[center][h1][b][i]BEASTMEN OF 
THE MOON CALLER[/i][/b][/h1]
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[img]http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/warhammerfb/images/c/cd/Beastmen_Banner.png/revision/20160120091043[/img]

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[indent]The Old World had known relative peace for almost a decade now, its landscape filled with farms and not soldiers, merchant caravans and not marching armies. But this would not last, Varkex the Moon Caller knew it would. Under the trampling of a thousand hooves, he would lead his race to war against all those foolish races of dwarves and elves and humans who thought they owned the land. Land that was granted to the beastmen by those above and that was stolen from them. The Alphagor stood atop a great rock, looking down at his great warherd that he amassed with everything from petty ungors to the towering Minogors. These would the ones who would bring reckoning upon the civilized races in his name as they reclaimed their long lost land, righting the wrongs of their forefathers.

"BEASTMEN!" the Alphagor bellowed at the cheering and braying mass of bodies below him, all armed and armored for war, "Tonight is the night which we will burn the Old World to the ground! We will slaughter the humans! Gore the dwarves! And slay the Elves! All of which think that they can control the will of the wilderness from their walls!"

A sudden outcry of cursing and jeering paused the speech as beastment insulted and jeered at the races who thought of them as primitive savages. Generations of burning hatred was instilled upon them; these warriors didn't just want to kill the enemy of old but they wanted to slaughter them. Eat them alive. Skin their hides. Ground their bones to such a fine dust that not even their soul could reach their pitiful gods.

"We will make the filth pay for their insolence! We will set fire to their 'great cities' and turn their roads and rivers red with their vile blood!"

The braying got louder as a thunderous storm of chest beating and weapon thumping filled the air. Great crack of war drums soon followed, banners flying high and wild in the wild winds that hollowed over the campsite. The helmets of former soldiers and officers from other races who foolishly tried to beat the Beastmen clattered in on their pikes, some still baring the heads of those who wore them.

"WE SHALL BURN THEIR 'CIVILIZATION' TO THE GROUND! WE SHALL MAKE THEM PAY EVERYTHING THEY OWE US IN BLOOD! WE SHALL NOT LET A SINGLE ONE OF THEM LIVE!" Varkex's voice was now so loud the very ground he stood on shook, "AND THEN! WE WILL FINALLY HAVE OUR RIGHTFUL LANDS BACK. WE WILL CORRECT THE ERRORS OF OLD. WE WILL FINALLY HAVE OUR LEGACY!"

The crowd went wild as Varkex finished his speech and the captives of previous raids were forced out of their cages. Soon it became little more than a orgy of blood, violence and hedonism as the Beastmen's rage and bloodlust were at their apex. Varkex soon came back into sight with a whimpering and fearful human who prayed to gods who would not hear him. And in his fury, the Alphagor dug his mighty hands into the eyes of the man, turning them into a bloody white jelly as he pulled his head off from his body through brutal force alone, pulling it head out along with half of his spine before throwing both of the body parts into the mob below him which promptly tore the remains to pieces.

"FOLLOW ME BROTHERS! WE HAVE A WORLD TO KILL! WE HAVE A LEGACY TO MAKE!"

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That morning, the civilized lands had been given a brutal wake up call as a beastmen army tore through the lands, ravaging farmland, collapsing mines, and cut down any resistance any local garrison could manage to put up if they did not flee. Four small villages had already been decimated and now eyes were set upon a fifth; a small frontier hamlet called Highbridge that found itself too close to the wild and untamed forest than the beastmen would like.

The frail log palisade the dwellers put up was quickly turned to splinters as the beastmen horde charged them as swift as the wind from out of no where. Villagers ran while some men tried to pick up arms only to be gored the second they stepped foot out their door. The dirt streets were filled with beastmen who left blood and viscera in their wake, minogors chraged right through huts, trampling anyone unfortunate to be under them. Blackhands cackled madly as they threw their unholy pots of fire on to thatch roofs and squeeling in delight as buildings were set on fire and burning inhabitants tried to escape out doors or throwing themselves out of windows. Harpys and Ungor Raiders picked off anyone who tried to run while several Besitgors let loose a pack of Razorgors to hunt down the local noble, watching as he and his horse was devoured within seconds as the spiked beasts caught up to him.

Varkex himself was dueling the captain of the local militia who proved as much of a challenge as a dying tree despite all his bravado and shivering bravery. "Come at me you monster!", the captain shouted as the Alphagor lazily shrugged off whatever blows landed on him, the man's blade too weak to deal any real damage to Varkex's thick hide. With a single strong punch, Varkex sent the captain flying on to his back before ordering some gors to capture him, "Throw him in with the rest of the filth we captured, he will make for a fine sacrifice to the Moon."

Although being killed by a Beastmen might be considered brutal, those who are captured are cursed to have even worse fates. Those who are captured are often used as blood sacrifices or meatbags in violent celebration. Some Beastmen Witchdoctors are even known to turn these poor souls into beastmen for the horde to grow with, tainting their mind with the same hatred of their original race that the beastmen have. Elves are favorite targets of this type of magic corruption by sadistic beastmen with a twisted sense of humor.

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Little more of hour later, the village was no more. It was a burnt husk with smoldering remains of buildings and streets full of blood and death as limbs were scattered around like toys as feral warbeasts roamed what was left of the hamlet. Bodies hung on crude hooks from even cruder totem poles or impaled on long spikes after being desecrated. Homes where nothing more than charred timber, anything and everything of even remote worth looted. But at the village center lay a twist monument to the Beastmen's moon god, a great monolith surrounded by a bonfire full of flaming remains and hanging off a crude cage of bone and wood, was the body of the captain of the militia, his face twisted into a pained look of fear.

The Beastmen did this to every place they raided. It was the tell anyone who passed by:

"The Beastmen are here. Run if you will, but you cannot out run the wild."[/indent]