As the Warriors of Chaos to the North celebrated the crowning of their next Everchosen the rest of the world continued to turn. In the West the Beastlord Rakarth prepared to purge the Asur navy from his shores and the Skaven continued to raid lizard strongholds in Lustria. In the East the combined naval forces of the Eastern Coalition picked away at the remains of Hellebron’s broken armada, all while daemons continued to pour into Grand Cathay. Yet it was in the Southlands that true danger stirred. For every task the mortarchs completed, the restoration of the Great Enemy became more of a reality.

Vlad von Carstein, the vampiric patriarch who betrayed his nation to save his wife, stood before the tunnel entrance to Karak Azgal, an ancient minor Dwarfen hold that had long fallen into ruin. As Vlad looked around he saw cracks everywhere as if the whole place could come tumbling down any second. The hold itself had a long and sordid history, having traded hands between ownership by the Dwarfs, Greenskins, Humans and Skaven many times yet Vlad was here for one very specific reason, the corpse of the man who first conquered this place from the Dwarfs two thousand years ago.

According to legend, this place had once been home to the first liche Koros Dar-Nael. Koros, so the myths say, was a High Elven mage who, following a period of grief during the War of Vengeance or War of the Beard, decided to weaponise his magical talents toward forbidden arts by collecting artefacts of unknowable power. Chief among these pursuits was necromancy. Legends say Koros came to this hold and raised its own population against it. Brave Dawi went down fighting their own ancestors and eventually, Koros set himself up as regional despot. But ages pass and tyrants die, their bodies laid to rest in dirt where all must lie. Nowadays, most consider Koros to be nothing but a children’s story, a frightful tale to get troublesome Dwarfen children off to bed when they put up a fuss but secretly debates still rage on. Should Koros have been real, it would have made him a contemporary of the Undying King, thus it is possible his necromancy may even have predated Nagash’s elixir. Of course, with records of Koros’ apprentice Grimald having been lost to time and the Great Necromancer being unlikely to undertake literary review any time soon, it seemed the world could never be certain.

Until today that is. 

Vlad needed to find Nagash’s tomes of power in order to bargain for Isabella’s freedom and if there was even the barest chance Koros had one of those books in his collection, Vlad had to treat it as a certainty. The Patriarch looked back toward his guards, telling them not to follow him inside in case their weight upset the mausoleum’s infrastructure. He dismounted, removed his cloak and chucked it toward his loyal bannerman Estroth as he had many times before.

This time was different. The cloak wound itself up into a ball and knocked the skeleton over, landing flat on his back. Vlad alone ran over to help the bannerman up, his blood knights keeping their distance atop horseback. Vlad could tell something had changed with his vampires. They no longer seemed to respect him. Perhaps they disagreed with his mission, perhaps they had been lulled in by promises of power and now saw Nagash as their true master. Either way, they weren’t really his any more. Estroth wasn’t like them though. This skeleton had served Vlad dutifully for 500 years, never once talking back to him. Vlad often wondered whether Estroth could even speak but it didn’t really matter. Even if he could, he knew better than to interrupt his master. As Vlad leapt over and cradled the stumbling skeleton, the vampire couldn’t help but notice the muck on the end of the skeleton’s joints. Everything decays with time, even bones. And so, it seemed Vlad’s longest-serving ally may not have much longer in this world. Vlad hoped to reassure the skeleton as he lifted it onto its feet but Estroth simply continued facing forward. Unmoving, unflinching, ever loyal.

Estroth returned to his standing position. His left arm carried his banner, the right Vlad’s cloak. Vlad turned and made his way into the tunnel entrance. 

The vampire entered the old city and began his search, peering through multiple city districts and descending through its passageways as the hold’s architecture transformed from Dwarfen to Orcish to Skaven. Still the vampire saw no sign, no hint of the legend who supposedly once ruled these halls. His search continued, checking private quarters and smugglers’ dens until finally, Vlad found himself at the deepest point of the hold. He was surrounded by Skaven contraptions, their numbers having long been culled from this place and the tunnels to their Under-Empire sealed up. Nevertheless, their deads’ corpses still left remains and Vlad found himself staring at the fallen form of a chimaerat, a beast most only ever heard myths of throughout their lifetimes. 

….

• Wow React: As Vlad looked around it seemed the chimaerat’s skeleton would be the only figure of legend he’d find today. Whether Koros had ever been real or not, it appeared he wasn’t here. Vlad made his journey back to the surface.

….

Since Vlad found no signs of the First Liche’s whereabouts, he proceeded to turn around and head for the way back upstairs. However, just as he was about to leave he heard a low humming coming from the chimaerat’s body. Vlad approached the deceased beast and pressed his ear to its hide whereupon the humming amplified into the faintest of mutterings. He grabbed one of the beast’s legs and pulled it aside with all his strength, revealing that behind it was a crack in the wall. Vlad used his gloves to brush the wall surrounding the crack until he triggered a function as he turned a stone at its foot, revealing a concealed door behind the false wall. As the wall opened the muttering amplified again, now cast into a single phrase that repeated over and over again. “I was the first, you know.” 

Once the door had fully opened, Vlad found himself descending down into a deeper tunnel, one marked by rambling runes across its walls, runes that oscillated between ancient dialects of Eltharin, Khazalid and Nehekharan without seeming rhyme or reason, like the scribbling of a madman upon his cell walls. Still Vlad continued to peer down the hallway as a second phrase was introduced. “I was the first, you know. I was the first, you know. You do not belong…  I was the first, you know. You do not belong…  I was the first, you know. I was the first, you know. You do not belong…”

Finally, Vlad reached the end of the hallway and entered a large room. Along its walls were scores of graves cast in gold with Khazalid runes bearing Dwarfen names while at the centre, the room contained a single coffin lined in silver. The vampire approached the coffin when the ongoing repeating muttering introduced a third phrase. “I was the first, you know. I was the first, you know. I was the first, you know. You do not belong…  You do not belong…  I was the first, you know. I was the first, you know. You do not belong…  You do not belong… No Longbeard will sit on the Phoenix Throne…  I was the first, you know. I was the first, you know. I was the first, you know. You do not belong…  You do not belong…  No Longbeard will sit on the Phoenix Throne. I was the first, you know…” As the voice continued calling, the walls started to rumble as the Dwarfen tombs opened and a pair of undead dwarfs, their bodies well preserved by a series of herbs and ointments inside their caskets, emerged and wandered over to the central silver coffin. They lifted its edges and slid it across as a single tall skeletal being wearing a crown atop his skull rose into a seated position and turned its gaze toward the vampire, presumably the gaze of Koros Dar-Nael.

Vlad reached for his scabbard and drew the Blood Drinker as all around the room, holes began to bore through false walls as concealed coffins opened, revealing several dozens of undead dwarfs. As the Dwarfs emerged from their tombs and began shambling toward the vampire, Vlad made a dash forward toward the seated skeleton, pressing his blade against the liche’s neck connection as an act of warning.

….

• Angry React: Vlad waited for Koros’ minions to back away but they never did. Thus, he proceeded to strike the liche, slicing its head off from its neck.

The skeletal liche slunk back into its coffin but this did nothing to reassure Vlad as the dwarfs suddenly rushed forward, hurling themselves on him as a swarming technique. Vlad tried to fight back, aiming to swing his sword at them but the sheer mass of stout bodies held him down, immobilising him as the Dawi went on to rip him apart limb from limb.

….

Vlad held the Blood Drinker against Koros’ skeleton, waiting for the undead to hold their pace but they never did so, continuing to slowly trudge toward him. Vlad turned back to the Liche, looking him up and down for a moment before making a discovery as he lifted Koros’ tabard.

Looking at the Liche’s exposed body, Vlad discovered a glowing tome wedged between its ribs.

….

• Laugh React: Without thought or hesitation Vlad reached forward and pulled the tome from the liche’s chest. Suddenly, the undead dwarfs around Vlad wailed in otherworldly horror and rushed toward the vampire as the whole complex began rumbling, prompting the last able Von Carstein to part ways from the liche and run. Up he ran through the tunnels of the hold, dodging all manner of zombie dwarfs, greenskins and skaven which rose into undeath as the tome neared them until suddenly, a large boulder collapsed from the ceiling and fell, crushing Vlad on impact but leaving his arm splayed outward holding the tome.

Nevertheless, all was not over for the Mortarchs. Though Vlad failed to escape, he had brought the tome a hefty way already. Thus, his blood knights entered the facility and retrieved the tome on horseback before Koros’ zombies could catch up or the hold could finish falling on them. The blood knights took the book and galloped away, leaving Vlad’s body behind without respect or ceremony as the hold collapsed in on itself. 

However, there was one who did not leave. Estroth stood outside the hold. Silently facing the complex, cloak in hand, waiting for the day his master returned.

….

• Love React: Vlad gazed at the tome wedged inside Koros’ chest. It looked genuine, it could be one of Nagash’s books. The fact its glow alone seemed capable of raising the liche and/or the dwarfen zombies certainly made it appear rather powerful.

However, just because it may be real, that didn’t mean Vlad had to tell his new masters as such. For all they knew, Karak Azgal really was empty. Nobody needed to ever know of Koros’ presence here. Yes, returning without the book would give him once less piece of leverage in negotiating for Isabella’s freedom. Then again, so too would an even more powerful version of Nagash be difficult to argue against. Perhaps, Nagash didn’t need to know this time. Perhaps, it was better to keep the book here as a backup, just in case.

Thus Vlad decided to withdraw, backing away from the liche. As he did so, the undead dwarfs cleared a path for him too, clearly sensing he was no longer a threat. The vampire left and played ignorant while the liche returned to his slumber carrying his tome. No longbeard sat on the Phoenix Throne today.

….

• Sad React: “You do not belong…  You do not belong…  No Longbeard will sit on the Phoenix Throne…  I was the first, you know…”

Vlad stood in front of the liche’s form, pondering what to do as those same three lines continued to repeat themselves around the room ad infinitum, all while the undead dwarfs slowly trudged toward him. 

“…No Longbeard will sit on the Phoenix Throne. I was the first, you know…”

“…No Longbeard will sit on the Phoenix Throne. I was the first, you know…”

“…No Longbeard will sit on the Phoenix Throne. I was the first, you know…”

Why did it keep talking about Longbeards? Unless, what if it thought he was a Dwarf?

Vlad took a closer look at Koros, his zombies shambling ever closer. The liche’s robes were torn, filled with holes but not in a way consistent with age. No, these were bullet holes, specifically shrapnel from a blunderbuss.

“Of course…” Vlad realised. “You were a soldier killed here in war thousands of years ago… but the Dwarfs didn’t know what they were getting into when they killed you, did they? They couldn’t understand the tome you were carrying, no one did back then.”

The Dwarfen zombies grabbed hold of Vlad, clasping his arms and forcing him onto his knees as they pulled him downwards.

“And that book inside you, it won’t let you die-”

The zombies grabbed Vlad’s head, proceeding to twist on his skull as others began pulling at his arms.

“- not… until the war is over.”

Some zombies drew knives, raising them overhead to stab the vampire once and for all.

“I surrender!” Vlad yelled at the top of his lungs.

The zombies froze and let go of the vampire.

Vlad rose to his feet, proclaiming “The Dwarfs surrender.”

The zombies backed away into their tombs as the liche raised its arms into a salute.

“At ease, soldier. You are relieved.”

The liche’s body burst into dust, dissolving itself once and for all. After two thousand years, Koros could finally know peace.

All that was left in his tomb were some fragments of his robes and his tome, its glow having dissipated.

Vlad took a moment of relief but suddenly, the complex began rumbling. Without Koros’ sorceries in place, there was nothing to maintain Karak Azgal anymore.

Thus Vlad took the tome and began sprinting up through the collapsing hold, passing all manner of sinking surfaces, leaping from breaking spire to platform and evading several falling boulders in the process until finally he neared the original entrance to the hold, Vlad’s way back into the outside world. The archway above the door was collapsing, about to fall in on itself but Vlad was confident he would make it if he kept moving, bolstered by his unnatural speed.

All of a sudden, a step rose and broke, tripping the vampire up with only moments to spare. Vlad fell onto his face, the doorway about to fall and seal himself in.

But it never happened for instead there stood Estroth, that lone skeleton who ran forward into the breach and was doing its best to hold the archway up. Estroth’s forearms snapped under the weight of the doorway as Vlad rose to his feet, picked up the book and kept running toward freedom, all while the doorway continued to lower, forcing the skeleton down onto its knees before making it drop even lower under the archway’s weight.

Vlad reached the exit and slid out, narrowly escaping just as the door completely collapsed and flattened the skeleton, splitting its skull in two.

“Estroth!” Vlad cried as he picked up half of the skeleton’s skull, attempting to use his sorcery to raise Estroth once again.

Red sorcery rose from Vlad’s hands, tapping into the twisted beyond that lay after death but Vlad felt nothing.

“Estroth.” Vlad commanded, shaking the skull shard. “Estroth, come back.”

“Estroth… Estroth… Estroth” Vlad’s commands turned fainter with each utterance before letting out a deep sigh as he lowered his forehead against the split skull, accepting that his oldest ally was truly gone.

“Thank you, Estroth… Thank you for everything. Rest well on the other side, my friend.” 

Vlad parted, placing the split skull down on the soil, there to rest for all eternity. As Vlad left the crumbling hold tome in hand, he could feel its dark potency bubbling from within, containing the greatest of curses not even a Von Carstein would dare gaze upon. As he inspected the book’s cover he noticed a thick layer of grime and weathering covering both its title and byline. He attempted to scratch at it with his sharpened nails but the dirt simply wouldn’t budge without damaging the pages within, something which would seriously damage Vlad’s negotiating power when he returned to Nagash. By the looks of the weathering this book was old, really old, older than the other tomes he had collected thus far. It was possible Vlad was holding the world’s first ever manuscript on necromancy, a tome written by the one man who ever managed to surpass Nagash by beating him to his own claim to fame. A slight Nagash would be too arrogant to ever openly concede. Thus, he pretended he wrote nine books, not eight as a means of silencing Koros’ claim to history. On the other hand, this book could simply be stolen or copied from the Great Necromancer’s collection, a sign Koros was nothing more than a charlatan leeching off of better wizards to accommodate his misery. Was Koros the originator or the pretender? Only Nagash will ever really know.

Still, perhaps there was a more important matter to consider than who came first. Koros is gone but if Vlad goes on to give this tome to Nagash’s avatar, the God of Death will be one step closer to returning in full. Koros Dar-Nael might have been the first but Nagash will certainly be the last.