The Fickle Vulture (TK story, kinda big) - Warhammer 40K Fantasy

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  1. #1
    Member Herald of Huanchi's Avatar
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    Feb 2009
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    The Fickle Vulture (TK story, kinda big)

    Hi, my first tomb king fluff, enjoy!
    (I'm asuming Orcs were around during the 'living' Kings. May have took liberties in places. )
    I hope anyone who slogs through it can comment, here goes,
    The Fickle Vulture
    so it is said of Vultimus, blessed by Ualatp. Hater of green.

    ‘It would seem these primitives have been around for centuries, and will probably be around for more, the plague that they are.’ King Scarak on the subject of Orcs.

    The young man stood staring out the window, the hands on his muscular arms picking at the stone without him realising, his thoughts elsewhere.

    “Prince, I have grave news” came a croaky voice from behind him; it did not startle him as he had heard it many times before, preferring to watch his subjects go about their business in the distance. “Your father, King Scarak is dead,” the voice behind him continued, pausing only to see if his words brought a response, which eventually it did in the form of a sigh. “His body has been recovered and we begin the incantations straight away.”

    At this the Prince turned, taking in the owner of the voice in one glance, a shrivelled old man with grey withered skin, a stark contrast to the brilliant gold of his robes, he instantly recognised him as a Liche Priest. “I can only assume it was the orcs again?” he sighed again as he said it, with good reason as the greenskins had been the bane of his city for years.

    “I’m afraid so” the Priest responded, looking to the floor as if it had asked him instead. “But he will be back in years to come and this brings me to why I’m here,” he said, his neck clicking in several places as he looked up. “You shall take over his rule as so it shoud be King Vultimus! I’m sure you’d understand I’d bow but I doubt I’d straitened up again” The new King merely stared out the window once more, his mind wandered to his lineage. His Great Grandfather Ukhaf, cut down in a challenge with an oddly chivalrous Orc, his grandfather Ukhaf II, killed by an arrow fired from a crude Goblin bow, ironically they had just started using them from copying his own army he thought on a tangent, his mother by a Goblin sneak attack while she was on her way to Khemri, and now his father.

    “I understand your glumness, Sire,” a second voice rasped from another Liche priest who had entered the chamber, “but perhaps if you accepted Ualatp’s blessing ...” but he was interrupted by Vultimus.
    “Listen to me Liche,” the volume of his voice rising as he spoke, “I don’t care if Vultures ‘rescued’ me from the people wishing my death, they were starved beasts who could not wait to scavenge so instead attacked!”
    “You may not believe sire but they did not attack you, isn’t that worthy evidence?” the Liche asked as the king’s normally handsome face devolved into a scowl. The next battle couldn’t come quick enough, Vultimus thought, it’ll get me from these senile fools.

    The following morning the sun rose, bringing heat and light once more to Nehekhara but also war. A man ran into the war room, sweat dripping from his brow, but before he could catch his breath King Vultimus spoke from behind a papyrus,
    “The Orcs are attacking, aren’t they?” As he looked at the man from over his new war plan he recognised the surprised and slightly aggravated face of his champion, “Oh, sorry Nefanial, did you wish to tell me that yourself?” The Champion looked at the smiling face of his king and sighed,

    As he stood in his chariot, watching his horses draw him closer to the inevitable battle his mind wandered to the start of the event that had triggered the Liche’s babblings the day before.

    He had been but a youth, out on the plains hunting alone; obviously he had guards but in his excitement had lost them. It was then he found himself surrounded by a hooded gang that outnumbered him 10 to 1. He had been told later they were going to kill him to get the attention of his grandfather, the current King. They had beat him to the floor but before they could swing the final blow, a giant flock of carrion birds had swooped in leaving nothing but himself and piles of bones, aloft again as quick as they had entered.

    He was quickly snapped out of his memories by a loud shout of the orc his chariot had just cut to ribbons, realising where he was he raised his flail joining in with his Charioteer unit as they beat the mob of orcs with their spears and swords. When they were finished they had lost none of their number, although Vultimus’ chariot had been badly damaged by the big leader of the mob, it didn’t matter there were more orcs to kill.

    He heard it before he saw it, the scream from Nefanial as the biggest orc of them all, (the Warboss, he thought) proceeded to smash his frame with a great hammer, anger filling him, Vultimus broke from his unit urging his steeds to great speeds, crashing into the Warboss, his flail met orc cranium. This was not enough, the giant orc sent flurry of attacks, which was impressive even for an orc, first into his chariot breaking it in half, then into the king himself, he thought to himself, and so you claim me as well as my family. All was dark.

    In what felt like a second, he awoke with his arms folded on his chest, in pitch black darkness. he reached ahead of himself finding a lid, lifting it with his returning strength, it thudded to the ground beside where he lay.
    Bright torch light met his eyes, finding it odd it neither blinded nor bothered him he sat up, disorientated that the orc was gone, or was it he that was gone? As he clambered out of his... coffin? He was met by a similar croaky voice he had heard many times before.
    “Welcome back Vulture King Vultimus!”
    “Enough, how many times must I say it?”
    “But my lord you must believe now, Ualatp’s carrion servants brought your corpse back to us,” the Liche priest warily interjected. Corpse? Vultimus thought looking at his now bleached hands. The priest continued, “So to thank him we buried you, with some... alterations.” The Priest looked at the King and at the puzzled mouth which had formed. The mouth all that was visible under the golden death mask. It was then the priest pointed to a wall inlaid with reflective material. As Vultimus walked over to it he stretched both pair of arms. What? But now in the mirror he saw not a second set of arms but bony wings draped in flesh, and upon his face his death mask was as normal until the nose where it extended into a Vulture’s beak.
    “Fine, Ualatp you win, I submit and shall fight in your name in the eternity the priest promised me and my people.” He proclaimed. He then sighed, turned his head to the Liche by his side and the ‘blessing’ on his back and reached for his flail.
    Those orcs will pay for pushing me into this that much quicker.

    Not dead, just sleeping

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  3. #2
    Senior Member Wafflebob's Avatar
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    Pretty good story.

    And yes, if you read the stories on the Tomb Kings book you'll find that they had been battling the greenskins since before recorded history.

    Hell, the orcs probably came with the Old Ones when they first arrived.

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