The Darkness, a tale of the Deathbrood
"For millenia we have existed, unknown to the material realm. I remember the day of our birth, the corruption of the wretched Eldar according to the Lord of Change had gave birth to Slaanesh, the blessed seeker of pleasures. Her birth heralded the start of Tzeentch's plan, to create the perfect being to walk between the realms as if they were born of both. A pact was already forged between him and the Lord of Decadence, though her outrage was great, for Tzeentch planned on melding the souls of the arrogant Eldar with the purefying essence of the God's servants. All that was needed was for the process to be complete was for the beloved Blood God and the Lord of Decay to agree to this pact. Khorne had longed for the perfect servant to kill without question whilst papa Nurgle required a subtle way to pass his gifts to the mortal races, all which Tzeentch used to his advantage. From the moment the pact was forged, the ritual began and within the blessed eye I opened my eyes for the first time and saw the true beauty that Chaos represented, . I looked at my reflection and saw my appearance for the first time, my eyes were black, my hands ended in radiant claws that glowed green in darkness and arms of powerful muscle, I smiled a grin of blades at our blessings. Our fathers proclaimed our role, that we were to oppose all who stood against them, to build the Blood God's throne, to put the Lord of Change's schemes into play, to give Papa Nurgle's gifts to the material realm and to appease the Prince of pleasure's desires. They then forged the order of the Death Monarchs, a band of Warlords that will carry out the God's will. I myself was chosen as a Death Monarch and the Gods gave me a holy name, Tarentaek, the carver of flesh. The greatest among us is Zorbanta, the first to be born and gifted with the knowledge of the great Fathers.
For centuries we trained, to master our arcane gifts and to utilise our innate blood lust and grace to bring death to the heathens. It was one day in the mortal realm that we have heard of our Lord's newest servant, a mortal named Horus. Zorbanta screamed in outrage at our fathers, proclaiming them as fickle bastards and we were merely their pawns. Tzeentch merely laughed at the High Death Monarch, telling us it was for the common good of Chaos for a major threat faced us, The so-called Emperor of Mankind's Great Crusade was starving our Lords of Mortal followers. Lord Zorbanta retorted in anger, stating that our devotion should be enough to feed them, but we were reminded of how few we were and of how difficult our birth was. When Lord Khorne heard of this he ordered us to gather him blood or suffer his wrath when the time came. Lord Tzeentch presented him with a gift, the mightiest Sorcerer our people had ever seen and personally tutored by the Lord of Change, Arcantius and with him the mortal realm shall bleed.
When all out civil war broke out in the mortal realm, our warriors were sent after the weaker mortals, for the first time in our long lives we have shed blood. I remember the glorious day, when Zorbanta took the head of a mortal commander. They were no match for our blades, our Death Knights Void Shredders tore the fools apart, our blades rended their flesh and our hands tore their skeletons from their bodies and wrapped the glistening hides around our necks. Arcantius took to the field, and bound our Daemon brethren into the Mortal's flesh. We watched in glee as the living screamed as their bodies were twisted and their minds disintegrate and the corpses of the dead convulse and transform. Our warcry pierced through the warp and our God's revelled in the slaughter. I looked into the High Death Monarch's eyes and saw hatred, I realised that he had a hatred for our God's mortal followers, believing them to devote their souls for power rather than loving service. It never mattered to me, Our father's required worship to exist and grow in power.
The Warp weeped one day, Horus' had failed his task, the damned Emperor had sundered his soul, depriving our Lords of a rich gift. Our fathers were divided back into their great game. The Weakling's brothers have been elevated into our kindred, Zorbanta sneered that they will never be his brothers. We raided the realms out of spite, our new Daemon engines wreaked havoc on the False believers. They were worthy opponents I admit that but they were no match for millenia of experience, and we delghted in watching our true kindred take over their corpses. One day, we watched a spectacle horrorfying by our standards, a Sorcerer, one of Arcantius' apprentices was killed and for his failure his corpse was cursed to never join the Father's eternal greatness. Arcantius himself sowed no pity, since failures were unworthy to serve the Gods. The crazed members of our race created their own cults devoted to the many arts of death and unleashing their true insanity. The High Death Monarch began putting a holy crusade together against the Imperium and the False Worshippers and so our long war began pathetic humans and know that your souls belong to the Dark Gods in the end".
Testimony of Death Monarch Tarentaek, before the scurging of Anaeus Majoris
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"