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Hey everyone! I’m starting this thread to share the small narrative campaign I’m working on, mostly based on the Storm Strike boxset.

I’ll post more about the setting and the models later but let me start by introducing my warband’s leader, Knight Incantor Carron, from the Order of the Crimson Sky :


I have written a (very) short story to present him, here it is if anyone wants to read it.
If you have any criticism on the writing or content please let me know, I need feedback and english isn't my native language :)


Knight Incantor Carron entered the castles's main hall with a heavy gait. His hairless face was set in stone, disfigured on it's left side by an ever-raw scar; his armor and robes caked in dust and mud. He sat down on one of the stone benches along the walls, waving away the servants flocking to him, offering food and cleaning. He remained alone a short while, eyes closed and jaws clenched.


His hoarse voice echoed in the high ceilings crowded by strange statues of snakes and chimerae. An ashen haired man hurried to him, carrying stacks of parchments.

-Master Carron, praise the God-King, the scribe said, his fingers forming the sign of the twin-tailed comet.

-Write, the Knight groaned without a glance. Village of Mourn-Rock, six heretics, forbidden rituals, hanged. Village of Cranis, three heretics, blasphemy and sedition, hanged. Serpent Valley, thirteen brigands, theft and murder, put to the sword. Village of Shade...

Carron stopped as a woman entered the hall. Almost as tall as he was, her robes and armor were the same colors as his.

-Back from the hunt too, are you, Incantor?
A hint of bitterness in her smile.
-Why don't you send your game to the kitchens, I've been dying for a peasant stew.

-Sister Persephone. Always the joker. I'd heard you took to groaning like the beasts you hunt.

-I did consider going feral, but I love my wine too much. And I'd miss the warmth of my comrades in arms...

-Scribe. Leave us. We'll finish this in my chambers this evening.

The scribe bowed and and left stiffly.
Carron rose, walked up to the woman, dead eyed.

-Watch your language, huntress. I only kill for the God-King. Do not insult me again.

-Did Sigmar himself order such carnage? On every road twenty leagues around I see your gibbets. Not a soldier hanging! Only farmers and poor folks!

Persephone's anger burned in her voice. Her fists were clenched.

They faced each other a moment, statues in imposing plate.
Carron walked away towards the other side of the hall, were the wall opened to a balcony.

-Our mission is plain and sacred. Purify this land. The taint of Chaos lingers everywhere still. I hang only the guilty, kill only the rebels. We are too few to preach and convert. Chaos is contagious. Peasant or fighters, heretics must die.

Seething, Persephone followed him to the wind-swept balcony.

-Is our honor gone? Are we warriors or executionners?

The Knight gave her a puzzling stare.

-You've not been long with the Order of the Crimson Sky, sister. Not yet understood. How many times have you been reforged?

-Three times, fallen in battle!

-Three times. Question. When you were still mortal. What color were your mother's eyes?

Persephone let out a pained gasp.

-Gone already, are they? I was reforged fifty-three times. I think. My past as a man is gone. Don't even know if I had a mother.

The woman's voice was strained.

-It's a sign, Sister. Do not think of it as loss or a wound. We are simply becoming what the God-King needs. Endlessly reforged, rid of impurities, memories and emotions. Purer than the best steel. Neither warriors nor executionners.

Carron's gaze surveyed the jagged peaks on which the castle hung. His face was impassive.

-We are weapons.

Thank you for reading.

Edited by Moldek
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