Archaon, Champion Of The Infernal Powers - Warhammer 40K Fantasy

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  1. #1
    LO Zealot Bawdymonkey's Avatar
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    Much like Guns N Roses much promised yet continously pushed back Chinese Democracy here is the continuation of my story "A Hero's Doubt." It is not the entire thing but I felt I should give you guys something after making empty promises for so long. I hope the rest will be done soon but I am tired of being a liar so I will not give a definite date.

    Archaon, Champion of the Infernal Powers

    Captain Nikita of the Griffon Legion was being pushed back with every swing of the magically glowing battle axe. The axe crashed again and again against his faltering parries. His notched long falchion felt progressively heavier. He was exhausted and his breast plate was stifling every ragged breath he took. Blood flowed freely from his broken nose and soaked the impressive mustache underneath it. He had been forced to fight on foot for the last two hours after his horse had been disemboweled by halberd wielding minotaur. His adversary, a berserker, stood a foot taller than any man, dead or alive, about him. Although battered midnight blue armor encased his body, gore had transformed the color into a dirty red, rendering the violent images depicted on it hidden. He wore no helmet, allowing the Nikita to behold his terrifying visage - little more than a snarling fanged mouth and a mass of scar tissue.

    Finally shattering the sword, the runic axe cleaved through both steel shoulder pad and collar bone. Nikita’s corpse crumpled into the red slush that covered the outer courtyard. Placing the heel of his boot in Nikita’s groin as leverage, the monster ripped his blade out of the body. Howling in triumph, Marius the Black, Exalted Champion of Khorne, gazed around him looking for another quarry. The frenzied warrior had attracted the attention of a winged horseman. The knight lowered his lance towards Marius and compelled his horse into a gallop. Marius imagined tearing out the feathered standard with his teeth as he dropped onto one knee. As the horseman approached, Marius rolled to the side avoiding the lance tip by a hair’s breath. He swung his axe up, burying it in the stallion’s breast. The momentum of the charge carried the grievously wounded horse forward, ripping Marius’ weapon out of his hand. Losing no time, the dread lord spun around and bounded towards the trapped horseman. Marius unsheathed a wickedly serrated long blade and leaped upon the prone Kislevite, gouging out the terrified man’s eyes and then slashing open his throat.

    He pulled his rune axe out of the horse’s body; he reveled in the rage and battle lust that refused to be dimmed. He was barely conscious that he had battled through two massively fortified curtain walls. He was barely aware of the fact that he had fought his way across the great northern city of Praag, mercilessly slaughtering its hysterical populous. And it hardly concerned him that if nothing was done to break open the gates of Grand Prince Nicholas’ palace; he would be killed along with his fellow berserkers.

    Marius cared not for those details. He cared only to spill blood in the name of his angry God. A regiment of pike men rushing up from the burning city to set up a perimeter around the gates of the citadel. Marius threw his head back, “Today is a good day to die!? he roared with laughter. He set off to eviscerate every one of them.

    The fell fighter then stopped abruptly mid charge. A sound of supernatural shrieking pierced his wrath clouded mind. It slowly dawned on him what this implied. Marius threw himself to the ground as the unholy sound intensified. He looked up at the smoky sky to see, much to his delight, the fiery ammunition of the Hellcannons descending like nightmarish meteors into the sturdy gates.

    The gates exploded in blinding fire blossoms, consuming the beleaguered defenders both in the gate house and without. The portal collapsed into the burning rubble of the doors. The moaning of the dying could be heard over of the din of battle. Without hesitating, Marius scrambled to his feet.

    “To me, battle brothers!? he called, pointing his axe towards the breach. The remaining berserkers and assorted other Chaos Warriors from the initial push rallied around Marius. In all, his advance had killed nearly all of the one thousand men he led. Only about thirty remained

    “Blood for the blood God! Skulls for the skull throne!? Marius charged through the flaming wreckage of the gate, not looking back to see if his comrades followed him or not, but that he could hear their war cries filled him with even more vigor. As he cleared the fire and smoke, leaping over blocks of stone, he found himself in a courtyard staring into rank upon rank hand gunners. For the second time, Marius’ charge faltered. In a brief moment of lucidity, he realized what he just lead his fellow warriors into.

    “Fire!? intoned the captain of the 7th Ostermark Gunners. The crackle of fifty hand guns resounded in Marius’ ears. Two balls of lead tore through his ancient breast plate, puncturing vital organs and piercing his spine. Marius collapsed into a heap. He could see at the edges of his vision that similar fates befell those around him. Rage gave way to panic and then utter frustration.

    With a raised fist, the dying champion cursed his lord, “Damn you, Khorne! You have robbed me of a glorious death! I spit on your name!? Fleeting thoughts of a century of warfare in the name of a fickle god raced through his mind. “To end… like this?!?

    Death was not like he had anticipated. It was cold and unwelcoming. Hundreds had fallen to his blade, and was this what they felt as well? No, they did not feel what he felt. They may have felt those bodily, temporal feelings but he was sure that they did not experience the nameless dread that he felt upon hearing the distant, sinister laughter of demons gathering to collect the soul he had bartered all those ages ago…
    * * *
    Sitting upon his demonic horse, Slaughtersong, in the ruins of the outer walls, a being so dark that he seemed to suck up the surrounding light, brooded in silence. Ornate gothic black armor enclosed what was left of his humanity. He had a great ursine cloak draped over his shoulders. A gauntleted hand rested upon the pommel of a wicked sword. Upon his head sat the Crown of Domination, a great horned helmet with the glowing Eye of Sheerian embedded in the forehead.

    Archaon, Lord of the End Times and first among the champions of the Infernal Powers, relaxed his mind and set it adrift through time and space. He beheld the bright myriad strands of fate and observed tens of thousand ended black and frayed when they came into contact with his. He saw the frayed black ends of the vanguard of knights who had fought so far into the city only to die ignobly at the hands of the sulfur wreathed gunners. He had correctly had the foresight to systematically target each gate so that the warriors lead by Marius would not lose their momentum. Like a lance through the heart, Marius had penetrated the city. His use was now over. Archaon looked once again at the possibilities that could have occurred if he had granted Marius life. All events led to betrayal. Archaon smiled to himself, happy in the sublime knowledge he would accomplish what so many other have failed to do. The time to move in and rip out the heart of Praag was drawing close.

    He drew his demon sword, The Slayer of Kings, and raised it to the grey sky. With a subtle motion of his wrist, his personal bodyguard fell into line and began moving towards the last redoubt of Prince Nicholas.

    Archaon congratulated himself inwardly on the first major victory of the war to end all wars.

    “Cry ‘Havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war!? - Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene I

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  3. #2
    Senior Member Pandora's Avatar
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    You've captured the view of a berserker very well, not an easy thing to do. Very interesting read.
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  4. #3
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    Even better then your last story, Bawdy&#33; *applaaauuws*
    You ARE the fluffmeister.

  5. #4
    Keeper of Records and Ale King Ulrik Flamebeard's Avatar
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    Tis a great read, extremely good. More to come?

  6. #5
    Member Fallen Angel's Avatar
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    I definately hope so

    looks like my pesteri... I mean persuasion paid off lol
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  7. #6
    Senior Member Carcaroth's Avatar
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    pretty good bawdy, although i dont know about khorne berserkers ever actually faltering, they just run until they have no legs left. then crawl till they have no arms.
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  8. #7
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    If you ever get a bullet through your lungs, you shall see how hard it is to try running when your legs turn to jelly and darkness enshrouds your eyes.

    They&#39;re frenzied, not halfimmortal.

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