1. Organizations

Gilded Skulls

Gilded Skulls header image

Blood for the Blood God!

Gilded Skulls for the Worthy!

Battles Fought Glory Points Earned Glory Points Spent
3 180 120

Army Information:

  • Blades of Khorn
  • 1120 points
  • The Goretide
  • Auxiliaries: 1
  • Drops: 2

Arcane Tome - 

  • Summon Bleeding Icon
  • Summon Hexgorger Skulls
  • Summon Wrath-axe
  • Blood Boil
  • Uncontrollable Rage
  • Jade Revival

  • Finally Act of Violence
General's Regiment
  • Moranak - Anvil of Apotheosis: Blades of Khorne Hero [250]
    • General
    • Collar of Contempt
    • 8x Renown - Path of the Zealot (Paragon of Faith)
    • 2x Battlewounds 

  • Blood Warriors [190] 
    • 8x Renown - Path of Guardian (Beck and Call)
    • 3x Battlewounds
  • Kadrich - Mighty Skullcrushers [200] 
    • 12x Renown - Path of Brazen Butchery (Shield-breakers)
  • Ashen Pack - Flesh [100] 
    • 11x Renown - Path of the Pack (Tireless Pursuers)
    • 1x Battlewounds

Regiment 1

  • Zorrath - Deathbringer [130]
    • Skull Collector
    • 5x Renown - Path of the Sacrifice Master (Willing Sacrifice)
    • 0x Battlewounds
  • Wrathmongers [130]
    • 5x Renown - Path of Brazen Butchery (Shield-breakers) 

Faction Terrain

Skull Altar

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Recap

The Gilded Skulls were not always known by that name. They began as Arkanax’s Butchers, a warband that carved its way into Chamon, the Realm of Metal, drawing local tribes into its wars against Sigmar and his servants. Among those tribes was Moranak, a warrior who quickly earned Arkanax’s favor and rose through the ranks, only to see the rot at the heart of his leader’s rule. Arkanax sought only his own glory in Khorne’s name, driving his warriors into battles that brought slaughter but no true victory. Moranak would not suffer this failure. He challenged Arkanax to a duel for leadership, a brutal contest that lasted eight long hours, until Moranak finally cleaved his rival’s head from his shoulders. He stripped the skull clean and plunged it into the molten gold of Chamon, and with that act both leader and warband were reborn as the Gilded Skulls, bound by new rites of gilding worthy skulls and hardened by countless victories under Moranak’s rule.

In time, the warband’s camp was visited by a pack of Flesh Hounds, unmistakable heralds of Khorne’s attention. Among them was one unlike the others—Ashmaw—who stood calm before Moranak and even allowed the warlord’s touch, a clear sign of divine approval. Yet favor came with purpose. Zorrath, the Slaughterpriest of the Gilded Skulls and Moranak’s closest advisor, received a vision through blood divination: the warband was to follow the hounds into Aqshy, the Realm of Fire, and bring slaughter in Khorne’s name. There they reclaimed the ancient forge-fortress of Cinderhold, awakening its dormant fires and binding the Bloodmaster Vorrkar after Moranak defeated him in single combat, forcing the daemon to kneel in recognition of mortal strength.

From Cinderhold, the Gilded Skulls waged brutal campaigns along the Ravaged Coast, clashing with orruks and Stormcast Eternals alike, spilling blood to fuel dark rituals and claim Emberstone for the forge. Vorrkar was destroyed and reforged in agony, and through Zorrath’s rites was ultimately reshaped into a bound Greater Daemon, chained to the burning heart of the fortress. When the forges finally roared at their brightest and the ritual was complete, Moranak did not remain to rule beside daemons—he left Cinderhold behind, entrusting its infernal halls to Vorrkar and his kind to slaughter and forge as they pleased, while the mortal core of the Gilded Skulls marched onward into new campaigns, fewer in number but tempered by fire and loss, carrying their gilded scars into the unknown as the forges of Cinderhold continued to burn in Khorne’s name. thus Gilded Skulls had there divine task. And they brought it to fruition. they fought many battles against many foes. They also reawaken a forge fortress that was under Khorns control in the Age of Chaos but was conquered by the factions of Order. With the reawakening of the forge they also freed Khorns deamons that were sealed inside. Moranak defeated and bound there leader Vorrkar and with these new warriors he brought lot of bloodshed to the Ravaged Coasts and brought back lots of Emberstone, magical metal of Akshy perfect for imbuing weapons and warriors.

In the end Gilded Skulls collected enough Emberstone to reforge Vorrkar into a greater deamon, a bloodthirser. Thus Moranak finally understood what Khorn tasked him with. To travel the realms to find these old strongholds of Khorn and to reawaken them to bring everlasting bloodshed. Thus Moranak took his man and left the Ravaged Coast to the deamons of Cinderhold as his task was done there yet more were awaiting him.

From a Warning to a Calling

The Bleeding Heartwood

The ward was meant to warn me of shadows.

Nothing more. A ring of blood-sigils cut into the soil at the edge of the Bleeding Heartwood — a Slaughterpriest’s craft to howl with fire should anything dare creep toward our camp unseen.

I finished the chant. The flame took.

Then it turned inward.

The fire darkened to the colour of fresh-spilled blood and surged back through the sigils, tearing into me with sudden force. There was no intruder. No assassin. The ward had latched onto something far greater.

For a heartbeat, I stood before Blackpyre.

Abraxia upon her throne. And the decree, carved into me like a wound:

Thyria’s Bane has awakened.
Bring it to me, bring it to Blackpyre.
And be marked as favoured by the Spear of the Everchosen.

The vision broke. The ward burned itself out, leaving only ash and scorched earth.

When my sight cleared, you were already there, Kadrich, with your beast of a mount behind you always ready for gore and slaughter.

“The ward worked,” I told you. “It warned me that the hunt has begun.”

Now we know why we have been lead to Thyria. Another trial for us.

Every warlord of Chaos will be tearing this realm and each apart searching for the Bane. And we shall join them.

"We will raid, we will harvest, and we will bleed Thyria until it yields what it hides."

Acceptance of a Burden

The Bleeding Heartwood

The Bleeding Heartwood pulsed with slow, stubborn life. Crimson sap bled from every tree, dripping onto armor and earth alike. The clearing the Gilded Skulls had carved was still fresh—roots torn apart, trunks split open, the forest resisting even in its ruin. At its center stood what remained of a line.

Blood Warriors—those still living—stood silent, battered, unmoving. Those who had fallen were laid behind them, their bodies arranged with brutal care, their skulls already claimed. Before them knelt one warrior. Not the strongest. Not the most brutal. But the one who had not moved. His banner was planted beside him, its shaft cracked, its cloth heavy with dried blood. He still gripped it, even now.

Moranak stood before the line. His gaze did not go first to the kneeling warrior—but to the formation behind him. “You held,” Moranak said. No praise. No warmth. Just fact. “When the line should have broken—when flesh failed, when numbers failed you remained. ”Kadrich stepped forward, nodding once.“ They died where they stood. Not one turned.” A low murmur spread—not pride, but approval. This was how warriors were meant to end. Moranak turned now to the kneeling figure.

“And you,” he said. The warrior did not look up. “Others fell. Others were stronger. Others killed more." A pause. “You did not move.” Slowly, Moranak reached down and grasped the banner, testing it. The warrior’s grip tightened instinctively—even against his warlord.

“Good.”

From the edge of the clearing, a basin of molten gold was dragged forward—a crude thing, shaped from the Heartwood itself. Sap dripped into it, hissing as it struck. One by one, Moranak took the skulls of the fallen Blood Warriors. He dipped them into the molten gold. “This is what they earned,” he said. “Not survival. Not victory.” Each skull emerged gilded, imperfect, fused with the corruption of the forest. “Recognition.” He mounted the skulls along the banner’s spine, one after another, until it bore the weight of the entire line that had held. Then he stepped close.

“Rise.” The warrior stood, still holding the banner. Moranak seized him by the jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. “You are not chosen because you are the strongest,” Moranak said. “You are chosen because you did not fail—when failure would have been easy.” He released him. “This is no longer your banner. It is theirs.” The forest creaked, as if listening. “You will carry them into every battle. You will remind the living what the dead demanded of them.”

The air thickened. The sap flowed faster. “You will be the voice that drives them forward—when they falter, when they bleed, when they think themselves spent.” Moranak stepped back.

“Your name.” The warrior lifted the banner, now heavy with gilded skulls of his fallen brothers. “Aurex Bloodtithe.” The Blood Warriors struck their weapons against their armor in unison—a slow, thunderous rhythm.

This was not a promotion. It was a burden. And it had been earned.