Vorrkar

Sand, that is what he remembers. Sand soaking blood of the battle happening around him. Vorrkar did not know what was happening but he felt what was happening, the Upstart was quiet for so long, so that he and his kind were free to do as they pleased to do with the mortals. To battle freely in the Great Game. But now they are being pushed bask by the Upstart and his warriors who ride upon lighting. Vorrkar will not have any of this. He ruled from Cinderhold for too long to have it taken away, he was too powerful for this to end.

The lighting warriors are now marching on Cinderhold, on his place of power, on HIM! This will not stand, Khorn will not stand for this, Vorrkar will repel these invaders of the Upstart God. And if not that, Vorrkar will make them bleed. Cinderhold stood when the Trickster’s minions tried to take forge-fortress from him. It stood when the maggots of the maggot god tried to take it from him. It stood when the hedonists of the god who thirst tried to take it from him. And will still stand.

The battle was glorious, Vorrkar had to give it to the silver warriors. They knew glory of a battle. As he slaughtered another one of these silver warriors, he started to feel weirdly. Like his essence was being drained from him. He knew what it was. Trickery, magic, Vorrkar would not stand for magic to interfere. He saw the dishonourable magicians of silver chanting. He will slaughter them and present the skull to his God. But as he started approaching them another one of the silver warriors barred his way. Bigger than the others with a huge executioners axe in his hands. This will be a good duel before Vorrkar would slay the wizards.

The duel was long this warrior matched the skill, ferocity and even the rage of Vorrkar. This was a good fight but he was Vorrkar, keeper of the Forge, he will defeat this warrior like he defeated so many before. They clashed in a duel that shook the ground, axe against the sword, lightning against flame. After many exchanged strikes, the fiery blade pierced his side forcing him to stumble down and a hand engulfed in fire burning his face. Withe the last strength in his body the warrior made one last gambit to defeat Vorrkar "I'm taking you down with me," the warrior gritted through his teeth and with last remnants of strength, Tassar slammed his axe to the demon's shoulder, causing him to fall down on its knees. Tassar screamed in pain as lightning that came for him dazed the demon for long enough to be banished. No this will not happen, Vorrkar remember what he promised to his god. That if he cannot repel the invaders he will make them bleed. And with the last vestiges of his power he burned the face of his slayer. And them Vorrkar felt his essence with the essences of this warriors being pulled into the forged.

For years Vorrkar’s rage fumed. Remembering the warriors who defeated him. And Vorrkar in his prison prayed to his god, not knowing if he can hear him. To release him so that he might kill him and claim his skull.

Then he felt something that he did not felt in a long time. Blood was being spilled in the forges of his Fortress. And with this blood the binding was broken and Vorrkar and his warriors were released once more onto the mortal realms. But he did not expect for mortals to be his saviours. Did not matter he would slay there leader of these Gilded Skulls and find Tassar to slay him. Yet Vorrkar was defeated again by the leader of the warband, a man named Moranak. Now Vorrkar is bound to this mortal. But he feels Khorn gaze on this mortal. A challange awaits him and Vorrkar is suppose to help him get to his goal. And Vorrkar will serve, for now.

Now the Gilded Skull are marching into the Ravaged Coast with Vorrkar and his legion of bloodletters are following. But Vorrkar suddenly feels the presence of the warrior who once slew him. And Vorrkar’s rages like he hasn’t in a long time.

There was nothing.

A deep, endless sleep—nothing but the darkness of Cinderhold, the quiet hum of my forge. My essence wandered, drifting in the heat of the forge . I could feel nothing but my rage, my fury, my hatred.

It would not be long before I would remade myself, ready to go onto slaughter in the name of Khorn again.

But then, something stirred in the depths of my slumber.

At first, it was nothing but a faint sensation—like a whisper at the edge of my mind. A tug, barely noticeable, pulling at the fabric of my essence. I couldn’t grasp it, couldn’t understand it.

But it wasn’t meant to be.

The sensation grew, more pressing now, like the distant roar of an approaching storm. A throb, deep within my being. The world around me began to shift, the shadows darkening and deepening, pulling at my senses. And then, pain.

At first, it was just a whisper of discomfort. I thought it was a dream, the kind of thing that would slip away with the next wave of slumber. But it didn’t fade. It grew, seeping into my very essence, like fire licking at my skin. The emberstone—the ancient power of Khorne—began to flow into me, distorting the dream. I felt it then, pulling at me from the depths of my slumber.

It was as if the ritual itself was waking me. The chains, once silent, rattled as the power surged through them. The Emberstone twisted, pouring itself into my very being. A burning sensation, then a shudder, rattling me awake from the deep slumber I had grown so accustomed to.

The change was not gentle. The power surged, and with it came an intense agony that rippled through my very core. I could feel myself being stretched, reshaped, becoming larger, more powerful, more destructive. I had once been a Bloodmaster, but now… I was something more.

I was becoming a Greater Deamon of Khorn, in his image, his Bloodthirster.

But the pain—the agony of the change—reminded me of what I had lost. The shackles were still there. Even as my body grew, reshaped by the raw fury of Khorne, those chains tightened. The chains I thought I could escape in the darkness of my slumber were still bound to me.

The ritual was not a freeing one. It was a binding one, forging me into a weapon of Khorne’s will, but still under the control of Moranak and Zorrath. They had not freed me; they had trapped me in this new, more powerful form.

I could feel my power growing, surging. The fury within me intensified, but so did the pain. I wanted to lash out. I wanted to break free. But they controlled me, even now.

No.

As the pain reached its peak, a part of me broke free from the ritual. A flicker. A sliver of hope. The chains were loosening—just a little. The shackles that bound me to Cinderhold felt weaker now, slipping, slipping, as the power of Khorne coursed through me.

I was no longer the prisoner I had been. The change, painful as it was, had given me something more—a flicker of freedom, a hope that one day, these chains would shatter. But not yet. Not now.

For now, I would endure. The dream was gone, replaced by a new reality. One of power, rage, and agony. But one day, those chains would be gone.

And I would break free.