The Sons of Chaos
http://pod.50webs.org/
The Gods inhabit a realm of pure energy and formless power that exists outside of space and time. This is not literally a realm, nor is it literally a place at all, but as not mortal can visualize such a thing, it is convenient to think of it as a kind of coexistent space or alternative dimension. By the same token, its inhabitants are not creatures for they have neither bodies nor minds as those things are understood by mortals; they are elements of pure thought and pure emotion – concepts and impulses ordered by neither form nor reason. These entities, if we may call them such, are but the reflections of the subconscious minds of mortals – a mirror of the heaving turmoil that is the sum of mortal hope, despair, rage and pleasure.
The most powerful of these entities, the strongest emotions of the human psyche; these are what we call Gods; The Chaos Gods. The greatest of these are known as Khorne, Slaanesh, Nurgle and Tzeentch. And of all of these Gods, but one emulates the philosophy of Chaos so purely as Tzeentch. But one illustrates the very nature of Chaos in its truest, and most basic and complex structure; Tzeentch the Great Changer; The Architect of Fate; The Lord of Magic.
It was Tzeentch who sent the Plague of Chaos to despoil the southern lands who fail to heed his calls. The ‘Empire’. And despoil, it did. Men, women, children of the Empire fell sick to the disease, to the fatigue as it first came on, an exhaustion beyond anything mortals would ever be witness to. But, as with the nature of its patron, the disease began to change. Transforming the victims from aching fools into mutated fiends, desolate and desperate beasts concerned only with the destruction of all living creatures. But that was only the first line of an entire wave of mutilation to head the Empire’s way.
From the Northern Wastes the black warhost of Tzeentch marches southwards to the Empire, at their head a deadly Chaos Lord carrying the Great Changer’s banner. And a little more southwards, but not quite at the Empire, convenes a grouping of Norse Warriors, and smaller men, formerly of The Empire. Morrsleib, the Bride of Morr, the green sickly ill-omened moon eclipses the sun. These warriors, they speak atop the summit. Broken in two, at their heads both a hulking man, built of muscle from muscle, a man who none could best in combat, and his opposite, a small man, bent and crippled, bald and weak. But a man that none could face when pressed to manipulate the winds of magic. Valkar and Pitter; the Great Vargs.
That day, beneath a night’s sky, they convened to join together, for their own united purposes of tearing down the Empire, forming The Sons of Chaos from the turbulent mass of action that had been their separate pasts. Pitter with his growing niece at hand, and Valkar with the remnants of his army. But irrelative of the past, what was to come would define the future. What was to come would define forever.
In a strange and unfortunate series of events involving the vile ratmen and their accursed gin, the Great Varg Pitter dissapeared, lost to the guild. Whispers on the wind speak that he may eventually return, but when this accursed prophecy will come to pass is a mystery to even the most learned of soothsayers.
After Pitter left, his neice Melissa attempted to fill his role as joint leader of the warband, but was found missing one night from her tent. Several of the members of the clan were extremely tight-lipped about her disappearance, but it has never been fully discussed. Perhaps the Gods were angered by her, as she often acted superior and aloof. Or maybe a plot from within took her life. The truth may never be known, and it is unsure as to what happened to the young girl or her uncle.
Liber Chaotica
Upon a shelf that’s never dusted lies a book that’s never opened and never read. The leather binding around it is black and wrinkled and scored with scratches and scars that form an elaborate pattern, one that’s always escaping its entirety to the human eye. Inside this book is the name of every warrior that fought for the Great Vargs, each of their names submitted in a sloping dark red ink, looping and twisting in a language not meant to be penned by human hands.
Warhammer Online: Age of Reckoning
Marauder