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 the next part. Even if I say so myself, it's damn good.

Part 27-Blood and ice

The army marched for a week. Normally Alicarius could have made the journey over a few days, but they had to stick to the longer route on the roads and moving large numbers of people quickly was never going to be easy.

He had chosen their battleground, making it clear to the Nord army that they intended to challenge them. It was a a hill, a few miles south of Bruma and on a hill leading down to a valley, forcing the army of Nord warriors to fight uphill, and on a snow covered, icy slope to boot.

Alicarius had already sent a detachment of foresters, led by Karros, around the wooded edges of the valley to halt any flanking forces, and should the opportunity arise, to do a little flanking themselves.

The army had to wait only two days for the Nord force, responding to the threat after celebrating their annexation of Bruma, made it's way towards them. Alicarius had had the men stay in positions through the entire time they were there, ready to get to position quickly should the Nord army arrive.

There were one hell of a lot of them, Alicarius considered as he saw the thousand strong host of Jsashe, Prophetess of Lorkhan. He could see the woman at the forefront of the army with the aid of his helmet's lenses. She stood on a bone white chariot, drawn by a pair of ice white horses. A shock of graying red hair flowed down her back, and Alicarius could see the enchantments glittering on her spear even from his position on the other side of the valley.

So this was the witch that was causing Cyroddil so much trouble, Alicarius thought. He could take her.

He stepped forwards from the assembled ranks of Chorrol's army, and turned to face them.

“Men!” he called. “Today is history. Today is the day that we, but three hundred men, stand against a horde intent on the destruction of our land. They wish to enslave our wives and our children, to squash the world under their heel and rule it. And I say that they shall not! Some of you may think that by being here, by fighting under the banner of Chorrol, you are betraying you home nation. I tell you now, that you are not. It does not matter whether you are man, mer, orc or beast man. You are soldiers, and all soldiers are one people, no matter who they fight for and where they come from. We are the men of Chorrol, and we will be victorious!”

He raised his halberd in the air, inciting a roar from Chorrol's lines.

“All I ask of you is that you hold the line,” Alicarius said. Whatever happens, we will hold the line. We have with us weapons of unparalleled power, and with them, we will hold the line. With them, we will have victory. With them, we will show all potential tyrants and oppressors that we will not stand idle while they live. The Empire will rise again, and it will bring with it an age of peace and prosperity. We are needed here today to bring this age with us. Now, FIRE!”

He dropped to the ground as the soldiers behind him raised their weapons.

They were, to but simply, muskets, but designed from the top down, as opposed to the bottom up. The projectile, a bullet shaped lump of solid lead, was loaded into a simple chamber within the gun. Instead of gunpowder, pulling the trigger sparked a localised blast of channelled magical fire within the chamber, stopping the fatal misfires that plagued the gunpowder models and sending the bullet on its way far faster. And as there was no shell being ejected, the chance of a misfire was drastically reduced. With training, a soldier could fire off two bullets within five seconds of eachother.

A wall of white hot lead flew over Alicairus, smashing into the Nord lines, and even, Alicarius noted with some satisfaction, damaging Jsashe's chariot. She hadn't finished her speech, and though some unwritten law of warfare dictated that both leaders had to, Alicarius hadn't become a captain of the Grey Knights by playing fair-after all, daemons never did.

Dozens of men fell, screaming as the bullets pulped their innards and sprayed gouts of blood into the air. Jsashe, most likely protected by magical shields, scrambled to her feet and began to yell furious orders to her captains. Within moments, the Nords began to charge.

Another volley blasted from the Imperial lines, then another, more and more men falling, but the Nords kept advancing. It was their infamous battle rage, one that had turned the tide of battle in their favour many, many times. His initial plan of breaking the Nord army through using the muskets had failed. But like any genius, Alicarius had a plan b.

He grabbed something from his belt, a long, thin tube, and pulled the string at the end free. The fire spell contained within blasted itself free in a phosphorous white glare, rising like a second sun.

That was Karros' signal.

As one, soldiers wearing lightly armoured leather suits, coated in greenery, rose from the bushes and let forth a volley of fire from their own muskets. But behind them, a massive trebuchet was pulled up, it's premade parts slotting together perfectly. Within a moment, it was primed to fire.

It did so, sending a massive payload of kegs, each filled with explosive chemicals, into the Nords. The blast was powerful enough to completely immolate anything at its centre, sending body parts and screaming, burning men flying for more than a hundred metres in any direction.

Another booming volley was fired from the Imperial lines as the trebuchet was primed to fire again, and Alicarius gave his orders.

“SHIELD WALL! NOW!”

The men did so, Alicarius getting his own one, a massive thing easily two metres in diameter, up and locking it next the man next to him. He raised his halberd over the top as the other men beside him drew their swords. The rank behind them raised their own muskets up bayonets fixed, forming an impenetrable wall of steel.

The Nord forces reached the bottom of the valley, the frontrunners lucky enough to still be alive already beginning to scramble up the hill on the Imperial side.

“WEDGE, ADVANCE!” Alicarius roared.

With him at it's head, the shield was began to advance, the edges tailing to form the brutally effective wedge shape. It advanced slowly, down the hill, building up a rumbling momentum as it reached the Nord lines.

It went through them like Alicarius's halberd would go through butter. Every soldier fought with mechanical precision, perfectly drilled in a tactic that rarely failed. If one of the Chorrol soldiers was killed, his comrade would abandon his musket, take his own sword and shield and plug the gap. Meanwhile, the trebuchet sent load after load of explosives into the Nord ranks, the explosions causing more damage.

Already, the Skryim army was beginning to break, men running in fear rather than face the relentless advance of the wedge. The few desertions soon turned into a full blown retreat, men running to the top of the hill, but staying there.

It wasn't a retreat, Alicarius realised with shock. It was a withdrawl. But why? What could they possibly gain by falling back, except for the high ground. And charging a wedge was suicide.

A chant came up from the Nord lines, men roaring the same word over and over.

“Grund! Grund! Grund! Grund!”

And from the centre of the Nord lines, a massive humanoid shape rose up, released from chains that jangled against its monstrous from, one that dwarfed even the largest trees around them. An arm coated in massive muscles held a club that was simply a tree trunk that been ripped from the ground and stripped of it's branches. With a shock, Alicarius realised what Grund was.

A giant.