Chapter 1
Everchosen
The great chamber stretched before the dark figure, huge vaulted ceiling stretching as far as the man could see, reaching up and up until it dissolved into darkness. The chamber's high walls were adorned with the faces of those who had displeased the four gods, their bodies eternally fused to the wall, only their faces remained, bound into some kind of limbo world where the insatiable hunger ached in their guts yet they could not eat, the tiredness ached in their very bones yet they could not sleep, even taking their own life was beyond their power. The twisted, hateful faces stared back at him from the walls, enough to unnerve any normal man, but the dark figure was no mere man. Wresting his gaze away from the tormented eyes the dark figure dropped down on one knee on the cold stone floor and began to pray. For a while he stayed there, uttering his dark mantra to the gods, asking them to bestow favour upon him in the task ahead.
The place was amazing, the figure would be happy to spend an eternity here, amongst the wonders of its ancient halls. Yes, an eternity would not be too bad. To serve the gods would be his life, his dreams, and his every waking thought. Slowly the dark figure began to slip into unconsciousness, eyelids drooping, his mind succumbing to the hypnotic effects of this most hallowed place, respected and feared in equal measure by all follows of Chaos. But then the mind of the armoured man began to fight back, willing him away from the edge of the abyss and a fate of eternal servitude. Slowly the figure raised his head and stood up. There was a crack as the stone beneath his knee was ripped up and the man looked down to find a knee shaped indent in the stone floor where he had almost sunk in to the join the faces of those inside the floors and walls. Below him, the face of a woman stared up, her face a mask of anger, almost as if she was bitter at being deprived of company. Walking amongst the old and dusty pews he remembered his life as it had been….
The man now known as Archaon was once a man of peace and enlightenment. He had lived a life of luxury in Altdorf, working as an understudy priest to the grand theognist. He would aid the ageing man in all his tasks, sorting books for him from the Imperial Library, preparing his food, reading him ancient texts and so on. Yet Archaon was not content, he wanted more. His utter desire for power corrupted him, for years and years the want festered inside him, turning him wild. In his desperation one year he broke into the Imperial Library using a key stolen form his master and began to search for a book that could tell him how to gain the incredible power he so wanted. At length, as the first rays of sunlight reached through the glass and illuminated the piles of dusty books, Archaon found what he had come for. He dusted off the book and without looking at the title began to skim through it. He knew it was the right book the moment he picked up the hard leather bound tome. The book was old, very old. The pages were yellow and crinkly to touch; it bore burn marks on several pages leaving them incomprehensible.
Smiling, the young priest of Sigmar read on. The book began to take its effect on Archaon; it promised power to the one who followed the gods of Chaos. It blasphemed against Archaon's religion with every sentence, yet as much as he wished to submit, snap the book shut and never see it again an irresistible force kept him reading. Suddenly Archaon cracked. He snapped the book shut and stood up. Howling to the heavens he cursed the gods as liars and cheats. Screaming in rage he took the lamp that he had brought to read in the dark and threw it upon a pile of papers setting them ablaze. Soon the whole building was on fire, ancient manuscripts burning to ashes. Archaon left the building, flames licking at his heels.
Yet his story was not over. Returning to the house where he had lived and worked for so long he walked in the front door, and took up a butcher's knife from the kitchen. He ascended the stairs, burst into the Grand theognist's room and brutally murdered the old man where he laid, sleeping. Next Archaon returned to his old family home. He knocked down the door with one kick and found his mother and father sitting at the table. He paused for a second, thought about what he had done. But then the thought was gone and he bellowed with rage, stabbing his mother and father to death in quick succession. After the terrible deed was done he stepped over their bodies and calmly left the house.
The young man then went back to his house, packed a small knapsack of his belongings and set off on his journey to the promised lands of which he read of in the accursed book, the land where he could finally find his destiny, the land where he would gain ultimate power.
Once he received his mark and became a fully fledged servant to the dark gods of chaos, he adopted a new name, Archaon. Aided by the chaos gods and his now unnaturally long lifespan, Archaon spent the next four-hundred years searching for the six legendary artefacts that, it was written, would turn he who possessed them into the greatest warrior of chaos that ever lived. He had now received five- the Mark of Chaos, the armour of Morkar, The eye of Sheerinan, Dorghar Steed of the apocalypse and his latest acquisition, the demon sword Slayer of Kings which contained, within its core, sealed there by long lost magic, the demon U'zuhl.
Now Archaon at last stood on the verge of completing his long unfulfilled quest. At the end of the tunnel behind the ornate carved door and past the bloodthirster, Greater demon of Khorne was his final goal. The crown of domination, the sixth and final artifact of chaos and the one that would bring him the ultimate power he madly craved.
Archaon descended the passageway in long strides eagerly anticipating his prize. At length he reached a room. The room was small, only 10 or 12 paces long. The actual floor space was a small platform of rock above a pool of molten lava. Demons hovered above the lava on their black wings, baying for blood.
Archaon entered the room, stood in the centre of the platform and looked up. Above him stretched the ceiling in a long funnel shape but so high that he could not see the sky above at all. U'zuhl cackle and screeched at the terrible aura it could feel within the place of dread, it screamed and writhed within the confines of the sword wiling the ancient magical bonds to break but they held firm. Raising his sword high up in the stifling air, ancient energies crackling and buzzing sending electric blue flames off in all directions, Archaon bellowed his challenge. "Y'nrthrag Hathkel Ighlehio…" He who dares… "A'ghtrad achevie…" To challenge me… The final part he said in the common tongue, "Then come forth and meet your doom!" With his final statement of intent the black winged demons began to laugh. They laughed and laughed in high tones, getting louder and louder. The sounds ripped into Archaon's fragile mind, whispering thoughts and hidden promises, screams of death and torture, enough to drive a mere man insane. Yet Archaon was no mere man. Still the creatures laughed until at their demonic and terrible crescendo a deep booming sound joined their laughter. On and on it went; slow rhythmic booming like a drummer on the march to war. With each huge boom the walls shook and dust flew around the room, the lava spat molten rock into the air, burning the ground where Archaon stood. At this point any sane man would have turned and ran for their life but Archaon was driven by a wild desire for power and control and had all four chaos gods themselves come forward to answer his challenge he would not have faltered. Archaon knew his destiny. Abruptly the demons stopped and began to chatter to each other nervously sending anxious glances around the small room. Through all of this Archaon stood impassively awaiting what was to come, what he knew was his final challenge. Silently while chaos reigned all around him, Archaon stood and waited.