The mortal world, in the far north, lies the Chaos Wastelands, the closest place to the True Gods.
Here, ice and fire eternally cover the land. Sometimes the ground freezes into a snowy expanse, and other times it erupts with magma from below. Every part of this land exudes an eerie atmosphere. Almost no plants or animals inhabit the Chaos Wastelands; instead, it is home to countless nameless, shapeless monsters.
"The North is our past, and the North is our future." - "The Savior" Ludwig
Before the arrival of the Old Ones, the far north and south were known as the Arctic and Antarctic. These were originally extremely cold, desolate places, uninhabited by the planet's original residents.
Until the Old Ones arrived.
Long before the emergence of mortal races, the Old Ones and their servant Slann constructed gateways at the poles. The Old Ones were not native to this planet; they came from a faraway place. These gateways were initially used for instant, interdimensional transport of resources to other worlds. Built with alien technology, these gateways were enormous, capable of transporting entire armies of Old Ones at once.
After a brief period of adaptation, the Old Ones established ley lines and settled on this world. They had their pet Slann assist them in various experiments and created the Lizardmen (Saurus) and Skinks as helpers. They devised a grand plan, always plotting something crucial.
Thousands of years passed.
Until one day, the Old Ones' mortal enemies arrived.
A catastrophic failure occurred in the Old Ones' machinery, leading to uncontrollable events. The gateways began to collapse and shatter, and the Old Ones lost control over them and other worlds. Pure Chaos energy spread through the shattered gateways, causing mutations in living beings across the world. The first Beastmen were born during this time. Warpstone, solidified Chaos energy, fell like rain in various places, causing further disasters and mutant creatures. This event became known as the Great Catastrophe.
When the gateways were finally destroyed by this disaster, the Chaos energy pouring from the Warp completely altered the polar lands, creating the hellish Chaos Wastelands. The Old Ones realized their experimental ground, playground, and eventual refuge world could no longer be saved, so they fled the planet and never returned.
What followed is well known.
Now, the northern wastelands have become a nightmare realm. Here, no ordinary living beings can survive for long; they are quickly destroyed or twisted into something else. The winds, whether icy or scorching, carry the whispers of dark gods. The will of the four Chaos gods extends over the wastelands, with the echoes of the Warp resonating throughout. Just a few minutes in this land can drive a sane person mad.
Yet, one man's poison is another man's elixir.
The northern wastelands are not the barren, lifeless lands imagined by the ignorant southerners. Quite the contrary, the Chaos Wastelands are bustling with activity. Countless twisted, indescribable creatures roam here, including Chaos demons, Chaos beasts, Dragon Ogres, Chaos Ogres, and Beastmen. They engage in endless battles not for glory or survival but for the incomprehensible plans of the four gods. Daily, the wastelands tremble from these massive conflicts, rivaling the most extraordinary battles of the Old World.
Moreover, the northern wastelands are a pilgrimage site for the barbarian tribes.
Every barbarian who gains the favor of the dark gods and becomes a Chaos warrior often embarks on a pilgrimage to the Chaos Wastelands. To the deceitful and weak southerners, Chaos corruption is terrifying, Chaos mutations are curses, and Chaos threats must be eradicated. These people only know to sit idly, begging their false gods for help to escape Chaos's shadow.
However, Chaos is eternal. The northern barbarians view Chaos corruption and mutations as blessings. Over the long years, they have embraced corruption and Chaos power, seeing mutations as gifts from the gods. Though not everyone can withstand the favor of the dark gods, those who fail become Chaos Spawn. Even so, in the eyes of the barbarians, even mindless Chaos Spawn are considered "sacred."
Ambitious Khans, Mongols, Kurgans, and Norscans all make pilgrimages to the Chaos Wastelands. There, endless challenges, killings, and battles never cease. It is a grand stage teeming with actors eager to perform, while the dark gods watch from the shadows, seeking out those who amuse them.
For example, Skarlins' former king, "Red Eye" Egil Styrbjorn, once slaughtered countless foes during his century-long pilgrimage, ultimately gaining the favor of Khorne and becoming Khorne's chosen champion. If other Chaos warriors survive the Chaos Wastelands and return home, they enjoy endless glory amidst the songs and roars of their kin, becoming envied Chaos Champions.
At this moment, a traveler moved slowly through the Chaos Wastelands. Behind him followed about two hundred Chaos heavy cavalry, each clad in extremely thick black Chaos armor and riding nightmare-like Chaos steeds. They were silent, not uttering a word, not even praising the Chaos gods aloud.
The traveler wore a full set of Chaos armor, with a giant cloak made of human and Chaos beast hides draped over his shoulders. He rode a massive daemon steed, its immortal body adorned with sharp horns, fangs, bone plates, and corroded steel armor, with eyes burning with Chaos fire.
"Not here either." The traveler led his followers through the wastelands, defeating any enemies they encountered. He would then calmly offer them a choice: submit or die.
The traveler and his followers had wandered these lands for over a century.
"Not here either." The traveler repeated.
His followers silently trailed behind him, awaiting his commands. Whatever the traveler's goal, they would follow him forever.
Because they believed that only he could achieve the holy and great mission.
The ultimate goal of the True God.
The traveler's eyes glowed an eerie red, appearing without pupils, with only the Chaos fire burning within, containing nothing but hatred.
Pure hatred.
This hatred needed no reason, no excuse, no pity. It burned in the traveler's chest day and night.
Although his face was hidden beneath his helmet, his followers could sense his disdain and loathing for the mortal world.
Yet, strangely, the traveler remained very calm. On one hand, his hatred reached a maddening level. On the other, he was extraordinarily composed. Despite his hatred for all things, he never let his fury control his logic.
For only the weak are ruled by anger, but he controls his rage.
He had long chosen a bright and broad path for his quest.
After more than a century, his quest was nearing its end. Yet, this conclusion puzzled him. The traveler had roamed the Chaos Wastelands for over twenty years without finding any trace of the item he sought.
"Be'lakor? Or Kurgan?" the traveler muttered.
He stood in place for a while, then raised his head.
"Kurgan!"
"Yes!" A group of Chaos knights pulled their reins, their galloping Chaos steeds obeying their will, following the traveler into the boundless distance.
A month later, on the Kurgan steppes.
The traveler gazed at the vast, yellowed grasslands under the ever-changing, gloomy sky, where the fearful Chaos winds swept across this famous Old World super-grassland.
The traveler tried to recall the history of Kurgan from his knowledge.
The Kurgan steppes were once a lush, blue-skied, white-clouded pastoral paradise. When the Elven Empire colonized the Old World, some humans settled in Tilea, Estalia, and the current Empire regions, becoming vassals of the Elven Empire and establishing the ancient Human Wizard Empire.
But some humans refused to become vassals of the elves. They migrated northward, eventually settling near Norsca and the northern grasslands, forming their tribes and living a hunting and fishing lifestyle. They were once kind, humble, diligent, and honest.
Until Chaos descended.
Corruption always occurs unknowingly. These human nomadic tribes gradually succumbed to Chaos, their bodies mutating, their minds twisted. The dark gods began to slowly corrupt and enslave the northern tribes' minds. Those who did not succumb to the dark gods fled south, like the Kislevites and Ungols, who were once eastern steppe tribes. Those who stayed eventually became a band of madmen, abandoning the benefits of civilization to become Chaos worshipers.
Ultimately, a great name emerged from the distant, frigid Scythia.
He was Kurgan the Conqueror, "Scourge of the World."
His history predates the ancient Ind and the establishment of Charlemagne's empire. When this child was born in the wastelands of Scythia, the tribe's shaman made a prophecy: this child would experience all joy and all pain.
As time passed, the child grew into a powerful rider and became the tribe's leader. Kurgan had an insatiable desire for power and dominion over the steppes and its people. He prayed to the winds of the north, south, west, and east, to the earth, sky, and rain, to the sun and moon. To gain power, he captured countless slaves and loot to offer to the spirits and gods. Kurgan was powerful but also wise. He knew the dark gods at the farthest north were the strongest, so to make a pact with them, he abandoned his original faith in the Eternal Sky. Kurgan swore that he and his people would serve the dark gods faithfully and unwaveringly.
The Chaos gods responded to his prayers, bestowing upon him limitless
power. Thus, Kurgan united the northern steppes and the Chaos Wastelands, founding the Kurgan Empire, a warlike empire of fierce marauders, agile cavalry, roaring beasts, and wild sorcerers.
At its peak, the Kurgan Empire stretched from the Mountains of Mourn in the east to the Dark Lands in the south, the Chaos Wastelands in the north, and the northern islands of Norsca in the west, several times the size of the current Empire. All war tribes bowed before him, paying tribute in peacetime and sending troops in wartime.
However, the blessings of the dark gods came at a price. Gradually, Kurgan's continuous victories and wars bored and disgusted the Chaos gods. After Kurgan experienced all the world's pleasures, they decided to exact their toll.
So, just a few years after the Kurgan Empire's establishment, the will of the Chaos gods descended. Ignoring Kurgan's countless trophies, sacrifices, and glorious offerings, they cruelly took what he cherished most—his only four sons, each taken by a different Chaos god. After taking his sons, the gods fell silent, no longer answering his prayers.
Kurgan tearfully accepted the Chaos gods' "blessings," knowing this was the price of power. Though he remained powerful without heirs, he could no longer prevent the internal strife for succession. The once-mighty empire collapsed in internal chaos and decay. After his final battle, Kurgan the Conqueror fell, and the Kurgan Empire disintegrated, never to recover.
Since then, countless tribes have risen on the Kurgan steppes, with many khans and chieftains claiming to be Kurgan's sons and rightful heirs.
Perhaps what he sought was on the Kurgan steppes? The traveler rode his daemon steed through the vast, yellowed grasslands, contemplating. Maybe the True God had once crowned Kurgan?
As the traveler pondered how to find clues to what he sought, he and his followers were surrounded by a group of Kurgan raiders.
"Outsider!" The leading Kurgan rider was immensely tall, at least 2.2 meters, with a body full of muscle. He shouted in heavily accented Kurgan, "You have two choices!"
"I am searching for the last treasure," the traveler replied strangely. "Perhaps your khan can provide an answer? Who is your khan?"
"Our khan?!" The Kurgan rider shouted proudly.
"Listen well, outsider!"
"He is our great King of Maggots! Lord of Gluttony! The true heir of Kurgan the Conqueror!"
"He is Tamu Khan!"
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