Join Date: Oct 2010
Location: Vancouver Washington
King according to the pact.
King according to the pact.
‘If I could, I would take back everything. If I could I would change my history and erase the transgressions of my early days; when I was young and unclear about my role in the universe. I would change everything… if I could.’ Attributed to an old dying man lost in the reality of his own nightmares.
Her birth was to be the catalyst, the pendulum if you will. She was to be the answer to a dying kingdom, to a fading dream, a lessening of hope. But she was not. Instead, at the age of three years old she had died.
Shadows moved in and out of reality and weeping could be heard upon the winds. Death laughed and a kingdom mourned as her soul left a body not meant to pass from here to there at such an early age.
‘If I could erase the past I would.’ the old man whispered in the night.
Cold winds blew and icy rain fell from deep gray clouds that dipped and swirled upon the currents of impassioned air. It had been twenty-five years since her death, but still he felt it deeply, to his very core. It was as if it had happened this morning, this very day.
His tears fell freely because the memories did not fade. It had been his knife that had sealed the pact. It was his knife that damned a world to the torments of Chaos. It had been his accursed blade that had taken her life and for that he would never, could never be forgiven.
Warp-creatures and winged things had been released because of his lack of foresight; because of his own selfishness. In his lack of knowledge he had thought he understood. He was promised a place in the new world, a place above all others, a place of power and exaltation.
The pact had been honored but he suffered still and now upon the icy winds he could hear her accusing cries. He could still feel the blood running over his fingers and could still taste it upon his lips.
His lips, bloodied with the girl’s life, drenched with her innocence had uttered words that brought the dead to life and opened the floodgates to the other world. He could still see the accusation in her eyes, her pure blue eyes. He could see the simple trust she had had in him fade away and be replaced by darkness, be replaced by death.
Her glassy stare somehow branded itself upon his mind and in that moment the reality, the horror of what he had done brought him to the end of himself. Falling to his knees, blood upon his lips, darkness upon his soul, he begged for it all to be taken back. He begged and pleaded for it to go away, for it all to be a dream that he could shake from his tormented mind.
But it was not a dream and for that he would ever be cursed. Now upon the cobbled stones of an ancient road he walked. He walked in darkness, covered in blackened rags smelling of disease and infestation.
From all around yellow eyes reflected from hell-spawned lamps that burned with the oils of the fat of the slain. From every corner of the blackened city he could hear them hiss and growl. In the darkness of the deep shadows he could hear them laugh and say, ‘This is the one who let us in. He is the one who rules over us.’
He wept when he heard it, for it was true. He had let them in. He did rule over them, if this is what could be considered ruling. ‘I would do anything to take it back. I would do anything to change the things I have done, but I can’t!’ he wailed to the shadows. They laughed.
A thousand years have come and gone and still he walks the ancient streets of a forgotten city upon a forgotten world. His flesh is still as young as it once was, still unblemished by the taint around him. The warp-spawn still feeds upon the souls of the inhabitants of the land, refusing to let them die, refusing to give them peace.
The shadows will never touch him for he is their ruler as agreed upon within the pact. Though he has begged for them to tear his soul apart they would not do it for he is their king. They laugh at him for he cannot die. They see his guilt as clear as the sun upon a summer day, and they torment him with his shame.
He is so tired, but he cannot sleep. In his mind’s eye he can still remember how she laughed when he held her in his arms. He could still remember the smell of her breath and the scent of her hair as he held her close. He wept because of the memories. He wept because of what he had done, but he could never take it back. He could never breathe life back into her lungs or restart her unbeating heart.
Ten thousand years from now he will still hear the shadows laughing, the dying screaming and the sound of his little girl’s soul asking him, ‘Why, daddy?’
Over the bed of an unknown old man who had no identification, no living relatives and no one to claim him, the nurses watched as he wept in his coma. He was dreaming but could not wake up. He was speaking but the words, for the most part were unclear. He was mourning, reliving some sad memory perhaps.
The nurse shook her head as she watched him. With tears in her eyes she turned out the lights and walked from the medical room.
We move slowly through the shrouds of fog sending pestilence before us. There is no hope! We are the Death Guard. Fear us for we are coming for you!
Last edited by Ambush Beast; 09-06-12 at 11:54 PM.