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Beneath Terra - Inquisimunda & the XIth Legion

Dagoth Ur

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bluntblade Venerable Brother

bluntblade

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I see you're quoting the Cunning Man of Albyon mythology...

 

The what now? Googling that yields me a band I have never heard of....:sweat:

I've seen it used occasionally to mean "doctor" and "wizard" in old English texts, so figured it'd work as a substitute for The Doctor. I actually used it in a story a while ago, riffing on the Family of Blood story with the Scarecrows. Edited by bluntblade
Dagoth Ur Veteran

Dagoth Ur

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Treatise on Post-Humana, Chapter IV: Homo Sapiensis Astartes

 

Sub-Chapter XI: Infernales Gladii

 

The Flaws

 

 

While intended as humanity's army against the encroaching cold of the void, the various Homo Sapiensis Astartes genomes were far from perfect. It has been observed that, at least to some extent, all genomes sport certain deficiencies when compared to others. If this is the result of deliberate engineering or simple oversight, none can truly say. Such deficiencies ranged from horrific and debiliating to inherent sickness or just simple physiological disadvantages.

The perhaps most prominent example for the former is certainly the nascent XV. Legion (Later known as The Thousand Sons) which suffered from a degenerating sickness only known as the Fleshchange. The only other misfortune of a similar scale is, perhaps, the geno-assault the III. Legion suffered from Selenite terrorists. As an example of the latter, there is the VII. Legion (Later known as the Imperial Fists). While the fact that this legion lacks several non-essential implants, such as the Betcher's gland or the Sus-an Membrane, is intriguing, it does not really influence the combat-capabilities of the legion.

Much like the IX. Legion (Later known as the Blood Angels) and its inherent vampiristic tendencies, the XI. (Known as the Infernal Blades before being renamed into the Ashen Warriors) fell somewhere between the two extrema. The Eleventh was known to harbour several flaws, if one is indeed so keen to call them as such, both of physical and mental nature. Instead of detailing these from the perspective of someone who is mainly a historian and had never the pleasure to come in contact with the eleventh, I present you with audio-files, dossiers and pictograms of the Helvetian scientists that were responsible for the nascent legion.

 

------

 

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 23. Implantation has been finished 167 hours ago. Testsubjects 11-5 to 11-20 have survived this process and are undertaking extensive testing and biomonitoring. It is of interesting note that psychic readings spike around them, though not strong enough to indicate actual possibility of manifestation. Further research into this is being conducted by Doctor --REDACTED--. The subjects do not show specific preferences when it comes to combat, they just as readily handle ballistic weaponry as they do bladed ones. Dialogue with them has been limited, but their self-awareness is unusually high, as the first questions where either of a very, for the lack of a better word, philosophical or intellectual nature. As an example, testsubject 11-7 inquired as to why it was incapable of feeling 'love' and if that was a temporary status. I myself have led this conversation with the subject. The transcript is attached to this file.

----

11-7: Excuse me.

Irina F. : Please stop tapping against the glass. How may I assist you?

11-7: I- I have a question, if you do not mind. I have completed my regimen for the next few hours.

Irina F. : Time is scarce, but I should have a few minutes. What is it?

11-7: (Silent at first, sighs audibly) I have noted a change in my feelings after I' ve woken up.

Irina F. : Is that so? Please elaborate.

11-7: It is hard to explain, but maybe I should preface this with a bit more information. I have noticed that my compatriots have different degrees of recollection when it comes to their lives before the ascendance. I remember most of it. I remember my name --REDACTED, my mother --REDACTED and my brother --REDACTED--. I remember that I had strong feelings for them. No, that I have strong feelings for them. (Subject 11-7 falls silent)

Irina F. : Yes? Please continue.

11-7: I cannot remember how these feelings felt. I just know that they were there since before I knew who I was. I was taught that that was love. Something tells me that I should still feel like that, but i don't. I can explain the associations these memories give me, but they leave my soul empty. Why can't I feel this feeling, this 'love'?

Irina F. : That is an interesting observation, 11-7. You are Astartes, which means that you are not just human, you are more. In order to protect mankind you were granted faculties and abilities well beyond those of lesser men. However, this required that some of those things that make us so very human be ripped from you. One such thing was indeed this feeling of 'love'. Well, the capability of forging emotional ties beyond those that you will forge with your compatriots, your future Father and the Emperor really. You are not meant to 'love' anymore.

11-7: Ah. (Subject 11-7 is silent, staring at its hands. It appears to be expiriencing emotional distress) I see.

----

 

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 27. Following first combat-trials, some phenotypical differences to the standard-template (See file Legio XIII) have been estabilished. Astartes of the genome XI appear to have an accelerated regenerative cycle. Assistant Kefin described it as "Hearing the flesh reknit." in his report. Simple fleshwounds, such as lacerations, cuts and holes, heal at approximately 173% of SAHT (Standard-Astartes-Healing-Time). No new information otherwise.

 

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 34. Exposition of the subjects to captured Panpacific scouts reveals a specific pattern of battle. Certain individuals are singled out within the enemy squads and mercilessly assaulted. An overwhelming amount of these were psykers(89%), which might indicate a preference to them (Addendum: Perhaps a preference for specific psyker-types?). The remaining 11% of the victims either sported mutations or seemed to radiate psychic energies, despite not being psykers by nature. Psychosomatic scans of the genome XI subjects revealed that the collective psychic aura, as detailed in file 23, seems to focus on just such individuals, creating a low-strength gestalt-mind that radiates aggression. Subjects later revealed that the singled out individuals "reeked of corruption" and were "tainted". Further exposition to regular psykers has not yielded such results but other insights.

The exposed psykers all describe the subjects as deeply disquieting. The gestalt-mind is still formed, but it does not appear to be aggressive by nature. The psykers describe it as "watchful" and "hungering, yet not belligerent". Navigator Rahul's notes, which he has supplied us with, were added to this file. Disregard the esoteric embellishments.

----

These men, these things, share a mind-bond unlike I have ever seen. It is not particularly strong, nor should they really be aware of it, but it screams loud in the nether. If I open my sixth sense to it, I am greeted with eternal fire. The gold and red envelops my mind and warms me, though not out of pure friendliness. It seems to look for something, as if it were hungry. I am sure, where there something dark within me, some taint of the Other, the flame would devour me.

----

 

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 42. It has become apparent that genome XI, unlike genomes IV and X, does not accept augmetics very well. Standard Astartes issue augmetics of various kinds have been mostly rejected by the subjects (82%), which forces us to either regrow the neccessary parts in a lab or find a new material to work with. We do not currently know if this is a result of inherent genetic aversion to any form of augmetics or if this might be an issue of material, but we are determined to discover the truth.

 

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 44. Today subjects of genome XI have been exposed to other genomes (I, III, VIII and IX) for the first time. While the genome XI always reacted very positively to initial contact, it seems that the other genomes displayed a more mixed reaction. Genome I appeared very wary and kept its distance. While this is nothing particularly new for this specific genome, the Astartes has expressed great distaste in the eleventh's bearing. The reaction from genome III was very similar, though it admitted to be certainly impressed by the mental and verbal eloquence of genome XI, going so far as to say that "had they been born with the same blood, it would certainly be a leader by now". Genomes VIII and IX respond in a very positive manner, sharing conversation and even training regimens for the short time being. This is particularly interesting as genome VIII has expressed great antipathy for most forms of social conduct outside of its own.

 

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 59. It has come to my attention that the subjects have expressed a wish for more conversation and literature. This was authorized by myself and --REDACTED--. Subjects express a feeling of emptiness and dissatisfaction. When asked what else they would like or belive to need, they all answered with the same answer.

Duty.

 

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 129. Subjects have seen several battles across all of Terra by now. Morale seems to be rising, though many joke that their brooding faces and hard eyes may indicate otherwise. I am pleased to say that genome XI appears to be a total success, though such affirmations are still not set in stone. Genome XI has produced --REDACTED-- psykers by now, unusually high, though most have been very stable and were thus allowed to utilize their powers under the survelliance of --REDACTED--, --REDACTED-- and --REDACTED--. It is also interesting to note that most of these psykers are either pyrokines or geokines.

 

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 247. During the battle of --REDACTED-- most of the genome XI forces were hit by a psychic shock, descending into a very erratic state of aggression. After the enemy was killed in a display of unparalleled violence, the eleventh entered a state of catathonic apathy, refusing to speak with anyone. They have all been recalled from the front and stationed at --REDACTED--. This state continued for three days until the Emperor had arrived to inspect what had happened. I was, much to my chagrin, not presented when his Lordship arrived. I was told, however, that only to him the eleventh spoke.

If rumours are to be believed, the only thing they said was "Your son died and yet lives."

--REDACTED-- was shook to its foundation as the Emperor and his Custodes teleported away.

 

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 298. A very disturbing incident has happened today and I struggle to explain how or why. Subject --REDACTED-- has fallen in the battle at --REDACTED--. This is not irregular in any form, Astartes die from time to time. What is irregular though, is the fact that the subject returned to life after being seriously injured by heavy weaponry. It is currently under custody by the --REDACTED--. I have no explanation how or why this has happened, though I believe that it has something to do with the file 247 incident. The vid-capture of another subject has been attached to this file. Please refer to that until more can be disclosed.

----

*The vid-capture is silent and sports a heavy sepia tint. Displayed is a fight between the nascent eleventh and --REDACTED-- auxiliary troops.*

*One Astartes, bearing proto mark II armor and a centurion crest, is seen commanding the lines*

*The very same Astartes is hit by an auxilia rocket and cast to the ground.*

*An Apothecary turns the body on its back, the chest is cracked open and bleeding profusely. No vital signs.*

*After scanning the area, the vid-feed bearer turns back to the downed Centurion*

*The corpse is enveloped by what appears to be faint flames or similar thermic radiation.*

*The body begins moving again. The bare meat appears to burn slightly.*

*The arisen Centurio behaves and moves like uninjured*

*The eleventh forces almost grind to a halt as awareness spreads*

*The centurion points his powerfist to the enemy's lines and bellows something*

*Vid continues showing a reinvigorated battle that would be won by the Emperor's forces*

*The last few seconds of the vid show how the remaining eleventh kneels around the centurio*

----

 

1/2

 

--------------------

 

So, a small writeup of things I had brainstormed today. Nothing too serious and probably subject to some change in the future. Hope you like it anyways :)

 

@MordentHex: As Brother Pheidias already said, its from the Cadian Command Squad kit. One of my most favorite bitz :)

 

@Bluntblade: Okay, that I didn't know! Yeah, Doctor Who references are everywhere in my writing, what can I say, pulp is my lifeblood :sweat:

 

@Brother Pheidias: Spot on mate :yes:

  • 2 weeks later...
Dagoth Ur Veteran

Dagoth Ur

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----Attempting to access file XI-22989188439899299010----


 


----ACCESS DENIED----


 


----DO NOT PROCEED----


 


----Attempting to access file XI-22989188439899299010----


 


----ACCESS DENIED----


 


----DO NOT PROCEED----


 


----Attempting to access file XI-22989188439899299010----


 


----ACCESS DENIED----


 


----DO NOT PROCEED----


 


----CAUTION: FURTHER ATTEMPTS WILL LEAD TO NUCLEAR ERADICATION OF SITE-9----


 


----Attempting to access file XI-22989188439899299010----


 


----


 


----


 


----


 


----ACCESS GRANTED----


 


----FILE TYPE: AUDIO----


 


----LENGTH: INDETERMINATE DUE TO /REDACTED/----


 


----DESIGNATION: INTERDITAS PER HIS COMMAND----


 


----START THE FILE: Y / N ?----


 


----INPUT: Y----


 


----PLEASE CONFIRM----


 


----INPUT: Y----


 


----BEGIN TRANSMISSION----


 


 


-Here speaks Knight-Sergeant Alyneur Mirthun, I repeat, here speaks Knight-Sergeant Alyneur Mirthun.


 


-You are speaking to the Khan of the Vth, what is it? We are in the middle of a damn war here.


 


-Sire, I cannot reach anyone else. I am trapped in the structure they call the 'Great Kiln'.


 


-And?


 


-You might have noticed the earth shaking, sire.


 


-Indeed I have, do you have a point to make now?


 


-Sire, we have not commenced orbital bombardment yet and the earth is tearing up and vomiting fire and brimstone. Curious is it not?


 


-I have no time for semantics, speak your word and begone.


 


-The planet is tearing itself apart, sire. You must evacuate your brethren and the forces. All is lost.


 


-You are speaking madness, the Lion will hear of this!


 


-Frankly, I do not care sire, I am dead as is. Flee this world. The Sinner has begun tearing this world apart. He has begun opening the ancient warp seals.


 


-That makes no sense. He wouldn't threaten himself and his legion, hell, as it stands right now Morain is winning this war!


 


-I saw him sire, he is sick of this year-long war. I saw him weeping tears of ink and calling forth the powers of the ancient Warp, the becalmed tides. It ends here, Sire. He will unleash death in a form the Imperium has never witnessed, not even on Rangda.


 


-And how does he plan to rescue fifty-thousand Astartes plus armoury, plus auxilia, plus other assets?


 


-Sire, this world it is-


 


-What, it is what?


 


-it is some kind of vessel. Sire, the kiln, the palace, it is all one vast vessel and its awakening is akin to the apocalypse of exterminatus.


 


-This cannot be, I refuse it.


 


-By the Emperor's grace sire, leave this world! Look to the hellish skies above you! Look at the beasts emerging from this very soil! Ask the admiral and he will cofirm you, the veil is weakening around this world. Whatever the Sinner is doing, it will kill us if we don't....*Mirthun screams in pain, thunder and fire can be heard in the background*


 


-Mirthun? Mirthun?!


 


-Jaghatai.


 


-Morain?


 


-Hereby I banish thee, thine ilk and my former brethren from this world. I shan't take your life, even though the sadness in my heart demands it.


 


-Wai...!


 


-BEGONE


 


*A sound similar to the noises produced by teleportation is audible, though vastly amplified.*


 


----File XI-22989188439899299010 ends here----


 


----Custodes have been dispatched to your destination----


 


----Please stand by----


Dagoth Ur Veteran

Dagoth Ur

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Act XV: He Lied



It is hard to accept truth. Often enough men flee themselves into the comfort of lies, for it is akin to sleep: To accept the lie is to accept the dark, brainless stasis of sleep. To accept truth is much more painful, for it is the act of walking through this damned world and witnessing the death of morality, ethics and integrity. One cannot be without the other, for someone who sleeps forever, will wither away and be consigned to oblivion and who constantly peers into the light of the truth will find themselves blind and wasted by the heat.

A cycle between light and dark.

White and Black.

Thunder and Silence.

The Flame and the Deep.


Nabuu, Child-Philosopher of Prospero



They are returning Laurenz. They feel the Witch-King stirr, they smell the Wolf-Kings sour howl. They shall return in such size that the Battle-Kings realm shall be put to shame. The Eleventh has healed in the void. It has slept and regenerated, like the Leviathan of old.Now it shall return and cast its baleful gaze upon a galaxy rife with corruption and grime and blood. I hear their chants in my sleep, Laurenz. It is beautiful. It is horrific. My empty eyes weep dark ink everytime. They shall return with hatred in their hearts, against the Imperium and the Traitors alike. The bellows of war will resound and many will be broken before the living and the dead of the Eleventh.

Ultimately they will save us.

Ultimately they will break us.

Ultimately it makes no difference.


Ivanka, mere days before the Ascension



Dark and Light. Separate, yet united. Diametrically opposed, yet one and the same. The choice appears hard, yet it is pointless. What matters is the cycle. The unbreachable cycle that has persisted upon this world for millenia of the old night. Ywein was the first to light the flame anew and many would follow in his stead, slaying their precursor with impunity. Lorelai of the Ashen Mouth. Garuda of Loratiée. Hathrak, knight of Istria. Ôrm, poet of Ymr. Many more. So few. All became one. Then came He. The One. The foretold Lord to end all Lords. King of Kings.

Morain.

It is he who finally broke the cycle. He became the one true monarch, the vessel of twillight. Morain became the cycle. He drew eternal strength and plight from the black flame roaring in his soul, bound to live forever. A formidable son, perhaps the greatest that could be.

Yet he was called Sinner.

Yet he was banished, consigned to an inglorious death at his brethren's hands.

His father, this Emperor who is none, doomed Morain for one reason alone.

Fear.

In a loyal and loving son the Emperor only saw an usurper.


Closing chapter of the Book of Lindenburg, Sage of the Flame


http://i411.photobucket.com/albums/pp194/hodoalmir/_20161115_211819_zpskcnzcu2o.jpg


Year 13 of the 31st Millenium,


My name is Knight-Sergeant Dyval Eoric Anasthasian. I was born of Caliban, shortly after our lord, the Lion, had ascended to the stars. I have fought many wars and won many glories. The Siege of Arathraka, the Devastation of Inukush, the Days of Tears, the Telemacharan Tyranny. Rangda. I have lost many more brethren. Volker, Rüdeger, Etzel, Hiltibrant and many more.

The Heresy of the former Warmaster, thrice damned be his name, has left the dream of mankind in shambles and unity is naught but a mere dream. I am surprised, much like my father I suppose, that it was Horus who betrayed us. I cannot say, however, that betrayal in and on itself surprises me. The primarchs are only human, after all. I have fought in a war that the Imperium has chosen to forget, to vomit it out like a cancer and hope that any memory of it withers away. I have seen a Lord be expunged for being brutal. For being haughty. For being a witch.

All lies.

Let me tell you of the Eleventh.

Hear what I have to say of the Ashen Warriors.


http://i411.photobucket.com/albums/pp194/hodoalmir/_20161115_211551_zpsfh4bkh1u.jpg


Many of the First hated them, especially the Terrans. Where we had distanced ourselves from our cousins, opting to wade into the dark on our own and relinquish our role as paragons, the Eleventh had decided to relish in their role as the secondborn First, the first of a second cycle. They were secretive, just as much as we are probably, but they always engaged with all cousins that were willing to engage with them. Lord Guillaume lauded their extensive partaking in the exchange programs created by the Warriors of Ultramar. We hated them because they were the paragons that we used to be. It is not their fault, but ours. We dropped this mantle and only took it up when it suited us. Foolish.

The Eleventh bore that mantle with pride and respect. Most important of all, they took the responsibility of this role seriously. Something we did not. Their father, the Lord of Cinders, was a hard, yet kind man. Each of his sons was heard in war council, he even entertained the voices of his brethren's sons as he mulled over the perfect course of action. Other times, he was an inferno encased in flesh and iron. I remember the burning of Ontyan. I remember the palpable fear that it left in us all.

A civilization had lived upon that world, sophisticated in both body and mind, Parleys were going well, until the Lion and the Lord had descended upon this world, following a seemingly harmless invitation. i was part of my father's ceremonial guard, so I witnessed much of what happened. The Ontyan senate had set up a trap in the hope of assassinating our leaders. A pitifull attempt consisting of poorly trained murderers. Enraged, the Lord of Cinders demanded that the whole brunt of the stationed Eleventh be unleashed. 120'000 Astartes were unleashed upon Ontyan. The Dark Angels, still reeling from the Rangdan Xenocide, could only muster up 10'000 Astartes for this action, so we stuck close to the two primarchs.

It was terrifying. The Ashen Warriors bore all the brutality of the filthy World Eaters, yet with the restraint and purity that I have come to respect in the Angels of Baal. Morain, there, I said his name, was a true god in battle. Wave after wave of psychic fire and lightning tore the plains asunder, his sword bringing death and destruction to all that dared stand in his way.

It took us thirty five standard Terran hours to cleanse the planet of all human life.

It only took so long to kill a population thrice the size of Terra.


http://i411.photobucket.com/albums/pp194/hodoalmir/_20161115_211615_zpsqodo5sjb.jpg


After that, I believed the Eleventh to be naught better than the Eighth, brutal beyond all reason. As I was invited upon their flagship, the Sirona, I came to understand my cousins much better. I had the privilege to speak to Parun, the lord of the first brotherhood and thus highest in command of the legion, right after Morain that is. He explained that the senate had squandered the lives of Ontyan's population in a worthless gambit. They, as the leaders of their people, should have acted in the common interest, that is the survival of those they had sworn to protect. They were given a chance to become part of the Imperium of Man, an ally in peace and prosperity. They, however, chose pride over duty and thus lost all. They not only refused the offered hand, they spat on it. As a result, they had to witness the death of their home. They had to witness the death of all those they had failed to protect. The senate had to be punished for failing in its duty. This is something that Morain, and by extension his sons, despised above all.

Parun also explained that they did not, infact, enjoy the killing of the innocent. There was no honour in that. The Eleventh hated the Nostraman Night Lords for their revelry in murder, yet respected the Terrans of the same legion that much more. For the Terran Eighth, as far as Parun understood, fear was a tool, one of the worst, yet one that had to be used and not something to be enjoyed like a wine. Fear to the Terran Night Lords was a duty that was bestowed upon them and so they acted in accordance. The Eleventh usually killed the populace of planets that showed dissent or attempted betrayal. Their reasoning was that if the highest representatives of such worlds could show such cowardice and sluggishness in doing their duty, then that flaw could be present in the whole rest of them. Best to purge the world and re-populate them. Brutal, yet efficient.

He also introduced me to the rite of kindling. A peculiar ritual. They collected the bones of both their own and the enemie's fallen, heaped them up into small mounds and lit them on fire. This bonfire, as they called it, was a temporary place or prayer and pondering. It was not a prayer of faith, he added, for that would be a crime against His will. It was more of a mantra, something very close and personal, akin to the creeds of the Iron Warriors and Iron Hands. It was pleasant to sit at such a fire and think about such things.

Much to the chagrin of my praetor, I liked the Eleventh.


http://i411.photobucket.com/albums/pp194/hodoalmir/_20161115_211515_zpsrfwwdwee.jpg


I should perhaps explain what lead to the Ashen Warriors being expunged. Or what the Emperor would have us believe were the reasons.

We were told that their actions were far to brutal and not in accordance with the Imperial mission. True, their acts were of a very genocidal nature, but so were those of the Night Lords, the World Eaters, the Iron Warriors and even those of the Blood Angels, to a certain extent. Three of those legions are traitors now, but is that due solely to their violent nature? A wolf is an inherently violent creature too, yet it knows loyalties and structures far stronger than most humans.

We were told that the Ashen Warriors dabbled into witchcraft. So did the Thousand Sons. So did the White Scars. So did the Blood Angels. So did we, the First. We all do again now. Are we all traitors too, then? Are we all to be expunged? At least we had a warning in the Edict of Nikea, I suppose. The Eleventh did not have that benefit, nor the official censure that the Sorcerors of Prospero had.

Finally, we were told that they had grown to arrogant, assuming a role above us that was unfit and damning. This is a filthy lie. The Eleventh was brutal, yes. It slaughtered billions. But it always had open arms for those that accepted the Imperial Truth. All of us were always welcome aboard their vessels and in their halls, even we, the First who openly disregarded them. It is them who fought the most vicious in mankind's defense. Self-sacrifice was their singular value. They were willing to give all for father and Emperor. The latter signed their death. They gave all and got naught in return. They never asked for recognition. The Third knows more of arrogance than the Eleventh, certainly. Even the Ultramarines are, at times, more aloof than they were. The Ashen Warriors knew pride, oh how well they knew it, and they certainly exhibited that. Their polished gold and intricately painted flames were a sight to behold. They never looked down on their cousins, however. Not once in all the time I had spent with them, have I felt lessened or ridiculed for having a different seed in my chest.

This leads me to only one conclusion.

He lied to us.

I do not know why.

The Emperor lied to us and a son had to suffer injustice for that.

-------------------------------------------------


So, here is a truescale dark angel. More of a modelling accident really, as I was just cobbling up some stuff between papers and presentations. Hope you like him and the exposition. :smile.:
 
@MordentHex: Actually, it was a mix of the Legion of the Damned and the Undead from Dark Souls :smile.: I find the idea of a warp born disease that slowly decays the body quite fascinating, but for my legion I rather chose this idea of burning revenants. Incidentally, the undead in Dark Souls cannot die until their goal is fulfilled, the linking of the first flame. The Eleventh holds faith in duty and as we know, faith moves mountains in this universe. As a result of psycho-mutation by the geneseed, a genetic predisposition to place duty above all else and events surrounding the retrieval of Morain, it occasionally happens that an Ashen Warrior rises from the dead (Not many, one in a hundred/two hundred maybe). Apart from being tougher but slower, they are not much different than Astartes. Their minds slowly waste away though, until they are either dead again or wander mindlessly in the ashen pits of their ships.
 
@bluntblade: I suppose there will be some more such spontaneous text-episodes as currently I don't have much painting time and I actually want to put out some more painted stuff (XIth Legion Contemptor is glaring at me from my table...)^^
 
Hope you like it, C&C is always welcome and I hope you have a nice day! Edited by The Observer
Dagoth Ur Veteran

Dagoth Ur

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Treatise on Post-Humana, Chapter IV: Homo Sapiensis Astartes

 

Sub-Chapter XI: Infernales Gladii

 

Flaws (2/2)

 

 

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 299. Subject --REDACTED--, hereby dubbed Primus, has been submitted to various tests. Bio-samples reveal that the subject is, by all biological parameters, dead. There is no sign of cell-division nor attempts at sealing injuries. Primus refuses any form of sustenance, claiming not to need anything. Swallowed food appears to smoulder in the stomach cavity until it is reduced to basic carbon. Curiously enough, there is no sign of cell-degradation.

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 300. Primus appears to not suffer from any physical discomfort, despite missing an arm and massive amounts of flesh from both chest and head area. It is, quite frankly, amazing that he is...'alive'. All wounds, lacerations and similar seem to glow with a gentle orange-yellow glimmer, like embers. There is no current explanation for this. Small-talk with Primus has also revealed that the subject appears to have a layered voice. What I mean with this is that there seems to be an overlay in its voice, as if a second voice was speaking in unison.

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 303. After extensive biological sampling and testing, we cannot explain the reason for Primus' reanimation. Since the beginning of this experiment, two more incidents of this nature have been noted and secured at this station. Subject --REDACTED-- and --REDACTED--, hereby dubbed Secundus and Tertius, do not share a common genetic lineage with primus, apart from the implanted genetic material. Thus it can be surmized that this is not an issue of subject-taint but some kind of genetic anomaly within genus XI. Genetor Wright has proposed the possibility that this phenomenon might be of psychic nature. While I believe this to be bogus, I have petitioned for a delegation of the Sororitas Silentium to meet us at the --REDACTED-- Fields and expose Primus to their nullifying aura. Should there be a psychic source of this reanimation, then the null-field should revert it, so Wright.

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 307. My appeal has been approved, a cadre of the Calavera-Argentia sorority will meet us at the destined location. Primus has been prepared for transport. He does not know of Secundus and Tertius, though he has inquired about other incidents like himself, stating that he 'feels' beings similar to him in close vicinity. Should Primus survive this experiment, we will commence further gestalt-mind testing, as this has already proven to be of some relevance to this genus.

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 308. The issue indeed appears to be of a psychic nature, my apologies to Genetor Wright. Primus was fixed to the floor by magna-chains in order to ensure maximum safety for the Sororita Silentium. The five Sororitas circled Primus in a pentagonal formation, which led Primus to expressing clear mental discomfort. The Subject expressed unusual amounts of intolerance to the null-field, going so far as to plead for the Sororitas to be removed. They were asked to move closer, though to be cautious. Primus reacted very violently to this, pulling against his chains and yelling for the pain to stop. He did not respond to any questions by now. The glowing intensified until Primus' insides appeared to be alight with flames. Mouth and eyes, for examples, burned with a bright orange and embers were exhaled as he roared. Curiously enough, his aggressive tendencies did not seem to be directed in a negative manner towards the Sororitas, which is to say that he did not seem to want to do any harm. Instead, I believe, Primus wanted to remove himself from the Sororitas' vicinity in order to ease the caused discomfort. The testing was aborted at this point and will be resumed shortly.

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 309. Primus still does not show any sign of decay, instead his missing limbs have regenerated over the past few days. He appears heavily traumatized and has expressed the urgent wish to not be exposed to the Sororitas in such a manner again. The conversation is attached to this file. Otherwise, the subject appears to be relatively fine, with no signs of malnutrition or dehydration.

 

----

 

Irina F. : Good morning --REDACTED--, how are you?

Primus: I am fine, thank you. How are you, Miss Fröhlich?

Irina F. : Can't complain. I was told that you had a desire for conversation. What is it?

Primus: I would like to ask you to refrain from exposing me to them again.

Irina F. : Is this a threat?

Primus: Oh no, not at all, just something I would like to ask of you. I am fully aware that my state is not natural and that I am here to be studied and possibly even killed in the process. Yesterday, however, was an unpleasant expirience unlike any I could imagine.

Irina F. : Elaborate.

Primus: Their aura felt suffocating, as if I was drowning in tar. Then there was this all-consuming rage and burning in my heart, this need to exterminate those that inflict pain upon me. Imagine every instinct in your body telling you to lash out, while your head tells you not to.

Irina F. : So you felt compelled to commit violence, yet restrained yourself?

Primus: Exactly.

Irina F. : Interesting. Thank you. Testing begins in three hours.

Primus: *Silent at first* I understand.

 

----

 

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 310. Primus was exposed to the same cadre in the same manner as two days ago. The reaction was the same, until one of the Sororitas, hereby dubbed 01, was asked to touch him. The subject tried its best to stay out of 01's reach, even going so far as to strain against its chains until the cracking of bones could be hear. As soon as physical contact was made, Primus abandoned all evasive behaviour and fell into a state that can only be described as primal rage. By slamming his palms together, snapping his chains in the process, 01's head suffered critical trauma and, most likely, immediate death. The four remaining Sororitas, dubbed in similar fashion as 01, immediately adopted a defensive stance, swords and bolters primed upon Primus. The more focused state of the null-aura seemed to only irate Primus more. It is interesting to note that the effect of blanks does not appear to weaken Primus, as it would regular psykers and psychic constructs, but instead it appears to limit any higher brain functions and higher, mental imperatives. This seems logical as Primus, who had previously expressed a desire to be left alone and been very un-belligerent, has ceased to communicate with anyone upon entering this state of rage. The Sororitas were asked to terminate Primus. The fight was brief but bloody, resulting in 03 dying from blunt trauma and Primus being torn apart by shells and blades. The remains were c0llected and put into stasis for further studies.

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 320. Further research was conducted into the field of augmetics and materials that would be compatible with the genus XI. While pure steel, adamant and chrome appears to cause irritations and high rejection due to poor acclimatization, the same metals become acceptable when mixed with at least 9,26% ordinary silver. Also acceptable is brass with 2,77% silver and copper with 1,53% silver content. While most of these metals are usually unusable as implant material, due to high corrosion and infection rate, the genus XI does not seem to suffer any adverse effects of such nature. It is currently unknown why silver has such an ameliorating effect on the implants.

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 324. Several test-subjects were forcibly put into a Sus-An coma. While the organ functioned in acceptable parameters, all subjects report very vivid nightmares consisting of darkness, deep waters and cephalid creatures. The genus XI may possibly suffer from a genetic predisposition for thalassophobia. There has also been further research into the gestalt-mind of the eleventh. After much consultation with His psy-covens, the Selenite seccesionist's, our own department for esoteric warfare (DEW) and the Sigillite himself, we were able to estabilish a theory. The individuals bearing the genus XI are not connected to each other on any cognitive level. However, fraternal empathy seems to be influenced, at leats partially, by this psychic webbing. The Sigillite also notes that we mistook the rage-inducing effect of this gestalt when pitted against psykers. This is, in fact, not the result of any form of gestalt mind, but rather an individual response to psykers of a specific type. What is, however, the result of a gestalt mind, is the instinctive fear reaction of many psykers in the eleventh's vicinity. Much like the null-field of blanks amplifies its surpressing qualities when several blanks are present, so too does the presence of genus XI induce a state of fear and terror in several psykers. This, while not outright surpressing psychic powers, may well hinder the affected individual in utilizing their powers, as concentration is a vital part in this and fear is quite a distraction.

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 378. All incidents of reanimated Astartes of the genus XI, are to be consolidated and put into stasis by the Emperor's own decree, until a use for them is found. Current number of these incidents: 37. The Eleventh is scheduled to take part in the conquest of the Panpacific Empire, as their qualities may yet prove to be useful in hunting and breaking Dume's witch-covens. A few weeks ago, the genus XI has managed to earn its official moniker; The Infernal Blades. I would lie by saying that I am not proud. The genus will be observed for a few more weeks, though everything seems stable and well within acceptable parameters.

Audio-Log of Genewright-Prime Irina Fröhlich, File 400. This is it. The Infernal Blades are taking to the stars as Sol has been unified. I hope that they will find their father swiftly. Parun, the XI. Paragon of the Effigia Angelum project, spoke to me before leaving. We spoke of the future and --REDACTED BY HIS DECREE--.

The next project is already waiting for us. Something involving a certain Alpha-Implantation process and the genus XX.

 

-----------------------------

 

A small blurb to finish that thing I started a few weeks ago. A few things are in the pipeline: A truescale XIth legion astartes, truescale deathwatch astartes, Ivanka and a freeblade. :)

 

@bluntblade: Wouldn't know friend :) Just googled it and it appears to be a show, though one I have not seen until yet. What specifically struck you as a reference?

 

@MordentHex: Thanks man, glad you like him! :) Thanks for the heads up, the hair was removed!

 

@Doghouse: Thank you kindly mate, your and Apologist's work has been crucial for my own truescale ventures!

  • 3 weeks later...
Dagoth Ur Veteran

Dagoth Ur

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Act XVI: The Ashen Lord


 


 


His heart was turned to iron


In the great ashen field


Where he traveled time


For the future of Mankind


 


Lorian Nursery Rhyme, believed to be of partially Terran origin


 


 


When the sisters of solace sing, gracious Lord,


When the souls of the cursed return,


When kingdoms fade and decay,


Only then shall you understand the folly of man.


Only then shall you grasp the dark of the soul.


 


Hiorn, Keeper of the Kiln


 


 


Where I was loyal, you only saw veiled treachery.


Where I harboured love, you saw only greed.


You call me slaughterer, yet it is you who spilt more blood throughout the ages.


You call me usurper, yet you created me as a fragment of your very own soul.


Now you cast me out of this empire.


Now you send my own brethren after me.


So be it.


I accept your decision Father.


Yet I refuse to bow to it.


 


The Day the World awoke


 


 


My nightmares were horrendous. I dream of worlds shrouded in darkness and harrowed by the enemy's forces. Gleaming red eyes and hungry maws stalk the dark. I dream of our future, should we fail in our quest, that is. Ivanka has spoken of three visions and one had already been sent to me. A vision from across time. Since then, a black, circular mark has appeared on my chest. Roughly the size of an apple and emitting a faint, crackling sound, I was worried that it might be a mark of the enemy. However, my hexagrammic wards do not react to it and Ivanka told me that it was a mark of the gracious lord. A mean of contacting me, in a way.


It was tonight when I felt his pull again. My chest began aching, as if a beast was trying to burst out. My whole body spasmed and the world folded in on itself. Non-euclidian space unravelled before my very eyes and both the softest and starkest colours washed through my mind. Before long, I would black out as the human mind simply cannot process such input and opts rather for blissful sleep. After unknown tim ehad passed, I woke up in a hallway of sorts. It appeared to be hewn out of stone, but closer inspection revealed that it was, in fact, grey wood that had petrified over time. One side led into the dark, the other into the light and, despite my innate curiosity for all the secrets hiding in the dusk, I chose to follow the latter.


I would find myself eventually on the border of a vast plateau covered in ashes and bones. I remembered this place, it was here that Morain had spoken to me. The sky was burning orange and a constant stream of debris, fire and orbital artillery was raining onto the surface. The scene was captivating, yet the true spectacle was happening infront of me. Amidst this plateau sat an enormous bonfire with a sword impaled in it. Beautiful flames licked around the slab-like iron and evoked feelings of melancholy that were thus far foreign to me. Two giants were fighting in these very ashes. A gold-clad angel, held aloft by two wings of pure white, and a giant clad in pitted black and white. Sanguinius and Morain. I could not draw any closer to them, some form of primal fear was locking down my joints like a vice. I didn't need to draw any closer, I could hear them perfectly well.


"Submit, Morain!" The angel exclaimed "Lay down your arms and you might yet find mercy at father's hand!"


"Mercy?!" The Lord laughed "And what would that be? A swift execution instead of rotting deep within Khangba Marwu?"


The angel's crimson sword unleashed a hail of blows upon Morain, who parried as well as he could with his spear. Sanguinius' ferocity was legendary, even ten millenia after his demise at Horus' hands, and yet seeing it in flesh was unbelievable. Morain seemed almost lumbering in comparison.


"I shall not submit to a father that sanctions genocide out of paranoia!"


The Angel's fury was palpable as his sword struck the spear a final time. With a thunder's crack, the spear burst into a myriad pieces and left the Ashen Lord unarmed. Morain retreated step by step until he found himself with his back to the bonfire.


"Then die, Sinner." Sanguinius spoke, hate written across his features and yet his voice was filled with sadness.


"No" Morain solemnly declared. His palm reflected the crimson blade and the other struck the angel in the chest. Golden lightning and black flames exploded, throwing the angel to the ground. In a swift motion, Morain grasped the flame-wrought sword and pulled it from its ashen bed. Where Sanguinius's weapon was a graceful onehander, this blade was a titanic two-hander. Quickly, the Angel regained his composure and recommenced his assault, though he was not prepared for what greeted him.


Sparks collected around Morain and he roared. The sky tore apart and revealed eternal dark and the Lord's mouth and eyes glowed with an inferno's intensity. Wave after wave of fire assaulted Sanguinius, until he was thrown to the earth again. The pure, white pinions were singed and blackened, the golden armor was pitted and scared. He lifted his sword in defense, only for it to be struck out of his hand by Morain.


The Ashen Lord picked up the Angel by his gorget and roared once again. Flames erupted from both of them and I could hear Sanguinius scream in pain.


I wanted to stay awake, I really wanted to, but my mind slipped again. The pain in my chest was to strong, the psychic pressure was immense and the reek of a primarch's blood was to strong for my feeble senses.


I awoke, anxious about what the last dream would reveal.


 


http://i411.photobucket.com/albums/pp194/hodoalmir/_20161213_154319_zpsyneaerbo.jpg


-------------------------------------------------


Dagoth Ur Veteran

Dagoth Ur

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Act XVII: The World grows Cold

 

 

Beyond Terra's light it stirs. The fire that devours the unjust, the hammer that breaks the traitor. The Tomb-Vessel awakens once more and creatures of flesh, cinder and techno-arcana long-forbidden shall rise again. The Imperium of Man may have forgotten them, the forces of the Warmaster may believe them to be naught but myth, but hark! For I have seen Old Loria fall and the Kiln arise from its ashes! I undertook the pilgrimage beyond the Halo Stars and what I saw was terrifying indeed. They have awoken in the dreary bowels of Ilmedrin and will unleash revenge upon all who wronged them. Hark!

 

Sheoryk, the Mad-King of Laputa

 

 

The fire encroaches, the void breathes hatred. The black-clad titans shall return and claim what was taken unjustly from them. When the pale faces of man look towards the stars and the flames of war burn the fiercest, when the clarion call of death echoes across Terra and the eye of doom gazes upon creation, then the ancient oaths shall be called upon once more. A battle shall rage beyond time itself, beneath a moon unstained and amongst mountains and forests yet to be named but still familiar.

In that dark and windless place the judgement of lords shall be executed.

Injustices shall be set straight and blackened blood shall be cleansed.

It must.

 

Anjuska, Astropath-Primus of Deoran-Secundus

 

 

He has awoken.

 

Ivanka, an hour before ascension

 

 

Somewhere beyond the light of the Emperor, far behind the galactic border, an ancient thing of stone and iron and gold swam through the ether. Akin to the whales of Old Earth, the cyclopean construct slowly, almost thoughtfully, crossed the darkness. It was old, impossibly old. An amalgamation of ancient, Terran lore and conquered alien technology, as much a world as it was a vessel. Beneath its gothic archways and barbed steeples rested a core of black iron and gleaming gold. An array of chambers, each one containing a specific army. The Halls of the Ankrnatii, the silent watchers of the kiln. The Halls of the Ashen Warriors, the eleventh legion and heirs to the vessel. Those and many more resided within, only leaving when necessity bade it. Amongst those chambers was one, however, that remained chained and locked from the outside. The Crypt.

Behind a gate fashioned out of hammered iron and petrified wood, bound by runic chains and blood, slept a breed of warriors that many in the Imperium of Man would call all the curses beneath the Emperor's grace: Tech-heresy, apostasy, monstrosities and more. Within the Crypt slept men, or at least once they were, reborn after death and bound through ash and iron. Once-Astartes, now something unhallowed and trapped between painful life and blessed death, they knelt motionless like knights of yore. The eternal flames in the braziers cast long shadows between their lines, daubing their ancient armor in soft orange and creating the impression of some ancient lord's ceremonial tomb-guard.

At the front of this grotesque assembly knelt one warrior, his hands resting on a two-handed hammer, as if he had fallen into a deep state of prayer. He had remained in this position for nearly ten millenia, reliving the last few days of his homeworld and his own death in his dream with each day. The hole in his chest had healed with the years of inactivity, save for a small circle upon his flesh, like drawn with ink upon white parchment. Today, he dreamt of his father, the ashen lord of ancient Loria. He dreamt of his violent throes in battle, how he had plucked an angle from the skies and bested the lion of Caliban. The warrior also dreamt of how his father had lost his arm in battle, falling victim to the Night Haunter's claws. He remembered that moment well, the stench of a demigod's blood etched into his unliving mind like acid.

In his dream, the ashen lord turned to him, his face marred with grief and hatred.

 

It is time, he spoke with a thunder's peal, We march again.

 

The joints of the warriors ancient mark III armor creaked and groaned after millenia of inaction. Powercables unhooked from his back as he grabbed the leather grip of his hammer. With each step, pounds of dust fell off the warrior as he strode towards a big, ironwrought bell. It felt weird to open his eyes. Even the faint light in the crypta stung. Still, the bell was captivating. Fashioned out of massive iron, it was engraved with ancient texts, only a few of which the warrior could read and even less comprehend. As he passed his palm across the metal walls, a soft sigh emanated from it.

The warrior gripped his hammer again and braced himself for the task to come.

He struck the bell a first time, coaxing a deep ringing from it.

Once to break the eternal sleep.

He struck the bell a second time, adding a layer of shrill screams to the deep roar.

Once to rouse the armies of the Kiln.

He struck the bell a third time, sending echoes through the Empyrean itself.

Once to warn the Imperium of Treason.


http://i411.photobucket.com/albums/pp194/hodoalmir/_20161226_001306_zps09xin4jt.jpg

 

 

So, time for hobby stuff has been short over the past few weeks, but Morain is nearly finished, with only his cloak and base left to do :)

 

@Vairocanum: Thanks man! Sadly, the spear version (Based on Mortarion) broke apart in a freak accident and was not really salvageable apart from the head and parts of the spear. I will maybe try rebuilding him once some loyalist 40k primarchs hit the shelves.

 

@Ikka: Thanks!:)

 

@The Psycho: DingDingDing! :D

 

@MordentHex: Thanks man, appreciate your support!

 

I realize it's not much, but I've been occupied with some Horus Heresy Blood Angels and Truescale Alpha Legion (Plus Spartan!), so I didn't have much time for anything else. Though some paint will be coming to this thread soon!

 

C&C is, as always, appreciated! :)

Dagoth Ur Veteran

Dagoth Ur

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Act XVIII: For a lie they valiantly fought

 

 

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

 

Wilfred Owen, Ancient Terran War-poet

 

 

War does not determine who is right - only who is left.

 

Bertrand Russel, Philosopher of Ancient Terra

 

 

Justice is fiction. The law is a lie. There is no such thing as good and bad. Concepts of conquest, that's what these words are. What makes you truly believe that your Emperor has the right to rule? His conquests? Ah but of course, it is force and blood that shall baptize this empire of filth. Your Emperor is the law because he crushes all who dare oppose him. Your Emperor's word is justice because it is backed with a trillion swords and guns. Well, we refuse him. We refuse to bow to tyranny and the price for this is known: Khangba Marwu. So be it. We shall prevail until the mountains turn to sand and this empire is gutted by its own hubris. We need not curse your master's endeavour. We know already. We have calculated the infinite possibilities and we know. He shall fail.

 

The Korova Sentience, Techno-Simulacra of the Dark Age

 

-----------------------------

 

Death and fire. A hailstorm of shells and beams of migraineous light cut through the smoke-choked sky. Warriors in ten different liveries fought a war that would never be written down, consigned to oblivion and myth by the decree of the One. Loria was a vast world, outsizing every planet of the Systema Solar several times, and both grey, ashen fields and vast macro-fortresses covered its surface. Beneath those vast cathedral-cities stretched endless catacombs that, according to pre-combat reconaissance and scans, could very well contain titan-engines and other weapons of mass-destruction. What lay beneath those dusty paths, only the Emperor may have known.

Demi-Centurio Dosjetka "The Psycho" Kierlitz, second-in-command to veteran squad Kaesaria, found himself on a field of ash, circled by black trees alight with fire. His squad was dead, killed by techno-arcana and battle-machines of the Lorian army. During the tactical briefing upon the Birnstil, he and his men were informed of the immense dangers that they would be facing. Loria was a world wracked by temporal disorder, local warp-fluctuations and dangerous fauna. Dosjetka knew of at least one division of the Imperial Militia that had just vanished, swallowed by a temporal rift and transported to some place none would wish to visit. Truth be told, he didn't know where he himself was. At least his internal chronometer told him that he was at the correct moment in time. He was advancing over a slope of cracked earth and razor wire, which brought him eye to eye with a mirror-image of himself. The brutal mark III armor, the embellishments of past victories, some shared some unknown, and yet the colour was different. Instead of yellow trimmed in soft black, Dosjetka's mirror was of a sombre black and red, trimmed with gleaming gold. Instead of a bolter, it bore a sword wrought in lightning. All of this took the fraction of a second to note, just before the Ashen Warrior stormed towards him. The imperial fist had enough time to fire three snapshots, two glancing off the shoulder plates and one punching into the shin of his enemy, before the warrior in black reached him.

Dosjetka had a hard time avoiding his enemy's attacks, which was not really simplified by the fact that he was driven down a slope. It didn't take long before he felt the kiss of the powersword upon his plate. Ceramite bubbled and torn cyber-muscles sent sizzling pain through his body. In a desperate gambit, Dosjetka threw his empty bolter at the enemy, using the distraction to draw his chainblade. His gamble would almost prove itself deadly, had it taken even a moment longer. The Ashen Warrior bisected the gun and continued his upward slash, fully aware of the fact that a chainsword could not hope to parry, let alone interlock with a powered weapon.

The Imperial Fist evaded his enemy's attacks as best as he could while waiting for even the slightest opening in his assault. His armour was marred with at least a dozen black scars before such a moment presented itself. While attempting to thrust upwards, aiming for Dosjetkas lower thorax, the Ashen Warrior left his right knee unprotected. The Imperial Fist took the chance, hoping to cripple and shock his enemy just long enough to decapitate him. The teeth crunched through the knee joint and came to a wheezing halt as torn metal became tangled in the machinery.

No, Dosjetka thought as the powersword punched through his thorax.

The Ashen Warrior had missed his initial target by quite a margin, yet still Dosjetka's spine was injured, this much his numb legs told him. Another swift slash and the Imperial Fist had lost his swordarm. He tumbled down, unable to stand and began roaring his anger and hatred towards the son of the eleventh. His frustration slowly turned to bewilderment as the Ashen Warrior produced fine chains and magna-hooks, which he affixed to the yellow battleplate and began dragging him across the wastes.

"What are you doing, cur?!" Dosjetka roared over the open vox, "Kill me and be done with it!"

"I wish I could, cousin" The Ashen Warrior's voice was astonishingly soft, even remorseful "But the Flame must be fed."

-----------------------------
http://i411.photobucket.com/albums/pp194/hodoalmir/_20161228_015254_zpsmpenyh7s.jpg

 

So, just felt like writing up a small snippet for this truescale Imperial Fist I've been painting. I am surprised to say that I have found painting yellow to be quite the enjoyable expirience, especially as a one off :) Many thanks to The Psycho for suggesting to make a truescale Imperial Fist a few pages back! He is still WiP, I still have to do the base, the loincloth, the chainsword on the back, the cabling and hoses, a bit of charring on the muzzle and the lenses. 

 

@Calgar 2.0: Thanks, glad you like it! :)

 

@SanguiniusReborn: Ignite the Fires far, Sisters of Solace singing... ;)

 

@CaptainStabby: My friend, we are going to see a dozen, a DOZEN of insane tech thingys on Loria? You wanna see an insane gnome tech thrall? Let's make it two! There will be knights (both of the onion and the sunbro variety), there will be undead, witches, tech-arcana monstrosities, chained giants and and and. The Vaults of Moravec ain't got nothing on this crazy train!

Dagoth Ur Veteran

Dagoth Ur

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Act XIX: A Friend Once, an Enemy now

 

 

"Always fear the flame, dear son, lest you be devoured by it and lose yourself. I would hate to see that happen again..."

 

Meorath, Adoptive Father of the Eleventh

 

 

"Ahh, you think you're different? That you can handle it? Yes, I remember that. For I was the same."

 

Andrukal, Unworthy Ashes unfit to kindle the flame

 

 

"Thou poor fool. To trust a wraith clad in gold. Thou will understand one day."

 

Eneas, The Dwarf-King of the Flame

 

 

The world was dark around him, black like tar and vast like the icy wastes of Inwit. Dosjetka only felt the tugging at his broken armor as his captor dragged him across the waste. His head felt all soft and light just before his consciousness slipped from him.

Dark. so dark. He was dying, his superhuman physique was struggling to clot the many wounds he had suffered. Dosjetka saw himself drowning in a sea of black, huge cyclopean beasts swimming just beneath him, content with teasing and tickling the innate thallasophobia of every land-dwelling creature. There was a reason humans avoided the dark sea. In the water, humans became prey, no matter their weapons and intelligence. Water was dangerous. Cold, deep, swallowing all light eventually.

"Wake up cousin" The voice reached out to him from beyond the dark veil of the mind "Wake up, you stand in the presence of Lords."

Dosjetka felt a knifing pain in his side, a squirming movement in the raw, serrated mass of his meat. The pain pulled him back from the dark, screaming and trashing in his chains. The Imperial Fist found himself in a cathedral-spire of sorts, a circular room so tall that the ceiling was not visible even to his sight. The floor seemed to be stone, but it was covered with mountains of soft, powdery ash and bleached bones. As Dosjetka's eyes adjusted to the darkness, four figures stepped out of the alcoves around him.

"I bring an offering." His jailor spoke.

http://i411.photobucket.com/albums/pp194/hodoalmir/_20170101_030320_zpssrnq2yip.jpg

 

They threw him into a bonfire, easily the size of three men. The Imperial Fist expected pain, he certainly was not unfamiliar to the kiss of fire, but there was nothing, just a slight warmth. The crackling, slowly shifting flame extended its tendrils across his pitted yellow armor, leaving black streaks of charr in its wake.

The four silhouettes stepped into the light of the flame. Two of them were Astartes, one a Librarius armed with a censer-topped staff and encased in prototypical mark IV armor, the other was encased in heavy cataphractii armor and bearing a heavy shield and mace. The third creature might once have been human, but now it was little more than an array of cyber-arcana and techno-magjicks wrapped in grey-white robes. The cerulean-colored lenses stabbed through the vbeil or orange, black and yellow that had become Dosjetka's world. The fourth person to step out of the dark was superhuman, yes, but definitely not an Astartes. It seemed knightly, armored in blackened silver and twisted iron, and taller than all of his compatriots. It was the first to speak.

"May thy soul nourish the flame."

Dosjetka screamed in pain. Not because the fire burned him to cinder, which it did.

But because a cold crept into his heart, more frigid than the wind of Inwit.


http://i411.photobucket.com/albums/pp194/hodoalmir/_20170101_030420_zpsgbgb6ftc.jpg

 

The Imperial Fist saw many things as his mind entered the fire. He saw an ancient world covered in lush green and blue vegetation. Beings walked beneath a kind sun that were unknown to him. They were tall and vaguely humanoid. Dosjetka could not discern much apart from that, but he saw them building something. A circle, a shard in its midst and a flame licking the rich earth.

Shortly after that, the humans came. A war was waged, a war so great that it soaked the lush world with blood and burnt everything until just charred woods and bleak mountains were left. The veil was roiling around this world and weapons were unleashed by the ancient race, weapons so horrid that they tore time apart and left the world an uninhabitable shadow. Humanity on this world was reduced to dregs and the prosperous mind of ancient Earth regressed into feudalism of the darkest sort.

The veil never calmed, it tore up time and time again, spewing beasts of nightmares and myth across the scarred earth. Humanity fought valiantly against the hordes of the nether, clad in knightly armour and archaic technology. Regularly the beasts came, every quarter century or so, and with each war the inhabitants of this world were pushed closer to oblivion. Until the first Lord of the Ashes rose above all. Deep below the earth a single woman had found the circle and the flame.

The Imperial Fist saw her kneeling and being enveloped by golden fire and black smoke. Beautiful and yet uncanny. As she returned to the surface, she brought with herself the gift of lightning and fire. She taught the first witches how to summon the ire of the flame and burn away those that opposed them. The knights she taught how to wield golden spears of lightning and sunrays. The skin of ancient, draconian beasts and nether-walkers was peeled away and the flesh was burned until naught but ash remained.

Most important of all, she brought the gift of cleansing with herself. A select few of her loyal servants, by chance or by design, were granted the power of the divine purification. They wielded words that banished the nether and their gaze alone made enemies flee in fear.

Suddenly, the sky began changing and shifting, as if day passed night and vice versa in impossibly quickened ways.


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The flame was dying down now, scattered with the bones of past lords and those who had failed in becoming so. Dosjetka saw a giant open the stone gates to this kiln. He was clad in black iron and a rich, red cape was hung across one shoulder. In one hand, he wielded a spear engraved with images of lightning and fire, while the other held an orb of pure flames.

The air was quickly filled with faint, murmuring whispering.

Who art thou?

"I am Morain. I bear the crowns of the four realms and am the Lord of Loria."

Interesting, compelling even. What do the four realms call thou?

"The people of the North, the brave warrior-souls of Fareaa call me Yhormin, the God of War. The witch-queens of Tempasht'Mutnu call me Izebellym, the Slayer of Angels. The pilgrim-folk of Pambalja call me Farush, He-Who-Walks-The-Path. The Iron Knights, the very guard that keeps its silent vigil over this shrine, call me the True Monarch."

The True Monarch

 

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Happy New Year Folks!!!

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