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[Torbenos]

 

 

 

Having recently become more active at my local gaming club where the excitement for 9th edition is quite real I've decided, like so many others, to focus on a new army for a new edition. Due to both my love for sorcery and in the spirit of diversifying the armies among the locals I decided against playing imperial space marines and sought instead the power of the warp.

 

With a generous gift from a friend who hadn't touched a brush for many years now I found myself with a box of rubrics and twenty cultists for a start. All now painted to a degree where I'm not ashamed to put them on the table and the rest needed for a small sized army purchased with the last of my spending money on the way.

 

Inspired by many other excellent blogs and writers on this forum and on youtube who share their narrative I am, oncemore, trying to breathe some creativity into my space wizards beyond painting them.

 

 

Ordo Malleus - Akamyos

 

Akamyos.

 

Interviews with acquired [REDACTED] suggest that it translates from the abominable tongue of the Archenemy into 'Guardians of the Soul', its etymological roots thought to be found in 'Akami' translated as 'Guardian' and 'Phaos', which refuses simple translation into High Gothic but has in the past been deemed equivalent to words such as 'Essence', 'Soul' or 'Will' interchangably.

[Naryn]

Nothing like some more Sons! Looking forward to seeing more, I like that blue and white on the headpiece.

[Torbenos]

 

+++Witness+++

 

For days Autöri had been in silent darkness, he was one of many the dark ones had seized from his world, now locked away into the vaults of their great vessel. It felt like eons had passed in the dark, to Autöri’s gifted sight the darkness had given no solace from the terrors that came with the invaders. The darkness had promised him power, release, light and even death, each catered to a new temptation, probing and trying his psyche, every vision terrible and great.

 

It was on the seventh day that the door opened. He was near death then, lacking sustenance. The dark guardian looked a monster even more so than he remembered, it wasn’t the sight of the giant but the feeling of it. Its soul a flickering and faded thing, unnatural and wrong. It did not speak as it seized him by the arm, nearly breaking bone by that mere touch and guided him down the halls of the vessel.

 

Autöri tried to speak, but his throat was dry and his tongue stiff. Hunger ravished him as he croaked pleading words.

 

“Please.. Food.”

 

“Where am I?”

 

“Where are you taking me?”

 

“What are you?”

 

Each question begot only silence. The giant’s aura, faded as it was, did not even flicker in recognition to his pleas. He could sense other souls around him, other souls which were kept in dark chambers. The glare of their soulfires shining through thick walls.The first sign of life beyond this were the songs, sung in a language unknown to Autöri but beguiling to his ears. The cramped tunnel of steel opened up into a great chamber where dozens of hooded figures held a choir, not a single one turned to regard Autöri as he was forced through their midst.

 

“Help me.” he managed in a strained voice, yet nothing acknowledged the words. He began to wonder if he was even speaking at all, himself.

 

Beyond the singers he was greeted by more obsidian giants, their hellish green eyes regarding him as he approached an ornate dais wrought from white marble and carved with mystic symbols. Their arms, great guns which spewed green fire were held close and pointed out into the chamber. Silent and terrible guardians for the figure who was enthroned behind them.

 

At first Autöri did not see it was a figure at all, the dazzling light of the creature’s soul was too bright. A dominant searing flame which washed over all around it, blazing white. Never had he felt such a presence, not even the Hidden Masters compared. He was forced down onto his knees before the figure.

 

It too was an obsidian giant yet where his captor was terrible due to its aberrant soul, this master among them was terrible in its power and he dared not raise his head to look upon it. He wept as he felt the blazing fire scoured his mind, every thought, emotion and memory laid bare before an invading presence that no man could deny. For a moment his own sight was lost and he was blind, the world around him suddenly a void as the soulfires vanished and mere steel and sound was left behind.

 

Terror seized his heart.

 

 Then he heard the voice, yet no voice uttered the words. It was a whisper in his mind, and the first true words spoken to him in what felt an age. His tears were of joy, as well as fear as he looked up at the silver masked master, the words lingering in his mind. As they would for many years.

 

“I have need of you.”

 

 

 

 

[space wolf]

Really gritty. I like it!

[Zebulon]

Good start, strong writing. Asks more questions than it answers, much like Autöri himself! Look forward to more.

[BadgersinHills]

Great writing.  

[Torbenos]

+++Souls and Sand+++

 

Autöri stood a silent witness as the wails of the raised souls carried on the dry winds of Neurox Beta Six. A world of little note and lacking any renown in records both Imperial and otherwise. To Autöri himself it was but another wasteland, its name only known to him as the Prince had spoken it.

 

It was a great desert, the dunes of sand all that was left of great mountains that covered the continent millions of years ago. Unremarkable until just a few hours ago. Pillars of smoke still rose from giant glass craters where the lance batteries had scorched the dunes, and a number of ruined vehicles littered the sands.

 

Autöri wrapped his robes closer around himself, the wind which carried the wails was sharp. One of the great cobalt warrior lay before him, the armour scratched and singed by soulfire and shrapnel, it spoke of a great battle. One which Autöri had not seen. His master always summoned him in the wake of battle.

 

The warrior had been a lifeless husk, ever his supreme form having suffered injury beyond its capacity. Yet now his soul screamed as it was forced into being, wrought from the warp itself and returned to the realm of the living. Suffering as the syllable of power both bound and empowered it.

 

With his second sight Autöri could see it fully, a vague shape of a face and limbs wrought from sickly green smoke. It struggled to find a shape, to make itself into the form it remembered. The proud warrior it had once been. It was only vaguely human now, perhaps it had only been so before as well.

 

Even if he could see it, he could not understand it. Its wails offended the ears but they were not words, not in the way his mind imagined them. Yet the obsidian giant who stood next to him could. Indeed it was he, Gaumata, who bound the soul. He was unlike the sentries that stood around them, for he was truly alive. A towering man of a dark complexion as could now be seen as he chanted words of power, his crested helm set aside for the task. Inked secret symbols from a thousand worlds covering every inch of visible skin.

 

Autöri did not know why he was here, not truly. He did not know why his masters were here either. Yet he stood witness, as the Prince bade him. His very essence recoiled from the sight and the sensation of what was being done before him, and all around him. The same scene repeating itself a dozen times around him as the soulsworn magi of the Prince collected the souls of the fallen foe.

 

Gaumata's soulfire a blazing light to his second sight, even after all this time it nearly blinded him. Yet the magi did not shield his mind as did the Prince, perhaps he was not able or he merely thought a servant beneath his notice. Yet the disdain was clear. He hated being watched over by a mere mortal. He could not understand the reason for his presence here, and he thought it an offense, a punishment for some slight to the Prince. He did not understand.

 

None of them did.

 

 

Thank you for the kind words everyone. 

[Torbenos]

Had a small fit of inspiration today and put together a few more miniatures to match the first above. Finding some good use for my firstborn space marine bitz atleast for the moment. They will represent the souls of the foes slain by the Akamyos which are then bound to servne the thrallband through vile necromancy, on the tabletop they will be used as Chaos Spawn. Although hardly original, I've seen the Spirit Hosts used to similar purpose many times, I do find the visual they create quite effective and to me seems to fit the sorcerous theme I want to keep going with my thrallband. Bound souls strike a better cord to me than mutated monsters, as much as mutation lies at the heart of Tzeench and the Thousand Sons.