# The song of Gilort



## Glasses man (Oct 31, 2012)

_The Herald Of Death_ slid through the murky depths of the warp. Its elegant black shape seemed out of place in the violent and twisted anarchy that was the warp.From a distance at least. Upon closer inspection you could see the sure signs of chaos. Parts of the ship where clean and flawless. Recently repaired after damage had been inflicted. Other parts where Scratched and dented places where the attacks from other ships barely landed. One section was fused with a strange being whose head bore the symbol of the mighty Imperium. The poor soul was strapped to the outside of the ship as chaos energy fused the once guardsman to the ship. Where the ship was going no-one knew except those inside. All people knew is that where this black eagle was going was towards a fight.

The bridge was a simple room compared to what some might think. many prisoners had expected to find a throne of skeletons or something equally horrifying put there was nothing of the such just what you would find is the same that you would find on a normal imperial cruiser, Well except for the chaos symbols everywhere, But this was normally the last thing people saw before they either became a member or the crew or where killed in a many a gruesome ways.

Farisis stood behind one of the many crewmen that was at the bridge at this certain time. He stood at the around seven foot but many of the crew had said that he seemed much taller when he stood over them. Farisis was looking out of the viewing windows into the insanity that was the warp. A small smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. The time was soon to be upon him to become a demon prince. He would sacrifice everything,Including himself, To be able to have this chance upon him. "We will be entering the orbit of Gilort any moment my lord." Shouted a man across the room. Farisis left his spot and approached the man. He had been recently blessed by Nurgle and one side of his face was covered in strange warts that released puss every so often. The puss was revealed to be extremely toxic to any one who didn't follow chaos as revealed when a prisoner punched him in the face and the puss got on the prisoners hand. The man began to scream as the disease spread up the mans arm and killed him. He took great pride in his blessing even more after that. Farisis came up behind him. "How long till we enter orbit" Demanded Farisis observing the screen. "A matter of moments my lord." Responded the man. Farisis turned "Inform my champions to grab their equipment from the armory if they don't keep it by their side. Then meet up in the drop pod area I think its time we use those things for something." And he left the room.

Walking down the hall Farisis pulled his scythe of his back. He had fond memories of this scythe. He acquired it when his war band ran into a small splinter fleet of Tyranids. The battle was a ferocious one. Some of his greatest champions where killed by Genestealers or fleshborers but the outcome of that battle resulted in Farisis and a khorne berserker cutting of the head of the hive tyrant. the battle had broken the power blade which Farisis favoured so in return the spine of the hive tyrant was ripped out as well as one of its scything talons taken. The result was the scythe that Farisis treasured. A small man ran into the chaos lord and fell over his own legs. Farisis did not say a word and just punched the man in the face. The mans skull caved in to the sounds of a squelch and a whimper. Farisis wiped his fist on the dead mans clothes and picked up his scytheand carried on walking down the hall.

The door to the drop pod docking bays slid open as Farisis's imposing figure walked through. He remembered how this was once an imperial cruiser that was delivering drop pods. To whom and where Farisis did not care all that mattered was that the ship was part of the hell singers once the ship raid was over. Farisis found a seat and sat down pulling out a plasma pistol and looked at the door as he cradled his pistol in his left hand time to get his so called "Champions" together oh well if they will help him get to daemonhood they must have some usefulness behind them.
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Well its finally up after many delays and set backs this is finally up so post away! this one will be about well the beginning so just post about your way to the drop pod room with what you where doing before hand and your trip there remember you are the champions of the ship so feel free to kill the occasional meat shield along the way after all they are easily replaced


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## bobahoff (Nov 24, 2011)

From the deep slurping rasp over the vox Gallus knew who was speaking,

'Our Lord has requested your presence in the embarkation deck'
Gallus cursed under his breath. 
'I have only one lord, and he is not on this ship'
He looked down on his toy, this was a good one it had been 18 hours yet it was still fighting to stay alive. There was nothing more disappointing than when they gave up hope and died prematurely

'Send two slaves to my quarters immediately'
The nurgle infested crewman slurped in accordance and a minute later two slaves appeared at the entrance. 

Gallus paces over to them and drives his right lightning claw through ones abdomen.

Whilst maintaining eye contact with the slave he has his lightning claw embedded in, he begins to speak to the unaflicted slave

'My plaything is very important to me, I wish to resume my entertainment when I return do you understand'

The slave nods acknowledgement, and the wounded ones eyes begin to waver

'If he dies you shall take his place and I assure you, you will envy him when I am done'

The life fades from the wounded slaves eyes and Gallus inhales his last breath, savouring it before releasing his claw alllowing him to slump to the floor.

'Dispose of that' he tells the remaining slave as he picks up a cleaning rag to wipe the blood from his claw making his way to the embarkation deck and spying the drop pod with his commander. He gives a stern nod to the chaos Lord and stands in silence


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Ptah stared intensely at the open book on his pedestal. The words were written in glyph only he understood. Each word had been faithfully transcribed by his own hand from the original text into this new script and the original burnt. It had hurt Ptah to have to burn such a priceless tome of knowledge, but he could not leave such value open for anyone to view on a vessel such as this. The secrets he kept were what kept him useful. Once everyone knew everything you did, you became disposable. And as such, the original had to be condemned to the flames and its knowledge locked within Ptah’s own skull. 

As he read, his mouth moved in rapid motions, mimicking speech but too fast and too quiet for even Astartes to hear. As his reading grew faster and more frantic, his hands started to grip the side of his pedestal and found the indents which his hands had made from gripping the ornate lectern to tight during several other lectures. Ptah felt an ethereal wind kick up and the bleached robes he was wearing which was embossed with the golden Ouroboros of his legion. The words of the tome deciphered themselves as he read them and formed a beautiful image in Ptah’s warp-sight.

It was the power to unmake a man, atom by atom. Ptah saw the spell unfold before his eyes. An iridescent humanoid form imitated human movements and then it seemed to zoom in and show the bonds which held the body together. It showed Ptah how fragile they were and how they could be undone. How easily they could be broken. All that it would take would be to unmake an internal organ and his foe could be defeated. But the ability to unmake an organ without seeing it was beyond him. That would require reaching into a person’s body without disturbing their surrounding tissue or becoming bonded to it. 

That power was, as of yet, beyond him. But it would not be for long. Until then he would have to simply unmake the whole man. It would take time in the battlefield to unmake a whole person, and it was not a spell Ptah had mastered, so his inexperience would make it take longer. Still, unmaking a person’s eyes or fingers would suffice to buy him time in a fight. As his the warp-sight faded from his eyes, the smile stayed on his face. 

Ptah’s eyes adjusted to the relative dark interior of his chamber to find his artificer, servant and armourer burying his blade into the skull of one of Farisis’ messengers. The man instantly stood to attention and bowed his head. Ptah rolled his head and shoulders, the smile still curling the edges of his mouth. Ptah closed the book and walked over his servant. His unarmoured hand still easily engulfed the lower skull of the mortal. There was a blade slice on his face and several knicks all over his body. “My poor Kazemde.” Ptah said softly as he wove the skin on his servant back together.

A moment later, his servant Kazemde stood fully restored. “My lord, he tried to disturb your meditations.” Kazemde said trying to justify himself, his voice fevered and desperate. The human knew how expendable mortal were aboard this ship.
“Relax Kazemde.” Ptah said, his voice by comparison warm and calm. “Farisis does not care for his mortal staff. He will not care that one goes missing. But I will.” Ptah reassured him. “You know I entertain very few attendants and only keep those which prove most faithful and useful. And the loss of those I value will incur severe punishment, I assure you. So don’t fret, all is well.” Kazemde seemed relieved at his master’s words, and they were true. Finding such loyal and unthreatening companions as Kazemde was not easy and to lose his would incur Ptah’s wrath. 

Ptah had told Kazemde that no one was allowed to disturb his meditations, and his servant had prevented that from happening and so should be rewarded. The reason the man had to die was because Kazemde knew his fate would be far worse if he had allowed the man to succeed. “My lord, he wanted to tell you that Lord Farisis requests your presence in the drop-pod bays immediately.” Ptah chuckled lightly. 
“Farisis never _requests_ anything.” Kazemde let himself smile at his master’s humour. “Well, we best not keep him waiting.” Kazemde knew that Ptah meant he needed to be armed.

Kazemde had learnt to quickly and efficiently armour his master, and so in less than fifteen minutes, Ptah’s finely polished, deep azure armour was almost finished being fitted onto his being. Unarmoured he had dwarfed his servant, but in full battle-plate he positively towered over the mere human. Finally, Kazemde slotted Ptah’s helmet over his ever changing visage and handed him his weapons. “Remember Kazemde…” Ptah told his servant before he left. “…Whenever you leave these quarters, wear your totem. Even the bravest Astartes on this ship would not dare attack one under the protection of one of Farisis’ commanders. And all those who would will not be on this ship.” Ptah chuckled and left his servant alone.

Ptah was the last to enter the drop-pod chamber. “My liege” Ptah said in a semi-mocking tone, although it was always wise to have his lord believe it was more serious than a joke. His other “peers” were of little consequence to him. They were supposed to be equal to him, but he doubted any of them possessed anything close to the power he did. A loss of one of them would not be a loss exactly. Still, he would have to deal with them for the moment. They would be dropping soon and Ptah wondered quietly to himself if Farisis knew just how unwise he was being in allowing one with such a thirst for knowledge as Ptah to be so close whatever arcane device they were going to retrieve…


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## Protoss119 (Aug 8, 2010)

Bysek had not asked much in terms of quarter when he swore service to Farisis. His quarters, such as they were, were in the bilge, the very bottom of the vessel. Within his dark and cramped berth, he led a simple life, maintaining his wargear, subsisting on fungus bread and void-sweat, and meditating on past battles and kills. The lust for blood and battle were never satiated; frequently he would venture forth from his quarters, seeking battle with whatever horrid creatures made their home in the forsaken deck.

Here and now, however, he sat cross-legged within his quarters, clad only in a dirty brown robe that was stained with dry blood in some places, his armor and other gear behind and around him, and meditated on the slaying of the Khornate champion before him.

He hadn't stood a chance. He hadn't said even half a word before Bysek beheaded him. He still remembered the blood pooling up around his would-be foe's stump. To be perfectly frank, he didn't know whether or not the champion was going to challenge him or not. In his experience, however, there was not a single Khornate champion who didn't at some point. After swearing fealty to Farisis, he simply decided to solve the problem preemptively, sparing the champion the dignity of a formal challenge.

_Why does anyone in such a turbulent galaxy bother with formal challenges, anyway?_ he wondered. After all, he never made a formal declaration of intent before beheading someone; _when one's life hangs from a single moment, who has time?_ Assassins drew the blood of their victims without ever speaking a word, yet such a thing gave strength to Khorne nevertheless.

That wasn't the worst of the stupidities he had witnessed, however. The thought of it made his blood boil. It was a stupid galaxy, filled with stupid people who insisted their stupidity was right. And the stupid masses would gather, drawn together by whether they were Astartes, xenos, rebels, heretics, or even fellow devotees of Chaos, and they would be stupid together, directing their pitiful hate towards those who were stupid in a different way. And when they inevitably died, their blood fueling Khorne's mighty rage, their successors would be just as stupid as they, and the same kind of stupid. They were stupid and blind to the way the galaxy worked.

Oftentimes, Bysek wondered if everyone was stupid but himself. If so, he was mightily proud to be in the service of Khorne, for the Blood God granted him the strength and the endless rage to spill the blood of the stupid, and all he absolutely needed above all else was their skulls.

At that point, Bysek heard a voice over the vox. He was unable to hear what the voice said, however, despite his Lyman's ear, for the slurping, croaking rasp was all but unintelligible to him. Such a thing affirmed a lesson he had always remembered: never give a vox to a Nurglite.

Not long after, the door to his quarters opened with a rusty, high-pitched groan. Before him stood a man, dressed in dirty, brown fatigues, his chest covered by a slab of plasteel crudely forged into a breastplate with the Mark of Khorne etched into it. Much of his face was concealed by a rebreather, but Bysek could see his pale skin, his brown, bloodshot eyes, and his long, black hair. He knew the man; he was a renegade named Gzarl.

"Milord Bysek, Master Farisis commands that his champions meet him in the drop pod bays."

Gzarl said the words without fear. As Bysek looked up at him, he could see the steel in his eyes; they were almost defiant. Slowly he rose; he towered over the renegade. He reached out with his left arm, placing his hand on Gzarl's head. Bysek's gaze was piercing and almost feral, but the renegade's expression did not change. After a few moments, he spoke:

"Thank you."

He tousled the renegade's hair and then retracted his left arm, dismissing him. He liked Gzarl. Despite his frail form, Gzarl was a very brave and formidable fighter, something that made him all the more intolerant of cowardice. He closed the door and began armoring himself, not even bothering to call a Heretek to guide him through the process. He cared little for the rituals needed for his armor and weapons to function properly unless there was one around, for the Machine Spirits complied just fine regardless in his experience; it wasn't dishonoring the Machine Spirits unless he was caught, or so the thinking went.

After he finished donning his armor - that his helmet was functional was proof enough that the rest of his wargear was well and good - he took his weapons, the two-handed chainaxe _Blood Blooder_ and the plasma pistol _Khorne's Strobelight_, as well as three frag grenades, three krak grenades, and a melta bomb - and all in such a cramped compartment! - and placed the grenades in pouches on his belt, attached the melta bomb to his left thigh via mag-lock, and placed _Khorne's Strobelight_ in a holster on his right thigh. He kicked the door open and started forward, holding his chainaxe in his right hand as he might a walking stick. He shoved aside slaves and renegades who were in his way; to kill them would not make a worthy offering to the Blood God.

Bysek was second-to-last to enter...and he quickly found himself surrounded by people he hated. He gagged at the sight of his fellow Astartes, making his displeasure known. He looked to Farisis, beating his chest plate with his left hand as an acknowledgement. "Since I have not been chained to a wall and left to my...fellows," he said, "I assume that we have foes to fight and kill, my lord."

Bysek had not become any more reverent since his conversion to the worship of Khorne. He tapped the _Blood Blooder_ with his fingers, waiting for his lord and his "brothers"...


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

The bridge was an ugly box of a thing, devoid of wonder or true craftsmanship. What little splendor there once had been had long since been lost to corruption and disrepair. Like much of what its master seemed to command, Sekel thought to himself while he lounged against the command throne. The legionnaire did not fear reprisal from the Hell Singer lord, for his skills were worth this slight had there truly been one. Instead, Farisis was content to loom over various members of his mortal crew, instilling terror in them when none was needed. That was, of course, when Farisis was not staring into the insanity of the warp while they were in transit; to the relative hazard of his crew, for any of them would be instantly driven insane from the mere sight of what lay beyond the ship.

With a rumble and howl of straining metal, the Herald of Death was vomited from the warp and back into real-space. Sekel brokered himself as one who had seen a great deal in his centuries, but even he had to admit some measure of surprise at the closeness in which he found himself to the planet that was their destination. _“We will be entering the orbit of Gilort any moment my lord.”_ One of the crew shouted from across the bridge, and with that Sekel broke from his thoughts and picked himself up from the throne in time to march in step with Farisis as he exited the bridge for the launch bays.

Along the way the Hell Singer lord purposefully crossed his path with that of one of the crew, sending the man flat on his back before ending his life. _“Such a waste, you will destroy all that you have built only for the gods to rob you of that which you seek Farisis. They rarely reward the incompetent.”_ Sekel hissed with the hint of a smile creeping onto the corners of his lips. The Hell Singers often had to raid for prisoners when the superhuman crew took to slaughtering the mortals, it was an action that disgusted Sekel and he refused to take any part.

The pair made way to the launch bays without further incident, soon joined by the sociopath Gallus, the berserker ape Bysek, and finally the sorcerer Ptah. Gallus nodded his loyalty to Farisis, but otherwise kept to his silence, Bysek did as many loyal to the blood god did and showed himself to be little more than a barbarian, and Ptah bid Farisis his respect. Of their lot, Sekel showed some respect only to Ptah; he had lived during the time of the Crusade, fought during the Age of Darkness.

_“Sorcerer, has your witch-sight seen anything of interest on the world below?”_ Sekel asked, his tone of undisguised mockery. Of the others, Sekel simply ignored them, neither truly worth much of his attention.


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## bobahoff (Nov 24, 2011)

'He will not tell you, at least not until he can make it benefit him' Gallus says derisively. He then walks slowly and menacingly toward Ptah and fixes him with a steely gaze.

'I would wager he knows everything about this mission'
He flexes his fingers in a deliberate manner to draw attention to his lightning claws.
'Or am I mistaken?'


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## darkreever (Apr 3, 2008)

_"He will not tell you, at least not until he can make it benefit him"_ Gallus cut in, to which Sekel whipped his head in the young Hell Singers direction. _"I would wager he knows everything about this mission. Or am I mistaken?"_ He continued, flexing one of his claws in front of the Thousand Son sorcerer.

_"I did not direct my words to you whelp, so cease waggling your tongue before I cut it from your mouth."_ Sekel snapped in response. _"If I wanted to hear the driveling of a pathetic excuse for what passes as astartes then I would seek out a World Eater."_ He said before turning his attention from Gallus to the brute Bysek.

_"And what of you? Should we use smaller words so that we can be blessed with whatever grunts you are capable of?"_ This, Sekel said with a sneer across his alabaster features. This one was a devotee to the blood god Khorne, much like his hated rival Kazimir. But where Kazimir was a true warrior, and Sekel had no qualms admitting such, and had fought during the great Siege, Bysek was nothing more than an excuse clad in armour. And if there were any followers of the blood god he hated more, it was those who had not fought on Terra against the false Emperor those many years ago.


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## Protoss119 (Aug 8, 2010)

Bysek's eyes centered on Sekel as he addressed him, but his head did not move. _"And what of you?"_ he said. _"Should we use smaller words so that we can be blessed with whatever grunts you are capable of?"_ Bysek spied the sneer on Sekel's face. He continued to rap his fingers on his chainaxe's handle. Bysek's response was unusually calm, considering his patron. He shook his head.

"I see you waste no time in instigating the usual rivalries" he said. "And I suppose this is the part where I denounce you for being cowardly, debased, dishonorable, et cetera.

"No...instead, you are merely the same as the rest of your master's champions. And that is worst of all; where is your sense of identity? Why, I daresay, there must be a thousand Sekels waging your excuse for war across the galaxy, and all leaving the same mark, the same legacy."

Bysek paused. He had not encountered many champions of Slaanesh, and he had never encountered one who was a veteran of the Long War as Sekel was. In retrospect, he wondered: _how did I think of such a figure?_ He dismissed the thought for now.

That is not to say that Bysek was not irked by Sekel's insinuations, however. The champions of Slaanesh he had encountered before his service to Farisis were indeed all the same; proud as an Eldar, cowardly, fond of wasting time inflicting pain on their foes instead of killing them and moving on. The Servants of Slaanesh were all frail, proud, lazy, spoiled beings, content to simply be rewarded all of their hearts' desires from the outset instead of building themselves so that they may take it. And when they did receive all they desired, like a spoiled child, inevitably they wanted more. They lacked the will and the strength of true warriors.

Actually, Bysek wasn't quite sure. He had not thought such about the servants of Slaanesh before pledging himself to the service of Khorne. He had no experience to call upon that would affirm what he thought; it was as if the opinion simply appeared one day, or gradually within one week. At this time, he had no cause to doubt such an opinion, however. _And they are quite fond of the tentacle, besides._

He turned his head towards Ptah, the sorcerer. Unlike Sekel, Bysek did have cause to despise psykers and sorcerers before his service to Khorne. From his time in the Knights of Tizovka, he had been repeatedly examined by the chapter's Librarians for evidence of psychic potential. Every time he divined the outcome of a battle or a situation, every time he guessed at the character of his foes, the Librarians would examine him again. He was not psychic; they were merely blind! He came to despise them for their meddling ways, and he despised them for that reason even now.

"And I levy the same accusations at you" he said to Ptah, continuing from his accusations toward Sekel. Now the anger was evident in his voice. "What 'master schemes' have you been plotting? I suppose our every action, from the air we breathe to the men we kill, is 'just as planned', isn't it?"


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

_“Sorcerer, has your witch-sight seen anything of interest on the world below?”_ Sekel asked, his tone of undisguised mockery. Ptah smiled underneath his helmet. Sekel was a servant of the God of Pleasure, and probably one of the commanders Ptah would least like to see killed. Or most depending on his mood. The marine had a sharp head screwed on and would not be fooled easily. He would be dependable in a crisis and one of the least likely to stab him in the back in the name of “worship”.

Ptah was about to answer when another of his so called “equals” bounded up to him with nothing but ignorance to spew. _“He will not tell you, at least not until he can make it benefit him”_ Gallus said derisively. Now here was a marine with none of the self-control or intelligence of Sekel, surrendered it all over to his God. It was a sad form of worship where your retained none of your intellect. _”I would wager he knows everything about this mission”_Gallus flexed his lightning claws in an attempt to intimidate Ptah. It was a foolish attempt, given that Ptah could blast him across the room before he made the short distance between them. It never ceased to amuse Ptah that people with an idea of “honourable single combat” expected him to fight them based on purely martial skill. They would use every asset they had, so why they thought he wouldn’t too was beyond him.

_”Or am I mistaken?”_ Ptah was about to retort to the ignorant mongrel before Sekel interjected. _"I did not direct my words to you whelp, so cease waggling your tongue before I cut it from your mouth."_ Sekel snapped in response. _"If I wanted to hear the drivelling of a pathetic excuse for what passes as Astartes then I would seek out a World Eater."_ Gallus looked shocked and Ptah could not help but issue a throaty laugh. “Gallus, you fool. Do you really think demonstrating that you are not yet a quadriplegic will intimidate me? I was killing whelps like you before your ancestors were born.” Ptah pushed Gallus aside and continued to the drop-pod. He drew shoulder to shoulder with the Slaaneshi, he whispered venomously to Gallus “Challenge me again, and I will show you the power a _true_ veteran of the Long War weilds” Ptah was confident Gallus could not match him in a fair fight, so as long as he watched his back the juvenile posed no threat.

Clearly though, Sekel was not through showing his unbridled contempt for the other members of their company. _"And what of you? Should we use smaller words so that we can be blessed with whatever grunts you are capable of?"_ Ptah had not spent much time with Sekel, but after this display he was certain he would grow to like him. At least this Slaaneshi was not devoid of all reason that appeared to have infected those who were not on Terra. Better yet, Sekel saw it too. Ptah was certain the Khornite, Bysek, would respond in his usual idiotic fashion. It was well known that Bysek was more mentally unstable than most and that was a statement given the Hell Singers had a rather large contingent of Khorne Berzerkers.

Bysek seemed to remain relatively calm, at least in the start of his response. Initially, this surprised Ptah, but as the Khornite’s voice rose higher and louder, Ptah realised it was all a façade to try and disprove Sekel’s point. _"I see you waste no time in instigating the usual rivalries"_ Bysek said. _"And I suppose this is the part where I denounce you for being cowardly, debased, dishonourable, et cetera. No...instead, you are merely the same as the rest of your master's champions. And that is worst of all; where is your sense of identity? Why, I daresay, there must be a thousand Sekels waging your excuse for war across the galaxy, and all leaving the same mark, the same legacy."_ Ptah sniggered. “It is rich that the one who serves a God who turns all his followers into the same mindless berzerker should condemn _anyone_ of being the same as someone else.”

Bysek seemed content to levy his fury at Ptah. Ptah rolled his golden eyes. *That didn’t take long* Ptah thought to himself. _"And I levy the same accusations at you! What 'master schemes' have you been plotting? I suppose our every action, from the air we breathe to the men we kill, is 'just as planned', isn't it?"_ Ptah smiled. He wager the Khornite thought differently and expected his thoughts to be vindicated. How deluded he was. “You blood-worshipers, you continue blissfully ignorant of the reality around you!” Ptah’s tone was scathingly condescending. He had no time for idiots or fools and this Astarte was both. “What you fail to comprehend that all is change. It matter not how wildly or fanatically you protest that you serve your God, you will always serve mine. Change rules all and that is the only aspect of my plans with which you need concern yourself with. But, given your inability to comprehend even that basic fact, I imagine that will keep your simple mind quite occupied.” 

Ptah snorted in obvious contempt. “Now, whilst I can divine many futures, I need not employ those skills to know that whatever attempt you make at speech will be incoherent and embarrassing for all involved. So kindly shut up before I sow your lips together.” Ptah could not believe that he had been lumped with these idiots. If there was a “mishap” and Gallus and Bysek died, Ptah would be far from upset. Better yet, if one of them would try and challenge him and he could dispose of them; that would be even more convenient. Truth be told, this was getting tiresome.

“In answer to your question Sekel…” Ptah turned away from the Khornite and to the only person who seemed to have the slighted bit of common sense and the jovial tone now returned to his voice. “…my meditations have revealed surprisingly little about Gilort. The main thing to note is that the world had seen a lot of blood, and if the Gods have sent us there, we can be sure they will be watching. The veil grows thin and a reigniting of the flames of war would surely tear through it.” For once, Ptah spoke with a large amount of truth. The reason that his meditations had revealed little about Gilort he had kept, for he did not wish to reveal the power he had divined from their last raid and divining it had taken up most of his transit time. A few other minor details he kept back as well, but his statement was as true as Ptah was ever likely to give…


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## bobahoff (Nov 24, 2011)

As Ptah turned from Bysek, Gallus moved slowly imperceptibly toward the berzerker and spoke in a voice so quiet that only Bysek could hear 

'I know you cannot stand me or my patron and you do not have the mental capacity to understand how much I detest you, however I feel certain forces are at work to ensure that we do not survive this ordeal'

Gallus glances over to the other three to ensure they are still occupied, sure enough Ptah is still spouting his version of whatever "truth" is convenient to him.

'I would rather see that not happen' he glances toward the berzerker looking for some sign of comprehension.

'And besides doesn't your god prize the skulls of witches over all others?'


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## Protoss119 (Aug 8, 2010)

It took Bysek a moment to regard Gallus as he approached him. He had lost focus around the time Ptah had started talking about change. In that time, he had retreated into his own thoughts, affirming the laws and structures of the galaxy - laws that existed at least in his mind. By the time he had come to his senses, Gallus was right in front of him.

_"I know you cannot stand me or my patron"_ he said, _"and you do not have the mental capacity to understand how much I detest you, however I feel certain forces are at work to ensure that we do not survive this ordeal"_

His mind tapered off again. The only forces he knew of were the ones that seemed to protect important leaders and uniquely powerful warriors such as himself. Those forces that seemed to hamper the accuracy of the enemy, that softened what would be killing blows and turned them into pinpricks, that transformed the enemy's most elite warriors into cowering dogs. To have such forces guiding one was the key to survival in this hostile universe...

He came to his senses once more, just in time for Gallus to finish his proposal.
_
"...doesn't your god prize the skulls of witches over all others?"_

He paused for a moment. He had not caught all of Gallus's proposal, but at least enough to know what he was implying. At least trying to put on the appearance of paying attention, Bysek responded, attempting to match the same pitch as Gallus.

"The only forces I know of are the inexplicable ones that protect champions such as myself" he said. "Our...companions put on airs of significance, but I doubt that they will be protected by such forces for much longer."

He leaned in, his eyes boring into Gallus's own.

"Pray to your god that they protect you."

Afterwards, Bysek leaned back, away from Gallus, and turned to face Farisis. He was fairly certain that he was just letting them bicker amongst themselves until such a time when he would intervene, likely attempting the usual "display of power" that so many other Lords of Chaos were fond of. He hated that. Couldn't they think of any other ways to lead?


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## Glasses man (Oct 31, 2012)

It had been entertaining to watch his champions argue but for now it had seemed that they had finished there argument. Farisis stood up and spoke in a voice that commanded that they listened. "Right my...Champions, This mission has been requested by the dark Gods themselves." Farisis paused to let that sink in. "The Gods have...asked, for us to acquire a device. My scouts in the planets defense force says that the planetary governor is in current possession of the device." Pausing once more looking at his champions. "However the planet is currently being invaded by Orks and the Tyranids as our loyalist brothers have dubbed them. Our job is to get down there and get the device simple as that so now I ask that you find a drop pod and strap yourself in it is going to be a bumpy ride." and with a smirk Farisis turned round and sat in a drop pod as the doors closed shut.

The drop pod shuddered as he felt the force of gravity aided by some form of launching device fired him at the planet below. Farisis could feel the heat coming through from entering the atmosphere that was accompanied by a bump as the pod finally hit air resistance. The pod fell for another few seconds before finally he felt a mighty crash and the door slowly opened. A Ripper crawled to the entrance to the door and hissed at Farisis. Farisis stepped on the maggot and crushed it under his heel. Smiling Farisis entered the clearing they had landed in. Around where the scattered corpses of guardsmen as well as Tyranid carcasses. The bodies seemed days old so the area should be safe for now. Drop pods had scattered around and the doors where opening. Smiling Farisis called them into the middle. Time to find out where to begin.
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Right update. Now feel free to bitch and moan about this in your drop pod after no one can hear you.
(Edit: man this looked SO much more in the tiny little reply box. oh well)


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