The Unholy Legions of Anti-Sanctus Chaotica, a Warhammer Online Destruction Regiment, Kharfrash: Introduction

Rush forwards, hack, slash, kill, feel the blood wash around his feet, holding high the skull, still dripping with blood, against the furious sky, with the tremedous shout:

"Skulls for the skull throne!"
His life was painlessly simple. From birth, raised in the thirsty world of the northern wastes, taught to weild the blade, charge at the nearest enemy, kill them without thought. It was his way of life, he never doubted it, he never dared let his mind wander outside of it.
His flesh was a patchwork of scars and recently opened wounds, seeping with red gore and sticky blood. It was of no trouble to him. He did not delight in the feeling of the pain like the sadistic followers of Slaanesh, for whom his eyes felt no mercy when their pleasures turned into their downfall. Pain was what it was, something to keep away from. The quicker he could kill, the less he would have to see of his own skin torn.

"Charge!" came the bellow from behind. It signalled for him to do what he did best, rush at the enemy using his tree tunk thighs and slam his bulk into whatever form of defense they could must. Swing the axe, if it didn't hit the first time, swing again until they died. Rinse with blood, repeat until all lay dead on the floor.

The stakes of wood, hastily carved into pointed ends, dug into the ground - some with the impaled corpses of those who did not take kindly to having their heads taking leave from their necks to be forced into, still alive, by the brute of the Khorne chosen - were the only defence left to the band of humans who had so valiantly, yet with little succes, been holding the area.

Like a powerful lust to see their hearts beating in palms, the group of Khorne soliders flooded forwards, screaming their praises to their deity with every gruesome swing of the axe. The sound of the liquid gore, bursting free from bodies like the tearing and spraying of damp paper was everywhere in the air.

There was little concern for wellbeing once the frenzy had commenced. It was just the embedding of raw axe and sword into the tissues, the skulls to be placed on the throne. Like crazed lions, their rest, nor time to breath, wasn't during the feast. When surrounded by their pack, no great mane would see pai or remorse, just the urge to bring down their prey with as great a haste as possible. The more skulls piled up onto Khorne's throne, the more the fist of his power could be exacted onto the world.

"Blood for the blood god!"

The cry was one of the most powerful and iconic the world had ever bore witness to. Kharfrash felt his blood pump quicker every time it blasted from somebody's mouth, his mouth opened wide to the yells of the world around him. With riverlets of blood streams around his feet as the axe swung like a branch on a ferocious hurricane.

When the shells of men, lay discarded like the autumn leaves, were finished, the frothing mouths of the beasts gently calmed. The blood streaks in their eyes receded into the depths of the darkness once more.

It was too quick. It had happened all too fast for him. He wanted to let his axe writhe in the air forever, to dance with the passion of blood and death forever more.

May 2012

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