- "Surrender Von Raukov to me, or I will crush your city. All of Volganof will die. I swear to the gods your suffering will be great. You have a single day to decide your fate."
- - Lord Mortkin
Lord Mortkin, also known as the Black-Iron Reaver, was the leader of the mighty Chaos host known as the Fell Legion and a great king of the Norscans. Many are the rumours of him, the sagas sung to his glory by the skald chanters of the Norse. In some tales, he is the son of a bloodthirsty warrior king, fathered by his union with a daemon succubus and born under a blood-red sky. Another that he was a chieftain of the tribes, beguiled by the lure of power. In this tale, the barbarian returned from a mighty raid covered in glory and the favour of the gods, yet he sought more. When the man who was Lord Mortkin ventured into the true north, he was changed beyond all recognition.
History
The Rise of the Black-Iron Reaver
Whatever his previous life, Lord Mortkin won great renown in the twilight lands. Time passes strangely near the great rift and perhaps years, decades or even centuries went by as he travelled that blasted hellscape. In that time, he continued his search for even greater challenges than those he had overcome in the mortal world: he cast down the Leprous Council, foul Sorcerers of Nurgle, he bound Skulex the Great - fiercest of the Fire Dragons - to his will through trickery and lies, bested a two-headed giant in a contest of strength and fought Valkia the Bloody to a standstill, earning the grudging respect of Khorne's shieldmaiden. The Chaos Gods clearly favoured him and many were the warriors of Norsca who joined him. Yet despite the glory he gained, the power he was granted, or the honour he was afforded in the halls of the northern kings, the Black-Iron reaver sankk occasionally into a despondant gloom - perhaps feeling a pang for his lost humanity, a tug from earlier years of a life he left behind.
The First Raids
In 2512 IC, the forces of Chaos moved once more against the lands of the south. Vicious warbands came down from Norsca, their numbers filled with heavily armoured warriors who bore openly the stigmata of mutation. The Norse drove through the lands of Kislev - but the nomadic tribes of the Ungols proved too elusive a target - and so the northmen travelled to plunder the rich lands of the Empire. The following winters were grimmer still, with ravenous packs of mutated warhounds ranging south from their home in the north, savaging herds and mauling unwary travellers. As the ice began to break, the raids of the Norse began once more, quickly surpassing the bloody pace of the previous years. Soon, warbands of merciless invaders prowled the lands like wolves amongst sheep. Yet, not all the provinces of the Empire were defenceless. The Imperial Navy soon went into action, sending an armada of warships to the tempestrous Sea of Claws, braving the krakens and other leviathans who began to emerge from the ocean's depths in greater numbers. Admiral Kronenheim led the fleet, seeking to sink any of the longships of the marauders before they could make landfall. Nordland redoubled its coastal patrols. But it was Ostland that took the most aggressive steps of all.
Led by Valmir von Raukov, the fiery Elector Count, the Grand Principality of Ostland girded itself war. Von Raukov was everywhere, mustering new state troops, bolstering border forts, and rallying his troops to meet the Enemy head on. Valmir von Raukov, a war-like man by nature, had suggested the unthinkable - to launch reprisal raids into the very heart of Chaos, to take the fight to the unholy land of Norsca just as Sigmar Himself had done in ages past. The first counter-attack broke in 2513 IC, returning late in the year with the carven prows of seven longships and the carven beams of a Great Hall as proof of the destruction of several coastal villages. Many nobles in the Empire praised von Raukov's bravery, hailing him a true hero of Sigmar's realm and toasted his victories. But others protested, claiming that the audacity of the attacks would draw the ire of the barbarians, or even worse, that of the Dark Gods they served. They were to be proven right. For what followed in 2515 IC still brings tremors of fear to all those who survived.
Oaths of Vengeance
Soon, the news of the reprisal attacks of the Empire had spread throughout the Northern Wastes. All of Norsca howled and roared at these acts, and many were the oaths of vengeance they proferred to their Dark Gods, others welcomed the challenge, pleased to fight men anxious fo battle. But Lord Mortkin, lord of the Fell Legion and ruler of many warriors, had not spoken since hearing of these raids. By chance, the coastal town of Ulfennik, the place he had once called home, was amongst those razed to the ground by the southlings, its destruction carried out by the son of Valmir von Raukov, Oleg. Locking himself away, he brooded in his fortress of black-iron within the darkest wastes of Norsca.
Many are the champions of the Dark Gods who seek to rise to ultimate glory whe the Realm of Chaos waxes, its power strengthened by the bloodletting of mortal realms. At such times, the gods often choose a single champion to place their greatest blessings on, so that he may lead their worshipers to the final ruination of the world. Archaon Everchosen was long on the path to becoming this champion, but his fate was not yet decided. Nurgle put forth a Pox Sorcerer to be this lord, Khorne a warrior-king of the Norse, Slaanesh his own favoured son Prince Sigvald, only Tzeentch chose a champion not his own - the Lord of the Fell Legion, the mighty Mortkin. Lord Mortkin, pious in the manner of the Norse, alone venerated the Dark Gods in great and equal measure. But he was ever his own man, looking after his own interests first. The gods were wary of electing a man who might fail to do their bidding, but nontheless were united in granting Mortkin their ultimate blessings. When Mortkin, alone and raging within his fortress, swore his oath to the gods that he would carve his weregild from the flesh of the civilized lands, his oath was heard...
The Fury of the North
When Mortkin finally emerged from his self-imposed exile, he did so with single-minded purpose. Lord Mortkin strode forth, with the full might of the Fell Legion behind him, to put an end to the aimless infighting that had riven the tribes of Norsca apart, unite the hordes of Chaos and lead them southwards to destroy the weakling nations of lesser men. To aid his cause, Mortkin used his strength to bring the Bloodthirster Kargharak and his host of Khornate daemons to his banner. Lord Mortkin's forces arrived upon the battlefield and struck down all those who would not bend knee to the northman king.
Zakhar the Chaos Sorcerer, master of the Coven of the Eternal Eye, was the first to join him, maintaining that he had seen the Dark Gods promise Mortkin his victory. An easy claim to believe, for Mortkin had smashed aside the hosts of rival Chaos Champions with ease. Already at his bidding marched rank upon rank of black-armoured warriors, hordes of slavering daemons, and even a mighty dragon flew at his command. Lord Hackbile, champion of Nurgle, soon pledged his allegience, his army of plagued warriors added to the mighty hosts of Mortkin. And many other barbaric tribes of Norsca and beyond bent knee to the mighty warlord, such as the the Wyrmkin, Beast-Flayers, Kin-Slayers, Blackaxes, the Brethren of the Crow and the Scourge of the North, led by the feared Champion Volrung Axblade. After eight days of butchery, Mortkin led his mighty host south.
Kislev in Flames
The seperate armies of Mortkin pased from their homeland of Norsca and crossed the Troll Country, continuing to absorb the scattered tribes of barbarians raiding from their holdings there and newly materialized daemons into their number. Those too proud to join the horde were struck down by Mortkin's axe.
The lands of Kislev, still cloaked in the melting snows, were beset by the northmen reavers. They countryside was aflame as the barbarians laid waste to all they encountered. The nomadic Ungol tribesmen were soon hemmed on all sides by axe-wielding berserkers, and Ungol blood soon warmed the icy ground.
Through the maelstrom of raiders marchd a formidable spear-head aimed straight for Ostland. At its head was Mortkin, resplendent in the blessings of all of his gods - a favoured Scion of Chaos, a king of kings and Jarl of many tribes. His horde the most powerful army to cross into the lands of civilized men for an age. In the ruins of scorched Tzeskagrad, Mortkin paused at the sundered columns and commanded his sorcerers to enact he Ritual of Severed Hands - a spell that locate the Beastmen and summon them to war.
The Beasts of the Forests
Heeding the scratching whispers of the daemons who advised him, Mortkin wished to re-establish the old ties that existed between the men of Norsca and the Children of Chaos. Messangers rode out to see what lay in the tainted forests. Pointed along their trekless paths by the shrivelled hand talismans claimed from the corpses of Tzeskagrad, the messangers rode in search of Ul-Ruk the Red, chieftain of the largest warherd in the Forest of Shadows.
The riders presented the talismans to Ul-Ruk's shaman, who forsaw darkling dreams of conquest and glory and nodded ascent to their leader. With a thundering bellow, Ul-Ruk led his people to war. Within days, thousands of cloven hooves marched northward to join their steel to Mortkin's dark crusade.