He sat in his palace, enthroned atop a massive dais of bone and sinew. And he waited. He needed to do know more than that.
For now, anyway.
He was not bored. Far from it! Though his decaying, ancient form was immobile within his massive fortress, his mind roamed all the world. He nudged pawns and tools into place, seeded hatred amongst his enemies, and manipulated the very gods into place.
Sometimes even he was amazed by his own successes. The armies of the world continually slaughtered one another in futile wars- many of whom he had not started- filling the world with potent death-energies and weakening their own ability to resist him. The so-called Tomb Kings and Vampire Counts raised more and more undead every night - forgetting who had taught them how to do so, and who was the true master of the Undead. All in all, his enemies seemed hellsbent on handing him total dominion over the planet.
He let his mind reach out, reviewing who had aided his cause this night.In Altdorf, an Archbishop of Sigmar called for a crusade aginst the Skaven.After some consideration, he decided that the wretched rat-men, who had twice thwarted him, should suffer a bit.With a thought he touched the minds of the council of the Grand Theogonist, making them more amenable to the young rabblerousers words.
In Sylvania, a cult dedicated to him had just succeeded in secretly deconsecrating the local Temple of Morr. Excellent! The large cemetary adjacent to the temple would be a fine 'recruiting center'. He rewarded his followers by sending them a Vision of him (not as he was now, of course, but of his ancient human visage).
War was brewing between Bretonnia and the Empire, but the nascent Waagh! in the Worlds Edge mountains had dissipated. A setback, as he had been looking forward to the jump in Necrotic energy such a Greenskin crusade always brought, but not a large one. In Khemri, a Liche-Priest was casting a spell to divine his location. With a thought, he undid the magic that animated the dead priest. It was a simple enough matter. After all, it WAS his own work.
Satisfied that all was as it should be for the moment, he returned to his form. And rested, for even he could not fly about the world indefinitely. He would need time to rest. But that was alright. He was Nagash, the Great Necromancer, the greatest sorceror of this or any age. He had cast down civilizations, obliterated mountains, and made gods quake with fear in his name.
Alone in all creation he was truly immortal. Nightly, his army grew, as did his power.
He could afford to wait.
End?
A/N: Nagash is one of my all-time favorite Warhammer ideas. The great Necromancer, who died and returned 3 times. A being so powerful that even a god could only cripple him. And yet we hear NOTHING about what he's up to today.In a game that features no fewer than two undead armies, both of whom were at least partially created by him, there is scant info o n him. Where was he born? Who taught him? How did he cheat death so often? Yes there's canon, but its scanty at best, and occasionally contradictory. I want a bio of the Great Necromancer, dammit, not fluff for some army that came into contact with him once. Maybe in the future I'll tell THAT story.For now, this just flitted into my head.
