Would you believe me if I told you this was originally supposed to be a Dune crossover? I wrote this, and I also can't believe it. It's just too hard to get an OC Dune House Major onto another planet because the Guild controls pretty much all interstellar flight. Maybe if… eh, never mind. Anyway, this will be a one-shot thing for the moment, just something I'm using to grease the cogs of my writer's block-addled mind.

By the way, this uses Total War: Warhammer II lore. Namely, lore from the Tomb Kings' Eye of the Vortex campaign.

As always, Warhammer Fantasy Battles (or I guess it's Warhammer: The Old World now), Gate: Thus the JSDF Fought There, and Total War: Warhammer II are properties of their respective IP owners, who are not me. I don't own those things. I just write fan works for fun.

Prologue
Thus, the Tomb Kings Rode to War

Khemri, City of Kings and King of Cities, was a vision of ancient glory. It was a grand metropolis of magnificent palaces and temples, Cyclopean structures built by the civilisation that prided itself as the first among the nations of Man. Images of nigh-forgotten gods, built to the most exacting standards by the finest craftsmen of their age, peered down from the rooftop of every palace and temple. Weapon-bearing Ushabti stood as silent sentinels at the corners of every street. Tall obelisks boasted of the achievements of their creators from every square. Mighty leonine sphinxes stood guard, their great maws open in silent roars, before the homes, fortresses, and tombs of their royal masters. In the city's Necropolis, standing hundreds of times the height of a man, stood the pure alabaster form of the Great Pyramid of Settra, a golden-topped vision of grandeur that could be seen from miles away. Beside it, on the other bank of the Great Mortis River, brooded the ominous form of the Black Pyramid, a monument to the colossal arrogance of its creator.

The City was also the very image of desolation, the ruined capital at the heart of a ruined empire. Much of its grandeur lay broken and ravaged by both the passing of time and the treachery of the Great Usurper. The sands of the Nehekharan desert claimed many of its districts, leaving the once-splendid buildings hollow wrecks languishing under the harsh noonday sun. The Great River that once fed it with life had become cursed and blackened by the foulest of magics, and its waters spread death upon all they touch. No sound emanated from the city save the sorrowful moaning of the wind passing through stone, and the city saw no movement save that of the sand disturbed by the winds and the shadow of the great carrion-birds that circled above. None who are living could inhabit Khemri, for it is an abode only of the Dead.

But all of a sudden, something stirred in the City of the Dead.

The deathly Winds of Magic that pooled into the city and stayed there suddenly became disturbed, with strange ripples of power radiating out of the Square of the Khemrikhara, centre-point of the city's royal district. Undetected by all physical senses, a force foreign to the Old World attempted to assert itself in the middle of the great square, breaking forth into reality like a great maul upon an unyielding stone wall. The foreign force waxed strong as the Winds grew ever more disturbed. Physical gales blew in a great howling vortex, stirring up the ancient sands around the Square. The few surviving insects and scorpions that made the desolation their home desperately scurried out of the sun and deeper into the shadows in an attempt to flee for their lives. Even the eternally-circling carrion overhead scattered and flew off, only too eager to escape what was to come.

The winds blew and screamed, as if attempting to deny this new, unnatural phenomenon that was attempting to burst into existence. All of their efforts seemed to be futile, for preternatural bolts of lightning issued forth from the eye of the vortex. The air in the square rippled and shook, and a great rumbling sound, like the angry growling of the sea before a great wave, echoed across the city. The sound ceased after a few moments, replaced again by the wind, whose screams sounded like the cries of thousands of unquiet spirits in unison.

A great eruption of power then radiated out of the square, sending a gust of wind that blew a sandstorm throughout the city. The storm was intense but lacked impetus after the first burst of power, and after a few minutes, all was still in the City once more. But in the middle of the Square of the Khemrikhara, where there was once naught but open space, there appeared a great stone gate.

Salz Al Malko was ecstatic. It was to be his first campaign outside the borders of the Empire, a chance to win glory and fortune through war. He had a good head on his shoulders, he had often been told, and he was the strongest of the young men in his village by far. He would march out to this new world with the army, defeat whatever barbarian scum lived there, return home a celebrated hero, and finally formally propose to Lilia like he promised. He promised himself that he would give her a good life; she deserved nothing less.

Besides his great excitement, Salz was also quite proud. There he was, armed and armoured as a true Imperial soldier, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the finest sons of Sadera. He had seen an assembled Imperial army many times since his childhood, and they had always been an inspiring sight for him: a mass of silver and red, of sharp swords and sturdy shields, of glorious banners flapping in the wind. Soldiers in full armour always seemed to him less like flesh and blood and more like golems hewn from steel, invincible and powerful.

Those were the emotions that played within the young soldier's heart as he stood before the Gate, and he did his best not to break out in a fierce grin. After all, discipline must be kept at all times. Some of his compatriots fidgeted slightly in place; others were whispering prayers of protection to their favourite gods. Salz did no such thing; the gods favoured inner strength more than outward shows of piety, and he had inner strength aplenty. He was confident, he was willing, and his sword-arm was aching in anticipation of combat.

He felt no fear.

The army's trumpeters again sounded their keening wail, and the cohort's own musicians joined them. Next came the order:

'Move out!'

The cohort was to enter the Gate. Salz and his fellows moved almost immediately, as if compelled by the sounds of the trumpets, and marched at the double into the darkness of the gate.

As the absolute blackness between the worlds started to fully envelop his being, Salz admitted to himself that perhaps he did feel a bit scared. A little.

There was a sudden flash of light, a pure white against the complete darkness, which undoubtedly caused all the soldiers of the cohort to flinch and cover their eyes.

The first thing Salz felt in the new world was the heat. The absolute, oppressive heat. He opened his eyes and found himself almost overwhelmed by the blinding brightness of day. He raised a hand to shade his eyes and looked around with an inquisitive squint. He also belatedly felt the rough texture of the hot sand that started to invade his sandals.

The cohort found themselves in the middle of a great square, one larger than any they had seen. Around them were large, imposing buildings of weathered stone, and the graven images of beast-headed monsters glared down upon them from atop pillars, rooftops, and balconies. The midday sun shone brightly over the men, and the dry, motionless air seemed to greedily suck away all moisture.

'Of all the places the Gate could lead to,' Metz Co Sorda, a man from Salz's squad, said from somewhere down his line. 'It had to be a gods-damned ruin in the middle of a gods-forsaken desert.'

'Quiet down,' Sergeant Radd immediately snapped.

The signal to move came not long after, and the cohort joined the rest of the army in formation. It should have been a stirring sight, Salz thought, with the armoured Imperial soldiers formed up in their cohorts at the centre, the non-human auxiliaries guarding the flanks alongside the Imperial cavalry, and the wyvern corps bringing up the rear, ready to take to the skies at any moment. However, standing as they were in the middle of a dead ruin, the situation seemed ridiculous at best.

'Soldiers!' Salz heard the Imperial herald shout from the head of the army, his booming voice echoing through the square. 'Stand to attention!'

All of the men complied with admirable swiftness, with only the ill-disciplined auxiliaries growling in protest.

The herald, who was carrying the Emperor's banner, planted it on the ground and saluted. He then took the scroll hanging from his belt, unrolled it, and began to read.

'In the name of His Imperial Majesty Molt Sol Augustus, I hereby claim this new land for the invincible Saderan Empire, to be its province now and forevermore! His Imperial Majesty now extends his protection over this, his new territories, as well as towards its…' He paused, seemingly hesitating to say the next words.

'… Towards its citizens who will prove loyal and true! So says our Emperor, and so it shall be! Long live the Emperor!'

'Long live the Emperor!' all the men of the army replied. The auxiliaries and the wyverns roared and howled alongside the men.

'Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor!'

Wind then blew throughout the square, softly at first, before gaining in strength. It was a hot wind, an ill wind, like one preceding a storm. The soldiers still paid it no heed, however, and they continued exulting the Imperial person.

Then came the howling, as the ever-strengthening wind moved through the empty corridors of the ruined buildings. Many of the soldiers stopped cheering and started eyeing the buildings apprehensively. Some, Salz included, raised their shields to their faces as the wind started kicking up sand. Officers and trumpeters alike tried to maintain order through shouts and blasts of their instruments, but none could make themselves heard amidst the howling of the wind.

The wind then grew so strong that it kicked up a full-blown sandstorm. The entire army came in disarray, as men and beasts alike tried to keep sand away from their eyes, ears, and mouth. Such was the intensity of the gale that it managed cause men and horses to stumble and even prevent wyverns from taking to the skies. Despite his own strength and sturdiness, Salz had to hunker down and behind his shield, struggling with all his might to keep the tool in his hands.

Minutes passed, and the sandstorm showed no sign of letting up. The howling continued, but it was soon accompanied by new sounds: screams.

And from the sand came the monsters.

Three days had passed since the Battle of the Portal at the heart of Khemri. The mysterious stone portal, which had so brazenly manifested itself in the realm of Settra, had disgorged a great number of barbarians clad in iron: men riding horses, men riding dragons, and unclean bestial things. They had been pinned in place like an insect in a study by the sacred winds of Khsar the Faceless, god of the desert. They had been overcome by the Army of King Wakhaf. The portal, was now under the control of the Mortuary Cult. Those few barbarian men who had proven themselves sturdy enough to avoid death had been rounded up and marked to slave away under the whips of the necrotects, their pathetic lives to be spent in the restoration of Khemri to its former glory.

King Settra the Imperishable, Great King of Nehekhara, summoned all the other Tomb Kings and rulers of the Great Land to his palace to discuss the battle. And so did they hasten to the Great Palace, those kings and princes of the realm, with their heralds and retinues accompanying them. Settra's grand Throne Room, ageless and resplendent, became host to a gathering of the royal dead.

Wakhaf was among the first of the Tomb Kings to arrive, accompanied by his herald Ahtaf, his son and Master of Chariots Nekhesh, Sorkhif his Master of Arrows, the liche priest Arsor, and the necrotect Iseph-Nomekh. He saw in attendance the undead kings of the many dynasties of Khemri, and alongside them those deathless rulers of Numas and of Zandri, of Quatar and of Bhagar, the regent-lords of Ka-Sabar and the lords of Rasetra and Beremas. There were also the chief men of the Mortuary Cult, wise and undying, and the princes of the many royal bloodlines. There he saw dread Apophas the Accursed, noble Tutankhanut, and a thousand or more other figures of distinction, an assembly of dead kings or princes, wise men or other worthies, from across the many ages of the Great Land. Other kings who had not been able to attend due to distance or other duties, such as the Serpent Queen of Lybaras or Thutep of the Third Dynasty had sent their representatives.

The kings and princes of Nehekhara conversed with each other for a time, speaking of their battles in the great expansionary war against the living. Allies and enemies conversed freely, at times with friendly civility, at others with veiled malice. Many kings and princes came before Wakhaf, congratulating him for a battle well fought or hoping to strike some alliance or other for some future expedition. The envoy of Queen Khalida, one of Wakhaf's greatest allies in court, expressed her admiration for such a decisive victory. The king took such words of admiration carefully, considering which congratulations were genuine and which were useless flattery.

The great bronze double-doors of the throne room suddenly opened with a mighty creak, and the two ushabti flanking the entryway slammed their weapons to the ground to gain attention of the kings.

'Let all humble themselves,' rumbled a deep voice inside the heads of all in attendance, 'now enters His Majesty King Settra the Imperishable, Khemrikhara, Great King of Nehekhara, Lord of the Earth, Monarch of the Sky, Ruler of the Four Horizons, Mighty Lion of the Infinite Desert, Radiant Sun, Majestic Emperor of the Shifting Sands, He Who Holds the Sceptre, Eternal Sovereign of Mankind, Vanquisher of His Foes.'

All the kings, princes and great men then knelt, and into the palace marched the King of Kings, the Khemrikhara, Settra the Imperishable, in all of his undead glory.

At Settra's right strode Nekaph, Herald of Settra and most loyal of his servants, bearing the great king's golden standard and wielding the mighty Flail of Skulls. Though reduced by death to little more than an armour-clad skeletal husk, the Herald of Settra remained imposing by virtue of his height and his commanding presence. He was the one who announced the king's arrival. At his left was a new presence, one newly brought into the king's favour: the mysterious liche priest Nerutep, who alongside King Thutep headed the hunt for the books of the Accursed One. Wakhaf knew that the priest of was an enigma: a priest of hidden history and lineage, who might be concealing his true intentions. He also knew Settra was aware of this, and that might be the very reason he kept Nerutep close. The three climbed up the dais to the throne with ease, and Settra sat upon his rightful seat, the herald and priest remaining standing at his left and right.

'Arise,' Nekaph said. 'The King will receive your acclamations.'

All of Settra's royal guests then smoothly arose, and with one mighty voice acclaimed their true lord and sovereign.

'Hail King Settra! Hail King Settra! Hail King Settra!'

Nekaph then raised the standard of Settra and ceremonially slammed it upon the ground like a staff, marking the end of the acclamation.

So began the great convocation. Nekaph called on each of the kings and princes to attend the Great King in their turn. The heralds of each of the personages recounted their deeds before Settra and discussed their progress with him and with their peers, with the Great King making final judgements on each matter. Wakhaf heard of the campaigns of King Rakhash in the Badlands, King Lahmizzash's bitter struggles with the Kazadite thieves in their mountain holds, Queen Khalida's hunt for the vampires Harkon in Lustria, and King Thutep's acquisition of the third of the five books of the Evil One that they need. The assembly had also been told of Settra's own brilliant victories against the criminal Arkhan the Black, which Wakhaf played his part in, and against the lizard-beasts in the steaming jungles of the Southlands.

Other matters were also discussed, including progress in the construction of the Pyramid of King Alcadizaar the Hero, the envoys sent by the Ulthuanites begging for aid against their Naggarite kin, and the reports of Settra's spies in the lands of the Unberogen and other barbarian tribes.

After hours of gruelling discussion and debate, Nekhaph stepped forward to call for yet another name.

'His Majesty calls forth the named,' the herald announced. 'Wakhaf of the First Dynasty, King in Khemri, Favoured Descendant of Settra, Blessed of Khsar, Victor over the Desert Tribes, He Whose Chariots are as Swift as the Desert Wind, Stalwart Bulwark of Defence, Settra's Mighty Blade in the Lands of Araby.'

His name and titles thus called, Wakhaf stepped forward, with Ahtaf at his side. King and herald then approached the foot of the dais and knelt.

'Wakhaf of the First Dynasty, faithful servant and scion of the Imperishable, presents himself before his exalted sire,' he said. His victories too were numerous, the equal of any of the kings in attendance and greater than quite a few, but he knew that the Great King would be interested in his most recent battle than in the others, even his victory over the war-maiden with the flaming sword in Araby.

'Mighty is Wakhaf, and great are his victories,' Settra replied, his harsh and powerful voice echoing throughout the throne room. 'Arise, Prince of Khemri, and let your victory over the invaders of Khemri be recounted.'

'As the Great King commands,' Ahtaf said as both he and his lord stood before the throne. The herald turned towards the rest of the kings, Wakhaf knew, and his own voice echoed within the minds of all in attendance.

'So it is said of Wakhaf: a mysterious portal of featureless stone did appear in the Square of the Khemrikhara, in contravention to the will of Settra the Great King. The portal did spew forth such lowborn barbarians from lands unknown, intent upon pillaging the riches of Khemri. Thousands of them there were, and tens of thousands, men and beasts both, clad in iron and armed with keen blades of steel. Wakhaf the Vigilant did see their presence as an affront before gods and kings, and he did call upon the fury of Holy Khsar upon them. The Faceless One did strike the barbarian horde, rendering them blind and deaf, ignorant and afraid. And so it was that Wakhaf the Mighty did fall upon them like the desert wind, fierce and unstoppable. His chariots did smash through the iron ranks of the foreigners, and his warriors did cleave their beasts in twain. The holy arrows of Asaph did strike true, and the mighty ushabti and sphinxes did spill much foreign blood onto the sands of Khemri. None among the barbarians did return to their portal, such was the skill of Wakhaf the Conqueror. The portal that did bring forth these heathens upon the Great Land has been captured and now lies in the care of the Mortuary Cult. So it is said of Wakhaf the Victorious, Defender of the City of Kings.'

'Hail Wakhaf the Victorious,' Settra said, and the rest of kings followed suit. Wakhaf felt a surge of pride within him, but his near-skeletal form was incapable of any expression but impassiveness. He simply bowed in thanks before his liege-lord once more.

'This portal of formless stone,' the Great King continued, 'what has the Mortuary Cult learned of it?'

'Your liche priests have learned much, Great King,' Nerutep reported, turning to face Settra. 'They report that the portal was fashioned by foreign gods of another world, distinct from those worshipped by the barbarians of our own world and from the Ruinous Powers of the north. It possessed unnatural sturdiness, but our the priests have said that the victory of King Wakhaf has weakened the foreign gods' hold over this plane.'

'If those foreign gods' hold over their portal is weakened, then it is possible to establish our own hold over it,' the Great King remarked.

Nerutep bowed before speaking.

'Your Majesty speaks truly,' he said. 'Your liche priests have already begun work on such an end, with holding rituals to call upon the Desert Gods to make their claim. It is merely a matter of time before we wrest it from the foreign gods. When such a time comes, it will be simple to destroy the offending object, either by spell or by war-machine.'

'Settra has no wish to see this portal destroyed,' the king replied. 'It undoubtedly leads to a new world, one ripe for conquest. The appearance of this portal in the heart of Khemri is a sure sign from the gods: this new world is Settra's, just as this one is.'

'Of course,' Nerutep answered with yet another bow. 'The Great King is wise.'

'Wise enough to perceive of your concerns,' Settra said. 'And those concerns are groundless. The conquest of the Black Pyramid remains as the foremost of Settra's goals, for its capture is the key towards our ultimate goal. As such, the Army of Settra will join the Army of Thutep in the search for the Usurper's tomes once the last of Arkhan the Black's holdings have been overthrown.'

'I am certain that King Thutep will be most grateful for your aid,' Nerutep replied.

Settra merely nodded knowingly in response. 'Settra also commands the awakening of King Setep of the Fifth Dynasty, Restorer of Khemri, Champion of the Priesthood, that he play his role in our conquests,' he ordered.

'It will be done, Great King,' Nerutep said. 'But what shall King Setep be tasked with? Which foe shall he strike down?'

'King Setep shall be the unbreakable Shield of Khemri and the Blade of Settra in the Lands of Araby. He will secure our flank to the north and lay waste on those remaining fortresses that resist the rule of Settra there.'

Wakhaf looked intently at the Great King, expecting new orders from him. He did not flinch before the presence of the author of his bloodline, neither did he despair at his duties being given to a younger, more inexperienced king. He was far beyond such weaknesses of living flesh; death made certain of that.

'And for Wakhaf, Vanquisher of His Foes,' Settra continued, 'Settra commands thus: He who was victorious over the invaders from the portal shall follow them to their places of strength, and he shall lay low their fortresses and dash the skulls of their petty kings into pieces. He shall be the Vengeance of Settra Upon the Barbarians of the Portal, the first of the kings of the Great Land to set foot upon a foreign world. Alongside him shall march Nekaph, Herald of Settra, to serve as the Voice of Settra in those foreign lands. Prince Apophas of Numas too shall join your expedition, and his blade shall find the necks of many a petty warlord of your enemies. Settra thus grants these honours upon Wakhaf, in recognition of his mighty deeds.'

Yet another surge of pride set upon Wakhaf as he knelt before Settra once more. Nerutep turned to regard Wakhaf, bowing respectfully.

'This honour becomes you, King Wakhaf,' the priest said. 'The studies of our liche priests tell of a peculiar people living in the land you are to conquer. They fancy themselves an "empire" and rule a large dominion and many vassal kings, both of men and of those lesser creatures that fancy themselves as such.'

'What name does this "empire" go by? What is this barbarian land that dares resist the rule of Settra?' Wakhaf asked.

'Those few prisoners willing to speak seem to call their land "Sadera". The Empire of Sadera.'

'Sadera it is, then,' Wakhaf replied. 'I humbly accept these honours from the great Settra, King of Kings. My sword shall be the death of the usurper who currently wears the Saderan crown. Sadera will be yours.'

'Let it be known, then,' Settra announced, rising from his throne, 'that Wakhaf, Prince of Khemri, is King of Sadera. Hail King Wakhaf!'

'Hail Wakhaf, King of Sadera! Hail King Wakhaf!' repeated Nekaph, who again raised the golden standard of Settra.

The assembled kings soon took up the call, and the throne room once more echoed with shouts of acclamation.

'Hail King Wakhaf! Hail King Wakhaf!'

And that's a wrap. That thing about Nerutep and Thutep both being at the head of the hunt for Nagash's books is a joke meant for people who have finished the Settra campaign. You know who you are.

If you think my writing style for this is all over the place… well, that's true. I basically did the literary equivalent of vomiting all over a piece of canvas and then submitting it for consideration. As I said several times, this is a one-shot for now. The things I do to get rid of loose plot bunnies. I may continue this thing, but only once I completely give up on the two other stories I'm currently working on.

If I do continue the story (that is, if I put one of my others in hiatus or something), be aware that the Tomb Kings will obviously take a villainous role. Also not much Settra here since he would be busy finishing the Tomb Kings campaign. Only Wakhaf, who many players would use in Nehekhara and the Badlands and then bench for the rest of the campaign because his desert-based bonuses limit his utility in other terrains.