In the age when man and dwarf stood as brothers against the greenskin tide, the legendary Runesmith Alaric the Mad laboured for a lifetime to forge twelve swords of impossible perfection. These are the Runefangs — blades so keen and so deeply bound with dwarfen runes that they shear through plate and mail as through cloth, and no edge in the world can dull or notch them. Alaric wrought them as a gift to seal the ancient alliance between the Dwarfen Mountain Holds and the fledgling realm of men.
One Runefang was given to each of the twelve tribal kings whose warriors united under Sigmar, and from that day the swords passed down as the birthright of the Elector Counts. To hold a Runefang is to hold the right to rule a province of the Empire of Man; the blade is not merely a weapon but the very emblem of an Elector's sovereignty and the sacred trust laid upon him.
Each Runefang bears a name and a bloody history stretching back millennia — Grudge Settler, Beast Slayer, Blood Kiss, and their fellows have drunk deep in the defence of the Empire against orc, beastman, and the servants of the Dark Gods. To lose a Runefang is a shame beyond bearing, and to see one raised in battle is to know that a province of the Empire has gone to war.
The reliquary continues
