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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 17:24:40 GMT
Twelve Little Hobgoblins
Twelve little Hobgoblins saw a comet in heaven, one of them got flattened and then there were eleven.
Eleven little Hobgoblins shared on a hen, one swallowed his knife and then there were ten.
Ten little Hobgoblins started to whine, master dropped one in furnace and then there were nine.
Nine little Hobgoblins formed their own state, there was a coup in the palace and then there were eight.
Eight little Hobgoblins diced at eleven, one choked on the dice and then there were seven.
Seven little Hobgoblins found a pile of bricks, they stoned one to death and then there were six.
Six little Hobgoblins started to connive, one didn't watch his back and then there were five.
Five little Hobgoblins walked at the shore, one pulled a dagger and then there were four.
Four little Hobgoblins splashed in the sea, up came a Merwyrm and then there were three.
Three little Hobgoblins went to a loo, one drowned another and then there were two.
Two little Hobgoblins sat in the sun, down came an eagle and then there were one.
One little Hobgoblin juggled knife all alone, it cut his own throat and then there were none.
- Chaos Dwarf children rhyme song |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 17:26:07 GMT
The Unruly Idol
[Clap! Clap! Clap!]
Akkarakad the carver put chisel to stone, hammered and cursed at his bitter task, chinking 'til fingers flayed to the bone, for Hashut on high must in glory bask, carved out an idol 'n' slivers they flown, sully and crusty he opened a flask, glaring at idol twelve grudges sown, drank 'til he swilled down fullest cask, and emptied himself until idol it shone, who witnessed all through its silent mask, and decided this sin in blood must atone, and no one may ever for mercy ask!
[Clap! Clap! Clap!]
Akkarakad carved out a monster from rock, insulting 'n' cursing granite he could mock, for idol its own consecration would block, killing and crushing to everyone's shock!
[Clap! Clap! Clap!]
Akkarakad the carver gave idol to master, who with it a bloodletting altar would build, waved off the carver and chewed oleaster, while working at altar were craftsmen skilled, polished to finish eleven and one pilaster, while lowly slaves at the idol milled, whipped on in blood to lift idol faster, and as it rose the master was thrilled, but idol it slipped 'n' mauled into plaster, then rolling sideways all slaves were killed, all while the master howled at disaster!
[Clap! Clap! Clap!]
Akkarakad carved out a monster from rock, insulting 'n' cursing granite he could mock, for the idol its own consecration would block, killing and crushing to everyone's shock!
[Clap! Clap! Clap!]
Akkarakad the carver ran for the yells, all folks fighting hard for this idol to tame, they toil unto death where the altar dwells, carver dishonoured saw his own shame, warriors charging in armour as shells, rolling and falling did idol them maim, rather they should've run for the wells, for now idol broils them alive with its flame, sorceror then strikes back with dark spells, but idol of stone only cursed carver's name, falling upon him its vengeance quells, and carver lived out his life as a lame!
[Clap! Clap! Clap!]
- Chaos Dwarf children clapping song |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 17:28:05 GMT
Written by: DînadanZharr-Naggrund Is Burning Down
"Zharr-Naggrund is burning down, Burning down, burning down Zharr-Naggrund is burning down, Our Dark Father."
"Then build it up with ash and clay, Ash and clay, ash and clay, Build it up with ash and clay, My Dark Children."
"Ash and clay will wash away, Wash away, wash away, Ash and clay will wash away, Our Dark Father."
"Then build it up with brick and mortar, Brick and mortar, brick and mortar, Build it up with brick and mortar, My Dark Children."
"Brick and mortar will not stay, Will not stay, will not stay, Brick and mortar will not stay, Our Dark Father."
"Then build it up with iron and steel, Iron and steel, iron and steel, Build it up with iron and steel, My Dark Children."
"Iron and steel will bow and break, Bow and break, bow and break, Iron and steel will bow and break, Our Dark Father."
"Then build it up with silver and gold, Silver and gold, silver and gold, Build it up with silver and gold, My Dark Children."
"Silver and gold were stolen away, Stolen away, stolen away, Silver and gold were stolen away, Our Dark Father."
"Then go take them back, Take them back, take them back, Then go and take them back, My Dark Children."
"Silver and gold have been taken back, Taken back, taken back, Silver and gold have been taken back, Our Dark Father."
"Now build it up with all these things, All these things, all these things, Now build it up with all these things, My Dark Children."
"Zharr-Naggrund stands anew, Stands anew, stands anew, Zharr-Naggrund stands anew, Hail the Father."
- Dawi Zharr nursery rhyme dating back to the years following the Black Orc rebellion referring to the sack of the city and its reconstruction. There are many variations, but this is the most common. Another common version replaces the last stanza with a refrain of the first speaking to the pessimism and belief in the finality of all things that lies within a Dawi Zharr's heart. The rhyme is also used as the basis of a game among beardlings - they start off the rhyme as normal, with one taking the role of the Dark Father and the rest the Dark Children, then the Dark Father will invent a new combination of materials and then One of the Dark Children will reply with why those will not work. If they cannot, they are deemed to have lost the game and all the players sing
"Zharr-Naggrund has burnt down, Burnt down, burnt down, Zharr-Naggrund has burnt down, And it's all your fault!"
The intent behind this is that because of the Dark Child whose turn it was could not find fault with the latest suggestion, the Zharr-Naggrund in the rhyme was built with faulty materials and thus burnt down. For losing, the child in question is normally punished with a punishment somehow related to the materials in question. If the Dark Father player cannot think of a combination of materials that hasn't been used before, then the other players sing
"You're not the Dark Father, Not the Father, not the Father, You're not the Dark Father, Blasphemer!"
In which case it is he who receives the punishment.
Once all the Dark Children have had a go the Dark Father player sings the penultimate stanza of the regular rhyme and the Dark Children reply with the final one and the game is ended.
A modified version is often played with slaves with 'Wretched Slaves' in place of 'My Dark Children' and 'Our Glorious Master' in place of 'Our Dark Father'. It is very rare for this version of the game to end without at least half the slaves losing. |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 17:29:04 GMT
Slaves Are Plenty Useful
Well met!
What to do? What to dooo?
What shall we do with the slaves aplenty? What shall we do with the slaves so dirty? What can they do? And for what can we use them? That's the bloody question.
But you, friend, will find out, that slaves are plenty useful!
You can ship them, you can whip them, you can eat them, you can beat them, you can weigh them, you can flay them, you can crush them, you can slush them!
So you see, my friend, that slaves are plenty useful!
You can turn them, you can burn them, you can hide them, you can ride them, you can mind them you can bind them, you can grind them, you can't find them!
Aye indeed, the slaves are plenty useful!
- Chaos Dwarf children song |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 17:29:59 GMT
Hobgoblin Songs Greenskin speech and language are crude, as are their legends and music. Their songs are usually as much an affair of screaming, grimaces, spitting, motions, stomping and violence as they are words, rythm and accompanying music. This is especially true for Orcs, whose stanzas around the campfires are not much different from their warcries. The short, thuggish songs of Orcs reflects their brute and thick nature, whilst Goblin songs are full of spite and malice, just as Goblins themselves are.
Both Orc and Goblin songs are simple and boastful, though Goblins and their Gnoblar cousins might boast mostly of cunning and torture whereas Orcs prefer to laud fell deeds of raw strength. Hobgoblin songs are, on the other hand, often longer, more coherent and more advanced than the verses of other Greenskins.
Hobgoblins are arguably the most intelligent of the Greenskin races, as is evident in their clothing, saddles, tools, armour and weaponry, all of which are more carefully crafted than the works of Orcs, Goblins, Gnoblars and Snotlings. In Hobgoblins, relatively high intelligence corresponds directly with an extremely murderous, cunning and treacherous nature. This is to be expected from Greenskins, for whom brutality and selfishness is at the core of their essence.
To some extent, the souls of Hobgoblins may be gleaned from their songs (if they had souls). More sophisticated than their Orc and Goblin counterparts, these songs are part of an oral tradition in which the Dark Lands Hobgoblins' origins on the Eastern Steppes has not been forgotten, akin to the steppe title Khan which is still very much in use.
These songs are also a reflection of the Hobgoblins' precarious middleman position as the elite slave cast of the Chaos Dwarf empire. They are the taskmasters and slave soldiers for whom service to the Dawi Zharr was a better option than wild free-for-all Greenskin freedom in the Dark Lands.
This was a devil's bargain, for once struck it may never be broken if the Hobgoblins are to survive in the Dark Lands. So hated have they become amongst the other Greenskins for their acts of treachery and servitude to Zharr-Naggrund that if the Chaos Dwarfs were to fall, or if the Hobgoblins were to strike out on their own, they would be hunted down and slaughtered en masse by vengeful Orcs and Goblins. Hobgoblins are already killed on sight by their free Greenskin cousins.
Thus it is that the Hobgoblins of the Dark Lands thrive under the Dawi Zharr's dominion, ever fearful of their ruthless masters and the hateful Greenskin hordes that roam these harsh landscapes. They are expendable cannon fodder, subject to the cruel whims of their overlords, and repeatedly suffer cullings of Khans and even tribes who become too powerful for their own good. Their songs are verbal witnesses of this reality in which they live as the detested henchmen of the Chaos Dwarfs.
Yet above all they are stanzas of paranoia and malice, of plotting and cunning, of treachery and assassination, of bloodshed and pillaging. They are just like the Hobgoblins themselves: Cruel, murderous and insidous to the core.
These are the songs of the Slaves to Damnation. |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 17:31:39 GMT
Dere Iz Eight Wayz Ta Stick An Orc
Dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, stick an orc, stick an orc, dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, and 'ere iz numbah one.
Nick a spade an' dig a pit, give dat pit a pointy stick, shove an orc into da pit, an' then dere's seven more.
Dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, stick an orc, stick an orc, dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, and 'ere iz numbah two.
Nick a bow an' sneaky spot, bait wiv korpsez dat'z still hot, wait fer orc an' get 'im shot, an' then dere is six more.
Dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, stick an orc, stick an orc, dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, and 'ere iz numbah three.
Nick a chucka wiv a spear, stick da orcses dat appear, at barbeque you eat da ear, an' then dere is five more.
Dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, stick an orc, stick an orc, dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, and 'ere iz numbah four.
Nick a pole an' dig a hole, bait wiv ratses and ol' sole, zee boar throw orc on da pole, an' then dere is four more.
Dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, stick an orc, stick an orc, dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, and 'ere iz numbah five.
Nick a blade an' hide in loo, when da orc make numbah two, get dat blade an' drive 'im through, an' then dere is three more.
Dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, stick an orc, stick an orc, dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, and 'ere iz numbah six.
Nick his choppa in da night, orc get smashy, start a fight, stick 'im in 'is back alright, an' then dere's two more.
Dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, stick an orc, stick an orc, dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, and 'ere iz numbah seven.
Nick a spear an' wolfy dog, 'unt orc right down inna bog, stick 'im kornered like a hog, an' then dere's one more.
Dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, stick an orc, stick an orc, dere iz eight wayz ta stick an orc, and 'ere iz numbah eight.
Nick a knife an' hide in hay, when boy look da uvver way, stick 'im hard an' startta flay, an' then dere iz eight more!
- Hobgoblin camp song |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 17:32:46 GMT
Slice An' Dice
Slice an' dice, an' burn da rice, nick a knife, an' take a life.
We go south ta humie scum, sound da bloody drum!
Stick an' stab, an' gut da crab, pick a scab, an' bounty nab.
We'll get past da big-big wall, burn every damn hall!
Shoot an' hoot, an' get da loot, kick a boot, an' bettah scoot.
We outrun da armies' smell, gettout fast as hell!
- Hobgoblin marching song, originally from the Eastern Steppes |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 17:34:32 GMT
Written by: AdmiralIllustrated by: Forgefire
Watch Yer Back For Sneaky Gitz
Watch yer back for sneaky gitz, nasty skulkerz, boys wiv witz, watch yer back for sneaky gitz, be da first dat hitz.
Trust 'em not ta spare ya life, alwayz have a handy knife, cut da throats of man an' wife, an' watch out for cunnin' strife.
Watch yer back for sneaky gitz, nasty skulkerz, boys wiv witz, watch yer back for sneaky gitz, be da first dat hitz.
Draw ya knives at any slight, always keep da boyz in sight, cut 'im down ta start a fight, an' watch out for smallest mite.
Watch yer back for sneaky gitz, nasty skulkerz, boys wiv witz, watch yer back for sneaky gitz, be da first dat hitz.
If da boss Khan'z aimin' high, alwayz to da bugger lie, hide yer knives real clever-sly, an' watch out or else ya die.
Watch yer back for sneaky gitz, nasty skulkerz, boys wiv witz, watch yer back for sneaky gitz, be da first dat hitz!
- Hobgoblin song |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 17:36:26 GMT
Big 'at Tells Ya
Big 'at tells ya ta get fings done, whip an' crack, slash an' hack! See dat dere, first fings one, slave on zoil, make 'im toil!
Big 'at tells ya ta finish it too, whip an' crack, slash an' hack! Lazy git, strangle 'im bloo, slave on zoil, make 'im toil!
Big 'at tells ya ta punish 'ard, whip an' crack, slash an' hack! Knife on flesh, cut off lard, slave on zoil, make 'im toil!
Big 'at tells ya ta feed da slaves, whip an' crack, slash an' hack! Keepah grub, dey soon in graves, slave on zoil, make 'im toil!
Big 'at tells ya da corpses iz trash, whip an' crack, slash an' hack! Chuck in furnace, burn ta ash, slave on zoil, make 'im toil!
Big 'at tells ya ta cook 'iz food, whip an' crack, slash an' hack! Zeek an' find, undah hood, slave on zoil, make 'im boil!
- Hobgoblin camp song |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 17:38:15 GMT
Da Luckee Stabba-Git
De-de-de-dere waz a git who waz a Khan, once knifin' dead sum damn orphan! Da git went wild wiv stabba-spear, an' guttin' anee who came near! Sparin' only woolfie boy, fer stabbin' waz 'is joy!
Stabba-git he got ta ride alone, 'cos mates of his dey all went gone! No wanta 'im near back or neck, ya alweyz had ta double-check! Make sure he didna lurk behind, got stabbed if ya were blind!
De-de-de-dere waz a git who waz a Khan, once knifin' dead sum damn orphan! Da git went wild wiv stabba-spear, an' guttin' anee who came near! Sparin' only woolfie boy, fer stabbin' waz 'is joy!
Stabba-git he got ta face a foe, who didna die fer stick or bow! Da big hat carped fer 'em ta charge, sum deemon 'eavy as a barge! An' just not un but too an' three, da uvver gitz dey glared wiv glee!
De-de-de-dere waz a git who waz a Khan, once knifin' dead sum damn orphan! Da git went wild wiv stabba-spear, an' guttin' anee who came near! Sparin' only woolfie boy, fer stabbin' waz 'is joy!
Stabba-git he got ta lookit up, as anuvver Khan lost his hickup! Stabbin' inta bloodee deemon hull, Khan got handed back 'iz skull! Da deemons' eyes dey did all burn, an' it's stabba-git's turn!
De-de-de-dere waz a git who waz a Khan, once knifin' dead sum damn orphan! Da git went wild wiv stabba-spear, an' guttin' anee who came near! Sparin' only woolfie boy, fer stabbin' waz 'is joy!
Stabba-git he got ta madly ride, deemon choppas swingin' wide! Cacklin' like sum mad git-goon, got a stab an' not a spoon! Yet he waz still sum luckee git, at deemon he did spit!
De-de-de-dere waz a git who waz a Khan, once knifin' dead sum damn orphan! Da git went wild wiv stabba-spear, an' guttin' anee who came near! Sparin' only woolfie boy, fer stabbin' waz 'is joy!
Stabba-git he got ta bloodee fight, stabbin' deemon in 'iz sight! An' woolfie boy jumped rabid mad, bitin' frough dat armour-clad! Da deemons beaten all ran home, droolin' blood an' foam!
De-de-de-dere waz a git who waz a Khan, once knifin' dead sum damn orphan! Da git went wild wiv stabba-spear, an' guttin' anee who came near! Sparin' only woolfie boy, fer stabbin' waz 'is joy!
Stabba-git he got ta boss it out, stabbin' anee who did shout! Waz livin' like sum big hat god, frowin' gitses in da mud! Growin' fat an' warty scabbed, until he got stabbed!
- Hobgoblin song |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 17:39:13 GMT
Shush! Sneak! Vicious streak!
Shush! Sneak! Vicious streak! Make not anee zingle creak!
Shush! Stalk! Funny walk! Crawl up quiet when dey talk!
Shush! Creep! Now dey sleep! Boyz an' gitz, let's make 'em weep! Climb da walls dat look so steep! Burzt through window wiv a leap! Gut da cattle, cut da sheep! Gotcha knife an' starta sweep! Frow their corpzes in a heap! Hahahahahaha!
Scurry low, an' string da bow! Spoil da bread, an' chop off head! Frow yer knife, in someun's wife! Kidz who fear, stab wiv spear! Men da same, but first we maim! Spill their gutz, an' burn their hutz! Grabba torch, an' starta scorch!
Let'z do it once again! Hahahahahaha!
- Hobgoblin camp song |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 17:41:01 GMT
Hah!
Blood in da mud, an' gutz in da hutz! Won't work an' go nutz, zo bunk while ya kan!
Skull on da hull, an' gland in da hand! Won't spare da hot brand, zo burn while ya kan!
Fart on da heart, an' stung in da lung! Won't tell mah knife flung, zo stab while ya kan!
Kill on da hill, an' gore on da shore! Won't miss any store, zo loot while ya kan!
Leg in da keg, an' arm from da farm! Won't hear any harm, zo maim while ya kan!
Ahahahahaha!
- Hobgoblin loot song |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 17:42:03 GMT
Foreign Songs About Chaos Dwarfs When the ravenous armies of the Chaos Dwarfs conquer, devastate, raid and enslave in distant lands, they leave scars upon the minds of their surviving enemies and victims which may not be visible, yet still lingers long after the Dawi Zharr have departed with their armoured cohorts, mutant beasts and winged monsters, and with their hellish war machines, slave soldiers and shackled fire Daemons. Tales and songs about such encounters are retold and sung from the Old World to Cathay.
War may be strangely exhilarating to experience, but it is also terrible. Glory is only won amongst the moans of dying enemies, lest the most brilliant stratagems and marvellous feats of engineering would be for nothing. Yet to face the fell hosts of the Chaos Dwarf empire is to come face to face with one's own raw, primal fear.
Chaos Dwarfs are the ones who trample and enslave Greenskins on a large scale. It is they who routinely quench menacing Warbosses and thus conquers the most barbaric race in the whole world. The Dawi Zharr shy from nothing to dominate and enslave. Not only mortals are found toiling in backbreaking labour for the sake of Zharr-Naggrund's might and production, but even Daemons have been made into fettered thralls.
Theirs is a dread reputation, and the Chaos Dwarfs do everything in their power to stimulate and uphold it. After all, fear is in itself a potent weapon and deterrent, and the psychological warfare one can find in a Chaos Dwarf army is as sickening as it is deliberately wrought to inspire terror in foe and slave alike.
Their hosts are adorned with trophies from ritually skinned, mutilated and burnt victims, and the very shapes of the Chaos Dwarfs' helmets and bound Daemons are intended to cow and frighten. Live slaves with cut-off limbs, gouged eyes, opened guts and flayed or scorched skins decorate giblets, war machines and even banners in most Dawi Zharr battle lines. These make a grotesque sight, yet to hear their wails and moans is possibly even worse.
The musical instruments of the Chaos Dwarfs are often possessed with bound Daemons to further increase psychological impact. Both Iron Daemons and such monsters as Lammasus and Bull Centaurs increase the terrifying impression of Zharr-Naggrund's armies. Dark sorcery, crushing artillery bombardments and cruel deeds all add up to strike fear into the hearts of the Chaos Dwarfs' foes.
Many of the verses sung about Chaos Dwarfs amongst other races stands as scattered testimonies to the dark dread experienced by enemy warriors and civilians alike. Behind these songs often lurk a grim trauma inflicted upon the minds of those enemies who composed the lines in the first place. These were men and women whose dreams were cast into nightmares by what they saw during war with the Dawi Zharr.
Although Ogres, uncorrupted Dwarfs and many Greenskins are resistant to such scars of the mind, the same cannot be said for the Skaven or the human multitude who time and time again find themselves confronting the Chaos Dwarfs' armies. Even hardened northmen have been left shaken by the sights, sounds and smells emanating from a Dawi Zharr battleline.
This is the stark reality behind most of the sagas and verses sung about the mysterious Chaos Dwarfs in foreign lands. Bear in mind the trauma and horror visited upon those who survived to tell the tale.
These are stanzas of war and slavery, of blood and arsonry, of darkness and madness, and of monstrous cruelty. Above all they are testimonies of a grim dread born out of hell itself, for to face the Blacksmiths of Chaos is to gaze into an abysmal hunger to dominate all and everything, and to break the will of every single living creature.
These are the songs of the Survivors. |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 17:44:18 GMT
Written by: KNCPerformed by: MadHatterAn Ode to the Asscannon
What a vile and horrid race that with grins on their tusked face takes brass that their slaves mined and shoves it into a Daemons behind load's it with a cannonball and regards it the most coveted treasure of all
- Unknown survivor and poet of the Empire, commenting on Chaos Dwarf warfare |
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Post by admiral on Feb 13, 2019 17:46:24 GMT
Stunty Tusks
Stunty tusks, got scaly husks, eat with mask, a hardy task, the gut-bad fat, stuff in their hat, home big hill, hard to kill.
Stunty tusks, got scaly husks, got green slave, do not shave, a-smithing hard, they got odd lard, beasts of steel, turning wheel.
Stunty tusks, got scaly husks, get your pay, do as they say, follow law, or eat them raw, big boom guns, Gnoblar runs.
- Ogre nursery rhyme |
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