Snow White Hills Blood Bowl Chronicles

I'd heard tales of the Norse Berserkers and their ways, but not one story prepared me for facing them on the field of battle. The Kislevites I'd taken up with were some of the strongest and most taciturn warriors I've ever had the honour of serving alongside, so I was somewhat surprised when I found out that they were quietly nervous about the morrow's engagement. We were all set to fight a raiding band from a tribe called the Baersonlings. I didn't really believe even half of what the Kislevites told me. But the following morning, I stood on the edges of the northern pack ice and watched the fur clad barbarians chew on their shields, some of them while foaming at the mouth. That was endurable, I'd seen stranger in my travels. But as the battle began, as their features melted and twisted, the muzzles of bears emerging from beneath their helms, claws unsheathing from their flesh, I knew why the Kislevites feared the Norsemen. It was a long struggle and I'll not pretend it was an easy victory, but as fierce as they were, the Chaos touched bastards fell in the end as any other men.: — Ernst Wolfenburg, Mercenary