The Gore Hunt Tribe - Warhammer 40K Fantasy
 

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Thread: The Gore Hunt Tribe

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    LO Zealot AshBorn's Avatar
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    The Gorehunt Tribe

    The longhorn blew once more, to signal the return of the raiding party, but there was no reply. They had found the camp by the tendrils of cooking smoke that twisted up into the grey skies above. Chains of slaves followed behind them, to be offered to the Blood God, and behind the slaves, great beasts from lands beyond were guided, or pulled as carcasses through the snow, the warhounds snapping at them like horrifying sheep-dogs.

    Skahl knew there was something amiss even before the first of the horsemen came riding back from the site. He, and a few of the other men, broke into a jog, to greet the onrushing riders.
    “What news brother Gorehunts?” one of the footmen shouted as the riders approached. The fast cavalry rode by in a torrent of snow and snorting horses.
    “The camp is gone!” one of the riders shouted to the men on the ground.
    Skahl and the others broke into a run. A steep bank of snow hid their view of the camp, and they scrambled up it’s uneven side. Pausing at the top, they could see the scene of carnage laid out before them.

    Everywhere, the snow was churned to bloody slush. Camp fires, and war-fires, still smoldered. They had only missed the battle by a day, at most. Yurts were trampled, and bodies – pieces of bodies – lay strewn about in the crimson mire. Stahl turned around to see the rest of the warband taking up positions, in preparation for a possible ambush. He sniffed the air. Blood. And nothing more. He signaled that all was clear, and as one of the best hunters among the Gorehunt, they took him on his word. Skahl took a single look at his companions, and descended the hill into the wreckage of their homes.

    Skahl located his family yurt. On the outside of the camp, it would have been one of the first to be attacked, and only a few bone stakes marked where it had stood. Kneeling into the snow, he followed three sets of footprints out, away from the camp, towards where the battle would have been joined. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine his wife, and his son Gormach, making their way into the battle-line. The smaller feet would have been Yselte. When Skahl saw the smaller prints turn back towards the yurt, he almost managed to smile. Yselte – always stubborn and ready to fight. If only she had been born as son, she would have been as ferocious a warrior as any of the Gorehunt.

    Skahl followed the footsteps until the became confused with the dozens of other tracks leading towards the site of the battle. Bodies dotted the path, they had been routed – or had withdrawn to the campsite. Confused. Broken. Skahl fell to his waist in a deep snowdrift, only to pull himself out and carry on towards the battle. Others of the tribe watched as he led the way. He fell upon the pile of corpses, frozen stiff and stuck together with blood and the liquids of battle. On his knees, he dug through the mass, seeking any sign of the fate of his wife and son. There, near the bottom of the pile, he found them. Gormach first, his dead hands frozen to his axes, eyes wild. His lips were drawn back, teeth bared like a wild dog – he had died in a frenzy. Two layers of blood – the first, daubed in markings of fresh kills. Three, at least. The second layer was from the battle, and the countless deep wounds on his flesh. He had died a warrior. Skahl would be able to burn him among the honored dead, a proud, but childless father. Beneath Gormach, Skahl’s wife. She was no less battered than her child, and her axe was close by. Had Gormach fallen defending her? It would have been early in the battle, before the route, to be buried beneath so many other fighters. Skahl knew his wife would have been on the front lines, dragging Gormach by his scruff if she’d had to.

    Skahl pulled them from the ruin, dragging them clear. As he turned, he saw others approaching the pile, tracking footsteps and looking for their families. He bit back tears, Gorehunts did not cry, only blood, or frothing rage, could pour from their bodies – but his anguished howl pierced the darkening sky. Others joined him, finding only shattered dreams among the broken bodies.

    Skahl backtracked, picked up Yselte’s trail and followed it back to the yurt. Her body was not among the slain, what happened to her after Gormach and her mother sent her back? Footsteps circled the yurt. She had run, several times it seemed, towards the battle – only to be turned back. She had sat, perhaps to wait? Skahl saw a second pair of footsteps enter the yurt. New ones, not his family. Someone had taken his daughter, and dragged her from the yurt, out into the snow. He followed the marks for a short time, they led away from the camp, and the battle. His daughter’s warrior’s fate had been denied her. Skahl’s face twisted with rage. He tracked the intruder’s footsteps back the way he came. Across the camp. To Lyfig’s yurt. Lyfig was standing like a stone, dumbfounded.
    “Your son!” Skahl roared, shaking Lyfig from his stupor, “Your son, Tyrgulf. He is a coward. Deserter!”
    A crowd began to form, drawn towards the disturbance. Skahl wrestled Lyfig towards the approaching Gorehunts.
    “His son is a coward. The entire family – shamed! He has taken my daughter, dragged her into the snow.”
    Lyfig broke the hold, and scrambled to his feet, “you have no proof” he managed to say. Skahl shoved him back, and pointed at the tracks leading out of camp.
    “That is your only proof? Footprints? If you wish to shame my family, you’ll have to do better than that.”
    Skahl drew his axes, and lunged at Lyfig.
    “Halt!” a voice commanded from within the crowd. The hunters parted, and their chief stepped forward, “Khorne cares naught from whence the blood flows, but I do. Our warriors should be spared. There is vengeance afoot, but not among ourselves – you can settle this, after we’ve dealt with whoever attacked our homes.”

    Skahl rounded on the chief,
    “He shames the entire Gorehunt! How can you spare a man who’s own kin are a blemish upon the favor of our tribe? You would risk our favor with Khorne, for this man? For a coward?”
    Behind the chief, a hush fell over the tribe.
    “You challenge me, Skahl Ironmane?”
    Skahl’s eyes darkened, “if you stand between me, and avenging my family, I will kill you for less”

    The fight was brief. As Chief and Warrior struggled across the snow, the tribe descended upon Lyfig, holding him captive until the winner was decided. As the flurry of blows subsided, Skahl stood alone, bloodied, but victorious. With a roar, he raised the chieftain’s head into the air. Lyfig’s shout of defiance was choked with blood as the tribe fell upon him like a pack of hounds, tearing him apart in a frenzy of gory revelry.

    When the frenzy finally came to an end, the tribe looked to Skahl.
    “We camp here for the night, honor our dead.”
    The tribe nodded solemnly. “And what of the spoils of our Hunt?” called one man.
    Skahl looked at the glut of prisoners, and the train of beasts brought back for the feast, “Destroy them. We have no need for them now.”

    Skahl swalked towards the tribe’s warshrine atop one of their great herdbeasts, where the chief made his throne. He sat down and watched the men hack apart the slaves, offering each severed head and spray of arterial blood to the glory of their god. A short time later, two men approached, with a third held between them. Skahl leaned forward on his throne with a questioning look,
    “This man is a witch.” spoke the first,
    “Indeed, his treacherous magic burned Kurner alive, and boiled Welf from the inside”
    The man held between them looked as though they had beaten him savagely, but only managed a smile.
    “Then why do you not burn me, witch” Skahl asked the leering man.
    “Because I think we are men of reason, you and I, and hope we might make a deal” the wizard replied smoothly.
    “I do not make ‘deals’ with wretches such as wizards. If you have anything to offer, tell me where to find my daughter, and the son of Lyfig”
    The wizard closed his eyes, lost in thought, before opening them again, “The fates will not say.”
    Skahl kicked the man with a heavy boot, sending the trio nearly tumbling from the warshrine, “Then I will earn the favor of Khorne and he will make them speak!” he roared, “get this waste out of my sight, you should have butchered him with the others”
    One of the Gorehunts placed an axe to the man’s neck, preparing to execute him in his master’s presence and earn favor with their new chief.
    “Wait!” the wizard cried, “you say you wish to earn the favor of Khorne? I may be able to assist you there.”
    The executioner hefted his axe, “silence – you have nothing more to say to our chief, wretch”
    “But I know who has attacked your camp. And I know where they have gone.”

    For a second time, the tribe seemed to fall utterly silent. All eyes were on Skahl, and the wizard. From the ground around the warshrine, none could hear what transpired between the two men. Skahl waved the man away, and the wizard’s two captors dragged him off, to be chained in brass. Skahl stood atop the warshrine and looked over the assembled tribe, all eager to exact bloody revenge on the beasts who had slain their families. Skahl raised the longhorn to his lips and blew a single, keening note. The sounding of the Gore Hunt, and the tribe roared with approval. They would be marching to war.
    ...

    Ten years later, Skahl, Champion of Khorne, chained in fury, sat atop his throne. His Juggernaut snorted, and pawed anxiously at the sandy ground. For a decade, the Gore Hunt had been unceasing, a decade of marching, sailing, and war, in pursuit of the Frost Guts tribe who had slain their kin. Over the age, Khorne had heaped gifts of his approval upon the tireless Gorehunt tribe. Brass armor and Juggernauts from the Daemon-forges of Zharr. Hounds from the litters of Khorne’s own. Banners of brass, torn flesh, and flowing blood to mark their victories. But for ten years, the fates had remained silent about the fate of Skahl’s daughter.

    Today, the wizard knelt before him upon the sand. The heavy brass collar of Khorne locked around his neck, forcing an ever-flowing stream of blood to run from the chafed and abused flesh beneath it. The wizard had never complained, and although Khorne may have loathed magic in all it’s guises, the wizard had never once fallen from grace, and had even fought in battle alongside the Gorehunt. But now, he had run out of chances. If the fates would not speak today, then his head would merely become one more amongst the towers of skulls the Gorehunt had left in it’s wake.

    The wizard mumbled incantations and drew sigils in the sand. Skahl could smell the fear on him as he implored the fates once again, as he had every day. This time though, something was different. The desert air was alive with ozone, and an odor of brimstone seemed to rise up from the dusty ground. The sky above darkened, and the sunset lit it an ominous red. Rain pattered down upon Skahl’s iron armor, hissing and steaming. He turned his head just enough to see his wide pauldrons – it was raining blood. At last, the sky split with a loud crack, a portal to the realm of mad gods torn into the very skin of reality. Through it, Skahl could see Bloodletters blowing loud upon brass horns, heralding the arrival of a dark shape at their center.

    Valkia, consort – no, princess – of Khorne, descended into the bleak desert. The Gorehunt, even Skahl, immediately fell to their knees, and lowered their eyes. Valkia looked disdainfully at the wizard who seemingly summoned her, and in a flash his collar glowed red and molten hot, and he fell wailing to the sand.
    “Skahl Ironmane – rise.” she commanded in a voice that was at once beautiful and terrifying. In her, Skahl thought that he could almost see his wife, long lost to him. Many of the Gorehunt probably could, she was the breathing epitome of a warrior-queen.
    “I have not come to the summons of your paltry wizard, I have come only with permission of our master, the Lord of Skulls. You seek your daughter. The girl who was once your daughter still lives, but she is no longer your daughter – she belongs to Khorne. However, I have not come simply to tell you her fate, for she has fallen. She has left the service of Khorne for another, and as keeper of his handmaidens it falls upon me to make it right. And for this task, I am enlisting you. She was your daughter once, there could be no better servant to trust with this task. Your survival has only continued through your favor with Khorne, or I would have killed you myself for siring such a disgrace.”

    Skahl looked at the woman for a long time. This was connected to Lyfig’s son. He knew it – he had lost their tracks in the snow, and now – now he had once again forced dishonor not only upon the Gorehunt, but upon Skahl’s own kin as well.
    “Tell me where to find her, and I will restore or to Khorne’s will, or slay her myself,” he spoke to Valkia. The woman only laughed, a fierce and beautiful sound,
    “Tell you where to find her? No, servant, I will do you one better. I will lead you to her.”

    **Written by CaptainSarathai @ Librarium Online**

    ______________________________________________________


    + Lords +


    * Valkia the Bloody
    ***When Valkia the Bloody is played, Skahl Ironmane is dropped and his chariot is moved to a special choice. The BSB's Armour of Destiny is swapped out for the Talisman of Preservation.

    * Chaos Lord
    Lance (mounted only), Mark of Khorne, Shield
    * Gifts of Chaos (50 p)
    Burning Body, Flaming Breath, Soul feeder
    * Gorebeast Chariot
    Mark of Khorne
    * Magic Items (100 p)
    Potion of Foolhardiness, Talisman of Preservation, Trickste's Helm


    + Heroes +

    * Exalted Hero
    Army Battle Standard, Halberd, Mark of Khorne, On foot
    * Gifts of Chaos (25 p)
    Scaled Skin
    * Magic Items (50 p)
    Armour of Destiny


    + Core +

    * Chaos Warhounds
    * 5x Chaos Warhound
    5x Vanguard


    * Chaos Warhounds
    * 5x Chaos Warhound
    5x Vanguard


    * Chaos Warhounds
    * 5x Chaos Warhound
    5x Vanguard


    * Chaos Warhounds
    * 5x Chaos Warhound
    5x Vanguard


    * Chaos Warriors
    Champion, Musician, Standard Bearer
    * 24x Chaos Warrior
    24x Halberds, 24x Mark of Khorne, 24x Shields
    * Magic Standard (25 p)
    Banner of Eternal Flame


    * Chaos Warriors
    Champion, Musician, Standard Bearer
    * 23x Chaos Warrior
    23x Halberds, 23x Mark of Khorne, 23x Shields


    + Special +

    * Chaos Knights
    Knight Champion, Musician, Standard Bearer, Magic Standard (50 p)
    * 10x Knight
    10x Enscrolled Weapons, 10x Mark of Khorne


    * Chaos Warshrine
    Mark of Khorne


    * Chaos Warshrine
    Mark of Khorne


    * Chosen
    Chosen Champion, Musician, Standard Bearer
    * 18x Chosen
    18x Great Weapons, 18x Mark of Khorne, 18x Shields


    + Rare +

    * Skullcrushers of Khorne
    Champion, Musician, Standard Bearer
    * 4x Skullcrushers of Khorne
    4x Lances

    Created with BattleScribe


    TOTAL - 3500


    _________________________________________________


    Thanks!

    AshBorn

    Last edited by AshBorn; February 8th, 2013 at 17:46.

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  3. #2
    Senior Member The Odor's Avatar
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    Hey any idea on how youre modeling the warshrine?

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    LO Zealot AshBorn's Avatar
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    https://www.librarium-online.com/foru...t-chariot.html

    I was just going to use this one that I already have made. However, I have an empty chariot I was going to convert into another one if you have any good ideas for this project.

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    Senior Member The Odor's Avatar
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    That is nice. But still iffed about the POINTYEAR BOOK! I am sorta busy planning my own warshrine which is turning annoyingly complicated at a rapid pace....

  7. #5
    LO Zealot AshBorn's Avatar
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    Lol that DE book is my buddies. That's the army I play on a regular basis. My armies are WoC and Tomb Kings

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    Senior Member The Odor's Avatar
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    I hope so... The true gods are not forgiving about treason...

  9. #7
    LO Zealot AshBorn's Avatar
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    No worries. Many Dark Elves have been slayed in the name of the Chaos Gods in this here game room... (High Elves too)

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    Senior Member The Odor's Avatar
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    I think you had the right idea not bringing any marauders in your list. I still have thirty in this list that havent seen assembly yet and I am sick of them. -_-

  11. #9
    LO Zealot AshBorn's Avatar
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    **Reserved.
    Last edited by AshBorn; August 11th, 2012 at 17:13.

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    Drill Sergeant Lord Borak's Avatar
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    Not sure how I missed this one! Consider me subscribed!!!

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