The Quill


Upon the clashing rocks against a mighty shore, the engines came a rumbling, fumbling,
taking us to war. We saw our fates reflected within a thunder shower, not child nor beast left standing,
all dead within the hour. Crumble down a tumbling, pain upon the rain, bleating bells cacophony, reaps the toll in vain. At dawn a break ascending, rebirth of filigree, the stick men came a sticking, sticking it to thee. As cloud met mother ocean, the same but by degree, a whalesome beast tsunamid against a ripping tide, a roar let up an opening, a chasm or divide, dive in to squandering depths where wolves reside. A hero stepped forth, glittering blade unsheathed. She slayed and slew both enemy and every disbelief. Upon the clashing rocks, against a mighty shore, A tally man came a counting, knotting score by score. A tally man came a counting, counting costs of war


 Realm of Chaos

2542 IC Vorhexen I write this diary while I can because change is on the wind....
I write this diary as a man, well what is left of the man I once was.I write this diary to myself and to my brother , who can no longer write.. to my long dead mother,died of fright on my sibling and I's Ist birthing day, I write this to my father , for his sins , now but rotting flesh and dried up bone, and I write this for all the women I will never love , all the hearts I wont break, and for a heart that will no longer care, if it breaks... for my unborn children I never had nor ever will , for everything I could have been were it not for my god father, my creator, the black night tormentor . I write this for the trickster god who I have come to despise and to love , like a true father, who both annoys and protects.....and changes...Change is the nature of man , I know better than most the consequences of change, for better and for worse, my brother and I have had our fair share. We were born in the Capital city Altdorf on the Mitterfruhl spring equinox in the year 2523 IC , they say the purple flowers turned pink then died that day all over the city. A portent of sorts … Because our conception was nothing short of a bad omen.Our mother a wretched servant to the high guilds, had fallen foul of the charms of a traveller.Dismissed from her post, she took to begging, whereby she came to the attention of a debauchedalchemist known as Johannes Eckle. Of course no one knew how debauched he was at the time, merely forgiven for being an eccentric Thaumaturge, it was not until the inquisitional purge that the diabolical truth came spewing forth, ( quite literally as it happens ) but even then his powerful allies in the Magical guilds across the city came to his aid and prevented justice from being served.It was around that time we realised it must have been HIS machinations that made us who we are today For the longest time we , were just bullied as freaks, I could always handle the bullies better than Lothar, who would fly into a rage at the least thing, he lost many fights before the growth spurt of his late teens, then it was everyone else who feared his rages !I on the other hand, I however had the clearest mind when I planned my revenge, half a ounce of widows weed into the families water supply meant far fewer bullies picked on me regardless of my diminutive stature.All this was to be expected , we were different, not so much physically ..yet .. but we were half made , I completed Lothar and he myself, we were better together... When Lothars feathers came on our sixteenth birthday we were branded more than freaks , we were ostracised, from the slums, and you have to be truly terrifying to be kicked out of Altdorfs slums !We left the city and made a name for ourselves as merchant guards , the riskiest jobs that no one else would attempt, and we thrived at it. Soon our coffers overflowed with gold, and I set my keen mind to learning the winds of magic.


Four years past and our attributes grew.. we heard of the trials of Johannes Eckle put two and two
together and plotted our revenge. My Human mind had already started to grow distant , even more than usual , empathy had been replaced by a sorcerous ambition and I cared for nowt but Lothar , power and revenge.The Changes in Lothar were more noticeable, a terrible affliction gripped his skin as it peeled away in chunks ! No Armour could be worn without it rusting and falling away within days. His moods turned black and for once I began to fear myself his violent unpredictable rages . The only thing that would calm him was talk of revenge and murder ! So the plan was set , we travelled by night to Altltdorf and slipped in on our boat. We stayed in the only area we knew the slums , until the deed was done , then slipped out by way of the Reik.Those winter days were hard , Bandits and bounties on our heels and heads , we fled north to the  safety of the Drakwalde. Our bodies changing day by day , our minds eye fixed to the northern wastes like a broken compass.


I remember little about the past few months, we took up with some fellow outcasts , Ungor
too human for the Herd, unrecognisable now , how quickly they embraced change...we have heard of a blighted place were time flows fluid , a place where seasons come and go within a day..its so cold...why am I writing this .. I forget...the cold is in my minds a shard of ice , probing my brain .. numbing me to everything ..but tzeentch...
days turn to weeks and weeks flow into months .. and still we travel north , we raid villages as we go , Lothar spares no one , His bloodlust unquenchable , the more he kills the greater he becomes , his fledgling feathers now a full blown wingspan, he takes to the air more often , searching out that blighted place... I can barely recognise the brother I grew up with .. he doesn’t even try to remember , we all keep our distance ..Arrived last night night , Tzeentch showed Lothar the way.. the distinctive serpent shape of the ruined castle only visible from the air, We are not alone.The winds of magic are strong here , they flow through this place like water in a river.. we find mutated ratmen beneath the ruins, a grey seer drawn to this place, like ourselves for some instinctive reason.. Lothar has left again , but I am in no doubt that he is the one in charge , I live because he wills it , we all do..
More strangers arrive later that evening , spiteful and malicious , greedy self severing dwarves who have forsaken their own god in favour of the divine trickster.. I admire them..
Lothar is back and his menace is greater than ever, his will is iron and all obey his command
Change is coming we can feel it...



we were clemming so I looks at the savvy map, to choose my sticking point and I remembers the chant.

shudderings.. creaky cracking..wall grabbers..

we bhartnotton there..

Grimsets .. and mardymares.. fitling in the wire sparks

we bhartnotton there..

Underpipes in darlky dark.. illium grabs yeh and feeds yeh to the boxpipes

we bhartnotton there..

The lite time up above in Big Wyyde .. Filled with nonground .. erts mi oles

we bhartnotton there..

we sticks to the styx.. a rusty sump pipe wide as wide.. where it bends is the mangii touts lair..

we bhartnotton their..

sumplight sumpglow.. pull yarn din down

we bhartnotton their..

spider hunting for the Raytur.. he knows things .. treasured things .. he gives the savvy with the bone witch , so we stays for now. The Arkkmene came with at globe glow.. he dint spake.. so we dint tell.
The brute bashed the spook .. got off his chain it did , killed a yearling it did.. we dint see fresh. Jus black time was all messy. One eye open at black time.. we still stays for now...

Bone witch gives us the savvy.. none spider caught for much black time.. says its the touts , they got new tek from the dorikal.. at last grim trail..

the fat ones laughs .. he ate most .. fat one dint spake tho , jus laughs..he ates the most though..jus laughing and choking as spider legs crunch in his fat cakeoile.

The Raytur gave the savvy too.. we lefting at black time to the grim trail.. off to see the Dorikal.. arkkmene jus wants new tek..

and the fat one laughed agin so I kicks him, and he cried.


notes  regarding the Arkke retour :

Sump styx , the winding flooding , baked hard sump goo river , that runs the entirety of the .. most probably ,

Sump styx , the sump lake the fills the entire lower levels of the arkke.. effluence of thousands of bilge pumps, from a plethora of calcified ships.

The Arkke and gravity ..

the Arkke has many fold ships space stations and shadow planets entwined in its form.. its waxing and waning of warp and real space and time .. vexing and torturing its form .. change is a constant .. nothing is permanent.. burning ice and liquid air even gravity is not spared its warping influence. Gravity normally acts in its usual way aboard the most recent ships when in real space.. .. formidable gravity drives working overtime to counteract the strange forces at play. Although many surviving ships captains disable gravity as their ships are tossed like leaves on the wind.. or randomly appear upside down or inside out into its massive bulk.. most gravity engines fail with in minutes of entering the warp .. quicker if the geller fields are down..

these imponderable places we call lite time, are filled with the debris of a million things .. the flotsam and jetsam of galaxy existence an aeon of being.

Water molecules , ice particles..machine parts ,bodies.. tidal waves of thought and energy.. anger ..laughter, hope. Despair... memories of life yet to be lived..and terror unfathomable .Time floats inwards reducing a grown man to but a babe in seconds.. transmutation … afflicts metals .. giving them life and souls of the newly dead..

the lite time or non ground are dangerous places.. for mortals.. filled with raw emotion when the arkke tips warpside ..



Rippajak, Rippajak, Rippajak Jak,

Caryatids dance on the ghoulkin's back.

Ratskin, Scavkyng Sculk unseen,

Syren singing seraphym queen.

Dance in the spook wynd, pyskout rats,

Dance with little man, tailsting Brats.

Spyrers whyte with brutelords's myght,

Bound by guild law tekkers fyght.
Outcast downcast driven insane,
Psyker Psyker Emprahs Bane.

Bring hygh on low and low on hygh,

long live the cherubym, end is nygh.


Class Warfare

Long dead administratum census archivists linked protracted Ash storms to patterns of rise and fall in hive population statistics. The popular opinion that hive numbers continue to grow exponentially is a falsehood.Palatine Hive's population has reached its critical mass. As unregulated hive bottom numbers increase, the lack of available space forces most new clans to spread out into the shanties. Fearsome Ash storms often cull these numbers before they can form newer spires. A storm that persist for more than few years can force new clans to forgo the unsheltered shanties, instead risking the crowded confines of the sump bottom. The resultant hive quakes, increased  population numbers and lack of food, force  the most desperate clans to form blood pacts. The orgiastic violence and desperation of these vast gangs ( whom have nothing left to loose ) is rightly feared by upspyre clans. Who will often form their own guild aligned covenants to quash an immanent underhive invasion before it starts.This cyclical genocidal blood bait is know to many Clans as "The Hounding"


 The Motherload

She shoalqueen of the dark, talling awash in mantic prescience

Seirēn song of mortal seduction, anthropophagous soul harpy

Upon the eaten corpses she lolls in bone dust and stix

Rags of shrivelled flesh tattered banners of distress

Cannibal caryatids supping at her breast



Waxen glabrous aether heathen, conjures death from the astral plane,

tormenting trickster, binding headwitch sends his enemies minds insane,

candlemass and cloak & dagger, cunning cauldron hearts desire,

dowsing esbat scrying mirror, raise my victory with balefire.



Phineus lay still.. Pale milk eyes wept condensed sorrow. How unfairly he had been played, banished to the Arkke's end. Set adrift in the rift of menjoosa. A lonely disrememberd place. Oft racked with warp fiends and unpronounceable things . A broken fusion of ship and rock, rebuilt as an unfathomable tzeentchian maze, tethered to the Arkke with chains of despair. His crime was to be a seer.. Not a shoddy charlatan a well known Haruspex ..a visionary Auger who foretold the downfall of the pandoricalle. Caste out amongst his beloved stymphalian birds..
Ocine , hark the sounds of the birds it yieldeth truth for man
alites, Observe the birds in flight it yieldeth truth of the gods
Many lines old, hair lank, knuckles rubbed and knobbled knees. Capricious gods, have had their fill. The seductress tempts his belly one last time. Sweet Emprah forgive me, I know not where I am nor what I do. Lost amongst the Æthere am I. Bereft my Hodiimadod clansmen, bereft the yggdrasilliume, bereft my home world, bereft my universe? Lost in the fog, give me a sign ..I yield my heart upon the plinth, my savant eyes ablind . Pray let it end.
Odoriferous air respired his lungs . What sweet smell is this now , char grilled groxmeat , honeymead wine.. Olfactory heaven.. and how my stomach aches.. I beg thee leave me hence. One small morsel is all I ask , to be eaten in my own comfort..
Phineus, dragged himself upon his feet. This time, this last time, for I have nothing left to give.
He shuffled across the debris strewn floor, footafoot until the plinth barred his way.. Fragrant, incense aroma .. Empty gut railed upon his reason, just one mouthful....prehensile fingers coveted the banquet.. if I am quick.. it shall be in me before I know any different. No sooner had he grabbed at a plate, than it turned foul... Graveolent and noxious fumes gagged his throat as he fell upon his knees.
The malodorous stench brought again his nightmares, made real by arrant desire.. his long beloved auspices, the stymphalian birds. Made anew, foul and debased as any bird could be.
Cowering under plinth once more, Phineus covered his ears to the cawing of his damnation.


Hodiimadod Snayl

The Garamantees call them the Doddermen on account of their ungainly gait. A lopsided waddle that threatens to topple the bellicose antiquarian's arse over tit. A perambulation that would be comedic if you dared laugh at them. Not many dare laugh though, at least not to their enfeebled geriatric toothless maw. Fore to do so would bring about a vociferous pummelling.

Hoary fossils in the guise of quavering meatsacks . Be forewarned, these bonehouses draw their fortitude from a well of vim and vigour.. The sinewy pith in each and everyone.. unyielding.



                    The yggdrassillium bound the illium , to the Arkke in the darkly dark ,

rooticle slavers.. cable graders , creepsy crawling in the ink.
Aether watcher , three eyed nobles , caste corrupted corpse to rot,
Spire above the worthless cretins, maske my beauteous emperors soul.
Brawling , mauling , meaty , miner, eyeing spied the archeotek.
Sunken sumpcrust pitslaves digger ..wanders itinerant without rest.
Follow me my fellow frigates , full of faith yet black of heart ..tis the journey of no end.
Steersman , guide the lost to our salvation , toll the bell when all is done.
Come whence thee haggety hag into the ship now we must gun.. I have a vision of our future,
wyrdly weird with blood red tree , fruiting skulls and thick black cables .
The bandaged prophet holds the answer to my question.. I have three..!
Ruptured spleen and torn asunder,
eyes a gouge and heart a stop ,
The Auger scraped her index finger through the innards of its gizzard .
Stymphalian birds can show the way, sinister left and the pandoricalle is right..
End is nigh when five collide .. prophetic blood that drips with truth,
Close the gates and shun the pilgrims, guild the vates we need protection . I spy trouble this way 


The Ghost Ship

Hark thee laddy and listen well .. I have story to be told …

The old baggywrinkle. Adjusted his retaining straps and blew a thick smog from his bar pipe..

come closer boy..

I saw her from the port side docks.. a young man then with both legs, The captain had ordered the caulkers after a broadside battering.. the dockers were hard at it sparks flying as the plasteel was welded into place . I had grabbed my void suit and was magboot ready for the hull..pistons hissed as the heavy door revolved .. ancient arc welder over my padded shoulder.. my relic visor fogged like see fret..

the bulkhead hissed close...and I was alone .. The black of it dawns on you like fear.. alone not a star .. just the shimmering flicker of the gellar field ..

I don’t know why I liked it out here so much .. The ships commissar had expunged my thoughts many times with all void side Aether Caulkers .. and if it wasn’t the buffers job to make us suffer enough, then the Priests would have us hold vigil afterwards..

and the dangers .. the soul may be protected by the emperor but my arse is owned by this suit!
One rupture and its ...Se la vie !

The gloved hand could scratch the glass if you rubbed too hard .. but the ice crystals had formed already..

I dusted them off gently , and there she was.. a fleeting glimpse.. awash in the eddies and currents
or the Empyrean .. gently banking away into the ink.. grapple hooks as large as freighters bobbing behind..

Silent …


I had see things out here before , things you don’t mention to the priests or even to your workmates.. so long as the umbilical is there I know I am not lost... but this...

a myriad of lights pinpricks .. countless ships fused into a grotesque monument to the dark powers
asteroids bled into ancient hulks..that clashed with things unknown..

cascades of ice particles formed a shimmering wake . The effluence of a thousand external bilge pumps..

The voice of billion souls form a myriad races echoed as one.

Heart pounding mouth dry ..shock..awe.. wonder..



 Twas the harpy garpy and phrillabod,
gnolling vissibog in the vain,
when out jumps the bogey man,
blax as soot and makes his claim,

roll back ye sump crust thugs ,
back to yonder acid bogs,
and doth that armour twice as fast,
fore I lease the cerberdog,

eyes aswash with fear and fret,
those sump sea gypsies made away,
all hail to thee pandoricalle ,
and naer doubt a word you'll say.



Oileus.. cut the plascrete.. as instructed..

The heavy heraklees plasma torch making light work of the fallen rubble and detritus that was now strewn across much of the train bridge. The rubble must have come down in an Arkke quake after the last pilgrim run.

The train man.. thin and wiry with sneering yellow eyes.. cranked his leather neck back and squinted towards vaulted archways that raised up into the gloom above. The corroded metal bridge they had sat atop for the past candle .. creaked and groaned under its new found weight , swaying languid over the vast frothing sump below..

“quick now make haste, the Stymphalian birds will not wait forever.. Even as he said it a shudder ran his spine .. the brass beaked birds with razor sharp wings.. didn’t normally attack over the bridge.. but then again he didn’t normally spend this long on it..”

Why here .. of the all the places to be stuck.. right over the styx, no escape if the flock came.

His last journey was sound, no hiccups. He knew his route like a well worn boot..

leave the dunes via the dark arches tram terminal, creep past the sleeping gandy dancers then out over the sunken cathedra into the junkers scrap yards.. a quick change of rails. Pay the toll, buy the fuel, and then the simple and relaxing ride through the cankors black hill pipes and down into sump rails, what could be easier...

Pilgrims paid well for this journey, and they knew the risks. If the gandy dancers could be avoided then you were safe.. well as safe as you could be on rickety home made railcar.. in a crumbling flooded cathedral ..

The train man promised a shortcut .. that could halve a pilgrims journey avoiding the watery sump territories of the fearsome clock tower cathedra cult far below .A short cut that was looking increasingly long for the last three remaining heraklees ganger’s..

Oileus “Done!”

The last of the remaining rubble was sent tumbling into the sump far below as the train man ushered his passengers back on board the makeshift hand car..



" The heraklees gang .. used the pilgrimage as a right of passage .. the pandoricalle had little influence this far out ..on the rim wards.. but most had still heard of the gang that grants knowledge and fulfils dreams..   the herklees being grimset . didn't believe in such things .but they did believe in the journey.. thirty days travel .. fifteen there and back.. through the most inhospitable territories you could hope for.. even if you got through the rim wards archaic automated defence systems .. you were greeted with the silos .. vast dunes of dry husks blown by turbine hot winds.. ignited at the smallest thing.. burnt alive or suffocated in dry bail husk , lays the fate of those who are not killed by the wandering  husk lice  collectors the Garamentees..

many grim ends await the unwary heraklees pilgrim ... a quick death is the most many can hope for .. but those born of luck, pure heart and iron , may overcome all  and seek the most valued trinket to bring back.. the Pandoricalle token.. worn around the neck on a simple leather strap .. ganger with the most tokens has proved he can lead the gang through anything.. The mightiest of all herakless leaders .. the islamon.. collected four.."


Mouldy Warpps

" we mouldy warpps call our home fungus ... but those cantankerous  slime bellied mangii troutts, on yonder side of sump styx call theirs .. ferros.. all i know is where the sump bends into the dark arches .. we both call it dangerous.. on account of our cousins the maungy mares being dragged away in the pitch,  kin an all.


The Sealed fate

A catalyst

Autarchical and often fractious, Ordos of the Dalthan Conclave are not well known for their harmonious assemblage. It requires a great deal of charisma and power to influence so many respected Inquisitor/Inqusistrix to pay fealty at the requiem of the former Helios Cabal leader, Madine. Not many within the Dhaltan sub hold such command.

Inquisitor Guidonis is one such individual. A long and glittering career behind him, Guidonis now officially retired to the chapel planetoid Ecclissia where he writes his Magnum Opus , Practica Inquisitionis Haereticae.

The Bythonian Synod asked Guidonis to witness the Succession, acting to serve the Ecclesiarchy's interests insofar as possible. After Madines death , the synod arranged a reliquary shrine in the halls of Brythonis . The devout Guidonis making all necessary arrangements for transportation.

Whilst many Inquisitors despised Madine personally, and many more apathetic towards her political aims ( Including Guidonis ). Refusing a personal invite from the revered Inquisitor, to the requiem was tantamount to Heresy . As such it came as little surprise that so many representatives from the Ordo's diligently arrived on board Admirals Faust's Cruiser before it departed from Dhaltus Prime.

Admiral Faust is a stringent man .. a man who knows procedure .. a survivor of countless Naval confrontations ..His tactical nounce is as ingrained as a servitors binary code. On occasion and when necessary, it is said of his Captain's that he can interpret a lingua technis combat analysis Vox, quicker than a techpriest.
Which would explain how he ordered his ship “Abaft the beam “ whilst still in the immaterium , seconds before pair of boarding torpedoes hit his flank .
A Single ship wide vox communicae rattled out of a thousands identical of plasteel lattice orbs .
Make ready to receive boarding actions gentlemen , we are dropping out of warp, have your Lieutenants do their jobs well and we may survive.”
Klaxon's wailed cacophonous as Captains yelled orders down vox tubes to the lower decks. Lieutenants yelled orders at their ensigns and eighty thousand indentured souls moved as one..Respect for the Admiral In their minds , fear of the buffers cat o nine on the flesh and devotion to the God Emperor the lubrication in the heart.
The first salvo of explosions rocked the cruiser leeward on its gyro stabilisers .
Damage report watch Captain , if you please!”
We have lost the geller field Admiral , all port side macro canons are disabled .
Void shields down.. warp engines down..plasma drive intact , starboard macro lance batteries intact, Nova cannon intact.. torpedo tubes intact. Aft launch bays intact.
Power loss on decks 39 to 123..
The battle deck bristled with static energy as rasping orders rang out.
Bring her about and ready the lance batteries , launch all starhawk fighters, and someone contact Inquisitor Guidonis ,
You could call it a sixth sense if you were of a superstitious nature .. Faust called it too long in the warp..  sometimes the crew just knew something bad was going to happen, you didn’t have to be an astropath to sense these things ..
A small flotilla of chaos frigates and reavers sporting the heretical "Word bearer" iconography, had happened upon the ageing Dictator class Cruiser. Even with its frigate outriders the Admiral was outmatched , and he knew it. Tactics could take you far and faith further , but not today . This battle was lost before it started .. His only recourse was to fight through or pull back.
Praise the Emperor , we fight on”
STRATUM deck 144
Imperial guard barracks “Axiom”
The battle had raged for hours, emergency red light filled the stratum with a disconcerting glow .
The barrack had lost power several times as localised plasma cores imploded under fluctuating energy surges .
The aptly named cruiser was on it's last legs. A final push by the Admiral had seen the ancient ships armoured prow plunge through its enemies, scattering its foes like leaves in the wind. But the price was too high . A barrage of superheated lances had rupture the coolant tubes that fed its venerable plasma core, several decks and most aft launch bays had been instantly snap frozen. A winter ice palace reflecting a contrary myriad of boiling plasma and lance ordinance.
Faust had suggested Guidonis inter Madine in one of the barrack reliquary's, for the transit to Loidis. The barracks could easily cater for any needs the Inquisitors may have . With its own array of flight decks transporting Madine on and off ship wouldn’t be a problem ..Which in hindsight proved a welcome move. But also kept them together and off of the Admirals command deck. The last thing he wanted was a dozen or so inquisitors wandering around his ship with time on their hands.
When the repel Boarders on stratum 144 order came through the Inquisitors took direct command of the barracks. Skilfully coordinating the troops to defend key locations ,until Guidonis ordered all to return to Madines sarcophagus .
Our priority is to transfer Madines body to Brythonis , we must move now to secure a ship before its too late”
The assembled Inquisitors along with their commandeered troops , began the desperate battle to push through the tight renegade filled corridors to he nearest vacant cargo hold.


Between Scylla and Charybdis

Raggedly ran, between Scylla and Charybdis. All hands the bosun’s yell .
Aye Aye sir. Axial fire astern, dim anchor lights. Apparent solar winds awash with mute dread sailors souls, aweigh the anchor..anchor watch, Avast ye banyan. Balls to four ! Clear the backstays
and belay the pins. A baggy wrinkle servitor beats to quarters. Bar pilot, batten down the hatches
and bear away. The nautilus norn queen gains upon us. Her golden ratio curls like kraken. Unfurled tendrils outstretched in sombre space, grasping, clasping, covetous, gluttonous ..prehensile thing. Bonded jacky barrelman , purge the bilge keels or face the bimmy. Aye sir, and cut the bobstay the boom gallows wont hold .. the bitter end is nigh boys.. praise the emperor praise the machine god. Discordant chatter noised from cold vox castors, static bursts of lingua technis formed dissonant shanties and paroxysmic mechadendrites danced the jig.

She's upon us now lads, The brightwork was first to go but the bulkheads will last longer .Bowline bristled with bowchasers, load the guns, torpedoe ready.. bowsprits gone sir. Never mind!
A lone boy seamen, buoyed by victory , brass monkey cold brailed the bow thruster and watched in awe the fireworks glow.
Bring to, boys! Aye sir, The buffers here , best behaviour , Is it.. dead..? barrelman what say ye ?
Bionic eyes pierced the pitch, searching for movement … quite lads...still ..time stopped and calm descended... pipes hissed against there will.......well ..what say ye man ..nothing..?
A spasm of life sir or maybe a convulsion of death.. which is it boy.. …..Life sir .. its moving again.
Silent despondent sighs echoed in mens minds..
Heave to, coxswain bring her about, bulwarks swayed in deep space, lance it with the boomkin.
Belay that order bosun, a rasping man porcelain cold, the Admiral heads to the warpgate,
Without a Navigator ?
The buffers top lip made a quiver..
Aye Aye sir.

Full ahead. The Corinthian eyed a capstan crojack. Chronometer dials rotation increased. Clew lines away sir, chime the hull the cardinals off kilter. Shall I Carreen her ? Aye and bring about the caulkers , there is much to repair.

Two thousand leagues on the Queen and still she bore down. By the Emperor , she has the chainwhale. , Into the eddies . The catheads snapped one by one, add the corrector to the binnacle . The catboats gone sir .. We must cut and run. Close haul boys , keep her steady ..

The maelstrom..its pulling us in.. tumultuous turbines toiled in turmoil. Engines belched brace but the vortex vexed , Undetectable undercurrents captured centrelines , The dead wood is broaching..
pull back man.. or Davy Jones will have us all.

Where is the Queen?
Derricking deckheads chain blazed to the devil seam glanced aft to see the dogvane fall silent. Swirling currents swallowed whole the frenzied cephalopod and once again we sat in the doldrums.



Gnarled roots writhed rigid, mournful branches swayed sorrow laments and bark splintered with whip cracking vexation. A shower of wrathful barbs nicked and pricked but the tormentor chanted on . Wailing, creaking, twisting The sylvan sapling scant boar its arduous burden, but the impassive inquisitorial seal held firm, “Emperor forgive me” burnt umber crept over rough ridges kindled black as soot. Old eyes followed a woody ripple run from root to tip whilst knotted holes gazed implacable .


Light world

Dusk like morning, cajoles the bright white light from luminous clouds,
Bathing our lidless eyes with pain.

Translucent skin offers no remit from the burning beam , only hand over hand to face can scarcely
dim the solar din,

restless we wander looking for shelter not found ,
sisters skin blisters more than mine.

Bursting forth from an imperceptible cavern , our savior holds forth a thing,

Cold and black emits its light , and how we bask in the divine atramentous glow. 



Chapter One “pick a card, any card”

The Psyker pulled a third card from the deck , the psychoactive liquid-crystal wafer glowed a deep blue before crackling into bright white... The Lost Child . Four Acolytes watched intently as the old man methodically arranged the incomprehensible pack in front of him. The Inquisitorial training barely holding back their rampant probing thoughts. “ A mariner always checks the weather before he sets sail ” The Venerable Inquisitors Vendrakes words formed a collective memory amongst his disciples.

“Next card, hurry “ Uxley gibbed, as impatient as ever .

“Some things cannot be rushed child ” , the Primaris chastised .
“Would you rather I make some mistake , perhaps read the cards inverted?”

“No Primaris “ Please forgive our enthusiasm, we only wish to bring an end to this puzzle.....for the Emperors sake. “ added belatedly.

“I understand that you are anxious to complete your task, I even find you ambition refreshing, But overeagerness can lead to mistakes … And I wouldn’t want any of you to come to harm from an over zealous reading. Don’t hurry to your deaths so easily, You best serve the emperor in life.”

Now this is interesting... The Great Eye ! I haven’t seen that one in a while. The acolytes pallor dropped from pale to deathly white.

“Make no assumptions yet … the reading is far from over”

“And finally .. The daemon “

The room fell silent, You didn’t have to be a to be a Psyker to realise that this was not a good omen.

“The Great Eye signifier holds that , you will be facing one of the ruinous powers , the fallen angel and lost child indicate , an Astartes is involved .The seeded Chalice hmm.. of that I am not too sure. I presume the “beast with two backs” is at play. And finally the Deamon card. Well that is plainly obvious, alongside the Great Eye. “ The Primaris lowered his tone and turned to face the Acolytes, This is going to be very tough for you, I suggest extreme caution. The cards were not clear about which powers are involved, but you must assume it could be all four of them, although I sense a female is involved somehow. I suggest you hold prayer before descending into the hive.

May the Emperor have mercy on your souls.

Chapter Two succubus

Tears rolled down the old warriors cheek whilst silent sobs echoed forlornly in his stalwart heart.

“Their, their dear.. No need for the tears, this is a joyous occasion. “

Her silky words ran viscous sweet honey through his thoughts. Dripping warmth like a hot tap in a cold bath, whilst clouding his mind and beguiling his senses.


“No need to think darling, just enjoy the fruits of our endeavours. Your a great man , and you will be a great father.

Fa..ther...” the words seemed distant and yet still familiar....Patriarch...?

Look Samael we have a lovely baby girl, what shall we call her?


“Never mind dear. You rest yourself, you have worked hard. I shall do the thinking for both of us..
how about..... marilitu ?

Err....okay...if you think that's for the best...

“Lilitu always knows best”

Chapter Three “if you go down to the woods tonight your sure to get a surprise”

Uxley thumbed the Auspex, and watched as it flickered into life. The static green screen giving an ominous glow in the darkness of the under hive.

Uxley “Where are the Arbites?” The young Acolytes impatience getting the better of him again.

Sung “ They said they will be here , so they will be here. I doubt even Lord Helmawr would dare to incur the wrath of Vendrake.”

Loxez rubbed a mail gloved hand over his carbine, Clearing the dust and grime that had accumulated during the firefight.
“Where the feth , did those Escher spring from ? I knew we couldn’t trust Jerico.”

Socrates “We had no choice “. Their was no way of getting this far into their territory without his help, we would have ended up like those Goliaths we saw by the sump.”

Uxley “ Well , unless you were asleep these last ten minutes, you may have noticed we just nearly did!!”

Loxez “ Sung's right , all we have to do is wait , Uxley sent the vox, now we just sit on our hand and wait for back up.

Socrates “I don’t think waiting is an option.. look up there!”

The group turned to Socrates and strained their eyes into the gloom. Beyond the Waste and slag, where the ancient corroding plasteel struts gave way to pitch blackness , The group eyed movement. A feeling first, dark and unpleasant , like a nothing they felt before. Nausea washed over them and they did all they could not to turn their heads and scream! It came too fast for an Escher, too fast for a human! Baleful eyes piercing at their souls, through murky sub light world.

Socrates “Run or fight ? “



Rogue Trader

Ulsheki flopped into the old Eldar Chair, the decadence was quite exquisite , agile dancers pirouetted in a frenzy of light, whilst the servants offered up large ripe fruits. A rainbow of colours bedazzled his eyes , had he to wait any longer in the ancient craftworld , he was sure he would have been sick . A willowy man who's eyes betrayed his youthful visage sat down apposite , clasping his nimble fingers over Ulshekis , calloused hands.
“Ulsheki , Thank you for the Gifts , The elders were getting quite upset at the thought of going without again. And Tial sends her regards , and apologisers for not greeting you herself.. Politics! It seems that your ,..imperial friends are causing some consternation within the council.”

Ulsheki “ Serray it seems I have less friends every time I visit , and although I miss the bountiful delights of Tial , I am here on business after all. “

Serray “ of course ...then lets not dally. Lean forward child and let me tell you a story....

My people are ancient but , some things are even older than us. In the time before man and before the gods you now know , the galaxy was in harmony. One race ruled all as a steward. We know them as the Old ones. Truly ancient and powerful, their technology so advanced it was sorcery. But they were not alone in the galaxy , other races crawled through the dirt and dust of creation, amongst them , the Necrontyr, an impatient race , who sold all in return for a promise only partially fulfilled . Their dying sun prompted an hasty pact with malignant god so powerful it consumed stars as food. a terrible price was paid for their short sightedness , both god and Necrontyr now encased in living metal skins, one bound to to do the others bidding for an eternity. Their soulless blood-lust tied inexorably to the whims of a few discontent beings . They would have betrayed all living things were it not for the enslavers. Buts another story... The Old ones grew fearful of this new threat to the galaxy , and created four races to fight for them , my people were one and another were the Old Slann, a race so powerful they could create life from the void. These reptilian masters , are long lost in time , but their work lives on. From time to time my people discover things , things better left undiscovered , some things better left ignored , but this is not one. Far out in the eastern rim lays a planet untouched by your Imperium , its secrets lay dormant for a millennia. We have reason to believe that , within it lays a race begot by the Old Slann , a race that could provide valuable information to our cause. But you may ask , if its so valuable why not go yourself, right? Well unfortunately we have pressing business elsewhere , and we do not want any dalliance with your imperium's battle cruisers at this time. Better an inqusitive soul such as yourself , tell us whats their.

Ulsheki “ what makes you think I want anything to do with this planet , I have my own agendas to settle Serray , I cant believe you brought me here thinking I would be your fetching boy. Go get another sap to do your dirty work I am outta here..”

Serray “ you mean to tell me that an undiscovered race laying in your charters remit does not interest you? All the possibilities that it entails.. glory from your beloved Imperium , or maybe just plunder that could be sold on the black market... Yo may kid yourself Ulsheki , but I have been around longer than you care to immagine , the details are already on your data slate, all we ask is to report your findings to us first , then do as you please. This after all what your race does best , am I right?

Ulsheki hated the Serray sometimes , he knew his mind better than he did himself, probably because he was reading it whilst he ate that gruuba fruit ! But he was right of course , privateering was a shot in the dark at best , one world in one hundred had anything worth the fuel visiting.
But a new species, sentient , that means money and lots of it. He could of course just go their and not report back to the Eldar , after all they were xeno's and enemies of imperium . Well thats what the inquisition would have you believe , he new in reality things were not that simple. They had been good to Ulsheki when times had been bad , when the imperium was not the friend it was to him now. He owed them a debt and they knew it. Besides he also had been around longer than he looked , and the Eldar , would not send him their without a real reason , sentient species were not ten a penny but they were not all that rare in his line of work , in fact he replaced his navigator with one a few years back , their was something eles on that planet , and for what ever reason the Eldar didn't want to face it first, this would make most men , wet their pants and run home to momma ,
but Ulsheki was not most men , he was a captain of men , a rogue trader !, with his own ship and a cargo bay full of ass kicking, if their was something on that planet the eldar wants , he was gonna get it first. And no pansy frog eyed species was gonna stand in his way.

Captains log star-date M41 Ulsheki's Rogue trader ship the diligent womb in stable geostationary orbit. Above unknown planet Eastern Rim

Preliminary scans show a reptilian species in retrograde , the species now living in a martial warfare state had once held significant power on this planet. In depth analysis shows that the species was on the brink of interstellar travel over ten millennia ago, when for some unknown reason the civilisation imploded into infighting and savagery . cities were abandoned and the population declined to the few rudimentary tribes they are now.
Of note however is the fact that all sentient species on the planet have positioned themselves around key regions in dense jungle. Spectral results show a high concentration in xenon and gauss fluctuations.

Should I assemble an away team sir ? Missionary Gerónimo de Aguilar has asked if he can bring the devine light of the imperium to the natives, should he be told to assemble his retinue? And finally the Chronus class dropship the Hopeful hand is prepped and ready for drop.

Ulsheki felt his stomach rise as the air whsitled pass the dropships cargo door. His world span as he held down his lunch …. Sire we have multiple scans at location drop site , shall we abort..?
No! we are well prepared for anything the natives can chuck at us , ! Ulsheki looked around at his chosen away team , all experts in their craft, the constant preaching by Aguiler was starting to annoy him , but at least it took away the noise of the whirring engines. He had to be strong any sign of weakness could doom an away team , so he swallowed hard , and sucked in recycled air. His men all veterans in their chosen field sat easy in the seats, just another drop , one more in a long line of expeditions he thought., his senachal clicked at the data slate, no doubt filing some secret away for a rainy day his ornate duelling pistols fastened beneath his long jacket was a reassuring sight, he was more than just crew , he was the only friend Ulsheki could really depend upon , and the longest serving or should that be surviving member of the captains circle. He was a dead hand with those relics and just knowing he was here made Ulsheki feel more relaxed. The rest of his officers checked weapons and data slates , trying to avoid direct eye contact with Ulsheki, Hmmf I still have it he thought to himself. Sire Landing in 5...4...3...2...1....weapons ready...airlock …..disengaged ….

Ulsheki “ alright you raggedy Anne bunch of babies , lets find some thing worth dying for …
Move it..!
Maybe this time ,the thought snuck In as the warm humid air washed over his face..


Stories from Praxus 2010 -2011

Origins of Saint MarreteDaughters of the Emperor
By Scholar Rosiwe

The exact details of the origins of Ministorum organisation, daughters of the Emperor are well documented in the scholarum libraries of the Eclisiarchy. But these versions omit Important details of the Venerable saint Marrete. Deemed Heretical by Inquisitor Lock's Ministorum purge. As a young man I was one of the Administratum's offico's responsible for the destruction of many books and texts thought inappropriate for the Ministorum. Petty scrivener level II I was superior to many of my companions in that my role required binocular vision and thus I was spared the normal blinding process. Although warned implicitly that any reading of the texts was sorely forbidden. In no hurry to jeopardise my position, I dutifully operated my role in the denouncement of said texts, with not a second thought for the heretical contents. Until an accident with the pyrocastor forced several of us attendants to take shelter beneath a large bookshelf. It was whilst in this rather uncomfortable position my eyes did wonder upwards towards a large tome that lay open , and its beautiful scrivenings did my eyes attention seek. Knowing the punishment for such an act and not wanting to be seen by my compatriots , I swiftly returned my gaze to the floor, but surely enough like a moth to flame my eyes did seek out its illuminated text. Which told of a girl with the most magnificent pure golden hair, born into servitude upon a hive world Phalanx, struggling her whole life in the service of others she worked many years to buy back her genetic freedom, An insatiable thirst for piety had grown with her on the hive world ,and now older, her faith in the Emperor was as solid as plascrete. Her new found freedom allowed for one thought a holy pilgrimage. Although Holy Terra was out of the question for one with such poor funds, Another reliquary sprang to mind , The tomb of Saint Bernadette. A pilgrimage of only II clusters. With this in mind Marrete ,(the girl now allowed a name because she was no longer in servitude) did every thing she could to raise the creds needed to get off Phalanx. Anyone who has had the misfortune to have been to Phalanx will know, that a pretty girl only has one option to raise creds in the lower habs. Bruised and used, the dishevelled Marrete now had enough creds for a ticket off world. Her transaction complete, Marrete lay in bliss as the refitted launcher , made its jauntily way towards its destination. Hungry and tired Marrete sold the last of her belongings for a little food and water, her only possessions being a small tardy old dress, ripped and stained with her trials. Other mid and high level hab dwellers were also on board making the same pilgrimage. Offended that a low hab dweller would be making the journey, they unashamedly denounced Marrette's unsightly appearance. Happy in her contentment Marrete ignored their vindications and thought only of her opportunity to Basque in the reflected glory of the Emperor through the beneficent reliquary of Saint Bernadette. But her arrival at the entrance of Tomb was met with no less consternation , For the ministorial sister at the gates looked upon the dishevelled and lowly mess that was Marrete, and refused her admittance. Chastising her for her semi nakedness and whore like attire. Marrete emaciated and drawn refused to move. Insisting she had just as much right as anyone to enter. Embarrassed and angry at her indolence , she ordered the reliquary guards to remove her. Knowing the consequences awaiting the girl for such ignoble actions at a consecrated site, a travelling missionary took pity on the wretched Marrete and offered up a long cape from his vestment gowns to protect her modesty. Now covered from neck to to barefoot , Marrete approached the gates a second time. Infuriated at this disobedience , the sister immediately levied a toll for entrance. Knowing full well Marrete had nothing left to give having used up all her creds on the journey. Thankful for her own deviations, the sister rested smugly in her own contentment.
Throwing off the missionaries vestments and what was left of her ragged clothes. Marrete picked up the sharpest rock she could find and began hacking off her beautiful long hair. Her head ruined and her fingers sore , she handed the bloodied scalp to the sister, Saying
“I was born naked , now I stand naked in front of you,
I am but used flesh and tired bone
I am naught and not worthy
I have nothing to give but myself
But the Emperors love is bountiful and I am his daughter,
I offer all that I am to him , in the knowledge that if he requires more , it your duty as one of his humble servants to take it.
She promptly fell upon her knees in front of the sister and said
“ Do you still require more of me sister?”
The sister suddenly embarrassed by her own prideful actions , immediately cast off her own vestments and cut her hair. As did many of the pilgrims.
News of the event spread throughout the Ecclisiarchy and many similar acts followed at different pilgrimage sites for many years. Until one former missionary , now inspired deacon announced a new sect be formed named “The Daughters of the Emperor” a divisional department that created
robes for the Ministorums many Deacons, cardinals and pontificates. From the hair given by pilgrims at sanctified shrines throughout the Imperium. So the hierarchy would always be reminded of this simple selfless act of humility.

( In the footnotes of the page , an extra article had been added at a later date.)
A small and unknown fact to many. When a Commissar Inured learned of this story from a pontifice mundi he formed an idea to supply his men with purity seals made of the highest quality human hair . So his fighting men were reminded of humanity when awarded one of these rare purity seals. The Daughter of the Emperor shrines are now on Thousands of Imperial worlds and the Venerable saint Marrete is worshipped as a icon of humility on just as many .

Appended Scholar Rosiwe was found guilty of treason and heresy and seminally executed by Inquisitor Ravnus lock , These writings were found hidden in his vestments. And re intered into the Ministorum libraries. By servo Skull MMMXXVII 

Notes on the Praxian Noble 9th Battalion 1st Copiae

The Noble 9th Battalion is an officer training academy attached to to wider regular Praxian Guard
Or Praxus Planetary Defence Force (PDF) .
Entrance is limited to the Imperious Noble Households and high ranking members of the Adaptus Terra, Imperial Army and Imperial Navy. As such the Academy accepts recruits form a wide variety of backgrounds. Entrants may be submitted from the age of ten years , and up to the age of twenty five. There is no sexual discrimination and enrolment lasts for a minimal duration of 3 years. Although in practice many recruits who find it too difficult may have their contracts unwritten for a fee.
Its role is to provide a relatively safe place and structured military training program for well heeled
Families eager to instil a regimented and authoritarian lifestyle on their often autocratic young heirs.
Many military commanders send their children to the Noble 9th , to learn the art of war and officership in a relatively safe environment. Up until they reach the admittance age of the military proper. The academy has proved popular within certain military circles , who's parents are eager to see the offspring pushed hard at an early age. Conversely many Ruling houses send the precocious youths to learn the art of self sufficiency or keep them out of politics and even rival houses assassination attempts. Some callous houses send their heirs to this remote planet to ensure they can retain leadership until ready to pass it on , there are even stories of Young lovers from opposing families banished to the Noble 9th to avoid scandal.

The Academy was set up not long after House Adalais wrested control of Praxus from Lyonas the misguided of the powerful Voltaire Navigator family. An embarrassment they still haven’t forgiven.

Praxus with its huge Vulgus workforce had little respect for the ruling Noble household. And were often prone to Robespierreien revolts.. Bartholomew de la mar Adalais had the forsight to propose a Noble guard to subdue the populace. Fitted with custom archaic finery from antiquity , to remind the Vulgus of their station.

The Noble 9th , or Ignoble 9th as the Vulgus saw them, tore retribution and fear into the Vulgus.
Immune from prosecution. They freely murdered , raped and ransacked their way into notoriety as NOBLES TO BE FEARED.
The revolts are few and far between now , and much of the Noble 9ths remit is palace guard duties
and parades. They are drilled hard to keep them in shape and mischief at bay.
And even now these Fops and so called soldiers when dressed in the Finery instil a unspoken fear into the hearts of the older generations, fear and obey.

Warning contains Graphic scenes--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Noble Story

Guntar drilled them too hard, was the young Major Taliens first thought. The majority of the new recruits were soft. Sons of high ranking Adaptus Terra diplomats. These boys had no desire to join the Imperial Army or Navy, and one broken neck or stray shot could lead to weeks if not years of bureaucratic tape and unforeseen cutbacks or worse still, trade embargo’s. Roughly translated as a disciplinary . These boy could barely carry their own carbines let alone their packs
and provisions plus the daily 10k quick march. No these boys were pampered and soft , not worth risking a court martial training these buffoons for a war the would never see. I doubt even the Imperial commander would fear a Noble coup if he saw these idiots in training. Maybe he should get an invite , then we may actually be allowed decent rifles instead of these pathetic pea shooters.
No Stick them in the finest and put them on parade, the stupid Vulgus would know no better, to them we are all dandy devils to be feared and respected , Talien winced at the thought of being mistaken as a House boy Fop and not the steel eyed focused driven man he had become , and gave a wry smile at the thought of the pathetic hoards cowering in fear from these useless bastards.
Give them 6 more years and they may very well become half the man I am now he thought. Recruited at 12 his Patriarch an elderly Imperial Commissar he never met, Had him pulled out of his simple aristocratic life of painting and poetry, and sent here to learn the art of war. He had made captain by sixteen and major at his last birthday. Eighteen years old and commanding over a thousand souls. He got hard just thinking about it. His Patriarch would be proud if he still lived, the old bastard.
The Major's horse whinnied but he held her firm and looked down his long nose to the hulking brute that was his drill Sergeant , Unlike that poor sod he thought.

To Talien Guntar was a man to be despised, but also feared if the stories were true. The bastard child of a house whore on Phalanx. His Patriarch was a Admiral of the fleet , of some renown.
Ashamed and embarrassed to find out he had such an heir, The Admiral petitioned the House for his expulsion down hive. Fortunately for him, Guntar's Matriarch was very influential and Guntar or half – caste as became known , was allowed to stay up-spire in the care of House Ossa . He was taught alongside the other Ossa brats as a Noble, by the Imperiums finest scholars. But he was always the outsider , destined to never fit. At first he tried to play along with the bullies , just make a game of it, but it didn't stop them , eventually he grew tired of the beatings , he grew strong, and his spirit never broke , unlike his bones. When his mother died at the hands of an overenthusiastic
Acro wipping by the Infamous Troubadour Comedy del Art's Deviant, “Malange” Guntar was turned out of the Noble house , the only protection between him and expulsion by the Admirral's Enforcers. Desperate he sought out a new family, the notorious Noble House Ossa's Brat gang The Vipers . Who had a long held reputation for hunting underhive scum.

Impressed by his physical stature , the Viper lead Spryer accepted his request to join them , so long as he completed the initiation, to bring back an underhive scummer alive , and go toe to toe in a shiv fight to the death.
The Vipers extreme initiation test, had ensured it was a Brat gang to be reckoned with , weeding the soft fops from the brainy brawlers

Guntar was stripped of everything he owned save pants and a needle pistol with a heavy tranquiliser and dropped into the underhive to stalk his prey.
Instead of heading to the usual hunting grounds , the Heraklees territory or the pit slave market to find a tough and worthy opponent. That would impress his peers.
Gunter delved deeper and deeper into the murky sublight world , of the underhive.His world became slums and shanties but still he continued down and down until the light ebbed away into a smoky glimmer in the dome roofs. His choked throat burnt with the acrid smell and his eyes streamed . He hoped given time he would become used to the smell , but he sat and waited and watched for three weeks and it smelled worse than ever. The sump crawlers were no match for his raw strength and he followed them through tight airless passages ways and fallen tunnels , to their feeding ground. A lush and verdant moss covered chem deposit. It was here that his patience paid dividends, the whispering bodies shuffled
in an aimless motion, covered by loose rags he could barely make out their contorted faces. He waited and watched like a seasoned underhiver , as they went about there business collecting Sump shrooms. A patience rarely seen in the spire born.

Mutants these sick and twisted reflections of humanity were shunned by even the scummy lowlifes of the under hive , these disgusting wretches had no friends in the spire save their own kind , and ridding the hive of such abominations was every hive dwellers right , no duty! He resisted the temptation to gag as a small, what could maybe pass as a child collected a maggot riven Shroom inches away from his hiding place. Its hands were a writhing mass of worms, and its soulless eyes glared balefully vacant into the dimly lit sump pool. He followed the group back through the silent tunnels , careful to mask his scent with the acrid goo, who knows what senses these beasts have.
Through a riveted bulk head, he could see a small camp , a fire glowed in the centre and faintly lit the shifting bodies. From his recent observations he knew that they left in groups to collect the sump shrooms every other day. Its was relatively easy to catch one alone shifting in and out of the shadows , and as he crept toward his prey it turned to face him.
He stood frozen midstep, there eyes the only thing in common , searched each others for answers. but the young mother bearing a fat belly offered no resistance. As he ushered her from the shallow light in the pitch black tunnels.

During the journey back up-spire the girl did not speak nor struggle. It was as if she accepted her fate from the start. She had always known this day would come , she was a victim of circumstance in a universe of hate, the Imperiums dirty little secret, the guilty reflection of humanities corruption vilified more vehemently than the Heretics or xeno's , born into a debt she is unable to repay. The end would be a release , she welcomed the the thought of being free from this man's hell, only her swollen belly gave her pause .

Guntar did not bother to think, the Hulking young man placed one foot in front of the other , lost in the rhythmic motion until he and his prize stood in the marble centre of the Vipers challenging room .
The girl had become more agitated the closer they drew to the beautifully ageing hab sphere dome.
As if she somehow sensed her impending demise. But without fail the harder she struggled the tighter Guntar held her chain.
Now surrounded by the baying crowd of delinquents , she grew wide eyed scared. Her mutated belly heaved with stress, her eyes darted from one distorted mask to another desperately seeking a safe face in the maddening crowd.
Guntar stood motionless, staring dispassionately into tightly wrought coils of the serpent design in the centre of the circle, he noticed how similar it was to to his preys skin. Although he new he should feel repulsed as he watched her clamour hysterically from one gang member to another, her scaly hide reflecting the bright dome lights. He felt only pity for the terrified creature.

The cackle and cheering was intense, and the poor girls heart pounded at her chest as frantic as a sump rat digging its hole. A hot flush swirled her head dizzy and she tried to scream , her deformed maw letting out an inaudible shriek faces spun and merged into a cacophonous wail of laughter , eyes and teeth.
The demented crowd was verging on uncontrollable , when the lead Spryer began to talk...

“You have done well Guntar.”
“You survived the underhive and brought back a great prize”. The Spryer was indeed impressed by Guntar's success. Less than one in ten initiates return from the lower habs,
in fact the last 4 had not returned at all , and the 6 before that had been captured and ransomed back up-spire. Failing the initiation , bringing shame on their Houses and the Enforcers to the Vipers Door. Baron Dysarno the IV has a strict no Noble below the Guild line policy. Only Spryer's being the exception.
But still there was something strange about this whole initiation , for a start Guntar had been downhive for a month , this is the longest any Viper has stayed down unless they were captured , this showed great skill and tenacity, a valuable asset to be sure , but why a mutie Sure the are a rare find for a Brat gang. But a female one?, not only that a mutie with child! , the thought sent a cold shiver down the Spryer's expensive cadium plated servo spine. He shrugged involuntarily . Surely Guntar knew this would be highly irregular, the Vipers respect strength as much as guile ,a full Blooded Heraklees warrior would have made a better impression he was sure. Such a small quarry would no doubt provide very little entertainment once the fun starts.
But alas as the Badland Comedy del Art troubadour's say ..the show must go on..!

“Now you must prove yourself in single combat”
“If you win, you shall become one of us. Lose and you forfeit your life and your quarry goes free”
The Spryer drew two ceremonial daggers from their sheaves, and tossed them into the centre of the cold marble serpent ring.

The clatter of the knives brought the girl back to her senses , and she turned to face her captor.
She did not understand what the tall man in the strange armour was saying , but she knew what the daggers meant. Like in her tribe when a man upset another in a bad way , they dealt with it like this.
But not the women ! We were valued, and certainly not with child!
In that instant she knew all the stories of the daemons in the spires were true. There would be no mercy and no escape unless she went through her captor!

Guntar stared at the daggers. The Fantastically wrought handles curled into a wavy black serpent blade, that contrasted with the polished white marble in an absolute way. Now that’s the sort of crafts man-ship you can only get up-spire he thought.

The girl grabbed up both daggers in a flash , and like a caged cat waved them threateningly in front of her face. The crowd howled and shrieked with delight at this surprising show of courage.

Guntar noticed how quickly she now moved compared to her sluggish meander on the way back up-hive.

The big man did not move …why? She thought. Is this the game , part of the ritual. What ever the reason , she knew this could be her only chance. She had to protect her Baby.
Glinting masks and warped smiles blurred as she lunged toward her tormentor. One knife slashing at his face down to his cheek bone, the other stabbed into the soft flesh of his abdomen she felt the blade lodge fast as it graced a rib.

Guntar had watched it all in slow motion , his hands refusing to engage with his brain. He stared into her fearful eyes as she lunged at him and saw only remorse. What have I done ? Why did I bring her here? I am sorry. Am I sorry?
His consolations were abruptly stopped by the wincing pain to his left cheek. His hands flew to his face instinctively to protect it, followed by an intense burning in his gut!

“You fething mutant bitch, you stabbed me”!
Guntar's eyes dropped to the highly ornate handle protruding from his abdomen.
“You fething dirty Mutant Bitch! “
“How dare you stab me ! You Dirty whore!”
Guntar forgot the pain as watched the terrified girl drop the knife from her twisted fingers and back away, shivering. He thought he noticed a puddle appear on the floor as he clasped his burly hands around the the young girls scaly neck and choked the air from her infected lungs.
“ die Mother “ dripped from his blood stained lips.

The lifeless girls body dropped to the stone floor like a mannequin without strings.
The crowd fell silent.

With the focus of a skilled surgeon he proceeded to cut her belly and remove the child.
The Vipers stood aghast as he held aloft the child.
“AM I IN? “

The Vipers reputation as scourges of the underhive was writ in blood that evening. The myth of the baby snatcher is told to both human and mutant child alike, by mothers warning of the dangers of playing away from home near lonely sump holes or chem wastes.
But the man responsible for that heinous myth would not be there to bear witness.

Appalled by his uncouth and unsporting behaviour, the Vipers for the first time in history gave up one of there own to the Enforcers. His Patriarch the Admiral, recently bereaved of three of his sons, rescinded his decision to have him sent down hive , fearing a complete loss of heirs, he instead had him exiled to Praxus to train with the Noble 9th. With the exception that he is not allowed off world or to ever achieve an officers rank.

Major Talien: “Sergeant Guntar”

Guntar: “Sah”

Major Talien: “ Have the boys rested and sent back to barracks”

Guntar “Sah” 

Notes on The Venerable Arclight

The long story of this antiquated and dignified tank starts in the dark early days of the early Imperium, when the emperor still walked as a Man amongst us. Designed by the fabricator general of Mars , during the Great Scouring , Its role was to cross the many trenches of Istvaan V seeking out its traitorous imperial army brethren and laying waste to their malcontented plasteel hides. Its Arc generator a relic of great import, as the smaller more compact sister to exalted Valdor Tank hunter, long thought lost during the apostasy that followed .Its history became shrouded in the fog of a ten millennia long war. No one alive knows how and when the bulwarked beast arrived on Praxus, Its possible the revered fortress
was stationed here in some long forgotten war . But if no one can be sure with any clarity when it arrived . We can be sure when it was rediscovered.
First sighted by pdf pvt Lions during the winter months of the "black years" the deplorable and heavy handed repression used by the Adalaise house to remove the many Agri farmers, praxus cultivators, and grox herders from their land ,and into the newly built , Industrialised hab zones , as a manual workforce for the recently arrived Adaptus mechanicus and their innumerable Manufactorums.

Pvt Lions vox transcoder record.

pvt lions "Sir i think i see something by those trees "

Cpl Frenx " look you bloody idiot ,we're the only things out here for at least 20 clicks ,i can't imagine those friggin farmboys are gonna freeze their nads off chasing us out here can you?
pass me those binocs yeh bloody vulgus scum."

Pvt Lions " Sir i saw it again , it kinda big and moving really slow"

Cpl Frenx " hang on i cant fething see anything through these... Oh ,wait.. I see.. turns out your not as blind as i thought.. looks like those Inbred eejits have gone an got themselves a Praxus harvester, bloody slow things though , it will take them a lunar cycle before its anyway near the gates! ...bloody idiots , no wonder they ..

Pvt Lions " Sir whats that blue light ? i thought the harvesters had red ....Pzzttsssssssssssssssssssssssss!

Vox transcoder end transmission.

The Arclight was used with some success against the ruling house pdf, slinking in and out of the many Praxian wild forests, to strike at the heart of their noble repress ors, at the behest of the Vulgus partisans. But eventually a critical feed back loop in the arclights Archaic generator resulted in a total system malfunction killing all twelve of Praxus's most successful rebels in an uncoiled Tesla outburst.

This event marked the end of the Black years, with no heros left to stand up for them the remaining Farmers from all over praxus signed the Plebian treaty.

I the aforementioned land owner, bequeath all worldly possessions
to the Imperium , To be held in liu by the Imperial commander
at this present time
Noble House Adalais Imperial Governor

Bartholomew de la mar Adalais

I submit my will to the Divine Emperor of Mankind and willingly
agree to the law of The benevolent Adaptus Terra
To be upheld by said imperial Commander.
i also agree to become a diligent worker for the imperium of man
Setting aside any impure thoughts. I shall be pleased to be put to work
for the imperium as to benefit my fellow Man and bring the illuminated
words of the ecllisarchy into my heart .

As a loyal citizen of said Planet Praxus it is my duty to better myself and
and the imperium through hard work in whatever manner said imperial governor deems
correct at this time being a Plebian worker in the Manufactorums of the Adaptus
Mechanicus I shall endeavour to bring the light of the holy emperor into my heart and
mind in all my daily workings.

With the newly governed Praxus in a state of peace the many agri farmers now formed the first manufactorum Plebian workforce but the increasing imperial demands on production forced the overstretched Plebian workforce to be reinforced with huge amounts of vulgus workers repatriated from the nearby Phalanx Hive lower habs. This separation of class and wealth within the Industrial habzones and cities of Praxus has caused many cival uprisings. Especially when the Manufactorums stopped recruiting the vulgus lest they embraced the the cult of the Omnissiah
But even with the constant threat of cival war the antediluvian war machine Arclight has not set track outside the Grande Manufactorum for over 300 years. Its secrets , slowly unravelled by the Fabricator general Vector Rakiel. Technically the Arclight still belonged to the Adaptus mechanicus when imperial governor Bartholomew de la mar Adalais made a gift of it to tempt the secretive cults renouned Lord Magos Exploratus Vector Rakiel to set up even more Manufactorums on Praxus. It obviously worked as the machine cult has expediently created a wealth of Manufactorums in the past three centuries, no doubt still searching the Praxian wilds for more Military archeotech.

notes on Praxus and the peoples Champion Valrick


It was the kind of day where the heat makes you lazy. Kalien's long limbs lolled languid, in the warmth of the hydra systems twin stars. He was lucky to have the day off , not all the manufactorums had closed. Even in this oppressively stifling heat , the former agricultural worlds industrial quarters were still pumping out chemical clouds. It's original summer season , protracted artificially by the intense year on year pollution from the sprawling omniscience factories , who's dense smog hung low like a broiling blanket.
“Yeah I am lucky” he assured himself under his breath.
For if the capitol city was under a bedroom swelter sheet, then the manufactorums were the searing kitchen ovens.
Kalien could only imagine the sweltering humidity , generated inside those torrid cordite and plasteel hell holes on a day like this.
Even in the harsh winter months , when the city rivers froze mid-flow, the manufactorums ran hot.
Their toxic effluent corroding the once pristine canals. Plebians fortunate enough to live close by the heat sinks during winter, now paid the price in perspiration.
The balmy summer months normally a welcome break after the bitter cold , were starting to chore.
People looked back to a time before the treaty , the black years and before the dual vexatious seasons.
He had often heard tell of the time precedent the Aquila held Praxus in its vice like talons, long before he was born , when she still had a third and fourth season. Stories halcyon , talked of , like an old friend that hadn't been seen in an age , but who's time spent together was simple and fun. Elixir memories recalled as cool raindrops hitting your face on a hot day. Praxa tinted nostalgia that only people who weren't there first time around could conjure. Of Autonomy, wild flowers , rolling grass hills and teeming forests alive with multitudes of animals. Red elk , wild Grox and even giant land lizards. Where the only tithes were agricultural , to produce enough meat to supply Phalanx hive with grox burgers and the occasional medicinal or red dye praxa shipments to the Imperial army. Unlike the barren rocky tundra that surrounds the city now, or the palpably oppressive, bureaucracy within.

Prickly heat crept up his legs like irascible fire ants , snapping his conscience back to the present soaring temperature.
“This is going to cause trouble” thought Kalien. The heat en-kindled the tumultuous Vulgus , their discontent raising as inevitably as the temperature. Friction between the work-less proletariat and the manufactorum's Plebian workforce was at an all time high. Whilst , Much to the Imperial governors dismay , production was at an all time low.

It was much this reason, that made kalien so surprised that the Plebian servitude obligationist's (PSO) petition for a forty eight hour rest cycle , had been approved , albeit amended to a twenty four hour cycle, to be taken in shifts over forty eight hours so as to not let the manufactorums stop running. To a Plebian like himself this was as much a gift from the divine Omnissiah himself.
As a level three subjugate ancillary abolitionist , Kalien was constituted to work sixty days before the nominal twenty four hour leave was permitted. Only nineteen days into this work cycle. The thought of another forty one night shifts in this relentless heat was excruciating. But it could be worse he acknowledged , he could be a level one and have to work day shifts. None of that mattered now though, with at a good sixteen hours left , life was too short to waste in side the crowded city walls. His exit pass in hand Kalien strolled casually through the huge reinforced ceramite gates. “Happy days indeed “ he smiled a radiant smile. The two border guards crouched over a ammo crate , dice and creds in hand , didn't even bother to look up , just raised a gloved hand and nonchalantly waived him through.

A pang of guilt shot though him as he ambled past the tripod mounted heavy stubber , its slick gun metal grey barrel covered in a fine sheen of oil and dust.
“ How many Vulgus has this taken “ the morbid thought clung like a magnet until it was out of peripheral vision . Groups of Vulgus are not allowed within fifty metres of any border control sites , he recalled to himself , having to clearly display their papers and approach in single file along the faded and chipped red designation lines. Plebians had no such hassle a simple exit pass and you were free to wander in and out of the cities at will , of course if you failed to attend your work parole dutifully that privilege could easily be revoked . He thought he noticed a brown stain in the dry dust , and wondered if this belonged to some over eager Vulgus. Kalien didn’t himself know why the Vulgus were treated so brutally. After all not every Vulgus , came from Phalanx, and even of those that did many were now on their fith and sixth generation , some just refuse to worship the Omnissiah , or had lost their Plebian status, not all were hive bottom scum , dragged here to full fill roles that the Plebian's would not or could not do. And I guess if I were brought here on the promise of a better life clean air and good honest labour on an agri world, to be confronted with the squalid wretchedness that is the Vulgus quarter , no work except IG recruitment and the intolerably permeating gaze of the Adaptus Terra , maybe I would be prone to rampancy? But even as he thought it he didn’t believe the words as the formed in his mind. The Vulgus were scum , they owed no allegiance to anything or anyone , they were all muggers and murders , and would kill you as much as look at you !. If they were not kept in check they would surely run amok and cause no end of strife. He found a familiarity in his words that gave him comfort, and the world seemed in order as he stepped his heavy groxhide boot over the worn blue line.

Kalien stood quite still for moment taking in the surrounding barren beauty, breathing the warm afternoon air deeply in through his nose , until his chest heaved , then slowly releasing it back out in a deep sigh.


He could barely keep his excitement contained. This was the first time in almost six months that an exit pass and free time coincided with a trip outside. He stood quite still and soaked up the atmosphere , he loved the contrast between the brutally smooth , ceramite, utilitarian walls of the Praxus prime and the barren and rocky tundra that lay before him. To both sides the wide open expanse of dry grass quilted the rolling tundra to the distant hills and on to the high peaks of the grey mountains. In front of him lay the bulkcrete carriage way , it rolled on in a staright line for almost five clicks then dipped down into the winding lush valleys where the level six attendants and servitors used the giant manufactorum machines to harvest the valuable praxa flowers. A long held personal ambition of kalien's , was to be a level six harvester, and spend every summer beyond the claustrophobic city walls , driving a behemoth and answering only to his biometric servitor. A dream that hard work and good faith in the Omnissiah would no doubt provide for him given time.

Beyond the vally of the praxa flower, where the bulkcrete road swayed east , through an impenetrable unnamed forest , lay his goal for today.
A secret place that only he new about , The old reservoir. Built nearly three centuries ago by the Infamous Bartholomew de la mar Adalais the founding father of the present Praxus. To supply the the then rather small capitol city with fresh clean water. It was a bit of a white elephant as it was only used for a mere six years , until he had repatriated , several hundred thousand migrant vulgus from Phalanx , to the build the newly commissioned manufactorums. The then new reservoir could hardly cope with the huge demands suddenly placed up on it , and was seminally decommissioned and replaced with pipe work to the expansive Deam freshwater lake , 300 clicks north. A feat that required several million vulgus , who subsequently became the first unemployed vulgus on Praxus, An event that brought Praxus to the attention of a young Inquisitor Vendrake.

Fortunately for Kalien the reservoir was built upon a freshwater spring , he could not imagine a better place to shirk off his worries for few hours, than bathing in the cool crystal clear waters of the secluded sanctuary.

The walk was tough. He could have made it easier on himself by using the carriageway , or even hiring a grav bike. But the latter was expensive, and besides he wanted to experience all the sights and sounds life outside the walls had to offer not be encased behind a plexi glass sponson.

His heavy boots clunked and his ankles twisted as he slogged over the rocks and stones of the tundra, and into the trudging damp quick grass of the valley below. In the distance where the road veered out of sight , he saw the gnarled trees of the unnamed forest's edge. A short-cut that shaved hours off the main route adding even more desirable bathing time.
A hard earned hour later , his sweltering hide gasped for air, beads of fresh sweat ran down his back like a stream , soaking the Mechanicus red coveralls a dark brown and mingling with the previous hours salt stained pattern. He cursed himslef for not bringing more water as he sipped the final dregs of tepid liquid from his hip flask.

He had been here half a dozen times , but now he saw it again he hesitated . The twisted black roots grasped out at him like the tormented souls of its past. The reservoir lay a mere fifteen minutes amble through the inky black forest , nothing compared to the 2 hours plus round trip on the carriageway.
But still he waited , trying to draw courage from both suns like a solar battery on half charge.
Valrick.. The name was innocent enough , but the stories that surrounded that name was more than enough to strike doubt into any man.

A mythical legend amongst the downtrodden Vulgus. A true hero that paid more than lip service to his title , a kind hearted man of honour who champions the weak and desperate. The wild man of the Forests who tore retribution through the elite upper classes and stalked fear into the hearts of every high-born.
For every rule there is the exception , he , that rarest of things a noble Noble
Valrick the terrifying to his enemies and Valrick the champion to the Vulgus

Or so the story goes....

The unlucky thirteenth child of King Ymir and queen Modir, Valrick was born Under the name of Prince Naroke Valrick on a distant pre blackpowder world called Che Austri. Rediscovered by Imperial Rogue Trader Ulsheki kindheart. Entrusted to Ulsheki by his mother to protect the boy from a superstitious ritual slaughter , Valrick travelled upon Ulsheki's armada “the diligent womb”back to interior space , Given a fenrisian wolf cub to help sooth his culture shock , the young hunter soon became introverted and withdrew from contact with anything but his faithful cub Rag.
Worried about the physical and mental health of the child the ships physician , lobbied Ulsheki to let the boy return to his homeworld . Ulsheki a benevolent man saw in Valrick similarities to his own humble start in life. But ever the business man , Ulsheki refused , not wanting to jeopardise his many commitments over the young boy. In its stead Ulsheki took the growing lad aside and offered him a life aboard his ship , granting the boy freedom when they found a suitable world. The young Valrick had learned many things during his years upon the Armada , about the terrible state of the galaxy and the many horrors within it , his new formed skills although commendable never satiated his thirst for the hunt and to live off the land , something that was never going to be possible if he stayed amongst his new found family. It was only a matter of time before the young man became aware of the insular Argridustrial world Praxus. Ulsheki duly sent an envoy to talk with the imperial commander about taking the boy into custody until one day he might return with a ship bound for his homeworld.
In no time at all , Valrick, for the second time in his short life , packed his belongings and said farewell to his family , to join a new batch of Imperial Nobles in an induction to life in the Noble ninth officors academy , on the former Agricultural planet Praxus.

In many ways the Noble ninth was a perfect match for Valricks unique background , he was born a Noble , and had travelled the galaxy amongst some of its most wonderfully bizarre characters. Gleaning secrets that no regular citizen would be privy to. But his animalistic nature could not be so easily tamed. He longed to roam free hunting and fishing like he did as a small boy on Che Austri , although intelligent enough to realise that even if he could return to his home world , it would never be the same. He needed to find a happy medium and with the Noble ninth and in Praxus he thought he had.

His first years in the academy amongst the other well heeled Nobles went without incident , Valrick eager to progress through the ranks to enable himself to join the Commissars regular hunts. His ability to talk plainly and see things clearly was a great advantage in the hunts and combat training , but a huge disability when it came to socialising and moving within the complex and scheming political circles of the officers club.
He had noted the dismissive way in which the other Nobles treat the native people , but put it to one side as to concentrate on his military career. Which to all intents and purposes was going extremely well. His Natural ability with both close quarters and ranged weapons and his ease in the saddle , not to mention his rather unique steed , brought him to the attention of the Commissar, who was on the look out for a new officer of the hunt. Impressed by his discipline and lack apparent flaws except his insistence in worshipping a wooden idol , the the commissar promoted the young man to lieutenant of the hunt. A huge responsibility . All was going seemingly well up this point , only wishing for more free time to hunt by himself, and not with his brash and noisy peers. Valrick saw little of Praxus in the preceding years , stationed permanently in the academy barracks , the young man was only allowed into Praxus prime with a senior officer.
But his new found status saw that change, having to move into the Imperial governors palace proper, so as to be at the beck and call of the Commissar. It was during this time he discovered the horrendous plight of the Vulgus , the constant subjugation of the lowly palace staff reminded him of his former life on Che Austri. He could do little to help though , as Nobles and Vulgus were not allowed to socialise. The Event that saw this change started with an innocent request from the Commissar , to deliver a note to a dashing young captain by the name of Actaeon. As Valrick approached the senior officers quarters , he heard screaming and crying , throwing open the door he found a half naked girl being beaten by the young officer , insisting she “clean his boots again or by the emperor she would be sorry “ At this Valrick snapped , all the rage he had subdued and controlled since he had to leave his home world , came crashing to the fore like a tidal wave on a breaker. Taking the startled captains baton , he proceeded to beat Actaeon for every injustice he had ever witnessed and said nothing , to within an inch of his life.

Panicked and scared , Valrick fled the palace with the girl and his now huge fenrisian wolf , to the inner-city squalor of the vulgus quarter . News spread of his Noble rescue of one of their own , and the usually hostile Vulgus , welcomed the young Noble into their homes , his white wolf and strange off world ways bringing much wonder to the usually drab and monotone lives of the poor.
It stayed this way for a many months , with Valrick learning all that he had missed from the fascinating and resourceful people , they told him stories of old hive life and how the Nobles mistreated them , he even learnt about the famous twelve partisans who rode the iron beast of the wilds , fighting for the rights of the common man during the black years. He hid from patrols and kept a low profile, in and out the dark alleyways and underpasses of the impoverished domicilia. Until Retribution was poured upon the impecunious wretches like burning sand. It stated with reduced rationing and ended in outright civil war. The broken Vulgus refused to give up Valrick , he was one of their own , and as the the nobles new too well , family counts for everything.
Realising he was only hurting his new found friends , the honourable young man abandoned for the last time his family , for the Praxian wilds. Unsatisfied with this turn of events the newly recuperated and promoted hunt major Actaeon , layed waste to the Vulgus Domicilia , with carte blanche given by his superiors , to teach the scum a lesson he formed the dreaded riders de la morte. These evil minded murderers , formed specifically to drive terror into the vulgus , hunted the indigent souls on jet black steeds in the dead of night, seeking out lone victims to enforce their curfew.
Upon hearing this the enraged Valrick swore an ancient Che Austri blood oath on the Praxian Nobles. Undiminished the Riders of death continued , until the fateful night that saw seventeen of the Ignoble horse and man ripped limb from limb by the terrifying lone wolf and its blood drenched rider. The Nobles never did send the black riders into the Vulgus domicilia after that. Although Actaeon escaped with his life he too vowed revenge , but upon his former subordinate the Wild man of the woods. To this day the Noble 9th have a ceremonial forest hunt at midnight on a full moon , to initiate new members of the dreaded riders de la morte. Many never to return , neither body nor horse ever found. All subsequent attempts to locate the illusive exemplar have failed. The Noble 9th hunting parties that still venture into the forest do so only as an initiation such is the power of the myth. It is said that if you pass through a Praxian forest and you live to tell the tale , its because your not a Noble.

Valrick has not been seen in the Vulgus domicila for many years , but for the odd sighting of a giant white wolf and occasional dire howls on a full moon. Many believe Valrick is just biding his time, and will return to champion the Vugus again when he is need the most. The optimistic myth living on in their hearts and minds.

Kalien felt none the better for recounting the tale to himself. As he stepped into the tenebrous forest , sunbeams that danced merrily on the canopy leaves failed to penetrate the interior and fell like lost hope onto the tangled floor. The fact that Kalien didn't really believe the myth failed to stop his heart pounding like an Arbites maul. It was only when he felt the radiant warmth on his skin again that he realised he had held his breath for the last hundred yards to freedom. The cold chill of the forest evaporating as he gazed upon the sparkling water. Though as he stripped and dived in the cool and refreshing lake , he couldn’t help thinking would he have walked through that wood if he was a high-born.....
The answer was simple , probably not.

Def Skullz

We da lootas an freebootaz knicking stuff from shivs to shootaz
eyeing up da umies tanks, so we can kitbash dem urm... thanks
kannon, pulsas, burnas, cutters. We da tinka Gork Mek nuttaz
all da time we finding fings, and makes da stuff dat bruvvers bring

Uvver orks dey fink where barmy, why not WAAAGH along wiv army
jus get yer ed tested yer Brainz, but Mad Doc Grimsnik sez wer sane
dey dont want the fings we uze, instead dey all grogged up wiv booze
an even Warboss, he can't see, but grabs our goodies when ready!

So into Dakka we do ride, our paro nature makes us hide,
behind the blue stuff on our hedz, painted on wiv grotling legs
Ere we go the the end is near, Warboss has his BIG GUN Cheer
whilst umies run an cower in fear. Looted Rhino,... Death Skulls ere!
wait... take da shot, double one, oh dear. 


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