Haakon Bloodreaver's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Haakon Bloodreaver wanted every warband in the Gorran Wasteland to kneel under one banner. But two of the strongest hated each other more than they feared him. He stood between their fires now, and both sides gripped their axes. The red runes on his skin burned as he raised his hands. To his left waited Ragnar Bloodmark's riders, mounted on a great tusked beast that pawed the ash. To his right crouched Krag Bloodfang, the wolf-beastman, teeth bared, his hackles up. Their tribes had spilled each other's blood for three winters. Haakon needed both. He could not have both while they lived to feud. "You called us to one camp," Krag snarled. His claws flexed. "So we could finish it here." Ragnar spat into the fire. "Give the word, Bloodreaver. My beast will grind his pack into the dirt." Beside Haakon, the shaman Hilde Bloodrune stepped forward. Red runes marked her small frame. Her spear trailed flame across the ash. She looked at Haakon, not the warlords. "Kill one, and you lose half your strength before your first true war," she said. "Bind them instead." Haakon understood. He drew his blade and cut his own palm. Blood ran down his fingers. "The feud ends tonight," he said. "But not with your deaths. With mine, if I fail you." He held the wound high. "Whoever breaks this peace answers to Khorne through me. I will take his skull myself." Krag's growl faltered. Karn Bloodpaw, a younger beastman at Krag's side, glanced between his chief and the bleeding warlord. He lowered his spear first. That single gesture cracked the wall of hate. Gorthak Ironhorn, the bearded raider who scouted for Ragnar, laughed loud and hard. "He bleeds for us before we bleed for him. I have never seen a chief do that." He struck his chest. "I will not be the one to break it." Hilde pressed her flaming spear into the ash between the two fires. She dragged a single line, joining them. "One fire now," she said. "One banner." Ragnar climbed down from his beast. He crossed the line and gripped Krag's forearm. The wolf-beastman held still, then squeezed back. The camp roared. Haakon's plan held. Both warbands stood under him now, sealed by his blood. The feud was dead. But a bound peace is not a healed one. As the two tribes drank together, Haakon saw Krag's eyes track Ragnar across the flames. Old hate does not die in one night. It waits. Haakon had welded two blades into one weapon, and that weapon could still turn in his grip. Word of what he did would travel. Every scattered chief in the wasteland would hear that Haakon Bloodreaver bound enemies with his own blood. Some would come to join. Others would come to test whether the young warlord's peace could break.