This story is an unofficial story based, without permission, on the Warhammer/Warhammer 40,000 intellectual property owned by Games Workshop Ltd.
For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth.
He is the master of mankind by he will of the gods and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies.
He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the dark age of technology.
He is the Carrion lord of the Imperium for whom blood is drunk and flesh eaten.
Human blood and human flesh-the stuff of which the Imperium is made.
To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable.
This is the tale of those times.
It is a universe you can live in today-if you dare-for this is a dark and terrible era where you will find little comfort or hope.
If you want to take part in the adventure then prepare yourself now.
Forget the power of technology,
science and common humanity.
Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for there is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter and the laughter of thirsting gods.
But the universe is a big place and, whatever happens, you will not be missed��
Excerpt from The Official Warhammer 40,000 Rule book.
The hall which he now stood within was that of his forefathers. House Caledan was quite possibly one of the largest estates on the Planet of Kelnaris. Varlas brushed his nostrils lightly in irritation to all of the cleansing incense that clung to the air. The hall was dark and dimly lit by floating grav-lamps. Varlas stood amidst eight men. All were in their late ages; one of them had surpassed the age of one hundred. Each man was linked via a helm to a Psychic communications device which channelled their energies. Varlas had to wait every time in this choking room to receive his assignments. Varlas Caledan, Son of Erloff Caledan, was a Daemon Hunter. The Caledan Family had been for nearly a Millenia. Unlike the Inquisition, though, House Caledan were not Sanctioned Hunter"s and to make matters worse nearly all of them were Un-sanctioned Psykers. Varlas had Attempted to join the Inquisition several times in the past but had been ignored each time.
Varlas was not supposed to be a Hunter to begin with. But after the deaths of his father and brother he was left to pick up the slack. After several years of hunting, however, he had more than proved his worth. Varlas pulled himself from his reverie as the men lifted their boney fingers to the ceiling and spoke as one.
"Your mission is to go to the Mandrethel Estate and eradicate several daemons that have appeared without trace." The old men all finished, breathing heavily. Their breath hung heavily in the cold room. Frost gathered in circles where they stood as the ambient temperature dropped due to their powers.
"I shall go with all haste, my Lords. By the Spirit of Sogor Caledan, I shall not falter." Varlas turned to leave but halted as a single voice called out. He turned to see that one of the old men had detached himself from his helm and was walking over to him, aided by an oaken cane.
"Varlas, my boy, I must warn you that these daemons are Lesser Daemons of Nurgle, Lord of Pestilence, thrice damned be his name. But there may also be a Greater Daemon with them, judging from the disturbance in the warp. May the Emperor guide you." The old man smiled before leaving Varlas in the Great hall to contemplate.
"Thank you, Uncle Brelor," Varlas muttered before leaving for the Hangar.
The Hangar was busy with milling servitors, all performing their alloted tasks. Varlas stood and looked upon one for a moment. It was a man. Or at least it was before the Adeptus Mechanicus had converted most of its limbs and organs with cybernetics. This one in particular had eight legs like an arachnid. Its head was little more than a skull with skin stretched over it. Where its mouth once was now lay a vox caster, which replaced the now shrivelled voice box with a synthetic voice. Its arms were large mechanical pincers. On its back it said Lifter Servitor V.
Another servitor approached Varlas. This one, however, was hidden under a robe. From inside the hood Varlas could see two blood red lights that were its eyes. "Your Equipment has been laidout," it said in a worn voice. Varlas followed the Servitor to another Chamber which adjoined the Hangar.
The room was lit well and did not reek of the Promethium and oil of the Hangar thanks to the built in air-scrubbers. From the table that sat before him he retrieved his Psychic Sword and plasma pistol. Next to the table was a locker. Inside was his armour. Varlas tied back his blonde hair and opened his robe, dropping it to the floor. He shivered slightly as a breeze from the Hangar brushed by his nether region.
He quickly donned his armour. It consisted mainly of an armoured body-glove with boots. Over the top of this he wore a long black coat, which was darker than pitch. Varlas holstered his plasma pistol on his hip with a mag-clip and sheathed his sword at his hip on the opposite side. When Varlas emerged into the Hangar once again he found that his Landspeeder and gun cutter had been prepared. The Landspeeder sat in the hold of the gun cutter. The Landspeeder had been sprayed a dark black and had been modified to allow it to fly higher than most.
The Gun cutter was a small ship capable of transporting a group of men and two vehicles. However, as Varlas' personal transport it usually carried only one vehicle and his weapons. At least it would do once he had finished work on it. Varlas boarded the ship and felt the loading ramp rise quickly beneath his feet. The servitor pilot had obviously sensed him boarding and readied the ship for departure. Steam hissed as hydraulic pistons lifted the landing gear. The gun cutter quickly ascended through the roof of the ceiling hatch, which was twice the size of the ship. The ship quickly put full thrust to the engines and departed for the next province, where Varlas was to carry out his latest contract.
As the gun cutter banked lazily through the clouds like a sky-kite, Varlas readied his Landspeeder for the drop. When the servitor pilot's auspex read that the cutter was but a few miles from their destination then it activated the landing ramp. Varlas ignited the engines.
"Good luck on your assignment, Master," said the Servitor from the cockpit. Varlas flashed an animal grin as he placed his foot down hard on the accelerator. The Landspeeder left the back of the gun cutter like a round from a bolter.
The Landspeeder drifted downward through the cloud layer, descending like an angel from heaven. The auspex rang out loudly as it signalled incoming projectiles from below. Varlas could see nothing but evaded regardless. He did so in the nick of time, as several putrid balls of acid flew past him. Below were three Lesser Daemons of Nurgle, the Chaos god of pestilence and disease. One of them had been a man once. Another had been an Eldar by the look of it. And the last had been an Ork, of that he was sure. Each one had been rotted from within. That rot now possessed their corpses under the power of Nurgle. Each one stared up at the approaching Landspeeder with half rotten smiles that dripped putrid effluents on the ground, causing the soil to bubble.
Varlas had to think fast. He didn't have much time and didn't have the luxury of turning back. He was a faithful servant of the Emperor, Sanctioned or not. He would do his duty as an Imperial citizen. As a Daemon Hunter of House Caledan.
Hive World Terra