Rise of the Oathsworn

[Brother Delias]

"Angels, we have come to this world for one reason, we have been called. Each of you have answered, and each of you have come to stand upon this blackened moon. I Caramon, have put forth the call of my master. He is the Oathsworn, keeper of the final word, once a lorekeeper of the venerable Word Bearers legion. He comes this night, to carry this lifeless moon into the thick of the corpse god's 'imperium' of man. Let us join together under his cause, to bring the final word to man, and visit death upon all who fall under the shadow of our fortress, our planet, The Fortress moon Sigil"

 

~Caramon, Sorcerer Lord of Sigil, voice of Dalfurion

 

 

The Black moon loomed over Terminus Vulcana, eyes of bronze and black fire set upon the war waged between factions of marines, each fighting against the rest. There were many loyalists, with just as many traitors bearing down upon fortifications. Months went by, and as fighting continued, the one that the eyes waited for finally emerged. Upon a black, rusted attack bike, sat a disease ravaged warrior, trailing behind him others that looked much like himself. Death met all they passed by, if not by the blade, then by a fevered maddness, one that left weeping sores, tearing flesh from bone as the afflicted turned on eachother in a desperate attempt to kill the disease at it's source. As the warrior fought, a flare of fire and quicksilver fell from the sky, spreading iron pinions, a twisted mockery of an angel landed in the midst of combat. Utterly silent, it began to cut a swath through the loyalists, who could only look upon it with utter horror. It continued, driven to put itself before the warrior it had come down to this wretched planet to find. Through death and destruction, it followed the warrior, watching, waiting. Soon the warrior noticed that pickings were growing thin, and there were rumors that there was something that was a greater threat than even himself, whats more, something impervious to the blackened death that he had wrought upon this planet.

 

And then it was there, before him. Charging his bike at the mighty daemon, bolters firing hell uselessly against it, the warrior cursed at it, leaping from his bike and striking out at the creature with his mace, encrusted with a concentrated form of the death he so relished to visit upon his enemies. With more frustration, and a creeping sense of dread, he watched as the daemon almost thoughtlessly parryed his blow, almost seeming annoyed at the attempt. It's eyes always upon him. His followers tried to rally to him, each blasted by a psychic force that he had only felt from his own weapon. This daemon wanted him, and seemed was going to have him as well. Only a few times was he able to hit the daemon, but not one hit seemed to even phase it, the daemon only seemed to redouble itself and lash him with that terrible psychic force. After hours of dueling, and now getting worn down by the near constant psychic assault, the daemon struck out with a hand, grasping the warrior and lifting him from the ground. Watching him with it's black, burning eyes, the warrior knew finally knew he could not win. "I, Kala-Azar, am yours." He said, slacking in it's increasingly crushing grasp. "Command me, and I will fight." He managed to wheeze out of his rotting lungs, before all went black.

 

Hellfire, like nothing that any of the loyalists had ever seen was unleashed, an iris upon the black moon opening, releasing pure warp essense upon the hapless world. Like the maw of a great daemon, the moon engulfed the planet in warpfire, what was not destroyed utterly was either mutated into something incomprehsneible, or hunted by the daemons impervious to the baleful light. Within the night, not one loyalist stood living, the war, has begun.

 

Bellacanth smiled, hearing Caramon's clarion call like a psychic scream. From upon his dias, surrounded by his rubrics he silently gestured for The Thousandth Eye to be turned towards the warp signature of the black moon, he knew he was called, and he would not be suprised by this Dalfurion popping into his ship for a visit. As his eyes narrowed, his ship slipped into the warp. Bellacanth would come to his new master willingly.

 

Blood drenched terminators stood upon a pile of skulls, the stench of fire and blood was heavy in the air. "Blood for the Blood God!" was the shout, answered by the victorious blood soaked marines. Leveling an axe wreathed in fire at one of the marines, the commander sneered. "Kelthet, blood brother, remember this day. Only through power shall we be favoured, only through death will we be noticed." The Terminator said, stepping down from the skull mound. "Yes mi'lord. We shall carve a bloody path straight to terra itself!" Kelthet answered, which was only met with a shake of his commanders head. "No, that is not meant for us, not yet. There is a call that must be answered, and we must make ready for war. Those who will not answer our call to arms upon this world, shall meet there end as tribute to Khorne. Go, Kelthet, swell our ranks. bring me the main line of the army that must be forged." The terminator answered. "Yes Ashwrath, as you command."

 

"Do you think they will come Caramon?" A powerfully built woman asked, looking off of one of the spires of Sigil, her eyes roaming the sunless sky. "All will come as they are needed, they must make strong their forces, give them time." The Powerarmored figure responded, placing a hand upon her shoulder. "Dalfurion has made the call, they will eventually answer." He finished, Looking to the grotesque Marine coming up to them. "What is it, plague lord?" He asked, regarding the marine. "My men have taken the southern landmass, death shall soon take hold there." He said, taking his helm off of the zombified visage that it covered. The woman scowled and looked away, garnering a look from Caramon. "Avarice, his place is needed just as much as yours. Do not disdain him to save your pride, it will kill you in the end. "What is a woman doing in power armor anyway?" Chided Kala-Azar, a slight snicker to his question, earning another scowl and Avarice walking away. "Hers is an unusual story, and just as you have been changed by your god, as so, has she." Caramon stated, watching the woman walk off. "Be aware though, she is quite powerful, if only because many make the same mistake you just have. She ios just as strong as any of the rest of us, save our lord himself." The Sorcerer finished. What is this mysterious daemon anyway? It said nothing to me." Kala-Azar returned, Looking down upon the moon.

 

"You will not hear a word from him, his word means death to any that hear it, and he may only speak it upon his death. He is oathsworn to the chaos gods themselves. He is Dalfurion, Keeper of the Final Word.

[Skirax]

This should be in the Short Stories section.

[Brother Delias]

damn... thought I had posted in short stories... apologies, posted this after work and was kind of out of it...

[Skirax]

Don't worry brother, we all make mistakes :P

 

May I just give you a formal welcome to the Short Stories section (Or Liber Comniniscor to the die hards ;)). And, may I say, what a brilliant entry to the hallowed hall of revered and venerable writers. Bravo.

 

Skirax

[Brother Delias]

Thank you Skirax... IMO I thought I could have given it more, as it was a little rushed for my tastes.

[Brother Delias]

"This silent daemon is a lord and master of the most powerful arcane artifice I have ever laid my eye upon. But where did it come from? I have gone through every grimoire within my grand library, with no results. It is possible that the exiled may have knowledge of this Dalfurion, but I do not. This Caramon is no less enfuriating, speaking in vague tones, and never giving any information about our 'master'. Tzeentch's will, I will know the truth behind all of this, even if I have to attack Ahriman's library itself..."

 

~Bellacanth, Lord of Angels of Apostasy, 4th company

 

 

~~~~~~~~~ Part 2: Shadow over Ithica III ~~~~~~~~

 

 

"Brother Gareth, there are two warp signatures coming our way, one is massive, I'm not sure what in the Emperor's name it could be." The marine said to his compatriot. With a nod, Gareth turned to go tell their Brother Sergeant that something was coming their way. The Hands of Fire, 6th company had been sent to this backwater planet during a routine patrol, though with such a massive warp signature comiing in, communications with the rest of the chapter, as well as possible reinforcement would be impossible. Burin was worried, what could possibly be so big that they would notice it so far out? The closer warp signature looked to be another battle barge but it would not come out of the warp, was it possibly waiting? More questions rattled the Marine's mind, they were alone and without support. Ithica had an established guard force, however, Burin never counted on the strength of men. After a short while Gareth returned, and not with reassuring news. "We are to remain silent for now, the Brother Captain has his orders for us, and we are to obey them. If things get too serious, we are to go planetside and assist them." Burin was dumbstruck, this was not what he had wanted to hear at all. "What of that signature?" He asked, looking back at the asupex. "I know, but that is what has been said. They are figuring that it is simply an greenskin rok. Holy fire will cleanse it." Gareth replied.

 

Within the warp, a crytalised battlebarge bearing a flaming eye floated, it's master psychically peering out into regular space. This planet would make a perfect killing ground. How much has this Daemon amassed for an army? He had a full company of rubrics and lesser sorcerers, but to take on a planet that was fully defended? He would not risk his precious battlebarge, nor any of his just as precious rubrics. Not in a battle that had little chance to win. "Lord Bellacanth!" Came the strained voice, breaking the sorcerer out of his thoughts. Turning his eyes to the lesser sorcerer that dared speak his name, he was ready to turn him into a hapless spawn, until he saw his second in command trying to gain his attention. "Yes Najal, what is it?" He bitterly replied. "Mi'lord, we have been sighted by the corpse god's scions, what would you have us do?" Najal asked, clearly aware that his fate was almost sealed by the irratated Lord. Focusing his thoughts upon the battlebarge orbiting the planet, he smiled. "They know we are here, this much is true, but they do not know who we are, nor are intentions. For now we wait." Bellacanth replied. He would wait, not somply for the chance to add more specimens of the warps fury to his collection of spawn, but also to see what daemon planned to bring to bear against their mortal enemies.

 

Worrisome days past by for the populace of Ithica III. They knew nothing of the Black moon's coming, but saw the evidence of it easily enough. Warp storms wracked the skies and innerspace around the system. Daemons sporatically appeared, seemingly for no reason at all, sometimes confused at the intrusion into the material as the peopl that saw them, others ravaging the area around them before being pulled back into the warp. Warp lightning pounded the Lambant Dragon, forcing the marines within to make planetfall whilst techmarines and servitors tried vainly to repair the damage. Only planetside did the Hands of Fire see how badly they had needed support. But they had waited too long, now they had to try and defend the planet alone. The last few coming days they spent in near constant combat against the increasingly longer daemonic incursions.

 

Hell itself finally broke loose as the sky above Ithica seemed to crack open. Horror struck all that looked up into the sky to see the eight pointed star looking down upon them like some seething eye. As the glowing lesion in the sky slowly sealed itself, so too did the sickening iris within the center of the apparent star of chaos. Silence finally befell Ithica as daemons suddenly popped out of existance mid battle, causing the company of marines to look up at the mark of chaos marring the sky above them. The horror among the populace was palpable, even those that knew nothing of the danger that the icon represented seemed worried about the presence of such a otherworldly body within the sky. Those brave enough to approach the marines asked them what would happen, though the marines were just as speechless about what this meant as anyone else was. As the black moon approached, and increasing sense of dread spread over the now very quiet world. For three full days and nights, the moon remained quiet, orbited by two battlebarges. One, the crystal battlebarge, the other, a battlebarge of inky blackness. The Lambant Dragon stood defiantly against what all seemed to have an abject terror for, but to those looking down upon the planet, it was an almost laughable attempt of showing strength against them.

 

The descent upon Ithica III was met with little resistance, as the orbital defence turrets lined up to start firing upon the two battlebarges moving in the eye of sigil opened yet again, it's malignant glare bathing the two battlebarges with an obscuring light. Aboard the Lambant Dragon, the skeleton crew of techmarines were met with a full company of marines, blackened and surrounded by a miasma of rotting stench, among them stood their commander, dealing death easily against the suprised and overwhelmed resistance. On the planet below, total war broke out as death came from above. The marines that fought against rubrics turned in horror as one of their own lurched, contorted, and then turned on them, growing in mass and strength as a gibbering spawn tore into it's brethren. Guard forces brought there numbers to bear against Noise Marine, only to be blasted apart by sonic attacks or torn to shreds by harpy like raptors, led by their winged mistress.

 

Avarice took great pleasure in each kill, her fleshy whip seeking out and rending those that were the most well armored. At one point she hovered, as her daemonic weapon chruned inside a comissar, lifting him up to stare into his lolling eyes. "Curse you witch, I always knew the Eccelsiarch couldnt be trusted." Flinging him to the ground, she floated down and kissed his forhead, with a slight smirk, she shook her head. "Whoever said I was one of those godless virgins?" She asked, standing above the comissar once again. "What are you?" He asked, confused, coughing blood, and lulled into her terrible grasp. "I am your immortal sin, your carnal pleasure, your hidden seed of doubt." She replied, the daemonic whip forcing its way into his skull, and then he felt nothing at all. Avarice went into the air, and soon fell upon another victim, her raptors descending with her onto the hapless guard unit. Her fun however was broken as the sound of revving engines and a faint waft of death marked the arrival of her unloved ally. The black riders rode through, slashing, bludgeoning, and running down the squad Avarice had intended on sating her distrubing lust with. Shaking her head at the loss of some fun, she and her raptors flew off, searching for a new mark.

 

Brother Captain Faulkan stood overlooking the capital at the imperial palace. Shaking his head, he turned to look upon the daemon that stood waiting upon him. He smiled at the thought that this was a patient creature. It's wholly alien eyes seeming to bore into him, he returned it's gaze. "We were doomed from the start werent we?" He asked the daemon, brandishing an ornate blade, passed through down to him from the Brother Captain before him. "I see you have no words for me, be that as it may, even if I am doomed already, I will at least send you back to the warp were you belong." He said, charging at the daemon. Spreading it's iron pinions, Dalfurion met Faulkan's blade with it's own, the two blades spitting as the daemon's fury came down upon the marine's resolve. Each blow rang out as the two traded attacks that neither opponent bothered to block. Each assaulted the other with such psychic force that anything else caught between them would be torn into nothingness. At last however, Faulkan's Iron halo faltered, and in a serene moment, he felt only a very slight pressure, and the world around him became silent. Those eyes seemed to stare straight into his soul, and all at once he knew it's intent, what it's true goals were, he knew the word it was sworn to bear. "No.." he whispered, his eyes rolling back as he exhaled his last breath.

 

At the death of the most powerful upon the planet, Caramon felt the presence of Dalfurion once again. With all of his concentration, he released the psychic locks upon the iris of Sigil. Bathed in the wasting light of Sigil, the Angels of Apostasy celebrated their victory with slaughter, slaving and pillaging. Another world gone, and one last Lord, Dalfurion was expectant on what it would find when he at last found Ashwrath...