The great hosts of chaos marched towards Karag Dum. Thousands, tens of thousands made their way towards the ancient ruins of a proud dwarven bastion that had held out for so long. Its cannons had roared, its mithril clad warriors had cut and hewn and cleaved and shot the warriors of chaos. Its forges churned out endless suits of armor, countless weapons, endless stockpiles of bolts. Its mighty walls, placed atop a lone mountain domineered over the landscape, the towers seeming to pierce the very sky and disturb the gods above. And for that, it had to fall. The dwarves fought, and yet, they had fallen to the hordes of chaos. Despoiled, ravaged, raped, as all lands ought to be, sooner or later.
You had never seen the Karag before. And now, only crumbled ruins remained. Maybe, the next time you visit it, it won’t be so far in the future, for the crumbled walls and broken towers more remind you of the rotten jaws of a warhound than of a proud bastion overrun by brave soldiers of Chaos.
As you crest the bleak ocher hill, you see what you long expected. Beneath a burning orange sky, a gathering of armies, warbands and hosts. Spitting on the ground and uttering a oath, then continue forwards, order your host to make camp while you head for the centre of the gathering, towards the lone tent overlooking the countless hordes.
As soon as you step in front of the tent and try peering inside, you feel a shove from behind. Tumbling forwards and already drawing your weapon out, you turn to strike at your assailant, but to no avail, as you fall through the tent flaps, which close shut behind you. A cleave at them leaves your blade harmlessly bouncing from the magical cloth. A rough chuckle emerges from behind you.
“Another one!” A Hung chief laughs. “Settle in friend. We all wait long.”
A quick scan of the massive tent reveals a impressive gathering of warlords, chiefs and champions, of Kurgan, Hung and Beastmen types, all eyeing each other with doubt, suspicion and spite. Yet, all keep their weapons by their belts. They must have been here for long in order to have relaxed so much in such company. A moment of thinking later, you choose to follow their lead, but keeping your gaze on a bestigor with a head crowned with 3 pairs of horns.
You think of speaking to the mob, yet before you can, a female voice booms in the room. “You won’t wait for any more.”
In a flash of motion, every blade is drawn and more than twice that many eyes are anxiously glancing around the tent.
“A whispering on the steppes had called you all here.” The strange cloaked figure spoke as it appeared in the center.
Within a moment, the champions and warlords and reaves and warriors all surrounded the figure, distrustful of each other, but afraid of the figure that just appeared between them.
“I called you here.” The figure continued, concealed by the dancing shadows too thick to be natural. “I called you here so that you may wage war upon the southlands.”