Kierdale Posted May 13, 2017 Share Posted May 13, 2017 Inspirational Friday: The Witch Abhor the witch Destroy the witch Such is the vow of the Black Templars. For the next two weeks the theme of Inspirational Friday is The Witch and thus I extend an invitation to the members of the Black Templars forum. The Templars are renowned for their skill with a blade, but are you as mighty with a pen?* For those who do not know it, Inspirational Friday is a fortnightly weekly event within its home in the Chaos Space Marines forum, in which a topic is set for members to write short (or long if the muse takes you) fluff/fan-fic pieces about their war bands, characters and models. The tenth challenge of Inspirational Friday 2017: The Witch The rogue or unsanctioned psyker. The human mind is a tender fruit, ripe for corruption and consumption by the denizens of the Warp, or perhaps one might be strong enough, burn brightly enough, to draw the attention and favour of one of the Gods: to amuse them and become their pawn for a time, perhaps even allowed to dream of elevation to daemonhood. In this IF theme we look at the Witch: be they an Imperial psyker that has gone wild, pushed too far or been corrupted, or one who was never discovered by one of the Black Ships. Perhaps they discovered their abilities of their own accord, were tutored by others of their ilk (well-meaning or otherwise) or were corrupted by a voice from beyond the veil. What are their goals, their desires, their powers? Who are their foes and allies, and what fate awaits them? Tell us this time a tale of the Witch. Tell us this time a tale of the Black Templars, those most loyal and ZEAL-filled warriors of the Emperor combatting the perfidious menace of the foul witch! Inspirational Friday: The Witch runs until the 26th of May. Let us be inspired. The greatest piece, most fitting the topic, will earn rewards. Not only the Octed amulet... ...but also the honour of judging who wins the next Inspiration Friday (the latter of which you can relinquish to me if you wish). Why would Templars want such an accursed bauble? To prevent the forces of Chaos from laying their claws on it, of course! * Please do not submit entries written by hand. Please electronically submit your entries (and any questions you might have) in the main IF thread linked to above. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TheOneTrueZon Posted May 13, 2017 Share Posted May 13, 2017 Challenge accepted. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Honda Posted May 13, 2017 Share Posted May 13, 2017 You should not have opened this door, for I shall enter. Then you will be locked in with ME! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
T-Rock Posted May 19, 2017 Share Posted May 19, 2017 In case anyone wants to check out my story of zeal and witch killin'! I believed once. I believed in the omniscient power of the false emperor. I believed in the insurmountable might of his Imperium. I believed in the strength of mankind—but I believe no longer. We are fools. I was a fool. Humanity is nothing more than a speck in the great abyss of eternity. We are but mewling children lost in endless darkness. We are naked in our ignorance; blind to the precipice before us. Our God is a corpse on a throne of gold. Our Empire is a crumbling monument to our failure. Our end will not be one of glory or defiance. Nothing awaits us but the slow rot of decay. But not Pyrriah! I will not allow my dearest Pyrriah to die in silent ignominy. I will spare her the suffering. I will purge her in hellfire. Only then may she to be reborn. Only then may she survive the days to come. Only in darkness may we find illumination. Only in destruction may we find salvation Only in death may we find strength All power demands sacrifice. And pain. * * * Brother Chaplain Letholdus had committed these words to memory. He used them as kindling. They stoked the flame of his hate. They fueled the furnace of his righteous zeal. It had been two days since he first saw them in his pict stream, written in blood on the wall of a padded cell. The witch should have been never been detained. She should’ve been purged on sight. The warp is a poison chalice, and those that drink from it invite their damnation. There is no hope for their redemption. They offer nothing but lies and heresy. The Black Templar understood this better than most, and none more than Letholdus. In total, only nine knights remained on Pyrriah, remnants of the Promethia Crusade. They were to pacify remaining pockets of heretical resistance as well as establish a chapter keep to begin recruiting potential aspirants. Though not a glorious task, one each initiate took with on with grave severity. Their preparations would wait however, until the rogue witch burned. The chaplain’s voxfeed hummed to life. "Our sweep of the militarum barracks is complete, Brother Letholdus. There is no sign of the witch," a voice crackled across the vox. "Affirmative," he clicked in reply. "Be wary, Amalric. Our enemies hide in shadows even our ocular enhancements cannot pierce. Darkness is the witch’s bridegroom. Our zeal must light the path." "Our faith is our shield," Amalric intoned. "Relocating to rendezvous point beta now. Awaiting your instruction." "Hold position at beta until I arrive. Letholdus out" The vox feed went out in a wash of static and the Chaplain motioned for his squad to move out. Their search of the militarum base had been equal parts slow and methodical. Though the very existence of the witch boiled the Templar's blood, rage fueled haste would not be a boon in their search. It had taken them an entire day to sweep the western quadrant of the camp, and they had not found a single trace of their quarry. Letholdus could feel his knight's impatience. It simmered in the chilled night air. A single building remained in the western compound, positioned between the muster hall and rows of barracks. It was identical to every other structure around it, save a rusted imperial aquila jutting up from its shingled roof. As he walked towards it, Amalrich and his crusaders appeared from behind one of the barracks. They nodded at one another and approached the large, double iron doors. Anticipation scratched at the corners of Letholdus’ mind. The initiates flanking them had already drawn their bolters, chains clinking as they were pulled close. The heavy, oxidized doors were foreboding, as if withholding secrets from the world outside—but there were no secrets a member of the reclusiarchy feared. The boot of his MKIV armor kicked open the door, and they were immediately bathed in light. It was a simple chapel, with several rows of pews and a dais opposite the door. Offerings and trinkets were placed around an alter shaped in the visage of the God Emperor. The initiates filed inside, the muzzle of their bolters searching every inch of space within. There was no crevice, room, or alcove that could hide the witch. The chapel was a single chamber, still lit by a flickering holo-light and some fake electric candles. The building was empty. Naclides, the newest of their recently acquired neophytes, groaned. Letholdus began to chide him, but Amalrich beat him to it. “Temper your battle lust with discipline, neo—" the thoom of a firestorm pattern shotgun blasted against the Sword Brother’s helmet, shredding through the ceramite and careening him across the chapel. Letholdus turned. The look on Naclides's face was one of horror and pain. His movements were unnatural as he struggled against his own body. He danced as though unseen strings moved him like a marionette. His groan grew to a bubbling cry, until it was silenced by the Chaplain’s crozius. The holy relic crunched the neophytes unarmored skull in a single blow. Suddenly, the chapel was filled with swirling shapes, as fiends from the warp flooded the chamber. “Smite now the scions of the witch!” Letholdus roared, carrying the momentum of his first swing in to a lunging demon. The bark of bolter rounds joined in his chorus, as they fought back the shifting tide of warp spawn. From their midst, the outline of a female form took shape, floating above them, brazen in her naked blasphemy. “Grant us the strength to pierce their unclean flesh!” a crusader boomed, charging towards her. For a shining moment, it looked as though he would sever her in two, but his power sword exploded in his hands, inches before it made contact. The impact sent the knight sprawling. Letholdus fought through the press of demon’s towards the witch, thirsting for vengeance. “To cover their fields with the pale form of the blasphemous dead! To drown the thunder of guns with the shriek of their dying!” He squeezed of round after round from his bolt pistol, tearing through the demons assailing his brothers. “To lay waste to their citadels with hurricanes of fire!” a crusader bellowed, evaporating a fiend with his melta gun. “To wring the hearts of their kin with unavailing grief! Another answered, his chain sword whirring through the flesh of his foe. “To send them into the waste of their desolate land in rags and hunger!” Letholdus growled, deflecting the notched blade of a hissing demon with his pauldron. He saw the knight to his left get pulled down under the weight of flashing claws and gnashing teeth. The witch cackled, hurling orbs of fire at another crusader, his plate exploding in flames. The remaining crusaders joined shoulder to shoulder next to Letholdus. “Broken in spirit, worn with travail” they chanted as the witch focused her fell sorcery on them. Their blood boiled, but they pressed on. “And begging for the refuge of the grave!” The remaining crusaders faltered in unison, their helms folding in on themselves, crumpling at the psychic weight. Veins throbbed at the witch's temple as she redoubled her effort. Sweat poured off her shaved brow. She shrieked in inhuman elation—but Letholdus would not be undone The heat seared the chaplain’s skin. The acrid smell of his own burnt flesh stung his nostrils. His eyes began to flicker. He reached deep within, pulling from the wells of hate he had stored for the mutant, heretic, and witch. In a final act he channeled all of his zeal in to one final, righteous swing. “We ask it, in the spirit of wrath, O Master of Mankind!” And the Crozius Arcanum, the symbol of his faith and tool of the emperor’s will, answered his prayer with blood. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TheOneTrueZon Posted May 19, 2017 Share Posted May 19, 2017 Just posted bits from my story line as well. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Honda Posted May 23, 2017 Share Posted May 23, 2017 Submitted: http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/329792-inspirational-friday-2017-the-witch-until-526/?p=4751257 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Kierdale Posted May 30, 2017 Author Share Posted May 30, 2017 Congratulations, Honda on your win :tu: Be sure to parade your octet amulet about...perhaps even let some of those young, impressions neophytes try it on? ;) I'm glad I threw down the gauntlet to the BT forum and will be sure to challenge you again After all, gauntlets come in pairs. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Honda Posted May 30, 2017 Share Posted May 30, 2017 Be sure to parade your octet amulet about...perhaps even let some of those young, impressions neophytes try it on? ONLY IN YOUR WARP FEVERED DREAMS. YOUR HERETICAL TRINKET HAS BEEN CAST INTO THE CENTER OF A STAR AND CONSUMED. OUR WRATH IS ETERNAL, OUR FURY UNRELENTING, AND OUR ACTIONS A PRELUDE TO YOUR FATE. NO PITY. NO FORGIVENESS. NO REDEMPTION FOR THE FALLEN. EVER. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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