The Laughing Warrior

[Jonas Stromclaw]

This is just an idea I've had floating around for a while.

 

“It is known to the wisest among the races of our galaxy that the warp is a reflection of our emotions. When those emotions run rampant, when they build into a mounting crescendo, they can give birth to an entire new race of warp entities. In the case of xenos races such as the ork and eldar these psychic emanations in the Imaterium are focused into the entities they call “gods.” These forces, while sometimes giving aid to their followers, are no true threat to humanity. It is our own daemons that are more likely to cause our destruction. Khorne is our rage, Tzeentch our desire for power, Nurgle the embodiment of humanity’s desire to avoid death, and Slaanesh the greed to fulfill our base lusts. Yet what of the purer human emotions? What of loyalty, of sacrifice, of the defiance of our armies as the darkness closes in? Do these not have a place in the Warp, do they not feed entities who might aid us?”

 

Last words of Radical Inquisitor Amos Bartok before his execution for heresy

 

The Forty-First Millennium is dying, and with it the Imperium is dying as well. Across a thousand worlds alien horrors and daemonic traitors assault the realm of Man. Billions die in the blink of an eye, sacrificed to buy just one more day for the Golden Throne. Yet within this morass of death, bravery can be found.

 

On a verdant world far from Terra, warriors armored in red and black drop into the teeth of a hive fleet. The last of their chapter, they roar their defiance and, in the fires of their doom, deny the tyranids biomass enough to conquer sectors. Upon noble Cadia, adjacent to Occulis Terriblis, a guardsman gives his last breath to press the detonator, destroying Chaos Titans in the upheaval of his Kasr. Deep within the Eye itself the last wolf gives way to the beast within so that he may avenge his brothers’ deaths. On these worlds and across hundreds more come tales of defiance, of bravery, of weak men standing strong in the face of utter annihilation. Their cries echo and combine into one almighty shout, ringing through the cosmos. In the depths of the warp, this cry is answered…

 

The birth cry of the new god rends psykers’ souls in twain, slaying those too weak to withstand the sudden assault. In an instant the Imaterium is quieted, the eddies and swirls of its storms blown to calm in one almighty blast. Ships are scattered far and wide, their Navigators blinded and directionless in the aftershocks of the psychic assault. A new entity arises in the warp, a mountain armored in iron and steel. The Laughing Warrior, the Relentless One, Unfaltering, the One against the Many.

 

The Great Game of the Four is overthrown as the One enters the arena. Their machinations are swept aside in his assault. Fortress of blood and palaces of silk are laid to waste as ancient plans and virulent decay are undone. And for a moment, the realm of Man knows relief.

 

But only a moment.

[Dorns Padawan]

And the rest???????????? Dude where is the rest???????????????????? You cannot leave us dangling like this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That was so freakin' cool!!!!!!! I love the opening to it from the Inquisitor and then afterwards, whoa!!!!!!!!!!!!! Please tell me there is more??????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is really good!!!!!!!! :P :) :)

[astartes88]

Well now thats an idea for ya. Please continue....

[calgar101]

woah, that makes you want, nay, need to read more! Please fulfill our needs quickly!

[Skirax]

Awesome. Just damn awesome.

[Jonas Stromclaw]

Wow, y'all actually like it? Huh, and here was me thinking this thread would burn in the fire of fluff nazi rage... Anyway, its good that I'm on vacation, I can probably have more up by tomorrow.

[Nacho Wolf]

Dude, this is great! when I saw the title Ithought it was about Lukas the Trickster, but this is so much better! Now, give us more :D

[Jonas Stromclaw]

Even as he is born the Relentless One launches his assaults. The Great Game of the Four is widened as the Fifth enters play. His troops, lesser warp entities drawn to his power, are given form by his thoughts. They take upon the shape of men, but broader and taller, little difference between their iron armor and stone hides. Their weapons are tall halberds whose blades glow with silver light and darts of pure starfire shoot from the tips of their weapons. The more powerful entities that join him look as to be men melded with statues of lions in the style of ancient centaurs. The deadliness of their bows is matched only by the lethality of their claws.

 

The Laughing Warrior smiles as he looks upon his army, but something is missing. He has no generals, no great entities like those who serve his foes. No one among his host can stand alone against the likes of Doombreed or Ghargauloth, for such mighty warriors require a true soul from the mortal world to create and anchor them. And so as the war within the Warp rages, the One against the Many casts his gaze into the next realm to spy who might become the first of his greatest servants.

 

*****

 

Colonel Morrison of the Kaldrius Seventh Infantry Regiment dives behind the earthworks as yet another artillery barrage whistles toward his position. He and his soldiers have been fighting tooth and nail to hold back the tide of traitorous scum assaulting the mining world of Minska for two months. Pushed from position to position, they have lost most of the super continent and hold only the planetary capital. Not even the recent inexplicable loss of the Iron Warrior’s daemon allies has slowed their merciless advance. Morrison waves a vox operator forward and takes the mouth piece.

 

“One one kay seven here!” he shouts into the mike. “I need counter battery fire on those positions now! We’re getting pounded out here and-.” Another artillery blast interrupts the conversation in a crackle of static as fragments whip past, destroying both the vox’s antennae and its operator. Morrison barely has time to curse before the cry goes up.

 

“Here they come again!”

 

He looks over the edge of the trench across the pocked no-man’s-land. Tall warriors in bulky plate bearing all manner of heavy weapons have arisen from their positions. Their armor is coated in eye-aching symbols and many among their number bear mutations. Morrison, long since jaded to the pain of the chaotic sigils, makes a rough head count. Nearly sixty Iron Warrior traitors, more than ever before. He shouts to his soldiers. “First Company, hold them back, for the Throne!”

 

He says the words, but does not feel them. Morrison had long ago decided that the Emperor had abandoned his people, that the Throne offered no help. He aims down his lasgun and opens fire.

 

The two autocannon positions he has left are quickly destroyed by missile fire from a traitor whose armor is coated in pus and boils. First Company’s last mortar squad has more luck, but is quickly targeted by an overflying hostile fighter bomber. The craft is swiftly shot down by the Hydra cannons mounted on the city walls, but it shows Morrison how determined the enemy are in this latest assault. The remaining small arms fire drops three, perhaps four traitors before the enemy closes. A screaming giant, his armor covered in gore, races past his fellows and leaps into the trench. He cuts down two soldiers with his roaring chainaxe before turning on the Colonel. As the blade descents Morrison tries to draw his power saber, but knows it will be too late.

 

Time stops.

 

Morrison stumbles backward, and then rises to see that his body has not moved. The battlefield is frozen, soldiers and traitors with no more animation than statues. He sees bullets, completely still, in midair.

 

The Colonel finds that he can move freely, observing the battle like a ghost. He sees his soldiers, fear evident on their faces, contrasting with the bloody joy of their foes. He counts the dead on his side, then leaves the trench to number the enemy casualties. The resulting tally tells him what he already knows; his company may kill a few, but the traitors will carry the day with no effort. Morrison returns to the sight of his own death, admiring the accurate sweep of the berzerker’s axe that will perfectly bisect him from shoulder to groin. He sees his own face and is surprised to note that it shows no fear, only bitter determination to accomplish a task beyond his reach.

 

“I can give you what you need to accomplish it.”

 

The Colonel turns, startled by the intruding voice. It seems to come from both everywhere and nowhere at once, a surreal presence on this spectral battlefield.

 

“I can give you the power to crush this foolish servant of Khorne and millions like him.”

 

“Where are you, show yourself!”

 

Between the trench and the advancing line of traitors a shimmering light appears. It forms into a tall warrior, equal in size to the greater daemons who Morrison had seen fight beside the Iron Warriors. It is proportioned differently than a man, broader with seemingly no neck. It is garbed in what seems to be iron plates and its hide is made of stone. In its hands it holds a massive pole arm that the Colonel recognizes as a halberd. Its face is merely blackness behind the sinister T-shaped visor of its helm. Morrison felt no fear. In fact, the creature seemed to radiate an aura of defiance, belligerence, and a strange kind of joy. It made Morrison want to fight for the sheer fun of it.

 

“Who are you?” he asks it.

 

It tilts its head, considering the question. “I? I have no name. I suppose it is time I chose one.”

“I am Tarroc, the One against the Many, and I have an offer for you.”

 

 

 

This was kind of a rush job, so comments and critique are welcome.

[Legio Draconis]

I like it, would love to see what you can come up with, when you take your time.

[Dark Apostle Thirst]

Careful. This is starting to smell awesome. As preached so fervently in the Liber, cool is better than awesome.

 

Just a word of advice I find myself taking often, so I figured you might be able to profit from it as well.

[Jonas Stromclaw]

Careful. This is starting to smell awesome. As preached so fervently in the Liber, cool is better than awesome.

 

Just a word of advice I find myself taking often, so I figured you might be able to profit from it as well.

"scratches head"

Um, I don't get it. Is it a compliment or warning, and if the later, what does it mean?

[Nacho Wolf]

Like the update, but is Tarroc a good guy or another chaos god?

[Dark Apostle Thirst]

Careful. This is starting to smell awesome. As preached so fervently in the Liber, cool is better than awesome.

 

Just a word of advice I find myself taking often, so I figured you might be able to profit from it as well.

"scratches head"

Um, I don't get it. Is it a compliment or warning, and if the later, what does it mean?

A warning. Most people don't like UM because "They are the best Sapce Marines". This has potential, and I don't want it to be so heavily frosted with awesome it becomes boring due to this guy being the best Chaos God.

[Jonas Stromclaw]

Careful. This is starting to smell awesome. As preached so fervently in the Liber, cool is better than awesome.

 

Just a word of advice I find myself taking often, so I figured you might be able to profit from it as well.

"scratches head"

Um, I don't get it. Is it a compliment or warning, and if the later, what does it mean?

A warning. Most people don't like UM because "They are the best Sapce Marines". This has potential, and I don't want it to be so heavily frosted with awesome it becomes boring due to this guy being the best Chaos God.

Ah, a most wise and useful warning sir, you have my thanks. I wasn't trying to do that, but looking ahead at my plans I can see how it could become so. I shall strive my utmost to avoid it.

[Skirax]

I love it. But I couldn't help but read 'Tarroc' as 'Carrot'. Nutrients for the Vegie God!

[Jonas Stromclaw]

I love it. But I couldn't help but read 'Tarroc' as 'Carrot'. Nutrients for the Vegie God!

Sorry, I was a little hungry whne I came up with it :D

 

I apologise for taking so long with this post, I'll try to keep it regular so long as you guys like it. C&C welcome!

 

 

Tarroc looks upon his army and smiles. To the ranks of stalwart foot soldiers and deadly quadruped warriors are added many greater daemons, tall warriors taking upon the form in which The Unfaltering had appeared to Morrison. These generals are avatars of their god’s determination and defiance, belligerent and unyielding, capable of great destruction. With their addition the Laughing Warrior’s forces are a match for any of the other god’s. His realm expands, carving into the territories of the Four. Vast towers and citadels of iron are raised, entire worlds turned into peerless fortresses and battlegrounds for the Fifth’s amusement.

 

And then it halts.

 

The expansion of Tarroc’s kingdom stops. The armies of the Four turn and hold. The territories are equaled, the Great Game’s balance restored. That which was once split into four parts is now five. The Warp returns to its former state. Just as when each of the other gods was born, the others lose part of their kingdoms to the new entities power, finally balancing out into a game that has lasted since the dawn of time. From this position only small advantages are made, the essences of millions of warp creatures snuffed out over mere meters of territory. This state is one of turmoil without true change, combat without purpose, and struggle without hope. And it is anathema to Tarroc.

 

The Laughing Warrior is a strange creature even by the standards of the Warp. He was created from the minds of those who fought the Four with every fiber of their being, and so he is both similar and opposed to the Dark Gods. His ferocity is less than Khorne’s, but is tempered with cunning second only to the Changer of Ways. He has skill and speed inferior to that of Slaanesh, but it is backed by resilience slightly less than that of Plague Lord. But all this is backed by a hatred for the Four that is endless, bottomless. Not Khorne’s rage or Slaanesh’s lust can match this hatred. So the Relentless One casts about as his armies wage war, looking for any power that could aid him, any strength that could tip the balance of power. He sees the long dead traces of the Eldar gods and dismisses them, their remaining will insufficient. The taint of the star gods he ignores, and the ork deities are too busy fighting each other. Then Tarroc catches a taste of power. The trace is old, but strong. It emanates from a world in the mortal realm, near the center of the human Imperium. The Relentless One calls five of his greatest lieutenants to his side and goes to investigate.

[Nacho Wolf]

This sounds good, I cant think who it could be though

[raptor1199]

i can gues who is that

[Jonas Stromclaw]

Once again apologies for the time it took to post this. Summer marching band is eating up my free time. C&C welcome as always.

 

 

The golden hall with its massive gate takes on a spectral aspect as silver lightning begins to manifest in the center of the ancient passageway. The runes engraved on the walls with the blood of psykers glow as klaxons sound, bringing the defenders to their posts. Recognizing the signs of psychic assault, the Captain-General of the Custodes orders his men back and activats his vox to a preset frequency. The twin Warhounds, ancient and loyal guard dogs gifted long ago to the Master of Mankind, move from their positions adjacent the Eternity Gate and activate their autoloaders. The Captain-General is confident the wards etched into the walls will hold back any attack, and even if they don’t the Titans will have enough firepower to obliterate anything appearing from the warp.

 

He is wrong on both accounts.

 

With a flash of psychic power the occult carvings in the walls dissolve. Meant to hold back the various powers of the Four, they prove only a momentary defense against the Fifth. Tarroc and his five generals manifest into the grand hallway, given form by the god’s power alone. Without the usual rituals and sacrifices to cement their hold on reality, the six warp beings have little time to linger. The Laughing Warrior scans the faces of those arrayed against him, reading their surprise and defiance in a single glance. He finds their determination and sense of duty pleasing, even if it is in opposition to him. He turns to his lieutenant Moriccar and gives the order.

 

“Keep them busy, but do not kill too many. We desire their master’s assistance after all.”

 

In that instant the Titans open up, blaring their war horns in time the blast of mega bolter shells. A silvery shield of power settles over the warp entities and they advance on the gate. As his lieutenants batter aside the golden armored guardians Tarroc sets his halberd to the gate, carving an entrance through the psychically charged material. Leaving the Custodes to play with his daemons, he enters the throne room.

 

More warriors engage Tarroc as he moves forward. The Relentless One ignores them, the petty bolter shells glancing from his iron hide. Even the implementation of a psycannon only annoys the god, earning a beheading slash from his polearm. After nearly a half mile of cavernous walkway lined with bright banners and artifacts of war, he stands before the Golden Throne and considers the cadaver seated upon it.

 

This trace he had chased across the galaxy was not truly dead. Tarroc could feel it, him, trapped within the decayed body. The dead god in front of him hated Tarroc as he did all things to do with the warp, cursing them mentally from inside the ravaged corpse. The young god had the power to heal the old, but it would be to no point. Even had the Unyielding healed the human Emperor, he would receive no aid, only enmity. Tarroc was about to turn away until he noticed something else: more traces of power.

 

Like scents they lead away from the Emperor’s corpse, trails to creatures whose powers originated with and were only dwarfed by their father. From the taste of each one Tarroc could tell some of how they ended. This one here led into darkness and despair, another into blood-soaked rage and fury. Many smelt of death and even more of the taint of the Four. But some…. some were still alive.

 

It was then that the Laughing Warrior formulated a new plan. Find the blood kin of the Emperor, enlist their aid, and maybe, just maybe, they could convince their father to aid him. He followed the traces who were alive and without taint. Three lead into the warp, two more to worlds within the Imperium. From the pain and hatred attached to them, he guessed that those in the warp were captives of or at least hunted by the Four. He would free those within the realm of his own reality first, and they could lead the hunt for their brothers in the mortal world.

 

Filled with renewed confidence, Tarroc called to his generals. They came, dropping Titan pieces or Custodes limbs. He noted that one, Melicaris, had already been banished to the warp. These followers of the Corpse-God were tenacious and skilled. It would be a pleasure to fight them again in the future.

 

“Assemble the armies.” He said, “We have work to do.”

[astartes88]

i like where you are taking this! One issue thou, are you sure it would be that easy for his guys to wipe the floor with the custodes??

[Jonas Stromclaw]

i like where you are taking this! One issue thou, are you sure it would be that easy for his guys to wipe the floor with the custodes??

At first I thought so, but the more I considered it, the more I leaned toward the conclusion that the custodes are there to stop physical force. They aren't psykers like the grey knights, so they leave such defenses to the wards built into the Imperial Place, wards which (for my story to be plausible at all) might not be as effective against a heretofore unknown chaos entity. A chaos entity which is concentrating his full might and that of his five chief lieutenants on the poor custodes. A slightly flimsy fluff platform, but not the worst I have seen presented on this esteemed forum.

[Nacho Wolf]

This is very good, will be even better when russ comes back

[astartes88]

I see your logic in that.

[Jonas Stromclaw]

C&C welcome, enjoy.

 

 

The daemon worlds of the Warp are strange realms by any stretch of the imagination. Each world is different, molded and shaped by whatever entity claims lordship over it. They can take any form from billowing seas of silk to floating archipelagos of crystal islands clustered together. Ultimately, however, they all share a similar purpose; to entertain and give praise to the gods of the warp.

 

Khralouth is a fine example. Claimed by the Blood Prince Hralouk, it has been shaped into a gigantic bowel crafted from bone. Within this bowel an endless wilderness lies, shaped from the meat and gristle of those enemies of Khorne with whom the Blood God has taken particular umbrage. The land is then used as a kind of games preserve for its patron’s amusement. The souls of those who disappointed Khorne by dying in cowardice are kept here, endlessly hunted by his monstrous hounds. But this has changed in recent ages. Hralouk has trapped powerful prey within the bounds of Kralouth, prey from outside, dangerous prey. It has yet to be run to ground, having slain every patrol to discover it. The Blood Prince himself is preparing to seek it out for his lord’s amusement when the skies fall.

 

Tarroc attacks with all his strength, giving way in other areas to muster enough strength to make fast this favored playground of Khorne. His foot soldiers, now bearing the name of “Stone-devils,” assault the fastnesses of Kralouth. Thunder sounds and lightning crackles as the Relentless One marches to war. The hosts of the Blood God are surprised, scattered about the bone forests and blood mires of the daemon world as they hunt for their prey. Despite their skill and the resulting toll they wreak on Tarroc’s servants the defenders are quickly overthrown. Leaving the cementing of his hold on the planet to his lieutenants, the Laughing Warrior dives deep into Kralouth’s wilderness in search of the trace.

 

He can taste it now, this blood trail of the son of the Corpse-Emperor. He is wild and vicious, this one, uncaring for authority and absolutely feral. Many offers have the Four made to him, offers of daemon hood and power, and each one he has refused, like a clever wolf mocking his hunters. He found these offers so easy to ignore because he already has what he wants; hard foes, good brothers, and a lord to follow and serve. This loyalty is why Tarroc chose this son first; he will listen where others would fight, for he wants his father back.

 

Deep in the wilderness Tarroc discovers a cave. All around its perimeter lie the bodies of Khorne’s hounds, each one mangled and broken almost beyond recognition. At the mouth of the cave three poles are staked into the ground, each topped with the head of a Bloodthirster. Tarroc smiles and enters. The interior is dark and cavernous, but there is enough light for him to notice the walls. Over and over, on every surface, two symbols are repeated. The two headed eagle is most prominent, the symbol of the Emperor’s power being anathema to the daemons of this place. The other emblem is etched fewer times, always with the greatest care, always filled in with dried blood. Nearly a hundred times around the chamber the red wolf’s head snarls out of the stone. Tarroc frowns, wondering at the significance of it.

 

“One for every brother of my warband lost, daemon. Lost to this accursed place and to yer kind.”

 

The Laughing Warrior turns to the speaker emerging from the shadows at the back of the cave. It moves slowly, gracefully, like a hunter circling its prey. It is clad in tattered grey robes that barely seem to contain the power of the form within. In the half-light of the cave Tarroc can just barely make out the reddish color of the figure’s wild mane and beard. His eyes glitter in the darkness and two massive fangs extend from beneath his upper lip. The figure speaks again.

 

“So, wee beastie, have you come to try your hand at slaying me too? In case the heads outside didn’t warn ye, I’m a might testy about yer lads comin’ around and disturbing me sleep.”

 

Tarroc just smiles and says, “No, Leman of the Russ, I did not come to kill you. I came to make you an offer.”

 

The barbaric figure raises its eyebrows in mock surprise, “Oh, now that's a real treat. A wee daemon with manners and an offer for me. Not like I haven’t heard that one before.” He draws a massive chainblade from behind his back. Runes along the flat of the weapon glow with eerie light and his finger hovers over the activation button. “Just talk, or are ye going to at least try to fight me?”

 

“I did not come to offer you power or the heady existence of daemon hood, Primarch of the Sixth. I came to offer you that which you want most. I can heal your father, restore him, if you will but promise to aid me in my wars against the Dark Gods.”

 

Tarroc smiled as he saw Leman’s eyes widen. This was the kicker, he thought. None of the Four would make this offer even in jest. The mere idea of the Corpse-God whole once more was so offensive to them that they couldn’t even lie about it. Russ’s next words shocked him from his amusing reverie.

 

“Oh ye can, can ye? Well laddie, as we used to say back on Fenris, talk is cheap. Prove it.”

[Nacho Wolf]

Love it!! You've done a great job of portraying Russ, so you see astartes88, my logic is sound