Fester's Story

"The slipping of the shadow from over the Cursed Wood, it does not bode well for those of us who reside inside..."

Atop a spire, five monks stood in a circle. In the center, the carcass of a creature unrecognizable due to it's condition of heavy rot. Their shadows stretched inward towards the rotting creature. The Monks synchronized on a single note as the shadows made contact with the rotted creature, and suddenly it burst into black flame. The Monks were transfixed, chanting without relent, until there was nothing but a charred mark on the stone floor in a peculiar shape, with three circles, and perhaps some arrows. Smoke rose up towards the hole in the ceiling, black wisps escaping towards the waning moon.

"I find it interesting, you know.." The disembodied voice shattered the intervening silence in the wake of such an offering. A horrible, haunting mix of ephemeral, and hate incarnate it echoed from wall to wall inside the Monk's spire, reverberating off stone, and bone alike. "For a great while now have I watched, every chant, every sacrifice, every illustrious foul deed!" It pitched with a fever not unlike that of a preacher, growing ever louder until each syllable pounded the very soul. "Like maggots in puterence you've writhed, and clamored. I've seen your struggles each, and every time you've attempted to claw your ways out of the muck.."

The heavy, but wistful column began to churn, and consolidate. Instead of rising up, and out the foul-smelling smoke was descending into a pool around the monks.

"So hard you've tried; worked to cast aside the yoke of lies, and yet.." The shroud of pitch black smoke started to swirl, at first so slowly it was barely visable. But the voice seemed to stir it into malicious life. "You grew so, so sickeningly complacent. So depressingly content to cease your quest for The Truth once you attained a scrap!" The speaker made no effort to hide his contempt, the supernatural smoke responding in kind, ripping and tearing at the very fabric of the monk's souls whenever it came into contact. "And now! When an opportunity to set your errors aright presents itself you bury your heads back in the filth of ignorance!"



The entire spire shook, the force of the wrathful scream hitting the room like a detonation, and sending the smoke out in all directions like a tsunami. All lights were violently snuffed, all the breathable air was tainted with the foulest of stink, and all but the strongest would likely struggle to maintain their footing. Even the feeble, pale rays of the moon were swallowed on black. All was quiet for a moment afterwards, but again the voice intruded, although now it rang with the strength of flesh, and nearby flesh at that. Whoever, or whatever possessed it had been made manifest in the darkness. "My disappointment is quite sincere.."

The monks, one by one, dropped to their hands and knees in the dark stench of the spire. Fester raised his head at the change in the voice. Something, someone, was here. It's power was tangible in the air, and there was a chaos about the energy in the room that would strike fear into the hearts of most. Fester reveled in it.

Fester spoke up, "We seek your guidance in our times of ignorance."

The sudden supplication of the monks' surprised Erebus a great a deal, although it was indeed a most welcome one. He could feel both of his twisted, gnarled hearts swell with pride as his void-black eyes took in the sight. Still shrouded by what was left if the smoke, The Hand of Destiny allowed himself a wicked grin. There might be some hope for them after all, and his grand scheme hinged on what it always seemed to - a need for fanatical devotion.

"Well now.." snickered the Dark Apostle, the volume, and wrath of his tone dropping a little. "Perhaps you are not so foolish as I thought, to see your ignorance for what it is, is no small feat."

He paused, debating his next step carefully, and mulling over the question presented to him. Time was most assuredly of the essence, but the power of theatrics, symbolism, and ritual were absolute. A most careful balance would need to be struck here. Finally, after a solid minute of silence, he addressed the monks once more, again working himself towards a fever-pitch. "You seek guidance, do you? Simplistic instruction? Do you not already have a bevy of false, weak 'Gods' for such a paultry end? DO NOT WASTE MY TIME!"



Erebus slammed his Power Maul against the nearest wall with more than enough force to dent a Rhino tank. The shock wave it generated tore through the room, seemingly growing with force as it whisked away the smoke, and reverberated along the entire spire. In seconds the monks would finally be able to witness that which they summoned. Towering over mortals at a full ten feet, and easily half that shoulder-to-shoulder, The Dark Apostle stood motionless. His ancient, bright red Artificer Armour added greatly to his bulk, and constrasted quite nicely against the deeper, crimson skin of his horned visage. The various skulls, and still-fleshed heads integrated into its various support systems, or idly hanging from chains told a clear story, as did the blood writ scripture on either shoulder.

Part of the wall crumbled upon impact, a large piece of stone falling one one of the monks. Erebus's words drowned out the cries of the monk as he slowly perished, his life being taken by the weight of the debris.

Fester dared to let his eyes feast upon the glory before him.

"Give us our task," Fester all but choked out, trying to keep his body from quivering apart.
"What shall we do to prove to you, our dedication, our devotion, to The Truth?"

"Much is what you shall do to prove your worth," spat the Apostle. His glowing daemonic eyes gravitating towards the monk being crushed. His pitiable mewling was such a pleasing sound, but to let the simmpering mortal die now, before even knowing of the glory of the Dark Gods was not a sin Erebus sought to commit. "But first, allow me to impart a vital lesson to all of you. The Dark Gods are harsh master indeed.."

He raised his power maul, the slab of fallen stone rising in time. With a great ease it levitated up for the man, despite not being a psyker himself. His powers were much more grand, miracles straight from his wicked patrons.

"Failure, disobedience, disloyalty, and disrespect shall be met with ends most foul, but loyalty!" Without warning a massive bolt of Warp energy crashed down from the ceiling like lightning, vaporizing the derbies on contact. And striking the monk's corpse. "Loyalty, and praise are rewarded - behold!"

An ominous purple maelstrom consumed the immediate area of the slain man, flooding the shrine with the ebb, and flow of the Immaterium. Reality within its sphere was a mere child's notion, and with a simple snap of Erebus' fingers the man was forcibly ressurected. As so much more.

"Now, much work is to be done, and quickly. But first, you! Fester!" Knowledge of the man's name was little more than a parlour trick, but one Erebus found useful. The more omniscient he, and by extension his Gods seemed, the better. "Approach, and claim your due! If your vile heart is half as genuine as your groveling you need not fear."

Fester, holding himself with a newness that felt like the boiling of every aspect of his being, slowly stepped forth. The other monks had descended to their knees, some sputtering out coughs, some silently weeping, some quaking with fear, and the minority holding themselves still to listen.

"Fear," Fester hissed, "I discard such a thing! One has no fear in their heart when the truth is to be delivered!"

Erebus' vile grin contorted into a horrifying mix of contempt, and bemusement. Such bluster, and bravado was exactly the sort of folly he needed. The Dark Gods were to be feared, and rightly so, but they had no place for weakness, no room for doubts. Fester would be a serviceable pawn, and as the man approached the Dark Apostle raised his staff above his head, it's Undivided sigil bursting into Warp-flames.

"Nurgle, Slaneesh, Tzneetch, and Khorne! Dread fathers of the Empyrean, of man, of life, and truth! Hear your serva-"

The adlibbed ritual was interrupted by a blinding flash of Warp Energy. A veritable flood of chaotic, purple miasma swept the room, quickly followed by an unholy stench. A pillar of green smoke coalesced in the center, slowly revealing the bloated form of Bulbic.

Erebus was not amused, and though his exterior remained collected the rage beneath the surface was palpable.

"What is the meaning of this, Maggotmancer!? I gave you strict instructions!" He strode forward, malicious energy crackling at his finger tips.

"I'm aware, Dark Apostle! Things have changed, and quickly, ya know? See for yourself! This is an emergency!"

The green silhouette shot forward before Erebus had time to protest, crashing directly into the much larger man's chest. The psychic force sent him staggering back, but he remained upright. His eyes burning green as he was granted control of the sorcerer's physical form. His head swept from side to side, surveying the distant field of battle with a scowl. Whatever he was seeing was clearly vexing in the extreme.

"By Lorgar," he scowled, seemingly to himself. "You've really driven this situation into ruin, haven't you? Your failings will be rectified. Swiftly. But for now, yes. Yes. That will do adequately, and you may yet save your filth-bloated hide, Bulbic."

He raised his sacred staff once more, this time it errupting in blood-red fire.



A wave of sheer power pulsed through the room, emminanting directly from Erebus. Unlike the previous it would hit any, and all like the stroke of a mighty axe. Any monks weak enough to lose their footing would be instantly eviscerated in a shower of gore, and viscera. The sign of Khorne's acquiescence.

The Son's of Cain would soon arrive.

Mourning shifted into the shadow behind a half-crumbled pillar- formerly destroyed by a manifestation. As Mourning departed from the Shrine of Shrines, the echo of a sob ricocheted off the stones. The dusts of the space hadn't been disturbed. There were no footprints left behind.