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post #1 of 23 (permalink) Old 03-01-13, 07:51 AM Thread Starter
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Default Heresy-Online's Expeditious Stories 13-03: Contempt

Welcome to the year's third




For those of you that are unfamiliar with HOES, here's how it works:

Each month, there will be a thread posted in the Original Works forum for that month's HOES competition. For those of you interested in entering, read the entry requirements, write a story that fits the chosen theme and post it as a reply to the competition thread by the deadline given. Each and every member of Heresy Online is more than welcome to compete, whether your entry is your first post or your thousandth. We welcome everyone to join the family of the Fan Fiction Forum.

Once the deadline has passed, a separate voting thread will be posted, where the readers and writers can post their votes for the top three stories. Points will be awarded (3 points for 1st, 2 for 2nd, and 1 for 3rd) for each vote cast, totalled at the closure of the voting window, and a winner will be announced. The winner will have his/her story added to the Winning HOES thread and be awarded the Lexicanum's Crest award for Fiction excellence!

Theme

The idea with the theme is that it should serve as the inspiration for your stories rather than a constraint. While creative thinking is most certainly encouraged, the theme should still be relevant to your finished story. The chosen theme can be applied within the WH40K, WHF, HH, and even your own completely original works (though keep in mind, this IS a Warhammer forum) but there will be no bias as to which setting is used for your story.

As far as the theme goes, please feel free with future competitions to contact me with your ideas/proposals, especially given that my creative juices may flow a bit differently than yours. All I ask is that you PM me your ideas rather than posting them into the official competition entry/voting threads to keep posts there relevant to the current competition.

Word Count

The official word count for this competition will be 1,000 words. There will be a 10% allowance in this limit, essentially giving you a 900-1,100 word range with which to tell your tale. This is non-negotiable. This is an Expeditious Story competition, not an Epic Story nor an Infinitesimal Story competition. If you are going to go over or under the 900-1,100 word limit, you need to rework your story. It is not fair to the other entrants if one does not abide by the rules. If you cannot, feel free to PM me with what you have and I'll give suggestions or ideas as to how to broaden or shorten your story.

Each entry must have a word count posted with it. Expect a reasonably cordial PM from me (and likely some responses in the competition thread) if you fail to adhere to this rule. The word count can be annotated either at the beginning or ending of your story, and does not need to include your title.

Without further ado...

The theme for this month's competition is:

Contempt

Entries should be posted in this thread, along with any comments that the readers may want to give (and comments on stories are certainly encouraged in both the competition and voting threads!) 40K, 30K, WHF, and original universes are all permitted (please note, this excludes topics such as Halo, Star Wars, Forgotten Realms, or any other non-original and non-Warhammer settings). Keep in mind, comments are more than welcome! If you catch grammar or spelling errors, the writers are all more than free to edit their piece up until the close of the competition, and that final work will be the one considered for voting. Sharing your thoughts with the writers as they come up with their works is a great way to help us, as a FanFiction community, grow as a whole.

The deadline for entries is Midnight US Eastern Standard Time
(-5.00 hours for you UK folks)Sunday, March 24, 2013. Voting will be held from 25 - 31 March. Remember, getting your story submitted on March 2nd will be just as considered by others as one submitted on March 24th! Take as much time as you need to work on your piece! As a change from previous challenges, any entries submitted past the deadline will not be considered in the competition, regardless of whether the voting thread is posted or not.

Additional Incentive
If simply being victorious over your comrades is not enough to possess you to write a story, there will be rep rewards granted to those that participate in the HOES Challenge.

Participation - 1 reputation points, everyone will receive this
3rd place - 2 reputation points
2nd place - 3 reputation points
1st place - 4 reputation points and Lexicanum's Crest

If you have any questions, feel free to either PM me or ask in this thread.

Without further nonsense from me, let the writing begin!



Heresy-Online's Expeditious Stories Challenge 13-06: "Serenity" has started, get your stories in by July 11th!

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post #2 of 23 (permalink) Old 03-01-13, 10:56 PM
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Seriously? Of all the suggestions I sent you, you pick this one?

*sighs while shaking head*

I'll get to it then, I plan on making regular appearances here from now on.

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Default Veiled Clarity

Without further ado, I present to you my entry for his month's HOES.

(The line of thoughts of a renegade space marine and his wish to be gifted absolute clarity.)

Veiled Clarity- (1017 words without title)


He had always felt this feeling lurking in the back of his mind.
Always?

No, not always. Though it was awfully close.

How long had it been? A millennium? Two?

It didn’t matter, for the glory he had earned back then no longer had any meaning, not to him or his kin.

It had been a dozen lifetimes of service to a false Imperium which existed to serve a single man, a single man which was seen as a god.

A dying god, little more than a withered corpse.

Suddenly he had experienced a moment of clarity, a moment of utmost serenity in which everything made sense, everything just fell into place.

That very moment he knew what it was like to be touched by an actual god, a true deity, one worthy of devotion.

For such clarity could not have been brought upon him by a power any less powerful than the true gods of the universe, the ones he had once spat upon and of which he had smitten countless servants…

He could no longer remember that moment of clarity, though he was close to reliving it, that was what the signs were telling him at least.

Images of bird headed creatures lurked at the edge of his sight and their voices whispered distantly in his mind, promising him to relive the moment of clarity if he was to continue his service to their master.

Were the creatures responsible or was the feeling in the back of his mind what guided him?

His kin had tried telling him the creatures and the feeling were the same thing, though he never considered this, nor would he ever consider this. For he knew they were different, the feeling and the creatures, he had told himself so on many occasions.

They, his kin, wouldn’t be able to tell the difference from how he explained things to them, they couldn’t tell. For he, and he alone had been granted the images and the whispers at the edge of his senses and only he had experienced pure bliss through the clarity he had been gifted.

Only he had been blessed and there was a reason why he had been granted this gift instead of another.

It was because he was better, better than the others, and he knew it.
He had always been better… He had always been the best of them…

Once he had dared to proclaim the skill of an opponent did not matter, for he would best them.

He didn’t need to consider the odds of winning a battle, for they were always in his favor.

It had been that way when he wore a marble Aquila on his chest guard and it had remained that way when he turned the ornate stone to simple dust beneath his boots.

This too served as proof to him that his new purpose was right, as he had concluded during his moment of clarity so many centuries ago.

The feeling…

What did it feel like?
Was it his hunger to experience true clarity, to know all there was to know and understand it with such absolute certainty of his purpose?

Or was it a feeling of pride, seeing how he had once been granted a gift which defied reason, knowing he would only be granted such a moment again if he rose his sword in another’s name, against those he had once called brother?

Was it mere greed? Simply wanting to feel the clarity again, not wanting anyone else to receive such a blessing.

Was it despair? No longer knowing what the experience was like, only to know it was absolute and that he needed to feel it once more.

He didn’t know, but perhaps that was exactly what the feeling was, the fact the clarity had resulted in a lack of clarity.

All he knew is that it was more proof of his superiority, the chosen one amongst his kin.

Their purpose was to follow him, THEY WOULD FOLLOW HIM.
He would lead them, the few of them that still drew breath.

They would fulfill their purpose, all of them, bringing about a new moment of clarity one day. That moment of clarity would give him- them, new purpose, a new mission.

And that moment was closing, like witnessing dawn he could see the light appear ahead of the actual sun.
There was no sun yet, but dawn had come none the less.

He couldn’t explain how he knew, he doubted whether he could ever understand it himself.

The creatures which always lay dormant at the edge of his sight hadn’t moved in centuries, but now, as he withdrew his blade from the abdomen of a warrior clad in white ceramite and lowered the blade he had used to decapitate the warrior only a second ago, he saw the bird headed creatures open their beaks, as if grinning at him, approving of his actions and their outcome.

With a thump the warrior in white ceramite fell down, breaking his line of thought.

All other sounds died in the echo of the thump, the wind lay down and he felt serenity as the whispers in his head became more apparent, more noticeable.

He wept as he felt another’s warm blood streaming down his face, comforting him as he came to the realization it was time.

His eye widened as he tried to close them and the whispers became voices, speaking in tongues that had not been spoken in thousands of years, yet he knew what they were saying.

He was to prepare for what was to come and stop thinking, for all would be clear to him in a few seconds.

The feeling ebbed away, the voices lay down, his senses heightened as a new moment of clarity enveloped him, granting him pure bliss.

When it faded he had forgotten what he had experienced, forcing him to butcher again if he wanted to experience it again.

It would remain this way for the rest of his existence, though he didn’t consider that.

For he knew it when everything was clear.

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post #4 of 23 (permalink) Old 03-02-13, 05:41 PM
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Hey, first HOES for me. Hope ya'll like it. I might edit it during the month. Anyways, enjoy (hopefully)...

Nothing but contempt…

The air was brisk and harsh this high up the tower. To the men and women gathered below to listen to their esteemed leader proselytise once again it was pleasantly warm. But the mass of bodies and the internal warmth of the hive had that effect. However, the isolation made it chilly for the lone warrior who had been here for days now. Isolation was not uncommon for this man. Since birth he had been alone. But his solitude had made him stronger. It had given him an assurance these people lacked.

It was a truth reflected wherever you went. In a crowd, everyone could be deluded, but a group of deluded fools can feel confident in their delusion because it is shared by everyone around them. Those who took assurance from those around them never reached higher for fear that their assurance would be torn from them. But up in the lofty altitudes of truth, one had to stand alone and brace the biting cold of mockery and indignation and rest on a solid platform of the knowledge that they were right. Only those with the truth could show them their error.

The crowd was getting restless and even perched here, watching over all like some form of god, the man could feel it. They had just declared independence and thrown off the yolk of a regime they believed was oppressive and cared nothing for them and did not see them. Up until recently they had lived with quite endearment, believing that even if they were right that they could not change it. Then their leader had risen from among them. Told them they could change it, and even if the collective they served did not care, he did. They were about to find out just how much those they had forsaken did notice them.

The man on the tower had lain still for hours, and he could feel his muscles begging him to move, to stretch. He denied their pleas. They must remain still if he was to accomplish his appointed duty. Duty. Something those mites below understand nothing of. All they see is themselves. Their needs. Their wants. Their desires. They fail to realise that they are just a muscle, a cog, a singular part. They are necessary but must function in a set way in order for the body to thrive. Instead they want to be the whole body. And yet, they don’t have the drive, the ambition, the focus. They believe they can make the whole body, except for the head. That they lack, but it has been conveniently provided for them. If the head were to die, the body would fail.

The people were scared, and that was the simple truth of it. Despite the confidence they had recently gained from slaughtering those they felt had wronged them, which had gone to their heads like a powerful amsac, the man with the infinite reach knew it was a façade. He had seen it on every planet he had visited. The people walked as if they were invincible just because they had blindly followed the charismatic man making his way onto the platform. They needed to feel like they could topple everything they had known, otherwise the despair in their hearts which the desperately tried to ignore with even greater levels of depravity and blood-shed would breach their inner walls and overwhelm their souls and they would drown in their own self-pity. They needed to stay on their high, lest they descend into the pit.

Now their assurance had taken center stage. The masses erupted into thunderous applause. Hands that not hours earlier had orphaned children, molested defenseless citizens who refused to yield, toppled their governor, all in the name of some freedom they felt they had been denied, now slapped together in jubilation, as if what they had done was something special or glorious. The architect of this bloodshed stood with his arms outstretched, hoarding all the glory and fame like the same gluttonous overlord they had just dislodged. Desperate hope made people blind, and they failed to see that they had sold their soul to the devil. They did not think God could see them here.

Now was the first time in nearly a day the man moved, and it was only slightly. His head shifted to see better down the scope of his instrument of justice. Where before he had seen the deluded masses with their notion of greatness masking a core of depravity, now he only saw the man who had been the catalyst for it all. Already the man could see the dark nature of the man who had lead a populace to their dooms breaking through his skin. His eyes were a picture of the desires of his heart; black. Whilst the people he had swayed only wanted freedom, the brands on his skin showed that he had already given himself over to a different kind of slavery. A road he intended to lead these people down.

His fanged maw opened to give a speech to the people. He would assure them they had chosen well, that their trust had not been misplaced, that they would be protected. He would tell them everything they needed to hear to continue exactly as he desired; to keep them in the dark, just as their previous rulers had done. The Vindicare watched from his vantage point, nestled in the assurance that he was in the truth amongst and entire world which believed a lie. From this inner well he whispered “Exitus Acta Probat” as he squeezed the trigger of his rifle and his single round blew the heretic’s brain out of the back of his skull before he could utter any words. The people, their only assurance gone, dissolved into a panic. They realised that it had all been for nothing. They had betrayed everything they had known, and now they had nothing. Men who had fought side by side killed each other, frantically trying to atone before anyone found out what they had done. The Vindicare at last left his post, and made his way to the extraction point, no one noticing a lone figure in amongst all the chaos and despair. For men so easily led astray he felt nothing.

Nothing but contempt.

Edit: Word count: 1053 words

Last edited by Deus Mortis; 03-03-13 at 01:05 AM.
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post #5 of 23 (permalink) Old 03-02-13, 08:02 PM
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Hey all, this is my first H.O.E.S. as well, good luck to everyone!

Word Count: 1,004

The Altar of War

Jastilus lurched under his restraints; the sudden shift in gravity pressing him further into his seat as the drop pod began to descend into the atmosphere. His battle brothers didn’t seem fazed by the sudden addition of pressure, their power armor protecting them against the worst of it. The ten of them stood as silent statues that you would find erected in city squares and places of honor, carrying with them no small amount of noble pride in their silence.

No tension, there is only thoughtful contemplation and silent prayer before battle.

The drop pod fell through the skies on plumes of flame, alongside a dozen others. Anti-air batteries littering the valley below tracked their every move and fired into the sunset, creating a blanket of guided laser fire that could potentially dismantle their entire transport only in the most unfortunate scenarios. The pod bucked and trembled restlessly as it broke through the blanket of the kill zone, coming to rest upon a large hill where the flag of the Sundered Legion had already been erected by space marines that had come before them.

Respect the courage of your brothers and hold only contempt for the steadfastness of your enemies.

The transport had crushed the flag beneath its metal exterior and some of the fallen as well. Jastilus could feel his restraints uplifting themselves off of his immobile bulk, just as the ramparts came falling down on every side of the drop pod. It revealed light from a falling sun, and a valley littered with carcasses of dead space marines and alien life forms. The squad of space marines rose as one, holding bolters and an assortment of other weaponry in their hands and descended the ramps.

Courage shown by the alien is only through fear and despair and courage shown by the heretic is only through warp spawned madness. Compare it not with your own, righteous retribution.

Energy from a plasma rifle had taken Dragus just below his chest, turning his power armor to super-heated, molten slag where it had been struck and punching through his flesh. The space marine collapsed with a wordless cry, the bolter still gripped in his hands and firing at the incoming trio of crisis suits falling out of the sky on stabilizing jet packs.

“Stealth Suits behind our positions!” Brother Novus called out, firing at a moving shadow, easily seeing through the stealth field and punching into the fragile suit with a trio of bolter rounds.

One of the Stealth Suits, possibly the team leader, strode up to the Space Marines utterly becalmed and calculating. He snuck up upon brother Victus to be exact, placing his fusion blaster upon the back of his helmet and incinerating anything that had been there before in a blinding light. The plasma gun sagged in his arms and his body gently crumpled onto the valley floor.

Flying drones traced their movements and positions with marker lights, guiding a hail of pulse fire from the hilltops onto Squad Zane. The hovering discs assailed them with miniature burst cannons, but the space marines easily returned fire and shot them out the air.

“Go! Meet the enemy with bolter and blade! Octus, with me!” Sergeant Zane shouted over the den of battle, charging the first of the landed crisis suits alongside his companion Octus.

The Shas’El within the suit held his ground, opening up with another salvo of plasma, but was deflected to a degree by the Sergeant’s refractor. Zane spun past a heavy foot fall meant to pin him to the valley floor, raising his power claymore and carving into the alien construct’s leg. Already within the shield’s proximity that one of the drones was providing, he swung again, this time aiming for the cockpit.

Thrusters on the jet pack sprang into life and kicked the suit backwards; avoiding the blow, before reversing his trajectory and springing him back into close quarters with the Space Marine. The Crisis Suit answered with a wild swing of its arms and a powerful kick, firing this time from its missile pods and catching the Sergeant unawares. Zane disappeared in a bright flash of light, punctuated by a shrill scream and then finally by silence.

Octus fell into a kneeling position and took the suit’s head off with a clean shot from his las-cannon.

“Brother-Sergeant is down! Charge!”

Battle cries fell upon not so deaf ears as the Space Marines stampeded past the Crisis Suits, eager to get to grips with the rank and file. The fire warriors banded together and attempted to bring the Space Marines down, but valiance and retribution would not be so easily denied.

Jastilus’ bolter erupted like thunder as he caught the first of his enemy in a sweeping assault, blowing a crater sized hole into the Shas’Ui leading the group and slaying a number of fire warriors with precise rounds. He parried a knife with his bolter before promptly cracking the holy weapon of retribution against his opponent’s skull. Crushing the helmet in a spray of blue ichor, the Fire warrior reeled away, collapsing in a heap on the ground and finally lying still.

“Deliver death to your enemies and honor to your comrades, brother Jastilus.” He heard the voice of Sergeant Zane in his head.

“Missiles, incoming!” Novus shouted over the others, pointing up toward the sky.

The earth erupted in great geysers of dirt, grass, and bodies, before being cleansed with a great wash of blue flame. Jastilus had to admit, it was courageous of them to offer up their lives like that just to slay the hated adeptus astartes. They all disappeared in the blue fire, screaming violently as they were torn apart in the force of the blast or caught aflame and promptly burned alive.

“No. Know only contempt.” A smile crossed his lips when he realized that he did not feel any hatred for them, but some form of admiration.

Then he was engulfed in the blast and then he himself ended.

“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)
https://www.heresy-online.net/forums/...d.php?t=161618

The New Word (Completed)
https://www.heresy-online.net/forums/...d.php?t=121879

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Welcome to the two first-timers (Deus Mortis and Firemahblazer)

Some great stories so far, looks like it is shaping up to be a good month for HOES



The Silent Lions Chapter

Winter Falls

Darkness

Give a man a match and he will be warm for a day.
Set a man on fire and he will be warm for the rest of his life.
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Romero's Own View Post
Welcome to the two first-timers (Deus Mortis and Firemahblazer)

Some great stories so far, looks like it is shaping up to be a good month for HOES
Thanks , good to be here!

Good stories, can't wait to see the rest.

“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)
https://www.heresy-online.net/forums/...d.php?t=161618

The New Word (Completed)
https://www.heresy-online.net/forums/...d.php?t=121879
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Not to be picky Firemahlazer, but Boc did say the word count was between 900 and 1100. I mean, it's only 16 words, but you should probably just try and add an extra sentence in to please the powers that be.

Other than that, it's good to be part of this and am looking forward to reading all the entries for this month.
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Deus Mortis View Post
Not to be picky Firemahlazer, but Boc did say the word count was between 900 and 1100. I mean, it's only 16 words, but you should probably just try and add an extra sentence in to please the powers that be.
Oh okay, no problem, I can add a little bit more .

EDIT: Alright, I added an extra paragraph right after Dragus' death and one very short piece of dialog just before the missiles rain down.

“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)
https://www.heresy-online.net/forums/...d.php?t=161618

The New Word (Completed)
https://www.heresy-online.net/forums/...d.php?t=121879

Last edited by Myen'Tal; 03-03-13 at 02:32 AM.
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I think I'll give this a shot
Written in flesh
There it was before him, this Mon-Keigh this...thing that dares call itself sentient. An'Xilaeq felt inclined to teach it a lesson, one that the Haemonculi know how to deliver, a lesson in pain. A smile girdled the Flesh sculptor's twisted features, a hellish visage come to fruition. An'Xilaeq gently caressed the human's face, he was young even by their standards, his life pale in comparison to the millennia the Haemonculus has desecrated the flesh of those who crossed his path. He clicked his bony fingers, answering this call was a wretched figure, its body mutilated to match the demented i of the Haemonculi and it's face encased in a mask of blackest iron. A dry cackle emergingfrom his ancient throat, "you know what to do" An'Xilaeq intoned.

The Wrack had brought them, the tools with which the Haemonculi create their macabre wonders. The Lord of the Coven gently caressed each one like a lover, each one creating a beautiful symphony exquisite agony...but An'Xilaeq had another thing lurking in roiling darkness that formed his mind. The Mon'Keigh was to be remade from his wretched self into something eater; something...beautiful. The Haemonculi then gestured to his Wracks, each preparing a tool for this great change. The human howled in agony as the devices were forced into his flesh. His screams then reached a crescendo as the they pumped the the elicits, already beginning to warp his pallid flesh and An'Xilaeq rebelled in the waves like lovers in the night. Cackling once more, the Haemonculus declared "he is ready, sooon he will be perfect".

Time passes, the Lord of the Coven cared little, his newest creation was ready. He floated towards the red cocoon. The thing pulsated, pushing out the contents that it held. In a grotesque mockery of childbirth, the cocoon forces out a hulking figure, tubes and stim injectors protruded from it's enlarged spinal sump. But it's face was still the same, An'Xilaeq would remedy this with a gift for his newborn "child". A mask iron, a larger variant worn by his twisted acolytes. Placing it upon the Grotesque's face, the Haemonculus' contempt was washed away in this instant. Instead exaltation and twisted joy manifested; he had made this Grotesque from a wretched thing into a creature of macabre beauty.
-----------------------------------
He had found it, the place he had sought out. For Arqul'Qan this was the place his desire would take him, and as the entrance came into view, a fleeting moment of terror fluttered in his jaded heart; The entrance was adorned with skulls, dabbed in sigils of blood, curtains of flayed Mon'Keigh skin. In front was a large figure, it's body bulging with obscene amounts of muscle, repulsed by the figure the noble spoke "I have come to discuss a proposal with your master". The Grotesque remained still, Arqul'Qan dared not to think of what lurked within the black mask. A deep growling emerged from the fiends throat, forming the words "enter".

The oubliette was indeed a macabre place, not just because of the skulls of glaring witchlight, but the fact that he was so deep beneath the dark city.....making him yearn for the skies even more. A chittering noise began to echo throughout the catacombs, Arqul'Qan investigated it. He came across a chamber, it's walls laced with red cocoons, each filled with a black figure in some state of regeneration. "Who is this that has come to our domain", came a dry voice that seemed to come from an ancient throat. Arqul'Qan turned what he laid eyes on repulsed him further. A figure, resembling a monstrosity from the oldest tales emerged from the shadows. A smile crossed the fiend's ebony lips, "is there a reason why you'd call upon me child?" The noble had guessed that the Haemonculus would know his reasons, but alas he will indulge the Flesh-sculptor, "I have come for your...services An'Xilaeq". The fiend cackled, "not to peruse my many creations? Or is it to elevate yourself to the skies?" Arqul'Qan growled silently, "yes, I have grown weary of the earth beneath my feet, I want to escape this....this Necropolis". An'Xilaeq floated closer "you entrust yourself to my care? What makes you think you will live through the displays of my ever-sought talents?" The noble need not hesitate "better than remaining in this prison" he spat. The Haemonculus burst into a bout of bone-chilling laughter, unnerving Arqul'Qan in the process. "That is all I need child, when you leave this plac, you shalll so laughing and scorning the world below". The clicking began again and it's source emerged from the shadows; a mass of flesh and metal, it's blades caked in fresh blood. "I'm ready" intoned Arqul'Qan as he followed the macabre beings into the shadows....

When the sky falls down, The Dead sleep no more. Can you survive as your world slowly tears itself apart?

"When life gives you lemons...BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD"

Last edited by Farseer Ulthris; 03-03-13 at 03:32 PM.
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