Why on earth were they retreating?
They were Kurgan
warriors. The unstoppable killers of Chaos. They were the ones that sent others
running for their lives.
Curse those southern weaklings. They had proven quite the tough nut to crack. The last assault on Praag
was less than successful, and a large part of the Chaos Horde was slain. This had lifted the spirits of the city’s defenders, who attempted a daring counterattack, and had sent the besieging force into a retreat. Now the marauders were running, and the galloping sound from the hooves of the Kislevite
horsemen was too close for comfort.
“Hold!” said a loud voice in the harsh sounds of the Kurgan language. “If we keep running like this, we’ll get separated and run down like cattle”. The statement came from a tall, muscular warrior, large even for his people’s standards. His skull was shaved bald and his body full of tattoos, many of them depicting the unholy symbol of Khorne
, the Chaos god of Blood, Murder and Slaughter. A huge two-handed sword lay on the furs covering his back. He pulled it and raised it up high. “To me, bretheren!”
The nearby warriors, no more than a dozen, ceased their running and gathered around the giant, their faces full of curiosity on what the man had to say. He had certainly made an impression. Three men stepped up and came closer to him. His trusty half-brothers. Children from the same womb, but different fathers.
“What do you suggest,Khastarax
?". His half-brother,Zraanth
, pulled the slimy long hair from his sweaty face and laid a tentacly right arm on the shoulder of the speaker. His left hand was still clutching his bow in front of his bloated belly, sporting the three circles of Nurgle
, god of Disease.
“He has a point” intervened Killog
, the third brother. This one was not the type that caught the eye, even for a Kurgan, save for his fiery red hair, which he considered a blessing from the god of Change, Tzeentch
. “We can’t keep running like this. We need to gather our men and meet with the rest of the Horde, otherwise we’re as good as dead”.
“Right,” spoke the last of the four brothers, and arguably the most unsettling. Ygrad
, follower of Slaanesh
, the god of Pleasure and the Prince of Pain, wore no fur cape like the others, and thus displayed the chain-like piercings across his spine which were linked to those on his nipples. His out worldly appearance was complemented by one of his eyes being completely milky white, without pupil. “you lads follow us and we’ll meet the rest of the Horde”.
“Hang on in there” came a voice from the audience. A towering warrior, sporting a bushy beard and long braids, stepped forward, an axe in each hand. “I don’t recall anyone makin’ you leaders…”
Khastarax, sword still raised in the air, brought it down in a lightning fast motion. The heavy blade made a wet crunch as the steel met the marauder’s spine. The man’s head fell from his neck, mouth still open in mid-sentence, and rolled down to the others. Khastarax took a deep breath and slowly regained his pose, rising back to his full height.
“Any other objections?”