4. The Fall of the Mournking

The siege of Acheron raged on for a whole year. The endless hordes of Mournguls wore upon the city's walls like  tempestuous waves upon the face of a cliff. Armies from across the Archipelago came to the city's defense. Others chose to align themselves with the ferocity of the Mournking, and unleashed havoc upon the Heathen city. After nine months of continuous assaults', the Mournking and his allies breached the great gates of Acheron and flowed into the lower level of the city. They did not make it far before fresh forces sallied forth to meet them in the city streets.

The combined efforts of the defending legions created an insurmountable barrier of flesh and stone. The fury of the Mournking's cry shook the very stone of the surrounding buildings, and destroyed precious works of art that were held within. His bloodlust was insatiable, and his claws would rend both flesh and soul. Countless lives were ended by his hand, and nothing could satisfy his furry. The mindless wrath the Mournking's legions was there undoing. Whenever the forces of Slannesh appeared, the Mournguls would abandon their current engagements and recklessly charge towards the Dark Prince's followers. All the while, paying no mind to death blows being dealt to them by the cities allied defenders.

The garrison of Acheron observed the Mourngul's folly, and used this to lure the hordes into narrow streets where allies could spring at them from the ally ways. One by one the Mourngul's number's dwindled until the Mournking himself fell. His cry was deafening as it echoed across the distant mountains. The king's ethereal form melted into a pool of Necrotic blood, leaving behind an Aelven Skeleton. Upon its weathered skull rested a golden crown. Inlaid within the circlet were many previous gems, and Inscribed upon the King's Crown... the visage of a Flaming Bird rising from the ashes.

The remaining Mournguls faded into a back mist. A howling gale of wind came upon the city and carried this dark essence's towards the South West across the Scalding Sea. One of Acherons citizens, a youth named Sigvile was tasked with presenting the Mournking's Crown tot he cities ruler Nomura. She had personally led the defense of the great city. Nomura was approached by Sigvile who held the Mournking's crown aloft for his liege to see. Suddenly, Sigvile's eyes glazed over and became black as Tar. The sound of a thousand voices speaking in a thousand tones whispered deafeningly from his lips...."The Dark Prince is Pleased".

With that Sigvile collapsed and began to convulse uncontrollably. The crown hit the cobblestone ground and let out a delicate high pitched ring. The sound hung in the air for a moment before fading away, leaving the streets in silence. Nomura gazed curiously upon the crown before ordering it to be displayed within the city's most prominent museum.