After emerging from the sands of Hokh-Man, Arkhanten found himself smuggling the personal guard of the Dread Queen Wadjet to the mountain pass of Rhyn Dufaris. Above the snowline the they found Wadjet's target; a chieftain of the Varangur who's family had plundered her tomb centuries ago. Among the slaughter and chaos of magic and powder shot Wadjet made sure that she would recover her Dynastie's signet rig from the fool who thought it his inheritance. The current events that had led the Varangur to ally with the dwarfs did not matter to her and the high tool of lives she would reap was irrelevant.
“By Varangur, what had brought Ahmunites here?” thought Gulbrand. The dwarfs had been despite enough to pay for his serveses and the war had been glorious the past few months. Whatever the Iron casters thought to accomplish by enlisting the aid of the walking dead would not come to pass. His warriors had stood firm against their legions of Orc slaves and putting down the twisted remnants of a long forgotten people would be no more difficult. Just as he had done a hundred times before he ran his fingers over his lucky ring before putting on his gauntlet. As he finished buckling the straps he heard a wondrous sound; a triumphant cry rose from his warriors as Herja herself descended from the heavens. The Chooser of the Slain was here, this would be his finest hour.