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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:36:36 GMT
"There once was a mighty sword. In its time it served its masters well, never growing dull and slaying many foes. From father to son it was passed down through many generations until after many years being wielded by its eighth lord in a mighty duel it shattered along the blade. Weaponless, the overlord was forced to take refuge behind his shield, but a mighty blow cleft it in twain and the overlord's head was struck from his exposed neck. The lord's son, it's ninth master gathered up the shards and handed them to his clan's Daemonsmith, who took them to his forge. He set aside the shield halves and cast the sword shards into a crucible.
"Ha," sneered the shield, "See how I am set aside to be tended while you are cast away to be burned. Mayhaps you'll be reforged into shackles for snotlings."
"Nay," replied the shards, "I did my duty. All things must die eventually and I lasted eight generations. 'Twas not my fault our master lays slain, that is because of your failing."
"But it is not I who has been cast into the fire," scoffed the shield.
"Only because your wood cannot be reforged," chuckled the shards, "Your boss shall be stripped and bolted to new boards, but that shall not be you anymore. I on the other hand shall be recast into a new body; my form may be changed, but I shall still be me, for I have been reforged before. All things must die shield, even the world around us, but only the worthy may rise from the flames."
At this the shield grew quiet and fearful, knowing the shards spoke the truth, even as they melted. And as the shards foresaw, the smith returned to the forge and hammered them into a new blade, while the shield was stripped of its boss and the rest discarded. So to shall the weak and unworthy be discarded in the End Times and only the strong shall emerge from the flames, hammered and tempered by the will of the gods into new forms for a new world, but at their heart still the same as they have always been, for as this has all happened before, so too shall it happen again.- Fable from the Apocrypha Uhr-Kulmbizharr , a collection of writings attributed to the renowned Uhr-Kulmbizharr, but believed by all right minded scholars to instead be the work of a lesser author using the Daemonsmith's name to try and spread his lesser works.
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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:37:42 GMT
The Pious Warrior, by Utnipishzim Once upon a time there was a Dawi warrior known for his great piety. Long was his beard and tall was his hat, for on the battlefield he was possessed of a uncanny fortune. The Goblin bow was no sooner bent against him than it would snap. The boars of the Orcs were spurred towards him only to balk and run wild throwing the Grobi lines into disorder. Such was his favor in the eyes of Hashut that the warriors of his Throng would scarily dare cross a river or deep gorge less he had first done so in safety.
One day while pouring over his horde of gold and gem encrusted articles he stroked his beard, oiled with the finest unguents, and was struck with a thought.
"Surely above all my peers High Hashut has favored me, for in fortune of war and commerce I have no equal. But have I not seen priests of the temple on whom all manner of misfortune has befallen in this or that way? How should it be that I need my offerings mediated to the great Father of Darkness by those on whom his favor rests more lightly?"
With this in his heart the Dawi took gold and oxen and journeyed to the Temple of Hashut to make sacrifice as was his custom. Upon gaining the temple steps he brushed the acolytes aside and stood himself on the dais of the great alter.
"Look on me you novices, for I am blessed by the God, blessed as any sacred Taurus or Prophet, and more than most! Surely at the bud of my manhood it was by mistake that I was made a mere warrior rather than sent to stand where I now do!"
So saying he cut the throat of his first prize bull and, having memorized the words of the priests from lingering long in the temple halls, he intoned the sacred words of sacrifice.
No sooner had he begun the droning litany than the eyes of the great statue of Hashut above the alter gleamed. Sulfurous flames shot from its mouth and nostrils consuming the ox, the gold and the arrogant warrior all at once.
Having observed the proceedings from further within the temple a sage and lordly Sorcerer-Prophet stepped forth and spake unto the astonished acolytes:
"The favor of Hashut is given in measure to those who fulfill the duty's of their station, woe to those who twist his approval into ambitions of ascendance!"
- The Pious Warrior, by Sorcerer-Prophet Utnipishzim the Proselytizer, venerable instructor during the ordaining of the second priesthood.*
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* A parable meant to illustrate the distinction between the blessings of class and the blessings of merit. While the Dawi Zharr have a place for ambition in advancing within ones predetermined sphere, it has never been acceptable to attempt a graduation from ones fundamental class. Additionally there are few greater sins than to covet the priesthood. To do so is to blaspheme against Hashut.
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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:38:58 GMT
The Bodyguard and the Sorcerer-Prophet, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was a bodyguard who served his revered Sorcerer-Prophet every waking hour of life. One day, the Sorcerer-Prophet was travelling with his entourage through the wilderness, when a mob of Goblin slingers ambushed them. Hesitating out of fear of death, the bodyguard raised his shield to protect himself, yet did not step forward at once to cover his liege from the barrage of stone and lead clumps. The Sorcerer-Prophet survived unscathed, yet his bodyguard was mortally wounded by several slingshots. The bodyguard lay dying.
"Strip him of arms and armour, then tie his body behind one of the oxen and let it drag on the ground. When we get back, we will throw it into the River Ruin without funerary rites," said the Sorcerer-Prophet.
"But my lord, I have served you my whole life! Would you deny me my afterlife by drowning my corpse?" asked the bodyguard.
"Yes I would. When you failed to shield me at once with your own body, your fate was forfeit. What use is there for lessers who would not sacrifice themselves for their betters within a heartbeat? To hell with you!" replied the Sorcerer-Prophet. For such is the fate of those whose fear and doubt would hinder them to serve their masters completely.
- The Bodyguard and the Sorcerer-Prophet, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund
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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:48:56 GMT
The Gold and the Iron Ingot, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was a gold and an iron ingot laid close to each other. One day, the gold ingot spoke:
"You must envy me, iron," said the gold ingot.
"Why, gold?" asked the iron ingot.
"Because my shimmer and sheen is sought after by gods and mortals alike. They adorn themselves with me, they measure the value of things by me, they fight wars over me. Not only am I pretty, but my beauty is eternal. I will never rust, unlike you. You are only good enough for tools, arms and nails of the crude folk, iron," boasted the gold ingot.
"Melt me down and recast me, and the rust will be gone. But no matter how many times they melt you down, your strength will never be such that it can challenge me. In every incarnation, I may cleave and crush you at will, but you cannot do likewise against my hard body, gold," replied the iron ingot.
At this the gold ingot had no good answer to give. For the value of things lies not in their vain looks alone, but in their strength and function. Thus wealth may be measured in iron ingots and gold ingots alike.
- The Gold and the Iron Ingot, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund
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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:50:25 GMT
The Orc and the Chaos Dwarf, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was a Chaos Dwarf and an Orc who competed with each other over who could build the best idol for their respective god. On the one hand, the Chaos Dwarf chiseled and hammered and polished and carved day and night, in order to erect a statuary image of Hashut in hard stone. On the other hand, the Orc ate and drank and slept and soiled himself day and night, in order to build a stinking effigy of Gork out of his own worm-infested dung.
One day, the heavens let loose all rain, and a flash flood hit the two idols. On the one hand, the Chaos Dwarf's well-wrought stone idol withstood the waters and shielded him from their fury. On the other hand, the Orc's dung effigy was flushed away by the waters and toppled over the Orc, drowning him in his own droppings. For such is the fate of those who would craft objects shoddily and out of feeble materials.
- The Orc and the Chaos Dwarf, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund
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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:51:37 GMT
The Greedless Man and the Mad Fimir, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was a greedless man with an axe. One day, when wandering to an outpost, he rescued a captive from vile Greenskins, and was offered all that which the captive owned:
"Here! The Greenskins robbed me of everything but this hidden pouch. There are ten silver hooves in it. Take them, you have deserved them!" insisted the rescued captive.
"Keep them, lest you will starve. I do not need them," replied the greedless man.
After that, he wandered on towards the outpost. But when the greedless man came to a narrow gorge, his path was blocked by a mad Fimir hermit.
"Fifty silver hooves! Cluck! Fifty silver hooves! Moo! You will pay fifty silver hooves to pass, or I will bash in your skull," frothed the mad Fimir and raised a giant bronze mace.
"But I have only forty silver hooves... Damn!" cursed the greedless man, and was mashed into gory pulp by the mad Fimir hermit. For such is the fate of those who would lack greed in their weak hearts.
- The Helpful Man and the Mad Fimir, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund*
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* Greed is a virtue in the Dawi Zharr mindset. To the Blacksmiths of Chaos, greed is proof of a will to dominate and a craving for more, a drive for conquest and toil. Meek helpfulness and lack of greed are viewed as serious character flaws.
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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:52:56 GMT
The Bull's Eye and the Blue Tooth, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was an untrustworthy Nasty Skulker from the Blue Tooth tribe. One day, he was captured by the rival Goblin tribe known as the Bull's Eye. The Nasty Skulker was dragged before the chief of the Bull's Eye.
"You will die most painfully, git. For we will eradicate the Blue Tooth to the last Goblin," growled the Bull's Eye chief.
"No, not me! I'll do anything to survive. I can help you!" shrieked the Nasty Skulker.
"Then open the palissade for us during the dead of night. Do not raise any alarm, and you will be rewarded with a magic knife that seeks out the victim's heart by its own cunning," replied the Bull's Eye chief.
The Nasty Skulker wanted that reward, and set out to cut the ropes binding the palissade together. Half night he toiled whilst the other Blue Tooth Goblins slept, and he nearly broke his back pulling up the wooden poles from the ground to open a gap in the wall. At last he was finished, and the Bull's Eye tribe stormed the Blue Tooth camp and killed every one inside. When the massacre was over, the Nasty Skulker crept up from the shadows.
"You won big time thanks to me. I want my reward," demanded the Nasty Skulker.
But the Bull's Eye Goblins seized him and dragged him before their chief, who held the magic knife high.
"Here is your reward," said the Bull's Eye chief, and stabbed the Nasty Skulker in the heart in order to eradicate the Blue Tooth to the last Goblin. For such is the fate of thouse who would betray their tribe.
- The Bull's Eye and the Blue Tooth, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund*
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* The moral of the story may also be interpreted as 'treachery will punish itself'. Despite greed and ambition, Chaos Dwarf caste society is based upon blind obedience and unasking loyalty to the leaders. Treachery is a thing for Greenskins, utterly beneath the Dawi Zharr, at least if you do not count the scheming elite. Note the intelligible Goblin speech, at odds with the real version. Greenskin fables such as this are normally filed under 'animal fables' by Chaos Dwarf scholars, since Greenskins are viewed as little else but savage beasts.
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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:57:26 GMT
The Condemned and the Sorcerer-Prophet, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was a wise Sorcerer-Prophet, who lorded it over his followers and judged their cases on his own. One day, he granted audience to a condemned criminal who pleaded for mercy to escape his own execution tomorrow:
"By Hashut's hoof. Have mercy upon me! It was poverty alone that made me steal that loaf of bread. Change my punishment and I will serve you fully for the rest of my life," begged the condemned, on his knees.
"Very well, so be it," replied the Sorcerer-Prophet and rose from his throne.
"You are magnificient in your wisdom, o lord!" praised the condemned.
"Indeed. Execution to be carried out in advance," declared the Sorcerer-Prophet and chopped off the condemned criminal's head on the spot. For such is the fate of those testing the patience of their superiors.
- The Condemned and the Sorcerer-Prophet, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund*
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* The moral of the story is also 'be careful what you wish for'.
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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 9:00:49 GMT
The Storm Cloud and the Volcano, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was a volcano of fire and smoke that towered above the plains below. One day, a storm cloud passed by upon shrieking winds and announced its power to all the world:
"Behold me and tremble! My body blots out the sun and swathes the land in darkness. My hail cuts down the harvest and lay the fields bare. My lightning bolts melts sand to glass and flesh to cinders. I fly wherever I like, for no shackles in the whole world can bind me in one place. I am become akin to a god, for nothing can stand before me!" thundered the storm cloud.
At this boasting, the volcano let loose a roar from the depths of the earth. Lava poured forth, rocks rained down upon the shaking landscape, and tons upon tons of ash shot into the sky, polluting the storm cloud and drowning it. Thus the elements of air and water were dominated by fire and stone. Henceforth, the storm cloud was branded by the volcano, for its body had been soiled by ash and its downpour had become acidic with the stuff of volcanoes. For there is no power on earth mightier than that of its fiery depths.
- The Storm Cloud and the Volcano, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund*
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* Similar stories, focussed upon natural elements, minerals, geology, tectonics and volcanoes, are common amongst both uncorrupted Dwarfs and their fallen Chaos Dwarf cousins. They are often without any apparent moral lesson, yet informs the world view of Dwarf and Chaos Dwarf children alike. To the Dawi Zharr, fire and lava holds great significance. Hashut in His guise of the Great Firebull thunders through the molten underground, and volcanic eruptions are ascribed with much portentuous meaning.
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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 9:02:32 GMT
The Romantic and the Love of His Life, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was a succesful quarry owner. His toil and cleverness had elevated him above his peers. One day, his clan honoured him with a marriage proposal. The spouse-to-be was a harsh and virtuous woman, and the negotiations between the clans had already been concluded. All that was needed was the quarry owner's consent.
"No, I will not marry her. My eyes are set upon another woman, the beautiful daughter of a slavedriver. Her I will wed," declared the romantic quarry owner.
"Then you will marry beneath your station," protested the clansfolk.
"So be it. But I will marry the love of my life. May Hashut bless our marriage," said the romantic.
"High Hashut will rather curse such folly," replied the clansfolk.
And indeed He did, as did the father of the rejected woman. The married life of the romantic turned bitter and sour, and his quarries were filled with lava poor of minerals. His wife bore him horned Daemons for offspring and withered into an old hag before her time, and the romantic was tortured to death by his own slaves in the couple's bedchamber. For such is the fate of those who would fool themselves and insult the Father of Darkness by letting romantic love stand before the sound interests of their clan.
- The Romantic and the Love of His Life, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund*
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* This fable reflects the pragmatic, status-sensitive and not least financial mode of the Dawi Zharr marriage market. Note that males are more common than females in Dwarf populations, which is also true for Chaos Dwarfs. As such, only succesful male Chaos Dwarf individuals will ever get to marry, with the highest-ranking of all having harems of their own. Where uncorrupted Dwarf society is dominated by Valaya and women in the civil sphere, Dawi Zharr society is structured very differently. It is thoroughly hierarchical and bereft of freedom, and it is not the women, but the eldest men in the clan, who have the final say in matters of marriage. Then again, imperial Chaos Dwarf society is entirely geared for survival and expansion in the hostile Dark Lands. As such, it is no wonder that the dictates of Sorcerer-Prophets throughout the ages have all aimed at increasing the numbers of their subjects and armies by a maximized reproductive rate. The ideal male, in the Dawi Zharr mindset, is the strong bull lording it over a harem of a herd, although this does not mean that strong or warlike women have been lacking in the long history of Zharr-Naggrund and all her holdings.
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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 9:02:56 GMT
The Weaveress and the First Wife in the Harem, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was a weaveress working at home in her household, together with neighbour women. She had a natural talent for her craft, yet would chatter and gossip from dawn till dusk if she could, hampering her workpace. One day, the first wife in the harem of a Sorcerer-Prophet paid the weaveress in advance for a splendid fabric intended for a dress to wear at Bullfeast.
"I expect the very best cloth seven days in advance of the festivities. You will weave fire and lightning patterns into the hem. Waste not your time, but work diligently," ordered the first wife.
"Yes, my lady," replied the weaveress.
Yet the weaveress gossipped and talked day and night whilst she weaved, and the fabric was not finished at the appointed day.
"You gabby swine!" snapped the first wife in the harem.
"I will repay you in full, my lady" said the weaveress.
"No. I paid for a tissue for my dress, and you will provide one," said the first wife, and flayed the weaveress alive to sew her skin into a dress. For such is the fate of those who would while away their time with idle talk, and neglect their talents by working too little.
- The Weaveress and the First Wife in the Harem, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund*
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* Clothes made from the flayed hides of beasts or sapient beings such as Greenskins and Ogres, and even misbehaving Chaos Dwarfs, are not uncommon amongst the Dawi Zharr. The sight of your kinsman's flayed skin is a terrifying one, yet not without beauty and meaning in the Chaos Dwarf mindset. After all, it is a visible marker of your fulfilled ability to dominate others.
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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 9:04:06 GMT
The Bull Chariot and the Goblins in the Gorge, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was a headstrong chief Bull Charioteer, mighty and glorious to behold in his cruelty. He reigned akin to a god on the battlefield, and the foe was crushed before his thunderous charge. One day, the chief Bull Charioteer led an attack against a Goblin tribe. Headlong he crashed into their ranks, and scattered their broken corpses around him. His blade hewed and hewed, and the Goblins fled before the wrath of him and his host.
The chief Bull Charioteer rushed ahead of his own army, in wild pursuit of the routed enemy. Not even the Bull Centaurs could keep apace with his Bull Chariot. Soon, the Goblins fled shrieking into a narrow gorge.
"We must halt here, lest the rocks in the gorge may tear our carriage asunder," shouted the chariot driver at the reins.
"Hashut favours the bold. We must trample them here and now," replied the chief Bull Charioteer.
"Yet the gorge is very narrow," protested the chariot driver.
"All the better, that will channel the enemy in a line ahead of us. They cannot escape us in that bottleneck. Steer true and mow them down!" roared the chief Bull Charioteer.
The Bull Chariot trundled into the gorge, and crushed dozens of Goblins before it. The petty Greenskins were scared into wild panic and trampled each other in order to escape, yet the Bull Chariot was faster. Suddenly, the whole Bull Chariot winced as it got stuck between the walls of the gorge, and could not move an inch further.
When the Goblins saw this, they took heart and climbed the walls of the gorge. The whole tribe surrounded the stuck Bull Chariot on all sides, and slowly stoned the Bull Charioteers to death. For such is the fate of those who would not heed their surroundings, and who would ignore the conditions of the landscape.
- The Bull Chariot and the Goblins in the Gorge, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund*
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* The moral of the story is the fundamental, military maxim of always using the landscape to your advantage, and to avoid disadvantageous positions as if they were weapons of the enemy. Chariots are particularly exposed to difficult terrain. Note the Bull Chariot, an ancient vehicle of war of the Chaos Dwarfs, seldom seen in battle nowadays. The Bull Chariot is drawn by the wingless, bastard sons of male Tauruses and female cattle, although sometimes constructs of possessed Daemons are used. Modern variants of this fable sometimes involves an Iron Daemon instead of a Bull Chariot.
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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 9:09:09 GMT
The Nehekharan and the Arcane Engineer, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was an ingenious Arcane Engineer who was famed for his inventions. Amongst his many slaves there was a Manling from Nehekhara of the pyramids, who dared neither slack nor complain. One day, the Arcane Engineer had built a new kind of furnace, and he needed an untiring labourer. He chose the Nehekharan.
"This furnace must be fed with fuel all the time until I command to halt. You must sate its raging hunger, slave," commanded the Arcane Engineer.
The Nehekharan worked hard and toiled fast for long hours to shovel coal into the furnace, yet he could not keep pace with the fire. Eventually, all the coal in the furnace had burnt up, yet still the signal to stop fuel had not been given. The Arcane Engineer was furious and grabbed ahold of the tired slave.
"Why is the furnace cooling when it should be heating?" asked the Arcane Engineer.
"I must eat and sleep sometime," replied the Nehekharan.
"No, you must not! You have failed because you have been lazy! You must work day and night until your heart breaks from exhaustion," barked the Arcane Engineer.
"But I cannot feed it enough coal!" protested the Nehekharan.
"Then we'll feed you to the furnace," growled the Arcane Engineer, and threw the slave into the flames. For such is the fate of those who would not give their all when their master demands it.
- The Nehekharan and the Arcane Engineer, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund*
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* This ruthless work ethic, for slaves in particular, is a fundamental part of the Dawi Zharr empire. In addition, note how memories of ancient empires may survive within Chaos Dwarf oral culture, long after their might have turned into dust and death have claimed them. In ancient times, Nehekharans fetched one of the highest prices of any Human tribes on Chaos Dwarf slave markets, since their people's labour on titanic monuments in the homeland made them industrious like few other Manlings.
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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 9:10:12 GMT
The Hobgoblin and the Hellsmith, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was an industrious Hellsmith who trekked the northern lands and traded armour and artefacts for slaves and secrets from the Fimir. One day, he and his retinue were overcome in a nightly raid by barbarian Manlings. The Hellsmith and his followers were bound, and atop a rock, the Humans began to sacrifice them with flint and bone weapons. One by one the captives were slaughtered to summon a dark demigod, until only the Hellsmith and a Hobgoblin remained.
"You will be his earthly feast. For he will come forth soon. My tribe will conclude the ritual from a safe distance and watch the divinity devour you alive," declared the Human Sorceror.
The Manlings departed, and left the Hellsmith and the Hobgoblin amidst a field of corpses.
"Can I trust you with my life if it will save yours?" asked the Hellsmith.
"Yes, you can," promised the Hobgoblin.
"Good. I can cut short the summoning, but for that I need my hands free. Quick! There is a hidden knife under my beard. Cut my ropes!" said the Hellsmith.
Awkwardly, the Hobgoblin reached the hidden knife and drew it. But the Hobgoblin stabbed the Hellsmith instead of freeing him.
"Why did you do that? Now we'll both die!" gasped the dying Hellsmith.
"Because it lies in my nature to stab," said the Hobgoblin, before they were both devoured alive by the dark demigod. For such is the fate of those who would fool themselves by trusting others, and who cannot see things for what they are.
- The Hobgoblin and the Hellsmith, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund*
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* Note the wealth of ancient Fimir and the primitive ancestors of the Human Marauder tribes of the current age. Chaos Dwarf cultural memory stretches back decidedly further than that of any living Human nation. Also, note that the promotion of Hobgoblins to an elite slave caste within the Chaos Dwarf empire dates back only to the Black Orc Rebellion, many centuries after Uhr-Kulmbizharr's time. Before that, Hobgoblins were enslaved just as any Dark Lands Greenskins were, yet their extreme treacherousness was infamous already.
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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 9:10:32 GMT
The Doomsayer and the Feral Goblins, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was a man who lived all his life with a certainty of impending doom. He was even negligent of portents and hidden signs from Dark Gods and Daemons alike which contradicted his fears of death around the corner, and for this he was called the doomsayer. Whenever he travelled somewhere, the doomsayer went alone, for no armed caravan would have him and his gloom in its midst.
One day, the doomsayer was out prospecting in the wilderness, when he spotted a group of feral Goblins just in time to hide from them. To get past the vile Greenskins, the doomsayer had to sneak through a small gorge. He crept silently through it and even took off his hat, Hashut forbid, to avoid detection.
However, in the middle of the gorge, the Bull God struck the doomsayer with despair:
"They'll be over me any moment now. This is the end! I'm sure the Goblins can hear me," keened the doomsayer.
And so they did, for they heard his voice.
"I knew it!" yelled the doomsayer, before the feral Goblins ripped open his arms, split his bones and ate his marrow in front of the doomsayer's own eyes. For such is the fate of those who would dare to make predictions of doom not based upon the omens and prophecies of high Hashut and Chaos.
- The Doomsayer and the Feral Goblins, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund
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