Doomed ta' Rok
Joe's was positively full, in no small part due to the added, daemonic clientelle. And while the kaptin and most patrons had gone for some old favourites, Miriana had trouble choosing from the vast array of, err, 'seasonal' specialties. Slaaneshi stew was too big of a risk, Nurgle's prime ribs no less so, with Just az Plannin' a close third. In the end, a bloody steak didn't sound so bad.
As Joe took the order with a smile, Snogrot enquired, a bit of gretchin between his teeth:
"Oy, why do ya' alwayz try da' new stuffz?"
She smiled:
"Oh, I suppose I am just spoiling myself. There are so many different tastes to indulge in. And besides," she smiled, "it's always a bit exciting, isn't it?"
"Only when da' squig bitez back."
Without warning, the doors burst open, the perpetrator immediately earning countless gazes and, in certain cases, excited squeals. He strode inside with the confidence of a space marine legion, his armour decorated from head to toe in Her iconography. A horned skull was all he had left of his head, constantly wreathed in warpfire of ever-changing colour.
"Good day, gentlemen," he immediately turned to the daemonette-controlled part of the room, accompanied by a wink, possible due to warpal movements of his very skull, "and beauties!"
Their reactions consisted mostly of intense giggling and ecstatic screams, though the occasional fainting and heightened movements of tails or tentacular hair were also observed. He made his way to the bar and motioned towards the owner:
"Oy, Joe, gimme' some of the good stuff."
"Comin' right up."
Miriana shot the rider a glare and he most assuredly noticed:
"Hey, baby, no need to be sour. There's always room for more."
"More heads on my spear, if anything."
"Well, you could say it like that," his laughter was thunderous, omnipresent, inescapable.
The farseer turned red, though, none could quite tell if due to rage, the imagery that came to mind, or both:
"Do not provoke me."
"Hey, it's fine, kitty. Just joking, sheath those claws." though, he didn't truly mind claws, per se.
"Here'z yer drink."
Many of the patrons watched on in awe. The bottle was affixed with boss Nignub's seal of approval, wrapped in a golden label. 'Ard Brew, a legend among any true conoisseur. Some said it was strong enough to knock out a daemon prince.
"Ooooh, awesome!"
He placed a handful of golden coins, relics from a time before the very Imperium, onto the counter and Joe snatched them up with the eagerness of a loota'. The rider poured himself a regular sized glass, earning a gasp from his audience, before downing it in a single gulp. For a few moments, all seemed fine. Then, the flames around his skull started shifting from one colour to the next rapidly, culminating in him releasing a small gout of rainbow-fire, lighting up the entire bar. As it died down, cheers and clapping of daemonettes in the air, he slammed the glass back on the counter:
"Daaaaamn, that's good stuff. Anyway," he turned back to Joe, his teeth curled into a wicked grin, "Joe, buddy, can I put this up on your outer wall?"
From a compartment in his armour, he retrieved what looked like a rolled up piece of paper.
"Yeah, surez. Just make sure ya don't scratch da' paint."
"Got it. Oh, and, I'm also looking for you," he turned to the biggest ork around, "captain Pain."
"Wellz," Gorasho stood up, a good foot taller than the fallen marine, "you'z got me attention. Wot ya' need?"
"Straight to the point, awesome. Basically, I just wanted to ask if you could spare some of your boys for our event? I'd hate for it to get ruined by," he shot a glance at a few nearby arm wrestling bloodletters, "degenerates."
"Eventy bitz? Wot eventy bitz?"
"Why, our concert of course," he unrolled the paper, revealing its true nature of a poster. The background was pure black, with various forms of deliciously heretical imagery along the edges. The centre was dominated by a multicoloured, eight-sided star of Chaos, with five black silhouettes superimposed over it, each with one fist raised to the sky. Underneath the display, two sentences shone in a golden hue, "Warp Sirens, Galaxy in Flames tour! Coming to Big Rok!"
The fainting dramatically increased in frequency. Gorasho nodded his head:
"Right. We'z can give ya' some boyz. Heck, Iz will be there, too, sounds like some gud stuff."
"Best there is, I assure you," as he strolled out, dragging a particularly devoted fan attached to his boots, he gave them all a thumbs up, "thanks again. It's gonna' be wiiiiiild!"
Soon enough, the roar of an engine filled the outside area. The daemonette returned inside, clutching an autographed pict in her claws. A fight over said item broke out soon afterwards, much more violent than a regular old brawl. Tails, claws and foot-long nails clashed in deadly, unsettlingly sensual combat, with even the bloodletters cowering from the daemonettes' frenzy. Such was the power of Doomrider.
"Wot ya' mean, youz ain't interested?"
The farseer forked over a small red gem in exchange for an intricate necklace, its individual pieces representing several of prevalent tau combat tactics. The seller bowed slightly, before turning to another customer.
"I have little interest in listening to the crude music of Her pawns."
"Oh, come onz. It'll be a gud larf. Bound ta' be some gitz, too! Wez could clobber 'em togetha', nice and propa'."
"I prefer more subtle, skillful instruments, like perhaps a lyre or..."
"Come onz! Nothin' beatz a gud dose of rokin'!"
She sighed, her gaze still fixated on her trinket:
"You won't stop nagging me, will you?"
"Nah."
"Fine, then. I will be there, don't worry."
"Woohoo!"
The nob jumped a bit into the air, excited as a child. She couldn't help but smile.
The stadium had appeared on the parade grounds as suddenly as its daemonic crew, who were diligently at work putting the finishing touches on all the equipment. From the massive speakers and multi-coloured lights, to the smoke grenades, everything had to be in tip-top shape.
It was a good thing they were so diligent, since the massive crowd of fans was bound to riot if something went wrong. And what a colourful crowd it was, too. Blue, green, purple, red and other skin tones met together to form one big armada of metal heads, just itching for a good show.
On the outskirts of that crowd, the polees boys stood, ready to clobber any troublemaker. Well, save for the kaptin, the smart boy, the squig and one of the few eldar present. They were standing right among the horde, though, they were given some extra space, due to Gorasho's sheer size.
"I do hope it starts soon. And that it won't be a complete waste of time."
"Don't harsh da' buzz," spoke Snogrot as he shared a peculiar snack with Ugu. It seemed to still wriggle in his mouth, "dis'll be zoggin' gud!"
Suddenly, the lights above the stadium died off. For a few moments, the anticipation of the crowd skyrocketed, then, the stage lights turned back on, five colourless rays illuminating five different positions. A voice suddenly shot from the speakers, its owner quite easy to identify:
"Metal heads of Big Rok! Say hello to the greatest band this side of the immaerium! Raise your fists for the Warp Siiiiiireeeeeeens!"
One by one, they appeared. First came a daemonette with a ludicrously long, intricate braid, dyed green. Remarkably dressed, in full black, with countless spike-like adornments all over. Humanoid fists raised in the air, she assumed her place at a semi-sentient keyboard, which twitched as soon as she gently petted it.
"Vaermina, Mistress of the Keys!"
Sliding in without any visible legs, but extra arms to make up for it, the slightly obese creature crawled to its post, the light perfectly illuminating its sickly green flesh. Its obscenely large drum set was more than ready for the beating.
"Nihulath, Drummer of Decay!"
The third burst onto the scene in a fiery explosion, tall, muscular, skin as crimson as blood. A set of horns dominated his cranium, each bigger than a man's arm. In his hands, the khornate wielded a massive bass guitar, fashioned into the shape of a battle axe. He roared at the crowd and they roared back.
"Gugulash, Reaper of Sound!"
A creature with much too many limbs of all sorts, and in too many places, came onto the stage fourth. Nine eyes were on its head, though, that still wasn't the most eye-catching thing about him. That would be his own guitar, with four separate heads, each with its own set of strings. He seemed to lose or gain a few extra appendages at random as he bowec.
"Maelrawn, Tamer of the Hydra!"
There was a silence for a few moments. Then, a roaring sound, like that of an angered warp beast, filled the area. From a gateway between time and space, emerged the prince of decadence upon a steed of metal. He came to rest inches in front of his microphone stand and dismounted, the motorcycle rolling off the stage on its own accord. He grabbed hold of the mic and shouted:
"And last, but not least! Doomrider, Lord of Roaming!"
The daemonettes in the very front, each with a ticket to the VIP section, bought a few years in advance, screamed at the top of their lungs. Plush chaos spawn and moving flowers soon filled the stage. The rider blew a kiss to one section of the audience and they collectively fainted. As the nurgling cleaning crew, perhaps not best chosen for the job, swept the gifts aside, Doomrider continued:
"Good evening, Big Rok! The Warp Sirens have come to bless you with the unmitigated ecstasy of music! Whaddaya say to that?!"
The crowd roared in agreement, save for one, who still wasn't getting into the mood.
"Entertaining, I suppose."
"Oh, zog it and 'ave some fun, will ya?"
"Good, good! Now, let's cut to the chase," he tore the mic off its stand and assumed an almost combat-ready pose, "with the hit single of the millenium! Go. Forth. And. Amplifyyyyyyyyyyy!"
The air was first filled with an unholy alliance of drums and keyboard, the two musicians in perfect harmony. The bass soon joined in, with its own hellish rhythm. Next, came the four-headed monstrosity, its riff sending ripples through the very fabrics of space and time. Finally, their symphony was completed, when the dark prince's voice rocked over the assembled like a sonic weapon.
The crowd was his, both in mind and body. His fist rose repeatedly into the air with the rhythm, and they mimicked him, as if in a trance. Each of the five had a sincere grin, visibly enjoying their work. It was even getting to the farseer, who could not help but tap her foot and boob her head with the rhythm. Not as good as the subtle mastery of a lyre, surely, but it was close. Pretty damn close.
With a thunderous final roar, the first song came to a close, accompanied by the cheers and clapping of a several thousand fans. The prince waited for it to die down a bit, then spoke:
"You like that, metal heads," a deafening 'YEAAAAH!' was their response, "awesome! Now, we've got a little surprise in store for you," he accepted a large stack of what seemed like throwing disks from the nurgling brigade, "so, listen up! I'm gonna' start throwing these, hopefully non-lethally. If you're a lady and you catch it, great. If you're a dude, hand it to the nearest lady. I don't have anything against you boys," said with a hint of seductiveness, "but we want some ladies for this one. Got that," a more timid 'Yeaaah!', "coolsville! Now, catch!"
The disks were thrown with the cadence of a heavy bolter. Fights broke out in the daemonette sections, while intense bargaining ensued wherever a servant of another deity managed to get a hold of it. And then there was Gorasho, who casually reached up a few feet above the competition and grabbed it mid-flight. With a grin, he shoved it into Miriana's unsuspecting hands:
"Sorry, rulez be rulez."
"W-what, but I..."
She got no chance to protest, as a daemonette, wearing something between bondage gear and regular black leather, cried out to her:
"Oh, you're lucky! Come with me, now!"
Completely confused, she was dragged off, shooting a deathly glance to the kaptin, who was having a hard time holding back intense laughter. She noticed there were other, identically clad helpers escorting actually excited figures, most of them daemonettes, but with a few humans, tau and a suspiciously effeminate lictor thrown into the mix.
They were brought onto the podium, at least two dozen of them, and left with only one of the staff, this one a tzeentchian with an unnaturally long tail. At least, she hoped it was a tail. He spoke to the group, his voice changing in tone randomly:
"Right then. Everyone know the moves for Dark Sabbath?"
And while all the rest squealed and nodded frantically, she calmly raised her hand, hoping for blissful release:
"I don't even know the song."
And while she earned some gasps, sweet release was not granted:
"Newcomer, eh? Cool. Don't worry, just stay in the back of the group and mimic the rest. It's not that hard, doesn't even require extra limbs."
Two of the daemonettes grabbed her by the shoulders:
"Yeah, pointy ear, just watch and learn!"
"You lot are good at that, we know that much!"
With a defeated nod, she replied:
"Oh, fine."
"Awesome! Now, get in formation."
As they scrambled off to do just that, the farseer noticed two things. One, Doomrider had obviously noticed her and gave her a thumbs up. Second, some daemonettes were shooting her jealous glares. She supposed that was a sort of victory. Their group arranged into a sort of pyramid, with her in the back and centre. Now if only she hadn't had her quite visible armour on.
"Record time, ladies! Now, we may begin! A beloved old classic, back from our first days. From our debut album, Possessed Metal, comes the Dark Sabbath!"
The fans did not get a chance to cheer, as all four instruments suddenly struck a note in perfect unison, forged during several millennia of playing together. A slow, deliberate tempo, to ease them all in.
She almost missed the troupe's first movement, as each of the others slowly raised their arms to the sky. With one last note, a deathly silence ensued, Miriana's reflexes just good enough to quickly lower her arms with the rest of the group. One of her co-dancers whispered:
"Listen for the drums, always."
She merely nodded, just as it started. A repeated, never-ending series of four beats, as the Drummer of Decay got the song running once more. At the start of each series the dancers moved, each such movement dedicated to a single limb or greater rearrangement of the body. First to the right, then to the left, in swift motions, almost mimicking some sort of combat technique. And that, she could get behind.
The other instruments and singer eventually joined in, each in a much heavier, deliberate style than the previous song. But where they shifted between several sequences of notes, the drums remained almost the same, save for one thing. The drummer was gradually increasing his speed.
At that point, though, she had the movements memorised and merely focused on keeping up with the tempo. She heard the crowd cheer and dared open her eyes. Immediately, she noticed one of the dancers had been unable to keep up and moved to the side for moral support, after a graceful bow.
As the intensity increased, more and more of them were forced to give up. They were down to three, her included. Her body moved on its own accord, almost effortlessly matching the music, where her two compatriots were starting to have issues. It was, dare she say it, fun. Extremely fun.
And then, she was alone, her fellow dancers and the crowd alike screaming in delight, cheering her on. The tempo became literally murderous, as her fists and feet darted through the air with enough speed to effortlessly crack a juggernaut's skull. And then, the deathly silence befell, once more. She remained frozen for a fraction of a second, in a standing pose, before she recognised the returning tune and slowly raised her arms into the air. The drummer let out one last note and she slammed her fists into the podium, then stood up and bowed gracefully, with a wide smile.
The armada was ecstatic, hands clapping, fists pumping, voices yelling and tails waggling uncontrollably. Doomrider himself called out:
"Now I don't know who the main attraction was, us or her! Give me one more roar for the farseer!"
The fans more than gladly obliged, as Miriana was suddenly picked up and carried off by the other performers, laughing as sincerely as never before. They plumped her down near her row and she calmly walked back to the orks and squig, the crowd parting with more cheers and praises. She assumed her place from before, next to two orks with idiotic grins and finally said:
"Okay, I'll admit. That was... exhilarating!"
She immediately grabbed Ugu and started scratching him on the head, earning something between a purr and monstrous growl.
"I gotta' say, folks, that was awesome! And now, something from the new Galaxy in Flames. Part general admiration, part thank you for our wonderful hosts here on the Big Rok! Because you know what they say. Green iz Best!"
Before any of them could touch their instruments, however, a bolt of eldritch power shot from no particular direction with a thunderous crack, tearing open a portal into the very maw of the Warp. Through the light, many silhouettes could be seen, and something big. Very big.
Their armour was grey, plain, battered after years of brutal siege warfare, with highlights of faded gold. Most were no longer even men, irreversibly fused to their gear and instruments, most looking like something between a sonic weapon and an actual tool for creating music. The largest silhouette turned out to be their stage, equal parts object and daemon, surrounded by a decent number of other chaos marines.
What appeared to be the singer, three of his fingers replaced by a corrupted microphone, shouted at one enemy in particular:
"Doomrider!"
The Lord of Roaming grinned, taking a few steps of the stage. The daemonettes there were more than happy to hold him up in the air, some with particularly evolved gifts even started licking his boots.
"Well, well, well! Look what the spawn's dragged in," his tone was mocking, "Beren Blackfist and the Steel Fists!"
"Yes," he spoke like an articulate engine, "and this time, we're taking you down! Death to false metal!"
"False metal, he says! You can barely talk, let alone sing! Your music could be used by an Inquisitor during a torture session!"
"I'll show you, I'll show all of you!"
The other Iron Warriors stayed right in the front, unmoving guardians. Gorasho was not really impressed and raised his talky-majig:
"Kode Rok. Get in dere and chop 'em up!"
Several dozen orks in non-standard uniforms charged out of the crowd, their chosen weaponry just as chaotic, but undeniably effective. Beren was not impressed:
"Idiots! Hit it, men!"
Their sound was much like them. Mechanical, with perfect timing and synchronisation, yet, ultimately, it lacked soul, passion and energy. The singing wasn't much better, a horrendous series of barely comprehensible roars. Nonetheless, augmented by the daemonic stage, it proved to be undeniably effective, as the orks were scattered by the pure force of the sound and forced to retreat. And while the crowd started panicking slightly, Doomrider merely laughed, in that omnipresent, maniacal way of his. The Steel Fist's sound ended and Beren shouted, furious:
"What's so funny, you faceless worm!?"
The prince's laugh came to an abrupt stop, as he jumped back onto the stage:
"That someone, somewhere, actually considered that music. Let's show you how it's done," without looking , he pointed over at Tamer of the Hydra, "Maelrawn, baby, give 'em some love!"
Without delay, four pairs of dexterous hands went to work on each of the Hydra's heads, each providing its own flavour to the music. The result was an unholy symphony, utterly perfect and impeccable, washing over the masses like a virulent contagion. Though it had been, in truth, short, it seemed like the Warp Sirens had already won, as a couple of Iron Warriors knelt, weeping from the beauty.
But they were not done. The singer's armoured finger then pointed to the khornate, and Gugulash joined in with a gusto and a wicked grin, his mighty bass adding a second layer of ecstatic sound.
After placing the mic on its stand, he gestured to the remainder of the band by raising both of his hands, curled into fists. Vaermina and Nihulath did not hold back, either, and all four slowly accelerated to a grand finale. And that was the rider's to perform.
Grabbing the mic with both hands, he first spoke to the fans:
"Beauties and gentlemen, please stand a bit to the side," most achieved the command by standing on the shoulders of another. In the famous quartet's case, Gorasho carried not only his compatriots, but also another bloodletter, who, in turn, was carrying two cheering daemonettes, "thank you. Now, boys," the nurglings were already busy turning the amplifiers ever so slightly in the proper direction. Everyone save for Beren was crying over at their side of the stadium. The head warrior merely stared with his mouth wide open, "allow me to blow your minds!"
He breathed in deeply, before letting out a shout, rather silent at first, but one which soon intensified into a mighty roar, not uncommon on some battlefield. Even without the mighty speakers, it seemed to create a gust of wind in his vicinity. Amplified, however, its power could not be contained and was unleashed upon the lesser band as a shockwave of pure force. It struck their ranks like an avalanche, tearing their cute little stage asunder. Limbs flew through the air as their heads and bodies were suddenly engulfed in intense warpfire. In moments, the battle of the bands was over, on account of the competition getting reduced to little more than dust.
A silence fell over the stadium as they all drank in the sight. Finally, the prince commented:
"Hot, heheheh," he managed to contain himself to a maniacal chuckle, "now, where were we?! Oh, yes," he again assumed the quasi-combat stance, "a tribute to the friednliest bloodthirsty maniacs this side of the galaxy! Green iz Best!"
All went back to normal, as the crowd got back into the mood. Not many were willing to get down from their chosen carriers, and most of the carriers didn't particularly mind. It continued for many, many incredible hours and nobody at all complained.
The VIP party was particularly crowded, mostly with daemonettes. Three honourable guests, and their squig, stood around a large, brass throne, drinking questionable, but delicious beverages. The rider sat in the throne, two giggling, enamoured daemonettes on his thighs. He poured some fungus beer down his gullet, then turned to the quartet:
"Told you it was gonna' be wiiiiild!"
"For once, I am forced to agree."
"Ooooh, and you were awesome, too. Then came the guests! Really, everything went better than expected! Now, enjoy the party, will ya?"
"Yeh, wez can do dat."
Maelrawn sat in a corner, practically buried under a pile of fans, giving a thumbs up with nine of his hands. Even Nihulath, bloated and sickly as he was, attracted some admirers, if only as a very cosy couch. One of the few khornates present seemed to be the only one without any entourage, his bass resting menacingly on his back.
Finding herself close to Vaermina next to the... next to what she hoped was regular punch, the farseer grew curious. Leaning closer, she silently asked:
"If I may, why is Gugulash the only one alone?"
"Oh, that's easy," her grin was formed from shark-like teeth, "they know better."
"What do you mean?"
Picking up two cups of the mysterious liquid, the Mistress of Keys spun around, her majestic braid swinging around with unnatural flair.
"He's already taken."
The two daemons were reunited within moments and proceeded to ignore their drinks in favour of a loving embrace. Miriana couldn't help but smile.