Forum adverts like this one are shown to any user who is not logged in. Join us by filling out a tiny 3 field form and you will get your own, free, dakka user account which gives a good range of benefits to you: No adverts like this in the forums anymore. Times and dates in your local timezone. Full tracking of what you have read so you can skip to your first unread post, easily see what has changed since you last logged in, and easily see what is new at a glance. Email notifications for threads you want to watch closely. Being a part of the oldest wargaming community on the net. If you are already a member then feel free to login now.

The Eight-Fold Path

Chapter 1

Vinze Clortho gripped the shaft of his spear tighter as his prey came closer. He had been tracking this wolf for almost two days and had finally found a vantage point from which to ambush the foul creature. While Vinze was no tracker or even a good hunter, he had luck on his side, he had found the tracks to a wolf with five legs. The fifth leg was either wounded or atrophied, because it made a very obvious drag mark through the snow.

Vinze had to kill this wolf. As the youngest son of the chieftain, he was not given hereditary responsibilities, he had to earn them. This hunt was one such test. This hunt would determine his status in the tribe, whether he takes his place at the table of his father or if he is given to another tribe to do with as they see fit. That was a lot of responsibility for a twelve year old boy.

He was not born with any marks of the gods like his other brothers. The elder son was blessed by the tribe’s patron God, Tzeentch, with his sigil burned into his forehead. HE was marked for greatness. The eight other siblings were all born with some form of mutation, but not Vinze. Vinze was born with normal proportions, no gifts or blessings. From birth his father never held any expectations from him.

Today Vinze would prove to his father, the Chief of the Blood Helm tribe that he was fit to bear his father’s cup and sup at his side. Not that Vinze cared about carrying cups or cared about his father, he just didn’t want to be thrown to the whims of another tribe. What does hunting prove about being a valuable member of the tribe? He had other skills, he was smart, sneaky and aggressive. Now the wolf was almost near. Vinze’s time to redeem himself in his father’s eyes was here. He was sweating, despite the numbing coldness around him. He wiped the sweat from the palms of his hands and adjusted the grip of his spear. The foot prints through the snow were coming closer, with no effort to hide them. This wolf was bold and brazen and would make a fine trophy. Now was the time.

Vinze pivoted on his right foot out onto the path from behind the boulder he was hiding behind, his spear jutting towards the wolf as hard as he could. As he thrust the spear forward, he realized his folly. This was not his wolf. Before he could stop the spear, it had already sunk into the belly of a troll. The troll was dragging the carcass of his five-legged wolf and just sat there looking dumbly at the spear in its gut. Then with slow realization the troll remembered its anger. It looked up into Vinze Clortho’s eyes.

“Die” , it grumbled quietly as it took the spear in its free hand and snapped it off at the head. The troll tossed the shaft to the side and took a step towards Vinze.

Vinze was frozen with fear. Nothing had prepared him for this. He thought the wolf would be difficult to take down. He could not take down a full grown Troll of the wastes.
The troll reached for him with those impossibly long, clawed arms. Vinze’s sword was in his hand before he knew it, muscle memory of many hours practicing.

“Not if I can help it!” he yelled.

Vinze swung his sword at the monster’s clawed hand, severing the three fingers of the hand. The troll still attempted to grab Vinze with the stump of its bloody hand, succeeding only in knocking him away into the snow and knocking the air out of his lungs.

“Little Runt!” the troll screamed, its eyes lolling with madness and anger. It threw the wolf carcass down and charged, using its powerful arms and legs to propel it through the snow. Vinze tried to get up, but it wouldn’t do any good, the troll would be on him before he could stand. The monster’s mouth was open wide, ready to swallow Vinze’s head with one bite. All Vinze could do was to stare down the throat of what would be his death. And then it happened.

Vinze felt his heart stop beating and ice flow through him. The troll stopped suddenly, with its mouth about to bite down. The Trolls eyes rolled up and its pallid, scaly skin turned grey and Vinze instinctually knew it was dead.

A bright flash appeared in Vinze’s peripheral vision and the troll’s head went flying into the snow. The troll’s body fell like a puppet with its strings cut, throwing snow over Vinze.

Vinze looked around for what had done that and saw his brother Absalom standing there with a bloody axe in hand. He was covered in furs and his new Dwarf made armor, looking at Vinze. This was not the look of a concerned older brother, but the look of pure contempt.

“Why in the Abyss did you do that? The troll was mine!” said Vinze.

“I remember it differently. I remember seeing a troll with its mouth over your head.” he said.

“Memory was never your strength Absalom. Neither is the power of observation or you would have noticed the troll was already dead,”

“The troll was about to eat you. How do you explain its sudden death weakling. You sure didn’t intimidate it to death,”

The question took Vinze off guard. He simply didn’t know why the troll died, just that it did.

“Lord Khorne wished it, I used a spell or maybe it smelled you,” Vinze said.

“Again, your obsession with the Blood God. Our patron is Tzeentch, you would do well to remember that whelp. You are no warrior and the Changer of Ways has turned is eye from you. You have no talents to dedicate to the tribe. Because of this, father has already promised you to those pleasure seekers of the Dead Crow tribe,” Absalom said with a sneer and a smile that showed his shark like teeth.

“The Dead Crow tribe?” Vinze said. This scared Vinze more than staring down the throat of a troll.

“Aye. We knew you could never pass the test. Father bet me you would die in four days, I bet you would not last three. Anak asked that I follow you, to make sure we have a gift for the Dead Crows,”.

“Perhaps you should have let me die then,” said Vinze.

“That would have been more merciful. Gather your things and head back to the village,” he said.
Vinze gathered his sword and began the long walk back to the village. It would take eight hours to reach the village, eight hours to think about the horrible fate that awaited him.

Chapter 2

Vinze Clortho was unceremoniously tossed onto the back of a cart driven by two members of the Dead Crow tribe of the Kurgan peoples. The cart was escorted by dozens of Kurgan Horsemen. The Kurgan peoples lived far to the East, towards Grand Cathay. The Kurgan tribes dedicated to the Prince of Pleasure have been the only tribes that have had any success infiltrating Grand Cathay. It was to one of those tribes, that Vinze was heading. Vinze brought no belongings, he wouldn’t need them.

The cart was heavily guarded because the route to the Kurgan wends through Troll Territory. Troll Territory, like the vast majority of the Chaos Wastes, was a rocky, frozen, dark and unforgiving land. Nothing but scrub brush and lichen grew in Troll Territory, besides the trolls of course. The only thing more brutal than the trolls, was the wind. The wind was harsh and frigid, like the people that made this wasteland their home.

Even though Vinze was technically a prince of his people, he was a youngest son, with no real worth. He had no doubts that he would be thrown in an orgy pit, a gladiator pit or both. The devotees of Slaanesh gave equal credence to violence and pleasure, to them they were one and the same.

The journey to the Dead Crow tribe took many days and he was given only the barest of rations. The Kurgan were a more numerous people than the Norscans from which he came from. The village was many times the size of his. As the caravan came to the outskirts of the town, the villagers began to gather. They mostly just stared and talked quietly to themselves. The cart stopped at the main entrance to the village, a vast wooden gate with rich carvings of demons and warriors. Vinze was helped off the cart and the driver motioned for Vinze to follow him. Vinze followed the large Kurgan through the street of the village. By now everybody had come out and lined the streets. As Vinze passed by, the people would reach out to touch him. Vinze remembered that this was a ritual in their faith, they wanted to feel him, to experience something new. Vinze noticed that many people, when they made contact with his skin, would quickly draw their hands back as if in pain. Vinze didn’t have time to ponder this, as he was finally taken to the large tent in the center of the village. The tent was in the same style as all the others, just much larger and highly decorated with the same demon and warrior motifs as the gate but with the sigil of Slaanesh woven throughout.

A large, muscular man stepped out of the tent, draped in Cathayan silks and gold chains. A dozen slaves, male and female spread flowers and severed fingers in front of him as he walked towards Vinze.

The man stopped in front of Vinze. Vinze noticed that every inch of his skin was covered in tattoos, glyphs, runes, sigils, images and murals of scenes of debauchery. He reeked of narcotic musks and pheromones.

“So this is our little prince,” he said in a soft, almost feminine voice.

“Now what shall we do with you I wonder? What do you think?” he asked his attendees.

“Definitely pleasure,” one of the slaves said. Vinze couldn’t tell if it was male or female.

The rest of the slaves giggled and agreed with the first.

“I don’t know, I sense the stench of Khorne on this one…he prefers the sword methinks. But I think it would be a waste if we didn’t sample the wares before throwing him in the gladiator pit,” He said as he reached out to touch Vinze. Vinze recoiled, but as the man touched his chest, he quickly drew his hand back.

“What is this?” he said raising an eyebrow.

“Fetch the Magos,”

One of the slaves instantly ran back into the tent, and seconds later came back out with another man in tow. The other man was much older but equally covered in tattoos and carried an intricately carved staff made of bone. Vinze couldn’t see his face under the skull mask that he wore but his hair was long, grey and stringy.

The Magos approached Vinze.

“What do we have here Great Khan?” the old, masked man said as he bowed before his liege.

“It seems he is touched by the gods….but which one I wonder?” he said.

“Yes…” said the magos as he sniffed at Vinze. The magos then walked around Vinze and came to stand before him again. He reached out his palsied hand as if to touch Vinze, but his hand hovered an inch from Vinze’s skin, palm down.

The magos’ hand began to tremble and then he showed Vinze his palm. In the palm was a slavering mouth. The mouth began to gibber and moan in an increasingly high pitch. The volume increased until Vinze had to cup his ears to protect them from the pain.

The hand suddenly stopped gibbering and fell silent.

“I understand my Lord Khan,” said the magos.

“Tell me”, said the Khan.

“This boy is not touched by the Gods. No, he is touched by something more powerful…Death. He is saturated by it. Can’t you taste the sweetness of it my Khan? Unfortunately he is a pariah to Slaanesh, untouchable,”.

“No touching, what a shame. He’s yours now. Train him in the way of the Eightfold Path,” he said as he turned dramatically with a flourish of his silken robes and walked back into his tent with his servants.

“Come young one. I am Agonistes and I will be your guide. I will teach you the Eightfold Path. I will teach you the way of plague, pleasure, change and blood. You will venerate the gods in equal measure, dedicating yourself to none, while standing apart. Yours is the way of death. The children in the Colleges of Magic of the Empire think they know the magic of death. Those Amethyst wizards study night and day, all their lives to channel death. You were born with it. But now I must teach you to focus your gift for the good of the Old Ones and your tribe,”
Agonistes turned and leaning heavily on his staff, walked away. Vinze followed. Vinze was confused by what had happened. Maybe almost being killed by the troll unlocked something within him. Learning the ways of magic, channeling the Great Ocean was not what Vinze wanted in his life. He wanted to wield a sword and take skulls. But the Gods of Chaos never have asked what men wanted.

Agonistes led Vinze to another large tent. Totems and fetishes decorated the entrance to the tent.

“Here is where you will be living and studying with me. Your lessons start now. First lesson will be about pleasure and pain. Our tribe’s patron is Slaanesh and you must learn its ways,”
Agonistes took his staff in two hands, raised it over his shoulder and swung it like a club, striking Vinze’s head. Vinze fell to the ground, dizzy and blood seeping into his vision.

“Now you know pain. And I found that pleasurable. I will not be a father figure for you. You will not look back fondly at our time here. I will be a scourge and most likely someday you will kill me and dedicate my skull to Khorne. That is fine. We all must die someday, proving that death is the master of us all,”

Chapter 3



It’s been twenty years since Vinze was given to the Dead Crow Tribe, only fifteen of wich were spent with Agonistes. Agonistes proved to be prophetic, he did meet his end at the point of Vinzes sword and his skull was indeed offered to the Blood God. The Khan of the tribe was far from angry at Vinze for the murder, in fact he awarded Vinze Agonistes’ position and possessions. Vinze did learn a lot from Agonistes and that knowledge has been put to the test in a few battles already. Vinze was able to channel the pure essence of Chaos and Death and leech the souls out of his victims. He practiced a lot, usually on unsuspecting peasants in the middle of the night. Nobody investigated the deaths, murders were common place. At first Vinze did it for practice, but he soon learned to enjoy the feeling of pulling out a person’s soul.

Vinze still venerated Khorne above all others, but no longer questioned his roll. He practiced with the sword almost as much as he did with magic. This is why Vinze found himself in this pit, fighting for his life, and loving every second of it.

Vinze easily towered over his opponent by a head, but the warrior he was facing was bulkier and stronger. He was a knight, a member of the Khan’s bodyguard and as such bore the mark of Slaanesh. Both he and his opponent wore armour but were not allowed to use any sort of magic or enchanted item. The knight was using a giant cleaver in each hand. Vinze was using a long sword which didn’t offer the raw destructive power of the cleavers, but gave Vinze an advantage in range, on top of his already longer arms.

“You fight well for a Wyrd,” the knight said panting, fresh blood seeping down the side of his head.

“You fight well for someone that rides ponies into battle,” Vinze said.

The knight roared and swung at Vinze with both cleavers. Despite his rage, the knight still swung with great skill. Vinze took the sword in a two handed grip and parried the attack, setting himself up for a counter attack using the pommel of the sword. The knight saw the attack coming and dodged under the sword. However this left the knight unbalanced. Vinze kneed the knight in the head, connecting with his temple. The knight used his forward momentum and slammed into Vinze knocking him to the ground. The knight was on top of Vinze, straddling him, still attempting to use his weapons to hack at him. Vinze discarded the sword. It wouldn’t do him any good now, this was a ground fight. The knight’s clumsy attacks, gave Vinze enough time to grapple his right arm, one hand on the bicep, the other hand on the elbow. Vinze positioned his feet for leverage and using his hips, reversed their position in one smooth motion. The knight realized his mistake and discarded his weapons too. However it was too late. Vinze grabbed the knight’s wrist with both hands and dragged his hand down near his shoulder. Vinze shoved his elbow into the knights neck, inserted his right arm under the knights arm and grabbed his own wrist. With the slightest pressure, Vinze lifted the elbow and easily broke the knights arm, his armour providing no protectioin against it. Vinze had learned this move during the failed invasion of Cathy years before against one of their unarmed masters. The knight screamed and tried to get away. Vinze broke the arm again before letting the knight up. The knight stood, holding his shattered arm and ran to the edge of the pit, away from Vinze. Vinze casually gathered his sword from the ground. The knight scrambled for one of his cleavers and attempted to grab it. The knight grabbed his cleaver as Vinze swung with his sword, neatly chopping the knight’s hand off.

“I don’t fight well for a Wyrd, I fight well for anybody,” said
Vinze as he cut his head off with a powerful, two-handed swing. Blood squirted out like a fountain as the body fell to the ground. The headless body attempted to rise, pushing itself up from the ground, trembled then fell, never to move again.

Vinze walked over and picked the head up off the ground and presented it to the Khan, bowing deeply.
“Well met Vinze Clortho. I am most impressed. My best knight challenged you, a death sentence by all logic, yet you defeated him. To satisfy the Gods, you keep his skull and his possessions. Let me present you with his sword personally. It is a mighty blade named Fragarach, torn from the severed hand of the Vampire Cicatrix at the battle of Hel Fenn. As your anger feeds this blade, so will it lend you its strength,”
“I am humbled by your generosity Great Khan,” said Vinze.

The four remaining knights of the Khan’s bodyguard approached Vinze with a horse in tow.

“Here is your prize skald, his steed and belongings,”

“Ah! Excellent,” said Vinze as he took the horse’s reigns and patted its head.

“I was wondering what I was going to eat tonight to celebrate my victory,” Vinze said as he lead the horse away back to his tent, wondering what spices to use for his coming meal while the knights seethed in anger.

Chapter 4

Here he was again. After a humiliating and crushing defeat against the Grand Army of Cathay years before, the Khan decided to invade again. So here they were, their vast host standing before the Great Wall of Cathay. Cathay had been infiltrated by Slaanesh cults for years, and the Khan was promised the Gate of Heaven would be open upon their arrival. Once past the Great Wall, the armies would spread out, wreak their vengeance and slack their desires on the populace.

The problem was, the Gate of Heaven was still closed. However there were no defenders visible manning the wall. Vinze did not like the look of this. Even though the entire might of the Kurgan people were united in this crusade against Cathay, the armies of Cathay were even more vast and the people of the North had never before breached the Great Wall.

The Host of the Kurgan people made camp in front of the wall. The Chosen, warriors and knights made camp closest to the wall in case the Cathai sortie out. With no need to eat or sleep, they stood to, waiting to attack. Vinze stayed up front, near the wall as well. Vinze had no hope that this crusade would end well, vigilance might still keep him alive. He stood near a group of ogres hunched over a fire devouring some hapless human. Vinze noticed the leader of the Ogres wielded a Cathayan Longsword. Vinze approached the Ogres.

“Excelent blade ogre. Where did you come by it?”

The ogre leader looked up confused for a second, then stood to his full height. He was massive and clad in rune covered, dwarven armour. The symbol of the eight-fold star was fashioned into his armor like an iron halo above his head that gave off a dark light and the mark of Khorne was burned in his forehead. The ogre exuded an aura of dread and aggression.

“Why do you want to know little sorcerer?” he said.

“I was wondering if you have been to these lands and know the enemy we are about to face,”

“Aye, I and my companions have fought in these lands before. We were part of the failed invasion a few years back, though it failed not due to any fault of ours. We took many skulls that day mortal,” he chuckled.

“Now, who are you? It is only polite you introduce yourself, is it not?” the ogre asked.

“Well met. I am Vinze Clortho, advisor to the Great Khan,” Vinze said as he bowed.

“I also fought in that failed campaign years ago. I think we both know what we are about to face. Now if I may ask a question, why call me mortal? Are you not?”

“No, I am not. I am Cruor Ereptor, I have tread the Scarlet Path that leads to the throne of our Lord Khorne for almost eight-hundred years. Until someone takes my skull as an offering, I will tread the path. I have heard of you Vinze Clortho, your name is known to the followers of Khorne. Unlike other Wyrds, you offer skulls to Khorne with equal measure. This intrigues me. Come, sit by our fire. Tell us of this strange path you tread and we will discuss the battle to come,”

With that, Vinze sat at the ogres camp and discussed the methods and make up of the Grand Army of Cathay, of the battle to come and told tales of past exploits.

Vinze was awake when dawn broke, he was always awake. He never slept anymore, he didn’t need to. It was one more mortal concern that he was above now.

As dawn broke, the light shone above the Great Wall, still casting the Chaos Host in darkness. As the sun rose in the East, it was still behind the wall. It was because of this, it made it so apparent when the Gate of Heaven opened. At first it was as a great knife blade made of light, then the gates opened wider and cast the cold light of day over the army of darkness. The Host roared and cheered at the sight of the open gates. The elite units at the fore of the Host were the first on their feet, running for the open gate. The rest of the Host soon followed. All ranks and discipline lost as they ran.

“Let us fight together Cruor, and take as many skulls as we can,” Vinze said.

“Yes, may the Old Ones watch our deeds this day,” Cruor said as he put on his helmet and took up his sword.

Vinze put on his helmet, fashioned after a grinning skull with two large, curved horns flowing back. He took up his staff and drew Fragarach from its scabbard. Together with the band of ogres, they charged towards the open Gate of Heaven.

As Vinze charged through the gate, he looked up. During battle it is always puzzling the things your mind picks up. Vinze looked up and noticed flaming birds called phoenixes carved in the gate with expert craftsmanship. Shaking his head of the distraction, he kept running to the other side.

On the other side of the gate was a small town, presumably where the gate sentries and their support staff lived. However it was vacant, not a soul in sight. Slowly the Host came to a halt. All that lay before them was a rocky plain as far as the eye could see. Vinze and Cruor could feel something was wrong, danger was still here. They both kept their weapons firmly in hand.

Behind the Host, the Gates of Heaven suddenly closed with an enormous bang. The ground began to shake, knocking many off their feet. Vinze and the ogres kept their feet with difficulty. Out of the ground legions of Terracotta Soldiers pulled themselves from the ground, completely surrounding the Host of Chaos. Behind the Terracotta Soldiers, large swirling mists formed and when the mists cleared, human soldiers stood in its place. They were all heavily armed and armored. Great beasts also appeared in the line of battle, great serpentine dragons, giants with the heads of horses and ox and cavalry mounted on winged lions.

At the head of the Grand Army of Cathay was the Golden Emperor mounted on what Vinze knew was a Qi’Ren, a powerful creature of magic and intelligence. The Emperor spoke with the voice of thunder and all heard it.

“Hordes of the wastes! This will be the last time you disturb our peace. There will be no surrender. There will be none of you to return to tell your sons to seek vengeance. Tremble and dispair!” and with that a loud trumpet sounded and the Terracotta soldiers lowered their pikes and began marching towards the Chaos Host.

“Abyss take me,” muttered Vinze.

“Today it just might,” said Cruor.

Chapter 4


“Form up! Form a line!” Vinze yelled at the nearby tribesmen.

The enemy were mere yards away and closing, pikes lowered. Vinze stood in front of the
tribesmen trying to organize a defense. If the organized phalanx of Terracotta warriors hit their lines
while in disarray, it would be a slaughter. The units were all mixed up. Vinze was trying to organize marauders, warriors, ogres and even some Chosen of Slaanesh into a coherent defense. He put the ones with shields up front, with the rest in back. Vinze was fortunate in that the punishing rain of arrows was mostly being used against the knights that were attempting a charge. The Cathayans could unleash a horrible fusillade of arrows with the repeating crossbows they were wont to use.

Vinze took his place in the front line next to Cruor. Vinze was about to turn to Cruor to say something, but noticed the Red Veil was already over his countenance. The Ogre’s eyes were glowing red and rational thought was probably beyond him. Murder and rage were the only things on his mind now and the fact he and the rest of his ogres were still in formation was a credit to their will power.

Then the Terracotta warriors were on them. The wall of pikes slammed into their lines with the same effect as a meat grinder. The lightly armoured marauders fell like wheat being scythed. The warriors, Chosen and ogres were fairing better but could not withstand the pike wall for long.

Vinze used his sword to cut the shafts of the pikes that came close. Vinze cut a pike shaft, and with his other hand yanked on the pike, pulling the Terracotta soldier off balance towards him. Vinze struck the soldier’s head with the pommel of his sword, shattering it and turning the whole soldier into dust. He wished he could use his magic, but death magic was no use against the non-living. There had to be something living guiding these mindless soldier statues.

When Vinze had a second of breathing room, he reached out with his powers, seeking nearby souls within they Cathayan ranks. There in the back, he sensed the ripple of life and magic.

“Cruor! We have to get to the wizard in the rear!” Vinze yelled, hoping to get through the Red Veil that clouded his mind.

Cruor acknowledged him with a roar and swung his gigantic sword at Vinze. Vinze ducked under the swing and placed his hand on Cruor’s chest, above his heart. The red glow from Cruor’s eyes faded as his life was leeched from his body. Cruor collapsed and was forced to take a knee as he recovered from Vinze’s death touch. The Red Veil was gone from his eyes.

“The wizard controlling the soldiers is in the rear!”
Cruor nodded and bellowed to his fellow ogres in his own guttural language. The ogres formed a wedge, with Cruor at the point. Cruor bellowed once more and the unit charged headlong into the Cathayan phalanx. The Terracotta soldiers raised their pikes to meet the charging ogres. Many pikes glanced off Cruor’s runic armour, but others managed to penetrate, either through the armor or in one of the few unarmoured areas of his body. Each penetration caused the dwarven runes to glow white hot upon impact. The pikes impaled Cruor, but with no effect. The wedge of ogres plowed through the Cathayan ranks heading towards the rear of the formation. Their huge weapons laying waste and pulverizing the enemy. The ones that weren’t destroyed by the ogre sized weapons, were ground under foot and laid waste by the speed and sheer mass of the charging ogres.

Vinze ran behind the ogres, following them through the sea of Terracotta. One of the ogres succumbed to his wounds, Vinze just jumped over the body and kept running. Finally the ogres made it through. Behind the ranks of terracotta soldiers was the wizard controlling them. A tall Cathayan man, garbed in silk robes, with long white hair and carrying an intricately carved staff stood on top of a great diaz carried by dozens of slaves. With the wizard was a bodyguard of large, blue ogre-like creatures. The wizard, which by his robes and staff of office was a Grand Vizier, looked startled as the Chaos ogres and sorcerer broke through his ranks. The Cathayan ogres, known as Oni surrounded the Grand Vizier.

“Go back the way you came dung eaters,” said the head Oni bodyguard.

“You will die this day, and your skull offered to my god. Fight well, knowing your skull will have an honored place at the foot of the brazen throne,” said Cruor.

Both the Oni and Cruor saluted each other and squared off to face each other in a duel, while the rest of the ogres and oni charged into each other. The Grand Vizier dismounted from his diaz and with an arrogant look on his face, walked towards Vinze.

“Well met barbarian, now you have me. I fear however, I will be no easy target. Face me yourself and maybe you will die with some honor. I am Guang Xiang and I will be your doom,” he said as he put his staff down and crouched into a fighting stance bare handed, his eyes burning with barely contained power.

“If this honor you speak of means dressing in silks like a woman and fighting from the rear, I don’t want any part of it eunuch,” Vinze said as he laid his staff down and held his sword in a two handed grip above his head, in the Cathayan fashion.

The Vizier bolted forward faster than a cannonball. Vinze barely had enough time to parry Xiang’s fist. The other fist came out of nowhere and caught Vinze in the stomach. If Vinze didn’t have his armour on, his innards would have been liquefied. It still took the breath from him.

Vinze slammed the butt of his sword down but connected with thin air. Xiang had already rolled away.

“It seems he wasn’t lying about this not being easy,” Vinze said as he swung his sword again. Xiang pirouetted out of the path of the sword and landed in a crouch. Xiang brought his hand to his mouth as if to blow a kiss. Instead of a kiss, he blew a huge gout of flame towards Vinze. Instead of attempting to dodge or erect his magic defenses, Vinze plowed through the conflagration towards his enemy. The flames heated his armour and helmet, he could feel his skin begin to sear and burn. However this caught Xiang off guard and gave Vinze the opening he needed. Vinze swung his sword in a horizontal slash, catching Xiang in the gut. If Xiang was wearing armour under his robes, it didn’t do him any good. The blow eviscerated Xiang, spilling his intestines in large, grey, bloody loops on the ground. Xiang crumpled to his knees and began scooping up his intestines.

Vinze laughed, savoring the victory. Surely this caught the attentions of the gods. The Old Ones cherished a vanquished champion and always rewarded the victor. He stood, waiting for a blessing to fall upon him. Nothing came. His enemy lay at his feet defeated, scooping up his own innards. He looked at Xiang.

Xiang had gathered his intestines from off the ground and was busy shoving them back inside his body cavity. Vinze smiled through burned lips as he raised his sword for the killing blow. The smile quickly faded as he noticed Xiang’s intestines coiling up and returning to their place on their own as the skin quickly grew back around.

Vinze also noticed a small necklace around Xiang’s neck glow faintly as his wounds were bound. That was inconvenient but he now knew the secret. Vinze swung his sword again. Xiang caught the sword between the palms of his hands. With Xiang’s hands busy, Vinze let go of the sword and punched Xiang in the face. Much faster than the expected, Xiang grabbed his wrist, twisted and broke it. Vinze screamed in pain. Vinze reached forward, grabbed the glowing necklace from Xiang’s neck and tore it free. Vinze then planted his foot in Xiang’s stomach and pushed off.

Xiang fell backwards and landed ungracefully on the ground. Vinze drew his other sword from the scabbard and took another fighting stance. Xiang got up, whipped the dust from his clothes and took a low crouching stance.

With the amulet now in his possession, Vinze felt the bones in his wrist knitting together. He swung his sword again. As he suspected, Xiang caught the sword again and broke the blade. Vinze was expecting this. He kept hold of the broken blade, stepped into Xiang’s guard and brought the blade across his enemy’s throat.

Xiang grabbed at the hole in his neck, which was now squirting vast amounts of blood. He couldn’t speak or breath, he could only make sputtering, gurgling noises.
“Choke on your own blood b****” Vinze said as he spit on the soon-to-be corpse.

Chapter 5

The Grand Vizier Xiang slumped to the ground for the final time with a gurgling death rattle. Vinze looked around to see how Cruor and his ogres were doing. Cruor and three of his ogres had survived out of the ten that made the charge. Cruor was busy cutting off the head of his fallen opponent with a meat clever.

Vinze strode over to Xiang’s Diaz and his fearful slaves. The slaves began pulling at their chains to flee before the Chaos Sorcerer coming towards them. However they couldn’t break the chains and Vinze casually slew them with his hands and then began to search the Diaz. He found a large wooden box with a Tilean family crest engraved on the top. The box itself was lavishly decorated and had several locks on it. Vinze cast a withering spell and watched the wood rot away in seconds. He brushed away the rotted wood to reveal another box. This box was long and thin and equally master crafted. Vinze opened the box and inside was a sword. The sword was blood red and glowed with unholy power. Its blade was shorter than a normal one-handed sword, but was thicker. As he reached for the sword, he could hear a faint whispering coming from it. He couldn’t make out what the whispering said, but he knew enough that one should always strive to listen to the voices. Vinze wrapped his hand around the handle of the thick, heavy blade.

Vinze found himself in field of rocks, dead grass and mold. It was night and the sky was peppered with sickly, noxious clouds moving way too fast to be natural. He looked around for anything familiar. All he saw was endless horizon and a faint light in the far distance.

“Great Abyss, why not? What else could happen?” he said with a shrug and began walking towards the distant light.

Vinze walked for what seemed like miles and even though hours had passed the sky still did not lighten. As he got closer to the light, he could see it was a column of light emanating from the sky and illuminating a great tree. As he approached the tree, he could tell more and more details about it. The first thing he noticed when he got close to the tree was that it was not a tree. It was in the form of a tree, but entirely composed of human body parts. Instead of leaves, it was human faces flapping in the breeze. Bodies were hanging by the neck like blasphemous fruit. The bodies were wrapped in blood soaked bandages, thankfully hiding from view what lay underneath. Vinze has seen many things in his life, consorted with devils and commited atrocities, but this “tree” made him feel sick, used, ashamed and scared. He started backing away to leave.

“Vinze Clortho, that would be unwise” came a whispering voice.

“Who is there? Show yourself!” yelled Vinze.

“I am Sa’d Adh’Dhabih, the Star of the Slaughter, the Doom of Man, Dziban the Destructor and I am here. I stand before thee in my glorious countenance,” came the whispering again. The whispering came from the multitude of bodies hanging from the tree, they provided the voices.

“What do you want from me?” asked Vinze.

“No Vinze Clortho, the question is what doth thou want from me? Thou holdest me in thy hand. I am a slave to thy whim. Suredly thou hast one great desire of thy heart. What is thy pleasure?”

“What is MY wish? You, a great and powerful demon prince is going to grant me a wish?”

“I am no mere demon prince mortal. I am as far above them, as I am above thee. I say again, what is thy pleasure Vinze Clortho of the Blood Helm tribe,”

Vinze knew what he wanted and it only took him the space of a breath to say it aloud.

“I want it all. I want to be the doom of man. I want to be the Everchosen,” Vinze said with a wicked smile.

I don't read a lot of the fantasy stuff, but that was pretty cool! I want a Chinese style army now.