the ultimate riddle

[asfargone]

The ultimate riddle

 

Snake: earth reptile with long body and tail but no limbs

Serpent: evil thing which in stories is related to the idea of a snake and often is, a snake

Many snakes have been reported to attack people and animals alike that neither posed a threat nor were edible to the snake, these snakes are later referred to as serpents.

several lands have conspired to be rid of serpents entirely, however they also do not have snakes.

How can one see the difference between a snake and a serpent?

 

It was but a while after the Sabbatine crusade when both manpower and morale were nearly spent that several human worlds heard the emperor's calling. These worlds existed within a dense region of the galaxy left untouched by the great crusade. These peoples were proud and rough, ready for wear and fond of their own peculiar culture, I guess you could call them Texans.

Even as the apostles of Khorne led the attack on Urdeshi a wind of relief came through the Guard camps. Macaroth was pleased to hear this, his advisors made note of how drastically he had become meek and battle-weary. Well-entrenched, the whole surface of the planet wrapped in tense ageing soldiers and constantly resounding guns. Crowds came and went like a horde of beggars just watching the landing zone. Everyone knew the enemy was too strong to defeat, just the dying scraps of the crusade and the little Urdeshi had against the undoubtedly greater chaos force.

stuttering reports came in of what this new hope had to offer: nearly a legion of incredibly tough armored marines, several companies of guard that were on par with the eldar, over twenty cruiser class ships that could warp in half the time, it was like a prayer realized.

the weeks dragged on, they heard about how well this voluntary addition to the Imperium were being received, how their first battle ended in a day, how they were willing to share their advancements. But despite the desperate cries, no-one came, no word came of support.

 

It had been two months since the conflict started, macaroth was sipping down something. He could not decide if it was lukewarm rusty water or overstrained caffeine ration. His speeches were prepared, they would either hold out, or fight to the last man. in the corner of his eye he could tell his aides were doing busywork. He just sat in grim silence, keening his ears for the sounds of screaming, or anything unusual at all. A great thud caused his cup to smash into the floor, but he was up way before that. Instinct had caused him to leap from his chair already in fighting stance. Sadly his caused his aides to cower in fear, save Beltayn, who said, "something's awry sir." Macaroth strongly disliked this man's approach to broaching the topic, but cheering rose up from the street. The farce over with, Macaroth and his entourage hurried over to the LZ to greet the advance army. The cheer died out. Macaroth strode briskly through the emasculated soldiers, he came upon a single drop pod. A small smooth streamlined teardrop of perfect grey metal, its one door revealing its one, somewhat small, space marine. It hurt, but Macaroth made it a point to bow before the man, "many greetings, we have heard so much about your great and profound capabilities. Is your beacon broken? Do your men need transport?" The man shook his head, "I am the only one, the iron worlds are glad to serve all of mankind, no matter how distant. Macaroth sank and rested on his knees, as if prepared for a beheading. He weakly sloughed off his cap and pulled at its fibers, he briefly considered ending the struggle when the man was right in front of him, he didn't notice his movement at all. He rested his palm over Macaroth's shoulder and Macaroth felt tired no longer. "I may be one man, but I will be all that you need." It felt as if there was a messiah hiding in the crowd. "you may call me Mazer, now let's get to the briefing room right away before we have to gum them to death. I can already tell your men are in grave need of a victory."

 

Macaroth gathered several of his leutenants and a holo-board and led Mazer into a burnt-out bomb shelter. He laid the holo-board on the dusty floor and almost turned it on, but instead sat down. "Tell me, Mazer, what are you, exactly? we need to know this very well because our plans greatly depend on it." Everyone was attentive, but some kept their eyes closed. "Well, I'm a space marine of the iron worlds, we don't have any real identity yet, never knew we needed one, but from reports of your space marines, we are much more focused on staying alive. I'll take a guess you were expecting someone a little bigger. As for weapons all I got is my trusty tart-gun and this electric chain, pointing to his waist. he had a lot of crenellations in his armor, if things weren't so grim they'd be calling him a flowerpot. His helmet capped a strange stepped dome his entire carapace seemed to be based on. "So what is your plan?" He started, "I'll go anywhere you please, just say the word!" Macaroth began as if it were an important lesson, "we are facing the scourge of the Imperium, the forces of chaos. They have bou-" "-bound their souls to the lords of chaos that all mankind may perish with them, they are tricky, divisive, and insane, and will tempt you for your every sin. Yes, I know, and every moment here is another moment they build in power! now where do I fight?"

Macaroth looked to his lieutenants, they were morbid, but a couple nodded their heads.

alright, here, it's a small canyon recently made by an attempt to undermine our perimeter. It's about ten clicks north of here, but the ramp goes out, so there won't be any turning back. If they do choose to fight here there will be a slaughter. Just remember to keep them interested, oh, and if the ramp is expanded they'll pummel you to dust with artillery. Pick two squads in addition to the remaining ogryn, they've been acting funny lately, I'll go make the preparations. we start immediately, move out!" Stepping outside it felt like we were actually fighting a war again. Macaroth started making his way to the office, where he bumped into Mazer. "Could you fight with me? It would be very good for morale you know." Macaroth was startled, "erm..." Beltayn was uncannily at his side, "I have your orders sir, ready and willing to carry them out. Macaroth for once in his life defaulted, "erm, yes, go ahead, by all means go."

 

All across the hemisphere things were moving into place, the ground murmured all around. Troops waited in their chimeras sighing in relief, soon this would end, for good or ill this would end. Laconic priests passed on their final devotions and readied themselves for the final fight. some had no ammunition, some carried broken weapons, some were broken themselves, but they all felt oddly resolute. Standing on top of his chimera Macaroth knew that no-one would run today, they would indeed fight to the last man. There was no contingency plan. He looked once more into the dying eyes of his men, he needed say nothing, and down, down, down into the chasm of death that would follow did he and his finest go, and he knew no fear, for Mazer was with him, looking just as calm as he did at first. Howitzers and grenadiers peeked out of chinks and around corners of beaten, crumbling stone. He couldn't remember which ones could actually shoot anymore, oh well, whatever.

 

they touched down and hunkered down, hoping they were actually outside of the attack angle. with the chimera adjacent to a fallen cornerstone they had a loose box of cover to fight in. they dismantled the chimera turret knowing they could use it longer in such a way. Macaroth was concerned about how dynamos couldn't really charge las-guns, only able to shoot this pathetic yellow stuff that made blisters. After this he might take it up with the adeptus mechanicus to- pff, he was really losing it. Mazer asked, "do you have a watch?" Macaroth, again confused said, "sure." and handed him his cracked little chronometer. Mazer took out the lens and fitted it onto the las-turret, now held by a guard and ogryn. The guard dropped the gun and the small crack of the lens hitting rock seemed to echo. Odd to think that such a sound would be so loud. As Mazer refitted the lens and got everyone to crouch at ready it seemed as if the echo had grown louder. Like ants the heretics were charging into the valley, so eager for blood, but we were anemic- oh who am I kidding? The black mass seemed to have moved faster than I-he remember because they were nearly down the ramp. We felt alive again, and that las-gun fired off like the sun. What dab of good it made no-one knew, but we were alive again, and it felt like that was all that mattered. Macaroth raised his powersword high and lowered it, signaling to fire. The wall of heretics came on because though they realized they were in a turkey-shoot, there was something much bigger on approach. Macaroth was becoming aware of this now, time lapse and suddenly they were upon him. The men fought hard, but could only nick and scratch, and they were dodging too slow. Soon it was just Macaroth and Mazer, taking them down one at a time. Macaroth caught on to the fact that he was being protected, and that he was so weak he could barely stand, but he kept moving. Breathing short breaths, his ribs ached, his back ached, he ached. Black. He couldn't tell if he was being wounded or if his muscles were clenching up. A chaos champion with an insolent smirk simply stood next to him, watching him suffer, then he battered him down with the butt of his hellgun.

 

When Macaroth next came to he saw that there were no more shells falling into the ravine, just a hooded mass ringing the canyon watching. I saw Mazer fighting with the same brilliance as before, swinging his chain about violently and clenching anything it wrapped around. When he missed he hit himself. It seemed he enjoyed that more. At last the few remaining berserkers moved no more. Each were missing limbs and covered in their own blood. the mound of bodies would be my grave if any more would show, they surrounded me in a tight bowl, their unholy sigils burning at my eyes. Mazer strode back to me, different. He gave me a hellgun, "I think it has two shots left, use them wisely. I focused for a moment, as if I were still able to fight, but it drained me so. Mazer was crouched beside be, merely panting from the effort of staving off a horde. his jaw was hanging on one side, gores and molten metal covered him, he was horribly injured, but he carried himself like he had only run a mile. I noticed a small chink in his back where his armor was completely gone, leaving exposed perfect skin. He noticed the look in my eyes, "what? I can take it, just remember to take the shot when it counts. I can take the pain."

 

Mazer strode forward and peered up into the pass, it was open now, artillery could pummel them to dust at any time. Mazer turned about suddenly in fear when tentacles rose from the earth and bound Mazer upright. A sorcerer appeared just then as if he were there the entire time. "Ah, Macaroth, you were once so proud. How was the trip down? Your knee looks a little scuffed, but I'm sure you've fared worse. Now I'm perfectly aware of how fond you imperial generals are of the little meatgrinder that you churn in service to mankind, and that every once in a while you need some help from the inquisition, to help make sure everyone is "kosher". No, no- I do not care about the little combination to get inside some bunker, or how you drill your men, or even where those despicable black ships are, I just want to help you. Now as I am sure there's a little suicide plan you have cooked up in the event this happens, although it does seem a bit beyond the point now. In any case you have a chance you will survive, and if those little black pests investigate, they might be a little concerned about your mental health. Trust me, their devices are far more devastating than death."

 

I could see the red tendrils drilling into Mazer, though he was still uncannily calm. "This man, this "answer" to your fervent prayers is a phenomenally corrupted man, or rather half-man. You saw no markings of chapter or fealty to the enshrined turd, not the slightest justification as to who he is and yet you trusted him beyond a doubt, leading you into this silly valley of death with twenty-four of your most able-bodied men. He was able to save only you, despite the clear onslaught. You know that the forces of chaos can have just as great effect on one as many, your army may have been safe if it were not for this one lunatic and you simply threw your men away as if you'll never run out. What about Slaydo's decree? Or the poor blue-bloods that "skipped your mind" when you ran off to claim some frozen planet? No, you could not even be true to yourself. Selfish I say! And prideful and altogether unhuman! Why, you were simply on the wrong side of the war!" He spun around, clearly having his fun.

 

The sorcerer walked closer, as if to get a good look at me. "Now here's my proposition to you, if you kill the right person, you win the war, just choose among us." Macaroth could feel his heart receding into his chest. He couldn't see why it mattered anymore, feeling himself just dying, but there was a chance he could make it worth all the suffering, he felt it was his duty just to know that he had beaten the foe with his last breath. He said, "who to choose?" He couldn't hear his own voice, but the sorcerer heard him. "Why one of us three, you just say who and it will be done.

 

Talbein's report ended there, apparently that's when the planet got nuked to tarnation. The grand inquisitor felt better knowing that what he had done could be justified somehow. Ironic that everyone hates the black ships so. That was a really difficult ethics question, he would have to discuss that with his bodyguard. Ogryn do really have this odd intelligence about them. They cut to the heart of the matter so decisively.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As it turned out, Mazer was one among the original space-marines. He had Greatly offended the Emperor in a matter that could not be discussed openly, and thus was given the exceedingly rare imperial torment, which being an incredibly powerful psychic the emperor alone could give it. None among the few who know of it even conspire as to what is done to cause such a thing, but the afflicted have an incredible will to live, yet and equally voracious desire for pain. The iron worlds legion may not have been real, however an adage was produced from this which to this day remains.

 

Don't talk to shiny strangers.