The Greatest Offfering Chapter 6

Chirard had been climbing for a full day now, and had barely reached one tenth of the way up the Brass Mountain. He was still at the point where he could walk up on a long, winding path he had found near the old man's hut. It was slow going, because each time his feet touched the metal surface of the holy mountain, agony shot through his body. It never dimished nor increased, and he was forced to frequently stop to rest. Oddly, the pain only occurred when he tried to move up the mounntain. If he stopped, or moved back, it was as if he were walking normally.

Chirad decided this must be the first test, the test of his body. Fine. He would perseve and triumph! He got up from his rest and pushed onward., at a much greater speed. Soon, however, the pain began to get to him. More, he felt his strength waning greatly, much faster than his ascent would seem to justify. He felt like the vitality and strength was flowing out of him like water from a sieve. He kept going until he saw something, just offf the path, that was quite out of place on a mountain composed entirely of brass. An apple tree, growing by the side of a pool of the clearest, sweetest looking water Chirard had ever seen. At that moment, his pain, weariness and weakness seemed to be greater than they had ever been. HE felt like just standing was taking all his remaining strenght, and that very soon that would be beyond him.

I could stop, just for a little while. I could rest for a few hours, maybe until tomorrow. Gather my strength, eat some apples, even if they aren't bloody meat I am hungry. Thirsty, as well, and that water looks delicious. Best of all I could soak my feet! One day of rest and I'd be ready to tackle the mountain…

Chirard shook his head. This was not his thought, but one that had been placed in his mind somehow.
"persevere, triumph" he muttered, turning to the path up once more. With that firt step, everything had changed. He felt strength and vigor rush back into him, and he felt like he could leap OVER the Brass Mountain. He was no longer hungry or thirsty. Oddest of all, he looked down at his feet to find them changed. Where once he had had hooved feet, now he possessed another set of iron-hard claws, these with a wicked swept-back dewclaw on each. He had seen feet like these before, on one of the strange, ogre-like Yhetee that dwelled in the lands of the East. He knew that these feet, like the Yhetee's, were perfectly suited for rock-climbing. He looked ahead. The path he'd been walking for what seemed like an eternity atpered off, leaving him with only the sheer face of the mountain.

It would seem I have passed the first test. Simple enough.

Hours passed. Chirard's pace was steady, fast but unhurried, cautious without being overly slow. He had little experience rock-climbing (wall climbing in sieges was about it), and could not afford errors now. He estimated he was a few hundred feet up, and a fall at this point would be crippling, if not outright deadly. He was determined that there would be no mistakes. He would show the old man at the base of this mountain that Chirard was not one to be taken lightly.

The old man…

In truth the old man had begun to prey on Chirard's mind. The old fool had seemed…empty, somehow. Drained. He was still strong, no question, Chirard had felt that much. Yet, he lacked the passion, the fire that was customary in those who trod the path of the Blood God.

The Four Great Ones each appealed to a different sort of person. Tzeentch appealed to the scholarly, to those who sought quick answers to the mysteries of the universe, and to the ambitious, those who sought a quick route to power. Nurgle appealed to those in despair, those who viewed the decay and demise of all things as inevitabilities. Slaanesh attracted the hedonistic and artistics, those who sought to heighten their own experiences. Khorne appealed to those of fiery, violent disposition, the kind of people who sought to alter destiny and reshape the world through sheer violence and brutality. As a rule Khorne worshippers were savage, emotional people, not given to hiding their thoughts or feelings.

The old man had been Ascended, of that Chirard had no doubt. Thus, it followed logically that he would be even more Khornate than Chirard himself. He would be more fiery, more violent, more passionate and more primal than any Chosen that ever lived. Yet, when they had spoken, Chirard had felt nothing at all within the man, only a great Void. The very antithesis of everything Chirard aspired to be. Clearly, Ascencion involved giving up ones fire, ones vigor, the joy one took in slaughter and battle. Was he prepared to surrender those things? Truth was, he didn't know.

It had been love of battle that first led him to Khorne. Through Khorne, he had come to love combat and slaughter more than he ever believed possible. Now, they were the be all and end all of his existence. He couldn't just give up these feelings could he? But what choice did he have? He'd served Khorne for more years than he could count, he couldn't abandon his God now, could he?

Could he?

Such things did happen, albeit rarely. A follower of one Power might change his allegiance to that of another. It would have to be one of the Great Four, though. No minor God or Daemon would be strong enough to shield Chirard from the wrath of his former Lord. He couldn't serve Slaanesh, that was right out. Chirard took a moment (still climbing) to assess himself, and knew that he was not cunning or sly enough to proseper in the service of Tzeentch. Perhaps Nurgle, who had previously saved Chirard, would welcome him. Probably. The Lord of Decay did honor warriors, provided they adapted their methods to His preferred strategy of plage warfare. He began to reposition himself, to begin descending the mountain. If he caught up with before the Daemon left the area…

NO! I serve Khorne! If I must surrender my emotions to serve Him, then I will do so for the glory of the Lord of the Skull Throne! Chirard's thought banished the previous doubts, like a stiff wind blowing away mist. Learly, these doubts were his second test, and did not originate with him at all.

HE kept clibing. Eventually, he reached a plateau where the path he'd taken resumed. Good. I hate climbing .

His progress was far quicker now, unimpeded by pain, doubt or the need to climb. His pace was brisk, but not overhurried. He'd passed two tests so far and had one more to go. The first test had been painful, but simple. The second had been harder, a challenge of his core beliefs and the things he held dear. The third test would likely be the hardest of all, and he didn't want anymore surprises. HE kept his mind focused, examining every thought to ensure that it was genuinely his.

Which was why he didn't notice the little girl until he tripped over her.

He sprawled in the dirt, anger filling him. He whirled around, ready to gut the little brat….but found himself the recipient of a hug.

"DADDY!"

"DADDY!" Chirard was beyond stunned at this point. Yet…he vaguely remembered a family, from before he came to the Wastes. He looked again at the little girl. "E-Elizabth?" The small, blonde girl in the plain homespun dress nodded emphatically.

"Yes, Daddy! Oh, I'm so glad we found you!" Her eyes were alight with joy. Chirard felt things strirring in his heart, urges and feelings he'd believed dead for centuries. Love. Compassion. Joy beyond primal joy (in speed, in blood, etc)

"I- you- wait, we?" He was trying desperately to get a grip on things. Elizabeth could not be here. She was in the Empire, and probably long dead. There was no way she could have survived the Wastes without some alteration, and certainly not with her original clothing intact. "You- you said 'we'?"

"Of course, daddy! I couldn't leave without Mummy and little Frederick, could I? We ALL missed you, and now we're a family again!"

Chirard was thoroughly lost. He was surrounded by a family he had left behind long ago. His wife, Hildegard, a tall brunnette, her hair pulled back in a bun. She had blue eyes that shimmered with unshed tears, though she was smiling. Like Elizabeth she wore a plain homespun dress, with a white apron over the front. Little Frederick, the toddler, stood on uncertain legs, a huge smile on his chubby face. They came up to Chirard, not seeming to notice his monstrous form, and joined the hug.

For a moment Chirard felt more complete than he ever had before. Memories flashed through his mond.

MEMORY

Chirard is standing in the Temple of Sigmar in Fredricksburg, waiting. Only, his name isn't Chirard, not yet. It is Helmut Von Rinzh, training Sergeant of the Reiksguard. He is waiting to be married.

She comes up the aisle, a vision of loveliness and purity in a white dress. Her name is Hildegarde Brandt, but soon that will change. Hildegarde Von Rinzh, they thought as one, has a bit of a ring to it.

The priest said the usual prattle about honor and fidelity. As if Helmut would ever find a woman to compare with Hildegarde! The priest swings the sacred hammer over their heads, completeing the ritual. They are wed.

MEMORY

Helmut is sitting on a grassy hill, watching Hildegarde walk up to him. In her arms is their infant daughter. They have decided to name her Elizabeth, after Helmut's own mother, dead four years ago in a greenskin attack. This is the first time Elizabeth has been outside their house, and he seems to enjoy the feel of sunshine on her skin. Hildegarde smiles, and Helmut thanks all the gods that he is so lucky. Not only does his first child seem healthy and likely to survive, but his wife has not been harmed at all in giving birth.

MEMORY

Years later, and Helmut and Hildegarde are watching Frederick take his first steps. Elizabeth is most unimpressed, since she learned to walk long ago, and has assumed Frederick must be stupid to not know already. She is off in the background chasing butterflies. Helmut will later recall this as the most perfect moment of his family's life.

MEMORY

His village is now nothing but smoking rubble. His house is gone. The damned Orcs had attacked so quickly that the Reiksguard had gotten there only in time to keep them from defiling the corpses.

Helmut envied the dead. Their suffering, their pain, was over. He had to find some way to go on without his family. They were all dead. Hildegarde lay before the charred ruins of their home, an arrow in her chest. Frederick was impaled on a crude Orc haleberd, and there was no sign of Elizabeth.

In despair, Helmut turned away, turned North. And began walking to his destiny.

Chirard's mind returned to the present. Elizabeth's presence he might have accepted. No corpse had ever been found in her case, so it was possible she had survived. And her presence in the Wastes could be attributed to any number of factors, most of which would explain why she hadn't changed a bit. But as for the others… the Wastes were a strange place, but even here, Death was permanent.

But, honestly, he didn't care. He had his loved ones back now! They could…go…home? Of course they couldn't! The people of the Empire were mostly ignorant and superstitious. Chirard himself would be burned as a heretic the second anyone got a clear look at him. His family might be accepted until people discovered they were supposed to have died many years ago! They couldn't go back to the Empire, but perhaps they could find a new home. Chirard could abandon Khorne for his family.

Wrong. Chirard had given up everything for Khorne, and Khorne had rewarded him richly. His family were dead, and even if they weren't, they belonged to someone else, a human named Helmut. Chirard had no family, no allegiance, save Khorne. And Khorne demanded blood.

He threw the humans off him, and slashed at the woman with his claws. A sad expression of loss came over he, and she faded away. The same occurred when he attacked the children, save that the girl (whose name he had already forgotten) began to cry as she faded.

Chirard was alone again. Without a second thought he continued on up the mountain, his final and most difficult test passed.

End Ch.6