Prologue:
THE CURSE OF SOUL EDGE
1522
The Deeps beneath the Worlds Edge Mountains
'My Lord!' There came a shout from up ahead. Lord Morgan Keppler, Templar Knight of the Order of the Fiery Heart raised his visor and struggled past the bodies of fallen orcs. He sheathed his blood-slick blade and made his way to the mouth of the next tunnel. The man-at-arms was crouching near a set of small footprints in the dust. They led deeper into the caves.
'Well? Is it the goblins?'
'Looks like it. We should follow these.' The man indicated the tunnel.
'Come on,' Morgan roared to the rest of his troops. 'Victory is near!'
For three weeks the small army had been marching through the passages beneath the Worlds Edge Mountains. When they had started out, they had numbered two hundred men. Now they were fifty. Beastmen, orcs, natural hazards and traps had all taken their toll on the Templar's soldiers. Now, after a vicious fight with a band of orcs and goblins, Morgan was sure triumph over the goblinoids was close. And, he hoped, a whole heap of dwarven treasure to cheer up the survivors. After all, Mount Gunbad was known for its abandoned gold mines.
The tramp of booted feet filled the dank air as the remnants of Morgan's warband emerged into a large cavern. It was at least fifty feet across, by Morgan's estimate, big enough to set up a campsite. Giant stalactites hung from the blackness above like great fangs and huge clusters of gemstones glinted in the torchlight.
'Brynduraz,' Morgan mused to himself, his eyes alighting on the awesome blue crystals. 'Brightstone. The dwarves will pay greatly for this. Come, men…'
But the men weren't paying attention. With a howl of excitement, they threw down their weapons and rushed across the chamber. On the far side gaped a massive hole, a black maw from which spewed a veritable hoard of gold nuggets.
'Wait!' Morgan shouted, 'it could be a trap! What would a heap of treasure be doing just sitting there…' As glad as he was for the men, he was more than a little suspicious. So much gold collected in one place…someone had collected it all and placed it there, it was certain.
As the soldiers waded into the pile of gold and started shovelling it into their packs, savage greed written upon their faces, a black-fletched arrow hissed through the air and imbedded itself in the wall nearby. Too late, the men began to retreat, but soon more arrows were falling around them. The ambush was sprung.
'Time to die, human things!' A high-pitched laugh sounded from a narrow ledge above, hidden in the gloom. 'Attack, my warriors! Kill the humans!'
With a growl, Morgan unsheathed his sword and twirled it experimentally. The rain of arrows continued, and with a grinding sound, a stone slab slid back in one of the walls.
'Finally,' the templar snarled as hordes of goblin warriors poured from the opening like a tide of black cockroaches.
With a swirl of steel and a bitter war cry, the cut and thrust of close combat ensued.
Morgan slashed left then right, goblin bodies falling to the floor in a fountain of blood. He parried as a goblin's axe came arcing down towards him, before rolling his wrist and sending his blade into the beast's neck. The creature shrieked and died, its corpse pitching backwards to impede its fellows. The templar lashed out, taking another goblin's head from its shoulders, and then killing another with the backhanded strike. Blood soaked the cavern floor.
Men fought viciously with halberd, sword and spear as the greenskins sought to defend their plunder. The goblins were weak and died in droves, but they outnumbered the soldiers at least five to one. Morgan slaughtered his opponent, driving his blade through its skull and paused to take in a view of the fighting. The men were losing the battle. They had courage, and empire-forged steel, but the numbers of the goblins were too great. He watched as a halberdier was surrounded and cut down by seven greenskin warriors. A spearman impaled a goblin, only to be impaled in return as three goblin spears skewered his body. A swordsman clashed with no less than five enemies. He managed to kill two, running one through and slicing across another's jugular, but was felled by a blow from behind. The arrows continued to descend on the hapless men. A shaft sprouted from the throat of the company standard. Another pinned a soldier's sword arm to the wall, leaving him open to his opponent's attack. The goblin was merciless, slashing open the man's gut and then stabbing him in the chest. The clamour of steel was off set with the cries of the dying.
Gradually, the men-at-arms fell victim to the might of the goblin host. Morgan roared like a beast and took a goblin's head off and slashed the sword arm from another. His next blow chopped clean though his foe's torso, toppling it in a pile of blood and gore. Arrows whistled around him, but only one hit its mark, glancing off his pauldron. Slowly, the raging battle dimmed until the last of his men lay dead and he was surrounded by a snickering circle of greenskin filth.
Raising his bloody sword, he prepared to lay down his life in the name of Sigmar.
'Bring it on, goblinoid scum,' he spat, every word dripping with venom. 'You may take me, but I'll take a hundred more of you bastards with me.'
Suddenly the ring of goblins parted as their leader made its way through the masses. An evil sneer escaped from the monster's lips. It held a glowing sword in its dirty claws. This was no ordinary sword, Morgan realised. It was a magical blade, perhaps forged by the dwarves. The chieftain shoved the goblins out of its way and pointed its sword at Morgan Keppler.
'You, human! You will fight me, Skullbasha. Raaa!'
Morgan issued no reply as he charged at the goblin leader.
The two swords met with a burst of sparks. Reaching forwards, Morgan punched the goblin in the face, sending it reeling. As the creature stumbled, he renewed his attack, gripping his sword in two hands. The sword came scything down, taking off the goblin's left arm. A gout of blood pumped from the wound, and the goblin screamed in pain. Morgan kept up his assault, raising the blade for another strike. This time the chieftain parried, sending shock waves up Morgan's arm. He kicked out, knocking the goblin over and again he prepared to kill the slimy scum. But the goblin rolled away from where the sword bit into the earth. Hacking and slashing with vengeful rage, Morgan followed the goblin chief as it tried to defend itself from his fury. The other goblins moved away, caught up in the spectacle and excitement of the duel. Blood continued to pump from their chief's severed arm, spattering the knight's armour and leaving a gory path around the chamber. The goblin was no match for Morgan, but the strange sword it carried seemed to give it enough power to protect itself from a quick death.
Hours passed as the exhausted combatants battled. Morgan didn't hold anything back. He had nothing to lose. His men were dead, his chances of surviving this venture and returning to the surface was gone. The treasure would do little for a dead man. Finally, breathing heavily, he tripped the chieftain up with his blade, flicking it onto its back. Raising his sword above his head, he prepared to kill his opponent. It was to be his undoing.
In a flash, the goblin rolled aside and struck out with the evil sword. It cleaved Morgan's breastplate, drinking deep of his crimson blood. He paused, unbelieving. Gritting his teeth in pain, he closed his eyes. Was this it? Was it over? The blade twisted, and he jerked forwards in agony. Slowly, he lowered his arms and, giving one last howl of vengeance, swung his sword downwards in a deathly arc.
The goblin chieftain's head rolled across the cavern floor.
As Lord Morgan Keppler crumpled, dark whispers echoed in his mind. There was a painful tug, as his entire spiritual being was pulled from his dying body. What…he thought, but blacked out as the evil sword hit the ground with a metallic clang.
When he woke up, he looked around at his new world. It was a world of shifting colours and lights. It was a world alien to him, but all so familiar. It was a world of imprisoned souls.
And then, he realised what had happened.
His soul was trapped within the sword. And as far as he knew, it was forever.
3