Here is some opening background for our next Apocalypse game, to be played on Sunday. I will post up more shortly...
Magnus, master of the Thousand Sons and favoured of Tzeentch frowned as he looked into the mists with a single baleful eye. The vision was fleeting – the auditory component was more memorable. He had certainly glimpsed a red-robed figure, obviously a servant of the machine god, gleaming cybernetics suggesting a centauroid form. The name was teasingly familiar. He bellowed to his servant daemons “Caul? Cowl? Cawl? Coul? Col? Who is this this fool, and why is it part of our future?”
The colourful creatures capered, cringeing as they grinned apologetically, unable to answer their overlord. “Wait,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “who is that?” In a moment the massive form of the daemon rose to its full height; the horrors about him leapt to safety as he raged.
“Bring me my armour and my blade. Gather my legion. Take message to my brethren. This. Must. Be. Stopped.”
Cawl was hard at work preparing for the next part of his journey. Specialised components had been installed in his latest creation, now being rolled into a large freight shuttle ready for shipping it off-world. Most of his minions were back on board his ship – he was accompanied only by a personal retinue of kataphron gunnery servitors, whose carriages had been used to test a number of his new constructions.
Of course, he would still have to finalise the payment. While his position in the Cult Mechanicus was unparalleled on this world, it would be highly inconsiderate to fail to reward the priests and seers of the Omnissiah that had so readily lent their support to him.
It was 12.12. His meeting with the local archmagi was scheduled to be in 52.15 standard minutes. Transport would be arriving in 3.19 minutes. The journey cross-country – well, pollutant-riddled wasteland – would take 32 minutes exactly. A brief segment of pedestrian travel, introductions, and the return, and then he would be on his way to future glories…