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]

Part 7-The Emperor

“Another drink Wrennis?” Mara asked. The young man looked up from the book he was studying to regard the innkeeper.

“No thank you,” he said. “It’ll go straight to my head.”

He gave a quiet, awkward laugh, and a nervous smile.

“Alright then,” Mara replied, turning to leave. “Just ask if you need something.”

Wrennis returned to his book, absent mindedly removing his glasses for a moment to polish them. It was a manual of bowcraft, not that he needed it after his years of training, but as his great mentor had said, ‘you never know when you’ll find out something new.’ And his mentor, in his immortal wisdom, had never yet been wrong.

Wrennis was the last person you would expect to be a killer, except, perhaps, if you were exceptionally paranoid. He was stick thin, his hair stuck out at awkward angles and he got nervous easily. But underneath the gangly frame were bands of pure sinew able to pull back the largest bows, and beneath the nervousness was the cold, hard, calculating mind of a murderer.

And tomorrow, Wrennis was going to kill the Emperor.

#

“He’s coming! The Emperor is coming!”

The cry spread though the town as rapidly as wildfire, people scrambling to line the route to the castle that the parade was going to take. Legionnaires formed lines outside the gates, ready a form an honour guard for their liege. At their head was Alicarius.

He looked, to say the least, utterly magnificent. His armour gleamed, the result of hours of polishing, the sunlight catching its burning silver and making it shine all the brighter. On his left pauldron, the symbol of the Grey Knights, as book with a sword through the centre, representing the power of knowledge as a weapon, shone resplendently in the centre, while on the right was the white tree of Chorrol, gleaming under varnish and with fresh paint. He wore a deep cloak of navy blue over the back of his armour’s collar and power-pack, embroidered with the town’s oak. He had removed his helmet, allowing all to see his craggy and scarred face.

The face of a hero.

“Parade!” he yelled to the assembled soldiers as the Emperor’s procession approached. “Parade…’shun!”

With a single thump, the men stood to attention, their armour clanking as their boots slammed into the ground.

Alicarius glanced down the road quickly, and saw a magnificent open topped carriage approaching. With his enhanced eyesight, he could make out the Emperor, dressed in regal blue robes with a thick fur collar and a modest circlet holding a red ruby.

So this was their Uriel Septim? Alicarius had seen worse rulers.

“Parade first detachment, forward!” he called out. One of half of the parade stepped forwards onto the road, before stopping. “Parade first detachment, right turn!”

As one man, the soldiers turned, their boots thudding loudly into the ground. As the Emperor and his retinue passed through the gates, he gave his next order.

“Parade first detachment, by the right…quick, march!”

As the first bodyguards passed through the gates, the legionnaires and watchmen forming Chorrol’s garrison began to march. At their head, a group of drummers started up a beat. The sound of dozens of boots hitting the ground was enough to make the ground shake so hard that Alicarius could feel in through his boots.

He smiled-today was a good day to be a soldier.

#

Today was a good day to be an assassin.

Wrennis pulled the bow back towards his shoulder, squinting down the haft of his arrow in concentration. He had discovered his useless glasses, and the nervous, awkward young man was gone, replaced by the true killer within.

He would only have one shot.

He sighted down the bow, and murmuring a prayer to his lord, released the string, and let the arrow fly.

#

The flight of wood thudded into the side of the Emperor’s carriage, burying itself deep enough into the wood to protrude out of the other side.

People saw the arrow and screamed, on verge of panic. Someone had tried to kill the Emperor, and the killer could be anywhere.

Alicarius didn’t. He glanced at the arrow buried in the carriage’s wood, which the Emperor had flinched away from, and looked the way it had travelled.

There!

He caught sight of a figure crouching in the shadows on top of one of the towers, a bow clutched in its hands. Alicarius thundered forwards, shoving anyone aside and letting the crowd, already frightened by the arrow, scatter around him.

He reached the base of the tower in moments, and smashed the door aside in a shower of splinters. It was dark, but he paid it no heed as he thundered up the stairs, demolishing any doors that got in his way. He reached the top and threw open the trapdoor, emerging into the sunlight, and ready to utterly annihilate the would-be assassin.

Then an arrow slammed into his eye.

Alicarius staggered under the force of it, blood pouring from the wound, before the Larriman organ implanted in his body caused the blood to congeal around the wound, while his armour automatically injected painkillers into his system. His eye screwed up over the sudden wound, and trying to ignore the pain of the arrow skewering his eyeball.

With his good eye he saw the assassin quite calmly notch another shaft to his bow, pull back and take aim. And then Alicarius surprised the killer.

He thundered forwards and grabbed the man’s collar, snapping the bones and causing him to scream in pain.

Alicarius cast the man aside, causing him to yell in pain.

“Who sent you?” he asked, already half knowing the answer.

“The dawn sent me!” the man replied, laughing. He pulled himself away from the astarte, grinning madly. “The dawn is breaking.”

He raised himself up feebly to stand at the edge of the parapet, murmured some strange words, and threw himself off the tower.

Alicarius heard the crunch, and then realised something.

The crowd was still in a state of complete terror.

Alicarius saw why-a group of red clad figures, dressed in archaic, ornate armour, were locked in combat with the legion soldiers and the Emperor’s bodyguards. They were outnumbered, but they had the element of surprise and their furious assault meant they were cutting through the legion soldiers with ease, simply sweeping them aside in their bid to reach Uriel Septim.

Alicarius sped back down the tower’s stairs and onto the street, to be stopped by a massive figure in his way. The daedroth snarled and lashed out at him, but the Grey Knight ducked under the slow, clumsy blow and delivered a punch powerful enough to shatter steel to the creature’s chest. It stumbled back beneath the blow, and Alicarius bought his halberd to bear and swiped at the creature, decapitating it.

He assessed the situation as he charged towards the assassins, and saw how one had broken through the guards and was about to strike the Emperor, who had drawn a dagger and made a clumsy swing at the man.

Alicarius hefted his halberd and threw it like a javelin.

For a moment, it seemed to hang in the air before slamming into the assassin’s chest and sending him tumbling to the ground. Alicarius thundered on, smashing aside another assassin with a blow to the chest, crumpling the man’s armour and his ribs. He reached the Emperor a moment later, as the last of the Mythic Dawn assassins were eliminated by the Legionnaires and bodyguards.

The old man, quaking with fear and shock, regarded the Space Marine before him, his armour coated in dust, the side of his face sticky with blood and an arrow protruding from his eye.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’ve been worse,” Alicarius said. “But if you’ll excuse me, I need to find a healer.”