Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 167

Vorshaan ran, there was nothing else he could do but run. Through the fetid gardens of Nurgle he sprinted, greaves stained above the knee by filth and effluent. His wings were redundant here, to fly would only draw the attention of a million, billion Daemons and his Chainglaive would be useless against the things that hunted him. So he ran, putting the creaking mansion at the heart of the garden to his rear and keeping to the mouldy trees. It bought him a little time, but in this realm time meant many things.

Minutes earlier the portal had slammed shut, trapping him in the most haunted depths of the warp. In the scant minutes since he had spent several decades running, memories piling up of years fleeing through decayed bowers and struggling with vines tipped by razor-sharp teeth. He remembered days spent dodging bounding beasts with lapping tongues and weeks pushing into tangled briars to avoid clouds of swarming flies with razor-sharp proboscis. He'd spent months wandering foggy moors and years drenched by rain that never relented, not even for a moment. That fact that all this had occurred in the last five minutes didn't bother him, he was familiar enough with the Warp's tides to understand paradoxes multiplied like frogspawn in the Immaterium, to dwell upon it was to go mad, so he didn't bother thinking about it.

Movement against the turgid sky made him duck into the shadow of a rotten bower. Something shifted ahead, something huge. Vorshaan sensed immense evil lingering behind the trees, concentrated bile of a scale rarely seen. A Daemon of ferocious potency, certainly more than he could handle. Vorshaan had a high regard for his own skill, but to the denizens of the Realm of Chaos he was not even an irritation. Best avoid it altogether.

Vorshaan cast about and paused as he sensed a breeze, unlike any he had felt since he arrived. Minutes or decades, it mattered not, all that mattered was this air felt less polluted, as if coming from a place uncorrupted. Having no idea how to escape the garden, or navigate the raw warp beyond, he elected to chase the breeze, desperate for a way out. He found a cave, buried in a low hill. It was dark within, offering no prospect of escape if he was cornered, except the wind blowing from it was pure. His keen sense of danger told him that it was probably a trap, but having no other prospects he chose to step into the darkness.

Infinite night took him, impenetrable even to his autosenses. Night Lords were creatures of midnight, but this was something else, not merely the absence of light but the total elimination of possibility. No light would ever trouble this demesne, photons would fall apart if they passed through. Vorshaan was nowhere, literally nowhere, a place as far removed from Chaos as was conceivable. The Warp was sometimes referred to as being higher planes of existence, if so then this was the opposite, the ground state of the universe, unencumbered by matter, energy or physics. The basement of the universe.

Vorshaan was alone with his thoughts and had a rare moment to reflect. A lifetime spent clawing his way into the Legion, and then several more climbing the ranks after. The fires of war, the betrayals and humiliations and triumphs that followed. Four thousand years of war and Vorshaan had never doubted his course. Everything he had done he chose to do, all the murders and treacheries, he owned it all. No avoiding guilt, no blaming Daemon lies or manipulative preachers. Vorshaan had waged war on the Imperium for no other reason than it deserved to fall, and to prove his superiority over others. Faced with oblivion Vorshaan refused to feel afraid, he'd never give the universe that satisfaction.

Then from nowhere a voice echoed, "Almost... almost..."

A second, "He'd better not be dead."

"We are pulling him through the lowest planes of existence, life and death have little meaning."

"It has meaning to me, we need him alive."

"Patience Brother, here he comes."

Vorshaan felt immense pressure building, like a diver shooting out of the depths of an ocean into the air. Reality congealed around him, mass, energy, gravity, atmosphere, light, a blaze of light searing his autosenses. His eye lens dampened the aurora but he felt his boots making contact with something metallic, a grille floor of some description. Gravity was Terran-normal, too precise to be anything other than artificially generated and the hum across his ears told of oxygen recycling labouring. A ship then, he wasn't on Nova Terra anymore.

Sight returned and Vorshaan gripped his Chainglaive tight. He was stood in the middle of a summoning circle, surrounded by smoking candles and the bodies of cultists, laying on their backs, their eyes were ashen craters in their skulls where dark magics had blasted their minds. Beyond a ship's hold lay, dank and empty, save for the pair of Dark Tusks standing before him. Vorshaan tensed, seeing a threat emerge. He could take two of them, but they knew that, but they'd have defences surely. Better kill them quickly before they tried anything.

"Hold!" the nearer one said, "We mean you no harm!" Vorshaan's reply was to leap into action, lashing for the throat seal with his Chainglaive. He slammed into an invisible barrier before making contact, rebounding to stagger back. His head rang at the impact, but he spun his Chainglaive over and over, taking up a defensive stance. The circle was warded, they had defences after all.

"Belligerent as ever," one remarked.

"Good that we took precautions," the other said smugly.

"You'd think he'd be grateful," the first sighed disappointedly.

"Gratitude is beyond the understanding of a walking ego like him."

"Indeed."

Vorshaan eyed the pair warily, "I take it you don't want to kill me?"

"Would we have yanked you from Nurgle's demesne and pulled you through the Ghostwind if we did?" the first one sneered.

"Depends what you want of me."

"Perhaps we wish to enjoy your company."

Vorshaan eyed him vexedly, "This barrier is tough, but not so tough that I won't find a way through and eviscerate you both."

The second one held up a palm, "You have something we need, and you required an exit. Make no mistake, we pulled you from the clutches of Daemons and we can send you back."

"You have no choice but to trust us," the first said.

"Trust Dark Tusks?!" Vorshaan scoffed, "I am not so damned as to be brain-dead."

"You trusted us in the camp, when we cautioned you."

Memory stirred as Vorshaan mused, "Those perimeter guards... the only Dark Tusks who spoke other than Empex... I sensed treachery afoot. Did your Master not command the loyalty of his fellows?"

The pair answered silently. Armour shimmered and plates swam, then a sharp electric current passed over them from toe to head. In its wake new colours were revealed, not the dark shades he knew but shimmering scales of turquoise hue. Icons adorned their plate, serpents writhing and chained-A shapes. Vorshaan recognised an electro-undersheath similar to that his VIIIth legion used to effect lightning bolts but employed very differently. Displaying heraldry he knew all too well.

"Alpha Legion," Vorshaan growled in challenge.

"At your service," the first said mockingly.

"I very much doubt it," Vorshaan scorned.

The second replied, "He's sharp, we like that."

"You snakes infiltrated the Dark Tusks, why?!"

The first said, "Our goals are beyond your understanding. Suffice to say we had business on Nova Terra, an objective now completed. You however caught our interest. We know what bargain you struck with Von Tor, and why you were so desperate for ship parts. He assumed you wanted a pirate fleet, but your true objective is rather grander in scale. The Alpha Legion would like to help you achieve your goals."

Vorshaan eyed them as he reflexively denied, "I don't know what you're talking about."

The second tilted a serpent-crowned helm, "So you don't have a wrecked Glorianna-class battleship hidden somewhere among the stars?"

"Shadow of the Emperor," the first mused, "Flagship of the XIXth, such a shame Typhus gutted it over Istvaan V."

"You know nothing about that day," Vorshaan hissed.

"We know, we were there."

Vorshaan didn't care much for their smug tones. The Dusk Prince enjoyed being the oldest Marine in any given situation, lording his seniority and experiences over lesser beings. Few indeed could claim to have lived through the Horus Heresy, even among Traitor legions new blood was taking hold. These two claimed to have lived through the same history, and he had no way to disprove it. Equality made Vorshaan sick to his guts, he would not abide it.

The first mused, "We propose a deal: you help us, we help you."

The second continued, "We have the shipyards Von Tor promised you all marked out, what we need is the location of your flagship."

Now Vorshaan snorted, "I tell you where my ship is, and you shove me back into the warp and steal it out from under me!"

But the first countered, "Such a prize demands a sizeable crew, not to mention a large warband to base upon it. We find ourselves lacking in manpower, we need your resources as much as we need you. You require subtler allies, less bombastic than Empex, more patient and cunning. We are offering a compact of mutual support."

"Are there no Dark Tusks left to aid you?"

The First said, "They scattered after Empex's death, as did your Night Lords. Your comrades you can recall, the Dark Tusks are a spent force. It will take many centuries to piece themselves back together. Our objectives are more pressing, we need your army, as well as your ship. The Alpha Legion can be flexible, we will follow your lead, you will be in command of conventional matters, we will handle less public affairs."

That gave Vorshaan pause. They were offering to support him, give him a means to return to his former power and even aid him. The XXth legion had rare skills in misdirection and infiltration, talents he could use. There were many bases even he could not penetrate, plus they had employed awesome magics to bring him here. Sorcery potent enough to rip him from Nurgle's garden was no mean feat. Trust was a different problem, but once he amassed his warband again these two would be outnumbered. Vorshaan could have them killed as soon as they turned on him; he'd just have to keep a close eye on them. The Dusk Prince doubted any partnership would last long, but it only had to last long enough to get him back to his former glory.

Vorshaan planted his weapon's butt as he flicked filth off his wings, "How long have I been missing?"

"You haven't left yet, you still battle on the planet below," the second replied, "Time is malleable."

Vorshaan frowned, "Then how do you know what happened afterwards... no... don't answer that. The Warp, it's always the warp."

The first interrupted, "The shipyards are still there, we can collect the parts and be away before the Imperials know it."

"Hold on," Vorshaan chided, "If we are to work together I can't be calling you one and two, what are your names?"

"I am Alpha," the first said.

"I am Beta," the second added.

Vorshaan grinned, "Alpha, Beta, of course. Well, we better get started, there are worlds to burn and cities to pillage. We have great works ahead of us. Night Lords and Alpha Legion, I think this will be the start of a beautiful nightmare for the False Emperor and all who kneel before him."

Author's Note

For those asking how to play Vorshaan in the Horus Heresy, I recommend using a modified version of Sevatar's rules

WS7, Bs5, S4, T4, W3, I6, Ld9, Sv3+ Inv 4++, points 175

Bolt pistol, master-crafted Chainglaive (S+1 AP3 Rending), Jump Pack

Special rules: Fear, Dirty fighter (Instant death in challenges), Master of Raptors (Deep striking raptors will not scatter if within 6")

Replace Sevatar's Repressed Psyker rule with Master of Evasion: Vorshaan and any unit he is fighting alongside may disengage from combat in the movement phase without taking any test or triggering any penalty. They may make a full move but may not initiate another assault in the same turn