Grimoire III – In The Crimson Court

The Story so Far
ENTERING THE ACCURSED Realm of Khorne, the Blood God, The Masque has worked her way through the blighted halls of The Eight Levels of Insanity despite the presence of the entirety of Skulltakers legion. Now within the sanctum of the Asylum of Ending, she draws closer to her ultimate goal of meeting with U’zhul Skulltaker himself.

* * *

SHE HAD THOUGHT of herself as beyond fear, at least the sort from other Daemons, but twice Skulltakers silent, blank stare had sent her away with quickening steps that only self-control had kept from being a full on run.
There was no getting around the fact that even among Daemons, U’zhul was actually quite mad, yet as was so often the case it seemed that only The Masque could see just how deranged her truly was. Tezcatlipoca, the Bloodletter in command of the castellans of this hallowed place paused before a set of towering brass doors. The entire length and width of their faces were engraved with scenes of battle where mighty Bloodthirsters led wave upon wave of Bloodletters and Flesh Hounds upon a mighty fortress. On either side of the formidable gates stood a pair of bull-headed giants, captured in stone with a realism that was almost unsettling.
Tezcatlipoca paused at the door and held up a black taloned hand. “My Exalted Lord bids you to wait whilst he communes with me alone.”
He turned to leave.
“Will your Master speak with me or not, servant? My patience wears thin.” The Masque had long since tired of the Bloodletters hard glances and posturing.
“You will wait here,” it was not a request, “a good guest should be polite in the home of another, no?”
Anger flared in The Masques eyes but it never reached her lips.
Skulltaker was going to make her wait.

* * *

U’ZHUL SKULLTAKER WAS surrounded by sycophants and fools and he knew as much, but his need for praise outweighed any real need for truthful speaking. For that he had Tezcatlipoca and his Castellans. For everything else he had over ten thousand fools with their forked tongues.
He understood the nature of battle, the ways of war. He understood the need for wise council and honest opinions, for he was no mindless butcher like so many others, no, Skulltaker fought as much with his head as his sword arm. He understood the need for strength and also the need for cunning, but more than anything he understood that in the end he could trust no one.
The weak died and the strong survived. It was a simple philosophy, one he had helped to enforce countless times over the millennia. He knew others would bring him down if they could, if they thought for a moment he was weakened.  It was the nature of the pack; the strong dominated and forced the weak to bow and scrape before them. When the alpha male died the remainder fought for supremacy in his absence.
He took little pride in being the Champion of Khorne. In this he saw it as his greatest failure of all. He remained at his current standing and though exalted and feared, given to him with honour and pride, to Skulltaker it highlighted the lack of his Ascension, the lack of the ultimate prize.
He would Ascend and in so doing become a Greater Daemon.
Skulltaker would not fail like so many others. It was the one promise he had ever made to himself. He would not fail.
Anger was good, it gave strength to the one who held it within him and among those who bent knee to Khorne it was an almost constant companion. In wrath, the Blood God was represented almost as equally as he was in battle and bloodshed.
What had stirred these feelings within him?
In a flush of clarity he realised it was the presence of Thu’uban, the monstrous beast of a Bloodthirster who had arrived bearing gifts for the legion and for Skulltaker himself from the Lord of the Skull Throne himself. One thousand virgin maidens had been brought down here to the Asylum of Ending for the personal sport of Skulltaker whilst many thousands more captives had been given to the legion for their fun. The lands had echoed with the deaths of hundreds as the Daemons tortured and mutilated them for the simple pleasure such violence brought.
Skulltaker had found no amusement in the game and had endured it only long enough so as not to offend the Greater Daemon before retiring to enjoy his own reward. Many of the captives had simply been thrown to the Flesh Hounds or flung in to one of the many magma shafts to watch them burn to ashes, whilst those that remained had been bound and slowly dissected. Their deaths were poor sport. They fell on their knees, begged and wept, a few even put up a fight, but in the end their bare hands were no match even for an unarmed and blood-drunk Bloodletter. Skulltaker had saved a few special victims as a treat for Kuhl’tyran to play with and he knew it would warn his minions; do not bother him with petty games.
U’zhul Skulltaker savoured his reputation as a cruel, blood-mad monster, though he took pains to cultivate the image of a savage warrior not a savage murderer. It sent out a clear message to dominance to his brethren. He was a warrior who fought only the best and mightiest foes to dominate their bodies and souls to claim their skulls. He had no desire to bully weaklings who had never even held a weapon and even less to bathe in their thin, unworthy blood.
In the gloomy depths of his bath chambers most of the thousand virgins had been bled dry, their arteries simply torn open with jagged blades by two branded servants so that the blood of several hundred virgins filled his bronze bath. Sat submerged up to the chin in the gore, Skulltaker gazed at the wall behind his throne where the severed heads of thirty Daemons wailed in constant anguish. He knew every one of them, or at least he knew their names. Over the years he had taken to collecting not only his skull trophies but also these stone heads, sculpted icons that bore the trapped essences of those who had wronged him. It gave him satisfaction to know that even immortals could be bound and made to suffer by those mightier than they.
The weak died, the strong survived.
A dozen women, the remains of his gift from Thu’uban lined the walls and Skulltaker reclined luxuriously in the crimson of his bath, savouring the heady aromas. He sighed and waved airily in the direction of a dark-haired beauty chained up against the wall, her naked body streaked with volcanic ash. She shook her head violently, struggling against her captors’ grip as the two servants unlocked her manacles. The woman sobbed and begged, kicked and screamed. The woman’s fear was exhilarating. It was always so much more amusing when they fought back...it made the inevitable meal taste that bit sweeter, that bit warmer. The blood of the woman sang to him.
Kuhl’tyran lay at the base of Skulltakers massive obsidian throne and rumbled at the girls screeches, balefires at his eyes intensifying. “Easy my pet, this one is mine. You have already had your share have you not?”
The immense Bloodcrusher settled back down immediately. It was a curious bond the two of them shared, Kuhl’tyran was only the subordinate to Skulltaker to a degree and in that regard Skulltaker could only command him to an extent. It was not a relationship of master and beast, no it was merely a pact of convenience between two beasts who desired the same thing.
The woman shrieked as she was thrown down in to the pool of blood, the strength of the altered servants driving her in headfirst. Skulltaker stepped up and grabbed a handful of her hair, tangling it in his fist as he pulled her close to his muscular chest. Her feet scrabbled against the bottom of the bath, her hands failed to attempt to strike at him as she tried to stop her pain even as it soared inside her.
This was power and it was intoxicating.
It was natural that others craved what he had and sought to take it from him.
This was the nature of the beast; to surround himself with predators, for to show any form of weakness would invite death. There was not a single creature in this place who did not serve him loyally, though there lurked three score others who would dearly love to bring him low. He had no friends amongst them and could afford no trusts or confidences in any of them.
Except for one.
He snapped his fingers and one of the servants cut across the girls throat with a black stone dagger, eager to satisfy their Masters desire. Skulltaker sniffed, the tang of this ones blood was heady and stronger than that he now bathed in. He had saved the best, the most beautiful and freshest until the last.
He would deny himself no longer.
Skulltaker opened his jaws, revealing the bleached white of his wicked fangs and bit down upon the woman’s neck with force enough to make her spine crunch. His talons worked away, slitting her forearms from her wrists, deep in to the flesh of her limbs all the way up to her elbows, gulping down the rich nectar of her blood. He savoured it as it ran in rivers down his chin and over his bare chest.
“Another!” he commanded, even before he had bled this one dry, eager for another flavour to sate his palate. The virgin blood in their veins reflected the richness and the vitality of their lives, perfect against youth and inexperience. The servants hauled the twitching woman away and ditched her before Kuhl’tyran, the hulking Bloodcrusher rising up to begin the process of rending the still living woman apart like paper. It took the beast only three huge bites to swallow the tatters of her body.
A young girl replaced her in Skulltakers arms, barely more than a teen her blood innocent and full of fear. A rare delicacy all the Blood Gods minions sought to savour at one point. That was the will of a Greater Daemon; they reaped anyone who stood in their path, be it man, woman or child, warrior of civilian, young or old, strong or weak, all would have their skulls taken before Khorne. Skulltaker wrenched open distended jaws and bit in to the wailing girls throat, her cries becoming agonised gurgles as he mauled her, gulping down mouthfuls of blood, gorging himself until he could stand to drink no more.
Kuhl’tyran lifted his bloody maw and growled. Skulltaker idly chewed off one of the dead girls fingers, spitting away the bones once he had done. “I know.”
From the gloom beside the obsidian throne emerged a Bloodletter, branded over the heart with the personal emblem of Skulltaker and bearing a single brass shoulder-guard over his right limb.
Tezcatlipoca, the Father of the Castellans. A select group of Daemons that roamed the depths of the Asylum of Ending and were aware of every presence within its boundaries, the Castellans reported to Tezcatlipoca as their captain. In turn he reported only to the dread lord of the Eight Levels, Skulltaker himself, serving as the Blooded One’s most trusted bodyguard and ally.
The newcomer instantly dropped to one knee. “Forgive my intrusion, Exalted One, I bring important tidings.”
Skulltaker rose from his bath and walked up the steps on to the flagstone floor, still dripping blood to the floor from his muscular, naked body. “I gave orders not to be disturbed, Tezcatlipoca. I should offer you to Kuhl’tyran as a playmate.”
“My deepest apologies, Exalted One,” Tezcatlipoca inclined his head, “however, when I inform you of whom it is that seeks an audience with you I hope you may see my reasoning for disobeying.”
The two servants dried their naked Master with bloodied rags and then began reverently attaching his bronze armour one piece at a time. To make a mistake here would be to invite a thousand years of torment, for Skulltaker prized each section of his armour and equipment like a firstborn son. “Who? Speak. Speak!”
“It is The Eternal Dancer, Exalted One...The Masque of Slaanesh herself waits beyond the doors to your chambers and seeks an audience with you.”
Skulltaker snorted and Kuhl’tyran growled at the mention of the Dark Prince’ name within the depths of Khorne’s realm. He shooed the servants away, vowing to make the snivelling wretch pay for the insult of entering this, his private domain. “Then summon the Castellans and forcibly remove her, Tezcatlipoca.”
“Certainly that was my intention,” his minion bowed his head again, “yet she mentioned a great battle...she claimed she would be indebted to you and that you might find a worthy foe.”
Skulltaker worked his neck until it cracked and sat himself down upon his obsidian throne, pondering Tezcatlipoca’s words. The attempt to stoke his ego and appeal to his pride was both weak and obvious, further increasing his contempt for the creature that had made her way here uninvited. Still, what harm could come from listening to her pathetic plan? If she was here to fight she would not find him unprepared and if she was to displease him further he felt sure the Castellans could defeat her.
“Bring her before me, Tezcatlipoca.”
The minion rose with sketched a short bow. “As you command.”

* * *

“HE WILL SEE you now, Slaaneshi.”
The Masque bit her tongue to hold in the angry words she was moments away from snapping out as Tezcatlipoca led the way through the immense doorway. In the dark shadows all around them red eyes glittered and Furies skittered around, giving the Bloodletter a wide berth. The Masque had a bad feeling about this latest turn of events; she did not trust the Bloodletter nor any of his kind. She knew that they as well as any other Daemon were devious creatures capable of almost any treachery.
At last the corridor ended, allowing them access to the nave of a vast temple, although to call it that would be a gross blasphemy given the Bloodcrusher – huge even among their kind – savaging a young maiden.
U’zhul Skulltaker himself sat on a mighty obsidian throne where in any other temple there would be an alter. On the wall behind and above him there lay a number of heads, the Daemonic essence within wailing at her senses to be set free.  U’zhul was ancient and powerful, his eyes blazing yellow and standing out from the shadows around them like all the fires of hell. To the left side of the throne lay his monstrous Bloodcrusher, to the right rested his spiked and lethal Hell-Blade.
Tezcatlipoca remained standing at the door as The Masque approached the throne around the great pool of blood set in to the ground before the throne.
“It has been a long time, U’zhul,” The Masque said, gracefully executing a bow. “I would say you have not changed but I would be lying. You are showing your age.”
U’zhul Skulltaker smiled. On him it was anything but a pleasant expression. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Fallen One. What gives you the right to enter here?”
“You have met previously?” Tezcatlipoca asked whilst The Masque took in the immensity of the subterranean throne room with its brutal decorations and statues that made her eyes sting to look upon: figures with bovine heads, huge distended jaws and jagged teeth, great axes and spears, armoured warriors and capering Daemons and others with the feral expressions of madness. They were all painted with archaic runes in blood that she could not focus upon.
“From a previous campaign, one that was not kind to him,” The Masque turned her gaze back to the abomination on the throne. “I had hoped you might finally be dead, U’zhul.”
“Death is of no concern to us, is it, my dear? No, on the contrary death is a constant, much like a favourite uncle or an old friend.”
“Has circumstance made you wise, U’zhul? Be careful or Tzeentch may lure you to his side with promises of more.”
Skulltaker frowned hard and rested a hand on the pommel of his vicious sword. The threat was implicit. “No, Fallen One, my age did that. Circumstance has made me strong and vengeful. Give me one reason, Fallen One, I ask only for the one reason why I should not simply allow Tezcatlipoca to unleash a thousand agonies on you.”
The Masque bristled, ready to fight if the blood-mad fool was intent on forcing her hand in to a duel between them. It would be on her terms not his. She reached down to her waist and pulled out a simple amulet on a leather cord, holding it out before her with the amulet spinning on its cord, a simple grey coin and nothing more. Upon it was the Mark of Nurgle and on the reverse face was a stylised symbol that served as the personal emblem of Eldasay Edimus.
“What do you want of me and mine?” The Bloodletter asked bluntly.
“I would call upon old bonds, U’zhul. I would, for a short while at least, offer a truce between my Lord and yours.”
The chamber rang with a demented cackle as Skulltaker leaned forwards. “Why should I or my magnificent overlord countenance such a thing, Fallen One?”
The Masque could see that he was genuinely curious. “To cause strife among the mortals and to torment the Imperium of Man.”
“Again, why do you and that sack of pus Eldasay think I would seek such a thing when I could gladly take my legion and torment the world of men just as easily. Why would I wish to waste my time with you and the followers of the Plague God when what is now at my disposal already suits my purposes perfectly? To put this simply, Fallen One, why would you presume to think I would come with you to do something I could readily do by myself with great ease?”
“Think of beyond a few thousands slaughtered, U’zhul. Imagine great designs of power and dare to dream that we could murder a world.”
A shake of his horned head. “You make the mistake of assuming I want more than I already have, Fallen One. It was ever the way. You and your kind seek to impose your greed for glory and lust for power on to all of us, turning us in to something you can hope to understand.”
“Not so.”
“I am afraid it is painfully clear that it is.”
“You and I both know that you and I are alike in our quest for glory, U’zhul. Join with me and the Tainted One and we shall go to the mortal realm. One of my Lords servants lies imprisoned by the wretched mortals, U’zhul. Come with us and I will be in your debt alongside one of the greatest of my Lords servants. Come with us and your legion will have a battle worthy of your Lords recognition. Come with us and you may get one step closer to finding a foe worthy of your unique talents.”
Seizing the handle of his Hell-Blade, Skulltaker hefted it easily and rested the blade across his shoulder. The servants instantly drew up his ornate cloak and Kuhl’tyran rose to allow Skulltaker to flip himself on to the Bloodcrushers back. “Tezcatlipoca.”
The Castellan bowed. “Exalted One?”
“Summon my Castellans...tell them to rouse the legion.”