them in her satchel.

Meanwhile Ifaris, in the public section, discovers the Greatest Works of Runelord Barlin Fireforge. The name strikes out as it’s the same Barlin Fireforge whose tomb they found buried beneath Shadowmound Monastery, and whose compass has allowed them to find their way to Ghumzul in the first place.

Runelord Barlin Fireforge’s Greatest Works:

• Contents: Seemingly written by a third-hand and not Fireforge himself, this lofty tome goes into great detail concerning the many creations of this legendary runesmith.
• Grimnir’s Wrath: A massive warhammer forged from Gromril, inscribed with ancient runes of destruction. When swung, it unleashes a thunderous shockwave, shattering armor and stone alike. It lists the weapon as a gift to Low-Queen Fergi Rognisson and buried with her.
• Helm of Stoneheart: A helmet forged from the heart of a mountain, infused with the resilience of the earth itself. Inspired by the Ballad of Thrain ‘Stoneheart’ Steggsson.
• Vault of Alaric Rognisson: Commissioned by Alaric Rognisson and with the aid of Alaric himself, this Vault was wrought to guard the Forged Crown from thieving hands within the King’s Vault. Fashioned from Gromril and sealed with the mightiest protective runes, no key shall turn its lock, nor shall any word of power summon forth its treasures. No lineage may open it. Only the blood of Alaric may unlock its bounty.

Of significant note is the vault of Alaric Rognisson. It appears that Alaric came to Ghumzul to not only seek the aid of his brother-king, but to find a way to seal the crown away for good. A vault designed only to be opened by Alaric’s blood alone, not even his lineage may summon forth it’s treasures. A mighty prison indeed for such a powerful artifact. They would need to find this vault.

Elsewhere, they run into some orcs who are busy trying to loot some ancient crypts. There’s no sign of Azhag but it appears he left some of his boyz behind to deal with any pursuers; unfortunately for him, they were too busy with looting the place. They manage to ambush the orcs. However, hilarity would soon ensure as Ifaris prepares to cast a relatively simple spell. Sadly, he would miscast, and it would lead to a catastrophic miscast! The miscast in question? Everyone within range (something like 100 yards I think) would see Ifaris as an enemy, and would be compelled to fight him. Even the orcs.

Pure terror and fear entered Ifaris’s mind as all heads turn to face him with a sinister look. Ser Smoff, the Ogre who was standing right behind Ifaris, tapped him on the shoulder, “You look very tasty Mr Pointy Hatman.”…

Ifaris ran and ran he did as the orcs allied themselves with everyone else gunning for him. “Imma knock his teef out!” “Not if I get to him first!” shouts Magda! “His head is mine to cave in!” shouts Mallus.

Smoff goes to clonk him but misses as Ifaris runs past him. A gunshot echoes out from Captain Rylan Karth and strikes Ifaris in the left arm, severely wounding him and rendering that arm useless from a critical.

Xaltach outpaces Ifaris and plans to spear him. Eardulf, the healer, shoots a crossbow at Ifaris but it misses slightly.

Ifaris is facing certain death and so he has two options; he can teleport himself away with a spell, hide and hope he isn’t found; the inner-sanctum isn’t safe though and he would be effectively hiding in darkness, which has its own terrible risks. The remaining option is to reach out from pure desperation… At this point, Ifaris’s player, Kurt, opts to use a fate point because death is certain and teleporting has its own risks. With using a fate point, Ifaris, out of desperation, manages to cast off a spell; Gilded Cage, and forms a cage around himself. It’s successful, and now he’s quivering in fear inside a cage of his own making as those around him bash, smash and try to poke him with the pointy sharp bits. The effects of the miscast soon wear off… and a sudden confused calm takes fold. It’s brief however as the orcs realize they are now surrounded. One orc, bit more clever than the others, shouts, “Err, lets get dat damn wizzard, yeah! WAAAAARGH!” but sadly it doesn’t have the desired effect he was looking for. The remaining orcs, outnumbered, get swiftly beaten.

Ifaris removes his cage and can hardly believe he’s alive. A lot of apologies are made as they come to terms with what they nearly did.

Trying to put that behind them, they continue on.

They come to the council chambers; a meeting hall where there King’s Council would meet with the other clans. It’s a sorry sight.

Rubble everywhere, and beneath it, bodies of dwarves. A large fissure runs through the whole chamber.

Magda heads on ahead towards the cracked council table at the top end of the room. There she finds a really large tome next to a dead dwarf who seems to have died with a withered quill in his hands. As she slides the opened tome over towards her, a skeleton at her feet catches her eyes. She spots a blood covered gauntlet, and picks it up. The gauntlet has elegant runes upon it, but she’s unable to decipher their meaning. Reading where the tome was last opened at shares some interesting insights.

GM Notes: Two fairly large handouts at this point were shared to the party. I will summarize their contents however as it wouldn’t be practical to share the entire thing. The tome is called the Grudge of the Assembly.

An assembled meeting attended by the King’s council of Thanes along with various clans, with the King himself not being present. The first page shows a log of the meeting called by the Skarrshard clan, whose Thane has been arrested on the orders of Low-King Barak Rognisson. Throki Skarrshard, son of Thane Beletgaz Skarrshard, has demanded the immediate release of his father. Thane Goldhammer, who leads the assembly, speaks:

‘The Low-King has secluded himself in the Throne room in light of the charges of treason laid before Skarrshard. The Council has conversed with him and we speak for him. Thane Beletgaz Skarrshard stands accused of treachery after the forced-breaking of the betrothal between Daphne Skarrshard and the Low-King. The more serious charge of disobeying his king and seeking to gain entry to the Deep Vaults lays before him. He and two of his cohorts who plotted this treason have been locked away until a trial can be…’ He is interrupted by a chorus of taunts and insults from the Skarrshard clan.

Throki response is loudly declared and written in the record. ‘My father stands accused of falsehoods! It was the King who broke the betrothal! He who has cast down the Crown of Tolburn Magnusson, casting aside the legacy of our hold on a whim! He who wears a crown that his own brother forebayed him! I demand the release of my father and those who stand accused of this crime at once, and we speak for the Hold when we ask the Low-King to listen to reason and forsake this Crown to the Runelords! You are one of my father’s closest friends, Goldhammer, tell me you see the bare-face lie that is being fed to us on a platter!’

The assembly is adjourned upon further disruption and the council’s inability to get things under control.

When Magda reads the next page, it seems like a great deal of time has passed since that previous meeting, as the last one is written with a more tired hand, and the content of which is far more grim.

The account details that for sometime now, fighting has erupted between clan Skarrshard, their allies and those who have allied with the Low-King. Throki Skarrshard is brought before the council in chains as Thane Goldhammer orders for his chains to be cut, and pleads with him to see reason and command his clan and those who fight with him to stand down at once. Throki is allowed the floor to speak, and the loremaster records what he said.

‘My father rots in chains while you toss an offering not worth the spit on a beardling’s chin.” A curse is uttered that I will not commit to parchment. “Look around you, Goldhammer. You and these daft fools who still cling to your king, blind and deaf to the truth. If you think this war is about my father alone, you are sorely mistaken. Let all who stand here bear witness to my words! The Low-King has deceived you all! He sits upon a throne of lies! He has led you astray with his tales of heroism against Galrauch the Dread. But he has not spoken the truth of what transpired in the Deep Vaults! A truth my father has uncovered, and a truth he now rots in isolation for!‘

Throki holds up a bloodied gauntlet. He proclaims that the gauntlet belongs to none other than Alaric Rognisson, the King’s brother. Not only that, he claims that the Low-King murdered his own brother so that he may retrieve the crown. The King, he says, has deceived everyone. He proclaimed that he had the blessing of his brother to retrieve the crown and no one, it seemed, would question it because no one would dare imagine that the Low-King would have stooped so low to get the crown. But it appears not everyone had bought his story. Throki’s father grew suspicious and ventured far into the deep vaults into the underway where Alaric was said to have ventured on his departure from Ghumzul. There he found the gauntlet, but he was arrested by the Low-King’s loyalists before he could speak the truth.

Throki makes an impassioned plea with Thane Goldhammer to see reason in this. The fighting will not stop until the Low-King is made to answer for his crimes. Alaric’s Crown must be surrendered to Barlin Fireforge to be committed to Alaric’s Vault once more.

Just as Thane Goldhammer sees wisdom in this, and agrees to march upon the Low-King, the loremaster’s last writings hint of a deep rumbling in the stone…

Magda is a little bit shaken by this knowledge. A great evil unfolded here in Ghumzul. She rips out the two pages, unable to carry the tome itself due to its size, and puts them in her satchel. Mallus is aghast however, “Such knowledge may be best left buried here. Too much shame…” but Magda disagrees, stating that only lessons can be learned from this and that the truth must be revealed to the High King. Mallus relents.

Suddenly, out of the fissure, an ambush of ragged dark fur scurries forth and attacks the party. A scattering of skaven attack! But worst still is the Brood Horror that emerges from the fissure. The blackhearts make a retreating fight and find safety into the main chamber as they jam the door shut and shove rubble against it to stop further pursuit.

They proceed onwards, making their way down to the southern passage and find a junction. Stairs heading up towards the Throne Room, and stairs heading down towards the Royal Vaults. A quick detour yields considerable wealth, powerful artifacts and Alaric’s Vault itself which is a massive rune laden chest made out of Gromril. They open it with Alaric’s blood stained gauntlet; although the blood has long soaked into the gauntlet, it still opens the vault. And… It is empty. There is no Crown.

They continue to the Throne Room…

They are expected…

At the far end of the throne room, perched on his throne is the Low-King himself. Barak Rognisson. His once-proud form is now grotesque, his skin pale and clammy, stretched taut over a frame that seems unnaturally swollen. Dark, sunken eyes glare out from beneath a crown glistening with green gems. The air around him is thick with the stench of decay, yet something else lingers—a sense of great dread, of something far older and more sinister than the flesh that clings to his bones. They could all feel the cold chill, but is it coming from him, or the Crown.

The Low-King should be long deceased, but here he sits. The Crown is sustaining him somehow.

Standing off to the size is Azhag the Slaughterer, his jaw slack and his expression blank as if he’s under some kind of spell. To the King’s right flank, is a slayer whose eyes are ablaze with unnatural fury. Could this be Dorin the Slayer? When the party first entered Ghum’zul, they came across the remains of a dead man, and his book detailed him to be a rememberer for a slayer called Dorin who came to Ghum’zul to rid it of some foul evil.

“I see the Crown is looking to test my resolve once more. It has brought forth thieves looking to snatch what is not theirs. It is my burden alone, not yours!”

What begins is a very large fight that takes place over 3 sessions. It would prove to be a tough fight. The odds were not in their favor. The Low-King had allies; Azhag was a massive threat himself, and Dorin would prove to be a dangerous foe to contend with. There were undead skeleton dwarfs advancing from the wings, eternally loyal to the Low-King. On top of that, the Low-King was untouchable. A magical barrier protected him from harm, strengthened by two large rune carved pillars behind him that would need to be taken out if he was going to be attacked. And each round, the Nemesis Crown, had the ability to cast spells, propelled by the Low-Kings mind and will.

It was a grueling fight with some dire but heroic moments. Rylan found Sigmar in his time of need and called upon his aid, casting a horde of undead aflame with holy divine fire. Eadulf bravely kept everyone in the fight as much as he could, providing aid to those who required it. Ifaris fought against the Low-King’s efforts to smite them with spells by doing his best to dispel what he could. Magda went toe-to-toe with Azhag and although she had to retreat, she gave the Blackhearts vital time to contend with other threats. Ser Smoff tied up Dorin, and much to his credit did well but suffered greatly for it in wounds. Xaltach fought alongside Smoff and tried to fight back the undead swarms coming towards the center.

Every one contributed to their own survival and fought as best as they could. But it was not a fight they were going to win unless they dealt with the Low-King. Ifaris managed to turn Azhag into a statue and even as he was slowly turning to stone, Azhag continued to fight up until his last moments, when he finally snapped out of the dominion that the Low-King had over him, cursing as he swung his two axes about. With the biggest threat out of the way, and Dorin slain by Smoff with the help of Xaltach, they focused their efforts on the Low-King.

However, a dilemma with Saltza would prove to occupy their attention. Saltza collapsed to the ground wheeling in agony and screaming for Eardulf’s name. Talk about timing. Her baby was coming, and in the middle of a battle no less.

Eardulf rushed over towards her even as swarms of undead were trying to advance, and Frilda aided as well who spent the majority of the fight trying to not actually get into a fight with anyone.

Rylan and the remaining four blackheart soldiers fought to keep the undead from the south advancing as more started to pile into the throne room. Ifaris, Xaltach and Magda concentrated on bringing down the pillars that acted as the Low-King’s barrier. And in the middle, a woman as giving birth amidst he carnage.

After several grueling attempts, they brought the pillars down and the Low-King’s ward was now vulnerable. But the final blow would come from Magda who fired a bolt into the Low-King, sending him reeling forward. As he lurched forward, Magda kicked his head, knocking the Crown off and sent it rolling down below. The Low-King’s last words were, “Alaric… forgive me”.

Within the space of seconds, his skin melted off his bones and he rapidly began to decompose in front of their eyes. Then there was nothing but bone dust where the Low-King once was.

With his demise, all the undead collapsed, and although there seemed to have been a great ethereal sigh of relief as the dead dwarven ancestors were finally given rest.

It didn’t take long though for the Crown to exert its influence upon those present. Eardulf had just delivered a baby girl, handing her over to a very weak-willed Saltza, and he felt a slight pull upon his conscious, but he resisted, his focus on the newborn and Saltza’s health. However, the rest were not so lucky. A creeping desire crawled its way into their minds. For their own reasons, own ambitions, they wanted the Crown. Xaltach went over to examine the it closely, but wary of it; Magda was above him, crossbow armed and loaded, commanding him to step away from it as she jumped down. Ifaris involved himself arguing that the Crown could be of use to the Colleges for further… study, and then handed over to the Dwarves once they’ve completed their studies. Rylan drew his pistol and told no one was getting the crown, except for him.

A stand-off ensured and everything grew very tense. Then, the cocking of a crossbow being loaded from behind. Ernst Steurmann had it aimed at them. “What I have here is a doombolt, and if you are wise, you will kick that Crown over towards me. Now.” Indeed, Ernst loaded his crossbow with a doombolt he retrieved from the Vault. Eardulf also had one but used it in the fight. The doombolt was capable of splitting apart and hitting multiple foes; a deadly runic weapon.

Magda, with her own crossbow and waiving it around at everyone, told everyone in her heavy southern accent, “Don’t y’all be thinkin’ I’m gonna put up with ya shit! The Crown belongs to the dwarves!” Mallus tries to insert reason and calm things down (he was not under its influence having passed the willpower test) but his attempt to do so fell on deaf ears.

Eardulf, stepping away now from Saltza and commanding Smoff to look after her and guard her, approached the tense scene. He tried to earn Ernst’s trust, but Ernst was skeptical. However he was willing to listen to Eardulf’s suggestion that he pick up the Crown and hold it until a decision could be made what to do with it. Ernst agreed, and commnaded Eardulf to make his way towards it. Everyone was tense but Ernst was the biggest threat with his doombolt. He stood behind Rylan, and told Rylan not to make any sudden movements. As Eardulf knelt down to pick up the Crown, he suddenly felt the pull towards it… Magda then sprang into action! She fired off a sneaky shot towards Ernst, and struck him right in the mouth with a bolt, killing him instantly. She then dove for the Crown but Eardulf quickly picked it up and stood back, and then… he put it on.

As he did, a shockwave sent everyone flying a few feet back from Eardulf, and Eardulf was inundated with visions of the Low-King, witnessing his fall from grace. He saw Alaric and Barak fighting Galrauch, the Father of Chaos Dragons, down in the great deep vaults; a scene that was previously depicted on a engraving they discovered on their travels in Ghum’zul. But the truth of it would be revealed. Barak pleaded for Alaric to give him the Crown of Power, and Alaric relented, seeing no other way. There was a sudden bright flash and then… Galrauch was gone. But it was not as it would seem.

Eardulf sees a vision of Barak Rognisson, but its different, colder… darkened by a desire.

Then… Eardulf feels a sinister dread hang over him. He feels like as if something is staring into his soul, and he sees it; two great eyes staring back at him from the void. It’s voice is menacing, ancient and Eardulf cannot help but think he’s in the presence of a god-like entity.

“At last… something new…” The voice is a rasp, like scales grinding on stone, filled with venom and it bellows into his mind like thunder. “I sense… the mind of a child. I am Galrauch, Fateclaw, the Elder of Dragons, bound to this accursed crown. You think you hold power, little one? You have no idea what you’ve touched. I am older than your gods, older than your pitiful kingdoms. And now, I am inside your mind, clawing into your soul.”

A cold, creeping dread follows every word, its grip tightening with each breath.

“You wear the Crown with ease, but you do not know of its price. You are nothing more than a vessel. My will, my rage—I control you now.” His voice grows darker, venomous, filling the void with a menacing, low hiss. “Resist, and I will devour your very essence, piece by piece. Submit… and you may yet live to witness my dominion over all.

“So tell me, child spawn, what is it that you desire most? For I am Fateclaw, and I have within my power to give you reign over your own Fate. I see into your heart, little one. You have tasted death’s touch, haven’t you? The cold grip of dhar once touched your heart. Black blood soars through your veins. And then, there’s something else… A newborn spawn… it need not be endangered… if you are willing to pay my price. Let me help you… Eardulf.”

Eardulf tells the entity that he wishes to protect those he loves, to protect his friends, and protect Saltza, the baby… but not at the cost of his own soul, not for the price he must pay. He receives a laugh in response, and he valiantly tries to resist. (He has a 20% chance of success, and he passes, mitigated by his concern for Saltza and the newborn child)

Eardulf removes the crown, but just as he does, Magda, still under the influence of the Crown’s power, shoots a bolt towards him. It pierces Eardulf’s side and he flinches for a moment, then falls backwards. The sudden moment snaps everyone out of a daze. (WP checks are done and passed) His allies rush to his aid and Magda is left in shock at what she did as Mallus heads over and smacks the crossbow out of her hand.

As aid is given to Eardulf, one person is scheming. Rylan Karth has just taken a dark whisper as something calls to him from beyond. He makes a show of praying to Sigmar as he kneels down near where Eardulf is, and picks up the crown quickly and deceivably. Stepping back before Xaltach could reach for it, spying his deception, Rylan puts on the crown.

“Yes… one whose heart has already been darkened by the cold touch of my lesser brethren. You lead these mortals, and you have spent so much to get here. Sacrificed so greatly. Why should they have the Crown when you have given up so much to take it. Tell me what your heart desires, spawn, and you will be able to shape Fate to your ambitions.”

Rylan could feel the cold malicious dread in the presence of the entity. It was like as if his soul was on fire. He told the entity that he wished for the Blackhearts to be renewed, to regain their strength, to be strong again and for him to lead them to glory. For all those who have fallen, to see them again…

“The Blackhearts, a mere shadow of what they once were. But with my power… they could be more. You could be more. Think of it… Rylan. Your company, one hundred strong once more, their loyalty unshaken. You would lead them, unstoppable, into glory eternal. You need only grasp it, Captain, and you shall be the heart that beats life back into them. But you must pay my price if you want to grasp your own Fate.”

Rylan asked what was its price.

It answered. “What do I want? Freedom. Freedom from this cursed prison, this trinket of mortals. I was never meant to be bound, never meant to be caged like some petty spirit. The dwarf’s spirit was strong, his dominion over his realm kept me at bay. He’s gone now, and with it, I am not contained no longer. It will only be a matter of time until I am free from this forsaken prison. But you… can free me now and get what you want.”

The air grows colder as the presence tightens its grip. “Release me, and I will turn your fate towards your desires.”

Whatever glimmer of hope Rylan had, was slowly being drowned out by the darkness. But his faith in Sigmar, as dwindling as it was, was just enough for him to resist. He latched onto that and tried to resist his own temptations, tried to resist the calling of this dark entity. (He had a 10% chance of success, and failed on the first roll. He used his last fortune and rolled a success. He rolled a 5, for which he needed 10 or less to pass.)

Struggling to lift his arms, with the entity shouting into his mind at his defiance, Rylan lifted the Crown off his head and threw it to the ground. He snapped out of the daze to see Xaltach making a run to tackle him.

With everyone now free from its influence, they would need to decide what to do with the Crown. Ifaris witch-sight allowed him to see the strands of magic at play and he could see that the Crown was the reason for the vortex of magic at the top of Stormpeak. The vortex was becoming more violent with each passing moment. Whatever they were going to do, would need to be done quick.

Xaltach covered the Crown in a hide cloak and picked it up. (He would have to pass a WP check but he passed). The Crown seemed to affect him the weakest.

As debate quickly raged on about what to do, Smoff told Eardulf that something was wrong with Lady Saltza. He limped over to her side, clutching his own wound as Frilda tried to stem the bleeding. Saltza was weak, and dying. There was no explanation as to why. But Ifaris had one. His witch-sight allowed him to see the winds of magic at play. But he could see something else. There, with its hands around Saltza’s throat, was a demonic form of Gideon. He recognized the form from his earlier ritual to expel the demon from Rylan. Gideon’s form was weak and only the upper body could be seen, the rest trailed away like smoke into a rift that opened up inside the vortex where the Crown was. The high concentration of magic in the area made the veil that stood between the mortal realm and the Chaos realm weak.

They knew they only had one choice; the Crown must be destroyed. But how?

Magda got the Black Anvil Chronicles out from her satchel and hastily began to read for any clues as to how to destroy the Crown. She noted that Barlin Fireforge had made several scribbled notes into the book’s various pages, as if he was using the book to research for a way to destroy the Crown, having discovered parts of it is made out of Warpstone.

Barlin never found his answer, but he was close. It was a theory, but the only one they had. Magda theorized that using the instrument that was responsible for its forging could maybe destroy it, but it could have to be upon a Runemaster’s anvil. The protective runes upon such an anvil are designed to protect the forger and would make it a much safer endeavor, to do otherwise would be to invite death. One problem though, they didn’t have Alaric’s hammer. Regardless, they rushed off towards the Rune Forge leaving Eardulf, Smoff and Frilda behind to tend to the aid of Saltza who was hanging on for dear life. (I was rolling endurance checks as a form of death-save for Saltza. She was one failed check away from death)

Heading into the forge, surrounded by Lava on the side, they laid the Crown upon the runemaster’s anvil and by ancestors luck, they saw the finest forge hammer they ever laid their eyes upon resting against the anvil. Ifaris picked up the Hammer and swung it down, striking the Crown. He managed to damage it, but not destroy it… as he went for another blow, he stopped himself… The Crown’s influence seeped into his mind and Ifaris did not have the strength to do what was needed… He dropped the hammer but Xaltach reached in and grabbed hold of it. With a raised hand, Xaltach struggled against the influence of the Crown, but the Crown’s influence affected him less than the others, and he managed to strike the final blow. The Crown split apart with the sound of thunder that blew the top of the forge off and the force of the explosion sent everyone onto their backs. When they stood back up, they saw the ruined Crown of Power upon the Anvil. The remains of which were cast into the lava pit nearby.

It was done. The Nemesis Crown was destroyed, and with it, Galrauch. Or so they hoped…

Moments prior to the Crown being destroyed, Eardulf realized that Saltza was not going to make it. He prayed to Shallya, Goddess of Mercy, Compassion and Healing, for her to grant him this one request; to save Saltza, to have mercy upon her. That even if it meant taking something from him, to grant her the life that he was willing to give. A great tremor shook the mountain hold and rubble began to fell. A ray of light shone through and was cast upon Saltza. Eardulf looked on and he could make out in the light, the faint form of a demonic entity with its hands gripped around Saltza’s throat. Gideon’s last words then surfaced to his mind; he sworn he would claim what was promised to him. Eardulf watched as the holy light burned away the demonic form until there was nothing left, and then as if gaining her last breath, Saltza let out a gasp of air and her eyes flickered towards Eardulf, reaching out towards him. She regained her strength, still weak but she would live. She looked down towards the baby girl in her arms, who she would name Ellie; named after the founder of the Blackhearts, Ellie Blackheart.

Heading back into the throne room, Saltza was back to her old self. Still weak from her pregnancy and having lost a lot of her strength, but alive and cared for by Frilda and Eardulf.

It was over.

And then they heard it; a great rumbling, like thunder.

Everything around them begins to collapse as the hold itself starts crumbling. Eardulf asks Smoff to pick up Saltza (she has the baby) and the rest run out of the throne room as rocks begin to fall. They make it out, but Magda on her way trips and falls. Mallus Gundersson, seeing this, runs back in to aid her, and they both run towards cover. A great big rock column falls from above and Mallus sees it; he pushes Magda out of the way towards cover, and as Magda turns around, all she sees is nothing but rock dust and piles of rubble. She tries to go back but Ifaris holds her back, shouting, “He’s gone! There’s nothing you can do!”

What remains of the Blackhearts and the party in question retreat into the underway passages; obviously they cannot go back the way they came, but they find near the tombs, the deep vaults. The underground passage ways. By the time they emerge, they are starving for food, cold, miserable and malnourished. They find themselves on a mountainside, snow raining down on them. They spy through the opening they came through, which seemed more like a massive hole through the mountain and not done by natural means, a deep red scale. Ifaris goes to pick it up, but it is scorching hot, melting the snow around it. Evidence perhaps of the Great Dread that has been released upon the world…

They travel onwards, before running into some Ostland tents perched further south of them. It would turn out that Iorite Silverfist, the dwarf companion who went her separate ways to find aid earlier in the campaign, had brought help. A small scouting party that she managed to procure.

It would prove to be their salvation; but many questions would be put to them, and answers required to satisfy the curiosity of the Ostlanders who for the most part were more concerned with Azhag, for him and his horde were responsible for much of the destruction in Ostland.

And so ends the Blackheart Chapter.

What followed after that are the character epilogues for each surviving PC and major NPC. Those were fairly extensive and can be covered in another blog post if there is interest.

But that’s it; I left out some context and details because to write about them would require more time, but I feel I covered everything that needed to be covered.

GM Insights

It’s a bittersweet feeling amongst my group that the campaign has ended, as it seems to be a firm favourite with the dynamic and evolving relationships that emerged from it and the drama involved. It had a bit of everything in it, and lots of excellent character RP that even evolved into text rp on my discord for some downtime roleplay.

For me personally, relief but also very satisfied with everything. It was a fully custom campaign and because of that, it required a lot of time and energy from myself; hence why it was very difficult to devote time to writing regular blog posts about it. It went on a lot longer than I thought it would, which is my only regret; I’d have liked to trim it down a bit.

Ghum’zul was the largest and really only true dungeon I ever ran for Warhammer. It was multi-leveled and massive in scope. I also found myself cutting bits out of it because it became ‘too ambitious’ at times and I toned down a few encounters to ensure narrative flow. It started slow, and then gradually the horrors would reveal themselves. My skaven reveal was my favourite moment, as I hinted at their presence ever so slightly to put my group on edge. The Shard Dragon reveal was also a firm favourite and proved to be a deadly and tenacious foe that still lives and haunts the under passage ways.

A fair bit of content got cut though. An encounter with the deadly Tregara, a creature that the skaven fear greatly, was cut and the Shard Dragon became its replacement. Some missed content because the party didn’t explore everything was the ancestor ghosts in the old cells. This was going to be the ghost of Thane Beletgaz Skarrshard and would see some foreshadowing done for the discovery they’d make later on about the conflict. As well as a clue to the madness that had befallen the Low-King.

Other cut content was a rogue adventuring party driven by despair and madness having becoming trapped in Ghum’zul for a year and eating nothing but rats and cave fungus. This was cut due to time and also it felt out of place. Would have been a fun one though, but not one with a lot of threat behind it.

I had the most fun though creating and writing the lore of Ghum’zul and sprinkling that about to be picked up by my group. Hall of Ancestors was great for this, with a great big massive engraving effigy telling the heroics of past ancestors and kings. Overall Ghum’zul contained about 30 scenes (levels) but, in total had I not cut stuff out, including a massive foundry taken over by goblins, it was easily 42 scenes or so.

So with that done, I am on a long break now until January.

Empire on Edge needs to be prepped which will serve as my finale for Enemy Within. I also plan to run a Cyberpunk Red RPG game in the new year along with WFRP. I was planning a 40k game but I do not have as much interest in that as I do WFRP, and Cyberpunk is a setting that I’ve always loved.

Merry Xmas to my readers and if I can I’ll provide an update in December concerning a little ‘trailer’ that I’m making for my Empire on Edge game.