The Lights Went Out, One by One

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Moderators will be liberal in the removal of OOC posts and comments. Do not 'god mode' in the forums, if you can't do it on the field you can't do it here.
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Joined: 2012-01-16
Location: Temple of Khorne

The Lights Went Out, One by One

Post by PadreCaedes » 2014-02-10

(For the purposes of roleplay in the aftermath of the sacking of Waaaaaagh's Capital, I informed the war elders of what was going to occur after the conclusion of the battle before it ever started. This following is the product of that declaration.)

Wading through the roiling smoke caused by impacts of flame and bolt, flanked by their surviving compatriots, a father and son sifted through the dead, taking skulls of foes who had fallen beneath bludgeon and blade alike for the profane god to whom they showed fealty.


Blessings all around them amid the carnage and rubble. The stink of sweat, blood, and earth was rich in their nostrils, coupled with that of the fire-smoke itself. It brought the red-fleshed father a feeling of bliss. As the minutes passed into hours, Hordlings arrived from the rear to aid with the clean-up. Their first task, stripping the dead of their gear. Their gold. Anything that might be of value.

Dead allies were carried away to the cleric corps to be revived, but it was a glint of shimmering blue that caught the old Preacher's eye. A hordling, a simple goblin, was arguing with a rather insisting skaven over a small pile of exquisite weapons and to whom they should go. The goblin wanted to pick through and claim one, but the rat insisted they should be delivered home.

Tapping the gore covered armor of his son to gain his attention, the High Priest of Khorne stepped through mangled corpses to reach the arguing fools. When they saw him approach, both backed away towards the walls.

"What have we here?" muttered the priest. His first son, Game LeDouche approached from behind, staring down in hate at the glowing weapons which had been stripped from the bodies of the fallen enemy.

"Destroy them all..." whispered his son as he retrieved his wheel-locked spellbook from his belt. "We don't need the silver...just leave them as scrap."

The aged priest was already releasing the lashes of his flesh-tome, the cover and pages each a rainbow of different fleshy tones. The ink all the same color, the shade of dried blood. "Khorne will hear us, my son. He will know what to do."

The two roared the powerful words from the pages of their spellbooks, sickly light glowing from their bodies, strong voices carrying through the halls of the keep, the hatred of Khorne pouring through them as they desecrated the blessed weapons of other, lesser gods. When all was done, the two priests snapped shut their books and stowed them safely in their pouches almost in unison.

Padre Caedes looked over to the two cowering hordlings, one of which who had soiled himself. Filthy rat. "You found these. Now take them back to their owners and drive them down into the meat where their heads used to be. Then prop the bodies up somewhere appropriate...a table in the great dining hall perhaps."

As the hordlings ran about their business, dragged sullied metal in their wakes, the two priests murmured blessings under their breath, the need to fill their great many dead with the spirits that once inhabited them was great. For falling in death was no great shame. To rise again and do the work of the Blood God was a great and pious thing.

Blessings. So many blessings.

Long after the departure of the surviving war party, two forgotten hordlings propped and arranged bodies around a mighty table laden with sullied food and drink, doing as they were told and returning the blades to their owners, albeit by force.
Satisfied with their work, they departed without a word. The cold in their bones making them wish for the warmth of home and the fires therein.

With the toil and noise long gone, the keep stood free of the living for now. A testament to the mighty Orks and their mercenaries who once defended it. Those dead around the table, as if dolls posed by children for a party, began to smoke from the wound left by the removal of their head, the blades, long and short, began to tremble.

The glow of soft blue light was enough to show that the gods had not abandoned these fallen warriors. Their blades stood ready to engage once more, even if their owners did not.
Warmaster Caedes, Kinslayer
Knight of Ched Nasad
Patron Father of House LeDouche

High Priest of Ched Nasad
Vicar of the Church of Khorne
Steward of NorthHold
House Ledouche: "We Bow to No Man...Because We Can't"

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