This is taken from the above site.
When the dwarfs expanded their vast empire northward along the Misty Mountains, they came to
a desolate area. To the north and over impassible mountains were the Chaos Wastes and to the
east was a dark land littered with bones. Further east the pioneering dwarfs could see another
mountain range boardering the plane they named Zorn Uzkul, the Plane of Skulls, and smoke
rose from a volcano on the edge of the plateau. Not to be daunted, the stout adventurous dwarfs
skirted the plane and settled near the mountains. Their efforts were rewarded with rich deposits
of minerals and gemstones. All the wealth a dwarf could wish for and a natural fire to heat their
forges could be found in the Vale of Sorrow. Wealth flowed from the mines and trade routes
were opened back to the dwarf capitol, the eastern colonies were a great success drawing many
young adventurous miners.
During the Great Cataclysm, as the chaos gate exploded to the north, the forces unleashed by the
blast drove armies of mutated beasts and humans south. On the heels of those foul creatures
came the storms laden with warp dust and the raw undiluted power of chaos. Great daemons
swept down from the skies, slaying all that would not join their worshippers, and mutated
champions put whole villages to the sword simply for the joy of killing. The hoards cut off the
eastern colonies from the main empire. In desperation they fought to hold on to their homes.
Vastly outnumbered, the dwarfs mustered around the forges of the volcano, evading their
enemies and holding out by sheer tenacity.
Lord Khagrim son of Khagri became their rally point. A mighty runelord, Khagrim and his
apprentices labored night and day to forge weapons of power for his people. He sent messengers,
brave dwarfs who knew their mission was near suicide, but none returned. Warp dust permeated
everything, the air, the water, even their sealed food supplies, and still they fought on, resisting
the mutations. Inevitably though, the power of chaos worked its hand upon them as they
struggled for survival day by day. One messenger did return and with his dying gasp he told of
how his mission failed by being struck down by their own people. The dwarfs had seen nothing
but a chaos mutation not one of their kin, and shot him down. Feeling abandoned and betrayed,
the eastern colonies faced their grim fate alone against the vast hoards and trying to stay one step
ahead of death.
The mighty weapons forged by Khagrim were not
enough, and soon the dwarfs knew they would face
inevitable defeat and death. Lord Khagrim delved ever
deeper into the mountain for hotter fires to forge
mightier weapons. Probing the secrets of the earth to
save his people to no avail, but the constant ring of the
runelord’s anvils woke the shadows that dwelled
beneath the dark plane and slept at the heart of the
volcano
The Father of Darkness rose from the depths as a massive fiery bull, finding the runelord
and his apprentices. Long dormant, the chaos god felt the strength of the dwarfs’ souls
and hungered for their worship to return his forgotten power. He tempted the dwarfs,
showing them their kin being slaughtered and telling them he would save their people if
they would but worship him, but they were steadfast in the face of the god’s awesome
might. Khagrim held their hearts steady as they endured temptations and torments
wrought by the Father of Darkness, but the warp dust was taking its toll on them. Day
after day Hashut showed them the slaughter of their kin by the hoards massing for a final
assault until Khagrim could stand it no longer. At last he agreed to worship the dark god
if only to save his kin from the chaos hoards.
In a blast of fire, the mountain exploded, covering both the dwarfs and their enemies
in great clouds of ash and magma. Thinking Hashut had betrayed him, Khagrim cried out
in anger and grief, but as he watched through the god’s scrying pool, he saw the cost of
his bargain with chaos. His people lived, but not as they were. The mutations that had
already begun to take their toll were finalized by the Father of Darkness. To some he
gave the forms of monstrous beings, massive bulls with flaming hides and bat-like wings
whose breath was the fire of the mountain, and some had the obsidian flanks of ash
whose breath was clouds of dark sorcery, as it curled about their mutated faces that bore
large tusks and curving horns. Some he called to his side, marking them as his guardians
and giving them the bodies of red bulls with obsidian hooves but keeping their upper
torso’s intact. But to all he gave his mark, and Khagrim felt his own jaw mutate with the
tusks that grew upward, turning his visage into an eternal scowl of hatred. Their once fair
faces were turned to the darkened color of cooling magma as fire burned in their veins.
Black curls replaced lighter browns and blondes. The Children of Hashut were born of
the ashes to march forth and destroy what was left of the hoards.
The Father of Darkness then granted Khagrim and his apprentices the power of sorcery, playing upon
their sense of betrayal and abandonment to fill them with dark desires to serve him with blood, fire and
pain. Their new purpose, to exact revenge on the betrayers in Hashut’s name.