|Gruf Kravyn, the Turnskin|
|Great Karniforax, Das Mann Fleisher|
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!”
“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.