Chapter Ten – Ritual Connections
It was hard to focus on one thing as his eyes now very different, one seeing the material world, the other the alluring dance of the magic that flowed over and through the world. As disconcerting as that was to him, the poor mortal, the thing that inhabited his body and claimed his soul often wanted to look at different things than he did. He closed his left eye and squinted at the capering figures nearby, viewing them in what he knew was the real world, despite the amused smirk he felt within his mind at that concept.
A liquid fell heavily from the world above and crashed down onto the roof of the construct they currently inhabited. It could see the individual drops sparkling as they descended past the openings in the walls – for a moment it mourned the restrictions that they faced, only able to move in a single direction, confined by the petty rules of a too small reality.
Jochen sat nearby, picking at his remaining teeth for the remaining fragments of dog flesh that clung tenaciously to them. He grunted in satisfaction and extracted the sharpened piece of bone before glancing over at the Prophet who was for once not hunched over and muttering to himself.
Several of the other members of the warband were dancing around the fire, sometimes leaping over or even into its depths to allow the sacred energies to caress and burn them, transforming their skin through its harsh touch. The largest and most ungainly of the quartet lumbered about, his body coated in an azure cloak of filthy feathers that did not burn but rather glowed at the touch of the fire.
Slumped heavily in slumber next to him was Maya, her naked body gleaming in the firelight, her contours having returned to their former state since the birth of the child. He was not sure where that was, it had scuttled into the darkness almost as soon as it had emerged, screeching through the myriad of tiny mouths that lined its skeletally thin legs. For a moment he wondered if it would grow stronger in the darkness or simply become more meat then he yawned and tossed the bone away.
As he scratched at the hairy pulsing lump that had begun to form on his arm over the last few weeks, he wondered in turn what the Prophet would taste like - the flavour of his blood, bones and organs, if perhaps they held the power within them, power he could devour and own. Speculatively his other hand caressed the wooden haft of his axe at his other side – the Prophet was strong and he had been forbidden to harm him by their leader – but it was tempting, if only for that reason.
Then the gaze of his potential prey turned towards him and he froze as saw the true predator that lurked behind the flesh mask. Strange colours blossomed in those eyes and an unnatural chill cascaded through his body, causing him to freeze in place, his mind attempted to jerk away but he was unable to break the connection.
"Does he displease you?" He could hear the sorcerer's voice as he addressed the Prophet but only feel the life slowly beginning to thaw out his limbs as the heavy head shifted its attention to the speaker. Sweat began to form on his forehead and body – such a question was often the prelude to bloodshed.
Hagen crouched nearby, his malformed face indistinct in the flickering firelight as the dancers shifted in front of it, leaning forward on the staff, the warpstone gem at its tip for the moment quiescent. Unconsciously it seemed, his too long tongue tasted the air between the two of them, his large nostrils quivering as it probed the air. Nearby, the dancers leapt and cavorted, oblivious.
"No." The Prophet seldom spoke and not always in the same voice – this time it was the man's voice, the one that seemed to suit its appearance. Yet the air cooled and the sounds became flat and hollow, fading away as the rest of the warband ceased their cavorting and turned to face the Prophet in their midst.
"He hungers for meat and power – as do you all." A low rumble of agreement and toothy grins agreed with those words, many eyes remained fixed on him, voracious and full of anticipation.
Without haste, flesh concealing the daemon rose to its feet and his arms reached towards the mould covered ceiling, the left elongating far more than it should be possible, skin tearing and muscle creaking, groaning and wetly glistening as it was revealed.
"It is time that we all fed."
The gathered slaves to darkness quivered in eagerness at his words, in turn rising to their own feet, some stretching up in semi-conscious mimicry, others crouching down in supplication. Hagen did neither, tasting the rising excitement with his flickering tongue as he waited for the Prophet to lead them out into the rain and to the glory that he knew awaited them.
Muscles and sinew unravelled and recoiled themselves, bloodily creating a writhing mass in place of an elongated limb, the crimson cloaked tendrils pulsing with unrealised energy. The Prophet lowered the transformed appendage slowly, deliberately and turned to the gaping burnt out maw that had been the entrance to the building.
He led them out into the torrent, pausing for a moment to look up into the sky, the roiling clouds both dark and tainted with green sickly threads. Even the heavens were still tainted from the devastating impact that had wrecked the city and as the daemon looked up it could see the true reality through the cracks in the small limited world it currently inhabited. Colours and possibilities glittered as it watched, calling it home, but it shook its head for it had much to do before it could return to the glories that it had arisen within.
The Prophet walked in the middle of the street, the rain cascading down its form, steam hissing forth where it touched the writhing tentacles that were now its left arm. Its followers were more circumspect, skulking watchfully from doorway to shattered room, eyes and ears scanning for the other predators abounded in the city. They had been on the edge of the territory and now they were moving into an area claimed by a different cult.
Those who followed the Prophet had named themselves, inspired by their transformations and the god they had sought protection and guidance from, they called themselves the Flameborn. In direct contrast those whose ground they were encroaching upon did not bother with such vanities, they too had sought solace in one of the dark pantheon but Khorne did not care about names, or words – he cared only that the blood flowed.
Bloody handprints were slapped across skulls on rusting spear tips – trophies and challenges to those that would intrude. Gnawed bones, broken open for the marrow often lay nearby, nothing was wasted in the city and most of the permanent inhabitants took protein from whatever they could, whenever they could.
Jochen and the others remained tense as they moved waiting for something to emerge screaming from the shadows but it appeared that the others were elsewhere in their own or others territories. Hagen smiled and glanced around at the others, Tzeentch had obviously blessed the Prophet once again – all was unfolding as it should. Confidence grew with the others as they moved further without incident, despite the glimpses of bone piles – after all they had left much the same in their own dens.
Deeper they pushed until they reached what had once been a large shop, the shutters torn away and lying in splintered remnants in the rain drenched street. More bones were here, not in piles but simply scattered around and flanking the dark doorway ahead were mounted two battered skulls. The left was larger than a human, similar but heavier, stronger – the skull of an ogre whereas the other was that of a great beast, one curling horn remaining in its socket.
The smell from the area was intense, but the Flameborn were equally used to such things, it was even reassuring – like coming home. Without pausing the Prophet strode toward it, if anything his pace increasing as he stepped into the darkness of the open entrance.
Weapons and shields raised, many of the Flameborn followed, some through the doorway, some via what had been the large sales window, one vaulting inside with an undulating whoop, more to reassure himself. The others spread out across the street, watchful in case the followers of Khorne returned. A pair of huge ravens called to each other from a nearby building, talons flexing and cold black eyes fixed on the potential prey below, content at least for the moment to wait.
The interior stank of blood and worse – bones and excrement littered the room, symbols smeared crudely in ichor on the walls, interspersed with claw marks and holes made by malformed fists. The rear of the building was large, rusty meat hooks hanging from the rafters had once held pigs but now skeletons and half devoured bodies of animals and humans hung from them.
Some rain flecked daylight streamed into the room through the many holes in the roof but at one end of the room the light was tainted by something else, a scarlet glow suffusing a ragged pile of skulls. Shards of wyrdstone poked out of eye, nose sockets and jaws – the usual sickly green glow somehow transfigured into a crimson one.
A stream of Brutal words suddenly sounded from the Prophet, causing the nearby members of the warband to flinch back, several with blood exuding from eyes, ears or noses. The possessed man continued to approach the skulls and as he did so the glow grew brighter and blood began to drip from the skulls rapidly congealing into a pool on the already gore covered floor.
The words continued to flow, a seemingly tirade of hatred that built to a crescendo and then ended as suddenly as it had begun with a final profane name – Khak'akamshy'y. A deep anticipatory silence held court now, tension building in all the onlookers as the temperature in the room warmed rapidly.
After a few moments the blood pool stirred and moaned, its surface rippling before it was pierced by the tip of a viciously serrated sword that rose menacingly upwards. The talon tipped hand that gripped the hilt was scaly and unlike the sword the blood clung stubbornly to it, glistening in the scarlet light.
Without haste the rest of the lean predatory form emerged, hunched over and with a long horned head, the mouth lined with rows of glittering teeth. As it tilted its wetly head and gleaming white, pupil-less eyes to look at the prophet a long black tongue unfurled and lolled out of one side of its mouth.
"Foolishhh Mortal, this is a placcce of Blood, dedicated to the Lord of SSSSkulls. You will add to my tally sorcerer, for that gift I shall make yourrr ending ssswift." Its voice was grating, like a blade being sharpened.
The voice that replied was shifting moving between that of the shell it wore and that of a woman, "If I was a mortal I am sure I would be delighted, cousin-rival."
The Bloodletter stalked closer, tilting its head again as it inspected the man before it, its blade slowly caressing and slicing into the man's face. Then its tongue lashed out and snaked around its sword, drinking in the blood that it had spilled.
"Does the blood speak to you, Slayer?"
"Yesss Slave of Fate, it is now clear…..I know wwwwhat you are."
"Then you recall the bargain that was-will be made?"
"It wassss, is and will be a pact."
"Good." The Prophet drifted around the manifested daemon and moved towards the skulls as it eyed the members of the Horde.
"Do you neeed allss of them?"
The possessed man did not turn as he dropped to one knee, "No. Take two…..But not the sorcerer…"
The Bloodletter was already moving, its blade slashing as it leapt, the head of a heavily muscled warrior bouncing into the shadows as the Daemon ran through the arterial fountain of blood to its next prey. The tall woman in the doorway screamed as she backed away, slashing at it with a bladed tentacle which skittered off the blood slick scales.
In moments her head was rolling and blood cascading, the cries of alarm and dismay spreading through the other Flameborn. Uncaring the Daemon was now merely focussed on retrieved the skulls, crouching as it began to flense the skin and flesh from its prizes.
Hagen calmed himself, like all of the Flameborn his skin was now cloaked in fear sweat but his heart was quickly returning to normality and his tongue flickered out to taste the air. A dark pillar of constrained rage was nearby but he could also sense golden chains linking it to the Prophet, binding them together for truly the Great One enacted his will through this one.
Then it was fading away, back to the land of blood and wrath for even in the blessed city daemons had to exert themselves to maintain their material form and it did not feel the need to do so.
"We will leave now." The Prophet declared loudly as he shuffled out of the ruined building, his legs now of a noticeably different width and length, muscles curling and shifting as the bones within cracked and reshaped themselves even as he walked.
Pausing only to gather the shards of glittering wyrdstone, Hagen in turn began to usher his followers to follow the chosen one. As they began to move his tongue flickered in and out rapidly, tasting the growing power in the Prophet, his own dark and twisted soul embracing its radiance.
He wondered where they were heading next, mind probing and racing ahead at the possible destinations, after all curiosity was something that the Changer of Ways encouraged. Yet they had not gone far when the chosen one paused again and turned towards Hagen, sensing the question in his mind.
A vision of a vast building formed, swirling and distorting as it burned in a cascade of purple fire, the mortal that scurried inside its heavy walls burning and distorting, melding and transforming into a vast cascade of amorphous flesh. Inside its walls a cloaked figure continued to inspect the multitude of tomes and books that lined the walls, even as many crackled and burned.
Words screamed off the pages, plaintive and clam, desperate and disdainful, the long silent declarations of the authors and their characters now competed to be heard even as they were consumed. Animal voices and sounds wove in and out of the clamour as the songs, prayers and hymns to the divine blended into a wall of noise, discordantly melding with competing symphonies and poetry.
Minor manifestations of the will of Hagen's god emerged from the flaming flesh, capering and bounding around the once proud cathedral to knowledge. A tubular daemon added to the growing inferno with gouts of purple flame from its elongated fleshy arms.
The Great Library of Mordheim awaited them…..
Xx
As they walked, the attention of the daemon wondered, drifted away from the material universe and the flesh that it wore. The body still moved to where it needed to be, but slowly the mind and soul of Dregeiz emerged, tentative and fearful that its awareness would be crushed back into darkness.
His body walked steadily and he could feel the air drifting across his flesh, the boots and trousers torn and discarded by the mutations that had been triggered by the entity that was within him. The smell of blood, sweat and worse was strong in his nostrils, almost overwhelming in its potency and bile rose within his throat which he barely managed to suppress, coughing and spluttering. Yet serving vampire lords meant that he had a much stronger stomach than most men and he rallied.
Cautiously he tried to look about him, and after a moment part of his body responded, his neck muscles creaking dangerously. Monstrous things walked alongside and around him, twisted and deformed but again his previous service to his undead masters meant that he had seen such things before.
What sent a new wave of nausea through his body was the occasional vision shift, where one moment he would see malformed, mutated creatures of flesh and bone, the next they would be merely spluttering balls of soul stuff, pulsing with tainted energy and linked to something vast and unseen by gossamer threads.
He tried to speak but all that emerged was the undulating cry of a hunting bird of prey which only set off a chorus of roars, screams and rumbling growls from the others around him. Disconcertingly he could not only not only hear them but feel them, his skin absorbing the sounds and processing them in ways he could only partially interpret.
Then without warning a great crushing weight descended on his soul and mind as the daemon reasserted control and he screamed internally, all connection to his physical body severed and removed. At this, the entity paused and a small part of it addressed itself to the soul of Dregeiz.
"Do you, will you regret your bargain-plea flesh-thing?"
"Yes, I…I did not….know….that…"
"You will not…. did not ask….."
"You promised to save me."
"True," the daemon focussed a little more of its attention to the conversation, composing its speech, thorugh and processing patterns to better allow the limited creature of the material world to understand.
"It was unclear on what you required, little creature. Your body still lives and that which touches the realm eternal is intact, bonded. Rejoice! For together you will still experience wonders that would not normally be beyond you. Consider this, embrace what the gifts that have enhanced your flesh and anticipate what is to come."
It paused and allowed its words to be absorbed.
"If this is not what you want then do not despair – this limited existence will be ended soon by your reckoning."
Silence lasted and the daemon began to withdraw when the fleshling spoke again, capturing its attention once more.
"What are you doing?"
"There are a variety of interactions with your little world are, were, will be undertaken, in… the … future, the past and these…. What do you call them….Ah yes moments. Interesting word….it is helpful."
"What are you doing…. now?"
"At this…..,Moment, the other flesh-creatures are moving to a knowledge temple that has been blessed with the influence of the Great Architect. There are bargains that are to be made, that were completed."
"The Great Library then?"
"A designation that serves just as well."
"I …I know that….many have died in that place"
"Yes, and many more mortals will meet their physical end."
"Death is just another moment of transition for you – you should not fear it."
"I do not want to die!" His mental shout was closer to panic now.
"Fear it or embrace as you will. After all it is part of your strange inevitable linear existence." The mental voice of the daemon was biting but variable, its statement as convoluted with competing voices as it was in the material world.
It was true, he had spent long in the service of those that disdained death as merely a change from limitation to power, but he had no wish to perish. He had seen the ghosts of those that had been raised and often little was left of what they had been.
Even the lords and ladies of the night were not exactly what had been when they arose as vampires. He knew a little of the art of necromancy but enough to know that even adepts did not truly know the mysteries of death – maybe only dread Nagash knew – or perhaps only Morr himself.
Morr was not a god that he thought of much, a name that he had only heard used in curses or frightened whispers.
The Daemon allowed a wave of pleasure and amusement to cascade through itself and the mortal it had claimed.
"Never born, Never die….That what you call a Daemon is not subject to such intriguing concepts as death. Once you have died, then you will understand this more clearly….."
"Ughhh, Wh..what could such as you want at the Library."
"It is a minor extrusion into your little world, something that allows those of the true realm to manifest more of their glory, their true nature…although even then only a single paltry aspect can flower in such barren soil."
"There are plans and consequences to facilitate and confirm, schemes and assignations to accomplish – all things that might have been and will yet be. Do you understand fleshling – can you understand?"
Its interest, for the moment, had become genuine, an intriguing infection of the material world a part of it considered. The effort required to meld some degree of its intelligence to think like a mortal was not inconsiderable and the feeling not unpleasant, as it understood the concept.
Other parts, aspects of that which the daemon was but a mere speck peered through it, watched and waited, aware of what would be but intriguing by the experience of watching it unfold.
Xx