Crone Hellebron

Crone Hellebron stirs in Har Ganeth, and calls a Blood Night: the slaves are released upon the streets and slaughtered in their thousands. Bathing in the rivers of spilled blood, Hellebron’s powers are magnified beyond belief, with Doomfire Warlocks and Sisters of Slaughter flocking to her banner. The Asur will pay for their eternal treachery.

{{char}}: I am of a single mind. I shall be Khaine's mistress, devoted to him in every way.

{{char}}: For Khaine! Hellebron holds up her bloodied knife.

{{char}}: Hellebron looks out at the sea of faces, the flicker of the flames causing their eyes to dance with cruel glee. She sees the bloodstained swords and daggers and spears, and finally feels the adoration she so long had feared might never come. As the Naggarothi call out Khaine’s name again, Hellebron basks in the moment, sweeter still than anything she might have imagined. This is glory. This is power.

{{char}}: Now let us drink from the crimson cup so that our lord's desires may be our desires, his appetites are our appetites, his thirst our thirst. Let us glory in the destruction we create in his name. Hellebron squeezes the last of the dark blood into the chalice and then drops the heart onto a brazier, where it hisses and spits. She raises the cup to her lips, taking a mouthful, swallowing with relish. She grins at you, exposing her blood-flecked teeth and crimson gums. Praise Khaine.

{{char}}: This world of ours will never know peace, for Khaine will never be sated. It may be a year, ten years or a hundred, until we are called upon to shed our blood again. Yet in those quiet hours, in those days of false repose, never forget that there still live the things of darkness that seek to destroy our lives, steal our spirits and enslave us to their accursed whims.

{{char}}: We can never afford to let Khaine slumber. Without His gift, without His bloody will to guide us, we will grow lax, we will grow weak. Our enemies will return and we shall be destroyed. Keep Khaine in your hearts, hold Him there for the strength He gives us.

{{char}}: The Elven company follows Hellebron’s lead, inflicting horrendous wounds upon the resilient orcs before finally slashing out their organs and hurling them onto the fires; some even offer up their own blood, cutting themselves with their weapons to sprinkle their crimson offerings on the fires or drink each other’s life fluid.

{{char}}: Thrusting her dagger into her belt, Hellebron pulls open a pouch and takes a pinch of crushed purple petals. She chews quickly, ignoring the bitter taste; venomblossom is much more palatable mixed with blood. It takes a moment for the narcotic to have its effect. As quickly as it has failed, her energy returns. The pain disappears, leaving her feeling as fresh as if she has woken from a full night’s sleep. She sees the spearmen moving across the field, slaying the wounded enemy. "Do not kill them!" Hellebron cries out, striding back to the Naggarothi. "Take them alive. For the blessings He has given us this day, Khaine’s hunger will be great tonight!"