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Nazatl the Unleashed


Carrack

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Night of the Blood Feast

 

 

We bled for Nazatl long before the Night of the Blood Feast, never forget that. It's true that our enemies bled more, but we bled as well, Nazatl demanded it.

 

To bring the rains, we shed blood. To start every growing season, we would march captives up the stairs to the altar, day and night, until the heavens opened up with life-giving rain. Our fields' thirst for rain was never satisfied until Nazatl's thirst for blood was first quenched. Some years there simply wasn't enough captives.

 

Likewise, if the rains were too abundant, and our fields threatened to swamp, we went to war with our neighbors, to march more of them up to the altar to placate our capricious Nazatl.

 

Blood was not the only offering Nazatl would accept. Artifacts of the Ancients would stay the blades of his priests. Chunks of the ore that could not be melted nor marred with obsidian blade, ceramite, would be accepted by the priests instead of blood. Nests of the shiny vines called cables or wires could also be substituted for hearts on the altar of Nazatl. Our vassal tribes would scour the ruins of the Ancients for such tribute to offer to Nazatl, in effort to keep our warriors out of their lands and their people from climbing the steps of Nazatl's temple.

 

Every year our warriors went out for Nazatl, to capture sacrifices and extort tribute. Some years they gathered enough blood and artifacts to start and stop the rains. Some years we were forced to offer up our own; our criminals, our weak, our infirm, and our poor, would climb the steps never to descend.

 

The thirst and hunger of Nazatl could never be predicted. There were times he was so hungry he would swallow the moon or the sun, and the priests could only convince him to vomit back our sources for warmth and light with mass sacrifices of our own people. Games were held and the losers lost more than their pride. Their blood would channel down the grooves of the altar to the heart of the temple that only the priest could enter. In the heart of the temple dwelt Nazatl. He was never seen, except by the priest, until the first Night of the Blood Feast.

 

On the first Night of the Blood Feast, Nazatl's hunger was so great, he brought the very stars down from the heavens to feast upon them. We lamented for our warriors had not yet went forth from our lands and we had no captives. We cowered in our dwellings that night, fearful of our god. Yet with thunderous voices, our priests announced that Nazatl could be persuaded to go into the heavens and feast on the stars. His hunger would be sated forever and ever, and he would allow the rains to come and go for us in eternal blessing. However, he would need nourishment for his journey, and the priests would open the temple, and allow Nazatl to feed on the blood of his faithful one last time. We would be held hostage to the hunger of Nazatl no more. All we needed was one last sacrifice and we would end our constant wars. For peace, and with joyous hearts, we left our dwellings in celebration. Nazatl was terrible to behold, and he slaughtered many that night, but it was the final price we were to pay, and we paid it willingly, so you and your children would never have to walk the steps of the temple, or go forth to make war so others would walk in your place. This is the reason we celebrate the Feast of Blood.

 

 

WIP

Nazatl

 

http://i725.photobucket.com/albums/ww256/Carrack1/IMG_9269_zpsplxk99fh.jpg

 

 

Lasher Tendrils

 

http://i725.photobucket.com/albums/ww256/Carrack1/IMG_9267_zpslr7vrttg.jpg

 

 

 

Base

 

http://i725.photobucket.com/albums/ww256/Carrack1/IMG_9270_zpsblk1dvbd.jpg

 

 

 

Note

Most of my time in the grim dark future has been spent with the hobby lately. I intend to write a couple short stories about the models I'm working on, separate from the main story arc of the Black Maw.

 

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  • 4 weeks later...

Under the Ice

Part 1

 

Field Journal for the North Pole Excavation. Recorded by Professor Henry Jons of Charn Universitarium

 

-Entry 0.1. I am a little uneasy about this expedition from the start. Foremost of my concerns is the expedition's providence. I have received quite a large grant from a completely anonymous benefactor for this dig. That in and of itself is not entirely unusual, most of my work has been funded by wealthy men who sometimes value their privacy, but I usually can get a general idea of who is funding me from my grant writers and colleagues at the universitarium. Nobody has any idea who is behind this grant. Still, it's much needed funding in my area of study, the archeotechnological recovery of artifacts from the pre-Imperial colonization of Frederic III. So I agreed to accept the grant.

 

-Entry 0.2. My concerns have grown as I organize this expedition. In filing for grants, I had indicated that I have several locations in mind for dig sites, based on my study and experience. All of my previous grants were funded based on this knowledge and experience. Yet with the substantial sum of money endowed for my expertise, has come directions as to the precise location I am to excavate. It was actually a grid coordinate from the mapping of our world done by our PDF, whom I had to consult to find out where it is on conventional maps. It's at the North Pole. There are zero accounts of pre-Imperial contact in that region, and no one has ever heard of any hints that such activity had taken place in such a hostile climate. This has the makings of a wild sinefox hunt, destined to blemish my record. Still, I am intrigued, and hoping that my mysterious benefactor has access to information undisclosed to my universitarium.

 

-Entry 0.3. My benefactor has done more than indicate where I am to dig. He has provided me with transportation and additional labor to protect my site. At first I was relieved. My recent research has indicated that the primitive tribals of the pole can be, at best, unfriendly, and I have no experience in either travel in such frigid lands, or in the hiring of guards.

 

However, upon reviewing these arrangements, my concerns have only grown. Both men and machines are clearly of military origin. I understand that tracked vehicles are the most reliable means of locomotion in the snowy pole, but is armor necessary? The men, and they are all men, are equally concerning. I am use to hiring dig labor, mostly students from my classes, supplemented with local peasants in need of work. Students are always excited about the adventure, and boisterous the way students are when going off on their own in in groups of their peers. It's just another vacation for them, with slightly less debauchery I hope. Peasants are typically skeptical of my profession, unable to see the value of discovering our history, but grateful for the supplement to their income. These guards are like neither. They asked no questions, did not bargain for their pay, and kept their thoughts to themselves. Their coats had patches of fabric that were less worn than the rest of their attire, as if insignia had been removed. Same with their skin, where no doubt tattoos and scars had been grafted over with synthetic flesh. They stared right through me. Only two of them would answer any questions at all, all the others would just point to one of those two, and the two that spoke, were reticent, professional and courteous, but unforthcoming and vague. My students and the guards didn't mingle, and I think the guards frightened them a bit. They did me.

 

I have a feeling this expedition is going to be either the find of a lifetime, or end very badly. I also feel that it would be unwise to cancel at this point. I don't want to contemplate what would happen if I offended the kind of patron that could grant a vast sum of money, and arrange these kind of measures for a dig.

 

-Entry 1.1. I have landed at the pole, and our expedition has disembarked towards the site. The guards have mounted guns to the armored conveyors. I would call them tanks, for that is what they appear to be, but our guards seem to bristle when I do so. They call them "Alpha 1, 2, 3, and 4".

 

It is cold. I know this doesn't need to be said, the data feeds are linked to my entries, and we all know that the North Pole is inhospitable, but Emperor's Tears it is cold. While standing atop of Alpha 3 after we disembarked, One of the guards spat onto the roof. His spit froze and shattered like glass. It is cold.

 

-Entry 1.2. I got my first glimpse of the tribals today. We are still over 200k out, and one of them was off to our left at a great distance traveling by dog sled. Apparently there was a debate about what we should do in Alpha 1, which I overheard bits and pieces from our conveyor's crew's vox. I think they were debating on whether or not they should "neutralize" the tribal. I have no doubt about what "neutralize" meant. I am in doubt about who is in control of my expedition. It doesn't seem to be me.

 

Note. This story was inspired by Nazatl's base. The model is about 2 hours from completion

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Under the Ice

Part 2

 

-Entry 6.0 The dig is going slow. The ice and frozen tundra is harder than my standard tools can work, so I have been experimenting with our camp heaters to soften the ground. It's a delicate technique, getting the ground malleable enough to work, yet not too warm that everything melts away and potentially destroys artifacts.

 

I am focusing our efforts on a mound that doesn't seem to match the relatively flat topography. This is not a popular decision among my students. They seem more anxious excavating the mound than the other test digs we have worked at this site. I had assumed this was a result of the presence of the guards, and the nightly, distant drumming from the local tribesmen, but I must confess that I feel the same sense of unease when I am at the mound myself. Still, I also feel that there is definitely something there, and this dig will unearth a wealth of knowledge about our world's colonization.

 

-Entry 8.2 I have found proof of pre-Imperial contact at the North Pole. Two frozen bodies were uncovered at the mouth of a collapsed cave. These bodies are perfectly preserved by the snow and temperatures, and I'm sure will bring us fascinating insight about this colony. I'm overjoyed that this dig is not a bust.

 

However, something is not right with these bodies. For one, their complexions and hair are noticeably darker than geneogroups from all other colonists and their descendants on the continent. One of the guards mentioned that the frozen NP men (as I've labeled them) bare similarities with the tribals that are keeping their distance from our excavation. Until I run tests, that is the theory I am operating under. Equally disturbing was the attire of the NP men. They were dangerously ill suited for the polar climate, wearing breech cloths, jewelry, and elaborate headdresses of feathers, precious stones, and gold. They appear to have frozen to death. Until I get samples to the lab, I am unable to estimate how long the NP men laid in their frozen tomb.

 

-Entry 8.4 I have found the entrance to the NP men's shelter. It seems to be a lift door to a heavy duty cargo container much like you would find on a ship. I am unable to estimate the size of the container due to the tons of snow and ice burying it, but I have cleared the lift door. It is made of a black alloy, with the hinges, locks, chains, and lift bar are verdigris encrusted brass.

 

I am gravely concerned. Symbols have been dabbed in blood, now frozen, in a bisected circle on the door. The guard leaders confiscated the pic-captures of these symbols, and said they will ensure that our benefactor gets them directly. They have also ordered my students and their men to stay away and not look at these symbols. This may sound unusual, but having seen the symbols, I think this is a valid precaution. The symbols are clearly a warning not to open the door, but more than that, there is something unnatural about them. It takes a great effort of will to look at them, and as soon as I do, something inevitably distracts my attention away from them. I know this is not a scientific description of the phenomenon, but it's the best I can do. One of the guards gave me his sidearm, a las pistol, and a brief, no-nonsense run down on its operation. The fact that they are arming me is alarming enough, but the low toned, discreet, and professional instruction only made the weight of what the guard was doing more heavy on my mind. Like most archeotechnologists, I had dreamed of being a dashing explorer, braving the dangerous wilds to recover long lost relics. This dig is coming close to that reality, and I don't like it one bit. I intent to take my duties teaching at the universitarium more seriously, should I make it back.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Trapped Under Ice

Part 3

 

-Entry 9.0 The tribals had been beating their drums with heightened fervor tonight, than silence. Moments later, the whole tribe attacked. Up till this point, the guards had kept them at a distance with at first, sniping shots from their las guns, then just warning shots. The tribals had backed off out of range. Still, they never left, they just pushed back and let us know they were there with their drums. It was an uneasy truce that they were now breaking with a mad rush at the excavation site. When the guards started to fire, I took shelter in Conveyor 3. Both the driver and the gunner began firing their cannons, and the guards in the troop compartment added to the bigger guns of the tank with rifle shots out firing ports in the crew compartment. The noise from inside the conveyor was deafening, and my heart rate sped up to match the rate of fire of our weapons. While the guards themselves were calm, even morbidly joking about the slaughter they were inflicting, I myself was an absolute mess.

 

In that moment I remembered one of my students from last semester complain to me how she was so anxious about her examination, to the point of losing sleep and not eating. As our rocking conveyor and the guards in it fired into this horde of barbarians charging to kill us with spears, I vowed to flunk that student who was afraid of a measly exam. I huddled in the compartment, praying ineloquently for my very life while I clutched my las pistol with sweaty hands.

 

Finally, the guards stopped firing from the ports and the cannons slowed their fire. It was quiet enough for me to think. Relieved, I had looked up at one of the guards as he reloaded his las gun. He had shook his head no. The conveyor commander had yelled down at me from the turret, "There's too many of them, and are fire is not deterring their advance. The survivors will fall back to the mound, and we need you to get us inside the container." Survivors? The conveyor slammed into reverse.

 

A short drive to the mound ended when the back hatch of the conveyor dropped open. The cannons opened up like never before. Two guards hustled me into the mound as I caught glimpses of a great battle swarming over the excavation site. Many of my students, and a few guards were dead, along with piles of fur clad tribals. I kept my head down and ran as fast as the guards would let me.

 

At the entrance to the shelter stood the two guard leaders and a pair of their men. The younger guard leader asked me how to open the sealed lift door. I had no clue, so he slapped a metal device the size of his hand on the center of the door. Everybody backed away from the door respectfully, so I did likewise. Good thing I backed up, for the door shattered inward with a crump that deafened my ears for a few minutes. Other than the ringing in my ears, I was spared the effects that afflicted one of the guards and their officers. The frozen blood runes blasted outward as the lift door blew in. The blood struck both officers and one of the guards and they staggered to the floor, with their own blood pouring from wounds where they were struck, and strangely, their eyes and ears as well. I'm glad I only saw their agonizing screams, with my own ears still ringing. I looked into the buried container.

 

It was black. The lamps that had been set up to study the runes didn't penetrate more that a meter into the container. They should have, they just didn't, like the darkness had overpowered my field lamps. What I did see was a brass ring bolted to the floor anchoring a heavy brass chain leading back into the container. The chain was moving, being pulled by something in the darkness. I started to creep away from the open door, but the surviving guard stopped me. The guard had an augmetic ear with a small vox system protruding out and up into his helmet. The guard mouthed some words, the kind that would be inappropriate at a universitarium formal dinner, and dropped to a knee behind a portable heater, with his weapon aimed away from the opened container and out the tunnel into the mound from the site. He gestured to my las pistol and for me to do the same. I got behind a wheelbarrow and gripped both shaking hands on the weapon I had never fired.

 

 

-Entry 9.1 We have been waiting long enough for a semblance of my hearing to return. The tribals were still in the excavation site, and I can't hear anymore weapons fire. I hear screams, mostly from my students, but some I'm sure are from those hard men who had been assigned as our guards. From what I have gathered, and the guard agrees with my assessment, there are at least four score tribals looting and torturing our expedition around the site. The guard told me he has 55 shots remaining in his lasgun, and a pair of frags, grenades I supposed. I have 15 shots in my pistol. The guard, still unforthcoming with his name, said if we make every shot count, we can get out alive. I think he believes it. I don't share his confidence. I have a different plan. When they come, I will use my pistol on the brass chain, and let whatever keeps tugging on it loose. So while we wait for the inevitable, I have updated my dig journal. May the Emperor Protect. Here they come.

 

Nazatl the Unleashed

 

 

 

 

http://i725.photobucket.com/albums/ww256/Carrack1/IMG_9512_zps5tucyj5e.jpg

 

http://i725.photobucket.com/albums/ww256/Carrack1/IMG_9513_zpspdlcmyvo.jpg

 

http://i725.photobucket.com/albums/ww256/Carrack1/IMG_9514_zpsqg8bmwhz.jpg

 

 

 

 

Note

The Maulerfiend is complete, as is my archeologist story. I am of modest ability with the hobby, but this is the best work I've done so far, and I had a blast doing it. The pictures are kinda blah, but the black actually looks pretty good, what shows up as mistakes in the pictures looks better in person. I may do one more story to explain the helbrute face and head coming out of the back.

 

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Great effort mate. Loved all of it.

 

A question... Does your maulerfiend have a broken chain somewhere on the model?

Ha! I actually went back and looked at the model before I figured out the joke. It's a good idea though, and I'll have add one.

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