The red space of the Warp, as always, stretched on forever. There was no sound, save the sounds of constant battle and slaughter.
This epic and ominous image was immediately broken up by the sound of an excited chicken. The crew of an Imperial Battle Barge, who were standing at the viewports looking in awe and horror at the terrifying sight before them, were interrupted in their individual moments of pure fear, were all rather surprised and returned to their posts.
Little did they know that they know that this chicken noise had issued from the beak of a Horror of Tzeentch called Bar'Garc. Bar'Garc was not a Pink Horror or a Blue Horror. He was unique, and was known as a Reddish-Brown Horror. He was adorned with feathers, and had a bright red comb on the top of his head. Bar-Garc was actually not a real Horror, but was actually the reincarnation of a chicken. For unbeknownst to all the Imperium, chickens are actually all Tzeentch-worshipping scum. The Eldar, in their wisdom, realised this and the Dark Eldar of Commorragh hold monthly chicken-killing celebrations in their arenas, during which chickens taken in hundreds of raids on Imperial Agri-Worlds are released into the arena and are ruthlessly slaughtered by the full might of several Wych Cults.
Bar'Garc was a victim of these celebrations. However, he was one of Tzeentch's most faithful followers ever, and what farmers had assumed was just a random chicken making lots of noise for the hell of it was actually Bar'Garc instigating a chicken rebellion, telling his fellow cultists that the time was now to do what the Chaos Space Marines had not achieved for ten millennia. It was about a week after the Bar'Garc Heresy had officially begun, and the chickens had almost taken over a major city. The Dark Eldar arrived in time to unwittingly save the Imperium, and captured the chicken armies.
Bar'Garc had served Tzeentch well, and he was rewarded with a transformation into a Daemon. However, he still found an inescapable urge to peck eyes, lay eggs and say his name incredibly loudly.
It was at the point at which this story begins (Or ends... Or both... It's hard to keep track of these things in the Warp) that Bar'Garc was running along the rough equivalent of ground in the Warp, and was having a lovely time. It was then that he ran into a Daemonette ruthlessly eviscerating a Bloodletter. Bar'Garc tried to sneak past, but chicken instinct had once again failed him, as his response to this sight was to say his name loudly and flap as high in the air as possible.
Naturally, this brought Bar'Garc to the attention of the Daemonette. The Daemonette looked up from her work, and decided that she might as well finish of the Bloodletter. She coldheartedly stuck her claw into the Bloodletter's chest, and tore upwards, splitting her victim in half. Then she ran over to Bar'Garc with great speed and elegance, and snatched him up in her claw, while her other claw pointed straight into Bar'Garc's chest.
"Have you anything to, like, say before I rip your sorry reddish brown mass to shreds?", said the Daemonette.
Bar'Garc considered his next words incredibly carefully. He knew that a Daemonette was not a very smart candidate to throw insults at, having seen a lot of Screamers which had put some sort of coded insult into their screeching while facing the armies of Slaanesh jumped upon and sliced to bits that soon disintegrated into the aether. Therefore, a compliment was in order.
"You're hot", said Bar'Garc.
"Really? Oh, like, thanks", said the Daemonette. "All the others, like, say my hair looks stupid, my claws aren't painted, like, a good colour and that I don't, like, wear decent shoes."
Bar'Garc was surprised. He had expected no response but a claw sinking into his mass of feathers. This was good. All he needed to do was say more nice things to this Daemonette and he would be home free.
"Really? I don't see any problems with it", he said.
"I, like, know! It's just all the other girls just, like, thought that they could rise, like, higher in court if they, like, picked on someone."
"I don't know. Wait, you're, like, a Tzeentch daemon right? Maybe if I, like, spare you, you could, like, ask him?"
"Okay. What's do you call yourself?"
"Cassie. What do you, like, call yourself?"
Bar'Garc had never really thought of this before. If he gave his name over to Cassie, then he would be made a puppet of Slaanesh for sure. He thought about it for a bit, then answered.
"I said, I call myself Satay."
"Like, what sort of name is that?"
"This coming from a Daemonette named Cassie."
"True. You can, like, go now."
Bar'Garc ran and didn't look back.