CHAPTER 4
It is to Chrard's credit, both as a warrior and as a leader, that the warband never even broke stride as the Greater Daemon materialized in front of them. It was taller than Chirard himself at twelve feet tall. Its skin was a pale mix of pink and purple. It had a head vaguely reminiscent of a bull's, only the horns branched out at the middle of its elongated head. It had four arms (two of which were tipped wit crab's claws) and a single breast. It stank of pheromones and musk, and moved with a sinuous grace that had no place in this world, let alone on a battlefield. In summary, it was the earthly personification of lust, yet it exuded the Terror characteristic of all Greater Daemons.
Chirard directed his attention to the Slaaneshi leader. While he had every intention of engaging the daemon, he knew that realistically he had no chance at all against so powerful a foe. He wanted to send at least one more skull to rest at the foot of Khorne's brass skull before he died. Here, at the foot of the Brass Mountain, Chirard was determined to meet a death worthy of the Blood God's Chosen. With that in mind, he slammed into the Slaaneshi champion.
His first blows sheared off the thing's crab-claws, and were followed by a slash at the heart. Though the leader (Zurakk) was too caught up admiring the Keeper of Secrets to save its claws, it returned to reality in time to block the third blow with its Greatsword and return with a great slash that took off a piece of one of Chirard's horns. This only made the warrior angrier, and he responded with an insane flurry of blows, but as he had predicted, this did not discomfit Zurak the way it had the Bull-Centaur. Instead, Zakk used its tail to trip Chirard. As he landed, Chirard rolled to one side just in time to avoid being impaled by the sword aimed at his heart. A good strike, but Zurak had overbalanced, and brought itself within the reach of Chirard's tail. In a flash it was wrapped around the hedonist's throat. Within a minute Zurak the Defiler, slayer of the living, defiler of the dead, Chosen of Slaanesh was dead.
Chirard now turned his attention to the rest of the battle. In a way the battle had become like a strange dance. Slaaneshi grace met Khornate savagery, and in each case the result was different. Gorat impaled a daemonette as she/it leapt towards him. Hrard crushed the skulls of two Chaos knights with the colossal hammers he typically wielded. Elsewhere, the human who Chirard's scouts had identified as the leader of the Slaanesh worshippers decapitated both scouts with a single sweep of its sword, as its entire body span around. Chirard could not help but be impressed by that maneuver, and memorized it as best he could. He resolved that, should he survive the coming battle, he would master this maneuver which he dubbed the "double decap with a twist".
The Keeper of Secrets, however, drew Chirard's attention like a magnet. It was butchering his warriors, many of whom were so overpowered by the Daemon's aura of lust that they walked up to their deaths without the slightest hesitation or resistance. Regretting that he would never master the "double decap with a twist", Chirard was about to charge in to meet his destiny when he heard a new warcry ring out over the field.
"ALL IS ROT!"
He spun about to find the source of this disturbance. A vast host was fast approaching them, numbering more then two hundred all told. It was obviously dedicated to Nurgle, the God of disease and decay. For one thing its outriders carried filthy, tattered banners with the familiar three-skull triangle which symbolized this foul deity. For another the warriors themselves bore witness to their allegiance. All were plainly diseased, some with rotting leprous flesh, others displaying runny sores and pus-dripping buboes, and all bore decaying armor and weapons. Chirard could smell them from here. But the surest proof lay in what was obviously the leader of this army.
A Great Unclean One, Greater Daemon of Nurgle.
If the Otla'osiisio'akshami might be said to embody Lust, then the Unclean One was the embodiment of filth and plague. It stood a paltry ten feet high, yet was six feet across. Its bloated skin was a sickly shade of dark green found absolutely no where in nature, and was festooned with buboes, warts and sores. Indeed, the flesh had rotted so badly that in at least one place, one could plainly see part of the Daemons skeleton. It seemed to have no neck at all, instead its head (topped by two nub-like horns) sat atop numerous rolls of fat. Its tongue lolled out of its head, dripping a viscous slime on the ground and onto itself. Its eyes were big, yellow and blood-shot. Chirard felt queasy just looking at it.
He also felt apprehensive. Sandwiched between these two forces, he and his troops were doomed. Already they had taken massive losses (the Keeper of Secrets alone had killed ten of his warriors), and even at full strength the Nurgleite force would have overwhelmed them. Still, at least they would die well. Chirard had long ago acquired a grudging respect for Nurgle worshippers. While not as strong or aggressive as the Blood God's followers, even the most newly-converted Nurgleite possessed a superhuman toughness, and could absorb damage that would fell another without even blinking. They simply did not feel pain anymore, the constant agony of illness having burned out their ability to do so.
Chirard turned from his opponent (a daemonette who was dead anyway), squared his massive shoulders, and prepared for death. Death rushed right by him and smashed into the Slaanesh host.
Chirard turned in time to see a rare sight indeed, two Greater Daemons engaged in hand-to-hand combat. The Keeper of Secrets was faster and scored a number of hits with its obscenely shaped sword, no question, but the Unclean One simply shrugged off the blows and pressed the attack with its own rusty blade. Chirard could already guess the probable outcome. The Keeper of Secrets had been summoned out of thin air, and possessed no mortal shell. Consequently, a good deal of its daemonic strength was dedicated to simply maintaining a hold on this plane of existence. Consequently, it was not able to fight at its full power. The Unclean One however seemed to be suffering no such drain on its power, leading Chirard to guess that the daemon had possessed one of its mortal followers, allowing it to stay in this world indefinitely. Nurgle was almost certain to triumph here.
This seemed to be holding true elsewhere on the battlefield. Everywhere, the forces of the Pleasure God were forced back by the Father of Filth's troops. Being Chaos followers, retreat was not an option for any of the participants, and soon the smell of tainted blood and rotten flesh (the result of the Plague enchantment placed on all weapons dedicated to Nurgle) filled the air, to the point that even Chirard found breathing to be unpleasant.
Eventually, the eoic duel reached its inevitable conclusion. With a final blow, the Unclean One cut its opponent in two. The Keeper of Secrets did not exactly die. Rather its form simply shredded, tore itself into strands which in turn faded away. There was no body, yet none questioned that the Daemon had been extinguished. The heart seemed to go out of the remaining Slaanesh fighters, and the combined forces of Khorne and Nurgle had an easy slaughter.
When it ended, Chirard surveyed the slaughter. How fitting that all this blood should fall on ground sacred to mighty Khorne. He heard laboured, rasping breathing and smelled the wretched stench of decay. He turned to see the Unclean One looming over him.
"Hile, warrior!" It said, its voice phlegmy and mocking. Its breath gave new definition to the word 'foul'. "I imagine you are surprised that I and my children aren't killing you right now. "
"Kill me if you can, pusball" Chirard spat, afraid and angry at being made afraid "I promise, under Khorne's Gaze, I won't make it easy for you!"
"Tsk tsk tsk" the daemon said with mock sadness, shaking its massive head in pretended dismay. Chirard knew this was an act because daemons had only the most basic of emotions: Hate, malice, lust and pride. "Is that any way to speak to someone who came so far to help you? Purely out of the goodness of the heart"
"Help me?"
"There I was, enjoing myself in my favorite corner of the Plague Swamp. Not really doing anything, you understand, just letting the various plagues waft over me. Then Uncle Nurgle Himself -may He strike me healthy if its not so- told me to come here and save your sorry…tail. Quite a journey, too, I don't mind telling you, filled with danger and unsavoury characters. But I was on a mission of mercy, and charitable Daemon that I am, I would not be disuaded. The thought of being able to help a mighty warrior such as yourself, in however small a way, was enough to sustain me."
Chirard believed exactly none of this but decided that if the Daemon was lying there wasn't much he could do about it anyway. Therefore he simply asked "so what happens now?"
"Now?" The Daemon shrugged "I and my friends return to our normal environs, and you do whatever it was you were doing, secure in the knowledge that two Gods watch over you now. Now, honestly, who can ask for more than that?"
"You're letting me go?" Chirard was dumbfounded. Typically, the Four Great Gods were constantly sabotaging one anothers plans.This was the main reason that Chaos had not yet conquered the world. Letting the Chosen of a rival God continue on his path to Ascencion was insane even by Nurgle's demented standards. Perhaps, though, there was a kind of sense to it. After all, there were frequently alliances between the Great Gods, with two or three allied against the remainder. Indeed, the recent Storm Of Chaos showed that all four powers were capable of working together, however rarely.
"Yes, my boy, go climb yon heap of metal" the bloated creature turned one last time to look at the Brass Mountain, muttered "God, what an eyesore" and lumbered away. Its warriors followed.
Chirard stood still for a long moment, giving silent thanks to Khorne. Truly, the Blood God must have great plans for him.
The moment passed and he turned to tally his losses. He'd begun the day with more than seventy warriors. Now he had only sixteen, including himself. Gorat was dead, hacked to pieces by the Keeper of Secrets. Hrard survived but was now missing one eye, and two fingers on his left hand. Chirard himself was relatively unharmed. He'd been cut, and badly, but nothing permanent. Still, he declared a rest day, and gave the dead funeral rites, the words coming easily from years of practice:
"Oh Khorne, master of battle, lord of slaughter and first in honor. Drink deep the blood of these warriors who fell in your name. Cherish their souls, that they may be reborn as daemons to serve You. Devour the souls of these enemies, whom we have slain to Your glory. Know, too, that tommorow more blood shall be spilled in your name, as it ever has been and as it ever shall be. We ask of You only that You send us your foes to kill."
The warband made camp, not a mile closer to the Brass Mountain. Chirard knew that his trials were just beginning.
END CHAPTER 4
AN: SO. Whaddya think about that prayer. I tried to think: What would a blood-thirsty fanatic pray for? How would he honor the souls of fallen comrades? Also, I REALLY like that font. Makes me wish I'd used it for my 'dissertation on the nature of Chaos'. Oh well. Read and Review people, I'd desperate for approval!