Chapter 1: New champions stir...
Wulfric The Wanderer took a moment and looked back with a smile as he stared upon his small but rapidly growing army. A towering figure with a ginger beard and flowing long hair, Wulfric truly looked like a savage. His hair and beard were adorned with grisly fetishes of teeth and bone interlocking the hair into bizarre shapes, and his armor made it to clear as well that he was not a man to be trifled with. For it was covered from one end to the other with skulls of men, dwarves, and even greenskins making his armor as a whole an unwieldy and seemingly impractical thing that would be difficult to even move in. The grinding screech of a blade dragging against the ground behind him announced Wulfric's coming even further and cut the look of a man who embraced war for what it is, and perhaps even embodied it. Wild and hateful men stared back at him with bloodlust and the potential glories of war ringing in their thoughts and beating within their hearts. Adorned with tattoos, crude furs, and great axes and shields these men would one day build the foundation of a Norscan nation more powerful than it had ever been before. Norsca had always been a cold and desolate place with fierce and unending blizzards. Only the hardiest, savage, and almost atavistic souls ever survived and called such a place home. Wulfric The Wanderer was one of them however and recently he had been freed from a doomed and repetitive life, hunting and killing other duelists and monsters unceasingly because his boastful nature had offended The chaos gods. They had also borne him a gift for this task and were at least partially amused at the possibility of him accomplishing such an absurd task. His tongue had a boxed shape, and with it he could utter any language and with magic flowing through it utter curses and insults SO profound and unsettling that his foes had been magically compelled to fight him, regardless of whether they had initially intended to or not. At his side was a hooded and bizarre figure called Emil the Half Chosen. The right half of his body was charred black from horrific burns, but they were made from no ordinary fire. Streams and lines of arcane energy flowed through his charred flesh as streaks of red coursed throughout the burns unceasingly. A horn adorned the right top of his head, and his right eye was a singular red hue without an iris to further define it. In his right he wielded a staff that coursed and flowed with the malignant energy of Chaos itself bending and shifting into new shapes unceasingly. The left half of his body couldn't have contrasted the right more if it tried. Short and neat brown hair stoop atop a clean shaven and distinctly human face. A dull brown eye and unblemished flesh defined the left half of his face further. His look proved unassuming and almost naïve, bearing the demeanor of a youth rather than grizzled veteran. In his left hand he bore nothing more than a massive book stitched together with several different types of bindings and paper materials. This book supposedly held tales and recordings from previous adventures but most had not challenged or pried further on the assertion. This is the one they called Emil The Half Chosen, half monster, and half man. Recently he had helped not only Wulfric, but several warlords rise to prominence and power, even affording them armies that they had not possessed before. For all of his talent, Emil the Half Chosen was consistently agreed to be mad. He was always ranting and raving about seeing The chaos gods directly, being afforded power by them as they sacrificed themselves to send him back in time, about coming from a world where greenskins conquered everything, and about ultimately trying to create "Norsca's champion." A few had tried to kill him for his heresies, but had only been destroyed by Emil directly. Most were just amused by this particular champions unusual antics, and agreed he was useful to the Norscan nation as a whole. As Wulfric The Wanderer pondered his new ally, his recently acquired army, now the time had come to deliberate and decide now to make The Old World his own. He gathered Emil The Half Chosen and the lesser war chiefs to his tent. Now was the time to strategize for war...