Hello, I'm an associate professor in Nuln and studying the fiend Skarbrand. Legend among Khornate cultist writing is that Skarbrand angered his god and was exiled, and now his rampages across the world age to seek forgiveness that will never come.
Why would Khorne's followers follow a disfavored demon?
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The destruction of Crockett Island was one of the greater mysteries of the early millennium. A massive fire, exsanguinated bodies, and a thin layer of ash coating the town that wasn't from burning buildings or grasslands. Rumors swirled across the world, countless investigations both public and private swept the island, but no conclusive answer was ever discovered, as no witnesses came forward.
The state erected a memorial that greeted the sun every morning, shining brass with the names of those lost in the flames and chaos. Five years on, the island was uninhabited. A series of nor'easters and bomb cyclones buried the remaining buildings in snow, and now the few remnants of human habitation stood amidst green life renewed by the ashes permeating the soil.
It was morning. A small boat arrived on the shore the morning after a rainy night. The docks were gone, and gray sands stuck to the fisherman boots plunging into them. The boat was tied to a post.
The walk into town wasn't long, Warren knew it like the back of his hand. The young man scratched at his scraggly beard and looked over the grassland that was once a struggling fishing village, and then marched onwards, to where the old church once stood.
There it stood. A monument to Riley, Ms. Erin, Sheriff Hassan and Ali, Ms. Sarah, the Flynns, Monsignor Paul and Ms. Mildred, and even the awful Ms. Bev. Mother Mary stood in stone and grace, with a large bronze placard below her. Warren reached into his jacket and placed a bouquet of plastic wrapped flowers at the foot of the statue.
He wasn't going to return to Crockett Island again. He knew it. Leeza came with him the last time, before the storms, but couldn't do it again. Warren wasn't sure why he returned. For a moment, he was there on the boat, watching the sun rise, seeing that screaming thing face mortality in the eastern sky. The world outside since then didn't make much sense, not like it did before Monsignor Paul returned.
He shut his eyes and exhaled, and looked up to Mary's stone eyes.
He searched for something, and he wasn't quite sure what. He remembered that morning like it happened an hour ago. The heat from the flames, the singing of the faithful who had accepted their deaths that haunted him every night for the past five years. The man cried silently. Angels to beckon thee, nearer my god to thee.
He knelt and bowed his head, and wept, doubling over to bury his fingertips into the blackened soil.
With a last heavy sigh, he stood once more, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. The wind blew through his messy hair. All was quiet, all was tranquil. It felt as if he'd let a weight off his chest for the first time in his life. He shoved his hands into his pockets and made his way back to the path towards the town, and paced along the cracked asphalt streets back towards the beach.
The waves lapped at the sands of Crockett Island, and the wind swept through the grassland, past an abandoned trailer and over old rusted remnants of the world that was. Warren returned home to the life he'd made, and left Crockett behind.
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OK. So, me an' da boyz get together, yeah, real mean boys and some gobbos and one o' dem big lots and sum trolls, and we 'ave a go with them scaly boyz wot around dat sandy place oop north, roight? Things be goin' proppa, even got us a WAAAGH! against dem runty scaly lot wot wif dem pterrydoctals and wot not, and then we scramble up cross sand and see humies so we go and 'ave a go at them and dats all wells and good but then I'z see some git on 'ere scribe "If you'zes battles turn into a mosh you'ze ain't orkynisin' roight" and now I'z feeling unorky because:
- me boyz wanna have a scrap, so I 'ave em charge in so they can get stuck in and be well 'ard
- arrer boyz have a competition ta see who gets da most stuck with da arrows
- troothfullyz, da boyz fightin' ain't organized much for nothing. See a git, go fight da git.
iz this not how it should be done good and proppa? or shud I doz more stratigy?
yours,
concerned warboss