Verexian Firebringer’sdreams are restless and troubled. Nottwo days past, a great host of men and undead creatures had invaded hispeople’s main camp and put it to the torch. The while ultimately defeated, the garrison of warriors that hadremained behind to guard their homes acquitted themselves with honour, slayingmany of the armoured invaders and slaughtering the steeds they rode upon. It was not enough though, the wives andchildren of his warriors lay shattered and bloody in the marshy wastelands, theheads of his warriors impaled on spikes for all to see. The shame of his defeat stings bitterly andhe yearns for the vengeance that is owed to him.
As he dreams he hindshimself on a bloody battlefield choked with the corpses of armoured men and brokenskeletal remains while the very earth itself is drowning in blood, so fiercewas the slaughter that happened here. Nomatter where he looks, his eyes behold broken bodies, discarded weapons andsoiled banners that lie crumpled on the bloody ground in tattered ruins. His eyes spy movement inside the bloody hazethat engulfs the edges of the island of destruction and on instinct his handreaches for the Thrice-Damned Blade Azaargul but finds nothing but empty air.
The figure thatapproaches looks to be withered and incredibly ancient, a staff of gnarled woodgripped in the scaled avian claw he has for a hand. He stops close by and his eyes of green fireblaze in the semi-darkness; an emissary of Tzeentch to be sure. The moaning of a hundred damned souls fillthe clearing, their disembodied voices stirring his cloak of flames that flashacross the full spectrum of colour, even those that defy identification in thismortal realm. The wizened figure opens his mouth and unleashes a rasping caw,silencing the wailing of the damned in an instant. “Iam Rojak, the servant of Tchar and I come here in behalf of my master, RomulusIronwolf. He offers you an alliance sothat the peoples of the North may crush those who invade our lands, dedicatingtheir deaths to our patron god. Joinwith him and your people will be treated as his and you will be given theopportunity to rebuild all that you have lost at the hands of the softSoutherners. What say you?’ With his tribe weakened and surrounded by enemies, Verexian knew thatsuch a merging would greatly strengthen his position within tribe and perhapsoffer new and interesting opportunities for his people. Who knows? The thought of disposing of this Romulus Ironwolf and ruling over twopowerful tribes was an appealing thought indeed.
Stepping forward,Verexian touched his heart before giving his answer, making this pledge aheart-truth as custom demanded. “I, Verexian Firebringer, swear by my masterBel’Carar the greater Daemon of Tzeentch, to pledge my sword and the swords ofmy warriors to Romulus Ironwolf to cleanse the North of all invaders and tore-teach these soft southerners why the north is a place to be feared.” With the oath declared, Rojak’s staffstruck the ground and Verexian’s hand exploded in agony; tearing him from theworld of dreams and slamming his soul back into his sleeping body. With a hiss of pain he jerks upright, theback of his hand glows an angry red. Ashe watches, the shape of a metal wolf devouring the iron of Tzeentch forms outof the swiftly healing scar-tissue. Itseemed his new ally was not about to let him forget about his oath any timesoon. Lifting his armoured form upright,Verexian left the tent in search of his Jarls. There was much work to be done this day...