++Inspiration Friday (Chaos Icons. Until 12/18)++

[Zhaharek]

This one is about both the Fortress, and technically The Maze. Enjoy.

 

 

The Long Path

 

Water dripped, trickled, and flowed, down and through every corridor, passageway, vent, and every other space in the hulk. If it is water.

 

An oily drizzle of the liquid covered Caseus. It flowed over his acid-bleached armour, across the blank white edges, across the leather holsters of his combat knife, and his bolt pistol. It splashed about his armoured boots as he walked.

 

The Astartes was striding through a low, cramped corridor. Caseus asked himself, for the tenth time in an hour, why he was here. He could have conquered some backwater feudal world by now, and be living the high life, never having to see one of his "brothers" ever again, and not looking over his shoulder for the Inquisition every night. But no, he had to come here, and risk it all on a legend. Idiot.

 

A blank and drab door awaited Caseus, and he met it, reaching the end of the corridor. He reached for the door release.

Then, he stopped, armoured fingers mere millimetres shy of the release. The legends had been VERY clear on what happened to those who failed. It was... Unpleasant, to say the least.

"And they shall know no fear." He muttered to himself, dry as a bone.

He opened the door, and stepped through.

 

She sat in the middle of the empty, square room, staring straight at him. Her hair was so filthy and matted that Caseus couldn't tell what colour it was. Her nails may as well have been talons. She was wearing a boiler suit, and gnarled, black, wooden staff stood behind her, tipped with a jagged, water smoothed rock. Despite the dirt and grime, at Caseus's best guess, she was in her mid-twenties.

She grinned at him, with pointed teeth,

"I thought you'd be taller," she said.

Caseus growled, and turned to leave.

 

The door had changed while his back was turned. The blank steel was gone, replaced by bronze. The austerity had been replaced by embellishment. Countless bellowing faces, each a warrior, were embossed onto the metal. The slowly beeping release panel had been replaced by door knob shaped like a skull.

 

"Oh yes, you're in the right place." said the woman behind him, "And there is, quite literally, no turning back now."

Caseus turned the skull, and threw wide the door. The empty doorway screamed at him, and pulled him in.

 

Drums thundered, and blades flashed, wherever he looked. The beat began to match the rapid pace of his hearts. Caseus was standing on crimson marble, in a great hall that soared away from him in its size, lined with immense pillars, holding the structure in place.

In great phalanxes, stood innumerable red-skinned, horned warriors, some beating drums, others brandishing phenomenal swords, on either side of him, their numbers stretching beyond his sight.

They stared at him. Caseus knew exactly where he was.

 

At the very end of this vast hall was a wave of white. A pale mountain. Caseus took a few steps closer, and realised that the white was the white of bone. He stood before a great mound of skulls, human, alien, mechanical, some bigger than him.

 

His hand went for his knife, and he touched the hilt of a broadsword instead. He looked closer at the skulls. One stood out to him. Rot had not set in, it was still a head, rather than a skull. Caseus knew the features all too well. They were much like his own. Stern, aquiline, and patrician.

 

"TAKE IT," resounded a voice that shook the heavens. The tone was ragged and rough, as if the owner had just been screaming.

 

Caseus looked up, up and up, to find the origin of the thunderous voice. He found it, atop the mountain of skulls. When he saw it, he turned and ran, as fast as he could, back to the door.

The head of Roboute Guilliman stared back at him from the base of The Skull Throne.

 

 

Caseus returned to the small room, in the hulk, with its sole occupant still staring at him, a curious edge to her look now. He pointed his bolt pistol at her head.

"You won't shoot me," she said, smirking.

"What makes you so sure?" Snarled Caseus, despite the fact that she was right. He didn't know if it was her keeping the doors open, if he was going to he would've already, and, most importantly, his bolt pistol was empty. He'd wasted all his ammo killing an Imperial Fist, a few months ago.

Her smirked widened, and she said, "Because you think I'm keeping the doors open, you'd have done it already, and most importantly, your gun is empty."

 

He sighed, and holstered the pistol. Then, noticed that his knife had returned to normal. "So you're a Psyker then." He didn't as much ask, as state the obvious. The woman nodded.

 

He turned around, to face a different door again. This one was as blank as the first, but edged with a patina of rust. His nose wrinkled in disgust, and he said without turning "I have no interest in what lies beyond this door."

"But-"

"No!" Caseus roared, still facing the door, "The next one."

 

Within a blink, the door changed again. This time, the door was crafted from a mirror. Caseus looked at himself. Bleached white armour, with no sign of his original colours, bar a single strip of blue that crossed the eyes of his helm. The longer he looked, the more he felt dissatisfied with the image. The ways he could improve this...

 

"Next. Door." He growled. The woman breathed out through her teeth in annoyance, and the door changed again.

 

The door to Caseus's childhood home faced him. Warmth bled from it, and golden light spilled from the seams. He stepped into his past, without noticing the curling symbol on the door.

 

 

"Caseus, dinner!"

In a small room, filled with the amber light of a basic glow-globe, and furnished with nice, homemade wood, a 13 year old Caseus ate with his 2 brothers, his parents, and his friend, the beautiful Mecina.

 

The real Caseus, the 7 foot, 264 year old Astartes, watched from the corner of the room. He didn't know how long he'd been standing there. He merely looked on, waiting for the inevitable to happen. He didn't want to watch, but he knew he would have to. He had tried interacting with them, but he was immaterial here. He couldn't even hear what they were saying.

 

"Another charming anecdote, from the worlds of Ultramar," A slender man, clad in neat robes stood beside Caseus, a raven skull where his head should be.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up," replied Caseus.

 

"I won't mince words, or waste time on spectacle," said Tzeentch, with a hundred voices, "I won't even deceive you, as that would be too easy." The god twitched, and it sounded like a flock of birds taking flight. Tzeentch waved an arm across the homely scene. The motion sounded like breaking waves. "All I will do, is make you a simple offer."

 

The wall of the dining room shattered. Caseus knew precisely what was happening. This was nought but a few months before he was inducted into the Ultramarines.

 

He was watching his family die, for the second time. A man with an auto-gun stepped into through the hole in the wall, and started firing. His brothers fell. His parents fell. His young self toppled as a round pierced his thigh. That scar never healed.

The man with an auto-gun rounded on Mecina. The god pointed at him, and the scene slowed to an unnatural halt, then took hold of Caseus's shoulder guard. "I can give you the power to change the minds of others, the world around you," Caseus stared into Tzeentch's empty eye sockets, as the god said: "Even the past."

 

Caseus was corporeal. He didn't know how he knew, and he didn't care. He strode towards the man with an auto-gun. Grabbed him by the neck before he could scream. Lifted his other arm, to bring his fist down on the man's skull. He scrabbled and beat at the vice grip, like a rat in a cat's mouth.

"If you are willing to accept the price," whispered Tzeentch, louder than a temple bell.

Caseus looked at his hand and saw twisting, shifting metal. He screamed, and cast the man aside. He looked up, at the room around him, as the walls grew, and turned from the wood of his old home, to black crystal. He looked at Tzeentch, and screamed even louder. He turned, and for the second time in the day, ran from a god.

 

 

Caseus came through the door, at full pelt. The woman scrambled out of the way with a string of obscenity. He hit a wall with a dull clang, bounced off, and lay on the ground, breathing hard. He lay there, and she stared at him for a few minutes.

 

Finally, he stood, and walked to the door. It had returned to blank and drab metal. Caseus pressed the release button, and walked out, water swishing about his ankles, and splattering off of his helm. The woman picked herself up, grabbed her staff, and followed him. He ignored her.

 

As they walked back to the ship, she told him: "My name is Iyana."

"I didn't ask" was his reply. He checked his arm. It was normal. Aside from a slight deformation on his index finger, it was normal.

"Where are we going?" Iyana asked.

"A feudal world."

Caseus could not shake the feeling that he had just taken the first step on a long path.

 

 

Long after Caseus had left, taking Iyana with him, the door creaked open. Something sniffed, tentatively, at the air outside. The door creaked open further. The incessant dripping came to an abrupt halt, and first began to creep across the moist walls. It stepped outside, for the first time in millennia. It began to laugh. Laugh, and laugh, and laugh and laugh. Astropaths, for hundreds of lightyears around, began to snort, giggle, and eventually laugh until their cheeks split.

Then they too, stopped.

[Kierdale]

My thanks for your entries this week!

Before I announce this week’s winner, my own comments on the entries...

SlaveToDarkness, your entry -Hellborn- was for the previous challenge, right? A very good read nonetheless!

On to those about the gods and their domains…

A great read, Carrack, and filled with such detail! I think you captured the horror of the Garden of Nurgle excellently. I particularly loved the description of the tree. And your mention of Eden and the Garden! Such delicious heresy

I wonder if Garaduk’s actions at the end will have repercussions - has he earned the displeasure of the Lord of Flies? - and I hope we will see more of him in the future.

Zhaharek, I enjoyed Caseus’ story too. Torn between the Architect of Fate and the Blood God? Not an enviable position! I hope we’ll hear more of him and that which escaped at the end (and escaped from what/which door??).

Oh and was it actually his skull?!

I thoroughly enjoyed reading of both Garaduk and Caseus’ trials within the lairs of the gods but I have chosen the outstanding work of Scourged as our winner for this week’s Inspiration Friday. I was tempted to try to write about the Maze of Tzeentch myself but found the prospect far too daunting; something Scourged did not shy away from and indeed dived into, taking his sorcerer Telioch Philantos to the very center of the labyrinth. It was a thoroughly entertaining read and everything I could have hoped to read about the Maze. I wondered often “How is he going to finish this?” “How do you finish this in a satisfying climax?” and the ending did not disappoint. It was perfect.

I hope again it won’t be the last we read of Telioch and The Scourged.

As a small aside, though fan of the Thousand Sons as I am, I was also pleased to see it was a tale of other Tzeentch-aligned renegades.

Step forth Scourged and claim your reward!

Here begins the next challenge...

Thunderhawk Down

Give us a (brief?) synopsis of a story with its plot lifted from a movie (of any genre you wish), with Chaos protagonists or antagonists. Whether you choose to put it in the title and make it obvious (“Thunderhawk Down”) or more subtle, is your choice.

A lighter tone this week (depending somewhat on your choice )

The challenge runs until the 7th of August.

Let us be inspired...

[Carrack]

Congrats Scourged. I really got a feel for the maddening landscape of the maze reading your story.

 

I'm calling dibs on Castaway. In true grimdarky grim darkedness Wilson will be a skull.

[Thedarkprincesnun]

A Nightmare on Thunder hawk street

A group of Emperors Children are on board a strike cruiser travelling through the warp trying to find their daemon primarchs daemon world. Mean while something is stirring in the night mares of their servants killing them. Can the Emperors Children put a stop to what in the warps name is doing this or will it create enough fear to enter reality and start attacking the chaos marines

[Radagast's Raiders]

From Gladiator to Pathfinder.

Jozan Tsarin, was imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit. Sentenced to the gladiator pits on Takesis VII, he manages to survive.

Following an attack by Chaos Forces, he's offered a chance at freedom.

If he agrees to lead the attackers to a hidden prize. The very secret his death was meant to protect.

[Midnightmare]

The Betrayer: Falling Down

Captain of the 8th Company of the Worldeaters, and coping with the being on the losing side of a traitorous galactic war, Khârn is having a bad day. During a battle for territory with the hated Emperors Children on a back water Daemon World, his cowardly Legion attempt to seek shelter from the malefic freezing night conditions on Skalathrax. Khârn's bitterness and hatred towards his own Legion, as well as feelings of abandonment from a deserting Daemon Primarch, become more evident throughout the day and night, resulting in violent encounters with various members of the Emperors Children and the Worldeaters, culminating in a killing spree when Khârn takes up a powerful relic Flamer against his own brethren as the Blood God's rage takes over completely. Will he and the 12th Legion ever be the same again?

[Slave to Darkness]

  On 7/31/2015 at 10:27 AM, Kierdale said:

 

SlaveToDarkness, your entry -Hellborn- was for the previous challenge, right? A very good read nonetheless!

 

 

 

Yep, the previous one. 

[K0rtmer]

The adventure continues in this "The Horus Heresy" sequel. Iron Warrior warsmiths Louk, Harn, and Lewa, and battle-brother Tchoubokarn face attack by Imperial forces and the Mechanicum's battle titans on the fortress world Olympia. While Harn and Lewa escape in the Iron Falcon, Louk travels to the Eye of Terror in search of the Sepktraal Cult. Only with the Dark Magos' help will Louk survive when pride and bitterness beckon him into the ultimate duel with Lord-Commander Veyder of the Imperial Fists.

 

(A shameless ripoff off a movies.eventful.com synopsis. You won't have trouble connecting the dots.)

[Warsmith Aznable]

In 912.M41 a Vanguard Veteran squad was sent to prison by an Inquisitor for a heresy they didn't commit. These space marines promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Maelstrom underground. Today, still wanted by the Imperium, they survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire the Alpha Squad.

[Carrack]

Some 30 years ago on an outlaw orbital dock, only nominally under Imperial Control, a group of rouge traders, outlaws, and possibly rogue inquisitors had gathered at a fine feast hall where they sometimes met to discuss their questionable business. One table sat in a corner perpetually in shadows, the other patrons did not look in its direction, pretending as if it didn't exist. Their deliberate self denial, similar to the way Colossal Varks hid their heads in the sand in the face of predators, was shattered when an argument erupted from the corner in loud and terrible voices. A women stormed from the shadowed corner in rage, her black hood slipping to reveal a pale, beautiful face covered with a tattooed script. As she passed by tables on the way to the exit, amasec glasses froze and shattered, candles flickered, and more than one patron bled from the nose and eyes.

 

More frightful than the warp-tainted women was the hulking figure in baroque warplate lurching to his feet and bringing his terrible visage out of the shadows. He must have stood 8 feet tall, his skin was so old it looked dead, and his eyes... They burned with the fires of Hell. He was a corrupted Angel of Death, an ancient and terrible nightmare of humanity's past. He was Lord Carrack, Slayer of Multitudes, and he was reeling drunk. The patrons stared in uncomfortable silence, in awe of his presence for certain, but mostly in fear.

 

Lord Carrack said, "What you lookin' at? You all a bunch of maggots. You know why? You don't have the guts to be what you wanna be? You need people like me. You need people like me so you can point your fingers and say, "That's the bad guy." So... what that make you? Good? You're not good. You just know how to hide, how to lie. Me, I don't have that problem. Me, I always tell the truth. Even when I lie. So say good night to the bad guy! Come on. The last time you gonna see a bad guy like this again, let me tell you. Come on. Make way for the bad guy. There's a bad guy comin' through! Better get outta his way!

 

With that the Chaos Lord left the feast hall and the rouge station.

[Kierdale]

Great stuff so far! :D

Keep 'em coming. Multiple entries are welcome.

 

Carrack, I couldn't figure out the movie yours was from...?

And...no Castaway? ;)

 

Here are mine. Once I got started a few ideas came...

 

Oliver's Arrow

A group of criminals, utilising technology unknown to them developed by the Dark Mechanicus, ply their unique trade: stealing ideas from the minds of others. With this technology they go beyond the noosphere and into the very dreamscape of their targets, twisting and warping It to their needs.

As they are forced to dive deeper -dangerously deep- into the mind of one target to plant an idea they find that which resides at the very heart of psyche: the Architect of Fate himself...

 

 

Robin Skulls and his Murderous Men

On a heavily forested Deathworld ruled by a corrupt Imperial governor, a wronged and outcast noble (though his curious accent hints at a non-native origin) goes underground, gathering a band of murderous men to exact vengeance upon the tyrant. Initially they limit themselves to ambushing Arbite and later Guard patrols, hanging their polished skulls from the boughs of the trees edging the Great Wood they hide within. The spoils of their raids they give back to the oppressed populace, their fame and support growing with each victory and the tyrant's subsequent attempts to capture them. 'Robin Skulls' as he soon becomes known gains the favour and aid of Maid Mayhem of the planet's Adeptus Sororitas, an old childhood friend of his. Volunteers flock to their band but some baulk at the bloody methods the Murderous Men are forced to take and soon the skulls of these cowards too decorate the Great Wood and the throne of the Robber King.

Though the resources of the Great Wood are a source of wealth to the governor, he is forced to either devastate it via prometheum bombing or call in the Astartes. He chooses the latter and the vicious Space Wolves descend upon the forest hideout of Robin Skulls...

 

 

Besieged

Chaos space marines of the Alpha Legion infiltrate an Imperial navy battleship on its way to be decommissioned, intending to steal its payload of cyclonic missiles. The best laid plans of the traitor legionnaires go awry when it is discovered that the ship's cook is no mere cook but is in fact ex-Tempestus Scion Tempestor Seagal, who escapes and begins to stalk those who infiltrated his ship, dispatching them one by one. Not even the martial skills of Khorne-worshipping commander Busey or his ally from the Emperor's Children, Tee'Lee Jones are able to stop the vengeful cook...

 

 

One more idea:

Oh wait this couldn't be Chaosified more!

[Carrack]

The movie is Scarface. The say goodby to the bad guy speech is almost word for word, minus the swearing. Cast Away was a good idea, but other than Wilson being a skull I couldn't think of anything.

[Sheesh Mode]

Damn. I was going to do a synopsis of Proco Rosso called Red Squig. But then I realized this was a chaos story. 


C for Chaotic:

A servant of Malice infiltrates an Imperial Hive to spread anarchy amongst the populace. Feeding on resentment against the totalitarian rule of the Hive's paranoid governor, a massive uprising occurs. This incites a cou within the nobility resulting in the Governor's death and the hives fall into total anarchy. The story ends with the servant of malice making the governor's spire an explosive burriel, its apprentices already spreading to carry on Malice's hate.
 

Possessed:
On a mission to destroy a renegade FOB, an elite squad of Catachans led by Sergeant Harker discover their target destroyed and its occupants dead. Brutally slaughtered, with their skinned bodies left for all to see. The Catachan veterans quickly learn that they are next on the murderer's hit list as the members disappear one by one, their skulls taken and their skin flayed. In the end Sergeant Harker is the only survivor, his experience, cunning, and tenacity barely enabling him to kill the invisible abomination.
 

Silence of the Damned:
An Interrogator seeks an incarcerated Tzeentch priest's help in catching a cultist of Slaanesh. Through bribery and manipulation the Tzeentch Priest escapes, leaving a bloody path behind him. Though the Interrogator kills the Slaaneshi cultist and saves the Lord General's daughter, she is now complicit in a traitor's escape. 

 

  On 8/4/2015 at 9:49 PM, Carrack said:

Lord Carrack said, "What you lookin' at? You all a bunch of maggots. You know why? You don't have the guts to be what you wanna be? You need people like me. You need people like me so you can point your fingers and say, "That's the bad guy." So... what that make you? Good? You're not good. You just know how to hide, how to lie. Me, I don't have that problem. Me, I always tell the truth. Even when I lie. So say good night to the bad guy! Come on. The last time you gonna see a bad guy like this again, let me tell you. Come on. Make way for the bad guy. There's a bad guy comin' through! Better get outta his way!

 

Oliver?

Or.... hmm.... OH! Hah!

Scar face.
 

[Carrack]

  Sheesh Mode said:

 

  On 8/4/2015 at 9:49 PM, Carrack said:

 

Lord Carrack said, "What you lookin' at? You all a bunch of maggots. You know why? You don't have the guts to be what you wanna be? You need people like me. You need people like me so you can point your fingers and say, "That's the bad guy." So... what that make you? Good? You're not good. You just know how to hide, how to lie. Me, I don't have that problem. Me, I always tell the truth. Even when I lie. So say good night to the bad guy! Come on. The last time you gonna see a bad guy like this again, let me tell you. Come on. Make way for the bad guy. There's a bad guy comin' through! Better get outta his way!

Oliver?

Either I did a bad job writing, or people need to call in sick, get a babysitter for the kids, turn off the phones, and watch Scarface, it's that good. :) I'm sure it was my writing.

 

 

Silenced of the Damned... Awesome.

[Kierdale]

Oh! Scarface!

I must admit it had been too, too long since I saw that film.

Though I do well remember the scene in the bathroom with the chainsaw :D

[Slave to Darkness]

Life of Keith

 

The story of Keith of Terra, born on the same day as The Starchild, who takes a different path in life that leads to the same conclusion. Keith joins a political resistance movement who are not very effective but somehow Keith becomes a prophet and gathers his own following.

[Carrack]

The Heretic Josey Whales

 

After the Horus Heresy, where a traitor marine's unit is massacred by assault cannons concealed in the back of a vehicle, the traitor marine must flee the loyalist to safety in the Eye of Terra, and get vengeance where he can at the end of a bolt pistol. All the while he is followed by a wolf of Fenris, and spits chewed up leaves on things while making witty remarks. In the end he slays the loyalist captain responsible for the deaths of his brothers with his own power sword.

[1000 Sons]

The Godlessfather.

 

A chapter family of the Alpha Legion have infiltrated Terra and are slowly working to get members of their family into the palace of the Emperor.  Corleonus the new leader of the Alpha Legion family is working against the heads of the 5 families of the Lord of Terra.  The recent death of Vito the Hydra has Corleonus looking for vengeance against the Custodes who are the bought puppets of the Lords of Terra crime family.  Corleonus is also working to get the chapter family out of the heresy racket and move to a more legitimate path, but will the past keep dragging him back to the ways of the warp, or can he finally bring the Alpha Legion back into the fold of loyalist families ?

[Sviar]

I can't believe that I missed this

  On 7/3/2015 at 10:19 AM, Kierdale said:

While previous incarnations were strictly weekly, I may give two weeks to work on some themes.

I set a reminder to two from now

[K0rtmer]

How about this (off this)?

Aspiring Terran ecclesiarch-pontifex Celvin accepts a high-powered position in a backwater sector diocese headed by scrupulous Cardinal Johannus Melten. As Celvin moves up up in the ecclesiarchy's ranks, his partner, Maria, has several frightening, mystical experiences that begin to warp her sense of reality. With the stakes getting higher with each case, Celvin quickly learns that his mentor is scheming a far more sinister plot than he could have dared to imagine.

[Kierdale]

To everyone, thank you for your entries this week.

A Nightmare on Elm Street, Gladiator to Pathfinder, Falling Down (I particularly liked that one!), Star Wars (someone had to!), The A-Team (loved that one too!), Scarface, Predator, Silence of the Lambs, The Life of Brian (), The Outlaw Josey whatsit, The Godfather, The Devil’s Advocate and my own: Inception, Robin Hood and Under Siege...an excellent slice of the sliver screen twisted to the varied hues of Chaos.

It was very hard to choose a winner but there was one that just felt right as soon as I read it...

Step forth Sheesh Mode and claim your reward!

I really liked the idea of Silence of the Damned. I also particularly liked that you made Dr. Lecter a devotee of Tzeentch. Very interesting.

And here begins the next challenge...

Signature Tactics

The Luna Wolves had their Speartip, the Night Lords their terror tactics. On the loyalist side the Death Wing are famed for teleporting into the heart of the battle, while Sanguinius’ sons drop down upon pinions of fire.

This week I want to hear about the signature tactics of your renegade Astartes. Be it a strategy often put into use by your entire warband or a how a handful of units work in coordination, or even the tactics of one single squad charged with a particular role, tell us about this gambit, this ruse, ploy or sequence of well-drilled maneuvers.

The challenge runs until the 14^th of August.

Let us be inspired...

[Teetengee]

Blood and Pus

Hidden Content

CRASH, BOOM!, Tinkatinkatchhsshhh…..

 

 

Jolting awake at the series of crashes, I instinctively reach down, checking my keys and my autopistol. Groaning a little under the weight of too many years a night guard in this sleepy little consumer’s center, I get up to go figure out what the hell just happened.

 

Opening my booth door, I can hear the howling of the wind seemingly coming from not just outside the walls but inside the building. Turning on its flashlight, I raise my weapon and move toward the sound.

 

The source of the sound becomes obvious as I reach the food plaza, a massive hole in the glass ceiling has opened up the building to the foreboding sky. Near the center of the plaza and directly beneath the middle of the hole is a smoking metal pillar covered in runes I can’t recognize.

 

I detach the flashlight and return the pistol to my belt as I pick my way across the glass covered tiles, being careful to avoid the edges of the hole in the ceiling where large pieces of glass and window frame are only tenuously held in place high above. Fighting back the beginning of a headache I reach out to touch the faintly glowing pillar. Swearing and shaking my hand furiously, I flinch back as the searing hot metal cooks the top layer of my fingertips. As I sit gingerly examining the wound I feel the first drops of rain begin to fall down. The sky is an angry red.

 

In the hopes of not further reducing the quality of my already poor night, I run under the cover provided by the still undamaged roof of the hallway. As I turn back, I notice that small holes have opened out of the pillar and begun to pour out a dark liquid, but at this distance and in the now fairly torrential downpour, I can’t make much out of the rivulets coursing down its sides.

 

I can smell the ozone and taste a metallic tang in the air as lightning courses down striking the pillar and lighting the whole area in a brilliant flash. By that light I see what I had thought to be  normal rain is in fact something far more sinister. The rain and the fluid leaking from the pillar are both a deep red.

 

Not caring to see any more and hoping I will wake up soon, I rush down the corridor to my security booth to vox the head of building security. As I am running the sounds of lightning begin to mix with crashes and booms that can only mean explosions and war. The few lights in the building cut out a few hundred yards from the security booth. Rushing in, I grab what I can and move as fast as my flabby fifty year old frame will take me to the second floor skyway.

 

The sight that I find there is one out of a nightmare. The skyway is gone. Some buildings nearby are burning, and I can hear yells and gunfire in the distance. A ship screams overhead, pouring salvos of firepower into nearby towers, and explosions reverberate across the ground. Not since my time in the guard had I seen anything like it. Even then, nothing ever this bad. Red pools are beginning to collect at any low points and even the grey cement buildings begin to take on a ruddy hue. Glowing contrails light up the sky as several metal pods tear out of it, one slamming into consumer’s center and knocking me flat.

 

Crawling behind some debris, I ready my autopistol to take on the oncomers as best I can. “Emperor save me,” I pray as the echoing footfall of thick metal boots began to grow louder. A foul stench fills the air, and I vomit the leftovers of my dinner across the newly created overhang, unable to hold it down after the shocks of the evening in combination with the overpowering smell of rotting meat. The smell grows stronger and stronger, my vision swimming and my head aching, I can barely manage to lift my weapon, and my coughing will easily give me away.

 

Then I hear the footsteps stop. They must have found me. Surprising that I even have it in me, I flip around ready to unload a clip into whatever enemy must be there behind me yelling a warcry I haven’t in decades. But I stop, and I don’t yell. For standing there are seven of the emperor’s angels. Space marines in various shades of mottled green armour and covered in the blood raining from the sky stand there looking out through the entranceway. The move toward me as I notice how old their armour is, and that the green is due to fungus and other coverings. Holes in their armour reveal pale flesh pockmarked with scabs and pus leaking growths. One of them looks at me, and I raise my weapon and fire. The shots remove his helmet to reveal a sickening skull of a face. Nose gone, empty eye sockets staring at me, he opens his hideously yellowed gums and a tongue lolls out swimming in a mouth full of worms. The wriggle and writhe as he speaks, and I retch uncontrollably and the sights and smells, but have nothing left to empty myself of and cannot drown out his words.

 

“Now your blood is added to the tide.” Unable to move and doubled over with nausea, I can only watch as he slowly strides over to me flicking out a rust covered knife and holds it to my throat. A biting pain and then a searing heat spreads from the blade as he drags it across my throat, catching me by the hair in his other hand. Blessed unconsciousness begins to take me with the loss of blood as he drags me to the edge of the broken skyway, looking out over the carnage and holds my dangling body aloft. “For Escharon, and the Tide of Blood,” echos out over the quickly ruining city as I feel the air rush past me.

[MaliGn]

The Apostate Council

 

Dark Apostle Carnac is unique amongst his brethren within the Word Bearers in the manner with which he rules his Host. To fully understand the reason for this, it is nessecary to remember his predecessor; Kor Ladron's fateful penitent oddysey following the failure of the Horus Heresy, for it was on this doomed voyage that his Apostate Council had been formed.

 

As the scattered might of the Word Bearers Legion fled the seige of Terra Kor Ladron was wracked by visions of guilt, of his own personal failure; alongside those of Horus and his Brother-Traitors. They had failed to bring the Truth of Lorgar to the galaxy. Ever a pious fanatic Kor Ladron took this cataclysm very personally, he made an infernal vow of penance naming the four gods of chaos and a further nine powerful Daemon Princes his adjudicators. Only when he had completed a perilous task for each would he return to his legion. Despite his initial reluctance twelve of his comrades pledged to join him in his crusade for redemption. Each member of the coterie was irreversibly changed by the experience, and bound together in a fraternal bond of unprecedented strength. Each disciple proved invaluable in achieving success in each of the challenging quests, their distinct tactical approaches providing solution time and again. The final tasks would cost Kor Ladron his life as a Dark Apostle, as mortally wounded he was forced into a dreadnaught sarcophagus to suffer a final, eternal penance.

 

While Carnac had been Kor Ladron's First Acolyte he naturally assumed the mantle of Dark Apostle, as ratified by the Dark Council of Sicarus, he was granted a host for the blessings of the gods were upon him and his coterie. Each member of the disciples of Kor Ladron formed their own coteries from the new host, each selecting Word Bearers with the same preferences in battle as themselves. Rather than perpetually jostling with each other for power within the host, and because of their powerful bond Carnac formed his Apostate Council, where each of his lieutenants have a voice; each with their own approach, often in contrast with each other, and each submitting a solution until a consensus is determined. When lucid; Kor Ladron has been known to offer his own insights to these councils, although this is becoming less and less frequent.

 

This unorthodox arrangement can often lead to some unusual tactical choices as the various disciples are given the reins, but all are utterly ruthless in pursuit of their goals.

[Scourged]

I present my offering: Djinn's Curse

 

 

  Reveal hidden contents

 

The sorcerer lord briskly walked with purpose through the ship, his black and scarlet robe trailing behind him where it ruffled with an imaginary wind, his ceremonial staff mag-locked vertically on his power pack to resemble a squad standard lofted above his head, and a black-feathered familiar perched delicately on his left pauldron, as always. The window to act was growing smaller with every delay in preparation and he needed to ensure that his ship’s prized weapon was ready to fire. Without that weapon, this raid would become far more… complicated. The menial crewmen who retained the faintest shreds of awareness cowered from his path, lest they invoke his ire. It was a pointless gesture, as the sorcerer lord did not register their presence as he traveled at an impatient pace.

 

In the days of the past, when the doctrines of his chapter had not become a cruel parody, Rahaund’ul Dhelmas would have listened to the metronomic echoes of his armored boots upon the metallic decking through the corridors of his battle barge. His pace would be slower, a force sword would rest along his thigh, and the laboring crew would offer quick salutes as he passed. But many things were different in those days. Long ago, his battle barge was the immaculate and serene Veritas, and not the warped and cacophonous Deception’s Call. His armor had been the flawless cerulean of the Librarium, and not a deep sapphire scarred with sorcerous runes. In those forgotten days, the man who was once Octavius Megalos would never plan to terrorize and decimate an Imperial world… but Rahaund’ul Dhelmas, the Voice of the Specter, had done just that on so many occasions with no hesitation.

 

He should hear his footsteps with a metallic clarity as he walked on the decking, but centuries of Warp-influence have twisted the surface into an ever-flowing fleshmetal that betrays no sound. He should hear echoes pinging off of walls and ceilings of this and every bulkhead, but all sounds are buried beneath  a chorus of faces that sing a tuneless song with the galaxy’s lies for lyrics. And at the end of his path he should find himself at the guarded entrance to the Astropathic chamber, but that too has changed with time. It is now transformed into a mocking reflection of the life the warband once lived, in the days before they received the Gift, nearly forgotten to all who survive within the mutated hull of Deception’s Call.

 

There was no longer a doorway to bar access to the chamber – why seal away a room that no one wished to enter? Instead, a gaping mouth of asymmetrical teeth that dripped with opalescent saliva gave entrance to the twisted room. The doorframe-lips twisted and curled in a sardonic smile, devilishly satisfied with the tormented contents beyond its maw. Puddles of shimmering drool pooled all around floor-tongue of the daemonic archway, rippling with little waves of faces and souls. Of all the places within the ship that had been twisted by the mutable nature of Chaos, this room was easily the most forgone.

 

Dhelmas stepped through the threshold, batting away the floor-tongue as it flexed to taste his armor, and took stock of this shining jewel among his wicked arsenal. The floor and walls writhed into and around each other, dissolving any discernible boundary between them. Light fixtures had become bloodshot and yellow eyes that watched everything as their neon pupils illuminated the room. And the Astropaths that had once meekly filled this chamber were now fixtures and furniture of the living fleshmetal, inseparable from the structure of the ship. What was once the sterile Astrophatic chamber had become the Djinn’s Curse.

 

As he took stock the malicious power thrumming throughout the room, Dhelmas let his impatience bleed away. Unlike the rest of his warband, he found this room to be calming, soothing even. Perhaps that was bound to happen after embracing Chaos so openly. Was he so jaded to the unimaginable machinations of the Immaterium that the distorted reality around him felt normal? Ah, it really didn’t matter. Like everything else in this universe, this room and the Gift that fuels it are just a means to an end. Briefly, Dhelmas allowed himself to reflect on the Fate that could create such a horrid room:

 

When the Gift was given to those who sought the truth, the mortals were the first to have their minds destroyed. Less than a tenth of the crew found the resolve to cling to their sanity while the remaining masses could not bear the weight of humanity’s sins. Many took their own lives, just to make the voices stop. Many more took the lives of others for the same reason. In the end, the human crew was purged of the weak, with only the mindless servitors and the psychic-attuned left alive.

 

An Astropath is unlike any other mortal, however. When the Gift fell upon the Astropathic choir, it raged with an intensity that no entity or soul could withstand. The voices of a dishonest galaxy invaded their minds and destroyed every last shred of their soul, but the Gift would not let them die. Instead they mutated, shifting and changing, becoming living conduits of the Warp. A new life was given to them as Heralds of the Truth, spewing a psychic effluence from every orifice that reeked of humanities poisoned words and broken bonds. The Astropaths were now changling spawn in service to a dark god. They became the Gift incarnate. And such a gift deserves to be shared.

 

“Is it ready?”

 

Dhelmas questioned the only figure in the room that could still be considered human. That energetic figure moved from one changling spawn to the next, inspecting the bundled cables that all flowed from somewhere within the semi-sentient flesh piles to a central dais of blue marble and gold. This young sorcerer was the caretaker of the deformed Astropaths, the operator of the Djinn’s Curse: Ghan Xeras.

 

Xeras had once been known as the jovial Stavros of 6^th Company, when they all had once served the Corpse-God. Dhelmas remembered him as a brother with a raucous laugh and contagious optimism, a perpetually youthful spirit that would invigorate all those around him. When the Gift came to them all, it was quite fortunate for Stavros that he possessed an unknown, untapped potential as a psyker. With the gift came the awakening of his potential, and he was reborn as Ghan Xeras, the jubilant-but-manic sorcerer who would answer the call to operate the Djinn’s Curse.

 

“Oh yes! Yes, yes! So nearly ready! I need but your order to stand on the dais and we can share the Gift.  Share the Gift! Share it with all! Shall I, Lord Dhelmas?”

 

The sorcerer lord hesitated before answering, distracted by one of the many fallen Astropaths. How long ago was it now, when he first envisioned this grand weapon? The potential had been so obvious, and yet the idea took ages to reach his mind – not that time held any meaning in the Warp. Was it even his idea at all? Perhaps it was Telioch who saw the potential, before he left on his insane quest. Regardless, Dhelmas had taken the idea and made it real: channeling the psychic effluence of the changling spawn and focusing it, harnessing it as a weapon. All it needed was a sorcerer to focus the energies, and Xeras had happily volunteered.

 

And it was time to use it again. Ghan Xeras will step upon the dais, the glowing cables will channel the energies of the spawn, and he will open his mind to the wretched people on the planet below and shower them with the voices and vision of their own dishonesty. Beneath his horned helm, Rahaound’ul Dhelmas let himself smile as he imagined the aftermath of such an attack.

 

“Do it, Xeras. Spread the Curse.”

 

***

 

After forty-one hours of bombardment from the Djinn’s Curse, the planet Antillius’ capitol city had torn itself apart. Less than two days ago the Deception’s Call and its escorts had entered high orbit around the planet. Less than two days ago the planetary government attempted to hail the unidentified vessels. Less than two days ago the lack of response had issued the immediate order to prepare all planetary defenses and treat all unknown vessels as hostile. Less than two days ago, the capitol city of Antillius had been a thriving metropolis of hive cities and manufactorums.

 

And in less than two days, a city choked to death on its own sins. Without any of the pesky citizens or soldiers to get in the way, the Scourged were free to pick the city clean of its resources.

 

A retinue of five bolter-clad Astartes followed Ghan Xeras as he walked through the near-lifeless capitol city. Even after forty-one hours of constant psychic focus he found the strength to teleport to the surface and scout the wreckage. Xeras was very dedicated to his work, and could not resist the sweet temptation to bask in the aftermath of his precious Curse. Faintly, he could hear the echoing whispers of lies around him still, the last traces of the psychic assault still lingering in the aether throughout the city. Compared to the throbbing insistence of the Gift on his mind, this shadowed effect was more of a tickle to Xeras. The feeling amused him.

 

The silent retinue marching forward – all that remained of 6^th Company’s fourth squad – incapable of sensing the lingered effects. Or sensing much of anything, for that matter. Their minds had left them long ago. Poor, poor fourth squad – they could no longer listen to the Gift! Xeras’ latent abilities gave him the strength to hold on to his sanity when the chapter fell. But his squad mates were not so lucky. Pity, as they were always such a close band of brothers. Three lost themselves to a berserk madness and jumped from an airlock. A fourth’s mind exploded with thoughts and voices, figuratively and literally! The remaining five were saved thanks to the quick thinking and surgery of one of the apothacarians. Yes, the lobotomies had left them very dull and poor conversation mates, but at least the squad could function… as robotic slaves to Xeras’ subconscious.

 

On a happy day like today, Xeras liked to believe he could still feel the personalities of his brothers tugging on the subconscious leash that kept their minds tethered to his will. Oh, he could almost hear their old voices screaming out for freedom, just barely! No, no… really, they were gone. But that was okay! There are so many other voices for Xeras to listen to. So many bodies on the ground, a scant few of them even still alive! Oh, and how they radiate with their last thoughts, their sweet memories. Xeras moved from one body to the next, placing a bare hand on their tiny skulls and absorbing the residual saccharin delights from the psychic attack.

 

This one, this one here: she was a worker in this rundown manufactorum – right on the assembly line! Oh, such a dull life she lived. What a shock she felt when the voices began telling her that her manager was skimming her paycheck. Oh, she didn’t like that! That outrage explains the man on the floor with his skull bashed in, oh yes. And the countless debts the woman never intended to repay sure explains the knife wound splitting her neck open. Oh, just delightful! What would he find next?

 

As Xeras was moving toward another corpse, a survivor shambled unexpectedly into the room, catching Xeras’ eye. Oh, how fun – the living always provide so much stronger offering of the Curse’s carnage! The survivor was pathetic: clothing a tattered mess and stained with blood, or oil, or both, and lacerations from head to toe. Oh. And an autopistol. Amusing! Quickly, the mindless Astartes closest to the would-be assailant turned and barked a single shot from his bolter. What was once a human being was now a stump of bleeding flesh. Pity, their thoughts would have been so delicious to observe. At least there was no shortage of other bodies to investigate! Xeras abandoned the corpse and moved on.

 

Oh here, another worker on the line: ah, he was the foreman for this particular crew! This man was no stranger to lies, passing on endless claims of safety and security to his poor, poor workers. And they believed him, ever last one of them, no matter how many limbs were broken or lost. Such a convincing man! Yes, yes, no stranger to lies at all. So funny, then, that when the Curse shouted every falsehood he spoke back at him he gave in so easily and threw himself into the massive cogs of some pointless machine. It’s nearly poetic. Fascinating!

 

Xeras could spend weeks moving from one corpse to the next, hearing all of their stories before they faded away. He wanted to! Dhelmas would not approve, however. Lord Dhelmas was very kind, yes, letting him come down to the planet so he may drink in the sweet vengeance of the Curse. But Lord Dhelmas gave him explicit instructions to secure any supplies, and he was not a patient man.

 

“Is it there, Xeras?”

 

Hah! At that very thought Lord Dhelmas telepathically linked with him. So very serendipitous. Was Lord Dhelmas watching him? How did that old Terran proverb go? “Talk of a Daemon and it shall come forth?” Something like that, yes.

 

“Yes, Lord Dhelmas, all of it! Every last drop of promethium, just as our scans revealed. Why, the good people of this city even prepared it for transportation for us! How very nice, yes Lord Dhelmas?”

 

“Yes, Xeras. Very nice.”

 

“Oh, and you’ll never believe it! There’s a cache of bolters, shells, and sacred machine oils here as well. If I looked hard enough I’ll bet I can find flamers and power swords and maybe even some lascannons! The people of Antillius have given us a feast of supplies!”

 

“Now that is very nice of them. “ Finally, a dash of amusement in the dour lord’s voice! “It seems we’ve had the fortune of raiding a supply station belonging to our unenlighted Brothers. A shame they weren’t here when we made planetfall. Send position coordinates to the bridge and have your… automatons make preparations for loading.”

 

With that the telepathic link closed. That last statement made Xeras laugh: Lord Dhelmas did not approve of the surgery to ‘help’ those too weak-minded for the Gift. Some nonsense about “pathetic husks” or “disgrace to the warband,” blah blah. Oh well. Ghan Xeras keyed his location coordinates through the vox back to the ship. With a simple thought-command the remnants of fourth squad – hm, remnants… kind of like revenants… that would be a fun name for them now! – began arranging supplies to prepare for the loading servitors. Today was a good day. Oh yes, a very good day for the Scourged.

[Sheesh Mode]

Can this include alternate universe legion doctrines? I can provide relevant links and information, if necessary.