Slann
Bowser
Third Spawning
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The Seraphon Legend
A team of four mules plodded along, pulling a finely crafted Duardin wagon. Carved wood and steel, a few precious metals accented the wagon. Could be hauling anything. Fine armour, guns and powder, gem stones, at the very least some of the most potent ale you could ever ask for. The bearded driver had been wearing his driving gear, scarf, goggles, hat, and gloves, and of course his trusty rifle across his lap. Suddenly he looked around and reached down for his rifle. Too late. 3 shots echoed in the clearing and one of the wooden wheels of the wagon shattered. The corner of the cart and axle digging into the ground. The two lead mules brayed loudly as they slumped over to die, blood spilling out their necks at a rapid pace. The other two mules kicking and braying to try to get away. A flurry of cross bow bolts came screaming through the air, destroying the Duardin drivers arm and sending his rifle flying. Cursing himself for not smoking his pipe, he frantically searched for his flint with his remaining arm. Under the seat was enough black powder to destroy the cart. His signature self-destruct plan to keep enemies from benefiting from his death. It was too late. Three assailants, a Human, an Aelf exile, and most heartbreakingly, one of his own approached. "May the Seraphon drag you to the fiery pits of death." Were his final words.
The unlikely trio sat around their camp fire in the woods. Surrounded by tall thick evergreen trees, they cooked mule meat and drank the beautiful Duardin ale. A finely crafted Duardin wagon with one ill-fitting wheel attached to a team of two mules sat nearby.
"I didn't think your people were a superstitious lot there Halstein." The ex-witch hunter in retort to the victim's final curse.
"A man of Sigmar such as yourself has surely heard of the devils called Seraphon." came the gruff retort from the grizzled beard.
"Just what I heard from my grand sire and all the old wives trying to scare children into a good life." Said ex witch hunter Pulcifer.
"Seems that all of our peoples have a myth about these creatures." Chimed in the dark haired Aelf.
"Go on then. Let's hear what the Aelfs know of these Daemons." Pulcifer said before biting into the tough, stringy mule meat.
"Very well. The tales I heard go back to when the realms were all contained on one world. In that world was these lizard beasts. They would keep to themselves, hoarding gold in their pyramids deep within the jungle and sacrificing to false gods. When the chaos daemons attacked that world, the lizard beasts would not stir from their jungles. The leaders were said to be giant toads with the power of the gods. Aelfs, Duardin, and Man would come to them begging for their power in battle. But the big toads would just fall asleep. The wars raged, and the toads with the godlike powers slept until it was too late. The chaos was winning and destroying the world. Instead of using their magic to help the other races fight, they tried to flee the world. Malerion was angered by their cowardice and captured every one of the scaly bastards. Malerion harnessed the power of the toads and was able to split the world into the realms to continue the fight. As punishment for their inaction, Malerion took the captured lizard people, and infused them with chaos Daemons he had also captured. He made them the same stock as the Daemons to serve as a constant reminder that they were just as responsible for the apocalypse as the other Daemons. Now they serve as guards of the afterlife. Dragging beings of chaos kicking and screaming to the afterlife to keep them in fiery prisons to prevent their return to the realms of the mortals." Garth finished his tale and took a swig of the ill-gotten ale.
"Seems to me, that you said Malerion when surely you meant Sigmar." Said Pulcifer snidely.
"This is why you are my best friend, and my most hated enemy. You know damn well I mean Malerion. You stick up for your god even after how far you have fallen from his grace. What do you Imperials know of the Seraphon?" Spat the Aelf.
"Let's not bring up the painful past, you have your own to worry about. Your accent with the soft consonants still brings my blood to a boil." Stuttered Pulcifer
"Get on with it." Interjected Halstein.
"Right. While I don't know about your old world claims, I do know the story of the Seraphon. Sigmar was making his Stormcast, an army of guardians and avengers. Nearly perfect. But for the one imperfect ingredient. Souls. As his legion fought the damned chaos, the chaos in turn damned a few of the Stormcast, which caused them to become prideful, thinking that they could rule High Azyr, thinking they could be greater Gods than Sigmar. Their true forms taking shape of the slimy little cold blooded lizards. They created a civil war in High Azyr, battling the Stormcast in bloody conflict until Sigmar returned. Sigmar showed these fallen angels his true power. He banished them to an unknown place, and tasked them with tormenting the souls unworthy of becoming Stormcast. Souls like their own. Eternal damnation in the hell fires of High Azyr. Eternal damnation by the eternally damned." The Man twirled his well-groomed moustache.
"Ach! The pair of you haven't a clue." The short and stout Halstein exclaimed, well into his cups.
"Oh? You think the people who live under a rock would know better?" Quipped the Aelf.
"Oh aye. We keep our records like we keep our grudges. Now the thing about the Seraphon is they do not fear death. They are the grim reapers. They are death. You might say Nagash is the God of death, but Nagash is just a puppet. The true God of Death is a Seraphon. He goes by the grim name 'Lord Kroak.' When you see him, you'll croak. Dead for innumerable ages. His power so great that he controls the stars in the sky. Said to call down mighty comets from the night sky to smite the criminals and the chaotic. He sends his Lizardmen, 7 foot tall warriors, down to the realms, to drag the living sinners to the realm of the afterlife. A large powerful frog man looks deep into your soul. You are judged, and if you are unworthy, he finds your deepest fears and makes you relive them for the rest of time. If you are judged worthy your soul becomes a lesser Lizardman, Small and fast, you scour the realms for sinners and report back to Lord Kroak, the true God of Death. If you see a Seraphon it's too late. You're already dead. Also... OH NO THEY'RE RIGHT BEHIND YOU!"
The stone faced expressions of the Man and Aelf did not flinch.
"Well you two are no fun." Laughed the Bearded one.
"You think we will fall for your childish..." The man trailed off, his stone face twisting to a grimace of horror.
Garth ran for the trees, Pulcifer ran for the wagon and snapped the mules into a run.
"Really funny, trying to use my own jokes on me." Were the last words the Duardin uttered before a red mist sprayed over the fire. The head hit the ground toward the fire, the short stout body fell away from the fire.
The Aelf hid high up in the trees. His black cloak blending into the trees. He slowed his breathing and took stock of the surrounding environment. The needles from the tree had scratched him up, but he had seemed safe. That was until the tree across from him seemed to come alive. As the things in the trees dropped their camouflage he saw several small lizards, seeming to grin at him. Then a stinging pain. Then his body fell heavy on to the ground below. Paralyzed, he lay there feeling every second of pain until death took him. Cursing Halstein for getting the luxury of a swift death.
Pulcifer did not look back. Going as fast as his lopsided wagon and mules would take him. He made it out to the road. Only ten kilometers from the nearest town. He prayed for the first time in years. Promising himself that he would go back to the righteous path. Repenting his wicked ways. Then the wagon came to a sudden halt as the mules reared up. In front of him giant Lizard like men on their lizard like steeds. The one out front, the biggest and meanest looking one stared directly into Witch Hunter Pulcifer’s eyes. He swore it was looking into his soul. From behind him a smaller Lizard man put a hand on his shoulder and sniffed the seat of the wagon. It sent a shiver up his spine. He tried to swat away the little devil. It leapt from the seat and was gone. Pulcifer stood to dismount his wagon but he saw the big Lizard charging towards him. The lance it lowered lit up with hell fire. Pulcifer tried to jump but the wagon exploded. The heat was intense. Pulcifer felt his clothes melting into his flesh and his flesh twisting as it boiled under the extreme heat. Tears of pain turning to steam and blinding him. An excruciating minute of burning before his body finally gave out and he was a smoldering corpse. The last thought that ran through his mind was Halstein saying "If you see a Seraphon it's too late. You're already dead."
A team of four mules plodded along, pulling a finely crafted Duardin wagon. Carved wood and steel, a few precious metals accented the wagon. Could be hauling anything. Fine armour, guns and powder, gem stones, at the very least some of the most potent ale you could ever ask for. The bearded driver had been wearing his driving gear, scarf, goggles, hat, and gloves, and of course his trusty rifle across his lap. Suddenly he looked around and reached down for his rifle. Too late. 3 shots echoed in the clearing and one of the wooden wheels of the wagon shattered. The corner of the cart and axle digging into the ground. The two lead mules brayed loudly as they slumped over to die, blood spilling out their necks at a rapid pace. The other two mules kicking and braying to try to get away. A flurry of cross bow bolts came screaming through the air, destroying the Duardin drivers arm and sending his rifle flying. Cursing himself for not smoking his pipe, he frantically searched for his flint with his remaining arm. Under the seat was enough black powder to destroy the cart. His signature self-destruct plan to keep enemies from benefiting from his death. It was too late. Three assailants, a Human, an Aelf exile, and most heartbreakingly, one of his own approached. "May the Seraphon drag you to the fiery pits of death." Were his final words.
The unlikely trio sat around their camp fire in the woods. Surrounded by tall thick evergreen trees, they cooked mule meat and drank the beautiful Duardin ale. A finely crafted Duardin wagon with one ill-fitting wheel attached to a team of two mules sat nearby.
"I didn't think your people were a superstitious lot there Halstein." The ex-witch hunter in retort to the victim's final curse.
"A man of Sigmar such as yourself has surely heard of the devils called Seraphon." came the gruff retort from the grizzled beard.
"Just what I heard from my grand sire and all the old wives trying to scare children into a good life." Said ex witch hunter Pulcifer.
"Seems that all of our peoples have a myth about these creatures." Chimed in the dark haired Aelf.
"Go on then. Let's hear what the Aelfs know of these Daemons." Pulcifer said before biting into the tough, stringy mule meat.
"Very well. The tales I heard go back to when the realms were all contained on one world. In that world was these lizard beasts. They would keep to themselves, hoarding gold in their pyramids deep within the jungle and sacrificing to false gods. When the chaos daemons attacked that world, the lizard beasts would not stir from their jungles. The leaders were said to be giant toads with the power of the gods. Aelfs, Duardin, and Man would come to them begging for their power in battle. But the big toads would just fall asleep. The wars raged, and the toads with the godlike powers slept until it was too late. The chaos was winning and destroying the world. Instead of using their magic to help the other races fight, they tried to flee the world. Malerion was angered by their cowardice and captured every one of the scaly bastards. Malerion harnessed the power of the toads and was able to split the world into the realms to continue the fight. As punishment for their inaction, Malerion took the captured lizard people, and infused them with chaos Daemons he had also captured. He made them the same stock as the Daemons to serve as a constant reminder that they were just as responsible for the apocalypse as the other Daemons. Now they serve as guards of the afterlife. Dragging beings of chaos kicking and screaming to the afterlife to keep them in fiery prisons to prevent their return to the realms of the mortals." Garth finished his tale and took a swig of the ill-gotten ale.
"Seems to me, that you said Malerion when surely you meant Sigmar." Said Pulcifer snidely.
"This is why you are my best friend, and my most hated enemy. You know damn well I mean Malerion. You stick up for your god even after how far you have fallen from his grace. What do you Imperials know of the Seraphon?" Spat the Aelf.
"Let's not bring up the painful past, you have your own to worry about. Your accent with the soft consonants still brings my blood to a boil." Stuttered Pulcifer
"Get on with it." Interjected Halstein.
"Right. While I don't know about your old world claims, I do know the story of the Seraphon. Sigmar was making his Stormcast, an army of guardians and avengers. Nearly perfect. But for the one imperfect ingredient. Souls. As his legion fought the damned chaos, the chaos in turn damned a few of the Stormcast, which caused them to become prideful, thinking that they could rule High Azyr, thinking they could be greater Gods than Sigmar. Their true forms taking shape of the slimy little cold blooded lizards. They created a civil war in High Azyr, battling the Stormcast in bloody conflict until Sigmar returned. Sigmar showed these fallen angels his true power. He banished them to an unknown place, and tasked them with tormenting the souls unworthy of becoming Stormcast. Souls like their own. Eternal damnation in the hell fires of High Azyr. Eternal damnation by the eternally damned." The Man twirled his well-groomed moustache.
"Ach! The pair of you haven't a clue." The short and stout Halstein exclaimed, well into his cups.
"Oh? You think the people who live under a rock would know better?" Quipped the Aelf.
"Oh aye. We keep our records like we keep our grudges. Now the thing about the Seraphon is they do not fear death. They are the grim reapers. They are death. You might say Nagash is the God of death, but Nagash is just a puppet. The true God of Death is a Seraphon. He goes by the grim name 'Lord Kroak.' When you see him, you'll croak. Dead for innumerable ages. His power so great that he controls the stars in the sky. Said to call down mighty comets from the night sky to smite the criminals and the chaotic. He sends his Lizardmen, 7 foot tall warriors, down to the realms, to drag the living sinners to the realm of the afterlife. A large powerful frog man looks deep into your soul. You are judged, and if you are unworthy, he finds your deepest fears and makes you relive them for the rest of time. If you are judged worthy your soul becomes a lesser Lizardman, Small and fast, you scour the realms for sinners and report back to Lord Kroak, the true God of Death. If you see a Seraphon it's too late. You're already dead. Also... OH NO THEY'RE RIGHT BEHIND YOU!"
The stone faced expressions of the Man and Aelf did not flinch.
"Well you two are no fun." Laughed the Bearded one.
"You think we will fall for your childish..." The man trailed off, his stone face twisting to a grimace of horror.
Garth ran for the trees, Pulcifer ran for the wagon and snapped the mules into a run.
"Really funny, trying to use my own jokes on me." Were the last words the Duardin uttered before a red mist sprayed over the fire. The head hit the ground toward the fire, the short stout body fell away from the fire.
The Aelf hid high up in the trees. His black cloak blending into the trees. He slowed his breathing and took stock of the surrounding environment. The needles from the tree had scratched him up, but he had seemed safe. That was until the tree across from him seemed to come alive. As the things in the trees dropped their camouflage he saw several small lizards, seeming to grin at him. Then a stinging pain. Then his body fell heavy on to the ground below. Paralyzed, he lay there feeling every second of pain until death took him. Cursing Halstein for getting the luxury of a swift death.
Pulcifer did not look back. Going as fast as his lopsided wagon and mules would take him. He made it out to the road. Only ten kilometers from the nearest town. He prayed for the first time in years. Promising himself that he would go back to the righteous path. Repenting his wicked ways. Then the wagon came to a sudden halt as the mules reared up. In front of him giant Lizard like men on their lizard like steeds. The one out front, the biggest and meanest looking one stared directly into Witch Hunter Pulcifer’s eyes. He swore it was looking into his soul. From behind him a smaller Lizard man put a hand on his shoulder and sniffed the seat of the wagon. It sent a shiver up his spine. He tried to swat away the little devil. It leapt from the seat and was gone. Pulcifer stood to dismount his wagon but he saw the big Lizard charging towards him. The lance it lowered lit up with hell fire. Pulcifer tried to jump but the wagon exploded. The heat was intense. Pulcifer felt his clothes melting into his flesh and his flesh twisting as it boiled under the extreme heat. Tears of pain turning to steam and blinding him. An excruciating minute of burning before his body finally gave out and he was a smoldering corpse. The last thought that ran through his mind was Halstein saying "If you see a Seraphon it's too late. You're already dead."
hahaha! Seriously that's oddly specific, yet oddly hilarious.