The Reforging of the Rune of Purge
TinyGladiator
Just another SVer
- Location
- I move alot.
Hiya! Decided to make an omake on a Rune, the once forgotten Master Rune of Purge, due to the fact that this thing could (and seem like it will soon) be upgraded by Kesar Dorlin all the way back to when he became a Tier 3 Daemonsbane. He is now a Tier 6 Daemonsbane, an Anathema and now also a newly awakened psyker. It will certainly be a sight to enhance this Rune into what it can now become.
-----
The Reforging of the Rune of Purge.
There is a sound. A fire building.
You are Kesar Dorlin, Primarch of the Eternal Wardens and Anathema against Chaos, and here you worked upon an old project.
There is a sound. A hammer striking an anvil.
When it came to the psychic craft you had devoted the most time and attention towards, the Runecraft you had calculated and carved and constructed, the secret behind how it truly worked was that it was pure expression of yourself.
There is a sound. A sharp resonances across your mind. Again.
To those that knew you, that truly knew you and all that you did, they would know that there was one thing that was always on your mind. As inescapable as a shadow, as unforgettable as deepest grief, as omnipresent as the Immaterium. Your great enemy. Your bottomless rage you felt for it and all that it had done. Your means to stop and slay them.
There is a sound. A rush of air, a stillness of being, a molten malleability. Like sand into glass, bent into shape, struck with absolute focus of mind and intent. Again.
Yet in truth, there were simply no words that could fully describe the hatred you possessed for Chaos. It was impossible to capture your feelings in a book, in dialogue, in a record of voice and narration.
Not in the names you carried in plate and blade, not in the graves or ashes that had been dug, not in the memorial that you built bit by bit as so many more of your sons died in the name of this eternal war.
But there was a way to capture that in a form of purity and power, that reflected and expressed that hatred into a tool that could be used against them. For that was the daemon, a being of expression and thought and power.
To fight them, one had to know their rules and ways. The Warp expressed all and it followed its laws of mind and emotion. The daemons would know your hatred and burn it into nothingness.
There is a sound. A hammer of brilliant starlight, carved by deeper understanding and ignited by high contempt. A Rune being reforged.
You had challenged the very Chaos Gods, the supposed divine masters of the Warp, and you and your sons had won time and time again.
You had reclaimed Valhalla, your dear homeworld, from the long war it had waged against the vile presence that hung over the planet for millennia.
You had become the Daemonsbane of mankind, striking fear into the black hearts within the accursed daemons you butchered, the very nature of your being going against those monsters.
You had brought death to some of the worst monsters that lurked within the Warp. Kairos Fateweaver, the grand oracle that had dared to kill your dear Scafrir and paid the ultimate price. The Changeling, the perfect shapeshifter that had finally died upon a burning world by you and your twin siblings. Lorgar Aurelian, your fallen brother, allowing execution to end his madness.
You had become an Anathema, a mantle possessed only by your creator, and in that moment you had brought nothing but death to all. Your greatest sons had also joined you as Daemonsbanes, champions against the Archenemy you all faced together. You had all helped banish one of the greatest Warp rifts that the galaxy had ever known, leaving only a small trace of its existence while the countless worlds were now free to be struck.
You were then opened to the Warp by the help of your father, the wound-seal upon your being utterly broken and expunged from your soul, a psychic awakening that let you grasp and silence the surrounding Warp itself.
Aside from the fields of battle and war, there were other ways you had achieved victory with the Immaterium. Breakthroughs in scientific Warp-technology, psychic understanding, a planet for Rune-crafters.
By your own hand, taking your Runecraft to heights you'd never believe possible, you had found the shape of 'Anathema' as it resonated to your being. Your history, your present and even your future as you fought against Chaos had been laid into a design that even you could not fully trace.
But today is not the day for that particular design, the Primal energies that outshined the stars when you focused upon its expanse, nor for the Grandmaster work that had been the Rune of Purity that had brought righteous and final death to many daemons since its creation.
Today, the Rune of Purge laid before you.
In physical space, in your mind, there were psychic equations that were calculated with complex mathematics that were akin to the snippets of mathematical expression you saw in your creator's notes. Extra channels, deeper elements, longer and shorter. A process of refining and expansion, a whole new layer of possibility that you had not seen when first made. Experience had been a guide into new conceptual vistas, as well as all you had researched and your new life as a psyker.
As a psyker… you dreamed as you forged.
An unforgiving judge wreathed in flame, armour clear as crystal and glass, as transparent as a ghost risen from hell. In its hands were ash and emptiness, remains and absence, spiked gauntlets to tear through and crush its foe. It was as cold as ice as it doused the flames of madness, as dominating as harsh winter. It spoke to you as a mountain would speak, as wind, as air, as fire. Pure meaning without human words.
It spoke of duty. A vigilant spectre that watched over all around it. It spoke of strength. The deeper understanding you possessed. It spoke of rage. Burning and cold, focused with clear intent, with an enemy you knew all too well.
Such hatred resonated with you. It sparked in your soul, it intertwined with this concept. Not to purge as in to physically remove something, to clean dirt and dust from the inner workings of a mechanism, but to spiritually purge a metaphysical concept.
Where Purity was wielded as a shield or as a sword, often both at once, Purge was flame in its form of cleansing absolution. It burned corruption like nothing else, tearing it away from the very root until no trace of its existence remained.
You have made fine weapons, you have made enduring shields, you have grasped the essence of your own nature as a being that was Anathema to Chaos. What you needed here was to take your hatred, your very nature, and let it strip away the dark miasma that was the presence and influence of daemons. To become fuel to this fire, your mind and will harnessed, all you had grown and done since you first made this glyph turned into tools.
In this eternal war against ruin, you had to face it on so many fronts than just direct combat and destruction. That was why your dear Oriacarius Gielux, First Captain and Legion Master of the Eternal Wardens, delved so deeply into his contingencies. Your enemy did not just act upon the same rules and ways of warfare that any other foe did, they had countless more tools and means at their disposal.
Chaos fell upon the Materium like a howling storm upon the earth, the winds tearing up at the land and and all that laid upon it, its poison falling as rain that flowed across for any cracked rock or unprotected soil to seep through. It would fester as rot, linger as radiation, creating a wasteland of nightmares.
With this glyph you had reformed, it would remove that poison. It would burn the corruption and the darkness, it would excise the filth until none of it remained. It could not mend what was fully broken, toxic soil would remain dead soil even when its contamination was removed. The Rune would be a symbol of salvation, of light that shined brightly against the foul night.
For a machine twisted by a daemon, or even fully possessed by one, it could remain completely non-functional without repair as the fell influence was banished. A human heavily corrupted by Chaos would die as what remained of their soul and body wasn't enough to cling to life, compared to one who was only lightly tainted as their essence was burned by this glyph. It couldn't bring back what was truly lost, only save what was left as it destroyed everything else.
It was somewhat unfortunate with how blunt this concept worked as a tool, you had to admit. Not reflecting the idea to just cleanse or purify or remove, but to utterly eradicate. 'Purge' brought to mind a merciless way to get rid of something, to break it entirely with hatred than surgical precision.
The focus was away from trying to preserve what was being purified, with the intent concentrated primarily in removing the presence of Chaos. That was all that it needed to be, and now it could do so with far greater capability than before. The concept flowed through the Warp into the new gateway you were creating, deeper and stronger than before, a Rune reforged by profound inspiration as Daemonsbane and as Anathema.
A finality of creation occurs. Every detail is brought into alignment. Every aspect of shape and intent is woven into something greater than the sum of its parts. Every calculation reaches a conclusion that exemplifies order, purification and the destruction of Chaos.
There is a sound. A clear note of resonance. A conflux of wind and power flowing to a single point. A whisper of a name that grew louder across the concept itself. It is done.
The judge took upon the hammer you had used in the dream, shining with a light that could neither dim nor fade. To the Maelstrom it would be sent, to all battlefields that where you and your sons fought your great enemy, to all places of corruption and daemonic influence.
The Rune of Purge had been remade.
-----
The Reforging of the Rune of Purge.
There is a sound. A fire building.
You are Kesar Dorlin, Primarch of the Eternal Wardens and Anathema against Chaos, and here you worked upon an old project.
There is a sound. A hammer striking an anvil.
When it came to the psychic craft you had devoted the most time and attention towards, the Runecraft you had calculated and carved and constructed, the secret behind how it truly worked was that it was pure expression of yourself.
There is a sound. A sharp resonances across your mind. Again.
To those that knew you, that truly knew you and all that you did, they would know that there was one thing that was always on your mind. As inescapable as a shadow, as unforgettable as deepest grief, as omnipresent as the Immaterium. Your great enemy. Your bottomless rage you felt for it and all that it had done. Your means to stop and slay them.
There is a sound. A rush of air, a stillness of being, a molten malleability. Like sand into glass, bent into shape, struck with absolute focus of mind and intent. Again.
Yet in truth, there were simply no words that could fully describe the hatred you possessed for Chaos. It was impossible to capture your feelings in a book, in dialogue, in a record of voice and narration.
Not in the names you carried in plate and blade, not in the graves or ashes that had been dug, not in the memorial that you built bit by bit as so many more of your sons died in the name of this eternal war.
But there was a way to capture that in a form of purity and power, that reflected and expressed that hatred into a tool that could be used against them. For that was the daemon, a being of expression and thought and power.
To fight them, one had to know their rules and ways. The Warp expressed all and it followed its laws of mind and emotion. The daemons would know your hatred and burn it into nothingness.
There is a sound. A hammer of brilliant starlight, carved by deeper understanding and ignited by high contempt. A Rune being reforged.
You had challenged the very Chaos Gods, the supposed divine masters of the Warp, and you and your sons had won time and time again.
You had reclaimed Valhalla, your dear homeworld, from the long war it had waged against the vile presence that hung over the planet for millennia.
You had become the Daemonsbane of mankind, striking fear into the black hearts within the accursed daemons you butchered, the very nature of your being going against those monsters.
You had brought death to some of the worst monsters that lurked within the Warp. Kairos Fateweaver, the grand oracle that had dared to kill your dear Scafrir and paid the ultimate price. The Changeling, the perfect shapeshifter that had finally died upon a burning world by you and your twin siblings. Lorgar Aurelian, your fallen brother, allowing execution to end his madness.
You had become an Anathema, a mantle possessed only by your creator, and in that moment you had brought nothing but death to all. Your greatest sons had also joined you as Daemonsbanes, champions against the Archenemy you all faced together. You had all helped banish one of the greatest Warp rifts that the galaxy had ever known, leaving only a small trace of its existence while the countless worlds were now free to be struck.
You were then opened to the Warp by the help of your father, the wound-seal upon your being utterly broken and expunged from your soul, a psychic awakening that let you grasp and silence the surrounding Warp itself.
Aside from the fields of battle and war, there were other ways you had achieved victory with the Immaterium. Breakthroughs in scientific Warp-technology, psychic understanding, a planet for Rune-crafters.
By your own hand, taking your Runecraft to heights you'd never believe possible, you had found the shape of 'Anathema' as it resonated to your being. Your history, your present and even your future as you fought against Chaos had been laid into a design that even you could not fully trace.
But today is not the day for that particular design, the Primal energies that outshined the stars when you focused upon its expanse, nor for the Grandmaster work that had been the Rune of Purity that had brought righteous and final death to many daemons since its creation.
Today, the Rune of Purge laid before you.
In physical space, in your mind, there were psychic equations that were calculated with complex mathematics that were akin to the snippets of mathematical expression you saw in your creator's notes. Extra channels, deeper elements, longer and shorter. A process of refining and expansion, a whole new layer of possibility that you had not seen when first made. Experience had been a guide into new conceptual vistas, as well as all you had researched and your new life as a psyker.
As a psyker… you dreamed as you forged.
An unforgiving judge wreathed in flame, armour clear as crystal and glass, as transparent as a ghost risen from hell. In its hands were ash and emptiness, remains and absence, spiked gauntlets to tear through and crush its foe. It was as cold as ice as it doused the flames of madness, as dominating as harsh winter. It spoke to you as a mountain would speak, as wind, as air, as fire. Pure meaning without human words.
It spoke of duty. A vigilant spectre that watched over all around it. It spoke of strength. The deeper understanding you possessed. It spoke of rage. Burning and cold, focused with clear intent, with an enemy you knew all too well.
Such hatred resonated with you. It sparked in your soul, it intertwined with this concept. Not to purge as in to physically remove something, to clean dirt and dust from the inner workings of a mechanism, but to spiritually purge a metaphysical concept.
Where Purity was wielded as a shield or as a sword, often both at once, Purge was flame in its form of cleansing absolution. It burned corruption like nothing else, tearing it away from the very root until no trace of its existence remained.
You have made fine weapons, you have made enduring shields, you have grasped the essence of your own nature as a being that was Anathema to Chaos. What you needed here was to take your hatred, your very nature, and let it strip away the dark miasma that was the presence and influence of daemons. To become fuel to this fire, your mind and will harnessed, all you had grown and done since you first made this glyph turned into tools.
In this eternal war against ruin, you had to face it on so many fronts than just direct combat and destruction. That was why your dear Oriacarius Gielux, First Captain and Legion Master of the Eternal Wardens, delved so deeply into his contingencies. Your enemy did not just act upon the same rules and ways of warfare that any other foe did, they had countless more tools and means at their disposal.
Chaos fell upon the Materium like a howling storm upon the earth, the winds tearing up at the land and and all that laid upon it, its poison falling as rain that flowed across for any cracked rock or unprotected soil to seep through. It would fester as rot, linger as radiation, creating a wasteland of nightmares.
With this glyph you had reformed, it would remove that poison. It would burn the corruption and the darkness, it would excise the filth until none of it remained. It could not mend what was fully broken, toxic soil would remain dead soil even when its contamination was removed. The Rune would be a symbol of salvation, of light that shined brightly against the foul night.
For a machine twisted by a daemon, or even fully possessed by one, it could remain completely non-functional without repair as the fell influence was banished. A human heavily corrupted by Chaos would die as what remained of their soul and body wasn't enough to cling to life, compared to one who was only lightly tainted as their essence was burned by this glyph. It couldn't bring back what was truly lost, only save what was left as it destroyed everything else.
It was somewhat unfortunate with how blunt this concept worked as a tool, you had to admit. Not reflecting the idea to just cleanse or purify or remove, but to utterly eradicate. 'Purge' brought to mind a merciless way to get rid of something, to break it entirely with hatred than surgical precision.
The focus was away from trying to preserve what was being purified, with the intent concentrated primarily in removing the presence of Chaos. That was all that it needed to be, and now it could do so with far greater capability than before. The concept flowed through the Warp into the new gateway you were creating, deeper and stronger than before, a Rune reforged by profound inspiration as Daemonsbane and as Anathema.
A finality of creation occurs. Every detail is brought into alignment. Every aspect of shape and intent is woven into something greater than the sum of its parts. Every calculation reaches a conclusion that exemplifies order, purification and the destruction of Chaos.
There is a sound. A clear note of resonance. A conflux of wind and power flowing to a single point. A whisper of a name that grew louder across the concept itself. It is done.
The judge took upon the hammer you had used in the dream, shining with a light that could neither dim nor fade. To the Maelstrom it would be sent, to all battlefields that where you and your sons fought your great enemy, to all places of corruption and daemonic influence.
The Rune of Purge had been remade.
Last edited:
