++Inspirational Friday - 19/06/2015++

[Carrack]

Excellent story Zhaharek, I can see this tooth becoming a cult relic as the years pass.

[Son of Carnelian]

They called him Khossus the Musician. Not just for the horn at his side, though that certainly accounted for some of the name. But his sword, the Sword of Howling Fears, truly made him a craftsmen of the sounds of death. With every stroke, the air around the sword filled with the sound of screaming innocents cut down by its keen edge. Not a memorial to the worthy, like Lucius' Armour of Shrieking Souls, or Tal Voshoth's Banner of Triumph. It howled with the most pure, the most unburdened by violence prior to Khossus' brutal executions. 

 

When not at war, the sword spoke of its greatest defilements, the tales of brutality placating the frenzied minds of the Bloodhost Khossus led. In the nights of Warp travel, when the Geller fields waxed thinnest, daemons played out these tragedies as both the slayer and the slain. Concerts of death. Of murder. Of horror. 

 

In battle, the sounds took on a different import. The howls struck fear in the hearts of all around and shaped themselves so that they might affect each foe more profoundly. A guardsmen who left her husband behind for service would hear the sounds of a man's choking pleas for mercy, while an Eldar guardian would hear the laments of long-dead members of their Craftworld. Every sound rang true, every heart stilled at the onslaught of the Sword of Howling Fears. 

 

But every song has an ending. And Khossus knows that the sword will keep screaming after he falls. 

[Kierdale]

Some excellent work, everyone! I find myself out of likes, unfortunately.

 

Here is my entry. 250 and 8 for the Lord of Skulls.

 

The Bloody Reign of Jon XIII.

While the priests of the ecclisiarchy held sway over the planet that later became known as Kierdale’s World in the years before the attack of Waaargh Gobsnaga, the noble houses took power once more upon the death of friar Kierdale in the climactic battle. In the following millennia rule was acceded to the leaders of the Imperial Cult only a handful of times, one of these being the short reign of cardinal Jon XIII.

Originally the chief custodian of an orphanage, the man’s fiery oratory and the great works he urged his young charges to construct in the honour of He upon the Golden Throne saw Jon rise rapidly through the ranks of the Imperial Cult on Kierdale’s World until he gained preeminence; a position from which he began to dabble in the matters of the Houses and the planet’s regiments. The demagogue was at first appreciated for his zealous sermons but soon went beyond the control of the nobility, the masses waiting upon his very word, and as he too went to war alongside the guardsmen they would throw themselves at the enemy in wave after bloody wave. Cardinal Jon XIII cared naught about the bodycount, proclaiming that those who sold their lives for Terra did so for the good of all, and these martyrs purified the land for the Emperor with their blood. Never could enough be spilled. Shrines were constructed from the bones and the skulls of these martyrs until he was granted the Emperor’s Benediction by a commissar of the regiment for wasting resources.

[Lord Pariah]

A Confession... I may have taken some creative license, I felt a bit left out with he whole khorne thing, but the Jykles are slanesh worshipers.. but not exactly above doing this to their own.

 

 

Chemicals surged through the abomination's body as a bloody haze threatened to fall. Clad in ice armor inscribed with the runes of the depraved god, it's power sword crackled to life as a fresh injection cycle ticked over.

Beneath the crude helm, the creature screamed at the toxins rushing inside of it, gnashing a lipless mouth at the tube place behind it's jawline, craving release from the pain brought on by the endless ticking. But the Alpha gained whatever passed as coherence as the narcotics took hold, just as it's brothers where brought to the same level.

Concepts came to the Alpha: an trench, an attach, glorious blood and ecstasy... although not always in that order.

 

A Jackal barked to sound the needles to bite, releasing more toxins into the abominations' tortured bodies, prompting the Alpha and his brothers to scream as they charged across the blood strewn mud, into red tracers of death. While chemicals could only give brief ideas, the defenders guided the Abominations to their pray. A couple fell as the las-bolts somehow hit critical areas, a handful fell when even the powerful chemicals could not overcome the pain, one even ran as his sensory shackles came loose. Through it all, the Alpha stayed ahead of his kin, eager to taste to cooper blood  and for the needles to stop.

 

It was at the razor wire when the Alpha saw it's victims; It felt nothing to the proud defenders, nothing that any sane man should ever hope to feel for his fellow man, but as the chemicals urged the flayed soul forth, the Alpha screamed. The scream spurred it's kin even more than the pain within their heads, even more for the promise of respite, this was what the defenders fear. 

 

"Blood for the Dark Prince!" the Alpha bellowed out as mere men bolted, and tainted steel boots dug into the hallowed grounds as creatures let flight.

 

Time blurred but snapped back when a brilliant red invaded his primitive visor, and the taste of blood almost overcame the chemical taint. Almost.

An acidic sting dragged the Alpha from the most unholy high, spurred it to another kill; one who hid behind a heavy bolter, another who fires a combat shotgun point blank and missed, another shouting orders and even killing his fellows before the berserkers could finish them, one even managed to parry a blow before the Alpha tore off his arm for the trouble.

 

It was not until the sun came again did the slaughter stop, but the chemicals had run dry and what had once been the grandest of ecstasy, became nothing more than the Alpha's very mind to all but shut down from sheer exhaustion... But as the Alpha started to know the great peace, the baleful Toxins surged back, dragging him back to attention.

 

One of his kin stood, in full, clean, ice armor. the lord's helm removed to expose him to pure aftermath, forcing a evil smile. 

"Refill the canisters. I wish to see how far they can be pushed..." the Lord bellowed to the slaves as he moved close to another, equally complete Astarte. 

 

"see? Khârn is not the only one to have Bezerkers... Slanesh will be pleased...

 

 

 

Edit: there was a word count.... whoops.

[slipknotzim]

I was there, when Isstvan V burned, I was there when Angron became lost ,when Khârn was the voice of reason.

 

I was there when the butchers’ nails started, you came with the nails.

 

That was when I became lost. It’s been century’s now maybe longer my axe was once a tool to liberate world, and I was the liberator.

 

I see them in the distance they hide well, unfortunately the nails has all my knowledge and my training. Run! Run now child!

Stop nails I know you can hear me stop! but it’s no use, we easily catch the fleeing child, we have him now I plead and scream at the nails begging for mercy for this innocence, this is not who we are I scream and he pauses for a moment, only to laugh as he slowly buries our chain axe into the child’s face blood sprays in every direction covering us in gore. Why? I screamed, he was no fight, no challenge. Then we scream out thru the vox in the helmet that phrase, it haunts me, "Blood for the Blood god, Skulls for the skull throne". I hear the sound of drop pods crashing down in the distance; thankfully this draws the attention of the berserkers and of us. the marines waste no time and charge us, what fools I scream to warn them but only the nails hear me, it’s a trap the marines don’t stand a chance, there’s nothing I can do but watch.

 

 

****-the thoughts of *removed from records* formally of the War Hounds, then the World Eaters, reports from *removed from records* loyal servetor to high Inquistor *removed from records*     -****

 

 

and for fun a second

 

 

The captain looks off; he never seems to be effected by the nails. We are already starting to twitch, and howl from the rush, it’s like I can see the battlefield in a whole new light, the blood of my enemies is highlighted, and soon I will spill in your name. Captain starts to sprint, its starting I can feel it he found a target. I can see visions of Khorne’s greatness, my muscles tighten, I see them it’s a small family. There not much but it’s a start. We take the members of the family and look to captain, he has the boy by the throat, he laughs, and that’s the sign. Before the people beg we fill the streets with their blood, captain is the first to bellow out “Blood for the Blood God, Skulls for the Skull Throne”. We hear the drop pods landing, the parties getting ready to start. The marines waste no time, they charge us. Captains trap springs, the blood from the family calls the daemons of rage forward and we make short work of the loyalist fools. Captain takes the head of the leader “For you” he raises it to the sky and it dissipates. Khorne is watching us today.  We’ve been with the captain sense the nails; he has lead us to glory time and time again. We are the last of the World Eaters, the fury of the Red Angel made real. I am not a berserker I am a gladiator, a sage of war, a champion of Khorne.

 

i dident see the +8 words till after the first story, so we get one 250 on the dot and 1 250+8

[Soldier of Dorn]

Posted this in +GODS OF THE ARENA+, but I think it works well-

 

 

 

#picksthemicbackup

 

What is a World Eater?

 

'What are we, cousin? We are the mutilated sons of a broken father, a father who cared nothing for his children. We are the warriors of the Twelfth Legion Astartes, the feral Hounds of War who fought the sons of Russ ten thousand of the Imperium's years ago. We are the men who bled out on slabs, to install ticking pain engines into our skulls.

'We are the chosen of the Eightfold Path of Blood and Skulls, the worshippers of a God of Insatiable Rage. We are the betrayed, the damned of Skalathrax, where our brother turned upon his own. We are the bane of the Emperor, and his most brutal foes.

'We are the Eternal Hunt, the Scions of Gorechild, Angron's Chosen. We are the Fell Brethren, the Bloodslaved, and the Reavers in the Void. We are Unbroken, Charnel Wraiths, Children of Cuth'Vasi, and the Sinner's Swords. But above all else...

'We are the Hounds of War, the Final Sanction, the Black Children of Terra. We are the Eaters of Worlds, the Broken, and the Feared. We are Gods of the Arena, the Fractured, and the Gore-soaked. Our creed has but a single tenet-

'BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE THRONE OF KHORNE!'

[Tenebris]

http://shrani.si/f/1a/o3/bgHYhQ/2/gallery2900410383202531.png

 

Greetings and welcome to Inspirational Friday. What a week is behind us. Not only the 250 words experiment was a great success but also your posts were very well done, great job! This week we had a theme singing at the tune of the most recent release, the Daemonkin, namely you had to write about a Champion of Khorne.

 

I must say that it was a joy to read the contributions and I was really hard pressed to find the best one, since you all did a marvelous job. Well, in the end I have decided for slipknotzim because he not only posted one but two articles and both were interesting to read. What struck me most from his posts was the death of the child as a locus for the release of the unholy rage shimmering within the souls of the Berzerkers. I almost imagined it as a tear in the fabric of reality, the breaking point, the crux through which the Warp spilled forth, the perfect kill, the breaking of the dam. Poetic, indeed, but I think our new writer made a great entry and for this he should be rewarded.

 

A honorable mention goes to The Psycho for his poetic description of what is a World Eater, as well as Zhaharek and his "astartes tooth" which in the context was competing for the first place. 

 

 

Step forth slipknotzim and claim your reward!

 

http://shrani.si/f/e/r4/KG83M5z/15/friday-award.png

 

On the 250 words experiment I have to say that it was a pleasing success and I intend to follow with it as a rule for Inspirational Friday. My reasoning for the word limit was in the first place simple, to allow people to write more, to see better their penmanship and to provide a challenge to those willing to participate. The word limit is a great way to test you all and myself included, to see what we can do with a said number of words and to see how we can weave them into an elaborate prose. I state here and now that the word limit will be asked but it won't be enforced. No penalty should come to people who like to write more or think that another two paragraphs are required to send forth their message.

 

The goal of Inspirational Friday is to drive you people forth, to see the creative juices flowing, to be inspired and to inspire others in turn. Still, bear with me on this, the word limit is placed as a test, a test to shape our writing skill to a greater degree and as a way to allow people to participate with less content but with greater skill. 

 

Now ready your pens, keyboards, autoquills and scribe servitors, here we go again..

 

 

Inspirational Friday - 27/03/2015 - Chaos Heraldry

 

Heraldry, one of the most important things in the universe of 40k. The Chaos Space Marines are proud of theirs and only to a great effort they shed their legion and chapter colors for something else, same can be said for the majority of the other factions. On the epic battlefields of the grim M41, where vast armies clash, god-engines vent their wrath and a thousand myths and legends vie for power, a warrior's heraldry is usually the only thing which allows for him make a statement and to represent his belief, legion and kin. 

 

For this week's Inspirational Friday I would ask of you to write about the heraldry of your warband, daemonic legion or a different faction. Tell us why your warriors choose to wear those icons and colors, tell us the meaning of the intricate symbols, words and patterns, tell us how important is that heraldry to your warriors. 

 

In aid I would say that a heraldry is usually the result of a long process, of alliances and pacts, of blood relations and feudal obligations, of great achievements or great shames. An icon bears a message, it is a symbol as it is a statement. But not only the icon is important, so are the heraldic colors of your warband, be they have an origin among the legions and the chapters or they were chosen to make a statement, to act as a fresh start. In short a heraldry is so much more than just symbols and icons and colors, it represents a series of obligations, of rituals, of pacts, of allegiance. Bear this in mind and with 250 words explain which are the colors and the badges of your warband and why are they so proudly displayed by your warriors.  

 

Tenebris

 

[slipknotzim]

I have been in a writing "funk" for months now with personal issues; I saw this thread and knew immediately that I wanted to be involved. I want to say thank you all for being inspirational and helping me re find a passion I had been searching for, for a long time. I look forward to many weeks of inspirational writing about our hobby.

[Beachymike123]

Well done Slipnotzim, really well written. So was everyone else's, great read all round. 

 

The Bellows of the Cogs is the icon associated with the Siege Makers. In many cases it has replaced the Iron Warriors Legion symbol as although each of them considers themselves a son of Perturabo in one way or another, they also know that they must stick together to survive. Some wear both, but this is a rarity among the brothers. It was originally worn by the forces belonging to the Arch-Magos Chaapoza who founded the Dark Mechanicus Forge World, namely his Skitarii and other military forces, denoting that even if he fell the world's forces would continue to be united in a fashion, namely that of the forges. It has its origins in Ancient Terra's history, where metallurgy required the device to heat the furnaces to extreme temperatures. Because of this link between the devices and the creating nature of the Cogs of Madness, the Bellows were a natural choice to use as their symbol. 

The colour of the icon is dependent upon the bearer. Typically, those directly under Chaapoza's command use gold and brown bellows, as these are the most classic examples that Chaapoza likes. On the Iron Warriors, the Bellows are in white as usually they go on a black background, although this isn't always the case. The Nihilists also use the bellows, theirs also white. Chaapoza's personal use is found on his robes, and on his massive war-construct he uses when he needs to leave the Forge World, which has become more elaborate as the years have passed by. 

The Bellows as seen on the Nihilists Command squad, the Steel Beast Defiler Daemon-engine and on Kievan, Terminator of the Siege Makers. 

 

Looking forward to everyone else's entries. 

 

edit: better terminology. 

[slipknotzim]

My symbol? Let me tell you of my symbol. My name has been long forgotten, I am a shadow now, the embodiment of the wolf sprite from the Canis Helix, but my heraldry lives on. Within the banner of Bjorn the Fell, I live, time may have lost me, my name forgotten, but I live on. I was once a proud wolf I fought the Suns at Prospero, I was part of that terrible act. I followed the Corpse Emperor without question my mentor Russ without fail, I was one of the wolves of the Emperor. But now my symbol lives within the banner of Bjorn it has a whole new meaning. Now it stands as a beacon in the warp showing my wolf were my prey is hiding, these new wolves bring shame to Russ, this was not how we were to be. Bjorn is trapped, they call him the soul of the wolves, for Russ picked him, but he is there slave trying to save Russ’s name. My symbol, my legacy calls the very fire of the wolf-kin, to hunt the hunters, to stalk the stalkers, I am the shadow wolf and I serve no corpse. My symbol, Bjorn’s symbol means more than anything, I will free him, and I will set right the wrongs of the Corpse Emperor. So run little pups, hide in the shadow of Russ, and shout about the false emperor, you have no hope; for I am coming.

**-Recording found near Istavan VIII-**

[MaliGn]

According to the teachings of the Dark Apostle Karnac of the Word Bearers, Blessed Lorgar found the Primordial Truth by looking to the stars, and that by following his example it is possible to divine further truths. As such his host have placed significance in a variety of stellar conjunctions from Colchisian history. Many of them display charts of these constellations among the various scrimshawed litanies and passages from the Book of Lorgar with which they adorn their armour.

The interpretation of these astrological configurations varies from marine to marine, and the constellations to which they are drawn reflect their personalities, ambitions and goals. This borderline incomprehensible system of identification suits the Host well, simultaneously incorporating their religious doctrines with an encryption so obscure that even other hosts have difficulty determining their true meaning.

As their Apostle teaches it is only through complete faith and careful observation of tradition that they might discern the Truth from the stars.

 

Erebus pauses in his writing, he muses on the words, the Dark Council have long indulged the various Dark Apostles' interpretation of Lorgar's Will, some versions have been deemed heretical or otherwise flawed and requiring censure. But this one? He senses that within it there may just be a piece of the grander truth.

[Teetengee]

This is for the khorne one sorry I missed it:

 

“Kill me and then may you fight my lord!” called out a hulking figure clad in brass plate as he strode through the carnage of the throne room. Sycophantic slaves, half his height and hunched even then, scurried around him carrying long objects wrapped in furs, skins, and other unidentified fabrics. Captain Ulys looked up at the figure which towered over even his gen-hanced form. The violet glow of Ulys’s sword brightened the dim room once as this four armed giant reached out to handles protruding from the packages carried by the slaves about him. With quick motions he drew four unmatched blades, some of which began to crackle with power fields or burst into flame. “Make peace with your false god Captain.”

 

Ulys turned and spat as he rushed the giant, the sizzling of his acidic spit quickly drowned out by the clash of blades. The thing moved with some sort of infernal agility, no beast of that size had any right to move so quickly. Ulys rushed in and was repelled again and again, finding no purchase in the swirling blades that might as well have been an adamantium wall. When the creature began to advance on him, Ulys could barely bring his sword up to meet each blow as it fell. Finally he saw an opening and thrust his blade deep into the monster’s flesh.

 

Ulys then knew his mistake. The creature had let itself be wounded in order to end the stalemate, in fact, its attack pattern did not even slow as it lopped off Ulys’s arms and legs. The slaves came forward and took all but one of the beast’s swords while Ulys lay there cursing and bleeding from his stumps. Suddenly the creature grabbed Ulys and roughly pushed him to the wall at eye level. “You fought well, your skull will be His. And your sword, will be mine.” With those words, the final blade was pushed through Ulys’s neck, and he knew no more.

 

 

 

[Tenebris]

 

 

Chaos Heraldry

 

The Chapter of the Broken Seal is an ancient formation of the Word Bearers legion and thus their heraldry is equally old, rich of significance and intricate. It should be noted that the warriors of the Broken Seal are different from their legion brothers in that they present themselves as an austere, unadorned and quite orthodox figures. The battle plate of the Broken Seal lacks the ornamentation common among the Word Bearers, their elaborate oaths of moment, and their fine cuneiform engravings, thus appearing simple and functional. The reason for this lies in the orthodox creed of the Broken Seal, they see themselves as warrior-monks and they practice a form of asceticism often associated with the more hermetic orders within the XVIIth Legion. The creed of the Broken Seal is founded upon the tenants of discipline, austerity and scholarship, the three cardinal pillars of every Word Bearer and an ancient school of philosophy known as Origen among the warrior-monks of the Chapter of the Broken Seal and other, ancient Hosts.

Armorial Icon of the Chapter of the Broken Seal

http://shrani.si/f/2z/mE/33XofSGc/broken-sigil-rune.gif

Rune of the Threefold Quest

 

This ancient icon is based upon the stylized representation of the Eye of the Reader constellation, a constellation seen only once in the long year of blessed Colchis and observed only in the northernmost regions on the planet. Ancient legends says that the stars of the Eye of the Reader are often associated with secrets and divination and that an order of monks known as the Readers considered this constellation as their sigil. Old legion texts narrate that Lorgar dreamed of Magnus when he gazed upon the Eye of the Reader and that the stars shone bright when his brother came to blessed Colchis.

 http://shrani.si/f/3Z/111/Id2eSym/2/the-eye-of-the-reader.jpg

 

This three pillars of existence are considered sacred and the true path to achieve communion with the manifold spirits of the Empyrean, they form the code of the Chapter and the foundation of its creed. Nowhere this is as proudly displayed as upon the armorial icon of the Chapter, which consists of three lines, representing the three secrets, crossed in order to create the image of a triangle, one of the most sacred icons of the True Faith

 

 

 

 

[Kierdale]

From Auld Writhe’s Treatise On The Varied & Accursed Heraldry Of Fallen Astartes: that of the Stygian Guard to the Psychopomps

=][= Sanctioned

Chapter Approved

Stalwart descendants of Dorn, the Stygian Guard were clad in armour alabaster in hue and mostly devoid of ornamentation but for the Aquila upon their chests and the inset of their left pauldron, both in jet black. The chapter’s icon was a skull over a pair of back-to-back canted scythes (representing the chapter's willingness to combat the enemies of the Emperor both Xenos and heretic), all three elements white.

Archive pict of Stygian Guard chapter symbol

The Guard was, even amongst their austere peers, an ascetic chapter forswearing all forms of ceremony and ritual but for the cleansing, focusing agony of the nerve glove.

Some say it was, finding their usual methods of warfare failing against the cults of Cyprius III, chapter master Sophusar who experienced a vision while undergoing flagellation within the glove. A vision of the chapter transformed, clad in vivid hues and their tactics unbound by all constraints and logic.

Other reports indicate that it was master of sanctity Angra who proposed the chapter infiltrate the enemy cults to bring them down from within, and with this began their acts of trophy taking and the imitation of the enemy.

Perhaps both are true, perhaps both are but lies proliferated by their own cult: the Exalted Fecund.

What is known is that the once stolid Astartes, ferrymen of the souls of the foes of Mankind to the empyrean, became reapers of souls in mad service to the Dark Prince, their icon retaining the bleached skull yet transforming to resemble the symbol of their new patron.

Archive pict of `Psychopomp` warband iconography.

Individual units and indeed individual marines, are known to display various patterns upon their left pauldron under the chapter’s blasted icon, seemingly as mood and whim dictates, with some others such as the Black Stallions biker squad wearing a uniform emblem upon their right pauldrons. It is rumoured that the squad took this emblem and agnomen as a challenge, a slight of sorts, to renowned loyalist biker units such as the Raven Wing and the riders of Chogoris.

[Teetengee]

The Blood of Horus/ Traitor's Tear

 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

- - REP1050296 - -

- - INQISONLY - - -

Report on Iconography of traitor warband E972, commonly called the Tide of Blood.

It appears that the iconography used by the Tide of Blood traitor warband appears to vary widely. Different markings have often been only seen in a handful of engagements and different groups of this enemy often seem to operate independently of differently marked groups even in the same theaters of war. From these reports [REP1048923-REP1050009], it appears that perhaps speaking of the Tide of Blood as a single warband is inaccurate and that it may function more as a collection of temporary alliances organized by an as yet unknown party, though some suspects have been identified [REP1050100].
 

However, one symbol seems to appear more frequently than the others, and is often seen alongside other group identifiers. Alternatively referred to as the Blood of Horus or the Traitor's Tear, it bears a strong resemblance with the iconography of the Black Legion warbands. The relative rarity with which the Tide of Blood has been seen alongside the Black Legion suggests that perhaps it represents a mutual origin but few ties of loyalty, perhaps even a history of infighting, as can only be expected of such heretics. A recreation of the symbol is seen below:

The blood red elements are believed to represent the Tide's tactic of flooding the field of battle with blood before they deploy large numbers of troops. The reasons for this practice are not fully known, but it is believed to be a combined biological and fear based weapon.

Interesting to note is that among those believed to be leaders of this warband, the Traitor's Tear is much more common. Additionally, many of the warband's warmachines and other tech heresy is marked with this icon. Alarmingly, in recent years this icon has begun to increasingly appear on warmachines of other renegade warbands. In particular many Word Bearers and Red Corsairs have been seen fighting alongside such creations. I believe that whoever leads the Tide of Blood has begun to trade these monsters in return for payments and pacts toward some unknown purpose. I recommend an analysis be done of the prevalence of this symbol throughout the many known renegade warbands in order to assess the true size of this threat.

 

- - Transmission Ends - -

 

 

[Tenebris]

http://shrani.si/f/1a/o3/bgHYhQ/2/gallery2900410383202531.png

 

Welcome frater to the Inspirational Friday. The past days we have dwelt into the intricate heraldry of our warbands, the ritual and the practical meaning behind the runes our warriors wear proudly on their battle plate. I must congratulate you for all your entries were very interesting but as always we have a winner. This week the title goes to Teetengee and his Traitor's Tear. Now the icon is simple and practical but what I really liked most of this contribution was the significance behind it and its replication on the many Daemonic Engines traded to the other warbands. A honorable mention goes to our excellent Kierdale and to the new kid on the block, slipknotzim.

 

 

Step forth Teetengee and claim your reward!

 

http://shrani.si/f/e/r4/KG83M5z/15/friday-award.png

 

 

Inspirational Friday - 03/04/2015 - Equerry 

 

Khârn stood as an equerry to the mighty Angron, Sevatar to the vicious Night Haunter, Abaddon to the legendary Horus. All these astartes were the right hand of their primarchs, their counselors, their aides, their most loyal sons. It is a common practice for an officer to be assisted by a younger officer, in order to not only relieve the burden of command but also to help the officer in its many, often trivial but necessary duties. 

 

For this week I want you to write about the Equerry of your Chaos Lord. Who is this figure which stands always at the side of your commander, who is this right hand of your warband's mightiest champion? Write about this person, the reasons why he or she was chosen to stand at the side of your Chaos Lord, of the plots and schemes it weaves behind the back of his or her master. 

 

To be an Equerry of a Chaos Lord is both a blessing and a curse. You stand at the side of a being touched by the Dark Gods, you stand always beneath their dire eyes, yet at the same time your master is a volatile and powerful being who in his quest for power and immortality is willing to trade the souls of every subject of his, including his Equerry. Write what it means for this ancient figure to be at the side of such a being and the benefits or curses he or she reaps from being the right hand of a Chaos Lord. 

 

 

Tenebris

 

[Beachymike123]

Well done Teetengee. Actually, well done everyone, I loved this particular one. Slipnotzim's reminded me of my Bloodpups squad a little. I also thought Kierdale's was great - awesome to see how an Imperial icon can become corrupted by the touch of Chaos. MaliGun's I thought was intriguing, and could be a way of making your squads unique by where they are in the constellation. Great work guys.

 

Tenebris: Does the Equerry have to be a Chaos Space Marine? Can they be from my Renegades and Heretics 'Kryten's Nihilists'? 

[Teetengee]

Thanks everyone, and feel free to use the symbol on warmachines in your armies (just let me know what pact we would have come to for such a creature....)
Now, what to do for an equerry story...

[Tenebris]

 

Tenebris: Does the Equerry have to be a Chaos Space Marine? Can they be from my Renegades and Heretics 'Kryten's Nihilists'? 

 

We are Chaos, everything, but I mean everything can be something or someone in a Warband. You are spoiled for choice, it can be humans, astartes, xenos, mutants, daemons, unknown entities, an abominable intelligence, a whisper... you name it. In fact I expect from the frater to break the conventions (we are Chaos after all) and be creative with Inspirational Fridays.

 

Who am I to say a Chaos Lord that he cannot have his SSlyth equerry, or to your Chaos Sorcerer that this hideous creature he keeps to call his "experiment" is not fit to serve him. We are Chaos, people, infinite realities, infinite possibilities.  

[MaliGn]

My idea is based in part on the forgeworld heresy stuff and my own desire to find a vehicle identification system for my army. I've started work on designing some kind of zodiac based on known colchisian astronomy from eg black legion references and the like. Early days in a potentially enormous project.

[Carrack]

Lythane the Black, Bearer of the Liber Apocal, Equerry to Lord Carrack, Slayer of Multitudes.

 

 

Lythane crouched down as low as his ancient Terminator Plate allowed and sketched a rough plan of attack into the dust with the butt of his force staff. The gathered squad of Astartes looked on with feigned disinterest, taking their cues from their Champion, Vinno. The plan was simple, a repeat of the last assaults, move in to a tenement under cover of darkness, establish a perimeter with half the squad, then Lythane, Vinno and and the rest would go door to door, killing everyone, floor by floor until they found the woman. After repeating his instructions, Lythane asked, "Any questions?"

 

Vinno simply asked, "Why me?" Lythane recognized the loaded question. He knew the Aspiring Champion despised him. He was resented for being an outsider thrust into the Black Maw command structure by the Warmaster, to ensure loyalty to the legion. He knew Vinno felt personally slighted by his appointment as Equerry, a position Vinno no doubt desired himself. He also knew that the Champion had lost himself along Khorne's Eightfold Path and had little use for sorcerers.

 

There were two answers to Vinno's question. The first answer Lythane kept to himself. Lythane was the "Keeper of the Liber Apocal", a grimoire so tainted that it could only be physically touched by a wretched little daemon that Lythane had bound to his will. In consulting this cursed text, Lythane had deciphered a prophecy that was now coming to fulfillment. The prophecy predicted that a woman from the Red Hive of Siliquastrum would bear stigmata in the form of a tattoo calligraphing the 616th tome in the dreaded Book of Lorgar across her entire body. Lythane knew that Vinno and his squad had no use for Word Bearers and would not be able to read Colchin. What Lythane did tell Vinno was, "Why you? Because we are in the very heart of the sub-sector capital, and Lord Carrack wanted a massacre."

 

[Tipper]

My first real stab, would love some feedback.

 

My name is Astron. I live in service to my Warlord, Nox, as he lives in service to our lord, Typhus, as he lives in service to our god, Nurgle.

Why would I allow myself to be captured? I'm sure you asked yourself many times. Not all of these scars are from scum such as you, see the long one here on my midriff? That is where Warlord Nox implanted a locator beacon.

You believe that you have won this day Dark Angel, but that belief is as misguided as your devotion to your false emperor. Hear it now? A familiar sound I'm sure. The sound of an open warp gate, loosing the armies of Chaos, what a glorious noise it is.

Trembling now, are we? Do so, your end is near. Face it as all worms do, with unheeded cries to their gods and snivelling pleas for mercy! Where is your emperor now!? RALLY TO YOUR FATE SPACE MARINE! WHO SHALL KNOW NO FEAR!? TELL ME, WHO!!

-Black box recording, interrogation room feed. Recovered from ruins of the DA FOB, tasked with defending the colony on the previous garden world Kaldro IX, reclassify uninhabitable.

 

Edit: Had to change IX, from IIX. If Kaldro's had any citizens left, then I'm sure they would be honored by the upgrade. ;)

[Carrack]

My first real stab, would love some feedback.

 

My name is Astron. I live in service to my Warlord, Nox, as he lives in service to our lord, Typhus, as he lives in service to our god, Nurgle.

Why would I allow myself to be captured? I'm sure you asked yourself many times. Not all of these scars are from scum such as you, see the long one here on my midriff? That is where Warlord Nox implanted a locator beacon.

You believe that you have won this day Dark Angel, but that belief is as misguided as your devotion to your false emperor. Hear it now? A familiar sound I'm sure. The sound of an open warp gate, loosing the armies of Chaos, what a glorious noise it is.

Trembling now, are we? Do so, your end is near. Face it as all worms do, with unheeded cries to their gods and snivelling pleas for mercy! Where is your emperor now!? RALLY TO YOUR FATE SPACE MARINE! WHO SHALL KNOW NO FEAR!? TELL ME, WHO!!

-Black box recording, interrogation room feed. Recovered from ruins of the DA FOB, tasked with defending the colony on the previous garden world Kaldro IX, reclassify uninhabitable.

 

Edit: Had to change IX, from IIX. If Kaldro's had any citizens left, then I'm sure they would be honored by the upgrade. ;)

Good story, I liked the tale and the perspective of the recorder adds layers to the story.

 

As horrible as I myself am with grammar, proper grammar makes the story easier to understand for the reader and it may be worthwhile to proofread a few times. I write all my Inspirational Friday Stories on my smart phone in the notepad accessory first, and just copy and paste it into the forum, it's a little easier to rework than the reply box of the post.

 

Once again, great story, I hope these excercises help flesh out your Warband, and motivate you the way they do me.

[Tenebris]

Chaos Equerry

 

 

 

Many ask themselves what is the purpose of life and while many philosophers and scholars have spilled blood to find the right answer, it was always there, simple, pure. The purpose of life is to serve and this has been my reason of existence ever since I was chosen from the helots of Sicarus to be reborn into the legion, when I have become a Word Bearer.

 

My duty as a seneschal to our lord Coryphaus was initially met with disdain and even aggression, yet time and again I have proven why I, Lieutenant Frevon Dan of the First Coterie, am chosen to serve as an equerry to him who commands our Host in battle. I was chosen not because I fought so hard for my rank, neither because I am a talented warrior, many a brother exceeds me in those fields, I was chosen because I am a soldier first and a crusader second. Blasphemy some would say, yet I serve at my master’s side with the blessing of the Dark Apostle himself.

 

I have not seen the burning skies of Istvaan V, nor have I seen the shattered walls of the Imperial Palace, all I have ever seen is the wisdom of the Word and that is reason enough for my appointment. My lord Coryphaus asks me only to serve and this is exactly what I do, I serve. I am Frevon Dan and I am the equerry and brother to a crusader, a general and a philosopher.  

 

 

[Kierdale]

I present two versions: the first as my `official` entry for this week, the second, spoilered, one for a fuller read if anyone is interested.

 

 

Viphic

Former captain of the Stygian Guard 1^st company `The Bloody First`, master of Phlegyas.

Former equerry to chapter master Sophusar (now Sophusar the Facinorous of the Psychopomps).

Champion of Khorne.

 

Since the chapter’s inception, master Sophusar had two counsellors: the master of sanctity and his first captain. Respectively the will and the blade of the chapter.

Tall even for an Astarte, long of limb with a noble countenance, Viphic was a warrior skilled in a variety of arms. Though the Stygian Guard were an ascetic order in the extreme, he was noted for his bravery and valour, as well as his ferocity in combat, ensuring his rise to captaincy and the side of the chapter master. Outside of combat he was tactician second only to Sophusar but in combat he surpassed the chapter master. It was during such climactic combats that he fought as a man possessed, becoming withdrawn once more in the battle’s wake, yet always proud. And he was as fiery in council chambers as he was in a duel with foe or fellow Astartes.

Stygian Guard: ferrymen of the souls of the Emperor’s foes to the afterlife. It was a duty which Viphic, the finest warrior of the chapter, excelled at though as time passed he came to differ more and more with the opinions and guidance of the chaplains, who proclaimed that the Guard best served as inert, emotionless weapons of Terra. Beyond knowing no fear, they strove to void themselves too of sorrow, wrath, pride and even if necessary honour too to leave themselves only with duty.

On this issue Viphic and Angra often clashed before their master. And so Viphic warped the chaplain’s teachings. He had his men made use of the pain glove not to flagellate and cleanse but to harden and embitter themselves. Though called the `Bloody First` for more visceral reasons after the Cyprius III mission, the nickname had actually been carried by Viphic’s company for decades beforehand, spoken in hushed tones by the other companies with equal parts awe, disapproval and resentment though never within earshot of that master duelist.

And so it was that, dispatched to accompany an inquisitorial agent on a mission he believed beneath him, Viphic’s pride ensured his fall to Khorne.

 

And the longer version for those who wish to read it...

Viphic

Former captain of the Stygian Guard 1^st company `The Bloody First`, master of Phlegyas.

Former equerry to chapter master Sophusar.

Champion of Khorne.

 

Ever since the chapter’s inception scant centuries before, master Sophusar had two counsellors: the master of sanctity (Othanu and in later years his protégé Angra) and his first captain: Viphic. Respectively the will and the blade of the chapter. The disciplinarian and the warrior.

Tall even for an Astarte, long of limb and with a noble countenance, Viphic was a warrior supreme skilled in a variety of arms. Having progressed though devastator squads, assault squads and tactical squads, Viphic was granted a field promotion to sergeant of the 3^rd company’s 4^th tactical squad during purges of the greenskins on Farondon Secundus. He was promoted to captain of that battle company a decade later and took captaincy of the veteran company not long after he lead the 3^rd company in finally crushing Waaargh Skarfug Gutgul which they had driven from Farondon Secundus and pursued through the Xesi nebula. Though the Stygian Guard are an ascetic order in the extreme, it cannot fail to be supposed that his single handed taking of warboss Gutgul’s head had an effect on his rise. It was during such climactic combats that he fought as a man possessed, becoming withdrawn once more in the battle’s wake.

And it was the warrior’s pride which was his downfall, though he took a different path to that of his master.

The chapter’s very name - Stygian Guard - indicated their role as Angra would often recite his predecessor’s words: as ferrymen of the souls of the Emperor’s foes to the afterlife. In short, the Lords of Terra told the Astartes where to sail, and they emotionlessly reaped the souls of those who opposed them. It was a duty which Viphic, the finest warrior of the chapter, excelled at though as time passed he came to differ more and more with the opinions and guidance of the chaplains.

 

Master of sanctity Othanu had ordained that the chapter’s chaplains should be seconded to companies of their cousin chapters for varying periods of time. It was a practice which harked back to similar actions by the legions during the Great Crusade though differing in one critical way: the chaplains, at the end of their secondments, returned to the Guard to tell of their time with the chapter they had served. This was firstly on a one-to-one basis with Othanu himself, during which the chief chaplain would have the junior dissect the actions, tactics, strategies and the very warrior cult of that chapter focusing on its weaknesses. Thus they studied their friends as they studied their foes. Always seeking weaknesses and thence strived to eliminate those weaknesses within themselves.

It was this practice, or rather the arrogance which Viphic saw fomenting within the chapter due to it, with which the captain of the first took umbrage. He himself had crossed blades with champions of other chapters within the dueling cages. To face their best and gain a measure of them before fighting alongside them was, to him, essential.

Often Viphic would vent his disapproval of the chaplain’s actions during meetings with master Sophusar and the head of the reclusiam.

“Always his choler is to the fore,” Othanu would comment to the chapter master, speaking in front of Viphic but not deigning to reprimand him directly.

Sophusar himself, as leader of the chapter, was characterized best by his phlegmaticness, and would call for peace between his two most trusted counselors, voicing appreciation for the input and actions of both in the forging of their younger chapter.

“And what of you, master Othanu? What humours rule your temper?” Viphic would reply vehemently.

“None,” the master of sanctity replied flatly, “I am humourless. An inert instrument of Terra. Moving only at the will of the Golden Throne.”

It was an argument that came up time and time again, and on occasion not only at command level within the chapter.

At the master of sanctity’s bidding, the chapter was without ceremony. Neither victory march nor funeral dirge. Beyond knowing no fear, they strove to void themselves too of sorrow, wrath, pride and even if necessary honour too to leave themselves only with duty.

The one instrument of ritual which they chapter did maintain was the nerve glove of their parent chapter: the Imperial Fists. The pain glove by another name. With it the majority of the chapter sought to free themselves of all unwanted desires and thoughts, to purify themselves via pain.

But such was not quite so with the first company.

As with other chapters of the Adeptus Astartes there were warrior cults within the warrior cults. The Death and Raven wings of the Angels of Caliban, the Sanguinary Guard of the Blood Angels and countless more. Similarly with the first company of the Stygian Guard. Even within such an ascetic order there was pride within the veteran company, and captain Viphic stoked that ego though he would vehemently deny it if accused. While their fellow Astartes of the chapter cleansed, flagellated and punished themselves within the glove, Viphic’s veterans honed themselves. They stubbornly fought against the pain. Embittered themselves.

Technology versus iron will, truly the Officio Assassinorum proverb `Pain is an illusion of the senses, despair an illusion of the mind` could have been the motto of the first company.

And despite themselves they did show that pride: always first into the field, seeking the mightiest of foes. Though called the `Bloody First` for more visceral reasons after the Cyprius III mission, the nickname had actually been carried by the company for decades beforehand, spoken in hushed tones by the other companies with equal parts awe, disapproval and resentment.

 

 

“In every age the vilest specimens of human nature are to be found among demagogues.”

Captain Viphic was grim as he returned to the first company’s barracks within the chapter’s fortress monastery on their homeworld of Fulcrum.

“I need not lower myself to the level of a telepath to tell you have once again crossed words with our master of sanctity,” replied Diarthet. Chief librarian of the Stygian Guard, Diarthet most often fought alongside the first company and was commonly found within their quarters.

“Aye, words. Alas not blades.”

“A contest which would be no contest, my captain,” the psyker smiled, offering the wrathful officer a chalice of water. “And one with no honour to it. You know there is no single warrior within the chapter who could match you.” And this was no insinuation, for all knew that captain Viphic possessed the greatest skill with a blade, even master Sophusar. It was an accepted fact.

“I care not for honour!” the captain spat after downing the water, his choler still vitriolic. “On that point I acquiesce. We need it not-“

Diarthet raised his brow but a fraction and suppressed a smile.

-“but I would not have my men as automatons,” Viphic continued.

“You object to the Nantesi mission?”

The captain rounded on the librarian, his brow furrowed. Diarthet raised his hands defensively in response.

“We of the librarius do not sully ourselves with mindreading but, not being privy to the meetings of you three, we do have our means.”

Viphic grunted.

“You believe the mission beneath us?” Diarthet pressed.

“The Black Templars can handle it without our aid. Let them loose their zeal upon these heretics. I would that master Sophusar unleash us upon a worthy foe. Xenos.”

“There are rumours of Xenos present on Nantesi….”

“`Diarthet of Vanus Clade?`”

“Your slighting of our cousins aside, I understand your ire my captain, but you would have Imperial worlds fall to Chaos while you conquered new ones?”

“Not the Templars but the Imperial Guard then,” Viphic said, taking down his power sword from its place on the weapons rack and beginning to polish the deactivated blade. The maintenance of his arms was the one pursuit likely to cool his humours and Diarthet was glad to see him commence the ritual. “Let humans deal with human issues.”

This brought an honest raise of the librarian’s brow.

“If I may say, you forget from whence we came, my captain. And whom we serve.”

This elicited naught but a grunt from the warrior.

“1^st Baron Macaulay, second millennium,” Diarthet said as he turned to leave, naming the quote Viphic had said as he had stormed into the barracks. “I’ll refrain from informing master Angra of your illicit reading.”

“As I shall refrain from informing master Sophusar of your spying,” Viphic smiled and admired the edge of his now gleaming sword.

 

Some years later captain Viphic stood in the fortress monastery’s main hangar before the ten squads of his company. Stern and vanguard as well as squads of terminators, some armed for close combat, others for putting out formidable firepower. At an order one hundred pairs of ceramite-shod feet stamped to attention as an Aquila lander made its way into the bay, landed and extended its ramp.

Viphic joined chapter master Sophusar, master of sanctity Angra, chief apothecary Polus, master of the forge Zenelaius, chief librarian Diarthet and his assistant epistolary Holusiax - almost the entire command staff of the chapter but for the other nine company captains. As one the eight Astartes bowed to their guest, hands forming the Aquila upon their chestplates.

The man was of average height, middle aged and neither thin nor fat. His appearance was entirely forgettable, as befit his calling. His long, unadorned overcoat likewise hid both his form and the numerous weapons and gadgets he no doubt had concealed within it. Behind him trailed a ragtag band of human warriors, clerks and - to the distaste of the Astartes - a Xenos: a short, hunched primate with orange-ginger fur. Viphic could not help but look at it with suppressed rage. That their visitor should tarnish their fortress-monastery with the presence of such a creature!

“Inquisitor Tobias Fen. Ordo Hereticus.”

 

Fen had brought a request from that most secretive of Imperial organisations: the Imperial Orders of the Emperor’s Inquisition. The best of the chapter were to accompany him (for it was a plea only in words) to the planet Cyprius III. The planet had not paid Terra’s Due in decades and there were reports of vessels visiting the planet and never returning amongst other fragments of outrageous hearsay.

Despite the brusque and demanding nature of the inquisitor’s message - the chapter’s first company! - the Guard were of Dorn’s blood. As the Fists had faced their heretical brethren on the walls of the Imperial palace on Holy Terra some ten millennia before, the Stygian Guard would not turn from their duty because the emissary was ill mannered.

 

 

The first shot of the Cyprius III mission, which would in later records be noted as the Cyprius III Cleaning or the Cyprius III Incident before being completely struck from the archives, was not fired by the debased, heretical cults of the planet nor was it at one of their number. No, the first bolt shell expended was the taking of the life of inquisitor Tobias Fen, fired by captain Viphic himself.

From what the rest of the chapter - arriving years later in search of their lost first company - could learn from the crazed berserkers their kin had become, the planetary governor had invited the inquisitor, his retinue, captain Viphic and chief librarian Diarthet to his citadel to discuss the shortcomings in Terra’s Due. The opulence of the ruler’s residence drew a thin veil over the debaucheries and corruption which had taken root centuries earlier, for the Dark Prince had toyed with the human Cypriusians and made them his thralls. It appeared that Terra’s agent had been unable to resist the lures and enticements offered by the governor and, at a nod from Diarthet, Viphic had executed the inquisitor before turning his weapons on the man’s retinue, gunning down his acolytes and servants as they attempted to avenge their master.

This was always a point in the tale when Holusiax would call for pause and skepticism, for his master Diarthet had never been one for the use of the scrying arts. That Diarthet himself had later been...twisted...by the Lord of Skulls could have been a factor? The truth, as was so often the case, would never be known for the Stygian Guard ceased teasing at the riddle as they themselves descended into their own oblivion.

 

What was known was that captain Viphic had then lead his company in carving a bloody swathe through the heretical populace. Whether the mission was still paramount in the sterling warrior’s mind or not during those times would also go unknown, but by the time the rest of the chapter arrived they found their veteran company transformed.

The thunderhawk settled onto the landing pad, sponson weapons tracking left and right, scanning the ruined buildings beyond the rubble-strewn, seemingly abandoned starport. Phlegyas, the starship of the 1^st company, had been found a broken wreck across the back of mountains beyond the city, it’s twisted hulk devoid of life and indeed all corpses but for its human compliment.

Chapter master Sophusar, great axe in his gauntleted hands, lead his troops down the ramp onto Cypriusian soil in search of his lost veterans. Years had passed and nothing had been heard from them. The Cypriusians had ignored hails from the flagship Charon as it had made orbit and upon discovering Phlegyas, seemingly downed by planet-side batteries, Sophusar had ordered the planet bombarded. Yet still the populace had remained silent. Eventually a static-filled message had gotten through from none other than captain Viphic, his bloodied visage shocking the bridge crew as much as his curt demand that the bombardment stop.

That his `hunt be allowed to continue.`


And the comm had cut.

 

Viphic and his veterans had come, as Sophusar had known they would. They formed up at the very extremity of the starport, stepping from the shadows of the ruins to reveal their once pristine alabaster-hued armour tarnished by gore. While each Stygian Guard wore a single skull over back to back canted scythes upon his left pauldron: the iconography of their chapter, hooked chains skewering dozens of skulls now adorned the armour of their veteran company.

Weapons were not quite pointed at the captain as Viphic strode the hundred meters from his men to his master and his brethren.

Sophusar looked at his equerry with unabashed shock and sorrow.

“What has become of you, my equerry, my captain...my brother...?”

Viphic, his armour seemingly camouflaged by bloody hand prints, their age making different shades from browns and crimsons to rich scarlet, looked from Sophusar to Angra. His fists tightened on the chainblades in his hands, having long since expended all projectile ammunition.

“I am the epitome.” His voice was hoarse from roaring and was now barely more than a whisper. His face was hidden beneath his helmet, which he had not removed. A slight to his master. “I have found the Truth. The bloody truth.”

Angra looked upon his rival as one might glance with contempt upon one’s pet turned rabid.

“What have you done here, Viphic?”

“The mission, master Sophusar!” the veteran captain turned, holding out and revving his chain blades, motioning to the ruined city about them. “You sent us here to reap the heretic, the unworthy. And the Bloody First do their duty. As ordered.”

Sophusar raised his chin. “If this world is lost to madness, then we leave. Let us destroy it from orbit. Come, captain,” and he extended his open hand toward his equerry.

Angra, and Holusiax of the librarius close at hand, looked from their master to the fallen hero before them. The entire chapter watched.

Viphic took a step backwards.

“You are lost,” he said with a cracked voice. “You are warriors no more. You would have do our duty without feeling...without honour. I can do this no longer.”

“If we are not warriors at least we are not butchers,” came the calm yet reprimanding voice of the master of sanctity.

Viphic shook his gore-stained helm and took another step backwards. Angra was the first to raise his bolt pistol toward the 1^st company’s captain, followed soon after by several squads of the chapter formed up about them. It was only the raising of master Sophusar’s open hand which stayed their arms.

“You would let him go?” exclaimed Angra, “this is heresy!”

“A reprieve, Viphic,” Sophusar said with his eyes on his once-equerry, while returning his hand to his axe. “When our mission here is done, when the Cypriusian heresy is dealt with we shall turn to the cleansing of our own kin.”

Viphic motioned once more to the city and the cultists within. “These skulls are ours, old friend. Ours. And we shall take those of any who oppose us.” And with that the leader of the Bloody First returned to his company and their rampage.

Angra did not lower his pistol until the veterans were out of sight, he then turned to the chapter master.

“I will signal Charon to commence bombardment as soon as we dock, master. Let us wipe both stains from our chapter’s history in one hammer blow.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

And so it was that the Stygian Guard fought the Cypriusian cults and, in turn, found their own damnation.

 

 

His breathing came in rabid snorts, his teeth clenched. He opened his eyes to find he was armoured, his helmet upon his head. Black bars before his face and indeed about his body. The ground beneath his feet swayed as he looked about and realized that he was within a cage suspended above a chamber. He knew the place: one of the great halls of the fortress monastery. How he had gotten here -home! - he could not remember. Fragments of memory flittered elusively though is mind. Like smoke, the more he tried to grasp at them, the more futile it became.

A showdown, months after their parting of ways, in the ruins of the governor’s palace on Cyprius III. His own blade against the great axe of his former master. A duel he was sure to win. What then had happened?

The sorcerer! That snake-bodied bastard, he had gotten into Viphic’s mind!

As his anger burned hotter he felt it enhanced, some alien compound coursing through his veins. His body had been violated and he could feel raw scar tissue, rapidly healing, on and within his body. It was then that he noticed the countless other cages like his, each barely big enough for an Astarte to stand within, suspended about him. His men were imprisoned with him, each slowly waking up, rage kindled within them.

What had they done to him and his men? His brow creased in confusion though all emotions but anger were being eclipsed by the rage boiling up within him.

“Time is short, captain Viphic.”

Master Sophusar stood on the steps at the far end of the hall, his terminator armour as unrecognizable as Viphic’s own had been when last they had met: now vividly painted and decorated with daemonic faces with grilled mouths, the blade of his great axe twisted into an icon of Slaanesh.

“You and your remaining men live, to serve.”

“I no longer serve you.”

“Indeed, you serve the Lord of Rage. And we, now, the Dark Prince...but I find our aims joined this day.”

“I will have your skull, and the skulls of those serpents Angra and Holusiax!”

“Perhaps, but not this day. You realize we are home. Fulcrum. The Templars and more are upon us. Our little game is up and, rather than have our cousins torch the Bloody First within your cages, you will face them.”

“To cover your retreat?”

“Yes. But we will do what we can to take as many of you with us as we can.”

Viphic could feel the heat, white hot, behind his eyes, as if he very soul were ablaze. He could barely speak anymore. A red haze fell across his vision. His limbs longed for freedom, his hands to close about hilts...and necks.

Sophusar left the room and the bottom of their cages fell open as the sound of the Templar assault reached them.