Hey there guys, I'm back and the fifth chapter of "Age of Overlords" is finally here. After watching the complete episodes of Overlord anime series and checking out its light novels, I got back to writing and thank you guys for the support and following the story so far. Also I was also watching the trailers for Cathay and Ogre Kingdoms.
Not only that, I enjoyed watching the Ogre Kingdoms Trailer Song that I sing along for every meal in breakfast, lunch and dinner. It has fondly grown on me very well.
www . youtube watch?v=WoYyaQWgmRY
Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer Age of Sigmar or Overlord. Both franchises respectively belong to Games Workshop and Kugane Maruyama. Credits goes to GhazzgullThrakan, the original author of Age of Overlords who allowed me to adopt it.
Enjoy and don't forget to review. :D
Chapter 5: Balance of Power
En route to the Tomb of Nazarick, New World
Ashigaroth, like Razarak, had once been a beast at the service of the Nekhekaran gods. Unlike his kin, though, his bones were obsidian, his skull a giant bat's, his breastplate crimson and gold, the spectral skulls filling his innards orange. Atop this wicked beast, Mannfred, now clad in the black Armor of Templehoff and wearing a burgundy cape, stared at his forces from the sky.
The vanguard of Nagash's army had at its core three thousand Blood Knights clad in crimson armor and riding brutal steeds, shining like a great bloodstain on the move. The elite of Nefferata's courtiers marched escorted by close to seven thousand Skeleton Knights, nine thousand grave-guards, all while being supported by almost a hundred thousand rabble of zombies and skeletons.
Across the sky flew two hundred Morghasts and a hundred Dragons and Terror Gheists, massive dragon-like Zombie Bats. About half of them were ridden by Vampire Lords, masters of the blade, lance, magic and slaughter.
The right wing was under the Ghoul King Vlagorescu, and consisted of Ghouls, Horrors and Flayers. The left wing, under Krell's command, was mainly grave guards supported by a horde of skeletons, but had almost twice as many Zombie Dragons and Terror Gheists. Both those wings, if combined, more or less equaled the vanguard.
Still everything paled with the gargantuan number of close to three hundred thousand (not counting the Hexwraiths and other Spectres) troops of the core block. Almost two thousand Necromancers rode on the massive corpse carts and close by them were the four hundred mortis engines, ominous looking thrones dedicated to sorcery and enshrined with the hallowed remnants of the Necromancers.
All this was spearheaded by six hundred Morghasts under Nagash's command, as well as six of the Nineteen Black Abbots, the high priests of Nagash's Mortuary cult, plus the prissy-sissy Obsidian Pontifex, the head honcho of said cult.
Oh, and almost half a thousand Dragons and Terror Gheists with a solid chunk being mounted by either Vampire or Ghoul Lords, escorted by hundreds of Varghulfs, filled the sky above that group.
The earth trembled as the endless tide of bone, steel and arcane might marched at the rhythm of a million wails from the wandering souls, the countless shrieks from Fell Beasts, and the thunder of thousands of massive wings cutting through the sky.
This force gathered by Nagash was massive, more than a quarter of what they had gathered in Nova-Nagashizzar for the upcoming counter-invasion from the new enemy Arkhan and his expedition faced and lost to them. Whatever foes they'd be facing had better bring in a whole bottle of lube because they would otherwise have their asses reamed dry and hard.
Felix, riding on his Terror Gheist, approached Mannfred and started to shout, "SIRE! SOMETHING APPROACHES!"
Of course, the wind and the speed they were going made Mannfred unable to hear him.
"I SAID SOMETHING APPROACHES!"
Nada, he didn't understand him. Mannfred began the question again but was cut short as he pointed frantically and started cursing.
Turning his head downwards, and ignoring the comments of "you fucking idiot" and "bloody moron" and "fucking deaf old goat" his aide was spouting, he saw a couple of Stormcasts riding Dracoths, drakes with fancy ass names and scales.
Oh my, now this was going to turn out to be interesting., Mannfred mused.
The army had halted, forming a camp around an immense tent of deep purple and gold. Inside it where the many officers of Nagash's army. Dozens of Vampires and Liches, a few Ghouls and wraiths, flanking their colossal liege lord. All surrounding and glaring murderously at the Stormcasts clad in crimson and gold armor, their emotionless masks impervious to the staring eyes.
"We bring a message from the Tomb of Nazarick and it's denizens, requesting a parley and peace negotiations.", one of the scions of Sigmar announced.
Murmurs of outrage spread like a wild fire across the room. Who did they think they were?! Nagash was angered, as the host of raging spirits that was forming around him indicating. In fact, the God of Death was more than happy to slay these gold-clad warriors of Sigmar on spot and claim their souls that were denied to him.
If the Stormcast were daunted, they sure as hell did their best to not show it and that the blank looking face-like masks helped in that matter. They simply limited themselves to silently hand the scroll over to the closest Black Abbot, donning a ceremonial tunic in black colors with a hat not too dissimilar of Arkhan's, albeit smaller in size.
"It's in Lord Arkhan's handwriting," announced the mildly surprised Lich.
"How do you know it's his?" Asked a suspicious vampire.
"Because just at a glance I can feel the violent urge to rip my eyes from their sockets, even though I have no eyes.", deadpanned the Abbot in response before he cringed at the contents that he gazed upon. "Yikes, talk about bad calligraphy."
"Oh c'mon! It can't be THAT bad!" Said Felix as he took the paper and began reading it aloud. "It's actually a rather nice letter."
"Almost as if the pot called the kettle black," murmured a bemused Mannfred as he began petting his beloved Kraken behind the dog's ears.
"Blah blah blah, very nice people, blabber blabber," Said Felix as he skimmed through the letter. "Assholes are tough nut to crack, excuses excuses, nothing of note, miscellaneous reasons about coming to negotiate: powerful warriors, wealthy and well defended stronghold, potential war assets of great value and…" He stopped dead on his tracks, rising his head as the eyes were open like plates, the mouth forming a perfect O and the brow risen in incredulity.
"And what? Don't leave us in suspense child," said the same Black Abbot as he retook the paper from Felix. "And a new… is that the word system? A new…" he now rose too, though he wasn't so expressive in his flabbergasting, trade-off of being virtually a skeleton. "Magic system. A new magic system the… likes of which we haven't seen."
Everyone went agape. Mouths fell wide open en mass, eyes bulged almost in unison, and silence took supreme control of the room. That is until Felix broke it.
It was a rather bizarre sound, which could only be described as something halfway through a hysterical giggle and a full blown orgasm at the same time. He grabbed Mannfred by the arm and started shaking the Mortarch, who was starting to laugh maniacally.
At that point everyone threw a chimp-out out of sheer excitement. What once had been a room full of murderous bloodthirsty zealots now was more akin to a schoolyard full of children where someone had gone by to offer legit free candy. Everyone went ecstatic as every single of them were avid necromancers eager to discover new secrets of the arcane.
Everyone barring Nagash, suffice to say. He at least kept that excitement under control.
"ORDER!" Boomed his voice in a deafening blast that drove the excited sorcerers into utter silence, again.
Everybody else followed suit and remained quiet on spot.
"You're my servants! Not some Damsels in mating season that have received the attention of the joust's winner from Bretonnia! But seeing my loyal servant Arkhan believes there will be something to gain from this charade, I think we can go and meet this new mag-" began Nagash but almost automatically corrected himself. "Rebels. These rebels and see what they are hiding!"
In their libraries, were the unspoken, but universally heard, words.
"Huzzah!" Was the almost unanimous and synchronized response from his army of Shyish.
Parlays were so beautiful, weren't they?
Back at the Tomb Nazarick
The two Stormcasts returned quickly with affirmative news to Ainz Ooal Gown and his people. There would be parley between him and Nagash. Deep inside, Satoru Suzuki allowed himself a sigh of relief. Things wouldn't turn into a bloody bath, apparently. Thank God, I thought this might end up in a conflict that I absolutely do not need on my plate to handle at this point., he thought.
"Now, he'll make a spectacle, that's for sure," said Arkhan, matter of factly.
He kept saying it, and it greatly worried Satoru. Just what was this people's definition of "spectacle"?
"As if anything your master could do w-" Began a scoffing Albedo still in her full plate armor before her voice was drowned in response.
Through the door came a bang of blinding light, followed by the cacophony of ten thousand trumpets and other metal instruments forming a deafening symphony that caught everyone unaware, minus Arkhan, he had been warning about it for a while now, for a reason- and surprised them. The tone was something oppressive, a song to make people shrivel in shock and awe.
And it was doing a fine damned job on Satoru, the mind of whom was now two sides of the Japanese salaryman and Ainz Ooal Gown debating:
Just keep calm, everything is going to be fine.
Will it?
Of course it's just… a God of Death. I will be fine, okay?
Now the music became more strident as a legion of armored skeletons, not too different from the undead warders, strode through the gate in perfect unison. Now a faceless chorus accompanied and went toe to toe with the music, singing praise to the Lord Nagash as hundreds of fireworks started to litter the sky through the door. One went straight to the top, reaching heights the others couldn't hope to.
And then, at it's apex, came a gargantuan explosion. Violent and deafening, the purple blast almost blinded Satoru again, and almost drowned out the music. "Almost" being the keyword, considering they picked up the ante and kicked up their volume a notch or two.
Now hundreds of Skeletal Angels flew around swinging incense filled braziers and spreading its odor through the area. It was a tad irritating and Ainz Ooal Gown somehow found it slightly nauseating..
The explosion quickly dissipated in order to reveal a massive lich, it ought to be ten meters in height at the very least, with bone and lilac armor and ornaments littering half of his body. A tall crown, not too unlike a pope's hat, of elaborate bone and purple covered his head and he wielded a staff almost as big as him.
Upon the revelation both music and chorus accelerated, now reaching a frenetic and almost maddening pace and strength as their lord began his descent towards Satoru. He was taken aback and could barely think.
Look at the size of that thing!, thought Satoru with an unintentional sexual innuendo he made as he noted his own dry throat even though technically his Supreme Being form has none at all.
It approached, closing the distance, and Ainz felt how his lich body trembled ever so slightly and involuntarily made a scared and nervous laugh.
Yeah, this would go very well., he mentally snarked.
"Hmph. Not bad.", Albedo flatly remarked as her face locked in an aloof and almost disinterested expression.
Not bad, but like her beloved Lord Ainz was showing, this was but a laughable attempt to be too important. She had half a mind to join him but thought it wouldn't be as subtle as her lord's laugh and may be a bit out of line, so she restrained herself and let Ainz Ooal Gown, the supreme ruler of Nazarick, enjoy himself in the almost silent mockery.
When the "oh-so-important" God of Death, this Nagash, approached, her Lord Ainz regained his composure, showing him to be a very excellent diplomat for having such control of his emotions. From such presentations it was clear that her liege lord was infinitely better than the invading upstart. And what the hell was wrong with that hat? Was he trying to compensate for something with that ridiculous tower?
The upstart spoke, with a deep and booming voice. Decent, but certainly with nowhere near the charm her lord was capable of.
"Greetings. I, Nagash bid you welcome to my domain!", the God of Death announced for all to hear.
He certainly was full of himself, at the very least that massive frame wouldn't go to waste from how much stuffing of ego he ought to have. How dare he say that to a Supreme Being!?, the Overseer of the Floor Guardians bristled in anger as she gripped her battle axe but remembered the words of her liege lord, ever showing a superb degree of cunning. She calmed herself and tried (but didn't fully succeed) to let it slide.
Albedo simply made a dismissive and delicate groan as she diverted her stare. They'd have to talk with him for a while, ugh.
Parlays were so horrible, weren't they?
At the Second Floor of the Tomb of Nazarick
After the grand entrance made by God of Death and his entourage, the parties used the second floor. Because there was no way in hell Satoru would lead them to the heart of Nazarick, to conduct the negotiations. In Shalltear's residence, they set a great oak table. The round table held the three parties.
On the right corner sat Ainz Ooal Gown who is flanked by Albedo and Sebas. Demiurge may have been more shrewd than them, but Ainz doubted he'd have been able to leash him and he'd been able to cut too sharp with his tongue.
It won't end well if Demiurge unintentionally piss off the God of Death and spark a conflict almost immediately.
On the center sat the two "Stormcast Eternals", some lord called Fenaor Thunderheart and his twin, Irithien Bladestar. Apparently those were titles, not surnames. The trio was completed by a Dwarf, an "Auric Runefather". Apparently he WAS the father of all those dwarves present, wo-ow!, the Overseer of the Floor Guardians internally snarked after hearing from the gold-clad warriors explaining about these stripper Dwarves to Lord Ainz.
On the left corner sat Nagash and his retainers, specifically Krell and Ulrich. The first was said to be Nagash's champion, a fitting title for a guy wearing a Viking-esque helmet and wielding a two handed axe that looked rather nasty.
The latter had been described as the pontifex of Nagash's own cult. If so, someone had mishandled him the memo considering the guy wore a full plate armor of black metal, wielded a massive warhammer and wore an iron circlet with spikes on the cardinal points. His face was extremely gaunt and hard, with gray skin that was almost sucked out and eyes that were drowned by a turquoise light.
If anything, he looked like a lovechild of ten power metal albums.
Though, to be honest, that statement could be said about virtually anyone who had been crossing that blasted gate.
When he spoke it was as if he was making gargles with the strange echoes that emanated from the throat.
"It's most lamentable to have again met under such circumstances," said Arkhan apologetically.
Arkhan sat on the remaining corner, tied with one of those straightjackets used for insane people, and flanked by the Dark Elven twins.
"You've got nothing to excuse, my loyal servant," said Nagash, a hint of care almost present. Almost. "The ones that dared to attack someone under the banner of peace and diplomacy are at fault."
Nagash glared daggers at Ainz Ooal Gown, who stood silent, glowering at the Lord of Undeath in return. Albedo and Sebas tensed, preparing themselves to strike the offender in defense of their master.
Arkhan dryly commented, "To be honest, going on at the tune of surrender or die, isn't exactly the point of peace and diplomacy, so we're a kind of at fault."
"On which side are you!?", the God of Death yelled.
"I'm just pointing out the facts, my lord," said Arkhan matter of fact.
"Arkhan, stay quiet," said flatly Nagash. "You damn smartass! You are going to ruin everything."
"Certainly, it raises a few interesting questions," said Ulrich in a rather inquisitive tone. "How come we've never seen you and your ilk prior to this? You certainly don't fit the kind of people belonging to the World that Was," he asked while he quickly diverted a murderous glare to the Stormcasts.
Something was obviously going on between him and those three., Satoru noted internally.
"That's a point for later," quickly deflected Ainz. "Once we've finished the peace talks, I think it would be in our best interests to learn more about the other parties."
"Huh, and what possibly do you think you'd have for us to accept peace? My trusted lieutenant? If need be I could kill him myself and have him back through my powers." Nagash perched his massive frame towards the other party. "Be it gold or lands I care not, for the former is of no substance and the latter I can take with ease. Perhaps it is something else?"
Ainz almost seemed to break down under the pressure and stare of the Lord of Death gazing upon as if he could not tell whether or not Nagash may have seen through the true soul that of an ordinary human somehow inhabiting a body of the most powerful Supreme Being on Nazarick.
To his credit, he stood unflinching and impervious, and he is doing it for the sake of the people of Nazarick.
"Knowledge," said Ainz matter of factly. "We have our own repository of knowledge, of many things you know nothing about. Furthermore, I and my people know nothing about your homeland, it's a new whole place, both outside the Tomb and the other side of the gate. But we know more from the lands outside our stronghold than you do."
"Wait, outside the Tomb?" asked Nagash with a look of curiosity.
This time the one to explain was Fenaor.
"According to our lord Sigmar, this place is part of a supposed haven made during the time of the World-that-Was.", he explained.
Reminiscing, Nagash scratched his prosthetic goatee, musing. "Lileath's screw-this-shit-gotta-save-someone place? Huh, so it wasn't destroyed by the Chaos Gods during the End Times. Funny thing. Which brings us back to a valid question my man Ulrich," the priest made a gesture of thank you, "has raised: Where are you from? You're not from the Mortal Realms and you claim to be an outsider to this place?"
"And I say: What's left then?", he finished.
Ainz shifted slightly, barely appreciable, but to the keen observer (like Arkhan) it had been duly noted.
"We come from Yggdrassil," finally said Albedo with a solemn voice, her and Sebas' faces turning a bit saddened at the mention. "We'd speak about it but that's a place that doesn't exist anymore."
A solemn silence overtook the conference as a sign of respect. Both Arkhan and Nagash remembered vividly the End Times, of their efforts to stop it and avoid the end of the The World That Was. Doing but not doing enough. Even the lord of Death could relate, even if only a small bit, with that.
Breaking the silence, the Dwarf, Bael-Grimnir, a Fyreslayer whose beard had started to be filled with silvery threads of advanced age yet still maintained top form, spoke.
"My dear lords," began the Dwarf, all business like. "I'm pretty sure we could tell each other countless sagas of our exploits and tragedies but I think we've derailed the matter long enough: according to the base text, the key to these talks are the freedom of Mortarch Arkhan and the resurrection of Guardian Shalltear Bloodfallen."
Grunting in agreement, Nagash proceeded to cast the Resurrection spell. As the circle came to a completion a short shimmer of life shaped the human body of Shalltear, clad in her usual dress. She grunted and murmured something as she was regaining her consciousness.
"I'm back... Thank goodness... I hate that fucking aging spell..."
Both Albedo and Sebas exchanged surprised stares, that wasn't a spell they recognized, nor did it use cash to do the Tomb of Nazarick's resurrection. Ainz had his head cocked backwards in what seemed interest (in truth he was flabbergasted).
Arkhan's straightjacket came off, freeing the Mortarch, who proceeded to massage his wrists and stretch his limbs out.
"That frees one item," said a disinterested Nagash. "Though I may ask: why were you so intent on me doing the resurrection? Do you work following some different principle? Let me try. FELIX!"
The doors opened as a vampire clad in black plate ran towards his lord and made his presence known.
"I am here, my lord. Is there something wr-AAAAAGH!"
As he approached Nagash grabbed him by the head and made him burn like dry body erupted in a mass of green flame as armor melted down towards the lord of Nazarick, Nagash asked nonchalantly.
"Would you do the honors?"
This was going to be a very long show, wasn't it?, Ainz sweatdropped at the scene and decided to get to work his magic.
Bringing back that poor fella who got Frieza-ed by Nagash would be a piece of cake with his resurrection.
At the end of the negotiation on the 2nd Floor of the Tomb of Nazarick
After four hours of discussion, (if something so derailed could be called as such), the parties finally came to something one might call an agreement. Suffice to say, considering all parties, hostilities would end up breaking out again in thirty minutes after the beginning, this was an incredible success.
Mind you, this was still pretty close to a cold war but the current status quo was better than anything.
As of now, Nazarick wouldn't be the target of that oversized skeleton's legion of undeath. Something that Ainz Ooal Gown was thankful for. Very thankful. Furthermore, it had been agreed that a party from Nazarick would be allowed to visit both Azirheim and Nova-Nagashizzar. Under the pretext of being "ambassadors" these groups would grant them as much information as possible on all fields: troops, might, society and magic. Both Nagash and Sigmar would do the same in return.
Oh, of course they'd be keeping away the most juicy secrets from each other. Of course all the involved parties would try to find those things out and get them. Satoru was positive on that.
But it was something at least instead of an all-out war especially when they have a common enemy which is Chaos despite their difference.
But the most important part: both Nazarick, Sigmar and Nagash would organize a few expeditions to Chamon and the new world. A whole place made of pure metal was too big a deal to let by. If the Supreme Being couldn't get free-resurrection, he could as well get bucketloads of cash to make up for it. As for the new world, it saved manpower for Ainz, meaning less damage inflicted on Nazarick (and less cash to spend as a bonus).
The other parties got to learn something too, all while not having a solid means to access the place without Satoru giving the greenlight.
"Well, it seems we won't be blasting each other until kingdom come, now we can blast the chaos followers and ourselves to kingdom come." Said Arkhan with a pleased smile on his face as he left Shalltear's abode.
Everyone would be heading to the lower floors to celebrate the peace without any major hitches. It would also drive home how mighty Nazarick was and how hopeless it would be to try to take such a hold. At least according to Albedo, the artificer of the idea. The throne room had been prepared (and by prepared they mainly meant they had sealed all other accesses, just so they didn't get weird ideas) for such occasion.
Also, and this was the main reason, it could be used as a deathtrap that way, should they offend Nazarick too flagrantly or defy Ainz Ooal Gown's wishes. After all, they'd have to go through the nine floors if they wanted to get out, starting through the most grueling parts and facing Victim and the Eighth Floor very early.
"You seem rather at ease speaking with someone who's imprisoned you and you fought against very recently," Ainz finally said.
The Supreme Being had been rather wary of Arkhan who looked very casual despite the previous conflict. What exactly he had to gain in all this matter?, he wonders in suspicion.
Arkhan simply shrugged and explains, "I've fought under a hundred warlords. As long as you don't become an enemy of my lord, I won't be picky. And you aren't an enemy of his, but rather a potential ally that could shift thoroughly the Balance of Power."
"Marvelous, simply marvelous," said a vampire lord to one of the Black Abbots. "This place has nothing to envy from Nova-Nagashizzar, aside from not having our glorious overlord."
Right now, Felix and the rest of the delegation, almost a thousand individuals ranging from necromancers, vampire lords and liches, plus the senior Stormcasts and the Dwarves.
He wore a black military dress-jacket with the silver cross and red skull marking him as a knight of Templehoff. Matching pants and boots, he looked as if he had come straight out of a masterwork. Regal and dignified even with his slightly puffy body build, he strode around the room to see where the hell his master was. He only saw gawkers: everyone was being mesmerized by the wonders the outlanders had to show, truly amazing if one asked Felix.
Still they'd better not grow too fond of these things. Not all that shines is gold.
Something called his attention. A ruckus that was happening not too far away.
Please, tell me master isn't involved. Please, tell me master isn't involved. Please, tell me master isn't involved.
"Oi lady? What do you think you're doing?", someone called out.
Uff, good grief, it wasn't his master, but some Fyreslayer causing ruckus to one of the maids in attendance. The redhead with dark-skin had an athletic build which was quite highlighted by her attire. That skirt couldn't leave less to the imagination, especially considering those thigh-high socks. Golden eyes flickered with bloodlust as the arrogant Runesons overstepped their bounds. Oh my, this was going to be interesting.
Ulrich started to step in, closing in the distance but Felix intercepted him mid-way.
The knight of Templehof shook his head. "Son, you'd better let me teach those rascals a lesson. There's manners to respect.", he scolded.
Felix reassured, "Oh trust me, she's about to teach them the lesson, no need for either of us to butt in on her matters. Just grab a cup of wine and enjoy the show."
And almost as if expecting those words, the maid made a straight kick into the dwarf's groin. She, before departing, twisted her heel as her braids swung around from the turn. Felix shivered a bit as he reflexively placed a hand over his own groin in a defensive gesture. He went flying and clashed against the wall.
The other four Dwarves were rendered silent, as well as the rest of the ballroom. Then the offender rose, craned his neck, which cracked noisily, and laughed viciously. Pretty much everyone did the same (well, laughing, the motives behind it were quite varied.) and chalked it up as a minor irrelevance.
Behind them approached a Stormcast who looked different from his human-looking comrades, introducing himself.
"Worrglug Clawbasha, at your service." introduced the Orc Stormcast in a posh British accent.
Huh, curious. Worrglug's skin was golden now, and in more than one place one could see rivets and forging signs. But nevertheless, those rugs, the way the metal moved… it was too uncanny, almost as if it was real flesh. Though not as curious as seeing an orc in a white tunic outside the standard golden armor. That was perhaps a first for both.
Felix did see an Orc-like helmet of the Stormcasts that Worrglug tied next to his belt.
Apparently, the guy was selected to be part of the embassy and recon teams, (whatever was needed during the circumstances), as part of one of the Paladin Dracothian guard detachments. By the way and politeness with which Worrglug spoke, it was almost impossible to think he had been a Greenskin. Well, his eagerness to club things to death was a bit of a sign, but he spoke about it in a too ritualized manner to be your average Orc Hooligan.
Surely the guy had more than just one story to talk about.
However, Felix noted in his thoughts, Rumors say that Sigmar took that Greenskin on purpose and forcefully reforged him into a Stormcast as a petty form of payback against Gorkamorka indirectly for the crime of ruining the Pantheon of Order's hard work of building and stabilizing the Mortal Realms during the Age of Myth. So far, Worrglug Clawbasha is the only one reforged Greenskin and I am surprised the God-King did not take more Greenskins to make a special unit for Worrglug to lead. But then again like Lord Nagash, Gorkamorka won't take this lying down.
Besides, reforging Chaos Champions that got smashed and sent to Sigmaron by the Celestant-Prime's Ghal Maraz with what remained of their long-buried noble soul into Stormcasts like Tornus the Redeemed was one thing but a group of Greenskins reforged into Stormcasts would be too terrifying to comprehend.
And also offensive to Gorkamorka who would react violently if more Greenskins were taken like how Nagash does whenever Sigmar plucked any soul that rightly belongs to the God of Death to claim.
This all made Felix think about this post. Far away from the frontlines, interesting company, a whole pile of knowledge and marvels to dig in… man, I wished Mannfred for once was competent enough to get the job., he mused.
Author's Notes: Alright then, the fifth chapter of "Age of Overlords" is done and the negotiations between Ainz Ooal Gown, Sigmar and Nagash has almost gone well with the balance of power between Nazarick, Azyr and Shyish established, and now they are having an equivalent of an exchange program with each other.
Auric Runefathers are literally the fathers of most if not all the troops of the Lodge (their equivalent of a Hold). Yes people, Walder Frey exists in AoS, only that's half the height and thrice the musculature, has a flaming/red beard (or both) and goes almost naked to battle while having tattooed runes of arcane power made out of the shards of his god (no, seriously, their runes are made of Ur-Gold, which are the remnants of Grimnir, their god).
Something rather funny about the naysayers of Age of Sigmar is that they call Stormcast Eternals the "Sigmarines". While the name is catchy (and I've used it quite often) they are pretty different from the Space Marines. There's no indoctrination involved, for starters, as every new recruit was once a great warrior who fought against Chaos, instead of a maladjusted kid that was jacked up of drugs and steroids by a bunch of zealots from Warhammer 40k.
Unlike the Space Marines, the Stormcast Eternals aren't emotionally stunted, unless they start to die like flies a lot. It's mentioned that even some have… done a bit of hammer time, if you know what I mean (albeit it's left rather vague). That and apparently this motherf*ckers can beat the Chaos corruption out of you.
*looks at Torglug the Despised, former champion of Nurgle, who is now Tornus the Redeemed*
Just to name a few points.
As for Worrglug Clawbasha, he is the odd one among the Stormcast Eternals. As the majority of Stormcasts are reforged from human souls, Sigmar decided to take one Greenskin and had him reforged from a Cockney speaking hooligan to a British accented gentleman. He totally did not do this out of petty (and deserved) indirect jab on Gorkamorka.
Sigmar: *makes an innocent whistling*
Dracothion: *rolls her eyes*
Enjoy and don't forget to review. :D