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Stories of Lust / The 2nd Sin - Wrath
« on: April 16, 2014, 12:10:43 PM »
The hand was slick with her blood, but still he would not release it. He couldn’t let her go. The skin of her arm was covered in blood, as if it had forced its way out through here skin, every pore leaking her life essence. He looked into her eyes; they too had blood flowing out of them. He was lying on his stomach facing her; it was where they had landed after he had tried to catch her. His brain was still trying to process what had happened just moments before.

They had been running for the cover of the building they had been living in. Their foraging trip had been interrupted by another offensive into their city. They had said the armored warriors in blue would bring this war quickly to an end, something he and his sister truly hoped for. But they hadn’t been able to accomplish any more then the three imperial guard regiments before them. These new warriors only brought the devastation deeper into the already bomb saturated city. The Salvar had said these new participants in this battle which had lasted all of his life, were Space Marines, supposedly the elite force of the Imperium, something his parents had told him about.

It was these blue space marines that had started shelling the city that morning, a new weapon he had never heard before. This new machine was smaller then giant earth shakers that the imperial guard used during their near continuous shelling, but it saturated the area with deadly fragmentation pellets. These rounds were as deadly to him and his sister as the larger shells, though they did not have the whistling sound warning the larger shells proclaimed themselves with. It was the shelling of this new weapon that had caught them unsurprised while they were foraging.

The incoming rounds had exploded on the outside of the building they had been searching. The Salvar would trade things they found for food, his sister did the negotiating with them. And they were getting low on food, and needed to get trading material. They were digging looking for stairs when the shell hits, the fact that they were both below ground level was what saved them. Their packs had been destroyed, their hearing had disappeared for an hour, which is why they hadn’t heard the chatter of boltgun fire as they rushed from cover, running to the shelter of their home, and his sister had caught a bolt in the pelvis. He had turned as the bolt exploded deep in her groin, throwing her torso free from her legs, carrying here towards him. He dived out of instinct to catch her, his hand locking around hers as she flew towards him.

So there he landed, her hand in his, her entrails spreading out from her waist, a fleshy entrails forming a bloody skirt. He lay there looking into her bloody eyes, he didn’t move even as the yellow armored marines stepped over him as they marched down the street, advancing on some target, oblivious to the innocents who lay at their feet. He lay there till his hearing returned and the silence replaced the ringing he had grown accustomed to. Silence in this city usually was a frightening thing to him, but now laying there in the life blood of his sister, he welcomed the coming storm. Nothing could be worse now, nothing mattered.

The war had come to their city when he was only three years old, his sister was nine. Their parents had lived in the city, faithful devotees of the Imperium. They worked hard and lived a simple life, one of pious duty to the emperor. But the war came before he knew any of this, his earliest memories were of the shelling, the continuous shelling. Even though he screamed as the shells landed his parents had held him till he faded to sleep, a scream on his lips. His family had held to his fear of the shelling as something to be cherished as unblemished from their previous life. And only when their lives were endangered by his crying, did the shush him to silence.

His crying had lasted to his 9th birthday, when the 3rd Gordan regiment had burst into his family’s house, and dragged his mother off. His father followed them with a lasgun he had found in the city, two days later his mother had returned in shambles, his father never returned. She never spoke of that to him, though he knew his mother had told his sister, because she had told him to be proud of daddy as he had died defending mother’s honor, and the Gordans hadn’t been able to do anything until they had killed their daddy. Back then he hadn’t known what she had been telling him, and he hadn’t found out until years after his sisters death.

After his 9th birthday, his mother was taken from their house many times. Each time the outer door was opened, his sister would hide. It was during the year after his father died that his sister had to dress in his father’s old clothes, like a boy his mother had said. He was half way through is 10th year when the Gordon’s left, and he lost his mother. They came for her one more time, if she left with them, or worse, he would never know. After that, he and his sister had been the only family.

During his 12th year, the Salvar had come. They were worse then the two previous regiments that had defended their city. They spent as much time stealing from the populace as they did fighting, anything they wanted they took. And talking to their officers usually saw the officer taking the item. One of the Salvar who had been the first to suggest the two of them bringing interesting things to them, to trade for food, and medicines. His sister had gone in that first day, to negotiate. She had come out hours later, in a state he could only describe as the same state his mother had come home in, those many years ago. She had an armful of food, and would only say that she had negotiated for it.

So it went for two more years, each time they would try to make the food last as long as possible, he knew that his sister dreaded the negotiations. He offered again and again to go, but she said she was the oldest. Many times she would walk out with no food, but still disheveled. He knew something was going on, when over the last few months she wouldn’t take the items she had found with her, but she still returned with supplies. But she never said anything, and she continuously kept searching for ArchoTech, a name the Salvar called it.

That was before the bolt round had drilled into her abdomen, and taken her from him. He was still laying there when a hoofed foot landed next to him. He didn’t register it; his mind was still on the fleeting edge of insanity. When a hand reached down and pulled him to his feet, he was still holding his sister; she was now drained of color, and stiffened with death. He registered a face, that of a bull, he knew must be looking into the face of the mount. It was when it spoke that he returned to reality with a jolt.

Time had passed, six months to be exact, the yellow armored marines had left, but the war still raged on around him. He knew that it was part of him now, nothing was left of his previous life, and there was only the constant war. His life was one of function only now, his will and desires lost with his sister.

He still collected the archotech the Salvar’s wanted, but now he knew the cost of negotiating with them, he learned the price two months after his sister’s death. He had collected up his current stash of items, strapped them to his body, and walked to the headquarters of the Salvar. There he had gained entrance to their command area and pass the spot he use to wait for his sister. Inside were young boys and girls with sacks of trade goods, looking for food. They had the same look his sister had when it had come time to negotiate. He was the only one who looked around; no one would make eye contact with him. Some he knew from his life in the city, others he had never seen before. It was when the door opened and the Salvar came the others reacted, an almost imperceptible step back, not of fear but of resignation. The Salvar looked around, and focused on him, he was first today.

Of that journey to the “negotiating room” his mind refused remember, but he had finally learned the cost his mother and sister had paid, the Salvar cared not if the “negotiator” was male of female, they wanted their price. The items he brought were extra for them. He had left with an arm full of food, and bile in his mouth. He had almost made it all the way to his home without vomiting, but the vile thoughts surged to the front like some torrid tidal wave rushing out of his consciousness in a stream of putrid memories. His tears held in check by his unwillingness to show fear or weakness, but his retching betrayed his defiant stance. The realization that his mother and sister, and possibly his father had endured this filled him with more horror then the years of shelling he had lived through.

His only thought during their “negotiation” was of the look of love his sister gave him each time she had left with food, her sacrifice for him had never been revealed, and he love for her grew even deeper. But she was lost to him, and his degradation before the Salvars was his alone to bear. No family to stand proud in front of, no person to know the sacrifice for.

And so it was on the six month anniversary of his sister’s death at the hands of the yellow warriors that they returned. He was starved, he refuse to return for food, better he should die. But the people around him had told him of their return in greater numbers, a force to end the war they said. Though he never knew who they were fighting? The strange beastmen who had lifted him from the ground on the day of his sister’s death? The same beings who had buried his sister along side him? Were those the enemy these yellow armored murders sought to destroy while the Salvar violated the cities population?

And even that wasn't enough, his life had become even more surreal, when for some reason the news that the Salvar were searching for heretics, people who had helped the enemy. The news had traveled through the children of the city as one by one their parents were take away as heretics. The children had formed enclaves to protect themselves from other children who now were terrorizing the city. There were weapons to be found anywhere a child looked, and the power of a las weapon in the hands of a child guaranteed even more death in the war torn city, death even more senseless then the war itself. But he lived alone still, and he seemed to be in a bubble the other children wouldn't violate. So he would hear their cries for their lost parents, or of hunger. The small ones were lucky if they had an older sibling, or another young one looked after them. The ones that had no one would stop crying and never be heard from again. Their fates were sealed when their parents were taken, a final nail for their small coffins.

He was running from building to building when he saw the strange beastmen, the 4th they called themselves. Bahamut Dragonlord was the name of the one who had lifted him that time long ago, and said he was the leader of these strange beast headed men. Bahamut said he was the leader of the vanguard of liberation for the population of this city and the whole planet. He had thought they were part of the yellow armored men, but when he was returned to the ground gently and Bahamut had told his men to prepare a grave for his sister, he knew they were different. They had stood around his sister’s grave and sang a song of morning to ease her passing. And as they left, they had given him food, the same food packets the Salvar had, and they had asked for nothing in return.

And as he approached the beast headed men, he felt a measure of joy again. They looked up at him, and took his measure. And as one approached him he felt a tinge of fear, had he assumed to much, was it hunger that was his joy? But as the towering beastman got closer and he recognized Bahamut, his fears were allayed. The smile was disturbing sight on Bahamut’s face, but it was a smile and gladness to see the boy. His beastmen had taken to sharing their food with the children of the city, and he had never come to where the 4th had their distributions. He had been lost in a cloud of despair, and never heard the whispers of food, many hadn't, and many more wouldn't share, keeping their supply safe for themselves. The cities children had become polarized, with many children rising to become saviors and helpers of the small children, and many more becoming evil creatures who stole, killed and worse to the weak. They had created gangs with the weak as their slaves, forcing upon them the same treatment the Salvar had inflicted upon the city. They would send their slaves to the Salvar for food, choosing to allow the Salvar to use their slaves and avoiding their attentions. This he learned from the Bahamut and the other members of the 4th. It seemed they were watching the city, looking for something. They had been in the city the first day it was shelled, and they had been there with each atrocity was committed. They said what they were looking for could only be found at the site of great pain. That is why they had been there when his sister was killed. No, they didn't cause this pain, which was against their orders and would corrupt this thing. Why had the war started, and what were the Salvar and those before them fighting? A rumor was the only answer the 4th could give. There was something in this city the forces of the Emperor wanted gone, but was it worse then the sins the forces of the Emperor had inflicted upon the city with his troops? Bahamut couldn't answer that, he didn't know. He knew what he fought for, and he knew that the Imperium would never allow the people of this city to live if it meant they were out of the control of the Emperor.

So what was this thing and why had he never seen the forces that the Emperor's men fought? Bahamut's answer perplexed him, it was the people of the city who were the enemy, and they had found solace outside the Emperor's grace. They had found something that was alive where the Emperor was dead. What was this thing, this thing that had condemned his sister, his family and the population of the city? That Bahamut would not tell him. He said that he would have to find that answer within himself. With the end of their discussion Bahament gave him food, and water, as much as he could carry, and said no one would bother him to his home.

He awoke the next morning, still hungry, he had not allowed himself to gorge on the food, it would last as long as possible, and this bounty was not going to be wasted by him. And so he went on his normal scouring of the city for tech, just has he had been for years, when he found the largest group of children he had ever seen, they were milling about, nervous, and as he stood there more and more arrived, it seemed the whole of the cities children gatering, and for many they, like him, had no idea why they were there. They stood in what was once the courtyard of the emperor, a massive gathering place for festivals. Surrounded by the offices of the Emperor, the ministrum buildings, and open the other to the grand pass way, where gigantic parades could be held. The children were gathered near the main entrance to the offices, the shelled buildings around them on three sides. The grounds were so massive, their voices drowned out the rumbling engines of the Slavars and yellow armored marine transports made upon driving into the open end. The children near the offices were still unaware as the newly arrived warriors of the Emperor got out of the vehicles and deployed their heavy weapons, aiming them at the children. But some children had seen the new arrivals, and pointed them out to those near them, soon the mass of children were facing the massed firepower of the Imperium, and panic set in. Many of the younger ones dropped to the ground crying, others asked what were they doing. The older ones somehow knew that the end was here, they would go to join their parents soon. The forces of the Imperium had set up outside the range of a simple lasgun, but well within the ranges of their plasmacannons and lascannons. They had come to remove the majority of the remaining inhabitants, but the imperium was a large place, and the rules were to be followed, and so an Orator servitor and two Speaker servators were sent forward to read the charges against them. There would be no trial, the charges carried a death penalty, and there would be no clemency. And so the servitors started announcing their crimes, they were the children of psychers and they themselves may be psykers, a city full of the, some genetic irony, but an outbreak of the worse kind in the eyes of the Imperium. The reading of the charges took ten minutes, and afterwards the servitors fell back, the children had become silent.

And almost as if some signal had been given, the children with weapons charged the line of executioners, a scream upon their throats. For bullies they may have been, it was their time of reckoning. The defenders let them come within effective lasfire range and a wall of lasgun fire reached out and extinguished most of the children. But some, those who were a bit older, old enough to have gone through puberty survived in a myriad of ways. Some still ran with holes in their bodies, others the shots had passed through as though they were only smoke. Others had absorbed the shots and somehow gotten stronger. Those who were still standing continued their run towards the wall of intolerance with renewed energy. The second burst of fire from the wall included the marine’s fire, bolters and meltaguns, plasma guns and cannons. This time none of the charging children survived, for many they the first had been a lucky occurrence, for others the vast amount of weaponry overcame them. The silence after the charnel smoke cleared was complete, the children resigned even the youngest seemed to know there was no escape; the Warriors of the Imperium were silent with their resolution that no insult to the emperor would live to see tomorrow.

And deep within the mass of silent children, he heard a voice whisper to him. It promised him the power to strike back, to punish those who had taken his sister from him. The daemon promised he would survive this day and live for many more, if only he would share himself with it. He somehow knew the price it wanted him to pay, something he would gladly pay to avenge his sister, he felt the rage of wrath, the empowerment of the victim. His heart raced and his senses drew the world around him into crisp relief. He had become hyper sensitive to each moment; the time it took a beat of a bird’s wing was minutes to him. He saw the front of the lascannons glow, the muzzle flash of the autocannons, and the back blast of the missile launchers, with his life over he screamed "come to me then let us finish this here." And in that instant his latent powers blossomed, the daemon tore apart the warp realm barrier which had bound him, and every living creature within sight of him took a step towards him. His power fully manifest, it surged out again, focusing this time intent on killing him overwhelming their conscious mind and instilling them a need to be near him. The daemon who had been crossing into the real of the material to inhabit his body gave itself to him and instead of possessing the boy, it succumb to him abjection its daemon powers to the boy. The children around him had pressed in close to him, many be crowded in the press. And the energies, bullets and missiles streaked into the crowd of children. The lascannon energies pierced through the distance of the crowd and into the buildings behind, the children didn't possess enough mass to expend the massive lance of energy. The autocannon shells dove through child after child until finally slowing enough to trigger their fuse, detonating inside of children, and blossoming out into the children around them. The missiles were much like the autocannon shells, though they penetrated deeper into the crowd before detonating their fragmentary warheads. The first round of shooting had outright killed sixty five percent of the children; another thirty percent would die within minutes. Those remaining were either unscarred or would survive their injuries, if they lived to see the dawn.

His mind had exploded, he could now see more then mortal eyes could reveal, the daemon energies had multiplied his latent psychic abilities many times. He looked about him, the fog of blood obscuring his sight, but he could see warp hounds lapping the energies that were released into the ether realm. He looked about and saw daemons who had been whispering to other children, most who were dead, a few had accepted the deal, and they were amongst the living. The imperial forces had stopped their run towards him, as his attention had waxed. He looked at them again, and in a flash a bolt of psychic energies lashed out at the closest of them, tearing the Salvar trooper in two. He now had the power and will to extract his anger upon the destroyers of his way of life, his anger had found form, and power in the warp. He commanded the other daemonic beings to him, and together they ran to destroy the invaders, now the children were the ones with the power.

The yellow armored marines reacted with practiced ease, bolt guns swinging to fire at the remaining children. Others swung their chain swords from their holsters and drew their bolt pistols, ready to receive the charge they fired their pistols with an almost graceful disdain. But the bolt rounds failed to stop even one of the daemonic children, the new daemon energy infused skins simply refusing to give to the power of the bolts. Behind the front row, the heavy weapons of the marines were being readied, their dash forward having disrupted the firing litanies. The children would not make the line by the time they fired, and they did not expect the children to survive the power of their weapons.

From a first story window Bahamut Dragonlord gave the signal to open fire, and every autocannon the fourth had on this planet fired in unisons. The guns were aligned in the adminstratum buildings surrounding the courtyard, giving them enough range for each gun to cover the distance between buildings, the massive fullsade made the previous weapons fire look miniscule in comparison. Thirty autocannons barked their death command, and dozens of the Imperiums finest warriors dropped, lifeless to the ground. A second barking and there were no more imperial forces standing. The fourth's third shot realigned to hit the armored transports they had arrived in, a second round of shooting was not needed, as the whole of the transports had been destroyed. It was force enmasse, and it had worked as designed. The children were left with no force to rage against.

Bahamut looked upon the children, the new children of Slaanesh, and bade them to come with him, for their tasks were just beginning. The child of power eyes glowed with the light of deep red anger, the energy of the warp flowing through him to strike down Bahamut and curse him with spawndom. But he stopped when from the corner of his eye he saw a marine armored in dark purple armor. His will drained as the purple armored figure approached him.

“You are the second of the seven sins I seek, do not fear you will make the Imperial Fists pay many times over for what they have inflicted upon you. Take your leave now and cleanse this city of the Salvar Chemdogs. Sate your hatred, and then we will leave.”

He looked at the warrior before him, understanding his purpose now. He turned and ran towards the remains of his city a life time of pain and anger driving his legs. Besides him ran his five pets, they would cleanse the city, and return to their new master.

And the boy, who had never had a name found his name. He was wrath the deadliest of man’s sins.

Stories of Lust / The 3rd Sin - Lust
« on: April 16, 2014, 12:09:29 PM »
His heart was pounding in his chest; the feeling of the explosive beating elated him like no other feeling had.  The running was pushing his body beyond any limits he had once thought he had, no he considered the possibility that there were no limits to his body.  His running had gone on for two days now, with scant minutes to appreciate the feelings his body was generating.  Hunger and thirst were memories, lost in the languished thrill of running.  All he was had become the current moment, lost before the on rushing next.  He found that he couldn’t remember why he was running or who he was, but he knew running.

He knew the black armored marines were chasing him on the orders of some one else.  What would happen to him when they finally cornered him was something that sent a thrill through him at the thought of the possibilities.  Even as his legs carried him across the broken pavement, his mind wandered to the myriad of possible experiences they would inflict upon him, but that was something for the future and his mind would snap back to the present to indulge in another heart racing moment.  Jumping across open holes in the streets, throwing himself from one building he just climbed to another, thrills he had never thought possible surged through him.

Then there were the moments, not of terror, but of excitement when the black armored marines would find him.  Sometimes they wore flight packs, and their arriving was accompanied by their screaming jets.  Other times he would round a corner to come face to face with a road block, those were his favorite moments.  He would pause to catch his breath, imagining they were studying his face to see if he was the one they were after, and with recognition came action.  The marines would bolt after him, faster then any human he had seen before, faster then he could have run days before.  But somehow he was faster, his legs propelling him from them.  Many times they would have an armored vehicle with them, and he found he couldn't outrun that, but he would dart into the rubble, and the vehicle would have to slow.  The marines would get out and give chase, but by then he would be long gone.

The flight pack marines were a different problem. They could keep pace with him.  Where he would run through the rubble, they would fly above it, keeping abreast of him.  It was during these chases that his excitement would reach its peak.  He knew they would be maneuvering their ground forces to blockade him.  During these chases he would feel more alive then he had ever thought possible.  His senses were heightening to where he could imagine hearing the thoughts of those chasing him, and indeed it seemed like he could.  He would run until he had slipped free of their plan, and then continue running through the city, aimless in his destination but experiencing his time.  The one chase where they had fired their guns at him, each shot had missed.  He would hear where they were aiming, and when they fired, dodging and maneuvering to assure he was not in the path of the rounds.  His closest call had come when two shots were fired at almost the same instant, and only by spinning in place and craning his neck did he avoid the fatal meeting with the round.  After that chase, they had seemed to give trying to shoot him.

It was the night of the third day of his game that they had almost captured him.  A blue armored marine had appeared in the road before him, stepping from the overhang of a building into the surreal moon light.  As their eyes met he had felt his legs go weak, and his will to run fade.  The blue armored figure still had the livery of the black armored marines, and his right shoulder bore the symbol of the raven marines, but there was a fire about him, something the runner had never seen before, almost as if this was the only other person as alive as he was.  The blue armored marine's fire had spared to the runner, draining him of motive, and ambition.  But the runner tired of the experience, and his fire leapt to the blue armored one, tracing back along the channel which connected the two.  But the runner wasn't seeking to sap the marine, he was experiencing him, and sharing his own experiences, the mutual transfer was only a single moment, a flash of existence, but when it was over the boy knew what the Raven Guard marine new, and the marine had viewed the boy’s existence.  The boy understood why they hunted him now, what their plans were and who had sent them.  He also knew that they wanted him alive, to be studied and then destroyed.  The boy started running again, the game was back on.  Behind him the blue armored marine had dropped into a fetal position, his mind violated and corrupted with the boy’s existence.

His mind reconciled the marine’s memories, from the moment of the marines birth, to the moment of their sharing, another life time was added to his.  The knowledge of the marine’s youth, the test of selection, his trip upon the black ship, and selection for elevation to a marine.  The soul bonding with the emperor struck him as the most interesting of all the experiences the marine librarian had undergone.  Then there was the induction in the Raven Guard, their rituals and history, the deeper truths taught to the older members, the veterans, the history of their primach, the founding of their legion.  Then too with a thing they called the heresy, and near extinction of their legion on a far away planet, the subsequent rebuilding.  Then too were the memories of his years of service, the training and indoctrination on the weapons of the Raven Guard.  All this was now part of him, as if he lad lived it, and flooded into him as he ran; he came to understand what he was, why the librarian had looked alive to him, and why they were here.  He also found it interesting that they were confounded that one boy, who hadn't even reached the age of thirteen yet, had evaded them for almost four days.  He was sure that the librarian now understood why they couldn't catch him.

It was on the eve of the fifth day that it really got interesting for him.  The force commanding the marines, an inquisitor of the Ordo Heretcus, had demanded the local planetary defense force become part of the search.  They lined each street, and building top in a long police line.  As they marched up the streets, each building was searched with auspices and savants.  From one end of the city to the other, they were flushing him out of the city.  He was sure the sewers were infested with searchers too.  He laughed what reaction would he get by rushing towards them, what discipline would they have?  His knowledge of the Raven Guard doctrine told him they would be waiting for him to be flushed out, or driven from the city.  They would have strangle-web, psyk-out grenades, and other non-lethal weapons to capture him, all this activity for him.  Sitting on his vantage point of an imperial chapel's tower, he found it quite entertaining wondering if they would find him here, would they scream with impotent anger as he threw himself from his resting point, plummeting to the ground below rendering their efforts moot.  He knew that he couldn't be taken alive, the experiences he would enjoy would be entertaining, but the final outcome would be unacceptable to him.  Bound and blinded by their emperor, eternal boredom, the ultimate sin to him.  And as the soldiers entered the chapel, he thought of that fate, and how many of the “alive” people were blinded by the Imperium.  His mind wandered through his experiences, calling each into sharp relief and then traveling to his next memory.  He even remembered the life of the marine, adding those experiences to his own, the self-discipline, and the mono-static life.  He sat there immobile until the door behind him opened and a soldier stood there.  He didn't even move as the soldier talked into his vox, indicating they had found him.  And he stood for the entire time it took the inquisitor, so sure he had caught the boy that he didn't even call the Raven Guard for help, to walk the stairs of the tower.  It was only as the inquisitor stepped through teh door that the boy moved, standing on his ledge, facing the inquisitor.  The inquisitor only put his hand out, a fatherly gesture meant to show caring and understanding, but the boy could see the inquisitor was alive, and that his fire showed he had not true feelings for the boy.

It was but a moment, but the inquisitor lowered his hand and raised a gun, pointing it towards the boy.  Deep in the boys mind he heard a voice say to him, "Experience the fall.  Live for it."  And he leaned back as the inquisitor's gun fired a mass of entangling threads, but the boys lean and gravity pulled him from the balls path, carrying it within a hairs breath of the boy's body.  The inquisitor was so smugly assured of his aim that he had turned his yes, an attempt to fool the boy into thinking he wouldn't fire, and missed the ball passing above the boy.  Had he been looking he would have seen the eleven gouts of flame driving eleven marines through the atmosphere.  And if he had looked closer he would have seen that ten of them were following the lead figure whose armor was of an older design, and whose flight pack had not been manufactured in ten thousand years.  All these things he would have seen, but the inquisitor saw none of this.

The runner was falling, the force of gravity his only master now, his backwards arch allowed him to see the racing figures streaking towards him.  Had the Raven Guard been fast enough to respond to the inquisitor, would the watch his final moments with amplified vision?  The moments ticked away as the ground pulled the boy to its fatal impact.  The streaking figures were closing faster then the falling boy thought possible, an intersecting path with his; did they mean to catch him?  He closed his eyes to savor the feel of the impact; he hoped that he could remain conscious the final moment, to feel the earth’s embrace once again.

But his fate wasn’t to end upon the streets of his city, he was destined for a larger cause and his favor was great in the eyes of his patron.  The lead figure of the streaking jet packers caught him within an arms distance of the ground.  To save the boy from being dismembered by the forces of his fall and the speed the jet packer was flying, the marine wearing the jet pack had approached at a precarious angle.  The boy was caught and the jet packer had used his legs to slow the final impact, his armored boots sliding along the pavement while the force was greater then the friction his feet could generate.  And with a twist of his body the boy’s catcher launched himself back in the direction he had just come from, back at the approaching 10 Raven Guard marines.

The boy’s eyes opened to find he was held under one arm of the marine, flying just above the ground, racing towards the Raven Guard.  The marine carrying him had drawn a sword that glowed with power and crackled with the force of lighting.  The hand, arm and rest of the armor of his savior were a dark purple, glittering with a hint of precious stone.  Through the approaching marines they flew, with the marine lashing out once, cutting the restraining straps of a passing Raven Guard’s flight pack.

Faster then the boy could run, they flittered through the city while they darted from street to street, no ascertainable pattern or logic in their flight.  The Raven Guard having been lost earlier in the first light of the boy’s sixth day of running.  Above they had spotted thunderhawks of the Raven Guard searching for them, and below they had passed the planetary defense forces also searching, but as the boy had run and lost his pursuers, so had the marine.  All during their flight the boy enjoyed the experience for the newness, but it paled to his own heart pounding pursuit.  And with the full of morning upon them, they left the city, a rocket birthing from his home projecting him to his future, and ultimately his destiny.

It was a few hours after his exodus from the city that he met the one responsible for his escape, and the one who told him of his future.  But all that would be future experiences, and the only words he said to the boy was, “You are the third of seven, welcome to your destiny”.

And the boy knew he was Lust, lust for experiences, for all the things he could possibly sense.  He was the third of the seven chosen sins of Slaanesh.  And his would be a fate worthy of his name.

Sin of Pride / Emperor's Children Forum
« on: April 16, 2014, 11:24:34 AM »
Welcome Back

Sin of Pride / Welcome to Emperor's Children Forum
« on: April 16, 2014, 11:04:45 AM »
  Let me introduce myself.

  I am Refuse/Echild.  The Admin for the Emperor's Children website.  I have always played Emperor's Children (since Slaves to Darkness) and Imperial Firsts (both sides of the same coin to me).

  I will find some pictures of my army to repost back to the site.

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