HEROES & LEADERSHIP ................................................................................................................................. 5 Chaos Chain of Command ......................................................................................................................... 5 Chaos Organization ................................................................................................................................... 7 Command Categories ................................................................................................................................ 7 Overall Commander ...................................................................................................................................... 9 ARCHAON THE EVERCHOSEN ................................................................................................................ 9 Astragoth, High Priest of Hashut/Shar’Tor the Executioner ............................................................... 31 Major Generals ....................................................................................................................................... 33 Valkia the Bloody, the Gorequeen ...................................................................................................... 33 Ka’Bandha, Huntsman of Khorne ........................................................................................................ 40 Sigvald the Magnificent ...................................................................................................................... 43 The Glottkin......................................................................................................................................... 50 Ku’gath Plaguefather .......................................................................................................................... 59 Villitch the Curseling ........................................................................................................................... 61 Kairos Fateweaver ............................................................................................................................... 68 Khazrak the One-Eye ........................................................................................................................... 72 Zhatan the Black & Ghorth the Cruel .................................................................................................. 78 Be’lakor, the Dark Master ................................................................................................................... 79 Generals .................................................................................................................................................. 87 Egil Styrbjorn ....................................................................................................................................... 87 Isabella the Accursed .......................................................................................................................... 90 Alkhor, Bane of Athel Loren ................................................................................................................ 94 The Maggoth Lords ............................................................................................................................. 97 Gutrot Spume, The Lord of Tentacles ............................................................................................... 102 Aekold Helbrass ................................................................................................................................ 106 The Golden Magus ............................................................................................................................ 112 N’Kari ................................................................................................................................................. 115 Azzazel, Prince of Damnation ........................................................................................................... 118 Hellebron........................................................................................................................................... 121
Throgg the Troll King ......................................................................................................................... 126 Morghur, the Corruptor .................................................................................................................... 129 Malagor, the Dark Omen .................................................................................................................. 135 Lord Drazhoath ................................................................................................................................. 138 Cormac Bloodaxe .............................................................................................................................. 141 Heinrich Kemmler ............................................................................................................................. 144 Lord Mortkin ..................................................................................................................................... 149 Tamurkhan ........................................................................................................................................ 152 Lieutenants ........................................................................................................................................... 156 Thorgar (Hroth) the Bloodied One .................................................................................................... 156 Plaguestrangler Vilestench ............................................................................................................... 159 Ghorros Warhoof .............................................................................................................................. 160 Sayl the Faithless ............................................................................................................................... 162 Aelfric Cyenwulf ................................................................................................................................ 165 Surtha Lenk ....................................................................................................................................... 166 The Black Prince ................................................................................................................................ 168 Vardek Crom ..................................................................................................................................... 169 Dechala, the Denied One .................................................................................................................. 172 Champions of the Storm of Chaos .................................................................................................... 174 Beorge Bearstruck & The Bearmen of Urslo ..................................................................................... 178 Ungol Four-Horn ............................................................................................................................... 179 Slugtongue ........................................................................................................................................ 180 Ghark IronSkin & Baugh the Slavelord .............................................................................................. 182 Gorduz Backstabber .......................................................................................................................... 184 Hothgar the Renegade ...................................................................................................................... 185 Rykarth the Unbreakable .................................................................................................................. 186 Wallach Harkon ................................................................................................................................. 187 Engra Deathsword ............................................................................................................................. 190 Kurt Leitzig/Sutvenwulf Daemonkin ................................................................................................. 191 Nagaira .............................................................................................................................................. 194 Kazyk the Befouled............................................................................................................................ 196 Covert Operations ................................................................................................................................. 197
Karnak, Hound of Vengeance ............................................................................................................ 197 Dien’Chi’ing ....................................................................................................................................... 199 The Changeling .................................................................................................................................. 200 Htarken ............................................................................................................................................. 204 Engrimm Van Horstmann .................................................................................................................. 211 Shadowblade ..................................................................................................................................... 215 Samel, the Silver-Tongued ................................................................................................................ 217 Natassja ............................................................................................................................................. 219 Maatmeses ........................................................................................................................................ 226 Tactical & Strategic Support.................................................................................................................. 227 Scyla Anfingrimm .............................................................................................................................. 227 Skarr Bloodwraith ............................................................................................................................. 229 Abrax the Bloody ............................................................................................................................... 230 Skulltaker .......................................................................................................................................... 232 Mardagg ............................................................................................................................................ 239 Skarband ........................................................................................................................................... 242 Valnir the Reaper .............................................................................................................................. 244 Festus the Leechlord ......................................................................................................................... 246 Epidermius, Nurgle’s Tallyman ......................................................................................................... 251 Galrauch, Master of Dragons ............................................................................................................ 254 The Blue Scribes ................................................................................................................................ 256 Kar Odacen ........................................................................................................................................ 257 The Masque of Slaanesh ................................................................................................................... 259 Wulfrik the Wanderer ....................................................................................................................... 261 Taurox, the Brass Bull........................................................................................................................ 267 Moonclaw ......................................................................................................................................... 268 Count Modrek the Damned .............................................................................................................. 269 Harald Hammerstorm ....................................................................................................................... 272 The Nameless (Constant Drachenfels), the Great Enchanter ........................................................... 275 The Sleeper ....................................................................................................................................... 284 Base Defenses ........................................................................................................................................... 291 Corruption Levels I-III ............................................................................................................................ 291
Corruption Level IV ............................................................................................................................... 293 Corruption Level V ................................................................................................................................ 294 Army X-Factors .......................................................................................................................................... 298 Additional Factors ..................................................................................................................................... 303 Victory Gains ......................................................................................................................................... 303 Reinforcement Rate .............................................................................................................................. 304 Daemon Reinforcement Rate ........................................................................................................... 304 Allied Reinforcement Rate: Moderate-High ..................................................................................... 306 Reasons for Battle ................................................................................................................................. 306 Chaos Corruption .................................................................................................................................. 307 Mutation ........................................................................................................................................... 308 Madness & Possession ...................................................................................................................... 312 The Daemon Within .......................................................................................................................... 313 Spiritual Corruption........................................................................................................................... 317 Part II: The Tainted Land ................................................................................................................... 326 Mechanics of Corruption .................................................................................................................. 336 Magical Rituals ...................................................................................................................................... 338 Consumption vs Corruption .............................................................................................................. 343 Plagues .................................................................................................................................................. 344 Ultimate Plague: Nurgle’s Rot ........................................................................................................... 352 Tzeentchian Machinations/Foresight ................................................................................................... 354 Warpstone ............................................................................................................................................ 358 Daemonic Auras .................................................................................................................................... 361 Divine Intervention ............................................................................................................................... 364 Ascendant Gods .................................................................................................................................... 367 Recap: Strengths ................................................................................................................................... 369 WEAKNESSES ......................................................................................................................................... 369 General Strategy ................................................................................................................................... 374 Past Opponents ......................................................................................................................................... 378 The Elder Races ..................................................................................................................................... 378 Lizardmen .......................................................................................................................................... 379 The Elves ........................................................................................................................................... 381
The Dwarfs ........................................................................................................................................ 384 Kingdoms of Men .................................................................................................................................. 386 The Empire ........................................................................................................................................ 386 Brettonia ........................................................................................................................................... 388 Araby ................................................................................................................................................. 390 Cathay ............................................................................................................................................... 391 Kingdoms of Ind ................................................................................................................................ 392 Kislev ................................................................................................................................................. 392 Other Human Nations ....................................................................................................................... 393 The Beast Races .................................................................................................................................... 394 Orcs, Ogres & Goblins ....................................................................................................................... 394 Skaven ............................................................................................................................................... 397 The Undead ........................................................................................................................................... 398 End Times Coalition............................................................................................................................... 399 Daemonic Experience ........................................................................................................................... 400 Appendix: The Chaos Cults........................................................................................................................ 401
All armies, or at least those bereft of a Hive Mind, require a Chain of Command to function effectively, where orders can be cleanly and efficiently be based from the top brass to the bottom. If a command structure is too complicated, bickering, dissention and court marshals can arise. An army in such straits, though disciplined, would be subject to all manner of delay and inefficiency. However it is just as important to not be too disorderly, for the orders in this circumstance will be subject to a great deal of interpretation without the best information available or efficient coordination.
The organization of Chaos is, well, chaotic. It is a curious mix of rampant individualism and theological authoritarianism that is often necessary to move the force in a coherent way. More than any faction save the Skaven and possibly the Greenskins, Chaos leadership is deeply treacherous, dangerous and self-serving. It is a Darwinian society where the strongest, most cunning, or
divinely favored survive. Sometimes luck is a deciding factor or the fickle favor of the Chaos gods turning a one powerful chieftain into a Chaos Spawn. At the top of the Chaos command structure are the distant but active Chaos gods and their divine champion, Archaon. The Gods and Archaon have a hateful, adverbial relationship where the Chaos gods have tested and tried to kill Archaon many times and where Archaon seeks to kill off everything so the gods starve. However, paradoxically, the Chaos gods still give Archaon their favor as long as he proves himself the strongest. This favor, however, does not stop the most ambitious of Chaos champions (like Vilitch or Be’Lakor) from making occasional attempts to usurp Archaon’s position. Below Archaon is no specific individual though there are several who claim to have the most favor of a particular god – Valkia, Sigvald, Vilitch, and the Glottkin. However though they have more influence than any other Chaos leader of a certain god, they certainly do not have total authority over them and often rely on intimidation, threats, bribes, schemes or other deals. Even then the lesser leaders of the Chaos gods doubtlessly seek to usurp their favored positions. Below these leaders are the various Chaos Lords, sorcerers, and champions- of all –races- each jockeying with each other for greater prestige, power and authority. Leadership challenges are common. This trait continues all the way down to the Wargors, Doombulls and leaders of minor Norse tribes. There are several weaknesses to the Chaos command structure. Power is the determinant for relationships between Chaos generals and all are eager to reach higher power, for that increases the chance of divine favor being bestowed. Though true loyalty does exist it is rare and often conditional on said divine authority. At the same time, the selfishness of these leaders often shines through as they reinterpret orders to maximize their glory and prestige. Executions for failure and failed leadership challenges are common. These traits occur all the way to the top. This can cause extreme inefficiency, inter-Chaos conflict and
even put the whole battle plan at risk. I n Road of Skulls the Chaos Commander’s plan to open up a rift to Chaos failed more so because of his sub-commanders betraying each other and him than due to the actions of the heroic duo Gotrek & Felix (who worked with a traitorous Chaos sub-commander at one point). In Glottkin each of the three Chaos commanders raced forward seeking sole glory for the destruction of Altdorf, in contrast to Archaon’s explicit command that they surround the city as one. Had these commanders not been greatly delayed and arrived separately they would have been destroyed piecemeal by the Empire force. Chaos commanders are also, courtesy of their environment, bereft of history lessons, training on
tactics, study or the like, with the sole exceptions of those commanders who defected from the more civilized lands. Without such knowledge of history often mistakes are repeated. However, though subject to disunity, there are some positives. Chaos commanders in general are he ld
in awe by their rank and file, for more often than not the favor of the gods in the form of mutations and gifts is clearly evident. Too, legends pass through the Chaos legions. Moral is almost always sky-high as a result.
Chaos commanders have risen to the top through their own grit, skill and cunning. Chaos does not suffer, for the most part, from those rising to the top solely through family connections. Each Chaos commander is extremely experienced and equipped with vast, first-hand knowledge. Lastly, due to this system of constant leadership replacements no one Chaos commander is irreplaceable to Chaos. The death of a leader might lead to a loss of battlefield morale (or not) but no death save one will weaken Chaos as a whole. That exception is Archaon.
At the bottom of the Chaos armies are the individual Chaos tribes, Warbands, raiding teams, daemonic hordes and the like that make up the vast base of this faction. At this level the tribes of Warbands are usually composed of the various units of line infantry, such as Gors and ungors for brayherds, Chaos warriors for Chaos Warbands, marauders for North tribes etc. They might feature some sporadic heavier units like Minotaurs, corralled Chaos spawn, Chosen with some weaker leadership like a chieftain or tribal shaman. Step up one level and you have larger groupings such as Brayherds or the larger Chaos Warbands. These groupings would include more units from the Line breaker and Rapid relief section like Dragon Ogres, Chariots, plague drones etc. as well as a smattering of shock and awe such as Gorgons, giants or even a hired Chaos Dwarf crew. The leaders at this level are significantly more renowned and better equipped than before and might include Chaos sorcerers, Beastlords or even Greater Daemons. Above that are the full sized armies led by legends like Arbaal, Tamurkhan, and Valkia. Such Armies are composed of multiple large Warbands, many Chaos champions, lesser lords or even sorcerers along with more monsters (though heroes and monsters are still rare). Armies may be diverse or not, composed of followers dedicated to only one god, one race (like Beastmen, or various, intermixed melting pots. Next comes army groupings composed of multiple armies led by the one considered most favored by the god. For reasons to be there is low unity but generally a shared objective. Highest above these army groups is the Everchosen and his horde, who directs all others.
The Chaos ‘Hero’ profiles are sub-divided between numerous categories for ease of comparison. These sub-divisions are based on primary role in the Chaos’s chain of command, which is determined by their lore role and history. Secondary roles- such as Kemmler being a great sorcerer (probably a better sorcerer than commander) are also noted for purposes of comparison. Though I, as the profile writer, always assume the secondary roles are lesser to the main distinction when determining an edge (but useful in determine tight ones) the voter is free to make whatever comparisons s/he wishes. Each chain in the command holds its own unique importance in ensuring the effective. A stellar Overall Commander can work wonders in overall strategies but can be offset in terms of implication if generals are found lacking. Likewise vice versa, as a general might have to strive hard to make up for or
reinterpret chaotic commands from the top. Specialized groupings might exist, like entire tribes of centigors or minotaurs or even Chosen. Chaos is variety and there is no absolute standard composition for any grouping on any level. The following categories can be found in the Chaos profile
Overall Commanders: This category is fairly simplistic, defining the overall leadership For Chaos. Essentially, Archaon.
Major Generals: Those in this category are the most powerful agents of the overall leadership, the major generals or major faction heads entrusted the most with the tactical implementation of overall strategy of Chaos. If they don’t have direct command over the generals, they do have more influence and weight to get things done.
Generals: Commanders in the field who, while they may not quite be as important as major generals, nonetheless are given a great deal of responsibility when it comes to the tactical implementation of the overall Chaos strategy.
Lesser Commanders: Less than the gene rals, these usually minor individuals are given squads or key portions of individual armies and tasked with carrying out tactical orders effectively.
Covert Operations: The heroes in this category are charged with defeating the enemy from within using means such as subversion, espionage, assassination and sabotage. Most notably for Chaos this section contains heroes that specialize in setting up cults or corrupting others directly.
Tactical & Strategic Support: This is a catch all category for those who don’t fit into one of the other categories.
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Strategic Support: An individual who specializes in bringing benefit off the battlefield. Consider advisors, troop manufacturer heroes, or some massive morale booster as general examples.
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Tactical Support: Direct combat support basically, so eithe r an exceptionally powerful melee brawler, a spell caster, healer or even a massive monster!
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T
Training/Experience: 9-10 Mobility: 7 –10 (Shapeshifting horse) Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Melee
Primary Role: Commander in Chief Secondary Role: Tactical & Strategic Support (Master melee, duelist and sorcerer) “‘And doom came decked in the flesh of man, Death to all he didst devise, No infernal could against him stand, Twas thunder under brimstone skies.’ – Daemonsong
Roughly 600 years prior to the present timeline the birth of Archaon, the bringer of the Apocalypse, the
Lord of the End Ti mes, was prophesized by the mad monk Necromundo in his predictions of the doom of the world. When he heard of these prophecies, Be’lakor the Dark Master, recognizing their import, capitalized on the prediction and the book to determine exactly when and where Archaon would be born. 130 years ago a boy was born to a poor fisherman family who had recently suffered great hardship. The wife had been raped nine months prior by a nameless chaos warrior who was possessed by Bela’kor . So draining and terrible was the birth that the mother was killed in the effort and the horrified family abandoned the child to a midwife, who in turn abandoned it by a Sigmarite shrine. Archaon was taken in by the local priest Dagobert and swiftly rose to become a Templar; a holy knight
of Sigmar, named Diederick Kastner . Many times he nearly died during this period, only to be continually saved by Be’lakor swift and unseen magical intervention. When the boy ran afoul of a Nurglite plague known for its extreme lethality he miraculously recovered; when his brains were bashed against a stable foundation by a panicking horse he got back the next day, good as new. His zeal
and faith impressive by all standards, Kastner soon saw promotion from a humble squire to the full status of Templar. He seemed destined to live a fulfilling life in the God-King’s name. Yet events would conspire to nip this dream in the bud. One day he and his apprentice, Emil, were out on patrol when they came across a Beastman den that held a number of human captives. Immediately the two attacked, taking on dozens of beasts by
themselves including a shaman and a doombull. Ultimately the whole camp was wiped out, however Kastner was infected by warpstone, Emil grievously wounded and only one survivor, a human priestess named Giselle, emerged from the carnage. Even as the warpstone caused Kastner‘thoughts to twist (though barely, as Diederick was extremely strong of mind) the girl (Giselle) revealed that she was the last of an order of priestesses charged with the protection of a sacred artifact: Necromundo’s The Liber Caelestior.
Dutifully he turned the prophecy in to his superiors, who responded by sending a death squad. A battle raged as the squad of elite knights tried to kill Kastner and his companions however in the end Archaon was saved by the unlikeliest of sources: six winged Knights of Chaos. Distraught that his great enemy had come to his aid, along with revelations contained in the book that seemed to point to him being Archaon- the prophesized name of the Herald of the End Times- Kastner initially attempted suicidefoiled hereby Be’lakor, again unknowingly- before infiltrating the main Sigmarite temple in Altdorf. There he sought out the Grand Theologonist, both to demand an explanation and look for the missing page from the book, which would be used to prove or disprove his guilt. Stopping to pray Kastner at first pleaded with his god to save him from this situation. When he was only greeted with silence Diederick then fell to wrath cursing Sigmar with all his vitriol and hate, egged on- for the first time directly, unseen still but not unheard- by Be’lakor. A bloodbath erupted. The Grand Theologonist confirmed that he was Archaon, the chosen Herald of the Apocalypse, on the basis that the prophecy had written that only the true Final Everchosen would actually come to the head Sigmar temple for answers (the death squad was just playing it safe). Now acknowledging his destiny and true name Archaon fought through small
hordes of knights, defeating them all . Honored champions fell in a few moves of deft swordplay while squires and footmen barely even registered before they were cut down. Massive cannons were brought forward to end him however then the team of elite flying Chaos Warriors flew in to steal him away. After this incident Archaon fled to the Chaos Wastes with Giselle (forced along), Dagobert (who erroneously believed the boy he loved could be saved) and Ghorst, a flagellant that followed him around everywhere. “I am more than man. I am mine enemy’s failure incarnate. I am the morrow. I am the world’s end to come. Hear me, Dark Gods: warn your warriors, your doomed champions, corpses-in-waiting. You tell them Archaon is coming and the inevitability of their death is coming with me.’ - Archaon: Everchosen
They fled north, dodging or killing Imperial patrols or hunting Witch Hunters until they got to the Chaos Wastes. There Archaon shifted tactics, killing pretender Everchosen and marauding Warbands of Chaos Warriors until he could escape far enough north. Yet he was cunning, allowing a few worthy enough to join his cause to make the foundations of an army. At another point he eluded the last of the most persistent of the Witch Hunters by pretending to be an ordinary marauder, getting captured, and then
leading the Hunters (who did not believe he was Archaon) into the force of another Chaos Warband. His force swooped in to finish off the remains of both. Archaon was in the Chaos Wastes for years, perhaps decades. Dedicating most of his time to exploring and fighting he forced Dagobert- now as much a slave as father figure- to meticulously translate The
Liber Caelestior , even as he forced Giselle to remain a reluctant slave. According to what was written
the final Everchosen would have to achieve six great treasures of Chaos before he could truly assume the title. Eventually, it was determined that they needed to assault an ancient Druichi city that had since been corrupted and infested by evil. After gaining an army, his first task had him fighting a huge army of Dark Elves alongside a rival Chaos Khorne claimant. It was a vicious battle in which quickly delved into a three-way contest. Eventually Archaon used his servant’s sorcery to melt an iceberg to create a giant flood, and then through
slaughter and offering of an assassin's heart attract ed Khorne's consort, Valkia (which won over many Khornates, for Valkia is well-regarded by her followers). Valkia then destroyed a Dark Elf sorcereress and helped rout the rest of the Druichi force. Now Archaon personally entered the Altar of Ultimate Darkness, battling hundreds of mutated horrors
of the deep (giant squids, giant crustaceans, sharks act). “The steed did not need much persuading to leave the warlord. Its skittish sense told it what Archaon already knew. That starved beasts from throughout the subterranean realm had been drawn down on him – led to their doom by his fresh stench. Archaon made it easy for them. Clashing Terminus against his shield, he roared his dares into the darkness. Then he saw them. Crawling. Slithering. Skittering their way towards him. Monstrosities of the deep of every shape and size. The only similarity they shared was the growl of their bellies. ‘Come on, you wretched things,’ Archaon hissed through the gloom. ‘Hungry? Come get some.’ The killing began. Chitinous nightmares migrated across the cavern roofs, withdrawing into their shells before dropping like cannonballs against the Chaos warrior’s upheld shield. Twitching shrimp swarms clicked about him in the darkness, trying to get through his armour and burrow into his flesh. Giant, malformed crustaceans erupted from tight grottos – all spine and pincer – aiming to cut the dark templar in two. Lakes disappeared to reveal tentacular behemoths that glissaded across the cavern floor on their own slime, coming at the knight with glutinous feelers and blasting him with jets of stinking water streaming from blowholes in their octopod flesh. Coiled serpents launched at him, their trapjaw maws a pit of teeth framed with leathery frills that opened as they struck. Beasts that seemed all gulping mouth and stomach attempted to swallow him whole. Things that draped feathery tendrils about him from above burned both armour and flesh. Scaly monsters with shovel-shaped heads and clamping jaws that attempted to drag the Chaos warrior into their cave lairs.” – Archaon: Everchosen
Though his favored horse was slain the Everchosen continued on, defeating next the corrupted remnants of the Druichi crew. At long last he received the first blessing, which boosted his power and
gave him every single Mark of Chaos at once. The Everchosen then left Naggaroth (Dark Elven homeland) in this stolen ark. For years he was a great pirate of the Great Eastern Ocean, earning the
personal ire of the emperors of both Nippon and Cathay, raiding numerous tropical islands, plundering Khuresh, sacking coastal Ind towns , fighting off concentrated Clan Eshin assassination attempts, repelling Druichi raiders and more . Around this time he started a romance with the Sigmarite Priestess Giselle, though it was based on hatred as much as love. However, at this juncture,
Archaon was not used to the betrayal mechanics of Chaos and so was betrayed ….by every single major
underling at once. After dying to his Druichi second in command and being once again brought back by a mysterious Tzeentchi sorcerer named Sheerian(think old version of Shang Tsung look-alike), he had great vengeance on his underlings (who all fought against one another) before nearly being consumed by an enormous
Asiatic dragon that was sent by Tzeentch (he is fickle!). Dagobert was mutated into a Chaos spawn while the great ark was blown up, leaving Archaon adrift at the sea. Archaon, having lost all but his most dedicated bodyguards, fled to the South Pole where the massive dragon followed. Fighting through the terrible daemons and Beastmen of that realm, still hunted by that dragon, he encountered and defeated the possessed spirit of Morkar, the first Everchosen, at that shrine that housed his body. Then he seized his armor, the second of the artifacts of chaos. Finally the Everchosen turned upon the dragon and carved him up from the inside, gaining the magical Eye of Sheerian (the third magical artifact) and forcing its former owner into servitude. In this moment he finally became aware of the nature of Be'lakor through seeing with this magical artifact, and vowed
that none would control him . An army of beasts was gathered and together they all went south. Archaon resolved to confront the Daemon Prince. After searching long and using his mage to detect where Be’lakor “Forsaken Fortress” (a moving sub-realm) was, he finally found….an exact repetition of it. Created by the Tzeentchi Changeling. However his mage Sheerian had already seen through the Tzeentchi Daemon’s ruse, and Archao n quickly overpowered him to ask for t he real Be’lakor position,
which the Changeling hastily gave. However, according to the Changeling, the fortress shifted and turned too fast for it to be caught on foot, and for that reason he would have to find a faster steed. Next he stole a legendary Steed of the Apocalypse from a mighty Daemon Lord renowned for his bestiary. He did so by stealthily infiltrating the Daemon Lord’s realm, which contained innumerable
other beasts, and then creating a giant beast prisoner escape as a distraction to steal Dorghar, the legendary Steed of the Apocalypse. Though the battle was brutal eventually Archaon broke the beast's will to his own. Using the supernatural speed of the steed, he traveled North to confront the real Be’lakor, who viewed the Everchosen as nothing more than a pawn, albeit one he did not want to sacrifice just yet. Archaon refused to go along with the First-Damned’s wishes and battle commenced. “Is that why you are here, mortal? To whine, carp and plead. ‘You know why I’m here, daemon-filth,’ Archaon told it. ‘Let’s not play childish games. I have travelled far and found he who would not be found.’ You are here for answers… ‘We will leave guesswork to idle philosophers,’ Archaon said. ‘I would know what you would have with me, creature. From your own faithless lips. Or I shall cut the truth out of your infernal carcass.’
Answers?
‘Speak daemon, while you still can,’ Archaon warned. You have the very world on its knees before you and you came to find me… for answers? Archaon felt the bottomless depths of the creature’s scorn. Its mockery burned to hear. ‘Are you going deaf?’ Archaon shot back. ‘My demands have not changed since the last time I asked. Yes, monster – answers. To questions. I ask a question and you answer it. That’s how this works. Don’t make me ask you again.’
What I would have with you? Be’lakor seethed. I would have you realize your destiny… my son-inshadow. Archaon bit at his bottom lip. The sound of his daemonic father admitting as much was like icewater in his ears. ‘And who does my destiny serve?’ Archaon asked.
We all serve those greater than ourselves. ‘Be’lakor,’ Archaon hissed. ‘Daemon prince. Dark Master. Some say you are the crown-bearer of the Chaos gods. Nothing more than a slave. Others that you serve only yourself and your insatiable ambition.’
A mere pastime, Be’lakor said. Some embroider. Some whittle. I craft the future in flesh and blood. Who does your destiny serve? It serves me, you miserable cur. You are a doll with which to be played and left abandoned on the floor. You are the piece of the game taken and placed to one side of the board. You are a living afterthought, Archaon of the North – like all my servants. Nothing more. ‘And yet here I am,’ Archaon rumbled back. ‘I’m not on the floor. I’m here, where neither man nor daemon thought I would be. I stand before the lowly Be’lakor – dung stain of the gods – in the armor of the Everchosen, carried here on the Steed of the Apocalypse, bearing the treasures of Chaos and the ever burning Mark of the Ruinous Powers in my flesh.’
You think you are the first to bear such dark honours? Be’lakor asked, the question like a scorpion’s sting. You are a nothing. Born of nothing. The hollow fruit of an empty womb. All that you are I put in there. But think not that I afford you any affection for that. My half-breeds roam the world. Thousands more serve me not in flesh but in deed. They carry my mark. They live for my favour. They know their place. They do not carp and question. They serve the darkness of this world through the darkness they find in themselves. They serve their father-in-shadow – the darkness that is Be’lakor, you worthless wretch. As you should. ‘And yet I am not without worth, it seems,’ Archaon told the abomination. ‘I am the dark hope of the Ruinous Gods. The same gods that laugh at you, my father-in-shadow, and scorn your wretched efforts. Be’lakor the Bearer. Slave to circumstance. Doomed to carry crowns but not to wear them. Doomed to
choose but not be chosen. Granted eternity but denied form. You call me a nothing. You call me worthless. You are a prince without a kingdom to inherit. Nothing could be more worthless than that. (…)
The duel between the two was terrible and l egendary, with both sides dealing terrible wounds on the
other, however for the first time in his life Archaon outmatched. Be’lakor killed Archaon three times in the duel yet kept bringing him back (for the Daemon Prince viewed Archaon as an investment that he could not afford to put down), demanding fealty, and then get told to sod off by the Chaos Champion
who just went back to fighting. Frustrated that Archaon refused to be a pawn, kept fighting and wouldn’t leave, Be’lakor finally pretty much forcibly kicked him off his lair and teleported the whole realm elsewhere. His parting piece of advice was to use the Southern Warpgate to travel to the
Northern Warpgate, where the quest for the next item would begin. To do so Archaon returned to the lair of the Daemon Lord, only to discover that his followers had been kidnapped by it. Furious, the Chaos Warrior charged in with his army and, with the Daemon Lord’s own followers already weakened by putting down the insurrections of rebelling zoo animals, bashed into the Lord’s central fortress. There he rescued his followers and put down the lord. His next task was to march to the Southern gate in order to cross the realm of chaos to the northern one. To do so he had to fight across countless daemonic fiefdoms that sat right on the gate’s base . Some of these he simply broke through, putting them to flame altogether. Others he dealt with in a
cunning fashion, like the Bloodthirster who he locked in his own brass fortress, chuckling as t he daemon’s own rage burned it down around him. Some he had to avoid entirely, like an unassailable
shifting fortress of Tzeentch or the putrid swamplands of a gleeful Great Unclean One . Finally Archaon arrived at the Great Southern gate and, despite the reluctance of his sorcerer or even army to go into it, led the charge through the boundary of reality . There he was barraged by sensation and emotion beyond imagining, had his sanity ruthlessly tested, and was stalked relentlessly. Only the gaze of the Chaos gods themselves kept the daemons off his forces but they did not provide a means to escape. Eventually a pact was made with a Bloodthirster, an agreement to free the Daemon U’zhul
from his sword prison in exchange for being directed to the northern gate. “With every step he took towards a doom of his own making, he became less of a man and more of an idea. An abstraction. A living misery for others to endure. He was not some character in a great tale told. He was the silence after the words. The covers of the tome slammed shut. The crackle of page and ink on the fire. He was the nevermore.” - Archaon: Lord of Chaos
Next Archaon set his sights on the sword, traveling with his army once more through the Chaos Wastes and unifying large portions of it by force. Around the way he encountered increasing numbers of Be’lakor champions, proof that the First-Damned was preparing for his eventual demise. Cautious now
Archaon approached the rumored location of the great sword Slayer of Kings, a mountain with a curious amount of weapons buried in it. It was only after scaling the mountain fully that Archaon realized he wasn’t on top of the mountain but rather Karanok, the first and mightiest of the Dragon Ogres.
He recovered the sword and U’zhul demanded his release. Archaon informed the Daemon that he would fulfill his part of the contract…eventually. Enraged the sword began to scream, threatening to awaken the mighty Dragon Ogre overlord. Desperate and having just moments before realized his second in command, Prince Ograx, was in league with Be’lakor Archaon jammed the sword through the man’s stomach, satisfying the sword’s quenching thirst for the blood of royalty. For now at least. The next item, the Crown of Domination, took longer than any other item to find. For decades Archaon
hunted, frustrated, across the world . One again he ravaged the Orient, sacking cities of Ind, Nippon and Cathay. He even engaged in a massive, inconclusive battle with the full Cathayan fleet, prevented from full victory only by the potency of their turtle ships (even then the Cathayans retreated). He sacked
Sartosa, savaged the shore of Araby and Estalia, burned High Elven fleets sent to stop him and besieged the Dwarven sea kingdom of Barak Varr . Finally, he was approached by the Tzeentchi sorcerer Vilitch, who offered its location in exchange for the sacking of a Brettonian castle. Though suspicious, Archaon agreed and had his army help destroy the Bretonnian baron of that realm only to be betrayed (see Vilitch profile). Despite knowing the betrayal was going to occur it was a vicious battle that tested the limits of the would-be Everchosen . Archaon survived, and forced the sorcerer to reveal the location. Chuckling, Villitch said one name: Be’lakor and then teleported away before Archaon could slay him. After finding an ancient shrine, Archaon conducted a ritual to summon the great Daemon Prince. It is unknown full what was said between the two, the new Everchosen and the being who sought the position more than any other, only that Archaon managed to impose his independence and Be'lakor, forced by the Dark Gods themselves, to reveal its location. Archaon traveled to the first Chaos Shrine ever constructed in the world, where the First Man had bargained himself to Chaos. There he fought elements of every God. Archaon fought against embodiments of Nurgle’s choicest plagues, overcoming torrents of wracking
disease with the blunt force of his will. He negotiated Tzeentch’s multi-dimensional mazes of crystal, which would have trapped him for et ernity had he not blindfolded himself and trusted to instinct alone. Temptation of every sort was paraded before Archaon by Slaanesh, but he refused the lures and marched stolidly onwards . Khorne sent a Bloodthirster at him on a narrow causeway where Archaon could barely maneuver. After a grueling battle, Archaon bludgeoned and then strangled it to
death with its own whip. Finally the Dark God's approval was given, and the Crown of Domination rewarded. Archaon was then crowned "Everchosen" by an extremely jealous Be’lakor, becoming the latest and last Everchosen. At last it seemed that Archaon had achieved an immense measure of success. “‘Still think I can be saved?’ he said, his words a whisper and his humor dark. Giselle leaned in, hold ing her fragile form close to the Everchosen’s armored form. He was like a monstrous statue hewn of apocalyptic promise, while she was a deathly echo of the past, so slight and wasted that the rising wind itself would have felled her. The storms that accompanied Archaon
everywhere crashed thunder through the skies. Giselle brought her head up next to his, as if to whisper something into the side of his helm. ‘Save you?’ the girl eternal hissed. ‘Who do you think damned you in the first place?’ After everything that Archaon had seen, all the horror he had experienced, he didn’t think it was possible to be shocked. The girl’s voice – a rasping, suggestive shadow of what it had been – sent a bolt of lightning through the emptiness of the Everchosen’s dark heart. Grabbing her by the furs that sat on her sharp shoulders, Archaon pushed Giselle away. The girl’s eyes had bleached to an oblivion of blackness and a wretched mouth had stretched itself through the stringy flesh beneath her nose. ‘No,’ was all the Everchosen could manage. Excruciating pain once more cut through his side. Looking down, Archaon could see that Giselle had stabbed him. Blinking the shock from his mind, he recognized the dagger. It was a savage thing, both blade and hilt crafted beautifully from the claw of a daemon. Be’lakor claw. The claw Archaon had chopped from the Dark Master’s hand and claimed for his own. Giselle had taken it from him and been busy in her starvation and infirmity. She had slipped it straight through the hole where the shard of sword had punctured the plate. Straight into the agonizing sheath created by the old wound.”
However just as he was about to command the army that would drown the world in blood, he was
betrayed by Giselle, who was revealed to be possessed by Be’lakor all along! Thebattle was brutal, for this time Be’lakor held nothing back; however Archaon was now a fully realized Everchosen. “Towering above Archaon, the Dark Master was still the monstrous, elemental force, swinging his blade with ancient skill and the power of oblivion. Archaon no longer moved through the split-second evasions and desperate attacks that had been his only defence in the Forsaken Fortress. Archaon fought not like a father’s son or a master’s puppet. He was the Everchosen of Chaos. The world quaked beneath his boots. Archaon fought like he had never fought before. Everything he had ever learned. Every success. Every failure. It all fell into place as the Everchosen expertly turned Be’lakor blade aside – swinging, stabbing, cleaving, back-slashing and smashing his way across the side of the mountain. As the titanic battle raged up the Dreadpeak, dislodging tumbling boulders and cleaving away entire shelves of cursed rock, thunder shook the heavens. Lightning slashed at the rock about the pair and Archaon’s horde moved up through the valleys to watch them – champions ordering those warriors willing to assist their warlord back to the Ruinous ranks. For Archaon there were no more monstrous lunges, only to cut through the sizzling shadow of Be’lakor insubstantial form. The Eye revealed strategies to the Everchosen moments ahead of time, prompting Archaon to abandon such futile attacks in favour of those with a greater chance of success. The Dark Master felt the change in his shadow-son immediately. Tested by the Dark Gods and awarded the boon of their powerful gifts, Archaon as mortal champion was a match for the daemon prince – much to Be’lakor fury. The huge daemon wheeled about, his tail and wings angling furiously to aid balance while at the same time tearing through the air as weapons of their own. Archaon leapt the monster’s slashing tail while
jumping between rocks and smashing down through the defensive presentation of the solidified sword of shadow. Archaon passed the streaming glow of the daemon weapon about him and from hand to hand, slashing aside the daemon prince’s furious attacks and cutting nicks in the membrane of his great wings.
(…) The Everchosen of Chaos limped away, staggering from one boulder to another. All the Eye of Sheerian could show Archaon was what Be’lakor might do. The Dark Master was so insane with infernal fury and mindless vengeance that even he didn’t know what he was going to do. The ground trembled beneath Be’lakor step. He seized Archaon around his armoured neck and slammed the dark warlord into the rockface. He smashed him again and leaned in. Archaon could feel the claws of the daemon prince buckle the cursed plate about his bruised neck. Be’lakor was going to crush his throat. Archaon smelled the rank sulphur of the abomination’s breath. I shall wear the crown. I shall be Everchosen of the Chaos gods and stand once more in the warmth of their destructive radiance and favour. None shall stop me. No god. No daemon. Not you. Archaon felt the vice of the daemon prince’s claws close about his throat and the hell-forged plate give. He knew he had but seconds left. Scratching at the punctured plate at his side, Archaon got a trembling gauntlet around the hilt of the claw-crafted dagger. His eye rolled over, white with the agonising pain of its withdrawal. He felt the blade’s darkness cut through not only his butchered flesh but also his pantheon-pledged soul. His eye rolled back as the crooks and curves of the wicked blade were freed. For you are nothing. Nothing begotten of nothing and to nothing you return. You are a footnote in the history of a world destined to burn. Yours was my story to tell and I choose to end it now. ‘I’m your son…’ Archaon hissed through his father-in-shadow’s murderous embrace. You think that will stop me? Archaon looked for the Ruinous Star burned across the Dark Master’s broad chest. He looked for the chink in the daemon’s armoured hide. The cleft Archaon had found in the Forsaken Fortress. The mark of a piercing blade – thrust by one of the Dark Master’s many foes – that had yet to complete its journey. ‘You… don’t… have… the… heart…’ Archaon brought up the dagger and with a single, merciless stab, hammered the claw blade into Be’lakor chest. A monstrous gasp escaped the daemon. The Everchosen fell down the rockface and crumpled as the Dark Master released him. Stumbling away through the boulders and debris, Be’lakor clawed at his punctured heart and the pumping ichor that gushed from his ruined chest. The abominate’s cloven claws suddenly seemed no longer to support him and the beast crashed to the ground in a growing pool of his own steaming darkness. Archaon watched as his father-in-darkness – the twisted daemon prince who had for so long been the source of dread, woe and affliction in his life – died before him. In his final
moments of panic, the Dark Master reached out for Archaon, the claw of one hand a pleading emissary of doom. He shimmered with crackling shadow, unnatural energies arcing and sizzling about the daemon. In a last ditch attempt to survive the horror of the wound Archaon had inflicted upon him, Be’lakor was phasing between forms. Between the insubstance of shadow and the last moments of a fell, ichor-coughing existence. Archaon grunted with dark satisfaction. Being crafted from a part of the daemon prince itself, the dagger-claw was doing the same, making it impossible for Be’lakor to escape his doom, as he might a sword swung through the sizzling shadow of his form. As the pool of liquid darkness grew and Be’lakor sank into his own daemonic gore, the Dark Master steamed away. His clutching claw scraped along the rock with final defiance before slipping back into the obsidian pool. Archaon watched the darkness drain down through the valley floor. Looking up he saw the distant blaze of torches as his monstrous army poured into the valley. The immense moons of Mannslieb and Morrslieb were setting over the Worlds Edge Mountains. Above them the twin-tailed comet that was herald of the doom Archaon was yet to bring blazed across the sky. Archaon limped through the draining darkness of his father’s grave and with difficulty picked up the Slayer of Kings. Slipping the daemonsword into his scabbard, Archaon stared back at the spot where Be’lakor had died. The word seemed to ill fit the daemon prince’s fate, for the Everchosen knew that he had simply banished the enormous being – the bane of his existence – back to the Realm of Chaos from which he had sprung. Every smashed and aching bone in Archaon’s body told him that Be’lakor would be back. He would return as he had many times before to plague the world and the enemies that walked it. ‘I’ll ensure that there will be no world to return to…’ Archaon told the steaming grave. He looked up into the dark depths of the heavens. Thunder rolled in the distance. He knew that the Dark Gods were watching. They would not have missed Be’lakor failure – the daemon’s delicious demise – for the world. ‘You hear me?’ Archaon roared up at the sky, his threat intended for the fell gods whose soul-devouring existence depended upon the world and its mortal plague as much as the daemon prince they had made an eternity of tormenting. ‘Only ash and darkness. An oblivion in which to starve. Choke on it, you monsters…’-Archaon: Lord of Chaos
Though the fight lasted the majority of the day ultimately Archaon just managed to prevail, fighting off
near death and a possession attempt to do so. As a final act he beheaded Ghorst, the silent flaggelant who served as the last remainder of his past life (and who had followed him everywhere in the interlude) right on the border of the Empire.
At last unified behind his will (mostly), Archaon directed the legions of Chaos onwards onto the
civilized realms. They answered his call in truly awesome numbers that had never been seen before. In fact the Wastes probably completely emptied themselves of inhabitants in the process. To Cathay to Ind to Kislev they came in numbers truly unprecedented. Everywhere they met success as those forces arrayed against them, already weakened by a myriad of minor threats, chaos subversion in the form of
cults, and disunity, were hard pressed to stand against him. In Cathay the Great Bastion was broken with the help of Chaos Dwarfs, while in Ind armies led by Arbaal the Undefeated stormed the northern cities even as the pleasure cults of the south rose in revolt. Kislev was utterly destroyed in a single campaign by the vanguard of a v anguard force (that still probably numbered in hundreds of thousands at least). Simultaneously as Chaos targeted the strongest human realms the Skaven rose to consume the weakest. Though likely playing a small hand in campaigns elsewhere, Archaon devoted most of his time to planning the campaign against the Empire, for reasons both personal and strategic. Personal reasons are obvious by his biography for it was his birth country and he hated it and its gods (Sigmar especially) with a passion that exceeded any other loathing save possibly that of Be’lakor. Strategically it was one of
the strongest of the human realms and had resisted innumerable Chaos thrusts before. It also often managed to ally with the Dwarf and High Elven races, serving as glue that could, in theory, bind those
dissipate races together. Of all the threats arrayed against him across the world Archaon alone considered this potential alliance to have the possibility of defeating his force entirely, and because of that sought to break up the ‘glue’. Archaon sent in the Glottkin with an army of millions, giving them Nurglite artifacts to aid them in their task. They, along with accompanied warlords, would attack the Empire from three directions and strive
to spread disease, take out major cities, and make the land itself hostile to human life . This would have the benefit of weakening the Empire before Archaon’s main thrust to annihilate it all together. If the Glottkin were too successful he would launch his assault early. The Glottkin failed to take the main capital Altdorf but, as Archaon had foreseen, still managed
incredible success. Almost ½ of the population of the Empire died during the period of G lott invasion from a combination of super-plagues, an explosion of Beastmen, the Chaos armies themselves and a deeply hostile landscape. Furthermore the Empire’s gods themselves exhausted much of their power in trying to save t he realm. Now eager to finish off his enemy Archaon led a Chaos host larger than any yet seen. After creating an opportunistic alliance with the Skaven, Archaon set his sights on Middenheim, the key to his plans to
destroy not just the Empire, but the world itself. Using the ratmen to sap defenses from beneath and the Pink Horrors of Tzeentch to transform the Eastern Gate into a pile of mutated flesh, Archaon broke
his way into the city . The Empire fought back bitterly at every turn, its soldiers motivated by desperation and heroic commanders alike. Finally Archaon and his horde fought a pitched battle in the heart of Middenheim against the last of the defenders and the Sigmarite champion Valtern. Archaon sought out the Herald of Sigmar and dueled him as the battle reached its climax. Fighting evenly, it was unclear who would win . However there were others forces at work here and one of them decided to take a very direct hand. Unknown to both fighters a Verminlord silently teleported into combat and, when Valtern was distracted, assassinated the herald of Sigmar even as Archaon screamed at rage at his triumph denied. As a result of this event Archaon’s hatred of the Skaven, already existent on principle, only intensified.
Nevertheless Archaon had achieved his final goal , though only he and the Chaos gods were aware of it. For beneath Middenheim was an artifact of immense power, a weapon created by the most ancient
race that could destroy the world. With the Empire by now limited mostly to the Southern portion- dominated by the new capital of Averheim- Archaon could have simply dug in, activated the weapon and be done with the whole affair. Yet he wouldn’t and couldn’t. He hated the Empire with a burning passion and needed to prove once and for all his superiority, that its gods were lies and myths. First he sent his treacherous minion Villitch down south to both weaken the Empire and Villitch himself (who doubtless planned another betrayal). Then, recognizing the possibility of Tzeentchi forces betraying him randomly (as they are often do) he surprised the daemon Kairos Fateweaver and swiftly sacrificed him to Khorne, using it to summon what was perhaps the most powerful of Khorne’s Bloodthirsters, Ka’Bandha. Together they unified the Skaramor and marched southwards to take over the siege from Villitch’s hands. When they arrived they discovered the Tzeentch force had been all but routed, the Skaven driven off. This bothered Archaon not; it just saved him the trouble actually. In one swift assault Archaon
swept in and swarmed over the city with vastly superior numbers, taking massive causalities but nevertheless succeeding in capturing it . The Emperor had his incarnate power taken from him in a direct duel via Archaon’s sorcerous knowledge provided by the Eye of Sheerian, though the Emperor
and a small force was able to escape thanks to the heroic intervention of Gelt, Ungrim’s last stand, and some of the greatest remaining heroes of the Empire sacrificing themselves. Though upset that the Emperor had escaped his clutches, Archaon was content to set Ka’Bandha on his trail. He himself marched back to Middenheim, leading the Chaos forces there and the Skaven in excavating the artifact. Sometimes he would have to put down, or have his minions put down, ambitious underlings. Other than that he hardly stirred from the depths of Middenheim and indeed what need was there too? All realms of men were by now either overrun or nearly so, the few remaining Dwarf realms not conquered by the Skaven shut, Lustria annihilated, Sylvannia’s power shattered as a result of Nurgle’s schemes and Athel Loren, last bastion of order, beleaguered by an endless tide of Chaos. Only the Beast WAAGH (orcs, goblins & ogres) under Grimgor was a remaining threat yet still that was far to the East, and Archaon was confident he could handle them in time, if necessary. It probably wouldn’t have surprised Archaon to find out that it was Be’lakor- captured by the now unified incarnates- who betrayed his plan to the last and most mighty non Chaos figures of the world. Yet he was probably somewhat surprised to discover that Teclis-greatest of the Elven wizards-pulled off a truly unprecedented teleportation, boosted from power of the goddess Lileath’s sacrifice- that dropped the incarnates (Elves, Men, Dwarfs and Undead) along with a portion of the Beast WAAGH right inside the gates of Middenheim. Though Teclis himself was swiftly captured by Archaon the rest arrived in force. However if he was surprised he certainly was not worried. The storms of magic had swept up forces of Chaos too, like Sigvald the Magnifient and the rampaging horde of Ka’Bandha. In addition Archaon
quickly sensed that not all of the incarnates were fully united, and sent the Skaven to instill conflict
between the Elves and the Beast WAAGH. Other champions were sent after one foe or another though by now Archaon was scarcely paying attention. Whether his champions lived or died hardly mattered just so long as they bought time as he retreated to personally ensure the bomb was activated. Eventually the incarnates fought past his lieutenants, though not without severe losses. United for the first time in history common desire what tiny fragments remained of the Elf, Undead, Empire a nd Orc
forces journeyed into the depths beneath Middenheim. Joined by Daemon champions of all 4 gods Archaon and his elite bodyguards, the Swords of Chaos, fought one last battle at the very jaws of oblivion. For behind them the artifact was activated; a warp rift that swiftly expanded ever more. Archaon went for the Emperor but was stopped by the Boss of Da East and Incarnate of the Beasts, Grimgor Ironhide. Though the Everchosen initially dismissed the Orc Warboss as a nuisance Grimgor could not be denied, and swiftly proved through skill to be more than a threat for the Everchosen. In a
surprise move he even broke the Eye of Sheerian with a devastating head-butt. In desperation, for Archaon could not imagine a more humiliating end than being beaten by an Orc, he unleashed the daemon U’zhul from the Slayer of Kings, giving the Everchosen a sudden and immediate burst of power (but, in the long run, losing a power up). Grimgor’s head was swiftly cleaved from his head. It was then that the Everchosen met the Emperor- who he still believed was Karl Franz- one last time. “‘Archaon,’ he roared. ‘Face me, Destroyer.’ Chaos knights hurriedly interposed themselves, and died beneath Deathclaw’s talons. Sigmar smashed Ghal Maraz down on upraised shields and shattered thrusting swords. Axes and swords hacked into the griffon’s limbs and flanks, and its shrieks of pain and rage filled Sigmar’s ears, but he could not afford to retreat, not now, and never again. He caught sight of elves and zombies to either side of him, fighting against the daemons that sought to envelop his desperate spearhead. He heard the crackle of magics, and saw screeching daemons evaporate as they swooped towards him. Deathclaw gave a great shudder and lunged with a heart-wrenching cry, to slam into a rearing steed. Sigmar was flung from the saddle, as was the rider of the horse, and as he rose to his feet, he saw that he was face to face with Archaon. Sparks flew as Ghal Maraz smashed against the Slayer of Kings. Lightning rippled along the hammer’s rune-etched head, vying with the dark fire that swirled about the Everchosen’s daemon-blade. Nearby, Deathclaw and Archaon’s steed fought savagely, and the rocky ground was splattered with blood and ichor as the two animals clawed and bit one another. ‘I beat you once, follower of lies,’ Archaon roared, thrusting out a hand. ‘I ripped your lightning from you, and shattered your last redoubt, and I will do it again…’ Sigmar grinned fiercely as nothing happened. Blood streaked his face and beard, but he felt no weakness. Not now. He batted Archaon’s hand aside and slammed Ghal Maraz down on the
Everchosen’s pauldron, knocking him back. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’ he said. He thrust the hammer forwards like a spear and caught Archaon in the chest. ‘Take my lightning, Everchosen.’ Archaon staggered back. ‘I – what?’ Sigmar tapped his own brow. ‘We’re on an equal footing now, boy. Just me and you.’ He swung the hammer again, and Archaon barely parried it. Each punishing blow bled into the one that followed and Sigmar pushed his opponent back, until Archaon slashed at him, gouging his armour and cutting the flesh beneath. Behind him, the warp-artefact gave another blinding pulse, and the cracks in its surface grew wider. He heard Deathclaw utter a shrill cry, and saw the griffon fall, tangled with Archaon’s mount in its death-throes. The latter gave voice to a final whinny before Deathclaw’s talons tore out its throat, and then both beasts were still. Sadness swept through him as he bashed Archaon’s sword aside and drove his hammer into the Everchosen’s cuirass, turning one of the skull tokens hanging there to powder. The griffon had known he wasn’t its master, though he wore the man’s skin. It had served him regardless, and it had served him well. He had not known Karl Franz, though he wished he had. That the beast had loved him so, enough to fight on as it had, spoke well of the Emperor. Scattered memories, not his own but those of the body he had taken possession of, filled his mind, and he saw the Imperial Zookeeper hand over an egg to a youth on the edge of manhood. He saw the first faltering steps of the cub, as Karl Franz fed it morsels from his own fingers. And he saw their first battle, and felt a savage joy as the griffon defended the body of its wounded master. I am sorry, he thought. I am sorry for it all. ‘You will fall here,’ Sigmar said, fighting for breath. His strength was ebbing. ‘Whatever else happens, you will fall.’ He felt the ground tremble beneath his feet, and he saw that the warp-artefact was no more – it had been completely consumed by the swirling void it had given birth to. The roiling surface of the sphere ate away at the cavern around it, and a crackling, empty void of white was left in place of the churned rock. His heart sank. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Archaon said. ‘Nothing matters. I’ve won. This world will burn, and something better will rise from the ashes.’ He launched a flurry of blows that Sigmar was hard -pressed to block. He was moving slower now, and the entire right side of his armour was slippery with his own blood. Archaon didn’t seem to tire, but Sigmar, for all his power, knew he wasn’t so lucky. His heartbeat hammered in his ears and his lungs burned, but despite it all, despite the danger, he knew he wouldn’t have traded places with anyone. This is where I was meant to be, he thought. Despite the fury of battle, he was calm. This is my reason for living, this is why I was born. This moment is mine. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a white-furred shape lope towards him, and he smiled. Hello, old wolf. You told me once I would come to a bad end, and here we are. Archaon’s sword slipped past his flagging guard and smashed into his cuirass. Sigmar fell back, off balance. He struck the ground hard, and Ghal Maraz was jolted from his hand. He stared up at Archaon, as the latter lifted his blade in both hands.
‘To think, they believed that you could save them,’ Archaon said. ‘To think, I once thought you might do that yourself,’ Sigmar said. Archaon hesitated. Sigmar smiled sadly. ‘Diederick Kastner, son of a daughter of the Empire. You could have been the sword that swept my land free of Chaos forever. In a better world, perhaps you have. But here and now, you are nothing more than another petty warlord.’ ‘You know nothing about me,’ Archaon said, still holding his sword aloft. ‘I know you. I saw you born and I saw you die, again and again. I saw y our soul twisted all out of shape by the honeyed words of daemons, and I saw you turn your back on me. I saw and I wept, for you, and for what I knew you would do.’ Archaon lowered his blade. ‘No…’ ‘You made yourself a pawn of prophecy,’ Sigmar said. ‘You set your feet on this path. The daemons helped, but it was you who walked into the darkness. It was you who fled the light, Diederick.’ ‘You are not Sigmar. The gods are all dead, and he was a lie,’ Archaon grated. ‘Are they dead, or are they a lie? Make up your mind,’ Sigmar said. He could see Ghal Maraz’s haft, just out of the corner of his eye. He stretched a hand towards it. ‘You are lying,’ Archaon roared. He lifted his sword, but before he could bring it down, there was a flash of white fur, and then Wendel Volker was there. Axe and sword connected with a screech, and the former exploded in its owner’s hands. Volker staggered, and Archaon’s sword chopped down, through his shoulder and into his chest. Archaon tore his blade free and the Reiksguard fell. Sigmar rolled over and reached for the hammer, but Archaon kicked it aside. ‘No! No more distractions. No more lies,’ Archaon howled. ‘You die now, and your Empire dies with you.’ He made to move after Sigmar, but something stopped him. Sigmar looked down , and saw Volker clinging to Archaon’s legs. ‘I told you once, Everchosen. When a wolf bites, he does not let go,’ Volker croaked. ‘And I told you that you would die here, whatever else.’ Archaon looked down in obvious shock, and Volker grinned up at him. ‘This is my city, man, and you will not take it!’ Ice began to spread across Archaon’s greaves, and he roared in anger and pain as the cold gnawed at him. Then the Slayer of Kings flashed down, and Wendel Volker, bearer of the godspark of Ulric, was no more. Sigmar saw Volker slump, and heard, deep in his mind, the death-howl of the god he had worshipped in his youth. He had no time to mourn, for even as Archaon tore his blade free of the body of the last of the Reiksguard, the Everchosen pivoted and brought the howling daemon-blade down. But Volker and Ulric’s sacrifice had given him the time he needed to recover, and call up the lightning that was again his to command. Sigmar thrust his hands up, and felt the blade crash against his palms. Lightning crackled between flesh and the hungry bite of tainted steel, and Sigmar slowly closed his fingers tight about the blade. Then he
pushed himself erect, driving Archaon back with every step. The Everchosen tried to push back, but the Emperor was too strong. And then, with a scream that was of joy as much as it was of pain, the Slayer of Kings shattered in Sigmar’s grip. Archaon reeled as smoking shards of the daemon-blade tore into his armour. Blinded, dazed, he stumbled back. Sigmar lunged forwards and drove his fist into Archaon’s featureless helm, buckling the metal, and driving him back, over the precipice, and into the maelstrom of shadows. Archaon, Lord of the End Times, vanished into the darkness.”- Lord of Chaos
Archaon was defeated. The war would have been lost totally for the forces of ruin right then had not Manfred Von Carstein, at the height of his treachery, sabotaged the ritual to get the rift under control
by stabbing Balshazar Gelt in the back. Teclis overloaded from taking on too much energy, Nagash was drained of his and the rest were stripped of theirs. Sigmar tried one last time to take control of the situation however from the rift emerged a frenzied, crazed Archaon who tackled the God-King. They were last seen wrestling for control of Sigmar’s mighty hammer Ghal Maraz in the warp as the world was sucked in around them.
However, in the Kingdoms Conquest tournament Archaon has another chance to achieve what he has longed for: the destruction of all that is. ===LOADOUT===
Offensive: Slayer of Kings: The second Everchosen captured the greater daemon U’zhul in this sword, which became magically enchanted. This blade hungers for the blood of regents or royalty above all else
and can ignore armor or melt through most enemy weapons. Archaon can also choose to activate its power allowing him to strike far faster and harder, with enough power to knock down a city gate, but must be cautious that the malevolent blade does not turn on him. He is physically strong enough to strangle a Bloodthirster to death with his own whip. “Leaping down from the monster’s back, Archaon grabbed the tapering end of the whip and heaved it up and around the daemon’s monstrously thick neck. All the while the devastated abomination watched him through the scorched orb of a single eye – the other having burst from its frenzied efforts to acquire the Chaos warlord. Sliding the tip of the whip beneath the great daemon’s neck, Archaon created an improvised noose. Grabbing the weapon with both hands, Archaon heaved. He heaved for all he was and was going to be. The great Bloodthirster could barely heave its decimated red carcass from the beach of bone but managed to claw at the whip cutting across its throat. Now it was Archaon’s tur n to bellow and roar. He hauled at the whip, the muscles of his arms and chest bulging, his bones braced to break. He strained
for his survival. For victory. For destiny. As the great daemon breathed its last, its own skull crashing to the shore and its claws falling limply away, Archaon released the whip. He fell backwards into skulls and the blood that lapped up the shore. As he breathed, ached, found his way back from the insanity of his trials, the hellfire about the archipelago died. All was darkness. The clink of skulls and the slosh of blood faded away.”- Archaon: Lord of Chaos
He has mastered or at least learned just about every style of combat, from bare fisted to swordplay,
simply from studying so many diverse enemies. In fact he made a point of learning the full applications along with mastery of every strange weapon used in an attempt to kill him, including all manner of ranged weapons. He knows the vital points to all major mortal races in the world. He is a Level 4 wizard(courtesy of the Eye of Sheerian) capable of using spells from the Lores of Tzeentch, Fire, Metal, Death, & Shadow . Archaon’s skill at arms is so great that really the only individuals that have ever beaten him one on one are Be’lakor (prior to being the Everchosen) and Sigmar (with some minor help). However it was left ambiguous by the text whether Valtern could have and author comments do have some rare notable figures of legendary skill (like Abhorash) capable of doing so. Archaon rides Dorghar, the steed of the Apocalypse. This is a shapeshifting daemonic steed with a vile disposition, biting, stomping and kicking with sadistic mirth in combat. Most of the time it appears as a stallion however Archaon can have it change to alternative forms, such as a flaming comet or dragonesque creature.
Defensive: Armor of Morkar: Archaon wields the armor of Mo rkar, the first Everchosen, which shields him from all but the deadliest blows, like extreme magic or artillery. Then on top of that he has the Eye of Sheerian giving the wielder a massive amount of detection . Archaon can see across entire planes of existence, view any location in the world at once, look into the past or possible futures and detect normally hidden entities, such as spirit forms or Be’lakor or later the Wood Elf seer Naith. “Ensconced above the eye sockets of his helm’s skull-face, Archaon engaged the Eye’s supernatural abilities. The gem glowed with damned energies, allowing Archaon to see far beyond even his own enhanced senses. Great distance and the obstacles of rock and storm were nothing to the Eye. It brought Archaon, in gaze at least, from horizon to horizon and beyond. With the great artefact, one of the six treasures of Chaos that marked a man as Everchosen of the Ruinous Gods, the dark templar had plotted the course of his incursion into the Wastes at the bottom of the world.” -Eye of Sheerian
This can be amplified by the Mark of Tzeentch, which gives him low-grade magic resistance, and Mark
of Nurgle, which has him surrounded by rotflies . Finally the Crown of Domination makes him give off an aura of terror like a Greater Daemon, as well as make it so Chaos units don’t route within his
immediate presence (50m). “The disgusting sensation of the warpflame’s effects still remained with him. Through the searing agony that was his left hand, he fancied he could still feel his missing digits and their rebellion in flesh. The
inferno washed across the peak, feeling its way about the rocks and ridges before it found its victim. Archaon stood like a statue, with the purple blaze raging about him. It filled his socket-slits with its blaze of change that danced across the surface of his plate. As the firestream abated, Archaon felt no scorching warmth through the armour. He felt no rebellion of the flesh as spawndom claimed him. Morkar’s armour was impervious to the dragon’s wrath. Slipping an axe from his belt the Chaos warrior threw the weapon at the passing beast, burying the blade in its morphing flesh.” - Archaon: Everchosen
Even without armor he is extremely hard to kill, having taken numerous poundings, stabs, cuts and more from creatures in the past. Skaven, Dark Elf assassins and even the legendary Brunner the Bounty
Hunter have all tried a nd failed to assassinate him.
===ADDITIONAL FACTORS=== Archaon is the Everchosen, meaning he is the one by default who can command this massive force . He possesses all four Marks at once and can see in the dark, as well as has the spectral vision that
daemons have (that allows for seeing of souls) along with a form of x-ray vision that allows him to physical weaknesses inside the enemy. “Archaon’s mere presence seemed to affect the environment about him. Wherever he went, the skies darkened. Thunder rolled and cloud broiled. Lighting storms flashed within the apocalyptic oppression of a storm ever breaking and bathed the land with an infernal glow. Indeed, Archaon had brought a little of hell back with him from the brink of oblivion. The wind streamed dust and ice about him. As the gloom darkened, the heavens rumbled and forks of hellish lightning stabbed down from the sky, Archaon nodded to himself. He was a living announcement of his own doom – a fitting misfortune for the Everchosen of Chaos and the Lord of the End Times to come.”
Archaon is always accompanied by a small legion of the Swords of Chaos- legendary warriors of chaos
who initially aligned with him for glory, but now whose personalities had been subsumed by their lord. They fight for him with a loyalty relatively unknown among the treacherous hordes of Cha os. The standard Bearer for the Swords of Chaos is one Kordel Shorgaar, a warrior of legendary renown who has killed a great chaos beast and was alleged to have slaughtered an entire tribe single handily .
“Panic spread like wildfire through the Middenheim companies, fanned to greater fury by the bludgeoning advance of the Swords of Chaos. Canto, still astride his cursing steed, could only marvel at the sheer, dogged relentlessness of Archaon’s warriors. They fought like automatons. There was never a wasted motion or excess of force. As soon as one enemy fell from their path they moved on to the next without hesitation. They fought in silence as well, uttering no battle cries or even grunts of pain when a blow struck home.”- Lord of The End Times
===X-FACTORS===
*Though I have tried to keep Age of Sigmar out of t his as much as possible I am including some elements of his command style in the Battletome : Everchosen to show off his technique and command skills. In that universe Archaon is a proven commander used to conquer countless worlds. Adaptive Creativity: 76/100: Archaon is extremely creative when he needs to be, utilizing deception, confusion and misdirection. Sometimes it involves expert use of the environment, sometimes of the enemy.
Tactics: 80/100: Archaon rarely loses a fight and has fought countless hundreds of battles in all sorts of climates, from the frozen North to becoming a huge pirate in the sea around Cathay. Its mentioned that he excels at exploiting the weaknesses of enemies to achieve victory. Only rarely has he lost, and usually those come at a great cost and/or are swiftly reversed.
Strategy: 86/100: Archaon, as overlord of Chaos, conquered the entire civilized world in the End Times and succeeded in his main objective of destroying the world, albeit only through unexpected treachery.
His strategy is based heavily on division and confusion, on cutting forces off from one another and ensuring disunity, on weakening the enemy from within and via other means that Archaon has at his disposal (such as infiltration and plague spreading). Simultaneously the overwhelming numbers of chaos are also used quite effectively. Furthermore events in Age of Sigmar would just continue to prove his genius. He conquered hundreds of realms and worlds with only a scant few, hard fought defeats in between. The only time he lost a campaign conclusively was fighting in the Realm of Shadow, a defeat Archaon is determined to rectify.
Intuition: 86/100: Thanks to the Eye of Sheerian he can see different planes of existence, scry across hundreds of miles, look into the past and see many different possibilities of the future. The latter isn’t entirely perfect but nevertheless is exceptional.
Audacity: 90/100: Though Archaon is not a coward, he does not charge into conflict without cause for he knows he is the best shot of destroying all life and does not want to die prematurely. He has no qualms sending vast hordes of his men (or especially Skaven!) to do, as he hates the force he leads.
Psychological Warfare: 85/100: In one feat he managed to convince one of Sigmar’s holiest warriors to join him, and he has used diplomacy, threats, and the like to get his way. Other times he moves to invoke fear in the enemy, divide them from within, or play upon their personal weaknesses (which, courtesy of a chaos mutation, he can actually see). It should be noted that Archaon’s greatest desire is to break up the unity of the enemy, to divide them and render them easier pickings for conquest. In the Age of Sigmar he played upon the arrogance and self-serving nature of Nagash to convince the Lich that he could win without Sigmar’s help thus abandoning his allies, the hatred and pride of Sigmar to lure him into a trap that saw much of the god king’s power lost . Terror and paranoia are weapons Archaon loves to use. “At the Brass Citadel Archaon led his army to a bloodbath of a victory against Kruor’gor of the Brazen Horde – a greater daemon in the service of mighty Khorne. Forced to kill the daemon’s bloodletter battlehost to the very last infernal berserker, the assault on the Brass Citadel trapped Kruor’gor in his own palace. Archaon frustrated the Blood God’s abominate servant. Unusually for the Chaos warlord, he would not meet the Skulltaker in single combat. Pummelling the greater daemon with monstrous attacks from his own horde and siege fire from his bone engines of war, Archaon stoked the greater daemon’s bottomless ire to such a degree that the dread creature raged into the form of a hell-fed inferno: a titan of fury and flame. The Brass Citadel melted about the creature, drowning the great Kruor’gor in an insolent lake of liquid metal.”- Archaon: Lord of Cyhaos
Experience: 97/100: 200 years of experience, against every single foe WHF has to offer, from Lustria Lizardmen to Eastern Cathay. He’s fought against high end magic, sieged the impossible fortresses of the Realm of Chaos, and fought against powerful monsters of all sorts. Due to time being warped in the Chaos Wastes it is unknown the total number of years he has fought.
Discipline: 68/100: Archaon is rare for Chaos in that he is someone with the discipline to be patient, to not screw up his armies with paranoia before the main battle and remain focused on the task. Even he has lapses sometimes however and allows personal hatred to influence decisions.
Inspiration: 77/100: While he gets props for being one of the only men in history to convince unified Chaos to fight for them and he is near worshipped by the lower ranking, it is in the nature of Chaos to scheme and resent those ahead of it. During the End Times he had to fight many attempted uprisings (many spoiled by the effects of the Eye of Sheerian), deal with sub-commanders who were extremely creative in obeying his commands (did as much to ensure their personal fortune as possible, sometimes to the detriment of the plan) and other headaches.
Corruption: 99/100: Archaon wants to wipe the entire world out, and destroy existence. Everything, including the Chaos Gods. "And pray to your dread gods?’ Giselle said, glassy-eyed. ‘No,’ Archaon said. ‘For I have none. Let the powers of darkness favour me if they will. Let them lend me their strength and draw strength from my victories, if that is their want. You will not see me kneel to them even as I kneel before you now. All gods are fickle. Don’t trust in them. I don’t. Believe as much as you need to or not at all. Ultimately, the only thing you can really believe in is yourself.’ ‘You serve the Chaos gods…’ ‘They serve themselves,’ Archaon said. ‘As do I. This world is not fit for man or god. The Empire and nations of old, the exotic lands beyond and even here – the cruel Wastes. All will fall and all will burn for me. I will be the Lord of the End Times. The harbinger of doom for all – man and god – for in a world of the slain, with no men, no savages, no ancients of the elder races to pray to them and erect their temples, what will become of these gods, their heroes and their daemons?’ - Archaon Everchosen
“‘I was one of you,’ Archaon called across the frozen silence, his voice carried on the shearing wind. ‘A puppet in a sick show – like this. Dancing for my dark masters. I dance no more. And neither should you. The gifts of the gods are no such thing. Let us not seek reward. Let us not ask for power. Let us not wait on that which is given. Let us take what is ours. Darkness is ours. Ruin is ours. The world turns beneath our feet for the taking. Real power resides not with gods or any following but with those who take it from them. I am Archaon, doom to my enemies, doom to all the world, doom to the gods invested in that world. Come with me. Why earn the treasures of Chaos when you can steal them? Why kill for Ruinous patrons when you can kill for yourself? Why sell your souls so cheaply, when you can make the worlds of gods and men pay for your miseries? ‘I might be Chosen of the Dark Gods – but I did not choose them. I will be Everchosen of Chaos, whether the dread Powers and their daemons wish it for me or not. The legions of hell will be ours to command and we shall use them to demonstrate true power. The power to choose. To be or not to. To drag the sick perversity of this daemon-haunted existence kicking and screaming into a time of Ending. To end the
world, the gods that torment it and ourselves. That is real power and I ask you to seize it with me. With he who is one of you: lost, damned even, but a slave to darkness no more. With Archaon…’”- Archaon: Lord of Chaos.
Mobility: 1 Training/Experience: 8 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Spell Primary Role : Faction Leader Secondary Role: Tactical Aid (Spell caster) “"I stand here, atop the Ziggurat of Zharr -Naggrund, the Place of Fire and Desolation. From where I stand, I can gaze across the plains of Zharrduk, and what I see is pleasing to my eyes. It is forever Dark under the sun here in the heart of the world. The smell of sulphur and of burning oil fills the air. The cracking of whips and the wailing of slaves drowns out the clatter of machinery. This is the future. One day Hashut, the Father of Darkness, shall rise from his slumber, and trample the world beneath his brazen hooves. The dead shall outnumber the living, and those that remain shall be dragged in chains to the pits of Zharr to toil for the greater glory of Hashut. And all will be blessed Darkness." -From the prophesies of Astragoth, the High Priest of Hashut-
Astragoth is the oldest living Chaos Dwarf Sorcerer. When he was at the height of his powers he was the most potent sorcerer to walk the Plain of Zharr in a thousand years. Now his powers have begun to wane, his body is slowly succumbing to petrifaction. A decade ago he constructed a mechanical device by which he is transported from place to place. His legs have long ceased to work and even his hands have now turned to stone. To an extent these have been replaced by the machinery grafted to his body. This engine was constructed by his slaves to plans created by Astragoth himself, and combines the undoubted skills of the Chaos Dwarf race with twisted dark science.
Astragoth’s influence is based probably more akin to that of the Council of 13 rather than Archaon’s absolute authority. He has the most influence of any sorcerer and may use his influence to achieve results, however his rivals possess a significant and, troublesome for Astragoth, growing power. The power of the Chaos Dwarf faction is great enough to where Archaon simply cannot treat it as a subordinate power however both sides are likely aware of who is the strongest. In the End Times that influence fell apart as Astragoth was betrayed by his former apprentice Ghorth the Cruel, in order to usurp his position, as the war against Grimgor proceeded. Astragoth's engine-suit was
sabotaged, and the high priest left a living statue, unable to act or speak as Ghorth took his place . During the destruction of the temple of Hashut, Astragoth's stony form was shattered by parties unknown.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Astragoth is a master of the Lore of Hashut, and in addition he can carry a sword or axe. His machine significantly boosts his power and ability, allowing him to man sized enemies in single blows.
Defensive: Blackshard armor and any magical items he chooses. ==KEY SERVANT: SHAR’TOR THE EXECUTIONER==
Shar’tor the Executioner is a malevolent warrior-priest of Hashut. This trampling bull centaur carries the terrifying Darktide Axe, a cruel weapon steeped in untold years of slaughter upon which burn vile runes of hatred and malice. Shar’tor also wears Hashut’s sacred Mask of the Executioner, marking him as his dark god’s favored headsmen, empowered to call out his god’s name with such a malign force, that the
sound alone is enough to kill the weak of heart, just as it fills those loyal to Hashut with unholy wrath. His command ability gives nearby units a chance t o ignore wounds, and the mask he wears both inspires other Bull Centaurs in his army to charge and gore your foes, and brings death to the enemy.
==X-FACTORS== Note: Though Astragoth is not shown directly leading armies, he is the primary driver of Chaos Dwarf policy for the last thousand years and thus his x-factors will mostly be based on that. Adaptive Creativity: 40/100: Chaos Dwarfs, though slow to change much like their Eastern Kin, are nevertheless more willing to. Over the years they have tested new weapons, used new tactics and sometimes, if grudgingly, altered course based on new events (such as the End Times, where they put everything into an invasion of Cathay). That said, they are still rather slow to change based on human
standards. Tactics: 52/100: It can be assumed, based on his experience, that Astragoth is a skilled tactician however there are just very few (i.e. none) of him in action.
Strategy: 73/100: Thanks to the guiding hand of Astragoth, the Chaos Dwarf empire has expanded across the Dark Lands, bit by bit, the relentless drive of industry crushing the other races before them.
Intuition: 50/100 Discipline: 76/100: Chaos Dwarfs are extremely disciplined, and methodical in the pace of conquest. However even they are prone to overextension based on opportunism, such as when they tried to annex Cathay in the End Times.
Audacity: 53/100: The Chaos Dwarfs fear little, but are nevertheless extremely, incredibly cautious. Psychological Warfare: 55/100: Though not as skilled as the scions of Slaanesh or schemers of Tzeentch, the Chaos Dwarfs are very much into the game of will-breaking and their servitude is designed to ruthlessly snuff that out. Chaos Dwarfs love to inflict terror upon the enemy.
Inspiration: 55/100: Astragoth has an incredible amount of influence however his immediate subordinates would like nothing less than to betray him.
Corruption: 92/100:
The four individuals below are those who arguably have the most power among the forces of the four gods and the most influence. This doesn’t however mean their influence is total as they all have difficulty not only with each other but sub-commanders of their own sect. In addition though all fight for the Everchosen each has unique problems with him whether it is characterized by liberal interpretation of his orders (Glottkin), outright ignoring said orders (Valkia), contempt between the two (Sigvald) and complete murderous hatred (Villitch) .
Mobility: 6 (slow flyer) Training/Experience: 10 Max Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Primary Role: Major General Secondary Role: Tactical Support (battlefield combat), Strategic (Morale Boost) “Kruath knew that the appearance of Valkia the Bloody would sit in his thoughts until the moment he died. She had flung her beautiful, cruel face to the sky, screaming a guttural battle cry in a language beyond his comprehension. Her daemonic wings bore her aloft, every eye on the battlefield raised to look upon her terrifying, otherworldly presence. Kruath could not tear his eyes from her. The sheer majesty of her was overwhelming and it was all that the dark elf could do not to fall to his knees. He knew one thing for certain. I am in the presence of the divine. Despite the horror of her blasphemous appearance, there was no denying the sense of power radiating from Valkia. Her spear struck heads from shoulders and punched through armor with ease, delivering perfect killing blows to any of those who were unfortunate to be in its path. Kruath felt the adulation directed towards this horrendous daemon woman, felt it emanating from those who even now slaughtered his people. It was she who led this unstoppable wave. It was she who drove them further, bringing the tide south into the Witch King’s realm. Kruath and three other warriors were dispatched with due haste to bring warning to Naggarond. If they failed in their task, Valkia’s unnatural and unholy army would smash over the city’s threshold. They would consume the great stronghold and leave nothing but blood and ashes in their wake. Of the four messengers who had set out from the tower, only Kruath remained. Naggarond will not fall.” - The Siege of Naggarond
Born to a Northern tribe long ago, ever since she was a child Valkia was known for her ferocity in battle. Indeed she killed her beloved father when she felt he was making her t ribe weak and assumed control
of a tribe where no female had ever ruled for more than three hours. She would last a couple decades. In this period of time her tribe rose to dominate much of the Northern Wastes. Hundreds of tribes were absorbed into her own, and for a while her rule was unquestioned. Yet so was her beauty and it was such that she drew a servant of Slaanesh, a Daemon Prince known as Locephax. When he came into Valkia's hall and, smitten by her feral beauty, commanded that she abandon the life of a monarch to service his depraved needs as a harem-girl, the proud warrior-queen truly flew into the berserker rage
and struck off the Daemon Prince's very head with her barbed spear -- Slaupnir -- in a mighty battle
that lasted for hours. Valkia affixed the severed but still whispering head of the daemon to her shield, and swore before her tribe that she would carry it to the Chaos Wastes and place it at the very foot of
Khorne's throne. With a thousand warriors she marched north, fighting off Beastmen and Trolls all the while. Her troops began to die off before her but Valkia’s ambition was undeterred. Eventually, seeing her mad, they abandoned her but she continued ever on. Finally she marched the very steps to the Realm of Chaos itself but alas was found and cut down by Slaaneshi daemons, literally just feet away. However her tale was not at an end, for her tenacity and rage had moved Khorne himself to intervene. Khorne then took Valkia in his burning grasp and twisted her into a more pleasing form -- forging her anew in the fires of his wrath. He bent back great horns from her skull, gave her the long, bestial legs of a Bloodletter and pulled back great, bloody wings from the flesh and muscle of her shapely back. Reborn as a mighty Daemon Queen, Khorne set upon her a new task: She would now descend every dawn onto
the battlefields of the mortal realms, and fight alongside those worthy warriors of Norsca and beyond who served Khorne and from the ranks of their dead she would bear warriors who died in glorious battle to the Halls of Khorne where they would fight on the Blood God's legions for all eternity. Thus, the Gorequeen, the Shield-Maiden of Khorne, was born. She returned and avenged herself on the tribe that betrayed her, massacring them all including her own family. Ever rafter she had returned, again and again, to the realms of Mortal man to inflict great bloodletting. She has despoiled Dwarf holds, sacked Empire towns, devastated a Dark Elf force and
pillaged all across the world . Now she appears in the bloodiest of battles, eager to claim more for Khorne. Valkia was active even in the earliest parts of the End Times. Her campaigns began in Norsca, where she along with Haargoth the Bloodied One waged a bitter campaign against those Norse that did not support Chaos along with the Norse Dwarfs of those lands. Eventually after several duels and numerous
tribes destroyed she succeeded in bullying the vast majority of the rest into submission. The Norse Dwarfs- already reeling even before the End Times- fell next, with the their last great port falling even as a handful of Dwarf ironclads escaped port, heading for parts unknown. Next she turned her attentions to the Druichi of Naggarond… Smashing southwards with a horde larger than any N aggarond had seen before, she laid waste to
numerous northern settlements before putting to siege the capital it self. Too concerned with their own petty interests, few other Druichi lords mustered up the will to aid even the star of their realm and as a result Valkia launched her assault uncontested. For three solid months Druichi and Chaos fought over the walls of the city, neither able to fully beat the other due to the stalwart defense and ranged firepower on one side, overwhelming numbers and zeal on the other. In the end it was only broken by the Witch King’s personal intervention, who fought a brutal aerial duel with Valkia. The Consort of Khorne was cast down by the future Eternity King but not,
wholly, destroyed.
Preserved by some greater power, Valkia would appear one more time in the End Times in the siege of Averheim, competing with several Khorne champions and daemons for her master’s favor. It was in the fires of this last great city of man that she slew the Empire champion Scwarzthelm even as the Empire
man pulled her into Slaupnir, which he had disarmed earlier. Together they fell. ==LOADOUT== Offensive: The Spear Slaupnir: This mighty magical barbed spear can pierce almost any a rmor and she wields it with deft ease. Her claws are also used in battle to rip out throats. She is a master duelist with super strength and blurry reaction speed.
Defensive: Daemon Shield: The Daemon shield, which Locephax is forever a part of, gazes out with hypnotic eyes that weakens all but the strongest enemy reactions. It can also give a piercing cry to induce fear, hypnotic suggestion, absorb magic to send it right back act. Even without magic it can clamp its teeth down on an attacker’s weapon. “The head of Locephax came to terrible animated life. The eyes flared open, the unnatural green daemon-light seeping from it like a poisonous mist. The face drew into an expression that mimicked Valkia’s own and the silent scream that the warrior woman emitted erupted from the daemon’s maw. It was amplified and distorted and Hepsus clamped his hands over his ears. The sense of absolute terror that ran through him was something unlike anything he had ever known before. Every instinct in his body told him to turn and run. And he was standing behind the shield, which was the only protection from this dark magic. He hardly dared imagine how he would have reacted had he been on the receiving end. The trolls stumbled to a halt, crashing together in a tangle of festering limbs, their shabby forms seemingly frozen to the spot and their eyes fixed on the daemon’s hypnotic gaze. They were simple creatures, barely more than a bundle of nerves and thoughts that worked together to create the basic need for survival. Kill, eat, and sleep when needed. Such was the cycle of a troll’s life. They had little requirement for sophisticated thought and as such, they fell prey to Locephax’s hypnotic suggestion instantly. The scream stopped abruptly and a voice emerged from the daemon’s mouth. ‘Die,’ was all it said, but the voice curdled the air with its menace. It said the word with such implicit urgency and underlying cruelty that three of the trolls immediately flung themselves from the narrow mountain path. A fourth paused briefly. It had been behind the three who had just flung themselves to their doom and had not received the full brunt of the daemon’s will. A repeat of the one-word command, however, and the troll joined its brethren, crashing down the mountainside and slicing itself open on the snow-covered rocks on the way.
The majority of those that remained had already turned on their brethren in a furious rage and begun battling, tearing one another limb from limb. For long moments the mountain pass resounded with the noise of trolls grunting and screaming. Valkia and her army moved back as far as the daemonic shield allowed before it snapped she would go out of range. She could feel Locephax drawing power from her own body as she used his ability but she held firm.” – Valkia the Bloody “Come closer, boy, came a whispering, sibilant hiss in the confines of his head. Kruath shook his head, blinking hard to shake the sensation. He had been mind-touched before by one of the city sorceresses and he had despised the feeling then. This was magnified exponentially and brought bile rushing to his throat. The daemon’s eyes closed once, before flaring wide open. The previously black irises were replaced by steadily glowing orbs of arterial scarlet. It was a piercing, hypnotic stare and Kruath felt inexplicably drawn to it.
Come closer. Is she not magnificent? Is she not glorious? Come, boy. Embrace the bride of Khorne. Bask in her glory. And then, when you can bear her majesty no more, take your sword and run it through her. Slaughter Valkia the Bloody where she stands. Do this thing and my god’s reward to you will be infinite. The daemon shield’s words were utterly compelling and Kruath knew that it was possible. A brief thought fluttered through his consciousness, wondering why it was that this daemonic thing was whispering promises to him and not to Darkhand. Surely the captain was the greater threat? And then Kruath knew. The daemon clearly understood that he, Kruath, was the greater warrior. He could kill Valkia. And he could also do so much more…”- Siege of Naggarond “A huge manticore bearing a sorceress soared above the wall and headed for the rear of the Chaos lines. Valkia raced in her wake but other sorceresses struggling with the harpies broke from their combat temporarily to hurl arcs of power at the daemon princess. The diversion was successful, if costly, as flocks of harpies descended on the walls to hurl screaming figures over the parapets. Valkia ducked and weaved between the magical assaults and shielded her body from another. Black lightning crashed against Locephax and the former daemon prince of Slaanesh absorbed it into his twisted being. His eyes and mouth opened wide and fingers of purple fire returned to the caster, immolating her with a flash of vile energies.”-Siege of Naggarond
Scarlet Armor: This suit of armor bleeds blood when struck, shifting plates around to protect the queen and saps the strength of the enemies striking her. Generally requires magical weaponry or many blows to wound.
Kormak the Destroyer: The one soldier that remained loyal to Valkia all those years ago, Kormak is Valkia's chosen chaos champion. A legendary warrior riding on juggernaut, this warrior has led the sack of countless villages and is an incredibly formidable warrior and bodyguard.
==Additional Factors==
Everyone within her presence gets inspired to fanatical devotion, however such is her hatred of cowards that if an ally flees around her she will turn back and strike him dead. Probably not the best person to
pair with Skaven. Archaon looked from his bloody fist back up to the heavens, where the clouds had been rent asunder. From the swirling maelstrom above dropped a fireball that left a blood-murky trail of smoke. The witch lifted her staff. The drake’s slender maw opened wide. Archaon instinctively lifted his arms in front of his face. Instead of corrosive breath or a bladestorm of dark magic, the fiery heat of daemon hate washed over him. The fireball struck the dragon and its rider, slamming them into the mountainside with explosive fury. An inferno roared about witch and her monster. Peering through the gaps between the digits of his gauntlet, Archaon watched as some furious infernal entity fought through the flames. A daemon princess, of a terrible martial beauty, had descended. In crimson armor forged in Khorne’s own hate and bearing two great horns from her head, Archaon recognized the horrific creature as Valkia the Bloody – the Gorequeen sponsor of Gorath’s atrocities. The daemon had descended in celebration of the slaughter wrought in the valley below and in honor of her champion’s blood. Swinging a monstrous spear about her armored form, she took the dragon witch’s head off, allowing the shock of its pale face and its lustrous length of hair to bounce down the wooded slope past Archaon. As the Gorequeen batted the drake’s jaws aside with a daemonshield bearing the teeth of its own horrific maw, Archaon took Oberon’s reins. Skidding down the slope, Archaon recovered Terminus and his shield. He left the doomed drake to the Gorequeen’s wrath, knowing that the daemon princess would need no assistance in dispatching even such a beast. Shouldering the shield and sliding his greatsword into its scabbard, Archaon mounted his steed. As he rode back down towards the rising shoreline, he cast a glance back at Khorne’s dread consort. It was agony with the knife wounds in his shoulders but worth it to watch the monstrous daemon slice through the drake’s throat and bury her spear in the beast. Watching her, Archaon wondered if he too might one day earn the infernal patronage of a daemon sponsor. Some dark thing from the beyond to further his interests in the apocalyptic times to come. Riding for the waters, Archaon found himself snarling. Unlike Gorath the Ravager, he did not need such Ruinous favor. He would fulfil his destiny and become the Everchosen of Chaos with or without the help of the gods and their wretched servants.”-Archaon: Everchosen
Adaptive Creativity: 52/100 Tactics: 44/100: In her days prior to being a daemon Valkia was a skilled tactician who conquered many tribes. However as a Daemon Queen her basic tactics usually just involve endless slaughter upon slaughter rather than finesse.
Strategy: 34/100: Strategy? Khorne’s followers have no endgame goal other than to inflict mass and continual slaughter in his name. Her targets are all going to be areas where she can inflict as much blood and carnage as possible. They will go to great lengths to ensure that however.
Intuition: 40/100: Though through sheer experience she is assuredly extremely good at predicting enemy maneuvers on the battlefield, she has been tricked and misled many times before in the past.
Audacity: 97/100: With the exception of Khorne there is probably no one who Valkia would hesitate fighting. She does not care one wit about expending her warriors to die en masse, and will kill them herself quite often.
Psychological Warfare: 51/100 (67/100): Other than sheer terror through massed slaughter, her means of psychological warfare are a bit limited. However her Daemon shield is a skilled manipulator capable of many magical feats of suggestion.
Experience: 99/100: Though undated, she has fought for Khorne at least hundreds of years and an unknown amount of time in the mortal realm.
Discipline: 40/100:Valkia has more discipline then the vast majority of her force, many of whom are howling lunatics that barely reach a 25. She is patient to a point however and will lose herself often to rage in battle.
Inspiration: 85/100: (Applies only to Khornates). Valkia, as the consort of the blood god, inspires fanatical devotion among fellow Khornates, who know that wherever her gaze is, so is that of her god. Thus they will rush blindly and fanatically to their deaths with utmost zealotry to gain her favor. Furthermore despite her bloodthirsty nature Valkia is not above using her feminine charms on either her enemies or allies.
Corruption: 93/100: “Khorne cares not from whom the blood flows, so long as it flows’. She pretty much kills anything she finds. . Her respect can be earned at least by enemy combatants who fight bravely or skillfully. Valkia the Bloody is, in many ways, akin to a stereotypical berserker of Khorne. Her capacity for rage and anger are near infinite, she is obsessed with physical strength and achieving a super high kill tally. However where she deviates is in motivation. While many fight simply to add skulls to Khorne’s throne, Valkia seems genuinely enamored with her dark master. Thus her drive to take skulls seems, at times, to be an almost single minded obsession. However, she does have fragments of honor. She won’t cheat against a worthy foe and, if they fight hard enough, might even offer to ascend their souls to daemonhood(bloodletter) at the conclusion of battle, regardless if they fought on her side or not. She hates cowards and will spear those who flee in the back before turning towards the enemy.
Mobility: 5 Training: 10 Max & Effective: 30 meters Preferred Range: Melee Role: Coordinated Assassination Warband Ka’Bandha, right hand of Khorne, is the lord of the third tier of Bloodthirsters and leader of the Blood Hunt. It is he that is assigned the task of hunting the most high-profiled of Khorne’s enemies, he that is tasked to bring the death of legendary champions, kings and great leaders. In all his history his record of success was nearly flawless Prior to the End Times his only known failure was with the Emperor Magnus, who survived thanks to Teclis’s help. Summoned in the End Times by the blood of Kairos Fateweaver, Ka’Bandha was released and bidden to hunt down the Emperor in Middenheim . His assault occurred at the climax of the battle, and it was Ka’Bandha that personally ripped open the doors to the Avergrad keep which had never previously fallen. It was likely Ka’Bandha that killed the incarnate Ungrim as he covered the Emperor’s retreat. “Teclis stared up at the beast, and felt fingers of dread claw at his heart. He knew the name Ka’Bandha, for it was associated with many dread prophecies and dark futures. The Huntsman of Khorne stalked his prey across the vast sea of infinity, and had last trod the world during the previous Great War against Chaos, when Teclis had helped the human leader, Magnus, escape the clutches of the Blood Hunt. As he had done then, so many centuries ago, Teclis called up the lightning and cast it into the leering face of damnation. Jagged bolts of crackling energy struck Ka’Bandha; hissing magics crawled across the daemon’s armor, and sparks played over the runic crown it wore. Ka’Bandha laughed gutturally, and bore down on them. Two more treemen moved to cut the daemon off. They bounded up the dais with great, creaking leaps. Ka’Bandha cut down the first one without slowing, but the second caught the daemon a blow on the back with both of its fists, dropping the brute to one knee. Ka’Bandha roared and swung to face its attacker, ignoring the lightning that Teclis continued to hurl at it. The treeman caught the daemon’s thick wrists in vine-laced fingers.
For a long moment the two creatures stood almost motionless, straining against one another. Teclis knew that the contest would not last forever. Strong as the guardian was, the daemon was stronger. He reached out, trying to grasp the faint strands of Ghur which permeated the glade. Though the Wind of Beasts was not strong here, it could still be manipulated, if he but had the strength. Catching it, he sent it flooding into the treeman, giving the guardian new strength. He staggered, and Alarielle caught him. Ka’Bandha roared in baffled fury as it was slowly pushed back by its opponent. The Bloodthirster opened its fanged maw and vomited a torrent of deep and ruddy flame into the treeman’s face. The ancient guardian was consumed in moments, and Ka’Bandha ripped its arms free in an explosion of charred wood. The Bloodthirster whirled on Teclis and Alarielle, burning spittle dripping from its jaws. ‘I will have your skulls for such effrontery, little elves,’ Ka’Bandha growled.”
In the Battle of Middenheim Ka’Bandha continued his unrelenting hunt of the Emperor. However, though the Emperor was still de-powered the other incarnates were not. First Cardayln challenged him, the Lord of Fire unleashing a whirlwind of fire that the challenged even the anti-magic runes of the most powerful Bloodthirster. However Cardalyn was tired and wounded. Ka’Bandha gained the upper hand, killed his phoenix and then delivered the final blow to the incarnate, though was dreadfully wounded by the Fire incarnate’s final assault. Prince Tyrion raced forward to fight him and avenge his companion, wielding the powers of Incarnate of Light. However, after a brief duel he too was defeated and would have been killed had not Nagash suddenly appeared and dueled Ka’Bandha evenly for several minutes. Finally, wounded and hit by perhaps every single incarnate at least once over the last day (except Grimgor) Ka’Bandha was pulped by the newly empowered Sigmar.
Offensive: Massive Axe, Hammerflail. In addition he can breathe extremely hot hellfire.He also does have a weird magical ability to summon more Khornates by chanting. Ka’Bandha strength “Even with all that had happened, the Averburg could still have held. Alas, its gates, opened to admit the retreating defenders, were too slow. Before the heavy barricades could close , Ka’Bandha was between them, a mighty claw braced against each. For a dozen heartbeats, daemonic brawn fought the steampowered dwarfen mechanisms that drove the gate. With each passing moment, more bloodletters streamed beneath the greater daemon’s outstretched arms and into the Averburg’s courtyard. Helblasters flamed, and the leading daemons vanished, torn apart by the hail of shot. More bloodletters flooded in behind, hacking down the gunnery crews before they could reload. Worse yet for the Averburg’s defenders, a series of clanging booms sounded somewhere in the walls as piston-seals blew and scalding steam vented into the gatehouse. The gates gave one last shudder and went still. With a bellow of victory, Ka’Bandha passed beneath the crest of Siggurd, and into the last remaining fortress of the Empire.”- ET Archaon
Defense: Ka’Bandha is an immensely durable Bloodthirster, able to ignores bullets, arrows, spears and more as if they were just pinpricks. Courtesy of the highest level anti-magic, combined with his own durability, he tanked magical blasts from every incarnate before Sigmar finally put him down.
===ADDITIONAL FACTORS=== Ka’Bandha has a perverse honor system and has been known to spare particularly skillful foes if they aren’t his target and don’t use magic against him. However this is tendency is fickle and probably depends on the daemon’s mood at the time. He is also bound by the traditions of the Blood Hunt and must let his minions have a chance to claim kills before he himself attacks. This tradition dates back to the time of Khorne and thus Ka’Bandha has no desire to break it, even if he finds it disagreeable. “Handguns sparked and arrows whistled through the air as the assembled troops sought to fell the monster in their midst. Ka’Bandha bellowed brief laughter as the arrowheads and bullets nicked at his flesh. Then the grim sound abruptly ceased, replaced by a thunderous intonation of harsh and writhing words. Black blood spilled across Ka’Bandha’s limbs, running in rivulets down the pillar of skulls. The fluid gathered in eye sockets and the hollows of brainpans, then spilled over the calcified ridges to gather at the pillar’s base.
The soldiers in the square below redoubled their efforts, some noting in horror that there was too much blood, far more than could have spilled from the daemon’s veins. Still Ka’Bandha chanted, and the pool of blood expanded across the cobbles, lapping at feet and ankles.
The first screams broke out moments later. Wiry arms lunged out of the blood, their dark talons latching onto thighs and arms. Soldiers were yanked from their feet, dragged beneath the surface of a pool that could not possibly be deep enough to conceal their bodies. Panic reigned as the militiamen backed desperately away. A warrior priest shouted castigations, and struck at fleeing soldiers with the butt of his hammer. As he railed at the fleeing men, a horned daemon, hunched and wiry, burst clear of the pool. Springing to the priest’s side, the bloodletter beheaded the luckless mortal with a single blow, then bounded to find another victim. As the priest’s headless body fell into the spreading pool, hundreds more daemons breached the surface. With one last guttural syllable, Ka’Bandha spread his wings once more, and swooped to join the slaughter.”- ET Archaon
==X-FACTORS== Adaptive Creativity: 40/100: To accomplish the Hunt, Ka’ Bandha is willing to go a little outside of the box, like not immediately charging into combat (unlike virtually every other Bloodthirster). Few innovations otherwise
Tactics: 58/100: Brutal and unrelenting, Ka’Bandha focuses on vicious waves designed to inflict as much bloodshed as possible which then weakens the veil allowing the summoning of more daemons. In fact the very presence of such a large force of Bloodthirsty crazies allows for easy summons.
Strategy: 55/100: Ka’ Bandha relies mostly on the sacred ritual of the Blood Hunt, which he inherited from Khorne directly. That said the ritual is deadly effective and in the End Times his assault nearly succeeded several times and had almost overrun Athel Loren by the end of the campaign.
Intuition: 60/100: Audacity: 89/100: Alone among all Bloodthirsters, Ka’Bandha will hold himself back for a little bit as he analyzes the battle. However, eventually, even his discipline cannot hold back his bloodlust. Discipline: 40/100: See Above Inspiration: 83/100: Ka’ Bandha is almost worshipped as a god by fellow Khornates. Thanks to his aura combined with the Blood Hunter riding alongside him warriors and creatures of Chaos will lose all sense of rationality and lope alongside himself, charging forward on two weeks or four to savage the enemy.
Psychological Warfare:45/100: Ka’Bandha wants to claim skulls for Khorne and little else. Huis psychological warfare is based on his fear and his potent daemonic aura inspiring bloodlust in allies and enemies around him.
Corruption: 98/100:
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 8 Max Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Primary Role : Major General Secondary Role: Tactical (Melee combat)
Though he looks only 16 years of age, Sigvald has blighted the world for 300 years. Originally he was a renowned warrior of a Norsican tribe, son of the chieftain and his own sister, who was allowed to grow ever more decadent as the years went by. Eventually he grew too decadent for even his sister-loving father, and was banished after partaking in the consumption of human flesh. Immediately Sigvald and his reluctant best friend sought out a local Slaaneshi champion who led them to a Slaaneshi daemon. Thus the deal was struck, and by the night next day his father was slain. For the next couple years Sigvald built an army and laid waste to many forces within the Chaos Wastes, luxuriating in combat. Yet eventually he grew bored and retired to a grand Golden flying palace that he captured architects to create. Originally it was a view of perfection; however Sigvald quickly grew bored
with the upkeep and left it in disrepair. In the events of the novel Sigvald an Empire nobleman came to him looking for help in one of the many civil wars down South, a request Sigvald felt boring. Eventually this baron desired Sigvald’s beautiful wife and told Sigvald that the nearby warlord of Khorne had a beautiful skull that delivered “rage ecstasy”
to those who wore it. Sigvald believed him and attacked. Though he managed to surprise the men of Khorne and deliver initial losses, predictably most of his force was destroyed. In desperation he sought out the Slaaneshi daemon he srcinally made a pact with to get a Daemon army. Said Slaaneshi daemon accepted, but ordered Sigvald to acquire him the ancient Tzeentch dragon Galgruich , kill an immortal being, and meet personally with Slaanesh. By luck Sigvald succeeded in the first and second task, but disintegrated on the third. However his story was not yet done. So impressed was Slaanesh brought him back to life and give a power boost. Sigvald was sent directly to the battlefield with Khorne, who was assaulting his fortress, and promptly began tearing through the blood god’s army, using his new-found daemon-god ship, Slaanesh’s direct blessing (He was shining on him) and the extra warping power of the Chaos Wastes to induce defections. Sigvald and his “Decadent Host” won the battle. With his ennui destroyed Sigvald now went off to see the world, fulfilling whatever capricious and fickle whim came to mind. Whole towns are destroyed because he saw their inhabitant’s ugly, crude or irritating, or he just wanted to have some fun. In one case he destroyed a major Brettonian town because the wine they c reated “wasn’t to his taste”. In another example he invaded the High Elves of
Ulthuan because he was jealous they had better hair then him. In the End Times Sigvald emerged as the main champion of Slaanesh, though his role was limited to background until the very end. In the wake of the sack of Kislev it was he who traveled around the ruined country torturing the scarred inhabitants that remained. Bored with this he decided to go to his old haunt in Brettonia to conquer the city of Parravon and set up massive pleasure pavilions there, this time aided by his new daemonic army.
Finally he was directly summoned by his god to Middenheim, to take part of the defense of the city against the incarnates. Archaon treated him contemptuously and deliberately paired him with the troll
Throgg as an insult, directing them both to go and stop Nagash’s forces for entertainment purposes rather than them actually having a chance. As soon as Sigvald was out of sight he dealt the troll what he thought was a mortal blow before reluctantly heading out to confront the Necromancer, sensing that Archaon’s fury would pale in comparison to Slaanesh’s if he did not. Together with his Daemonic Horde Sigvald slammed into the ranks of Krell’s wright army, drawing the Mortarch’s personal ire. They dueled in one of the most intense fight scenes of the entire End Times. For a while both were evenly matched until the Wright managed to do the unthinkable. He slammed into Sigvald’s face.
As Sigvald looked at the ruined reflection on his shield, a fury came over him that was more akin to the Khornate berserker Krell once was rather than a Slaaneshi prince. He brutally tackled the wright and, heedless of his own wounds, beat him to (re)death. His fingers crushed beyond all repair, his face ruined and his chance for beautiful immortality all for naught, Sigvald had enough time to give one last pure cry of despair and hate before the furious and recovered Throgg destroyed what was left of the prince’s visage with his club.
As the Wight king came forward once again, the Geld-Prince caught his reflection in his abandoned shield. His hand barely concealed the wound’s extent, for it r an from his chin to above his brow. Tearing his fingers away, Sigvald saw the bloody ruin of his left eye, and puckered, discolored flesh that he knew at once would never heal. Heal. In that moment, Sigvald went berserk, overcome by a rage more befitting of a Khornate champion. Scooping up his shield, he threw himself at Krell, thrusting, punching and kicking. Fury gave the Geld-Prince the advantage that finesse had so far denied him, and this time it was Krell who fell back in retreat, his laughter at last silenced. Again and again the Black Axe smashed down, its baleful blade hacking deep into Sigvald’s silvered shield. By the fourth stroke, the shield was but a tattered mass of metal and boarding, which the Geld-Prince hurled into Krell’s face. The Wight, temporarily blinded, didn’t see the Sigvald’s next blow, which sliced cleanly through his left arm just below the shoulder. Krell gave an angry hiss at the sight of his severed limb, and swung the Black Axe down against the blade that had dared to wound him. There was a dull chink as the heavy axe-head struck the slender steel, and Sliverslash’s blade snapped in two. Yet before the Wight could capitalize on his sudden advantage, Sigvald sprang forward and bore him to the ground. As Krell’s helm struck the ashen ground, Sigvald slammed Sliverslash’s broken spike into the Wight’s glowering left eye socket. Then, with his armored
knee braced against Krell’s remaining arm, pinning the Black Axe to the ground, the prince laid about the Wight’s head with his bare fists.
Sigvald pounded the Wight again and again, shouting incoherent hate at his expressionless foe. He was heedless of the blood running down his face, and streaming from his swollen hands. He felt the cheek-
piece of Krell’s helm give under the onslaught, and flung the twisted scrap of metal clear, not noticing that the blow that had warped the metal had also sheared off one of his fingers. The prince relished the sound of fracturing bone that accompanied each frenzied punch, not realizing that it came as often from his own breaking fingers as it did the Wight’s skull. Only when the witchfires finally faded from Krell’s eyes did Sigvald slump back, his breathing ragged. At last, the Geld-Prince glanced down at his crushed and bloody fingers, at hands that would never again wield a weapon. Throwing back his head, Sigvald screamed at the sky, the sound fueled as much by his anger as by despair. He did not scream long. As the shout turned into a broken, rasping sob, the head of a stone maul crashed into the side of Sigvald’s head, splitting his skull open and splattering brain-matter across Krell’s corpse. As the Geld-Prince fell lifeless across the Wight’s body, brutish Throgg scowled down at the pair, and then emptied his bladder across Sigvald’s golden armor. Insult and treachery repaid, the Troll King descended deeper into the charred trees and went to claim victory for the Chaos Gods.” -ET Archaon
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Silverslash: A sword that was forged from a sliver of his own blade, such was the favor provided to him. It moves faster than many can track, often expertly finding gaps in armor. Sigvald himself is a master duelist able to take down scores of lesser men, courtesy of a blade that strikes out so fast as to be extremely blurry. In fact in his novel the only times he was nearly beaten was when a Khornate champion nearly overpowered him or when a horde of Khorne warriors nearly overwhelmed him. “As one, the knights charged towards him, drawing back their axes as they ploughed through the deep drifts. As the first one approached him, Sigvald looked away from the bird with an expression of mild irritation. “Be careful,” he said, lashing out with the rapier he held in his other hand. The blade seemed to have a will of its own, twisting around the warrior’s axe with an undulating, serpentine grace, and plunging straight through a gap in his plate armor. The knight stiffened as Sigvald’s sword briefly emerged from his back, then he crashed down into the snow with a grunt, dropping his axe and clutching at one of his armpits in agony. Fresh blood sprayed between the fingers of his gauntlets and he rolled back towards the lake. Sigvald rode slowly on, calling out to the baron as he fought. “The doctor taught me a simple phrase. One the elves use to subdue the great eagles of their homeland.” He frowned and rammed his sword through the visor of another knight, impaling his skull and then withdrawing his blade in a shower of blood and sparks. “Look how odd it is,” he cried, lifting the bird higher, allowi ng the moonlight to wash over its flawless white feathers. “A white raven. Have you ever seen anything so strange?” He shook his head in wonder as he planted his boot in the chest of the next knight to lunge at him. “Such an orphan of nature. So different and beautiful. So perfect. What a wonderful addition to my menagerie.”
As Sigvald’s horse trotted calmly through the scrum of knights, the prince seemed quite indifferent to their fierce war cries and vicious attacks. His sword arm weaved back and forth with lightning precision, skewering heads and slicing throats, but Sigvald only had eyes for the raven.” -Sigvald
Defensive: Auric Armor: The Auric Armor is a sculpted suit of plate mail forged from enscrolled gold. Tendrils of Dark Energy constantly caress any wound, rejuvenating his flesh and closing wounds with a tender touch. This, when combined with his mirror shield, make Sigvald incredibly difficult to damage, for such is his skill that he is quite difficult to hit in the first place!
==Additional Factors== Sigvald appears to have a supernatural charm that gives him the aura of perfection. His feet hover an inch from the ground so that they are never drenched in gore, the ground reshapes himself as he passes over it, and indeed he appears in the eye of the beholder to be supernaturally beautiful. In the Chaos Wastes where the veil between the realm of Chaos and the mortal realm was sliver thin, he could actually use this supernatural essence to cause defections among the weak-willed of the enemy. Sigvald is going to be the main army commander for Slaanesh’s forces, both mortal and immortal. His ability to inspire them to great feats of bloodlust and passion is legendary, as is his battle skill. However
he is far from the best sub-commander, as the stories show.
====X-Factors==== Adaptive Creativity: 68/100: Sigvald is extremely creative however often lacks the discipline to put his whimsical ideas into practice.
Tactics: 34/100 : He might have a very rare moment of brilliance but usually most of the men Sigvald commands ends up killed. And Sigvald is fine with that. To him the greater priority is having his honor guard stop in the middle of the field, pull out mirrors, and make sure that his face was still beautiful. Either that or calling random troops to him to pay him constant compliments! Once he got challenged to an honor duel, splitting up the Chaos force to watch, and refused to end it when the High Elves
attacked, causing mass confusion and chaos among his ranks . Indeed despite the strength of their foes the High Elf codex itself concedes Sigvald would have won this battle had he actually commanded his
forces (or done so effectively). Instead the entire army was crushed, with Sigvald being one of the only survivors because he lost focus and left the battlefield.
Strategy: 27/100: Doesn't seem to have any long term strategy. He invades nations on whims with examples including the time he butchered a whole city because he found their princess beautiful, invading the High Elves out of jealousy that they had better hair then he, and sacking a Brettonian town because the win there “wasn't to his taste”. In the assault on the High Elves he actually killed more of his sub-commanders than the High Elves through "disagreements " over certain leadership decisions he made, insults (intentional or unintentional) and because sometimes he just didn't like the look of them. This is an amazing feat as the High Elves were deliberately aiming to kill his sub-commanders
while Sigvald was unintentional (and the High Elves were employing some of the best assassins in the world, the Shadow Warriors, to do so).
Intuition: 30/100: Seems to have great difficulty predicting the schemes and plots of others, and indeed spends much of the novel getting strung around. Often Sigvald only got the point when one of his lieutenants pointed out of the fact….several times in a row.
Audacity: 87/100: Neither Sigvald nor his troops have fear of death for indeed it is a sensation to be enjoyed…but anything that mars his face in even the slightest fashion is horrifying!
Experience: 72/100: Has led for several hundred years his horde, however much of it was spent messing around in a pleasure palace. Psychological Warfare: 72/100:Though not necessarily applying to Sigvald himself, Slaanesh servants are very good at corrupting and manipulating the inner desires of those who they face. Sigvald can use a supernatural aura that causes men to feel ashamed attacking him and when backed up with magic might even cause defections.
Discipline: 30/100 :On the battlefield Sigvald most personifies these battlefield passions and exaggerated emotions. He will luxuriate in his emotions, even those dark ones like despair, even if it is harmful to his health or those around them. In one instance he even killed a noted friend of many years simply because he wanted to push his emotional turmoil of the time to a further point. Though he later regretted his friend’s death, he then used the opportunity to bask in his grief. Other examples include taking out a mirror to look at in the middle of battle, getting manipulated into battle with only a few
choice words by a scheming lieutenant, and generally being a slave to his whims at the time. On at least one occasion he got distracted and left the battlefield because of it. However oddly enough Sigvald is able to instill discipline in his men well enough, for they know that if he wins he will let them indulge in every perverted desire they could ever want. It is thanks to Sigvald’s ability to wave a treat in front of their faces that he can instill a semblance of order….when he cares to.
Inspiration: 80/100: Perhaps his single, greatest trait, Sigvald can inspire fanatical devotion among his troops. Without a second thought they will lay down their lives to protect their aloof commander, and can be motivated into extreme fanaticism on the battle by just a few words spoken by their prince. This is in part due to his inspiring presence and vision of beauty, partially thanks to the clear favor Slaanesh has in him, but also because these troops know that after battle is done Sigvald will allow them to fulfill their most depraved desires free of intervention. However these only really applies to his followers, and allied Warbands of other gods can and do question his army decisions at every opportunity, and not without cause....
Corruption: 91/100: Randomly butchers whole populations at whims, allows his men to engage in incredibly heinous acts.
Mobility: 6 Training: 5 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Spell (Ethrac), Melee (Otto & Ghurk) Primary Role: Major Generals
Secondary Role: Tactical (Melee & Sorcery) In the distant past, the Glottkin brothers were the triplet sons of two unofficial emissaries of the Empire . Their parents had come to the Norselands to make peace, to slowly teach the Norse the benefits of civilization and make them if not friendly, than passable neighbors to the Empire. They did not want to prolong the cycle of violence but break it. However the mother was infected at birth with a deadly disease and, in desperation she begged the gods to save her children. Unbeknownst to her Nurgle heard
and accepted the plea. For years the Glotts –Otto, Ethrac and Ghuerek- lived peaceful lives in the Norse tribes, working with their mother (a minor wizard in the Lore of Life) and their father ( a farmer) to teach the Norscans to farm. For a time, all seemed well, and the Glotts brought the arts of the civilized realms to their adopted people. Otto helped his father harvest his crops with a great scythe of his own making; Ethrac aided his mother in rituals of fecundity that coaxed verdant life from the Norscan ice fields. Only Ghurek proved wayward, more interested in brawling and chasing women than helping his family in more wholesome pursuits. Though the Glottkin’s parents worked hard to promote peace, they could not dissuade the Norscans from the seaborne raids that were so deeply ingrained within their culture. In the autumn of 2506, the forces of the Imperial province of Nordland came in search of retribution. Over a thousand state troops made landfall to bring war to the fjord tribes that had taken the Glotts into their culture. The triplets fought bitterly against the Empire, each scoring a massive tally of kills, yet alas in the fighting their parents were killed. In hatred, desperation and a zeal for vengeance the Triplets called upon their latent Nurglite gifts. The seeds of mayhem that had been planted within their souls, watered by the blood of battle, finally began to bear fruit. Otto cut men down like autumn corn as his scythe swung left and right. Handgunner
bullets thudded into his chest and even his face, but they did not break the skin. Ethrac’s magics became ever more destructive, reducing men to pools of black slime and causing maggots of dark
energy to eat his foes from the inside out . Ghurek was filled with a daemonic strength, the warrior punching clean through torsos and guts before picking up great cannon by its muzzle and swinging it
like a giant club to sweep his foes over the cliff. The Empire army broke under the fury of the Glottkin, as they came to be known. Since then with every passing year Nurgle has seen to gift his favorites with ever more gifts. Ghurek grew larger and larger as his ravenous appetite for life turned into desperate gluttony. Eventually man became monster as Ghurek gained terrible strength, but lost the ability to reason. Known for growling a corrupted version of his own name, ‘Ghurk’ was refashioned by his adoptive grandfather into an obese spawn-thing so large his brothers took to riding him to war. Great horns sprouted from his shoulders, popping boils covered his back, and his arms mutated hideously, one into a lamprey maw, the other into a muscular tentacle, the better to scoop up victims to sate his terrible hunger. Ghurk could slay giants
and ice drakes alike, devouring their corpses and later defecating heaving mounds from which strange new forms of life emerged into the light.
Embittered by the loss of his mother and father, Ethrac became dark of heart. His spells turned ever fouler, and the types of life they propagated were vile and unwholesome. The sorcerer burnt his parents’ bodies on a brazier that he has borne ever since, the stinking scent of burnt offal drawing clouds of flies wherever he roams. The remains of his parents still smolder there to this day, a cremated reminder of the vengeance their sorcerous son has yet to take. Of all the triplets, Otto embraced his new destiny with the most fervor. He became a true devotee of Nurgle, intending to sow unbridled life across the world in every manner and form, no matter how stomach-churning. His scabrous body bloated and became as tough as bark . Though the wounds he suffered on his steady rise to glory often did not heal completely, the contagions that drizzled from his opened guts grew so virulent they were soon weapons in their own right. Otto took to coating the
blade of his scythe with his own poisonous juices whenever he went into battle, cementing his reputation as a harbinger of plague . Amongst all the brothers it is Otto who is the most driven. His taste for carnage has seen the roaming Glottkin triumph against Warbands that worshipped Slaanesh, Tzeentch, and even mighty Khorne. More tribesmen followed close behind. Their muscular torsos were laid open to the spine as Otto swung his scythe in a powerful arc. ‘You believe your simpleton blood god is stronger than Father Nurgle himself?’ shouted Otto. ‘Today we Glottkin will teach you that i t is Khorne who is truly weak!’ Otto set his feet and prepared to meet the tribesmen he had goaded forward. Beside him, his brother Ethrac raised a gnarlwood staff. ‘Blood must pulse, in death convulse,’ the sorcerer whispered from the thin slit of his mouth. ‘Moldered bone and nothing else!’ Moments later a knot of tribesmen charging towards Otto stumbled to a halt and shivered hard before exploding in a shower of gore. Splinters of rotting bone flew out in all directions, sinking into the flesh of the northmen crammed in close. ‘Ghurk, show them your gifts,’ said Otto. A moment later the giant, muscular hulk that was Ghurk Glott slammed down into the massed survivors, his misshapen arms flying left and right as he crushed warriors into the dirt. Otto’s brother might have been a boulder of rotting flesh with the temper of a wounded bull, but witnessing him putting his dread strength to use always put a hideous smile on his brother’s face.
Otto shoved a pair of charging tribesmen down the boulder-strewn cliff as Ghurk snatched a wheeling horseman from the saddle and smashed him head first into the ground. The enemy fell back in confusion, and Otto smiled wryly to see the hand of another would-be champion of Khorne sticking out from beneath his brother’s buttocks.
‘Let us ascend, my brothers!’ he said, motioning to his brother Ethrac to join him. Otto stepped onto Ghurk’s broad shoulders and swung his scythe blade low, cutting open the chests of a handful of Reavers that were trying to bar their path. “Another wave of tribesmen surged up the boulder-strewn hill towards the three figures silhouetted against the sky. From the flagstones of the shrine cresting the peak, Otto Glott grinned down at the blood-covered masks growling up at him. A carpet of tattooed corpses lay sprawled between the shrine’s pillars, each one a gratifyingly messy kill. He scratched lazily at the warts on his wattled neck. ‘Come forwards, my battle-hungry friends,’ he boomed. ‘It is a fine day, and my brothers and I will gladly help you to your graves!’ Otto chuckled fondly. These so-called Red Reavers clearly thought the Glottkin would tire; that eventually Nurgle’s favored grandchildren would let themselves be overwhelmed . The marauders were sorely mistaken. Otto rested his rust-pocked scythe against his shoulder, took off his helmet and spat a bloody clot of infected phlegm toward the largest of the tribesmen below. It hit home in the champion’s eye with a fat slap. Enraged, the bloodstained brute bounded up from the ranks of his fellows with a roar of anger. ‘Predictable,’ chuckled Otto, replacing his helm and sweeping his scythe low. The Reaver’s head popped off like a cork from a bottle of bad wine. Spurting blood, it bounced off a spiked pillar and disappeared into the throng. ‘ENOUGH!’ The booming voice rang out, its thunder loud enough to shake the scree from the shrine’s sides. Otto blinked in shock, his knees buckling as the Red Reavers stopped and lowered their axes. Somehow the irresistible authority of the newcomer’s command had blown away the clouds of their battle lust. As one, the tribesmen shuffled and parted, their eyes cast down. A heartbeat later, the causeway to the shrine’s top was clear. At its far end, Otto could see a figure of such undeniable majesty that all three of the Glottkin knelt in deference. Archaon, Lord of the End Times, had come”- End Times: Glottkin
Such was their clear favor with Nurgle, which in the End Times Archaon sought them out and put them in charge of a Nurglite invasion of the Empire. The brothers were to lead the largest of a three-pronged invasion force south, a horde of millions, to surround and destroy the Imperial capital city of Altdorf. The brothers commenced their invasion of the coastal city of Marienburg, flooding it with ghastly artifacts given by their fel patron Nurgle and all manner of plagues. Specifically, a pot made by Nurgle
himself was used that saw the weapons and armor of many defenders simply rotting off their bodies. Though the natives put up a fight, eventually the sheer breadth of the massive seaborne invasion, combined with the plagues broke their will to fight. In hours, the Glottkin had entered the city, resistance nearly non-existent. Well, from the living at least…
The armies of the vampire Mundvard the Cruel had long been lurking in the derelict buildings of Marienburg, ready for their master’s signal to seize the city. The Glottkin’s invasion forced Mundvard’s hand, however, and with a vengeance the ancient vampire lord did rise to battle! Tens of thousands of undead rose from the murky causeways of the city and among the native dead, arresting the advance the Nurglite forces had made .So great were the numbers sent against the brothers that they were temporarily thrown back, and might have been totally defeated had not Mundvard, in his rage at seeing his long planned dreams destroyed, sought them out personally. After a brief battle he was defeated and his undead army collapsed without the direction of their master. After defeating an Imperial relief force the Glottkin managed to secure the city. The Triplets swept onwards towards Altdorf, extinguishing defenders within the city of Carroburg after some fierce fighting. As they marched the land itself was corrupted and tainted by their presence and that of the unique magic deployed in Marienburg, combining with the urns deployed by Gutrot and the Maggoth Lords to spread throughout the Empire. Finally, after some delay, the Glottkin made it to the city just as the Maggoth Lords and Gutrot simultaneously arrived. Though each had hoped to arrive first and steal all the glory (such isolated attacks would have failed against the heavily fortified city) by divine fortune they assaulted together, right as a hidden Nurgle conspiracy inside the city caused a gateway to Nurgle’s realm to spill forth. Besieged from within and without the defenders of Altdorf put up a valiant fight, but one they were destined to lose….or would certainly have but for two sets of reinforcements.
The first was a massive army of Brettonian Knights, a good portion of Bretonnia’s total remaining armed forces, which hit the Glottkin’s rear flank. Forced to divide his forces to continue, the Glottkin’s main thrust through the gates was immensely weakened by this action- to say nothing of the not inconsiderate amount of artillery rounds lobbed at them! Eventually however the Glottkin managed to contain the Brettonians, and beat through the defenders. Unfortunately for the Glott, just as with Marienburg, the dead rose to oppose them.
Progress for the Glottkin slowed to a crawl as they were forced to trudge through corpse-infested streets, losing more and more to both the undead and the remnants of their defenders as they trudged along. Remembering the lessons of Marienburg, the triplets sought out and systematically killed the leadership of the Undead Legion, including a vengeful Mundvard. They then swarmed towards the palace. It was there that Otto fought the head vampire Vlad Von Carstein. Carstein, with over 4000 years of swordplay tradition under his belt, had the upper hand until his sword, Blood-Drinker, absorbed the blood of Otto into the vampire’s own bloodstream. As Otto was infected with Nurgle’s Rot this infected the vampire too, and he was forced to flee. Before the Imperial Palace could be claimed the Emperor Karl Franz, Reichsmarshal Kurt Hellborg, and Supreme Patriarch Gregor Martak all arrived in quick unison. Alas, though the battle was fierce the Reichsmarshal was cut down and the Patriarch fled to the
Imperial Bestiary in an attempt to free the Imperial Dragon to aid (he did so, but the Dragon chose to stay). In the final moment the Emperor himself was cut down and the Empire seemingly finished. Or would have been, had not at that very moment the Winds of Magic been unbound in distant Ulthuan. From inside a realm inside the Warp, Sigmar latched on to the Celestial Wind and, combined with the power of sacrifice of his realm, used its power to resurrect himself and manifest himself on the physical plane, taking possession of the body of the vanquished Karl Franz. The battle that followed swift and merciless. Using the latent magic behind his resurrection, Sigmar swiftly purged the nearby city of Chaos and nearly totally annihilated the brothers. Only quick thinking by Ethrac, who teleported the triplets away, saved them. However Nurgle was displeased and as punishment for the less-than total victory he locked them all in three magical jars, to be imprisoned for the rest of the End Times.
However, if Nurgle was displeased, Archaon wasn’t. Between the Beastman uprisings, the invaders from the North, and the super-plagues unleashed by the Glott, almost a half of the Empire’s population died during this period.
Offensive: Otto wields a mighty Scythe that he can hurl up to forty feet out. Ethrac is a level 4 wizard
of Nurgle. Gurk is a mighty, house sized monster capable of ripping
horses apart and even overpowering other monstrous creatures. They also have acidic blood and breath.
Defensive: Nurgle durability and regeneration. In game the
Glottkin are one of the most durable units. “The Bretonnian attack had been an unexpected complication for the Glottkin, and one they could ill afford after the costly battle they had fought against the Carroburgers as they had made their way along the Reik. Only with the principal cities of the Empire broken and left in ruin could the realm of Karl Franz be broken apart, and with it, the mortar that bound the barrier of men, elves and dwarfs together. It was imperative that the defending armies be slaughtered for the great work to achieve its goal, regardless of what nation had thrown their soldiers into their path.
Otto Glott knew this fact well and fought with a cold, determined fury to ensure it. His brother Ghurk merely knew that the scent of horseflesh was strong here, and that meant a feast to come. The giant
mutant bawled in glee as his enormous tentacle smashed brightly-caparisoned stallions and their armored riders into the mud. Ghurk’s other arm, a lamprey -like maw with a long whipping tongue, started the feast early. He smacked the gaping appendage into the flank of a warhorse, gnawing its torso to the bone even as Otto took the rider’s head from his neck with a flick of his scythe. On the Glottkin went, breaking the Bretonnian wedge kill by kill, an unstoppable force that had met worthy prey at last. Here and there a knight would fight back hard, plunging a glowing blade or lance into Ghurk’s blubbery mass. They might as well have been stabbing a glacier for all the good it did. Ethrac delighted in such resistance, picking the choicest spells in his extensive repertoire and granting the Bretonnian heroes one grisly death after another. Here a knight swelled out of his armor, pink and bristling, to crush his own horse under his morbid weight. There a proud paladin simply sank into the ground, crying out to his goddess as the earth below his steed turned to a quagmire of boiling pus.”
===ADDITIONAL FACTORS=== Anything that Gurk eats alive is turned into a Chaos Spawn , which can then be vomited out and hurled as artillery.
===X-FACTORS=== Adaptive Creativity: 59/100: Tactics: 54/100: Though a large part of their tactical acumen simply relies on bull-rushing their vast hordes at the enemy they are shown capable of adapting with leadership decapitation tactics (to defeat the vampires) or unleashing of plagues to bombard and weaken powerful points.
Strategy: 54/100: The Glottkin eventually lost and admittedly were mostly just following the plan set out by Archaon. However the fact is that they inflicted extreme causalities on the enemy while doing so, wiping out several cities and key figures, and contributing to the death of ½ the Empire’s population in perhaps 1-2 years. This greatly weakened the Empire before Archaon’s follow-up invasion.
Intuition: 64/100: Through his magic, Ethrac does have some seer capabilities though it is shown to be limited (he repeatedly did not predict the undead’s intervention).
Audacity: 85/100: The Glottkin themselves might occasionally hang back but they clearly have little to no fear of death under most circumstances. Nor do they have qualms sending mass troops to die.
Psychological Warfare: 62/100: The Glottkin know how to demoralize foes with diseases, however admittedly this is just what Nurglites do by default anyway.
Experience: 62/100: The triplets have been fighting for close to 15 years, however they only recently became leaders of a major Chaos force as a result of Nurgle’s blessing.
Discipline: 42/100 : Difficulty in putting desires for personal glory on par with overall Chaos desires.
Inspiration: 72/100: The Glottkin are respected among their fellow Nurglites for the clear favor their god has bestowed upon them and the honor Archaon has given them. However there is still some disunity among followers of the other gods, and other Nurglite commanders on their big campaign all tried to upstage them.
Corruption: 93/100:
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 10 Max & Effective Range: 500 meters Preferred Range: Testing Range Role: Major General Secondary Role: Tactical & Strategic Support (magical Aid, Melee Combat, Disease Creation)
Whilst other Great Unclean Ones work to spread the plagues already extant, Ku’gath, the Plaguefather, is fascinated by the breeding of new and virulent life. Ku’gath aims to one day breed a contagion that
can infect the gods t hemselves. The Plaguefather prides himself upon his detachment — after all, what concerns could possibly encroach on this great work? So absorbed is he in his search for the perfect plague, Ku’gath remains relatively untroubled by the shifting balance of power within the Realm of Chaos, yet this is not to say that the Plaguefather does not play his part in the Great Game. Ku’gath’s experiments are nothing without practical results, and he is ever eager to test fresh creations on the
battlefield. The Plaguefather rides upon a massive palanquin bedecked with alchemical paraphernalia: vials full of seething powder, flasks of indescribable liquid and hessian sacks stuffed to bursting with Nurglings. This great bulk is held aloft by a carpet of straining Nurglings, and Ku’gath is attended on by countless others, all bred from the Plaguefather’s pox vats. Ku’gath’s Nurglings are not merely servants — they are also ammunition, for in battle Ku’gath is willing to hurl them into the enemy ranks. The unwilling projectiles
burst on impact, drenching the target with disease-ridden fluids.
Ku’gath watches keenly as each Nurgling’s pox takes effect. Should the plague achieve Ku’gath’s expectation, he gurgles with a proud father’s delight. If the results do not meet with approval, Ku’gath immediately brews a refined version of the plague, dunks a fresh Nurgling, and lets fly once again. Of all Nurgle’s Daemons, Ku’gath is the most willing to enter the physical realm - his quest for more
efficacious plague-reagents knows no boundaries. A few drops of mortal blood can turn a quiescent pox into a raging epidemic. Ku’gath has discovered that ground Skaven bladder, for example, increases the virulence of Red Pox a hundredfold. Thus, in the cause of experimentation, Ku’gath makes a point of
acquiring fresh specimens whenever he enters the mortal worlds . Indeed, the Plaguefather keeps a variety of specimens, mortal and Daemon, caged in a dank chamber among the sagging rafters of Nurgle’s decaying mansion, so that he always has a suitable supply of ingredients to hand. It is during forays into the mortal world that Ku’gath has encountered the one race that has penetrated
his scientific detachment to kindle his r age - the Dwarfs. On a professional level, the Plaguefather hates the creatures for their resilience to disease; on a personal level, he is embittered by a truly ignominious defeat beneath the walls of Karaz-a- Karak in the initial invasion of Chaos. He would later try again only to fail, once more, before the walls of Karak-a-Karak. Later he would try a third time as part of a wager among the gods on who could conquer the most minor Dwarf holds. Ku’Gath of Nurgle was the only one who failed and thus he was banished to the Forge of Souls as punishment. He has had moderately more successful campaigns in Lustria, Naggarond and Brettonia where, though beaten, he decimated whole populations with plagues. During the end Times Ku’gath
==LOADOUT== Offensive: See Great Unclean One, and counts as a level 4 wizard of Nurgle. Ku’gath is noted for his Nurgling infestation even as a Great Unclean One, and they constantly pour from every orifice. He can even pick one of these up and hurl it as a missile at artillery range.
Defense: See Great Unclean One. ==Additional Factors== X-FACTORS Adaptive Creativity: 55/100: Ku’gath is very creative with his diseases and application of said diseases. Tactics: 39/100 : Unfortunately for Ku’gath, he is most known for failing repeatedly against the Dwarfs and, during the End Times, the Empire of Man.
Strategy: 54/100(35/100 Against Dwarfs): Working with Festus, Ku’gath did brilliantly plan a hidden surprise for Altdorf, which inflicted immense devastation upon the city even as it was assaulted on three sides. The Empire capital would have fallen that day without Sigmar’s direct intervention. However, that doesn’t change the fact that every war so far Ku’Gath has fought, he has failed.
Intuition: 65/100: Courtesy of their senses (see Background for Daemons) Daemons automatically score higher than many mortals in this area as they can ‘see’ possible futures, peer into the past and read the emotions of those they are fighting. That said, Ku’Gathhas failed enough times to where his judgement is lacking.
Audacity: 78/100 Psychological Warfare: 54/100” Ku’Gath (and Nurgle’s) aim is to drive the enemy into despair enough to where they eventually appeal to Nurgle for succor. However, Ku’gath does not emphasize this very much as a battle tactic.
Experience: 95-100/100: Daemonic Experience Discipline: 56/100 Inspiration: 75/100 (Among Nurgle): Greater Daemons are held in awe by their lesser kind and the mortals who serve them.
Corruption: 98/100
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 5-6 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: spell Role : Tactical Commander Secondary Role: Magic (Tactical)
Vilitch once lived terribly at the hands of his tribesmen. One of the twin sons of the tribal chieftain, Villitch grew scrawny and weak in a culture that prizes strength while his brother became the pride of the clan. While Vilitch was scraping by as a shaman’s apprentice his brother was leading raids a world away. Worse when he returned his brother’s favorite past time was to beat Vilitch for the slightest infraction.
Desperately Vilitch prayed every night to Tzeentch for him to change their fortunes. Eventually the Changer of Ways, who delights in anarchy, agreed. Vilitch awoke that night fused to the form of his mighty brother, whose mind had rotted to little more than an automaton. Cackling with glee, Vilitch set out to enslave or exterminate his entire tribe. However he spared the warrior elite, using his sorcerous
powers to enslave their minds. Vilitch would seek out Archaon just prior to the End Times, offering the future Everchosen a deal : “‘Welcome to Bretonnia, Archaon.’
‘To hell with your welcome, Curseling,’ Archaon told him. He gestured to the raging storm above. ‘This is your doing?’ ‘Change is mine to wield like a sculptor his clay or artist his brush,’ the Curseling said. ‘A ship-enslaving storm is child’s play. You should see what I can do with light and the very darkness that crafts it. Or flesh and the thoughts that drive it.’ ‘You Tzeentchians are all the same,’ Archaon scorned. ‘So in love with your sorcerous powers and fiendish intrigue. Dropping clues of doom to come into the poisonous tedium, you force me to listen to before coming to an actual point. I have scores of such sorcerers at my command. You don’t impress me, creature of unnatural arts – and neither will what you have planned for me. Besides, I’ve never met a sorcerer I couldn’t kill. Despite your talents, you all share the same weakness. My steel in your twisted flesh.’ The Curseling chuckled but Vilitch’s mirth sounded stilted, proceeding as it did from the warrior-twin. ‘You don’t disappoint, Archaon.’ ‘You do,’ the Chaos warlord told the sorcerer. ‘You wear both the iconography of the Great Changer and Be’lakor, the Dark Master. Is it not inappropriate to wear the sigils of sworn enemies? Neither daemonic power will thank you for that, Curseling.’ ‘Like you, Archaon,’ Vilitch said, ‘I serve the interests of all Dark Powers, through reverence of the pantheon.’ ‘You serve only your own ambitions,’ Archaon accused. ‘Like all who bear the Dark Master’s mark, you are driven to madness with your desire for what I already have. The treasures of Chaos.’ ‘All but one of the treasures, Archaon…’ ‘And there it is,’ the Chaos warlord said. ‘The bait in the trap you already close about me.’ Archaon sniffed at the glowing mist that rolled and twisted about them. ‘A sorcerous trap.’ ‘You are indeed a treat,’ Vilitch told him. ‘I didn’t expect the dark, driven, indomitable warrior of folk songs and stories to be so entertaining.’
‘A twisted mind, desirous of such treasures without earning them,’ Archaon continued, ‘might seek to acquire them through the promise of the last.’ ‘Very good, Archaon. Very good,’ the Curseling said, the toothed worm-mouth of the sorcerer managing a horrid grin. ‘And how might Vilitch achieve such a thing?’ ‘You would engage me in some fool’s errand,’ Archaon said. ‘Some cause of common darkness which necessitates me and the might of my army. Something to put all under your sorcerous spell. Something to stack the odds firmly in your favor, since neither you nor any of your tested minions could hope to stand before me blade to blade.’ ‘Excellent!’ the Curseling cackled, each sound seeming forced and affected through the lips of another. ‘Truly, the Great Changer smiles upon you, Archaon. Now, the details.’ ‘Do they even matter?’ Archaon said. ‘Always,’ the Curseling said. ‘I see that I still have a little to teach you, mighty Archaon. ‘A great lie – the kind that takes the lives of men, their futures, their very souls – is predicated upon the foundation of seeming truths. These truths rely on details that are an antidote to incredulity – as a life-saving potion might be to a poison – incredulity that would destroy the lie.’ ‘Being in your mere presence is an education, Curseling,’ Archaon told the Tzeentchian. ‘A repulsive one, but an education all the same.’ ‘Why thank you, Archaon,’ the sorcerer returned, ‘and I hope that when I have done with you, the pantheon will descend upon the self-importance of your soul and tear it to infinite shreds for eternity. So, the details.’ Archaon looked about the mist-swathed coastline and the darkness of the storm above. ‘These are Lucus lands,’ Archaon said, his half-remembered truths fielding the lie Vilitch needed him to believe. ‘The coastal Marches. If my charts are correct, Brilloinne Castle is not far inland. Baron Lucus was a famous knight of legend, even when I was a child. As part of his questing he recovered many cursed items, trinkets and dark artefacts of sorcerous power, securing them in the chapel about which he built his mighty castle. I assume you want access to this chapel.’ ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ the Curseling said. ‘Baron Lucus is long dead but the lands belong to his grandson. While he is not half the man his grandfather was, he is wealthy and his fortifications are well maintained. He also commands the allegiance of those still loyal to his grandfather’s memory, including an army of pilgrims devoted to protecting the sealed chapel’s secrets.’ ‘You have attacked Brilloinne Castle already then?’ Archaon asked. ‘I led a horde o f spawn – all honoring the Great Changer with their gifts,’ the Curseling told him, ‘but they lacked the discipline of your monstrous army as I lack your warmongering leadership, Archaon. I lost my unfortunates before the castle walls to Baron Lucus and hi s attendant knights.’
‘So the baron is already alerted to your intentions,’ Archaon stated, ‘and no doubt has sent riders with word to neighboring lords, knights oath-honored to protect his grandfather’s legacy and pilgrims sworn to secure his chapel and its dark secrets.’ ‘Yes…’ ‘And why would I do this?’ ‘You tell me, Archaon: why would you do this?’ the Curseling asked. ‘For one thing,’ Archaon said, ‘and one thing only. The location of the final treasure of Chaos. The Crown of Domination. But you know t his already, sorcerer.’ ‘Let me trade you truth for truth,’ Vilitch said. ‘I know not where the crown you seek is, but I know one that does. Take Brilloinne Castle and its secrets for me and I will tell you where he can be found.’ ‘And then I shall have to gut you, I expect,’ Archaon told the sorcerer, ‘as you try to spring whatever feeble trap you have intended for me.’ The worm-like sorcerer’s mouth formed a horrid smile. ‘We are going to make such a good team,’ the Twisted Twin said, ‘you and I.’- Archaon : Lord of Chaos
Together the two fought through the Brettonian castle, with Villitch serving as magical support for Archaon’s front-line thrusts. In typical Tzeentchi fashion however, betrayal was struck. It turned out Villitch had lied, and had already spread a seed of mutation through the Brettonian’s castle covered by illusions that he could have activated at any time. He did so when Archaon’s force was inside, trapping
the Chaos lord and what warriors were with him with hundreds of Chaos spawn . Simultaneously he assassinated the Beastmaster for Archaon’s force, causing the Everchosen to lose control of his monsters. At the same time he locked Archaon in a chapel of the Lady, whose divine anti-c haos aura seared Archaon’s very soul.
However Villitch had underestimated both the cunning and tenacity of the Chaos warlord. He fought his way through and cornered the twisted twin. “‘Shut the hell up,’ Archaon warned, laying the furnace glow of his daemonblade across the throats of both warrior-twin and his sorcerous brother. Vilitch grew silent, instead revoltingly caressing and calming his injured twin. Archaon watched as, horribly, the skeletal fingers of a new hand eased their way out of the ruined wrist Archaon’s sword had left behind. Threading with veins and then blossoming with tendons and muscle, the hand bled new skin through the rawness of fresh flesh. ‘I’d like to see you do that without your heads,’ Archaon told the Curseling, edging the blood-hungry blade of the Slayer of Kings towards their throats. The sorcerer smiled hideously. ‘I’ll trade you truth for truth,’ Archaon told the Curseling. ‘I fulfilled my part of our agreement, including the part where I walk into your feeble trap.’ Archaon grunted and turned his helm, allowing the destruction of the castle in through his eye slits. Even he had to admit that the trap had been anything
but feeble but he wasn’t going to tell Vilitch that. ‘Now – the Crown of Domination. You promised me the one who knows where it is. You promised me the whereabouts o f such a Ruinous individual.’ Archaon leant in close, pressing his burning blade ever closer. ‘If I hear anything else pass your lips – either set – that isn’t what I just asked for, I swear to the dread Powers, I will slash your throats open.’ ‘…the Dreadpeak,’ the Curseling managed, ‘where the Worlds Edge Mountains meet the Northern Wastes.’ ‘Very good,’ Archaon said, his blade seething against the sorcerer’s flesh. ‘See what a good team we make. Now, I don’t like surprises. Who waits for me at the Dreadpeak with the knowledge I seek?’ The worm-thing began to laugh. ‘Don’t test me, sorcerer…’ ‘Be’lakor…’ ‘Be’lakor?’ ‘Be’lakor is the Harbinger, He Who Heralds Conquerors… The Bearer of the Crown,’ the Curseling told him, enjoying the warlord’s confusion. ‘The Crown of Domination is Be’lakor burden. Only he knows where it can be found.’ Archaon’s lip wrinkled into a snarl. ‘You know something, Curseling,’ he said to the sorcerer. ‘I think I’m going to kill you anyway, you monstrous son of a…’ In the radiance of the daemonsword, Archaon didn’t notice the sorcerer’s own glow. The mist pouring from the shattered staff and gathering at their feet had slithered up about the Curseling. As the Twisted Twin let out a horrid laugh that echoed away to nothing, Archaon lurched forward. The Slayer of Kings slipped through the glowing mist that the Curseling had become. With the sorcerer’s mocking laughter still bouncing around the inside of his skull and dark magic on the air, Archaon sheathed his mighty blade.”- Archaon: Lord of Chaos
In the End Times Villitch would lead an initial invasion of the Empire in the earliest months, only to be driven back when a sniper nearly took his head. Villitch next appears later on when Archaon summons him and orders him to take the city of Averheim. This was an incredible task, for Averheim was one of the most fortified cities in the entire world, but Vilitch had no choice but to take the assignment. Doubtless he knew that Archaon wanted to weaken his force and forever end a potential rival & irritant.
In Averheim Vilitch was quite understandably unwilling to risk the lives of his own warriors, and so he used the Skaven as massive waves of cannon fodder to soak up enemy fire and test defenses. Meanwhile his Chaos Dwarf hellcannons fired constantly on the walls, sometimes not even waiting for
the Skaven to retreat to do so . The only time he moved his own forces out into the open was one of those rare times his army made a breach and then he always retreated rather than face either of the incarnates in those walls. As Villitch bided his time he conducted in secret a desperate gamble to summon a massive horde of Tzeentchi daemons, enough to not only take Middenheim but defeat Archaon as well. Given that his base army already had the size that Glottkin used to sack Altdorf, the Cursing reckoned he had a real chance. However he underestimated Sigmar, who used his newfound powers to teleport a portion of his force and destroy almost all of his hellcannons. Vilitch ran through the portal to escape but was found and punished by Tzeentch. “Vilitch had no idea how long he had wandered in the darkness. Failure rankled at him, and the darkness brought unease. He would have given much for the ability to summon flame, but he had not felt the winds of magic since the portal had closed. Now he goaded his brother’s meaty form through the inky black, ever-searching for a means of escape. It had been Thomin’s fault that he had become trapped, of that the sorcerer was sure. His conjoined brother had been too slow, and the enemy had escaped as a direct result. ‘Stupid oaf,’ Vilitch hissed, as he had many times since Bolgen. ‘What use is brawn if it cannot function when required? You were turgid, clumsy. I curse the fate that shackled me to you.’ Thomin remained silent, as he had in the face of every whispered insult since the twins had first been fused. Instead, he trudged tirelessly into the darkness. His heavy footfalls thudded across unseen footing, their rhythmic pounding unbroken by Vilitch’s constant stream of invective. By and by, Thomin could walk no more. Not for lack of strength, for his enthralled body was as unwearied as ever. Rather, Vilitch’s path was blocked by a smooth expanse of rock that would not shatter, no matter how hard Thomin’s fists pummeled it. Worse, when Vilitch turned about, he discovered a similar obstacle behind, though how it had come there, he could not say. Panic rose in the sorcerer’s gullet, but faded as he made a new discovery. There was magic in that place, magic he could use. Flame burst from Vilitch’s staff. In its light, the sorcerer saw through Thomin’s eyes that what he had taken for stone was in fact shining crystal. Their images reflected on and on, doubling and redoubling in the chamber’s fractal splendor. ‘Where am I?’ the sorcerer hissed aloud.
‘In the domain of the Great Sorcerer,’ came the response, whispered by a thousand mirthful voices. ‘He has heard your prayer, loyal champion, and is pleased to fulfil it.’ ‘What prayer?’ Vilitch demanded of the voices. ‘I made no supplication.’ ‘But I did,’ said Thomin, his voice dry and parched from decades of silence. ‘It is my turn now.’ No! Thought Vilitch. He struggled to speak, but found he could no longer recall any words. Cantrips and spells, the studies and schemes of a lifetime, faded from his mind like spent candleflame. Vilitch did not miss them. Indeed, in moments, he had forgotten that they had ever existed; he had even forgotten his own name. By the time the crystal labyrinth shifted again, and Thomin strode out beneath the Realm of Chaos’ violent skies, the thing that had been Vilitch the Curseling hung mute from his shoulder, eagerly awaiting his brother’s wise instruction.”
==LOADOUT== Offensive: His enslaved twin carries a flail and a sword, while Villitch has a staff for close quarters combat. Furthermore Villitch is a master level 4 sorcerer of Tzeentch, able to use those spells.
Defensive: Little defense, and indeed even his twin is depicted as unarmored. Tzeentch’s favor does give him a slight ability to manipulate fate in this regard.
==Additional Factors== Even when the Winds of Magic are not blowing Vilitch has a dark crucible that serves as an emergency backup of magical energy. Villitch would normally be a commander of Tzeentch, leading his servants against the forces of order (or whoever Chaos fights). However Vilitch has made a huge enemy in Archaon, who has sworn revenge.
ADAPTIVE CREATIVITY: 74/100: Villitch is clever and his schemes hidden behind more schemes and plans. Even Archaon, who by the time he first met Villitch had over a century of experience with Tzeentchi treachery, was surprised by the creativity of his plans.
TACTICS: 65/100: Fights cleverly, though every battle he has taken part of thus far he has lost whether it is to Archaon, Sigmar or even just an elector count.
STRATEGY: 57/100: Villitch is good at innovative tactics and long range strategies. Whether they are wise is another question, as like other Tzeentchi strategists Vilitch suffers at overreach, at comical treachery and not fully considering unintended consequences of his decisions. For example starting a feud with an ascendant Everchosen (who already had 5/6 artifacts when they met) was hardly an intelligent decision nor was his decision to train well over a hundred plus sorcerers- as much as any Imperial battle college- then squander them completely for little gain.
INTUITION: 64/100:
INSPIRATION: 59/100 (90/100): Among those who keep their will Villitch can instill fear, but not respect, loyalty or any real zeal. In fact many plot against him and he must constantly stay ahead with his own schemes. However many warriors under his command have their independent wills destroyed by magic and fight as unflinching automatons.
DISCIPLINE: 45/100: Has some limited self-control however is not very disciplined when it comes to acting on the whims of his schemes.
PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE: 68/100 EXPERIENCE: 68/100: AUDACITY: 87/100: Cautious with his own life however has no qualms with expending hordes of his minions, even valued ones. Vilitch spent even the lives of his valued sorcerers carelessly. Had he not chosen to do so, the number of them would have equaled the size of any Imperial mage school. Vilitch also enthralls parts of his army to ensure absolute obedience, making troops so mindlessly loyal that they cannot think for themselves even when Vilitch wants them too.
CORRUPTION: 95/100
Mobility: 5 Training/Experience: 5-6 (purpose not fighting) Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Magic Role: Major General Secondary Role :Advisor (Strategic Support), Magical Support (Tactical)
Kairos Fateweaver is the closest thing Tzeentch has to a second in command. When Chaos first bust through the warp gates over 8,000 years ago, it was Kairos who led Tzeentch’s effort in the bitter centuries long war vs. the Lizardmen. It was he who helped sack their greatest city and he who hurriedly tried to break Aenerion and Caledor’s attempt to suck up much of Chaos. Only in that last campaign did he meet failure, being destroyed by Aenarion in a duel.
Later on Kairos would be assigned, forcibly, by Tzeentch to explore the mysterious well of eternitysomething even the Great Sorcerer couldn’t enter. And by assigned I mean forcibly picked up and hurled down it. Since he clawed his way back from the Well after years uncounted within its depths, Kairos can see things that are hidden even to Tzeentch. His right head sees possible futures as c lear as day. No
scheme is hidden from its sight and the infinite possibilities of tomorrow crystallize into irrefutable fact. Kairos’ left head sees the past without the petty colorations of perspective and bias. Past and future pulse through a body shriveled and twisted by its passage through the Well. Valuable as this vision is, it comes with a heavy cost. Both of Kairos’ heads are blind to the present; he cannot see time
as it passes — only events that might come or whose time has already lapsed. Kairos’ blindness to the present makes him vulnerable to physical attack — the future does not reveal itself swiftly enough to predict battle’s to and fro. Nevertheless, Kairos unique vision allows him to stay
one step ahead of adversaries, pitting various assailants against one another in time stream-straddling duels. In the arena of magic, Kairos is unstoppable. He knows every spell in existence, every sigil, sign and quirk of mystical power; though even he cannot marshal them all without a modicum of preparation. Such ability makes him Tzeentch’s favored agent. On the occasions Fateweaver leaves the Impossible Fortress it is always in the service of a dire task, be it the recovery of a magical artefact, the predestined crushing of an army, or Some other ineffable purpose. It was Kairos who destroyed Xautec, one of the first and mightiest of the Slann’s cities, in the great cataclysm. After watching his fellow daemon leaders slaughter themselves for days upon magical walls Kairos divined a way to focus all his magic into bypassing the magical shields, creating a small rift in the middle of the city. Through these portals emerged snarling fleshhounds who took the Slann and their attendants by surprise, their collars proving immune to the Slann’s magic. So quick was the slaughter that the Slann could not even get off a telepathic warning. Xautec fell and Kairos soon repeated his success in three more cities though in the last a Slann lived long enough to send a telepathic warning to his fellows. In the year 2520 IC, as mortals reckon time, was when Tzeentch sent Kairos Fateweaver to steal the twelve enchanted artifacts once possessed by the companions of Gilles le Breton. So important was this goal to Tzeentch that he dispatched the greater part of his armies to the mortal plane. So began Bretonnia’s Year of Woe, where the tombs of the companions were ransacked, nearby towns razed and countless thousands of Bretonnians — high and low born alike - me t their deaths at the tentacles of Tzeentchian Daemons. Castles were of no defense, for their crude stones were easily tumbled by the sorceries of Pink Horrors or transmuted by the warpfires of Flamers. Only at Grail shrines, where the power of the Lady still waxed strong, could any shelter be found. Worse, with each artefact recovered, Fateweaver’s Daemons grew ever more powerful. In the initial battles about Montfort and Quenelles, the lances and valor of the Bretonnian Knights cost the daemonic hosts greatly. By the time eight artefacts had been seized, only the boldest dukes would even consider taking the field. In the twelfth month, with only a single artifact outside of Fateweaver's clutches, only King Louen chanced his arm — and he lost far more battles than he won.
The final battle of the Year of Woe was the Siege of Mousillon, for it was in this city that the last artifact lay. At the height of the siege, the Bretonnian armies made one last sortie against their abusers. As they did so, help arrived from a most unusual source. Nurgle had long been fond of Mousillon, for it had been the breeding ground for many of his favorite plagues. He could not bear the thought of the city being eradicated by the minions of hated Tzeentch, and so loosed his own armies. Unaware of the wider battle being fought, the Bretonnians gave no quarter that day. They saw only an army of Daemons given over to fighting amongst itself, and slaughtered everything that came before their lances. Ku’gath Plaguefather bludgeoned Kairos Fateweaver to feathered ruin, only to find himself pierced on the points of a dozen blessed lances. With the destruction of their leaders, both Daemon armies vanished — doubtless to pursue the battle on more familiar territory — leaving only their battle-ravaged fallen and the very items Fateweaver had come to steal. Fateweaver served as an advisor to Archaon during the early part of the End Times, using his gift of future and past sight to aid in the planning of his campaign. Ever treacherous however Archaon wisely was distrustful of his advice. In the battle of Middenheim Kairos would serve on the frontlines, where he was taken out- but not banished- by the wizard Gregor Martak. Still scheming he was after the battle seized by Archaon and sacrificed to Khorne to bring the Bloodthirster, Ka’Bandha, into existence. “He knew it was coming. His right head had foretold of the unfolding events aeons ago while his left head, always trapped in the past, remembered the outcome. The Hag Sorceress was summoning him, the Oracle of Tzeentch, Kairos Fateweaver. Dragging him from the Impossible Fortress into the mortal realm, a journey he would normally undertake only under his masters will. And Morathi was certainly not his mistress. The Hag Sorceress had presumed too much and for that she and her kind would be chastised. With an eternity to plan, the Lord of Change had weaved together the strands of time and set in motion plans and counterploys, which would culminate in the summoning. Another of Tzeentch's favoured, the Changeling, was present as Morathi intoned the sigils of confinement. In the guise of one of the acolytes, the Changeling quite deliberately uttered the wrong cadence. It was so subtle that it remained undetected by Morathi's large gathering of acolytes and yet when binding Daemons mispronouncing just one syllable can have devastating effects. And so it did. With gleeful abandon the Changeling cast off his disguise as the Fateweaver started to take form in the centre of the rune-laden temple. Morathi instantly knew she was undone and took to her dark mount as the gathered acolytes were ripped and warped asunder, possessed by a daemonic horde even as the land around the fleeing witch began to ripple with energy. Her army of bodyguards had stood well back from the ritual and immediately started to form battlelines as the Hag Sorceress flew overhead and the Daemon army took shape a mere bow's flight away. A Dark Rider was dispatched to the black tower on the horizon, tasked to bring back reinforcements, but the Changeling was still about, revelling in the disorder, and he had other plans...”-WD 368
==LOADOUT==
Offensive: Kairos Fateweaver wields the Staff of Tomorrow, allowing him to at tempt to alter fate so that a lucky opponent might have his luck severed, or a mediocre attack becomes more devastating. This takes a bit of preparation however and fate being fickle this alteration has the potential to be more underwhelming then the srcinal attempt! Between the two heads Kairos knows all eight of the main lores, as well as the lore of Tzeentch,
requiring only a little preparation to muster them.
Good artwork from 40k
Defense: Kairos can manipulate fate to avoid certain attacks, though even he struggles to do so as he cannot predict the chaotic actions on the battlefield. Furthermore his reaction time to events as they happen is extremely slow.
==Additional Factors== When Kairos appears, it’s always a sign of Tzeentch’s personal interest in the engagement. Kairos will give Chaos some potent advantages thanks to his long-term farsight, once summoned X-Factors
Adaptive Creativity: 29/100: Kairos, though creative, is bad at on the spot thinking and will be extremely surprised, even paralyzed, by sudden turn arounds that he did not foresee (rare that they are).
Tactics: 75/100: Thanks to knowing the outcome of battles several millennia in advance Kairos wins the majority of battles that he fights. However he can be surprised and beaten, as Ku’Gath, Archaon, Gregor Martak, & Aenarion all did.
Strategy: 80/100: Again, extremely good at crafting long campaigns and strategies if given enough foresight.
Intuition: 92/100 :Kairos has perhaps the single greatest foresight in Warhammer Fantasy. He can see things that not even his master can.
Psychological Warfare: 62/100: Kairos has directed sabotage and corrupted individuals in the past. His foresight should really help him in this subject, however there is a lack of feats.
Audacity: 45/100: Kairos is loath to risk himself unless absolutely necessary. Discipline: 55/100 Inspiration: 50/100 Corruption: 95/100
Mobility: 5 Training/Experience: 6 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role: Major General Secondary Role: Combat(tactical) Of the great Beastlords only Gorthor is more infamous then Khazrak. And even he may be eclipsed soon, as more and more Beastmen flock to the Foe-Renders banner. With good reason to, for Khazrak is said to be the most cunning Beastman alive. Khazrak began his career as a bestigor under Beastlord Graktar. Unlike many ambitious bestigor, who take the first opportunity they can get to challenge the Beastlord, Khazrak bid his time. He watched and learned how the Beastlord operated, its general tactics, potential improvement and the way it fought enemies. Khazrak was patient and cunning. He knew that his Beastlord was a formidable fighter, one who had crushed countless rebellious bestigor beneath his hooves. For his part Graktar seemed to recognize the threat Khazrak posed and tried to limit the threat he posed by seeming to favor other bestigor. Yet in this Graktar was outmaneuvered, and Khazrak quickly gained the favor of the local
Bray-shaman. Noticing his Beastlord heavily wounded after a raid on a caravan, Khazrak seized this moment to challenge him to a duel. It was a long fight but ultimately one that Khazrak emerged victorious, keeping
one of Graktar's horns as a trophy. Yet oddly he let his former master live as Khazrak found him to be a worthy foe to challenge wits against in the future.
This was just the start of Khazrak's reign. Humanity quickly learned both of his name and how terrifying a commander he could be. Entire settlements were raized, caravans destroyed, and military
retribution was either eluded or led into terrible ambushes. Eventually elector count Boris Todbringer, an eccentric and clever count himself, got involved in the hunt. For a while Khazrak eluded even him however eventually he was forced to battle. During that conflict Todbringer's magical runeblade cut out Khazrak's eye after a terrible duel. Only the intervention of Khazrak's trained hounds saved the Beastlord's life and allowed him to flee.
Normally such a wound would be a death sentence in Beastman society however Khazrak was clever enough to ward off all such challenge while planning for revenge. For many months he brooded in his lair and watched Boris from afar, patiently plotting. Then when the time for battle arrived he expertly lured the count into an ambush, killing most of his retinue and then,
with slow deliberation, gouging out an eye with his horn. Yet Khazrak liked matching wits with the count, so he let him live. In response the Empire sent even more armies to hunt him. Those Khazrak hasn't eluded are never seen again, their bodies and souls scarified to the dark gods. More and more towns, forts and even castles fell to his well-planned (for a Beastman) attacks. By the time of the End Times he had become a fearsome force in the Drakwald forests. Several years into the End Times Khazrak decided to at last end his old rivalry with Count Todbringer, even as the elector sought to end his insane grudge with the Beastman leader. Khazrak succeeded in ambushing and destroying the Elector Count’s force however hubris forced him into a duel. Though both were wounded in the end Todbringer prevailed, even if he was shortly torn apart by Beastmen thereafter. “ Horns blew, loud and low and long. The sound shivered through him, and the Beastmen pulled back, whining and griping like hounds denied the kill. Something pushed through their ranks and came into view. ‘I knew it,’ Todbringer murmured. Khazrak the One-Eye had come to claim his due. The banebeast of the Drakwald was large, and bulky, heavy with muscle and old scars beneath a suit of piecemeal armour. Yellowing skulls hung from his leather belt, and he carried a barbed whip in one giant paw, and a blade covered in ruinous sigils in the other. The trees rustled in a sudden breeze, and it sounded like laughter. Khazrak spread his arms and the Beastmen backed away, making room. Todbringer felt his heart speed up. Khazrak hadn’t just come to watch him die. The banebeast had come to kill him. Mortal enemies, brought together by fate. The thought brought a mirthless smile to Todbringer’s face. He glanced up. The clouds resembled vast faces in the sky, leering down through the canopy of branches:
like gamblers watching a dog savage rats in a pit, he thought. ‘Well,’ he croaked, ‘here we are again, old beast.’ Khazrak hesitated. The beastman’s good eye narrowed. For the first time, Todbringer noticed how much white there was in the other’s hair, and how carefully the beast moved. Like an old warrior, conserving strength. Like Todbringer himself. He felt a pang of sadness. For all that the monstrosity before him deserved death, it had been the closest thing he’d had to a friend these past few years. Knowing that Khazrak was out there had given him a sense of purpose. It had given him a reason to live, after his wife’s death, even if that reason was for hate’s sake. And in a way, he was grateful to his enemy for that, for all that he intended to take Khazrak’s head. Some things are just meant to be, he thought grimly. Then, he laughed. At least now I can stop chasing fate. Khazrak’s thick wrist flexed, and the barbed whip uncoiled. Todbringer took a breath. ‘How long, old beast? A decade? Two? It seems a shame to miss the end of the world, but we’ve never been showy, have we?’ he asked. ‘No, best to let them get on with it, eh? We know where the real war is, don’t we?’ The caterwaul of the gathered Beastmen dimmed as he raised his sword. They were no longer important. They never had been. Only Khazrak mattered. The others were animals, and no more or less dangerous than any beast of the forest. But Khazrak was almost a man, and he deserved a man’s death. Preferably, a long, lingering one. Slowly, the two old warriors began to circle one another. ‘Oh yes, we know,’ Todbringer murmured. ‘You took my sons, and I took your whelps. I took your eye, you took mine.’ He reached up to trace the scar that cut across the empty socket. Khazrak mirrored the gesture, seemingly unthinkingly. ‘The world is on fire, but our war must take precedence. We have earned this, haven’t we, old beast?’ Khazrak met his gaze, as the question lingered on the air between them. ‘Yes, this is our moment. Let us make the most of it.’ Todbringer took a two-handed grip on his runefang. Khazrak raised his blade. It might have been a salute, but Todbringer doubted it. No, Khazrak knew nothing of honor or respect. But he recognized the totality of this moment, as Todbringer did. Strands of destiny bound them together, and as the world ended, so too would their war. It was only appropriate. Todbringer brought his sword back and closed his eye. Guard my city, Herald of Sigmar. May the Flame of Ulric burn bright forevermore, and may its light guide you to victory, where I have failed, he thought. Khazrak bellowed, and Todbringer’s eye snapped open as the beast lunged for him. Their blades slammed together with a sound that echoed through the trees. The two old enemies hacked and slashed at one another ferociously. They had fought many times before, and Todbringer knew the creature, even as the beast knew him. Blows were parried and countered as they fell into an old, familiar rhythm. Two old men, sparring in the mud, surrounded by a circle of monstrous faces and hairy bodies. He flashed his teeth in a snarl, and Khazrak did the same as they strained against one another. The faces of his sons, his wives, his soldiers flashed through his mind – all of those he’d lost in the course of his war against the creature before him. He wondered if Khazrak was seeing something similar – how many whelps had the banebeast lost over the course of their conflict? How many of his brutish mates and
comrades had Todbringer’s sword claimed? Did he even feel love, the way a man did, or did he know only hate? The mud squirmed beneath his feet, and his heart hurt. His head swam, and his lungs burned. He was old, too old for this. He could smell Khazrak’s rank perspiration, and the creature’s limbs trembled no less than his own. How many challenges to his authority had Khazrak faced, in his long life? Todbringer recognized some of the beast’s scars as his handiwork, but the rest… ‘Did they toss you out, old beast? Is that why you’re here, and not with the rest, laying siege to Middenheim? Or did you refuse to go, did you refuse to bow before the Three-Eyed King until our score was settled? Were you waiting for me?’ he gasped as he leaned against his sword, pitting all of his weight against that of his opponent. Khazrak gave a bleat of frustration as they broke apart for a moment, and the whip hissed and snapped as the Beastman sought to ensnare Todbringer’s legs. An old trick, and one that had caught Todbringer unawares many years before. But he was ready for it now. He avoided the lash and stamped down on it, catching it. Even as he did so, he lunged forwards awkwardly, slashing towards Khazrak’s neck, hoping to behead the beast. Khazrak staggered back and parried the blow. Off balance, Todbringer jerked back as Khazrak snapped the whip at his good eye. The tip of the lash tore open his cheek. Khazrak pressed the attack. The beast’s sword hammered down once, twice, three times against Todbringer’s guard. One blow tore the shield from Todbringer’s grasp and sent it rattling across the ground, the second and the third were caught on the runefang’s length, but such was the force behind the blows that Todbringer was driven to one knee. Thick mud squelched beneath his armour, and he felt his shoulder go numb as he blocked another blow. Khazrak was old, but strong; stronger than Todbringer. And fresh as well. He had saved himself, gauging the best time to strike. Even as he reeled beneath his enemy’s assault, Todbringer felt a flicker of admiration. What a man you would have made, had you been born human, he thought. A fifth blow slid beneath his guard, and he felt a pain in his gut. He shoved himself back, and saw that Khazrak’s blade was red to the hilt. The gathered Beastmen scented blood and began to bray and stamp in anticipation. Todbringer was nearly knocked off his feet by Khazrak’s next swing. He sank back, rolling with the blow. Khazrak charged after him, snorting in eagerness. Todbringer lashed out, and felt a savage thrill of joy as his blade caught Khazrak in the shin. Bone cracked and Khazrak gave a cry. The banebeast fell heavily, and Todbringer hurled himself onto his enemy, knocking the weapons from Khazrak’s fists. He raised his runefang over Khazrak’s pain-contorted features. ‘For my sons,’ Todbringer hissed. Khazrak’s good eye met his own. The Beastman blinked, just once, and stilled his thrashing, as if in acceptance of what was about to transpire. Then Khazrak snarled, and the runefang descended, piercing the creature’s good eye and sinking into his brain. Khazrak’s hooves drummed on the ground for a moment, and then were still. Todbringer leaned against the hilt of the runefang until he felt the tip sink into the mud beneath Khazrak’s skull. ‘This time, stay dead,’ he wheezed. The gathered Beastmen were silent. The Drakwald was quiet. But Boris Todbringer was not. He rose wearily, his strength gone, only stubbornness remaining. He was wounded, weakened, and surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands of Beastmen. He would die here.
But he had won. Todbringer tilted his head back and laughed the laugh of a man who has shed the last of life’s shackles. For the first time in a long time, he felt no weight on his heart. He had won. Let the world burn, if it would, for he had made his mark, and done what he must. He looked down at Khazrak, spat a gobbet of blood onto the death-slackened features of his old enemy, and ripped his sword free, even as the closest of the Beastmen began to edge forwards, growling vengefully. He was going to die, but by Ulric, they’d remember him, when all was said and done.
‘You want the world?’ Boris Todbringer growled. Clasping his runefang in both hands, the Elector Count of Middenheim, supreme ruler of Middenland and the Drakwald, raised the blade. He smiled as the enemy closed in. ‘You’ll have to earn it.’” - Lord of the End Times
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Scourge: This magically enchanted whip is wrapped in generations of bitter curses by Bray-Shamans, making it especially potent. Its barbs are exceptionally proficient at tearing out great junks of flesh and can attack multiple foes at once. He also uses a sword in his other hand, and is noted to be a master duelist.
Defensive: The Dark Mail: This ancient suit of armor, made countless years ago by a forgemaster, provides even greater protection then the Chaos Warrior's vaunted chaos armor! Most attacks fail to get through, and in addition to that this piece of mail has a special enchantment that actually negates any magical weapons used right next to him. Older lore also has it giving some minor magical resistance and can absorb a little bit of power from those spells, transplanting it to Khazzak.
==Additional Factors==
Khazrak is going to be surrounded not only by Beastmen but a small pack of exceptionally trained chaos warhounds. As the most powerful Beastman currently, he is going to be the one most Beastmen gravitate for war leadership. Any ambushes he leads personally should be considered to be expertly planned, unlikely to have the tendency of Beastmen to get lost in the forest.
==X-Factors== Adaptive Creativity/Resourcefulness: 60 /100: Khazrak has shown himself to be incredibly cunning and elusive, winning him many great victories and sparing him losses. He is smart enough to deliberately target and destroy the supply lines of the enemy. However his adaptions are mostly just enlightened variations on the main Beastman tactic of surrounding and slaughtering. Which normal Beastmen mostly use over and over again
Tactics: 69/100: Khazrak has achieved massive success of the last few years thanks to his cunning, and is said to be the most cunning Beastman ever lived. He is a master ambusher and any army that he personally leads is going to be that much more skilled/successful at ambush and the means to set one up from physical encirclement , luring, opportune timing and feints. On at least one occasion he made like Hannibal at Cannae and completely destroyed his foe. His ratio isn’t unbeaten however, and has lost quite a few times to Count Todbringer.
Strategy: 53/100: Unfortunately his grand plan has yet to come into fruition yet. Worse he keeps letting people live that are clever and smart enough to hinder his plans severely.
Intuition: 67/100: Audacity: 68/100: Though normally Beastmen just love to charge in without thought, Khazrak has seemingly forgone such tactics. When he does charge in it is usually after careful analysis and observation. That said he is perfectly willing to be bold if he feels it will win him the day.
Psychological Warfare: 52/100: Khazrak and the Beastmen realize fully that to humankind they are bestial, disgusting and menacing, that the beast's desire to tear down civilization is extremely disturbing. For that reason Beastmen live to befoul everything that humanity (or whatever race they are fighting) sees holy in order to both enrage and demoralize.
Inspiration: 63/100: Though his leadership is far from unquestioned among the Beastmen, he has managed to unite the largest Brayherd since Gorthor, and commands a great amount of respect
Experience: 62/100 Discipline: 56/100 : Normally Beastmen are given to random if powerful charges and infighting between different castes. Khazrak is one of the few capable of controlling that to an extent.
Corruption: 82100
Mobility: 3 Training/Experience: 7 Max & Effective Range: Melee & Ranged Preferred Range: Melee & Ranged Role : Major General/Magical Support-
"Zhatan the Black, Commander of the Tower of Zharr, orders that a thousand swords be made of good black iron, a thousand corselets of ruddy bronze, a thousand arrowheads of 5 shekels of steel and ten thousand of 2 shekels, and that this be delivered to the Fortress of Zharr when the moon is full. Let it be known that Zhatan plunders to the west and returns within the month with slaves for the service of Hashut. So say I, Zhatan the Black, Commander of the Tower of Zharr, Glory to Zhatan, Glory to Ghorth the Cruel, All praise Hashut Father of Darkness."
Zhatan serves the Chaos Dwarf Sorcerer Ghorth the Cruel, most potent of all living Chaos Dwarf Sorcerers. It is said that when Ghorth presides over the sacrifices of Hashut the only sound louder than the screams of his victims is the gloating laughter of Zhatan, his general. Zhatan is kept busy by his master's insatiable demand for fresh slaves. The Chaos Dwarf has led many successful slaving expeditions to the west, crushing every Orc army that has dared to stand up to him. All the Goblin tribes between the Plains of Zharduk and Mount Grimfang have bowed before his armies, sending thousands of their kind in tribute to the Lords of Zharr Naggrund. The workshops and mines of Ghorth can scarce keep pace with Zhatan's demand for weaponry. Every expedition he undertakes brings further slaves whose labors fuel fresh conquests. In the End Times it was Zhatan that played a major role in t he Cathay campaign and in the Badlands. It was he who, when Ghorth made his coup, seized military control of Zharr Naggarund. In the brutal battle against Grimgor’s army Zhatan struck down dozens of champions of the Beast Waaagh personally before dueling Bragg the Gutsman, who gutted him and left his dying corpse for goblins to to rture.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Generally he carries a Warhammer for combat, though he can take magical weapons. He serves in combination with Ghorth the Cruel, an extremely powerful wizard of the Lore of Hashut (Level 4)
Defensive: Blackshard armor and any magical items he chooses.
==Additional Factors== May ride a Lamassu or Great Taurus. This commander is also infamous for his cruelty and is said to have a manic hatred of all things, obsessively waging war in part due to this contempt. Ghorth and Zhatan have an odd dedication to one another that is unusual for such a treacherous race. Though I have no doubt they’d turn on each other if forced to they possess a loyalty rare in this profile. Other than that both are known for their deliberate cruelty, their cunning and ambition to one day usurp Astragoth and rule Zharr Naggrund with an iron fist. Zhaitan is shown to be a brutal and punctual disciplinarian.
Mobility: 8 (flyer) Training/Experience: 10 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Neutral Role: Major General Secondary Role: MeleeMagic (Tactical Aid), Subversion( Covert Ops) “The grand inquisitori wailed as his knees gave way, causing him to fall back into his interrogator’s throne. The interloper moved towards the throne like an ancient evil. It pulled back its hood, revealing the full, unspeakable horror of its daemonic visage to the chamber. The robes fell like a fearful whisper from its barbed unflesh. It grew with each flagstone-pulverizing step of its taloned feet, twisted bones blooming with
muscle that ruptured into existence about them, lending the beast a glorious brawn and sinew. It dragged a serpentine tail, shot through with spikes, behind its infernal form, while both the daemoncrown of horns warping their way out of its head and the thumb-claws erupting from the dreadful magnificence of its wings, scraped the dungeon ceiling. Like a nightmare, it lowered its sight-curdling skull and moved up behind the interrogator’s throne. Necrodomo, still clamped between the bar and crown-cap of the torture device, had no eyes with which to behold the beast. The grand inquisitori found, with his heart in the grasp of terror, cold, dark and despair, which he could not move. As the daemon brought its unseen face forward, both the venerable priest and the prognosticator found their cheeks bathed in the radiance of infernal royalty. A princely power of hellish birthright; a creature of unimaginable darkness; horror incarnate. The grand inquisitori felt the thing touch him. At once all that had remained pure and noble in the man shriveled within his soul. Darkness blossomed within the priest. Every ill-deed committed in the service of selfish weakness and temptation grew through his being like a rampant cancer. His eyes turned to inky twilight as his face became a cadaverous mask of ghoulish anticipation. The daemon clasped the grand inquisitori’s head in its claws. ‘You search for darkness in wretched madmen,’ the daemon prince whispered to the venerable priest – every word falling on the afflicted ancient with the force of a furnace, ‘when you should have been searching for it within your own ranks. No matter… You are mine now and have no need for this vessel of flesh. Before I take your soul, there is something you should know, priest. A gift for the journey you are about to take.’ The daemon leant in closer. ‘Your. God. Is. A. Lie.’ With that, the daemon prince crushed the grand inquisitori’s skull between its claws with effortless ease.”- Archaon Everchosen: “‘It was Great Grungni told us of his coming. A calamity come of calamities. Daemons born of the landshaking storm. A prince among daemons risen of their dread number. A doom of horn, wing and terror, walking tall among the darklings, causing mountains to quake and hearts to thump at his passing. He claims the tainted land as his own but Grungni taught us that it was the land itself that would save us. That the depths would be our salvation. That to dig was to dig for one’s life. Some say we did not dig deep enough. Some that we dug too far. That the stone of Karak Zhul was cursed long before any dwarf set foot here or desecrated the darkness with pick and shovel. He has found us. The Dark One comes with his legions to reclaim what is his. I write this in my blood, before it is spilt. So that the sons of Grungni, the underkin of Karak Zhul, might be avenged. For our doom has come and visits his darkness upon our own…’ – Dammaz Kron, The Great Book of Grudges”
Be’lakor holds the distinction of being the very first mortal ever raised to daemonhood by the Chaos
Gods. Not only that but he was raised by all four gods at once, who each gave him a portion of their godly power. The exact story of how he rose is still unknown; however it is known the he was once human, and that his rise has something to do with the gruesome fate of the lost Dwarf hold Karak Zhul.
There he formed the first and possibly greatest kingdom of Chaos to ever exist. It was he who brought the primitive tribes of the North into the influence of Chaos. Leading enormous armies he fought against the Elves and Dwarves, and crushed many races whose names are now forgotten. Statues of ever shape and size were built to commemorate him, and at his height he may have even aspired to become the th
5 god of Chaos.
Yet just as Be’lakor had first united the gods into giving him gifts, now he united them in hatred of him. The Chaos Gods made many champions into Daemon Princes, weakening Be’lakor power, and then these princes sought to challenge the First’s domain. So many wars were fought between these various Daemon Princes that Chaos’s overall cause was weakened, for whole armies were unable to be
mustered to attack Ulthuan at the time the Elves were siphoning magic from the world in a bid to stop them. Be’lakor was sent screaming back to the Realm of Chaos, where vengeful gods awaited.
He was punished, denied the opportunity to leave the Realm of Chaos except when the Chaos Gods wished it. Even at the best of times he could only manifest as a shadow. ‘This was a boon they granted sparingly, and then only to crown a mortal as the Everchosen of Chaos – a ceremony which served to assure the celebrant of his Gods’ favor, and torment Be’lakor with his fall from grace. Each time the coronation was concluded, Be’lakor was compelled to visit his rage upon the world as advisor to the Everchosen. Infused with unwanted subservience, Be’lakor led daemonic armies at the command of this Everchosen, only to be banished once more when his unwanted mortal liege was defeated. Yet once again, Be’lakor proved his guile, and found ways to stretch forth his will upon the mortal
world. In his times of formlessness, he whispered through the dreams of madmen and warlords, offering his service if only they would summon him into the mortal realm. Too often, such men accepted Be’lakor promises, foolishly believing that they could control the Daemon Prince for their own ends. Once given a gateway to the mortal world, invariably Be’lakor slew his liberator, seized the fool’s followers as his own and set them to rebuilding the glories of his halcyon days. Yet such freedom
seldom lasted long. Be’lakor power was but a fraction of that which he had commanded in ancient days, and his ambition ever outstripped his ability. Thus, time after time, a mortal champion laid Be’lakor low and sent the Daemon Prince’s wounded spirit back to the Realm of Chaos, there to plot another escape, or await the rise of the next Everchosen.’ Yet Be’lakor was crafty and continually schemed to find new ways to be free of the curse. In one instance he succeeded in possessing the body of an Everchosen, but before he completed his last trial. The Chaos Gods intervened and then barred him from completing it, laughing amongst themselves as Be’lakor roared in rage and hatred. However Be’lakor eventually got more cunning and sponsored several different schemes at once. In Mordheim Be’lakor first helped influence the corruption and then destruction of the city, then attempted to use its magic to fully regain corporal form while sponsoring a potential Everchosen there.
He kidnapped Necrodurmo ages earlier and helped prophesize the arrival of Archaon . Then he proceeded to ensure the prophecy would be enacted as best as possible, guiding Archaon towards corruption via clever proxy and sometimes direct (but often unseen) intervention). His manipulations and that of his Dark Emissaries instituted the conflict of Albion, again siphoning the magics there.
All of these were only half-successful. In Mordheim he did indeed gain power but was fo iled by machinations of the heroic adventuring pair Gotrek and Felix, who slew his potential Everchosen and helped kill his army. In Albion the forces of good ultimately won, but Be’lakor siphoned still more power and freed him from the insanity that had been inflicted upon him periodically by the gods. In the case of Archaon the chaos warrior did manage to become Everchosen, however he proved willful enough that Be’lakor couldn’t possess him. The pair of them fought a gruesome series of battles. The first of which Be’lakor was actually winning, though he could not kill the Everchosen before he completed his tasks, or else the Daemon Prince would lose his only chance to become Everchosen. The second opportunity was after Archaon became Everchosen, and though the battle was brutal the
Daemon Prince ultimately lost. Be’lakor only barely escaped with his life. Yet Be’lakor had numerous backup schemes at his disposal. At first he aimed high, seeking to become th
nothing less than the 5 Chaos God .To do so he gathered disillusioned servants of the Four Gods and
sought to kill the Dwarf god Grimmir, seeking to absorb his divine power and that of his minions to become the god of Chaos Undivided. He was foiled here o nce again by the adventuring duo Gotrek and Felix, though Be’lakor managed to escape destruction once again.
Upset beyond measure that two of his End Times plans had failed, Be’lakor tried once more, this time to preempt Archaon’s attempt to destroy the world by doing so first! His plan called for the unwinding of the Oak of Ages, which would unravel the fabric of time and reality for the planet. Be’lakor spent months manipulating behind the scenes in Athel Loren, making pacts and deals with
everything from the stranded daemons to upset forest spirits. It was he who t ricked Dychra and Coedrill into an alliance, he who sought out and c onverted Hellebron. Finally this alliance of traitors and fiends made its move, striking the Oak of Ages even as an invading Khornate force distracted many of its defenders elsewhere. In the midst of the
Chaotic battle Be’lakor let his minions do the dirty work, sneaking past the battle in an attempt to gain access to the Oak of Ages. He succeeded in doing so however just as Be’lakor spat out the dread syllables to unmake the world Teclis managed to resurrect his brother Tyrion, now the Incarnate of Light. Using his new power Tyrion drove off a cursing Be’lakor. Once more Be’lakor would try one last scheme in the End Times, freeing the vampire Mannfred von Carstein in return for the identity of the goddess Lileath, currently housed within Athel Loren. It was his hope to sacrifice this goddess- the last in the world- to the Chaos Gods in exchange for favor and power, along with the location of her safe haven on another world. This failed, due to the heroics of a Brettonian knight holding off the daemon until Maleketh and Tyrion arrived, who subdued Be’lakor. With all options exhausted Be’lakor spoiled Archaon’s plan out of spi te and hate, telling them that the
world would soon be unmade at Middenheim. Out of hatred for Be’lakor, and out of a desire to prevent him from interfering any more, the incarnates would trap his spirit in a magical gem where he would remain for the rest of the End Times.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: The Blade of Shadows: “Be’lakor wields an esoteric, daemonic blade, its ghostly form in eternal transience between shape and shadow; solidity and silhouette. Mastery of this weapon enables Be’lakor to scythe through armor, scale, flesh and bone without resistance, its essence changing in an instant from formless shadow to murderous edge at its master’s whim. Whether the weapon is a part of the Daemon itself, or perhaps an ancient gift bestowed upon him by the Dark Gods that Be’lakor somehow retained in spite of his fall from favor, none can truly say.”
Be’lakor knows every single spell in the Lore of Shadows in existence, being a loremaster as well as the Lore of the Dark Master (see Dark Emissaries)
Defensive: Be’lakor is a being of shadows, able to go incorporeal or corporeal at will. In the incorporeal state only the most powerful of magics can hurt him, however he must resume corporality to hurt anyone else. “This one found its mark and the tip of Terminus slid straight into the darkness of the daemon’s midriff. Archaon felt no resistance through the shaft of the blade. The weapon had hit nothing but silky shadow. As Be’lakor stomped to one side – the thunder of his footsteps feeling real enough through the floor – he brought his blade down on Archaon. As the weight of the weapon crashed off the surface of his shield, Archaon decided that the monstrosity was once more flesh and bad blood. Denied permanent form by the Great Changer, the daemon prince had found a way to turn his curse into a gift. Every time Archaon’s blessed blade nicked, stabbed or sliced through the abomination’s flesh it was the emptiness of shadow. Whenever Be’lakor huge blade came down at the Chaos warrior, however, the daemon prince momentarily assumed all the monstrous brawn and infernal ire of his physical form. (…)
‘You will not destroy me!’ Archaon roared at his father -in-shadow. ‘You need me…’ He spat as his rabid steps took him surging through the demolished architecture of the chamber – on towards the twisted creature that was the bane of his molested existence. ‘I, however, have no need for you!’ Indeed, the Chaos warrior had stoked the fires of his father’s daemonic fury. More than he could know – for seconds later the colossal shadow sword passed straight through him in a murderous arc of darkness and gore. The armour of the Everchosen remained untouched by the blade that had simply solidified as it had cut Archaon in two within his plate. The Chaos warrior’s legs took two more stumbli ng steps before collapsing beneath him. In a cacophonous clatter, Archaon reached the floor, coming to a stop on his side. With his final, dust-choked breaths he watched the hulking abomination that was Be’lakor tower over him, the muscular black flesh of his chest rising and falling with effort and a father’s regret.” Archaon: lord of Chaos
===Additional Factors== Be’lakor can actually gain power from torment and terror like a Dark Eldar,
causing him to get magical energy upon enemy routs. He is a schemer whose servants (mainly the still active Dark Emissaries) are perfectly willing to work with enemies of Chaos in order to achieve his goals which seems to be either becoming the Everchosen, revenge on the gods, becoming the th
5 Chaos god, or some combination thereof. “Enormous muscles straining, Gotrek drove through the lightning field to hack at the daemon prince. Be’lakor blade met his, shards of darkness breaking off, misting around the two fighters as their battle swirled through it. Be’lakor chuckled, fading into the darkness just as Gotrek’s axe swept through the emptiness he had that moment abandoned. Gotrek growled murderously, axes tearing up the mist even as it flowed away from him, reforming before the portal into the shape of Be’lakor, hand outstretched and an incantation of power on his lips. A withering volley of black arrows burst from the daemon prince’s claws and battered away at the protective barrier afforded by the Rune of Unbinding. It glowed golden-red, projecting a shield of the same hue around Gotrek. It looked thinner than that which Max had previously conjured for himself. It flickered alarmingly under the barrage and,
much like a mail shirt deflecting and absorbing a blow but leaving a horrible bruise beneath, left Gotrek struggling to get up off his knees. Felix couldn’t believe his senses. After everything they had been through, everything they had lost and every edge they had paid for in blood, Gotrek was losing.” - Slayer. Note Be’lakor only lost because of a shocking intervention by Felix.
===X-Factors=== Adaptive Creativity: 72/100: Be’lakor utilizes a number of schemes and plans that, while usually halfsuccessful, are very creative and audacious in goals.
Tactics: 67/100: A skilled commander who relies heavily on subtle machinations and guile, along with various pawns.
Strategy: 64/100: Be’lakor is an enigma to allies and enemies, a being whose manipulations have been omnipresent throughout millennia. That said most of his plans are half-successes at best or failures at
worse, in part because of his own personality flaws but also due to the extreme hatred Tzeentch has for Be’lakor.
Intuition: 62/100: Audacity: 72/100: Psychological Warfare: 81/100: Probably his greatest trait, Be’lakor has outwitted and cheated the gods before, tricking each of them to granting him ever more powers. This was after persuading all of them to turn him into the brand new position of daemon prince. Even after his fall he has tricked and manipulated countless mortals into servitude, even convincing mortal enemies to make deals with him, as shown in City of the Damned. In the War in Albion his Dark Emissaries, at his direction, allied and
manipulated all world factions, even sometimes the “good” factions, in order to try and ensure his goals were met. He did the same throughout the Everchosen process, manipulating hundreds of individuals who sought the title and having his servants infiltrate silently in the ranks of the various Chaos Gods.
Experience: 98/100: Definitely 100s of years, however though he is several thousand years old his experience is limited to what it should be thanks to the curse of the Chaos Gods, which rendered him insane for large periods and without awareness.
Discipline: 68/100: Inspiration: 66/100: The Dark Master is able to inspire awe in many mortals. Corruption: 100/100: The Daemon Prince did not know how the Dwarfs had learned he sought to raise the throne, to release the magics bound to his former glories, but he was glad they had come, nonetheless. Be’lakor knew that
Archaon would soon demand his presence once more, and relished the opportunity for a malevolence of his own choosing. With a guttural laugh, the Daemon Prince drew upon the magic buried in his skull-borne eyrie. At once, the shadows of the valley floor came to life. Some crawled across the withered grassland as flickering tendrils, grasping at dwarfen legs, and holding the stocky creatures fast as northlander axes hacked down. Others became vaporous clouds that forced their way through close-set helms and smothered their victims. Dwarfs dropped their weapons and clawed uselessly at their throats, ravaged lungs gasping for air that would not come. As the shadows struck home, the trickle of terror became a flood, and Be’lakor drank it in like the headiest of wines. He could feel the panic rising in the minds of his foes, could sense limbs growing numb and reactions slowing as fear set in. Yet Be’lakor saw a defiant soul spark brightly amongst the growing darkness. Consumed by indignant wrath, the Daemon Prince took wing, resolving to slay the wretch himself. A crack of handguns sounded as Be’lakor sped across the battlefield, but the heavy bullets passed harmlessly through his intangible form, skeins of smoke-like essence spiraling in their wake. In response, the Daemon Prince called forth a great shadowy scythe and sent it arcing through the Thunderers’ ranks. A dozen Dwarfs fell dead as the blade passed through them, their bodies unmarked, but each face frozen in a rictus of terror. With a sweep of w ings, Be’lakor landed behind his chosen prey, a red-bearded fool who strode to battle naked save for his tattoos. There was no sound to herald his coming, but the Dwarf knew it all the same. Wrenching his axe free from the bloody ruin of a Chaos Warrior’s skull, he spun on his heel and swung at the Daemon Prince. The runes upon the axehead glowed blue as the blade touched Be’lakor billowing form, and the Daemon Prince snarled in sudden pain. His return blow would have disemboweled the Dwarf, had only it connected, but the Slayer had foreseen the attack, and stepped out of the blade’s swing. The Dwarf was laughing now, making unlikely claims about the Daemon Prince’s parentage, and besmirching his prowess in other endeavors. The insults mattered little to Be’lakor, but the Dwarf’s continued defiance was another matter. The Daemon Prince could sense the nearby warriors taking heart from their fellow’s courage – a malaise that could not be permitted. As the Slayer swung his axe once again, Be’lakor caught the Dwarf’s strike on his own blade and willed the shadows within his own daemonsword to life. They came at once, oozing from the sword to entwine the axe-blade, locking it in an unbreakable grip. Thus, when Be’lakor swept his sword away, the axe was torn from the Slayer’s hands, leaving him defenseless before the Daemon. Even then, the Dwarf did not lose his velour, but came forward with meaty hands balled into fists. A moment later, he died as defiantly as he had lived, the point of Be’lakor sword lancing through his belly. Steaming, blood-slicked innards slid across the ground.
The Slayer made one involuntary mewling noise, and then fell still. At once, the courage awakened by the Slayer’s defiance was smothered like a candle flame beneath an ocean. Be’lakor gave a savage smile, and took wing in search of fresh prey. There was time for a little more torment yet, before the Everchosen summoned him.” --Be’lakor, the Data slate
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 8 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role: General-Tactical Commander
Secondary: Champion Hunter, Melee (Tactical Support) "I am Egil Styrbjorn, High Jarl of the Skaelings, slayer of souls and butchers of immortals. Hear my words! The blood of ten-thousand slaughtered enemies stains my blades. I have bested the nameless horrors of the northern wastes and have walked free to speak the tale. Alone, I speared a great wyrm of the underseas, battling it for a day and night before dragging it ashore and cutting its head from its neck. I have walked the smoking paths of the nightshades and have emerged unharmed. I have strangled Ice Trolls with my bare hands. I have run with the Ulfwerener, hunted with the Ymgir and feasted with the Bloodbeast. I have stood upon the Knife Peaks as the gods threw jagged bolts of lightning down upon me, and defeated one of the great dragonkin wakened by the storm, cutting its still-beating heart from its chest. This and more have I done, I, Egil Styrbjorn of the Skaelings! Never have I asked for quarter from an enemy, and never have I offered it. Until now."
Egil Strybjorn is the personification of the dualistic Norse traits of savagery and honor, a chieftain of Khorne who was as known for his skill on the front lines as he was leading from the back. He is a legend among both his people- one of the largest tribes in Norsca- and his enemies. Even before his
ascension he was well-known for such feats as destroying a Dragon Ogre Shaggoth in single combat and killing a great serpent under the sea. For years he dominated the scene in Norsca, killing countless would-be challengers. In the events of Knight of the Realm he leads an invasion force of tens of thousands of Norscans to Brettonnia, seeking a cursed woman to give him a powerful daemon son for his legacy. His arrival heralded much bloodshed, for Strybjorn hates the weak gods of the South and their followers and desires nothing more to see them destroyed from this world. Multiple atrocities were committed, which resulted in the Bretons mustering 10,000 Knights and far more peasants to acquire vengeance.
To the surprise and delight of the Brettonians, it appeared that the Skaeling chieftain had no knowledge of tactics, for he chose a flat battlefield where their main force of knights and mounted archers would have great benefit over the grounded Norse force which, with one to be mentioned exception, was nearly entirely bereft of ranged attack. Indeed the battle appeared to be initially a slaughter for the Brettonians, whose 10,000 strong knight force charged as one into the center of the horde, which was composed of mostly lightly armored marauders. Unfortunately for them Strybjorn took advantage of their arrogance, their belief that the "honourless Norsicans" would be too stupid to come up with a proper tactic. He placed heavy reserves of Chaos
Warriors behind the center of his force to keep the charging knights occupied, while simultaneously moving hidden flanking forces around both sides. Yet at the same time he ordered his Chaos Dwarf hellcannon(an exceptionally large variant at that) to open fire into the massed knights, killing hundreds with every shot.
The Norscans center, which had been composed of troops made to seem intentionally weak and disorganized from the front, held as the momentum of the Knights failed against the heavily armored
wall of thousands of Chaos Warriors . Meanwhile Marauders assaulted the flanks and rear, entrapping the force as Strybjorn himself led a coup de grace into the Knights ranks; three heavily armored and massive 30 feet mammoths. The result was the near total destruction of the Brettonian army, and a victory that pleased the Chaos
Gods themselves. They blessed Strybjorn's attempt to gain a daemon son, and the resulting copulation would have been the end of it had not the Brettonians kidnapped his son and reluctant wife.
Enraged Stryjborn assaulted their main castle, a keep of such incredible reputation that in the 1500 years its walls had never once been breached. Strybjorn burst it open in a week,
taking grievous causalities even to his force but utilizing great cunning. After his Hellcannon was destroyed, Strybjorn noticed that the perpetrators traveled under the water via magical means, and that more importantly the ford they traveled along with only 30 feet deep. Stryjborn ordered a general assault at the same time sending infiltrators up through the latrine chute to seize control of a vital tower
to open a causeway. With this opened, the Norse chieftain had his mammoths travel directly along the
ford (for they were tall enough to put feet at the bottom and still be able t o breathe at the top), surprising the Brettonians by emerging from the water to batter down their gates. Dragonships full of Berserkers prevented the defenders from effectively responding to the threat and with the gates destroyed the Brettonians were forced to retreat to the keep.
Then his son was born, and such was the power of it that its birth caused everyone to briefly cringe in their very souls. All except Stryjborn, who was just happy to finally have a son. Sensing that the defenders would kill the babe out of spite if he assaulted the keep, the Norse chieftain proposed a duel with the Grail Knight Relous. If the Norse won, his son would be handed to him and they would leave. If the Grail Knight won then Stryjborn would be dead and the Norse would retreat anyway.
This caused bewilderment and even anger among his followers, and Stryjborn first had to kill the most vocal of them, a Chaos Dwarf named Zummah, in a separate duel. Then came the main event. The duel with the Grail Knight Relous was long and brutal, with the Brettonnian boasting superior speed and
finesse while the Norscan had power and durability . Indeed the latter was actually disemboweled and had his hand cut off in battle, but ultimately through sheer strength of will prevailed. Relous was decapitated and the babe reluctantly handed over.
Stryjborn honored the agreement and left the Brettonians that day, but has vowed to return in the future, to bring final destruction to their people. He would live to see this in the End Times, though he was killed shortly after in Middenheim by one of the Incarnates.
LOADOUT Offensive: Garmr and Gormr: The twin hellforged battle-axes of the High Jarl of Strovengaard; ancient daemon weapons forged in the realms beyond flesh in honor of the bloody wolves said to accompany Khorne the Blood God on his wild hunts across the heavens, which drive the sun to cower and flee before the god's fury, creating the alternation of night and day in Norscan mythology. The axe heads are thus forged in the likeness of howling wolves, and are heavy with infernal power, possessing the captured essences of Bloodthirsters. Inset into their hafts are red stones the color of blood, which serve as the eyes of the wolves. These gems burn with unholy power as the axes taste the blood of Styrbjorn's enemies, wailing and screaming with delight as they kill. The mighty weapons are capable of splitting
fully armored men in two from crown to sternum, and in Styrbjorn's hands can deliver truly mighty blows. He also has two throwing axes and when not dueling rides into battle on a Mammoth.
Defensive: Chaos Armor and blessings. Is durable enough to survive disembowelment.
===Additional Factors=== A vision by one of the main characters seems to imply that Styrbjorn is on the cusp of daemonhood.
==X-Factors== Adaptive Creativity: 75/100: Frequently displays creative solutions to his battles, whether it be encircling the Brettonians or having Mammoths travel underwater.
Tactics: 74/100: Though often taking terrible causalities in his desire to win battles, he has won every battle he is shown to have fought in the novel. And won using brilliant tactics too, like Cannae style
encirclement. Strategy: 60/100: Thanks to his limited vision his strategy is somewhat lacking, but he nevertheless composed an overall plan to lure huge Brettonian armies to a field of his choosing. Intuition: 59/100: Though adept at turning bad situations around, he nevertheless is often surprised at first by the actions of his enemy.
Audacity: 87/100: Has no problem sending large numbers of his men, even his daughters, to their deaths if it means he can achieve victory. Indeed the Norse religion believes there is much glory to be won in battle. The only thing he wasn't willing to risk is that of his son and legacy.
Psychological Warfare: 63/100: Styrbjorn enjoys destroying enemy religious symbols, priests and elements of culture, believing them all worthy of only destruction. He also gruesomely kills those
who don't fight. Experience: 70/100: Discipline: 65/100: Despite being one of Khorne's chosen, Strybjorn generally is pretty calm and does not blink to sending copious amounts of men to their glorious death, or to suffer a upset which claims massive amounts of his own troops.
Inspiration: 77/100: Revered by his troops as a warrior-king who leads by example. Thus far, his troops have never retreated except when ordered and gleefully fought to the death.
Corruption: 82/100: Willing and eager to engage in countless atrocities to attract the god's attention, including indiscriminate butchery, rape, and defilement of women and children. However unlike most
Norse he respects bravery and courage, and will give those who fight relatively quick deaths. He will also respect and honor a deal once committed to it.
Mobility: 5 Training: 7 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Melee Role: General Secondary Role: Magical Support (Tactical)
Long ago, Isabella von Drak was the daughter of the mad Sylvannian count Otto von Drak who, on his deathbed, loudly announced that he would rather have his daughter and only heir wed a
demon rather than his brother (and her uncle). Barely had the words left his mouth than the door was kicked open by a tall handsome Southern noblemanVlad von Carstein. Within a fortnight Isabella was married, the Count died, and the Count’s brother hurled from a tower. What began as a marriage of convenience turned into genuine love . Isabella was turned into a vampire by Vlad, and for a century they ruled Sylvania as husband and wife. Then Vlad got more ambitious, desiring to bring the whole of the Empire under his rule. Though Vlad came close to total success, he was ultimately killed outside the gates of Altdorf, in part due to betrayal from within (Mannfred). As she realized that her soulmate was lost to her forever, Isabella cast herself from the city’s battlements
rather than face et ernity without him. Her body was impaled upon the stakes that jutted up around Altdorf’s walls, before crumbling to dust upon the wind. Alas this wasn’t the end of the tale of Isabella von Carstein. Fast forward 500 years, as the End Times begin in earnest. Nagash was reborn and sought to bring forth mighty mortarchs to serve as his lieutenants to conquer the world. However, even before Nagash raised his Mortarchs, another had dredged Isabella’s essence from beyond the veil. The plague god Nurgle drew the Countess’ willing soul back into the lands of the living. This was no act of altruism. Rather, amused by his own abundant wit, Nurgle sought to transform Isabella into a weapon of ironic retribution. She would be a walking avatar of entropy and rebirth, the agent of great Nurgle’s punishment u pon the undead. Too long had Nagash and his ilk suborned the natural order of things, insulting Nurgle with every sorcerous reversal of the
cycle of decomposition and rot. Now, it pleased Nurgle greatly to turn one of the undead into the weapon that would undo her kin. To ensure loyalty, Nurgle bound the powerful plague daemon Bolorog to her soul. No matter how much the countess pleaded, struggled or sought release nothing could shift the daemon’s control. However it was not entirely unwilling, for Isabella needed little urging to go against the majority of Nagash’s mortarchs…or the great Lich himself. Those she knew had treated her horribly, while those she didn’t know meant nothing to her. With Vlad himself, Bolorog poisoned her love, manipulating memories to make him seem abusive and her, a slave. Driven by a bitter desire for revenge against Vlad and all his kind, Isabella marched upon Sylvania as an avatar of Nurgle’s power. Her touch now restored undead flesh to teeming life, working in seconds the decomposition of countless years. The magics of undeath had no power over Isabella the Accursed, while her mere presence was enough to undo the enchantments that held the walking dead in thrall. Even the life-giving properties of the Blood Chalice had taken on a corrupt new form, sorcerous
contagions churning within its depths as they awaited release . Isabella would be Nurgle’s weapon against the undead, Bolorog driving the countess to exact her revenge even as, deep within the last rational corner of her mind, she screamed miserably for release. Together with the Nameless, Isabella and several Great Unclean Ones spearheaded a massive invasion of Sylvania. Though initially the forces of Nagash were able to repel the Nurglings through sheer volume of undead, the surprise addition of both the Nameless (who possessed a massive horde of zombies)
and Isabella herself quickly turned the tide . The remaining vampires, now including Vlad von Carstein who had returned from Averheim, attempted to hole up at an old abandoned church. However the Nameless and Isabella came for them and, though the former was destroyed thanks to the cunning of
Vlad, killed every vampire but Mannfred who beat a hasty escap e. Isabella herself killed Vlad, who was unwilling to fight her, though the effort drained her emotionally (though courtesy of his magical, resurrection-ring Vlad would later return). The daemon pushing her on, Isabella next participated on the assault on the Black Pyramid, the source of much of Nagash’s power. She and her horde of plague daemons launched a full frontal assault on the pyramid. As the enemy was by now actively targeting her Isabella hid from sight initially, however after Nurgle himself intervened by pouring out his diseases through the thinning crack of reality Isabella pushed forward. This forced Nagash himself to intervene, who quickly demonstrated his sheer mastery of the battlefield. However, that was the plan all along, to distract Nagash and remove him from the
defense of the pyramid as the Skaven Warlord Ikit Claw infiltrated it from below. As explosions rocked the Pyramid, Isabella swiftly teleported away before the full wrath of the necromancer could be brought to bear. Vlad and Isabella would come to blows one more time in the battle of Middenheim. There Isabella was directed by Bolorog to destroy Vlad’s force, to prevent his undead from aiding Gelt and Arialle’s forces. The two fought on top of the Middenplaitz wall, with Vlad at a severe disadvantage thanks to Isabella’s anti-undead specialty and his own unwillingness to hurt her. Finally, near death, Vlad seized her wrists,
her curse tearing through him as he did so. Before Isabella could react he took off his own ring and
slipped it on her hand and, with a last effort, flung them both over the ramparts, impaling them on a giant stake below. Isabella was reborn without the influence of the daemon yet, alas, her newfound freedom was short lived. Even though Vampire Queen Neferata rescued her and took her to Sylvannia all perished when the world ended. Not so the three vargheists who followed in Mannfred’s wake. With a blur of wings and claws they barreled past their master, rapturous at the prospect of tasting flesh not already gone to the rot. They were swift, but Isabella was swifter still. Her sword swept out, and one vargheist fell headless amongst the gorse. The second screeched into death a moment later as Isabella whipped her blade around and buried it hilt-deep in the creature’s chest. The third, seeing his prey’s weapon trapped, roared in triumph and pounced. Isabella made no attempt to free her blade, but instead side-stepped the lunge with courtly grace, her slender fingers brushing lightly against the vargheist’s pale flank as she did so. Mannfred had recovered from his fugue by this time and hurriedly urged Ashigaroth forward, but he halted just as the remaining vargheist suddenly emitted an agonized screech.” - End Times Archaon
Offensive: Rapier-like Sword and a Plague Chalice. If thrown this plague-chalice rapidly eats through armor, skeleton and flesh. She is a level 3 wizard in the Lores of Nurgle and Vampires (see Nagash profile) which is a primarily resurrection based lore. Isabella also has several potent auras. The first of which applies to all undead within her immediate
proximity, sapping the bonds that keep bound to this plane of existence. The second, applies to those right in contact with her and is essentially an aura that eats through the life energy (or ‘death energy’)
of anyone touching her. “Once again, the Doomed Legion pressed forward to Krell’s side, this time keeping Scrofulox at bay with their press of blades. Isabella, however, was no longer prepared to stand idly by. Stepping briskly forward she ripped her chalice’s lid clear and held the golden vessel aloft. At once, the vile fluid within began to bubble and churn, birthing a thick, dense spore-cloud whose greenish folds gusted away south across the Doomed Legion. Where the spores settled, armor and bone crumbled away, consumed by the hungry bacteria within the cloud. In a matter of moments, the front rank of the Doomed Legion was naught but liquefying spoil, and still the spores swept southwards, bringing the same fate to the skeletons marching behind. Protected as he was by stronger magics, Krell endured the spores, but even he did not emerge from the cloud unharmed. His armor was left little more than a rusted mass, and his entire right side was pitted and sliced with seeping green fluid.” - ET: Archaon
Defensive: Vampire durability .
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 8 Max & Effective Range: 500 meters Preferred Range: Testing Range Role: General Secondary Role: Tactical & Strategic Aid (Disease Creation, Magical Support & Melee) , Covert Ops The Daemon Alkhor has a vile record of corruption stemming all the back (at least) to the time before the Sundering. In that age the Nurgle Lord along with a Tzeentchian rival/ally led a vast horde of daemons against the ancient Dwarf and Elven empires. Though this effort failed Alkhor alone killed hundreds personally and was pursued into the budding forest of Athel Loren by several Elven princes. He killed two of his pursuers but the third outmaneuvered and eventually disarmed him, only to be interrupted by the arrival of Dycha and several Dyriads. In their ignorance they forcibly buried the two
together under Loren’s enchanted earth, believing the might of the forest would contain the threat. Instead it only brought literal corruption to the roots of the forest. If Athel Loren was representative of fickle, wild nature of life itself than Alkhor was the decay, the rot that eventually comes to claim all living things. For millennia the roots held strong and kept the daemon buried beneath the ground but over time the daemon’s corruption began to spread and his awareness of the forest grew. Gradually a plan formed within the recesses of the daemon’s malevolent mind. But to put it into action he would need a willing servant. In the spurned Ordaana, handmaiden of Ariel, Alkhor found such a minion. Ordaana had been furious of her rejection by the Wood Elf queen as a handmaiden after she had a love affair with a wardancer and in her fury she created a fire that accidently killed her daughter. Blaming Ariel for that she was quite susceptible to the daemon’s whispers and ability to project visions of himself as an Asur prince. Through Ordaana Alkhor struck the first blow, sabotaging Orion’s rebirth cycle but not by making him weaker, no. Instead he made Orion stronger than ever before and at the same time heightening his paranoia. As Orion’s wrath grew he strove more and more to prove his dominion to the forest, gradually turning the major animal spirits against him and Ariel. At the same time he lured, through prophetic dreams, a massive Brayherd to Athel Loren. The Brayherd was broken by Orion but inadvertently in doing so the daemon’s ancient bonds were shattered. Now, even as the forest was rife with distrust, the daemon struck. He freed himself and in his isolated corner of the woods began to create a garden. With the help of his elven servant the garden began to grow, slowly and without much notice at first, as Orion rampaged around the forest trying to dominate everything. Then it began to expand more rapidly, as Orion’s power weakened and Alkhor achieved ever greater freedom. Daemons were summoned and mutated grubs gradually started to carve out a enormous river of pus and bile. This was not done without purpose and, as Alkhor gleefully noted, his new ‘garden’ started to look a lot like his grandfather Nurgle’s stomach. With the spirits of the forest and the Elves at odds with one another, Alkhor unleashed the next part of his grand plan; the unbinding of the seasons in the midst of winter by disrupting the Great Weave via
his pus-river. This ingenious move had the effect of trapping the spirits in the time frame in which they were at their weakest and simultaneously preventing the annual reincarnation of Ariel and Orion. Leaderless, with the wood spirits weak and the Elves disunited, the Nurgle garden spread like wildfire. Within a month the entirely of Athel Loren was under siege with dozens of halls destroyed either by daemons, plagues or rampant mutations. One Elven warlord, known as the Enchanter, attempted to use a massive and rage-filled enscrolled tree to stop the daemon army. Alkhor had Ordaana infiltrate the resistance and foil the ritual, causing the massive treeman to run amok. At another instance a hastily arranged alliance of Asrai nobles attempted to block the Nurglites in a river valley. Alkhor had the valley damned so that it would flood and though the Elves ultimately escaped, many were lost. However the daemon’s plan was far more ambitious and sinister than mere conquest of Athel Loren. Deep inside his garden, as dissension and daemons distracted the Elven defenders, Alkhor was growing
in size via absorbing both the contents of the river . When he grew the size of a actual structure he had his plaguebearers carve out his insides to store every known disease and plague they could find inside. Alkhor aspired to become nothing less than a living avatar of Nurgle and in the process submerge Athel Loren into the Realm of Chaos. Already he ripped a hole into reality through which daemons poured forth. The Daemon Prince’s mission was nearly successful for by the time Orion and Ariel finally managed to return the Asrai were nearly completely sapped in strength with many spirits dead or worse. A desperate unity by a new, stronger Orion saw the mobilization of Dyrcha’s dyriads, the remaining Asrai, and every spirit of Athel Loren in a desperate assault onto Nurgle’s garden. Even then it was in part only thanks to an intervention by Khornate daemons (who fought both sides, but blocked Nurgle reinforcements from the portal) and the betrayal of Ordaana, who had a change of heart once she discovered her daughter was still alive, saw Alkhor’s plan undone.
==X-FACTORS== Adaptive Creativity: 70/100: At all points Alkhor’s plan was both audacious and creativie, cunningly utilizing the internal politics of Athel Loren to nearly achieve a unheard of feat.
Tactics: 64/100: Usually wins the battles he fights. Strategy: 72/100: With masterful planning and cunning Alkhor, in less than a year, went from being trapped and powerless in the roots of Athel Loren to nearly becoming an Avatar of Nurgle and utterly devastating Athel Loren. He only failed due to Chaos infighting and a betrayal.
Intuition: 68/100: Has shown a decent measure at predicting his opponents and has daemonic senses shown in the background section.
Audacity: 80/100: Psychological Warfare: 78/100: Probably his greatest trait but in a year the Nurgle Daemon Prince had subtely influenced Orion to turn against the forest (and it against him), killed several chief spirits, convinced a couple prominent Wood Elfs to defect and generally spread terror/despair throughout Athel Loren.
Experience: 90/100: Discipline: 40/100: Frequently bursts out in giggling fits on the battlefield. Inspiration: 85/100: Alkhor is worshipped by his minions and nearly became an Avatar of Nurgle. Corruption: 94/100:
Mobility: 9 (can scale mountains and walls) Training:8 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Melee Role: Generals Secondary Role: Tactical (Magical Support + Melee) Collectively, Orghotts Daemonspew, Bloab Rotspawned and Morbidex Twiceborn are known as the Maggoth Lords – warriors of Chaos capable of mastering and riding foul pox maggoths into war. Though these huge, larvae-like creatures share dominant physical features, they are quite different from one another. Each has its own grim personality and a name that describes its foul physical attributes: Whippermaw, Tripletongue and Bilespurter. Though not Daemonic, pox maggoths definitely sit within the unwholesome menagerie of creatures under Nurgle’s patronage, keeping company with the slug-like Beasts of Nurgle and bloated, rot-winged Plague Drones. For their part, the pox maggoths have vile bodies akin to grubs or maggots with gangly
limbs, their distended flesh covered in layers of rippling flesh, bulging pustules and sagging folds of greasy skin. At the end of their forelimbs are curved claws, as large and strong as sword blades.
Orghott Daemonspew, born the unholy spawn of a Greater Daemon and a human witch, has always wished to be a real daemon. Long has he straddled too worlds but felt like he truly belonged in neither; he has walked the Garden of Nurgle but for him it was a hell, rather than a paradise. His only gain in that realm was that he claimed a pair of magical axes that boosted his
strength and leaked poison. At a point in desperation he even began consuming plaguebearers in the hopes of acquiring Nurgle’s Rot and dying to become one of their ranks. Ironically enough the same Daemonflesh that gave him enhanced
durability stopped the warlord from moving o n. With barely restrained rage, Orghott vowed to become a Daemon Prince. Though the position still carried the stigma of mortal birth among Orghott’s Daemon allies, it was the best he could get. For that reason he fought on for hundreds of years seeking favor, finally rewarded with the maggoth mount Whippermaw. As the scale of his deeds grows ever greater, Orghotts’
chances of true immortality become greater with every passing night.
Bloab Rotspawn was once a cruel sadist, a person who loved nothing more to torture and kill little animals or insects in horrible ways. Eventually this drew the attention of Nurgle, who was angered by his champion’s one man war against the tiny creatures of the world. So Nurgle devised a creative punishment. First he made Bloab’s skin
ultra-hard by blessing him with Thundertusk skin. Then, as the champion labored in magically enhanced induced sleep, a horde of rotflies descended upon the chaos champion pouring through his open mouth and laying thousands of eggs. Soon these daemonic insects hatched and began eating. Just as he had taken his time dismembering and persecuting those creatures smaller than him, the daemon larvae were in no hurry, lazily chewing at their screaming host with their tiny razored
mandibles until there was nothing left of him save a sack of toughened skin. However, Grandfather Nurgle, in his beneficence, wished
not to kill Bloab, but to put him to new use. With the energies of Nurgle sustaining him, Bloab survived his ordeal, even with his insides hollowed out like a drained gourd. One by one, the fat pupae that wriggled inside him matured and split. New daemonflies hatched one after another to crawl out of Bloab’s mouth and buzz in his wake, their affection for their host like that of grateful children. The Daemonflies have served him for the centuries since. It was they that sought out and corrupted Chaos champions of the Skull Keep, turning them into Putrid Blightkings. They infected and tamed a Pox Maggoth, Bilespurter, which has served as a mount ever since. In recent months his swarm has thinned
in number, its eldest members buzzing out on lengthy migrations to seek out new champions for Nurgle. Rumor has it that those touched by the Lord of the Daemonflies’ swarm are destined for great things, though there are just as many reports of their painful bites bearing deadly infection as there are rumors of the seeds of greatness.
Mutilated at birth by a childhood fire, Mordibex blamed
Tzeentch for his woes and decided to one day travel north to seek the aid of Tzeentch’s greatest rival,
Nurgle, as part of a revenge plot. Already a mighty warrior, he traveled further north and further north until finally he traveled to the Garden of Nurgle itself. Morbidex was climbing the sheer side of Icehorn Peak with only a pair of sharp axes when this wave of strangeness washed over him. As he hung precariously from the mountainside, an avalanche descended upon him – not of snow and ice, but of giggling, excited nurglings. The nurgling avalanche took Morbidex with it all the way to the bottom of the mountain, each of the portly little daemons squealing in delight around the chieftain as they tumbled into the mortal realm. Unable to move each Nurgling offered their help in exchange for a riddle each. Those answered correctly saw the particular Nurgling help, while those left
unanswered or answered incorrectly dug their talons into his flesh, mutating him. By the time Mordibex managed to get out he was a strange mix between a man, a tentacle monster, and a
Nurgling. Morbidex fought through the pain of his transformations, bursting up from the nurgling-tide like a zombie clawing out from the grave. The daemon-mites, impressed by the tenacity of the champion in their midst, cheered in unison as Morbidex threw back his newly-horned head and laughed manically at the shimmering skies. He swiftly impressed Orghott Daemonspew and soon tamed a Pox Maggoth of his own, Tripletongue, by feeding it enough Nurglings (which now follow him everywhere) to poison it and change its disposition.
(…) In the End Times the Maggoth Lords, eager to all win personal glory, somewhat ignored the Glott’s orders and left their army at home. Instead the three of them sailed and traveled alone, avoiding major Empire strongpoints and keeping to the backroads. What Imperial patrols found were easily dealt with
and the Empire was stretched too t hin to deal with reports of three lone warriors making havoc. After weeks of cautiously traveling the Empire’s underbelly and over mountains- which no sane Empire general thought possible- they arrived at the Brass Keep, where they quickly won over the allegiance of the Putrid Blight Kings.
Yet Orghott did not intend to wait for the Glott and Spume to arrive at Altdorf. Instead, he hoped to quickly take Taalabacam and then speed to Altdorf, conquering it before any other Nurgle force arrived and winning all glory for himself . To that end he launched an impulsive attack on the first city, temporarily surprising the defenders but getting beaten back and losing half of his force . Fortunately, Epidiermus arrived with a massive host of Plaguebearers and, using one of Nurgle’s special super plagues, forced the garrison to leave the city. The battle that followed was brutal but ultimately a victory for Nurgle. Though upset at his failure to arrive first, Orghott nevertheless took part of the combined Nurglite push at Altdorf. In battle he and his Maggoth Riders sought out and destroyed enemy artillery, even a pair of rare Empire Steam Tanks. Though the battle was ultimately lost, it was only done so through the return of Sigmar himself. Later in the End Times, all three Maggoth Riders would end up falling. Orghott was killed by Sigmar himself sometime after the battle of Altdorf. Bloab Rotspawn was hunted down by the Knights of Shallya and the Death sorceress Elspeth Von Draken, though only after killing the entire order of knights. The final member, Mordibex, was killed after entering quarrel with Vilitch the Twisted Twin. “To the east, Orghotts Daemonspew made straight for the hissing wedge of steam tanks that was trundling towards his lines. The engines of the metal contraptions roared against the fury of the storm as they gathered pace, one of the machines venting a great cloud of steam from its boiler. A cannonball hammered into Tripletongue, tearing away half of the maggoth’s eyeless head. The thing stumbled, falling forward and nearly unsettling its rider, before hauling its bulk upright to lope unsteadily onwards. Orghotts grinned evilly, clashing his axes together in anticipation of revenge. The pox maggoths gathered speed, easily dodging the juggernaut charge of the steam tanks as the machines ploughed past. Rotspawned’s maggoth, Bil espurter, grabbed the turret of the nearest tank and pulled with all its might, wrenching the metal cupola off and vomiting a great stream of daemonic bile into the tank’s interior. It rumbled on for a few more seconds before coming to a halt in a cloud of foulsmelling steam. The other three steam tanks ground on into the plaguebearer host beyond, forcing Epidemius to shuffle his palanquin sideways in order to avoid sharing the fate of his minions, who were crushed into a greygreen paste. The Tallyman tutted in irritation and raised a winding finger to the skies. Chanting in a
doleful tongue, the herald peeled off a thin cyclone of pus-white cloud that crept slowly downwards, its funnel grounding on the top of the steam tank. The armored engine wheeled around slowly, then span about its center with gathering speed, eventually toppling onto its side and venting boiling water and scalding steam in all directions. The scalded engineer crew, crying out in agony, attempted to climb clear, but they were quickly hacked apart by the plaguebearers milling in close.”- End Times: Glottkin
Offensive: Orghott wields a pair of magically endowed Rot Axes that both boost his strength and make all his attacks be carried out with deadly poison. Bloab Rotspawned is a level 4 wizard, skilled in the Lore of Nurgle, who has a swarm of daemonflies that follow him. When enemies get within 25 meters of
him, they swarm and bite, sometimes picking foes entirely clean. He also has a pair of Doombells from Nurgle’s own garden that disrupts the concentration of enemy wizards within 50 meters of him.
Mordibex has a great axe and is followed everywhere by a swarm of Nurglings. Whippermaw, Orghott’s mouth, has a long tongue capable of spanning out 25 meters to grasp foes. Bilespurter, the mount of Bloab, can lob a glob of acid at a foe at range of up to 240 meters. See the Left 4 dead spitter; very similar to that. Mordibex has Tripletongue, whose impaling tongue can hit a foe at up to 25 meters.
Defensive: Chaos Armor for all. Orghott and Mordibex’s semi-daemon skin also serves as protection , capable of turning aside weak blows and when blows are sstruck Orghott’s acid blood flies out everywhere.
Mobility: 6 Training: 5 Max & Effective Range: Melee
Preferred Range: Melee Role: General/Admiral Secondary Role: Melee Gutrot Spume, Lord of the Dragonbone tribe, has long plagued the Empire’s coast with his nautical raiding. Spume believed firmly that the gods would be far more impressed with his feats of the sea than his c ontemporaries’ achievements on the land, and to that end he personally hunted down
Kharibdyss, sea serpent and merwyrm alike. Alas for Gutrot one day he decided to hunt down a rotkraken, which ripped off his arm and nearly drowned the Norse sea admiral in the depths. However, while most of the gods turned away at Gutrot’s failure, Nurgle saw fit to reward the admiral for his bravery. His left side merged with the Kraken-spawn that had taken his arm, his entire left side bristled with tentacles that had a mind of his own. Whereas before, Gutrot honored all the gods, now he channeled his faith particularly to Nurgle. It was not long before Spume marshalled his armada once more, this time intending to sack the coastal settlements of the Empire. Word spread of his powers, for those who opposed him quickly sickened and died, or were found drowned inexplicably in the night. By the spring equinox Spume’s fleet of ramshackle vessels was plunging through the waves of the Sea of Claws towards the coast of Nordland. Ten thousand men and more were held within the hulls of the algae-caked ships, marauding tribesmen and armored killers in equal number. This time they would carve their destinies from the soft flesh of southerners. Gutrot Spume’s fleet reached the Nordland coast all but intact, braving the cannon fire of its fjord-forts only to find the beach packed with rank upon rank of Empire state troops. Above them, commanders in elaborate helms flew on Pegasus and griffon, bawling down orders for their men to hold. Amongst their number was Karl Franz himself, for the Empire knew well of the Norscan love of spring raids, and word of the approaching fleet had travelled fast. The invading fleet sailed at full speed into the bay, bellowing hordes leaping over shield-studded gunwales and thundering out into the shallows. In a matter of minutes battle had been joined, Spume at the forefront as the killing began. The warlord shouted a challenge to the Emperor high above , but instead of fighting him, the griffon rider turned his steed around and fled. Spume was still laughing when the southern ruler returned a few hours later. His mirth soon faded when the pale-skinned Ice Queen that now shared his saddle cast a great spell that froze the waters of the bay, trapping the vast majority of his men up to the knees with it. With the Norscan hordes trapped in the frozen waves, the state troops of the south redoubled their attack, finding it easy to kill Spume’s warriors one by one with longspear and halberd. Gutrot fought hard but eventually admitted defeat, skidding back along the thick ice to his flagship and sailing back to the Dragonbone tribe to lick his wounds. Over the years that followed, he rebuilt his armies and his fleet, swearing a solemn oath that should he find a chance to wreak his revenge, he would seize it without hesitation.
Gutrot would come to seek this revenge in the End Times. He allied with the triplet Glotkin, and was given command of a portion of the Nurglite assault. Though all three sets of Nurglite commanders were supposed to meet up together and assault capture Altdorf in one night, Gutrot schemed to overtake his contemporaries and take the city in one fell swoop, seizing all the glory for himself. To that end he would march through Laurelorn forest and Drakwald, evading the main roads to emerge from the forest and attack the capital. However Gutrot’s plan ran into significant snags, not the least of which he profoundly underestimated how difficult it would be to navigate Drakwald. His men were often picked off by Beastmen or Goblins, and he had very little knowledge on how to navigate the terrain. Eventually Gutrot managed to get lucky. A key Beastman shaman, the Harbinger, sought to make an alliance with Gutrot, seeing how blessed the man was by the gods. Together the Chaos Admiral’s forces and the Beastman horde fought an army of Orcs, Goblins and Spiders that arrived to attempt to stop him. Though wounded many times, ultimately the Orcoid force was completely routed from the forest. That said Gutrot was significantly delayed by the measure, and thus arrived late to the battle of Altdorf. Yet he nevertheless participated in the battle, leading a vanguard of beasts and elite warriors to assault the north gates. Alas the rebirth of Sigmar spoiled his chances to take the city, and forced him to retreat. “Spume leapt from the front of the warshrine, his silhouette outlined against the gloating orb of Morrslieb for one brief moment before he slammed down into the midst of the Reiksguard. Six tentacles shot out as he landed, each pair yanking a knight from the saddle. The seventh tentacle raised Spume’s greataxe high, and the warlord decapitated the three knights one after another.
Zintler bellowed a Sigmarite oath as he turned in the saddle to slam his sword between Spume’s shoulderblades, its tip bursting out of the Norscan’s chestplate. Pseudopods whipped out to lash around the Reikscaptain’s wrist, and Zintler found himself both pulled from his horse and disarmed in one horrible second as Spume turned around, the blade still embedded in his torso. The warlord laughed wetly, blood drizzling from under his helmet, as one of his coiling limbs reached over and pulled the ancestral blade from his back. The Lord of Tentacles slammed a boot down on the Reikscaptain’s chest and rested his greataxe against the corpse of a horse as the pseudopod that had disarmed his foe handed the silversword to Spume’s good hand. Zintler struggled, shouting the most terrible of curses, but fell silent as his own sword was rammed through his neck up to the hilt, ending his life.” -Glottkin
Offensive: Great Axe and seven Kraken Tentacles. These flailing tentacles can reach out and entangle or strangle multiple foes in combat.
Defensive: Chaos Armor and Nurgle’s Rot ===ADDITIONAL FACTORS=== Gutrot is an admiral and is at home commanding troops at the sea as on land. Most often seen riding on a Chaos Warshine.
Mobility: 5 Training/Experience: 9 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Spell Role : General Secondary Role: Magical Support Aekold, son of Graf of the Riekland was once the respected son of a noble household in Altdorf. Wealth, power, a beautiful fiancée and a commission within the Templar Order of the Jade Griffon were all his. But deep within him, Aekold yearned for a life beyond that of an
Imperial citizen. Aekold wanted to change the world for the better. Finding his way into a secret society calling itself the "Brethren of the Golden Eagle" whose rituals called upon the divine being of the Lord of Change to help their goals to bring about a golden era to the world, Aekold quickly rose through its ranks to become part of its inner circle. But this was short lived; exposed by the ever vigilant Witch Hunters of Sigmar. In truth Aekold at the time had no idea he was part of a movement of Chaos but the Templars cared not and he was loped in with those who were aware.
Aekold fled the Empire, stripped of all rank and disowned by both family and friend. He was hunted across the lands only finding refuge to the far north into the Chaos Waste. There, Tzeentch called to him, testing him, ensuring he truly was the chosen one he so sought. Riding through the Waste upon his steed Validus, Aekold eventually passed the grueling test of the Great Conspirator - giving himself utterly to the ways of change by walking through a great portal into the seas of Chaos itself. When he emerged he was the nightmare which all mortal lands have come to fear. His eyes were glittering, multi-faceted gems, burning with inner balefires that spoke of an unbridled evil and arcane knowledge that bordered the divine. His armour was covered in twisting runes that glowed in the flickering darkness of the chaos wasteland and draped over his broad shoulders an ever flowing robe covered in feathers. In his grasp, Tzeentch gifted his chosen with the daemon forged weapon; Windblade. A gleaming broadsword of unparalleled size but weighed as little as a grain of sand. It glowed with a strange blue light, and seemed to moan as he moved it, its shape changing with each motion. And finally, the great god Tzeentch bestowed the Breath of Life. A most unusual gift that would allow Aekold to create life wherever he walked, twisted with the ever mutating energies of Chaos. The essence of Chaos would rush out of his being like a never ending tidal wave, gifting life in all its forms both wonderful and devastatingly disturbed. In this way he would change the world for the better in the name of his patron - for all forms of life is change, praises to his
Master. Where Aekold walks the grass springs green and flowers blossom, desert sands and stony rocks bursts into life. Any living thing he touches springs into new and vigorous growth. Even the long dead wood of doors and staves takes root upon his touch. His touch can restore health to creatures that are upon the
threshold of death; even death itself cannot harm Aekold for such is the power of the Breath of Life. But for all its wonder, his touch is as indiscriminate as it is potent for where he gives life so too does he gift the ever mutating and dark energies of Chaos. For where there is grass, they by the whim of Tzeentch form into blades of glass that cut the feet. Where flowers blossom they release spores which
melt the eyes and those who are given life find hollow coldness in their hearts - their souls now play things for the Architect of Fate. Aekold was last seen nearly 500 years ago to the Dark Lands of the followers of Hashut. There he sought the legendary forge known as the Volcano’s Heart. What diabolic pacts were made is anyone’s guess but one can only wonder of the possibilities of fusing the devastating forces of Aekold’s gift with the daemon technologies of the Chaos Dwarf. Fast Forward to the End Times. During this period of the eventual triumph of Chaos Aekold led the initial invasion of Kislev, taking the smallest portion of Chaos’s overall forces (but still numbering in the hundreds of thousands to millions) to do so. Pouring across the Lynsk river, Aekold quickly took the fortress-city of Praag – a storied city that had withstood two centuries worth of invasions. It was thoroughly corrupted, sacked and destroyed. Katarin, Tzarina of Kislev, attempted a stand at the Lynsk River. The forces of Aekold rolled over of the Kislevites, smashing their main army in a terrible battle. The Kislevites retreated, fighting a series of running battles as they rushed to buy time to fortify Kislev city proper. This fortress had, for its entire thousand year existence, withstood every single attack Chaos had thrown at it. In the Great War, the last Everchosen Avatstar Kul had floundered and ultimately failed before the walls of the city. It had grown stronger still during that time and contained a formidable garrison that included the legendary slayer Gortrek Gurnisson. Helbrass conquered the city in a single day. However Aekold’s army soon met his match in the bestial hordes of Throgg the Troll King. Aekold was captured and subject to vicious tortures in order to create a breed on intelligent troll. The chaos champion managed to escape and, partially in a desire to put some distance between the troll king, reformed his new Warband and headed south, into the Empire. So powerful was Aekold’s magic that, for a moment, he managed to breach the Auric Bastion. His forces devastated a local town only to be met by a combination of Vlad von Carstein, the local imperial garrison and adventuring hero Felix Jaeger, along with the vampire Ulrika. Though Aekold beat the garrison and temporary killed Vlad, he was killed by Tzeentch’s curse, with his magic failing in a duel with Felix & Ulrika.
Offensive: The Windblade is the great double-handed broadsword of Aekold, granted to him by his master, Tzeentch. Like all the favors given by the Changer of Ways, it is an erratic and unpredictable weapon. It may give Aekold the ability to fly, strike faster as his blade becomes as light as a feather, or be able to hurl it like boomerang, among other, stranger traits. Aekold is noted for being an excellent duelist and once defeated 5 knights in single combat. He is also a level 2 sorcerer in the Lore of Tzeentch.
Defensive: Chaos Armor. He also has a bizarre gift called the “Breath of Life” that gives regeneration to any character right next to him (including enemies) but also makes it so he has regeneration. So good is it that if he dies there is even a chance he can come back, albeit in a wounded state. This aura is extremely harmful to the undead, as shown in the quotes below.
==X-FACTORS==
Adaptive Creativity: 59/100: Though not exceptionally creative by Tzeentchi standards, Aekold embodies the vibrancy and randomness of life. In a more practical sense, he has found highly innovative means by which to destroy fortresses and walls using his special life powers.
Tactics: 75/100: Kislev had previously withstood Chaos invasions for a thousand years. Previously, even in those cases where Kislev had been seriously threatened it could have at least held out long enough to summon reinforcements from the Empire or Dwarfs. Aekold Helbrass took out the nation before the Empire or Dwarfs were even aware it was invaded. And he destroyed their vaunted fortress-capital in a single day.
Strategy: 55/100: Simplistic strategies but with undeniable effectiveness. Intuition: 68/100: Aekold can see multitudes of futures, though he has trouble seeing which one will come true next. This failing would eventually result in his death.
Psychological Warfare: 63/100: Aekold delights in forcing his foes to deal with the unexpected, whether it is random life popping up everywhere in battle or tormenting them with multiple possible visions.
Discipline: 40/100: Manic and all over the plac, has difficulty fully focusing on a fight and often goes on side tangents.
Inspiration: 62/100: Aekold is revered for his rapid-fire conquest of Kislev and is well respected among his sub-commanders.
Corruption: 85/100: Though Aekold kills an immense amount of people, he firmly believes his duty is to propagate life where it is found. He is not extremely cruel and will put people out of their misery out of pity (though rarely). Kislev was alive, and it had become a land of surpassing beauty. Gone were the fields of grain and barley, their monotony of colour and form. Gone too were the men that had grown them, the livestock they had fed, the vermin they had harbored. In their place had come life. Mile upon infinitely diverse mile of beastmen, marauders and Chaos warriors clamoured under the falling snow. Armour of every type. Flesh of every hue. Horns. Hooves. Tentacles. Claws. Every twisted possibility of creation was here and here for battle. The roar from so many divergent varieties of throat was all consumptive, a thunderous outpouring of adulation to their champions and their gods. The sound of one name rose above all others. He was the conqueror of Kislev. ‘Helbrass!’
Where the bare opal-coloured flesh of his feet fell, the snow melted and birthed flowers. The very air around him crackled with an aurora of changeling energy. It fizzed and popped, spontaneous generation summoning iridescent dragonflies that hummed ahead of his path like evangelists to a new order. His plate armour met the colour-shift of the Auric Bastion with a rainbow iridescence of possibilities. Through the eye slits of his helm he studi ed the edifice’s artificial wrongness. It was a barrier, and life suffered no barrier. Life would dig, it would bore, it would learn how to fly. And however distant its bars, Aekold Helbrass would not exist within a cage. (..) ‘Helbrass,’ moaned the sorceress as if pleasured by the mere sound of her voice. ‘I have claimed this part of the wall for my own. When it falls it shall be the name of Porphyry the Unchaste that they sing: conqueror of the Palace of Flesh, survivor of the Trial of Twelve Pleasures, defiler of the flower of Kislev.’ Extending a hand, she planted it flat against the sheer stone of the Auric Bastion and produced a smile that could have corrupted a dead man. ‘I stand corrected,’ Helbrass bowed. ‘It is yours.’ Porphyry laughed, then suddenly cried out as a spasmodic wave wracked her body. The life-giving power of Change crackled through her. Her thighs bulged and pushed her feet into the earth. Knots formed in her perfect flesh as it hardened, cracked, and birthed new life in the form of buds and flowers. Her mouth opened to scream, but rather than a human voice there emerged a green shoot that, as if drawn by some sustenance other than sunlight, whipped into the Auric Bastion with a great splintering of stone. Porphyry the Unchaste gave one last moan as the last plates of Chaos armour were pushed aside and more questing shoots forced their way through. Life was emergent. The humblest fungus would tunnel through the mightiest wall. For food, for shelter, and often for the simple imperative of expansion. It was better to blossom as the flower of Chaos than to toil in the cages of Praag. He could not defeat the Troll King, but he had escaped him, smashed the Ice Queen, torn down her Ogham stones, and gifted every magician that his former captor craved an invigorative new form. The Unchaste gave a zoetic pulse, a push of labour that thrust squirming hyphae into the wall. Rock groaned, and then the Auric Bastion began to split. Helbrass drew his weapon, the two-handed broadsword named Windblade. The cracks rose higher and so did the pitch of his laughter. ‘Let there be life.’(..)
Across the low, battlement-crusted hills of the Empire’s northern front, men climbed from their tents, lowered their weapons, and stared upwards in disbelief. The Auric Bastion was a mountain. It had stood inviolate for a year. And it was coming down. The creak of wild roots and splitting stone resounded over the plain. It was louder than thunder, as though the earth had been turned downside up and then wrenched asunder. A clutch of gargantuan vines ripped through the surface of the stone. Thorns like dragons’ teeth bit into the wall as the Chaos vines strove higher, throwing out waxy leaves with the span of galleons’ sails to bat boulder -sized debris out over the dumbstruck Imperial lines.(..) His gaze fixed on Kurzycko’s north wall, a well -engineered construct of limestone blocks reinforced with iron rods and thick oak beams. Specks of blackpowder jigged along the parapet. Banners jerked an odd dance as their poles were shaken from beneath. The Ostermarkers themselves noticed the instability of the battlement but had precious little enough time between reloading and firing to give it any notice. None of them were able to see the hungry white mould spreading through the stonework beneath their feet, mortar crumbling into excremental dust wherever it touched. Felix watched on, aghast, as the strange plague spread. (…) Aekold Helbrass strode through the embattled ranks of the Chaos horde. He was one in a vast shoal but where he walked, men and beasts were healed and the risen dead reduced to rose-choked cairns of composted earth. A mighty phalanx of zombies and their immortal puppet lords, tall warriors in archaic plate and chill blades, blocked his path. Kurgan berserkers hacked at rotting flesh. Chaos warriors crackling with the accumulated blessing of their gods fought toe to toe with kings long departed when Sigmar had walked the Empire. Helbrass flourished the Windblade, and the broadsword was life’s scythe. Skeletons collapsed rather than near its edge. Zombies dissolved into glorious bounties of maggots and flies at a glance. A wight lord proclaiming himself Ætheltan of the Teutogens cut down the Chaos warrior that opposed him and, voice as the gasp of air from a tomb unsealed, challenged Helbrass to single combat. The shade was old and angry, and strong enough in his own will to raise his sword before decay and rebirth caused his body to shrivel, his armour to corrode, and his blade to bleed iron dust. Helbrass trod on the ancient’s funerary shroud and strode on, white flowers bursting from the wight’s remains to complete the cycle of life. There was nothing special about death. The simplest primordial slime that eked an existence from the ocean’s bottom could die. A rock or a gust of wind could take a life. That event most beautiful to the Changer was thus the transition from dead matter into life.
Already Helbrass could picture the Troll King’s wrath, and his laughter was a hammer that smote zombies and ghouls into ash to line his path. He fixed his gaze on the sorcerers upon the Three Sisters. Only the Kislevite village stood in his path, but that would not hold him for long. He would bring life to a dead land. There was nothing here that could stop him. (…) Parrying for his life, Felix retreated with Ulrika behind him. Attacks fell thick and fast, and Felix’s sword danced without any conscious input from him, but he could only wish that the gulf between him and his foe was a simple matter of swordsmanship. Vines burst from the ground to turn defensive stances into stumbling retreats. The earth hatched sinuous insects that crawled up his legs and into his armour. The very sleet falling from the sky became buzzing, stinging things, a droning mob of fat yellow-back flies that for all Felix’s efforts clung to his head as though it had been basted in honey. And through it all came the changeling armour of Aekold Helbrass. – Kinslayer
Mobility: 4 Training: 7 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Spell Role: Admiral/General The mysterious southern sorcerer known only as the Golden Magus has always been a figure of fascination amongst the citizens of Araby. Rich beyond measure and eccentric in the extreme, the self-styled Sultan of the Seas has variously claimed to be a merchant prince, an exiled patriarch of the Colleges of Magic and even, at one point, the Gilded King of Copher reborn. Regardless of his true identity, his unpredictable and devious nature is
infamous in the gambling dens and rott-houses of Sartosa- and has been for hundreds of years. The Golden Magus takes great pains to give the appearance of a wise man rather than a warrior. His one remaining eye is ringed with kohl, his robes are of the finest embroidered silk, and his skin is dusted with
powdered gold. To the casual onlooker, the Golden Magus is a man of exotic tastes and refined manner. Only those who have seen him in action can attest to the fact that underneath his sophisticated exterior he is lethal indeed. The Magus can move with a speed that belies his advanced age, and his ever-burning blade is enchanted with a hundred fiery curses. The Magus true power lies in his magic though, for he is able to summon spirits of the air, of the ocean, and of flame. His secret lies under the minarets of his pleasure barge, Flaming Scimitar. These exotic buildings are host to a maze of concentric corridors, amongst which are dozens of hidden storerooms. Within their storage spaces are barrels of stolen treasure, exotic spices, narcotic incense, statuary from the Far East, the jeweled skeletons of hideous sea-monsters, and a pair of clockwork Thundertusks that obey the Magus’ commands. The sorcerer's most precious treasures are even more bizarre – contained within rank upon rank of magical jars that line the central chamber of each gold-topped minaret. In the events of Dreadfleet the Magus was blacklisted by an old friend Jaego Roth to participate in his campaign of revenge against the titular Dreadfleet- a small group of magical, immortal ships that had devastated the Old World and killed Roth’s family. Unnaturally cheery, jubilant, and devious the Golden Magus used his arsenal of Djinn to track the Dreadfleet as Jaego further built allies that came to include a renowned pirate chieftain, a Dwarf engineer and a High Elf prince. Magus kept cautious, for he recognized the Elf might have been able to recognize him for his hidden agenda had the prince not been so determined to avenge himself on Count Noctilus, lord of the Dreadfleet. It was the Magus who was assigned the responsibility to close the portal the Galleon Graveyard- the source of the Dreadfleet’s invulnerability. He took back in the final battle inside a mini-realm of Chaos, fighting from the rear where he bombarded the enemy with Djinn while secretly capturing vessels as they sunk in magical jars, which miniaturized the vessels and left them in a state where he could later repair and utilize them. Using his most treasured assets, the Royal Djinn, the Magus deployed them right as Jaego achieved revenge, putting Galleon’s Graveyard in his control. With both allies and enemies dead, their ships captured, and the Magus’ control uncontested, Magus declared that it had all been done in the glory of Tzeentch and that he would further the Chaos God’s plans. Or at least he would try to. Whatever plans he devised were preempted in the End Times by the mass
invasion of Araby by the Skaven. The Golden Magus put to sea as soon the skaven flooded the streets of Copher. Unfortunately, it wasn't soon enough, as skaven gutter runners stowed away on his ship in an attempt to steal his three mystic urns. What happened next is unknown, as the vessel, and all aboard it, were consumed in a sorcerous storm which drew the burning remains of the ship up into the clouds, never to come down.
Offensive: The Golden Magus is armed with the Scimitar of a Thousand Curses, which is a echanted swords to which a Fire Djinn is bound and is thus always burning. He is also a Lvl 4 sorceror in the Lore of Tzeentch and the Lore of Araby. Those (known) spells are :
Sand Storm - The sorcerer commands the desert spirits to engulf his foes in a swirling cloud of choking sand and dust. Such sand makes it difficult for enemies to see and fire.
Mirage - The sorcerer cre ates the illusion of a huge host of fearsome warriors, bearing down inexorably upon his startled foes.
Sunstrike - Bright beams of burning energy leap from the sorcerer's eyes and scythe through all before him.
Curse of the Djinn - The sorcerer channels the immense power of the Djinn through his own body and lays a terrible curse upon his foes. This means the targeted enemy unit takes damage easier.
Djinn: There are four different types of Djinn the Golden Magus could employ:
Sea-nymphs - Those magical jars that are filled with sparkling seawater contain the essence of Seanymphs - or Salt Devils as they are known to the pirates of Sartosa - who can freeze solid around seabound foes or seal a hole in their master’s warship with living ice. Though they took the form of lissom wenches, the Sea-nymphs are perhaps the most inhuman of all the djinn spirits, and delight in dragging those struggling to tread water so deep into the sea that their fragile human bodies crumple in upon themselves under the pressures of the abyss.
Tempest Djinn - The jars that contain a portion of each of the four winds will shatter into dust when the whispered word of their owner falls upon them, releasing Tempest Djinns that funnel their hurricane breath into the sails of ships. These storm-born spirits are capricious as zephyrs in temperament, but their raw might is that of a tornado, and they can pull even the most fearsome winds unto themselves like a shroud.
Desert Spirits - The Magicians of Araby can command these Djinn to engulf their foes in a swirling cloud of choking sand and dust.
Fire Efreets - Those vessels that contain powdered sulphur and dried naptha may be ignited with a spark to release a gigantic Fire Efreet. A Fire Efreet is a creature of savage delight that cackles as it hurtles through the air; searing the decks of enemy ships and setting aflame their crew as it shouts curses that sound for all the world like the spit-crack of raw fresh melting on open fire. The Golden Magus also has three ‘superweapons’ in the form of Royal Djinn-towering monstrosities capable of catastrophic destruction. However even he is afraid to deploy them, scared they might be beyond his control for it took no less a being than Nagash himself to bind them.
Defense: The Magus wears little armor and instead relies on his magical might to compensate. He also has a mini army of clockwork automatrons at his beck and call.
X-Factors
Adaptive Creativity: 72/100: The Golden Magus is extremely quick on his feet, with an agile mind that quickly glances at opportunity or sees an opening for his own advantage. Golden Magus is a world renowned inventor of both spells and technology, including the use of Clockwork automatons to do his bidding.
Tactics: 52/100: While the Magus is doubtlessly competent in this category, he mostly utilizes others to command over individual battles.
Strategy: 74/100: Through his behind the scenes machinations the Magus not only acquired quasiimmortality and an advanced power structure but manipulated all potential enemies to wipe themselves out, allowing him to claim their ships and power.
Psychological Warfare: 69/100: With his wit, charm, and extreme intelligence the Magus is a extremely skilled manipulator, whose golden tongue can convince allies and would be enemies of his sincerity and seemingly cordial desires.
Intuition: 57/100 Experience: 82/100: Several hundred years old, though much of it spent indolent. Discipline: 73/100: The Golden Magus’s ability to act and fool others, hiding his truly feelings, is one of his greatest traits. Sometimes this trait is tested, however, when he panics.
Audacity: 40/100: The Magus will not fight unless he has too and even then he is liable to run away. Inspiration: 55/100 (90)/100: The soldiers he directly rules have wills magically bound to his. Other allies might be less impressed.
Corruption: 90/100
Training/Experien ce: 9 Max & Effective Range:Spell Preferred Range: Melee
Role: General-Anti-Elf Secondary Role: Tactical Aid (Magic/Melee) Long ago, when Chaos first came to the world, it was N'kari who was the first daemon to invade the realm of the Elves. When the Elves, who were then an innocent agrarian people, rose to meet them in combat N'kari had them slaughtered gruesomely to an elf. For the next hundred years the daemon ran roughshod through Ulthuan, committing every manner of murder and rape and debauchery imaginable. Then the Elven Hero Aenarion, who had left Ulthuan even before N'kari arrived, returned and for the first time presented the Keeper of Secrets a real challenge. For eighty years the Elf Hero and N'kari fought for control of Ulthuan in a great contest of armies, yet the Elves were slowly getting grounded down by the arrival of Chaos Warbands from elsewhere, having by now neutralized most of the Slann world empire. In desperation Caledor, the greatest of the Elven Magi, launched his great warding plan, forcing N'kari to join forces with three other Chaos leaders to assault. All were defeated in single-combat by Aenarion. N'kari's soul was then trapped in Caledor's mighty vortex for nearly 6,000 years, spending the entirety of it slowly building up his strength and avoiding the potent ghost- archmage disciples of Caledor, who wielded enough power to destroy him utterly. Finally when those 6,000 years were up N'kari managed to break free from his imprisonment and in his vengeance sought the descendants of Aenarion. Through telepathic dreams he gathered together Elves malleable enough to the Prince of Pleasure that could be used as pawns to his designs. For a month he, using his knowledge of Old One webway-paths that were built into Ulthuan, went on a
rampage and killed the vast majority of them in truly gruesome ways. After each battle he built his forces up further, utilizing sacrifices to summon more daemons and his maddening magic and auras to encourage more to become cultists. Finally he assaulted the mighty Temple of Asuyren where the twins Tyrion and Teclis stayed. Though N'Kari butchered his way through the guards and nearly killed the twins, he played too long with the athletic twin Tyrion, allowing the crippled twin Teclis to gather enough energy to destroy him.
Banished for 100 years, N'Kari was then summoned up and bound by Witch King Malekith in order to use the Daemon's knowledge of portals to invade Ulthuan. This initial invasion went very well thanks to portals allowing the Dark Elves to attack everywhere at once however N'Kari again ran afoul of Tyrion and Teclis, and though he nearly won the Daemon was again banished back to the nether.
However over the course of the conflict, the Witch King was also cast into the Realm of Chaos. For over a hundred years in real time (and an unknown amount in the Realm of Chaos) N'kari tried to slay the Witch King, coming close but ultimately failing. He then tried to kill the Witch King in his own
homeland, besieging the city with a Slaaneshi army . He was defeated once more by the Witch King in a great duel, leaving him to brood in the nether yet again.
Finally in the End Times N’Kari manifested a final time in an attempt to destroy Ulthuan utterly.Fueled with the power of the End Times and swelling with Ulthuan’s despair, N’Kari proved to be a powerful foe, even beating Tyrion one vs one before being forced to retreat. Many thousands of elves, perhaps even tens of thousands, perished before N’Kari’s onslaught. However, as is typical of his fashion, N’Kari was once again destroyed by Tyrion & Teclis though this time it took the magical aid of Lilaeth the moon goddess to ensure the daemon’s demise. “The remaining Phoenix Guard threw themselves forward to meet the daemon. Its blade reaped their lives like wheat. It laughed with soul-flaying mockery. Blood and brains splattered everywhere, hitting Tyrion on the face. Calmly he wiped them away to clear his sight. It was all just information. His death was one of the rules of this game. Accepting the truth of it, he could still win. The goal was to distract the daemon until Teclis cast his spell. It was now simply a problem of tactics.
I am going to die. The daemon gestured again. Polychromatic lightning surged from its extended claw. It hit one of the defenders and consumed his flesh even as he groaned in what might have been agony or ecstasy. The flare of the bolt cast the huge statues of the old god into stark, blasphemous illumination. N’Kari was huge and very fast and enormously strong. Its claw was capable of shearing a fully armored elf warrior in half with as little effort as a seamstress cutting thread. It could fire bolts of magic at its targets. It was all but invulnerable to mortal weapons.
I am going to die. Blades shattered on N’Kari’s flanks or passed through flesh that knitted behind them. Whatever protected the daemon seemed random but it was effective.”- Blood of Aenarion
==LOADOUT== Offensive: See Keeper of Secrets, though N'Kari is said to be one of the best Keeper of Secrets to ever live, able to fight through dozens of elite Phoenix Guards and their Dark Elf equivalent. He has beaten Tyrion, one of the greatest of Elven duelists, in single man bouts before. In addition he is a potent magician, a level 4 in the Lore of Slaanesh.
Defensive: See Keeper of Secrets ===ADDITIONAL FACTORS=== N'Kari does seem to have some knowledge of the Old One's Webway, at least around Ulthuan, and might help his troop's mobility through such means. As his background suggests he absolutely hates and despises the Elves, particularly Elven heroes, and will try to kill those he meets as slow as possible.
Alas though said to be one of the greatest of one of the most potent Greater Daemon archetype, he is as known for his frequent failures as he is success.
==X-FACTORS== Adaptive Creativity: 65/100: N’Kari is rather clever and innovative and in the invasions of Ulthuan it was he who devised a way to use the Path of the Old Ones to teleport around the continent.
Tactics: 35/100: N’Kari is rather poor with his battlefield choices and consistently loses against wellequipped or powerful foes, even with greater numbers on his side. That said he often claims an incredible tally in enemy lives before failing.
Strategy: 40/100: The Keeper of Secrets is not stupid and when he takes the time to think of a long term plan, it can be rather clever. Unfortunately the daemon’s arrogance and impetiousness often gets in the way.
Intuition: 62/100: Audacity: 90/100: To N’Kari death and humiliation are just experiences to be savored, though the daemon does not, necessarily, like them.
Psychological Warfare: 77/100: N’Kari has an extreme ability to manipulate others, play upon their emotions, even convince them to defect thanks to his Slaaneshi auras and spells.
Inspiration: 85/100: See Above. Discipline: 57/100: If he must absolutely have to to avoid utter destruction, he can exhibit immense self control for several thousand years. However in most battles he lets his passions take over. Corruption: 95/100:
Mobility: 5.5 Training/Experience: 10 Max & Effective Range: Dozens of meters (aura) Preferred Range: Melee Role: General Secondary Role: Corruptor( Covert Ops) , Tactical Aid
Azazel was once a mortal man, born Gerreon of the Unberogen tribe, the twin brother of Trinovantes and the younger sibling of Ravenna. At the brothers' birth, a seer predicted that only one of the twins would know both the greatest pleasure and the greatest pain. When Trinovantes fell in battle with orcs during an expedition led by Sigmar, the King's son, Gerreon blamed Sigmar for issuing the orders that sent his twin brother to his death . In spite of Sigmar's oath that Trinovantes had chosen to stand his ground and died bravely, Gerreon was inconsolable and swore revenge against Sigmar. Under the guidance of a hag seer(who, unbeknownst to Gerreon, wanted Sigmar not only to live but to remove anything that might distract the King from his destiny), Gerreon pretended to forgive Sigmar and swore friendship and loyalty to him, and soon became a valued member of Sigmar's retinue, since his skill with a sword was unrivaled. Gerreon himself grew so close to Sigmar that he began to feel conflicted, recognizing the nobility in Sigmar and his brethren, and beginning to doubt his oath to seek revenge. Nevertheless, six years after Trinovantes's death, when Sigmar was twenty-one, Gerreon struck, wounding Sigmar with a poisoned sword blade and running his own sister Ravenna (Sigmar's betrothed) through the belly. Gerreon disappeared, and Sigmar hovered near death for several days, before recovering from the poison. Making his way north as a fugitive, Gerreon found asylum with the survivors of the Norsii, who had been annihilated in battle with now-King Sigmar and his allies. A sorcerer of the Norsii had foreseen the coming of one who would become a great champion of Chaos, and anointed Gerreon with a new name: Azazel. Azazel, having served as a commander of Sigmar’s forces for six years, gave the Norsii training in discipline. Together with Cormac Bloodaxe the Norsii raided the coastlines for several years. These were light assaults designed to spread fear among the newly developing Empire and spread Cormac’s legend far and wide. Azazel held the Ropesmann tribe’s woman-folk hostage, forcing them to fight Sigmar’s troops and then laughing at the King’s harsh decimation of said tribe. Gerreon also assisted a Norse shaman, Kar Odacean, in tracking down and murdering the Hag Seer to prevent any magical intervention. In the following battle with Sigmar, Azazel’s training and Cormac’s strategies paid off, and Sigmar was dealt his first ever defeat. The emperor fled to Middenheim, where he fortified his position. Cormac wanted to avoid Middenheim and instead devastate the reinforcing armies, a position Azazel initially agreed with, however Kar Odacean overruled them both and demanded the destruction of Middenheim for the gods demanded to be entertained. In the first battle Azazel led a force of Slaaneshi Hung against some of the more fortified sections of the city. He slew countless warriors, many unable to even hit him thanks to his beguiling glamor. Then he came across Pendrag, count of Middenheim, and several other of Sigmar’s chief chieftans. Azazel slew Pendrag but was overcome by the last shreds of his consciousness and fled the battle, going into hiding for many years. Later, he would emerge and become the guide for the then boy Morkar. Morkar became the first Everchosen and it was during this journey Azazel finally became a Daemon Prince. Azazel was greatly favored by his master, and rose quickly in his esteem. After slaying Arthar, the exalted Champion of Khorne in single combat, Slaanesh turned his eyes upon Azazel and elevated him to
Daemonhood, making him commander of the Prince of Chaos' daemonic legions. He returned for
revenge against Sigmar, only for the champion of order to defeat and imprison the newly made Daemon Prince under a mountain, where he languished until his new patron finally sent a legion to free him. “It is said that the beauty of Azazel is second only t o his patron. But as irresistible as his beauty is, there is a deadly edge to it. Those who have gazed upon him never forget the sensual temptation his presence arouses. It is a beauty which evokes loathing and a temptation that sickens the soul. Azazel's hair is long, jet-black, and as fine as flax. Two great lacquered horns crown his handsome brow. His eyes are full of innocence and yet they are cruel, calculating and without pity. His smooth skin is white, the color of the finest porcelain, and his movements are graceful, his limbs long and delicate. In his right hand he carries an enchanted blade that writhes as if alive, and his left hand is a long, chitinous claw, delicate and yet deadly. His wings are of the purest white, their beauty unmatched by swans or other creations of nature. He soars over the battlefield, sometimes sweeping low to strike his foes, and yet his feet never touch the ground. Azazel dresses in robes made of the finest silks, and his body is bedecked with gorgeous jewels and shining gems.”
Azzazel is the right hand of Slaanesh, and one of his greatest commanders, leading his armies within the Realm of Chaos. Such is his power that many who come into direct contact with him, all but the strongest willed or most inspired/resistant, lose themselves over to his will. Even though who can fight off often feel the bite of his influence in combat, for Azazel is capable of seeing their innermost desires and secrets. For example at the Battle of the Moors a force of zealous Templars of Ulric had made vows before the Flame of Ulric in Middenheim that they would banish Azazel or perish trying. But before the battle ended the Templars had been reduced to gibbering imbeciles, slaves to the slightest whim of Azazel. He set collars around their necks and made them walk on all fours like dogs to amuse his patron Slaanesh. The Questing Knight, Guido de Brionne, sought out Azazel, intending to challenge him to single combat to fulfil his grail quest, but instead he kneeled before the Daemon Prince, begging him to accept his undying devotion. Laughing, Azazel severed the head of the Bretonnian Knight, who stood unmoving, convinced in the justification of the act. In the End Times Azzazel took part in the despoiling of the Empire. IIn order to further wound the hated Sigmar he took the time tracking down the various knight orders pledged to Sigmar and killing them off or corrupting them one by one. . However, in the final battle of Middenheim, Azzazel met the newly reincarnated Sigmar himself who annihilated him after a brief battle.
===LOADOUT=== Offensive: Azzazel is capable of using spells from the lore of Slaanesh, has a deadly daemonblade that ignores armor, a crab-like claw and a double-headed tail. Azazel is an incredibly skilled duelist, able to defeat even a champion of Khorne in single combat or defeat some of Sigmar's greatest friends in combat (though not the man himself). By far his greatest power is his sheer amount of aura, which can
lead mortals to bow before him and acknowledge him as master even as the daemon prince takes great pleasure in torturing them to death. Essentially to even battle him enemies must pass a heroic willpower check.
Defensive: Azazel wields the dark halo of Slaanesh, and thus has constant magical protection around his person. ==X-FACTORS==
Adaptive Creativity: 61/100: When it comes to torture and torturous strategies, Azazel is pretty clever however he is not supremely imaginative in tactics.
Tactics: 69/100: One of Slaanesh’s chief commanders who wins almost every battle he fights. However, this is mostly due to his extreme psychological warfare stats (see below) rather than great tactical ingenuity.
Strategy: 40/100: Though not incapable of strategy, Azazel lives more on the whims of the moment, like many of Slaanesh.
Intuition: 62/100: Azazel is said to be remarkably perceptive, courtesy of his ability to read human emotion, but he does not appear to have foresight.
Audacity: 75/100: Experience: 98/100: Several thousand years of experience including Warp experience. Psychological Warfare: 86/100: Men frequently defect on the battlefield, even if staunchly opposed to Chaos, thanks to this daemon’s impossible auras and majesty. They willingly give into spiritual corruption, damning their souls for all time. Others bow limply before him, allowing the daemon a kill. Even some of the strongest foes fight sluggishly and without much enthusiasm. Only the strongest minds can throw off the aura completely. The only reason he is not higher is because Azazel focuses on the battlefield only and does not play clever political games like Natassja.
Inspiration: 90/100: Discipline: 55/100: Azazel has enough discipline to train troops and hold his anger, though there are limits.
Corruption: 98/100:
Mobility: 5 Training: 9 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role: General Secondary Role: Melee (Tactical Support) Hellebron was born many millennia ago, in the ancient time before the great elven civil war of the Sundering. Originally a proud daughter of the Elven city prince in charge of the Athel Tolarien, Hellebron longed for increased status. To that end she used her father’s influence to set up a meeting with the woman she idolized, Morathi. The meeting was a disaster, as Morathi haughtily turned down Hellebron’s pleas for tutelage, called Hellebron weak and worthless, and said that she would forget about this encounter in but a few days. According to the recollections of Malaketh later on, these statements were actually made out of jealousy on Morathi’s part, for Hellebron’s beauty rivaled her own, but nevertheless such words left an incredible impression on Hellebron, who vowed revenge for this slight. It was not long after that Hellebron became involved in the hidden cults of Khaine, taking part in sacrifices of Beastmen to the god. For two decades after she traveled the world along with her sister, fighting armies of Beastmen and greenskin in
order to build up her battlefield skill and reputation. Eventually, she killed her Khainite tutor and took charge of the cult. When she returned to Athel Tolarien she butchered the other cults, murdered her peace-loving mother when she protested and made the Cult of Khaine preeminent. In the Sundering, she fought for Maleketh and the Dark Elves, terrorizing the province of Cothique and sacrificing thousands to Khaine, all the while continuing to plot to do away with Morathi. Ultimately she, with the rest of the Witch King’s force, was driven out when the Druichi are defeated by Caledor.
For the next thousands of years she would rule over the Druichi city of Hag Ganeth, known for her extremely heavy handed dictatorship. The punishment for any crime, no matter how minor, was
sacrifice on the altar of Khaine. At least once a year all rules would be deliberately cancelled so the city could engage in a n orgy of violence, with all t he blood collected the following day to empower Hellebron and keep her young. This was in between her ongoing feud and attempts to kill Morathi of course. That said she and her Khainites did, at times, go afield to fight quite often, for it is the way of Khaine to seek war, murder and bloodshed. Once she even led a crusade against the Old World, leading tens of thousands of Khainites to rampage across the lands all the way down to Nekehara where the Tomb Kings finally crushed it. In the End Times she initially refused the orders of Maleketh to assault Ulthuan, opting instead to weather the endless chaos onslaught in Hag Ganeth. For perhaps a year, if not more, she and her cult fought a constant battle against the men and beasts of the north, the constant bloodletting serving to invigorate fully both sides. It was during this period that Hellebron began to turn to Khorne worship,
though not knowingly at first. “The sorceress kneels in front of me and pulls a short knife from her belt. It is inscribed with runes that dance along the blade. She looks me in the eye. ‘Everything is changing, and Morathi needs you disposed of. Your enmity no longer amuses her. She did bid me deliver a message before this knife slips into your heart, queen of hags.’ ‘Oh, please just kill me and spare me her witless prattlings,’ I say. Enraged, she punches me and knocks me sprawling. I reach out to push myself back up and my hand touches something cold. Something metal. Khaine has delivered me once more. ‘A great change is coming.’ The sorceress yammers on. ‘My mistress has seen it. Darkness is rising and the gods walk. Khaine will be made manifest and it will be Morathi, not Hellebron, who stands at his side.’ She grips the ritual dagger in both hands and plunges it downwards. I roll, though it causes agony to course through my body, and stab upwards with the long knife that my witch elf once carried. I am rewarded with a pained scream. She slashes out wildly and cuts my leg, a long and deep gash. I stab again and blood splatters my face. I swallow and taste it, feel the power in it. I am invigorated and I surge upwards. The pain leaves me and a red mist descends. For a moment, I consider what some murmur, that Khaine and the bloody god the northerners worship are one and the same. I dismiss the thought as unworthy. We are not howling savages seeking skulls and gore. Though to see me now, you would not know it. When the bloodlust lifts, I am atop a ruined mess that was once a sorceress. I briefly regret that I did not have time to consecrate her death to Khaine.
The strength passes, and I fall. One-armed, blood streaming from a leg that is rapidly numbing around the cut – the knife was poisoned, I assume – I begin to pull myself towards my apotheosis.”- Bride of Khaine
Eventually her vast city was whittled down to a
fraction of what it was, and her spies from afar told her that Morathi was coming close to success in the war. Enraged at the prospect and, with the High Elven champion named Korhil fleeing with the Widowmaker in a vain attempt to save the Khainepossessed Tyrion, Hellebron saw a chance to steal the Widowmaker, subvert Tyrion and kill Morathi at the same time! However Hellebron failed to take into account the impact that a year’s worth of constant fighting without replenishment could have on her forces . Empowered by Khaine’s magic her forces initially gave a good account of themselves yet, in the end,
this was not enough to offset the vast numerical superiority Morathi had . Hellebron was dragged kicking from the battlefield by her servants to prevent her death. After the Elven Civil War was won Hellebron moved with the rest of the elven race to Athel Loren, where she zealously participated in its defense. Perhaps a bit too zealously, for elven lords began complaining about a startling number of friendly fire incidents when she was around . This got so bad that it forced an extremely reluctant Maleketh to publically censure her, strip her of her titles, and outlaw the Cult of Blood. Furious and by now already corrupt Hellebron acceded to Be’lakor’s plan to destroy the Tree of Ages
and kill the Everqueen (who persuaded Maleketh to censor her). Together with Drycha, Coedill, and a horde of Slaaneshi Daemons the dissipate alliance assaulted the Elven stronghold around the Tree of Ages. Uncaring of the losses of her followers, Hellebron threw them without reservation into the enemy ranks as her servant Shadowblade sought out Maleketh. Due to difficulty in this alliance in coordinating and fighting together the more unified elves beat them back. Shadowblade was slain in the attempt and Hellebron had to flee. Now serving Archaon directly, Hellebron was given one more chance to kill the Everqueen. In the final battle of Middenheim she led her remaining cultists and the Skaramor- which had come to revere her as a chief servant of Khorne- directed their efforts against the Wood Elves of the Everqueen and the Dwarfs. Now fully consumed by Khorne’s blood-rage, Hellebron paid little attention as her forces were cut off and surrounded, intent only on killing Alarielle . Her hatred towards the Everqueen had become a force of nature and despite being outnumbered and with her witch elves falling all about her she and a
cadre of elites tore through enemy defenses. In melee combat she tore the Everqueen and her guards apart. However, at the last second, Alarielle turned her powers of nature to the arts of healing,
temporarily curing Hellebron of the insanity she had suffered from for t housands of years. For precious few moments the Hag Queen saw herself, her actions and deeds clearly . She hesitated. Alarielle did not, and drove her blade through Hellebron’s heart.
Offensive: Hellebron has the magical blades Deathsword and Cursed Blade, which are said to almost move on their own accord. These blades hit with massive force, enough to even affect giant, monstrous creatures. In combat skill she has several thousand years of experience and can run through some of the best combat swordsmen the Elves have to offer. Hellebron furthermore has the Rune of Khaine, the
ability to inflict supernatural fear, and takes copious amounts of Witchbrew in battle, which drives her into a frenzy of bloodletting. Defensive: Can move fast enough to knock arrows out of the air with her blades.
===X-FACTORS=== Adaptive Creativity: 40/100: Hellebron’s tactics are rather simplistic – hack and slash until you break through to the other side. She is not spectacularly creative and anything creative she comes up with is probably accidental.
Tactics: 49/100: Hellebron can win battles through sheer bloodlust and brutal, massed assaults of her cohorts however this uncreative approach does cause her to lose just as much as win.
Strategy: 43/100: Though Hellebron was once clever and still possess elements of cleverness, her madness and bloodlust often override key strategic caution. She treats her Dark Elves- never a common race to begin with- as deeply expendable and thus her army has been dwindling constantly throughout the End Times. When available she will deploy human followers as more expendable than her elves though, showing some sense.
Intuition: 53/100: Audacity: 93/100: She is relatively fearless for the most part, but does not run out to die if she can help it. She is perfectly willing to sacrifice absolutely everything in her stead though.
Inspiration: 78/100: Worshipped by both her cult and, eventually, by many Khornate worshippers as an embodiment of their god, Hellebron’s very presence has been known to drive people to great acts of bloodletting.
Experience: 92/100: Several thousand years against the diverse foes of the Warhammer world. Discipline: 35/100: Corruption: 97/100: ===ADDITIONAL FACTORS===
Hellebron is most often seen on top of a cauldron of blood.
Mobility: 5 Training/Experience: 6 Max & Effective Range: Several meters Preferred Range: Melee Role : General
Everyone, even the most ignorant child, knows that trolls are bywords for stupidity. Yet among them exists one troll who is
different, one troll whose mutations were not of the body, but of the mind. Throgg the troll king sits on his cold, lonely throne in Troll country, attended by his drooling subjects. For many years rumors of a super intelligent troll led many would-be champions to attempt to slay him. Every attempt merely gave Throgg some dinner.
Yet eventually Throgg grew tired of this near constant assassination attempts. Looking at the lands of men with malice in his eyes he declared that if the race of man wanted to fight him so badly, Throgg would let them. He would fight them with every creature in Troll County at his back. That night Throgg vowed the destruction of the race of men. Marching southward as an aspect of the coming Storm of Chaos, Throgg now controls a vast army of trolls, mutants, madmen, and other horrific Chaos creatures. The Dark Gods are pleased by Throgg’s intent, and have gift ed him the ability to
command these bestial creatures.
The novel Kinslayer has Throgg as a powerful and ambitious warlord, one who wants to rule his own kingdom of Beasts and usher in a new age. He drove Aekold Hellbrass out of Praag after the Chaos
warlord conquered it, and for a while fended off all attacks by various Chaos warlords. Though devoted to the Chaos Gods, his hatred of men prevented an Alliance with the Chaos human followers of
those gods, and he was only really willing to consider an alliance with the Empire after his own kingdom finally started coming apart. In addition he kidnapped mages of all races in an attempt to create a race of intelligent trolls that would rule the world after man. This effort failed when the adventuring duo Gotrek and Felix strode into his realm, looking for one of the kidnapped mages. Though he set events in motion that resulted in the deaths of two of the duo’s oldest companions he was eventually defeated by the adventuring pair of Gotrek and Felix after a pitched battle, and was thrown off a cliff. But Throgg survived. Recognizing the destruction of his dreams Throgg devoted himself wholeheartedly to the Chaos Gods and fought in the final battle of Middenheim. There he was paired with Sigvald, the Geld Prince, by an amused Archaon who clearly wanted a ‘beauty and the beast’ matchup. The Chaos warlord directed them to fight Nagash. Instead, as soon as they were out of Archaon’s sight, Sigvald attempted to murder Throgg. Once again the troll survived and was furious. The troll king finished off Sigvald after the latter had just killed Krell, albeit at the cost of his good looks. Shortly after Throgg was himself beaten by Nagash and offered his life in exchange for servitude. The troll king spurned this offer and was soon after blown apart by the Great Necromancer.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Throgg wields a massive hammer in battle, as well as his extreme troll-strength. For range he can project acidic, short-ranged vomit at a foe, quickly eating through armor. “‘The half-wit,’ growled the Troll King, pointing a massive claw to the door behind Snorri. ‘I do not care enough to wish you harm. Take this one chance to leave. I have no patience left for fools.’ Snorri scowled. Sometimes he didn’t realize that he’d been insulted until well after the event, but that one he got. Fortunately, Snorri wasn’t in the habit of listening to trolls, even if they could talk, and instead strode under the Troll King’s hands while he was still talking and cracked the teeth from a dozen gnashing mouths with a blow from his hammer. Snorri grinned at the Troll King’s indignant roar and drew back his arm for another blow. Who was stupid now? The Troll King’s fist hit like a cannonball. ‘We will return to Karak Kadrin,’ said Borek firmly. ‘I expect there is an oath there that you will wish to make.’ ‘After,’ said Snorri, sadly. ‘After Snorri tells Gotrek’s family what he did.’ Snorri came to with arms and legs flapping, just a second before he slammed into the cage behind. The bars caved around him as though a big, clawed hand had just risen out of the floor and caught him. Snorri’s mouth worked in pain he couldn’t find the breath for. Bent metal trapped his limbs. Something
screamed that wasn’t him and Snorri shifted his head around to see a gaunt human in threadbare black robes holding out clasped hands and yammering while he backed further into his cage. ‘My thoughts are gifts from the gods, you moronic, dirt -chewing oaf. They will not be broken by the likes of you.’ The Troll King readied a fist and this time Snorri saw it coming in good time. It was a club of overlapping crystal edges and was almost as large as Snorri was. He heaved on his mace-leg but couldn’t free it in time, then turned his face aside as the blow landed.
Snorri let the body drop, then slumped down onto his backside beside it. Injured dwarfs groaning and whimpering all around, he took a sip from his liberated ale skin. What had that ranger been trying to say about towns and goblins? Sharp, glittering debris tinkled from Snorri’s shoulders as he wobbled upright. For a second his jumbled memories couldn’t place where he was, but then the swirling in front of his eyes slotted together. It looked as though he’d been punched right through the bars and into the pale human’s cage. The human lay unconscious amidst a pile of glass and metallic debris that lay between Snorri and the mangled remnants of the cage’s front wall. The Troll King glared at him from the other side. ‘Why are you smiling?’ ‘Was Snorri smiling?’ With a roar of fury, the Troll King wrenched the breach in the cage wider and pushed through a rugged shoulder. ‘You are infuriating, dwarf. An insult to every beast that stares in stupidity at the stars and cannot wish to comprehend.’ Blinking away the last of his daze, Snorri kicked aside a sheet of corrugated metal and threw himself forward with axe and hammer held high. The Troll King blocked Snorri’s hammer on the craggy crystalline stuff that covered its wrist in the same way an adult would fend off a child. Breathing hard, Snorri ducked under the return blow, bashing his mace-leg into the Troll King’s shin in a hail of dark green shards, and then hammered his axe into the troll’s waist where it stuck with an unsatisfactory flat thump. With a rumble of laughter, the T roll King brought his elbow crashing down on Snorri’s bald head. (…) The old lady had promised Snorri that his doom would bring nothing but pain, and here it was. A new kind of determination welled up inside of him – for the first time in a hundred years he felt a powerful resolve to live. He had to confess. He had to make amends. Gotrek had to know who was responsible for his shame! With every bone, tooth and nail that Snorri could lay onto the Troll King’s fingers he fought, even as the blows kept coming and his struggles grew ever weaker. The last impact he didn’t even feel.
And then Snorri Nosebiter closed his eyes.”- Kinslayer
Defensive: Throgg is a troll, meaning in addition to his size he can regenerate very easily even surviving a several hundred foot fall. However like all trolls, he is weak to fire.
==X-FACTORS== Adaptive Creativity: 69/100: Throgg has shown himself to be a rather excellent ambusher, utilizing midnight raids and his frost-like environment to his advantage. This is often surprising to his enemies that know of the trolls, for no other troll is clever enough to possess any sort of tactical acumen or creativity.
Tactics: 62/100: In part thanks to the nature of his army, with powerful trolls serving as the core of it, and in part thanks to his own intelligence Throgg is shown to be a creative and skilled tactician, and even beat the armies of the Conqueror of Kislev (Aekold Hellbrass).
Strategy: 43/100: His strategic prowess is somewhat lacking, thanks to his megalomania, which prevented necessary strategic alliances. Indeed his end plan, to create an Age of the Beast, appears limited to the capture of wizards everywhere to try and make his beasts smarter.
Intuition: 55/100: Audacity: 77/100: Has no qualms sacrificing large quantities of troops in most situations. Psychological Warfare: 66/100: Throgg is good at breaking beasts and beast-like foes, and did manage to convince hundreds of wizards (of all WF races) to work for him after he traveled the world capturing them through threats, beatings, and guile.
Experience: 90/100 : Alleged to be near immortal and remembers the days before Chaos arrived, though only began leading a host relatively recently.
Discipline: 49/100: This is rather high for any Beast of Chaos, however he frequently loses his temper or gets afraid in combat, resorting and alternating between threats, boasts, insults, and bribes. Inspiration: 83/100: Throgg is one of the few who can achieve almost unchallenged supremacy from Beasts of Chaos, even binding the fiercely independent Chimera to his cause.
Corruption: 91/100: Wants to completely destroy men and create an "Age of the Beast" in its place. ==Additional Factors== It is said that as he moves his legions of monsters the land
warps behind him into a more wintry landscape that trolls thrive on. Through the same said magic Throgg is able to project his consciousness upon a single troll ta time that he is leading, akin to Harbinger in Mass Effect 2.
Mobility: 5
Training/Experience: 10 Max & Effective Range: 50 meters Preferred Range: Spell/Melee Role: General Secondary Role: Tactical-Magic, Strategic- Large Scale Corruption Morghur is an ancient and wholly unkillable Beastlord that has terrorized the forested woodlands of the Old World for centuries. Beastmen revere Morghur, believing that his spirit walked the world before the birth of their race; the incarnation of disorder and pure Chaos. They set out from thousands of miles away to stand in his presence, drawn to him by urges they do not question; a tainted pilgrimage that often destroys them. Only the strongest-willed survive such an encounter, though their minds are usually shattered and plagued by visions ever after. The bodies of most are wracked by fatal change. Those few that do live on with minds intact return to their warherds where they are regarded with awe and respect, and invariably rise to become powerful Wargors and Beastlords. When Morghur was first born into the world he ripped his mother apart from the inside, before turning his father into a Chaos Spawn. Still a babe, within days Morghur devastated the village. It was said by adventurers that later discovered the ruins that men crawled around in the mud like animals, their hands turned to hooves and limbs twisted and rearranged. The livestock walked around on hind legs, speaking in unfathomable tongues as they devoured each other. Gibbering and mad, Morghur wandered the forests of Arden endlessly. At all times, Morghur's mind is and was filled with images of destruction, fire and desolation. Burning hatred simmers within his heart, and he is consumed with the desire to make his waking - dreams become reality - to rip down civilisation in all its forms, to shatter order wherever it is found and to change the world constantly and randomly. A massive herd gathered, poised to annihilate civilization.
Asrai vs. Morghur, Round 1: Yet Morghur’s birth had not gone unnoticed. Ariel, Mage-Queen of the Wood Elves , had noticed the creature’s inception and, proactively seeking to annihilate all threats, quietely sought Morghur’ out. When she finally found Morghur she could hardly contain her laughter! She had expected a all powerful sorcerer or champion of Chaos but instead found a lumpen, mishappen, gibbering idiot-spawn, hardly capable of understanding its own nature. Without hesitation, Ariel called cleansing flame down upon the Corruptor and its yowling herd. Her task complete, the Mage Queen returned home. In her arrogance, she believed that Morghur’s threat was ended. In time, she was sure, the living world would heal from the Corruptor’s touch and the Weave would gradually be restored.
Asrai vs. Morghur, Round 2:
What Ariel did not realise was that Morghur was not so easily destroyed. Even as the Mage Queen turned to leave, the beast's wounds had begun to heal. Worse, Morghur had taken her measure just as she had taken his. The beast had understood little of what he had seen, for his warped mind was a mad spiral in which thoughts and words were alien concepts; but Morghur was not so addled that he did not recognise Ariel for what she was. Having tasted a small measure of her power, he hungered for more. Slowly but surely, Morghur's meandering path began to creep southwards to Athel Loren. For the next two centuries Morghur slowly built his forces. Ever greater hordes were directed at Athel Loren yet the Elves, in their arrogance, did not mark the more difficult battles. Then Morghur himself showed up, his otherworldly corruptive aura disrupting the bonds between Elves and spirits. For a long and terrible year, the natural order of Athel Loren was disrupted, for Morghur could seemingly not be slain by the weapons of the Elves. Worse, he recovered from even the most heinous of wounds. Most disastrous of all, the trees and spirits of Athel Loren did not succumb to Morghur’s taint all at once. Countless times, the Elves would be on the brink of victory, only to have it snatched from their grasp as madness seized spirits that moments before had been their allies. This insanity was not always lasting, but seemed to afflict the Dryads worst of all, for they had ever been the most capricious and malevolent of all their kind. In the end Morghur was defeated by the combined efforts of Ariel and Coeddil, an ancient treeman. While Coeddil held the creature down Ariel gathered energy not just from herself, but from Athel Loren itself. In a incredible display of magic she smote the creature to ash yet found to her disppair that not even that could put Morghur down for good. Worse, in his death his corruptive life ssence seeped into the forest, twisting forever the zone in which he fought and, eventually, helping to corrupt Coeddil.
Asrai vs. Morghur, Rounds 3 &4: Born again into the world, the gibbering immortal beast gathered a massive brayherd to him and marched to assault the magical font of Silverspire. There another goddess lurked hidden from the world and if Morghur managed to corrupt the site, the entire region nearby would likelwise be at risk. Alas, Ariel was still weak from their previous conflict and lacked the strength to lead a war-party to destroy the beast. However, her husband Orion was furious about the damage done to his queen and was eager for vengeance. In the terrible battle that followed Orion used his herculean strength to physically tear Morghur limb from limb. Many years later Morghur would again try to destroy Silverspire however this time he was destroyed by a army of Elves allied with Brettonians led by the heroic king Giles de Breton.
Asrai vs. Morghur: Round 5 Before long, Morghur arose again, this time in the Forest of Shadows. However Ariel had changed, been almost corrupted by the magics taught to her by Morathi. On this occasion, Ariel resolved that the creature’s corruption would be stilled once and for all — she would consume his power as he had ever tried to devour hers. The Mage Queen sent a host north through the worldroots, and they soon brought Morghur’s warherd to battle. As they had before, the Wood Elves found the Corruptor all but immune to their weapons, but Ariel had planned against this circumstance. Indeed, she relied upon it. At the
battle's height, Ariel directed a great convocation of Spellsingers to snare Morghur and transport him through the worldroots to the Oak of Ages. There she bound the foul creature with all the dark magics at her command, and began the ritual that would make his power her own. She would have succeeded in this disastrous plan had it not been for Durthu. The Elder had felt the disturbance as the Corruptor had been brought along the worldroots, and was outraged that their sanctity could be so violated. Hastening to the Oak of Ages, he slew Morghur before the ritual could be completed. Ariel screamed and railed at Durthu, but dared do no more. Even deluded as she was, the Mage Queen knew better than to harm one of the Elders, so she let him depart, claiming ever after that it was mercy, rather than weakness, that stayed her hand.
Asrai vs. Morghur, Round 6: Year later Morghur was born again to this world. After devastating Brettonia his army was destroyed by a massive Asrai host, all their heroes and legendary lords brought together, who decimated his army with apocalyptic bloodshed. Morghur himself was finally destroyed by being turned into a walking pincushion by Wood Elven snipers.
Asrai vs. Morghur, Round 7: By now the Elves had grown extremely alert for any sign of Morghur’s presense and thus when Morghur arose for the seventh known time they were prepared. A strike force led by Araloth and Naeith the Prophetess quickly captured the Beast however, as they planned to destroy him, a massive rescue party of beasts arrived. The Chaos Gods would not be so easily denied their champion. The Elven host was beaten back with incredible losses with Araloth swearing revenge. Years later Araloth would achieve his goal as he led a massive host to assault the beast within his life in the Forest of Arden. However by now the beast’s debased presense had worked its magic on the forest. he forest was hungry for flesh, and many Elves were devoured by gaping boles or torn limb from limb by vines. Here and there, they found the skeletal bodies of Bretonnian knights who had ended their Grail quests as mulch for the corruption. Mutated forest creatures scuttled through the undergrowth, mad eyes shining horribly in the darkness and their razorsharp teeth glistening with poison. After taking great causialties, Araloth finally reached the center of the forest. At last, the host of Athel Loren came upon a blasted glade, in which Morghur and his warherd were gathered. A colossal herdstone had been raised in the very centre of the clearing the rubble of its core the remains of a onceproud Grail chapel, and it was upon this summit that the Corruptor capered and yowled. Catching sight of his prey at last, Araloth nocked an arrow to his mighty longbow and let fly. The shot sped true; it struck Morghur from the herdstone, wounded, but alive. The signal for battle given, the Elves let out their war cries, and charged into the glade. The battle that followed was brutal beyond imagining and incredibly difficult for the Elves. In the climax of the battle Araloth threw a bottle of sap from the Tree of Ages in Morghur’s face, its sap containing the most pure liquid in the world. Like the Wicked Witch of the West, Morghur melted.
Asrai vs. Morghur Round 8: In the End Times Morghur would arise one last, final time, this time born within the borders of Athel Loren itself. His tumultuous birth successfully broke a Asrai province and destroyed a series of waystones, allowing dark magic and Beastmen to enter Athel Loren en masse. The Elves and Chaos were still fighting as the world ended. Morghur is a gibbering, mad embodiment of chaotic destruction. In the Kingdom Conquest tournament he would likely continue this function, serving as a powerful figure for the Beastmen to rally behind and leading those forces in an unthinking mass of destruction. His very presense will corrupt nature in whatever province he is located in, his immediate auras on the battlefield turning people into monsters.
=LOADOUT== Offensive: Bray Staff of Morghur and Stones of the Skull Cave: The twisted staff of Moghur is an incredible conduit for chaotic power when combined with the stones of skull cave, and it writhes constantly as if living. This staff can make any wizard manipulating the Winds of Magic to have an
increased risk of turning into a chaos spawn. As the spirit essence of Chaos his very presence mutates those around him. Beastmen that follow too
closely may turn into chaos spawn, for they are already not too far away from it . For the uncorrupted enemy this is harder to do, though can still be done with frightening ease.
Defensive: Skull-Weave: The skulls woven into his hair and horns gibber and screech constantly, invoking fear in those who see it.
Aura of Transformation: Morghur's presence warps reality. Cannonballs turn into puffs of smoke midair, missile attacks randomly fall short, spells in showers of blood, creatures mutate horribly, and even enemy soldiers are known to turn into a mass of tentacles or jelly. Sometimes those that are not are turned mad, like the creatures of Athel Loren. Barring exceptional attacks, Morghur cannot be hurt in any way by anything that is not within 50 meters of him and those enemy soldiers in striking distance are particularly susceptible to mutation. As Guardians of the Forest shows us they must rely heavily on their own willpower to resist the transformation, not giving into it for a second. Even with all this his
aura can be bypassed in short range and he can certainly be killed, as the Wood Elves proved four or five times, but it usually done as the re sult of many powerful attacks at once (Athel joining the fray, 100 arrows from expert archers etc.). In a strategic sense, Morghur’s presense is so terrible that it single handily raises the corruption level of
whatever land he is in.
==X-FACTORS== -Adaptive Creativity: 15/100: Tactics: 12/100: Strategy: 22/100: All of these scores are extremely low because Morghur is a mindless, gibbering idiot who has extreme difficulty forming words, much less coherent planning. Morghur derives direction from the gods rather than any intrinsic higher thought.
Intution: 10/100: Morghur is frequently ambushed or otherwise caught unaware. Discipline: 40/100: Somehow, this beast has demonstrated enough restraint to build up his forces first behore attacking.
Psychological Warfare: 85/100: Morghur earns an extremely high score thanks to his incredible auras, which turn those in his presence mad or into chaos spawn. Worse sometimes the corruption takes days, months or years to effect the enemy. Imagine a valued ally suddenly and inexplicitely turning into a deadly foe in the middle of a battle without explaination, months after last encountering Morghur. His very presense also serves to corrupt the environment.
Audacity: 98/100: Morghur knows not the meaning of fear and the only time he ever retreated was when he was pulled away by his minions. The beast is utterly insane and obsessed with destruction.
Experience: 90/100: Inspiration: 95/100: Seen as an almost god-like being by the Beastmen. Corruption: 100/100: ==Additional Factors== Moghur is a massive morale factor for the Beastmen, a legend and very embodiment of everything they look up to. His every thought and dream is of visions in which order does not exist, progress ripped asunder and everything corrupted. His hatred of civilizations is legendary and though incredibly insane
he will do everything in his power to ensure the brayherds are focused solely on the destruction of enemy civilization, whether it is the keeps of the Empire or the forest realm of Athel Loren. T his hatred can spread through his forces like wildfire, boosting up their rage and drive. His piercing roar can draw Beastmen to him from miles around, even causing those fleeing to suddenly scurry around
and join the fray. Lorewise, Morghur is virtually impossible to permanently kill and if it could occur at all would require a truly godlike amount of magic. However he can be put down and, historically, it took him decades or centuries to regenerate though nearly the End Times it took him just a few years. For Kingdomk Conquest tournament he would likely be finished after being put down the first time, though a second life is conceivable.
Mobility: 9 (Flying) Training/Experience: 9 Max Range: Magical spell range Preferred Range: Ranged Role: General/Magical Support Known as the Crow-father, Malagor is a being as revered by
Beastmen as hated and feared by man. Among holy men he is the epitome of sin for Malagor desires not just the destruction of the physical aspect of man but also his works, civilizations, and religion. Ancient woodcutting statues with his form reveal that he was feared even before the time of Sigmar. When he was born it was obvious to all that he was blessed, for he had been birthed with wings enabling flight. Malagor is a bray shaman though not one dedicated to any single Beastlord. Instead he seeks to counsel the entire Beastman race, providing advice for all beastlords in a bid that increasingly
sees Beastkind unified under one purpose. When assaults are launched Malagor is at their head, flying in with a thousand carrion birds at his back. Of all the vile rituals he initiates and atrocities he commits nothing is more pleasurable then to see the destruction of temples, to sacrifice priests/priestesses on holy alters and drink their blood in mockery of their most holy sacraments. It was Malagor who takes the most delight in ripping in two the standards of the empire, who pushed a massive statue of Sigmar onto a congregation below, drenched flagellants in fire to be set loose on half a town and who caused a river to boil as knights crossed it. Malagor is infamous for salting the Earth behind him, wrecking them into literal oblivion as nothing remains once his armies finish. Recently he has been spotted lending his counsel to Khazrak the One Eye and set up an ambush in Ostermarch where a forest was burned around 10,000 Imperial soldiers (and Beastmen, but Malagor cared not). In the End Times Malagor was initially entrusted by the Chaos Gods to stop Arkhan in his attempt to
resurrect Nagash. The Bray-Shaman fought Beastlords, conquered their brayherds and gathered up a huge army. Several times during the campaign Malagor used surprisingly cunning tactics to come close to victory however he was ultimately outmaneuvered by the undead into attacking a Dwarf force, which was ironically also given the same task at stopping Nagash’s resurrection. Though Malagor had enough discipline to resist attacking the mountain dwellers his force did not and he was reluctantly drawn into
a conflict that his force would lose. Desperate to renew his favor with the gods, it was Malagor that would unleash one of the most powerful spells in the Warhammer World. After weeks of preparation and ritual and harnessing Tzeentch’s dominance of the winds of magic, Malagor completed a ritual of such wide-ranging potency
that every hamlet, farm and township in the Empire fall under assault by its own altered livestock. Army upon army of Beastmen was born in a single night, each driven by a maniacal desire to feed on
those who had planned to slaughter t hem for their own feast days. In one stroke, the Crowfather had turned the scales of domesticity upon the race of men. He had not only robbed the Empire of much of its edible meat, but also ensured that its citizens were penned into their own homes by the very
beasts they had sought to tame . Road wardens, garrison-farmers and militia were all too busy battling against their own home born terrors to unite against the encroaching chaos force from the North. Later he took part in the Beastman assault on Middenheim where, though inflicting causalities, he was killed by the Ulric possessed patriarch Gregor Martak. “A shriek from above tore Martak’s attentions from the carnage being wrought in the square. He and Valten looked up, to see a swirling murder of crows descend on the artillery at the top of the steps. Gunners cried out in fear and pain as Malagor swept through them, plucking eyes and raking flesh. The Dark Omen was monstrous and unstoppable, and his body dissolved into a shower of feathers only to reform elsewhere to wreak more havoc. Even as the bodies of those he’d slain tumbled down the steps, Malagor vanished, the thunder of wings echoing in his wake. Valten started up the steps, hammer in hand. Martak grabbed his arm. ‘No. I’ll handle the beast. You see to the battle.’ Valten opened his mouth, as if to reply, then nodded and turned to race down the steps. Martak cracked his knuckles, and then closed his eyes. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the stench of
Malagor’s magics. The creature was ripe with the stink of the swirling energies which permeated the clouds far above. Martak, eyes still closed, turned one way, and then another, following Malagor’s twisting, turning pilgrimage across the battle-lines of the Empire. Men died wherever the beast settled, and it seemed to be unconcerned with the savage slaughter being inflicted on its kin, for its attacks were random, rather than calculated to ease the advance of the Beastmen. Nonetheless, the Beastmen were possessed by an unmatched ferocity, and down in the square they hurled themselves through the teeth of the artillery and crashed home at last, smashing into the ranks of the state troops. The creatures were outnumbered, and almost ridiculously so, but Martak knew that such concerns no longer held sway over them. The Children of Chaos had been driven into a killing frenzy, and they were determined to taste the blood of their enemies. There! The thought sliced through his consciousness, and Martak’s eyes snapped open. His head ached with the pounding of wings as he turned and saw a mass of whirling feathers dropping towards Greiss and his knights. Martak raced down the steps, one arm flung back. He stopped, and his arm snapped forwards. A jagged spear of amber, coated in ice, cut through the air with a whistling shriek. The mass of shadow-crows gave a communal scream and something hairy dropped from their midst to crash down on the steps. Martak pounced, his hands seizing the length of his conjured spear, and he shoved his prey back down as it tried to rise. Malagor howled in agony as it pawed uselessly at the ice. Its blood had splattered out across the steps like the wings of some great, malignant bird. Martak leaned against the spear with his full weight. Malagor’s flesh blackened with frostbite, and its froth became frozen slush. It glared at Martak, and he matched that gaze, even as he had before. Then, with a frustrated whimper, Malagor flopped back and lay still.” - Lord of the End Times
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Braystaff. Malagor is also an exceptionally powerful wizard(level 4) who can call upon spells from the Lore of Beasts, Wild, Death or Shadow. With every spell he successfully casts in battle his power increases. He possesses a series of defiled icons of just about every religion of man that not only enrage the
enemy, but inspire his followers to even greater acts of desecration. They fight far harder, longer and more fearlessly then other Beastmen. Defensive: Not much, maybe some scavenged leather or mail. ==Additional Factors== Given his favorite hobby, if the enemy has any established religion, sacred icons, or established clergy, he will likely direct his personal efforts on those.
==X-FACTORS==
Adaptive Creativity: 47/100: More creative than the average Beastman, however still considerably less than most humans.
Tactics :62/100: For a Beastman, whose tactics generally consist of ambushing and overwhelming, Malagor has fairly advanced tactical aclumenn. In End Times :Nagash he effectively shadowed Arkhan, picking off his necromancers from afar and harrying his fore in a way designed to whittle them down.
Strategy: 59/100: In End Times Arkhan Malagor effectively built up his forces, shadowed Arkhan, kited Brettonians into them and even had the forethough to scout ahead and burn every single graveyard to be found.
Intuition: 56/100: Psychological Warfare: 62/100: Malagor specializes in terror and religious desecration, driving men to frenzy and bringing despair through attacking their gods.
Discipline: 48/100: Malagor is capable of controlling his urges somewhat, more than other Beasts, however he still will give into rage. He has even greater difficulty keeping his beasts in check and, in Sylvannia, even though he knew his force was being led into a trap he could still do nothing to stop the situation.
Inspiration: 48/100: Though revered, Malagor has a extreme difficulty in keeping his troops in check, having to constantly fight off challenges and difficulty in getting his Beastmen to follow orders.
Experience: 80/100: Several hundred years old. Corruption: 97/100:
Mobility: 3(Cinderbreath: 7) Training/Experience: 5-6 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range:Ranged Role : General “For more than a thousand years, the dark, burning spire of the Black Fortress has stood sentinel over the crossing place of the River Ruin at the southern edge of the Mountains of Mourn and guarded the border of the Chaos Dwarf Empire of
ash and suffering. It is a nightmarish place of soot, blackened iron and jagged rock, and burning magma runs through it like lifeblood. For centuries the master of this dark demesne and the warriors and slaves that inhabit it has been Drazhoath the Ashen, a twisted, power-hungry-creature and potent sorcerer. Drazhoath was first sent to the Black Fortress in effective exile after losing favor in the brutal politics of Zharr- Naggrund as a minor hell smith but has since risen to become i ts lord through his innate cunning
and bitter, ruthless ambition. In battle Drazhoath is both a mighty sorcerer and an able warrior who leads his war hosts from the fore mounted upon the Great Taurus, Cinderbreath, bringing fire and ruin down upon the enemy. Drazhoath's power has grown over the decades, and there are few sorcerers
now in the service of Hashut who can match him in arcane might or knowledge in the creation of war machines and daemon-binding. He also has undisputed mastery of the Legion of Azgorth – a potent army of Chaos Dwarfs and Hobgoblin slave soldiers based at the Black Fortress whose duty it is to raid across the river and patrol the savage wastes of the southern Dark Lands to maintain the Chaos Dwarfs' tentative dominion over the deadly, monster-plagued expanse.
But for all his power and the forces at his command, Drazhoath is all too keenly aware that he has reached an impasse and his black-hearted ambition can take-him no further, for the Black Fortress is many leagues away from the center of the Chaos Dwarf empire at Zharr-Naggrund and is ill-regarded. The voice of this lord of exiles carries little weight with the great conclave of Hashut's priesthood, and in particular none with Astragoth Ironhand, the oldest and most powerful living Sorcerer of ZharrNaggrund, and the master who sent Drazhoath into internal exile long ago. Astragoth is ancient beyond measure though, and at last his powers have begun wane. He is kept mobile only by sorcerous mechanisms of his own dark design, and so Drazhoath's dreams of a triumphant return to ZhairNaggrund are slowly kindled in his spiteful breast. Drazhoath needs above all a great victory to seal his prominence for when Astragoth finally falls, and a great flow of fresh captives and plunder into the
coffers of the Chaos Dwarf empire would go far to expand his influence beyond his own blighted domain. This however is not proving to be such an easy ambition for Drazhoath to achieve, thanks to the enemies which continually beset the Black Fortress (which are after all its reason for existing) and he has been left wanting. When dark rumors began to reach the Lord of the Black Fortress of a monstrous horde rising in the cast and era before it, Drazhoath consulted the flames and embers or sacrificial altars for what they portended. He saw both dire peril and opportunity in the coming of Tamurkhan with the malefic intent that so characterizes his cold mind-he he drew his plans accordingly. “ During the campaign Drazhoath was initially so stubborn that, even knowing that the Chaos force outnumbered his own by many orders of magnitude he refused to bow to Tamurkhan’s wishes and fought. He was defeated after an awesome fight, but still managed to save the Chaos Dwarf core of his army (sacrificing many, many Hobgoblins to do so). He then skillfully negotiated the right to many slaves, materials, and the prestige of defeating the machines of the men of the West (Steam tanks) as
well as the Chaos force first agreeing to destroy nearby enemies for Drazoath, in exchange for leading 1/3 of his force to join Tamurkhan’s. Throughout the campaign Drazhoath fought skillfully, being tactically deployed mostly to break up sieges. Despite a powerful Night Goblin ambush the Chaos Dwarf force, through Drazhoath’s careful leadership, took far fewer causalities than any other sub-force and even managed to save Sayl the Faithless (much to his later regret). In the campaign against the Empire, he focused on destroying their
vaunted walls, bombarding/destroying their cannons at superior range, and ultimately dealing with their new Landships. However he retreated after Sayl betrayed the force through inaction. That said Drazoath managed to preserve most of his force and thus lost relatively little on the campaign, leaving Tamurkhan’s force to ruin in order to do so. Not that he cared of course.
In the End Times Drazoath and his legion were among the first Chaos Dwarfs to feel Grimgor's fury, as the Waaagh crossed the mountains. While the Ashen One defended the Black Fortress fiercely, it was all for naught as Grimgor unleashed the Wind of Beasts and tore down the citadel, burying its defenders amid the rubble. Drazoath was hurled from his mount as Grimgor split Cinderbreath's skull, and the
sorcerer-prophet was soon overwhelmed by the green tide.
===LOADOUT=== Offensive: Drazhoath carries The Graven Se pctre, a badge of rank that has been held by the commander of the Black Fortress since the site was founded. This weapon allows it to ignore or work around most
types of armor. He also then carries Daemonspite Crucible, which allows him to capture souls of wizards and use it to empower his magic. Finally he rides the Great Taurus Cinderbreath.
Defensive: Hellshard Amulet: Gives the wielder a bit of magical shielding, and makes it so any close combat attack that gets through does some damage on the one who caused it as the damage is reflected back.
===ADDITIONAL FACTORS=== Drazhoath is an experienced, accomplished commander, and is a up-and-coming rival to Astragoth. Should the old Chaos Dwarf leader die, through whatever means, the schemer Drazhoath may well one day achieve his long-desired position of Chaos Dwarf society. In campaign Drahzoath is known for being
rather cautious of his own men, preserving them as well as he can, while expending large amounts of “meat” (Hobgoblins, other Chaos followers).
Adaptive Creativity: 66/100 Tactics:65/100: The Chaos Dwarves, and Drazhoath in particular, are usually well-suited by their order and stratagems for victory. Even if they lose their core almost always manages to get away, courtesy of expending hordes of hobgoblins and slaves.
Strategy: 68/100 : The Chaos Dwarf overall strategy is carried out over centuries rather than a mere campaign, with the Chaos Dwarves slowly expanding through trade, guile and sheer calculated brutality. Usually, the Chaos Dwarves are most prepared for a defeat as well, keeping backup garrisons and an open route to fall back if need be. Thus in Tamurkhan’s campaign while most of the titular warlord’s force was decimated, the Chaos Dwarves managed to retreat in good order.
Intuition: 62/100: Psychological Warfare: 56/100: Audacity: 72/100: Chaos Dwarves normally have no problems wasting slaves, hobgoblins/allies and underlings- in that order. However they do desire to preserve their own force above all others, in order to continue to guarantee their personal power and protection, and thus will retreat or proceed cautiously in battles where they might lose large chunks of their force.
Experience: 81/100: At least several centuries in the zone that contains the most battles of any part of the Chaos Dwarf empire.
Discipline: 82 (55)/100: Not only do Chaos Dwarves show great cool in regards to losing causalities, they are also very cautious of falling into traps or overextending themselves. The Chaos Dwarves themselves fight in near perfect discipline (Hobgoblins significantly less, which lowers the average). Only lowered down as Drazhoath temporarily lost his discipline in shock when he saw the Marianburg landships.
Inspiration: 60/100 Corruption: 92/100: Chaos Dwarves wish to enslave and dominate everything. They are utterly sociopathic in their outlook.
Mobility: 7 (Flying)
Training/Experience: 9 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role : General Cormac Bloodaxe was a mighty champion of the Blood God, Khorne, and a mighty chieftain and king amongst the Norsii tribes. The son of the slain High-King Varag Skulltaker, Cormac harboured a soulblackening hatred towards the newly ascendant Empire that had slaughtered and driven his people back to the barren northlands. His greatest resentment reserved for the Unberogens and their king Sigmar Heldenhammer, who had led the charge against the Northern tribes. The molten core of violence within him, as well as his favour in the eyes of the Blood God, proved a potent force in unifying the scattered tribes of the Northmen; clad in his father's Chaos Plate and wielding a burning axe in which was bound the spirit of a daemon of Khorne, he was an avenging fury that laid waste to the enemies of his people. Through raids and assaults on the coastline, he sent terror through the south and rumors to the North. From as far away as near Cathay tribes came, flocking to his banner for the promise of glory in the name of the gods. Finally, Cormac struck. The Norsii armies then marched unimpeded through the outlying Imperial territories, putting countless townships to the torch. When the Emperor finally marshalled the tribes to face them, his army fared no better, and was forced to retreat to the city of Middenheim. There the Emperor sought to trick the Chaos warlord to recklessly assault the city while reinforcements from the rest of the Empire gathered. Cormac saw through this immediately. He proposed, to his main liuetenants, to avoid Middenheim for now and instead focus on picking out and destroying the reinforcing armies one by one. At the same time the army of Chaos would continually pick up Beastmen and Northmen to the point where they could easily overwhelm Middenheim. Had Cormac been able to pursue this strategy, the Empire’s fate may have been sealed. However the shaman, Kar Odacean, pointed out that the gods prioritized Sigmar’s death above everything else and they wanted it done as soon as possible, for they recognized Sigmar would eventually become a heroic symbol. Plus they needed their entertainment. Cormac, not wanting to anger the gods and lose his soul, was force to agree. The siege was brutal, lasting for thirteen full days and nights. Merciless Norsii charges were thrown back but with the greatest of effort, with each attack seeing the Norsii reaping a terrible toll from their adversaries. For where the men of Sigmar's Empire fought with all they had for the sake of bare survival, the men of the North fought with the savage desire that their gods would notice their might and reward them for their bravery. Marshalled before baleful war-altars dediated to their gods, the Norsii truly felt the eyes of the gods upon them, and the raging energies of the warp surged upon them, transmuting them into new, deadlier forms. On the thirteenth, most terrible day of the siege, Cormac Bloodaxe, who had slain so many in battle that his axe now perpetually ran thick with congealed blood, awoke knowing the will of his god was to
be carried out. For his vision seethed red as though his eyes were drenched perpetually in blood. Before a great pit where the Norsii had thrown the corpses of their enemies in honour of Khorne, there did Cormac command the greatest warriors of eight clans to sacrifice themselves to Khorne's glory. Mightily pleased with their valour and tithe, Khorne did take up the Norsii king and reforged him into a manifestation of rage -- a Daemon Prince. The battle that followed was brutal and hellish. More Empire and Northmen died than on any other day of the siege. Even Sigmar himself could not defeat the daemon prince and, in the end, it took the magical breath of Ulric and the assistance Mysa, newly appointed count of Middenhiem (armed with a magical sword) to defeat Cormac.
Offensive: He is armed with a flaming daemon axe, capable of speed almost faster than the eye can see and hitting with the force of a truck.
Defense: Daemon Prince durability ===X-FACTORS== Adaptive Creativity: 50/100: Though not incredibly creative himself, he is perfectly willing to use new styles brought on by his lieutenants.
Tactics: 59/100: Has a fair grasp of tactics but not exceptional. Strategy: 67/100: One of his better traits and it is possible if his plans were implemented, Chaos might have destroyed the Empire early on.
Intution: 60/100: Daemonic Senses Audacity: 90/100: Cormac is, whenever possible, at the forefront of every battle. The only he is not, someone is holding him back.
Discipline: 38/100: Though Kormac has some self-control, he is described as always seething and eager to rush into action.
Psychologal Warfare: 57/100: his tactics are designed to spread fear among the enemy and fame among potential followers, but little else.
Inspiration: 70/100 Corruption: 89/100: his code of honor causes him to be disgusted by Slaaneshi torture of the enemy victims and by his preference he would like to give his foes a honorable (if very messy) death in combat.
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 10 Max & Effective Range: Magical Range
Preferred Range: Magical Range Role : General Secondary Role: Tactical Aid-magic Strategic Aid- Necromancy Heinrich Kemmler burnt with the need for power. Having recognised the limits that mortality placed upon him in his early years, Kemmler made it his life's work to escape them. He plunged into the world of necromancy as a young man, and by the time he had reached his fortieth year he was able to raise entire graveyards of corpses to do his bidding. Kemmler became a great and much-feared Necromancer, plundering every Wizard's tower and ancient temple he could find in his search for dark truths. In the hills beyond Quenelles in Bretonnia his army had smashed the zombie legions of the Council of Nine, an alliance of nine powerful necromancers. In the dark woods beyond the town of Bögenhafen in the western Empire, he had overcome the three Vampire Wizards of Blutwald and all their armies of walking dead. In the crypts beneath castle Vermisace he had overcome the ancient Liche wizard and all his acolytes and was since known as The Lichemaster. His star was in the ascendant for many decades until ambitious rivals began to usurp his power. United, those who Kemmler had defeated proved stronger than even the self-styled Lichemaster. At the Battle of Ten Thousand Skulls, Kemmler's foes succeeded in driving him to his knees. Although he finally managed to scatter his attackers with a great spell of confusion, his body was broken and his mind blasted in the battle. For many years Heinrich wandered the Grey Mountains and the Border Princes as little better than a half-sane beggar. It was in the Vaults where by some quirk of fate, he uncovered the tomb of Krell; a long dead Chaos Champion whose burial mound was so magnificent it towered high above him. Here Kemmler struck a terrible pact with the gods. They restored him to his former power and in return,
Heinrich swore to slay and destroy in their name. The name of the Lichemaster once again struck terror into the hearts of ordinary folk. The tales of these two monsters were many. In 2491 IC they attacked Brettonian abbey at la Maisontaal which contained a powerful artifact stolen from the Skaven. It was only thanks to the skill and heroism of Duke Tancred of Quenelles that the abbey wasn't destroyed utterly in a three-way battle. Kemmler escaped and fled back in the Grey Mountains while the Skaven returned to Skavenblight with their prize. Tancred returned with much honour and spent the rest of his life chasing the Lichemaster. The Duke was eventually killed at the Battle of Montfort Bridge, smashing Kemmler's forces. Kemmler rebuilt his forces and would besiege Maisontaal Abbey many more times over the years, though each ended in failure. At one point, he would decide to try and conquer Athel Loren. The Lichemaster was smart enough to wait until winter, when the forest-and its rulers- slumbered. In a great ritual he raised many thousands
of undead warriors of the Cairns, however the Wood Elves caught on and ambushed/destroyed his force. Right before the onset of the End Times, Heinrich Kemmler took part in Mannfred Von Carstein’s plan to drive a wedge between the Elves, Dwarfs and men. At the time the Everchild was in the Dwarf capital of Karak-a-Karak for negotitations on how to maintain their tenuous alliance. Mannfred and Kemmler hoped to incite hatred between the two factions and in doing so ultimately weaken the nations of man, making them ripe for conquest. As the Elves moved to head home vampire agents incited a truly massive orc horde to assault the position of the Dwarf/Elven honorguard. Despite overwhelming their enemy many times over the Orcs were slaughtered, for some of the mightiest and best trained Elven & Dwarf honorgaurd took part in the fight. However this was the Vampire’s intent, for the Orcs were only the beginning. As Mannfred unleashed his terrorgeists and Krell headed a huge assault of Wight swordsmen, Kemmler put his excellent necromancy to use. Within a few moments every single Orc slain on the battlefield rose again to attack the Dwarfs/Elves. So powerful was his spell that even disembodied arms, legs and
heads were reanimated and crawled, slowly, to the Dwarf shield wall. Next, atter Krell and Mannfred had weakened the Dwarf honorguard, Kemmler resurrected the fallen Dwarfs and deployed them against the Elves in a macrabe parody of the War of Vengeance. Their powerful armor and runic axes proved incredibly difficult for the Elves to deal with. Finally, Kemmler empowered the Terrorgheists with incredible speed and one of these succeeded in capturing the Everchild. Envigorated off his victory, Kemmler left Mannfred, for he chafed under Mannfred’s insistence that of servitude. Wandering the Empire for a while, he discovered turmoil in Reikland where the Graf lay dead, his wife refusing to believe that fate and a scheming chamberlain siphoning off money from them both. Using his sorcery, he projected himself into the wife’s dreams, promising a cure if she could keep up the fiction of her husband simply being sick for a little while longer. Simultaneously, local Beastman Brayshamans hoped to use a powerful ritual to turn every single human living near the woods into a Beastman. Kemmler couldn’t have that and also saw an opportunity to subvert the ritual. Posing as ‘Hans the Hermit’, he helped sneak a force that including legendary adventurers Gotrek and Felix to the head of the Beastman procession, where they killed the head Brayshaman and the Beastlord. As humans basked in their victory Heinrich struck, shredding his façade and resurrecting over ten thousand Beastmen and humans instantly. Those that remained were driven out as Kemmler lead his force to Castle Reiksguard. There he hoped to conduct a ritual involving the chief seak of the province, using the wife and husband who ruled the province, to simultaneously cast a spell of blight on the entire province, killing everything and allowing the necromancer to raise them all for a assault on Altdorf. The caste was well-defended however Kemmler had trickery- and treachery- on his side. Through a cultivated traitor, the undead’s ability to tirelessly conduct itself and Krell’s powerful assaults, Kemmler
whittled down the garrison over six days though he was slowed immensely by Gotrek and Felix. Ultimately the caste fell though Gotrek and Felix escaped. Round 1 belonged to Kemmler. Kemmler prepared his ritual, which needed 3 days of preparation. Unfortunately, for him, he would not have that amount of time. In three days the Imperial relief force arrived and with it, Gotrek and Felix. The adventuring duo dueled Krell and Kemmler and though the Kemmler was able to greatly harm his enemies with magic, he was forced to flee, greatly wounded by the endeavor.
He fled to Brettonia where he was bound to the service of Arkhan the Black, who hoped to use Malloblade, illegitimate son of the king, to destabilize the realm. Though his mind was failing Kemmler contributed greatly in the fight,
his magics helping to devastate the allied Wood-Elf/Brettonian armies at Quennelles and create a vast army of undead that helped weaken the realm greatly. However all that fell through when Malloblade met his end to the returned Giles De Breton, the king Arthur of the setting. Arkhan fled, and for a time the great necromancer was alone. However the Chaos gods had one more task for their servant and restored his wits to full health. He was tasked with the destruction Arkhan, who now sped towards Brettonia in search of a artifact of Nagash. Kemmler thus cunningly posed as the Liche King’s ally, helping Arkhan fight through the now ravaged lands of Brettonia even as he subtely sabotaged Arkhan’s army from within. However when the time came that the betrayal was revealed Kemmler’s new power proved insufficient compared to Arkhan’s sane mental state and extreme experience. It was a very close duel but in a critical moment Kemmler overreached, destroying himself and proving the superiority of the Liche King over the Lichemaster.
Offensive: Chaos Tomb Blade: Kemmler controls a magical tomb blade that not only boosts his power, but entraps the souls of those he slays, automatically resurrecting their corpse to fight alongside him. Kemmler is a master necromancer (level 4) in the Lore of the Undeath, Vampires and the Lore of the Lichemaster, which is basically Lore of the Vampires, but more powerful. Spells seen below can be assumed to effect more troops than the ordinary Lore of the Vampires.
Invocation of the Lichemaster: Restores and binds the wo unds on the skelatons around him or, alternatively, resurrects a new unit from the dead. Has a range of 100meters.
Dessicating Grasp: The Necromancer has the ability to cause anything he touches to age centuries within a second, destroying the bodies of his enemies and enslaving them. As he grips his opponent tightly, the victim's flesh and all his possessions are instantly turned to dust which is scattered by the wind of ages. If a foe is slain whilst Kemmler is under the effects of this spell, their form is reanimated as an Undead minion.
Eternal Vigor: Kemmler concentrates on animating the creatures under his control. They attack with such speed and ferocity that few can defend against their flurry of blows. Has a range of 100 meters
Withering Gaze: Bolts of Dark Magic leap from the Undead spellcaster's eyes. Where die beams touch the victims' flesh, their skin blackens and withers, sloughing away till the white gleam of bone is visible beneath. Has a range of 3 kilometers. Kemmler’s Danse Macrabe:The Undead are filled with an unholy magical energy that causes them to
stride across the battlefield with a speed that even most mortals are unable to match. Adapted from one of the most infamous spells in the great Necromancer Vanhal's repertoire, this incantation can mean the difference between victory and defeat for Kemmler's army Has a range of 100 meters.
Curse of Eternities: The enemies of the Undead fee l their limbs become heavy and their hair turns grey death comes to claim their souls. Once cast on a nemey unit within 300 meters it causes some of that unit to rapidly age and then die.
Defensive: Cloak of Mists and Shadows: The Cloak of mists and shadows swirls and twists on its own, either allowing Kemmler to fly or turn ethereal.
Skull Staff: Gives Kemmler more powers to his spellcasting and allows him to detect nearby magical artifacts. The Black Periapt stores magic for Kemmler, allowing him to call upon it during his time of need.
===X-FACTORS=== Adaptive Creativity: 62/100: As shown by Zombieslayer and remarked upon by Arkhan Kemmler possess a particular, if distrubring, creativity, frequently creating new variants of undead and using new magic.
Tactics:40/100: For the most part, Kemmler is more famous for his failures rather than his victories. Strategy: 65/100: Kemmler has noticeabely more skill when it coms to planning ahead and in the events of Zombieslayer he successfully orchestrated a plan where he acquired an army in the many thousands with little effort, and then quickly sabotaged the defenses of his enemy.
Intuition: 35/100 :Notoriously short sighted and has problems predicting his enemy.
Audacity: 71/100: Kemmler has no qualms wasting vast amounts of troops however he will go to great lengths to preserve his own skin!
Inspiration: 49/100: Among his sentient followers Kemmler is given a certain amount of respect for his power, but nothing more. His dead are unable to disobey him.
Experience: 84/100 Discipline: 39/100: Kemmler is rather easily riled up and his lack of discipline in the final battle with Arkhan proved to be fatal.
Corruption: 94/100:
Mobility: 4
Training/Experience: 8 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role: General Secondary: Duelist Lord Mortkin, the Black Iron Reaver, was a legendary figure in Norscan sagas and a terrible boogyman in the records
of the Empire. According to rumors he was one a great Norscan chieftan who, like so many others, sought to acquire the divine favor of the gods- all of them. To acquire the favor of Nurgle he braved a plague-ridden swamp,
tanked the diseases and then slaughtered the sorcerer cabal at the heart of the Swamp. He tricked a great dragon into service to impress Tzeentch and then wrestled a two-headed giant to the ground to earn Khorne’s pr aise. He even managed to fight Valkia, Handmaiden of Khorne, to a standstill! For a time before Archaon’s
preeminence was certain Lord Mortkin seemed destined to become the next Everchosen himself. However events in the Empire would change that path. The forces of the Empire, furious at the Norscan’s continual raids, decided to launch a series of retaliatory strikes.Led by the von Raukov family dozens of Norscan coastal villages were put to the torch, among them Mortkin’s own home village. This drove Mortkin into a bitter rage. For months the Norse warlord isolated himself in his fortress of blackest iron and as his fury built to apocalyptic levels he swore a oath to the terrible oath to the gods. Were the gods merely to give him his power and the forces, he would make the Empire suffer a terrible wergild! The gods eagerly agreed and soon dozens of warlords flocked to Mortkin’s divine authority! He moved through Kislev in such numbers that the Kislevite horsemen could not slow, much less stop, the mighty Chaos mass. Had Mortkin desired Kislev’s destruction, he likely could have quickly achieved it. Instead he single mindedly entered the Empire’s borders, where he formed an allegiance with the Beastmen tribes. In the first battle a desperate force of Kislevites and Empire forces under Oleg Von Raukov were routed effortlessly by Lord Mortkin and soon the ancestral castle of the Raukov family was burned to the ground. Oleg retreated to the capital of the province, Volganof and after Mortkin butchered a number of towns, he followed. He gave Volganof an ultimatum- hand over Raukov or die. When Volganof definantly refused Raukov initiated a massive assault on the city, his daemonhots and heaviy armored Norscan Jarls inflicting great slaughter on the defenders without his involvement. Yet Mortkin had eyes only for one man and when Oleg appeared on the battlefield, he personally led his bodyguard of Crimson Reapers into the fray. He slauhghtered all before him until finally, at last, he reached Oleg. Thrice did Oleg strike Mortkin with his magic blade, a gift of great power from the Ice Queen herself. Three strikes that would have obliterated any lesser man several times over did not even register on the hulking form of the Norscan king; it was not the fate of a mortal man, even one so courageous as Oleg von Raukov, to defeat the Lord of the Fell Legion. Having easily weathered the smaller man's attacks, Mortkin drew his axe. Then, with a blow powerful enough to kill a gaint, Mortkin smote Oleg to the ground where he crushed life out of him beneath his boot. The favor of the gods flowed through Mortkin, urging him to continue towards the destruction of the Empire and the pronouncement of the End Times. Instead Mortkin dropped his axe and took off his helmet, proclaiming to the world : “Wergild is paid. Let Volganof burn to pay for my home of Ulfennik. Never again will I return there. My saga is ended. I choose now to die as a man, my will my own. I go now, too late mayhaps, to the halls of my fathers."
With that, the fell light around Mortkin died out, the bitter gods perhaps taking back that which they had given. Mortkin's personal guard, the matchless warriors of the Crimson Reapers, awoke too late from their amazement to safeguard their king. The Scarlet Curs,bodyguards of Oleg, filled with hate over the death of Oleg von Raukov, overran the despondent Chaos Lord and cut him down. Howling with
grief at their lost, the enraged Crimson Reapers waded into the fray, slaying all who stood between them and their fallen king. In the end Mortkin died as a rarity among the Chaos legions, a figure with the power and strength to choose his own fate rather than live as a plaything of the gods. .
Offensive: Mortkin is a monster in close quarters Chaos, able to wrestle down a giant and armed with a mighty war axe as well as a Hellfire sword. When uised against an enemy it can turn their blood into liquid fire!
Defensive: Chaos Armor with many, many magical enchantments.
Mobility: 5 (Toad Dragon)
Training/Experience: 10 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Neutral Role: General Once, long ago, before Sigmar or even the rise of Grand Cathay, there existed an ancient Kurgan warlord who made a great pact with the Chaos Gods. With the power gifted to him he conquered an impossibly vast empire, the Fantasy equivalent of Genghis Khan’s. However, eventually the gods demanded their due and the Great Kurgan was forced to relinguish his four sons up to the gods- one for each. Tamurkhan is the terrible individual who he offered to Nurgle. For many millennia nothing more was heard of these children until, one day, Tamurkhan-scion of Nurgle- reappeared from the mists of history. Zanbaijin — the Fallen City was older than Man, and had long served as an arena where the Chaos Gods watched their mortal followers vie for their favour in violent conflict. Three mighty armies faught for many days, each seeking the glory of the Chaos Gods yet pushed into unrelenting stalemate. It would be the fourth army, led by Tamurkhan, that would claim that honor. With overwhelming numbers Tamurkhan swiftly overwhelmed all three factions. The force of Tzeentch wisely retreated while those of Khorne were overwhelmed and killed however the wily Slaanesh commander fought to Tamurkhan, ramned his rune-blade through the Nurglite’s heart and seemingly slew the Chaos warlord. Tamurkhan merely laughed as his body split apart before a large maggot tore through the Slaanesh’s throat and violently possessed the body. With a new host and now a legion of followers from all four god, Tamurkhan brought his forces to the edge of the Realm of Chaos to a semi-mythical location known as the Gallows Tree. There he met a shedaemon of Nurgle, a treacherous creature who offered the gift of prophecy to those high in Nurgle’s favor but slaughtered everyone else. In a meeting inside the very Realm of Chaos she spoke much of his incoming journey including Nurgle’s demand; That Nuln, the city of the cursed Magnus the Pious, would be utterly destroyed. With an objective now in mind, Tamurkhan divined that his current forces would be insufficient to bring down one of the Empire’s most fortified cities. Likewise he knew that if he were to invade through Kislev, as so many other Chaos Warlords had done, he would be bogged down through endless attrition and fail long before Nuln, if he even made it to the Empire. Thus he undertook a long detail through the Mountains of Mourn. When a horde of Giants- over a hundred in all- attatcked his massive Warband he had his soldiers forgo killing the creatures at all, sacrificing thousands to use scrolls of binding and trickery to ensnare the great behemoths. Next a massive Ogre tribe known as the Angry Fist rose to block him from further moving through the pass, taking position in the middle of a pass to nullify Tamurkhan’s advantage in
superior numbers. Eventually growing frustrated with the Ogre’s stubborn opposition, Tamurkhan challenged the Ogre warlord to a duel, losing but once again shedding his body to possess the Ogre’s massive body. The confused Ogre tribe, unsure if Tamurkhan was their leader or enemy now, eventually bowed before him. Tamurkhan left the Mountains of Mourn with the muscle required for his expedition; now he needed the firepower. He would find it on the harsh plains of Zharr where he surrounded the Black Fortress with over a hundred thousand tribesmen, defeating a hasty Chaos Dwarf defense and forcing the Dwarfs to fortify in their tower. Tamurhkan then sent an ultimatum- join his host and win untold riches or die. The Chaos Dwarfs, being extremely prideful, of course bargained further eventually achieving many advantages including Tamurkhan’s aid in defeating a massive Magna Dragon that had long harassed them in the region.
His alliance with the Chaos Dwarfs proved incredibly fruitful with Drazhoath, the master of the Chaos Dwarfs, provided Tamurkhan with weapons, armor and siege equipment. However what proved most invaluable was the Dawi Zharr’s knowledge of tranversing mountain passes, allowing the Nurgle warlord to bypass the fortified holds of the Western Dwarfs. Tamurkhan then tore through the Border Kingdoms, devastating many minor realms and acquiring a incredible deal of slaves and sacrifices. However, he ran into his first major issue inside the secret paths of the World’s Edge Mountains. A vast host of Night Goblins by the tens of thousands ambushed his force, killing perhaps a quarter of those that remained from the previous fighting. Tamurkhan prevailed however he lost much and many began to whisper
he lost the favor of the gods.
At full speed Tamurkhan rushed what he believed the city of Nuln, using Chaos Dwarf to break down its walls. The fighting was bitter and the Empire used outer forts to delay as best they could but ultimately Tamurkhan stood triumphant, the city burning around him and his ascension to daemonhood secured. And he would have ascended right then and there had he bothered to read the sign name of the city correctly. For, as Saly smugly pointed out, it read “Ptiedorf”. The episode was a massive strategic blunder. It made him look like a food in front of his entire army and even caused Warbands to split off while another tried to have Tamurkhan assassinated. Meanwhile the real Nuln used the delay to further fortify itself and gather troops from afar. It took a while for Tamurkhan to regiain order but when he did he continued his march to the real Nuln. There, before the gates of Nuln, the remainder of Tamurkhan’s horde clashed with the stalwart and fortified defenders of the city. It was a even, difficult battle where Tamurkhan’s hordes were matched by disciplined ranks of Empire infantry and faster firing Empire cannons traded blows with the slower but more powerful Chaos machinery. In the end the battle was determined only when the Kurgan flanking force- led by Saly the Faithless- collapsed, allowing the Empire to overwhelm the Chaos Dwarfs. In desperation Tamurkhan had his sorcery used a powerful ritual to summon a horde of daemons, attempting to use that to pound into the city. He was foiled by Thomas Buckner, Champion of Nuln, who slew Tamurkhan’s ogre body in personal combat. Once again Tamurkhan attempted to possess his would-be slayer only to perish in a shadowy explosion as a arcane artifact on Buckner, planted by a Empire Seeress, activated.
Offensive: Tamurkhan weilds a massive Black Cleaver in combat. He also rides on Bubelos, a colossal Toad Dragon
Defensive: In his current form he is a massive Plague Ogre in Chaos Armor, with regeneration and the Mark of Nurgle. Should that fail he has the possession attack where his current host rips apart and the maggot leaps through the air to try to violently rip into the enemy and take its form.
==Additional Factors== Tamurkhan is known for his massive pride and it would be difficult for anyone else to rule over him.
X-FACTORS Adaptive Creativity: 40/100: Tamurkhan recognizes the need for a diverse coalition of many different factions and will often listen to them however his personal creativity is rather limited.
Tactics: 55/100: Tamurkhan relies moistly on tried and true tactics of swarming however he is familiar with proper battle positioning.
Strategy: 58/100: Tamurkhan is better here and was smart enough to avoid the typical route of Kislev for the more exotic route that would bypass the fortified lands of the Empire. He was also canny when it came to securing the alleigances of the Ogres, Giants and Chaos Dwarfs.
Intuition: 40/100: Not very good and he struggles in reading the designs of his lieutenants and predicting the enemy.
Psychological Warfare: 42/100: Tamurkhan likes inflicting terror however every other tool of Psychological Warfare is limited.
Discipline: 40/100: Like many in Chaos, Tamurkhan has extrme difficulty controlling both his own forces and his own emotions. He can be manipulated even by Ogre taunts
Audacity: 86/100 Inspiration: 62/100: Tamurkhan’s inspiration is rather high among Nurgle followers however, to every other force, it is essentially wary respect.
Corruption: 96/100
Mobility: 6 Training/Experience: 8 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role: Lieutenant Secondary: Combat(Tactical) *Note Thorgar and Hroth are the same, but called slightly different between the game Marks of Chaos and the novelization of that game. Thorgar the Bloodied began his career as a warrior of Khorne roughly two centuries ago, during the th time of the 12 Everchosen Asavar Kul’s assault on the Empire. In what would be called the ‘Great War’ Thorgar distinguished himself as a powerful Khornate warrior, fighting notably in many battles. When his warhand's Champion died in the fighting at the Battle of the Gates of Kislev, Thorgar took control and
led the battered survivors away from the vengeful army of Magnus the Pious. The now Chaos Champion vowed to become his own master. In the aftermath of the failed invasion, various Chaos champions worked to reunite the shattered remnants. Among the claimants were Subodai, Subodai’s lackey, and Thorgar. Though initially Subodai had Thorgar as a pawn, someone to be sacrificed so the Chaos sorcerer could achieve greater glory,
Thorgar was cunning enough to turn the tables on the Tzeentchi sorcerer, defeating t he lackey and becoming the master over the sorcerer.
Thorgar had a plan of his own, to claim the body of Kul and take his power. In the process he defeated a High Elven expedition sent to stop him, foiled the Imperials and allied with a Skaven renegade named Kasquit. Wandering deep into the Chaos Wastes, he finally came across the burial ground of the mighty Kurgan Everchosen. In the Realm of Dreams he confronted Kul, and a fter a powerful battle consumed
his power. As a result T horgar ascended to Daemonhood. His first act was to attempt to destroy the nascent Empire, to achieve what Kul failed to do. With his newfound Daemonic powers and his status as Khorne’s chosen gaining many followers, he launched a fresh invasion of the South, quickly destroying a High Elf blockade and tearing a path through the Empire. He attempted to put Talabheim to t he sword, using his Skaven allies to attack from the
sewers of the city as his host assaulted the walls, guarded by the Imperials and the remnants of the High Elf expedition. Ultimately however the Imperials prevailed and Thorgar was barely defeated, though at tremendous cost.
Offensive: Powerful Daemon Sword Defensive: Daemonic durability. “Lathyerin looked up with a sense of horror to see the massive daemon streaking down from the turbulent sky. 'Sea guard! Turn your bows skyward!' he called, swaying backwards to avoid a swing of an axe from a Norscan. As the axe sliced past him, an inch from his neck, he sent a fatal riposte stabbing into the man's chest. Dozens of arrows streaked into the air, many of them striking the descending daemon in his chest and arms. They bounced from his armor, and shattered on his skin, slowing his descent not at all. The ground trembled as the daemon landed feet first, scattering elves and Norscans alike. With a roar of pure rage, Hroth swung his axe and sword around him, cleaving through a score of elves within seconds. Blood fountained from the bodies as they fell around him, unable to match his daemonic power, frenzy or speed. Blades rebounded from his flesh, numbing the hands of the elves assailing him. Spears jarred as they struck him, doing little damage to the massive creature. In turn, he swept his weapons around, cutting elves apart, severing limbs and heads, and cutting through torsos with ease.
The daemon turned and Lathyerin surged forwards, driving his glowing blade into the back of the creature. Using all his force, the elf pushed the blade through the armor of his back, the sword tip piercing the flesh of Hroth's lower back. Despite the magical nature of the sword, the blade only penetrated a few inches into the daemon. Black blood bubbled from the wound, spitting and spluttering with heat. Roaring in fury, the daemon spun around, lashing out with its sparking sword. Lathyerin rolled underneath the swinging blade, and came up on his knees, driving his sword towards Hroth's leg. Moving with unnatural speed, Hroth lifted his leg, and slammed his foot, a cloven hoof, down onto the shining blade, pinning it to the ground. His axe slammed down onto Lathyerin's shoulder, cutting the arm that still held the weapon from his body. Hroth rammed his daemon sword through the body of the elf, and the daemon within the blade fed upon his soul. Flames washed over Hroth, and a long shining lance pierced his shoulder, throwing him to the ground, crushing those he slammed into. He came up quickly, snarling his hatred, as the dragon roared overhead. Blood spat from the wound on his shoulder, and with a roar he leapt into the air in pursuit. The Dragon Prince, Khalanos, soared high into the air, wheeling around, hundreds of feet above the battle. Coiling itself around, the dragon pulled its wings back and descended towards Hroth, who was screaming up to meet it. Fire roared from the maw of the dragon, washing over the daemon prince, scorching its face and chest, but it paid no heed. Prince Khalanos angled his gleaming lance at the heart of the daemon flying straight up towards him. Hroth smashed the lance aside with a sweep of his axe, and cleaved the Slayer of Kings straight through the chest of the elf warrior. It tore through armor, flesh and bone, and the upper torso of the prince was cut from the lower body with a spray of blood, falling down into the press of battle far below. The lower part of the elf sat in the saddle for a moment, before toppling out, also falling far to the ground below. The dragon scored a series of deep wounds down Hroth's body with its powerful claws as the two creatures swept past each other. His daemonic blood dripping a hundred feet into the press of battle below, burning all whom it touched, Hroth turned in the air, far quicker than the dragon could, and descended towards the serpentine creature, fury driving him onwards. He smashed into the dragon as it was sweeping over the battlefield. Dropping his weapons, Hroth grappled the dragon around its long neck. His daemon sword fell, blade first, into the head of an elf, driving through his body and embedding itself in the sand. Gripping the dragon tightly, Hroth drove it down into the ground. With titanic force, the two massive creatures smashed into the sand, crushing dozens of elves and Norscans beneath their bulks. Hroth shifted his grip as the creature thrashed around blindly, engulfing scores of men and elves indiscriminately in flame. Hroth's massive muscles bulged, veins almost bursting with the exertion, but he refused to release the maddened creature, and the two of them rolled over and over. The dragon coiled itself around the daemon prince, and Hroth, releasing one hand from its grip around the throat, smashed his fist into the
head of the dragon, feeling the skull crack beneath the force of the blow. The dragon tightened its coils, and Hroth's bones strained under the immense pressure. Still he held on, and smashed his fist into the dragon's skull once again. It thrashed around powerfully, ripping itself free of the daemon prince's grip, and uncoiled itself. Rearing up, the dragon roared in anger, and lashed out with its snapping jaws, intending to bite the daemon in half. Hroth caught the jaws of the dragon as they descended around him, holding them at bay. His muscles strained as the jaws slowly began to close, and he roared his fury. With a burst of power, he thrust upwards, extending his arms, and ripped the jaws of the dragon open further than they were meant to go. A horrible tearing sound accompanied this violent motion, as the tendons and jawbone of the dragon were ripped apart. It thrashed around on the blood-soaked sand, its jaw hanging open loosely, emitting piteous growls and whimpers of agony and fear. It looked up at the daemon prince looming over it with hatred. Hroth held out his hand, and the daemon sword pulled itself free from the sand, flying through the air into the palm of his hand. With a single stroke, he cut the head from the long sinuous neck. The body of the dragon convulsed on the ground before lying still. Hroth rose to his feet, hefting the dragon's head in one hand, and roared in triumph. He turned around, reveling in the victory. Dropping the dragon's head, he picked up his axe from where it lay on the sand beside him. Swinging his two weapons around him, he grinned, the flames in his eyes and engulfing his horns flaring brightly. With a roar, he thr ew himself back into the fray. Within the hour, every elf on the beach was slain.”-Mark of Chaos
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 9 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role : Lieutenant Secondary Role: Tactical (Overpowering stench) Plaguestrangler Vilestentch is a champion of Nurgle who has polluted the Warhammer World for over five hundred years. This Nurgle champion is renowned for single handily defeating three score Asur champions in single combat, decimating a Norscan city in one day, and even participating
in a rare invasion of Ulthuan. He once caused a Black Plague epidemic in Brettonia that decimated the country. He has spread his contagions to Kislev, the Chaos Dwarfs and more besides. Vilestench earned his name by the potent aroma he puts out, for the champion has not washed since he was twelve. This stench is so terrible that enemies within his immediate presence gag and choke and might even pass out! Those that do are of course at the mercy of the Nurglings that bear his Palaquin. Small wonder his very presence on the battlefield causes fear!
Offensive: Plague Sceptor of Nurgle: A disease infested scepter that delivers poisonous as well as blunt wounds.
Defensive: Has the basic durability of Nurgle’s forces plus his terrible stench! Also is surrounded by blinding plague flies.
==ADDITIONAL FACOTRS== Rides a Nurgle Palanguin
Mobility: 5 Training/Experience: 9 Max Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role: Lieutenant
Ghorros is an immensely ancient and powerful Centigor, one that has slaughtered for centuries and never succumbed to his injuries. His vitality is legendary and despite his age it is said that Warhoof has never had an idle moment. Whether it is getting drunk, rutting or fighting Ghorros continues to make himself known in even the modern era.
As centigors are already legendary boasters, Ghorros strives to take this example and beat it . He does so, claiming that not only did he sire a thousand young but that all Centigors everywhere are drawn
from him . Few challenge him, in part because his rage is truly fearsome while drunk. Yet another reason is the suspicion that it might actually be true, for Ghorros has an innate following among the Beastmen.
When Ghorros goes to war his entire extremely devoted clan goes with him. Devoted enough that they would readily sacrifice themselves to save his life. The fields thunder and shake with the sound of a thousand hooves as they ride, joined not only by centigors but all manner of mutants and four legged creatures.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Mancrusher: Ghorros wields the mancrusher, a great spiked mace that has slew countless of varied dynasties and has enough enchantments that it functions almost as a power weapon.
Defensive: Skull of the Unicorn Lord: Long ago Ghorros slew the a unicorn lord in Athel Loren in a deed that Wood Elves are still trying to avenge. This magical creature's skull gives Ghorros heavy magic resistance. In addition to this he wears light leather armor.
==Additional Factors== Ghorros is going to be a sub-commander based primarily around mobile Centigors, mutants with equine features, and other highly mobile foes. His bodyguards, the so-called "Sons of Ghorros" , composes of a group of highly skilled veteran sons who will not only fight to the death at his command, but also thrown themselves in the path of imminent danger to save Ghorros. Should he die however the act temporarily enrages all Beastmen causing them to fight harder.
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 5 Max Range: Spell Preferred Range: Ranged Role: Lieutenant Secondary Role: Magical Support (Tactical) Sayl the Faithless, of the Dolgan tribe, got his name for his legendary deal-breaking, scheming, and
dishonorable nature. He made pacts and then broke them with daemons, Beastmen, men of Chaos and even Chaos Dwarfs, earning him countless enemies. However so successful was his politicking that he succeeded in taking over his powerful Dolgan tribe, even though everyone in it hated him. At one point he betrayed his own sorcerous master Schalkain, convincing him first to slaughter three of his other apprentices and then disrupted a daemon summoning ritual. This resulted in Schalkain getting torn to pieces by daemons and the remaining other three apprentices to get merged into a monstrous Chaos Spawn known as Nightspawn. However as seeming punishment for this treachery, Sayl’s mortal sight was lost and replaced by the daemonic and hellish senses of the other-realm. When the great warlord Tamurkhan came seeking the Dolgan tribe’s aid- for they had many war mammoths at their disposal- Sayl skillfully bargained to hand over his force without a fight, as long as
he became a major lieutenant i n the army. But only after ensuring the plaguelord had killed many of his rivals. Tamurkhan accepted though to Sayl’s dismay he found they were not going directly South as he had presumed (which would likely to them into Ind) but West, to the Empire. Before this occurred, Sayl caused quite a bit of stir by taking a force and raiding a Cathayan outpost, only to have much of the Brayherd he commanded destroyed utterly. This angered Tamurkhan for his orders were to specifically avoid that outpsot However Sayl narrowly and skillfully avoided execution for this act by calling upon the gods themselves to strike him down if even one of his Dolgans perished in the fighting (which was true since Sayl refused to commit them at all, essentially using the Beastmen as guinea pigs) and then cast blame on the Beastlords/Shaman of the Brayherd. Though Tamurkhan knew this was a lie, Sayl had called upon the gods who had let him live, and to strike him down now would go against their divine will. Reluctantly, he let it go. This probably proved the wrong choice, as Sayl frustrated and slowed his entire expedition while simultaneously proclaiming loyalty. In fact he became the unofficial though mistrusted leader of the opposition. That said throughout the campaign his magical and tactical acumen greatly aided the overall force even as he sowed seeds of mistrust. Alas in the end Sayl underestimated his foe and was shot down by the combined guns of Nuln and goldsmiths of the Metal order For this the gods punished him, blinding him further and removing him
from his position of power. However Sayl was not done just yet and schemed to return to power once more, with vengeance against Cathay stated to be one of his goals. Whether Sayl managed to achieve this vengeance in the End Times is unknown, only that he made the common Tzeentchi mistake of thinking that Archaon was a dupe and that Sayl could manipulate him as easily as the sorcerer had Tamurkhan. He was wrong, fatally wrong.
===LOADOUT=== Offensive: The Viperous Staff: Sayl’s staff is a foul heirloom of the Dolgan and is full of dark iron vipers that come alive at the owner’s command. These vipers possess formidable venom as they strike with formidable speed and power.
-Magic: Can use any spell from the Lore of the Shadows or Heavens. Spells from the Lore of the Heavens include
--Iceshard Blizzard: with a range of 300-1 kilometer, this spell hurls shards of ice from the sky to blind or dishearten an enemy ranged unit.
--Harmonic Convergence: Diving auspicious signs, the caster guides the minds of his fellow warriors for one unit at 300 meters or all friendly units within 50. This causes said warriors to be more durable and hit better thanks to coordination.
--Wind Blast: Seizing control of the winds, the caster violently pushes away an enemy unit from his position, scattering them or sometimes even hurling them against other units.
--Curse of the Midnight Wind: Calling upon a curse that was old when the world was young, this spell targets either a single enemy unit at 300 m or all enemy units at 50. In a sense this curse gives makes it so those afflicted must struggle to hit or defend, usually failing in the act. So if a heavily armed shield wall was afflicted its shields would break down at the worst possible moments, and many counter strikes would also fail by being dodged or hitting a hard point in the armor. However it only lasts as long as the wielder doesn’t cast another spell.
--Urannon’s Thunderbolt: The wizard conjures a almighty ball of lightning that can kill six at once. --Comet of Casandora: Probably the most powerful spell here, the wizard pulls a small meteorite from outer space and has it crash on the battlefield. Fails some of the time due to scarcity of comets/meteors, but utterly awesome when it succeeds.
--Chain Lightning: Lightning launches from the wizard’s hands and leaps across the battlefield, potentially running through dozens or more enemies. Sayl rides Nightmaw, who counts as a very powerful Chaos Spawn.
Defense: Chaos Armor. Nightmaw deploys a shifting veil of darkness that makes it hard for the spawn or Sayl to be targeted at range. Finally he has a magical artifact Schalkain’s Teeth that would allow him to, if he ever messed up casting a spell, to shift the end result onto someone else. So a random Chaos sorcerer nearby minding his own business could suddenly be dragged to the warp through no fault of his own, while Sayl giggles in the background. Personality: Sayl seems to be treachery incarnate, with frequent betrayal even by the standards of Tzeentch. Sayl is noneoftheless very clever, sly and quick-thinking to get out of situations where he would normally be killed.
===Additional Factors=== One of Sayl’s greatest attributes is that he can see directly the winds of magic and the otherworld. This gives him multiple advantages. It made him the man who conducted many rituals for Tamurkhan’s Horde, giving them the will of their gods. It gives him some measure of precognition and finally it allows him to better utilize the magic of the Winds of Magic. . ===X-FACTORS==
ADAPTIVE CREATIVITY: 63/100 TACTICS: 48/100: Sayl is noted for his competence in tactics and his breadth of plans, however he has yet to reliably win battles with this acumen.
STRATEGY: 58/100: Skilled at long term planning however he has Tzeentchi tendency to not think things through and underestimate his foes.
INTUITION: 68/100: Limited precognition. AUDACITY: 76/100: Sayl is actually pretty conservative with his Dolgans however with other allied forces he can and does use them as pawns.
PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE: 72/100: Regularly betrays everyone and then somehow gets them to not only allow him to live but give the sorcerer more power, even ally with him against other foes. All this despite the fact he is hated by everyone.
EXPERIENCE: 70/100 DISCIPLINE: 39/100: He really cannot resist betraying people and scheming, even when he really should know better like with Archaon.
INSPIRATION: 40/100: Everyone, even his own Dolgans, hates him even though they reluctantly follow his orders.
CORRUPTION: 95/100
Mobility: 4 Training: 7 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preffered Range: Melee Role: Lieutenant Secondary: Melee/Champion Hunter Aelfric Cyenwulf grew up as a boy in the Iron Wolves, a Kurgan-Norse mixture tribe renowned for their incredible ferocity in battle and tendency to carry overly large weapons into battle. Aelfric, through brutality and no little cunning, seized control of the tribe right as Archaon began his rain of Terror. Eager to preempt the main invasion, and thus seize
glory for himself, Aelfric was one of the first
commanders of Chaos to invade en masse, following the assaults of Surtha Lenk. Unlike Surtha, who chose to strike at the Northern provinces of the Empire, Aelfric aimed for the Kingdom of Kislev, only conquest was no longer his only mission in mind. Through the scrying of his shaman, Kar Odacen, he discovered Ursun’s Teeth, a place of mystical and religious symbolism to the Kislevites that served as a well-spring to the land himself. If it was corrupted then the land of Kislev itself would therefore be
corrupted. Gathering forty thousand Men, Beastmen and a Dragon Ogre Shaggoth, Aelfric first spread terror of his coming in his own typical fashion, for the followers of Tchar were well familiar with psychological warfare, by ambushing and destroying several Kislevite armies. Then, in a cunning display of stealth, he managed to sneak the entire forty thousand person army past Praag and into the heartlands, placing himself near Ursun’s teeth. However, he was discovered and with due haste the Tzarina gathered an army of 25,000 Imperial and Kislevite soldiers to oppose his. As there was only one entrance to the valley where Ursun’s Teeth was located the Tzarina placed her men in a place where they could not retreat as she focused on channeling magic to her location. With overwhelming numerical superiority, the Chaos soldiers attacked. Though thousands were lost to Empire Cannon, shot and Kislevite bow, more pounded into Empire ranks. For a time the Empire was able to hold. Alas Cyenwulf had experience fighting imperials, and had a concentrated Minotaur charge break the line, followed by a horde of Northmen. Cyenwulf himself attempted to slay the Tzarina only to run ino the Imperial General, Kaspar, and his two friends the Kislevite Pavel and Knight Kurt Brahman. Though Cyenwulf mortally wounded Kaspar and impaled Pavel, the dying Kislevite held Cyenwulf’s sword in his body allowing Kurt to decapitate the warchief as Aelfric tried to free the blade. The Tzarina’s super spell then won the day, though Cyenwulf had done great damage and Chaos’s invasions had only just begun….
Offensive: A massive, two meter sword, likely magical with daemonic engravings.
Defensive: Chaos Armor
Mobility: 4 Training: 7 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee
Role: Lieutenant Known as the Supreme Czar, it had an appearance thatcould horrify even for someone accustomed to seeing all kinds of mutations. Surtha Lenk was a huge, three-rod-tall giant, clad in brass and iron, with a huge horned helmet without a visor. Subject to the giant was a twisted and malovelent thing, a deformed parody of a human child with a swollen, warty, blistered face, with a very human and brown eye, and the other below, swollen and veiled by A milky blue, and with traces of limbs spasmodically shaking. The whole of that figure (the giant and the withered thing combined) was Surtha Lenk. In the early stage of the End Times, when the smallest hordes were heading down south Surtha gathered a massive Kurgan force and assaulted the southlands, eager to claim glory before the arrival of Archaon. He plowed through Kislev, annihilating army after army, however rather than try to finish that nature he had a bigger target in mind: The Empire. His army invaded the Imperial province of Ostland, pillaging as he went. Outside Aachden the Imperial forces made a stand however, in part due to betrayal from within, the Imperials were utterly destroyed and the city put to the sword. The bloody path continued until Surtha ran into Wolfenburg, the capital of the province. For seven days his forces besieged the city impotently, each time repelled by the stout walls and determined defenders of the city. Discipline in the Chaos camp plummeted as the men blamed Surtha for ill-favor. “As we speak my Northmen are preparing the engines that will lay siege to this place. There is still wood enough to do that,” Surtha Lenk said. He was not telling the sorcerer anything he did not already know. He just liked the sound of his own distorted voice. “We will break this city in a matter of weeks.” “Perhaps,” Vendhal said cautiously. At these words, the crimson armoured giant turned to look at the Chaos sorcerer. Vendhal was half aware of the twisted thing squirming in the giant’s chest harness. “Look at me, sorcerer,” Lenk said, all trace of levity gone. Vendhal turned. Now there was no hiding from the full terror of his lord. The high zar was a towering giant, a full three spans tall plated in brass and iron with a huge horned, visor-less helm on his head. Strapped across his breastplate was a deformed parody of a human child, all bloated face, warty and blistered, with twitching vestigial limbs. Even to one as well accustomed to the ways of change as Vendhal Skullwarper, the high zar’s appearance was still sickening. It was just such warping mutation that he hoped to avoid through mastery of the warping powers of Chaos. Surtha Lenk fixed him with a very human brown eye and another bulging, glazed milky-blue orb that spun and twisted in its misplaced watery socket. He was studying the Chaos sorcerer.
Lenk leaned closer, the shrivelled baby-thing’s breath caressing the sorcerer’s face. Vendhal gripped his staff more tightly. “Are not the warping storms of Chaos yours to command?” “They are.” “Then the Eye of Tzeen will continue to look upon our enterprise with favour. My battle-shamans will enact the blood-rites that will awaken his power in this place.” “Of course, lord seh. It will be so.” “Good, then let us commence. Wolfenburg awaits.” - Magestorm
Through the use of an all-powerful ritual, Surtha’s sorcerors managed to destroy the walls of Wolfenburg. His forces flooded the city and sacked it, the first major city destroyed during what would become the End Times. However Surtha Lenk would lose so many troops that he had to retreat through Kislev. There his army was ambushed by the Kislev forces, surrounded and utterly destroyed. Seemingly, Surtha Lenk was killed. However this was not to be, though he did lose his entire power base and authority. In a desperate attempt to regain such footing he tried to slay the Empire champion Valtern in the Battle of Middenheim. He was slain.
Offensive: Chaos enchanted magical sword Defensive: Chaos armor.
Mobility: 5 Training: 8 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Melee Role: Lieutenant The Black Prince is a rare example of a Chaos Elf who has turned not to Slaanesh, but Tzeentch. Hundreds of years from the present the Dark Elf Dralaith was a minor noble among the Druichi, tasked with fighting off Northern invaders. His Corsair ship destroyed some Norscan vessels and captured the inhabitants but not before Drailich dueled their shaman, who used a powerful magical artifact against the Druichi that spontaneously failed during the fight.
After his torturers had practiced his art with the mystic, he had learned all about the Eye of Tchar. The Eye acts as the focus of enormous powers, powers that could boost vitality and strength in a man, who could summon demons from the lower kingdom to destroy the flesh of the enemies of the one who possessed the gem. But that was not the greatest of his powers. He had learned that it showed the future of its owner, that the depths of the gem would reveal any danger that threatened and that would show the owner of the jewel how to counteract that danger. But there had been a question that had troubled Dralaith ever since. Why did the Eye of Tchar not warn the shaman about him? The sorcerer laughed when he heard the question, and continued to laugh until the torturers destroyed him beyond the point of return. Before he died, he praised the Dark Elf for his wisdom, but could not give him any answer because he never thought to ask that question when he took the gem from a barbarian chief, long ago, before becoming a sorcerer . Shortly afterwards he fled the Druichi ranks for the Kingdom of Brettonia, where he forsook his gods and sought to learn the Dark Arts, taking Tzeentch as a patron. He soon set up a vast criminal empire throughout the region composed not only of renegade Druichi and human bandits, but Beastmen as well. Hidden away in a ancient Elven tower, the now christened Black Prince created havoc such as sacking Bourdeleux, killing a Wood Elf ambassador to Brettonia and leading many to a life in crime. At the same time he dodged numerous assassination attempts from the ones he upset like the Wood Elves, Empire & Brettonia barons, his betrayed Druichi overlords etc. All of these were foiled thanks to the Eye of Tchar. For three hundred years the Black Prince continued as elusive figure until Brunner the Bounty Hunter managed to track him down while leading a small team of those the Black Prince had wronged over the years. Accompanied by a group of adventurers, he stormed the tower of Dralaith, killing a good part of his followers. Brunner himself assassinated the Black Prince, with the Eye of Tchar failing at the last possible moment. Or at least that is what Brunner though. Unbeknownst to Drailich had clamored another Druichi prince to appeal as the Black Prince while he took the guise of a simple servant, for he realized immediately that Brunner was the one assassin he had not seen in his foresightvisions and thus was the person destined to destroy him. Though he sacrificed almost all of his servants and power to fake his death, he had evaded both Tzeentch’s trap and convinced those who constantly sent assassins after him that he was dead. Now it was time to plot his revenge….
Offensive: The Black Prince is a m aster swordsmen with a level 2 skill level in Dhar magic. He can also use the Amulet of Tchar to enhance his strength, speed or magical ability.
Defensive: The Amulet of Tchar gives him magical foresight though with some treacherous unreliability. He also wears light plate armor.
Mobility: 5 Training: 9 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role: Lieutenant Secondary Role: Melee Combatent, Duelist Crom the Conqueror is of the Kul. A tribe of the Kurgan people, the Kul stake their claim on the lands above the World's Edge Mountains and to the east of the Sea of Chaos, from where they launch brutal raids on their neighbouring tribes, sometimes travelling as far as Cathay or the Empire in their quest for plunder. Possessed of an ambition that burned like fire and a keen warrior's skill, Crom bested his chieftain in a leadership challenge before his twentieth year. Crom's cunning and prowess ensured that the Kul rose to great renown, a position built on the backs of slaves, and paid for with a hoard of stolen wealth. Before another ten winters had passed Crom was one of mightiest kings the Steppes had ever known, and it was then that the dreams started. Night after night, Crom dreamt of the future, of a world drowning in a tide of Chaos for the glory of the Gods. He saw a dark figure silhouetted against a red sky, a blade sheathed in golden fire raised above its head. The dreams became ever more vivid, and Crom became convinced that it was a message from the Gods and a clue to his destiny; but who was this figure? Was it his own destiny to claim the world for the Ciods, or was there another, even mightier than he? Obsessed with the meaning of the dreams, Crom spoke with the sorcerers of his tribe but when they could not provide him with answers, his mood became dark and brooding. When news came to him of a company of armoured knights marching over his lands uninvited, Crom was furious. Angered by the slight to his sovereignty and made reckless by his infuriating dreams, he immediately rode forth to challenge the intruders. Many of Archaon’s knights were slain yet, in the combat that followed, Crom could not touch Archaon. Without once drawing his blade Archaon beat Crom down. Only then, at last, as the Everchosen stood over the defeated warlord did Archaon draw his blade. Crom realised that Archaon could truly be the figure from his dreams, the chosen of the Gods and of the prophecy he who would bring about the Storm of Chaos. The Gods could not have given Crom greater
honour and, leaving his people, he joined Archaon's band, the Swords of Chaos, and Crom's tale passed into the myths of the Kul. Over the decades spanned by that epic quest, Crom's fervour and belief in Archaon grew ever stronger. Soon he became the most loyal and devoted of his Lord's companions, travelling far and wide in his lord's name - a herald for the Lord of the End Times. As the day of prophecy drew near, Crom took it upon himself to create an army worthy of the Lord of the End Times and Crom returned to his homeland for the first time in many years. He strode brazenly into the tent of the king of his people demanding that the Kul swear loyalty to Archaon and the End Times. When the king, himself a mighty warrior, challenged Crom he was cut down like a mere boy. In awe of Crom and his words, and remembering the legends of their tribe, the assembled chieftains of the Kul acknowledged him with deafening cheers and swore themselves to his cause. Under Crom's leadership once more, the Kul burst forth from their own lands in a whirlwind of conquest. Those chieftains who would not join the cause were slain by Crom, their armies humbled in battle, and the people of their tribes pledged to obey Archaon as their ruler and Crom as his Herald. As the ranks swelled with the peoples of the conquered tribes, the horde swept eastwards across the plains. In the End Times, Crom took part in the early invasion of the Empire as Archaon let loose his most loyal hound in the opening salvo. In truth, unbeknownst to Crom, Archaon fully expected his herald to di and hoped for that. In the battle of Alferdeen he dueled, simultaneously, the famed warrior priest Luthor Huss and the Herald of Sigmar, Valtern. He quickly proved himself superior to both individually yet not,
Offensive: A Chaos sword and axe, wielded with immense skill. He was beating Huss & Valtern pretty handily, if it were not for some desperate theatrics.
Defensive: Chaos Armror. Seeing Crom approach, Huss spurred forward. The great hammer swung down to split the warlord’s skull, but Crom was too fast, and swept the strike aside with his shield. Crom's return blow was not loosed against Huss, but rather against the priest’s horse. The beast screamed in pain as the axe all but severed its foreleg and, rearing up, Hung Huss from the saddle. Crom was on the priest before he could regain his footing, and the point of his sword plunged deep into Huss’ shoulder. As his hammer fell from nerveless hands, Huss called holy fire down upon his tormentor. Though Crom staggered, he did not fall, and his next blow sliced deep into the priest’s scalp to crack his skull. Laughing at his victory, Crom battered aside Huss' desperate punch, and readied his sword for the final blow. That blow never fell. As Crom’s sword thrust home, Valten urged his steed through the press of battle and assailed Crom from behind. Ghal Maraz came hammering down, and the Conqueror’s hastily raised shield crumpled under the blow. Huss forgotten, Crom spun to face Valten, his axe flashing out to cripple the youth’s horse as it had the priest’s. This time, however, the gambit failed. Valten’s steed had been a personal gift from Karl Franz, and was well-trained. Swift as Crom’s axe strike was, the warhorse stepped smartly aside, leaving the Conqueror’s blade hacking at empty air. Ghal Maraz came down again, and
this time it was Crom’s sword that shattered. Now the warlord had only his axe at hand, but still he did not yield the fight. Crom had his opponent's measure now, and kept his weapon ever in motion, whirling the axe in dizzying arcs so that Valten could not be sure where the next blow would come from. Again and again the axe bit at Valten’s armour, and all the while Crom evaded the youth’s return blows — the Conqueror had tasted the might of Ghal Maraz twice now, and resolved to let it strike him no more. Once, twice, three times Valten struck out at his foe, and each time Ghal Maraz passed within hair’s breadth of Crom’s helm. On the third strike, the warlord leaned inside the blow’s arc and, with his free hand, hauled Valten from the saddle. Valten hit the ground, all breath driven from his body, and Crom closed for the kill. Roaring his victory, Crom brought his axe down, but now it was Huss’ turn to save Valten. Though slowed by his wounds, the warrior priest threw himself forward, and locked both of his gauntleted hands around Crom’s weapon arm. Such was the warlord's strength that Huss could check the blow for only a moment, but a moment was all that Valten needed. The youth’s fingers tightened around Ghal Maraz’s grips and the hammer came around, smashing into Crom's armoured chest, crumpling the steel and pulping the flesh behind. A second strike stove in the warlord's horned helm and Crom the Conqueror, herald of Archaon, passed from the mortal world. – End Times Nagash
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 8 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role : General Dechala is the mistress of the Tormentors, one of the greatest of Slaanesh’s Warbands to ever roam the Chaos Wastes. She is as cruel as she is beautiful and as pitiless as she is beguiling. The earliest records of the ravages of Dechala reach down through the centuries. Dechala is mutated beyond recognition, making her a creature of Chaos more akin to a Daemon than a mortal. Her skin is smooth and milk-white. Her legs have been replaced by the lithe and sinuous body of
a snake. Her multi-headed tail cracks like a whip, and drips with poison. Her multitudinous arms grasp heavy-bladed swords and her deep blue eyes glow with an inner light, promising terrible pain and pleasure to any who dare to stand before her. She has beauty that only Slaanesh may grant, but it is as unearthly and disturbing as it is irresistible. Her visage evokes loathing as much as it arouses pleasure. Dechala is a rare example of a corrupted elf in the setting, being once a High Elf princess of renowned beauty. So beautiful that she had the misfortune of attracting the eye of the Daemon Prince Samael, a Slaaneshi servant of high favor. The Daemon Price desired her and, in the horrible fashion of Slaanesh, sought to woo her over…by making her family’s every moment a living nightmare.He violated their dreams and minds, killed pets and servants in horrific ways, hounded their every footstep and gradually drove the family into madness. Finally, after months of torture, Dechala’s father gave her to Samael. Rather than simply abuse her and consume her soul, Samael chose to corrupt Dechala so that her beauty and grace would be his forever more. Out of resentment for her father and fear of Samael Dechala agreed, so long as she was granted the power to avenge herself on the family that gave her away. Samael agreed and blessed Dechala with supreme strength and skill with blades. So grizzly and terrible was Dechala’s burtchery of her family that Slaanesh himself approved and blessed Dechala with his mark…which, unfortunately for her, made Samael extremely jealous. Though Samael and Dechala were married Dechala had tasted glory, and was not content to live under Samael’s shadow. So she ran away. Furious, Samael whined to Slaanesh asking the god to bring Dechala back for him. Slaanesh, upset at the mortal’s demands, refused but out of a twisted love to the servant who had tortured so many in His name, offered a compromise. If Dechala returned to him then they would truly be bound forever. However if she did not than while Dechala may be further rewarded with gifts she would never achieve equality with Samael, i.e. the much sought after position of Daemon Prince so long as Samael lived. Thus she became “The Denied One’, a creature high in favor and dedicated to her master but always denied the ultimate promotion. Knowing her existence will never meet its ultimate potential, Dechala seeks the ultimate self-indulgence and freedom from the shackles of law and order, but she desires this pleasure only for herself: others
can suffer and die as long as her wishes are fulfilled. She is served by a host of slaves, victims of her hideous poison that erodes both the will and the body.Such is a fate commonly held to be worse than death. As Dechala preffers slaves rather dead victims at the end of a battle she and her servants will hold down captives and drop a single sip of elixir down their throats. This elixir, described as a mix of sacrificial blood, warpstone, and the fluids of her own fornification, is perhaps the most addictive drug in the
world. For from the moment this elixir is consumed no chains are needed, for Dechala’s slaves become the most helpless of addicts. These slaves quickly grow into legions as each dose of elixir received causes the minds of the slaves to dip further into a dreadful waking nightmare as their minds mutate. Abused by Dechala and her warriors, these slaves eventually devolve into a quivering mass of abused flesh that are then abandoned by Dechala, denied the elixir, and left to die from a extemeley painful withdrawal.
Dechala leads the Tormentors, a Warband of extreme Slaaneshi sadists alleged to be one of the most terrible in existence. These decadent hedonists are extremely skilled and like to take their time with victims. Those not killed are overwhelmed by masses of screaming slaves and forced to ingest the elixir. In battle Dechala is an enchanting sight, her snake-like body dancing to amuse her patron. And as delicate and as sensuous as her movements are, they are nonetheless lethal to those who dare to oppose her, and many an opponent has been cut to pieces while entranced by her dance. In the End Times Dechala, no doubt using both her supernatural allure and poisons, subverted a large portion of the South Ind into joining her pleasure cults which then rose to revolt even as Arbaal led an
invasion from the North. Between the two of them and simultaneous Skaven assaults Ind was mostly destroyed, with only a few isolated kingdoms remaining in the interior. Summoned back by her patron to Middenheim, Dechala was finally destroyed by Tyrion, Incarnate of Light, in a duel.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: She has 6 arms, e ach armed with a deadly poisoned sword, and is a master in melee combat. Her dances in battle have magical connotation, making her harder to hit or making her hit faster.Has the Mark of Slaanesh
Defensive: She has some Chaos armor wrapped around her form, and is difficult to hit. ===Additional Factors===
These four were once the champions of Archaon in the srcinal Storm of Chaos they lost a significant amount of importance according to Josh Reynolds. However they still exist. I included in them in this section bcause individually their profiles are too small and not significant enough to note as full profiles.
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 6 Max Range: Magical spell range Preferred Range: Melee Role: Lieutenants Secondary : Melee/Magic (Tacticla Support)
Haargroth the Blooded was a mighty and infamous Champion of Khorne and the the Jarl of the Graeling tribe of northern Norsca. Though formerly a goatherder, he proved his mettle in combat when he butchered a Beastkin warlord with his own axe. By chance, the weapon was blessed by Khorne, and set Haargroth on the path to glory. Soon enough, his frame began to swell with muscle and he towered over his fellow Norsemen, thus establishing his power over the tribe. When the chieftain, himself a powerful champion of Chaos, returned to his hall and found Haargroth seated on his throne, the incensed warlord challenged the warrior to battle. That night, the Graelings had a new leader. Haargroth led his people on many great raids and invasions against their enemies. His longships had even ranged as far south as the mangrove-lined shores of Lustria. His savagery and bloodthirst were such that even the other tribes of Norsca dreaded the coming of his warriors, who were soon known informally as the 'Slaughterers of Haargroth'. Soon, his victories were beyond counting, and the plunder he had reaped from his raids had made the Graelings wealthy. But Haargroth sought only the thrill of battle and the exultation that could be garnered only from the clash of arms with a powerful opponent. To that end, he led his clan to the Chaos Wastes, decimating the many horrible creatures of that place in search of a foe whose blood would honour Khorne. Eventually, Haargroth came into battle with Archaon the Everchosen. Though Haargroth was mighty beyond all mortal perception, not even he could stand long against a man bestowed with the ultimate blessings of all Four of the Chaos Gods. But rather than
slaying Haargroth, Archaon recognized his strength and worth and offered him command of one of his armies.
Feytor the Tainted The Champion of Nurgle named Feytor was once a humble farmer in the northwestern regions of the Empire, making him the only one of Archaon's lieutenants to not be from the Northlands himself. During a time of terrible famine and plague, Feytor's little brother caught a sickness, compelling an exodus of their neighbors for fear of the disease. Feytor and his kin remained on their lands to tend to their kin, Feytor praying to any deity who would listen to deliver them. To the family's surprise, though they all began to show physical symptoms of the disease, none of them perished; indeed, Feytor in particular seemed even stronger and hardier than he had before. For this, they gave thanks to whatever kindly god had spared them. The returning locals were suspicious of them, and eventually drove them away, despite Feytor's protests that they were not plague carriers. Chased away by countless villages and towns, Feytor and his kin eventually settled in a cave in the Grey Mountains. For a time, they lived in peace, then Feytor returned from hunting to find Imperial soldiers had burned his family on stakes. Filled with rage, he attacked them, shrugging off their efforts to wound him and beating them all to death with his bare hands. From there, Feytor wandered into the north, where a Norscan tribe known as the Wolf Brothers, moved by visions, eventually accepted him into their ranks. He became their chieftain after beating their former leader, Svolos Wolf, to death with his bare hands after growing dissatisfied with his lack of ambition, and the Wolf Brothers grew like the pestilence they resembled, becoming known as the Decayed Ones. It was visions that guided Feytor to seek out Archaon, and he eagerly followed, yearning for revenge against his former homeland.
Strykaar Born the son of his tribe's chieftain, Styrkaar was secretly guided from birth by a daemon named Sle'zuzu, who would appear to him, and only him, for as long as he maintained the secret of his existence. With Sle'zuzu whispering into his ear, Styrkaar knew all the right things to say to win people over, becoming more and more popular as he grew. By his late teams he had led raids against other Norscan tribes, Kurgan and the lands of the Empire + Brettonia. His father grew jealous but soon lost first the tribe and then his life to his son. At Sl’zuzu’s urging, he turned to Slaanesh worship. He erected an altar in the name of Shornaal and was granted with an alabaster white skin, an elaborate suit of Chaos Armour and a snake-like Steed of Slaanesh. He led his tribe through the Chaos
Wastes and against the armies of the champions of the other three Gods of Chaos and even against rival
champions of Slaanesh. After killing Vandred, one particular Champion of Slaanesh, who was said to be Archaon's chosen, he was confronted by Archaon himself. But the two warlords didn't fight. Instead Styrkaar asked for and became one of Archaon's lieutenants, and led one part of his great army during the Storm of Chaos.
Meleketh Once a humble blacksmith of the Aesling tribe, Melekh was set on the path to damnation when the village shaman lost control of a spell intended to help Melekh's wife Kayla give birth safely, killing the woman and ensuring that Melekh's son was born a deformed mutant. The boy was deemed a good omen by the village chieftain, who named him Cyspeth and proclaimed him a sign of favor from their daemonic patron Zarechgor. The village celebrated Cyspeth's birth, when the chieftain announced Zarchgor had spoken to him, decreeing the village was to hold a tourney; the mightiest warrior in the village was to become the new apprentice to the village shaman, Gaerkkol. This privately filled Gaerkkol with horror, for he had knowledge of the Prophecy of Fate, which foretold the coming of Archaon. When Melekh won the tourney, Gaerkkol sent him on what he believed would be an impossible task: to find the True Name of Zarechgor. Unable or unwilling to back down, Melekh left for the Chaos Wastes, eventually finding a portal into the Realm of Chaos itself. There, he was beset by daemons of Tzeentch, but by mastering his fear, he forced them to submit to his will, enslaving an army of gibbering Horrors, flickering Flamers and rapacious Screamers to protect him as he sought out Zarechgor, Lord of Change. Riding atop a burning Disk of Tzeentch forged from the aether by his own will, Melekh quested on, destroying daemons of all four gods as he sought out Zarechgor. When the Lord of Change finally stepped forth, he scattered Melekh's army with a gesture. When Melekh demanded Zarechgor share his True Name, the greater daemon struck him down with blasts of spellflame. Even as he lay dying, though, Melekh continued his questioning - and, for a moment, Zarechgor allowed the question to fill his mind, his thoughts becoming corporeal around him. Melekh's horrors chanted the name in chorus, and with his last breath, Melekh spoke the daemon's Name. This bound Zarechgor to Melekh's soul, healing his wounds and bestowing him with the daemon's arcane knowledge and power. Gifting his new master with an enchanted blade, Zarechgor opened a portal and sent Melekh and his daemonic minions back to the real world. There, he found twenty years had passed, and his army of daemons was forced to do battle against his former tribe under the watching eyes of Archaon. At the height of the battle, Cyspeth murdered his teacher Gaerkkol, and thus
the prophecy was fulfilled: Melekh become Archaon's lieutenant, Aeslings and daemons alike swearing their allegiance to him. Those four found new paths in the End Times. Haagoth led the sacking of Karond Kar, in Naggaroth and fell in battle with Mengil Manhide, who was subsequently torn apart by Haagoth's pack of skinwolves. Feytor the Tainted was among the warlords in service to the Glottkin, and perished at the hands of Karl Franz Ascendant. Melekh fell at Averheim, to the axe of Ungrim, Incarnate of Fire. And Strykaar was second-in-command to Sigvald at the Siege of Parravon, where he crossed swords with Abhorash and paid the price.
Offensive: -Haargoth: Daemon bound axe, containing the essence of a Bloodthirster. -Feytor: Extremely powerful brute who has a love of beating people to death with his mighty fists. -Styrkaar: Armed with a lance, sword and said to move with ‘fluid-like’ grace. -Meleketh: Enchanted sword with ability to use Lore of Tzeentch sorecery.
Defensive: Chaos armor and the usual Chaos traits for each champion (such as Feytor being really durable to harm.
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 5 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role : Lieutenant A mighty champion of the north, when Beorg of the Urslo clan killed two champions of the Wolf clan in single combat he was rewarded by the gods. As Beorg threw himself upon his enemies his back arched and split, his ribs cracked and turned in upon his body, his face was consumed from within by a snarling black muzzle. The gift of the were bear was upon him... the gift of the gods to the people of Norsca he was Bearstruck.
Like all savages of the northlands, Beorg despises the weakness of lesser men! He cares nothing for the so-called civilized lands that lie to the south. When the Chaos armies of Warlord Archaon marched upon the lands of the Empire Beorg gladly joined them. His warriors had grown tired of easy conquests amongst the tribes of the north! At the Battle of the Monoliths, Beorg led his warriors against the army of Arch-Lector Mannfeld of Nuln. The soldiers of the Empire were horrified to find themselves confronted by men in half- bear shape, snarling and tearing like the savages they were! Amongst them all was the towering shape of Beorg casting aside his foes with great swipes of his claws, knocking heads from shoulders and tearing arms from their sockets. For a time Beorg stuck it out in the Border Lands, becoming a mercenary to hire with the rest of his tribe. In the End Times the Bearmen took part in the destruction of the empire, fighting with distinction on mnay battlefields. However he died in one of the final skirmishes of the Battle of Middenheim along with the rest of his tribe.
===LOADOUT=== Offensive: Tooth and Claw for the whole regiment. Beorg also has a magical “Bear Standard’ which drives all nearby units to beserker like fury.
Defensive: Light Armor. Beorg also wears a magical talisman that provides some defense against horrifying wounds.
===ADDITIONAL FACTORS== Beorg is accompanied by 1-2000 of his bear tribe, all of which are Werebears to varying degrees.
Mobility: 5 Training/Experience: 4 Max & Effective Range: 300m?
Preferred Range: Melee Role: Lieutenant Of the Ungors, few can claim to have had it as bad as Ungol Four-Horn, for he has been cast out of two
societies, both beast and man . . As a child he was left in the woods by his birth-parents for the crime of having two heads, which Beastmen who passed by thought was unique enough that the child was spared, and raised by their kind. However Ungol had small horns which were a sign of mockery in Beastman society, and to make matters worse his two-heads resulted in much jealousy among the Ungors. Friendless, beaten, mocked and bruised daily it was only a matter of time until he snapped. One night, bleeding from a dozen wounds, he could take it no more. While the rest of the herd slept in a drunken stupor Ungol first crept up and beat his chieftain to death with a rock. Then he moved onto the shaman, strangling him. Not done he sawed off the horns of both and attached it to his own head shouting and singing "Four Horns! Four Horns! Four Horns!” He then evaded his vengeful tribe by hiding in a nearby cave system. Though it drew him the ire of Gors everywhere, the act finally gave him respect among the Ungors,
who admired him for being even more hateful t hen the norm. Now he leads an army of Ungors, mutants and monsters all filled to the brim with hate. Any that falls before him suffers and to be taken prisoner by such a force is a terrible fate. In the End Times he appears in Kislev, taking part in the final battle there.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Two Hand weapons. He also wields the magical "Crown of Thorns" which are the sawed off horns of the shaman and Beastlord. In battle this magical power manifests in him either becoming stronger and more skilled with weaponry or becoming a minor wizard (level 1 Lore of the Wild)
Defensive: Not much, maybe some scavenged leather or mail. ==Additional Factors== Ungol's forces are by nature going to be wary of cooperation with other Beastmen, given their past... However even without them he is shown to be a skilled and crafty commander of Ungors, carrying on
raids for many years and foiling both man and Beastman attempts to destroy him.
Mobility: 5 Training/Experience: 6 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Ranged Role: Lieutenant Secondary Role: Magical Support- Tactical Strategic Support-Causes Famines Slugtongue invokes fear just by looking at him. His body is host to hordes of tics, lice, worms and cockroaches inhabiting every crevice. Centipedes pout out of his empty eye sockets, slugs from his teeth. Worse still his stinking breath coalesces into terrible shapes on its own and he is perpetually surrounded by an aura of chill. While other Beastmen enjoy the simple act of slaughter, Slugtongue has a more refined taste. Embodying somewhat the aspects of Nurgle this Beastman wants to see his enemy suffer first. Resenting mankind's domination over nature Slugtongue seeks to undo mankind's exalted position entirely . When he passes through a land, no matter how fertile, it turns into a barren and freezing wasteland crawling with vermin. At his command Locusts will tear across crop fields, rivers turn to bile, maggots rain down upon freshwater lakes, harvested crops turn to sludge and barrels of fine drink turn out to be infected spittle. His plan is to starve the enemy into desperate and foolhardy acts. As their families die and land is utterly despoiled, hordes of the armies of man head to kill the one who inflicted such punishment upon them in a desperate bid to end their curse. When these starving, frightened armies meet Slugtongue's force they encounter hordes of well fed, hot-tempered and battle ready Beastmen. Thus, for army battles, Slugtongue is the enemy of the opposing force's logistics. In the End Times even as Malagor’s super spell combined with Nurgle’s plagues ravaged the Empire, Slugtongue robbed the land of even more of its strength. Wherever that wizened fiend walked, famine followed. The locusts and cockroaches that flocked in his wake were put to good use gnawing away
the last of the harvest that the people of the Empire had stowed away. Tall, strong men were slowly reduced to sallow shadows that moaned and cl utched at their bellies, eating cats, dogs and rats in their overriding hunger. Armies of the starving and the desperate were mustered, and though many a warherd was brought to battle, the Lord of the Black Harvest was never found.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: For melee, in addition to his disease infested state, he wields a poisoned braystaff. He is level 2 wizard that can generate spells from Lore of the Wild or Death. His most potent power though is his aura of famine that can affect everything within 500 meters of him.
Such an aura seems to affect each individual unit differently, with roughly half experiencing nothing but disgust and maybe a little horror at the being before him. The other half begins to weaker or even worse outright collapse before this supernatural famine, which can affect even magical creatures. Defensive: Nothing in terms of armor, he does have minor regeneration however for when he is hit. Additional Personality Factors: Devious, Cautious, Death by a thousand cuts Slugtongue, unlike most Beastmen, is considerably more cautious and much more devious. He prefers to kill the enemy off through attrition than bloodlust. To that end, Slugtongue will avoid battles when he can help it and cause attritional damage throughout the campaign.
==Additional Factors== Given his special powers and purview, Slugtongue is going to be focusing, as a sub-commander, directly
on enemy logistics. He will seek to weaken them through starvation and dehydration. Fertile fields are going to be ruined, lakes and other natural water sources poisoned, and stocks of enemy supplies made untenable.
Mobility: 4 Slavelord, 7 Ironskin Training/Experience: 5-6 Max Range: Spell/Melee Preferred Range: Lieutenants
Ghark Ironskin was once beaten on the head as a child by a father disappointed in his son for eating too slowly. A nail got lodged in his brain where it would rust throughout his lifetime. The longest serving of his
Irongut bodyguard claim that this may be the reason for Ghark's obsession for metal, a passion that
has spread throughout his tribe. It is a mark of status for an Ironskin Ogre to cover himself with iron rather than mere trinkets such as gold. After all, gold is soft and beautiful; a woman's metal, whereas iron is tough, strong and ugly, like a Bull. The Ironskin tribe believes that where an Ogre can gain much in trade from gold, a stout iron club can cut out all that confusing haggling and get straight to the good stuff. This obsession with metal led the Ironskin tribe to form an alliance with the Chaos Dwarfs, where the
Ogres would give the Dwarfs a copious number of slaves in return for their refined metal . At other times the Ironskins would fight alongside the Chaos Dwarfs and, at one point, they traveled all the way to Brettonia to serve them. The Ironskins wiped out much of the Brettoni army however the favorite rhinox of Ghark was slain. Enter the Chaos Dwarfs. They replaced their ally's Rhinox with a mechanical monstrosity of hissing
pistons and rune-etched chains, a daemon-fueled engine of destruction that obeys Ghark's every command (though he still bashes it over the head now and again, for old time's sake). None can doubt that Ghark Ironskin is amongst the mightiest of Tyrants, riding his unstoppable steed at the head of an iron-clad army of Bulls and Rhinox riders, the ground shaking at their tread. Now, among the Ogres there are many slavers but one that stands out. Known to the Chaos Dwarfs as Ghrask Dragh, literally ‘corpse-slaver’, Braugh Slavelord is a legend even amongst his own merciless peers. Ogre slavers are a common enough sight in far corners of the world, bu t only one among them
can claim to enslave his prey in death as well as life . With magical soul-binding chains not even in death can one escape this slavelord, and through the chains Braugh can command these slaves to fight on his behalf. Ghark Ironskin and Braugh Slavelord were among those ogres who fought against Grimgor on behalf of the Chaos Dwarfs. The Ironskin Tribe made their stand at the Sentinels, in an attempt to break the invaders' momentum. Ghark was subsequently cut down by Grimgor Ironhide in single combat, and Braugh was humbled by the combined efforts of Wurrzag and Golgfag, who strangled Braugh with his own sorcerous chains.
Offensive: Ghark is armed with a giant iron club and on top of a giant iron rhinox. His rhinox can snort scalding steam at enemies in front of him. Meanwhile Braugh is armed with a mean axe and his soul binder chains, which actively seek and try to enslave enemies in battle. Defensive: Ghark has the ironskin armor, a rough patchwork of iron taken from hundreds of foes over the years and upgraded with protective runes. Braugh meanwhile has bound slaves he can use as meat shields while also having a gutplate magically blessed to ensure speed to those around him.
==X-FACTORS== Adaptive Creativity: 25/100: Ghark is credited among Ogre society with coming up the genius assertions that ‘metal hits harder than wood’ however his tactics are pretty much all tried and true. Gather Ogres,
condense them, than charge with such earth shattering force that any line defense against them is broken.
Tactics: 62/100: Though his tactics are incredibly simple none can doubt their effectiveness, as a mass of several hundred pound iron-wearing superhumans more often than not can break an army.
Strategy: 38/100: Little to no independent strategy and usually just contracts himself out to the Chaos Dwarfs. That said, his Ironskins have prospered under his rule and emerged as one of the strongest Ogre tribes.
Intution: 40/100: Discipline: 40/100: Frequently goes into a rage with little provocation. Psychological Warfare: 30/100: Other than intimidating through his sheer presence and reputation, this is an ogre of action, not undermining the enemy. Ironskin is in the business of breaking bodies, not spirits.
Audacity: 88/100: Ironskin seemingly fears nothing and always leads the charge from the front of the line.
Experience: 67/100: Ghark has seen several decades of fighting. Inspiration: 60/100: Ironskin is a respected and feared leader in his tribe. Corruption: 60/100: Ghark is not inherently evil, just focused on eating well and ensuring the might of his tribe.
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 4 Max Range: Melee Preferred Range: Behind you! Role : Lieutenant –Tactical Commander Hobgoblins are backstabbing, double-dealing and ruthlessly treasonous creatures. Only the Hobgoblins most efficient in the arts of treachery rise up through the mobs of such despicable
Goblinoids and then only the most sneaky or lucky can remain in charge for any significant length of time. Fortunately for Gorduz Backstabber, he shares all of the above talents along with an exceptional streak of extremely good luck. Hence, Gorduz is the longest living and greatest Hobgoblin Chieftain of all time, or so he claims!
All fame is fleeting and all glory ultimately fades away. The renown of Hobgoblin chieftains tends to fade more quickly than most, usually with the help of a dagger, poison or nasty accident‘. Gorduz Backstabber has outlived most of the other tribal leaders thanks to a naturally distrustful disposition and lashings of low cunning. He has also been lucky as the hardened scar tissue that crisscrosses his massive bony shoulder hump testifies. Gorduz is a traitorous as all his kin, and thinks nothing of betraying his fellow Hobgoblins to his masters in exchange for their favoritism – hence his epitaph. Unlike in almost any other species, this does not lead to him being despised, but in fact admired and respected by other Hobgoblins. In a race that has evolved a bony hump on their shoulders due to their predilection for clandestine assassinations, Gorduz stands as a paragon of those dubious Hobgoblin values. In the End Times Gorduz Backstabber turned on his masters at the Battle of Hashut's Maw, when he and his sneaky gits opened the great eastern gate and allowed their eastern cousins into Zharr Naggrund. Alongside Ghazak Khan, Gorduz led the hobgoblins of the temple-city in attacking their former masters. Gorduz paid for his treachery, however, as Zhatan the Black crushed the life out of him on the steps of the temple of Hashut.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Axe and plenty of knives…. Defensive: Light leather armor, shield. His greatest defense is his uncanny instincts that has allowed him to survive countless battles and backstabbing, as well as a back-plate of course!
==Additional Factors== He may ride a great wolf into battle. Gorduz is going to be closest thing that the Hobgoblins have to a central leader, and they will
Mobility: 3 Training/Experience: 6 Max Range: Melee
Preferred Range: Melee Role : Lieutenant When the forces of Chaos launch a major invasion they often build crude siege towers or entreat daemonic aid for more potent engines of war. The smoke-spewing machineries built by Hothgar, the renegade Chaos Dwarf Sorcerer of the Forge, however, are prized beyond all others. These vast war towers are self- propelled, powered by steam and, some say, daemonic pacts. With nigh-impenetrable iron plating, these Doom Engines grind over armies, bastions, and castles alike. They will reach their destination and there disgorge a legion of troops. Hothgar is the inventor and one of the best Chaos Dwarf engineers of this generation. Through the aid of his Daemonic allies, Lord Mortkin was able to persuade Hothgar, the rogue Chaos Dwarf forge-sorcerer, to build engines of war to assist in his Chaos invasion. Two of the enormous ironclad siege towers accompanied the armies deployed against the south walls of Volganof in 2515. The destruction of the walled town of Kurskinstadt and the utter collapse of the Skaven lair-nest of Gribblehook are attributed to the clanking, grinding, and pulverising war towers built by Hothgar. Later on Hothgar’s aptitude at engineering resulted in his reluctant embrace by the Dawi Zharr once more and his greatest assignment yet. He was in nominal command of the vast siege engines used to shatter the Great Bastion of Cathay and built a fortress on top of the walls that he would hold for much of the rest of the End Times, allowing Chaos forces to pour through. After Grimgor's invasion, his fate and current whereabouts are unknown, though a single Doom Engine, badly battered and partially aflame, was seen rumbling northward, away from the Bastion as the orcs spilled through. Offensive: See Daemonsmith, with possibility of magical trinkets Defensive: See Daemonsmith, with possibility of magical trinkets
==ADDITIONAL FACTORS== The benefit Hothgar gives is in seiging, for he is one of the most skilled known siege engineers in the world. Any army he comes attatched to will be better equipped to take the enemy towns.
Mobility: 3 Training/Experience: 6 Max Range: Melee
Preferred Range: Melee Role : Lieutenant ‘Rykarth is exceptionally malevolent creature with a wicked righteousness and patriotism for the security of the Hashut Empire. As captain of the Immortals, he oversees all internal investigations and when
misconduct is found he is swift at dealing heinous punishment, unscrupulous torture and ultimately violent death. When the Slave Lord Krazhark returned to the Plain of Zharr with only a few hundred prisoners in tow, it was Rykarth that accused him of incompetence and had the Slave Lord thrown into the roaring fires of the Furnace of Hashut. When the atrocious Daemonsmith Bharrzok accidentally summoned the Daemon Horde of Skulltaker into the weapons foundry of Razark, it was Rykarth that had Bharrzok stripped naked, painted red and trampled to death to the Great Taurus, Turax. And when High Priest Gharzoth plotted to eliminate his rivals on the Council of Hashut, it was Rykarth that exposed the priest‘s treachery and had him eaten alive by a mob of famished Orc thralls. Known for his Toughness, Rykarth is said to be among the most courageous of his kind. In a race of stouthearted and disciplined warriors, Rykarth is viewed as a paragon of Chaos Dwarfen toughness, resolve, and cunning. He has faced many a canny and powerful foe and always triumphed. Rykarth himself was present in the forges of Zharr Naggrund when Archaon brokered his deal for the dreaded Hellcannons. It is said that Rykarth was able to meet the withering gaze of the Lord of the End Times without looking away. A few moments later, Archaon agreed to the exorbitant price demanded by the forge lords.’
In the End Times Rykarth the Unbreakable led the Chaos Dwarf forces at the Great Bastion. It was he who swept an entire section of the vast wall clean of defenders, and he later hunted down the last of
the war-monks who guarded the inner chambers of the Bastion. Rykarth was slain in battle with Grimgor Ironhide, after a duel which lasted hours. As the sun set over the burning ruin of the Bastion, Grimgor hung Rykarth's broken form from the parapets with the very chains the Chaos Dwarf had used to bind his ogre slaves.
Loadout: Offensive: Great, giant rune ax Defensive: Armor of Gazrakh: An exceptionally powerful and durable armor that is near impossible to crack by conventional means.
===ADDITIONAL FACTORS=== Rykarth is known for being exceptionally inspirational to the Chaos Dwarfs, a paragon of virtues. They fight all the harder in his presence.
Mobility:6 Training/Experience: 10 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role : Liuetenant/Melee Secondary Role- Tactical Aid –Magic Strategic-Necromancy Walak of the tribe Harkoni, was born in ancient times and was turned into a vampire by Abhorash, champion of Lahmia in Nehekhara. While serving in Lahmia he was master of the palace guard and one of Abhorash's four primary assistants (along with his cousin Lutur of the harbour guard). After the fall of Lahmia he traveled with his Sire to Mourkain to serve under king Ushoran. It is unknown how he survived the fall of Mourkain and the Strygos empire. Many years later he came to the Blood Keep. The fortress guarded the mountain pass to Bretonnia, and the Blood Dragon Order of Knights stationed there were pledged to the protection of the people of the surrounding area. In a single night he challenged and slew all the inhabitants, turning those he considered worthy opponents into vampires and the reanimating the rest as mindless undead. Thereafter the once noble Order of the Blood Dragon became monstrous Blood Knights with Harkon as their Grand Master. The living people of the area, long protected by the knights, now became the prey of the fallen order. When the truth was uncovered, the keep was put under a lengthy siege by an Imperial army. At the end of the siege the order was destroyed as an organization, although a number of the knights, including Harkon survived. During the End Times, the newly resurrected Nagash started recruiting many of the world's most powerful undead lords to form his generals. Harkon joined and became one of the Mortarchs. To this end he plays a vital role in the defense of the Auric Bastion in the northern Empire. Under the command of Vlad von Carstein Harkon fought at the Battle of Alderfen. Here a Nurgle force breached the bastion and started butchering the Imperial forces beyond it. All looked lost until the surprise undead counter charge, led by Harkon and his knights, halted the Chaos advance long enough for the breach to be sealed. However, in his zeal Harkon and his knights had penetrated far beyond the Bastion itself and then found themselves trapped behind it. It wasn't until the Battle of Heffengen that Harkon would resurface. After the collapse of the Bastion, Von Carstein sought an alliance with the Empire and to this end planned to fight alongside the Imperial forces at Heffengen to hold back the Chaos hordes led by Crom the Conqueror. Just as the battle was all
but won, he was about to reveal himself and be recognized by the Emperor as a hero and ally Harkon and he knights charged onto the battlefield from the Chaos lines. It was revealed that while trapped behind the Bastion, Harkon had fallen to temptation and pledged himself to Khorne the Blood God of slaughter, believing that a world ruled by Nagash offered no chance for glory. This treachery reached it's peak when Harkon, rising a skeletal dragon, engaged in an aerial duel with Karl Franz, defeating him and casting him low. With the apparent death of the Emperor the Imperial forces retreated and the battle was lost. However with the armies of the Empire now unwilling to accept the undead as potential allies von Carstein would not let this action go unpunished. Initially, Harkon used his superior skill at arms to get the better of the elder Carstein in battle. However he then fell victim to the classic villain tendency to give long soliquiries to their fallen enemies.Vlad used this moment of distraction to seize control of his dragon and rip the lord of the Blood Keep in half.
Offensive: Walach wields the Crimson Blade, an incredibly sharp sword capable of cutting deep through the armor of those who aoppose him . He is a level 2 wizard using spells from the lore of vampires. He carries the Blood Dragon Standard, which inspires all blood dragons that fight around him to fight with legendary zeal.
Defensive: Walach wields a Hauberk infused with the blood of his victims that serves as both potent armor and provides a degree of nature shielding. He can also drink the Blood Chalic, which can empower his attacks, allow him to heal wounds or cause his sword to bust into flame. “From the very start. Karl Franz had known that he was overmatched. Harkon was too swift. The vampire had parried every' blow with ridiculous ease, but no longer was there any chance to choose another path. The duel had begun; now there was only victory or death. Again Deathclaw dived towards the dragon, and again the Emperor struck at his crimson-armoured foe. This time the parry was followed by a lightning-swift riposte. Karl Franz had just enough time to realise that the vampire had been toying with him before the sword pierced his breastplate and ripped deep into his chest. In the same moment, the dragon twisted in mid-air, seizing Deathclaw in its talons, and preventing the griffon from flying its injured master to safety. 'You’re a fool!' Harkon spat at his bloodied foe. ‘This is no time for mortal men. This is the hour of the gods, and of those who would become gods!’ ‘Even gods can fall,’ Karl Franz breathed, the words ragged as his strength fled his body. Lost in visions of glory, the raving vampire didn't hear the Emperor speak; nor did he see the runefang until its point lanced upward, carving a wicked furrow across his gaunt cheek and taking out his left eye. With a howl of pain, the vampire clapped a hand over his ruined face, and wrenched his sword from the Emperor's flesh.
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 9 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role : Leiutenants Engra Deathsword was the greatest of the three liutenants of Asavar Kul, the previous Everchosen before Archaon. Engra's name is amongst the most dreaded and despised in all the annals of Kislev's long history. For while Sven BloodyHand's bloody devastation of Erengrad is justly regarded as a terrible atrocity by Kislevite and Imperial alike, and while Valmir Aesling broke the power of the Norscan Dwarf clans for all eternity with his destruction of Kraka Drak, Engra Deathsword's annihilation of the northernmost of the Kislevite cities was an act of utter horror. Engra’s army was tasked with the destruction of Praag. Together with Scyla, Kholek, and the fath of all Chaos Mammoths, Ankhor, he besieged the mighty Kislevite fortress. Ebgra was no beserker, and he cunningly drove refuges, infected with Nurgle’s gifts, into the city while he built a settlement on the outside, content to wait. Disease and starvation took its toll for months, while Engra waited patiently outside. Finally, sensing glory, Engra led a massive assault, having Kholek and Ankhor break down the gates so his troops could swarm in. Engra was in the forefront of battle, slaying hundreds with frenzied swings of his axe and sword. After a bitter battle, Praag finally fell in the winter of 2302 IC. The blood spilled within its streets led to the eyes of the Dark Gods being drawn towards Engra's conquest. The raw power of Chaos swept through the land, the sheer horror of what Engra had done causing the might of the Dark Gods to descend upon and despoil the city. Praag was subjugated to horrors of such magnitude, the likes of which forgotten even by Elves and only dimly recalled by Dwarfs in ancient nightmares. When the hosts of Magnus the Pious reached the steppe, they could only look on in utter horror at the monstrosity of what had befallen the city, and weep openly when they realized the depth of their failure. Praag had fallen and Chaos was triumphant. After the fall of Praag, Engra joined up with his master and fought in the battle of Kislev. It was a massive, bitter battle in which three armies – Kislevite, Dwarven and Empire, with some magical High Elven assistance- tried to stem the oncoming Chaos Horde. They attacked from multiple angles,
surrounded the Chaos army and yet, in spire of it all, still were struggling. Only the death of Kul in a duel with the human emperor Magnus sealed the victory. Engra fled, and for two hundred years built up his power. Then, under a new Everchosen, he returned, taking part in the destruction of the Empire. Ultimately, he was killed in battle with Valtern, Herald of Sigmar.
Offensive: Daemon Sword wielded with incredible skill. Capable of carving through hundreds of lesser men.
Defensive: Chaos Armor.
Mobility: 8 (flyer) Training/Experience: 10 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Melee Role: General- Tactical Commander Kurt Letizig was born the son of a baron in the Time of Three Emperors. As a child he had a normal upbringing for the time period until tragedy struck. A crazed witch hunter named Marius van Diel discovered his family, accused them of witchcraft with little viable evidence, and then burned them all at the stake for reasons not immediately made evident. Kurt alone managed to flee and remained in hiding for many years even as the witch hunter continued his zealous pursuit. He met an eccentric knight who took him in to become a squire, though he made sure to keep his srcins a secret. His time at the knighthood was not to be a happy one for the elitist nobles who ran the
organization treated Kurt with disdain due to his dubios srcins. One of his few friends at the order was Jakob, a half kislevite-half norscan servant, and his engaged wife to be, the Sigmarite Priestess Ursula. One day, when Chaos struck and the knights were being overrun Kurt distinguished himself by leading a charge consisting only of squires that managed to, if only barely, turn a defeat into success with Kurt single handily slaying the chaos champion. However he was forced to flee as Marius came to the town of his beloved and seemed poised to judge her as a witch. Jakob followed though not for reasons of comradery. Unbeknownst to Kurt, Jakob was a follower of the Chaos gods. Taking the position of a trusted confidant he slowly started to turn Kurt to the ways of the North, easing him into dark and malovelent decisions. When Ursula joined the party she tried to steer Kurt away from Jakob however the desire for vengeance against Marius would ultimately prove to be a greater motivator. Jakob continually drove wedges between Ursula and Kurt whenever he could, ultimately culmulating in Ursula leaving thanks to Kurt’s increasing and naïve interest in the Chaos Gods and Kurt being convinced she was working with the Witch Hunter. In order to defeat the Witch Hunter once and for all he called upon the power (and daemons) of the Dark Gods, becoming superhuman in the process. He was no strong enough to punch holes into people, catch crossbow bolts out of the air and run at superhuman speeds. In triumph he joined up with a local raiding Norscan Warband and headed home with them. He quickly rose through the ranks, known for his daring and sometimes impossible raids. An example being that time he scaled the cliffs of a fort, invaded it and barred the gate from the outside so his foes could not flee. Eager to build his legend, Kurt declared that he would raid and sack Araby. He would have the chance to grow the legend further as his voyage took him further south into the treacherous Great Ocean. There he was attacked by a Leviathan, a monstorous creature larger than both of his vessels. Though the beast nearly brought down the expedition, Kurt lept onto its head and nearly killed the creature in driving it off. Finally he arrived in the great southern deserts, only to discover it was Nekehara that he landed at, not Araby. He and his men found a pyramid that, while small by Nekeharan standards, carried enough gold to raise a massive horde of Norscans for a future invasion. Kurt longed to invade the Empire, to sack its capitals and avenge himself against Ursula. Unfortunately, the rest of his journey was plagued by hardship. The vengeful Tomb King of the town he raided killed many of his followers and destroyed one of his vessels. As he neared Norsca, a vengeful Imperial battleship shot down the last longship, however close to shore enough where a few of his men were able to paddle ashore. A local Norscan tribe accosted him however through sheer physical prowess Kurt slew both the chieftan and many tribesmembers singlehandily, ultimately absorbing the tribe. Alas when he returned home he was met with more tragedy. Ursula, who had now become a Joan of Arc like figure, had sacked his adopted village and slew his new family. Vowing total revenge Kurt gathered a Warband to him and traveled north, there to seek the boon of the gods themselves for this endeavor.
He fought past all manner of mutations and horrors of his trip, including having half of his Warband turn into Chaos spawn. Finally Kurt arrived at the Gates of Chaos and traveled through, where the gods gave him his greatest wish. They gave him a chance to save his srcinal family. Kurt was teleported back in time to Marius Van Diel’s wedding day. In a fury the Chaos warrior chased the witch hunter and his bride to be down, leisurely taking the time to torment them with his acquired powers. Marius managed to escape into a Sigmarite church which Kurt could not enter thanks to the holy aura. However the wife was caught out in the open. As Kurt attempted to lure Marius from the
church he burned the wife to death, laughing maliciously at the look of despair on the witch hunter’s face. Then, to his surprise , a monk came out of the church and called out to him in surprise as “Baron Letizig”, for Kurt was said to be a splitting image of his father. The magic allowing Kurt to manifest in the past faded and the now shocked Chaos Warrior was pulled back to the Realm of Chaos even as he heard Marius swear revenge. For some strange reason, perhaps out of godly amusement, Kurt passed the test of daemonhood and
was ascended into those immortal ranks . No longer was he Kurt Letizig he had no ascended to become Sutvenwulf Daemonkin. At long last he had the power to finally launch that assault on the still disunited states of the Empire that he so longed for. Using Jakob as a mortal proxy, he called together dozens of tribes in an early attempt to conquer the empire. After achieving initial success in Kislev thanks to the surprise nature of his attack and the lack of magic users on the Empire’s side ( this was before the Colleges of Magic) Sutvenwulf was blocked by an unexpected assault from a union of several provinces led by Ursula,now the so-called Maiden of Sigmar. On a field of blood and ice the two fought bitterly, each questioning the philosophy of the other. Ursula prevailed barely however it was a hollow victory. With his last words Kurt taunted her with the knowledge that her very existence had been the source of much amusement to the Chaos Gods over the last few years. The states that she united would later fall apart. Of course being a Daemon Prince Kurt wasn’t really dead and he came back in the End Times, there to assist Archaon in the long-awaited destruction of the Empire.
Offensive: Sutvenwulf weilds a sword the size of a man with legendary skill. He has the reflexes to catch crossbow bolts out of the air.Kurt is renowned for his physical prowess, having once depleted an entire imperial garrison by himself as a mortal Chaos champion. His power has only increased since daemonhood. Finally, he is clearly a level 3-4 mage knowledgeable in the Lore of Fire.
Defensive: He is a Daemon Prince and thus many normal blows simply glance off his scaly skin. ==X-FACTORS== Adaptive Creativity: 59/100: As a empire expiraite who was adopted into Norse culture, sometimes Kurt can innovate based on his shared past.
Tactics: 55/100: Kurt is great at winning battles and comes up with clever ambushes and feats based on personal prowess. However he has been beaten more than he has won, in part thanks to his tendency to take on more than he can chew.
Strategy: 41/100: The Southern Wolf is rather poor at long term planning, much to the disdain of his allies, and is frequently outmaneuvered by his enemies.
Intuition: 49/100: Audacity: 89/100: Occasionally an advisor will talk some sense into him however Kurt is too willing to be bold, from leaping off a boat to kill a underwater beastie to believing he could take on a entire tomb king army with just a couple dozen men.
Psychological Warfare: 58/100: Thanks to his daemonic aura, magical manipulation and simply his natural strengths Kurt does have some notable skills(and enthusiasm) at causing fear in enemy ranks.
Experience: 86/100: Been alive for several hundred years at least. Discipline: 45/100: Inspiration: 70/100: Kurt is not only inspiratory by nature, he is one of the rare Daemon Princes of Chaos undivided. Men stand in awe of his stature with the gods.
Corruption: 100/100:
Mobility: 5 Training: 6 Max Range: Magic Effective Range: Magic Role: Lieutenant
Born the second daughter of the notoriously cruel Daukhur, Lurhan of Hag Grief, Nagaira grew up overshadowed by her older brothers and sisters. As a result she was unable to advance her position in the court and so Nagaira turned to the mastery of sorcery- in secret- to to advance her position. To do so openly would invite her utter destruction by the Witch King’s agents but, through subteledge, she could cultivate an informal reputation to instill fear in her enemies and cause those looking for an advantage over rivals to consult her. In the pursuit of power she
pushed the established limits of magic and ultimately drew the attention of, and was ensnared by, Slaanesh. To advance both her own interests and that of her patron she helped found a Cult of Slaanesh whose membership ultimately spread like wildfire across Naggarond. One of her brothers, Isuldur, was ensared and became the Grand Hierophant of the order as Nagaira invested her time in investing deeper into the arcane. It was through shese studies that she discovered Tz’arkan, the Daemon King, and the power he could offer her. She manipulated her bitter, vindicative half-brother Malus, with whom she had a off-on incestuous relationship with, to head north, telling him of untold treasures to repay his debtors and power that could be used for vengeance (but, of course, withholding any mention of the daemon). Malus succeeded in inadvertently releasing Tz’arkhan and getting possessed as a result. Delighted, Nagaira tried to manipulate Malus into her cult. Here she overstepped, for alone among her siblings Malus was capable of matching her in guile and cunning. He quickly discovered evidence that he had been used and informed their brother Urial, of the Khainite temple, of the location of the Cult of Slaanesh. A bitter battle followed with the cultists dying in the confrontation against the khainites, but Nagaira disappears when she unleashed a magical explosion. She is given up for dead, but later Malus discovers that she had survived and joined the forces of Naggor, who was opposed to Hag Graef, and was also committed to his cousin Fuerlan, son of the Lord of the Black Ark . But it all turned out to be an astute trick. While the armies of Naggor and Hag Graef, Nagaira manipulates his half-brother, this time by means of a spell, to assassinate the Drachau of Hag Graef. Thanks to his mother Eldire , Malus fails in his assassination attempt, and is freed of the spell of its sister. Malus returned to face his sister. During the confrontation, he manages to wound her with a relic he needs, the Torxus Dagger , a weapon capable of snatching the soul of its victims. However, he discovers to his surprise that Nagaira had also become the host of a demo,n amd therefore, can not die under the effects of the dagger either as she had no soul to give. Nagaira confesses to Malus that after the explosion she had escaped through a dimensional portal, made covenants with demonic beings, who granted her great powers in exchange for fulfilling his will. With her plans again foiled, Nagaira escapes of the place. Months later Nagaira returns, and this time he had made a huge army of Chaos, which invaded during a time where two-thirds of the Druichi were off shore raiding. Malus, by decree of the Witch-king, is put as main general of the forces of the city of northern-most city of Ghrond. For weeks, Malus' steadfast leadership and strategic plans allow Druichi forces able to ward off Chaos forces long enough for reinforcements to arrive. It was a difficult fight however, as Nagira matched Malus in cunning and guile. When he manned the walls, she first overwhelmed said walls with troops, killing many, and then used necromancy to resurrect corpses behind enemy lines. When Malus lead a
sneak attack to destroy enemy artillery, she used a sneak tunnel to subvert the inner wall. Nevertheless, Malus held her off. However though he was popular with the rank and file the nobles had come to hate Malus and in secret conspired to hand him over to Nagaira. She planned to keep him locked away and capture both Morathi and Maleketh, sacrificing them both in order to gain more power and release Tz’arkan. Fortunately, Malus Darkblade manages to escape his captivity in the final assault of Chaos forces, and faces his sister again. This time, he manages to kill her once and for all by forcing her to call upon more powers from the Chaos gods and then stabbing her, causing said energies to rip her apart.
Offensive: Level 4 Magic in Dark Magic (Dhar) and Lore of Slaanesh Defensive: Other than magical spells, little. Adaptive Creativity: 79/100: Nagira is the key figure in the background behind virtually the entire plot of the Darkblade Chronicles and her agile mind is quick to come up with a new scheme, plot or design.
Tactics: 61//100 : Nagira makes use of a number of cunning feints, tricks and traps however in spite of all this she did ultimately lose.
Strategy: 69/100: In terms of overall strategy, she very nearly came close to decpating the leadership of the Druichi, Morathi and Maleketh both. Her schemes are extremely wide-ranging and saw, among them, the corruption of many Highborn youth, the instigation of intra-city war and a well-timed invasion. That said all her plans did ultimately fail.
Intuition: 67/100: Throguh sorcery she does have foresight and she is very skilled at manipulation, of provoking the desired reaction within another.
Psychological Warfare: 70/100 : Nagaira founded a cult that drew in members from all across Naggarond, constantly manipulated her relatives and is a heiress to a society that specializes in such manipulations.
Audacity: 55/100: Inspiration: 50/100 Discipline: 57/100: Nagira can put on a clever façade however when pressed she reveals her emotions just like any other Druichi.
Corruption: 95/100
Mobility: 7 (Horse) Training: 6 Max, Effective and Preffered Range: Melee Role: Lieutenant The Kurgan warrior known as Kayzk has given much in the service of his god, Nurgle the Lord of Decay. He has given his flesh, which is now a rotting, pestilent mass, robbed of form and feeling. He has given his voice, for his vocal cords are no more than an open wound, and he long ago gave his soul to be the Plague Father's trinket. Kayzk stands as a living (if it can be called such) testament to the full horrors of Nurgle's blessings, earning him the epithet 'the befouled' by those of the PlagueGod's bleak faith. A mighty champion in his own right, Kayzk came to command his own warband of Kurgan horsemen, who followed his path of decay and became known as the Rot Knights for the fetid, half-Daemon beasts they rode into battle - vile, mutilated creatures whose cancerous flesh rapidly wept pus over any wound they sustained, suturing them shut. Kayzk the Befouled was one of the first to flock to Tamurkhan's banner, joining with the Maggot Lord in the Chaos Wastes and sweeping down through the lands of the Kurgan at his side, serving as Tamurkhan's chief lieutenant and master of his mounted troops. During the Battle of the Black Pit, is said to have fallen, not to the shot or sword of the Empire's defenders, but in Drazhoath's sorcerous fires as he led the ill-judged attack on the slave encampment to secure fresh sacrifices for his master's dark rites.
Offensive: Mutated Plaguesword Defensive: Kazyk is so mutated that many wounds scored on him are ignored. He feels no pain nor hurt and can regenerate wounds. Has Mark of Nurgle
Mobility: 7 Training/Experience: 10 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role: Assassination Karanak is a Daemonic Flesh Hound who is the incarnation of Khorne's vengeance against those who insult Khorne's pride or warriors that break Khorne's creed. It is fortunate that Khorne only ever utilizes this hound for when a colossal,
monumental insult is unleashed, for there is perhaps no greater tracker in existence.
Karnak has three heads, each capable of tracking a different aspect of the enemy. The first can track a
foe through space and accounts for all the different environments that one might flee through . The second can follow the scent through time, back into the past or the very creation of everything, or
even forward until the end of the universe. The third head tracks the quarry through his own thoughts, pursuing through dreamscapes and illusion. While the first two heads can be tricked, only the insane can run beyond the trace of their own mind. Karnak bolts through time and space towards his enemy, gathering up more and more flesh hounds as
he runs. By the t ime he reaches his target there may many scores following him. Given the surprise and massive onslaught of dogs, few if any foes c an fight him off. Karnak will then return to the Realms of Chaos, handing the skull of the slain to his master. The rest the demon chews on, eager for the next command. In the End Times the three-headed Flesh Hound was unleashed to aid Arbaal in Ind against the ten thousand gods of that great land. At the head of an immense pack of his fellow hounds, Karnak savagely hunted the avatars of Ind's gods and ran them to ground so that Khorne's champions could claim their
immortal skulls. Karnak was still hunting the last of these avatars when the world ended. ==LOADOUT== Offensive: Teeth and claws. See Fleshhound, but bigger and with more heads. Defense: Scaly skin and such magical immunity that only the most powerful beings could hope to hurt him with magic.
Personality: Karnak is a bloodthirsty hound. ==Additional Factors== Karnak only appears when someone of importance has offered a monumental insult to Khorne. Such as the Sigmarite who continually tried to deny that Khorne existed and went throughout the Empire preaching so for years. The Changeling too has delivered Khorne such an insult however he is one of the
few who can evade the great hound.
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 4 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Ranged Role : Subversion- Cult Activity Dien Chi’ing is one of the few examples of Cathayans that can be found in lore. Born and raised in Cathay after the Monkey King’s ascencion, Dien has longed to replace the hated order of his land. He joined the cult of Tsin-Tsin (Tzeentch) at a early age and from there rose high in the ranks. Unfortunately for him he had one to many run-ins with the Monkey King’s agents and was forced to flee the country. In a display of cunning he caught and killed the Cathayan ambassador to the empire before taking his place. At Karl Franz’s court Dien tried all sorts of mischief. He attempted to convince the Emperor to fund a venture to conquer the Dark Lands, claiming that the Monkey King and the Emperor of the West could then shake hands in the middle (the Monkey King had no such objective in mind). He worked with rabble rousers to foment revolution to try and overthrow the Empire, using the mass murder spree of a sociopath known as the “Beast’ in order to do so. Ultimately the revolution failed, however Dien Chi’ing remained to unleash all sorts of havoc. “Finally, he became tired of the game. For the one who had spoken first, he employed the Drunken Master technique, weaving unsteadily from side to side, then head-butting the Hook to the ground and stamping on his face, as if trying to put out a burning patch of lamp-oil. It was most comical. For the other, he switched to the Sleeping Fist. Yawning loudly, he stifled himself with the back of one hand and leaned backwards, as if falling into a hammock. His outstretched elbow smashed into the Hookрs ribcage, breaking a few bones. The man coughed and fell, and Chрing sliced his neck between his scything legs.
He left two dead and one sleeping. Sparing the woman was his concession to the mores of the Empire where, for some extraordinary reason, it was not considered polite to kill a female. Not, of course, that that stopped anyone. This Beast fellow, for instance” –Beasts in Velvet
Offensive: A master of elemental m agic. Cathay also has many sorts of shadow and celestial magic as well. As the above quote attests he is very skilled in martial arts.
Defensive: none except incredible dodging ability.
Mobility: 5 Training/Experience: 5-6 (purpose not fighting) Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Unknown Role: Sabotage/Assassination/Dickery The Changeling personifies the part of Tzeentch’s psyche that is the meddler, the deceiver, the trickster. He can take the form of other beings, from the tiniest of insects to the most massive of Greater Daemons. None, save perhaps Tzeentch himself, know the Changeling’s true form, for he goes cowled and cloaked when in his own shape — perhaps even the Changeling himself has forgotten it. Afflicted as he is with a low tolerance for boredom, the Changeling exists to play malicious tricks upon all about him. On one such occasion, taking the shape of a Daemonette, he stole the silver apples of knowledge from Slaanesh’s palace. On the edge of the Dark Prince’s territory he then assumed the form of a Plaguebearer and slipped into Nurgle’s garden, only to grow tired of the game and abandon the apples to rot amidst the decaying fronds. When Slaanesh discovered the theft, he flew into a rage and sent his armies to retrieve the lost
treasures. So did Slaanesh and Nurgle come to blows, the former believing the latter to be a thief, and the latter convinced the former had engineered a pretext for invasion. The Changeling was already elsewhere — stealing Collars of Khorne from Flesh Hounds and melting them down to create brass dioramas of the Blood God’s greatest defeats. So has the Changeling passed through eternity, sowing mischief in his wake. It was he who cut away Slaanesh’s hair while the Dark
Prince slept, and from it wove the cloak that Tzeentch presented to the mortal champion Egrimm van Horstmann. It was the Changeling who sealed the doors of Khorne’s citadel while he was away campaigning, forcing the Blood God to shatter his own proud gates when he returned. Another time he created a big conflict between Lizardmen and vampires in order to steal magical artifacts of the Slann. The Changeling’s handiwork is always obvious after the fact — indeed, part of the prank is to make the
victim aware of his deceiver, but impotent to act against him. It is of little surprise then that Tzeentch’s brother gods burn with desire to destroy the Changeling, to tear him limb from limb and scatter his parts and pieces across reality; yet somehow he always evades capture. Though Tzeentch loves to take credit for the Changeling’s schemes, only a handful of the Daemon’s adventures are carried out at his patron’s direction. The Great Schemer is content to let the Changeling
roam wild throughout eternity, causing havoc where he may . Each meddling opens up more possibilities in the Great Game, and Tzeentch watches with amusement as the Changeling weaves his uneven tapestry of disruption. That so many of his pranks have caused terrible wars is of no concern to the Changeling. He loves the discord of conflict, for it breeds opportunity to deceive and dismay like nothing else. His enjoyment begins even before armies clash: impersonating messengers and generals to disrupt strategy wherever possible. When battle begins, the Changeling is wont to adopt the shape and skill of the most powerful foe, pounding the enemy to pieces with malicious enthusiasm and borrowed muscle. In the End Times he would play a key early role first impersonating the apprentice of the chief Empire wizard Balthazar Gelt, who he gave the idea to create a giant magical wall around Sylvannia to keep the vampires penned at Tzeentch’s orders. This would have kept the undead away from the key early
stages of the End Times (however, the Changeling probably did not consider that the vampires would take his idea, go to the same Gelt, and use it to create the Auric Bastion- magical wall of the north that
forestalled the initial Chaos invasions). He would later cause all sorts of m inor havoc including accidently creating a hole in the Auric Bastion that he then allied with the unknowing mortals to prevent, for Nurgle’s minions were set to take advantage of it. “A few nights previously, the officers of t he Nordland Seahawks had been briefly trapped in their command tent when its metal stakes were removed. The event would have been entirely comical had it not transpired that those same stakes had been hammered into the touchholes of a grand battery of cannon, rendering the guns unusable. The engineers had lamented their loss, but not so much as they did the following night, when the creature had taken the guise of Master Engineer Rudi Volmart and set light to the artillery wagons. The resulting explosion had been heard many leagues hence, and left a blackened crater where the artillery train had been corralled. Of the artillery wagons’ sentries, no trace was ever found. Supply convoys were lured away from their official routes by seemingly legitimate heralds, and onto ’safe’ roads where beastmen waited in ambush. Couriers had been slain, or had gone missing entirely. The surviving Nordlanders had barricaded themselves into the ruins of an inn, and for three days teetered on the edge of mutiny. The matter was only settled when Captain Dreist had ordered a
company of the late Count Hertwig’s greatswords to storm the stockade and restore order. The ringleaders were never found. Duels of honour between officers became commonplace, sparked by the most unlikely chains of events. Old rivals found themselves billeted nearby to one another, the personal effects inexplicably stolen from one and senselessly paraded by the other. For several days, the Hochlanders and Talabeclanders were on the brink of open battle, as an otherwise unremarked voice dredged up the perennially sore topic of the disputed Svelden border territories. Brawls quickly broke out, and the Nordlanders, who had recently suffered more than a few cracked skulls for their own disorder, now found themselves helping the Ostermark greatswords keep the two squabbling parties separate.” – End Times Nagash
Eventually he decided to try to murder Karl Franz however the boy Valtern, with a fragment of Sigmar’s
divinity in him, saw through his disguise and pulped the daemon. Later he would be torn from the Forge of Souls again in the End Times, only to get pulped again this time by Sigmar himself who immediately saw through his disguise.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: When forced into battle the Changeling will morph into his toughest foe before attacking, though never for long as he quickly gets bored of whatever form he chooses. Though most forms he can take the power levels of, the most powerful (such as Be’lakor) he cannot take the full exten t of powerhis imitation of Be’lakor is far weaker than the real thing. He can also use a few spells from the Lore of
Tzeentch. Defense: Some ability to manipulate fate to avoid damage, but his main defense is simply not being caught.
==Additional Factors== To date the only effective means of detection is either having a divine aura (which the Changeling
cannot mimic in entirety) or advanced foresight, as the Tzeentchi arch sorcerer that Archaon has in his entourage was able to discover the Changelings true nature prior to their encounter. Sigmar and Valtern provide examples of divine auras being able to see through his disguise, with Sigmar essentially doing it on sight. “Archaon turned his greatsword in the broiling stone of the wound. Be’lakor screeched. His wings flapped and his spine arched. His knees sank into the floor and his claws trailed stringy stone where he had splashed the morphing material in his infernal agonies. ‘Now we’re talking,’ Archaon told the daemon. ‘This is a language that both of us can understand.’ Be’lakor’s claws tore at his daemon form. He was becoming one with his surroundings. In the throes of white-hot pain and the purity that still afflicted the crusader sword’s steel, he was changing. The palace was also losing its consistency. Liquid rock glooped and streamed from the ceiling while the ribs and bones contorted within the structure. Be’lakor and palace were as one. Except neither were Be’lakor.
‘Your name, daemon,’ Archaon demanded as his sword burned in the monster’s flesh. Its wings and features dribbled away. The creature sank into the floor. Into itself. It splashed like a flailing swimmer before thrashing beneath the surface of the stone. Its face rippled through the horrific visage of a thousand other diabolical things. Archaon pulled Terminus from the daemonflesh. For a moment everything was silent. The shrieking agony that shook the palace was gone. The Forsaken Fortress had melted to a ruptured, contorted mess. Archaon lost his footing as the floor seemed to sink through the palace. The Chaos warrior turned the greatsword about in his grip, aiming its tip back at the floor at his feet. Like a corpse in a river, the daemon floated to the surface of the stone. It was a lesser thing now. A thing of arms and hidden form, lost within the twisting folds of a hooded shroud. As the color of the stone bleached from it, the daemon began to move. Archaon lifted Terminus higher, indicating his intention to bury the Sigmarite sword in the creature’s extended form once more, but the walls liquefied about him. The palace cascaded around him towards the ice floe. The fingers of one puny arm begged him to desist. The razor gales of the Southern Wastes and blizzards of splintered ice once again intruded on the scene. Archaon was standing in a sea of stone. The sea retracted to a lake. Then the lake to a puddle about the daemon until finally the thing held only its own form. Archaon stepped forward, holding his shield before the maelstrom and Terminus high above his head. ‘Enough of your tricks, dissembler,’ the dark Templar told it. ‘Your name.’ ‘Long forgotten,’ the creature managed. ‘Along with the face that it belonged to.’ ‘Well, Changeling,’ Archaon roared through the howling wind. ‘It matters not that you are known. Only what you know.’ ‘You sought me out?’ ‘Yes, daemon,’ Archaon said. ‘It is said by the bestial shamans and diabolical creatures of this land that you are a deceiver and that you meddle in the great affairs of this dark world. That you hold a looking glass to both the damned and the damning and that you become what is seen.’ ‘I have my questionable gifts, Archaon,’ the Changeling hissed, ‘as the chosen of the Ruinous Powers must have his own.’ ‘Then you have held your glass to the infernal prince I seek,’ Archaon said, circling the prostrate monstrosity with his sword as snowfall gathered about the daemon. ‘I have studied him.’ ‘Why, darknid thing? Speak and live to hold your mirror again.’ ‘It pleases my master…’ the Changeling told him. ‘…the great Lord Tzeentch, to have the Dark Master’s ambitions frustrated.’
‘And so you impersonate Be’lakor, his form, his fortress.’ ‘To god-pleasing perfection.’ ‘You are a twisted thing, Changeling,’ Archaon told the daemon, ‘on a crooked path to nowhere.’” Archaon: Lord of Chaos
Mobility: 5-8 (Can magically turn into a flock of crows)
Training: 10 Max & Effective Range: Preffered Range: Sabotage Role: Saboteur-Fostering internal dissent Secondary: Magical Support Htarken, Daemon Prince of Tzeentch, was first seen in the ancient times of Snorri and Maleketh. Then, together with the Daemon Prince Alkior, he led a massive Nurglite and Tzeentchi horde down into the South lands. The battle was viscious however ultimately it started to turn against the Daemonic Horde, for in this period Dwarfs and Elves were united and in their prime. “‘You are finished, daemon.’ He gestured to the valley below where the hell-hosts were slowly dissipating, their mortal followers fleeing with the dissolution of their immortal allies. ‘Chaos has been defeated.’
‘Has it?’ Htarken spoke with a hundred different voices at once. Some were not even voices at all. They were the crackle of fire, the howling of the wind or the breaking of wood. They were cries of slaughter, pleas for mercy and the gibbering laughter of the insane. Birds, beasts, dwarfs and elves all collided in an unsettling union that put the prince’s teeth on edge. Malekith grimaced as the sound of Htarken’s ‘voice’ echoed in his mind. Like a cancer, it sought to take root and destroy him from within.
‘Change,’ said the daemon, with the prince reeling, ‘is inevitable. Even with all your many gifts, the heritage of your bloodline, you cannot fight entropy.’ Malekith wondered why the mages had not yet banished this thing, and then he realized they were transfixed. Seized by a sudden palsy, they trembled as all the horrors of change were visited upon them. As the minds of the mages died, so too did the pillars of fire holding them up. Htarken had them now, bound to puppet strings. And they danced, they jerked and spasmed until they exploded into transmuted globs of flesh and flailing limbs. They were loremasters of the White Tower of Hoeth and the feathered sorcerer had vanquished them as if they were nothing more than apprentices. ‘Fate is mine to manipulate,’ said the daemon. ‘I have seen yours, elf. Would you like to know it?’ Malekith was about to answer when a terrible pain seized his body. He convulsed, clutched at his skin. His dragon mewled in fear and confusion. ‘I am…’ Malekith tore off his helm, ripped at his gorget and cuirass, ‘on fire! Isha preserve me!’ ‘All endings are known to me. Every skein of destiny is mine to behold. I see past, present and future. Nothing is occlud ed. Your doom has c–’ Agony lessened, the fires in the elf’s mind faded to embers. As he opened his eyes, Malekith saw a rune hammer lodged in Htarken’s chest. The daemon clutched at it feebly, arrested in its sermonizing. A gruff voice called from below. ‘You’ll find it hard to speak with dwarf iron in your gut.’ Relief washing over him like a balm with the dissipation of Htarken’s sorcery, Malekith nodded to his friend. Snorri was not done. He outstretched his hand and the hammer’s haft began to quiver. As if snared by an invisible anchor the daemon came with it, drawn down by the rune craft of the weapon, unable to remove it from where it had impaled its ribs and chest. ‘I am master of fate…’ Htarken was weakening, his many voices becoming less multitudinous with every foot he descended. ‘I see all ends… I see…’ ‘Bet you didn’t see this, hell -spawn,’ Snorri snarled through gritted teeth. The daemon was almost in front of him. He readied his axe in one hand, drew in the hammer with the other. Htarken was weeping… no, laughing. Its spluttering mirth paused for agonized breaths and to spit ichor from its mouth. The hood fell back in its pain-wrecked convulsions, a savage parody of what it had done to the mages, revealing a grotesque birdheaded fiend. Narrow eyes filled with pit-black sclera glared over a hooked beak.
‘I am oracle, architect and thread keeper…’ it gasped, every second bringing it closer to the bite of the dwarf’s axe. Htarke n coughed, its laughter grew deeper and its struggles ceased. ‘Your doom is certain, you and your pathetic races. Chaos has come and already a change is upon you. Feel it warp your bones, the very course of your bloodlines. It will shape the future and I will be there to witness it. Htarken the Everchanging shall stand upon the ashen corpses of you all and exult. Doomed…’ it cawed, eyes widening in a sudden fervor. ‘Doomed, doomed, doomed, doom–’ ‘Elfling!’ Snorri cleaved the raving daemon with his axe as Malekith plunged Avanuir into its heart. Htarken screamed a thousand times all at once as it was cast back into the abyss. An inner fire consumed it, possessed of chilling heat that made the elf and dwarf recoil. In a flare of light, the last gasp of a candle flame before its air has run out, Htarken was gone and left only colorful ash motes in its wake.” Great Betrayal Like all daemon princes, however, Htarken was far from dead. In the warp he seethed and he plotted and he laughed, for as the daemon scried the twists of fate he saw a path through which he could take revenge on both of his enemies at once. Fast forward several millennia. The Elves and Dwarfs are at each other’s throats. Unbenownst to both parties, Druichi infiltrators had been disrupting Dawi-Elf relations. The Dark Elves achieved this by posing as Asur who were ambushing trading caravans, cheating Dawi merchants out of goods and razing several smaller settlements to the ground (the most notable of these being Zakbar Varf). This led to the tighter strictures on Dwarfen trade routes, harsher sanctions on Elves trespassing into Dwarf territory and ultimately the reckoning of many grudges against the Asur responsible. Enter Drogor Zharrdum, the last survivor of an expedition sent to investigate the fate of Karak Zorn and early childhood friend of Morgrim and Snorri, the nephew and son of the High king Gortrek Starbreaker of the Dwarfs respectively. At first the two Dwarf princelings were overjoyed to see their friend again but it soon became clear that something odd was off with the last Karak Zorn survivor. Morgrim distanced himself however Snorri, lacking the wisdom of his cousin, did not. Pretty soon they became best of friends. Snorri Halfhand- called such for the loss of half his hand in a early battle- was reckless, slightly arrogant
and eager to prove himself before his father and the Karak Ankor at large. Drogo saw this and played upon his insecurities. Snorri’s impetiousness turned into a need for action, his arrogance convinced him that the Elves were easy pickings, and his drive to prove himself led the dwarf prince to preemptively sack a Elvish city before negotiations could be finished. Despite his misgivings, Drogor’s influence
prevailed again and Elvish Survivors were massacared. Drogor alternated between encouraging the bloodlust directly, to seeming to discourage it but in a manner designed to fuel Snorri’s anger. Half a world away, the Phoenix King Caledor II would learn about the atrocity via dragon rider even as he received the High King’s emissaries. In anger and arrogance he had all their beards shaven, the
ultimate insult in Dwarven customs. In a rage, the High King Gotrek Starbreaker swore that either he would have restitution or he would shave his own beard! As no Dwarf wanted to bear the shame of having their high king shave his own beard, this caused them all to make the same oath. Despite his recklessness, Snorri was right about one thing. The Elves were yet unprepared and, if the Dwarfs moved fast enough, could be routed from the Old World fast (or at least put on a more worse footing) before Ulthuan’s armies and dragons arrived. However rather than do this in a calm and measured fashion, Drogor played upon Snorri’s ego again, by having him attack with only four cohorts
instead calling upon aid from his father. This reckless charge was repulsed and the war was prolonged. Later, Drogor encouraged Snorri Halfhand to challenge the Phoenix King to a duel. The challenge was over in moments, for Caledor II, for all his faults, was a legendary warrior. The war was prolonged further, as Gotrek threw himself and his throngs into the war with a renewed fury.
“‘Shield or hand axe?’ asked Drogor, proffering both. Snorri was sitting on a stout wooden throne as Khazagrim made sure his armour was secure. The hearthguard was tightening a vambrace when the prince answered, ‘Shield.’ His gaze was on the distant elf king who was undergoing similar preparation. Behind him, the elf army waited silently. ‘Against that spear, I’ll need a shield.’ Drogor nodded. ‘Do not be nervous, my prince,’ he whispered as he came close to strap on Snorri’s shield. ‘I am not,’ Snorri snapped. ‘I will end the war, claim my destiny. It is written.’ ‘Yes, but perhaps you should wait for your cousin. No one would think less of you if you did, my prince.’ Snorri narrowed his eyes. ‘I’ve asked you before not to call me that,’ he said. Drogor smiled but there was no warmth to it, no feeling at all. ‘But that is what you are, a prince.’ ‘I…’ Something disturbing had just happened, a tiny seed of doubt had been planted that was already taking root. Drogor was still smiling that deadened smile. It chilled Snorri like a winter’s breeze, but there was no time left to question it. Horns were blowing on both sides, the call to arms. The duel was about to begin. Snorri stood, his armour clanking as it came to rest. It felt heavy all of a sudden, his axe haft greasy in his armoured fist. ‘My prince?’ asked Khazagrim. Snorri was still looking at Drogor. ‘Go and meet your destiny, Snorri Halfhand,’ he said.”
The war continued, growing in ever increasing visciousness. Massacares were committed on a daily basis, reseviors were poisned and entire forests were burned down in acts of vengeance. For a time the Dwarfs, having armies closer to their power base, had the advantage and sacked numerous Elven cities. However the arrival of the dragons en masse stalemated the conflict, for the Dwarfs yet lacked the means, at this juncture, to effectively deal with dragons the size the High Elves utilized . To Htarken’s daemonic eyes, the war dragged out into a glorious, bitter stalemate. There was a problem however. The Dwarf hold of Barak Varr was far more progressive and innovative than most holds and its ruler was willing to consider what many Dwarf engineers considered heresy to win: innovation. A renegade Dwarf engineer Heglen created the first airships , several thousand years before present time. Though the Dwarfs had devised the vehicle they struggled to think of a way to power them. In time they would have made that discovery however the Htarken could not allow them to create a reliable means of propulsion. He took the guise of Drogor once more and this time claimed to have brought the secret of propulsion from far off Karak Zorn which was, unknown to the Dwarf engineers, really warpstone (which Dwarfs do not like to use). The over-trusting engineer Helgen took the hidden daemon at his word and soon brought four airships to battle against the dragons in a trial run. T o the surprise of many the airships
proved to be barely superior to the dragons. Then the ship Drogor commanded, King Snorri, exploded and in doing so crashed in a way that caused two other airships to explode. The battle ended in a disaster and Drogor later murdered Heglen in his workshop as the engineer worked to fix his design, after acknowledging that had the Dwarfs designs come to fruition, the Dwarfs would have won the war much easier. This still did not convince the leader of Barak Zarr to stop investing in innovation and he soon created another means, this time a sea ship, which could be used to quickly destroy the Elven fleet in one battle. Unfortunately, it still used warpstone. Htarken quickly sabotaged this effort too and destroyed much of
Barak Varr. It was incidences like these that emboldened the conversative factions of the Karak Ankor to abandon attempts of innovation.
“Weird as the dwarf’s appearance was, stranger still was the fact that Brynnoth recognised him. He’d met with this dwarf deca des ago, offered him a reward for bestowing upon Barak Varr the perfect weapon with which to arm the skryzan-harbark. But it was impossible for him to be here. Drogor had died at Kazad Mingol when his airship was destroyed. The strange dwarf seemed to feel Brynnoth’s eye on him, for he slowly turned around and looked back at the king. T here was no question now – it was certainly Drogor’s face that smiled at Brynnoth. Even the mounting fury of the serpents as they broke down the sea-gates couldn’t break Brynnoth’s fascination as he watched Drogor smash his fist against one of the barrels of Tharzharr. The wood splintered as though it had been struck by a hammer, spilling the black powder across the deck. The captain in the wheelhouse left his post, flailing his arms and shouting at Drogor. Drogor paid the captain no attention, instead keeping his eyes on Brynnoth. Before the ship’s captain could reach him, the thane from Karak Zorn lifted his hand. Purple fire rose from the outstretched palm, flickering and dancing with a malignant energy.
Brynnoth’s eye went wide with horror as he understood what was about to happen. He glanced at the other fire-ships, all arrayed in a nice, neat little line. The lead ship hadn’t drawn so very far away. An explosion started there would most certainly spr ead to the others. The havoc the combined detonation w ould wreak on the harbour was something the king didn’t want to contemplate. Brynnoth spun around to give the order to a nearby regiment of crossbows to strike Drogor down. But even as he turned, the thane slapped his burning hand against the spilled Tharzharr and green fire roared through the heart of Barak Varr.” Drogor next emerged as an advisor for Morgrim, who after a century of war was much more attentivebut not totally- to Drogor’s calls for bloodshed. Drogor intended for Morgrim to be a matyr, to further prolong the war and inspire the Dwarfs to greater acts of bloodshed. At long last the daemon had made a mistake though. Fearing, rightfully, that a mage or runelord could see through his veil he had taken to avoiding them. Eventually one of them became suspicious and deployed a rune to force the daemon to reveal itself. In the fight that followed Drogor/Htarken was defeated and sent back to the Warp. The damage, however, was already done.
‘Does this mean we aren’t friends any more?’ Drogor mocked. The dwarf’s face was slowly melting, flesh dripping in obscene streams into his beard. ‘To be honest, your compassion was becoming tedious. I was thinking you’d make a better martyr than a leader. A much better force to push the war forward.’ He cocked his corroding head to one side. Clusters of eyes had begun to sprout from the gleaming bone of his exposed skull. These fixed Morgrim with a quizzical stare. ‘What was that you asked?’ Drogor wondered. He relaxed his grip enough that Morgrim was able to drag a breath into his gasping lungs. ‘You did this,’ Morgrim moaned. ‘You goaded us into war with the elgi.’ A ghastly, bubbling laugh wheezed from the mush of Drogor’s face. ‘You did this to yourselves,’ he cackled. ‘I am simply… a spectator. It was your pride and stubbornness that brought war to your peoples. Now it will go on and on until you are both wasted, ruined shells of what you were. What delight more delicious than watching enemies destroy themselves? If only everything could be so obliging!’ As he laughed, Drogor’s head spun completely around to glare at Rundin as the hill dwarf flung himself at the monster once more. The shimmering cape now became a set of immense wings, fanning out and sm ashing the skarrenawi to the floor. ‘You should have stayed in your hole and died with your little king,’ he sneered, as the feathers of his wings slashed and cut the tattooed champion. Still gripped by Drogor’s hideous arm, Morgrim looked longingly at his axe lying on the floor far below. Then his hand fell to the sword hanging from his belt. Without hesitation, he drew Ifulvin and raked the blade across the monstrous arm. Drogor cried out in surprise as syrupy ichor drooled from the ugly gash. His hand released Morgrim, leaving the thane to crash ungently to the floor. His head little more than an exposed skull riddled with clusters of eyes, the monster stalked towards Morgrim. ‘Thank you for reminding me,’ Drogor hissed. ‘It would be disgraceful to make a dawi of such noble rank die behind a lunatic from the hills.’ The creature’s claws flashed out, seizing Morgrim’s arms. A brutal twist sent Ifulvin clattering to the floor. ‘I will rend you into enough pieces that they can put a bit of you in each stronghold. Would you like that, Morgrim Would-be-King?’ A crackling bolt of amber lightning scorched across the daemon’s twisted frame. Again, Drogor turned his head impossibly around to stare back across his shoulders. His myriad eyes focused upon Morek. Uttering a bestial shriek, the daemon unleashed
a withering blast of unholy energy at the runelord. The glowing staff in his hands corroded, flaking away into little slivers of sludge. ‘Wait your turn,’ the daemon hissed. Despite his injury, Morek managed to smi le back at the monster. ‘You first.’ Too late the daemon appreciated the limitations of its fleshy frame. Despite its myriad eyes, it had been too focused upon the runelord. It didn’t see Rundin as the mangled dwarf limped across the floor to take up both Azdrakghar and Ifulvin. With elven blade and dwarfish axe, the champion of the skarrenawi turned and charged at the monster. Morgrim’s axe crunched through Drogor’s armour, biting down to sever the spine. Imladrik’s sword licked across the arms holding the dwarf lord, severing them at the elbow. Foul daemonic ichor spurted from the stumps, steaming as it struck the stone floor. The daemon howled, its cry reverberating through the souls of those who heard it. Only Rundin had the stamina to withstand that aethyric wail. Taking both axe and sword, he leapt upon the beast, driving the blades into its shoulders. The feathered wings went flopping away, shrivelling like burning parchment as they were detached from the daemon. A fanged beak sprouted from Drogor’s face, stabbing forwards and piercing the dwarf’s breast. Defying the mortal wound, Rundin brought Azdrakghar shearing into the right side of the daemon’s neck. A moment later, Ifulvin cut into the left. Throwing the last of his vitality into his powerful arm s, he forced the weapons across Drogor’s flesh. As the daemon’s head rolled free from its body, Rundin collapsed. There was a fierce smile, an expression of terrible fulfilment on the dead dwarf’s face. In his last moments, he had known his death would be a worthy one. He had achieved what Morek promised him he would achieve: a name greater than Dragonslayer, a name that would blot out forever the stigma of the oathbreaker. In life he had been Rundin Torbansonn. In death he was Rundin Daemonslayer. Weary, wounded, shocked by his ordeal, Morgrim somehow found the strength to see to Morek. Fighting to maintain his own consciousness, he helped the runelord to his feet and led him away from the carnage within the ruins. As soon as they were in the courtyard, Morgrim’s hearthguard came rushing over to attend them. He was stunned that they had failed to hear the sounds of so fierce a fight, but supposed it had just been another example of the daemon’s powers at work. As he let the guards take Morek from him, the runelord gripped Morgrim’s arm. ‘The attack,’ he said. ‘You will still attack?’ Morgrim shook his head. ‘Nothing can stop it any more,’ he said. ‘When they tried to tell us about their druchii, we would not listen. Why should they listen if we tell them of our daemon? No, the only way this can end is with victory. There is no other way to find peace now.’ Though Htarken can act as a commander, in the Kingdom Conquest tournament he is best suited as a infiltrator and subverter. Undoubtedly, he will attempt to sow discord, distrust and, ultimately, conflict among the enemy as he so successfully did in the War of Vengeance. However it should be noted (and has been, even by Htarken) that the flaws inherent in the Dwarfs/Elves themselves was mostly responsible for the war that followed and that the daemon merely played with the clay already on the table, rather than create his own, so to speak.
Offensive: Level 4 sorcerer of Tzeentch with superhuman strength and daemon prince stats. He can also utilize emotional auras to influence those around him.
Defensive: Daemon Prince Durability. ==ADDITIONAL FACTORS== Htarken is a shapeshifter, though far from the skill of the Changeling and is more vulnerable to magic protection.
Mobility: 4 (8 on Dragon) Training/Experience: 7 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Spell Role : Subversion (Setting up Chaos Cults) Secondary Role: General, Magical Support Originally Engrimm was a child refugee on the run with his little sister after his village had been pillaged. Along the way they met a pair of traveling Light mages and begged for their assistance. These mages instead threw the two of them in a snake pit to test the theory that the innocent would be consumed by the snakes while the corrupt would be saved by the snakes as the serpents recognized their own. They
were right. Horstmann burned with revenge and spent years planning with his already genius intellect. This boy didn’t just want to kill those two mages in horrific fashions; he wanted to destroy all they represented. His entire adolescene was spent solely researching the logistics and mechanics that would allow him to do just that. Eventually, after he had researched all he needed to know, he killed off an already dying Light Battle mage to find the Light College by casting a spell. Once there he was let in by those who recognized his talent and quickly ascended the ranks, becoming a devoted disciple of the light by day and continuing research into daemonology by night. Over the course of his work he captured daemons and acquired artifacts to start furthering his knowledge of Chaos. In order to ensure this revenge he met with Tzeentch himself, swearing everything but his soul in exchange for Tzeentch blessing his already genius intellect and the god’s
assistance in planning. Tzeentch accepted, already plotting the acquisition of the latter too. From this point while he was a light mage by day, he was a Chaos sorcerer by night.
With Tzeentch’s aid and captured daemons Horstmann rapidly rose to power, engineering little
conflicts and power plays in the meantime. Superiors would disappear, promotions were arranged, even a Light-Gold mini war was arranged so that the Light patriarch could meet his fate in a duel with his gold compatriot. All of these plans ended nearly flawlessly for him, however little by little drew suspicion among one of his subordinates named Kant. When he became Patriarch of the Light College he used his position to plunder ancient treasures hidden in the vaults, plant seeds of corruption among the
students, subtley alter rituals to incorporate dark magic a nd sow all sorts of nasty suprises in the department. When Kant finally convinced the Witch Hunters to track Engrimm down the Chaos sorcerer was ready. He destroyed the battle mages and witch hunters sent to kill him through a series of well-timed
attacks and plots. At last he got revenge on his childhood tormentors by having one of them locked away for an eternity to watch his world turn to dust around him, and having the other infected with an extremely nasty nurglite plague. In the moment of ultimate triumph, he unleashed a Chaos Dragon that had been locked away for a hundred years and escaped to the Chaos Wastes. Things nearly went perfectly but…. …Tzeentch wasn’t done. The God temporarily possessed one of his daemons to whisper into the air “Splintertree” . This caused the uncorrupted half of the chaos dragon to remember his name and attack, temporarily subduing the other half and nearly killing Horstmann. It was then that an agent of Tzeentch intervened, promising to spare Horstmann’s life in return for servitude. Reluctantly, knowing he had
been outmaneuvered, Horstmann agreed. With his corrupted acolytes Egrimm formed the Cabal, perhaps the mightiest of all the war bands of
Tzeentch. Through which Egrimm covets nothing less than dominion over the entire world. He is a great conspirator, second only to his master Tzeentch. His acolytes are everywhere, and many of the secrets, cults and covens in the Old World are ultimately controlled by Horstmann. Such plots and schemes please Tzeentch immeasurably, and he has rewarded van Horstmann greatly, making him the most favored of his servants. "‘There is no action you have taken,’ said van Horstmann, ‘or that you will take from now on, that I have not foreseen. Think on the path that led you here. What manner of demonologist would I be to show my hand so early, by casting a host of daemons at you the moment you walked in through the door? And what manner of a witch hunter would you be, if you did not storm down here yourself, to lay down Sigmar’s law in person? Every step of that path, I have set out for you. You are here because I have brought you here.’"- Van Horstmann
In the End Times Horstmann would try to seize control of the Wind of Fire, buttressing his soul with
hundreds of sacrifices to better absorb the flame. However he both underestimated his task and overestimated his soul. He was incinerated the instant the Wind of Fire went into his body.
==LOADOUT==
Offensive: Chaos Runeblade: Horstmann doesn’t specialize in close quarters, but when he fights he has a powerful Chaos runeblade that can ignore armor. He also rides the Chaos Dragon Baudros. He is also a level 4 sorceror in the Lore of Tzeentch and Light.
Defensive: Chaos Armor ==Additional Factors== “Time slowed, and as well as the vermin-choked street in front of him, van Horstmann stood before the fortress. It was glowering and ornate now, the sky overhead red and shot through with lightning. The ground was torn and barren, broken by clusters of bleached bones. The doors ground open, revealing a host of gargoyles and grotesques carved into the walls and ceiling of the chamber inside. In their mouths and eyesockets were the gemstones of crystallised power. Snakes slithered along the floor. Van Horstmann forced his lurching stomach down and they receded. He turned his thoughts to three motes of power: protection, fire and the purity of the Light. The fortress did not like it. The fortress wanted the black jewels of Dark magic to rain down, the magic of ruin and corruption. But van Horstmann denied its wish. The aethyr was conducive to Dark magic here, perhaps because the enemy shamans used it with such abandon. But there were witnesses here. He could only use the Dark away from the eyes of those who might recognise it for what it was. The fortress was gone. Foul yellow teeth filled a hundred squealing mouths. Van Horstmann drove his staff into the ground and let the power he had dredged up from his soul flow through him, earthing into the dirt of the street, radiating out of him. The tide of rats broke against the barricades. They surged up like a wave, leaping towards him. They were met by the wall of white flame that rushed out from van Horstmann. As they passed through it they were incinerated, their bodies stripped of fur and muscle. Charred bones rained against him – tiny curved ribs, malformed skulls, pattering onto the ground. The force of the rats’ charge meant they could not turn away. They surged into the zone of flame around van Horstmann, burning in their scores. Van Horstmann gritted his teeth as he felt the force of raw magic pulsing through his veins and organs, burning as if his blood had been replaced with boiling water. He yelled, forcing the pain down, and the wall of flame flared outwards and died. He dropped to one knee. He willed himself not to relent and magic rippled down the skin of his free hand, gathering at his fingertips. More vermin leapt at him and he sprayed a gout of white flame at them. They were incinerated so thoroughly that not even bones remained. Silence fell. The soldiers crouched by the barricade, shuddering with shock at the conflagration that had just filled the street, blinking its glare out of their eyes. The white flame had not harmed them though it had raged around them, and the street was now full of smouldering bone” _Van Horstmann
Horstmann is a schemer, and would rarely be seen in direct combat, for such is not his way. With his small army of Cabalites, including a large selection of Tzeentchi sorcerers, this sorcerer will likely spend most of his time plotting how he can best manipulate fate to benefit him. T However the battles he does participate in will be brilliantly planned and manipulated towards a predestined outcome from the start. Only a few commanders, such as Horstmann’s successor Kant, have
ever gotten the better of him in combat- and even those outcomes are uncertain. Horstmann is a cult master, and is noted for establishing more cults in the Empire (and perhaps elsewhere) than anyone else. These need not be dedicated solely to his patron, as the Cabal has shown its hand in controlling cults dedicated to other Chaos gods as well. Through select agents Horstmann controls them all, undermining enemy nations from within. …
Adaptive Creativity: 74/100: The Forces of Tzeentch are always extremely creative with the means they are given, whether it is that on their own force or the enemies’, striving to work everything in their innumerable plots and plans. By far Horstmann is the most creative barring possibly Vilitch and opponents can never truly predict him. That said, when his pre -plans go awry, he struggles to adapt.
Tactics: 75/100: Generally Tzeentch followers have difficulty in predicting the chaotic motions of a battlefield to perform their exact specifications, however Horstmann is noted to be a tactical genius said to have a portion of Tzeentch’s cunning. Enemy commanders feel like they are pieces on a board game
with Horstmann as the sole player and only a few of them, like the most stubborn or c unning, have been known to beat him. However Horstmann (and other Tzeentch masterminds) rarely fight directly, but rather schemes from the rear, deploying expendable proxies when necessary.
Strategy: 70/100: Any plan Horstmann participates in will be brilliantly devised and will likely incorporate strange and creative factors . Tzeentchi plans are as subtle as they are convoluted and are extremely difficult to guess. Perhaps a victory here was really a defeat, in the long run? However Horstmann (and all Tzeentchi planners) suffers in that while he has innumerable schemes and plans, all really well thought out, there are very few end points, for that is against his or Tzeentch’s
nature. Their schemes are always never-ending, for to have an ultimate victory would end the constant cycle of change that they so desire. They rarely come true in full fruition or often take years to do so, and these schemes can sometimes strangle each other and result in disruptions of other plans. Tzeentchi schemers also have an unfortunate tendency to betray each other and ruin one another’s plans, even their own rarely. Tzeentch himself has been known to do this to his followers. For example at one point Horstmann set out to create a new more resilient breed of troll but failed, instead creating a troll that could vomit up magic. Most of his Cabal died in the fighting that followed, with Horstmann only barely escaping. However the incident served Tzeentch’s purposes, for there is
now a breed of troll that vomits up mutating magic everywhere.
Intuition: 82/100: Tzeentch followers are masters when it comes to prediction, for their magic allows them to scry the future. Even without such divination their planning can be of unfathomable brilliance,
with Horstmann successfully predicting nearly every event in his titular book . As a downside, should something unpredictable occur as did in the end of said book Horstmann may struggle to react in time.
Audacity: 70/100: The majority of the time Horstmann works his plans through pawns or his cabal, but he will fight if required. He has no qualms expending pawns towards a goal.
Psychological Warfare: 77/100: Horstmann and the followers of Tzeentch weave around enemy plans, incorporating them into their own. They can implant seeds that, although they don’t take root immediately, nevertheless have great future significance.
Experience: 66/100: Discipline: 86/100: Thanks to various magical spells Horstmann’s Cabal can operate under near perfect cohesion, as Horstmann and his elite wizards can control these Cabalites like a player could control his units in a RTS video game. Horstmann himself does not show emotions even when he is getting hurt or angry, and it is rare that anything can trigger him enough to effect him so.
Inspiration: 87 (60)/100: All those that join his small cabal are branded with the rune of Tzeentch and cursed so that if they attempt a treasonous thought, they die horribly. This score only applies to his cabal though, and would worsen significantly when commanding others of his ilk (Tzeentch followers) .
Corruption: 91/100:
Mobility: 7 Training/Experience: 8 Max & Effective Range: Several meters Preferred Range: Melee Role : Assassin
Shadowblade, master of assassins, is greatest of the Temple of Khaine's assassins. At only 150 years of age, the prodigy's legendary exploits are often the subject of fireside tales. He famously slaughtered the crew of a High Elf Hawkship one by one, singlehandedly, over the period of several days, evading every attempt to corner him by the increasingly desperate Asur. Each was killed in a unique fashion save the horribly mutilated captain, who was left alive to tell the tale. Earlier he had previously assassinated his own master after learning all that he knew. In another spectacular incident the Borgomeister of Marianburg was targeted after the human managed to sink one of the Druichi’s Black Arks. After a lesser assassin failed the human had twenty guards posted around his quarters day and night, even had his most loyal bodyguards stationed within his very bedroom. Yet still the Burgomeister was found stone cold with twenty stab wounds the next morning . Not one bodyguard had seen or heard anything. He then killed nine other great Burgomeisters in a single night. Shadowblade is skilled beyond mere assassinations however. In another incident Shadowblade
poisoned many of the rivers of Ulthuan, leading to great daemonic plagues from which no cure could easily be found. In the End Times Shadowblade was initially mind-controlled by Morathi, forced to use his skill against Malaketh to prevent the Witch King from stopping Tyrion from pulling the Widowmaker. Towards the
end of the fight Shadowblade broke free and hastily beat a retreat before an enraged Witch King, all the while vowing revenge against Morathi Eventually he saw an opportunity. Using stealth and guile he convinced Korhil, captain of Tyrion’s army, to attempt to defect with
the Widowmaker which in turn forced Morathi to come looking for it. Shadowblade marred her face before letting her go to live in fear. After Hellebron’s defection Shadowblade would join her and launch an assassination attempt on Maleketh. However the Eternity King had secretly been preparing for the assassin’s coming since the moment he ordered Hellebron’s cult outlawed, and took preparations for it. He
ingested small amounts of toxins the assassin was known to favor and was watching through the lore of shadows for shadowblade’s presence during the whole battle. It was a brief, bitter duel and Maleketh was wounded several times by the most skilled Druichi assassin. However the Incarnate of Shadow prevailed, impaled Shadowblade through the chest before kicking him down a several story fall.
Offensive: Deadly daggers with many poisons attached to them. He carries a magical potion of such potency that, upon drinking it, his
strength quadruples (enough to physically overpower trolls). Also he has a crystal attached to his neck, the Heart of Woe, which will
explode outward into a thousand pieces of deadly shrapnel if he is ever slain.
In terms of pure skill Shadowblade can hold his own and even beat Eltharion the Grim, one of the best swordmasters that the High Elves have. He can knock projectiles out of the air with his blades and with two fingers to the torso knew the pressure point to paralyze the Elf champion Korhil.
Defensive: Incredible dodging ability and the ability to travel in disguise free ly among Druichi units. Excellent stealth master.
Mobility: 5.5 Training/Experience: 10 Max & Effective Range: Dozens of meters (aura) Preferred Range: Melee Role: Internal Corruption/Sabotage Sameal the Silver Tongued was allegedly one of the first mortals to be ever gifted with the Daemonhood from Slaanesh, being empowered in the early days shortly after Be’lakor’s fall. He is chiefly known for the corruption of Dechala, a rare example of a Chaos Elf aspring for daemonhood. Samael wanted Dechala as he wanted no other being since his ascension to daemonhood, yet such was the cruelty within his heart that it was not enough for him to snatch her from her family, as indeed, he could have surely have done. Instead, Samael wanted to drive her family apart, fermenting fear and hatred within their mortal hearts. He eventually succeeded after terrozing Dechala’s family for months. Then, to ensure the princess was forever hers, she used her resentment and bitterness towards her old family to corrupt the princess utterly. In anger and frustration, Dechala agreed to marry Samael so long as he granted her the power to revenge herself upon her hated family. Wicked joy in his heart, Samael agreed. He gave Dechala strength of arm and skill with blades, and led her back to the camp of her father. In that fell night,
Dechala unleashed all her wrath upon her one-time family, killing her siblings and cousins and drinking the blood of their children. Her father she left until last, and he took many hours to die, screaming his regret and his horror into the darkness. However Dechala eventually grew powerful and left Samael to pursue her own daemonhood. In a rage Samael called upon his benefactor, Slaanesh. Though initially pissed that this mortal had the audacity to call upon him in such a way Slaanesh eventually made a deal, promising that if Dechala came back to Samael voluntarily then the daemon prince was free to do what he wished with her. If not then though Dechala might further gain Slaanesh’s favor, she would never attain the vaunted prize of daemonhood. Since those days Samael has been busy traveling in mortal lands, always under disguise. In fact he is one of the few daemon princes who can seemingly travel the world without risking either banishment from the low magical winds or without his disguise falling away. Samael, unlike most daemons, does not like to use his magic or skill at arms to tear mortals apart rather to use his Slaaneshi traits to corrupt society
from withihn. As Samael is high in Slaanesh’s favor he no doubt finds this incredibly easy to do, having traits such as extreme charisma, beguilment, suggestion and even mental domination. Through agents acquired through such traits he has arranged murders, the corruption of an entire Shallya covenant, thefts, or even arranging the progression of the political career of one Johann Esmer, a deeply incompentent and divisive Sigmarite priest. He is a extremely skilled manipulator and in the Seventh Boon played around with a
desparate mortal for 150 years, letting the mortal believe that his intentions to cheat the daemon prince from his soul were uncovered. This allowed the mortal to create a bullet that was a natural bane to daemons, that might even have the potential to kill one for good. Samael indirectly sabotaged the ritual resulting in the mortal being killed and rewarding him with the bullet. Who knows when such a weapon will come in handy…
Offensive: Very powerful Slaaneshi Daemon, no doubt a skilled sorcerer who now possesses one bullet capable of killing a insta-killing any daemon it is fired against.
Defensive: Daemon Prince durability. ==ADDITIONAL FACTORS==
Mobility: 7 Training/Experience: 9 Max Range & Effective : Spell Preffered Range: Scheming off the battlefield
Role: Subversion- Setting up cults, fostering corruption
Secondary Role: Magical Support (Tactical) Born several hundred years ago on the Kislevite prairie, Natassja was distinguished from an early age by her beauty
and her callous behavior. She always knew she was destined for more then mere serfdom and her beliefs were rewarded when a Slaaneshi horde came, slaughtering her village and capturing her as a young girl. Through the subsequent torture and degredation she was sustained by a voice that whispered in her head, promising deliverance so long as its trials were passed. Already a clever girl, she used her beauty, her ability to listen and natural intelligence to pick up scraps
of magic from the village shaman and his servants. Eventually she used her cunning to escape and adventured in the Chaos Wastes, earning foresight and special vision from Slaanesh. She journeyed all over the Chaos lands reading forbidden books, learning secret rites, and experimenting directly with the wellspring of Dark magic. Through her mastery she gifted herself with youth eternal. Then, at long last, as her former abusers aged, she returned, slaughtered many, and kept alive her chief tormentor for fifty years, each day filled with a creative new punishment. Over the next several hundred years she traveled the world, living a hundred different lives where she honed in on her craft and abilities. At one point she even lived inside a vampire citadel, somehow preventing the notoriously anti-chaos undead from killing her. Then she arrived in Averheim and, despite its reputation as a backwards province, she immediately realized this was the place she envisioned from her dreams. The city that would facilitate her rebirth.
For years she plied her magic and seduction towards trying to corrupt the Elector Count Marius Leitdorf. However for the first time in her life she met failure, as the elector count proved superhumanely resisant to her charms. Later on, it would be theorized that the count had a genetic disposition against
Chaos. Nevertheless, she persisted and over the years gradually drove him mad while, at the same time, always proving elusive to his attempts to root her out. Ultimately he was driven, in part by madness, into a desperate and suicidal battle against the orc Gorbad Ironclaw. However, even before the count’s death Natassja was already in the midst of back-up plans. Natassja seduced an Imperial commander named Lasseus, who was a mentor to many key Imperial commanders including one of the Empire’s two top generals, Swartzhelm. Through Lasseus, who was one of the few trusted friends of Swartzhelm, she played up and encouraged the latter’s rivalry with Helborg, who was the other main general of the Empire. Within five years the two men, who had once been brothers, were now barely on speaking terms. Meanwhile she used her supernatural charisma to found a cult through which she sold the drug joyroot, which in doses drove users listless and made them happy. In the long run however it amplified
emotions, disturbed sleep and served as a potent addictive, akin to the addictive nature of heroin. Between the count’s madness, the influence of her own growing list o f contacts and the initial, seemingly harmless effects the Averheim town guard did not crack down. Eventually, so many took the drug that it created an oppressive atmosphere around the c ity, amplifying passions, paranoia and even
inducing madness as emotions flared. When Marius finally died, and his groomed firstborn son perished at Middenheim (an act Natassja may or may not have been involved in) Natassja quickly moved to seduce and marry Rufus, the secondborn son. This prompted a succession crisis as Rufus and another, a man named Grosslich, both claimed the throne of Averheim. Rufus had the better claim however Grosslich was backed by manipulative noble families, descendants of those who the Leitdorf’s had long ago usurped the throne from. As this succession crisis raged the emperor’s champion, Ludwig Swartzhelm, entered the chaos, appointed as a judge by the Emperor Karl Franz to abjugate over the mess. Immediately he was overloaded with all manner of frivolous legalities , arcane traditions and other
headaches, spurred on by the loremaster, Achendorfer, who Natassja had long since corrupted . His strength of mind was such that he was able to resist most of Natassja’s manipulations however she was still able to play upon his anger, resentment and increasing frustration. At the same time the lingering orc insurrection from the east- holdovers of Gorbad’s fallen WAAGH- overwhelmed the troops Swartzhelm sent there to quell it, killing the Empire commander. This was also Natassja’s doing. Through her influence she had arranged it so the Orcs acquired high
grade Imperial weapons. She had steadily drained the area of troops, supplies and ultimately fatelly weakened the garrison’s defenses in a manner that was conconted to seem routine, rather than overtly sabotage. Her cultists watched the roads, murdering any messenger to Averheim or Altdorf. Moreover through Lassues she had arranged it so Swartzhelm’s competent sub-commander had been reassigned
and replaced beforehand by an untested subordinate.
Furious and frustrated, Swartzhelm stormed off to lead his armies to the east. Meanwhile his spy Verstholen uncovered first the srcin of joyroot and then discovered the hidden lair of Natassja’s cult, though unbeknownst to him Natassja let him find her. Horrified by what he found, and furious beyond measure by her taunts about his slain wife (sacrificed by a cult a decade earlier) Verstholen barely escaped with his life and immediately approached the noble family behind Grosslich, who promptly declared Rufus an agent of Chaos and attacked. The city erupted into violence between their two respective factions. Into this fray Helborg entered together with his Reiksguard, drawn by possibly the only messenger to make it past Natassjas cultists. Seeing the situation was now out of control, he captured Rufus and sought out Grosslich, hoping that by taking control of their faction heads he could thus end the madfighting. For the first time Natassja’s plan was jeopardized, for she did not anticipate Helborg’s arrival. However, at the same time Helbord arrived Swartzhelm also returned and, in trying to calm the fighting, came across Grosslich and Verstholen fighting Helborg. For all the man’s virtues, Helborg was an aristocrat through and through and disdained Swartzhelm’s lowborn spy. As the captain of the Reiksguard prepared to strike Verstholen down, Swartzhelm furiously entered the battle. The bitter resentment and distrust Natassja had nurtured for years, combined with the oppressive atmosphere of the joyroot, snapped Swartzhelm’s restraint and in a viscious duel he seemingly killed Helborg. Rufus fled. This seemed to be an end to Natassja’s plans. Swartzhelm was recalled back to Altdorf to discuss the matter with the Emperor, Rufus was in hiding with the still living (barely) Helborg, Verstholen was on the hunt for Natassja and now Witch Hunters were in the city, rooting out corruption where they traveled. It seemed like Order had won a solid victory. Except Rufus was never the horse she was betting on. Like his father, Rufus held a frustrating resistance to Chaos and thus while she could seduce him in the traditional manner, she could never enthrall or corrupt him. Instead, she had long ago sought out and corrupted Grosslich, who was now declared elector count of Averland. Events proceeded rapidly. Grosslich ordered the construction of a great tower, seemingly dedicated to his majesty. He put out a recruiting call for mercenaries across the old world, seemingly to fully drive the orcs out of his province, but actually to first addict them to joyroot and then hand them over to Natassja. Once in her hands, she used her incredible fleshcrafting skills (akin to Throt the Unclean) to turn them into a whole legion of literal mutant Dog soldiers, which were then hidden underground. Joyroot was used in even greater extents to ‘deaden’ the senses of the city. Meanwhile Verstholen, by now obsessed with Natassja, did not properly investigate his informants’ suspicions of Grosslich. At the same time Natassja beguiled the witch hunters, ensuring that the suspected ‘heretics’ that went
into their offices were disenters, whistleblowers and citizens that were a bit too c oncerned with the politics of their city. The old noble family that sought to control Grosslich was also captured and turned over to Natassja. Those she couldn’t capture she sent her flesh-crafted assassins to kill.
Her only failures at this juncture were not from her own devices, but that of her servants. Lassues accidently gave a slip of the tongue and revealed to Swartzhelm that he worked in tangent with Natassja, forcing the sorceress to turn him into a chaos spawn remotely (she used his tattoo to maintain the connection necessary). The Witch Hunters failed to capture an informant in time, who finally convinced Verstholen of Grosslich’s excesses. The spy fled, barely escaping an assassin thanks to the quick intervention Swartzhelm, who snuck out of Altdorf to return. Helborg likewise survived n assassination attempt thanks to the suprising intervention of Rufus, who had now realized he was duped. The emperor, realizing something was amiss, called his Grand Theolognist Volkmar and third greatest general to lead an army to Averheim to sort everything out. However Natassja moved too fast. The giant skyscraper her husband started, now 300 feet plus tall, was miraculously constructed in three weeks and its power was unleashed. A rift was open to the Realm of Chaos, daemons poured in, and those that weren’t already soulless husks from her fleshcrafting or spread of the joyroot trade were taken by Daemonettes. In just a handful of weeks Natassja had managed to give her elector count husband a massive army of a
100,000 mutant dog soldiers(formed from mercenaries and Averheim’s citizenry) who were essentially equivalent to Chaos warriors but without much will of their own. Much of this was her doing however she was also helped by a magical artifact found beneath Averheim. She even used a
combination of magic and knowledge to give him 12 hellcannons, without the chaos dwarfs being involved. And that was not counting the daemons, which Grosslich disdained. The Emperor’s forces marched on Averheim however if they had fought inside the city they would have no chance, for they would have had to content with a daemon army, a mutant army, the joyroot aura and a level five corruption zone. However Grosslich by now had realized he was very much a junior partner and chafed at Natassja’srule, taking his mutant army to try and fight the Empire in a (semi)
honorable battle outside the city. With sadness Natassja let him, as she was focused on the ritual that would ensure her crossover to daemonhood. Grosslich proved to be an able commander and a superior tactician to Volkmar. The Empire’s army was swiftly devastated, though in part due to Volkmar’s poor decisions and the unbreakable discipline of the dog soldiers. Only the intervention of the garrison army, returning from war with the orcs, and an Averlander resistance force led by Helborg and Swartzhelm even tied the combat. And Grosslich still would have won if Swartzhelm did not defeat him in a dual. Meanwhile Natassja finished her ritual and at long last ascended into daemonhood. Leading a small force of warrior priests, Helborg, Volkmar and Rufus ascended to the top of her tower. There all but the three named characters were swiftly dispatched with ease, with the latter only surviving because Natassja wanted to take her time with them, and because their attacks were innefective. However a factor she could have never predicted came into play. Rufus, while hiding in his father’s estate, had come across his old journal. In reading them he not only discovered the reasons for Marius’ madness but also Natassja’s true name, which Marius had somehow discovered before even
Natassja discovered it. As a Daemon’s true name has power over it Rufus weakened Natassja substantially and though he was fatally wounded he gave Helborg and Volkmar the opportunity to put her down.
Offensive: Natassja is a level 4 sorceress with a daemonic sword, capable of moving faster than the speed of thought. Grosslich is a level 1 sorceror with well acquired reputation for sword mastery. “The daemon’s power was a subtle one. Natassja had been elegant as a mortal and daemonhood had not changed her. There were no sudden bursts of flame or crackling discharges of aethyr-spawned lightning. Her powers were those of the mind, of sensation, of fear and pain. The first warrior priest to get near her exploded into a ball of blood at a flick from her shapely finger. The Reiksguard at his side was next. She shot a cool glance from her smooth eyes and his armour shattered. Beneath it, his body was transmuted into a writhing, hermaphroditic mess. Fleshy growths wrapped themselves around what was left of his throat and strangled the life out of him. (…) Even as he spoke, another warrior priest was ripped apart by Natassja’s malign will. She nodded curtly and the man’s flesh was turned inside out, spilling his entrails across the Stone in glistening rings. Six men had already died without so much as making contact with her. Helborg fought on, roaring with defiance and frustration as she evaded his attacks. (…) Two of the surviving warrior priests charged at the daemon then, their warhammers swinging heavily. Natassja turned to face them and bared her fangs again. One priest simply exploded, his breastplate spinning across the floor and spraying blood. The other seized up, his face marked with agony. He shuddered, and his bones burst out through his flesh, lengthening with frightening speed, tearing the muscles as they came. The priest collapsed to the ground and dissolved into a mess of ripped flesh and still-extending skeleton.”
Defensive: See Daemon Prince profile for Natassja. Grosslich would have Chaos armor. ===ADDITIONAL FACTORS== -Fleshcrafter: Like a Haemonculus of the Dark Eldar Natassja loves to torture and experiment. She is a fleshcrafter, an experimenter in alteration of the human body in order to create deadly monstorosites. Those captured beings by Natassja are tortured until their will is utterly broken and twisted into a new shape to serve a deadly purpose. Prominently, in her Averheim campaign she created tens of thousands of mutant dog soldiers, hellcannons and quick,deadly female assassins. “The wall behind the door was barely started and rose no more than a few feet above the iron frame. Beyond it, the bone-like scaffolding was obvious. It was a door that seemingly led nowhere. And yet, for all that, it was guarded by two heavily-armoured soldiers. They wore strange armour, quite unlike the
standard gear his men in the citadel were given. Each was clad in a suit of segmented plates, glossy and polished. The soldiers carried double-bladed halberds, though the steel had been replaced with what looked like polished crystal. Both were short and stocky and stood strangely, as if their legs bent the wrong way and their shoulders had been dragged out of place. Most disconcertingly, their closed-face helmets had long snouts, carved in the shape of snarling dog’s muzzles. No unaltered human could have fitted into those helms. These were Natassja’s creatures, the product of her endless experimentation.”
(…) Verstohlen had seen enough. The horror had once been a man he knew. Tochfel’s features, or what
was left of them, still existed, distorted by pain and artificial hatred. The talons groped for him. He felt one of them scrape down his back, cutting through his clothes and drawing blood. Verstohlen roared with pain, twisting away from the agonising touch, feeling himself stumble. Verstohlen rolled as he fell, getting his dagger up just in time to parry a fresh plunge of the talons. The Tochfel-creature’s robes fell away and Verstohlen saw the full extent of the man’s transformation. He was naked underneath the flimsy draping, though not much of his old human form remained. He was as much bone and iron as flesh, animated by some dread power and kept alive by forbidden sorcery. Spikes studded his ruined flesh, curved and barbed. A chasm had been cut in his chest and the ribs were still visible across the wound. Within that exposed shell beat a heart, though it was no natural organ. It pulsed with a lurid light, strapped in place with iron bands and surrounded by the eightpointed star. Tochfel’s residual flesh curled away from it, as if burned by the terrible energy within.
The stink of jasmine was pungent and close, as sweet as death. The talons raked down, aiming at Verstohlen’s eyes. Frantically, driven by nothing more than pure fear, he fended off the blows, his dagger scraping along the scythes. The end would come quickly now. Tochfel’s strength had been augmented three-fold and his sorcery-
laced limbs quickly pinned Verstohlen to the ground. Talons scrabbled at his face again and he only just got the dagger up in time to ward them. The blade was knocked away by the force of the strike, sent spinning across the ground. Then he was defenceless. Verstohlen looked up into the eyes of his killer. There was no humanity left there, just a sickening grin where Natassja had inserted rows of needle teeth. The Tochfel-creature’s smile widened, and its cheeks stretched impossibly taut. ‘Verstohlen,’ it whispered a final time, as if the name somehow gave it the power to kill. It opened its
jaws wide and prepared to lunge.”
==X-FACTORS==
Adaptive Creativity: 82/100: Natassja’s creativity nearly brought low the Empire and she did so through means they were unable to detect until it was too late. She used the Joyroot drug trade to apply an aura of Subtle corruption in the city, she used beguiled witch hunters to knock out enemies and keep the suspicion of the empire off of her, she used two sets of proxies in a war to ensure her position on the throne would be secure. She is also a fleshcrafter nearly on par with the Skaven Throt the Unclean.
Tactics: 67/100 Natassja doesn’t really command battles; she is a schemer from afar. However Grosslich is noted for being an extremely gifted commander and through his tactics he was beating Volkmar and Swartzhelm, conventionally, in the final battle.
Strategy: 82/100: If Sigvald is the embodiment of Slaaneshi incompetence, Natassja is a showing of just what the forces of the Dark Prince can achieve when put their minds to it. At every step of events of the novel Natassja she was ahead of her enemies and would have succeeded in wiping out all of the Empire’s best generals, one of its most important cities, and permanently weakened it were it not for what basically amounted to luck. Literally the only other times she failed was because of one of her servant’s failings.
Intution: 82/100: Natassja has foresight as good as any Tzeentchi with the exception of Kalros. She can see a person’s past, his lineage, even a myriad of potential futures. She spent the entire novel series predicting almost every action of others.
Audacity: 60/100 (Grosslich80/100): Though Grosslich is more hot-headed and loves to fight, Natassja tries to command from the rear as much as possible, though she is confident enough in her abilities to where she does not actually fear fighting.
Experience: 89/100: Several hundred years of experience, training and acquiring knowledge throughout the world.
Inspiration: 84/100: With an implied command, she can cause a man to gleefully kill himself just for her pleasure. Such is the power of her aura, though strong-minded can resist (somewhat)
Psychological Warfare: 88/100: Read this entire profile. At every point in her rise to power she manipulated everyone, even those who were totally opposed to Chaos, experienced spies and generals. Through her manipulation she made men insane, corrupted them, drove them to reckless acts and even made two people who believed themselves to be almost brothers nearly kill each other. She can use her magic to walk into people’s minds and influence them, in addition to normal Slaaneshi magic and auras. Natassja is a rare example of a daemon princess who became one solely through her psychological manipulation and strategy.
Discipline: 79/100: For a Slaaneshi fighter, she is surprisingly disciplined, focused and clear-headed. The only time in the entire novel she loses her cool is when her true name is used against her.
Corruption: 97/100: Natassja does seem to have some peverse love for Grosslich, preventing the highest score. Grosslich himself is more akin to 79-81, as he has fragments of honor within him.
Mobility: 7 Training/Experience: 9 Max Range & Effective : Spell Preffered Range: Scheming off the battlefield Role: Assassination Secondary Role: Magical & Melee Support At his Queen’s court, Maatmeses was known as Vizier and Grand Chancellor. His official duties involved running the Queen’s household and managing her treasury. For the most part, Maatmeses did neither, preferring instead to enjoy the great pleasures on offer in the palace, and to garnish often from the royal coffers. He grew very fat and very indolent, yet still somehow managed to maintain his
preternatural ability to sneak around and spy on his fellows – and his equally preternatural stamina with the ladies. It was only with the coming of Vlad that his corruption was exposed. Seeing the new warrior arrive and hearing his warnings, Maatmeses did not wait to be found out, and fled immediately. His cowardice and betrayal infuriated the dark Queen and she sent a horde of soldiers out to find him. Lacking allies and maddened by terror of what punishments she could inflict on him, the corpulent Maatmeses ran into the only place he could hide: The Great Desert. Not even an undead creature can survive that devil’s anvil. And in truth, nothing did. Maatmeses collapsed into the sands when madness could drive his body no further. And then the insects came: the dung beetles, and the desert scarabs and the swamp-flies, and they began to devour him. But as he was immortal from the elixir, he could not die. Each day they ate more of his flesh and birthed more spawn from his rotting organs, each day the flesh grew back anew, entwining with the insects that tunnelled through him. Soon, his fat was gone, and the wind and heat stripped what the bugs did not. He became a living corpse, his flesh dried as hard as boiled leather, and his organs as much swarm as man. None could tell where man ended and insect began but together, they found a new strength, and Maatmeses crossed the desert, and found himself in Araby. Needing allies, he slaughtered a warrior tribe and made them his undead slaves. The best of them he made his Children, and they inherited his decayed form, and his affinity with the great swarm. Great wings on their backs were common, and some made a horrible clicking noise instead of speech. All of them also inherited their master’s ability to slink and sneak, but Maatmeses was no longer interested in money. He would take lives, not gold, and revel in decay rather than pleasure, until all the world was
as he was. His name was strange to them, but was close to Maht-masa, which means “child of death”. And thus the Mahtmasi were born. Over the past hundred years he has turned the Mahtmasi into a nightmare assassination and sabotage force. Under his leadership they have swarmed like locusts over the countryside, devouring entire
villages and caravnas. Yet at the same time he brialliantly infiltrated the cities, assassinating key nobles and weakening the guard. Such was the devastation caused by the Mahtmasi that the Grand Sultan claimed a state of emergency for his country.
Offensive: As a Vampire Patriarch, Mahtmai would probably have all the abilities seen in the ‘Children of Carrion’ profile. In addition he would have almost impeccable strength, stamina and reaction time stats. Likely a necromancer.
Defensive: Spells and inherent vampire durability.
Mobility: 5 Training/Experience: 6 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role : Melee Destruction(Tactical) The Warrior known as Scyla Anfingrim was once a legendary Norse champion of Khorne who was infamous for raiding everything from the Ind to the Empire. In each case he would slaughter the inhabitants in the name of Khorne until his very name became a byword for massacre. As his fame and fortune grew so too did his standing among Khorne’s favor.
Khorne was not subtle in showing his favor. First he rewarded Scyla with hulking ape arms so that he could pulverize his enemy. Then a serpent tail which attacked with a mind on its own. In return for massacring a Chaos Dwarf delegation he received bony spikes all along his body. Finally, after the subjugation of a powerful rival tribe, Scyla received the mind of a ravenous beast and mutated i nto a
Chaos Spawn. Now his former tribe keeps Scyla penned up when not on campaign. However though he is a chaos spawn, he is perhaps the only individual Chaos spawn who has not been abandoned by Khorne and
still maintains his favor. In battle he is the equivalent of a hurricane, smashing through enemy lines and tearing apart even skilled Chaos Warriors as if they unarmored peasants.
“
Scyla roared. His serpent-tail whipped around, striking the first warrior like a viper, tearing the
man’s throat out in a mess of bloody cartilage. Just as quickly, he snatched up another with his massive pincers, the man’s armor squealing under the strength of his grip.
Before the third could level a blow, the beast snapped his companion cleanly in half, hurling the bisected body over the precipice and leaping forwards with blinding speed. His jaws snapped open and he sank his great fangs into the warrior’s skull.
Ruaddon stared, wide-eyed, as Scyla effortlessly tore the man’s head away from his shoulders in a fountain of gore.
Dropping the mangled corpse, he turned to face Vhorgath and Ruaddon, a sluice of blood and bone fragments drooling from his hairy chin.
‘Scyla hungers,’ Freya finally said. ‘He always hungers.’ -Talon of Khorne”
At the conclusion of the End Times Scyla fought in the battle of Averheim, where he dueled the Slayer King Ungrim. He was killed by being hurled off a cliff.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Scyla is a Chaos spawn with strength to physically rip a
man apart, a serpent tail capable of ripping out throats, jaws to bite through skulls and of course huge talons . Defensive: Scyla is extremely durable to damage thanks to his thick hide, bony protrusions and sheer size. He also has near t otal magic resistance.
Training: 4-8 Mobility: 4 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Combatent
Role: Melee Combat ( Tactical) Secondary Role: General Skarr Bloodwrath began his career as a mere whelp, where
to the surprise of all he slew his powerful chieftain of a tribe that specialized in combat in a duel. Seizing control over the tribe Skarr was instantly rewarded for this feat by the rune of Khorne branding itself into his heart, the first of many gifts by the Blood God. Over the years Skarr would paint the Chaos Wastes red in his zeal to give the Blood God his due,
even at one point slaying a Keeper of Secrets in single combat. Yet eventually, he was slain by a Tzeentchi sorcerer . However Khorne was furious, judging the blow- struck from the veil of sorcerous illusion- a cowardly one. He breathed
new life into his c hampion, who quickly took revenge on the sorcerer. Since that day
Skarr has died many times, each time coming back a little less human and a little more devoted to bloodshed. His fury is described as endless now, his chain-linked axes always in motion as he strives to continue killing until there is nothing else to kill. For that reason he is as much a terror to his own forces as he is to the enemy. In the End Times it was Skarr who finally led the Skaramor into battle with the Southerners, who the tribe had previously disdained for being weak. The Skaramor chieftain lost much in the campaign, was killed several times with much of his forces massacred at range however, of course, Skarr cared not. He even interrupted the delicate plans of Be’lakor to corrupt Athel Loren, refusing to follow the Daemon Prince’s warnings of caution and thus throwing the whole plan awry. Skarr has no need for strategy,
only bloodshed. He was eventually defeated by Caradryan in Athel Loren, ending his threat for a while, however he resurrected once more towards the end of the End Times and roamed the world looking for battle as existence ended.
Offensive: Bloodstorm Blades: Wielded with legendary skill, the Bloodstorm Blades are twin magical axes that give the user supernatural strength. “Skarr Bloodwrath fought all but alone atop a pile of human and dwarf corpses, the few skullreapers at his side drenched head to toe in blood. There was no technique to Skarr’s blows, just the brutal instincts of a born warrior. He hacked through shields and helms, throttled dwarfs with his axes’ chains – even tore out their throats with his teeth, if the opportunity presented itself.”
Defensive: Some Chaos Armor. In addition the better Skarr does in a battle – by killing enemy champions and monsters- the more likely he is to be resurrected later on by Khorne.
===ADDITIONAL FACTORS=== According to a later biography in Age of Sigmar, for as long as Khorne exists, so will Skarr He will essentially always come back from death in battle - however it is heavily randomized. Sometimes it
might be minutes, other times it might be decades. Additional Personality Factors: Rage Incarnate, Wrathful, Bloodthirsty There is very little left of Skarr that has not been subsumed by bloodlust. He lives solely to kill in the name of Khorne for the rest of time.
Mobility: 6 Training/Experience: 8 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role: Melee( Tactical) Abrax the Bloody, known also as the Bloody Wanderer, is a Norse Chaos Lord of Khorne renowned for his legendary bloodthirst. Once a warrior of the Norscan village of Heimhal, his savage legend would begin during the terrible hardships of the legendary Blackened Winter, where the winds of Chaos blew violently into Norsca, engulfing the land in roiling clouds of sorcerous corruption. During this time, the Norscans' few crops and livestock died en masse, driving the warlike tribes of the North to slaughter each other in order to control their bleak homeland's diminished resources. It was during this time that Abrax, then but a young blood, took up arms to defend his village against the ruthless barbarian invaders. Each battle drove Abrax to greater acts of bloodthirstiness until, finally, he fell upon and massacre his own village in a fury. His bloody exploits in the long months of battle caught the eye of the Blood God Khorne, who elevated Abrax into one of his greatest champions. From then on out, the deranged Northman struck out from the carnage of his former home to carve a red legend throughout Norsca. Abrax left a path of bloodstained ruin in Norsca. On the slopes of Splinter Rock he faced down with the Goreprince, wresting from the Daemon Lord his mighty blade Y'Khggan, binding it to his will, and using its unholy edge to spectacularly dismember its former wielder. Upon the fire-swept Steps of Oblivion, above the Howling Gorge, he fought the monstrous Dragon Shurrek, striking the gargantuan head from the beast's scaly neck and claiming its mighty skull for the throne of his god. The sagas record him falling upon entire warbands with screams of hate and rage, exterminating the lesser warriors as easily as he
did the villages that happened to lie in his path. So great was the slaughter that Abrax came to be known as the ‘Avatar of Khorne’. Hordes of Khorne worshippers flocked to him, with only some godly instinct stopping the Bloody Wanderer from slaughtering them out of hand. A tribe of Dragon Ogres gave him a tithe of skulls and pledged their
services to him. Abrax led his forces south, eager to bring devastation to the southlands as so many of his kind had before. Abrax had a noted rivalry with Varesh Warptongue, a Tzeentchi sorcerer who sought daemonhood. The pair fought numerous battles across the Chaos Wastes, with Warptongue sometimes prevailing due to his cunning, while other times the tenacity of Abrax bore through. Finally, in the Vale of Corpses a victor was proclaimed. Abrax waited until the Tzeentchi’s forces were embroiled deep in conflict with the Strigoi before attacking. In the ensuing conflict Abrax, by virtue of his magical shielding enhancements, prevailed and Warptongue’s skull was claimed for Khorne. In the KC tournament, much as with his lore, Abrax would function as a beserker warrior. Though a great number of troops follow him Abrax cares little for tactics or strategy (most of the time) and would charge into battle as soon as possible, slaughtering great hordes with immense skill.
Offensive: Daemon Sword Y'Khggan and a mighty giant battle axe. Abrax’s skill is such that he has been described as taking on entire Warbands by himself.
Defensive: Chaos Armor with powerful magical resistance.
Mobility: 5 Training/Experience: 10 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role: Champion Hunter (Tactical)
Long ago, when Chaos first invaded the world, the Tong began their period of conquest, destroying all before them. One Dolgan warlord, Vraks, dared stand against them, leading a coalition to brief success before being utterly annihilated by the Tong. Outraged Vraks challenged the Tong warlord, Teiyotgtei, to a epic duel in which both combatants were wounded but, ultimately, Vraks was dashed to the ground. In revenge the Tong warlord impaled him on a twenty foot tall bronze stake, let him suffer for several days and then left him there to die. Such was the hatred Vraks had for his tormentor that he somehow worked through the pain and- inch by agonizing inch-
pulled himself up the pole . Finally after a whole day of this Vraks succeeded, falling to the ground in a
heap. By now consumed by rage he laboriously crept to the Chaos Wastes , there to seek the boon of the god of vengeance. Khorne, who was greatly angered by the Tong Warlord's desire to actually try and build a civilization instead of massacring absolutely everything, heard and agreed to Vraks request. However he could not do it himself or directly through his daemons, for the Tong chieftain managed to secure an oath from the god that Khorne would not break . Thus Vraks became the Skulltaker. The details that follow are hazy but it is known Skulltaker all but blunted the Tong's offensive single-handily, and eventually the
Tong Warlord ordered his force to disengage rather than risk a c rippled army. The two fought a cataclysmic duel that ended with the Tong Warlord mortally wounded but triumphant, though only
barely. Vraks, who had now adopted the title "Skulltaker" vowed to take his revenge on his descendants. For thousands of years Skulltaker built up his strength, partaking in great and terrible deeds across the world. He was not a daemon yet but he was allowed another chance by Khorne, who direly wanted a champion to destroy the realm of the Tong. Among his terrible deeds was slaying the multi-headed Chaos Dragon Shaneeth, decimating the Ogre Marrowchewer tribe, vanguishing the great daemon Sin Stealer and slew the inhabitants of a unknown city. Finally, after significantly impressing Khorne, he earned his second chance against the Tong and the chance to wipe out the eight tribal cheiftans that descended from Teiyotgtei’s warlords and who each carried a portion of his power. First he ambushed the chieftan of the Mulaks and slew him on a hunt, taking the first skull for Khorne. Then he marched into the Desert of Mirrors, a Chaos subrealm infested with the power of Nurgle to seek out the tribe of the Veh-Kung and kill their chieftain. After destroying legions of foes in the form of brutal ambush, killing a small horde of plaguebearers and even fighting off Nurgle’s Rot Skulltaker seized the second skull for Khorne. Next Skulltaker sought out the death cult of a tribe known as the Gahhuks who hid behind the magical fortress of the Iron Keep. Legions of daemons, mammoths and sorcerors had broken before the constantly healing walls however the Gahhuk made a mistake and sent two juggernauts to kill Skulltaker as they hid inside. The Chaos champion slew the beasts and then made a powerfull maul from their carcasses which he used to batter down the walls . Thus the third skull was seized for Khorne. Skulltaker sought out the Warherd of Kug in the forest of Grey, which was perpetually shrouded in night. This was the toughest battle Skulltaker fought yet however through persistent he decimated the Beastman horde and killed their chieftain, seizing a fourth skull for Khorne. However after being punted by a giant, gored by several minotaurs and nearly having his spine ripped out by the Beastman cheiftan Skulltaker was forced to rest a while to heal. When he next emerged he encountered three of the four remaining tribes of the Tong which were the Siefan, the Vaan and Teiyotgtei’s tribe, the Tsavags. First Skulltaker carved through the elite troops of the Vaan, pummeling through axe men and magically equipped daemon-killers before beating their Khorne-worshipping chieftain in a one on one duel. He chased the fast moving Seifan into the swamp
where the Seifan cheiftan, in despair, threw himself down the gullet of the mightiest swamp beast. Skulltaker thus seized the fifth and sixth skulls for Khorne. Skulltaker ignored the magically levitating castle of the eight tribe, the Sul, for unknown to many at the time their chieftain had already been slain. Instead he charged after the mammoth riding force of the tribe he hated the most, the srcinal Tong. In a brutal battle fought in several manhouts on the backs of the great beasts Skulltaker slew the descendant of Teiyotgtei, thus claiming the seventh skull for Khorne. Lastly he marched into the Chaos Wastes, into the forge of Krathin, exalted Bloodthirster and the Lash of Khorne who Teiyotgtei had slain and enslaved long agao in his initial drive to conquest. There he fought a warrior wielding the very blade of the ancient Tong King which had twice defeated him and was hurled into a fiery pit by the Sul sorceress. However Skulltaker prevailed once more and in the sorceresses belongings was the skull of the Sul chieftan who had been treacherously slain earlier (in the manner of Tzeentchi followers). Thus the eight and final skull was seized for Khorne. In the aftermath Krathin was freed, the realm of the Tong destroyed (though other Tong tribes, which had split off before Teiyotgtei rose to power, apparently existed elsewhere), and Skulltaker rewarded with daemonhood. Skulltaker is the greatest of the bloodletters, a being who has earned the respect of the gods
themselves. When not on campaign Skulltaker will seek out the warrior-champions of the greatest of mortals and daemons. He’ll dismount his juggernaut and bellow a great challenge for all to hear until finally someone from within the enemy encampment accepts his request. Saluting them briefly, the Skulltaker surges forward to claim yet another skull. Such contests almost never end well for the mortal, for Skulltaker has skill borne from countless millennia of experienced warfare. After ripping out the loser’s skull and hurling it in his trophy pile, he’ll below out another challenge and another until either he gets bored or the enemy wises up to realize
they are wasting champions. Either way this bloodletter then leaves in search of a new foe.
Skulltaker has fought and beaten an architype of just about every mortal race in Warhammer Fantasy with only two confirmed losses. In the first instance he lost barely to the srcinal Tong warlord after an extremely grueling fight thanks to the warlord's magical sword, and said warlord died later. In the second instance he lost to the legendary Sigmar after a vicious battle and for that reason he has had a grudge against the Empire ever since. This is in part because whenever he rips a skull out he inherits a
portion of their strength, making Skulltaker extremely formidable. In the End Times Skulltaker traveled among the kingdoms Ind, hunting down the various champions of that realm.
==LOADOUT==
The warrior raised his weapon, a thick blade with jagged, cruel edges, as black as a shard of midnight. Teiyogtei could see faces screaming beneath the black skin of the weapon, writhing in torment within the blade that had consumed their souls.
Offensive: The Slayer Sword: Skulltaker wields a sword that contains a portion of Khorne’s own wrath, this sword blazes with unholy fire energy and has the uncanny ability to find the enemies weakest spot. He is skilled enough to take on dozens, even hundreds of enemies at once (though in part because
most of their weapons can't penetrate his armor) , beat down a sixty foot giant in single combat and fought in hundreds of engagements throughout history. Defense: Chaos Armor, Cloak of Skulls: This magical cloak offers some protection from enemy blows and spells, being stronger then plate. Indeed most normal melee and ranged weapons bounce off it or fail to penetrate! Skulltaker also has scaly skin which is naturally durable and innate, but not total, magic resistance. Finally he has regeneration. The faint rattle of armour grew. Nhaa could see the Skulltaker emerge from behind the giant’s corpse. This time his sword had not failed to strike the monster’s heart. The man’s body was torn, mangled by his brutal fall through the trees, but where Korg had weakene d with every step, the Skulltaker grew stronger. Nhaa could see bones knitting together and wounds close. The torn rmour of the Skulltaker melted together, forming once more into smooth crimson plates. Nhaa backed away, the dreaded fighting claws fastened to its hands feeling small beside the awful power of the warrior. The Skulltaker glared at the beastlord, the eyes behind the champion’s mask terrible in their cold promise of doom. “Run,” the Skulltaker’s grinding voice hissed. The black blade was a smoking ember in his hand, lines of fire showing beneath its surface as it consumed the blood that stained its length. “Run,” the champion repeated as Nhaa turned and fled from him. “You cannot hide from doom. ==Additional Factors==
Skulltaker is a sublime duelist, and specifically an anti-warrior one at that. Skulltaker rides a juggernaut. Skulltaker quotes The khagan had forbidden any of his followers to stand with him. Whatever creature had crawled down into his domain from the Wastes, he would face it alone. If he was victorious, it would reaffirm his might in the eyes of his chieftains, bind them all the more to his will. If he fell, it would not matter if a thousand fell with him. Teiyogtei allowed only the four hundred Kurgan who stood beneath the hill to st and against the beast. If four hundred could not stop the monster, no number of mortal warriors and mortal blades would. Teiyogtei would not squander the strength of his horde in useless conflict. It would matter little if he destroyed the monster at the expense of his army. No, if the horde was broken, death upon the creature’s blade would be only too welcome.
The Skulltaker, that was the name the thing had been given, the title it wore in the nightmares of sorcerers and seers: a harbinger of Khorne, the Blood God’s chosen executioner. It had left a trail of destruction across Teiyogtei’s realm, empty villages and broken castles. The khagan’s realm was threatened, not by the Skulltaker, but by the terror that he brought with him. If Teiyogtei were to maintain his rule, he could allow his people to fear nothing more than they feared their king. At the base of the hill, the crimson mist rolled back retreating as though pulled away by spectral steeds. As the mist retreated, a lone figure stood revealed beneath the baleful sky. (…) To Dorgo’s eyes, what followed was slaughter, not battle. Twenty warriors converged on one. When the carnage abated, when the screams had faded into death rattles, when the sound of flesh and bone being torn asunder ebbed, it was the one who stood triumphant.
The havoc of his black blade lay strewn and dying around the armoured killer. Gore dripped from the stranger, coating his crimson armour in a sanguine cloak, but none of it was his. Twenty men had faced him, but not one had landed a blow against their foe. The killer turned his head, studying the butchery. Then he turned his skull-helm once more to the slope where the ashen-faced Lok waited. The Skulltaker turned his back on the Gahhuks. It was not their spears or their numbers that concerned him, it was the unnatural walls of their stronghold that kept him from his prey. Csaba, however, had been too crafty in his attempt to kill the Skulltaker. By unleashing his caged daemons against his enemy, Csaba had given him the tools he needed to breech the unassailable walls of Iron Keep. For long hours, the Skulltaker laboured over the carcasses of the juggernauts. When he turned again to the walls of the fortress, the black sword was sheathed. In its place he held an immense weapon, a gigantic maul that made Lok’s mattock look like a cobbl er’s hammer. The bronze skull of one juggernaut formed the head, the iron spine of the other served as the haft. With his new weapon, the Skulltaker stalked towards the walls. Frightened cries and desperate shouts sounded from the stronghold, the screams of women and children rising above the voices of the warriors on the battlements. Spears and stones rained down around him as he strode to the smooth, unbroken iron barrier. Iron Keep shuddered as the Skulltaker brought his daemon hammer cracking against it. The malevolence and destructive power of two juggernauts of Khorne had been bound into the grisly maul, the fury of two vanquished daemons eager for revenge. The concentrated malice caused the walls to shiver as the Skulltaker smashed the maul against them. On the third hit, cracks appeared in the unmarred surface, cracks that the living iron did not ooze up to repair. On the fifth strike, flakes of quicksilver exploded across the length of the stronghold’s perimeter as the walls began to fracture. On the seventh blow, the structure rocked as though the entire rise had been shaken by an earthquake. When the maul cracked against the walls for the eighth time, Iron Keep broke beneath it. Towers shattered like broken glass. Like a crashing glacier, the walls toppled. Gahhuks wailed in horror as their fortress collapsed around them, burying them in mounds of twisted iron, crushing them beneath the weight of their fortress. (…)
Korg bellowed again, one immense hand shooting downwards to seize the lone warrior. The Skulltaker spun as the huge clawed fingers reached for him, the black edge of his blade licking out, slashing through a finger larger than his own leg, all but severing it from the monster’s hand. The giant howled again at this fresh wound, recoiling instinctively from the blow. It lifted its hand to its face, intending to lick the gushing cut. Korg did not smell the tiny figure clinging to the dangling flesh of its mangled finger. Too late, the giant’s shocked senses registered the sensation of the Skulltaker as he pulled himself onto the back of the hairy fist. Before Korg could swat the man, the Skulltaker’s sword flashed out, cutting across the giant’s snout. The giant’s hands clapped automatically to the deep cut against its sensitive nose. As the h uge paws shot upwards, the Skulltaker jumped. Armoured gauntlet and spiked boots fought for purchase in Korg’s mangy, shaggy hide. The Skulltaker struggled to keep his hold on the giant’s shoulder. Even as he felt air rushing past him, as he felt Korg’s hand swinging down to slap him from the giant’s body, the Skulltaker’s sword licked out. Flesh and fur parted like parchment beneath the gnawing edge of the blade. A stream of bright crimson spurted into the gloom as the smoking daemon sword severed one of the giant’s thick arteries. The giant’s fist threw the Skulltaker through the air as though he’d been struck by an avalanche. The warrior crashed into th e pines, branches snapping and bursting beneath his weight as he plummeted downwards. Korg clenched its mangled hand to its neck, trying to staunch the arterial blood streaming from its wound. (…) Zar Ratha’s ire rose with every passing breath. It was inconceivable, intolerable, that his carefully laid plans should be je opardised in so outrageous a fashion! The attack against his rear had been an eventuality he’d prepared for. No dregs from the slave -pits watched the mouth of
the valley; he’d positioned a band of two hundred of his finest axemen to form his rearguard. Although he doubted the Sul wou ld move to rescue their Tsavag allies, it was still a possibility that he had taken into consideration. The sorcerers relied upon the terror of their magic as much as its intrinsic power, much like the Tsavag and their mammoths. The Vaan were a breed taught to forget fear, the emotion burned out of their bodies before they were old enough to wield their first sword. There was no room for weakness, no allowance for timidity in the Vaan. They were a warrior race, men who knew neither mercy nor pity, taught that death in battle was the only glory a man ould ever claim. When a man accepted the honour of death, he forgot fear. Now, the Vaan were remembering what they had forgotten. A lone warrior, a sinister apparition armoured in crimson, prowled through the ranks of Ratha’s rearguard like a raging lion. Butchered, bleeding hulks of Vaan axemen were strewn in his path, a bloody litter of the dead and dying. He was one warrior, yet he’d sl aughtered his way through dozens. Every slash of his smouldering blade visited ruin upon another Vaan fighter, splashing severed limbs and spilled entrails across the ground. Men who had stood fearlessly against giants and ogres, who were prepared to defy the black sorceries of warlocks and daemons, faltered before the awesome spectacle of a single champion as he carved a gory furrow through the iron wall of their formation. The Skulltaker. Ratha heard the name pass in an awed whisper through his army, saw fear worm its way into the eyes of his men . The rearguard broke, scattering before the advance of their terrible foe. Their panic threatened to infect the rest of the tribe as they fled. Men looked anxiously to their chieftain, weapons slipping in sweaty hands. (…) The last of the rearguard had broken, leaving a field strewn with the mangled husks of their abandoned comrades. Ratha felt pride as he saw another band of warriors move into the opening, huge brutes, bearing massive flails of chain and spiked iron. They were men w ho had been trained for battle against the Tsavag mammoths, to strew caltrops in the path of the gigantic beasts as they charged. These were men who had accepted their grim charge with an almost eager fatalism, desiring nothing more than to enter the Hunting Halls with the blood of such magnificent adversaries fresh upon their weapons. The Skulltaker vanished from Ratha’s sight as the mammoth-cripplers surrounded and rushed him. The clatter of arms, the roars and screams of battle rose from the crush. Long minutes passed, and with each lengthening moment, Ratha’s heart gre w black with doubt. A single man, and his mammoth-cripplers took so long to kill him? One man against a hundred of the Vaan’s elite? It wasn’t a question of battle, it was a matter of slaughter! Yet still the clash of weapons, the meaty smack of metal slashing through flesh, the screams of slayer and slain rose from the centre of the Vaan attack. At last, a gurgling shriek wailed from the melee. The mammoth-cripplers pulled back, pulled away from the combat swirling at the middle of their formation. Impossibly, the Skulltaker still stood, his smoking sword shearing through the arm of one warrior, and then slashing through the chest of a second. A third turned to flee, only to have his back cut through like a twig. His crippled body flopped to th e blood-soaked earth, moaning in agony as he tried to crawl away from his killer. Even from a distance, Ratha could see the terrible rents and gashes in the Skulltaker’s armour. Blood, black and foul, drooled from his wounds. Ratha snarled in satisfaction. Whatever the champion’s terrible power, he could be hurt, and if he could be hurt, he could be killed. Then the wounds began to ooze closed, the armour flowing together like water, sealing itself, making itself whole once more. In the space of only a few breaths, the Skulltaker’s grisly figure was as unmarked as newly fallen snow. For all the violence visited upon him, even the closest of t he Vaan could find no sign of injury. The mammoth-cripplers broke, fleeing in such frantic disorder that even the lowest of the tri be’s goblin slaves would have felt shame. (…) Ratha’s snarled orders brought a small group of warriors to his side, men encased in steel rather than iron, steel engraved w ith the runes of Khorne. Immense collars circled their necks, and upon these bronze bands still more runes of dread power had been etched. Each man bore a
huge axe of cold-wrought iron, and upon these blades again appeared the skull-rune of Khorne. These were Ratha’s daemon-killers, men chosen to bear the most sacred of the tribe’s arms and armour, weapons that would guard them against any daemon’s fell might. (…) A daemon-killer pushed his way through fleeing axemen only to find himself suddenly facing the skull-masked figure that had provoked such terror. Before he could even raise his axe, the daemon- killer’s head was rolling across the ground. The warrior behind him fared somewhat better, bringing his axe sweeping at the Skulltaker’s legs. The champion darted back, the edge of the axe just scraping again st the metal skin of his greaves. Then the Skulltaker’s black sword was stabbing forwards and the daemonkiller dropped, choking on his own blood. Another half a dozen daemon-killers were dead or dying before the Skulltaker relented. (…) The attending daemon-killers rushed to their chieftai n’s aid. Against any other enemy, Ratha would never have questioned their victory. Against the Skulltaker, he never doubted their defeat. A man raised with iron in his blood, reared on discipline and war, weaned on battle and destruction, Ratha found it within himself to feel sorrow in the useless sacrifice. (…) “Khorne cares not from whence the blood flows,” Ratha said, reciting the mantra so oft repeated by the Vaan shamans. “Khorne does not,” the Skulltaker’s grinding voice growled. His sword came crashing against Ratha’s axe. So powerful, so vengeful was the blow that the weapon was torn from the chieftain’s hands. Ratha was thrown to the ground by the violence of the strike. The S kulltaker loomed over him, his screaming sword raised high. “Khorne cares not,” the Skulltaker repeated, “but I do.”
Mobility: 3-7 Training/Experience: 10 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee
Role: Combat Support “It stood twice the height of a man, shrouded in what looked like the black hooded habit of a priest of Morr. The long garment only reached to its waist, the legs beneath it standing bare. They were thin, little more than bones, as were the long arms that extended from the sleeves of the robe. The skeletally thin limbs were the colour of blood, seemingly composed of a slimy sheen of gore. The face that stared from beneath the cowl of the priest’s habit was that of a skull, though it was no such skull as any clean creature had ever been born to. The jaw was long, the teeth pointed fangs each three inches long. Bony growths resembling hound-like ears rose to either side of the skull, disappearing into the depths of the cowl. Like the rest of the apparition, the skull too was red, composed of a glistening, writhing sheen of blood. The daemon turned its head slowly, causing drops of blood to fall from its face, sizzling upon the stone floor. The sockets of its eyes were empty, filled only by a black vacancy, yet Brunner could feel the homicidal hatred of the daemon’s stare surging from those dark, empty pits.”
Sometimes mistakenly called the Death Elemental, the Mardagg is a Greater Daemon, serving the Chaos god Khorne. When a Mardagg is summoned, it does one thing and one thing only – it kills. Those that it
kills empowers the Mardagg, allowing it to reap its tally with greater efficiency and lethality. It inspires terror in all living things and, such is its reputation, that when confronted by the Mardgagg’s fortress in the Souther Chaos Wastes Archaon opted to go around, rather than try to fight through as he had done with other Chaos Lords. Historically, the Mardagg has had an obsession with massacaring the Tilean peninsula and sacrificing all of its inhabitants to Khorne. A thousand years from the present timeline, it attempted to do so. Thousands were slaughtered in its initial foray and the city of Remas nearly totally destroyed however a servant of one of the local gods, blessed by divine power, managed to trap and contain the creature with magic. There it languished, forgotten by all but a few. Unfortunately for mortals, while they themselves forgot about the daemon the servants of Chaos did not. A thousand years later Mardagg was unleashed as part of a chaos plot to devastate the city and to return unleash him for Khorne’s use in the End times. In a explosion of bloodlust Mardagg killed thousands of citizens, broke the army of Remas and, despite a desperate intervention by Brunner the Bounty Hunter, escaped into the Realm of Souls. In this tournament, Mardagg would function as a melee browser whose prowess in combat is enhanced the more it slays. At full slaughter it can move with the speed of a horse, its scythe striking out at blurring speed . It is armed with a magical aura that not only invokves instinctive fear but bloodlust, distracting the strong-willed and causing the weak to act like the Rage infected from 28 days later.
Offensive: Armed with a magical scythe that ignores armor and that collects souls. These souls are then used to boost the creature’s stats. The Mardagg also has a terrible aura which, like everything else, is boosted by its number of victims.
“One of the soldiers, emboldened by Brunner’s attack, had lunged at the Mardagg, slashing at it with his sword. Unlike Brunner’s blow, however, the sword had failed to injure the monster. Nor had the soldier been quick enough to avoid the Mardaggs return. Pausing for an instant, gaping at the ineffectiveness of his attack, the guard had waited too long to leap away. The Mardaggs scythe ripped through his back, exposing a fist-deep section of his spine. There was no mistaking the effect the man’s death had upon the daemon. At once its movements began to quicken, the speed of its scythe increase. The Mardagg swept the scythe low, coming in under the guard of the halberdiers, killing one of its opponents, strewing the bleeding halves of the man on the ground before it. A second died as Brunner charged towards it, the man’s body flung across the hall by the immense scythe, smashing into a brazier of coals set against the far wall. The Mardagg turned on its last enemy as the man’s halberd ineffectually hacked into the daemon’s side. The man turned to flee, leaving his halberd still lodged in the Mardagg’s side. ‘It feeds on death and slaughter!’ the bounty hunter shouted to the remaining soldiers. ‘Every man it cuts down makes it stronger!’ “
Defensive: Armed with daemonic chainmail and with regeneration which is powered by the amount of souls its scythe claims. . “Brunner rushed toward the gate of the Great Reman Bridge. The sounds of hor ror, madness and death rising from the streets behind him had been growing louder and more terrible the farther he had run. Ironically, the sounds were drawing more and more people from their homes and onto the streets. A single scream might not disturb the people of Remas, but this sort of clamour was entirely unique in a city where the Solkanites kept things peaceful and quiet. And because it was so unique, curiosity, not fear took hold of the people, at least until they saw the source of the panic for themselves. At first, the crowds had kept ahead of the daemon quite easily, and its slow, steady gait had been easy to distance. But as the crowd fled, they increasingly came into the unyielding bodies of other citizens, ones who had not seen the monster and wondered what the commotion was about. They stubbornly refused to move, and in their desperation to get past, the frightened crowd had come to blows with those who stood in their way. The flight had degenerated into a desperate brawl. And as the conflict grew in violence and vigour, the daemon had hastened its steps. The Mardagg struck the rear of the terrified herd of human cattle, lashing out with its scythe, cutting men in half with every sweep of its weapon. The image was like some diabolic parody of a farmer harvesting his crop as the Mardagg cut its way through the field of struggling bodies filling the street before it. Those who by chance or design managed to get out of the line of the Mardagg’s path did not entirely escape the daemon’s horrible presence. Many were driven mad by such close proximity to a being of such timeless malevolence and terror. Others suffered an even more virulent madness, as drops of sizzling blood fell from the daemon’s body, burning into their flesh. All who were so marked became ravening beasts, falling upon those around them with clawing hands and gnashing teeth, only the urge to kill left within their maimed minds. In the wake of the daemon, mobs of crazed killers loped off into the streets of Remas to spread terror and d eath throughout the city.”
Mobility: 7 Training/Experience: 10 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role: Mass Destruction(Tactical) -Grey Seer Thanqoul’s Point of View, Thanqoul’s Doom:
“No longer did the dwarfs hesitate, but targeted the ratmen with enraged abandon. Warriors cried out in agony as the blades of their comrades missed Thanquol and gouged their flesh. A crazed light burning in their eyes, the stricken dwarfs fell upon their former friends, tearing at them with clawed hands, cutting at them with knives and hatchets, gnashing their teeth as they snapped at the throats of their kinsmen. Thanquol scrambled away from the fratricidal fray. Even wracked by the black hunger, he had never seen skaven overcome by such bloodthirsty madness. The dwarfs attacked one another with the mindless ferocity of a cornered wolf-rat. The grey seer watched as one old longbeard continued to strangle the life from his younger enemy despite the axe stroke that had disemboweled him. A leather-cloaked engineer drove a heavy mattock into whatever came near him, uncaring of the red ruin dripping from his gouged eyes. The grey seer could feel the same madness trying to snake its way into his own mind, trying to seduce him into berserk self-destruction. He drew upon every scrap of his occult knowledge to drive back the tempting cries of the daemon, clinging to the tatters of his sanity as Chaos tried to consume him. Thanquol scrambled past a knot of fighting dwarfs, retreating into the shelter between a statue's immense legs. The dark shadow beneath the dwarf ancestor god seemed to welcome him, enveloping him in the protective embrace of darkness. The grey seer rested his paws against the cold stone ankle, sucking breath back into his panting lungs. If he could just concentrate, just recover his strength…”
Skarbrand was once the greatest of Khorne’s greatest champions, a warrior without peer who destroyed Slaanesh’s srcinal palace and even led an army that triumphed over the combined armies of the
other three gods combined. Yet what could not be won on the battlefield, the other gods resolved to
win via trickery. Such was Skarbrand’s pride that it was effortless for Tzeentch to whisper in his ear that he was better than Khorne himself. One dark day, when Khorne’s back was turned and his attention elsewhere, Skarbrand’s fierce pride grew hot and, blinded by rage, he smote the Blood God a mighty blow. Only the smallest of chinks was cut in the Blood God’s armor, but even this was sufficient to draw the terrible fury of Khorne’s gaze. Incandescent with wrath, Khorne seized the Daemon by the throat. The Blood God cursed Skarbrand’s name and choked all personality from him, leaving only the bottomless rage that had
caused him to attack. Climbing the uppermost tower of the Brass Citadel, Khorne cast forth his arm and hurled the Daemon deep into the Realm of Chaos, banishing the Bloodthirster from his presence. For eight days and nights Skarbrand plummeted, a fiery comet of ill-omen streaking across the unchanging sky. The impact of the Bloodthirster’s landing gouged a canyon in the landscape and left his wings tattered and torn. Since that fateful day, Skarbrand has wandered the mortal and immortal realms, drowning his sins in the blood of the slain — though he no longer has the wit to fully understand why. In the End Times he would take part in the siege of Naggarond, where he was ultimately defeated in a duel by Malekith the Witch King.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Slaughter and Carnage: Skarband wields two immense axes that he can swing with both great skill and speed, capable of carving a dozen foes up in a moment. Each axe contains the tortured spirit of another Bloodthirster, and is powerful enough to ignore all physical armor.
Bellow of Endless Rage: Skarband is wrath incarnate, able to induce massive uncontrollable rage in both allies and enemies, causing them to all attack each other incoherently. Fast friends and firm allies tear at one another with wild abandon. Craven and brave beings alike claw at their foes without regard for
their own lives, ranged combatents throw down their weapons to rush to melee. The best laid plans of enemy tacticians are ruined as the men turn to frantic bloodlust. Only those with powerful willpower or divine blessing can fight such rage off, and then only with difficulty. At its crescendo Skarband can yell a roar of such short-range intensity that it pulverizes flesh and shatters buildings in his immediate presence (10 or so meters) .
Defense: See Bloodthirster with brass armor and heavy magic resistance . In lore it usually takes a massive effort to bring Skarbrand down. In one example an Empire army unloaded every cannon and
handgun in its possession directly into the Bloodthirster at once . In another the Dwarves used a powerful and enormous axe that had been directly blessed by one of their gods to cave its head in two.
==Additional Factors== Alone among the Bloodthirsters, Skarbrand cannot fly thanks to its wings being torn off by Khorne.
Dwarf Engineer Klarak’s Point of View, Thanquol’s Doom “Klarak just had time to see his words galvanize some of the dwarfs into action before a wave of almost palpable malevolence smashed down upon him. He could feel the daemon's rage slam into him, crushing him to his knees. The feral howl of a bloodcrazed beast snarled through the corridors of his soul. His body heaved with revulsion. When he looked back at the shadow, a pair of immense eyes glared down at him, blazing like volcanic fires in the gathering blackness. Concentrated into the daemon's eyes was a quality of violence and havoc that made Klarak's flesh crawl. He could see the fountainhead of all atrocity, the nucleus of all carnage, the cornerstone of all brutality smoldering behind the daemon's gaze. The lust of blood and destruction began to grow inside him, feeding from his every memory. He saw the goblins that had tortured and murdered his mother. He was there as his father was smashed beneath the claws of a troll. He experienced the lynching of his grandfather by human bandits as though wearing the skin of his long-dead ancestor. Each memory cried out to him with a voice of wrath, urging him to vengeance, demanding blood and slaughter as the price to wash away their pain. The dwarf threw back his head, screaming in anguish. In that howl of agony, Klarak embraced his pain. The daemon did not need the subtlety of lies to fan the embers of rage in the engineer's soul. How easy it would be to listen to its seductive voice, to cast aside reason and to wallow in the mindless joy of wrath! Pain would be forgotten when the world was painted red with the blood of the damned! Cast aside suffering and abandon himself to battle unending! No! It took all of Klarak's willpower to manage that single word, that single spark of defiance. He was a dwarf! A dwarf was nothing without his past, without his traditions and his ancestors, without the glories and the sorrows of his race! The very pain which the daemon had evoked to seduce him, to drag his mind down into a wallow of violence and massacre, now became the dwarf's strength. What his kin had endured, what his race had endured, these became like a sword in Klarak's fist, driving back the daemon's call to carnage. Blood streamed from Klarak's eyes as he fought free of the daemon's influence. All about him, he could see other dwarfs shaking their heads, wiping gore from their faces. There was a haunted expression in their eyes, but they had managed to cling to their sanity.”
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 7 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee
Role : Melee Combatent Over two hundred years ago, the name of Valnir the Reaper was feared throughout the lands of Kislev
and the Empire. Yet Valnir was a miserable, bitter warrior who sought to ‘hold up a mirror to show the world the truth of its endeavours and the futility of despair”. As a great warrior in the Tribe of the Crow, he took the path over the Mountains of Dusk to the Realm of Chaos , fighting through hordes of daemons, monsters, treacherous environment and more to get to the North. Eventually he came across a great rotting tree, where he realized fully the futility of life and gave in to Nurgle completely. Lord Nurgle made him the Reaper, the gatherer of souls whose task was to slay in the name of the god of
Pestilence. He granted Valnir a daemonic weapon of great potency, a flail that could take souls as easily as it could take lives. Great was the number of innocents harvested by Valnir the Reaper. When the Great Chaos War came, Valnir answered the call to arms like so many other Champions of Chaos. He fought for his patron at the siege of Praag and the titanic battle for the Gates of Kislev. In the final cataclysmic melee he charged Alexis, theTzar of Kislev, but was cut down, mortally wounded. Somehow he managed to stagger away from the battlefield. His followers carried his body back to the lands of the Marauders as was his final wish. The Marauders of the Crow tribe built a great stone throne from where Valnir could survey his ancestral lands. Thus it remained for over two hundred years. But Valnir's work was not yet done. Over the years the black wind from the Realm of Chaos grew stronger, and one day his rotted, skeletal form lurched to its feet. Thus Valnir stood tall once more, not dead, not alive, but a daemonic creature sustained by the power of Nurgle, the god of pestilence. His soul had returned to its C arcass. Valnir the Reaper stalked the land once more. The tribesmen of the Crow fell to their knees when they saw him, and worshiped him as a demigod. To them he was living proof that the lord of Pestilence was with them. Only Valnir and his patron know how many souls he must gather before he can rest again. In the passage of time Valnir has come to hate all living beings because they stubbornly hold on to their souls and do
not surrender them to his lord Nurgle. His Flesh has rotted almost completely away. His Chaos armor is a shattered ruin. Maggots writhe in his eye sockets. His entrails ooze through the gaps in his armor. Yet a terrifying strength lives on in his skeletal frame. His grip is like iron, and no foe Struck by his terrible flail ever recovers. The more he slays, the greater his vitality grows. His body has been crushed in battle many times, yet he has always risen again, ever eager to slay more and leave their rotting carcasses
empty of their essence, their souls sent screaming to the realm of Nurgle. In the End Times, Valnir helped devastate the world by spreading plagues absolutely everywhere. However he ultimately entered quarrel with Wulfrik the Wanderer and was killed by him after a three
hour long duel. ==LOADOUT== Offensive: Gatherer of Souls : The Gatherer of Souls is a massive rusted flail, charged with the corpulent power of Nurgle. Its blows do not only kill, they consume the souls of its victims as well. Much of this
stolen energy is passed to Lord Nurgle, but it also strengthens Valnir, making him stronger and faster in his task of collecting souls. In addition he has the slow magical ability to infect an enemy unit with either a fast acting red plague, brain fever (which destroys the willpower of enemies with massive fevers and brain worms) or the Black Rot which causes the flesh of the victims to turn dark, their hair falls out and their skin becomes a leprous, putrefied mess.
Defensive: Chaos armor and troll-like regeneration. Though he can revive himself after death, t his usually takes several years . ===Additional Factors=== Where Valnir walks, plague and pestilence follow. Wells and fountains dry up and rivers and streams turn foul. Animals become rabid and men sicken and die. Many-times has Valnir won a battle before it
has started, his fanatic Marauders cutting swathes through an army of stricken and diseased men, weakened by the onslaught of the Breath of Nurgle.
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 4 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role : Tactical(Magical Support), Strategic (Disease Creation Once, a long time ago, Doctor Festus was a wellrespected scientist and doctor in the province of Nordland. Compassionate and skilled both, Festus
cured hundreds of people each year and made it a point to cure some of the most virulent diseases known in those parts. However then came the Gnashing flu.
Festus locked himself away in his tower, dedicating every ounce of his life to curing this new illness. Nothing worked as all his test subjects wasted away. In desperation he cried out for help. As one his formerly diseased test subjects arose and promised every single detail of every disease known would be available to him in exchange for everlasting servitude. In his desperation Festus agreed.
Nurgle honored the request, and Festus’s knowledge became second perhaps to Nurgle himself. However in doing so all traces of compassion were thrown away, leaving nothing but a desire to
experiment. Now he travels the world force-feeding enemies his newest concoctions in his quest to bring ever more repugnant life into the world. It is said that it’s far better to die on the battlefield then to be captured alive by the doctor. Just prior to the End Times Festus embarked on a long term journey to the north to gather the rarest items he could find. His goal? Gathering nothing less than seven all-powerful magical artifacts to be used in a ritual to bring Nurgle’s garden to reality. Upon Hexenacht of 2520, Festus secured the most hallucinogenic of ingredients – the root of the crystal mandrake, stolen over the course of a kaleidoscopic nightmare by the dream-trapped geomancer Eregrest in exchange for a few more days of life. During a clash of daemonic armies less than a year later, the Leechlord afflicted one of Slaanesh’s own handmaidens with a disfiguring pox, and only gave her the cure once she had passed him the scented oils she had taken from her master’s boudoir.
Feigning great skill at dentistry, Festus convinced the Great Unclean One Ghu’bu’hurgh that all of his woes could be traced to rotten incisors, and personally extracted a dozen teeth from the daemon’s maw. Later, by masking his scent entirely, Festus infiltrated the lair of the Goregluttons and worked loose a trio of brass skulls from the metallic pillar that had sprouted from their offerings to Khorne.
Festus returned to Altdorf in 2525, hiding in the sewers as he strove to perfect the ritual. For months he worked in secret, striving every
night to perfect his work. He was nearly discovered by the Amber Wizard Gregor Martak but, fortunately, a feud between Martak and the Altdorf commander Helborg prevented the
wizard from leading a patrol down there. He was aided every step of the way by daemon Kur’gath, who took a particular pride in Festus’s work.
As the battle of Altdorf began Festus perfected his ritual, summoning a portion of the garden of Nurgle directly to the middle of the city even as the rest of Nurgle’s forces assaulted on all sides. Together with Kur’gath he assaulted the Temple of Shallya, the sole bastion of the city that had hereto remained
pure. Festus was ultimately slain by Vlad von Carstein, though not before killing the vampire once and slaying the king of the Brettonians.
The vaulted cellar under the abandoned hospice was warm and quiet, just how Doctor Festus liked it. The dark apothecary sang in a resonant bass that would have done Detlef Sierck proud as he bumbled over to a glass-strewn bench. Carefully decanting an alembic of pus primaris into a bowl of simmering crow’s blood, he turned his head away and took a deep breath that should be sufficient for the next verse. The tune was a nurgling’s ditty he had picked up during his time in his master’s Great Garden. He hadn’t been able to get it out of his head ever since. Not that he minded – he’d even added a few verses of his own these last few days. ‘Rumpety-tum, tiddle-eye-po, boil the blood and in you go…’ Festus happily sniffed at the vile stench that emanated from the seven-gauge copper saucer. Close to perfect, but still a ways to go yet before the Sixth Ingredient was complete. Still, now he was back in civilised lands he was confident of success. It had been next to impossible to do any proper research in the icy wastes of the far north, with all that wind, sleet and hail buzzing about. As much as Festus loved the dizzying variety of test subjects up in the north, more than one concoction had frozen solid before he could force-feed it to some lucky recipient. His leeches had moaned on and on about the constant cold, and he risked his equipment shattering or cracking every time he tested his poisons in battle. In the end he had packed up his tools and headed south to Altdorf, a city so busy that even one as foul as he could escape detection. To his great pleasure, he found his reserve hospice pretty much as he left it. He had set up his laboratory in the cellar that same night. The doctor’s time amongst the brutish northerners had been very informative, and he’d obtained some vital materials, but ultimately his little holiday had only diverted him from the Great Work. One could not bring boundless life to the world whilst walking in the shadow of death. To foster true abundance meant forsaking the world of the killer for a time, and for a man of learning such as Festus, that was just fine. Scooping up the top half of a corpse and holding its arm outstretched, the Leechlord danced clumsily across his laboratory. ‘Fiddle-de-deem, wriggle and scream, nibble the fingers and taint the cream…’ Propping his dancing partner against a dunking-stool, the doctor twisted the keg-tap inserted into the neck of one of the corpses that hung upside down from the cellar’s arches. A lumpy grey liquid oozed from the corpse’s open mouth, and Festus filled a generous glass vial to the brim before wiping away the overspill with a fat finger. He couldn’t resist tasting it afterwards, looking around guiltily to see if any of his corpses were watching. Naughty but nice, and anyway, who could begrudge him? He’d always wondered if his fellow apothecaries would yield the best ingredients on the inside as well as the out. Sure enough, they tasted splendid. His mind wandered to a different tune. ‘Distri-bute the poxes, in the window boxes, tumpty-dum, tickle the tum…’
There was a series of bubbling pops from the cauldron in the centre of the cellar’s seven benches. The noise startled Festus into silence. He’d not yet lit the fire pit today, he was sure of it. The doctor heard a low and sibilant hiss. Every corpse in the room turned to him, mouthing his name. The room filled with an indescribably powerful stench he had smelt before, back when he had still been human. ‘Ah,’ said the doctor, slowly and carefully placing his glassware on the counter. Cold sweat began to appear on his flaccid j owls. His fear dissipated somewhat when a tiny antlered head poked its way out of the cauldron, its rot-drizzling grin reminding Festus of an old friend of his. ‘Wellspring!’ it squeaked. ‘And wellspring to you too, little one,’ said Festus cautiously. He looked around, but the corpses had turned back to normal. The ugly little daemon squinted at him for a moment, bit its ragged lip, and the cauldron bubbled again. ‘Eye bring newts!’ it cried, raising its tiny, misshapen arms in celebration. ‘Then tell of it,’ replied the Doctor, ‘By your antlers, I’d say you have a message from Ku’gath, correct?’ ‘Corrept! He say, doctor doctor, burn-me-quick!’ ‘Burn you, little one?’ said Festus, his brow furrowed. ‘Why in Nurgle’s name would I want to do that?’ ‘Driplips come, lordling-gourd! Driplips marching fast!’ the daemon said earnestly. Another two antlered daemon mites rose from the bubbling cauldron on either side of it and nodded like serious children. ‘Driplips… do you mean the triplets? The Glotts of Norsca?’ The antlered nurgling nodded vigorously in response. ‘The Glottkin are nearing Altdorf already,’ pondered Festus. ‘I rather doubt that…’ ‘Two Altdorf! Stew Altdorf!’ they sang, ‘Shroudlings make a New Altdorf!’ ‘Hmm. Interesting. And are you three… shroudlings, then? Is that why Ku’gath wants me to burn you?’ The first nurgling squinted its eyes and nodded happily. Evil-smelling bubbles burst up around it, leaving grey puffs in the air. ‘Smog!’ it declared. ‘I think I see,’ said Festus. ‘By burning you, little one, we can make the city more to our liking. Is that right?’ ‘Two Altdorf! New Altdorf!’ the nurglings shrilled, paddling around the cauldron and splashing each other. ‘Yes, yes,’ said Festus. ‘Well, the closer we get this gloomy old city to the glory of the master’s garden, the happier we’ll all be.’ The doctor glooped a gallon of gunk out of the cauldron with a large glass bowl, plopping out several nurglings in the process. ‘Right my selfless little friends. Time for you to go in the fire...’ ==LOADOUT== Offensive: Festus wields a Plaguesword and is a level 3 wizard of Nurgle. He carries with him a number of powerful potions that could swiftly melt a squad of men to goo. Those chaos warriors that fight with him have extremely deadly poisonous attacks; enough to stop even troll regeneration.
Defensive: He and his entire unit can regenerate wounds by drinking one of his potions, which are powerful enough to bring a man back from near death. ==Additional Factors== In the long run Festus is going to be striving to constantly introduce new diseases into the campaign,
for that is his new prerogative in life. As Leechlord shows he travels the world with a makeshift laboratory that he uses to brew up more diseases! As of the End Times, Festus makes the very battlefield poisonous to move in for the enemy as Nurglite gardens spawn up around him. Festus is a Nurgle acolyte mixed with a still keen (if tainted) scientific mind. He is analytical, educated and intelligent, able to set up a laboratory underneath the capital of the Empire. He is also extremely driven, shown by his quests to make the perfect disease, and a perfectionist, as shown by his various trials to find said disease. Lesser diseases, though useful for trial subjects, will not satisfy him only the most perfect disease. In a twisted fashion he is also jovial and jolly with those who he seeks to test his concoctions on, believing them ‘lucky’.
‘Do you know what a plague wants?’ he asked. ‘What it desires the most?’
Von Sturm puzzled, rubbing his increasingly blurry eyes. The question made no sense to him. Given the pain rippling through his chest and his head, he could think of only one reply. ‘To kill?’ he wheezed. Festus wagged his fat finger like a school teacher. ‘That is what a plague does, not what it desires,’ he answered. ‘Tell me, what would you say are the greatest plagues of all the ages?’ Again, von Sturm struggled to think, fighting through the delirium to force himself to consider. ‘I don’t know… Blacklegge. The ghoulpox. Gnashing fever, perhaps,’ he replied. ‘I treated them all,’ said Festus. ‘And they killed thousands, perhaps tens or even hundreds of thousands. The dead went uncounted.’ Festus drew in closer to von Sturm yet again. ‘Failures all,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t understand,’ von Sturm croaked. ‘If you mean to kill me, then get on with it. I should have died on the field, not like this.’ Still Festus paid his suffering no mind. ‘Can you guess why they failed, all those terrible plagues?’ Festus asked, continuing the exchange with little urgency. Von Sturm shook his head. He was losing his strength by the moment. ‘It was not because they killed, but because of how they killed. Exactly because they were so very deadly,’ Festus replied. ‘ The most successful plague is not the one that kills overnight. On the contrary, the pox that eats through its host too quickly is no use to me at all.’ ‘Why are you telling me this?’ ‘Because you aren’t dead,’ Festus replied. ‘By the gods, you really are insane!’ Festus shook his head. ‘A host,’ he said. ‘That is what every plague desires. A home where it can thrive, a strong specimen with enough resistance to stay alive long enough for the pox to grow, to mature. To spread. You see, my friend, the greatest plague of all is the one that can spread without killing, at least not until it has used its host for all that it has to offer, to spawn new disease swarms to continue on, and on and on. For that it needs a sturdy victim, such a rare thing to find. But when one does appear, there is no more wonderful pairing to be had. A perfect symbiosis – the most virulent of poxes spread by the most durable of hosts.’ Horrible realization began to dawn on von Sturm. ‘No,’ he replied, his breath failing. ‘Kill me. Kill me now.’ ‘Kill you? I must say, I fear that you have understood nothing I’ve told you,’ Festus replied. ‘No, in fact killing you is the last thing I mean to do, not when you’ve shown such natural talent. No, I mean to leave you even better than I found you. In my hands, you will become perfect.’ ‘Perfect? I don’t understand,’ he wheezed. ‘Do you mean to heal me after all?’ ‘I shall shortly bestow a great gift upon you,’ Festus said. ‘You’re a lucky soul – few who have crossed my path have ever been as fortunate as you. The gods have truly blessed you indeed. I intend to see that your blessing is not wasted.’ -Leechlord
Mobility: 4
Training/Experience: 8 Max & Effective Range: Battlefield Preferred Range: Melee Role: Magical Support Epidemius is Nurgle’s chosen Tallyman, one of the seven Proctors of Pestilence and the cataloguer of all the Plaguelords diseases. Epidemius’ task is an unending one, and it generates a great deal of paperwork, so he rides a palanquin to share the burden — and to more easily force a path through Nurgle’s hordes. Two dozen Nurglings attend the Tallyman’s every need, providing the parchment, operating the death’s head abacus, excreting the ink for the quill pens and even defending Epidemius from harm should a foolish enemy venture too close. These Nurglings are uncharacteristically silent to give Epidermus the concentration he needs. From his perch Epidermus surveys Nurgle’s creations, making notes of causalities and infection rates as well as secondary symptoms like change in color or mood swings. This information, properly collated and distilled, is of incredible value to Father Nurgle, but must be recorded with absolute precision and
in a timely fashion to be of any use . Epidermus’s appearances can be a bit random, as the tallyman goes where plagues are at their greatest. This might mean the poor hygiene of an army or of the city slums. Above all else Epidermus is interested in the departure of powerful souls. Nurgle’s Greatest plagues do not merely infest the physical form, they also run virulently rampant throughout a being’ s soul,
destroying his sense of self and moral direction as thoroughly as they corrupt his fevered body. Observing this decline is a rare privilege, and upon demise as a token of gratitude Epidermius’s entourage strikes bells and gongs. This seems to give the potent strength of the owner to the fighters
of Nurgle nearby. Among his great adventures in the mortal world include devastating Naggarond at the head of a massive Nurglite army, fighting the Dark Elves to a stalemate for a year and a day. The only way Maleketh got Epidiermus to leave was bribing him with 10,000 Dark Elf souls. In the End Times Epidemius was summoned by a prominent Beastman Bray-Shaman to help destroy the fortress of Talabheim. Together with the help of the Maggoth Lords he encircled the city and then used one of Nurgle’s most powerful artifacts to unleash terrible plagues on the city. This had the effect of . forcing the defenders out into the open and right into the Daemon’s trap It was a difficult battle due to the tenacity of the mortals but eventually the sheer overwhelming plagues plus numbers of daemons destroyed their force. The remnants of Talaabham fled to other cities, no doubt bringing their plagues with them. Epidiermus would then fight in the Battle of Altdorf, to be later
felled by cannon. “Watching the carnage unfold was Epidemius, scrabbling to record the plagues that were blossoming in the wake of his legions. His nurgling-borne palanquin bore him towards a trio of beasts of Nurgle that
were bounding towards Talabheim’s steam tank. The war machine was grinding its steely bulk through the ranks of plaguebearers, leaving little more than ectoplasmic mush in its wake. Epidemius gave a stern command, and with a great belly flop one of the beasts of Nurgle draped its fleshy bulk over the front of the Miragliano. A moment later the excitable daemon was blasted apart by a cannonball.
Epidemius tutted in disapproval and gestured once with the feathered end of his quill. His nurglings swarmed forwards, clambering all over the steam tank’s metal bulk. One of the mites wedged his fat buttocks into the Miragliano’s cannon, giggling and picking its nose. A moment later a beast of Nurgle careened towards the steam tank, and the machine’s cannon boomed. This time the tank itself came apart in a thunderclap explosion of steam and metal debris. Jagged pieces of steel flew outward, scything down the Talabheim troops that had used the tank as their rallying point. One of the shrapnel daggers stuck right through Reban Greiss’ neck, ending his stream of invective forever.
With the death of their captain and the demise of their most powerful war machine, the nerve of the Talabheim troops was finally broken. They turned and fled back to the Talagaad, joining the mass of refugees that was flooding towards Altdorf in their panic. Rejoicing in their victory, the daemonkin and their conjured storm followed close behind. (..) Over to the east of the city, the battle line of state troops was holding fast against the repugnant daemons crashing against it. In the midst of the plaguebearer host was Epidemius, counting the deadly infections that spread out from the front line wherever his minions struck. There were so many beautiful gifts here from Nurgle’s boundless catalogue of contagion that the Tallyman found himself near frantic.
Epidemius scrabbled away with a quill in each hand, his usual fastidious and neat handwriting replaced by a spidery scrawl that he resolved to write up properly once the battle was over. With every scroll he filled, the plaguebearers around him became more energized, and the diseases on their blades more virulent, until the slightest cut or graze caused the victim to fall frothing to the floor.
Nearby, Orghotts Daemonspew and his maggoth riders were charging headlong towards the gun battery that had been wheeled out of the east gate. Despite the sightless beasts having sustained terrible damage, they had made it into the midst of the entrenched artillery. Great cannons rose and fell like improvised clubs as the maggoths took their terrible revenge. Yet there were but three maggoth riders, and several dozen artillery pieces, some of which were pointing directly towards Epidemius.
The ninefold boom of a misfiring Helblaster rang out, and man and daemon alike were torn to shreds as a hail of cannonballs blasted a gory path through the battle. Epidemius looked down at the hole that had scored his torso like a rotten apple, counting the infections that spilled out with a detached interest. Slowly, his quill scrabbled to a halt, and the daemon herald faded from the mortal realm like a bad dream. ”- Glottkin
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Plaguesword, plus 2 dozen Nurgling bodyguards.
Mobility: 8 Training/Experience: 8 Max & Effective Range: Hundreds of meters
Preferred Range: Ranged Role : Weapon of Mass Destruction
Standing thirty feet tall Galrauch, the first of the Chaos Dragons, was once a mighty defender of Ulthuan, fighting alongside the High Elves in the first Chaos incursion of the world. Such was the power of these dragons that it was said that only the greatest of daemons could match them. In one such battle Galrauch challenged a daemon lord of change to battle. It took but an instant for the great dragon to fell the daemon, but unfortunately this was its plan. The Daemons corruptive essence was absorbed into the dragon’s skin. Moments later Galrauch was wracked by terrible mutations. Leering faces forced themselves through his great bulk, spikes emerged and his head split into two separate entities. Great was the dismay of the elves as both heads suddenly turned against their lines, decimating them. Yet before the elves could be pushed back one of the heads of Galrauch rebelled, viciously attacking t he other. By the time the chaos head was able to regain control the battle had been won by the Elves, and it was forced to retreat. Galrauch has emerged many times since, each time to devastate the lands of men, dwarves and elves. He has sacked entire cities, devastated armies and even burned an entire dwarf hold, as well as has won numerous engagements for the Chaos forces. Yet even after nearly 7000 years the spirit of
Galrauch still remains trapped- and fighting- against his daemonic oppressor. Many a battle has suddenly ended with the great dragon trying to kill itself. In the End Times Galrauch would take part in the despoiling of Ind. As the End Times went on his Chaos half became ascendant however, as the influence of Tzeentch waned, his other half began to fight back. As the world ended the two halves finally tore themselves apart.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: One head breathes fire, or, rarely, the very breathe of change which causes those hit to horribly mutate. Galrauch is also a powerful sorcerer of Tzeentch, and can use all of his spells . Finally it has a large mass, powerful talons and a whipping tail.
Defensive: Galrauch is both rather large and covered in thick, scaly skin stronger then plate mail. Of course he can fly too.
==Additional Factors== Galrauch is a mighty flying dragon whose will still hasn’t been entirely subsumed by chaos. There is a chance every battle that this mighty head might rebel, stopping the Chaos dragon from attacking anything else as its body rebels. According to the novel Sigvald the chance of this happening is amplified if he hears the sounds of elves, for that reminds him of his ancient oaths to that host.
Mobility: 5 Training/Experience: 5-6 (purpose not fighting) Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Ranged Role: Magical Support(tactical) and Spell Acquisition (Strategic)
Once, long ago, Tzeentch held ascendency over all other gods with his sorcerous might. Jealous & fearful the other three temporarily
united to put an end to his might. In one climatic battle they broke him into a thousand fragments which scattered throughout time and space. Though Tzeentch reformed, he never regained the entirety of his former mastery. To this end, Tzeentch created two Daemons, P ’tarix and Xirat’p, tasked with learning every spell in existence. Though Blue Horrors in form and surly personality, the quest required these Blue Scribes to
be more self-aware than others of their kind. Ever careful of betrayal, Tzeentch bestowed this intelligence with care. P’tarix can transcribe the magical syllables of any spell to pa rchment, but Judging his work cannot read. Xirat’p can read his brother’s scribblings, but cannot understand them.
to be good, the Great Sorcerer sent his creations out into existence to complete their quest. The Blue Scribes ride their Disc of Tzeentch through realms eternal and mortal, squabbling as they seek lost fragments of their god to bind them with parchment and ink. P ’tarix scrawls frantically with a quill crafted from a Lord of Change’s pinfeather. Xirat’p reads the written words to check for mistakes; in so
doing unleashing the power bound within on any unfortunate enough to be nearby. The Blue Scribes’ mission often draws them to battlefields, where the most destructive and powerful magics are used. If threatened, Xirat’p starts reading at random from the accumulated scrolls , trusting to the hand of fate, his master, to guide him to the correct scroll for each occasion. This can have quite spectacular and bizarre results, with a foe as likely to be struck by multicolored lightning as he is to be drenched by his own personal thunderstorm or transmuted to solid gold. In truth, the Blue Scribes can never complete their task, for magic has multiplied in the service of mortals. This is well for Xirat’p and P ’tarix and for existence itself. Should the Blue Scribes complete their task, Tzeentch would swallow them, reuniting the lost fragments of his being and absorbing the extra power born along the way. It is doubtful that any creature, mortal or Daemon, would survive such a renewal.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Scrolls of Sorcery: If Threatened the Blue Scribes start reading off random spells in the hopes they will do something. These can range from very weak attacks to something massively powerful.
Defense: Some ability to manipulate fate to avoid damage, but not much otherwise. ==Additional Factors== Blue Scribes can steal spells from the enemy upon their use, transcribing them immediately onto their scrolls which inadvertently unleash the spell’s power. Blue Scribes avoid direct battle if they can, as
their purpose is to gather up magic not fight , however they will certainly engage if needed to. They ride a single Disc of Tzeentch.
Mobility: 3 Training: 10 Max & Effective Range: Spell Preferred Range: Spell Role: Advisor/ Champion Creator (Strategic) Kar Odacen, or he who guides champion, is perhaps the longest living mortal man in Warhammer Fantasy. Well before Sigmar’s time he was guiding great Northern cheiftans and champions, with each whispered piece of advice
guiding these individuals in the manner most pleasing to the Chaos gods. It was through him many Norsii raids were guided against the people who would later form the Empire and it was through him that a successful retreat enabled the Norsi survivors to seek refuge in brutal Norsca. It was his wisdom that lensured the Norsii would stay together to eventually form the Norse. The new chief of the Norsii, Cormac Bloodaxe, was extremely eager to march back to the Empire and take revenge however Kar Odacen, who was by now a legendary figure in Norse legends, advised caution. More infuriatingly he forced the Norse chieftain to
wait at a peculiar Cliffside for days until a single rowboat managed to cross the seas, its inhabitant on the verge of death. Thus Perron, the man who would one day become the daemon prince Azazzel, was saved. Comrac continued to gather his forces as Kar Odacen plotted the future and led Azazzel further into his damnation. As Cormac began his initial forays Odacen captured the women folk of a non-Chaos tribe called the Roppesmann, forcing that tribe to fight for the Norsii in exchange for the lives of the
womenfolk (a deal Odacen had no intention of keeping). Sigmar led a campaign of bloody vengeance against the Ropesmann as a result. Meanwhile Odacen advised Cormac to launch a massive reign of
terror in the form of shipborne raids on the coast of the Northern Empire. In the meantime Cormac and Azazzel went on a secret mission in the heart of Sigmar’s empire to kill an old magic user who had subtly guided Sigmar’s rise and might prove a threat to the Dark God’s overall design. When Cormac’s invasion was finally launched Odacen’s magic proved instrumental in battle and it was thanks to these magics in part that Sigmar suffered the first loss of his career. However when Cormac came up with a admittedly brilliant plan to defeat the Empire without engaging Sigmar directly Kar Odacen overulled it. With his farisght and farsighted viewpoint he rationalized that the death of Empires, nations and tribes meant little to the Dark God’s ultimate plans. Instead the focus was on snuffing out hope and, in his visions of the End Times, he had seen one man emerge as a symbol of that hope in the future: Sigmar. Reluctantly, Cormac and Azazzel brought their armies to Middenheim where they laid siege to the heavily fortified city. In the battle that followed Odacen’s shamen unleashed all sorts of havoc on the city and Odacen himself orchestrated the ritual that ascended Cormac to daemonhood. The forces of Chaos very nearly won and, indeed, had things gone according to Odacen’s vision Sigmar’s empire would have fallen. However there was yet a last bit of compassion in Perron and he fled the field rather than kill any more of his friends, allowing for Sigmar to be reinforced right before destruction. Odacen and Azazzel fled north. There, in a unnamed town, Odacen ordered Azazzel to remain put as he fled yet further into the Northlands. Azazzel obeyed, though he did not initially know why. Years later the Chaos champion would interfere with a Empire raid on the town, saving a single young boy from death. This boy would later go on to be Morkar, the first Everchosen, thus creating a line that would be extend all the way until Archaon, the thirteenth and last, who would bring about Odacen’s prophesized End Times. However Odacen did not fade from history. He continued to manipulate from the background and he was next seen in 2521, during the beginning of the End Times. There he maneuvered a Norscan tribe to invade a very sacred Kislevite play which, though repulsed, greatly weakened Kislev’s efforts and left them all the more vulnerable for Aekold’s assault. While Chaos would have undoubtedly conquered Kislev regardless perhaps a slower death could have given the Empire a longer time to prepare…. According to author Graham McNeil, Kar Odacen continued to nudge and support chaos until the conclusion of the End Times.
Offensive: Various spells, likely Lore of Tzeentch. Defensive: Magical defenses, little armor. ==X-FACTORS==
Adaptive Creativity: 59/100: Kar Odacen is as creativie as the gods need him to be, no more. For the most part his dogmatic adherence to every word of the Chaos Gods prevents him from acquiring too high a score, with some exceptions.
Tactics: 55/100: Kar Oadcen is not one for leading armies into battle or dictating their commands in combat, though doubtlessly knowledgeable of these things. Instead he whispers into the ears of mighty cheiftans who command armies in his name.
Strategy: 73/100: Thanks to his visionary foresight and unusual cold-blooded outlook, Odacen is capable of crafting together a detailed and intricate plan that often yields benefits after numerous generations. It is thanks to him that the Norse arose from the shattered remnants of the Norsii, thanks to him the first Everchosen was created and, had his visions been followed entirely in the Seige of Middenheim, would have won the war against Sigmar in this early age.
Intuition: 82/100: His visions expand from all the way to the End Times and come with incredible clarity. He can also use Daemonsight to see the emotional auras of others.
Psychological Warfare: 65/100: A good advocate of Psychological Warfare and spreading terror among the enemy. His overwhelming desire is to snuff out all sources of inspiration and hope among the enemy so they will be easier prey for the Dark Gods.
Audacity: 66/100: Though he is not a beserker, Odacen has no fear of his own demise, having long forseen how that would come about.
Experience: 93/100: Over three thousand years old. Discipline: 67/100: Odacen is known for being remarkably calm and cool headed, however when he is capable of arrogance on occasion.
Inspiration: 79/100: This Norse Shaman is a legend among the tribes and even chieftans that hate him like Cormac stay their hand out of respect and fear for his divine favor.
Corruption: 97/100
Mobility: 8 Training/Experience: 9 Max & Effective Range: 50 meters Preferred Range: Melee Role: Magical Support
“Once the Masque of Slaanesh was the most favored of the Daemonettes, a being whose dances could soothe even the gods. Yet the Masque was undone when Slaanesh suffered his most terrible loss in the Great Game, maneuvered by Tzeentch into a war with Khorne and Nurgle that he could not hope to win. Thinking to ease Slaanesh’s mind and ills, the Masque danced for her dark lord. Never before had she performed with such skill. She glided across that ballroom floor of broken dreams and sundered promises, each sensuous and graceful motion flowing effortlessly into the next. No mortal could have watched her dance that eve and remained unmoved, yet Slaanesh was angry at his defeat, and his proud heart filled with the acrid pain of humiliation. As he watched the Daemonette dance her faultless dance, Slaanesh saw only a barbed jest at his expense, a subtle mockery aimed at his wounded pride.
Slaanesh cursed his daemonette, commanding her to dance evermore of Slaanesh’s greatest victories and triumphs. So has the Masque been doomed ever
since. She dances across the mortal and immortal planes to music only she can hear, never able to rest. She is drawn to places of sensory excess and is wont to appear before the high table at great feasts, or during the closing act o f a fine opera. Her golden mask flickers and changes as her dance progresses, taking the guise of the characters she portrays. Such is the power of the Masque’s curse that all nearby are drawn into her
unholy pageant. Eternal Daemon or mortal man, all play their parts in her fluid pantomime as flawlessly as if they had been rehearsing for the moment all their lives. The dance’s tempo changes as the story of Slaanesh progresses. In the Dance of Dreaming, where the
slumbering prince waits to be born, the Masque and her chorus drift in sedentary and languid movements. Conversely, the Pageant of Pain, re-enacting one of Slaanesh’s great victories over Khorne, is a tableau of spasmodic movements that ends with the entranced cast tearing at each other’s throats and eyes. Not all the dances are from the past — they are drawn from all points in time.
The power of the Masque’s curse allows her to recreate events yet to come, from the caging of Loec and
the purging with fire of Nurgle’s garden, all the way up to the legendary Rhan’k’adanra, the final battle and twilight of the gods. Any who survive these manifestations have only the scantest memories of what truly occurred. They see only the ruin and death around them, and feel only the bone-weary agony of a body pushed beyond its limits. Meanwhile and elsewhere, the Masque dances on ... In the End Times she continued this pattern of random dancing, taking little part in Archaon’s coordinated campaigns. She was still dancing through the ruined streets of Wurtbad when the world came apart...
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Each dance has a magical aura of 5 0 meters and can have a myriad of effects ranging from the victim’s bones breaking from overexertion, the victims getting extremely drowsy, weak, killing
each other at random or other myriad effects. In a fight the Masque is a quick and master duelist, armed with her claws from her Daemonette days.
Defense: The Masque of Slaanesh is extremely agile and hard to hit, even more so then a Keeper of Secrets.
==Additional Factors== The Masque travels alone and can appear randomly in any place where there is great excess. If she had a personality, it has long been subsumed by the overwhelming need to dance.
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 6 Max & Effective Range: Hurled Insults (Earshot) Preferred Range: Melee Role : Battlefield Assassin/Anti-Champion Secondary Role: Lieutenant
Wulfrik the Wanderer is a warrior born, an individual who even from his
marauder days was killing champions and collecting their skulls . One day he aided a scheming king in killing another within a large battle, slaughtering the enemy king personally. At the victory banquet held in his honor he drank so much mead that even the travelling ogres were impressed. His boasts became ever more grandiose, from destroying half the enemy army by himself to boxing in the ears of the emperors of Nippon, Cathay and the Empire. Finally he said that no possible champion, either mortal
or immortal, could ever best him in a duel. Unfortunately for him the gods were listening…. Through a dark emissary these gods, though angered by the boast, gave Wulfrik the chance to prove his claim. He would travel the world seeking out the rarest and most ablest champions, slaying them and
offering them to the gods . Grudgingly, knowing his soul was damned if he didn't, Wulfrik carried out this task. From Khemeri to Norsica there were countless champions he slew, yet all the while he dreamed of freedom. He longed to both be a king and to marry the love of his live, Hjoldis. One day a mysterious shaman arrived offering said freedom in exchange for potent magical artifacts. Wulfrik, desperate for a bid of freedom, agreed. He fought through the pits of the Chaos Dwarves for the first artifact, plowing through great numbers of Fire Dwarves on the way, even defeating their
tyrant in personal combat. Then he went to Ulthuan to seek a second artifact, killing a group of Elven witches, who turned out to be wives of the Elven leaders, in the process. It was then that this shaman revealed himself to be a traitor (also secretly an Imperial Wizard) and, using illusions, stranded Wulfrik
and his group in the Elven lands. As a result everyone but Wulfrik and one rival nearly died, with Wulfrik swearing revenge . Wulfrik traveled back home where he found the love of his life reluctantly married off to another man at her father’s behest. Beyond furious, he nevertheless secured a massive raiding force against the Imperial Wizard’s town. In one battle he personally ended a baron, fought through hordes of troops, barely destroyed the wizard’s automaton and ended the wizard himself in a grueling fashion. His revenge
then expanded further to include Hjoldis’s father, her would-be suitor, and even Hjoldis herself. With no one left to kill he then fully dedicated himself to becoming a true champion of the gods. In the End Times Wulfrik traveled around the world killing champions. In Ind he hunted down many of the foremost champions of the realm’s ten thousand gods. In Naggarond it was he who killed Rakarth
the Beastlord in a fantastic ship vs. dragon aerial duel. However in Middenheim he was finally slain by Valtern. Wulfrik exists purely to prove his boast to the gods, to demonstrate that he is truly the strongest and the mightiest.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Hand weapons, with a heavy potential for taking those magical. Wulfrik is an extremely capable combatant, with superhuman agility, experience and even strength. He has taken down enemy Chaos Champions, monsters and small legions of lesser troops before by himself. That said he is not unbeatable and was nearly outmatched by a stone Tomb King statue the wizard at the end used against him, only winning through conveniently finding acid at the right time. In addition he can be worn down
from attrition of wounds taken in battle and has expressed reluctance to engage magic users by himself. However as a slayer of champions there is perhaps none his equal save Skulltaker. His most noted ability however is the so-called Gift of Tongues. The gift does not merely allow Wulfrik
to speak and understand any language, but allows his words to strike into a creature's very being and compel them to fight him . Combined with the well-known Norscan aptitude for biting, albeit unsubtle, insults, Wulfrik is able to goad his enemies into a reckless fury where t hey are more likely to make fatal
mistakes for him exploit, thus ensuring his victory in battle all the more. He can do this to entire units, such as the time he made the heavily disciplined Immortals unit of the Chaos Dwarves break ranks and run at him out of fury. The insults of Wulfrik
“It was his uncanny ability to instantly know and speak the language of any enemy. It had allowed him to curse and threaten t he Kurgan in the shaman’s own dialect, it had allowed him to do the same to an orc warboss and a Bretonnian earl and even a thane of the dwarfs. Even the voices of beasts were not unknown to him when the gods desired such things as an offering. Wulfrik raised his voice in a sharp, ululating howl, a piercing shriek that clawed at the winds and boomed off the mountains. Many of the yhetee paused in the fighting to stare at him in bewilderment and wonder, their primitive brains recoiling at the sight of a man who could shout such abuse in the shriek-scream that served them as a language. A furious wailing roar thundered from the snow-swept night. It was a sound to freeze the blood, like the snarl of winter itself. There was savagery and hate in the sound, the pure hate of the primitive, unburdened by thought or reason. It threatened agony and promised horror, that cry. The force behind the howl would offer no clean death. It would rip the belly and devour the guts of its prey while life yet pulsed through its foe’s veins. Wulfrik’s challenge had been answered. The monster hesitated as it drew near Wulfrik. It was a massive yhetee, twice again as tall as any of its kin, its hair darkened by age to a dull silvery grey. Its claws were sheathed in the same steely ice as the axes of the younger yhetee and its fangs were like ivory sabres jutting from its jaws. There was wisdom and intelligence in its black eyes, enough reason to know when it was being hunted and to draw its hunters into its own trap. Enough imagination to be suspicious of this little man who stood so boldly before its fearsome charge. Wulfrik lifted his face and stared into the greyback’s eyes. From his lips came a feral grunt, the most base insult the langu age of the yhetee could offer. The greyback shrieked in rage, its bestial temper overcoming its reason. (…) “Do all the Sarls speak such impertinence to their king?” shouted a voice from the crowd. Wulfrik turned his head, unsurprised to find it was the dark-haired Aesling who had spoken. “Among the Aeslings, we know the respect due a king!” Fangs bared, Wulfrik grinned back at the marauder. His fingers closed around the tether binding the skull to his sword. Maliciously, he pulled it taut, holding the skull out for the Aesling to see. “I also know how to respect an Aesling king!” he taunted. The words stabbed home like a dagger. Shrieking in rage, the dark-haired Aesling drew the sword from his belt. Before he could fling himself upon Wulfrik, his retainers grabbed hold of him and pulled him back.
“No, Prince Sveinbjorn!” they cried out, fear in their voices. Sveinbjorn fought to free himself of their grasp. “I have heard the stories of your voyages, Wulfrik Whore-son!” the prince raged. “I call them what they are: lies! Draw your blade and meet your ancestors, sea-worm!” Slowly, Wulfrik drew his sword from his belt. He glanced at the men holding Sveinbjorn back and laughed. “Whenever your nurse-maids will let you play.” The last barb was too much for the retainers. One of them released the prince. Drawing his own axe, the warrior rushed at Wulfrik, a war cry howling from his lips. (…) From the waist down, however, the creature was more like a bull, standing upon four muscular legs that each ended in an ironshod hoof. The courtyard beyond the gate was filled with more of the dwarfs, many of them already locked in combat with Wulfrik’s men, but this creature was the only one of his kind the hero could see. The champion took a step away from the centaur and laughed. “Was it your father or your mother who was a drunk?” he mocked in the beast’s own debased Khazalid. The centaur blinked in surprise to hear his language spoken by a human. Then the nature of what Wulfrik had said contorted the creature’s face into a mask of pure rage. “Barbarian pig! I’ll braid my beard with your entrails! I am blessed by the Father of Darkness!” “Then it was your mother who couldn’t hold her ale.” Fury overwhelmed the bull centaur. He forgot the axe in his hand, forgot the warriors he had brought with him from the ziggurat to protect the gate. The centaur’s nostrils flared, his hooves stamped the ground. Like a blood -mad bull, he threw himself at the jeering man who had dared to insult both his ancestry and his god. (…) Leaning in close to the dwarf, Wulfrik locked his fingers in the coils of his enemy’s beard. Pulling savagely, he ripped a fistful of beard out by its roots. The dwarf cried out in pain, staggering back in shock, one hand instinctively flying to his injured face. His eyes went wide with horror as he felt the damage he’d suffered. “You look better as a beardling,” Wulfrik mocked the dwarf in his own language. The northman gestured at the fuming dwarf with the clump of black hair he held in his fist. “But I wouldn’t wipe a goblin’s arse with this oily trash,” he grinned, tossing the torn beard back into the dwarf’s face. It was an inarticulate scream of rage that propelled the dwarf towards Wulfrik. It was an inarticulate groan of agony that ended his charge. (…) The dwarf brought his strange beast to rest and stared at the tiny band of northmen. A kick to the lammasu’s side and the dragon-like wings retracted, folding upon themselves and curling against the monster’s ribs. “You powerful for have survive overlong,” the dwarf called out. He used a strange patois of goblin languages. Wulfrik felt his blood boil when he realised it was the same tongue the dwarfs used when they deigned to address their many slaves. “Lay down weapon and live.”
Wulfrik glared back at the sorcerer. “Do you always ride out on your mother’s back to greet visitors?” The sorcerer’s face turned crimson. For a moment, he was physically stunned by the temerity of Wulfrik’s insult. (…) At Khorakk’s gesture, the bald dwarf pulled a lever jutting from a box-like contrivance standing at one corner of the platform. In response, the chains began to withdraw, pulling the platform and its occupants towards the roof of the ziggurat. Wulfrik glared up at the retreating dwarfs and shook his sword. “Khorakk! Fatherless mongrel of a vulture!” The violence in the champion’s voice sent his words thundering through the cavernous temple. “Your ancestors were oathbreakers and kinslayers! Small surprise their descendant doesn’t have the guts of a jackal, much less a man!” Uttered in the harsh tones of the dwarf tongue, Wulfrik’s scathing challenge cut at Khorakk’s pride. The dwarf would have liked to reach the roof of the ziggurat, then have the floor of the temple flooded with magma. He’d risen far by being petty, vicious and above all careful. The human’s words, how ever, stung him in a way that went beyond reason, touching the primal essence of his being. He did not know about the Gift of Tongues, but he felt its power when he turned towards the bald dwarfs and ordered the platform to descend. “Manling,” Khorakk snarled at Wulfrik. “I will feed your spine to Hashut—if I can find it!” The dwarf thegn clenched his fist and a curved blade shot outwards from the heavy vambrace on his arm. He gestured menacingly at the Norscan with the swordlike weapon. “You’ll cry to your gods before I’m done!” “I’ll cry now,” Wulfrik called back at him. “I asked my gods to send me a worthy foe, not the village idiot!” Khorakk’s face turned red as anger swelled up inside him. For a moment, it seemed the dwarf would hurl himself from the platform, so great was his wrath at Wulfrik’s mocking tone. He was used to respect and fear, demanded it from all who stood in his presence. He would not suffer temerity from this barbarian! (…) ““Men of the Empire!” Wulfrik called out, his voice like the roar of a lion. “I would have words with your leader!” He waved his sword through the air, Torgald’s head bouncing upon its tether. “Fetch him that I may speak with him!” “I am Baron Udo Kruger!” a sharp voice rose from behind the fortified face of the gatehouse. “Weisberg is under my protection and I have no words to waste with heretic scum!” Wulfrik laughed at the baron’s rebuke. “Protect your town then! I only came here to see your wife and my children!” There was an inarticulate screech of outrage from within the gatehouse. Wulfrik retreated back to the safety of the shield wall as dozens of arrows came shooting down at him. A few of the northmen cried out as handguns were discharged and shot punched through their shields. “Let me in, Kruger!” Wulfrik yelled. “It’s not right to keep the baroness waiting!” Wulfrik smiled as he heard the baron shrieking in fury, calling for armor, demanding his knights saddle their warhorses. From his tone, it seemed he wouldn’t be swayed by his advisors or his officers. He was determined to answer the challenge Wulfrik had hurled upon him, the insult the Gift of Tongues had torn from Kruger’s mind and placed on the hero’s lips. (…)
“By the might of Sigmar!” the warrior priest bellowed. “I shall scour this place of the heathen, the heretic and the witch- folk!” The marauders fell silent at the priest’s fury, cringing back like whipped dogs. From their cowed ranks, Wulfrik emerged. The hero stared at the priest with an air of unconcern, as though he had not just watched the Sigmarite swat a dozen of his warriors like flies. The priest glared coldly at Wulfrik as the champion took his measure, pacing slowly back and forth in the gap that had been created between the lines. Finally, Wulfrik stopped. He bared his fangs in a sardonic grin and gestured with his sword at the warrior priest’s forehead. “In Norsca,” Wulfrik said, his words spoken in precise Reikspiel, “we call that sign the Serpent’s Tongue.” He spat on the ground and stared hard into the priest’s eyes. “Those who wear that symbol are the lowest perverts in the cult of Slaanesh.” ” – Wulfrik Defensive: Chaos Armor. Wulfrik’s durability is enough that he can withstand dozens of arrow points and minor wounds sticking out of him
==Additional Factors== Wulfrik is a champion who specializes in taking out other champions, a head-hunter . He is aided in this by Seafang, his magical flying ship that can traverse massive distances via sailing
the Winds of Magic t hemselves. Seafang can carry about 200 men though this number is always reduced slightly by the time they reach the enemy, courtesy of daemons luring his crew off the ship or else Wulfrik executing some of his men for behaving like cowards. It is thanks to this ship that he can suddenly appear 100s
of miles away from his last reported location.
He also comes equipped with the Seafang, a massive 100+ person magical longship that can sail the Winds of Magic to any destination in the world. It is with this vessel that he can bypass enemy defenses, cross continents in an instant and appear out of nowhere. It can also be magically chained to other Norse longships, allowing them too the same attributes as long as connection is continued. However the Winds of Magic are fickle and Wulfrik will usually lose some crew to daemons. The last time he chained other ships to his, he lost 3 of the 24 accompanying vessels to the warp denizens.
==X-FACTORS== Adaptive Creativity: 63/100: Wulfrik’s quick mind, combined with his caustic tongue, have allowed the Norscan to survive despite impossible odds stacked against him. He is really, extremely good at foiling enemy plans or advantages.
Tactics: 63/100: Though not a expert tactician nor strategist, Wulfrik’s ability to win battles and quickly extract himself without dying, despite usually being surrounded in hostile land, is a incredible asset.
Strategy: 58/100 Intuition: 60/100: The Gift of Tongues not only allows Wulfrik to insult virtually anyone, but also gives them details into their languages, tactics and troop types. Wulfrik is also well-used to schemers and apt at looking through their schemes.
Experience: 66/100: The Wanderer is young but has traveled all over the world killing an incredibly diverse amount of enemies.
Audacitiy: 90/100: Wulfrik knows that he faces eternal damnation if he dies however that does not stop his reckless bravery, up to the point where he has literally challenged gods to strike him down (though not the four Chaos Gods) .
Discipline: 40/100 Psychological Warfare: 70/100: Subteley is not for Wulfrik, though his magical ability to insult anyone means he can foil the best defenses, plans and tactics as the enemy commander is driven to incandescent rage.
Inspiration: 60/100 Corruption: 83/100: Wulfrik indulges in many atrocities however he does have fragments of honor left.
Mobility: 5 Training/Experience: 5 Max Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role: Melee Combatent/Lieuteant
Taurox, the Brass Bull, is monstrous engine of destruction, formed of living brass in the shape of a terrible Doombull.
However, it was not always so. Taurox was once flesh and blood, although no less terrifying to face. As the chieftain of a fearsome Minotaur tribe, Taurox proved his superiority over the other creatures of the forest by slaying and devouring them, so much so that the ground beneath his feet was forever damp with the blood of his victims. One night an emissary of the Dark Gods entered the mortal realm, crawling from the remains of one of Taurox's rivals. The Daemon was filled with dark energy, and met the gaze of Taurox with its hollow black eyes. However, before it could open its mouth to speak it had its head ripped off and swallowed whole by the blood-thirsty Doombull. A moment passed, and then Taurox was seized by a terrible vision of a world filled with blood and corpses. His body shook and spasmed, he roared and screamed, until he drew his Rune-tortured Axes and slew every member of his tribe. For a year and a day he rampaged across the land, killing every creature unfortunate enough to get in his way. His kills include Beastmen tribes, witch covens, caravans of Strigany, Ogre mercenaries, Empire patrols, imperious knights and two-headed Giants. Finally, Taurox came to the vale of Leitberg, where he killed so many citizens of the Empire that he created a river of blood. Completely exhausted, Taurox collapsed. He would have died if it were not for the attentions of the Gods of Chaos. They still had a use for him, so Taurox was reborn in the form of living brass. He would never tire, or grow weary of the rage that was consuming him. He became all but immune to the weapons of his many enemies, except for an area of flesh on his throat that remains vulnerable. An expert sword thrust or arrow shot could slay him instantly. Such is the price of spiting a Daemon. In the End Times he devastated the countryside for a bit before being slain by an expert arrow shot to the throat.
Offensive: Taurox weilds a pair of magical rune axes that emit fire and ignore armor. He is also a giant, brass bull capable of crashing through lines and crushing men beneath him.
Defensive: Brass Body impervious to most normal weapons, with the exce ption of his throat.
Mobility: 6 Training/Experience: 7 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role : Magical Support
The creature known as Moonclaw was not born of mortal parents. Rather when Morrslieb, the Chaos moon, was at its peak this awful creature burst forth from its pale belly in the form of a meteor. The impact wiped out everything for miles around, humans and Beastmen both. Only Moonclaw, hatching from an egg of pure warpstone, survived. Since then he has wandered around the forest in no particular pattern, muttering to himself backwards in a language only he can understand. His goat-like eyes glow with a supernatural presence, and his shadows leave temporary doppelgangers. When Beastmen catch sight of him they fall to the ground in worship. However when Morrslieb is closest, its power most manifest, Moonclaw undergoes an abrupt transformation. No longer does he wander aimlessly but rather moves with purpose. Gathering entire
armies of insane Beastmen to his cause and summoning a mysterious, two-headed riding beast Umbralok to his side, Moonclaw sets in motion a frenzy of activity . Waystones, those ancient relics that inhibit the spread of Chaos energy, are deliberately sought out and destroyed. Enemy towns are sacked and defending armies are bombarded by chunks of giant moon warpstones and driven mad by
waves of insanity. In the End Times Moonclaw took part in the destruction of Averhiem, fighting with distinction. Afterwards he seized control of the fallen region around with Archaon’s permission and began hunting large warpstone fragments of the fallen Chaos Moon. His motives remained a mystery however his power seemed to remain constant, courtesy of all the main fragments saturating the planet.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: For melee he generally wields a braystaff, though his mount has claws to help in this. At long range during the full moon he can call down showers of deadly, inherently corruptive warpstone meteors. He is a level 1 wizard of Shadow or the Wild. He has a fifty meter aura of madness that can
drive any inside insane, friend or foe. The resistance to this depends upon discipline, training and mental conditioning. During the full moon this power magnifies itself. Not only can he call upon small meteor showers but he
becomes a more powerful wizard, his aura of madness much more potent. This buff apparently occurs nonstop in the End Times, despite the destruction of Morrisleib by the Skaven.
Defensive: Moonclaw has the protection of Morrislieb, meaning he is heavily resistant to magic and has a protective aura around him.
Mobility: 4
Training/Experience: 8-9 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role : Melee Combatent “Let Mordrek be a warning to all those who would seek fame and life eternal from the daemon gods of Chaos, for he has both of these things and yet he is damned. For he must walk all the lands of the world at the whim of the Chaos Gods, always fighting, always serving, never dying, yet never ascending to the realm of Chaos as daemon or departed spirit. He has been slain countless times throughout the centuries of recorded imperial history, and yet each time it is said that Mordrek has been resurrected to serve his masters anew. Yes, Mordrek has endured many deaths and lived for many, many lifetimes of mortal men, yet his unnatural life is no blessing. For Mordrek must slay in the name of his infernal masters, he is a pawn in their great schemes that they never tire of using. Beneath his all-encompassing and faceless armor, Mordrek's physical form changes constantly, ravaged by the terrible mutations caused by the power of his curse. The legends say that Mordrek hopes one day to be freed of this curse of non-permanence and ascend to the peaceful rest of death. This is a dream of one in denial, for the gods shall never tire of their games. Surely he must envy even those victims that are transformed into grotesque spawn of Chaos by the touch of his sword, for they gain the oblivion he craves, but cannot have.
Such is the curse of Mordrek the Damned.”
In the End Times he would finally meet his doom assaulting the city of Middenheim. Though killed numerous times in the siege it wasn’t until the duel with Valtern, where the Herald wielded the power of Sigmar, that Modrek was finally put down. “‘Crossbows,’ Canto said and raised his shield as crossbow bolts punched into the front rank of warriors moving up the viaduct. Dozens of men and mutants fell. One, however, remained on his feet. Crossbow bolts jutted from his all-encompassing and faceless armour, but still he staggered on, dragging his sword behind him. As he neared the gatehouse, he seemed to gain strength, and he swung his sword up to clasp it with both hands. With a hoarse cry, he began to run towards the enemy. ‘That one is looking to catch the eyes of the gods,’ Canto muttered as the lone warrior charged towards the smoky ruins of the gatehouse. ‘He already has, Unsworn,’ Horvath grunted, plucking a bolt out of his arm. ‘Don’t you recognize him?’ He snapped the bolt in two. ‘That’s Count Mordrek.’ ‘The Damned One?’ Canto murmured. ‘No wonder he seems in such a hurry.’ Mordrek the Damned was a living warning to all those who vied for the favor of the Dark Gods. He walked at the whim of the gods,
never knowing rest, oblivion or damnation. Mordrek, men whispered, had died a thousand times, but was always brought back to fight again. He was the plaything of the gods: beneath his ornate armour, his form was said to change constantly, as if he were the raw stuff of Chaos made flesh. (…) Middenheim’s walls came alive with blossoms of fire. Bolts, bullets, cannonballs and mortar shells fell among the throng. Canto saw a bouncing cannonball carom off Count Mordrek, knocking the Damned One from his feet. A moment later Mordrek was shoving himself upright, the buckled plates of his armour reshaping themselves even as he staggered back into motion. ‘He is truly blessed,’ Horvath said. (…) Mordrek’s blade screeched as it skidded across Valten’s pauldron, drawing smoke from the metal. Valten turned into the blow and his hammer smashed into Mordrek’s belly, catapulting him off his feet. Mordrek hit the ground and rolled. Valten stalked forwards as Mordrek levered himself up, one arm wrapped around his stomach. Mordrek, still on one knee, extended his sword towards Valten, holding him at bay. ‘Pain,’ Mordrek rumbled. ‘I have felt so much pain. Pain will not kill me, Herald. My will is strong, and I will not be denied.’ He lunged to his feet, sword whirling over his head. Valten ducked aside as the blade snarled down, cleaving a cobblestone in two. Mordrek spun, and his sword lashed out again. It connected with a hastily interposed hammer. Even so, the force of the blow nearly knocked Valten from his feet. ‘Fight, damn you,’ Mordrek roared. ‘Fight me, Her ald. I am here to kill you – to spare the ThreeEyed King your wrath, and see that the desires of the gods are not thwarted. But I do not care about Archaon, or the petty wants of fate. What shall be or would have been is not my concern. Fight me. Kill me!’ Valten did not reply. He swatted aside Mordrek’s next blow and sent Ghal Maraz shooting forwards through his grip, so that it crunched into the visor of Mordrek’s helmet. Mordrek staggered back. The terrible hammer licked out and smashed down on Mordrek’s sword arm. His blade fell from nerveless fingers and clattered to the ground, where it screeched and wailed like a wounded animal. Valten stamped down on it and kicked it aside before Mordrek could retrieve it. The hammer snapped out, and Canto winced as one of Mordrek’s knees went. Mordrek sank down with a groan, and the world seemed to shudder slightly, as if it were out of focus. The hammer dropped down, crushing a shoulder, then a clawing hand. Canto risked a look up at the howling sky, and saw no leering faces. The gods had turned away from this battle now. Were they disappointed, he wondered? Part of him hoped so. Part of him hoped that here and now Mordrek would slip their leash. He turned his attentions back towards the duel. Mordrek knelt before the Herald of Sigmar, head bowed, his armour shuddering slightly, as if what it contained were seeking escape. Mordrek made no move to stand. He looked up as Valten’s shadow fell over him.
‘I never had a chance,’ Count Mordrek said. He sounded happy. ‘No,’ Valten said. Mordrek began to laugh. The eerie sound slithered through the air, and even the most slaughter-drunk warrior fell silent at its approach. Mordrek bowed his head again. The hammer rose. When it fell, the mountain shuddered. The sky twisted, and the wind howled. An empty suit of armour rattled to the ground. Thus passed Count Mordrek the Damned, wanderer of the Wastes and exile of the Forbidden City.”
Lord of the End Times
===LOADOUT=== Offensive: Sword of Change: This sword has the ability to warp those it hits into Chaos Spawn, which then attacks nearby Chaos Foes . Only the tough and the durable can resist the change- at least initially. Defensive: Chaos Rune shield: The Chaos Runeshield negates magical weapons used directly against him, making them factor in as normal un-magical. ===ADDITIONAL FACTORS=== Mordrek’s stats are random, and depending on the whims of the gods might arrive stronger or weaker
than normal to a battle. These characteristics then fluctuate randomly in battle. He is capable of resurrecting himself after battle regardless of win or l oss, and barring extreme magical means probably cannot be permanently killed.
Mobility: 4 Training/Experience: 6 Max & Effective Range: Melee Preferred Range: Melee Role : Melee Combatent
In the tales of the Norse and the Kurgan, there is a legend that concerns one of the greatest feats of arms ever seen in the northlands. It tells of the great warrior Harald Hammerstorm,
known fondly to his followers as Harry the Hammer. Harald was famed for killing the Daemon Mathrag Brainmangler during the Battle of Khorsvold, having smashed the Daemon Prince’s head from his body with a single blow of his hammer. On a cold midwinter day, as he led his Warband across the Chaos Wastes, Harry came across the outcrop of an old ruin jutting from beneath the snows. Upon investigation, he located an ancient gateway leading into a dark tunnel. Thinking that there might be treasure within, Harald and his warriors descended into the crumblingVaults. Their intrusion awoke something long dead in the darkness beneath the snow. Ancient warriors sworn to protect the secrets of the tomb-city were roused from their eternal slumber; with rusted blades, bony fingers and eyes aglow with witchfires, they fell upon the northmen. Stumbling out of the depths, Harald and his men were horrified to see the Skeletons pursuing them still. The tumbledown ruins now glowed with power and the melting snow revealed forbidding stones burning with magical energy. The Chaos Warband found themselves in the middle of a great settlement from the dawn of time. Knowing that he
had to fight his way free, Harald turned and faced the advancing legion.
The favor of the gods fueled Harry as he fought; his hammer rose and fell with monotonous destruction, smashing skulls and ribcages to powder. Harald’s followers pressed in behind their leader and Harry
formed the point of a wedge driving through the skeletal warriors. After a day and a night of fighting, as dawn rose the next day, the Undead were all but destroyed, piles of bones a story high left in the wake of the C haos Warriors.
Since that day, Harald has held a special loathing for the Undead. So efficient and determined is Harry at slaying the Undead that even their mindless spirits regard him with horror – he is an elemental force who hurls back the Undead with his steely will. The dead do not rest easy in the Chaos wastes, and Harald has no shortage of foes upon which to vent his anger. In the End Times Harald Hammerstorm- already known as difficult to control by the Chaos leadershipwandered the world killing undead. He met his match in a duel with the vampire Vlad von Carstein.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Harry’s Hammer: Harry’s hammer is blessed by the gods to banish the souls of those he strikes, and is powerful enough to send back the raised spirits of the Undead.
Defensive: Armor of Damnation: This ornate suit of Chaos armor shimmers with the eldritch energies of the Chaos Wastes, distorting the wearer's outline and clouding its foes' minds. He also carries a bane shield that can reflect some attacks right back at the enemy.
==Additional Factors==
Harry the Hammer is going to be mainly useful and active against the Undead and limited against everyone else. ‘
Mobility: 7 Training/Experience: 10 Max Range: 300 meters Preferred Range: Melee Role : Weapon of Mass Destruction ‘I feel the heartbeat of your world even as I slumber!’ bellowed Kholek, his voice louder even than the thunder. ‘I feel the scum of your kind spreading! I hear their cities fall and their graveyards spill over! And I have heard the same happen to the elves of Ulthuan, and the sorcererlords of Nehekhara; the dwarfish holds and the god kings of the lizardfolk. All grow, all wane, and all die. And there has not yet been an empire that is anything more to Kholek than the scrabbling of vermin underfoot!’ --The Second Sun
Kholek Suneater is one of the oldest dragon ogres in existence, being the son of the one who srcinally made the deal. His role in that alleged deal that damned their entire race was apparently so terrible that it was rumored that the sun hid its face from him and never looked back. Regardless of the truth to the detail it’s known that Kholek’s appearance is always heralded by thunderstorms.
Kholek doesn’t waken but once every eight generations, but when he does his return is always heralded by some calamity. The last time he awoke, in the times of Magnus, he single-handily smashed down
the gates of Praag allowing for Chaos to massacre the city. Then he went about the town meticulously destroying every temple he could find before retreating. Now he marches to war once more In his shadows march the various mountain tribes that worship the great god-king, as well as hordes of other Dragon Ogres. It is his belief, however false, that the endtimes will usher in a second chance for his race, one that will see the Dragon Ogres rule the world once
more.
In the End Times Kholek Suneater was killed by Settra, as a test to prove his worth to Archaon--the dragon ogre was uncontrollable, and thus of no use to Archaon. The battle lasted for four days, and flattened most of the forest around Middenheim, before Settra managed to remove the Mountain Lord's head with his khopesh, and drag it to the temple of Ulric and deposit it at Archaon's feet.
==LOADOUT== Offensive: Kholek is a powerful, probably 30 feet tall dragon ogre armed with the massive Starcrusher hammer. Forged in the heart of a mountain, this hammer is adept at felling monstrous foes or
scattering numerous lesser foes with one blow. I n fact in the Great War of Chaos he smashed apart a steel city gate with the weapon. He can command lightning bolts to strike singular targets. Finally he is big enough to just stomp foes underneath, powerful enough to rip ogre sized beasts in two easily, and large enough to eat enemies. That said, courtesy of all his sleep, Kholek is a bit sluggish in combat and has horrible reaction time.
Defensive: Kholek is the mightiest dragon ogre who may call upon lightning strikes to heal him. He is covered in brass armor and scaly skin, and monstrous enough to where one extremely large/powerful strikes are going to take him down.
Mobility: 10 (Flying, ethereal spirit) Training: 6 (Amnesia) ; 10 (Memory restored) Max Range: Dozens of Kilometers Preferred Range: Ranged Role: Weapon of Mass Destruction “'I am like that girl in many ways. I need to take from others to continue. But
she can merely take a little new blood. Her kind are short-lived. A few thousand years, and they grow brittle. I can renew myself eternally, taking the stuff of life from those I conquer. You are privileged, boy. I'm going to let you look at my face.' He took off his mask. Oswald forced himself to look. The prince screamed at the top of his lungs, disturbing the dead and the dying of the fortress, and the Great Enchanter laughed.
'Not so pretty, eh? It's just another lump of rotten meat. It is I, Drachenfels, who am eternal. I who am Constant. Do you recognize your own nose, my prince? The hooked, noble nose of the von Konigswalds. I took it from your ancestor, the loathsomely honorable Schlichter. It's worn through. This whole carcass is nearly at its end. You must understand all this, my prince, because you must understand why I intend to let you kill me.' Of all the Motrarchs the Nameless may be both the most mysterious and the most powerful. Its name and its identity are a mystery to it, forgotten thanks to a recent defeat. Out of desperation to be remembered it has joined Nagash on the sole condition its identity is restored. Yet, although it has no knowledge of its identity, others (and the reader) do. Known as the Great Enchanter of the Misty Mountains, the being known as Drachenfels was born 15,000 years ago in the midst of a great Ice Age. It was the Warhammer equivalent of a Neanderthal and lived its first incarnation as a primitive nomad in the days before either the Old Ones or Chaos had come to the planet. However after becoming sick while in old age he was left out in the wilderness to die by his tribe. He feigned death by exposure, and when one of his tribe came close him he somehow (unknown even to himself) managed to kill the man and absorbed his life energy. Ever since then Drachenfel has
found that when his physical body decays he can regenerate by absorbing the life of another. Drachenfels has lived now for 15,000 years. His goals seem to be motivated by boredom rather than anything else . Each time he attacks the outside world, he does so merely out of boredom. He usually takes plenty of captives back, which he tortures or otherwise "plays with" in abominable ways before consuming their souls and using their flesh to keep himself spry. Cities, nations and countless lives have perished to his whims. Since he tends to completely destroy anything he attacks, the only recorded incidents involving him in history are times that he was beaten or for some reason chose to spare the conquered. Indeed, so far it seems Sigmar is the only being who has beaten his armies in combat thus far. It took Drachenfels 1000 years to regenerate from this defeat. When he came back he continued his dickish shenanigans, sacking cities such as Parravon and then faking his repentance. He put on an elaborate PR campaign of using the wealth from Parravon to pay reparations to the victims that had escaped his castle, and plead for forgiveness at the graves of those whose bodies had been recovered. After the dimwitted public accepted that he'd turned to good he invited the entire court of the Emperor to a feast at his castle. He served them wine laced with
paralyzing poison, then laid an elaborate feast out in front of them which he ate very slowly to the sounds of their children as they were tortured to death just below. In another instance he hosted a grand party where he magicked the guests to dance until their limbs fell of their bodies. “Oswald glanced at the central panels of the hanging and slashed out with his sword. The entire dusty
tapestry fell and lay on the floor like a fen-worm's cast-off skin. Menesh touched his torch to it and in an instant the fire spread along its length. The next tapestry, a group portrait of the certain dreaded gods, caught too. 'Very clever, stunted lackwit,' spat Veidt. 'Burning us up now, is it? That makes a change from the traditional dwarfish knife in the small of the back.'
The dwarf pulled his knife and held it up. Veidt had his dart pistol out. There were fires all around them. 'A traitor, eh? Like dead-and-damned Ueli?' 'I'll give you dead-and-damned, scavenger!' Menesh stabbed up, but Veidt stepped out of the way. Flames reflected in the bounty hunter's dark eyes. He took careful aim. 'Enough!' Oswald cried. 'We've not come this far to fall out now.' 'Veidt cries Ñtraitor' too much,' Rudi said sourly. 'I trust no one who can be bought as easily.' The outlaw heaved his sword up and Veidt turned again. 'Ethics from a bandit, that's rich-' 'Better a bandit than a trader of corpses!' 'Your corpse is hardly worth the seventy-five gold crowns the Empire has offered for it.' The pistol came up. The sword wavered in the air. 'Kill him and be done with it,' said Menesh. This was like Veidt, and like the hot-tempered Rudi. But Menesh had been quiet until now, dodging Veidt's taunts with good humor. Something was working on them. Something unnatural. Genevieve staggered forward as someone landed on her back, pushing her face to the floor. 'Hah! Dead bitch!' Erzbet's noose was about her neck and drawing in. She had taken her by surprise. Genevieve had to struggle to brace her hands against the flagstones, to give herself the leverage to heave Erzbet off her. The wire constricted. The assassin knew her business: beheading would work, all right. Immortality is so fragile: beheading, the hawthorn, silver, and too much sun Genevieve got her hand under her, palm flat against the stone and pushed herself up. Erzbet tried to ride her like an unbroken pony, her knees digging into the ribs. Genevieve corded her neck muscles and forced breath down her windpipe. She heard the wire snap and felt Erzbet tumble from her seat. She stood and struck out. The other woman took the blow heavily and fell. Erzbet rolled on the floor and came up, a knife in her hand. Did it gleam silver like Ueli's? 'The dead can die, leech woman!'
Genevieve felt the urge to kill. Kill the stinking living slut! Kill all these warmblood bastard vermin! Kill, kill, KILL! 'Fight it,' shouted Oswald. 'It's an attack, an enchantment!' She turned to the prince. Whoreson noble! Sister-raping, wealth-besotted scum! Drenched in perfume to cover the stench of his own ordure! Oswald held her, shaking her by the shoulders. Blood! Royal blood! Rich, spiced, hot-on-the-tongue, youthfully-gushing blood! The vein throbbed in his throat. She took his wrists in her strong hands, feeling their pulses. She heard his heart beating like a steady drum and saw him as a student of anatomy might a dissected corpse. Veins and arteries laid through flesh and over bone. The blood called to her. How long since she had fed? Properly?” –Drachenfels illusions
A descendent of one of these children let go to spread the news would later hire a bunch of mercenaries to kill him. This failed, with most members dying cruel and spectacular deaths. Eventually only Oswald, the descendent, and the Vampire Genèvieve remained. Genève was knocked out and the terrified Oswald was led into a deal with Drachenfels, who had decided he wanted to screw over the entire Empire. Drachenfels would allow Oswald to kill him, and in return Oswald would become a hero and put on a play a couple decades later, inviting every elector count to it.
The most important individuals in the Empire attended, as well as the newly crowned Karl Franz and his son Luitpold II. The production was hindered by many spooky incidents, not the least of which was the eccentric behavior of the actors. As would be expected, Drachenfels returned to life during the play and slaughtered a fair number of the audience and cast. Genevieve and the director of the play, Detlef Sierck, were blessed by Sigmar and dealt a killing blow to Drachenfels . They thought they killed him for good, however, as it turned out, Drachenfel’s identy was lost and he was reduced to a bodiless spirit known as
the Nameless. When Nagash made a deal, Drachenfels was desperate enough to accept.
In combat the Nameless specializes in mind controlling large groups of living people. However unlike other, traditional forms of mind control Drachenfels only seizes the physical aspects of the brainmentally, the victims are fully aware of what is going on only unable to stop it. Given that Drachenfels still has the same personality as before, he then precedes to do horrible things to them. One day he might decide he wants his army to march under flesh banners, and thus skins alive dozens to create
enough. The next day he decides he wants bone banners, and thus has his men pull out their own bones to create one. Other acts of dickery include forcing troops to fight to the death for his amusement and having them cannibalize themselves because Drachenfels wanted to experience the sensation.
Eventually the Nameless grew tired of Nagash. When the Auric Bastion fell he went around the remnants of the Empire randomly torturing things, only for the priest hero Luthor Huss to try and stop him. The power difference between the two was astronomical but to his credit, with the power of SIgmar, Huss hurt the Nameless more than any had in an age. As punishment the Nameless possessed him, subsumed his will to the spirit’s own, and used the priest’s body as a puppet to carry out his most torturous acts. Yet within his formless mind, resentment stirred. The Plaguefather had won the spirit to his cause by the simplest of methods. Like Vlad, the Nameless resented Nagash’s failure to keep his side of the bargain; unlike Vlad, he had been prepared to change allegiance in order to repay that affront. The Nameless doubted that Nurgle had any intention of granting the knowledge he sought, but the Plaguefather had at least bestowed sufficient power upon him to make a formless and pastless existence more tolerable. Together with Isabella and a huge Nurgle daemon force the spirit assaulted the realm of Nagash. In the battle of Henn’s Moor the Nameless seized control of an anywhere between 10,000-15,000 zombies at
once, turning the tide of the battle in a single battle . Mannfred and Harkon, leaders of the Nagash force, only barely managed to retreat in time. “The Nameless lacked the sweeping breadth of Mannfred’s sorcerous knowledge, but in his own field of obsession there were few who could have matched his will. Ever had the spirit sought control over those around him, be they living, daemon or undead, and in that he surrendered expertise to no one. The Nameless reached out from his mortal vessel, his spirit surging and roiling as it sought new hosts. He could not touch the wights in Mannfred’s army. They possessed enough rudimentary awareness of their own to raise a challenge, however pitiful. The Nameless could have won one such contest without effort, his own dark will easily crushing the speck of black that was a Wight’s. To win the hundreds and thousands of such struggles required would have stretched the Nameless thin. He had no appetite for that risk, not when there were better options. Zombies had no will of their own, and any contest there would be fought purely between the Nameless and Mannfred von Carstein. Unsettled and distracted as he was by Isabella’s presence upon the Winds of Magic, Mannfred did not feel the Nameless’ intrusion until it was too late: ten thousand dark sparks bursting across his consciousness as control of the zombie horde was wrenched from him. Mannfred fought back, but the black cloud of the Nameless’ will was dense and suffocating, growing stronger with each body he dominated.
Submit. The ragged whisper echoed across the moor, croaked from ten thousand ragged throats at the direction of a single terrible mind.
Submit. Not satisfied with stealing Mannfred’s minions, the Nameless swept on, extinguishing Harkon’s mad will, and seizing control of the pirate’s forces also.
Submit. Mannfred clutched at his skull as the Nameless, gorged with success, chanced his will against the vampire’s. Flies swarmed about Mannfr ed, drawn to a feast to come.
Submit. Grasping fingers tore at the wights’ armour. Verdigrised plates were wrenched away from ancient bones, and then the bones were ripped free in turn. Banners fell as zombies and daemons ground mercilessly through the undying ranks, the tallymen’s drone swelling as the count grew higher.
Submit. Vargheists, too lost to beasthood to properly resist the Nameless’ will, reeled and roared as his mind pressed against theirs. Disoriented and agonized, the creatures were easy prey for the Plagueswords that came to claim their undead lives.
Submit. Across the moor, Mannfred’s lieutenants struggled to hack their way clear of the turncoat undead. Most were dragged down by the horde and torn apart, hacking wildly and desperately as mindless fingers tore open their bellies and throats. However, some succeeded, breaking southwards to the Eisigfurt road to the deceptive shelter of the Dead and Buried. Luthor Harkon escaped with them, his pirate finery slicked with daemon blood and pestilent fluid, daemons trudging after him in disinterested pursuit.
Submit. This time the voice was Isabella’s, slender and precise where the others were raucous. The zombies and plaguebearers parted before her as she strode across a field of shattered bone and mangled armour, the gorse mutating and writhing with her passing.
Submit. The countess stepped closer, her outstretched fingers reaching for Mannfred’s undead flesh. Thunderous laughter shook the sky as Nurgle looked down upon the mortal world, well-pleased by his emissary’s work.
Summoning his last reserves, Mannfred drove the Nameless from his mind, the effort almost more than he could bear. As the pressure vanished from his thoughts, Mannfred veered away from Isabella’s grasp,
her fingers instead brushing against one of Ashigaroth’s forelimbs. Withering light blazed once more from Mannfred’s staff. The nearby daemons were snatched to dust and Mannfred, at last, realized that his arrogance had cost him the battle.”- ET Archaon
Seeking to conquer three mortarchs (Harkon, Vlad & Mannfred) and add their power to his own in order to challenge Nagash, the Nameless followed the retreating vampires to an old abandoned church. However there, despite killing many vampires, the Nameless had trouble. First Mannfred , noticing that the Nameless had stretched his control thin in wresting with willpower of the zombies, seized control of roughly half of the zombies back from the Nameless . Though the Nameless could seize it back without too much hardship when he focused, this eventually gave Mannfred a reprieve to escape. The Second is when Vlad tricked the Nameless into expending more energy sizing control over yet more zombies,
stretching himself thin and finally allowing the priest Huss to break free. The Nameless’s soul, much of it concentrated in the priest and with it acting as a center point, was incinerated beyond all recognition.
Offensive: The Nameless is a mass puppeteer capable of controlling truly humungous numbers of his foes. He can control somewhere around an
estimated 15,000 zombies or even hundreds to thousands of humans . This is based on will; with the more willpower a target possesses the more effort
the Nameless has to expend to smother it beneath its own . As the Nameless is a powerful 10k year old spirit well versed in magical lore this is easy and his willpower is vast, enough to potentially smother strong-willed foes like
Mannfred von Carstein or Luthor Huss. However the Nameless experiences different limits by both design and by choice on the possession technique. He could exhaust himself and spread his spirit thin (making control more difficult) far more
quickly for humans than zombies, as humans have far greater willpower than a basic, instinctual zombie. Against foes with stronger willpower than humans this would exhaust itself even further. Furthermore the Nameless is lazy and is mentioned as hating a c hallenge completely to the point he
always avoids it if there is an easier possession available. For example he avoided possessing more formidable wrights (which still aren’t as willful as humans) for zombies before he didn’t want to spend as much energy doing so. The only time he is shown willingly attacking the more powerful will is either when he gets overconfident with success (Like against Mannfred) or when the enemy wounds him and thus makes him very angry (against Huss). “Captain Driest staggered to his feet. He made no conscious effort to do so, for his thoughts were still frozen in terror, but he rose all the same, jerky and uncoordinated. All around him he could see other men rising and through his haze of panic noted their confused expressions matched his own. He heard whispers in his mind, the commands of a sonorous voice whose will would not be denied. Unbidden Driest’s legs stumbled forward, carrying him back to Auric Bastion. Others came with him, their
movements as clumsy as his own, their actions guided by a creature no longer used to the limitations of physical form.”
Prior to his memory loss he was a master daemonologist (capable of dispelling demonic hordes and
possibly even controlling greater daemons) and master necromancer. Though he is less adept at battle magic, he can still shoot lightning, cause explosions and more. Any he consumes he can gain knowledge from and over the years he has acquired knowledge of surgery, theology, all known languiges and indeed most subjects of science! As the “Great Enchanter”Drachenfels is particularly known for being able to enchant his victims. He specialized in driving enemies insane and getting them to kill each other, and in addition his enchantments lasted after death, ensuring he could torture his foes for hundreds of years. Some examples of enchantments can be found in the Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay Castle Drachenfels where he magicked rooms to induce extremely intense feelings of hunger, despair, exhaustion, weakness,
terror or rage among occupants . One room, known as the ‘discord room’ was designed to induce fights and distrust between party members while another sought to make adventurers fall to temptation. In another scene he would enchant zombies to look like the loved ones of traveling adventurers, and then have the zombies fillet themselves gruesomely to ‘death’ while shrieking terribly in front of their loved ones’ horrified eyes. He can enchant inaimiate objects to life, give them intelligence and will and even have them attack people! Should he ever get his (or any) body back and favor melee, he is highly skilled with elven like reflexes.
Defense: Is an ethereal spirit of immense power and has defensive spells such as protection shields and magical healing.His very presence causes fear, sometimes terror.
===ADDITIONAL FACTORS=== “The Nameless looked out upon the moor through Luthor Huss’ borrowed eyes. The crest of the far hill was blotted out by rotting bodies and tattered banners, but the Nameless felt no concern. Indeed, it was gratifying that his enemies still feared him enough to assemble such a force. More puppets to dance to his tune, if only he could find the strings. ‘Are you prepared?’ asked the nearby countess, guttural tones running through her soft voice. The Nameless could not tell if it was truly she who spoke, or the daemon wedded to her soul. It hardly mattered for the moment, but he had promised himself that he would unpick their binding, when the time came. The daemon was of no interest – he had bested hundreds of such creatures in the past. But the countess? She stank of self-hatred and desire, of vengeance and regret. She would make for a delicious toy. For a moment, Huss’ face twisted into a most uncharacteristic leer as the Nameless considered pleasures to come. He entertained thoughts of teasing apart his companion’s contradictions, of weaving them into
new and interesting patterns. Her tortured spirit would be his first new familiar, he decided, her torments the music that would accompany every victory to come. ‘I asked if you were prepared?’ The countess’ voi ce, more guttural now than soft, brought the Nameless out of his reverie. The leer faded from Huss’ face as the Nameless fought to contain his wrath. Patience, he chided himself. His current body was able to contain only of portion of his full might. He would need another, stronger vessel, and soon. Perhaps one of the vampires arrayed against him? The Nameless loathed inhabiting dead flesh, but he hated subservience even more. ‘Indeed, countess,’ the spirit replied. ‘Let us begin.’”- ET:Archaon
Drachenfels has magical senses, awareness and nightvision. As shown by Castel Drachenfels he is probably the only magic user in Warhammer Fantasy capable of being called a ‘Portal Master’ as he
could and did have portals capable of going to any part of the Warhammer Fantasy world. He is a master of creating posions, creating magical traps, potions and drugs. Drachenfels is a bored sadist who believes the Chaos Gods are insufficiently evil for his tastes. He is a wildcard interested in his own gain, c ontent to torture anything that gets in his path. Most of his weaknesses deal with personality. He possesses megalomania, extreme arrogance and, as the Nameless, has some difficulty coming up with grandiose plans. Also saying “Sigmar” in his presence immediately makes him mad and scared. X-factors: Adaptive Creativity: 47/100 (D: 77/100): The Nameless has little imagination and often can be seen to be reliving his past glory rather than trying new things. However Drachenfels was very quick to find and disocver new tactics, using a dazzling array of magic and labrynth schemes. Tactics: 54/100 (D:70/100) : The Nameless often wins the battles he fights, though it is said this was due to the help he received. Drachenfels, meanwhile, often went millennia without losses. Strategy: 39/100 (D: 80/100): The Nameless is a whimsical creature, pursuing its own desire to torture with only vague goals in mind for the future. However Drachenfels planned out elaborate and multi-step schemes that spanned decades. Intuition: 50/100 (70/100): Drachenfels was capable of viewing the future. Discipline: 35/100 (D:79/100): Another big gap between the Nameless and who he was. The Nameless is all about pursuing his wims no matter the cost. When he was Nagash’s Mortrach, he spent little time guarding the Auric Bastion and instead made his soldiers rip off their own skin and hang it into banners. Drachenfels, though doubtless capable of such devilerly, would hold off torture for years if he had to, even making a grand show of repentance, so that he could unleash a particularly cruel scheme later on.
Inspiration: 60/100 Audacity: 55/100: Both were rather cautious. Psychological Warfare: 72100 (D;85/100) The Nameless was extremely good at psychological warfare, courtesy of its overpowering will and sense of theatrics. Drachenfels, with lots more tricks and a more creative mind, was much better still. Corruption: 100/100
Mobility: 0 Training/Experience: 10 Max & Effective Range: Many, many kilometers Preferred Range: Fight by proxy Role: General- Insect Hive Mind Overlord
The Sleeper is a relic, a creature from a bygone age before Man, before Elves & Dwarfs, before even the Lizardmen. Once, many millennia ago, a insectoid hive race ruled over the great sands of the Badlands. They lived in vast underground hives and lorded over what were essentially Neanderthals (probably the srcinal race of Drachenfels) that were used to construct vast, black pyramids. This vast empire was unchallenged, for a time. Then came disaster in the form of and from these earthquakes came vast caveins. In the turmoil the Neanderthals organized slave rebellions. The Neanderthals, or perhaps opportunistic insectoid nobles, used assassination to undercut the empire. The emperor became desperate and, in that desperation, turned to entities older than it. With he power of the Chaos Gods at its back, the insectoids power expanded farther than before. Treasure, glory and, ultimately, near-godhood was one foor the creature however in the greatest triumphs, so too was seeded the fall. Its nobles and generals became jealous and sponsored betrayals, sapping unity. At the same time pale overdwellers, perhaps the ancestor Dwarfs or more likely the Saurian legions sent to purge races from the planet by the Old Ones, encroached on their territory. Bit by bit, the empire was destroyed, unable to deal with the massed Saurian hordes and Slaan magical mastery. The Insectoid emperor retreated into one of its most ancient temples where the lizards, unable to immediately destroy it thanks to the Emperor’s immense power, instead sealed it up. For over ten millennia it hibernated. Then, in the year 2522, it was awoken by Greenskins accidently unsealing its tomb. Quickly, the creature seized control of first the Goblin and then the Orcs, for their simple minds had little resistance to the Sleeper’s mental domination. Using his ancient knowledge the insect emperor had them construct weapons and armor that had not been seen in over ten thousand years. Then, using its mastery of tactics and hivemind control over its minions, managed to take the local Dwarf Karak Hirn in a nearly flawless assault. The same walls that had withstood countless orcs/goblin assaults fell to the insect overlord in a single day. The only flaw was that some dwarfs managed to escape while others sealed themselves inside the hold. Seizing control of the hold’s industry, the sleeper bent its will to the trapped dwarfs and, though they were far mentally stronger than the orcs/goblins, eventually he corrupted an entire clan. The Dwarfs proved far superior servants than the orcs and goblins. With the Dwarfs it could build much more advanced arms and armor including a chitinous steam tank. Simultaneously, it began to use its magic to breed eggs which contained half-formed members of the Sleeper’s race. Dreams of conquest stirred in its ancient mind, of a realm in which all races bowed eternally to it. Then along came Gotrek & Felix. The adventuring duo had allied with the survivors of Karak Hirn , seeking to retake the hold. Even with the adventuring duo’s help the initial assault was fought off, courtesy of the Dwarfs being completely surprised by Orcs who fought with complete discipline, fearlessness and with Dwarf weaponry, including handguns. A more brutal second assault was launched and against this the Sleeper deployed his torgque equipped orcs, monsters so durable even Gotrek’s axe had severe trouble finishing them off. Just two of them almost turned the tide of the entire battle
before the Dwarfs wresteled the torques off around their necks. The Dwarfs managed to win the battle, though only just. However the war was not. The Sleeper used its mind controlled Dwarfs to lure the liberators into a false sense of security for while the Mc’d Dwarfs appeared ‘off’ to their would-be resceuers, they did not automatically appear hostile. In honor of their victory, the dwarfs drank until they passed out. Then the Sleeper made its move, using necromancy to raise up every single orc in the hold. These orcs slaughtered dozens of Dwarfs and drove them into the halls of the mind controlled Dwarfs, who revealed themselves and slaughtered more. It seemed like the Dwarfs would be utterly destroyed. Unfortunately, the Sleeper had reckoned without Gotrek and Felix. The pair led a sortee deep into the darkest pits of the hold, fighting off all sorts of magically enhanced fear to do so. After overcoming eight orcs with torcues around their necks, and the mind controlled Dwarf prince Hammir (who also was Gotrek’s best friend), the duo came upon the Sleeper. Utilizing its greatest emotional spells the insect forced the duo to fight and nearly killed each other, however luck eventually ruined the spell. After a brutal fight the Sleeper was destroyed and the last remnants of a ancient race, obliterated.
Offensive: At close range it has deadly insectoid pincers and many flailing Chaos tentacles. However its greatest power is its psychic mind. It is capable of manipulating the emotions of beings across many miles, driving them to despair, anger, or other extreme emotions. At close range it can even drive enemies to try to murder each other, as shown below. Over time it can wear down the mental resistance of enemies, filling their minds with its own psychic essense and creating a hivemind. The possessed individuals still have a fragment of independent will and are capable of of independent thought, however their thought process is slower without the Sleeper’s psychic direction. This mind control is seemingly permament as even if the Sleeper is killed the mind controlled remain in thrall. As with everything, strength of mind can serve as a form of resistance though even that, in many cases, can be subverted.
“Felix too was infected with gloom. Ever since they had entered the mine, a mood of dread and despair had come over him, and seemed to grow stronger with every step. His heart felt as if it were pumping ice water into his veins. He couldn’t pinpoint the source of the anxiety. The party’s infiltration had so far gone smoothly. Their mission was no more dangerous than it had always been, and yet he could hardly keep himself from sobbing. He had a sense that they were fated to fail: that some ancient doom had come upon them that there would be no avoiding. They hadn’t a hope of succeeding. He should just give up and run straight into the first orc patrol he saw and end it all. (..) Felix’s mind turned more and more often to this hopeless line of reasoning the deeper they went into the mine. Each level down, his mood got blacker and his conviction that there was no way they could win the coming battle got stronger. The knowledge that this gloom was undoubtedly artificial — an invasion of
his consciousness by the thing they sought — did not ease his mind. In fact, it reinforced his fears that the thing was unbeatable. Its ability to twist his mind and make him feel hopeless was proof that there was indeed no hope of beating it. He chuckled bleakly to himself. If the rune axe wasn’t already showing them the way, they could certainly have used his mood for a guide. The blacker it was, the closer they must be. When he cut his own throat they would know they were at the source. Though they said nothing aloud, Felix could tell that the dwarfs were affected by the thing’s presence as well. They twitched and shook their heads as if beset by mosquitoes, and he could hear them muttering under their breath. Galin occasionally moaned and put his hand over his eyes. Even Gotrek was touched by the malaise, though he showed it by cursing in furious whispers and rolling his shoulders as if trying to shrug off a yoke. (…) The Sleeper did not turn its head, or in any way acknowledge their presence as they stepped into the round room. And yet, Felix was more afraid to approach it than any thing of flesh and blood he had ever faced. Crippling terror paralysed him. He couldn’t take another step. Gotrek hadn’t stopped, but he had slowed, leaning forwards and struggling to put one foot in front of the other like a man pushing into the teeth of a gale. “Fight it, manling,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s out of servants. It’s using the only weapon it’s got left.” Felix couldn’t move. If he got any closer, it would eat his brain. He knew this. It was already eating it. If he didn’t run, he would end up like the others, a mindless slave, doing the bidding of some Chaoscorrupted insect. It would all be Gotrek’s fault — dragging him into certain death time and time again. “You fight it,” he spat. “You’re the Slayer! Must I always fight your battles?” Gotrek glared back at hi m. “You fight my battles? Ha! That’s a joke. Half the battles I fight are to save your worthless hide! Grimnir, what a weakling! Why did I choose a human for a rememberer? A dwarf would have taken care of himself!” Felix choked, outrage flaring in his heart. “Weakling? You call me that after all I’ve been through with you — and all on the strength of a drunken vow I should never have made!” Gotrek turned on him, the Sleeper forgotten. “And I should never have held you to it. By my ancestors! Twenty-five years travelling with a snivelling wet blanket too weak to pull his own weight, having to turn back every second step to pull your scrawny arse out of the fire, having to listen to, ‘That isn’t wise, Gotrek’, and ‘Maybe we shouldn’t do that, Gotrek’, in my ear like a damned mosquito. Why I haven’t cut your throat before now, just to shut you up, is beyond me!”
“You think it’s been a joy travelling with you?” shouted Felix, his neck pulsing with rage, “Insulted and ignored every day for a quarter century by a stunted, taciturn bully without a kind word for anybody. I can’t think of a single instance when you thanked me or praised me for a job well done. It’s always ‘Shut up, manling’, and ‘Out of the way, manling’, and ‘Get the bags, manling’.” He clenched his fists. “When I think of the life I could have had if I hadn’t sworn to follow your ugly posterior around the world until you finally killed yourself! You haven’t even had the decency to die quickly like most Slayers.” “You’ve seen more of the world than any hundred men of the Empire, thanks to me,” bellowed Gotrek, “and you complain about it? Grungni’s axe! Why didn’t I make my peace with Hamnir and ask him to be my rememberer? He at least was a dwarf, not a spindle-shanked weakling!” “Weakling, again.” Felix put his hand on his hilt. “You call me weak when I’m still here and your oh-sosturdy dwarf friend Hamnir is dead? Who’s the weakling?” Gotrek’s face went white. His one eye glittered with cold fury. “You insult the dead? You’ll die for that.” “I insulted him,” Felix sneered. “You killed him.” With an outraged roar, Gotrek lurched unsteadily towards Felix, slashing one-handed with his axe. Felix leapt back, gasping and drawing his sword. He felt the wind of the axe’s passing on his cheek. Terror stabbed through his heart like an icicle. Sigmar, what had he done? Gotrek was attacking him! The axe that had killed daemons and giants was swinging for his neck! He scrambled backwards, parrying desperately. Gotrek limped after him, the rune axe a blur. Each strike nearly knocked the sword from Felix’s hands. He was still alive only because Gotrek fought one-handed, and was weak from his wounds and loss of blood. Felix cursed himself as the rune axe flashed past, an inch from his chin. What madness had inspired him to goad the Slayer like that? Had he been out of his mind? Then it came to him that the inspiration had indeed been from outside of his mind. It had come from the Sleeper. It was stirring them up like pit dogs. It was defending itself by making them fight each other instead of it. “Gotrek!” he cried as they circled. “Stop! It’s the Sleeper. It’s forcing us to fight! It’s in our minds!” “Trying to trick me into letting down my guard? Ha!” Gotrek hacked unrelentingly at Felix, pushing him further into the room. Felix could feel the Sleeper’s presence behind his left shoulder as he backed closer to it. His skin crawled. “Gotrek, curse you, fight it!” he shouted. “What’s become of your unbendable dwarf will. Fight it!” They slashed and hacked directly in front of it, circling slowly, as if they were gladiators, fighting for its amusement. Gods! Why wouldn’t Gotrek listen? How dare he accuse Felix of weakness and then fall under the Sleeper’s power himself? If he wouldn’t listen, Felix would just have to beat it into him. He’d cut the Slayer’s head off and shout it down his throat.
“Stubborn fool! I’ll teach you!” Felix aimed a lunge at Gotrek’s poorly bound shoulder wound. The Slayer’s axe blocked the strike, shivering his sword and stinging his hands. “It’s you who needs teaching, longshanks! Saying you’re better than a dwarf!” He aimed a bash at Felix’s head that would have sheared it in half if he hadn’t leapt back. “I’ll gut you for insolence!” (…) After a few moments spent leaning against the wall and catching his breath, Felix looked dully over at the Slayer. “You tried to kill me,” he said. “What?” said Gotrek. “Never. You tried to kill me.” “Only because you wouldn’t stop trying to kill me!” said Felix. “Couldn’t you understand? It was the Sleeper. It was forcing you to fight me.” “Oh, I knew.” “Then why didn’t you stop?” Gotrek frowned, and looked down, his fists clenching, chagrined. “I couldn’t. The thing was damned strong.” He rubbed his mucus-covered face with his hands and sighed. “Guess I don’t blame Hamnir so much now. Only broke its hold by giving in.” “Broke its hold? You didn’t break its hold.” “It got out of our heads when I hit it, didn’t it?” “You hit it by accident.” Gotrek shook his head and stood up on wobbly legs. “Couldn’t stop attacking you, much as I tried. Or turn my axe on it, either. It was too strong for that. But I could put you between me and it.” He shrugged. “I knew you’d duck.” Felix blinked, and surged unsteadily to his feet. His blood boiled. “You knew I’d… You… But… but what if I hadn’t?” Gotrek grimaced and cleaned the mucus off his axe as best he could. “What choice did I have?” Orcslayer
Adaptive Creativity: 71/100: The Sleeper is able to quickly and effortlessly adapt Orcs, Goblins and Dwarf culture into his own new regime, inventing armor such as critin shells and technology such as (an attempt on) a insectoid steam tank. He also uses innovative battle tactics and treachery.
Tactics: 69/100: Thanks to its psychic control the Sleeper was able to turn a force of Orcs and Goblins into something hyper disciplined, capable of easily assaulting and conquering a dwarf hold in a single day. Though beaten by the Dwarfs in combat, it managed to inflict severe causialties which it then used to raise as zombies.
Strategy: 75/100: The Sleeper is an adept planner with world domination on the mind. It conquered a Dwarf hold in a single day and then, after the Dwarfs retook the hold, lulled the Dwarfs into a false sense of security, let them get super drunk before unleashing Dwarf traitors and undead Orcs.
Intuition: 59/100: Audacity: 70/100: Psychological Warfare: 87/100: The Sleeper boasts a extremely powerful psychic aura that, overtime, can mind control individuals. Others it drives insane.In the short term it can implant emotions in people such as despair, rage, homicidal thoughts or depression. The Sleeper is so adept at this tactic that it could turn loves against each other, cause best friends to slay one another. It even forced Gotrek and Felix to fight to the death at first, this despite the fact the legendary duo was fully aware of tis manipulation.
Experience: 98/100: A bygone relic from an ancient era, before even the Old Ones showed up. Discipline: 70/100: Inspiration: 95/100: Occasionally, his followers might snap to a memory that causes them to hesitate briefly. However once under the Sleeper’s control no one has managed to break free of it, even after the Sleeper was killed.
Corruption: 80/100: Additional Personality Traits: The Sleeper is a relic of a bygone age,the last remnant of a race that once dominated the planet until the surface world destroyed its empire. For that reason it has a hatred for the present, and the denizens of the present, that surpasses any mortal capacity. Yet this hatred does not lead it to recklessness. Instead, the Sleeper is patient and cunning, willing to take its time to see a plan come to fruition perfectly rather than rush. It also prizes order and discipline, forcing its subjects to behave in a regimented, orderly regime.
“Gorril sighed. “It was a bad business, and very strange… very strange.” He sucked at his pipe. “The orcs came up from our mines, but not like any time before: not in a great screaming rush that we could hear coming from the highest gallery, not fighting amongst themselves, and not stopping to eat the fallen and raid the ale cellar. They came silent and organised. They knew every defence we had: all our alarms, all our traps, and all our locks. They knew them all. It’s almost as if they had tortured the secrets out of one
of us, or there was a traitor in the hold, but that’s impossible. No dwarf would give secrets to the grobi, not even under torture. It was… it was…” OrcSlayer
Note: I am sorting these defenses by corruption level. For reference please see Additional Factors section. More than any other force in Warhammer, even the Greenskins, Chaos united is an
offensively oriented force. When an Everchosen is crowned and the legions of Chaos unify, the entire force becomes a massive nomadic horde bent on the destruction of all. Moving in the many millions if not far more they have no need to stay in one place rather traveling from destination to destination in a scythe of destruction. That said Archaon has been known to think out of the box, including organizing defense when necessary. The power of Chaos’s defense stems directly with its corruption meter, with the higher the corruption the more potent Chaos’s offense(or defense) is.
Suppose a force that is entirely offensive finds itself on the defensive. Chaos would likely have some fortifications or techniques to fall back upon. These include stakes tipped with toxins that leave the foe in a mixture of pure ecstasy and agonizing pain, Tzeentchi illusions and plenty of diseases. Sorcerers would try to summon greater numbers of daemons and the fact that the weaker members of the horde are often perched on its outskirts would see the expendables die first. Individually, the Chaos forces do have their own fortifications, albeit primitive and rarely used. Beastmen have shanty camps that are often in the middle of forests, offering plenty of opportunity to ambush invaders and may be full of pit traps. The Norsemen are decent architects that can build wooden walls and traps to hamper an attacker, though they prefer melee. The Warriors of Chaos prefer melee as well, though some are known to have truly elaborate defenses. Of the forces of Chaos only the Chaos Dwarfs can be said to truly invest in defense. They are the ones who build garrisons and forts on campaign made from volcanic obsidian. They forts have watchtowers,
artillery posts, walls and more. Their designs are meant to look as intimidating as possible and may
have enchantments besides. In the novel Wulfrik Chaos Dwarfs were able to create guardian statues that were magicked to appear as the most formidable enemies causing the Norsemen to attack them and ignore the Chaos Dwarfs. “Wulfrik charged down the wide roadway leading to the base of the ziggurat. His skin crawled as he passed the morbid ranks of statues lining the path, stone effigies of dwarf warriors with axes raised. As he glanced at them, Wulfrik noted that the silent sentinels were not wholly the work of chisel and hammer: real bones were plastered into hollowed sections of the guardians, a skull grinning from beneath the stony helm of each statue. The bones were those of dwarfs, but whether the dawi zharr intended the gruesome display to honour their own dead or defile those of their enemies, he could not say. It was enough for him to be reminded of the black hearts of his foes and the cruelty he could expect from them if he failed. The champion half-expected the statues to leap into life as he passed them. Running down the road, he kept glancing back at them, watching them for some sign of motion. He could see his warriors doing the same, clearly victim to the same unsettling premonition of lurking menace. Njarvord succumbed to the sensation, attacking one of the statues with his axe, hacking slivers of rock and bone from one of the sentinels before throwing himself full against it and pitching it to the roadway. The statue cracked as it struck the road, collapsing into a heap of rubble. Njarvord’s attack encouraged the other northmen to lash out at the grim statues. Even Wulfrik felt the impulse to fling himself upon the closest of the guardians and smash it into dust. He was raising his sword to chop at stone ankles before he realised what he was doing. Angrily, Wulfrik lifted his sword high and shouted at his men. There was some subtle sorcery woven into the statues, some insidious magic that antagonised any who trespassed within their influence. The statues protected the ziggurat by provoking fear in the minds of their enemies. Lesser men would have fled screaming from the stronghold. Norscans were made of sterner stuff. Instead of running, they fought back. But in doing so, they allowed the statues to fulfil their purpose. Attacking unfeeling stone, spending their strength, dulling their blades upon rock and bone, the warriors were weakening themselves. Worse, they were giving the defenders of the ziggurat the time they needed to muster their own troop” -Wulfri
The greatest defense Chaos has is its corruption. For many leagues around a Chaos army there will be all manner of deadly, mutated fauna and flora, all tainted with innate malevolence towards the noncorrupted. There is a significant risk of mutation that grows the greater the level is. Also on Level 3 the magical Chaos fortifications described below can exist, but they require significant magical upkeep.
The highest level Chaos can normally achieve on campaign, corruption level IV poses a severe problem to any army assaulting a Chaos camp. The Winds of Magic flow in abundance, the risk of mutation is significant, and of course there are chaos corrupted creatures and fauna everywhere. Moreover, at level 4 the very weather and land can be considered hazardous extremely hazardous. Auras of madness, plagues and the varied emotions sap the will of those who attack . And it is here Chaos can achieve their strongest fortifications. Warhammer Siege provides further details of these fortresses as having ‘impossible angles’ and made of ‘infeasible building materials’. The moat is filled with lava or boiling blood, the courtyard houses pits containing monstrous beasts or the like with all these features surrounding a tower containing a brooding Chaos lord. Of course this is just an archtype of a Chaos fortress with many different variations existing. For example Van Horstmann has a teleporting tower surrounded by illusions that only appears at night with magical defense while Lords of Chaos describes a giant plague infested swampland as a defense of Nurgle. All Chaos fortifications are usually fearsome or terrifying to behold. One example is a Khorne fortress surrounded by moats of lava and with a single enterance in the form of a long bridge guarded by Chaos Dwarf cannons. Another is a constantly teleporting Tzeentchi castle while yet another is a Slaaneshi stronghold filled with exoic beasts collected from all over the world, and with potent auras that drain the will of the defenders. However there is a caveat as these fortresses rely so heavily on impossibility and magic that they
cannot exist in any location not completely saturated by magic. In fact so reliant are they upon magic that they cannot be built naturally and, from what I have found, they must basically be summoned into existence via great rituals (see that section and expenditures of magic). They rituals are extremely complicated, difficult to pull off, and the consequences are terrible if there is a mistake. That is why, even in a level 4 zone, these defenses are quite rare. “The Skulltaker brought his monstrous mount rearing back, the brute’s claws pawing at the air. He brought his sword slashing against the metal wall, the daemon steel cutting deep into the strange iron. Molten metal dripped from the grisly scars as the Skulltaker attacked the vanished portal, but just as quickly the wounds closed, restoring the smooth surface of the wall.”- Blood for the Blood God
Chaos Monoliths can appear at this stage, honorary fragments of champions of the Chaos Wastes made manifest by the collapse in reality. Chaos Monoliths carry with them magical abilities and supernatural traits, such as possessing numerous maws and flailing tentacles. It may carry elements of the Chaos Gods, such as mesmerizing beauty, vomiting corruption everywhere, projecting an aura of supernatural fury, or boosting spell channeling. These monoliths are extremely tough and durable, but can be destroyed.
The highest level of corruption Chaos can achieve on campaign without reality completely being nonexistent. Every risk of Chaos, from mutation levels to madness to magic levels, is as high as possible. The environment can only described as hellish. Though and emotion, the cornerstone of the ethereal plane, hold tangible effects in this realm as fear and disgust can be deadly. Fortunately for the enemies of Chaos this type of terrain is so saturated by Chaos that, if they were to achieve this zone at all, it is likely
to only be met in the Gate lands - the zone immediately around their starting location. However the fortifications of this zone, a few of which might be seen at level 4, are quite frankly insane. The only account we have of an outsider succeeding in conquering many of these fortresses is by Archaon and even he had to retreat or avoid some in his quest to get to the gate. “Archaon could not claim to have brought war to the Gatelands. There daemonic armies clashed, slaughters were undertaken and things died for their rancid masters with perpetual fervour. The palaces of infernal royalty were in a constant state of being ransacked and rebuilt. Fortresses had been under siege for centuries, while towers toppled only for others to rise like colossal stone weeds from the churning earth. Every kind of infernal aberration possible seemed to hold a miserable patch of aethyrbaked ground. Greater daemons of the Chaos Powers had been questionably rewarded for their eternal service. Daemon lords kept mad court in palatial grandeur, while dark princes fought from dread fortresses, forever pledged to destruction to earn their infernal heritage. Creatures of every description
and perversity haunted the smoking ruins of the Gatelands, while otherworldy beasts, half-breeds and armies of lesser daemons fought battles without end in efforts to earn their masters’ attentions. So close to the collapsed gate and the roaring torrent of unreality blasting forth from the existential breach, the very nature of normality was under constant threat. The land beneath the boot, the stone and metal of infernal palaces and the maelstrom of the heavens was in a state ofmonstrous flux. What could be seen, heard, smelt, tasted and touched could not be trusted. The warped landscape about the polar rift, and the nightmarish architectural achievements sprouting busily about it, smeared into one another. Daemons, their fortresses and the spawn hordes that fought for them dreamed away to spectral shades. Ghostly palaces overlapped, existing over one another in the crowded madness of the Gateland interior. Daemon lords and hellbound princes existing in the same place at different times, the wraith-like lambency of their presence like an infernal afterthought. Bathed in the perpetual blaze of the beyond, fires of flux and flame whipped through the competing canopy of roofs, domes and towers. Warpquakes shook the lands about the dread gate, opening up glowing fissures, swallowing armies, shaking fortresses to their crumbling foundations and collapsing towers in sky-rocketing plumes of dust. (…) At the Brass Citadel Archaon led his army to a bloodbath of a victory against Kruor’gor of the Brazen Horde – a greater daemon in the service of mighty Khorne. Forced to kill the daemon’s bloodletter battlehost to the very last infernal berserker, the assault on the Brass Citadel trapped Kruor’gor in his own palace. Archaon frustrated the Blood God’s abominate servant. Unusually for the Chaos warlord, he would not meet the Skulltaker in single combat. Pummelling the greater daemon with monstrous attacks from his own horde and siege fire from his bone engines of war, Archaon stoked the greater daemon’s bottomless ire to such a degree that the dread creature raged into the form of a hell-fed inferno: a titan of fury and flame. The Brass Citadel melted about the creature, drowning the great Kruor’gor in an insolent lake of liquid metal. Before the cloud-piercing tower of the Roost, Archaon’s horde was set upon by the Cerulean Brood – a flock of savage Tzeentchian daemons whose colossal wings rode the currents of raw magical power bleeding from the polar portal and into the world. Skewering and snapping up beastfiends from the ground with their twisted, snaggle-toothed beaks, the daemons dropped egg-like orbs of dark and explosive enchantment on Archaon’s horde, the effect of each being whimsically different. Sometimes victims in the vicinity of the sorcerous or b’s impact would erupt in the blossoming horror of spawndom, while at others violaceous flames tore through the ranks of the half-breeds. Archaon himself would have succumbed to a heaven-plummeting orb that turned the ground at Dorghar’s feet into a tentacled maw of abyssal appetite, but the daemon steed’s reflexes were faster than the appendages shooting out for the stallion’s nightmare form. While Archaon had his own winged monstrosities take to the sky and torch the feathered daemons, he charged a ghoulish giant of withered flesh, protruding bones and ancient animations laying its great, withered back against the foot of the Roost and toppling the Tzeentchian tower. Archaon let Ograx and
his beastfiends do the rest, mobbing downed daemons and butchering the sorcerer infernals that worked the libraries of the Roost and fought with the cowardly craft of the witchbreed. The Filth Fortress of Mortiphidus the Cankered slowed Archaon’s horde down considerably. The colossal rotting carcass of the Cankered One sat atop its fat, pyramidal palace like a throne. The booming laugh of the daemon was everywhere and sickened Archaon’s half-breeds to the bottom of their stomachs, producing in the creatures of the herd a phased biliousness and vomiting that did not make for ideal, vanguard warriors. Oozing, spilling, leaking and excreting from every orifice and stomach-gaping sore, the stinking essence of Mortiphidus made its way slowly down the palace tiers like lava from a volcano. Disease-ridden daemons bathed, played, splashed and frolicked in the seeping terrace shallows and rivers of rotten muck that proceeded from the great unclean daemon of Nurgle. The tiers seemed to indicate some kind of hierarchy, with infestations of miniature Cankered Ones evolving out of the rolling detritus. Archaon’s bestial horde found fighting in the palace gardens – a sickly swamp that had grown up out of the faecal flood plain surrounding the fortress – all but impossible. Noxious gases rising from the rotting marsh asphyxiated, poisoned and infected Archaon’s half-breeds in equal measure, those returning from Mortiphidus’s gardens carrying all manner of diseases and horrific afflictions. Others were overcome by the swarms of tiny, fat imps that rose from the swamp like bubbles in churning maelstroms of disgust. Archaon and his Swords were forced to lead an attack on the Filth Fortress after successive assaults by Ograx the Great failed. In the sinking gardens at the foot of the palace – lost in a stunted forest of petrified fungi and the mind-splitting stench – Archaon was confronted with daemonic knights emerging from the depths. As the Chaos warlord and his horde pushed on, up to their waists in rancid muck, the swamp spewed forth long-lost warriors, clad in rust-encrusted armour that hundreds of years before might have seen the inside of some hellish forge. The knights advanced slowly in their bloat-bent plate and emitted a horrible, droning shriek. As Archaon crashed his sickle sword through the infernal warriors and took encrusted helms from shoulders in showers of red particles, he was surprised to find no daemons inside. Instead, the rusted knights were writhing with maggots, fat on daemonflesh and black swarms of bloated infernal flies. It became suddenly clear where the droning shriek proceeded from as Archaon, his Swords of Chaos and beastfiends of the horde not only had to battle the enduring, sorcerous spirits of the daemonic knights but also a plague of flies intent on eating them alive. Between the haunted suits of hell-forged armour, the blood-sucking hurricane of flies and the swamp vomiting forth a never-ending garrison of rusted warriors, even Archaon ordered a retreat. Slurping back through the unbreathable stench, Archaon waded past the sinking bodies of blood-drained beastfiends sprouting the fruits of a fast-acting plague. Upon returning to his camp in an obsidian keep he had captured from a pantheon-honouring daemon prince, Archaon only had two words for his horde. ‘Burn it…’ Wielding bone torches taken from serpent-lit bonfires of plague-ridden bodies, Archaon’s half-breeds spread out about the Filth Fortress and its gardens. They didn’t have to advance far before marsh gases
from the rising rot – the same gases that had made it almost impossible to breath – spectacularly caught light. From the obsidian keep, Archaon watched as the oily discharge floating on the swamp surface spread the inferno through the gardens and fungal forest, before spreading through the tiers of the palace, up the rivers of rich muck and putrefaction. Archaon soaked up the suffering as the fires spread through the army of daemon followers flailing and screaming on the pyramidal palace terraces. Finally the flames spread to Mortiphidus itself, the colossal carcass of the great unclean beast giving the fires plenty of fuel. The flame writhed up about the great daemon of Nurgle. Lighting up the sky, the monstrosity’s booming laughter still filled the air – riding on the crackle and hiss of the daemon’s roasting rot. It was still there hours later, making his half-breeds feel sick, as Archaon ordered the horde on from the obsidian keep.” (…) When Archaon and his horde weren’t fighting their way through monstrosities between the royal residences of daemon princes and hellish dukes, they were mounting assaults on the palaces themselves. The palace of Sybarith the Forgotten had walls that seemed never-ending. When Archaon ordered an assault on the palace he almost lost half of his host to the endless debaucheries inside. Forgetting themselves, and the Chaos warlord they fought for, half-breeds – intoxicated by what they saw – had to be dragged away. Sybarith seemed unaware of Archaon as he stood over the profane creature and even as it was slain would not abandon the delights of daemonflesh. Its sibling, Cybriss, ruled from the palace beyond. The palace architecture flowed with the curve and suggestion of beautiful bodies, while the walls had been mortared with the undying bodies of the daemon’s victims. Limbs reaching out suggestively stroked the stone surface of the wall while faces stared out from their rocky prisons in horror. Mouths were contorted about shrill screams but what proceeded from the slave chorus was so horrifically beautiful that even Archaon felt compelled to enter the open gates of the lip-lined barbican. Just as he was about to step inside, the Chaos warlord – having no desire to battle his own bodily needs to slay another daemonic hedonist – brought his infernal mount to a stop and directed his curious horde around the monstrous palace instead. Their journey took them into forge-forts of iron that glowed with furnace-light and cloaked the area with the smoke of infernal production. These were the daemon smithies of Hak’grorfane of the Black Flame – crafter of monstrous weaponry for his brother thirsters of blood. Lumbering juggers proceeded forth from the forges in which they had been created: hulks of black brass and spike on two legs, bearing mighty blade-horns on their armoured snouts and chimneys that belched smoke from the daemonic fires driving the metal monsters. When enough of Archaon’s beastfiends had been trampled before the juggers’ implacable advance and brutal forge hammers, the Chaos warlord unleashed his other monsters, who smashed the creations of Hak’grorfane and his infernal smi thies to smoking scrap. Archaon found Hak’grorfane itself – a many-armed beast of metal horns, chain and forge-scorched flesh – to be lacking in the death-dealing arts of his brother daemons. It seemed that the Blood God had bestowed favour on the mighty f iend not for the skulls taken by Hak’grorfane personally but for those taken collectively by the brute craftsmanship of his hell-crafted weaponry.
After a gargantuan battle in which Archaon’s sickle sword broke and Hak’grorfane wielded every weapon the daemon could lay its many clawed hands upon, Archaon fought him all the way back to the edge of the smith’s hellish forge pit. Ducking beneath the swinging onslaught of a number of blades in a number of clenched claws, Archaon managed to unbalance the raging hellsmith and knock it into the liquid metal of its own forge. While the daemon still thrashed, roared and reached up out of the glowing, black steel, Archaon ransacked the smashed forge, taking for himself a selection of swords, axes, spears and hell-crafted daggers, which he draped from Dorghar’s saddle in armoured scabbards and sheaths. The rest he left to the pillaging claws of his half-breed horde as they moved through the forge-forts and on towards the blazing rift roaring up from the collapsed polar warp gate. Beyond forts filled with riches and reptilian temptresses of golden scale were palace-labyrinths that led to nothing. Fat, tower-crowded citadels floated above the serrated skyline on colossal ray-like behemoths that drifted through the Gateland skies. Beneath, there were monstrous fortresses that seemed alive, shaking the warp-infused ground with their demolishing movements and cannibalising the surrounding palaces with gate-shaped maws and portcullis teeth. Similarly to be avoided, even by Archaon’s great bestial horde, were the black towers of the daemon Mardagg, the shadows of which drained years from the lives of beastfiends falling beneath them, turning some into white-furred withered husks, others into browned bones and others still into dust on the wind. Archaon found, upon mounting a determined assault on a mirror-plated palace near the rim of the polar rift, that his horde had been fighting themselves for days – and winning. Beyond the illusory nightmares of Tzeentchian prince-fiends, Archaon discovered that the palaces of infernal royalty could not be touched – let alone conquered. The inner citadels and fortresses were but ghostly mirages of warped castles and towers that existed in neither one place nor another. They belonged to the world of flesh and stone. They belonged to warp-tortured oblivion. They belonged to the nothingness of nowhere. (Portions of Archaons campaign in the Gatelands)
The defenders of Averheim had expected the new-come horde to spend several days reinforcing their siege lines. The city’s walls still stood tall, and the skaven had proven time and again that assault by escalade led to little other than the slaughter of the attackers. A breach would be needed to carry Archaon’s forces beyond the city walls, and breaches took time to carve in thick stone. Averheim had days of bombardment to endure before steel clashed upon steel. So did the defenders believe. They were wrong. The assault along the northern wall began scant hours after Archaon’s banner had crested the skyline. The Skaramor came under dark clouds and blood-red skies, howling like madmen and chanting in harsh tongues. At first, the watchmen on the northern wall held their fire, fearing that the attack was intended to lure the defenders into betraying their positions with weapons fire. Then they counted the number of torches blazing in the crimson dark, and knew that this was no mere test of the defences. Orders rang out across the battlement, linstocks were pressed to touch-holes, and the first cannons unleashed their fury.
For a brief, glorious moment, the roar and scream of roundshot drowned out the bellowing of the Skaramor. That moment passed all too soon, and the cries of the dying were quickly masked by the renewed war-fervour of those below. Explosions shook the rotting boneyard that was Averheim’s northern approach, the brief flames revealing tattooed bodies flung aside and mangled corpses hurled skywards in pieces. Aiming was almost impossible in that light, but it was of little consequence. The Skaramor were as thick as beetles upon the approach, and it was an unlucky shell indeed that missed its mark entirely.
The horde swept closer, the chanting became more ragged as all attempt at formation was abandoned. Oil-soaked bundles of straw were set alight and heaved from the ramparts, their dirty yellow flames illuminating the closest attackers clear enough for proper aim. Handguns blazed across the rampart, the dirty cough of Imperial arms punctuated by the deeper, sharper report of the rifled dwarfen guns. Skaramor fell by the score, the dead and wounded trampled by those who came behind. Handguns flamed for a second time. Across the wall’s foot, chains fell from lifeless hands, but plenty of brass
grapnels bit home upon the wall. Within moments, each chain was heavy with straining Skaramor, hauling themselves hand over hand toward the battlement.
Cannons and mortars continued to pound the Skaramor flooding to the base of the wall, but the handgunners now targeted the foes ascending the outer face. Bullets cracked and whined, ricocheting from dark plate and thudding into flesh. Dozens of northlanders plummeted from their chains, bones smashed or muscles torn beyond use. Others were hauled clear by the unwounded who came behind, no longer willing to be delayed by a comrade’s dying flesh.
As gunners continued to fire, other defenders hacked at the grapnels. Their slim swords could not split the chains, so dwarfs brought up hammers and axes. They battered at the brass until the tortured metal gave way, and even smote the parapet’s facing stones until the attackers’ own weight tore them loose. But for every grapnel dislodged in this manner, another three found purchase upon the walls.
So it raged for hours. The approach to the walls became choked with the newly slain, as the Skaramor were hurled from the stones by arrow, bolt and bullet. Yet still the northlanders came. As midnight approached, the wind died. Stinking powder smoke hung lifeless about the walls, concealing the bellowing mass below. Still the defenders loaded and fired, loaded and fired, trusting that the horde was so vast that no shot would be wasted.
Thousands of Skaramor perished before reaching the walls, hundreds more fell wounded and were trampled by their own kind, but the defenders felt no triumph. All were desperately thirsty from the bitter powder smoke that lingered thickly about the walls. All were weary, for those without bows or handguns had busied themselves by heaving rocks – and even their own dead – over the walls, relying on the plunge to add lethal force to the improvised missiles.
And dead there were upon the walls, too many dead by far. Throughout the assault, Skaramor hurled axes, dirks and other crude blades at the ramparts. Most were cheated by the stone, but enough found their mark. Marksmen died mid-shot as the blades thudded home, coarse insults fell ashen on troll slayers’ tongues. Each body that toppled from the ramparts or slid back from the parapet was greeted with a chorus of jeers from the horde below. The northlanders did not care that their losses were a thousandfold those of their foes. Their assault culled the weak, and made an offering of slaughter to the Blood God. (…)
There was a brief and unexpected lull in the fighting, as the next wave of Skaramor dragged their way through the valley’s sucking morass. But the light brought despair as well as hope. As the defenders peered out through the rain and across the Aver valley, they saw that they had done their work too well. The dead of the northern assault had lain where they had fallen, each new wave of attackers trampling down the fallen who had come before. In many places along the northern wall, the mound of the dead was so high that its crest lay but feet below the crenelations. It would be a steep climb, and a macabre one, but the compacted dead offered a route to the battlements as sure as any siege tower. The attackers had seen it too. When they began anew, the northlanders hurled themselves up the mounds of their own dead, scrabbling and clawing at the still warm flesh in their desperation to reach the summit. ”- ET ARCHAON
MORALE: 79 (95)/100: The creatures of Chaos normally have an extremely high morale, with only rare full on routs for a combined force, and then only after victory is completely denied. Sometimes killing of
leaders can cause a rout though not always. That said if something were to occur that were to make them feel like their gods were watching, their morale would skyrocket to fanatical levels. In the End Times, where reality weakened enough to where it was clear the gods were actually watching, morale
skyrocketed to frothing, maddening levels . ARMY INTIMIDATION: 73/100 (Daemons in full force 89/ 100): While the mortals themselves in a chaos force are positively terrifying with daemons presence supernatural fear and auras emanate an almost unbearable atmosphere of terror.- to the point some mortals have literally died of terror fighting daemons. In addition the environment itself rapidly begins warping around the Daemons , turning more hellish and hostile to life. Blood will rain from the skies, voices from beyond will assail those on the battlefield, rocks will roll uphill as reality is itself is subverted. Some Daemons can inspire instinctive terror in mortals while others can cause recurring nightmares just by their presence nearby. Though it’s possible (and been done by Empire/Brettonian armies) for mortal forces to fight in these conditionseven win- they will never be comfortable doing so.
DISCIPLINE: 39/100: Chaos forces, with the exception of the Chaos Dwarves who have their own unique score (see Drazhoath), are mostly organized into loose Warbands whose leaders
represent an ever-changing form of command. Beastmen have little discipline at all, being famously unruly, while Men of Chaos possess only scant more. Indeed the Beastmen are so terribly unruly that this actually screwed the Chaos Gods in the Nagash campaign,
for it proved impossible for the Brayherd, even under competent leadership, to avoid unnecessary
battles.
“His army was not a state troop of the Empire or even a free company of irregular militia. They were savages, maniacs and madmen. The vast majority of them amounted to little more than rabid dogs. You did not harness such strength with uniforms and codes of conduct. You put them on chains and released them when you needed to. Since chains themselves were impractical, warbands and tribesmen were kept in line by their own chosen and chieftains – some of whom Archaon controlled by adopting them as his lieutenants. Others served the Chaos warrior purely out of fearful respect. They were drawn to his singularity of purpose and the ruthlessness with which he prosecuted his will. He claimed to be the chosen of the Dark Gods and acted like it. The damned were lost and always looking for powerful forces to guide and orient themselves to in the insanity of the Wastes – and Archaon was indeed a powerful force. He had confidence and direction and these were all lesser men who needed to make the leap of faith necessary to join Archaon in his doomed quest.”- Archaon on Chaos organization.
Cohesion: 39/100: The whole force distrusts each other and is dependent on the favor the gods show the champion of the force, as well as the champion’s success in battle. Infighting within segments is common and expected, though it usually does not factor in on a strategic level unless truly dire. In particular the death and replacement of leaders is frequently encouraged, for the weak have no place here. Distrust, delays, schemes, intra-hatred and the like are rife in every sub faction, from frenzied Beastmen to calculating Chaos Dwarf. In the case o f the latter this actually played a role in the fall of their empire, with distrustful Chaos Dwarfs using Grimgor’s uprising to scheme, cheat and dispose of each other while disdainful of the Orc threat until it was too late. Even the gods, who claim to unity in the End Times, are not fully unified. Each of them schemes from the background to ensure they gain the most advantage from the End Times, and to limit their rival’s gains as much as possible without all-out war. Even that is not always possible, and it must be remembered in similar times of Chaos unity that Tzeentch ensured he unduly befitted from the Great War 200 years prior, and that in Age of Sigmar a unified Chaos push was ultimately ruined by Khorne
betraying everyone. Archaon himself has been betrayed by other champions, his own men and even the gods before. However the majority of these events occurred well before he became Everchosen and as the Everchosen he has the Eye of Sheerian, his skill and experiences to provide insurance when his minions make the attempt. That said unless it directly jeopardizes his plans he is unlikely to care too much if betrayal overtakes an underling. At the bottom murder, sacrifice, cannibalism, bloodletting and other forms of death are common.
Espionage: 72/100: On one hand Chaos invasions have been likened to natural disasters with all the subtlety thereof and thus there is plenty of warning before they attack . On the other the powers of Chaos and Cults (see Additional Factors) offers a means to infiltration in the long run that few can claim, and perhaps none to the extent (including Skaven). Chaos corruption itself is an insidious force that
while some races are better than others at resisting (like lizardmen over humans) none are entirely immune to it. However these cases of corruption usually occur on an individual level rather than macro and thus its effect can be limited but never fully eliminated.
Logistics: 67/100: With the exceptions of the Chaos Dwarfs, who carry supplies in their engines, the vast majority of the Chaos force is utilizes mass pillaging and sacking to supply their armies. They will eat
next to anything, including the dead . When this runs out and there is nothing else to eat they will eat the weakest links of their army in a Darwinian fashion. Furthermore several Chaos units, such as daemons and chaos warriors, do not need to eat, though the former does not to ensure access to magic.
Blockade: 73/100: Thanks to exceptional fleets, Chaos corruption and mutation Chaos can make the very environment dangerous and hazardous to all that lives. Though it will take time gradually, as magic increasingly warps the land, the land will come to resemble the hellish zones of the Realm of Chaos.
Aggression: 91/100: The Legion of the Everchosen exists only to kill, murder or otherwise destroy. If they are not killing Order factions than they are killing each other. The horde is perpetually on the offensive at almost all times.
Chaos is a machine that runs on souls and sacrifice. The more sacrifices, the more a Chaos commander can summon daemons, empower rituals, magic, achieve divine favor or weaponry. Thus any prisoners captured among the populace or enemy armies, if not used as forced labor, are sacrificed en masse. However Chaos also values the corrupted more than the sacrificed and before the sacrifices are
conducted dark slavemasters will pull out the individuals they think are most tainted, who have the most potential to give in to Chaos. Thus, if these individuals live, can serve as a way of bolstering ranks, providing tactical knowledge on a new enemy or rise to become Chaos champions themselves! The more canny among them might even seek to infiltrate their former factions, subverting them from the inside. Every victory in battle brings more warriors blessed with mutations. Some are blessed too much, turning into mindless Chaos Spawn or Forsaken that are, nevertheless, still useful to Chaos commanders. Chaos does not really incorporate technological gains from other factions on a mass produced level, though they will loot what they can. Followers of Tzeentch might also try to learn magical lores of the enemy while the Nurglites are always seeking to expand their mastery of plague.
Both the Men of Chaos and Beastmen number well into the millions, perhaps tens of millions
each, spread across huge swathes of the world. In the End Times these two forces alone were so numerous as to overwhelm all major civilized nations in simultaneous assaults. Of the mortal races only the Skaven and perhaps the Greenskins outnumber them. Prior to the End Times the Daemons were very limited by the how heavy the Winds of Magic flowed about the world. During the End Times, where
these limits were almost completely skirted, they too a ppeared in their millions across the land. Thus for any campaigns in which they appear the daemons might be limited somewhat in the beginning, however as their mortal followers spread more of their requisite emotions (such as bloodletting for Khorne) and the winds blow harder, daemons will appear in increasingly greater numbers. However, as with the Skaven, these numbers are thinned somewhat by inherent disunity. Squabbles are frequent and the weak are killed by the stronger with great regularity. Accidents, sacrifice, sabotage,
scheming and giant monsters eating things on the way to battle all serve to further diminish forces. Though the presence of Archaon serves as a stabilizer when it comes to squabbles at the top, on lower levels he barely cares except when it provides a major detriment to his plans. Sometimes also foolish
warlords think they can rise above Archaon as Everchosen with predictable results.
Independent of normal reinforcement rates is that of daemons, who are so reliant on the Winds of Magic and Chaos corruption that, if they were brought to the physical realm, would quickly dissipate without the magic to sustain themselves. Thus the ability of Chaos to utilize daemons would depend upon three factors
-Sacrifice: Souls, as pieces of the ether, are magic. In Warhammer (and many other universes) souls are found inside every little thing, from the smallest ant to the biggest giant, though to varying degrees. When a Chaos cultist offers up a captive to the Chaos gods they are offering up a soul- a fragment of the ether- through which the daemon can consume and utilize to sustain itself for an unspecified period of time (depending on factors to be discussed, such as strength of the soul or corruption of the area) . For ease of simplicity, it can be assumed that one human soul would equal one lesser daemon summon. Thus if Chaos was able to capture and sacrifice a thousand townspeople they could summon up one thousand lesser daemons. However this is not all to the story, as not every soul has the same value. Animals are likely not sufficient enough to sacrifice to get a lesser daemon (though sacrificing enough of them would) while Elves/Dwarfs, with more powerful souls, could summon more daemons per sacrifice. Moreover the quality of the sacrifice could be affected by the individual’s worth within their society. For example it is said that, if a cult managed to sacrifice a Grand Theologinist of Sigmar ort the Emperor, that would be significant enough to summon a greater daemon. Likewise magic users also are worth more their weight in daemons and it is said that the Harbinger, a great Bray-Shaman, was able to sacrifice seven other fellow bray-shamans in order to bring a thousand daemons into existence. Chaos can draw these sacrifices from the enemy, neutral factions or even themselves, usually sacrificing the weakest of their number (or those who fall into ill-favor).
-Ritual: Every sacrifice requires a ritual, with the more powerful daemons requiring truly elaborate rituals to summon. For example, in order to summon N’Kari you must sacrifice 66 captives in a very specific way. To summon a Bloodthirster, 88 captives much be killed in a manner befitting of that Bloodthirster and so one and so forth. Sometimes the ritual can be made extremely elaborate, or pleasing to the god, that allows a skilled sorcerer to bypass the sacrifice requirement. For example the Druichi sorceress Morathi once conducted in the Chaos Wastes an extremely ‘orgasmic’ ritual that had only a couple dozen sacrificed, but done in a way so pleasing to Slaanesh that 66 troupes of 6 Daemonettes were sent to aide her. However, as detailed in the ritual section, the more powerful the ritual the greater the chance of disastrous mess-up, the more difficult it is to prepare and often requiring exotic ingredients or actions.
-Corruption Zone: ‘Corruption level ‘is a term that represents how saturated the land is with magic or the raw stuff of Chaos. The lower the saturation rate, the more difficult a daemonic incursion is while, conversely, the higher the saturation rate, the easier it is to summon daemons. The specifics, ways and means of the corruption levels will be detailed in that section. In regards to rituals and sacrifices, the higher the corruption level, the more effective and easier they will be (though rituals will always be difficult). The Converse is true on lower levels. At levels 3 and above it is possible for sorcerers to use the Winds of Magic to summon daemons into the world as regular spells, devoid of ritual or sacrifice.
Daemons are creatures of the Aether and thus they are incapable of sustaining themselves indefinitely, even in a level 4 or 5 corruption zone. The time might be mere hours or minutes in a level 1 zone, or weeks/months in level 4 but eventually they will dissipate unless they are able to sustain themselves through constant conflict, sacrifice and the devouring of magic.
The mighty Chaos Dwarf Empire, though low in numbers compared to me, is hypothesized to be comparable or even slightly outnumber the regular Dwarfs, as the Chaos Dwarfs- secure behind their slave legions- haven’t been under perpetual assault for the last 4000 years. A big portion of the Ogre Tribes went to Chaos and thus they may well number in the 10s of thousands total. Greenskins are the most populous mortal race after the Skaven and thus all the variant sub-races (Gnoblars, Goblins, Orcs and, most particularly, Hobgoblins) can be found and enslaved in great numbers, with the Chaos Dwarfs utilizing the Hobgoblins the most of any sub-race. Since Greenskins are inherently fungoid it is, in theory, possible for them to be ‘grown’ on a campaign, though a far cry from the fast production of the Skaven. The only Greenskin variant considered rare is the Black Orc. Other allies aren’t so common. The Dragon Ogres are described as a rarity while Fimir are so uncommon that they are almost mythological. The callous Druichi would only number a very small fraction of the Chaos force, and even under the most liberal of countings (giving Archaon the hidden Cult of Slaanesh, the Cult of Blood and any Druichi mercenaries hired by Chaos) it would still not number very high into the quintuple digits.
Even beings as mighty as the Chaos gods crave the one thing that they cannot automatically acquire;
souls. Mortal souls are the wellspring of their power, which grows statistically as more mortals are corrupted or devoured. This is why they make war on the Material Realm- with their followers obeying them in the hope of divine award or pure devotion or fear of utter damnation if they fail. Though other motivations do exist, such as the Beastman’s hatred of civilization or the Chaos Dwarf’s desire to build
a horrific industrial world-spanning tyranny , this is by far the greatest reason.
“They fight because they are men possessed of a terrible idea that their gods require it of them. What makes them so dangerous is that they truly believe in the things they say they believe; that they are the chosen warriors of an ancient power whose sole purpose is to destroy any who oppose it. Such men cannot be reasoned with, for their every belief is enslaved to the idea that the destruction of our world is their sacred duty.’- Tzarina Katarina, Ice and Sword
It should be emphasized that the ultimate goal of Chaos(barring Archaon’s personal mission) is not destruction but eternal servitude, though destruction often comes about from their efforts. To consume all of existence would result in their own demise. Per a White Dwarf questionnaire “: It may seem that the forces of Chaos are trying to wipe out all life, but actually they want to enslave everything. If you think about it, Nurgle loves death, but revels in creating life from it, just stinky, noxious life. Tzeentch changes and manipulates. If everything was dead, he’d have nothing to play with. Slaanesh feasts on pleasure and perversion and needs mortal creatures to enact them. Khorne lusts for eternal war. “
“Mortals are free to do as they will. The Gods give them no choice.’ – Imperial Proverb
Of all the weaponry Chaos has in its immense arsenal, the power of Chaos corruption
stands unequaled. The savage Beastman can be fought off, the marauder butchered and even the daemon banished but the possibility of corruption remains. Given time it can twist a heroic virtue into a vice, sap the strength of civilizations or even pervert a whole race. Corruption refers to the gradual slide of morals and personal integrity into something debased and depraved. It is very much the means by which the gods gain followers among the mortal races. Many- such as the Northmen and Beastmen - are either born corrupt or raised in a corrupt society that leads to them knowing only Chaos. Others are drawn in via choice, circumstance or events until the mortal finally takes a final step into damnation. There are numerous manners by which corruption can come about. Chaos corruption is an extremely important yet difficult concept to understand, for it is not portrayed consistently and varies between authors. Fan debate also usually places it on too high or too low a pedestal without understanding its limitations or abilities.
Woe is he who bears the mark of Chaos. For he is already dead, though his mind may not yet know it. –Canticle Six, from Litany of the Damned
Mutation refers to the process by which the raw essence of Chaos physically interacts with mortal form
and alters it, whether slightly or significantly, with supernatural metamorphosis. Sometimes this forced change is directed according to a specific plan of a malevolent deity. However, just as often it is determined by the capricious whims of the Aether itself. These mutations can range from the helpful, such as scaly skin armor or fire breath, to the harmful like sickly skin or a thousand random noses on the body. They can be physical or mental/psychological, with examples of the latter including irrational rage or extreme, Skaven-like fear. Mutation of an individual can be caused by magical spells or items, direct contact with the corrupt (with wyrdstone being particularly virulent) or even just being in an ambient environment corrupted by Chaos for too long. Limiting contact with corruption, as well as magical means of defense or racial traits (Dwarfs being notoriously difficult to mutate), can lessen the chance of mutation to a fair degree. However, the only full means of defense is outright avoidance and so long as a force is in a chaotic
infested zone there will always be a risk of mutation , no matter what defenses deployed. However once such a mutation occurs it provides a constant gateway of Chaos exposure on the mind, body and soul, with the degree varying depending on the depth and extent of the mutation (sometimes heavy enough mutation will result in someone falling to Chaos immediately). Others, depending upon the traits described below, might resist for a while i f their willpower is strong . Karl Hoche of Marks of Heresy, mutated with a second mouth on his neck, dedicated over a year of his life to hunting down
Chaos wherever he found it. In Shamanslayer a young Knight Squire of exce ptional will was completely turned into a Beastman yet still held onto his mind long enough to warn his uncorrupted comrades of an impending trap days later before being put down. Thus corruption from mutation can, depending on the strength of mind of the afflicted in question and the power of the individual mutation, can fall to Chaos in moments or last for a couple years (strongest cases). There is one more case study of mutants that needs to be discussed and that is the example provided by the servants of Shallya. Shallya, the goddess of mercy, is perhaps the only god of order who will try to care for and heal mutants. Unfortunately order gods in the setting are extremely weak compared to the Chaos gods, being constantly under assault and thus though she is capable of fully curing mutation outright, she can only do so extremely sparingly(in WFRP, she only offers this type of healing to the PCs and only then after they do an extreme deed). To highlight this issue further, the sourcebook of Marianburg mentions that thousands of cripples bathe in the sacred pools of the White Chapel, in water said to be blessed by one of the goddesses’ most sacred followers, in the hopes of being miraculously healed. Thousands come every month and of those one, maybe two per month were actually healed.
However even if Shallya cannot heal all the mutants, her latent influence can help suppress the chaos
traits, for a while at least . In the WFRP Dying by the Light a radical Shallya priestess named Sister Astridso radical she was expelled from her order- founds a colony for mutants, organizes them, and actually keeps them from falling to Chaos through extremely devout Shallya worship. However, unfortunately, ALL those afflicted eventually succumb. Karl Hoche, the insatiable anti-mutant Mutant, eventually would have been taken over by his mutation according to author comments on the unreleased sequels. Even towards the end of the second novel he was slowly giving into new unsavory habits, such as allowing his second mouth to drink human blood. And that Shallya colony of mutants? In the roleplay it is established that if Sister Astrid dies her colony promptly collapses and her charges are lost to the wild and eventually, like all mutants, to Chaos.
It is possible to cure those affected via surgery if done before the influence is still weak or hasn’t spread too much (and of course, if the victim can afford to have the afflicted limb hacked off!). So someone with a scaly thumb would probably be fine if hacked off promptly. Magical means might extend the cure point a little further, though Chaos mutation is as a rule extremely difficult to cure in such a form. That said, eventually there is a point where not even the strongest magic could heal someone as the corruption takes over enough of the soul, body and mind of the afflicted. If the Lore of Light was used on such an individual, it would evaporate them completely rather than just healing the mutation. “Who are you really? “ Karl asked. “What did you do? You know enough to have tricked Max, and he’s no fool. But you were never a priest of Chaos. “ Nils paused. “I did work at the temple in Nuln,” he said, and paused again. “The Temple of Morr,’ he added, dug an acorn from his pocket and chewed on it. “I was a gravedigger. One of the priests was teaching me too. He said I had potential, that I may find work in the brotherhood. Then my wings started sprouting, and I spread.” “How long has that been?” “Seven Summer. Seven years in the forest. It’s not been easy,” Nils said. His face slowly became lined and worn, growing dewlapped, pock-marked and sad. He fished another acorn from his pocket and offered it to Karl. “You won’t tell Max, will you? Karl took the acorn and ignored the question. He said “This is what interest me. None of us had any contact with Chaos before we started to change. ‘Except me’, he thought, and I am not telling you that. “If we had been Chaos worshippers, we’d have seen the mutation as a gift from our gods, not a reason to flee. Yet here, instead of cursing Chaos and turning to Sigmar and Morr, you and the others follow this debased form of Tzeentch-worship, a god you know almost nothing about. Is there something endemic in mutation, that it turns the bearer towards the Chaos Gods? Or is it in the nature of Man that we feel the need to grovel towards whatever power seems to control our lives? Because if it’s the former -“ (Cut a Boar attack on the pair. In this conflict Nils cries out for help from ‘Seench”) “Do you remember what you shouted?
It…no “ Nli’s features were agitated, unable to settle on one face or expression. “It was ‘Seench’, Nils. You shouted the name of a god you don’t know, that you admit you don’t understand. By sense, you should have no faith in this god, and yet in your distress you called his name.” Karl stepped away, limping around the clearing, testing his left. He bent over the still carcass of the black boar and pulled his knife from its throat, wiping it clean on his trousers. ‘You answered my question.’ “What question?’ Nils looked agitated. Karl didn’t look at him. “Whether the worship of Chaos among mutants is a conscious reaction against the Old Gods who have abandoned us, or whether it lies deeper. Does the fact that we bear the mark of Chaos make us things of Chaos? You, Nils, you were closer to the old gods than any of us. But in your panic you didn’t call for Morr or Sigmar. You called for Tzeench, the god who made you this thing of corruption. ‘ From behind him he could hear Nils shift position, probably towards a weapon of some kind. “So what?’ the mutant asked “What does that have to do with getting back to the camp with a ton of pork and a man with a broken leg?” “It’s about what you believe. “ Karl said “I believe that the works of Chaos are intolerable and must be destroyed. And though I believe you do not understand it, and you think yourself a good man who has been used cruelly by fate, you are in your heart a thing of Chaos. ‘ “But you can’t exorcise the Chaos out of me,’ Nils protested. Karl stood and turned. He picked up a broken spear, adjusted his grip and advanced across the clearing. Nils saw his expression and tried to scrabble away, around the trunk of the elm. “Seench! Seench!’ he whimpered “Why like this? Why didn’t you let the boar kill me?’ “I wanted you to know why you’re going to die, ‘Karl said , “ It’s not personal. All things of Chaos must be destroyed, it’s as simple as that. ‘ Nils kicked out with his good leg. Karl dodged it and put one foot on the mutant’s broken limb, pressing it down. Nils screamed in pain, flailing his arms, tears streaking his bizarre face. “For pity’s sake,’ He pleaded. “I pity you, but that will not save you,’ Karl said. He took aim with the spear, careful to avoid the jerkin. “But you’re marked by Chaos too!” Nils squealed . “My time will come,’ Karl said, and thrust downwards. “ -Mark of Damnation.
The followers of Chaos take an interest in the insane. They believe that insanity is caused by Chaos, but consider mental disorders to be a kind of blessing, much like a mutation. The insane are thought to possess great insight, prognosticatory powers, and perhaps even the ability to speak directly to the Gods of Chaos. Cultists of Tzeentch are especially fond of the insane because they believe the warping of the mind to be a direct gift from their God. These cultists kidnap lunatics for study, experimentation and unholy rites. Few survive the adoration. Insanity is a concept in Warhammer that seeks to simulate the stresses and mental trauma suffered by characters during their adventures, stresses which may, over time, lead to rather odd character traits. These traits may manifest themselves as neuroses of various kinds, more severe mental illnesses, drug or alcohol dependency, or total inability to cope. The supernatural traits and items of Chaos, such as daemon rituals, grotesque atrocities and the warpstone auras, all carry the risk of weakening the psyche, either through simply the horrors of war (like modern day PTSD) or through supernatural, corrupting means. While it is untrue that all of the insane are followers of Chaos (Flaggellants are a major example of something insane that eternally battles Chaos) it can be said that the followers of Chaos themselves are heavily afflicted with insanity, and that the insane are more vulnerable to spiritual and physical corruption as well as the rare daemonic possession. A sane mind is an orderly mind while the insane are often shown to be more vulnerable to the lure of chaos or the emotions that sustain it. Increasing the amounts of insane on the enemy side not only increases the amount susceptible to chaos corruption but can cause havoc and confusion in the opposing side. This goes even beyond the battlefield to instilling insanity in the general population and in fact the Old World seems to suffer from a far higher number
of mentally ill than the real world equivalent. In normal times of the Old World huge numbers of individuals suffering from varied mental disorders (such as sociopathism, PTSD, pyromania, schizophrenia, strange compulsions, paranoia etc) that cause numerous instances of crime in the Empire, though in normal times they are contained. Some insanities are clearly Chaos inspired, such as fanatical obsession with a random task or meek bliss towards life. In the End Times many particularly weak-willed or susceptible humans went mad well before the actual armies of Chaos appeared, driven so by the winds of change that swept the land. Many died from Chaos inspired atrocities during these early days. For example one priest poisoned his parish, another went on a murdering spree and many fell into madness or else sought out chaos for the purpose of defecting.
The same things that cause mutation (such as exposure to warpstone or prolonged presence around Chaos) can also cause insanity.The act of mutation is also likely to cause some potent madness. However it should be noted that, unlike with mutations or possession, the afflicted are NOT a 100% guaranteed to fall to Chaos. Some types of insanity can be cured through drugs, surgery or magic.
Possession is the assumption of the physical form by some external agency, with this case being daemons. Though rather rare in the Warhammer world it is one of the most feared mechanisms of Chaos. For if the outer appearance of a daemon is terrifying enough, what can be more fearsome than sharing a soul with one? In the Warhammer universe all living creatures are connected to the Realm of Souls and thus at risk from the malevolent inhabitants of that realm. The more connected to the realm (the larger the ‘soul) the greater the presence in the realm, with intelligent life in general being more connected than non. Daemons, as creatures of the Warp, may choose to use a mortal’s connection to both dimensions as a personal gateway through which it can interact with the mortal realm. Though it is not unheard of for a daemon to possess an animal or tree (or, in 40k’s case, a robot) such cases are rare, for intelligent life can house more of the demon’s innate power and form. Daemons can technically possess inanimate objects however they will almost never willingly do so and this is usually reserved as a punishment or imprisonment. As shown by the short story ‘Chaos Beneath’ it is possible for daemons to possess dead bodies however these are even less stable and the daemon in question is unable to stop the dead body from physically rotting without necromantic knowledge. There are several means of possession. The first, usually reserved for the most fervent of Chaos worshippers, is voluntary. Some are crazed cultists eager to please their masters or are fools who
believe that by inviting a daemon inside themselves they will gain their strength or even control of the daemon. 99% of the time they are wrong*. By inviting such an entity inside themselves their minds are
immediately devoured as the daemon seizes full control of the host. The soul is unrecoverable. Some mortals are born with a stronger connection to the supernatural. Of them, most are discovered by the Colleges of Magic and selected as Apprentices. A few discover their talents and develop magic use in a haphazard way, mostly through trial and error. But the rest can go their entire lives never knowing what potential lies within them, what powers could be theirs to control with training and study. It is these whom the Daemons seek. Through unprotected dreams daemons may enter the minds of these individuals while taking great pains to hide its presence, for if the mortal detected it in this stage then the daemon might be repelled. Instead, the Daemon worms its way deep into the unconscious where it gently prods and pushes over
the weeks to gradually corrupt its host’s mind and actions.For this reason, it’s harder to detect a possessing Daemon since the telltale marks of possession are slower to manifest. That said, handling
holy objects, even early on, will cause the daemon immense pain and spoil the disguise. Other times it might be a victim sacrificed by a cult to provide a host for its patron daemon, or a mage who gets a little too careless handling his magical spells. Or through trickery and greed, as was the case with the Druichi Malus Darkblade who was tricked into picking up a demonically possessed ring.
Once inside the daemon will slowly alter the mortal’s vessel in subtle ways that it seesfit, gradually seeking to warp it into the daemon’s true form. In the meantime the victim might experience visions or hallucinations, gradually growing to where the victim sees the world as the daemon sees it. The host might become paranoid and withdrawn as the entity poisons thoughts against former friends and allegiances. He or she might experience a host of other symptoms like spontaneous vomiting; weird symbols carved into the flesh, unholy appetites or mutations as well as daemon type specific personality
changes. For example someone possessed by a Slaaneshi daemon might be more lewd and licentious, while one of Khorne is prone to wrathful rages. By the time the most severe mutations and effects take form the mortal’s soul is irredeemable, either corrupted or consumed by the daemon inside. However before this point it is still possible to exorcise
the daemon, if caught early enough. Many religions have different lores or magical means of doing so, though the daemon will rarely leave willingly and in often cases it is a struggle of wills between the exorcist and the entity. In Warhammer Fantasy there are no known examples of the mortal victim throwing off an already entrenched daemon presence by him or he rself, though in Warhammer 40k the Illuminati secret society is an example where this has succeeded. Malus Darkblade, a Druichi leader, was able to keep a daemon prince who possessed him at bay for many years though this was mostly through a combination of extreme willpower, magical strengthening potions and the daemon limiting itself at times. Eventually Darkblade did succumb in the End Times.
Battlefield Possession: Sometimes, in the heat of battle, daemons might try to possess someone (almost always a wizard) if they are not careful enough or miscast a spell. With powerful enough willpower these attempts can be fought off by the mortal; otherwise the daemon might take temporary possession and inflict damage on the victim and/or the victim’s allies. The more powerful the daemon that attempts such a possession, the more difficult it will be to fight off. Though all daemons have the capacity to possess mortals, most daemons fortunately do not try to do so, for fortunately it takes a great deal of energy and effort for a daemon to make the attempt. Occasionally a bored daemonette might attempt possession, or more likely a daemon prince. The only restriction is that the daemon must be unbodied to do so, meaning most daemons on the battlefield cannot attempt possession. Thus possession can be considered rarer than mutation (probably the most common form of Chaos corruption) or the spiritual corruption referred to below. Moreover possession can only remain undetected for so long. Gradually, as the daemon takes control of the host it will inevitably alter the host to better fit the daemon’s own true form. It is the nature of magic to warp reality and thus even if the daemon wanted to hide its presence for a while longer it
would be unable to prevent mutation and transformation from occurring. Thus possession as a means of infiltration would be limited only to the early timeframe of the host’s affliction. It can, however, somewhat bypass this by trying to lure another mortal to serve as a host. Such forcible transferences are almost invariably fatal to the srcinal host however, if successful, the daemon can then continue its dark work until the new body begins to mutate. Compared to mutation possession does not offer the same comparative number of advantages, courtesy of its rarity. Possession cases can certainly cause havoc and disruption among enemies, particularly if it suddenly revealed or is used to take out an enemy champion. Depending on how enemy magic works it might be able to be used successfully against enemy magic users. However its usefulness for infiltration is limited courtesy of the daemon being unable to maintain the host’s form once the soul is consumed. *To add a quick note the case of the Skullmongerers, who willingly bind a daemon to themselves and keep control, shows an example that it is theoretically possible for a mortal to voluntarily imprison a daemon inside of them to gain their strength and remain in control, for a while at least.
“‘The great and the good carry the same flaws as you and I. They are just buried deeper or concealed with greater skill. Accept this as truth. Though it is true also that such revelations are a fall from which we never truly recover.’ – Eugen Kufka, A History of the Empire v.XII” - Archaon: Everchosen
Both mutation and possession can be considered external means of corruption. This means that the forces of Chaos are directly taking hold in the victim’s body (Mutation, which is usually physical) or mind (possession, with a daemon constantly twisting thoughts). From there the corruption spreads to the mind/body (whichever not initially infected) and ultimately soul. Though madness does not always lead to corruption it to is the reaction of the mind to the external horrors that it is witnessing. However the means that I speak of below, the most insidious manner of corruption of all, starts soundly in a mortal’s own soul. Of all the means of Chaos corruption this means- the means by which the mortal voluntarily seeks out Chaos- seems to please the gods the most. More so than random mutations or daemonic possession those who choose Chaos by their own volition attract the eye of the gods. This is the most insidious means of Chaos corruption, for physical mutation can be found out and daemonic possession limited
and averted but it is hard to stop men from experiencing their own vices. The lure of Chaos is everywhere, always tempting, turning, and twisting the lives of the common citizen.All gods actively encourage such spiritual corruption, with Slaanesh said to be the best at it.
The Lure of Chaos: The reasons for joining Chaos are m any. Some desire power and lack the scruples to care how they receive it. Others are bored out of their minds, given to despair, or fear Chaos enough that they believe the only way to survive is to serve it. Ambition is a very common motivator that includes vengeance, envy, greed, perfectionism or simply the desire to give oneself a better life. Quite a few have no idea what they are getting into and might be peer-pressured into or are misled by a trusted friend. Some opportunists are easily won; others hard to get. ““They were following the same route as they had taken the previous day on the way to the walls, and yet the place looked already altered. Buildings, houses and shops that had looked barely half-built only the day before now stood virtually intact, their construction completed with incredible speed. Then there were other buildings—those that had been already standing—that now appeared partly demolished, broken down for no obvious purpose other than to accommodate the new, partly-built structures growing up out of their midst. Some of the new structures were recognizable in shape. Others—bizarre lattice-works of alabaster marble twisting about one another like sleeping serpents—were not. Everything, every edifice, was competing with others for the increasingly precious space around the citadel. “It’s getting out of control,” Stefan said quietly to Bruno. “The place is feeding upon itself. The growth can’t be contained.” “Why do they keep building?” Bruno asked, awed and perplexed in equal measure. “They must see that they’re starting to tear the place apart?” Stefan turned to his friend in the shadows of the wagon. “Who knows?” he said. “But my senses tell me that Konstantin and Anaise have unleashed something here that they cannot now undo.” (…) This cold early morning he seemed to see Sigmarsgeist as he had never seen it before. The citadel was his: Sigmarsgeist was his creation, his child. But now, with the wind blowing off the hills setting a cruel chill into his limbs, he began to see that creation for what it truly was. Instead of order, he saw anarchy. He counted dozens of new houses and workshops which had not existed the day before, new buildings that had sprung up across the city almost literally overnight. But equally there were dozens more that appeared to have been destroyed for no reason, burst open like cracked, discarded shells and new, halffinished structures emerging from the ruins like jagged teeth. The streets of the city were full, as they always now seemed to be. But where before Konstantin had seen only labour and purposeful endeavour, he now saw discord and strife. Men and women clashed upon the roads and walkways of the citadel, elbowing one another out of the way, jostling for what limited space remained. So many people, too many. He could hear their voices raised, a tumult of sound rising to the
high towers of Sigmarsgeist. And what for so long had sounded in his ears as exaltation now rang with bitter anger. He saw the White Guard amongst them, staffs and clubs raised as well as voices. Many he no longer recognised. Even the guard were passing beyond his control. Most of all, wrapped around nearly two thirds of the city like a choking weed, were the structures of fibre and bone that no mortal hand had built. Walls that blocked off streets; walkways and bridges that ended in empty space. Flights of steps that vanished into the ground without entrances or exits. A madness had seized hold of Sigmarsgeist, a touch of Chaos, and this was its physical form. Had it come so suddenly, or had the change been so gradual, so stealthy, that it had crept upon him without his noticing? Or was it simply that he had tried so hard, and for so long, not to see what was unravelling before his very eyes?” –Taint of Evil“
These individuals often congregate in likeminded cults, who then scheme in secret to further the work of their dark masters. Such cults, as to be discussed shortly, are one of the greatest means of internal disruption Chaos has available. Corruption can be extremely difficult to analyze and even more so to manage. This is because its basis is on the individual level, by personality and spirit, rather than any mundane thing like position, prestige, health etc. A young, fit nobleborn with a selfish personality and desire to experience the myriads of pleasure in life might be more at risk than a poor old man serving as a sergeant in his armies. However there are some common themes that I have found in analyzing Chaos for Warhammer Fantasy that might serve as a means to determine how prevalent it is in an opposing force.
Below are traits that matter and vary between individual, to determine their susceptibility to Chaos.
1. Emotional Extremes: Those with a tendency to more emotional extremes are going to be more likely to gravitate towards the malign influence of Chaos then those without. For example an extremely bored noble who is desperate for some stimulation to break the ennui of life would be more susceptible to Slaanesh then a more content noble. In another example a warrior who gives into rage and bloodlust on the battlefield is going to more likely gravitate towards Khorne then a disciplined warrior. Likewise a scheming leader might embrace Tzeentch in order to plot intricate schemes to reach the top. That said not everyone who gravitates towards emotional extremes is guaranteed for Chaos corruption; it is just more likely. Those who gravitate towards emotional extremes will also likely be more susceptible to daemonic auras. Indeed in the Sigmar novels by Graham McNeil the warrior king had many crazed beserkers in his ranks that stayed loyal even when fighting against Khornates directly. Likewise Druichi Lords and vampires are as scheming and power hungry as they come, yet few fall to Chaos.
2. Unselfishness/Selfishness: Those who desire power at any cost are going to be more susceptible to giving themselves over to Chaos then those who are reluctant to take any action that might hurt their comrades. This is shown prominently in Beastslayer, where the head Chaos Cultist struggles with
familiar attachment to his brother, the Duke of Praag, and the desire for advancement as an assassination attempt comes to fruition. It should be noted that though these two are usually in conflict, sometimes the forces of Chaos can be clever, and use blackmail or false promises to make it seem dealing with them is in the interests of the Greater Good.
3. Strong willpower or overriding morals: Chaos is all about willpower, and just as its champions are highly willful beings so too does this factor have an effect on corruption. The strong willed have a better chance resisting the lure of Chaos then the weak willed. Strong morals or fanaticism to something antithetical to Chaos helps greatly here too.
4. Rule: It’s ALWAYS a
choice! It might seem strange that powerful godlike beings cannot force their will upon others and create unwilling servants, however the fact is they either can’t or won't. As a rule the corrupted must always make a conscious choice to be corrupted, and so far every god has followed this rule. When Sigvald met Slaanesh in the Realms of Chaos, the pleasure god offered him a choice. When Festus despaired and asked aloud for the knowledge to cure all diseases, he was granted such in return for eternal servitude to Nurgle. When Valkia seeks out future champions for Khorne she always makes it clear that it is their choice to join her and her master. Even Tzeentch acknowledges such with Horstmann, as the quote below shows. "‘In return for what?’ ‘There is only one thing I want,’ said van Horstmann. ‘You know what it is.’ ‘I do. And I can give it to you.’ Van Horstmann swallowed, painfully. ‘You can have whatever you want from the Light Order. Its vaults, its magisters, anything.’ ‘I know,’ said the snake. ‘But I am a god. I can take whatever I want from any ensorcelled vault in the world, and destroy it with a whim. What do I care if you offer up a pyre of books to me?’ ‘Because the one thing you cannot take is willing obedience,’ replied van Horstmann. ‘That must be given freely. And so it is the only thing that a god can crave, for it is the only thing that is beyond Him.’
‘True,’ said the snake, its forked tongue flickering. ‘And indeed, I desire it. But you know full well w hat I really want.’ ‘You cannot have it,’ said van Horstmann. ‘I will no more pledge my soul to you than I would pledge it to Sigmar. That is my one rule. Anything else you want, you will have. But not my soul. And it is not much that I ask of you. Just a little information. Most of the path I have to take I have pieced together myself. I just need a few more points on the map and I will never require anything more of you.’ ‘I will have your soul, Egrimm van Horstmann.’
‘No, Lord Tzeentch. You will not. That is the deal I will make. That is the contract I will sign. Everything short of my soul, for the knowledge I need to get what I want.’ The snake seemed to consider this. It was hooded, like a venomous snake from the deserts of Araby or the Southlands, and its eyes were like flecks of amber. Its tail flicked idly from side to side as it thought about the offer. ‘That is satisfactory,’ said the Prince of Lies, known to some as Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, or by any one of a thousand names. ‘It will be signed.’ Van Horstmann closed his eyes and let out the breath he realised now he had been holding. ‘Then tell me,’ he said. ‘Everything I must know. Tell me.’ ‘I impart this knowledge only because it suits me that you shall have your revenge,’ said the Prince of Lies. ‘All that happens will be because I will it. You must never forget that, Egrimm van Horstmann.’ ‘I know the terms of a deal made with you,’ said van Horstmann. ‘Then listen.’ Van Horstmann would never be able to say afterwards just how long he lay there, listening to the snake’s words. It was quite possible they were imparted in an instant but that the effort needed to process them in his mind meant it felt like hours. Or perhaps it really was hours, in the way that time can stretch and be manipulated inside the mind. Some of what he learned van Horstmann thought he knew already, but he was now free of doubts that might have turned his hand away from what needed to be done. Some of it was completely unknown. Some helped van Horstmann make the choice between two paths which had previously seemed equally profitable or perilous. And a great deal of it seemed irrelevant, but was filed away by van Horstmann in the fastidious library of his memory, knowing that it would be important one day. There was always more, the Prince of Lies promised. Everything van Horstmann would ever need to know to destroy his enemies. He could have anything he wanted. He could rule. He could create his own kingdom out of the aethyr, a place founded on magic in which his will would become manifest and he could reign as a god. But the price was too high. It was always the same – van Horstmann’s soul, the means by which he could determine his own future. And he would not give that up." –Van Horstmann
The Chaos Gods or their lackeys may use all sorts of tricks to achieve such ‘willing’ participation. These include blackmail, threats, emotional manipulation, mutation and madness, or something as mundane as peer pressure. They can manipulate subconscious thoughts particularly in those with emotional extremes. They might not even explain the contract completely, use slippery slopes or orchestrate ultimatums like how Tzeentch later orchestrated a series of events that nearly led to Horstmann's death, offering him life in servitude in exchange for life, or oblivion in death. In another example, found in the short story The Faithful Servant, the choice was more blunt- either the mortal protagonist gives himself over to Chaos or thousands are butchered. To make a comparison to weddings Chaos cannot physically force the lips of a would-be bride to say “Yes”. However it can offer any manner of bribe, blackmail, persuasion, threat or unforeseen offering/punishment to try and gain the bride’s acceptance.
5. No Going Back: This is a bit self-explanatory. Once an individual willingly gives themselves to Chaos redemption becomes impossible, for the gods now own the soul of the supplicant and can put greater influence on it. Moreover any betrayal would be brutally punished and the one time I saw it occur (in Beastslayer, where a Tzeentchi cultist foiled his cult in order to save his brother) that person was destined for an eternity of torture. After an individual receives the mark willingly their soul belongs to their daemon overlord. In order to free their soul they would essentially have to wrest it from a god. This is why it is so incredibly difficult for anyone in Warhammer Fantasy or 40k to come back from damnation as redemption is out of their hands after a point. However there is a caveat. The Great Necromancer Nagash has managed to steal the souls of Chaos champions once they are dead from their dieties, the most famous example being Krell. Liber Necris specifies that stealing would in fact mean stealing (unseen, without the gods knowing to contest the transaction until too late).
6. Corruption is Racist: In the Warhammer universe different species and their traits affect their corruptibility. Humans are intentionally made out to be the most easily corruptible in the setting, courtesy of our vices and difficulty in controlling them. By contrast the dwarfs of the setting, by virtue of their stubborn nature, are exceedingly hard to corrupt as is the elves, courtesy of their extreme pride in themselves (meaning to associate with warpborn trash like daemons would lower their standing!). Lizardmen are extremely difficult to corrupt on the virtue of lacking personalities while the Skaven, despite being scheme loving and greedy, are bound to the Horned Rat. However this does not mean any of those races are impossible to corrupt. Indeed it is said in the setting that nothing is incorruptible given enough time and effort, and this profile is full of examples of corrupted Dwarfs, elves and ogres. They are just not as prevalent as men and are generally rare. It should also be noted that, in Warhammer 40k at least, machines and AIs can be corrupted. Moreover Chaos sometimes doesn’t fully corrupt a race rather it may bring out its worse traits . For example the period of the Sundering- when Slaanesh influences were prevalent among the soon to be Druichi-
combined with Khaine’s own influence helped mold the Druichi into a race of narcissistic, hedonistic sociopaths. I(n the long run though it never corrupted Dwarfs or High Elves Chaos did heighten their worst traits, resulting in both races being far more stubborn and prideful than they were srcinally.
7. Culture of Corruption/State of Decay: Corruption is very much influenced by group culture with certain cultural traits leading to more examples of corruption. For some this is extremely obvious, such as how the Norscan love of warfare and historical worship of Chaos makes each member extremely susceptible to fully embracing Chaos with all their soul (instead of their usual position of just serving and worshiping but where they haven’t fully committed their souls yet). Others cultures are less obvious. Elves are extremely resistant to Chaos, both in 40k and Fantasy, however in times where their culture grows more decadent even they come to be at risk. In the time before the Sundering the Elves grew decadent with a thousand year peace and significant cults emerged during this time, starting with minor local pleasure gods before ultimately worshipping Slaanesh directly. Similar events occurred before the Fall of the Eldar in 40k, which of course led to the birth of Slaanesh. Likewise periods of turmoil particularly internal can see the desperate experiment with Chaos. In modern day events the Empire, Cathay and the Kingdoms of Ind all showed themselves particularly susceptible to Chaos, with cults being well entrenched in all places. All human nations experienced potent internal difficulties in the End Times. By contrast books shown during the time of Sigmar or Khemri before, when glorious empires had yet to decay, internal Chaos corruption was shown to be less
of a problem, though still existent . A likely reason for this is because those civilizations, at the time, were bright and new and had yet to be decayed by time, though other contributing factors certainly existed as well. In short when a culture or civilization is stagnant, decayed, in internal crisis or possess in abundance the traits Chaos is looking for, the more effect Chaos is likely to have. When a civilization is new, guided by strong morals or principles instead of selfish mortal desires then it might make less an impact, though never entirely nonexistent. “‘No!’ interrupted the priest seated beside Tacca. ‘That is not so, inquisitor.’ Bocca turned his gaze to the dour cleric, some of the hostility he had been directing at Alfredo passing from his eyes. ‘With all due respect to your temple, and your position, inquisitor, I believe that the Ruinous Powers are more insidious than you give them credit for. There are entire nations that bow before them in the north, beyond the Sea of Claws and the Troll Country. In every dark place in the Empire, and even here in the valleys of Tilea, twisted, malformed things cry out to them from their filthy lairs. Why then, with so many, do these Powers relentlessly try to seduce men from civilised lands to their vile worship?’ Scurio paused, letting his question linger. ‘It is because we know what evil is,’ he stated. ‘What does a Norse reaver know of evil? He has been born into the profane worship of the Dark Gods, taught from the cradle to honour and respect them, to pray to them and serve them. It is all that he knows, he has never known any other way. But a man from Luccini, or Tobaro, or Pavona, such a man knows what good is,
and has been taught to recognise evil. Because he must be brought into the service of the Dark Gods from without, he sees them for what they are, he has a greater understanding of what they represent. He knows what good is, what decency and humanity are, and he rejects them in exchange for the dark promises of the Ruinous Powers. And because he has made this choice, because he has polluted his soul with his own hands, he has greater value to them.’”- Brunner the Bounty Hunter
8. Vigilance/Repression: Vigilance and internal espionage can serve as a means to lessen the amounts of Chaos corruption, though never deplete it c ompletely. For example the Empire has a number of witch hunters striving every day to root out corruption where they see it, burning mutants, destroying cults and putting a clamp on Chaos’ operations. Brettonia and Kislev are also incredibly vigilant in the sweep for Chaos. The Inquisition of Warhammer 40k serves the same measure, sometimes annihilating whole planets that seemingly harbor corruption. Now one can argue that such measures serve as short term and not long term solution . For example despite having such suppression techniques in place for hundreds (or, in the case of the 40k Inquisition, thousands of years) Chaos has never been entirely rooted out, just suppressed. And with increasing difficulty every year. At the same time it is also clear that in all examples listed above many, many innocents are put to death by overzealous internal security forces. Other times such heavy handedness may actually have the opposite reaction intended by pushing
people towards Chaos. For example Liber Chaotica notes the extreme stigma that the diseased face in Warhammer society and their lack of rights or care. The belief that the sick are tainted spiritually results in the afflicted being hated, ostracized and killed at times. Such stigma, hatred, distrust and lack of compassion only aid in increasing the individual’s despair, making them ultimately more susceptible to Nurgle. Indeed, when religious figures and Witch Hunters of the Empire preach at the sick that they are already damned and unclean, what then do the afflicted have to risk by actually calling upon Nurgle for release?
9. Time: An obvious trait Chaos does need time to draw willing servants to them and cannot do so as fast as it would take to inflict mutation or possession. The rewards however are far greater here than in any previous case. Various factors (the ones seen above and below) can shorten the amount of time and effort required and of course having skilled in spreading corruption such as Von Horstmann. Over the longest time(years at least, more like decades and centuries) even those races that are not wholly corrupted can be deeply altered by it. Through chaos influence the Elves slowly went from prideful to deeply prideful and contemptuous of all other life. The Dwarfs dug in on their stubbornness and tendency towards grudges. Even the mighty Slann had their thoughts and instructions of the Old Ones muddled by chaos, to the point where their civilization quickly devolved.
10. Corruption & the Divine: To an extent belief in the divine can mitigate the effects of Chaos corruption, as mortals bind their souls or beliefs to a more powerful divine being. This is why the Witch Hunters fanatically worship Sigmar as they seek to purge Chaos from their lands. Sigmar gives them strength and through such strength a greater resistance to Chaos. For evil gods Chaos Dwarfs and Skaven have few that are corrupted by the Four, for their souls are already completely bound to Hashtut
and the Horned Rat respectively. Khaine too gave some protection to his murderous blood elves while he lived. When the Murder God died that was when his followers became vulnerable to the Blood God’s influence. This does not mean that those with no gods or weak faith are automatically corrupted- if their morals and will are strong resistance is possible.
In addition to the above factors effecting how receptive a civilization is to Chaos, the forces of Ruin also
utilize types of agents to try to spread it among the enemy. In the first wave-without native backingthese might be the insidious whispers of daemons or champions/sorcerers endowed with supernatural charisma. One prolific cult establisher is Engrim Van Horstmann, who has seeded much of the old world with cults. Later, if these agents manage to convert members of the populace, these members will take the role of spreading corruption.
EFFECTS: In a campaign corruption, even without factoring in the cults, can range from annoying to downright deadly. On the low level it can result in sabotage, infiltration and paranoia among enemy ranks, along with the possibility of some defection. If in a fortified town the gates might be left mysteriously open right before a Chaos attack. At higher levels of corruption this problem can become almost crippling, with effects ranging from mass Chaos instigated revolt, assassination, and even a nation or army grinding to a halt.
In the early End Times Cathay was crippled by its Tzeentch riddled bureaucracy sabotaging and delaying any attempt at reinforcing a breach in the Grand Bastion. By the time the emperor finally executed the disruptive bureaucracy, it was too late to repel the invaders for Chaos had already broken down their fortifications. In Southern Ind, meanwhile, entire cities revolted as massive pleasure cults took to the streets, helping to result in that part of the subcontinent being overrun.
Mutation can affect the very environment itself, warping nature into a twisted aberration of itself. Creatures that were once herbivores evolve multiple carnivorous mouths, tentacles and a lust for blood while predators gain more viciousness and appendages. Even trees and plants might suddenly grow carnivorous. Nature and the land change in a myriad of fashions, usually depending on which god is dominant in corruption. A landscape influenced by Khorne will
appear hellish and full of lava while in the End Times Nurgle turned the Empire’s forests into a horrific swamp full of carnivorous man-eating plants and
poisonous, sludgy water. The stronger the winds are blowing the greater the presence of Chaos and thus the more mutated the landscape will be. After sifting through probably a hundred pieces of Warhammer fiction, I have found Chaos corruption can roughly be divided into the following categories . In each subsequent category the rate of mutation rises, the amount of magic increases and the ease at which daemons can manifest and sustain themselves increases.
Little to no Chaos corruption present. Needless to say this type of environment is not seen often in Warhammer given how pervasive Chaos is. Only in the most fortified strongholds of Order, like parts of Ulthuan, Lustria and Athel Loren, does the environment approach this standard. For a time, at least. There might still be large amounts of Winds of Magic to draw from, however generally that too is kept in check via Elven waystones or Slaan geometric network.
-Flora & Fauna: There exists a number o f Chaos mutated beasts and sometimes fauna, but not to the extreme. Here and there you might see a deer that feasts on flesh, a six eyed frog or some other weird, out of place element. Nature is still dominant and the latent risk of mutation is relatively minor. “Large brown shapes darted between the ridge rocks. They were mountain antelopes, of the breed called the steinbock, the largest known in the World’s Edge Mountains. Franziskus counted seven of them. Five were large males, each as high as a horse, their heads topped with sharp, curving horns marked by periodic, gnarled rings. The other two beasts were about two thirds their size, so Franziskus reckoned them to be females. His father used to go with his friends to the mountains to hunt them. A set of their ringed antlers decorated the family dining hall. It was not usual for these creatures to come down from the mountains. Franziskus could only imagine what dreadful manifestations of Chaos had driven them into unfamiliar territory. They would not long survive here. Even in more prosperous times, such magnificent beasts would be quickly culled by lucky huntsmen. The soldiers held fast to their formation as the creatures stampeded nearer, assuming that something was chasing the wild beasts, and would soon appear atop the ridge. The archers kept their arrows ready, relaxing only after several minutes had passed, and the antelope were galloping skittishly past them. All but one loped determinedly onwards, but the last steinbock, one of the slim females, halted on the flank of the soldiers’ dissolving formation. “Sigmar’s given us a gift of fresh meat!” an archer cried. “No, wait,” shouted Angelika, but she was too far from the formation. Bowmen pivoted to launch a half-dozen arrows into the antelope’s haunches. The creature staggered at them, then fell neatly on its flanks. “No,” Angelika yelled again. A corporal from the archer’s ranks, laughing excitedly, separating himself from his fellows to trot over to the slain creature. Angelika stood and ran, waving her arms and shouting. The bow-corporal hunched over the thrashing steinbock. A sharp-tipped, keratinous tentacle erupted from the dying animal’s flank to plunge between the soldier’s legs and up into his body cavity. His throaty grunt of appalled astonishment lasted for a brief instant before falling silent. The corporal’s neck distended upwards. Gore spurted from his ears and mouth. The tentacle had pushed its way up through him, and now pressed itself against the roof of his skull. It lifted his dangling feet from the ground. His fellow soldiers stood watching, stock-still, bows held uselessly at their sides. Stunned inaction was a common reaction to the presence of Chaos.
The steinbock was situated on the column’s right flank. Emil rode down its left side, shouting, exhorting the men to fire. Angelika covered her face with her hand. Franziskus drew his sabre. She reached under his coat to seize him by the belt, to stop him from running at the creature. The corporal’s neck stretched and strained. A second tentacle snaked out from the antelope’s carcass, coiling tight around his ankles, snapping them together. The two appendages worked together to snap the soldier’s body taut. His arms flailed; he was still alive, struggling helplessly.
“Finish him,” Emil shouted. “Finish him!” The archers raised their bows, and, with trembling, wayward arms, loosed a volley of arrows. Contrary to Emil’s command, they aimed not for their comrade’s writhing body, but at the jigging carcass of the stein-bock. A handful of arrows pounded into its ribs and haunches. The rest struck far wide of the mark. At the junction between neck and torso, the tensile power of the corporal’s flesh reached its limit. The head tore bloodily loose, exposing the serpentine tentacle inside. It flopped and writhed, the corporal’s head stuck to its end like a puppet. It swung itself at the column of stunned men, who fell back before it. The archers tripped over one another in an effort to escape it. One, his route of escape blocked by the jammed bodies of his comrades, received a glancing blow from the corporal’s skull. He fell to his hands and knees and quaked, piteously sobbing. Sabre in his off-hand and reins in his right, Jonas rode down on the mutated beast. His nervous horse tried to veer but with soothing words and legs tight in the stirrups, the lieutenant kept it steady. As his steed galloped between the steinbock and the slain corporal, Jonas’ sabre cut through the main tentacle. The archer’s corpse thudded to the ground. The antelope’s body shuddered and bucked; Jonas rode his horse back to spear it in the side. He left the weapon inside the beast’s quivering trunk. Jonas let his horse carry him a good distance from it, then dismounted. The horse circled and bucked; Emil led his to its side, to help calm it. What was left of the company’s formation shattered. They formed a wide circle around the lifeless bodies of the creature and their comrade.”- Angelika Fleischer 3
-Magic: The Winds of Magic exist here, and can be utilized, but they are a bit fainter than elsewhere and much easier to exhaust. There might not be enough magic for the stronger spells and certainly not enough for the End Times magic.
-Daemons: In this type of environment daemons are heavily instable and, though they can exist, do have difficulty maintaining their corporeal form. Usually if they manifest it is for a period of days or hours, sometimes even minutes.
-Mutation Risk: Only from eating tainted fauna or flora.
Most of the Old World, prior to the End Times, could be described as in the First Category, with portions rising to 1.8 or 9 in areas of large Beastmen concentration.
-Flora & Fauna: At the minimum 20% of wildlife and flora bear chaos corruption, some of them heavy. As this category approaches the2.8-9 it might become as high as 60%. Chaos wildlife is more malevolent, more cunning, bears fantastic mutations (like several heads, fire breathing) and is dangerous to cook (though it might be safe enough if heavily burnt). Chaos and regular nature are locked in a war with nature steadily losing. “The guards edged cautiously towards the trees. As they stepped beneath the quivering, spindly boughs, a breeze seemed to strike up from nowhere, rippling through the broad, pale leaves and dislodging a couple of them. The skaven hurried towards the glade that surrounded the statue, but before they reached the far side of the trees one of them let out a scream. The others turned back to see that a voluminous leaf had settled over his face, the translucent membrane wrapping itself around him like swaddling. However he pulled and tugged at it, it wouldn't come loose. 'It's just a leaf, you pathetic runt,' snapped Spinetail, but as he watched the struggling soldier, he shrank further back into his palanquin and muttered nervously under his breath. Beneath the grey membrane, the skaven's flesh began to slide and melt. His screams became more desperate as steam hissed from beneath the folds of the leaf. He dropped to his knees, still pawing at the filmy skin in a frantic attempt to free himself. As the other guards backed away, his entire body collapsed in on itself with a sickening plop. Within just a few seconds he had melted into a viscous pool of fur and quickly dissolving bones.” – Island of Blood
-Magic: More powerful spells can be used, though this magic will still run out pretty fast if overused. End Times magic not available yet.
-Daemons: A Daemon’s ability to sustain itself will now last days, weeks or even longer however they are still at risk for instability rules.
-Terrain : Light to low terrain mutation. An example here is with parts of Drakwald forest where visitors claim their sense of time is warped.
-Mutation Risk: Higher from all the chaos co rrupted things around. If you get mauled by something corrupted, or ingest it without purification there is a significant chance of mutation. Around 2.8-9 there might be a small amount of latent mutation though not something major. Examples of a Category 2 include large areas of Drakwald forest, along with much of the Old World during the early phases of the End Times.
-Flora & Fauna: Extremely heavy Chaos mutation in flora and fauna. Over 90% and approaching 100%. Non-corrupted Nature is at this point barely existent or, if it does exist, constantly at risk of being annihilated by Chaos creatures. Those that are mutated might wield more bizarre mutations like the ability to talk, extra limbs or spawndom. Occasionally you will even get all new creatures that seem small and unimposing but are incredibly dangerous. Examples? The Cavity Worm, a parasitic creature that burrows into spoilt food stuffs and lays eggs in the brain. Chaos Slime is the leftovers of mutants resembling a giant amoeba and seeks to engulf and suffocate a creature inside of it. Swarms of Tzeentchi corrupted insects known as Sorrow Swarms move in massive numbers to bit and suck on the tears of mortals, occasionally ripping out eyes in order to get into the tear ducts.
-Magic : End Times magic is now possible as the Winds of Magic flow down in abundance. Can still be exhausted however if used too much during a battle.
-Daemons: Can exist without instability for months or longer usually, though eventually even they will collapse and fade out of existence. It takes a hell of a long time though. -Terrain: The geography bears significant alterations such as weird mountain shapes, rare segments of out of place terrain (swamp in tundra) etc. but is still mostly bound by the physical realm.
-Mutation Risk: There is a latent risk of mutation just from being in a class 3 zone and every periodic interval there is a risk of mutation, determined by willpower, physical /racial traits etch. However it should be noted that in the numerous Norscan books and some of upper Kislev there are significant numbers of tribesmen NOT corrupted. In fact the highest a Norscan tribe will have is a rate of ¼ mutation (usually). Non-corrupted societies such as Kislevite tribes and even the cursed city of Praag can exist here, just with much hardship.
-Madness: To those whose minds are not inured to Chaos or other horrific things the presence of the corrupted, of things that should not be, can cause stress that leads to disorders .However at stage three the risk is considered latent, rather than encounter specific, because of how much Chaos is in the environment. The weak-willed will struggle to keep their sanity intact here. \
-Weather: Weirder, more violent weather such as incredibly potent lightning storms or massive blizzards.
-Magical Chaos Fortresses: Though it requires significant magical upkeep, some of the weirder Chaos fortresses can exist here. Examples of Category 3 land here include Norsca, Troll Country, the upper Dark Lands and the Eastern Steppes. The Old World, by the mid-end times, was probably solidly in category 3.
“After his encounter with the tree-fish, Einarr pressed deeper into the lush forest. The deeper he walked, the stranger and more otherworldly the sights that assailed his eyes became. Stones that scuttled from his path, flowers that devoured the tiny bats that came to drink their nectar, feathered frogs that sang his name as he passed them in their frozen ponds. And always the nameless, crawling evil hovering about the place grew, souring the very air, smothering him with its malignity. Einarr could feel the power of his gods all around him.”
“Impossibly, a blood red sun glared down at them from the black sky, tingeing the land crimson with its gory rays. Einarr decided that it was the most horrible sight his eyes had seen in the weeks since they had emerged from the Frozen Sea. They had seen rivers of brown soup that slobbered their way across the land only to vanish into nothingness. They had seen trees that crawled across the ground like mighty serpents and which called to one another in the mewing voices of tiny kittens. There had been mountains that seemed to tremble at their approach, slinking fearfully towards the horizon so that every step forward put them two steps further away. They had watched snow lift itself from the ground and fly back into the clouds. There had been colours and sounds and smells without end, coming from nowhere and nothing and vanishing as swiftly as they manifested. The touch of the gods was on and in everything they saw. The game Orgrim brought back for their fire became stranger every day. Boars without legs, birds with fur instead of feathers, huge mice with fangs the size of daggers and a frill of flesh around their necks.” – Palace of the Plague Lord
-Flora & Fauna: Probably everything is chaos corrupted. However there is a silver lining, as Chaos is inherently unstable meaning that , unless recently corrupted, there will be less critters over time given the ecosystem being unstable. One incredible example of a Chaos corrupted Beast is the Amalgamation Beast. The Amalgamation Beast is a massive bag of undulating flesh. Its hide consists of countless faces stitched together and animated by Chaos. Each individual face is frozen in some expression of joy, hate, love, or despair, lending to its madness-inspiring appearance. It pulls itself along with great tentacles that shoot forth from its quivering body and drag it forward so that it can rend its foes with its gnashing teeth. And when it slays a mortal, the tentacles pull the corpse close so it can absorb the body, adding one more face to its form -Magic: While magic is not inexhaustible as a source, it takes a long time to train it low. Even then it can likely be replenished after a short time.
-Daemons: Daemons cannot exist indefinitely but they are fully materialized and not instable at all. They can be summoned much easier now than before.
-Geographical Features: Random and Shifting. There could be a tropical rainforest zone next to a desert, a swamp next to a tundra. It could change back in a day or two. Even minor things, like rocks rolling up hills or the very earth moaning, Time and space are also warped, and you could walk a thousand miles
in a day or mile in a thousand days. This is what allowed the Chaos Gods to pull so many hordes of servants from the Chaos Wastes. That said reality still has a hold and more often than not the land will appear the same terrain as it was srcinally. For example most of the Chaos Wastes is tundra as dictated by its geographical location.
-Weather: Stranger, otherworldly weather. The weather itself can be hostile to downright weird, ranging from burning blood or acidic rain to sudden reversal of temperatures to winds that bring increased chance of madness or mutation.
-Mutation Risk: According to Daemonslayer, there are trace amounts of Warpstone in the air. -Chaos Fortifications: Can freely exist here, though not as common as in the Gatelands. -Divine Intervention: At this stage DI is possible by the gods, though still hard to do . See the appropriate sub-section for more details.
-Madness Levels: Even among the tribes of Norsca, Kislev and others accustomed to Chaotic lands, the Chaos Wastes (a classic level 4 zone) are thought to be extremely intimidating and potent. Insubstantial voices whisper from nowhere, reality buckles and weirder things occur that tests a person’s sanity. The prime example of a Category 4 terrain is the Chaos Wastes, or all but the lands closest to the gates, however in the most terrible moments of the End times portions of the Old World approached Category 4. The only thing that has managed to live here not Chaos corrupted for a significant period of time are the Orcs, who have the gestalt magical field of the Waaagh to protect them, and some Dark Elf watchtowers, though madness, suicide and spontaneous murders are terribly common there. In other examples Settra , the Elves, Dwarfs and even rarely the Imperials have very occasionally led sorties into this land and achieved success, though no permanent presence. During those rare times where Category 4 locations appear in the Old World (either in the End Times or during those random Storms of Chaos) mortals have managed to prevail, though at significant cost. “As she climbed towards the scout, Sväla tried to blank out the whining calls that echoed through the banks of snow. Dozens of voices taunted her in a language she had never heard before, but the malice needed no translation. As she hauled herself up the rocks, Sväla began to notice something else strange. As she dislodged stones with her grasping fingers, some of the smaller ones tumbled up the slope rather than down it. As she climbed further, even the larger stones began to roll uphill rather than down. She looked back at the others and saw that they had noticed it too. She realised that as her muscles trembled with the effort of clinging to the rocks, she was no longer preventing herself from falling back down the slope; she actually had to stop herself falling up it. She turned to Valdür with a puzzled expression, intending to ask him about the strange phenomenon, but instead she said: “You’re holding me back, Valdür. Maybe you shouldn’t have come? You’re just too old for this kind of journey.” Valdür’s eyes bulged with shock and hurt.
Sväla gasped, horrified by her own words. She shook her head and reached towards him. “You left my husband to die,” she gasped. “Will you do the same to me?” Valdür’s face twisted into a snarl and he backed away. Sväla clamped a hand over her mouth and shook her head fiercely. Valdür’s expression softened as he saw the confusion on her face. “What more can I expect from a woman?” he asked. He frowned. “Even your own son is not safe from your lies. You’ve stolen his rightful throne. And now you’re leading us all to our deaths.” He mimicked Sväla and clamped a hand over his mouth, but after a few seconds of staring at each other in mute horror, he tried to speak again. “Next time you sleep I’ll slit your lying throat.” Sväla eyes widened, but she would not remove her hand from her mouth. She looked down the slope and saw arguments breaking out amongst all those nearest to the summit. As insults and curses echoed through the snow, she realised that the whole army was on the verge of turning on itself. She grabbed a horn from Valdür’s belt and let out a shrill blast. The Norscans looked out at her with rage in their eyes as she pointed to the hand pressed over her mouth. A few more cruel jibes followed until, one by one, they grasped her meaning and clamped thei r mouths shut.” –Sigvald “He cast his eyes downward, watching the ground as the mammoth plodded on. Blood continued to trickle from some of the animal’s wounds, splashing to the lifeless earth in drips and spurts. Wherever the blood struck the ground, the scarlet grass fought its way up through the grey dirt and scattered bone. It was an eerie, ugly sight, made even more uncanny by the hideous, writhing life displayed by the weeds. They were like bloody fingertips trying to claw free from a shallow grave. Dorgo shuddered at the image, trying his best to banish it from his thoughts. (…) Rounding the broken head of the colossus, Dorgo found himself looking on a scene born from a nightmare. The loathsome red grass he had noted before had grown into huge, ten-foot tall stalks of oozing, writhing foulness. Frond-like tentacles twitched around the tip of each stalk, each frond marked with slobbering, sucking mouths along its length. The huge weeds were all around Devseh, their tentacles canvassing the mammoth’s shaggy body, wrapping tightly across the beast and holding it fast. Devseh seemed to be visibly withering as the hellish plants gorged themselves upon its blood. More hideous still were the smaller, shrieking bundles that twisted and struggled across the ground, trapped inside cocoons of tentacular vegetation. While Dorgo watched, a Tsavag warrior attacked one of the cocoons, hacking at it with an axe. Where the blade struck the leafy appendage, pulpy black syrup exploded, spraying across the grey earth.
Everywhere the filthy sap struck, bloody fingers of grass sprouted from the ground. They did not grow with the slow, eerie grace of their predecessors, but burst into full murderous size with a rapidity that was almost faster than the eye could follow. The warrior who thought to rescue his fellow was surrounded in an instant by slobbering, ravenous weeds that lashed at him with their slimy limbs. The man fought against his hideous foes, but every blow simply spattered more sap across the ground, birthing more of the horrors. Soon, he was pulled down, his body criss-crossed by sucking, gnawing tentacles. Muffled screams struggled against the suffocating mass clapped around his head. Dorgo started to rush towards his trapped tribesmen, but was restrained by a firm clutch upon his shoulder. He spun to find Sanya at his side. The Sul’s expression was grim, forbidding, her eyes as hard as chips of steel. “There is nothing you can do,” she told him, her voice pitiless and commanding. “This land has claimed them.” –Blood for the Blood God
-Flora & Fauna: See Above, everything is corrupted and likely horrifically so.
-Magic: Though mortals and daemons have a limit to the amount of magic they can control, magic is essentially inexhaustible at this level barring special tech or anti-magic.
-Daemons: Can manifest virtually freely, with only the slightest requirements necessary. Can exist indefinitely. Exalted Daemons can likely be summoned here.
-Geographical Features: barely existent and highly stretched. The rules of reality almost do not apply as time, causality and more are all warped. In one scene in a Chaos book you had fish swimming in the air like it was the sea.
-Weather: See level 4, but likely even stranger and more devastating. -Mutation Risk: Extremely high. Any army wanting to march on a level 5 zone would need an extreme number of healers, magic nullifying devices or massive resistance to Chaos to even attempt to conquer such a zone. Many would be at a risk of becoming so mutated they become Chaos Spawn.
-Chaos Fortifications: See Defenses. Needless to say an extreme amount of fortresses and the mightiest of locations, such as the Inevitable City, are located here. Some of these fortifications were so tough that even Archaon, in his brutal quest to become Everchosen, went around them rather than fight!
-Divine Intervention: Though still rare, divine intervention can happen much easier and a bit more frequently than at level 4.
-Broken Reality: Simply put the laws of physics must share space with the laws of unreality, of the Realm of Chaos. Emotion and thought have tangible consequences here as one finds themselves able to ‘feel’ such as taste one another’s hate. In another example seen in Blood for the Blood God a soldier’s fear served to be a rallying cry for a pack of Blood Hounds, who stalked him across the gateland. --Madness Levels: In this impossible environment every sense is constantly under assault and things that should not be, like ‘tasting hate’ are. The humorous description one modern day fan put it is that traveling in the gate lands (level 5 zone) would be like being on a constant acid trip in terms of what they experience. Hardened marauders often go insane here. The main example here is the immediate area around the Chaos gates. Other than Grimmir, an extraordinarily mighty Dwarf hero, and the odd case of Archaon’s flagellant there are no (well, to my knowledge) non-chaos creatures that have gotten close to the gate. Archaon did lead a successful campaign of Chaos Beasts in the Gatelands however even he had to avoid some areas. However there are other, rarer examples in which Chaos has achieved small level 5 type zones. This is when Chaos cultists or sorcerers successfully conduct a ritual so incredibly vile and disruptive that a fabric of reality is torn asunder. In these rare, terrible cases mortals have pushed back their foes and destroyed the ritual sustaining the tear but always only just. These are apocalyptic battles for sure. When it came to close a major tear in Lustria the Lizardmen struggled for years to close it which left them drained for when the Skaven came. “Across the range of his vision, Dorgo could see great mountains rising from the emptiness, mighty mounds of colourless enormity that loomed against the lightless sky. He felt a chill run through him as he saw the mountains approach. His eyes studied them with a crawling revulsion, seeing but not understanding details too distant for his consciousness to grasp. The mountains were rugged, with crumbling cliffs and shattered peaks, strange outcroppings jutting from their faces without pattern or purpose. Somehow, he was reminded of squat ugly thorn bushes stretching limb and talon into the dark in the hope of snagging some passing victim. Limbs and talons: shock gripped the warrior as his mind understood what his eyes gazed upon. Towering over this forbidden world of burning darkness, the mountains were not things of rock and stone. They were skeletal heaps, gigantic piles of death and ruin, the spoils of unimaginable carnage. Dorgo could see bony arms protruding from the sides of the mountains, and smiling skulls peering from the cliffs. He felt his reason falter as he tried to conceive a number that might contain all the death he looked upon. How many had died to rear these skeletal ziggurats?”-Blood for theBlood God Although Archaon’s army was only blazing a single trail of destruction t hrough the crowded citadels and infernal palaces surrounding the collapsed Chaos gate, daemon lords and princes throughout the Gatelands knew of his presence. It had been many hundreds of years since a half-breed host had unified
in such numbers in the darkness of the Wastes to attack the dread palaces of the mighty, in the Gatelands of infernal royalty, where some of the greatest daemons of the Chaos gods ruled. When they learned that it was a man-thing from the north at the head of the bestial horde, rather than one of their own savage kind, this interested the denizens of the Gatelands even more. Not an immortal, an infernal or diabolical being crafted of the gods – but a weakling mortal; nothing more than a plaything of the gods. First came challenges. Territorial warnings. Assassination attempts by creatures that had been dreamcrafted of murderous desire, singular of lethal purpose. The unleashing of titans that strode across walls and stomped their monstrous way through the castle courtyards and palace grounds of their daemonic foes. The mobilisation of infernal hosts, swarming through the wretched narrows and bonejutting trails weaving between the vaulting walls of infernal palaces. Lank-limbed horrors and fountains of warping flesh that filled cramped walkways with lurid flame. Great fanged slugs that rotted their way through fortress walls on carpets of plague-ridden slime. Soul-thirsty slayers of red flesh and twisted horn. Packs of flightless shrikes, hunting, tearing and savaging on all fours, wearing spiked collars in the fashion of eight-pointed stars.
Category VI: Realm of Chaos, where laws of reality do not apply. This should never appear in a KC match and, if it does, it is 99.9% likely Chaos has destroyed utterly the world they are fighting on.
In dealing with a Chaos corrupted environment it is usually the case that mortal armies have to wait until the Winds of Magic recede and then torch everything that was corrupted. That said there are ways for a mortal army to counter a corrupted environment on campaign. However, if necessary the environment can be directly countered on campaign with copious amounts of magic. In both Athel Loren and Luistria the order defenders have used magic to counter corrupted zones. In End Times: Glottkin Vlad Von Carstein had his necromancers use death magic on Nurgle’s garden to clear a path to Altdorf and later in that same novel the onset of a magical winter killed the remainder of Nurgle’s plants. Divine magic, such as that of Ulric or Shallya, will also work. There also exists many types of technology, magically enhanced or otherwise, that can serve as a means to counter magic. The Elves and Lizardmen deploy waystones and a vast, geometric system, respectively, that can siphon magic from an area to store it elsewhere. So successful were the Lizardmen at this, which they were able to keep legions of daemons or mass displays of daemonic sorcery from appearing in the Great War where Magnus was emperor. The Dwarfs can utilize runes to weaken or limit magic within a certain area, also giving their troops resistance. In 40k the Necron have built massive pylons which can nullify the Warp over a vast area. “Sigmar had Alaric spread his remaining warriors around the city to bolster the defences where they were weakest and where the Norsii were sure to attack the hardest. With warriors from the Skrundok clan, the venerable runesmith made his way through the fighting to hammer arcane sigils into the very stones of Middenheim. He would not be drawn on the nature of these runes, but as the days passed, the
lightning strikes that clawed at the city grew weaker and weaker until they ceased altogether. With the lifting of the storms, the hearts of the defenders grew lighter, and the oppressive gloom that hung over the city vanished with the brooding clouds.” – The Legend of Sigmar, Dwarf rune magic dissipating Chaos storms
Finally, lacking magic or technology, the opponent can always fire to destroy corruption where it is found, burning vast chunks of land or individuals to ash. Killing sources of corruption, such as greater daemons, can lower corruption somewhat. However each of these tactics comes with some disadvantages. Just as magic can be countered with magic, so too can counter-magic be countered with additional magic of which Chaos has in spades. Depending on the strength of the technological devices sheer amount of magic can eventually overwhelm it. Fire is usually reliable, though depending on how much land is corrupted ever greater amount of fire must be utilized to be effective. For a Class IV zone you would probably need the Fire Nation on Sozin’s comet to make headway. There are multiple ways for Chaos to spread Chaos corruption throughout the land, the first and foremost is by simply existing. A Grand Legion of the Everchosen contains so many corrupted mortals, so many mutated characters and sorcerers that just passing through an area is going to raise the corruption value for that area. Chaos sorcerors can channel magic in the area, conduct terrible rituals, seduce members of the neutral popular (the more open worshippers of Chaos, the greater their power) and spread around Warpstone everywhere. Greater Daemons, if successfully summoned, provide a terrible anchor that raises the Chaos corruption in a given area while they are alive. There are also random Storms of Magic phenomena that occur almost completely without knowledge or control of Chaos in the area. During these terrible storms the Chaos corruption of a given area can raise all the way up to five, though this is highly temporary and when the storm dissipates (over a unknown period of time, sometimes minutes or days) the zone will go back to normal. It is, of course, possible to win against Chaos without countering Chaos corruption of the land. But it is incredibly difficult. The practical advantages mutation provides to Chaos are numerous. For their followers it gives even the most lowly marauder or Beastman a chance to improve with each battle as gods award mutations as
they see fit. Occasionally this proves to be too much and the unlucky supplicant mutates into a Spawn or Forsaken which, nevertheless, can still be corralled and used against the enemy. As shown in the End Times and the recent Total Warhammer videogame enemy armies must either move very carefully in Chaos lands or see their forces whittled down via terrible attrition. As eating corrupted game or plant life or drinking water is a sure means to spread corruption the army must bring its own supplies or find some rare source that isn’t corrupted (and not deceptive). Thus mutation and a corrupt environment provide a defense of sorts as well as a constant source of attrition among the enemy.
“There was power in sacrifice. There could be great power in the sacrifice of devotion, it was true, if there were both the time and the numbers to make it happen. When they were lacking, the sacrifice had to be immediate and literal.” –Van Horstmann
One of the major objectives of Chaos Warbands is to engage in acts of mass sacrifice , where they slaughter sometimes thousands of captives at once to the Chaos Gods. Sometimes it is standard slaughter; sometimes the victims must be slain in a unique way pleasing to the god. This influx of souls sent screaming to the void for consumption serves to empower their deities, who then are more likely to look upon favorably their supplicant’s actions. In this state the gods are more likely to reward their worshippers with mutations (or, if too much, accidental spawndom), summoned entities or weapons. If the god is particularly pleased it might even reward the commander with the ultimate ascension into daemon prince. More than that such massive sacrifice of souls can be used to empower massive rituals which, though often lasting several days in length can create a significant campaign wide advantage. Several times in Warhammer history massive sacrifices and harnessing of magic have allowed for the summoning of enormous hordes of daemons or the quick corruption of a great deal of land. In one spectacular example the Bray-shaman Malagor, using uncounted sacrifice and the winds of change blowing at a tempest, changed much of the livestock of the Empire into Beastmen. The amount of sacrifices needed to empower some of these most spectacular feats of magic is immense or, in some cases, extremely specific. For example the Harbinger- another Beastman shaman- sacrificed
seven rare fellow Bray-Shaman to summon a horde of a thousand daemons. Oftentimes it is time consuming, such as in Glottkin Festus Leechlord spent weeks working in secret in the sewers of Altdorf, stealthily capturing homeless captives for sacrifice and inventing new plagues. Then, when the armies of Nurgle surrounded the city, the Leechlord unleashed his super spell, summoning many thousands of
daemons if not tens of t housands of daemons including at least one greater daemon in the heart of the city. Other examples: Morathi of the Dark Elves once held a "spectacularly orgasmic ritual" involving lots of sacrifice to summon "sixty troupes of six daemonettes" to unleash upon the enemy. In the Blade of Chaos series a low-level shaman used a vat of boiling blood, done through ritual, to summon 10-20 bloodletters. The higher the level of Daemons the more required to summon, and a bloodthirster generally needs several days of simultaneous bloodletting and hundreds sacrificed in his name. A Keeper of Secrets would require sixty virgin sacrifices for example and done in a specific way. Animal sacrifices, specific ingredients, and knowing a daemon's true name can all factor into this. The weaknesses of rituals are many, however. In order to power the most spectacular of them a great number of sacrifices, or else rare specific ones, are required. Many rare and unusual ingredients are usually also required. These rituals are usually time consuming and can be easily disrupted. Worse when they are interrupted the consequences are often disastrous for the casters. They can be hard to achieve the ingredients for. That said, in the End Times with all the excess magic, it has become somewhat easier for these rituals. Rituals or summoning spells are not the only means by which daemons can appear
thanks to the sheer amount of Chaos energy out there they can sometimes manifest on their own (or their gods’)will. “Vendhal screamed the words of the incantation in dark tongue. They cut through the gale and the roar of the wind with their cruel timbre. The Chaos sorcerer was only half-aware of his pronouncements. It was as if he was so saturated with power now that he had transcended his mortal body and was looking down on the scene as he neared the climax of the ritual.
The runes on the ground flickered and writhed. He stood at the heart of it all, the glittering skull raised high above his head, the winds of magic swirling around him in a tumbling tumult. He had thrust his staff into the ground next to him. The stones set into the sockets of the iron skull surmounting it were glowing a malevolent red, like his own eyes. The orb-wand tucked into his belt pulsed with a throbbing, cold blue light. Power soared into him. Overhead the storm clouds sparked with barely-contained lightning. They roiled and writhed like things given unnatural life by the warping magical energies saturating the environment. The very air seemed to thicken around him. For a moment he felt as if the power of the building storm was more than he could bear, as if he was about to unleash a force upon the world that was so devastating it could not be controlled by a mere mortal. But Vendhal Skullwarper was no mere Northern shaman. He felt that he was no longer even just a sorcerer of Chaos. He was something much greater. He was the chosen channel of the power of the Dark Gods of Chaos, who dwelt beyond space, time and the comprehension of primitive mortal minds. Vendhal threw back his head and looked up into the vortex of power surging above him. He luxuriated in the energising essence of the magical forces gathering there. “The power of Chaos is mine!” the sorcerer screamed to the tortured heavens. With a howl like a hundred packs of hungry wolves, the winter storm rushed in and the warping power of Chaos tore through the summer night. The wail of the tempest drowned the excited cheers of the Kurgan as the power of the north laid siege to Wolfenburg. Snow did not so much fall as sweep across the countryside in a whirling wall of white. In no time at all thick frost covered the landscape for a league in every direction and ice, growing upon thrashing branches in minutes, weighed down the trees of the surrounding spurs of woodland. Then the night exploded. Forked lightning clawed the sky, striking the city walls like repeated hammer blows rained down by a storm giant. Masonry exploded from the stonework where the lightning lashed at the curtain wall with flashing talons of actinic white energy.
This was the power of the Dark Gods in all its terrifying glory. Nothing could stand before the might and the supremacy of raw Chaos. With a roar like the crashing scream of a landslide the ancient gatehouse of the city, which had withstood attacks for two thousand years, collapsed in an avalanche of rock and stone. Men fell screaming to their deaths, crushed by the very battlements that they were sworn to defend. The city had been breached. Jeering and yelling, the Northmen needed no command to drive them on. Bellowing their battle cries the marauders galloped and ran towards the fractured city walls. In a great black tide, Surtha Lenk’s barbarian horde broke open Wolfenburg and began to put everyone inside to the sword. They exacted their bloodthirsty revenge on those who had denied them their prize and the glory of battle for so long. With coruscating tendrils of magic whipping about him still, Vendhal Skullwarper stepped from his circle of runes and joined the advance. Wherever he trod, the ground wept tears of blood, in response to the Chaos power that infused every fibre of his being. Following the rampaging Chaos horde, the sorcerer strode into the blighted city. Icicles hung from the eaves of buildings, their roofs laden with heavy falls of snow. Ice crunched underfoot, melting with a sizzling hiss wherever he walked. The wintry winds were now beginning to give way to something far more Chaotic altogether. Such was the warping way of the great mutator; nothing remained free from the effects of change for long. Almost as abruptly as it had begun, the blizzard ceased but the storm did not abate. Tendrils of Chaotic power began to snake down from the seething clouds, striking like lightning. Only unlike the caress of lightning, these strange tendrils had an altogether different effect. Vendhal watched with unalloyed pleasure as a coil of cloud, rippling with all the colours of the visible spectrum, whipped down from the boiling sky. The warping tendril struck the side of a house. Where it hit, the wall was stone no longer. Instead, something more akin to dark purple flesh bubbled and blistered there. Another tendril struck, earthing itself against the cobbles of the street. As the power discharged, bulbous, glistening eyes blinked in terror from the stones and gaping, leech mouths opened and closed in the road spasmodically. A woman ran screaming from the crumbling ruins of a lightning blasted house. Vendhal watched as her foot snagged in an opening leech-mouth and she fell onto her hands and knees. Another twisting tendril of energy lashed down from the storm and struck the woman. Her cries became a harsh, braying wail as her whole body underwent a terrifying transformation. The woman’s legs became boneless, rubbery tentacles. One arm sloughed its skin and became a serpentine protuberance, her hand now a fanged maw. Her other arm sprouted iridescent feathers and
became a flapping wing. Great clumps of hair fell from her scalp as her head swelled and contracted again. It was as if something was writhing inside her skull trying to claw its way out. Vendhal walked past the woman with a sick smile on his lips. He was revelling in the glorious changes wrought by Tzeentch upon Wolfenburg. The thing that was left after this terrible transformation fortunately did not survive much longer. The sorcerer knew well the stories of what had happened to the city of Praag in Kislev after the attack of Asavar Kul. Once he was finished with Wolfenburg, Praag would seem like a mere experiment. The sentinel city would become the new renowned masterpiece of Chaos. Across the street, houses burned amidst the last flurries of snow. Vendhal raised his skull-staff and pointed at a man fleeing from the Chaos looters. He still clutched the pearlescent skull in his other hand. Another bolt of warping energy seared down from the fiery clouds, blasting the sorcerer’s victim from his feet. The man tumbled to a halt against the side of a building, from which blinked tearful eyes. The man now resembled something more like a toad, with a forked whip-tongue, cockerel’s wattles and scuttling crab legs. Truly he, Vendhal Skullwarper, was the chosen of Tzeentch. He was luxuriating in the raw stuff of Chaos that wreathed his body, heightened his senses, and raised his mind to unparalleled levels of consciousness. Surtha Lenk was nothing compared to him. The high zar was not even fit to lick the filth from the soles of his boots. When the doom of the Dark Gods had been wrought upon the city of Wolfenburg, Vendhal Skullwarper would show the Kurgan horde who commanded the warping storms of Chaos. They would see who the true messiah of the great sorcerer was.”—Magestorm, the Fall of Wolfenburg
It should also be noted that corruption is different from ‘consumption’. The latter refers to a daemon
entity devouring whole the soul without any form of c onsent. The act of devouring souls does give the daemonic entity and its divine master a slight power boost as the creature absorbs souls and then utilizes it for energy (in the form of physical stat boost or magic). Such consumption of souls is a common mechanism in rituals, where souls are sacrificed to provide a power source for the magical mechanisms. This mechanism is not exclusive to demons.
In the End Times the great necromancer Nagash sacrificed thousands of souls to blot out the sun in his campaign to destroy Khemri. Later he summoned a small army of the dead and, having run out of energy to conduct his battlefield spells, was sacrificing souls left and right as power fuel. This showcase
the weakness of consumed souls; it is a finite resource easily expended that must constantly be replenished. Add to this is Chaos’s tendency towards extremes and mass expenditure during the ‘Great Game’ that dominates the Warp, and Chaos must always be on the search for more souls. As the souls of people are composed of the same emotions that the gods are both composed of and were formed by (for example, Lust for Slaanesh) souls are thus the gasoline that the gods run on, and without souls they would eventually perish. Corruption meanwhile is a long term investment. When an individual is corrupted, when they freely and willfully dedicate their souls to Chaos, they then dedicate their very existence to their master’s
purpose. A corrupted individual will wander the lands engaging in as bloodletting, debauchery, plague spreading or schemes. They will freely attempt to convince more individuals to join their ranks, spreading corruption, or else sacrifice the unwilling to their daemonic deities. As these mortal champions through the ranks they strive to ascend into the ultimate tribute of their deities; an immortal daemon prince. To use an analogy, the consumption of souls is akin to coal; something that burns bright but is quickly expended. Corruption is akin to solar energy, something that might not offer much energy immediately but with greater gains over time. The Chaos Gods are aware of this and though they may treat their corrupted servants in a notoriously fickle fashion- ignoring or damning them as they please- they ultimately view corruption, the offering of a soul freely given, as the greatest gifts they can receive. This is why Chaos gods place such an emphasis on (willing) corruption.
“Despair all ye nations, deny not that we’re sick, For our Blood is like water where once it was thick. And our minds have grown leaden, our bodies gone weak, And venom pours from our lips whenever we speak.
Despair all ye nations, for the time draws apace, When the rot of the cynic shall steal our good grace. And our sweetest of dreams shall fade to lost hope,
Our pride and our arrogance; our noose and our rope.
Despair all ye nations, see the years drawing on, Our great cultures are fading and soon they’ll be gone. So conceited our scholars, they jeer through their teeth, With their theories so shallow - quite soulless beneath.
Despair all ye nations, for the ending is near, When the Lord of Lost Heart shall govern us with fear. Our weakness unfetters as we face this unknown, And our faith trails to nothing; we stand here alone.
Despair all ye nations, the Corrupter has come, And the sad days of this world are nearing their sum. For the shining ideals through endeavours we sought, Grow sour as he passes and are coming to nought.
Despair all ye nations, there’s no hope for us now, For we made this monster, placed a crown on his brow. He fed on our apathy; our pain made him swell, We gave him Dominion, he gives us his Hell.“ “
Nurgle, Lord of Decay and Despair, knows that by choice few mortals would turn willingly and embrace his cause. In the Great Game of Souls this would put him at an disadvantage, for his opponents would quickly outmuscle and outnumber him into oblivion. This is why the Chaos God invented a scheme of his own to skirt the rules of corruption, to draw mortals to him by force and alter their minds via circumstance so that they ultimately willingly give into his embrace. Such a plan would combine his need for souls with Nurgle’s love of life, no matter how small or large, for Nurgle cares more for the amount rather than the quality. Thus plagues and disease were born.
“At some point in our lives we all come to realize that there are things in this world beyond our ability to control – things that we are powerless to resist or change. As young children our world seems small and simple; we play, eat, sleep and bicker. Our lives stretch out before us and we have no real conception of how decay will affect us. But as time passes we learn more about ourselves and the world around us, and we start to see the harsher realities of life. We see that our bodies are ageing and understating at last that youth (as with so many other things) is finite. Most importantly of all, we learn that there is nothing at all we can do about this state of affairs; be we athletic or apathetic, or be we saints or sinners, we shall all age and die in time. As will our friends. As will our families. It is the unfortunate paradox of life, therefore, that with wisdom comes sorrow. To know ourselves for what we are is to know ourselves for what we are no longer, and for what we might yet become. A man or a woman in their mid-life might rub a painful knee in damp weather and remember sombrely the careless vibrancy of youth. But from this sad reminiscence how small a step is it to an outright cynical appraisal of the future? So the ravages of time, and therefore decay, can make us feel melancholy or bitter, but worst of all they can sometimes make us feel helpless. The step from helplessness to bitterness is often a small one, and it is often an all too easy thing to then step even further into despair – whether this despair is explicit, or whether it is implicit. It is from this hopelessness and despair that I believe the Lord of Decay found his beginnings.” –Magister Kant, The Fall of Nations
Diseases bring decay, the degradation of the body and, accompanying the body, so often the spirit. When a victim acquires smallpox and is afflicted head to toe with painful bumps and boils weakness and vitality rapidly deteriorate. When a victim of arthritis or polio acquires weakened or crippled mobility, it is a decay of the body’s capacity to sustain itself. Under these conditions, the sudden loss of capacity combined with the knowledge of a hard life ahead along with the fear of death, who wouldn’t experience some despair? In such circumstances some might be desperate enough to consider extreme means to return vitality to either themselves or a loved one. Disease crosses all barriers. It breaches the mightiest defenses, striking the corrupt and innocent alike. There is no protection, and no matter how a penitent prays and pleads, disease strikes down the mighty and meek alike. So, in the face of such capricious power, it is no wonder that Humans succumb to the dark mutterings in their minds and search for some succor from the discomfort of their bodies rebelling against them. It is the most hopeless and desperate who turn to the cold comfort of Old Father Nurgle’s embrace.
Though the sick are not automatically corrupted by their afflictions, eventually out of total despair some might turn to Nurgle for deliverance. The Plague God never cures them rather he provides supplicants
comfort within their suffering and purpose within their miserable state. As Nurgle is also the god of selfdelusion, denial and insecurity (according to Liber Chaotica) the supplicants minds become warped into believing that they are special, gifted, and that they should spread this gift to others. The potency of plagues are affected by several factors. One is individual toughness; how durable or resilient a person is that signifies a powerful immune system. Despite the odd, somewhat supernatural nature of the effects of these diseases, all the standard traits effecting real world potency and spread of diseases applies here. These include the individual’s health, access to medicine, hygiene, sleep, diet, exercise etc. Basically all the things recommended for good physical and mental health by doctors can lessen the impact of plague, though never avoid it. Societal factors, such as the upkeep of sewage faculties , development of a nation’s doctorsand access to clean water, also play a role. As a mundane example in “The Butcher’s Beast” a Great Sworders regiment that was noted to be unique in washing its uniforms after every battle was stated to lose less men to plagues than any other unit. Magical protection and healing, too, can help in dealing with plagues. Just like in the real world some diseases are more potent than others. When Nurgle unleashes his plagues there is not only the risk of death from disease or corruption. These plagues also target animals and crops of the environment, bringing pestilence. They turn wells of water into pits of noxious slime and combined with mutation turn the land into a hellish existence. There are even reports that plague zombies can arise of the victims of the recently dead to spread the contagion among the living.
Plaguelords vs Pestilens: It is often speculated as to what exactly is the difference between Nurgle’s plagues and those of Clan Pestilens. It is primarily intent. Nurgle, the lover of despair, seeks to use his plagues primarily as a means to inflict corruption and anguish . His plagues are incredibly varied and somewhat random in application, for despair can come from both deadly and mundane diseases. Add to this Nurgle’s claimed love of life and he doesn’t always care what disease his followers unleash, so long as plagues and diseases are unleashed. That is not to say the Plaguelord’s diseases are not deadly for they certainly are, only that the infliction of death is (usually) a secondary objective. Pestilens meanwhile is entirely focused on the infliction of death, for to them plagues are not an end but rather a means to it, albeit a means that they focus on religiously. The objective of Pestilens is the
supremacy of their clan, the Horned Rat, and Skavendom, in that order . Thus the most categorically fatal known outbreaks in the world- the Black Plague of the Empire and the Red Pox of Brettonia- were both Skaven creations. Undoubtedly Nurgle benefitted some from the despair and misery brought on by the plague yet there are no accounts of a significant Nurgle uprising during these times. Both philosophies bring their advantages and disadvantages. Like the Skaven themselves Pestilens diseases move fast, indiscriminately and with maximized lethality. Nurgle’s diseases meanwhile are slower and more debilitating, representative of the steady decay of mortal vitality. Not only do Nurgle’s diseases bring death and debilitation but they bring greater and more prolonged despair. Through his plagues Nurgle has a means to both acquire more followers and, through the legendary Nurgle’s Rot, even directly create more daemons.
Example Nurgle Diseases (From Tome of Corruption): Bone Ague: This virulent plague causes the victim’s bones to twist and warp, forcing them to grow in some places, and wither in others. Transmitted by air, this horror has wiped out entire communities, leaving malformed carcasses in its wake.
Creeping Buboes: What begins as a re ddish sore in a tender area spreads all over the body in a matter of hours. After a day, the buboes burst, and drip a foul-smelling, black bile. This is an old disease, and some believe it was part, if not all, of the terrible plague that spread through the Empire in the twelfth century. This disease spreads through fleabites and has the potential to be fatal .
Eye Rot: This strange disease is believed to srcinate from the steaming jungles of Lustria, brought back to the Old World in the fifteenth century. Rare now, it seems to be spread by the touch of Plague Bearers alone. When a victim catches Eye Rot, he experiences painful headaches as fluid fills his eyeballs, causing them to bulge and shudder in their sockets. Many of the afflicted pierce their eyes with knives to ease the pain, spraying the diseased fluid in all directions. As long as the eye is filled with fluid, the victim experiences distorted vision. Should the victim succumb to the disease the eyes explode, blinding the victim permanently. Queerly, the eyes are said to wait to explode until someone is near.
Grey Fever: The real tragedy of this terrible plague is that most people do not recognize it as a disease. The symptoms are nearly identical to madness. And so, these individuals are locked away in an asylum where they spread it to the other inmates. The disease then spreads to the doctors and nurses, and ravages the entire place until everyone is either dead or mad. Grey Fever is marked by a wasting of the victim’s brain, resulting in hallucinations, eventually dementia, and finally a deep coma. Those who might recover from this disease are often driven mad by it, or by their new surroundings if they are left in one of the Empire’s horrible asylums.
The Shakes: The dreaded Shakes crops up now and again along coastal regions. Victims experience a high fever and uncontrollable shaking fits. In time, the afflicted can no longer control his bodily movements as tremors rock his body, which prevents sleeping, eating, and generally functioning. Those who cannot kill themselves will probably dehydrate if they do not resist this plague.
Dancing Malady: A Disease which causes the victim to dance uncontrollably, as if controlled by a marionette
Minor Diseases: There are many minor diseases that, while not usually fatal, may be employed by Nurgle and his forces to hamper the enemy. These include ordinary things like the flue and chronic diarrhea to something magical that causes auditory hallucinations. If you can think of a real world disease, Nurgle’s forces likely can too.
Example Pestilens Diseases (From Children of the Horned Rat) Boil Lurgy: causes fluid-filled sacs to grow all over the body and causes death in 13 days. The Rot Worms: These are the larval form of a rat-spread parasite that lays its eggs in human flesh. The larvae hatch and literally eat their way to the surface.
Estalian Fever: causes the blood to slow and the patient to lose all mobility until he lacks the strength even to eat.
Grey Augue: It starts with an itching at the back of the throat that slowly develops into an intermittent cough. Along with the coughing comes bouts of shivering that grow steadily more severe as the disease progresses. In the final days, the afflicted develops pale gray blotches across their neck and chest, dying or recovering soon thereafter. Those that survive find the marks slowly turn white but never entirely go away. The few that know of the disease also refer to it as the Pale Shivers. Lasts about ten days and those that manage to recover never catch the disease again.
Red Pox: Seems to be Warhammer Fantasy’s version of Smallpox. The Vermillion Curse: covers the skin in purple lines before the victim chokes on his own blood, Saint Ehrlich’s Fire: makes the patient burn with fever while hallucinating of hellish torments. Though
this diseases is not usually fatal, often the victims kill themselves as they become convinced they are damned by their own sins. In campaign Nurgle’s Plagues can have debilitating effects. Not only can it bring people in through corruption and debilitate survivors but it can cause serious causalities. They will utilize these plagues and pestilence to devastate crops, wither livestock, poison wells, weaken a besieged population or enemy army, and create more followers among those desperate to appeal to Nurgle for relief. In the Siege of Aldorf this cumulated in the Empire’s forces being reduced to 2/3rds strength right before the actual battle started. When Nurgle is the ascendant god these plagues can become extremely powerful, as the examples for Siege of Altdorf show. “‘Plague has reached the city,’ said Zintler. ‘Barely two-thirds of the men capable of carrying a sword can still lift one. It will only get worse.’ Helborg nodded grimly. Similar reports were coming in from all across Altdorf. Despite guarding the water supplies tightly, something was infecting the poorer quarters and spreading out to the garrisons. The air itself was foul, and carried an edge of bitterness when the wind blew. ‘The walls?’ Helborg asked, peering over the edge to look at them for himself. The northern gate had been built up and augmented over hundreds of years, and was now a vast pile of age-darkened stone, crested with gunnery emplacements and the snarling golden gargoyles of griffons and lions. Bulwarks and kill-points jostled with one another in a cunning series of funnelling formations. By the time an enemy got anywhere close to the gates themselves, they would have been pummelled by artillery and ranged magic, doused in boiling oil and pelted with building rubble, then finally overwhelmed by sorties streaming out from hidden posterns all along the ingress way. At least, that was how it had been in the past, when the Empire’s armies were more numerous than the sands on the grey Nordland shore. Now Helborg doubted whether he had enough able bodies to occupy more than half the defensive positions available to him.
‘The walls are crumbling,’ said Zintler flatly. He reached over to the top of the battlements and prised a section of mortar from the joints. It disintegrated between his finger and thumb. Once again, Helborg smelled the stench of rot. ‘It can’t be crumbling,’ Helborg muttered. ‘This is granite from the Worlds Edge peaks.’ ‘The Rot,’ said Zintler, as if that explained everything. They were already referring to the Rot in the streets – the malaise that seemed to spread through everything, spoiling milk, fouling foodstuffs, infecting living flesh.” (…) The trees around them shivered, and strange beasts crept out from the shadows – wolves with swollen bellies and sore-thick jowls, bears with split torsos and glistening ribcages, goat-like horrors with eyeless faces and dribbling withers. The whole of nature had been perverted, and the coming of the Glottkin roused them all from whatever dank pit of misery they had curled into. (…) Vlad rode at the head of his skeletal vanguard, looking about with distaste at the corruption of his land. Creepers twisted across the road, all bearing virulent fruits that burst with acid when trodden down. The soil itself seethed with fungi and clinging mosses, all striving with perverted fecundity to assert themselves against the foul growths around them. This was life in all its disgusting, liquid excess. Even as a mortal man he would have found such violent displays of fertility alarming. As a lord of undeath, committed to the austere night-world of his Master, it was almost more than he could bear to endure it. (…) “The rain had started to fall soon after the enemy had ar rived. At first it had been like any other deluge, though soon the drops became heavier and heavier, until it was like trying to fight under a hail of mud splatters. Every exposed surface became greasy and treacherous, fouling the cannon wheels as they were rolled out and making men slip and stagger.” (…) Just below Ghurk’s hooves, the terrain fell away sharply in terraces of foliage-clogged undulation. The Reik valley had widened since Carroburg, and was now a broad, shallow bowl. The land had once been cultivated across the flat floodplain, but now the crops rotted in their drills, reeking with a subtle aroma that Otto found immensely pleasing. Everywhere he looked, the forest had crept past its ancient bounds, smothering everything. The new growths had taken on a wild variety of hues – pus-yellow, olive-green, the pulsing crimson of blood-blisters. Above it all, the clouds still churned, making the air as thick and humid as half-warmed tallow.
(…) The river had almost entirely turned into a glutinous slurry, and it barely lapped its own banks any more. Huge vines had slithered out of the encroaching tree-cover and extended into the water, making what remained even more viscous. Otto smirked as he saw the transformation. The god he served was a mighty god indeed. The very earth had been poisoned, the waters thickened, the growing things perverted and sent thrusting into feral parodies of themselves. There was no resisting this – it was the wearing weight of entropy, the corruption of all purity, the glorious potential of the sick, the foul, the decaying. (…) Helborg paced the battlements, his fist clenched tight on his undrawn sword-hilt, his cheek almost unbearably painful, his mood black. The foul slime-rain continued to lance down from the churning skies, swilling across every stone surface and making footing treacherous. Archers slipped when they loosed their darts, gunners lost their footing with every recoil. The deluge got into eyes, wormed its way under collars and beneath breastplates. When it touched bare skin, it burned like acid, and several troopers had fallen to their deaths while frantically trying to rip the armour from their bodies. - The Fall of Altdorf. Also showcases effect of Nurgle on environment
Of all the plagues and diseases in existence Nurgle’s Rot, known often simply as the Rot, is his crowning achievement. Combining all the worst symptoms of the diseases in the world, capable of simultaneously effecting the mind, body and soul, Nurgle’s Rot is a mixture of physical aliment and daemonic
possession in plague form. It is extremely contagious, being able to spread mostly through physical contact however fortunately those capable of possessing the disease are rare, being limited to daemons.In the comic Condemned by Fire Nurgle cultists used the water supply to infect a local populace.
Though in older editions of Warhammer Fantasy it could be spread through the air, these aspects of it seems rare or have been toned down, for if the Rot could truly spread in such a manner the Old World would fall! According to Liber Chaotica when a victim acquires the Rot the early stages of the disease begins by attacking the mind, twisting the thoughts and feelings by manipulating the chemical balance of the brain. In this manner it acts like a possessing daemon, twisting thoughts and instilling mental disorders (such as depression, paranoia, schizophrenia etc). The body begins to bloat and mutate even as the host’s beliefs and personality is forcibly changed. The afflicted becomes far more vulnerable to normal diseases than ever before. For the average person, the time it takes the disease to run it’s course seems to be a couple months, which can be sped up or slowed by willpower. Perhaps the most horrifying aspect of the Rot is that even as the host is ravaged by the affliction, a tiny
pod grows in the Realm of Souls. As the Rot continues to allow the victim to mutate and suffer- but never die from it- this pod grows larger and larger. Eventually, when the victim finally submits to Nurgle,
this pod bursts and a new Plaguebearer- the victim- bursts out even as the host’s original body now resembles the daemon s/he turned into. Other than the most powerful of magical devices ( see below) there is no known cure. Indeed victims have been known to go on suicide runs against the enemy rather than fall to Nurgle’s disease. Though willpower can resist the speed of Nurgle’s Rot, no
known person in either Warhammer Fantasy or 40k has beaten Nurgle’s Rot through willpower alone. Even Vlad Von
Carstein, patriarch of the most powerful vampire lineage, could not fight it off completely when he caught it. He lingered for years before he had to die and resurrect to succeed in being cured- at least temporarily. The only cure to Nurgle’s Rot is extremely powerful divine magic spells or death. An example of such cure can be found in Realm of Chaos, where if another Chaos God makes a afflicted champion into a daemon it will cure the Rot. According to Warhammer Fantasy roleplay the strongest, most blessed of magic by the goddess Shallya might be capable of curing the infection. “With a flick of his hand, the kahn slapped a flabby finger against the leprous flesh of a slave. Instantly the man collapsed in a groaning, twitching mass. Skin sloughed from his bones and flesh darkened beneath a sheen of filth. A great horn of twisted bone erupted from the slave’s forehead even as his eyes slithered across his face to merge into a single putrid orb at the centre of his head. Hands lengthened into talons and organs swollen with rot burst through his skin. Great fangs dripped from a suddenly gaping maw. A swordlike growth oozed from the slave’s side until at last its weight tore it loose from his body.
The stricken slave moaned, retching as it stooped to retrieve the blade his body had grown. When it stood again, its claws were wrapped tightly around a length of twisted corrosion, a crust of decay flaking down its blade. Bleda laughed as his slave was consumed by the Divine Rot of Neiglen, his mortal being devoured by the daemonic essence his kahn had infected him with. The plague bearer moaned again, and then started to stumble towards the defiant stranger. Bleda’s corrupt laughter bubbled forth again as he pressed his hand against a second slave.”- Blood for the Blood God . Note the Slaves had long been broken and thus
fell easier than most to the rot.
Tzeentch, god of Change and Plots, is especially eager to interfere in the mortal world in his endless quest for change. Such love of plotting and schemes trickles down to his daemonic servants and mortal followers. Their plots and webs run deep and their influence spans the entire course of Warhammer history. They are exceedingly good
manipulators, particularly when it comes to playing upon negative emotions of their foes (which, as described in an earlier section, they might be able to ‘see’ in a form of Daemonsight). Some of the greatest tragedies in history – or the greatest triumphs of Chaos- came from Tzeentchian schemes. For example in ages past a daemon changeling helped egg on a war between the Elves and the Dwarves that ended up shattering both empires, though in truth Elven arrogance and Dwarf stubbornness was the main catalyst. ‘Relent!’ Morgrim barked out. ‘This bickering is disgraceful. The elgi are the enemy, save your anger for them.’ Morek’s voice was barely a whisper and within it was a quality Morgrim had never heard before, a sound of terror. ‘There are older enemies than the elgi.’ Morek held forth the artefact that had so caught Drogor’s attention. It was something he’d retrieved from the darkest vaults of Karaz-a-Karak, something locked away among the trophies of Snorri Whitebeard. It was a simple thing, just a feather, but as he held it towards Drogor, the object began to pulse and vibrate with scintillating colours. Drogor’s face twisted into a monstrous leer. In a single bound he reached the bottom of the steps, not even seeming to feel the impact as his armoured weight cracked one of the flagstones beneath him. Another spring brought him before Morek. Deftly he snatched the feather out of the runelord’s hand. ‘What a clever maggot,’ Drogor hissed in a voice that no longer even possessed an echo of the dwarf’s tones.
Morek raised his runestaff, the metal rod already glowing with power, but a single blow of Drogor’s hand sent the dwarf hurtling across the chamber. He slammed into the far wall to crash in a heap among the rubble. Rundin rushed at him next, only to receive similar treatment. ‘I thought I lost this somewhere,’ Drogor said. He pressed the glowing feather against his cape. The feathers shifted, pulling themselves aside to allow the new one to join them. As it attached itself, the entire garment began to pulse and throb with a dazzling prism of colours. Numb with horror, Morgrim couldn’t find the voice to howl a war -cry as he charged the thing he had called Drogor. His foe slashed out at him with a hand suddenly tipped with vulturine talons and fitted to an arm three times its srcinal length. The monstrous limb caught Morgrim by the neck and thrust him against the ceiling. ‘Does this mean we aren’t friends any more?’ Drogor mocked. The dwarf’s face was slowly melting, flesh dripping in obscene streams into his beard. ‘To be honest, your compassion was becoming tedious. I was thinking you’d make a better martyr than a leader. A much better force to push the war forward.’ He cocked his corroding head to one side. Clusters of eyes had begun to sprout from the gleaming bone of his exposed skull. These fixed Morgrim with a quizzical stare. ‘What was that you asked?’ Drogor wondered. He relaxed his grip enough that Morgrim was able to drag a breath into his gasping lungs. ‘You did this,’ Morgrim moaned. ‘You goaded us into war with the elgi.’ A ghastly, bubbling laugh wheezed from the mush of Drogor’s face. ‘You did this to yourselves,’ he cackled. ‘I am simply… a spectator. It was your pride and stubbornness that brought war to your peoples. Now it will go on and on until you are both wasted, ruined shells of what you were. What delight more delicious than watching enemies destroy themselves? If only everything could be so obliging!’” -Curse of the Phoenix Crown
Many Tzeentchian planners have been gifted with foresight or the ability to see into the future (or
past). This is described, in Liber Chaotica, as a series of strands and webs that reflect on a innumerable myriad of possible futures and outcomes, while the past is reflected in a single, linear thread. The more gifted the sorcerer, the more of the past and future can be perceived, with Lords of Change being able to look at countless strands of fate at once. Through manipulation of strands and emotions Tzeentch’s followers are renowned for being able to use servants of the other gods and even the most ardent enemies in their plans. For example, in addition to their role in the Elven-Dwarf conflict followers of Tzeentch influenced increasingly contentious religious
divides between the followers of the God Ulric and those of Sigmar, resulting in disunity in the Empire. In another instance the Changeling gave Imperial Supreme Patriarch Gelt advice in magic that allowed the wizard to create a magical cage over all of Sylvannia to cage the vampires. Other times Tzeentch’s manipulations result in extreme sabotage. In Cathay, for example, Tzeentchi cults buried within the bureaucracy paralyzed Cathay’s armies in the crucial early months of a Chaos
invasion or when Van Horstmann temporarily crippled the Imperial Colleges through betrayal. Assassination, misdirection, organized uprising, disunity, spreading of mutation and more are the means that Tzeentch can disrupt his foes. Tzeentchians is notorious for using others, even those that hate Tzeentch or his followers , as dupes. “Nine years ago, Walther Flieser, a rat catcher from Grunburg, was commissioned to eradicate a nest of vermin in the cellars of the mansion of the town’s mayor, Meinhart Gierig. Explor ing the shadowy and expansive cellars, Flieser accidentally stumbled upon a shrine devoted to Tzeentch, the skulls of sacrificed victims laid out before the altar, each marked with strange sigils. He fled in horror, but told no one of his discovery, for surely he would be accused of slander. Mayor Gierig was outwardly a pious man, whose charitable works won him respect among the community. Flieser took it upon himself to bring the mayor to justice. He could not trust the authorities, but used his influence among Grunburg’s underworld to convince the local crime boss of his discovery. A duo of thieves broke into the mayor’s cellars and, following Flieser’s instructions, confirmed the shrine’s existence. The crime boss, Johannes Ehrlich, was a devout man despite his dishonest vocation, and was enraged by the mayor’s perfidy. He used his influence to raise the ire of the townsfolk against Herr Gierig. Flieser himself led a mob of pitchfork-wielding commoners to the mayor’s mansion, all baying for Gierig’s head on a pole. The mayor’s militia joined the rebellion, and Gierig’s own watch captain dragged him out into the streets and threw him to the crowd, which hacked him to pieces. Flieser showed the mob the blasphemous shrine, and the enraged townsfolk burned the mayor’s residence to the ground. A pogrom ensued, where suspected Chaos cultists were dragged from their homes and butchered. Although most of the Chaos worshippers who had belonged to the mayor’s cult were executed, the rioters used the violence as an opportunity to settle personal scores, and many innocent people died too. Inevitably, the Imperial authorities sent in troops to restore order, though not before much of the town was set aflame. Among the many buildings destroyed by the inferno was Grunburg’s ancient Temple of Sigmar that housed a collection of sacred relics, many of which had been borne into battle with great effect during the Great War Against Chaos. These irreplaceable artefacts were lost in the fire. Walther Flieser escaped the carnage and fled into hiding in the Reikwald Forest. However, soon after, he developed an unscratchable itch on the side of his neck. Over the ensuing days, the itch turned into a lump, which grew into a fleshy protuberance the size of his head. Horrified, Flieser fled deeper into the woods, ashamed of his affliction. The flesh hardened into a skull, and formed a face – the mocking twin of none other than Meinhart Gierig, which loudly cursed Flieser night and day. A band of mutant outlaws soon discovered the monstrosity: one head weeping dementedly while its twin of more aristocratic visage spat obscenities at it. The rebel is probably still with those outlaws to this day. The mutation was Tzeentch’s way of rewarding the innocent dupe who had unwittingly furthered his plans. The Great Conspirator had corrupted the greedy mayor with false promises of power, and willingly sacrificed him and his cult by allowing his secrets to be revealed by the rat catcher, knowing what
destruction would ensue once Gierig’s faith in Chaos was made public, and knowing that artefacts sacred to Sigmar would be destroyed in the process.”- Book of Change
That said the schemes of Tzeentch have several notable weakness, the first of which can be found in foresight. Users of Foresight will see multiple possible futures but only one can come into reality. Though these farseers can, if gifted enough, use their knowledge of the past to guess which outcomes are likely in the future these are still guesses and these guesses might miss possible outcomes, come too late for the farseer to react in time or even be prone to sabotage. Even one as gifted in foresight as Kalros Fateweaver, a vizer of Tzeench who sees things even his master cannot see, lost first to an
Imperial wizard and then failed to predict in time Archaon’s betrayal. It is noted after all that not even Tzeentch has flawless foresight and has been wrong before both in 40k and Fantasy, such as that time he was triple teamed by the rest of the gods and lost a substantial amount of power. In addition to that is theorized by some Tzeentchi philosophers that Tzeentch might
deliberately include flaws in his plans(as described in Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay:Heart of Chaos) . After all, he is the Lord of Change. If there was no chance for his plans to be altered by outside forces, to be diverted from the outcome he wants, then said outcome is unchangeable and thus he would gain no power from its success. Moreover it is said that if all of Tzeentch’s plans actually succeeded there would be no more schemes to be had and he would therefore cease to be. Secondly the schemers of Tzeentch are prone to multiple issues, making them an incredible doubleedged sword. They often underestimate opponents and overestimate their own ability , and are routinely foiled. Sometimes unintended consequences can result in the schemes backfire, like when the vampires studied the superspell used to contain Sylvannia and gave Gelt a variant of the same spell that was used to temporarily wall off the norther. There is no comradery among Tzeentchi sorcerers and with each having interlocking schemes often these schemes get strangled, gleefully, in each other’s webs . Sometimes Tzeentch himself foils his own servant’s schemes for his own unknown purposes. If these schemes wreak havoc on Tzeentch’s own forces they are more destructive yet on the plots of those of their fellow Chaos allies and many a Chaos plot has been undone by the schemes of Tzeentch.
Even Archaon has nearly been foiled at times in his quest by the servants of the changer, which is a major reason he despises the god. In short Tzeentchi planners can be both a boon and a weakness or both at once, courtesy of the fickle nature of fate (Tzeentch). “The world is a web, where helplessly trapped mortals strive to control their own lives. The more they
struggle, the more helplessly they ensnare themselves. And in the centre of the web sits the great spider, Tzeentch, Architect of Destiny. As he touches the strings of the web, the mortal puppets dance, and vainly believe tha t they have free will”. – Realm of Chaos Tzeentch’s Curse: In Warhammer Fantasy all major non-divine lores of magic comes from the Realm of Chaos, even the relatively ‘clean’ and orderly Light magic, or that of the Elves or Slaan. As a result of
drawing from the pool of Chaos all of these order magicians suffer froma factor called ‘Tzeentch’s Curse’ in which they are all at risk of madness, magical combustion or some other factor if they miscast a spell.
While mostly applying to humans even high elf mages or, extremely rarely, a Slaan might get hurt though in general the more trained the target, the less likely this is to happen. It is unknown (but I think
personally unlikely) for this factor to apply t oo magical forces of other fictions, who often derive their magic from less fickle sources than the Realm of Chaos.
Warpstone is the corruptive essence of chaos (or aethyr) solidified into physical form, highly sought after for its alchemical and energy uses. Though Chaos does not make as prolific use of the rock as the Skaven they have been known to make heavy use of it. Warriors of Chaos and Beastmen might smear warpstone shards over their weapons so that every wound brings the risk of contamination and mutation. Wizards have utilized this rock to bolster their magical skill. Chaos also can use it is a more strategic sense. At least one Tzeentchi cult tried to spread it in a city’s
water supply, which would have contaminated the whole city had the event not been foiled .Over a period of time the warpstone will corrupt the land, mutate its inhabitants and drive others to madness. Other times spreading warpstone throughout the land can aid in warping and corrupting it. Still others have used it more creatively, stealthily. One cult hid warpstone in tiny medicine vials and posed as doctors to spread mutation and madness everywhere while a second hid the substance in drugs and spread it among the addicts. Other times scholars- ever eager to acquire more knowledge on Chaos- are the targets as warpstone laden ink can result in mutation and madness for all but the strongest minds or most protected persons. In the short story Faithful Servant a cult helped corrupt the antagonist, Estebar, by burning warpstone essence in his presence over a long ceremony. Another, extremely clever cult ground and boiled down warpstone into ink. They then printed a catalogue of murderers, their crimes and their weapons of choice, for crime stories are just as
popular in the Empire as they are in the real world . Soon after the so called ‘penny dreadful’ went on sale, people began going mad, becoming raving spiteful berserkers, screaming and raging at anything or anyone who happened to be near. Still another example of a ‘lone agent’ occurs in the short story Vespertine where an artist uses warpstone paint to infuse his paintings, art that sought to invoke despair
and hopelessness among those who took the time to study them, the ability to actually do so. Several people committed suicide as a result. Other warpstone infused art has inspired mass murder or had daemons inside that pull unwary viewers in. However perhaps the most common and prevalent means of warpstone taint is similar to one of the greatest problems of our world- drugs. Imagine the War on Drugs only with the greater chance of the addled to be dangerously insane, mutated or even possessed. Cordial, for example, can boost random characteristics to superhuman extremes, making one super smart for instance but at the risk of mutation/madness. Allure gives ecstasy but comes with the risk of madness and possession. The single greatest example of a drug yet encountered is joyroot, a substance the Slaaneshi cultist Natassja used to help corrupt Averheim. In small doses it made its users listless happy. In the long run however it amplified emotions, disturbed sleep and served as a potent addictive, akin to the addictive nature of heroin. It also effected them spiritually, making them more susceptible to mutation, possession or corruption. Ultimately so many Averheimers became addicted to the substance it created an pervasive atmosphere that spread its effects to the whole city, affecting even the strong willed (but not corrupting them). “Verstohlen shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the rambling thoughts. He retrieved his knife shakily. All around him, the fighting continued unabated. How had he been wounded? He couldn’t remember. He had to find Grosslich. Verstohlen began to stumble through the milling bodies around him. One of Leitdorf’s thugs staggered into his path. The brute lunged at him. Verstohlen dodged the blow casually, feeling sluggish and nauseous. His knife felt unbalanced in his hand. He returned the attack, letting the blade guide him. It plunged deep into the man’s stomach. Verstohlen pulled it sharply to the right. Hot blood and viscera streamed over his wrist. The gobbets of flesh, glistening in the firelight, slipped over his hand and fell, plopping and slapping, to the ground. The soldier, face fixed into a frozen scream of agony, crumpled to the stone. Verstohlen withdrew his knife, watching the man enter his gasping death throes. For a moment, a savage joy filled his heart. He looked around him. The knife was hot in his fingers, glowing like a brand. The shapes of the men around him flickered and shuddered, like a candle flame caught in a sudden gust. A curious musk was mingling with the stench of blood and sweat. He recognised it immediately. Welcomed it. It was sweet, as sweet as death. Like jasmine. He raised his hands to his face, uncaring of the flow of carnage around him. His hands were steeped in gore. Dark trickles ran down his arm, staining the leather of his coat. He felt an overwhelming urge to lean forward, press the still-hot viscera against his face…
Verstohlen jerked his hand back. What was happening to him? What was happening to all of them? He drew in a deep breath. The air was hot. It wasn’t the sun. The fires were burning higher. Their flames danced into the dusk. They writhed like snakes. Against the red tongues of flame, a faint lilac flickered. Joyroot. Tons of it. Leitdorf had chosen his battleground well. At last, the dark sorcery at the heart of his campaign had become manifest.” – Sword of Justice
Handling warpstone does not in itself guarantee mutation, but the risk is always there. Physical toughness and willpower (along with, of course, magical protection) can be used to fight the vile substance off. The Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay Tome of Corruption provides a good showcase of the risks of different amounts of warpstone, in terms for what are the easiest to fight off to the hardest. •
Very Easy : Spilling a small amount on clothing. •
Easy : Skin contact with a small amount (like a Warpstone pendant)
•
Routine : Skin contact with a moderate amount.
•
Average : Swallowing or breathing in a small amount or
skin contact with a large amount (most drugs contain only a small amount) •
Challenging : Swallowing or breathing in a moderate
amount or skin contact with the whole amount.
amount.
•
Hard : Swallowing or breathing in a large amount.
•
Very Hard : Swallowing or breathing in the whole
Daemons, as aspects of negative emotions made manifest, give off magical auras while in the mortal realm that, on the base level, help give them some magically enhanced durability. However these auras go beyond just durability to projecting fields of extreme emotion outward onto their opponents, discharging feelings of lust, rage, madness or despair though to date in lore these auras seem to be most prevalent with followers of Slaanesh and, to a lesser extent, Khorne. These intangible auras appeal to
the subconscious mind and primal desires of those caught up in their field of effect. For example the seduction fields of Slaanesh are representative of his follower's illusions, sorcerous beauty and lust causing their servants to appear super-attractive to clouded eyes. The greater the daemon the greater
the aura, with Skarbrand’s aura being so great that some of his enemies actually turned upon each
other in bloodrage. These auras are also more effective on those with emotional extremes and in environments corrupted by Chaos. “ Nashrik’s hackles rose as he saw those lithe forms dance across the borderland between worlds, springing across the heath in ecstatic gyrations. Supple and sensuous were the figures which now capered among the ratmen, curvaceous bodies of pale, furless flesh with a husky scent of wanton desire. Many of the ratmen forgot their fear, squeaking happily as they rushed forwards to embrace the prancing figures. The strange laughter of the breeder-things tinkled across the field as they returned the amorous charge of their admirers with a crimson flash of slashing claws and tearing pincers. No elf or dryad, these hellish apparitions. Nashrik could smell the fell energies saturating the dancing harridans, the abominable stink of blackest magic. Daemons. Creatures of the Outer Dark! The stink of skaven blood made Nashrik’s warriors belatedly recognize their peril. The ratmen tried to reform into a more defensible posture, some fragment of Nahak’s tactics yet lingering in their minds. Nashrik shrieked orders to them to fall back, to retreat from this weird new menace that had formed to oppose them. It was too late. Too many of the murdering daemonettes were already mixed among the skaven ranks. Nashrik could see more of the infernal spirits manifesting, these mounted upon long-legged steeds that seemed to mix all the qualities of worm, serpent and peacock. The daemon cavalry descended upon the confused ratmen, spitting them upon golden lances or ripping them apart with slashing claws.“ Hour of Shadows, Storm of Magic.
These auras go beyond just daemons to the environment itself. As chaos warps the battlefield so too does it warp the perceptions of those who view it. Reality cracks as men in the battlezone come to see things that defy description or else experience senses in ways impossible to imagine, such as ‘tasting’ fear. Soldiers might hear echoes of mysterious events throughout history such as doomed battles fought long ago or that have yet to be waged. Even should soldiers emerge from this hellscape alive the visions of madness will likely haunt their dreams to come. Depending on the Dominant God (see Lores of Magic) Emotional auras of specific gods can also create terrible havoc on an environment wide level. The essence of Khorne can cause tempers to shorten, animals to go rapid, even fights to break out at greater intensity. Nurgle causes the environment to turn hot and humid and swampy, with diseases festering at greater rates. Slaanesh causes the heart to pump, inhibitions to lower and obsessions to turn to maddening heights. Tzeentch of course brings randomness and madness. This plays into a desire to snap the sanity of those who would fight against them. A sane m ind is an orderly mind while the insane are often shown to be more vulnerable to the lure of chaos or the emotions that sustain it. Increasing the amounts of insane on the enemy side not only increases the amount susceptible to chaos but can cause havoc and confusion in the opposing side. This goes even beyond the battlefield to instilling insanity in the general population. In the End Times a few, particularly weak-willed or susceptible humans went mad well before the actual armies of Chaos
showed up by the winds of change that swept the land. For example one priest poisoned his parish, another went on a murdering spree and many fell into madness or else sought out chaos for the purpose of defecting. Many died from Chaos inspired atrocities during these early days. Such auras and encroaching madness can be resisted by enemy morale, willpower, any means of
magical resistance or leadership, which lore wise refers to a particularly inspiring figure being able to defy temptation/rage and thus "break" the entrapment spell for his entire unit. This is shown in Beastslayer and Elfslayer where in both cases several mercenaries (including hero Felix) were ensnared by the wills of a minion of Slaanesh (masses of Daemonettes in the first; a Keeper of Secrets in the second). Gotrek, the main Dwarf hero of the series, defied the corruption field both times through sheer stubborness, and thus alerted the others to the true nature of Slaanesh's servants- superficial beauty, but ugly and terrifying in actuality. In the End Times mortal armies were forced to fight in chaotic environments quite frequently and though undoubtedly suffered were able to both fight and often win. And of course, in the most infamous scene in all of the End Times, daemonic whispers from servants of the gods ultimately convinced Mannfred von Carstein to commit the single greatest act of treachery the world has ever known. “Mannfred von Carstein slipped into the ritual chamber to find the Incarnates labouring before the shrinking rift. He recognised at once what the Incarnates were attempting, and silently applauded their audacity, if not their instinct for survival. Self-sacrifice was not a trait that the erstwhile Lord of Sylvania admired. Dismounting Ashigaroth, Mannfred silently commanded the beast to remain out of sight, and picked his way through the corpse-strewn chamber. So far as the vampire could tell, there was nothing alive in the chamber save for the Incarnates. There was also a sizable zombie host whose enchantments bore all of Nagash’s powerful yet refined hallmarks, but their rudimentary senses were easily clouded by one such as Mannfred. On Mannfred pressed through the chamber’s flickering light, his motives teetering back and forth. He told himself that the Dark Gods were whispering to him – as they must have done to Kemmler, Harkon and all those others who had laboured in Nagash’s service – but the truth was that he could no longer tell the difference between his own embittered pride and the gods’ venomous words. Even when he had served Nagash, he had seen precious little reward. Indeed, humiliation had been heaped upon him time and again. Perhaps it was better to be the right hand of anarchy than a slave to mindless order. Vlad’s final words had driven Mannfred to this place, had convinced him to take a stand against the forces of Chaos. However, with every step he took through the corpse-choked chamber, the vampire became less sure of his intentions. Did he really want to re-enter Nagash’s service, for that was what his chosen course surely entailed – assuming any of them survived the next few moments? And could he really bear to consider the Incarnates his equals – let alone his superiors? Vlad had been ready to do so, but Vlad had always been a sentimental fool.
By the time he reached the rift, and the ring Incarnates gathered around it, Mannfred had come to his decision…”End Times Archaon
Sometimes, when the Winds of Magic are in a tempest over the world, the Gods of Chaos are able to
directly interfere in the mortal world. For example over Altdorf the Chaos god Nurgle tore upon a rift through which he poured a deluge of noxious slime and later he dropped the contents of his cauldron over Nagash’s army. Khorne in the End Times once got so furious over the enemy using magic he swung th
his sword across the battlefield and then in a second incident bombarded the area with skulls. The 8
edition Daemons of Chaos book describes how Slaanesh sings a siren song that can ensnare those who hear it or Tzeentch can unleash a storm of magical fire. These interventions are brutal but usually rare and short as either the magic required to sustain gods is used up, the gods are made satisfied or just get bored or are distracted. They also have a tendency to target not just mortals on the opposing team, but daemons of their opposite god (so Khorne’s hits Slaaneshi minions with flaming skulls while Tzeentch unleashes hellfire on Nurgle’s forces).It should also
be noted that, in every example I listed above, the force opposing Chaos ultimately won, though with greater difficulty and often with reinforcements. Sometimes other effects might manifest through Chaos as well, such as enemy wizards being at increased risk for daemonic possession, are made stronger by a surge of energy, or even have new daemons summoned to the field entirely! The latter is more likely to happen for the ascendant chaos god. However as ever Chaos is fickle and sometimes the winds might lessen weakening their minions, a chaos character on the field might draw the wrath of the gods or the winds might recede entirely, making daemons immensely weaker.
“The fearsome energies boiling above the roofs of Altdorf illuminated an indescribably foul face several miles in diameter. A yawning mouth that could eat the world grinned impossibly wide as the thunderheads below coalesced into fat fingers, and nails of broken cloud tore open the skies. Unclean concoctions spilled forth, splashing and splattering into the mortal realm. Wherever they fell they nourished the seeds of disorder sown in the streets over the last few months. Twining tendrils burst from the streets and snaked high into the air, waving and shifting like drownweeds reaching for a victim to pull under the water. High above the maniac landscape, the twin-tailed comet blazed brighter even than gloating Morrslieb, despite the fact the Chaos moon was fuller than ever on this most fateful of eves. The comet’s wild, crackling fire illuminated the whole scene, rendering every sore and pimple of the armies below visible to any with the stomach to look. The city of Altdorf stared into an abyss from which it could never return, its fate balanced on the blades of those massed around its walls. Across the field, man, daemon and beast raised their war horns and sounded the advance.”- End Times Glottkin “The battle could well have ended there and then. No matter how Scrofulox and Isabella harangued their minions, there were simply too many of the undead. The morghasts, freed from their contest in the skies, flew freely about the battlefield, preying on plaguebearers still reeling from Arkhan’s sorcerous onslaught. Plagueswords and corroded gongs clattered onto rock as their bearers were hacked down, and the odour of mangled and decaying flesh was rank upon the air. Perhaps it was the stench that drew Nurgle’s wandering attention. Or perhaps the Plaguefather had watched Isabella’s progress from the start, determined that the Glottkin’s failure would not be echoed by his newest emissary. Perhaps Nurgle was simply bored, his eye wandering between his eternal hobbies of concoction and libation. In any event, the Plaguefather’s gaze was u pon the Black Pyramid in that moment, and he decided to bequeath his gifts to those who fought below. Leaning hard against his cauldron, Nurgle heaved the pitted and rusted pot onto its side, spilling the contents through the cracks in reality and thus upon the mortal world below.
For Isabella and Scrofulox, Nurgle’s gift was most welcome, if not entirely pleasant. A thick and greasy rain fell from the skies, its slimy waters pooling wherever the daemons had suffered their greatest losses. The daemons who fought amongst those waters were untouched, but the undead were dragged beneath the surface by grasping hands that were invisible through the murk. As the undead were forced back, the sickly broth bubbled. Plaguebearers lurched from the depths, the wounded and slain of the fighting restored to life by their god’s beneficent elixir. For Arkhan and Krell, Nurgle’s gift was a bitter reminder that there was no artifice of mortals that the gods could not match.” “Gelt first realised that something was wrong just as the dwarfen fire thickened once more. He had intended to keep the orb in motion until it reached the far end of the chasm. However, it had not even covered a third of that distance when the sky went suddenly dark, and a wrathful thunderclap rolled overhead. At once, Gelt felt the orb unravel, the magics of its creation dissipating like smoke in a sudden breeze. Pain followed, a thousand red hot needles stabbing deep into his mind, the sudden agony of it causing him to fall from Quicksilver’s saddle. Hammerson saw the wizard collapse, ordered the Ironclads to his side, but he could not have been prepared for what followed.
What happened next took many forms in the minds of those who saw it. For some, a wall of dark fire sprang up along the chasm, enveloping the dwarf line and the transmuted remains of the Skaramor, and setting the canopy ablaze. Others recalled a gale sweeping down from the east, its winds striking armour and flesh with the force of an axe. More witnessed the rock floor of the chasm buck and heave, sending boulders and wicked shards tearing across the Zhufbarak lines. Gelt saw all this through eyes half-lidded with pain. However, he bore witness as much through Chamon’s senses as his own, and so perceived something the others did not, something that sent black fear worming its way through his guts.
Gelt saw the tip of a colossal sword – so vast that its breadth was scarcely less than the chasm’s width – plunge through the forest canopy behind the dwarf lines and deep into the rock floor. As its unseen wielder twisted the blade, the sword’s tip scraped eastward through the chasm. The ground trembled and split, and great slabs of rock broke off from the chasm walls, crushing one of the Zhufbarak cannon. Fire sprang up and rock shattered wherever the god-steel touched, thick black smoke billowing behind it.” “One by one, the Skaramor warbands broke, spilling away north to the Temple of Ulric, and the uneven roadway that led down into the great excavation. Bereft of allies, the daemons felt their grip on the mortal world begin to slacken, and the Realm of Chaos drew them inexorably home. None of this went unnoticed by wrathful Khorne, and a bellow deeper and more piercing than the loudest thunder shook the skies. Blazing meteors penetrated the clouds, each one a brass-plated skull plucked from the Blood God’s throne. One by one, they crashed indiscriminately into the seething mass upon the Ulricsmund,
slaughtering the Skaramor as readily as their enemies. Khorne was displeased by his worshippers’ cowardice, and strove to smite them as readily as he did the mortals who fought against his cause.
Yet the skulls also took their toll of elven and Imperial lives. One slammed into the Host of Fire, all but obliterating a pride of white lions. Another struck a circling phoenix, hurling the firebird’s broken body to the ground. The last of the Knights Griffon, who had stood stalwart at the Emperor’s side since Averheim’s siege began, were consumed by flame when a howling skull slammedinto their formation’s heart.
There was no shelter from the bombardment. What few ruins still stood collapsed like matchsticks when skulls struck them. Tyrion wove a shield of pure magic, a dome of shining light beneath which he sought to shelter his allies, but it shattered like glass under the first impact, scattering shards of razor-sharp light across the Ulricsmund. With no other choice, the united Hosts of Fire, Light and Heavens fought on as the skies fell, each warrior amongst their ranks praying for victory, or at the very least a swift death. On they forged through the sea of fleeing Skaramor, trying to ignore the flaming doom that screamed from above.
Only when the combined Incarnate host was nigh unto the Temple of Ulric’s walls did the bombardment cease. None believed that a holy presence within the shrine had caused the attacks to falter; so slighted and defiled was the once-grand building that no wholesome god could have any longer held power over it. In this, the warriors of the host were correct. Khorne’s wrath, though never-ending, was easily distracted to other concerns – even as the End Times drew to a climax – and some quarrel with his brothers now commanded the Blood God’s attention.”-ET Archon
The End Times has brought the ‘ascendant god’ rule, a rule which defines which Chaos God is currently most powerful. This is directly influenced by the power of the god’s followers in the mortal realm, with times of Great plague and Pestilens boosting Nurgle while excess boosts Slaanesh and Schemes and Magic boost Tzeentch. As ever the height of wars often benefits Khorne the most. When a certain god is ascendant that god’s followers are far more likely to receive positive gifts or
mutations. Daemons of the ascendant god fight with increased vigor and durability. There is a greater likelihood that more daemons might summon themselves into existence. There are numerous miscellaneous effects as well, relating to chaos auras. For example, when Nurgle is dominant plagues are much more potent, while the bloodrage of Khornate followers reaches a peak when Khorne is at full power. Chaos is fickle and it’s possible for the god with ascendency to lose it even in battle!
-Blessings of the Gods, Chaos Cults: I felt it was necessary to detail the blessings of the gods section first, prior to discussing units. At the same time I felt the Chaos Cults were too circumstantial to include in the Additional Factors section. If you have not factored them in yet please do so now.
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Melee Specialists: Chaos, as a force, is an armed force massivel specialized for melee combat. The majority of the force is superhuman and either heavily armored, or very durable.
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Giant Monsters: From Siege Giants to Dragons, Chaos has an incredible number of giant monsters.
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Magic: Magic is, in the Warhammer universe, inherently Chaotic and thus it should come to no surprise that Chaos is full of magical units and spells. When combined with the Chaos Corruption mechanic this can eventually result in enormous regiment decimating spells or even incredible rituals.
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Chaotic Champions: Chaos breeds conflict and those that survive are a mixture of hardened, deviously cunning or incredibly strong. From Archaon to the Sleeper, the cast of Chaos ‘Heroes’ and Leadership are incredibly diverse and potent.
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Chaos Corruption: Chaos corruption can buff the forces of Chaos by resulting in greater mutation, harm the enemy by sowing disunity and even outright subversion. Chaos has an incredible cast of characters designed to subvert the enemy, corrupt the ambitious and lead stray the unwary. Daemons can possess other special characters and, most importantly, Chaos can make the land itself hazardous over time.
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Intimidation: Many Daemons and mortals are intimidating, designed to invoke horror among their foes. Many more have supernatural auras to back this up and invoke despair and terror among the enemy.
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Plagues Experience: Many of the Lords in the Chaos armies have experience dating decades, hundreds or even millennia. The experience of daemons is so great to be unquantifable.
See Cohesion. On all levels Chaos is prone to infighting. Archaon might help achieve unity of purpose and impose some unity of force among his men, but not even he can stop the infighting completely. Nor does he always care too, allowing infighting in the days after the Fall of Middenhiem to allow his horde to vent. Only after four days did he send his elite Swords of Chaos to impose tentative order. “ Raising both axes in the air the minotaur snorted and bellowed at the bestigor, its bull eyes blazing. In response, the red-skinned wargor raised its own cleaver-like falchion in both clawed hands and, throwing back its head, with an ululating cry, howled its challenge to the sky. The scene unfolding before them transfixed all in the camp—men and beastmen. Wilhelm doubted that any of his fellow prisoners fully understood what was going on. The warrior priest, however, had studied various permitted texts concerning the enemies of Sigmar’s light, and their practices. He could guess what was going on. The rebellious wargor was making its challenge for the position of sire of the tribe. The wargor had captured a great prize: souls to be sacrificed to the herd’s animalistic gods. It believed itself worthy of the tide of Banebeast. Then there was nothing more to be said. The minotaur and the wargor, traded blow after blow against each other. They fought with the ferocity of rabid dogs, grunting, snarling and bellowing at one another as they did so. At first they seemed evenly matched, in terms of size, strength and animal cunning. As the doombull’s dwarf axe cut down towards the wargor’s neck, the bestigor parried with a strike of its falchion. As the red -skinned challenger thrust with its own blade, the minotaur caught the knocked edge with the hook of its Chaos-forged war-axe. The two beasts also tried to kick and bite and gore one another. Nothing was too base for these degenerate creatures.
Then suddenly, twisting its great bulk out of the way of the wargor’s descending falchion-blade, the minotaur skewered its challenger’s shoulder with one of its sharpened horn tips. The doombull had demonstrated why it was the leader of the tribe. With great muscles in its bull neck bulging, the minotaur lifted the other beastman off the ground, impaled on the end of its horn. As the wargor kicked out at the minotaur’s loins with its sharp-hoofed feet, the herd-leader brought both of its axes around in front of its body, delivering two savage cuts that sliced open the gor’s stomach. The red-skinned beastman gave a shrieking cry as its entrails burst from the ruptured flesh in a torrent of black blood and offal. The doombull shook the beastman free of its horn and the challenger fell to the ground, wailing like a newborn calf. But the doombull did not stop. The frenzy of blood-greed was on it now. The leader threw itself on the dying, gutted challenger and took a great bite out of its labouredly heaving chest. The doombull threw back its head, blood dripping from its chin, and gulped down the bloody lump of gouged meat. Having witnessed such savage brutality, bloodlust had taken hold of the tribe. The scent of blood was in their nostrils, and blood was pumping in their veins. Blood was the only thing that would satisfy them now! The beastmen were not quelled by the death of the wargor; they were giddy with the scent of carnage and wanted nothing more than to have their bestial cravings sated in battle. They divided into two camps—those who wished to avenge the upstart that slayed their wargor, and the others loyal to the doombull. The two sides immediately clashed in the middle of the clearing. With the prisoners forgotten, beastman fought beastman in an orgy of bloodletting. As some of Wilhelm’s followers watched the confusion of the battle, wary of any stray axes or battling combatants coming their way, the warrior priest and the stronger soldiers began to wrestle the heavy log-bolt that held the cage shut. They struggled to free the securing ropes, all the while straining to reach it through the haphazard bars. One of the men gave a cry as he saw something hurtling towards the prisoners. With a crash, a hulking gor smashed into the side of the cage and through the splintered bars. As the injured beastman struggled to rise, Wilhelm grabbed a splintered stake and plunged it through the soft flesh of the creature’s neck. The gor died choking on its own foul blood. Chaos reigned in the clearing. The cries of the battling beastmen echoed around the stone pillars of the lithic circle. Metal rang on metal and stone. But Wilhelm Faustus and his Sigmarite crusaders were free. “We have no time to lose,” the priest told his men. “We must recover our weapons and leave this place.” None of the priest’s followers disputed this decision. They were weak after days of im prisonment and knew that they were hopelessly outnumbered by the beastmen. Luckily the herd was doing more harm to itself than Wilhelm’s holy entourage could ever hope to.
For that was Chaos’ greatest weakness, the lector knew. It would always turn on i tself and destroy itself, in the end.” - Magestorm
Gods have short attention spans, and though truly mighty beings do get a hold of, and keep, their favor this isn't always the case. Sometimes mortals who don't really deserve blessings through lack of ability are blessed, while those with great ability are cursed with spawndom or insanity. Lorewise the only example where they are almost guaranteed to pay attention is when considerations are made for Daemonhood (Daemon Prince) which is why the position is awarded very rarely.
Though doubtless individual fast units can fly far ahead of the main force, as the Darkblade Chronicles shows us a Chaos force in totality moves very slow, and in fact had difficulty managing to travel more then a dozen miles a day! It is more akin to a slow wrecking ball than a fast rapier like strike.
One of the key themes of the Warhammer universe is that every faction is ruled by their own
inescapable flaws that prevent true unity. For humanity is obsession with dogma, tendency towards extremes and susceptibility to Chaos corruption. Elves ruled by pride and aloofness to other races, Dwarfs by grudges and obsession with the past, and the Lizardmen by apathy and the inability to adapt to changing circumstance. The Undead disdain the living and see their concerns with death to be irrelevant, being also difficult to adapt to change. These traits, along with inherent pettiness, make it extremely difficult for factions in the setting to unify.
Virtually every single enemy Chaos fought in the End Times suffered from massive disunity problems. The Empire was riddled with politicking emperors who had difficulty unifying or even coordinating their armies together without the Emperor involved. Cathay had a bureaucracy infested with Tzeentchi cultists that crippled its response in the early days while Ind was split into a myriad of different states picked off one by one. The other races of Warhammer too had problems: no less than three of Nagash’s mortarchs defected to Chaos while the Warhammer unified elves sometimes had difficulty coordinating together. However if Chaos has a thematic ability to take advantage of enemy disunity, it has a weakness towards actual unity. Virtually every single time two or more factions have succeeded in uniting against Chaos in WHF, they won. In the ancient days it was an allied force of Elves and Dwarfs that kept Chaos corralled up north and it was only really the breakdown of this alliance that allowed it to expand. In modern times when Vlad & the Brettonians allied with the Empire against a truly massive Nurglite force at Altdorf they won- even if it was by incredible circumstance. When Dwarfs & Humans fought Chaos in the Great War, they won. Even in the final battle of Middenheim, where every order force had lost the vast majority of its former holdings and Chaos was in ascendency, a unified force of Elves, Dwarfs, Undead, Humans & Orcs still won – even if just barely. It was only by treachery and pettiness that order was undone.
Chaos Dwarfs may have some ranged prowess, they are but a small fraction of the Chaos force, outnumbered even in their own contingent by Hobgoblins. Regular Chaos forces only have some Tzeentchi daemons and horse archers for range, and often times in battle this isn’t enough. As a rule Chaos seems to be forced to take huge, monstrous causalities at range in nearly every fight they must enter. In the Darkblade Chronicles many thousands perished to repeating crossbows before even touching Dark Elf walls, while in the Sundering slow-moving Dwarven crossbowmen completely
destroyed the frontal section of a numerically superior Beastman army (though they were then ambushed from the sides). However usually the hordes are so huge and many so well armored that they can absorb the fire to close to melee.
OPENING SETUP: When confronting a new enemy e ntirely unknown and that randomly appeared the creatures of chaos will likely try to first consult their gods. Through oracles, rituals and séances they will consult daemons and, through them, the gods themselves to determine their will. Alas the gods rarely give clearcut answers, even to Daemons, so the scyers of chaos will interpret the omens as best they can before taking matters into their own hands. There exists many seers in the Chaos force, ranging from tribal shamans to the Bray-shamans of the Beastmen. This is in part due to the unique nature of the Warp, which allows glimpses of what has already been and will be. They must interpret these godly omens. Daemons too, thanks to their nature, are excellent at peering into the future. Now as discussed this foresight presents multiple possible futures however as more information becomes known they can narrow down more information about their foes. Shamans and other sorcerers can enter a trancelike state and have their spirits leave their own bodies. In doing so they can travel and scry an area hundreds of miles away in a single night, observing unseen in spirit form the enemy. Rituals exist that allow the shaman to focus on a specific individual if they know enough details, and see through their point of view. These spirits can fly high in the sky, up above cloud level, or risk going down to ground level for more personal views. Only magical detectors or beings can hope to see and attack such the shaman in this state.
“Silence reigned within the great hall. Obsidian walls cast eerie reflections across a floor of polished ebony. A great crystal, three times the size of a man, rose from the centre of the floor, suspended in the air by unseen chains of force. The smooth, globe-like skin of the crystal glowed with strange lights that burned from within. The glow was captured by the black stone walls of the chamber, shining across them in great, sprawling images. The scenes projected by the crystal played like moving tapestries along the black walls”-Blood for the Blood God
Beastmen use fast moving Ungor Raiders to scout out enemy positions and then through a steady stream of runners sent back haphazardly come up with a plan. These Beastmen are noted for being master trackers and knowing their way around the forest that exceeds all other of their kind, and on at least one occasion they succeeded in luring the Wood Elves into an ambush. Harpies and Chaos Furies too can be used as scouts as those that fly ahead double back and excitedly warn the beastmen of what is near. Bray-shamans have possessed crows and other flyers before and used them as scouts. They can also temporarily transform their form into ugly human peasants and scout that way. If possible they can take captives for more information and use magic to question them past death. Gradually, as Chaos comes to know the enemy, they may seek to send infiltrators. These can include daemons trying to possess some of the enemy or shapeshifters like the Changeling or experienced cult operators with magically enhanced charisma. Against a human foe mutant-humans with mild mutations, those that can be hidden, are sometimes employed to infiltrate enemy forces, particularly human ones. This isn't particularly common, as Beastmen will kill those who do not have the slightest hint of animalistic mutation, but it has been employed, particularly by the more savvy men of Chaos. These mutants will act as spies, saboteurs, and a source of discontent if they can successfully found a Chaos Cult, or even assassins. Though it will take a while to see fruits, Chaos seeks to start the spread
of discontent and unrest early on. However their means for sabotage and infiltration is primarily internal rather than external. They will seek to entice opportunistic enemies to secretly pledge themselves to
Chaos. These can then feed information to the Legion of the Everchosen and conduct sabotage from within. See Chaos Corruption and Chaos Cults sections for more detail. Though daemonic possession has limited abilities to infiltrate, some very powerful daemon princes can put enough glamor on themselves to appear human, or at least so those without magical protection.
However this is a long term strategy, a side project for a force that is exceedingly aggressive. It would not take long for Chaos, after verifying an enemy is there, to engage them. Thus while this is going on Archaon
will of course begin hostilities for his mass of monsters would grow too unruly otherwise. By this point he would have, via the Eye of Sheerian, divined much about the enemy and their potential. However he would go further to make sure. He would gather up leaders known to be unruly, expendable or individuals who he just plain wanted to be rid of and send their hordes in first. If the Skaven are part of this he would be forcing this race into combat by large numbers. These opening assault forces, always containing large numbers and powerful compositions, would provide an early experimentation by which the strengths and weaknesses of the enemy can be observed.
FOREIGN RELATIONS: This might surprise people, given the nature of Chaos and Archaon’s end goal, but they are capable of diplomacy when necessary. For example early on, before the End Times officially began, Archaon bargained a pack with the Chaos Dwarfs that supplied his armies with artillery and helped see the fall of Cathay. Later he accepted the Skaven’s fealty in return for them joining his forces. While Archaon is unlikely to try at all to negotiation with the forces of Order or even neutral (who would likely detect his nature and that of his army immediately) he might be willing to give one-sided negotiations to evil or chaotic factions and give them a stay on their executions. Provided they join him
without conditions, serve him without complaint and generally just be his servants. He is also, according to old Storm of Chaos articles, willing to employ the most cold hearted mercenaries if possible, for what value does loot and gold have to someone who wants to destroy the world? However where Archaon really shines is in promoting disunity . As his character bio shows Archaon is going to try to promote disunity among the enemy as much as possible, to hamper their ability to coordinate effectively against him and his horde. He will try to break down trust and play on emotions to wreck relations within the opposing faction or sour those between the opponent and neutral or native factions. Later, in the Age of Sigmar when the God-King unified gods such as Nagash, Aralliele, and Gork&morka against him Archaon played to their weaknesses one by one to split them up.
GENERAL STRATEGY: As the initial assaults are underway Archaon would be preparing his next steps . A larger, second force would be prepared, this time lead by lieutenants of Archaon or at least key important commanders however if Archaon feels he himself is necessary at this stage he will send everything in. Chaos’s numbers by now would have grown exponentially, particularly if they are allied with Skaven, and the second assault force would be far larger than the first (which would already be large). . Now Archaon would unleash a Pandora’s box worth of Chaos horrors. Nurgle followers would spread their plagues to the world along with all manner of Pestilence to eat up crops. Tzeentchian schemers would try to promote chaos, disorder, sponsor the assassination of incorruptible officials (or corrupt the ones that are willing) and spread around sabotage such as dropping Warpstone into water supplies and turning the land against their opponent. Together with Slaanesh’s forces efforts would be increased to bring cults into being and spread corruption, possession and mutation among the enemy. On a more traditional scale Beastmen would take to the forests where in their affinity they would attempt to ambush enemies passing through. The Chaos Dwarfs would seek to set up a series of fortified outposts and even factories where they can create a steady supply line sending their machines to the front. Little minor attacks would occur all the time as tiny Warbands race ahead of the main force to sack, pillage and murder. Then the main assault force would hit, comprising at the least in the hundreds of thousands and probably more. They would attack from multiple points and designed to spread as much destruction and corruption as possible, seeking to overwhelm with sheer mass and destructive capability. The land would gradually turn hostile under the boots of enormous numbers of corrupted walking across it, despoiling and spreading their taint miles wide. By now the Winds of Magic would be at a Tempest, aiding magic users, daemonic summoning and the spreading of mutation.
“FOR ALMOST A week, the attacks came at the walls of Talabheim. The forces of Chaos suffered terrible casualties, for to attack up the crater at the walls was nigh-on impossible, and the Chaos warbands of Hroth the Blooded were mercilessly slaughtered by the defenders. The dead dropped their hastily constructed ladders where they fell, to be picked up by others as they scrambled up the steep incline towards the towering walls. To the Empire defenders, the hordes assailing them seemed countless, and the nights were filled with the hateful drumming of the foe, haunting the sleep of the soldiers, and thousands of campfires and torches burnt through the night. Night was no release from the attacks, and the Empire soldiers were dog-tired from
hours of constant readiness and sporadic moments of frantic battle. They took their rest when they could get it, but it was invariably short-lived and rare. The Chaos forces attacked all around the city, striking against the walls quickly, forcing the defenders to constantly have men on all the many miles of walls.” – Mark of Chaos
If the assault is overly successful Archaon might join in early, to prevent others from stealing his thunder. Otherwise Archaon would continue to follow up with more plagues, attrition warfare and corruption along with raiding all building up to the final and largest assault which he will lead personally.
ADAPTIONS: Chaos holds nothing back for moral reasons. Any and every atrocity is on the table, there is nothing they are totally unwilling to do. As times goes on and the enemy becomes more difficult they might try to utilize a superspell, such as opening a long term portal to the Realm of Chaos or turning all livestock across the province into Beastmen. Archaon will learn from the weakness of the enemy, both in their army and personality, and try to place upon those weaknesses. That said Chaos as a force lacks any ultra-rare technology to deploy and, since they unleash everything from the beginning, magical adaptions.
WITHDRAWAL: The forces of Chaos are infamous in Warhammer for their insane zeal, their ability to keep fighting well past causalities that would cause regular mortals to retreat. There have been numerous cases where the entire Chaos force has fought to the death. From their point of view it makes sense, as this life is fleeting and if they die gloriously maybe the gods will look favorably on them while if they retreat they will be tortured by daemons in the afterlife. Though Tzeentchi forces have been known to sneak away if the gods are sensed to be watching, even they will fight to the death. However if the favor of the gods is taken away or seen in disfavor, then their morale might break.
Chaos, as a force, exists almost entirely to fight. From the time of childhood to their eventual deaths (usually from violence) essentially the entire sub-factions of Chaos men and Beastmen will fight numerous conflicts against diverse and varied foes. Meanwhile Daemons of Chaos, courtesy of the looping nature of the Warp, will spend countless time fighting each other and the various mortal races of the world (or beyond!) . Thus, though many in the Chaos legions live short and brutal lives, their veterans can be considered some of the most experienced troops in Warhammer barring only the longest lived races.
Threat Level: Very High
Status: Defeated
Composition : The Lizardmen are a rather primitive faction in some ways compared to the other races of the world. They do not wield guns, tanks or steam powered ships. However their warrior caste is extremely tough and numerous, armed with gruesome weaponry and though lacking anything heavier, their blowgun armed skirmishers are chameleonic. Plenty of larger beasts exist in the Lizardmen arsenals that are reminiscent to dinosaurs of our world. But by far the greatest and most potent of the Lizardmen’s arsenal are the rare Slann. With time these super-powerful magicians can move entire continents and level battlefields.
HISTORY: When Chaos first burst onto the scene 7,000 years ago, it was the full force of the Slann world spanning empire that met them. Countless millions of Sauros and Slink fought equal numbers of daemons across the breadth of the world. Though Chaos invaded everywhere, the Lizardmen bore the brunt of the attack. To the surprise of later observers, the Lizardmen were initially winning thanks in no small part to the Slann. These Mage-Priests could create volcanic geysers, spawn tidal waves, or create fissures to swallow entire hordes of daemons. At first so successful were they, that the Lizardmen considered their victory inevitable. Yet as more magic seeped into the world, the Slann’s magic grew more unreliable and hundreds died or went mad after a messing up a single syllable to a spell. Chaos began gaining mortal followers around this time in the form of primitive Northern tribes of men, adding to their numbers. Slowly the Slann began getting pushed back, continent by continent, city by city.
In desperation the Lizardmen used every trick they knew. Strange and powerful artifacts of the unimaginably technologically advanced Old Ones were utilized to wipe out thousands in an instant. Rivers were redirected and volcanic eruptions caused just as daemonic legions marched past. When the Daemons reached Lustria, the Slann pooled all their energies to make every aspect of the forest hostile to the invaders, slowing them down immensely. Yet that was all they could do, and gradually the daemons fought past the natural defenses to besiege their mightiest cities. One by one these great enclaves fell as their Slann protectors were killed, though each battle killed countless thousands of daemons. Yet hope was not lost, for the stubborn resistance provided by the Lizardmen gave the High Elves valuable time to complete their ritual which sucked up much of the Chaos energy in the world in a mighty maelstrom (and, secretly, the Slann sent magical aid). Though the Lizardmen won after a 1100 year war (or, more accurately, every non-corrupted race working together at once to foil Chaos) their power was forever shattered and they are a fragment of what they once were. Chaos meanwhile just bided its time, for the maelstrom was a temporary measure by their reckoning. The Lizardmen and forces of Chaos have fought numerous conflicts since- almost always with the Lizardmen on defense in Lustria- with the forces of Chaos achieving many tactical victories but few strategic ones. The Slann were never again able to seriously hurt Chaos and soon a new problem arose. The Lizardmen fought a series of wars with the Skaven that would cumulate in their final destruction in the End Times.
Implications: Chaos experience with powerful mages and giant dinosaur monsters, but much greater experience with tribes of tough, ferocious, Lizardmen. They have experience with guerrilla jungle fighting and the hazards of fighting a foe on terrain they are superior too. Too they have experience against the best mages of the world, Slann capable of wielding apocalyptic magics. Combine with this is the Skaven experience with exceedingly harsh terrain, with Lustria having a variety of terrible predators, quicksand, diseases, giant insects, unstable geological activity etc. Many Daemonic commanders, such as Kalros and Kur’gath, personally fought in the Dawn War seven thousand years ago.
Threat Level: High Status: Holed up in a single forest There are normally three branches of Elves. The First, the High Elves, are more a noble order faction that utilizes armies of extremely trained militia, masters of weaponry, some of the greatest sorcerers in the world bar the Slann, dragons, phoenixes and all sorts of air. The Second, the Wood Elves, are more a guerilla force from the forest, but have dyriad, treemen and various native allies, as well as the ability to call up the power of nature and fast travel with their mystical World Root. The Final force, the Malevolent Druichi, are treacherous foes who favor repeating crossbows tipped with poison, velociraptor cavalry, crazed blood mad cultists, expert assassins and all sorts of monsters, as well as terrible Dark Magic. Both the Druichi and Asur have powerful navies. As of the End Times this was united into one, lopsided force
HISTORY: Barring the Slann the Elves are the oldest of all of Chaos’ foes. It was the Elven heroes Aenarion and Caledor that, 7,000 years ago, created the giant magical vortex in Ulthuan that stopped the daemon invasion of the world. For thousands of years the Elves had stood on the forefront of the battle against Chaos, fighting with unrivaled discipline and focus. Yet over the decades and centuries the Elves, courtesy of their low breeding rate, were unable to readily replace their numbers. Added to this were the Elves’ own character traits being used against them. The Elves split into two, then three camps when the Elven prince Maleketh chose his pursuit of power over the good of the world and formed the malevolent Druichi. Later the main grouping of Elves that remained, the Asur, were egged on into a disastrous war with the Dwarfs by their own arrogance, disdain of the ‘mole people’ and secretly, both Druichi and Daemon agents. They would lose this war badly with tremendous losses and, though the Elves would continue their crusade against Chaos, they would never be at the forefront of the conflict again. That duty would fall to the heavily flawed race of men. In the End Times the Civil War of the Elves finally came to a head as Maleketh seized final control, their island kingdom of Ulthuan was sunk and the entire, now unified race now fled to the forest of the third grouping, the Asrai. The Elves managed to put up a powerful defense of their kingdom but, since by now as in the late stages of the End Times, the kingdoms of man nearby had fallen. Now under a unrestricted onslaught from the Chaos and Skaven the Elves held admirably for many years but, as the End Times reached their climax, were finally being hit with assaults they had no hope of repelling.
Implications:Asur: Chaos has experience fighting a great host of elite warriors and archers. Their air units are, along with the Dwarfs, some of the best in WF. They are a highly intelligent and cunning foe, with again some of the best commanders in WF.
Asrai: The Wood Elves give elements of Chaos experience with an enemy that relies on light troops of archers and spearmen, that can summon natural allies and have potent natural magic. They are a guerilla force too, making quick hit and run attacks over and over again.
Druichi: Chaos has frequent experience with treacherous, yet powerful and elite elves as both allies and enemies. They also have experience with powerful repeating range weaponry, murderous assassins, fanatic battlefield shock troops and all manner of guile.
Threat Level: Medium Status: Almost entirely destroyed by the end of the End Times. Composition: The Dwarfs are a slow moving, durable force composed of greatly armored troops, riflemen and crossbowmen, various forms of artillery, legendary Slayers warriors, rune magic, and even limited gyrocopter aircraft. Their whole race has a heavy defense emphasis, from their fortresses that were the strongest in the Warhammer World at forging runes of magic resistance. They are master tunnelers and craftsmen.
HISTORY: When Chaos burst onto the scene, the Dwarves were among the many races to take up the fight against them. At first, led by their legendary Warrior-King Grimmir, the Dwarves temporarily drove Chaos off however the second surge brought ever more creations of Chaos. The Dwarves were besieged in their holds with many of them taken after incredible battles yet a few prevailed through desperate measures, such as the example of the Dwarves caving in their mountain on top of a Chaos force and sealing themselves inside the mountain. Fortunately events elsewhere allowed the Dwarves to survive. It was around this time that one of the Dwarf holds to the east was cut off from the West and underwent the transformation that turned them into the Chaos Dwarfs. When the Dwarfs of the West found out about what had occurred they immediately tried to put the Dawi Zharr down but failed. The Dwarfs and Chaos Dwarfs have hated each other with a passion ever since, each viewing the other as an absolute abomination. Since then the Dwarves have fought numerous conflicts against Chaos, and for a time, allied with the Elves, they sought to purge Chaos from the world or at least keep it confined to the North. They experienced remarkable success and for a time their realms were mostly clean of Chaos taint yet even with their greatest heroes of legend, such as Snorri Whitebeard and the then good Maleketh, conceded defeating Chaos was impossible. When the Great War of Vengeance caused a rift between the two races that would never fully heal, Chaos again burst onto the scene. Quite a few holds fell to Chaos, though the main threat to the Dwarves of this time were the Skaven and Night Goblins. Since then the Dwarves have allied with the Empire of Man and provided elite support to their efforts against Chaos. With Dwarven technological knowhow and elite troops the Empire has always managed to drive back Chaos armies though often at terrible prices, losing ever greater amounts of an already rare people in the conflicts. In the End Times, while it was primarily the Skaven that took out the Dwarfs, Chaos and the stunted race fought many times. In the north in Norsca, it was through the works of Valkia the Bloody that the Norse Dwarfs were finally overwhelmed with the last fleet departing the port of Sjoktraken for parts unknown. The remainder of the Dwarfs joined the Empire at Averheim, where they were defeated by Chaos, and took part in the final actions of the End Times.
Implications: Chaos has experience with some technologically advanced foes supporting cannons, guns and flyers, as well as powerful rune magic. Dwarven troops are extremely disciplined and stubborn foes who often impress even the bloodthirsty Chaos Warriors with their “never fall back” attitude. As Dwarves often ally with the Empire they do have some experience with multi-racial coalitions.
Threat Level: Medium Status: Mostly Overrun Composition: The Empire is a primarily renaissance based army with breastplate armored Halberdiers, pike men, archers and gunners along with Knights of all sorts. They have eight different colleges of magic, each capable of making mage specialists along with arcane artifacts like the Celestial Hurricanium, along with magic wielding warrior priests .Artillery wise they have everything from simple cannons , primitive rockets and even Steam Tanks, though there are only seven in the entire Empire. To round it off is a well-educated core of generals, witch hunters and other special agents. The Empire is the single most powerful human realm in Warhammer Fantasy and the focus point of Chaos’s efforts in the End Times.
History: Since its inception the Empire has faced constant wars of Chaos, for its founder Sigmar was one of the greatest foes of Chaos to ever exst in the Warhammer World. It was this man who first united the non-corrupted Chaos tribes and pushed the Chaos corrupted ones out, as well as contained the
Beastmen in their deep forests. Chaos sent at least two massive invasions from the North to end their threat, yet both were repelled by Sigmar with effort in turn.
Ever since then Chaos has constantly sent in endless raids and periodic invasions down South, growing in intensity year after year. In the Great War against Chaos, set 200 years prior to present timeline, an enormous force so large it caused a self-sustaining Storm of Magic to appear. This invasion sought the destruction of Kislev followed by full-scale invasion of the Empire, and was only barely defeated by the full force of Kislev and the Empire along with the Dwarves and slight Elven help. In the End Times it was the Empire that was the main focus point of the Chaos invasion. Over a several year period the Empire was devastated from cults within, Beastman uprisings (including a superspell that turned all livestock into Beastmen), plagues and pestilence, and several Chaos assaults. The Empire put up a admirable, vigorous fight but was ultimately reduced to one major city and a handful of isolated, fortified towns by the point of this profile. Shortly after the Empire would lose this city and be forced to retreat to the Elven stronghold of Athel Loren.
Implications: Chaos have experience fighting a Renaissance era foe with knights, pikemen, gunners and early era artillery. They also have some experience fighting mages with diverse magic, though mages are rare in this franchise universally. They have experience fighting organized armies of men with states built on a decentralized system and ruled by a unitary ruler.
Threat Level: Low Status: Overrun Composition: Bretonnia’s armies are, on their base, built upon mobs of peasant men at arms (in chainmail) and longbowmen, along with some Yeoman horse archers. Though the Longbowmen are proficient, the Men at Arms are infamous in the setting for their poor training and skill at arms (mostly. Even Beastmen can get positive K/Ds against them!) . They do have primitive artillery in the form of Trebuchets, as they are stunted in technological advancement, along with a female cast of elven taught witches known as the Damsels. However their main threat and power is their inordinately large numbers
of knights, skilled plate riding warriors sometimes blessed with magic that gives them resistance to ranged weaponry. The higher ranking the knight, the more buffs, until the best are true champions of the world.
History: Bretonnia’s history is steeped in myth. It is known that the legendary knight Giles once led heroic armies to pacify the beastmen, orcs, undead and raiding norsemen of his kingdom, eventually founding Brettonia proper and laying down a Chivalric code. Since then they have rather frequently fought the local Beastmen around their realm, driving them deep in the forest in conjunction with their mysterious allies, the Wood Elves. Occasionally Norsemen will raid them from the seas, and at least on one occasion recently a Jarl did significant damage. In the End Times Brettonia was ultimately overrun by a combination of Skaven rising from the South, northern raiders hitting the shoreline and a large Slaaneshi horde led by Sigvald coming in from the West. Already weakened by undead uprisings, plagues, and a civil war Brettonia could only go valiantly into the night. In the end, despite alliances with prominent undead such as Abhorash and Ushoran, only a small area in the core of the country remained free.
Implications: As Bretonni peasents are inferior mostly to Empire State troops in training (to the point that, in combat, Gors maintain 3-1 kill ratios over their men at arms) and their artillery is lackluster, the example of the Bretonni mostly gives Archaon experience with lots and lots of knights. Some of them have potent magical buffs allowing them deflect bullets off their armor
Other Human Nations: Below are the human nations, though while important, have scant information on them from official sources.
From what fragments on Araby exists, they were essentially Fantasy Middle Eastern civilizations. For armies they had large numbers of slave soldiers (not unlike the Skaven), fast riding desert nomad cavalry, elite Kontoi cavalry, Dervishes, War Elephants, Flying carpets, Djins, female enchantresses as magicians and more. Historically, the Arabyans were too far apart from Chaos to experience regular contact however they were raided by the Norse quite often as well as had periodic daemon invasions. In the End Times they were destroyed by the Skaven.
The massive empire of Cathay is probably the second strongest human empire in the world (The Empire is repeatedly referred to as the first) . It’s a vast bureaucracy capable of commanding massive armies filled with crossbowmen, trained pike soldiers and more. Imagine Fantasy China that is roughly somewhere between the Tang– Ming period. They have extremely powerful sorcerers, giant animated jade statues, warrior monks from the martial art movies, great, if antiquated gunpowder, monkey tribesmen, cavalry and chariots. They are skilled engineers, and built the Great Bastion (re: Great Wall) to keep out Chaos for several thousand years. However in the End Times Chaos was on the move, and through an alliance with the Chaos Dwarfs that saw that race active to a unprecedented degree, the Great Bastion’s walls were broken by daemonic artillery. Massive hordes poured through yet well placed Tzeentchi cultists in Cathay’s bureaucracy paralyzed the government in the vital early moments of the invasion, while Skaven assasins picked many of those officials competent enough to organize a real defense. By the time the Celestial Emperor dealt with both via surgical strikes and executions, Chaos forces were already inside, the Great Bastion made a fortress by the Chaos Dwarfs, and much of the country in chaos. The capital was besieged. The Dragon-Emperor meets the enemy in combat before the very gates of the capital and somehow manages to throw them back time and again, as the plagues of Nurgle run riot through the streets and Slaaneshi courtesans corrupted his advisers. The Chaos forces outside awaited only the coming of the Chaos Dwarfs, whose guns can breach the walls of the city.
However neither was prepared for Grimgor. The Orc Warboss, now an incarnate in his own right, led a massive force of Orcs, Goblins, the Hobgoblin Khantates, and more into Cathay. There massive three
way battles were fought that saw the capital sacked, the Emperor barely escaping after (sailing off to parts unknown)
Fantasy India. War Elephants, Tiger Beastmen (who sometimes aided the Indians, sometimes tried to kill them) ,large legions of troops, Skilled swordsmen, chariots, martial art masters and champions of the ten thousand gods said to reside in India could all be found in their armies. In the End Times these divided kingdoms were hit from everywhere at once. Arbaal the Undefeated led a massive invasion force from the North while Dechala led the pleasure cults in the South in a giant revolt. Tiger Beastmen doubtlessly rose up from the forests while various Skaven clans, including Eshin, Volkn & Skyre, all played a role in causing devastation. Champions like Wulfrik, Skulltaker, Karnak and more all took turns hunting down the champions of Ind. By the time the world ended the Kingdoms of Ind were limited to just a few, fortified enclaves in the middle of the county. These were still holding out-if barely- when the portal opened up at Middenheim that heralded the End of the World.
Kislev, a minor border nation that usually allies with the Empire, has tough horse archers of the steppes, the Fantasy equivalent to Polish Winged Hussars, bear cavalry and ice mages . They are also incredibly tenacious foes as can be expected since Chaos usually strikes them first on their way down South. For virtually its entire existence Kislev had made a living holding off the myriad of Chaos invasions from the North, sometimes with the help of the Empire or even the Dwarfs, sometimes by themselves. They eventually gained a deserved reputation for tough, rowdy folk ready to endure any hardship.
That changed in the End Times, where a horde larger than almost any seen previously- yet still only a minnow compared to the forces that would come later- swept through Kislev. Praag and much of Northern Kislev fell quickly. The Ice Queen engaged in a series of running battles trying to slow the Chaos force yet its commander, Aekold Hellbrass, was unmoved. He marched to Kislev city and forced the Ice Queen into a pitched battle outside the city, where he then crushed her force. The Kislevite capital then fell in a single day. Chaos continued to pour through and in a series of mop up campaigns annihilated much of the rest of the coun try. Kislev fell in a matter of months, perhaps even a few weeks. So swift did it fall that Karl Franz, the Emperor of the Empire, did not receive news of its defeat until after the end of the nation. Immediately he moved his forces north and only barely managed to styme the next Chaos assault- for a time at least. The remaining Kislevites engaged in a series of guerilla campaigns with ever dwindling forces as the Realm of Chaos gradually came south to devour their land itself. The last stand occurred in the fallen ruins of the Kislevite port-city of Erengard where the last 1,000 of the legendary Kislevite lancer corps together with the Ice Queen and the spirits of the land itself rose up in a final measure of defiance. The remnants of Kislev were engulfed in a supernatural blizzard which raged until the end of the world.
In addition to the nations described above Chaos would doubtlessly have experience with Tilea, Estalia and Nippon via raiding and daemon invasions. Estalia is Fantasy Spain. Imagine war dogs, conquistadors, myrmidons (hoplite style), trained city-state infantry, tough mountain tribesmen and gunpowder. Also the nation was famous for the quality of its duelists and the much honored Knights of the Blazing Sun had their headquarters there. Estalia, like Tilea, was no unified nation but split into dozens of city states with Bilbali and Magritta being the largest.
Tilea was Rennaisance esque Italy. They have disciplined state troops like the Empire, but with some oddities that include weird inventions ala Leonardo. The land was split into different city states and renowned for their mercenaries. Nippon, Fantasy Japan, is the easternmost country of the Far East and the location of Clan Eshin strongholds. They have peasant ashigaru troops, trained samurai of every type (including cavalry), Silent ninjas, shinobi and geisha, wouku pirates, warrior monks, giant sumo wrestlers and perhaps mythological beasts like the Oni. The nation would have been very militaristic like the real world equivalent and with certain codes governing their lives. All fell to the Skaven in the End Times.
Threat Level: Moderate-High Status: Always Present Composition: The Orcs and Goblins are two vast, fractious race that composes of mostly tough, powerful melee fighters and small, brutal malicious backstabbers. Or in Orkish terms the first is brutal but kunnin’, while the second is kunnin’ but brutal. Also include various sub-races like the Primitive Savage Orcs, insane Night Goblins and extremely militaristic Black Orks. They appear in extreme numbers everywhere to fight, and bring along an assortment of critters such as giant boars, wolves, spiders (some the size of houses), trolls and giants. For artillery they use primitive catapults, spear
chukkas and stuff that chucks goblins at people.
Ogres stand two times higher than a man and many times more muscular, even more than a Chaos enhanced human, and whose gut is more formidable still. Thus any battle they appear in they count as monstrous infantry, aided by hordes of tiny gnoblars (small goblin variant) as servants and sometimes expendable infantry. However though excelling in melee, the Ogres too utilize large harpoon guns, miniature cannons carried by singular ogres, primitive gnoblar catapults and larger cannons carried on the backs of massive rhinoxs. Finally mighty war beasts such as giant boars, said rhinoxs and sabertooth cats are included in battle.
History: : Orcs and Goblins have been around on the planet potentially longer then Chaos has, and so far nearly every race has launched protracted campaigns to wipe them out, failing each time. Though they do not generally go into the Chaos Wastes they are one of the few races that would dare to, for Orcs live to fight and no place has more fighting then the Wastes! Just like Chaos invasions, Orcs and Goblin assaults are frequently defeated but for no long term gain. Within a year a new WAAAAGH will pop up and the threat begins anew, and thus no enemy faction can make long term strategic gains against them. Chaos and Orcs see each other both rightly as destroyer factions, and have formed tenuous alliances in the past. Goblins can and have been cowed into alliances before too, particularly by the Beastmen. Historically Ogres are both an ally and an enemy to Chaos, with many of them joining Chaos warbands as “Chaos” or even “Plague Ogres”. Some tribes join wholesale while others ell their services in
exchange for food, particularly to the Chaos Dwarves .As the Ogre mind is utterly obsessed with finding food, canny Chaos warlords can offer it as an incentive.
Yet Ogres also fight Chaos Foces too, for the richer realms down south can often offer them more food. In these cases Ogres can become formidable foes thanks to their stature and potent weapons, though Chaos easily has the advantage of numbers. Sometimes Chaos exterminates or drives away their clans however sometimes also the Ogres defeat and eat the Chaos force. In the End Times when Chaos assaulted the world over the Greenskins suffered incredible losses in many places along the West, where massive Beastmen uprisings and plagues devastated the various tribes. However in the East it was a different story. The Orc champion Grimgor Ironhide united countless orc and goblin tribes and then killed the leader of the Ogre Kingdoms in a duel, taking in his Ogres as well. Together they defeated the Chaos forces in Cathay, claiming the country, devastated the Skaven in Nippon and even toppled the Chaos Dwarf empire. However both the Skaven and Chaos had focused on the West and after a superspell teleported Grimgor to Middenheim, he fought them in earnest. There he was killed.
Threat Level: Moderate Status: Servants of Chaos Composition: See Skaven profile History: Chaos and Skaven have often been allies and enemies alike, and often both at once. Many times the two have worked together against the other, “good” races of the world. Yet often they fight, and Beastmen in particular have a particular vendetta against them, often ambushing their armies and utterly destroying them in close quarters (they would get annihilated at range).Clan Skyre and the Chaos Dwarves blast each other apart with their crazy creations. For their part Skaven are happy to manipulate all who they encounter and operate spy rings in Norsca. Just about the only faction they are extremely reluctant to deal with are daemons, and along with the High Elves remain one of two factions the Skaven have yet to see any major success on. In the End Times the Skaven leadership, realizing that the total power of Chaos was beyond them, opted to ally with the devil in the hopes of surviving the aftermath. This formed the Grand Legion of the Everchosen.
Implications: Chaos forces have experience with a wide range of tactics that the Skaven use, from huge massive numbers to the varied technology of Clan Skyre. Pestilens employs diseases against them (though in competition to the two, it is apparently noted in lore Nurgle’s followers are better than them
at this) while Moulder sends legions of monsters and have, though such means, managed not to be conquered even though their stronghold is on the border of the Chaos Wastes. They would be familiar with treacherous alliances and even assassinations of Enshin, though this is not a faction they regularly fight.
Threat Level: High Status: Walking the Earth History: Whether it is the Tomb Kings or the Vampire Counts, Chaos has always hated the Undead. This is because they bind their own and the souls of their servants to the Mortal Realm, preventing them from being consumed in the Aether. For thousands of years the hordes of the undead have fought Chaos with uneven standings. Once, the Tomb King leader Settra actually led a successful assault on Chaos homelands which is something no race has really done. However the Undead have a universal weakness in that, while their top teir units are amazing, the vast majority of their hordes compose of zombies and weak skeleton warriors. Against similar sized hordes of Chaos the superior melee quality of the forces of ruin usually prevails with the Vampire champions being hunted down and killed. In the End Times though Chaos took significant losses the undead generally lost all battles in which they fought Chaos directly and some of those wins were only because of Nagash’s presence.
Implications: Chaos has experience with massive hordes of enemies led by high end fighters and sorcerers. They have experience with fighting a foe capable of raising their own dead against them. The Undead also have a series of monsters to bring to bear.
Threat: Very High Status: Lost due to Mannfred Composition: See Elves, Dwarfs, Empire, Undead Legion, Orcs &Goblins/Ogres History: In the last months of the End Times, when virtually all of their realms were almost totally destroyed, the various factions finally decided to at least try to put their grievances aside to destroy Chaos. With much bickering and dissention they agreed that Chaos should be destroyed though disagreed on how to do it. However Chaos forced their hands, and with knowledge that a third portal to the Warp would be opened in Middenheim the coalition, through sacrifice of one of the last remaining gods, arrived in the city.
There they joined forces, albeit reluctantly, with the Beast Waagh! Led by Grimgor. The faction led an elite strike force to the bowels of Middenheim where, after a tremendous battle, Order managed to prevail after losing virtually their entire force. Archaon himself was cast into the Warp. However just as they were about to achieve tentative victory by sealing the portal, Mannfred von Carstin disrupted the ritual and ruined the world….
Implications: See “Weakness” section. Chaos has experience with a coalition of foes fighting them at once . That said this was a coalition of, quite literally, every remaining non-Chaos faction at this juncture and even they struggled to achieve a victory.
The Realm of Souls is a truly unique place. Operating in a timeless realm connected to countless universes the Realm of Souls, or the Warp. Daemons, as the denizens of this realm, can use these pathways to travel to untold realities. Given their immortality it is thus possible for Daemons to have fought the ancient races of Warhammer, such as the Old Ones, Centaurs and the race of intelligent Giants. More than that it is actually possible for these same daemons to fight in Warhammer Fantasy to have fought in 40k. Liber Chaotica has confirmed that, through the warp, there is a medium between these two universes. However bear in mind that Daemons are subject to the real world when interacting with it. There is
absolutely zero evidence (from 4e on) that Daemons can achieve anywhere nears the power they have in 40k, even if these are the same daemons. There is no appearance of the daemon engines or any 40k specific daemon units either, in 40k. I personally hypothesize that Chaos, as subject to the thoughts and emotions of the mortal realm, might also be subject to the conceived notions of power of that realm. Or, in other words, Chaos might scale up or down compared to the power of the mortals they are facing. This is, however, an unconfirmed fan theory. "There are countless worlds beyond the void of Chaos, endless kingdoms to conquer, cities to sack, forests to burn, warriors to slay in their millions. But by Khorne, I have chosen this world to conquer, and conquer it I shall, even if it takes a thousand millennia."
Klustarax, Daemon Prince of Khorne
“"It is not the strong enemy we must fear; it is the weak that flock to their banner." -Grand Theogonist Rueben Wrolfgar
Equal to importance of the Marauders of Chaos are those highly secretive cults hidden within a society, for upon the onset of conflict it is these individuals who turn every conflict with Chaos to a two-front war; one from within and without. Though there is no one universal architype that can be found for one cult it can be said that Chaos Cults are naturally attractive to the restless, the dreamers, the bored, the
ambitious and the dissatisfied; the outcasts and the desperate.
Many join quite innocently, for Chaos Cults are rarely shown as such from the outside, modeling themselves instead as warrior fraternities, intellectual circles, religious groups devoted to an innocent deity, artistic communities etc. . These innocent new recruits are often attracted to the aura of "occult mystery", with the revelation of just what they are getting into only coming too late, when they are too deep to pull out without risking themselves. As in the real world cult recruiters use every method one can think of, from beguilement to threats to gradual reinforcement, to try and lure members in. In Liber Chaotica a report notes that 2/3 of Chaos Cultists were surprised to learn they were serving in
something affiliated with Chaos or, if they were aware they were serving chaos, ignorant of the true goals of Chaos. This statistic would vary between cult to cult of course. Cults are typically led by a leader known as the magus. This is either the founder of the cult or one who had usurped the previous magus and is considered the most blessed of all the cultists, often carrying with him all manner of godly mutations, familiars or gifts. Since this magus is usually too mutated to interact with the public at large, an inner circle of advisors known as the coven typically takes over the running of the cult. Below that are varying ranks of cultists themselves with varying degrees of awareness of the true objectives of the cult. Though Chaos Cults welcome all, they will generally pool their efforts into subverting the powerful and influential like politicians, generals, religious leaders ect. This is part of their insidious long term plans to corrupt society through a myriad of means. They might create extreme religious or political fronts to create instability, or infiltrate trade guilds to disrupt the economy. They will try to infiltrate whatever they can including military, intellectual societies ect. Sometimes multiple cults of different gods work together to maximize havoc (or are coordinated to do so by Tzeentch’s). These cults can be split roughly into five types ; Blood, Corruption , Death , Pleasure and Aesthetics,
with a sixth introduced in Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay . Blood Cults (usually Khorne) project an appearance of the outside as a group pursuing martial prowess, but in the inside they generally try to twist aspirants’ desire for simple prowess into bloodlust and slaughter. This is the rarest type of cult
given the attentions murders cause, and often are short-lived for the same reason. Corruption cults try to physically and mentally corrupt all aspirants, deliberately spreading mutation in whatever way they
can, with variance depending on the god aligned with the cult. Death cults are those devotees of Nurgle who, either fearing or loving death (in a bizarre way Nurgle can cause both) deliberately spread plague to as many people as possible. However of all the cults, this variant is most likely to self-implode. Pleasure and Aethstetics cults, the most common, are where devotees seek either mastery of an art or thrill which Slaanesh typically provides. The sixth and probably rarest cult is the Political cult. Devoted to political ends, these cults use dark powers granted by their worship to uncover secret knowledge, destroy their opponents and seize power. “They are weak and foolish, but they will help us achieve the victory we crave. With us attacking the Empire’s borders, the Beastmen and Mutants sweeping out from the forests, and the cultists undermining and corrupting from within, we will soon have dominion over this oncegreat Empire, finally banishing the name of Sigmar from the annals of history forever.” – Drakar Neth Shyish, the Fist of Chen, also known as Drakar the Questioner
Slaaneshi cults can be likened to the most terrible opium, with all consuming pleasure to be had by first and then the onset of a creeping addiction. Unlike the other cults, who usually appeal to a very specific group), Slaaneshi cults can appear to all of the above in addition the the types they normally appeal to, such as the decadent, indolent, some bored nobles etc. For example a warrior or murderer, who one might normally associate with Khorne, may instead appeal to Slaanesh to bring about mastery of skill or to derive the most pleasure from the act. All three races in Warhammer-Humans, Elves and even Dwarfs- have suffered from Slaaneshi cults before. While Slaanesh has the most cults in existence and the most members, cults of Tzeentch are considered
the most dangerous for they have definitive political goals in mind other than mere pleasure. Namely, in order to best inflict change, they will try to break down society completely, supporting and infiltrating any conventional and unconventional political movement (such as Old World communism in lore) to go about this effect. In the Empire, this was done by sowing hatred between adherents of the Empire’s
two most notable gods , Ulric and Sigmar, which led to simmering hostility at the best of times to outright fighting at worst. Often Tzeentch cults carry great influence within governments and even other Chaos cults, and a Tzeentchi mastermind has no compulsions against forming a Slaaneshi cult if doing so serves his purpose. Tzeentch cults are far less likely to show their hand directly and often act through
proxies. Even when they are discovered, such is the secretive nature of Tzeentchi followers that their organization is like a clever labyrinth, with limited knowledge among ordinary members , making it difficult to fully purge the cult without nabbing its top player in the first go.
Khorne and Nurgle cults are typically less in influence, but each has goals within the overall game. Khorne cults ideally seek to seduce warriors and spread bloodlust, subverting the military of a nation and turning discipline into constant bloodshed. That or make murder more common. Nurglites tend to
spread diseases everywhere in order to survive longer, for it is a common belief that the more people they infect the happier the Nurgle will be, and the happier Nurgle is the longer they survive and/or increased likelihood of Daemonhood. The Skaven also have a limited number of human cults set up as well. These cults mostly carry out human sacrifices to the Horned Rat in the belief that this will save them when the Horned Rat grows in power. Other times they might be called upon to help smuggle Warpstone or hinder improvements to urban areas, such as revamped sewers. All Cults seek to survive, prosper/grow, and get powerful enough to acquire real influence. All are wary of attempts to put them down, having multiple escape plans, likely informants in the police force, pacts with other cults (even those of rival gods, though sometimes these pacts fall through) and sometimes are capable of summoning daemonic support. They are well-armed and have stocks of weapons. On the more mundane level they make heavy of blackmail, bribery and political corruption. To add to the difficulty in putting these groups done most cults are not transparent and seemingly lead ordinary lives. There are numerous spheres in society and cults that infiltrate each one will try to create havoc in unique ways. Those that infiltrate the economy will try to disrupt trade and try to create an economic depression (at best) while those in the criminal elements might, for example, start peddling drugs tainted with warpstone. Religious infiltrations will try to ferment religious conflict, society cults strive to create discontent and ultimately revolution, military ones weaken the armed forces etc.
Cults form a piece of Chaos’s overall goal in how to conquer the world, and in the last great war of Chaos, Cults along with Daemonhosts, mutants and even Daemon allies would emerge from hidden hideaways to try and take control or slaughter local government. Nurglites with diseases deliberately spread plagues wherever they can, poisoning food and water along with sending less obvious members into crowds. They will attempt to propagate mutations among the enemy, for they know mutants will invariably come to them. With more guile they can serve as spies, saboteurs, or assassins. Even the frequent infighting among Cults, as is common among those groups who believe only their way is the true one, serves Chaos by causing anarchy and paranoid suspicion to take root within a society.
So how will Cults play out in a KC setting? Chaos Cults do not spring up overnight, and thus early on are unavailable as a form of recon. However over the weeks, months, and even years after, particularly with instigators such as Van Horstmann (who runs the greatest string of cults in the Empire) speeding the process up, these cults will take root to pursue their varied goals. The effectiveness and speed that these cults are set up, if they are successful, would depend on the modifiers found in the Chaos corruption section. In the worst case scenario cultists have the potential to be massively destabilizing, even game winning by themselves. In Ind a massive uprising of Slaaneshi cults helped topple the southern kingdoms while in Cathay a collaboration of Tzeentch, Slaanesh and Nurgle crippled the kingdom. The Tzeentchi riddled bureaucracy prevented effective force mobilization in those early days of the invasion while later on Nurgle’s adherents spread devastating plagues while Slaaneshi courtesans seduced and corrupted the Dragon Emperor’s advisors.
(Some )Modifiers to success : A modifier to the speed might be observation of the society itself, with strong societies with purpose and strong morals being harder to infiltrate then non.The state of the society – whether happy, suppressed, anarchic etc.- can also play a major factor in how long it takes for a cult to arise. At least in the Warhammer Setting, cults spread faster than humans than any other race, for humans are given to their flaws more than one other races. In general one will have to make generalizations on the society to determine the spread of cult activity (if any) and apply the lessons seen in Chaos Corruption (see Additional Factors) .Tzeentch sponsors revolutions, and he attempts to turn those advocating for social justice into a burning hatred for all society. Also the cults do have some notable flaws. They plot and scheme against each other, even cults of the same god, and rarely might even tip each other off to the authorities. Their communication style is often chaotic and subject to paranoia, with Warhammer City noting that sometimes honest cult messengers are slain or ignored out of the fear that they are double agents! Organization can be difficult as even cells within the same cult are forced to operate independently from each other (though for Kingdom Conquest, this would depend on how vigilant a faction is). Also, as with everyone that works with daemons, sometimes something goes horribly wrong for the mortal as the daemon consumers their souls. Particularly stubborn societies like the Dwarves for example, with the exception of the ancient off-shoot of the Dawi Zhar, have few records hosting Chaos Cults, with only one found to date in the Karak Azghul Fantasy Roleplay (a gold-obsessed Slaanesh cult masquerading as a another god). Even the Dawi Zharr almost all worship Hashut, who has taken over their society rather than anyone else. However for the Elves of their height, where pleasure-seeking and arts were the main goal, had Slaaneshi cults woven into their society. Even in current times there are still a few. The Empire is well-known for the number of Chaos cults they have, and Cathay seems to have a particularly notable (even legal!) Tzeentch cult, however Brettonia and Kislev apparently have fewer.
Historical Chaos Cults You’ve heard the saying, ‘It’s not what you know, it’s who you know?’ Well, it’s also what you know
about who you know, if you catch my meaning. People always has a few more secrets than you think they do. - Klara Vogel, barmaid - Aesthetes: Slaaneshi cult of Marianburg that focuses on the increased ‘beautification’ of the city. To this end, they sponsor art, academies, gentrification projects, etc, all in their secret desire to make the entire Old World beautiful for Slaanesh. Everything not beautiful is targeted for elimination or destruction.
Bleak Society: Group of Slaaneshi cultists who were once all philosophers, constantly asking each other ‘what is the meaning of life’. This frustrated many of them so they began to appeal to Slaanesh for inspiration, which Slaanesh gave but in a backhanded way. Eventually they all went mad and now exist trying to tempt other philosophers to Slaanesh.
-Brotherhood of Untold Aeons: A cult of high society Nulners whose ultimate objective was to summon a Lord of Change to Nuln., devastating the city and winning Tzeentch’s failure. However they got careless and failed.
-Cult of the Purple Hand: Cult of Tzeentch. In true Tzeentchian fashion, they seek to bring the Empire to its knees by infiltrating positions of power. So far they have members in both the Cult of Sigmar and of Ulric, and are working to encourage the theory of the "Sigmarian Heresy" in order to put the two factions at each other's throats. Historically they helped destabilize the empire by sponsoring many rival claimants and pretenders to the throne. Other tales of mischief are more subtle, such as raising of unpopular taxes or the raising of taxes on specific groups (wizards, Dwarfs and temples in the WFRP : The Power Behind the Throne) designed to cause resentment and instability. Some other examples of
past actions include an attempt to murder Boris Todbringer, murder Karl Franz and replace him with a puppet, and contaminate Middenheim by putting warpstone in the water supply.
-Cult of the Red Crown: Unlike the Cult of the Purple Hand, which works from within, the Red Crown work from without and seek to unify all mutants and Beastmen to overthrow the Empire. They focus on harvesting mutants to join their armies.
-Cult of the Broken Wheel: Tzeentchi cult focused on sabotaging the Eight Colleges of the Empire from within. Tactics include fostering inter house animosity, sabotage of rituals, and assassination, including of a high profile head wizard. One of their great plots was an attempt to turn suspicious citizens of the Empire against the colleges by using possessed apprentices.
-Cult of Brass Sisters: Khornate cult of women who roam the countryside murdering at will.
“Can’t you smell it? The stench of death? It’s everywhere. Sigmar is dead, and the stench is the rot of his bloated corpse. It spreads through the lands, polluting our rivers, killing our children, and feeding the armies of death that threaten from the north. Only one can spare us from the suffering, one who wants nothing more than to offer you succour from the death spread by Sigmar’s rot. Embrace Old Father Nurgle. Suckle from his teat, and drink deep the calming nectar of his glorious milk...” —Old Fenk, Madman
Children of Doom: Nurgle Cult. The Children of Doom are a secret society of cultists who believe Sigmar is dead, murdered by the other Gods. As his divine body decays, it sickens the world and its people. The cult proclaims the only salvation left remains in Nurgle, casting him as a figure that alleviates suffering rather than being the cause of it. By embracing Nurgle, these cultists believe they will be spared the worst of Sigmar's disease, and will survive to a new era of comfort and joy, This cult thus spreads disease everywhere (even though, odd for Nurglites, they are completely scared of disease) to bring despair to as many as possible.
-Cult of the Blue Flame: Tzeentch cult in Marianburg, this cult seems to be focused on corrupting university student radicals and translating their objectives of change to service Tzeentch.
-Cult of the Yellow Fang: One of the rare cults of the Horned Rat. This cult believes that the Empire will eventually topple and they want to reign supreme when that occurs. To ensure the Horned Ones favor they carry out sneaky sabotage, assassination and sacrifice, being skilled in manipulation and stealth. Oddly this cult despises the Skaven and believes that when the Empire falls they can betray the Skaven to rule over the remains.
-Cult of the Crimson Skull : This is another Khornate cult and one of the few capable of guile. The Cult of the Crimson Skull is a secretive organization that infiltrates warrior fraternities to transform them into unwitting tools of Khorne. They encourage people to give in to hate, to commit violence, and to embrace their bestial natures. Basically what they do for a living is akin to what Palpatine does in Star Wars, urging people to ‘give into their anger and embrace the Dark Chaos Side’. However those that give into Khorne bloodlust are either butchered or forced to travel to the Chaos Wastes to eliminate risk of detection. -Cult of Pleasure: Ever since the first wars against Chaos, Slaanesh has always been most successful in infiltrating the Elves, offering great power to those who had the resolve to grasp it. Despite the efforts of the Dark Elves to eradicate it, Slaanesh's influence persists . The reason for the cult's strength, despite constant persecution by the Witch Elves, is because
of Morathi, the Witch King's mother. As she has worked to safeguard her son's place as the head of the Dark Elves, she has made unwholesome pacts with the Serpent to perfect the Dark Art.
-Followers of the Foetid Maw: A Nurgle cult composed of war, torture and rape survivors that lures people in with the promise of comfort in the face of their despair (which the cult often causes). -Fraternity of the Second Flesh : A rather incompetent Nurgle Cult composed solely of Nurgle men because they don’t believe that women, children or the lower classes should be allowed to benefit from the gift. They are known for hating other Chaos cults for having lower classes in them and for refusing to spread disease because they get jealous when others catch the aliment. As a result they report other cults to the authorities and assist the followers of Shallya in caring for the sick. As a result of their actions they are beloved by both the followers of Shallya and the Witch Hunters .
-Sybarites: The Sybarites are a mysterious organization dedicated solely to the pursuit of exquisite pleasure and terrifying pain. They believe both experiences are but reflections of the same thing: the limits of Human endurance. To understand pure pleasure is to know pure pain, and vice versa. The Sybarites include members of both genders, and they welcome all into their fold, from the mildly curious to the downright depraved. They have no interest in politics, though the numbers of nobles and politicians obviously bring a certain political sensibility. And religion matters not; there are plenty of Priests with hidden desires. They see themselves as the true ideologues of emotion, pleasure and agony, and they must slake their thirst in reaching the heights of bliss and the depths of sorrow, whenever and wherever they can. The Sybarites as a cult have lasted for almost two thousand years. This is because they have little care towards acquiring political power and focus entirely on their own pleasure. However even this inward nature ultimately corrupts Imperial society for the Sybarites sponsor/prey on the weakest in the form of orphanages and asylums and managed to lure famous practioners to their halls including, allegedly, the countess of Nuln.
The Order of the Inconstant Eye: An Altdorf based cult that aimed to sacrifice a Grand Theologonist of Sigmar in order to summon a powerful Lord of Change that would then rule the Empire. Infiltrated the Emperor’s court and known for its three-tiered system in which the newest members, the ‘eggs’ who are relatively innocent cult members (they don’t know the cult’s true objectives) that nevertheless serve as shields in case something goes awry, for visible evidence will point to them. Then comes the actual agents, the Falcons, with the Ravens heading the cult.
“When the ravages of age and disease take their toll, when harvests are blighted and famine threatens, that is when desperate men—men without hope—make supplication to the Grandfather to stay his scabrous hand. And it is from that moment that they are damned.”
—A Treatise Upon the Nature of the Fell Powers,
by Brother-Scrivener Schreiber
-Order of the Pustulant Boil: A cult full of terminally ill people lured into worship of Nurgle after being diagnosed by a local but influential closeted Nurglite doctor. These cultists, in the belief that they are dying anyway, deliberately try to infect themselves with as many diseases as possible to lure their god’s favor. Unbenownst to them the doctor in charge uses them as a laboratory through which he can create a more powerful plague that can then be unleashed upon the Empire.
-The Eldritch Order of the Unblinking Eye: A Chaos Cult focused on the intelligenzia such as artists, philosophers, great leaders of society. Focused on spreading heretical thought in the arts and by sponsoring revolutions.
-The Red Blade: Khornish cult that seeks to induct the greatest fighters within imperial regiments into their ranks and then slowly turns them into full Khorne worship. Presents itself as a warrior brotherhood to the public and continue to answer orders from their superiors until the time is right. The cultists constantly await the command from their secret masters to rise up against the Empire, though, either by treachery against their own units during a battle against Chaos Marauders, or by leading a group of dissatisfied soldiers to desert and join Chaos, or by simply founding a mercenary company that is happy to work for Chaotic armies.
- The Sweetest Kiss: Slaanesh cult that focuses on ‘orgastic revels’ and recruiting the most attracting looking youth to bring a sort of trickle-down effect.
-The Silver Wheel: This Tzeentchi cult focuses on local hedge wizards and witches, those members of the Empire and other human lands not affiliated with a state sanctioned wizarding institution. Contrary to the views of authorities this group is not inherently chaotic, though they lack the protection or even the degree of knowledge offered by the teachings of, say, the Imperial College (though they are aware of Chaos). Taking advantage of this vulnerability the Silver Wheel presents itself as a loose grouping of hedge wizards who aim to teach new secrets and techniques. The cult has been slowly corrupting these informal wizards by swapping spells with daemonic syllables written in, potions laced with the tiniest amount of warpstone or fain symbols with daemonic pendulant on them. “Sensation is a wheel. One direction is pleasure. The other is pain. Walk the path of pleasure long enough, and you’ll find pain. Walk the path of pain, and you’ll find pleasure. My love, let me take you on this path, to experience the ample pleasures and pains my lord offers. Let me run my tongue across your back. Let me cut you. Let me tease you, titillate you. Let me cut you. Let me fulfil your every need. Let me kill you.” —Allana, Cult Magus of Slaanesh
-The Covenant of the Crimson Plague : Nurgle cult whose members pose as doctors who travel the empire selling ‘antidotes’ that accurately contain new plagues inside.
-Cult of Illumination: A rare jo int Slaanesh-Tzeentch cult this organization bears the classic traits of being a political cult, for its members desire quick and easy paths to money, fame, fortune and power.
For recruitment, they actively seek out those who desire the same to bring these individuals under their wing. This cult is heavily about careerism, calling upon Slaanesh to give them great inspiration and Tzeentch to manipulate fate on their behalf. As a fun little side fact this cult was srcinally founded by Constant Drachenfels. -Cult of the C leansing Flame: A many tentacle Nuln cult with several diverse aims. The first is to sabotage the gun works of Nuln, replacing regular Imperial cannons with daemonic possessed ones that would corrupt and drive men mad. They also attempted to spread revolution among the masses by infiltrating the police, becoming police captains, and driving them to brutality. At the same time, demagogues riled up the lower classes. rd
-The Cabal: Legendary Tzeentchi cult led by Van Horstmann that focuses on setting up other cults. 2/3 s of all cults in the Empire are said to come from this cult.
Sources Utilized/Researched Warhammer Army Books : In addition to those I also have read almost all of the other, non-Chaos races for interactions with Chaos/Skaven and incorporated it when possible . For example I used Lizardmen codex mostly for the early years when Chaos first arrived and the Empire AB to look at their history of interactions for the Empire's perspective. To save space however I am focusing on Chaos specific ones -Warhammer 8th Edition Core Rulebook -Warriors of Chaos 8e -Daemons of Chaos 8e -Warriors of Chaos 7e -Daemons of Chaos 7e -Beastmen 7e -Hordes of Chaos 6e
-Beasts of Chaos 6e -Champions of Chaos 5e -Realms of Chaos 5e (lightly) - White Dwarf Presents: Chaos Dwarfs -Chaos 4e Forgeworld -Tamurkhan: Throne of Chaos -Monstorous Arcanium -Storm of Magic
Sourcebooks: -Liber Chaotica -Blood on the Reik -Darkness Rising -Empire at War -Witch Hunter's Handbook White Dwarf: Every single White Dwarf from #100 (April 1988) on. Warhammer Fantasy RPG -Realm of Chaos Slaves to Darkness and Dead & the Damned (1988-1990) -Tome of Corruption 2e -Liber Mtuatis 32 -Liber Infectus -Liber Estacia -Liber Carnagia Infero Magazine -All of them Citadel Journal : -All of them Warhammer Monthly -All of them End Times:
End Times Nagash End Times Glottkin End Times Khaine (lightly, mostly for info on Hellebron) End Times Thanquol End Times Archaon Age of Sigmar: -Everchosen battletome (for info on his personality)
Black Library (only including those relevant to Chaos...I have read many more focused on the Skaven or Undead) Gotrek & Felix -Trollsalyer -Daemonslayer -Dragonslayer -Beastsalyer -Giantslayer -Orcslayer -Manslayer -Road of Skulls -City of the Damned -Kinslayer -Slayer -Short Stories -Marriage of Moment (Jabbersythe shown within) -Remembers -Prophecy -A Place of Quiet Assembly -Two Crowns of Ras Karim (Chimera)
-The Ambassador -Ursun's teeth -With Ice and Sword Angelika Fleischer -Liar's Peak The Dead & the Damned -Van Horstmannn
-Wulfrik the Wanderer -Sigvald -Archaon: Everchosen -Archaon: Lord of Chaos -Valkia the Bloody Omnibus -Leechlord -Sword of Justice -Sword of Vengeance -The Return of Nagash -The fall of Altdorf -The Curse of Khaine (only beginning relevant to Chaos) -The Lord of the End Times -Maerienburg's Stand -The Bride of Khaine -Seige of Naggarond -Blackheart Chronicles Omnibus -Brunner the Bounty Hunter Omnibus -The Darkblade Chronicles -Day of the Daemon (Ind Tiger Beastmen are awesome) -Night of the Daemon -Hour of the Daemon -Death's Messenger -Death's City -Death's Legacy -Blood for the Blood God -Palace of the Plaguelord -Grudgebearer -Honourkeeper -Guardians of the Forest -Defenders of Ulthuan -Sons of Ellyrion -Tyrion & Teclis trilogy
-Gilead's Blood -Thanquol's Doom (the end scene) -Knight Erran -Knight of the Realm -Lords of the Marsh (one of three Fimir appearences. The other two in Marshlight and Sigmar)
-Mark of Damnation -Mark of Heresy -Orion: Vaults of Winter -Tears of Isha -Council of Beasts -Claws of Chaos -Blades of Chaos -Heart of Chaos -Star of Erengard -Taint of Evil -Keepers of the Flame -Razumov's Tomb -Dragonmage -The Hour of Shadows -Riders of the Dead -Shyi-zar -Sigmar Omnibus -Malekith (depiction of Elf/Dwarf unified battle against Chaos) -The Great Betrayal (depiction of Elf/Dwarf unified battle against Chaos) -Curse of the Phoenix Crown (only because of a revelation found within) -The Bloody Handed -Drachenfels (note my Chaos profile is set at the moment they formed an alliance with the Skaven but includes those units/heroes that Chaos gains in the near future..so Nameless/Drachy) -Crown of Damnation -Forge of War
-Condemned by Fire -The Wine of Dreams -Magestorm -Forged in Battle -Broken Honour -The Corrupted -Mark of Chaos -Enemy Within -Knights of the Blazing Sun -Battle of Whitestone -Wind of Change -Manebane -Marshlight -The Talon of Khorne -Butcher's Beast Probably some more short stories
