The Poet and the Muse

Rating: M

Author's Note:
 By nature of the setting and timeline there's a lot of explaining that needs to be done. 40k's canon timeline is very much a nonsensical disaster that makes next to no sense, I so can't really just put a star date on it and call it good. The front half of this chapter is a LOT of contextualizing major events and how that effected the setting the characters occupy. Bear with me. It's kind of "pay it up front so you don't have to pay for it later" situation.

Chapter 5

Mordian: capitol planet of the Mordian System in the Stygius Sector, on the border of Segmentums Ultima and Obscurus. In recent times (at least on the cosmic scale) the so-called "humanity's bastion against Chaos", Cadia, has fallen. With its fall the Great Rift, a galaxy spanning Warp tear into the materium has cut the Imperium of man in half. In the wake of these events, the Stygius Sector has become a make shift back-door between the Imperium and the so-called "Dark Imperium." Shielded by the Great Rift, countless worlds now live free of Imperial tyranny. Most people call the fall the Cadia a tragedy. Trust me when I tell, it was nothing short of a triumph.

I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge that these worlds are now open to demonic incursion as the four Chaos gods compete in their Great Game against one another…but living free comes with a certain degree of peril I wouldn't sacrifice for anything. Let the forces of Khorne, Slaanesh, and even the reviled Nurgle come! Change is the only true constant in the universe. Tzeentch will win. Enough about that…for now.

"Why Stygius?" I pretend to hear you ask. I'm so glad you asked. The sector is not exactly considered an open in the war at the moment. Nurgle's blight washed over this land but Tzeentch's forces drove them back. As it currently stands, us Bird Boys firmly command it. It's a lot harder to run an expansive operation in enemy territory. That being said, it's also not entirely cut off from the Imperium either. What better way to get your agents in and out of hostile territory than through a backdoor.

Lest he command a fleet of some sort, a man must rest his head and feet upon one rock or another. I chose Mordian because the ground work has already been laid for me. In a tale that migrates between the shelves of the lost and the shelves of the unfinished, I sent a shell of myself to do my bidding. The young man's name was Xavier Androssian and in a moment of crisis, when the object of his obsessions was to leave him behind and join the Adepta Soroitas, he found me in the form of an old man on a mountain. There, when his heart raged against the Emperor that had taken the object of his infatuation from him, he accepted the gifts of power I offered him. For the rest of his life, Xavier would build the cult I now command from the hive world of Mordian.

Imperium hive worlds are grotesque gothic urban sprawls that span hundreds if not thousands of miles, that reach up into heinous spires where the blue-bloods segregate themselves from the teeming masses. These are filthy, violent, suffocating places that cram people by the billions into the worst kind of squalor. The pungent aroma of noxious fumes, shit, and rotting flesh fill the air around bridges over black rivers of all manner of refuse. The huddled rabble cry out for their god emperor as his stone effigies, which are almost as lifeless as his corpse that a thousand people a day get ritually sacrificed to, stare down at them with all the cold indifference he showed his sons.

From the height of the outer walls you look out across the ashen waste to see more spires climbing into the skies. Hive worlds consume every last scrap of nature, leaving only the metal monstrosities of the hives. Some started as the skeletal remains of colony ships that carried humans to alien worlds many millennia ago. The sky is permanently overcast in gray, pollution choking the air. Looking at such a miserable sight, one would be inclined to believe that this is to support some form of industry. Alas, these are not forge worlds. While its true most hives produce some sort machinery for the empire, their true product is human bodies.

The imperial tithe is not paid in coin but in flesh. Millions of children are bred and born for the sole purpose of being fed into the imperial war machine. 90% of them will die on the battlefield, some 50% in their first engagement. All so the glorious crusade of the Emperor, galactic wide conquest and genocide, can continue unceasingly. These cities, these worlds are every reason why I oppose the Imperium; why I have thrown my lot in with Chaos. Whips crack and the penitent cry for mercy for their sins. Bolter shots ring out and "heretics" fall over dead. Wailing and howling agony fills the air as women are burned alive for being witches. Some of them are indeed psykers. A few even are my comrades in chaos, but most are poor souls who caught the ire of a petty tyrant doing the "good" work of their god emperor.

This was Mordian when it was "safe from the ravages of Chaos". Some two centuries later much has changed. When the hated Nurgle launched his Plague Wars, led by Mortarion: another traitorous son of the god emperor, against Ultramar his forces went through the Stygius Sector. Billions upon billions on Mordian alone were ravaged by his heinous blight of poxes, buboes, and agonizing disease riddled death. The vaunted and vain discipline of Mordian's Iron Guard mattered little to plague bearers and pestilence. Yet the golden boy, Bobby Boy Blue, halted Mortarion's incursion. That's when us Bird Boys struck. Already on the retreat, Nurgle's forces were engaged by Khorne's marauding bands who had been set into motion by our Tzeentchian machinations. Stygius was ours for the taking.

And in our sorcerous hands hope springs anew. Immediately all the blue-bloods who lorded over the system fled to escape the devastation. Nurgle's plagues had decimated the vastly overly populated world. Cleansed of the vile Imperial systems that begat immeasurable suffering, it could start anew. Volcanic soil is the most fertile for good cause. The magical radiation of the Warp washed over the planet in great and terrible storms. With that came an explosion of new flora and fauna. In two centuries time, Mordian had gone from a hive of tyranny and suffering to an effusive, wild expanse.

I won't insult your intelligence by pretending that Mordian is now some sort of paradise; far from it. What it is is free of from soul crushing stagnation, free of the imperial war machine, free of the Ecclesiarchy. Free. Mordian is free to return to ebbs and flows of cosmic chaos.

("Hey! Tzeentch here," Tzeentch says to you, "Why you would you include the dialog tag 'Tzeentch says' when I already said it was me? Whatever…Yeah, I'm getting tired of this MASSIVE info dump too. Just bear with it a little longer. That's the thing about the 41st millennium, there's a lot to it and he's doing his best to condense centuries of war and scheming into comprehensible nuggets of information while covering his butt with the 40k fans who know every damn thing about every fucking thing. We got a couple more paragraphs of exposition then we're back to the story. Okay? Cool. Ttyl.")

Once the only free people on Mordian lived in its underhive: the sprawling metropolis under the metropolis. This is a land forsaken by the rulers of the world, lawless and wild. Built into the old mining caverns, most of these people had never seen daylight in their entire lives. They compensate for it with neon and flame. Most imperium fools would look upon this place and call it hell. To me it is nothing short of heaven by comparison.

What's the difference between a gang of thugs assaulting you and taking your money and an arbiter leading you the executioner? The thieves are after something tangible and they usually stop after they secure it. In place of prayers and hymns, drunken choirs sing until they puke. Instead of penance and guilt, joy and terror fill the lungs of the forsaken…often in the same breath. "Raiders of the wastelands" types fight, fuck, drink, and die. Their lives are similarly short, violent, and miserable; but they are no strangers to genuine emotions of the human heart. And it is in such places that Chaos gathers. Now from such places Chaos spreads.

The true power of Tzeentch is that it may be exercised with as much flamboyance or discretion as the occasion calls. Khorne demands "blood for the blood god and skulls for the skull throne". It is all but impossible for them to do their god's bidding without devolving into brazen, rampaging murders. Their cults rarely last long. Slaanesh, the goddess of excess in both pain and pleasure will always find safe harbor where there is human life. They are not the third most plentiful species in the galaxy for nothing, but it is all too easy for them to lose themselves in their own pains and pleasures. Relegated to a corner and never growing beyond it. Nurgling's can persist without end…but as heralds of disease, despair, and doom the worlds they infect not suffer long to live.

Me and my "Hymns of the Piano Man" do the business of Tzeentch, Through whisper, clever word, song and poetry we advance ourselves into the good graces of higher and higher society within the Imperium. The vain, greedy blue-bloods are but puppets on our strings; led along by their petty ambitions. The coin of merchants weigh heavy in our pockets. Soon the lamentations, wailing, and prayers to the corpse god begin to wane on the worlds we infest. Suspicion rises among the Imperial ranks but they search in futility among the peaks after we've retreated back to the underground. Within the safe harbor of our pubs, we sit back and let the actions we set in motion run their course. As their prayers of guilt and fealty fall silent, our songs of hope rise to fill them.

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The new flora of Modrian can be produced in a mélange of spices, all of which expand the consciousness and attune the soul to the cosmic flow of sorcerous magic. The number of psykers explodes with the expanding spice trade. The Changer of Ways imbues the people with his gifts, what those imperium fools call "mutations". By the time the planetary governors realizes what's going on it's too late to stop us. We've used his minions' ambitions to worm ourselves deeper into their power structures, egging them onward with precise whispers in their ears. Our songs linger through their thoughts and ever so gently nudge them in the direction most desirable to us. The thing about the trajectory of spaceships is that you only have to shift it by a couple inches to wind up lightyears away. It's something I wish Magnus would learn.

Years have passed since I left my bards to attend to the "grander machinations" that brought me to Tzeentch's dreaming. Many months pass upon my return with Jinx. We rule my unseen empire from a two-story parlor deep in the old underhive. It's no ostentatious palace that defies the mind's ability to conceive of it. It's a fine establishment of old wood with a pub and parlor on the lower level and a proper office/living space on the upper level. The building is built into the shade of a massive tree, its walls covered in vines and moss. The upper patio has a wonderful view of the nightly warp auroras. Luminous insects float in the air like blue, purple, and green lanterns. Now because we're a bunch of musicians, I'd be remiss to include a sampling of what's entertaining the nightly crowd.

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In many ways this setup is second nature for Jinx. I call her "my muscle" but everyone knows she's much more than that. One day as I sat seemingly alone in my high ceilinged office, in a bright blue suit with an oversized collar, my actual "muscle", a robust and powerful human man with long red hair and a shaggy braided beard, barged through my door with unwieldy hammer.

"Boss!" he shouted.
"Tor, how many times do I have to tell you to knock?" I chided him.
"Oh! Sorry boss. I'll try it again," the big galute said.
"No no no. We're already here and I've been expecting them. Just let them in."

At that a woman of otherworldly beauty walked in. Her skin was pink and she cast a sultry gaze through you with her yellow cat-like eyes. Her…plentiful bosom was upheld by a black corset. Long white hair flowed around a pair of horns and over her shoulders. Her long legs were covered in tattered black stockings.

"What's the matter Odie? Couldn't keep it your pants for me," the deamonette hissed seductively.
"You wish Vera, you wish," I said to her, "Wait outside Tor and remember to knock next time."

I set aside the books I've been keeping account of and Vera strutted across the office; seating herself on top of my desk, tussling her hair as she minced about. Let it be acknowledge that within the realm of Chaos certain allegiances are more easily managed others. Whilst none of the gods particularly care for one another, others are considerably less antagonistic towards one another. It's usually Tzeentch and Slaanesh versus Nurgle and Khorne. As such, their little cults tend to get intertwined with one another as well. A fair share of my spice dealing bards have been brought in for Vera's…how do you say…sexual soirees, and sizable amount of her succubi use my pubs, taverns, and parlors as their hunting grounds. It's a symbiotic relationship.

Downstairs the piano player leads the trumpeter into his, their sweet sounds waft upward, muffled through the wood.

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Vera pulled a lho-stick, tenderly placed it between her succulent lips and casted a long sideways glance towards me as she futtered her lashes.

"Got a light?" she asked through a husky whisper.

I snapped my fingers and a flame flicked out of my thumb. Vera slid herself down the desk, leaned in over me as I leaned in to light her lho. She breathed in through her teeth and blew a heart shaped ring of smoke in my face. The smoke shimmered pink. That's charm hex.

"What can I do for you, doll?" I asked in best Boggie.
"You're a man of vison and art, a first rate magic man, are you not?" she asked, leaning even closer into my face.
"There are those who said as much about me. Wouldn't be right for a man who says it about himself."
She giggled lightly, "Well I've been having strange dreams of late."

I pulled the lho out of her mouth, and puffed a blue shimmering, eye shaped smoke ring in her face.

"Do tell."
"I suppose it's less a dream and more a thought that comes to me when I'm alone in my bed," she whispered, her voice ringing with some manner of spell.
"And what would that be, doll?"
"Considering how…intertwined our affairs are," she said laying herself on top of me in the chair. From the rafters I heard the sound of a click. Not yet. "I was fantasying about a more intimate agreement."

She breathed heavily as she stroked my face, then she seized my neck, pricking my skin with the tips of her claws. Now.

"Alright you pretentious know-it-all prick!" Vera growled, "You're gonna give me everything I want and when I'm done, if you're a good boy, I'll let you have a little something."

Without saying a word, I smiled knowingly at her. Something thuds hard against the desk. Vera turned her head around to see a livid Jinx pointing her sidearm directly in her face.

"Move an inch and I'll rip his throat out!" Vera snarled.
"Oh, will you?" I asked before fading into mist.

My illusion vanished and I stepped forward out of an aura of invisibility off to the side of the chair. I gave a nod to Jinx. She nodded back, cocked the gun-

"Wait!" Vera pleaded as she fell to her knees groveling towards me, "C'mon on Odie. You know how I am. We both like our little games, don't we? Let me walk out of here and I'll tell my girls to stop. They'll leave your boys alone."

If I was a Slaaneshi as well this would have ended so much worse for her. Fortunately, I don't find any pleasure in other's pain. But I'm still a greater demon and there have to be consequences for fucking with me and mine.

"I think they'll get the message all the same."

I give Jinx the nod again. Her clenched frown raised up into a sinister smile. Vera's eyes pleaded for mercy but there was none to be found. The shot rang out and a hole blew clean through her skull and Vera fell onto the floor dead. If one is wise they'll never forget how tenuous any such allegiances are. It's one thing to allow succubi into my establishments to maintain a mutually fruitful relationship. It's another when my talent becomes their prey. That's the problem with the Slaaneshi; they can never help themselves. Tor.

At my mental command, the big lug came charging through the door with hammer in hand, howling like a lunatic. Bolts of magical lightning sparked and crackled off it. He frantically looked about the room searching for the enemy.

"Where is she?" he barked.

Jinx shook her head, leered at Tor, and pointed to Vera's body bleeding out of my floor.

"Oh. How'd it go?" he asked.
I stepped forward placing an hand on Jinx's shoulder, "All according to plan."

We smile in kind at one another.

"Tor, do me a solid and clean this mess up."
"Yeah boss," he answered.

Tor picked up the lifeless body of the deamonette and hauled it out of there. No demon truly dies so long as the warp exists. So I may yet meet Vera again and she may yet return the favor. We'll see what the tides of time bring us. In time all things do return in a new yet different form.

Pain seared my left eye, my lost eye. It crumbled me to the ground. I'm struck with a vision of someone in shadow walking out of the fiery halo of an eclipsed sun. The shadow of their silhouette I recognize from somewhere. I know them from somewhere. It's not Ghost and certainly isn't Darkness. The figure is humanoid and small in stature. It moves with an assured, calculated athleticism.

All the while, I writhed on the ground in pain. "Odie!" Jinx cried out in terror as she rushed to my side. She cradled my head in her chest as she clung tightly to me.

"Was it poison? A curse?" she frantically asked.
"It's just my eye," I told her.

Jinx's panicked breathing leveled out. She cocked her head to the side with a quizzical expression that becomes an aggravated sneer.

"Goddamn it!" she yelled as she abruptly stood up, allowing my head to smash against the floor. She rummaged through a drawer in my desk, "Don't scare me like that."
"I'm sorry love," I said to her as I pulled myself up into the chair, "one can't really control when precognition hits."

Jinx pulled a jar out and slammed the drawer shut. She strutted over next to me as I leaned on my knees. I reached my hand out to take the ointment from her.

"Thank you Missus J, I'll take that."
"No."
"No?" I questioned.
"No. Let me help you," she said.
"I don't need it. Jinx, I'm fine."
"Shut up and lean back," she commanded as she shoved me back into the chair.

Then she climbed up and rested her body on top of mine. She peeled my eye patch off and tossed it aside. She leaned back in fright at the sight of it.

"Sheesh! What did you do to that thing?"
"In which life?" I asked in reply.
"Smart ass," she grumbled.

I'm really not trying to be. Throughout numerous books in Tzeentch's library, various versions of myself have consistently lost the same eye. It's a bit of theme really. The pain felt like the searing cold heat of a starfire blade. That has only happened once. Does that silhouette…I know who's coming for me.

Jinx took a dollop of the ointment and tenderly rubbed around my eye. It's cold and mildly stung. I shirked away.

"Hold still, silly," she instructed me.

That sting gave way to a slow easing of the pain. I turned to face her. I smiled warmly at her and she did the same to me in kind. She leaned her forehead into mine and we rubbed them together like cats. There we sat together in that chair. For what it's worth, this chapter of this life was one of the better ones for me. I wish I knew how to tell her that.

"Jinx, we're gonna have company."

I don't, so I don't. Instead I focus on the threat headed our way. Don't ask he how, I don't know; but the apprentice I threw into the cold void of space through the Gate is back and coming for me. It's like Char all over again. Whenever you bring something from another life, another world, another tale; it's world bleeds through…and every world I've used the Gate in is going to start bleeding through.