[Archive] Scribe's Contest Hall of Fame


This is an index list of the Scribe’s Contests. Scribe’s Contest is a regular writing competition held by Chaos Dwarfs Online in an effort to inspire creative ideas and foster growth of the community’s Chaos Dwarf Culture Project in order to expand upon and deepen Chaos Dwarf background.

1. Infamous Quotes

Announcement - Entrants - Winners

2. Hobgoblins, the Middlemen Slave Caste

Announcement - Entrants - Winners

3. Visions of Doom

Announcement - Entrants - Winners

4. Prophecies of Rebirth and Resurrection

Announcement - Entrants - Winners

5. Chaos Dwarfs in the Eyes of Others

Announcement - Entrants - Winners

6. Myths & Legends

Announcement - Entrants - Winners

7. Blood Bowl

Announcement - Entrants - Winners

8. Afterlife

Announcement - Entrants - Winners

9. Distance & Remoteness in the Chaos Dwarf Empire

Announcement - Entrants - Winners

10. The True Nature of the Father of Darkness

Announcement - Entrants - Winners

11. Temple Song Lyrics

Announcement - Entrants - Winners

12. On Dark Tides

Announcement - Entrants - Winners


This is an index list of the Scribe’s Contests. Scribe’s Contest is a regular writing competition held by Chaos Dwarfs Online in an effort to inspire creative ideas and foster growth of the community’s Chaos Dwarf Culture Project in order to expand upon and deepen Chaos Dwarf background. Great thanks to Jasko for salvaging all pictures and text!


[align=center]Google Drive Folder
CDOstaff Imgur Album

Entry #8 TheHoodedMan

Mama Khan


  1. Visions of Doom

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    Gold: TimothyLeighton

    Entry #5

    A Slight Return

    The sound of Zharr-Naggrund�?Ts great furnace exploding rang through Daemonsmith Hzzkad�?Ts private chambers. It drowned out the howls of the Greenskin horde assailing the great capital. The demented screams of the K�?Tdaai unleashed from the bowls of the ziggurat in a final, desperate counter attack. And for a second it even obscured the crack of fireglaives coming from the corridor just outside, as the handful of Infernal Guard allocated to Hzzkad�?Ts protection, made their doomed, final stand.

    Hzzkad had barricaded himself in his chambers at the first sign of trouble. He had seen the end coming. Watching the skies through the thick clouds of toxic smoke that perpetually hung about Zharr Naggrund, he saw the subtle changes in the stars as the sickly sheen of chaos spread across the world. The Prophets dismissed his fears as weakness. Those same Prophets who were now in the grand chamber, desperately spilling the blood of their own Bull Centaur retinues in a hopeless attempt to summon Lord Hashut to save them in this dire hour. Hzzkad knew Hashut was not coming. He knew that the great capital would fall. Death did not scare Hzzkad. What came next terrified him.

    Ignoring the sounds of battle Hzzkad stood facing the giant, polished plate of brass, screwed to the wall of his chambers. He saw his terrible reflection. The tiny horns protruding from his head. The twisted, stone stump where his left arm used to be. The single, grim tusk that erupted from his jaw causing his lips to loll open in a permanent sneer. Trophies of heresy. In his one good hand Hzzkad clutched a saw. Forged of base metals but sharpened to a surgical edge. He had used it many a time in the rituals. Sawing off the head of a still living sacrifice. Pain and terror spicing the blood for Hashut. Gritting his teeth Hzzkad began to saw at the first of the two horns. Part stone, part tissue every draw of the saw was burning agony. Hot, coppery blood poured down his face. But still he continued until with a wet, wrenching plop the horn fell to the ground. Hzzkad paused for breath. The pain worked him, exhausting every reserve he had. But he was not done. With grim determination Hzzkad hacked the second horn from his head. Blood gushed from his wounds, staining his face a slick crimson. Hzzkad inspected his reflection. He ran a hand across his smooth forehead. And in the midst of the pain he smiled.

    Putting the saw down he turned to the other tools he�?Td gathered for this moment. Hzzkad picked up a pair of pliers, still mottled with the dry blood of whichever slave had been too quick to stumble or too slow to move. A slave just like the thousands who right now were exacting their well earned revenge on his fellow Dawi Zharr.

    Hzzkad locked the pliers around the tusk protruding from his mouth and closed his eyes�?�

    He pictured a cavern, lit by warm braziers. He heard singing and drunken boasts. He smelt meat roasting and ale, rich and hoppy. On the cavern walls he saw the shadows of comrades in celebration. Proud, boastful and true. A blood bond thicker than any incantation�?�

    Hzzkad gripped the pliers and pulled as hard as he could.

    The sound of a battering ram crashing against the door brought Hzzkad to consciousness. He lay on the floor, his mouth filled with blood, the ugly tusk lying beside him. There wasn�?Tt much time left. Scrambling to his feet Hzzkad rushed to the sealed chest he kept in pride of place in his chambers. A chest without seams or joins. Even the mightiest giant could not pry it open. But with one touch from Hzzkad the lid gently lifted to reveal its secret.

    Hzzkad lifted up the solid, double headed axe. He admired the runes upon it. Runes he could no more understand than he could alter the fate of Zharr-Naggrund. The doors were beginning to give way but Hzzkad was ready. His horns and tusk gone and in his hand an heirloom passed down through his bloodline for generations. A secret shame held by his kin. A reminder of a long forgotten past. As the doors began to splinter Hzzkad became aware of the corrupted, stone stump of his left arm. A final mark of guilt. With one mighty strike Hzzkad brought down the axe down on his deformed arm, shattering the limb in a hail of stone and blood. And finally, he was whole.

    Axe in hand, a half remembered song about drink and kin and glory on his lips, as the horde outside surged through the doors, Hzzkad stood his ground and prepared to die like a dwarf.

    Entry #7 Roark

    The dying flames of a dozen sacrificial pyres fought hopelessly against the unyielding darkness of the vast obsidian monolith�?Ts most sacred inner sanctum. This holiest of places had no name. Of the few Dawi Zharr who had witnessed the manifestations and wonders within, the unspoken consensus was that to name it would be absurd, banal and damnable.

    �?oThe beasts clamour beyond the gates, Lord. The Obsidian Phalanx have fallen. All are dead at the Thousand Steps.�?�

    Silence within�?� Rancour without�?�

    The Esteemed Prophet Ghul ar-Zarrak turned from his bitter contemplation of cold and silent runes and beheld the speaker. He stared deeply into the slit, burnished faceplate before him, his eyes searching for weakness or diffidence. Ghul was unsurprised to find none. He was bemused to note that he couldn�?Tt recall the name of this warrior, the scarred and stoic commander of his slavishly faithful bodyguard.

    Irrelevant. Names, titles, political currency�?� all irrelevant now.

    �?oThis blasphemy cannot be�?� the Prophet hissed, with virulent hatred on his breath.

    The cacophony of deadly battle beyond the temple portal increased in pitch and desperation, quavering like a wounded beast with a thousand throats.

    �?oHas the Father spoken to you, Lord?�?� queried the warrior, eager to end his ceremonial vigil and turn his grim attention, and that of his silently waiting warriors, to the threat outside. He hungered to answer the furore of the greenskin invaders with his most eloquent of arguments - delivered at the edge of a hellforged greataxe.

    Ghul glanced meaningfully toward the shadowed recess beneath the sacrificial grate.

    Indeed, he speaks not. And at this hour! What would you say to this, Holy One?


  1. Prophecies of Rebirth and Resurrection

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    Gold: Fuggit Khan

    Entry 3

    Imperial Year


    Contact is lost.


    Mining an iron vein, Rahk-Shardstone unearths a prophetic obsidian tablet.

    Its inscription, written in veins of living liquid copper, states:

    �?oHell has 664 portal gate keys. With them, your hands shall forge the final two, the keys of Rebirth and Eternity, and I, Hashut, shall name you my Son.�?�


    Dwarfs of the Dark Lands start worshipping Hashut.


    Sorceror Prophet Rahk-Shardstone guides the raising of iron and obsidian from the ground, the foundations of Zharr-Naggrund.


    Whispers of the Sorcerors Curse. No, Rahk-Shardstone thought�?�not a curse.

    Rebirth and Eternity. Flesh rots. Stone is eternal.

    He smiled.


    Rahk-Shardstone�?Ts lifeless petrified stone body is placed on temple grounds.


    The stone statue of Rahk-Shardstone steps off its pedestal.

    His heart was iron ore, lungs of molten magma. Liquid copper coursed through his stone veins. Black obsidian eyes, with copper pupils, looked at his stone hands.

    Glowing hotly, both hands held a key, each forged with the souls of 332 daemons.

    The final two keys: Rebirth and Eternity.

    As those about him bowed in fear, Rahk-Shardstone looked to the statue of Hashut. Smiling, he spoke�?��?�Hello, Father�?�.


  1. Myths & Legends
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    Gold: Ikkred Pyrhelm

    Entry #2

    F�?Tkari and the Eternal Flame

    The hearth crackled as hungry flames licked already blackened logs, throwing up a dirty yellowish light over the Chaos Dwarfs. They paid it no mind, nor even the drinks now forgotten beside them. The Chaos Dwarf ancient and his companion had arrived earlier that day, his accent strange to them. He wove them stories of their ancestors, of forgotten glories, of bloody deaths. The fire crackled again, casting an almost daemonic aspect on the old Chaos Dwarf’s craggy face, he had yet another tale to tell.

    "‘I�?Td give my eyes for knowledge, my skin for wealth, my bones for power, my soul for immortality,’ the long forgotten Dirszki once claimed that, for which of us would not want such boons despite the sacrifices? Yet dark fates await those who would reach for such ends. Such as F�?Tkari and the Eternal Flame.

    F�?Tkari was an adventurous son of our kind, his blade was always sharp, his eye keen, and his stein forever empty. Here was a Dawi Zharr that seemed destined for great things.�?� The ancient�?Ts companion snorted at this as if he�?Td heard the same line one too many times, the mask covering his face seeming to shimmer in the glow. The ancient ignored him and continued.

    �?oIndeed, the hearth would be colder than a spurned Rinn before I could cover the legends of F�?Tkari.�?� His companion grunted something about the old coot exaggerating everything but was ignored. �?oBut his last great adventure,�?� continued the old Chaos Dwarf, �?odealt him the greatest treasure yet the most ill of punishments. Our story begins, as many stories do, on a lonely barren road. F�?Tkari had returned from a great war against our soft �?~cousins�?T and was making his weary bones along the path home when he happened to come across an old pedlar. He was mending a pair of boots whilst whistling a tune, F�?Tkari stopped and began to dance to the tune in merriment. The tune finished, F�?Tkari noticed that his jig had worn away his boots to nothing. The pedlar smiled and proffered the boots he was mending, ‘may your dance never leave you barefooted,’ he chuckled and left without further word. F�?Tkari hesitantly tried the boots on and found them a perfect fit, and he walked onwards noticing how they did not seem to wear.

    �?oHe came upon another pedlar whittling away at a piece of dark wood and smoking a pipe. F�?Tkari lit his pipe and joined the pedlar, watching him work. When the pedlar finished, F�?Tkari removed his pipe only to find it crumble away in his hand. The pedlar smiled and gave F�?Tkari his pipe, ‘may your pipe never empty,’ he chuckled and left without further word. F�?Tkari placed some pipe weed into this strange pipe and found it burned for as long as he wished, and he walked onwards, plumes of smoke around him.

    �?oThen he came upon a third pedlar who sat there weeping, for he had neither boots nor pipe. F�?Tkari would have left the fool as he was, and yet he was unnaturally moved by the Chaos Dwarf�?Ts plight. Before proper sense returned to him he had given the pedlar his boots and pipe. ‘It is a rare Dawi Zharr who gives such riches,’ the pedlar smiled and gave F�?Tkari a set of strangely crafted dice. 'Go to the ruins to the south and meet with the Daemon of fire. May your luck never run out.'

    �?oTaking the dice, F�?Tkari made his way south and found a long forgotten ruined keep. He made camp there and waited. As darkness fell there was a plume of fire and a great Daemon appeared before F�?Tkari. The Daemon cackled and prepared to feast on the foolish Chaos Dwarf when F�?Tkari held aloft the dice. ‘Very well,’ hissed the Daemon, 'what do you wish to gamble your soul for?'

    F�?Tkari thought hard and responded, ‘I have seen much in my years and wish to see much more, I wish for life eternal.’ The Daemon smiled and the two began to gamble. To the Daemon�?Ts dismay his every roll was bad and F�?Tkari�?Ts perfect, and by the light of dawn he conceded defeat. ‘You seek the Eternal Flame,’ the Daemon whispered, touching F�?Tkari�?Ts brow. With the path in his mind, F�?Tkari began the long and perilous journey till he stood before the flames eternal. Filled with dreams of immortality he stepped into them and his wish was granted.�?�

    The old Chaos Dwarf smiled as the flames crackled. �?oOf course, the Daemon (nor the pedlars he pretended to be) never told F�?Tkari that the fire would scorch his flesh and he�?Td be cursed to forever travel…always burning…never dying…�?�

    �?oSo what happened to him?�?� spoke one of the listeners.

    �?oHe still wanders…isn�?Tt that right, F�?Tkari?�?� smiled the storyteller.

    His companion stood and removed his mask.

    Entry #5 Admiral


  1. Afterlife

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    Gold: Ikkred Pyrhelm

    Entry #1

    A Lost Rune

    Dark whispers and even darker promises. Our kind has fallen prey to these time and time again. I know the truth of these whispers and promises; I have seen what awaits all of us.

    It was only meant to be a simple ritual. My master Drekkfra had only recently perished in battle against a migrating tribe of Ogres. As his adept, I was meant to take his place as Sorcerer. Yet the old coot had fed me precious little knowledge and his tomes were locked by a rune I could not fathom. In my lust for knowledge and trusting not to consorting with daemons yet, I decided to cast my spirit into the fabled Halls of the Dead. If I could find my master then maybe I could learn how to unlock his rune, even if I had to torture his spirit to do so.

    Ten slaves and a young bull carved with runes of death and afterlife were sacrificed within my master�?Ts altar room, the dying bull�?Ts blood pooling into a goblet that I drank whilst invoking the words engraved on the gates of Hashut�?Ts Halls. What happened next, I do not know, but I must have passed out for I awoke in darkness.

    I rose to my feet and looked around warily as my eyes began to adjust. I was within a stone chamber marked with the runes and dark signs of Hashut. I muttered an incantation and a small sphere of light grew from my hand to float beside me. I knew I did not have long before my spirit would be drawn back to life.

    There was a large stone passageway that opened up and I passed through it. Of the souls of my fellow Dawi Zharr, I at first saw nothing. I have heard tales of pits of fire and flame where the weak of my kind are eternally tormented, and I have heard other tales of great halls with warm hearths where our greatest eternally feast and toast our lord Hashut. None of those tales hold truth. The oppressive stone around me was dark and cold. There was little sound, as if these halls were truly empty.

    I then heard a pained gibber. I turned quickly at the sound, words of destruction forming within my mind. A face had appeared on the stone wall. It was the face of one of my fellow Dawi Zharr. It gibbered, eyes slackly turning. It did not seem to notice me, too lost in agony and madness. I took several wary steps away and continued down the tunnel, noticing more and more faces appear and disappear upon the walls. Males, females, and children. Some were nobleborn, some Sorcerers, some guards, and some mere underlings. They gibbered, gnashed, and groaned as they painfully crawled across the walls. I tried to entreat some of them whom seemed familiar to me, but none answered.

    The tunnel grew colder, ice crystals seemed to form upon the walls. Still the faces swam.

    Finally, a stone portal loomed ahead and I quickly passed through without looking back. An ancient and haggard Chaos Dwarf leant against the back wall, muttering and shaking. It was my master. Not five days had passed since his death, yet he had aged so much. I strode to him with purpose, though my heart was already chilled with what I had seen. He looked up with confused and distant eyes.

    �?�Lost…lost…lost…�?� he murmured in a faded voice.

    �?oMaster. Drekkfra. It is I, your pupil�?� I replied. He looked at me strangely with unfocussed eyes.

    �?oLost…lost…lost…Hashut…It�?Ts so cold…�?� he gibbered.

    �?oWhat is the rune you used to hide your secrets? Tell me!�?�

    �?oCold…cold…cold…�?� he whimpered.

    Snarling, I seized him. Yet I was unable to move him. He was becoming one with the cold stone. He dragged a finger nail across a slab of stone beside him, almost absentmindedly. I looked on, brow furrowed. It was the rune that I didn�?Tt recognize. I reached out to touch it but on contact it burnt worse than any flame that has licked my flesh. I reeled back in pain and turned angry eyes to my master.

    �?oLost…lost…lost…�?� he murmured again, unaware of me. I turned to leave and as I did so my master and the cold stone walls seemed to fade into the darkness. I heard a laugh. The laughter of Hashut.

    I awoke.

    We are fools. In our greed we have surrendered our souls. We are the building blocks for Hashut�?Ts Hall. There is no reward for our service, only the cold stone. It is our fate and something we shall all face.

    Even now, I look to my hand and the rune burned into it. I realize now what it is, forlorn, misplaced, or impossible that it may be.


    Entry #5 Abecedar


  1. Distance & Remoteness in the Chaos Dwarf Empire
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    Gold: Abecedar

    Entry #6

    [align=center]Treacherous Road[/align]

    A summons from Zharr-Naggrund had come, the tight restrictions on troop numbers and its lateness had complicated matters, but the orders were simply to be obeyed. Things like it were an absolute; all knew the price of disobedience or failure.

    The caravan was moving more rapidly along the rugged road than it normally would. Other smaller much quicker tracks ran out from these mountains but they were definitely not suitable for the necessary wagons. Time was the greatest issue as the summons had arrived late and their journey was far longer for them than for some of the others. To arrive late would involve a distinct loss of face. Possibly made worse when they considered the rumored identity of some of the other attending clans.

    The escorting Blacksouls jogged along tirelessly. As stipulated in the summons only a single cohort accompanied the caravan and had been spread thinly to cover the six wagons, the overlarge enclosed tribute wagons clattering along between them, led by a lone Ironcaster and the Blacksouls Overmaster.

    A shallow shoulder by the road spread out before them within the nearing valley. Easy room to stop and rest before continuing on their hurried journey. A waterhole near the edge of the clearing conferred upon the place a temptation too convenient for them not to avail themselves of it.

    This was going to be so easy, thought Hragnax, his prey had stopped exactly where he’d predicted they would. The enticing location helped of course, as did the artful arranging for the delay in the carefully doctored peremptory summons. None would suspect it hadn’t arrived directly from the High Lord Sorcerer. To destroy those before him and take the tribute would physically and financially weaken these upstart highlanders and was well worth the effort. But to cause them the loss of considerable prestige in the ruling lord’s eyes for their failure to obey, now that would be truly pleasurable. Two strikes against them at once, a simple, effective plan.

    The caravans escorting troops had all meandered in close under the edges of the wagons. Stupidly disarraying themselves, their shields and weapons lain down. They could be seen clumsily unlimbering stuff. No guards watching outwards at all.
    Disgraceful, Hragnax thought. They deserved their impending doom for their slackness.

    So be it. He bellowed the order, “No mercy!” and stepped out of the enshrouding rocks, and all about him, his troops followed to surround the caravan.

    Suddenly the sides of all the wagons fell outwards, revealing rank upon rank of Decimators and Dragon Fire Teams arrayed in tiers, inside the wagons and all behind solid armour plating. And the lowered sides were now effectively providing barricades for the escorting troops underneath. As he watched firing holes opened up with more barrels emerging from them. He heard a commotion behind him and was dismayed to see more Blacksouls and Decimators and even several troops of Half-breeds emerging from the same tracks he’d used, and were even now spreading out all around him.

    “Aye,” an unfamiliar voice came from the lead wagon. "No mercy it shall be."

    Entry #8


  1. Temple Song Lyrics

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    Gold: Ikkred Pyrhelm

    Entry #4

    [align=center] [/align]


    Darkling fire come smother me

    Let shadows fill my mind

    With your power I shall see

    My soul to Hashut I bind


    Once splintered and smashed

    Mended with artisan skill

    Flame of furnace lashed

    Sheathed in dark steel


    Once broken and shorn

    Fused with fury and fire

    In Hashut�?Ts image reborn

    Hardened and cracked by pyre


    Food for Hashut�?Ts thirst

    This I do gladly yield

    And so become the First

    Hooves beat the battlefield

    I am Dawi no more

    Gone the weakness within

    Gone my outer flaws

    His word I shall bring


    Once splintered and smashed

    Mended with artisan skill

    Flame of furnace lashed

    Sheathed in dark steel


    Once broken and shorn

    Fused with fury and fire

    In Hashut�?Ts image reborn

    Hardened and cracked by pyre


    Food for Hashut�?Ts thirst

    This I do gladly yield

    And so become the First

    Hooves beat the battlefield

    His word I shall bring!

    His glory I shall sing!

    I am Lammasu!

    Entry #10 Abecedar