Shrine World Furicello, a lone pearl hanging in space. Everyday thousands and thousands of pilgrims, weathered but filled with Divine joy end their quest at the final resting place of Saint Furicello. The planet, have through time been visited by endless scores of these men and women, have all been Blessed in the Light of the Emperor, may he be forever! Never have the Ruinous Powers set foot on the Holy soil of Furicello, but that is about to change...
The Farseer looked up, though his vision were still hazy from the Sight. "Gather the men, my Prince. Gather all of them. Something foul is about to happen on the world of Caithuil, the one the young ones call Furicello. I have... I have Seen the Great Enemy slaugther the planet. Choke it like an infant in a cradle! my Lord, I implore you, it must be prevented!". The slender man rose from his seat opposit the Seer, adjusted his extravagant robes and nodded curtly. "Very Well. Send a Call to arms to all of our Kin. The Eldar march to war". he turned from the seats and walked towards the arch with dark thoughts of war filling his mind even as the Seers psychic calls rang out through the Warp calling the Eldar to prevent the gruesome events from his Visions...
"every last wash-out son of a bitch on this mother-fucking wreck of ship is gonna die on that shit-hole planet, i'm tellin' ya!" The Sarge look around at his men with a manic grin on his face. Seated in the hull of the massive bulk carrier, he counted at least eight new guys in his platoon. "we're fucking doomed!" he shouted. The 'click-cleck' of the shutter being bulled on a pistol made him turn his head, and he barely got so see the peaked cap and drawn face of the Commissar before the Bolt-round exploded his face. "We will win". The Commissar walked in among the men, ignoring the corpse on the floor. "We will triumph". His voice was low and cold, but still stern and forceful. "We will be victorious". The forceful gaze swept around and took them all in. "And you known why? Because the Emperor, may he be forever, stands with us and in his light none shall fail!". His voice had risen and now it sang out to them. "We will defend the Holy Furicello! We Will deny the Arch Enemy! We will be ever vigilant and repay the Emperor the debt we owe him!" he snapped a salute and turned on his heal and headed down the row of bunks...
Sitting on their throne with their eyes closed, so that them could better enjoy the terrified screams of the tortured slaves, but that no longer brought them the pleasures it used to. They longed to do war, to tear the tongues of still-living prisoners and watch their eyes as all hope abandoned them and then pry their eyes out and piss in their sockets! Oh yes! The sweet, sweet pissing of sockets! How it had loved that!. The twin souls in their shared husk felt a tiny tickle deep in their innards. “Kill them! Silence them! Tear them apart and feed the pieces to the ones still in their cages!” Their twin mouths bellowed and spittle flew along with tiny flecks of rotting meat and bone splinters. They had sensed their Masters call and craved privacy, immediately. The slaves corpses were quickly removed and their attendants withdrew with knowing expressions, whispering, whining and muttering amongst themselves in excited voices. The stomach turning sensation of the Manifestation ripped in their bowls, their vision blackened and their skull felt like splitting and they welcomed it all like a lovers caress savouring the nuances of the pains and pangs. “My Beloved...” the voice came from nowhere and sounded as though it came burbling through the blood of split lips. “My Twins of Decadence...” Still the burbling came from nowhere but the sense of something taken psychic mass in the room weighed heavy on the tips of their fingers. “Command us!” the their spluttered. They had purposefully bit their tongue to better please their God who now, at least as a projection honoured them beyond belief with its presence. Sickly stinking blood ran down its chin. “Command us!” they repeated screaming and nearly choking as it swallowed their own blood. “Take the host to Furicello and destroy the planet and all thereon utterly”. There were no emotion in the words, except joy at the prospect of the multitudes of pain that would be delivered in its name. “Give them to me. Lead them down the Path of Pain to my domain, rip them all from the mistaken light of their wretched Emperor”. The entity vanished with a bone-crushing jolt. They sat on their throne, their eyes closed. They felt it again!. Oh Yes! There would be skull pissing...
The Brother-Captain knelt in humble prayer in the battle-barges Sacristy. Behind him, he knew, were two Brothers. He could tell who they were from their breathing and their scent. He also knew why they had come. But that was because it was the same reason he had come. Praying out of hours. No such luxuries for the Adeptus Astartes. At least not normally. But now the Astropathic message that the chapter were to engage the most hated of all the Arch Enemys agents. A boon had finally been granted them and now they hurried to take the war to the Host of the Herald of Slaneesh. The wretched twin-souled being that tainted the entire universe simply by being. The Foe that had been a thorn in the side of the entire chapter since the Heresy. He knew that both Brothers had come as himself to thank the emperor for letting them meet their hated enemy once again, reclaim the bones of their long dead primarch and measure out a fitting punishment for the corruption of their one-time brothers-in-arms. “Amen” the words were echoed by the brothers behind him and he turned as he stood and faced the two warriors behind him. A smile creasing the corners of his mouth. “My brothers, at last we are committed against the one we have waited for for so long. Praised be His name”...
At the heart of the Hive Fleet, inside the massive vaulted ribcage of the living vessel, a thousand bodies slithered against each other, smelling and licking the pheromone glands of their oily sides, hissing and snapping, tongues flicking in and out. They all knew without seeing that on all the other bio-ships their brood-brethren did the exact same dance. All the while the huge collective hive mind of the fleet came to an agreement, suddenly all the slithering and scurrying ceased and as one the multitude of being moved filled with purpose and a sense of urgency to its designated function and the huge fleet set its bio-engines maximum thrust towards Furicello...
Standing at the edge of the ridge, the lone Firewarrior looked at the landing site of the Foremost. They were the first to arrive at this place with the odd name: Furicello. It was easy why the Ancients have decreed this planets rescue. Incredible beauty was everywhere to be seen. It was almost a shame the grass at the landing site had to be scorched . The hills around him rolled with an ethereal grace, the ridge he stood on drew a perfectly slung line, cutting to the horizon at the exact right angle. He could feel the enormity of this beautiful place push down on him. I must steel myself he thought, otherwise the Perverters will make easy targets on me and cadre. He looked at the sky where the Stealth-cloaked dropships were visible only as shimmering blurs against the blue, blue sky where the golden sun and one of the planets pale moons made perfect harmony, with the distant bird-flock travelling eastwards, ignorant of the horrid bloodshed about to happen. He grabbed he hilt of his Bonding Knife while he quitely swore and oath to his Ancestors: Never will I allow this wondrous place to fall into the clutches of the Wicked. This I swear, on my own life and the life of my cadre. He turned towards the landing site again and watched as another dropship onloaded its warriors onto the blackened and crispy grass...
The Nob slumped hard against the deck of the Waargh! Room in the massive and utterly ugly Juggernaught. “NONONONO!” The warboss shouted. He stood at the center of the room on the table where crude maps lay shattered. His mouth dribbled froth. He had tossed the Nob a good four yards in his berserking rage. And grabbed around him for a new victim, but the other Nobs knew well the wrath of their Boss, and had only scorn left for the hapless Nob who were quite fast enough to avoid the ham-sized fists. “NONONO!” the Warboss rambled on. “NO DOUBT! ONLY DO! DODODO! ME WANT FURRY 'ELLO! NOW!!! GO GET!!!” The Nobs left the raving lunatic behind as they went to their stations with his bellows and screams still following them...
The Farseer looked up, though his vision were still hazy from the Sight. "Gather the men, my Prince. Gather all of them. Something foul is about to happen on the world of Caithuil, the one the young ones call Furicello. I have... I have Seen the Great Enemy slaugther the planet. Choke it like an infant in a cradle! my Lord, I implore you, it must be prevented!". The slender man rose from his seat opposit the Seer, adjusted his extravagant robes and nodded curtly. "Very Well. Send a Call to arms to all of our Kin. The Eldar march to war". he turned from the seats and walked towards the arch with dark thoughts of war filling his mind even as the Seers psychic calls rang out through the Warp calling the Eldar to prevent the gruesome events from his Visions...
"every last wash-out son of a bitch on this mother-fucking wreck of ship is gonna die on that shit-hole planet, i'm tellin' ya!" The Sarge look around at his men with a manic grin on his face. Seated in the hull of the massive bulk carrier, he counted at least eight new guys in his platoon. "we're fucking doomed!" he shouted. The 'click-cleck' of the shutter being bulled on a pistol made him turn his head, and he barely got so see the peaked cap and drawn face of the Commissar before the Bolt-round exploded his face. "We will win". The Commissar walked in among the men, ignoring the corpse on the floor. "We will triumph". His voice was low and cold, but still stern and forceful. "We will be victorious". The forceful gaze swept around and took them all in. "And you known why? Because the Emperor, may he be forever, stands with us and in his light none shall fail!". His voice had risen and now it sang out to them. "We will defend the Holy Furicello! We Will deny the Arch Enemy! We will be ever vigilant and repay the Emperor the debt we owe him!" he snapped a salute and turned on his heal and headed down the row of bunks...
Sitting on their throne with their eyes closed, so that them could better enjoy the terrified screams of the tortured slaves, but that no longer brought them the pleasures it used to. They longed to do war, to tear the tongues of still-living prisoners and watch their eyes as all hope abandoned them and then pry their eyes out and piss in their sockets! Oh yes! The sweet, sweet pissing of sockets! How it had loved that!. The twin souls in their shared husk felt a tiny tickle deep in their innards. “Kill them! Silence them! Tear them apart and feed the pieces to the ones still in their cages!” Their twin mouths bellowed and spittle flew along with tiny flecks of rotting meat and bone splinters. They had sensed their Masters call and craved privacy, immediately. The slaves corpses were quickly removed and their attendants withdrew with knowing expressions, whispering, whining and muttering amongst themselves in excited voices. The stomach turning sensation of the Manifestation ripped in their bowls, their vision blackened and their skull felt like splitting and they welcomed it all like a lovers caress savouring the nuances of the pains and pangs. “My Beloved...” the voice came from nowhere and sounded as though it came burbling through the blood of split lips. “My Twins of Decadence...” Still the burbling came from nowhere but the sense of something taken psychic mass in the room weighed heavy on the tips of their fingers. “Command us!” the their spluttered. They had purposefully bit their tongue to better please their God who now, at least as a projection honoured them beyond belief with its presence. Sickly stinking blood ran down its chin. “Command us!” they repeated screaming and nearly choking as it swallowed their own blood. “Take the host to Furicello and destroy the planet and all thereon utterly”. There were no emotion in the words, except joy at the prospect of the multitudes of pain that would be delivered in its name. “Give them to me. Lead them down the Path of Pain to my domain, rip them all from the mistaken light of their wretched Emperor”. The entity vanished with a bone-crushing jolt. They sat on their throne, their eyes closed. They felt it again!. Oh Yes! There would be skull pissing...
The Brother-Captain knelt in humble prayer in the battle-barges Sacristy. Behind him, he knew, were two Brothers. He could tell who they were from their breathing and their scent. He also knew why they had come. But that was because it was the same reason he had come. Praying out of hours. No such luxuries for the Adeptus Astartes. At least not normally. But now the Astropathic message that the chapter were to engage the most hated of all the Arch Enemys agents. A boon had finally been granted them and now they hurried to take the war to the Host of the Herald of Slaneesh. The wretched twin-souled being that tainted the entire universe simply by being. The Foe that had been a thorn in the side of the entire chapter since the Heresy. He knew that both Brothers had come as himself to thank the emperor for letting them meet their hated enemy once again, reclaim the bones of their long dead primarch and measure out a fitting punishment for the corruption of their one-time brothers-in-arms. “Amen” the words were echoed by the brothers behind him and he turned as he stood and faced the two warriors behind him. A smile creasing the corners of his mouth. “My brothers, at last we are committed against the one we have waited for for so long. Praised be His name”...
At the heart of the Hive Fleet, inside the massive vaulted ribcage of the living vessel, a thousand bodies slithered against each other, smelling and licking the pheromone glands of their oily sides, hissing and snapping, tongues flicking in and out. They all knew without seeing that on all the other bio-ships their brood-brethren did the exact same dance. All the while the huge collective hive mind of the fleet came to an agreement, suddenly all the slithering and scurrying ceased and as one the multitude of being moved filled with purpose and a sense of urgency to its designated function and the huge fleet set its bio-engines maximum thrust towards Furicello...
Standing at the edge of the ridge, the lone Firewarrior looked at the landing site of the Foremost. They were the first to arrive at this place with the odd name: Furicello. It was easy why the Ancients have decreed this planets rescue. Incredible beauty was everywhere to be seen. It was almost a shame the grass at the landing site had to be scorched . The hills around him rolled with an ethereal grace, the ridge he stood on drew a perfectly slung line, cutting to the horizon at the exact right angle. He could feel the enormity of this beautiful place push down on him. I must steel myself he thought, otherwise the Perverters will make easy targets on me and cadre. He looked at the sky where the Stealth-cloaked dropships were visible only as shimmering blurs against the blue, blue sky where the golden sun and one of the planets pale moons made perfect harmony, with the distant bird-flock travelling eastwards, ignorant of the horrid bloodshed about to happen. He grabbed he hilt of his Bonding Knife while he quitely swore and oath to his Ancestors: Never will I allow this wondrous place to fall into the clutches of the Wicked. This I swear, on my own life and the life of my cadre. He turned towards the landing site again and watched as another dropship onloaded its warriors onto the blackened and crispy grass...
The Nob slumped hard against the deck of the Waargh! Room in the massive and utterly ugly Juggernaught. “NONONONO!” The warboss shouted. He stood at the center of the room on the table where crude maps lay shattered. His mouth dribbled froth. He had tossed the Nob a good four yards in his berserking rage. And grabbed around him for a new victim, but the other Nobs knew well the wrath of their Boss, and had only scorn left for the hapless Nob who were quite fast enough to avoid the ham-sized fists. “NONONO!” the Warboss rambled on. “NO DOUBT! ONLY DO! DODODO! ME WANT FURRY 'ELLO! NOW!!! GO GET!!!” The Nobs left the raving lunatic behind as they went to their stations with his bellows and screams still following them...
Sidst rettet af Helge Søn 7 Feb 2010 - 15:51, rettet i alt 2 gange