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by Chun the Unavoidable

COLOSSUS: Chapter III, A Kiss for Daddy

17/05/2010 in Warhammer 40K

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III: A Kiss for Daddy

But now let us descend to greater woe

-Inferno (Canto VII)

Wansaman had two eyes, which he considered fitting, though each looked out upon a different vastness.

Wansaman was fairly sure of other body parts, too.  He was dimly aware of a beating heart, for instance.  He probably had ears… or at least one, as, every now and again, he sensed a high chattering noise truncated by rhythmic and rather wet mastication that became apparent -he was sure- through means other than thought.  On rare occasions he was conscious of a citrus-like odour that rapidly intensified into what he decided must be flavour, before fading to nothing – somewhere, and probably in the same locality, he sported a conglomeration of taste receptors and epithelia.  And he still had a brain, obviously, otherwise whither awareness?

Wansaman liked to believe there were more parts strewn about, his remaining organs, perhaps even limbs; but he could find no connection to them, try as he might to induce one with the ghostly memories of what it was to be whole.  Moreover, where all these parts might be situated -both those he was certain of and those he only hoped to exist- he had no idea.  For all he knew, his disparate bits were strewn many kilometres apart, those he was conscious of interconnected with monstrously elongated nerve fibres or some other medium…

Xenos medi-  No!  I’m still human!  I’m just exploded.

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His Purpose

12/10/2009 in Warhammer 40K

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How did I gain this exalted position? The extraordinary roots of that, Unknown Reader, are to be found in the abbey of my roots, the abbey of my dreams – the abbey that, even now, I dare not name.

-oOo-

He bent forwards, the dried-fish stink of his breath enveloping my face. The thick bristles of his cheek scratched my beardless one.

‘I’ve watched you in the choir – such a pretty voice, admirably suited to your face. Sing for me now.’

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His Conscience

28/09/2009 in Warhammer 40K

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Captain Lered Ujupol always dreamt the same dream before receiving orders for Exterminatus.

However, for all that it inevitably occurred during his fitful slumber, it wasn’t really a dream. It was recollection mined from the deepest strata of his memory stacks by prognostic powers he could not name.

Unless it was simply the power of guilt.

The iron privacy petals of his audience chamber were curled tightly around his throne, the lumens dimmed.  Glowing schematics and readouts floated in the air about him, coruscating numerals, expanding and contracting bars, graphics of essential systems.  They told him the weapon -given many names by many different people, but commonly and simply known as the Device- was ready.  Ujupol could feel it through his ship’s monitors, its xenos components twisting and pummelling reality, intertwining and knotting existence’s fundamentals so tightly rupture was inevitable – a rupture further unimaginable forces were ramped to channel and focus against the beautiful grey-green orb thousands of kilometres below.

However, another force, The Device’s equal in a frightening number of respects, now engaged Ujupol’s attention.

His daughter was angry.

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Colossus, Chapter II: Goading Golgotha

09/07/2009 in Warhammer 40K

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-oOo-

The carryall, Abiatha, BC class, wallowed in the Warp. It was her element, her vast curves slipping through the Chaotic swirls and tides so effortlessly she barely left a wake. Indeed, she hardly appeared to move – rather the Warp gently hefted her, passing her incredible bulk along her vectors like a protective parent might carry a child through a throng.

Throne, but the Immaterium loves this ship.

Two of Navigator Gui Malish Uther’s eyes were shut. The vision of the third, a lidless, oily black orb in the middle of his grey forehead, was unimpeded… but it was not attuned to normal light and did not see the opulent furnishings of the navigator’s pit. The glories and the terrors of the Immaterium, the whorls and worlds of the Warp, the Unlight of the Chaotic Realms, were its exclusive purview.

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The Scour

30/04/2009 in Warhammer 40K

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The Scour

Foreword

‘Seek the Scour’s source, the voices told me, and bring us what you find there.’

The chance reading of the above enigmatic phrase, my son, has resulted in the account that follows. I hope it entertains you – I well know the tedium of long voyages. It better – we lost the apprentices for three weeks in the stacks researching it!

You will recognise, I think, my touches to the narrative. They were necessary to make the amazing, despicable Junt’s words more comprehensible, mould them more into the form of Tale. The pict recordings of the scrawls he left upon the walls of his padded cell called for a great deal of interpretation (not to mention deciphering – he was not allowed writing implements, and employed more, shall we say, natural inks).

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Colossus

02/04/2009 in Warhammer 40K

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Chapter One: Mr Char

Purple lightening jagged down from the roiling, world-shrouding cloud.  It played over the brass spears of conductor masts and discharged visibly down the sides of buildings, into the main mass of the vast equatorial waistcoat of adamantine that gave Forgeworld Ghast its name.

The strikes were constant, exploding everywhere Inquisitor Baal Beelzi looked – a forest of blinding purple incessantly shifting; creating the illusion that the stricken buildings were in jerky motion as their shadows jumped, lengthened, and shrank spasmodically.

Ghast seemed to seethe almost as much as the clouds that choked it.

Baal squinted through his little lander’s cockpit, frowning.  “What a dreary, dreary place this is,” he murmured.

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Chickenlights

23/01/2009 in Original

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I am a slaughterer. A butcher. A killer of beasts. But not only beasts. I have murdered in my time at the abattoir. No, murder is too strong a word. Manslaughter suits better. But then they weren’t altogether men, were they?

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by Chun the Unavoidable

Cugel’s Calling

31/10/2008 in Original

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(A Very Unauthorised Sequel to Jack Vance’s Cugel’s Saga)

Cugel wandered the rooms of Pergolo, one time manse of the now despatched Iucounu the Laughing Magician.[*]

A certain lassitude hindered Cugel’s perambulations. The goals of his life had been attained: wealth and power. He was waited upon by sylphs both exotic and peculiarly plain, learned and innocent. He ate mushrooms from Old Earth’s deepest bowels; confections so subtle they might be flavoured air. Petals from flowers blooming once in a thousand-year lifetime scented his sauces. He drank wines so ancient their grapes had been trodden beneath an almost yellow sun, and teas brewed from leaves harvested beyond space’s fuliginous gulfs. His erotic art collection was unparalleled. Orchestras of awesome ability were his to summon or dismiss at whim. Through mediums of Iucounu’s he did not fully understand, he conducted brief conversations with intellects he could never understand. A thousand other pastimes and delights yet awaited his sampling. Life was easy; but, in spite of all he possessed, it was not rich. Boredom was the inevitable consequence. What, then, else?

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The Helper

13/10/2008 in Warhammer 40K

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Dry vertebrae rasped loudly as pistons at the ancient praeceptor-servitor’s shoulders pushed its head from side to side. The sound broke a silence only otherwise marred by the scratching of a dozen nibs over vellum and by gas flames guttering in their wall lintels. The movement was a herald to announcements of import – the cyborg’s vestigial habit from a less mechanised time in its forgotten history.

Twelve postulants to the Holy Brotherhood of the Lamenters Space Marines sat at a wooden semi-circular table. They looked up, sensing a change in the regular proceedings.

A click, then the hiss of spooling tape as the praeceptor-servitor spoke from its pulpit mounting. ‘Today we have a guest speaker, discipuli Lamentori. You may view what he has to say as praeparatio for your Ego Adiunctus Noster Imperator remits. Tribunus, toll the bell.’

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