# The Gates of Hell (A Warriors of Chaos RP)



## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

The winds blew harshly across the snowy plains of the North lands. The cold biting at the bare flesh of any man insane enough to cross this torrential path, yet the men in the fortress of Khartuu the Kurgan were safe in their rock walls and roaring fires keeping their bones warm. The Kurgans within, loyal to death, had recently received an offer from a surprising source. The Lord of the Apocalypse, Master of Armageddon, Harbinger of the Final Twilight, Lycefar had stood outside of their battlements and proclaimed his intent, to recruit them into a crusade against the weak men of the South and their pathetic Empire. Khartuu had emerged and declared Lycefar a fool, destined for an early grave and commanded he leave immediately.

Lycefar had repeated his offer, stating that any who refused his offer were not welcome in the eyes of the Dark Gods and would be crushed. A hail of arrows met these words, yet Lycefar had escaped unharmed. The Kurgan's laughter filled the winds for hours, they knew that their fortress was unassailable. Its gates could only be opened from the inside, and they received supplies via wyverns from other tribes that came from the southern passes, the wyvern's flight paths through harsh cliffs that made interception impossible. No army could assail them unharmed.

Yet they had not counted on a handful of men entering through the underground tunnels that ran beneath their precious fortress.

Lelun; you enter the tunnels running beneath the Kurgan bastion, with several Marauders that Lycefar has hand-picked to accompany you, he doesn't expect their return.

As you make your way through the tunnels you cross underneath the arches that support the ground holding the Kurgan bastion, collapsing them is a possibility but Lycefar has ordered that the keep remain intact, its supplies are needed and there is the chance that some men will realize their mistake and join with the true forces of the Chaos Gods. Once you reach the marked entry point, the Sorcerers have been very clear, your men bring up a barrel of explosives. The level of depth will mask the sound, as long as nobody is standing directly above you.

The barrel goes off, causing a hole to be opened up within the roof of the tunnel. You climb up quickly before the tunnels are compromised, your ad-hoc men following your lead, emerging into a small supply room filled with food crates and ale barrels. Once inside you have several options. Lycefar has ordered that the gate be brought down so that they can charge inside, however this will mean casualties, thus he also ordered that if you find any better way to break in once inside the keep you are to take it, however if the gates are the only way then bring them down. Now that you are inside you can see the structure of the keep and realize that two other options exist. 

You could try to detonate one of the walls, this would allow Lycefar's warriors to break in on a weakly defended point and massacre the defenders while they are unaware, but it may take longer and every second spent means that Lycefar's men are in danger of detection. You could allow break down one of the pillars that is stationed on the keep's walls, this would create a path that Lycefar's men could cross and assault the Kurgans head-on, but it would mean that the Kurgans will be aware of the attack quickly. You will face some light resistance either way, the Kurgans do not know you are here yet but they will find out soon enough. What will you do?

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Lycefar's Warcamp was a harsh place, tents made from animal pelts and human pelts were dotted across the small area, hidden quite safely yet the risk of detection was there. The Kurgan scouts that patrolled the land would eventually see the camp, and if they alerted the Kurgan bastion then the arrow hails would force a retreat. Fires were not allowed, the winds made even more biting and freezing without any sources of heat beyond the fur-skins given to most warriors, those that were kept warm by their armour did not need them.

The command tent was a hallowed place, icons to the Dark Gods had been placed by the slaves, Lycefar had decreed that despite the covert nature of their camp the proper respects must always be paid. The darkness that spread across the tent was not natural, rather it emerged from the black flames that flickered within the braziers across the tent, casting grim darkness across the command, yet there was light enough to clearly see somehow. The tacticians are devising ways to break the Kurgan fortress once Lelun has created an entrance, and what supplies they may expect to gain.

Other Champions are also present, bearing marks of every Chaos God, in colours ranging from blood red to pastel pink, from putrid green to ocean blue. They are paying their respects to the Gods in the altars for their respective patron, or aiding the tacticians in devising plans to break through the Kurgan lands and further south. A few are merely milling, awaiting some kind of direction or for the battle to begin, the blood running hot within them.

Lycefar himself is absent, he has taken a group of Chaos Warriors to swiftly kill the Kurgan scouts that posed the most risk of discovering their location. Yet the tent was not bereft of activity, even without the Dark Lord's presence.

Isfaril the Magnum and Geistler the Plague Bringer; the both of you stand within the darkness of the command tent, keeping a distance from each other. You may hate each other due to your God's own hatreds, yet you are both united in common cause with Lycefar. You have both been invited into the tent as your position demands high rank, as Sorcerers you may both be used to see the future and to aid in plans, thus your position here is dependent on results.

You may speak with whoever you wish, you may choose to aid the tacticians in their plans for future engagements or meditate on the coming war, or you may choose to speak with each other, but you must remember Lycefar's prime directive on relations with each other. No matter which God you worship, you worship Chaos. Anyone caught fighting with others over differences of worship will be converted into Spawn by the Sorcerers, and though you are the most powerful Sorcerers here, others do exist and Lycefar has made it clear that you are not exempt from this rule.

Harrow and Black Apostle; the both of you are also present within the command tent. You have been invited out of respect for your positions as Exalted Heroes of Chaos and for whatever you may contribute to the planning. The others within the tent give you a wide berth out of respect, fear and admiration. You are but one position lower than Chaos Lords like Lycefar, though the power gap is immense, and you both are surely marked for glory by the Gods. Until Lycefar returns or Lelun is successful in his mission you are idle within the camp, though you are free to leave the command tent if it is not your wish to aid in the planning or the preparations.

Aid whomever you wish, your experience as true champions of Chaos will be welcome wherever you choose to give it, or speak with whomever you wish, many different champions are here and will welcome you to their worship. Or leave the tent and walk within the camp, but do not leave it yet less you run into Kurgans and a message back to the keep is sent. Only when Lycefar returns or when Lelun's mission is successful are you allowed to leave the camp.

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The rest of you Horu, Ratha the Despoiler, Vermian the Forsaken, Urlf of the Pack, are within the Warcamp somewhere preparing for the coming battle in your own ways. Are you rallying fellow men into a frenzy for the battle, praying to the Dark Gods for victory or merely glory in victory or death, sparring in the small area set aside for practical training with all welcome, or your own private activities whatever they may be. Either way it is cold and the winds bitter and strong, no fires are allowed so your furs or skin are the only things keeping you warm. Those of you in the training cages may see others from the warhost, how do you react to their presence, verbally or silently.


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Geistler stood and listened to the droning of lycefars tacticians. The eire gloom of the tent suited Giestler, he used his powers to light up the dark for him and dread. He stood in the corner, no one was willing to stand beside him for fear of catching some kind of deadly disease.

Geistler glared at isfarul, never before had the saying "if looks could kill" been so aptly used. Giestler was not pleased with the no fighting rule, there were many within the warband that Giestler did not believe deserved to continue to waste his time. He knew better than to challenge his lord whom Giestler so much respected.

The tactician droned on further talking about supplies and lelun, lelun was one that Giestler did not hate. He respected the human for the things he had been through not many would have lived throughout his situation let alone retained any skill with a blade and not becoming a jibering mass of flesh.

Giestler looked over at the exalted heroes, thier armour magnificent in the basking glow of the black flames. Giestler had come to lycefars warband soon after the exalted and witnessed thief ascension of power, he knew better than to aggravate them.

OOC: couldn't really think of much to write about.


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## Nightlord92 (Jul 7, 2010)

Ratha hugged his bear fur against his body as another gust of icy wind raced through the camp. The camp was hauntingly errie with no fires illuminating the camp. 

"By the gods, this is unbearable" one of Ratha's marauders cursed

"What I would give for a fire and some beer" Another maruader said bitterly

Walking up to his marauders, Ratha waited until they noticed him and quickly shut up before speaking. 

"Shut up you idiots. You sound like the weak Southerners." Ratha scolded the complaning maruaders, to the amusement of the remaining warriors. Bowing their heads in obediance, the offending warriors kept their eyes on the ground in front of Ratha.

"Ratha, when do we attack? We're growing weary of this cold, not even a Norscan would be able to tolerate this cold." muttered Dorgo, one of the few remaining warriors still serving him from the time he was banished from his tribe.

"Soon. I'm not privy to the war council but the infernal sorcerors and Lycefar's chosen are gathering at his war-tent. The scent of blood is in the air. A good omen if you ask me. We'll be drinking and feasting in that castle soon enough." Ratha boasted

At the hint of sacking the Kurgan keep the men seemed to lighten up. Ratha had gathered himself quite the motley collection of marauders. Hung, Kurgan, and even a few Norse warriors served him. One thing united them all: greed. Though he was Kurgan himself, Ratha and his ilk held no problem with butchering a keep of his people's warriors to get at the beer and treasure inside. And the fact that a warm fire awaited the victors helped too

"Now go and gather the rest of my warriors. When the war horn sound we'll be up to our necks in fighting and I don't feel like going to Hunting Halls because you fools weren't ready. Sharpen and ready your blades my dogs of war. We go to battle soon." Ratha declared. Smiling and roaring their approval, the maruaders broke apart gathering their weapons and going to the training grounds to sharpen their skills.

Ratha had no inclination of joining them. Trudging through the rocky earth Ratha braced himself against the cold as he made his way to his own tent

Throwing the animal hide flap back, Ratha entered his tent and sat down on his cot. Even that was icy cold and offered no warmth. Ratha sat there for a moment and listened to the ghostly wind whip across his tent; the howls of wind sounding closer to the screams of the damned.

Reaching for a small bundle wrapped in furs, Ratha withdrew his axe he had taken off the corpse of some nameless chieften he had slain himself. Though it was nothing compared to the huge weapons wielded by the Chosen and the Exalted, the axe suited Ratha and he had used effectively against his enemies.

Picking up a whetstone from inside the bundle, Ratha began sharpening his blade and silently praying to the Powers for victory and great treasure


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## BlackApostleVilhelm (May 14, 2008)

The Black Apostle walked through the camp silently, choosing not to acknowledge the lowly warriors that milled about the camp, he was not in the mood to play nicely with them. He had been woken from his prayers by James who had said that he was needed in the command tent, of course that was not how the messenger had posed the sentence. It would have gone more like; we would be honored to have you with us while we plan the fall of the Kurgan keep....

James and Liam followed closely behind him, each one a frighteningly powerful warrior in their own right, yet they had chosen to stay with him and fight by his side as he walked the road to ascension. When they made it to the command tent he pushed the flap aside and walked in, his two followers keeping pace, and made his way to a dark corner where he could watch the proceedings and speak his piece if he so needed to. 

He stood with his arms crossed and studied the other champions and tacticians in the tent. Two Sorcerors stood on opposite ends of the tent, one dedicated to Nurgle and the other to Tzeentch, each one powerful in their own right and each one eyeing the other. He chuckled at their petty rivalries, pathetic really, it was those rivalries that kept the warriors of chaos from overwhelming the Empire and taking all of its land and riches. Yet there was still hope, Lycfer had been able to unite what warriors they were amongst now, and it would seem that he might continue in the task he had set before himself. 

The Apostle had to admit when he had first been approached he had laughed at the thought, but his new leader had shown such ambition that he had not seen in another being other then one, and that one had soon taken up Lycfer on his offer and now stood within this command tent. He knew his friends did not really care for plans, so long as they could shed blood and cause chaos they were happy, easily amused unlike himself. He needed a goal to set his sights on, once that had been accomplished he would work towards that goal no matter the cost, and once achieved would set himself another. 

This is how it had been since he had been changed, from one place to the next, furthering his plans to gain ascension and more blessings. So here he stood not wanting to be in this tent, but knowing that he had to be until something happened and would allow him to leave, so he listened intently to the idiots planning strategies. James leaned in close to him and spoke, _"Champion of Khorne on the other side of the room."_

The Apostle took in the warrior, the only other exalted hero in the camp, only other one that rivaled his power other then Lycfer of course. The man was a brute was expected, yet the Apostle had heard stories of this man's prowess and he was most certainly a champion of Khorne. The Apostle had respect for the warrior, only they knew what it took to get to where they were now, only they knew what this kind of power tasted like. Other then Lycfer and that rat Lelun, no one else in this camp could dream of the powers available to true warriors of chaos. 

Mistakes were being made in the planning but the Apostle stayed silent, content to watch and wait till they were through before speaking up and showing them their faults.


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## Brother Azeek (Mar 29, 2009)

Horu stood alone on a rocky outcropping overlooking the miserable camp. His black armor a smudge against the sky. He watched as the pawns of the war-host huddled together for warmth or scurried about looking for shelter from the frostbitten winds. He himself could feel the cold, indicating truly dreary weather, as he was all but immune to the weather. he stepped off the rock from which he was standing and began to walk toward the tent designated for him, his midnight black chariot placed beside it. His horses where stabled, sheltered as best they could from the cold, for they where not shielded from the weather like their master. As Horu entered the tent, it was barren. Furs lay on the ground to serve as a floor, and at the back of a tent was a small stool that acted as a table. Laying on the makeshift table was four tablets, each with the mark of a different god. on the left side of the tent rested his armaments, a large shield and a runed axe. He looked at the tablets for a moment before grabbing his weapons, then exited the tent. He searched the surrounding area for a pawn. He spotted one, a young man, barely even able to stand in the weather. "You, pawn, grab your weapons and meet me in the training area." The man looked in horror as the Champion pointed at him. He quickly crawled to grab his rusty sword and ran toward the training area. Horu couldn't help but smile as the man ran in fear. He walked toward the training area.

When he arrived, the man stood, huddled by himself to the side of the training area. When he spotted Horu, he quickly ran over and looked up to the warrior. Horu quickly spoke, "Ready your blade." Before the man could even raise an eyebrow Horu struck. He raised his axe and swung it in a downward motion toward the man. Horu's blade struck metal and then skin as the man tried to resist by bringing his blade up to parry, only to have the sword break in half and the axe to cut into his shoulder. The man began to cry in pain only to be silenced by Horu's fish hitting him in the head, knocking him out before he could make a sound. He removed his axe and looked at one of the other men there. He motioned for the man to take the wounded soldier away. Quickly the man ran over and dragged the bleeding one away. Horu turned, looking for those more suited to his skills. He stood, awaiting any challenger who dared stand before him.


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## Anfo (Jul 17, 2009)

Isfaril stood in the shadows for a moment, sensing his surroundings. He could tell the nurgle sorcerer was eying him madly. The fool couldn't look his petty rivalry and think on the large scale. The fool would rather kill Israfil than fight together. He was part of the reason why it had taken Chaos so long to get this close to victory.

Israfil walked over to the tacticians, in his many centuries of war, Israfil knew a thing or two about planning battles. Israfil placed his hand upon the paper the plan was being drawn out upon, he felt the battle play out in his head, smiling he aided the tacticians for quit some time before leaving them. 

The nurgle sorcerer was still waiting in the shadows, though he was no longer glaring at Israfil. Israfil hobbled over to the nurgle worshiper. He could sense the sorcerer's displeasure. Smiling Israfil stopped in front of the angry man.

"Hello, my name is Israfil. I have not been told your name yet, and I would like to know who will be joining me upon the battlefield."


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## Scathainn (Feb 21, 2010)

His bladed "teeth" clicked together impatiently. The Crowfather could not think. His body twitched and jerked spasmodically, and his eyes flickered back and forth. Small bits of froth collected at the corners of his mouth. All he saw was red.

_bloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodblood_

STOP

He shook his head violently, shaking his whole body. His vision subsided, slowly but surely; the world seemed to resume its normal colouration. There were people around him, talking, discussing amongst each other useless chatter, but he paid them no heed. His pupils dilated beneath his mask. Their mouths moved but he could not hear what they were saying...or, rather, he heard too well what they were saying.

Two mages quarreled with each other. "Blood!" one yelled, slamming his fist on the table. "Blood blood blood blood!" the other spat, waving his hand absently. Their eyes glared at each other, small skulls reflected in their pupils. Two warriors hunched over a table, discussing tactics. One pointed to a map absently, waving a mug with the other. "Skulls....blood skulls blood blood." The other nodded. "Blood......." he murmured, grinning slightly. The map grew dark with red stain and the two laughed to each other, clanking their mugs. Red liquid sloshed out. The voices all sounded like _him_. He couldn't escape.

_bloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodBLOOD!_

"SSSTOPPP!" he howled. The metal spines bolted to his gums slicked fresh cuts into his face, and the blood flowed smoothly. The tent turned to look at him, their conversations interrupted. He lowered his face slightly, the blood running down his face and slicking his armor. His friend rested beside him, the blade notched and scarred. The Bloodseeker took some comfort in it; he hid his shame at the other's stares by studying the criss-cross patterns. He knew them by heart, yes, but it comforted him...soothed him.

_We should leave_, it whispered. _This prattle is making it worse, old friend._ Old Jorgen said nothing. His "teeth" clicked to themselves briefly, and he thrashed his head like a wounded dog. Slowly, he stood to his feet. The chains around his arms shook and rattled as he rose, small bits of rust flaking off of them as he did so. Silently, he grabbed his blade and left the room, dragging the massive sword on the ground behind him.

The warmth of the tent was replaced by the biting cold of the night. The wounds on his face stung and the blood felt hot against his face. This was better. This was better.


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## 5tonsledge (May 31, 2010)

ah never have done a Roleplay thread, always have wanted too though. I will however read through this thread because i do find them entertaining.


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Giestler stood, he explored the depths of his own mind, Giestler had always said that if you are not master of your own mind how do you expect to master the material realm. He was interrupted by the tzeentchian sorcerer,

"Hello, my name is Israfil. I have not been told your name yet, and I would like to know who will be joining me upon the battlefield."

"My name is Giestler and you should fear it for I have no problem ending you pathetic excuse for life it you dare try to slide your blade into anyones back."

Giestler left the tent before the sorcerer had time to reply, nurglings always seemed to be hungry. Giestlermmade his way to the slave tents, he opened one and grunted. The slaves INSde jumped from their beds and stood at attention. "you,'come with me." said Giestler pointing at the fat one.

The slave obediently followed Giestler through the camp, they stopped outside Giestlers tent. "go in" ordered Giestler. The slave new better than to argue.

Giestler followed the slave into the tent, Giestler laughed "you should see your face, I'm not going to kill you boy, I simply need to infect you, don't shrink away, it is an honour to serve as a vessel of nurgles power."

"Y......yes my lord"

Giestler put his hand on the slaves shoulder, the humans skin turned bone White and started to smell mildly of rotten turkey. "there now sit here for an hour with dread,'after that you will be cured and feel free to leave. Giestler left the tent and went for a walk around the camp.


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

The woman was on her knees, hands clasped across a belly that was dripping with crimson elexir, intestine pressed through the gap as she clutched at the mass that writhed within her, snaking tendrils struggling to wrench from her grasp. Tears burst from her eyes, whimpers and curses cascading from the blood stained maw of her mouth, bumbling over lips torn by her own teeth. Her eyes were wide and she stared up at him, one hand reaching out, half balled in rage, half pleading for help for redemption. The twisted fingers lanced towards him, spearing out with desperate futility.

She was evaporating, the smoke unfurling and writhing away as her eyes glazed over, lifeless hollow eyes, the screams still echoing, a fading record of the last seconds agony, replaying and reverberating around his mind.

"Do you know what to do?"

The voice rolled, thunderous, seeming to come from the very walls of the tent, the words surrounding and pressing in upon him, jabbing at him with spears of distaste.

He loathed the bastard before him

Veils of darkness drew over his eyes as he looked upon the massive outline before him, two red pricks of light bursting through the darkness to fix upon him with terrible intensity.

He wanted to shiver, but his body wouldn't let him, Khorne locked his bones together.

Their toy show weakness

It was unthinkable, impossible...

The words were upon his lips before, a snarl of distaste, an assertion of his own detestation for his position, spitting through tortured lips

"Yes"

A glimmer of hope in his mind, the flame that drew him to battle once more... maybe he would die... this time

The laughter of thirsting Gods rang in his ears
__________________________________________________

He was running, the bubbling rage of khorne simmered as the speed of slaanesh carried his feet at the head of the pack, his feet silent as he drifted along the tunnel. Men, corrupted and befowled, their bodies temples to merciless gods followed him, symbols and insignia branded into there skin. He could sense them, sense the intense desire of slaanesh bubbling with the nearest, the rage of khorne rising and falling in the furthest, peaking as he swung brutally, futiley at the tunnel wall, the desire for destruction overcoming his mortal mind.

A quick glance over his shoulder, meant to bark a warning at the khornate, to silence his unnecessary destruction brought a chill to his heart.

They chased him, celestial figures the distant howls of there last moments, there futile curses and pleading for mercy, a reverberation in his mind, silvery hands outstretched, pointing accusing.

On he fled away from there accusing lament.

Wide spanned arches of stone appeared before him, pillars the size of tree trunks sprouting from the earth, held the city above him up, held the walls that blocked the Lord's path.

Yet they were not his target, not the subject of his focus. Nay the gates... open the gates.

He sprinted on, behind him the cries were growing louder, the screams more intense as they built momentum. They were gaining on him and he could run no further, the tunnel had ended, he must go up.

"Hurry" he was panicing, his eyes fixed upon the shuffling forms that bore down upon him, hands outstretched pointing accusing yet his voice was calm.

A torrent of blue flame exploded upwards as the marauder lit the barrel, and the sorceror's magic began to work, the shadows, blocked by a torrent of magical energy, by a power he could never possess.

Stone rent above his head, cracks appeared and a cloud of stone rained down from the ceiling.

A shield blocked him, the rained down around him, rebounding off the force of tzeentches will. He could see light above and he leapt, pulling himself through the great bore in the stone and into the room beyond

Apples stirred, disrupted by the shockwave, they rooled concussed in a pool of beer that seeped from a burst barrel, pierced by a shard of stone.

Slowly he moved into the night, silent like the shadows... upon the keep walls options flittered before his eyes

The walls themselves, bring them down and carve a mighty path for the army to move through, or atop the walls bring down pillars allowing fragile pathway to there top for the men of Lycefer.

Quick and clean, he could provide entry, yet the pillars were exposed, arrows, would cause casualties upon his men.

no this was a time for multitasking he would split his forces
4 and 6

6 to bring down the wall, 4 to come with him to the gates, to make as much noise as possible to bring the forces after him, to leave the walls stretched, to allow his men time to bring down the wall.

How to make noise... so simple, knock down pillars as he went. Bring them onto him

He turned clicking his fingers as he pointed at the marauders

"You 6, stay covert, bring down the wall as quickly as you cant"

He turned upon the khornate, the slaaneshi and the two undivided.

"You four come with me, were going to the gates, and were going noisy"


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

(A note for all players, this update is for primarily for Deathbringer but ive added something so that you can all start getting ready for the battle to come.)


The Kurgan bastion was quiet, despite the explosives that had allowed the warriors of Lycefar access into the lowest levels of the enemy stronghold. It was likely that the Kurgans, confident in their defences, did not forsee an underground attack and did not post any warriors on the lower levels in anticipation of such a thing, or that Lycefar's men are posing too great a threat to ignore and thus all warriors are on the surface.

As the men of Lycefar's warband entered the lower levels their sharp eyesight was the only thing that allowed them sight in the darkness that surrounded them. No natural light shone down here, only a few flame lamps too far spread to create real lighting allowed for any source of illumination. The weapons of the Kurgans were present however, in several rooms filled with blades and shields ready for an attack. It would do them no good here.

Lelun; as you give your orders the Marauders obey, either out of fear of you or understanding of your intent, either way obedience is obedience. The Khornate and Slaaneshi Marauders stick close to you as you begin moving through the stone corridors to the gates, while the others remain behind to await a clear path.

As you turn a shout shatters the previous silence. You have been noticed, a small group of Kurgans clad in bear-skin furs and carrying axes as well as a few mutations are blocking your path towards the gates. Kill them and make as much noise as possible, it will attract more Kurgans to the slaughter.

Once this is done make you make your way to the gates through several more corridors, killing as many Kurgans as possible, and arrive at the metallic gates blocking Lycefar's advance. Bring them down in whatever way you choose, either through merely opening them or detonating them using the stores of explosives that the Kurgans are moving to trap Lycefar's warriors.

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Isfaril the Magnum and Geistler the Plague Bringer; as you both bicker a sudden force strikes you, not physically but mentally. The aura of the Outer Darkness begins to surround you even more so than normal, you are being granted a vision of events taking place and events soon to come.

You both see the whelp Lelun massacring his way through the Kurgans and collapsing the gates of the bastion, and the walls along with them. This will provide two openings for the warband to attack. You also see the enemy champion Khartuu the Kurgan dead, his head torn from his shoulders but you cannot see who has committed this great deed. You see nothing of Lycefar, he may not return in time for this siege, but his orders are clear. Even without him the fortress must fall, if he has not returned in time then the siege will go ahead as planned.

Once the vision ends you both return to reality, you must alert the Exalted Heroes of what you have seen and the details of what must happen. They will be leading the attack and must be privy to your knowledge, they will alert the men and begin moving them into positions.

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Harrow and Black Apostle; as you both go about your tasks you each witness one of the Sorcerers entering a vision, the signs are painfully obvious to even young boys without their facial hair and Exalted Heroes such as yourself couldn't miss them if you tried. You know that something big is coming, and considering the current situation it can only be the downfall of the Kurgan filth.

You both move to ready yourselves for the coming battle, in whatever way you decide necessary. Lycefar has not returned yet, meaning that you two will be charged with leading the strike against the Kurgan stronghold, so prepare yourselves for leadership. The men will be ready to follow you at a moment's notice, but first you must get whatever information you can from the Sorcerers about what is coming, and how you will be getting inside the enemy fortress.

Once you have gained the knowledge of the Sorcerers vision inform the men and begin leading them to the locations that the Sorcerers provide, at the speed Lelun is moving by the time you are visible to the Kurgans it will be too late and your charge will be unstoppable.

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The rest of you, Horu, Ratha the Despoiler, Vermian the Forsaken, Urlf of the Pack, all see the Nurglite Sorcerer go into his vision. Approach him if you choose or keep back, but deep down you know that this means something important is nigh. Sorcerers only receive visions when something is about to happen that will alter events, and that can only mean that the champion Lelun is about to provide a way into the Kurgan fortress.

Ready yourselves for battle and if the Exalted Heroes give you an order, follow it. They will lead you to glory in battle and rich plunder.


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

5 of them moved through the corridors, the slaaneshi and the khornate flanking him, the two undivided covering the rear. They were quick there footsteps hurried, the occassionally slapping thud of the Khornate's axe as he drove it into a wall or a door.


Doors that remained shut though small squeals sent trails of drool cascading from his lips, stalagmites from yellowing rotting teeth. Lelun wanted to hurl, wretch at the horrific displays of blood lust, yet he could not, the energy was building, his left hand twitching, spasming in desperate jerks over the hilt of his sword, his right hand clenched, white knuckled around the knife. The grandfather was smiling, Khorne growling whilst slaanesh's laughter peeled in delectable bells through his mind.

"Time to kill" it was a statement, the lord of change's voice undulated, pitch and volume dipping and falling like a swallow in the high breeze

"I wont" snarled lelun "I hate it, i hate the blood, i hate the violence i want to die"

"One million souls" came the deep feral snarl of the skull god

"or a single child," pealed slaanesh, his voice like the ringing of wedding bells

"Surrender Lelun, it will soon be over" came the grandfather's gentle caress, liquid honey above the buzzing of flies. 
"embrace it, you know how painful it is when you resist. Let our power flow through you, feel the rush as you ride the currents, feel what it is like to be a God"

Shouts, roars of challenge and his head snapped up, ethereal spirits danced in his eyes obscuring his view of those that barred his way, barred his path to the gates. Mutated features, calloused hands bearing long handled axes.

He raised the knife feeling the strength of lord khorne ready.. ready to fuel his armour with strength beyond human reckoning.

He could throw, work with the motion, feel the glorious rush of power, or have his limb break, snap like a twig as he struggled to resist, feel the agony of a Gods rage upon him as his body contorted, out of his control beyond his capabilities.

Gently, hesitantly he embraced the power, felt it flood his body, and threw.

It spiralled through the air, scything through unerring accurate, planting within the firsts throat and he snarled as he drew his sword sprinting forward as energy rippled up the blade, the sorcerous energy of tzeentch flowing in a mass of blue and green sparks.

He was half way there as his knife victim fell and the spirits fled, evaporating as the man ceased his clutching attempts top to remove the knife.

He leapt the sword high footoutstretched, watching as the axe cracked off a shield of pure electricity and his foot planted.

He was amongst them dancing a liquid dance of pure power, his body electric, his blade and extension of his own body as he tore and gutted, feeling the impact in the battle turn from a slaughter to a massacre as the slaaneshi and the khornate slammed in along side him. battle cries flew from lips as dying screams were torn away in a cacophony of sound.

The door ahead of him slammed shut and he roared in irate rage as it burst open under a single blow from his khornate fury. Moving into the next corridor he saw 4 maybe 5 men sprawled upon the floor, weapons astray from where they had been knocked asunder in his fury. 

The sword fell and the khornates axe toppled as they massacred through, pushing forwards the slaaneshi tearing ahead as they raced. The undivided were screaming howls of pleasure as they too entered the corridor, finding there opponents dead upon the floor, the screams turned to angry desperate screaches and they tore on.

They were a lving fluid organism of death, fluid as one moved ahead of the other, each racing to get there first, Lelun in there midst, his soul weeping as he surrendered to the will of the gods.

Amidst the power, the shard of the morality tore at its wretched face, screamed as it watched its bodies ruthless slaughter in the grips of bloothirsty laughing immortals.

Man after man, screamed, surrendered his soul for Lelun's death, for the God's enjoyment as the flag stones of the corridor began to run red, the rivets spilling over onto the flag stones staining them a deep accusatory crimson. Screams, whimpers and battle cries brought yet more to the scene, man after man ran to his doom upon the blade, an undressed unprepatred tide at fist, becoming greater, more armoured, stronger, more challenging as they duelled down the corridors towards the great gates. 

Too many to set charges, too many lost to the bloodlust, they must reach the mechanism, hold the entrance , fill it with corpses as they raised the great gates, watch victorious as the hordes of the great despoiler rolled through.

The gates ahead, the mechanism in there hands they pushed, and heard the great grinding, the huge rumbling as they thundered apart, heard the screams of men as the jaws of the wolf opened and death looked them in the face.

Tears of blood ran down Lelun's face as he watched there despair, and he laughed a maniacal laugh through a mouth twisted with distaste and loathing

His blade ran slick

"I want to die" he chanted a mantra to his annihilation as he slaughtered, standing in the gateway, alone friendless as the rumblings of a great army came ever closer

R


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## komanko (May 16, 2010)

The fortress towered high above the camp yet the small warcamp was protected by the winds and snow that blew harshly and covered any sign of the people and camp. The fortress was carved out of the mountain giving it a significant amount of protection and cover. A direct assault would be suicide and most likely result in the death of this small army. The stone walls were covered in spikes and various other things, they added to the menacing sight of the fortress and also made climbing on top of it extremely hard and maybe even impossible. All the walls of the fortress had firing holes in them from which the Kurgans inside could strike at Lycefar’s army. It was indeed the mightiest fortress in the whole area yet Lycefar had a plan and Vermian knew that, there was a reason that the gods chose him or he would have been devoured by Vermian at the Chaos Wastes, after all the Forsaken was just a tool and a plaything of the gods. Later on he indeed discovered the plan of attack, it was not a brilliant idea but it was the best that could be used in the current situation. The one who called himself Lelun would somehow breach the walls or make a hole and let Lycefar’s forces in, once inside the carnage would begin.

Vermian was mad, he was insane but deep inside he knew what he was doing, he remembered things from his previous life, he knew the worth of tactics and which targets were worthy of dying and those targets were the important ones. He decided that if he could he will hunt down the important targets when he gets inside the not so impenetrable fort. He sniffed, he could smell the frost which the wind carried and the ice, everything ha its own smell. Vermian discovered the fact that humans could not smell some things; he knew that his smell is better. If he was still human Vermian would have been freezing but not now his thick fur covered him and kept him warm, still the other small humans were nearly dying from the horrible frost and the howling winds only made it worse for them. Sadly those humans were the ground of Lycefar’s army and without them this army would mean nothing. Vermian noted who was important from those humans, there was a Kurgan but he was different he like his master Lycefar was marked by the gods and glory awaited him, there was another one, the one with the stench of old, he was an armor suit no more but still the gods blessed him. Then there was another one, another like him. Vermian slammed his huge clawed fist into the ground making waves of snow rise up from the ground which settled on him. Vermian didn’t like the other blessed, he reminded Vermian of himself, the other one looked like a wolf and he had his pack around him. Vermian knew that he was stronger as he needed to survive on his own but the other one had his minions to support him, still with those wolves around their master they could match Vermian’s strength. There were other blessed but they were not here, two of them possessed the essence of the gods within them and Vermian did not like them, he did not want to be this close to the gods as he did not fill save there and apart from them another two marked by the gods were in the central tent which Lycefar used to be in.

Lycefar was gone now; his mighty presence was removed from the camp as he went to search for threats. Vermian wanted to tag along with him but he refused leaving Vermian at the camp. He wanted to taste blood and guts, he was hungry for meat and fresh Kurgan’s were always tasty but heir pointy weapons were not pleasant if they managed to get through his skin. He howled, like the wolves around him, they were circling the camp, snow wolves… They were sure that this camp would soon die out but Vermian knew better. He snarled at them and some scattered and ran away but others stayed when they realized that Vermian would not exit the camp because Lycefar told him to stay there. Vermian once saw a great beast in the sky and his superior eye sight helped him see through the fog and snow and he understood that it was a wyvern, they were the lowly cousins of dragons at least in Vermian’s mind they were, they reminded him of them but still they were more fragile and weaker. Their meat was great and Vermian from time to time managed to taste it. The great wyvern quickly disappeared from Vermian’s sight. His mind drifted to somewhere else quickly. 

He saw movement, everyone were trying to stay warm and ready for the coming battle. The suit of armor that had the stench of the old challenged someone to fight him and Vermian thought of maybe agreeing to fight but then if he would be harmed it will hurt his ability to kill at battle and he did not want that. He decided that some other time he would… Some Kurgans were sat near him trying to keep warm b gathering in large numbers. Slaves always appeared running from place to place, they were lowly and had no will of their on. Lycefar controlled them easily and even Vermian could if he wanted. One of the slaves passed near him, Vermian opened his maw and snarled in anger, the slave entered his territory with no permission and tried to walk freely on it, he won’t allow this… The unsuspecting slave continued walking and Vermian leaped from his place towards the slave grabbing him with his huge clawed hand and with his tail he slashed the slaves throat. A moment later the slave was dead and Vermian satisfied because he got a free meal. Some Kurgans looked at him, some terrified, other curious. He let out a voice which was supposed to resemble laughter but instead was twisted and broken, he rarely spoke… He was anxious and he moved restlessly around the camp, he had nothing to do, at least nothing of interest as he was confined to the small camp with no action inside of it. He had to wait, to wait until the toy would finish his job and get them into the castle.

Having nothing else to do Vermian marched to the fighting arena to watch the warriors spar, hopefully to the death. The taste of the slave still lay on his fangs, and the blood was already coated in ice and snow. He surely preferred the Chaos Wastes’s warm parts. The battle was getting closer and closer and it was time to give a prayer to the dark gods so they would bless him with more power to satisfy them better. He roared a prayer for Khorne and offered the blood of the enemy to him to get the strength of a dragon while he fights. He snarled a prayer to Slaanesh offering the pleasure of death to him for the speed of the wind. He whispered a prayer to Tzeentch so he would get more gifts which would allow him stronger powers and in exchange he offered the souls of the dead to him. He muttered a prayer to Nurgle and offered the bodies of the dead to him so he might have the powers of death itself at his side. Finally he howled a prayer for all the dark gods together offering his life which was already theirs and the dead of the battlefield for them in exchange to glory and power. Once he finished with the prayers he was ready for the battle ahead; he watched as others were rallying each other, shouting praises to the gods, hoping for riches and women, Vermian was satisfied. For a moment he could swear that he felt the ground underneath him move and a moment later he heard the cracking of the earth from afar, Lelun was inside and he was wrecking havoc, the time was nigh yet no alarm was sounded and the fortress itself remained quite, this toy had a peculiar way of getting things done and Vermian liked it.

Suddenly one of the sorcerers, the one who had the stench of the father around him grips his head and looks like he is suffering, the power of the gods was storming around him and Vermian could feel it, his mutation has given him a stronger connection to the winds of magic and to the dark gods. The wielder of the god’s essence was experiencing something which belonged to the gods and not to simple man, it was something important, something which would change to current situation completely. For a moment Vermian reclaimed a part of his personality, a part of himself, a memory flied through his mind, he was standing like the old suit of armor which challenged others in the arena. He stood by his side a essence wielder they were traveling and the same happened to this sorcerer. He remembered that the sorcerer later explained his former self that this was a vision, a mark from the gods, he remembered that he said that it was important and such things can’t and shouldn’t be ignored ever, this things change the current reality they can alter it if they are followed correctly but can some times mislead the viewer. Those visions were the gods will and the gods will was twisted and hard to understand…

Vermian approached one of the stone walls and started slamming his fists at the wall, warming himself up, covering himself in an aura of pain, he continued until his own blood came out of those fists. This did not hurt him as he was used to it, now enemies which die from him will be marked by his blood. He then proceeded to sharpening his claws and talons against the stone wall, after several minutes they were ready for battle as he was himself. He then moved back to the center of camp awaiting the leaders which were marked by the gods like that suit and the Kurgan. He knew that they especially chosen by the gods and that they will lead him and the others for victory yet Vermian had no intention of following their orders to the core, he had his own will yet and if he sees a better opportunity for glory he would use it. He knew that if he kills the defender’s leader he would win glory for himself, glory for the gods, respect from the gods and also break the defenders morale. If possible he will make his way thought the fortress or through the field to find this leader and then he will kill him, for the gods, for himself, for Lycefar.

P.S sorry if its not the best, its hard for me to work on a post without my internet open dunno why.


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## Brother Azeek (Mar 29, 2009)

Horu stood in the middle of the Training ground, looking at the pathetic excuses of soldiers that where fighting for Lycefar. Many would die by the hands of the Kurgans, or by the hands of their 'allies' in a blood fueled rage. occasionally one of higher rank would appear, those who's strength and will had let them survive battles. Those men at least had a chance to live through the fight. He stood and looked, waiting for one to challenge him, the cold cutting into his armor, glazing the black armor in ice and hues of dark blue. He stood for a long time, and all the while he looked around.

He spotted a particularly twisted fiend off in the distance. It struck at a slave running by, killing him with ease. This creature was strong and blessed, and Horu knew that it would be fierce on the battlefield. He was tempted to challenge it to combat, but decided it best not, for one like the fiend would be needed against the Kurgans. He watched the fiend beat upon a wall for no apparent reason, then slash at the wall. _'Such a pathetic excuse for a warrior of chaos, driven mad by the gifts of the gods,'_ he thought, although Horu knew that such a strong creature would be more useful than a weak human. The Chaos Gods where a double edged sword, on one side, you could gain power unimaginable by mortals, but on the other side, was the power to send you into madness and destroy you.

Before Horu could think more on the subject, his eye caught a Nurglite who appeared in pain. He began to walk toward the man, only to realize it was a sorcerer of chaos, one who was surely viewing a vision. His experiences told him to wait it out and see what the Sorcerer had seen, for disturbing them could mean death. Horu continued to walk over to the sorcerer and stood a few feet away from him, waiting for the vision to finish. He watched in wonder as the sorcerer twisted and flinched, watching the vision in his mind. for a moment he thought of what the sorcerer could be viewing, but then he realized, it could only be the battle at hand, and that said battle would start soon. He stood and waited for the Sorcerer, his guard up encase something was to go wrong.


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## Scathainn (Feb 21, 2010)

His friend whispered in his ear in the cold night. _There, there,_ it whispered. _Better out here with the cold and rime than inside with the prattle and nonsense of the ones who ignore the Blood._ Harrow thrashed his head briefly, smacking his jaws together with a meaty clank. The cold made the blood on his face sting.

The world slowly shifted back and forth through patterns of red as he trudged through the snow. He passed by the camps of many warriors, all lesser than he, and he snarled and shook his blade at them. The majority of them were mere vagabonds, those meager whelplings who had not even earned their armor; they warmed themselves by pitiful fires, for their weak mortal forms still suffered in conditions like cold, heat, thirst, starvation. These were the ones who recoiled in terror, who's faces turned white with fear and who's veins ran cold. He could feel the fear in their blood.

There were also others, tall, broad-shouldered brutes in full armor, keeping to themselves or in small groups and venerating the gods. Their armor was ornate, and they sharpened their weapons and reminisced quietly with each other about battles long since past. These ones merely nodded or occasionally bowed to Harrow as he walked by, for they had spine enough to respect themselves and their superior simultaneously. Only those dedicated to the Great Schemer or the Prince of Pleasure gave him no heed, and even these warriors merely ignored him instead of responding with violence.

The stars above him twinkled silently, staring at him like the eyes of some massive beast. Above him in a distant realm, the gods bickered and spat at each other in their eternal squabble for power. And yet somehow, despite all that the Bloodfather had done to him, Old Jorgen was slightly pleased by the fact that with one of his many eyes, Khorne was watching him, guiding him to great and terrible things. He looked up briefly and noted a particular star, slightly red-tinged, with eight small points of light coming from his. "Perhaps that is the eye that watches me", he thought to himself. His "teeth" clicked again.

He wandered through the camp like this for a while, taunting the whelplings and growling at the trueborn of Chaos. His chains rattled on him as he wandered, and his blade accumulated thick frost as he walked. His skin tightened and grew slightly blue with cold, but he suffered no ill effects. He only felt the cold because he chose to. There were times where the snow around him seemed to turn red, red like blood. But these moments were few and far between, and he could scarcely recall what had happened during the incident in the tent. In fact, he could barely remember anyth---

_i am still here

do not forget me.

blood._


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Giestler walked past the training ground, he considered himself an exelent combat expert, although he knew that "expert" and "master" were completely different things. There were a couple that Giestler recognised but most were unknown to him, even though he had been apart of lycefars chosen for a fair amount of time he was still seeing new faces appear in camp every day, he made sure to memorise every one of them..........

Dread screeched at a passing slave, he obviously didn't know authority when he saw it, "do you know who I am boy?"

"a warrior of nurgle"

"warrior? I am much more, I command the very blood in your veins, I could turn your brain to a pox ridden husk, I could cause a rash so severe you would turn to dust. I am more than just a warrior or nurgle, I am a sorcerer of nurgle."

The human was obviously bemused, Geistler decided that he must be a Khornite, Giestler walked off mumbling to himself about standards even within armies.

He passed an open tent, there were two marauders hunched around a stack of lit candles. They were extinguished by an unknown force, it coiled, swirled and expanded until it was the same size a Geistler, it flew towards him and smacked into his enormous chest making him stagger. In the instant before he went into the vision he laughed to himself for the other pawns of chaos could not see it in it's true form.

Geistler hovered above the kurgans castle, lelun and his warriors were battling the kurgans while the marauders tried to find a way to blow the wall. The vision wasn't terribly detailed, they never really were unless it was from his patron sending him off on a new quest of fitting him with more infections.

It ended as swiftly as it came, the black smoke ascending into the air and spread into the air and make it full of so much more malice than would seem possible. There were a few people/things that had gathered around him, some could tell he was having a vision, some though he had reached the limit and his body had started breaking up. Giestler smiled, he loved having superior knowledge over other beings. He could tell they expected them to explain, he answered by saying, "Lelun has is nearly completed his job, now it is our turn to complete ours, I must alert the exalted." Giestler left the other warriors to prepare while he moved towards the command tent.

He arrived moment later and burst into the tent like a bull, "my aplologies for interrupting, but I believe it is time to prepare." faces around the room looked blank an questioning, Geistler explained. "The gods gifted me with a vision of the future, Leluns marauders have almost broken the wall, ask the tzeentchian if you don't believe me, he would scent the chaos power on me from miles away." Giestler turned to Isfaril, it seemed the tzeentchian had just entered the vision. Giestler was pleased he had seen it first, it showed authority and power. He stood and waited for the exalteds reply.


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## Nightlord92 (Jul 7, 2010)

Ratha set his blade down as he heard commotion emanating from his tent. Ready to curse the swine that were disobeying his orders, Ratha threw the flap of his tent back and stepped into the biting wind. Small groups continued to huddle around clutching their furs around their pale bodies while others who pleadged their allegiance to him or other marauder champions walked through the snow to see what was happening.

They weren't alone either. Like living statues, the chaos warriors walked towards the sickly sounds drifting through the camp. Ratha spotted one of their leaders slowly making his way towards the disturbance. Horu. A basterd swine if he ever saw one but there was no mistaking the murderous swagger he held. His chaos warriors constantly berated and cursed his marauders for weaklings. If they thought that they could win the upcoming battle by themselves, then they were just as crazy as they were merciless.

Beyond him Ratha saw the outline of a sight that chilled his bones. More beast than man now, Ratha saw the barbaric form of Vermian hunched over, hunger gleaming in his eyes. A forsaken was something to be greatly feared. They possessed all the strength of a saber-tusk but still held onto the wicked malice they had when they once men. Ratha had once lead a hunting party to slay a forsaken that was ravaging his people's lands. Over 50 warriors accompanied him on that expedition. Less than 20 returned home.

"Dorgo" Ratha called out as he saw his second 

"Something is happening Ratha." he said after a moment of onlooking at what was going on.

"I could have told you that." he growled "Exactly _what_ is happening?" 

Pushing and shoving marauders out of the way, Dorgo lead Ratha as close to the commotion as he could. Laying on the icy ground Ratha saw the reeking form of one of Nieglen's sorcerors in the grip of what appeared to be a siezure. Soon he snapped out of whatever delirium gripped him and slowly raised himself up. 

"Lelun has is nearly completed his job, now it is our turn to complete ours, I must alert the exalted." he said, appearing to be barely aware of the gathering group aroun him. Briskly, the sorceror hobbled off towards Lycefar's tent leaving the gathered warriors to guess at what was coming next.

Ratha had seen shamans entranced by visions before. Nasty affairs that many times resulted in the mystic's death or loss of sanity, if there was any sanity left in them by then. Geistler's words weren't lost on Ratha however.

"Gather my maruader's. Tell them we go to battle soon" Ratha said watching the nurglite sorceror walk away.


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## BlackApostleVilhelm (May 14, 2008)

The Apostle had left the tent after aiding with the last finishing touches of the plan, he needed to pray before entering battle. Silently he made his way to his tent, he had positioned it somewhat at the edge of the encampment, he did not know any of these warriors yet and did not trust them with the secrets that he knew. Yet as he approached it he saw a group of marauders poking around his tent, fools...did they not know anything about privacy? Or were they all completely ignorant of the danger they were in?

Liam and James made to move them away but the Apostle lifted one hand and they stopped, he would deal with these rats. He cut the first completely in half with his scythe, his two halves falling to the snow and covering it in gore, one attempted to run but soon the whole area was engulfed in darkness. Slowly the black receded, another body cut in half laying in the snow, and the Apostle's hand around the neck of the last living marauder. *"Respect!" *his voice boomed out across the camp,* "You rabble must learn it if you wish to live long lives in service of the gods!"* he looked down at the marauder.

The man had tears coming down his face, all he could see was the blackness in the Apostle's hood and his glowing blue eyes, the face of death itself. Without notice he began syphoning the man's soul out of his body, to those watching it looked as though a pinkish mist was wrapping itself around the Apostle's arm and up into his hood, the man's screams slowly dying off as he lost what was left of himself. The warrior's corpse fell to the ground a withered husk of what it had been before, even his armor was beginning to rust and crack at certain places. 

The Apostle looked up at those watching, fear, he could taste it,* "You will respect those that are better than you, or I will kill you for Lycfer myself."* He was thankful that these men could not see his face for he was disgusted at having to serve another other than himself, even one so powerful as Lycfer, but he knew that he would gain much power for being a part of this and making Lycfer's dream a reality. As he and his two followers turned to walk away he saw the nurglite sorceror fall to the ground, he was being struck with a vision, that must mean the time to attack was now. He followed the sorceror back inside the command tent and heard what he had seen,* "Then we march now. The gods have gifted us with an opening and we must take full advantage of it, thank you sorceror, go and ready yourself for we move now."*

Without a thought he ran back to the middle of the camp,* "Ready yourselves warriors of chaos! We go to fight in the name of the gods! The Kurgan's fortress will fall today! With me!!! Glory to chaos!!"* he yelled and the warriors roared back. He had no time for prayer now, yet he had satisfied the gods by killing the three marauders and devouring the one's soul, he ran through the camp raising the men and making his way to his tent so that he, Liam and James could grab their horses. Once mounted he found the other exalted hero, the worshiper of Khorne, he would need to be delicate with this one should he want to keep a limb, *"Brother there will soon be an opening on the Kurgan's fortress, you and I are to lead the men in Lycfer's absence, meet me at the front. Glory to chaos."* he spurred his horse onward towards the front where the men were gathering, yelling the whole way for them to ready themselves and meet him at the front. He finally made it to the front, Lycfer's warband coming up behind him, and raised his scythe in the air, tendrils of pitch black whipping and wrapping around his body and his black horse. They would wait until the wall fell, and then, then they would charge and they would kill within the fortress.


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## WarpSpawned (Mar 9, 2010)

Two hounds snapped at each other, threatening growls building in their throats, Urlf watched impassively; instinctively knowing that infighting such as this would only strengthen the Packs ranks, if it got out of hand then it would intervene and deliver harsh punishment to the fighters.

The Pack was on the outskirts of the Chaos encampment, the hounds themselves occasionally slinking through it looking for scraps or unattended slaves, Urlf snarled and cuffed a dog around the ear, effectively breaking up the fight, there was tension in the air and the Forsaken wanted its dogs at proper readiness should something happen.

Urlf stalked off, leaving the hounds to their own devices, it growled softly to itself and received glares from Maruaders as it passed them; he could smell the hatred and fear coming off them in waves; _let them hate, yes, let them fear, let them talk. Nothing matters but the Hunt_
A rasping chuckle escaped from the mutants throat, the Pack would soon run before the horde, to find and chase down the prey-enemy; all would bleed and know fear.

He wandered through the camp, prowling around on all fours like a beast, he sought out flesh-scraps, but was looking around mainly for a clue as to what the Pack was to do next; he caught a scent in the air, it was full of tension, battle was coming, soon, it would be glorious.
Urlf noticed the Other, Vermian eyeing him and growled. He was not weak, no, they would probably be evenly matched but unlike Urlf, the Other did not have a Pack, a group, loyal only to Urlf; he would not initiate fights, no notyet, that would not do, but later was always another option, new paths opened while others became obsolete.

He growled to himself _"Sssoornr, wirll be gloorriouss"_and loped back to the Pack, his snarls and vicious blows cementing his dominance among them, he had to snap and bite at four before the angry yelps subsided, he wanted them ready, ready now and ready for the hunt, not _the_ Hunt but a Hunt nonetheless.
He sniffed the air once more before shivering in excitement, the hounds around him either howling, eating scraps or defecating where the stood. He was no better then them, except for being the Alpha.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

As the gates forced themselves open the bastion was alive with death. Kurgans stampeded over each other trying to close the breach in their defences before it became their undoing. They were too late from the moment the gates began to move. The army was already bearing down upon them, the army that would end their miserable lives in the service of the same gods they themselves worshipped. A few realized too late what they had done, and fell to their knees begging the Chaos Gods for mercy. None would come.

The lone figure stood in the gates, and he saw the army of the apocalypse approaching. At the front stood figures clad in armour forged by the mad smiths of the northlands, created in fire from the realm of Chaos and moulded with tools made from the bones of daemons themselves. The Exalted Heroes, Harrow and the Black Apostle, leading the few Chaos Warriors that had joined with the warband thus far. They were the first in, charging past him like he was nothing. Almost immediately ranks of Marauders in fur skins and toting axes, bellowing their intent for plunder and killing.

The end was here.


Lelun; as the army charges past you, bent on destroying the enemy that has slighted you all and your cause, you can feel the aura of Chaos slithering around you even more, the Gods are pleased with your efforts. You can feel their laughter at your request for death, death will only come when you are no longer amusing, and that will not be for a long time. This revelation takes only a moment and as you turn you see more of the army is charging past you, giving you a wide berth as if afraid to be near one cursed as you, and are attacking the Kurgans.

The urge to join battle rises within you, you are still cursed and likely will be forever, and your rage or anguish at this can drive you. Massacre the Kurgan scum, kill as many as you can and show no mercy to those that defy your eternal masters wishes. You have no choice in this, and the laughter of cruel Daemons in your soul confirms this.

You can see a large group of Kurgans approaching you, they are heavily armoured in metallic places covered with fur skins and many bear mutations, gifts of the Dark Gods. They have identified you as a real threat and are determined to kill you, even as the carnage around you tears into the sky with its deafening cacaphony. One of them strides forward, a bulky brute with two massive crustacean-claws in place of hands.

"We name you Cursed One!, die for the Dark Gods!" he bellows. The Kurgans roar and charge forward, their mutations and weapons brandished and ready to end your existence. You can hear the Daemons braying for their souls, those who are ignorant enough to presume they know what the Dark Gods desire. Kill them all!.

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Isfaril the Magnum and Geistler the Plague Bringer; as the army charges inwards you both know that you have different tasks ahead of you. The Kurgans may have their own shamans and though their magic will be weak and discordant with the realm of chaos, it is still magic and may claim many lives that may be expended in worthier battles elsewhere. The aura of magic in the air confirms this, the Kurgans have a shaman somewhere in the fortress that must be neutralized. But first you must both survive.

A pack of Kurgan Marauders clad armour as dark as their skin and with tattoos covering every visible inch of their skin approaches, their weapons in the air as they chant praises to Chaos and sing of how they will be lauded for killing the Sorcerers of the deluded ones. Show them how wrong they are, there are plenty of them for each of you to illuminate on the true wishes of Chaos and to show them that they are the deluded ones. The True Gods demand it, kill them!.

Once they are dead you both enter the fortress and observe the carnage, the true believers of Lycefar far outnumber the Kurgans and are killing them to a man, but the Kurgans have the advantage of being within their own walls. Arrows hail down from the walls in droves, men on both sides below you in the central yard are dying in packs. Deal with the archers and the Kurgans readying heavy weaponry, cannons and bolt throwers, before they can do any real damage, otherwise the crusade may just end here.

----------------------------

Harrow and Black Apostle; as you charge headfirst into the enemy, the weight of the Chaos Warriors behind you, the Kurgans lash out with everything they can. Axes and blades strike at your armour while arrows shoot into your space, attempting to pierce through any exposed place they can find. The Kurgan charge meets you head-on, Marauders selling their lives to slow you down and buy the archers time to bring you both down. Once you cut through them continue the slaughter, the fortress interior isn't very large and the Kurgans are rushing to meet you and your forces.

Another group of Kurgans approaches you, these ones are very different. They are covered from head to foot in pastel pink and black armour, not as ornate or as heavy as your own, but still impressively cruel with metallic vines snaking all over it and with images of Daemons and humans in a torrid orgy. These aren't Chosen but they are the closest that this Kurgan scum have ever seen, and they are the scions of Slaanesh.

"Your souls will bring us much favour from the Dark Prince, peon of Undivided and filth of the Blood God," is all that the leading Chosen says, his metal mask carved in the image of a beguiling Daemonette giving his voice an unearthly beauty, before they attack. There is only four of them, and counting the Black Apostle's servants there are four of you. Kill this scum!.

----------------------------

Horu and Ratha the Despoiler; as the two of you enter the fortress the Marauder packs behind you bray for blood, all around you the loyal servants of Lycefar and the Gods are fighting against the Kurgan heretics who dare call you all deluded and destined to die. As soon as you gain a brief glimpse of the battle you are both rushed by Kurgans, axes and mutations slashing and snapping at you and your warriors. Once they are dead move onwards and into the corridors, the Kurgans continue to defend against your onslaught, attempting to protect their loot and their food stores. You must secure these things or else the crusade will grind to a halt as men starve and the greedy demand more gold.

Fight through the corridors and secure the gold stores and food stores, and make sure to remind the Marauders that any who are caught looting will be flayed. Lycefar's rules on loot are very clear, they are to be shared out equally amongst those who perform well and any caught stealing more than their earned share will be flayed and left to die in the freezing snow. Ahead of you more Kurgans appear, intent on protecting their gold, and leading them is a huge brute of a warrior clad in the skin of a bear that could fell a tree with a single swipe and with a huge axe made for cleaving men in two with a single strike. Kill them all!.

----------------------------

Vermian the Forsaken and Urlf of the Pack; while above you the army battles, the sounds of swords clashing and men dying reaches you even down here in the catacombs of the fortress, you snarl in anticipation. You both have been led down here by a small group of Marauders, the beastmasters in charge of keeping you directed and making sure that your berserk rages kill the enemy rather then your fellow warriors. The explosive entry made by Lelun serves as your entry point as you and other Forsaken, all deformed and bestial, are hauled into the bottom of the fortress, where the Kurgans are attempt to flee and hold.

Their scent reaches you both even now, the scent of the already dead Kurgans slain by Lelun and his warriors, and the smell of newly arrived Kurgans, those who have realized that the battle upstairs is lost and that by holding their forces down here they can hold up Lycefar's warriors and reap a much more fearsome tally of the dead. But they have not reckoned on you or your mutated brethren attacking them. As the last Forsaken is corralled into the small entry room a Kurgan opens the door, muttering something about weapons. He freezes at the sight of you, illuminated by the torch-lamps placed on the walls, his eyes turning hollow in sheer horror at seeing you both and your pack. One of your pack pounces on him, his claw-mouths ripping into the filth's flesh as his spikes pierce his throat. His death scream turns all eyes to you, there are many Kurgans here, and they outnumber you by a lot. Annihilate them!


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

The warriors of dark gods charged past, a tidalwave of annihilation bent upon destruction, flowing round him, as water round a rock in a mountain stream. His strength raised and died, ebbed and flowed like the tide upon distant shores as laughter burst from his throat, exploded from him in a blissful cacophony of ecstacy. 

Tainted, it raised bile as the grandfathers chuckles locked around him in a warm embrace, eternal, the chain of slaanesh's sumptuous lust dragging the blade in his hand up, ahead of him.

Bilious.

Khorne's rage made life flow through his veins, his heart poundin, head spinning as it raced and the arrows that twisted towards him deflected away, harmless a mild irritant to the scheemers great plans.

Their chosen would not die.

Too much fun... a treasured plaything they would not discard, manipulated, dancing to their tune forever more.

His limbs were moving, unwillingly he was dragged, forced into the slaughter once more and he raged, fought against the monotonous thud of his limbs upon the muddy ground.

"Is it so bad Lelun, many would give anything to have what you have. So many give more for less"

The grandfathers voice was sickly sweet, vomitable, his stomach lurched at the honeyed words.

Lust was rising, khorne's impatience flooded him, the scent of the battle, causing his eyes to shoot open, his back straight.

He would never be free, the ebbing of his strength rose, fed on his despair as his grip loosened slackened upon waves of sickening glory.

He was a slave... it was his destiny.
Surrender, he was carried away upon the impulse his feet running, the army seperating like a tide as he was catapulated forward, the glory of chaos running wild within him. An arrow catapulated towards him and he pivoted, spinning aside from its deadly path and leaping forwards.

The kurgan before him wept upon the floor hands raised in prayer.

No mercy, laughing voices echoed within him as his sword rent his head from his shoulders, a geyser of blood spattering his bare chest.

Cackling howling echoed in his mind as a second slumped to the floor, a third raised his blade only to find his legs swept out from under him, the sword meeting thin air as a swift blow snapped his neck. The momentum catapulting him into another, the sword driving through hsi assailants gut.

He danced, dancin through the rabble, tearing down all before him ,soul after soul raised their blades in defiance and held them in lifelss hands as they lay in blood smeared dust.

The cursed one met the damned in a cacophony of laughter.

Yet some still stood against the army, some sttod defiant the abandonment of their gods no tribulation to their mutated forms. A block, heavily armoured with swords that gleamed made for him and him alone.

10 stood before one in a battle within battles.

Armour gleamed in the dying light, bloodstained rags dripped into the sand.

"We name you Cursed One!, die for the Dark Gods!" 

The blade glittered, raising to cross his scrawny body, his legs forming a stance he had never learnt

A soft voice, whispered from his lips, yet it echoed across the battle like the great bark of a cannon

"My captors call me Lelun. Their enemies call me death"


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## WarpSpawned (Mar 9, 2010)

The Forsaken snarled at the Kurgans, foolish little meat-twigs thought they could hide here? The Pack had their scent and once a scent was had the prey was hunted down; Urlf let out a bloodcurdling howl and threw himself into the fray, claws tearing through armor and flesh; its hounds and taken first blood and were working themselves into a frenzy of mad baying and snapping jaws.

Urlf, its jaws closed around the neck of a writhing enemy, felt hot pain lance up his back and spun, claws hooked to rend and tear, a Kurgan _enemy_ had come behind the Alpha and speared him, cutting through fur and tough hide. _Nothing important_. Urlf struck with savagery, slicing deep into the mans chest before grabbing both arms and, with a kick that sent the man backwards, tore them from their sockets.

Much slaughter, much meat, all would die. The mutant snarled and tore into the foes, his Pack flowing around him, tooth and claw sinking into flesh. Urlf realized that the Kurgans were probably holding for a last stand, yes, that made sense. But why corner yourself in a filthy burrow-den when one could hunt in the open. Blood, fear and the crunch of bones clouded the Forsaken's mind once more; sounds and the bright fire enraged it, blood splattered walls as it sought to quench the fury.

Mouth full of flesh the beast struck about itself, its blows seemingly wild but always avoiding striking at an ally, such as they were.


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## Scathainn (Feb 21, 2010)

The Crowfather howled with rage as the tide of warriors surged past him. He formed the vanguard, along with the true warriors of chaos, and that Black Apostle. They were the strong, the ones who had earned their armor through the blood of the enemy; they were the ones who forged their destinies on anvils forged from the skulls of mere men. Behind them strode the weak ones, those who wrapped themselves in thin furs and scraped for the scraps that the True Chosen left behind. They were weak, and it was battles such as these where only the strong would survive.

He could feel the urge growing in his body. The beast inside of him thrashed and raged, howling in his mind for a vent to his bloodlust. His friend whispered to him. _It is time, old friend. Release the beast, that you may strike fear in the hearts of our enemies and feast on the blood of the weak._

Slowly, Harrow began to trudge forward, as the warriors around him ran at full speed. But he slowly began to acceletate; first a walking pace. Then a slow jog. Then a run. Then a sprint. The blood coursed through him, searing his veins the closer he got to the enemy. So close, and yet so far. Soon he was almost a blur, racing to get to the front lines. He barked and howled like a wounded dog, cutting open his face in dozens of lines and waving his sword around like a madman. By the time he reached the front, it was too late for the scared Kurgan scum. They tried to flee, but in vain.

He literally tore through the first two, cleaving their bodies in half with a sweep of his sword. The first drops of blood splattered over his face, and he began to laugh. It was a terrifying sound, shrill and barking like a hyena's laugh but grating and painful to the ear due to his metallic teeth. His blade thrashed about in random directions, sending Kurgan scum down to the ground with wounds that bled more blood than should have been possible. One of the Marauders, a particularly corpulent one wielding a massive mace, charged Harrow in a fit of frighteningly stupid glory, bellowing praise for Papa Nurgle. With a swift motion, Harrow tore a chunk out of his massive stomach with his sharp teeth, slamming the warrior to the ground. Still laughing, Old Jorgen held the fat one down and literally began consuming the Nurgle worshipper, his screams of agony as pleasing to his ears as the flesh which slid down his throat. With a sloppy crunch, he shredded through the ribcage and ate the warrior's heart, silencing him.

Standing back to his feet, he paused for a moment only to wipe a piece of gristle from his teeth. "BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!" he howled, resuming the charge. A few of the Chaos Warriors behind him answered; "SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!" He was glad there were others like him. Bowling over the puny marauders, he made his way into the fortress. Only then did he notice out of the corner of his eye the Black Apostle keeping pace with him, his two warriors by his side. He was the strongest here besides Harrow himself and Lycefer, so the Crowfather respected him. He may have been a mere tyke in his eyes, but he had done much for chaos in such a short life.

But as he finished tearing through two more marauders, four accursed Slaanesh warriors barred his path. Their armor was garishly decorated, and it filled his heart with rage just to behold them. The lead warrior stepped forward, his head held high. "Your souls will bring us much favour from the Dark Prince, peon of Undivided and filth of the Blood G-----"

He barely finished his sentence before Harrow leapt forward, bellowing with a voice that shook the icicles of the fortress. Two quick punches to the chest, a snap kick to the head, and he was on the ground. A second later......

CRUNCH!

The Bloodseeker scraped his boot on the floor to remove the brain matter and bits of skull stuck to it. One of the Slaaneshi warriors recoiled in horror, and attempted to flee. _Not a chance_, his friend whispered. With a roar, he hefted the massive broadsword and flung it as the gilded warrior. It sailed through the air for what seemed an eternity....then connected solidly with his back. The warrior fell to the ground, whereupon Harrow calmly strode over.

"W-w-w-w-w-w-what are you?" the warrior breathed, coughing blood. Harrow laughed, a chilling sound that had the men nearby feel their blood chill, and with one swift motion he drove his fist into the man's chest. Twisting and grimacing, he felt around until....."There is isssssss...." With a snapping sound, he pulled his hand out, emerging with the heart of the warrior in his hands. The warrior's final sight before perishing was of Harrow biting into the heart, savoring it as if it was the Apple of Paradise.

Harrow turned towards the Apostle, gesturing towards the other two warriors.

"All yourssssss....." he spat, and charged off into the fortress, laughing and screaming praise to the Blood God.


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## BlackApostleVilhelm (May 14, 2008)

The Apostle rode on his dark steed in the front of the warsmith's horde, Liam and James following close behind on thier own horses. He saw the gates crashing open, the powers that the gods of chaos had gifted to him began coursing through his veins, he charged forward silently with his scythe held high in the air. Harrow passed him up, the bloodlust of Khorne carrying him headlong into the breach before anyone else could get there, yet the Apostle did not care let khorne have his fun. 

He was here for a far purer reason then just spilling blood, he was here to consume, to feed on the souls of the slain. It was his only way to obtain substance now, both a curse and a blessing, but he cared not for the souls of the dying gave him so much more than the normal food that the weak marauders ate. Harrow had raced in and killed the majority of a group dedicated to Slaanesh in a matter of seconds and then moved on further into the keep, the Apostle raced by the two survivors still on his horse while Liam and James both dismounted to battle these two survivors. 

Liam, as was his nature, took multiple hits and returned them with twice as much force, his nurgle-blessed body absorbing the wounds and spilling noxious fluid onto the Slaaneshii where it burned away armor and skin alike. James on the other hand had turned frighteningly cold, icicles hanging off of his armor as he danced around his slowed enemy and pierced his body with his dual swords. Once they had finished their opponents they moved to follow the Apostle, killing anyone that got in thier way with brutal efficiency and unnatural skill.

The Apostle had raced forwards to the front, hacking off heads as he passed by groups of enemies on his horse until he finally reached where Lelun was. This was where the most souls could be harvested without others interfering, and he intended to have a good harvest this day. Darkness came with him, a thick shadow of blackness surrounded most of his body like a thick mist as he roared and lept off of his horse at the first enemy. 

The darkness shot out at the man and enveloped him, his warcries turning into screams as the Apostle devoured his soul within the safety of the darkness. Suddenly he could be seen again as he moved to the next victim, a dessicated body lying on the ground behind him, its face twisted into a hellish scream. He did this to every warrior that crossed his path feeding on thier souls and giving himself increased power and strength until he found himself in a lull in the battle giving him time to look around. He had killed all the men in this area yet he still hungered so he made his way to the keep where he knew that the enemy would be amassing for a counter attack. 

He found himself in a large area filled with Kurgans, Liam and James also in the clearing killing those around them as they fought to meet up with the group that Lelun was leading. The wind was colder here, a sign that James was using his powers, and some of the dead bodies had huge pustules all over them that were bursting with puss and disease showing that they had not had the willpower to resist Liam. The Apostle dove into the fray his scythe seeming the flow with the darkness as he killed before he finally stopped in front of Lelun with a man in front of him on his knees.

He slowly drank the man's soul, the darkness slowly flowing back behind him to look like deathly wings, his eyes staring at the cursed Lelun and despite himself he smiled.* "We move to the keep." *was all he said to Lelun as he finished the last of the man's soul and let his tortured body fall to the ground, the Apostle's voice milky smooth with a hint of honey.


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

The crustacean lunged for him and pivoted away, the claws snapping on empty air and Lelun hacked towards him with his sword, only for it to ring hard upon metal as a second joined the fray, blade protecting his leader, biceps straining to force Lelun away.

Foolish.

Khornes' strength, his rage at the kill inches away, so close, so near, leeching into his body, the mans arms wavering as the pressure built, his wrists twisting backwards as yet more force built, sweat beading upon the protectors forehead. 

Then it was gone. No counter force, nothing to stop the blade from lancing up, rising uselessly. Lelun's blade slid in unhindered underneath the arming breaking the fleshbetween the third and forth ribs, bursting through his lung, trauma sending the wounded warrior comatosed to the floor, blood spilling from the fresh wound. 

A throwing knife thudded off an invisible shield or sorcerous energy and Lelun went to ground, slamming his sword into its sheeth as the Kurgans gave hollow howls of rage, feral anger turning upon him, turning upon the one that had caused their doom, that took there fellow warriors from them. Blades poorly aimed yet sharp, deadly nonetheless pinweeled over his head, thudding to the ground around him and he rolled fingers clasping around two long thin blades as the world tumbled around him. He straightened before them, the gap closed, long knives held outwards inches away, pure death, glittered in the dawn light, the rapiers reflecting in their eyes.

A deft pivot of his midriff sliced two throats as his assailants struggled to draw fresh weapons, fountains of blood splattering across his face as slaanesh gurgled in ecstacy.

A hard kick upon a falling corpse sent two to the ground, a hole in the tightly packed mass, the press of raging unwashed, unarmoured bodies mixing, dispersing the martial percision of the armed warriors, playing havoc with their strokes as they were battered by the desperate and the venegeful.

His blades stabbed and hacked, his movements independent each arm unleashing a deadly attack, each hurried kick buying him a little space. Blood spattered his eyes, seering hot against his pupils, the world suddenly read, then black as they closed instinctively. 

Yet he could still see, see the armoured kurgans blade lancing, see the smile of triumph spreading across his face as he saw his revenge played out 1 thousand times, as each echo of its sweetness drove the blade further.


The speed of slaanesh made the blades ring against one another,made the second blade lodge within his throat, his scream of triumph replaced by nonsensical gurgles.

He could feel it, see it before him even as he blinked the blood from his eyes, see the mass of filth at his feet, see where his feet had crushed their skulls, see the rabble falling away, raging horror replaced seemlessly by equisite terror.

What daemon had come to haunt them, what evil did not need eyes to see...

Only the warriors stood 5 of them remained, half their number lay dead, their blood on his blade, their deaths not even memories.

The crustacean raised his claws once more, their pincers deadly and sharp, clacking together a monotous ringing that echoed to the beat of there footsteps.

Above them he saw the battle still raging, he saw a figure reap with his scythe as he pushed towards him, a face from which darkness radiated, that slew even though its eyes seemed to be fixed upon him.

They called him the apostle, may as well of called him death. He looked the part, envisaged pure destruction.

"Are you competing Lelun? Does it anger you that we favour another?"

Tzeentch's words bit deep and the toy shuddered.

He was coming to enjoy it, dulling to the sickening remorse. How many had he slain tonight, 50... 100, he knew not, he would remember them in his nightmares, yet he felt nothing. He killed without guilt, threw himself into battle.

Was he becoming?

His eyes fixed upon the giant figure that still reaped and shuddered.

He opened his eyes as a blade cut into his shoulder.

They were on him, inches away, a blade sliced into his shoulder others fell, the pincers reached.

He dropped to his knees, the blades grove still shallow, the impact taken by his hurried descenthis two knives sliced at the hamstrings as the pincers snapped yet again upon thin air. He left the knives lodged, the two men toppling away as their legs collapsed, his sword sliding from his sheeth as he exploded upward, blade piercing bone as he launched himself into the air, bone shattered, flesh sheared and a scream echoed through his mind as the mans mind shut down and he fell to the floor. 2 wounded, 1 dead. He was airborn, body twisting to lash at his next assailant but he was flying, something huge and hard catching him in the midriff.

The crustacean was laughing, a shrill peal of mirth as Lelun skidded along the ground, coxic screaming in agony as he impacted with the stone.

They were advancing and he was on his feet sword raised he rushed to meet them, blade dancing clattering off claw and ringing against the metal, he drove them apart and penned them together, his blade a miasma of strokes and counter strokes sent the crustacean diving aside and forced the man, the one whose blood stained his blade to his knees, blade a shattered stump, useless, pointless.

The toy's eyes met the fearful orbs and he felt khorne stetch his lips into an evil smile.

"You took my blood"

The blade flashed and the severed head skittered away, rolling to land eyes facing him, acceptance flashing through the fear.

"I take your skull." 

He wiped the blade upon his jerkin

"and my blood"

The shrill laughter of khorne rippled through him, maniacal desperate rage, a savage roar.

He was spinning, the crustacean was charging, pounding towards him and he met the charge, blade slicing downwards, biting through the flesh before the claw, sending the pincer toppling to the ground.


The charge faltered, the impetus died, failed as the symbolism, the truth of his doom slammed home.

A second flash and second claw toppled to the ground and the warlord sunk to his knees.

"Feel the true weight of your lords displeasure Kurgan. Feel their rejection, realise that your sacrifice, your dishonour was for nothing. Realise your foolishness, the lords of the warp are never kind. Everything has a price."

A tortured look shot across the kurgan's face as his vitura dripped from the ruined stumps, then darkness latched upon him, surrounded him, enveloped him. The warlord turned eyes latching upon his captor, his screams bit the air and Lelun felt a force, something torn from the Kurgan and he slumped, motionless, thoughtless, a body without essence, without soul.

The toy looked up into the face of the apostle who stood rippled in shadow, 5 words, oozed from his mouth

"We move to the keep." 

Khorne's rage bit, the kill had been his, Slaanesh's matched it, the pleasure of mental torture stolen. The blade raised in Lelun's hand, scything to take the head of the souless kurgan and he moved blade raising towards the apostle, khorne and slaanesh lashing out in bitter loathing, yet the scheemer raised an idle hand and his arms slowed, still moving still intent. An idle chuckle and the grandfathers power left him drowsy and unresponsive. The gods warred within him, hatred and loathing biting snapping they fought eachother, forced eachother back, power lancing. Finally they receeded their energies spent, the great game more important than their toy, their minds a distant niggle within an ocean of emptiness and calm

He swelled within it, took possession of the empty space, felt almost whole, almost. They were still their, their minds not completely idle, they watched him still.

Their toy and their champion

Lelun looked up at the apostle and felt disgust. Disgust for he who could murder without compulsion, who could enjoy such pursuits.

"Dont you?" whispered sly slaaneshi. 

A tremor racked his body yet he met the apostle's gaze.

Death stood before him and he let out a peel of insane laughter his words to the Kurgan's echoing around his mind

"Thank you for spoiling the metaphor"

The laughter died to idle sniggers and he waved a hand dismissively his voice suddenly haughty

"You move to the keep, apostle, I shall move where i wish"

A second snigger

"I have an irate khornate beserker to find"

Khorne cackled, his presence upon the edge, slaanesh's alongside him, ready eager.

"However if you feel the need for a little extra muscle"

He looked up at the man that towered, feet above him, whose arms dwarfed his legs and dissolved into laughter once more, laughter that rang with the clash of blades, peeled like church bells and gurgled like bubbling pus as the grandfather chuckled, the comforting warmth of a fever sliding through Lelun's body.

"I'm sure i could clear you a path."

He made an ostentatious bow

"Yet my lord... do do tell, you watched me as you slew across the battlefield. Why? Do I fail to live up to your high standards?"


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## BlackApostleVilhelm (May 14, 2008)

OOC: hope i didnt go too far DB, if i did let me know, all i really did was stop you so that i could speak to you and then let you go. 



The Apostle watched the toy silently, the gods were truly with him yet he still fought them, he was scared of the power he could have. Only the Apostle and the chaos lord knew what power could be gotten from all four of the gods, this "toy" knew but was too frightened of the possibilities to embrace them fully. He could feel the anger seeping from him because he had stolen his kill and chuckled to himself, the whelp believed the gods were with him, if they were he would have attacked him already. 

He let the kurgan fall to the floor lifeless, the toy was actually being sarcastic with him, it had been a long time since someone had had the gall to do that and he quite enjoyed it. 

"Follow the rivers of blood and you will find the Crow-Father, Khorne's champions are never hard to find." his eyes narrowed as Lelun tried to walk away, the Apostle engulfed in him darkness.

"I am not through with you child." His voice boomed, he knew Lelun could only see the swirling darkness and his glowing eyes, yet he was not fearful at all should the gods want to take him then it was their will. 

"You have false courage in your voice. You speak to me as if you were one of the true Chosen of the gods, like me or the Crow-Father, yet I can hear the falsity in your voice. You fear that which the gods put you through, you fear the power they give you and you do not embrace it as a part of yourself." his eyes came in close to Lelun's, he could see his desire, the Gods' desire for a great champion....he would be the one to bring this child into the fold fully.

"I am not called the Apostle for no reason Lelun. I know much of chaos and I have brought many over into its fold. They, like you, were afraid but once they embraced the power offered to them they attained such wonderful heights of existence you would believe them unreal." he brought his face back out away from Lelun's,

"You have been chosen by the gods young one whether you like it or not, and until you accept the power they have offered you fully then you will forever be there plaything and not their champion."

Suddenly the blackness was gone and the Apostle was already walking over to Liam and James who were standing by and watching. Before they moved towards the keep he looked back, "Should you wish to speak more on the nuances of the Gods come find me in my tent after the battle." and with that he broke into a sprint towards the keep with james and liam right behind him.


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## BlackGuard (Sep 10, 2010)

The Norse Marauder looked around in freight and excitment to see the men rushing around him, their cries to the Dark Gods rich with anger and desire. He saw the Chosen marching stalwart towards the enemy's main keep while the Kurgan defenders were slaughtered around them. The followers of the Blood God ran past him, their axes high and blood already covering them -- he chose not to imagine where it might have come from since they only just now entered the fray, the followers of Nurgle waldled after them next their reek a revulsion to his senses. He could see the petty magics of sorcerors being used in a small skirmishes and he could smell it -- blood and death and fire ... the cinders of burning woodworks the screaming of the dying. This was his destiny, as a Norse, as a follower of the Dark Gods. This was why he had been born. He looked down at himself and felt anger slowly rise within him, the old bastard Droloon had gifted him a helmet supposedly from his great grandfather, yes, but the old fool had forgotten to give him a weapon. All marauders had their own and there simply wasn't extra just lying around the camp. 

'Standing around idly will get you killed,' growled a voice rich with authority.

Auger turned to see a Chosen stalking up behind him, allowing marauders and his own kind to push threw the gates. His armor was dull and black the result of pitting it and rubbing it with ash. An eight-pointed star had been tap screwed onto his chest and in his hands were two swords. Auger felt uneasy in the presence of one so blessed by the Dark Gods. He made a movement to kneel but felt foolish and righted himself, the Chosen only chuckled and began to walk past.

'I smell the reek of the Empire about you boy ...' the Chosen said with relish, 'You will not last long ...'

He felt his anger rise at the words and went to speak when he thought better of it. He looked to where the fighting was taking place and rushed forward to join the fray, with all this killing there was bound to be some poor fool who would no longer need a weapon. Without the need for luck he found one quickly, a small battle-axe, well past its prime was clinched in the hands of a dead Kurgan, apparently killed by some massive blow to the head. He reached down, grabbed the weapon and then jumped backwards as a trio of arrows pierced the already dead corpse. He scrammbled back and looked around, the Kurgan archers upon the walls did not need to aim to hit Lycefar's men below. A great hand reached down and picked him up and he was turned around, looking into the cold blue eyes of a man clearly of Kurgan descent, his icy eyes only increasing the presence of his authority. It was Tellep, the leader of the warband he'd joined when he arrived at the camp. He had no funds, barley any clothes, and not even a weapon, Tellep allowed him in knowing that he would end up catching a arrow or blade meant for more valuble men. 

'You're actually alive!' he bellowed with a grin upon his face, 'And you actually have a weapon. You've lasted longer than expected. We are tasked with taking the loot of the enemy, their gold and food supplies. Rejoin the men and take it, damn you!'

Auger nodded and was roughly pushed in the direction of the warband by Tellep who shook his head and ran off in another direction, to a task that Auger knew nothing of. The young Norse charged forward and saw the vast food storage buildings in the distance, a fierce fight was underway between scores of marauders on both sides. He gripped his newly stolen weapon and charged forward, screaming a wordless battle cry. He rushed and leapt over a dying marauder, his skull crushed by a mace. The mace-wielder soon found the ironic death of his own skull crushed in by Auger's descending battle-axe, a spray of gore leapted into the air and the Kurgan died wordlessly. The Norse Marauder found himself in far more of a fight than he'd expected, the press of bodies and the flow of the battle had found him facing two Kurgans at once, both brandishing swords. The one of the left moved in for a quick kill, slicing low and attempting to gut him in a single move, while the one on the right dove forward in a fient as a distraction. Auger jumped back, barley avoiding the first blow but knocking over a friendly warrior behind him, his curses and screams audiable over the battle. He Kurgan on the right had charged forward expecting a low strike by Auger in the confined portions of the fighting, only to find the Norse now had room and swung the battle-axe over his head, severing the Kurgan's arms at the elbow. Even as the marauder died his combat charged yet again and each blow was narrowly avoided. He's good, thought Auger, damn good. Their battled flowed for another five minutes with no clear sign of either letting up, even as their comrades died around them. He was growing tired of the constant duel and looking at his foe he knew he would tire out long before him, a sacrifice must be made. Auger feinted a blow then swung his battle-axe in a general swing, the Kurgan leapt backwards creating a gap between them. The move was one the Kurgan had been waiting for, since the size of the battle-axe meant Auger was using two hands and now his side was extremely exposed, he lept for the kill. All the Kurgan's blade found was another marauder's side, to his merit it was one of Lycefar's, but one put in his path by the Norse who'd willingly threw his own comrade at the enemy. The Kurgan could not right himself quickly enough and Auger kicked the screaming marauder in the side, sending both toppling over. He then quickly brought his axe to bear and finally split the skull of the foolish Kurgan.

Blood was covering his chest, both his own and the Kurgan's, for both had scored minor flesh wounds throughout the fight. He lifted his axe into the air and bellowed in rage at his first kills. The marauders around him screamed with him as the Kurgan resistance began to falter. A few more of the weakening and exhausted Kurgans were slaughtered by his axe before Auger reached the door to the food storage -- his mind, far from driven insane by the Dark Gods, knew that all campaigns needed supplies. Even if the so-called Chosen needed no food the marauders, who encompassed the vast majority of the horde, did. He growled as he realised the door was bolted ... from the other side. The Kurgans had common sense after all. He turned to look for a means to break this pathetic door when he heard a rumbling sound. He jumped forward into the mud and blood just in time to save his life, for a massive form burst forth from the barred door and cleaved two men in a single stroke. Auger spun around and quickly rushed backwards to gather distance. The massive form a man clad in the biggest bear fur he'd ever seen, would have none of it. He stomped forward towards Auger, his eyes screaming of madness and pain. His axe was far larger than the Norse's and stained with the blood of many battles. That axe came down for him in a blinding blur of steel and screaming rage, only to slam into the ground just shy of him. The Norse Marauder screamed in fright, only now regaining his foot and beginning to distance himself even more from the monster. He turned and to his horror he saw other marauder's leap forward all attempting to fell the beast. All were killed in a blur of blood and gore as the beastman cleaved them to pieces before bellowing in laughter. 

'For the Gods!' came a scream like no other. Auger turned to see Tellep leading a horde of marauders towards the beastman who noticed them but showed little interest. He was far more fixated upon the Norse, the one who fled from him like a child. A single, almost careless, swing killed nearly half of the group Tellep lead -- including Tellep himself. The mangled bodies splat upon the muddy, snow-covered ground. The survivors broke on either side of the massive bear-clad warrior, attempting to simply run into the storage shed. Three made it, the fourth was caught in the back of the head by the beastman and tossed idly aside. He knew not weather it was instinct or insanity that gripped him next, for Auger charged forward his axe in both hands, staying silent as he could. To kill that fourth marauder the beastman had turned his back upon Auger, he though the Norse was nothing but a coward. He was not, however, blind to his surrondings and as soon as Auger came within ten feet he desperately regretted his foolish decision as the beastman spun with amazing speed and backhanded him, sending him screaming away in a heap. The young marauder looked up from the mud and growled, he'd clearly broken at least one rib and he was sure his jaw wasn't even remotely set right now. Blood streamed down his face from his crushed nose and his mind shrieked with pain.

He slowly rose to his feet and gripped his battle-axe, fear pumped threw his veins and his eyes were wild with terror, yet something kept him from running. A feeling perhaps, or was it a voice so far off, so distant that he couldn't make out the words yet knew what they were. 

'Die for the gods ... die for the gods,' he sword he heard the words in his mind as the beastman walded towards him, a grin upon his face and his great axe held ready to deliver the killing blow.

'Die for their glory ... for their pleasure ... your life is nothing, it has never been something ... give it for beings so far above you.'

He growled, his terror ebbing away to give rise to anger -- red hot and bloody. Why, he bellowed into his mind, why had he suffered through all that he had, through the torture, through the cold-winter to be here for the Brothers in the Darkness to simply kill him here, upon their meaningless land, against a foe who would not even be remembered beyond this day.

'You wish to live?' the voice was sure now and clear in his mind, 'You think yourself a worthy canidate to serve the Gods?!'

'I'm here aren't I?' he replied. The beastman cocked an eye as he appoarched, the weak Norse seemed to be riddled with insanity for he spoke to himself.

'Look at the dead aroudn you ... your so-called comrades in arms, many of them are dead,' the voice cackled, 'Whats makes you so different? Your soul is no more sour than theirs ... if anything, it is sweeter with the weakness bred into by your Imperial blood ...'

Auger felt the cackling voice in his veins themselves urging him to let his grip on his axe wither and to let the beastman kill him. His life had no meaning, he had been brought here to die because the Gods willed it so. They had no great plan for him and Droloon had known it all along, he had merely spared him because of an old blood-debt to his long-dead great grandfather. He screamed at the appoarching beastman.

'If I am to die in the service of uncaring gods!' he screamed, 'Then let me die with blood in my mouth and bile in my viens! Let me die with pride oozing from my heart and death reeking from my skin!'

The Norse gave up upon life and charged forward, his lungs expelling all his air in a single, final warcry. One that he demanded the gods themselves hear, to know that at least one mortal, a mere marauder was not afarid of them and their grand schemes. If they had no purpose for him then he accepted that he would die here and now -- cleaved in two by the axe of this monster. The beastman laughed as Auger's broken form charged forth, he contemplated using his axe for a split second before deciding upon something far less honorable. The Norse came within range, blinded like the fool he was, and he was delivered a swift backhand again -- this time he sent the fool cascading into the food shed, no doubt his neck crushed and his brain pulped. 

The beastman laughed with glee before looking down and realizing his hand was hanging by but a string of sinew and flesh, his vital fluids pumping forth upon the snowy ground. He bellowed in rage.


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

The apostles words echoed with deathly slowness, seeming to reverberate against the darkness that enfolded him, held him motionless, powerless in a universe of darkness lightened by a pair of bright pinpricks, such bright eyes, such bright lights.

Laughtered bubbled within him yet he could not force it from his throat, it was paralysed, frozen by the menace in the apostles words, their honeyed promises temptuos hopes the flowed before him. He could be free?

Did the apostle have such power.

A miasma of peeling laughs reverberated around his mind.

Bullshit.

His words were different, suggested he was not aware of the bargain, aware of the terms that herld lelun in the gods favour. Nor would he enlighten the smug bastard

The exalted was a temptress veiled in fere, a whore cloaked in terror. He would not submit, not loose the little humanity he had left.

Now the beast was walking away turning to allow more snaking words loose to encoil around his troubled heart. b The apostle mistook terror for revulsion, saw his hesitation as unwillingness to damn himself, to pledge fully.

Nay, Lelun was thrice damned yet still human. Still a little part of him reviled the slaughter in which he partook.

He did not fear it, but he hated it.

He allowed him three steps before shouting
"Wait" his tone frantic, desperate and pleading. He hoped the apostle would turn thinking he had won, thinking he had ensnared another great prize into the cobwebs of his lord.

"When the gods get bored of you, and abandon you like this poor chump" he nudged the fallen corpse of the kurgan. The kurgan that had been blessed and then abandoned

"Can i have your scythe?"

He allowed the apostle more steps before projecting his voice

"Lelun. denier of the apostle. Has a certain ring to it..."

He thought he saw the apostles back stiffen, perhaps his shoulders shaking in mirth a twisted smile upon his tainted lips.

The gauntlet had been thrown down... it was time to grow a pair, stand and fight.


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## BlackApostleVilhelm (May 14, 2008)

The Apostle had stopped and listened to what Lelun had to say, yet he did not answer back, the fool was deluded. He was angered at his position, disgusted, and so he sought to anger those around him....a bad idea. Should it come to it the Apostle would devour his soul, he knew that the gods were with him and that the taking of this man's soul would please them greatly if he made it worthwhile. 

"The gods will never be through with me, for I will continue to rise."

He cared not if Lelun heard him, the fool had denied his offer and chosen to keep what humanity he had left, his choice...his torture.


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## Nightlord92 (Jul 7, 2010)

Ratha rushed towards the waiting slaughter at the head of his band of marauders. Farther ahead ratha saw Lycefar's exalted ones leading the chaos warriors headlong into the waiting maw that beckoned them. Thanking the gods for whoever it was that had opened the keep to them, Ratha roared his bloodlust to the Great Powers and his doomed enemies

"Khorne!" Ratha shouted, invoking the sacred name of the Blood God, lord of battles

"Khorne!" Ratha shouted again. Soon the shout spread through his marauders and those charging with them until Ratha was sure the Blood God himself lent his own roar to show his approval.

Following the chaos warriors and their champions Ratha let his adrenaline carry him through the breach to meet his enemies. Instantly Ratha met his enemies face to face. Bracing his shield, Ratha refused to stop as he bashed his enemy to the ground. 

Drawing his sword, Ratha looked down upon his enemy. Were it not for the tentacle that served as the man's right arm, the kurgan warrior could have passed for Ratha's kin. Looking into the terror filled eyes of the man, Ratha laughed as he plunged his sword into the heretic's chest. From the same tribes or not, the kurgans of this keep had forsaken Lycefar's offers of friendship and deserved only extermination. _"Besides"_, Ratha thought amusingly, _"the less shares to divide up to others the better"_

Sidestepping a wicked stab for his chest Ratha brought his sword slicing through the kurgan's belly. As the mans body folded back on his spine, Ratha drove his sword through the back of another kurgan dueling against one of his marauders.

"Gather my dogs" Ratha commanded his minion "We have further goals than simple slaughter" 

As his marauders sluggishly broke from slaughtering the heathen kurgans Ratha busied himself moving through the battleground, admiring the mutilated bodies of the kurgans that had stood against the chaos warriors charge. Deftly, Ratha slid his sword through the neck of a badly wounded kurgan vainly trying to crawl away from the carnage and kicked the twitching corpse for good measure. 

Crouching beside one of the dead warriors, Ratha greedily drew his dagger and severed the warrior's index finger that bore a gold ring around it. _"One of the kurgan's huscarls"_ Ratha assumed as he placed his piece of loot inside one of his pouches

Rising and looking behind him Ratha found his own warriors near the breach. All bore signs of battle and their weapons dripped with crimson. 

"What are we to do now?" Skafhogg demanded, his voice ragged from roaring 

Walking over to the warrior Ratha lashed out at the marauder with a swift punch to his nose, an audible crack letting Ratha know he had broken the man's nose

"You are to wait for my orders." Ratha declared to the freshly bleeding warrior. His blood was still up from the charge in and he desperately relished getting back to the battle. Still, Lycefar had commanded that he and his marauders secure the gold houses and food stores for the horde from the warriors who were sure to be guarding them

"Now then you weaklings! We let the others carry the battle onwards. It's time for us to do what we are best at! Pillaging and looting!" Ratha shouted. Roaring their their approval the marauders waited with hunger in their eyes as Ratha continued. "The kurgans will be guarding their gold and food like the cowardly southlings. We are to secure these areas for the Scion of the End Times!" Ratha roared again. "But be warned my dogs of war! This loot is for Lord Lycefar! Any who are caught hoarding will be flayed alive and left the Gods to mock! Now do what you are paid to do!"

Needing no further encouragement, Ratha marauders broke off into packs and stormed through the blood stained corridors, intent on their mission. With his own pack of 10 bloodthirsty marauders, Ratha stormed down one of the narror corridors in the keep.

The gods smiled on Ratha as he and his men broke from the corridor to find a group of savaged and tired kurgan warriors catching their breaths at the front of one of the kurgan's meathouses. The smell of fresh flesh had Ratha saliva drooling as he waded into the shocked kurgans with reckless abandon. It wasn't so much a fight as it was a slaughter. Not 15 seconds after it began, the cries and begging pleas of the kurgans were silenced. Wiping the blood on the body of one of the slain, Ratha pressed his palm against the bloody gash across the northman's neck. Walking to the front of the building Ratha pressed his bloody palm against the wall and spelled out a large bloody L on the building. "This is Lycefar's food now" Ratha spoke before he moved on with his marauders in tow.

Ratha and his band of butchers continued this procedure 3 more times, securing two more food stores and one gold house, losing only 3 of their number. Ratha was silently impressed with his warriors, having to only knock their heads around once as they gazed upon the gold and silver in the kurgans treasure store. 

The blood of Khorne fired through his veins to slaughter more kurgans while the lusty greed of Slaanesh filled his mind with with allures of grandeur at the prospect of such wealth in his possession. _"It shall be mine"_ Ratha promised himself as he and his warriors emerged once more to find a gathering of kurgans waiting for them. At their head was an ogre of a man. Dressed in a bearskin that Ratha assumed was at least twice the height of a man, the kurgan snarled at the approaching and brandished his immense axe to the intruders. "Kill them all!" he commanded

Roaring their own battlecries, Ratha and his marauders met the kurgan's charge head on, intent on hearing either the screams of their dead enemies or the voices of their ancestors welcoming them.


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Giestler walked at a steady pace into the fortress, unlike the others he did not have to sprint toward his enemies just so he could hit them. He simply chose his target and fired, most perished there and then but some heavier armoured warriors could resist it. Giestler cast his mind about the fortress before making any decisive movement in any one direction. The majority of beings within possessed little or no magical abilities, there were 4 beings with substantial ability to warrant his attention. Without him to...... Dispatch of them the foot soldiers of lord lycifar would take a heavy toll. Giestler bent down and picked up his squelching nurgling, he set him down on his rusted and infectious pauldrons then set off into he hold.

He was about twenty paces behind the rest of the chaos forces, he quickened his pace to a run. He passed the simple marauders as he began to feel the familiar surge of power from his patron, arrows thudded into him without an ounce of thought or pain caused. Slashes from swords pass through as if they are nothing but a simple breeze. Giestler had seen chosen warriors of nurgle go through entire battles in this state only to perish from wounds later. Giestler however was not that stupid, he soon snapped into action. A peasant jabbed weakly in his direction, Giestler dodged it then tore a large rent in the mans chest, the wound was almost instantly infected by nurgles rot and the man fell dead with foam at the mouth.

Another arrow hit into his shoulder, he did not feel it but decided to be more careful from now on. There was a band of marauders holding their own a creating a heavy toll on lycefars chosen. Giestler cleared his mind and concentrated on casting his spell. He pointed to some marauders and said,

"cover me whelps."

The whelps had no choice in the matter thanks to the subtle layer of magic that tinged Giestlers voice. The sorcerer then continued to chant his spell, two marauders broke rank and charged at him, they were yelling something about puppets? Giestler could not hear them for the mucus that was flowing over his head. The marauders butchered the two whelps within a second, the sorcerer would not have enough time to finish the spell. He broke the trance and thrust forward with an armoured fist covered with highly contagious ailments. His ribs broke and punctured one of his lungs, the second was beheaded by a large swipe with his scythe.

The rest of them charged at the sorcerer, the first was denied by a could of toxic flies summoned from Giestlers palm, the seconds arm was turned to dust by a disease of Giestlers own creation. Two were swept up by a large cloud of gas filled with toxins, a fourth reached the sorcerers side only to be leapt at by the ever faithful nurgling. The rest came at him shouting their fury at the sorcerer, obviously those that Geistler had just slain were very good friends. Giestler laughed, his booming voice thundered around his part of the courtyard, warriors were drawn towards him to protect the important warrior. he left them to finish the marauders as Giestler sought out the shamans.

Inside the castle Walls were littered with dead bodies of the chaos and kurgans alike, arrows and cannon bolts Rained down from the sides with no avail something had to be done. Giestler looked around, no one had done anything about it. That's what happened what you joined a damned undivided warband, you can never rely on the khornies. And now it was grandfather nurgles turn to clean up the mess. Unfortunately there was not much Giestler could do other than shoot them and draw far to much attention for him to survive. A chaos warrior ran past with a bow and arrow, Giestler yanked him back by the collar and stole the arrows from his quiver. He inspected them and then imbedded a variation of the zombie virus. he threw them in the air and let them fly using magic, it would seem as if random people from within the crowd were the ones doing the shooting, and this would lead to their downfall......


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## komanko (May 16, 2010)

The ground above shook as the thunderous sounds of battle reached Vermian’s ears while he was led by his handlers towards a side entrance. Swords clashing, bodies falling, the screams of the dead and dying those were all sounds that he clearly heard. The Forsaken raised his head high and sniffed; he could catch traces of the Kurgan smell. Yet it could be of either side as they had numerous Kurgans on their side. What caught his scent most was the smell of a different one, sniffing through the air again Vermian managed to isolate the figure’s smell and he quickly decided that it was the smell which Lulun left. This was probably how their forces infiltrated the fortress. The inside of the passageway would probably be very small, and Vermian was not fond of such small closed places, they were hard to move in and most of the time filled with a certain stench. There will be time for such remarks later Vermian thought as he was reminded by a poke in the back that they are still heading into the catacombs. Looking back he saw one of the so called beastmasters poking Vermian with what seemed to be a long spear, he did not mean to harm but more to make the Forsaken move onward. As they made their way closer to the catacombs Vermian snarled, he was anxious for some sort of a battle and also restless as he did not know what was his master’s, Lycefar, location. As they finally reached the entrance the beastmasters hauled them into the bottom of the fortress, it was easily understandable that the rebellious Kurgans will flee… Still, they will have a nasty surprise awaiting them.

As they continued moving inside the passageway the scent of the old dead reached them. It must have been Lelun’s doings. Yet there was another scent which passed his way into Vermian’s nostrils. It was the scent of fear, the sweat and the heavy breaths of the running. Enemies will be upon them soon… Yet those will prove no challenge as they are the cowards, the fools who are trying to escape their fate. Their enemies are those who were not brave enough to face their death in the above levels so the fled to this catacombs to survive and maybe even hold out and kill more men this way. Still the gods have already marked them for death and Vermian will be their executioner. Suddenly a door opened, someone said, “Bjor, we need those weapons…” But then it suddenly stopped. Looking at the door Vermian could see the figure of a Kurgan he was now shaking, literally pissing himself in fear. The Forsaken let out a low growl, scaring the man even further. The Kurgan’s eyes were filled with horror as they became wider and wider when he counted the amount of beasts in the room. He was too scared to say anything. His fate was sealed. Quickly one of the hounds that were loyal to Urlf pounced on him ripping into the man’s throat and brutally killing him. Soon all of the pack began howling and growling as they smelled fresh blood and not a moment later they took off followed by their leader Urlf. As soon as the man started screaming, realizing that he is dying every Kurgan nearby turned his attention to them. They were many, but they were weak…

Letting out a fierce roar Vermian was soon engulfed by the red rage of Khorne himself, sinking into the pleasant grip of madness and bloodlust… After his path was clear from the other Forskaen and his pack, Vermian started slowly running and then he quickly changed to his four lagged sprint as he crushed his way into the thick but chaotic and unstable Kurgan lines knocking many of them down and crushing several under his mighty arms and talons, his tale smashing itself senselessly against the walls of the very confined place. Yet soon this war machine started working as he moved with perfection, brutally dismembering, decapitating and crushing anything in his way. Recovering from the short stun they received the Kurgans started mustering a counter attack to beat back the mindless beast. The Kurgans lashed out of their defensive line with spears, axes and other crude weapons. Most of the weapons which hit Vermian just repelled as it would be when clashing with steel but the spears that were mostly made out of wood just broke. The Forsaken let out a terrible sound which was supposed to resemble some sort of laughter but was so painful for the ear that some of the Kurgans even covered them so they won’t hear it. Yet quickly the fierce and bestial look returned to Vermian’s face as he swept a mighty clawed arm that sent them Kurgans back while cutting in half the unlucky one or two who didn’t have a way to move back. Turning around he smashed his taloned heavy tail at the defenders who desperately tried to hold up against the relentless assault. Yet this was enough for Vermian, this confined space was limiting his abilities and it was senseless killing. He quickly retained his senses, exiting the frenzy that he worked himself into before it would be too late. He then smashed his way through the Kurgans and hopefully towards the door which would lead him out of the catacombs. He had to make his way inside the fortress, he had to kill the leaders and this way he will maybe earn more mutations. After all he always wanted wings.

OOC: Hope its fine that I took the decision to exit the damn catacombs. If its too much godmodding that I'll edit it, just sent me a PM with what you don't like ^^


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