The Betrayed

CH1: The Betrayal

Remember everything that isn't the plot or some characters and OCs of this story doesn't belong to me but to their respective owner/artist/composer. Also, it's been quite a long time since I wrote something so I don't know if it will be that good. Still I hope you will like it!

Written during a dialogue like this: Normal talking

Written during a dialogue like this: Thoughts

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The sun was gradually rising on the horizon, its light still mostly obscured by dark clouds. Despite this, it was one of the few sources of illumination in this bleak land. Inside his house, the cloaked man who had recounted the beginning of the Betrayed's tale to the three Chaos warriors was now gathering wood from his dwindling supply. He placed the wood into the fireplace and ignited it with a flick of magic.

"Note to self, gather more wood before nightfall," the cloaked man muttered as he kindled the fire.

After kindling the fire, he walked to a storage room where fresh meat, preserved by the cold wind seeping through a small window, was stored. Selecting a large piece, he returned to the fireplace, skewering the meat on an iron bar before placing it over the flames to cook. He also began preparing some vegetables and drinks, knowing that breakfast was the most important meal of the day.

As he finished his preparations, the man heard footsteps descending the stairs. He turned to see his guests approaching, clad in parts of their armor with helmets tucked under their arms. They exchanged looks with him, drawn by the scent of the cooking food, as he gestured toward the table and chairs.

"Please, take a seat. Breakfast will be ready soon," the cloaked man offered with a calm voice, gesturing toward the table and chairs. "I trust the rooms were comfortable enough?"

"They were indeed," Volker responded, inclining his head slightly. "Thank you once again for your hospitality, sir."

"Sigh... You're always so polite, Volker," Krigus muttered, his tone tinged with mockery. "Sometimes I wonder if you're truly a Chaos warrior."

"Enough, both of you! Don't start bickering in someone else's home." Ayldraorr interjected, his voice firm as he turned to the cloaked man. "My apologies for them."

The old man chuckled at their exchange. "No need for apologies, young ones," he replied, his voice laced with amusement. "Old houses like mine rarely hear such lively conversation. Now, eat while the food's hot. You have a long journey ahead of you, and you'll need your strength."

The three warriors settled at the table, their differences momentarily set aside as they shared the simple meal. The fire crackled warmly, casting dancing shadows across the room, while outside, the sun continued its slow ascent, still hidden behind those dark, brooding clouds.

The oldest man in the room glanced around, his eyes lingering on each of their faces, noting faint resemblances to others he had known in the past. As he observed them, his thoughts drifted back to where he had left off in his story—recounting how Verraten and his forces were on the brink of a desperate battle for survival against a host of Khornate warriors.

"I remember it as if it was yesterday..." the old man thought, his eyes carrying a weight of memories.

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"BLOOD FOR KHO—"

The Khornate warrior's battle cry was abruptly silenced as a sword pierced through his throat and another into his chest. In one swift motion, the sword in his throat was withdrawn, and the wielder decapitated the warrior. Verraten watched the corpse collapse into the snow at his feet before quickly surveying the chaotic battlefield around him.