In the swirling mass and yet fluid emptiness beyond the Mortal planes, four beings of immeasurable power communicated to one another as they surrounded a small dot of light. Through intent of will, words in unheard tongues or gestures made in the nothingness of the void these four beings made clear their standpoints and arguments. This talk lasted for an experienced eternity, interspersed with long breaks and pauses as they left this space where time was fluid and malleable like water to deal with other matters. But finally, they reached the final conclusion.

“I shall ignite his will to fight and conquer as befits my Champions.” Came the statement from a voice that held absolute authority and the promise of carnage.

“I shall inflame him with desire and a wish for perfection, as befits my Champions.” A coquettish voice filled with temptation continued.

“Then his desire for knowledge and a thirst for change and magic will be instilled by me.” The third being responded with its slippery intonation.

“And I shall gift him with perseverance to survive, release him from his erroneous morals and instil a desire to rule.” Came the last response from a voice infused with the stench of corruption and decay.

Finally, all four voices spoke at once as they pushed, twisted, pulled and pinched the lost soul before sending it down to the Mortal plane in a flash of four-coloured lightning.

“Then we are in agreement.”

“We declare this lost soul our Champion, his soul forfeit yet unclaimed. We shall sent him forth among our believers and watch over him as he spreads our Will. Rewards for faith and worship, punishment for disloyalty. He is our Champion amongst mortals and thus we send him down.”

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Norsca, the Old World, Frost Wolf Tribe

Norscan mornings are cold, as are the nights and the days, but this never kept the people of Norsca from going about their business. It was still late autumn, meaning the true cold was yet to come and all tribes across the peninsula were busy building up their winter supplies. For even the hardy Norscans were no match for the bone-freezing blizzards that plagued the land for days at time, appearing and disappearing without notice.

But today in autumn the whole tribe was unusually active as the men ran for their weapons and the women herd their offspring together and started praying to their Gods.

For this morning one of the watchmen had spotted a monster approaching the settlement. A Chaos Spawn, a hulking mass of flesh and writhing tentacles complete with a dozen mouths filled with rows of serrated teeth, was approaching the Frost Wolf settlement.

These monsters were the deadly result of a once great and pious Norscan warrior, a Champion to one of their great Dark Gods whose mutations, or blessings, depending on the point of view, had overtaken his rationale and devolved him into this soulless husk of a monstrous killing machine.

If a small band of hunters were to encounter such a creature, death was all but assured. But at the main settlement of a tribe where thousands of warriors gathered, it was a chance at glory and recognition. So, the men raised their weapons in anticipation of the carnage ahead.

But as the Chaos Spawn approached the waiting warriors, it showed no sign of hostility as it evaded the glory seeking marauders and entered the settlement. The surprised warriors silently followed the monster as it made for the main square in front of the Jarl’s hall, shaman’s hut and the Mound of Blades.

It stopped there, now surrounded on all sides by Frost Wolf warriors, tribesmen and thralls and it stood completely frozen in place. One minute, ten minutes, an hour, it kept perfectly still as if it was waiting for something. And the crowd waited along with it.

A Chaos Spawn that did not attack them on sight was considered an incredible abnormality and should be taken as a sign from the Gods. For the Gods are no imaginary aspects of society, but tangible and active forces throughout the world, actively interfering in the Mortal realms and the lives of its inhabitants.

Until at noon, when the sun reached its zenith, the Chaos Spawn was struck by four coloured lightning and was covered in a thick cloud of the multi-coloured electricity, removing it from sight. Then, the Frost Wolves heard the voices of their 4 Gods the clearest any of them had ever heard them before.

“This is our Champion, bearer of all four Marks and remade from the flesh of our domain, Chaos. Accept him as per your customs. Should he fail, that is his fate and the victor shall gain their Mark of choice.”

The tribe was in turmoil, for none had ever expected for not one but all four of their deities to speak at once and they stared at the mist of lightning as if wishing to see the figure within taking shape.

The lightning, carrying the power of the four Chaos Gods, persisted for three days. It did not simply reverse the Chaos Spawn’s form back into a human form, but instead completely dismantled the being into infinitely small particles and allowed the power of the newly descended soul to shape it with the provided material.

And during the three days the tribe continued watching. They only left to relieve themselves or to send thralls to fetch food and drink. Until finally the lightning cloud dissipated and left a naked man lying on the defrosted earth.

Having witnessed the end of the descension, the tribe’s most powerful shaman moved towards the prone figure and seeing the man was unconscious, it was like a spell had been lifted. The event of the past three days was over and it would only continue when the Champion awoke naturally.

The shaman had the man carried into a log cabin between the shaman hut and Jarl’s hall and put on a bed covered in soft furs next to a warm fire.

Bearing in mind the words of their Gods, some decisions and preparations needed to be made so the leaders of the tribe convened in the Jarl’s hall to discuss this matter among themselves. And as they continued their talks and planning, the newly descended Champion slept peacefully.