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Cruel Commissar
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The archers might be a tad worried about cheering, as they in my mind are finely trained professionals like you described doesn't do that unless the enemy turn tail and run. Sorry if harsh there. Other than that I love what you wrote, with shield-wall and everything.
 

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Discussion Starter #22
The archers might be a tad worried about cheering, as they in my mind are finely trained professionals like you described doesn't do that unless the enemy turn tail and run. Sorry if harsh there. Other than that I love what you wrote, with shield-wall and everything.
No, you weren't harsh there, but you are correct about the archers. Should have caught that before I posted, thanks for the comment Beavis :). Will make the changes shortly.
 

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Discussion Starter #23
As the flames consume Sigmar’s images across Zwesten, Bjorn treads lightly between the roads as his kindred scramble around him to avoid the all—consuming fire. One by one, they leave him behind in his search of the scorched ruins and ashes of the Empire’s village. Something ill stirs in the darker crevices of the Temple of Sigmar even as the stones begin to sag and crumble. A low rumble, almost inaudible beneath the sounds of battle, beckons him closer to the fanning flames.

An eclipsing shadow slips through the bronze double doors that have long been torn open. The darkness envelopes Bjorn completely for a fleeting moment before the orange glow of embers relights his body. Mighty servants of Sigmar forever tasked with holding the cathedral up begin to crack, straining from the weight. Bjorn strides up the dozen stairs, letting the flames lick his armor.

He catches a large golden eye, dissected by a black slit hovering above the flames. The eye looks glassine, almost reptilian as it beholds Bjorn with a glare of absolute rage. The closer that Bjorn draws, the further the shadows recede from the mysterious being. The abyss gives way to gnarled ebon skin, barely visible in the pale light. Expansive, crimson wings unfurl from the creature’s body, connected by a webbing of pierced and wounded muscle. Large, curved horns protruded from the Bloodthirster’s demonic face, which is set in a silent, diabolic smile.

Bjorn looked the creature in the eye approvingly, knowing that he had done the Blood God’s work. Yet the demon seemed displeased at the notion, instead straightening itself into a challenging stance and letting loose a cry similar to the rush of flames. Bjorn began to retrace his steps away from the temple, but the Bloodthirster answered with a lift of its mighty battle axe and came charging through the flames.

The ceiling of the Temple of Sigmar implodes and collapses in on itself. The fallout of flames and debris was powerful enough to throw Bjorn off of the steps of the Temple as the rest comes clattering down.

Through the fog of dust and smoke, the clattering of a dozen hooves on stone arrives within earshot. A small cavalcade of Knights of Bretonnia came riding into Zwesten through the path that the Northmen had bled for. As the roiling clouds begin to dissipate, the moonlight caught on their heavy plate armor and made their hues of color shimmer fiercely. Bjorn caught site of the tall banner that heralded their coming: ginger and royal blue, painted with diagonal stripes of crimson. An image of a bronze lion was emblazoned upon the center, reared upon its hind legs, clawing fiercely at something, its maw set in a proud roar.

The Knights trample the fallen beneath the hooves of their steeds as they circle to a halt. The mortal that led them cradles his helm in his hand, decorated with long feathered plumes. His features were clean cut and he was of middling, but robust build. Long strands of raven hair came away with a flick of his head, revealing auburn eyes that watches Bjorn with contempt and disgust. A sapphire cloak lined with silver upon the Lord’s back became caught up on the breeze.

The Bretonnian Lord unsheathes his blade and points it squarely at Bjorn’s heart. Then with a smug grin, the Lordling calls his Knights away and gallops back the way that he came. His Knights spare him a few glances more before shrugging their shoulders and joining their master.
 

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Discussion Starter #24
When the next morning arrived, the clamor of battle faded as dawn broke over the smoldering village of Zwesten. The scale of the battle had become obvious in a way that was not apparent before. In the night, Bjorn’s forces were the only one he knew of fighting for the town. As the sun crested over the forested hills in the backdrop, the arable fields beyond the village were littered with dead horses and men, tattered banners, and soaked in blood for miles around.

Thank the Gods he had not drawn the lot to go fighting in the fields. He had heard from the survivors that the combat down there had been rough. Squads of Bretonnian Knights had churned the battlefield beneath the thundering hooves of their steeds. Lord Tibalt’s forces bit into their ranks with musket and cannon fire, but still the shining war host came on. Convinced of their glory, the Brets ploughed their mounts repeatedly into the flanks of Tibalt’s pike wall. Though the Empire—Northmen alliance had won the day with the storming of Zwesten, the damage was great.

The Northmen had received their fair share of losses in turn, including the untimely demise of Chieftain Grom and most of his clan, the Aedui. Dag Frost—Eye was also slain in open combat, apparently killed by a brave lad’s lance through the face. Rumors around the campfires had it that Floki Ironside and Ymir the Implacable had waded into battle themselves to keep the Northmen from being broken. Between the two of them, a hundred skulls were taken before the Knights galloped away in blind fear.

“I tell you Loki,” Bjorn gazed into the crackling flames of the cooking fire with a glazed stare. He finally looked up after what seemed like minutes and took in the ruined temple district of Zwesten. What little beauty remained of the raped and pillaged altars of Sigmar were marred by charred blackness. “I am cursed by the Blood God.”

Ingmar ripped a boar’s leg from the spit and greedily bit into it. He seemed somewhat concerned despite the juices dribbling down his chin. “What the hell happened to you? You were right behind us one moment, then no one could find you when we pressed into the town square! And now you like you’ve seen a ghost, my friend!”

“No.” Loki hushed Ingmar quietly. “Don’t you see what Bjorn is trying to say, Ingmar? The Blood God came to him in a vision during the battle. Is that what you are saying, Bjorn?”

Bjorn nodded uncomfortably. “Aye. And I tell you now, lads. What I saw was nothing good…” He leaned over the fire as he began to recall the memories of yesterday. Not even the smallest detail escaped him as he recounted the vision he had at the temple of Sigmar.

“An omen?” Kirkegard sighed. “That could also be a blessing Bjorn! Demons are known to be temperamental at the best of times. Perhaps he was testing your heart, to see if steel hammered in your chest! Did you back down from him?”

“Of course not,” Bjorn scoffed haughtily. “The temple collapsed before it could it really get going on me. That was where my vision ended. The Bloodthirster in my dreams became buried beneath all of the rubble of…” He gestured to the crumbled ruin in front of them. “That.”

Loki dismissed the vision with a wave of his hand. “Maybe a blessing, a curse, a warning, whatever! They are all just dreams, Bjorn! I am more concerned about more mortal foes as of late. What about the Knights you mentioned that approached you last night? They just rode up to you and said have a good evening? It would be quite the feat if you managed to kill them all yourself.”

Bjorn shrugged. “I already told you. A cavalcade of Brets rode up the path we attacked Zwesten from. They were led by some pompous Lordling who rode into the village, pointed his blade at me, and then galloped back the way he came. You could tell his men wanted to argue with that, but they went with him. Good thing too, or else I would be food for the crows.”

Ingmar cackled with savage laughter. “What’s the harm in another Bret taking a liking to you? Just answer him with your steel when he tries to come too close. He’ll turn away limping like a scolded whore!”

“What are we doing, lads?” Kirkegard ripped a slab of meat from the spit with a rusty knife. He looked as exhausted from yesterday’s fighting as everyone else. “Shouldn’t we be finding a way to sail back home? Instead, we’re fighting the Empire’s war – Sigmar’s war and we’re losing more of our own every day! What are our numbers now? Twenty—five hundred? Soon we’ll all be in the earth with swords buried to their hilts in our backs!”

“Kirkegard, enough.” Bjorn sneered. “Everything we are doing is so that we can sail for home. Don’t you understand that?”

Loki gestured toward the battlefield beyond the village. “Don’t you have a war council to be sitting in on, Bjorn? If these visions disturb you so much, perhaps you should see a sorcerer.”

“Bah.” Bjorn spat. “You know that I’ll never trust a sorcerer even if my life depended on it! I cannot stand their kind. I would rather choke on that spit than deal with any of them.”

Loki answered darkly. “Then no one can solve this mystery except you. Perhaps you should not spread doubt that the Blood God has abandoned us. Bare your curse in silence and choose your fate wisely. That is all the advice I can give.”

Bjorn glared at Loki hard for long moments before he finally relented and stalked off toward the fields outside Zwesten.
 

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Discussion Starter #25
Small Update :).


Bjorn stalked through the battlefield as a lonely black apparition, surrounded by a field of the vanquished and bloody flags. The War Council had not even bothered raising a pavilion on Zwesten’s blood littered ground. Instead Tibalt Von Saarland and his Northman allies were seated around a large war table placed in the midst of a small clearing. None of them bothered to crane their heads at the sound of heavy footfalls and jingling armor. Bjorn quickly rounded the table and sat himself beside Lord Tibalt.

Tibalt’s voice was a sonorous, soothing note as he reclined into his seat at the war council. “Ah, the Alle’s representative. Good of you to join us.” Tibalt paused to address the entire war table. “My Lords of the Northern Wastes, we have won a decisive victory at Zwesten. Not a magnificent one, rest assured, but a solid one that we can use to our advantage.”

Floki Ironside grumbled behind his blackened helm. “How badly did we crush the Brets?”

Tibalt gestured with his wooden ruler around the blown up map of Nordland. “We managed to catch our enemies by surprise with our alliance. Our combined assault saw our attempts on the towns of Albis and Birresborn successful. Our assault to take back the main food supply in the region: Zwesten and several surrounding villages, were also successful. Reports suggested that the Bretonnians lost nearly three thousand men attempting to defend their gains.”

Bjorn snorted and dismissed the statistics with a wave. “What about us? I lost nearly half of my raiding party storming that little hamlet. And you say that we assaulted other towns? Why was I not told about this?”

Floki merely quipped. “Wasn’t necessary. You needed to focus on taking the grain stores so that our forces could eat. Nothing more.”

Bjorn inwardly scoffed, but knew better than to voice his outrage against Floki Ironside. He merely focused his stare of dissatisfaction on Tibalt. “What are the casualties?”

Ymir the Implacable’s hushed tone sounded more similar to a slumbering bear. “For us Northmen? About a thousand were called to the thrones of the Dark Gods.”

“What?” Bjorn crashed a fist against the table. “Are you all mad? We’re stuck in the middle of a hostile land and you wasted nearly half of our remaining number in one night?”

“Calm yourself.” Floki grunted, his tone brooked no argument. “Tibalt’s forces fared far worse, I imagine. He had to face the Brets in open battle and has lost two times our own casualties.” He paused to consider Tibalt. “But you only partially answered my question. Will the Bretonnians return?

Tibalt cleared his throat. “I cannot say precisely, but our scouts report that they are headed further west. Otherwise, we could be sitting in early graves, gentlemen.”

Floki nodded, satisfied. “Where does their commander withdraw to?”

Tibalt shoved a series of chess pieces across the map further northwest of Zwesten. “Duke Aluin retreats across the open plains. No doubt he hopes to goad us into an open battle. Castle Boehlen lies in the distance, not too far away from his position. It is his last stronghold in the region outside of Brettonnia.”

Ymir grunted with approval. “If this Duke desires an open battle, then we should indulge him. We cannot wait for him to receive reinforcements.”

Floki agreed. “We’ll break him upon the fields outside Boehlen.”

“Agreed.” Tibalt and the other council members chimed in.

All eyes turned to Bjorn as he thrummed his fingers against the table impatiently. Then with a final sigh of resignation, he added, “Aye.”
 

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Discussion Starter #26
Chapter Three: Blood Pact​

The battle for Nordland had ended in a storm of bloodshed. Yet the Northmen were ever anxious for another combat, for there was no decisive victor determined from one night’s violent clashes. Bloodied but undefeated, Duke Aluin led his glittering host across the endless plains in the direction of Bretonnia. So the pursuit of Tibalt Von Saarland’s enemy began. The journey across the western plains was arduous. Winter’s breath swept across the fields, chilled the sun’s warmth and brought about grey clouds laden with fresh snow. At least those that perished did so with their bellies full. At least, the Northmen knew that their enemies suffered worse than they.

Bjorn perched himself upon a flat rock and pretended that he could not feel the cold bite through his armor. Grasslands stretched out beyond the Alle’s encampment for miles. There was no sign of Castle Boehlen or the shining armies of knights that waited to do battle beneath its walls. All Bjorn could see were leather and fur tents erected across the snowy plain amidst pavilions of ebony and silver. Hundreds of Northmen gathered their remaining clothes of warmth and huddled around their campfires. The cold winter was nothing to them, but it could still claim a man if he was careless.

We are all going to die out here, aren’t we? Bjorn shook his head grimly. I shall never lay eyes upon the northern wastes again. Perhaps it is a blessing.

An unfamiliar voice called through the winds. Bjorn thought he only imagined it at first. Then he noticed a burly individual weaving through the campfires, bundled in multiple furs. Bjorn also noticed his axe blade was covered in blood. “Bjorn! Brother Bjorn!”

Bjorn tilted his chin in acknowledgement. “Aye? Who are you? You aren’t here to challenge me are you?”

The marauder huddled over and had his hands on his knees by the time he approached Bjorn. “Brother, forgive me! I could find no one else! And I do not trust the other clans.”

Bjorn’s interest was piqued. “What in the Dark Halls are you talking about? Trust the other clans with what?”

“An Alle’ matter.” The burly man replied. “There’s been an incident.”

“Ingmar! Kirkegard!” Bjorn called. “Where the hell is Loki?” He looked back to the Marauder. “Never mind, show us.”

The Marauder indicated that they follow him through the encampment. Ingmar and Kirkegard picked themselves up, gathered their weapons, and followed. The grey clouds above began to break as the encampment was left far behind. Bjorn had not even noticed that Tibalt had chosen to make camp on the edge of a forest. His bright mood soured as he entered into the brooding wood.

The Marauder explained. “There were several of us. Warriors who wanted to worship the Blood God in peace. We slipped into the forest under the cover of night and found a cave not too far from here.”

“Well, my friend,” Bjorn replied. “If you brought me out here to kill a bear that mauled your friends. I am afraid that you will soon join them.”

The burly raider snorted, insulted. “Of course, not, Bjorn. My friends tasked me with gathering woods and herbs for incense. When I returned and discovered their bodies, I knew that you would want to see it.”

Kirkegard grunted with the effort of cleaving through lush foliage. “You mentioned that your party were all members of the Alle’?”

“Yes.” The raider answered. “I too am one of you, brothers. Here, just beyond this creek.”

Bjorn came to a halt before a small creek that ran across several hills. His gaze followed the path of the flowing waters toward their source: a cavern opening almost hidden behind a small grove of trees. He raised a finger to his lips at the rest of his group and prowled toward the cavern with quiet footfalls. Ingmar and Kirkegard spread across Bjorn’s flanks, their weapons held at the ready.

Bjorn entered the cavern and became cloaked in a shadowy darkness. The roars of a fire crackled and snapped loudly within the hollow cave. The cavern opened up the further he ventured. The sound of rushing water was more powerful than ever before. At the end of the cavern, a waterfall fell from a high crevice in the ceiling. The pyres blazed on either side of the natural stream that gushed into the forest below. He smelt charred flesh and noticed blackened bones protruding from the flames.

The corpses of the Marauders were littered around the cavern. Swords, axes, and shields lay scattered across the rocky floor. The bodies of the fallen had been cleaved apart in a storm of blades. Bjorn kicked a path through the strewn out limbs. The dead had obviously involved themselves in a chaotic melee before death. But with who?

Bjorn shook his head. “A rival tribe ambushed your friends and killed them. I do not know what else to say.”

Bjorn heard Kirkegard shrug in his armor. “There are no remains of anyone else except Alle’ folk. Whoever committed this must have had legendary skill to slay so many and survive.”

Ingmar hawked and spat. “Waste of time. Let’s get back to camp, before we’re next.”

“No!” The Marauder called. “You must look closer, brothers! Inspect the corpses. They have ill omens written on their chests.”

Bjorn sighed, but kicked over the nearest corpse. The dead marauder laid face down in the earth. The corpse’s facial features were fixated in horror and agony. He lowered his gaze onto the bloody symbol carved into his chest. The wound burned faintly along the edges and outlined the symbol of Khorne.

“Demon-forged.” Bjorn announced. “Whoever did this was no lowly warrior. Could even be demons, perhaps. It appears I was wrong: Khorne has cursed us all.”
 

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Discussion Starter #27 (Edited)
The sun was setting in the east when Bjorn and his party arrived back at camp. The deep cold that he had experienced in Pale Pass was nothing compared to what he felt now. The warmth in his veins felt like the dying embers in a hearth. His pallid skin became clammy and increasingly blue. He needed a night beside a roaring campfire and a long rest into the next morning. But there were other things to attend to.

“Brothers.” Bjorn whispered. Kirkegard, Ingmar, and the Marauder named Asbjorn huddled around him. “We have an enemy in our midst. Someone must seek a quarrel with the Alle’. Do not speak about what you saw this evening, to anyone. I have a feeling these deaths are only just beginning. Keep your eyes peeled and remain close to each other. Do not venture from the camp alone.”

The group nodded their heads in solemn confirmation.

Bjorn said. “Good, let’s head back to our camp. Get some sleep.” He spun on his heel and entered the encampment.

Loki sat beside the campfire, alone and surrounded by hunted game. He looked up as Bjorn approached and leapt to his feet. “Bjorn, Kirkegard, Ingmar! Where in all the underworld have you been? I step out to hunt for one moment and you’re all gone!”

“Sit down, Loki.” Bjorn replied, his voice grave. “Continue cooking your meal. We have things to discuss during the night.”

Loki sneered at Asbjorn. “Who is this lowborn? You needed a servant?”

“No.” Bjorn chuckled. “In fact, he was just leaving.” He dismissed Asbjorn with a wave.

Asbjorn slammed a fist across his chest. “Your aid will not be forgotten, Brother Bjorn. May the Blood God preserve you.”

Loki contemplated the Marauder’s words for a moment. His gaze flicked from friend to friend. “Appears that I missed something interesting.” A devilish smile crossed his lips. “My interest is piqued.”

“Later, Loki.” Bjorn gazed about the camp and took in the sight of dozens of warriors still huddled around their campfires.
~***~​
Night has fallen upon the world. On the fringes of the wood, a beast watches the encampment of his foes. He seeks the heads of those he has been tasked to slay. The beast watches with fiery red eyes, takes in the sight of drunk sentries stumbling over themselves. The shadows hide the infernal runes that pulse on its crimson skin. The night is too quiet, the beast desires to split the skies with its thunderous cries. Instead, it remains content to gather its kin. Under the light of the stars, the Bloodletters advance upon the enemy.

Bjorn found that he could no longer sleep, not when an enemy of his tribe was on the loose. As he laid upon his bedroll, he stared into the blanket of stars in the skies above. The North Star glimmered in the distance, it’s light far brighter than most. He half-suspected that it would be the color of blood. He picked himself off of the snowy field and caught sight of an orange glow within a nearby tent. His body ached for warmth and like a moth, he was drawn to the flickering flames.

Bjorn slipped through the folds of the tent and met the gazes of Ingmar, Loki, and Kirkegard gathered around a roaring fire. They remained silent as Bjorn entered and sat himself beside Loki and Ingmar. Greetings were traded between one another.

Bjorn warmed his hands by the flames. “Have you filled Loki in yet?”

Kirkegard nodded. “Told him everything. All we need now is a plan. We need to strike before anymore of the Alle’ walk to their deaths.”

Ingmar inclined his head in agreement. “Perhaps if we avoid the forest, our forces will be fine.”

Loki appeared a far cry from his usual self, as if he had just risen from the grave. “How do we know we are not already too late? Demon-forged weapons? If someone has placed a blood-pact upon our tribe, it cannot end until the demon responsible for the pact is extinguished.”

Kirkegard chuckled, skeptical. “We should not jump to any conclusions. Chances are that our fallen brothers were ambushed by members of another tribe. That can be easily rectified.”

Before Bjorn could utter a retort, the alarm bells sounded across the encampment. Cries of alarm echoed over the plains, followed by sounds of battle. Alien cries the likes Bjorn had never heard roared across the wind.
 

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Discussion Starter #28
“Outside, now!” Bjorn shouted. He rushed back through the tent entrance.


The Alle’s encampment was a scene of chaos and slaughter. Two legged beasts built of bulging sinew and muscle, crimson skin, and curved horns had stormed through the dense labyrinth of tents. The alien creatures possessed eyes that burned with unnatural fire and wielded great blades that thrummed with ethereal energies. Bjorn recognized them at once as Bloodletters, minions of the Blood God. The winter chill in the air was rent apart by thunderous screams as the demons advanced in one vicious onslaught.


The Bloodletters had been charging from tent to tent, dragged their occupants out screaming to brutally end their lives. Dozens of fallen warriors, noble and lowborn, littered the blood-slathered plain before the northmen realized what was happening. Most of the remaining survivors fought a desperate battle, scattered in a chaotic melee against their demonic foes. Bjorn knew that the odds were against them as he noticed his kindred barely dressed and armed.


A Bloodletter caught Bjorn in the corner of his eye and twisted to charge him down. Bjorn backpedaled toward his bedroll, where his weapons lay in the snow. A mighty cry tore from a human’s throat. Ingmar threw himself between the demon and Bjorn. A bear of a man, Ingmar ducked beneath the demon-forged blade and gripped the Bloodletter by its massive horns. The bloodletter flew into the tent where Bjorn and his friends had been moments ago. There was a great crash and a roar of flames, followed by a piercing shriek.


Bjorn picked up his longsword and mace. The rest of his friends followed suit. He felt nothing but cold creep into his clothes. This was not a good time to die.


The long sword clashed against a demonic blade, Bjorn lashed out with his mace against the blood minion’s skull and cracked a horn in half. The Bloodletter answered with a savage headbutt that sent Bjorn clattering into the snow. The demon reverted back to the other three Alle’ folk he fought on his own. It’s blade flashed in both of its taloned fingers. Blood arced in great sprays. Three warriors became maimed carrion.


Kirkegard leapt over a fallen comrade, the spear in his grip thrust forward into the meat of the Bloodletter’s back. The demon shrieked as he shifted all of his weight into the blow. The spear ruptured through the ribcage and pinned the creature to the earth. Loki charged the blood minion down and hacked its head away with an axe.


Bjorn rolled to his feet in time to parry a downward strike from a charging Bloodletter. His long sword flashed downward. The demon’s innards spilled from the wound. For a moment, Bjorn thought the creature would whirl around, angrier than ever, and attempt to fight on. Instead its essence faltered until it vanished from the world.


“Bjorn!” A knight of chaos shouldered Bjorn aside in time to receive a cleaving blow from an axe to the head. The knight collapsed, his skull shattered to pieces.


Bjorn twisted around to find Floki Ironside looming over him.


“Your time has come to die.” Floki Ironside’s voice echoed with the harnessed rage of a hundred dead warriors. “First, Grom. Now, you.


Bjorn spun away from the sweep of the massive battleaxe in Floki’s grip. The Raid Leader moved with a speed that belied his heavy bulk. Wherever Bjorn attempted to escape, he found himself cut off by the fearsome chosen. Floki bellowed as he hacked indiscriminately at Bjorn, but he could not find his mark on the quicker target. Bjorn saw an opening and slammed his mace into Floki’s kneecap. Floki merely laughed as the blow was deflected from his armor. He lost his grip on the mace.


A keening scream caught the Raid Leader’s attention. Loki and Ingmar hacked their way through the demonic forces and charged at Floki from two separate directions. Floki’s reaction was beyond the comprehension of mere mortals. Loki spewed blood as the the pommel of the battle axe crashed into his face and sent him reeling. The axe twisted around in his grip. Ingmar twitched for a split-second before his body came apart from head to groin.


“No!” Bjorn cried, outraged.


Bjorn leapt over a low sweep of Floki’s battleaxe meant to cut away his feet. He twisted around Floki’s flank and swung his sword in both hands. The Raid Leader sighed in pain as the steel parted through the flesh behind the knee. The Raid Leader kicked out instinctively and threw Bjorn backwards several feet. Bjorn clambered to his feet. He charged forward again and traded light blows with his foe.


Bjorn, my first born.


The time has not arrived.


To find the hall of your fathers.


An angel is protecting you, Bjorn.


One bound in blood, brass, and honor.



The rent in the fabric of reality appeared. A swirling nexus of corrupted energies hung in the skies over the encampment. It happened in the blink of an eye. An angel bound in blood, brass, and honor swept from the nexus on large, crimson wings. The angel possessed large golden eyes, dissected with large black slits and was heavily of muscle and sinew. It’s skin was as dark as burnt ashes and upon its monstrous head were two curved horns.


The Bloodthirster rent the skies with its mighty cry and descended upon the Alle’s foe in a storm of bloodshed. The demonic axe in its hands flashed back and forth, cleaving through several foes at a time. Knights loyal to Floki Ironside became trampled beneath its great hooves. As Floki Ironside turned to deal with the new threat, he discovered that his power was severely lacking. The Bloodthirster wailed on the Raid Leader with its axe until Floki was scarred and bloody, his armor rent open in a dozen places. The Norse leader was finished with a sideward blow that cut him messily in two.


Bjorn could only observe in shock, unbelieving in his strange twist of fate. It was only after the Bloodthirster tore through the Alle’s remaining foes did it seem to notice him. The Greater Demon snorted with infernal laughter as it faded away into nothingness.
 

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Discussion Starter #30
Thanks for the comment, Beavis, glad to see you're still around:).

You talked to me about the end in the PM. I hope this is not it as it seems a bit hollow for an end.
The end? Why Bjorn hasn't even made it home yet! And Duke Aluin and his Brets have yet to be dealt with! Don't worry, there's more story to come:good:.
 

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Discussion Starter #31 (Edited)
Small update, before the fateful battle:).

Floki Ironside lay still amidst the carnage he had created. The demonic assault shattered into a hundred splinters that became crushed by the Alle’. Bjorn and a dozen survivors among his tribe gathered around the Chosen of the Gods corpse. He blinked again and again, still reliving the memories that led to this uncertain point for the warriors of chaos. Ironside’s body was a broken and bloody mess. The edge of his scars pulsed with ethereal power. For once in his life, Bjorn realized that he had no clue what to due.


A voice reminiscent of a roaring bear echoed over the silent plains. There was a loud clamor as warriors scattered before the brute that was Ymir the Implacable. Floki Ironside’s lieutenant cradled his helm in one hand. Much of his scarred face was hidden beneath a great black beard. Bjorn found that he could not avert his gaze away from his fierce sapphire eyes. He had had his share of feeling and appearing weakened.


Voices whispered, still attempting to piece the puzzle together.


Bjorn raised his voice over the stunned Alle’. “Here to finish what your lord began, Ymir? I would approach with caution. For tonight, I cannot vouch what may befall those who have made the blood pact against the Alle’.”


Ymir snorted with brazen laughter. “You summon the Blood Angel from your father's’ halls? I have bore witness to the holy slaughter that Khorne has set forth. All in the aid of his champion.” The Implacable fell onto one knee.”Champion of the Blood God, I hereby swear fealty!”


Warriors of the northern wastes amassed around the scene of death in their hundreds. Bjorn realized that it was all that remained of Floki’s once glorious raiding party. The Alle’ were the first to bend their knees, followed by Ymir’s clan, then the entirety of the Northmen. From the putrid Nurglites to the beatific servants of Slaanesh. They lowered their heads and swore their fealty.


“The Gods have answered our dire pleas!” Florida the Sorcerer exclaimed as he approached Bjorn. “The champion of Khorne must triumph over the Bretonnians! This is the only route to our homeland! Only the chosen can lead us through! The Blood God shall carve him a path through a sea of enemies!”


The Northmen quaked the plain with their war cry. “Through a sea of enemies!”


Bjorn hefted his longsword. “Death to the Bretonnians!”
 

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Discussion Starter #32
Castle Boehlen rose from the winter ashes of the western plains as a last bastion of mortal defiance for the warriors of chaos. It’s fifty foot walls were erected with beige stone that neither shined in the sun or covered itself in snow. A dozen turrets and towers jutted from the battlements, laden with siege weapons, archers, and rank upon rank of spearmen. The main keep itself loomed above its fortifications, built of seven towers that connected themselves into one fortress.


Beyond the castle walls awaited an army of mortals. A host of chainmail and ginger and blue livery stretched across the plains. A wintry mist shrouded their presence, made from the hooves of hundreds of circling horses and lent them the appearance of apparitions. Cavalcades of shining Knights rallied beneath the banners of their lords. Beyond the thousands that waited eagerly to do battle, Bjorn could see the holy standard in the midst of the Bretonnians’ lines. He knew that Duke Aluin must have been among the selected to guard such a treasure.


The war horns called across the plains. The combined armies of the Empire and the Northmen arrived onto the battlefield.



The roiling clouds in the sky above began to break. Thick shafts of sunlight pierced through the gaps and shined over the plains near Castle Boehlen. Bjorn raised his face to the warming rays of the bright star as his steed trotted forward. There was no tranquility to enjoy in that moment, not as he listened to the march of thousands of boots against the western plains. The Empire’s forces stretched across the southern field, arrayed for battle. Bjorn was forced to admit, they were a glorious spectacle in their silver and ebony livery.


In comparison, his five hundred Norsemen that marched in the center of the army looked pitiful. They were a ragtag group. Unit formation no longer meant anything. Only their shared blood mattered. That was cause enough to fight as a single mailed fist that would shatter Bretonnian teeth. Noble Born Chaos Knights marched shoulder to shoulder beside Marauders and Chosen. Commanders and Champions stood by the side of lowborn slaves.


Upon the northern field, the Bretonnians amassed their might beneath Boehlen’s formidable walls. Bjorn felt the earth quake beneath the hooves of his mount from the thunder created by the Bretonnian Knights. His foe’s flanks were nothing more than shining steel, billowing banners, and a collage of colorful livery that would attempt to swarm Tibalt’s forces until they became crushed under the hooves of a thousand war horses.


Kirkegard raised his head to the sky. “The sun is breaking! I feel warmth course through these icy veins once again! It is a good time to fight!”


“Aye.” Bjorn nodded. A rare smile crossed his lips. “A good time for dying as well. Should things come to that.”


Loki snorted a laugh. “Will your blood angel arrive today, Bjorn?”


Bjorn shrugged. “How could I know? I do not understand the minds of demons.”


Loki grunted with approval. “We cannot count on that fortune all the time. It appears that it will be quite rare. My heart is gladdened that Floki perished by the demon’s hand. The bastard knocked three of my teeth loose.”


“At least you didn’t end up like poor Ingmar.” Bjorn said somberly. “I am certain he would relish being here today.”


Loki shook his head. “No, likely not. Once a warrior finds the halls of his father’s’, there is not much want to return to anything in the previous life.”


A melancholic smirk tugged on the edge of Bjorn’s lips. “Perhaps that is the truth. In that case, I celebrate for him. I shall spill the blood of our foes in his honor!”


The Empire’s trumpets blared across the battlefield. Bjorn sounded his own warhorn and the Northmen marched to a halt beside their unlikely allies. A phalanx of halberdiers lowered their weapons. Swordsmen raised their shields and their long swords as they fell into fighting stances. Musket Men marched to the fore of the frontline. The first rank knelt, the second slightly lower, and the third remained standing. Likewise, the Bretonnians mirrored the Empire’s movements with their own defensive stances.


Bjorn bellowed over the clamor of his ranks. “Keep calm! Raise shields!”


The Brets upon the battlements brought their siege weapons to bear and unleashed flaming rocks across the battlefield. Bjorn remained silent as lit boulders rained down upon Tibalt’s ranks. Terrified screams echoed across the field, cut short as men vanished beneath rolling stone or were caught in the flames. Holes in the phalanx opened up against the onslaught, but the Empire only advanced to reform.


“Bastards,” Loki sneered. “The Brets think themselves untouchable in their fortress.”


“Just wait, Loki.” Bjorn replied. “Just wait.”


A rippling sound reminiscent of rolling thunder echoed across the battlefield. Vast swathes of Castle Boehlen’s walls exploded into chunks of rock and fine dust from the blasts of the great cannons. Fleeting chaos erupted in the Bretonnian’s ranks from the volleys of mortars. Entire units of spearmen vanished in a geyser of smoke, debris, and gore from the accurate shelling. Horses neighed frantically as they became caught in the trajectory of helstorm rocket batteries. Knights were blasted apart alongside their mounts.


Duke Aluin’s war horns sounded across the Bretonnian lines. From one flank to the next, a wall of steel and flesh surged across the snowy plain toward the Empire’s ranks.
 

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Discussion Starter #33 (Edited)
The trumpets blasted and the Empire’s forces chanted as they braced themselves against the wave of the Bretonnian’s first ranks. Bjorn observed the musket men unleash volley after volley across Tibalt’s front line. Wooden shields and archaic chainmail was torn asunder, the flesh beneath pulverized by gunpowder and steel. The men-at-arms fell too quickly to count, but their losses were noticeable. The earth itself exploded amidst the Brets’ formations from the combined might of helstorm rocket batteries and great cannons. Tibalt concentrated his entire firepower upon the organized infantry formations, in knowledge that they were more vulnerable targets.


Bjorn dismounted from his stallion alongside his friends into a clamoring horde. The northmen battered their weapons together or against scarred shields. The cacophony of noise was deafening, but the warriors of chaos filled it with their guttural and brutish jeers. A lull came in the battle as the musket men retreated, their purpose served. The Bretonnians had crossed much of the battlefield. Their wounded were left in their wake to rot with the dead. All around him, charging Bretonnians closed in upon his army.


“Brace!” Bjorn shouted. “For the glory of the gods! Tear them asunder!”


Across the battlefield, the noise of steel clashed against steel rung out in the air. Loki pounced as if a lion atop a man-at-arm’s shield and brought his battleaxe down upon the steel cap helm. Blood spurted over Bjorn’s face as he twisted away from a spear thrust meant to impale him in the gut. His mace landed against the Bretonnian’s heavy wooden shield with enough force to splinter it into pieces. The long sword in his grip flashed and stuck the peasant through the stomach. Bjorn kicked his foe into the wall of shields that charged into the teeth of the northmen.


The battle for Castle Boehlen raged around Bjorn. All he could see for leagues around him was a massive wall of shields collided into a phalanx of halberdiers. Along the frontlines, the Empire’s forces became scattered as the melee grew more chaotic. Still the artillery thundered from behind Tibalt’s lines. The Northmen hacked into the Bretonnian shield wall until it was a bloody melee with no semblance of formation or order. It was every man for himself in this struggle.


“Incoming!” Kirkegard roared. He snatched a man-at-arm’s shield as he spun around him. The shield blocked several strikes meant to slay him outright. He dropped the shield and decapitated its owner with a spin and coup-de-grace. “Archer fire!”


The sky turned black. Bjorn only prayed to the gods that he be spared as he continued fighting. Black shafts descended upon the northmen. Guttural screams echoed across the battle as dozens collapsed from the unerring longbow fire. Steel tipped arrows shattered against Bjorn’s armor, even as other Bretonnians fell victim to their own arrows.


Everything Bjorn saw was covered in blood. The red haze had taken him. Even as his own comrades began to fall around him, one by one, he fought on. His longsword and mace worked viciously back and forth like the swings of a pendulum: inevitable death. Any peasant that attempted to stay his wrath of lay him low was cut down where he stood. Minutes of fighting passed, but they felt like hours to Bjorn. A mound of dead lay at the feet of him and his surviving comrades.


“Bjorn!”


Khorne! Father of battle, I beseech you, allow me to take the head of your enemy!



“Bjorn!” Loki’s voice called through the crimson ether.


Bjorn snapped out of his reverie. Fiery rays of the sun shined in the west over the battlefield. The plains around Castle Boehlen were covered with those fallen in battle. Swords and shields lay scattered everywhere, thrust into the ground beneath tattered banners. He looked around in search of his men. Ymir, Loki, Kirkegard, and several other knights of chaos were all that he counted among the living. They were all caked in blood and gore, their breathing heavy and sore, and their arms limp from overuse.


And yet the battle still raged.


“This is it.” Loki spat. “This is the end for all of us.”


Kirkegard shrugged. “Still a beautiful day to die.”


Ymir grumbled with laughter. “At least I will not enter the halls of my father’s’ wanting. Come, let us fight to the last breath, as the warriors of legend!”


Bjorn made to say something, but was interrupted by the thunder of hooves approaching. Duke Aluin emerged from the chaos of battle, unscathed and shining in his armor. His helmet was covered in long feathered plumes. His armor shone fiercely in the last rays of the sun as if forged from silver. A sapphire cloak lined with silver upon his back became caught on the winds of his charge. Following hard on his heels was a small cavalcade of knights, swords drawn as they meant to charge the Northmen down.
 

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Discussion Starter #34
~***~​
"Vengeance!" Bjorn bellowed over the quaking earth. The last of his friends yelled their own war cries as they charged into the teeth of the Bretonnians charge.


The ground beneath Bjorn's feet was uneven, covered with mounds of corpses from the thick fighting. Duke Aluin's stallion faltered in its charge, losing its footing amidst the shifting piles of flesh and steel. One or two of his knights vanished with their steeds beneath the tide of carrion, but resurfaced later, dismounted, and their swords glimmering in the sun. Bjorn knew this was his only chance. He led the charge, surmounted a hillside of his own fallen brethren and thrust his longsword through the neck of the Duke's stallion as it reared up on its hind legs. The stallion spewed blood as it toppled sideways. Duke Aluin tore himself from his saddle in time and rolled away from his writhing mount.


The Bretonnians collided into the remaining Northmen. Kirkegard was smashed aside by a stallion in silver-scaled barding, but fell away too quickly for the decapitation. His foe instead slew another unnamed chaos knight with a downward thrust into the exposed neck. Another Knight meant to trample Ymir the Implacable into dust, but the bear of a man counter-charged shoulder first into the massive stallion and threw it from its hooves. The noise of bones shattering was audible from where even Bjorn stood. Ymir leapt over the dazed horse and slew its rider with a chop of his mighty axe.


"Bjorn!" Loki bellowed. He threw his battleaxe in the same moment Bjorn glanced to his left. The battleaxe was an unwieldy weapon, even when used with two hands. Yet the blade hit another of Aluin's guards square in the chest and rent his plate armor open. The Bretonnian toppled from his mount in the same moment he reached Bjorn.


"Northern scum." Aluin rasped. The Duke picked himself off of the battlefield. He held his longsword across his chest with both hands. No war cry burst from his lips, but only silence as he closed in on Bjorn.


There would be no words shared between the two commanders, only steel.


"To the Halls of the Gods!" Bjorn cried from atop a hill of dead. He rained down a flurry of blows upon the Duke as he rushed to meet his barbaric foe. Aluin parried each attack without effort. The Duke slipped beneath a momentous sweep of Bjorn's mace, his sword sliced to the right as the Northmen stumbled past him. Blood spilled from the rent across Bjorn's chest. He cried out in shock and pain. Adrenaline hammered in his veins as he spun on his heel and answered the aggressive Duke with a savage headbutt. The branching horns on his helm stabbed into the eye slits of Aluin's helmet. He knew from the Duke's surprised grunt that he had missed his mark. Aluin's blade rose up and cleaved through the horns.



The two champions dueled in the midst of battle for long minutes. Bjorn heard the struggles of his friends around him. They attempted to stave off the threat, but he heard some fall. His long sword clashed against Aluin's in a storm of sparks. The mace gripped in his metallic fingers rained blow after blow upon the Duke's armor, but he could not ruin it. In return, the Duke left scars all over Bjorn's body. He slashed him here and there. The blade in his hands worked as if a living thing.


Bjorn brought his mace down in a chopping blow toward Aluin's helm. The Duke leaned his head away from the blow and merely sighed as bones cracked in his shoulder blade instead. Bjorn's opponent stabbed down with his blade into the armor around his ribs. The sword parted tarnished steel and sank its teeth deep into Bjorn's flesh. He felt a rib crack open from the strike and sagged to his knees as Aluin withdrew his sword. Exhaustion crept into his body all at once, his energy was spent. Aluin raised his blade for the finishing blow that would make him a legend.


Aluin's blade fell.


Bjorn's weapons fell from his fingers, they no longer held the will to lift them. He lowered his head enough that Aluin's blade carved through the steel of his helmet rather than his neck. His metallic fingers formed a fist with the last of his strength. Bjorn roared wordlessly as he brought it crashing into the Duke's helmet. Blood welled from where the spikes on his knuckles embedded themselves into Aluin's eyes. The Duke screamed feebly, dropped his blade and fell to his knees. It took every ounce of strength in Bjorn to grip the Duke by his jaw and shatter his neck into fragments. He allowed the corpse to drop onto the battlefield.

"Bjorn!" Kirkegard appeared by Bjorn's side. By the way he panted and limped, he was about as ready to give in to death as Bjorn was. "More knights are coming!" He wove an arm under Bjorn's own and hefted his friend to his feet. "Only the four of us now!"


A frantic war cry bellowed from Loki's lips. His battleaxe came down upon the last knight in Aluin's guard.


"Screw the Empire!" Loki shouted. "Let's leave this place!"


Ymir boasted with laughter. "There is no where to run to! Face your death with some courage, son of the Alle'!"


A sudden light burst into Bjorn's eyes. A wound in the fabric of reality opened before the last Northmen, similar to the arrival of the Blood Angel. The wound soon transformed into a swirling nexus that consumed even the dead as it spread across the battlefield where the Northmen had fought and died. Then the Valkyrie appeared. A norse woman emerged from beyond the swirling abyss. Fiery strands of hair the color of the sunset spilled down her chest and shoulders. She was covered from neck to feet in glittering ringmail, tied around her waist with a crimson band. A massive shield of brass was lifted in her left hand and a great spear in her right. Raven wings unfurled behind her back and curved horns protruded from her forehead.


The Valkyrie flicked her gaze upon the last Northmen and then upon the battlefield. Her stoic features cracked with a pleased smile.


"Sons of those who are worthy!" The Angel of Death stepped aside from the portal. "You are called home. Please, enter into the realm of the Gods' Halls."
 

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Discussion Starter #35
I think this tale is coming close to it's conclusion ;).

Ymir was the first to rush through the portal. Loki followed hard on his heels and vanished into a swirling nexus the color of blood. Kirkegard hefted Bjorn so that he leaned on his shoulder and ran with the last of his strength toward the rent in reality. Bjorn felt the Bretonnian Knights approach, their boisterous voices filled with retribution for their fallen leader. Kirkegard began to sag as they crossed the halfway point toward the nexus. His footfalls began to slide across the blood soaked earth. He shouted a cry of frustration as he continued to drag Bjorn's leaden form with him.


The Valkyrie took to the skies and flew above their heads. Bjorn glanced across his shoulder to see the angel of death thrust her spear through the gut of a knight. She bashed another off his mount with a mighty swing of her brass shield and a shrieking cry. Another Knight of the Realm leapt his steed over his fallen comrades. Bjorn felt his heart skip a beat as the Bretonnian stabbed his blade toward the Valkyrie's neck. The angel of Khorne beat her wings into the sky to avoid the attack. She threw her spear in that moment and pinned the knight to his stallion with unerring precision.


"We've made it!" Kirkegard laughed.


The portal smelt of flames and brimstone. The backwash of heat made Bjorn's skin tingle with sweat, but he welcomed the change for once over the chill of winter. Kirkegard marched through the open wound in the world and into a tunnel of unstable energies. The tunnel walls were filled with the half-formed faces of demonic beings and swirling energies. Bjorn could not escape the chitterling whispers that dug deep into his skull. He did not know how Kirkegard managed to keep moving, but he did. Just as Kirkegard appeared he would collapse, a bright pinpoint of light radiated at the portal's end. Bjorn realized that the light was coming toward them and told his friend to stop.


A massive thunderclap resounded across the ether and before Bjorn and Kirkegard could even scream, they were consumed by the bright light.


Then nothing.


Bjorn flickered his eyes open to reveal a crimson sky, covered in roiling black clouds. In between the pockets of ashen clouds, Bjorn spotted a massive yellow moon that hung in the sky. He realized that he was still in his armor. The wounds that had been carved into his flesh felt as if they were nothing. Thick and lush grass sprang up around him, nearly covered his entire body where he lay. As he pushed himself into a sitting position, two nearby voices argued within earshot.


The Valkyrie's words were filled with proud defiance. "You have no right! I am commanded by higher powers to bring them forth!"


An infernal voice, far more powerful than the Valkyries replied. "They are unworthy. Only in death should a soul ever reach the Hall. You know this, Sigi."


Sigi answered more sympathetically. "I understand your outrage, Khazaran. Believe me, old friend, I do. I care about honor and tradition as much as you do. But you know what must be done. The Lord of Skulls has spoken. "


Khazaran scoffed. It was a mighty bellow for the Bloodthirster. "Not the Blood God. Just another immortal soul unaware of its limits."


Sigi dismissed the Bloodthirster with a wave. "Enough, Khazaran. You must leave now. ... He will want to hear of your feats right away."


"So be it."

Bjorn recognized the Bloodthirster the moment it beat its crimson wings and ascended into the sky. It had not even deigned to spare a glance at him as it vanished into the horizon. Kharazan’s thunderous bellows were joined by a hundred others, each more frightful and dark than the last. He picked himself off the grassy floor and absorbed his surroundings. A massive, brooding forest loomed at his back, it’s paths cloaked in shadow and filled with the sounds of frightening beasts. Before him was a great cliffiside and chasm into the abyss beneath it.


The chasm was crossed by an arced bridge forged from bronze skulls and the ribs of a incomprehensibly massive beast. Of all things, a bright rainbow streaked over the bridge until it touched the other plateau in the distance. A great hall rose from the earth there, it’s foundation built with polished metal bricks and covered with giant brass shields. Pillars of broken and branded skulls held aloft a ceiling of ebon wood. The walls of the great hall were brandished with Khorne’s symbol on each side of its mighty gates. Bjorn could only observe in awe as dozens of Bloodthirsters circled the Hall of the Ancestors.


I am home.


A sudden spear thrust blocked Bjorn’s passage as he made to cross the bridge of skulls. Sigi loomed over him as if a shadow of death. Her features were edged with steel and little remorse or empathy. Bjorn whirled around on her, his ire rising.


Bjorn shouted. “Why are you stopping me? My friends are in there! My fathers await my arrival.”


Sigi inclined her head in agreement. “One truth is spoken while another is mangled. Why do I bother explaining things to mortal ears? Your friends are not here, Bjorn of the Alle’. They have returned home as I said they would. They await your return to the northern wastes.”


Bjorn realized how mortified he must have looked. “You sent them away together, but kept me here? For what? To revel in my shame?”


Sigi snorted with laughter. “I merely intervene to save you from embarrassment. Glory awaits you yet in the Old World. Running to your fathers now with so little tales to speak of. I would be ashamed for you.”


Bjorn clenched his fist. “Then what do you want?”


Sigi smiled wickedly. “I have a gift for you, Bjorn of the Alle. Two gifts, actually. One is from your father. The other is from the Highest Throne of Skulls. One awaits you here, the other in the mortal realm. Shall I bestow Khorne’s favor?”


Bjorn hesitated, much to Sigi’s displeasure. He realized that the look in her eye said enough: there was no refusing a gift from the Blood God.


Bjorn inhaled deeply in preparation. “Fine. I am ready.”


“Very well, I bestow upon you the brand of Kharazan.” Sigi revealed the palm of her hand, which burned red-hot with an unfamiliar brand. Before Bjorn could flinch, the Valkyrie forcibly placed her palm on Bjorn’s right eye until the mark branded it nearly shut. He let out a roar of pain. Sigi did not seem to notice. “Now, it is time that I’ve brought you back into the mortal world.”

Another nexus flashed into being. Sigi shoved Bjorn with deceptively inhuman strength and pushed Bjorn through.
 

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Aww. I don't want it to end! Hah

I do have one question though.

Is the Bjorn in your story, the same Bjorn published by BL?
 

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Discussion Starter #37
Aww. I don't want it to end! Hah

I do have one question though.

Is the Bjorn in your story, the same Bjorn published by BL?
I'm not aware of any Bjorn's in warhammer fantasy. You mean the Space wolf, Bjorn the Fell Handed? If there is one, I don't know about him. This Bjorn isn't meant to be linked to any black library characters :).
 

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I'm not aware of any Bjorn's in warhammer fantasy. You mean the Space wolf, Bjorn the Fell Handed? If there is one, I don't know about him. This Bjorn isn't meant to be linked to any black library characters :).
There is, but no biggie.

I really enjoyed your story.

I hope to see some more down the road or soon!
 

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Discussion Starter #39
Epilogue
Five years later​


The Northern Wastes festered with death and desolation as far as Bjorn’s gifted eye could see. On these fringes of the world, ice and snow had been churned beneath the boots of tens of thousands. The battle that had taken place here was wasteful. The chill air was saturated with the scent of decay, left in the wake of countless souls called to the sacred halls. Bjorn looked out over the battlefield and saw the unending masses of chaos undivided.


The slavering horde was reinforced with cohort after cohort of demonic legions. Yet he felt no fear in his heart. Great unclean ones shuffled through their nurgling hordes. Keepers of Secrets formed their ranks upon the flanks. The Greater Demons of Tzeentch wove their spells over their entire army. Demon Princes of all three allegiances bellowed blasphemies at the Lord of Skulls.


No minion or servant of Khorne stood amongst them. Even united Bjorn could see that they trembled against the legions of the Blood God. Hundreds of Valkyries circled over Bjorn's ten thousand knights and Chosen. They filled the air with their shrieking cries, which were answered by the internal roars of Demons. His forces were the greatest amongst the tribes he had conquered. Warriors more than worthy of seeing the paradise that he had seen.


A whispering voice said into his ear. "Your arrogance betrays your judgment! Do you not fear the Gods, Bjorn of the Alle'?"


Bjorn snorted with laughter. "Why should I?" Three figures in bulky and ornate armor joined him at the fore of the Blood Host. "My friends are by my side. Nothing you have thrown at us has bent us yet!"


"Alle'!" Bjorn hefted the Axe of Bleak Tides. He felt the demonic runes on the handle burn through his gloves onto his hand. In the same moment he lifted the relic weapon, an ear-splitting roar erupted from overhead. Kharazan flew across the field toward Bjorn's foes, backed by a dozen Bloodthirsters. "Attack!"

The Blood Host surged across the field into immortality.



Well, that's it, everyone! Gods' Hall has been finished! I hope those who read on enjoyed the content, as always, feedback is great. Overall, I liked how this turned out. I was worried the entire time how I would change Bjorn from normal guy into a chaos hero, but it came naturally. There was also a lot of action in this story, a lot. I hope that didn't dissuade some of you from reading, as this story does get into the nitty-gritty of medieval fighting. In any case, perhaps I'll start another project soon. Who knows with these things?
 

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Very impressive. I really enjoyed the whole thing!

Any ideas for your next project?

Well, if you're interested in doing something new with a partner, I would be down to help out!
 
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