Chaos Dwarf Prophecies [WHFB]

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    • Chaos Dwarf Prophecies [WHFB]

      Written & perfomed by: MadHatter

      The Cannibal-Core

      Once lost in Dark Lands distressed,
      I pitied, embraced and I blessed.
      You became mine, a new race thus born,
      redone in my image with hoof, tusk and horn.

      You built me a Temple, you sacrificed herds,
      I bless you again now with unholy words.
      A secret so dark, a secret forbidden,
      for you mortals indeed best forever left hidden.

      Five became four as pure warp became flesh,
      death and rebirth, earth's wound still bleeding fresh.
      In all of the old world there's nothing as odd
      as the horrible truth of the Inverted God.

      Thwarting His brothers with malice and schemes,
      the Cancer of Chaos worked through whispers in dreams.
      Learn and be wise from Malal's ghastly fate,
      for nothing is safe from Divine Chaos hate.

      For snatching Their Chosen with lies that spread doubt
      He was caught by His brothers and turned inside-out.
      To the front of a comet in bondage and lash,
      on-course for the earth, to the north set to crash.

      The impact made mindless, Malal the great traitor,
      known only now as the Maw of the Crater,
      His Prophet that doth the great Maw-cauldron drag
      was the Chosen of Malice, the slaughterer, Skrag.

      At forges he worked Daemonsmith's as his slaves
      with his wishes fullfilled sendt them straight to their graves.
      In Chaos Armour with that axe forged from a star,
      hated by me Father Hashut and all my Dawi-Zharr.

      There was only silence, no lightning or flash,
      his armour and axe naught but frail rusty trash.
      His Deity now gone, we remember and scoff,
      how the gifts he was given in wind just blew off.

      The great comets impact killed all life save bugs,
      their shamans found wisdom through mushrooms and drugs.
      To save their own race they told sister and brother
      to battle each other and eat one another.

      The heart of Malal, the grim cannibal-core,
      forever had grown as he ate of the Four.
      As the Maw now in flesh dense as infant or younger,
      just one instinct left, just that terrible hunger.

      Ogre's where drawn to this being far greater
      for sympathy radiated from down the big crater.
      The hunger they shared, the one knew the others,
      and Deity and race joined like two long lost lovers.
      Still in the south-plains of dread Zorn Uzkul
      Skrag now fled from all things resembling a bull.
      Hunted all hours, lost, scared and accused,
      Skrag quickly fled north all alone and confused.

      In Rockgrinder's hall old fat Skrag was secure,
      until he made that mistake in a moment unsure.
      He apologized quickly, with dread and regret,
      for the gnoblar he cooked was Bron Rockgrinders pet.

      They ripped off his arms, and yes, this much is known,
      and as a feast for the Gorgers they then had him thrown.
      The labyrinth floor was damp, wet, hard and cold,
      vaults full of horrors, walls covered in mold.

      When bleeding and facing his death as their meal,
      the beasts where shrugged back by his frenzy unreal.
      In Skrag was now naught but a burning black hole
      they recognized this as the Maw's hungry soul.

      Malal's mark on Skrag had just undergone change,
      inverted it's presence dread emptiness strange.
      The Champions Marks of their Gods are a part,
      tracing back through the Winds to the Gods very heart.

      In the name of the Maw he the Gorgers did order
      and soon they smashed through the great labyrinths border.
      The tyrant Bron Rockgrinder they tore and they ate,
      and Skrag now a Prophet resumed his true fate.

      The Great Maw's sole Prophet with knowledge forbidden,
      remembered his past but kept everything hidden.
      The truth is that this hungry Maw of the Crater,
      was a scheme of Lord Tzeentch the great manipulator.

      Malal was a tumor, Our one perfect flaw,
      now listen my Zharrlings, listen in awe.
      The fate of the world was here sealed and decided,
      remember that I too am Chaos Undivided.

      -The Temple of Hashut's Prophecy of the End-times

    • What will the tool do without its wise hand?
      What will the weapon do without its arm strong?
      What will the slave do without its hot brand?
      And the iron without its black tong?

      The answer lies hidden in dark godly true lies,
      those I can't tell you, sought out on a false way,
      when the Daemon times four with itself inside out vies,
      then Hashut the divinities will flay.

      What will the tribute do without its flour?
      What will the altar do without its blood spill?
      What will the idol do without its power?
      And the fire without its high will?

      The answer lies hidden in dark godly true lies,
      those I can't tell you, sought out on a false way,
      when Taurus in wrath to the Gate in the north flies,
      then Hashut all false devotees will slay.

      What will the weakling do without its chain?
      What will the landscape do without its erosion?
      What will the victim do without its pain?
      And Chaos without its emotion?

      The answer lies hidden in dark godly true lies,
      those I can't tell you, sought out on a false way,
      when the waters of defiled River Ruin at last dries,
      then Hashut will make the whole world his clay.

      - Chaos Dwarf mystic prophecy song, sometimes interpreted as indicating the End Times and the collapse of the order of things will bring about the Father of Darkness' ultimate ascent and rule of the cosmos

    • Oooh...

      In blackest sorrow we wail and tear our beards.


      In deep despair we cry and pull our tusks.


      In raw desperation we blind our eyes so that we cannot see.


      Lo and behold, for the signs of doom have been seen,
      listen and remember, for these dire portents will be true,
      confirmed by tortured Daemons twelve, eight, sixty and fourteen,
      and to halt tribe's demise there is nothing we can do.


      Cruel fate wrought by Dark Gods did destine us for doom,
      yet in olden days He delivered us from ancestors' final death,
      greater powers let this cracking of anvils stand for tribe to bloom,
      only to pull us down from pinnacle of might with gasping breath.


      Hear raw cries of beasts and brutes born out of war,
      see greatest works bred in tribe's dark ascendancy,
      sense scoffing guffaw of the terrible Great Four,
      smell rotten promises of our dependency.


      What is this grim fate that we cannot escape?
      What is this vile doom in which Chaos would us drape?
      What is this end of the high Bull God's divine r@pe?
      What is this death the Dark Gods for us all did shape?


      When death incarnate rises from the grave,
      when Everchosen unite Dark Gods' sacred hosts,
      when victorious master is overthrown by slave,
      when all creation on doomsday's fires roasts.
      The end...


      When bale moon die in thousand shards and fall upon our heads,
      when the call of Dark Gods is answered by us in strong force,
      when fertile consorts and kin lie slain and torn upon our beds,
      then know that this marriage of Dark God and tribe was ever a divorce.
      The end...


      For the potent signs are clear, the high Bull of Fire will at long last fall,
      and those mighty turned to stone will walk again to heed His call,
      and we Blacksmiths of Chaos will break down mortals' strongest wall,
      and we will arm and armour hosts of Dark Gods like a thrall,
      and unholy power will lift us to heavenly Hashut's flaming hall,
      and our blessed dark empire will be at its greatest ever sprawl,
      and after ages of toil and war we'll reap the fruits of our long crawl,
      yet those the Dark Gods wish to destroy they will not at first make small,
      for we will conquer and be great, only to succumb to defilers' brawl,
      what is this laugh of cruel and dark divinities that echo like a squall?
      And we will wail in torment at Temple's sudden fall,
      and its lament we will scrawl.
      We will scrawl...
      O, we will scrawl...


      We thrice beseech thee, mighty one, let not this dark path of future come to be!
      We will sacrifice our slaves and worldly possessions in front of thee!
      We will give up anything to escape the Dark Gods' cruel glee!
      We will bash our offspring's hard heads upon the scree!
      We will cut our precious limbs to that destiny flee!
      We will scorch our hides if thee so decree!
      We will maul each precious knee!
      We will offer thee this plea!
      O, Hashut when on high...
      Spare me!


      Ancient Blood Grudge, was it settled...?
      Woeful civil strife in Temple's halls...
      The vengeful Hide of Iron nettled...
      Already hear the beastly calls...
      Spare me!


      Was our sole purpose to forge and toil and fight?
      For untold centuries to build thine worldly might?
      For this did we forsake each Ancestor God's holy rite?
      To rise through ashen hardships and vilest, blackest plight?
      To praise thine name and to all the foul foes of Chaos smite?
      To shed our blood and life to grip the Dark Lands tight?
      To embrace darkness and let fire be our only light?
      For price of damnation eternal in our souls' night?
      For us to see but thee and then lose our sight?
      Was our sole purpose to know the fearful warlord's brutish bite?


      Is this an insane scheme of Tzeentch's fiendish double-mind?
      Or just a feverish nightmare in bloody Khorne's eternal grind?
      Perhaps a heap of lies fallen out of Nurgle's cursed behind?
      Or just a druggened haze in Slaanesh's pleasures blind?
      And what is this fifth Dark God that rise to greatness find?
      Horns and cloven hooves, but this vermin did us never bind...


      Merciless master, would you these visions have us believe?
      Are they our future reality, or but bale Daemons' false dreams?
      Cast in doubt, not iron, may these visions ever see their eve?
      Or will creation wail and come apart at its very seams?

      O, high Hashut...


      Great indeed...

      Great is the fall of Zharr-Naggrund...

      - Temple Acolyte dirge

    • Lo and behold! Upon the sixth day following the feast of Ulkzhana the Golden Fertile - shackled consort of the Father of Darkness, divine lord of our tribe - I singlehandedly crushed and trampled the Ashnose Goblins at the precipice of the Grand Flamecanyon, landscar left by His left horn in ancient days.

      This mighty deed of mine was carried out under the bale gaze of the Chaos moon, and whosoever challenge the claims and foretellings left upon this stone will be torn asunder from inside by captured embers of destroyed K'daai.

      Many were the crude weaklings hurled into the fiery chasm. Their bodies, souls and everlasting agonies were dedicated to Him alone, for I magnanimously kept no slave or loot from this cruel victory, but instead offered up every gain won upon the battlefield in a grand sacrifice to Chaos through high Hashut.

      This mighty deed of mine was carried out since the broken Daemon Prince Ghurlzuu confessed under dire arcane torture that the omens witnessed upon the sixth day following the feast of Ulkzhana the Golden Fertile - shackled consort of the Father of Darkness, divine lord of our tribe - would be true. Due adulation and proper sacrifices were carried out in molten iron and upon a fiery altar beneath the vigilant gaze of His mighty idols, for I humbly wished to praise and pay homage to high Hashut for this opportune revelation, and not leave the envious and wrathful Bull God, lord of our damned souls, unrecognized. Therefore am I pious and destined for greatness under His dominon.

      Thus I sacrificed the Ashnose tribe in the Grand Flamecanyon, landscar of His left horn, and thus I beseeched the Father of Darkness and asked of Him to grant me a vision of great events to come. And He showed me a future, for He knew I served him well and true, yet I was not to be seen in this future. As testimony of our pact, the Thunderbull raged in the stormy heavens, and the Great Firebull quaked the lands to seal the hungry rift, just as He has rent open and closed countless fissures before it.

      Upon the blood of my sons I swear that my vision, bestowed upon me by Him when on high, is true. This future cannot be escaped, yet it may happen to us in another world not here, for such are the capricious ways of the Realm of Chaos.

      Three times three predictions do I make:

      The dead will live anew to die again, for the lord of death will return to challenge Chaos for mastery over the fate of creation.

      The powers will coalesce into the powerful, for the arcane winds of the Polar Gates will take residence in mortals, and might akin to that of the gods will stalk the lands.

      The fallen will rise to fall a last time, for the bale moon of Chaos will break and spill its innards over us, and destruction will reign.

      The hidden will cease to hide, for the four Dark Gods will become five, and both gods and worshippers will clash.

      The damnation will claim the damned, for the tribe will stand strong with their Father and break the wall of order for Chaos, and those made great by gods to fall, will fall.

      The dominated will overthrow the dominator, for the great city of pillars and pits will fall to the vengeful hands of slaves and barbarian hordes, and the high will be brought low.

      The sane will turn insane, for the last great battle will rage as above, so below, and the warriors will fall in war.

      The doomed will have their doom, for the world itself will shatter and die, and those mortals not chosen by the gods will perish.

      The end of creation will not be the end of all creation, for the ascendant Man-God will survive alone among us to join forces with the Dragon Deity, and the cycle of struggle will begin anew.

      I, Garhumilkarzuk the Great, let carve these words.

      - Glowing inscription carved into obsidian pedestal of the petrified Sorcerer-Prophet Garhumlikarzuk Fellcurse*

      * Various versions of the rambling, self-appraising and repetitive structure displayed by this inscription can be found in a great number of texts written by the elite priesthood of the Temple of Hashut.
    • Written by: Enjoysrandom

      Broken ground and burning fires
      The Dark Lands of ziggurats and spires
      To Mountains of Mourn where the Old World is torn
      Buckling under the weight of the chaotic scorn
      That incredible weight of Mingol Zharr Naggrund
      Home of the Chaos Dwarfs the despots of legend
      Slaves shamelessly sacrificed for the worlds destruction
      Graves gleefully glamorized for Hashuts induction
      the grumbling roar of despotic awe
      A chaotic sorcerer holding a slaves jaw
      Fueling the forges all guided by his hand
      A blackened plague bred in the Dark Land
      The cracking whips and the chanted scripts
      The age of the Dawi'Zharr, the old world apocalypse
      Ordering his minions to take all for his claim
      Ordering his slaves to just die for his fame
      Ordering his empire to ready and take aim
      And let the whole world feel the burn of Hashuts flame
    • Written by: Dînadan

      "...And thus again did it come to pass that the world did burn,
      Screaming and staunchly defiant to the end,
      But such brazen demands were futile for,
      Entropy brings even the greatest low.
      Fiery embers flickered out and ashes grew cold,
      Last follies lost amidst uncaring stars.

      [fragment missing]

      '...As surely as life beget death, does not too death beget life?'
      Sternly and stoically did the great drake set about its task,
      Labouring slowly lest carelessness undo its creation;
      Tirelessly labouring 'til at last the world were forged anew,
      Again 'twas arisen from the flames,
      For all this has happened before, and all this shall happen again."

      - Only surviving fragment from an apocryphal Dawi-Zharr creation myth said to have been found inscribed blood on an iron tablet discovered below Daemon's Stump. Much of the text is damaged where the tablet has been melted by warpfyre after a daemonic incursion below the Stump centuries ago.
    • Written by: Abecedar

      Listen to thy God, Oh Supposed Masters of the Dawi Zharr.
      Heed the words of thy God, Oh Wielders of Magics.
      Hear me and tremble, Oh Incompetent Rulers of my people.

      Find the first of your kind.
      His heart is as dark as you wrongly believe yours to be.
      No magic’s does he use.
      Though his simple weapons are blessed by me.

      No more shall you lead but He you shall obey.
      Thru blackest night and darkest day.
      For any to persevere.
      The Horns of Hashut above should rear.

      Bow to me and tremble, Oh Incompetent Rulers of my people.
      Believe the words of thy God, Oh Wielders of Magic’s.
      Obey thy God, Oh Supposed Masters of the Dawi Zharr.
      Or Perish.
    • Written by: Abecedar

      When all was lost,
      I kept you alive
      When your usefulness was at an end,
      I gave you purpose.
      You pledged to worship and obey me,
      You failed.

      Darkness beyond all light,
      Heat and fire beyond all that the guts of the earth could contain.
      Both these you shall know.
      Those who hold me in their heart of hearts will survive
      Those who hold themselves more precious will not
      You know who you are already.
      Knowing this and yet you do not believe.

      In my name only will
      My last servants know hope
      In my name only will
      The chance for Power and Glory be theirs
      In my name only will you know me
      The coldest blood crawls through my veins
      The hottest fire drips from my mouth

      “Found scrawled upon a scorched parchment, In front of a seated Hellsmith. A Hellsmith known to have been dead for half a century. A Hellsmith who’s body should not exist for he had been cremated. He who had been condemned to death for his apostasy. In handwriting that was undeniably testified by the archivists to be that of the disgraced heretic. Known to the lords for they were the ones who had condemned him."

      The ink was still fresh.