#4 Deep Scars | Week 2
Kalador Burning, a Warhammer 40,000 narrative crusade
An encounter with Hive Fleet Volucris Tendril has taken its toll on a Death Guard warlord. He recounts his recent trauma.
Volucris, Volucris, Volucris.
~ Voivode, Lord of Virulence
A trio of bio-forms wreathed in lightning – zoanthropes – emerged from rubble as plaguemortar bombardments slammed into packs of xenos vermin. The ground shook from the unrelenting artillery. But something else was sending vibrations into the crumbling stone walls that Lord Voivode had taken cover behind. He rested the barrel of his plaguespewer on the edge of a shattered arch and could feel the buzz of many termagant claws thrashing and bounding closer.
Eager to meet these stragglers head-on, and resolute in his mission to intimidate the Hivemind, Lord Voivode stepped out with his weapon primed.
Their eyes were pitch black, teeth bared, toxin sacs engorged and their biomorph extremities quivered. The termagants were taking aim but before they could let loose a volley they were hosed down with corrosive chemicals so vile they stopped in their tracks, snarled and fell, gagging and retching until all that remained was a puddle of bubbling green and purple slime.
Triumphant, Lord Voivode advanced. He knew he needed to hold the line, to make a stand, to maintain supply lines and allow his vectorium more time to spread their Everbleed Contagion. This dead world would soon be teeming with life empowered by Papa Nurgle’s bountiful gifts. The future was looking bright –
An incandescent blast of energy, unmistakably the warp, blinded the Lord and he staggered. There was a vice-like grip on his brain and it squeezed and squeezed.
Surprisingly, he experienced pain, tremendous agony was building and not even his disgusting resilience could block it. The shock of the assault travelled throughout his body. It burnt behind his eyes, electric jolts surged down his neck, along his arms, through his torso and down to his mutated toes.
Struggling to maintain consciousness, Lord Voivode tried to grip his plaguespewer tighter but even that fell from his grasp.
In a way it was refreshing, to remember what it was once like to feel the thrust of a blade pierce armour and flesh. Only this was a horrific attack on the mind.
Vision washed with white, the tyranids projected images in rapid, nauseating succession into Lord Voivode’s psyche boasting the superiority of the tyranid Hivemind.
There were, of course, swarms by the thousands crawling topside but there were many monstrous creatures lurking in the ocean waters, tucked away in the clouds, and nestled deep in orbit.
These projections receded and the zoanthropes drifted closer. They wanted the Lord to witness the majesty of their evolution.
And then came a sudden, shrill screech followed by a single word that was repeated non-stop in a whisper: Volucris, Volucris, Volucris …
It was just a word – Volucris – yet it stung, like daggers with rusted points poking his forehead and the nape of his neck.
Volucris.
Volucris.
Volucris.
On the verge of collapse, rolling to his side, Lord Voivode questioned his purpose. Yes, doubt had taken root. But how much of it, though, was the malign influence of these accursed xenos psykers, he wondered.
The zoanthrope triumvirate thrummed with power, wind swirled around them.
++TRANSMISSION TO KUPALA’S KEEP++
++TIMESTAMP ERROR – LOCATION KALADOR II, OUTER RUINS++
++COMM-IDENT: LORD VOIVODE++
++TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS++
++URGENT EXTRACTION REQUIRED. SEND REINFORCEMENTS. ++
Darkness fell.
Volucris.
