*Presenting a teaser for an upcoming story Incantator Congressus*

Somewhere, Somewhen

Jubila was bored and that was never a good thing. Jubila didn't like to be bored, it was anathema to his nature. He was a connoisseur of delights and torment, an adventurer and explorer in realms of possible sensation. He had supped the tears of millions and danced to the screams of billions more, seeking ever more potent sensations in his quest for perfect experience. Being bored was not something he was accustomed to.

Jubila was standing on the balcony of a high tower, looking over a city. It was a beautiful sight, filled with worshipful citizens and the laughter of the cruel. Music rang over the streets, plucked from instruments wrought of human bone and sinew and people danced in the streets until they fell to the ground in rapturous orgies. Statues soared over the buildings, each ten stories tall and casting shadows over their neighbourhoods. In vast arenas chrono-gladiators fought with wild abandon, the implanted bombs in their hearts reversing their countdowns with each kill. Neither gladiator nor crowd knew how long each clock had left and the minutes added were random, creating a delightful frisson of tension as all waited for the next abrupt explosion of blood and gore. Beyond those rose defiled temples, where crowds of revellers sought ever more extreme sensations, whipping, cutting, feasting and partaking of drugs distilled from human cerebral matter. It was a magnificent example of the principles of the IIIrd Legion, the thrice-damned Emperor's Children and it was but one city on one world of the realm Jubila had conquered. And none of it excited him anymore.

Jubila stepped from his balcony and sighed in disappointment. His armour was a lurid purple, every inch covered in sickening images and vicious spikes, while delicate silks hung from his limbs. His face was powered and smooth and the skin on his head had been peeled back and secured with hammered nails to reveal the bone of his skull. A Charnabal sabre hung on one hip and the other bore a plasma pistol. He was simultaneously sickening to behold and irresistibly appealing. He was an Astartes taken to the most extreme edge of possibility, every facet of his being an exploration of excess and perversion.

Jubila cast his gaze over his personal quarters, seeing sculptures of living flesh in the corners and banners woven from the faces of weeping maidens hanging from a crystal roof. Various human and alien heads hung on chains around the perimeter and screams echoed through brass speaker grilles, the sounds of the torture chambers in the levels below echoing through his chambers at all times. In one corner a small Haemonculus lurked, the child-like being fused with a bolter that sang of joyous sorrows through a gnashing daemon-faced barrel.

Over it all a bulky form hung, muscled in the manner of the Astartes but not one of the IIIrd. This naked warrior was an Imperial lickspittle, a Smoke Jaguar assassin Jubila had caught trying to infiltrate his home. The son of Corax hung from spikes driven into his implant sockets, his lips sewn shut with razorwire and his eyelids removed so he could not turn from the sight awaiting him. Capturing this one had been one of Jubila's finest moments but even this brought him no joy anymore.

"I am bored," Jubila announced to the room.

From the shadows came a soft feminine voice, "Shall I summon your court?"

That was Rebre, a sorceress of Slaanesh. She was beautiful to behold, with long and lustrous black hair and ruby lips. Shapely legs were revealed by slits in her black gown and she had a plunging neckline that reached to her navel. Her physical beauty was enhanced by glamours of enticement and lust and mortal men would have drooled at the sight of her, committing any crime for her sake. Yet her allure was but a thin veil laid over something foul. Her lips revealed pointed fangs when she spoke, her nails were hooked talons and there was a cruel edge to her eyes, one that delighted in manipulation and cruelty. Rebre was Jubila's sorceress and mistress of revels, one who had come to his service in extraordinary times, replacing her Brother, a Space Marine of no little renown.

Jubila sighed, "No, I am in no mood for their bickering today."

"A musical performance then?" Rebre ventured, "We have some fresh K'nib prisoners and I know how you like to hear their screams."

"Not right now," Jubila stated, "They bring me no joy."

Rebre frowned her perfect brow as she asked, "Why are your humours so melancholic?"

Jubila turned and swept his arm over the vista as he explained, "Look at what I have wrought, my conquests and domains. I laid waste to the defenders, overthrew the governors and stole these world from the False Emperor's grip. Heady days but look at it now. worshippers and revellers, statues and temples, an exercise in empty vanity and narcissism."

Rebre grinned slightly as she remarked, "I thought you liked vanity."

"Of course I do," Jubila retorted, "But this is not a monument to my glory but my Primarch's. Look at the statues, they are not of me but of Fulgrim. The songs the people sing are not to my glory but his, even the chrono-gladiators Dedicate their kills not to me but to him. Even the name of my kingdom is a testament to his ego, 'The Fulgrimite Principality'. All done in his name and he does not even deign to visit us."

Rebre sounded concerned as she objected, "The Lord Fulgrim snatched you from the jaws of death, he brought me back from the void and cast my Brother into the realms of nothingness. You cannot seek to challenge him."

Jubila laughed, "Challenge him?! I am not suicidal enough for that. But he promised me glorious experiences, sensations beyond anything the material universe has known. At first it was fun, conquest, subjugation, conversion, a cavalcade of delights. But then nothing but humdrum governorship. Conquest is exhilarating but rulership is dull, dull, dull. I mean, how long has it been since I killed someone with my own hands?!"

Rebre made a show of pursing her lips and answered, "About… thirty-five minutes."

"Half an hour!" Jubila exclaimed in mock horror, "That won't do! Slave, bring me a spear!"

From a stairwell a mortal woman with a crown of thorns buried in her brow danced into the room. She carried a spear as long as she was tall and so heavy she struggled to lift it, let alone dance. Yet she painfully gambolled and skipped, capering with every step. Jubila knew the mortal had no choice, the thorns driven into her skull were of his own design and they compelled his slaves to dance for his pleasure. The first step the mortal took that was not dancing would cause debilitating agony, the second would grip her heart in a vice of pain and the third would explode her head. So she danced, even though her limbs were withered and emancipated from exhaustion and her life could not last more than another week or two.

Jubila cared not, he had already lost interest in the fates of his slaves. He snatched up the spear and examined the tip then, drove it into the floor. He stepped back as the slave danced away and Rebre asked, "What are you doing?"

"Desperate times requires desperate measures," Jubila replied as he strode over to the chains suspending the Smoke Jaguar and snapped them with a sweep of his spiked gauntlet.

The chains rattled and clattered as the Space Marine dropped, hitting the floor hard. Instantly he was on his feet, snapping away the spikes in his implant sockets and snatching up the spear. He took up a defensive stance, his sown lips grimacing in threat as he eyed his captors warily. Jubila faced the Smoke Jaguar and declared, "You suspect a trap, but it is not. You came here to kill me and I am bored. So let us explore the possibility that you ever had a chance. Take the spear and try to kill me, to make it interesting I won't even use my sword…"

Suddenly the Smoke Jaguar moved, leaping at the warlord with the spear thrusting out before him. His lidless eyes were filled with self-righteous zeal and his sown lips growled an unspoken threat. His thrust was swift and sure and had it made contact it would have plunged into Jubila's hearts, but it did not. The warlord watched the speartip flash for his chest then at the last moment he stepped aside. Jubila moved like liquid lightning, avoiding the killing thrust and letting it pass by harmlessly.

The Smoke Jaguar recovered instantly, swinging around with the haft, trying to knock Jubila over. The Warlord merely lifted his left arm and blocked the attack only to be surprised when a fist crashed into his face. His head rocked back and he tasted his own blood as his lip was cut on his teeth. He stepped back and blinked in surprise, feeling a mote of excitement stir within him. He was actually enjoying this and he cried, "Wonderful, encore, encore."

The Smoke Jaguar swung his spear about and thrust again but Jubila smiled as he quipped, "Sorry, but one hit is all you get." His limbs blurred as his right hand flashed out, catching the spear behind its head. The Smoke Jaguar froze in shock only to be yanked forward by a powerful pull. Then Jubila's left fist struck, driving the pointed spikes of his gauntlet across the Astartes' throat and severing his jugular arteries. The Smoke Jaguar collapsed, spraying blood in a widening puddle around his body as Jubila stepped back and licked the blood off his spikes.

Rebre tutted, "Are you satisfied?"

Jubila sniffed, "It's a start, now bring me a hundred slaves and so I can…"

Yet Rebre's looked concerned as she bleated, "Jubila… look!"

The warlord spun about and his eyes widened as he beheld the pool of blood bubbling and congealing. It was no longer spreading but drawing together, pulsing upwards as it was drawn into a solid shape. From the blood rose a head and broad shoulders, mounted by broad wings. The blood took on the form of scraps of armour, set over a muscled chest and four arms. It was made of blood but it moved like a living thing and it rose to Jubila's height as it gargled, "Worm."

Jubila smiled mockingly as he replied, "Ozymandias, Daemon-Prince puppet and mouthpiece of the Dark Gods."

Ozymandias' blood eyes narrowed as he snarled, "Show respect you wretch, I bring you the word of Fulgrim!"

Jubila wasn't impressed and retorted, "What's this, a sending? Can't my former Captain even manifest fully, I am sad to see a lord of the IIIrd Legion sink so low as to resort to crude far-castings."

Ozymandias growled, "I am not here to banter words with you. I bring you a mission, Lord Fulgrim has a task for you."

Jubila yawned mockingly, "I'll Pass."

Ozymandias snapped, "You dare defy the Primarch?!"

Even Rebre cautioned, "Jubila, choose your words carefully."

Jubila sniffed, "If Fulgrim has a mission for me he can tell me himself, I don't answer to puppets like this."

Ozymandias snapped, "You are a base cur, lacking in imagination and vision. One day Fulgrim will bore of you and give you unto my clutches and then you will suffer as no other has suffered!"

Jubila grinned as he replied, "I doubt it, he likes me more than he likes you."

"Fulgrim only likes Fulgrim," Ozymandias retorted, "You are nothing special. When our Primarch has finished humiliating his martinet quill-pushing Brother he will come for you."

"Wait," Jubila said, "Fulgrim moves against the Lord of Ultramar? well why didn't you open with that? I'm in."

Ozymandias sneered, "You have the attention span of a Grot."

Jubila sighed, "Just tell me the plan."

Ozymandias feigned a breath then elaborated, "Our Primarch sees a chance to humiliate his rivals. An artefact of the Ultramarian blowhard has been uncovered and the False Emperor's minions and the Daemons of Tzeentch fight to claim it. Fulgrim intends to snatch it from both their hands and take it for his own. You are to travel to the Saint Karyl Trail and seize this artefact for the glory of Slaanesh."

Jubila frowned as he asked, "Why does Tzeentch want it?"

"Entropy knows," Ozymandias scoffed, "Some tiny part of a grand and convoluted scheme no doubt. The point is we can give the God of Change a bloody nose and knock the Ultramarian martinet off his high pedestal at the same time."

"I shall gather my fleet and set off this very day," Jubila declared.

Yet Ozymandias cautioned, "Travel with subtly and cunning, this will not be a war of conquest but of sly manoeuvre. I shall travel ahead and prepare the way. Bring your soldiers and your Daemons, you will need them."

"Of course," Jubila agreed.

Ozymandias glared one last time then said, "Make sure not to fail, the Lord Fulgrim is not forgiving of failures."

"You worry about yourself," Jubila snapped, "I know what I'm doing."

Ozymandias didn't reply, merely letting his casting go and the blood avatar fell apart in a shower of gore. Jubila watched him depart then declared, "Summon my armies, ready the summoning circles, we have a mission!"

Rebre pursed her lips as she said, "I think we need to know more before we set off. What is this artefact, why does everybody want it?"

"We'll figure out the details on the way," Jubila scoffed, "I can't wait any longer. Finally, true entertainment. This is going to be spectacular!"