Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer or the Games Workshop products and I am not gaining any financial benefits from writing this story-unfortunately.

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"Boyar Katar's respects sir, the enemy appears to have finished deployment. He awaits your orders."

Balthasar Zuchav, Earl of Lukovitch and General in the armies of the Khan Queen of Kislev, looked up from his desk, "you may inform him that I shall be out shortly. If the enemy makes to advance then inform me at once, but otherwise he is not to make a move unless I order it."

The Kossar saluted smartly and exited the tent. Returning his attention to the two letters on his desk, Balthasar dipped his quill into the ink bottle and signed them. This done he rolled each one up, sealed them with wax and stamped each seal with his ring.

This done he rose to his feet, took a moment to comb his long white hair and strap on his white wolf cloak, and exited the command tent. It was very late in the day and the sun was just above the horizon, its orange-red rays illuminating the arrayed ranks of his army and those of the large Chaos force now deployed opposite them. The forty year old general paused to survey the layout of the battlefield and of the enemy's ranks, weighing up the tactical options before him. After a moment's pause he turned to the two messengers who stood beside the command tent, their horses tethered to posts behind them.

"Take these messages to the two nearest forts; tell their commanders that we have met the enemy and that the battle will be decided by tomorrow. These despatches will advise the commanders on what to do depending on the outcome."

"Yes sir," both men saluted, mounted their horses and were away.

Balthasar returned his gaze to the two armies arrayed before him. Better get on with it.

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From his position at the centre of the second line Balthazar surveyed the battlefield. Beneath him his white steed Snowmane shifted impatiently as the sound of battle reached his ears. The fighting had been going for over an hour now and neither side showed any signs of withdrawing. Things had gone well on the Kisletive left flank where a charge by two units of Winged Lancers had, with a number Ungol horse archers in support, successfully broken through the first and second chaos lines and the cavalry was now sweeping round to attack the flank of the Chaos centre. Things were faring less well on the right flank where fast moving units of flesh hounds and marauder cavalry had managed to sweep round the flank, and despite dogged resistance the Kossars were slowly being pushed back.

There were currently several choices available to him. One was to wait and see what happened. If he reinforced either flank by weakening his centre then it would become vulnerable to a breakthrough. Another choice would be to risk this and send more troops to the left in the hopes breaking the flank of the Chaos centre. He could instead choose to reinforce the right flank and hope that the current forces on the left would be enough to exploit the breakthrough. Or he could summon his reserves and lead the cavalry forward in an all-out charge at the Chaos centre. By breaking the first line he could link up with the flanking force and finish off the Chaos left flank.

The ageing general turned in the saddle to look at the horizon. The sun was low in the sky. It would be dark within fifteen minutes. If he was going to act then it would have to be now, for once darkness fell it would be very difficult to conduct the battle and near impossible to exploit a decisive breakthrough.

A quick glance revealed that the right flank was now somehow holding position whilst the left flank still seemed to be pushing forward. He knew it was now or never.

In the centre they will break.

Balthasar turned to two riders on his right, "take my orders to the Rotamasters of the Bear Claw and Wolf Pelt Brigades, you will tell them they are to charge the Chaos centre immediately. We must push for a breakthrough before darkness falls."

As the two men galloped away the general urged Snowmane forwards, trotting up to the nearest Winged Lancer brigade, one that displayed the dark blue horse paint and pale blue feathers of the Great Bear Brigade. The riders raised their lances in salute as their general trotted over to take position at the head of the brigade and drew his sword.

To his right the Rotamaster levelled his lance at the enemy, "a fine night for death or glory general".

Snowmane snorted nervously. With a weary sigh Balthasar raised his sword, the keen blade catching the last traces of fading sunlight. He lowered his sword and signalled the charge.

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Albrecht the Gouger shielded his eyes from the glare of the rising red sun as he trudged wearily across the snow drifts of the battlefield, his sword and armour still splattered with gore from the night's carnage. Bodies lay to either side of him, piles of corpses stretching as far as the eye could see, the fur armour of Kisletive Kossars mixed with the ragged leather armour of Chaos Marauders and, more infrequently, the red plate armour of fallen Chaos Warriors. The marauders of the victorious army moved amongst them, stealing what loot they could find and stirring up flocks of ravens which scattered at their approach, their angry caws shattering the grim silence. This cacophony was sometimes accompanied by the occasional scream or bellow of pain which died away as a wounded man was found and silenced-there would be no mercy shown to the enemy and a wounded marauder was of no use save as a sacrifice to Khorne. In the distance he spotted a team of marauders hauling away the corpses of fallen horses under the vicious eye of their overseer whilst here and there small groups of hounds and beastmen clustered together as they gouged themselves on the dead. Albrecht turned his head away in disgust.

Ahead he made out the leader of the Chaos force, a tall and imposing figure who stood a good two feet taller than most Warriors of Chaos. Clad in red plate armour inscribed with runes of Chaos, he was a frightening figure whose short temper and wolf's head helm had earned him the name 'Hellhound.'

"A great battle my Lord, we have taken many skulls tonight." He fell silent as the expressionless gaze of the wolf helm turned upon him.

Hellhound made no reply; instead he bent down and picked up the corpse of a well-dressed Kisletive, most likely a noble. The man had been decapitated by a sword stroke and the severed head was lying several feet away, its white hair nearly invisible against the snow. The body's shoulders were covered by a thick wolf skin cloak that was now heavily stained with blood and it was this that had caught Hellhound's eye. As Albrecht watched him the Chaos Lord tore the cloak free, draped it over his shoulders and fastened it neatly into place.

"What are your orders my Lord? We can still catch the survivors if we pursue now."

"No, let them go. Their tales will serve to spread panic and terror. With luck the Kisletives will send more armies for us to slaughter."

"Yes my lord," Albrecht began to clean his sword with a handful of snow, "then if I may ask, what are your orders?"

The Lord of Khorne merely raised his axe and gestured towards the distant mountains to the south, "we go to the lands of the Empire. Its people have grown complacent and weak, ripe for the picking. The Blood God will reward us for bringing the sculls of the spawn of Sigmar to his throne."

Albrecht raised his scimitar and uttered the cry that was taken up by the nearby warriors, spreading from group to group until every warrior in the army took up the chant."

"Blood for the Blood God!" Death to the Empire!"

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OOC: Well that concludes the first chapter. Let us see how this pans out from here.