The Saga of the Four:
What follow are the
describing the alleged ascension to daemonhood of the leader of a Tong tribe
from the frozen wastes several centuries ago. There are a number of inconsistencies within the story,
which only serves to enforce the entire tale as a fit of fancy or as
pseudo-religious nonsense, neither of which should be taken seriously. This is a lesson in why we must adhere
to the teachings of Sigmar to remain true to that which is good. While reading the following counts,
always remember that these men were little more than bloodthirsty worshippers
of the Ruinous Powers should one find him or herself sympathizing with
Translated from stone tablet by
Chronicler Egon Rumpler of the University of Aldtdorf, 2015
The Tale of Ur-Chok
The sending was strong and certain,
the message having come to me while I slept. I woke with a start, sweating, and scribbled down that what
was shown me. It was this very act
began this historical account, and the path it led out people upon.
The dream vision was clearly showed
our mightiest astride upon a beast of brass of fire, brandishing a great broadsword before him, vanquishing all who dared oppose. The horde followed bellowing towards a
Celestial monastery, clamoring for plunder and blood. The banners of Arkhar snapped from poles, dripping with the
freshest of offerings made in his name, discolored with the stains of countless
previous conquests. The warchief
was indistinct, and all at once was changing in dimensions and size, a great
helm upon his head and a cloak rent from the scales of a dragon. Standing atop the defending wall was a
craven Celestial, screaming blashphemies from a massive Tome from which emanated
raw power as well. These details were distinct, and I knew that I was gazing
upon items of unspeakable power.
The vision changed quickly to this same warchief radiant with energy,
head thrown back in exaltation, growing, changing, ascending.
At once I shared this with our
great warchief, for surely this vision was sent to me to guide him to his
destiny. Ur-Chok was unimpressed
by my tale, and only after many divinations and several weeks of convincing was
I able to convince him to uproot our clan southwards to investigate. I believe a desire to be free of
the frigid winter storms may have guided his will as well, however. A man, even a great man such as
Ur-Chok, feared by many for his savage prowess and believed by our people to be
the Chosen of Arkhar, does not always go easy unto his destiny.
am Ngvar, called the Bloodfather by our tribe. Arkhar has chosen me to guide our tribe to greatness, though
I respect Ur-Chok as our leader, for he has taken more skulls than I. My duties place me as a councilor, a
chronicler and a vikti for our tribe, duties that keep me respected and
honored. That Arkhar speaks in my
dreams and guides my hand in battle maintains the awe and reverence of those
who would otherwise scorn me for something as trivial as maintaining a recorded
history. I am not the greatest of
our warriors, not even close to the ferocity of our warchief, and I am getting
old. I am eager to meet the man or
beast that will one day take my skull and lay it upon Arkhar’s throne.
We travelled a moons cycle south to the lands called Cathay. The bones guide our travels without a
desination known to us, and Ur-Chok has faith that we are being led to pillage
if not his destiny. In a small
village we located an abandoned mine; I knew at once this was the place that we
were meant to find. And fortunate
for us, there were Celestials already within, and blood was shed in the name of
The battle with the celestials was
swift. Once combat was joined
Arkhar gifted me with a vision lionizing Ur-Chok as his Chosen. I did not need to tell our warchief, he
felt the power of the Blood God within him and screamed for battle. For all his cruelty to his charges, I
watched as Balrog the Scourge unhinged himself when the Celestial leader cut
down one of his hunting dogs.
Within moments the surviving enemy had fled like cowards, and we had
recovered one of them left for dead, and a curious large egg. A vicious wyrm attempted to entomb us
all within the mine, but Ur-Chok smote the creature with a single mighty blow
and it fled.
With the riches gained from this,
Ur-Chok looked upon me with renewed faith. Word of our wealth spread quickly, and shortly after we left
the region with enough supplies to survive the winter, we met two wandering
Tong of a different tribe. They
were fortune hunters, and wished to travel with us. These two brother, Lo’Thar and Zog, passed the Trial of
Strength and were welcomed among us.
Zog is a mighty warrior, though slow to react. Lo’Thar, I quickly learned, spoke to me of visions that led
him to us. He is not a seer, but
with proper training and attention may be able to use his gift to achieve great
things. I quickly set about making
the warrior my apprentice, teaching him our written words, and how to interpret
A week into our journey home, a
blizzard enveloped us within the Mountains of Mourn. We were seeking refuge at an abandoned watchtower when with
the silence of the grave the dead began to drift forth from the snow. We quickly rallied and engaged,
destroying the undead wretches and sweeping their rotting bones aside. Ur-Chok engaged the power that led
them, a terrible warlock that had cheated death. For a brief moment I saw Ur-Chok lose his footing on the
ice, but I was engaged with problems of my own. When I next looked up, our Warchief was standing once more,
the dread liche having vanished into the snow, and the remaining undead quickly
dispersing as if they never were.
Inside and around the abandoned
tower we found a few items for trade, and Zog had found a glowing piece of
stone the likes I’d never seen before.
He brought it before me, and as I watched his very muscles rippled and
bulged to even greater mass.
Terrified, the marauder dropped the stone and fled to his brother. Torvag, the Warptouched younger brother
of Ur-Chok, was interested for obvious reason and held it close to his
ever-changing body. I watched in
awe as this gift from Arkhar grew his body to mammoth proportions and began to
slow the fluctuations of his flesh.
I wanted to study this more, but Warchief Ur-Chok said it was not safe
to remain, and so we headed out once more.
Many things have happened since the
last moon. Shortly after we left the Mountains of Mourne, if was clear to us
that we were being tracked. Something was following us, but woe to that which wishes
to follow the men of the Tong into lands which are their own. We quickly discovered that they were
man-eaters, the cannibalistic ogres that lived in those Mountains. They must surely have caught our trail had
been pursuing us.
Warchief Ur-Chok led them into a
valley, and allowed them to catch us.
He would spring an ambush upon them and slaughter them all. When we were in position, I blew our
mighty horn, sending the sounds up the valley and breaking the snow lose from
where it hung. Just as expected,
the avalanche barreled towards us.
It was then that we learned that
the stone that mutated Torvag had also affected him poorly, giving him the mind
of a child. For as Ur-Chok had
given him command of the men on our left flank, Torvag simply stood watching
the snow as it enveloped him and his men.
Ur-Chok did not see his brother get buried; he was intent on the leader
of the maneaters. He taunted and
called out to him, and the giant ogre rushed him headlong across the concealed
ice lake that Ur-Chok had placed between them, just as we’d discussed. Surprisingly, the great ogre did not
fall through but sidestepped our trap and engaged our mighty Warchief, who
quickly buried both blades into the beast; killing blows that would have
leveled any other creature. Such
was the malevolence and unexplicable hatred of this beast, that it fought on
despite the wounds, and I watched as Arkhars Chosen disappeared under the
red-stained snow. I could not
worry on this any longer; clearly the ambush had failed, and the avalanche fast
approached. Two of our marauders
charged and dispatched the gloating cannibal, but had no time to search for
Ur-Chok as the snows rolled in. I
blew the warhorn and we fled in shame and defeat.
Two days had passed as we licked our
wounds, and mourned the loss of our warchief. We had all but given up hope he would return when his
unmistakeable form shambled into camp.
Torvag lept to his feet to greet his brother and we all joined him. It was immediately noticeable that
something was terribly wrong. His
skin was sallow and hanging off him in great folds, one eye had burst. He looked to me in horror, a shadow of
his former self, with terror and confusion in his remaining eye. It was clear that what was happening to
him had nothing to do with the maneaters that we fought. And all at once, his body began to
twist and deform, to expand and shriek and change. The ripping of flesh, the screaming of a man I knew as a
friend and leader shook us all to our foundation. From his chest a brass skull emblazoned with Arkhars symbol
burst forth, eyes burning with daemonic intelligence. The rest of his body took on a new form too that we simply
have no words for. What we knew as
Ur-Chok was gone; this was something else wearing his skin. He had clearly been found wanting by
Arkhar, and it is not for me to question his will.
It was only when the initial
surprise wore off that I realized that the thing that once was Ur-Chok was
staring at me, and the rest of the tribe was as well. It lowered its head to me, and before I was aware of what
was happening Lo’Thar placed Ur-Choks old cloak across my shoulders and asked
“What are our plans now, Bloodchief Ngvar?”
The visions, the dreams…they were not marking Ur-Chok for
greatness. They were sent to me
not because I am Arkhars seer for my tribe, but because I, Ngvar, am the Chosen
of the Blood God.