The Sacred Land of the Norscans—"Wodenheim."
"Wodenheim" was what the Norscan tongue called this holy site. Translated into High Gothic, it became "Woden's Palace," signifying the mortal hall of Woden, the supreme deity of the Norscan religion.
This place had once been ordered destroyed by the former Governor, Karl Vassa, in a forced attempt to convert the Norscans to the atheistic Imperial Truth. As was now widely known, the Governor's folly had ignited the massive tribal rebellion that ultimately drew the Fourth Legion into the conflict.
After driving Imperial influence out of their territories, the devout Norscans rebuilt the temple that had been desecrated by ignorant Imperial soldiers. To appease their deity, whom they believed was enraged by the sacrilege, the Norscans slaughtered all the captured Imperial colonists and soldiers before the reconstructed temple, offering them as sacrifices to the Great God Woden.
Now, under Perturabo's command, the Fourth Legion used a network of roads and fortresses to cut deep into the Norscan tribal regions. They partitioned the once-interconnected tribes into isolated pockets defined by these lines of communication, then systematically annihilated them one by one.
For the tribes hiding within the mountainous forests, this tactic of encirclement and fragmentation via infrastructure was lethal.
The Fourth Legion Astartes and Kislev Streltsi patrolling these routes easily intercepted and eliminated the messengers sent between tribes to coordinate actions. Without communication, the tribes became isolated islands, waiting to be extinguished by the Legion's next operation.
Through these means, Perturabo completed his objectives with far lower casualties than a direct frontal assault would have required. Each large-scale action resulted in the total extermination of a Norscan tribe—men, women, and children alike.
With every tribe erased, the living space of the Norscan barbarians was further compressed by Imperial colonists. Eventually, the Norscans would lose the mobility they prided themselves on, becoming entirely subjugated by the Imperium.
Naturally, the tribal chieftains were not fools. They recognized Perturabo's ambitions; the proud Norscan people had reached a critical moment of survival.
However, the dragnet cast by the Iron Tsar was not something a single tribe could break. To shatter Perturabo's "cage" tactics, they had to launch a massive, coordinated action involving all Norscan tribes. Only if every tribe rose simultaneously to besiege the entire road network and fortress system would the Imperial forces be overwhelmed, offering a slim chance for survival.
Thus, at Wodenheim, after braving many dangers and obstacles, nearly all the Norscan chieftains and warlords gathered.
They met to hold a council—a council that would decide the fate of the Norscan race.
"The star-strangers who call themselves the Imperium insulted our gods and forced us to abandon the heritage of our ancestors. But a proud Norscan will never kneel to any tyrant, nor accept the shackles he attempts to place upon our necks."
"Therefore, we rose in rebellion. We sought to drive these foreign invaders from our world. We were once but a single step from total victory, but then they summoned even more terrifying monsters—those they call the Astartes."
"These monsters fell from the heavens and slaughtered our bravest warriors. Even the most blood-hardened champion is powerless before them."
"Now, they have driven us back into the forests where our people have lived for generations. They seek to sever the bonds between brothers, slaughtering us one by one."
The Great Temple of Woden was packed with chieftains from every corner of Norsca. They had come for the survival of their tribes; none wished to perish in despair at the hands of the celestial monsters.
An old shaman, presiding over the assembly, spoke with calm gravity, recounting the sequence of events. The gathered leaders listened in silence; they had all lived through the horrors he described.
"Now, we must make a final stand. We must unite once more and launch a great war to destroy their roads and fortresses! We must break the chains and cages they have forced upon us!"
"The children of Woden would rather die in glory than live in shadows!" The old shaman grew increasingly agitated, his words giving way to a fit of coughing.
"But there are already many examples of what happens when a single tribe resists. Their dense fortress networks and patrols extinguish such flames instantly!" a chieftain stood up and said, his face etched with worry.
His words drew nods of agreement from the assembly. They had all witnessed the efficacy of Perturabo's "cage" strategy.
"That is why we cannot confront their system one tribe at a time. we must move simultaneously. Every tribe must launch an attack against their roads and fortresses at the exact same hour."
"In this way, they must face our fury everywhere at once. They will not know which fortress to prioritize for reinforcement. Through this chaos, we shall find our chance to turn the tide."
The shaman nodded slowly as he explained the plan.
"It is true. If we strike together, they will be exhausted by the sheer scale of the assault. We will find the flaws in their lines and shatter them."
A younger chieftain nodded in approval, analyzing the tactical benefit for the group.
"Then let it be so. We agree: at dawn the day after tomorrow, every brother of every tribe will strike. We will give these Imperials a surprise they will not forget. May Great Woden protect us!"
"For Norsca! For Great Woden!"
Every Norscan in the hall drew his sword and raised it high, shouting with fanatical fervor.
While Perturabo and the Fourth Legion began to grow slightly complacent, the Norscans were preparing their counter-offensive.