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 more. Because I thought I'd jump on the class war bandwagon

Part 30-Lord Commander

Alicarius returned to Cloud Ruler Temple with the heretic's book of sorcery tucked inside the bag he carried whenever he was on a journey. Initially it had only held supplies for the battle but there was enough space to stow the book in it.

Alicarius took almost the exact route he had taken last time, deviating only slightly. After two days of travelling, he reached the souther gates of Bruma. The city had been left intact from the nord invasion and as Alicarius travelled through it he noted many resentful glances were cast in his direction. Obviously the nords that made up Skyrim's population had supported Jsashe's invasion and blamed him for her defeat, but Alicarius had more pressing issues to worry about than a few angry nords.

The walk through the town was a short one, and Alicarius reached the imposing fortress of Cloud Ruler Temple in no short order. The gates swung open as soon as the sentries saw Alicarius coming, the massive iron hinges creaking gently under the weight of the huge doors.

Alicarius made his way up the stone steps (which he observed would be an excellent chokepoint for enemy forces) and into the fortress' main hall.

He hadn't seen the inside of Cloud Ruler Temple's massive hall, and stood for a moment in the doorway, quietly observing the layout of the pillared hall. Various wooden tables had peen pushed against the edges and at one of them was Martin, engrossed in various books.

“Martin!” Alicarius called across the hall. “I see you are well.”

The prospective Emperor glanced up from his books and called a greeting to Alicarius.

“Are you well?” Alicarius asked.

“I am fine,” Martin said. “But Jauffre worries like a mother hen sometimes.”

“You're valuable,” Alicarius replied. “If we lose you then we've lost the war.”

“I suppose,” Martin said. “But it is dull at times. All I have are these books and the Blades to keep me company. You can't talk with books and most of the soldiers here are too concerned with following conduct for a conversation.”

“It's dull, I know,” Alicarius said. “But as I said, it's necessary.”

“I know,” Martin said. “But I just feel like I'm not doing anything to help.”

“I do have something that you could put your mind to,” Alicarius said. He pulled the heavy grey book that he had taken from the cultist's cave and placed it on the table. “I found this at the cave. It may help us locate the amulet.”

“What, you didn't find it?” Martin asked.

“No,” Alicarius replied. “Their leader, Mankar Camoran, escaped through a portal with it before I could retrieve it.”

“Paradise?” Martin murmured.

“What?” Alicarius asked.

“Paradise,” Martin said. “It's a small part of Oblivion that Mankar Camoran uses as his own personal domain. We'd need to get there somehow if we wanted to recover the amulet. And that book may be the key.”

“Do you know if anybody could find out how?” Alicarius asked.

“I can translate it,” Martin said.

Alicarius gave a frown of displeasure at the thought of their only hope of victory against the daedra risking corruption by reading the lies contained in the book, but he knew that he would have to take the risk if he wanted to stop Mehrunes Dagon.

“Do your best,” Alicarius said.

“Oh, before you leave, we got this message from your second in command,” Martin said, holding up a small square of parchment.

It simply said;

Alicarius

Get back to Chorrol now.

Serrio

“I'd best be going then,” Alicarius said. “Send my regards to Jauffre, and tell him if he needs any help I'm ready to lend a hand.”

He needed to get back soon. The note, though only seven words long, seemed to radiate annoyance.

#

Alicarius trekked back to Chorrol as quickly as he could, stopping off at an inn on the way back and earning himself a free night's board for scaring a band of bandits off. He reached his city at around midday. The sun was shining in a cloudless sky and the city looked magnificent as it was bathed in the shine.

Alicarius headed through the gates and towards the castle, with a few of the citizens cheering the 'Hero of Kvatch' as he passed. When he reached the castle, the soldiers guarding its gates saluted him.

“You'd best head in, sir,” one of them said, his tone of voice suggesting that there was something extremely distasteful on the other side.

Alicarius headed through the courtyard of the castle, and into the barrack's main room, where Alicarius and his captains had, just two weeks ago, drawn up plans to counter Skyrim's invading force.

“I see that you have finally decided to grace us with your presence, commander,” a voice, filled with righteous, yet well disguised, upper class indignation said. Alicarius saw a man dressed in the silver armour of the Imperial Legion's highest ranking officers. With a start, he realised that the man's rank badge, a dragon above a golden crown, signified him as the lord commander of the Legion, Hentius Annit.

“My lord,” Alicarius said, saluting. This had to be bad news. “What brings you to my city?”

“You know very well, commander Justinian,” Hentius snapped.

“I am afraid I'm not sure, my lord,” Alicarius replied blithely. “There could be all number of things you wished to visit me about.”

“Skyrim, that's what the problem is,” Hentius fumed. “You took the entire damn garrison out of Chorrol without so much as a by your leave.”

“There's never been a problem with me taking troops out before,” Alicarius said, still calm.

“Bandits and ogres are one thing, commander Justinian, but three hundred men is quite another,” Hentius snapped. The man had become so red in the face that Alicarius was slightly worried that he would burst a blood vessel. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was acting against a threat to my city,” Alicarius said. “I didn't know there was a problem with doing so.”

“The solution to the Skyrim problem was still being debated by the Elder Council,” Hentius said. “It was a complex diplomatic situation.”

“Complex?” Alicarius asked. He let his even tone slip, a hint of derision slipping in. “What is so complex about it? A damn army had invaded Cyrodiilic territory, and I was doing my duty to the Empire and the Legion and protecting that. Perhaps you had forgotten the Legionnaire's Oath when you said that just now.”

There was a collective murmur of concern from the staff that had accompanied Hentius. Amongst the legion, that was one of the gravest insults a man could give. The Lord Commander bristled when he heard the insult, his moustache wobbling with righteous outrage.

“What are you suggesting?” he asked.

“I think you know very well,” Alicarius said, anger beginning to show itself in his voice. Suddenly cowed, Hentius stepped back. “You accuse me of not following my duties? Every word you have said since I have arrived has stunk of hypocrisy. You ask me if I have not done my duty, when you should be asking yourself that same question. You do not sit back and allow diplomats to negotiate bit of your country away, do you hear me? You do the courageous thing, you do the honourable thing, you do the Imperial thing and you take the fight to the enemy!”

By the end he was shouting. There was a stony silence.

“Hentius Annuit,” Alicarius said, lowering his voice but still allowing the threatening tone to just show. “With the authority invested in me by the Emperor of Tamriel, I charge you with cowardice and treason. You have disgraced the name of the Imperial Legion, and of the Empire. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Hentius simply spluttered with outrage at the sudden turn of events.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Alicarius growled again.

“I...you...you can't do this!” Hentius blustered.

“On the contrary,” Alicarius replied. “I think you'll find I can. Rule number seventeen of the Imperial Legion Doctrines states explicitly that a garrison commander may dismiss any member of the Imperial Legion who has been found wanting in the execution of his or her duties.”

“What?” Hentius asked. “He can't do this, tell him Varvur.”

The man he addressed, a dark elf, looked slightly startled by the sudden question.

“Actually, sir, he can,” he said. He flicked through a large book for a moment, before finding what seemed to be the right page. “In fact, it's almost word perfect. And there's nothing say that he couldn't dismiss somebody of higher rank.”

Hentius glowered at this.

“Very well then, Commander Justinian, I see I have no choice,” he said. “You are dismissed and stripped of all rank. You will take any personal belongings you have and leave this fortress by the time the sun has set.”

For a moment, Alicarius was silent, a thunderous expression on his face. Hentius gave him a smug, triumphant smile, self important pride shining on his expression.

“No,” Alicarius said flatly. “I shall not.”

“I am sorry, commander, but I believe I gave an order,” Hentius replied. “I am of senior rank, unless you have forgotten. My orders must be obeyed.”

“I am afraid that while my charges have been levelled your authority is compromised,” Alicarius replied. “Currently you're out of the chain of command, and so control of the Legion passes to your second in command.”

“Do you think those charges will stand?” Hentius asked. “How do you think I gained my rank, eh?”

“You gained your rank through scheming and family connections in a time of peace and comfort,” Alicarius said. “If it weren't for that then you wouldn't even be in the legion. The fact that you stood back and did nothing while an enemy army advanced on our territory will not favour your case. Of course, there is one way you could avoid those charges completely.”

“How?” Hentius asked carefully, grabbing at the supposed lifeline Alicarius had thrown him.

“An honourable duel,” Alicarius said. “If you beat me then I shall vacate my post and all charges against you shall be dropped. If I beat you then I take the post of Lord Commander of the Imperial Legion.”

Now Alicarius had suggested it, Hentius had been forced into a corner which he couldn't back out of. The man had no choice but to accept or compromise his honour.

“Very well, I accept,” he said stiffly.

“Excellent,” Alicarius said, allowing a smile to enter his features. “We duel in the town square, oh, I don't know, about now.”

He turned and strode out of the barracks, the others hurrying to keep up. As Alicarius walked, he let his challenge be known to the town.

“People of Chorrol!” he bellowed as he walked through the streets. “A challenge has been issued.”

People watched him as he went by, following him to see what the fuss was about.

“According to this man,” Alicarius continued, pointing at Hentius, who was following with a sheen of sweat and an expression of pure panic. “I have failed to do my duty properly. According to this man, I was not supposed to defend our city. Apparently, I was supposed to sit by quietly as an army advanced on it and do nothing. Apparently, I should be dismissed for defending the empire!”

There was a jeer from the crowd as they heard this. No doubt the returning soldiers had told tales of his fight with Grund and Skyrim's army and Alicarius had been elevated to the status of a local hero.

“So I have challenged him to an honourable duel,” Alicarius said. “If this man wins then I shall be forced to retire. If I win, then I shall become Lord Commander of the Imperial Legion and there shall be somebody competent leading the legion.”

By the time his speech was done, Alicarius had reached the main square of Chorrol, followed by a large crowd. He stopped, and the people stopped as well, waiting to see what happened.

Alicarius placed the tip of his halberd on the cobbled ground of the square, and walked in a large circle. The scraping noise the adamantium made as it ground along the stone was painful to hear, but Alicarius needed a public arena to defeat Hentius in.

“This shall be our dueling area,” Alicarius announced. “Fifteen yards by fifteen yards. Lord Commander Hentius Annuit, you may take your pick of weapons, as I shall also do.”

Hentius suddenly seemed to come to his senses.

“What?” he exclaimed. “You can't do that. I cannot fight to with your weapons. The competition is an unfair one, I declare it forfeit.”

“Very well then,” Alicarius said. He turned his halberd tip downwards and slammed it into the ground, the cobbles around it cracking on the impact. No doubt it would need sharpening later on. “I shall fight you unarmed.”

He removed his armour's gauntlets in order to make the fight seem fairer-with them he could punch his way through a brick wall.

“Do you wish me to handicap myself any further, Lord Commander?” Alicarius asked. “Perhaps I could fight blindfolded, with my hands tied behind my back in order to swing things even further in your favour.”

Even without a weapon, however the fight was massively one sided in the Grey Knight's favour, but the crowd was in the palm of Alicarius' hand and willing to believe anything he told them.

“That will be all,” Hentius said stiffly, in a futile attempt to regain some face. He stepped into the dueling circle, drawing his sword.

“You,” Alicarius said, pointing at the elf named Varvur. “You shall be witness to the duel. Do you swear to record with all honesty the result of this duel?”

“I do,” the elf replied. He had a hungry look in his eyes, as if he was seeing the some old and oft yearned for wish come true.

“Very well then,” Alicarius said. “Begin the duel.”

Hentius circled Alicarius, who had shifted into a boxing stance, before judging the moment as right and charging in, swinging his sword. Alicarius waited for a moment, before sidestepping, grabbing the wrist of the Lord Commander in one hand and his portly waist in the other and flipping him onto his back. There were cheers and laughter from the crowd as they saw the pompous man humiliated so.

“Come on, I'm sure you can do better than that,” Alicarius said. “I'm a fair man, Lord Commander, let's make it the best of three.”

Twice more Hentius attacked, and twice more the man was knocked aside by Alicarius, who simply helped the Lord Commander up. After the third bout was finished, Alicarius turned and addressed the crowd.

“I believe he is beaten,” he announced. “Would you say so, Varvur.”

The elf, now smiling widely, nodded.

“I pronounce Alicarius Justinian as Lord Commander of the Imperial Legion,” he said. The crowd went wild when they heard that, whooping and cheering their local hero. Alicarius scanned the crowd and saw Serrio giving him a broad, approving grin. Even the man who seemed to be Hentius' second in command looked pleased.

Hentius scrambled to his feet, and seemed on the verge of tears.

“He'll ruin the Empire,” he said, somewhat petulantly. “He'll bring in war, and he'll ruin the entire thing.”

The man pouted in rage and stormed off. As he did so, Alicarius dusted his hands off and said the line he decided would be most fitting for the hero the crowd had decided he was.

“Well that's dealt with,” he said. “Who's up for a drink?”

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Apr 27 2009, 09:20 PM