Post by Veszal on Jun 8, 2019 21:28:09 GMT
NAME: Veszal.
Age: 56
BORN: Har Ganeth, City of Khaine.
STORY: Veszal was born and raised into the Cult of Khaine at Har Ganeth’s temple, where his daily routine as an acolyte of Khaine was spent devoted to prayers, training, and bloody offerings for the Lord of Murder. Devoted to his path, his life changed after he began to experience visions of maim and slaughter to come. Inspired by this sign from his God, Veszal followed a path revealed through the first fragments of scenes shown to him, and slipped out from the Temple halls deep into the night, heading for the waterfront, where he pledged his services to the captain of a corsair vessel, bound for the shores of Bretonnia.
Spending five bloody years of raiding with a crew that asked no questions, as long as you were able to earn your plunder, Veszal’s fate was steered with the winds of the fleet. Looking over the reinforced railing at the bow of the ship that he served, Veszal noticed that hundred of other vessels had heeded the call of Naggarond to form a great fleet, following the great shadow of House Uthorin’s Black Ark which led them towards the shores of Ulthuan, which soon became visible on the horizon. He stared upon those pearl-white shores with murderous intent glowing in his bronze eyes, and snarled in hatred and anticipation at the slaughter that was soon to come.
Unprepared for such a large attacking force, the decadent followers of the false king stood little chance at holding their ground as the Ark and corsair ships emptied their terrible cargo on the shore, steel and mace, spear, and bolt, cutting down any fool that did not flee.
When all was done, Veszal settled into his new surroundings, exploring the camp which was being erected on the clifftops near to the Ark’s landing. Within one of the tents, Veszal noticed a gathering of warriors of different origin to his corsair kinsmen, gathered around table of black wood. They called themselves Drukhae Khalir, a squad of mercenaries. Soon they would be marching southward as the invading forces struck deeper into the lands of their weak cousins. The visions that had so long ago played in his mind, seemingly calling him, to whisper that he had now found his place. Khaine’s bloody hand had shown him the way.
Age: 56
BORN: Har Ganeth, City of Khaine.
STORY: Veszal was born and raised into the Cult of Khaine at Har Ganeth’s temple, where his daily routine as an acolyte of Khaine was spent devoted to prayers, training, and bloody offerings for the Lord of Murder. Devoted to his path, his life changed after he began to experience visions of maim and slaughter to come. Inspired by this sign from his God, Veszal followed a path revealed through the first fragments of scenes shown to him, and slipped out from the Temple halls deep into the night, heading for the waterfront, where he pledged his services to the captain of a corsair vessel, bound for the shores of Bretonnia.
Spending five bloody years of raiding with a crew that asked no questions, as long as you were able to earn your plunder, Veszal’s fate was steered with the winds of the fleet. Looking over the reinforced railing at the bow of the ship that he served, Veszal noticed that hundred of other vessels had heeded the call of Naggarond to form a great fleet, following the great shadow of House Uthorin’s Black Ark which led them towards the shores of Ulthuan, which soon became visible on the horizon. He stared upon those pearl-white shores with murderous intent glowing in his bronze eyes, and snarled in hatred and anticipation at the slaughter that was soon to come.
Unprepared for such a large attacking force, the decadent followers of the false king stood little chance at holding their ground as the Ark and corsair ships emptied their terrible cargo on the shore, steel and mace, spear, and bolt, cutting down any fool that did not flee.
When all was done, Veszal settled into his new surroundings, exploring the camp which was being erected on the clifftops near to the Ark’s landing. Within one of the tents, Veszal noticed a gathering of warriors of different origin to his corsair kinsmen, gathered around table of black wood. They called themselves Drukhae Khalir, a squad of mercenaries. Soon they would be marching southward as the invading forces struck deeper into the lands of their weak cousins. The visions that had so long ago played in his mind, seemingly calling him, to whisper that he had now found his place. Khaine’s bloody hand had shown him the way.