The Rise of the Warmaster

[calgar101]

This is blasphemy on the highest level! Burn traitorous scum! Burn!... Yes i mean umm keep writing.

[antique_nova]

Now would be a great time to add in a marine called Skirax :tu:.

[Skirax]

No! No marines called Skirax! :) I'm not a fan of the name much... I just couldn't think of any other name ;)

[Skirax]

Well, the one year anniversary is coming up soon, and so I thought I'd do a story to the best of my ability. I shall be an account of the final moments of the 40,000 universe... and consequently this thread too :D

 

Preview...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The dust particles around them fell to the ground, their short bouts of flight ending with a dying whisper. They looked about them, taking in the surroundings. The portal behind them roared and died, blinking out in a second and leaving them stranded on unknown soil. The first raised his golden skinned head, and roared to the sky;

‘WHY?!’, the cry would have split the ear drums of lesser beings, but as Primarchs, these men could drown out the cry of despair with ease, reducing the decibels so that it sounded but a mere whisper. Then he did whisper, sinking to his knees simultaneously, so that his knees sank into the golden sand, seeming as though he was a monster of myth, rearing out of the dunes to strike down all that would pass his way. This whisper was uttered to himself rather than to anything else, as though he could not understand what had just happened, though he knew full well. ‘Why?’ It was a feeble sound, and it was whipped away by the dying wind in an instant. He looked around at his brothers, fear and misunderstanding welling in his eyes. Lorgar stood up, long strips of the Liber Chaotica hanging from his golden skin, stapled on with working from the Soul Forge, and large books tattooed onto his shoulders and back, with the names of his Gods trailing down his arms and legs.

‘For what reason have we been sent here by the Gods? There must be something here that they wish of us?’

His brothers had no reply for him. They knew, as well as he did, that they had been as good as exiled.

[antique_nova]

Whos voice is it?

[Skirax]

‘For what reason have we been sent here by the Gods? There must be something here that they wish of us?’

His brothers had no reply for him. They knew, as well as he did, that they had been as good as exiled.

;)

 

Is that all that anyone can say? :)

[calgar101]

Ooh interesting teaser there.

[Skirax]

Tomorrow, it shall all end.

[antique_nova]

Your grammar mistakes and spelling mistakes or the story? :cuss

[calgar101]

End so soon? Damn well least i will have my story to keep me company :blink:

[antique_nova]

hey! What about mine? :blink:

[Skirax]

@antique_nova; both ;)

@calgar101; oh, there will be something too B)

[antique_nova]

both of what? I was talking about three options B).

[Skirax]

Exactly :wacko:

[Skirax]

The Finale

 

The dust particles around them fell to the ground, their short bouts of flight ending with a dying whisper. They looked about them, taking in the surroundings. The portal behind them roared and died, blinking out in a second and leaving them stranded on unknown soil. The first raised his golden skinned head, and roared to the sky;

‘WHY?!’, the cry would have split the ear drums of lesser beings, but as Primarchs, these men could drown out the cry of despair with ease, reducing the decibels so that it sounded but a mere whisper. Then he did whisper, sinking to his knees simultaneously, so that his knees sank into the golden sand, seeming as though he was a monster of myth, rearing out of the dunes to strike down all that would pass his way. This whisper was uttered to himself rather than to anything else, as though he could not understand what had just happened, though he knew full well. ‘Why?’ It was a feeble sound, and it was whipped away by the dying wind in an instant. He looked around at his brothers, fear and misunderstanding welling in his eyes. Lorgar stood up, long strips of the Liber Chaotica hanging from his golden skin, stapled on with working from the Soul Forge, and large books tattooed onto his shoulders and back, with the names of his Gods trailing down his arms and legs.

‘For what reason have we been sent here by the Gods? There must be something here that they wish of us?’

His brothers had no reply for him. They knew, as well as he did, that they had been as good as exiled.

 

Far away, on a remote planet in the universe of blood-shed and chaos, a small piece of peace existed. Rolling planes of beautiful green grass met towering forests of elegant trees that swayed in the cool breeze; these, in turn, gave way to rising mountains that touched the heavens with their tips, brushing the stars with their icy touch.

In a circle of stone, an Eldar Farseer’s eyes snapped open. His brothers and sister around him also opened their eyes; they, too, had seen it.

‘What shall we do, father?’ asked one, a young female, who had only recently gained her seeing abilities at the young age of two hundred and sixty.

‘There is nothing we can do, but follow the path that Fate has woven for us. The Chaos Gods are about to unleash their Legions upon the unknowing universe. There is no future for us,’ spoke the Farseer, his head bowed, and soft tears began to roll down his cheeks, making wet streaks down his pale skin. The entire assembly bowed their heads and closed their eyes, in a vain attempt to hold back the streams of tears that threatened to spill over their eyelids. Then the Farseer looked back up, and this time the look of depression and defeatism was replaced with an extreme sense of purpose, and his features were resolute with an aim that he would reach, should it end him. ‘We must end the existence of Dark Eldar’.

 

The Primarchs looked around them, and saw golden sand stretching off into the far distance on all sides apart from their right, where mountains loomed high overhead, and a small village sat at their feet. Small dots of light flickered from the shadows of the mountains, beckoning to them.

‘Where are we?’ asked Magnus, his form flickering with his words, as his projected image from the Warp struggling to multi-task.

‘I have no idea...’ said Konrad Curze, his eyes narrowing, and his tongue snaking out from behind his pale lips, as if it tasted the air. It flickered, and then withdrew, as the acrid atmosphere burnt his super sensitive tongue.

‘I do,’ spoke up Alpharius. ‘This is Nurth; a planet my Legion pacified in the Great Crusade.’

‘Which begs the question, why are we here?’ repeated Lorgar.

As if in answer, a huge tear in reality opened before them, roughly two or three metres in front of them; out of it drifted a wisp of air, almost invisible, but to their eyes, as clear as day. It seemed to turn towards the tear as it closed, and roared into it, ‘My name is Suroh!’

 

On T’au, Ethereal Un’hur held his staff before him in both hands, the top facing upwards. The crown of the staff was shining a deep golden light, and flickers of blue peeked from out of the halo of light, to curl around the staff and escape into the clean air.

So this is what it has come to, thought the Ethereal. Our Empire shall crumble, and the Imperium shall crush all that we have strived for.

His eyes darkened at the sight of the man before him, standing perfectly still, towering over him, his shadow falling over Un’hur like a cloak, shielding him from the burning sun of T’au. ‘My Lord, I ask of you; why the Tau? Why use us, of all the races, why us? We are young, and are mere students in the classroom of the Galaxy,’ asked Un'hur.

‘That is the reason,’ said the stranger. ‘You are learning, and so you are free of taint. With the guidance of us, you were able to stay so, and now you are ready. The veil that is Ultramar shields you from the horror of the Universe beyond, all because of our doing. The Tyranids have not come to you because of us, shielding you from their gaze. But now, it is time; you will go out and spread the word of the Greater Good without us watching over you, younglings.’

Un’hur bowed, and left the room.

The stranger sighed, and walked over to the viewing port of the room, his footfalls silent as he trod on the white floor. He looked out, and saw the thousands of Tau ships rising from the landing pads, going out to join the fleet waiting in orbit. He heard Un'hur leave, and the door close behind him. From the shadows, his men stepped out, and stood beside him.

‘What do you wish of us, my Liege?’ asked one of the men.

‘Go with them. Teach them. Shield them. Aid them. But do not let them know,’ he said.

The men bowed, and they left the room.

Once more, the man sighed. ‘Five thousand long years.’

Omegon smiled.

It had been worth every second.

 

In Camorragh, a bright light shone like a new born star, illuminating the dark reaches of the dark port for a brief second, chasing the shadows out, hounding them beyond the gates and into the webway. The light shone for what seemed ages, then it coalesced and span, whipping up the dead air, bringing a cold breeze to Camorragh. Then it imploded, falling in on itself with the power of a thousand atom bombs, and a rip in reality opened. Out of the breach poured the largest warhost of Eldar that had ever been seen; all of the craftworld Farseers and leaders had put aside their differences, to storm the Dark Eldar’s stronghold, wiping them from the face of existence. Guardians poured out, followed by Wraithlords, Avatars, Wraithguard and unending waves of Wave Serpents. The Dark Eldar rallied, gathering into ramshackle bands of fighters, and rushing to engage the invaders that would dare face them in their homes. The fighting was quick and brutal, but the Dark Eldar realised that there was too many of their old brethren for them, and so withdrew to lick their wounds in dark corners of the webway.

 

The Primarch stared at each other; how could it be? Suroh was clearly Horus backwards, but how could their brother have returned when the Emperor had wiped all traces of him clear from the face of reality? There was no rhyme, nor rhythm to it; it was just madness. Then they realised why they were here; they were to watch over him. To guide him, watch from the shadows and lure his targets into place. All of their existences had led to this one moment, and they would answer the call, whether they liked it or not.

 

Roboute Guilliman stood at the highest point of the Citadel of Macragge, the entire collection of the psykers gathered before him. All communications arrays were active on Macragge, and many had been set up within the Citadel to amplify the waves.

‘Is everyone read?’ he asked? A chorus of roars met him, and he smiled. ‘Then let the beacon be lit.’

The psykers closed their eyes, and roared out into the warp, their combined consciousness setting the Warp afire, send Daemons screaming in every which direction. The Shadow in the Warp was illuminated, and everything psyker recoiled in disgust at the true form that the Shadow had been hiding.

Across the galaxy, thousands of Psykers died; Sorcerers, Librarians, Farseers, Ethereals, Wierdboyz, Inquisitors, everything.

The unconscious, dormant psyker potential of every being was awakened, and a dark thing with it.

The Astronomican burned with the power of a billion suns as souls were sacrificed to it in an instant.

The Star God laughed as his fellow Gods were scorched, broken, their forms weakened and their Legions smashed asunder, while he merely absorbed any souls that came his way.

In one, horrific moment of the universe, the Warp and Reality itself screamed in pain, and a dark being was awoken in the depths of the Warp.

 

And then everything fell silent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the dying moments of the 41st millennium, there was no war.

All things retreated to prepare for the coming of the End.

To lick their wounds.

To re-arm.

To gather their forces.

For the End.

 

In the last moments of a war torn existence, where death was everywhere, there was peace.

The dying ceased. The suffering stopped. The supply of souls to the Gods of the Universe faltered, but for a second.

No dying.

No suffering.

No war.

For one, shining moment, there was peace amongst the stars.

 

Then the Emperor opened his eyes.

 

The Fleet of Suroh entered realspace from the Eye of Terror.

 

And the galaxy exploded with war.

 

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Well guys, it's been fun, and, one year after I began, I've stopped. The Saga shall continue, but not here. Not this thread, I mean. I'm going to take a short break from the Short Stories section, and will return at, roughly Easter time. So, goodbye, loyal fans. It truly has been the best year, thanks to you.

[calgar101]

Wow, so many questions, so many answers. Avery climatic end to what was a wonderful and action packed story. There has to be more though? Very well done Skirax.

[Skirax]

Oh, this is not the end.

 

 

This is merely the beginning.

[calgar101]

Thats good then, means i don't have to write much of my own story now :)

[Skirax]

:lol: yeah...

 

Check the update post, there is a little note at the end.

 

For those of you who can't be asked (;)) here it is:

 

Well guys, it's been fun, and, one year after I began, I've finished, supported by loyal fans all the way, and my wierd parody of the Time of Ending being well recieved. The Saga shall continue, but not here. Not this thread, I mean. I'm going to take a short break from the Short Stories section, and will return at... roughly Easter time. So, goodbye, loyal fans. It truly has been the best year, thanks to you.

[antique_nova]

That's one down and two more to go in this trilogy of yours :rolleyes:.

[Skirax]

Ah, the Trilogy... who knows, it may expand into a Saga... :D

 

Does anyone want a preview of the things to come?

[Tutteman]

Does anyone want a preview of the things to come?

 

...Silly question really... :)

[calgar101]

Yes please Skirax ^_^

[Skirax]

'SPARTANS! PREPARE FOR GLORY!'

A thousand voices were heard, uttering one response; 'HARGH!', and a thousand Thunder Hammers clattered against a thousand Storm Shields. Then a chorus of clattering Terminator Suits echoed around the street as the Spartans crouched, in a ready stance. Before them, the Traitors stood, their undisciplined ranks jeering and yelling at them. The stench of the Warp hung over those bastards like a dark cloud, wisps of warp energy rising up from their putrid forms. The large plane of flattened building was filled with renegades and mutants, large war machines standing out like sore, deformed thumbs from the crowd.

On a huge warp beast, a Sorcerer rode forward, his tongue snaking out of his lips, licking the crusted skin around his disgusting mouth.

‘Spartans! Lay down your weapons!’ he roared, followed by a chorus of jeers from the crowd.

There was a moment of silence, that seemed to pierce the minds of all on the field.

Then, out of nowhere, a Thunder Hammer came roaring out from the ranks of Terminators.

It flew across the rubble.

And took the Sorcerers head clean off.

‘Traitors!’ roared Rogal Dorn, to which the first few rows of Terminators crouched lower, brought their shields forward and formed a shield wall. ‘Come and get them!’

In an instant, the delicate moment of peace fell apart, and the waves of Traitors surged forwards.

[Lorgars Servent]

Now that was cool!