The Masters (Short Prequel for a story idea - 500 words)

[VikingWarband]

The masters do not like failure. 

 

The last Overseer to fail them and had been forced to live without his skin for many nights and had not been allowed to die until the masters’ wishes were fulfilled. 

 

The screams still haunted his sleep memories. He did not want to be hurt like that. 

 

The outriders reported that the masters had returned, but that did not seem possible. The masters were too early. He was not expecting them for many more harvests.

 

Much needed to be done.

 

The pits must be filled.

 

He shouted to the thin one and told him to prepare the offerings. There wasn’t much time and he did not wish to displease the masters. 

 

At least the offerings had been marked. He had used the dark blade to carve the symbols into the children’s skin four harvests ago. 

 

Four harvests was not enough time, though. They had not all ripened. Some were too small. They may not fight. They might not play the games.

 

But they would cry. The masters enjoyed the crying.

 

He rushed to the small chest next to the great fire in the center of the temple. This was where they kept the ceremonial items their masters had given them. 

 

He opened the lid and removed a small rock, then tossed it into the fire. Plumes of purple smoke rose up the draft and filled the sky. His masters had told him that this color must be used to herald their arrival. He hoped his masters would be pleased.

 

A thundering boom pounded the earth and the temple shook violently. He quickly took the ritual crown from the box and placed it atop his head before donning the cloak with the many markings on it. 

 

Screams filled the air.

 

He ran to the balcony and looked out upon the kingdom his masters had granted him. 

 

It burned. The people screamed as they ran. 

 

The stars were falling.

 

He saw a dark shape swoop from the sky and pluck a female from the fleeing crowd. It made a terrible shriek as its talons tore her in two, letting the halves fall in bloody arcs back to the earth.

 

More dark shapes stomped amongst the throngs of people, killing many with huge swings of metal. Some had wings on their heads. Some had skulls for faces. They were giants.

 

These were not his masters. 

 

They were not the smooth, pointy blurs of death and laughter. They were not borne on the sky boats nor did they race through the air on the screaming blades. There were no pain mistresses with their snapping whips nor floating men with many arms.

 

And they did not smile.

 

These were gods of a different kind. These gods made fire from their hands and shook the earth as they walked.  These gods made loud noises from their mouths that hurt his ears and had blood-red eyes. These gods were wreathed in lightning and clad in midnight. 

 

Panic gripped him. He struggled for breath. 

 

The kingdom was being slaughtered. This would be blamed on him. The masters would tell him he had failed. 

 

The masters do not like failure.

[Machine God]

Nice.

 

So he's a human that worships Dark Eldar and now the Night Lords turn up...

[VikingWarband]

Nice.

 

So he's a human that worships Dark Eldar and now the Night Lords turn up...

Exactly!

 

I was originally going to write some Night Lords fan-fic, but as I started thinking about it, I was getting more Dark Eldar ideas, so I think I'm going to focus on them. I also want to create artwork to go with the stories to make the reading a little more enjoyable :)

 

Thank you for the reply!

[Machine God]

Nice.

So he's a human that worships Dark Eldar and now the Night Lords turn up...

Exactly!

I was originally going to write some Night Lords fan-fic, but as I started thinking about it, I was getting more Dark Eldar ideas, so I think I'm going to focus on them. I also want to create artwork to go with the stories to make the reading a little more enjoyable

Thank you for the reply!

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