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Faces of Chaos: Character Pieces

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Faces of Chaos: Character Pieces

Postby MalkyDel » Mon Jul 10, 2017 12:09 pm

Been working on some 40k Codex Chaos Character Pieces and posting them on Facebook. So, without further adieu, here's what we have so far:

"Fabius

The blade scraped against the pristine surface of the stone, and it screamed with every cut inflicted upon it.

He worked with a craftsman's dedication, his movements slow and methodical. He worked in near total darkness, and yet he was precise. The flickering luminescence within the stone drfited to the surface occasionally, casting his features with their fitful crimson. He hushed them then, his lips drawing back into something approaching a smile.

He remembered the first inelegant steps he had enabled. He remembered the music of the song, and how it had rang hollow within him. It had driven so many others to the path, and they had surrendered themselves to him in droves...But they had never understood. Beneath the skin of the song, there had been the perfumed rot. The Gods promised much, but their ephemeral whispers were as immaterial as their form.

He denied them. Understanding was the only call that mattered, and it could always be bettered. Always pushed that one step further.

The air was thin, and he could feel his tumour-crowded lungs struggle against it. Rot beneath. Rot within. The galaxy was shaped by cosmic comedy, an irony as old as stars. It could not deny him though; it dared not.

He paused as he heard the movement beyond, like a sea change flooding the compartment. Whispered voices, the scratch of nails against the exterior and then, ah yes...There was the sputter of some cutting tool. The world opened like a flower, blossoming forth with a rush of fetid air.

Light streamed in around spiked extremities and flowing robes. Deep set eyes regarded him from drawn faces. There was the arrhythmic hiss of breathing apparatus and the gurgle of ichor dispensers. They seemed to hover or drift forward, like phantoms of long dead ideas, like the mummified corpses of ambition.

And these spectres, these ghouls, these Haemonculi, beheld.

The entirety of the chamber had been coated, papered almost, in the flensed skin of eldar. Set into the sea of flesh, like constellations burning in the firmament, were the mutilated soul stones. The room coursed with their agony, laced with their pain and their desperation. It had been a beacon, and it was perfect. As perfect as any other of his works.

He rose, unsteadily, reaching out for Torment as he pushed himself to his feet. He looked up at them, seeing the inhuman revulsion in their eyes- the envy and the scorn of ages.

"I am Fabius." He spoke the words with an easy nobility. "And I would learn from you."
MalkavianDelirium

<3 Fan of Erebus <3

Then one day at Istvaan III,
Horus came to say.
"Fulgrim with your clothes so bright,
won't you help me slay tonight?"
Then all the rebels loved him
And they shouted out with glee.
"Fulgrim the Traitor Primarch,
you'll go down in history!"
User avatar
MalkyDel
 
Posts: 437
Joined: Fri Nov 25, 2011 10:23 pm
Location: Glasgow

Re: Faces of Chaos: Character Pieces

Postby MalkyDel » Mon Jul 10, 2017 12:10 pm

"Typhus"

There had been pain, once.

He remembered it in shards and fragments of who he had been. The folly and the agony of being truly mortal. He had been a mote upon the cosmos, a lonely journeyman upon the winds of fate. Faithful in a galaxy without faith.

Now he was The Traveller.

The distended plates of his armour bulged with internal movement, and the great encrusted extrusions of the hive sang with divine song. Typhus stirred, and the memory of Calas Typhon sloughed away like so much wasted flesh. A gauntleted hand tightened about the haft of his warscythe and he forced himself up from his throne. The bone of the chair glimmered wetly in the halflight of the bridge.

He threw wide his arms, and the Terminus Est welcomed him as a brother. Both were more than they had once been.

"More."

The word oozed from his lips, and new memories stirred within him, stoked by the constant buzzing movement of the hive. They had faltered by the will of the Grandfather, and he had offered them a way through the calm. Of all the banes and poisons he favoured, there were few more toxic than hope.

Then the plague had come, and he had welcomed it.

"More!"

He slammed the base of the scythe against the deck and the swarm rose about him, pouring from him in an aetheric tide of pulsing beating unreality.

Before them lay Ultramar and all its promise. The jewel of the East, diminished despite the best efforts of the Avenging Son. The laughter bubbled up from within him, a fetid gurgle drowned beneath the sound of a million wings, and the heartbeat of the Garden as it shuddered through the ship.

There was always more. More worlds and realms and peoples. More gifts. More battles. More wars. Even ten thousand years later they had not stopped sharing their bounty with the Imperium.
MalkavianDelirium

<3 Fan of Erebus <3

Then one day at Istvaan III,
Horus came to say.
"Fulgrim with your clothes so bright,
won't you help me slay tonight?"
Then all the rebels loved him
And they shouted out with glee.
"Fulgrim the Traitor Primarch,
you'll go down in history!"
User avatar
MalkyDel
 
Posts: 437
Joined: Fri Nov 25, 2011 10:23 pm
Location: Glasgow

Re: Faces of Chaos: Character Pieces

Postby MalkyDel » Mon Jul 10, 2017 12:11 pm

"Khârn"

The pod bites deep into the iron flesh of the ship, drills and plasma-cutters roaring to life with an almost living hunger. Around them air and oil vents into the void, haemorrhaging out laced with shards of metal. It reassures him.

Everything in the universe can bleed.

While the other occupants flail in the confines of their restraint cradles, screaming and raving, he stands. One hand grasps a dangling chain to steady himself, while the other is bound to the revving monster at his side. These binds that hold Gorechild to him are ancient, reassuring, though he no longer truly remembers why he wears them, whose deaths inspired them.

The air is full of bellowing, of screaming. It stinks of bloodsmoke and adrenaline and atomised bone. The darkness crowds in like a living thing, and he embraces it. Moments draw out, seconds stretch and sprawl, until finally…The hatches blow free, and he is out into the thin air and fire of the dying battleship.

His pistol sings, a bolt of plasma hurtling wide through the corridor. A power conduit explodes in a shower of sparks and gouts of superheated steam. His foes are already adapting, already compensating, when he explodes through the murk, axe flailing. All that matters in this moment is the sweep of the axeblade. It is the universe, it is everything reduced to one long red scrawl.

A crimson path, cut through the cosmos.

He strikes true, a head tumbling free in a rush of arterial red. Warning lights suffuse everything, casting him scarlet against the black. He turns, Gorechild revving, and his by-blows sends warriors flying, laces the walls with new cracks. He spins and the bone-plated butt of his pistol shatters a helmet lens. He moves through them like a scythe, confusion and blood his only legacy.

These new men, these halfbred mongrels; they die just as easy as anything else that breathes. He lets the axe fall from his grip, trusting to the chains to hold it, as he drives the fingers of his hand through the skull-faced helm of an assault troop. He feels the eyes burst around the thrusting digits with a visceral satisfaction, before casting the body to the floor. There is brain on his fingers, the comingled fluid and debris of absolute carnage.

Around him the other berserkers lope and run. They are the tide, and he is the rock around which they break. Is it fear? Memory? How many of them strode the black sands? How many were on Terra? How many froze and faltered on Skalathrax? Does it even matter?

One has rushed ahead, is locked in combat with one of the false-Astartes, screamed defiance melding with the vox-amplified screech of the Primaris warriors. He cuts through one to slay the other, slamming the corpses against the wall to dislodge them from the churning teeth of his axe. Flesh and metal grind to so much refuse beneath his blade.

The migraine-heat of pain ripples through him, but he does not shirk from it. He embraces it. It drives him forwards; through the armsmen who think to succeed where demigods have failed. Through bulkheads. Through servitor-interfaced turrets and their chittering Mechanicus masters. He breaks every wall and every bulwark placed before him. Ruin and corpses are all that line their inexorable advance.

He brings the blade down again and again at the last obstacle, till the doors buckle and shatter. They stride into the bridge and he fires, one single shot of burning plasma, to cripple the command chair. Sub-systems die in a burst of fire and light, the ship shakes with the palsy of machine-death. It labours, like a man with a cut throat. Khârn strides forward, through the hail of gunfire and the death of the world, and drives the great axe through another console. Gravity begins to fail, navigation dies, the engines wind down with an almighty death rattle.

As the ship begins to fall towards the world, and the last of the defenders begin to die, Khârn looks down at the chains which bind him to the axe. That bind him to the past.

As the haze dies, he remembers, he understands. He feels the howling rage of what was once his gene-father in his soul, and the black hunger of his divine father clawing at his mind.

Like daggers, the ships they have boarded will fall upon the world, and their paltry defenders will understand, when their cities are drowned in the vitae of the world itself.

All is blood, in the end, and it must flow.
MalkavianDelirium

<3 Fan of Erebus <3

Then one day at Istvaan III,
Horus came to say.
"Fulgrim with your clothes so bright,
won't you help me slay tonight?"
Then all the rebels loved him
And they shouted out with glee.
"Fulgrim the Traitor Primarch,
you'll go down in history!"
User avatar
MalkyDel
 
Posts: 437
Joined: Fri Nov 25, 2011 10:23 pm
Location: Glasgow

Re: Faces of Chaos: Character Pieces

Postby MalkyDel » Mon Jul 10, 2017 3:23 pm

"Huron

The Tyrant stood alone, lit by the hellish bloodlight of a dozen hololiths.

Before him the galaxy burned with the mighty wound of the Rift, and the worlds beyond the Maelstrom bled their materiel into the void in petty defiance of their doom. He laughed, and his body shook with it; the clicking and whirring of his cybernetic form adding to the madness of his mirth. The great digits of his claw flexed as he regarded the weakened dominions of men...And their pointless resistance.

He scowled. Ultramar glimmered like a jewel within the fire, ravaged by plague and buffeted by war, yet still it stood defiant. Even now the self-proclaimed Regent moved to restore his nigh legendary Five Hundred Worlds.

"And they called me greedy..." The words bubbled from him like his laughter. "And they cursed me for my ambition."

There was whispering about him, but then there always was. The Hamadrya was near, spilling its secrets and its lies. He closed his eyes and then let them slide open again. The crimson light was inviting, like the promise of violence to come. If he simply embraced it...

He strode forward and the image dissipated like smoke.

And then it was smoke.

The ash and fire of a burning world swept in at him and he plunged into the crucible of battle. His joy boomed from him as the claw swung, tearing apart a Primaris captain with barely an effort. Fire ricocheted off of his augmented form, yet pain could not hurt him. Death could not claim him. He grasped another mongrel skull in his claw and let the flamer reduce its screaming head to cinders. He lifted the warrior bodily, bringing his axe round and decapitating him with one stroke.

"I am Huron!" He bellowed, and the world changed again.

Battle on every front, on every world within his reach. Striding the decks of his Corsair fleets, running out the guns until flotillas burned and worlds trembled. The Rift blazing like a smile, like a scream, like a promise. The Imperium his prize and his feast and his victim.

"Called Blackheart. Called Tyrant."

Before him loomed the Fortress of Hera, a place he had rarely thought of. He could feel the steps crumbling and burning beneath his feet as Macragge died around them.

"I will be avenged. I will be the vengeful son who casts all these great works to ruin!" And his laughter echoed through the broken edifice, through the burning world and the ravaged segmentum and...

...The empty throne room.

He shook himself from his reverie, from the vision. He was alone, yes, but that mattered not. The strong were strongest alone.
MalkavianDelirium

<3 Fan of Erebus <3

Then one day at Istvaan III,
Horus came to say.
"Fulgrim with your clothes so bright,
won't you help me slay tonight?"
Then all the rebels loved him
And they shouted out with glee.
"Fulgrim the Traitor Primarch,
you'll go down in history!"
User avatar
MalkyDel
 
Posts: 437
Joined: Fri Nov 25, 2011 10:23 pm
Location: Glasgow

Re: Faces of Chaos: Character Pieces

Postby MalkyDel » Wed Jul 12, 2017 5:41 pm

"Lucius

He felt it.

He felt it burning within him like fire, fuelled by pain, made of agony. Yet there was none of the laughter that came with suffering. No orisons of cruelty left his lips. That wasn't right, he couldn't understand why...Only remember.

***

The temple was a beautiful thing, rearing up from the red sands in an edifice of beaten gold. Its ornamentation put even the mightiest of the warships in orbit to shame, and so its sons descended to lay it low.

They came in waves of gilded attack craft and deliriously hued drop-pods, till the sky seemed to ripple with false aurora.

Soon after they sang with screams.

The warriors within were broken things, given over to the utmost debauchery and riven through with alterations. Scars and tattoos vied with bulbous swollen skin, ballooned and treated with strange paints and unguents. They were a heterogeneous horde, as though their debasement were some elaborate contest.

At their head strode a scar-faced warrior, sword in hand. His armour was a riot of soul-fire and alive with screaming, writhing faces. He gestured this way and that, and the great barbed tongues of a whip tasted the blood of the defenders. His laughter echoed above the carnage.

Men died screaming, falling beneath the tongues of the lash and a wall of malevolent sound. Sonic weaponry flensed men living, till their blood and flesh ran in rivers down the temple stairs. The barricades broke, like levees before the storm surge. The resistance fell back in ragged droves, till the temple doors slammed shut and they were forced to beat against it with their bloodied palms.

Within, the survivors cursed their cowardice and mouthed their prayers, till the silence fell and the life fluids oozed beneath the great doors. Calm came, like the eye of a tempest.

The door exploded, as though the steel and stone were mere wood. The great stained glass windows of the facade detonated with a howl of carnal satisfaction.

The leader moved with a boneless ease, spinning and pivoting as though in some graceful dance. His every gesture took men apart; reducing them to fountains of gouting blood or mewling limbless offerings. They staggered and fled but he stalked them through the madness of the slaughter, laughing bitterly as though displeased at the sport.

His blade stopped, meeting resistance as the clang of metal on metal ended the song.

The old templar was hoary and grizzled, yet his power armoured bulk yet held strength. He was no Astartes, merely a man whose strength and means had brought him here. He spat his defiance into the monster's face, and it merely laughed.

"Finally."

The souls bound to its armour seemed to scream louder with each thrust and parry. Faith met longing, again and again. The maelstrom of war faded. There was only the duel. Only the moment.

Something detonated behind them and a great aquila icon tumbled from its sconce, brazen wings slicing through the air between them. The old warrior lunged through the omen-opening and watched the blade catch the fiend in the neck. He drove it onward till it scraped against post-human bone. A smile twisted his lips and he saw it mirrored on the face of his foe.

"Fall, daemon." He spat. "I gladly commit you to the hell of your makers."

Even as the head tumbled to the ground, it was still laughing.

***

He did not remember much after the battle. Only the delightful scouring of the desert heat and the kiss of the withering winds.

There had been pain, such pain, but men can grow used to many torments. To the laughter that comes with suffering, to the orisons of cruelty on his lips.

His armour has changed, it has begun to scream with his voice. He cannot remember his name...

And then he is gone. Like the hair from his head and the weakness from his flesh, and he is simply Lucius again.

Perhaps next the galaxy shall truly test him.
MalkavianDelirium

<3 Fan of Erebus <3

Then one day at Istvaan III,
Horus came to say.
"Fulgrim with your clothes so bright,
won't you help me slay tonight?"
Then all the rebels loved him
And they shouted out with glee.
"Fulgrim the Traitor Primarch,
you'll go down in history!"
User avatar
MalkyDel
 
Posts: 437
Joined: Fri Nov 25, 2011 10:23 pm
Location: Glasgow

Re: Faces of Chaos: Character Pieces

Postby MalkyDel » Thu Jul 13, 2017 5:36 pm

"Ahriman

Above the skies burned with the Great Game of the Gods. The firmament had transmuted, as though warped by some vast lens, so that the view was not of warring constellations but of the wars of the Changer and its siblings. Dwelling below, in the dust and ash of Sortiarius, he was unsure whether it was simple immaterial whim or the transcendent scrutiny of the Crimson King that scarred the heavens.

He did not suppose it mattered, too much.

The seeker sat alone, miles from any of the wandering towers and their inconstant patterns, and watched beyond the false stars. With clarity born of his second sight, he regarded the truth of the system in which they lingered.

The void still smouldered with sorcerous afterbirth and the least of their brotherhood had been dispatched to war with the daemons that danced through the tumult, to bind them to their will. Beyond the sigils in the skin of reality was another sphere though.

Ahzek Ahriman sat upon the soil of one adopted erstwhile home, and regarded another.

Prospero. Omen shrouded and ill-remembered Prospero. There was a fanciful nostalgia to all that Magnus had achieved here, as though the pull of where they had first fallen had echoed through each of them. Fenris had burned, but not been broken. This had been the gem pulled from the inferno, to spite their foes and the history that had damned them.

He rose, and the crystal sands of Sortiarius billowed about him like a cloak. The roaring maelstrom winds had settled around him, calmed by his focus and his gift. This world had welcomed him for a time; not as conqueror or exile. Simply as another lost son. His efforts had been for nothing, in the end, when compared to the games of what had once been his genesire.

He lifted his staff and allowed his mind to ascend, sheathing it in psychic fire. The air caught alight, and he traced his works upon it as an artist might approach a canvas. Reality shifted, melted, and bled. He heard whispers on the wind. Lost brothers, absent friends. Lies, all. The poison promises of the Neverborn.

And then he was elsewhere.

He felt the sting of dislocation as time and space became elastic; falling forever, sailing the infinite. He saw the tortured realspace of the galaxy and tasted the roaring madness of the Great Ocean, blazing as though the Heresy yet raged and Lorgar's mad ritual yet crowned existence.

He plunged through it all, past brother warriors atop spiked discs, and the torpid warships of the Legion renewed.

He tasted dust and smoke even within his helm. Around him the world reasserted itself. The huskworld. The shell and ruin of ambition.

Ahriman raised his hands to pull free the helmet that was not his own. He drew deep lungfuls of the tainted air, and swore he could yet hear howls echoing upon it.

The wind rose and fell over the mortuary skeletons of all that had been. No howls. No steel against steel.

He was alone, with the dust and the folly.
MalkavianDelirium

<3 Fan of Erebus <3

Then one day at Istvaan III,
Horus came to say.
"Fulgrim with your clothes so bright,
won't you help me slay tonight?"
Then all the rebels loved him
And they shouted out with glee.
"Fulgrim the Traitor Primarch,
you'll go down in history!"
User avatar
MalkyDel
 
Posts: 437
Joined: Fri Nov 25, 2011 10:23 pm
Location: Glasgow

Re: Faces of Chaos: Character Pieces

Postby Kentigern » Fri Jul 14, 2017 4:55 pm

Great effort, really like them - hints of bigger stories to come! I particularly like the human side to the characters you have brought, rather than simply being monodimensional killers (although Kharn is rather effective at slaughter). Look forward to seeing more - felt Typhus' vignette gave us the least about him/next steps, as a Nurgle fan I'd love to see that developed further.
Good guys go to heaven.

Bad guys send them there.
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Kentigern
 
Posts: 31
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Location: Bishopbriggs, Scotland

Re: Faces of Chaos: Character Pieces

Postby MalkyDel » Sun Jul 16, 2017 11:59 pm

Kentigern wrote:Great effort, really like them - hints of bigger stories to come! I particularly like the human side to the characters you have brought, rather than simply being monodimensional killers (although Kharn is rather effective at slaughter). Look forward to seeing more - felt Typhus' vignette gave us the least about him/next steps, as a Nurgle fan I'd love to see that developed further.


Thanks, appreciate it. I am a little disasppointed by Typhus in retrospect, but for some reason I thought the minimalism was a boon. On reflection, I saw that adding more layers really helped.
MalkavianDelirium

<3 Fan of Erebus <3

Then one day at Istvaan III,
Horus came to say.
"Fulgrim with your clothes so bright,
won't you help me slay tonight?"
Then all the rebels loved him
And they shouted out with glee.
"Fulgrim the Traitor Primarch,
you'll go down in history!"
User avatar
MalkyDel
 
Posts: 437
Joined: Fri Nov 25, 2011 10:23 pm
Location: Glasgow

Re: Faces of Chaos: Character Pieces

Postby MalkyDel » Mon Jul 17, 2017 12:00 am

"Abaddon"

Thousands of voices chanted his name, and his titles.

Their words rose from the barracks and the slavepits, echoed across vox-channels and spilled from the mouths of half-dead sorcerors. Like a trickle into a flood, the rush of sound asserted itself around the bridge of his flagship.

The Vengeful Spirit sang with their utterance.

Gatebreaker. Sunderer of Realms. The Hand of the Gods. Riftfather. A hundred different mantles for him to wear, as though they were a cloak, or the burning brand set upon his forehead.He welcomed them, though they tasted like ashes, and hung from him like shackles.

There was burden in victory, as there was in defeat, but nothing compared to half a victory. He had learned that lesson long ago.

He flexed his great talon, the mark of his ascendancy as surely as any blessing of the Warp. It seethed with power, burning with the potency of the blood it had shed and the war it represented. He had torn it from his father's corpse and then driven it through the hearts of the pretender.

"I am not your son..." The words slipped almost unbidden from his lips, and he turned quickly. None looked at him, lest his glory scar their eyes and earn his wrath. At his back, the blade stirred and whispered in its mad doggerel. Inaction galled it, and its master shared that hunger.

He moved to the viewport and pressed the talon to the glass. Beyond it, backlit by the very soulfires of perdition, his fleets gathered. Many others had scattered to the points of the compass, but the more dedicated knew some restraint. They had fought and plundered the systems around Cadia with glee, like hounds swarming after scraps. They knew their value, and the will of their master. Like...True Sons. The thought almost made him laugh.

His teeth drew back from his lips in a feral sneer. This was only the beginning. A galaxy divided, a kingdom besieged. The Emperor still upon his throne of gold and lies. Horus had fought to secure a galaxy, with Legions at his back; he had never been forced to fight free of a cage of fire, with ten thousand enemies ever at his heels.

"I have bound them, and directed them. I have shaped them into the weapons that serve my cause, and mine alone." If any heard him speak, they gave no sign. The sword shuddered in its scabbard, as though his words pleased the End of Empires. For a moment, he thought he saw something in the reflection, a golden phantom weeping tears of blood, arms outstretched-

"I have done what no other could, what none other would have dared. We could have bled away beneath the hunger and perversions of the Third. Instead, we have fought and bled for this moment."

He wasn't sure when he had activated the vox-links, but now every voice had faded before his anger.

"Now all worlds know that their greatest efforts are as nothing. Avenging angels burn in the firmament, the galaxy theirs to conquer and reave. Piece by piece we shall strip away their shields and cast down their defenders. This is what we were bred for. Time has shaped us, made us stronger weapons. We have burned for their weakness long enough."

The engines leant their voice to his, complimenting the low hum of the vox. Its own whispers drifted about him, to venture further into the Imperium. To rend and tear and break them in her own clutches.

He thought of Khayon, so far away; a dagger in the Imperium's heart, slowly bleeding and weeping poison into their ears. If only he were with them, but fate demands its sacrifices.

"Forward." He growled. The ship and its meagre attendants responded, bucking with sudden movement.

"Let us finish this."
MalkavianDelirium

<3 Fan of Erebus <3

Then one day at Istvaan III,
Horus came to say.
"Fulgrim with your clothes so bright,
won't you help me slay tonight?"
Then all the rebels loved him
And they shouted out with glee.
"Fulgrim the Traitor Primarch,
you'll go down in history!"
User avatar
MalkyDel
 
Posts: 437
Joined: Fri Nov 25, 2011 10:23 pm
Location: Glasgow

Re: Faces of Chaos: Character Pieces

Postby MalkyDel » Wed Jul 19, 2017 5:43 pm

"Erebus

Night had passed and day had risen, bathing the pale dust of the plain in the bloody light of the crimson sun.

He stood alone. He had stood all night, daubed in ashes and powdered bone. The chill winds had whipped at him, but he had remained unmoving, until the first light had caught upon his armour. The script there seemed to burn, for one glorious moment, like an unfolding cataclysm.

He began to walk.

By now the sentries would have noticed him, rousing the walls with alarms and shouts. He could almost hear the click of lasweapons and the sullen thunk of artillery breaches being readied. The threat of gunsmoke and thunder tainted the air. He allowed himself a smile and raised his hands to remove his helm.

The face of a screaming daemon moved away and in its place was something similar, and yet more horrific. Every inch of exposed skin was covered in line after line of runic text, save where his forehead was broken by emergent horns. He locked the helm to his hip and removed the great tome from the other. He knelt and scooped the mace of his office from the cracked earth.

"I offer a choice." The words resounded from him, louder than was natural. "A choice as Lorgar offered of old. The Word or the Mace. Truth, or death.

Your false god has abandoned you. Embrace the Powers and be saved, or languish in ignorance and be damned."

There was simple silence, before the scream of shells.

He was already moving, running and chanting as the first fire fell from the heavens. Explosions buffeted him and shook the earth. He took the flame from the air and bent it into words. The ground burned, and yielded to meaning. It began to rain, but it was not water that joined the elemental chorus. It was blood.

Shapes forced themselves through the cracks in reality, forging their being from blood and bone and longing. Blades flickered in their hands, like the afterimage of lance fire. They were screaming and laughing, pouring like a tide behind the Dark Apostle.

Erebus let the sorcerous energy fields swathe his crozius, a crackle of non-light, like oil upon the sea of reality. He was close now, too close for them to stop him. The blood-things were climbing the walls, feasting upon the defenders. He raised the mace and it struck the gates like lightning.

The liferain was joined by darker storms in the firmament. Pods began to hammer from the skies with ritual precision, as the ceramite and steel of the gates shattered.

He strode through the ruins, and the faithless died in his wake; like the passage of an angel of death.

"Fall!" He bellowed, with laughter on his lips. "Fall and feed the hunger of the Gods!"
MalkavianDelirium

<3 Fan of Erebus <3

Then one day at Istvaan III,
Horus came to say.
"Fulgrim with your clothes so bright,
won't you help me slay tonight?"
Then all the rebels loved him
And they shouted out with glee.
"Fulgrim the Traitor Primarch,
you'll go down in history!"
User avatar
MalkyDel
 
Posts: 437
Joined: Fri Nov 25, 2011 10:23 pm
Location: Glasgow


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