NationStates Jolt Archive

Upon a pristine world, with magnificent forests, never-ending blue oceans, and a lush array of wildlife, things seemed to be shifting. The graceful and savage creatures of the world grew cautious. The local human inhabitants felt an evil, they could feel it in their frail bones.

At the crack of dawn, all hell broke loose, quite literally. Gaping maws of portals ripped through the space and time fabric, destroying vast mountain ranges, burning beautifal forests to the ground, with little more left but ash. Entire packs of animals and humans went insane, most of these creatures succuming to an unavoidable possession, while others strong enough to resist such a thing, simply went mad and killed each other in a savage rage.

Soon enough, many man-sized minions started to pour forth from the portals. They stood upright, and wielded great axes. Their skin was red, and their great spikey manes black, and dark red, from dried gore of a thousand victims. Their faces were flat, with the exception of their snouts which protruded from their faces slightly, their sunken eyes, peircing and crazed with bloodlust. Trailing their heels were four-legged hounds, looking very similar to the upright axe-wielding counter-parts, but more bestial, and their snouts protruding much farther, great sabres expulsing from their jaws.

One geing stood out from the horde of red blood-crazed demons though. He was a lone human, within a hulking suit of armor. He was, or rather is, a traitor space marine. He is a sorcerer, able to wield the powers of the warp with exceptional ability. Is armor and cape were deep red, his helmet protruding from the top, the standard points of Khorne's servant. He was Ezekiel.

Without a doubt, the massive rip in the warp could be felt from all around. But unlike other rips, it did not get bigger, or die. Infact, it stayed the same, unchanging.

Now Ezekiel's last chance for demonhood was at hand, and he would take it with what ever means necesarry.

Bump

The Changer smiles upon this world...

Swooping silently and unseen above the teeming hordes of red-skinned Daemons, the great Lord of Change, Ish'Sur'Baal, twisted the fates of mortals and daemons alike, taking joy from the carnage that he helped foster.

Alighting on a broken spire, he gazed down upon the Sorcerer below him. Grinning, the avian Daemon caressed the fate strand of Ezekiel, feeling the raw power of the adept of Khorne. What mischeif he would cause, what havoc he would wreak... The byproduct of this mortal's life would be immeasurable. And soon, Ish'Sur'Baal would see the ascension of this man to daemonhood, or watch his future crumble to ash...

Forests continued to burn out of control. The seas started to boil away, and the last of the sane human and animal life was corrupted or dead.

"Go, damn you! Find me minerals! Make steels! Construct glorious tributes to our god!." screamed Ezekiel, still perched, overseeing the hundreds of demons still pouring through his portal. "Construct them by sundown! Or the great one shall not be pleased!"

The lesser minions of Khorne, the blood letters started to dig into the ground with their axes. Whole groups started to whack away at the ground, digging up veins of metals deep in the now-dead-earth.

Sigh, bump

OOC: ANOTHER Chaos Nation? Oh well, I'll only get involved if things get really wierd... I'd introduce you to Chron, but that's not my thing.

Dark red clouds gathered over the skies of the planet. All plant life had almost died, vast red deserts covered the planet, in the matter of hours.

The number of demons pouring through the portal lessened, but only to allow something much bigger to step through. With a tremendous roar, the great Blood Thirster, a Greater Daemon of Khorne, stepped through. Great hornes sprouted from its head, and giant wings flapped on his back. His large hooves buried themselves into the red dirt, the tip of his axe ripping into the ground infront of him, in a furry of bloodlust.

Ezekiel laughed as the great demon stepped forth, sniffing, and peering around for death and carnage, but found none. It roared in rage, and glared at Ezekiel.

"My my, pet, quite a thirst, a thirst that cannot be quenched here... no no, but soon my pet, soon you shall drink the blood of our enemies, their rich red blood dripping down your magnificent throat. But now my pet, you must coax your lesser brethren to dig deeper, and smelt the metals down, there MUST be tributes to our true master by sundown!"

With a menacing growl, the greater demon nodded grugingly, and tromped off towards his lesser brethren, smacking one away with his great axe, making the others dig faster.

Soon, the rest of my brethren will be able to march on this dead land...

The monuments were nearly completed. Great fires fueled by the dead had been used to smelt the iron ore into usable metals. The great sphires dedicated to the blood god rose fifty feet into the air, as if reaching to scrape the dead sky as to cause more pain to the dead world.

Ezekiel laughed maniacly, "Yes! Erect more my minions! Soon my own brethren will pass through the portals! The World Eaters shall once again walk on this plane to do their NAMESAKE!"

Demons howled and hooted, the time was almost upon them to move out.

The signs of the tarot spoke in lunatic voices; blind astropaths hissed and snarled and spoke of futures not yet concieved; ideas and thoughts not yet had. Sorceror's intoned litanies of primal futures in painful whispers and the skies screamed with news of distant cataclysm. Somewhere in the void; Chaos was ascendant. It would have pleased the Master to send an emmisiary of Slaanesh to their door; and now that his son was dead; this task fell to Turel. Turel the Exiled; Turel the outcast; granted this chance to don his magnificent robes and perfumed airs; to become again a childe of intrigue and indulgence.

The vessel tore through the Immaterium; a vast and opulant ship befitting a servant of Slaanesh. Upon a vast throne, clad in silks; Turel lay; as captives massaged oils and ointments into his flesh, enshrining it in teasing ungents; colored by honey and ash and blood. He rose; and bid them leave him; fitting the great gold and ceramite armor; the gilded, decorated armor of a true warrior...

This....Savage had power; he could sense it from here; perhaps not a raw power; not the Emperor or one of the Primarchs; not a Remiel, or a Lucian or a Cabot; but power none-the-less. He chuckled softly; as he gave the order.

He dematerialised in a puff of warp-energy; pentagrams and hexagrammic wards flaring for a moment as he faded only to materialise upon the world below facing Ezekial; smirking softly; his writhing armor alive with sigils, adding to the base seductive power of it; all fell magicks and fineries.

The howl began shortly after that; pods impacting around their master; great Terminator armored fiends, replete with advanced sonic weaponry; the Warp-Amps that studded the Dreadclaws ready to engage at a moments sign of violence from these savage disciples of the Blood God. The power and unholy purity of Slaanesh shone through the Lord who stood before them; the black charisma that bleeds from servants of the Dark Prince.

"Gentlemen..." He chuckled softly; circles blazing about him, as Daemonette's tore their way into the Materium; appearing to flank their Master in blackest desire. "...From one servant of the True Gods to another; I bid you greetings, on behalf of the Daemon-Emperor of all Mankind."

Ezekiel was taken aback ever so slightly, he had never imagined some one coming to death. He cackled insanely, and spoke, his tones loud and that of a maniac. "It is a servant, of the CHAOS PRINCE, my minions!". He laughed insanely again inside his helmet, and turned around, jumping off the peak ten feet down to the floor.

As Ezekiel did this, the great blood thirster roared in bloodlust, the bloodletters and flesh hounds quickly reacting to this roar, and rushing to the terminators and daemonettes. Ezekiel thrusted out his hand, and the demns stopped

"Hold my minions! Soon your thirst will be SATED! For now, let the meager servants of the pleasure prince talk as they will!" He turned around, and leapt back up to the peak. "Why do you defile a planet of the Blood God with your steps, and weak demons?! Daemon Prince of *all* man kind?" Again he let out a laugh.

Be it known that Ezekiel had much charisma and spirit, but these were always his downfall in past conflicts, which has brought him to the brink of being punished in a way no servant of chaos has ever felt.