Norsca

"Say what you will of us, call us heathens because we deny your weak pretender-god. Call us savages because we strike at you, but know this -- it is we who are closest to the Ruinous Powers. We, most favoured of the gods, shall burn your lands, revel in your suffering, and destroy you. Despair! For all that remains for you is the taste of northern steel and the end of your world. Such is the will of the Gods."

- Hallbjörn, Norse Marauder

Norsca is the frozen roof of the world; a harsh, deathly peninsula located to the far north of the Warhammer World, flanked by the tainted wastes of the Troll Country to its far south, and to its east by the northerly portions of the great Eastern Steppes. It is a land that has long been in thrall to the changing powers of Chaos as a result of its close proximity to the Chaos Wastes, and is thus steeped in the unholy influence of Chaos. This untamed peninsula is populated by a fierce and hardy race of barbarians known collectively as the Norse, mighty warriors dedicated to the ancient dark gods of the north. Settled in the age before the foundation of the Empire by the brutal Norsii when Sigmar drove them back across the sea, it is a place of powers and peoples far more ancient than the nations to its south.

The Northmen of Norsca are without exception great warriors, blessed with incredible strength at arms and fierce demeanors. It is the dream of nearly every Norseman to join the ranks of the greatest warriors -- to become Champions of Chaos and bear the marks of their Dark Gods.

Hard-bitten and war-like, the men of Norsca are the very epitome of the Warriors of Chaos.

The Land
"I spent a year in that hellish place. Can you believe it? For six months straight, it was dark, the sun barely came over the horizon. And let me tell you, those were the most dangerous six months of my life."

- Mikel Kraus, Mercenary

Geography
Norsca is, for the most part, a frozen wasteland stalked by all manner of gruesome monsters. Such as Trolls, Giants, and nameless things that dwell beneath the mountains. Few crops grow here, for the land is hard as iron and the howling winds cut like daggers of purest cold. A network of fjords and mist-clouded isles wreath the coasts, and it is from here that the Northmen build and tether the longships with which they terrorize the shores of the known world. Scattered coastal settlements provide some respite from the harshness of the elements, but even they are regularly assaulted by Bloodkrakens and other such horrors. Further inland, the land gives way to frozen steppes where brutal tribesmen hunt their game, taking care to avoid the bone-carpeted lairs of ice drakes. It is a grim, shadowy land where the weak do not live long, and where living means a constant fight for survival, supremacy, and the chance to appease the Dark Gods.

The seas of Norsca are just as dangerous as the land itself; for black longships prowl the coasts, mastered by terrible Chaos Champions and their crewmen. From the fjords of Norsca do the Chaos Reavers sail, eager to set the soft lands of the south to the torch. The icy waves of the Sea of Claws is itself as much the bane of sailors as the Chaos Marauders who set sail upon it -- with winds so cold they freeze the very spray, causing knives of frost to pierce the flesh and freeze extremities. The land of the Norse is a frozen, hell-stained realm of violence and scarcity, which breeds the Norsemen into some of the fiercest and most violent warriors to blight the earth.

The landscape is famed chiefly for its mighty and foreboding mountain ranges; such as the Jotunheims, the Mountains of Frost and Dusk, and the Mountains of Thjazi. The mountains themselves are often cloaked in local myth and history, often named for legendary creatures and towering Chaos Fortresses sitting atop their icy peaks. Though they dominate the terrain, there are also massive stretches of dark pine forests doting the slopes, and some vast stretches of open plain and sections of frozen steppes. Norsca also possesses glacial seas of pack ice that stretch down from the Northern Chaos Wastes. These ice fields form the Frozen Sea along the north. Beyond the eastern arm of that body of water lies the northernmost portions of the Eastern Steppes, where dwell the Kurgans -- the dark-skinned horsemen of Chaos -- cousins to the Norscans and fellows to them in the worship and adoration of the Chaos Gods.

Not all in Norsca is cold and dark, however. In the summer months, the air warms just enough to enliven the vast stretches of open plain that serve to supplement the Norsemen's common diet of fish and bear meat, as well as  the flesh of far less pure creatures, such as Chaos Spawn and mutated wildlife. All other months, however, the land is deathly cold, and unnatural snow-storms are a constant, made all the worse by the unholy winds blowing down north from the Chaos Wastes. Half the year is a dim twilight, the sun barely a disk of light hanging low on the horizon. Within the land itself lies things warped and changed by the loosed energies of Chaos that permeate this ancient land, though there is however wealth hidden amongst its terrible dangers -- the mountains that hide veins of gold and iron, as well as other precious metals. And then there is the Warpstone; the very essence of Chaos given form in the world, the very land is suffused with it. Though Norsca's distance and danger is a potent deterrent to keep all but the bravest of merchants from traveling there, the rare treasures hidden amongst its dangers yet provides a tantalizing lure for the courageous and mad to make the journey north and risk their lives under a Norseman's blade; and their immortal souls upon their bloody altars.

Landmarks
Aside from the natural features of this land, Norsca has a great many constructions dotting its landscape, erected chiefly by the savage Norsemen who call this dark land home. Mighty Chaos Monoliths are dotted and scattered throughout the land: blasphemous constructions of stone raised to honour and commemorate the lives of great Chaos Champions who have either died in battle or have ascended to daemonhood. In addition to their function of remembering the lives of great Norse heroes, the monoliths also function as markers of tribal territory. An example would be the Monolith of Borkill Bloody-Handed, raised by the champion's fellow Skaelings to honour his victory over a Bonegrinder giant, or the Monolith of Kjarl Deathaxe, built on the shores of the Chaos Wastes to honour the Khornate Champion. Other Chaos Monoliths of Norsca are, the Monolith of Flesh, located in the extreme north of the perilous land, the Golden Monolith of central Norsca, and the Monolith of Katam. While it is unknown what particular champion, if any, the prior two commemorate, the Monolith of Katam is clearly erected in honour of the Sorcerer Katam, whose still living skull remains in the keep of Egrimm Van Horstman.

The Norscans are also famed for their great halls; immense buildings where the tribes feast and fight and muster for great invasions upon the coasts of the Old World, nearly every major settlement contains a meadhall, and possessing such is a mark of honour and prestige amongst Norse Jarls and Jergs. The most famous of the Norscan halls is the Hall of the Snaegr, located in southern Norsca in the tribal territories of the Skaelings. It is home to the Snaegr tribe, a sub-division of the Skaelings, and devout and favoured followers of the Chaos God Khorne. One of the greatest chieftains of the Snaegr, Ulfr by name, was such a powerful champion that Khorne bestowed upon him Daemon Princehood. Now known to his tribesmen as Ulfrdaemonkin, they summon this lesser daemon god to impart the Blessing of Khorne upon their mightiest chieftains in an ancient ritual as old as Chaos itself. Another example is the great Hall of Urslo in the Ursfjord; home to the fierce Tribe of the Bear led by the Chaos Champion Beorg Bearstruck. In addition to all this, Chaos Citadels are also erected by the Norscan tribes, where the most powerful chieftains are said to dwell. Three in particular are amongst the most significant: The Forbidden Citadel, the Doomkeep and the Tower of Khrakk. The legendary Daemon Fortress of the Skaeling sorceress Baga Yar once towered in Norsca, but it was laid low in 2519 IC by the depredations of the Chaos Champion, Wulfrik the Wanderer, who cut off the limbs of the Chaos Witch who dwelt there and boiled her alive in her own cauldron. The Altar of the Crimson Harvest is yet another ominously named Norscan Chaos fortress, which overlooks the northern shore of the Sea of Claws, in the southernmost extreme of the country.

In addition to man-made features, Norsca's natural land marks are a sight just as imposing and awe-inspiring as any fortress or monolith. Massive frozen glaciers are a common sight, particularly in the even colder north. The great Hellwyrm Glacier is one of the most well known of these, having been the site of a climactic battle between the iron-clad Chaos Warriors of Norsca and the Undead legions of Settra during the fabled War of Sand and Snow, where the Chaos Champion Khagul Bloodfist led the warriors of Norsca in battle against the restless armies of the Tomb Kings, who had waged war in retribution for the Norsemen's prior desecration and plundering of their temples and land of Khemri in 2271 IC. The great Ice Field of Drergan Mort has also played host to mighty conflicts between the warriors of the North, and their Easterly rivals; the tribes of Kurgan, and many times have the Norse emerged victorious from that plain of death, proving their strength in the eyes of their Masters.

The Norsemen
"From the harsh snowlands they come, blue of eye and blonde of hair and tattooed upon arms, face and chest. Their eyes are mad with bloodlust, for blood they thirst, driven forth on the whims of the gods they seek to appease. Clad in few garments and wielding clumsy and brutal axes and maces, they rage against the civilized lands of the south, burning, pillaging and looting all before them as a sacrifice to their uncaring masters beyond the gates of hell in the northern wastes."

- the Liber Chaotica, penned by Richter Kleiss, Priest of Sigmar, declared insane

The Norse are a distinctive race. Forged of the hardiest of stock and possessed of tall, broad frames and extremely muscular builds; the songs and legends of the world describe them as nigh unstoppable, and those who have borne witness to the fury of a berserking Norseman will carry the sight unto their graves. They often cultivate great masses of facial hair and large, wild beards, that they often braid and plait in a manner somewhat reminiscent of the Dwarfs. The Norscans place great significance upon beards, considering them as indicators of strength, virility and manliness, and those without beards are often mocked and harangued in their masculine society. The Norsemen tend to have fair hair; such as red and blonde, but darker hair colours, such as black, are not unknown amongst them.

Norscan warriors often festoon tribal fetishes upon their person; these include the teeth of beasts (particularly wolves), the heads of powerful enemies and talismans said to invoke the power of the Dark Gods. Most Norscans also bear tattoos and scarifications displaying their fanatical devotion to Chaos. A superstitious and fiercely pious folk, the Northmen believe in all manner of portents, signs and omens, and every Norscan, from highest champion to simplest marauder, will carry a trinket or two to ward off the Evil Eye and bring the favour of the Gods. These trinkets are sometimes simple enough talismans: a rabbit's foot, a clump of hair from a sorcererous hag, or a raven's beak etched with magic runes. Other, more esoteric items are thought to be far more powerful. It is thought that the dried tongue of a Plague Bearer bestows one mastery over all disease, and that the eye of a Cockatrice will flood one's path with wealth and precious gems. Whether these charms truly possess such power is irrelevant, for the Norse find through them strength to conquer, and what more can men ask of folklore and tradition? The people of the Empire know the Norse as those who sail their feared longships to attack the southern lands, clad in fur and steel. A fierce race whose sons love nothing better than to charge into battle wielding mighty axes.

Over the centuries, these bloodthirsty marauders from the above the Sea of Claws have always targeted Kislev and the northernmost lands of the Empire. The raids of the Norsemen have become increasingly brutal and deadly as the taint of Chaos has spread across the northern wastes of their homelands. In times gone by, the battle-hardened Norsemen, along with their Kurgan allies, would forcibly settle the lands they jointly conquered, often taking a local wife from amongst the conquered population. Over time, as the grip of the Chaos Gods upon the world has increased, their influence in the northlands has increased exponentially.

The taint of Chaos is ever increasing and has ever been strongest in the North, due to its proximity to the gateway to the Realm of Chaos that lies at the northernmost point of the world. For this reason, the hard warriors of Norsca have ever worshiped the Chaos Gods, even if the names of these gods have been warped and twisted along with the minds of the Norse. While all the tribes recognize the Chaos Gods as their masters, they may pray and shout and perceive them by names different from those scholars and sorcerers know them by. Ultimately, however, it is always the Ruinous Powers who are listening and responding to their cries.

Thus, raids from the north seek not only to take gold, women, and food for the sake of survival, but also to shed blood for the Gods. Whenever the fur-cloaked warriors of Norsca emerge from their dreaded longships, their objective may not be to simply pillage; but to kill, maim and destroy in the myriad names of the Chaos Gods.

The Norsemen are in a constant state of warfare. Amongst themselves, the other northern races, and most of all, with the civilized lands of the south. In ice-bound Kislev, where the border is less constant than the sea, the Ice Queen, Tzarina Katarin, has had to constantly reinforce the defenses of the frontier cities of Praag and Erengrad against the staggering ferocity of Norscan attacks. In the past two centuries, the Norscans have razed both cities to the ground, and with rumours swirling in the icy north of a dark lord seeking to unite the tribes of Chaos into an indivisible whole, the peoples of the south huddle in frightened corners, dreading the terror the mighty Norsemen shall bring down upon their heads.

In spite of their unbridled savagery, a few facets of society remain. Namely honour and loyalty; particularly to one's kinsmen and allies. Few Northmen dare to displease their chieftains and tribal elders, for doing so risks being thrown into the wilds, with little hope of being accepted by another tribe, as anything other than a thrall, at any rate.

The Norsii
The ancient Norsii tribes, the direct antecedents of the modern Norse, much resembled their descendants in both culture and belief. Having originally emigrated from their ancestral lands in the far north beyond the Sea of Claws, they settled in the highly inhospitable northerly portions of the Reik Basin; the frozen lands beyond the Forest of Shadows and the Middle Mountains. Barbarians and worshipers of the Dark Gods of the northern wastes, the Norsii were indeed a people apart from the other tribes of the Reik. Possessing no allies, yet so powerful through their vicious veneration of warfare and devotion to Chaos that they were supreme upon the battlefield.

Feared and hated for their brutality and their zealous worship of the Dark Gods, the Norsii made prey of the weakling tribes of the south, who had no defense against the great power the gods of the North bestowed upon them. The legends of the time of Sigmar describe the depredations of the Northmen in no uncertain terms; speaking of towering warriors in black armour and horned helms, wielding great jagged axes and shields taller than any man, and towering horsemen upon great destriers. Masters of the fearsome Wolfships, the Norsii raiders were the terror of the northern coastlines, leaving only death and smoking ruin in the wake of their catastrophic invasions. Their raids upon the other tribes of the Reik Basin were an endemic and constant peril for years uncounted, and many were those the warrior-kings of the north beheaded and gutted within their dark fortresses in honour of the Chaos Gods.

One of the most notable Norsii incursions was their invasion of the Taleuten and Cherusen tribes. When these barbarous men invaded those holdings, after several years of having been contained in their bleak lands by the efforts of the other tribes, not even the combined strength of these one-time adversaires could hold back their dark fury. Indeed, the Norsii warriors were so ferocious that even the war-like Teutogens were wary of challenging them at their full strength -- deigning instead to wait until the Norsemen had exhausted themselves slaughtering the northern tribes, and then swooping in to claim the empty lands they would inevitably leave.

As the Teutogen tribes would offer them no support, the Cherusens and Taleutens were forced to send word for aid yet further south. Their messangers appeared in the hall of Bjorn of the Unberogens, and beseeched the southern king for aid against the barbaric Norsemen. In return for assistance, the kings of the two tribes offered the Unberogen their Sword-Oaths, an eternal pledge of brotherhood not lightly given in those dark times. Moved by the plight of the northerners, Bjorn marshalled the armies of the Unberogen tribes in their fullest might to combat the invading Norsii. Driven also by the knowledge that were the Norsii to succeed in destroying the northern tribes, they would inevitably turn their axes upon his own city of Reikdorf.

Sigmar, future Emperor of the lands of Men and son of King Bjorn, was not part of the great muster northwards, having been charged by his father to see the defenses of his lands. In the north, the combined forces of Kings Aloysis, Krugar and Bjorn fought a desperate battle against the wolves of the North. But while the Norsii were warriors of unparalleled strength and fierceness, their ferocity and brutality was countered by the discipline of the southern tribes, and their superior numbers. Nonetheless, the southern alliance had paid for every inch of land they had won back from the Norse with oceans of blood and acres of dead. The Norsemen fought with unmatched savagery, behind iron shield-walls and strengthened with unholy rage, crying the black names of the Dark Gods and their ancestors with every kill. Indeed, these men were iron foes.

In the last great battle of the war, the southmen made a costly charge up a hill held by the Norsemen, and many fell. King Bjorn charged through the Norsii shield-walls and crossed blades with the fearsome High King of the Norse -- a bloodthirsty Champion of Kharneth clad in red-steel wielding a flaming sword, Varag Skulltaker. King Bjorn had cut the barbarian down with a mighty blow of his axe, Soultaker, and threw down the Dragon Banner of the slain king. But Varag's black-armoured Champions, so enraged to see their king fall, fell upon Bjorn with unsurpassed fury, and did carve him apart with brutal lacerations and blows from their axes and hammers. Thus did one of the greatest warriors and leaders in the history of mankind die, a terrible blow to all tribes of the Reik. The Norsii had been driven back, temporarily, but the cost had been steep.

The Norsii's reign of terror was finally ended when Sigmar rallied the tribes of the south and drove them back beyond the sea to their forsaken ancestral homeland of the North, after they once again invaded the lands of the Udoses, in what is now Ostland. Against such a powerful foe, not even the Norsii could withstand, and so they were forced to retreat to north, slaughtering their way through the Ungols and Kurgans, or simply sailing directly to the land that would later be known as Norsca. There they marshaled their forces, raided the neighboring races for plunder and resources, and nursed an even greater hatred of the men who had ended their path of conquest.

The Norsii, driven to the lands beyond the Sea of Claws, were thus left to recoup their strength and organize themselves into new tribes, many having been wiped out or thinned by Sigmar's invasion. During this time, many grand heroes rose up to lead the Norsii, but few are so renowned in the early annals of the Northmen as Cormac Bloodaxe, a name that bespoke the naked ferocity and bloody-minded courage of this warrior-race. A visionary warrior-king, the son of the slain Norsii High King Varag Skulltaker, who had fallen in combat against King Bjorn of the Unberogen, Cormac's incredible strength and ravenous drive for vengeance saw him arise to claim leadership of his father's tribe, the Iron Wolves, and eventually leadership over all the Norsii tribes. His adviser was the ancient shaman Kar Odacen, an emissary of the Chaos Gods themselves, who had long watched over the chosen people of the Gods and had guided their destiny by long serving as an vicegerent and counselor to the warrior-kings of the North, including Cormac's father. It was Kar Odacen who had forged Cormac's Daemon Axe, binding a creature of Khorne to the blade, with which Cormac sowed terror and devastation on countless battlefields.

In 9 IC, the newly united Norsii would return in force with all the fury of their Dark Gods behind them. Rallied behind the leadership of their new king, the mighty Northmen raided the northern territories of the nascent Empire just as they had in ages past; enslaving the Roppsmenn tribe to their will and launching a devastating attack on the Udoses tribe, killing their chieftain Wolfilla -- himself a count of the Empire -- and throwing the northerners into disarray. The family of the Count was also slain, including his pregnant wife, thus ending once and for all the line of Wolfilla and causing the throne of the Udoses to become contested, and thus destroying the unity of the clan as they fell into internal squabbling and succession crisis. With the defense of the north shattered, the Norsii were able to strike further and further into Imperial lands, spreading terror and destruction everywhere they went. Tales of entire northern settlements put to the sword, their warriors slaughtered like sheep and their men, women and children alike left impaled upon cruel stakes as offerings to the Norsii war god soon spread like wildfire amongst the southern climes, sapping the strength of the Empire's defenders with bone chilling fear. This psychological warfare was a deliberate move on the part of the Norsii, and their raids were specifically calculated to not only weaken the Empire psychologically, but also harm its ability to easily raise troops to oppose the Northern invasion.

This was only exacerbated by the fact that when Sigmar learned of the Norsii invasion, and the Roppsmenn's complicity in it, he marshalled his forces and waged a long, arduous campaign to crush them and drive them out of the Empire, for they had forfeited their place in it by aiding the savage Norsemen. This left the inner lands of the Empire also undefended against the wrath of the Northmen. The Roppsmenn tribe was all but annihilated by Sigmar, their remnants driven into the then unknown lands of the east where they would come into conflict with the Ungols. Nonetheless, this planted the seeds of dissension and disunity in the Empire, for the violence perpetrated against the Roppsmenn, seen by some as victims, was quite controversial in Sigmar's time, and the Counts became somewhat wary around their Empire, fearing what would become of their lands should they ever voice a contrary opinion. The purity of Sigmar's Justice, long since seen as the epitome of good governance by the tribes, was now cast into doubt.

Sigmar nonetheless managed to raise an Imperial army to meet the the Norsii invaders. Though were it not for the Udoses in the north setting aside their bickering and inter-tribal warfare over their succession crisis, elevating the canny warrior Conn Carsten to warchieftain. But for the vigorous hit-and-run raids perpetrated by the Udoses on the Norsii juggernaut, the whole of the north would have most assuredly fallen long before Sigmar and his allies could have reached the battlefield.

When Sigmar finally faced the Northmen, they had done what no other enemy had accomplished ever before or since: they handed Sigmar his first and only military defeat. Though the Imperial army, resplendent and their morale bolstered by the mythical presence of their Emperor, had expected to defeat the warriors of the North in a single, decisive battle, they were totally unprepared for the tactics employed by the Norsemen. The Imperials had expected undisciplined berserkers, only to find the natural ferocity of the Norsii tempered by a razor sharp military precision; the Norsii had given battle in imitation of the southern armies, marching in tightly packed ranks with a hitherto unheard of cohesion, yet still retaining the unabashed fury and incredible martial skill that made the Men of the North masters of the battlefield. A perfect synthesis of military discipline and wild ferocity, even the whirlwind fury of the Thuringian berserkers was little compared to the merciless battle-rage of the Norsii warriors, who met the Thuringian vanguard of Sigmar's army and hacked them apart, almost managing to slay their Count, Otwin the Berserker. The axes and swords of the Norse were not the only foe Sigmar faced that day, for the Norsii had also enslaved the Kurgan and Hung tribes to their service, and so did the horsemen encircle Sigmar's host, hammering them with arrows while the Norsemen's cavalry charged their lines, smashing into the southern warriors like the fist of the Blood God himself.

Faced with such opposition, Sigmar and his warriors retreated to Middenheim, the City of the White Wolf. Having lost more than a thousand warriors in the battle against the Norsii, the Emperor soon realized that to face the Chaos-worshipers in open battle was pure folly. The only recourse now was to draw the Northmen into a protracted siege of the mountain city. The great lifts that lead into Middenheim was not yet completed at the time, in order to take the city, an invading force would need to hold the viaduct as well as the eastern and western battlements.

The Norsii had followed the fleeing Imperials to the fastness of Ulric. Their number bolstered by hordes of raging beastkin. Below, the Norsemen brought the hafts of their mighty axes banging against the bosses of their shield, and they bellowed and roared the black names of the Dark Gods and their honoured ancestors, while the Beastmen screeched and roared in blasphemous hymns to those self same deities. It was a droning noise that shuddered the courage of all who heard it -- a terrible sound that spoke of the desire to make war for no reason other than the suffering it would cause. Here, clearly demonstrated, was the reason Sigmar was forced to drive the Norsemen from the Empire. For where the men of the Reik sought peace and plenty, the Norsemen craved for battle and war. Where development and progress were the watchwords of the Empire, the joy of killing and the lust for domination drove the grim warriors of the savage north. Where the gods of the south rewarded worship with peace and protection, the baleful gods of the Norsemen demanded worship and offered naught but war and the power to carry it on in return.

The siege was brutal, lasting for thirteen full days and nights. Brutal Norsii charges were thrown back but with the greatest efforts, and each attack did the Norsemen reap a hefty toll from the defenders. The strength of the Norsii shield-walls were all but unbreakable, and before a mighty altar raised in honour of their god Kharneth, they were driven into uncontrollable warrior-frenzies, and the might of the Dark Gods filled them, driving them to almost suicidal acts of bravery. Where the men of Sigmar's Empire fought with all they had for the sake of bare survival, the men of the North fought with the savage desire that their gods would notice their might and reward them for their bravery. On the thirteenth, terrible day of the siege, Cormac Bloodaxe. who had slain so many in the battle that his axe now perpetually ran thick with congealed blood, awoke knowing the will of his god was to be carried out this day, for his vision seethed red as if his eyes were drenched in blood. Before a great pit where the Norsii had thrown the corpses of their enemies in honour of Khorne, did Cormac command the greatest warriors of eight clans to sacrifice themselves to Khorne's glory. Mightily pleased with their valour and tithe, Khorne did take up the Norsii king and reforged him into a manifestation of rage -- a Daemon Prince.

Cormac is said to have strode forth and broken apart the walls of Middenheim, slaughtering hundreds with sweeps of his burning axe while his very presence drove the men of the Empire mad with rage born of fear, while the Norsemen roared their exultation to the cold thrones of the Gods, their cries more hideously animalistic than those of the Beastkin themselves, and they fought with fury so redoubled that none could withstand them -- such was their joy to fight under the gaze of a living avatar of their god Khorne. Soon, the Daemon crossed arms with Sigmar, the two kings fighting to decide the fates of their peoples. Evenly matched for a time, the intervention of Ulric, Warrior God of the southern races, who gifted to Sigmar his cold rage, and thus did the Emperor strike down the Daemon Prince with a single strike of his hammer, driving it back to the Realm of Chaos. With the banishment of Cormac, the morale of the Norsii army gave out, and they now fought their way past the vengeful press of Imperials to reach their wolfships and return to their new homeland. Though the Empire was ultimately victorious, the dreadful memory of how close it had come to desolation loomed long in the memories of all who had fought and suffered in the invasion; and few would ever forget the terror of the mighty Norsemen. Once more, the Norsii were thrown back across the Sea of Claws, to the land now known as Norsca. Where their descendants live to this day, warring with each other and continuing to venerate their cruel gods, whose names civilized men do not speak.

The Norscans
The Norsii thus returned to their ancestral homeland, the barren wastes they now named Norsca and continued to perform their heathen practices and to bring terror and devastation to the known world. Though Sigmar led retaliatory raids upon the Norsii in the aftermath of their invasion of Middenheim; he was only able to inflict damage upon the most southerly coastal settlements, and was incapable of penetrating further into the land's interior. The Norsii were left to recoup their might, and to decide amongst themselves their new tribal boundaries while eventually reorganizing themselves into the seven, 'high' tribes we now know of today.

Several years after the Norsii invasion of Middenheim and the coming of Nagash, a new offensive would spill out of the north that would dwarf both in violence and brutality. From amongst the scattered Norsii clans rose a single warrior -- the now legendary First of the dread Everchosen; Morkar the Uniter of the now extinct Taalos tribe, whose clan had been destroyed by Sigmar's retaliatory raids against the Norsii Filled with vengeance, imbued with the power of the gods and charged with the mission to establish the mortal realm as a kingdom of Chaos, the warrior-king led his armies against Sigmar's Empire, reaping victory after victory until at last he finally cornered the Emperor in single combat. For a day and into a night did the Emperor of Man and the Lord of Chaos match their barbarous strength against each other rending the earth and sky asunder with their fury, and shaking the mountains as axe and hammer clashed. And though Morkar was mighty beyond all reckoning, Sigmar overcame and smote him with his warhammer, and with his death the Norsii and their allies were bereaved of leadership, and were again driven back to their tainted homeland in the north.

The Norscans, as they came to be most commonly referred to as after settling in the north, have earned a just reputation as relentless warriors, feared throughout the world. In the past, they have invaded and conquered parts of the Empire, ruling areas there briefly before they return to their blasted fastnesses in the far north. An example of such is of Snagr Half-Nose, son of High-King Ormgaard, who ravaged and conquered the Wasteland with a horde of Marauders at his back in 1109 IC, burning much of the city of Marienburg to the ground and claiming the province of the Wasteland as his own, renaming it Vestland and declaring himself Jarl thereof (the Norscan equivalent of 'chieftain', or 'lord'). The later advent of the Black Plague two years later however led to the Norscans abandoning the city of Marienburg, allowing it to return to Imperial hands until Marienburg finally seceded from the Empire during the corrupt reign of Dieter IV. Nonetheless however, the Norscans have conquered, destroyed and even ruled Marienburg no less than on four occasions throughout history, and the coastal raids of Norse marauders have proven a constant menace for the now independent northern principality.

Around the same time, the Norse had begun a campaign of violent expansion southwards and had succeeded in conquering the northern Imperial province of Nordland, as well as territories of the surrounding provinces, decisively defeating the Imperial forces stationed there and enslaving much of the northern Imperial populations, while also driving many refugees south to Talabecland and elsewhere.

The Empire was incapable of sending forces to liberate Nordland as a result of political infighting within the court of then Emperor Boris Goldgather, which left the Nordlanders and their ilk to fend for themselves. As a result, Norscan longships colonized the Nordland coast unimpeded -- enslaving the native Was Jutone population and creating many refugees who fled southward to Talabecland and elsewhere. The later ascension of the much celebrated Mandred Skavenslayer also offered little alleviation for the plight of the northern provinces, as the Emperor had no men to spare for their defense, having been preoccupied with other threats. Once again, the Norse possessed free reign over the people of Nordland and continued their savage rulership until they eventually abandoned their new kingdom at an unknown date.

It has often been remarked that as a result of having lived under the Norscan yoke, and the constant shadow of their raids, the people of Nordlander have in some ways come to resemble the Chaos raiders of the Sea of Claws; much to their shame and consternation, for the Nordlanders do indeed share more with the Northmen than they would ever care to admit, and it is often said in the Empire that, "character is in the Blood."

Far to the west, beyond the Grey Mountains, the burgeoning kingdom of Bretonni horse tribes of the west had begun to form, and like all kingdoms, it would come under the blades of invaders. The Norse raids upon the northern coasts of the fledgling Bretonnian tribal lands would ultimately lead to the decimation of the isolated northern Bretonnan tribes, who were driven into extinction by the invasions of the Norsemen pressing down from the north, and by the sporadic incursions of the Greenskin tribes, as the northern tribes were eventually cornered on all sides and obliterated. The raids were stemmed only when Lord Marcus, legendary companion of the warrior-king Giles le Breton, arrived to lift the siege of the city of L'Anguille at the hands of the Norse. Realizing the battle could not be won by mere force, Lord Marcus threw down the gauntlet before Jarl Svengar of the Skaelings, challenging the hulking chieftain to single combat, the winner would take L'Anguille, while the loser would withdraw. Svengar, too proud to refuse any challenge, ascended to face the knight atop the city's lighthouse.

For a day did the two warriors face each other, Svengar's twin hammer ablaze with the powers of the Gods. But driven by his faith in the Lady of the Lake, Marcus stood resolute against the giant's onslaught, and with the break of day did he drive his sword through the barbarian's flesh and cleaved him in two. Svengar's tribesmen, though brimming with barely restrained violence to see their Jarl felled, nonetheless were bound by blood to honour the oath he had made, and spared the city of L'Anguille their fury. But this was only a taste of the depredations the Bretonnians would endure at the calloused hands of the Northmen, and the fury of the Norscans' vicious coastal raids have long struck fear and terror in the hearts of peasant and noblemen alike for centuries, just as they have in the Empire and further abroad. In the year 2521 IC, once more near the city where Svengar fell, a Norse Marauder-band fell upon the knights of that barony there and slaughtered them to a man. Arriving unbidden at that battle were a group of errants whose heraldry was of a golden snake set against a black background, but they left partway through the fight with no explanation, leaving their compatriots to die under the Chaos Warriors' brutal blades.

The Norscans, being fearsome barbarians born of the Shadowlands, are most feared and reviled for their monstrous faith, and the sheer bloody-minded fanaticism with which they carry the war-like banner of Chaos. Indeed, whenever the shadow of Chaos extends from out of the Blasted Wastes, the Norse are among the first to heed the Will of the Gods and leave their homes in force, sweeping into the southern lands, killing all before them and burning that which they cannot loot.

Few of the Norse incursions were so brutal or deadly as the Great Invasion of 2515 IC, where the Chaos Champion, Lord Mortkin, known also as the Black Iron Reaver, who had earned glory and power in the Chaos Wastes, eventually ascending to the ranks of the most mighty and favoured of the servants of the Northern Gods. He had marshalled his host of dark-armoured Norsemen and eldritch Daemons south, slaughtering their way past the Ungol tribes and Kislevarin settlements, ranging southwest in a titanic invasion of Ostland, waged in retribution for the destruction of the Norse coastal villages of Aarvik and Ulfennik at the hands of the Elector Count Valmir von Raukov three years prior. By fateful chance, or the Will of the Gods, Ulfennik had been Mortkin's birth village, and when the Black Iron Reaver had heard of its destruction by the son of Count Valmir; Oleg von Raukov, he had raged within his dark fortress and had made a final pact with his Dark Gods, praying them to bestow upon him the power to carve his Wergild from the flesh of civilized men.

In 2515 IC, Mortkin united the Norse clans under his banner, through conquest or rhetoric or demonstration of his dark favour, thus ending the petty inter-tribal conflict that had riven his people apart. Thus did the Norsemen march in a unified whole, rank upon rank of black-armoured warriors and fur-clad tribesmen. The Norsemen poured out from the Troll Country, the tribes having been encouraged by the Black Winds of Chaos blowing as a hurricane by the exultation of the gods, marvelling at the carnage their chosen champion had wrought. The Norse host of Mortkin pillaged its way south into Kislev, slaughtering the Ungol tribes, who soon found themselves hemmed on all sides by warbands of axe-wielding northmen. Mortkin's horde raged on in a broad swathe of destruction as it pushed west into Ostland, setting numerous Osforts and Kislevite outposts aflame and battering aside the feeble armies sent to stem its progress.

An invasion force under the command of the Slaaneshi Warlord, Sigvald the Magnificent preceded the heart of the army, and ravaged Kislev and Ostland for three months before having finally been blunted at the Battle of the Temple of Skulls. The formidable spear-head of the invading Norse, Mortkin's own warhird, the Fell Legion,  advanced ahead of the swirling maelstrom of raiders into Ostland. Her count, Valmir Von Raukov, was abroad at the time at the behest of Emperor Karl Franz, and had thus gone southward, leaving the defense of the province to his son, Oleg. A famed battle-commander, who had earned special accolades for his exploits during the Battle of North March against Nordland, and again in the aforementioned retaliatory raids aganst Norsca in 2514 IC. Oleg and his ally, Pitr Sergayev of Kislev, mustered their nation's respective armies but to no avail, for neither man could possibly hope to approach the military skill of a Champion of Norsca. Mortkin and his warriors slaughtered all resistance and levelled the cities of Kludburgh and Saltraken in a haze of blood and fury to rival any conquest of the Everchosen Incursions, and brought the ancestral seat of the Von Raukov line, Castle Raukov, crashing down; slaughtering the family of Valmir Von Raukov, including his wife Ivana. Only Oleg and his brother Vassily remained to bear Count Valmir's blood.

At last, the invasion reached the city of Volganof, where the beleagured defenders of Ostland had fled too. The most defensible city in the province, as well as one of the most powerful, it's legendary strength was now to be put to the ultimate test. The Black Iron Reaver, thirsting for vengeance for the destruction of his peoples' homes, offered the city the chance to surrender the Grand Marshall in return for sparing their lives. Tempting as it was, the old Ostland proverb, "a wolf at the door is still a wolf," won out and the people of Volganof prepared to defend their homes. Nonetheless, the subsequent siege of the city proved a resounding defeat for the defenders, and the ragged cobbling of Imperial defenders proved inadequete before the vengeful Norse. Mortkin, upon seeing Oleg Von Raukov on the field, slaughtered his way to meet the fated warrior in single combat. Though Oleg was known by many as one of the great heroes of the Empire, it was not within his power to slay one so favoured by the Dark Gods. With a blow that could have felled a giant, Mortkin did smite Oleg into a bloody wreck barely recognizable as a man. Though the Ostlander rose up afterwards, in burning fury did Mortkin smash him back to the ground and did choke the life from him, thus ending the life of one of Ostland's greatest heroes and avenging the countless dead of Aarvik and Ulfennik. Though Mortkin's force was eventually routed when he was slain, the damage had been done. Volganof had been eradicated, Oleg slain, and the memory of the atrocities of the heathen Norse would linger on darkly in the Empire's memory for decades to come.

In Sigmarzeit 2398 IC, one of the dread lords of Chaos, a legendary warrior-queen of Norsca known as Valkia the Bloody, consort to Khorne the Blood God himself, called the Northmen to take to their longboats and follow her across the Sea of Claws to wage war once more upon the people of Nordland. Valkia and her tribe fell upon the northern provinces like sea wolves, their purpose not to enslave the Nordlanders, nor to enrichen themselves upon the spoils of their raids, but simply to shed blood in honour of the Norscan god of battle. Neither man, woman, child nor even livestock was spared sacrifice to the insatiable Blood God. The lightning quick raids of the Norse decimated the coastal defenses of Nordland, and spurred on the favour of Khorne the War-God, the Norsemen fought with unmatched savagery. The nobility in Salzenmund did not spare any reinforcements to aid their people in the north, a misstep on their part, which would later on engender feelings of resentment and abandonment among the citizenry of Nordand. In the end, the defense of the north fell to a simple fisherman known as Harold Dreizacker and his citizen levies. Harold organized his own small fleet of ships to respond to the sight of the red sails of the Gorequeen's longships.

As a cold Gehemnistag wind blew, the Nordlanders breathed a collective sigh of relief, as the onset of winter heralded the end of the Norscan raiding season. Only too soon were their hopes dashed however, for three days later did the barbarians fall upon Dietershafen, causing there a great havoc and putting hundreds to the sword in veneration of Khorne. Catching wind of this, Harold sailed his ships to combat the raiders, but his vessal was smashed to kindling by a single throw of Valkia's daemonspear, Slaupnir. But for the intervention of an ironclad Dwarfen dreadnaught, the Norscans would have annihilated the whole province, but their wooden longships were no match for this marvel of Dwarfen engineering, and so the fleet was smashed and the survivors forced to retreat back to the north. However, the sheer scale of the ruination and plunder they had visited upon the Nordlanders had left the people with no shelter and few supplies, meaning that in addition to the thousands killed in the raids, fewer still survived the coming winter.

The Empire is not the only nation to endure the depredation of the Chaos reavers, Kislev as well has suffered from Norscan attacks in the past, being the border realm between the south and the terror of the north. During the Great War Against Chaos in 2302 IC, a mighty Chaos Lord known as Sven Bloody-Hand, lieutenant to the Kurgan warlord Asavar Kul, sacked the great port city of Erengrad before escaping back to the sea. More generally, Norse Chaos incursions from beyond the Chaos-tainted wilderness of Troll Country are a constant threat to the Kislevites. Though these attacks are mostly confined to small scale raids, on occasion a powerful chieftain will arise in Norsca and bring the tribes together for a great invasion into the realm of the Ice Queen. Despite their reputation as fearless marauders, the Norscans have come to be wary of the Ice Witches of Kislev, and to kill one of these powerful spellcasters is a cause for the Northmen to celebrate with gory and spectacular rituals invoking the Dark Gods. Much like the Nordlanders, the Kislevites are often the first to die to the jagged axes of the Norse.

The Norse also have come into regular conflict with the Northern Dwarfs of Kraka Drak. Far too different to ever find a common ground, they have been at constant war since Sigmar drove the Norsii back to the Chaos Wastes.

In 2302 IC, roughly concurrent with the defeat of Asavar Kul's invasion, the Norse King, Valmir Aesling, declared himself to be the "Emperor of Chaos" and began his decades long "War in the Mountains" against the great northern Dwarf hold of Kraka Drak. Valmir was a ruthless and efficient leader of men, brooding and silent save for the rare, though often fatal burst of temper. An uncompromising and bloodthirsty general, he punished cowardice and insubordination with the most gruesome tortures he could devise and hated all the races of the Old World, including the Dwarfs, with a fiery passion. He had long seen the Dwarfen city of Kraka Drak, nestled in the northern mountain ranges he considered his territory, as an abomination to be wiped out. Many times in the past had he attempted to march his armies south through Icicle Pass to destroy the city, but each and every time his warhirds had been thrown back by the defenses of the Dwarfs. But that was soon to change, for with the height of summer, where the pass was considered merciful enough for an army to travel through, Valmir did muster his forces and swore before the brutal gods of the Norse that he would exact vengeance.

The first tribes to be sent were led by a myriad of Jarls and Warleaders, each filled with pride to be the vanguard of the king's army. Through the daunting pass they went, only to be cut down by Dwarfish crossbows, but it mattered little. For in doing so, the Dwarfs of Kraka Drak had revealed their positions, and those of the secret passages into the mountain. With this knowledge, armoured Norse Chaos Warriors were dispatched on a grueling climb up the frozen peak to the crests of the mountains, while their untouched kinsmen kept the Dwarfs busy, these champions stealthily creeped into the halls of the city and slaughtered the crossbowmen within, throwing their corpses into the heart of the mountain. With that, Valmir gave the signal for the rest of his army to charge, bloodhungry Norse warriors and gibbering Chaos beast alike swarmed onto the field and bloodthirsty axe and doughty hammer did clash with untold fury. Ultimately, it was when the two kings, Valmir of Norsca and Silverbeard of Kraka Drak did cross axes on the cold, bloody field. Valmir had charged to meet the king, mighty and terrible upon his great chariot pulled by seven, skin-less bears and threw the severed heads of Silverbeard's kinsmen before his feet. Long did the two fight, their strength equal and the matchless skill congruent, until Valmir's beard parted in a savage smile, as his Daemon Prince ally, Aghask, had taken the field, as did a horde of Chaos Knights from the Troll Country. The reinforcements made short work of the Dwarfen forces on the field, cutting them down with the savage abandon common to the Norscans. King Silverbeard's face contorted in rage as he ordered a suicidal final command, the only recourse left to the Norse Dwarfs to destroy the Norsemen and spare the south their rage. He ordered the great cannons to fire, not upon the Norse warhirds, but upon the sheer walls of the valley side, causing them to collapse in a cataclysmic avalanche and fall upon both the Norse and the hold itself. Thus, burying both underneath hundreds of tonnes of rock and snow, entombing both the tattered remnants of the Dwarfen army and the Norsemen forever. The tribes gathered under Valmir's banner disbanded with the fall of the city, and a major Chaos Invasion had been stopped before it even began.

For the Dwarfs of Kraka Drak, the cost was dear indeed. For their city had been utterly destroyed by the avalanche, and deep within the collapsed halls, the broken remains of Valmir's warriors had fought on, methodically slaughtering each and every last one of the surviving Dwarf-folk who thought themselves safe until none remained. It had taken 88 years, but Valmir had, albeit posthumously, fulfilled his oath.

Centuries earlier, in the year 1396 IC, a Norse warband attempting to gain access to the lands of the Empire assailed the Dwarf-Hold of Karak Ghulg, led by the Chaos Warlord, King Bothvar. The Norsemen had long been stemmed at the northern edges of the World's Edge Mountains, where the range eventually feeds into southern Norsca. But the tide of war shifted with the coming of the Daemon Prince Valkia the Bloody, Shieldmaiden of Khorne, who lent her diabolic aid to the Norse warriors, extolling them to acts of bloodthirsty valour with her very presence and fighting alongside them. Valkia had also ordered the Norse to perform the ancient Northern rite of the Blood Raven upon the defeated Dwarfs, making naked their hearts, cracking their ribs and tearing out their very lungs and setting them upon their backs as bloody wings in honour of Khorne. Valkia also challenged the king of Karak Ghulg to battle and defeated him in single combat, signalling the ultimate downfall of the noble city.

Due to the far-ranging Norscan wolfships, there is no corner of the world that the savage Norse have not traveled in the exultation of their bloody gods. Not even the pristine shores of Ulthuan, known in the tongue of the Northmen as Alfheim, have remained untouched by the fury of their longships. These daring raids have been led by many powerful champions of the Norse gods -- such as Sigvald the Magnificent, Scion of Slaanesh, King Erik Redaxe, Chosen of Chaos Undivided, and Wulfrik the Wanderer, the Inescapable One. The ultimate reason why these warrior-kings and those like them have brought death to the Elven realms is of little matter to the Norsemen, so long as there is plunder to take, enemies to slay, and the glory of Dark Gods to be earned.

It was in the age of Bel-Hathor the Sage, who ruled Ulthuan until 2163 IC, that the Norse raids -- long since dismissed by the nobles of Ulthuan as minor trivialities -- grew to such frequency and wrath that not even the armies of the High Elves could stand against their threat. Realizing that the depredations of the Chaos-worshiping reavers had grown too fearsome to contain, Bel-Hathor called a convocation of the greatest mages of Ulthuan and charged them with protecting the north-eastern shores of the isle from the Norscans. After three long decades of preparation, the mages enshrouded approaches of the Isle of Ulthuan in a maze of spells, illusions and treacherous shifting shoals and mists. It had now become all but impossible for Norse raiders to happen upon Ulthuan except by pure chance, and tales of the terrible paths to the Elf-Lands reached back to the dark North, causing the fierce men there to look upon Ulthuan with an inkling of dread. However, several centuries hence, during the age of Finubar Sea-Farer, the Norse raids against Ulthuan have restarted, and have grown even more numerous and deadly.

Clearly, it would be easy to say that the Norsemen's relationship with the southern world is one of constant war. And it is, mostly, given the Norse propensity for combat and bloodlust. Yet despite that, there are instances that show the Norse approach to the Old World may not always be one of war. Though typically larger and more powerful, the Northmen are not completely unlike their cousins to the south. In times of peace, it may be possible to see a trader from the North hawking his wares in the great markets of Marienburg, just as it is likely to see a Kurgan or Hung trader do the same in the Cathayan merchant capitol of Weijin to the East. Yet in all other respects, the Norse are a people apart from all others -- for their culture is one based on eternal battle, blood and human sacrifice, their gods the gods of the End-Times, and they are amongst the most feared race of Men in all the world.

The Northmen are also explorers of incredible skill, as their longships allow them to range far south and west. In 888 IC, the infamous reaver Losteriksson discovered the strange tropical land of Lustria in the New World; establishing the outpost of Skeggi upon its mangrove lined shores. In time, Skeggi became a mustering point for many Chaos Champions from Norsca and their bondsmen as tales reached back north of battles against the Lizardmen of Lustria, as well as of the great riches to be found in the new land. In 954 IC, the Champions of Skeggi sailed back to their homeland, bringing with them such tales and then returning to the continent with a great army of raiders. As the conflict intensified, more Warriors of Chaos from frozen Norsca sailed to the warm lands of the far south; driven by the lust for gold as well glory. The Norsemen, being fierce men of the Far North, carried with them their war-like Dark Gods within their hearts. A power not felt in Lustria since the Fall of the Old Ones centuries ago, the Slann-Priests, their meditations troubled with echoes of the distant past reverberating from one mage-priest to the next, now knew that the Chaos Gods were again abroad in the world once more - their banner carried in their war-like souls of these mighty warriors.

Most significantly, the Norscans have ever been at the forefront and vanguard of the Great Chaos Incursions, serving as warriors and leaders. Indeed, whenever the shadow of Chaos spreads, the Norsemen are among the first and foremost to take up thier blades and rampage south. Since then, the Norse have always served as the backbone of the great invasions from the north. When the gods' make the call to war they leave their settlements in force, eagerly marching beside the steel-clad Chaos Warriors and Knights who have risen from their ranks. They are the vanguard and spear-head of the Chaos Hordes, battering aside all opposition and clearing the way into the Empire for the Kurgan horsemen of the east.

Now, with Champions of Norsca each serving as Archaon Everchosen's four highest lieutenants, the Norse stand ready to heed the call of their Dark Gods and usher in the final epic battle that will bring about the great and glorious end of all things.

The Norse Tribes
"I pity you and all the world, that of all the races of Men, for the Gods favour we Norse alone."

- Haubr, Norseman

The Norscans, as a cohesive people, do not exist, indeed, the very term 'Norscan' is an Imperial labeling. They are instead divided into various, numerous tribal confederations that are as much at war with each other as they are with the Kurgan tribes to the East or the Empire to the South. These various Norse tribes are often nations unto themselves: possessing varying pantheons of gods, traditions, heroes and tribal dialects. However, all are united by a shared ancestry and veneration of the Four Dark Lords of Chaos.

The seven 'high' tribes of Norsca, from which all others descend, are the:


 * Aeslings
 * Graelings
 * Vargs
 * Sarls
 * Bjornlings
 * Skaelings
 * Baersonlings

There are also lesser tribes under them, such as the Gorehunt, Snaegr, Sortsvinear, Ironpelt, Brennuns, Crow-Brothers, Wolfclaw, Stormravens, Wyrmkin, Kin-Slayers, Beast-Flayers, Blackaxes and The Scourge of the North led by the famed champion, Volrung Axblade.

The tribe forms the very core of Norscan identity. A Norseman will never identify himself as such, he will instead identify himself based on his tribal lineage. For instance, an Aesling will always think of himself as an Aesling -- for their only loyalty is to their family, kinsmen and to the Dark gods.

The Norse tribes are further distinct by their manner of worship, garb, battle-customs and beliefs. For instance, one of the Skaeling tribes of Norsca dress in bearskins and reindeer hide clothing adorned with charms and embroidery, and cut their hair into strange shapes dyed red and held up with animal fat. They sport tattoos, runes and scarifications all over their muscular bodies invoking the protection of the gods, and dye their shields red (often with blood) in honour of Khorne, the Blood God and their patron. Their tribal colours are red and blue; to honour Khorne and their proud heritage as sea-raiders without equal, respectively. These Skaelings have taken the symbol of Khorne as their own, indicating their piety, and tend to prefer mighty axes and spears above all other weapons in order to further please the war-waging god.

Battle and faith are at the heart of Norse society. The tribes live for war and the shedding of blood, and the rivalries between them provide ample opportunity for it. Men in Norse society earn standing by being great warriors, and thus earning the favour of the Dark Gods as a result. Thus raids from the north are undertaken in part so that young men may advance in honour in the eyes of their fellow tribesmen and, more importantly, the Chaos Gods. Slaying the weakling warriors of the south, despoiling the temples of southern gods, and carrying prisoners back to the north to be sacrificed upon pyres and altars dedicated to Chaos all serve to advance a Norseman's renown. Oral traditions and sagas are also important in Norscan society, deeply intertwined with the aforementioned need for social standing through raiding. It is the dream of nearly every Norseman to have the deeds of his life remembered and feared by all through their recording in the sagas sung by the skald-chanters. Most of the warriors commemorated in the sagas are legendary -- some even near mythical -- champions of Chaos. Some sagas are even written in the honour of whole tribes who committed glorious feats of strength -- such as the Saga of the Gorehunt tribe.

Honour in Norsca is highly integral, and most feuds among the tribes can likely be traced back to a breach against a man's personal honour by a person from the other tribe, though who did what exactly will likely depend on which side of the conflict one asks. The Norsemen guard their prestige jealously and are even willing to endure horrific torture and long lasting injury if it means their honour is protected.

Norscan Faith and Religious Beliefs
""Khorne!" they roared, invoking the sacred battle-name of Kharnath the Blood God, Lord of Battles. "Khorne!" they howled until it seemed the walls must fall from the violence of their voices alone. "Khorne!" they shrieked as they gnashed their teeth and bit their shields."

- Destruction of Wisborg

Norscan religion is based primarily around the worship of the Chaos Gods, though by various aspects and names both similar to and distinct from those they are known by to the scholars and priests of the Empire. Commonly, the Norscans (like the other human races who dwell around the Chaos Wastes) venerate the Chaos Gods in a single pantheon, as a purely practical consideration, in order to draw upon all of the gifts and powers of Chaos to better survive in the harsh north. However, many tribes do in fact take a single Chaos God to be their patron, who is seen as both the father and protector of that tribe, commonly, that god is also the Patron of the chieftain. In addition to the Chaos Gods themselves, the Northmen religion also incorporates various Daemons, dead Chaos Champions, ancestors and various other lesser spirits and deities into its traditions. However, it is always the Chaos Gods are ever-present and who receive the highest degree of veneration; being the core set of deities Norse religion revolves around.

In the Norscan faith, there is no equivalent to the Kingdom of Morr, there is nothing after death save the Realms of the Dark Gods, and men shall only enter those domains to sit at the right hand of their gods if they were strong and true warriors in life, for cowards are cursed by the gods and reviled for all eternity. Thus, every Norscan fights with an insane fervour driven by this belief, which molds them into the perfect warriors of the Dark Gods.

In battle, the Norse look to Khorne, the War-God for strength. Shaman and vitki look to Tzeentch, the Raven, to unravel the mysteries of magic. In times of plague, the Norse offer sacrifices to Nurgle, to placate the Crow-God and to persuade him to withhold his "blessings." The Norscans see themselves as the closest of all the races of men to the Dark Gods, and thus see it as their duty and right to raid and ravage, and not only the south, but also their fellow worshipers of Chaos -- such as the Kurgans and Hung to the east. Many Norscan warbands also make journeys into the Chaos Wastes, to hunt the abominable creatures of that land and show their might to their infernal masters, indeed, amongst some tribes, there is a tradition of leaving a child on his thirteenth year at the shores of the Wastes with only bare necessities and a single weapon. If he is able to survive for a week, he is returned and made a man of the tribe, if he manages to bring back the head of a Chaos Spawn or a Beastman, then he is made a warrior then and there.

The Norse see themselves as honourable men, mighty and courageous, and for this strength of will and sinew they honour their Dark Gods. The Norsemen see the blessings of their gods (mutation) as gifts that allow them to better stand against the unimaginable perils of their homeland. As all the Norsemen are, to some extent, affected by the touch of Chaos, they are constantly reminded of the presence of their gods, and are ever vividly reminded of their potency. In comparison, the gods of the south, such as Ulric, Sigmar and Myrmidia are but pitiful children before the might of the Dark Lords of the North.

The Norse believe the world as they perceive it, the realm of flesh and blood and material, is a prison, an illusion created by the Dark Gods in order to test them, and that the true world is the Realm of Chaos, the ever-changing, ever-mutable domain of the Dark Gods, the Norse believe that it is only through the gifts of the Dark Gods that they shall be able to penetrate this veil of the senses and peer into the true reality. When a Norseman receives a mutation, the rewards of the Chaos Gods, they believe that it is the hand of the gods stripping away the illusion about them and thus revealing to them their true self, in simpler terms, they are gaining a glimpse of reality. When a Seer conjures forth a Daemon, it is again seen as a fleeting glimpse of the true world. Some scholars have theorized that Norsca's extremely close proximity to the Chaos Wastes lends itself to this way of thinking. The Shadowlands are strange, and everchanging. An ordinary boulder may stay in one spot for a thousand years, only to pick itself up one day and move to another spot. Birds may fly through the cold mountain air at one point, and then land and slither across the ground as a snake the next. Storm come and go without warning. And the very stars seem to writhe and change. Norsca is in a constant flux, abiding by no laws, lending a dream-like quality to this wild land. To a Norseman, it is thus no great leap of logic to assume that the mutations and rewards of Chaos are gifts of the Chaos Gods, a mark of divine favour granted to set the chosen apart from the mundane.

As the realm of flesh is but a dream, it is the goal of every Norsemen to reach the truth, the true realm beyond this grey, ashen existence. The realm of the Dark Gods. Death and glory is the doorway to the land beyond, and one can only journey through it by proving himself in the dream. In order to prove one's worth, he must have been a powerful warrior in life, who died a heroic death slaughtering many foes attaining glory and the Marks of the Chaos Gods' divine favour. Those who beg for mercy, and who cling to the realm of the living are found wanting and cursed to walk the world forever as disembodies spirits. Others are tormented for all eternity by daemons and reborn as slaves, women, or worst of all, Old Worlders. Thus, it is warriors who occupy the most prestigious echelons of Norse society; for they alone can attain the glory that awaits them beyond the mortal world. The rest are condemned to spend their days in the dreams, never to know the glory that might be theirs. This belief has molded the vicious and powerful men of Norsca into brutal killers who thirst after the chance to make war for the glory of Chaos, for there is no greater glory than to fight and die in the armies of the immortals and to join their holy number.

In general, the Norse tend to revere Khorne, the Skull-King and Lord of Battles, more fanatically than the other tribal barbarians of Chaos, for the simple, brutal strictures of the Blood God's faith are pleasing to the war-like Norse, and the behavior of the various Norse tribes in Norsca as well as the terrible Troll Countrydovetails neatly with what the Blood God expects from his followers. As a result, many tribes of Norsca take Khorne as their sole patron and most Chaos Shrines dedicated to him are found within Norse settlements. The Norscans also maintain a unique tradition in their version of Khornate worship, holding up the veneration of the Daemon Princess Valkia the Bloody. According to Norse sagas, she was once a fearsome warrior queen of one of the tribes of Norsca who was risen from her tribe to become the Shield-Maiden of the Blood God and the Bringer of Glory -- Khorne's consort who chooses the valiant dead who are to enter into the Halls of the Blood God to fight on for all eternity. Many times in the past, Valkia has returned to the mortal plane to lead the Norscans to battle, and in her presence, the grim warriors of the north fight even harder - for where Valkia flies, the Axe-Father watches, and to any Norscan, the prospect of becoming his Chosen is a prize beyond all measure.

Indeed, the Norscans' utter devotion to Khorne is a dark thing of terrifying fanaticism, for they have gone above and beyond the call of their god's demand for eternal warfare. Thus, many Norse tribes spend their days raiding up and down the coastlines of the Empire and beyond to gather skulls to honour the Blood God. An example of the Norscan Khornate zealotry is of the Gorehunt tribe, who in late 2103 IC, resolved to offer up the skulls of far-off lands unto the Blood God, and took to the seas on their longships, heading to the south. The Norscans eventually came across the desert kingdom of Araby. Though the tribe was less than a hundred strong, the Norsemen were truly blessed by Khorne, and carved a bloody path of devastation throughout the land, battering aside the many thousand-strong armies of the Emirs of Araby. Finally, the rulers of that kingdom sent an army so great it hid the very dunes of the desert with its passing, and numbered great creatures of magic in its number. But the berserking Norsemen fought on with an iron resolve and annihilated the army, spilling so much blood it ran in a mighty river throughout the desert kingdom. Though every Norscan of the Gorehunt tribe was slain, their strength and devotion pleased Khorne greatly, and he willed it so that the river of blood they spilled would forever run through Araby as a testament to their devotion.

The holymen of Norse society are the Seers, or "Vitki", as they referred to in Norscan. Admittedly, many of these shamanistic spell-casters are Chaos Sorcerers, who draw upon the power of the Dark Gods to fuel their divination. These priests are often the advisers of the mighty Norse chieftains, and wield great authority over the tribes due to their status as the mouthpiece of the Chaos Gods. With but a word can a Vitki order the death of any man, and thralls die brutally by the score in order seal the Daemonic pacts and empower foul rituals by which they draw upon the dark power of Chaos. Steeped in the arcane traditions of the Ruinous Powers, it falls to these privileged men and women to interpret the movements of the Winds of Chaos, the whispers of Daemons and the spirits of fallen warriors in order to guide the Jarl to choose the proper path for the tribes -- one of blood, glory and conquest.

Amongst the many, many Norse clans who are dedicated solely to the bloody-minded worship of Khorne, another tradition of divination exists. One that abides by the strength of steel than the addled whispers of sorcerers, the terrible Bloodfathers, or Khornate Warrior Priests. These warlike holymen are solitary by nature, and many deign to attend to the shrines and holy places of Khorne, the majority of which located in Norsca, but also others further afield. They are rightly considered legendary amongst the northern tribes, for many amongst them bear the Mark of Khorne, a sign of their lord's favour, and it is whispered amongst the Norsemen that such is their strength and skill that no man can best them in battle, for there is no trick of axe or sword that Khorne has not revealed unto them. The dreams of the Bloodfathers touch ever so with the sanguine realm of Khorne, granting them visions of scarlet yesterdays and crimson tomorrows, visions of battle that allow them to advise their chieftains to path of Khorne's favour, and the Bloodfathers of Norsca often boast that the divining cantrips of sorcerers is precious little compared to the visions granted by a God.

Norscans observe various customs and rituals before battle; done in order to prepare themselves for the fight and to gain the favour of the Dark Gods. The bloody sacrifice of a thrall to the Great Powers is a an extremely common practice, but it is by no means the only one. Most battle-customs involve terrifying and complex rites, such as the symbolic spilling of blood, consuming the flesh of Chaos, and even ritual combat between two warriors. In some tribes, there exists a truly horrific ritual to consume the power of Chaos. They first take a living Beastman, drain its blood into an iron cauldron brought to a boil and then add various hallucinogenic substances and herbs into the repulsive fluids. Next, the warriors drop locks of their hair into the concoction. Once all the warband have contributed, the sorcerer hands around a skull filled with the liquid. Each warrior drinks from the skull down to the dregs, believing that ingesting the blood will allow them to receive visions from their gods.

Death
"He's taken his father's hand."

- A Norscan saying meaning that a fallen warrior has taken his seat in the Halls of the Dark Gods

Death is of no fear for a Norseman. No true Son of the Dark North fears to escape the prison of flesh, to enter the Realm of the Dark Gods in honour and to dwell within their halls. Whether it be that the Shieldmaiden of the Blood God herself shall carry them to fight on in Khorne's Brass Citadel, or that they dwell forevermore in Tzeentch's Impossible Fortress. Their measure is taken by the moment of their deaths; by the blood they shed and the foes they slay, and the Gods are said to look well upon men who fight the hopeless fight, and thus it is said that Norsemen never retreat. For to do so is the epitome of weakness, and the Dark Gods of the North have little mercy for those who are weak, and such souls are doomed to be shamed and tormented in the afterlife.

It is strength alone the evil gods of Norsca exalt, and they are pleased by those who slay with power and who die with honour. A warrior's saga is said to begin in death, and so each Northman strives to make it so that their doom is of such glory and blood that it is worthy of remembrance. For no father can respect a son who does not find an end nobler than his own, and would sooner spit on him from the halls of the Dark Gods.

The Norsemen have an acute obsession with death, equally that of their enemies as much as their own. Theirs is a culture that exults and embraces that which is brutal and deadly, values the masculine and strong, and which teaches men to be reckless with death. This affords them a clear psychological advantage over their enemies, for where the men of the south and east might fear the pain of their death, the Norscans embrace it as the only road to the true realm beyond the waking dream of flesh. Amongst the Norsemen, it is an unthinkable fate for a man to die without holding his weapon, for how can the gods permit him to enter their halls when he cannot prove he met his end in battle. A far worse affront is for a warrior's corpse to be dismembered of his hands, for how is he to grip his sword and shield in the eternal battlefields of the Dark Gods without a hand to clasp around the handle of his blades. Indeed, to desecrate a corpse in such a way is grave crime amongst the Norse, sure to drive them to seek vengeance from the perpetrator no matter the cost.

The Norse possess many complex rituals to honour those who find their way to tread the paths of the Realm of Chaos, by far, the most well known is to place a dead warrior upon a ship and burn it to the sea. This is a prestigious thing, and is reserved only for chieftains and mighty champions. By placing a warrior upon a ship, it is believed that his soul shall rise with the flames to be sent on his way to the Dark Gods. Among the Norsemen, it is considered a tiding of great doom to wage war while a warrior is committed to the gods in this way, for to fight in the shadow of unquiet souls is an omen of ill-fortune. It is often customary to recite the dark and brutal deeds of the fallen, that the gods might know who it is that comes to their hall.

Another, similar funerary practice, one reserved for warriors who fall in battle is to place them upon a burning pyre. The fires are believed to carry the spirit of the dead warrior high to the halls of the Dark Gods, where they shall tell their tales to their honoured fathers and share their stories of victory in war with the other great warriors and kings of ancient days. All around their pyres, their shield-brothers gather to give a great shout into the sky, bringing their axes and swords to hammer against their shields while they roar and bellow the names and bloody feats of valour of those who have fallen, that the gods of the North might know they who come to take their place at their lofty tables.

Norse funerals are no sombre, self-important affair as they are in the south. Those who have fallen are honoured and revered, their pyres no commiseration of death, but rather a celebration of their lives. Those who die are revered and hailed, for their saga is now completed, and shall be joined to that of the greater tribe, and in turn, that of the Norse people themselves. Marauder and Chosen, herdsman and King alike are honoured thus, and through this, they shall live forever. Not only in the immortal realms beyond flesh, but in the memories of those who will come after them.

Norscan Battle Practices
"And then those sails appeared on the horizon. White, but dripping with the bloody symbols of their foul gods. And then came the black wood of the boats, dragged through the froth by tireless, muscled arms pulling on a hundred oars. I rang the warning bell from my lookout and me lads formed up, each one sweating at the arrival of these beasts. The crossbowmen loosed bolt after bolt, and many fell, but still the howling fiends ran up the beaches with no care for armour or shields. They looked like rabble, but fought like daemons, crashing through our lines, butchering men left and right, clubbing limbs into gore and hacking heads from bodies like they were attached with butter. I'll never forget that morning...""

- Account transcribed from an Ostland sergeant, 2517 IC

The Norscans have a wholly deserved reputation for being incredible fighters. Thick-set and incredibly muscular; all Norscans are all possessed of an unquenchable battle-thirst, though not through any blight of their souls, but rather as a product of the world in which they live. Their homeland is a haunted waste infested with terrifying beasts such as Chaos Spawn and trolls, infused with the very essence of Chaos and lashed by furious, freezing winds. Their gods are terrifying idols of darkness, who favour only the strong and demand the destruction of the weak. To their east are the bloodthirsty horse-nomads, to their south are the heirs of Sigmar and to their north, the very abode of their gods. Norsca is a land where living even a single day is a victory. Comparing the men of Norsca unto the soft-bellied wastrels of the south is to compare a wolf to a sheep, for where the men of the south would cower secure behind their high walls, the men of Norsca roam the far corners of the world in search of adventure and plunder. Where the men of the Empire indulge themselves before a fireplace glutting on fine wine and cheese, the men of the north must hunt and kill for their daily bread and rip into raw meet with their bare hands and teeth for their efforts. Where the men of the south complain bitterly of travelling abroad in fog or sleet, the Norse brave howling blizzards clad in little more than flea infested scraps of fur. Little wonder then that the raids of the northmen are feared throughout the Old World.

The conditions of their environment and the savage strictures of their faith have molded them into a true warrior race. Each northman towers over any man of the Empire, their powerful bodies hardened by lives of ceaseless toil and endless war. The Norsemen fight for their very survival from birth, and every man is expected, nay demanded, to be an accomplished warrior -- hardy, fierce and independent. The Norsemen have no inclination for the ways of the ploughshare or sickle; their tools are the sword, axe and shield, and that which their own lands cannot provide for them, they merely take from the lands of lesser men.

Their legendary strength and endurance has been built by centuries of living in a land that does not tolerate weakness, and has been further fortified by the corrupting influence of Chaos that inevitably affects all those who live so close to the Wastes. Though most such groups are driven by uncontrollable violence and are often marked by bouts of inner conflict, the Norse Marauder-bands are often as bound together by mutual brotherhood and respect as by a shared love for destruction, and the bonds between shield-brothers endure even as the Marauder band divides or grows.

In battle, the Norscans invoke the war-god Khorne, from the lowliest marauder to the highest Chosen (provided he does not serve an opposing power, of course). By bellowing and roaring his dark name, the Norsemen drive themselves into an uncontrollable battle-fury -- whether by their own will or that of Khorne, who can say. The blood-crazed Khornate berserkers of Norsca are truly fearsome opponents, and many thousands have been undone by their psychotic, blood-lusting fury. Whichever one of the Four they worship, every Norseman is a fearless warrior.When set loose on the battlefield, each marauder is like a beast scenting blood, and they will not rest until their lust for death is sated. For they know that the eyes of the gods are upon them, judging their strength and testing their courage. They know too that those who fight well will be honoured by the gods, and will receive their blessings and the marks of their favour, and so they fight with no regard for their own lives, only for how many they can take on the battlefield. Death, after all, is the destiny of all and so when it is that when it comes the Norse do not court it like the weak men of the south, but rather embrace it. A bloody end with blade in hand and the red ruin of their foes strewn all about them -- an end to make both gods and ancestors proud; the men of the North fear dishonour more than the touch of the valkyrie.

The armies of Norsca are feared and renowned for their sheer ferocity and the strength of their infantry, comprised chiefly of merciless Marauders and bloodthirsty iron-clad Chaos Warriors. Favouring the battle-axe, heavy flail and violent exultation of melee combat over any sort of tactical nuance or stealth.

Due to the heavy prevalence of Khornate worship amongst the Norse, the use of ranged weaponry and subtlety are decried as the ways of cowards. And as cowards are below the scrutiny of the Dark Gods, many Norsemen prefer the fury of close quarters and are given to acts of suicidal bravery and barbaric heroism, that they may attract the attentions of the Dark Gods and receive the blessings they so crave.

However, it has been noted amongst generals that the Norsemen often possess little to no cavalry. Indeed, what few horses the Norscans do utilize are almost always serve as beasts of burden, simply used only to transport the warriors to the battlefield. Commonly, the Northern tribes tend to regard horses with a great deal of suspicion; seeing them as uncertain investments at best and dangerous liabilities at worse. This approach is a stark contrast with the other races of the North; the Kurgan and Hung, who are often inseparable from their steeds and will almost always go into battle as horsemen. However, the outlook differs amongst some tribes, primarily those who lead a nomadic existence. Such tribesmen have a great affinity for horses, invariably powerful, short-tempered beasts fed on fed on watered-down blood and a mixture of human flesh and grain. However, again unlike the Kurgan and Hung, who favour the bow and who have forged a reputation as horse-archers skilled enough to eclipse even the Ungols of Kislev, the Norscans instead specialize in heavy cavalry intended to crush the enemy with thunderous charges and carry the riders swiftly into the maelstrom of battle, where they might strike down their foes with axe and sword.

Many Norse horsemen favour throwing axes and javelins however, while others prefer wicked barbed flails that catch the enemy and drag them behind their horse until they come apart in a welter of blood. Many of the larger Norscan warhirds have also tamed the titanic mammoths of the northern wastes, and have enslaved them as beasts of war. While the Dolgans of the Eastern Steppes are renowned as the most prolific users of the great War Mammoths, the Norse too have often brought these legendary beasts to bear in battle against the enemies of the Dark Gods. Most terrible of these creatures are those who have been twisted and mutated by the influences of Chaos, transforming them into insane, hate-filled beasts that await the chance to vent their suffering upon others.

Though the favoured tactic of many a Norse warband is to simply charge across the battlefield and close the distance with their enemies, getting to grips with them in melee where their superior strength and martial skill will see them to victory, the Norse have perfected the usage of many other mass warfare tactics. One particularly ubiquitous formation amongst the Norsemen is the Boar's Head, or Swine's Head, a wedge formation where the warriors lock their thick shields together to protect themselves from enemy fire. Like the jaws of some great beast, the serrated ranks of the phalanx charges forth, getting to grips with the foe, where the Norscans then cut them down with vicious abandon. The indomitable shield-wall is another mainstay of Norscan military tactics, arguably one of the most ancient as it stretches back to the days of the Norsii raiders. Similar to the boar's head, the Shield-Wall is a flexible military formation, capable of defending a Norscan warband from even the heaviest of projectile fire, and blunt the force of even the most devastating charge.

The largest form of organization for the Norscan warriors is known as a freigattur -- 'free-gathering' in the common tongue -- when the Champions of Norsca bring their tribes and warbands together in common cause, usually for a massive invasion of the Imperial or Kurgan lands, or in order to defend their own tribes from invaders. It is a time for warriors to meet and feast and swear oaths of blood and glory for when they stand together in battle, and for their chieftains to meet in conference with one another aboard the deck of the kingship of he who has called the meeting to order. These convocations allow for a massive raising of forces, comprising of thousands of blood-hungry clansmen, though its unity depends on the iron will and strength of purpose of its leaders, and the promise of victory and wealth for its warriors.

The next largest organization of warrors is the warband itself, or the warhird, as it is called in the Norscan tongue. Most folk in the northern reaches of the Empire and Kislev are likely well acquainted with the common Norse warband, brutal reavers either charging down the Kislevite steppes or leaping fur-clad from longships to savage the coastlines. The Norse warhirds comprise the bulk of the Chaos Hordes, alongside the warrior-bands of the Kurgan and Hung. In times of war, the Norsemen flock to the banners of the great champions, throwing their weight behind the cause, whether it be the favour of the gods or the bright lure of plundered gold. When not part of a great army, the Norsemen spend their days raiding the towns and villages of the south. Though perceived as a single, mindless horde of heathen warriors bent on rapine and slaughter by the peoples of the south, the Norseman bands are often wildly distinct in terms of tactics, appearance, and Chaos allegiance. Some warbands are characterized by only using axes in battle, others by only armouring their fronts so that they cannot retreat from the battlefield, while others by a particular style of beard. Regardless, the fact remains that any Norse warhird is invariably comprised of mighty, hardened warriors of superlative skill and deadliness. Hardened by a bleak land and bred for battle, they hold all others in contempt and hatred.

The Blood Raven
"It takes strength of purpose to do this. But keep your loyalty true and my lord's hand will guide you correctly. Blood for the Blood God!"

- Valkia the Bloody, on the Norse rite of the Bloodraven

Norscan executions are unimaginably brutal affairs best not described on a full stomach. One above all is noted for its significance and sadism -- the terrible rite known as the Blood Raven.

In 1396 IC, the Norscans had begun to wage war against the Dwarfen citadel of Karak Ghulg, in the northernmost peaks of the World's Edge Mountains, just off southern Norsca. This warhird was under the command of a Khornate Champion known only as King Bothvar, a warrior-lord of the Norse who had been reputed to have fought and killed for the glory of Khorne for centuries untold. How this war could have ignited is anyone's guess, but the account given in the Book of Grudges gives no catalyst. In any event, the tribes of Norsca and the Dwarfs inhabiting their lands had always been given to skirmishes -- they were far too different, too detached from one another to ever find any sort of bargaining room, and to this day, their relation is one of war. It is likely however, that the army of Bothvar was attempting to gain passage to invade the lands of the Empire.

Valkia the Bloody, Shield-Maiden of Khorne and Chooser of the Slain, had for centuries watched over her people from the Realm of Chaos. Shepherding the worthy to Khorne's Halls and bearing the word of her god unto them, and for this she had been revered and worshiped amongst the Norse. Her coming before King Bothvar and his army had been to bear word of Khorne's favour, for they had fought long and valourously in his service. But it was also to bear unto them a new commandment -- that while Khorne had been pleased with their actions, he required a greater show of piety from them. He commanded the ancient rite of the Blood Raven.

Valkia thus taught this rite to Bothvar's army, and alongside the king, she fought in the siege. Bringing the Northern Dwarfs to their knees and slaughtering their King in single combat. The Norsemen, for every Dwarf they slew and some whom the did not, did unfold their enemies' blooded ribs, made naked their hearts and ripped out their lungs and set them against their shoulders, making the Dwarfs appear as if they had blooded wings of hell-sent furies. This barbaric affair had afforded Valkia a mighty grudge from the Dwarfen nation, but one that they have been hitherto unable to settle, for the Shield-Maiden is Khorne's paramour, and never will he allow his favoured warrior to fall.

The Blood Raven is as complex as it is grotesque, considered to be a method by which enemies are sacrificed to Khorne. In one style of the execution, the skin of the person's chest is sliced and peeled off, exposing their bloody ribs. The sternum is then broken, usually with a weapon, but amongst more savage Norsemen, with bare-hands and fists. The two ends of the ribcage are then taken and pulled outwards, a feat that necessitates the immeasurable strength of the common Norseman. The lungs are then taken out and splayed outwards, causing the slain to seem as though he possess wings, much like a raven. And thanks is given unto the Blood God for victory. Other usages of the Blood Raven involve instead flaying the flesh from the slain's back, rather than his or her front. The ribs are then cut from the victim's body, made to bend outwards until they break. Finally, the pulsing lungs are pulled out and are thus set against the dying's back. It is a terrible, lingering death that invites the sadistic pleasure of the Dark Gods and it is with a butcher's aplomb that the Norse carry it out.

Wergild
It would be easy to decry the Norsemen as being lawless savages, with no care for the destruction and carnage they leave in their wake. Truly, they are a savage people; who have little interest in other races beyond slaughtering or enslaving them, and who openly worship the Dark Lords of Chaos. However, Norse culture is far more than simply a series of endless battles, and to decry Norse society as being lawless is simply false.

Favouring simple laws over the complex ones preferred in the Empire and elsewhere, the Wergild (Man-Gold, in the tongue of the Northmen) is one of the few universally accepted traditions of Norsca. To put it simply, any crime, no matter how great or small, incurs a debt, or, Wergild. When a man is wronged in Norsemen society, he may seek recompense from a Jarl, Chaos Champions and leaders of Norse society. The man states his case, and the accused is given a chance to defend himself. Witnesses of honourable character are then produced by both sides to lend their perspectives on things, and once all the evidence is presented, the Jarl comes to his decision. Such a verdict rarely comes easily, and is never entirely fair, depending on the quality of the arguments and the Jarl's own mood. In any event, the final arbitration of the matter rests with the Jarl, who sets the ultimate price of Wergild. This can be in the form of a fine, which varies according to the importance of the individual murdered; Northman Kings and Jarls thus require the highest level of recompense. Over the centuries, the Wergild has expanded to cover all manner of possible offenses, thus, in instances where no one has been killed, a Jarl must be somewhat creative in his arbitration.

Each Jarl must fall upon his own wit and cunning when devising a Wergild, basing the recompense on the crime itself. In the case of a wrongful allegation, a Jarl may order the accuser's tongue to be ripped out. Assaulting another man's wife may result in the rapist being made a eunuch, as a purely practical consideration, seeing as how the accused could not properly control his passions. The taking of limbs is another fairy popular punishment when the accused cannot pay the Wergild, and in some cases, even when he or she can. In the case of a particularly dishonourable deed, the accused may be forced to undertake an impossible quest to some horrific den in Norsca that will likely lead to their deaths. This is a particularly popular and desirable fate for warriors found guilty and indebted, particularly to a non-warrior, as warriors in Norscan society believe it a breach of their honour to become indebted to such peasants. To a Norseman, it is a fine fate to be sent upon a terrible life-risking quest to slay a great beast, thus gaining glory and the favour of the Dark Gods, and perhaps even their Mark of favour.

The manner in which the Wergild is paid out varies amongst the tribes. Certain times, the arbitration of Wergild may involve a transfer of titles and station to the wronged party, and there are even some cases of Norsemen taking the women, children, holdings and even the thralls of their enemies as recompense for losing their own as a result of the accused's actions. Other times, the Wergild may not even fall on the guilty party, but instead on a relative -- such as a wife or child, who will often have to part with a limb or eye to repay the debt of the patriarch. Sometimes, it may even pass upon the next person to enter the area, a preferred arrangement for the accused, but often a risky one if a man of importance, such as a Jarl, is the one who enters.

The shaman of Norsca, however, have no worldly Wergild attached to them. Rather, it is thought that the reprisals from the Dark Gods themselves settle all debts those foolish enough to strike a seer must pay. As the gods are very active in Norscan society, shaman, seers, vitki and Chaos Sorcerers occupy a high level of importance in the echelons of Norse society and are afforded a great deal respect, seen as the oracles through whom the gods communicate their holy will (of course, as the Norse see spirituality as a matter directly between a man and the Chaos Gods themselves, no self-respecting Northman would depend on a middle-man to speak with his own deities). It is either a desperate or reckless man of Norsca who would dare raise his hand against a seer; for even the fearsome warriors of the north are wise enough to fear the retribution of their cruel gods. Norse tribes dedicated to the Master of the Skull Throne have no reverence for spell-casters such as Chaos Sorcerers, and invariably slay such seers whenever they find them. To compensate for their dearth of arcane knowledge, Norsemen trbes who worship the Blood God have their own form of Seers; a sect of terrifying warrior-priests known as Bloodfathers. These Norsemen are legendary warriors who bear the Mark of Khorne and are said to receive visions of bloodshed and knowledge of battle from him. For even a devotee of Khorne to raise his hand against them is said to invite the displeasure of an already raging god. The Bloodfathers of Norsca are rightly feared throughout the North, for it is said that there is no trick of axe and sword that Khorne has not revealed unto them.

Trade
The Norscans are commonly described as a people with only two talents - producing lethal weapons of war and producing powerful warriors with the deadly will to use them. And as such, trade with the various people surrounding them -- the horse-nomads to their east and the mutant bands to their north -- will commonly center around the exchange of weaponry and armour. For it is for their smelting of metal and working of steel that the Norscans may be acknowledged when off the battle-field. Norscan steel is amongst the finest in all the known world; their barbaric iron plates capable of turning aside a blade as well as the armour of any Knightly lord of Bretonnia, and there are those smiths of the Norse well versed in the art of creating the vaunted Chaos Armour, but such knowledge is jealously guarded and rarely attempted; for the creation of such armour involves black rites and sacrifices of the maker's very spirit. Even moreso, many superstitious Norsemen refrain from the creation of Chaos Armour -- believing their manufacture a matter only for the Gods themselves.

The Norscans have also kept strong trade channels with the Fire Dwarfs of the Great Skull Land. Over the centuries, trade delegations from Zharr Nagarund have made contact with the Norse tribes (with varying degrees of success, however) and have opened up some trade relations with them. The Norscans cannot hope to match the Dwarfs in the art of metallurgy, for the work of men is shoddy and exude compared to the mastery of the Sons of Grungni and Hashut. Indeed, the Norscans entertain trade relations with the Chaos Dwarfs in order to make use of their masterfully crafted weapons and armour. The Norscan tribes thus exchange furs, meat, precious gems, warpstone, Chaos-tainted iron ore and, most importantly for the Dwarfs, slaves in order to buy their armaments. Some few Norscan tribes, primarily those in the extreme south of the country, also trade with the Empire in small quantities, though this is comparatively little compared to their commerce with the Kurgans. In times of peace, northmen can be found selling furs, gems, hunted game and other such things in the great merchant cities of Erengrad or Marienburg, however this is often a contemptible position for any Norseman, and few will look upon it as a first resort. Some Norse tribes have also seen fit to sell slaves taken from their many raids to the Dark Elves of the west, particularly the Graelings, who do so in between raiding the Dark Elven cities, such as Karond Kar. Norse slavers are also seen as far south as Araby and Ind, flooding the flesh-markets with premium stock that lesser warriors simply could not attain.

The Norscans have little use for coins, preferring instead barter and simply taking what they wish on their raids, including coins of other races and kingdoms. But what few coins they do mint are called sceattas, small silver coins bearing the crude imagery of a tribal king encircled by runes of the Dark Tongue. The pfenning is a bronze coin whose face is divided into 4 quadrants. Each quadrant bears a rune; starting with Strength in the top left quadrant, then clockwise the other quadrants are Courage, Death and Conquest. The Northmen do not mint gold coins; whatever gold they find they instead melt down into jewelry. They do not exchange coins with other nations, firstly due to few southern traders hazarding transactions with those who so openly serve Chaos, and also because the Norsemen see all coinage as equal regardless of composition.

Language
Norscan is a complex and ancient tongue. Structurally, it bears much similarity with Khazalid, the harsh, guttural tongue of the Dwarfs, but it is also deeply influenced by the Dark Tongue, and to a lesser extent, Old Reikspiel. Essentially, Norscan uses a small number of root words and creates new words by adding prefixes and suffixes and creating compound words out of simple ones. What further adds to its complexity is that different tribes often use different words to describe the same things, hence the dialects of Norscan vary wildly, often making the clans different nations unto themselves. For instance, a southerly tribe may refer to a bear as a 'bee-wolf' (bee for honey, wolf for shape and appetite), while a northerly tribe, where bees simply do not exist, may refer to a bear as a 'water-wolf', since the bear snatches fish from the mountain streams. In order to master this language, one must not only have complete mastery over its root words, but also be able to understand the implied meaning when the words are joined in the context of where they are spoken.

As the Norsemen have invaded and conquered the Empire in the past, their tongue has come to influence those of the Empire, particularly in the northerly provinces most susceptible to their attacks, such as Nordland and Ostland. For instance, the term 'werecreature', used to describe shape-changing creatures, is obviously drawn from the Norse word for Chaos Spawn and Forsaken -- 'Were'. The Norse have no word for 'Mutant' in their tongues. The closest equivalents for the condition being 'blessed', 'gifted', or 'chosen'. The latter being perhaps the closest fit, chosen by the Dark Powers, gifted by the Gods.

Titles form another important aspect of the Norscan lexicon, and are often bestowed upon a warrior after certain exploits donating a personal trait or ability. Examples of such are, 'Hatewrath', 'Manslayer', 'Bloodaxe', 'Beasthunter' and so on. Norscan insults, on the other hand, are often crude, demeaning and appalling to hear. As the Norse venerate all things masculine, disparaging a man's warrior and sexual prowess is not only humiliating, but also infuriating to hear. To speak of a man's sword is a particularly common jibe, thus impugning both his skill at arms as well as the size of his manhood. Comparing men to faithless Imperials, thus implying disfavour and disloyalty to the Dark Gods, is yet another sure-fire way to provoke a Norseman into a terrible rage. And woe unto those foolish enough to imply that a Norseman was used as a woman in the bed of another man, for to utter such cravenness would transform even the lowliest Norse into a rampaging berserker certain to cut down dozens in a psychotic fury. The majority of common Norse insults are far too profane to even mention, but suffice to say, most are like the Norse themselves -- barbaric, crude, savage and incredibly unsubtle.

The Norse write using runes, and those familiar with the written script of the Dark Tongue can no doubt see its influence upon the written system of Norse. The runes are believed by many Norscans to hold some measure of the power of Chaos, and are thus often inscribed onto a warrior's armour, and even the plate-mail of the Chosen, in order to invoke the protection of the gods and grant strength to the wearer in a primative form of magical invocation.

Famed Norsemen

 * Morkar the Uniter: Morkar was a Norsii tribesman and the first Everchosen of Chaos. In the aftermath of Cormac Bloodaxe's invasion of the Empire, Sigmar Unberogen and his soldiers sailed to Norsca, setting aflame Norsii villages of the coastline. Morkar's own village and tribe were among those destroyed by the Empire's vengeance. Morkar survived the raids and managed to escape further into the north. Convinced that his gods had spared him for a reason, Morkar fought as all men of the north must fight -- for the favour of the gods. Morkar eventually rose to become a champion of Chaos and ruled over all of the North as a favoured son of Chaos. The Norsii was then crowned as Everchosen, and charged by the gods to make the mortal world a kingdom of Chaos. The hordes of Chaos swept into the lands of the Empire and Morkar came into single-combat with Sigmar. In a battle likened to that between gods, the two clashed until Sigmar finally overcame Morkar and slew him. Morkar's body was carried back to the north by his followers and laid in a great burrow deep within the Chaos Wastes, where it lay undisturbed until Morkar's successor; Archaon, plundered the ancient tomb to claim Morkar's invincible Chaos Armour from his corpse.


 * Cormac Bloodaxe: Cormac Bloodaxe was a mighty champion of the Blood God, Khorne, and a mighty chieftain and king amongst the Norsii tribes. The son of the slain High-King Varag Skulltaker, Cormac harboured a very great hatred towards the newly ascendant Empire that had slaughtered and driven his people back to the barren northlands. His greatest resentment reserved for the Unberogens and their king, Sigmar Heldenhammer, who had the charge. Needless to say, the molten core of violence within him, as well as his favour in the eyes of the Blood God, proved a potent force in unifying the scattered tribes of the Northmen. Clad in his father's Chaos Plate, and wielding a burning axe in which was bound the spirit of a daemon of Khorne, he was an avenging fury that laid waste to the enemies of his people. In time, tales of his victories and strength reached to the eastern lands, drawing the Kurgan and Hung tribes to pledge their lives to his banner. In circa 9 IC, he led the Norsii wolfships to ravage the coastal regions of the Udoses tribe before, putting the town of Haugrvik to the torch and slaying all within as a sacrifice to Khorne. Cormac then led the Norsii to the Udoses capital and destroyed the castle of Salzenhus, personally slaying Wolfilla, chieftain of the Udoses, and crucifying him. The Norsii armies then marched unimpeded throughout the outlying Imperial territories, putting countless townships to the torch. When the Emperor finally marshalled the tribes to face them, his army fared no better, and was forced to retreat to the city of Middenheim. The Norsii followed the battered remnants of Sigmar's army, intending to slay the Emperor and corrupt the sacred Flame of Ulric, thus destroying the faith of the Empire itself. The siege itself lasted over a dozen days, with the tide of war turning for the Norsii until at last, Khorne saw fit to honour Cormac with the gift of Daemonhood. The ascended king, alight with the power of his god's rage, slaughtered his way towards the sacred fire of Ulric, the charged ranks of berserking Norsemen behind him. The Daemon Prince faced Sigmar in single combat, but the heroic might of the Emperor, driven by his unshakable faith in the Wolf-God, drove him to smite the beastly Norse King and banish him back to the Realm of Chaos. With his defeat, the Norsemen lost hope and retreated from the field. Victory was in the hands of the Empire, but the memory of the terrible reckoning with the warriors of the Northern gods long shadowed the minds of all who had survived their onslaught.


 * Lord Mortkin: His true name having been lost, even amongst the Norsemen, the Chaos champion known as Lord Mortkin was said to hail from the long-dead village of Ulfennik, destroyed at the hands of Valmir von Raukov, elector of Ostland and his son, Oleg, who had personally carried out the death of Ulfennik. Mortkin swore before all his wicked gods that he would one day carve his weregild from the bones of the Ostlanders. After eight years of bringing the tribes of Norsca to his banner, Mortkin's warriors charged out of the North, butchering their way through Kislev until the reached Ostland and began to ravage the northeastern Province. Mortkin's horde was joined not only by the tribes of Norsca, but also by the hordes of Beastkin from the forests of the Empire, the Chaos Dwarfs led by the Sorcerer Hothgar, and even daemonic creatures of Chaos itself. The Norsemen tore their way through the land until they surrounded and destroyed the great Ostland city of Volganof, burning it to the ground. During the battle, Mortkin closed with Oleg von Raukov and cut down the man with contemptous ease, thus avenging his homeland. With that, Mortkin threw down his axe and declared the end of his tale; "weregild is paid", the Northman bellowed, "let Volganof burn to repay my home of Ulfennik. Never again shall I return here. My saga is ended and I choose now to die as a man, my will my own. I go now, too late mayhap, to the halls of my fathers". And thus did the fell light around him perish and Mortkin finally died, having overcome all enemies and reaped his vengeance. His funeral pyre the raging inferno that now engulfed Volganof. To the North, he is one of the greatest heroes, and many are the skald-chanters of the Northmen who bellow the tale of his life, and the tribes of Norsca who claim he yet stands with the Dark Gods in glory.


 * Valkia the Bloody: A fabled warrior-queen of one of the Norscan tribes, Valkia earned the favour of the Blood God by slaying all those who questioned her right to rule and by bringing her tribe firmly into the worship of Khorne. Tales of her victories reached to a Daemon Prince of Slaanesh known as Locephax, excited by the Norscan queen's feral beauty and athleticism, he demanded that Valkia forsake her rulership and instead join him as a pleasure-slave, believing the carnal delights of Slaanesh better for her than the violent power of Khorne. Enraged at this insolence, Valkia flew into the berserker rage and took up her terrible spear, Slaupnir. In the ensuing battle, Valkia defeated the Daemon Prince, decapitating it and nailing its head to her shield. With such a trophy in tow, Valkia resolved to carry it to the True North and lay it at the feet of the Blood God's throne. Yet, not even one so fierce as a ruler of the Norse could survive the perils of the Chaos Wastes alone, and though she slew many of the beasts of that accursed place, Valkia eventually fell to a horde of slavering daemons of Slaanesh. Khorne was impressed with Valkia's dedication, nonetheless, and bade her to rise up once more, reforming her frail mortal body into a creature more pleasing to his savage eyes. Valkia was thus reborn as a daemon prince, and charged forever by Khorne to shepherd the worthy fallen to his halls. Valkia, revered as Queen and Goddess, has led the Norse to victory into battle many, many times since her remaking, and the warriors of the north fight with even greater vigour in her presence.


 * Urlfdaemonkin: Being the name his tribesmen gave him upon his ascension to daemonhood, the man once known as Urlf was a great Champion of the Blood God and a Jarl of the Snaegr tribe. In ancient days he slew many foes, and in time his victories in battle could no longer be easily counted. As a reward for his loyalty, Khorne granted Urlf the greatest reward any servant of Chaos can hope for --  he ascended to become a Daemon Prince of Chaos and the ultimate manifestation of his god's wrath. The warriors of the Hall of the Snaegr began to revere Urlfdamonkin as a lesser deity of Chaos in his own right and an exemplar of their tribe; a symbol of what they too could become. Under the day he was ascended, the moon-time of Urlf, the men of Snaegr enact the rituals to summon their chieftain back to the realm of men, so that he may impart the blessings of Khorne upon them before they go to battle against the south.


 * Wulfrik the Wanderer: One of the greatest warriors to walk the Earth, Wulfrik has slaughtered long in the black names of the Northern Gods. As a champion of Chaos, he earned untold glory by slaughtering every rival who crossed his path and taking their skulls as grizzly trophies of his victories, affixing them to his heavy black plate for all to see. Many sagas were sung to his glory by the skalds of the Sarls, and his tale had reached as far abroad as the campfires of Kurgan nomads. Wulfrik's greatest victory arose when the Aeslings of the far north made war on the Sarls in 2519 IC, the Sarl King, a Tzeentchian champion known as Viglundr, had worked hard to procure the aid of countless mercenaries to bolster his numbers against the Aesling horde, but he had worked especially hard to buy Wulfrik's allegiance. Though believing Viglundr to be an unworthy heir of Ormnir, father of the Sarls, Wulfrik ultimately agreed to lead the King's army. In the now rightly legendary Battle of Thousand Skulls, Wulfrik faced the Aesling King, a terrible champion known as Torgald, in single combat. The duel was long, but Torgald's head was parted from neck by the sting of Wulfrik's black sword, and he held the severed head of the king high for his tribesmen to see. With this, the Aeslings became demoralized and were quickly routed. Wulfrik and his warriors returned to Ormfell draped in glory and, as is customary amongst the tribes of the North, did order a mighty feast to be held in honour of their triumph. Neither man nor beast had outfought him in battle, Wulfrik had said, and neither man nor beast would outdrink him victory as well. Wulfrik matched words with deeds; it had taken more than seven barrels of mead to put him under the table; a feat that had earned the awed respect of the mutated Ogres who fought at his side. Wulfrik had boasted of a great many things, before he was finished, he had slain every beast of the Chaos Wastes twice, and had personally boxed in the ears of three southling emperors. It was his final boast however that brought doom upon the champion's head, for Wulfrik had claimed that he was the equal of any warrior, be he of this world or the Realm of Chaos itself. This reached the ears of the Dark Gods, who were intrigued by the champion's arrogance. They charged Wulfrik to sail the four corners of the world and bring the deadliest creatures of the world to ruin in an endless series of hunts to prove his proud words, endowing him with the Gift of Tongues, which allowed him to challenge the creatures in their own tongues, no matter how strange or foreign. Wulfrik seized the daemonic longship, the Seafang from the keep of the sorceress Baga Yar, in order to seek out the offerings the gods demanded. His first task was slay the Tomb Lord Khaerops and tear out its shriveled entrails in honour of Nurgle, and from then on, he has slaughtered giants, daemons, dragons and trolls alike for the glory of his masters. Wulfrik is perhaps one of the most devoted servants of Chaos to walk the earth, for he has dedicated each of his heroic victories to the glory of the gods. To Khorne he offers the skulls of the slain, to Nurgle he gives the contents of their slit bellies, to Slaanesh their still-beating hearts, and to Tzeentch their last gasps of life.


 * Einarr Steelfist: A fierce Baersonling of the dead village of Vinnskor, as well as mighty champion of Tzeentch charged to face the terrible Plague Lord known as Skoroth and tear from his festering heart. Einarr was marked by the Raven God when he slew a mighty Bloodbeast unleashed upon his people by their traditional foes; the vicious Khorne-worshiping Aeslings of Skraevold. Einarr was then met by a travelling Kurgan raider, Vallac of the Khazags, who spoke of how Tchar had marked him for glory and thus pledged his life to his service. Einarr, on the other hand, desired only the chance to tear a bloody swathe through the Aesling nation. But a god does not ask, he takes, and thus Einarr was sent upon the road his god had willed, enticed down a perilous quest by the promise of the restoration of his people. He overcame many obstacles, slew countless foes, including Greater Daemons of Nurgle, and drew followers to his banner from all the tribes of Chaos; Norseman and Kurgan alike. Einarr eventually fought his way into the decaying halls of Skoroth's Palace and defeated him in a duel of magic, tearing out Vallac's very soul to power an incantation of ungodly power that bathed the sorcerer in the changing fires of Chaos.


 * Alfkaell the Aesling: Alfkaell was the Bloodfather of the Aeslings of Skraevold, an adviser to Jarl Kolsveinn, champion of the Blood God Khorne. To gain the status of the Bloodfather, Alfkaell tended to the cairn of the Tong warlord, Teiyogtei Khagan, at the time he tended the resting place of the apostate champion, a terrible iron-clad warrior began to wreak havoc upon the heirs of Teiyogtei. The Zars convened, and in their small way, attempted to unite to face the threat of the warrior, with Alfkaell watching over their meeting. Each and every one of the Kurgan chieftains rightly feared the Norseman; for the Bloodfather, marked by Khorne as he was, was as much a creature of his vengeful god as the armoured destroyer was. Alfkaell mocked the Kurgans' efforts, decrying them as weaklings and fools hapless before the vengeance of a god -- a god whom their forebear had dared to cheat. When Alfkaell took his leave of the convocation, none of the Kurgans dared bar his passage. Soon enough, after his charge in the Steppes was fulfilled, Alfkaell returned to Norsca to serve as Bloodfather to his people, guiding the Aeslings of Skraevold down the path to Khorne's favour. Several years later, Alfkaell was slain by Einarr 'Steelfist' Sigdansson, champion of Tzeentch.


 * Garmr Hrodvitnir: Perhaps one of the mightiest Champions of Khorne to have walked the earth, Garmr Hrodvitnir was the chieftain of one of the Norscan tribes who, like all Norsemen, hungered for glory and battle. He endeavored to finish the fabled Road of Skulls leading to the Dwarfen keep of Karak Kadrin, paving that ancient path with the skulls of every foe he faced in order to open a gate to the Realm of Chaos which would transform the Old World into an endless daemonic battlefield. He was foiled however by the efforts of Gotrek Gurnisson and Felix Jaegar. Notably, Garmr is one of the few beings to have matched Gotrek on equal terms in battle.


 * Losteriksson: A legendary Norse warrior, explorer and sailor who was the first man to discover the mysterious land of Lustria and who established the outpost of Skeggi there in 888 IC. Losteriksson's raids and establishment of the new outpost of Skeggi led to the Chaos Gods establishing a foothold in the New World, forcing the Slaan to contend with their ancient enemies from ages past in the form of their new human followers. In time, many warbands sailed from Norsca to Lustria, eager to plunder its ancient treasures and slay its inhabitants.


 * Scyla Anfingrimm: Scyla Anfingrimm was a mighty warrior and famed raider who earned great glory as a Champion of Khorne. His saga began when a great kraken began wreak havoc on the lands of Jarl Grundval Fang-Scar of the Graelings. Khorne himself had spoken to the Bloodfather of the Graelings, Ulfthras, and demanded a champion. A man with the brutal strength and savagery to face such a beast in single combat and lay its smoking heart at his table. Many of Khorne's Chosen journeyed from the length and breadth of Norsca, and some even as far afield as Kurgan, to answer Khorne's call. All failed, save for Scyla, son of Thurrik, of the Ironpelt. He slew the beast, tearing out its eye and bathing his crimson armour in its black blood, carrying his trophy back to the hall of Jarl Grundval. The assembled Graelings roared Scyla's name, and Ulfthras placed around Scyla's mighty shoulders a black-tusk pendant -- Khorne's symbol of favour for the one who would succeed in his test. From then on, Scyla ranked high in the esteem of the Blood God. In time, he furthered his ambitions. It was Scyla who slew the great Jabberslythe that troubled the lands around the River Voltag, and led the slaughter of the Skaven city of Black Gulch. When Scyla was brought to battle by a vengeful army of Imperial farmers left bereaved by his raids, he slaughtered the entire force and attached the bodies of its leaders to the prows of his longships. Soon, his name was legendary throughout the North, and feared in equal measure from the coastlines of the Empire to as far south as Ind and Cathay; Khorne clearly favoured him, and it was whispered that soon he would reward his champion with the gift of daemonhood. But so passionate was Scyla for the favour of Khorne, that he took on the blessings of his god far to quickly for his body to handle the strain, and when he had carried out to the destruction of the bestial Gorgers of the Undermountain, it was then that his blessings overcame his will, and he was transformed into a bestial Chaos Spawn. But such was Scyla's favour that Khorne did not abandon him, and continues to watch over and bless the beast. Scyla prowls the northern wastes to this day, seeking battle eternal and a bloody end that will no doubt please his god all the more.


 * Sigvald the Magnificent: The unholy bastard spawn of incest between a famed chieftain and his own sister, Sigvald the Magnificent is the mightiest and most favoured of all of Slaanesh's mortal servants and master of the Decadent Host - an army of psychopathic, amorous madmen enthralled by the charms of Slaanesh and unquestioningly loyal to him. Sigvald wields the rapier Silverslash, a blade said to be forged from a shard of Slaanesh's own sword.


 * Haargroth the Blooded: Once but a simple goatherd amongst one of the Graeling tribes of Norsca, Haargroth rose to become one of the mightiest warriors of the black North and Jarl of his tribe. A search for missing cattle led him to the darkened pine forests of Norsca, where dwelled vicious tribes of Beastkin and their abominable war-leaders. By chance, the young Norsemen happened upon one of these beastly warlords, slumbering with its snout stained red with the blood of the sheep that had been lost. Anger coursing through him at the sight, and memories of his countless abuses at the hands of fellow tribesmen rising to the fore, the goatherd took up the slumbering beastman's axe and brutally hacked him apart into screaming pieces. The axe itself was marked with Khorne's power, and through it the Blood God bestowed his favour upon the wrathful Northmen. Soon, Haargroth's framed swelled until he was a giant even amongst the number of the Norse, and his skill at warfare improved daily until he had became a capable warrior in his own right. While the Jarl and his men were away on the raids, Haargroth displayed his dominance, and soon the entire village became cowed by him. Soon, not even the fighting men of the tribe would sneer at him, for they knew that the warrior had born the stigmata of Khorne's favour. One day, when the Jarl returned from a raid on the Empire, as tradition dictated, he was to enter the hall last after his warriors. When he entered, he was shocked to see the hulking form of Haargroth seated on his throne. The two Chosen crossed blades, but the old Jarl bled his life away on Haargroth's daemon-axe, and the Graelings thus had a new leader. The following winter of Haargroth's ascension was a hard one for the tribes, for hunting was scarce. As was their way, the Norse tribes began waging war against each other to take the resources needed to ensure their survival. As one such raid fell upon the Graelings, their menfolk took up their mighty axes and took up rank to defend their home against their rivals, but it was Haargroth who truly carried the day, marching before his troops and slaughtering his foes with such vicious abandon that a mountain of severed limbs and gristle accumulated around him. One man prevailing against an army, his heroism inspired his fellow tribesmen, who joined their Jarl in battle and slaughtered the attackers to a man. With that, the Graelings raised the armoured behemoth that was Haargroth high into the air and carried him back to their hall, singing his mighty exploits and giving thanks unto Khorne for sending a true warrior to lead them. Haargroth went on to lead his people on countless, daring raids, earning for his tribe glory greater than they had ever seen before. His longships had brought ruin as far afield as the shores of Lustria, and he earned the respect of his people by always fighting where the danger was greatest and prevailing against all odds. He rewarded loyalty and valour with wealth and weapons touched with the power of the Gods, and punished sedition with death. In time, Haargroth and his Slaughterers grew bored of easy conquests amongst the peoples of the north, east and south, and thus journeyed to the Chaos Wastes to test their strength against the beasts of that benighted place. It was here that Haargroth crossed blades with Archaon the Everchosen, and while the Blooded One was mighty, not even he could withstand a warrior who held exalted favour before all the gods. But still, impressed with Haargroth's strength, Archaon offered the Norsemen the chance to fight alongside him in battle, and the chance to wet his blades in the mightiest battles of the coming war. Haargroth agreed, and joined his army of bloodthirsty Northmen and slavering Bloodbeasts to the forces of the Lord of the End-Times.


 * Styrkaar of Sortsvinaer: A chieftain amongst the Sortsvinear tribe, Styrkaar earned great glory on longship raids against the lands of the Imperials and Kurgans. His great skill was actually the work of a Greater Daemon of Slaanesh, who, since birth, had been his constant, albeit unseen companion. After a particularly successful raid, the warriors of Sortsvinear feasted and caroused within their mighty hall, giving thanks to their god Shornaal (an aspect of Slaanesh) for their victory. Styrkaar's father, Svengor, the old lord of the tribe, a mighty champion of the Dark Gods in his own right, did belittle his son's accomplishments, claiming that his own bloody deeds could never be matched. Incensed by his father's disrespect, Styrkaar leapt from his seat and demanded the chieftain raise his horn in recognition of his son's achievements. Angered by this disrespect, the Jerg thrashed the champion to the ground. When Styrkaar arose, Svengor was shocked to hear that the tribesmen bellowed his name, rather than his own. It was in this instance he realized how he had let his power slip in his dotage; nonetheless, Svengor was a Chosen champion of the Dark Gods, and he would break before he bent. Hands balled into fists, the aging warlord charged his son with a vicious warcry. That night, the Sortsvinear had a new chieftain. In the following years, Styrkaar led the Sortsvinear on countless conquests, his unseen daemonic ally strengthening him with untold power. To his fellow tribesmen, it appeared that Styrkaar had been given fulsome blessings by the Dark Gods (which was true, in a sense), and they too began to venerate him a fervor that bordered upon adoration. Yet he did not allow himself to grow old and weak with such laurels, as his father had. Styrkaar and his mightiest chosen had roamed the cold wastes of Norsca, defeating countless rival warbands and tribe. Styrkaar slew Karnak, dread Champion of Khorne, and his bloodthirsty shield-brothers, and also the mysterious Asgeiir and his masked warriors of Tzeentch. The Prince of Pleasure looked favourably upon the chieftain, and he willed that the daemon who had watched over him to be merged with his body. In that night, Styrkaar became a creature undeniably beyond mere humanity. In time, his exploits reached the ears of the Everchosen himself, who strode boldly into Styrkaar's hall. When the two warlords emerged, they clasped their arms in the manner of the Norse tribes in full view of the Sortsvinear, and Styrkaar pledged his legions of warriors to the cause of the Favoured Scion of Chaos.


 * Melekh the Changer: An Aesling blacksmith, Melekh's wife died during complications in childbirth that were exacerbated by the aid of the tribal shaman, Gaerkoll; his drunkenness caused his spell-craft to spiral out of control and thus cause the child to mutate in horrific manners, thus did Melekh's only child become a monstrous aberration. Seeing this turn of events as the sign of favour from Tzeentch, the chieftain ordered much feasting in Melekh's and the child's honour. Melekh eventually arose to become champion of the tribe, an by extension, Gaerkoll's apprentice in the arts of shamanism. Gaerkoll, recognising this in the entrails of a sacrifice as a sign that Melekh would rise to become pre-eminent in the eyes of Tzeentch, became deeply concerned for his own prestige and influence within the tribe, for Melekh had not forgiven him for the death of his woman. Gaerkoll hatched a plot to do away with the rising warrior, stealing away his son and charging him to journey to the Chaos Wastes and retrieve the true name of a Lord of Change, the tribe's very own daemonic patron, as his final test to prove himself Gaerkoll's successor. Though the thought of such a thing struck black fear into Melekh's heart, he knew that to refuse or fail was to forever lose his son to the keeping of Gaerkoll, and thus, a father's love drove him to take up this doomed quest. Against all odds, Melekh fought his way through the Chaos Wastes, through hordes of Horrors and stood before the Lord of Change. Though his time in the Wastes had transformed into a true Champion of Chaos, clad in spell-wrought iron and arcane robes of black magic, no mortal spellcaster, however skilled, could ever hope to match the might of a daemon. But Tzeentch himself chose to aid Melekh, and even as he lay dying against the daemon's assault, he heard the gibbering of the Horrors suddenly turn to the chanting of a single name. He drew the daemon towards him, and deceived into revealing its true name, thus did the Lord of Change scream as it found itself bound to the service of Melekh. Yet, in grudging respect of the mortal's cunning, the Lord of Change did grant the Norsemen its boons. Melekh returned to his tribe, at the head of a thousand strong host of daemons, his charge complete, only to find that decades had passed since he had been lost to the Wastes, for time flows differently within the very Realm of Chaos. His son had grown to a man, and Gaerkoll had risen to become chieftain and a champion of the gods in his own right. Thirsting for vengeance, and realizing he had been deceived, Melekh and his daemons waged war against Gaerkoll and the Aeslings, until, in an unforseen twist of fate, Melekh's son, now known as Cyspeth, did turn a blade against his mentor and thus secured his father's triumph. With this, Melekh became lord of the tribe. Archaon, recognising this from the prophecy of Necrodomo the Insane, did ride down into the clan-hold and did extract an oath of fealty from both father and son, granting the Champions of Tzeentch leadership of one his mighty hordes.


 * Valnir the Reaper: Valnir was a chieftain amongst one of the tribes of Norsca, so consumed was he by hate and spite that it was often said amongst the Norse that were Valnir's misery to flow as river, it would have enveloped all the North in its bitter waters. At a certain point, the hopelessness of Valnir's condition drove him to forsake his lordship amongst his people, swearing by the Dark Lords of the North that he would not cease in his quest until he had found a way to hold up a mirror to the world and show to it the futility of all its endeavours and the folly of hope. North he went, passing through the mountains and fjords of the Vargs into the lands of the Chaos Wastes, where he overcame countless horrors and monstrosities as he pressed further and further into that haunted place. Daemons whispered to Valnir, mocking his quest and demanding he kneel before the Gods, but the Norseman shouted them down, and reaffirmed his black oath. It was when Valnir found himself upon an isle made from corpses, holding a dead tree hanging rotted fruit that he at last relented in his quest, for here at last was the emblem of the misery he sought to inflict upon his fellow man. He knelt before the tree, pure evil and despair emanating from it, giving himself unto the powers that created it if they would only impart upon him the power to subject the world to the same horror that he endured every day. In answer, Nurgle, known amongst the clans of the Norse as Neiglen, appeared before Valnir. The Crow God demanded only that his followers spread his 'gifts' of sorrow and decay with joyful abandon, and in Valnir, he saw the greatest emissary. He bestowed upon the Norscan his most bountiful favour, transforming him into the first amongst his Chosen. From then on, Valnir was now known as the Reaper of Souls. Long did he slaughter in his god's name, sending souls to be devoured by Nurgle and spreading the diseases of the Crow to one and all. When the armies of Asavar Kul swept southwards, Valnir answered the call as mightiest of Nurgle's warriors. At the cataclysmic melee that was the Battle of Kislev, he crossed blades with Tzar Alexis, but somehow, the Kislevite managed to defeat the Reaper. But Valnir could not be defeated, not truly. His tribesmen carried his body back to his homeland, as was his last wish, and set him upon a great stone throne overlooking his old kingdom. For years, Valnir's flesh was caught between the state of regeneration and decay, as Nurgle slowly restored his fallen scion back to life. Now, Valnir is abroad once more, and the enemies of Nurgle will need to pay a thousandfold for his final death.


 * Valgar the Butcher: A Norse Chaos Lord who led his warband to Khemri to raid the tombs of ancient kings. The horde is ambushed on its return by the armies of the Tomb King Setta. Valgar was slain, and barely half a dozen of his Marauders returned to Norsca, bloody yet wealthy beyond their wildest dreams. Several years later, the legacy of Valgar's raid reached back to the North, as the iron-clad Chaos warriors of Norsca did battle against the restless armies of Settra. For 5 years, the Norse battled the undead amidst the snow-drifts and glaciers of their homeland, culminating in the epic battle before the Hellwyrm Glacier.


 * Hakka the Aesling: A mighty Chaos Lord of Khorne, hailing from the savage Aesling tribes, Hakka led his warband of mighty Norse warriors and slavering Bloodbeasts into the Chaos Wastes in 2509 IC to earn the right to lead the next great Chaos incursion by defeating his adversaries. Though the strength and fury of Hakka and his berserkers was unmatched, it was countered by numbers of his Slaaneshi rival, Sargath of the Kurgans and his hordes of hedonistic madmen, and the daemonic magics of Urak the Soulfiend and his coven of southling warlocks. Finally, the arrival of Tamurkhan the Maggot-Lord, champion of Nurgle, sealed the fate of the other three armies. Tamurkhan slew the arrogant Sargath, and the Kurgan's warband was then slaughtered by the brutal Aesling Khornates. The fury of Hakka and his warriors was then marshalled against the plagued warriors of Tamurkhan. Against the rage of Khorne, the warriors of Nurgle wavered but did not break, and slowly but surely began to push back the Norsemen, though with rivers of their filthy plagued blood spilled in the doing. Hakka, realizing he and his brothers were set against an impossible foe, roared out his defiance and committed his soul to the Norscan god of battle, swearing to the Blood God that he would slay as many of these rotting monstrosities as he could before Valkia the Bloody carried his spirit to Khorne's Brass Citadel. The Khornates fought with all the fury of their race, and many of Tamurkhan's slaves fell to their northern rage, but in the end, Hakka was swept away from his fellow warriors by the tide of battle. Though many thousands fell to the whirlwind fury of his twin axes, Hakka was eventually slain by four Bile Trolls.


 * Engra Deathsword: One of the three Norscan lieutenants of the Everchosen Asavar Kul, Engra is primarily notable for his utter devastation of the northern Kislevite city of Praag. After destroying the city, he joined his army with that of Asavar Kul, who was striking from the southeast, and together they marched upon Kislev itself. Though Asavar fell in the siege, slain by one of his own warriors, Engra was no where to be found, and his ultimate fate remains unknown.