Ashrak Watchtower; a single massive spire of cold, frozen iron and arks of purple energies, surrounded by a city of barracks and fortifications. Inside, entire armies lay in wait to stunt any northern invasions. Designed to withstand sieges for years, and armed with artillery, magics and beasts, Ashrak, and the watchtowers of her kind, have stood against Chaos for far too long.
Archaon looked upon this tower, and underneath his helm, he scowled. Archaon had convened with the Ruinous Powers, and they had informed him of the Druchii's plan to awaken Khaine. This was absolutely unacceptable. These worshippers of weak gods think they can alter the fate of the universe? There must only be one so mighty, and the Everchosen had already claimed the title. It was his dread banner that was to fly above a burning world, not the banner of this crumbling race.
How dare these pathetic, pale-skinned, arrogant fools force him out of his way to deal with this? Archaon was not a man of patience, nor did he enjoy shifting his plans to match the machinations of other factions. In a way, it was almost as if they controlled the path of his campaign, these Dark Elves, through their own evil plans. His campaign! Archaon hated them for it. How dare they…
So it was that on that day, a reluctant Archaon's armies crashed into the walls of Ashrak, determined to break through and move on before the other towers could muster a counterattack. His victory had to be swift and decisive, something the Druchii seemed reluctant to grant. Like two tides of darkness, the tides of chaos climbed over the walls and smashed through the gates, while the Druchii pushed back with witch magic, dragon's breath, great beasts and organized formations.
"My Lord!"
Archaon's newest Lieutenant, Garond Skullbane, a rising Chaos Champion of Khorne and a warrior of Bloodthirster-esque strength, approached the Everchosen with a bow and a salute.
"News." Archaon grunted.
"The cursed Druchii are better-prepared than we had anticipated." Garond spat. "Their tower holds firm."
Archaon sighed. "And you stand here and flap your lips instead of fighting?"
"My Lord-"
Archaon stepped up to his Lieutenant. "The other Lieutenants are down there, why aren't you?"
"In order to-"
Archaon grabbed Garond by the throat and tackled him to the ground. He punched one hand through Garond's teeth and into his mouth, and the other, he pushed into Garond's nostrils, cracking bone and crushing sinuses to make room for his thick gauntlet. With a slow pull, Garond's head slowly separated in two, showering the Everchosen's armour in grey matter and dark blood. The Everchosen basked in the muffled screams; to tear a Champion of the Blood Throne down to his bare instinct, for this pathetic upstart to lose himself to pain, it was pleasing. Perhaps he could have spared this young champion, perhaps he could have simply told him to go and fight, but there was something about his face and his voice that just...rubbed Archaon the wrong way, as sometimes, people do. How he missed Haargroth, but alas, someone had to lead the armies against Ulthuan.
Archaon tossed the upper half of Garond's head into the snow and mounted Dorghar, his loyal steed. With a roar and a whinney, the two charged down the hill and rode into the fray, with the great flaming blade, U'zuhl, The Slayer of Kings, raised high over his head. Before him, the War Hydras fell, their heads removed one-by-one by Archaon's strength. With their commander among them, the armies of chaos charged with renewed fervour into the tower, slaughtering and maiming everything from the Dreadspears to the Black Dragons.
The Dreadlord of Ashrak, Calagara Dirdrek, was brought before the Everchosen in chains, mocked by the victorious warriors and spat upon by the newly-freed slaves. Archaon looked upon this Elf, at her battered armour and her bent helmet spikes. To imagine how hard this creature must have fought for her position, how many backs she had to stab, how many slaves she had to accumulate, how many other nobles she had to compete with for the title of "Dreadlord", it almost made him pity the Elf for how fast her immortal life had come crashing down around her.
Almost.
The feeling subsided as quickly as it came. He looked about the tower, at the crowds of naked human slaves, at the piles of corpses and the scorched battlements, then back to Calagara.
"I thank you for the new recruits you have gifted me." Said Archaon while gesturing towards the released slaves, now being branded with the mark of chaos across their flesh, some willingly, some not.
"I know why you're here." Calagara spat.
"Do you?" Archaon asked, sitting down upon a pile of bodies and leaning against U'zuhl's hilt.
"You think this rabble of curs will ever make it to Naggarond in time?" Calagara muttered past the blood dripping from his mouth. "Every army at Malekith's command will block you. Every city will mobilize against you. Already, we claim Khaine's Sword for ourselves, and the Blood Lord's new body crosses the Great Ocean as we speak! Your army will fall apart from the infighting long before you can stop us from unleashing our God! The world will be ours, and Khaine will deliver us!"
"Yes. Good." Archaon announced, standing from his bench of corpses. "Let your armies block us. My God's will enjoy the show. Let your false God rise from his grave, it will be a fight finally worth having! My own fleets arrive at the Blighted Isle within the week to claim the Sword for myself, that I might slay Khaine when you birth him. I will become the first mortal to slay a God, and your wretched kind will be forced to watch! You are not Lords of the End Times; I am."
With that, Calagara's head fell from her shoulders, cauterized by Archaon's blade. The head flopped to the ground to the cheers of the chaos thralls. Archaon mounted Dhorgar and spoke before his army:
"This is the first of a thousand battles we shall fight in these lands!" He roared. "For too long, these Druchii, these creatures of misemployed immortality, have withstood us! They will understand the cost of hubris, this day, and every day unto the ending of the world!"
The army let out a deafening warcry.
"Arm what slaves we have freed who are willing to join us!" He continued. "We march to destroy Ghrond and Morathi! We shall see how Malekith fares without his mother's teat from which to drink!"
Just as Archaon turned for the gate, in the far-off distance, the sounding of a Druchii warhorn reached his ears. Over the hill, there came a great, endless line of spears, swords, shields and pointed helms. The figures of Hydras, Manticores and Dragons came over the horizon, and at the front were several Dreadlords, atop their Cold One steeds. Their war chants fell over the hills, and there came a general unease throughout the chaos army.
Archaon looked upon this fast-approaching Elf horde of organized battalions and accurate archers, then turned to his forces. Chaos Knights and Norscan warriors, Bloodthirsters and Marauders, slaves and Hellcannons, Giants and Juggernauts, Warhounds and Daemons of every shape and assortment, they all looked to him for leadership, and he would give them exactly that. With U'zuhl raised, he rode forth out the gates of Ashrak, charging headlong towards the incoming Druchii army, and with a maddening warcry, his armies followed behind him, shaking the ground with their charge.
/
Kratos took the whetstone to his axehead, grinding the imperfections away from its ice-cold edge. There wasn't much else to do on this small ship, and the magic wind bestowed by the Truthsayers of Albion had waned, giving him plenty of time to do nothing, save for worrying and grieving the death of his wife. He spoke to her often, asking her for guidance and for strength. Sometimes, on particularly hot days, out in the middle of this ocean, he believed he saw her sitting out over the distant waters, smiling at him. He would reach out for her, and she would disappear, leaving Kratos in isolation once again, surrounded by still water and blazing sunlight.
After a day or two of low winds, rather suddenly, the scorching sun disappeared, replaced with a fast-moving and dense fog. It appeared without warning, and with it came a smell of seaweed, rotten flesh and gunpowder. Kratos placed the whetstone down quietly on the seat and stood, peering out into the strange fog, but unable to see anything through it.
From that soupy veil, a great black silhouette appeared, made of tattered sails and sagging wood, and the smell of death became overwhelmingly pungent, even for the seasoned Kratos. Behind the first rotten ship came another, then another, until an entire fleet of decrepit warships surrounded the tiny Norscan longboat.
"Now, now…" A voice with a strange accent called out from the first ship's deck. "What is a creature like you doing in this dingy?"
Kratos scanned the ship; seaweed hung loosely from the bow, and the wooden hull was soggy. The crew wobbled to and fro, as if barely able to hold themselves up. Their eyes were blank, and their skin was gangrenous. The cannons aboard were covered in barnacles and rust, and the sails were uselessly torn. Kratos armed himself and took a defensive stance. There was a moment of silence, then a mad laugh chortled from the deck above him.
"I'm not here to fight you!" The voice shouted.
Just then, a dark figure leapt from the deck, landing onto the longboat with a thud. The figure was pale of skin and white of hair, and his armour was sharp and covered in spikes. On one eye rested an eyepatch, and the other eye glowed a deep shade of red. His smile was untamed and wild, and his demeanour was that of a madman.
"I'm here to help you!" The creature said with a bow. "Grand Commodore Luthor Harkon, Pirate King of the Vampire Coast, at your service, God-creature!"
Kratos kept his guard raised as the creature bowed lower and lower. The lower Luthor bowd, the less his smile remained, until eventually, his body could bend no further, and his expression sank into a scowl.
"The Pirate King presents his services, and the Pale God offends me with mistrust!" Luthor snapped as he stood back up. "No matter, Luthor's goals remain the same as his. We both face a common enemy, God-creature."
Kratos lowered his axe only an inch or two. "And what is that?"
"We both fight against a death god and his little tin soldiers." Luthor explained, suddenly smiling again. "They think Khaine will take over the world for them, but he will kill them all, then all the world, myself included. We can't have that, no we can't. Luthor has so much to do, so much to fix…"
"Such as?"
Luthor smirked. "You seek your son. Luthor seeks sanity. Can't be sane if he's dead, yes? Luthor's ships travel faster than your little boat. We all shall go together to stop these fiends!"
Kratos's axe lowered a bit more, much to the excitement of the mad vampire Captain, and with a whistle up to his ship, a rope ladder was thrown down.
"You and Luthor shall save the world." Luthor exclaimed. "To think a Vampire will do what those lizard creatures could not. To think of it! We will be sure to mention it to them when next we meet."
With a mad laugh, the vampire climbed up to his ship, and Kratos reluctantly followed. The dead stared at him as he hopped on deck, and he stared at them. The faces of long-dead pirates, sailors, merchants and marine soldiers all clicked, cracked and creaked, same as their ship, and Kratos felt a terrible unease from being in their presence. Regardless, the dead were easily dispatched, and should this Pirate King prove to be a liar, he would simply take the ship for himself.
"Look, God-creature, you're almost as pale as they are!" Luthor shrieked, pointing to his zombie crew with a wild laugh. "You share their sense of humour, as well!"
Luthor impatiently shoved his crew out of his way, grabbed the helm and steered the ship towards Naggarond. Kratos remained at the bow and looked off into the foggy mist. Luthor's fleet followed behind, and though Kratos hated to admit it, the Pirate King's ships were faster, riding on the winds of spirits and shades. Before too many days, he could see the imposing dark towers of a Black Ark on the horizon.
"There she is!" Luthor screamed, pointing at the dark shape in the distance. "Beat to quarters, you shambling scraps of bones! Let fly every sail! Hang your handkerchiefs and trousers by the mast if we have to! Arm port and starboard battery! It's time we show Morathi's servants what happens when you betray the Pirate King of the Vampire Coast!"