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I picked up the book yesterday, mostly just to have it, but also because I am an obsessive army starter.
I have to say, it's a nice book, lots of possibilities.
And today it inspired me, fluff wise at least, to design a character.
Not content with a nice simple character, I had to go and include character development/progression. Gamewise he might not be the most potent out there, but he'll still leave a mark on the foe. Stage 1 is more combat oriented than Stage 2, but only a fool would challenge (or accept a challenge from) him at that level.
Here he is....Skorvold of the Tahmaks.
Stage 1 - Hero
Born the eighth son of the Tribal Chief, Skorvold was expected to match his elder brothers in in feats of martial prowess. However, although not a disgrace to the tribe, Skorvold was no match for his brothers, constantly on the receiving end of their fists and blades during scuffles. Despite proving himself over and over, during the clan's frequent raids, Skorvold was never the honoured victor.
Nonetheless, Skorvold was devout in his worship of the Dark Powers, and eventually this devotion would be rewarded. The tribal Shaman saw the beginnings of the Gods' favour when the omens and portents grew stronger around Skorvold. Due to the shaman's influence, Skorvold was chosen to lead more raids, and it was during one of these that the full extent of his favour was realised. Facing off against the chieftain of the village they were despoiling, he was obviously outmatched. The chieftain's blade slid effortlessly through Skorvold's armour, and into his breast, but failed to pierce his heart. Because of the supposedly fatal nature of the wound, the chieftain moved past, to slay more of Skorvold's companions, and allowed Skorvold to slay the chieftain. Though weak from the wound, Skorvold lead the raiding party back to their encampment, the cheiftain's head hanging from his saddle.
Sooner than expected, the near-fatal wound healed, in the shape of the icon of the Changer of Ways. Skorvold had been marked for greatness. Guided by the hand of Tzeentch, and the shaman, Skorvold lead the tribe into new lands, to decimate the Great Sorcerer's enemies. Each near-fatal wound Skorvold received healed in the same way, forming shape of the Changer's symbol, a constant proof of his favour. Wresting a poleaxe from the putrid remains of a Servant of Decay, and donning the collar from the strangled corpse of one of the Blood God's hounds, Skorvold continued to slaughter his way across the Northlands in the name of Tzeentch, following the advice of the old shaman.
A hawk-nosed young man, blonde of hair, and broad of shoulder, Skorvold stands well over 6feet tall, his limbs long and lean. Golden eyes stare through the present, giving glimpses of the future; a fatal strike to avoid, the death blow to deliver. Favoured of Tzeentch, Skorvold proudly bears the gifts of his patron.
Exalted Hero - 191 points
Mark of Tzeentch
Glaive of Putrifaction
Collar of Khorne
Chaos Steed (Barded)
Stage 2 - Lord
Once a mere warrior, Skorvold's trail of mayhem had lead a labyrinthine path, leading at last back to the village where the favour of Tzeentch was first made manifest, decades before. A vision of the past, beginning from that fateful day, to the present played across his mind's eye, each glory, every foe, all of his victories. The vision faded, leaving Skorvold exhausted as if he had lived each one again in that one day. A new vision replaced that of the past, shadowed and indistinct, places Skorvold had never visited, foes he had never destroyed, magics he had never known. Although shrouded in robes, Skorvold knew the mage to be himself, powerful beyond his mortal imaginings. The vision flashed back to the near-present, a journey into the mountains, solitary and unarmed; to a hidden temple of the Changer.
Overwhelmed with power and energy from the vision, Skorvold abandoned his warband, his trophies and possessions left to be fought over. For endless, brutal months, Skorvold walked, seeking the mountains of his vision, questing after the future he had glimpsed. Simple cantrips and rituals found a home in his mind, breeding and growing in strength and power, only to manifest in unexpected conflagrations of Tzeentchian flame.
At long last, a mountain matched the vision, and Skorvold knew the beginning of his destiny was soon to be upon him. A rune carved archway lead into the depths of the mountain, leading to a single massive chamber. Bones lay scattered upon the floor, obvious signs of gnawing on each and every one. Without control over his actions, Skorvold began to weave a spell he didn't know. Patterns formed in the carpet of bone; a mystical framework soon to be clothed in his magics.
Excruciating pain wracked Skorvold's chest, his skin was peeling off in strips; only to fall to the floor and wriggle towards the centre of the chamber. Slowly a creature distilled from the bones and flesh; small and humanoid, blond of hair and broad of shoulder, Skorvold recognised himself in its form. From nowhere, armour began to coalesse around the miniature warrior. Skorvold collapsed, in agony and exhaustion. More than just his flesh had gone into the forming of the creature, a portion of his skill and knowledge, strength and will animated it. When he awoke, the familiar (as he now knew it to be) guided him to a hidden chamber, wherein lay a suit of armour, engraved with the mark of Tzeentch, an exact match for the armour encasing the familiar.
Awaiting him outside the Temple, sat a daemonic creature quite unlike any Skorvold has seen before. Undaunted, the miniature warrior climbs on to the disc. Knowledge of this creature floats to the forefront of his mind, leaving Skorvold little doubt that it is further sign of his favour. Long though his quest for the Temple had been, the return was much swifter. The disc's ability to fly combined with a definate destination, reduced Skorvold's journey to a few days.
No longer held together by Skorvold's will, the warband had divided, warring against itself, only to be annihilated by a much larger force. Incensed at the loss of his companions, Skorvold challenged the lord of the destroying army. Once again knowledge imparted itself to him, a whispered word escaping his lips. The lord convulsed in agony, only to be cut down by Skorvold's familiar. Stepping off the Disc, Skorvold liberated the late lord's sword from his grip. Visions swam through Skorvold's head, those of battles to come, enemies to be ground under foot, and cities to raze; the black, rune-etched blade in every vision. Lifting his head, Skorvold screamed his Lord Patron's name to the sky.
The time for Change had come.
Sorcerer Lord - 415 points
Mark of Tzeentch
Gift - Word of Agony
The Bronze Armour of Zhrakk
Amulet of Protection
Disc of Tzeentch
Last edited by mpdscott; December 6th, 2008 at 10:48.
Mysterious Member of the ANZAC Clan
Excellent fluff mate! I love how it suits every piece of wargear pefectly. Wonderful.
 Orks  Tau,
SM  WHFB Chaos
i like the fluff, well written and just plain FUN!!
but one thing... please please changes his name.... its just to close to a character in the current WoC book. I know its different but its "close".
other wise... GREAT!