I Painted the Dwarf Allies…And Broke Warhammer Allies (1988)- Part I

From White Dwarf #108: "Eradicated Gremlins GW? More like they lived on for nearly 40 years."

There I was, happily painting up a Dwarf Ally Contingent from the 3rd Edition Warhammer Armies Book from 1988. I had a handful of figures left over from my six thousand point Dwarf army, so it felt like an obvious project. This also tied into my larger plan. I have been trying to collect all eleven armies in the book (Norse from White Dwarf #107 eventually too) and every Ally and Mercenary Contingent, each with its own dedicated set of miniatures.

As noted on the blog previously, years ago, I consolidated and rebuilt my Dwarf Mercenary force using leftover Battle for Skull Pass figures from the later editions. Even after that, I still had extra metal models from the period, along with plastic Dwarfs from the old Warhammer Regiment box set. You know how this hobby goes. A few Quarrelers, some Ironbreakers, a hero, and you think you are ready to field a proper contingent. That was the plan, at least. I was wrong.

While I was finishing the Dwarf Warrior unit, the question hit me. “Okay, who can actually take these guys?”

It seemed simple. Open Warhammer Armies from 1988, check the ally lists, match these stout warriors to the army that could field them, and move on with the project.

Except this is where the wheels came off: no one can take them. Not one of the eleven armies in the book.

• Not Empire.
• Not Bretonnia.
• Not even the Dwarfs themselves.
• No Army AT ALL.

That could not be right, or so I thought. But it was. By painting a simple ally contingent, I had stumbled onto one of the most quietly funny and completely uncorrected design mistakes in the entire 3rd Edition era.

The best part? It was right there in plain sight for thirty seven years and nobody ever noticed.

How I Found the Break Point

After rereading each army entry and its allowed ally list, I decided to reverse the logic.

Rather than asking “What allies can this army take?”
I asked a different question. “Which armies can take these allies?”

I doubt Games Workshop ever approached it this way. I will talk more about that in Part II. I went contingent by contingent and built a full matrix. As the list grew, the pattern became obvious. Army after army had nothing but empty space under the Dwarf Allies category. The Dwarf Ally entry is fully written, fully pointed, and laid out just like every other valid contingent, but no army in the book is actually permitted to use it.

I still did not believe it. So I checked my notes again and kept cross checking online. The result never changed. I even checked the Norse list from White Dwarf #107, which is an official 3rd Edition army. They cannot take Dwarf Allies either.

Then I pulled out both of my copies of the Army Book, the hardcover and the softcover. The same gap appears in both. I will come back to that in more detail in Part II.

Surely This Was Fixed in an Errata?

That was my next thought. I went straight to the web to look for it. This had to be a known issue. I expected to find a long forgotten White Dwarf sidebar, a footnote, a FAQ, a designer comment, or something buried on an old website. Anything at all.

There was nothing.

So I turned to the two White Dwarf issues that are always cited as containing the 3rd Edition corrections for Warhammer Armies from 1988.

• White Dwarf #107
• White Dwarf #108

And guess what?

Still nothing. Not a single word about Dwarf Allies. Those errata entries only address small housekeeping items. They mainly correct point values and attribute scores for Dark Elves and Skaven. The Dwarf Ally issue is not mentioned anywhere.

The only conclusion I could reach is that the Dwarf Ally Contingent was and still is completely orphaned. It is a dead entry in Warhammer Armies from 1988, and none of us caught it. I have handled that book thousands of times and never noticed it.

And now that I see it, the whole thing feels right in line with the era.

The Most Oldhammer Thing Possible

Welcome to 3rd Edition, where Chaos mutations contradict their own points formula, where Fimir somehow ally with Norse in ways no scholar of fantasy biology can explain, where Nippon mercenaries can be taken only by Dark Elves for reasons known only to the gods, and where the best way to understand the rules is to accept that nobody in 1988 was paid enough to cross index the ally matrix.

This is peak Oldhammer. Creative, chaotic, brilliant, flawed, and absolutely perfect all at once.

Why I Never Noticed This in the ’80s, Even Though I Used Allies

I used allies all the time during the 3rd Edition years. Wood Elves, High Elves, Halflings and Norse saw plenty of table time for me, but I never once used the Dwarf Allies. That alone explains why this flaw stayed hidden from me for almost forty years.

There was another reason as well. Everyone else in my group had started playing before I did, and we had a simple rule. No one could play the same army. I took Empire because it was still open. That choice dictated the allies I reached for. When I looked at Dwarfs, my attention went straight to the four dwarf cannons from the Dwarf Mercenary Contingent. That was the obvious path for an Empire player.

The Dwarf Ally Contingent itself did not help matters. There is nothing in it that you cannot already get from the main Dwarf army list:

• 
  
  1 Contingent Commander
• 0–40 Dwarf Crossbowmen
• 0–10 Ironbreakers (really, what are you doing with just ten???) 
  
• 10–80 Dwarf Warriors (that's like a whole army!)

It is a perfectly serviceable group of troops, but nothing that would tempt a player who had better and more cost effective options elsewhere. 

So What Now?

Well, in my case?

I fixed the oversight in my own matrix I created. Dwarfs are available to Empire and Bretonnia and Dwarfs themselves as Allies (see here).

But the real fun was the discovery itself. I set out to paint a few allies… and in the process, I broke Warhammer Armies (1988). I didn’t just paint Dwarf Allies. I painted a glitch in the game’s original source code.

Not bad for a weekend project.

The Word of Hashut, A Look Back - Part I

 

(With apologies to Conan the Barbarian, 1982)

Between the time before social media and the rise of the sons of Hashut, there was an age undreamed of. And unto this came Willmark, destined to bear the burden of the Word of Hashut upon a troubled brow. It is I, his chronicler, who alone can tell thee of his saga. Allow me to speak of the days of the ezine era!

I had more hair back then...

In the early 2000s, Games Workshop was a slumbering behemoth, and a few armies were abandoned in the wilderness. Chaos Dwarfs were cast into darkness; Dogs of War wandered the fringes of the Borderlands with no marching orders; Warhammer players scoured the world for scraps of lore like exiles clutching broken tablets.

From this desolation came a spark.
That spark became the Word of Hashut: a fanzine forged in the deep furnace of the Dawi Zharr’s will. A magazine not written by a corporation but by a community that refused to die.

From there the era grew.
Skavenblight Gazette rallied the ratmen and became an undisputed leader. And from Tilea came Gold & Glory, the last great banner of the mercenaries, stitched together with pride and desperation in equal measure.

These were not simple PDFs.
They were acts of rebellion.
Declarations that no army would be forgotten so long as one fan still drew breath and had a half-functional copy of Adobe Acrobat.

It was a wild age. A mad age.
An age driven by passion instead of polish, by camaraderie instead of clout. It burned fast and bright and left its scars, some of them literal. The Word of Hashut was not the first ezine, yet its impact may have been the mightiest.

And now, years later, the time has come to tell its story.

Now that I have your attention. As many of you know, my name is Willmark, Editor-in-Chief of Word of Hashut. And after a time, I also served as Editor-in-Chief of the ezine Gold & Glory for the Dogs of War, two of the armies abandoned by Games Workshop from seventh edition onward.

Here is the inside story of the Warhammer ezine era you never knew existed.

We are coming up on fifteen years since the last issue of the Word of Hashut. In many ways it seems like yesterday; in others it feels like a lifetime. My life has changed, my children have grown, and now there is an old man staring back at me in the mirror each morning.

Before all that, a frazzled, time-starved Chaos Dwarf enthusiast worked many nights into the small hours to produce the Word of Hashut. Looking back, it is a blur but also a heady time, when nothing constrained us. Games Workshop had forsaken the Chaos Dwarfs, but the fans had not.

Before we take even the first step, it is important to point out the landscape as it existed. The Word of Hashut was not the first ezine or webzine to exist, far from it. Several came before. In fact, the Word of Hashut would arrive later in the overall scene.

Faction	Ezine	Years	Issues
Chaos Dwarfs	Word of Hashut	2008–2012	12
Skaven	Skavenblight Gazette	2007–2011	11
Vampire Counts	The Invocation	2008–2012	12
Ogre Kingdoms	Bellower	2008–2011	8
Dogs of War	Gold & Glory	2009–2010	3
Dark Elves	Druchii Herald	2005–2007	3
High Elves	Citizen’s Levy	2008–2009	3
Dwarfs	Doomseeker	2008–2010	3
Orcs & Goblins	Waaagh! Magazine	~2006–2008	~4
Wood Elves	Asrai Lookout	2009–2010	2
Chaos Dwarfs (proto)	Word of Hashut Holiday Specials	2008–2011	2
Dogs of War (minor)	Tilean Dispatch / 6th Column	2009–2011	2–4

There they are. When viewed now, the list seems shorter than it felt at the time. Perhaps memory plays tricks. There always seemed to be a great deal of activity across the various forums, and always a new ezine being launched or announced. I know; I was on the primary site for each faction daily back then. Likely there were more ideas than finished projects, and the effort required proved greater than most expected.

I think I can speak to that. I handled the layouts and the Editor-in-Chief roles for two ezines. More on that soon, but it seemed wise to first set the stage before we dive in. It was a wild and wonderful age in which fans banded together to create something Games Workshop had forgotten: a hobby magazine rather than a glorified sales catalog.

The ezines had something White Dwarf did not — a soul, and it showed.

Next up: The Dawn of the Ezines, Part II.

For reference, the current Chaos Dwarfs Online site: https://discourse.chaos-dwarfs.com/

 

Over the Hills and Far Away: The Essence of Hurled into Eternity

  

There’s a moment — right before you turn over the card — where everything hangs. The breath holds, the blood stills, and luck’s got its boot on your throat. Is the Grim Reaper paying a visit? Maybe Lady Luck half smiling? 

Who knows for sure?

That’s Hurled into Eternity in a nutshell. It doesn’t hand you anything. You take it. Inch by inch. Scar by scar. 

And if there’s ever been a song that understands that journey, it’s Over the Hills and Far Away by Led Zeppelin.

At first listen, it’s a gentle invitation. The acoustic strumming, Plant’s voice light as a breeze. You’d almost think it’s a song of hope. But Zeppelin never does anything directly. There’s always a twist in the trail. As the track unfolds, the strings get harder, the drums dive in, and that soft beginning turns into a relentless push forward. It’s not a song about reaching a destination, well...about the open road. It’s a song about clawing toward it. 

And knowing you might never get there.

Sound familiar?

Hurled into Eternity is the same way. The game isn’t about easy victories or cinematic glory shots. It’s about survival — raw, knuckle-blooded survival. It’s about pushing past the odds, when the cards don’t favor you, when the Judge smiles that razor-thin smile, and you know the house always wins.

The line from the song that sums it all up?

"Many have I loved, and many times been bitten / Many times I've gazed along the open road."

 

That’s every character in Hurled into Eternity. Haunted by the miles behind them, battered by the ones ahead, but still walking; bloody but unbowed same as laid out in Invictus. Because there’s no other choice. You don’t get to sit on a porch and strum about the past. You’ve got to shoulder your regrets and keep going — into the dust, into the dusk, and, if the deck’s kind, maybe into a legend of your own making. You either rise to the challenge, or get ground into the grave.

The Wild Card System that fuels the game feels like that riff. It starts simple — just a deck of cards — but as the game plays on, every draw, every suit, every Joker bite ramps up the stakes. It’s quiet tension turned into roaring momentum. It builds, never knowing when Lady Luck might turn on you.

So, when you sit down at the table, the next time you reach for your deck, put on Over the Hills and Far Away. Let it ride shotgun with you, you won't be disappointed.

Because the trail is long. The deck is stacked. And there’s no one coming to save you.

But damn if it isn’t a hell of a song to walk into eternity with.

(Hurled into Eternity is set to ride the open range, Spring 2026) 

Hurled into Eternity, The Road Ahead

Where We’re At (And Where We’re Going)

It’s been a busy stretch behind the scenes for Hurled into Eternity. If you’re just tuning in, here’s a quick status update on where things stand and what’s coming next.

The core rule book is fully written and internally locked and loaded. Every major system has been reviewed and stress tests are ongoing: the Wild Card System, Luck and Hand of Fate mechanics, wounds and death, professions, and Judge guidance. It’s all there — and it works the way it’s supposed to. Brutal. Clean. No half-measures.

The Wild Card System itself has gotten its final polish. The revised 2.0 version makes card values even more distinct: Jacks always fail, Kings always succeed, Queens are a 50/50 gamble, and Aces are rare triumphs that give you Luck back. Jokers are now better tied to your reputation (Good, Bad, Ugly, or Weird), and they don’t save you — they change the story. It’s all running leaner and tighter now, with a better sense of pacing and dramatic rhythm in play.

Two major expansions are in development:

1. Weird West – Currently the most developed, this expansion brings dark folklore, ghost stories, and grim Americana into the Hurled framework. Spells are live and deadly. The Reaping & Reckoning table handles catastrophic failures. New professions like Dust Tracker and Witch Hunter are already written and integrated.

   It contains a full bestiary of unnatural threats is underway for the Weird West, starting with ghosts, revenants, scarecrows, and haunts. Each creature gets a full write up, mechanical profile, and guidance for use in dark tales of frontier horror. 

2. Gangland – Think 1920s noir with a switchblade in its teeth and a Tommy gun in its hand. Set in a fictional version of a Prohibition-era city, the game trades spells for rackets, bribes, and vice. It’s about loyalty, betrayal, and blood in the streets. You’re not a hero. You’re a name in the paper — if you’re lucky.

The game’s tagline still stands:

Hurled into Eternity isn’t about easy victories or quick glory. It doesn’t meet you halfway — it expects you to bleed for every mile. 

That philosophy continues to guide every design decision: brutal but fair, evocative but lean, and always anchored in a tone of desperation, tension, and earned survival.

Ahead are more updates, and perhaps some surprises. For now, shuffle your deck and keep your eyes on the horizon. The next card might change everything.

Previous update and link to the Alpha rules can be found here (I'm trying to avoid linking to the rules multiple times in the blog) 

The Good, The Bad, and the Exploding Jukebox: Why Streets of Fire Is a Western in Disguise

“A Rock ’n’ Roll Fable. Another time, another place.” – That’s your tagline. But make no mistake — this ain’t just a synth-drenched fever dream.

This is a Western, baby. Maybe the most overlooked one of the 1980s

Streets of Fire is it. Yes, I posted about this previously, but this a different look at the movie.

The Stranger Rides In

Tom Cody doesn’t make an entrance — he materializes off a subway train like vengeance made flesh. Trench coat, thousand-yard stare, and a complete lack of patience for scumbags.
He's the classic drifter gunslinger, just upgraded with a butterfly knife and a pump-action.

The Damsel in Distress (But Make Her a Rock Star)

Ellen Aim (Diane Lane, somehow both vulnerable and iconic) isn’t just the town’s sweetheart — she’s the lost flame. Kidnapped by The Bombers, she's the spark that draws Cody back to the Richmond.
It’s Shane with synth-pop. And honestly? That works.

The Villain: Raven Shaddock

Willem Dafoe in vinyl overalls looking like Nosferatu took a detour through a biker bar?
Check.
Raven is pure menace — the kind of guy who probably licks knives and monologues to pigeons. And he's perfect.

The Weapons, the Ride, the Arsenal

Before storming the gates of Torchie’s, Cody stops by Pete’s garage and loads up like he's prepping for Commando 2.
Shotgun? Check.
Custom ride stolen from the Roadmasters? Oh hell yes.
Backup in the form of McCoy (Amy Madigan)? Absolutely. She's a hard-drinking ex-soldier with a mean right hook — a sidekick worthy of any spaghetti Western.

The Rescue and the Wreckage

• Sneak into the Bomber's lair.

• Deliver a one-liner to Raven promising the real reckoning.

• Gaze longingly through the window at the captive Ellen while a synth ballad swells.

• Blow the place to hell.

• Use a butterfly knife like a ninja with PTSD.

• Escape through a thousand-to-one odds gunfight.

Standard Tom Cody procedure.

The Escape and the Aftermath

• Hijack a motorcycle.

• Fight with the girl. Kiss the girl. Let the girl go.

• Jump a roadblock.

• Shoot at cop cars.

• Stop a moving bus with your hands.

All in a night’s work.

The Final Duel: Cody vs. Raven

No guns. No backup. Just two guys. Two sledgehammers.
Industrial floodlights. Sweat. Rage. Cinematic glory.
Tom could kill him. Doesn’t. Because Tom doesn’t need to prove anything — he already did.

That Final Scene…

As Ellen sings “Tonight Is What It Means To Be Young” (seriously, peak Jim Steinman nuclear-operatic thunder), Cody walks off into the night.
He could stay. He could cash in.
But that’s not who he is.

He came. He saw. He exploded some jukeboxes.
And he left like a myth.

 TL;DR

• Trench coat? ✔️

• Western at heart? 💯

• Rescue the girl? ✔️

• Sledgehammer duel? ✔️

• Ride off alone? ✔️

So yeah. Call it a Rock ’n’ Roll Fable all you want.

But when the neon fades and the synth dies down, you're left with a gunslinger, a showdown, and a damn fine walk into the sunset.

Tom Cody: Level 10 Fighter, Chaotic Good (with CN tendencies), weapon specialization in ass-kicking and throwing punks through windows.

“There’s nothing wrong with going out and looking for a fight. As long as you know you’re gonna win.” – Tom Cody

Red Dead Redemption 2 - A Retropsective

Four Years Later: Red Dead Redemption 2 Is Still One of the Greatest Video Games of All Time

What can be said about this game that hasn't already been said before. But as a fan of westerns? I approve, wholeheartedly. I'm not going to try and say more, its already been said and then some. There is a ton of sites that dissect it in detail, videos, articles; you name it. I can't hope to match all that content, nor will I try. What I'm going to do is simply note how it impacted me when I played it.

It’s hard to believe, but it’s been over four years since I completed Red Dead Redemption 2. We picked it up for Willmark Jr’s PS4 during Christmas 2019, along with a brand-new large screen TV. It was a perfect setup—and I had no idea I was about to experience one of the most immersive and emotionally resonant video games ever made.

The odd part was I wasn't the first to see it in the family. My wife saw a friend of hers playing it before I did and mentioned it to me. I didnt think about it too much at the time but my interest was engaged for sure.

Before I dive in, let me clarify: this isn’t a step-by-step breakdown or an in-depth review. It’s a high-level reflection—free of spoilers—for those who haven’t played it yet (though at this point, if you haven’t… what are you waiting for?).

So why blog about a (now) older game, especially now that we’re deep into the PS5 era? Simple: Red Dead Redemption 2 is the greatest video game of all time. Yes, even better than The Legend of Zelda- A Link to the Past —and believe me, saying that feels like heresy, but here we are.

It’s Not Just a Game. It’s a Masterpiece.

When I first mentioned I was playing it, a coworker sarcastically called it “that horse riding simulator.” How wrong he was. Red Dead Redemption 2 isn’t just a great Western—it redefines what a video game can be, especially one set in a genre that historically struggles to find footing in gaming. 

Western games can’t lean on the traditional “crutches” of fantasy RPGs: no orcs, no fireballs, no enchanted swords. The strength of a Western—whether on paper or on screen—lies in its characters, narrative, and atmosphere. Games like Boot Hill, Aces and Eights, and my own Hurled into Eternity live or die on these pillars.

And this is where Red Dead 2 doesn’t just succeed—it soars.

The final 30 minutes of the game? Neither my so who was watching me play it nor I uttered a single word. And then the emotional impact of losing his horse? In my case I had been using the same one since Chapter 2.It was like losing a beloved dog.

Arthur Morgan: A Character for the Ages

One unexpected benefit of my play-through was going in blind—I hadn’t played the original Red Dead Redemption, so I didn’t know that John Marston was the protagonist of that game. My first exposure to the world came through Arthur Morgan, and what an introduction.

Arthur is easily one of the most compelling characters ever written for a video game. His story arc is deep, layered, and emotionally devastating in the best way possible. The pacing—from the opening hours to the final act—is nothing short of masterful. His ending likewise meomryable, perhaps one of the greatest heroic death scenes in any video game.

And the supporting cast? Equally remarkable. Whether it’s gang members, townsfolk, or total strangers you encounter, the game builds a rich, living world that doesn’t feel like a sandbox—it feels like a place.

A World That Lives and Breathes

The sheer scope of Red Dead 2 is staggering. You’ve got political intrigue, racial tension, industrialization, and even the occasional meteor crash. The world feels alive, not because of gimmicks or spectacle, but because of its people. Despite the people seeming blending into each other there are so many who stand out, to say nothing of the Ven der Linde gang itself,

The game doesn't ask you to save the world—it just asks you to survive in it, and in doing so, you become a part of something greater than a main quest. You exist in this world. And that’s rare. I can't help but draw the parallels to my own game of Hurled into Eternity.

The (Minor) Quibble: Online Play

If there’s one consistent knock against the game, it’s the online component. I’ve only dabbled in it, but Willmark Jr has spent more time there and describes it as “fairly weak.” But that doesn’t detract from the single-player experience at all. If anything, it underscores how complete the main campaign is—an online mode just isn’t necessary.

Final Thoughts

Call it 10/10. Five stars. Game of the Decade. Whatever scale you use, Red Dead Redemption 2 is at the top of it. Not just for its game-play, or visuals, or soundtrack—but for its heart.

Rockstar Games, take a bow. You didn’t just make a great game—you made something that will be remembered for decades to come.

And I can’t imagine anything changing my mind.

Gaming, Growing Up, and the Ghost of the ’80s

Glad it didn't happen in my town in the 1980s...

Of Stranger Things

As I reflected on THE CAMPAIGN in (Parts I, II, III, IV, V, VI ) , I realized how deeply formative that experience was for me—not just as a gamer, but as a early teen navigating the strange and wondrous years of adolescence. Decades later, the memories are still vivid: the characters we played, the choices we made, the jokes, the deaths, the victories. But more than that, I remember the feeling of it all. The time. The place.

Am I filling in gaps? Romanticizing the rough edges? Probably. But does that matter?

I don’t think it does.

In many ways, these memories aren’t about perfect accuracy. They’re about meaning. About resonance. And as I think about this, I’m reminded of something else that tapped directly into those same feelings: Stranger Things.

Later this year, Stranger Things will come to an end. And while the Upside Down didn’t open up beneath my small Western New York town (that I know of), the show still managed to capture something remarkably true. The way it recreates the 1980s—from the mall culture and cassette decks to the friendships forged over character sheets and Mountain Dew—feels like it was pulled from the collective memory of an entire generation.

It’s often called a “love letter” to Gen X gamers. But I think it’s more like a message in a bottle. Something we threw out to sea decades ago, filled with the thoughts we couldn’t quite name at the time. And now, years later, the tide has returned it to us—weathered, a little warped, but still true.

Or maybe it’s a time capsule. Buried and forgotten, until one day it cracks open and you’re face to face with who you were.

That’s how rereading what I wrote about THE CAMPAIGN felt. Like opening something sealed away by time. Like remembering who I used to be when everything felt new and limitless.

There’s a scene in Stranger Things that stuck with me: Will wants to keep the game going, but Mike is distracted—by Eleven, by the changes pulling them into adolescence and away from childhood. That dynamic mirrored what happened with our group. After THE CAMPAIGN we migrated toward Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay, Twilight 2000, and 2nd Edition AD&D. By our late teens, we had landed in Warhammer Fantasy Battle. The games were still fun—but the magic of THE CAMPAIGN never quite returned.

Not because we stopped playing. But because we were growing up.

That was our zenith. Our Stranger Things moment. And while everything that followed had its own feel to it, nothing quite recaptured the spell of that first, long campaign.

Like the kids in Hawkins, we changed. The world changed. And that’s part of why the show resonates so deeply. It reminds us of what we left behind—not just dice and character sheets, but a sense of discovery, of possibility, of unbreakable bonds forged in basements and dimly lit bedrooms. And rock-hard stale pizza left over from the week before.

Yes, some of us stayed friends. But life took us in different directions—careers, families, moves across the country. In my case, I eventually found myself back in the town where it all started.

As Season Five approaches, I suspect Stranger Things will be about more than monsters. It’ll be about endings. About letting go. Maybe even about what comes after. But for those of us who lived that era—not just watched it—that ending is going to land differently.

It’s going to mean something.

I’m looking forward to it. But I’ll admit—I’m also bracing myself. Because saying goodbye, even to something that only existed in fiction, still stirs up everything we thought we left behind.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the point.