Scyla Anfingrimm, known also as the Scourgeborn, the Talon of Khorne, and the Bloodbeast, was once a mighty and far-famed Champion of Khorne, perhaps the greatest of the Blood God's chosen. 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 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 him 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.[1b][2a][3a]
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 retains 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 man has laid more skulls at the foot of Khorne's throne than he.[1b][2a][3a]
Saga of the Bloodbeast
It was in the age when the Graelings were 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 dispatched 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 commanded his shaman, Ulfthras, to employ the oldest and most powerful rites to call upon the gods. The shaman went out into the tundra, his great white beard soaked in the blood of 13 of the finest Graeling virgins and his lungs 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.
Grundval sent ravens in all directions, bearing with them the decree of Khorne. In time, champions of the Blood God arrived from all over Norsca and some even came from the Kurgan lands, all eager to answer the call of the Bloodwolf. They had all boasted of how they would deliver the Graelings from their peril and earn the favour of Khorne, but none who sailed out into the mists to fight the leviathan returned.
Finally, salvation came in the form of Scyla Anfingrimm, son of Thurrik, warlord of the Ironpelt tribe, who were kinsmen to the Graelings, and Champion of Khorne. Though he had not yet seen 25 winters, his name and his sword were known throughout the North. Indeed, word of Khorne's Commandment had come late to him, for he was abroad that summer raiding and despoiling the undead lands of far off Khemri. It was said that his attacks were so swift and so fierce that the mere sight of his sails struck fear into ghastly hearts of the undead rulers of that ghostly kingdom. When he was told of the perils awaiting him, Scyla is said to have laughed aloud, and boasted that as he had put the fear of death into those without souls, no power short of that of the gods' themselves could ever make him feel fear. Confidently, he took the only ship in Grundval's harbour -- a rickety old sloop -- and sailed out into the Bay of Blades to do battle with the Leviathan. It has long been a source of high praise amongst the Norse to call a raider so fierce that he was unafraid of leading his brothers into the underworld, but Scyla was unafraid of sailing into the underworld by himself.
For several days he scoured the seas until he stole a glimpse of the beast. So it was a scaly tentacle shot out from beneath the waves that struck out against Scyla. He cut it to bloody ribbons with his greatsword, but then another tentacle arose, then a second, then a third, and then more than he could count as they wrapped around his boat in a stranglehold. Scyla leapt from every piece of flotsam and jetsam and tore into the beast, turning the waters of the bay black with its blood. But the Kraken was truly touched by the gods, and weathered the champion's every sword-stroke. Eventually, Scyla took up a hook attached to a great chain and threw it at the beast, by the favour of the gods, Scyla had managed to lodge his hook between the chitinous plates of the kraken's hide. The beast submerged itself under the cold waters, and Scyla followed him this time, letting it drag him through the frosty brine all night. In time, the beast rewarded his iron stamina and took refuge in a cove. And it was there Scyla beheld the monster in all its glory and saw in its great black eyes the remnants of a man. The spawn then led Scyla to a shadowy cave at the edge of the sea before it left its haunt to prowl the Bay again. This time, Scyla let the beast go and hid himself in the monster's nest of bones and human detritus. As cunning as he was deadly, the champion waited for the monster to return and come to rest, and it was then he impaled it from below, piercing its foul heart and letting its foul black blood wash over him.
The next day, Scyla returned to the Graelings' meadhall, his plate-armour caked in the leviathan's gore, and carrying a bone-pike spear with the creature's eye impaled upon it as proof of the deed. All the tribesmen in the hall roared Scyla's name and Ulfthras draped the black-tusk pendant over his mighty shoulders. From that day forth, Scyla walked in the highest echelons of Khorne's favour.
Path of Glory
Scyla continued his quest for the favour of the Blood God, leading his tribesmen to victory after victory in bloody battles. The slaying of the Kraken of the Bay of Blades could not sate Scyla's thirst for battle, and he sought out more fearsome beasts, that he could tear out their hearts and place them upon Khorne's table.
Scyla heard tales of a monstrous Jabberslythe, the most ancient and foulest creature of the Beastkin, that plagued the river Voltag in the lands of the Aeslings in the far northeast. Boldly, Scyla entered the mist-clad banks of the river and brought the hulking monstrosity to battle. Striking it down and taking its mammoth skull for Khorne's throne, thus gaining the respect of the merciless, blood-worshipping Aeslings.
Scyla's longships ranged far south and west in search of battle, raiding the Empire, Bretonnia and even further afield. Every autumn, his ships returned to port, the holds filled to bursting with captured treasure, plunder and captives to be sacrificed to Khorne. The people of his tribe grew strong and proud with such a great leader overseeing them, and it was often said among the Ironpelt that Khorne would soon give Scyla the Dark Apotheosis, and that he would soon be risen to rule alongside the Lord of War in glory.
Scyla Anfingrimm then took part in even more audacious attacks. Such as the great raid he undertook upon the Skaven city of Black Gulch. Scyla charged into the holding of the ratmen and made it so that the whole winding chasm ran red with their blood. Looking down upon this bloody feat with great pleasure, Khorne saw fit to gift Scyla with even greater strength. Scyla found his limbs swollen with muscle, hulking and ape-like, and ending in long claws. Honouring Khorne for His blessing, Scyla launched a raid against the Arabyans, on the great war-dhows of Plenipotentate Ibn Dhul and personally reduced the flagship of the Dhuli armada to splinters. This time, Scyla's bravery was rewarded with a serpentine tail ending in a snapping maw.
Scyla's savagery could not be contained. So eager was he for the blessings of Khorne and so immersed was he in his faith that he even struck out against fellow servants of Chaos. When the Chaos Dwarfs of the Great Skull Land came north to create trading channels with his tribe, as they had done with many of the tribes of Norsca, offering their master-crafted armour and weapons in return for slaves and other commodities, Scyla is said to have taken up his blade and butchered the entire delegation, including their bodyguard. Khorne was mightily pleased with this, and bestowed a new boon upon his champion - now, Scyla's body was covered in a profusion horn-like plates that could turn aside the strongest steel, whatever its make.
In 2298 IC, while again off raiding the Empire, Scyla was brought to battle by a vengeful army of farmers, displaced and dispossessed by his earlier invasions. Mere children before the might of a favoured Chosen of Khorne, Scyla easily slaughtered the entire army single-handed, but left its leaders alive, nailing their bodies to the prows of his longships as grotesque trophies of his victory.[1a]
It was when Scyla carried out the massacre of the grotesque Gorgers of the Undermountain, slaying each and every one of those hulking aberrations, that Khorne gave his champion his last boon. But this newest mutation was too much for even the mighty Scyla to endure, and his body flowed and spasmed out of control and the strain of the mutations twisted his mind to that of a ravenous, murderous beast. Scyla Anfingrimm, mighty Chosen Champion of Khorne, was now little more than a berserking Chaos Spawn.
Talon of Khorne
But Khorne had not abandoned Scyla, not entirely, for the Blood God had seen to it that Scyla's new body was even more deadly than his old form. And indeed, Scyla, unlike any other Spawn of Chaos, still retains the favour of his patron. Indeed, Scyla remains as high in Khorne's favour as he ever was - a testament to his strength in life.
But no longer was he the great warlord of the Ironpelt. That honour went to his lieutenant, the fearsome Champion One-Eyed Erlock. His warband did not turn Scyla out, however, indeed, there were many amongst them who were in awe of his new form and venerated him as a living god, an avatar of Khorne's fury. Erlock placed around Scyla's wolfish head the Collar of Khorne, a symbol of Khorne's favour, which granted Scyla immunity to cowards' magic. When Erlock led the warband into battle, he unleashed Scyla's unmatched fury into the enemy lines. Directing the horrific, daemonic monstrosity as if it was some tamed attack beast. When Erlock and his fellow Norsemen marched in the great army of Asavar Kul, they too fought like many other warbands at the titanic battle at the Gates of Kislev. When the army of Kul was slaughtered by the vengeance of Magnus the Pious, many thought that Scyla had fallen as well. But this was not the case, for Khorne had protected the fallen champion, as the oceans of blood he spilled daily in His glory was pleasing to the Blood God.
The monstrous raider now prowls the Chaos Wastes, seeking only to kill, maim and slaughter in the name of his god. Though he stands high in Khorne's favour, Scyla Anfingrimm's fate is naught but a life of unending slaughter, and eventually, a bloody end in battle that will please his unholy god.
Scyla Anfingrimm is a Chaos Spawn of Khorne, but he is the mightiest and most powerful of those fearsome beasts; his favour in the eyes of Khorne elevating him to a level of power beyond most other creatures of Chaos, as reward for his valorous service in life. The Talon of Khorne possesses incredible strength, as befits any child of Khorne, and also great resilience to attacks of magical nature, due to the Brass Collar of Khorne gifted unto him by Ulfthras during his adventures. Those who seek to undo him from afar with the arcane must instead gather their courage and face him in close quarters -- a suicidal task, for Scyla strikes not only swifter than other Spawn, but also harder and deadlier.[1b][2a][3a]
Such is the favour of Scyla that the eyes of the gods are still drawn to his exploits, in battle, as he slays the mightiest warriors of the enemy, his bravery may lead to the gods seeing fit to grant him a boon, making him all the more deadly.[1b][3a]
Though his mind was rent asunder upon his transformation, the beast that was Scyla Anfingrimm yet retains of the great warrior he once was in order to lead men into battle. Loping before the massed ranks of the warband, venerated as a living god, the Warriors of Chaos interpret Scyla's frenzied roars and guttural battlecries as orders and directions in battle.[1b][3a]