|
Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:17:03 GMT
The Furious Driller and the Spiteful Hobgoblin, by Zhargonidus Once upon a time, there was an able-minded driller of immense strength and a stubborn temper. So many deep shafts did his drill-team carve into the ground, that he hollowed out ash plains and made rocky heights crumble. And hundeds of unwitting slaves plummeted to their doom as they fell down drill wells that had not existed there days before. One day, the hardy driller paid a Daemonsmith handsomely to craft a fearsome device of a kind never before seen, for it was a drill that could eat through any rock and never dull its ensorcelled diamond-tipped edges.
Upon seeing this demented tool, the driller's personal Hobgoblin slave taunted him for a wasteful fool and laughed at the drill.
"Ya've frewn yer muneey in da cesspitt for such uh puny drill!" cried the Hobgoblin and bent double with laughter.
Infuriated, the driller swore to prove the drill's worth, so he put his bulging arms to power the tool and drilled straight down through porous lava rock, metallic ore veins and obsidian layers alike. Far down into the darkness did the driller go before he yelled his triumph up to the surface. No kind of rock could withstand the bite of his new drill.
"Bet ya dun' dare go further fer fear uv breaking da drill!" shouted the spiteful Hobgoblin down the drill shaft.
In response, the furious driller put his back into it and drilled down and down, until he broke straight through the crust of the world and was swallowed by the roaring, molten depths below. Upon seeing this, the driller's work companions grabbed the spiteful Hobgoblin in wrath and hurled him into the bottomless shaft. For such are the fates of the obstinate.
- The Furious Driller and the Spiteful Hobgoblin, by Despot Zhargonidus Doombeard, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories, of our present time
|
|
|
Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:17:43 GMT
The Bolter and the Daemonforged Golem, by Zhargonidus Once upon a time, there was a bolter who screwed bolts through nuts in metal plates and beams of every kind, and who could install roof support bolts in mining tunnels with fractured ceilings. All this he knew, yet the bolter knew little moderation in his work, and he would often apply too much force and continue to screw bolts further in where sounder men would know it to be enough. One day, the bolter was honoured with the task of fastening fresque-adorned bronze plates onto the hull of a Daemonforged Golem.
The bolter turned the bolts in the screw threads until the fastenings were made hard, yet the bolter continued to screw in the stuck bolts for far too long until finally, one of the bolt heads snapped and fell to the floor with a clink. The sound made the construct come alive.
"Why have you destroyed my bolted joint? Would you see my plates fall off my frame? Would you see your hide fall off your body?" asked the Daemonforged Golem.
"The head of the bolt was too weak to endure screwing," complained the bolter.
"The head of the bolter was too weak to endure screwing," replied the Daemonforged Golem, and twisted the bolter's head off his shoulders. For such is the fate of the careless.
- The Bolter and the Golem, by Despot Zhargonidus Doombeard, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories, of our present time
|
|
|
Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:20:46 GMT
The War Boar and the Bale Taurus, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was a strong Bale Taurus with a harem of cows and rich hunting grounds to roam. His rivals did he beat in battle, his enemies did he slay. One day, the fiery bull met a giant War Boar who towered over the rest of his kin.
"We are much alike, you and I," said the War Boar.
"Alike? There is nothing alike between you and me, hog!" snorted the Bale Taurus.
"Oh yes, there is. Our lives are both filled with success, food and females. We lord it over our kinsfolk, and our rivals tremble before our might," replied the War Boar.
"Filthy swine! You are as a maggot unto me, for my strength is greater and my body is larger," said the Bale Taurus.
"Yet we are both first and best amongst our own kind," remarked the War Boar.
"No! I exhale fire and rule the skies whereas you exhale farts and grouts the mud," said the Bale Taurus.
"Yet my strength and hardiness is prized by the strongest of Orcs, who vie to ride upon me into battle," replied the War Boar.
"Insolent piglet! The lords of the earth ride upon my back whilst the masses holds me sacred for my divine strength and virility," growled the Bale Taurus.
"You brag about virility, yet your offspring are born one or two at a time. My litters could drown the lands by their number," said the War Boar.
At this, the Bale Taurus could not retort well, for it was true. He had been bested by words.
"Then they will drown in your blood!" roared the Bale Taurus, and impaled the War Boar with a thunderous charge, for such is the fate of the weaker creature who would seek to best the stronger with his tounge.
- The War Boar and the Bale Taurus, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund*
____________________________________________
* The moral of the story is "guard your tounge, or lose your head." This is very much a fact of everyday life in Mingol Zharr-Naggrund the Great and all her holdings.
|
|
|
Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:21:06 GMT
The Goblin and the Lammasu, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was a crafty Goblin so cunning he could deceive any creature, fool anyone and trick everyone in the whole world. One day, the Goblin came upon a Lammasu who claimed himself to be craftier than any god or mortal being, yes he could outsmart all of creation and cheat death itself should he wish to do so.
The Goblin was intrigued and decided to challenge the wits of the Lammasu. Against all the odds, the tiny Greenskin managed to do so. The Lammasu was mightily angered and set out to find the trickster.
The cunning Goblin rolled in Troll dung to cover his smell and hid himself inside a den of hibernating Stone Trolls, behind a mother and her sleeping Stone Troll cubs. When the Lammasu tracked the Goblin to the cave, the Stone Trolls awoke from their slumber.
"Stand aside, I have been insulted by that Goblin over there. He will not elude my wrath any longer," growled the Lammasu, and pointed to the filthy Goblin.
The Stone Troll mother sniffed on the Goblin, but he smelled only of Stone Troll. Thus she raised herself high and roared to the Lammasu: "Begone intruder! I will rip your throat if you touch my cubs!"
"You have been tricked by his smell!" said the Lammasu.
"My nose cannot be tricked," replied the Stone Troll mother.
"No matter, then I will simply kill you all!" roared the Lammasu and charged into the cave. The Lammasu tore the Stone Troll family limb from limb before slaying the cornered Goblin. This is the fate of those who would trick those stronger than themselves without a safe enough retreat from the vengeance of the deceived.
- The Goblin and the Lammasu, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund*
____________________________________________
* Interestingly, this is one of the few stories which Chaos Dwarfs regularly share with their Hobgoblin underlings.
|
|
|
Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:22:02 GMT
The Sacrificer and the Oracle Fire, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was a man who had lost most of his wealth and faced further disaster. One day, to escape his plight, he made sacrifices before the mighty idols at an oracle fire altar, cousin of K'daai, where the wise fire is given crackling voice and may offer advice and prophecy.
"I have sacrificed nigh to all my remaining wealth. O, by Hashut, grant me a road out of this misery and show me how to turn misfortune into fortune," intoned the sacrificer.
"The offerings are too small for that. You must sacrifice all worldly possessions you have left," commanded the oracle fire.
"But that would ruin me," complained the sacrificer.
"Then bow closer and let me whisper but one word of instruction into your ear. That is all the help I can offer," said the oracle fire.
"I listen," said the sacrificer and bowed in closer.
"Burn," whispered the oracle fire, and the flames leapt into the sacrificer's beard and scorched him alive. For such is the fate of those who would sacrifice too little, and thus blaspheme against the Father of Darkness and his dread court of shackled concubines and Daemons.
- The Sacrificer and the Oracle Fire, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund
|
|
|
Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:24:46 GMT
The Shipwrecked Sailors, by Uhr-Kulmbizharr Once upon a time, there was a lonely island in the middle of the sea where shipwrecked sailors used to wash up. One day, a Chaos Dwarf and a Dark Elf were washed up on its beach. Both were unconscious and bloodied, yet the Chaos Dwarf was the first to wake up. He grabbed a sharp stone and bowed over the Dark Elf, stone raised to crush his enemy's head. At that moment the Dark Elf awoke.
"Please, spare my life! The flesh of my feeble frame won't sate your hunger. This island is large enough for the two of us. Here we can both forget our strife," pleaded the Dark Elf.
"Very well, you may live," said the Chaos Dwarf, and let the Dark Elf escape.
They both toiled to survive on the hostile island, yet one night the Chaos Dwarf awoke and stared at the fire-hardened sharp end of a wooden spear. It was held by the Dark Elf, and it was but an inch away from the Chaos Dwarf's eye.
"May Daemons eat your soul!" cursed the Chaos Dwarf, for he knew he was about to die.
"Do not curse me. The blame is not mine. It was not I who spared the life of your bane. Curse yourself for your weakness," said the Dark Elf, and speared the Chaos Dwarf to death during the dark of night. For such is the fate of the merciful.
- The Shipwrecked Sailors, by Daemonsmith Uhr-Kulmbizharr the Blind, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories during the foundation of Zharr-Naggrund*
____________________________________________
* The moral of the story is not only 'mercy is for the weak'; it is also 'never trust an Elf' and 'always enslave'.
|
|
|
Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:26:19 GMT
The Ogre Tyrant and His Bull Calf, by Zhargonidus Once upon a time, there was a mighty Ogre Tyrant who lorded it over his mountain valley. One day, one of his females bore him a son. The boy was rotund and large for a newborn. Glad for this good omen, the father took his son to the Butcher.
"Here. See his future and tell me what you see," said the Ogre Tyrant.
The Butcher bit an unsuspecting Gnoblar slave in half and read its spilt innards.
"The guts have spoken! The Bull Calf will become strong and brawny. He will beat his foe in the maw pit, and he will become even stronger than his father. One day he will challenge you for the right to lead the tribe. He is a son to be proud of," divined the Butcher.
Then the Ogre Tyrant seized his son and devoured the Bull Calf. The Butcher was astonished.
"Why did you eat him?" asked the Butcher.
"One day when he had become older, he would have been stronger than me. He would have challenged me," said the Ogre Tyrant.
"Yes, but it was not foretold who would win," said the Butcher.
"Perhaps I could have defeated him when he was a fully grown Bull, but why take the risk? I certainly could defeat him as a newborn. Now I have already won," explained the Ogre Tyrant, and burped loudly. For to nip a threat in its bud is to safeguard your future the easy way.
- The Ogre Tyrant and his Bull Calf, by Despot Zhargonidus Doombeard, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories, of our present time*
____________________________________________
* This story is merely a slightly refined version of an actual Ogre fable. Though recently published by Zhargonidus, the moral of the fable resounds with Dawi Zharr stratagems throughout the millennia, which have aimed at crushing any potential threat amongst Greenskin leaders in particular. Cut off the head, and the snake will die.
|
|
|
Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:27:19 GMT
The Two Iron Daemons, by Zhargonidus Once upon a time, there was a host with a couple of Iron Daemons. Mighty were their barrage and thunderous were their charge. One day, the army came upon a host of Humans from Ind. The Chaos Dwarfs drew up their battlelines, yet the terrain on the battlefield was rocky and difficult to tread on. Nevertheless, the warmachines were ordered to plow through the enemy ranks and crush all before them. Steam hissed and smoke belched, pistons pumped and wheels trundled.
As they neared the Indans at high speed, the leader of the first Iron Daemon decided to be cautious:
"Slow down, or else we will roll over! We're shaking too much already," said the leader of the first Iron Daemon.
This mistake cost his crew their lives. Though they crashed into the puny Humans and killed many of them, their momentum was too slow to escape their enemies' vengeance. Swift warriors jumped their vehicle and cut the crew to pieces.
When the second Iron Daemon neared the Indans at high speed, one of the crewmen warned his leader:
"On the brakes, we're going too fast and will topple on that rock!" shouted the crewman.
"No! Trust in Hashut and shovel more coal into the furnace. Brakes are for Elves!" yelled the leader of the second Iron Daemon.
The Iron Daemon sped up, and nearly crashed down on its side as it hit a rock. Yet the Father of Darkness protected the faithful, and let the vehicle regain its stability. Thus it was that the Iron Daemon slaughtered all before it with impunity, and the Humans fled before its wrath. For such is the glory due to the conqueror bereft of doubt and hesitation.
- The Two Iron Daemons, by Despot Zhargonidus Doombeard, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories, of our present time
|
|
|
Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:27:51 GMT
The Reed Boat and the Inflated Hide Raft, by Zhargonidus Once upon a time, there was a Hobgoblin river slave towing his vessel after his Chaos Dwarf master's steam barge upon the River Ruin. Though the Hobgoblin's vessel was but a reed boat caulked with bitumen, he was still eager to surpass his peers. One day, the Hobgoblin river slave passed by a big raft of wood and inflated animal hides. The Hobgoblins aboard it jeered at him since they could load so much more than the river slave could in his reed boat. At this, the Hobgoblin river slave drew his knives to stab the taunters, yet he could not reach the others since he did not know how to swim.
The river slave's master moored his steam barge by the dock of a quarry to load his vessel with fresh cargo. At this, the Hobgoblin river slave kicked some Goblin slaves into loading his reed boat with much more stones than was usual.
The boat bulged and lay low in the filthy water line when the barge steamed upriver again. Soon, the steam barge and its towed reed boat passed by the slower, inflated hide raft.
"Look at all my cargo, you maggots!" jeered the Hobgoblin river slave to the crew on the raft.
"Yep, it's fat like you!" replied one of the raft Hobgoblins.
At this, the wrath of the Hobgoblin river slave was kindled, and he threw a knife right into one of the inflated cattle hides of the raft. It quickly deflated and destabilized the vessel, pulling both Hobgoblins and cargo under water. At the sight of this, the Hobgoblin river slave could do nothing but laugh like a maniac, rocking his boat. But when he did so, the overloaded reed boat tipped into the River Ruin, and water gushed into it. The reed boat sank.
"Help! I'll drown! Help!" shrieked the Hobgoblin river slave moments before he sank.
But the Chaos Dwarf master fished up his worthless slave with a ship's pike.
"Thanks, boss," coughed the Hobgoblin river slave.
"How polite of you to thank me for your death," snarked the Chaos Dwarf master, and shredded the Hobgoblin river slave alive on the propeller of the steam barge. For such is the fate of those who would overburden their vessels, and destroy their master's property.
- The Reed Boat and the Inflated Hide Raft, by Despot Zhargonidus Doombeard, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories, of our present time
|
|
|
Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:28:27 GMT
The Infernal Castellan and the Night Goblin Fanatic, by Zhargonidus Once upon a time, there was a steadfast Castellan of the dread Infernal Guard. Hardened was he by war, and by years of warcraft had he become wise, strong and unfaltering. One day, the Infernal Castellan led the Guard on a distant battlefield against a coalition of Night Goblin tribes, when suddenly there burst a whirling Fanatic from out of the Greenskin ranks.
His underlings stepped aside from the Night Goblin Fanatic's most likely trajectory, yet their leader stood his ground, unflinching and hard-bitten.
"Cowards! I spit on you! Hold your positions!" yelled the Infernal Castellan to his warriors.
Moments later, the Night Goblin Fanatic's heavy iron ball crashed into the Infernal Castellan with such force his Blackshard armour buckled and crushed his innards. The Night Goblin Fanatic sped on, leaving the Infernal Castellan dying slowly by haemorrage in a pathetic puddle on the ground. A Deathmask stepped up to his dying superior and remarked:
"It is neither brave nor devout to stand your ground needlessly in face of certain death, unless your master commands it."
- The Infernal Castellan and the Night Goblin Fanatic, by Despot Zhargonidus Doombeard, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories, of our present time
|
|
|
Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:28:56 GMT
The Cycle of Weakness, by Zhargonidus Once upon a time, there was a strong and cruel Sorcerer-Prophet who hated his rival. One day, they waged an open battle in the streets, and the rival defeated the Sorcerer-Prophet. As the defeated one stood on his knees, awaiting torture and death, the victorious rival showed mercy:
"I choose to spare your life and leave you unchained. Walk away and do not trouble me more," said the rival.
And so the astonished Sorcerer-Prophet survived with his power intact. He thought deeply upon this turn of events, and reached the conclusion that his acts should become more gentle, following the example of his rival. The Sorcerer-Prophet was thereafter kind and understanding towards his subjects.
The Sorcerer-Prophet's newfound mercy and gentleness made him spare his Daemonsmith subordinate, who had failed with an important invention.The surprised Daemonsmith picked up on his master's ways, and did not punish a failing supervisor whose quarry could not deliver its full quota of stone. The grateful supervisor changed his ways and became softer, and thus the supervisor did not exile a lax slavedriver into the dread Infernal Guard. The relieved slavedriver in turn did not set a bloody example of his Hobgoblin henchmen who dozed off at their shift, and the lazy Hobgoblins were thus sleeping in pure daylight when the vengeful slaves strangled them with their chains and broke free.
The slave rebellion spread like wildfire through the meek Sorcerer-Prophet's holdings, and slaves freed further more slaves. They then killed the slavedriver, the supervisor, the Daemonsmith and at last they slew the reformed Sorcerer-Prophet in his own palace. The raving slave hordes spilled over into the rival's palace. As loose thralls tore down idols and smashed altars, the shocked rival asked his retinue how such a calamity could have befallen him. At this, his most trusted advisor stepped forward and said:
"When you spared the Sorcerer-Prophet's life and position, your strength failed you. Unwittingly, you thus planted the seeds of your own doom. Weakness begets weakness, and now you will pay the price for your vice."
And so the slaves overwhelmed the rival's retinue and tore him to shreds on his obsidian throne, for such is the fate of those who would fail to uphold the virtue of strength and cruelty.
- The Cycle of Weakness, by Despot Zhargonidus Doombeard, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories, of our present time
|
|
|
Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:29:48 GMT
The Famished Salpetre Slave, by Zhargonidus Once upon a time, there was a salpetre slave who always craved for more food. When he had dug up the urine-soaked earth floor of the cattle stables, he set hungry eyes on more mouldy bread than he was due to receive for rations. When he had hauled coal and boiled the manure soil to macerate it, he longed for more lentils. When he had added lime and ashes and boiled away the filthy water to crystallize the salpetre in the large cauldron, he tried to steal more grain porridge.
One day, the taskmaster had had enough of the salpetre slave's ravenous ways, so he set the slave to toil in a salpetre barn next to a blackpowder mill, where the slave was to receive no rations for seven days and seven nights. The salpetre slave hauled and mixed soil, lime, manure and waste from creatures and plants all day long inside the brick barn. Before long, he was wasting away from famine and hard labour.
On the third day of starvation, the famished salpetre slave dug through manure and found a chunk of meat so rotten even slaves and lousy wolves had rejected it. His will was weak, and so the lowly slave devoured the rotten flesh, only to fall sick and die from disease on his last day without food. For such is the fate of those too weak to endure hardship.
- The Famished Salpetre Slave, by Despot Zhargonidus Doombeard, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories, of our present time
|
|
|
Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:31:27 GMT
The Cheeky Hobgoblin, by Zhargonidus Once upon a time, there was a cheeky Hobgoblin slavedriver with a viper of a tounge and a heart of cruelty. Spiteful were his words and wicked were his deeds, and his foul temper was ever easily aroused. One day, the cheeky Hobgoblin visited bestial mistreatment upon his underling thralls.
"I'll teach ya ta 'old yer dung til gutz burst! No zoilin' on da floor on my watch!" snapped the Hobgoblin slavedriver and flogged a Gnoblar hard enough to crack its bones.
Truly, the Hobgoblin savoured his power over others and delighted in their torment. Yet when the Chaos Dwarf master interrupted him to give new orders, the cheeky Hobgoblin was angered and directed his violence and oaths at his strong superior who dared disturb his moment of pleasure.
The master was not amused. In one strike, he felled the cheeky Hobgoblin, whereupon he tore the slavedriver limb from limb with his bare hands and threw the mutilated body parts into defiled River Ruin to deny the cheeky Hobgoblin of any afterlife. For such is the fate of those who do not know their place in the Order of Things.
- The Cheeky Hobgoblin, by Despot Zhargonidus Doombeard, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories, of our present time
|
|
|
Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:32:55 GMT
The Shapeshifted Scout, by Zhargonidus Once upon a time, there was a silent and stealthy scout, who used to remove his hat and cover himself in ash before sneaking up on Greenskin camps. He was uncannily good at keeping a low profile and report back on things which other scouts failed to see. One day, the scout's master needed a spy planted right in the middle of a vast tribal Orc campsite, yet the scout despaired and could see no way to approach, yet alone infiltrate such a rowdy place. It would surely be his death.
Out of desperation, the scout visisted an outcast witch, who skulked among the rocks and starved as she tried to eke out a living on lizards and stray Gnoblars. So hungry was she, that the crone accepted a mere payment of bread and ale in exchange for brewing a forbidden elixir who would help the scout achieve his impossible task. The witch instructed the scout to drink the brew at the outskirts of the Orc encampment.
So he did, and the Chaos Dwarf shapeshifted into a primal barbarian, a snarling and snorting Orc, little more than a furless boar standing upright coloured green from sickness. In the form of this untamed beast did the shapeshifted scout wander unhindered into the Orcish camp, and at first no one seemed to take notice of the stranger.
Yet as the shapeshifted scout slinked near the huge dried dung pyre which served as the Warboss' campfire, the big Orcs in the retinue of the Warboss soon noticed the meek and quiet Orc who behaved little better than a wretched Goblin, for he did not brawl, did not bawl, did neither yell nor fart nor bash nor stomp. The Orcs caught his smell but not his noise, and they wondered: Who was this silly tenderfoot?
Offended, the big Orcs started picking on the silent shapeshifted scout, who merely cringed and tried to keep back from their prying eyes. This sneaking away only provoked the savage brutes to punch and kick the shapeshifted scout, who in response once again tried to melt into the background and remain silent and still, whereupon the Warboss himself enraged at such un-Orcish behaviour, and charged at the weakling and rent him in two with a mighty swing of his rusted blade. The shapeshifted scout fell dead before the Warboss' warty, stinking feet, transformed back at the moment of death into an ashen Chaos Dwarf spy, cut in twain. For such is the fate of those who do not know to act hard when in hard company.
- The Shapeshifted Scout, by Despot Zhargonidus Doombeard, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories, of our present time
|
|
|
Post by admiral on May 29, 2018 8:34:09 GMT
The Famed Slaver, by Zhargonidus Once upon a time, there was a renowned slaver who specialized in rare and exotic thralls for wealthy and refined customers. For him it would not do with any sloppy raids on Goblin camps and ambushes with guns blazing at migrating Orcs, no, for this slaver took pride in seeking out highly demanded prey and capturing it with precision, and he was aided in his work by Daemonforged amulets and fell wards about his armour. Thus many a foreign spellcaster found himself impotent and pressed into a tight black iron cage, and many freaks of nature and individuals from far-off races such as Elves, Fimir and the fabled Half-Men of Ind were carried back hissing and spitting to the Plain of Zharr. So valuable were the famous slaver's catches that he fed and watered them extravagantly and rarely risked mutilation even of screaming tongues due to risk of infection, for to him a dead slave was a considerable loss of income and invested labour.
One day, the famed slaver ranged far and wide with his Hobgoblin underlings, and they happened upon a Human caravan, heavily armed and hailing from the western Empire. Yet the Manlings would never reach distant Cathay with all its marvellous wealth, for they were already decimated and scattered and bewildered like a pack of whipped Snotlings, and the scars of Greenskin arms were plain for all to see. The famed slaver eyed the Manlings through a spotting scope, searching for valuables, and he soon found one. Sitting in a cook's wagon was a hairy-footed Halfling, plump and weak and merry despite all the travails and sorrows of his companions.
A Halfling would yield a steep enough price as a rare curiosity back in Chaos Dwarf lands, yet it was of little use for labour, soulharvest or flesh reaping in Daemonforging and vile experiments. The true connoisseurs in the Halfling trade were to be found further eastwards, for the hulking Ogres of the Mountains of Mourn were known far and wide for their huge liking as well as good taste for Halflings, whom they petted like little brothers until their cannibal core betrayed them in rumbling hunger.
Thus the slaver waited and watched, and followed at a distance the meanderings of the Manlings. At nightfall, the Humans made camp in a wagon fort manned by nervous sentries, yet such a ploy was no match for the famed slaver, who let his Hobgoblin Wolf Raiders range to the other side of the camp and stage a noisy diversion while a vial was uncorked so that smoke and heinous Empyreic vapours were let wafting upon the winds into the camp on the opposite end of the wagon circle. The foul miasma of ash and curses of malignant spirits clouded the slaver's approach and threw the weak Manling guards choking and gasping and vomiting to the ground, all thrashing in primal panic as the insidious gasses spread into the abruptly woken camp. The deadly smoke did not affect the famous slaver or his two Sneaky Gitz who guarded his sides closely and stabbed down any threat within reach, for his fell wards kept off the shredded Daemons while the intruders' mouths and noses were covered with cloth soaked in urine.
In this fashion they stormed into the middle of camp, blasting and cutting, knifing and kicking in the ensuing chaos, until they reached the cook's wagon and snatched the snoring Halfling from his soft straw bed. The slaver and his lackeys left the camp swiftly, leaving behind only fear and disarray while their precious catch were to know nothing but the discomforts of a very small iron cage, tasteless mushroom cavesbread and brackish water.
The petty delicatessen ware was gagged and hauled all the way to the Sentinels, where the famous slaver sought out a visiting Ogre Tyrant wealthy from loot, bullying and pitfight murder. Negotiations took place with vigour, and they haggled furiously back and forth. The Famed slaver demanded exorbitant barter and a whole horde of fodder slave Gnoblars, and the sheer greed and guts of the Chaos Dwarf's demands almost made the brute stomp him flat upon the spot. What stopped him from doing so, however, was the futile pleading of the Halfling, which soothed the Ogre's savage heart as the famed slaver knew it would, enough to win the slaver a spectacular bargain. Fuming at the perverse greed of the slaver, the Ogre Tyrant nevertheless gave in and agreed to pay the hefty price, and the Halfling slave was his. The famed slaver said goodbye to the doomed delicatessen and welcomed his new wealth.
When the Halfling was let out of his cage, the terrifying Ogre petted it on the head as if it was a fat Ogre cub, and this show of affection made the pathetic Halfling break down in tears and sobs. The tiny runt shrieked and whined and told of his suffering at the hands of his cruel captors, of how they had starved and locked him up and pinched and punched him bruised. At hearing of this, the Tyrant's wrath at the outrageous barter finally snapped, and in black rage he grabbed his giant mace and smashed the famed slaver into gory pulp. For such is the fate of those who would sell a prized pet slave without first ripping out its tongue.
- The Famed Slaver, by Despot Zhargonidus Doombeard, the renowned Chaos Dwarf author of fable stories, of our present time
|
|