Doom: End Times (Doom X Warhammer Fantasy)

Dark Fantasies

The tent's flaps opened again. This time, a Khornate champion bearing his patron god's emblems and armor that would put the dwarf smiths and architects to shame. Each hand, he held axes of brass and fire, growling and burning as they hunger for flesh to cleave into. A walking fortress if there ever was one. The man saluted to the daemon princess with utter reverence, but scowled when turning his attention to the advisor, but restrained himself from cleaving the latter with his axe, much to Valkia's surprise.

"Hail, Valkia the Bloody! Gorequeen of Khorne! Bride of the Axefather!" Praised the warrior. "I am Wolfram Deathmetal! Hero-Born of the Kurgans, Doom of the Dwarfs, Ogrebane, and Foe-Hammer of the cowardly Skaven! And I bring honor and tribute to your name! Were it not for this crow's words, I would have slain him then and there and continued my pilgrimage with the Everchosen's war hosts. But if it is to come here by Khorne's decree, then I am bound to honor the Lord!"

Valkia's fiery temper had quenched like a sword submerging in oil upon those utterances. Her brow furrowed less and lips reshaping like that of an officer inspecting the discipline of her battalion.

"And what 'tributes' do you bring, Wolfram?" Asked Valkia.

"Best to show it to you..." Said Deathmetal, moving aside and gesturing to her to go outside the tent. The Gorequeen walked past him, laying eyes to several boons that flooded the camps. From the twisted and fire-forged warshrines carried on the backs of cyclopean ogres, to the savage brayherds of untamed wilds culled by the mightiest Khorngors; to daemon engines known as Skull Cannons, manned by bloodletters and ready to blast the enemy; to even the revered Flesh hounds of Khorne; and finally, the fusion of flesh and metal abominations known only as Soul Grinders: daemons who surrendered their True Names for the sake of restoring their physical forms, marching on iron legs that can mortals beneath them. All surrounded by fresh warriors and cultists bearing the Mark of Khorne on their armors. All pledging their services to her cause right before the walls of Naggarond.

The sensation of contentment quelled any outrage and irritation she had prior, replacing the scowl with a bloodthirsty grin that even the sternest dwarf would shudder from.

"Perhaps I am able to assist Kharnath, after all…" She said out loud, looking at the Bloodthirsters growing frustrated with the defenses of Naggarond's walls, followed by the furies flocking over them alongside the hounds.

(Rated M for Morathi)

Hours later… elsewhere on the road…

In any moment, the harsh winds would have proven to be a death sentence to anyone exposed to the elements. For Morathi, she didn't even register the cold thanks to an unseen layer of magic wrapping her entire body and her dark pegasus, Sulephet's; keeping both of them warm and unharmed by Naggaroth's deadly frost.

Her steed galloped across the skies, searching for the enigmatic warrior. And the other two that accompanied him, but they were secondary to her objectives. Scrying through the thick white landscape, Morathi could scour naught but predators and warbands seeking unfortunate prey who cross their paths. The sorceress didn't bat an eye and traversed the snowy plains with distant thought. It was fortunate that the blizzard upended and vanished, for it made Morathi's visions all the more easy to find the fabled man.

Thinking back on the blood hag's report in Har Ganeth, she wondered how the city managed to prevail against a savage horde filled to the brim with a daemonic host at their behest. The city would have laid waste within a fortnight. Her thoughts then veered to the strange knight. Out of the three, it had to be him, Alith was a feared man amongst the druchii, but he didn't fit the description of someone who can take on a Bloodthirster by his lonesome. Hellebron, while just as bloodthirsty as the worshippers of Khorne, was no match to face a greater daemon that embodied wrath and violence.