Vala Kemma

Vala Kemma was Queen of Karak Eight Peaks and wife to Belegar Ironhammer.

History
Considered a great Dwarfen beauty, Kemma had married King Belegar and borne him a son, Thorgrim, barely twelve years old but renowned as Bryndalmoraz Karakal - "The Bright Hope of the Mountains".

During the events of the End Times, Kemma was forced to flee from her hold whilst Belegar made his last stand against the Skaven. Dwarf tradition and oaths would have both Kemma and her son stay with the King, but the Queen decided that her son's life was far more important. The Queen and her son made their way outside the hold through secret passageway, but were soon cought by Belegar's Hammerers before they could fully make their escape.

When Belegar met his heroic end in a dual against Queek Headtaker, Kemma took up her shining mail armour and warhammer, for she was a warrior-queen herself, a champion of Valaya. Standing alongside her young son and a few surviving retainers, the Queen of Karak Eight Peaks made her own final stand in it's last room.

The Final Stand of Karak Eight Peaks
The Fight was short and bloody, Kemma barred the way, keeping her son behind her, but he was singled out, and he was among the first to die. Kemma held back her grief and fought the skaven as long as she could, a succession of untried warriors taking the postilion at her side, cooks, the old and the yound, the last survivors of Karak Eight Peaks. The Skaven were Stormvermin, strong and cunning warriors, but she was a queen, her hammer driven by a mother's grief. They stood no chance. Ten she slew, then twenty. Time blurred along with her tear streaked vision. Kemma felt relief when the poisoned wind globe sailed into the room over the stormvermin's heads, and shattered on the stone walls behind her. The choking gas poured with supernatural alarcity to fill every corner. The skaven in front of her died, white sputum bubbling at its lips, eyes bulging. Kemma held her breath though her head spun and eyes stung and blurred. She ran forwards, hoping to buy enough time for the dwarfish young to die, better a quick death by gas than the lingering torment of enslavement that would await them should they be taken alive.

She shouted, swinging her hammer wildly. Her lungs burned, she could feel them filling with fluid. She was drowning in her own blood. Still she fought, sending the skaven breaching force reeling. Behind her the cries and coughs subsided. She let out a war cry, holding her runic hammer aloft. The runes on it were losing their gleam, the magic leaching away, becoming nought but cut marks on steel. She swung her hammer for one final swing bloodying a stormvermin's muzzle, but she was dying, her strength fleeing her body, and they brought her down. The pinned her to the floor and she s[pat bloody mouthfuls at them. She panted shallowly, but could draw no sustenance from the air. The world and all its cruilties and disappointments receeded. A golden light shone hbehind her as the ancestors opened their doors. Before she passed through, she flung one last, panting curse at her murderers, that they enjoy their victory... and live to regret it.