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 for you lovely people before I go away to Cornwall for a week (there may be net access there, but I can't be certain). Enjoy.

Or else...

Part 34-Freedom

It was too much. He couldn't last much longer. If it continued, he would lose-either lose his soul to Erna's tortures or lose his mind to the encroaching Rage. He could feel it flailing at the crumbling fastness of his psyche, searching for a weakness to tear open.

If either of them succeeded, then he was damned, along with the world of Nirn.

He needed to get out of this oppressive stone cell, escape, but it was hard. Even with his willpower, it was hard not to simply collapse into unconsciousness as soon as Erna had finished for the day, and keeping a coherent thought during his sessions was impossible.

He needed a plan, but his head was swimming, a blurred mess of agony.

With a whine, the drill finished chewing through the skin of his torso. Erna pulled the tool out with a wet sucking noise, peeling off a strip of meat that had been caught there. Alicarius' head rolled as the muscles in his neck, straining with agony, suddenly relaxed, gasping with pain. Already his body was healing the wound inflicted up, blood congealing and the hole scabbing over. By morning there would only be a light scar, even that being gone after a day, as long as the wound was left alone.

“Well I'm done for today,” Erna announced cheerfully, placing the drill on the table next to him and patting Alicarius of the shoulder. “You get some rest, eh?”

Alicarius groaned, head still limp, as Erna shut the door of his cell. Already darkness was beginning to encroach on his vision, threatening to pull him into unconsciousness, only to be woken by another dose of pain at the hands of Erna. He forced his eyes to open, despite the tempting weight of his eyelids.

With bleary eyes, he scanned the red walls of his cell. His arms were still forced behind him by chains, while his feet were free, on a rough, raised stone block. He couldn't simply hop off the block-if he did he would probably wrench his arms out of their sockets.

He turned his aching neck to look behind him and saw the staple which held the chains in place. That was all that was stopping him from breaking free of this patch of hell. If he could remove the staple, he could escape.

And so, ignoring the screaming pain in his neck, Alicarius wrenched his head round and spat.

He was lucky, the saliva impacting on the iron staple with a hiss. That would be enough to weaken it. Now he would have to break free.

Bracing his arms, he pulled. His enhanced musculature bulged and strained against the chain, scabs rupturing and bleeding, sending blood trickling down his arms. He growled with agony, but continued to pull. He could not stop now. Roaring in pain, cursing and snarling, Alicarius pulled, even when his head began to spin through the sheer agony and the loss of blood.

He did not know for how long that desperate struggle went on, blood slicked down his shoulders and back. But after what seemed to be an eternity of pain, something gave-with a clank, the chain broke and Alicarius toppled forwards, chin slamming into the floor.

He lay there, gasping and light headed, his vision blurred. He couldn't move-if he did, lightning bolts of pain tore through his body.

He needed to escape. If Erna came, he would be helpless. He would be placed back where he was and the pain would begin again, most likely worse than ever. He felt something tingle in his stomach, a nauseous, alien sensation that seemed to flutter within his starved belly. For a moment, he wondered what it was, before he remembered it from long, long ago.

It was fear. He feared the pain. He feared Erna.

“I will not fear,” he murmured, remembering the old Imperial catechism. “Fear is the mind killer.”

He raised his arms, trying to ignore the agony that danced through them on shoes of razors, and placed his palms flat on the ground.

“To give in to fear is to give in to doubt,” he continued, pushing his hands against the floor. “To give in to doubt is to give in to heresy.”

He dragged a knee beneath him, resting his weight on his tortured and ravaged thigh.

“To give in to heresy is to surrender your soul,” he said. He pushed with his arms, raising his other leg so that his foot was sole down upon the ground. “My soul belongs to the Lord of Man.”

He pushed, forcing his body upwards on sheer effort of will. For a moment, he stumbled, his knees threatening to give, before he steadied himself.

“I am astartes,” he announced to the empty cell. “I shall know no fear, for I am fear incarnate.”

With one hand, he tore chains from his wrist, gathering from a reserve of strength the he knew he did not have. Teeth bared in a snarl, he looped the chain around one hand, swinging it experimentally as a flail. It was not the most powerful or effective weapon, but it would have to do.

He took another step forward on exhausted thighs, then another, staggering drunkenly towards the door. He reached it and it swung open when he pushed-Erna had obviously thought he would not escape.

He needed to find his halberd and armour, and then a way of escape. He supposed that they would be stored near to his prison, that they could be anywhere nearby.

As he wandered down the corridor, past identical doors no doubt leading to more cells, he realised that the innards of this building were familiar, that he had been here, or somewhere similar before.

With a start, he realised where he was-inside one of the great fortresses or towers that dotted Oblivion, similar to the one he had fought through in Kvatch. And so he had spent two weeks inside the warp, the corrupt and blasphemous place that housed his foes.

He silently thanked the Emperor that he had not had his soul stolen by one of the unspeakable entities that inhabited this forsaken and evil place.

Alicarius stopped at a cell door when he heard screams of terror and pain within. For a moment he contemplated whether or not Erna could be within. He would enjoy any vengeance he could exact against the dark elf.

He pushed the door open, but found it to be empty apart from a single woman chained to a chair fixed in the centre of the wall. Her eyes were wide, and she thrashed as if in a fit, delirious and unseeing. Alicarius approached her slowly, but she merely screamed all the louder, beginning to bite and snarl like a rabid animal.

Alicarius reached forwards and cupped her chin in one hand. Gently, he pulled he struggling face towards his own and looked her in the eyes. They were empty and vacant, filled with nothing more than a mindless, terror fuelled hate. With one swift movement, Alicarius snapped her neck.

In the end, he killed them all. Every subject of Erna's tortures had their lives ended. Some were wild and mad with fear, while others where silent, staring at him with blank, uncomprehending eyes, windows into a body now vacant of a soul. The few that still held onto their sanity simply nodded encouragingly as he reached to break their necks, whispering works of thanks moments before he released him from their torment.

It was long and painstaking work, but he did it. He had a duty to do it.

Duty was all he had left. That, and vengeance.

He continued to pad through the oppressive, stinking halls of the prison, still keeping his weapon close at hand. There had been no guards-it was obvious that escape had been viewed as an impossibility.

Finally he came to a room that was not a cell, but an armoury. Maybe he could find a proper weapon.

He found something better. He found his weapons.

Like an old man meeting a long lost friend, Alicarius approached his armour, held on a set of shelves, and extended it to touch it gently. With meticulous care, he took each piece of it from their storage space and inspected it for damage. Fortunately, the daedra hadn't tampered with it-they were obviously keeping it in working condition in the hope that they could break his will.

His inspection done, he placed every segment of the armour on, letting it fix itself into place with a hiss. Alicarius checked his storm bolter mounted on his wrist, triggering the mechanism to make sure that it was in working order.

Finally, he took his halberd, activating the weapon and letting the lightning from its energised field crackle along its cleaver like blade. He made a few experimental swings with it, familiarising himself with his weapon, before deactiviting the field.

He glanced at the chain that he had ripped free from the wall, his improvised weapon. True, it had killed no guards, but he had used it more than once to release Erna's victims from their torment.

“This is your monument,” he murmured. He activated his halberd and carefully sliced one of the chain's end links in half, the weapon's lightning field slicing through the iron and turning the rest red hot.

Wasting no time, Alicarius jammed the end near the wrist-guard of his armour, letting the iron solder itself to the adamantium. He repeated the movement with the other end of the chain, wrapping it around his arm. He cooled it with an ice spell, letting frost form around the metal before melting almost immediately and rattled the chain experimentally. It held.

Alicarius turned to leave the armoury and escape this place for good, when he noticed something lying on another shelf, a soul gem. After a moment's consideration, Alicarius picked it up.

It would be a fitting catalyst for his vengeance.

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Jul 24 2009, 05:32 PM