Old World, Empire Province of Ostermark, Capital City: Beccafen
"AAAHHHHHHHH!!" A Great Unclean One hurtled down the sewer tunnels of Beccafen, its grotesquely bloated body squeezing through the narrow passageways, the rupturing pustules on its flesh leaving trails of pus and filth behind.
"GRIMNIR, GIVE ME STRENGTH!" Following the daemon was a fiery comet, crashing into the Unclean One with a blazing fury. The flames scorched its diseased flesh.
"Aaaargh!" The cries of the daemon were met with a roaring battle cry as the comet's flames revealed the figure of a dwarf warrior.
This was no ordinary dwarf. Standing taller than most of his kin, he carried himself with the bearing of a true champion. His bright orange mohawk, styled in an impossibly long crest, shone like a meteor's tail, while his equally vibrant beard, braided with golden rings and colorful ribbons, added to his fierce appearance.
"Drink and swing! Dwarven axes sing!" The dwarf raised his massive runic greataxe and slammed it onto the daemon's head, splitting one of its festering horns cleanly in two.
"Father Nurgle curses you!" The Great Unclean One, though gravely injured, retaliated with a swipe of its massive plague-ridden chain. The weapon wrapped around the haft of the dwarf's axe and yanked him violently against the sewer wall, leaving a crater of shattered stone.
Amidst the dust and debris, the dwarf held fast to his weapon, his muscles straining as he grappled with the daemon's immense strength. Yet even as he struggled, he sang defiantly, his voice echoing through the sewers.
The stalemate lasted for seconds, but the daemon's immense power proved too much. The dwarf was pulled from his footing and flung through the air toward the daemon.
In the dim light of the sewer, an orange comet collided headlong with a dark green mass of festering flesh.
"You'll taste Father Nurgle's might!" bellowed the daemon. "We shall crush the humans, the dwarves, and everything in our path! Your feeble alliance ends today!"
The dwarf, undeterred, roared in defiance as he hurtled toward his foe.
"Destroy our homes, leave lands desolate.
Death looms, the end is nigh,
Fall we may, kin and hearth undone,
Smoke and ruin beneath a cold moon's sky.
Yet forward we march, from our gates to the stars,
To the butcher's shrine, where unyielding fires burn—
Till fury turns dragons into ash,
And wrath consumes all under the lash!"
The Great Unclean One raised its massive plague sword, ready to cleave the dwarf in two.
But as the dwarf flew closer, he twisted in mid-air, his powerful frame bending unnaturally as he avoided the daemon's attack. Using the creature's momentum and his own strength, he channeled his might into a single, devastating swing of his greataxe.
"FOR THE POWER OF DAGOR!"
Runic light flared as the axe carved deep into the daemon's head. The blessed blade tore through its corrupted flesh, unleashing a cacophony of pain-filled roars. Its entire body convulsed as the holy power coursed through it, shredding its form from within.
The Great Unclean One disintegrated in a catastrophic burst of putrid energy, its essence returning to the Warp. The sewer walls buckled under the explosion, leaving a massive, foul crater.
"I've failed again," the dwarf muttered with a self-deprecating laugh, his face betraying no hint of despair—only grim satisfaction. He hefted his greataxe onto his shoulder and surveyed the carnage. "Hetwig will curse my name for ruining his sewers. It'll take months to fix this mess."
Turning to the labyrinth of tunnels around him, he scratched his head. "Now, how do I get back to the surface? Oh, Valaya, guide my steps!"
---
Aboveground, the battle raged on.
Beccafen, the capital of Ostermark, lay besieged by the armies of Chaos. Tens of thousands of Nurgle and Tzeentch followers surrounded the city. Inside, 60,000 Imperial defenders, bolstered by 30,000 troops stationed upriver at Fortenhaf, fought desperately to hold the line.
The city teemed with Kislevite refugees—so many that food supplies had run dangerously low. Faced with riots and infiltration by Chaos cultists, Elector Count Hetwig made a grim decision: expel the weakest refugees into the frozen wilderness. Thousands perished from starvation and exposure, leaving a trail of horrors in their wake.
Yet this ruthless action bought Beccafen enough supplies to bolster its defenses. With Kislevite remnants joining the fight, the city endured. Among these reinforcements was the "White Army," a hastily formed militia of 25,000 Kislevites armed with rusted weapons and clothed in uncolored linen uniforms. Despite their meager equipment and desperate state, they stood alongside their Imperial allies.
Outside the city, the Chaos forces were led by two fearsome champions: Tzeentch's chosen, Czar Zanaek, and Nurgle's champion, Festus the Leechlord. Tensions between the two were palpable; their patron gods—embodiments of change and stagnation—hated one another with a burning passion.
This animosity led to constant skirmishes between the two Chaos factions. The rivalry was so fierce that, despite reinforcements arriving from the north, the combined army's strength dwindled rather than grew.
The defenders capitalized on this infighting. During the most desperate moments of the siege, it was Tsarina Katarin who turned the tide. Facing Zanaek in a battle of sorcery, her unique ice magic—untouched by the Winds of Magic—nullified his attempts to manipulate her spells. Their duel tore apart entire city blocks, and ultimately, Zanaek's forces were driven back.
But victory came at a high cost. The city lay in ruins, and its defenders were exhausted.
Now, with Festus withdrawing his forces after the destruction of the sewer daemon, Zanaek prepared for a final assault.
"Forward!" he commanded.
Hellcannons roared, reducing the city gates to rubble. Chaos warriors surged forward, their heavy armor glinting beneath the warped skies.
Defending the gates were the Kislevite White Army. Though brave and determined, they were poorly trained and ill-equipped. Against the armored might of Chaos, their courage alone was not enough.
Once more, Katarin stepped into the breach.
Facing Zanaek directly, she prepared for another grueling magical duel. The air crackled with power as both champions summoned their might.
But before their clash began, a distant horn echoed across the battlefield.
"Toot! Toot! Toot!"
Zanaek turned toward the sound. From the east, a new army emerged—the dwarves had arrived.
Hundreds of dwarves marched forward, led by grim-faced slayers and proud warriors. Their ranks bristled with artillery, including gyrocopters that strafed the Chaos lines with bullets and bombs. Thunderers and longbeards followed, supported by heavily armored ironbreakers.
The Chaos flank collapsed under the dwarven assault.
At the forefront was the slayer who had felled the Great Unclean One. He cleaved through Zanaek's bodyguards like a whirlwind, leaving a trail of mangled corpses in his wake.
"Chaos filth! Come taste Dagor's axe!" the dwarf bellowed as he closed in on Zanaek.
"And me!" Another voice called from above. A rain of green-fletched arrows rained down, piercing through Chaos warriors with deadly precision. A lithe figure leapt into the fray, dual-wielding a spear and scimitar. "By Lileath's name, your end is here!"
Zanaek sneered, raising his staff. "Is this your grand alliance? You hope to stop me with this rabble?"
"Enough talk." Katarin raised her sword, its icy blade gleaming in the dim light.
"Very well," Zanaek sneered. He slammed his staff into the ground.
The earth split open, and from the abyss emerged a monstrous form—a massive avian daemon cloaked in shifting colors and maddening shapes.
The Greater Daemon of Tzeentch, The Eternal Watcher—Sasoriel—descended upon the battlefield.
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