A Brutal Power Rises

Kromrad had finally shattered the gate of the temple of Sigmar, Praag was about to fall compleatly, as scores of chaos warriors poured through the pivots of empire troops, despite their best attempt to prevent the inevitable they could not.

Warpiest Porvos The Pious made his final stand in a death duel with Kromrad the Scarred. The two faught axe and warhammer in a mighty duel of faith verses strength. Sigmar was with the man, Kromrad felt the strength was not his own, it disguisted him a simple empire dog needed the raw power of a simple god when he could have bathed in the brutal power of the dark gods.

He tasted the blood on his lips, dedicating his duty to Khorne, god of war and blood, violence and predatory honor. His lips tasted the sweet sanguine liquour and savoured the flavour as it drove his mind into the craze he needed to overpower his foe.

The two fought vicously as the hammerblow struck Kromrads bare chest, the blow was vicious, leaving a smoldering hot scar in the shape of a hammer head against his chest. He absorbed the full force of the blow with nothing more than a loud, blood tearing battlecry as he cleaved the mans hammer in half with raw, monsterous power.

It was over, as the hammer was torn, the axe came down upon Porvos crown, shattering it with a mighty blow as the mans skull was split open. He drew his paniced breathes as his body convulsed, Kromrads only mercy to end it swiftly, though he momentarily immersed in his slow suffering.

Kromrad was a bare chested man, he wore nothing more than leather pants, a strong set of fur boots and a mighty war helmet of the darkest obsidian. His helmet hid his face from any evident view, with only two blood red orbs glowing under it, he would attach a pair of spiked pauldrons over his shoulder.
The pauldrons were chained together with a strong steel. Kromrad also had them attached to a long rugged hide cape for the cold winters of Norsca, made from the fine furs of a hundred hounds, so it was boasted.
His victory here would be the first of many to come, his warrior brothers ready to strike now from Praag into the heart of the empire itself, only the frozen nation of Kislev now stood between them and compleate conquest.

Calrayne cut the last imperial soldier in his way in half with a clean cross stroke of his axes, then ran over to Kromrad and grabbed the back of his neck "Your victory today will be written in the archives brother, all shall remember what we did here! BROTHERS-IN-ARMS YOU HAVE WON, SEEK PLUNDER WHERE YOU WISH, THE SPOILS OF WAR ARE YOURS!" Calrayne yelled as he watched the men rush out of the temple looking for gold and jewellery to sell or melt down later.

Calrayne was a large man, less than a couple of inches shorter than Kromrad. He wore the full black armour of an Undivided Chapion, his face was bare though for all to see his scars and some what gruesome appearance. His teeth were all pointed, it was rumoured amoung the men that he filed them into the shape himself to scare his opponents in battle and make it easier for him to bite people to death. Calrayne carried two one handed axes bearing the mark of the Undivided at his waist. He normally wore a long wolf skin cape, but it had been torn and lost in the battle that had been waged.

As the room emptied out Calrayne knew which three men would still stand in the room. He sheathed his axes and wiped some of the blood from his face with the Warrior Priest of Sigmars gown. "What kind of warrior wears a dress anyway?" he asked with a chuckle as he turned to look at his friends.

Kromrad humerously agree'd, he patted Calrayne with a very powerful smack to the shoulder "only a man who's sense of honor is as firm as a Norscan wench!"

He dryly cackled as the cackling was slowly silenced by the appearence of a newcommer, a sorcerous and unnerving individual with a dagger in one hand and the shriveled head of an empire soldier in the opposite. It was a woman too, a hag by her appearence, but unquestioningly and scarredly was her body dedicated to the gods as she approached them prophetically.

"You who are the champions of the north will venture to the south where frost meets fire, you will put blood on the ice of the cold lands and send a terrifying message to the Empire!" The woman was old and crooked, she let her speech out rather mutteringly as she howled and echoed words crying them loudly.

Kromrad dried her speech as he grasped her throaght, she choked weakly and shuddered to escape his grasp. "Hold your tounge witch, the gods will speak to us, they need no speakers to reprisent them!" He realised her and hurled her to the floor as she gagged and coughed, blood spluttering from her frail form as she crawled up again.

"Seek you the sword of Tor, one of the frost gods of beloved Kislev, for desecrated, the blade's dedication would serve a mighty perpous in destroying our ancient foe, once and for all." With her cryptic cackle she stormed out of the building again and somewhere into the distant fires of Praag, leaving Kromrad unnerved.

Though he was undivided, Kromrad was also dedicated majoritivly to Khorne, magic always unnerved him, and prophetic nonsense unnerved him even more. He preffered the simpler taste of blood and a good battle which is why unlike the others, he did not care for the spoils of victory, only where to go next for a glorious battle.

Having said that, the witches offer was tempting, he had now only to rally the banner of his father, Krom the Cruel, Aspiring Champion to the undivided themselves.
He retreived his mighty dread axe and made his march, his pacing objective already chosen, he would allow the other two to make their decision in time what battle to go to next.

Herrg grumbeled deeply as he stood up from one of the dead bodies. His lumbering stature along with his armor made him seem even more like a demonic bull, standing amongst his dead prizes. "The blood of weaklings sease to be worth the stomp of a foot... Do we leave this pit alive, to quench our axes' thirst another day... or do we bring theire heaven down upon them?" He snorted slightly as he slowly circled around, looking at the bloodshed... "Let us mark this ground once and for all..."

Krom, was a massive man, a man who towered like a giant over the simple norscans. No matter who you were, all bowed before him, he was the unquestioning champion. His right hand was gifted by the gods, warped through segments of his armour to form a mighty muscular bladed appendage. It was like a bludgeon made of flesh itself.
Beyond that, his left arm was humanoid, but wielded the biggest claymore any single man had ever wielded. It was mighty and monsterous, its jagged edges sharply thrust outwards a hundred fold.
His armour was bristled in golden trinkets of the gods embroided amoung other chaos affects, a stash of heads rattling around either side of his plated thigh guards. Like his son, he chose to wear virtually no armour atop his body. Although, he wore a strong plated legguard instead leading to a pair of fur coated spike tipped boots.
Krom the Cruel had but one small flaw, his absense of origionality. A traditionalist, he followed the ideal of chaos rather than the ambition. His firmness to the gods made him a virtually indominable champion, but sometimes questions echoed as to weather he was truley fit to rule being absent of a long-term plan.
His creativity didnt end there, his son after all was named appropriatley after him.
Krom's raven black hair leinghily waved along his bare back as he raised his gauntleted arm into the air, letting out a mighty warcry to his horde as they screamed in agreement of his leadership.
His helmet unlike his sons did not have a glow of anykind, leaving an empty vortex of blackness under it, offering a sinisterness to the mans true nature as some questioned if he was even human anymore.

Kromrad none the less approached his father and knelt before him with offering of the Warpriests skull.
Graciously did his father accept, lowering his sword only to wield the skull of his enemy as he waved it around with a vicious scream to which others did cheer.
Kromrad was sated, this meant his father approved of the sacrifice provided. Kromrad often wondered if he would one day get a chance to offer his father to the gods, to wield his mighty sword, Kralasog, in the tounge of Empire worms, it was known as Dreadbringer.
Kromrad wanted that sword with a greatness that his father did not have. He was no grand champion of chaos, but his peers would note how rapidly he was rising through the ranks. There was a sense of power from him, power enough to make him a threat to his own father, one day, he would be strong enough to challange him, many believed this.
Many also believed that couldnt be allowed to happen.
Chaos Undivided depended on equal opertunities to sate the gods individual needs, opertunities that Krom had never once failed to pay heed to. Weather the pestilance of Nurgle to the opertunistic conversion of empire whelps into traitorous companies, he took every opertunity available to please the gods. His arm was a reward, along with his blade, and his mighty appearence.
It seemed he was a god amoung men, for now, at least.

Calrayne walked amongst the men pushing them out of his way as he continued toward Kromrad and his father. Krom was a huge man, Undivided champions were renowned for being the strongest amongst Chaos as they worshipped no single god. Instead they had the blessing of all four. Calrayne himself leaned toward Slaanesh, the blessing of Slaanesh always seemed more worthwhile than the others. He pulled through the last of the men and stood near Kromrad and threw down a Hochland long rifle before kneeling "That thing killed an entire squad of Chaos Warriors." he stood up after Krom took the rifle and walked off again heading towards the god shrines.

As he got to each of the shrines he prayed and made a small blood sacrifice, except at Slaanesh where he gave a slightly larger blood sacrifice before walking off to the armoury and collected a one handed flail and a sword and prepared for the next war that was to be waged upon the humans.

Herrg was now pacing back and forth around the room, impatient as ever, there was now a trail on the floor amongst the corpses where his feet had been treading.

Kromrad spent his next few hours fighting a young empire runtling. They had rallied some of their hounds, those who were dedicated to Khorne, god of blood, god of war, god of predatory and primal honor.
Here he was, face to face with a runt, he was the top of the food chain here, he was the greater man. None the less, they had let the weakling arm himself with his primative empire weapons. Surpisingly, his foe chose a sword and shield, which lightly amused Kromrad, at least his foe had the honor to fight him like a norscan warrior.
The boy lunged as Kromrad humored himself, punching his face. The boy scuffled back and raised his shield as Kromrad's axe smashed through it, cutting into the boy's arm. He cried in agony as his arm was shattered, Kromrad grasped the boy by the hair as he whimpered. He stared him face to face as the man looked pathetic in his grip.
"Be glad, whelp, that you are fed to the god of blood, and not some whore male for the god of pleasure." He said, with only the mercy of the duel, he shoved the boy to the floor who crawled back several feet, reaching for his sword as the warriors cheered Kromrad on.
He advanced as his foe did retreat, he raised his axe as his foe screamed, closing his eyes, the boy desperatley lunged his sword forwards, actually impaling the warrior.
Kromrad stared to the floor and narrowed his eyes, the boy looked up, panting, he wondered if he was victorious.
Then, just as he was confident his enemy had been felled, Kromrad's red eyes glowed gleefully.
The blood from his chest gushed outwards and boiled into the boys eyes as he cried in agony. Kromrad screamed a true mans warcry and finished him, crashing his axe down with such a force the boys gore was scattered across the battle pit.
The Khornite did howl around him in their mass as he raised his arms outwards.
"KROMRAD, KROMRAD KROMRAD!" they cried as he simply nodded and embraced the cheering.
Yet it was not enough, as he saw his father, Krom gaze unamusedly as he simply wove his hand around his cape, covering his body more firmly before waltzing away.
Kromrad glared scornfully as he forced his way out of the pit, smacking one warrior aside.
"You are a fighter, but are you a true man of chaos yet, boy?" Krom said, his warped hand clenched into a fist.
"Have I not shown my worth to the blood god, do the fighters not cheer my name as countless whelps fall under my weapon?" The seniour replied, Krom did not change his expressionless helmet gaze.
Kromrad almost felt intimidated by it, were it not for the fact thats exactly what Krom wanted him to do. Rebellious, Kromrad stared him back as the former simply snorted.
"Pathetic" Krom replied as he held his sword against his shoulder, walking away.
Kromrad snarled at him as he would lunge for him the sword pressed against his throat as Kromrad ground to a halt, hissing.
The sword drew blood, slowly cutting against his neck, though not fatally. Krom simply stared at him "Even more so, to assume you could best me, pitiful blood-god pet."
With that, Krom moved his blade aside, and used the blunt side in a wide ark, slapping Kromrad viciously to the floor, before walking away.
Kromrad gritted his jaw as he felt it crack from the force, but he only served to anger his son more than educate him. Kromrad decided for now, to reserve himself.
But a day would come, a day where he, Kromrad the scarred, would overthrow Krom.
One day...