Disclaimer: I didn't own anything. The idea came to me after I saw the Addams family (2019) trailer.
I wrote this for shit and giggles in one afternoon and can't be bothered to further refine it.
…
LETHIS HAD FALLEN.
Ahhh. Lethis. The so-called raven city. A crown jewel of Sigmar's forces in Shyish unjustly established without the realm's master consent. A false front only used to mask something far more valuable for the barbarian usurper.
The Storm Vault. Built since the age of myth for keeping things that best left forgotten. Sigmar thought his ward would be enough to shroud it from others. It would too, had not been for Nagash's scheme that caused the Necroquake that shook the entire mortal realms and even the realm of chaos itself. The ward was damaged, and the secret was revealed to those who know how to look.
Weapons. Artifacts. Souls. Power.
Thus, so Nagash sought to claim what was his. However, as important as the prize hidden under Lethis was, it was not enough for the God of Death to show up. There was more vault to be reclaimed, more intruder to be vanquished, more of the other gods' plan to be interrupted, much that require Nagash's attention. So, he ordered his new mortarch to take the lead.
Not just his other generals or Deathlords, a mortarch. Nagash's power made manifest. Once, nine powerful undead lords, they were. Now, their number was less. Once they were someone else, now they were Nagash.
For Nagash is all, and all are one in Nagash.
The newest Mortarch took the command of his army. Olynder was her name. The Mortarch of Grief was her title. The Mourning Bride, the Veiled Lady, the Unrequited Queen. In life, she feigned sorrow in life to gain power and took over a kingdom. In death, she was an embodiment of woe and misery itself. For that was the punishment given to her by her master.
As a mortarch, with a sliver of Nagash's divinity her power was could not be matched apart from the select few champions and the gods themselves. By her will alone, the damned souls gathered into a Nighthaunt legion. A perfect general to break the raven city apart and sent all living intruders to their afterlife. Especially those accursed Stormcast Eternal, the stolen powerful souls that denied Nagash his due.
She was not alone in this task either. For always by her side was her betrothed. The Craven King, Kurdos Valentian. Once a notorious and powerful prince, general, schemer and betrayer that could rival even her own exploit. A perfect general to lead Nagash's army for his story mimicked his own from the-world-that-was. Had not been one fatal flaw of the prince, he might have given that position too. Alas, he chose Sigmar as his patron. On his coronation, as the crown fell upon Kurdos head, Nagash granted him the blessing of death, forever make him a nighthaunt.
But the man's heart was too strong for being death to stop him. Even in death, he tried to usurp the kingdom of the underworld. With either spite or ire, Nagash once again intervened. The Craven King was whisked away from his afterlife's kingdom and was touched with Alakanash, Nagash's Staff of Power.
Although not officially a mortarch, he had the might of one. For that was his curse. To possess the power and right to claim what he sought in life but to be forever denied from it. To be able to outwit his opponent but never shout any command for he was mute unless he whispered a suggestion to the leader.
By the night they wed with the God of Death's blessing, they were forever bounded. Forever damned. One would be the torturer of the other. For the husband, he would forever be a ruler only in name for his wife will forever outrank him. For the wife, he was her warden, a reminder that she was not to rule alone. A cruel irony that was Nagash desire.
Still, they broke Lathis and its defender. Their coordination was unmatched. The city's wall was crumbled not by might but betrayal. Kurdos drew away most of the Sigmar's force and besieged their keep. The leftover forces that guard the storm vault were slaughter to the last man by Olynder.
Even hope died, for Sigmar sent his best to stop the couple and failed. The Celestant Prime, the best of the best of the Stormcast Eternal, the bearer of Ghal Maraz, descended to Lathis that day, forcing Kurdos to call for a retreat and regroup, as according to their plan. Yet, as powerful as the Celestant Prime was, he was defeated in a dual with Olynder. By the power of the grave-sand, Olynder aged Celestant Prime a millennium for every a split-second that passed by. With every year that was lost by the grave-sand, the life itself was taken away. It was not long before the greatest of Sigmar champion was sent back to Azyr.
Thus, so, Nagash claimed his prize. Malicious spirits locked away since the age of myth. What did he want to do with it? Nobody knows.
…
BUT I HAVE SOME IDEAS, AND THIS IS IT.
…
200 years later
Shyish Nadia, the epicenter of the Realm of Death. The realm within the realm. The place so saturated by the power of Shyish, neither mortal nor immortal would survive inside it, bar the death itself. Here, six beings gathered as per their master command. Four of them were Mortarches, the other two were powerful undead lords that could rival them in power.
Of course, two of the six were Olynder and Kurdos, they were inseparable these days. The other was the High-Queen of the North, the Matriarch of the now undead Rictus Clan. Her name was Tamra ven-Drak. Even though her reign was long since the Age of Chaos, compare to the other, who lived since the Age of Myth, she was just barely a child in their eyes.
The rest three need not much introduction. They were mortarchs since the time immemorial. Once, powerful undead warlords in their own right from the World-That-Was. Now, just barely an extension of Nagash power as well as his weakness. The even greater irony was they thought they're free.
The first was the Mortarch of Sacrament, Prince of Bone, Prince of the Forgotten Dessert, Vizier to the Undying King, Hand of Death, King of Liches, and the Castellan of Nagashizzar. His name was Arkhan the Black. He was the first lieutenant of Nagash. As his title suggested he was a lich and the greatest necromancer seconded only to Nagash himself. No ambition and loyal to a fault, even to the extent that could be considered a mere extension of Nagash, literally. The only thing that kept him from falling to that level was that the other two were scheming bastards and need to be kept in line. Still, he schemed as he did it for Nagash own interest, even it might interrupt his master's current plan.
The second was the Mortarch of Blood, Queen of Blood, Chatelaine of the Last High House, Mother of Night, Queen of Air and Darkness, Queen of Mysteries, Queen of lies, and the Sword of Nagash, among other titles. Neferata was her name. She was a vampire queen, the first ever vampire in fact. What she couldn't win by her beautiful looks and her guile, she would win by deception and betrayal. If even that failed, then by her sheer might and sorcery would do the trick. Also, a scheming bitch of a lieutenant that serve Nagash well enough to be kept around.
The last was the Mortarch of Night, Right hand of Nahash, and a fucking bald bastard that responsible for the destruction of the World-That-Was. His name was Mannfred von Carstein. A vain vampire that couldn't step out from the shadow of his sire and his old family. Still, he was an exceptional tactician that could topple empires when he felt bored and rebellious. By this scheming nature, he was proclaimed to be Nagash's favorite son, for all his traitorous tendency kept the power balance among the Mortarches in check and kept all Nagash's enemy at bay.
The gathering of the six most powerful servant of Nagash in one place could not escape the notice of other beings. Across the Mortal Realms and the Realms of Chaos, Gods stopped what they're doing and observed. Be it scheming Tzeentch, bonded Slaanesh, righteous Sigmar, son-of-a-bitch Archaon, or skulking Melarion, they all watched.
Well, except Tyrion because he was blinded but his twin Teclis filled him in.
And here was the record about what they saw.
…
PHYSED. IT'S A PARODY MUSICAL SKIT BECAUSE WHY NOT!
…
The six gathered in the darkest depth of Shyish Nadia. One by one they walked until they stopped. Oh, yes, they noticed that others were spying. In fact, they expected it.
Nagash what this to be seen. That's why he included the music in this act.
Mannfred: Ahh. The intoxicating spell of Nadir. Once in a millennium, we gathered in Shyish deepest pit to honor the great cycle of life and undeath. Come! My fellow scions of Nagash. Liches, Vampires, … Apparitions. And let's celebrate what it is to be a Deathlords.
The vampire hand lit up with purple flames and walk forward. The stage was set.
Mannfred: Come to me O' Queen of Blood. She who skin so pale, eyes so black, and a dress cut down Nulahmia. And tell us what it is every Deathlords hope for.
Neferata: Darkness, Loyalty, and Unending Servitude.
Mannfred: I like it when you lie through your teeth.
The music started.
Mannfred: When you're a Deathlords.
*click*click*
Mannfred: You need to have a little moon light.
The two of them slightly looked up.
Mannfred: When you're a Deathlords.
*click*click*
Mannfred: You have to feel a little chilled.
They feinted a shiver.
Mannfred: You have to see the realm in shade of gray.
They walked to the left.
Mannfred: You have to put poison in your day.
She walked closer rested her hand on his shoulder.
Naferata: That's the way.
Mannfred & Neferata: When you're a Deathlords.
*click*click*
Mannfred: You need to have a sense of humor.
He tapped her shoulder, and she hissed.
Mannfred & Neferata: When you're a Deathlords.
*click*click*
Neferata: You need to have the taste for death.
Mannfred & Neferata: Who care for the realm outside or what it wants from you.
Mannfred & Neferata: When you're a Deathlords. You do what a Deathlords always do.
As the two dance, the other four walked closer from behind. Arkhan and Tamra paired up at the front, while the specter husband and wife levitated behind them.
Everyone: When you're a Deathlords.
*click*click*
Mannfred: You need to have a lot of passion.
The vampires licked their lips.
Everyone: When you're a Deathlords.
*click*click*
Neferata: You need to scheme against Nagash.
Mannfred: At least twice a day.
Everyone smiled.
Everyone: You're happy when your foes turn into dust.
Kurdos (Whisper): You smile at the moment when you smell blood.
*Growl & Shriek*
Everyone: When you're a Deathlords.
*click*click*
Tamra: You need to scheme against your fellows.
*Evil snickering*
Everyone: When you're a Deathlords.
*click*click*
Arkhan: You need a moment to explode!
*Boom*
Olynder: Just break their mind.
Kurdos (Whisper): And crush their head.
Tamra: And wait till things get hot.
Everyone: When you're a Deathlords. When you're free you need to … plot.
The stage light darkened by an eldritch fog. The only light that came out was an unholy glow from each of them.
Everyone: So be the shadow. Bask in gloom.
Everyone: Cast purple sun and bring them doom.
Everyone: Something fun we can all exhume and give it all tonight.
Once again everyone except Mannfred moved back as the former channeled a spell.
Mannfred: And now we summoned our forgotten brothers and sisters. Why do we do this?
He signaled the Queen of Blood.
Neferata: Because remembered or forgotten. Nagash is all, and all is one in Nagash.
Mannfred: Yes. And how do we do this?
He turned to the Prince of Bone
Arkhan: By raising the dead as we always do!
Unholy laughter echoed the entirety of Nadia as five of them focus their power into a massive spell. Poor Kurdos, left out of the magic game because he was a warrior.
The themed of the music shifted as four more bodies appeared from the darkness.
When the first walked forward into the glooming light, the old music faded away and give way to a soaring violin. It's a Danse Macabre. The figured was a vampire, a badly shaped one. His nose was broken and fell off, yet an alluring handsomeness was still there. He cladded in a black armor laced with gold. He donned a crimson cloak topped with a black fur of a great beast. On his left hand gripped a legendary blade called Blood Drinker. On his right hand wore a green gemmed ring shined with power.
His name was Vlad von Carstein. Once, he was a lover of Neferata. Once, he was the progenitor of the Von Carstein line. Once, he was the rightful count of Sylvania. Once, he was the Mortarch of Night. Once, he was forgotten.
He looked at his traitorous son and hissed. Then he assumed his position.
The themed shifted again as another came forward. The violin was still there but its tune grew heavier, more robust. A themed fitted for the king of the sea, with a soft shanty in the background. This figure too was a vampire. A pirate vampire … a vampirate. His right eye was cover with a patch. And at his hips attached a large pistol. His armor was less ornate than Vlad but his cloak was not, for it was labeled his sigil. The sigil of the vampire coast.
His name was Luthor Harkon. Once, he was the shipmaster of Lahmia. Once, he was sired by Abhorash, the progenitor of the Blood Dragon line. Once, he was the king of the Vampire Coast. Once, he was the Mortarch of Abyss. Once, he was forgotten.
He looked around and point his gun upward. He fired it and assumed his position.
The violin stopped playing as the third figure came forward. Instead, a xylophone was creepily struck. A silly theme for a spooky scary skeleton. This one was a wight cladded from head to toe with an anarchic armor. His helm was horned, one full and the other broken. His cloak was a skinned beast. His hands tightly grabbed an accursed black ax. There was no emotion to be read, for he was naught but a skeletal remain. A powerful one.
His name was Krell. Once, he was a champion of Khorne. Once, he was raised to serve by Nagash himself. Once, he mortally wounded Sigmar. Once, he was the Mortarch of Dispair. Once, he was forgotten.
He slammed the poll of his ax down and shriek. Then he assumed his position.
The music changed again as the xylophone faded and gave way to a lyre. The song was even more mysterious as the other percussion joined in. Unlike the other three, this one was female. On her head adorned a serpentine crown. On her face was a golden death mask. In her hand was a living staff with a viper head. A gesture fit for a regal queen.
Her name was Khalida Neferher. Once, she was a cousin to Neferata. Once, she was the queen of Lybaras. Once, she was the chosen of a goddess of Nehekara. Once, she pledged her loyalty to Nagash. Like the others, once she was forgotten, … but no more.
She hissed at the sight of Neferata and seductively winked at Arkhan. Under her mask, she licked her cold dead lips. Then she assumed her position.
The music resumed its original beat as the other four moved in sync.
The four: Once torn asunder. No one remember. We get to gather here.
Vlad: Dead for forever.
Luthor: Bled from whatever.
Vlad & Luthor: Called now to reappear.
Krell: Dreadful relation.
Khalida: Sing lamentation.
Krell & Khalida: Once in a millennia.
The four: Hold your decaying. Hear what we're saying. Time to give a cheer!
Mannfred: Line dance!
…
In Sigmaron, the city of the God-King high up in the sky of Azyr, the Stormcast Eternal's leaders gathered. Each of them was a legendary hero in life as well as after they were reforged. It was their effort that drove back the tide of chaos and wrested the control of the mortal realms back in the hand of order. They were paragons of order that were engraved into the mind of mortals as a savior and a representation of Sigmar's Wrath made manifest. Imperius, Vandus Hammerhand, Gavriel Sureheart, Gardus Steelsoul, Thotos Bladestorm, Hamilcar Bear-Eater, Neave Blacktalon, and many more.
They watched in silence. Perplexed by what they saw. The first five of the six figures were known to them as they were reports of their leading the undying host in the clash against the force of order. Some of the even fought in that battle themselves. Most of them lost and was sent back to be reforged here in Azyr.
Yet, the newly arisen four was unfamiliar to them. If it was anything that they expected, the four should not be less powerful than any of the former.
Even high and mighty as they were, they had to admit that four more powerful undead warlords would spell trouble for their situation. But the one who hurt the most of this action was none other than the Celestant Prime. His defeat at the hand of Lady Olynder tarnished his invincible reputation. It caused others to doubt his prowess in battle. They began to doubt whether he had the right to wield Ghal Maraz. Still he remained in silent.
It was Vandus Hammerhand, the first to be sent to reclaim the Mortal Realms that broke the silence.
"They seemed to be … dancing? Are everyone seeing this?"
His comment was answered by none other than Sigmar himself.
"Aye. It's seemed Nagash is employing a new trick. We need to open another chamber to combat them."
"Sigmar. My Liege. You can't solve all your problems by opening new chambers."
"Ha. Hell I can't!" The God-King joyously bellowed.
…
In Shyish Nadia, the show continued.
The six: When you're a Deathlords.
(Chorus) The four: That's right when you're the Deathlords.
The six: You have a very special duty.
(Chorus) The four: Late night! Out with the Deathlords.
The six: When you're a Deathlords.
(Chorus) The four: With one bite!
Everyone: You're obligated to Nagash.
Everyone: It's Nagash first, and Nagash last, and Nagash forever.
Everyone: When you're a Deathlords. Standard tactics doesn't apply.
Everyone: When you're a Deathlords …
Everyone: You do Nagash bidding or die.
…
The ten performers stood still as the song finished. They remained unmoved until they heard a slow clapped that getting faster and faster. The source of the clap was none other than Nagash himself. It appeared that he was conversing with another feminine entity whose height was only around his feet.
"It's was a good performance; don't you agree mother?" He asked.
She glanced at the God of Death but said nothing. Silent fell but it deafening to behold.
"Maybe their performance is a bit out of sync, but nothing too bad right mother?"
Still, her lips remained unmoved. No sign of expression came out. The tension caused Nagash to shiver.
"At least it's not bad right mother?" The God of Death started to get nervous.
"If you put it that way. It's not that bad." The female entity spoke. "For the performance by the corpses."
With one swipe of her hand, all the means for observation by the gods was blocked. "Come Nagash. It's time for you to introduce me to my grandchildren."
She walked toward the Deathlords as the God of Death closely followed behind her back. Nagash had to shrink himself back to normal human size, which still left him towering over her by about two heads high. As she stepped into the light, one could see that she was a simple black dress with a white collar. Her sleek black hair was braided in pigtails with the end tied into a noose. Her skin was so pale, even paler than the silver moon of Shyish. Her face showed no emotion, but no one would doubt the power that she processed.
If the God of Death called her mother, woes to all that called her enemy.
"My ever-traitorous Deathlords." The God of Death spoke. "Today … is a great day. Many of you were forgotten, now you had come back to me. To. Serve. Me. Once. Again."
Nagash lifted up Alakanash, the Staff of Power, and unsheathed Zefet-nebtar, the Mortis Blade. The sheer power that he brought forth lit up the entirely of Shyish. The entire realm was basked in an amethyst light.
"Today … is a great day, my minions. For my God-Mother grace us with her presence. Rejoice in this opportunity. For once in your pathetic unlife be on your knee and pray!"
The God of Death bellowed his command. The Deathlords could do nothing but obey.
"All hail Wednesday Addams. All hail the Mother of Death. All hail the Supreme Goddess of Shyish Nadia."
…
The End? Yeah, probably. Because the other grand alliances are fucked.