War.

Was is the great constant of this bitter, embattled world.

Over the stubbonly defended Empire, with its disciplined armies and grim warriors, over the harsh lands of great Kislev and its fierce defenders, over frozen Norsca and its tribes and monsters and mutations. War is always present, only becoming more and more savage, unthinking, immortal, as one keeps on going north. Beyond the Sea of Claws, beyond the Chaos Wastes, where innumerable, nameless monstrosities eternally dwell, beyond the great, shattered portal that stands at the very edge of the world.

There, beyond the very limit of the material world, stands the Realm of Chaos. More than a simple costant, here war is woven in the own fabric of reality. Battling for the sake of battle, battling for their masters' desires, battling for the slightest insult, unnumerable hordes of Daemons fight in this eternally moving realm, titanic battles being wrought and ended in the time during the time which a mortal's heart beat once.

The Great Four Chaos Gods battle here, forever embroiled in a war for dominance over all. Khorne, Nurgle, Tzeentch and Slaneesh, the four great entities strive forever, one against the others.

From the red, barren wastelands of mighty Khorne's domain, to the impossible crystal mazes of the Land of the Sorcerer, to the putrid woods of Nurgle, to the beautiful palaces of the Dark Prince, conflict reigns. Chaos reigns. Everywhere, and forever.

But, suddenly, a new thing happens. A beginning.

Time as mortals conceive it doesn't exist in the Realm of Chaos, so that moment is just one of many, a grain lost between an ever-changing maze, but still it happens, and it stands there, shining brightly, for an instant or maybe for a hundred years. In that lax of time, the gazes of the Four Great Gods of Chaos are called to it, attracted, for the first time in millennia at the same thing in the same time.

A beginning. But where? Where?

The attention of the Four moves rabidly in search of the answer. Deep in the Plague Lord's putrid domain, they move, beneath the crumbling mansion of great Nurgle himself, where the poxes and the maladies concocted by the Grandfather wash before falling down in the material world.

There. A beginning. A new thing.

It's little, insignificant, but the Gods can see far and they put in account even that, in their divine plans.

Forewarned, they retreat their gazes and return to their eternal brooding and scheming. Only Nurgle's attention lingers for a moment still, the Grandfather taking delight of this new creature's birth. He laughs heartily, already seeing far, but as his brothers, he let the little thing to grow and returns to his workshop.

And so, conflict continues

The first thing that Gudras looked upon was a greenish-black cascade of oily liquid.

He watched it flow for a moment, then nodded with satisfaction.

It was a magnificent thing.

It was then that his attention caught another peculiar thing.

He existed.

In fact, he had a body. And he was sure that a moment before, he didn't exist at all. How peculiar.

Marveling at the strange thing that was existence, he let his senses flow over his newly-discovered body. It felt strong, tough and slimy.

After that realization, came another. He could move.

He tried.

A finger, somewhere down the slopes of his body, moved. Up up, and then down. Up up and then down. Gudras entertained himself with that simple movement for the following moments. Or maybe for the following years.

Eventually, he got more curious about himself.

Sending impulses down his body, he discovered an arm, then another, a hand, then another, a leg, then another. His fingers, he noticed, were long and gangly, while his toes were pudgy. His stomach, he discovered, protuded morbidly forward, making his body quite rotund. His skin felt leathery and tough.

He didn't remember how it was into the non-existence, but right now, as he moved his newly discovered limbs, he felt a quiet satisfaction fill him.

He moved, slowly at first, then faster, testing his body. He jumped stiffly, then weaved in the air. He felt excitation rush his senses together with the exertion, but he called himself back to calm with a quiet scolding. Calm was good. Calm was the right way to be.

He stopped with a huff.

What next? Ah, his neck!

It was a short thing, really. He could barely feel it between his squat head and broad shoulders.

Gudras moved it tentatively. He felt a pang of sadness at having the cascade of slime move away from his sight, but his curiosity kept him going. To the left, a wall of crumbling bricks. It looked tough. To the right? Another wall, this one with a big hole in the middle.

Gudras was asking himself where it could lead, when he heard a rustle behind him. Slightly surprised, he turned around - a movement made a bit shuffling since it was the first time-.

He found another wall of bricks, with a mound of slime and mud amassed against it. The rustle arrived from it.

Gudras leaned forward, curious.

As he watched, a lump of slime slided down, revealing a big, round, greenish eye. The pupil inside was almost big enough to fill it completely. It moved around, then it stopped on Gudras and thinned in a cat-like fashion.

Gudras heard a croak.

He watched the eye, thoughtful. It was stuck inside the mound? A little voice inside his head told him that was the case.

Should he get it out?

As he contemplated the possibility, he turned to look at his own hand. He closed it, then opened it again. It felt… free.

He decided.

Raising his arms, he sank them into the mound.

"Rot, glorious rot…" He whispered as he began to move it, splashes and spits dabbing him. He stopped. Where had that came from? He felt just like saying it.

He tasted those three words on his serpentine tongue. They felt… right. He would remember them.

Shrugging, he returned to his work.

The slime was compact and solid, but his talons sank easily in it, and he ripped away chunks of it. Little by little, as the floor got stained more and more, the body of the owner of the eye appeared before him.

Gudras ripped away the last piece, that came away with a squelching sound, then stepped back.

The owner of the eye was smaller than him, barely arriving at his stomach. It looked like a fat frog, its slimy, greeny skin covered with ridges and boils.

The frog rotated his only eye, a varty tongue darting out of his big mouth as he stretched his legs. He turned to Gudras.

Gudras watched it back, curious.

Then the frog tried to eat him.

A moment later, the frog was down on the floor, a big bump on his head and a many stars around it.

Gudras lowered his arm, chuckling. He patted the frog.

"I think i'll call you Slimy."

The frog croaked weakly.

Satisfied, Gudras turned to the cascade of slime. To his immense dismay, it was gone.

"Aaaw."

He looked up, from where it had come. There was a sort of grate. He could hear sounds coming from beyond it, steps and a strange, baritone singing.

Gudras felt something inside of him stir at hearing it. He had to reach it. At any cost.

He looked down. A swirling maelstrom of energy met his gaze. No path there.

Leaning back, he turned. Slimy was slowly getting back up, his long tongue rubbing the bump on his head. Gudras looked to the right, where the hole in the wall was. The only path was there, it seemed. Well, so be it.

He patted the frog, eliciting a submissive croak from it.

It made him chuckle. Good thing, it learned fast.

Grabbing it under the armpits, he hauled it out of the slime with a huff.

"We're going on an adventure, you and i. Happy?"

A croak.

"Of course."

Keeping the frog under his arm, Gudras climbed inside the hole. It felt good to move his limbs, and he felt the excitation for the journey making its way through him.

Calm was the way, he remembered to himself. Calm, steady and…

"Rot, glorious rot."

Don't ask me. I just write.

It will include Warhammer 40.000 too.