When the Cicatrix Maledictum opened, a path to the Deep Warp opened and swallowed a Grand Host of the Word Bearers carrying them across time and space to a galaxy that had yet to feel the touch of corruption.
In Bleeding Stars (40k Chaos x Star Wars Clone Wars Era)
- Thread starter Kadaeux
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Prologue; The Blood Star
Kadaeux
Delta Imperator
- Location
- Vortice between realities
Prologue;
The Blood Star
The tides of the Immaterium roiled in the wake of the Cicatrix Maledictum. Powers beyond the reckoning of men and even the Demigods who commanded them. The 27th Grand Host of the Word Bearers, en-route to join the Warmasters efforts found itself first becalmed and then buried in the heart of the storm of all storms. The Grand Apostle Nabrax stood resolute on the bridge of the Battleship that headed the fleet surrounding him, the storm tossed vessels moved into a dangerous close formation.
"Navigator Xxerithriax. What is happening." He was not beholden to the navigators as others were, the faith of the Word Bearers could guide them through the storms with the gods blessings. But something was wrong this time. The daemonic voice of the possessed navigator hissed back through the vox in unintelligible screams and profanities of the dark gods, but they were not a good sign. The vessel heaved and he was lifted from the deck as the gravity plating was too slow to compensate for the motion.
T̸h̵e̸ ̴v̵o̴r̷t̷e̵x̸ ̴o̷f̷ ̷t̵h̷e̶ ̷d̶a̶m̷n̷ ̵s̵p̷l̶i̸t̸s̷ ̸a̴s̴ ̵a̸ ̵t̷h̷o̴u̷s̴a̸n̶d̴ ̵m̶o̶u̵t̴h̸s̶.̷ ̶T̶h̷e̸ ̸c̷a̷l̵l̴ ̸o̸f̸ ̶t̸h̵e̵ ̶d̵e̴e̵p̴ ̶w̶a̴r̶p̴ ̵s̷i̵n̶g̶s̷ ̵s̸o̴n̵g̸s̸ ̴o̴f̴ ̷e̶n̶d̷i̴n̷g̶ ̸a̴n̵d̸ ̷l̴u̶r̷e̶s̷ ̴u̷s̴ ̸w̶i̴t̷h̶ ̷p̸r̷o̴m̸i̷s̸e̷s̶ ̶o̴f̷ ̵d̴y̵i̵n̵g̶ ̶s̸t̷a̶r̸s̸.̸ ̴
̵
̴T̵h̷e̸ ̵k̴e̵y̶s̸ ̸t̶o̶ ̶t̸h̴e̶ ̶f̸o̴r̶b̶i̸d̷d̴e̴n̸ ̷h̶a̴v̶e̵ ̶b̵e̷e̸n̷ ̴t̶u̸r̶n̶e̶d̷ ̵a̸n̴d̶ ̸w̶e̶ ̸a̶r̵e̵ ̴b̴e̴i̵n̴g̴ ̴c̵o̸m̷p̵e̶l̴l̴e̶d̸ ̴t̶o̵ ̵a̵n̸s̴w̶e̴r̶ ̴t̵h̶e̴ ̸c̴a̷l̶l̶ ̸o̷f̷ ̷t̴h̴e̵ ̸g̴o̶d̵s̴.̴ ̵T̶h̷e̷ ̶d̶a̵r̵k̶n̸e̸s̴s̷ ̷c̶a̴l̷l̸s̷.̵ ̵T̴h̶e̸ ̶w̷a̷r̶ ̷w̵i̸t̴h̴o̶u̶t̸ ̵e̸n̵d̵.̶ ̵T̵h̵e̸ ̷.̶.̷.̶
The screaming of the navigator hit a fever pitch as the words devolved into insane gibberish and twisted laments of agony so profound that the Ultor Infidelium's prophets would spend centuries parsing the transcripts for any sense of prophecies. But the Dark Apostle stood there staring from the bridge viewport at the heart of the matter. Within the roiling of the warps unnatural tides of impossible colour, a blight spread out in a vortex, twisting and widening into a gaping maw with a billion, billion teeth as it twisted further into itself again and again, every primitive instinct he still possessed commanded him to order his fleet to come about, or crash out of the warp. But he knew better than that. He felt the touch of the gods on his shoulders, commanding him, guiding him. Calling him. The source of terror which they all knew. The paths of the deep warp that lead to other places, other spaces, other times and universes.
"Coryphaus. Order the fleet. All ahead full into the maw of possibilities." The order given, the fleet plunged into a nightmare of unlight far worse than anything the warp had ever offered them. Dark visions plagued those poor souls upon the 27th Grand Host's vessels, twisted impossible light showing pasts that never happed, presents that were wrong in only the faintest of ways and also the most wild, futures that were unlit and dark as the impossible night itself, revealing its secrets only to those precious few who had some talent for warpcraft and the ability to touch, however weakly, the prescience of possibilities. At their head stood the Dark Apostle glowing with the impossible light of the black hole sun. As his words floated like motes of ash on the realms of chaos so profound that chaos itself was set into a firm rigid order he gave his orders. He guided the fleet that struggled to obey his orders through their own disorientation and oppressive impossibility that threatened to shatter minds that were so steeped into the impossible that this new impossible place threatened what little claim to sanity they might have possessed.
The Grand Apostle felt the connection to the gods grow weak and flutter as they descended far beyond where even the Gods dared to reach and for the first time a flicker of doubt entered his own hearts as he wondered whose call he had actually answer. What terrible dark gods of the deep warp had sung him in with their siren songs? Minutes turned into hours into days into time without any frame of reference to even process its passing. Aging, dying, being reborn, aging and dying again. Even he, the strongest of them all felt a scrabbling at the edges of his consciousness when the unlikely happened.
The flagship, and fleet with it ascended through the darkness like a toy fowl held under the darkest waters too long, their bouyancy commanding them back up, up and up through the twisted layers of a trillion trillion impossible things. Not to the same places, or same times, of that he was certain. But still they were called to a conflict. A galaxy on fire in the flames of a civil war. A galaxy steeped in the light, and the dark, duelling for position and power, a galaxy where the power of the gods waned beneath something else reaching out and strangling the galaxy with its sickening influence.
Something that was damaged by what was happening to the Grand Host as it was thrust up through the layers of the deep warp, hurtled into the warp itself and beyond. The thick fabric between the warp and realspace, not weakened by the war in heaven, the meddling of psychic races and torn asunder by the actions of the ignorant, the vessels ripped through the fabric like a battering ram, their shields glowing with actinic light as curlicues of impossible lightning leapt off of the rift that they had torn open with their arrival into the fabric of reality.
They had not all made it, less than a quarter of the slave ships survived the transit, though the remains of half the lost ships did emerge with the fleet, hollowed and husked, marked by teeth and claws of the deeper denizens who fed to fuel their journey through the unnaturallity of the deep warp.
The Battlebarges Words of Faith and Grand Vision of Despoiled Prayer moved off of the Starboard side off of his Despoiler Battleship the Litanies of Eternity another pair of Repulsive class Grand Cruisers escorted a trio of Styx class Heavy Cruisers, and off ten thousand kilometres from them came the cruiser squadrons, a pair of Carnage class cruisers, three Devastation class cruisers, four Slaughter class Cruisers and a dozen Murder class. All protecting twelve Strike Cruisers and six Forge Ships of the Dark Mechanicus.
The Grand Apostle felt a sense of relief that the bulk of his main forces had survived, the fact that out of nearly a hundred and twenty raiders and destroyers, less than thirty remained, and of the ten thousand slave ships bearing their cultists and traitor guard forces, less than a quarter remained was trivial. Slaves were easy to acquire.
With a word from his Coryphaus his fleet, and what remained of it, fell into a formation and turned their attention to the wider environment around them. "Coryphaus. Status update on the system."
The Terminator armour of his Coryphaus hissed as he moved over to the sensorium suites. "Four worlds, one gas giant, we're detecting artificial structures on the third and fourth planets. Large cities are present on the third, though sensorium readings are unreliable through the storms plaguing the planet, the daemonis sensorii can feel some souls present. My Lord. They are weak. The connection to the warp is weak here."
The Grand Apostle sighed as he stood from his throne. The cloak of human flesh draped across his armour failing to touch the ground now their dark master had taken to his feet. "How many slaves do we possess upon the cage fleet."
The Coryphaus turned and moved to another station, barking commands to the operators there. The majority of the transport fleet, two thousand five hundred hastily built soulcage class slaveships each held a minimum of a hundred thousand or more slaves and cultists, fodder for the battles to come.
Quite literally fodder. Whether to be used as reagents for summoning daemons, repairing daemon engines, satiating the daemon spirits of titans or simply sending them forwards as a tide of flesh to absorb the defenders guns... it still meant they had millions to call upon. "Just under four million souls Grand Apostle." The Coryphaus answered finally turning to his liege.
He felt weakness claw at him. Snarled the words.
"Set course for the third planet. And prepare to unload half of our slaves. I want a Gehemehnet built. We must strengthen our connection to the warp. Soon."
---
Coruscant.
Yoda snapped awake in an instant. A moments grip of pure terror and fear reaching out to him. It scrabbled at his very sense of self seeking and prying for purchase in his heart and mind, the terror of the force almost overwhelming for a moment. The eve of the Clone Wars had come and gone, and now they were committed to what amounted to a galactic civil war and yet every fibre of the Jedi's being told him that this was something different. Something dark and malign.
And as the last vestiges of sleep were torn from behind his old and heavy lids he thought he could hear the laughter of something dark and far far greater than he hovering at the edge of his consciousness before it faded away, the last of a prescient dream torn to tatters by the talons and a thousand multihued feathers lined with impossible eyes.
"A bad feeling about this I have."
The Blood Star
The tides of the Immaterium roiled in the wake of the Cicatrix Maledictum. Powers beyond the reckoning of men and even the Demigods who commanded them. The 27th Grand Host of the Word Bearers, en-route to join the Warmasters efforts found itself first becalmed and then buried in the heart of the storm of all storms. The Grand Apostle Nabrax stood resolute on the bridge of the Battleship that headed the fleet surrounding him, the storm tossed vessels moved into a dangerous close formation.
"Navigator Xxerithriax. What is happening." He was not beholden to the navigators as others were, the faith of the Word Bearers could guide them through the storms with the gods blessings. But something was wrong this time. The daemonic voice of the possessed navigator hissed back through the vox in unintelligible screams and profanities of the dark gods, but they were not a good sign. The vessel heaved and he was lifted from the deck as the gravity plating was too slow to compensate for the motion.
T̸h̵e̸ ̴v̵o̴r̷t̷e̵x̸ ̴o̷f̷ ̷t̵h̷e̶ ̷d̶a̶m̷n̷ ̵s̵p̷l̶i̸t̸s̷ ̸a̴s̴ ̵a̸ ̵t̷h̷o̴u̷s̴a̸n̶d̴ ̵m̶o̶u̵t̴h̸s̶.̷ ̶T̶h̷e̸ ̸c̷a̷l̵l̴ ̸o̸f̸ ̶t̸h̵e̵ ̶d̵e̴e̵p̴ ̶w̶a̴r̶p̴ ̵s̷i̵n̶g̶s̷ ̵s̸o̴n̵g̸s̸ ̴o̴f̴ ̷e̶n̶d̷i̴n̷g̶ ̸a̴n̵d̸ ̷l̴u̶r̷e̶s̷ ̴u̷s̴ ̸w̶i̴t̷h̶ ̷p̸r̷o̴m̸i̷s̸e̷s̶ ̶o̴f̷ ̵d̴y̵i̵n̵g̶ ̶s̸t̷a̶r̸s̸.̸ ̴
̵
̴T̵h̷e̸ ̵k̴e̵y̶s̸ ̸t̶o̶ ̶t̸h̴e̶ ̶f̸o̴r̶b̶i̸d̷d̴e̴n̸ ̷h̶a̴v̶e̵ ̶b̵e̷e̸n̷ ̴t̶u̸r̶n̶e̶d̷ ̵a̸n̴d̶ ̸w̶e̶ ̸a̶r̵e̵ ̴b̴e̴i̵n̴g̴ ̴c̵o̸m̷p̵e̶l̴l̴e̶d̸ ̴t̶o̵ ̵a̵n̸s̴w̶e̴r̶ ̴t̵h̶e̴ ̸c̴a̷l̶l̶ ̸o̷f̷ ̷t̴h̴e̵ ̸g̴o̶d̵s̴.̴ ̵T̶h̷e̷ ̶d̶a̵r̵k̶n̸e̸s̴s̷ ̷c̶a̴l̷l̸s̷.̵ ̵T̴h̶e̸ ̶w̷a̷r̶ ̷w̵i̸t̴h̴o̶u̶t̸ ̵e̸n̵d̵.̶ ̵T̵h̵e̸ ̷.̶.̷.̶
The vortex of the damn splits as a thousand mouths. The call of the deep warp sings songs of ending and lures us with promises of dying stars.
The keys to the forbidden have been turned and we are being compelled to answer the call of the gods. The darkness calls. The war without end. The ...
The keys to the forbidden have been turned and we are being compelled to answer the call of the gods. The darkness calls. The war without end. The ...
The screaming of the navigator hit a fever pitch as the words devolved into insane gibberish and twisted laments of agony so profound that the Ultor Infidelium's prophets would spend centuries parsing the transcripts for any sense of prophecies. But the Dark Apostle stood there staring from the bridge viewport at the heart of the matter. Within the roiling of the warps unnatural tides of impossible colour, a blight spread out in a vortex, twisting and widening into a gaping maw with a billion, billion teeth as it twisted further into itself again and again, every primitive instinct he still possessed commanded him to order his fleet to come about, or crash out of the warp. But he knew better than that. He felt the touch of the gods on his shoulders, commanding him, guiding him. Calling him. The source of terror which they all knew. The paths of the deep warp that lead to other places, other spaces, other times and universes.
"Coryphaus. Order the fleet. All ahead full into the maw of possibilities." The order given, the fleet plunged into a nightmare of unlight far worse than anything the warp had ever offered them. Dark visions plagued those poor souls upon the 27th Grand Host's vessels, twisted impossible light showing pasts that never happed, presents that were wrong in only the faintest of ways and also the most wild, futures that were unlit and dark as the impossible night itself, revealing its secrets only to those precious few who had some talent for warpcraft and the ability to touch, however weakly, the prescience of possibilities. At their head stood the Dark Apostle glowing with the impossible light of the black hole sun. As his words floated like motes of ash on the realms of chaos so profound that chaos itself was set into a firm rigid order he gave his orders. He guided the fleet that struggled to obey his orders through their own disorientation and oppressive impossibility that threatened to shatter minds that were so steeped into the impossible that this new impossible place threatened what little claim to sanity they might have possessed.
The Grand Apostle felt the connection to the gods grow weak and flutter as they descended far beyond where even the Gods dared to reach and for the first time a flicker of doubt entered his own hearts as he wondered whose call he had actually answer. What terrible dark gods of the deep warp had sung him in with their siren songs? Minutes turned into hours into days into time without any frame of reference to even process its passing. Aging, dying, being reborn, aging and dying again. Even he, the strongest of them all felt a scrabbling at the edges of his consciousness when the unlikely happened.
The flagship, and fleet with it ascended through the darkness like a toy fowl held under the darkest waters too long, their bouyancy commanding them back up, up and up through the twisted layers of a trillion trillion impossible things. Not to the same places, or same times, of that he was certain. But still they were called to a conflict. A galaxy on fire in the flames of a civil war. A galaxy steeped in the light, and the dark, duelling for position and power, a galaxy where the power of the gods waned beneath something else reaching out and strangling the galaxy with its sickening influence.
Something that was damaged by what was happening to the Grand Host as it was thrust up through the layers of the deep warp, hurtled into the warp itself and beyond. The thick fabric between the warp and realspace, not weakened by the war in heaven, the meddling of psychic races and torn asunder by the actions of the ignorant, the vessels ripped through the fabric like a battering ram, their shields glowing with actinic light as curlicues of impossible lightning leapt off of the rift that they had torn open with their arrival into the fabric of reality.
They had not all made it, less than a quarter of the slave ships survived the transit, though the remains of half the lost ships did emerge with the fleet, hollowed and husked, marked by teeth and claws of the deeper denizens who fed to fuel their journey through the unnaturallity of the deep warp.
The Battlebarges Words of Faith and Grand Vision of Despoiled Prayer moved off of the Starboard side off of his Despoiler Battleship the Litanies of Eternity another pair of Repulsive class Grand Cruisers escorted a trio of Styx class Heavy Cruisers, and off ten thousand kilometres from them came the cruiser squadrons, a pair of Carnage class cruisers, three Devastation class cruisers, four Slaughter class Cruisers and a dozen Murder class. All protecting twelve Strike Cruisers and six Forge Ships of the Dark Mechanicus.
The Grand Apostle felt a sense of relief that the bulk of his main forces had survived, the fact that out of nearly a hundred and twenty raiders and destroyers, less than thirty remained, and of the ten thousand slave ships bearing their cultists and traitor guard forces, less than a quarter remained was trivial. Slaves were easy to acquire.
With a word from his Coryphaus his fleet, and what remained of it, fell into a formation and turned their attention to the wider environment around them. "Coryphaus. Status update on the system."
The Terminator armour of his Coryphaus hissed as he moved over to the sensorium suites. "Four worlds, one gas giant, we're detecting artificial structures on the third and fourth planets. Large cities are present on the third, though sensorium readings are unreliable through the storms plaguing the planet, the daemonis sensorii can feel some souls present. My Lord. They are weak. The connection to the warp is weak here."
The Grand Apostle sighed as he stood from his throne. The cloak of human flesh draped across his armour failing to touch the ground now their dark master had taken to his feet. "How many slaves do we possess upon the cage fleet."
The Coryphaus turned and moved to another station, barking commands to the operators there. The majority of the transport fleet, two thousand five hundred hastily built soulcage class slaveships each held a minimum of a hundred thousand or more slaves and cultists, fodder for the battles to come.
Quite literally fodder. Whether to be used as reagents for summoning daemons, repairing daemon engines, satiating the daemon spirits of titans or simply sending them forwards as a tide of flesh to absorb the defenders guns... it still meant they had millions to call upon. "Just under four million souls Grand Apostle." The Coryphaus answered finally turning to his liege.
He felt weakness claw at him. Snarled the words.
"Set course for the third planet. And prepare to unload half of our slaves. I want a Gehemehnet built. We must strengthen our connection to the warp. Soon."
---
Coruscant.
Yoda snapped awake in an instant. A moments grip of pure terror and fear reaching out to him. It scrabbled at his very sense of self seeking and prying for purchase in his heart and mind, the terror of the force almost overwhelming for a moment. The eve of the Clone Wars had come and gone, and now they were committed to what amounted to a galactic civil war and yet every fibre of the Jedi's being told him that this was something different. Something dark and malign.
And as the last vestiges of sleep were torn from behind his old and heavy lids he thought he could hear the laughter of something dark and far far greater than he hovering at the edge of his consciousness before it faded away, the last of a prescient dream torn to tatters by the talons and a thousand multihued feathers lined with impossible eyes.
"A bad feeling about this I have."
- Location
- Queensland, Australia
You know, if that's a CIS Planet then that's going to be a... perfect irony. Because that means the first forces trying to stop the Word Bearers are going to be the CIS Droid Armies and uh...
If there's one thing Chaos is exceptional against, it's unprotected robotics. Even if the Star Wars galaxy had developed the right sort of protections to ward against that sort of nonsense (they might thanks to all the insanity that the Sith got/get up to and the fact major droid forces weren't unknown back then), the CIS Droid Armies (and fleets) will have definitely removed those from their designs for 'cost savings'. If they even were still being put into droids with the Sith having 'died out' a millennia ago when the designers began to develop the future designs that would form the CIS forces...
If there's one thing Chaos is exceptional against, it's unprotected robotics. Even if the Star Wars galaxy had developed the right sort of protections to ward against that sort of nonsense (they might thanks to all the insanity that the Sith got/get up to and the fact major droid forces weren't unknown back then), the CIS Droid Armies (and fleets) will have definitely removed those from their designs for 'cost savings'. If they even were still being put into droids with the Sith having 'died out' a millennia ago when the designers began to develop the future designs that would form the CIS forces...
No shit dude. And well let's just say that your entire Galaxy can be written off as lost
Yoda: Bad feeling I have, fucked we are. Emperor dealing with it, glad I am. Right it serves him. The fucker.
Chapter 1; Scouring of Dromund Kaas
Kadaeux
Delta Imperator
- Location
- Vortice between realities
Chapter 1;
Scouring of Dromund Kaas
The population of the ancient Sith Empires capital had fallen into decay so long ago that those who inhabited it still were fewer than ten thousand, the Prophets of the Dark Side managing the secretive training facilities for Palpatines Dark Side Adepts. They watched with curiosity as the fleet approached the planet, the sensor platforms they had access to displaying the forces coming for them. And soon those monitoring systems discovered that they could not look away. The optical telescopes monitoring the ships revealed to the dark side cultists strange impossible symbolism and... they could not look away.
Secrets whispered to them. Tantalising hints of possibility. Promises and direst Prophecies written into the hulls. They could not read the blasphemous texts and yet they understood them as easily as if they had been written in the most ancient Sith scripts or even plain aurebesh.
The limited defences they had were too meagre to matter to such a fleet as that, and so it was that they did not react or prepare any. They did not react when half of the craft began disgorging transport ship after transport ship destined for the surface of the world laden heavily. They all reacted far too late when their connection to the force began to tingle with the dire warnings of something far far worse to come.
Plunging through the storms the massive landers were joined by something else. They swept through the clouds, moving in unnatural ways as long beaked heads turned to search out prey as they protected their masters descent.
The current master of initiates took his speeder, seeking out the leader of these strange impossible aliens that were plunging from the skies, drawn by the force to the leader of these peoples. The blood red craft in the lead glowed with unnatural light, every square centimetre of the vehicle scrawled with profane runes and scriptures of something terrible.
The craft was laden with weapons trained on him as he got closer, the sight of thousands of people being herded out of cargo holds into rapidly assembled pens almost made him hesitate. Had Darth Sidious sent them a labour force?
His eyes hurt. The glowing words whispering things to him as the craft at the middle of the formation lowered its ramps and... ten massively armoured figures surged out from within and formed a wall between him and his destination, raising weapons in a single violently synchronised movement that drew him to an immediate halt. Behind them came out twenty less well armoured figures, but still far more massively than any he had seen before. They divided into units of five and began moving out into the encampments as four other craft like his destination fell through the cloudtops to release their own contents.
But two more figures descended the ramp and he collapsed to his knees. The one who was physically largest repulsed him. It's armour was adorned with horns and he imagined he could smell the rotting stench of flesh within sharpened teeth upon the breath coming from its helmets... mouth. But the racks of spikes rising over its shoulders were adorned with heads and skulls. But that figure was not the one which drew his eyes.
The smaller figure was only smaller in the sense of pure physical height. For he seemed to stand tall, above and beyond his companion. He was a beautiful figure, his bald head was of the noblest appearance he had ever beheld, even the glowing red iconography that covered his head like a tapestry of texts did nothing to detract from his utterly commanding presence. He did not even notice the cloak made from some once living being that still seemed to be edged with the owners blood. He did not notice the pieces of tanned hide covered with texts. He didn't notice the human remains adorning the armour so focussed was he on the man with the eyes that bored deep into his soul.
He stepped forwards and suddenly the master of initiates plunged his face into the muddy ground. Unable to bear the dishonour of facing such a wondrous being. The massive troopers protecting the glorious lord parted and he stepped through his bodyguard speaking to his comrade in an alien tongue, unlike any he knew. The armoured figure barked back in a tone far more guttural, like he had a mouthful of blood and he began to weep at the mental image of the monster feasting upon his flesh.
And then he was being lifted. It wasn't the force, but he felt its touch anyway, as his the bright lords right hand lifted the tip of the massive baroque mace. He felt a pressure on his mind of something trying to get in, to rifle through the sock drawers of his mind far far more insidious than any mind trick, he proved unable to resist the probing power and finally the figure spoke. The words were in basic, but they weren't right.
They spoke... in his mind. "Who are you to come to a Dark Apostle of the Word Bearers. Who are you to dare present yourself to the Grand Apostle Nabrax."
Just the title sounded terrifying and exciting. "I am Loren Mai, Master of Initiates." He said trying to avert his eyes, he felt them tearing up. He did not notice that they were tears of blood.
There were more words he did not understand as the bright lord convened with his second.
"How many of you are there upon this world?" Came the question. And Loren Mai hesitated, trying to think back to something so crude as that. The touch of the dark apostle had risen him to near ecstasy.
Wait. Why was he in a state of near ecstasy? Why was he compelled to answer? Why was... a crushing calm slammed over his mind like a brick wall almost driving sapience and will from his mind in an eagerness, a need to obey. "The Temple holds nine thousand, eight hundred and sixty nine."
He suddenly felt tremendously guilty. Like a betrayer. The anger in the figures face was fleeting, there for so short a time his impaired senses almost missed it entirely. He was dropped unceremoniously onto the ground as the two men began a furious discussion.
---
"We do not have enough slaves to casually construct the Gehemehnet, with the stronger realspace-warp barrier in this galaxy two million slaves is insufficient to carry out our will of transforming this world into a daemon world." The Coryphaus barked plainly, blood spittle foaming from his grille and filling the air with the coppery scent of blood mixed with the tainted smell of other corruption. His Coryphaus was a true Word Bearer, but he cleaved a bit too closely to Nurgle, and the signs were always there.
"I regret to say you are likely correct Merec, even were we to condemn our entire slave population to the construction of the stone and blood mortar we would have insufficient materials to complete it." Their priority was without doubt, but the execution of that priority was under threat.
Nabrax turned to the man kneeling on the mud once more. His forehead pressed into the mud. Gripping his mind was strangely difficult, like something else was trying to prevent it, something he could not see or touch, only get a sense of it at the edge of his mind. He turned his will back on the man once more. Muttering the litanies that gave him the mastery of the warp necessary. He spoke in the mind of the man once more as he tried to absorb the language that they commanded.
Tell me of worlds near here with many peoples and poor defences.
The man began to babble about a need for star charts and frames of reference and more pressure from his litanies beat down on the mans defences. He was trying to redouble his efforts to resist and now Nabrax was straddling a monofilament wires edge between getting what he needed and crushing the mans spirit and will entirely. But that edge however fine was one that he could straddle. Soon he began to talk of a world not far from this world called Zygerria. A world of slavers.
You have done well Loren Mai. You will be rewarded for your co-operation as one of the architects of our Gehemehnet. He smiled and lifted the man. "Take him for modification."
---
The Temple of the Prophets had watched it descend, and knew that the Master of Initiates had gone to meet with the strange forces from the stars. The sight of tracked vehicles surging along a washed out roadway towards the Temple, with no sign of the masters speeder made hope turn into a deep concern and they wondered if they should activate the transmitter that they were forbidden from using in all but the direst of circumstances. Lord Cronal however was less moved by the events, the dark side beating down on his mind was howling all kinds of warnings. But he was also not a fool. He recognised that those vehicles were heavily armed, and tried his best to ignore the many wheeled vehicles at the back of the column whose flattened beds were covered with barbed cages.
The lead vehicle ground to a halt fifty metres from the main gate of the Temple and Lord Cronal was compelled to move out and face whoever the stranger was. He felt a dark power resonating from the vehicle as its front hatch slammed into the ground and a single figure stepped out. The other armoured vehicles spread out and forced themselves into a line facing the temple. Their own hatches opened and figures stepped out into the rain. All armoured. All bearing spiked racks laden with heads and for the first time since he last encountered his master, Darth Sidious, he felt terror.
At a single word he could have the initiates open fire on the thirty or so armoured figures. But he was studying them more closely, their armour hurt to look at and he didn't know why, or why when he looked at it too long he thought he could hear something, someone, trying to speak to him. Their weapons were massive, and baroque, gargoyle mouthed vehicles for destruction that were not aimed at the temple, but in a position to be raised and fired in a single swift movement.
The lord at the core of it all spoke, his voice amplified by means that he could not see. "Your Master of Initiates, Loren Mai, has sent us on behalf of Darth Sidious. We will be withdrawing the majority of the initiates and staff to an alternate site."
Lord Cronal cocked his head, shaking it to try and remove the buzz in his mind. Something was very wrong here. "I was not informed of anything like this."
"Do you believe that Darth Sidious is obliged to inform you of his decisions then?" The head of the lord below had zeroed in on his own position. Terror filled Lord Cronal as he saw the expression on the mans face. A... complete disinterest. "Take them." The figure turned and moved away, Lord Cronal took his rifle and fired.
A flare of light filled his vision and suddenly he wasn't alone. He turned and saw it there. Red armour and the stink of blood and rotting meat coming from its mouth grille. Stepping forwards in a movement so fast that Cronal hadn't even realised his attacker had moved.
He screamed in terror as the monster began to maul him.
Scouring of Dromund Kaas
The population of the ancient Sith Empires capital had fallen into decay so long ago that those who inhabited it still were fewer than ten thousand, the Prophets of the Dark Side managing the secretive training facilities for Palpatines Dark Side Adepts. They watched with curiosity as the fleet approached the planet, the sensor platforms they had access to displaying the forces coming for them. And soon those monitoring systems discovered that they could not look away. The optical telescopes monitoring the ships revealed to the dark side cultists strange impossible symbolism and... they could not look away.
Secrets whispered to them. Tantalising hints of possibility. Promises and direst Prophecies written into the hulls. They could not read the blasphemous texts and yet they understood them as easily as if they had been written in the most ancient Sith scripts or even plain aurebesh.
The limited defences they had were too meagre to matter to such a fleet as that, and so it was that they did not react or prepare any. They did not react when half of the craft began disgorging transport ship after transport ship destined for the surface of the world laden heavily. They all reacted far too late when their connection to the force began to tingle with the dire warnings of something far far worse to come.
Plunging through the storms the massive landers were joined by something else. They swept through the clouds, moving in unnatural ways as long beaked heads turned to search out prey as they protected their masters descent.
The current master of initiates took his speeder, seeking out the leader of these strange impossible aliens that were plunging from the skies, drawn by the force to the leader of these peoples. The blood red craft in the lead glowed with unnatural light, every square centimetre of the vehicle scrawled with profane runes and scriptures of something terrible.
The craft was laden with weapons trained on him as he got closer, the sight of thousands of people being herded out of cargo holds into rapidly assembled pens almost made him hesitate. Had Darth Sidious sent them a labour force?
His eyes hurt. The glowing words whispering things to him as the craft at the middle of the formation lowered its ramps and... ten massively armoured figures surged out from within and formed a wall between him and his destination, raising weapons in a single violently synchronised movement that drew him to an immediate halt. Behind them came out twenty less well armoured figures, but still far more massively than any he had seen before. They divided into units of five and began moving out into the encampments as four other craft like his destination fell through the cloudtops to release their own contents.
But two more figures descended the ramp and he collapsed to his knees. The one who was physically largest repulsed him. It's armour was adorned with horns and he imagined he could smell the rotting stench of flesh within sharpened teeth upon the breath coming from its helmets... mouth. But the racks of spikes rising over its shoulders were adorned with heads and skulls. But that figure was not the one which drew his eyes.
The smaller figure was only smaller in the sense of pure physical height. For he seemed to stand tall, above and beyond his companion. He was a beautiful figure, his bald head was of the noblest appearance he had ever beheld, even the glowing red iconography that covered his head like a tapestry of texts did nothing to detract from his utterly commanding presence. He did not even notice the cloak made from some once living being that still seemed to be edged with the owners blood. He did not notice the pieces of tanned hide covered with texts. He didn't notice the human remains adorning the armour so focussed was he on the man with the eyes that bored deep into his soul.
He stepped forwards and suddenly the master of initiates plunged his face into the muddy ground. Unable to bear the dishonour of facing such a wondrous being. The massive troopers protecting the glorious lord parted and he stepped through his bodyguard speaking to his comrade in an alien tongue, unlike any he knew. The armoured figure barked back in a tone far more guttural, like he had a mouthful of blood and he began to weep at the mental image of the monster feasting upon his flesh.
And then he was being lifted. It wasn't the force, but he felt its touch anyway, as his the bright lords right hand lifted the tip of the massive baroque mace. He felt a pressure on his mind of something trying to get in, to rifle through the sock drawers of his mind far far more insidious than any mind trick, he proved unable to resist the probing power and finally the figure spoke. The words were in basic, but they weren't right.
They spoke... in his mind. "Who are you to come to a Dark Apostle of the Word Bearers. Who are you to dare present yourself to the Grand Apostle Nabrax."
Just the title sounded terrifying and exciting. "I am Loren Mai, Master of Initiates." He said trying to avert his eyes, he felt them tearing up. He did not notice that they were tears of blood.
There were more words he did not understand as the bright lord convened with his second.
"How many of you are there upon this world?" Came the question. And Loren Mai hesitated, trying to think back to something so crude as that. The touch of the dark apostle had risen him to near ecstasy.
Wait. Why was he in a state of near ecstasy? Why was he compelled to answer? Why was... a crushing calm slammed over his mind like a brick wall almost driving sapience and will from his mind in an eagerness, a need to obey. "The Temple holds nine thousand, eight hundred and sixty nine."
He suddenly felt tremendously guilty. Like a betrayer. The anger in the figures face was fleeting, there for so short a time his impaired senses almost missed it entirely. He was dropped unceremoniously onto the ground as the two men began a furious discussion.
---
"We do not have enough slaves to casually construct the Gehemehnet, with the stronger realspace-warp barrier in this galaxy two million slaves is insufficient to carry out our will of transforming this world into a daemon world." The Coryphaus barked plainly, blood spittle foaming from his grille and filling the air with the coppery scent of blood mixed with the tainted smell of other corruption. His Coryphaus was a true Word Bearer, but he cleaved a bit too closely to Nurgle, and the signs were always there.
"I regret to say you are likely correct Merec, even were we to condemn our entire slave population to the construction of the stone and blood mortar we would have insufficient materials to complete it." Their priority was without doubt, but the execution of that priority was under threat.
Nabrax turned to the man kneeling on the mud once more. His forehead pressed into the mud. Gripping his mind was strangely difficult, like something else was trying to prevent it, something he could not see or touch, only get a sense of it at the edge of his mind. He turned his will back on the man once more. Muttering the litanies that gave him the mastery of the warp necessary. He spoke in the mind of the man once more as he tried to absorb the language that they commanded.
Tell me of worlds near here with many peoples and poor defences.
The man began to babble about a need for star charts and frames of reference and more pressure from his litanies beat down on the mans defences. He was trying to redouble his efforts to resist and now Nabrax was straddling a monofilament wires edge between getting what he needed and crushing the mans spirit and will entirely. But that edge however fine was one that he could straddle. Soon he began to talk of a world not far from this world called Zygerria. A world of slavers.
You have done well Loren Mai. You will be rewarded for your co-operation as one of the architects of our Gehemehnet. He smiled and lifted the man. "Take him for modification."
---
The Temple of the Prophets had watched it descend, and knew that the Master of Initiates had gone to meet with the strange forces from the stars. The sight of tracked vehicles surging along a washed out roadway towards the Temple, with no sign of the masters speeder made hope turn into a deep concern and they wondered if they should activate the transmitter that they were forbidden from using in all but the direst of circumstances. Lord Cronal however was less moved by the events, the dark side beating down on his mind was howling all kinds of warnings. But he was also not a fool. He recognised that those vehicles were heavily armed, and tried his best to ignore the many wheeled vehicles at the back of the column whose flattened beds were covered with barbed cages.
The lead vehicle ground to a halt fifty metres from the main gate of the Temple and Lord Cronal was compelled to move out and face whoever the stranger was. He felt a dark power resonating from the vehicle as its front hatch slammed into the ground and a single figure stepped out. The other armoured vehicles spread out and forced themselves into a line facing the temple. Their own hatches opened and figures stepped out into the rain. All armoured. All bearing spiked racks laden with heads and for the first time since he last encountered his master, Darth Sidious, he felt terror.
At a single word he could have the initiates open fire on the thirty or so armoured figures. But he was studying them more closely, their armour hurt to look at and he didn't know why, or why when he looked at it too long he thought he could hear something, someone, trying to speak to him. Their weapons were massive, and baroque, gargoyle mouthed vehicles for destruction that were not aimed at the temple, but in a position to be raised and fired in a single swift movement.
The lord at the core of it all spoke, his voice amplified by means that he could not see. "Your Master of Initiates, Loren Mai, has sent us on behalf of Darth Sidious. We will be withdrawing the majority of the initiates and staff to an alternate site."
Lord Cronal cocked his head, shaking it to try and remove the buzz in his mind. Something was very wrong here. "I was not informed of anything like this."
"Do you believe that Darth Sidious is obliged to inform you of his decisions then?" The head of the lord below had zeroed in on his own position. Terror filled Lord Cronal as he saw the expression on the mans face. A... complete disinterest. "Take them." The figure turned and moved away, Lord Cronal took his rifle and fired.
A flare of light filled his vision and suddenly he wasn't alone. He turned and saw it there. Red armour and the stink of blood and rotting meat coming from its mouth grille. Stepping forwards in a movement so fast that Cronal hadn't even realised his attacker had moved.
He screamed in terror as the monster began to maul him.
Chapter 2; The Whisperer
Kadaeux
Delta Imperator
- Location
- Vortice between realities
Chapter 2;
The Whisperer
Ansek Dyr stood in his own armour as he watched from the bridge at the twisting void of the warp beyond the viewport. The ancient Styx class Heavy Cruiser was escorted by a pair of Murder class cruisers and a Strike Cruiser as they headed for the world called Zygerria, their reconnaisance would be invaluable, and the warp-gift of knowledge of the local tongues would allow him to fulfil his purpose as the emissary of the Grand Apostle. He could feel the warp around him, a rumbling presence, barely awakened as the souls of the living were being changed by their place in the galaxy below. Never knowing the primordial truth. He ran a finger along the spine of the console and felt it shudder under his touch. He was no Dark Acolyte.
But he had ambition to be raised to so gloried a rank as that. For now he was simply one of the Captains of the 27th Host. The warp began to part and he felt a deepening sorrow, being torn from some place he belonged to be cast into this nothing place.
---
"This is a traffic alert to all elements in orbit. Traffic Hazard. Please avoid the following area." Came the automated warning as the planets traffic control system detected a spatial anomaly, the people travelling had no need for the warning. The petals of impossible light tore open like the mouth of something unnatural before twisting into a red and purple vortex that impinged upon all who looked upon it with something like terror and disgust as twenty four ships came charging through the abomination in space, twisting with unnatural twistings of power arcing off of energy shields. The vessels were red and gold and surged into reality like an angry nest of hornets... except that they noticed that the fleet, such as it was, was guarding the twenty large craft at the heart of the formation.
Another tranmission emerged from the planet. "This is Zygerria Traffic Control to unknown vessels. Please identify course and purpose." There was no answer, for several minutes all that they could tell was that the vessels appeared to be in communion with one another, the forwardmost ship launching squadrons of craft that began to flit around the protected ships.
Finally the channels opened and the controllers on the ground wished that they had not. The sound that emerged in that first second caused two operators to lose control of both lunch and bowels, and the third operator in earshot was troubled by a tumescence he was working particularly hard to hide. But the line cleared and a voice came though. "I am Lord Ansek Dyr of the Word Bearers, we have been informed that this is a place where an enterprising soul might seek to procure some volunteers for various labour tasks for a reasonable price."
There was some hesitation in the prospect of a reply as the transmission was passed increasingly up the chain before reaching the government itself before they were given a response. "Welcome to Zygerria Lord Ansek Dyr, I have been asked to gather some information about potential customers before we consent to your arrival. May I know the nature of the voluntary labour tasks?"
There was a pause, then another reply, thankfully without the distortion that caused such distress, "We have some significant labour requirements for a mass construction project. This means we have some requirements for a large volume of volunteers for an... extended stay."
The phrasing was careful, precise and likely deliberate to avoid any legal issues should their 'volunteers' complain about their volunteering. That was not unusual. But those ships were. "If we could define... 'Large volume?'"
"We have an interest in approximately forty eight million souls for our project." The answer came back staggering the entirety of the control rooms population. Such a vast requirement would be difficult to fulfil. "Perhaps this conversation would be more easily done if we were to meet in person for a negotiation."
That answer was rather more simple. "Very well Lord Dyr. We are transmitting a location where we can conduct such negotiations." The location of a landing zone was transmitted.
---
Samir Ist watched as the strange craft descended into the atmosphere and headed for the landing pad. The larger craft was one of the most unaerodynamic craft that he had ever seen, with about the most guns he'd ever seen for a craft its size. The escort craft it had did not descend from high altitude, and people claimed they could hear them screaming as they orbited above the location.
As the craft set down on its massive landing gear, the forward ramp lowered and twenty men emerged, their body armour wasn't anything special, though they were all armed, as were the two other figures that descended the ramp. Clad in thick powerful looking armour, their weapons looked too heavy for Samir to actually lift let alone operate. The last figure to emerge was the tallest, a halo of wrought gold with nasty barbs lifting high over his head. He was otherwise covered with a thick cloak, though it did not hide the power pack he wore upon his back.
"Welcome to Zygerria honoured guest." Samir said moving closer, watching as the security detachment watched them closely. "I have the information about your request and I must say it is a singularly unusual request, most of our orders are for more modest shipments, a few dozen to a few hundred. Such a large volume request is unusual and difficult to fulfil." Samir indicated with one arm where they should follow, and the two evil looking goons in their heavy armour moved into the shadow of their Lord.
The words uttered by the other man seemed forced and considered, "If we were informed wrong and you are not the greatest supplier of slaves we can get, we may be forced to take our interests elsewhere." The phrase didn't bother Samir, it was not rare or unusual for a customer to offer to find business elsewhere. "Or simply take them ourselves." That was unusual. And it took him only another moment to realise that the bulge beneath the cloak was the Lords own weapons.
"There is the matter of transport to consider, moving such a volume as that is likely to cause some political distractions that we can ill afford." Samir explained patiently. The fact was Zygerria could not meet the demand, and they had prior customers with existing contracts that simply must be met first.
---
The Zygerrians never saw the figures slipping from the Thunderhawk. Preoccupied with the Lord and his escort, the sight of humans emerging and slipping away into the distance simply didn't register. The cultists orders were very simple, to see the faith among the faithless, to call upon the gods and bring the Lodges to Zygerria.
---
The open plan nature of the negotiation rooms were airy and Samir was ever grateful for that fact for his guests had a peculiar odour about them. Like tainted meat that had been boiled in oil along with sharp unnameable spices. They refused seating and after one look at them, and the seats, he could understand, he doubted that the chairs could sustain the weight of their guests. "I will be quite honest. We simply cannot meet the demand you have asked of us, the volume you are after is far in excess of our stock levels, and much of that is already slated for our existing customers."
The flash of irritation on the face of the massive near-human made him shudder and wonder if the table between them would offer any kind of protection at all. But it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. "We do not require the entire volume up front at this stage."
That sounded much more promising, an extended trade contract might be more manageable. "Over what period would you need them."
"Six weeks." The immediate answer made Samir spit the water he was about to drink clean back into the glass. May as well be fucking all up front!
But he forced himself back to a state of calm. "I'm afraid that simply isn't feasible. We might be able to manage,..." He checked a dataslate, "Fifty, perhaps sixty thousand today. With another ten thousand each week for the six, but forty eight million in that time, we simply cannot provide that kind of volume. What exactly are you considering exchanging for our product?"
The Lord reached under his robes and produced an ingot of reddish gold. "One ingot per ten slaves."
Samir picked up the brick of metal and the Lord smiled slightly. He studied the ingot, "Damor, take this and test it please." He instructed and the Lord did not object to the removal of the ingot. A quick mental calculation in his head meant that they were offering nearly fifty eight megatonnes of gold ingots. That could not possibly be correct. But...
He was now regretting allowing that ingot to slip from his fingers. He wanted more of it. And he definitely did not want to let it go. "We will prepare produce for inspection as soon as you desire Lord Dyr. I believe I can arrange for the volumes I have already promised, but perhaps I can speak with others to arrange for a larger scale shipment."
"Of course. I would not wish to overtax your system." The Lord said with a smile.
---
The pool of blood in the belly of the Thunderhawk rippled as he communed with the Grand Apostle through the tides of the warp using sorcery. "We have distributed the first of the blood cursed gold. They will seek to possess more of it as you prophesied." In truth, they both knew there was nothing prophesied about it. The tainted blood ingots were a trap. Whosoever possessed some, would seek to possess more of it. They would grow addicted to it.
"Ensure the cultists have an ample supply. I want these perfidious xenos-breed to sell each other into slavery. I want your soulcages holds filled as soon as you can Lord Dyr." The answer rippled across the pool of blood.
"Should I deploy force?" He asked, "If haste is required then..."
"No. We do not know enough about this place, this galaxy, let them wonder at what we can do without being treated to the facts of the matter. Keep our secrets Lord Dyr. Foster the cults. Feed their perfidity. And when the time is right, we will strip every soul we need from that world, and they will give them to us in exchange for just one more red coin."
The Whisperer
Ansek Dyr stood in his own armour as he watched from the bridge at the twisting void of the warp beyond the viewport. The ancient Styx class Heavy Cruiser was escorted by a pair of Murder class cruisers and a Strike Cruiser as they headed for the world called Zygerria, their reconnaisance would be invaluable, and the warp-gift of knowledge of the local tongues would allow him to fulfil his purpose as the emissary of the Grand Apostle. He could feel the warp around him, a rumbling presence, barely awakened as the souls of the living were being changed by their place in the galaxy below. Never knowing the primordial truth. He ran a finger along the spine of the console and felt it shudder under his touch. He was no Dark Acolyte.
But he had ambition to be raised to so gloried a rank as that. For now he was simply one of the Captains of the 27th Host. The warp began to part and he felt a deepening sorrow, being torn from some place he belonged to be cast into this nothing place.
---
"This is a traffic alert to all elements in orbit. Traffic Hazard. Please avoid the following area." Came the automated warning as the planets traffic control system detected a spatial anomaly, the people travelling had no need for the warning. The petals of impossible light tore open like the mouth of something unnatural before twisting into a red and purple vortex that impinged upon all who looked upon it with something like terror and disgust as twenty four ships came charging through the abomination in space, twisting with unnatural twistings of power arcing off of energy shields. The vessels were red and gold and surged into reality like an angry nest of hornets... except that they noticed that the fleet, such as it was, was guarding the twenty large craft at the heart of the formation.
Another tranmission emerged from the planet. "This is Zygerria Traffic Control to unknown vessels. Please identify course and purpose." There was no answer, for several minutes all that they could tell was that the vessels appeared to be in communion with one another, the forwardmost ship launching squadrons of craft that began to flit around the protected ships.
Finally the channels opened and the controllers on the ground wished that they had not. The sound that emerged in that first second caused two operators to lose control of both lunch and bowels, and the third operator in earshot was troubled by a tumescence he was working particularly hard to hide. But the line cleared and a voice came though. "I am Lord Ansek Dyr of the Word Bearers, we have been informed that this is a place where an enterprising soul might seek to procure some volunteers for various labour tasks for a reasonable price."
There was some hesitation in the prospect of a reply as the transmission was passed increasingly up the chain before reaching the government itself before they were given a response. "Welcome to Zygerria Lord Ansek Dyr, I have been asked to gather some information about potential customers before we consent to your arrival. May I know the nature of the voluntary labour tasks?"
There was a pause, then another reply, thankfully without the distortion that caused such distress, "We have some significant labour requirements for a mass construction project. This means we have some requirements for a large volume of volunteers for an... extended stay."
The phrasing was careful, precise and likely deliberate to avoid any legal issues should their 'volunteers' complain about their volunteering. That was not unusual. But those ships were. "If we could define... 'Large volume?'"
"We have an interest in approximately forty eight million souls for our project." The answer came back staggering the entirety of the control rooms population. Such a vast requirement would be difficult to fulfil. "Perhaps this conversation would be more easily done if we were to meet in person for a negotiation."
That answer was rather more simple. "Very well Lord Dyr. We are transmitting a location where we can conduct such negotiations." The location of a landing zone was transmitted.
---
Samir Ist watched as the strange craft descended into the atmosphere and headed for the landing pad. The larger craft was one of the most unaerodynamic craft that he had ever seen, with about the most guns he'd ever seen for a craft its size. The escort craft it had did not descend from high altitude, and people claimed they could hear them screaming as they orbited above the location.
As the craft set down on its massive landing gear, the forward ramp lowered and twenty men emerged, their body armour wasn't anything special, though they were all armed, as were the two other figures that descended the ramp. Clad in thick powerful looking armour, their weapons looked too heavy for Samir to actually lift let alone operate. The last figure to emerge was the tallest, a halo of wrought gold with nasty barbs lifting high over his head. He was otherwise covered with a thick cloak, though it did not hide the power pack he wore upon his back.
"Welcome to Zygerria honoured guest." Samir said moving closer, watching as the security detachment watched them closely. "I have the information about your request and I must say it is a singularly unusual request, most of our orders are for more modest shipments, a few dozen to a few hundred. Such a large volume request is unusual and difficult to fulfil." Samir indicated with one arm where they should follow, and the two evil looking goons in their heavy armour moved into the shadow of their Lord.
The words uttered by the other man seemed forced and considered, "If we were informed wrong and you are not the greatest supplier of slaves we can get, we may be forced to take our interests elsewhere." The phrase didn't bother Samir, it was not rare or unusual for a customer to offer to find business elsewhere. "Or simply take them ourselves." That was unusual. And it took him only another moment to realise that the bulge beneath the cloak was the Lords own weapons.
"There is the matter of transport to consider, moving such a volume as that is likely to cause some political distractions that we can ill afford." Samir explained patiently. The fact was Zygerria could not meet the demand, and they had prior customers with existing contracts that simply must be met first.
---
The Zygerrians never saw the figures slipping from the Thunderhawk. Preoccupied with the Lord and his escort, the sight of humans emerging and slipping away into the distance simply didn't register. The cultists orders were very simple, to see the faith among the faithless, to call upon the gods and bring the Lodges to Zygerria.
---
The open plan nature of the negotiation rooms were airy and Samir was ever grateful for that fact for his guests had a peculiar odour about them. Like tainted meat that had been boiled in oil along with sharp unnameable spices. They refused seating and after one look at them, and the seats, he could understand, he doubted that the chairs could sustain the weight of their guests. "I will be quite honest. We simply cannot meet the demand you have asked of us, the volume you are after is far in excess of our stock levels, and much of that is already slated for our existing customers."
The flash of irritation on the face of the massive near-human made him shudder and wonder if the table between them would offer any kind of protection at all. But it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. "We do not require the entire volume up front at this stage."
That sounded much more promising, an extended trade contract might be more manageable. "Over what period would you need them."
"Six weeks." The immediate answer made Samir spit the water he was about to drink clean back into the glass. May as well be fucking all up front!
But he forced himself back to a state of calm. "I'm afraid that simply isn't feasible. We might be able to manage,..." He checked a dataslate, "Fifty, perhaps sixty thousand today. With another ten thousand each week for the six, but forty eight million in that time, we simply cannot provide that kind of volume. What exactly are you considering exchanging for our product?"
The Lord reached under his robes and produced an ingot of reddish gold. "One ingot per ten slaves."
Samir picked up the brick of metal and the Lord smiled slightly. He studied the ingot, "Damor, take this and test it please." He instructed and the Lord did not object to the removal of the ingot. A quick mental calculation in his head meant that they were offering nearly fifty eight megatonnes of gold ingots. That could not possibly be correct. But...
He was now regretting allowing that ingot to slip from his fingers. He wanted more of it. And he definitely did not want to let it go. "We will prepare produce for inspection as soon as you desire Lord Dyr. I believe I can arrange for the volumes I have already promised, but perhaps I can speak with others to arrange for a larger scale shipment."
"Of course. I would not wish to overtax your system." The Lord said with a smile.
---
The pool of blood in the belly of the Thunderhawk rippled as he communed with the Grand Apostle through the tides of the warp using sorcery. "We have distributed the first of the blood cursed gold. They will seek to possess more of it as you prophesied." In truth, they both knew there was nothing prophesied about it. The tainted blood ingots were a trap. Whosoever possessed some, would seek to possess more of it. They would grow addicted to it.
"Ensure the cultists have an ample supply. I want these perfidious xenos-breed to sell each other into slavery. I want your soulcages holds filled as soon as you can Lord Dyr." The answer rippled across the pool of blood.
"Should I deploy force?" He asked, "If haste is required then..."
"No. We do not know enough about this place, this galaxy, let them wonder at what we can do without being treated to the facts of the matter. Keep our secrets Lord Dyr. Foster the cults. Feed their perfidity. And when the time is right, we will strip every soul we need from that world, and they will give them to us in exchange for just one more red coin."
You fool.
Kadaeux
Delta Imperator
- Location
- Vortice between realities
...
I heard that in Gandalfs voice..
Well it seems that my goal was achieved xD.
Chapter 3; Knives in the Dark
Kadaeux
Delta Imperator
- Location
- Vortice between realities
Chapter 3;
Knives in the Dark
Lorth moved through the back streets following the information given to him by the den mother. The spaceport had been working overtime for a week now loading thousands upon thousands of slaves into the holds of the ships that would come down and land, take their prizes and lift into space leaving the red gold behind. He worked quickly and quietly as he felt for the holdout blaster in his pocket. A contact at the Spaceport had told him of the great opportunities that were available, and all they had to do was come and listen to the den mother.
If the worker had realised that he was working quietly for the Confederacy's intelligence groups they would have soiled their own clothing rather than speak with him. But he was good at what he did. He noticed the mark on the wall.
Third door on the right once I saw that symbol. Knock on the door in a specific way. He thought to himself. Stepping past the first two doors on the right he approached the third and gave the appropriate series of knocks. A door opposite him opened and the sight of the human there almost made him hesitate. It was a female human, a distractingly beautiful one wearing a somewhat transparent robe that was open and the waist and revealed, as the robe also did, absolutely nothing underneath but an extensive suite of tattoos. He imagined for a moment that they were glowing faintly.
"Quickly." She said in a voice that seemingly dripped pure sex, turning and heading into the room. He followed, inhaling deeply without realising the he had actually moved. And when he stepped inside the door was closed, he turned suddenly as the light from outside was cut off and saw an armoured human there, a weapon clutched across their breast, looking uninterested as his siren sang him again and he turned to follow her. They came to what should have been the living space, instead he saw that four or five of the ajoined homes had been hollowed out to create a much larger open plan place.
And there was an orgy on the floor in the middle of the room with no less than thirty or forty writhing participants. His guide lead him to a woman who couldn't have been more than three or four years older than the first, until he saw her eyes, they were the eyes of someone who had seen too much for too long. And yet her smile moved the blood in his body as thoroughly as any Zygerrian woman would. "You come to the House of the Rising Son. Are you lonely, do you desire acceptance?" He realised very few here were human. They worked... the den mother exhaled pink and purple mist and his world shook as his attention evaporated. "What desirous dreams do you have for coming to us my son?"
"I don't want to be alone anymore..." He heard himself say as he released a breath of pure lust. How had he not noticed how beautiful the den mother was, her facial lines were almost zygerrian in their sharpness. Her robe fell open and a plentitude of trim fit breasts caught his eyes. An arm raised towards his face and a claw gently brushed his skin and sent a paroxysm of pleasure through his body and brain and he embarassed himself by immediately reaching release. His unmanly moan filled the air and suddenly he was clamped close to the den mother, her mouth finding his and he couldn't think any more as hands peeled him from his wares and he felt himself falling towards the activity at the centre of the room.
---
Luka was angry. He had always been angry, and was always angry, his slaves knew his anger well, and felt the touch of the lash more often than any lovers kiss. It would not do well for them to get ideas. But he had heard of something else, a club for younger men like himself, men angry at the world, angry at the cowards who felt their society, the proud Zygerrian nation, should hide who they were out of fear that the weak republic would come to punish them once more.
He dreamed of taking a ship to Corusant with the Confederacy army and taking his fill from the Senate building of the weak fat 'servants' of the people who did nothing but take and take and take. The club was new, introduced by the strange humans who had come and begun purchasing slaves en-masse. He followed the signs. The strange sigil was unusual and drew the eye, if you were looking for it. He found the marked door and beat on it with a closed fist, angered that it took so long for anyone to answer when the door was wrenched open by quite honestly the largest human he'd ever seen and a mote of his anger and courage faltered.
"In." The human barked in basic so heavily accented as to be almost impossible to understand, but the gesture of his head made the context clear and Luka stepped into the building. Over the next five minutes more and more came. And many were faces he recognised, friends, colleagues, enemies, all young, all angry, all... his attention was drawn back to another human.
"I am seeing a lot of new faces tonight, which makes me very angry that I have to repeat the rules once more." He roared the last and Luka almost shrank back, drawing his eyes to him.
"The rules are simple. You do NOT talk about the Society. You do NOT talk about the society." He glared at the all. "If someone says 'stop' or goes limp, they are weak, do not stop until first blood." He continued to glare. "Only two people fight at a time, one fight at a time, no shirt, no shoes." He began to move, pacing around a ring, "Fights go on as long as they have to, and if this is your first time you MUST fight." He pointed directly at Luka. "Choose your opponent."
Not knowing what to do he distracted himself by removing his shirt, blaster belt and boots. Then pointed at a human wearing a heavy robe. The human smiled. And with a shrug the heavy robe fell to the floor and Luka swallowed. The man was extremely fit and heavily muscled, but also possessed of many tattoos that distracted the eye. He cracked his fists against one another and stepped into a roped off ring. They moved opposite one another and the human knelt. "Lord Khorne. We give this offering of blood freely."
Luka noticed something that disturbed him more than the tattoos did. As the young man spoke, he could see the humans teeth were filed to points. And so he charged in at the human swinging with a strong right arm aimed at the twisted jaw. The human simply swayed back from the blow and his own right hand came around and suddenly Luka was seeing stars, his anger at being caught like that spurred him on and he returned with a left jab aimed at the over-exposed ribs, he felt the blow connect as he raised his right to defend his face before the humans own right jabbed in twice rocking his world once more.
A haze settled over his vision and he began to swing wildly, with a ferocity he didn't even realise that he had, each blow coming from somewhere deep within himself, a well of percieved slights, of unsubtle snubs or outright rejection of his ideals by lesser peers who had visions of station well above themselves. He could taste blood long before he felt that his nose was broken and blood running down his face. He dropped to one knee, and his opponents knee met his chin, before a vicious right hook took Luka from the world into the cold embrace of unconsciousness, the blows rained down for a few moments longer before the fightmaster called a halt.
---
Luka came too minutes later as a powerful scent was wafted under his nose, a violent inhaling snort took an entire mucous and blood bubble deep into his mouth and he spat out the gobbet with a cough, he couldn't see from his left eye, bruised shut as it was, but he could see another pair had already begun duelling in the ring. The fightmaster stood over him and offered one hand, he grasped the wrist and was pulled to his feet. "I am Lyter Uednrd, Fightmaster of this Society of Warriors. You did well on your first night, Ecfa Raeekbr rarely leaves his prey in so good a condition."
He grunted softly, wary of sounding weak to this human.
The human picked up a flask and handed it to him after taking a long swig on it. He put it to bruised lips and winced as the alcohol touched bloodied lips, and almost spat, the dring was powerfully strong, and there was a heavy iron like flavour that was impossible to ignore. The thick nature of the drink was also unexpected. "Thanks." He said with a thick lisp.
"You lacked something of skill in your bout, but you possess some talent, and if I may, I would guess you have a chip on your shoulder, and tire of the injustice and weakness of those around you. I recognise it from when I was about your age." The fightmaster declared watching the fight intently. The two Zygerrians were pounding each other into cat food. "There are alternatives to serving in roles ruled by weak men."
Luka snorted, a big mistake given the bloody snot bubble that emerged from his swollen and broken nose. The fightmaster noticed and reached over with a practiced hand, if not one familiar with Zygerrian physiology, but still he wrenched suddenly and Luka teared up as the bone was reseated where it should be. "On this world, bah, those in power do what they can to protect it, no matter how much they weaken us all."
"Those who are in power do not have to be forever." Came the observation. "Through strength of arms and sufficient anger anything can be accomplished." The fightmaster turned to Luka, "We meet again tomorrow at this time, I would be honoured to see you join us once more."
Luka nodded as he felt the pain, the pain that released something in him. A tension. A bubbling well of rage. "I will be here Lyter." He said standing as straight as the nasty bruises would allow. "Maybe we can discuss what you mean more."
The fightmaster nodded with a wry grin. "Of course, but next time don't choose the champion of the circle as your first fight perhaps." He clapped Luka on the shoulder and he winced in agony before turning his attention back to the fight. He knew a few friends who would relish this. As the fightmaster went he picked up the fermented drink the man had left and quaffed the remainder of the thick iron tasting brew and felt some of his strength return, along with a faint sound of something with a deep bass voice laughing somewhere nearby.
Knives in the Dark
Lorth moved through the back streets following the information given to him by the den mother. The spaceport had been working overtime for a week now loading thousands upon thousands of slaves into the holds of the ships that would come down and land, take their prizes and lift into space leaving the red gold behind. He worked quickly and quietly as he felt for the holdout blaster in his pocket. A contact at the Spaceport had told him of the great opportunities that were available, and all they had to do was come and listen to the den mother.
If the worker had realised that he was working quietly for the Confederacy's intelligence groups they would have soiled their own clothing rather than speak with him. But he was good at what he did. He noticed the mark on the wall.
Third door on the right once I saw that symbol. Knock on the door in a specific way. He thought to himself. Stepping past the first two doors on the right he approached the third and gave the appropriate series of knocks. A door opposite him opened and the sight of the human there almost made him hesitate. It was a female human, a distractingly beautiful one wearing a somewhat transparent robe that was open and the waist and revealed, as the robe also did, absolutely nothing underneath but an extensive suite of tattoos. He imagined for a moment that they were glowing faintly.
"Quickly." She said in a voice that seemingly dripped pure sex, turning and heading into the room. He followed, inhaling deeply without realising the he had actually moved. And when he stepped inside the door was closed, he turned suddenly as the light from outside was cut off and saw an armoured human there, a weapon clutched across their breast, looking uninterested as his siren sang him again and he turned to follow her. They came to what should have been the living space, instead he saw that four or five of the ajoined homes had been hollowed out to create a much larger open plan place.
And there was an orgy on the floor in the middle of the room with no less than thirty or forty writhing participants. His guide lead him to a woman who couldn't have been more than three or four years older than the first, until he saw her eyes, they were the eyes of someone who had seen too much for too long. And yet her smile moved the blood in his body as thoroughly as any Zygerrian woman would. "You come to the House of the Rising Son. Are you lonely, do you desire acceptance?" He realised very few here were human. They worked... the den mother exhaled pink and purple mist and his world shook as his attention evaporated. "What desirous dreams do you have for coming to us my son?"
"I don't want to be alone anymore..." He heard himself say as he released a breath of pure lust. How had he not noticed how beautiful the den mother was, her facial lines were almost zygerrian in their sharpness. Her robe fell open and a plentitude of trim fit breasts caught his eyes. An arm raised towards his face and a claw gently brushed his skin and sent a paroxysm of pleasure through his body and brain and he embarassed himself by immediately reaching release. His unmanly moan filled the air and suddenly he was clamped close to the den mother, her mouth finding his and he couldn't think any more as hands peeled him from his wares and he felt himself falling towards the activity at the centre of the room.
---
Luka was angry. He had always been angry, and was always angry, his slaves knew his anger well, and felt the touch of the lash more often than any lovers kiss. It would not do well for them to get ideas. But he had heard of something else, a club for younger men like himself, men angry at the world, angry at the cowards who felt their society, the proud Zygerrian nation, should hide who they were out of fear that the weak republic would come to punish them once more.
He dreamed of taking a ship to Corusant with the Confederacy army and taking his fill from the Senate building of the weak fat 'servants' of the people who did nothing but take and take and take. The club was new, introduced by the strange humans who had come and begun purchasing slaves en-masse. He followed the signs. The strange sigil was unusual and drew the eye, if you were looking for it. He found the marked door and beat on it with a closed fist, angered that it took so long for anyone to answer when the door was wrenched open by quite honestly the largest human he'd ever seen and a mote of his anger and courage faltered.
"In." The human barked in basic so heavily accented as to be almost impossible to understand, but the gesture of his head made the context clear and Luka stepped into the building. Over the next five minutes more and more came. And many were faces he recognised, friends, colleagues, enemies, all young, all angry, all... his attention was drawn back to another human.
"I am seeing a lot of new faces tonight, which makes me very angry that I have to repeat the rules once more." He roared the last and Luka almost shrank back, drawing his eyes to him.
"The rules are simple. You do NOT talk about the Society. You do NOT talk about the society." He glared at the all. "If someone says 'stop' or goes limp, they are weak, do not stop until first blood." He continued to glare. "Only two people fight at a time, one fight at a time, no shirt, no shoes." He began to move, pacing around a ring, "Fights go on as long as they have to, and if this is your first time you MUST fight." He pointed directly at Luka. "Choose your opponent."
Not knowing what to do he distracted himself by removing his shirt, blaster belt and boots. Then pointed at a human wearing a heavy robe. The human smiled. And with a shrug the heavy robe fell to the floor and Luka swallowed. The man was extremely fit and heavily muscled, but also possessed of many tattoos that distracted the eye. He cracked his fists against one another and stepped into a roped off ring. They moved opposite one another and the human knelt. "Lord Khorne. We give this offering of blood freely."
Luka noticed something that disturbed him more than the tattoos did. As the young man spoke, he could see the humans teeth were filed to points. And so he charged in at the human swinging with a strong right arm aimed at the twisted jaw. The human simply swayed back from the blow and his own right hand came around and suddenly Luka was seeing stars, his anger at being caught like that spurred him on and he returned with a left jab aimed at the over-exposed ribs, he felt the blow connect as he raised his right to defend his face before the humans own right jabbed in twice rocking his world once more.
A haze settled over his vision and he began to swing wildly, with a ferocity he didn't even realise that he had, each blow coming from somewhere deep within himself, a well of percieved slights, of unsubtle snubs or outright rejection of his ideals by lesser peers who had visions of station well above themselves. He could taste blood long before he felt that his nose was broken and blood running down his face. He dropped to one knee, and his opponents knee met his chin, before a vicious right hook took Luka from the world into the cold embrace of unconsciousness, the blows rained down for a few moments longer before the fightmaster called a halt.
---
Luka came too minutes later as a powerful scent was wafted under his nose, a violent inhaling snort took an entire mucous and blood bubble deep into his mouth and he spat out the gobbet with a cough, he couldn't see from his left eye, bruised shut as it was, but he could see another pair had already begun duelling in the ring. The fightmaster stood over him and offered one hand, he grasped the wrist and was pulled to his feet. "I am Lyter Uednrd, Fightmaster of this Society of Warriors. You did well on your first night, Ecfa Raeekbr rarely leaves his prey in so good a condition."
He grunted softly, wary of sounding weak to this human.
The human picked up a flask and handed it to him after taking a long swig on it. He put it to bruised lips and winced as the alcohol touched bloodied lips, and almost spat, the dring was powerfully strong, and there was a heavy iron like flavour that was impossible to ignore. The thick nature of the drink was also unexpected. "Thanks." He said with a thick lisp.
"You lacked something of skill in your bout, but you possess some talent, and if I may, I would guess you have a chip on your shoulder, and tire of the injustice and weakness of those around you. I recognise it from when I was about your age." The fightmaster declared watching the fight intently. The two Zygerrians were pounding each other into cat food. "There are alternatives to serving in roles ruled by weak men."
Luka snorted, a big mistake given the bloody snot bubble that emerged from his swollen and broken nose. The fightmaster noticed and reached over with a practiced hand, if not one familiar with Zygerrian physiology, but still he wrenched suddenly and Luka teared up as the bone was reseated where it should be. "On this world, bah, those in power do what they can to protect it, no matter how much they weaken us all."
"Those who are in power do not have to be forever." Came the observation. "Through strength of arms and sufficient anger anything can be accomplished." The fightmaster turned to Luka, "We meet again tomorrow at this time, I would be honoured to see you join us once more."
Luka nodded as he felt the pain, the pain that released something in him. A tension. A bubbling well of rage. "I will be here Lyter." He said standing as straight as the nasty bruises would allow. "Maybe we can discuss what you mean more."
The fightmaster nodded with a wry grin. "Of course, but next time don't choose the champion of the circle as your first fight perhaps." He clapped Luka on the shoulder and he winced in agony before turning his attention back to the fight. He knew a few friends who would relish this. As the fightmaster went he picked up the fermented drink the man had left and quaffed the remainder of the thick iron tasting brew and felt some of his strength return, along with a faint sound of something with a deep bass voice laughing somewhere nearby.
Kadaeux
Delta Imperator
- Location
- Vortice between realities
Waits for Coruscant, or waits for Nuvo Vindi to complete recreating the Blue Shadow Virus on Naboo
Chapter 4; Whispers and Callings
Kadaeux
Delta Imperator
- Location
- Vortice between realities
Chapter 4;
Whispers and Callings
Aleya moved through the library in the Zygerrian Capital with something of a dim disinterest, she was here for something new but so many of the digital titles were dull dull dull dull dull dull DULL. If she had difficulty sleeping she argued with herself then she found the perfect remedy. However that wasn't why she was here. She'd been to this place ten thousand times before, ... so why hadn't she seen that door before?
She smelled something, it was fascinating. And in curious scents was a sense like exotic spices, bitter and strange and compelling and ... promising... all in one. The doorhandle was framed by a curious and out of place piece of metal work. With one hand she reached out to the promise of something truly exciting and turned the handle and pushed the door in. With a blink of surprise she stepped into a room that she wasn't sure could be there, she was sure there was a balcony outside of windows where this door and wall had been. But still she stepped through into a darkened room lit only by some ghostly aubergine and cobalt light that shifted through their spectrums. She almost imagined a wisp of light falling from among the ceiling and beckoning her, but dismissed it almost as soon as she sensed it.
She moved in and noticed the massive stacks laden with strange alien texts and fear flitted in her heart. Had she found some hidden and forbidden part of the library, filled with ancient texts she couldn't even read? That fear filled her with the sense of adrenaline and excitement. Forbidden books? Surely a book couldn't be forbidden.
She ran her fingers along the spines of the books as she moved deeper into the stacks, her heart flittering as she balanced the thrill with the terror of being discovered. She felt the tingle through her fingertips as she ran her hand across the tomes hidden away from the common people. Lingering on some and moving on quickly from others. The sound of fabric fluttering filled her with a moments terror but as she turned she saw nothing and moved once more deeper into the stacks. Her fingers tracing along scrolls and books and... avoiding the occasional disturbing objects that occupied some shelves. But finally she stopped. Her fingers unwilling to proceed further, she stopped in surprised and turned to see the spine of the book she was touching and found herself surprised by the sight of her hand having already drawn the book from its place on the shelf. The cover of the book bore the same sign she had seen on the door, and was bound in a curious pale leather.
"It called for you." She screamed out loud at the voice that filled her ears not three steps away, spinning like a struck viper she saw a figure standing there in long silken robes that appeared to be the same colour as the wan light coming from above.
She straightened up and tried to see under the hood of the figure. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come in, but the door was open and I was curious."
The figure reached out and she almost recoiled, she didn't know what species they were but the hand that reached for her appeared like a birds talon, and gently pushed the book to a more secure place in her arms. "This place is always open to those who would seek knowledge and the truth behind the facade of our universe." The feathers retreated back into the robes followed by the betaloned claw. "The book called for you Aleya, take it."
Aleya froze, staring at the strange creature. "How do you know me?" She asked suspiciously.
"This is a place of knowledge and discovery Aleya, as it gifts you with knowledge, so too do you pay with knowledge. And it gifts those things to me so I may better care for it." The strange alien said removing a book from within its robes and placing it exactly where the book she had taken was.
"Who are you?" She asked trying to peer within the hood once more.
The figure cocked its head in a very birdlike manner, and damn it she still couldn't see within that hood. "The Librarian." It answered. She thought it had a beak... but its eyes were glowing vermillion for a second before her momentary vision under the hood faded. "Go young Aleya, study well and come to me if you have any more questions, the secret library of Tizca has knowledge many have come to value over the centuries."
She frowned. "I have never heard of it?"
"Knowledge is power young Aleya, guard it well from those whose fear of it would see it destroyed." The taloned hand came out and gently shooed her back towards the exit to this bizarre library. She allowed the action and walked out in a bit of a daze, only turning when she heard the click of the door closing behind her. Awakening as if from a dream she turned and saw the light coming in through the balcony windows and saw two other Zygerrians engaged in a conversation on the balcony.
Was it all just a dream? A hallucination from sheer boredom? She looked down and almost dropped the precious object clutched to her breast. It had to have been real... she didn't know how she could read it, but she knew that she would, the spine of the book read in clear lettering, The Nine Keys to Knowledge. The sight of another Librarian, this time Zygerrian, startled her and she jumped, her fingers catching on one of the metal clasps drawing a bead of blood.
She never even noticed as it disappeared into the cover as she quickly made her way from the building.
---
Mol felt a sense of hatred as he rocked quietly in the cage with so many other slaves who were destined for distant stars, only grateful that he wasn't chosen to be herded with thousands of others onto the massive ships of the strangers. But he had still angered his masters and earned the lash a few too many times, and though the cauterising electro-lash used by the masters was more agony than physical pain, the wounds still occasionally broke upon his back. There were many others in the cells around him, all wearing the collar of the slavemasters. "You must be thirsty?" Said a man and Mol turned to look at the cruel person making his life actively worse. All he saw was a slightly heavyset human face clad in green robes, bearing, curiously, a small cauldron and a metal ladel.
"You should go, before the slavemasters see. Charity has no place here." Mol said his hate waning slightly at the sight of the old man. He bobbed his head curiously and smiled.
"You have had a hard life child, if I can take some of the suffering from it is that too much to ask?" He said and again offered the ladle. Curiously nobody else seemed to have taken notice of him or mobbed him for his unasked for charity. Mol edged closer to the gate and fearfully looked for the guards. There wasn't any sign of it. That scared him. "Don't be scared child, the guards have been paid off for a time to look the other way while a harmless old man helps a few souls in need.
Mol carefully leaned over and allowed the old man to pour the liquid from his cauldron into his mouth. It was not plain water, in fact its flavour left quite a lot to be desired, but he beckoned for another mouthful and the old man smiled gently and ladelled another amount into Mols mouth. He tried to ignore the slight taste of rancid meat. "What is it?"
"A tonic for the soul. You live in such pain and suffering, the Grandfather can take your pain and suffering from you if you wish it." Mol thought it curious the old man thought of himself as the Grandfather... wait, take the pain and suffering, was the drink a poison... did he just accept killing himself!? He startled back a step and the old man smiled. "It's ok. I would never harm you, I need not bring more harm upon the undeserving, the Grandfather's gifts are generous, but he does not ask you to die for him. I only seek to do his work and save those I can from suffering and pain." Oh, this Grandfather was someone else? Someone who didn't want to be known to help slaves?
"I'm sorry I expected the worst..." He said weeping, despair filling him as the lashes on his back opened up from the movement. "I hurt... I have nothing... I am property. How could you take my pain, take my suffering?"
A frail hand came through the bars, these cells were well built, but Mol only just realised then that the shields that supplemented the cages had been lowered. How much had he bribed the guards for!? But Mol took it. "Grandfather Nurgle only asks that you promise yourself to him, share his gifts with the universe, and he will take your pain and suffering, it will take time."
The word Nurgle almost caused him to retch for reasons he couldn't understand. But he took the mans hand. "How..." He shook his head, "I would gladly pledge myself to Nurgle if only I knew how." He felt his hand writhe under the old mans grip that now seemed like iron. He looked more sharply at the old man and saw around the collar of his robes, almost hidden, were a rash of sores.
"Your wish and words are quite enough Child." He smiled and Mol couldn't look at him anymore. He didn't seem quite so human at third glance anymore... the old man finally released his hand and Mol almost ignored the itching there, he his hand and saw on the palm were three spots were there that hadn't been before, each about the size of a fingernail, black and almost necrotic looking.
Then they moved like something was just beneath and he started back from the sight and looked towards the bars. There was no sign of the old man and the red glow of the ray shield was unchanging. Mol crawled back to where he had been nursing his wounds before the strange voice had come to him and rocked himself to terrified, fevered sleep.
Whispers and Callings
Aleya moved through the library in the Zygerrian Capital with something of a dim disinterest, she was here for something new but so many of the digital titles were dull dull dull dull dull dull DULL. If she had difficulty sleeping she argued with herself then she found the perfect remedy. However that wasn't why she was here. She'd been to this place ten thousand times before, ... so why hadn't she seen that door before?
She smelled something, it was fascinating. And in curious scents was a sense like exotic spices, bitter and strange and compelling and ... promising... all in one. The doorhandle was framed by a curious and out of place piece of metal work. With one hand she reached out to the promise of something truly exciting and turned the handle and pushed the door in. With a blink of surprise she stepped into a room that she wasn't sure could be there, she was sure there was a balcony outside of windows where this door and wall had been. But still she stepped through into a darkened room lit only by some ghostly aubergine and cobalt light that shifted through their spectrums. She almost imagined a wisp of light falling from among the ceiling and beckoning her, but dismissed it almost as soon as she sensed it.
She moved in and noticed the massive stacks laden with strange alien texts and fear flitted in her heart. Had she found some hidden and forbidden part of the library, filled with ancient texts she couldn't even read? That fear filled her with the sense of adrenaline and excitement. Forbidden books? Surely a book couldn't be forbidden.
She ran her fingers along the spines of the books as she moved deeper into the stacks, her heart flittering as she balanced the thrill with the terror of being discovered. She felt the tingle through her fingertips as she ran her hand across the tomes hidden away from the common people. Lingering on some and moving on quickly from others. The sound of fabric fluttering filled her with a moments terror but as she turned she saw nothing and moved once more deeper into the stacks. Her fingers tracing along scrolls and books and... avoiding the occasional disturbing objects that occupied some shelves. But finally she stopped. Her fingers unwilling to proceed further, she stopped in surprised and turned to see the spine of the book she was touching and found herself surprised by the sight of her hand having already drawn the book from its place on the shelf. The cover of the book bore the same sign she had seen on the door, and was bound in a curious pale leather.
"It called for you." She screamed out loud at the voice that filled her ears not three steps away, spinning like a struck viper she saw a figure standing there in long silken robes that appeared to be the same colour as the wan light coming from above.
She straightened up and tried to see under the hood of the figure. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come in, but the door was open and I was curious."
The figure reached out and she almost recoiled, she didn't know what species they were but the hand that reached for her appeared like a birds talon, and gently pushed the book to a more secure place in her arms. "This place is always open to those who would seek knowledge and the truth behind the facade of our universe." The feathers retreated back into the robes followed by the betaloned claw. "The book called for you Aleya, take it."
Aleya froze, staring at the strange creature. "How do you know me?" She asked suspiciously.
"This is a place of knowledge and discovery Aleya, as it gifts you with knowledge, so too do you pay with knowledge. And it gifts those things to me so I may better care for it." The strange alien said removing a book from within its robes and placing it exactly where the book she had taken was.
"Who are you?" She asked trying to peer within the hood once more.
The figure cocked its head in a very birdlike manner, and damn it she still couldn't see within that hood. "The Librarian." It answered. She thought it had a beak... but its eyes were glowing vermillion for a second before her momentary vision under the hood faded. "Go young Aleya, study well and come to me if you have any more questions, the secret library of Tizca has knowledge many have come to value over the centuries."
She frowned. "I have never heard of it?"
"Knowledge is power young Aleya, guard it well from those whose fear of it would see it destroyed." The taloned hand came out and gently shooed her back towards the exit to this bizarre library. She allowed the action and walked out in a bit of a daze, only turning when she heard the click of the door closing behind her. Awakening as if from a dream she turned and saw the light coming in through the balcony windows and saw two other Zygerrians engaged in a conversation on the balcony.
Was it all just a dream? A hallucination from sheer boredom? She looked down and almost dropped the precious object clutched to her breast. It had to have been real... she didn't know how she could read it, but she knew that she would, the spine of the book read in clear lettering, The Nine Keys to Knowledge. The sight of another Librarian, this time Zygerrian, startled her and she jumped, her fingers catching on one of the metal clasps drawing a bead of blood.
She never even noticed as it disappeared into the cover as she quickly made her way from the building.
---
Mol felt a sense of hatred as he rocked quietly in the cage with so many other slaves who were destined for distant stars, only grateful that he wasn't chosen to be herded with thousands of others onto the massive ships of the strangers. But he had still angered his masters and earned the lash a few too many times, and though the cauterising electro-lash used by the masters was more agony than physical pain, the wounds still occasionally broke upon his back. There were many others in the cells around him, all wearing the collar of the slavemasters. "You must be thirsty?" Said a man and Mol turned to look at the cruel person making his life actively worse. All he saw was a slightly heavyset human face clad in green robes, bearing, curiously, a small cauldron and a metal ladel.
"You should go, before the slavemasters see. Charity has no place here." Mol said his hate waning slightly at the sight of the old man. He bobbed his head curiously and smiled.
"You have had a hard life child, if I can take some of the suffering from it is that too much to ask?" He said and again offered the ladle. Curiously nobody else seemed to have taken notice of him or mobbed him for his unasked for charity. Mol edged closer to the gate and fearfully looked for the guards. There wasn't any sign of it. That scared him. "Don't be scared child, the guards have been paid off for a time to look the other way while a harmless old man helps a few souls in need.
Mol carefully leaned over and allowed the old man to pour the liquid from his cauldron into his mouth. It was not plain water, in fact its flavour left quite a lot to be desired, but he beckoned for another mouthful and the old man smiled gently and ladelled another amount into Mols mouth. He tried to ignore the slight taste of rancid meat. "What is it?"
"A tonic for the soul. You live in such pain and suffering, the Grandfather can take your pain and suffering from you if you wish it." Mol thought it curious the old man thought of himself as the Grandfather... wait, take the pain and suffering, was the drink a poison... did he just accept killing himself!? He startled back a step and the old man smiled. "It's ok. I would never harm you, I need not bring more harm upon the undeserving, the Grandfather's gifts are generous, but he does not ask you to die for him. I only seek to do his work and save those I can from suffering and pain." Oh, this Grandfather was someone else? Someone who didn't want to be known to help slaves?
"I'm sorry I expected the worst..." He said weeping, despair filling him as the lashes on his back opened up from the movement. "I hurt... I have nothing... I am property. How could you take my pain, take my suffering?"
A frail hand came through the bars, these cells were well built, but Mol only just realised then that the shields that supplemented the cages had been lowered. How much had he bribed the guards for!? But Mol took it. "Grandfather Nurgle only asks that you promise yourself to him, share his gifts with the universe, and he will take your pain and suffering, it will take time."
The word Nurgle almost caused him to retch for reasons he couldn't understand. But he took the mans hand. "How..." He shook his head, "I would gladly pledge myself to Nurgle if only I knew how." He felt his hand writhe under the old mans grip that now seemed like iron. He looked more sharply at the old man and saw around the collar of his robes, almost hidden, were a rash of sores.
"Your wish and words are quite enough Child." He smiled and Mol couldn't look at him anymore. He didn't seem quite so human at third glance anymore... the old man finally released his hand and Mol almost ignored the itching there, he his hand and saw on the palm were three spots were there that hadn't been before, each about the size of a fingernail, black and almost necrotic looking.
Then they moved like something was just beneath and he started back from the sight and looked towards the bars. There was no sign of the old man and the red glow of the ray shield was unchanging. Mol crawled back to where he had been nursing his wounds before the strange voice had come to him and rocked himself to terrified, fevered sleep.
Goddami I forgot about that...Waits for Coruscant, or waits for Nuvo Vindi to complete recreating the Blue Shadow Virus on Naboo
So Tzeentch is here.
And Nurgle the Trashcan of Galaxy is also here.
Btw I'm curious how would you go with writing Flood vs Star Wars Galaxy?
Chapter 5; Diablolical Gears
Kadaeux
Delta Imperator
- Location
- Vortice between realities
Chapter 5;
Diablolical Gears
Kalgan Dei moved within the lair at the heart of his network buried in the Zygerrian capital. He had been forced to work abnormally quickly managing his network of cultists as they used their natures and powers to establish themselves deep in the Zygerrian underworld. The fabric of the warp rippled with sudden stress on the fabric between realspace and the empyrean, vibrating in a tepid anticipation against the malign influence trying to hold the gates closed. But a master diabolist like himself and his mortal apprentices were more than versed in teasing it open.
His four corrupted representatives had found their way to his lair and now knelt on the cold stone. Ariadne was the hand behind the House of the Rising Son, using her daemonological skills to keep a handmaiden of Slaanesh at the head of her cult, the influence of the den mother being the only effect strong enough to have quickly built the coven to the numbers needed. Her beauty was truly only skin deep, Kalgan could taste the stench of her corruption beneath the skin, she had been the daughter of a prominent Imperial noble until she seduced her entire family into Slaanesh's court, both figuratively and literally. If it weren't for her talents he wouldn't have wasted his time with such a vapid and vain creature.
The massively muscled fightmaster of the Khornate coven was almost rigid like a statue, his martial talents undeniable, and the Society was building a large following of disaffected Zygerrian peoples with chapters rapidly spreading to every city on the planet. Lyter was not a diabolist, daemonologist or even slightly possessed of sorcerous skill. He was a former Colonel of the Imperial Guard before he fell to Chaos. Offering the imperial loyalists of his own regiment as blood sacrifice to turn his allegiances.
The next creature, crouching amongst its heavy robes, only leaving its taloned hand exposed was the mutant who had taken the title of Librarian. The unnatural moving Library it had crafted with knowledge granted by Tzeentch was a disturbing place to anyone who had even the most cursory knowledge. Its contents called those susceptible souls and put itself in the path for them to come across. But most who visited the library did not emerge more informed, serving instead as fuel to power the unstable warp pocket from total collapse. Kalgan was unsure that the mutant who served as its Librarian was even mortal anymore, and only the fact it could leave the Library without a massively powerful ritual convinced him that the creature wasn't a Lord of Change. He did not know what the many crimes were that had granted the Librarian their power and gifts. But they obeyed orders. That was truly all that mattered.
The last figure was a kindly looking old man that looked entirely out of place in their gathering, but concealed within the old mans was a multitude of sores and poxes that riddled his body like, and with, cancers. He did not maintain a cult directly, and that should have made him less useful to Kalgan, but he did give Nurgles gifts freely, and could be directed with little effort. A suggestion of whom should receive the gifts of Nurgle would spur him to movement. And Kalgan knew his robes hid the scalpels and various medical tools that he had used to experiment on patients when he had been a medicae primaris grade. The cauldron with which he shared Nurgles gifts filled with fluids extracted from the Plague Doctors own body.
And all four of these powerful cultists shied away from his own presence as he loomed over them. They tried to ignore the four other chaos marines in the chamber. "You have done well." He said finally with a faint smile. "The Grand Acolyte is pleased with your progress, but he demands the completion of the Gehemehnet within two weeks." All four of the Cultists goggled. That meant ever more of the cultists, slaves and traitors that had come across with them were going to be fed into the blood mortar foundries. Which meant, they needed numbers and quickly. But none of them had the courage, or dared, to speak.
Kalgan loomed a little longer then began to talk. "Ariadne, you are to turn the House of the Rising Son's patrons to new purposes, turn the security forces, twist them to our own goals. Subvert them, have them arrest opposition, convince them that it'd be for the best if those troubling elements found their way into the holds of our soulcage vessels. I want their security crippled and compromised. When the word is given, I want them to turn on their rulers." The woman bowed until her head touched the cold flagstones. "Lyter, the Society is to begin taking people off of the streets, but only the Zygerrian contingents, I don't want a single human to be seen taking part in this, they will play their part eventually." The gaze bypassed the Librarian. "Doctor, continue as you are. Lay the seeds of sorrow."
Only then did Kalgan return his attention to the Librarian. "Your whispers need to begin their work as soon as word begins to leak about the actions of the House of the Rising Son and the Society. Your people need to whisper into the ears of their leaders and rulers about the corruption and danger it represents to the leadership. Twist and poison their minds against their own people. Convince them that we can take the disruptive elements from their society. Warp them into seeing us as the only option for restoring peace and control. If we just take those problematic elements of their society as a ... favour."
---
Queen Scintel frowned as she studied the information that was crossing her desk as she looked up. The atmosphere of the room was fearful. Civil discord had been increasing over the past two weeks and violent crimes had increased almost tenfold in the same span of time, tenfold that they knew of. The most distressing part was that among the violent crimes, the most prevalent was gangs of younger Zygerrians kidnapping individuals or even groups off of the streets. The majority of these gangs had been identified by her security forces as young men disaffected by the state of the State. And now she felt the eyes of the Confederacy turning inexorably towards her and her peoples.
One particular report crossed her desk and she felt like throwing up. A young man, Luka had been arrested leading a group who tried to abduct and Administrator and his wife off of the streets, the Administrators personal bodyguard had failed to protect the mans wife, and only Luka had been captured, but not before killing three of the bodyguards on his own. The report claimed the young man had been frothing at the mouth and the first guard he had slain had no less than thirty stab wounds... if it had just been that however she would have simply discarded it as an issue for the security detachments.
Except that the arresting officers had apparently bungled the paperwork, and some incompetent fool had left the young mans cell unlocked... and naturally the security footage was corrupted.
None of the security officers in the jail reported being responsible, or even on duty during the time period those events took place. Atai Molec stepped into the chamber and she frowned. He smelled strange, unlike himself. A heady musk hung over him as he moved towards her. He silently held out another report and she took it.
"Honoured Queen Scintel of the Glorious Zygerrian Slave Empire. We have observed an increasing amount of unrest in your capital, our interests force us to remain but we grow concerned over the deterioriating social situation on your world, if you should require assistance in removing the problematic elements from your society and world to distant stars, we are willing to assist in relocating those elements you deem to be undesirable and problematic and are willing to deploy some of our own security forces to aid in rounding up those subversive elements. Lord Ansek Dyr, Bearer of the Word." She read it out loud as the Prime Minister frowned.
"My Queen. The unrise is growing significantly worse, a security detachment of loyal officers was ambushed by this 'Society' group in the streets north of the Slave Pens, there were no fatalities we know of, but the entire detachment was taken. The man called Luka appeared to be leading the attack, and my analysts believe that he may be the leader of the Society."
Her heart fluttered. The timing was terrifying.
"What has the Confederacy said on the subject." This time it was Atai's turn to look uncomfortable.
He finally answered, "We have not informed them, and as far as I can tell, their spies have all gone dark." Her own fears amplified.
"Go. Bolster security." She ordered and Atai frowned, turning and leaving the chamber. She hear a little voice whispering in the tongue she associated with her childhood self.
H̵e̵ ̸i̷s̷ ̴p̴l̸o̴t̶t̷i̷n̸g̵ ̸a̶g̵a̸i̶n̷s̴t̵ ̵y̴o̷u̸.̵ He is plotting against you.
She shuddered at the sound. Looking at the drawer holding the strange animal skinned journal that she had found on her bedside one morning. It revealed things.
Diablolical Gears
Kalgan Dei moved within the lair at the heart of his network buried in the Zygerrian capital. He had been forced to work abnormally quickly managing his network of cultists as they used their natures and powers to establish themselves deep in the Zygerrian underworld. The fabric of the warp rippled with sudden stress on the fabric between realspace and the empyrean, vibrating in a tepid anticipation against the malign influence trying to hold the gates closed. But a master diabolist like himself and his mortal apprentices were more than versed in teasing it open.
His four corrupted representatives had found their way to his lair and now knelt on the cold stone. Ariadne was the hand behind the House of the Rising Son, using her daemonological skills to keep a handmaiden of Slaanesh at the head of her cult, the influence of the den mother being the only effect strong enough to have quickly built the coven to the numbers needed. Her beauty was truly only skin deep, Kalgan could taste the stench of her corruption beneath the skin, she had been the daughter of a prominent Imperial noble until she seduced her entire family into Slaanesh's court, both figuratively and literally. If it weren't for her talents he wouldn't have wasted his time with such a vapid and vain creature.
The massively muscled fightmaster of the Khornate coven was almost rigid like a statue, his martial talents undeniable, and the Society was building a large following of disaffected Zygerrian peoples with chapters rapidly spreading to every city on the planet. Lyter was not a diabolist, daemonologist or even slightly possessed of sorcerous skill. He was a former Colonel of the Imperial Guard before he fell to Chaos. Offering the imperial loyalists of his own regiment as blood sacrifice to turn his allegiances.
The next creature, crouching amongst its heavy robes, only leaving its taloned hand exposed was the mutant who had taken the title of Librarian. The unnatural moving Library it had crafted with knowledge granted by Tzeentch was a disturbing place to anyone who had even the most cursory knowledge. Its contents called those susceptible souls and put itself in the path for them to come across. But most who visited the library did not emerge more informed, serving instead as fuel to power the unstable warp pocket from total collapse. Kalgan was unsure that the mutant who served as its Librarian was even mortal anymore, and only the fact it could leave the Library without a massively powerful ritual convinced him that the creature wasn't a Lord of Change. He did not know what the many crimes were that had granted the Librarian their power and gifts. But they obeyed orders. That was truly all that mattered.
The last figure was a kindly looking old man that looked entirely out of place in their gathering, but concealed within the old mans was a multitude of sores and poxes that riddled his body like, and with, cancers. He did not maintain a cult directly, and that should have made him less useful to Kalgan, but he did give Nurgles gifts freely, and could be directed with little effort. A suggestion of whom should receive the gifts of Nurgle would spur him to movement. And Kalgan knew his robes hid the scalpels and various medical tools that he had used to experiment on patients when he had been a medicae primaris grade. The cauldron with which he shared Nurgles gifts filled with fluids extracted from the Plague Doctors own body.
And all four of these powerful cultists shied away from his own presence as he loomed over them. They tried to ignore the four other chaos marines in the chamber. "You have done well." He said finally with a faint smile. "The Grand Acolyte is pleased with your progress, but he demands the completion of the Gehemehnet within two weeks." All four of the Cultists goggled. That meant ever more of the cultists, slaves and traitors that had come across with them were going to be fed into the blood mortar foundries. Which meant, they needed numbers and quickly. But none of them had the courage, or dared, to speak.
Kalgan loomed a little longer then began to talk. "Ariadne, you are to turn the House of the Rising Son's patrons to new purposes, turn the security forces, twist them to our own goals. Subvert them, have them arrest opposition, convince them that it'd be for the best if those troubling elements found their way into the holds of our soulcage vessels. I want their security crippled and compromised. When the word is given, I want them to turn on their rulers." The woman bowed until her head touched the cold flagstones. "Lyter, the Society is to begin taking people off of the streets, but only the Zygerrian contingents, I don't want a single human to be seen taking part in this, they will play their part eventually." The gaze bypassed the Librarian. "Doctor, continue as you are. Lay the seeds of sorrow."
Only then did Kalgan return his attention to the Librarian. "Your whispers need to begin their work as soon as word begins to leak about the actions of the House of the Rising Son and the Society. Your people need to whisper into the ears of their leaders and rulers about the corruption and danger it represents to the leadership. Twist and poison their minds against their own people. Convince them that we can take the disruptive elements from their society. Warp them into seeing us as the only option for restoring peace and control. If we just take those problematic elements of their society as a ... favour."
---
Queen Scintel frowned as she studied the information that was crossing her desk as she looked up. The atmosphere of the room was fearful. Civil discord had been increasing over the past two weeks and violent crimes had increased almost tenfold in the same span of time, tenfold that they knew of. The most distressing part was that among the violent crimes, the most prevalent was gangs of younger Zygerrians kidnapping individuals or even groups off of the streets. The majority of these gangs had been identified by her security forces as young men disaffected by the state of the State. And now she felt the eyes of the Confederacy turning inexorably towards her and her peoples.
One particular report crossed her desk and she felt like throwing up. A young man, Luka had been arrested leading a group who tried to abduct and Administrator and his wife off of the streets, the Administrators personal bodyguard had failed to protect the mans wife, and only Luka had been captured, but not before killing three of the bodyguards on his own. The report claimed the young man had been frothing at the mouth and the first guard he had slain had no less than thirty stab wounds... if it had just been that however she would have simply discarded it as an issue for the security detachments.
Except that the arresting officers had apparently bungled the paperwork, and some incompetent fool had left the young mans cell unlocked... and naturally the security footage was corrupted.
None of the security officers in the jail reported being responsible, or even on duty during the time period those events took place. Atai Molec stepped into the chamber and she frowned. He smelled strange, unlike himself. A heady musk hung over him as he moved towards her. He silently held out another report and she took it.
"Honoured Queen Scintel of the Glorious Zygerrian Slave Empire. We have observed an increasing amount of unrest in your capital, our interests force us to remain but we grow concerned over the deterioriating social situation on your world, if you should require assistance in removing the problematic elements from your society and world to distant stars, we are willing to assist in relocating those elements you deem to be undesirable and problematic and are willing to deploy some of our own security forces to aid in rounding up those subversive elements. Lord Ansek Dyr, Bearer of the Word." She read it out loud as the Prime Minister frowned.
"My Queen. The unrise is growing significantly worse, a security detachment of loyal officers was ambushed by this 'Society' group in the streets north of the Slave Pens, there were no fatalities we know of, but the entire detachment was taken. The man called Luka appeared to be leading the attack, and my analysts believe that he may be the leader of the Society."
Her heart fluttered. The timing was terrifying.
"What has the Confederacy said on the subject." This time it was Atai's turn to look uncomfortable.
He finally answered, "We have not informed them, and as far as I can tell, their spies have all gone dark." Her own fears amplified.
"Go. Bolster security." She ordered and Atai frowned, turning and leaving the chamber. She hear a little voice whispering in the tongue she associated with her childhood self.
H̵e̵ ̸i̷s̷ ̴p̴l̸o̴t̶t̷i̷n̸g̵ ̸a̶g̵a̸i̶n̷s̴t̵ ̵y̴o̷u̸.̵ He is plotting against you.
She shuddered at the sound. Looking at the drawer holding the strange animal skinned journal that she had found on her bedside one morning. It revealed things.
Chapter 6; The Nightfall
Kadaeux
Delta Imperator
- Location
- Vortice between realities
Chapter 6;
The Nightfall
Haragron felt the crunch of stone beneath his boots as he moved out into the city with the rest of his unit, the government of Zygerria had been twisted into allowing them to descend to the surface to remove the 'subversive elements' by any means necessary, their Queen never even realising that she had been subverted. The only downside to this operation was that he didn't get to feel the comfortable weight of his bolter, and though he had a bolt pistol it was the webber in his hands that he was expected to use.
He pointed and headed for one of the buildings that had been tagged. The other Marines moved over and charged through the door without even opening it, their own weapons levelled. "Word Bearers Patrol." They bellowed, "This property has been identified by authorities as having beings guildy of recidivism and crimes against the Zygerrian throne." Haragron stepped in and levelled his weapon at a strong looking male of the xenos breed as he held his hands in the air. "You have been found guilty and sentenced to life in slaver." Came the last of the 'warrant'.
The mans horror hit a peak and he moved. He moved far slower than Haragron's finger on the webbers trigger. The sticky substance spread out fast and he was knocked off of his feet against the ground, unable to move or escape, or even attempt to, until the cultists came with the solvent and slave cages to collect them. He writhed hopelessly as a woman stepped from behind a wall and levelled a zygerrian blaster weapon before holding down the firing stud.
"No! Don't!" The man cried when he realised what was happening, the marine she had fired at simply turned and gripped the arm and forward part of the rifle and yanked hard. The womans arm was torn from her shoulder and struck across the face with the wet end as the attacked monster returned the stroke with sufficient force to crush her skull. The man caught in the webber fluids product howled in anguish and despair as the womans corpse crumpled to the ground directly in his sightline.
"Lorik, status?" Haragron said as he moved past the attacked Marine.
"Irritated Champion Haragron." Came the honest answer.
"Don't break any more slaves unless ordered, am I clear?" Haragron turned snarling at the man. He bowed his armoured head slightly.
"Yes sir." Lorik replied honestly.
---
Ula stood in terror as figures entered the school. Each of them were massive, so massive that she felt like a child beneath their attention. All wore helmets and carried their weapons with terrifying precision. The leader of them moved up to her and removed its helmet. She wished it had not. "Schoolmarm Ula Telae." He said and she noticed his teeth were filed as.. more humans filed in. Half of them carrying weapons, the rest with catchpoles and....
"Y.. yes?"
"We have been tasked by the Sovereign government of Zygerria to remove the recidivist population, how many students do you have at this facility?" Came the query as the massive being moved into the room further. Terror seating itself in her soul.
"... two thousand, three hundred and three." Only a quarter of the students were here at the assembly. And there was scared whimpering from the children.
From that second on, she felt like she no longer existed as the monster turned to the rest of its people. "Begin securing every student over eight terran standard for the labour camps." He turned to another of his people. "Every student under eight terran standard is to be caged for the blood mortar foundries."
"Excuse me..." She whimpered. "I must protests, these children are not recidivists or criminals."
The monster looked at her. "For interference in a lawful action conducted on behalf of the rightful government of Zygerria I find you guilty of sedition. Take her for the labour camps."
---
The Doctors felt the terror in their souls as monsters moved through the hospital. Assessing everyone occupying a bed or in a position to be seen by the doctors. One by one those who could walk or labour were dragged out and deposited into cages and dispatched. Unwilling to draw attention to himself Aluvar did not challenge or argue with the monsters, those who did that were dragged out with the patients who fulfilled some vague criteria.
The problem started when they came across those too infirm or disabled to be of use for the labour camps. "We are not wasting storage space with cripples. Bleed them for the Blood Mortar." The order was given with a cold callousness that left Aluvar in a state of naked terror. Made worse when the screaming began. He voided the contents of his stomach as very large humanoid creatures entered one chamber, hooked a man by his ankles on a meat hook and held it overhead while another human with a pressure container came in, opened the lid, and in half a second cut the throat of the Zygerrian man who had been hooked. The woman in the bed next door slated to receive bacta treatment screamed in terror and tried to scrabble out of her bed before two more of the hulking humanoids came in and her screams were silenced all too soon as she was brought up onto hooks and her throat was opened. And Aluvar's bowels were voided when with expert slices, both of them were skinned on the spot, the hides thrown over the shoulder of the massive large humanoids.
For hours the hospital resonated with the sound of screaming as the corpses were left where they had been, opened up, blooded and skinned. Aluvar almost didn't even notice when all sound had finally ended until he felt a clasping around his own neck and he squealed in terror as he expected the meat hooks to come for him and he writhed like a cut snake, trying to avoid his fate before he was simply lifted by the collar they had forced on him and dragged him down to the vehicles below full of caged people to be taken as slaves.
---
Prime Minister Atai Molec felt violently ill as he watched. Alien ships had been coming in, dropping forces taking thier quotas and lifting once more to their motherships above. The initial convoy had already left four days ago and a second much larger convoy had arrived. He tried not to look at the reports on his desk. Things had become far worse than anything that he had envisioned, they were no longer simply relying on his security forces to advise of recidivists and undesirables. They had given up their initiative, and now the Bearers of the Word, what word it was he had no concept, were simply invading homes, hospitals, schools, factories and more and simply declaring their inhabitants to be criminals before forcibly loading them onto cargo ships as slaves.
Worse had been the other stories. About them murdering anyone they didn't find useful and stripping them of blood and skin, some stories weren't even that nice. Which was why he was now staring at a hologram of Count Dooku as he relayed the information that he had possessed. He had tried to take matters into his own hands, but now his security people were openly rebelling and aiding the Word Bearers as the 'House of the Rising Son', while the 'Society of Blood' had begun a murderous pogrom of anyone who tried to stop what was happening.
And he knew that wasn't the full extent of their reach. For his own government, and the Queen herself, had begun to descend into unchecked paranoia as they assumed everyone was plotting against them. And there were reports of sickness in the slave pens, and accusations that sickly slaves had already been sent to clients.
"I am displeased by this turn of events Prime Minister. Why was I not informed sooner of these developments?." There was a hesitation before Atai felt he needed to answer.
He sighed, releasing his pent up breath. "Because the Queen has been increasingly removing me from the loop. Despite our measures to control her, she has grown violently paranoid, and her handmaidens have reported unnatural things. Count, I did not hesitate because I wished to. I hesitated because my entire command structure has been undermined from within. And now these Word Bearers have been stripping people off of the surface in ever growing quantities."
"I am dispatching a fleet. Immediately. Prepare for our arrival in short order." Dooku snarled closing the line.
S̷o̶ ̶i̸t̵ ̶w̵a̴s̵ ̶r̶i̴g̸h̴t̸.̵ ̸Y̵o̸u̷ ̴w̷e̶r̸e̴ ̷b̸e̵t̶r̵a̴y̷i̷n̷g̶ ̶m̷e̴.̵ ̴I̵ ̸n̷o̶ ̴l̴o̶n̸g̴e̸r̶ ̴r̴e̴q̵u̶i̶r̸e̶ ̶y̷o̸u̷r̵.̸.̵.̸ ̵s̴e̸r̴v̶i̷c̴e̸s̴.̴
He spun quickly drawing a holdout blaster as he saw the Queen enter the room. He didn't wonder why he hadn't heard her footsteps. She was floating off of the ground unnaturally... and fear filled his soul as... he noticed something else behind her. It stood well above her height, it was at least nine feet tall. It was blue and gold, with avian legs and its robes covered the rest of the body. All but the left arm it was holding over Queen Scintel. That arm, also taloned like a birds and feathered with pinions that changed colour and shape... he realised that he could see faint beams of light connecting from the creature to the Queen like some sort of evil marionette.
He fired at the queen who had become a mere marionette once, twice, thrice, and her body collapsed to the ground. His fear grew ever higher as the being moved into the chamber. He could hear its words in his mind.
Y̷o̵u̷ ̵b̵r̷o̷k̵e̴ ̶m̴y̸ ̸p̵u̶p̴p̷e̴t̵.̶ ̵I̸ ̷n̸e̶e̵d̴ ̵a̶n̴o̶t̸h̶e̵r̵.̸
It moved faster than he could even perceive. And he felt himself yanked into the air, silvery wires pierced his skull, arms and legs as he felt the thing invading his mind.
---
It took thirty two hours before Dooku could muster a task force of thirty ships to respond to the incompetence call from the Zygerrian Prime minister. The Tactical Droid supporting the commander of the Task Force studied the images it was seeing as soon as they arrived from Hyperspace. Space was filled with ships that had descended low into the atmosphere as flights moved from the ships to the surface and back, three ships were surging away from the planet with acceleration high enough to make the droid hesitate to classify them before, after escaping the planets gravity well they fell into rips in spacetime. The four largest ships were not launching forces to the surface. And two of the five kilometre long vessels were coming about, their drives aflame as they moved to break from orbit to intercept his fleet.
"This is Lord Ansek Dyr of the Word Bearers to unknown fleet. Steer away. We are conducting operations in support with the civil government to suppress civil unrest." The words were clear though the droid thought it could detect something in the deeper communication layers.
The Commander of the fleet stood and moved to where his hologram would be broadcast. "I am Admiral Pors Tonith of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. We have been dispatched in answer to a distress call by the civil government that alien forces had subverted the people and had begun a large scale operation to assault the planet." The Admiral paid attention to the two closing ships. "Please order your vessels not to approach any closer."
"Request denied. You are in Zygerrian space during a security operation which we were secured to provide assistance in exchange for slaves." Came the answer. This time the tactical droid feared something about that voice. A note, a single shifting tone to one of anger that the speaker wasn't obeyed.
"Zygerria has signed onto the Confederacy of Independent Systems and thus is subject to our authority to protect. If they are undergoing civil disturbances, thank you for your support, but we will take it from here." He spoke sternly, "I am sure you can search the holonet and see that I have a good track record of victories, and you have only dispatched two ships to face my thirty."
The response did not come from the communications channel.
Captain Damyr Slithe felt terror fill him as he watched the prow weapons of both closing weapons fire simultaneously, sustained beams of hellish red energy that bathed the Munificent class frigate in fire, and when the beams cut off they were left to see only the drifting port and starboard remains of the craft, the centre mass of it annihilated by the combined beam fire from the two Murder class Cruisers. Admiral Pors Tonith was now flee flying atoms at best.
The Nightfall
Haragron felt the crunch of stone beneath his boots as he moved out into the city with the rest of his unit, the government of Zygerria had been twisted into allowing them to descend to the surface to remove the 'subversive elements' by any means necessary, their Queen never even realising that she had been subverted. The only downside to this operation was that he didn't get to feel the comfortable weight of his bolter, and though he had a bolt pistol it was the webber in his hands that he was expected to use.
He pointed and headed for one of the buildings that had been tagged. The other Marines moved over and charged through the door without even opening it, their own weapons levelled. "Word Bearers Patrol." They bellowed, "This property has been identified by authorities as having beings guildy of recidivism and crimes against the Zygerrian throne." Haragron stepped in and levelled his weapon at a strong looking male of the xenos breed as he held his hands in the air. "You have been found guilty and sentenced to life in slaver." Came the last of the 'warrant'.
The mans horror hit a peak and he moved. He moved far slower than Haragron's finger on the webbers trigger. The sticky substance spread out fast and he was knocked off of his feet against the ground, unable to move or escape, or even attempt to, until the cultists came with the solvent and slave cages to collect them. He writhed hopelessly as a woman stepped from behind a wall and levelled a zygerrian blaster weapon before holding down the firing stud.
"No! Don't!" The man cried when he realised what was happening, the marine she had fired at simply turned and gripped the arm and forward part of the rifle and yanked hard. The womans arm was torn from her shoulder and struck across the face with the wet end as the attacked monster returned the stroke with sufficient force to crush her skull. The man caught in the webber fluids product howled in anguish and despair as the womans corpse crumpled to the ground directly in his sightline.
"Lorik, status?" Haragron said as he moved past the attacked Marine.
"Irritated Champion Haragron." Came the honest answer.
"Don't break any more slaves unless ordered, am I clear?" Haragron turned snarling at the man. He bowed his armoured head slightly.
"Yes sir." Lorik replied honestly.
---
Ula stood in terror as figures entered the school. Each of them were massive, so massive that she felt like a child beneath their attention. All wore helmets and carried their weapons with terrifying precision. The leader of them moved up to her and removed its helmet. She wished it had not. "Schoolmarm Ula Telae." He said and she noticed his teeth were filed as.. more humans filed in. Half of them carrying weapons, the rest with catchpoles and....
"Y.. yes?"
"We have been tasked by the Sovereign government of Zygerria to remove the recidivist population, how many students do you have at this facility?" Came the query as the massive being moved into the room further. Terror seating itself in her soul.
"... two thousand, three hundred and three." Only a quarter of the students were here at the assembly. And there was scared whimpering from the children.
From that second on, she felt like she no longer existed as the monster turned to the rest of its people. "Begin securing every student over eight terran standard for the labour camps." He turned to another of his people. "Every student under eight terran standard is to be caged for the blood mortar foundries."
"Excuse me..." She whimpered. "I must protests, these children are not recidivists or criminals."
The monster looked at her. "For interference in a lawful action conducted on behalf of the rightful government of Zygerria I find you guilty of sedition. Take her for the labour camps."
---
The Doctors felt the terror in their souls as monsters moved through the hospital. Assessing everyone occupying a bed or in a position to be seen by the doctors. One by one those who could walk or labour were dragged out and deposited into cages and dispatched. Unwilling to draw attention to himself Aluvar did not challenge or argue with the monsters, those who did that were dragged out with the patients who fulfilled some vague criteria.
The problem started when they came across those too infirm or disabled to be of use for the labour camps. "We are not wasting storage space with cripples. Bleed them for the Blood Mortar." The order was given with a cold callousness that left Aluvar in a state of naked terror. Made worse when the screaming began. He voided the contents of his stomach as very large humanoid creatures entered one chamber, hooked a man by his ankles on a meat hook and held it overhead while another human with a pressure container came in, opened the lid, and in half a second cut the throat of the Zygerrian man who had been hooked. The woman in the bed next door slated to receive bacta treatment screamed in terror and tried to scrabble out of her bed before two more of the hulking humanoids came in and her screams were silenced all too soon as she was brought up onto hooks and her throat was opened. And Aluvar's bowels were voided when with expert slices, both of them were skinned on the spot, the hides thrown over the shoulder of the massive large humanoids.
For hours the hospital resonated with the sound of screaming as the corpses were left where they had been, opened up, blooded and skinned. Aluvar almost didn't even notice when all sound had finally ended until he felt a clasping around his own neck and he squealed in terror as he expected the meat hooks to come for him and he writhed like a cut snake, trying to avoid his fate before he was simply lifted by the collar they had forced on him and dragged him down to the vehicles below full of caged people to be taken as slaves.
---
Prime Minister Atai Molec felt violently ill as he watched. Alien ships had been coming in, dropping forces taking thier quotas and lifting once more to their motherships above. The initial convoy had already left four days ago and a second much larger convoy had arrived. He tried not to look at the reports on his desk. Things had become far worse than anything that he had envisioned, they were no longer simply relying on his security forces to advise of recidivists and undesirables. They had given up their initiative, and now the Bearers of the Word, what word it was he had no concept, were simply invading homes, hospitals, schools, factories and more and simply declaring their inhabitants to be criminals before forcibly loading them onto cargo ships as slaves.
Worse had been the other stories. About them murdering anyone they didn't find useful and stripping them of blood and skin, some stories weren't even that nice. Which was why he was now staring at a hologram of Count Dooku as he relayed the information that he had possessed. He had tried to take matters into his own hands, but now his security people were openly rebelling and aiding the Word Bearers as the 'House of the Rising Son', while the 'Society of Blood' had begun a murderous pogrom of anyone who tried to stop what was happening.
And he knew that wasn't the full extent of their reach. For his own government, and the Queen herself, had begun to descend into unchecked paranoia as they assumed everyone was plotting against them. And there were reports of sickness in the slave pens, and accusations that sickly slaves had already been sent to clients.
"I am displeased by this turn of events Prime Minister. Why was I not informed sooner of these developments?." There was a hesitation before Atai felt he needed to answer.
He sighed, releasing his pent up breath. "Because the Queen has been increasingly removing me from the loop. Despite our measures to control her, she has grown violently paranoid, and her handmaidens have reported unnatural things. Count, I did not hesitate because I wished to. I hesitated because my entire command structure has been undermined from within. And now these Word Bearers have been stripping people off of the surface in ever growing quantities."
"I am dispatching a fleet. Immediately. Prepare for our arrival in short order." Dooku snarled closing the line.
S̷o̶ ̶i̸t̵ ̶w̵a̴s̵ ̶r̶i̴g̸h̴t̸.̵ ̸Y̵o̸u̷ ̴w̷e̶r̸e̴ ̷b̸e̵t̶r̵a̴y̷i̷n̷g̶ ̶m̷e̴.̵ ̴I̵ ̸n̷o̶ ̴l̴o̶n̸g̴e̸r̶ ̴r̴e̴q̵u̶i̶r̸e̶ ̶y̷o̸u̷r̵.̸.̵.̸ ̵s̴e̸r̴v̶i̷c̴e̸s̴.̴
So it was right. You were betraying me. I no longer require your... services.
He spun quickly drawing a holdout blaster as he saw the Queen enter the room. He didn't wonder why he hadn't heard her footsteps. She was floating off of the ground unnaturally... and fear filled his soul as... he noticed something else behind her. It stood well above her height, it was at least nine feet tall. It was blue and gold, with avian legs and its robes covered the rest of the body. All but the left arm it was holding over Queen Scintel. That arm, also taloned like a birds and feathered with pinions that changed colour and shape... he realised that he could see faint beams of light connecting from the creature to the Queen like some sort of evil marionette.
He fired at the queen who had become a mere marionette once, twice, thrice, and her body collapsed to the ground. His fear grew ever higher as the being moved into the chamber. He could hear its words in his mind.
Y̷o̵u̷ ̵b̵r̷o̷k̵e̴ ̶m̴y̸ ̸p̵u̶p̴p̷e̴t̵.̶ ̵I̸ ̷n̸e̶e̵d̴ ̵a̶n̴o̶t̸h̶e̵r̵.̸
You broke my puppet. I need another.
It moved faster than he could even perceive. And he felt himself yanked into the air, silvery wires pierced his skull, arms and legs as he felt the thing invading his mind.
---
It took thirty two hours before Dooku could muster a task force of thirty ships to respond to the incompetence call from the Zygerrian Prime minister. The Tactical Droid supporting the commander of the Task Force studied the images it was seeing as soon as they arrived from Hyperspace. Space was filled with ships that had descended low into the atmosphere as flights moved from the ships to the surface and back, three ships were surging away from the planet with acceleration high enough to make the droid hesitate to classify them before, after escaping the planets gravity well they fell into rips in spacetime. The four largest ships were not launching forces to the surface. And two of the five kilometre long vessels were coming about, their drives aflame as they moved to break from orbit to intercept his fleet.
"This is Lord Ansek Dyr of the Word Bearers to unknown fleet. Steer away. We are conducting operations in support with the civil government to suppress civil unrest." The words were clear though the droid thought it could detect something in the deeper communication layers.
The Commander of the fleet stood and moved to where his hologram would be broadcast. "I am Admiral Pors Tonith of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. We have been dispatched in answer to a distress call by the civil government that alien forces had subverted the people and had begun a large scale operation to assault the planet." The Admiral paid attention to the two closing ships. "Please order your vessels not to approach any closer."
"Request denied. You are in Zygerrian space during a security operation which we were secured to provide assistance in exchange for slaves." Came the answer. This time the tactical droid feared something about that voice. A note, a single shifting tone to one of anger that the speaker wasn't obeyed.
"Zygerria has signed onto the Confederacy of Independent Systems and thus is subject to our authority to protect. If they are undergoing civil disturbances, thank you for your support, but we will take it from here." He spoke sternly, "I am sure you can search the holonet and see that I have a good track record of victories, and you have only dispatched two ships to face my thirty."
The response did not come from the communications channel.
Captain Damyr Slithe felt terror fill him as he watched the prow weapons of both closing weapons fire simultaneously, sustained beams of hellish red energy that bathed the Munificent class frigate in fire, and when the beams cut off they were left to see only the drifting port and starboard remains of the craft, the centre mass of it annihilated by the combined beam fire from the two Murder class Cruisers. Admiral Pors Tonith was now flee flying atoms at best.
Your ships are really not that good against Chaos warhsips. Hell you don't stand a chance against anything on Warhammer Galaxy.
Chaos to Abeloth I like you
Kadaeux
Delta Imperator
- Location
- Vortice between realities
Abeloth: "Ew... I think."
Gehemehnet - Warhammer 40k - Lexicanum
Chapter 7; Ashes of Zygerria
Kadaeux
Delta Imperator
- Location
- Vortice between realities
Chapter 7;
Ashes of Zygerria
Count Dooku felt numb as he arrived at Zygerria on the Malevolence with the largest fleet he could muster without weakening the fronts that his master had arranged. The world was wreathed in smoke from uncounted fires raging across its surface and space in close orbit was littered with the debris of the fleet that he had dispatched to investigate the alert sent by his people. And now he just felt numb, a thing that bore repeating. Normally, the site of a tragedy would be steeped in the dark side, a palpable, even physical sorrow.
What he felt was not the dark side but something phenomenally wrong with space around Zygerria. He could not even identify the source of issue. Instead, they closed in on the planet and he felt his hackles rise as Grievous paced behind him, irritation filling the cyborgs every being. But he did not call the dog to heel, he was on the verge of doing the same. What was left of the fleet he sent was the first thing that they have moved to investigate, but the closer they got to the wreckage the more unstable the droids had been growing. Acting erratically, speaking in strange languages and even attempting to sabotage the vessel. Eventually Dooku had been forced to order them to fire on the wreckage, hunting for the transmitter that were broadcasting the alien terrible code.
"General Grievous. We are travelling to the capital, go prepare a shuttle for us."
"The droids.."
"Cannot be trusted. If the wreckage can broadcast that subversive code, so can whoever remains on the surface." He said plainly, but Grievous simply stopped speaking. And he felt the cyborgs agreement. The flash of irritation as he realised that the cyborgs point was proven, if only in the most bizarre of circumstances, could not be suppressed so easily.
Grievous studied the sight from orbit. "Count Dooku, I recommend we gather some more... biological... troops." He stated.
"No." Grievous would not be trusted with living troops, let alone his Kaleesh. But he had a dark feeling that he would not have much of a choice soon.
---
Grievous' eyes looked pale. And Dooku had just finished ralphing his own guts up after they had emerged from the Sheathipede shuttle that served as their conveyance. They had moved into the city for several minutes before the horror of the place began to assert itself. Other than the omnipresent stench of thick smoke in the atmosphere, the smell of the dead had grown worse with every step. Grievous was the first to realise why. On a main throughfare hundreds of Zygerrians had been nailed to wooden crosses and displayed, men, women... children. There was no discrimination. Every single corpse had been violated in some way or another. Breasts torn from women, penises severed and placed in their owners mouths were common, others had been cut up in ways that did nothing to hide the signs of torture that had been practiced on them. One notable had been a pregnant woman that...
Dooku ralphed once more at just the thought of that writhing creature that had been nestled within her eviscerated belly, feeding on the innards. It wasn't an animal. It almost looked like the small rotund and very pink offspring of a human and kowakian monkey lizard. It had been covered in boils and loops of intesting hung around it, and though most had been the womans, Dooku had noticed some sticking from the creatures own body.
The force had metaphorically screamed in revulsion as he beheld the creature and in a fit of horror, rage and revulsion he unleashed force lightning on the creature and poor creature that had inhabited the cross.
Only then had he realised that those poor creatures were not corpses. As his lightning arced from one to another every one of the bodies writhed and spoke in a language he had no proficiency in, no desire to have any proficiency in. "Count Dooku... we need to move." He said as sounds were growing closer. Howling and jeering and, taking one quick look at one another they both ascended the nearest buildings quickly as another group of Zygerrians emerged. They were clad in armour stained red with blood and they all clutched wicked vibro weapons and blaster pistols. They slowed marginally as they entered the square and saw the lightning fried victims of crucifixion.
"The Grandchildren have been through here. See their waste." One of the Zygerrians called out. "Looks like they were House of the Rising Son before the Grandchildren got them."
"So who zapped them? Lonks said he could see the light show from Taneks house." Another shouted back.
The apparent leader turned to the other. "Who cares. We'll take their skull for Khorne if we find them!"
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE! The entire crowd began to chant over and over again. The blood curdling cries turned into an orgiastic expression of violence as the entire group surged down a side street. For fifteen minutes Dooku and Grievous waited as the crowd moved as a single entity, flowing like a turbulent fluid through the streets.
Descending Dooku felt his stomach turning, the scent of burned spices, the tang of blood, the horror stink of burned flesh, and some underlying malaise of corruption filled the streets. Grievous, for the first time Dooku had ever known looked almost violently ill. Without a word they proceeded deeper into the streets, searching for something they didn't know if they could even find. A Source. A cause. A purpose to it all.
It took almost five hours to even reach the palace, a journey that should have taken ten minutes or so at most. A dozen times they were forced to wait in hiding as roving gangs moved through the streets. They watched as robed figures moved quickly. Unnaturally so, they could see the Zygerrians faces, and they had been changed by something bleeding through reality, faces twisted, mutations evident from tentacles to horns... and as they watched, one of them was suddenly wracked with spasms as it mutated into an amorphous blob that bristled with faces, claws, bone and less sane things before it expired where it lay and the crowd that had been around it, whittled down slightly by its tantrum of mutation, chanted and celebrated the gifts that the individual had received.
Only once did they see a crowd of civilians, and Dooku had almost broken from his cover except his force granted instincts screamed at him. He listened to their cries. "I saw a shuttle land! We must flee while we can, before the cults find us!" The Zygerrian in the lead whispered about as quitely as a rancors belch. Those words were the ones that almost had him break from cover, but it wasn't enough as a cavorting crowd surged from yet another street, all fine silks that covered much and exposed everything the crowd was swept under the tide of Zygerrian flesh and tortured, raped and murdered, in no particular order of preference as the group indulged horrific vices upon the helpless victims. They didn't care about the protests of their own people.
Grievous' clawed hand gripped Dooku's shoulder and he realised that he was about to break cover anyway. But he had seen something Dooku had not, the centauroid creature brayed into the crowd, lobster clawed hands snipping as the lithe creature joined the orgy of excess in something he had wished was just murder. But Dooku turned away as he felt something prying at his senses and mind, he called on the force to block the traces of impossibly powerful pheremones wafted off the display and they moved on.
But they did eventually reach the palace and found it unmanned. Corpses displayed upon wheels, eight pointed stars carved into their bodies in a whole manner of artifice that boiled in his mind and he refused to look at it too closely. "Don't look." He warned Grievous. "There is something profoundly wrong with the sigils." They moved deeper into the palace and finally found their way to the throne room where the scene of the least horror they had been exposed to since landing was arrayed. Queen Scintel and the Prime Minister were hanging from the ceiling on silvery wires like marionettes discarded by a careless owner. Lifeless and unmoving a single Zygerrian was present.
When it turned Dooku realised it had not been freed from the horrors. It's eyes had been removed and a sigil was carved upon its forehead glowing an impossible ruby red. A red all too like his lightsaber.
It didn't speak. "What happened here?" Dooku found himself asking.
"They came from the stars bringing gifts and knowledge." The creature said, and Dooku realised its hands had been severed as well. "And as they do, I have been left to Bear the Word." It continued. "They came for slaves and in our hubris we were only able to provide for a small portion of what they wished. We couldn't have known. We couldn't have planned for the silvery words, dark promises and prophets that they left within our people. They laid the seeds for a corruption we, in our decadence, were all too happy to jump into. Whether craving the belonging of Nurgle, the lovers caress of Slaanesh, the profane knowledge of Tzeentch or the primal revenge of Khorne for those who have slighted us, they had something that plucked at our decadent souls. We stood no chance against the Word they brought. The promises of the eight-fold path. You too c̶a̵n̷ ̸e̷x̷p̸e̶r̶i̸e̶n̷c̸e̷ t̷͍͊h̷͓̏ȩ̸̽ ̷̦͝ĝ̶̦l̵̛͓o̶̞̎r̶͍͐y̴̻͂ ̷̬̄o̸͔͂f̷͙͒ ̷͔̒t̸̹͆h̷͕̽e̴̝͝ ̴̗͛g̴̺̈́o̵̖̽d̴̦̍s̴̨̄a̴͚̼̓̏l̵͔͠͝l̶̹̓ ̵̡͒ị̷̂̾ț̴̙̊ ̷̖͋̆r̷̫̙͑e̸̛̤̬q̵̛̐͜ͅȗ̷͕ȉ̵̛̤̬r̸̡͓͆e̶̮̓ś̷̪̠͘ ̴̹̽͛͜ī̶̧̳s̴̢̏̆ ̶͖̬͌ṱ̸̨́ẖ̷͙̑́ẹ̴̈́͒ ̷̧̠̍̎s̴̮̣̔m̵̡̱̅͆a̷̡̡̾l̴̫̏ĺ̷͖ ̷͚̰̕͠p̷͚̂̈r̵̼̈́i̵͖̅̕c̷̛̠͑ě̸͕͊ ̵̞͖͠ó̵̞̺̂̕͝f̵̢̘͈̝̥̣̻̫̑̌͌̊ ̵͕̻͚̉̋̓y̷̭̖̖̲̅͑͠o̵̬͍̹̲̩̬͈̰̅̌ű̵͖̜̖̠̹̲̠̬̾͊̀͘͘͘̚r̷̤͋͊̂̏ ̵̡̢̝͙͕͂́̕̕͝s̸̫̖͉̦̙̾̀̑̈́́̑ŏ̵̬̃͗̇̀̀̋͘͜u̶̢̠̗̲̫̼̼̬̔́l̸͔̉́̊̏̕
Dooku snapped forwards and cut the creatures head from its shoulders. The terrible words that spilled out ceased entirely for a moment before the head turned and faced him the eyes, though absent, burned with an otherworldly light. "Dooku Serenno. The gods have their eyes on you. Their eyes on the galaxy. They reached out to touch Zygerria as a display of the least of their power. But soon the works of the Bearers of the Word will weaken the veil and they will touch this galaxy more fully. You have been marked by one of the Gods. You will be claimed when the..." His lightsaber pieced the severed head before what he heard unravelled and unmanned him entirely.
"Grievous. We are retreating to orbit. Once we are there, I want a full orbital bombardment of the planet." Dooku said running for the exit. He tripped and stumbled into a small table. Never feeling the weight of the small book that fell into his pocket.
Ashes of Zygerria
Count Dooku felt numb as he arrived at Zygerria on the Malevolence with the largest fleet he could muster without weakening the fronts that his master had arranged. The world was wreathed in smoke from uncounted fires raging across its surface and space in close orbit was littered with the debris of the fleet that he had dispatched to investigate the alert sent by his people. And now he just felt numb, a thing that bore repeating. Normally, the site of a tragedy would be steeped in the dark side, a palpable, even physical sorrow.
What he felt was not the dark side but something phenomenally wrong with space around Zygerria. He could not even identify the source of issue. Instead, they closed in on the planet and he felt his hackles rise as Grievous paced behind him, irritation filling the cyborgs every being. But he did not call the dog to heel, he was on the verge of doing the same. What was left of the fleet he sent was the first thing that they have moved to investigate, but the closer they got to the wreckage the more unstable the droids had been growing. Acting erratically, speaking in strange languages and even attempting to sabotage the vessel. Eventually Dooku had been forced to order them to fire on the wreckage, hunting for the transmitter that were broadcasting the alien terrible code.
"General Grievous. We are travelling to the capital, go prepare a shuttle for us."
"The droids.."
"Cannot be trusted. If the wreckage can broadcast that subversive code, so can whoever remains on the surface." He said plainly, but Grievous simply stopped speaking. And he felt the cyborgs agreement. The flash of irritation as he realised that the cyborgs point was proven, if only in the most bizarre of circumstances, could not be suppressed so easily.
Grievous studied the sight from orbit. "Count Dooku, I recommend we gather some more... biological... troops." He stated.
"No." Grievous would not be trusted with living troops, let alone his Kaleesh. But he had a dark feeling that he would not have much of a choice soon.
---
Grievous' eyes looked pale. And Dooku had just finished ralphing his own guts up after they had emerged from the Sheathipede shuttle that served as their conveyance. They had moved into the city for several minutes before the horror of the place began to assert itself. Other than the omnipresent stench of thick smoke in the atmosphere, the smell of the dead had grown worse with every step. Grievous was the first to realise why. On a main throughfare hundreds of Zygerrians had been nailed to wooden crosses and displayed, men, women... children. There was no discrimination. Every single corpse had been violated in some way or another. Breasts torn from women, penises severed and placed in their owners mouths were common, others had been cut up in ways that did nothing to hide the signs of torture that had been practiced on them. One notable had been a pregnant woman that...
Dooku ralphed once more at just the thought of that writhing creature that had been nestled within her eviscerated belly, feeding on the innards. It wasn't an animal. It almost looked like the small rotund and very pink offspring of a human and kowakian monkey lizard. It had been covered in boils and loops of intesting hung around it, and though most had been the womans, Dooku had noticed some sticking from the creatures own body.
The force had metaphorically screamed in revulsion as he beheld the creature and in a fit of horror, rage and revulsion he unleashed force lightning on the creature and poor creature that had inhabited the cross.
Only then had he realised that those poor creatures were not corpses. As his lightning arced from one to another every one of the bodies writhed and spoke in a language he had no proficiency in, no desire to have any proficiency in. "Count Dooku... we need to move." He said as sounds were growing closer. Howling and jeering and, taking one quick look at one another they both ascended the nearest buildings quickly as another group of Zygerrians emerged. They were clad in armour stained red with blood and they all clutched wicked vibro weapons and blaster pistols. They slowed marginally as they entered the square and saw the lightning fried victims of crucifixion.
"The Grandchildren have been through here. See their waste." One of the Zygerrians called out. "Looks like they were House of the Rising Son before the Grandchildren got them."
"So who zapped them? Lonks said he could see the light show from Taneks house." Another shouted back.
The apparent leader turned to the other. "Who cares. We'll take their skull for Khorne if we find them!"
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE! The entire crowd began to chant over and over again. The blood curdling cries turned into an orgiastic expression of violence as the entire group surged down a side street. For fifteen minutes Dooku and Grievous waited as the crowd moved as a single entity, flowing like a turbulent fluid through the streets.
Descending Dooku felt his stomach turning, the scent of burned spices, the tang of blood, the horror stink of burned flesh, and some underlying malaise of corruption filled the streets. Grievous, for the first time Dooku had ever known looked almost violently ill. Without a word they proceeded deeper into the streets, searching for something they didn't know if they could even find. A Source. A cause. A purpose to it all.
It took almost five hours to even reach the palace, a journey that should have taken ten minutes or so at most. A dozen times they were forced to wait in hiding as roving gangs moved through the streets. They watched as robed figures moved quickly. Unnaturally so, they could see the Zygerrians faces, and they had been changed by something bleeding through reality, faces twisted, mutations evident from tentacles to horns... and as they watched, one of them was suddenly wracked with spasms as it mutated into an amorphous blob that bristled with faces, claws, bone and less sane things before it expired where it lay and the crowd that had been around it, whittled down slightly by its tantrum of mutation, chanted and celebrated the gifts that the individual had received.
Only once did they see a crowd of civilians, and Dooku had almost broken from his cover except his force granted instincts screamed at him. He listened to their cries. "I saw a shuttle land! We must flee while we can, before the cults find us!" The Zygerrian in the lead whispered about as quitely as a rancors belch. Those words were the ones that almost had him break from cover, but it wasn't enough as a cavorting crowd surged from yet another street, all fine silks that covered much and exposed everything the crowd was swept under the tide of Zygerrian flesh and tortured, raped and murdered, in no particular order of preference as the group indulged horrific vices upon the helpless victims. They didn't care about the protests of their own people.
Grievous' clawed hand gripped Dooku's shoulder and he realised that he was about to break cover anyway. But he had seen something Dooku had not, the centauroid creature brayed into the crowd, lobster clawed hands snipping as the lithe creature joined the orgy of excess in something he had wished was just murder. But Dooku turned away as he felt something prying at his senses and mind, he called on the force to block the traces of impossibly powerful pheremones wafted off the display and they moved on.
But they did eventually reach the palace and found it unmanned. Corpses displayed upon wheels, eight pointed stars carved into their bodies in a whole manner of artifice that boiled in his mind and he refused to look at it too closely. "Don't look." He warned Grievous. "There is something profoundly wrong with the sigils." They moved deeper into the palace and finally found their way to the throne room where the scene of the least horror they had been exposed to since landing was arrayed. Queen Scintel and the Prime Minister were hanging from the ceiling on silvery wires like marionettes discarded by a careless owner. Lifeless and unmoving a single Zygerrian was present.
When it turned Dooku realised it had not been freed from the horrors. It's eyes had been removed and a sigil was carved upon its forehead glowing an impossible ruby red. A red all too like his lightsaber.
It didn't speak. "What happened here?" Dooku found himself asking.
"They came from the stars bringing gifts and knowledge." The creature said, and Dooku realised its hands had been severed as well. "And as they do, I have been left to Bear the Word." It continued. "They came for slaves and in our hubris we were only able to provide for a small portion of what they wished. We couldn't have known. We couldn't have planned for the silvery words, dark promises and prophets that they left within our people. They laid the seeds for a corruption we, in our decadence, were all too happy to jump into. Whether craving the belonging of Nurgle, the lovers caress of Slaanesh, the profane knowledge of Tzeentch or the primal revenge of Khorne for those who have slighted us, they had something that plucked at our decadent souls. We stood no chance against the Word they brought. The promises of the eight-fold path. You too c̶a̵n̷ ̸e̷x̷p̸e̶r̶i̸e̶n̷c̸e̷ t̷͍͊h̷͓̏ȩ̸̽ ̷̦͝ĝ̶̦l̵̛͓o̶̞̎r̶͍͐y̴̻͂ ̷̬̄o̸͔͂f̷͙͒ ̷͔̒t̸̹͆h̷͕̽e̴̝͝ ̴̗͛g̴̺̈́o̵̖̽d̴̦̍s̴̨̄a̴͚̼̓̏l̵͔͠͝l̶̹̓ ̵̡͒ị̷̂̾ț̴̙̊ ̷̖͋̆r̷̫̙͑e̸̛̤̬q̵̛̐͜ͅȗ̷͕ȉ̵̛̤̬r̸̡͓͆e̶̮̓ś̷̪̠͘ ̴̹̽͛͜ī̶̧̳s̴̢̏̆ ̶͖̬͌ṱ̸̨́ẖ̷͙̑́ẹ̴̈́͒ ̷̧̠̍̎s̴̮̣̔m̵̡̱̅͆a̷̡̡̾l̴̫̏ĺ̷͖ ̷͚̰̕͠p̷͚̂̈r̵̼̈́i̵͖̅̕c̷̛̠͑ě̸͕͊ ̵̞͖͠ó̵̞̺̂̕͝f̵̢̘͈̝̥̣̻̫̑̌͌̊ ̵͕̻͚̉̋̓y̷̭̖̖̲̅͑͠o̵̬͍̹̲̩̬͈̰̅̌ű̵͖̜̖̠̹̲̠̬̾͊̀͘͘͘̚r̷̤͋͊̂̏ ̵̡̢̝͙͕͂́̕̕͝s̸̫̖͉̦̙̾̀̑̈́́̑ŏ̵̬̃͗̇̀̀̋͘͜u̶̢̠̗̲̫̼̼̬̔́l̸͔̉́̊̏̕
can experience the glory of the gods all it requires is the small price of your soul.
Dooku snapped forwards and cut the creatures head from its shoulders. The terrible words that spilled out ceased entirely for a moment before the head turned and faced him the eyes, though absent, burned with an otherworldly light. "Dooku Serenno. The gods have their eyes on you. Their eyes on the galaxy. They reached out to touch Zygerria as a display of the least of their power. But soon the works of the Bearers of the Word will weaken the veil and they will touch this galaxy more fully. You have been marked by one of the Gods. You will be claimed when the..." His lightsaber pieced the severed head before what he heard unravelled and unmanned him entirely.
"Grievous. We are retreating to orbit. Once we are there, I want a full orbital bombardment of the planet." Dooku said running for the exit. He tripped and stumbled into a small table. Never feeling the weight of the small book that fell into his pocket.