The Targinis Uprising - Bellicose and the Cult of The Spoiled Hand (continued)

+++ Targinis III - Residential Sector 'Lillian City' - Present date+++

The streets of Lillian were as regular and uninteresting as any 'working class' sector within the Imperium. Each day of everyday toil was uniformal in almost every aspect. Someone walking amongst these simple, but essential, operations would experience the noisome loading, cutting and clanking of machines of every imaginable size and fashion. The workers were much like machines themselves; bred into their lives of work by their predecessors, who were of the same occupation. The thoughts of building machines and devices of war used by the Imperial Guard were inspiring enough for most to dedicate their lives to long hours of unending labor. It was a simple notion, but an honorable one... worthy of wanting to achieve for most citizens of the Empire.

This notion of duty, work and patronage to Humanity was not shared by all unfortunately. Not every life form upon Targinis III was born to thrive in such a way - where a sense of pride and a meager-but-honest pay wage constituted a satisfying existence. Wherever the light and goodness of the Emperor thrived so dilligently, there seemed to always be given rise to those of darkness... those who craved power... those who refused their roles as meaningless Empire servants. Like the primarchial gene-seeds of the Emperor himself, there were those willing to forsake their masters for any myriad of selfesh, vengeful reasons. And after the daylight sights and sounds of work and toil subsided, Targinis III became a much different place during the bitter reaches of the night.

Strange chanting could be heard coming from the waste-canals beneath the street, unfamiliar figures clad in daemonic runes and maniacal garb were seen coming and going from the access holes of the sewer underworks. Citizens began disappearing at night... and most who turned back up were often left gibbering about an army of xenos and mutant-men beneath the streets. At first, the victims often returned beaten or with strange runes carved crudely into their skins. The attacks became slowly more fatal with time and the ones who dwelled beneath the surface were becoming somehow, organized in their twisted efforts.

Perhaps it is the nature of the Imperium; to simply view the activities on Targinis III as a job for the local security. Perhaps it is their mentality that, in one small way or another, there will always be pockets of Chaos occultism waiting in the shadows, in the darkest corners of the galaxy. And perhaps it was their foolish decision to underestimate this particular 'pocket' of Chaos activity that led to the uprising on this peaceful world that has yieled so much power, rabblesome though it may be, to the dreaded cultists from beneath the surface... and their foul leader - Bellicose.

The number of loyalist Space Marine Captains, Chapter Masters, Company Seargents and Librians who forfeited themselves to become Chaos Lords and Sorcerers were beyond sheer count at this point in documented galactic history. But with the recent discoveries of these strange cultists armies gave way to an ever more troubling discovery; the ones leading these bands of cultists were once of the beloved Chaplain ranks of the Imperium... these benighted false-priests came to be known as the Dark Apostles.

It is unclear as to which Space Marine chapter that spawned the traitor-Chaplain Vicar Bellicose. But if one was to judge him purely on his decrepit green Power Armor, disease-ravaged facial features and by the company he chooses to lead, a decaying band of mutated freaks, one could easily recognize the fealty of Bellicose to the Chaos god, Nurgle. Normally, a local uprising of any sort could traiditionally be suppressed by local Guardsmen without issue. But the Spoiled Hand cultists were nearly as difficult to gun down as the fully armed Cadians. As the firing lines of the local guards emptied clip after clip of small arms fire, ripping limbs and riddling the plague-driven bodies of the Nurgle cultists to little avail. Imperial Guardsmen stood in awe as they could recognize some of their own within the foul cultists ranks; Catatchen traitors, military low-level Barracks workers that seemed to have provided Imperial contraband to his fellow worshippers... at least three pirated Flamer weapons per cultist squadron could be easily spotted.

Having to slowly and cruelly gun down their own kind was far from the worst of it. When the Spoiled Hand fanatics finally descended as a whole upon the local guard and all could finally hear the gurgled praise of Bellicose's offering of Imperial flesh to the Lord of Decay... when the local Guardsmen were forced to truly see the twisted, poxed visages of their new enemies up close and personal... watching good men, good soldiers become debased piles of gore and flesh... that was the worst of it for all to behold.

Strange all the more - it would have seemed as though Bellicose had control of the industrial docks sector... he and the Spoiled Hand crawled back into the crevices of society... back into the underworks... back into the nuturing embrace of darkness and filth. And so... the sun rose. And life in the Imperium reluctantly toddled onward on Targinis III.

The Targinis Uprising - Bellicose and The Cult of the Spoiled Hand

+++ Targinis System - Outlying Orbit, Viewing Platform of unregistered, non-Imperium military vessel 52 Hour Earlier+++

A warp-infused vessel of erratic, blinding colors hangs patiently in orbit above Targinis III. All ships of the Chaos traitors have graced the Warp for some small measure of linear time, but this one looked as if it were birthed from the swelling, daemonic magics of the Warp itself.  Glittering runes sparked in deceit upon the lavish, golden hulls... those who gazed upon her runes of circles and half-moons forfeited their souls unwillingly to Slaanesh.

Upon the viewing platform of the main Bridge stood a Sorcerer of unfathomable power - Kah'Voth the Warpspeaker. Aside from the Daemon Princes of Slaanesh themselves, there is no greater Slaaneshi Psyker in all existence than this one. Once a loyalist of the Emperor and a Librarian of the Emperor's Children sect, Kah'Voth fled into the Warp with his personal escort as well as a legion of his most trusted warriors. Many of the priests and other Librarians that shared his vessel were instantly driven mad. When trying to administer a moderate spell technique to sooth the madness of the other defected Psykers, Kah'Voth unintentionally killed and absorbed the souls of his brethren. The act itself was a scarring and tragic business, but Kah'Voth's magical abilities were more than tripled. Drawing the ever whimsical gaze of the god Slaanesh was no easy task, and Kah'Voth's undoing was quite pleasing to the Lord of Pleasure. Slaanesh granted his promising Sorcerer a Tzentzch-like barrier of invulnerable magic as well as a pair of 'Warp Wings' that could materialize from Kah'Voth's power-armor and carry him through the air as an Assault Marine would. The Sorcerer grew to enjoy the impossible madness of the Warp; his long years spent there are quite evident by the strange appearance of his twisted attire and the daemonic flesh writing upon his terrifying warship.

Every last thing upon Kah'Voth's ship, be it living or daemon, were the unquestionable servants of the mighty Sorcerer. None upon the vessel rose above him, but there was one living being, save the god Slaanesh itself, that the Sorcerer bended knee to. That is why he stood, staring patiently upon the galaxy he wished to burn from his viewing platform... he was waiting for his master's call.

Finally, after hours of waiting, a hum generates from the holovid projection machine activating and a crude crackling of the transmission fixing it's audio playback receptors upon the deep, mechanical sounding voice speaking. After a few seconds, the audio and sound become perfectly clear. The individual upon the holo-transmission was truly a Lord of Chaos; his armor and weapons had seen more wars than any in the company of Kah'Voth's warship. There was a an insanity beyond words that burned within his eyes; it was a stare that could break even the most mighty and cruel of Chaos Marines or tame the very daemons of the Warp themselves.

“This is Xa’Oduun, the ascended one of Slaanesh. The time has nearly come for me to wipe the dull, colorless mortality from the face of this pathetic world. I shall tear this world asunder! Let the choirs of billions of dying screams be heard as an intoxicating symphony worthy of my lady and lover – Slaanesh, the true ruler of the galaxy!

Executor Kah’Voth, is all in readiness beneath the cities of Targinis? For your sake and the sake of your rabble-rousing pet, I hope Bellicose has prepared his ‘army’…”

And Kah’Voth: “Yes… Vicar Bellicose and his cultists number beyond the force of any local planetary guard. They are ready for war, my Lord.”

“Good. It will take at least two days for the Imperium to send reinforcements. When the Emperor’s spirituous weaklings do finally arrive armed to put down Nurgle garbage… they will not be prepared for the ecstatic death I intend to give to them. We will debase every inch of every street in Slaanesh’s name! Every man, woman and child will become subject to my every carnal whim…”

And Kah’Voth: “We have only to offer up the souls of the Emperor’s pawns to the Lord of Pleasure… let us take their bodies! Let us make Targinis our whore and cavort until this pathetic world has been broken!”

“Inform your pet servant to begin the invasion. And do not stop until every last one of them is dead; be it the local guard or Bellicose’s cultists! At long last... War!!!”

 

 

The Targinis Uprising - First Blood

+++ Targinis System, Helican Subsector, Scarus Sector, Segmentum Obscurus +++

The system was in chaos. The dregs of society had risen up to throw off of the yoke of Imperial rule. Yet there was something more to this rebellion. Loyal Imperial citizens told stories of bands of mutants and xenos clawing their way from the deepest sewers of the hive cities. Increased reports of bloodshed and debauchery spread like wildfire in the six months since the fighting flared to life. Only in the last month and half had the Planetary Defense Forces even made any head way in putting the insurrection down.

The Argentum Fax sliced it's way swiftly towards the edge of the system for warp translation. An old Navy Freighter gifted to a Rogue Trader, the Argentum Fax routinely made shipment loops between the interior of the Helican Subsector and the backwater system of Targinis. With its shipment accepted  at a loyal space port, the freighter made haste to quit the system all together. Payment rendered; job complete.

"Captain, soon clear for warp jump," squawked the Kroot helmsman, his thick accent evident.

"Couldn't be soon enough, prepare..."

The helmsman cut him off with another chirp of low gothic, "Ship... no, no, ships. Three. Ahead, closing fast."

"Broadcasting any verification?" asked the Captain, his bionic eye scanning for a target to magnify in the view port ahead, "Perhaps the Imperium has sent reinforcements in a timely fashion for a change."

"Cruiser... two escorts. Trouble pulling clear identifications. Lots of distortion," answered the Kroot, "Wait, got it. Cruiser designated Blade of Chemos. Odd, nearly ten thousand years of service... can that be right?"

The Captain turned to his helmsman, "Bring them up on screen already will you," he barked, the magnification of his eye just barely picking out the plethora of garish insignia coating the hull of the leading cruiser.

Above their heads the three ships winked into life on a set of crackling monitors. Two of ships were simply offensive in their embellishments, with crude daubs of obnoxiously-colored paint crisscrossing their  hulls. Like a beacon in a storm of madness, the prowl of the Blade of Chemos was flanked by two massive clawed wings of shining gold. The third looked barely space worthy; rust and rot covered much of it's weathered husk and what appeared to be hideous cankers jettisoned sickly fluids into the void.

Unidentifiable geometric shapes strewn across all the ships made the helmsman uneasy and he diverted his gaze back to his control panel for more information. "Still not seeing... wait, got something... Excommincate Traitoris?"

The Captain blanched.

"Captain?"

The Blade of Chemos opened fire.