# Jabberwocky



## moodswing (Mar 10, 2010)

Hi, sorry I haven;t posted in forever since my opening few..this is something I just wrote up while waiting for a download to finish. It still far away from complete, but I think a decent start. Let me know what y’all thinks.

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My name is Lawrence. Lawrence Orabian. This is my story. Believe it if you wish. It matters not.

It was late. Late enough that the only souls about at this hour were either the foolhardy or the deadly. I stood just outside the light of what passed for a streetlamp and watched streamers of mist curl about my feet like a lover’s caress. Or the tentacles of some forgotten swamp-beast.

I am an Inquisitor in the Emperor’s Most Holy Inquisition. Full Loremaster of the Ordo Malleus. Beacon of His Light in the close of the 41st Millennium. And I’m afraid of the dark. Times like these its not hard to see why the Eldar consider us vermin.

I search for the iron mental discipline drummed into me first at the Schola Progenium and later in the Inquisition; trying to calm my jittery nerves with the same ease I stamp out my now cold Iho stick. It doesn’t work. Only a part of my nerves is from the task at hand. The rest of it, most if it , is because I am meeting _her_.

_Delilah._

Its been seven years since we battled the Cult of the Third Eye on Drakan II together. Seven years since we parted with nary a kiss on our own individual quests. And now, when mine comes to a <need a good word here>, there’s no-one else I’d rather have at my side in the deep. Or dread more.

Except maybe the Grey Knight Grandmaster Solis. But thats another story.

The street’s emptied. Like animals before a storm, the few scuttling hivers had vanished, leaving me alone with my mist, crushed Iho stick and jittery nerves. The factorium-ash was coming down hard now, a grey powder that covered everything, got in your nose and throat and made you cough just before you executed a heretic.

Its almost time. Prima Donna that she may be, there’s enough Malleus in Delilah that she appreciates the importance of time in our work. She won’t be late.

‘Still clinging to the shadows, Lawrence? And you call yourself an Emperor’s man..’

She manages to do it every time. In a totally silent street, in a world that’s turning grey with ash, she walks up to within 10 feet of me in a scarlet coat and spooks me halfway to the Golden Throne.

Damn.

“Delilah. Ever the showstopper. Its good to see you too.

“Come Lawr, you know I don’t go for all the cloak-and-dagger-Holy-Inquisitor charade.” It was hard to see if she was smirking under the brim of her hat. But I hope she was. “It is good to see you. But I would have appreciated a more civilized place to meet. Planet included.”

“I didn’t pick this planet. And the reason for my call justifies this ‘charade’. I’ve called all Five.”

“All five surviving Outsiders? My, my, looks like Lawrence has hooked a big one.”

“Yes. A big one. Let the rest get here before I explain matters. Easier that way”

“As you wish, Darling”

I went back to contemplating ash and mist. I missed my jittery nerves. I’d take them over the weight of her gaze and smirk any day.

The others arrive soon enough, to my relief.

Harvold, my old mate from Schola, now a stocky boulder of a man, with his trusty power mace across his back. I’ve seen him walk up to a roaring Bloodletter and take its head off in a single blow. Not much imagination in Harvold. Even less fear. Lucky soul. His only greetings are a grunt and a nod each for myself and Delilah.

Drisel. Tall, lean, in a perfectly camouflaged grey bodysuit and moving with almost Eldar grace. Falling ash tends to miss her. She promptly engages in a glaring match with Delilah.

_Women…._

Niacar just appears. I’m not sure if its because he’s so skinny or the fact that he used his psyker skills to mask his presence. Probably both. An open leer for the women, a bit of preening for me and a snort for Harvold later, he’s settled.

We’re used to him now.

***

We Five are the last remaining Outsiders of this generation. All of us are Malleus, and yet we stand apart. With good reason.

The first Outsiders were rumored to have been founded in the dark times after the Heresy by the High Patriarch of the Inquisition, Iacton Cruze himself. The Outsiders were charged with a singular duty, to watch over humanity; to await, and to stand against, the awakening of the Forgotten.

Even thinking the name of that Unholy collective chills me to the core and at the same time sends a warm glow through my extremities. They are our purpose. Indescribably ancient and powerful warp entities, birthed in that un-place aeons before the rise of humanity. Lacking the malevolent intelligence of The Four, but still far too powerful to be subjugated, it is the rare fool who learns of these creates and attempts to release them.

When they try, we stand ready. As we have for ten millenia. Every generation yields seven, seven mortals to stand against seventeen timeless beasts, and we have always prevailed.

As we shall now.

***

It’s time. Everyone’s here and looking at me expectantly. (Or just looking, in Harvold’s case).

“Thank you and Him Upon the Throne for coming. I have had word from my contacts here. A cult on this planet, evidently a splinter faction of the one crushed Lord Hand on Torkiin, is trying to bring one of them to this plane. It is rumored that the Great Blasphemer, Kruor himself, is involved”

Surprisingly, its Harvold who speaks first. “When? Which one?”

I choose to answer his latter question first, with an edgewise glance at Delilah to catch her reaction.

“Jabberwocky.”

I can see Delilah arch her eyebrow. For her, that’s the equivalent of a lesser being keeling over in shock. Drisel and Niacar are more open in their reaction, albeit vastly opposing in nature. Where Niacar’s outline seems to haze far more than any amount of ash could warrant, Drisel looks ready to try and poke out the Eye of Terror. Harvold just shrugs. He’ll be ready. He always is.

I continue, “It will happen tonight”.

***

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End Part 1.


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## Commissar Ploss (Feb 29, 2008)

:laugh: i really liked it mate. keep up the awesome work and i'll be awaiting the next installment. 

CP


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## Legio Custode (May 20, 2009)

wooow! I like! +rep


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## moodswing (Mar 10, 2010)

thanks y'all. Part II hopefully tonight, else tomorrow for sure.


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## waltzmelancholy_07 (Sep 30, 2008)

Mightily impressed and intrigued... Rep mate!...


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## greywulf (Dec 21, 2009)

really great use of dialogue.I want MORE MORE MORE +rep!


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## TheJolt (Jan 31, 2010)

I loved it, I love 1st person and I love good characters. You capture it all verywell indeed!

+ rep


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## Templar Marshal (Feb 7, 2010)

Yes more soon plz.+rep


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## moodswing (Mar 10, 2010)

Part II – Too much talk, not enough time. 

“Come. It's not far. But we haven't much time.” I turned to leave but was stopped by a snort from dear Niacar.

“we are not going anywhere. Not without an explanation. You summon us without so much as a whisper on what we face, to this Emperor-forgotten mudball, drop a name and expect-”

“We do not have the time for this!” I burst out. I should have expected his petulance. “Kruor is here, and he will start the ritual soon, we need to get to the catacombs before-”

“No Lawrence, we need to know what has happened to bring us to this moment. Make the time.” Clicking sounds punctuate Drisel's statements. Her lamentation blades are never quiet.

I sighed. I hated the loss of time, I needed to end this. But I also needed them. 

“Very well. As we all know, Kruor, the Great Blasphemer and mercenary-summoner had gone to ground somewhere in this subsector after Lord Hand ruined his last endeavour. I had seeded several hives like this with informants, with hope of rooting him out when he started.... working again.”

I paused, twiddled my toes and continued, “I had given up hope, and was planning to start hunting for him all over again, when I received word from an informant in this very hive. A minor cult had joined forces with him and, flush with funds and new members, was planning something..significant.”

“What brought me running, and made me call for you, was a name and picture my informant was shown at a cult meeting he infiltrated. The name was Dreadwing.” 

I looked about my council of peers, hoping for a reaction. We were all well versed with the Scrolls of Forgotten Names, and Dreadwing, The Red Predator, known to man from prehistory as The Jabberwocky, was a prominent character. 
None of my fellow Inquisitors so much as raised an eyebrow. From the looks of things, the consensus was that I had panicked on hearsay and wasted everyone's extremely valuable time. So I played my final card to convince them. 

“I was able to confirm that it was a pictogram of the jabberwocky that my informant saw when I...questioned him”. 

“Questioned? You mean mind-purged him, don't you?”

“I do what I must, Drisel, do not doubt that. We all do what we must.”

_<especially you. Killer>_

“Now, we must reach the catacombs of this hive within 2 hours, on foot. I'm going. Who here wishes to join me in our Holy Duty and who wishes to stand here and demand progress reports like an administratum wretch?”

That last rant finally got them going. Knuckles were cracked, shoulders flexed and we marched off single file through a nearby tunnel, into the catacombs.

***

“Drisel, take point. Your lamentation blades will be most effective. Harvvold, the rearguard, if you please.”

We were just entering one of the main catacomb tunnels, and while I did not expect pickets this far out from the site, I preferred to be cautious. 

“Put yourself right in the middle of us where it's safest, why don't you? Coward will get us all killed by some freak mutant down here..”

“Not if you kill us first with the whinging Niacar, We would all be most bliged if you shut the Throne up”

One look at Delilah and I knew that that helping hand was going to cost me.

I did not have to wait. “So what is your plan Fearless Leader? Or do we wade into apostates as we always do and hope Niacar complains the beast back into the warp?”

Delilah's tone is infinitely worse than anything Niacar could say or do. But I can't react to her. Not ay more. 

“Kruor is the key. We get him, we end this. Drisel, Harvold and myself will be the distraction, and 'wade in', slaughter and disrupt things as much as possible. Niacar, Kruor is yours to stop. Your psyk-shadow effect should get you past whatever guards he has.”

My logic was sound. Even Niacar couldn't fault it.

“And what about me? Surely you didnt forget me in your master plan?” Delilah sounded almost piqued. 

“Delilah, I can't...I don't..sorry..just, just hold our escape route.”

“.. As you say, Dear.”

_“Or is It Lawrence, that you can't trust yourself where I'm concerned anymore.” _Delilah's force-whisper was project to me alone. _“And you hold to this frail hope that a heroic performance against heavy odds will win my heart back, or at the least, silence yours?”_

Not for nothing are those of the Inquisition feared.

***

Meanwhile, our little intrepid band had penetrated fairly deep into the catacombs. Green luminant fungi bathed everything in an emerald haze, not unlike the night-vision targeter on a Leman Russ. The floor was damp and covered with a n ooze that made footing tricky and ruined good boots. We were alone, not even a hive rat. 

That changed soon enough.

End Part 2.


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## Nikolai (Mar 16, 2010)

Heys, I like how this works. Short but still holding enough information to make the picture work. Nice.


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## moodswing (Mar 10, 2010)

*Part 3 – Catacombs
*
The first pack of mutants struck as we turned a corner. They rushed at Drisel with a chittering wail, hunched over like proto-primates and using their hands as much as their feet to move. Bunched as we were around the corner and unable to see them come, our first warning was when Drisel exploded into activity. A second later more of them came for the rest of us, scrabbling claws finding purchase on the walls itself. 

It was all I could do to react in time. I managed a rough, badly formed psyk-blade that speared through the gaping maw of the first to pounce on me, killing it instantly. I was promptly deposited in the ooze around our feet under the thing's dead weight. As I went down I saw Niacar fade and calmly step to the side. Our attackers could not see him and he wasn't going to attract their attention. 

Raw adrenaline (and no small amount of irritation) send me surging back to my feet. The melee was done by then. Drisel had faced the brunt of the attack and her lamentation blades, 2-foot long serrated blades extruding from a pair of gauntlets, were slick with gore. What looked like four mutants, or pieces of four at least, lay scattered around her. Other than the muck, she looked fine. Behind me was a completely crumpled carcass of a mutant, stuck in the wall where Harvold had slammed it. Niacar and Delilah stood around like they hadn't bothered to do anything. In Niacar's case, I knew this to be true. In Delilah's case, it probably meant I hadn't figured it out yet. 

“These things are warp-stained.” Delilah was inspected the relatively intact corpse of the one I had killed. “They were not born like this.”.
Now that I took a closer look, I could see what she was talking about. We all could. Most of the abnormalities looked rudely twisted from a baseline human form, lacking the more 'integrated' look of a born mutant. Any doubts on that were dispelled by the remnants of the clothing they wore. All were dressed in torn scraps on mid-hive inhabitants, something no catacomb-dweller would ever see, far less obtain in these depths. 

“Someone blasted these wretches with raw warpstuff, mutating them, identically and instantaneously.” My voice came out more hushed than I'd intended. The sheer horror of the act was enough. Only a handful of beings in the galaxy would do this, and most of them were Dark Eldar. Kruor was one of them. If I had any doubt as to his presence, it was now gone. I looked at my fellow inquisitors and I could see the same conclusion dawning on all their faces.

“Let's move on. There are sure to be more challenges and I want the space to face them.” Harvold brought us out of our introspections. Move on we did, with more caution and weapons drawn. 

The next attack came from behind. Once again the chittering and scratching claws gave them away and the first slammed into the ceiling courtesy an almost casual blow from Harvold's mace. Delilah's ornamented bolt pistols, Whisper and Salvation, did for the rest. 

I let my psy-blades fade, a twinge of agony passing through me at the sight of Delilah's guns. I had been there when she forged them. Magnificent weapons though they were, to me they now stood for loss and broken promises. 

***

We were making good time, in spite of the attacks and the darkness. We heard more of the 'mutants', but didn't see them again. We were evidently more than they were willing to take on. Or so we thought. 

“This creatures seem completely feral, lacking in any rationality or even consciousness. It is not like Kruor to rely entirely on such an unreliable defense. There has to be more to reaching his than this.” muttered Niacar as his outlined nearly vanished in the darkness. As much as we disliked his paranoid and skulking nature, he was right. 

“What are we looking for anyway, Lawrence? It won't do for you to get killed and none of is know which tunnel Kruor is hiding in.” 

“We are heading for the Theatre of Glass, Drisel. A famous hollow in the catacombs where an buried plasma reactor blew a century ago. Its the closest thing to a large open space these catacombs have. We shouldn't be more than a few minutes away.”

That was when the things got bad. A veritable herd of the warp-stained mutants rushed us from the front and sides. Each of us were more than a match for any if these things, but their numbers were too many to count in the gloom, and quite unending. We were soon forced into a broad semicircle, backs to the tunnel wall, fighting a desperate defense. Drisel was a pincushion of steel, secondary blades extended back along her elbow and more blades out of the heels of her boots. They quickly learned to leave that flank well enough alone. At the other end, Harvold might as well have been an Astarte Dreadnought, seeing all the devastation his mace caused. Delilah and I stood shoulder to shoulder, like the old days, gunslinger and psychic bowman. The cold steel of her bolt shells and the colder soul-fire of my psy-spears antithetical and equally deadly. But it wasn't enough. Even with Niacar watching our collective backs, sooner or later, the line would break and we'd be swamped. 

“We need to break through, there's some kind of barrier up ahead, if we get over, we may get some respite”, gasped Drisel as she decapitated another foolhardy mutant. 

“We end this. They're mine.” Niacar's formed nearly vanished as he slipped forward and out of our defensive line. 

Then the dying began. 

Unable to see him, and too stupid to respond, the mutants just stood and died, milling in confusion as one after another of their number fell over, killed in all the imaginative ways Niacar's arsenal of assasin weaponry allowed. The rest of us seized the momentary advantage. With Drisel in the lead again, we reached and swarmed up and over the barrier as fast as possible, inquisitorial dignity be damned. 

Niacar reappeared among us as we caught our breath, a cocky smirk creasing his narrow, insufferable face. 

“Drisel, amazingly, was right. What we passed through was some kind of quarantine zone for the mutants to run free and hunt down anything approaching.” Niacar turned his rat like eyes at me, “this is typical of you Lawrence, so caught up in your piety and self-righteousness, you probably didn't even think about what we might face down here. Now we'll die for that.”

“So then we die Niacar, in His name, with His Name on our lips. If our lives are forfeit as part of our mission to stop the Dreadwing, so be it.” Everything was a red haze as I rasped out my diatribe, just waiting for Niacar to say something to justify my killing him. 

“Wait. Why don't the mutants climb over..” Harvold managed to get a few words in edgewise before I lashed out again. 

“You all doubted me! You always have. Now we stand on the edge of abyss, the fate of he galaxy balanced on our souls and yet you doubt me! You are Malleus and yet have no faith. You will fail me. You will fail Him on Terra! We will be damned..” All I can remember from this time are waves of hate, fear, despair and faith, intermingled into a torrent of raw emotion. Niacar, little as I could comprehend, looked terrified and more surprisingly frantic. 

I know not how long I would have ranted and what I would have done if I'd stayed there, if it were not for Delilah. 

“It's the wall. I can feel it too. Its ensorcelled to drive emotions, particularly fear out of control. It's hitting our stringer psykers and the primitive hind-brains of the mutants hardest. Drisel – get Niacar, Harvold bring Lawrence. We need to get them away from the wall. Now.”

Niacar and I both turned frantic at the moment the others tried to steer us away. I remember only trying to fight free of Harvold's traitorous grip, forming a psy-blade, ready to redeem him and then myself when an icy touch to my forhead brought me crashing to reality. Again, yet again, I had Delilah to thank. 

Seeing our reaction, and fearing Niacar's hidden weaponry as much as my shimmering psy-blade, Delilah removed a psy-bolt shell from each of her guns, palmed then and pressed them into our foreheads. The icy-cold nature of a psy-bolt with the added effect of the wards imprinted on them where like an instant exorcism.

_In nomine Imperator,
Nos patre,
Indulgeo nostri peccati
Salve Nos_

The children's prayer to the Emperor was like a balm, sweeping away the effects of the wall and calming our souls. Niacar and I promptly fell to our knees and vomited into the slime. 

*Part 4 – A successful summoning. And a failed one.*


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