Disciples of Insanity: The True Faith (A 60k Fanfic)

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Disciples of Insanity: The True Faith (A 60k Fanfic)

Postby Chaos Prophet » Sun Sep 10, 2017 6:39 am

The True Faith: Prologue

The End Times are nearly upon us. Monsters rise from their crevices, intent on slaughter and destruction. Spineless cowards and unworthy fools rise from their homeworld named after the end, on a blasphemer's crusade. The Eldar sacrifice every last one of themselves in one last attempt at their foolish notion of salvation and revenge, and in so doing mar the Wheel. But the Wheel turns still. And upon the world at the heart of the one true Imperium, the Anointed King makes haste toward his ascension. After millennia of searching for the Truth, we have found it. And soon he shall become it. They called my masters fools. Madmen. Traitors. Heretics. How ironic to see that our Golden Emperor was right all along.

Oh, but excuse my rambling. I have not properly introduced myself, nor the subject of this work. My name is irrelevant, for I long since abandoned it in my devotion to the N- to Chaos. To the Truth. The one and only Truth. I am a mere mortal, but my glorious benefactors have given me the great honor of detailing the rise of the very ones I serve. And so I shall. Drawn from the minds of my masters, I now detail the origins of a army that now stands in the name of all that is holy. For that is all there is to stand for. All else is sin.

The True Faith is an amalgamation of mortal Cults, astartes Warbands and daemonic hordes all sworn to the dictates of the True Faith itself, an ideology born of the Word of Lorgar and remodeled to serve the purposes of the Daemon-Saint, Azunar and, by extension, the Draziin-Maton, to whom Azunar had pledged eternal servitude. Where once they burned worlds for the Dark Gods, the Ruinous Powers have been recognized for what they truly are: aspects of the One True God: The Nex- [DAMN MY TONGUE, FOR BEING UNWORTHY OF UTTERANCE]

During the war-torn era of the Second Age of Strife, the True Faith had yet to rise. At that time, the Dread Apostle Azunar the Truthbringer was not yet ascended to Daemonhood, and lead the crusades of his followers from the front. Not tied down by either Abaddon's Chaos Imperium or Huron's own domain, the Host of the Truthbringer had outposts and launching points throughout both, and ignored the hostilities between the two, instead focusing on their true mission: spreading the Word of Lorgar and destroying whatever remained of the Old Imperium. For that is what they deserved: punishment for their crimes against the Truth.

Even during the time of the Imperium of Man, the followers of Azunar had been obsessed with the Warp, their fanatic dedication to the Dark Gods manifesting as an intense hatred for the veil between worlds. Creating Daemon Worlds was an act of divine justice in their minds, and with the death of the Imperium, from the Sanctified Desolation, an ancient prototype of the Altarship class, filled with cultists and other allies,
they were prepared to march through the galaxy, bringing ruin to all they encountered.

Or at least, that's what would have happened if not for a sudden change in the Apostle's goals. Rather than unleash themselves as a tide of destruction upon the Galaxy, or even aid their legion in the construction of the Chaos Imperium, they turned inward. For something else was growing. Something of far greater importance.

The Death of the Emperor had awoken….. Something. The Apostle had felt it. Patterns that weren't in the Empyrean before had been forming. Something from the deepest warp was rising and descending, and it's tendrils wriggled their way into the Word Bearer's mind. The Apostle, in a feverish quest for the source of the forces that pulled at his mind, guided the Host of the Truthbringer into an alliance with El'Uriaq (Blessed be his name!), who promised them the ultimate truth behind the Warp: A truth that would finally grant them the power to defeat the adversaries of Chaos, even the hated Necrons and Tyranids, who at the time seemed almost insurmountable. My masters have given me permission to be completely honest with this account, and so I shall: It seemed for quite some time that the triumph of these two threats, that of the Mirror-Devils and the Great Devourer, was likely. Perhaps even inevitable. If the Astartes did not know fear, my masters knew something assuredly.

Over the course of the Strife, the Host of the Truthbringer gathered Psykers and found ancient Eldar constructs, working alongside El'Uriaq and his cohorts of followers. Until at last, at the dawn of the 46th Millenium, the Host traveled to an isolated Hive World, their Psyker quarry in tow, and undertook a ritual of darkest power. We will detail the nature of this ritual later, but that was the day the Host of the Truthbringer died, and the True Faith was born.

After bringing a portion of the Ne- The Deep Warp, into realspace, and by doing so subliming a whole Sector, the Host was utterly devoured by the Prime Mover they had summoned. Subsumed and embraced by all that was not of this false world, the members of the Host became far more than the Astartes they once were. Each and every one of the 1,000 warriors of the Host were possessed by the great Draziin, their bodies turned into roiling, formless Warpflesh contained within their armor, their Dreadnoughts and Helbrutes turned into even more twisted and gloriously insane forms. The Sanctified Desolation was renamed the Sanctified Dissolution, after the title of the Primordial Annihilator. Many of the Mortal cults who had found solace in the welcoming and surprisingly merciful missionaries, were turned to writhing spawn, merged with the floor, walls and ceiling of the vast fortress, adding themselves to the twisted, unreal geometries it was now adorned with. And Azunar himself, after the thousands of years of conquest, and the sacrifice of an entire Sector, became a Daemon Prince of the Deep Warp, a herald of the true End Times. And he would not have had it any other way. He had found God: not the glorious yet limited constructs of mortal urges, but the One True God: True Chaos, beyond all mortal reckoning. The Absolute Origin of Existence itself. The very same Truth he would bring to my world. To my family. To me.

Throughout the Age of Dusk, the True Faith grew, recruiting disparate Warbands and aiding the Daemonmancer El'Uriaq in his work. At that point, Legion of origin mattered not, only allegiance to the faith and the will of the Deep Warp. The original members of the Word Bearer Host became the Exalted, the highest rank of the faith, 1,000 warriors of insane faith and rampant mutation.

At the heart of the Sanctified Dissolution, the Daemon-King Azunar held court with the Draziin-Maton, communing with them over the nature of Chaos and the Deep Warp. But most importantly, plotting to see the Final War won.....

Now is the End Times, and the Faithful must be triumphant. The Dissolution must triumph, or all will be lost.

I am shivering with delight. How far back will I be permitted to reach? The Fall of Cadia and the birth of the Chaos Imperium? The Great Rebellion of the First Martyr? The birth of the Anointed King himself? My blood turns to blessed bile with joy! I have been chosen to be a scion of history! Of TRUTH! Oh, how I revel in it! Praise Azunar! Praise the Bearers of the Word! Praise the Ten-Horned God! Praise the NEX-


[Record Ends]
Last edited by Chaos Prophet on Mon Jan 15, 2018 2:21 am, edited 6 times in total.
Chaos Prophet
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Re: Disciples of Insanity: The True Faith (A 60k Fanfic)

Postby Chaos Prophet » Sat Sep 16, 2017 6:47 am

A 60k fanfic from a Word Bearer perspective? How odd. :p

List of Persons:

Azunar, Saint of the Deep Madness (Praise be upon him): Dark Apostle and later Daemon-Saint of the True Faith. Author of the Book of The Depths, later added to the Second Word of Lorgar.

Mephiloth Daemonspeaker: First Acolyte and later Exalted Ruinpriest of the True Faith. Right-Hand and Messenger of the Daemon-King.

Argus Malthael: Coryphaus of the Host and later Exalted Ruinpriest. Terminator Lord of the Exalted.

Khaane: Formerly Possessed Champion of Khorne, became Exalted Champion of the Path of Blood. Advisor to Azunar and Deacon of the Scriptures of Slaughter. Named after ancient prophet of Colchis.

Tezen: Formerly Possessed Champion of Tzeentch, became Exalted Champion of the Path of Change. Advisor to Azunar and Deacon of the Grimoires of Change. Named after ancient prophet of Colchis.

Slanat: Formerly Possessed Champion of Slaanesh, became Exalted Champion of the Path of Desire. Advisor to Azunar and Deacon of the Canticles of Pleasure. Named after ancient prophet of Colchis.

Narag: Formerly Possessed Champion of Nurgle, became Exalted Champion of the Path of Decay. Advisor to Azunar and Deacon of the Tomes of Corruption. Named after ancient prophet of Colchis.

Valeghrast Forge-Priest: Draziin-Possessed Warpsmith. Ruinpriest of the Path of Invention.
Last edited by Chaos Prophet on Fri Jan 12, 2018 2:49 am, edited 2 times in total.
Chaos Prophet
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Re: Disciples of Insanity: The True Faith (A 60k Fanfic)

Postby Chaos Prophet » Fri Sep 22, 2017 2:39 am

In the early days of the Second Age of Strife, the Host of the Truthbringer sided with their home legion, the Word Bearers. Which means they allied with Abaddon's ambition of a Chaos Imperium. Though some among them favored anarchy over a new order, the Legion determined their actions, and besides, a Chaos Imperium would only benefit the followers of the Word of Lorgar. Not to mention it would pave the path for things to come.....

Entry 1: Nightmares Taking Form

The floor and walls reverberated from the impacts of enemy fire. Warpflame and daemonic guns blared as the battle raged.

Argus stood upon the Command Deck of the Sanctified Desolation. The deck was covered in daemonic growths and baroque architecture. Mutated figures babbled at the half-living control consoles, their bodies long-since fused to their stations, laughing and wailing as they sent the neurological signals to fire the Altarships cannons upon the enemy.

In the distance, the Goliath Engine and Planet Killer sparred, as the Sanctified Desolation fired from all sides upon as many ships as possible.

The Host of the Truthbringer fought alongside Abaddon and his budding Chaos Imperium. And the battle seemed to be grinding to a standstill.

That soon changed, as the Planet Killer, appearing damaged, fled through the Void, the Goliath Engine in swift pursuit.

The disappearance of the capital ships of both fleets was a swift, unexpected reroll of the dice. Argus swiftly recalculated his stance.

"Direct fire towards the Iron Warriors Battle Barge Furious Steel." Argus commanded. "All guns."

In seconds the Sanctified Desolation turned it's weaponry to focus on the singular ship, rather than target multiple enemies at once.

The Desolation continued to take fire, but soon the Battle Barge's shields were shattered and the hull exposed.

Daemonic salvos screamed into the ship's chassis, Furies biting and clawing their way through deck after deck as sentient ammunition. The Furious Steel crumbled upon itself, flaring up and going dark in a swirl of flame.

The Furious Steel had been the spearpoint upon which a whole segment of the Iron Warrior fleet had charged. With it's destruction, the Iron Warrior's had no centre to focus they're acts upon, buying Abaddon's allies time to strike, hard, while they reoriented themselves.

Argus smiled. Another trophy for the Dark Gods.


Mephiloth strode through the hallways of the dark and priestly stronghold. The Desolation had always been a place of fervent worship, but the Inner Sanctum of the sprawling, daemonic Star-Fort was the most consecrated of ground. Dreadnought-High stone tablets detailed passage after passage of the Book of Lorgar, placed along the walls, whilst in other hallways, Astartes tombs honored the fallen and martyred. Shrines to the Dark Gods were a continuous sight anywhere in the Desolation, but here, at it's heart, the walls began to lose it's script and statues, replaced by a long corridor of runic, onyx stone, the walls carved in ways that formed occult patterns, from a flat surface to a intricately-detailed artwork displaying countless daemonic gods and revelatory visions of the Warp.

The hallway lead to a single door, a massive black gate with the eight-pointed star emblazoned on it's lock, behind which lay the very center of the Inner Sanctum: The Apostle's private chamber.

Two Terminator warriors of the Anointed guarded the intricate gate of daemon-iron. Mephiloth nodded to them and one turned to place their hand in an imprint carved into the runic walls.

The gate opened with a slow creak, mixed with the quiet singing of countless souls, added to the Warp's great choir. The Apostle's lair had always been stepped in the blessed touch of Warp-lore.

The inner chamber was dark, as always. Mephiloth could see none of the doubtlessly massive chamber, save for the sorcery-infused galaxy map on the faraway ceiling, and the baleful light of the Warp Rift reactor below. However, the Apostle's presence could be felt throughout the chamber.

"What do you want, Mephiloth?" A cold voice, both far away and right in front of him, asked.

Mephiloth bent down on one knee and turned his gaze to the floor. "I have only come to inform you of victory, Apostle. The alliance of Perturabo and Angron has fallen. Abaddon's Chaos Imperium is secure."

The only response was a laugh. A long, soft chuckle, cold and cynic. "Good. Now leave me, unless you have other matters to bring up."

Mephiloth hesitated. Angering his Lord would mean a fate worse than death, but he had served alongside the Apostle for millennia. He took a breath and answered.

"My lord," He began, "You have scarcely left this chamber for the past... I do not remember how long."

"One hundred years." The voice answered. "I've been isolated for a full century now."

"Y-yes." Mephiloth continued. "And... your host misses your holy word, lord. I have been the one delivering the Sermons in your absence, as you ordered, but... why have you been so distant? What are you doing in this chamber?"

There was a long silence.

And then, the Apostle laughed. It had all the charisma of the past, but something had indeed changed. The Apostle sounded ... distant. Almost unhinged. (No, not unhinged. Re-hinged. Closer to the truth)

"You really want to know?" The Apostle asked, amusement in his voice.

"Yes, my lord." Mephiloth responded.

"Very well then." Azunar said, almost triumphantly. "Come back in a single standard day. A revelation is coming."

Mephiloth was confused but bowed his head, and exited. The warp-infused doors sealed behind him.

Mephiloth could sense something was different. The Apostle was planning something.

But what?


The incessant droning of prayer and worship was almost a miasma throughout the entirety of the fortress.

The Inner Sanctum was a Fortress Monastery in it's own right, but around and beneath it were the manifold settlements of the mortal crew. Trillions of mutants, cultists and the others fortunate enough to be chosen by the Host, thousands of different cults formed, reformed and destroyed every day. Countless warp-dabblers constantly debating the philosophies and metaphysical truths that correctly represented the Warp. Across countless halls, decks and engineering platforms, the mutant rabble did their duties, many willingly sacrificed in the dark rituals of the Host's Chosen, many more thrown into the fiery forges and engine-wombs of Valecore the Forge-Father.

But Mephiloth was unconcerned with the activities of his brothers. Swiftly he sped through hallway upon hallway, past countless twisted shrines and temples to the Ruinous Powers, countless altars and statues to unknowable daemonic deities, before at last reaching the Apostle's chambers.

Entering, he found a sight truly worthy of an Apostle's work.

Countless skinless, crucified slaves adorned the twisted, arched walls of the roughly circular, utterly black chamber. They chanted the names of countless Neverborn, never ceasing in their chanting, every moment more and more names spoken, more and more warp-entities drawn to the chamber. Countless cursed and warp-tainted tomes of warp-lore were stacked atop one another along the walls, forming spires and mounds of insane literacy. Strangely enough, though Mephiloth probably didn't notice, several tomes were ancient beyond imagining, dating back to the ages of Old Earth.

A vast canvas of skin hung from the ceiling above the altar at the chamber's center, and the Apostle was painting unto it in dozens of pigments, many the flesh-moss organisms drawn from the Warp, others human blood.

The Apostle stood upon the Altar itself, working upon the vast sheet.

Mephiloth knelt and bowed his head. "My lord." He said obediently.

Azunar turned and looked upon Mephiloth, smiling wickedly. "Arise, my Acolyte. Arise and look upon my work!"

Mephiloth looked upon the canvas. Painted in a fluid so dark it seemed to erase light around it was a massive tree - or rather, a set of eleven spheres connected in a tree-like structure of lines (Which, apparently, was what a religion of Old Earth referred to as the Kabbalah, or Qlippoth). At the top-most sphere was the symbol of Malal, the Renegade God, a skull of black and white. To it's immediate left was the symbol of Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways. To the right was the bloody symbol of Khorne, the Rune of Endless Slaughter. Directly below it festered the rune of Nurgle, god of Despair and Decay. To the right of the plagued sphere was one emblazoned with the symbol of the newest God: Slaanesh, the Prince of Pleasure. Mephiloth saw that the symbols seemed to be working their way downward along the 'tree' based on the holy numbers of the Gods themselves, almost like ... a count-down. The countdown, however, seemed to ignore the 11th sphere: one positioned at the center of the entire tapestry.

"Something is stirring in the Warp." Azunar breathed, awe in his voice as he stared at the tree. "Something vast and powerful beyond all reckoning. I can feel it call to me... in a fit of feverish visions, I was forced into creating this."

"But master," Mephiloth asked, utterly confounded by the sight before him. "What does the symbol mean?"

Azunar slowly turned toward Mephiloth. Warp-blood seeped through the Apostle's veins and nameless things scurried just beneath his skin, his body seething with minor, unnoticeable mutations. The Apostle grinned with unhinged glee.

"I don't know." The Apostle said, a feverish and wild look in his old eyes. "I don't know..."
Chaos Prophet
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Re: Disciples of Insanity: The True Faith (A 60k Fanfic)

Postby Chaos Prophet » Sun Jan 14, 2018 7:34 am

Entry 2: The Sanctified Desolation, and the Apostle's Plan

I will tell you now of the heart of the Truthbringer's horde, the lair from which the Daemon-Saint orchestrates the rising of the Dissolution.... before he had done so. Before he was known as the Daemon-Saint. In the time before my masters allowed the breath of Truth to fill their lungs, before my grandfathers were born... the Sanctified Desolation.

The Sanctified Desolation, known as the Draziin-Basilica by the time I knew of it, was one of the oldest Altarships, perhaps the origin point of the Altarship design. It was a vast and horrifically beautiful (or perhaps beautifully horrific) structure, housing a chapter-sized host of Word Bearer Astartes, and teeming hordes of cultists. Roughly the size of a Battle Barge, it was the doom of hundreds of worlds.

The fortress-ship was shaped in the eight-pointed star of Chaos. Each 'point' was bedecked with baroque architecture and ship-to-ship weaponry of dozens of glorious, daemon-infused varieties, as well as docking bays with which to take in and unleash fleets of escorts and cruisers.

The Desolation was divided into three sectors: The Greater Station, the Inner Sanctum, and the Apostle's Lair.

Greater Station

The Greater Station, known as the Basilica of the Faithful, was the term applied to all 8 'points' as well as the outer parts of the central keep. This place is like a sprawling Hive City, where countless cults and warbands of mortal detritus rise and fall in conflict with one another, all grouped together under the name of 'The Faithful.' They are, however, united in their faith to their Astartes patrons, which oversee the religious practices of the many mutant herds and cultist organizations and ensure that they all serve the Apostle's purpose of having them in the first place. Even then, the Astartes acted as the benefactors and patrons of countless cult organizations. It is this wisdom that places them above the other warbands of the Travesty (the others would simply slaughter such vermin, but there is use in us. We are taught just as much)

Countless fanatic preachers, fearsome demagogues and gloriously insane warlords rise and fall among the mortal caste almost daily. But regardless, it is these cultists who man the guns, repair the fort and serve the Astartes. One of the teachings of the Apostle, after all, was on the many purposes of mortalkind. As such, they are treated a modicum more respectfully than the average cruelty of the Word Bearers. This is not to say they aren't exploited to serve the purposes of the warband. And rightly so: they are allowed to live as something greater than slaves, and so are eternally indebted to our Astartes patrons.

Inner Sanctum

The central structure from which the eight point constructs emerge is a fully functional Fortress Monastery to the Host of the Truthbringer. Here, Astartes train in gladiatorial pits, heed sermons from the hierarchy of Chosen, contemplate the majesty and power of Chaos in their personal abodes, and commit themselves to the teachings of the Book of Lorgar.

In the forges, Valegrasht the Forge-Lord commences deranged experiment after deranged experiment. The disturbed Warpsmith was unceasing in his dedication to the ways of the Daemon-forge, crafting ever more demented forms of Daemon Engine. In the vague shape of a Maulerfiend, the Fiend of Blades is a mass of writhing tendrils, covered in curved, shifting blades sharp enough to cut through ceramite. The Dread-Class Plasma Pistols and Plasma Guns were modified to spew the raw stuff of the Warp rather than plasma. And yet no matter how many twisted varieties of weapon he crafted, he always felt unsatisfied. Whether it was his own maniacal ego or the whispers of the Warp, Valecore knew something was missing. But what?

In the Librarium, the Ruinpreists of the warband studied the arcane lore of the Warp and discussed together on the teachings of Lorgar. 300 Chosen Chaos Space Marines, some possessed, some not, held the title of Ruinpriest, lesser ecclesiastical emissaries to the Apostle's own creed. There is only one 1st Acolyte, but that doesn't mean there shouldn't be a second, or a third...

All across the Inner Sanctum, the astartes prepared for ever more conquest, eager to burn worlds in the name of the Dark Gods. But for the longest time, their Apostle has been in absence...

Apostle's Lair

At the heart of the Sanctified Desolation lies a series of esoterically-designed chambers, black, curved stone walls, the architecture itself charged with occult meaning. Libraries of forbidden lore, altars for daemonic rituals, a three-dimensional map of the galaxy, crafted from powerful sorceries, all at the disposal of the Apostle known as Azunar the Truthbringer. For ten thousand years he had lit entire worlds aflame as pyres with which to burn unbelievers, spread the influence of the Warp, unleashed tides of Daemons across countless battlefields. The ancient Lord of Chaos was busy at a great work: unraveling the meaning behind the Warp itself.

The Primordial Truth that Lorgar had discovered was the Song behind the universe, the psychic energy that underlies the Materium. The metaphysical implications of the Warp's existence was extensive, and the Word Bearers had, for a long time, reveled in the Warp's power. But the Apostle had been, in recent decades, agitated by a series of seemingly unanswerable questions: Some Chaos Gods became active earlier than others. Could something like that be considered fundamental to reality? Were the 'older' Gods more fundamental than those that came after?

Many crazed theologians throughout the millenia believed the Warp and Chaos was first begot by some wider force: that the Chaos Gods were not Gods at all, but rather aspects of a singular entity. This view held little ground and was for the most part rejected by Sorcerer and Apostle alike, and yet now, new patterns were forming in the Warp. Patterns that no God could claim, that defied all of their domains. And if they were all aspects of one whole, then Azunar would need to contact this whole for his answers.

Azunar felt a calling. Feverish with excitement and suffering from spasms of delirium brought by the Warp, he scanned over countless tomes of sorcery and theological lore, hoping to find a means of understanding what he felt. Something was rising ever upward and outward from the deepest Warp, massive and yet, for now, completely unseen. But what? And how did he even know if any of this was really the case, and not the delusions of a ten thousand year old priest?

It was at this time that an answer came. In a mind-blasting vision, Azunar looked upon a figure that vaguely resembled an Eldar Archon.

"Apostle." It hissed in a seething, inhuman voice, a grin of far too many needlelike teeth forming in it's mouth.

The Apostle stared at the Xeno with confusion and shock, nothing the daemonic warp-echoes wafting off the Eldar's lithe form, seething as if filled with insects. At first he snarled and fired a bolt at it, the projectile passing through the phantom harmlessly and sinking into a wall. The Eldar sighed. "Is this how Humanity greets its allies regularly, Son of Lorgar?"

"What do you want from me, Alien filth?" Azunar finally snarled. "How did you even get here?"

The Eldar heaved a sickening laugh that bubbled with mutation. "Oh Apostle, so faithful in the Primordial Truth yet you forget your place in it's hierarchy. It was my kind that brought forth the Prince and the Great Eye, no?"

"And you rejected that God as soon as it was born!" He retorted to the being only he could see.

"Not all of us did, Apostle." The Xeno corrected. "But I did. And for that, I have much to.... 'repent' for. Now, back to business. I am El'Uriaq, the Daemonmancer. I know of the forces that call to you, and I wish to show you how to find the answer to your prayers."

"And why should I trust you, Xeno?" The Apostle asked.

"Because you have nothing better to do." El'Uriaq grinned mischievously. "What are you going to do, allow your premonitions to gnaw at you without answer, whilst I freely offer greater insight into the Powers you worship? Serve in Abaddon's new Imperium? Boring work, I know you think so too. Besides, how could a Eldar successfully outsmart a warrior of true faith like yourself?"

The Apostle hesitated, but only for a moment. "You know how to cast a lure, creature. Make your case, but do not try my patience. And do not think for a moment to deceive me."

"I would never betray a fellow agent of Truth, dear Apostle." El'Uriaq snickered. "You can put your faith in that."
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