I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender or Warhammer in any of its forms.
Each of the four clans of this world serves a patron god.
The Water Tribes, the raiders from the corners of the globe, serve the god of blood, of war, of valor. They serve Khorne.
The Earth Kingdom, the eternal bastion, serve the god of pestilence, of plague, of endurance. They serve Nurgle.
The Fire Nation, courts filled with plots within plots, serves the god of lies, of deception, of intelligence. They serve Tzeentch.
The Air Nomads, the hedonists that separate themselves from others, serve the god of pleasure, of lust, of perfection. They serve Slaanesh.
These gods are not benevolent. They are not meant to be prayed to and praised. They are gods to be worshiped and to be rightly feared.
Sokka walked forward over the red snow. His offering hung from its hair from his left fist. He walked across the snow, and knelt before the Throne. The great creature that stood beside it rumbled its acceptance of his meager offering. The bloody giant was one of his uncles, blessed by Khorne himself to become one of his greater priests.
Sokka carefully wedged his prize into the Skull of Thrones. As he stood up, the men of his tribe roared their approval. He had never felt like this before. Well… that was a lie. It was nothing compared to a fight. Be it human or animal, nothing quite made their spirit sing like a good fight.
He carefully eyed his sister. As the only Bloodletter left in his small tribe (the last one died in the previous attack. It was thanks to the counter-attack that Sokka now had an offering), it fell to her to prepare the Drinking. With a series of short, violent jerks, a small stream of blood flowed from the Throne into the ritual cup.
The cup was made from the skull of a polar bear-wolf, one of the greatest beasts of Khorne his tribe had ever seen. He lifted the skull, fitted his hands where so many had before (thumbs in the eyeholes, fingers cradling the curve of the skull) and lifted it to his mouth. The great beast's teeth clicked against his own. Sharper in death than in life, they cut into his lips and gums and tongue as he drank of the fallen.
When he could drink no more, he lifted the cup over his head and bathed in the resulting shower.
This was what it meant to be Water Tribe! Each and every one of them was a warrior! Each of them was a priest to their god! Every one served Khorne!
He lifted his machete and cut into his chest, directly over his heart.
"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"
The answering cry of his tribe seemed to shake the very stars loose from the sky.
As the blood he had spilt - both his own and the vanquished - ran up his leg and over his body and onto his machete, he looked for his father's face in the crowd.
He found him and returned his grin, sharpened teeth glinting in the fire light. The blood froze over the blade and the edge became as sharp as the Blood Lord's ire. Sokka was ready.
It was a good day to worship.
Long Feng was one of the few who had been blessed by the Father. He had been chosen!
Out of all the hundreds of priests, thousands of soldiers and the tens of thousands of workers, he had been chosen. He honestly couldn't believe his fortune. The plague-fly had wafted uncertainly over the heads off the masses before zipping its way over to him.
He had barely had the time to say the traditional prayers before it had finally entered his mouth.
That wasn't acceptable. Not at all. The Father deserved his respects, yes, but it was nothing compared to his love for the Great Father. After all, it was the Great Father that remade him and his family and the crowd around him and even the Father himself!
How could he not love him?
So he tried his best to make up for his failings as he followed the Custodian into the Palace. Prayer upon prayer fell from his lips and he hoped it was enough to show how sorry he was. He couldn't bear to disappoint the Great Father.
Eventually, the Custodian had led him to the throne room. Careful not to offset the Custodian's ponderous balance (once again, he was filled with admiration for the Custodians. It certainly couldn't be easy, walking around with so many gifts. He was already slowing down due to the gifts the plague-fly was giving him).
Then all thought was erased from his mind. For in the middle of the throne room sat the Father. His body showed the strain of having carried all the different gifts the Great Father had to offer. And still he led them. Long Feng's heart was filled with love for the Father and he listened carefully.
When Long Feng left to go on his mission, he was still stupefied. He was to go with a squad of Graveturners and spread the Gift among those the others considered lost? There was no greater joy than to serve.
As he made his way to the barracks, he idly popped his eye back into place (silly thing, to fall out so easily!). It didn't matter to Long Feng that his body wouldn't survive the Giving. He would live on in those he was going to save.
Iroh was tired. He was tired of all the doubts.
He knew he wasn't the most ambitious, but sometimes you had to consolidate your holdings before reaching forward. That is what most of his family didn't understand. But Azula had said it was time to strike, so of course he was going to get blamed for the resulting explosion.
It really wasn't fun to be him some days.
But on other days… On others he would bet just about everything that he had the most fun life of them all.
The other Seers may not feel that way, but there was a lot of profit in going to the merchant quarter, to visiting the harbur and the slave pens. He saw new things. He won loyalty. He recruited. But most importantly, he regularly found new inspiration.
Something extremely lacking up there.
The only one of the seers who shared his view was young, and a mediocre Seer at best. Zuko, who was so easily upstaged by his sister. Zuko, who held no great ambition.
And that was his greatest failing. A Seer needed an ambition. Ozai had the Unification of the Islands. Ursa had The Raising of the Great. He had The First Step. No one knew what Azula had. But it was bound to be impossible in the eyes of many.
Iroh scoffed. Nothing was impossible. Many had seen him as insane, to attempt to walk on the cursed soil of Ba Sing Se. The fools lacked ambition.
But he had a feeling that Azula's ambition would dwarf all others. He had spent many a fruitless night Communing with the Flaming One, but no answers were forth coming. Perhaps the Burning Snake wanted Azula to succeed. Perhaps He had renounced Iroh.
It wouldn't surprise him. The Other Heir wasn't exactly the most ambitious.
But if anyone knew what he planned, they would have agreed that stealing the High Priest's son was certainly the product of an ambitious mind.
Or an insane one. It really was interesting how frequently those two attributes met.
Whistling an old earth kingdom song, Iroh made his leisurely way back to the palace.
Gaka would never understand the humans. Not all of them at least.
He could understand the young ones, who played with each other. Intricate games that put speed, precision, strength and endurance to the test. Other games (these mostly initiated by the older humans) tested their ability to use words. Gaka was, understandably, confused by these.
The ones in the middle were the most interesting. They danced and played and rutted and painted and sung and sculpted and shaped and cooked and danced once more. They made beautiful things.
But the most beautiful of them all were the Body-Whistlers. Humans that made sound only by moving their bodies. It was beautiful, all of it. The song and the dance and the dancers. And sometimes, sometimes the Wind would answer.
The ones the Wind answered were never quite the same afterwards. They didn't grow old. They could anything any of the other humans could do, and they could do it better. It must be terrible to know someone who had Changed.
But Gaka's place wasn't with them. It was at the side of the human who had named him. The old man rarely did anything other than talk. Gaka didn't know what he talked about. It could have been about his youth, the latest Changed, the newest old one's beard or the secrets of the universe.
Gaka didn't care. He was content as things were.
AN: I've always wondered what would happen if Avatar met Warhammer. (Yes, I know this AN is way too long, but I couldn't help myself)
Earth Kingdom was so obviously Nurgle. But what then? Who fit the best with Khorne? Not the Nomads. Not the Nation (fire cauterized). So tribes then. Which fit beautifully, if you link it with a warrior culture and the fact that the vast majority of the food they had was meat.
That left Tzeentch and Slaanesh. Nation courts instantly made me think of plots, so Tzeentch it was. And then Slaanesh was obviously Nomads.
Sokka is a familiar face and a favorite, so I used him. Khorne's skull throne is the tribal shrine. Waterbenders are replaced with Bloodletters (think Waterbending is a subset of Bloodbending, and not the other way around as in canon). The place is corrupted by Khornate worship, so we have blood-snow. Only demon mentioned was a 'high priest'. Think mutated berserker.
I wanted to keep the characters a bit surprising, so I used Long Feng. But in this twisted world, he's just another plague-zombie, until he's chosen to become a true plague bearer. His mission is to spread Nurgle's gift to the dead and dying in the border colonies of the Fire Nation. Graves would be opened by earthbenders (known as Graveturners) I've also turned Kuei into the Father, a greater deamon of Nurgle. Following that logic, Nurgle became the Great father. The Custodian is just a general plague-deamon.
I love the way the Fire Nation turned out. I turned the Royal-family (actually, all of the nobility) into fire-benders (known as Seers in this setting). These Seers can use their flames to attempt to contact Tzeentch. I came by this idea by linking Tzeentch's ever-changing plots with the ever moving flame. I had to elevate Azula, so I made her become a type of prophet. Blue is traditionally a color associated with Tzeentch, in my limited experience, so her blue flame is seen as a sign she is more in touch with their god than most.
I had to use Iroh, my muse wouldn't accept anything else. But how could I portray him as Iroh in a blatantly evil setting? I think I did an adequate job with my attempt.
Also, the ambition mentioned above is the cornerstone of Nation worship. Each Seer has to have an ambition, something to strive for. To say someone lacks ambition is a great insult in this setting. Ursa's is to raise a successful family, Ozai's is to unify the various provinces of the Nation and Iroh's was to set foot in Ba Sing Se.
Just to emphasize this, Iroh set literal foot in a city that is the center of worship for Nurgle. That is a deamonworld level nightmare. He still did it. His Heir plan is to groom Zuko into his son, stealing him away from Ozai (the High Priest).
The Nomads were surprisingly easy, once I figured out my angle. Gaka is a lemur-monkey, like Momo. His name means painter. I imagine his owner named him that after he trudged some paint onto something. In my mind, Slaanesh isn't just 'sexsexsex'. He's about satisfaction. Mainly through art, but games and debate and philosophy and even sex is still a part of it.
I tried to keep it simple, yet still profound. In case anyone hasn't figured it out yet, Gaka (actually all the lemur-monkeys) are Slaneshi deamons. They serve as familiars to elder worshippers. The Changed also refer to Airbenders (known as Body-Whistlers by deamons) that 'ascended' to daemonic existence because their efforts have pleased Slaanesh.
Does this mean that the avatar in this world is actually Abaddan the Despoiler? Yes, yes it does.
I hope you've enjoyed my take on this twisted little world.