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Inspirational Friday - 05/12/2014

Inspirational Friday

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#1
Tenebris

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Hello and welcome back to Inspirational Friday. This week it seems that we were low on the ebb but the posts were great, all of them but I must say that Kierdale once again proved the best of us. 

 

Thus Kierdale, step forth and claim your reward. 

 

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A honorable mention goes to all the other frater who contributed to this week's Inspirational Friday. With that kind of ideas I wonder how great the Knight households would be for us of Team Chaos if they would be legit. I assume that the results would be great. In my case I was very inspired by the possibilities which come to play with the theme of a Chaos Knight House, and I would dearly wish to see them someday on tabletop. 

 

Well this week will be an interesting and crazy one:

 

 

Inspirational Friday - 05/12/2014 - CHAOS "SANTA CLAUS"

 

Indeed you have read it right, I want you to write about Santa Claus, albeit a chaotic, corrupted and sinister one. Write a story of a daemon, chaos lord or another entity which would gift one of his followers with a chaos boon or gift. The gift as well as the entity can be anything and anyone, provided that it is chaotic. 

 

 

This is all for this week, now if you excuse me I have a birthday party to attend, mine :)

 

Let us be inspired!

 

 

Tenebris


There is only the Truth. I do not know what it is, but I do believe in it!

Attributed to Dark Apostle Toren Mar, Chapter of the Broken Seal, 71st Host, Word Bearers Legion.

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#2
Kierdale

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Thus Kierdale, step forth and claim your reward. 

Firstly: happy birthday!

Secondly: thank you very much!

 

There were few entries this week, but I think all were excellently written, and very original.

Carrack's way of revealing the house's corruption via the scrolls attached to a wrecked knight (and the effect it had on the poor, over-diligent scribe ordered to catalogue it :D) was great. Also the final reply from the Mechanicum.

YFNPsycho's was short but good. Interesting that the whole house used the same name. Akin to the Alpha Legion?

And Tenebris, I loved the Red Lords of Barbicanis - an excellent name, that -  and I enjoyed reading their fall.

 

Next...a sinister, chaos Santa?! :D



#3
Carrack

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Congrats. I liked how Kierdale's story started out as a classic, chivalric tale of a knight rescuing a damsel in distress, but grew increasingly more cynical and truer to human nature as the story progressed. All the while keeping the medieval tone of a knight house.
Now, a fat man slipping through chimnies and flying on a sled pulled by reindeer, obviously warp spawned sorcery is involved.

Happy Birthday

#4
Slave to Darkness

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This makes me wanna buy a Logan Grimnar mini and convert it... Must... Resist...


Unbearable, isn't it? The suffering of strangers, the agony of friends. There is a secret song at the centre of the world, and its sound is like razors through flesh.

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Blog - Gates of Helvete

"If you mean, "Are we all going to get killed?" Yes. Clearly, Guilliman is about to make yet another gargantuan effort to move his drinks cabinet six inches closer to the Cicatrix." Captain Blackadder


 


#5
Forté

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This makes me wanna buy a Logan Grimnar mini and convert it... Must... Resist...

You can resist as it's already been done.

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My Putty & Paint gallery

#6
Kierdale

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Perhaps not quite what was asked for, but my entry for this week was fun to write.
Shorter than my usual entries too :P

On the first day of Christmas
the Plague Lord sent to me:
an Eldar God trapped in a cage.

On the second day of Christmas
the Plague Lord sent to me:
2 Plague Hulks
and an Eldar God trapped in a cage.

On the third day of Christmas
the Plague Lord sent to me:
3 Circular Wounds
2 Plague Hulks
and an Eldar God trapped in a cage.

On the fourth day of Christmas
the Plague Lord sent to me:
4 Desecrators
3 Circular Wounds
2 Plague Hulks
and an Eldar God trapped in a cage.

On the fifth day of Christmas
the Plague Lord sent to me:
5 Blight Drones
4 Desecrators
3 Circular Wounds
2 Plague Hulks
and an Eldar God trapped in a cage.

On the sixth day of Christmas
the Plague Lord sent to me:
6 Beasts of Nurgle
5 Blight Drones
4 Desecrators
3 Circular Wounds
2 Plague Hulks
and an Eldar God trapped in a cage.

On the seventh day of Christmas
the Plague Lord sent to me:
7 Death Guard Rotting
6 Beasts of Nurgle
5 Blight Drones
4 Desecrators
3 Circular Wounds
2 Plague Hulks
and an Eldar God trapped in a cage.

On the eighth day of Christmas
the Plague Lord sent to me:
8 Great Unclean Ones
7 Death Guard Rotting
6 Beasts of Nurgle
5 Blight Drones
4 Desecrators
3 Circular Wounds
2 Plague Hulks
and an Eldar God trapped in a cage.

On the ninth day of Christmas
the Plague Lord sent to me:
9 Cleaved Marines
8 Great Unclean Ones
7 Death Guard Rotting
6 Beasts of Nurgle
5 Blight Drones
4 Desecrators
3 Circular Wounds
2 Plague Hulks
and an Eldar God trapped in a cage.

On the tenth day of Christmas
the Plague Lord sent to me:
10 Lords of Decay
9 Cleaved Marines
8 Great Unclean Ones
7 Death Guard Rotting
6 Beasts of Nurgle
5 Blight Drones
4 Desecrators
3 Circular Wounds
2 Plague Hulks
and an Eldar God trapped in a cage.

On the eleventh day of Christmas
the Plague Lord sent to me:
11 Plaguebearers trudging
10 Lords of Decay
9 Cleaved Marines
8 Great Unclean Ones
7 Death Guard Rotting
6 Beasts of Nurgle
5 Blight Drones
4 Desecrators
3 Circular Wounds
2 Plague Hulks
and an Eldar God trapped in a cage.

On the twelfth day of Christmas
the Plague Lord sent to me:
12 Nurglings drooling
11 Plaguebearers trudging
10 Lords of Decay
9 Cleaved Marines
8 Great Unclean Ones
7 Death Guard Rotting
6 Beasts of Nurgle
5 Blight Drones
4 Desecrators
3 Circular Wounds
2 Plague Hulks
and an Eldar God trapped in a cage.



Edit: corrected 'plague drone' to 'blight drone'.

#7
Carrack

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The North Pole

"Come closer young cubs and gather around the fire. Leave the dancing to the women and braves and hear the tales and legends of the Ursgatch peoples." The old man beckoned the youths to sit on the stumps and piles of hides that served as furniture at the campsite of the Greater White Bear Tribe. Most of the youths started to appear busy for the first time during the celebration and started nonchalantly sliding away from the scarred, one eyed elder. The three outsiders, clad in thermal body gloves and leathers, not the furs and seal skins of the Ursgatch seemed to take note of this reluctance, which only irritated the elder further. "Flea, Kit, Flower, Puppy, Bedwetter! Put your meat on the seats now!" Bellowed the elder, with a voice of command, a voice that could be heard over the crashing of shield walls and death screams of men and animals. Wether it was this authoritative voice, or the use of the derogatory child names of the youths that brought about their obedience, was difficult to determine, but they quickly scampered to their seats. The outsiders, the Disciple of Lavam, and his two young ganger initiates also found seats, but their inexperience with camp life showed as the sat downwind of the fire and had to choke on the smoke. Their pride prevented them from admitting their mistake by repositioning.

A long pause of silence ensued as the elder gathered his thoughts while his audience began to look inward, mesmerized by the dancing flames and glowing coals. When all was silent around the fire the elder began, "We of the Ursgatch are favored by the Blood God above all others. He comes to us in the form of the Great White Bear and gives us his strength, as he culls the weaklings of our tribe. The Blood God's mark is visible in the red stained fur of his chest, belly and beard. It is there in the piles of skulls that he marks the entrance of his den. You can hear the mark of Khorne in the roar of the beast as he proclaims himself ruler of his territory. At this the Ursgatch youth pounded their fists to their chests in martial pride, and some of the braves started drifting into earshot of the elder.

One of the young outsiders scoffed at this display and crossed his arms displaying the ganger ink of a Howler's Charn head hunter, until his charge, Disciple Ahm slapped him in the back of the head and whispered, "Idiot, these tribals will cut you down for your meat." "But I don't have any meat Disciple." The confused and chastised thug said. The Disciple of Lavam merely stroked his chin knowingly while the other goon, a pierced and inked gun skirt casually pointed to the smaller cooking fire upwind of the dog pen. The first goon gulped air and reached into his pockets, no doubt checking his pistols.

When the Ursgatch finished their animalistic display of bravado, the scarred old man continued, "While we Ursgatch are favored by the Blood God, other True Gods vie for our patronage as well, going to great lengths to win our affections." As if on cue the tribal dancers reached the finale of their wanton dance and the elder spoke, "The Dark Prince blesses us with beauty and grace above that of the other tribes. She reveals this blessing in our victory dances, more wild and pure than any dance you will ever witness. She shows us true perfection in the unblemished white furs of the fox and the snow badger. Look to our prisoners, look to the outsiders, and look to yourselves young Ursgatch. Are we not longer in limb? Is our hair not straighter and darker? Are our features not fairer?"

As the elder waxed poetic about the beauty and perfection of Ursgatch lands, hunting stock, and the Ursgatch themselves, a dancer made her way to the fire and abruptly sat down next to the outsiders. Her light cape of white fur and matching long skirt and boots contrasted with her red and black warpaint made from blood and charcoal. Ivory bangles graced her bare arms, throat and hair. It was her hair that caught the attention of Disciple Ahm, not in a lustful way, although he was certainly aware of the dancer on that level. No, the hair was tied into what was called a "Soul Stealer's Braid", each knot representing a captive driven to suicide in a ritual that would allow the torturer to capture the fleeing life essence of the victim and bind its energy to the ritualist. The dancer was a tall women, yet her hair was knotted every three inches from crown to mid calf. The Disciple considered the dancer and the attributes of Slannesh, grace, beauty, lethality. He wondered if his initiates were learning her lesson.

The cyclopean elder continued with his tale, with a skillful decrescendo that caused the youths to lean in and focus on his words, "You may here the boasts of the wretched Etacani claim how they are favored by Grandfather over all other tribes, but I ask you to discern the true nature of Grandfather's gifts. There is no doubt that Etacani braves are not easily laid low with arrows or javelins, and yes their chief, The Woe Bringer, withstood the axe of our brave, Bloodfrost, but the Etacani have never bested us in a true battle. The worse damage the Etacani do to our tribe cones not at the hands of its warriors, but at the hands of its old men and frail children." At this some of the proud Ursgatch spat and muttered. The Elder explained, "When an Etacani cannot withstand the gifts of the Grandfather, his or her people push them out, prod them with spears and harry them with dogs. We do the same as do all of the People of the North Pole, but the Etacani drive their sick all the way to the camps of their enemies. And by the time some of these wretches reach our lands they are more daemonic than mortal. Yet we have endured these plague bringers time and time again. Are not the Grandfather's gifts in truth, tests? Test of endurance? Is he not testing our endurance and the fact that we are here evidence of our passing? Other tribes have failed these tests, the Ursgatch have not. For we are blessed by Grandfather."

The elder halted his storytelling as the Kefinog was passed around in skins. The potent drink was made with fermented reindeer milk, eggs, and a hallucinogenic lichen. When it reached the outsiders, the young gun skirt was the first to try it. She tried her best not to vomit, but failed miserably, much to the amusement of the Ursgatch. When she regained some of her composure she exclaimed, "It taste like it was funneled through a dead ogryn's a**!" An amused Disciple Ahm removed a pair of capsules that he and the other goon swallowed before drinking the Kefinog and said, "This drink will help you understand the truths that are being told tonight. Dark Apostle Lavam ensures that all of Hell Holdfast worships the gods in a way that pleases Lord Carrack. My vocation, as you know includes surveying a number of towns important for war production as well as the tribes of the Northern Polar region. I am also suppose to further the education of the two of you. Why are we here? Rest assured, these simple people can tell you more about the gods than any theologian I know, so sit back, drink your Kefinog, listen, and learn."

As the Kefinog took its affects and the fire seemed to change hues, the elder spoke in a much more melodic tone, "The Blood God is present in our name and totem, the Dark Prince is in the beauty of our people and lands, we have withstood everything the Grandfather has to offer, but let me tell you now of how the Changer of Ways blesses the Ursgatch."
As the crackling of the fire seemed to transition from the typical erratic popping of a large fire to the rhythm of a song that the listeners could almost remember, the elder finished his tale, "The Changer of Ways's respect for the Ursgatch keeps him from manipulating us the way he does lesser tribes. Instead he sends a direct emissary to bestow his gifts. This emissary is an arch wizard in red robes trimmed in fox. He travels the North Pole in an enchanted sled pulled by eight reindeer, that can leap into the sky and run across the clouds like they were hard packed snow. One of these reindeer has been fitted with a lasgun for a snout, so this arch wizard must travel to the lands of metal and guns to our south. The lands of the Outsiders. But this arch wizard does not reign hexes and magefire from above, but instead reigns gifts on the Ursgatch who are true to the gods. This arch wizard is known to mortals as Santa Clause"

As the elder finished the Ursgatch chieftain came to the fire and bellowed, "Santa Clause gave me this gift!" He then held up his axe and all could see where it had grown into his hand so that he was truly one with his weapon. The dancer sitting next to the outsiders sprang to her feet and slid off one boot revealing not a foot but a crab's claw, "This was my gift from Santa." The elder may have lost one eye to a spear, but he said, "Santa gave me these." And pulled up the furs on his left arm showing nine eyes in a row on his broad forearm.

What will Santa give you?

#8
Carrack

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I'm not as happy with this one, my intent was to spring a light hearted ending to the story but I couldn't make it fit at all. Plus too much quotation. I hope I'm being overly critical and somebody enjoys it. Anyway Merry Christmas

#9
Slave to Darkness

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I'm not as happy with this one, my intent was to spring a light hearted ending to the story but I couldn't make it fit at all. Plus too much quotation. I hope I'm being overly critical and somebody enjoys it. Anyway Merry Christmas

Aye it was pretty cool :tu:


 

This makes me wanna buy a Logan Grimnar mini and convert it... Must... Resist...

You can resist as it's already been done.

 

Ahh thank the gods. I'd feel rally dodgy buying that mini. The locals would never let me live it down. 


Unbearable, isn't it? The suffering of strangers, the agony of friends. There is a secret song at the centre of the world, and its sound is like razors through flesh.

gallery_29004_9303_22505.png

Blog - Gates of Helvete

"If you mean, "Are we all going to get killed?" Yes. Clearly, Guilliman is about to make yet another gargantuan effort to move his drinks cabinet six inches closer to the Cicatrix." Captain Blackadder


 


#10
MaliGn

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In a dingy room, filled with lho-smoke and muttered conversation an old traveller was spinning yarns of far flung worlds and distant stars his audience a group of naval cadets on a brief furlough before final asessment, they were cheerfully egging him on and keeping his glass of amasec topped up. As the night drew longer stories of derring do and glory gave way to tales of a more sinister bent, the way men could be driven mad in the depths of space, and one or two yarns collected from other travellers.

'So, This fella was runnin' with some big shot rogue trader or so he claimed, anyway he reckoned he'd been to this world 'Teuton' he called it, anyway this place is a bit backward see? Like they missed the boat on a few things y'know? Anyway he's at this settlement, winter time, like tonight, and this is a bad winter man. He and his crewmates were there to pick up some contraband only the winter had hit bad and they'd been trapped for weeks. Place is a real backwater, but they stilled some mean liquor, made it with snow and some kind of mountain flower, apparently it was like an icicle to the forebrain... Wish I could get me some of that ... Where was I? Oh yeah right, so this one night they are all pretty drunk on this krampuschnapps only instead of staying with them like normal all the locals hole up tight, pulling shutters, bolting doors and staying off the streets, the strangers ignored their protestations and continued to drink into their profits. So it gets late, he falls asleep but gets woken a few hours later by screaming. When he opened his eyes he could see some kind of monster, covered in thick black fur, with hooves like a goat, but only two legs, it had antlers and a long forked tongue. The screaming was coming from one of his crewmates that the creature was busily stuffing into a sack, one of the others tried to attack it with a stool but it lashed out with a whip, it caught the crewman by the throat and dragged him close then started to stuff the second guy into the sack too. Our hero well he just lies there and hopes that it won't see him. He's lying there :cussting himself when he hears the beast coming closer, it's got all these chains wrapped around it and he can hear the links clattering as it moves. He can feel it's hot sticky breath on the back of his neck as it reaches for his shoulder, it turns him over and de it bathed in its foul scent, a foul reek of rotten meat, wet fur and soot. It opens its grotesque mouth and lisps past it's snaking tongue.

'I only take the naughty oneth, and it theemth that thee the two were the wortht of the bunth'

Some of it's foul drool fell into his eyes, blinding him, by the time his vision cleared the foul beast had gone, taking his crewmates with him. The locals wouldn't answer his questions, but he knew they knew more than they were letting on. This fella he wasn't quite right after that y'know? He said he met a cook from Teuton once and when he asked him about it he said it was Krampus, but Throne knows what that means. Anyways I thought of it because it was a night a lot like this when it happened, so I hope you've all been nice!'

With that the old traveller drained his glass and stood, the whole gathering had fallen silent and there was a collective shaking of heads before the gradual murmur built back up. He pulled his old travel cloack around him and went out into the night.

One of the cadets looks at his comrades and laughs 'weird story huh?' They all laugh and signal for another round. They stay long into the small hours, gambling, drinking and pulling pranks on each other. Eventually most of the other patrons leave from out of nowhere a savage blast of wind blows the door inward and off its hinges. Bitterly cold air rushes into the room, dispersing the haze and carrying a flurry of snow into the room. From out of the blizzard steps an antlered shape, furred and bedecked in chains, a large sack was slung over its shoulder and it carried a savagely barbed whip.

#11
Soldier of Dorn

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Imperial Outpost 'Deltrax', Segmetum Obscurus.

The Last and Final Millenium, 983999.M41 <19:05 25.12.40,999>

 

Within the bunker, a squad of loyalist Space Marines stood in formation around the Imperial Astropath as the Eye of Terror swirled about in the sky above them, the human mortal ready to alert its superiors if the Nine Legions attacked upon this front.

 

Gi-Nuresh zha Vorda, supplicant of the Pantheon, laughed as he watched them through the tactical visor of his ancient helm. The thinbloods actually belived that their so-called invunrable Terminator plate could protect them from him, from a Veteran of the Old Crusade. His breath misted the vacuum surrounding the asteroid, the vapour freezing as soon as it left his body.

 

Gi-Nuresh smiled, as he remembered killing a priest of the Catheric faith so very long ago, on this very day. This was a day most holy to the Catherics, when gifts were exchanged amongst their families. Well, the Qian Yepian Xinling, as he was once known, had no gifts for them but death.

 

He activated his personal teleporter, and then...

 

...he was within the bunker, with the Imperials. Even amongst the Terminators, he was a giant. He hefted a heavy bolter as a mortal would raise a laspistol, and shot down the fleeing Astropath. He felt low-calibre bolter shells impact upon his body and explode, ellicting a grunt. The red and white heraldry of the Shan-Hi cohort was burnt in a dozen places, the concequence of a heavy flamer held by one of the thinblood Astartes. The giant drew a sword as tall as a mortal man, and impalled three of the warriors with a single thrust. Gi-Nuresh let go of the blade and crushed the helm of the posthuman attacking his back. The warrior's armour was too heavy to let him fall, so Gi-Nuresh took the body and hammered it down upon the final Terminator, the sergeant's power blade and storm bolter flying from his lifeless grasp.

 

The Thunder Warrior turned away from the carnage of the bunker, and if there was anyone left to see it, they would have seen him mouth two words, words that had lost their meaning ten thousand years ago during the Great Crusade.

 

'Merry Christmas.'


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For the light of Sol, and the earth of Terra, we stand. For the oaths we made, we stand. For the blood in our veins, we stand.
For the stones laid by our ancestors, we stand. For the days that have passed and the days that shall come, we stand.
For the living and the honour of the dead, we stand.


#12
Castellan Cato

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The fire crackled cheerfully and the flickering light played over the soldiers of Gamma Platoon.  They had been pulled back from the front for some rare rest and were gathered around a fire made from the scraps of some old ammo boxes.  Gamma Platoon was comprised thirty soldiers who could barely call themselves men.  They were young, far too young to be fighting for their lives and their health from the clutches of disease and decay, but such were these times.  Their company was the remnants of the loyal planetary defense forces here on Constantin’s Reach, those feeble few who stayed faithful on a world turned to madmen and corpse worship.  Their weary eyes were fixed now on their wizened Platoon Sergeant.  The man was old, so old that, when out of earshot, the soldiers joked he was older than most of the throne-be-damned tombstones that littered the landscape like trees on this dead world.  He was the only man among them that had actually served in the Guard, and the only one to have actually left the world of their birth.  He had seen things that the others could only dream of, but would never wish to.  Yet despite his infirmities, scars and the horrors he had seen, the light of youth had never left his eyes.  For Gamma, he was comrade, leader, and mentor to each and every soul.

 

“I heard a story once,” the veteran began with a hushed tone.  He paused. The fire popped and the men drew a little closer, both from the cold and to hear the impending yarn.  “A story about the world of New Murica.  It’s a world much like ours, in a system just like this one.  The stars you see in its skies are these stars.  I’ve heard it said that a monster prowls that world, the ENTIRE world, for one night each year….”

 

On this night… this… Murdermas Eve, worried parents tuck their children into bed nice and tight.  They shut tight the windows, bar the doors, and light fires in the hearths to ward away the coming darkness.  They do this because a terrible evil stalks their world.    

Legends say that the daemon takes the form of a jolly old man. The twinkling eyes and curly mustache are just a cheerful façade to hide his insidious intent from too-eager eyes.  He comes clad in a suit woven from a crimson fabric of dried blood and collared with fur the color of the fresh, undisturbed snow that falls on a lonely grave.  And they call this monster… Santa Claus.

His airship is covered in bells that tickle with the sound of lost souls and crew by hideous, four-legged, antlered beasts. These monstrosities call themselves ‘reindeer’ and each of the nine has a name that is as renowned and as fearsome as that of Claus.  They are called Dagger and Cancer. Pouncer and Victim.  Also Vomit and Putrid, Robber and Blitzin’.  And do not forget the most infamous of reindeer of all, Rudolph the Red.  The poor citizens say you can sense them coming in the dead of night by the deep belly laugh echoing through the streets and the putrid red glow of Rudolph’s namesake nose .

 

When the daemon arrivers, not a creature is stirs.  Each fearful soul knows that they cannot keep the monster out of their house.  They peak from windows and shutters hoping beyond hope that he will pass them by.  He will invade each house in time.  Humble air recyclers, dusty ventilation ducts, and smoke-filled chimneys become sources of great fear on this one night each year.  They leave offerings of sugar plums, cookies and synth-milk for…

 

The old man pauses his story, for one of the soldiers has raised his hand.  “Yes Clake?”

The young man looks at his hand as though he is unsure how it got in the air.  He quickly puts it down.  “Sir…” he begins hesitantly. He clears his throat.  “What’s a cookie?”  The group laughs.

 

The old man chuckles to himself.  “An archaic tradition.  Said to have been brought from Terra itself.  A ‘baker,’ as they are called, combines ingredients, like flour, water, and sugar, and put them in a box hotter than a chimera’s engine.  The result is a small, round bread that is quite sweet.  Nutritionally inferior to our diets today, but these men and women would take a certain pride and pleasure in producing an edible treat.  But that is not important. Let us continue…”

 

 Milk and cookies are left as wards, with origins from a bygone age, to slack the foul creatures thirst for his favorite delicacy, human children.  But not for their flesh and blood.  No.  He hungers for their souls.  He craves them.  He comes to them as the trickster… the deceiver… promising gifts and toys… everything their young hearts wish for. In return, all they must do is believe in him.  Such a simple thing, but thus is the path to damnation.

He wanders through the streets of New Murica searching for those children too weak willed to resist him.  In the dark of this unholy night when even the most vigilant protector has fallen to the weakness of sleep, he makes his promises.  Ponies, toy soldiers, and sweet treats dance through dreams and pollute these poor children’s minds.  If the child wakes, it is then that he works his magic.  He fulfills his promises, produces their deepest desires, their hopes and dreams, all wrapped in a box topped with a bow.  Preying on that youthful  excitement, he asks these children to pledge their undying faith in him, that he is real and generous.  How can they refuse?  Brightly colored and wrapped with ribbon, the package is the most beautiful sight in their young lives. 

 

With their promise made and fate sealed, he allows them to open it. To tear into the wrappings with youth-fuelled abandon and lift the lid on what is promised to be their most prized possession.  And in that moment, as they hold their deepest desire in their hand, in the midst of that peak of joy, he takes them.  He pulls their rapturous souls from their bodies, leaving naught but an empty husk in its place.  He stuffs the souls into his sack to be carried up to the northernmost part of the planet. Deep in his lair, covered in thick, adamantium-strong ice, he slowly devours these souls over the coming year whilst they scheme and plot to take yet more children.

Parents awaken with the start the next morning to find the bodies of their children where they lay… still warm… still breathing…  And as the sun rises to end that terrible night and the monster flies out of sight, his echoing laugh and deep voice can be heard one last time over the bells of his sled and the wailing of grieving parents…

 

“Merry Murdermas to all… and to all… a good night.”


Edited by Castellan Cato, 11 December 2014 - 04:16 PM.


#13
Kierdale

Kierdale

    ++ EXERCITUM IMPERARE ++

  • ++ MODERATI CEDO ++
  • 6,776 posts
Excellent -and amusing- entries all! :D

#14
Warsmith Aznable

Warsmith Aznable

    +FRATER DOMUS+

  • + FRATER DOMUS +
  • 3,713 posts
Fantastic story, Castellan Cato!

The Iron Hounds (CSM) project log here & IA here. | Our Martyred Lady (SoB) project log here  | Lamenters (BA) WIP thread here.

Index of Inspiration Friday entries here.

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"Three times faster than the usual Warsmith."