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]

And some more!

Part 18-Bows

It was still early in the morning, his brain requiring only a few hours rest whilst in hypersleep, and so, after going through the routine of stretches he had been taught by his chapter, ones to prime his muscles for a day's training, Alicarius resolved to go for a short walk.

Alicarius usually went on these after he had woken up, and the sight of him quietly padding around the town in the small hours of the morning had become a fairly common one. He had apprehended more than one surprised thief who hadn't realised that he would be roaming around the town at that time. Today, however, he decided that he would take a look in the castle that was to become his home.

He headed through the doors of the barracks, past the desk sergeant’s empty desk, and into the courtyard, taking a deep breath of the fresh morning air. There was a small part of him that loved this time of the day, the time where it seemed that no-one in the world but him was awake.

His walk through the castle lasted for about an hour or so, him occasionally startling a sleepy guard, before he found himself at the bottom of the north tower. Once it had held a siege weapon, but recently it had been converted to house the carrier pigeons that had become the popular way to send messages around the Empire. He walked up the stairs, ignoring the cold of the stone upon his feet, and into the loft. A few pigeons gave a sleepy coo from their cages as he entered, but most carried on slumbering. One of the more inquisitive ones, the plate beneath its cage saying 'Carius-for the Imperial City' hopped off its perch to give Alicarius a closer inspection, but decided that he wasn't terribly interesting and settled back down to get some sleep.

Alicarius sat on the edge of the large window that allowed the pigeons entry and watched the sun rise over the tips of the trees. Over to the north, Alicarius could make out the vague shape of the Skyrim Mountains, and the vague shape of what could be a bird approaching.

He watched it for a little while longer, and as it drew closer, realised it was another messenger pigeon. As it got close, he held out his arm, a finger extended, and obediently the pigeon landed upon it.

“Good morning,” Alicarius said quietly to the bird, running a finger gently along the top of its head and its back. “Where have you come from then?”

He saw the small tube attached to the pigeon's leg and gently detached it, and noted that it was marked 'Alicarius Justinian.' He pocketed the message tube, and reached inside a sack, holding out a handful of seeds, which the bird pecked at gratefully. Alicarius opened an empty cage, one reserved for visiting pigeons, and placed the carrier bird within.

Heading back down the stairs, he wondered idly what the message was about, and when he reached the bottom, pulled out the wax seal, pulling out a thin slip of parchment.

He read the message, before sighing and placing it back in its tube. Yet another request that required him to be away from his duties in Chorrol. If this carried on he would have to give Serrio the job of commander just so he could all these things done.

He headed down to the armoury, and into the training hall. Usually it was bustling with activity-legionnaires brushing up on their sword or bow skills, but now it was empty. Looking for something to do, Alicarius took a longbow that was held on a rack and handful of arrows.

He stood down at the end of the archery range, and pulled back the string. He hadn't used a bow before, but with ammunition being such a problem there was no way he could use his storm bolter, and it looked fairly easy nonetheless. Sighting along the arrow, Alicarius took careful aim and then let the arrow loose. It landed with a heavy thunk in the straw target.

He took a look at the arrow's position on the third ring from the centre, not a bad shot considering that this was the first time he had used a bow, then nocked another arrow.

He practiced for a few hours, his arrows getting closer and closer to the centre, before he had the feeling he was being watched. He turned to see who it was, before recognising Karros, a grizzled old veteran. The old man was an expert with the longbow, though his age meant that he could no longer pull back the string.

“You used a bow before?” Karros asked through his bushy, iron grey beard.

Alicarius shook his head.

“Never have before,” he replied.

“Then I'm impressed, commander,” he said. “The bow's a difficult weapon to use, and you use it damn well.”

“My thanks,” Alicarius said. “I was wondering who that one belonged to. I wouldn't mind giving it a try myself.”

He pointed to massive bow, the size of a small man, hanging on the wall. Karros gave him an odd look of surprise, one that seemed to be asking Alicarius if he was mad.

“That bow belonged to Odjiss Greatbow,” he said.

“Odjiss Greatbow?” Alicarius asked. “There's no-one here under that name.”

Karros shook his head and laughed.

“Odjiss Greatbow was a nord who used to be in the garrison here,” he said. “Huge man-some said he had giant blood in him, and I wouldn't doubt that to be true. That was his bow, so huge and thick that only he could string it. I tried it myself, and I know a few tricks when it comes to stringing bows, but even I couldn't. We keep it in his memory now-and to teach any uppity young recruits about a lesson about a real bowmaster.”

Alicarius took the bow reverently down from the wall, inspecting it carefully.

“What happened to Odjiss then?” he asked conversationally, before walking over to a shelf where spare bowstrings were kept and picking the longest he could find.

“He was killed a few years ago by a minotaur chieftain,” Karros said. “Odjiss managed to wrestle it to the ground and kill it, but he died from his wounds afterwards-a great loss for the Legion, if you ask me. Don't tell me you're going to try to string it yourself?”

“Worth a try,”Alicarius replied. He had watched it being done dozens of times by other soldiers, and knew the theory well enough.

He wound the string around the top end of the bow and tied it-that part was easy enough, then carefully pushed the bow down, much to the amazement of Karros. With one arm keeping the bow bent, Alicarius crouched down, and wrapped the bowstring around the other end, before tying his second knot.

“In all my years, I never thought I'd see another man string Odjiss' bow,” Karros murmured in quiet awe as Alicarius stood. Alicarius just smiled.

“Do you still have its arrows?” he asked. “I wouldn't mind if I did a bit of practising with this.”

“He used javelins,” Karros said. “There weren't any arrows big enough for it.”

Alicarius took one of the shorter spears from a rack, nocked it against the string the best he could, and took aim.

The arrow hit the centre of the target so hard that it knocked it over.

Karros began to clap.

“That was the most amazing sight I've ever seen,” he said. “Keep that bow-I'm sure that Odjiss would be proud to let someone like you keep it.”

“It would be an honour,” Alicarius said.

“You make legends wherever you go, don't you?” Karros said. “I heard Serrio talk about the mess you made of those cultists, then the army of orcs, then all these Hero of Kvatch rumours and now this. Before long you're going to find yourself the hero of some bard's tales.”

“Can't say I'd mind that myself,” Alicarius said. “Now come on, let's get some breakfast.”

#

“So you really did manage to string Odjiss' bow?” Serrio asked, as he sat down next to Alicarius in Castle Chorrol's mess hall. “Or is that just a load of rubbish that's been spread around by some overexcited recruit.”

“It's true,” Alicarius said. “Just ask Karros. Or go and look at the target pinned to the wall by a spear.”

Karros was, at that moment, talking to a group of the legion's foresters who were soon to go on patrol. There were a few glances over in his direction during the conversation.

“Blimey,” Serrio murmured. “Any other adventures you've been getting up to while everyone else was asleep? Slain a few dragons, perhaps?”

Alicarius couldn't help but notice a note of bitterness in Serrio's voice. No doubt, the captain secretly resented Alicarius getting the promotion to commander, and the amount of fame he was earning so quickly.

“I got sent a message via pigeon this morning,” Alicarius said. He passed Serrio the slip of paper, and he read it.

“Emergency meeting needing representatives from all the provinces, eh?” he asked. “So you're going to be dragged off to the Imperial City to represent the Legion there? No doubt they just want to show off the Hero of Kvatch to all the other representatives there. A sort of 'mess with us and we'll set him on you,' sort of thing, probably.”

“Well, I was there when the Emperor was assassinated too,” Alicarius pointed out. “No doubt they'll want to know about that.”

“Well, I guess it'll be another week of disputed orders for me again,” Serrio said regretfully. “Still, if you've got a week before the meeting, can you at least sort it out so that I actually have your authority while you're gone-otherwise I'll probably have a full scale mutiny on my hands. I do not want a repeat of last week.”

“I'll get it sorted out as soon as possible,” Alicarius said. “I've got to say though, if I have to leave Chorrol many more times then I might as well put you in charge permanently and leave.”

Serrio shook his head.

“The Legion won't let you go too easily,” he said. “You're their golden boy, after all-the Hero of Kvatch, the stringer of Odjiss' bow, and all that. There's no way you're leaving any time soon.”

Alicarius sighed.

“Politics,” he muttered. “Leave me out of it.”