I have read a first couple of dozen threadmarks and I usually see you succeed all actions with great roll number.
Why is your roll so crazy high? I have been to other quests but I have never seen this kind of assured success rates like ever.
Is this a "crack" quest?
Warning: Unauthorized reading of this document will be punished with immediate execution.
Time: 6:14 AM Holy Terran Standard
Location: Starship Emperor's Fist.
Purpose: Information
Patron: Inquisitor Maximan. Ordo Hereticus
Begin Transmission
Quote of the day: Lives are the Emperor's currency. Spend them wisely.
Lycoan the Beast: It is easy to forget one thing about Vampires. For all their trappings of nobility and glamour. For all their beauty and charm. They are each a monster in their own right. Within each of them sits a terrible monster. The dark god has expanded on this idea with one of his new creations.
A new greater daemon of Dracul had been sighted. The following is the information I have been able to gather on it. Once again there is no guarantee this information is the full extent of it or even fully accurate.
Lycoan is a wolf-like shapeshifter. It often takes the form of monstrous wolves with glowing multiple eyes in various places, large fanged mouths, and even limbs forming all over his body. In most of his forms, he appears to exist out of a black liquid. This fluid seeming to constantly churn and shift regardless of shape or movement. It's texture and form being reminiscent of tar. This fluid nature makes the monster agile and flexible. Seeming to flow along the environment as much as run on legs too thin to support his large size. It also allows him to contort and shift in impossible ways. Limbs twisting around in place and bending like tentacles even when not using that shape. Sometimes holes to allow attacks to pass through harmlessly form. When wearing armor in battle he seems to become more stable and solid. Seeming to become far more durable if with a loss of flexibility and speed. Not really a hindrance for the monster though. This often takes the form of a massive bipedal hybrid between man and wolf.
Lycoan uses his shapeshifting to great effect. Most of his forms are shaded in black and red. This is not always the case however and he exploits it ruthlessly. He takes on many faces to wreak havoc. Reducing and gaining size as needed. Sometimes taking the form of Astartes or a guardsmen to access secure areas. When not using more subtle sabotage he resorts to mass destruction. Reverting to his true titan sized form to destroy and devour all around him. Wiping out entire command structures at a time.
In battle he reverts to his true size. Battling it out with any titans he meets and destroying battle lines. The former being met with speed and agility. His countless claws and teeth tearing apart any armor. The latter is met with a churning mass of limbs and jaws. Spindly fingers and snake like tongues lashing out from the mass. Shredding, crushing, or pulling victims into waiting mouths to be devoured.
This creature is a nightmare to face. It would not surprise me if it was a replica of the daemon known as the Changeling. Alternatively it could serve as a taunt and lure for the Space Wolves and their successor chapters. One that unfortunately seems to be working. The beast seems to relish hunting and killing the descendants of Russ.
Warning: Unauthorized reading of this document will be punished with immediate execution.
Time: 6:21 AM Holy Terran Standard
Location: Starship Emperor's Fist.
Purpose: Information
Patron: Inquisitor Maximan. Ordo Hereticus
Begin Transmission
Quote of the day: Lives are the Emperor's currency. Spend them wisely.
Olera the Mourning Bride: Many are the woes that consume the galaxy. The constant strife that covers contested worlds. The poverty and despair of those who dwell on the Hive worlds. The apathy and lethargy of the nobility. The world weariness of the men and women of our forces. None more so however are as consuming as the power of grief. All in this millennium know someone who has been lost in one way or another. All have felt the weight of sorrow and pain in their hearts. Naturally the dark powers would seek to prey on this feeling.
A new greater daemon of Dracul had been sighted. The following is the information I have been able to gather on it. Once again there is no guarantee this information is the full extent of it or even fully accurate.
Olera is a strange creature. Like all of the higher daemons that her master favors she is handcrafted. Designed from the ground up in a way to fill an intended role. One that she fills well bringing many lost souls to her lord. She is crafted to prey on the sorrow that all men feel and exploit it. Twist it into something terrible and leave them easy prey.
She is a giant of a human woman. Spectral in form floating just above the ground. Her pale form covered in a long show white dress that fades into wispy tails. A silvery corset wrapped around her waist. Upon her face a veil falls covering her features. A pair of pale gold horns curving up from her head. A pair of tendrils falling to the sides with black flowers upon them along her dress. In one hand similar flowers make a bleak bouquet. In the other a tattered silver mourning bell. From beneath her veil fall tears of silver and constant cries of sorrow.
Her greatest power is that of her aura. It drives even the strongest of mortal men to the depths of despair. Bawling their eyes and lungs out while clawing away at their own flesh in misery. Reaching for many kilometers around she breaks battle lines without firing a shot. Her flowers litter an endless supply of petals that cut through the strongest armor with just a brush. Her bell rings and summons forth spirits of the dead to act for her. All too often those who have taken their own lives because of her.
Around her dance her attendants. Spirits caught in the throes of despair. Dancing in slumping moves and shedding their own tears with mouths agape to form endless wailing cries of sorrow. Mourning all that they had lost and their own fates while crying of the hopelessness of it all. When they come close they tear into victims with claws and blades as cold as the grave itself. Looking to add to their numbers.
Guys, after stumbling on this quest today I have one conclusion. We need to colonize the moon!
After this battle we will need to secure some ships since we came in wrecks. Make a navy etc etc. Increase boarder defenceman. Dont want to be attacked by the Empire. Maybe learn more of this purifying thing and make our own holy grounds or banners.
Well I don't know if that will ever happen but we could commission the dwarfs to build an idea I have. Like a great wall or even a steam ship or something. We have an good Ally that I would not mind clamping down on and to secure our borders/trade. I mean we are a dark God that can use holy magic.
Also what happens when we convert a nation next to us?
Time: 6:28 AM Holy Terran Standard
Location: Starship Emperor's Fist.
Purpose: Information
Patron: Inquisitor Maximan. Ordo Hereticus
Begin Transmission
Quote of the day: Lives are the Emperor's currency. Spend them wisely.
The Ossiarch Grave Guard: Many worlds hold warrior traditions. Venerating those who excelled in the art of war. Whether in the halls of dueling or those on the battlefield killing in person. Each becoming a subject of veneration in their own way. On primitive worlds these individuals would be given great funerals and resting places. Often bedecked in their trophies and raiment of war. Being buried alongside the master they served in life. Now under the dark power of the Dragon they rise to do battle once again.
The Grave guard are the Undead who make up these individuals. Each of them a veteran of war who either lived to die of old age or fell in battle. Ancient heroes and champions that now come forth to fight anew. Having arisen from their graves with a partial flicker of the original soul trapped within. Time doing nothing to diminish their chosen craft and certain quirks carrying over as well. Even holding some remnants of their old personality. Being even more lethal in Undeath than they were in life.
Although their bodies have decayed, leaving only bones and tattered raiment, a Grave Guard is held together by powerful dark magic. One that permeates them down to the level of their twisted soul. Granting them great power and allowing them do things they never could before. All of the Ossiarch are far stronger than they have any right to be. The average skeleton being able to over power most humans on average. The Grave Guard however can match blades with unarmored Astartes in terms of physical power.
Even going so far as to manifest certain exotic effects. Armor being far stronger than it should be after the passage of time. Weapons being much the same. Even being able to instill far greater power behind their blows than should be possible. In some cases bidding the fallen to rise again.
It also serves to bind them to their masters while allowing them to command their lessers in battle. Leading charges and other maneuvers of the bone legions with decades of experience. Their past deeds and experiences remaining firm in their minds even as other facets disappear. They are powerful warriors and skilled commanders. Along with targeting those they view as being problematic to their campaign.
Like all Ossiarch they too are upgraded with hextech when their masters join the Dragon proper.
This Undead unfortunately shares a seemingly universal trait with all its kind. Namely the seeming inability to be truly destroyed for the most part. Yes you heard that right. The blasted things are cursed with dark magics. If damaged too badly for necromancy to mend them they disappear. Fading back into existence in their old resting place. Remaining there for a short time then emerging whole once again. This effect seems to grow more pronounced with the right Undead facilities in place. Otherwise requiring strong witchcraft or the destruction of their resting place to halt.
Time: 6:35 AM Holy Terran Standard
Location: Starship Emperor's Fist.
Purpose: Information
Patron: Inquisitor Maximan. Ordo Hereticus
Begin Transmission
Quote of the day: Lives are the Emperor's currency. Spend them wisely.
Ossiarch Knights: Not to be confused with the venerable titans of the same name. Nor the noble houses who train to pilot said titans. These are the cavalry and some of the most dangerous forces of the Ossiarch legions. Once venerated as nobility and other wealthy figures of their nations. Having a mount like this often being a sign of prestige on many primitive worlds. Now those same mounts serve them in death as they did in life.
Do not let their choice of mount and such deceive you. These forces are still extremely dangerous. Their steeds universally boast of some unnatural abilities. Well, beyond their Undead state of being. These fleshless mounts can carry their hosts through walls and across terrain without hindrance. Being incorporeal as much as they are material. Their state allowing none of the frailties of life. Their charges often being far faster than should be possible. All the while being empowered by dark magic to become unstoppable in momentum.
Mounted atop tireless skeletal steeds, Ossiarch Knights form the shock regiments of the Legions. The sheer momentum of their charges and the bone-splintering force of their impact buckle defenses of all kinds. Even proper Imperial defenses often being insufficient to withstand more than one or two charges. The dark magic making it all possible. All the while long heirloom lances skewer enemies and even punching through steel plate.
Knights as former landed nobles and feudal scions with the wealth necessary to maintain a suitable war-steed had the honour of riding at the head of their liege's armies, and many Wight Lords still grant their Black Knights the right to launch the first charge of battle. They like the Grave Guard also retain more of a sense of self. Their skills being just as sharp as they were in life. Even becoming even more dangerous as they need no longer worry about the restraints of life.
They possess a sense of strategy like their peers. Being capable of conducting more complex maneuvers as needed. Though they rarely deviate far from their established doctrine. This unfortunately does little to hinder them. They can also command their lesser fellows in battle.
Like all Ossiarch they too are upgraded with hextech when their masters join the Dragon proper.
This Undead unfortunately shares a seemingly universal trait with all its kind. Namely the seeming inability to be truly destroyed for the most part. Yes you heard that right. The blasted things are cursed with dark magics. If damaged too badly for necromancy to mend them they disappear. Fading back into existence in their old resting place. Remaining there for a short time then emerging whole once again. This effect seems to grow more pronounced with the right Undead facilities in place. Otherwise requiring strong witchcraft or the destruction of their resting place to halt.
Time: 6:43 AM Holy Terran Standard
Location: Starship Emperor's Fist.
Purpose: Information
Patron: Inquisitor Maximan. Ordo Hereticus
Begin Transmission
Quote of the day: Lives are the Emperor's currency. Spend them wisely.
Ossiarch Priest: All worlds have their own thoughts and cultures. Even those under Imperial rule for millennia will have some kind of cultural quirks. Some due to sheer isolation or the impossibility of establishing the preferred norm. Death worlds frequently falling into the latter group. So it should be unsurprising for primitive worlds to develop their own beliefs. Not always to Chaos mind you. Instead praying to imagined spirits, deities, or other such things such as an after life. It is all heresy of course as the Emperor is the one true god of man. Unfortunately old beliefs do not die easily. Especially when the Undead are involved.
The Ossiarch Priests are believers of ancient dogma. Or at least they used to be. On primitive worlds often taking the role of spiritual advisors or pillars of community. Others were some idea of priests or monks. Often these figures were buried alongside the rulers they served under in life. Going with them into the beyond to provide their services. Now they rise to spread a new gospel.
They are perhaps besides their masters the Ossiarch to retain the most sense of self. Speaking eloquently and with true emotion as disturbing as it is. Offering feedback and advice to their Undead lords. Dressed in the attire of their ideology. Often taking the form of elaborate headdresses and flowing robes now tattered with time. Staffs also being a common occurrence. Bony fingers and eyeless sockets now perusing through ancient tomes.
They act as psyker units among the legions. Crying out prayers and chants to the Dragon all the while. Bringing forth dark magic to slaughter all those before them. Dealing death in horrific ways to the enemy while calling the fallen to rise again. Often seeking out other resting places to call forth new warriors to fight. Their abilities being surpassed only by their masters.
Their level of fanaticism rivals that of the Sororitas. They universally venerate the dark god fiercely. Having been quick to abandon their old faith in favor of it. Whether this is due to some glimpse of it as they returned or some quirk of their revival is unclear. Their masters seem unconcerned about it so long as they continue to serve.
Like all Ossiarch they too are upgraded with hextech when their masters join the Dragon proper.
This Undead unfortunately shares a seemingly universal trait with all its kind. Namely the seeming inability to be truly destroyed for the most part. Yes you heard that right. The blasted things are cursed with dark magics. If damaged too badly for necromancy to mend them they disappear. Fading back into existence in their old resting place. Remaining there for a short time then emerging whole once again. This effect seems to grow more pronounced with the right Undead facilities in place. Otherwise requiring strong witchcraft or the destruction of their resting place to halt.
Time: 6:49 AM Holy Terran Standard
Location: Starship Emperor's Fist.
Purpose: Information
Patron: Inquisitor Maximan. Ordo Hereticus
Begin Transmission
Quote of the day: Lives are the Emperor's currency. Spend them wisely.
Wight Lords: The leaders of the ancient Ossiarch legions. Among the most powerful types of the Undead. At least outside of those so heavily enhanced by dark magic and retaining intelligence. They are the skeletal masters of the Ossiarch nations and vast armies of ancient undead. They are beings of ancient pride and bear a smoldering sense of scorn for the living. Needless to say they are immensely dangerous.
They are champions, tyrants and rulers whose lust for slaughter and conquest did not stop after death. Now they rise again all too often to get another taste of both. Leading their armies forward across entire continents and worlds at a time. Being dangerous even before coming into the proper service of the Dragon. Many primitive worlds have been overrun by these ancient monarchs.
The nature of their resurrection is largely the same across the board. The winds of death reaching out across the galaxy being the source. This dark power collects in places such as tombs and graveyards. Being drawn to those who caused great death or simply great impact during their lives in particular. The more impactful in the past the faster and greater the accumulation. This power gathers over time and slowly starts to take effect. Beyond that the Dragon or more powerful necromancers reach out to cause it.
The trigger for their resurrection is far more varied. Barring outside intervention it waits until either the dark power builds enough or something else happens. The former is what usually happens especially on worlds where the veil is thin. In that case they rise on their own. Calling upon their old servants to do the same. Alternatively it is because their resting place is disturbed by others. Often their life force is consumed to accelerate the resurrection. For others their descendants slash subjects idolize them and wish to see them return. Or simply a massive upswing in psychic activity.
These Undead rulers are not to be underestimated. Each is a master of their craft. While they have lost their sense of morality, their hunger for conquest and war has not abated and their tactical acumen remains as sharp as ever. They command total obedience from their risen subjects. Dark magic swirling around them restoring their subjects faster than they can be broken when present. Along with calling forth new ones to serve. Other black magics being quick to manifest for them. Their physical power often outmatches fully armored Astartes. Being able to crush most creatures with their bare hands.
This Undead unfortunately shares a seemingly universal trait with all its kind. Namely the seeming inability to be truly destroyed for the most part. Yes you heard that right. The blasted things are cursed with dark magics. If damaged too badly for necromancy to mend them they disappear. Fading back into existence in their old resting place. Remaining there for a short time then emerging whole once again. This effect seems to grow more pronounced with the right Undead facilities in place. Otherwise requiring strong witchcraft or the destruction of their resting place to halt.
Time: 6:57 AM Holy Terran Standard
Location: Starship Emperor's Fist.
Purpose: Information
Patron: Inquisitor Maximan. Ordo Hereticus
Begin Transmission
Quote of the day: Lives are the Emperor's currency. Spend them wisely.
Ossiarch Architect: Art comes in many forms across the galaxy. The greatest of course is that which venerates the God Emperor. Still the art of creation goes far beyond the application of paint to various surfaces. One of the most significant and lasting works of course being that of architecture. One need look no further than the Hives that decorate many worlds across the Imperium. Unfortunately time wears away at these works hence the decaying state of many of the megastructures of our worlds. The cold grip of time and entropy wearing away at them. It is no surprise that those builders rage against the end of their work.
The Architects of the Ossiarch are representatives of this. Architects were the builders of ancient kingdoms on many worlds. They were not common labourers, but architects of extraordinary skill whose ambitions far outpaced what could be achieved in a mortal lifespan. In death, the Necrotects have lost none of their frenetic drive. They are filled with a compulsive need to pull down the inferior, vulgar cities of their enemies and supplant them with vast monuments of their own design. To tear down all that seeks to supplant their legacy.
In life they were sought after for their services by the masters they bow to now. Those who wanted them to create great works for them. Ranging from fine palaces to great monuments to grand tombs to vast citadels. Often when the Architect died they were interred with the master they served. An act of recognition for their services. Now they labor to not only restore their old works, but to create ever greater ones. They have eternity to hone their skills after all.
Architects are universally relentless taskmasters. Like the masters they serve they retain their minds and skills in their new state. Lashing out with word and whip at any perceived slacking. Often they even go to find those who worked under them in life. Relentlessly driving forward those under their command. Their bones thrumming with anger at the decay and destruction of their past work. That anger infusing their troops with vigor and ferocity. Making them that much more dangerous.
Architects rarely range out to fight. Instead settling in a chosen area to begin their work anew. Either by restoring old ones or creating something new. All the while new thoughts and ideas guide their actions. Symbols and arrangements coming to mind to follow and use. They create the crypts the legions return to upon death. Eventually expanding to become full cities of dark magic and Undeath. The mark of the Dragon at work.
This Undead unfortunately shares a seemingly universal trait with all its kind. Namely the seeming inability to be truly destroyed for the most part. Yes you heard that right. The blasted things are cursed with dark magics. If damaged too badly for necromancy to mend them they disappear. Fading back into existence in their old resting place. Remaining there for a short time then emerging whole once again. This effect seems to grow more pronounced with the right Undead facilities in place. Otherwise requiring strong witchcraft or the destruction of their resting place to halt.
Time: 7:06 AM Holy Terran Standard
Location: Starship Emperor's Fist.
Purpose: Information
Patron: Inquisitor Maximan. Ordo Hereticus
Begin Transmission
Quote of the day: Lives are the Emperor's currency. Spend them wisely.
Evolved Ossiarch: Undeath comes in many forms. Few however are more disturbing than the skeletal legions of the Ossiarch. Those ancient warriors that did battle centuries if not millennia ago. Their form may not be the most disturbing among the Undead ranks. Even considering that the skeleton is the classical representation of death. Signifying the cold grip of it and the decay it brings. Fitting then that the Dragon would seek to make them far worse.
The ancient leaders of the skeletal legions are many things. They are powerful and deadly to the extreme. They are utterly ruthless in pursuit of their goal. Theirs is a cunning hone over a lifetime and beyond. Not only that they hunger for power. So perhaps it is unsurprising that they would seek greater power for their armies and themselves.
The Evolved Ossiarch are the result of deliberate experimentation by the dark god. As well as the more demented of his Necrotects. Brought about by twisted manipulation of biology and souls themselves. All for the purpose of empowering them to new heights. A goal they have unfortunately succeeded at.
It is well known the Imperium is not lacking for bodies. At the same time the Dragon has no shortage of biological materials. So they decided to exploit that ruthlessly. The method they chose was simple and complex at the same time. At its basis it was simply adding on to what was there.
Bone from multiple sources is added to skeletons. Fused to it in dark forges. Bulking up forms and adding in power. Streamlined like muscle and armor. Becoming more akin to an automaton than a skeleton. Now standing more like a suit of armor with no interior. This happened with countless specimens across the Dragon's domain. The bones of good men used to create greater monsters.
Not only that souls were involved as well. The Dragon deemed one soul was insufficient to power these monstrosities. More would be needed to draw out the full potential of the idea. So great rituals were enacted. Soul gems were created from multiple spirits and embedded within new frames. Runes carved in the surface lit up with fel magic. Eye hollows filled with pale light. New horrors had been born.
Sadly these monstrosities retain the power of their more primitive selves. Namely the seeming inability to be truly destroyed for the most part. Yes you heard that right. The blasted things are cursed with dark magics. If damaged too badly for necromancy to mend them they disappear. Fading back into existence in their old resting place. Remaining there for a short time then emerging whole once again. This effect seems to grow more pronounced with the right Undead facilities in place. Otherwise requiring strong witchcraft or the destruction of their resting place to halt. Thankfully this now takes far longer to occur due to their altered nature.
Each year more of these monsters are created. The Wight lords finding the transformation pleasing with how it eases the dealing of death.
Time: 7:16 AM Holy Terran Standard
Location: Starship Emperor's Fist.
Purpose: Information
Patron: Inquisitor Maximan. Ordo Hereticus
Begin Transmission
Quote of the day: Lives are the Emperor's currency. Spend them wisely.
Mortek Guard: The evolved form of the Ossiarch Skeleton. If the term could be acceptable. For now it is simply used as there is a lack of a better way of putting it. Of course it is just the first and most numerous of the nightmare that bares down on us.
Mortek Guard are enhanced Ossiarch created by fusing dense bone and numerous souls together that form the core of the Evolved Ossiarch Legions. In battle they can either fight as individuals acting on their own instincts or act with unerring synchrony based on the demands of their leader. At the orders of their commander Mortek lines turn and reform in an instant to create whatever formation is needed and they will never break from it unless broken themselves.
While crafted to fight for their lords and the dark god without question or hesitation they are not unthinking automatons and are capable of independent thought but limited to matters of conflict. During the soul-crafting process it is made sure they have total obedience and devotion to the Dragon, but are given sufficient autonomy to ensure that they can fight on skillfully should their leader be destroyed. Though if that happens they are likely to fall back to regroup and wait for their master to revive.
The Mortek are the refinement of their lesser predecessors. Meaning they are far more effective in the act of killing. Their enhanced forms while comprised of bone are streamlined and extremely tough lacking any vital points. Their strength is more akin to that of an Ogryn than a human. A rather unfortunate fact for the good people of the Imperium.
They are well armored by tireless forges. The metal dyed in the colors of their lords and bedecked in symbols of the Dragon. In their clutches come a variety of weapons. Spears that can shoot limited laser attacks. Plasma throwing devices connected to power packs. Swords enchanted to more easily cut into their targets. More still are being identified over time.
They attack in great cohorts to overwhelm and butcher their foes. Using their durability and unrelenting nature to overwhelm opposition. Responding to changes of strategy at the drop of a hat.
Sadly these monstrosities retain the power of their more primitive selves. Namely the seeming inability to be truly destroyed for the most part. Yes you heard that right. The blasted things are cursed with dark magics. If damaged too badly for necromancy to mend them they disappear. Fading back into existence in their old resting place. Remaining there for a short time then emerging whole once again. This effect seems to grow more pronounced with the right Undead facilities in place. Otherwise requiring strong witchcraft or the destruction of their resting place to halt. Thankfully this now takes far longer to occur due to their altered nature.
Each year more of these monsters are created. The Wight lords finding the transformation pleasing with how it eases the dealing of death.
lol, man its been a long while since i have reread this, and i do look forward to what the QM has in store for us in the final stages of the siege/war thats going on...but all i can say is that its going to be amazing one way or another...
They marched as one across the corrupted palace, Elves, Men, Dwarf, and Undead, their past grievances forgotten, at least for now, as they dealt with something far worse than any of them combined. For the madness that the Great Enemy brought forth was greater than anything, all of them conjure in its terror.
All of those that tried to stop them were crushed by the weight of their blades, hammers, and bullets, for nothing not even the chosen of the Blood God could stop them from their goal, for the end of the months long conflict would soon be at hand if they had anything to say about it. That is not to say that they did not suffer losses, but each one of those warriors that fell would be remembered, if only by them.
At least to the forces of the living, the Undead didn't care, after all, their losses could be replaced in the blink of an eye. But even they were feeling the building losses. The warriors of Khorne fought with savagery rivaled only by a few and little by little, the forces of order began to be cut down.
But even then they persevered and soon their efforts were met with results as they finally had breached the central plaza of the corrupted palace. The Warriors of Chaos doubled their efforts to stop their charge, but they were all swiftly cut down with righteous fury.
Finally, they entered the throne room from where once a mighty prince of Kislev ruled, now blasphemed into something else. The walls and floors had become soaked with the blood of a thousand innocents, and reshaped into a warped brass color that carried the touch of the God of War. The throne, once something majestic to look at now only brought revulsion as it was now essentially a collection of bones belonging to a dozen different species from a myriad of different places and ages that had been reshaped into a seat for the mightiest mortal champion of the Blood God.
Finally sat upon the skull throne was the warlord who had led his legions to Kislev.
Towering above all present was something that could not even be described as being human. The warlord wore scarlet armor that seemed to drip with blood. On it were the snarling faces of Daemons, and upon his belt and dark cape were hundreds of skulls, heralding from a dozen different species that belonged to the world. His eyes were a baleful red, and his mouth seemed to have fused with his armor, creating a mouth filled with thin needles that served as teeth.
He stared at the hordes of enemies with calm detachment, rarely seen in the servants of the Blood God. The warlord rose from his skull throne and then he moved. In the blink of an eye, he was in the middle of the fight, his twin daemonical axes cutting through plate and flesh (or bone) as easily as butter.
While his warriors continued to fall, the warlord continued to fight, and against all odds he changed the tide, no matter if hundreds or thousands descended upon him. They were cut down like nothing. His charge seemed to be unstoppable. It seemed that not even the mightiest or the most skilled of those present could stop him.
Until he dodged a hammer that glowed with light, and a sword bathed in magical flames. The warlord quickly moved back, retreating for the first time since he entered the battle. He looked at the two warriors in front of him while he absently swung his axe to decapitate a Grave Guard that had tried to stab him in the back. His ax's power caused the magic that made the Undead have his unlife to sputter and die.
"Who are you?" The warlord asked the two, his voice sounding more like a daemon than a human, especially since when he spoke, as the metal plates that protected his mouth moved as he opened his mouth to speak.
"I am Tyrion Defender of Ulthuan," The Elven warrior said, his sword bathed in magical flames and his scaled armor glowing thanks to his blade's light.
"And I am Magnus, Warrior Priest of Sigmar," The Priest of the patron god of the Empire said, his hammer glowing with the holy energy that Sigmar granted his Warrior Priests.
The Warrior of Khorne simply saluted them with his weapons, for even if they belonged to rival gods, any warrior that could pose a challenge to him deserved his respect, before he charged at both inhuman speeds.
It impressed the Warrior as both elf and human kept up with his onslaught of blows powerful enough to carve even the scales of a mighty dragon. While he could understand that the elf was the one with more skill than the human and who have naturally greater capabilities, he was surprised that the Priest as well could keep up with him.
The false god's servants had been more than met the eye.
They continued to fight, their duel reaching a fever pitch even as their own forces and allies died all around them. But even with all of Tyrion's and Magnus combined might, they were slowly but surely losing to the leader of the Blood Host that descended upon the cold lands of Kislev.
It was only a matter of time before they would be both struck down by the twin axes that thirsted for their blood and souls.
Until two others joined the battle. The first bore a blade of frost and armor that glowed with magical energies. He was the Tzar of Kislev Adrik Romanoff, and he struck against the Champion of Chaos with all the fury of one who had seen his homeland ravaged could have. The second bore no armor for it would be useless in his quest. On his head was a flaming mohawk, and in his hands a pair of twin axes that were bathed in the blood of both daemon and mortal. He was Gutregg Cinderrage, a Slayer who seeks his glorious doom.
The two turned the tides to the forces of Order, but even then, the mighty warlord of chaos still fought them with such skill and fierceness that none of their blows could land on him while none of his could land on neither of them as it was blocked by one of the four.
What neither of them noticed was the gradual buildup of energy. Khorne saw not the fight but also what his servant had done with only the strength of arms and decided that Alagar, son of Aslog The Breaker, was worthy of the greatest gift Khorne could grant his mortal followers.
It was just as they continued to fight that not only the ones that dueled but also the other forces that fought across the throne room. They all felt a change in the air, like something greater than all of them was now watching the struggle, before the blood spilled across the room flowed and formed currents that headed straight to Alagar.
The blood entered the tiny little cracks in his armor and as it did, Alagar grew stronger and faster. The four that he dueled knew what was happening, and they fought even fiercer than before, for they knew what was happening, and they knew that if they didn't stop this, they were all doomed.
The Chaos Lord continued to fight, faster and faster, his blows raining with the force of a of meteor falling from the heavens, until eventually he lopped off the head of the Tzar of Kislev, and as the torrent of blood exited the wound and entered his armor, Alagar fulfilled the last step necessary and his God granted him his boon.
With a mighty roar that shook the very foundations of the Grand Palace of Praag, a great tornado of both fire and blood large enough to break through the ceiling of the throne room consumed Alagar. And from it, he emerged in a new and terrible form.
"Mortals you were fine warriors, but now it is time to end this," The freshly born Daemon Prince said, his twin daemon axes still gripped in his now titanic hands. They had changed alongside their wielder and were now more gigantic than any man.
All hope seemed lost as the Daemon Prince raised his weapons to lay the last strike against his enemies. Even Tyrion, as he raised his sword, knew that the battle was lost and now everything that they could hope for was a last stand, especially since the influence of the Great Vortex was weak in here and the Daemon Prince was, while not mighty as he should be, still greater than any mortal force. Only the undead tide would have a chance and even then he was sure that they would suffer tremendous casualties, for the Daemon Prince was amongst the Favored of the Blood God.
All others knew this as well, and amongst them, many men that hailed from both Kislev and The Empire could not overcome the despair that they felt and fell to the whispers of chaos.
Only one did not despair, only one still held the same fire as he did when he led the forces of the Empire to Kislev to help in their time of need. Magnus did not waver, nor did he feel that the battle was now lost, for he still held his trust in his faith and in his God, a last act that would have been foolish and naïve.
But that foolish act was more than enough.
In his Kingdom in the Realm of Souls, Sigmar reached out to touch the soul of Magnus and infused it with his power. The change in the act was almost immediate. Magnus's body exploded in golden light, temporarily blinding all mortal eyes that gazed upon him.
Stepping out of the light, Magnus emerged reborn under the aegis of his god. His previously human form had been discarded, now he was something far more, a living conduit to Sigmar's power in the mortal world.
He was now clad in a mighty suit of armor, tinged with gold, his face obscured by a Golden Mask that showed no sign of any type of emotion stuck in an expression that expressed only stoicism. Magnus now towered over all except for the Daemon Prince, and his hammer, which had also grown alongside him, now glowed much more brightly than before.
For it was not only Magnus that was fighting now.
Seeing the new state of his enemy, Alagor bellowed a roar of elation before charging at his enemy, for he knew he was not only fighting an empowered mortal, for a part of Sigmar's divine will now lived inside Magnus's body empowering it with the might of a god.
This became clear as they fought. Each blow between the two was like a thunderclap sending shockwaves that cracked the floors and walls, and sent men and rubble flying in all directions. The energies that composed both of them were also clashing, causing explosions that reduced entire contingents of both forces to dust and then less that dust.
Seeing this, the forces of Order all retreated from the throne room, for this was fight was now clearly beyond any mortal, it was rather good thing that they did so because just as they left the entire throne room was destroyed, the ceilings and walls giving away to reveal the bitter and cold air of Kislev.
Even then, they still fought and fought as their own forces and allies battled all around them. But eventually one of them had to give in, and it was not Magnus, for the grand champion of Sigmar with a mighty blow of his holy hammer he shattered one of his enemies axes, and with another he shattered the other one, leaving the Daemon Prince with no weapon.
Not that he minded it as he continued to fight against the risen Champion of Sigmar with only his fists, but daemonic first meet holy hammer only the first received any wounds and cracks in it, before with a blow infused with holy light Magnus pulverized the Daemon Princes right arm.
He did not let go of his assault, fighting on and on like a man possessed. Holy blow after holy blow did he deliver upon the mighty daemon blasting off chunks of his body that caused the Daemon Prince to roar in rage and glee, for this battle was everything that he had ever wanted.
Finally, Magnus delivered the last blow of the fight, infused with the power that now lived inside him, his hammer glowing so brightly that it looked like the sun itself had descended upon the mortal realm. Magnus swung it, a blow that held the might of a god, and it utterly destroyed the prince's form, eliminating any traces of it from the mortal realm.
His essence,on the other hand, survived the blow, for the Blood God does not allow those he calls his favored to die so easily.
Magnus stood tall, the light around him glowing as it never did before, before he fell to his knee and it started parting as if out of breath. Magnus' body was beyond any mortal man, but it was still the body of mortal, and no mortal body could ever hold the will of a god, and Sigmar knew this.
Slowly, Magnus's body, and soul were being crushed into nonexistence. If this continued, he would be reduced to dust, something that his god would not allow.
"You have done good Magnus. When you awake go with my blessing," The Will of Sigmar that resided inside him said before removing itself from his body.
Without the might of his god infusing him with seemly infinite energy, Magnus passed out, and at the same time not only was the last force of the Blood God was purged from the city and its surroundings, but in all of Kislev it seemed like all the forces of the Blood Tide were trapped in a state of confusion as most them withdrew in mass to the north as a voice in it was calling for them.
Magnus would be found nearly an hour later by the forces of Kislev and safely escorted to his own forces.
~~~~
Asavar Kul The Everchosen looked at the desolate lands in front of him in absolute silence. For some, this would be considered an act that would betray one's rage, but Alagar knew that this was actually a sign of contentedness from his lord.
"I see you succeed in your quest, my Lord," Alagar said, looking at the new items and mount that the Everchosen had in him.
The Armor of Morkar, the Eye of Sheerian, and Doghar The Steed of The Apocalypse.
"Not yet, there are still two left, and only them can my true plan begin," Asavar said, still looking at the desolate wastelands in front of him.
Only the Chaos Gods knew what he was planning, and in a rare moment of union, all of them agreed he would succeed even if they didn't intervene.
"Oh, and I almost forgot, did those Dragon Ogres arrive in time?"
Q/M ─ This took much longer to finish than I expected. Now I am going to work on the aftermath where you will be presented with a choice. And of course, threadmark all the different omakes.
Well that's good, the dragon ogres would have been a pain, and hell with less of them around shit will get real…just a shame that magnus got the final blow and didn't kill the bastard permanently…and now we're going to be fighting a true everchosen huh? Man that's going to utterly suck.
I like an honorable shout-out to go to the forces of KISLEV. They were both the linebreakers to get into the Palace as well as the Tzar's contributions to the fight before it went DBZ Daemon Battle.
