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Life is a great many things. Twisted, cruel, aloof, fleeting, temporary, arbitrary and perhaps even sexist. But it is fair, you know. It rewards those who have the capability to achieve their dreams. Those who simply propose ideas yet cannot achieve them are simply more noise in the great cacophony that is scholarly thought. Who am I, you may ask? Why, that is simple. I am the narrator. Everything I write here is what I say happened. It may be true. It may be not. Who knows, maybe this is the made up mental excrement of a insane ex-warrior who tried his very best but couldn't achieve his ultimate goals and now has to deal with the fact that everyone he once knew hates him and that his soul belongs to a god that despises him. But that's probably not what it is.
Take note, dear reader, that what this text says was written by my hand and as such is what I remember happening. So you may know the truth about things but what makes you more right? A silly hat? A piece of paper from worthless old men who have nothing better to do in their lives than to remember what other, better people did? Hah. My name is Korik. Just that. If you knew my last name you could do bad things to me. We'll just leave it at that. I am a Lord of Chaos. More specifically, lord of those kind, gentle warriors you'll find to the north who just love you. Those degenerates. Now, oh so sweet reader, you must be wondering, "Gee, Korik, since you are a Norsican doesn't that make you a degenerate?". Why, yes it does! I am a degenerate! So burn this book, go to your priest, ask for forgiveness and then go sleep with your cousin.
I was sane once, you know. I was a normal mercenary. I had dreams. Dreams of... I don't remember, to be honest. It's a little fuzzy. I am sure they were good dreams though. Or not, but that doesn't really matter I guess. I was born to a woman who was... let's use a nice, gentle euphemism and say she had an altercation with a degenerate warrior. She was Kislevite, though, so I am sure they are used to taking it from the northerners. Get it? It's a joke. Growing up people used to pick on me for having the features of the Norse. They'd called me "Korik Half-Witted" or something stupid like that. Kids aren't very bright, you know. Or tasty according to some of my more... lovely underlings.
When I was at that ripe age of 16 the shambling worthlessness came down from the north and razed my village. A lot of us got out. So did my family sadly enough. They moved to some town I forget the name of and I decided to go make something of myself. I worked three years of my life as a worker in a mine. Those were great times! I got to mine for stupid rocks for stupid nobles to put on their stupid wives' hand so that she'll pop out stupider babies for him. I love killing nobles, you know. They always think that everyone loves shiny rocks just as much as they do. The imbecilic animals.
I took the meager amount of money I had earned and paid for weapons lessons. I then decided to go fight for the Empire. Lucky me that they went to war with Brettonia. I managed to scrounge up enough armor to make a good suit of plate for me. I didn't think I actually killed anyone, though... No, no, there was that Knight that was trapped under his horse. He screamed nice and loudly.
With my new armor and weapons, plus some loot I had stolen, I decided to go on my grand quest. What was the goal of the quest, you may ask? I don't care if you didn't ask, you moronic waste of flesh, I am going to tell you anyway! I was going to reclaim my homeland from the Norsican hordes. I would need an army to do that obviously. And armies require money. A lot more money than it takes to get you a loaf of mouldy bread, let me tell you! So I did stuff. I'll tell you later on what I did since this is just a summary of my life. The juicy details will come later since I always love leaving the best part for last. The short of it is is that I went on various adventures with a Wood Elf and got the money I needed to raise my army. So I bought all the armor, weapons and poor sods that I could and formed my grand "Regiment".
We marched north at the earliest morning we could. We lost a few men here and there to animals, the wastes and sexually transmitted diseases. If you want some advice during campaign, here is some: Don't let the men go whoring. You will take casualties. Before we even saw our first Norse warrior we had lost some 20 soldiers out of a total of 1,400. But we had enough so that when we got there we could take out the one or two nomadic tribes that had set up there. We put everyone to the torch. They were all corrupted by Chaos and we couldn't have any of that. However, I didn't forbid the men from taking armor and arms as they pleased.
So, with our mission accomplished, did I let the soldiers go home? Oh, no, I couldn't simply allow those bastards up north to continue to draw breath. They could simply regroup and return to destroy whatever town we rebuild. So, after some looting, pillaging and overall destruction of the nearby countryside my army was ready to fight once more. We had lost 200 or so in the fighting but we had gained so much more. I noticed my men had renewed fervor as they donned the trappings of the fallen warriors. They grew... stronger. I knew Chaos was taking hold of their hearts but that would be another matter for another time. They were disposable tools anyway. I could probably force march them into Imperial lines and have them all killed by cannon fire so I chose.
We marched further and further north slaughtering all in our path. All Norse were massacred. Women, children and men alike. I soon became disgusted with the debauchery my men displayed when executing my orders. They seemed to take glee in covering themselves with blood. These were not the drunkards, women chasers and debtors I had recruited off the slums of the Empire. I had turned them into something even greater. They had long since replaced most of their armor with whatever they found from the dead. It made sense since we were a long way from the nearest black smith.
As we continued our cleansing I also began to notice physical changes in my soldiers. Some grew tentacles... some had their armor fuse to their bodies... and others simply turned mad from all the things that happened to them. I was in denial at the time about it but now I realize that in trying to destroy the Norse I had turned my regiment into a warband of chaos. I thought then that it was simply the land that was taking it's toll and that these brave soldiers were powering through it to secure the Empire. How naive I was!
At that point we had been dwindled down to some 400 odd soldiers. We needed replacements or we would be wiped out if and when the tribes reorganized themselves. So, I began to make offers to the survivors before we cut them up: Join or be beheaded. Soon my "regiment" swelled with northmen to the point were the original Imperial citizens I had recruited were simply a few haggard veterans or gibbering lunatics.
Up until then we had faced very few defeats since we mostly picked on small nomadic tribes. I think the biggest one is when a group of horsemen forced us to retreat from this Tundra. Little did I know that a major tribe was planning to destroy us before we grew too large. And, at the Battle of the Bloodied Lake, they almost succeeded. Almost. 90% of us had been killed and the rest scattered into the wastes. I think most of them were picked off or frozen to death. All that remained of my army were a few of my officers and some degenerates who were quite loyal to me. My officers attempted a coup on me. They almost succeeded. Almost.
As I died I heard whispers into my ear. Whispers of great power and promise of eternal life. Someone had been very pleased with the bloodshed I had caused and didn't want me to go. I thought it was Sigmar... what kind of wretch was I? Anyway, I was reborn. I rose from the shallow grave that I had been buried in and I managed to catch up to the traitors. With my newfound abilities I challenged the senior of the officers to a duel. It was a grueling experience but after a time I had won. The rest of the group once more pledged their allegiance to me. I don't think they really meant it those spry ne'er-do-wells.
After regathering what was left of my forces I took a tally of them. Only but 5 of the 300 or so men I still had left were Imperial. 3 of them were all but animals and the other two wanted me dead. I didn't care, once my quest was over they'd be all killed anyway. We marched south and returned to my homeland in hopes that the citizens would supply their saviors with food and water. Little did I know that the Empire had resettled the place with other Kislevs. I was furious that they had denied my people their proper home. So, we killed them all and burnt down the village. We took what supplies we needed and marched back north.
So, that's the story so far dear, sweet, and lovable reader. Can you believe it? I certainly can't. I wish this was just a bad dream. I wish I could wake up and laugh this off as just a nightmare. I don't want to be a Lord of Chaos. I don't want to be forever bound to my armor. I don't want to live for war and be known as "Korik the Mad Butcher". Please... someone... anyone.. kill me. Kill me so that I can finally rest. End my misery!

Nah, I'm just messing with you. I love this. I feel so... free. So beautiful. The bloodshed is so beautiful, you have no idea. I will be giving more, better accounts in the following chapters. The first one is going to be about my incursions into something not under Franz's rule.

((So, there you haz it. This will be where I will write the more fluffy part about my batreps so that they can be more streamlined. Comments and criticism welcomed!))