Welcome, reader, to the first part in an epic tale of two factions, fighting for their chance to find glory in a war that will decidetheir fates. The Whitebark Clan seeks to keep its homeland from becoming tainted and befouled by Chaos, protecting the spirits with resilient defiance. Whilst Clan Skelnix seeks to tear the forest glades down to build their new frontier base in the Realm of life.
Today, in part one we see the first contact between Clan Skelnix and the Whitebark Clan, as they prepare to make war with each other.
I present the War of Ghyran campagin, enjoy!
During the Age of Chaos; Realm of Ghyran~
The Treelord Ancient stood in silents as he saw a glowing light in the distant behind the forest, like a rising golden sun in the distant. But this wasn’t the sun rising, no, it was in the wrong direction to rise. Instead it was the glow of doomsday, chaos has arrived.
Duke Cuirithir clenched his staff, rage boiling inside of him like molten lava. He sensed his loved ones screaming in pain, constantly tormented by the pain of being on fire. He then realised what was happening, the horizon was a forest fire, his homeland was in flames! Blazing across the bountiful forests in the realm of life, like an on coming sea wave.
He couldn’t save them, no, they were already gone by the ashes. He felt the forests pain, the thudding pain of fires intensive heat. Duke Cuirithir roared his lungs out as the voices got louder and louder in his mind. Chaos has won, the grand alliance was defeated, and all hope was lost.
But he hadn’t given up hope, he was iron oak born from the Whitebark Clan, descendent of the Ironbark Clan. He was born to defend when others couldn’t, he would charge into battle, destroying those who would disobey the laws of life, and be punished dearly.
He turned away from the blazing light, and walked back into the darkness of the untouched side of the forest. As he left, he could still hear the cries of his kin being burnt to ashes, like tormented ghosts in limbo. This would echo in his mind, reminding him of what failure would be if he let his land be overrun. He went into the dark forest to his woodland grove, there was much planning to be done if they are to survive this age of misery and sorrow.
Present day, during the start of the Age of Sigmar; Realm of Ghyran~
Near the still surviving forest lands of the Whitebark Clan, a small sickly green light appeared near the outskirts of the forest. It glowed like a torch light, than expanded in size until it was as big as a gargantuan maw. It was a rip through the time continuum, like a wounded scar in reality being opened up. The green crack of the Wormhole began to shake, it was unstable, very unstable.
A mass of rat-things scurried out of theWormhole, sensing the destabilisation of the gateway. The last to come out was a humongous toiling bell tower, ringing rusty screeches for each ring. The rest of the group that didn’t make it out were trapped forever as the Wormhole closed. They were probably stuck in the time continuum forever, never to be seen again. The Warband had lost half its soldiers due to the Greyseers wretched Screaming Bell being a pain to push quick enough.
Warlord Scarus, the Right Claw, irritated by this set back looked up to the Greyseer with impatient anger. “I told you Grey-Greyseer to hurry up, but you never listen!” Whined Scarus as he accused the Seer of his unavoidable failure to hurry. The Greyseer stared at his master with his glareing red eyes, looking at him with a deceptive smirk on his face. “You wouldn’t question me, young one, for the Horned Rat favours me more than you! Accusing me is to accuse our master himself, isn’t that so, Scarus?”.
Scarus’s face twitches as his advisor was right, he was always right. He let go of the argument, as he couldn’t face the Horned Rat from fear of being eaten alive. He spoke to his advisor in reply to his unholy statement, “Alright, but be a nusence to me again-again, and Lord corrupter Sektretch will deal with your failure!”. The Greyseer gulped, he feared the Verminlord as much as he feared his unholy patron, for Sektretch was fear and disease incarnate. Defying his orders is to defy a demigod!
The seer scurried on behind his bell, and screeched to the Stormvermin to push the bell. The regiment started pushing the bell with they claws, advancing the humongous bell forwards. They grunted and cursed as they pushed and heaved with each step they take.
Scarus went to a small arcane temple arch, this would be a perfect place to start the ritual to open a more stable Wormhole. For his master needs to send his horde to the realm to establish a new frontier base. The warlord stepped near the archway to start the ritual, he spoke gibberish Skaven language as his very essence was being drained slowly into the archway.
He felt his energy weaken, but he tasted the air of victory coming close, he only needed enough time to complete the ritual. Then, if he is succeful, he’ll be granted the honour of being ranked as the master warlord of the entire Clan. He smirked with joy as he imagined his prize come closer to realisation within his grasp.
Present day, in the woodland glades of the Whitebark Clan~
Duke Cuirithir awoke from his deep slumber, the nightmare kept repeating itself every sunfall, the day his homeland was burning. He could still hear the screams in his mind, wailing and screaming in agony as fresh as the day he heard them. They weren’t weakening his mind, but making it resilient and focused to do his duty to protect is kin. He came out of the regenerative sleeping sack with ease, feeling energised for a new day.
He went through the oaken halls of the main chamber, where his kin debated on what they should do for advancing the war front. But unlike most days, they seemed agitated than normal, as if something was bothering them deeply. The Branchwych known as Matriarch Whiltierna, tried to call peace on her kin for their agitated arguments. She saw her lord and bowed before him as he approached her. He looked at her with a grime look on his face and said with a deep groaning voice “Warsinger, what’s going on? Why are the council being agitated?”.
Whiltierna replied to her master back with a soft and delicate tone “we have heard the spirits displeasure of an incursion outside our forest realm. They say they feel pain from a befouled ritual that’s taken place, by the rat-things”. The Treelord Ancient grunted as he heard the news, he hated the rat-things with disgust. They were defilers of nature, born from treachery and self egotistical minded to care for their environment.
“Tell Guardian Alduinian to ready the Kinsmen for war immediately, this is a threat to our survival as well as our homeland” said The Treelord Ancient with a stern and informative tone. Whiltierna nodded at her lord in reply, and paced off to inform the Treelord with effective speed. Duke Cuirithir turned to look at the sky on the exposed circular open roof, dark clouds were forming above the sky like dark shadows in the sky. As they formed into a mass dark clouds that blocks the sun light, rain starts to pour down.
The Duke took this as a sign of war to come, the rain patters of the drumbeats that herald the war to come. Like many wars before, the Sylvaneth of the Whitebark clan won every battle to defend their home, but at a heavy price of many lives lost. But today, this wasn’t like any battle, for this was not just some mindless barbarian arrack or a small band of Nurgle preachers. No, this was far more concerning, for the spirits are in pain, and that’s a sign of something terrible coming…….
To be continued in part (2/2) _________________________
If you have any questions, post a comment below and I’ll reply back as soon as I can. Thank you!
[Note: names and locations including: Ghyran/ Treelord Ancient/ Branchwych/ Skaven/ Greyseer/ Screaming Bell/ Age of Sigmar and Ghyran are owned by Games Workshop. This is a fan-fiction based post only.]