NationStates Jolt Archive

Countless worlds in the Imperium worshipped the Emperor making the Ecclesiarchy the most powerful organization in the Imperium. Leaving them with the ability to sway the masses with but a single utternence to peace or with a word to war. As such the Ecclesiarchy needed to be monitered for purity constantly and stringently. But even so in a government as large as the Imperium any number of systems could slip through the cracks for a few decades or so. And with the discovery of but one quote by the Emperor a new era could begin. 'Worship in itself, is but a step from Chaos.' In a far off system one of these systems that managed to escape scrutiny for a few decades a terrible thing as such was unfolding.

The system of Yorik was small and relatively unimportant as the systems of the Imperium went. It was agricultural and had a few mining worlds of some value. Inquisitor Goroth of the Ordo Malleus had been amazed that such a system had escaped scrutiny for so long. He stepped forward on the bridge of the Strike Cruiser Maledictum a Blood Ravens vessel. He knew the Ecclesiarch in this system would not be expecting a visit let alone a visit by a secret Inquisitor of the Ordo Malleus. Goroth had commandeered the Blood Ravens and their vessel for this mission because of rumors of taint in this area. He knew the Blood Ravens even with their sketchy past would be able to handle whatever taint was to be presented and would surely not require the attention of the Grey Knights.

As the vessel entered the system Goroth ordered it stop just outside the system and entered his transport resting in the hanger of the mighty Space Marine vessel. He slowly piloted it out of the hanger and quickly approached the capitol world of the system Yorik Prime. He landed the vessel at the main city's spaceprt and made ready for his inspection calling for the liazon of the Ecclesiarch.

The Monastery was one of many that dotted the cold, foreboding landscape and tended to the flock of the cities; the great Hives that nurtured the people of the Imperium. The Imperium thrived upon blood, upon human lives, whether spent generating weapons, supplies or taxation; or indeed drafted directly into the Imperial Guard, or Planetary Defence Forces. A worker was the lifeblood of the Imperium, and as such, blood had to be kept pure; its blessed countenance kept unspoiled. Mankind would be forced to prevail across the stars. The Imperial Ecclesiarchy was one such method of purification.

Now, striding forth from the cyclopean gateway of the fortress came a robed figure, coughing against the cold, perhaps, holding the rough brown material to his face, before finally withdrawing it, spitting idly as he made his way towards the Spaceport. The road was rocky, vegetation sparse against the bitter chill of mid-winter and the harsh wind that whipped about him. He winced softly, as though the cold penetrated deep within, drawing robes about himself. Caius Marroy was alone, the representative of the Ecclesiarchy, the solitary emissary of the Ministorum. Now he would behold the Lord Inquisitor who had come to survey their system; their practices. To test their faith in the Emperor.

A momentary smile seemed to cross his lips, dancing for a split second before it faded; the cold shook him once again, and he remained tight-lipped, walking the narrow pathways into the Spaceport proper. The Imperial ship dwarfed the servitors that gathered around it to refuel and attend to it; the Machine Spirits would be venerated and tended to, the Mechanicus would attend to their own rites and rituals, much as he had just come from.

His head, shaven and tattooed with religious texts, was bowed before the vessel and its grand occupants, the guests; those sent to test their faith. They would not be found wanting; most certainly not, Was their faith not secure? Was it not certain?

“Greetings, my Lord. I am Caius Marroy, sent in the name of the divine God-Emperor, beloved by All. It is the will of the Ecclesiarchy that you join us; that your will be enforced upon us, each and all, and we be found pure in the service of the Master of Mankind. Why, might I ask, have you come? The Light of the Emperor, blessed and revered, is maintained and shines upon the populace. Their faith is administered and maintained; and no heresy has touched this soil. There are concerns about the situations in the outer settlements, but that shall not trouble you for now, my Lord.”

The Malleus man was quite a site to behold. He wore black death skull power armor and wielded an ornatley crafted nemesis force sword which was at the current time holstered. On his belt was a black rod resembling a flute, his excruciator, and his psycannon along with many other tools of an Inquisitor. Already Goroth could sense that something was not right about this man he had an aura of uneasiness about him. Goroth made the sign of the aquilla and bowed to the priest. He then smiled slyly and said, "This system has escaped the scrutiny of the Inquisition for quite some time priest. Fifty-five Terran years to be precise. It is merely my duty to ensure you have remained pure and not obtained any.........taint. Please do take me to your master and the central monastery of your humble priesthood on this world."

Silently behind him lurked the form of his navigator and his small escort of guardsmen. They were ready but already he knew they would be useless short of his Navigator Kilis who was very important to him. He looked the priest in the eyes and awaited his response.

“Has it been so long? Honestly; sometimes I wonder. Devotion takes up so much of our precious time that the years seem to fly by. Did they not say that War drew out the Great Crusade of fabled old Imperium, that between Davin’s compliance and the Arch-traitors corruption, 60 years passed and it seemed so short. War, eternal war rules that black void. How oft are you called to war, Inquisitor? How often must you deal death to entire worlds?”

He chuckled softly, turning and leading them forth; the Monastary stood tall and proud; towering over the Space Port; a vast and nigh-impregnable fortress; a vessel dedicated to the glory of the Emperor. “Here we have it, sir. Our humble home. Missionaries come and go; spreading the Emperors benevolence from world to world; enlightening those whom we can, the Ministorum has a precious role to play; the people must be kept enlightened, lest the Light of the Emperor fall from their eyes; like the smiting warp-storm that maimed the pride of the tyrant, Vandire. Such a bloody history we have; such terrible pasts we are taught and made to teach…

One almost would consider it an insult upon all of humanity that our honor is so repeatedly and grievously maimed by heretics, madmen and Xenos. Such terrible acts plague our stars, infest our space…Disease and pestilence and mayhem. Chaos, in a word.” A cough from his lips as they progressed. “True Emperor protect us from such unsightly occurrences.”

Goroth looked at the priest and heard his words he then spoke harshly, "Watch your words priest they come dangerously close to heresy. Such times are not to be spoken of so lightly. None of the names from that are to be even that of the Emperor beloved by all." The Inquisitor then heard the cough of the priest and could smell the smell of sickness and death, the smell of................ plague. He also detected his choice in words similar to those cultists he has exterminated before. He did not show the fact that he had made these observations and said, "Why do you say the True Emperor? Is there not only one Emperor to whom we call Emperor beloved by all?"

"Indeed; but one true Emperor, blessed be his name; he beloved by all, the master of Mankind" His voice raised in a pious croak before he once again began to cough, phlegm staining his hand as his entire body seemed to shake and convulse. "Forgive me Lord; I have been attending to the sick in the outer settlements; the troubles of which I spoke; most terrible disease and malady.A foul den of pestilence and suffering." He coughed again. "The Order works as best we can to remedy such times; to bring the cleansing, healing light of the Emperor to all of Mankind!"

They strode through the vasty gates and found themselves amidst a grand courtyard; banners proclaimed allegience to the Emperor; the Aquilla hung in place of prominence, alive with golden sheen. The air seemed bright and pure; and brothers milled about, robed and bowed in dedication, cowed by the raw devotion to the Emperor that abounded here. This was the sanctum of their praise. "As you can see, we meet within this sacred space and praise the Emperor, glorious be his true name, who reigns above us beyond the stars. Some of the populace regard the Sun as the Emperor; a common worship, and so we try as best as we can to truly educate them. To worship, and praise; to accept the Emperor's divinity. To spread knowledge and light and worship; as the mighty Legios Astartes once did; I remember the tales of how glorious and zealous such warriors were to the Divine Emperor."

Sergeant Johnson of the PDF, Planetary Defence Force, Regiment 18, was fighting for his life.
In the backwaters of Yorik Prime, his Platoon had been placed to monitor any thievings or strange happenings in and amongst the Vast Grain Fields and Agri-Hives. Expecting it to be a quiet Posting, Johnson and the 30 Men of his Platoon were indeed very shocked to find that they were the targets of Heresy so deep it ran right up to the Ruling Classes. Early on his officer, Lt. Brazoc, had been killed, whilst checking out a reported theft of Farming equipment his Section of 10 men had been totally wiped out by a secret Cult of Heresy, of Chaos.
Shortly after this, the 2nd Section had gone to investigate, and again, been wiped out. This Left 3rd Section, lucky number 3. By now, all knew something was up, but everywhere they turned for answers, they had been attacked. The only logical explanation they could think of was Heresy, and they were right, their Billet Hive of Agrimunda V was totally under the sway of Chaos. The corruption tainted the whole town right up to the Ruling Classes.

Obviously now there was no way the Section could make contact with the rest of the planet, it may be corrupted also. They had to try to escape.
And as they currently fled through the light brown, massive grain fields, that was exactly what they were trying to do...

They moved through the grain fields with such speed that they seemed to have left their humanity behind; shifting through the tall stalks, weapons clutched in hands. One held a scythe, a traditional tool for hand-reaping the fields. Others had smaller, hand-scythes; while some possessed lasguns or even primitive Stubbers. They were in pursuit; a bloodthirst more accustomed to Khorne forcing its way through their wasted bodies. Famine and disease had claimed them god knows how long ago; and only this black servitude had offered salvation. Nurgle had promised them freedom from disease and death; and now, unliving as they were, they hungered….

The first of the PDF had went down easily; taken out from distance, preyed upon by the indomitable forces that had been mustered; an entire Hive had surrendered willingly to the foulness; banners unfurled in human flesh, ancient, worn and pestilent, the runes inscribed telling of the “one true Glorye of Papa Nurgleth!” They had been taken, ravaged; tainted beyond reckoning. And now, the Hive sallied forth to hunt down those who would harm their black worship.

A figure towered over them, armour dirty and twisted; stained by dust, mud, blood and pus, mucus ran from the gaps in his plate and he gazed about him with blazing eyes, eyes alive amidst corpseskin. His garb marked him as a Chaplain of the Envenomed Fang. His voice boomed and bellowed above the advancing ranks of mindless minions;

“Forward you maggots! None must interfere with the great work of the Father! None must stand against the power of the Plague! Already our work draws near to completion upon this world and upon countless others! The vessels of the plague shall be our triumph! The fools who worship the false Emperor shall be struck down by the method of their own salvation” A bolter round tore through the grain, the stalks wilting as the Chaplain moved forth, breaking, brittle and dead beneath the influence of Nurgle; a motion with the corrupt Crozius he bore tearing a flame streak through the dying field. “Onwards! We must triumph; in the name of Nurgle!”

"AAAAAAGH" A Man behind Johnson, toting a flamer, fell. His chest burst apart as infected shells ripped him up. They had been found. The rest of the Platoon went to ground, bullets and las rounds firing above, insane groans and laughter coming from Nurgles Followers. Johnson detached the Flamer from the writihing, dying man, and fixed it to himself. The firing stopped, suddenly shapes were amongst the grain, and diseased maniacs launched themselves at the squad, several cut down by furious las fire.
Johnson swung his flamer round to bear on a man who was about to open up with a heavy stubber. A quick tug on the heavy trigger, a burst of promethium fuelled death, and it was over, the man alight like a christmas tree, his skin crackling and turning black as he cooked and melted in a human fireball.
"Keep" He panted. "Moving!"

The Inquisitor nodded and said, "Plague is a terrible thing. Why have you let this plague ravage your system so long without contacting the Collegia Apothecarias?" He gripped the handle of his sword anxiously a habit he had obtained over the many years of service to the Ordo Malleus. In these times his subconcious knew he should fight before he conciously knew it. Still though he had not gleamed anything to tell him that he should need to fight his way free and declare this church heretical.

However the one thing that truly bothered him was the smell of death and plague in the air. It seemed all too convenient to him. He looked around at the brothers and could feel the air of taint and in fact smell it. It was strange though for those he saw did not appear tainted however this was not at all unusual. He suddenly began to feel slightly sick, a naseous feeling and he loathed it. He looked around once more and then turned back to the priest.

“Our faith in the Emperor, Lord. We thought it strong enough to fight off the plague about us. We sent missionaries and devotional tributes to every city and every world, in the hope that we might cure the populace through true Faith. But it seemed as though the Emperor, beloved by all, had forsaken us! We knew the True Emperor would never forsake us, and so we raised our prayers, let them echo across the void.” He shook his head, glancing around.

“Our simple order yet prevails, our mission stands, and from corner to corner, we scour this globe, searching for the means to cure the faithful. The Emperor, True above all others, would never forsake us. He would not have ascended to Godhood and left us to suffer? He could never! Our faith is strong, even though we have been tested. Gods, how we have been tested.

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Elsewhere, the Chaplain grinned, letting his corrupt pleasure blossom upon his face; lashing out again and again, striding through the flames like some living God, a living instrument of madness and disease; a sharp kick hurled a guardsman corpse through the flaming debris of the wheat field and he let his laughter drift forth.

“Come little ones! Come! Be faithful to the True Lord and he shall bless thee! Bow before the pestilent throne and BE SAVED! He is the way! Not the Emperor! Not impotent prayers to a deafened corpse god! BOW AND BE CHOSEN! His is the Power! He is IMMORTALITY, BROTHERS!”

Goroth eyed him closely and drawing his sword said, "You speak heresy priest." He let his blade hang limply at his side as he continued to speak, "The Emperor does not forsake He watches over and guides. We are His children and He would never leave us in our time of need. At times He acts through His instruments from the Highest Lord of Terra to the lowliest servitor. Perhaps this is why I have been sent to you in this your time of need." He eyed the priest cautiously, "When did this plague start? And where was it's source?"

"Come little ones! Come! Be faithful to the True Lord and he shall bless thee! Bow before the pestilent throne and BE SAVED! He is the way! Not the Emperor! Not impotent prayers to a deafened corpse god! BOW AND BE CHOSEN! His is the Power! He is IMMORTALITY, BROTHERS!”
Johnson spat, and the men kept going........

After running on for several miles, theSquad, now down to 6 Exhausted Men, had reached a river. Spewing forth corpulent rubbish, it was disgusting to behold, but it waas their only means of escape. It was well known that on this Planet, all rivers followed the Gravitational pull of it's singular moon, and this Moon was held in stasis over the Nations Capital. This was their way out.

Some 50m along the Bank lay a smouldering wreck of a hut, flames pouring forth from its wreckage. By this Hut there lay a short, stubby pontoon, and on this was tethered a longish Rowing Boat with a forecastle Cover.
This was their Transport.

Hesitantly they secured the Area, Johnson toting his Flamethrower secured the Pontoon, along with Jantine, who carried an immensely big Long Range Vox Caster. This was their voice.

After clambering aboard the vessel, the journey was started. The men took turns on guard, some sleeping and eating, whilst others cleaned weapons. The Flamer Thrower and a Heavy Stubber, looted froma dead heretic, were mounted on Bulwarks for defence. Every 10 Minutes the Long Range Vox made the following call:

"This is Platoon 3, Fox Batallion, PDF. We are being hunted. Our Commanders are dead. Chaos has corrupted outer towns. Reason to believe the Main City is too. Plague is Rife. I repeat, this world is Corrupt."

The Message was sent on Imperial Navy Frequencies, unable to be heard by any other Vox or Sensors Array other than Adeptus' or Ships. They hoped and prayed somebody other than their Hunters were listening...

The Maledictum was hanging in the void when it finally picked up the vox transmission. Captain Orios turned and said, "Battle brothers it appears servants of the Emperor are in dire need. We must contact the Inquisitor and inform him of this and await his orders." Orios drew up his force staff and opened his vox to speak to the Inquisitor, "Lord Inquisitor it appears that Chaos is abound on the planet. We must take care of it now. Reports from the PDF say that the planet has been completely corrupted by plague. They believe the main city is corrupted as well. Watch yourself Lord."

On Yorik Prime Goroth received the vox communication and said one word that no one around him would understand, "Kailshiem." In the void the message was received and Captain Orios turned calling his Honour Guard and Terminator Captain Toras. They boarded the stealth Thunderhawk in the hanger bay used for these specific missions. The Thunderhawks was diving through the atmosphere minutes later and landing near the source of the vox transmissions. Captain Orios and his Honour Guard burst forth from the Thunderhawk and called to the PDF soldiiers.

Elsewhere at the Monastery Goroth clenched his sword and said, "Priest did you not know of this corruption. It appears Chaos is rampant on this planet. It also has been reported that Chaos could have corrupted even this city itself maybe even this monastery. He drew his blade to the priest's throat and said, "You may even be a follow of the Plague God even if you are not you are still guilty of Heresy for not reporting this to the Imperium itself." He then unholstered his Psycannon and held it ready.

Their main job done, the makeshift crew of the small vessel relaed a bit and let the river take the boat on it's course.
Suddenly they approached a bend in the river, and as they rounded, their heart's sank to the bottom of an unfathomable pit of despair. The way was blocked, and barricaded, by one of their own brother Sections. Section 1. And there, commanding them was the Lieutenant. With one wave of his power sword, bolts from the section's Heavy Bolter spat forwards. The section that had been 'killed' was back, transfigured in the horrifying form of Nurgle, their Leader sporting a grotesque array of stomach wounds laden with Pus. Bullets and Las Round zipped past the boat, smacking into the wood, and hissing into the water. Men on the boat were dying like flies, torn apart by the rounds. Johnson lept onto the Flamer and gave the Section a lick of flame, but they seemed to revel in the Pain. Clasping the Vox Transmitter in now bloodied hands, he prepared to make a transmission.

"This is Sergeant Johnson of Previous Transmission, under heavy Att-"

He never finished his sentence as a Las round dischrged and burnt a huge hole in his head, killing him instantly. The Body slumped, as the Boat, carried by the River, connected with the Barricade, in a dull Thump.
Section 3 were dead.

Captain Orios charged forward with his bolter spitting holy fire into the enemy line. Behind him Toras and his Terminator Squad let fly their stormbolters and fired on the barricade. Captain Orios struck his Force Staff in the ground casting a crackling shield around the bodies of the fallen PDF soldiers they still had their use if he could get to them. He then once again opened fire on the enemy barricade with carefully placed shots. Then rolling he landed amidst the corpses of those loyal servants of the Emperor. He then dropped a glowing blue cube amidst them and soon their life and vitality returned. As a consequence of the glowing cube all of their injuries healed and they became fully functional again. He then threw a bolt pistol to Sgt Johnson and yelled his battlecry, "For the Great Father and the Emperor!!!"

Meanwhile making a quick gesture with his hand the Navigator assassin moved to his death stance and drew his swords ready for battle.

Johnson rose to his feet, groggily. Blood soaked his tunic and there was a dull throbbing in his head. He looked around, all around his men rose, on the Bank, and readied their weapons again. Further on the awesome might of the Space Marines were making their Presence Felt. He looked to his hand, where a Bolt Pistol lay, and snapped off to shots at the Enemy Barricade, catching someone on the Arm. Firing rapidly and loosing off lethal burts of Las, the Unit moved forwards after the Space marines.

Orios grinned and watched the PDF soldiers and he yelled once again, "Foul forces of Chaos the Emperor's light is upon you!" RAAARK-pop-SWOOSH-thud-CRUMP spat the Captain's bolter and three of the Cultists burst from the inside out as the shells entered their bodies and detonated in a shower of gore the Captain's armor was splattered with blood. Spinning his Force Staff he brought crackling, scything death into the lead cultist as his Terminator Squad and Honour Guard charged in weapons blazing.

Laughter poured forth from the lips of the emissiary; his eyes closed, his head thrown back as his hands groped at his robes; tearing at the fabric. "Your Emperor has forsaken us! Were we to simply rot!? NO! He offered nothing, no cure, no peace; but then....Then HE came; he brought with him the true Word! The Word of NURGLE! And Nurgle was the way! He promised us freedom, from disease, from death. He promised us power and glory, we simply had to...Had to...Oh what he asked....We could barely comprehend....The System, they wanted it and we offered it. Send his word; he said; send it and be saved! And we did; to every corner of every world....And now, we are made glorious!"

The fabric fell away and the rotten twisted flesh became apparent, the stench of decay rising like a fetid mist from his body; mouths blossomed upon his flesh like sores, weeping and whispering and giggling; even as the gunfire began to rain down from the upper levels. He himself held a gleaming knife clenched in his fist. "FOR THE PLAGUE FATHER!"

"FOR PAPA NURGLE!" the bellow of the Chaplain echoed as he opened fire; the cultists surging before him like a human tide; a diseased wave of fallen humanity. He cackled; Sentinals were cresting the hill; their frames mangled and twisted by pestilant blessings. Nurgle worked like a fire upon the world; a baleful pestilence that would sweep aside the weak imperium and replace it with the glory of the true servants of the Gods; Lord Lucian would reward he and his brethern for their work! Who knew how many systems would slip into their grasp now...

The Inquisitor grinned and he swung his Nemesis Force sword around him slicing two of this would be attackers in twain with the crackling blade. The Guardsmen behind him opened up fire with lasguns and bolt pistols to cut down the cultists and the Navigator assassin was already a dance with blades and firing his needle pistol causing those that attacked to convulse and bloat as the nerve toxins coursed through their systems. Brandishing his Psycannon the Inquisitor let loose a flurry of psychically charged shells into the oncoming attackers as Imperial Guardsmen fell he set his psychic beacon and the Space Marines knew what they had to do. In moments the Strike Cruiser was speeding in system to attack the Ecclesiarchy which had betrayed the Emperor.

"None shall survive! None shall live!" The voices rose in glorious praise to Nurgle as the monastary attacked. Hive cities rocked under the detonation of bombs and viral weaponry in their depths as the full extent of the Ecclesiarchy's treachery became evident.

"For the glory of Nurgle! RISE MY SERVANTS!" The Chaplains voice boomed, the ruinous mark of Nurgle upon him, this Marine given over utterly to the foul worship of Chaos. "These are weak flesh beings! They have not been touched by our Lord! Rise and claim them!"

Nurglings thrummed and hissed at his ankles, zombies stirred about him as they began to return weapons fire, one rotting corpse bursting apart in a shower of maggots and decaying flesh.

"NONE SHALL STAND BEFORE THE PLAGUE FATHER! BEHOLD HIS PESTILANT THRONE! BEHOLD HIS NOXIOUS ALTAR! BOW AND BE SPARED! SUBMIT AND BE CLEANSED!"

The Inquisitor cried in anger and yelled, "For the Emperor!" He spunn his sword with deadly accuracy and snapped off rounds from his psycannon as what was left of his guardsmen escort and his battered Death Cultist surrounded him in retreat.

Meanwhile the Strike Cruiser, Maledictum, had reached orbit and the Blood Ravens were ready for battle. Materializing on the planet over two hundred marines stormed the monastery to save the Inquisitor. Bolters blazing the company would fight until they broke through the enemy's defenses. In a rousing yell the Marines charged drawing blades for close combat, "For the Great Father and the Emperor!!!"

Fire poured from the defenders at the top of the walls, weapons raining mdown upon the advancing Marines. Blight grenades, gifts from their pestilant patrons, showered them.

The Inquisitor was besieged by an entire brotherhood gone mad in defiance of the Emperor. As the World tore itself apart, other worlds in the system, other systems, began to crumble and decay as the Ecclesiarchy tore the chain of command asunder.

They had not been hiding from the Imperium...They had been waiting.

Bombs went off throughout the Monastary, choking corridors with pestilant fumes and rubble. A roar echoed from the catacombs below, the walls thrumming and hissing with runes of such unholy despair that to gaze upon them was to be tainted utterly by the obscene glory of Nurgle.

"Nurgle.....Nurgle....Nurgle...." The cultists chanted their invocations to the Great Father, the Lord of Pestilance. Nurgle! Glorious and Unclean! His favored would rise! His favored would rise!