Dominus Ex Ferrum

[FerrumIgnatus]

I tried to find a sub-forum marked "Fluff/background stuff" but couldn't find any, so I hope the moderators on the B&C forum approve that I post my IW fluff here. Anyhow, as some of you might now, I've been planning to build a Iron Warriors allied Warlord Titan, and to feed the hungry maws of the background/fluff-devourers out there, I decided to write a few words -only about 1.900 words- on how my Warlord, the Dominus Ex Ferrum came into being. Without further stallments, I give you my background fluff on the Lord of Iron. -spice up with some mustard or ketchup if you please.-

 

Dominus Ex Ferrum

Lord of Iron

 

The enormous hall was dim-lighted. Here and there, the bleak sunlight came down in thin rays to the floor, dust swirling in the rays of light. The smell of blood and oil was everywhere, and there was chanting to be heard somewhere in the centre of the gravity-defying hall. But there was something else. The figure in heavily modified Terminator armour didn’t know what it was, but he could hear whispers of promises of power and glory. His face was obscured by darkness, but the figure curled his lips in a snarl as he heard the whispers. Daemons. The powers of the Empyrean were leaking into the enormous hall. He could feel it in every part in his body, the daemon-powered bionics pulsating with warp energy. He smiled. The thought of these lesser daemons even thinking of taking over his body made him shook his head. Pathetic beings. His iron will wouldn’t allow that, and ever since the entity of the warp had possessed him, although it was for merely a few seconds, the daemons in his bionics knew all to well that they didn’t stand a chance at their master’s will.

Behind him, respectfully at a distance, a little hooded figure with ribbed piping extending from behind its back and into –what was supposed to be- its skull shuffled across the floor. A single, glowing blue light –possibly its bionic eye- emitted from one side of its hooded face. The little creature struggled as it tried to carry its master’s arcane and heavy combi-melta, its surface polished and oiled as if it was freshly stamped in a forge only seconds ago. In truth, this weapon had seen countless battles, and had been in service for almost ten thousand years. Further back walked his retinue, Chaos Terminators with tusked, snarling helmets, wide shoulder guards adorned with spikes and chains, and bearing ceremonial cloaks made of the hide of some unknown horror that stalked the mountain range on this planet. They were closing in on the source of the warp power that pulsated from the centre of the hall.

The centre of the hall was lit with diabolic red light, eight pointed chaos stars and powerful chaos runes blazing red on a immense throne made of dark iron, its edges trimmed with brass, and pulsating, red-glowing tendrils snaked its way across the surface. A armoured behemoth sat on the throne, its massive size occupying almost every inch of the enormous hall, the only space left was above its hunched, armoured form. Scores of Dark Mechanicus adepts worked all over the leviathan, either chanting or etching powerful chaos wards on its hull. A throng of terrified slaves, chained to the floor and guarded by ten power armoured warriors armed with crude, spiked clubs stood in front of its massive armoured legs, and a lone figure with an tattooed face and dressed in a ice blue robe stood on a raised isle made of the same dark iron as the throne. The sorcerer was nervous. If he failed in his task to summon a daemon to bind with the armoured behemoth, his master would turn him into a mindless, mutating mess of flesh. He had no interests into becoming a spawn, so he would use all of his powers to ensure the summoning would succeed. He opened a vox link to one of his pet adepts, his voice growing impatiently.

“Is the daemonvessel linked with the God of War yet?”

“Almost, master. A few more rituals and the daemonvessel will be ready to receive the Daemon.”

“Then be done with it!” The sorcerer snarled, closing the vox link.

On the command bridge, situated in the head of the armoured behemoth a pair of Dark Mechanicus Adepts hurried the completion of linking the daemonvessel to the raised command chair of the bridge. The daemonvessel, a captive Princeps, was heavily dulled by powerful sedatives, but the hatred that burned in his heart would fuel the daemon that would take possession of his body, and thereby command of the armoured leviathan. Mechandendrites replaced the fingertips of his hands, all manners of thin power couplings and cables snaked from implants in his body to the command chair the Princeps was surgically implanted on. His eyes were stitched close, as the daemon wouldn’t need the Princeps’ eyes to see. The moment the warp entity would take possession of its host, it would become one with the armoured behemoth. The connection to the God of War was complete. One of the Dark Mechanicus adepts opened up a vox link to the sorcerer as another finished etching a eight-pointed star on the Princeps’ breastplate.

“Master, we are ready.” The adept said.

“Very well.” Replied the sorcerer. With a nod, he signalled towards the ten Iron Warriors who guarded the slaves to kill their captives and start the ritual. The throng of slaves were sent screaming to their deaths as the power armoured warriors clubbed them to a bloody pulp. Whilst the blood of the slaves flowed through small channels that made out a gigantic eight pointed star on the floor where the throne the armoured behemoth sat upon, the sorcerer whispered arcane words of power. Slowly, the blood-filled, eight-pointed star began to light up with a hellish red glow, and raw chaos power, flowed directly from the Empyrean.

“So it begins…” whispered the Iron Warrior Sorcerer.

“Gods of Chaos, hear my call! I, Kharvaal Silvertongue, Chief Sorcerer of the Iron Warriors 45th Grand Company under currently command of Warsmith Malach Dhar Cerberus, offer you the blood of these captives in return for a daemonic possession of this armoured behemoth.”

Kharvaal took a break from his speech, listening carefully if any deity would answer his call. Nothing. A little pearl of sweat ran down his forehead, and Kharvaal felt uneasy. Suddenly, by some unseen force, one of the ten Iron Warriors that had guarded the slaves was lifted up and hang suspended mid-air for a second before exploding in a bloody, red cloud. Shortly afterwards, the other warriors met a likewise end. The red clouds gathered to a single great cloud, and a smile formed on Kharvaal’s face.

“Kharvaal Silvertongue, you’re call has been answered.” A booming voice said, and the red mist disappeared in the joints and cracks between the armour plates of the leviathan. Metal groaned, viscous, mad laughter filled the hall, and the cockpit view slits of the Warlord Titan lightened up with a hellish red glow. Armour plates cracked as the Daemon within adapted itself to it’s new home. Twisted, metal spikes grew through the armour, daemonic flesh bounded itself with metallic components, and little by little, the Daemon took possession of the massive war-machine. A voice filled with authority came from behind and made the sorcerer turn and look directly into the eyes of the Warsmith.

“I assume you have succeeded into summoning a daemon to take possession of the princeps and the moderati of the Warlord Titan, Kharvaal?”

“Yes, Lord Cerberus. The summoning has been completed.”

The Warsmith looked at the heap of mangled human bodies and blown apart shreds of power armour.

“At the expense of ten of my warriors?”

“Unfortunately, yes, my Lord. A Daemon’s nature is not meant to be controlled, and the lives of those warriors ensured the daemon’s possession of the Titan crew.”

Cerberus’ lips turned into a snarl, and for a brief moment, the sorcerer shivered in fear. The Warsmith stepped up to him on the raised isle, and held the face of Kharvaal in the grip of his bionic arm. The ice cold touch made the sorcerer shiver more, and the daemonic powers in the metal made the tattoos on his face burn in agony.

“Know this, lackey of Tzeentch, we are Iron Warriors, and we do not worship Chaos in the same way as you do. We might be aligned together under the Banner of Chaos, but we use its powers to achieve our own goals not the other way around. Do you understand, Silvertongue?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Kharvaal said, relieved that the Warsmith lessened his grip.

“Very well. Then be done with the ritual. I have need for your services elsewhere.” The Warsmith said, nodding to one of his Terminator bodyguards. The armoured figured stepped forwards, and held an arcane combi-plasma in his right hand and a huge thunder hammer in his left hand. Kharvaal nodded, and turned to face the titan again.

“Daemon of Chaos, do you approve your new host?” a voice boomed across the hall again, sending thousands of tiny psychic daggers into Kharvaal’s brain.

“Yes, Kharvaal Silvertongue. I find this host very…interesting.” The Warsmith stepped forward, pushing Kharvaal aside.

“Daemon, I am Malach Dhar Cerberus, Warsmith of the 45th Grand Company and your new master. Obey me, and I will promise you an eternity of slaughter and blood in the name of Chaos."

The booming voice turned into a mocking laughter that shook the hall to its very foundations.

“You dare to assume you can command me, mortal?”

“I assume not, Daemon. I demand.”

The titan began to shake, as if it strained to raise itself. Bundles of fibre-muscles and countless of hydraulics tried in vain to raise the armoured behemoth from the dark iron throne, but it had been chained to the throne with powerful chaos wards and arcane runes. The daemon roared in anger as it tried to power up the titan’s guns, but the Dark Mechanicus adepts had disconnected the weapon systems in order to prevent a fire frenzy.

“Bow to me, Daemon, and I will give you enemies to kill and worlds to destroy.” Cerberus said, a wry smile forming on his lips.

There was a sudden silence in the hall, not even a sound of industry that even one of Cerberus hardened veterans in Terminator armour felt uneasy, looking to one of his comrades for re-assurance. Then the booming voice came back.

“Very well, Malach Dhar Cerberus. I am yours to command.”

The Warsmith smiled, and nodded to the Terminator standing next to him. The Terminator grabbed the arm of Kharvaal and dragged him to the feet of the Warlord titan. Kharvaal screamed in terror, realising what his new assignment meant. He was dragged towards one of the titan’s legs, it’s shin armour plate adorned with gothic arches. The Terminator held the terrified sorcerer in front of him, and as hard as Kharvaal tried, he could not get loose of the iron grip of the Iron Warrior Terminator. In front of them, in one of the gothic arches, the armour started to run fluent like some sort of liquid, and out of the liquid armour came a pair of daemonic arms and dragged the screaming sorcerer into the liquid armour. The Terminator took a few steps backwards as he saw the terrified face of Kharvaal reappeared, his expressions shifting from mute screaming to mute wailing. The Warsmith stepped forwards and smiled at the macabre show that writhed along the surface of the inside of the gothic arch.

“Seems like Kharvaal has a pleasant time in there.” Cerberus chuckled, turned and walked away. The Dominus Ex Ferrum had taken it’s first of countless victims in the years to come.

[Brother Nihm]

If you want to, you can post it : here.