Grimoire IV – March of the DEATH

The Story so Far
HAVING MET AT last with the Skulltaker, The Masque of Slaanesh manages to convince him to join hers and Eldasay Edimus’ cause. With these three mighty war-leaders now gathered, they make their way to the material world for vengeance....


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THE CITY OF Isamafu on the world the humans called Ashep, a world on the edge of space known as the Perfidian Gap, where the Warp bled in to reality.
U’zhul Skulltaker stood watching the plains around the city as floating vehicles moved in to position and lithe figures in white armour made their journeys to and froe to quick fortified positions. The coming days promised slaughter, an experience where he could slay a few pitiable challengers and then gorge himself on the blood of the fallen with the rest of the legion.
The malignant kin of Skulltaker, his immense legion had swelled the ranks of the forces of both Eldasay Edimus and The Masque, bringing a formidable host through the fabric of reality to this place and time. Isamafu. A series of white domed structures arrayed in no particular fashion made up the bulk of the city. The defences were woeful. With no prior warning to the Daemons’ arrival the Imperial Guardsmen had only been able to provide a token defence. Superstition was making the mortals foolish, sending them praying to their False Emperor and suspecting each other of treachery. They prayed because they needed to believe there was a power greater than Chaos in the Universe.
Skulltaker knew that there was not.
They had little hope. The legion alone could massacre the entire city within a few hours even without the help of the followers of Nurgle and Slaanesh. Within the city men would be considering murdering their own families rather than allow themselves to be taken to the Realm of Chaos for an eternity of torment. Skulltaker was hardly surprised, fear drove the weak to new heights of stupidity and foolishness.
This was their doom.
Mankind would suffer its final hour on this world.
Or so it had seemed until the thousand times be-damned Eldar had appeared. Skulltaker had raged to the heavens, cursing everyone and everything from the False Emperor down to the other Chaos Gods. Thinking about it now it would be just like Tzeentch to deliberately inform the Eldar of their intentions just to spite his brother Gods. Was that why there were no followers loyal to The Changer in their host?
“It seems as though they made it in time.”
Skulltaker turned and hid his disgust. The cloud of flies and the impossible stench had alerted him to the presence of Eldasay Edimus. The Daemon Prince of Nurgle was fat and bloated, his many chins wobbling whenever he spoke. Eldasay stank like the body of a sick man left unwashed in a medical centre for weeks or years whilst he rotted away.
He reeked of disease.
Here and there great boils erupted from his pallid skin and something hideous dripped from his wrinkled and weeping skin. Most of the Prince’s fat form was wrapped round with soiled bandages encrusted with pus and filth. His eyes glowed with a mad, feverish light and the giant Prince’s movements were almost drunken; he reeled as though caught in some illness that effected his balance.
Skulltaker resumed glaring at the enemy. “In time? Where do you presume to say such a thing you degenerate? I know that what we have before us is a formidable host of Biel-Tan, but...it would not a threat to us at all.”
“My Lord warned me of such.”
“Yet you held your counsel? Your lack of wit knows no bounds.”
“Watch yourself, Blooded One, with a tongue that sharp you might cut your own throat one of these days.”
Skulltaker sniggered darkly. “Let us hope so.”
They were joined by The Masque who was left the unenviable position of deciding which position was the least uncomfortable; to the psychotic Skulltakers right, to the left of the nauseating Eldasay or worst of all – between the two of them.
Eldsay watched the Eldar prepare. “It matters not. Since Maliconoscious is in the city, we will simply destroy the Eldar here completely and free my brethren in the city.”
Without looking away Skulltaker gave a single nod. “For once I agree.”
Skulltaker turned to look behind him. Across the plains tens of thousands of Daemonic warriors crowded, proud Bloodletters, rotten Plaguebearers, capering Daemonettes and a myriad of Daemonic beasts gathered in an endless wave of violence waiting to crash against their mortal adversaries. Their combined legion seemed endless, stretching as far as the eye could see. Skulltaker could only imagine the effect it must have on the morale of the humans and Eldar, waiting, dreading the moment when the destructive wave would come for them.
Skulltaker wondered where he should begin, which area of the battlefield he should stalk to try to find some amusement in the enemy warriors. He felt like some foppish noble selecting the juiciest apple from amongst an entire bushel. The thought almost made him chuckle.
Only The Masque dared spoil his good mood.
“Need I remind you that the Eldar are not our enemy in this. Gratifying though it would be to deliver their souls to my Lord that will not soothe the insult of his Greater Daemon being imprisoned so.”
Eldasay pointed with a gnarled finger at figures in bright blue armour. “Aspect Warriors, the elite of the petty Eldar. Are we to deny ourselves the simple pleasure of destroying them and making the highest in to the lowest?”
“And what of Grandfather Nurgle and the slight to his name?” The Masque went on, changing tact. “You would ignore the humans who so offended him in favour of giving him the souls of some meaningless Eldar?”
“You have the right of it there,” Eldasay admitted. “Alright, we shall create a hammer blow and break their backs so we may enter the city and take revenge for the double offence caused to our Gods.”
“You expect me to run?” Skulltaker snarled dangerously. “Break through their lines and then run away to butcher civilian scum?”
“Our purpose here is not to fight the Eldar, U’zhul.” The Masque said warningly. “You would do well to remember that.”
“And you would do well to remember that none may command me but my Lord, Fallen One. I do not run, I do not hide, I and my legion will mutilate them!”
“If you do that our alliance will be terminated.”
“That is of no concern to me, Fallen One. I run from no one!”
Eldasay stepped in to try to speak reason in the face of The Masque’s failure. “I would accompany you, Lord Skulltaker, but consider; within the walls of the city dwell mortals who have trained their entire lives to battle Chaos and its workings. Let us engage them in the ultimate battle and see which is stronger – their prayers and faith or our legions and the glorious might of the Chaos!”
“You are suitable only for slaughtering women and children, Pestilent One,” Skulltaker gave one last leer at the Eldar and shook his head. “Yet you raise a good point. Proving to some deluded fools that their False Emperor is every bit as weak and pathetic as he ever was will be infinitely more amusing and I can still enjoy myself with the fear of a few Eldar as we break through.”
“Then it is settled then,” Eldasay said in relief.
Skulltaker turned and moved off to rejoin his warriors. “One thing – the Wraithlord out there is mine!”
Once the Champion of Khorne was out of earshot Eldasay sighed. “There is great risk in having him along for this after all.”
“He is like any beast,” The Masque replied lightly. “Toss them a bone to gnaw on when they are bored and then unleash them when the hunt begins.”
“Can you sense it?”
The Masque liked her delicate lips with a black tongue. “Their fear? Oh yes, delicious is it not? They are waiting for their precious Emperor to deliver them, but he is not coming to save them.”
“All mortals are afraid of our kind,” Eldasay said with an experience borne from his former mortal life. “It is a primal fear. It goes back to when mankind skulked in caves and used flames to scare away rabid monsters. We could sit here for a decade and the city would fall before us in time...I can see and feel the fear undermine them. They beg and plead, hoping for Space Marines or the Emperor to save them.”
“I almost pity them,” The Masque gazed at the assembled Eldar. “We should be gracious and offer them a chance to surrender.”
Eldasay was stunned. “What in the Eye for?! We should just smash through their lines and send them scattering in to the four winds like ashes.”
“I would sooner let them leave and save our warriors for the greater battle.”
“This is a sham,” Eldasay spat furiously, spraying bile from his lips. “I shall offer myself to the Blood God and his tortures before I offer mercy to these pompous wretches.”
The Masque hid her distaste at Eldasay’s words. This stubborn hatred and pride were a vulnerable chink in any armour of any great leader. It was too human; too close to weakness and other damnable human traits. This was all a game to her, whether her enemies played by the rules or not, she was always out to win. “Eldasay, when a call for surrender is made the generals meet do they not?”
Slowly the implications of her words penetrated the Daemon Princes rotten brain. “You intend to lure them in to a trap?”
“I intend to see the face of my next meal.”
“They will never fall for such an obvious ruse. These Eldar are sly, they will not be so foolish as to commune with any of our kind.”
“That is true,” she concurred. “That is why you and I will be going. How could they ever resist a chance to see whom the leaders of this host are? Yes, they will believe we are setting up for a trap and will seek to destroy us, but it is they who shall die.”
The Masque strolled across the field of battle and stood herself on a stone butte amidst a series of thorny bushes. Eldasay Edimus stood a little to the rear of her accompanied by a group of his nauseating Plaguebearers and a seething carpet of giggling Nurglings that constantly trailed in their wake.
Raising her bejewelled staff high The Masque called out: “Who speaks for you?”
Her voice carried easily, the sound distorting as it amplified over the wind. It sounded brutal, lacking any refinement or culture it may once have had. There was a bustle of activity amidst the Eldar, their warriors clearly unsure of how to react or respond to this unforeseen situation.
After a few minutes a fantastically dressed Eldar emerged, swathed in emerald green robes emblazoned with alien runes. Ribbed armour shone silver with caught sunlight in the exposed sections and at the Farseers hip hung a glittering Witchblade. The Masque smirked to herself. The beautiful Farseer was a seer and a psychic but she carried herself like a warrior. Gazing upon the wise, hawk-like features of the Farseer stood amongst a line of white-armoured Guardians, The Masque was hardly surprised to find that she could not see this mortals name. Farseers were powerful psykers and as such were able to shield their thoughts and their minds from prying eyes such as hers.
A shame it would not save the Eldar leader.
"I, Sayone, Farseer of Biel-Tan, speak for the people of Isamafu," the Eldar called back coolly.
The Masque turned her head to Eldasay and nodded for him to speak. Shuffling a step forwards, the Daemon Prince spread his arms. “I, Eldasay Edimus, come in faith to make you an offer I urge you to consider and answer for the best of your people.”
"Speak then."
“Our business is not with you, Eldar. You are out-matched with no reason to throw away your lives in a fight against us you will not win. Our offer to you is simple, turn and run back to your Craftworld, or be destroyed. The choice is yours. There will be no mercy for those who stand against us.”
The Farseer remained totally unmoved. "That is no offer, Daemon. That is a death sentence and a cowards way out. We will not sell innocents in to your hands merely to prevent our own deaths."
“So be it,” Eldasay said flatly.
He raised a clenched fist and then spread his fingers wide, signalling for the first wave of diseased Daemons to thunder across the plains for the Eldar.