Madness

I dunno how many of you are bothered about the existence of Warhammer 40,000 or even know of it's existence, but I've decided to post this here.

Please note this is not my work, just a piece that I'm currently following and I thought I'd see how successful it'd be here.

Basically, I'll post up the prologue and the first chapter, and depending on how much popularity/requests for more it gets I'll post more.

Here goes:

Time most distant, future’s zenith.
In tears, the star-sea mourns.
Isha’s children lament. All is lost to arrogance, grand designs soured by success, dreams are dust.
Shattered and done, the progeny set sail for the forever-beyond, flight borne on the tides of shame.
To dwindle and expire, forever denied.
The New Star burns too intense to douse, unchecked, untamed. Gods despair.
Tide surges, the end time is come.

Future’s path runs red as Khaine-blood, Hate-Winter rages, the portents scream their siren song. The song of Ulthanash is silent, Isha’s eye closed in slumber. Asuryan’s Shrine-light flickers and dies. The Cosmic Serpent reveals the truth and sheds his final skin. The Rebirth is denied. The Doom of Eldanesh comes to pass, the Red Moon rises.
The Rhana Dandra is come, let young and old cower before the chaos of the end.

The New Star will rise unprecedented, all the dread despoilers of the old kingdom quail beneath its fire.
Dead-King shivers on his maggot-throne as the Tide assails his walls, his kingdom lost.
Locust flees, no longer to plague creation-fields, feast denied.
Slave-puppets, once free, now lie in chains, conquered anew, rebellion’s essence bound in blood.
Long-Dead are exhumed, tombs razed. There shall be no flight, no peace in death. Their gods shall tremble.
DamnedShores become bastion as Dark Souls return. Exodus-flight before the rising swell. Denizens of Under-Kingdom cower behind its gates as the Tide surges.

Shame-Kin be damned in the bowels of the Webway, vermin scuttling in filth and terror, afraid of the ragescream storm above. Let them gather souls in shame and desperate haste, past sins quail as the All-Thirst is quenched. The brightest hope may lie amongst the darkest of shadow, the Learned Mongrel-Soul exhumed to see a destiny fulfilled.

Many Mighty Kings shall offer their swords to the Tide. None shall escape. None shall escape.

Skeins divided, hope defiant. Light and darkness heed, else collide and be damned. Fractured is as death, no other path leads to hope.
Existence-Tree be razed to its roots, bitter leaves cleansed. Then can hope’s light flicker. All forgotten to the core of creation. Then can hope’s flame catch the breeze.

Let the Lost Princes of the Young gather, shoulder to shoulder they alone may weather the Hate-Winter’s wrath.

Bright Hope’s flame still burns deep in the shadows of the Dead Land, too powerful to extinguish forever. Soul Beacon, the Horn of Kurnous will sound the call to war. They shall gather, let but some of their names be known.

The Revenant. The First-And-Ever Lords of War. The Lost Princes. The Wrathful Masters. The Reapers of Light. The Stolen Giant. The Prophet. The Last Avenger. The Entombed Ancient. The Oracle. The Blazing Rebel.

All these names and more shall stand ready as the Rhana Dandra dawns and the light of the Final Day casts her glow upon armour and weapon.


Maelstrom, life and death gather for war, old and young collide beneath the Red Moon. Origin revealed, too sour a taste to accept.

It matters not, what is, is.

Gods splintered reform in deed to counter the twilight. The children rise, menagerie gather in bitter winds of division’s death. Choice is murdered for all time, no longer sustainable in revealed irrelevance.
Diversity is power, the only power left unconsumed. Youth’s vigour an appetite insatiable above all else, desperation will rule the firmament. There can be no more old-thought. Every shadow will shift, writhe with hidden stirring. Life’s last breath must be deep.

Let them stand on the FinalShore as one, faces turned to the Tide. I have seen future’s zenith. I have seen crux and apex. Past, present and future united. Enmity is not survival. History rewritten at its very core, primeval puzzle complete.
One must tell the tale. Paths cannot be altered, only destinations revealed.
Unity. When the ash-wake clears, no more division, only Unity.

The Great Unity will prevail.

--Translation of ancient eldar tablet found on Cadia. Artefact thought to be the oldest example of eldar archaeology yet discovered.—

RISE OF THE TAU

'It is not the manifest destiny of man to rule, but to lead.’

Attributed to Pontifex Archabus Venn, executed heretic, 553.M39

+++Location…Leonosis System.+++
+++The Protea Wash.+++
+++Date…666.M42.+++

He opened his eyes slowly and a wave of nausea hit him like a wall. He dry-retched, his lungs burning, his body aching.

What in Guilliman’s name was happening here?

He sat up, feeling his every muscle burning, his every nerve screaming. His hearts hammered in his chest, shocked into a sudden flurry of hyperactivity. His head pounded, aching with a pain so sharp, so raw he could almost hear it.

Stasis-dulled, his senses fought to re-establish themselves. His eyes fought to cut through the grey fog swimming before them. His ears struggled to dispel the constant pounding of his own pulses…
Something was wrong.

He lifted his head, shuddering as muscles that had lain dormant for centuries protested. The light of the small chamber was already starting to grow brighter, the shapes about him sharpening, taking form. He turned his head and his newfound breath was stolen once more.

The empty eye sockets stared back lifelessly, two pools of shadow set into a face of mummified skin.

‘Artemon…’ He whispered, his ragged voice barely more than a dry croak.

Captain Artemon was dead. He had been for a long time.

He released the safety harness with shaking hands and pushed himself into an upright position, his atrophied muscles protesting painfully. Memories began to come flooding back, cutting through the thick viscous soup of his addled mind.

The Eldar. Guilliman’s Wrath. The loss…

He dispelled the memories of what had passed and glanced around the cramped hold of the escape pod, feeling his scarred face harden, his eyes narrowing as he looked upon the prone bodies of the command squad. Even here, safe from the predations of the insidious and despicable aliens, the loss had continued.

Captain Artemon had not been the only fatality here. Of the original ten survivors, five were now little more than ceramite-encased cadavers, sitting in darkened and long-dried pools of their own body matter.

He himself had led the Litany of Preservation as they had all entered the state of deanimation. How could it be that half of them were now dead? How could the process have failed so badly?

As Chaplain, it would be up to him to ensure the souls of these warriors joined the immortal Emperor. There would be time enough for this later. For now, he had to see which of his brothers still lived.

He made to stand, grateful of the enhancing influence of his artificer armour. Without the aid of its powerful servo motors he imagined he would find movement near impossible, given how wasted he felt.

The activation of the sus-an membrane was always a risky procedure, yet they had had little choice. The pod had no stasis capability and the Leonosis system was a veritable stellar wasteland, not far from the hub of the galaxy’s core. Given the strange phenomenon that occurred here and the desolation of the region itself, a rescue could take years.

None of us could have survived that long without sustenance, he told himself again, kneeling beside brother Laenar, the company’s Techmarine.

That was when the realisation hit.

He hauled himself up onto his feet, his vast form wavering. A Marine could not consciously revive himself from this state. Who had woken him?

Almost as if in answer to this question, the escape hatch of the pod rumbled open, gears squealing as it retracted. He spun on his heel and tore his crozius from its belt holster, activating the ancient weapon’s power field with a swift flick of the thumb.

‘Ah, you are awake at last! Thrungi’s beard, I thought I’d never get it!’

He watched with amazement as something short and humanoid stepped through the open hatch, covered from head to toe in a filthy, oil-stained pressure suit. A mess of pipes spread out from the creature’s domed helmet, its clouded crimson visor glowing weakly beneath the pale light.
It stopped in the doorway and placed its fists on its hips, shaking its head as it did so.

‘You stalk-legs sure know how to sleep. Some of you a little too well by the looks of things.’

Chaplain Daelo Codian took a single laboured step forward, the head of the crozius out before him, the eyes of his skeletal helm glowing.

‘You dare to mock the honoured dead? I will…’

‘Ah, put that down.’ The squat creature snapped, waving his hand dismissively. He waddled further into the small chamber and removed his helmet, releasing the pressure seals with a hiss of escaping steam. A shock of bright hair spilled from the helmet, matted and twisted by years of grime.

‘Besides, Astarte or no, in your condition I would have you on your arse in the blink of an eye.’

He lowered his hand as he looked upon the face of the alien for the first time. A single eye stared back, glowing with all the intensity of the pulsing augmetic opposing it. Surprisingly human features met his gaze and he found himself almost too stunned to speak.

‘What…what are you?’

The creature gave a gruff laugh and shook his head, the long orange braids of his beard and scalp lock sweeping his barrelled chest and shoulders.

‘What am I? I am your salvation, Imperial. You should thank the ancestors that it was I and not the Nicassar who found you floating out there amongst the crud of the Wash. You owe your life to me.’

With that the flame-haired humanoid shuffled over to where the Techmarine lay and began to mutter quiet but guttural obscenities under his breath, his stubby hands finding the long cables snaking into the faded leather headrest of the chair.

Codian simply looked on in astonishment, his clouded mind reeling. The small man glanced up from his labours a moment later, emitting a long, frustrated sigh.

‘If you can do anything then I suggest you try. I have no idea how I managed to wake you. I am having little success with the others.’

‘I can wake them.’ He answered, the weapon in his hand deactivating with a decreasing whine. The small man smiled and nodded his head.

‘Good. The Imperials will pay well for five strong warriors.’

Codian stepped forward and knelt before the Marine once more, deactivating his crozius and placing back in its holster. He removed his helmet and took a deep breath. The air was bitter, recycled and stale. He could taste oil and rust.
‘Pay? What do you mean by that?’ He asked, placing a hand upon the warrior’s forehead. The small man simply gave a sharp, nasal laugh and shook his head.

The Chaplain leaned forward and began to whisper quietly, his eyes closing. He continued this for several minutes until the first noticeable breath passed the Marine’s lips.
The bewildered being behind him raised his eyebrows and huffed beneath his breath.

‘So that’s how you do it? You talk to them. Bloody marvellous!’ He exclaimed, shaking his head once more.

Codian made to rise and stepped back as the warrior began to stir, in order to give him space enough to take in his surroundings. He knew only too well that even the most level-minded Marine could struggle to adjust to reanimation.

‘Very wise.’ His new companion observed, folding his short arms across his chest. ‘I see you have done this before.’

He exhaled slowly and turned to look at the creature, finding his tolerance levels slowly receding. The alien met his gaze without fear or apprehension, his augmetic eye twinkling.
‘I have.’ He answered. ‘And I am grateful for your assistance in rescuing us. Now, I will awaken each of the survivors and then you will take us back to Imperial space. I will ensure that you enter and leave unharmed.’

The small man sniggered as he heard this, emitting a sound not unlike the choking of some mange-ridden canine.

‘I see.’ He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. ‘That is…very kind of you. And of course, you can ensure that we actually reach Imperial space unharmed, I take it? You know each and every safe back route and blockade gap from here to your system, yes? I suppose you are renowned experts in evading the Unity.’

Codian frowned and shook his head, turning to face the stirring Techmarine once more. Perhaps it was the effects of the reanimation, but the creature seemed to be making no sense at all.
Slowly, eyes drifting open, the warrior began to rise.

‘Brother Laenar.’ The Chaplain uttered, bowing his head as the crimson-armoured soldier rose. Laenar blinked and glanced about him, his eyes wide with the effort of use.

‘What…what happened to us? The fleet..?’

‘The fleet is gone, Laenar. Our brothers must have thought us lost. We were picked up by this…’

He turned and presented the short individual behind him.

‘Thurgus Grungi. My name is Thurgus Grungi, Imperial.’

Laenar’s eyes narrowed as he looked upon their saviour, a snarl of contempt curling his scarred lip.
‘Demiurg.’

Codian threw himself around and bunched his fists, anger flaring in his eyes. Grungi remained steadfast, his arms still folded. Despite the palpable anger of the huge warrior he never even flinched.

‘That’s right. You seem rattled, Imperial. I would suggest rest, but then again I would say that you have had more than enough of that.’

‘Hold your tongue, xenos! If you thin…’

‘Ah, get over yourself, Imperial. You should count yourselves lucky to be in my presence. If I hadn’t found you here then you could have drifted back into the warp and been lost for an eternity.’

Laenar was on his feet and standing beside the Chaplain, the same expression of revulsion written across his face.

‘Where are we, Demiurg? Are we still in the Ultramar system?’
Grungi’s smile seemed to fade slightly. He glanced between the two soldiers, a look of unsure bemusement creeping across his ruddy features.

‘Gods, no. Not even nearly, and I very much doubt that you’d be alive if you were. This is the Galactic Hub, Imperials. The Wash has carried you a long way from home.’

The silence he was met with spoke volumes. Codian and Laenar simply stared back, their expressions unchanging.

‘The Protea Wash.’ He continued, spreading his arms. ‘One of the largest and most stable warp drifts in the galaxy. Whatever its scoops up it carries here eventually. I have scavenged these tides for many years. I have to say though, this is the first time the wash has ever given up the living.’

Codian exhaled and turned to look at Laenar. By now his mind was beginning to clear and had begun to process the information he had gleaned so far.

‘You said that the Imperium would pay well for our return. What did you mean by that?’

‘Exactly what I said. How else do you think I make my living now? I am the only Demiurg who knows of this place. Well, the only one left alive. I have been collecting Imperial salvage now for many years. The Wash is by far the best source for this. Even the Tau don’t much bother with the Hub.’

‘And why would they?’ Laenar continued. ‘You make little sense, alien. Speaking of which, how is it that you claim to ‘trade’ with the Imperium. Don’t your kind serve the Tau?’

Grungi froze, a look of utter disbelief sliding over his face. His skin seemed to take on a bright crimson glow all at once, as if he had been slapped.

‘Imperial, I will ignore that comment but once, given your current state. Say that again and I will peel you from your armour and liquefy you.
Let me make something clear. If this had been a Tau vessel I would have dragged it on board and murdered you all without thought. I hate Tau. To hunt and slay them is my life’s work.’

‘But you are Demiurg.’ Laenar continued, unsatisfied and unafraid of the alien’s threats. ‘I thought the Demiurg were part of the Tau empire.’

‘Gods, Imperial! Has the space sickness taken your mind? Don’t tell me you have been drifting through the warp for the last five centuries!’
‘Six and a half.’

Grungi fell silent. Codian turned slowly as he heard this to find Laenar standing quietly, his face deathly pale. He continued to stare at the dust-laden deck, his augmetic eye pulsing rhythmically.

‘666.M42. That is the date as specified by my internal chronometer. There is no malfunction, Chaplain. We have been lost for six and a half centuries.’

‘Ah.’ Grungi uttered, scratching his head. ‘Then perhaps it would be better if you returned to the warp. You would be safer there. This galaxy belongs to the Tau.’

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