Beneath Terra - Inquisimunda & the XIth Legion

[Soldier of Dorn]

Wow... I've sorta stepped away from the forum for the past week or so (Overwatch is... very addictive, :P) so didn't see him until now. I am ridiculously honored to have been (at least partially) a namesake for this guy (along with one of my closest frater on this forum.) He looks beautiful. Story is great, too.

 

Happy New Year to you too! As I post this, it's still 2016 for me, so hope you and many others on the board are enjoying the future so far.

[CaptainStabby]

 

@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!

 

 

You have no idea how excited I am to see Sunbros and Onion Knights. I have been sorely tempted to do a Knights of Astora themed army, or at least squad with golden glowing "summons" that I'd run as Legion of the Damned.

[Dagoth Ur]

Act XX: The Umbral Kings

 

 

 

"Seek strength.... the rest will follow."

 

Vendryk, First Umbral King

 

 

Many Monarchs have come and gone

One drowned in the Sea, the other succumbed to Hunger.

Still another slumbers in a realm of Ash.

Not one of them stood here, as you do now.

You, conqueror of adversities.

Give us your answer.

 

The Sisters of Solace

 

 

"Even so, one day all realms die and all flames perish. From Dark all was born and to Dark all shall return. Even a legend like thineself can't change this."

 

Lord Hiltibrant, Last of the mortal Lords

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The world was cold and dark beneath the mountains. An ancient world, a remnant of an older cycle with a mad king trapped within his old castle. He knew why he was here. He knew why his body was bloated and warped, removed from its once-human origin. He had chosen his path and suffered the consequences. He had accepted the Abyss into his soul. The Rotten King had stood before the Flame. He had seen the myriads of ashes and corpses strewn in a chamber so grand, that it had seemingly formed a new sky. Or perhaps it had been a new world altogether? He didn't know and had no wish to know. The only thing he knew, the only thing that mattered, was the hatred he had felt before that oscillating mass of wailing souls and light. The carcass of his forebearer had collapsed before his feet, his axe still dripping with the thick, gooey, black blood of Queen Faaria.

The Rotten King, once known as Ivar Shatterhand, hated the Flame with a burning passion. He had seen what happened to those that gave themselves to it. They were reduced to husks, fragments of the glorious kin they had once been. The King had no care for the people above the subterranean world and he had no wish to save them from the incoming darkness. Truthfully, he had hoped for the veil to tear again. He had hoped for the ancient tombs to vomit out their monstrous contents once more.

Ivar had read the legends. He knew that the Flame barred the way for those born beyond the veil. Yet still some heard the God's voices.

And so, Ivar had decided to forgo the linking and instead watch the Flame fade. As he did so, three small sores had opened on his calf.

"Nergal, Nergal, Nergal..." Ivar had chanted in the fading light, until only embers remained "Nergal, Nergal, Nergal..."

 

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The Dark had been so soothing. Ivar had wandered across many a path and discovered many a fabled treasure. Once, his body had grown big and strong with his patron's blessings, he had stumbled upon a city built into the bones of the planet. It was partially submerged beneath vast, bubbling pools of tar-like mass that released noxious fumes, making even his flesh shudder with disgust. The city was immens in proportions, as if built by giants. Nothing lived there and only the faint light of crystals and air-jellyfish illuminated the walls. After what could have been days, he had found something akin to a throneroom. While very frugal in decoration, Ivar had deduced the function of this place thanks to the humongous throne constructed out of crudely hewn marble slabs. He wondered what kind of king had once resided here. And when?

For all he knew, this place could've been millenia old. Sometimes, when the soul that linked the flame was especially volatile, the surface of Loria would buckle and shatter in upheaval. Continental crusts would fold in seconds and where once ancient civilizations were, no trace remained. Sometimes such realms also resurfaced. Like Uulakyle, the city of miracles or Elaum Loyke, the parish of black ice. This place could very well be one of those profane cities.

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Ivar understood what he was. He understood that to refuse the Flame was to accept the Dark. To accept the Dark was to be reborn as an Umbral King, a lord of darkness and the inheritor of peril and hatred. Nobody knew how many Umbral Kings had traversed the bowls below the ash and the spires above it, but each and every one of them was a cursed being indeed.The change wrought upon Ivar's flesh was not born of the Dark though, but of the Abyss. Beyond the skein of reality, ancient denizens hungered for the wretches that crawled across Loria. Kharanath, Slaaneth, Nergal and Tsyynth. Ivar had openly accepted the rot into his soul. He was more than happy if all would be consigned to decay. Anything else would've been futile anyways.

Why link the Flame if it would fade again? There was no use in trying to persist anyways. None could cling to life forever, not even the Lords of Cinder. Why then serve the Flame when the Abyss would offer so much more so willingly? That is at least what he told himself in those dark hours where despair was to strong to surpress.

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In the dark, suffused by Nergal's power, Ivar would continue to grow. His power was fearsome, his sole word enough to make steel rust and walls crumble. Still, in the far corners of his bestial mind, sorrow, despair and remorse harrowed his thoughts and led him back to the kiln of the Flame. Ivar could feel the warmth, he could see the faint glimmer in the heap of ash and bones. He was furious. The thing defied him, it refused to be snuffed out, no matter how long he waited. Ivar didn't dare touch it. He knew what the Flame, even as an ember, did to the "tainted". He had seen how those that serve the Flame could immolate the very essence of the Neverborn.

The Rotten King did not know how long he was pacing around in the ashen temple before he heard the ancient gates creak. Glaring, orange light flooded through the crack and Ivar's eyes were oozing ichor and blood. A giant stood at the gate, wielding sunlight and gleaming steel.

"Ivar, Umbral King" His voice was deep and almost a whisper "I am Morain, the True Monarch."

http://i411.photobucket.com/albums/pp194/hodoalmir/_20170202_214229_zpsqkqdxinh.jpg

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So, it's been some time, huh? Well, I was stuck building this Nurgle Warlord and the original intent was to make a Mordheim Warband Leader but somehow I ended up with something that could also be found in the Outgard corner of Inquisimunda, which fits just perfectly with Old Loria :) Hope you like him!

 

@brettfp: Thanks mate, means a lot :)

 

@The Psycho: Glad you like him mate, the Imperial Fist was your idea after all :D

 

@CaptainStabby: Mate, that sounds like a wicked idea. I'd say go for it!

 

So, much of the fluff has been finalized by now and I have started painting a few actual Astartes miniatures as the Inquisimunda part of this thread is slowly nearing completion. I will be posting a rundown fairly soon, so stay tuned.

 

C&C is, as always, welcome and highly appreciated! :)

[Vairocanum]

Awesome conversion with some great fluff! I really like your paint style, looking forward to seeing how you tackle nurgle's rot! 

[CaptainStabby]

Lots of new lore to plunder in the last DLC, Gael's story in particular is probably good fodder for you!

[Dagoth Ur]

Lots of new lore to plunder in the last DLC, Gael's story in particular is probably good fodder for you!

 

You bet ;) Just replayed the Ringed City and the three Crown DLCs. I've been rewriting and churning out massive amounts of fluff in the past few days, lemme tell ya!

I'll leave you with this "The Lord of Sunlight has fallen, all hail the Lord of Cinders." and "Here our ways part Father. I am truly sorry."

[CaptainStabby]

\ [T] /

[MikhalLeNoir]

I always praise the sun but I love how you convert the dark aspects of dark souls Into 40k fluff. By the way, DS is not the End. Have you tried SAlt & santuary?

[Dagoth Ur]

A Lord Awakens, the Fire is Kindled

 

 

"With the Kindling of Fire, they had arrived. The Knights of Mirror and Smoke. Those shrouded in legend and half-truths, formed by their Lord's soul and blood."

 

 

The ichor-like blood spread on the shrine's floor. So much blood had already been spilled here. The blood of those that desired to vyy for the flame's might, thus giving us hope. The blood of those that accepted the burden of lordship, thus prolonging our struggle against the Allnight. The blood of those that had forsaken their duty, thus leaving us to the beasts of the nether. I was old by now. Impossibly old. I knew not what I was; giant, human, god, halfbreed? I only knew the name given to me. Morain, the true monarch. Father had found me far outside in the ashen wastes, protected by a small, metal casket around my body. He said that I was wreathed in black flames and that my eyes had roared with the might of an inferno. He had found a worthy aspirant to the throne.

The Throne of Want.

The First Flame.

The Cycle.

The Choice that did not matter.

"My name is Morain and I stand before the dying kiln" I spoke into the darkness "I come bearing the insignia of the three lords. I come to make a decision."

Morain...Morain...Morain... The darkness answered in a whispering staccato Cursed child...Blessed child...Greatest Lord...Furtive King...What will you choose, hmm?...The Age of Dark, to abandon what you were raised to do? The Age of Light, to burn for all that dwell upon this dreg heap of a world? Or is it something else entirely that you crave, yes?

"I choose that which lies beyond the scope of light" My throat was dry, yet my voice thundered in the cave "I choose what lies beyond the reach of dark."

Silence. Something spread in the dark. Was it surprise?

You seek the impossible, to shake off the yoke of fate...Impossible...and yet... Glowing eyes spread in the sinister air, crackling like hot goals And yet you bear the crown from the Lord that recognized the eternal falsehood of life, the one neither born with greatness nor granted by fate...And yet you bear the rings of those that succumbed to poison, fire and ice, those that failed where you succeeded...And yet you bear the sword of the first Lord, the one who wrested lightning from the flame...Yes...maybe...

"I await an answer. Every cycle can be broken" Spreading my palm, I summoned a small pillar of fire, yet the dark only clogged tighter around me "Dark and Light are not the boundaries of all that is. They must not be. They cannot be."

Conqueror of adversities, we have reached a verdict...There is a way...The flame will remain unkindled for now...We will feed upon ourselves, upon those strongest within us... The inky air parted and revealed figures of the ancient past. A giant clad in dark iron and skin made of charred bark, a woman shrouded in resplendent robes hemmed with gold, a devourer of gods picked for his strength and not piety, twins, one frail in mind, the other in body. The fire will fuel itself...When the day of reunion comes, others will make a choice for you Morain...They will come from the western sails and your world shall turn fair and bright. A king you shall be, on carven throne and in many pillared hall. The greatest signs of power shall be carved into your gate and the forces of sun and moon shall be at your behest. The bowels of this world shall be set alight by the fires of the forge and the songs of your ilk. They will come to your aid...And when the sunken star appears...And when the trumpets ring at your gates...The Dark Soul will reveal itself and the black sun shall shine...

"I do not understand. I have not come for riddles!" The ire burned in my veins, the choler of a king spurned, a lord scorned "Answer me!"

It is not imperative that you understand now, Morain...You may have prevailed over sun, death and fire...but the dark you are yet to master...Until the dark soul of man has not become part of you, you cannot break this cycle...For now, we must part ways, but not without a gift for our new, true monarch...

Again, the ink parted and the clang of ancient iron rang through these halls. Towering creatures approached me, taller than any man I knew and yet still smaller than me. They bore armour of unknown provenance and weapons of roaring teeth, thunder and bellowing muzzles. They felt close to me, like kin and yet they were not. After five hundred years of life, I felt somethink akin to kinship, despite this creature being born of sorcery, shadows and mist.

They were the knights of the Lords that had been and would come to be. Shapeshifters that assumed a form most suitable to their lord. Or omens of a future to come. The legends spoke of both, but the truth was seldom clear.

Morain... The darkness whispered one last time, as the lords of ages past bellowed in pain while being slowly consumed by their eternal yoke Hurry now, find the path...find your Dark Soul...

Time was scant.

And yet I knew not what to do.

 

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[Vairocanum]

Another great read! Looking forward to seeing this new guy painted up!

[Dagoth Ur]

Rebirth

 

 

Weep not for the betrayed dead, for they have passed into realms where evil may not touch them anymore. Weep instead for the betrayers, for they must live with sin in their heart. Each and every soul, no matter how stained and black it is, still has a small core, a faint ember of light that cannot be extinguished. It is this core that suffers for all eternity,

for fratricide is a sin most heinous.

 

-Anon, ca m27

 

Can you remember the day when he came to us? Can you, Lupercal? Do you remember the giant clad in the black of the abyss, so alike to mine, but hemmed with pale gold and adorned with the deep red of fire and blood? So many of us were there, be it by chance or some design of fate; you, me, the Khan, the Angel and Vulkan. As much as it pains me to admit it, for pride is my vice, but I beheld our lost brother in all his splendour and felt naught but the purest reverence for him. We're all reflections of Father, magnificent slivers of an even grander design. Lorgar is His face, His very reflection cast in gold. Sanguinius is His heart, a thing of purest beauty and compassion. You, Lupercal, are His amicability, the hand that extends to all. But he, the lord of cinder whose name shall never cross my lips, he was His regality, He was His heir; why else do you think did He weep before us? You understood his nature instantly when you laid your eyes upon him, we all did, but where we all felt love you only felt envy. I saw it, Lupercal, I saw the glare in your eyes. You may be our Father's favoured son now again, His scourge and sword, but in a different age led by a different fate, our lost brother would have been the hand to wield both.

 

-The Lion and Lupercal, private conversation

 

 

The XI^th Legion. The Infernal Swords. The Ashen Warriors. The Lost. Betrayers. Betrayed. We were many things, but I suppose it'll do no good to tell of the fall before the rise hasn't been elucidated upon. Our Terran ancestors were panslavic warrior-lords and reavers; their robbed sons would prove to be an ideal stock for our father's geneseed. If our Terran veterans are anything to go by, then the Panslavs must have been people of dour appearence and accustomed to strife. Yet somehow, when we all gather around our bonfires and in our great halls, it is always the Terrans that tell the greatest tales and liven up the darkness of our ships; even in these days of exile.

I can still remember the day when they had descended from the skies, clad in their armour of dull grey and blood red, bearing the burning sword of the Emperor as their symbol. The Lord recognized them for what they were; his sons, his ilk. He welcomed both his sons and his Father with open hands. A year would pass before the leadership was officially shifted to Lord Morain.

 

I had been an Infernal blade for three months when the change came. The Emperor and Lord Morain had ascended from the Shrine of Ashes after months of isolation, and it is then that I heard the master of mankind speak.

"Harken, sons of Morain, harken! It is today that you and your primarch shall finally take to the stars and wage the Great Crusade anew! From now on, you shall obey your Lord and the Imperium of Man!"

Cheers filled the air and echoed across Loria. None of us had ever heard such sounds, such exalts, for Loria had always been a silent world. There I beheld my Lord for the first time. Tall he was and clad in formidable armour. He swang a sword of dark iron and stone. Lord Morain's face was craggy and rough, yet still there was a clear nobility to it.

"My sons" A voice that never rose above a whisper, and yet when he uttered a word the world listened "You are Infernal Swords no more."

Murmurs had went through our ranks, insecurity and confusion as to what this had to mean? Was our father discontent with us?

"The Emperor named you his Infernal Swords, he gifted you your colours as you marched besides him. Now, you march at my side and you have become my warriors. As such, it is my duty as Lord to gift you with livery and name befitting of your status. Upon Terra you were baptized in the ashes and blood of those unwilling to bend the knee, and I have already heard of the tales surrounding your prowess in war. Henceforth, you shall be my Ashen Warriors and bear the royal black of Loria and its white flames, while still retaining the red of the fallen. You all shall be allowed to display the emblem given to you by my father, if you so choose. Those that come after you, will bear the sun of Loria upon their shoulders."

My eyes wandered towards the sky, towards the unnatural and bleak thing that cast its light on us. The sun of the Anor-System was weak and its fire was barely strong enough to uphold its reddish-golden corona. A dreadful and yet beautiful thing.

 

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[Bjorn Firewalker]

The XI Legion Space Marine and his backstory are well done.

[Nomus Sardauk]

"The great Bell tolls it's mournful song, and the Observer awakens from his sleep again... Come unkindled son, come reignite this hopeful thread..."