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post #13 of (permalink) Old 10-16-15, 11:41 PM Thread Starter
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The gateway into the Chamber of the Infinite was thrown backward with a resounding peal of thunder. Silence pervaded these hallow corridors like it were the stuff of the void itself. Robed mortals dressed in ebony robes blended into the shadows, barely visible as they flitted forward to receive Aenaria’s weapon and shield. It required several of them to hold each, but to their credit, they managed their task. The Angelic Guardian strode through inky darkness beyond the gateway into the chamber proper.

The chamber was encompassed in all-consuming shadow, broken only by runes that pulsed into light around her feet. They forged a broken trail through the darkness until she reached the first of the braziers. Aenaria snapped her fingers and purplish-crimson light blossomed from crevices carved into the emerald walls. Their presence was enough only to light the area surrounding her and nothing beyond.

An ominous voice echoed from beyond the veil of darkness. It dripped with revulsion and… unnatural properties. “Ah, the ambassador of the Forlorn City, sent on errand by the Matriach herself… Come closer, creature.”

Aenaria strode forward without fear. She knew how fearsome an opponent she must have looked. Her armor was slashed open and dented in a hundred places and she was covered from head to toe in viscera.

Larger runes lit up beneath her metallic boots as she neared the center of the chamber. The infernal characters pulsated with a thrilling power that Aenaria found intoxicating. Her emotions were second to the whims of her master, however, and she reigned them in deep within herself. Suddenly, more braziers blazed into light around the broad chamber until it bathed in the dark energies of the immaterium.

The Chamber of the Infinite was Raven Prophet Mirathir’s favorite scrying chamber, Aenaria knew. The eldar kept abreast of all events that spanned the Marathan Sector from this quaint little room. The chamber was a massive dome that blotted out every glimpse of sunlight. The light from the braziers reflected off the crystal ceiling with a brilliant light that made even her sigh in awe. The room was empty, save for a dozen massive thrones that flanked a raised dais meant for the Prophet’s scrying attempts.

Upon one of those thrones was a Greater Demon of Tzeentch, marked for its avian features, multicolored feathers, and white robe. In one hand it held a staff that tapped impatiently against the chamber floor and in the other was a great crystal ball that swirled with condensed energies. The servant of Tzeentch observed Aenaria with a disturbing disquiet, almost as if looking upon a mere rodent of interest.

The Greater Demon chortled. “So this is what your Mistress passes as a Greater Servant? Somewhat smaller than I suspected. In my experience, the smaller the creature, the more irritating the bite.”

Aenaria laughed at the Demon’s jest. She said as she approached. “Wise words. That is a lesson that minions of Khorne are still learning. Much to their frustration.”

“Tazaryn.” The Greater Demon replied. “You may know me be such a name. Come, let us discuss the future. Take a seat.”

Aenaria flew onto a throne and perched herself upon it. The Guardian extended her hand in an indication that Tazaryn explain himself. “Tazaryn. You desired audience with my mistress? Has your God sent you?”

Tazaryn flexed his mighty wings. He rasped. “I arrived at your realm of my own accord. Though at the behest of another and to represent the interest of my patron. I have an offer for your mistress, brave Aenaria.”

Aenaria smirked. “I admire your politeness, dear Tazaryn, but I must ask that you come to your point quickly. The Forlorn City is in the midst of a war.”

“Allow me to regale you with a little prophecy.” Tazaryn held his crystal ball toward Aenaria. The demon quirked its avian-like head to one side in askance. Aenaria reluctantly nodded her consent. “Good, good… The Blood-Tide howls like a gale – an all-consuming hurricane that shall annihilate the immortal host gathered against it. The golden spires of the Abyssal Palace shall be torn asunder and the Forlorn City shall be sacked. One endless night of bloody and endless macabre torture shall the denizens of this realm know.”

“Sacked?” Aenaria rose from her seat, her veins thick on her skin from seething anger. “To be sacked is to be conquered for a day! It is unacceptable! You dare bring this news? You must have brought some twisted scheme with you to stop it?”

Tazaryn droned. “The Forlorn City shall be sacked – not conquered. One endless night of bloody and endless macabre torture shall the denizens of this realm know. Countless souls lost to the thirst of the Blood God.”

Aenaria gritted her teeth. “What can be done?”

Tazaryn put away his crystal ball as he replied, “An alliance must be spun between the legions of the Changer and that of the Forlorn City. Fear not, Aenaria, for your master does have an unlikely ally hiding in the shadows. One that seeks to come to her aid from the abyss.”

“Let me guess.” Aenaria said. “Such an ally would be you? Do not make me laugh.”

A hint of knowledge glinted in the Greater Demon’s eye. Tazaryn cackled maniacally. “A great Demoness of a once proud kingdom. One who your mistress believes is long gone from the immaterium. Hidden away in the Crystal Labyrinth, she possesses legions at her back, waiting to be unleashed.”

Aenaria gasped. Realization quickly dawned on her. “That is… impossible.”

The immaterium began to shift and transform around the chamber as Tazaryn meant to vanish from the Forlorn City. Aenaria cloaked herself with her ebon wings from the ethereal energies of the Crystal Labyrinth. As his body became ethereal, he screamed over the howling winds of the warp as they began to take him.

Tazaryn said. “Tell your mistress, that power can either be shared in the coming alliance or Bazariah will take back what is hers!”

“Evil is relative…You can’t hang a sign on it. You can’t touch it or taste it or cut it with a sword. Evil depends on where you are standing, pointing your indicting finger.”
-Glen Cook, The Black Company

Tales of Heroism and Bravery, in the 41st Millennium and the Old World. Perhaps some Realm Gate Wars in the future .

Gods' Hall (Completed)

The New Word (Completed)
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