As a life-long dwarf fan and hardcore Warhammer gamer, as well as a writer to boot, it was a genuine thrill and a privilege to write
Oathbreaker. The plot was actually inspired by taking a look through the extensive and detailed dwarf timeline from the Warhammer Armies: Dwarfs supplement. Just a glance across the turbulent, blood-drenched history of the dwarfs was enough to ensure me that there was a lot to choose from. I know something of the dwarfs, though, and in truest Shakespearean style I knew that this had to be a tragedy. It’s what defines the dwarfs, their culture and character are predicated on the dour refusal to give in, despite the fact their once glorious realm is but a shadow of its former magnificence and its enemies grow bolder and more multitudinous, even as they decline.
Tragedy was the key; it would be at the heart of this tale. Right from the off, the survival rate was going to be pretty low. With this proviso, I settled on Karak Varn as my stage. A former affluent hold, flanked by the Black Water (a vast, lake-like meteor crater rich in gromril ore), wracked by earthquakes and terrible floods, sacked by greenskins and overrun by skaven ratmen – it was tailor made. Karak Varn also had another advantage; it was perhaps one of the less well-known holds. Let’s face it; it’s not Karaz-a-Karak or Slayer Keep or Karak Eight Peaks, now is it. This would give me room to manoeuvre to tell the story that I wanted to tell, while being respectful to history. It set me off on my first real task for writing this novel – research.
As I mentioned above, I’ve been a dwarf player and fan for a while, so I already had a pretty firm grasp of what they were all about but in spite of all that I went back through all my dwarf army book supplements and read them cover to cover. With my trusty intellectual pick and mattock in hand, I unearthed a lot and added flavour and depth to the basic rudiments of my existing dwarfen acumen – I immersed myself in dwarf culture, until I was even starting to think like one. It helped that I was co-writing Grudgelore at the time with my fellow dwarf aficionado Gav Thorpe (Grudgelore is the dwarf background book). I then went back and photocopied some of my favourite artwork from these books; mainly architecture and large mustering scenes. I was trying to grasp the scale of these holds, the sheer immensity of dwarfen endeavour in creating such magnificent domains, the bold defiance suggested by the strong lines and hard structures. For me, the architecture was as strong a statement of character as any gruff-faced dwarf lord or venerable runesmith. With my mental and physical tools/aids in place I set about tackling my next problem.
Oathbreaker, unlike a lot of Warhammer novels, is set in the past. Way, way in the past. In choosing Karak Varn as the theatre of my narrative I effectively put a pin in the dwarf chronology that set the tale around the time of Kadrin Redmane’s partial re-settlement of the hold. History tells that Redmane established control over the upper levels and had even managed to tap into the bountiful gromril and gold reserves presented by the Black Water. Alas, this period of regeneration and renewed hope was to be an ephemeral one as Redmane was slain at the very edge of the great, obsidian lake by a band of orcs, his ancestral rune hammer lost in the process. Oathbreaker takes up the story some fifty years after this terrible event, although it is unbeknownst to the other dwarf holds at this time.
Set thousands of years before Sigmar was a twinkle in his father’s eye and only a few hundred years after the War of Vengeance, there were several factors to take into account in Oathbreaker. Firstly, no manlings, not even a reference, it was to be dwarfs all the way. Fine by me. Secondly, with the War of Vengeance only an eye-blink previously, at least by dwarf standards, the ire the dwarfs felt towards elves would still be fresh, so it was important to colour any reference to the pointy-eared island-dwellers appropriately. Thirdly, no black powder (or, at least, very limited amounts). It wasn’t until many years later that explosions following experiments with this volatile substance rocked the workshops of Karaz-a-Karak. Traditional weapons only then. This, in itself, provided another obstacle as the plot was predicated on a cunning insurgency into a flooded hold, one that would require some ingenuity and creative acumen to pull off. In this regard, I knew I wanted an engineer character with this trait in spades. In Rorek Flinteye, I found such a dwarf. Rorek as a flagrantly open-minded, experimental member of the Engineers’ Guild would be perfect. From his multi-purpose crossbow to his makeshift ‘diving helmet’ (you’ll have to read the novel to discover how he pulls that off), he would be the lone beacon of progressive thought amidst a stalwart sea of traditionalism (it also allowed for a few jokes relating to the various ‘interesting’ punishments that the guild might visit upon him for his disregard of what was acceptable).
The fairly strict timeline also meant I had to think carefully about the current position of the Karaz Ankor (the dwarf realm), such as who was the High King, what holds had fallen and how recently, and what events were yet to transpire? Again, research helped with this and anyone writing a novel set in the Warhammer or even the Warhammer 40,000 universe for that matter, should bear this mind and do the reading.
Aside from a technically adroit, open-minded engineer I also needed to populate this grim milieu with a cast of characters. I wanted heroes – the plot, in that a group of dwarfs called from around the realm to a council of war at Redmane’s behest, lent itself to this dynamic. The fact that these dwarf lords arrive fifty years too late only added to the sense of tragic loss and inevitable finality. With all of this to the fore of my mind, I gathered a band from across the dwarf empire as far north as Karak Kadrin, as far south as Everpeak and eastwards all the way to Kark Norn to name but three. Envisaging such a disparate band of dwarfs and describing the inherent dynamic within it was a challenge. It’s tempting to think that all dwarfs, being dwarfs, are the same. They’re not. In Oathbreaker, the staunch traditionalists of Karak Hirn are at logger heads with the opulent merchant thanes of Barak Varr, whilst the royal-blooded nobles of Karaz-a-Karak find disapproval with the more scurrilous and penniless dwarfs of Karak Norn. Geographical, as well as cultural, differences were considered, too. How might a dwarf of the Worlds Edge Mountains feel about one from a ‘lesser’ range like the Black Mountains or the Vaults for instance? Character interplay is at the heart of the story. Each dwarf has a tale, whether it be Uthor Algrimson of Karak Kadrin who seeks glory for his hold and vengeance against those that poisoned his father and left him on his deathbed or Halgar Halfhand of Karak Izor, the venerable longbeard that wants one last adventure and the opportunity to die with an axe in his hand before apathy and atrophy claim him. Then there’s Hakem son of Honak from Barak Varr, who must set aside the opulent trappings of his heritage to find his true dwarf nature and reclaim his honour. There are others, but I won’t spoil that here.
As well as defining a strong cast of characters with a well-thought out group dynamic, I also knew at the very start what the fate of each of these characters would be; their arc of development. I wrote it at the end of each mini-biography that I created for them. It helped to know what their ‘ending’ would be and scenes were playing in my head of these crucial moments.
Flavour was an important consideration in this story – I wanted it to be as dwarfy as possible. In pursuit of this goal, I engendered a policy of using as much dwarf language as possible. You’ll notice in the dialogue that the dwarfs occasionally slip into Khazalid; the odd word here and there, and in the narrative it reverts to the translated equivalent. This was a deliberate measure. Someone once told me that dwarf speak is kind of like the rocks of a mountain gradually tumbling and grinding down a slope. It’s gruff and earthy but gathers momentum. Using Khazalid was one way to try and get a sense of this across. I kept saying to myself throughout, ‘They’re not men; they’re dwarfs’. It seems obvious, but it was important to remember that dwarfs are as different and alien to humans as orcs and skaven are. Their cultural mores are distinctive, so too their beliefs and characters. By keeping this in sight, it hopefully adds to the dwarfy flavour of the novel.
Developmentally, Oathbreaker was divided into three distinct acts. Each of these was predicated on a defining aspect of dwarf culture as indicated by the background: Oath and Honour, Hearth and Hold and Wrath and Ruin. They each represent a key phase of the story: the discovery of the fate of Karak Varn and its subsequent exploration; the pledge to reclaim the hold and avenge the fate of Kadrin Redmane; and finally, the tragic consequences of this bold action and the desperate measures undertaken afterwards. Within each act, I knew certain key scenes and set pieces needed to take place as well as vital elements of character arc development. It proved a useful tool and hopefully gives the novel a good sense of structure and building tension.
For a lot of the set piece battle scenes, I drew maps. This was particularly useful in describing and choreographing the fight in the Wide Western Way as there were a lot of different parties involved who, at a crucial point in the battle, get separated. The narrative splits into two at this point and I needed to ensure that certain dwarfs got stuck with one another for both dramatic tension and to fuel the needs of the plot going forward. I also made a map of the hold to better envisage the relative geography of my characters, both when they get divided and later on towards the novel’s conclusion. It was vitally important to maintain some semblance of control as well as engendering a sense of place. Pretty much every location had a name, which said something about its purpose, history and character as I didn’t want the dwarfs wandering around a series of bland and nameless tunnels and chambers.
It’s interesting to note that from the early feedback I was getting for the book people had favourites from the cast of dwarf characters (and even the skaven and greenskin antagonists, too). Personally, I couldn’t name a favourite – I like them all in their own way. I can say that without each other that they might not have worked so well as a whole. It was part of the immense enjoyment I derived from writing Oathbreaker, on a subject I am passionate about and with characters that I cared about. I hope the same can be said of anyone who reads it, too.
That just about draws my rambling to a close. I hope these words have provided something of an insight into the development of Oathbreaker and offer something by way of interest. Until my next foray into the Karaz Ankor…
Tromm!
Nick Kyme
Nottingham 2007
