As far as I can remember, I’ve carried this mark on my chest.

It’s carried several meanings from me.

A scar from the goblin raid that killed my parents when I was a babe.

A secret mark of my heritage and the key to finding a family I never knew

A divine sign that destined me to greatness.

It turned out to be none of these things.

My past is lost to me.

Were my parents killed in a raid or were they sacrificed by a mad priest, a traitor to the Realm?

I was raised in a monastery dedicated to the Heldenhammer. How much of that was a lie?

Father Leopold sent out disciples to find a marked man – the rebirth of Sigmar. A vision led me to take this quest as my own. Leopold did not want me to leave, but my faith took me away.

My soul was lifted by our travels round the Empire. From the everyday miracles that fill the cities to the artifacts of the gods that crossed our path, I found that my faith in the Empire was justified.

I also learned the evil that infests it and me.

From Olden’s tales, I learned that this mark may be a sign of evil. It had never occurred to me before then.

In my own research in Altdorf, I found tales of witch hunters and cults alike searching for such marks.

I did not know that evil was present in me. These were just stories.

In the village of Gutlow, we found how such marks came to be afflicted on innocents.

I did not know that evil was present in me. This is merely a scar that came from Chaos.

When I was kidnaped in Talabheim, it was done by Evans de Averheim on behalf of Leopold. Suddenly, my past mentor became my foe. It was then I swore to kill him for this betrayal.

I made arrangement for my brothers still fooled into standing by him. These plans clearly did not work.

Still, I did not know that evil was present in me. This was the mad plan of a traitor

I continued to keep faith and search for Sigmar reborn.

It was in Shala’s spring that my fear began to be realized. The holy water boiled only when it touched my cursed mark.

Suddenly, I could feel the presence of evil. Haruth tempted me; the demonic tome we took burned me. The mark grew heavy.

It was seeing this mark that drove Jasper to further madness.

I pushed myself harder. In Altdorf, tomes spoke of strange rites that cults perform with the flayed skin baring such marks. The necromancer’s tome told of a massive warpstone that was now held by such a cult. With it, they can create more cursed marks and complete their blasphemous rites.

I spoke with Shayla of flaying this mark off of me and destroying it before such turn.

We planned too late.

Now, I know that evil is present in me. The Mystic Winds swirl round me and through me here. The meteor calls out through these Winds and makes this mark burn. I can feel it connecting to a place of the damned. Demons tear through such connections and kill those I’m tasked to protect.

Such evil cannot be allowed to exist.

My faith is still strong. I have opened the eyes of my brothers and now turn to my final act.

I will fulfill my vow of righteous vengeance.

I will face Father Leopold and cast him down as a failure into the hell he worships. If needed, I was drag him there with me.

Tharsig

At times, she has even placed her body between monsters and their prey, sacrificing herself to save subjects of this land.

Following every action, she is the first to tend to the wounded in spite of her own injuries.

Shala’s first devotion is to preserving life for the better glory of her lady lord.

I have seen her raise arms in only two instances. Each time, she struck only demons. One served the lord of flies; the other served the blood lord.

Both were foes of the Empire and deserved their fate.

As to the sword of Shayla. Shala was lead to it in holy vision; gifted it from a holy spring, and only used it to strike the enemies of her patron and the empire.

Since that time, she has neither shirked her duties nor hid her gift for safety’s sake.

These are not the works of an enemy to this land, but perhaps an ally given to us by a higher power. In this time of the Storm, we should look for such aid – as Magnus the Pius recognized the aid of the wind-shapers, the magus.

This is the word of Tharsig, annointed priest of Sigmar.

This chronicle tells the tale of such a group of men, following a quest for knowledge and the glory of Sigmar.

At least one of these areas is already known to scholars. The Devil’s Tear has long been known as a place of Chaos. Strange energies flow from the moon’s fallen piece. The landscape around it has strange plants and monsters stalk at night. It is only the strong, ancient magic of the stone circle that surrounds the Tear that keeps it from spreading. Such magic makes the trade routes through those hills possible.

The Tangled Hills also has a reputation as a haunt of monsters. But, until this time, no man has journey into the hills and returned to tell of its mysteries.

In (Month and Year), a small party of truth seekers ventured into the hills.

Traveling East from the doomed village of (Shrine Village), the Tangled Hills become choked with dense, unnatural plant life. Trees grow twisted and stunted. The land itself is blasted and torn.

Two days of slow travel East into the hills will lead one through this to a sloping plane. The twisted trees give way to scrub and patches of grass. Before one lays a dense fog that never lifts.

Journeying into the fog exposes a man to an odd feeling. It feels as if bugs crawl across your skin. No bugs are visible, but the feeling remains. Such a feeling only lifts when one enters the light of the sun. People outside of the fog claim to see bugs crawling across the flesh of those within.

The fog also has another peril. Undead wolves stalk the mist. Our group survived their onslaught and destroyed the beasts, but only after great peril and injury.

Journey through the mists is long and unmeasured, but if one can remain steady you will reach the center.

The mist rings a crater.

It is as if a giant had driven his hand deep into the earth.

But several unnatural obstacles stand between one and the center of this ring.

Brambles, vines, and weeds all grow in a ring inside the mist. These plants are unholy. Any person that touches the plants will have flesh torn away as if by the claws of a beast. Also, these plants will grow swiftly, by the light a the Chaos Moon. Such plants can be cut or burned but grow back each night.

We were able to overcome them by building platforms of cut plants and crushing the plants beneath them as we passed.

Past the plants is a ring of scorched rock. Nothing grows there. The heat is tremendous and presses down on a person the closer you get as you advance to the center. Only a strength of purpose can carry a person forward.

Entering the last ring, one is plunged into cold. From the hottest summer to the coldest winter takes only a step in this ring. Before one, the earth drops away into hole filled with a swirling mist.

This mist moves with a purpose. As one approaches the edge, it moves towards you and reaches out. Shapes of people, ghostlike, rise out of this center and you can almost hear the screams of the damned.

We could find no way down into the center. The mist freezes all it touches to a deathly degree. The final mystery of the Tangled Hills lies within. Ours was not the strength to penetrate such forces.

It is my hope that this writing finds its way into the hands of men of faith and knowledge that can confront this horror. Is it a creeping danger like the Devil’s Tear? Will it require the strength of lore that our ancestors wielded?

Heads wiser than mine may know.

In the service of Sigmar and the Empire, I submit these facts.

Tharsig

Greetings,

Tharsig

Tharsig

Please forward the following note to Brother Whilhelm in Nuln

Father Leopold

Tharsig

Leave these people in peace and earn my friendship and gratitude.