[center][h1]PROLOGUE[/h1][/center]


[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBsKplb2E6Q]It had been a good day for the tribe.[/url]

The little man looked so silly, flailing with his arms. Or, well, what was left of them anyway. Truth be told it was fairly impressive how after both hands were cut off he quickly scraped his bones to create improvised daggers of them. The stuntie even managed to take a minotaur before finally coming to the inevitable grasp of the most excellent Lord Zartai. 

"Not quite reaching me, are you?" 

This angered the Slayer even more, but with his mangled arms the only thing he could do was try to cut through the plated arm of the beastman, unable to reach his exposed body. This prospect failed before even starting, and after a few more mocking moments Zartai squeezed, before letting the headless body fall to the ground amidst its former comrades. 

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/y9WF1r1.gif[/img][/center]

The Ungor Sorceror screamed as somehow there was enough squashed brains in the dead Dawi to get him to stand back up, and use one hand to impale a Gor Warrior whilst using the other to slash Zartai across his thigh. The Deathblow. Zartai had heard of it, though somehow he hadn't heeded the wisdom of this hearsay. Picking up the club of the fallen minotaur he bashed the Dwarf until there was naught left of him save a red puddle. By now all of his wounds had healed, and already he was ready to travel once more from this battlefield. The party was a very tenacious one truth be told, but it didn't last; it couldn't. Between the twinned Spellsinger and Spellweaver, the Slayer, the Knight of the Blazing Sun, the Witch Hunter, the Ranger and the Shaman from Albion they had managed to slayer hundreds of his warriors of the years they quarrelled. 

Though a depleted one, Zartai's force was nevertheless to be reckoned with. He alone possessed enough mutations and magical gifts to make short work of much of what his adversaries could throw at him, but by his side there was still a Bray-Shaman, many monstrous beasts, and a great gaggle of mutants and simple heretics seeking their brothers in faith. Even now there were many more coming to serve him, and they were more than simple fodder, oh no. These were those powerful enough to taste the very flow of the warp, those who knew that Zartai had gained favour of all the Chaos Gods save Tzeentch, and that where he went there plunder would follow. 

"Leave the wounded." He announced. His many underlings protested, but he hushed them all into silence and simply repeated the order. They could easily be replaced he reasoned, while time could never be. In fact he knew that was wrong, but it was an answer that satisfied or at least mollified his followers. Thus they headed North to the prosperous Wasteland, a status they hoped to change soon. Zartai would commune with Htarken again soon, and then the old world would know suffering.