DWARFS OF CHAOS WARHAMMER

=daemonic Augen des Zorns machines, breathing in the winds of magic,
searching the land for slaves very coward, hunting with their intern spear
throwers and chitinous appendages...
Hector Gustav placed the serrated blade down onto the tray, put a bloodstained finger to his lip in a gruesomely
dramatic pause, before selecting a slender blade tipped with a devilish hook.
‘A nail hook,’ he said, and turned to the man who had been bound into the chair. A single candle flame cast enough
light to illuminate the cellar-barrels and straw-strewn floor - and the terrified face of the man as Hector held the
instrument of torture up before his eyes. ‘Simple, crude, but very effective,’ he said, and very slowly
slid the blade beneath the first fingernail. ‘Now, this time tell me the truth,’ he said, and the blood and the screams
began.
An hour later the man was unconscious and bleeding. Hector Gustav washed his hands clean and let out an irritated
sign. ‘We’re wasting our time. The man swears it’s all true, even under the worst torture I can inflict but what he is
telling me is nonsense.’
‘Is it?’ his chaplain said.
‘Of course it is. But each one of the villagers say the same. Their Sigmarite priest was captured by evil dwarves for a
diabolic ritual to bring a machine of war to life. No wonder the Ostermark was overrun. The people here are idiots!
They’re collectively delusional!’
The scribe licked his ink-stained fingers, and glanced through the various accounts. They all corroborated. Surely
delusion could not possess men a hundred miles apart.
‘I know what you’re thinking, von Paulus,’ Hector continued. ‘It is the same story we have heard from Fortunov to
Essen: diabolical conjuring. Priests of Sigmar disappearing. Villages devastated. Horses mad with terror. Tell me,
what do you think could be happening, Father von Paulus?’
The scribe opened his mouth to speak, but Hector Gustav didn’t stop. ‘I’ll tell you what I think. Something’s afoot,
I say. Something’s afoot. It’ll be those Stirlanders again, up to their old tricks!’
‘Maybe it is more serious,’ von Paulus finally managed to pry his thoughts into the monologue. ‘The Kislevites say
that the northern tribes are mustering. And all along the World’s Edge Mountains we hear tales of rampaging monstrosities.
We should send word.’
‘To whom?’
‘The Emperor.’
Hector Gustav laughed. ‘The Emperor?! These are the tales of fools and idiots. Can we really believe what they’re
telling us? That yokels have seen a scorpion as large as a horse, made of brass and moving faster than a man can walk,
without steam or mechanization? That - what was the other one - that a canon lives and breathes like a man, and
that it is chained to the ground lest it stand up and walk?! Surely, Von Paulus, these must be the ravings of delusional
fools. Karl Franz cannot be interested in the delusional ravings of these people!’
—Diary of Heretic Hunter Hector Gustav, 2519 IC, Three Years before the End Times
The Dwarfs of Chaos unofficial i n d y g t a r m y b o o k 83