Valnir the Reaper

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Valnir the Reaper.

Valnir the Reaper, also known as the Scion of Nurgle and the Reaper of Souls,
is a great, semi-daemonic Champion of Nurgle, the Chaos God of Decay and
Pestilence. According to the sagas of the Crow tribe of Norsca, Valnir was once a
great Chieftain and warrior. His strength of sinew and skill at arms such that he
was the equal of the mightiest warriors of the numerous Khornate Norse tribes. Yet
despite his power and glory, despite the multitudes of victories he garnered for his
tribe, the chieftain is said to have felt no pleasure. He took no pride in his strength
or appearance, nor did he partake of the luxuries his small empire of conquered
lands could bestow. Why this may have been, none of the legends recall, but all
agree that Valnir was ever a man of grim visage and heavy heart. Indeed, it was
often said amongst the Norsemen that were Valnir's misery to flow as a river, it
would have enveloped all the North in its bitter waters. [1][2a][3a]
Yet no defeatist apathetic was Valnir, for the chieftain had hated all the world with a
passion, though none remember why, and was determined to impose his misery
upon all the lands of men. In time, the chieftain left his tribe, swearing that he
 would not return until he had found a way to make the world suffer as he did. It was
this purpose that led Valnir to sail across the Frozen Sea, travel through the lands
of the Kurgans, and finally range far to the north to the Chaos Wastes, where he
pledged his soul to Nurgle and became his mighty champion. [1]

Contents
 1 History
 2 End Times
 3 Wargear & Abilities
 4 Sources
History

A sketch of Valnir the Reaper, found within the Liber Chaotica.

In the sagas, it is said that Valnir's desperation grew as it became ever more
apparent to him that nothing could sate the bitterness within his heart. The sheer
hopelessness of his state became apparent to him when he and
his reavers prepared to descend upon an enemy village. With tears of frustration
glistening in his otherwise dead eyes, the chieftain declared to his bondsmen that
he no longer cared for the thrill of battle, nor the expansion of his lands, nor the
joys of taking the daughters and wives of his enemies as slaves. All he wished now
from war was to show the world how it meant to suffer as he spent every waking
moment suffering, and no torture or action he could conceive of came close to
making this a reality. Valnir's fellow Norsemen were astounded by this grim
declaration, and were then made more so when Valnir announced that he would
fight no more battles until he had found a way to hold a mirror up to the world and
show it the futility of its endeavours and the truth of despair. And with no further
words, Valnir left the hall of the Crow tribe.[1a]
North he walked, the flickering lights of the Chaos Wastes his compass. His misery
knew no bounds, yet his resentment of all the world drove him ever onwards. North
he continued, until he entered the lands of the vicious Varg clans, and then he
sailed east from there, over the Frozen Sea until he reached the lands of
the Kurgan nomads. He then slaughtered his way through their tribes and holdings,
for he was an outlander to them. Past their rolling plains he had turned red with
blood, the warrior ranged north until he had crossed the steppes and entered the
madness of the True North. Once he had entered that hell-stained realm, he came
upon a wide plain stretching out as far as the eye could see, and it echoed with the
baying of hounds. Any lesser man would have been unmanned by the sound, but
Valnir cared not. Death held no fear for a man who hated life. Huge were the
beasts who shadowed him, fully four feet at their shoulders. Valnir smashed them
to the ground and continued on his way, never once breaking his stride. [1a]
Again and again the wolfish creatures came upon him, and again and again he cut
them from his path. Eventually, he entered the foothills beyond the plains of
hounds, and the attacks began to grow less frequent and then finally stopped. Yet
the gaunt warrior of Norsca had not emerged from the ordeal unscathed. His entire
body was crossed with lacerations and scarring, and it was clear from their growing
heat that they contained infection. Still, Valnir did not care, and pressed further into
the madness of the True North. Monsters of great horror lay waiting from beneath
the black ice, and sought to drag him down to a watery grave, but Valnir was far
too wily for them and avoided their clutches. A biting chill wind blew down from the
north, carrying with it the power of Chaos, filled with magic and illusions to guide
the weak-willed to their doom. Again, Valnir prevailed, and pressed onwards into
the very borders of the Wastes.[1b]
Though he had slain many fell creatures on his quest, nothing that he had faced on
his merciless trek could prepare him for the monstrosities lurking in the Chaos
Wastes - foul Chaos Spawn, and worse things that awaited him. But even faced
with this, the warlord would not abandon his journey. He fought his way through the
warbands of champions, the packs of slavering spawn, and even the hosts
of daemons in order to continue his search for the font of despair he sought. The
denizens of the land were not his only barrier, however, for the very earth warped
and writhed around him, creating deadfalls and chasms which deterred his path
and sending up noxious fumes that sickened the chieftain. Worse still, Valnir heard
the scratching whispers of daemons, mocking him for his quest and telling him to
submit and falter. But the chieftain of the Crow Tribe drowned out the jeers - he
would finish this quest one way or another.[1b]
Onward he staggered, to the great teeth of the Chaos Realm that would lead to
birthplace of all decay; as he passed that dark rift he found himself upon an isle of
corpses surrounding a massive, rotting tree. Upon its branches was a three-orbed
fruit slimy with corruption and crawling with maggots. As he approached, Valnir felt
an overwhelming despair take his heart. A feeling so powerful that not even he, so
used to suffering and always stoic in his misery, could overcome. Collapsing finally,
here at last was the clarity of suffering he sought. Valnir had embraced defeat at
last, but rather than giving up his life, he prayed to the Dark Gods to grant him the
right to spread the truth of this despair throughout all the lands of men. He had
passed his final test, and before him appeared the dread Plague Lord, Nurgle,
known amongst the tribes of Norsca as Neiglen, the estuary from which all despair
flowed, and he demanded from his servants that they submit only to him while
desiring to spread his holy word throughout the world. What man can say what
process the gods undertake that marks a man out as their chosen? All that is clear
is that Nurgle lavishly bestowed his blessings upon Valnir, transforming him into
the Reaper; the highest champion of Nurgle, charged with spreading fear
and disease in the name of the Plague God. Bestowed was he a great halberd
fixed with morning stars, a weapon bearing all the unholy enchantments the Plague
Lord could devise, empowered to devour the very souls of those it struck. [1b][1c]
Long and terrible was Valnir's service to the Chaos God of Despair, and terrible
indeed was the suffering he meted out in his name. Soon, his name was feared
throughout the northern Empire and Kislev, while it was honoured and hailed in the
wastes of Norsca. When the great warlord and Everchosen, Asavar Kul, arose to
lead the people of the north to war against the south, Valnir joined the army, for no
man was higher in the esteem of Nurgle than he. He fought for his patron
throughout the many battles of the Great War Against Chaos, including the terrible
Siege of Praag, under the leadership of the merciless Engra Deathsword, and the
cataclysmic melee of the Battle of Kislev's Gates. In that titanic battle, Valnir fought
the Tzar of Kislev, Alexis Romanoff. By some great miracle, the doughty Kislevite
ruler managed to cut down the most favoured of Nurgle, but indomitable was Valnir
of Norsca, filled with the hellish vitality of his god, he survived the blow. Staggering
away from the battlefield, his tribesmen found him and carried him back to his
homeland, as was his wish. Here was built a great stone throne from which the
Reaper could survey his ancestral lands even in death. But Nurgle would not allow
his Chosen to perish, and willed it so that Valnir's body did not die. Indeed, it
seemed to regenerate as much as it rotted.[1c][1d]
One day, the skeletal form of the champion lurched again to its feet. Thus did
Valnir live once more, not dead, nor alive, but a powerful daemonic being
sustained by Nurgle himself. So it was that his soul returned to its carcass; Valnir
the Reaper lived once more. His tribesmen fell to their knees when they saw him,
accepting him as their new demi-god, for he was living proof that the God of
Plagues was with them. Where Valnir walks, plague and desolation follows in his
wake. Rendering his enemies stricken with contagion and easy prey for
his Marauders, who cut them down like wheat before the scythe. Terrifying strength
lies in his skeletal grip, his blows are immense and his grip is as iron. With every
soul he sends to Nurgle his power increases, and the lands of the Empire and
Kislev will have to pay a thousandfold to earn his final death. [1d]
End Times

Attention, Empire Citizens!

This article contains information regarding the End Times, the actual c

"Fall, Wanderer, for the glory of Father Nurgle."

—Valnir's final words.[4]

By the beginning of the End Times, Valnir's daemonic body had completely
regenerated, turning him into a truly monstrous warrior. He was a walking mass of
pustule, stinking gas and leprous filth encased within black, maggot-infested Chaos
Armour.[4]
Valnir was one of many infamous champions who sought to earn glory by
slaying Valten. Within the Middenheim's ruined Temple of Verena, he and Wulfrik
the Wanderer engaged in a fierce duel to decide who among them had the right to
challenge the Chosen of Sigmar. For hours the two fought, neither gaining the
upper hand. Every time Valnir battered Wulfrik from his feet, the latter would be up
again a moment later, cursing and slashing at his enemy, his blows glancing off the
other's maggot-ridden Chaos plate. Eventually, the Reaper was able to cast his
opponent down, shattering the warrior's greatshield with his brutal flail. [4]
Alas, Valnir chose to dedicate his victory to Nurgle while the Wanderer yet lived.
This gave Wulfrik the seconds he needed to catch the Reaper off guard, plunging
his massive sword into the pus-lined gap between his helmet and cuirass. The tip
of the blade emerged through Valnir's neck in an explosion of filth, decapitating the
great warrior...[4]
Wargear & Abilities
In life, Valnir was a warrior of incredible strength and resilience. In his new,
daemonic existence, it has been magnified a thousandfold, and with he every soul
he sends screaming to Nurgle's loving embrace, the Father of Crows sees fit to
further empower his beloved son. Valnir's daemonic stamina allows him to arise
again from even the deadliest of blows, and his maggot-ridden Chaos Plate allows
him unprecedented protection. Valnir also possesses a level of regeneration that is
veritably Troll-like, allowing him to shrug off mighty blows. But most deadly are the
terrible plagues that follow Valnir in his wake. Wherever he walks, he heralds death
and disease.[2b]
 Gatherer of Souls: Valnir wields a monstrous Daemonic flail, imbued with the
corpulent powers of Nurgle. The blessings upon its rusted blades allow it not only to
kill painfully, but also to consume the souls of those it strikes. Most of the sustenance
is sent to Great Nurgle, but it also strengthens Valnir. With every kill, his might is
heightened and his blows become all the mightier.[2c]
 The Red Plague: A terrible disease from the North, which cuts down men as wheat
before the scythe.[2c]
 Brain Fever: This plague infests the very brains of its victims with writhing,
ravenous maggots and inflicts upon them a burning fever. Those who survive are
driven irrevocably insane.[2c]
 Black Rot: The victims become stricken and weak. Their flesh turns black, Their
hair falls out and their skin becomes a leprous, putrefied mass, robbing them of their
strength and vitality and making them all the easier to slay.[2c]