Book of Urist
On the Origin of Dwarves
Long before our times, during the times of yore when great beasts stalked the darkness and tore civilization’s forebears asunder, there came to this world a strange new race: the dwarves. The ancestry of the dwarves is muddled and confused, often times contradictory, impossible, incestuous or all three. This can mainly be contributed to the dwarven tendency to keep their history through the use of engravings, rather then books or even oral tradition. Dwarves, being a subterranean people, rarely create paper and lack the memories to pass down stories of their ancestors in any reasonable fashion; this inability is mostly blamed on their near constant state of inebriation. Also unfortunate to would be historians is the dwarven tendency to place these historical engravings 60 feet underground and surrounded by all manner of deadly traps, questionable architecture and various slavering beasts. If one didn’t know better it would seem as though they are deliberately hiding their past.
Through what can be recovered the origin of dwarven kind (according to their creation myths) is as follows:
[removed] From this coupling was born the first of dwarven kind, the Mountain King. He was born with a battle ax and bottomless tankard clutched in his tiny hands and his body was covered in such copious amounts of hair that he might easily have been mistaken for a bearded bear cub. The Mountain King was raised by a Granite Boulder and grew strong upon a diet of booze, cave mushrooms and the blood of his enemies. At age 4 he killed a bear in a staring contest and at age 7 he domesticated the first wagon. Upon his ascendancy into manhood he destroyed the boulder which had raised him and reshaped it into the first anvil, proclaiming:
“Reg limar, abod ber, avuz thol, or mabdug, nokor buket!”
These words would echo forever through dwarvenkind, though it is said that another phrase was within this motto. The lost phrase is said to have been:
“Gatiz emar agak.”
Though what this phrase means has been lost to us and inquiries to dwarven historians often end in violence. What little can be gathered is that it seems to relate to animal husbandry.
His childhood behind him, the Mountain King set about founding the first Mountain Home, digging out most of the mountain by himself using only his bare hands and frighteningly calloused manhood. His lavish home now complete and balanced entirely upon a single pillar he set out to make his name known and to find a wife worthy of baring his fuzzy offspring. The first civilization he came upon were the elves, a race of naked and eternally beautiful feyfolk who abhorred the use of trees or animals for any means. It was said that when they met the Mountain King was in the process of beating a mountain lion to death with a wolf. The elves, in their kindness, attempted to persuade the Mountain King to follow their naturalistic ways. In response the Mountain King tore off the head druid’s face and promptly began using it as his undergarments. Before the shocked elven masses he announced:
“Etar linem etes gubel lor."
Which, roughly translated, means:
[removed]
Since this epochal meeting the relations between the elves and dwarves have continued to be tense, often times ending in massive forest fires, rampant cannibalism, horrifying dismemberment or, worst of all, crossbreeding. His duty done, the Mountain King continued his journey through the primal world. He next came upon the goblins and was delighted to find that their skinny limbs and necks broke with even the gentlest of hammer blows. After a brief campaign of recreational genocide the Mountain King grew bored of his new playthings and continued on, leaving the goblins broken and scattered, connected only by their intense hatred of small, bearded people. This hatred continues to this day, resulting in nearly constant goblin raids against dwarven settlements. Unfortunately, goblins' limbs and neck still snap with the ease of twigs, making these valiant efforts more or less meaningless.
The last race which the Mountain King discovered was that of Humans, still in their fragile and frightened infancy. Taking rare pity upon the gangly and awkward race, the Mountain King gifted them with weapons, armor and booze, ensuring a stable business and war partner as well as drinking buddy for generations to come. It was after finding this last race that the Mountain King realized he was still without a wife and was beginning to feel the effects of his decades of celibacy. After a tour of countless brothels and leaving a swath of broken pelvises and dislocated jaws behind him The Mountain king finally returned to his home. Determined to have his bride, the Mountain King built a tower to the heavens themselves and petitioned Armok, God of Blood, to grant him a wife. Armok agreed, on the condition that all their descendants from first to last be cursed with a tendency to die horribly. The Mountain King gladly agreed.
The wife which he was given, The Queen of All Stone, was truly a rightful receiver of his seed and wore a beard that could match his own. It was from these two that all dwarven kind sprang (or walked, being that dwarves don't really spring, hop, jump, skip or do anything that means removing more than one foot from the ground).
From this common ancestor onward the genealogy is scattered and unsure, engraved upon bars of soap and metal beds across the world. Many believe that the first child of the Mountain King was a girl by the name of Urist. Records become scarce beyond this but what little can be found indicate that she was notorious trickster and prone to paranoid mania, preferring to remain isolated. From this point on we can only guess.
The 7 commandments of Urist:
Thou shalt not-*lost in translation*
Thou shalt not use thine precious adamantium to make retro bell bottoms, thus spake Armok through his Fashion Master, Master of Fashion.
Thou shalt not taunt the happy fun magma
Though shalt not kill thine fellow dwarf, unless thou art in the grips of a fell mood, then the artefact must be at least of the value fifty thousand dorfbux, lest the hammered plaster thine skull to the floor
Thou shalt not carve engraven figurines, unless they are to trade the picky elves for their cave spiders
Thou shalt always pull the lever when commanded, lest you be the first to taste goblinite
Thou shalt not mandate the production of slade earrings. Ever
In the time of Urist, long before yore, a holy drinking song was struck up. Here it is now for all servants of Armok, created by master bard-dwarfs between a thousand barrels of ale.
(four bar intro)
In forests and hills of legend and lore
There once lived a clan of the elves we abhor
Their arrogant height and their pansy décor
Were merely the first of the crimes they'd pay for!
Now these elves had a problem, a terrible plight,
They didn't know ale and they had no fist-fights,
Their lives were pale shadows, their boredom a blight,
So they went to the dwarves to deliver their spite.
For it's hey-di-lee hi, and ho-di-lee hok,
The dwarves strike the earth and make love to the rock!
Oh, Blood for the Blood God, more blood for Armok!
It’s a hey-di-lee hi, and ho-di-lee hok.
Came the elves to the fortress, the mountain-home grand,
They indicted the baron; "You've clear cut this land!
You have chopped down our brethren, you short little man,
Of course this means war, now deliver, now stand!"
(two bars’ pause for drunken laughter)
When the elves were all dead, the dwarves were confused,
Who were these strange fools, so quickly abused?
"More blood for the blood god," the Baron's wife mused,
And they went back beneath where the hot magma oozed.
For it's hey-di-lee hi, and ho-di-lee hok,
The dwarves strike the earth and make love to the rock!
Oh, Blood for the Blood God, more blood for Armok!
It’s a hey-di-lee hi, and ho-di-lee hok.
Well the dwarves kept on choppin’ that forest to stumps
And the elves’ fighting spirits were down in the dumps
They sieged once again, but were met by the pumps
While the elves’ fat was melting, the dwarves got more plump!
(one bar’s pause for drunken chortling)
Back in the forest, at the elven retreat
The elves were quite puzzled by this sound defeat
“Perhaps,” said the druid, “we shouldn’t compete,
“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em! Now pass me the meat!”
For it's hey-di-lee hi, and ho-di-lee hok,
The dwarves strike the earth and make love to the rock!
Oh, Blood for the Blood God, more blood for Armok!
It’s a hey-di-lee hi, and ho-di-lee hok.
In the Smooth Points of Pride, a new fortress was found,
With incredible wealth in the depths of the ground,
And the elves came to trade though they scowled and they frowned,
For the trinkets of this place were scepters and crowns.
A talc ring for berries, a goblet for cloth,
It seemed that the riches were sweet heady broth,
So the elves kept on coming, despite their great wroth,
Till the day it all ended in red bloody froth.
For it's hey-di-lee hi, and ho-di-lee hok,
The dwarves strike the earth and make love to the rock!
Oh, Blood for the Blood God, more blood for Armok!
It’s a hey-di-lee hi, and ho-di-lee hok.
(two bar quiet pause)
(spoken; 8 bars each paragraph)
And it happened that on one day an elven noble name Lema Ceraliceyi came to this puckered sphincter of a fortress, and she looked upon the wasted jungle where the dwarves had taken the wood they so desperately needed for beds, bins, and boxes, and she was taken with a mighty rage. In her hubris she descended upon the leader of the fortress and said unto him, "You have disrespected the trees in this area, but this is what we have come to expect from your stunted kind. Further abuse cannot be tolerated. Let this be a warning to you."
And this so enraged the mayor of that cursed fortress that a gleam came into his eye, and he swept her a bow and shed a tear, and whispered promises to her of a new respect for nature, if only she and her gleaming brethren would return again, to trade and teach them the ways of leaf and branch. And Lema Ceraliceyi was gratified and decieved, and left in foolish confidence that her sick arboreal fetish would be welcomed here when she returned. But such was not to be...
(sung quietly)
In the following year, they brought wagons so full,
Full of berries and barrels and silk cloth and wool,
And the elves tried to trade with the elephant herders,
(build)
Who slaughtered them slowly while screaming BOATMURDERED!
(solo interlude!)
For it's hey-di-lee hi, and ho-di-lee hok,
The dwarves strike the earth and make love to the rock!
Oh, Blood for the Blood God, more blood for Armok!
It’s a hey-di-lee hi, and ho-di-lee hok.
For it's hey-di-lee hi, and ho-di-lee hok,
The dwarves strike the earth and make love to the rock!
Oh, Blood for the Blood God, more blood for Armok!
It’s a hey-di-lee hi, and ho-di-lee hok.
It’s a hey-di-lee hi, and ho-di-lee hok.
It’s a hey-di-lee hi, and ho-di-lee hok.
The Sermons of Urist: 1:1
The Mountainhomes:
In the Time before Time, the vile goblin forces set siege upon the Mountainhomes. Their sickly green skin covered the ground, turning the colour of the charred stone foundations, gathering in front of the Mountainhome's cut stone battlements. To greet the siege were little more than militia, armed with bone bows and bolts, cowering near-naked behind the battlements of the stone walls. The Mountainhome's only defensive structure stood a ways in front of the main drawbridge, manned by the dwarven king himself.
The goblins shouted across the killing field, "You are weak! Your crossbows will barely scratch our skin, and your gold shall be ours in short time! Lay yourself prone, and we will kill you mercifully!"
Urist, a descendant of the ancient dwarven king of old stood his ground, and spoke, "A force of blind archers could push you aside, for they are not our might. As any dwarf worth his beard knows... give me a lever and a place to rest it..." He stood on the single defensive piece, grasping the handle and turning the lever. The mountain itself roared to life, and molten fire spewed from the rough hewn walls, spreading out across the field and down over the heads of the goblins.
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For we are dwarves, we are the mountains, and the mountains are us.
- The Grand Heirophant Wannazzaki the Mad Hands of Grasping
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The Sermons of Urist: 1:2
And Urist said, "What shall I do to these goblins that are assaulting my fort?"
And Armok said, "Open up the volcano, and let its fiery blood engulf the goblins."
And Urist said, "The elves refused our offer of -alder crown-s! What shall I do?"
And Armok said, "Open the volcano, let the heat of magma be your broker to the elven scum!"
And Urist said, "The migrants have no useful skills, they hog the ale, and the last time I turned them into a militia they just got eaten by that iron hydra of doom You created! Oh, what shall I do?"
And Armok said, "Let them be stationed over the volcano."
And Urist said, "The baron is requesting three aluminium items, but we only have two aluminium bars! The last time this happened he had the weapon smith’s arms broken, causing indirectly the deaths of several dozen dwarves to the iron hydra of doom! Oh what should I, what CAN I do?"
And Armok said, "Make for the baron two aluminium items, a floodgate and a lever. Placing them in a room by the magma pipe and hooking them up with alunite mechanisms. See if he needs the third item."
And Urist said, "Great Armok! I desperately need your wisdom! The baron pulled a lever that flooded half the fortress with magma, melting the iron hydra of doom and ceasing his necrotic gases, as well as cleaning up the flying skinless turtle's deadly blood, but half of the fortress is dead, everyone else except for a woodcutter is trapped inside, and the food and alcohol have burnt to a crisp! Whatever can I do to survive?"
And Armok said, "Use more magma next time."
-The recorded ramblings of the Mechanic Urist during the siege of fire blades
The Sermons of Urist: 1:3
On the afterlife: The Great Toad gazed upon his charge and found life to be fleeting. With the wheel of time came death, whether natural (Extremely unlikely) or mishap (Almost certain), every living being is eventually extinguished. For the Humans, Armok created a paradise. Lands filled with gatherings of a sexual nature and plentiful luxuries. It was indeed a place for humans to spend their eternal rest. For the Elves, it was the sacred forest. A land surrounded in mist and filled with tree's taller than any that would ever grace the lands of the living, where the Elves could dance gaily amongst their own, and gorge on the plentiful flesh of fallen enemies from life. The Goblins, due to their violent nature, would arrive at the obsidian citadel, where they would never work and would be locked in eternal glorious battle. The Kobolds too, would arrive at the obsidian gates, to find a wealth of useless riches for them to partake.
Most interesting of all were the Dwarves. As favoured children of Armok, they would spend their eternity in his palace. By day, they would revel in glorious battles against former foes, whilst at night they would partake in great feasts and merriment amongst their ancestors. By morning this cycle would repeat itself.
But in order to proceed past the Adamantine gates of the afterlife, it was decreed by The Great Toad that each Dwarf must hold a monument to their name, whether it be by grave or slab. Else, they must return to the realm of the living to see that this is done. Many a dwarven ghost is infuriated by this, which can cause much damage and distress amongst the living.
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I need sleep but my Dwarfs require battlements with dragon statues that shoot lava.
Words of the divine one Pwndja as recorded by Urist when he heard them in his sleep
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The Sermons of Urist: 1:4
Armok, he who is mightiest above all other things. Stronger then the rock, fiercer than the great North wind, Swifter than the desert hare. His is the blood of the world, the liquid fire that flows deep beneath the surface. His is the blood of the beasts, shed by them that we may live. His is our blood that flows within us and give us passion, spirit, and the will to dominate all we see. He gave his blood to us, that we may be stronger than the worshippers of the soft elder gods, their blood diluted by falsities and lack of drive. And so, we must return that blood, so shall our warriors give it to him when we shed it on the field of battle. So we shall dedicate the blood of our enemies to him, that he may take it up and remake them in a way more fitting to his thoughts. So speaks Armok, and so we obey!
Blood for the Blood God!
Armok! At the dawn of time you created us, your chosen race! You filled us with your blood, that we might be strong and crush our enemies. Here is new blood, fresh and strong, untainted by the ravages of time and labour! We give him/her to you, that his blood may be taken and its strength spread into our people, that the children that shall follow will be given his/her blood by you, and then given to the children who shall come after!
That his blood may be reborn into a hundred strong Dwarves, who shall carry your divine truth with them, in battle and in trade, in anger and in peace. Let his blood go to them, and let his spirit be taken to your side and reborn as a Spirit of Fire, a messenger of your divine will! Let him serve you until the end of time, when all blood slows and all fires burn low. Let him then come forth with your mighty host and purge the world with your Holy Fire, and let him sow the seeds of a new race that shall reign for eternity in a paradise of your making!
~ Gospel of Armok by high priest twwolfe, accompanied by mutilation and sacrifice of high ranking warrior prisoners on the high temple of Armok. A member of every species was included.
The Sermons of Urist: 1:5
Ritual for Sacrifice to Armok:
When the sun peeks over the horizon, you shall take from each of your herds one of the finest beasts you possess. You shall bath it in water sanctified by a priest, and then. When noontime comes, you shall take the ritual knife and make one clean cut across the neck. Catch every last drop of the blood that pours forth. Two hours before the high sacrifice, build a raging bonfire, made of hardwood and herbs for sweetness of scent. At one hour before the high sacrifice, you shall pour the life blood of the beasts upon the fire, taking care not to douse the flame. This is to prepare it to receive the blood of Armok’s chosen sacrifice. The bodies of the beasts shall them be put on separate fires, to be cooked for the feast.
During the feast, let each person partake of a bite of the sanctified meat. If there is some left over, let it be given to the women, for they shall need its strength to bear the children of Armok.
-Ordained ritual of sacrifice, ordained by high priest twwolfe
The Sermons of Urist: 1:6
"And Armok shall smite the unbelievers! The heretic! And the inferior races from the side of the world with his wrath, be it in the form of magma, of lightning or of flash freezing hapless miners who don’t pay attention to the weather!" the grand hierophant of Castlecrazy bellowed from the top of his sacrificial tower, pointing with one hand to the congregation below and the other into the hapless, terrified figures below in the enclosed and inescapable pinnacle of the tower. Elves and goblins alike cowering in terror, putting their differences aside to be joined in unity at their abject, bowel loosening fear. "And these wretches, imperfect in their form shall be returned to the fiery womb of the earth, to be consumed by magma and sent back to our father!" and with that he pulled the lever, the mechanisms engaging with an impressive series of clanks and grinds. His stubby arms held high, waiting for the screams...that did not happen. He looks around, into the pit, and then to the quiet audience. "And they will be returned to the womb of the earth!" he shouts to the sky, pulling the lever again. A grind. Nothing. Losing his temper the hierophant gives the lever a kick, and another kick, and another, rapidly going from charismatic sermon to angry tantrum as his beloved tower disobeys him. Hopping on the spot the great overlord loses his footing, toppling backwards with a strangled yelp. Thudding into the floor of the tower the occupants would be upon him, such a gristly end for the great esteemed spiritual leader, but then Armok blessed him, the mechanisms finally lurching into life and dropping the occupants down the shaft, returning his failed creations to the womb of creation. It was noted as ironic by his most devour followers that he would guide his malformed flock back to Armok. The rest decided he was just a clumsy tit.
Extract from the Epistles of Wannazzaki (Aptly dubbed the hilarious end by his followers)-
The Sermons of Urist: 1:7
[The following is sung by as many dorfs as can be congregated (Humans may substitute, elfs may be used for agonizing-screams-background-music)]
They rushed with great speed into the tusked hordes,
and many tusks fell to their axes and swords.
The Trolls lay defeated, but some did escape,
the champions returning, the noble-mouth agape.
The tusks gleaming brightly in big mountainhall,
forever rememb'ring the Trolls that did fall.
And thus the Trolls were made by our Lord,
their tusks shimmer fondly as mugs in our hoard.
-The slaying of the trolls by Blackdutchie
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Regarding the mysterious darkness known as F. Pee-Ess: It is not know exactly what can summon this malevolent force into being, however it should be noted that a large congregation of dwarves or other creatures can affect the space-time flux, causing an apparent distortion or "slowing" of time in the vicinity. One confirmed fact, is that the dark force is attracted to cats, which may go some way to explaining the suspicion held by dwarves about them.
-Scholar Madjax on the dark servant F. Pee-Ess
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Unknown to thy dwarfy Hands, Lord F Pee S was once an actual Dwarf. He had suffered from thy hands of kobolds, goblins, humans, and other pure dwarfs. In revenge, he gathered an occult group of like minded Dwarfs and created a group called Lost Attackers Group, Or L.A.G.
- Scholar Icee77 on L.A.G. the extremist dark dwarf group that worships the dreaded HFS
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The Sermons of Urist: 1:8
And thus, for doing Armok's bidding, Urist was rewarded with the fruits of his labour: a fort that towered over the cities of the humans, that shamed the retreats of the elves, that resisted the most violent goblin attacks.
Urist became the first king of the dwarfs. All of his demands where reasonable: crafts when they needed something to trade, and bins when the crafts began to pile up, and cloths when the dwarfs became naked. They did not wear them anyway. In return, Urist was given gifts from his fellow dwarfs: large carved out rooms from the miners, masterwork beds from the carpenters, masterwork cabinets from the masons, and masterwork engravings from the engravers.
Armok had a gift for him as well. One of the masons fell under a strange spell and began demanding all kinds of materials from the other dwarfs: stone, cloth, jewels, and much more. Urist granted his requests, waiting eagerly to see what he was making.
It was a granite anvil named "Firststrikes". All of the weapons and armour made on this anvil had the hardness of steal, even though no such material existed yet, and they all were of the highest quality. More anvils where made on this one, so the gift of metal smithing could be given to all future dwarfs. Urist celebrated by dumping magma on elves.
The Last Days of Urist
Urist had a suit of armour made for himself and his militia, which proved useful as the goblins attacked and where easily destroyed. Urist had grown confident in the abilities of his armour, too confident. During one siege, Urist went by a non-obsidianized part of the river near the fort. He was fighting 3 goblin swordsmen, whose stone weapons stood no match for his metal armour. He felt a slight tug on his boot, but he could not take any attention away from the battle. He then felt a large pull that knocked him to the ground. He looked down and saw a carp. The insidious carp where not happy with the magma being dumped into the river and they planned on punishing Urist for it. With his armour weighing him down, as he was dragged into the water and was ripped to pieces by the evil creatures. Urist's companions saw this, and, to this day, dwarfs are afraid of carp.
-Tales of the first Dwarven king upon the declaration of the first mountainhome. And the history of the anvil penned by Notpete the renowned dwavren historian
The Sermons of Urist: 1:9
Extract from the final book of Urist McApostle, self proclaimed Apostle (And other proclaimed idiot) of Armok-
We are close. The sound singing from a rich vein of adamantium is on the other side of this wall. The echoes hint at a cavern. That shall not stop us! What lives in these caverns? Ogres? Crocodiles? Even the forgotten beasts are no match for our might; no we will go onwards, defending the miners as they uncover the blessed blood of our god.
They have done it! By all that is great and mighty they have done it! We are through! We can hear the precious metal singing to us. But there is another sound. What is that? I become nervous even as I write, but the miners laugh at me and tell me it is but the sound of a crundle. The little crustacean delicacies I have so enjoyed. The day gets better, I even get a meal! What was- I heard a scream. An unholy blood curdling scream! That sound again... like a billion chittering legs. Suddenly my previous trepidation returns, no crundle should make that sound. Then I see it! My fellow dwarves are fleeing, dropping their picks from the darkness. Why is this? I must see. I ask what is happening? No answer. Just pushing and scrambling. I grow angry, how dare they ignore me, servant of Armok! But- now i see it. It’s a few crundles, one, two...no four and five. What is the-? Oh no...Then I see it. A wave of chitinous shell and horn, a roiling wave of angry red death on tiny legs! I have moments to live, if this account survive-
The recovered records show after this moment the apostle was dead, the blood and dirt smeared over the remaining pages imply that he had given up hope and fallen to his knees, awaiting his god. More than likely he is being punished for not running like any sane son of the stone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ For his blood is the reward to his people who scour the world clean of his most hated and powerful foes, for those who can truly harm a god to be put so low by his people makes him weep tears of joy, and thus adamantium was gifted to the brave...and will take the life of the unprepared, reckless or arrogant enough to think they can harvest the watching gods blood without paying their price in demons flesh sundered and murdered.
- The Grand Heirophant Wannazzaki the Mad Hands of Grasping
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The Book of Urist! enjoy your reading. Get started on the Book of Id you currs!
btw: Malakai is the patron god of Mechanisms and fey moods in the name of Armok for this book -Malakai Malakaisson reference from Gotrex and felix-
Also: i need art for the book, if anyone can draw, or can get ahold of artists to help in this Grimoires creation, please help. everyone will be listed in the credits for their bits at the end of the book.
As for the permission for certain materials: Im posting them here as they would be included if we did get permission, i do not claim ownership or creationship of those specific items of awesomeness. all artists will be referenced for their work. i humbly ask you allow us to include your works of greatness for the glory of Armok.
-Front page updated-
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Topic: The Grimoire of Armok! post your passages to be chosen for the book of our god! (Read 16391 times)