Cauldron

Cauldron

They say fire, even as its worst, is actually a creator of life. After the heat, destruction and loss of life, all is renewed. Fire brings about a blank slate. New life will inevitably rise from the ashes. That's what they say anyhow. I am here to tell you what happens when the fire never goes out. When at its calmest there is still an incandescent fury, buried under the dark coals. So easy to turn a spark into uncontrollable inferno. When fire has a will, pantience and a way, well my friends, destruction is the only outcome.

Looking over the vast pyrite fields, wreathed in gun-metal grey smoke, the air forever tainted with sulphur and the actinic tang of burning metals. I smile to myself. The omnipresent, life sucking heat, is like a baby's blanket to me. The roar of super heated steam, a lullaby. I am home. Nocturne, forever dark, yet never cold.

As I pound through the barely cooled magma trenches, my one good eye stares at the horizon. I eat up the leagues with my powerfully relentless stride, armour a constant hum. Keeping half my gene-engineered brain on my surroundings, I contemplate how I came back here, after four decades, with the other active half. I could sleep while running, such control over my body am I gifted. I am of a select few, an Emperors angel of death. Of that few, I am blessed to be one of an even greater few, a Salamander. A father To no one, and a son of the great Primarch Vulkan!

It was here, two centuries ago, I first made - what is in essence, a horrible death for a mortal - my pilgrimage through these same charred and smoky fields. I was but eleven, newly blooded, and bursting with pride and arrogance. What little did I know? Always the curse of the young, I was invincible. I believed myself an equal, nay better, then those who live amongst the fire drakes. I was going to prove it! Oh, the folly of youth. After two days, and less leagues, I was already near death. Hallucinating, dehydrated, weak and being hunted through the dark. Such an auspicious start for a Drake lord. Even now the memory makes me blush with foolishness. Not until much later - and endless pain - did I see my folly as a test, a winnowing of the weak and faithless. Little did I know, I had already begun my apotheosis. Now I do let a grin stretch my thin mouth, crinkling my coal black leather like face. I have covered the same youthful ground in less then five minutes, welcoming the oppressive heat like a lover. I have made heat, flame and fire my truest and most trusted companions. Fire defines me, Primarchs will drives me, my chapter sustains me and the emperor watches over me. Ave Imepretor!

Slowly my grin fades, my one flesh eye tightens around my fire red flesh eye as I remember why I am here. Horror, betrayal and disbelief are my companions now. I can still barely countenance the heresy. Imperial truth set aside like a broken toy, brother killing brother and to my unending grief, Demi God killing Demi God. Ferrous Manus beheaded by his closest brother, Fulgrim of the Emperors Children. Ironic that! The disappearing of Corax, and to my everlasting shame, the loss of my father, Vulkan. I know in my two hearts he is in not dead though, I will find him. Vulkan Lives.

How can it be a coincidence that an oath-breaking sorcerer drug me here with him, just as he was stepping through a 'tear?' in reality? I saw it myself, plus my bionic left eye recorded it all. I have played it numerous times, trying to find a trick or some falsehood. No, he used a stone athame, just a crude obsidian shaped knife, and sliced a vertical wound through the very air, and stepped through, as if through a parting curtain. Without thought, I jumped into the same curtain tear. Now back home my mind is racing to figure out why? The back stabbing psyker had to have chosen here for a reason, I refuse to believe it was coincidental. Add to that I know him, or thought I did. Last our orbits intersected he was armored all in grey, now he is plated in a gore covered crimson. An ex-librarion, or chaplain - honestly even back then they seemed the same to me - sans the libraium symbols but now with a demon-visaged helm with wicked curved horns. Twisting ruins writhing all over, enough to turn - even me enhanced stomachs - yet hard to look away from. All the same I know this Word Bearer. Ilhimivar is his name. He was once assigned long ago to guide the creation of or own librarium. Of course this was before Magnus's shame at the council of Nicea. Is there a connection? If not explain the knife and supernatural 'tear' it created. Never had I sensed the warp so close. Despite the heat and the ever changing nature of the environment, I track him easily. I know this land, I played here once.

1

The emperor, in all his wisdom, began a great crusade, to reunite huminaty across the galaxy. A noble aim? Not possible? We have all heard the stories, I happened to have lived one. The emperor was always aware of a second task, he wanted the crusade to also find his lost children.

I was seven when the slavers came for the first time in my life. Grandfather would sometimes let slip mention of the horrors he indured as a young man. Xenos slavers, alien filth. Cruelty manifest in flesh and blood. At the time our only recourse was to hide, pray and hope to not be found. There technology unstoppable. That was the way of it for thousands of years. Sometimes they would not raid for dozens of generations, almost forgotten. Ghost stories. To our regret they always eventually returned. Out of six people in a family they may kill two, kidnap one and leave some untouched. The next family, all taken. The one after tortured to death. No reason anyone could see. Eldar, capricious, viscous and inscrutable.

This new raid proved to be much different. Afraid for his adopted father, his town and his friends, the black-smiter's son chose to fight not hide. This was before we learned of Vulkans destiny and origin. Everybody pleaded with him to hide, it was foolishness reavers can't be fought! It was suicide.

Two hours and one hundred dead xenos later, put told to that myth. Oh it was a wonder! Like an avatar of fire, Vulkan ripped through the aliens like flame to parchment. He was unstoppable a whirlwind of controlled rage, stoked to bursting, yet caged by will and driven like a dagger through the invaders. A living God. Legend was birthed that day.

After that first success Vulkan rallied the people, within months Nocturne was purged of alien taint. Running like a whipped cur, tail between the legs. People were in ecstasy, no longer skulking in fear. A vibrant carnival mood in the air. Celebrations around the world. Everyone praising Vulkan, our own avenging angel. So we thought.

On the third day of feasting, an outlander strolled into town. Someone was yet again regaling the crowd with Vulkan's prowess. Vulkan uncomfortable with the attention was listening in the back. Then when the story reached its peak, a word softly spoken, yet easily heard interrupted the story.

"A would declare a wager." A resonate accentless voice stated.

All sound ceased, and heads turned toward the outlander.

Standing up smoothly, "I would see this Vulkans skills truly tested, my skills against your champion." Declared the soft spoken outlander.

Nudging his way through the crowd, Vulkan faced the stranger.

With his deep rumbling voice, "Sir it is plain to see you are not from around here, I would rather our humble town be known for its welcome not its danger towards visitors." Stated Vulkan firm, yet kindly. "I intend no insult, yet you are old enough to have sired my father." With that said he turned to leave.

"I understand, who wants to be humbled by an old man?" Smirked the outlander. "Or is my age an excuse hiding your fear of failure?"

With a gasp, all eyes turned to Vulkan. Tension hung in the room like steam.

Slowly turning back, "Never let it be said you were not warned old-timer." I would have my father and elders prepare a suitable test for our skills." With a nod of his head Vulkan turning back finished, "I trust your in agreement?"

With a sly smile, the old stranger said, "By all means I have complete faith in your father." Smirking at the word father.

Preperations were swift, yet controlled, elders devised a test of strength, stamina, skill and perseverance. It was decided a race of sorts would decide t'he outcome. Both champions would climb to the very tip of Crucible, the nearest, most active volcano. Without weapons, the champions would scale the living mountains peak. At the summit each was required to find and defeat a fire Drake. Whoever returned with the largest Drake hide would be champion.

caligino