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Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 17:57:07 GMT
In misty days of olden yore there clanged and banged a hammer. Wrought with runes, strong to strike, it forged nails, arms and wonders alike. Upon doom-laden anvil, it struck hot matter again and again. Sparks flew. This hammer was Irongrip of the Depths, and it was wielded by leathery hands that could tear rocks apart. Those powerful hands were the Ancestor God Grungni's, praised be his lore, craft and works until the world ends and the mountains come crashing down.
One midwinter night, dour Grungni struck and struck again at the red-glowing matter upon his anvil. He turned it hither and thither, and so hardened was his thick skin that he did not even need tongs to turn the hot matter. And thus, whenever a fine angle was sought, he dropped the tongs and clenched the sizzling metal between his fingers, keeping it as steady as the ancient heart of the mountains while he struck the matter with his mighty hammer. Yet this frosty night, curses were upon the wind, and Grungni slipped with his hammer. He struck his own thumb, and he yelled and swore, driving his reddening hand into the water pail into which the hot metal is lowered to cool and harden.
Yet as Grungni moved his pained hand to the water pail, a single drop of glowing, hot blood fell from his thumb down upon the Anvil of Doom. So furious was Grungni in his anger that the blood caught fire in mid-air, landing in flames upon the anvil. And from those tiny flames sprang a tiny spark-being shaped like a dark bull, running off into the world. And so the Accursed One who shall not be named was created by the blacksmith's wrath.
- Excerpt from the forbidden Dwarf tome Blood Grudge
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 9:14:12 GMT
Written by: Dînadan"Long ago in Ages past, the Gods of Chaos did not make war upon each other. And in this Time the Gods did dwell in Grand Houses atop Mount Khaosus at the heart of the Realm of Chaos, and from there commanded their armies to make War upon the Heavens. In this far off time they did not war upon each other, merely quarrel as brothers are wont to do. At first there were Four; martial Khorne, bilious Nurgle, passionate Slaanesh and deceitful Tzeentch, but in time came more.
All were jealous of Khorne's strength, for in matters of the arm none could defeat him. One day Tzeentch devised a plan to steal it for himself for he sought to set himself above his brothers. After a glorious battle in which Khorne had won much renown, Tzeentch declared a toast to his brother and raised his goblet high. Unbeknownst to Khorne, through slight of hand Tzeentch had replaced the wine in his skull goblet with a vintage spirited from Slaanesh's private cellar and when the Lord of War received the toast and supped the wine he felt a great weariness come upon him, for none other than the Prince of Excess could drink that wine and not fall into a deep sleep. As his brother slumbered, the King of Sorcery cast a net over him and bound him tight. Chanting a spell of transference, Tzeentch held an orb of crystal fashioned from his own eye to Khorne's lips, each breath filling the vessel with his strength. But in that moment of triumph, he was betrayed for foolishly he had entrusted Korne's binding to a legion of pink horrors who did squabble amongst themselves and awoke the Blood God. In his anger, he broke his bonds and battered aside the Great Mutator who did drop the orb. Infused with a breath of Khorne's strength and a sliver of Tzeentch's magic, when it shattered on the marble floor and a new God was borne. Strong as an ox, cloven of hoof and horned of head was the godling and Khorne's anger did turn to grim mirth, for he saw not his brother's treachery, but instead saw a son to set at his side and he named him Hashut.
Hashut learnt craft from both his fathers; at Khorne's right hand he learnt the Arts of War, and at Tzeentch's knee he learnt sorcerous secrets. And being keen of mind he saw how he could meld the domains of his fathers just as he himself was a melding of they themselves. Taking up a hammer, he sequestered himself in a vault deep within Mount Khaosus for twelve days and nights. With each hammer strike the Mountain shook and gouts of polychromatic flame burst from its sides. On the twelfth night as the clock struck midnight he emerged from his seclusion and went before the Great Four bearing gifts. For father Khorne he bore a bronze sword, for father Tzeentch a golden staff, for uncle Nurgle an iron cauldron and for uncle Slaanesh a silver mirror. So enamoured were they by the gifts the four brothers did declare that from thence forth Hashut was to be the Smith of the Gods and they rose up a house on the slopes on Mounth Khaosus below and betwixt the palaces of Tzeentch and Khorne.
Long Ages passed, and under his hammer, countless daemons toiled at the Forge, churning out armaments for the Gods' armies to fight their unceasing war. From Hashut's mind sprang many ingenious devices and machines and it is said by some that it was he who first devised the idea of the Soul Grinders and bound a Prince of each of the Four to make the first ones. In time the Great Four grew apart and became more hostile to each other, though none yet had openly moved against the others. In this Time, Tzeentch did go to his son Hashut under the guise of reconciliation with Khorne and whispered in his ear. Hashut, ever the loyal son did listen to his father enamoured by the scope of his plan. Knowing that Khorne would need mighty troops for the War against the Old Ones, Hashut lured the mightiest daemons below the Bloodthirster's in Khorne's army, the Bloodbrutes, into his forge and did slaughter them. For ninety-six days Hashut hammered away at his forge, fashioning bronze armour and bound the souls of the Bloodbrutes to them and thus the Juggernauts were born. Pride in his heart, Hashut went before the Skull Throne with his new work and showed it to his father. But instead of gratitude, the work kindled wrath in Khorne's heart, for he saw what his son did not; the transmutation did not enhance the Bloodbrutes' powers, but contained them and if the armour were ever to be destroyed utterly, so too would the daemon bound to it.
Blind Rage descended on Khorne for the first time and in his anger he did grasp his son by the hoof and cast him out of Khaosus. Through Time and Places beyond mortal ken Hashut fell to earth where he smote the land and shattered it beyond repair. And thus came to be that which in Later Ages is known as the Plain of Zharr. And in his bitterness did Hashut vow to never truly trust his Infernal Kin again, for doing so had lead to his ruin. Spite filling his heart he vowed to raise up Children of his own and become Master of All. In time his anger cooled, for he was the son of the Hatemonger, not the Hatemonger himself, but the bitterness never faded..."- One of the myths laid down in the scrolls known as The Khaosiad . These heretical texts containing various myths which Dawi-ise the Chaos Gods and their daemons are among the forbidden artefacts contained within the White Archives of Zharr-Naggrund. Other myths include the births of Nechoho, Zuvassin and the Horned Rat, and how the Doubter came to turn his back on the Gods, how the Great Undoer was undone himself and how the Verminking was expelled after devouring Nurgle's favourite crops. Yet another speaks of how the downfall of the Lesser Four was the doing of Malal, although this is contradicted by the next which blames Tzeentch. The scrolls are also notable for containing multiple versions of the same myth, or expanding on parts of one of the myths by creating a full blown narrative. Trying to comprehend the truths behind the Khaosiad has driven more than a few Sorcerer-Prophets mad and these days most now dismiss it as an elaborate hoax by Tzeentch, though there are still those who search for the lost scrolls. |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 9:18:11 GMT
Written by: Dînadan"In the distant times long before the world there were many Gods of Chaos and each had his own domain. In this time they lived in relative peace with each other, but there was one who could not abide the others. Malal despised the others and sought to see them brought low. Taking the form of a great two headed serpent, one head black as obsidian the other white as the driven snow, he did make war on his kin and consumed them. Four only escaped his betrayal, Khorne the God of Honour, Nurgle the God of Vitality, Tzeentch the God of Magics and Slaanesh the God of Beauty who was but a child. Malal could not abide the thought of them living and pursued them to the ends of the Realm of Chaos where upon he ensnared young Slaanesh. The Serpent took the Prince back to his lair, a rock in the centre of the Broiling Sea, for in that time the Gods did love their brother dearly and thus did Malal seek to use Slaanesh as bait to draw them to him so he could consume them.
Enraged by the kidnapping of their beloved brother, Khorne, Nurgle and Tzeentch vowed to slay the Serpent and rescue the child. They took refuge in the Forge of Souls, hoping to find weapons to aid them in their venture where they found that one other had escaped Malal. Hashut, Smith of the Gods and their uncle, gifted them with gear; to Khorne a bronze breastplate to guard against the Serpent's fangs; to Nurgle a bow with ten arrows dipped in the blood of the God of Poisons and the Tzeentch a cloak wreathed in Shadows. The brothers pleaded with their uncle to come with them and fight alongside them, but he refused and turned back to his forge, vowing to craft a mighty weapon to slay Malal if they would but tarry. But the brothers, consumed by worry, did not listen and set out immediately.In the dead of night they snuck up to the shores of the Broiling Sea, hoping to catch the Serpent as he slumbered, but to their dismay, one head slept while the other watched the shore with lidless eyes. The brothers took shelter in a cave to make a new plan whereupon they found two more Gods to have escaped Malal. Grievously wounded, the God of Doubt decried their plan as doomed to fail and refused to help but his brother, the God of Unmaking, pledged his knife to their cause. And so on the morn they set out on their quest.Standing on the shore, Khorne bellowed a challenge, but the Serpent remained on his island. Nurgle standing high on the cliffs, drew his bow and let loose an arrow and then another. Hissing in anger, the Serpent plunged into the Broiling Sea and swam to meet Khorne's challenge. Drawing his bow once more, Nurgle loosed six more arrows, striking true with each. As he drew the ninth, the God of Unmaking struck, plunging his knife deep into Nurgle's breast, felling him, for the knife was seeped in the venom that dripped from the fangs of Malal's white head. The God of Unmaking had been entranced by Malal's hypnotic gaze and was in his thrall. He raised the knife to strike once more, but at that moment the eighth God to have escaped the Serpent's betrayal revealed himself. The God of Opportunity had gone unnoticed for he had taken the form of a lowly rodent, a form beneath the notice of the prideful Gods of Chaos. Seizing the chance to curry favour with the four brothers, he lunged at the betrayer and drove him over the cliff and into the Sea.With his brothers distracting the Serpent, Tzeentch used his new cloak and his sorcery to fly out to the island and spirited Slaanesh away to safety and thus did not see the God of Unmaking's betrayal. Nor did Khorne, for though he was a mighty warrior, he was hard pressed by the Serpent's assault. They duelled for hours and Khorne grew weary. Seizing the opportunity, the Serpent coiled around him and crushed him with his bulk. Thinking himself done for, Khorne struck with his axe, but lightning quick, the Serpent snatched it from his grasp and tossed it aside.Then, unlooked for, Tzeentch arrived once more on wings of shadow. He had spirited his two brothers to safety, taking them to their uncle's forge for safety whereupon he had found Hashut had finished the weapon he had been working on. The God of Magics handed the enscorceled sword to his brother and withdrew once more. Filled with strength anew, Khorne shirked off the Serpent's coils and hewed at him. Malal recoiled hissing, for never before had he felt such pain. Bellowing in rage, Khorne did strike once more slicing both heads from the body with one blow. Cursing the name Malal, the God of Honour cast the heads into a deep pit and hurled a mountain atop it to seal the traitor in forever.His strength spent, he collapsed at the foot of the mountain where he was found by his brothers and uncle who hewed four palaces from the mountaintop for his nephews before returning to his forge. The brothers named the mountain Khaosus and declared themselves the Kings of the Realm. They cursed the God of Doubt for his naysaying, the God of Undoing for his treachery and the God of Opportunity for his cowardice, for though he had helped them, he had only done so to try and win their favour. Seeing that they four were now the only Gods, they cast lots for the domains of their fallen kin. To Khorne went the Sky, to Nurgle the Land, to Slaanesh the Sea and to Tzeentch the Aether.And hence forth they did rule and were changed. Khorne embodied the wrath of the raging wind; Nurgle the resilience of unyielding rock; Slaanesh the dichotomy of the ocean that rages above yet is calm beneath the waves; Tzeentch the fickleness of the netherworld. And their rule did last for Ages beyond count, but in time darkness gnawed at their hearts for in their dreams Malal whispered to them and in time they did come to make war upon each other and Malal did smile for in doing so they sealed their Doom for from thence forth it became the Nature of Chaos to be self defeating and to turn upon itself and ever since Chaos has been fated to always sabotage itself in its moment of triumph and doomed to always lose."- One of the earliest myths in the heretical text the Khaosiad . This myth is notable in that most of its features are not mentioned elsewhere unlike many of the other myths in the Khaosiad which reference each other or repeat another myth but with minor differences. It is also notable for its contradictions with later myths, most notably the existence of Hashut which is of particular interest to Dawi Zharr scholars. The accepted reconciliation by those who have read it is that due to the original scrolls being written in a very archaic script and tongue that it is in fact a mistranslation and that the mentioned God should be Haz'hūt rather than Hash'ūt and it is believed that he was an earlier God whose domain was subsumed by Hashut at some point. However there are some who doubt this explanation as there is no record of such a god and thus the myth is either in error or is a forgery. Others still point out that within the Realm of Chaos, time, as mortals understand it, has no meaning and thus it is entirely possible for Hashut to be born later and still help out the Great Four at an earlier point. |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 9:20:58 GMT
Written by: Dînadan"...and so Hashut was cast out from Khaosus and smote His ruin upon the land, split in tern. Three gods and yet one there were. And so Hashut came to be known as the Twelve-hoofed God to mortals. The three brothers piled the rubble from their ruin high, building a mighty black mountain that in latter days came to be called Mingol Zharr-Naggrund. A gross of years it took them to build and when it was complete they stood atop the summit and surveyed the land, claiming it as their Kingdom.
Though one God, they were also three and quarrelled over who should rule. Each claimed that he should be supreme and set out to prove it.
Rudharazgorlok, the Red Fire Bull journeyed West and then South, and everywhere he trod flames leapt up and great volcanoes rose. In the south he warred with dragons and slew a gross, for his fires were too hot even for them.
Dronstokgorlok, the Thunder Striker Bull journeyed South, for he had seen the sun glinting off the waters of the sea and it enraged him for it reminded him of the fires of Rudharazgorlok. He raced along the mountain tops, striking sparks with each hoof beat and cast himself into the sea over and over until the waters boiled and the steam blotted out the sun.
Uzgulmhornargorlok, the Death's Shadow Bull journeyed North. In those days the land there was fertile and great beasts roamed everywhere. Everywhere he cast his shadow crops withered and beasts keeled over and when he left, a cold, dry, desolate plain strewn with skulls was all that remained.
The three Bulls ascended the mountain once more and bragged of their exploits, yet still they could not decide who was greatest. They fought for supremacy for a tweleveday nonstop, wreathing the peak in fire and shadow that could be seen for miles. Exhausted they each took a step back, too tired to continue, but too stubborn to submit. Knowing none could claim supremacy, they agreed to a truce and decided to cast lots, leaving their fate to the Weaver. They agreed to divide their Empire into three domains, the Land, the Sky and the Dark Places.
The lots were cast and to Rudharazgorlok went the land, the premier domain, and he filled it with his magmatic blood and stands of copper and iron hair from his hide; to Dronstokgorlok went the second domain, that which is the sky, and he called forth storms across the sky to cow any mortals that dared look up at his majesty; the last and least, the Dark Places, went to Uzgulhornargorlok, who bore the slight stoically, claiming the souls of all mortals under their domains as recompense.
And thus Hashut was one God and yet three and became known as the Twelve-hoofed God. Thus, though He is worshiped as one Father, His children will invoke one of his aspects when dealing with one of His domains; miners, smiths and prophets call upon Rudharazgorlok in their duties, mariners will sacrifice to Dronstokgorlok, now called Stromfels by some, to placate him before setting sail, lest in His anger one of his storms sink them, and the morticians of the Cremitoria bow to Uzgulhornargorlok at funerals and place a gold coin on each of the deceased's eyes so that their soul may pay the toll to enter His Kingdom."
- Extract from the heretical text the Khaosiad . Though worship of Hashut is of many faces and varied, and Dawi Zharr sailors do sacrifice to Stromfels and the temples of the Funerary Cult do depict Hashut as a skull-headed bull, the view of Hashut as a trinity deity as depicted in this extract has never been popular and most see the aspects as just different names for Hashut rather than of gods which are disparate from and yet simultaneously part of Him. |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 19:21:41 GMT
Written by: Revlid Daemons are, in many ways, like fish. Although the waters of Chaos may seem quiet and lifeless at times, rest assured there are thousands upon thousands of warp-born creatures within, some toothed and vicious, others beguiling and graceful, all dangerous.
Although daemons move with grace and power within the Realm of Chaos, outside of it they flop and fumble at a fraction of their power, desperately clutching at strands of magic to keep themselves in our world for a few more precious moments.
It is well documented in the more closely-monitored books of the wizard colleges of Altdorf that only in the most magically saturated environments can daemons survive for any length of time. Such places are the infamous Chaos Wastes, a pentagram filled with magic in the way water fills a fishbowl, or in the circumference of the chaotic energies that lash around daemons of the higher orders.
Despite the obvious dangers of consorting with such creatures, the practice of daemon-summoning is not confined to Chaos-worshippers and desperate madmen (often the same thing); whole nations have, in the past, been accepting of (or at least subjected to) daemonology as a part of life. The first of the necromancer-priests of Mourkain were said to commune with daemons to extend their powers and thereby their connection to their undead god, and even now cultists of Ind summon golden-skinned elementals and many-limbed beasts from the depths of the warp to worship and war, while deep in the swamps of Khuresh the overthrown priesthood of the Hexxitarri were exposed as daemon-worshippers and necromancers.
It is hardly suprising, then, that many minds, mad and reasoned alike, have been bent to the purpose of maintaining such creatures in this plane. But the methods that allow this are few, and far between for those not possessed of a truly formidable magical strength. It is known for truly mighty mages to be able to draw magic from nearby areas, turning a slight breeze of the coloured winds into a veritable maelstrom, allowing them to maintain a force of daemonic entities at their beck and call. This, however, lasts only as long as they can harness the raw power of Chaos without their heads imploding. Or worse.
It was first discovered by dark mages within Nehekara that daemons could be bound into material objects, keeping them in this plane and forcing them to subservience at a cost to their power. Great examples of this daemancy include carpets bound with Screamers to send the rider airborne, and lamps or rings with a daemon inside who could be called to perform the bearer’s will. These artefacts were unstable, with carpets unravelling in mid-air and lamps exploding in a sudden storm of superheated shrapnel.
When such mage’s eyes turned to necromancy, some of the lost knowledge filtered through to Araby, where the binding of impish minor daemons still takes place. Such artifacts are more reliable here, due to its distance from either of the Chaos Gates, and the subsequent loss in power of the daemons that are forced to manifest there.
Primitive daemon-binding has appeared in other parts of the world too, most notably through the application of ichor, a daemon’s lifeblood, to an object. Many are the chaotic Runeswords that have been baptised in the ichor of a powerful Daemon, the wild magic that ran through the daemon’s veins soaking into the unholy blades in a display of potent, if unpredictable, daemon binding. The most notable daemon binders in the history of the world, however, are the Chaos Dwarfs. Whether using Flamers of Tzeentch to power black smithies or mischievous Nurglings as ammunition for the potent Blunderpus, the Dawi Zharr are without doubt the most advanced daemonologists of their time, far beyond the primitive blood rituals and soul sacrifices of the sorcerers and shamans of Chaos.
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Since the beginning of the habitation of Zharr Naggrund by the corrupted dwarfs, the black fortress bordering the Ogre Kingdoms known as Daemon’s Stump has ever been the hub of daemonbinding activity. Named Daemon's Stump by the trade-caravans and Ogre tribes that dare venture within sight of it, the fortress squats on the edge of the Mountains of Mourn like a vast soot-blackened tree-stump, eerie wails and moans carried as far as the Sentinels by the unnatural winds that whirl around it. The only name known in the Chaos Dwarf language for the fortress is Mingoldhaos-Dragh, Fortress of the Daemon Slavers.
The foundations of the fortress were laid many centuries ago, when a cabal of Chaos Dwarf Sorcerers came across a great stone pillar. Sensing great daemonic energies within it, they set up a small tower to tap the energies within. This expanded over time, goblinswing naturally outward, until a particular ambitious Sorcerer-Priest had the entire structure encased within stone walls and a metal ceiling, shutting off the inner areas of the Stump from outside interference.
The corrupted rivers near the stump give off a sulphurous smell, bubbling thickly as the refuse of the day’s industry flows through it. The stump itself appears to be some sort of blackened wooden construction at a distance, but such notions are banished by a closer look, which shows the outer wall to actually be construction of blackened metal and stone, the many gargoyle-like faces that decorate its surface seeming to move gently across the surface of the thin obsidian layer that coats the outer wall as though poured onto the structure as liquid.
The only interruption of the obsidian coating of the wall comes in the form of great carved pentacles, impossibly ornate and filled with dark corrupted runes that pulse with the light of a furnace at night and hurt the eye of one untrained in daemonology.
Although seemingly circular in nature, observation shows the stump to actually be an octagon, with a great gate in the centre of each wall. The stump is also not merely a city protected by walls, as it is roofed by a great barbed cover of metal, supported not only by the outside wall but by a huge central pillar within.
Each of the eight stone gates are covered in great interlocking gears, all of which are one part of a great vastly complex mechanism that opens the doors of Daemon’s Stump or holds them closed against even the mightiest of siege engines.
Through the gates great passages interconnect and wind, harshly glowing runes at crossroads sending message carriers, emissaries and others unfamiliar with the city to their destination, be it an engineer’s workshop, an alchemist’s laboratory or the grand library of daemonlore. At times even the many Chaos Dwarfs that dwell in Daemon’s Stump have to use the markers, as the passages shift and grind into new configurations, although whether this is through the daemonic energies that constantly surge through the fortress or some vast hidden mechanism beneath the floor is unknown.
The centre of the mazelike fortress mimics the outside in its octagonal structure, the cold black stone that comprises its walls starkly contrasted the central column that supports the great staircase. The column pulses and goblinsans like a living thing, tortured and goblinsaning faces pushing out of the stone as if to escape before resubmerging into the darkness. This is the unnatural pillar around which the Stump was built, and a common initiation ceremony into the ranks of the daemonbinders is a test to see how long a prospective dwarf can stay in contact with the pillar. The current record holder is Drazheen Chalkfinger, who after six hours had seven pickaxes blunted on his petrified hand before he could be removed from the daemonic stone.
Upon descending the staircase the contrast between the cold dark of the upper levels and the hellish lower levels is made even clearer, solid black walls turning to twisted rock that appears to have only just solidified, libraries and workshops being replaced by pits of twisting blood and metal, near silence giving way to tortured screams and the grinding of metal and stone; These are the industrial floors of Daemon’s Stump.
Through the fiery glow of corrupted runes can be seen huge furnaces, rows of near-naked slaves with chains attached to their bare flesh, and altars of ensorcelled iron. The enslaved mine the seemingly endless ore of Zharr Naggrund for use in daemonic engines and weapons, Engineers constructing the framework of the device in furnaces the size of small houses powered either by coal or daemons. The vile and noxious fumes from this floor are funneled out through natural chimneys in the rock that create vast columns of smoke around Daemon’s Stump, only adding to the many dark tales of the place.
There is only one level deeper than the industrial levels, led down to by a stone platform carved in the shape of an eight-sided rune. This is not one of the intricate summoning circles of the highest floors, but a crude mark scratched straight into the living rock by some beast of burden, pick armed slaves, or (as popular rumour tells) a warring Greater Daemon in battle with a mighty Ogre. It grinds up and down (how is a closely guarded secret, and whether through a concealed system of gears, some strange enchantment, or a workforce of hidden slaves, few know) from the sweaty furnace of the industrial levels down to the cool darkness of the final level, dusty and dead. It is this platform that is used to move the silent metal shells of daemonic engines, where they might be completed in the most terrible and secretive level of the Stump; the Hall of Daemons.
- - -
It is in this shadowy hall, deep in the earth, that the constructs of iron and bone are daemon-forged into the engines of destruction that have truly made the Chaos Dwarfs a force to be feared. For each machine, a sacrifice is made of slaves, the size and quality of the sacrifice depending on the machine. The cutting of a human slave's throat, for example, would be adequate to bring forth enough power to ensorcel ammunition for a Death Rocket, but the binding of an entirely new warmachine would take a far greater sacrifice, scores of slaves, or a wizard.
The dark magic conjured forth by each sacrifice draws in daemons from the Realm of Chaos, lured in by the bait of the sacrifice. Once they are in place, the trap is sprung, and they are wrenched from their realm of madness and magic as willingly as a ship drawn into a whirlpool, incantations and runes of the daemon-smiths. diabolical energies are enslaved and bound into the iron shell of the machine.
These rituals are accomplished with relative ease, for the Stump and the surrounding area are saturated with daemonic energy, most so in the Hall, where the twisted creatures would materialize as freely as in the Chaos Wastes were it not for the immensely powerful wards wrought around it. Only the most influential of the Dumendrikuli know this closely guarded secret, although even they do not truly understand the reason why.
Surprisingly for such a twisted and dangerous place, the lords of Daemon’s Stump are often on very good terms of all the fortresses with two of the Dawi Zharr’s allies; the armoured Chaos Warriors of the North and the ravenous Ogres of the East. It was from Daemon’s stump that Ghark Ironskin’s great Juggernox stomped forth, snorting sulphurous steam from its nostrils. The snarling Hellcannon and disciplined crew that accompanied Archaon on his failed bid to conquer the Old World lent their services from the stunted tower. Other races also trade with this daemonic fortress - the Hobgoblins of the Steppes have been known to send many of their number into slavery in exchange for the animation of crude clay constructs. The chittering hordes of the Skaven also seem to have trade links with the Stump, or so the few daemonically-possessed Rat Ogres around the Hell Pit would suggest. Their allies have also been used to test new weapons (the Hellcannon being an example of this), early daemonic warmachines called Thunderers were gifted to warbands in the Chaos Wastes to see how they did, all of them eventually being destroyed or lost.
- - -
Whilst most certainly the largest and most skilled producer of daemonic warmachines and weaponry, Daemon’s Stump is not the only place where these unholy engines can be found. Indeed, the workshops of these arcane engineers can be found in most fortresses in the Darklands, where they forge weaponry and warmachines for their Overlord.
Although dwarfs and machinery from the Stump are mainly seen in the employ of their allies and armies from other cities, such as the nearby Black Fortress, when the armies of Daemon’s Stump do set out it is a terrifying sight. Garbled rumours from the marauder raiders who escaped whatever damned plain the battle was fought on speak of berserk dwarfs possessed by daemons, red hot iron-plates hammered into their skin as crude armour. They tell of snarling warmachines that belch forth their payloads like ogres spitting out goblin skulls, of steedless steel chariots whose crew restrain as much as drive them, and of daemon packs bound to slavers by ethereal chains, moaning and writhing in pain as they claw at the foes of their masters. Their gibbered stories speak of metal giants with blazing eyes smashing regiments beneath their iron feet, and hordes of mechanical creatures the size of snotlings swarming over and stabbing men with bladed hands.
As the most reclusive and insular of the Chaos Dwarf fortess-cities, little is known of the projects of the dwarfs of Daemon’s Stump. Most of the time the individual engineers and smiths seem content to tinker with whatever diabolical mechanism or deadly weapon they are focused on at the moment, at times many of them band together for a goblinsup effort to create some vast mechanical monstrosity pulled from the nightmares of the insane. Thankfully such times are few and far between, as each individual’s overbearing pride and paranoia prevents most of them from getting very far.
It is rumoured that a particularly demented goblinsup of dwarfs declared that, based on the theory of Balizhen the Crazed that gods are simply daemons so supremely powerful they cannot sustain themselves on the mortal plane at all, they could (and would attempt to) bind a god into a huge metal shell, where its power would be at their command. Despite the powerful wards and material defences of the stump, all of the goblinsup were found dead in interesting, gruesome and very public ways, the most impressive of which was an eruption of boils, warts, and blisters on the inside and out that indicated stark disapproval on Grandfather Nurgle’s part.
Whether the daemonologists of Daemon’s Stump will continue to aggravate the divine in such a fashion is unknown, but what is certain is that the corrupted dwarfs of the iron citadel are the greatest daemonsmiths in the history of this age, and it is only a matter of time before the next breakthrough in daemonology is made…Revlid |
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Post by BBoyslus on Feb 25, 2019 22:20:25 GMT
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Post by admiral on Mar 17, 2024 17:15:45 GMT
Illustrated by: ForgefireWritten by: KNC Naggrund SlaversFar away beyond lands of men lie an ashen desolation. Seated betwixt twain towering mountain ranges are to be found the Dark Lands,wreathed in embers and smoke. Here, volcanoes roar and spew forth their fumes. Elsewhere, such vents of the underworld would turn the soil fertile, yet not so in the Dark Lands. For these ravaged landscapes are well and truly cursed. The dreaded Bull treads here.
In the Dark Lands dwell innumerable savage tribes, roaming as cannibal nomads in search of prey amid thorny bushes and jagged cliffs. Here are also to be found monsters defying reason itself with their existence, preying upon the squabbling mortal folk. Yet the apex predator of the Dark Lands is of lowly stature, stout and strong and the best toolmaker of them all. For the prime hunter of these forsaken wastes is the Dawi Zharr, also known as the Chaos Dwarf. His dark empire of Mingol Zharr-Naggrund the Great and all her holdings is sworn in service to the ravenous Bull God, Hashut, the saviour and enslaver of his kin, whom the Dwarf of Fire sacrifices to in relentless ritual worship upon the Temple altar.
The screaming sacrificial victims who have fed the insatiable hunger of this Dark God over the centuries may be beyond number, but far numerous still are the whipped hordes of slaves teeming in open-pit mines, plantation, lethal manufactories and other foul industries, all of them about to be worked to death by oppressive taskmasters. Each of these doomed thralls can tell a harrowing tale of starvation and backbreaking toil, as well as of cruelty and violence and horror. The enslaved labourers will learn to fear their masters and owners, the Chaos Dwarfs, yet they will likewise come to live in terror of the middleman slavedriver caste, the heinous Hobgoblins with their wicked knives. Cruelty is second nature for these treacherous Greenskins, and they take great pleasure in whipping around and punishing the Chaos Dwarfs' masses of slaves, as the Hobgoblins strut around like petty potentates with borrowed power, shooting glances as sharp as their hidden daggers from under fur-trimmed hats and dangling cloth caps.
Among the patchwork of Chaos Dwarf holdings on the polluted Plain of Zharr was once to be found the modest demesne of Sorcerer-Prophet Zharru-Ukin, quarrying plenty of granite for fortifications and mining a bitter harvest of lead and the zinc ore known as sphalerite. This dispersed realm of quarries and mining pits were jealously guarded by sturdy watchtowers and small ziggurats, each a pale echo of the titanic stepped city that is the Tower of Zharr-Naggrund, the megalomaniacal capital of the sprawling Chaos Dwarf empire.
Sorcerer-Prophet Zharru-Ukin was once a cunning master of dark sorcery, particularly in the art of fire magic, though less so with metal. Although Zharru-Ukin was but a lesser Sorcerer-Prophet within the exalted Priesthood of Hashut, he had once proved himself a capable schemer and backstabber, seemingly capable of always striking the winning alliance in any crisis of intrigue. Zharru-Ukin had once gained the epithet of the Harsh, a compliment for his callous treatment of imprisoned warriors out on mechanized expeditions. All this was once ago. More recently, however, this minor Sorcerer-Prophet had started to be called the Mad.
For Zharru-Ukin, the Curse of Stone proved to be a far slower poison than the intoxicating nectar of Chaos, for the Sorcerer-Prophet descended into powerless impotence as his sanity was overcome by the unnatural forces which he sought to enslave, just as he had enslaved mortal flesh and broken mortal will among the living. Thus Zharru-Ukin shifted between dumb lethargy and bouts of raving madness. He would witness otherworldly visions during epilectic seizures accompanied by prophetic ramblings which attendant Temple Acolytes diligently wrote down, and so they filled a whole archive chamber with their slaveskin parchment scrolls, heinous tomes, ashen clay tablets, carved bones and skulls, and etched metal plates. All testament to the ravings of Zharru-Ukin the Mad, who would be peered over in search of mysteries for ages yet to come.
As the power base of the demented Sorcerer-Prophet collapsed, Zharru-Ukin's underling Overlord Zharek the Bold acted swiftly to gain a measure of power and independence in the otherwise rigidly priest-ruled Chaos Dwarf empire. This warrior's warlord went to great lengths to mask his superior Sorcerer-Prophet's pathetic insanity, and thus Zharek had Zharru-Ukin hidden away, while letting his followers circulate rumours about the ingenious secret works of his secluded master. According to this common gossip, the upstart Zharru-Ukin displayed divine and unholy sparks of genius, which had made the Sorcerer-Prophet discard his mundane life for a Hashut-dedicated avalanche of intense study and experimentation, for rumours had it that Zharru-Ukin delved into arcane secrets and unparallelled inventions for the higher glory of the fiery Bull God.
The selfsame rumour said that Zharru-Ukin had hidden away his great works in the catacombs beneath Zharr-Naggrund, where these marvels were hoarded behind lethal traps and secured behind locked and warded Daemonforged gates and thick walls alike. Likewise, it was claimed that Zharru-Ukin the genius feigned stupidity and infantile incompetence to cover his tracks. These brazen lies were for the most part believed by Dawi Zharr of all castes, and so Overlord Zharek managed to establish himself as his Sorcerer-Prophet liege's chosen mouthpiece, secretly taking over Zharru-Ukin's harem. Such scheming had made Zharek the Bold in effect an independent petty ruler without prophetic visions or sorcerous powers, which was a precarious position for anyone in the Chaos Dwarf hierarchy to ascend to. Naturally, Zharek made his own clan filthy rich through his corrupt dealings, and he loaded the vassal clans of Sorcerer-Prophet Zharru-Ukin the Mad with his yoke.
Overlord Zharek the Bold was not only filled with a hunger for power, but he was also touched with military brilliance. And so detractors may have suspected Zharek of self-serving ambitions and a restless lust for battle when the mouthpiece of secluded Zharru-Ukin declared a mystical command from on high, received by his revered Sorcerer-Prophet in a dream set in the fiery and shackled court of Hashut Himself. Following this cryptic message from higher powers, the Overlord made a great sacrificial show as he formed the Naggrund Slavers, a small mercenary Legion of Dawi Zharr under Zharek's command. At first glance, this private host seemed to lack a lot of punch, even when compared to the minor power of Zharru-Ukin's armed forces. For the Naggrund Slavers were paupers in artillery, lacking in slaves, and almost entirely bereft of shackled Daemons and mechanical constructs. And last but not least did they sport no Templre troop support in the form of Bull Centaurs, leaving the mercenary Legion as a heavy infantry force without hard-hitting mobility, unstoppable monstrosities and machines or murderous artillery to blast apart their enemies.
To counter these drawbacks, Overlord Zharek the Bold reformed his Chaos Dwarf infantry into large maniples of shieldpairs, where the front member was equipped with a tower shield and pistol, while the rear member was armed with a spear. These shieldbearers and spearbearers provided a daunting prospect for enemies to break through. The shieldpairs were supported by small cohorts of warriors armed with blunderbusses and newfangled repeating crossbows, imitating the armaments of Grand Cathay. These crossbows were loaded with bolts whose tips contained the trapped essence of either a Daemon or the slave of a tortured slave, causing nerve-wracking shrieks and abominable damage to occur upon flight and impact. The shieldpair maniples were likewise supported by heavily armoured strike teams of grenadiers, sporting naphta bombs and Daemonforged orbs that could open a portal to hellish realms beyond this vale of woes. These heavy infantry units were supported by light artillery in the form of Hobgoblin bolt throwers, backed up with only a couple of heavier pieces in the form of a Magma Cannon and a Deathshrieker Rocket Launcher. The mercenary Legion was topped off by bands of Hobgoblin Wolf Raiders for scouting and foraging.
The Naggrund Slavers saw many years in the contracted service of various Sorcerer-Prophets, who mainly wished to use the sellswords in battle as a first wave to spare their own forces from the brunt of casualties. At other times their haughty paymasters pitted the Naggrund Slavers against roaming bands of Greenskins, Ogres and Ghouls since the Overlord's mercenaries quickly gained a reputation for resilience and courage-crushing small arms barrages in pitched battles on the one hand, and their marching speed on the other hand thanks to their small artillery park and resultant limited bagage train. The Slavers' combat record was overall a succesful one, with the occasional setback and ordered retreat, but no disastrous defeat. And as their reputation grew, so did Overlord Zharek the Bold enjoy the smile of fate. Yet this stroke of fortune turned out to be nothing but the cruel grin of monstrous gods decreeing dark destinies for mortals. For those that the gods wish bring down, they first make mighty.
Chance or darker powers still would have it so, that the Naggrund Slavers were out campaigning in the southernmost Dark Lands close to the swamps of Pig Barter by the Sea of Dread, when their mercenary contract to the Tower of Gorgoth was finished. The small host struck camp on a hillock, and the charimatic Overlord Zharek held a feast for his scarred and victorious warriors. Captive Gnoblars, disheveled Ghouls and Human pirates from Ind were roasted alive on spits alongside boars and ibis birds, and many strong beverages were swilled in the glow from the campfires.
It was in this state of revelry and muffled victims turned into food that the Naggrund Slavers found their next contract. For the Dawi Zharr camp sentries spotted in broad moonlight how a sleek blade of a ship sailed in and cast anchor off the rugged coast. A slender rowboat set out from the ship, its oarsmen rowing in perfect unison and shooting the small vessel over the shallow sea akin to an agile water skipper. The rowboat was not concerned about stealth, for a solitary figure stood in its fore, staring ahead and carrying a torch. Thus Zharek had been warned well in advance when his barricaded mercenary camp was approached by a tall, hooded stranger, swathed in a dark cloak the colour of midnight, sprinkled with tiny pearls as if to imitate the nightsky. The Overlord met the lithe stranger at the entrance, flanked by a retinue of grizzled veterans, and barked at the camp guards to let the silent Elf come inside.
The messenger turned out to be an emissary from the Druchii Corsair lord Aldrathir Kinflayer, master of a small fleet of Dark Elf pirates, who was in search of able fighters for a daring campaign overseas. The messenger opened a little sack, and showed the Chaos Dwarfs a small number of gleaming treasures in valuable metals and gemstones, letting their greedy eyes take in the looted wealth before closing the sack and informing them that this wealth was but scraps compared to the hefty amount of riches that Aldrathir Kinflayer would pay, half a treasure in advance, and the other half upon completion of contract. The Druchii diplomat paused for effect, and then went on to describe in detail the nature of martial service required to win such payment. After many careful calculations and muttering councils, the Naggrund Slavers at last agreed to enter into the service of Dark Elf Corsair lord, and so the parties sealed their pact under oath to both Hashut and Druchii gods by carving the contract into the writhing skin of a captive Halfling, who was then flayed alive and sacrificed on a small pyre.
And the smoke from the pyre reached on high, and the Dark Gods leaned in, watching with malevolent interest as a legend unfolded. And all was fell.
Ensnared by all-consuming greed, the mercenaries of Zharek the Bold according to some Chaos Dwarfs thus lost the blessing of the Bull God as the Overlord accepted a mercenary commission from others than the sacrificers to the Bull Father. The Naggrund Slavers boarded their own little flotilla nearby, but not before hiring a few cargo vessels from Dawi Zharr travelling down the River Ruin. These cargo ships were loaded with supplies, arms and ammunition as well as pack animals and freshly-captured Greenskin and Ghoul slaves for fodder and work.
All ready, the Chaos Dwarf warships steamed out in convoy formation, ever ready for the treachery of the Elves, and so the Naggrund Slavers at all times employed lookouts to give warning at the first hint of betrayal. Yet the voyage southwards passed without any such incident. The trek across the waves saw its victims. One of the Chaos Dwarf supply ships were lost to a male Kraken disturbed prior to mating with his beloved, and a score of Druchii Corsairs were likewise swept overboard by its lashing tentacle, yet otherwise the sea journey went well.
After months out on the whipping sea, the flotilla of Druchii warships and Dawi Zharr mercenary vessels arrived at the southeastern coast of the humid continent of Lustria. The ships soon found a natural harbour where both forces rapidly landed, established basecamps, unloaded supplies and deployed defensive artillery. The Chaos Dwarfs and Dark Elves set up separate camps, since mutual trust was never high between the two races of slavers and torturers from opposite corners of the world. Yet so far no friction had spilled over into bloodshed, and both Zharek and Aldrathir had managed to keep their underlings in check.
Leaving behind two garrisons in the basecamps and anchored ships, the Druchii Corsair lord led his army inland, first marching under the scorching heat on the Culchan Plains, then hacking through jungle and wading across crocodile-infested rivers. Scaly monsters, wild animals, Greenskins and Beastmen assailed them at every turn, yet despite losses the strangers to this untamed land persevered and fought off tribal ambushes and predators by blade and quarrel and fusillade of shrapnel and lead.
The expedition of the intruders amounted to a great journey inland, filled with hardships and travail, hunger and terror, disease and despair. Facing thick jungle growth and poisonous plants and beasts, the Dark Elves and Chaos Dwarfs gritted their teeth and pressed on for gold and dark glory. Slaves had both been brought in by ship and enslaved in the land of Lustria, including Human tribesmen waging an eternal war against marauding tribes of Orcs and Goblins and Beastmen herds in the outskirts of the southern jungles. These thralls served as porters, forced to carry heavy loads for miles and miles on end as the expedition edged close to its goal. Needlessly to say, the disposable slave carriers died in droves, and no master mourned as thralls sank paralyzed into bogs or succumbed to tropical disease.
"Onward!" the cry of cruel masters rang out, "And nevermind the corpses, just stamp them flat." And the Hobgoblins that did not go under in this strange land grinned with savage glee as they beheld the suffering and dying of others, and so Hobgoblins aimed kicks at dying slave porters.
At the foot of the Spine of Sotek, not far from the Eternal City of Oxyl, soared the Golden Tower of the Gods, a magnificient Lizardman temple city which appaered to be a patchwork of ancient glories, teeming earthy Skink barios and crumbling monuments. The Corsair lord Aldrathir Kinflayer had led his host by following a map which only he was allowed to see, on pain of death. Now, as Dark Elf Shades climbing high trees were able to spot their destination, Aldrathir led his forces on a circuitous route, up into a nearby spine of mountains, where the expedition trudged on as it climbed higher into snow-covered rocky heights. In the mountains of faraway Lustria, the Druchii and Dawi Zharr faced attacks from Yehtis, Trolls, grey mountain leopards, feral tribes and even explosive surprises from uncorrupted Dwarf prospectors. All these foes came in their way, and all were chased away bloodily as the brilliant Corsair lord led his greedy forces on a merry dance twisting hither and thither through passes and natural cave systems. Some of Aldrathir's and Zharek's warriors became lost forever in the mountainous labyrinth, and some fell to their deaths down precipices and sinkholes. The multitude of survivors nevertheless made it through on their snaking path, and thus they came upon the Golden Tower of the Gods entirely unexpected, from a mountainside thought secure by the Lizardmen who inhabited the temple city.
With the slower Naggrund Slavers acting as a stout rearguard, the Dark Elves struck swiftly and ruthlessly into the heart of the sprawling city, reaching its titanic central stepped pyramid and raiding it with torches, repeating handbows and blades. Here, the Druchii raiders killed guards with preternatural speed and set about to steal immensely valuable treasures. Tight on time, the intruders ignored the sleeping Slanns as harmless hulks, and focused all their efforts on gathering up treasures. The Dark Elf Corsairs soon darted out from the step pyramid before the vast bulk of Lizardmen inhabitants in the temple city had time to react. All Elves were loaded with booty.
As Aldrathir's forces fought their way back the same backhill path they had arrived by, the paved and sometimes overgrown streets were clogged with Skinks and Saurus warriors and giant reptile monsters, and the initial confusion of the reptilians was channeled into a directed assault upon the vile intruders from all corners. The hornet's nest had been well and truly stirred, yet the Kinflayer had a trick up his sleeve. Aldrathir gave the order, and his hornblower blew the signal to Overlord Zharek the Bold. Upon receiving this command, Zharek personally led his blunderbussers and grenadiers in a bloodsoaked advance, akin to a spearthrust down one of the city's main avenues. Hundreds upon hundreds of cold-blooded creatures fell dead or scattered amid the bloodbath as shrapnel and grenades blasted through their ranks and skirmish lines, sending slow-witted beasts into wild stampedes away from the source of their primal fear, dragging with them deadly riders.
As the steet was cleared from foes, the Dark Elves pushed past by nimbly jumping over Chaos Dwarf heads, somersaulting over their tall hats and dancing over their broad shoulders to take the vanguard once more. The Dawi Zharr were once again in the rear. Foul curses were shouted at the arrogant acrobatics of the Elves, yet the thrill of the temple raid and the promise of riches untold saw every grumbling Chaos Dwarf stay his vengeful hand, at least so long as he was not given permission to kill pointy-eared scum. With Druchii Corsairs in front and Dawi Zharr behind as a retreating rearguard, the army made its escape from the Golden Tower of the Gods amid the tumult. As per plan, Chaos Dwarf sappers blasted shut a bottleneck tunnel entrance to hinder any Lizardmen from following them or finding their secret way into the temple city, thus buying valuable time for the raiders.
The street fighting in the temple city had just been the beginning, however, and the desecrators knew it. But they could scarcely have foreseen the ferocity and vigilance and energy of the defenders' response. The Golden Tower of the Gods and its outlying jungle settlements boiled into an uproar of Skink agitation and frenzied mustering of forces. As the intruders made their winding way down the Spine of Sotek into the jungle, their reptilian pursuers had already fanned out with Chameleon Skinks and Terradon riders to the north, south, west and east in order to find the thieves and robbers. Indeed, Scar-Veteran Xhoqoroto bellowed to the skies and vowed to bring the intruders to the altar of the Sotek. Making good on their headstart and sneaking mountain paths, the Corsair lord's forces were nevertheless discovered in the jungle after only a week of frantic search party activity, and so the great hunt was on.
The march back to the coast turned into a nightmare which made the journey inland pale in comparison. Beset by Lizardmen and hardships and savages, the Dark Elves and Chaos Dwarfs time and again found themselves facing gigantic scaly beasts who erupted from the jungle and tore into their ranks. Some of the giant terrors were brought down by disciplined volleys of shot and bolts, and others were scared off by grenadiers or tight spear formations. Yet the herded monsters kept coming, and soon smaller critters of the jungle joined in the chase. At no point of day were the pirates and mercenaries and their slave porters safe, and many succumbed to small poison bites, while others disappeared down vast jaws filled with fangs. Still others were dragged away by packs of feral Cold Ones, or turned into pincushions by Razordons or roasted by Salamanders. With mounting fright and suppressed panic building in the callous hearts of Dark Elves and Chaos Dwarfs alike, the Corsair host of Aldrathir and the Legion of Zharek saw their supplies and slave porters lost in great numbers. Entire Dawi Zharr cohorts and Corsair companies were separated from the main marching columns in the jungle, never to be seen again. Sometimes distant screams and roars and the rustling of trees hinted at a brutal demise.
Anguished howls and shrieks of those found by the vengeful Lizardmen cut through the jungle day and night, robbing the exhausted temple raiders of precious sleep. Thus, with little to no sleep, too little food and having to resort to unclean drinking water, Dawi Zharr and Druchii alike came to endure such baleful hardships which they themselves had routinely imposed upon those they wished to dominate with whips and the breaking of wills and spirit. Frail Manlings would have succumbed entirely in the depth of the jungle against such odds, yet both Chaos Dwarfs and Dark Elves were made of sterner stuff. Thus the combined forces of elder races fought a desperate rearguard action practically all the way to the coast, with only a fraction of the original expedition stumbling out from the jungle.
Out on the open pampas of the Culchan Plains, the Lizardman vanguard of Cold One riders, Terradon riders and Skinks swarmed after the fleeing desecrators. With the jaws of the fast vanguard closing in, Corsair lord Aldrathir Kinflayer ordered the Chaos Dwarf mercenaries of the Naggrund Slavers to form ranks and stand against the onslaught. This was obviously intended to buy time for the swifter Dark Elves to make their escape cleanly as the cold-blooded pursuers feasted on the Chaos Dwarfs. At this, Overlord Zharek the Bold spat and roared with a voice made hoarse by so many travails. The Chaos Dwarf warlord reminded the Druchii of sworn contract oaths, waving the carved Halfling skin in the air. Then Zharek pointed out that the allied raiders had one chance to crush the incoming Lizardman vanguard if the Dark Elves at once split up and flanked the Lizardmen as the reptiles crushed into the Dawi Zharr shieldwall. The choice stood between victory or death, according to Zharek.
With sweat dripping down his strained face, the Corsair lord stared at the fiery Chaos Dwarf. Aldrathir there and then made a split second decision, and turned his own followers about, acting upon the Overlord's tactical suggestion without question. What would have been the end for the Chaos Dwarfs instead turned into a rapid shattering victory against the strong but fragile Lizardman vanguard. The slaughter of the Cold One riders and Skinks on the shieldwall, and the massacre of the Terradon riders by massed volleys managed to raise flagging morale among the temple raiders. In this moment, the common action in the face of desperation strengthened the warrior's bond between Chaos Dwarfs and Dark Elves in the harrowed expedition.
With this success under their belts, the allied temple looters headed for the coast, losing almost all of their last porters who were too weak to keep up, thus damning the underfed slaves to a grisly end at the fangs of reptilian monsters. The few surviving Hobgoblins cackled maniacally at the grim fate awaiting the thralls, spitting and jeering as they pushed past on foot or on top of the scant few surviving mangy Giant Wolves that were still alive.
And so the mercenary Legion of Zharek's Naggrund Slavers and Aldrathir Kinflayer's Corsair host arrived at their basecamps ahead of any further pursuers. It would seem that their gods smiled on them. Yet here they found their field fortifications to be in ruins, their Chaos Dwarf artillery and Reaper bolt throwers hacked to pieces, their supplies burning and their garrisons slain. The survivors of the greedy expedition stood aghast and stared out into the natural harbour. Worse yet, all their ships had been either sunk in the bay, or else were nowhere to be seen. Shipwrecks protruded through the water like jagged rocks, and sea birds called out as they flew between their new seats.
Yet no enemy was in sight, and no signs of who could have attacked the twin basecamps were visible. Not even a javelin was spotted which could betray the identity of the attackers. Bewildered, Overlord Zharek, Aldrathir the Corsair lord and their most trusted companions headed toward a single surviving Chaos Dwarf, one who was severely wounded and missing one leg, who they found crawling away from the basecamps. The maimed Dawi Zhar was hoarse and spat blood, and it was clear to everyone that he was dying. When asked about who had assaulted the basecamps, the Chaos Dwarf survivor's hazy eyes fixed themselves upon the Druchii retinue, and somewhere inside he found an untapped reservoir of strength to yell foul curses, accusing the Dark Elves of falling upon the Naggrund Slavers without warning. Yet the dying man also rambled something about how they had known that this would happen, and thus the Dawi Zharr had struck first.
The basecamp garrisons having obliterated each other in tense boredom at the coast, and their flotillas sunk in vain, the Druchii Corsairs and the Naggrund Slavers found themselves helplessly stranded on a distant coast in an unknown land, with tens of thousands of wroth Lizardmen closing in upon them. And as the grand temple host of the Golden Tower of the Gods arrived in full strength to the smoking remains of the twain basecamps, they found the last surviving temple raiders at war with one another, furiously slaying their former allies with reckless abandon in a frenzied display of sheer bloodlust and insane carnage.
And the Dark Gods laughed.
At this sight, the Lizardmen duly joined the battle and crushed any resistance, this time unlike in past clashes easily sweeping past the ranks of the Chaos Dwarf shieldpairs, which were in disarray and in no position to mount a strong defense. Yet there was to be no quick slaughter of the desecrators, for the Saurus warriors fell upon them with blunt weapons and overpowered both Dark Elves and Chaos Dwarfs, claiming them all as prisoners. And so the Lizardmen stripped the captives of all their armour and clothing and carried them, hanging bound under poles, all the way back to the Golden Tower of the Gods.
Here, in the sacred temple city, the Skink priests of Sotek had all the captives dragged up the pyramid steps one by one, and one by one they were flayed alive, mutilated and then had their ribcages opened and their beating hearts torn out for bellowing Lizardmen to devour. All in full view of their companions, who awaited their turn at the altar. The skins of the long-haired Druchii and bearded Dawi Zharr were made into ceremonial priest suits, and their flayed carcasses were kicked down the temple stairs to cheering roars, were the wild crowds tore them limb from limb before mounting their skulls on display racks and claiming their bones for trophies and toolmaking. And in such manner were the intruders dealt with who dared to steal from the temple of the gods.
Up north in distant, cold Naggaroth, a Dark Rider patrol hunting escapee slaves would several years later discover a grinning Elf skull, fastened to a freshly carved Lustrian stone plaque. As wise ones among the Dark Elves attempted a translation, they could with difficulty make out what amounted to the name of Aldrathir Kinflayer, along with what appeared to be a list of his unforgivable sins against the gods.
And several decades later, in Mingol Zharr-Naggrund the Great seated atop the Dark Lands, Sorcerer-Prophet Zharru-Ukin the Mad's insanity was discovered after seventyseven years locked inside his reclusive ziggurat. As the Bull Centaurs dragged his semi-petrified pathetic being away for a hideous fate behind the Temple gates, he was heard shouting, over and over:
"The serpent! Their hearts eaten! Eaten!"- - - Story written out in raw format in 2017 and finished in 2024 for Forgefire's artwork entry into Chaos Dwarfs Online's Artisan's Contest XIX. |
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