| A Blaze Of Glory: The Dark Phoenix; Chapter 1 - 'I Write Sins Not Tragedies' | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: 18th October 2006 - 08:45 AM (363 Views) | |
| Matt | 18th October 2006 - 08:45 AM Post #1 |
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News Elf of the Twilight Host
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Hello people! It has been a while since I last visited our Rebellious friends... however with the final act of the Civil War Campaign neigh I thought it only appropriate to revisit this tale with its own final act. Enter: "A Blaze Of Glory: The Dark Phoenix". I hope you enjoy this piece. Matt. Chapter 1 - 'I Write Sins Not Tragedies' Written By: Matt ____________________________________________________________________ Today The dagger wobbled feebly in his hands. Suddenly his armour felt as protective as paper. There were many in the press around him, surging forwards through the ink of the tunnels. If he fell he was dead. He must not fall. They were coming. Firs could hear the monotonous roar of the effigy behind him and despite impeding his hearing it comforted him. He knew that they, The Rebellion Of Flames, had the advantage, the Phoenix was with them. Somewhere in the darkness The Brotherhood lurked, waiting for their deaths – or so Warlord Stinkhair had briefed them. Firs himself only once had had the pleasure of seeing Moonblood in all her passion and even then he didn’t get to taste the pleasure. His comrades often reminisced of the nights they had spent there. The underfoot was slick with blood, Firs slipped on a number of occasions but he didn’t fall, he mustn’t fall. Warlords Ashenfur and Stinkhair had decreed that Dhorgar the Kurgan and his forces would perform the role of a forward party and sweep the Brotherhood aside. Whenever Firs saw the Khornate warrior he had to suppress the urge to squirt the musk. “Cremate them!” he heard a voice from the front line call, it was Warlord Stinkhair, he reckoned. “For the Phoenix!” everyone shouted back, for a second Firs was filled with pride, only for a second, for them the realisation took hold that they were about to be plunged into battle. He tightened his grip on the dagger and let the tide carry him into a run. The tunnel was bathed in iridescent green. They had been drilled for this. Firs saw the silhouette of the phoenix dancing on the tunnel walls. He smiled. “Duck!” Another stern voice crowed, this one was almost certainly Warlord Ashenfur, the old Lamp Lighter turned Commander-In-Chief. In unison the forces of the Rebellion of Flames crouched to the ground. The flames made the caverns come alive! This was the Rebellion Of Flames… this was for the Phoenix! Three Days Ago “Will this costume do, My Lord?” one of the wenches asked him. “If I wanted a parrot costume I would ask for-for one, I said Phoenix not Parrot,” Warlord Brackenfurr was growing angrier at their incompetence by the second, “Hell if I used that I-I am certain that the Brotherhood would laugh, hell even I would laugh. Try again and this time, don’t fail me!” As the three, blind in Brackenfurr’s eyes, rats shuffled out of his private chambers his guest suppressed giggles. The Grey Seer of Clan Rikket was fairly young by Grey Seer standards. He was said to have been responsible for the downfall of some other clan – Brackenfurr did not care about the name, it was only this rat’s power that concerned him. “I hear that you-you ‘bought’ your way into this faction through production of the substance warpwood,” Brackenfurr’s tone was as condescending as ever. The Grey Seer would not back down as they normally did, he held Brackenfurr’s cutting gaze. “I bought-bought my place?” Kreukel sneered, “my-my friend you are mistaken, while I-I may have cemented my place in this faction with Warpwood, I was asked to join due to my prestige. I-I am surprised that a rat of your reputation didn’t know that.” At least this one has backbone, Brackenfurr conceded, “Forgive me, it-it seems I may have got my wires crossed. Besides, I did not invite you here to ‘my’ private chambers to argue over petty trivialities,” Brackenfurr nodded. “Good. I do-do not have time in my busy schedule to deal with up jumped warlords and their petty trivialities. I am a vassal of the Horned Rat; I would appreciate your respect.” “Indeed, would you-you like something to drink sir? I promise,” he held a hand on his heart, “I don’t try to poison ‘vassals of the horned rat’… very often.” Kreukel nodded slowly, Brackenfurr poured the Seer a glass of skavenade. “A fine vintage,” the Grey Seer remarked. “Only the finest, I have it imported especially from an informant in the North,” Brackenfurr divulged. He carefully tasted the substance, aware not only of the volatility of the substance but just how fickle informants were. “Brass Squeak has almost fallen, I take it you knew?” The Grey Seer’s eyes widened. Brackenfurr took brief pleasure in that surprise, “Oh I assumed that vassals of the horned rat knew everything. I take it I am wrong. So, my lord, what do you make of that news?” “The-the Claws must be-be growing in strength,” the Grey Seer answered cautiously. “Or the-the Children weakening. Why do-do you ask, Warlord?” “I wondered your-your opinion. All I-I know is-is that if the Brass Squeak falls then the backbone of the Children Of The Warp will be broken. They will be paralysed, shocked that their spiritual home has been destroyed. Don’t you agree?” Again the Seer nodded cautiously. “Then I-I assume I have your full support in aiding the Claws?” “Yes,” the Seer answered more confidently. “Good then see-see to it that a box of your warpwood is delivered to-to Father Squee and his Zealots of Decay. I also need you to-to prep a box, I think that you and I may need to-to team up-up again. Can I get you a refill?” Brackenfurr smiled. Speechless, just how he liked them. Warlord Morrik Ashenfur was commander-in-chief of the Rebellion Of Flames; a faction that had once shone like a beacon of bohemia in the south, now they were a shell of their former selves. There idol was dead, murdered by the Dread Knight Malys and his Corrupted Order. Ashenfur looked at his companions around the table. To his left sat the new gatekeeper Warlord Maskot, he was sure that the warlord would agree with what he was about to propose. Next to him was the hulking barbarian Dhorgar the Kurgan, Ashenfur had often wondered what his intentions were; for a savage he was surprisingly vague. Next there was an empty seat, meant to be for the equally unpredictable foil of the Khornate warrior, Warlord Brackenfurr of Clan Meek. Brackenfurr had his own methods of dealing with war and diplomacy, many Ashenfur didn’t agree with, yet he couldn’t help but feel respect for the cultured rat. Ashenfur was sure that respect was reciprocated. Next another empty chair, this one was reserved for Grey Seer Kreukel, the Seer of Clan Rikket. What the seer lacked in diplomacy skills he made up for in resource. The warpwood that he produced was invaluable to the Rebellion. It was a relatively cheap, explosive fuel that oft surprised their enemies. Needless to say the wood had been used to cremate many of Malys’ followers, a small revenge for Niqueeka. Warlord Stinkhair of Clan Skrottick occupied the next seat, the warlord was a veteran of this campaign and the soul survivor of the farce known as The Strongholds Of The Horned Rat. In truth the strongholds had fallen easily. The final seat would remain empty. The seat was Niqueeka’s seat. Ashenfur paused a moment remembering the beautiful black skaven who had once been the Phoenix. If this was the Lord’s Chamber of the Over-Gate then Ashenfur pitied Warlord Maskot in his rebuilding. The goblins had been here, the place stank of urine and fungus brew. It was said that this was the bed chamber of Grimview Grot, a particularly disgusting goblin. On that thought Ashenfur moved on. “Brothers of the Rebellion Of Flames, it is-is time now for-for us to-to decide how we should proceed. I have-have news. Neither good nor bad. The Death Knight, Malys and the Corrupted Order have fled the Underempire,” Ashenfur was interrupted by Warlord Maskot banging the flimsy table in celebration, “celebration will not bring Niqueeka back. We must decide on a course of action. Stinkhair, the map.” Warlord Stinkhair unrolled a leather map, most likely made from man-thing skin. Ashenfur studied the map curiously, he saw alterations. “What happened?” “We-we had word that the Khornesone has-has betrayed his brotherhood of green-things and dead-things and struck an alliance with the Children Of The Warp,” Warlord Stinkhair replied. “This area is the land he-he took with him.” “It cannot be possible!” the Kurgan asserted aggressively. “It can be, my Lord,” Stinkhair was wary of this one. “It leaves the-the Brotherhood in a-a very precarious position. We-we could strike them now-now while only the traitor, may the-the phoenix spit on his-his name, Thraskittar leads them. Warlord Maskot has sent raiding parties towards Moonblood, what do-do they report?” “The defences aren’t as strong as-as they once were,” Maskot agreed. “With a decisive push we-we should be able to smash the defences. Perhaps with the use of the Gas Blowers?” “My Warlock Engineer, Twitchfoot, has-has been working on them. Unfortunately we think they-they are beyond repair,” put in Ashenfur. “We should take down Khornesone, the false one,” the Kurgan put in, “I shall take his skull for the Blood God!” he roared. “I do-do not doubt that,” Warlord Ashenfur put in, “but strategically that is not viable. Khornesone has escaped our grasp for now. However if-if we solidify our own stronghold, then we should be able to take him down. Does that compromise suffice?” The screech of iron hinges answered the Commander-In-Chief. “I-I am sorry I was late. The Warlord Brackenfurr required my-my services.” “And the Warlord Brackenfurr, the prodigal son,” Warlord Maskot’s tone was patronising, “why isn’t he here?” “He-he is with his prisoner. He said to send forth his apologies. He also sends news. The Claws lay siege to Brass Squeak…” A cobweb is a simple thing really. Numerous strands teasing through numerous other strands until they create a shape which resembles a rather large net. Sometimes these webs are meticulous in their formation and at other times they are a jumbled mess of silken sinew. At the centre of each web sits a spider, regal in his appearance and confident as only a king could be. Why does a spider design his web ever-so deftly? To catch flies. Only some spiders don’t really have the knack. One such spider was Grey Seer Stopfen. The rat was huddled in one of Old Lord Maskot’s cells. Once this rat had been the economic president of The Inferno Lords. Seeq wondered what had reduced him to an existence of such squalor. She knew the rat, being Warlord Wynnar’s personal assistant and paramour. After his betrayal by the Union he came North. Inadvertently that event had sent Seeq south. She had become the paramour of Warlord Brackenfurr, but since he had returned from wherever he was no longer interested in things that she could give him. Instead she had been tasked with breaking the already broken Grey Seer Stopfen. “I-I hope a corner of cheese is enough for-for you Seer,” Seeq smiled. “You haven’t eaten in two days, surely that is-is a record,” in truth The Spider had lost a lot of his legendary body. The Seer looked at her, contempt in his eyes. She grinned wickedly. “Fine I’ll eat it then…” Seeq rolled the cheese between forefinger and thumb, she licked some. “This really is fine cheese.” “Don’t lie,” Warlord Brackenfurr laughed, “that is-is the foulest cheese I-I have ever seen, even the-the slaves eat better.” “Only when you-you decide to feed the slaves,” Seeq replied. Brackenfurr inclined his head submitting. Brackenfurr moved like a dancer towards the corner where Stopfen was curled up in the semblance of the foetal position. “I don’t-don’t know why you put yourself through so-so much pain Grey Seer. The Horned Rat would be-be ashamed of you. Is-is this how you like to present yourself, an incapable, incompetent wretch?” Brackenfurr asked, “starving yourself because you-you will not eat our cheese. Perhaps a bottle of the finest Bretonnia has to offer would stir you? Seeq, a word.” The courtesan turned captor lead Brackenfurr out of the cell. She stood beside the cultured warlord in a nitrate covered corridor. The stench of ammonia was strong down here, yet Seeq’s nose had grown used to them. “Seeq, you are-are failing me,” began Warlord Brackenfurr. His voice was harsh. “I-I am only a-a courtesan not a-a gaoler. I am sorry I-I have disappointed you-you. If there is-is anything I-I can do to please my-my lord, Seeq would be-be most happy to.” “I thought it-it was the role of a Courtesan to manipulate the male of our species. Grey Seer Stopfen still has a penis between his stubby legs. If-if you are so-so intent on having a cock in your hands use his!” Brackenfurr raged. Seeq watched him leave, majestic and arrogant. He was the cultured warlord, Brackenfurr. She slid down the wall, slick with nitrate. She sobbed. Seeq didn’t hear the guards coming. “Lady Seeq?” one of them asked. “Is everything okay-okay?” The courtesan did not look at their faces, but what hung by their loincloths. Her eyes were fixed on the dagger. “Give me-me the dagger,” she whispered. “Give it to me!” she was desperate. “What is your name?” she asked as a trembling hand passed her the dagger. “My-my name is-is Firs…” she could smell the musk on the air, her sense of smell was not completely dead then. “I-I shall return this to you, as-as soon as I have done what…” she paused, “I shall return this soon.” She watched them scuttle down the tunnel before placing the knife between her breasts. A smile played on her face. Warlord Ashenfur regained control of the council meeting. “That is-is good news my friend, perhaps you know where Warlord Brackenfurr came upon such a gem?” As Warlord Ashenfur, the Lantern Bearer spoke silence descended. The other warlords all took their seats, with the exception of the Chaos lord. Ashenfur wondered what was going on in his head; he was astute for a being much too obsessed with slaughter. “He-he did not say,” the Grey Seer spoke. “Other than to say-say he had a contact in the north and that they have reliably informed him that the siege was strong.” Ashenfur inclined his head; Brackenfurr had already informed him of this development. He wondered what game the cultured warlord was playing this time. “Still that-that conflict is far to the north,” Maskot interrupted. “We-we have more pressing matters at-at hand.” “Just so,” Ashenfur was glad that Maskot had brought them back to the topic at hand. “We should be cautious. We do not know the-the true strength of-of the Brotherhood.” “You rats have angered the blood god. We must act now to regain his glory.” “We-we must act at the opportune moment, I agree,” Ashenfur replied trying not to anger the bloodthirsty brute. If he wasn’t canny Ashenfur knew that a problem could arise with this one. He needed a way to be cautious and be rid of the fool. “Perhaps the glory of Khorne could be restored by his champion leading the assault on Moonblood?” “The Blood God’s followers are no mere scouts and you would do well to remember that.” “Duly noted,” Morrik Ashenfur replied, “I had not intended it to mean that I thought of you and your followers as scouts. I just thought-thought that you-you would like to-to be the ones to kill-kill the most?” He watched the expression on the warrior’s face turn from a grimace into a grotesque smile. “Compromise is a good thing-thing.” “I-I agree Warlord Ashenfur,” the all too familiar voice of Warlord Brackenfurr, “Let’s see if-if we can come to a compromise…” “Now that depends on-on what you have to offer,” Ashenfur and Brackenfurr held their gaze. This was the Rebellion of Flames. This was for Niqueeka. Today Eventually there will come a day when a warlord must prove his worth in the grand game of the Horned Rat. For Warlord Morrik Ashenfur today was that day. The events of the past three days still weighed heavily on his mind, he often found himself wondering whether Brackenfurr’s scheme would work. He held the great halberd in both hands. He could hear the monstrosity known to the mere slaves as the Effigy of the Phoenix rumbling in the background. It was of dwarven origin, Brackenfurr had informed him of that much at least. Combined with the magic of the Warlock Engineers; Brackenfurr had promised a display of ferocity unlike one the Rebellion Of Flames had seen before. The tunnels were dark; the blood spilt by the Kurgan and his khornate forces moistening the cavern floor. The clangour of steel upon steel reverberated around the tunnel. He could see them. Ashenfur tightened his grip on the axe. “Cremate them!” Warlord Stinkhair shouted. The old gangly warlord said little of any use. “For the Phoenix!” came the reply. “Charge!” Morrik Ashenfur ordered. Slowly like ripples on a pond the army of the Rebellion of Flames charged. From a walk to a run. The sillohuete danced on the ceiling, Ashenfur grinned, Brackenfurr’s plan had worked. “Duck!” he called. The tunnel was engulfed by the flames of the phoenix. Soon the Brotherhood would be burned… To Be Continued In Part 2... Thanks for reading, look out for Chapter 1 Part 2. Please let me know what you thought ![]() Matt |
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Wise Words of the Rebellion: "When you run the gauntlet of the Rebellion of Flames, you must expect the unexpected" Warlord Morrik Ashenfur. "Why is it, that as a culture we are more inclined to death than songs?" Warlord Brackenfurr.
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| Thraskittar | 18th October 2006 - 11:46 AM Post #2 |
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Shatterskar
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Jilden III*, not Thraskittar.
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W/L/D - Army 13/10/5 - Skaven 0/0/0 - Tzeentch DL ![]()
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| scrivener | 18th October 2006 - 12:53 PM Post #3 |
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*toot*
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Nicely done! Good to see you writing again, we thought you weren't coming back to grace the CW. ![]() Jilden the 3rd? What happened to Ikit Blackheart? |
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| SneakyRodent | 18th October 2006 - 01:27 PM Post #4 |
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Claws of the Horned One founder member
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Great to see you back writing Matt, and your absence hasn't decreased your ability to turn out great stuff. I thoroughly enjoyed this piece; it has been a long while since I read of these characters. And with the CW coming to a no doubt bloody conclusion, I want to see more! ![]() By the way:
Priceless :lol: |
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Grey Seer Skritchit Lord of the Ulricsberg Clan Virulus Holder of 'Best Post' Award 2007 here Took part in the glorious Lords of Decay Revolution of April 1st 2012 The complete works of SneakyRodent can be found here [/size]
(Scrivener on the Scum And Villainy2 characters of me, DamnedPrince and himself) | |
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| Thraskittar | 18th October 2006 - 08:15 PM Post #5 |
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Shatterskar
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Ikit Blackheart is the Warlord of Clan Vittsisk, he was made specifically for the Twilight War. |
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W/L/D - Army 13/10/5 - Skaven 0/0/0 - Tzeentch DL ![]()
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