The Plight of the Immortal
Azariah, Herald of Slaneesh, yawned in exagerrated boredom. “Come, scribe, and delight us with your speech. Kar’m will not be joining us, apparently.”
No’ga replied with mirthful laughter. Azariah tried not to wretch at the stink of his rot nor his breath. “Well said, Azariah. I am most interested to here of the pact that will bind our causes together!”
Azariah smelt a familiar taint on the air. The immaterium within the chamber of Everblight transformed and remoulded itself out of thin air until a portal shimmered. The room was a small sphereical chamber, barely enough to inhabit a dozen daemons that could name themselves heralds of the Dark Gods. Nearly the entirety of the chamber was occupied with raised benches meant for a humble audience, but left enough room for a little clearing in the center that was only a breath away.
Kar’m, Herald of Khorne, glared upon the assembled daemons as he emerged from the rift. “Forgive my absence. War without end does demand much of late.”
The Scribe of Everblight cackled maniacally with laughter from the shadows. “Good. We are all in attendance. Please, Kar’m, take a seat.”
The Scribe of Everblight was a miniscule thing, really. A sinewy creature of crystal blue skin propped up by a skeletal frame that once could have resembled a humanoid plaything. Four inky black sockets lined either side of the bridge of its nose, each one gaped open as if they held real tissue between the eyelids. Its hooves clattered with loud thuds against the velvet floors as it strode across the oppressive and claustrophobic room. Two curved horns twisted upward from the skin around the Scribe’s forehead as sharp as the daemon’s maw of fangs. Finally, it was dressed in a flowing white robe trimmed with gold.
“Chosen of the Dark Gods!” The Blue Scribe took center stage in the center of the chamber. In either of his three hands was a mighty tome and in the fourth, an ink quill. “Heartened I am to see you gathered before me. From across the corners of the endless realms, I have called each of you specifically to answer the call of glory. For each of you possess forces close to the forecoming breach in the warp that shall spill out into the mortal world.”
Azariah growled through a wicked smile. “Go on, my friend.”
The Scribe of Everblight nodded and continued. “A mortal world has fallen to the drepedations of chaos. They seek to open gateways once thought lost untold millennia ago. Each of you shall go forth and conquer this world in the name of each of your patrons. But be forewarned, for your victory is not sealed in the annals of fate.”
No’ga’s tone took a more sinister aspect. “What is the catch?”
Kar’m leaned forward and pointed at both of the other heralds. “What else could it be, but the great game? We must slay each other for the prize!”
The Scribe of Everblight raised a hand for silence. “If victory and glory is what you desire, then beware the coming of a new foe. A great Demoness approaches that knows no loyalty to any Gods but herself. She will come with a force of light that will sear all it touches!”
Azariah scoffed. “Who is this upstart plaything? A Demoness you say, how intriguing.”
No’ga roared. “She will wilt before Nurgle’s rot!”
Kar’m merely nodded his satisfaction. “A worthy foe, then. I have no fear of this power from some far-flung realm. I shall go forth and conquer!”
“Were you not listening?” Azariah shot back. “We must conquer this foe together. Fear not, we shall have the aid of the mortals that so desperately seek our aid.”
“About that…” The Scribe of Everblight resumed. “The mortals shall look for signs of the Dark Gods for a time, but once they see the searing light, they shall never look for another sign. This Demoness will steal away all of the Dark Gods’ faithful and they shall rise up against you when you come for them.”
Azariah cackled scornfully. “What an utter inconvenience. But what can we do, but fight? Surely, the Gods are watching us deliberate on what to do about this new power? This new threat to their dominance? We must overthrow the entire world and raze it to ashes rather than let a single stain upon their honor!”
There was another taint in the immaterium again and this time, Azariah bared her teeth because she did not recognize it.
A voice that sounded reminiscent of rushing waters spoke in that very moment. It echoed from the walls of the chamber, from everywhere and nowhere at once. “An inconvenience, indeed. But you must understand, my dear Azariah, it is much better for you to be inconvenienced than myself.”
The Three Heralds abruptly stood to their feet and readied their weapons and claws.
The disembodied voice bristled with thunderous laughter. “No need for a call-to-arms, you would find that a very unwise decision. For, you see, I am the Demoness that this Scribe has spoken of. Each of you are now under my power and influence and can no longer leave this chamber. Should you happen to be curious about an exit, I shall tell you that there is only one. Swear fealty to me: tell me the true names of every soul in your legion. Only then shall I release you.”
The three Heralds roared at the voice. “Never!”
The voice audibly clucked its tongue. “A shame. Not for myself, however, for I shall eventually have what I seek. Should you happen to wait an eternity before I am given my due, then so be it.”