Scyla Anfingrimm

"KILL FOR KHORNE! KILL FOR KHORNE! KILL FOR KHORNE!"

- Scyla Anfingrimm

Scyla Anfingrimm, known also as the Scourgeborn, the Talon of Khorne, and the Bloodbeast was once a mighty and far-famed Champion of Khorne. In his former life, he was nigh invincible and unmatched in battle, having slain some of the fiercest beasts and armies in service to the bloody Norscan god of war. The terror of coastlines from frozen Norsca to exotic Ind, Scyla's name was synonymous with victory and pillage. No other had climbed the ranks of the Blood God's esteem more quickly than he and many amongst his tribe, the vicious warriors of the Ironpelt, had boldly claimed that it would not be long until their chieftain was visited by Khorne with the greatest gift of daemonhood. In a sense, they were right.

It was when Scyla had single-handedly slaughtered the bestial Gorgers of Undermountain, only the latest in a long litany of mighty and unimaginably violent deeds, that his god, Khorne granted him a final boon. But so passionate was Scyla for the gifts of the Blood God that this mutation, in addition to the multitudes he already possessed, proved too much for his mortal form and his transformation into a Chaos Spawn was complete. But Khorne had not abandoned Scyla, not truly, for the raider had pleased Him so, that He made certain that Scyla's new form was far, far more deadly than anything he had hunted and slain in his path to glory. Indeed, so great a champion was Scyla in life, that he still retain the favour of Khorne in his new state. Amongst the Warriors of Khorne, Scyla's name is still spoken in hushed whispers of awe, for no other man had laid more skulls at the foot of Khorne's throne than he.

Saga of the Bloodbeast
It was in the age when the Ironpelt tribe was ruled by Jarl Grundval Fang-Scar, in the waning summers after he had slain his uncle, the usurper Bjarn Baerokk, that a terrible curse had fallen upon the Bay of Blades in the Chaos-touched land of Norsca. No longships made to port, the Graeling raiders, ever the scourge of the weak lands of the south, did not return with the frost-winds of winter, as they had in the many generations the tribe had dwelt beneath Stoneclaw Mountain. No ships laden with gold, sacrifices and plunder to sate the tribe through winter had come out from the cool mists.

As fear began to grip the Graelings, they cried out to their Dark Gods for deliverance. Grundval sent ships to investigate, to learn of what became of the raiders, but only one Marauder out of the half-dozen ships he had sent returned. Shivering and near dead from a thousand wounds, the Marauder spoke of what had transpired, a great beast of the deeps, or perhaps many, such was the ferocity of the monster encountered, that had smashed aside the ships of the Graelings. Now the tribe knew why their Chosen and Marauders had not returned from the summer raids. Grundval, knowing this to be a curse from the gods, called upon the powers of Chaos he had been gifted with to defeat the beast, but to no avail. Thus, he told his shaman, Ulfthras, to employ the oldest and most powerful rites to call upon the gods. Thus the shaman went into the tundra, his great white beard soaked in the blood of 13 of the finest Graeling virgins and his lung swollen with the smoke of Ogre bone and ghostroot. In the daemon-haunted mist, it is said that he spoke with Khorne himself, and heard His will.

Ulfthras returned with the Word of the Blood God, and indeed, something more: Khorne had demanded a champion. A mortal man with the raw strength and savage heart to slay such a beast. And to that fell end, the daemon-slaves of the wolf-headed god offered a token - an obsidian tusk on a barbed silver chain. Forged in the fires of Khorne's rage and cooled in the bloody seas beneath the Skull Throne, it would be bestowed upon any man great enough to slay the fell Leviathan, who would then know the favour of Khorne forevermore.