Egil Styrbjorn

"Before you perish, know that your death will not be meaningless. The lord of skulls shall feast on your heart and drink of your blood, woman. And know, that in the times of Darkness that will soon come to engulf the world, the gods themselves will walk the land, leading their legions in the battle to end all battles. And in those End Times, Great Kharnath will cut down your Lady, hacking her head from her shoulders and great shall be the lamentation. Your goddess shall perish -- she knows this. And now, you too know the truth."

- High Jarl Egil Styrbjorn, to a dying priestess of the Lady of the Lake

Egil Styrbjorn is a mighty Chaos Lord of Khorne and High Jarl of the Skaeling city of Strovengaard. One of the most powerful chieftains of Norsca, Egil rose to attain the leadership of his clan by defeating his own father, himself a mighty and far famed champion of Khorne, in single combat, hacking his head from his shoulders and thus ensuring his father's passage to the glorious Halls of Khorne. By doing so, the legendary hellforged battleaxes, Garmr and Gormr, the mighty daemonblades forged in honour of the two bloodthirsty wolves said to accompany Khorne, Lord of Battles, on his hunts across the heavens passed to Styrbjorn's possession. These blades were ancient, holy artifacts of the Skaelings, and had been passed down through the generations of chieftains from father to son. Forged in the likeliness of snarling wolves and heavy with infernal power, the twin blades bear the trapped, raging essences of bound daemons. Burning with crimson fires as they sup on the lifeblood of their wielder's enemies, the twin axes have slaughtered tens of thousands across hundreds of battlefields in Styrbjorn's murderous hands.

Styrbjorn's leadership saw the men of Strovengaard rise in power and prestige, as he led them to uncounted victories over the neighbouring Norscan clans, the Kurgan and Hung horse-tribes to the east, and the civilized kingdoms of the far south. Clad in blackened Chaos Plate, and wielding the flaming axes of the Skaelings, he was an unstoppable juggernaut on the battlefield; devastating, and invincible. His strength and skill were beyond all compare, his lifespan greatly extended beyond the limits of mortality by his masters; allowing him to wage war unending against his foes, which in turn did please the war-god Khorne. But it was not only by his incredible strength and bloodlust that he achieved such glory amongst his tribesmen and the gods, but also through his savage cunning and intellect, which allowed the grizzled champion to outmaneuver and defeat his covetous rivals; less far-sighted and experienced Chaos champions.

Styrbjorn had always alternated his raiding targets, for a good hunter never held to closely to a single prey, his grandfather had said to him, lest he run them into extinction. He would raid on target for a half-decade, whether they be Kurgan or Imperial, before turning towards another race to vent his fury upon, allowing his enemies to grow soft and complacent with his absence, as well as affluent, making them more profitable targets in the future. The southerly kingdom of Bretonnia too has felt the brunt of the Norscan's fury, though regardless, it was under Styrbjorn's reign that a Bretonnian was inducted into the tribe. And this was no slave taken upon a raid, but a male child taken and set under the guidance of the shaman, a boy who had drifted across the northern seas on a rickety fishing coracle half-dead. Styrbjorn's god-touched eyes saw the power radiating from the boy, and perceived the mark of the Dark Gods upon him, for he had the ability to tap into the powers of Chaos and command the Winds of Magic, what the Bretonnians ignorantly knew and feared as 'Fay-touched'. Thus did Styrbjorn see the favour of his gods in taking this child as his own, and taught the child the ways of the Skaelings -- the ways of war, how to honour the gods with one's actions, and how to live and die with the honour befitting a man of Norsca, and did name the child Bjarki, admitting him into his own household. Bjarki's proudest moment came when, after learning all he could from his master Skaelabran, did choke the life from the malevolent shaman, thus inheriting his position. Many later victories became attributed to Bjarki's sorcery, but Styrbjorn was far past the point of feeling an iota of jealousy for the boy, as the shaman's sheer devoution to the man he saw as his father sat opposite to his allegiance to the Dark Gods. Yet nonetheless, the presence of the shamanistic Bjarki never served to satisfy Styrbjorn's overpowering hunger for a trueborn son of his own, a mighty warrior who would be favoured by the gods, and able to carry on his name.

History
Egil Styrbjorn attained leadership of his clan by defeating his father in single combat, hacking his head from his shoulders, thus ensuring his passage to the Blood God's halls of battle. As a result, the ancient hellforged axes, Garmr and Gormr, heavy with infernal power and the bound essence of Greater Daemons became his to wield on the battlefield. Holy artifacts of his people, they had been passed down the line of High Jarls for generations. Under the chieftain, the Skaelings of Strovengaard attained many bloody victories in their devastating raids against the neighboring Norse tribes, such as the mighty Graelings and Vargs, the countless Kurgan horse-clans, and even the slant-eyed Hung barbarians. Along the way, Styrbjorn had, as many warlords of Norsca, made an alliance with the Chaos Dwarfs, specifically with the Dwarf Lord Zumarah, in order to make use of his mighty Hellcannon, Ereshkigal-Namatar, so named for the twin daemons of blood, fire and industry bound in its creation. While Styrbjorn was weary of the excessive greed of the Dark Dwarfs, the power of the daemon construct proved enough for him to tolerate the presence of the Dwarf, paying him his geld of slaves and gold with every victory bought with the fury of Ereshkigal-Namtar. He had become particularly impressed with the cannon's might during his war with the Aesgar clan, as its power had reduced their mighty fortress to a flaming ruin.

Styrbjorn had slain tens of thousands personally during his countless battles and wars, and had amply demonstrated the favour of his god Khorne by doing so. Amongst some of his greatest achievements was to duel a mighty Dragon Ogre Shaggoth atop the Knife Peaks of Norsca, amidst a mighty storm conjured by the Dark Gods, defeating the primeval horror in single combat and carving its very heart from its chest. He alone faced a great serpent of the Undersea, spearing it through its belly and dragging it ashore before cutting its head from its neck. He took leave of his clan for a time to wander the darkened roads of the Chaos Wastes and smite the numberless monstrosities there to further show his power. He had ran with the terrible Ulfwerenar, hunted alongside the hulking white-furred Beastmen of Norsca, the Ymgir, and had feasted at the tables of the terrible Bloodbeasts of Khorne. This and more had Egil Styrbjorn, wielder of the legendary daemonaxes, Garmr and Gormr, done. The bloodthirsty Chaos Warlord was truly the beloved of his grim god, and Khorne had lavished his favoured champion with blessing upon blessing. Hulking and mighty with sheer strength and power beyond both man and beast, an unstoppable killer with the Lord of Battles as his only lord, and he wore the favour of his war-like deities like a mantle. Clad in black Chaos Plate, forged to resemble bloodthirsty, tusked wolves, carved with runes of holy favour, and which could turn aside any blade, Styrbjorn resonating a palpable aura of Chaos that touched the very souls of those near him, to even brush with the hellspawned warrior-king was to catch a measure of his bounteous favour, and to catch a maeasure of the gaze of the Dark Gods. Those of particular weakness of will and spirit would warp and twist, changed by the attentions of the gods by merely standing in Styrbjorn's presence.

Styrbjorn had taken many consorts from amongst the womenfolk of Strovengaard, for many women of Norsca are desirous to share their beds with men who bear the stigmata of the Dark Gods' favour, and from these countless wives had Styrbjorn sired a brood of 13 progeny of all ages. Yet not one amongst his wives could give to him a son, a warrior who could carry on his name after his death. The hoary bearded champion was troubled by this, and awaited a sign from the Dark Gods of the woman blessed with the honour to carry his true heir. When his seer, the shaman Bjarki, received a blood-vision from the Dark Gods of this woman, residing in the land of Bretonnia, which had for too long gone unmolested by Styrbjorn and his raiers, the mighty warlord knew at once that the gods had heeded his prayers, and did bid his legions of battle-hardened tribesmen, including his eldest daughters, both sword-maidens of commensurate skill, to take to the longships to make war upon the horsemen.

Attack on the Isle of Landri
Styrbjorn's longships initially made landfall on the great island of Landri, off the coast of Lyonnesse, in the far north-west of the country. Though there were literally thousands of inlets that made up the archipelago of north-western, Landri was by far the most significant of these barren isles, able to support a relatively large population. It too was said to have been protected by the Lady of the Lake, though this was soon proved an erroneous assertion. And though it was true that the people of Landri too paid homage to the god Mannan, offering sacrifices unto him that he might guard the seas from the fury of the Chaos raiders, whatever supplications they too had made to that god fell short, for the Norscans had made landfall upon the isle, accompanying the coming of winter, and despite the seas having roiled and heaved with fury. Styrbjorn's legions; composed of bloodthirsty axe-men, feral Ulfwerenar and mighty Huskarls bedecked in hulking Chaos Plate bearing the Marks of the Great Powers did fall upon the meagre defenders of Landri and slaked their thirst for death. Styrbjorn himself made short work of all those who dared his wrath, slaying both mere militiaman and sorcerous priestess of the Lady of the Lake alike with ease. He felt nothing for those deaths, for barely at all did he even consider the Bretonnians worthy even of his contempt. Stunted weaklings they were in his eyes, bereft of bravery or martial honour, smaller and weaker than even the Kurgan and Hung, and at least the latter two were men who paid homage to the true gods, men who lived and died without fear, men whom a warrior could at least feel pride in defeating.

Whatever antipathy he had for the Bretonnians themselves, it could not hope to contend with the sheer disdain Styrbjorn felt for their weakling deity. His raiders had closed in on the isle from both sides; the Bretonnians thus were hemmed and those who sought escape from the Norscans' rage found their route blocked. They thus clambered their way to take refuge in the only place left that could afford protection -- holy abbey of a god they called 'the Lady'. Though he had raided the Bretonnian coastlines many times, Styrbjorn had paid little attention to the faith of the men there. Having once hailed from the land, Bjarki explained the role of the Lady, describing her as a petty deity of little true power, and her clergy as doddering women weak of body and mind. To run from battle and shun death was cowardice unthinkable to a Norscan, but the idea that any god would be craven enough offer succour to those who would choose the road of cowardice was a ghastly thought, and only served to harden Styrbjorn's disgust for the land, for how could he respect a race whose very god was not worthy of respect.

Striding into the chapel, beholding a statue of the Bretonnians' goddess, the warlord had felt all the more disgusted. Here, in his mind, was a weak and degenerate god; not one of power and might like the gods of the north. The dying priestess who tended the chapel spoke of how the Lady would defend her people and avenge the Norscans' desecration of her holy place, but Styrbjorn scoffed at this disingenuous statement and, to demonstrate the weakness of the southern gods compared to those of the north, he personally destroyed the holy statue of the abbey, depicting the weeping image of the Bretonnian deity. As no divine retribution fell upon him, he had established the superiority of the northern gods. Those few amongst the people of Landri who had fought to the last were given an honourable death by the axe and the sword, in honour of Khorne, Lord of Battles. Those far more numerous who had begged and bargained for life were left impaled upon great brazen stakes to die by inches. The blackened throne of Styrbjorn was taken out from his kingship and placed within the defiled chapel, his very presence so tinged with the daemonic that it furthe despoiled that once holy place, and the Norscans made sport of those few survivors of their raid, and ransacked the wealthier homes for plunder. As the roiling of the sea had delayed the rest of his longships, Styrbjorn and his warriors thus stayed at Landri, awaiting the rest of his mighty Skaelings to join him in despoiling the kingdom further inland. Amongst those forces were the mighty Tuskers, the hulking war-mammoths of Norsca. Though Styrbjorn had utmost faith that his warriors would easily overcome any foe, he nonetheless wished to see the terror that would grip the horsemen upon bearing witness to those magnificent monstrosities. When the rest of his longships reached Landri, he marshalled his forces further inland, intent on finding the woman prophesied to bear his promised son.

Ravaging of Lyonesse
"We will slaughter them all, and laugh as they beg for mercy. It will be a good day."

- Jarl Egil, regarding the battle with the combined armies of Lyonesse, L'Anguille, Bastonne and Currone

Though the decision to wait at Landri for the rest of his forces to gather rankled with some elements of his followers, particularly the Chaos Dwarfs, Styrbjorn silenced all dissenters in his ranks easily enough. When the rest of his forces finally arrived after two days, the Skaelings made the push further inland. In particular, Styrbjorn was beginning to truly pursue his goal in the southern land. The seer had prophesied that the consort, now revealed to be a powerful sorceress of the Kurgan tribes, was even now making way north to meet with Styrbjorn, as the gods had decreed. They would meet on the eve of a great battle against the horsemen, where Styrbjorn would gain a great victory, and on the eve after, in sight of the daemon-moon Morrslieb, they would conceive their child together. Concerned that the mother of his son would come to peril alone, despite Bjarki's claims of her great power, he nonetheless charged Bjarki and a lesser chieftain known as Kveldulf to take a pack of horsemen southwards to the crow fields where the battle with the armies of the Bretonnians was to take place, and bring her to him. Meanwhile, Styrbjorn turned to plot his victory over the armies of Lyonesse, L'Anguille, Bastonne and Currone.

No mindless berserker Styrbjorn, the elder warmaster embodied also the bloody tactical mastery of his Lord, and had plotted the downfall of this enemies since the time of hearing of where he must invade. He knew that the Bretonnians would, given the reputation of the Norscans, underestimate their foes, believing them limited only to a full frontal assault. Styrbjorn had sent a force of Marauders ahead of the main horde to harry the Bretonnian forces of Duke Adalhard of Lyonesse, while the rest of his warriors moved inward, slaughtering and plundering supplies. Duke Adalhard met Styrbjorn's vanguard, but only succeeded into fighting them to a standstill. Skirmishes with the Norscans continued after that initial engagement, with the Northmen attempting to gauge the full strength of the Bretonnian defenders, and to hold them off while Bjarki and Kveldulf roved the western countryside, searching for the prophesied bride. Dispatched by the King himself, the forces of L'Anguille too marched for the defense of their southerly neighbours, despite the lingering border dispute between the two Dukedoms. Bjarki and Kveldulf soon succeeded in finding the Kurgan witch, Haegtesse, pale-skinned and darkly beautiful, the sorceress had forcibly taken possession of a younger body, supplanting the soul that had originally resided there that she might be able to bear the Norscan's daemon-son, as it was foretold. Brought into the Skaeling war-camp, on the eve of the battle to come under the gaze of Morrsleib. Though her eyes settled hungrily upon the Skaeling warlord, their coupling had been decreed by the Gods themselves and was to take place under careful ritual, with the lifesblood of Bretonnians to baptize the product of their union. The next day the first snows of winter had come early, unnaturally so some had thought. The Skaelings had assembled into a wide advance, with a strong center comprised of the mighty, heavily armoured Huskarls. As a predominately infantry army, given the Norscans' general mistrust for horses in the thick of battle, it was thought that the Skaelings would position themselves atop an elevated position, such as the great motte just behind their position, but instead they had marched forward to engage the Bretonnians in open battle. The field was seemingly poorly chosen; a wide flat plain with little in the way of hills, rocks or trees to obstruct the charge of heavy cavalry, thus, it was a theater of war that favoured the Bretonnians' tactics. Duke Adalhard had intended to launch a single, devastating heavy charge that would cut through into the center of the enemy horde, where Styrbjorn was thought to have dwelled, thus routing the Norscan invasion. The Pegasus Knights, however, could not deploy along with the rest of the army, due to the inclement weather.

It was a simple strategy on the part of Adalhard, but one that had nonetheless been exploited effectively by countless Bretonnian generals. The army of Duke Adalhard marched under the banner of Lyonesse, the Banner of Thierulf, depicting the legendary hero and companion of the great king Giles le Breton standing victorious over a mountain of Orc corpses, framed by a halo of holy light. It was said that the hair of a Elven princess had been woven into the banner, and that any army that fought under the standard would never know defeat. Ten thousand heavily armoured knights charged forth, with several hundred kept behind as a tactical reserve, at the barbarian ranks. The Norscans unleashed their corrupted war-hounds at the charging horsemen, the unbridled fury of the mutated beasts blunted the charge, slowing the Bretonnian advance. The Norsemen too began to charge at their foes, though slowly, as though anticipating something. And overhead, a crimson light thundered into the sky. Here was the herald for the first phase of the Skaeling battle-plan; for the thundering crimson fire was the signal to unleash the blazing fury of Ereshkigal-Namtar. The hellcannon's payload of daemon-fire smashed into the mass of knights, even as they themselves crashed through the Norscan battle-lines. Hundreds of knights were slain by the first barrage, burned and cooked alive in their own armour. Flesh bursting into flame along with tabards, banners and horseflesh, and blood boiling and bursting in veins, mingling with plate armour turned to quicksilver.

The majority of knights who had survived the barrage stubbornly renewed their pursuit of the now retreating Norscans, despite the fact that it was very clear that the northmen were attempting to draw the Bretonnians deeper into their midst. Only when they found themselves encircled by thousands of giant black-armoured Chaos Warriors did the knights realize that they had been duped into charging the foe's center, which had given away to them intentionally with little resistance. It had been a simple, yet excellently crafted ploy, and it was now clear that few Bretonnians would leave the field alive. The hammer had now fallen, and the savage fury of the Northmen saw thousands of knights and yeomen alike slaughtered and torn apart. Even with that, concealed Marauders did emerge violently out from under snowdrifts, roaring bestial war-cries as they leapt from their concealments and fell upon knights and peasants out on the rapidly disintegrating army's edge. The shining army of Lyonesse had been brought to its knees.

The defeat of the enemy was assured now, and the Bretonnian ranks, gripped by fear, were already being torn asunder even further from within as elements of the army began to push for retreat. The inevitability of their deaths warring with their inherent pride. Nonetheless, Stybjorn had one last malignant hand to play; for his mighty war-mammoths had taken to the field.