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An Unexpected Visitor

BlueWaterDragon

By BlueWaterDragon
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BlueWaterDragon

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My apologies for this ending so abruptly and being so long. I hope you enjoy this little breath of comedy from our friends in the Chaos Legions. I also hope this sheds some light on why Abaddon hasn't been able to pull together a 14th Crusade.

 

The entire universe and I can’t do a thing with it. The man standing at the viewport was muscular and powerful, like a statue of an ancient god. His hair was a brilliant blood red and cascaded down over his folded arms, past the loosely knotted cord at his waist, halfway down his thighs. The robe brushed his calves overlapping his boots.

 

Looking over his shoulder he could see his armour lurking in its niche in the corner. The daemon sword Drach’nyen hung in its place on the wall, beneath it on a shelf sat the Talon of Horus. It too lurked, and he would swear the damned thing looked at him sometimes. Occasionally he could hear the Warmaster’s voice orating at him sternly down the ages; it was one of the many things guaranteed to ignite his temper. He sighed and blinked staring out of the viewport once more.

 

A dull resonating implosion and a smell of lavender and roses punctuated by sweat, announced the arrival of someone he could do without talking to. He did not look around but rolled his eyes and slumped slightly.

 

“Whatever is the matter Ezekyle?” A soft and perfectly pitched voice asked.

 

Abaddon scratched the back of his head.

 

“You look tense, would you like a massage?”

 

“I’ve told you before that that is no longer my name, and no I don’t want a massage especially from you.” He adjusted his weight so that the others’ face was reflected in the viewport. “How did you get aboard my ship? There are wards against all four of you.”

 

“One of the heretics lowered the ward against me.” The face was unrepentant.

 

“What did you promise him?”

 

“Death shall never claim his soul, were my exact words.”

 

Abaddon nodded and said. “I did warn them not to make deals with any of you. What exactly do you want? I know you have to expend a vast amount of power to come here even as a projection, or is it purely social?”

 

“Mainly social, I’m stuck in eternity with only Tzeentch to talk to; in all honesty I’m extremely bored. But I did want to see if you still can’t be persuaded to see things my way?” It stretched, languidly.

 

Abaddon abruptly strode to over to a niche in the wall and pulled a bottle from a rack. Moisture beaded on it as he examined its colour. Uncorking it, he poured two glasses and taking his own walked back to lean on the wall facing the chair the other was draped across. He studied the other as the glass of wine imploded to dust, appearing in the other's delicately manicured hand. Abaddon considered the rest of the figure.

 

Its clothing consisted mainly of leather straps in black that criss-crossed each other occasionally weaving through skin. The left boot had a thick treaded sole with metal plates up the shin. The straps on this side overlaid black leather that came to a point over the back of the hand and under the middle finger. The other side the boot had a five inch stiletto heel, and blended into the flesh at the ankle. A fingerless glove on this side terminated at the elbow, again blending through the skin.

 

Abaddon noticed the right breast was covered, for his benefit, he surmised. He sipped his wine and stared into his opponents face. The features were perfectly sculpted and beautiful beyond imagining, he had to fight wanting it. He did this by remembering that although possessed of unnatural beauty it was still an Eldar face. That normally took the edge off of it. Brows wrinkled it looked sad, as though he had kicked the galaxy’s most colossal puppy. The eyes pleaded with him to comfort them just for a moment.

 

“Not on my ship.” He said and the spell broke. “I still don’t understand why you try. I will resist you all with my last breath.”

 

“I know, but it’s always worth it. The thrill of the chase, it’s why we all love so much. You’re so dedicated to what you want, that none of us can control you.” There was a soft tinkle as it shuddered. A piercing scream came from very close by.

 

Abaddon shook his head and sighing said,

 

“Leave my crew alone.”

 

The other pouted girlishly. “Come here and make me.”

 

Drach’nyen rattled on its hooks. Abaddon stepped over and ran his fingers up the flat of the blade, this seemed to quiet it.

 

“I would prefer it if you didn’t threaten me on my own ship. I really would rather you’d not just drop in to startle me.”

 

It looked hopeful.

 

“It doesn’t work.”

 

The face was crestfallen.

 

Abaddon held up a finger and moved to the door, he smiled as his greatly augmented hearing picked up voices on the other side. They both listened intently.

 

“I wouldn’t want to disturb my lord, even if what you say is true. It would be a very bad career move, probably terminal.” The first voice was urgent.

 

“Are you calling a sorcerer a lair?” The second was indignantly outraged.

 

“Yes, it’s your problem not mine. Besides you aren’t a proper sorcerer, more like a cheap magician with delusions of adequacy.” Came the hissed reply.

 

“Really? Whom was it then that destroyed the fortress on Chimera IV?”

 

“That was random geology. I don’t trust your kind; you go and talk to him.”

 

“No! I wouldn’t dare, I’m not that stupid.”

 

“Are you saying I am?” The first speaker roared.

 

Abaddon smiled almost affectionately. There came brief scuffling noises and a squishy thump. Someone being thrown against the semi organic walls of the ship. He looked across at his companion, who smiled and shook his head.

 

The door opened abruptly at a wave of Abaddon’s hand, and the struggling warriors tumbled through. Both rolled to their feet. The Khornite Lord wore the almost pearlescent beetle black of the Alpha Legion. The sorcerer wore bottle green and had his helmet removed, his face was still largely human and he darted nervous glances at his Lord’s guest. Abaddon wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the sword and lifted it off of its rests.

 

“Are you going to tell me what is on your collective mind, or do you need it jogged?”

There was a soft giggle. He looked past them and narrowed his eyes. The black clad creature stopped and coughed politely.

 

“No my lord,” the Khornite had the grace to look panicked. The Sorcerer kept his mouth, and any other orifice he could remember, tightly shut.

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Chaptermaster Graymantle Venerable Brother

Chaptermaster Graymantle

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I love your storytelling in this one.

"as though he had kicked the galaxy’s most colossal puppy" - He he he

So descriptive!

 

It does end to abruptly though, as one expects it to continue. Also I didn't get why Abaddon hasn't been able to pull together a 14th Crusade, but I'm not that much into Chaos, so I must be missing something.

All in all a great story!

Keep it up! <_<

Marshall Strat Veteran

Marshall Strat

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Quite good! It does end a tad abruptly, but that kind of does add to its appeal: you've hooked me on yet another one of your stories.

 

The interplay between Abaddon and his companion is good: well-established relationship, not necessarily built on trust.

 

Again, BWD,.... MORE!!!

BlueWaterDragon Veteran

BlueWaterDragon

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This is excellent. Is your other stuff posted here on the forums? If so, I will go read it.

 

And are you going to finish this? Both my son and I are really wanting to hear more.

 

 

Yes it is!

 

Further titles are:

Respect and Honour

Truth Will Out

Short Space Marine Story

 

 

I have Warhammer Fantasy stuff too.

  • 5 weeks later...
  • 2 weeks later...
BlueWaterDragon Veteran

BlueWaterDragon

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Right Girls!! It's here!!! I mentioned earlier it's the 14th, I've written this bit with a reference to it being his 13th. I'm working on it. ;)

 

Their report had been delivered at a very high speed, one Marine supplementing information the other neglected to mention. Abaddon's guest clearly unsettled them, and as Abaddon stood, head cocked to one side his thumb running absently up and down Drach'nyen's blade, they were reduced from mighty paragons of their arts, to children being reprimanded by their head-teacher.

 

To some small children the head-master can seem to be eight feet tall, with a five foot long cane in one hand. Long, black, voluminous robes, complete the creature that has been a spectre of terror to children and young adults for many years. Although many head-masters have had slanderous rumours spread about them, in their cases they have always been, to the greater extent, untrue.

 

The Sorcerer had a sneaking suspicion that the story of Abaddon dyeing his hair with the blood of those who betrayed him, made the mage wonder how often the Warmaster was betrayed and made him certain that he, personally, would not be joining them. He rather liked his blood where it was, and was attached to it on a deep, spiritual level. Not to mention the physical implications that its loss would have.

 

 

It transpired that a full four companies of the Black Legion's finest were pinned down on the edge of the Eye of Terror. The planet they had been plundering had been infested by a tiny armlet of a Hive-fleet. It had compounded the problems they had already faced with the Eldar in the region, and the Lords of the Companies had been forced to call for heavier back-up. Abaddon had managed to get rid of his guest and had immediately donned his armour.

 

He lifted the Talon and looked at it, he was certain that it was looking back. Something, or someone in the back of his mind wanted to taste blood once more. He wondered why he had even entertained the possibility that it might be someone in his head. The thought shrugged and wandered away whistling nonchalantly. He made a grab for it, but it had sidled into the deepest darkest depths of his psyche. He would have to catch it later, he had more important things to hunt right now.

 

His Chosen fell in behind him as he stomped his way to the Dreadclaw that would deposit him on the planet's surface. His fleet were already heavily engaged with the Hive-ships but the Chaos forces were holding up admirably, the losses on both sides being heavy but not unmanageably so. The only advantage the Chaos forces had was that this close to the Eye, the Sorcerers were summoning small Daemons by the thousand and the Large Daemons that answered the call were immense. There was even a nervous chittering in the fifth Wind of Chaos, Rumours, that a Primarch might put in an appearance. Abaddon sincerely hoped not. Having ones glory stolen by a giant bat could put a crimp on anyone's day, and as Angron was not fitted with an effective IFF system, he was as much a danger to his own army as he was to the enemy. Abaddon knew that Magnus was twiddling his thumbs somewhere in the Warp, Fulgrim would be twiddling anything he could lay all four of his hands on, and the Powers themselves had no clue as to what Mortarion was doing. Peturabo, now there was a Daemon Primarch to behold, when he was not sulking behind his walls that was.

 

He sighed heavily, listening to the grinding of steel as his Chosen sensed his mood and shifted uneasily. He looked around the interior of the ship as he stumped down the corridor to the lift that dropped the full depth of Planetkiller and a slave looked up into his eyes. Abaddon stopped and pointed a claw at the offending slave, one of his Chosen raised a bolter. Abaddon snorted and shook his head. The Marine lowered the weapon and instead grabbed the slave, who did not object. The lift descended slowly but smoothly and Abaddon looked the man up and down.

 

He was wearing the shreds of an Imperial Guard uniform, every piece of insignia had been stripped from him and the Imperial Eagle tattooed on his flesh had been struck through with the Star of Chaos, but over laid on it were cuts that marked the Eagle back into place. Abaddon admired dedication in anyone, and the way the man met his eyes with unflinching confidence impressed him.

 

“What is your name?” Abaddon asked.

 

“Sorenton, Captain Edmund Sorenton, 2691st of the Emperor's Imperial Guard. And you are?” The man's black eyes were fixed on the Marine's blue ones.

 

“Rather impressed with your balls right now.” He permitted himself a small smile as the Guard folded his hands at his waist, the man had heard stories. “My name is Ezekyle Abaddon, I am Commander of the Black Legion, Warmaster of Chaos Undivided, and Leader of Twelve Black Crusades.”

 

“That many?” Sorenton repressed a smile, if he was going to die, he may as well die at the hands of the top man. “The warriors I fought on Triska VII were mighty colossi of destruction. What happened that you needed so many attempts at the Imperium?”

 

Abaddon was so stunned it took a few moments for him to regain his composure. He was tempted to kill the man on impulse, but restrained himself because he was interested. Sorenton's candour was a refreshing change after millennia of simpering lackeys and it had been a long time since he had heard anyone speak sense. He had learned, the hard way, that Chaos did not truly live up to it's name, in that anyone who chose the path had either started out as a disturbed individual, or became one over the years.

 

“It is harder than you would believe to get all of these,” Abaddon gestured with the Talon at the hordes of beetle armoured Marines. “Wound up and pointed in the right direction. That's just the Black Legion, the others...” Abaddon folded his arms and leaned against one of his bodyguards, as though the Marine was nothing more than a piece of furniture. “Well, it's just not as simple as it would at first appear.”

 

Sorenton nodded. “Have you ever tried to get a platoon of the Emperor's finest up after three hours of sleep? With nothing to feed them but a promise of recycled protein. Knowing that they have to face unimaginable horrors from the depths of hell,” he stretched his neck. “And that's just the cultists. We aren't Space Marines, but we fought with everything we had against you.” He patted himself. “I'm still here, good try though.”

 

Abaddon stood straight as the lift continued down, and grabbed Sorenson by the throat with his left hand, holding the man to the edge of the lift. To his surprise Sorenson merely closed his eyes and went limp. Abaddon put him down gently.

 

“You don't fear me at all do you?” he said.

 

“No, I don't.” Sorensen rubbed the wheals on his neck, “Should I be afraid to die?”

 

“Maybe, but I could make you more afraid to live. At a single gesture I could make you beg for death, and you don't fear that?” The lift halted with a small bounce.

 

Sorensen shook his head. “You only have power through fear, ergo you have no power over me.”

 

Abaddon lifted the Talon, and with utmost care carved the first finger's blade along Sorensen's left cheek, making him wince. They stepped from the lift and Abaddon inclined his head at a group of cultists.

 

“Take him back to my quarters, give him anything that he wants.” He gently patted Sorensen's shoulder with his left hand, and walked to the Dreadclaw.

  • 2 weeks later...
  • 4 months later...
BlueWaterDragon Veteran

BlueWaterDragon

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Abaddon's honour guard fought through the swarms of insects with their usual gusto. As he watched from a perch high above the battle-field, a huge armoured creature tore a small daemon apart, and roared. The creature's behaviour interested the Warmaster, it appeared as though it were denied the final taste of flesh. It seemed as though the creature did not act of it's own volition, but rather at the behest of some other force. It ripped into a group of Traitor Guardsmen, dropping most of the pieces, it held onto a torso. Crooning to itself, it made to eat the morsel. Abaddon was only slightly distracted by the Talon firing at an advancing pack of ravening beasts. His eyes did not leave the creature as it screamed in rage and pain, the meat falling from it's clawed hands as they flew to cradle it's head.

 

Abaddon laughed and charged at it, his long, power armoured legs eating up the distance easily. The mighty blade Drach'nyen howled in his mind, a note of pure, unbridled joy in a cacophony of agony. The Talon squirmed on his hand bucking and wriggling as it unloaded a leaden hail into anything that crossed his path. It closed around the head of a largish beast, known as a Hive Tyrant and crushed it like an egg. He kicked a smaller creature as he crashed into the forward line. A mighty cheer rising from his men. He rode the beast to the ground crushing it flat, and stepping up to the next target. Time slowed for him as adrenaline rushed through his system and suddenly he was in front of the massive animal, it's back mounted blades scything down towards him.

 

It spat a green tinted venom at him and the stuff burned into his tabard. Abaddon looked briefly down at the smoking hole and as he raised his head he spat back at it. The creature screamed as Abaddon's acidic saliva blinded it in one eye. As it flailed at him he rammed Drach'nyen into the joint between it's upper and lower limbs. The creature reared, lifting him off of his feet, he used his considerable strength and inertia to flip himself onto the creature's back, the sword coming free as he reached the apex of his arc.

 

Strange green blood spewed from it's mouth as he thrust the Talon under the armour plate at the back of it's head. He could almost feel the blood trickling over the outside of his armour and he breathed hard, savouring the tastes on the air. He gave a sharp tug and as the body of the Carnifex fell, he rode it to the ground tossing the head casually onto the spikes of a tank. This drew another rousing cheer that echoed up and down the massed ranks of his men, spurring them to try and collect trophies of their own.

 

Far in the distance there came a different sound. It vibrated through the ground, like the rhythmic beating of a heart deep within the planet. In the mists, a dark shape loomed in the distance. Abaddon turned slowly, listening carefully as the reports, confused and garbled, sang through his vox implant.

 

“By the Powers it's huge.......

“Incoming!! What in the name of.....Arghhhhh!!

“We'r...akin....eavy.....ualties....othin....can....trate...not ...even......

“It's like a Daemon.....But not one I've ever seen before.”

 

“Who are you?” Abaddon demanded of the last speaker.

 

“ I'm the commander of the 45th Listening Outpost. Who are you, the Warmaster?”

 

“It's strange that you should say that.” Abaddon smiled savagely to himself. “I want to know everything you have seen, and then I want you to stay at your post. Pray to the Powers that you die in this battle. If you survive, I'm sending you and every single man you have in your command to the Emperor's Children in chains.”

 

“Yes m'Lord!” There was a satisfactory edge of terror to the man's voice.

 

The thumping was drawing closer, punctuated by a strange sound that even his enhanced hearing was having difficulty discerning. It sounded like the strangled cry of a wolf, but punctuated by a deeper bass as though it were sounded through a long length of metal tubing. The tide of chitinous bodies retreated as a piercing howl rent the air. Then the mists cleared.

 

Abaddon had to admit that it was beautiful in it's horror. It was a Bio-titan, a massive organic engine of terror. He sincerely wished that one could capture one and see what would happen if it were Possessed. His own Traitor Collegia Titanicus moved to engage and Abaddon returned to his perch on the rocks, and his bodyguard followed reluctantly. The battle raged on around him, as he thought about what Sorenton had to say.

 

What did the man mean? It had admittedly been a long time since Abaddon had commanded ground troops personally. He could not actually remember a time when he had been anything other than a Space Marine. If he really thought about it he had never had parents. Horus had been the closest thing he had had to a family. Sometimes he wondered if he might be wrong, if the Emperor had been right and if the Plan would succeed.

 

It was the first time he had walked away from a battle in his entire 10,000 year life-time.

  • 5 weeks later...
  • 2 years later...
BlueWaterDragon Veteran

BlueWaterDragon

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Ahem! Update!!

 

Edmund shuddered as he imagined the inhuman tortures that had taken place behind the dread portal that stood before him. He closed his eyes and stepped through to whatever fate lay beyond. Standing in the middle of the room. He looked around himself. It came as a surprise that the room was so very, basic. There was a large holo-emitter and it lit at Edmund's gentlest touch, displaying an ancient game that Edmund knew to be called 'chess'.

 

It was a long time since he had seen programming of this quality, the pieces were exquisitely sculpted in light. He touched one piece on the white side and it grew, the rest of the board disappearing, leaving it hanging in space as it were. It was an angel with a spear, Edmund ran his finger down one of the wings and imagined that he could feel the texture of the feathers. He pushed it gently and the board returned, he selected another piece, this time from the black side. It appeared to be Abaddon himself, but as he studied it more closely he realised that was someone else although the facial structure was extremely similar.

 

He looked around the rest of the room. Picking up an open bottle of wine that stood on the counter and sweeping the small sad pile of ash that was next to it onto the floor, he put it to his lips and drank. It tasted like molten heaven and he looked at the label. He would have spat it out, but after a swift calculation he realised it was more than just a fine vintage. It was roughly 400 years old, and was probably closer to a port than a wine. Edmund sincerely wished that he could have the taste forever. He was so intent on the flavour he did not notice the servant who entered the room almost crawling on it's belly. The bottle was heavy and Edmund was still strong, but his surprise did not last long. He breathed hard as he lowered the bottle.

 

Edmund could not tell if the shuddering, cowering figure was male or female. The lackey lowered it's arms, licking it's cracked and scarred lips nervously, the violent shaking lessening.

 

“Come with me, Captain.” It wheedled, beckoning hopefully and scuttling crab-wise towards the door.

 

Edmund went. Keeping a tight hold on the bottle.

 

“We cannot hurt you Captain. If, if anyone were to hurt or, or, or even kill you now, then their skin would be worth less to him than an oath to the, the Corpse.” The nervous stammer made it's head shake like a malfunctioning servitor.

 

“Oh.” Edmund looked at the bottle. “He won't be upset that I've taken this will he?”

 

“I doubt it.” the servant glanced at the bottle. “He has quite a lot of that, it is one of his favourites. It takes a lot to make.”

 

Edmund took a large swig and realised that he no longer cared about anything. It was not that the drink was potently alcoholic, it was just that it had been made for a stronger palate than his merely human one.

 

They had been walking down a long corridor, but now they stopped in front of a door. It opened at the servant's touch. It was the last thing Edmund expected to find on-board a ship like Planetkiller. A bathroom. With a large tub full of steaming hot water. Edmund stripped unashamedly and dropped into the water. It stung on his many injuries. As he lifted his left hand out of the foam and watched through a happy haze as the small cuts and bruises miraculously healed. He rested his head back and made himself comfortable amidst the heady fumes.

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