Grey Knight, Warhammer 40,000 meets the Elder scrolls Options

[Colonel Mustard]

This is an idea I had a while ago, and had been entertaining for a while. As you may have guessed by the subtitle, this is an Elder Scrolls/40K crossover. For those you don’t know the rich lore of 40K, here’s a rough image of it.

It is the 41st millennium, and war has raged for eternity. The mighty empire of humanity, the Imperium of Man, rules the galaxy, home to a million worlds and untold trillions of people. Guided by its divine Emperor, interred on the golden throne after being wounded by his most favour son, the Imperium is a force that seems unstoppable. Yet mankind’s great empire is beset on all side by aliens, traitors and, most fearful of all, the daemons of the warp. These creatures, existing in a realm not dissimilar to Oblivion, are the most deadly threat to all living things. Existing in the warp are the four Gods of Chaos, Khorne, blood of skulls, death and battle, Slaanesh, God of Debauchery, Nurgle, god of decay and disease and Tzeentch, the god of plots and cunning, the weaver of fates and destinies, playing the great game of existence with the skill of a grand master. Whether they are united or they are divided, the four gods of chaos plot, scheme and plan to destroy the material world and make it one with the warp, damning all living things to a nightmarish existence of eternal torment.

And to fight these foes are the mightiest of warriors. The Space Marines, the Adeptus Astartes, the greatest warriors ever to stride upon a battlefield. Made by the divine Emperor of Mankind, each Space Marine is genetically engineered to be stronger, faster and far longer lived by any ordinary man, and psycho-indoctrinated to know no fear. Wielding the most powerful weapons and armours humanity has available; the Space Marines form an impenetrable bulwark against the foes of man. And greatest among them are the Grey Knights, Humanity’s last line of defence against the denizens of the Warp. The military branch of the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition; the Grey Knights are clad in blessed adamantium and wield the fabled Nemesis force weapons. Each one of these holy warriors is able to fight and defeat an army single handed. And now, a company of these blessed warriors has been sent to combat the dread army of Askillarrat the Insane, a greater daemon of Tzeentch, and amongst them is the fabled Brother Captain Alicarius.

Grey Knight-Book One of the Liber Oblivionicus

Part 1-Daemons

Purple flames clawed the sky like the talons of some bizarre, reality defying monster. Buildings were consumed by its twisting blaze, it intense heat melting the rockcrete and steel that made them up, slumping them down into a thick syrupy liquid.

And in the flames, creatures charged forward. Twisting and dancing impossibly, Daemonettes, the alluring yet repellent servants of Slaanesh, made their way through the flames, giggling and singing sweetly. Next to them shambled the Plaguebearers. Corrupted hulks, with a single eye and a horn sprouting form their foreheads, they dripped with disease, buboes spilling pus and gashes in their stomach spilling thick, rubbery intestines. They carried huge, rusted blades, thick with rotten blood and the entrails of their foes, whilst flies buzzed about them, occasionally stopping on their host to feast on a small part of rotten flesh.

Next to them sprinted Bloodletters, murderous servants of Khorne. Their skin, coloured blood red, split and bled constantly, an unending tribute to their monstrous patron. They hefted great broadswords, roaring and screaming in their hatred.

And most bizarre of all were the daemons of Tzeentch.

To behold a creature of such madness and lack of logic was enough to drive most men insane. The cavorting and twisting monstrosities giggled with insane laughter as they advanced, flames crackling around them. Faces formed on their bodies, in any place they could, sometime even being held between their outstretched hands.

And against this horde of unholy death stood fifty of the Imperium’s finest warriors. Nemesis force weapons were activated, electricity crackling around the blessed halberds and claymores. Storm bolters, mounted on the wrists of suits of adamantium armour, were cocked and loaded. The Grey Knights were the only force that stood between the Daemons and the utter annihilation of the planet.

Brother-Captain Alicarius muttered the prayer of vengeance as he slammed the specially made magazine of bullets into his weapon. Around him, warriors murmured prayers to the God-Emperor as they prepared for battle, checking weaponry systems and getting into battle formation. Behind, he heard Brother Deacus attach a tank of prometheus into his incinerator, the highly volatile fuel having been blessed and mixed with holy oils to cause the most damage possible to their daemonic foes.

The warriors took up their battle positions, and allowed the auto-senses in their helms to pick their targets and display their range.

The Daemons thundered onwards, approaching faster than ever.

“Pick Targets!” shouteded Alicarius. “On my order…fire!”

Bolter shells ripped from the Grey Knight lines, the bullets detonating inside their targets, causing the daemons to be blasted apart.

Yet they continued.

The Daemons came within Incinerator range, and burning blue fuel was jettisoned onto the creatures, burning many of them to cinders. Their screams echoed across the battlefield.

Then the creatures were upon the Grey Knight lines.

Alicarius swung his halberd in an arc, slicing through a bloodletter, before spinning and planting it in the bloated, rotten belly of plaguebearer. He yanked his weapon upwards, sending an arc of rotten gore flying into the air, before it splattered onto his armour. It hissed as it contacted the blessed adamantium, the ichors reacting violently with the holy oils and unguents upon the armour.

Alicarius span and slashed with his brothers, slicing through the daemons, bellowing litanies and prayers and sending off bursts of bolter fire at point blank range into any Daemon foolish enough to get close enough.

Suddenly, he was slammed to the ground by something that looked like a mechanical rhinoceros made of reddened brass, ridden by a Bloodletter. A Bloodcrusher of Khorne-a dread knight of the Blood God. The rider’s massive obsidian sword made a swing for Alicarius’ head, but he jerked his neck back to avoid being decapitated. He raised his own weapon and slashed through his enemy and its mount. Gore and mechanical parts scattered around him, and Alicarius rolled to his feet, slamming his blade into a daemonette too slow to avoid him. Then he was wreathed in blue fire.

He stood his ground, his body battling against the flames’ physical assault and his mind fighting the sorcerous one attempting to consume his soul. He took a step forwards, then another, constantly pushing against the power of the flames, to be confronted with the most bizarre creature possible.

Its body was shifting mass of purple-blue flames, while screaming maws that belched fire twisted and writhed around its body. Alicarius’ halberd slice through it, and it disappeared in a cloud of glittering blue smoke.

He turned as his hyper-enhanced senses picked up the sound of someone moving behind him. He span, storm bolter raised, to see a monstrous creature born of man’s worst nightmares. Similar to some massive, bipedal vulture, the creature’s multicoloured feathers flickered and twitched madly. In one of its clawed hands it held a staff, crackling with sorcerous power.

It was a Lord of Change, a greater daemon of Tzeentch and most powerful of his servants.

Alicarius let of a burst of fire with his storm bolter, the weapon’s immense recoil dampened by the servos contained within his armour, but it was to no avail. Even with the innumerable blessing laid upon them, the explosive bullets could not penetrate the shield of magical power that guarded the daemon. Hefting his halberd, he charged.

His first blow was blocked by the daemon’s staff, but Alicarius could see that its daemonic creature within it was struggling to repulse the holy power of his weapon. He span, allowing his momentum to carry him away from the daemon, before his weapon sliced through the monster’s ankle.

At least, it would have done.

With a boom of air being suddenly misplaced, the daemon disappeared, and reappeared to his left instantaneously.

“Very good, captain!” it roared over din, its beak clacking with every word. “But you won’t kill me that easily.

It leapt forward, attempting to crush him with its taloned feet, but Alicarius had expected this and simply dodged out of the way. He turned, just in time to block the daemon’s descending staff. It withdrew, only to strike again, but Alicarius parried it before charging forward, allowing his weight and momentum to plough him into the monstrous bird-creature. It reacted too slowly, and roared with pain as the sigils and wards upon Alicarius’s shoulder guard touched its skin, burning and blackening it. In return, it sent a blast of warp fuelled lightning towards him, but the same psychic shields that had just hurt it so stopped the attack.

“You cannot beat me,” it shouted. “No-one can beat me!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure!” he shouted.

The daemon raised a multicoloured eyebrow.

“Behind you,” Alicarius murmured.

The daemon turned, cautiously keeping an eye on him to ensure against a surprise attack. Then it saw two grey knights carrying incinerators behind it. It didn’t have time to dodge before burning promethium, mixed with blessed oils and unguents, was pumped directly onto it.

It jerked and spasmed as the hyper-volatile fuel gushed over it, and fell to the floor, writhing in agony. The burning hot assault abated suddenly, and Alicarius nodded his thanks to his two battle-brothers.

“I said you shouldn’t be so sure,” he said, as he walked over to the daemon, his blade raised and readied to deliver the killing blow.

“Neither should you,” the deamon riposted, its beak splitting in a perverse mirror of a grin. A barrier of warp fuelled lightning formed around them, crackling and twisting madly. Alicarius tried to back away, but the lightning would not let him pass, at least, not let him pass without burning him to a crisp.

The light shone brightly over them, dazzling Alicarius even through his helmet’s filters, and the only noise louder than the crackling was the daemon’s laughter.

“You’re coming with me now!” he roared. “I’ll torture your soul for eternity!”

“Never!” Alicarius roared back.

As the warp and reality began to merge around him in the tiny, self contained space, Alicarius did the only thing he could. He turned, sprinted, and plunged his blade into the daemon’s feathered breast, killing both its physical form and the essence of it soul.

And around him, reality shattered in a flash of light, sucking him into the warp.

This post has been edited by The Bean: Feb 22 2009, 04:37 PM

[Colonel Mustard]

Alright here's the next part-I've changed the rank of Bittneld a bit, as I've always imagined the watch and the legion to be closely linked.

Part 4-Chorrol

In Imperial scales, Chorrol would barely be classed as a hamlet, especially in comparison to the vast hive cities that housed billions of the Imperium’s citizens in both mires of poverty and unimaginable wealth. Yet judging by the pride that Serrio spoke of the settlement, Alicarius guessed that it must, in relative terms at least, be a sizable city.

He assessed the town, identifying its strength and weaknesses. For a start, the town’s walls were dotted with towers that allowed them a large field of vision to spot attackers approaching from all sides, while in the centre of the town was a large castle, placed well away from the town’s main gate. That was clever-any attackers would have to fight their way through the streets before finally reaching the castle, where they would have to battle through solid walls before reaching a second layer. Whoever had designed the town obviously knew how to fight a siege.

“So what exactly do the Legion do here?” he asked Serrio. He had considered his options available to him, and had come to the conclusion that he would be able to, at the very least, discover more about this world and lend his experience of fighting Chaos to the cause of eradicating this cult. And with three centuries of combat experience under his belt, he had a feeling that he would be easily accepted into their ranks.

“What do they do? All sorts, really,” Serrio said. “My men and I usually deal with daedric cultists, but your average Legionnaire hunts down bandits and smugglers, and, should the worst come to the worst, rally to defend the Empire from invading armies. Of course if you wanted to join, there would probably have to be a few minor uniform issues, but they’re fairly flexible about what weapons and armour you use if you’re in a higher rank. Of course, you’d have to adopt our heraldry.”

Alicarius gave a low growl, causing Serrio to jump slightly.

“You would have me deface the thrice honoured heraldry of my chapter?” he asked, every word dripping with menace.

“No, no,” Serrio said hurriedly. “Just adopt the Legion garrison’s heraldry, that’s all. You can keep your chapter’s heraldry. What is a chapter anyway?”

“The space marines are divided into warrior-brotherhoods a thousand strong, called chapter,” Alicarius said. “Each one functions as an individual army with its own specific tactics, heraldry and organisation. It means that if one betrays the Imperium then it will not drag many other loyal marines down with it.”

Serrio nodded.

“We’ve arrived,” he said as they reached the town’s gates. He drew back his fist and knocked heavily on the thick wood. A slit was drawn back from within, and a pair of eyes peered out.

“Captain Serrio Annos reporting,” Serrio said. “We’re back, and we’ve got a guest.”

The gates were pulled back with a creak of old wood and metal, and the two guards at the gate gaped in awe as they saw Alicarius’ mighty form walk through. As the soldiers made their way through the town, they drew more stares and wide-eyed looks. Alicarius wasn’t surprised by this-after all, it wasn’t every day that an eight foot tall man dressed in shining armour walked through your town.

He noted, with a feeling of distaste, that there were more Eldar present, as well as Orks, which were, surprisingly, not trying to kill anyone, and even a strange hybrid of a cat and a human. Alicarius clenched his fist-not only did these people consort with xenos, but also mutants, the lowest form of humanity. As much as he wished to destroy this world, he still found it bitterly ironic that its saviour would, in all likelihood, be leading the Imperial force to burn this place to ashes.

They reached the castle, and without waiting for a gatekeeper, Alcarius simply pushed the heavy doors open, his superhuman muscles barely straining.

Instead of heading into the main hall, as Alicarius expected them to, the soldiers took a left and into a small stone outbuilding, no doubt the barracks. Sitting inside, at an old wooden desk, was a man who Alicarius instinctively knew was a desk sergeant. Judging by his grizzled appearance and grey hair, the man had most likely been given the job as some way for him to finish of his work in relative comfort. He looked up to see who it was, and his eyes, like those of almost everyone else who had seen him that day, widened.

“Who is this, captain?” he asked.

“Recruit, sergeant,” Serrio replied smartly. “Wishes to serve his majesty Uriel Septim in the legion.”

“He does, does he,” the sergeant said. “Very well. Tell me sir, what is your name?”

“Alicarius Justinian,” Alicarius replied smartly. “Of the Grey Knights.”

The desk sergeant found a sheet of paper from the many draws in his counter and scribbled the name down.

“Previous military experience?”

“I have fought in the Emperor’s name for over three centuries,” Alicarius answered. “I have battled in snowstorms, in jungles, in deserts and in swamps and never once have I retreated, however heavy the opposition of the enemy.”

“All very well and good,” the sergeant said. “But I’ll need some proof of this.”

“He killed thirty people in less than five minutes,” Serrio answered, sparking a low whistle from the sergeant, who began frantically scribbling this down, as well as a few more pieces of writing in other parts of the form. The man viewed it critically.

“There’s a problem with this, I’m afraid,” he said eventually.

“How is there a problem?” Serrio asked. “He’s qualified. He’s bloody well overqualified.”

“You hit the nail on the head captain,” the desk sergeant replied. “We should probably ask the commander.”

Serrio rolled his eyes but ordered one of his men to go find him. After a short while, the soldier returned, followed by a thickset man in a blue cuirass, with the sigil of an oak tree upon it.

“Commander Bittneld,” Serrio said, pulling of a smart salute.

Alicarius almost immediately felt a feeling of great respect for the man. He was obviously a veteran soldier, and despite his age he was obviously in good physical shape. Bittneld eyed up Alicarius with a look that immediately assessed him all over, before speaking.

“So,” he said. “You’re our visiting giant then?”

Alicarius nodded as the man picked up the desk sergeant’s notes.

“Impressive,” he said eventually. “Three hundred years you say. Any elf blood in you?”

Alicarius shook his head, guessing that elf was the local term for the Eldar that inhabited this world.

“Hmm,” Bittneld said. “So if you’re such a mighty warrior, how come we’ve never heard of you? After all, someone your size wearing armour like yours would be pretty hard to miss.”

“I only just arrived here,” Alicarius said.

“Where from?”

“Somewhere a long way away from here. Another empire, in fact.”

At this Bittneld raised an eyebrow.

“You mean there is someplace over the sea?” he asked. “And I take it all their warriors are like you. If that’s the case, then we’re obviously dead meat.”

Alicarius shook his head.

“I don’t know about other empires,” he said. “I come from Titan, a world a long way from here.”

At this the captain laughed.
“Are you joking?” he said. “Another world. And you expect me to believe that because…”

“Because I doubt that any smith here could make armour like mine,” Alicarius replied, removing one of his gauntlets and handing it to Bittneld, who staggered under its weight. “Put it on.” Normally Alicarius would have baulked against anyone but a fellow space marine wearing his armour, but he had a point to prove.

The captain slipped the gauntlet on, and experimentally flexed his fingers, listening to the whine of the small servos as they helped them along. He took it off and peered inside, before handing it back.

“That’s pretty far fetched,” he said. “But I’ve heard madder stories, and I believe you.”

“Thank you,” Alicarius replied, placing the heavy piece of armour back upon his wrist.

“Alright then,” Bittneld said. “I hereby consent to your joining of the Emperor’s legion, with an immediate promotion to captain. You will serve Emperor Uriel Septim until the day that you can no longer fight or the day you day, and then you will be rewarded with a home to go to and a pension to support you. You will fight, and you may die, but you will serve him only. Repeat this pledge to His Majesty after me, if you will.”

The captain said the pledge, which Alicarius repeated.

“Good,” Bittneld said. “Captain Justinian, you are dismissed. Report to me tomorrow morning to be assigned duties and a squad of men. That is all.”

Bittneld saluted, and Alicarius mimicked the action, before leaving.

“Well,” Serrio said. “Someone seems to have good career prospects.”

This post has been edited by The Bean: Nov 25 2008, 08:24 PM