I will admit, I freaked out for a while – even more than I did during the first few days of traveling with this merry band of heretics. They may seem like minor injuries in retrospect, but between the broken ribs, the lost fingers, a missing tooth and a severed ear, I was having serious doubts about my chances of leaving Armatura with my own head still attached. The idea that Damantin might summon some daemon to possess my corpse did nothing to reassure me. When we stopped to rest, I'd often find myself somberly staring at the cloth-bound stumps between my right hand's index and pinky fingers, and glancing periodically at the dust-choked sky. I still didn't really think that I'd see anything good descending towards us, but I could hope.
That's all a guardsman can do, I think, besides hold the line: hope that someone shows up to reinforce you, before you become an ork's krumpin' implement.
It was on one of these occasions, when the wind was a bit colder than usual, that Marrlë came to sit by me. I was a short way away from the group, having found my own little rock to sit on and lament my fate, when the crunch of spike-soled boots on the hard earth alerted me to the Khornate's approach. Not the clanking movement of power armour, or Rosie's silent tread; thus, I knew who it was without looking. His voice only confirmed it.
"You're not joining us? Ork stew's cooking."
Ah, yes – ork stew. Though the rations I'd pillaged from my fellows served their purpose, being numerous and mostly nutritious, they were maddeningly bland – especially after a week or more of eating nothing but them. Eventually, I had finally given in and tried Marrlë's ork stew, which he swore up and down was great for clearing your head and filling your stomach. While I couldn't vouch for the head-clearing aspect of it, I did find myself pleasantly surprised. Orks, when cleaned and properly prepared, tasted not unlike mushrooms; Damantin explained that this was because they were, in fact, a type of fungus. This revelation would have boggled my mind a week before, but at this point, I had become very good at just taking things in stride.
It also turned out that Chaos did funny things to one's metabolism. I was wondering how Marrlë and the others managed to remain at peak performance while eating and drinking so little, and Chaos's influence was the only explanation I could find. In that respect, it was a small comfort that I still had to bear the inconvenience of lugging around the rations on my back. I needed to eat regularly, and that, along with the lack of strange whispers in my head or teeth growing around my navel, told me I was still human.
"I..." I trailed off, deliberating between joining them and partaking in the appetizing food, or staying out here and wallowing in misery. "I'm not really hungry. Don't know why, just sort of feel like sitting out here and thinking. By myself."
"Hmm." Marrlë wasn't having any of that. With a grunt, he plopped down beside me, resting his monstrous chainaxe's head on the ground and propping its haft up in the crook of his arm. The tasseled end of the axe's handle hung rather close to my face, and I irritably pushed it away. Marrlë glanced up at me, and for a moment I thought I'd made him angry, but he only looked thoughtful. "Okay, what's really the matter, Fen? You've seemed off lately. As in, more than usual."
That was the other thing. No matter how much I insisted, Marrlë and Rosie would always shorten my name to Fen. Even after giving them permission to call me Thomas, they persisted. The worst part may have been that it was growing on me.
As it was, his question and observation irritated me further. Were they really so oblivious to my plight? I had been told all my life that the pawns of Chaos were diabolical masterminds, who'd twist your thoughts and steal your soul as soon as look at you. Yet here I was, not twenty feet away from a group of them – and they were making stew and engaging in civil discussion about their next move. Even the daemon was acting incredibly nice. I felt deceived for all the wrong reasons.
"You really don't see anything odd about this?" I gestured back at the two Space Marines and the Daemonette hovering over the pot near the fire. Looking back at it made me wonder once more if this wasn't all some drug-induced fantasy, from which I'd awaken to a yelling commissar and the end of a bolt pistol in my face.
Marrlë turned his head and peered back at the others, looking up at my gesturing hand and then back at them, seemingly unsure about what I meant. "…I suppose Thurion looks slightly less grim than usual."
"No, that's not it at all! Don't you see? It's…" I searched for the right words to express how backwards all of this was, failed, and resorted to despairingly burying my face in my hands. Seeing this, Marrlë gave me a sympathetic rap on the elbow.
"There, there, Fen. I understand."
I parted my fingers just enough for one eye to glare down at him. "Do you?"
"Sure." He sighed and looked up at the dust clouds. "You're isolated from everything you know, stuck on an unfamiliar world, and you're not sure you'll get off it alive. I've thought about it as we've walked, and I talked about it with Rosie. Slaaneshi daemons are very insightful when it comes to emotions, you know."
I twitched; that didn't sound reassuring at all. Marrlë continued, oblivious to my reaction.
"She agreed with me in thinking that you might be feeling lonely."
I blinked. They'd manage to wrong-foot my expectations again, it seemed.
"I mean, you must've known at least a few of those guardsmen you came here with. To have them all cut down like that must've been awful. I know I would be devastated if my friends were killed."
By now, my mouth was hanging open as I stared at the pensive Khornate. I managed to croak, "Are all heretics this…"
"This?" He turned his crimson gaze on me. I struggled to find the word I was looking for; this time, I came close to succeeding.
"…Nice?"
At that, Marrlë threw back his head and laughed uproariously, thumping the ground with his chainaxe. The others raised their heads from the pot and looked over to see what he found so funny, but soon dismissed it and returned to their own discussion. He continued chuckling for a while, long enough to make me uncomfortable, and looked back up at me with a smirk. "Not at all. In fact, most would've either murdered you outright or turned you into some Warp monstrosity. If that's what was troubling you, I won't deny we're not your average Chaos crew." He shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back against my sitting rock. "I really don't care about the Imperium one way or another. Damantin never considered himself a traitor. Thurion has had enough of his Legion's shenanigans, and Rosie's… Rosie's just weird." Even I had to crack a smile at that. So the things I'd been told about Chaos were true, it seemed; this band of renegades was just another kind of insane.
Marrlë returned my smile and put a hand on the haft of his chainaxe. I looked down at the weapon, and for the first time, really examined it. It had a long handle that curved slightly forward near the end, while the length of the haft was covered in tightly-wound cloth and bandages of many dirty colours, presumably to create a firm grip. It looked rather odd, to be quite honest. The head of the weapon was large and heavy-looking enough that I wondered if I could lift it at all, let alone wield it like Marrlë did. The thing was lightning in his hands, and watching him fight often made me wonder just how human he really was.
"You're wondering how I met her?"
I started at the sudden question, and remained staring at him in confusion until I realized Marrlë meant the axe. In fact, I hadn't been thinking that, but I nodded anyway, since I was now interested in hearing about it.
"Well, it all started many years ago. I was on a raid with a large group of Berzerkers, you see, and one of the biggest and strongest of them was a fellow named Khârn." I nodded. I thought I could predict where this was going. "So Khârn's got this amazing chainaxe, you see? Huge, sharp, made a noise like a thousand screaming daemons when he let it rip. Named Gorechild." I nodded once more, still fairly certain of how things would proceed.
"So naturally, I tell Khârn: 'Hey Khârn, that's a pretty amazing chainaxe you've got there,' and he says 'thanks, I think so too.' And then I ask him, 'say, Khârn, mind letting me take that thing for a spin once we make planetfall?' and his response is to slam me into the wall by my throat, damn near breaking my spine, and roar, 'no, it's mine, you can't have it.' Thankfully, though, he calms down and becomes somewhat reasonable, and goes on to tell me that, while he's not lending me his chainaxe, he does know of a certain shrine on the planet we're going to, and if I go there and make a bloodbath out of the whole affair, Khorne might consider upgrading my current gear."
I was amazed by the nonchalance with which he described these things. Needless to say, I was not at all prepared for what he'd tell me next.
"We make planetfall, the lot of us. The Berzerkers and Khornate cultists head off to murder and pillage in one direction, and I head off in another. Khârn wishes me luck. Fine character, that Khârn. I'm sure you'd like him."
I was sure I'd find him absolutely terrifying. For the sake of moving things along, I nodded and motioned for him to continue.
"So I head off along the trail Khârn designated, and wouldn't you know it, it's guarded by Sisters of Battle! Not regular priests like I was expecting. Imagine my relief – now I wouldn't have to slaughter a bunch of unarmed old men to get the fine axe I was craving."
My eye twitched involuntarily.
"So they see me coming down the road, crimson hair and crimson eyes and crimson clothes and crimson axe, and immediately open fire. Clever Sisters, they knew I was a cultist right away!" He chuckled. I didn't. "And wouldn't you know it, they've got bolters. I dive for cover, but my cover is blown to pieces pretty fast. I know if I don't think of something quick, these Sisters are going to mince me in no time flat. So I do the only thing I can, and chuck a grenade at them."
His tone grew apologetic, as if I cared what method he had used to defeat the Sisters. "You have to understand, I needed that axe, right? I was prepared to go to just about any length to get that awesome axe Khârn promised me."
"Right," I said dazedly. I was beginning to get the impression that Marrlë, however insightful, wasn't all that bright.
"So I peek over the ruins of the little wall I'd hidden behind, and the Sisters got fried real good by the grenade. I hurry over, nab a chainsword and bolt pistol, and I head into the shrine. As soon as I go in, it's Chaos!"
"Yeah, I can imagine," I muttered.
"No, I mean there's two possessed Sisters, screaming heresy and unloading their bolters at me. Before I'm through with them, more Sisters pour in behind me, and I'm pretty sure I'm done for. Right on cue, a Warp portal opens up, and a bunch of Bloodletters come running out, waving their hellblades and roaring fit to burst my eardrums. The firefight devolves into a melee, and I decide, frak it, and just let myself go."
I could picture the scene in my head: Sisters of Battle – power-armoured zealots with big guns – throwing down with Khornate daemons, and Marrlë going absolutely insane in the middle of it all. It must've seemed like heaven to him. It was at this moment, I believe, that I began to get a solid read on what kind of person Marrlë was. Simple, forthright, and, as long as you weren't his enemy, companionable.
"The next few minutes go by in a haze of blood and bolter fire. I hear screaming and flesh tearing all around me, and I'm not sure who it is I'm ripping into with my chainsword. I'm just firing the bolt pistol at random, and I run out of ammunition quickly, so I two-hand the chainsword and take my rage to another level. By the time my vision clears, I'm standing on a small pile of bodies, and I see the daemon corpses trickling away into the Warp. There's blood and guts everywhere – painting the walls, covering the floor, all over me. And that's when I hear it."
I leaned forward, interested despite myself. The graphic details made my stomach turn, but I genuinely did want to know how this story ended.
"This low, menacing laughter in the back of my mind, deep and so, so powerful." Marrlë shivered at the memory. I'd never seen him do that; this must have had a profound effect on him. "I could sense that whatever was touching my mind could crush me like a gnat if it wanted to. But instead, I felt… congratulation. There's no other way to describe it; congratulation, filling my being down to my very bones. On the altar, at the far end of the shrine, she appeared – divinely beautiful, violently serene, promising me glory beyond my wildest dreams."
He surprised me again when he reached up to wipe a tear from his eye. I snorted inwardly – of course this would be the sort of memory to make a Khornate emotional. Once he was done, he smiled and ran his hand over the axehead. I was probably mistaken, but I could've sworn I heard the chainaxe purr in contentment.
"I walked over and looked down at her, and it was love at first sight. Everything about her entranced me, and after all the things we've done together, I'd like to think I've earned her affection, too. From that moment on, we've been inseparable – me and My Lady of Gore. That's her name." His eyes gleamed, both with residual tears and glowing pride. "In honour of Khârn's axe, I call her Gorelady."
"And that," he finished, "is how I met my axe."
I leaned back, observing Marrlë in a new light. Somehow, he now seemed to me at once more and less human. That story of his had given me a better perspective of who he was, and the way he thought and acted was both entirely believable and completely alien. I wasn't quite sure of what to make of it in that moment, but of one thing I was absolutely sure: I was glad he wasn't my enemy.
As he stood up and brushed off his pants, he grinned and offered me a hand. From this close, I realized that his sharp teeth were actually metal spikes, and the tips of his fingers were affixed with augmetic claws. Yet, out of all the things I had learned about him, these seemed to me among the least of his inhuman attributes.
Mirroring his grin, I took the proffered hand with my bandaged, three-fingered one and pulled myself to my feet. The chill wind across the wastes bit deeper now that I was standing, which made the fire look quite a bit more inviting. "You know, I actually might be hungry for stew after all."
"See? I knew you'd come around!"
