Hi guys, here's a collection of fiction about my armies taking part in the Blood in the Badlands campaign. It's actually spread across several posts on our forum (
www.leeds-nightowls.co.uk/forums), so I've collected them together in a bundle pack, for you LUCKY LUCKY PEOPLE!
Prologue
 |
| Gruf Kravyn, the Turnskin |
 |
| Gorash Sowbane |
Gruf Kravyn was once a man, an esteemed mage in the Imperial college of magic. The winds of fate was to change that, however, his bright career instead transformed into a a life of blight. An unfortunate encounter with the forces of chaos was to steal from him his humanity, and slowly he became a grotesque mockery of what he aspired to be. But that is not a story for here, for the end of that tale is the beginning of this one.
Kravyn, after many long and arduous years on from that fateful night, was now the head of an unusual clan of beastmen in the north, for their skin was pale, their eyes pink and their fur as white as snow. Albinoism is a common mutation, affecting less than one in a thousand born. Yet they all migrate north, pulled inexplicably by an unnatural bond with their kin. For many years, the Albinos of the Snowhide tribes remained in the north near the chaos lands. Until now.
Kravyn is still a powerful sorceror, moreso now with his ties to humanity severed. His body is that of an animal, yet his mind is a sharpened tool. His intellect remains, only his outlook is skewed from his experiences and the corrupting power he now holds. Many nights he dreams fitful visions, some are clear in their meaning - others not so. One however, to a sane man would be utter jibberish - for a former wizard of the colleges of magic, it's meaning was painfully clear. A floating tower, crashing to the ground in gouts of blood soaked sands.
Fozzorick's floating fastess would be landing, and Kravyn would ensure the humanity he now so desperately hated would never see it return to the sky.
A brief tribal meeting was all it took to convince the tribe to head south to the Badlands. The beasts of the tribe would rejoice in bringing one of the greatest constructions of man to the ground, whilst the more subtle shamens realised that the inside of the fortress would also be filled the highly powerful magical items. Summoning every blood bond and debt he could, the Snowhide tribe marched south...
Dramatis personae
 |
| Great Karniforax, Das Mann Fleisher |
Gruf Kravyn, Ugluhand, The Manchild - Great Bray Shamen – Born a man by the Name Gryff von Cravann , now the revered leader of the Snowhide tribe.
Gorash Sowbane – A wargor who betrayed his old clan to his new found Albino kin – Bearer of Kravyn’s personal standard and his personal bodyguard
Great Karniforex, Das Mann Fleisher – A feared minotaur lord, Krayvyn has both freed him and enslaved him to his will. He leads the minotaur hoards of the tribe, who were too unruly for Krayvyn to control through guile alone.
Brakka Barktooth– Karniforex’s gorebull standard bearer, who's braying is so hoarse it sounds like the barking of a hound
Grosque Manculler, Blightmaster of Nurgleth – Follower of Nurgle, he and his pestigor retinue are a herd for hire, travelling the north fighting for whoever would pay the right price. The promises of spreading plague and pestilence in the south was enough for Grosque to join Kravyn’s expedition and lead one of his detatchments.
Slugtongue – a nefarious shamen who spreads pestilence and famine wherever he treads. His visions led him to Grosque Manculler, a like mind in the ways of pollution.
Blackleg – Pestigor of vile temperament, he’s the bearer of the Manculler’s standard
Chapter One
Kravyn unsteadily walked down the slope into the hovel, brushing aside the number of fetishes and trinkets that hung from the ceiling. It was early, the sun was currently colouring the badlands a blood red as it climbed into ascendancy. The rest of the tribe slept off their hangover in the valley above, celebrating their arrival in this forsaken land. Kravyn had not joined them in their festivities, he had other things pressing his sharpened mind this moment.
On arriving into the Badlands the Snowhide tribe had happened upon an old dwarven mine. At first, this was an unexpected boon. Upon further inspection however, some of the old occupants still remained. The ungors ad managed to get out a supply of dwarven liquor before the fierce fighting within the mine brought it down, taking a large chunk of Kravyn’s manpower in a plume of ashen smoke. He’d also had to send out one of his lieutenant’s, the Nurgle follower and his bilious company, to deal with an unusual hoard of red skinned Orcs that threatened to delay his armies advances towards the flying fastness.
No, he was in no mood for games right now.
“Crone!” he bellowed in riekspeak, choosing to use his old tongue, “Dream walker! Show yourself!”
A cackle returned, a raspy croak of a laugh. “I knew you’d come, man child. It was a matter of time.”
Kravyn pressed on into the cavern, the light from outside replaced by candles and other artificial sources. Something screetched as he trod on something softer than the loose stones that littered the floor. “Have you been responsible for the visions I’ve had? Are you the reason I’ve trekked hundreds of miles to get here?”
Another laugh returned, “Yes...and no. Our masters demanded it, I am merely the tongue with which they speak.”
“Why?” Kravyn stopped “Show yourself hag!”
The woman stepped into the light. She was a beastwoman. She shuffled using a large braystaff for help. A ragged cloth covered her modesty poorly. She had only one eye, a large blue eye in the centre of her forhead. Her other, natural eyes were now just empty sockets, their occipital occupants absent. “I’ve watched you, man child. It was no accident that night.”
Kravyn snarled at the reference of his rebirth. “What do you know?!”
“Everything that needs to be. I know that this point in your life is merely a stepping stone in your quest. You have been chosen for a reason, that blade was always meant for you.”
Kravyn looked down at his warped body, the changed wracked upon him since that fateful night returning from Kislev “What is wanted of me?”
“You have done well summoning this mighty host. But there is more to be done. Soon you will return north with your prize, and thousands will flock to your banners. The dread legions will chant your name, and you will be powerful beyond imagine!”
“What prize? The fastness?”
The crone shuffled to a small fire and haunched on her legs “Yes...and no. You think two dimensionally. All will become apparent.”
“I’m done with these riddles,” Kravyn spat, and turned to leave, “find some other fool to play with.”
“Nagash!” The crone spat back after Kravyn had made several steps.
He paused, and turned back. Nagash was a name he’d heard in whispers. Ghost stories. “What does the fell powers want with the shrivelled husk of a fairy tale?”
“Not him. Again, your mind fails to comprehend. Not the man, but his work.”
Kravyn turned fully, his mind finally realising what it all meant. “The books of Nagash...”
“The Liber Chaotica!”
“Is here?”
“In the fastness!”
“With that book...”
“You would more power than any sorcerer in the northlands.”
Kravyn smiled. Suddenly this was a game he wanted to play.
