Warhammer: Age of Sigmar

The War of Blood and Fire

Chapter I

Blood was spilled for the Blood God, and skulls were taken for the Skull Throne.

The Khornate warrior shouted and yelled as he charged, feeling the power of his rage coursing through his body, a living embodiment of his god. Taking his ax, he swung at the spectral apparition that appeared before him, a ghostly figure wreathed in unnatural and sickly green that permeated its dark robes and skeletal face. A Nighthaunt.

Most men would have been afraid, terrified even of the creature so freshly raised from death, but the berserker was not like most men. He had chosen his lot with Khorne, the mightiest of the Choas Gods, a true champion of combat and warfare, unlike that pretender Sigmar!

"I am Kuungar, Blade of Khorne, and even you shall feel that sting of my ax!" he yelled, bellowing from his lungs as he charged mad with war frenzy into the fray of undead appirations. If "Kuungar, Blade of Khorne" had been taught and educated in academies and universities of the urban cities, he might understand that the Nighthaunt, spectral beings in their core, could not be normally harmed by mortals of fear or uncertainty. Theories and proven, if bloody, tests would have revealed to the warrior that only attacks with the driving force of intense emotion behind them could tear through the ectoplasmic body of the Nighthaunt, a rare trait among the common soldier who fell in fear and incoherency before the spectral damned.

But Kuungar was not raised in the soft gardens and homes of the weak-dwelling urbanites. His path followed the way of a true warrior, one who endured in the bitter steppes of the Broken Continent. He followed the way of Khorne offering blood and skulls to his grim-faced god. Kuungar did not feel fear when joining his ax in battle, but rather elation, spilling the blood of others and his own for the god of bloodshed and battle.

Yet there was not blood to be spilled in this battle but his own and that of his companions, fellow Chaos-followers of Khorne. "The dead do not bleed" he had been told, and the Nighthaunt were living, or rather, unliving, examples of this.

A single cut from his ax, ferocious in its nature, cleaved through the spectral form of a chained wrath wielding a horrible scythe, the creature screeching and hissing, but not a drop of pleasing scarlet liquid poured onto the ground. Kuungar yelled and urged his men forward, even as he saw one of them fall to the armada of invading ghosts.

Curse the hated necromancer! Curse Nagash himself for bringing these weaklings onto the battlefield!

Rage boiling under his skin, the huge and lumbering warrior cursed the god of the dead loudly and fiercely, rousing his fellow Khornate worshippers to even greater acts of anger and butchery. Kuungar raised his ax to cut down a Nighthaunt from the sky, shattering it into spiritual ectoplasm to be reformed in the abyss of Shyish. He gripped the two-headed weapon hard, briefly admiring its duardin craftsmanship now stained with skulls and crude blacksmithing to form gapping teeth and metal jaws.

Bloodrinker swung again with fury towards another Nighthaunt warrior, one that charged with large chains toward Kuungar, cutting the specter in half! Blood boiling and spewing forth from nicks and cuts in his body, Kuungar bellowed another great warcry as he charged into the last few Nighthaunt, who floated out of his way except for one unlucky monster that saw its unlife cut short by his weapon.

Kuungar cried out just as quickly, falling to the ground and bleeding profusely from his back. Looking up he saw a terrifying skeletal creature descend upon him, skull open and eyes empty as he reached with spindly bony fingers to drag his soul down to the depths.

For but a moment, a tiny second, Kuungar follower of Khorne and veteran of countless battles, felt true consuming fear in the face of unliving death careening before him...until the Nighthaunt's face was cleaved through by a giant sword and it screamed and splattered into ectoplasmic oblivion!

Kuungar lay there, bleed profusely from his back, in slight shock for a moment, before regaining his warrior senses and looking up towards his savior. Kuungar gasped, recognizing him

The large and heavy sword that had cut down the attacking Nighthaunt, itself a remarkable marvel for a follower of the Blood God, was only matched by the imposing and impressive figure of the legend standing before Kuungar. Immortal centuries of warfare and bloodshed had turned him into a towering titan of thick muscles, scarlet armor forged in the fires of war and baptized in the blood of slain foes. He felt the rage of a true Khornate worshipper, a worthy opponent who embraced the teachings of the Blood God. The blessing of Chaos radiated from the red-skulled helmet, signifying a true blessing from the Lord of Bloodshed. Before him, Kuungar stood a legend, a chosen champion of Choas, the Herald of Khorne himself! Vyrkhe the Sanguine.

He extended out his long curved weapon, the legendary Sword of Tears, carved with weeping faces that wailed with frozen terror across the blade of the weapon.

"Rise, warrior. You are not dead yet."

Kuungar looked at the sword jutting towards him and hesitated, but only for a moment. Reaching up with his armored hand, he clasped onto the curved wicked blade, so sharp and remarkably clean for a weapon of the Chaos Gods. Kuungar raised himself to face the legendary Herald of Khorne, but even his stall stature was a small sight compared to the tall and muscular bound warrior that stood before him.

Vyrkhe was no daemon prince, but he was blessed by Khorne, that was apparent. Kuungar had rarely seen the Vykhe, only having the pleasure to fight alongside Khorne's Champion a few times in his hostile life. There were so many legends told about him, how he had strangled an orruk with his bare hands, slaughtered the people of Lilea during a campaign, razed kingdoms and empires to dust and ash.

Vyrkhe appraised him, "You have fought well, even if," he spat, "These things do not offer a true fight. Nothing truly worthy to be gained in battling the hosts of Nagash!"

Kuungar nodded reverently.

"Still," Vyrkhe continued, "The blood must flow, and these undead wights offer a new opportunity for us."

"What do you mean, Herald?"

"Come," Vyrkhe beckoned, and Kuungar followed, heavy metal boots and armor clanking in rhythm with the smooth cast metal of his master.

Vyrkhe walked briskly up the hill his soldiers had been fighting on, the last of the Nighthaunt warriors dissipating with a shriek. At the top of the hill, the Herald of Khorne pointed outwards, across a vast open plain, and at it's very end huge lumbering mountains, red and angry with tectonic activity. They smoked and blew forth molten rock, alighting the dimming night sky like gigantic torches with their burning red glow.

"Kurz Valka." Kuungar said simply. The home of the mad duardin, worshippers of the shattered god Grimnir. Fyreslayers they were called, fanatic zealots that fought with bitter steel and powerful ur-gold from their magmaholds deep in the bowels of the volcanic mountain range. Kuungar despised the duardin, but respected their stubbornness and bloody battles they offered.

"Indeed, Kurz Valka," Vyrkhe said, "The duardin have always been worthy opponents, but always...unbreakable, cowardly even. Hidden behind their volcanic holds, bolted with stone doors that can never be breached!"

Vyrkhe turned back, grinning behind his metal-forged skull mask, "But now, now is the chance to drive our axes and swords deep in the hearts of the Fyreslayers lodge!"

"But how, my lord?" Kuungar asked, "I myself have assaulted the gates of Ghuryd, and no matter how much we devastate their forces, we can never breach their stone gates."

"Look there," Vyrkhe pointed out again, "Do you see that great gate there, high in the peaks, and the pathway leading up to it? That is the first step towards Ghuryd, Gate of the East. Impregnable to siege, to military assaults, to any weapon, a true testament to duardin construction," He paused, and pointed elsewhere, "Now, what is that there, in the sky?"

Kuungar looked to where Vyrkhe was pointing, and did not see anything of notice at first. However, he then spotted several small dots, greenish in color, and then another, and then more, and then even more. As he looked closer, he began to see vast numbers of ghostly green specks coalesce into a large stream, and realized what they where. Nighthaunts, gathered together in the sky and forming a river of lost souls, flowing like spilled ink towards the duardin magmahold.

Vyrkhe continued, "These undead, however, are not mortal. They will pass unscathed through the layers of stone and duardin defenses, hammering deep into the very homes of the Fyreslayers."

He watched as the collected tide of Nighthaunt dipped down, barreling straight towards the heavy-laden gates of Ghuryd, which has stood unbroken for millennia...and passed right through them disappearing into the burning mountain.

Kuungar opened his mouth, surprised at how easily a procession of ghost could do what no legion of Khornate berserkers had managed to accomplish over centuries of warfare.

Vyrkhe turned back to Kuungar and said, "Now, you see. We shall strike upon the weakened duardin who dwell in their broken homes, break down their ancient towers and walls. We shall march into their precious and untouched mountain holds and give them a taste of Khorne's true wrath and fury, of what his blades can accomplish! Rivers of duardin blood shall flow from the mountains and will flood the caverns, as we slake Khorne's thirst on the Fyreslayer's draining corpses!"

Kuungar roared with satisfaction, already hearing the duardin screaming before his blade and falling to his hand. Khorne does not care from where the blood flows, but soon, it would flow from Kuz Valka.

A/N

First chapter of a new story. This one is set within the Warhammer: Age of Sigmar franchise, which is essentially a sequel to Warhammer: Fantasy. This story takes place in my homebrew location, the Broken Continent, and focuses specifically on a Fyreslayer lodge and Khornate attackers. This story will be pretty long, and I'm quite happy to state that it is already completed, although more editing and ironing out of some details needs to be done. My goal is to post something every Friday, although I will extend the time if I need to do more editing. For now, though, expect something next week.

I will note that this story could be a bit graphic, but I'm not seeking to be excessively gory. War is brutal, and battle is not kind, and I wish to portray both relatively accurately within this story. That being said, this isn't going to be super-action heavy, at least at the start.

As usual, Age of Sigmar belongs to Games Workshop. I just make the story and the characters.

Any questions, comments, or helpful criticisms will be gladly accepted. Let me know what you thought, and thanks for reading!