CHAPTER 5

Chirard was alone. Hrard and the remaining warriors had declined his proposal that they continue on to the Brass Mountain. Instead they had returned to the wastes to slaughter and fight until they had regained Khorne's favor. Rather than seeing the battle with the Slaaneshi Host as the test it truly was, they hose to see it as asign of the Blood God's displeasure. According to them, Chirard was not yet worthy of Ascencion, and thus Khorne had punished his presumption. They would return another day, with another leader.

"Cowards" he spat "When I have Ascended, they will come to regret this betrayal." He knew that Khorne would be on his side in this, for the Lord of Battles despised cowardice above all else. What matter that they were reduced to less than a third of their original numbers? They were Khornate warriors! To retreat was to betray their God, the God for whom they had given up their homes, families and even their souls. By retreating from this challenge, his followers made those sacrifices all for nothing. No matter. Their destiny was their own. He had not sought out followers, they had come to him. Besides, he had always known that this was not their day. Perhaps Hrard would Ascend some day. Gorat definitely would have. But the others? Chirard didn't think so.

Chirard continued on towards the Brass Mountain. As he ran, he noticed that he was moving faster than ever before, yet was not even slightly tired. A new blessing from Khorne, a sure sign he was destined for success! Chirard gloried in his new gift, and, like a child decided to see just how fast he could go. The ground blurred beneath his feet, and the Brass Mountain was visibly closer with every minute that he ran. Still he felt fresh, untired, despite the fact that he was running as fast as any horse ever born. Glorious!

For the first time in years he felt true joy besides the joy of blood lust, and gave his praise to Khorne with each glorious second of speed.

It was for moments such as these that Chirard (or rather, the man who would become Chirard) had given himself to Khorne. Tzeentchians might talk about the sublime knowledge their God granted them, but in the end their God was The Great Betrayer, using them for His own ends. Nurgleites might boast of the great love their God felt for all his followers, but "Uncle Nurgle" denied them all pleasures save those of disease. Even the Slaaneshi, for all their hedonism and dedication to sensation, eventually dulled their senses to the point where they felt nothing. Not so Khorne. Khorne was a primal God, God of the most basic instinct of all life: the killer instinct. Khorne had no qualms about allowing his followers to have simple primal joys, which were after all the only TRUE joys in this sad, dying world. Khorne worshippers could enjoy comaraderie with their fellows, could thrill to blood lust, could feel the sweet sensation of triumph, in ways no other Chaos follower could. Even the simple exhilaration of speed was beyond the jaded Slaaneshi, the corrupt Nurgleite, or the warped Tzeentchian. In a way, Chirard pitied them their sophistication.

At his incredible speed, Chirard ate up the distance. Soon he reached a hut which lay at the foot of the mountain. The Mountain. Here, gazing up at the huge, blood-stained metallic peak, Chirard was filled with a sense of reverance, fear and…awe. It was a metal blade, stabbing the heavens, defying all lesser Gods. Here was the very essence of Khorne. Hard. Proud. Independent. Bloody.

Chirard realized that, at that moment, he was happier than he'd ever been in his long, long life. Everything he'd done, his battles, his duels, the myriad glories and triumphs, had all been but a prelude to this one moment.

An old man came out of the hut.

Objectively speaking, he was nothing. Five and a half feet tall, with a long white beard. Bald, save for a fringe of snow-white hair around his head. His clothes were plain cloth, wool judging by the way he sweated in the noon day sun. He carried no weapons, bore no gifts from the Lord of this wonderous mountain. Chirard could crush his skull with one hand, as he had done to countless others. Yet something about him made Chirard nervous. It was the eyes, he decided. They were intensely disquieting, making it impossible to meet his gaze. His eyes seemed to say : "Do not be overproud for reaching here. Many before you have done that, and yet failed of their ultimate goal. I did not". There was absolutely nothing human in those eyes.

With a start Chirard realized he was in the presence of one of the Ascended. One who had faced trials similar to his own, as well as the tests that still lay in the unknowable future on the Brass Mountain, and won through. He would be a valuable source of information about what lay ahead…

"No" the old man said, interrupting Chirard's train of thought. His voice was firm, strong, as of a God rendering final judgement "These will be your tests. You must undertake them alone. I am here only to tell you of what is expected of you.

You seek to Ascend, to break the chains of mortality and humanity both. This does not come without a price. I speak not of the paltry tributes you have paid our Lord thus far. They are as nothing in comparison with what you must surrender to truly become as I. You shall be tested three times. Once in body, once in mind, once in will. Fail once, and you will be condemned to oblivion, unworthy even to provide our Lord with sustenance. Succeed, and you will reap a reward beyond your limited understanding. Personally, I doubt you will, you are far too young, and too afraid."

With that the old man returned to his hut. Chirard stood there for a moment, stunned. Then he began to get angry. How DARE this old fool speak to him that way? He was CHIRARD! Grown men wet themselves when they saw him coming, and children (even in the wastes) were frightened by his name. He stormed into the hut, ready to kill. He would accept the substance of what had been said, but the manner in which it had been said demanded bloody retribution! He stormed into the hut…only to find it empty. He stormed out, assuming the old man to have somehow come out. But when he turned, the hut itself had vanished without a trace.

Chirard decided that perhaps it would be best to leave now. After all, the Brass Mountain was the highest peak in the Chaos Wastes. He'd best get climbing. The fact that the old man had unnerved him more than the Keeper of Secrets had nothing to do with it.

Of course not.

He began his climb by stepping onto the mountain. The mere touch burned like fire, as did his second step, and his third. This did not bode well.

End Chapter 5