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The Rise of the Warmaster


Skirax

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Coming 10th January:

 

As Ahriman bent down to inspect the small artifact, his deamon-weapon hissed and the world changed around him again. The sensation was horrifying once more, his guts churning and his whole body deforming, reforming and then deforming again. Finally it settled on one form, and he was glad to find that it was his original one.

He pondered over the knowledge he had unlocked, how it had nearly drove him insane, and whether he should speak it, preach it to the masses.

In the end, he decided not to. He realised that, if he was driven to near insanity, then lesser minds - and that meant damn near everyone else - would be driven beyond insanity; so far, that they wouldn't even be useful as cannon fodder.

Then, just as he realised this, the knowledge now in his mind connected with other scraps of information, and kept on, and on, and on, unrestrained knowledge filling his mind and coursing through him.

As he stood there, his own mind frying itself, a dark figure looked on. Streams of mist surrounded him and kept him hidden from view, with dark crimson eyes blazing out from the living shadow. Then a roar of power came from beneath him, and the figure leapt forward, out of the mist and darkness, and revealed himself.

Powering through the darkness, Jaghatai Khan raised his ancient blade, power thrumming though it, setting it ablaze with light blue electricity. He arced it backwards, then brought it round as he flew through the void.

The sleek metal passed unhindered through Ahrimans neck, not even the strengthened bone of the traitor Astartes slowing it. Whether Ahriman felt pain in his final seconds is unknown, but the Khan carried on through the darkness, never slowing, always moving, until he came to a speck of light. He grinned at the fact that his universe still existed; at least, for now.

 

As he exploded into the realm of the living, a speck of ligt appeared in the Black Library, hidden away, deep in Camorragh; but that is another part of the story.

The Great Khan

The webway is a part of reality that is incredibly hard to penetrate. It takes a long time to gather any kind of means to enter it, and even if you can, it is so vast and full of winding pathways and hidden sections that it is impossibly hard to map and catalogue. It is a pathway that connects all Craft Worlds and, in the darkest reaches of it’s improbable existence, Camorragh, the home of the Dark Eldar, a living shrine to Slaanesh and the centre of all Dark Eldar activities in the real universe.

In the dark void, after ten millennia, something happened. The emptiness warped and twisted, light spilling in for a second and then dissipating in an instant. A tall figure, covered in ornate, if not mind-bending, ceramite armour. The armour was in turn covered in robes, a creamy colour then seemed to glow. The ceramite was a sky-blue, small ancient runes etched in to the armour. Golden trim, inlaid with intricate styling’s and prayers to the God of Mutation, lined the whole of the armour, in some instances, daring to stray inward into the sea of blue ceramite, in the shape of arrows or points. In the blackness of the webway, stood Ahriman.

He looked around him, his helmet creaking as it turned. Seeing himself unaccompanied, he chuckled. He had thrown of the trailer and was now free to work his magik. He bowed his head, chanting softly and turning his hands about him with a smooth but menacing movement. A soft light lit up between his hands, growing slowly but lighting up the area around him with ease. Suddenly, with a great sucking noise, and a contortion of the growing light, like a tiny black hole, Ahriman disappeared into himself, his whole self caving in.

The sensation was horrifying, his mind aching within a split second, he passed through the teleport device’s mind-bending warp-jump, and landed somewhere in the dark depths of Camorragh. He shook his head, throwing off the cloying sensation of the jump and clearing his twisted mind. He approached the edge of the small dwelling which he was in, and saw the vast expanses of the dark port stretched out before him.

Ships of all sizes came and went, their hulls decorated with prayers and symbols of Slaanesh. Hundreds of Dark Eldar and their captives and servants milled around the docked ships, and crude versions of service servitors repaired undocked ships and prepared them for their docking. Warp beasts ran amok in collection and summoning pits, their masters watching over them, ensuring none strayed too far from the pack.

Ahriman turned round and inspected the dwelling he was in; it was empty, but at the back there was a golden light that haloed a strange doorway. It had strange drawings on it and even stranger script, from which he could pick out some words which he knew; Imperium, darkness and, strangely, Horus. The Arch-Traitor?

A sudden realisation dawned on Ahriman; could this be what he has searched for his whole life? Could this be... he dared not wish it, in case it were not true, and his hopes were dashed like many times before, and he live in sorrow for many more years, his every will spent in his search. He approached slowly, taking careful, tentative steps in case the doorway was to disappear should he tread too heavily. Finally he came to the black steps that led up to it, and the sheer size of it took his breath away; it was massive, towering over him like he towered the idiot mortals who would stand against him. He pushed the doors open, and his mind was taken from him...

 

He awoke a while later, his head burning and his body aching. He was lay on the floor, the cold black marble dented in places where he had fallen. He stood up, and realised that he had entered the Black Library, for his head was full of knowledge that was never there before; he knew how to kill the Chaos Gods, knowledge that his patron God would not just kill for, but slaughter for. He saw how to destroy the Imperium, and how to bring about the true death of the Corpse God. He laughed, at first it cold and calculating, but it soon escalating into a mad cackle of hatred and joy. He activated the warp-jumper, but this time he was not hurt, for he knew how to control pain. This knowledge flooded through his body, and the only thing to cross his mind was elation.

The sensation was strange this time, his guts churning and his whole body deforming, reforming and then deforming again. Finally it settled on one form, and he was glad to find that it was his original one.

He pondered over the knowledge he had unlocked, how it had nearly drove him insane, and whether he should speak it, preach it to the masses.

In the end, he decided not to. He realised that, if he was driven to near insanity, then lesser minds - and that meant damn near everyone else - would be driven beyond insanity; so far so, that they wouldn't even be useful as cannon fodder.

Then, just as he realised this, the knowledge now in his mind connected with other scraps of information, and kept on, and on, and on, unrestrained knowledge filling his mind and coursing through him.

As he stood there, his own mind frying itself, a dark figure looked on. Streams of mist surrounded him and kept him hidden from view, with dark crimson eyes blazing out from the living shadow. Then a roar of power came from beneath him, and the figure leapt forward, out of the mist and darkness, and revealed himself.

Powering through the darkness, Jaghatai Khan raised his ancient blade, power thrumming though it, setting it ablaze with light blue electricity. He arced it backwards, then brought it round as he flew through the void.

The sleek metal passed unhindered through Ahrimans neck, not even the strengthened bone of the traitor Astartes slowing it. Whether Ahriman felt pain in his final seconds is unknown, but the Khan carried on through the darkness, never slowing, always moving, until he came to a speck of light. He grinned at the fact that his universe still existed; at least, for now.

 

As he exploded into the realm of the living, a speck of light appeared in the Black Library, hidden away, deep in Camorragh; but that is another part of the story.

nice, after reading it for the first time. it sounds like the black library is hidden within the depths of commoragh. i very very much doubt that, the harlequins would never do such a thing and the dark eldar would be slaughtered. However, this chapter is more of a teaser of the real thing like mine! i like that :jaw:.

thanks

antique_nova

I feel liek I kinda let you guys down :mellow: It wasn't the best I've written, I was a bit tired and in limbo between bed and alertness. I will redo it, I'd hate for my writings to have a black dot on them. But like you say nova, this is a teaser...

 

Any help with improving it?

lol, yea. make the rest of the chapter! if you intended for a teaser then leave it as a teaser. Remember not every paragraph must be actions packed etc, sometimes you need the human mind to calm down and prepare for another clue, action etc. B)

thanks

antique_nova

Remember not every paragraph must be actions packed etc, sometimes you need the human mind to calm down and prepare for another clue, action etc. :D

thanks

antique_nova

I thought I didn't make every paragraph action-packed, like the one where he finds the door?

Coming...soon :)

 

Kilox raised his head, his arms still spread wide and the back of his neck burnt by the desert sun. He gazed around, a look of triumph on his twisted face. The many sorcerers still had their heads bowed, chanting softly under their breath. The mystical lyrics made the atmosphere tense and hostile; behind his little conglomeration, a full company of Renegade Guard stood ready, just in case their little operation came under attack. Their faces glistened with sweat, and coughs and sneezes could be heard from the mass of heretics. However, this large assembly was dwarfed by the giant presence that stood around the Sorcerer’s Circle; three full squads of Thousand Sons stood at ease, their armour shining with mystical light, the pure essence of the warp emitting off of them like heat; amidst these giants, there were men like them, but in different armour colour and with different symbols on their left shoulder guard; the stark contrast between the glistening blue and scratched gold of the Thousand Sons and the deep crimson of the Word Bearers made the eyes hurt; the warp seemed to radiate from them as though they were like the Deamons they served.

Kilox looked around, a broad smile on his face, and sweats running slowly down it. However, when he saw the sorcerers stop chanting, his smile faded quickly as he realised that the bond had been broken and, even if he was still alive, Ahriman was stuck in the webway and could never return. He threw his head back, and screamed, at first the sound deep and rumbling, then turning note and rising an octave, becoming a shrill cry of hate and regret. Everything, everything had been a run up to this point; T’zeentch himself awaited the return of his herald, and the knowledge of all things. But this would never happen now. The sacrifice too much, thought Kilox , as he looked upon the slaughtered Renegades over in the distance, piled high with blood flowing like a river around the mountain.

Every one of the assembled figures’ heads snapped up at his scream, and the mortals trembled in fear.

After many minutes, Kilox lowered his head and ended his scream. As he stared at the ground, wondering what to do next, the earth groaned.

Taken aback, he looked around, wondering what had happened. Hoping that it was a void-gate opening for Ahriman, his face lit up. But as rocks around him shook and sand began to cascade down the dunes, he knew it couldn’t be.

‘Earthquake!’ yelled one of the humans. Kilox shook his head slowly, knowing full well what it was. His fears were confirmed when he looked to the horizon, and saw a dark line spread along it, followed by a great dust cloud that rose high in the air.

‘Orks...’ breathed Kilox.

How wrong he was.

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