And then there was... something? A noise? A shout. A howl. An ululating cry.
Somebody rose from the water. No, it wasn't water. It was red, thick, and sticky. It smelled of copper. Somebody rose from it, fighting to raise his head above for a gulp of air. His arms flailed about, looking for a handhold.
His head rose. He blinked. He couldn't see. The howl filled his ears. He flailed more. His hands found something solid to grab unto. He pulled himself out of the blood.
Somebody shook his head to clear it. He had a name. He just couldn't remember. It was on the tip of his tongue.
He had a tongue?
He opened his mouth, and let loose a battlecry of his own, a prolonged howl of rage and fury unbound.
He could see now. Hear. Smell. He felt hands grabbing at him. He swatted at the figure on his right, his vambrace crunching bone. He curled his left hand into a fist, and backhanded another being, breaking its fragile neck. He kicked, armored shin launching something into the air. Two more figures were knocked down, and he stomped on them, cloven hooves pulverizing their skulls.
He looked around. It all started to make sense. He knew who he was.
On the shore of a sea of blood, Arbra'Gax, the Bloodthirster, wrath of Khorne made flesh, rose fully to his feet. Bloodletters scurried about, trying to restrain him. He gathered his breath, distended his jaws, and bathed them in hellfire. The lesser daemons melted, and Arbra'Gax looked up triumphantly into the eyes of the gigantic being that towered over the wasteland.
"Blood, for you! Skulls, for your throne! What is your will?"
A great, echoing laughter boomed across the air. Arbra'Gax bathed in the approval of his lord.
The sensation lasted for but a heartbeat, and the laughter ended in a bloodcurling howl. Arbra'Gax felt the rage filling him, and he howled along with his creator. His god. His savage master. And he knew.
He unfurled great wings, and swooped up unto a rough hewn stone altar. There lay his weapons: a black whip of twisted, blackened sinew, and a mighty runesword inscribed with the Blood God's own hateful words. The Bloodthirster raised them up triumphantly, sounding his battlecry again and again.
It was soon joined by other voices, warcries and animal howls. The ground thundered to the approach of Bloodcrushers and packs of baying Flesh Hounds. His very first minions, the seed of blood and terror to be sown across the Mortal Realms.
The air shimmered and rippled above the altar, and Arbra'Gax cut at it with his blade. He tore open the portal, and launched himself into it.
His warband would have to strain to keep up.
No matter.
Khorne's will be done.
He had a tongue?
He opened his mouth, and let loose a battlecry of his own, a prolonged howl of rage and fury unbound.
He could see now. Hear. Smell. He felt hands grabbing at him. He swatted at the figure on his right, his vambrace crunching bone. He curled his left hand into a fist, and backhanded another being, breaking its fragile neck. He kicked, armored shin launching something into the air. Two more figures were knocked down, and he stomped on them, cloven hooves pulverizing their skulls.
He looked around. It all started to make sense. He knew who he was.
On the shore of a sea of blood, Arbra'Gax, the Bloodthirster, wrath of Khorne made flesh, rose fully to his feet. Bloodletters scurried about, trying to restrain him. He gathered his breath, distended his jaws, and bathed them in hellfire. The lesser daemons melted, and Arbra'Gax looked up triumphantly into the eyes of the gigantic being that towered over the wasteland.
"Blood, for you! Skulls, for your throne! What is your will?"
A great, echoing laughter boomed across the air. Arbra'Gax bathed in the approval of his lord.
The sensation lasted for but a heartbeat, and the laughter ended in a bloodcurling howl. Arbra'Gax felt the rage filling him, and he howled along with his creator. His god. His savage master. And he knew.
He unfurled great wings, and swooped up unto a rough hewn stone altar. There lay his weapons: a black whip of twisted, blackened sinew, and a mighty runesword inscribed with the Blood God's own hateful words. The Bloodthirster raised them up triumphantly, sounding his battlecry again and again.
It was soon joined by other voices, warcries and animal howls. The ground thundered to the approach of Bloodcrushers and packs of baying Flesh Hounds. His very first minions, the seed of blood and terror to be sown across the Mortal Realms.
The air shimmered and rippled above the altar, and Arbra'Gax cut at it with his blade. He tore open the portal, and launched himself into it.
His warband would have to strain to keep up.
No matter.
Khorne's will be done.
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