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 an icy peninsula located to the far north of the Old World. The frozen roof of the world, it is bordered to the far south by the tainted wastelands of the Troll Country and northernmost of the Kislevite oblasts. To the east, by the Great Steppes and the tribes of Kurgan and Hung, while to its immediate north lies the fell Chaos Wastes, though Norsca as a whole is technically considered to comprise a part of that daemonic wasteland, along with the northern portions of the Steppes. Suffused with the unholy energies of Chaos by its proximity to the ruined Warp Gate that lies at the northern pole, the Gods of Chaos have proven most generous with their blessings, for the very land is held in thrall to the grip of Chaos.

Norsca is inhabited by a ferocious and war-like race of humans known as the Norscans; the savage reavers of the Shadowlands, who prowl the oceans of the world upon masterfully crafted longships, intent on ravaging the softer lands of the south. Tall and broad, with long hair and wild beards, the men of Norsca are without exception great warriors, blessed with incredible strength at arms and fierce demeanors. And it is the dream of nearly every member of this fierce race to join the ranks of the greatest warriors -- to become champions of Chaos and bear the Marks of their Dark Gods. Norsca is a mountainous land, lashed perpetually by raging black winds sweeping down from the Northern Chaos Wastes, which twist and warp both man and beast alike. It is for this reason that most, if not all the tribes of the Norsca are affected to some extent by the power of Chaos. The Norscans see these alterations as the "blessings" of their dreadful deities, which empower them to strive and conquer all who oppose them. 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 bereft of all trappings of civilization, albeit one that could fit the Empire into itself several times over. Stalked by all manner of gruesome monsters, such as Trolls, Giants, and nameless things that dwell beneath the mountains, the tales Old Worlders tell of it fail to fully encapsulate its brutality. 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 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 cloaked in local myth and history, and are sometimes named for ruined fortresses sitting atop their icy peaks, or for mighty and legendary beasts that nest amidst the crags and defiles. Though the mountains dominate the country's interior, there are also massive stretches of endless pine forests doting the slopes, and vast stretches of open plain and sections of frozen steppes distributed throughout the land. In the north there lies immense seas of glacial pack ice sweeping down from the Chaos Wastes; these ice fields form the Frozen Sea along the north, the great strait that separates Norsca from the true Chaos Wastes.

The seas of Norsca are just as dangerous as the land itself. In the Sea of Chaos that lies both north and south of the land prowl the black longships mastered by the champions of Chaos, who reave and raid as they will, bringing to battle any ship cursed with the misfortune of crossing them. From the ports and fjords of the Norselands sail the dreaded fleets of Chaos themselves, bloodthirsty marauders intent on putting the Empire to fire and blade. The icy waves of the southerly Sea of Claws is itself as much the bane of sailors as the Chaos warriors who infest it; with winds so cold they freeze the very spray, causing knives of frost to pierce the flesh and freeze extremities, and deep below the tides lie creatures that have been touched with the grace of Chaos that capsize ships and feast upon the flesh of Men. The land of the Norsemen is a frozen, hell-stained realm of violence and scarcity. Harsh lands breed harsh folk, and the Norscans have been molded into some of the fiercest and most violent warriors to blight the earth. In the summer months, the air warms just enough to enliven the sparse stretches of land suitable for farming, which serves to supplement the Norscans' common diet of fish and the flesh of bears and other, far less savoury creatures that prowl the wilderness. 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, which saturates the ground so that it that the very land is infused 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. A list of prominent Norsca monoliths include: the Monolith of Borkil Bloody-Handed, raised by the Norsemen to commemorate the champion's ascension to daemonhood and triumph over a mighty Bonegrinder Giant. The Monolith of Flesh, in the extreme north of the country. The Golden Monolith of central Norsca, and the Monolith of Katam, raised in honour the selfsame Chaos Sorcerer whose still-whispering skull remains in the possession of the renegade Egrimm Van Horstmann, once of the Imperial Colleges of Magic and now a dread worshiper of Tchar. The Monolith of Kjarl Deathaxe, raised in honour of the legendary Khornate champion and chieftain of the much feared Blood Drinkers tribe, is not located in Norsca, but rather on the shores of the Chaos Wastes just slightly north of Norsca itself.

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 torn down in 2519 IC by the depredations of the mighty Chaos champion, Wulfrik the Wanderer, who is said to have cut off the limbs of the Chaos Witch before boiling 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; the southernmost extremity 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 runed monolith. Massive frozen glaciers are a common sight, particularly in the arctic temperatures of the 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 homeland of Khemri in 2271 IC. The great Ice Field of Drergan Mort has too played host to mighty conflicts between the warriors of the North, and their multitudes of rivals. Particularly the tribes of Kurgan. Many times have the Norse emerged victorious from that plain of death, proving their strength in the eyes of their Infernal Masters.

The Men of the North
"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 Norscans are a distinctive race, forged of the hardiest of mortal 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 which 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. Norscans tend to have fair hair; such as red and blonde but darker pigmentations, such as black and brown, are not unknown amongst them.

Norscan warriors are known to festoon talismans and other arcane items upon their person. These include the fangs of mighty beasts, the heads of powerful enemies, and runic talismans that are thought to invoke the power of the Dark Gods. Norscans also bear tattoos and ritualistic scarifications that openly display their fanatical dedication to the Northern Gods. A superstitious and fiercely pious folk, the Northmen believe in all manner of portents, signs and omens. Every Norscan, from highest champion to simplest marauder, will carry a trinket or two to ward off the Evil Eye and bring about the favour of the Gods. These trinkets are at times simple, even innocuous talismans: a rabbit's foot, a clump of hair from a sorcerous hag, or a raven's beak etched with magic runes are all examples of the fetishes the Northmen wear in order to ward off evil. 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.

When winter slackens its iron grip on the North the wolfships and dragonships invariably set sail, raiding southwards, westwards and eastwards. The only warning of the Norscans' attacks is the harsh blaring of warhorns and the shouted oaths to the Dark Gods whose names southlings dare not speak. And so it has always been, as told by the fathers of the fathers of the eldest who now live. None can remember a time when the lands of the South were not ravaged by the men of the North. 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, alongside their Kurgan allies, would forcibly settle the lands they jointly conquered, often taking a local wife from amongst the conquered population, thus mixing their bloodlines with those of the Old World, and extending the banner of Chaos ever southwards. 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 Dark Gods of Chaos. 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 Norsii were an ancient tribe of men that were the ancestors of the Norse, and one of the later human tribes who began to migrate to the fertile Reik Basin and surrounding areas during the age that preceded the coming of Sigmar. Unlike the eastern tribes that would become the antescendants of the Imperial states, the Norsii were an earlier migration to the Reik Basin from the far northern lands beyond the Kislevite Steppes. According to the records of the Northern Dwarfs, primarily the Saga of Dread Yngvarr Iovarsson, the arrival of the Norsii to the fertile lands of the south is dated reliably as having taken place in -1012 IC, 20 years before the later Black-Fire Pass migration of the Imperial tribes. In the saga, Yngvarr is described as having made contact with various exceptionally savage and warlike tribes of primitive humans, who come to span the lands we now known as Kislev, Ostland and Nordland over the course of their migrations. These tribes included the Ungols, Frikings, Roppsmenn and, most terrifying and significant of all, the brutal Chaos-worshiping clans of the Norsii. It is unknown what might have propelled the brutal Norsemen to come down from their homeland in the far North, but given their incredible battle prowess and emphasis on combat and death, it is unlikely they were hounded out from their lands by rivals (this is especially unlikely due to the fact that before the reign of High King Cormac Boodaxe, the Norsii had little to no contact with the Kurgan and Hung tribes who also lived in the far north). It is possible the bleak living of the north and a desire for conquest were the driving forces that caused the Norsii to journey across the tempestuous Sea of Claws. The Norsii also very likely played a part in the extermination of the agrarian, goddess worshiping human tribes that occupied the Reik before the coming of the more warlike human tribes of the North and East, but this is merely conjecture based on their infamous brutality.

According to the sagas and traditions passed down from Human legends regarding the earliest stages of the Reik Basin's settlement, the most brutal and depraved Norsii clans were driven back across the northern seas by the combined efforts of the human tribes of the later Blackfire Pass migration in a battle that had seen the rest of the bloodthirsty Northmen confined to the fringes of the land, the frozen wastes beyond the Middle Mountains. These exiled Norsii clans would come to be known as the Lost Tribes, and were believed by the southern tribes to have perished in the cursed lands of the North. However, this was not the case, and it was not long after their exile that the longships of the Lost Tribes began to sail once more from the frozen homeland of the Norse, and it was during the reign of High King Varag Skulltaker that the bonds between the Lost Tribes and their cousins yet residing in the Reik Basin were rekindled and the Norsii were once more a reunited whole. The Norsii were also unique in that, as a result of their northern origins, they did not hold to the gods of the other tribes, such as Ulric and Taal, but rather their own traditional pantheon -- the Chaos Gods, and dedicated themselves particularly to the blasphemous worship of the god Khorne, whom they venerated by his ancient Dark Tongue name of 'Kharneth', or "Lord of Rage."

Bloodthirsty and warlike, the Norsii were ever the bane of their southern neighbours, and were in turn feared and despised for the devastation and butchery of their catastrophic invasions. Masters of the dreaded wolfships, an ancient design of the Norse longship so named for the wolf-head ornamentation of its prow, the Norsii raiders were the terror of the northern coastlines, and as the chosen race of the Ruinous Powers, had seen it as their right and duty to butcher and plunder the tribes of the south. As a result of their tremendous favour, the Norsii were bestowed the blessings of Chaos and so were driven and strengthened by the aid of the Northern Gods, making them as wolves amongst the sheep of the south. Forever on the fringes of the southern lands, despised for their faith, the Norsii became a fearsome race of indomitable fighters, and many vicegerents of the Dark Gods served as advisers to the northern clans, guiding and shaping their destinies, preparing the Norsii for their role as the harbingers of the End Times.

The depredations of the Norsii are described in grandiose terms by the legends of the age of Sigmar, speaking of hulking Norsemen bedecked in heavy black plate, wielding brutal axes and kite shields taller than any man, of towering armoured horsemen hefting long lances mounted upon great destriers with red eyes. Of dark shaman who summoned forth daemons of blood and fire to fight alongside the armies of the Norse, and of dark warrior-kings in black halls of iron who beheaded and gutted their enemies within their fortresses in praise of the cruel gods they so faithfully worshiped. Indeed, few had faced the warhosts of the Norsemen and lived to speak of it; those who had tried were simply butchered violently and left as a sacrifice to the brazen war-god of the Northmen.

The Great Invasion of the Norsii
Though the Norsii had ravaged the lands of the neighbours of countless occasions, one of the most famous was the massive Norsii invasion of the Cherusen and Taleuten tribes, in the age before the founding of the Empire, -7 IC. A horde of bloodthirsty Norsemen, joined by their cousins, the so-called lost tribes sailing across the seas, and under the leadership of their High King, a mighty Chaos champion of Khorne known as Varag Skulltaker, descended from the frozen North to lay waste and burn all before them as an offering to the gods. What sparked this invasion is unknown; as most Norsii invasions were seemingly waged for the enjoyment of war and the sake of conquest, it may have been simply out of a desire to increase their lands or perhaps to appease the gods. Whatever the case, the terrible threat of a Norsii invasion drove the formerly rival Cherusen and Talueten to put aside their differences and join forces against the terrifying threat. Such was the ferocity and power of the Norsii that not even the combined efforts of the two tribes could hold them back, and the Norsii succeeded in conquering the Cherusen and Taleuten lands (modern Hochland and Talabecland, respectively), and pushing the native tribes out, slaughtering thousands of them. The Cherusen and Taleutens later appealed to the fierce Teutogen tribe to their south for aid, but even the legendary sons of the White Wolf were fearful of the ferocious Norsemen, and Artur, chieftain of the Teutogens and lord of the Fauschlag, deigned to instead watch events unfold, hoping that the Norsii juggernaut would turn itself upon his rivals to the south and leave their lands open for him to claim after the terrible warriors of the Dark Gods had exhausted themselves.

The now homeless tribes looked to the far south for succour; to the seat of the Unberogen tribe and the mighty King Bjorn. Appealing to the honourable chieftain for aid, and pledging their Sword-Oaths to him if he would assist them, Bjorn agreed to help and marshalled the full strength of the Unberogen to war. His decision was also motivated by the knowledge that the Norsii would inevitably turn their axes upon his own lands once the Cherusen and Taleuten were wiped out. His legendary son, Sigmar Heldenhammer, was not part of that great muster, however, having instead been charged to steward Unberogen lands while his father made war in the Far North. For weeks uncounted did the armies of the southern kings wage war against the terrible hordes of the North. A host of fully 7000 warriors, outnumbering the Norsii nearly 2 to 1, marched into the cold lands of their new dominion. In the initial battle, fully a 1000 southern warriors alone had been slaughtered by the Norsii. Hundreds more had been dealt such wounds as to render them unable to fight again. The Norsii wolfships had penetrated far inland, already having viciously besieged the capital of King Wolfilla of the Udoses tribe. These battles with the hosts of the southerly kings were merely foreplay however, each merely a brief skirmish foreshadowing the true and terrible battle about to begin on the rocky foothills east of the great Middle Mountains.

The warriors of the North were brutal and ferocious beyond all reason, any single Northman worth easily three southmen. The very savagery and overpowering drive for personal glory that was made the Norsemen such phenomenal proved also to be their greatest weakness -- for the armies of the Norsii lacked the methodical discipline and numerical superiority of the southern tribes, which served to impart a huge advantage to the defenders. 7000 southerners gave battle against 6000 cold eyed killers from across the northern seas -- black armoured champions at the fore with hordes of hulking berserkers at their bearskin-cloaked backs. They charged at their foes, howling bestial prayers to the god Khorne, and promising brutal ends to their foes. Volleys of arrow-fire smashed into these madmen but to no avail. The black-armoured champions, bloody-furred hounds and howling monstrosities of the Northern ranks struck into the southerners' lines with a fury born from the love of war and wrought a terrible havoc amongst their ranks, killing hundreds. A wedge of heavy Norsii horsemen smashed into the flanks of the southerners, killing scores with their mighty brazen axes, but were nonetheless defeated by frenzied Cherusen wildmen; who tore the armoured giants from the saddle while Unberogen axe-men dispatched the fallen riders with brutal strikes. Back and forth the tide of the battle swung, but slowly, the discipline of the southerners won out, as did their greater numbers. They advanced as a silent block of axes and swords, resolute in their desire to see the offences of the Northmen avenged. A great cheer rose from the combined ranks as it seemed the Norsemen's fate was sealed, only for the appearance of their king, resplendent in his red Chaos Plate and bearing aloft his flaming greatsword, to restore order and courage to the Norsii ranks, who then fought in an ordered retreat which drove back the southern alliance and won them the day. The southerners had neither the strength nor manpower to launch a pursuit now, and the had Norsii retreated to a highly defensible position of a thickly wooded ridgeline and regrouped there in good order. For days the southmen attempted to goad the Norsii into a charge, but fear of their mighty warlord kept the natural ferocity of the Norsemen in check. In the end, the southern army was forced to make a costly charge up the hill to defeat their foes.

The southerners charged, and the Norsii fought like daemons against them, their fury unmatched and their shield-walls as impregnable fortresses atop their strong position. Many times had Unberogen axes and swords shattered to splinter the shields of the Norse. Inch by bloody inch the feral men of the northlands were driven back, but for each inch a score of southmen had fallen bloodily and brutily. Even when they had been driven from the top of the hill, the Norsii had remained defiant to the last, fighting in smaller and smaller circles and asking for no quarter from the enemy. Varag Skulltaker slew many in the battle, and had even fought the Unberogen king Bjorn in single combat. Daemonic sword met magical axe as the two kings fought, but Bjorn eventually proved too great for the Norsii warlord and hacked the Chaos champion's head from his shoulders. Enraged by the loss of their king, Varag Skulltaker's dark-armoured Huskarls wrathfully fell upon the Unberogen, savagely hacking him to death and tearing his body to bloody ribbons. Despite the massive losses sustained by the southmen, the Norsii were successfully pushed out of the Cherusen and Taleuten lands. The defeat of the main horde also signaled the withdrawal of the Norsii forces besieging the Udoses capitol. With Bjorn's death, tales of his victory over the cruel Northmen had begun to spread. When they had reached Reikdorf, Bjorn's son, Sigmar, took the crown and succeeded his father. For two years would he plot vengeance upon those who had taken his father from him, and when they time came, his vengeance would fall hard.

Sigmar's Retribution and the Flight of the Norsii
With the breaking of the snows, Sigmar called upon the Sword Oaths of the Cherusen and Taleuten and journeyed north once more to bring war upon the Chosen of the Dark Gods. He had also entreated the Teutogens for aid but they refused, some tribesmen even going so far as waylay Sigmar's army as it passed through their territory. Finally arriving in the cold land of the Udose, a beleaguered realm that long suffered daily invasions at the hands of the Norsii, Sigmar's warriors lifted the newest Norsii siege of the Udoses keep of Salzenhus. The king of the Udoses, Wolfilla, was then only too happy to join his warriors to Sigmar's army. Thus did the wild-haired, kilted warriors of the Udoses tribe finally take the battle to the marauders whom they had been forced to fear for so long.

Though the Norsii fought like madmen to protect the steads from their former victims, the battle was never in doubt. With a full 8000 warriors outnumbering them by several magnitudes, and with no strong leader to unite them with the death of their High King, the fractious Norsii were forced to retreat further and further back north to the coast of the Sea of Claws, where their wolfships were anchored. Their villages burned and plundered by the men of the south, there was nothing left for them but to return to the northern wastelands of their birth. Sigmar's warmachines however smashed the longships to burning kindling, robbing the Norsii of their salvation.

But Sigmar had foolishly underestimated the Norsii, and though many of their kinsmen had been slain by the massive army of the south, yet more clans were able to fight their way through Sigmar's flanks to the then unknown lands of the Kislevite steppes, slaughtering their way through the nomadic Ungol and wandering Kurgan tribes until finally they reached the lands of the Chaos Wastes -- Norsca itself. There, they scratched a bare living from the bleak land, fighting the neighbouring Kurgan and Ungols to assert dominance in the North, and amongst each other for resources and hunting grounds. Where once the Norsii lived in mighty halls of fire and warriors, now they were reduced to dwelling within icy caves and hovels built from the cannibalized ruins of the once proud wolfships that had carried their warriors to battle for generations. Many were the oaths proferred to the brutal gods of the North, as the Norsii swore that they and their descendants would one day cross the Sea of Claws and bring the take the bloodthirsty songs of war southwards, and kill all who dwelt in the southlands.

It is recounted in the dread sagas that during the earliest stages of Norsca's settling that the Norsii came into conflict with a grotesque race of massive, Treant-like beings known as the Treeblood, who savaged many of the early tribes. In desperation, the Norsii cried out to Tchar, the Changer of Ways, for salvation, and unto his people did the Raven gift the Norsii with the magical fires of Chaos to drive the Treeblood from the land. With axe and flame, the ancient heroes led their kinsmen to slaughter the Treeblood and conquered all of Norsca for their own, building their oldest halls from the husks of the creatures. So complete was the Norsii's annihilation of the Treeblood that only one remained, the greatest and most hate-filled of its kind; the Trolltree. This horrific remnant of an ancient age was finally felled by the legendary Chaos champion, Wulfrik the Wanderer, and from its bark was created the second Seafang, the first having been lost in an incursion to Ulthuan, the largest and greatest of all Norse longships.

Cormac Bloodaxe's Vengeance
"These are days of great power, the tribes of the North, the beasts of the forest and a great prince of Kharnath will fall upon Middenheim and we will baptize this world in blood!"

- Kar Odacen, shaman of the Norsii, foretelling the coming of King Cormac Bloodaxe

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, such as the legendary hero Ekil Bloodheart, who fought the Ungol hordes on the border of the Chaos Wastes, but few are so renowned in the early annals of the Northmen as Cormac Bloodaxe; a warrior whose 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 claim kingship over all the Norsii tribes after a series of battles waged against the defiant 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 guided their destiny by long serving as an vicegerent and counselor to the warrior-kings of the North, including Cormac's father and grandfathers. It was Kar Odacen who had forged Cormac's mighty Daemonaxe, binding a creature of Khorne to the blackened blade. Ensorcelled axe in hand, Cormac wrought unholy havoc on countless battlefields.

The Norsii Invasion broke out in 9 IC, barely two decades after their exile at Sigmar's hand. The cruel Northmen had returned. Reunited into the mighty juggernaut that had once made the world tremble, they sailed out from their fastness in the sub-arctic lands of the north; their only desire to avenge the deaths of their sword-brothers and kinsmen those many years ago. They had begun by raiding the holdings of the Roppsmenn tribe, who alone had taken the abandoned territory after Sigmar's war in the North, largely due to the fact that no one else had wanted it, for even though the Norsii were gone, the marks of their blasphemous worship still marked their lost lands, and no man of the south could easily forget the terror of the mighty Northmen. The Roppsmenn's courage proved their undoing, for so exposed to the Sea of Claws as they were, they could not withstand the ferocity of the Norsii raids, which plundered their villages and took their wives and elders as hostages. The Norsii thus held them as ransom, and extracted from the defeated Roppsmenn chieftains their oath for a season's worth of service, thereby enslaving the northern tribe to their will. Next, the Norsii fell upon the Udoses tribe, their long-time rivals. The Sea Wolves attacked the northern capital city of Haugrvik, many miles inland from the shore of the Sea of Claws, and put it to the torch. Joined by the forces of their Roppsmenn "allies," the Norsii easily slaughtered the defenders. It was King Cormac, resplendent in the ancient Chaos Plate of his father and wielding his flaming Daemonaxe, who slew the mightiest warrior amongst the Udoses, Cyfael, with a singe strike that split the brave clansmen in two from neck to groin. King Wolfilla had all but thrown open the gates of his castle of Salzenhus when Cormac slit the throat of his wife, who was heavy with child. The Norsii then dragged the king out of his hall and crucified him, and threw the still living members of his family to burn alive upon a pyre. Cormac Bloodaxe would later reflect upon this and say that no man so weak and soft should have been made a leader of men.

All the Udoses who lived within Haugrvik were slaughtered, the warriors slain in honourable battle, the civilians impaled upon great brazen stakes in honour of Khorne, and the settlement's children sacrificed upon bloody altars for the glory of the Lord of Skulls. With Wolfilla's death, the Udoses quickly fell into the vicious clannish bickering for which they were so famed as a succession crisis quickly spiraled out of control as the chieftains fought to take the now vacant throne. With the defense of the North shattered, the Norsii were able to freely move further inland and wreak havoc and destruction upon the southern tribes just as they had done in the ancient days before Sigmar's rise to power. With every victory the Norsii gained, the bloody tales of their atrocities and savagery spread like wildfire throughout the Empire, sapping the courage and resolve of its defender with every retelling as more and more refugees carried tales of the brutality they had suffered at the hands of the Northmen, the oceans of blood their axes had spilled. These attacks were not the work of a mere horde of raging barbarians, but were in fact calculated specifically at weakening the morale of the Empire's army, as well as being specifically formulated in order to harm their ability to quickly react and raise more troops to confront the Norsii 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 undefended against the wrath of the Northmen, however.

The Roppsmenn tribe was all but annihilated by Sigmar, their tattered remnants driven into the then unknown lands of the northeast where they would come into conflict with the Ungols. Nonetheless, this planted the seeds of dissension and disunity within the Empire, for the violence perpetrated against the Roppsmenn, seen by some as victims of the Norsii, was quite controversial in Sigmar's time. As a result, the Counts became wary around their Emperor, fearing what would become of their lands should they ever voice a contrary opinion. The purity of Sigmar's Justice, long 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 civil war over their succession crisis, elevating the canny warrior Conn Carsten to the position of warchief, the Norsii likely would have succeeded in conquering the whole of Empire. Indeed, but for the vigorous hit-and-run raids and tireless guerrilla warfare perpetrated by the Udoses upon the Norsii juggernaut, the entirety of the north would have most assuredly fallen long before Sigmar and his allies could have mustered to oppose them.

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. Indeed, though the Imperial army, resplendent in its power 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 warrior-bands was little compared to the merciless berserker 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 received a pledge of loyalty from the Kurgan and Hung tribes, and so did the plainsmen of East swear their lives to the service of Cormac Bloodaxe. The horse clans of the Kul, Mung, Khazag, Hung and many others did encircle Sigmar's host, hammering the Imperials with arrows, holding them in place while the Norsemen's heavy 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 to end their lives and the life of the Empire itself upon their axes. The only recourse now was to draw the Northmen into a protracted siege of the impregnable mountain city. The great lifts that led into Middenheim were 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 need and 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 his 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 with 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 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 now even more hideously animalistic than those of the Beastkin who stood alongside them, 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, gifted to Sigmar his Lord's 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
"In this year of Ulric's Grace, there were great sigils and portents of doom and destruction. The statue of the Wolf was heard to howl for death, and there were many children born with twisted feet or hands or other such Mutations. Great beasts were seen to fly through the air and block out the sun and a Famine and Plague did grip the coastal villages. Even as these Ails did pass, reavers emerged from the seas with sails of Blood and Death and laid waste to a temple and three towns upon our coast, killing or enslaving those who did not flee and plundering what little they could. They wore strange armour and fought beneath the banner of the wolf, as if mocking our Faith."

- The Chronicle of Middenland, depicting the bloodthirsty ravages of the Chaos-worshiping Norsemen

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. Nonetheless, the Norsii would not suffer Sigmar's depredations lightly. Amongst the many southern tribes the Emperor had put to the sword, one was known as the Taalos, one of the many clans that had comprised Cormac Bloodaxe's defeated horde; their warriors and chieftain, Lord Aetulff, slain on the assault of Middenheim. The tribe, bereaved of protection, with only women, children and elders left to comprise them, were slaughtered by Sigmar and his raiders. All but one remained to mourn the death of his clan, a single Norsii child who had borne witness to the death of his mother and sister and who would, through his grief, rise to become the greatest champion of Chaos -- the First of the vaunted Everchosen; Morkar the Uniter.

Morkar was a warrior of great strength, courage and vision. His mentor and protector through childhood the fallen Unberogen warrior turned Norsii champion of Slaanesh known as Azazel, whose harsh tutelage prepared the child for the harshness of the North. Even the champion could feel the favour of the gods radiating from the child, and knew it was their favour that he foster the boy in his way. As he grew to manhood, Morkar carved a strong following amongst the tribes of the Norsii, utilizing the gifts the Gods had granted him to realize his bloody dreams of vengeance and kingship. The Dark Gods favoured him with their attentions, and soon, resplendent in his blood-stained battle-armour, he journeyed North to be crowned by He Who Crowns the Conquerors -- Be'Lakor -- the first of the Daemon Princes. Be'Lakor, anger coursing through his veins, found his limbs compelled to place upon the Norseman's head the Crown of Domination, as a sign of the Dark Gods favour for him. Thus was Morkar crowned the first of the Everchosen -- the mortal Kings of Chaos. With his duty carried out, Be'Lakor receded back into the shadows of his madness. Thus did the first true Great Incursion of Chaos begin; an invasion so great as to dwarf the intensity of Cormac Bloodaxe. Morkar and his followers rampaged southwards upon their wolfships in an orgy of death and destruction -- mayhem of such scale as to cause as a resurgence in the Shadow of Chaos that saw the influence of the Dark Gods pulsated from both poles, causing Daemons to break the veil between worlds and take up ranks alongside the hordes of frenzied Norsemen. Morkar's armies slaughtered their way through the Empire, killing all the who stood before him, reaping their wergild from the Imperials, but all Morkar desired was take vengeance from the Master of the Empire himself.

Morkar and Sigmar soon faced each other in battle -- the two savage kings crossing axe and hammer in a titanic clash that shook the mountains themselves. For a day and the night did the Northman and Emperor duel, seemingly evenly matched. Though Morkar the Uniter was mighty beyond all mortal comprehension, Sigmar himself was also a being far above mortal kith, and his forces were splintered and scattered when the conquering warrior of the North fell under the crushing weight of Ghal Maraz. Thus was the First Great Chaos Incursion defeated by the first Champion of Light.

As time went by, the Norsii began to reintegrate themselves into the North, building their fortresses amidst the icy lands and raising Monoliths in honour of the Gods and their heroes. As time went by, the Norsii also began looking eastwards to the lands of the Kurgan and Hung, raiding the lands of their neighbours and defending their eastern borders from their incursions. Over the course of the centuries, commerce between the Norse and Kurgan began to grow, as the two peoples began to exchange goods; the Norsemen their masterly-crafted steel, and the Kurgan their slaves. Though not particularly close and ever riven by a brutal rivalry, Norse and Kurgan blood nevertheless mixed as the two races began to interbreed -- a result of stealing each other's wives on their countless mutual raids. The Norse and Kurgan also began to influence each other culturally as a result of long-term exposure to each others' practices. Added into this was a corrupted race of men reckoned to have been kinsmen to the humans who were mutated into the very first of the Beastmen, whose blood would also mix with that of the mighty Norsii. With the mingling of these races was born a new form of the proud and brutal Norsii -- the Norscans. And it was not long before they would again stream out of the North with vengeance, seeking to spill blood once more, struck once again by their warrior spirit.

Invasions of the Empire
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. The northern areas of Nordland, Ostland and the Westerland have proven particularly susceptible to Norscan raids, due in no small part to their far vulnerable location on the southern shore of the Sea of Claws. The city of Marienburg has suffered invasions at the hands of the Chaos-worshiping raiders for generations; the first instance of Marienburg's sacking at the hands of the Norse was in 632 IC, the culmination of many raids that eventually ended with the city being burned to the ground for the first time.

The most notable instance of the Norscan sackings of Marienburg was in 1109 IC; High King Ormgaard of Norsca had led a Chaos Horde down from the Northern Wastes to conquer the Empire during the reign of Emperor Boris Goldgather. Though Ormgaard was defeated, his fleet sent back to Norsca and his head taken to Altdorf as a trophy, his son, Snagr Half-Nose, or Snorri Half-Hand depending on which retelling one reads, yet remained in the south with a horde of bloodthirsty Chaos Warriors at his back. Snagr led his warriors to ransack the Westerland, and eventually besiege and conquer the great city of Marienburg, burning the Templewijk district in honour of the Dark Gods and occupying the city in its entirety, forcing the nobility to cower on Rijker's Isle. Snagr Half-Hand then proclaimed himself Jarl of "Vestland," as close an pronunciation of the province's name as his savage Northern tongue could make, and thus ruled the province as a bloody tyrant. At the same time, the province of Drakwald was under attack by hordes of slavering Beastmen, and so great debates arose in the Emperor's court focusing on where his armies were needed most. Locked in politicking, and Emperor Boris's own indifference to the plight of his provinces, no forces were sent northwards to repel the Norscans, allowing them to pursue their violent rulership for two years. With the advent of the Black Plague in 1111 IC, unleashed by the Skaven of Clan Pestilens, the city of Marienburg soon fell to affliction. Having found a foe even they could not slay, the marauding Norscans soon abandoned Marienburg and sailed back to their homeland. Seven centuries later, during the Age of Three Emperors, the Chaos Fleets of Norsca made war upon the Westerland once more in 1850 IC, raiding along the southern coast of the Sea of Claws and sacking Marienburg for the fourth and final time.

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. It is often said in the Empire that "character is in the Blood," meaning that the worth of a man draws from his ancestry. As a result, Nordlanders are often held in some suspicion by their fellow Imperials, and seen by some as only one bad day away from turning into the savage barbarians of the North. This prejudice has caused the people of Nordland to feel as if they must fight harder than most to prove themselves loyal subjects of the Emperor, and has also caused them to foster a deep hatred of the Chaos Marauders that has driven them to this day. In addition, the various Great Chaos Incursions have involved the Norscans making forays and raids into the Empire.

The Gorequeen's Raiders
"Blood for the Blood God!"

- Traditional Khornate battlecry

One of the most bloodthirsty of the Norscan attacks upon the sturdy folk of Nordland occured in Sigmarzeit 2398 IC, between the reigns of the legendary Magnus the Pious and the corrupt Dieter IV.Valkia the Bloody, amongst the most dreaded of the foul Lords of Chaos, came before her mortal kinsmen and bade them to join her making in war for the glory of Khorne. With the long, barbed spear Slaupnir in hand, Valkia and her tribesmen fell upon the northernmost towns and fishing villages like the Sea Wolves of their ancestors, their purpose not to enslave the Nordlanders, nor to enrich themselves on the spoils of plunder, but simply to shed blood in honour of their dark god. The Norsemen simply slew all whom they could find; neither man, nor woman, nor child, nor even livestock was spared sacrifice to the glory of Khorne. The nobility of Salzenmund, the capital of Nordland, proved incapable of sending forth armies to resist the Norse, leaving the common-folk of the northern villages to fend for themselves, an action that has long spurred resentment of the nobility in the hearts of commoners in Nordland even to this day. It was left to Harold Dreizacker, a fisherman and leader of great skill, to rally the stout men of Nordland to defend their besieged homes. He created a militia out of the fishing folk who beat their boathooks into halberds and patrolled the northern coastlines. He also succeeded in organizing a fleet of small boats to keep a watch on the Sea of Claws, ever vigilant for the dreaded sight of the red sails of the Northmen.

As a cold Gehemnistag wind howled across the province, the common folk of Nordlander breathed a collective sigh of relief, for the close of summer heralded the end of the Norscans' traditional raiding season. These hopes were soon dashed however, for but three days after the break of winter, the Norscans fell upon the great city of Dietershafn, and a terrible battle was fought there, the Norscans slaughtering the defenders with frenzied abandon, dedicating every kill in honour of their Blood God. Harold Dreizacker attempted to marshall his humble fleet to help defend the city, but with a frenzied cry and the cast of her Daemonspear, Valkia the Bloody smashed his ship to kindling, sending the fisherman tumbling under the icy waves of the Sea of Claws.

All was thought lost. But for the arrival of a steel-clad Dwarfen dreadnaught, belching steam and cannoballs, the entire province would have surely fallen to annihilation. Whatever had drawn the mighty ship to the cold northern seas is unknown, but the brave Dwarfen mariners surely settled a mighty grudge as their lone steel battleship shattered and destroyed the Norse Chaos Fleet, the wooden constructions proving no match for Dwarfen battle-engineering. The longships were driven to the sea, returning to Norsca to lick their wounds, along with Valkia herself. The favoured consort of the dreaded Norscan god of war, it is said in the sagas of the Norse tribes that the Blood God himself brought her back from death and remade her anew with the gift of Daemonhood, and that he is loathe to allow his favoured servant to fall, for it is Valkia who is said to choose the slain warriors of the North to be reborn again in the Halls of Khorne that they might fight on in glorious battle for all eternity. If so, Valkia must have surely carried many Norsemen to the glory of the Blood God's hall that day. The people of Nordland had further cause for celebration when it was found that Harold Dreizacker had survived the terrible plunge into the waters of the Sea of Claws. Though frozen and on the brink of death, he was found found on a nearby shore and was nursed back to health. Harold was hailed as a hero all throughout Nordland for his efforts in defending the province from the depredations of the Norscan marauders, for all who had lived through the terrible winter knew that but for his courage the whole province would have fallen, slaughtered under the bloody axes of the Norse.

Yet it was perhaps a Pyrrhic victory for the Empire, for while the people of Nordland did the best to prepare for the coming winter, many hundreds of strong working men had been slaughtered by the Norscans during the raids, and they had also burned many storehouses and fields. Harold thus made the journey southwards to Salzenmund to beseech the nobility to provide for their beleaguered people, however, he never returned from his journey. Some say he was slain by spies of the vengeful Norsemen, while others clamour with angry voices that he was assassinated by the agents of the nobles who felt threatened by the fisherman's rising clout. Regardless, with Harold's death, no aid came south from Salzenmund, meaning that the only hardiest folk of the harsh province survived the winter of 2398. In addition to the massive devastation his Norse warriors had wreaked upon Nordland, their coming had also sown the seeds of dissension and rebellion in the hearts of the commoners towards the nobility, some of whom amongst them now perceived as corrupt and parasitic given their failure to aid their people during the raids. In the aftermath of the raids and Harold's mysterious demise, certain groups began forming with the intent to 'arise and smash the nobility'. As Khorne, moreso than his fellow Chaos Gods, is said to take particular pleasure in anarchy and disorder, as such occurrences intensify the prospects of battle and bloodshed, it is thus thought by some that the Norscans alone of all the parties of this conflict were the true victors, for Khorne cares not from whence blood flows, and so neither do his followers.

The Battle of Nordland Fjord
In 2502 IC, in the reign of the Reikland Prince Karl Franz, the Norscans once again launched a large invasion upon the Barony of Nordland. Never an idle man, the Emperor gathered his armies to aid Count Theodoric Gausser in repelling the Warriors of Chaos. Initially, Karl Franz appeared to abandon his brother Count, abandoning the beleaguered armies of Nordland to the fury of the daemon-worshiping Norse, but his apparent retreat had in fact been a clever ploy to gain the support of Tzarina Katarin of Kislev. The Reikland Prince had rescued the Kislevarin from the depredation of a Norscan marauder-band that had waylaid her and her retinue several leagues away, and had carried her to the battlefield aloft upon his personal Griffon, Deathclaw. Tzarina Katarin, a powerful practitioner of the native magics of her people, cast a spell that froze the bay of Nordland in its entirety, preventing yet more Norscan wolfships from making landfall and reinforcing their kinsmen. This allowed Karl Franz to engage the Marauder warbands one-by-one, thus driving the Norscan horde from the Empire and securing yet another laurel for himself. No sooner than had his warmachines reduced the Norscan wolfships to kindling than had the Emperor taken his armies and returned back to Reikland in the far south, albeit leaving a company of his personal guard -- the much vaunted Knights of the Reiksguard, to aid Count Theodoric in the mop-up operation. Just as before, the doughty counts of Nordland were left to pick up the struggle that had long predated the line of Reikland Emperors, and which would continue to be fought long after the throne of the Emperor had slipped past their powdered fingers.

At the Nordland coast, near the town of Hargendorf, Count Theodoric gathered a new army of levies to drive out the last of the Norscan tribes that had been a part of the mighty horde that threatened to enslave his people once more -- the Skaelings. Amongst his forces was Kurt Helborg, then a Preceptor of the Reiksguard. Helborg and his brothers had pleaded with the Count to pull back to Hargendorf and draw the Norscans to a siege they could not hope to win, as their ships were sunk and the only route north went through the forest of Laurelorn. Theodoric Gaussar, a proud man by any standard, was loathe to rely upon the aid of the hated Wood Elves, and thus remained adamant that he would attack the Norsemen head on, slaughtering them to a man. Helborg protested the notion, his knights having ridden forth prior to test the terrain,, knowing that the ground would not hold their advance.

The Skaelings had readied themselves into a shield-wall, using the beams of their shattered longship to construct a War-Altar to the Dark Gods. Amongst their numbers were heavily armoured Chaos champions, hulking axe-wielding warriors standing shoulder to shoulder with their fellow tribesmen. Though the Imperials had attempted to goad the Norscans from their fortified position into a frontal charge, they proved more disciplined than expected and merely kept their calm with their backs to the sea and the Emperor's army marching towards them. The archers could not hope to pierce them behind their indomitable shield wall, so the Nordlanders were forced to advance. To meet them charged forth frenzied youngbloods stripped to the waist and covered with woad, screaming oaths to the Dark Gods and hurling blackened axes and javelins that slammed into the block of Halberdiers, causing the first ranks to fall dead as they feebly groped for the hafts of the black blades buried in their bodies. Shamans cowled in furs and leathers threw bloated heads at the charging ranks of Nordlanders, bursting apart on contact with the foe and enveloping the ranks in daemonic mist that had men clawing out their own throats in agony. To force the Skaelings down the hill had taken the better part of an hour, the unexpected discipline of the Norse marauders winning out. As they forced them down, the ground under the Nordlanders gave way as a significant portion of the army had now fallen under the broken earth. The Skaelings gave forth a defeaning roar as their play won out and as one they raised their profane standards, encrusted with the foul symbols of Chaos, high into the air and fought on with unholy fury. The Halberdiers fought on valourously, splitting shields apart with their mighty polearms, but they were soon countered decisively by the efforts of the Skaeling Chaos champions, whose hellforged armour was impervious to the strikes of their enemies, and whose jagged blades cleaved men in two with even the merest strike.

For all the Norscans' valour, however, they were too few, and Gaussar's army began to win out with its greater numbers. The shield-wall slowly disintegrated as lightly-armoured tribesmen fell and mighty champions fought desperately to close the gaps in the wall. However, the Norscans had nonetheless chosen their battlefield well, and as the Nordlanders began to gain on the retreating Skaelings, the thin ice under them had shattered under the weight of so many armoured warriors. The ice warmed by free flow of hot blood, gave way quickly and ushered the Nordlanders to a watery grave. Within moments, the regiments became panicked and disorderly, while the Skaelings howled and hooted at their foe's predicament and quickly forced the Nordlanders back over a carpet of their dead. Once more the shield-wall opened, allowing the frenzied youngbloods to pour out once more and slake their lust for violence upon the prone and cowering men. Their advantage of numbers stripped from the by the terrain, the Nordlanders were defeated by the brutal Norsemen. The Reiksguard charged to salvage something from the situation, but their efforts were all for naught. Though the shield-lines of the Skaelings wavered, they did not break, and began to push back as their massive axes and hammers smashed the knights from the saddle. The second charge of the knights finally broke the shield-wall and drove the Norscans back, but it was no victory. The Skaelings horde began to pull back into the bog over a field of Nordlander dead, while groups of Marauders were already forming on the flanks of the Reiksguard. The knights could not hold the centre and the day was lost. 200 Nordland soldiers and 1 Reiksguard Knight were amongst the casualties the Nordland army suffered in their ill fated attempt to drive the Skaeling warband from their shores; and thus it was Count Theodoric was forced to pull back his army in defeat back to Hargendorf.

Lord Mortkin's Invasion of Ostland
"They came out of the North, bringing with them fire and ruin. Not since the Great War Against Chaos had the Empire seen so furious an invasion from the barbarian worshipers of the Dark Gods. Is this war a madman's quest for revenge, or is it the beginning of the end?"

- Anonymous

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. During this times, many great champions step forward to command the armies of the North, and amongst the greatest of these warriors was the Norscan warlord, Lord Mortkin, who, in 2515 IC, led a Chaos horde so massive that it was matched only by the great armies of the Everchosen Asavar Kul, and even then it was a close-run thing. Mortkin himself was a warlord perhaps even greater than Kul himself, an steel-clad Jarl of the Norse tribes and lord of countless iron-clad champions of Chaos, the warlord was the chosen vessel for the will of the Dark Gods, invested with their greatest blessings that he might carry out the doom of the South. Mortkin cared little for that, his greatest desire was to slake his thirst for revenge upon the Ostlanders, for the destruction Count Valmir von Raukov and his sons had visited upon countless Norscan coastal villages in 2512 IC, in retribution for the raids of Norscan Sea-Kings in 2512 IC, which had decimated much of the northern Imperial coastline.

The attacks of 2515 IC were unlike anything seen in the Empire's recent memory. Encouraged by the rampant Winds of Chaos, an army of Norse tribes descended down across the Sea of Claws and put countless towns along the Nordland coast ablaze, though it was neither large nor bold enough to threaten the major cities further inland. Another, even larger host of Norscans then plunged southwards on a broad front through Kislev, causing a swathe of destruction. Although much of the horde's momentum dissipated on the endless steppe, some bands of Marauders managed to slip past the defenses of the Osforts and wreak havoc within the northeastern Imperial province of Ostland. The third and most devastating of these preliminary attacks was led by the Slaaneshi Warlord, Prince Sigvald the Magnificent. Sigvald's army blazed through the lands of Kislev and Ostland in a three month rampage until it was finally blunted at the Temple of Skulls by a coalition of Imperial armies that had marched north to Ostland's aid when Oleg von Raukov, ruling the state in his father's absence on business on the Emperor's behalf, set forth a call for help. Regardless, these attacks were nothing more than a mere foreshadowing of the terror to come.

The true heart of the invasion -- the massive Norscan warband known as the Black Iron Reavers, the personal warhird of Lord Mortkin himself, who stood at the mighty army's head. A king of kings, favoured Scion of Chaos and leader of many tribes, his was the mightiest army to cross the boundaries of the Empire for an age. Fear ran before Mortkin, and in his wake he left naught but smoking ruin and butchered offerings to the Gods.

Many are the lords of Chaos who seek the honour of carrying out the will of the gods when the Realm of Chaos waxes and a champion must be called. Amongst the mightiest of the Dark Champions, several did not join the clash -- Archaon the Dark Templar was long on the path to take this station, but he and his warriors were abroad seeking the Treasures of Chaos, and his fate was still undecided. Quixiom, the three-headed Sorcerer, had clothed himself in sorcerous beguilement and placed himself under the tutelage of the Daemon-aided sorcerers of mighty Araby. And Lord Mortkin, lord amongst the red-handed reavers of the Chaos Wastes, was mired in a terrible gloom; for as news of the destruction of coastal villages spread across the Northern Wastes, so too did they reach the ears of the Black-Iron Reaver, and it was by chance that amongst the villages that were put to the sword was the coastal town of Ulfennik, which was Mortkin's own birth village. Amongst the brutal oaths of vengeance the Northmen proffered to the Dark Gods was Mortkin's own, who raged within his fortress and swore that he would carve his Wergild from the bones of the Ostlaners. And so it was that when the mighty Chaos Lord made this oath, the Dark Gods heard him more clearly than others, and were united in bestowing their ultimate blessings upon the Norscan. Pious in the ways of the Norsemen, Mortkin venerated each of the Dark Gods greatly, but he was ever his own man, looking after his own affairs even before matters of faith. Though the gods were wary of investing their favour in a man who was uncertain to be willing to carry out their whims, none amongst their company doubted Mortkin's worthiness. With the pact made, when next the Chaos Lord stepped from his hall, it was with single-minded purpose; to end the pointless bickering that had riven his people apart and lead the Norsemen to victory over the Empire once more.

Mortkin led his army from Norsca, pushing south through Troll Country until finally entering Kislev in the far south. Absorbing tribes of Norscans raiding from their holdings in the area, as well as newly materializing daemons into their ranks, the horde fell upon the nomadic horse-tribes of the Ungols, who while able to keep on the move and avoid danger for a time, soon found themselves surrounded by discordant tribes of warriors so numerous that they were quickly hemmed on all sides and hacked apart. Keeping his army unified through iron-will and aided by the whispered counsel of daemons, Mortkin pushed ever onwards to Ostland, decimating everything in his path. Oleg von Raukov gathered his levies and the garrisons of the Osforts, and joined up with his long-time ally Piotr Sergayev, a kovnik (captain) of Kislev and his company. Mortkin's spear-head smashed Oleg von Raukov at the banks of the River Lynsk and sent his battered army retreating back to the Osforts. The reckless heir to the Ostland throne finally realized that this was no mere warm-weather raid, but an invasion capable of wiping Ostland off the map. Oleg von Raukov had further cause to fear, for during his father's war in the north, it was by his hand that Mortkin's birth village of Ulfennik had fallen. Rumours began to rise up that the Black Iron Reaver was searching for the Ostland high lord. Mortkin's savage army wiped out the cities of Bohsenfels, Zundap and Kludburgh -- the latter subjected to such a horrible end as to make even the hardest men weep freely. It was Mortkin who tore down the ancestral seat of the von Raukov noble house; Castle von Raukov, destroying the venerable citadel and slaying all of Count Valmir's retainers. Even the Count's wife, Ivana von Raukov, was lost to the tender mercies of the Northmen when the castle fell, even though Oleg and his brother Vassily were able to escape southwards to the fortified city of Volganof, the most heavily defended in all of Ostland. Upon hearing where the young lord had fled, Mortkin gathered the spear-heads of his mighty army together and began to march upon Volganof.

To the harsh blaring of warhorns did Mortkin emerge from the massed ranks of his countrymen, flanked on either side by fell lieutenants. Such figures of might and power on their own could have wrought great devastation upon the lands of men, but here they were, subservient to this one northern king. Mounted atop his mighty Juggernaut, a gift from the Norse Blood God in thanks for many bounteous slaughters enacted, the massive armoured form of the Norscan was wreathed in an aura of magic so blasphemous that to look upon scarred an onlooker to his very soul. In an iron voice, the Northmen boomed his ultimatum to the cowering men of Volganof -- "Surrender von Raukov to me, or I will crush your city. All of Volganof will die. I swear to the gods your suffering will be great. You have a single day to decide your fate." Though it was tempting, given the massive numbers at the Chaos Lord's command, the Ostlanders refused to give up their beloved count's son. The next day, when Mortkin returned for Volganof's response he was answered not by a human voice, but with the roar of cannonfire and the battle was joined.

Mortkin raised his axe, flames coming alive across the blade. At this signal, the Norscan warbands plunged forth, black-armoured champions at their fore. At the southern wall, his daemonhost of Khornate abominations fought with frenzied abandon to carry the battlements and take the city from the rear, while the while, Mortkin held in check the matchless fury of his own Fell Legion, awaiting the moment to strike. With the Daemonhost's downfall, and with his armoured form now filled to bursting with dark energies, Mortkin finally took to the fray. At last, the Norscan King and his Fell Legion took to battle under tattered banners of black and red, and none could stand against them. The Crimson Reapers, the king's own Huskarls, made quick work of all who stood in their way, hacking men apart with hideous ease with their mighty battleaxes, and Lord Mortkin himself slew dozens with every swipe of his mighty axe. Realizing his counter-army was crumbling quickly under the fury of the northerners, Oleg von Raukov could not keep his army from retreating back to the walls, and soon was left with only his own Scarlet Bulls Greatsword regiment to aid him on the battlefield.

When Mortkin saw Oleg von Raukov on the field, death was in his gaze. With a roar, he slaughtered his way to meet the Ostlander in battle, leaving hundreds of bloody corpses in his wake. Though Oleg von Raukov was a mighty warrior, not even a hero as great as he had it within his power to defeat a beast such as Mortkin. Three times did Oleg strike Mortkin, each blow which could have killed an ordinary man barely registered upon the hulking form of the Norse King. Having easily weathered the smaller man's desperate flurry of attacks, Mortkin lifted his axe and readied an assault of his own. With a blow that could have felled a giant, Lord Mortkin smote von Raukov, whose body crumbled. Although mortally wounded, the valiant man arose and attempted to fight on, but the cruel Norscan struck him and smashed him down to the ground, and then crushed the last dregs of life from the man with his iron heel. Vengeance was at last his. Having accomplished what he had set out to do, and with little desire to play out the role the Gods had decreed for him, Mortkin threw down his axe and lifted his greathelm from his bearded head. "Wergild is paid," he bellowed "Let Volganof burn to repay my home of Ulfennik. Never again shall I return there. My saga is ended and I chose now to die as a man, my will my own. I go now, mayhap too late, to the halls of my fathers." With this proclamation, the fell light died out around Mortkin, the bitter gods perhaps taking back that which they had given. The Crimson Reapers, his personal guard, bore witness to their beloved Jarl falling under the vengeful halberds of the Scarlet Curs, the Ostland regiment serving Vassily von Raukov, brother to the felled Oleg. Mad with grief, the Reapers slaughtered the Curs to a man and carried the body of their liege lord within the now-burning city, set alight by the victorious looting and pillaging of Mortkin's army. Amidst the fire and flames, they formed a protective wall around their king, slaughtering any who dared to approach as they mourned him with furious shedding of blood and anguished howls of sorrow. Though the horde of Mortkin had later been driven back to the north by the timely arrival of the Reiksguard and the returned Valmir von Raukov, their victory had been gained -- Ostland had been ravaged, her sons dead in their thousands, and her mightiest city now a flaming ruin. A funeral pyre for a fallen king -- a fire so mighty as to reach up and blind the gods themselves. A fitting end to the saga of Lord Mortkin of Norsca.

Invasions of Bretonnia
"Orgulous and grim, the Northmen would not give, for they sought glory or death in the eyes of their bloody gods."

- The Tenth Great Battle of Giles le Breton and his Companions

Though Bretonnia is relatively further from the Chaos Wastes than the Empire, it has nonetheless suffered the depredations of Norse raiders, who have sailed down its rivers to spread destruction and suffering upon the western land. Indeed, the Norscans have raided the lands of Bretonnia since at least 947 IC, more than 30 years before the establishment of the Bretonnian kingdom by Giles le Breton in 979 IC. It was the attacks of Norscan marauders that led to the extinction of the northern Bretonni tribes in 947 IC, their attacks isolating the northern tribes from each other and ravaging their lands utterly.

The Norse raids have been most common along the northern Dukedoms of L'Anguille and Lyonesse, the constant shadow of Norscan attacks has the made knights of those lands more battle-hardened than most. The knights of more southerly Dukedoms hold the resilience of their northern compatriots in high esteem, and commend them for their efforts in withstanding the Norse invaders, for all Bretonnians know well to fear the Norscans; for beyond their inhuman strength and merciless brutality, the fact the Norscans so willingly tread the path of Darkness and openly revel in their damnation is what terrifies the pious folk of the west above all. On certain occasions, the armies of Norsca succeed in breaking through the defenses of the North and raiding deep inland into the southern Dukedoms, such as Courrone. In 2007 IC, Repanse de Lyonesse led her knights to war against a mighty Norscan Chaos Horde, and succeeded in routing them from the land, though roughly half all the knights of Bretonnia perished in the battle. In 2521, Norscan longships once again began raiding northern Bretonnia, setting countless villages in Lyonesse and Courrone to the torch.

One particular instance of a Norscan raid upon Bretonnia is the great raid of Svengar the Skaeling, who attacked the great Elven-built city of L'Anguille during the days of Giles the Uniter. As it is related in the History of Bretonnia by Adelrond of Couronne, the great fortress-city was embattled by a horde of the Warriors of Chaos, clad in fur and steel, which numbered in the thousands. The Companions, having ridden to the city fresh from their victory in the Ninth Battle, lent their steel to the defense of the city in what would become the Tenth Battle of the Companions. Adelrond relates in his account that the battle for L'Anguille ranged for days, with severe casualties on both sides. Yet nonetheless, the Norscans fought undeterred, for death in battle under the gaze of the Dark Gods is a noble fate for any man of Norsca. Realizing the battle was turning against them, Marcus of Bordeleaux made a challenge to the mighty Svengar, seeking to settle the battle in single combat. Svengar, too proud and bloodthirsty to turn down any challenge, ascended up the steps of the famed lighthouse of L'Anguille to take up the Lord of Bordeleaux on his challenge.

Many hundreds had fallen under the twin hammers of Svengar during the battle, and he was glad to see that Marcus of Bordeleaux's heart was not chilled by fear upon seeing him, for the Jarl had sought a worthy battle. For a day and night, the two warlords faced each other, Svengar's mighty hammers blazing with the power of the Dark Gods. Ultimately however, Marcus succeeded in finding an opening in the giant Norseman's defense, and struck a great blow that cut the Norscan in twain, sending his halves down the longhouse. Bound by the oath Svengar had made, that either he would succeed in the duel or his army would take leave if he failed, the Norscans honoured the word of their leader and departed back to the north. Yet nonetheless, this was obviously not the last of the Norscan raids, and nor was it the last raid of the Skaelings upon the Bretonnia. Indeed, centuries later, Svengar's descendants would sail down from above the Sea of Claws and bring fire and devastation to the lands of the knights. Greatest amongst them was Egil Styrbjorn, High Jarl of the Skaeling tribes and one of the most favoured champions of the Blood God Khorne, who subjected Bretonnia to such horrors in 2502 IC that have stood unrivalled in the country's history.

The Wrath of 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

Egil Styrbjorn was one of the mightiest champions of the Blood God Khorne, and a great chieftain of the Skaeling town of Strovengaard. Clad in blackened Chaos Plate and wielding the legendary Daemon Axes Garmr and Gormr, he was known to have been a favoured scion of the Blood God, who had reaped the skulls of Shaggoths, Daemons and Dragons and laid them at the foot of his master's throne. In 2502 IC, he led a massive invasion of the southern kingdom of Bretonnia, leading a Chaos fleet comprising of hundreds of longships and thousands of battle-hardened Skaeling tribesmen dedicated to the bloody-minded worship of Khorne. Styrbjorn's longships made landfall upon the Isle of Landri, just off the northwestern coast of the country, famed far and wide for its magnificent chapel dedicated to the worship of the Lady of the Lake, the Patron Deity of the land. Styrbjorn's bloodthirsty raiders fell upon the township there, putting its inhabitants to the sword and desecrating the sacred statue housed within the chapel in order to demonstrate the supremacy of their god Khorne. Unimpressed with the meager courage he had seen from the Bretonnians, and disgusted by their choice of deity, the hellspawned Norscan warlord lingered on in Landri two days, awaiting the arrival of his remaining longships which had been delayed by a storm that shook the Sea of Claws. Amongst his armies were the vile Chaos Dwarfs of Zharr Nagrund, and their hellish contraption, the Hellcannon known as Ereshkigal-Namtar, which Styrbjorn had used to annihilate many foes over the course of the countless wars he had pursued since ascending to the leadership of the tribe of Strovengaard.

Not only for death and slaughter had Styrbjorn carried out this raid, but also for the promise of posterity. For at last had the Dark Gods had at last answered his prayers for a son who would carry on his name. She who would provide this progeny was a witch of the Bretonnian lands named Haegtesse, a powerful Sorceress of Chaos. Eager to find her and ensure her safety, Styrbjorn charged his shaman, Bjarki, once a native of the Bretonnian kingdom, to find the hag and bring her to him. After finding her, Haegtesse spoke that the consummation would begin on the eve following a great and bloody victory Styrbjorn would attain over the massed hosts of Louen Leoncour.

Duke Adalhard of Lyonesse, the war-like ruler of the northern marches, marshalled his vassal lords and sallied from his castle to do battle with the Northern invaders. His forces were also joined by armies riding forth from Bastonne, Currone, Parravon and even his long-time rival of L'Anguille, who committed his forces under urging from the King. Against such a vast host, the High Jarl looked eagerly forward to the mighty battle to come, for he knew that much blood would flow for the glory of his mighty god. Styrbjorn was no mindless berserker however, and had in fact been plotting the downfall of the Bretonnians since he first began sailing to their lands, for he had raided their dukedoms before, and knew well their tactics. Styrbjorn's warhirds, numbering in the tens of thousands, burned and pillaged all before them as they made their way to challenge the great army of Lyonesse upon the open field.

On a wide open plain did the two armies meet. A field seemingly ill-chosen by Styrbjorn, for there were no obstructions to blunt the charge of the mighty Bretonnian knights, and both armies were matched in terms of numbers. Aside from the hundreds of Chaos Warriors (Huskarls in the Norscan lexicon) forming Styrbjorn's elite warriors, the majority of his army was lightly armoured. But Styrbjorn had a trick up his sleeve, and as the knights charged in their thousands, the Norsemen held their shield-wall, unwavering, and unleashed packs of ravenous Chaos Hounds at the charging Bretonnians. The feral beasts hindered the knights' advance and robbed them of some momentum, the least experienced and poorest were slain by the assault of the mutated warhounds, but most of the knights nonetheless kept their charge. The Norscans' own charge faltered, seemingly in fear, but the men of the north know no fear, and what was thought by the southlanders as a retreat was merely a ploy, for as a dark red light was shot up into the blizzard skies, the work of Styrbjorn's dark shaman, his trump card was already being called; the mighty Hellcannon of the Chaos Dwarfs, Ereshkigal-Namtar, so named for the twin daemons of Blood and Industry bound to the fell weapon during its creation. The Hellcannon's daemonic payload smashed into the center of the charging Bretonnians, killing hundreds of knights and men-at-arms and breaking their advance, with that, the Norscans ceased their feigned retreat and fell upon the Bretonnians, drawing the remaining impetuous knights further into their center. Blood-maddened berserkers and furious Chaos Warriors emerged from the blinding snowstorms and crushed the unguarded flanks of Duke Adalhard's combined army, such was the brutality and havoc of Styrbjorn's hammer-blow that many Men-at-Arms and other peasant levies simply quit the field and left their lords to die on the Northmen's jagged blades. The appearance of the mighty War Mammoths, the High Jarl himself seated in one of the black-iron howdahs, surveying the glorious carnage, proved to be the sealing factor in the battle, which caused what remained of the grand Bretonnian army to retreat to Castle Lyonesse. The following night, Styrbjorn took the Kurgan hag and fathered his son under the gaze of the Dark Gods and in the ethereal presence of daemons, all blessing their union. Though the Kurgan, as was typical of her kind, treacherously attempted to poison the father of her child and take the boy for her own ends, Styrbjorn saw through her fell machinations and overcame her wiles, beating the witch into submission, bur just short of killing her. Clasped in fetters, and with an arcane helmet emblazoned with symbols of the Blood God to arrest her foul sorcerery, Styrbjorn dragged Haegtesse back to his war-camp, and joined his fellow Norsemen in toasting their monumental victory.

Three weeks after the battle, a time Styrbjorn and his warriors had spent sacking the surrounding Lyonessan townships and villages for amusement and plunder, the Fay Enchantress, Morgiana Le Fay, foresaw the untold destruction the High Jarl and his daemon-son would wreak upon her homeland when the misbegotten child came of age, and thus dispatched agents to steal away the beast's mother, so that the child born of Styrbjorn's loins would be confined to the realms of the Fey (the Wood Elves) and imprisoned there. Amongst these agents was the legendary Grail Knight Reolus, a swordsman thought by many to be the greatest in the Old World, and the only living Bretonnian warrior capable of matching Styrbjorn of the Skaelings in battle. The agents of the Fay Enchantress succeeded in stealing away the hag, though at great risk to themselves, and escaped to the highly fortified seat of Duke Adalhard, Castle Lyonesse. Enraged, Styrbjorn marshalled his mighty army further southwards, intent on saving his child, even if it meant slaughtering the entire Bretonnian nation to the last citizen.

Thus began the Great Siege of Castle Lyonesse, the Norscans beginning the siege by destroying the scattered townships of the isle the castle was located upon, plundering them for resources to construct ladders and battering rams, the Norsemen then cast down the holy temple of Mannan situated upon the isle, slaughtering the knight-protectors and holy priests of the Sea God in glorification of their own cruel deities. The Norscans attacked the great citadel in mighty waves, each offensive reaping a deadly toll from the defenders of the castle. The Hellcannon dealt great amounts of damage to the fortifications, but it was destroyed early on into the siege by a sortie led by Reolus himself. Bretonnian mages raised the waters of the straits and bay into a mighty tidal wave to crush the approaching longships of the Norseme, but this proved their downfall, for the Skaelings know learned that the strait leading through the portcullis into the castle itself was but thirty feet deep, shallow enough for their mighty war-mammoths to be brought afield. Styrbjorn's raiders also learned of a secret passage into the gatehouse, that would allow them to raise the portcullis from within. Utilizing this knowledge, the Skaelings infiltrated the castle and achieved their objective, allowing their longships filled with bloodthirsty berserkers to sail through the gatehouse into the courtyard, and wreak havoc. The great war mammoths lumbered their ways through the shallow straits to the walls and crushed them like living engines of war, allowing the Chaos Lord and his Huskarls to break through onto the battlements themselves. Like a god of war, Egil Styrbjorn ruled the battle, his Patron deity in microcosm, slaying dozens of great knights with furious sweeps of his twin daemon-axes, roaring and bellowing and laughing and singing dark dirges of warfare and death as he slaughtered all about him, dedicating every kill in honour of the Blood God. The ferocity of the Norsemen drove the Bretonnians to retreat to the innermost keep, surrendering the courtyard to Styrbjorn and his raiders. Thus it was that the great Castle Lyonesse, which had stood unconquered for 1500 years, yielded to Egil Styrbjorn of Norsca.

The birth of his son amidst the siege caused Styrbjorn to relent his assault, fearing for the child's life as the keep fell, and offer terms to the Bretonnians, putting forth a champion's duel to settle the siege. Reolus stepped forth to challenge the High Jarl, and the two gods of battle faced each other before the sight of their two armies. After a long and brutal fight, Styrbjorn defeated the mighty Grail Knight, impaling him with his own blessed sword and hacking his head from his shoulders. Thus did one of the most noble heroes of the land of Giles le Breton fall, and the defeated Bretonnians returned to Styrbjorn his child. Out of respect for their fallen hero's courage and strength, Styrbjorn honoured his pledge and spared the people of Lyonesse, though he swore also that he would one day return with his son at his side and bathe their lands in blood once more.

The Dwarfs of Norsca
The Norscans are not the only people to dwell in the lands of the fell north. Thousands of years ago, before the Norse began migrating from the true Chaos Wastes, several clans of Dwarfs migrated north and established several cities amdist the rocky mountains of Norsca. These Dwarf clans would come to be known as the 'Norsca Dawi', or 'Norscan Dwarfs', in Khazalid. It was these Dwarfs who made first conduct with the northern human tribes migrating from the Wastes, including the Norsii. Some have observed a resemblance in the cultures of the Norscans and the Norsca Dawi, primarily in their mutual emphasis on glory in death and bloodlust, as well as in the structural similarities between Norse and Khazalid. These details suggest a pact or mingling of the two cultures at some point in the distant past, but this is but conjecture. And the Norse have ever been in service to Chaos, and no Dwarf would ever willingly traffick with those who serve the Dark Powers, though it has been said that the Norsca Dawi are a race apart from their cousins of the southern Karaks. Along with these similarities however, were a score of differences and disputes that kept the Norscans and the Dwarfen holds of the North from finding common ground, not the least of which was the Norscan propensity for raiding and expansion into the lands of the Empire. The Dwarfen holdings had long been the gatekeepers of the southern lands, and many Norscan warhirds were forced to break through the defenses of the mountain folk in order to gorge themselves on the soft spoils of the green lands beyond the Sea of Claws.

One of the earliest recorded instances of the conflicts between the Norscans and the Norscan Dwarfs is of the Fall of Karak Ghulg in 1396 IC. This was also the first recorded instance of the races of the civilized world first encountering the Gorequeen, Valkia the Bloody, who, descending at Khorne's behest to aid his champion; the Norscan King, Bothvar, who had led his massive warband of Northman raiders to assault the great citadel of King Skaldi Ironjaw. With the Norscan king and Shieldmaiden at their head, the vast Norscan army overran the outlying outposts of Karak Ghulg, eventually surrounding the stronghold and converging upon it. During the battle, Valkia instructed Bothvar and his warriors to perform the ancient Norse rite of the Blood Raven -- an ancient and bloody ritual of the Norse people that was used in honour and glorification of Khorne. The Norsemen unfolded their victims' ribs, made naked their hearts and spread their lungs outwards like ravens' wings under spreading pools of crimson. Alive or dead, it mattered little, for the Khorne decreed a raven be carved on each Dwarf's flesh. Bothvar and Valkia personally fought their way into the inner sanctum of Karak Ghulg, and faced King Skaldi and his Slayer throng in combat. Valkia personally fought the king and defeated him, tearing his heart out while Bothvar single-handedly fought and defeated the entire Slayer guard. Karak Ghulg was thus overrun, and the city had been wiped off the face of the northern peaks of the World's Edge Mountains in an orgy of plunder and desecration. This was the first instance where the peoples of the south had come into contact with the Bringer of Glory, but amongst the violent societies of Norsca, she was already infamous. Valkia was ever famed as the fierce warrior-queen of her tribe, known and adored for her unbridled ferocity and feral beauty, ensuring her position by challenging and slaying any who dared question her right to rule, who had defeated a preening Daemon Prince of Slaanesh while still walking the path of a mortal Norsewoman, and had thus gained the attentions of the Lord of Battles as a result. The fall of Karak Ghulg itself was a blow to the collective Dwarfen nation, and it was not long after that the Gorequeen was added to the pages of the Dammaz Kron; the Book of Grudges.

In 2302 IC, after the defeat of the Great Chaos Incursion led by the Kurgan warlord Asavar Kul, one of the mightiest of his lieutenants, the powerful Norscan king Valmir Aesling, chieftain of the selfsame tribe, declared himself 'Emperor of Chaos', having been the most powerful remaining Chaos Champion with the demise of Kul. Valmir was famed for being a brutally effective general and a horrifyingly savage leader of men. Brooding and silent, save for the rare though often fatal burst of temper, he punished cowardice and insubordination with the most brutal punishments he could conceive, and hated all the races of the Old World, apart from his own, with a fiery passion. The mighty king of the Aesling tribes had long perceived the Dwarfen stronghold of Kraka Drak, the capitol of the Norsca Dawii, which was nestled amongst the northern mountain ranges that marked his tribal land, as an abomination that had be excised from his domain. When the Dwarfs succeeded in weathering his initial assaults, and succeeded in driving back his armies, forcing Valmir out of his own mountains, the mighty warlord marshalled his unimaginably vast hosts of bloodthirsty Northman tribes and insane beasts and swore before his Dark Gods that he would wrest a bloody wergild from the upstart Dwarfs.

Valmir began his march against Kraka Drak during the height of the summer months, when the Icicle Pass was at its most forgiving, and the snows of Norsca were as merciful as as far as the word 'mercy' could be applied to the realms of Chaos. His vanguard an army of various lesser tribes, whose steel-sheathed chieftains were filled with pride to carry the banner of the Norscan king. These warriors were the first casualties of Valmir's advance, treacherous Dwarfen marksmen having cut them down in the scores from their hiding places on either side of the valley. To the Aesling, however, this was an acceptable loss, for in doing so, the Dwarfen defenders had revealed their locations, and most crucially, those of their hidden tunnels into the mountain itself. Several days before he had dispatched the vanguard, Valmir had gathered every warrior from every Norse warband that would heed his call into two great warbands and had set them upon a grueling climb to the mountain crests. As the Dwarfen throngs emerged from their carefully hidden tunnels to cut down the surviving marauders, the Huskarls pounced upon the gate-wardens from above, killing them and and casting their bodies into the heart of the mountain. It was then that Valmir began the next great phase of his plan, with a wailing screech drawn from nightmare itself, a tide of Werekin, Forsaken and others who had felt the kiss of the Dark Gods thundered down the pass. A horde of such terror that the sons of Grungni had never before seen. The unholy horde dashed itself upon the resolute Dwarfen shield-walls to no avail, the Sons of Grungni beginning a methodical slaughter of the beasts that saw the mountain pass choked with a flood of mutant corpses. King Valmir could well afford these losses, for within, the Huskarls were inside the hold itself, and the Dwarfs along with their leader, King Silverbeard, were now drawn into a war of attrition that even they could not win.

Doughty axe met jagged Northern blade as the Norscans and the Dwarfs fought in a brutal struggle that saw the former slowly gaining ground. The Ironbreakers were cut down by the Norse Berserkers, and the Warriors of Chaos began to drive deeper and deeper into the hold. Outside the hold, the Dwarfen shield-walls held fast, for now even more unholy beasts came to join the fray -- debased Ogres and ferocious Trolls alike bringing their beastly strength to bear against the defenders. Gyrocopters made the desperate flight to the neighboring vassal holds of Kraka Ravnsvake and Sjotraken. These couriers were smashed from the sky by the coming of Aghask, Daemon Prince of Khorne and Valmir Aesling's ancient ally. Truly, the Norseman had planned this battle well.

Below the aerial duel, High King Silverbeard had set his Oathstone, and swore that he would either leave the field in victory or in death. His example gave heart to his dwindling warriors, who girded themselves to stand ready against the blood-hungry Northern clansmen. With the loud crack of a whip and the guttural roar of a Norscan warlord, Valmir Aesling himself had finally appeared on the field, resplendent in a mighty chariot pulled by six hideous and skinless bears. The dark king threw to Silverbeard a portion of his tally, a great handful of decapitated Dwarf heads. The Dwarfen ruler, enraged by this barbarous affront to his people's honour, roared out a challenge to the Norscan King, and Valmir embarked from his mighty chariot in answer, his Chaos-blessed runesword in hand. Death raging all around them, the mighty Norscan King fought the Dwarfen ruler, Valmir, more than three times the height and weight of the Dwarfen warrior-king, rained down blow after blow upon his head, but he found the earth-shattering might of his blows matched by the enchantments protecting Silverbeard's gromril-clad form. Valmir ceased his berserker's onslaught to tilt his shaggy head to the side, as if hearing for something. His wild-bearded face parted in a savage smile as the thunder of hooves began to fill the pass; the sound heralding the mighty charge of Valmir's allies from the Troll Country to the far south, a horde of steel-clad Chaos Knights. Caught between the inexorable crush of Valmir's infantry to their fore, and the sledgehammer blow of the charging barbarian Knights at their back, which had utterly annihilated their rear ranks, the Dwarfs were soon cut down and trampled into mangled corpses. Valmir roared his victory to the cold thrones of the gods and the hallowed halls of his ancestors, while Silverbeard's face contorted into a crimson mask of fury. With the battle lost, the High King of all the Norscan Dwarfs issued one last, earth-shattering command. He ordered the cannons to be fired, not upon the enemy, but upon the sheer sides of the valley, to bring the mountain crashing down upon Kraka Drak herself, as well as on her assailants. Thus it was that the Norscan army, along with the great citadel they sought to destroy, were crushed and buried under a thousand tonnes of frozen rock. Silverbeard's final proclamation, suicidal as it was, had nonetheless saved the warm lands of the south from the Norse Warlord's rage, for the tribes gathered under Valmir's rule had fallen into disarray and eventually disbanded, and a major Chaos Incursion was stopped before it begun. For the Dwarfs of Kraka Drak however, there was no solace or glory in their sacrifice, for despite Valmir's demise, his most stalwart Huskarls yet fought on within the ruined depths of the stronghold, methodically slaughtering every Dwarf who yet lived within its crumbling halls. Thus was Kraka Drak wiped away from the annals of history and Valmir, albeit posthumously, had fulfilled his oath.

The Elven Kindreds
Due to the far ranging of their longships, there is no corner of the world the Norsemen have not traveled and laid waste in the name of glory, and the names of the Dark Gods. Not even the pristine realm of Ulthuan, known in Norscan as 'Alfheim' meaning 'Land of the Elves', has escaped the fury of the sails of the Norse, and it was during the reign of Bel-Hathor the Sage (circa 1503 - 2163 IC) that the raids of the Chaos Warriors, long since rebuffed by the nobles of inner Ulthuan as mere trivialities, had grown to such frequency and ferocity that there was no hope for the High Elf navy to contain their insurmountable threat. In response, Bel-Hathor called a convocation of the greatest mages of Ulthuan and charged them to devise a way to protect Ulthuan's north and eastern approaches from the wrath of the Northmen. Thus it was that after three decades of preparation, during which countless Norse raiders savaged the coastlines of Ulthuan, did the mages weave a mighty spell that enshrouded the island's approaches in a veil of magical illusions that proved too confounding for any longships to sail through. It thus became virtually impossible for the Norsemen to happen upon Ulthuan but by pure chance, and so it was that the men of the Dark North began to look upon the realm of the Elf-Folk with something approaching caution. However, in the reign of Bel-Hathor's successor and reigning Pheonix King Finubar the Seafarer, the Norse raiders have overcome the protective charms of the Elves, and have come to invade the lands of Alfheim once more, bringing the fury and devastation for which they are so famed. This, for the Elves, is but another sign of the End Times.

In 2502 IC, one of the most dreadful Lords of Chaos, the then High King of Norsca, Erik Redaxe, led his great fleet of dragonships to conquer the lands of the Elves. Many glorious victories had Erik under his belt, and so he believed his might would be enough to overcome the Elf-Folk, as it had for so many other foes. His saga spoke not of glory and conquest, however, but final and ignoble defeat. Of his vast horde, only a few Northmen returned to tell the tale of the High King's downfall. Of how the massive Merwyrms of the Elves had crushed his majestic longships to kindling and how the arcane mists had concealed the rocks upon which they had broken. It was Tyrion, the golden-maned warrior descendant of Aenarion, who led the ax-wielding Elves of Chrace to victory over the Norse in a great sea-battle that had saw their armies routed, facing High King Erik in single combat. Though the Chaos Lord was a mighty warrior indeed, Tyrion proved his better and slew him. The horde was broken, they had looked to their king for leadership at the vital moment and he had failed him. Thus, the Saga of Erik Redaxe stood as a grim reminder of the burdens of leadership. In the later years, many a chieftain, thinking themselves a greater warrior than Redaxe made the voyage to do what he could not and wash away the isle of the High Elves in a haze of fire and blood for the glory of the gods, only for their longships to shatter upon rocks where all maps swore there was nothing but open sea.

Amongst these warriors was the legendary Sigvald the Magnificent, most favoured Scion of Slaanesh and Geld-Prince of the Decadent Host, who wielded the famed blade Silverslash, a daemon-runed sword said to have been forged from a shard of Slaanesh's own blade. The great reaver had long felt aggrieved that the High Elves were unjustly renowned for having more fulsome and golden locks than he, and thus resolved to take the heads of every last High Elf to repay this injustice. The Son of Slaanesh took to the longships alongside the armies of other great warlords who cared little for the young prince's reasons, so long as there was gold to take and glory of Dark Gods to be earned. The Norscan army made great gains initially, blazing its way through the provinces of Ulthuan. However, the army was soon derailed by the guerrilla warfare of the Shadow Warriors, who eliminated many of Sigvald's lieutenants. This led to divisions within Sigvald's army, which culminated in a challenge from the Norscan warlord Dranak Goredrinker who, believing that the derailment of their course was a result of the Slaaneshi's incompetence, sought to slay the Geld-Prince in single combat and take the horde under his own leadership. While the two fought, the Elves marshalled a great army to finally route the Norse from their land. though it must be said that the Norsemen would have likely still prevailed had Sigvald found it within himself to cease his conflict with Dranak long enough to lead his warriors. As it was, Sigvald's inability to cease the duel for something so trifling as an enemy attack cost his army dear, and by nightfall, the High Elves had won a resounding victory. Goredrinker had fallen on Sigvald's blade, but the Chaos Horde had been scattered and returned back to Norsca. For his part, however, Sigvald simply wandered off in the final stages of the battle, easily cutting down any who tried to stop him, elf and fellow Northman alike. The taste of Drenak's blood upon his tongue had caused him to recall the memory of a particular rancorous bottle of wine that he had sampled from the Bretonnian city of Chamburg. Forgetting his anger towards the High Elves in the face of this ancient offense, Sigvald was now of a mind to pose his displeasure to the city of Chamburg, and thus gathered his Decadent Host and set sail eastwards to Bretonnia. Prince Sigvald slaughtered every last inhabitant of the city and burned it to the ground, wiping it clean from the face of Bretonnia for the grevious crime of offending his palate.

The Wood Elves of the Old World have also suffered from the Norscan raids just as their cousins of Ulthuan have. In 1453 IC, the mighty Chaos Warlord, Ragnar Painbringer led his warband upon the Forest of Sighs. As he advanced, the forest came alive and attacked the Chaos Battle host. With this, hundreds of Wood Elves leapt from their dwelling places amidst the branches and rained down volleys of arrows upon the fur-clad barbarians of Norsca. Against this onslaught, Ragnar Painbringer proved to be of sterner stuff than most, and crushed the feeble defenders of the forest when he called upon his mighty scythed chariots, pulled by raging Gorebeasts hungry for slaughter. Against such an onslaught, the Wood Elves were crushed into bloody smears on the forest floor, and their precious woods were smashed to kindling.

The Dark Elves of Naggaroth have both known the Norsemen as friends and foe. In 211 IC, a massive horde of Chaos Warriors gathered in invasion of the western land of Naggaroth. Comprising this horde were countless tribes of Norscans. This army converged upon Ghrond, and it was said to have been so vast that its war-cries could be heard for miles all around. Such a threat it was to the Dark Elven kingdom, that the army warranted the personal attention of the Witch King himself. Malekith led the defense of Ghrond, and personally took to the battlefield after three weeks of siege, leading an army of bloodthirsty Blackguard whose cruel halberds spelled the defeat of the Chaos Horde. The cost was high to the Dark Elves, and for their failure to foretell the coming of the Norse, Kurgan and Hung, Malekith had the surviving sorceresses of Ghrond brought before him in chains and sacrificed to Khaine for their incompetence. Since that time, Norscan raiders have long plagued the northeastern territories of Malekith's baleful empire, bringing death and battle to Clar Karond. Amongst the most fearsome of the Chaos Marauders who plague the northern seas of Naggaroth are the Skin-Riders tribe, a Norscan tribe dedicated to the worship of Nurgle, who, by the Plaguefather's blessings, find that their flesh now rots from their bodies to reveal the bloody meat beneath. Thus, these afflicted warriors take Dark Elven prisoners on their raids, and skin the wretched elves alive to wear their flesh over their decaying bodies. Thus it is that this brutal tribe of Norscans has long struck fear into the blackened hearts of the Druchii.

The Norse Voyages into Lustria
The Norscans are seafarers of unmatched skill. Only the mariners of the High Elves could be argued to be even on par with them. Since the Age of Sigmar, they have had a well-established sea-faring tradition, and their longships are suited to even the longest voyages. Exploration is a trademark of the Norse tribes, and it is often said that discovering and conquering new lands brings great favour with the Dark Gods, for to do so is to extend the banner of Chaos far and wide. Exploration also brings great personal glory, and the halls of Norscan warriors rock with the songs of men who sailed to distant shores, saw distant lands, and slew and enslaved their inhabitants. Though the High Elves had long attempted to block the rise of any other naval power in order to maintain their mastery of the sea, the Norse quickly broke through their blockades of the great Western oceans. Amongst these raiders in particular was the infamous champion Losteriksson, who was the first human to cross the Great Ocean and discover the long-forgotten land of Lustria, the infamous jungle-realm now known to be the domain of the cruel Lizardmen. Losteriksson had learned of the western land by "questioning" High Elven captives. The Norsemen were fortunate to find that the land they had discovered was a not a savage, primeval waste, but that a fabulous temple stocked with gold and riches lay not far from their landing. The barbarians ransacked the great temple, plundering it of all riches and slaying whoever stood in their way, roaring their blasphemous battle-cries as they did so. The resulting riches made every participant of the raids staggeringly wealthy, and longships returned to Norsca laden with gold and plunder. As word got out in the North of the great riches to be found in the 'New World', many more marauders began to join forces with Losteriksson to raid the lands of the Dragonfolk, as the Norscans came to refer to the Lizardmen. These successful raids eventually culminated in 888 IC with the establishment of the outpost of Skeggi, named for Losteriksson's daughter, the first child of the Old World to be born in the New.

It was not only greedy raiders whom Losteriksson had brought with him as he rampaged throughout the coastlines of Lustria, for the Norscans, being fierce men of the Far North, carried always the names of the Dark Gods in their hearts. A power not felt in Lustria for many centuries now stirred once more. The meditations of the Slann Mage Priests became deeply troubled as the echoes of the Old One's disastrous war against the Coming of the Dark Powers reverberated in the minds of one Mage Priest to the next. They now faced the possibility that Chaos was abroad in the world once more; its standard carried in the war-like souls of the Norse.

Though a mighty champion of Chaos, Losteriksson was wise enough to avoid direct battle with the Lizardmen, though his descendants would later prove without their forefather's wisdom. More impetuous champions of his time also proved less farsighted, and also attempted to penetrate further into Lustria's interior. None were ever seen again. One of the more reckless warbands, however, returned from a rather profitable raid on the inner cities, carrying with them hundreds of pounds of gold an a relic of apparently great value. Losteriksson realized their misstep when a massive horde of Lizardfolk streamed out from the jungle and besieged Skeggi. Losteriksson ordered the settlement's gold to be thrown over the ramparts to the Lizards, knowing that they had only come for their precious relics. The Lizardfolk took that which the warband had stolen and quickly departed the settlement with nary a backward glance. And so the settlement survived and prospered. Far from dissuading the Norscans from making the journey to Skeggi, this merely enticed more Warriors of Chaos to sail from frozen Norsca to the warmer climes of the south, for the promise of battle is just as tempting to a Norseman as the bright lure of gold. In time, the Chaos champions of Skeggi sailed back to their homelands, bringing tales of the horrors they had overcome and the profit they had made, causing scores of longships to sweep down and begin raiding the land of the Old Ones. By 954 IC, hundreds of Norse warhirds attempted invasions of the continent, seeking to conquer it for the glory of the Gods. The first of these was the raid of Allec Fellclaw, whose horde of Norse marauders marked the first full-scale Chaos Invasion of Lustria since the Fall of the Old Ones. Though his horde was driven back on their longships to the sea, they had succeeded in plundering vast amounts of treasure, and the survivors returned to their tribes as wealthy men indeed.

Kjell Red-Fist's Raid
In 1323 IC, a mighty Chaos champion of the Skaeling tribes, Kjell Redfist, led an incursion into the interior of the great Lustrian jungle, searching for the fabled 'Fountain of Origins', a legendary and sacred place of the Lizardfolk where Kjell hoped to attain the powers of the ancients. Kjell's longships was crippled by Skinks who had ridden under them and crippled their rudders, thus forcing the champion to either abandon his mission or continue on fight. There was only one choice for a man such as he, and so he led his warband north on foot at the counsel of his seer.

The Norsemen were ambushed in the deep jungle by the Lizardmen, reigning poisoned darts down upon them. Roaring his anger, Kjell led his warriors in a mighty charge across the fords to get to grips with their cowardly foes. At that moment, Kroq-Gar, the legendary Saurus warrior, mounted atop his great Carnosaur and faced the Norscan warlord in an epic struggle while their warriors fought and died all around them. Though Kjell fought with the berserker rage so common to his people, he was laid low by a bite of Kroq-Gar's brutal Carnosaur and was thus slain. With Kjell's death, the Norsemen were routed and quit the field. Though Kjell's fall can only be speculated of amongst the battle-hungry Norse, many other champions have sought to retrace his steps to the Fountain of Origins and take the power of the Old Ones in the name of the True Gods. Though to date, no marauder has ever made it as far as the fallen warlord.

Siege of Hexoatl
In 2522 IC, the Norscans made a great invasion of the land of Lustria, under the leadership of the champion, Vashnaar the Tormentor. The Norse assaulted many points of the Great Warding, weakening the powers of the Mage-Priests, and causing many cities to fall. High Elven colonies, built upon the ruins of these ancient sites, soon found themselves also under attack by the barbaric seafaring marauders. The holy sites of the Monuments of the Sun and Moon were also desecrated by the Northmen, foul shaman at their side consecrating the sacred stones to the glory of the Dark Gods. With the loss of these two integral points of the Great Warding, all balance was lost and the Mage-Priests fought desperately to maintain the binding.

With the loss of so many sacred sites, the Lizardmen were at a loss of what to expect next. Soon after, a massive horde of Norscans gathered in the Forests of the Viper just north of Hexoatl. An army of Dark Elf mercenaries, promised hundreds of slaves as payment for their skills, too joined the fierce sea-reavers of Norsca, acting as scouts and outriders for the hulking barbarians. At the head of this dreaded horde was Vashnaar the Tormentor himself, astride his mighty dragon of darkest shade. Following the counsel of his allies, Vashnaar led his army through through the winding paths of the forest, crossing a wide fording but a 100 miles north of Hexoatl. It was not until the warhird had made its way past the great monolithic wards surrounding the city that its defenders became aware of them. By then it was too late to respond. Despite the cunning and cold discipline of the Lizardmen as they carried out their sacred duty, the Norscans proved too mighty. At the heart of battle was Vashnaar himself, dark-armoured and savage, slaying foes with every strike of his sword. Soon, Hexoatl was forced to route and Vashnaar was at the gates of the city. Bringing up his hellcannons, he hammered the defenses of the city and soon brought the Lizardmen to their knees. For two months did Vashnaar's horde besiege the city walls, their superior numbers and ferocity winning out against the Lizardmen's determination.

On the 63rd day of the siege, the tide of battle changed, swinging in favour of the defenders. As the sun rose above the treeline, a mighty Saurian roar pierced the heavens as the jungle erupted with what seemed to be an earthquake. Surging from the mist-wreathed forest was a mighty Carnosaur, and mounted upon it was Kroq-Gar of Xhotl, the ancient Scar-Leader. Behind him rode Saurus Cold One cavalry, intent on avenging the depredations of Chaos. The two armies fought, in a battle that was perhaps the largest the Lizardmen had fought in thousands of years. Vashnaar and Kroq-Gar faced each other in single combat, both evenly matched. The Chaos Horde was eventually defeated by the magics of Lord Mazdamundi and the charge of Hexoatl's defenders.

At Present
"Slumber now, child of mine, until they come with torch aflame, but do not run, your time has come, for the Men of the North stake claim..."

- Traditional lullaby in Northern Kislev

As the chosen people of the Dark Gods, the Norscans see it as their destiny to help bring about the End Times -- the glorious age of darkness where the Gods themselves shall walk the land and lead them to glory and conquest. Thus it is that the Norse tribes stand ready to heed the clarion call of the Dark Gods and usher the final battle that will mark the end to all things. Until such a call is sounded however, the tribes will continue to fight amongst themselves in order to assert dominance over each other. Nonetheless, the rise of Archaon the Everchosen has served to gradually bring some unity to the warring tribes, and already hundreds of thousands of Norscan tribes have joined the growing armies of the Everchosen. Archaon's highest lieutenants -- known only as the Four, have also arisen from the ranks of the Norscans. With champions of Norsca serving as the Everchosen's greatest generals, the tribes of Norsca eagerly await the coming of the final battle, where they shall paint the lands of the Empire with blood and raise high mountains of the skulls of the weaklings who thought it wise to defy the mighty gods of the North.

The Norscans have ever been at the forefront of the great Chaos Incusions, having long held the honour of leading the vanguard and fighting in the most bloody battles, sweeping aside all opposition and clearing the way for the Kurgan tribes of the East. During such calls to war, each tribe must take up arms, which they do out of a sense of duty to the gods, for those who ignore their call risk the other clans falling upon them and destroying them.

The Norscans are a race of warriors born, bloodthirsty savages to whom mercy is as foreign as the simpering gods of the South. They are the most feared race of men in all the world, who have brought fire and devastation to the lands of their enemies since times untold, and have willingly and gladly walked the Path of Chaos for even longer. Those who have survived a Norscan raid speak of their brutality, the mountains of skulls they raise in honour of the gods, and the thoroughness with which they carry out the slaughter of their foes, burning and destroying all that which they cannot loot.

In the past, the Norscans have stood at the forefront of the great Invasions of Chaos. Morkar the Uniter arose from amongst them and it was he who lead the first of the Great Incursions, battling Sigmar Heldenhammer for a day and a night. Just as it was Engra Deathsword, lieutenant of the fell Asavar Kul, who utterly annihilated the city of Praag. As the centuries have passed, many more champions have risen in the Frozen North in order to lead the Norscans to glory. Long have they harboured a grudge against the southern races, and the heirs of Sigmar in particular, for it was Sigmar who annihilated their ancestors those many centuries ago, driving them back to the North and stealing the lands they had carved out for themselves. Thus it is that with every raid, the Norsemen feel as if they are repaying an old debt owed by the southmen, a debt that can be paid only with with blood and suffering. These raids too pave the way for the glory that is the End Times, those days of darkness where the Norse believe that the Dark Gods themselves shall again walk the land and lead them in the final glorious battle that will mark the doom 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 a mutual 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 comprising 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. These Norsemen 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 deity. Their tribal colours are red and blue; to honour Khorne and their proud heritage as sea-raiders without equal, respectively. These Skaelings have also taken the symbol of Khorne as their own heraldry, indicating their piety, and tend to prefer mighty axes and spears above all other weapons in order to further please their war-waging god. At the same time, a tribe of Aeslings who are known to have joined forces with the Kurgan tribes under Surtha Lenk which raided Kislev sometime during 2520 IC, dressed in armour of black iron under checkered surcoats and wielded long hook-bladed axes, and wore large, studded collars of brass emblazoned with the rune of Khorne, whom they worshiped as Kjorn. These frenzied berserkers fought under Jarl Skolt, a mighty champion of Khorne, and were considered unique amongst Surtha Lenk's horde due to their faith, as Kurgans are mainly worshipers of Tzeentch, whom they revere under countless local guises. Thus, the Norse tribes are highly distinctive and individual, each possessing their own particular nuances.

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. For instance, the Aeslings have long been foes to the Baersonlings to their south, as well as the Sarls, the latter blood feud eventually leading to the legendary Battle of Skulls, where the Aesling king Torgald was slain by the legendary Chaos champion Wulfrik the Wanderer. The Bjornlings are at regular loggerheads with the Graelings, and so on. 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, renown and honour. 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.

Personal and tribal honour are highly integral to most Norscans, 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. The Norsemen have worshiped the Dark Gods since times immemorial, the tribes simply have no concept of how to live otherwise. Far from being mindless slaves to darkness, the men of the North merely maintain that beings as powerful as the Chaos Gods must simply operatee on a level beyond mere human judgement or understanding, and are thus entitled to reward or destroy as befits their divine inclination, just as it is the charge of a man to pay them homage and passionately strive for their favour. The Norsemen believe the path they have taken is the only one that is pure and true, and they look down upon the gods of the southern lands, seeing them as corrupt, weak and wicked things beneath contempt.

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. The Blood God is renowned in Norscan sagas as an embodiment of strength and a granter of victory, and so thousands upon thousands of warriors dedicate themselves to his service. Amongst the Norse, the most common name for the Blood God is 'Kharnath', meaning 'Lord of Rage', in the Dark Tongue of Chaos, but other titles are also prevalent amongst the tribes, such as 'Akhar'. Seers and Vitki take Tzeentch, the Raven God, as their patron, and beseech the Changer of the Ways to aid them in their witchery and to one day grant them pre-eminence over the warrior-kings who lead the tribes. As most Norscan spell-casters are Chaos Sorcerers of a sort, channeling the Black Wind of Dhar to power their profane divination, it is common for them to take at least one or more of the Dark Gods as they patrons. For the most part however, Tzeentch is distrusted by most Norscans, particularly warriors, for his cunning ways, yet as he is also seen as the god of wind and tide, most Norscans will strive for his favour before taking to their longships, in order to ensure a safe voyage. Though amongst certain Skaeling clans, a cruel lesser deity of Chaos known as Mermedus is instead prayed to for safe passage over the seas. Many Imperial theologians brave enough to wrest with the matter believe Mermedus to be the dark, Chaotic reflection of Manann, while others have concluded him to be an even more violent aspect of the fell deity Stromfels. In times of plague and famine, the Norse offer sacrifices to Nurgle, to placate the Crow-God and to persuade him to withhold his "blessings." Some tribes dedicate themselves to the Plague-Father in such occasions, however, believing that only through fighting in his name shall they be delivered from the ruinous touch of Nurgle's contagions. Slaanesh, the Great Serpent, is prayed to in the aftermath of battle for fulsome feasting and celebration. He is also prayed to for fertility and virility.

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. Thus they raid not only the south, but also their fellow worshipers of Chaos -- the Kurgan 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. Storms come and go without warning, and the very stars seem to writhe and change. Norsca is a land in 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 a man can only make the 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, who cling to the realm of the living are found wanting and cursed to walk the world forever as disembodied 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 dream, 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 Country, dovetails 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 longship 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 Warfare
"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. As the most settled of all Chaos Marauders, the Norsemen alone have the means to produce fine weapons of steel and suits of armour, which makes them highly dangerous as compared to the less advanced Marauders, such as the Kurgan and Hung, for whom armour and fine craftsmanship is a rarity due to their predominantly nomadic lifestyle. It is for this reason that Norse steel is highly prized amongst the peoples of the North.

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 weapons of cowards, and as cowards are seen as being 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 their deities and thus 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. Norscan ponies are squat, powerful beasts that are well-bred to traversing the rocky, mountainous landscapes of the far north. Though they are outpaced by the warhorses of the south, the mounts of the Norscans make up for what they lack in speed with resilience and stamina.

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 some sectors of Norsca, it is also referred to as the Blood Eagle.

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/Eagle 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 or she possess wings, much like a raven or eagle. 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.

Industry
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 and in some cases, Chaos Dwarfs can be found living temporarily amongst Norscan clans in order to facilitate an arrangement. 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 Klarond 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.

Whaling is another industry of Norsca. Given that the sea creatures of the far north are often as twisted by the touch of the Dark Gods as any other creature, the whalers of Norsca are often made of sterner stuff than most, and thus it is that whaling is one of the few professions not directly concerned with battle that is respected even amongst warriors. Whales provide much to a Norse village's foodstores, their meat being able to feed entire villages well. Their skin is used to manufacture rope, and their blubber is used to make oil for fuel. The easiest way to hunt them is to use boats to herd schools of small whales ashore where they can be easily killed, but most Norscans spurn such womanly ways, savouring the thrill of setting sail upon a mighty longship to hunt a monstrous whale throughout the Sea of Chaos. Above all do Norsemen treasure the blood and fury of any endeavor, and whaling is no exception. When such a beast is sighted, the longships sail after it immediately, harpooners gathering at the fore to bring the beast down. The bravest men leap from the longship's prow onto the leviathan's back, tearing its hide apart with strikes from their axes. But nonetheless, these beasts, twisted and warped as they are by the powers of Chaos, are amongst the most terrifying of creatures within the northern seas, and so it is that any encounter with them must be swiftly and surely settled, for such is their bulk that they can easily capsize any longship, no matter its size, and can swallow entire crows in their gaping maws. Harpooners must thus ensure a swift kill, the best are able to impale the beast right in its gargantuan heart, while others of lesser skill instead skewer it in its ribcage, enabling them to instead drag the beast towards the longship where the crew can slay it with their axes. A whaling vessal seldom returns without towing a slaughtered whale behind it, as it is considered better amongst whalers to submit to a watery grave than face the dishonour of returning to their villages empty-handed. When a vessel does return with the spoils of victory, any Norse village or town has much to celebrate. Thanks and sacrifice are offered up to the Dark Gods, and much drinking occurs, lasting well into the week, for the survival of the village is now assured for the next many months.

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. Norscans, martially inclined as they are, have a practice of wearing arm-rings, forged from gold, silver and in some cases, beaten iron, as a sign of the victories a warrior has won, thus serving as status-symbols, as these arm-rings are worn by warrior and Jarl alike. These arm-rings also serve as currency in addition to minted coins.

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 with and disloyalty to the Dark Gods and to the clan and ancestors themselves, 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. Other common Norscan phrases often tend to invoke the Dark Gods in some way or fashion, for instance, the phrase "Khargash", meaning 'blood of Khorne', is a common enough expression of ire in Norsca, though it is also used as an oath.

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, including even the plate-mail of Chosen, in order to invoke the protection of the gods and grant strength to the wearer in a primitive 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.


 * Egil Styrbjorn - High Jarl of the Skaelings and a profoundly mighty Chaos Lord sworn to the worship of bloody Khorne, Egil Styrbjorn is one of the mightiest champions and chieftains of Norsca. A bloodthirsty warrior-king who ascended to leadership of his clan by defeating the previous chieftain in single combat, beheading him, thus claiming lordship of the Skaeling city of Strovengaard. He bore the mighty hellforged daemon axes, Garmr and Gormr; named for the bloodthirsty hounds said to accompany the Blood God Khorne in his wild hunts across the heavens, according to the legends of the men of Strovengaard. The axe blades were forged in the shape of snarling wolves, with red stone the colour of blood set into the hafts representing their eyes. The blades burned with blood red flame as they supped on the blood of the felled, and in Egil's mighty hands, had slaughtered thousands across a hundred battlefields. The Jarl earned great personal glory from countless feats of incredible valour; such as when he bested a mighty Dragon Ogre in the high Knife Peaks and carved out its beating heart, and when he walked the terrible roads of the Chaos Wastes and slew the nameless horror therewith. The Jarl was truly well-favoured by Khorne, so much so that even to stand next to him was to feel the brush of Chaos, and catch a measure of the gaze of the Dark Gods. Those particularly weak of spirit and will were said to warp into horrific mutants merely by brushing with him. Egil ruled his tribe for years uncounted, leading them to hundreds of bloody victories over the Kurgan, Hung and southlanders. Particularly against Bretonnia, having launched a devastating invasion of the southern kingdom, beginning with a bloodthirsty raid upon the Isle of Landri in the northwest, there, he led his army of thousands of bloodthirsty marauders and black-armoured huskarls which slaughtered the entire population of the area, including the priestesses who tended to the temple of the Lady. As a demonstration of his loathing for the weakness of the Bretonnian goddess, and her inferiority to the Dark Gods of the Norse, Egil personally destroyed the statue of the Lady that watched over Landri. Though Styrbjorn relished the chance to burn and slaughter and plunder his way through Bretonnia, as he had not raided there for half a decade, his purpose in the south was not mere rapine and slaughter. Long had the mighty champion prayed for a son to carry on his name, and now finally the gods had answered him, for his shaman Bjarki had received blood-visions from the gods, pointing towards the woman who would provide Styrbjorn's male progeny, a Kurgan hag known as Haegtesse. The Jarl was thus driven to find the hag, which he soon did, and soon conceived his daemonic spawn under the gaze of Morrsleib and amidst many bloody sacrifices. Though the treacherous Kurgan had attempted to poison the Jarl and take the child for her own ends, he easily overcame her trickery and bound her. The Fay Enchantress saw the horror that Styrbjorn and his son would wreak, and thus charged the Grail Knight Reolus, reckoned by many to be among the mightiest swordsmen of the Old World, to steal away the hag and slay the child as it was born. This drove Styrbjorn into an apocalyptic fury, and just fresh from from a resounding triumph over the combined armies of the Bretonnian earldoms of Bastonne and Lyonesse, he gathered the Skaelings and made for the fortress of Castle Lyonesse, besieging it for a month until it was clear that the Bretonnians could wrest no victory from it. Eventually, with the unnatural birth of his child, Styrbjorn became fearful that the Bretonnians would kill the boy as their keep fell, and issued a challenge to the Bretonnians' greatest warrior to come forth and settle with him. Reolus, the Grail Knight who alone had managed to match Styrbjorn's strength, stepped forward to duel the dark warrior. In a battle likened to that between gods, and echoing the titanic struggle between Egil's ancient ancestor Svengar the Skaeling against Marcus of Bordeleaux, the two gods of war fought. Reolus' blade blazed with holy fire, his faith in the Lady driving him on, while Egil fought with the brazen fury of the Northmen, fueled by a father's instinct to protect his children. Though Reolus had succeeded in cutting away the Jarl's hand, in the end, the brutal power of the Chaos Lord overcame and destroyed the holy paladin, and Egil's twin daemon axes did strike Reolus' head from his shoulders with a single sweep, shocking the Bretonnians into horrified silence. Egil took back his son, as well as the head of Reolus as a trophy of his victory, but the valour of the knight had impressed Styrbjorn, and he honoured his pledged to leave the shores of the horselords, though he swore that when his son came of age, he would lead his fleets back to the land of his birth, and together they would slaughter all who lived there in honour of Khorne.


 * Knut the Bloody - A legendary figure of the Godcalling, Knut the Bloody was a terrifying Champion of Khorne, a bloodthirsty berserker who fought alongside the Everchosen Asavar Kul, and acquitted himself valorously in the Doom of Praag. When Asavar Kul was vanquished, Knut fought his way back to the north and resided there for some time before adventuring in the Chaos Wastes, where he is said to have dueled a great Bloodthirster of Khorne, which ended with him breaking the spine of the monstrosity over his knee, and the Dark Gods granting him daemonhood and immortality as reward for his strength and tenacity.


 * 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.