Post by khornateemperor on Feb 5, 2009 9:21:54 GMT -5
It was a dark time… various war bands are vying for power, and the burden of gaining that power fell on him and those like him: the Champions. They fought the battles because it saved more lives than all out war. And it was just easier. Why though? Why them? It’s because of their inhuman martial abilities, marked at birth for a lifetime of killing… And the fact, at least in his case, that the Chieftains hold their families hostage. Lord-Chief Lucarion has actually taken his wife for his own…use. But as he stands, there, now he swears it with Lord-God Khorne as his witness, He shall kill Lucarion and gain his family’s freedom!
Wind whistled through the rocky battleground. Bodies littered the field for hundreds of feet in every direction. The dirt was dyed dark red, almost purple in spots from the amount of blood, which fountained from cloven limbs and such. It wasn't the first battlefield I'd witnessed, nor would it be the last I suppose. Some of the fighting between combatants was so fierce that even their corpses remained locked in contest after the cold embrace of death. I myself was a straggler, looting the bodies of armor to replace or upgrade my current protection from the battle just fought.
All of a sudden I get this feeling that I'm not alone and it sends a shiver down my spine. The air goes cold and I can see my breath. I hear the clash of weapons and deafening bangs and a deep laughter.
“Drak’narak” whispers a powerful voice in my head, “Lord-God Khorne has heard your oath and is willing to give you the tools and the abilities to achieve your goals…for a price…”
“What is this sorcery!?” I demand aloud. “Show yourself, Daemon!”
“Ha ha ha” came a low, throaty laugh. “ You don’t know how right you are… My name, just to clarify, is Doombreed. The price Lord Khorne asks is simple, your eternal soul, an eternity in daemon hood, for realization of your goals.”
Not Doombreed... It can't be. Lord Khorne never answers a call...
“Ah but it is,” replies Doombreed "And He does if the asker is judged to be worthy."
I jumped, not knowing he could read my mind
“Ha ha ha. Yes, I can read your thoughts. I was once a human such as you, but when the time for my death came Lord Khorne blessed me with eternal life as a Daemon for services rendered. And,” he replied with a hint of amusement in his voice. “I’m surprised I’m still remembered all these millennia later. So, Drak, What is your answer? Will you accept Lord Khorne’s offer?
“I will gladly pay such a price, an serve Lord Khorne faithfully for all eternity, if he bestows upon me the tools and abilities to achieve my ends!” I think in as loud and powerful a voice I could muster in my head, figuring that if Doombreed can hear my thoughts then I don’t need to say it aloud.
“Good.” Replies Doombreed, “ Are you prepared for the trials ahead?’
“Yes.”
“Will you serve unflinchingly?”
“Yes.”
“Then be prepared to receive your blessing!” booms Doombreed’s voice
Then, as I watch in wonder, an ethereal hand reaches out and touches the center of my chest, and the pain rips through me as if a bolt of lightning. There is immense burning pain where the hand touches along with the aromatic smell of cooking meat… As I fall into unconsciousness I hear the laughter of thirsting gods…
When I wake, it is under the stars, their blue-black color still astounds me to this day, although I lay and look at them every night. It reminds me of how small we really are when we try to make ourselves seem like we really matter. I sit up and look around, forgetting where I was. It is on a plain, a few tufts of grass sticking up here and there, just enough for the roaming vorrak to survive on. As the wind blows, it kicks up the dust, and a few yards away there is a small dust devil. I was covered in sweat, despite the relative chilly-ness of the air around me, that mid-summer chill of the night.
Then, then the throb of pain jolts me back into the present and the events of the past day. Doombreed, Khorne, and the burning sensation… I look down at my chest and there, branded into the skin, is the death-skull symbol of Khorne.
“Welcome back” says Doombreed, with more than a hint of amusement. “ That mark of Khorne lets one and all know that you are His property, and you owe your allegiance to none other than Him, and by extension me.”
I reach up and touch the back of my neck where Lucarion had me branded when he took me, and to my joy it was gone! But then a feeling of loss set in, because it was part of me, part of my past, part of my history, and now it was gone forever…
“Now,” Doombreed says, “You will be tested to your limits. There will be a test before you will have the tools, which you will need to achieve your goals. They will get progressively more difficult as Lord Khorne blesses you, needing to keep the right to bear his gifts, as well as earn them. A day east of here is a village devoted to the god Slaanesh. They have chosen the wrong god. Show them the error of their ways by slaughtering every last man, woman, and child in that village. Be forewarned though, none of them are as defenseless as they seem.”
“How do you expect me to do this?” I ask, “Slaaneshi are faster than any peoples on this planet. None can triumph over the speed given to them by Slaanesh. And they revel in pain, so simply subduing them until I can kill is out of the question! Lord Khorne is mad! It cannot be done.”
Doombreed replies, with a hint of bruised ego and offence “Do you doubt the will of Lord Khorne!?”
“N-Not at a-“ I stutter in my mind.
“Do you believe Lord Khorne, greatest and oldest, First-Born of all the Chaos Gods would allow you to walk into the lions den unprepared? Do you think He sent me, His second ever Daemon Prince, as merely a messenger? That work is beneath me. I am here to teach you. I am here to ensure you succeed. DO NOT ever question the will of Khorne again, or you will find that all the horrors of this world are nothing compared to what I will do to you!” He finishes, simmering with anger.
And on that note, we set out in silence. I wonder if he’ll still teach me now, after I’ve done that… He has to, he made the pact with me, and if he doesn’t, hopefully Lord Khorne will send someone who will. We traveled at night because no one questions you. You don’t get in anyone’s way, you don’t draw attention to yourself, so when dawn came, with the pinks and reds and yellows of the sunrise, it was time to sleep. Doombreed hasn’t checked back in a while…I wonder when he was going to teach me.
“Doombreed?” I thought. “Where are you?” No reply.
“Doombreed?” I say aloud. Still no reply, “I’m sorry!” I yell.
Still nothing. Hopefully, he’ll be back later because I need his help. This task is impossible. There are rumors of people triumphing over 2 Slaaneshi, but never an entire village. I’m going to need a lot of help, I think, as I finish making my bed of dirt and the few grasses I can find. Then I fall into a deep sleep, after one very eventful day…
The din of battle fills my ears. The coppery smell of blood freshly spilled fills my nostrils and make my heart leap with excitement. Oh, how I can almost taste it! The bloodlust pounds in my veins and the thump of my heart is in my ears… How I long to be in battle! It’s only then do I realize that I am in battle. I assume they’re Slaaneshi, but its hard to tell through the red haze of the bloodlust, and everyone appears to be a slight tinge of purple. I can’t really tell where we are because the area, my surroundings all, are blurry.
The Slaaneshi are even faster than the stories say. I barely dodge the attack from one Slaaneshi that I saw coming from what seemed like miles away, while at the same time, they have no problems dodging my feints and trick maneuvers. There are even children, wielding wicked looking blades and fanged maces, combating me. I feint at the legs of one scimitar wielding Slaaneshi, while going for another’s head with my trusty axe. Her movement was as fast as lightning, dodging my gore-coated axe, but falling to my mysterious bronze mace. As fast as I can blink, another takes her place, and then leaps high into the air over my head, and lands behind me. I notice that all Slaaneshi fight barefoot and the women bare breasted. Their chests swaying hypnotically from side to side, calling to me, wanting to lay down my weapons and lay with all of them in bed… I snap out of my reverie in time to turn and try to avoid her attack, but not fast enough, for her small blade slips between my ribs and punctures my left lung, driving the breath from my chest. She laughs maniacally as my blood runs down her hands and she rubs it between her fingers like it is the most pleasurable substance she has ever known. I manage to trap her other arm and cleave her knife-arm off at the shoulder. Instead of screaming out in pain as I had expected, she shuddered in orgasmic pleasure and laughed again. However, with my attention focused singularly on her I fail to notice the arm, which reaches out and cuts my throat with a flick of the wrist, and there’s nothing I can do about it…
I sit bolt upright in the pile of dirt that serves as my bedding, covered in a cold sweat and my heart pounding in my chest. I try to wipe off some of the clinging mud, but in vain, for it was right then that Doombreed decided to show up again.
“You fail. You must remember, young Bloodthirster, that these are not one-on-one combats. You were battling an entire village, children and all, and by allowing your attention to be focused, even for one second on a singular enemy, you have fallen. Next, you are used to fighting as a pillar in battle. You must learn to fight like a willow, strong yet flexible and able to overcome all but the strongest foes.”
“Doombreed!” I say contemptuously, “You had me scared half to death! I thought you had abandoned me! Why wouldn’t you tell me my lessons would come as dreams? I thought I was going crazy!”
‘I rather had fun watching you lose your mind over my absence. And Lord Khorne made it clear I was with you until the end, whether I liked it or not. And as for your dreams, they will be like that until the end of your quest…or your death. Notice how in the last dream you were fighting Slaaneshi? Your dreams are now foretelling the future and their possible outcomes.” He replies ominously.
“So I can tell the future now? Isn’t that a Tzeentchi power? Why? And that can really happen? At least now I know what to expect. Just one more thing, where did I receive that bronze mace? I’ve only ever fought with Deathreaver, for it was gifted to me the day I killed my father and took over as Champion. I’m proficient with all types of close combat weaponry, but my uses of the mace have only been in training circles, and never a bronze one. Where do I obtain such a finely crafted weapon?”
“Evil deeds come to those who wait. Patience, my friend, is a virtue at this moment, and Khorne forbids me to reveal where you get such an exquisitely desecrated mace. Now Drak, we must set out for the Slaaneshi village and the trials which await you there.”
And so we set out, although it was more like I. Doombreed was quiet and non-existent once again. Essentially alone, I found small ways to pass the time while I was traveling, flipping my knife, running the dexterity drill.... Which is a lot harder than it sounds seeing as I was traveling in the dark. Stab, flip, cut, cut, spin, stab, pull back, flip upwards, and stab downwards. It was like a mantra after a while, and soon I was doing it with blurring speed as the sun rose.
"Drak!" Doombreed's voice booms in my head.
"Spidge!" I swear. He startled me in the middle of my dexterity drill, and my knife opened a gash about 4 inches long on the flesh of my right forearm, nearly to the bone. The blood was running like a torrent from the wound.
"Sigmar!" I swear again.
"Lesson number two," Doombreed begins "Lord Khorne doesn't care from whence the blood flows, only that it does. Be careful and vigilant. Spill blood often, for if you don't, you'll find yourself a victim of the axe's bite, regardless of service to Him. Now stitch your wound and move out."
Grumbling about the most recent turn of events, I began the preparations for stitching my wound. I pull off my belt and stretch it tightly around my upper forearm. I then pull out my water skin and pour some water on the wound, followed by some firejuice to clean it, and to have a swig for myself, of course. Finally, I pull out a needle and a thread out of my "first aid kit" and begin to stitch it up my arm. At first there was lancing pain, but it turned to a dull throb as time went on. In and out, 14 times. When I was finished, I cleaned it with the rest of my water and wrapped it in some cloth. I'd have to get more water in the next village.
I began to run into more and more people as we came to the town of Autarch, the town where my fate was to be decided. I walk into the center of town, an Icon to Slaanesh, god of Hedonism and Excess, is to be found. I pull out Deathreaver, and gaze at the purple tinged Slaaneshi going about their day of orgies and gluttony, disgusted. I pull back with Deathreaver, and with a mighty yell, shatter the glyph. The change was almost imperceptible, except that the villagers stopped what they were doing, and stood stone solid at the desecration of their revered relic. I am readying myself for the battle to come. The blood rage flows through my body, my eyes as black as night, vision tinged with red. I was bounding toward the nearest Slaaneshi and decapitated him in a fountain of blood before all hell broke loose.
A villager wielding a long sword jumps and somersaults in the air, the blade whistles down to cleave me from collar to crotch. I jump into the air, meeting him and taking his legs, and with the follow through, his head, in one swift motion. I hit the ground running, parry a blow from a female wielding a dagger, and eviscerate her with my axe, the bloodthirster within the weapon crying out with joy for the fresh blood on the blade. I flip over the blow to the knees from a mace-wielding child and cleave him in half on the way down, the mist of red covering my body, and boot another in the face in the same series of moves. Another was impaled upon the blade of a short sword I picked up to use in my off hand. The battle raged for what seemed like days, but was really only a few hours, and I was covered from head to toe in cuts and bruises. My axe arm, the right, was exhausted and blood was pouring from my stitches from a blocked punch. My left arm took a nasty twist when a Slaaneshi fell with the sword in her, probably a sprained wrist. I feint at the legs of one scimitar wielding Slaaneshi, while going for another’s head with my trusty axe. Her movement was as fast as lightning, dodging my gore-coated axe, but falling to a broken neck from my kick. As fast as I can blink, another takes her place, and then leaps high into the air over my head, and lands behind me. I avoid her attack and she laughs maniacally as I trap her arm and cleave her knife-arm off at the shoulder. Instead of screaming out in pain as I had expected, she shuddered in orgasmic pleasure and laughs again. I spin, remembering this part of my dream, and bury my axe in the final Slaaneshi's chest up to the handle, and rip it out with a massive roar of triumph.
Next thing I know, its pitch black, and I hear an ethereal screaming in the shadows...
“Who's there!” I yell, readying my axe once more.
“Do not ask which creature screams in the night, do not question who waits for you in the shadow. It is my cry you hear in the night, and my body that crouches in the shadow. I am Tzeentch and you are the puppet that dances to my tune.” Comes the reply, in a sinuous, snakelike, mysterious voice.
“Are you afraid of death my son? Death, disease, pox; they are all my creations. Come, embrace Grandfather Nurgle, and you will have nothing to fear ever again.” comes another bile ridden, gentle, and wheezing reply.
“Follow me, my Children, and the glory of victory shall be yours. We shall cleanse ourselves in the crimson waters of our enemy. We shall bring the ecstasy of quick release to those who stand before us. Follow Slaanesh, and you shall taste the undreamt joys beyond mortal flesh.” comes an alluring, hypnotic, and sensual voice.
“The strong are strongest alone... And by Khorne, you are the strong.” comes a brutal, powerful and deep voice, with a sense of finality.
“Oh dear Chaos, its the pantheon” I gasp aloud.
“Yes,” come all four voices, as one. “We are Chaos, save one renegade god. He is Lucarion's patron, Lucarion is your goal. We will give you the tools. We will give you the strength. Take this suit of armor, made from brass and star metal. The right arm imbued with a bloodthirster, for fury, left with a keeper of secrets, for speed. Left greave with lord of change, for psychic walls, and right with great unclean one, for protection. This suit is your faith, hate your weapon. With it, you will conquer Lucarion, or die trying.”
“It's beautiful...,” was all I could say.
“Take this mace, Gorechild, for not only is it a potent weapon, but it has...other uses.”
“Thank you” is what I muster
“Go... fulfill your destiny...” comes the whispered reply.
I don the armor, and heft the mace, and surprisingly for its gigantic size, it's incredibly light. the head was a massive khornate glyph, an exact copy of the one on my bracer. There was also something...else about the mace that I can't quite put my finger on... But the darkness clears, and standing before me, in full battle gear, was Lucarion...
He was eight feet tall, five hundred pounds, and his skin was black as night. He was dressed in full battle gear, star metal armor and his massive sword, drawn and at the ready. There were legends of his sword, that it could cut through steel, stone, and star metal with the ease of a hot knife through butter. His standard had a Skull, half black, half white bisected with an arrow, the symbol of Mal’al, the Hated One, renegade god of Chaos.
The room we were in was his personal gladiatorial arena. The earth was packed hard and there were stains of blood from battles past. The gates were down, wrought iron fences with fallen enemies impaled upon them. The stands were filled with screaming faces and jeering children. Presumably his god warned him of my coming. It didn’t matter, it couldn’t. I was blessed by four, him by one; the odds were against him.
“Greetings, Drak,” he says in his deep baritone, charismatic voice. It had the accent of a learned man, although he had never been to school. It was very proper, and he enunciated each syllable clearly.
“Lucarion.” I spat back.
“So that’s it then? I gave you a life and you spit on me? You don’t like the things I’ve given you?”
“At what cost? My family as prisoner? Wife as your concubine? You spit on the true gods and now their reckoning is upon you. “
“True gods? You know nothing. My god is firstborn of the pantheon. You worship false gods. And, by all rights, to you puny people, I should be a god. I was not born of this earth. My god told me the truth when all others lied. I fell in a comet, born in the far future, and scattered from my father by your gods.”
“Enough talk, lets end this!”
“ Before we do, take a look.” And he points to the sideline.
My two boys are on the side, chained to his throne. My wife, dressed…well if you can call it dressed, chains about her as well. With an inhuman roar, I rush at him.
He waits until the last second and sidesteps the blow from my axe, and punches me in the face with his massive fist. I fall to the ground and see stars, my helmet dented from the force of the blow, which would have cracked my skull without it.
“Move” Comes Doombreed’s voice in my ear.
I roll to the side and just where my face had been moments before, was his sword buried halfway up its blade into the ground. I jump up and rid myself of the dented helmet, freeing up my peripheral vision. I spin and swing at him with Gorechild, He tears the sword from the ground and blocks, Gorechild only succeeding in knocking the clod of earth off his blade. He swings and I parry, the shock of it numbing my arm. Only then do I realize as I quickly look to my arm that all of the bruises and scrapes of the previous battle were gone, as well as my stitches. I make the decision then to not block, but dodge, because the sheer force of his blows will tire me out. I swing with both weapons and he parries with significant ease, and does a spinning leg sweep with speed and agility unnatural to his size. And so the battle went, him easily blocking and parrying my blows, I, barely dodging his. It was the difference between our martial abilities, He was like the master craftsman and I was a mere child.
“Move right” I hear Doombreed’s voice again.
And so I did, right into Lucarion’s sword thrust. It entered my body just below my ribcage, and the point exited from my collarbone. He pulled it out with as much speed and brutality he could muster.
“Foolish mortal, did you really believe that you could best me? I was born in the 41st Millennium, from a forge of steel and bone. You lost before you began.” Were the last words I hear as I slip into unconsciousness. Oddly enough, Gorechild slips from my grasp and stands straight up, handle down on the earth…
I wake up standing before a traditional Daemon, sitting on a throne of Brass and skulls, amid a river of blood. He holds an axe in his hand, which dwarfs planets. It was Lord Khorne.
“Drak you have failed me.” Booms a voice so loud that it hurts my ears.
“Please, Lord, I’ve done my best!” I protest.
“Ha ha ha” he laughs deeply, “So you did. Tell me, would you like another chance?”
“Yes Lord, please, I live to serve!”
“Then so be it…”
I see my death in slow motion, as if from the sidelines. Lucarion turns to address the people.
“Anyone else!?” He bellows. “Anyone? Four gods blessed this man, and he couldn’t kill me. Who of you would try?”
The crowd is silent out of awe, for behind Lucarion, my body has floated into the air, and Gorechild is glowing. Lucarion notices this and turns. All of a sudden, my body explodes in a wave of gore and a mist of blood. Gorechild glows brighter. I feel a pull at my body and the blood and gore, comes back together, and forms a giant daemonic entity. I feel my consciousness settle into my new form, and I pick up Deathreaver. Lucarion falls to his knees and begs forgiveness. I’m not feeling so merciful, and I cleave his body in half at the waist, Deathreaver now grown proportionate to my size, and is as tall as Lucarion was. Gorechild, psychic beacon that it was, began to glow brighter once again. A group of eight furies appear.
“Lord, we are sent by Chaos Undivided. We are yours to serve.”
From the blood of Lucarion’s corpse rises a gigantic brass throne. I sit upon it, Lucarion’s skull under my right hand. I had become the Khornate Emperor, the dark Gods emissary on earth
Wind whistled through the rocky battleground. Bodies littered the field for hundreds of feet in every direction. The dirt was dyed dark red, almost purple in spots from the amount of blood, which fountained from cloven limbs and such. It wasn't the first battlefield I'd witnessed, nor would it be the last I suppose. Some of the fighting between combatants was so fierce that even their corpses remained locked in contest after the cold embrace of death. I myself was a straggler, looting the bodies of armor to replace or upgrade my current protection from the battle just fought.
All of a sudden I get this feeling that I'm not alone and it sends a shiver down my spine. The air goes cold and I can see my breath. I hear the clash of weapons and deafening bangs and a deep laughter.
“Drak’narak” whispers a powerful voice in my head, “Lord-God Khorne has heard your oath and is willing to give you the tools and the abilities to achieve your goals…for a price…”
“What is this sorcery!?” I demand aloud. “Show yourself, Daemon!”
“Ha ha ha” came a low, throaty laugh. “ You don’t know how right you are… My name, just to clarify, is Doombreed. The price Lord Khorne asks is simple, your eternal soul, an eternity in daemon hood, for realization of your goals.”
Not Doombreed... It can't be. Lord Khorne never answers a call...
“Ah but it is,” replies Doombreed "And He does if the asker is judged to be worthy."
I jumped, not knowing he could read my mind
“Ha ha ha. Yes, I can read your thoughts. I was once a human such as you, but when the time for my death came Lord Khorne blessed me with eternal life as a Daemon for services rendered. And,” he replied with a hint of amusement in his voice. “I’m surprised I’m still remembered all these millennia later. So, Drak, What is your answer? Will you accept Lord Khorne’s offer?
“I will gladly pay such a price, an serve Lord Khorne faithfully for all eternity, if he bestows upon me the tools and abilities to achieve my ends!” I think in as loud and powerful a voice I could muster in my head, figuring that if Doombreed can hear my thoughts then I don’t need to say it aloud.
“Good.” Replies Doombreed, “ Are you prepared for the trials ahead?’
“Yes.”
“Will you serve unflinchingly?”
“Yes.”
“Then be prepared to receive your blessing!” booms Doombreed’s voice
Then, as I watch in wonder, an ethereal hand reaches out and touches the center of my chest, and the pain rips through me as if a bolt of lightning. There is immense burning pain where the hand touches along with the aromatic smell of cooking meat… As I fall into unconsciousness I hear the laughter of thirsting gods…
When I wake, it is under the stars, their blue-black color still astounds me to this day, although I lay and look at them every night. It reminds me of how small we really are when we try to make ourselves seem like we really matter. I sit up and look around, forgetting where I was. It is on a plain, a few tufts of grass sticking up here and there, just enough for the roaming vorrak to survive on. As the wind blows, it kicks up the dust, and a few yards away there is a small dust devil. I was covered in sweat, despite the relative chilly-ness of the air around me, that mid-summer chill of the night.
Then, then the throb of pain jolts me back into the present and the events of the past day. Doombreed, Khorne, and the burning sensation… I look down at my chest and there, branded into the skin, is the death-skull symbol of Khorne.
“Welcome back” says Doombreed, with more than a hint of amusement. “ That mark of Khorne lets one and all know that you are His property, and you owe your allegiance to none other than Him, and by extension me.”
I reach up and touch the back of my neck where Lucarion had me branded when he took me, and to my joy it was gone! But then a feeling of loss set in, because it was part of me, part of my past, part of my history, and now it was gone forever…
“Now,” Doombreed says, “You will be tested to your limits. There will be a test before you will have the tools, which you will need to achieve your goals. They will get progressively more difficult as Lord Khorne blesses you, needing to keep the right to bear his gifts, as well as earn them. A day east of here is a village devoted to the god Slaanesh. They have chosen the wrong god. Show them the error of their ways by slaughtering every last man, woman, and child in that village. Be forewarned though, none of them are as defenseless as they seem.”
“How do you expect me to do this?” I ask, “Slaaneshi are faster than any peoples on this planet. None can triumph over the speed given to them by Slaanesh. And they revel in pain, so simply subduing them until I can kill is out of the question! Lord Khorne is mad! It cannot be done.”
Doombreed replies, with a hint of bruised ego and offence “Do you doubt the will of Lord Khorne!?”
“N-Not at a-“ I stutter in my mind.
“Do you believe Lord Khorne, greatest and oldest, First-Born of all the Chaos Gods would allow you to walk into the lions den unprepared? Do you think He sent me, His second ever Daemon Prince, as merely a messenger? That work is beneath me. I am here to teach you. I am here to ensure you succeed. DO NOT ever question the will of Khorne again, or you will find that all the horrors of this world are nothing compared to what I will do to you!” He finishes, simmering with anger.
And on that note, we set out in silence. I wonder if he’ll still teach me now, after I’ve done that… He has to, he made the pact with me, and if he doesn’t, hopefully Lord Khorne will send someone who will. We traveled at night because no one questions you. You don’t get in anyone’s way, you don’t draw attention to yourself, so when dawn came, with the pinks and reds and yellows of the sunrise, it was time to sleep. Doombreed hasn’t checked back in a while…I wonder when he was going to teach me.
“Doombreed?” I thought. “Where are you?” No reply.
“Doombreed?” I say aloud. Still no reply, “I’m sorry!” I yell.
Still nothing. Hopefully, he’ll be back later because I need his help. This task is impossible. There are rumors of people triumphing over 2 Slaaneshi, but never an entire village. I’m going to need a lot of help, I think, as I finish making my bed of dirt and the few grasses I can find. Then I fall into a deep sleep, after one very eventful day…
The din of battle fills my ears. The coppery smell of blood freshly spilled fills my nostrils and make my heart leap with excitement. Oh, how I can almost taste it! The bloodlust pounds in my veins and the thump of my heart is in my ears… How I long to be in battle! It’s only then do I realize that I am in battle. I assume they’re Slaaneshi, but its hard to tell through the red haze of the bloodlust, and everyone appears to be a slight tinge of purple. I can’t really tell where we are because the area, my surroundings all, are blurry.
The Slaaneshi are even faster than the stories say. I barely dodge the attack from one Slaaneshi that I saw coming from what seemed like miles away, while at the same time, they have no problems dodging my feints and trick maneuvers. There are even children, wielding wicked looking blades and fanged maces, combating me. I feint at the legs of one scimitar wielding Slaaneshi, while going for another’s head with my trusty axe. Her movement was as fast as lightning, dodging my gore-coated axe, but falling to my mysterious bronze mace. As fast as I can blink, another takes her place, and then leaps high into the air over my head, and lands behind me. I notice that all Slaaneshi fight barefoot and the women bare breasted. Their chests swaying hypnotically from side to side, calling to me, wanting to lay down my weapons and lay with all of them in bed… I snap out of my reverie in time to turn and try to avoid her attack, but not fast enough, for her small blade slips between my ribs and punctures my left lung, driving the breath from my chest. She laughs maniacally as my blood runs down her hands and she rubs it between her fingers like it is the most pleasurable substance she has ever known. I manage to trap her other arm and cleave her knife-arm off at the shoulder. Instead of screaming out in pain as I had expected, she shuddered in orgasmic pleasure and laughed again. However, with my attention focused singularly on her I fail to notice the arm, which reaches out and cuts my throat with a flick of the wrist, and there’s nothing I can do about it…
I sit bolt upright in the pile of dirt that serves as my bedding, covered in a cold sweat and my heart pounding in my chest. I try to wipe off some of the clinging mud, but in vain, for it was right then that Doombreed decided to show up again.
“You fail. You must remember, young Bloodthirster, that these are not one-on-one combats. You were battling an entire village, children and all, and by allowing your attention to be focused, even for one second on a singular enemy, you have fallen. Next, you are used to fighting as a pillar in battle. You must learn to fight like a willow, strong yet flexible and able to overcome all but the strongest foes.”
“Doombreed!” I say contemptuously, “You had me scared half to death! I thought you had abandoned me! Why wouldn’t you tell me my lessons would come as dreams? I thought I was going crazy!”
‘I rather had fun watching you lose your mind over my absence. And Lord Khorne made it clear I was with you until the end, whether I liked it or not. And as for your dreams, they will be like that until the end of your quest…or your death. Notice how in the last dream you were fighting Slaaneshi? Your dreams are now foretelling the future and their possible outcomes.” He replies ominously.
“So I can tell the future now? Isn’t that a Tzeentchi power? Why? And that can really happen? At least now I know what to expect. Just one more thing, where did I receive that bronze mace? I’ve only ever fought with Deathreaver, for it was gifted to me the day I killed my father and took over as Champion. I’m proficient with all types of close combat weaponry, but my uses of the mace have only been in training circles, and never a bronze one. Where do I obtain such a finely crafted weapon?”
“Evil deeds come to those who wait. Patience, my friend, is a virtue at this moment, and Khorne forbids me to reveal where you get such an exquisitely desecrated mace. Now Drak, we must set out for the Slaaneshi village and the trials which await you there.”
And so we set out, although it was more like I. Doombreed was quiet and non-existent once again. Essentially alone, I found small ways to pass the time while I was traveling, flipping my knife, running the dexterity drill.... Which is a lot harder than it sounds seeing as I was traveling in the dark. Stab, flip, cut, cut, spin, stab, pull back, flip upwards, and stab downwards. It was like a mantra after a while, and soon I was doing it with blurring speed as the sun rose.
"Drak!" Doombreed's voice booms in my head.
"Spidge!" I swear. He startled me in the middle of my dexterity drill, and my knife opened a gash about 4 inches long on the flesh of my right forearm, nearly to the bone. The blood was running like a torrent from the wound.
"Sigmar!" I swear again.
"Lesson number two," Doombreed begins "Lord Khorne doesn't care from whence the blood flows, only that it does. Be careful and vigilant. Spill blood often, for if you don't, you'll find yourself a victim of the axe's bite, regardless of service to Him. Now stitch your wound and move out."
Grumbling about the most recent turn of events, I began the preparations for stitching my wound. I pull off my belt and stretch it tightly around my upper forearm. I then pull out my water skin and pour some water on the wound, followed by some firejuice to clean it, and to have a swig for myself, of course. Finally, I pull out a needle and a thread out of my "first aid kit" and begin to stitch it up my arm. At first there was lancing pain, but it turned to a dull throb as time went on. In and out, 14 times. When I was finished, I cleaned it with the rest of my water and wrapped it in some cloth. I'd have to get more water in the next village.
I began to run into more and more people as we came to the town of Autarch, the town where my fate was to be decided. I walk into the center of town, an Icon to Slaanesh, god of Hedonism and Excess, is to be found. I pull out Deathreaver, and gaze at the purple tinged Slaaneshi going about their day of orgies and gluttony, disgusted. I pull back with Deathreaver, and with a mighty yell, shatter the glyph. The change was almost imperceptible, except that the villagers stopped what they were doing, and stood stone solid at the desecration of their revered relic. I am readying myself for the battle to come. The blood rage flows through my body, my eyes as black as night, vision tinged with red. I was bounding toward the nearest Slaaneshi and decapitated him in a fountain of blood before all hell broke loose.
A villager wielding a long sword jumps and somersaults in the air, the blade whistles down to cleave me from collar to crotch. I jump into the air, meeting him and taking his legs, and with the follow through, his head, in one swift motion. I hit the ground running, parry a blow from a female wielding a dagger, and eviscerate her with my axe, the bloodthirster within the weapon crying out with joy for the fresh blood on the blade. I flip over the blow to the knees from a mace-wielding child and cleave him in half on the way down, the mist of red covering my body, and boot another in the face in the same series of moves. Another was impaled upon the blade of a short sword I picked up to use in my off hand. The battle raged for what seemed like days, but was really only a few hours, and I was covered from head to toe in cuts and bruises. My axe arm, the right, was exhausted and blood was pouring from my stitches from a blocked punch. My left arm took a nasty twist when a Slaaneshi fell with the sword in her, probably a sprained wrist. I feint at the legs of one scimitar wielding Slaaneshi, while going for another’s head with my trusty axe. Her movement was as fast as lightning, dodging my gore-coated axe, but falling to a broken neck from my kick. As fast as I can blink, another takes her place, and then leaps high into the air over my head, and lands behind me. I avoid her attack and she laughs maniacally as I trap her arm and cleave her knife-arm off at the shoulder. Instead of screaming out in pain as I had expected, she shuddered in orgasmic pleasure and laughs again. I spin, remembering this part of my dream, and bury my axe in the final Slaaneshi's chest up to the handle, and rip it out with a massive roar of triumph.
Next thing I know, its pitch black, and I hear an ethereal screaming in the shadows...
“Who's there!” I yell, readying my axe once more.
“Do not ask which creature screams in the night, do not question who waits for you in the shadow. It is my cry you hear in the night, and my body that crouches in the shadow. I am Tzeentch and you are the puppet that dances to my tune.” Comes the reply, in a sinuous, snakelike, mysterious voice.
“Are you afraid of death my son? Death, disease, pox; they are all my creations. Come, embrace Grandfather Nurgle, and you will have nothing to fear ever again.” comes another bile ridden, gentle, and wheezing reply.
“Follow me, my Children, and the glory of victory shall be yours. We shall cleanse ourselves in the crimson waters of our enemy. We shall bring the ecstasy of quick release to those who stand before us. Follow Slaanesh, and you shall taste the undreamt joys beyond mortal flesh.” comes an alluring, hypnotic, and sensual voice.
“The strong are strongest alone... And by Khorne, you are the strong.” comes a brutal, powerful and deep voice, with a sense of finality.
“Oh dear Chaos, its the pantheon” I gasp aloud.
“Yes,” come all four voices, as one. “We are Chaos, save one renegade god. He is Lucarion's patron, Lucarion is your goal. We will give you the tools. We will give you the strength. Take this suit of armor, made from brass and star metal. The right arm imbued with a bloodthirster, for fury, left with a keeper of secrets, for speed. Left greave with lord of change, for psychic walls, and right with great unclean one, for protection. This suit is your faith, hate your weapon. With it, you will conquer Lucarion, or die trying.”
“It's beautiful...,” was all I could say.
“Take this mace, Gorechild, for not only is it a potent weapon, but it has...other uses.”
“Thank you” is what I muster
“Go... fulfill your destiny...” comes the whispered reply.
I don the armor, and heft the mace, and surprisingly for its gigantic size, it's incredibly light. the head was a massive khornate glyph, an exact copy of the one on my bracer. There was also something...else about the mace that I can't quite put my finger on... But the darkness clears, and standing before me, in full battle gear, was Lucarion...
He was eight feet tall, five hundred pounds, and his skin was black as night. He was dressed in full battle gear, star metal armor and his massive sword, drawn and at the ready. There were legends of his sword, that it could cut through steel, stone, and star metal with the ease of a hot knife through butter. His standard had a Skull, half black, half white bisected with an arrow, the symbol of Mal’al, the Hated One, renegade god of Chaos.
The room we were in was his personal gladiatorial arena. The earth was packed hard and there were stains of blood from battles past. The gates were down, wrought iron fences with fallen enemies impaled upon them. The stands were filled with screaming faces and jeering children. Presumably his god warned him of my coming. It didn’t matter, it couldn’t. I was blessed by four, him by one; the odds were against him.
“Greetings, Drak,” he says in his deep baritone, charismatic voice. It had the accent of a learned man, although he had never been to school. It was very proper, and he enunciated each syllable clearly.
“Lucarion.” I spat back.
“So that’s it then? I gave you a life and you spit on me? You don’t like the things I’ve given you?”
“At what cost? My family as prisoner? Wife as your concubine? You spit on the true gods and now their reckoning is upon you. “
“True gods? You know nothing. My god is firstborn of the pantheon. You worship false gods. And, by all rights, to you puny people, I should be a god. I was not born of this earth. My god told me the truth when all others lied. I fell in a comet, born in the far future, and scattered from my father by your gods.”
“Enough talk, lets end this!”
“ Before we do, take a look.” And he points to the sideline.
My two boys are on the side, chained to his throne. My wife, dressed…well if you can call it dressed, chains about her as well. With an inhuman roar, I rush at him.
He waits until the last second and sidesteps the blow from my axe, and punches me in the face with his massive fist. I fall to the ground and see stars, my helmet dented from the force of the blow, which would have cracked my skull without it.
“Move” Comes Doombreed’s voice in my ear.
I roll to the side and just where my face had been moments before, was his sword buried halfway up its blade into the ground. I jump up and rid myself of the dented helmet, freeing up my peripheral vision. I spin and swing at him with Gorechild, He tears the sword from the ground and blocks, Gorechild only succeeding in knocking the clod of earth off his blade. He swings and I parry, the shock of it numbing my arm. Only then do I realize as I quickly look to my arm that all of the bruises and scrapes of the previous battle were gone, as well as my stitches. I make the decision then to not block, but dodge, because the sheer force of his blows will tire me out. I swing with both weapons and he parries with significant ease, and does a spinning leg sweep with speed and agility unnatural to his size. And so the battle went, him easily blocking and parrying my blows, I, barely dodging his. It was the difference between our martial abilities, He was like the master craftsman and I was a mere child.
“Move right” I hear Doombreed’s voice again.
And so I did, right into Lucarion’s sword thrust. It entered my body just below my ribcage, and the point exited from my collarbone. He pulled it out with as much speed and brutality he could muster.
“Foolish mortal, did you really believe that you could best me? I was born in the 41st Millennium, from a forge of steel and bone. You lost before you began.” Were the last words I hear as I slip into unconsciousness. Oddly enough, Gorechild slips from my grasp and stands straight up, handle down on the earth…
I wake up standing before a traditional Daemon, sitting on a throne of Brass and skulls, amid a river of blood. He holds an axe in his hand, which dwarfs planets. It was Lord Khorne.
“Drak you have failed me.” Booms a voice so loud that it hurts my ears.
“Please, Lord, I’ve done my best!” I protest.
“Ha ha ha” he laughs deeply, “So you did. Tell me, would you like another chance?”
“Yes Lord, please, I live to serve!”
“Then so be it…”
I see my death in slow motion, as if from the sidelines. Lucarion turns to address the people.
“Anyone else!?” He bellows. “Anyone? Four gods blessed this man, and he couldn’t kill me. Who of you would try?”
The crowd is silent out of awe, for behind Lucarion, my body has floated into the air, and Gorechild is glowing. Lucarion notices this and turns. All of a sudden, my body explodes in a wave of gore and a mist of blood. Gorechild glows brighter. I feel a pull at my body and the blood and gore, comes back together, and forms a giant daemonic entity. I feel my consciousness settle into my new form, and I pick up Deathreaver. Lucarion falls to his knees and begs forgiveness. I’m not feeling so merciful, and I cleave his body in half at the waist, Deathreaver now grown proportionate to my size, and is as tall as Lucarion was. Gorechild, psychic beacon that it was, began to glow brighter once again. A group of eight furies appear.
“Lord, we are sent by Chaos Undivided. We are yours to serve.”
From the blood of Lucarion’s corpse rises a gigantic brass throne. I sit upon it, Lucarion’s skull under my right hand. I had become the Khornate Emperor, the dark Gods emissary on earth
