Bloodbeard:
How he was named
The air was filled with a heavy scent of blood, gunpowder, burned flesh and death.
It had only been a few hours since millenia old hatred had fnially been manifested in brutal battle.
The battlefield had beene in a valley, and in the middle of that was an area of scourged earth. The dirt was cracked and black, toxic steam was still rising from the recently melted stones.
A small group of Dawi Zharr sat or lay casually resting in a circle at the burned area.
Piles of coaled bodies lay scattered around the brass- and ironclad victors. The feast, enjoyment of the spoils of war, had started an hour ago. It was a ritual, an offering to the Dark Father Hashut, fighting over the best cuts of meat.
The magma cannons engineers weren’t gourmet chefs…
Only a few dwarfs of the west lay hurt, bound, bleeding - but alive. Around the defeated survivors, a pile of gnawed bones started to build. The desecrated and eaten remains of their brethren.
Dark laughter, degrading jokes, vile comments in the twisted dialect of khaozalid and bits of chewed flesh hit them from all sides.
The dark tongues went silent, when a tall - for a dwarf of cause - figure strode into the gathering.
His centuries old heavy blackshard armor was covered in ash and blood. The magic runes protecting from fire and heat, was only dimly visible through all the dirt.
His helmet was covered by a fullface helmet. A brazen bulls head was sitting atop. Four large horns rose towards the dark, thunder cloud filled, sky. The holy symbol of Hashut signified he was a daemonsmith sorcerer, a priest of the Dark Father.
Zantromm, Bloodbeard in the common tongue of man, was the name of the prophet.
He stood silent for a few moments, glancing at his brothers in arms - too many had fallen.
Of cause the weakest of his host were among the fallen, as was anticipated. But also strong dawi zharr had given their lives to Hashut - the enemy organ gun had been lethal beyond all expectations. He was glad they managed to capture the crew alive.
“Hashut, Father of Darkness, hear my prayer!”
Zantromms words were harsh and spoken from the back of his throat.
“Hashut, Master of Shadows, receive our sacrifice!”
He grabbed the first bound dwarf by his beard and yanked him to his feet.
"Hashut, Lord of Fire, feel our eternal hate as we slay your enemies!
The tall daemonsmith held the captive high, the disgraced had a hard time keeping his balance, dangling bound from his beard.
“Hashut, Eater of Magma, bless us with power and might!”
Zantromm draw a long curved blade, more resembling a saw than an actual dagger. He placed it by the dwarfs left ear.
“Hashut, Destroyer of Worlds, we bring you blood and pain!”.
The sound of flesh and bone under the saw was loud. At first the dwarf spat out curses through broken teeth, but soon he screamed in pain. Blood began to colour the once blonde beard in a dark red.
“Hashut, King of Gods, bless us in our war against those who defy you!”
When the last of the beard was cut free the sacrifice fell to the ground. Blood poured from the bottom of his face, and his neck and chest got covered as he died.
The bloodbeard, the torturing technique, had given Zantromm his name centuries and sacrifices ago.
A little piece I wrote during a boring meeting yesterday. What happened after my 500 point Chaos Dwarfs defeated a Dwarf army. Part of the campaign .
