I have begun to chronicle on other forums the tale of my Xurunt Frost Father, Boris. I drew inspiration heavily from his counterpart in the 2d MMO Kingdom of Loathing. The events are about six months old from the beginning, so my retelling is not perfect. Nevertheless, they are as true as I recall. This is the tale of how Boris and a small band of mostly-changing allies helped carve their names across the various modules of the game. Feedback appreciated.
The tale begins in a ship the size of a small city, floating in the screaming, chaotic madness of the Warp: A realm of infinite power through which space ships from the material realm pass to travel distances faster than light. This one is derelict, ruined by centuries of neglect. A prison ship, housing some of the most heinous foes of the Imperium of Man, its inhabitants rioted and overthrew their wardens, and wrested it back into the Warp. Yet Boris was not among these heretics. When he came to, the fight to take back the ship known as the Chains of Judgement had ended, and its story come to an end.
He came to from his stasis pod, fumbling for his trusty axe, Trusty. Finding it at his side as always, he smashed his way free of the armaglas confining him, finding others that shared a similar fate: A stern and solid woman with short black hair, no doubt the sign of a military bearing, her prisoner tag on her orange jumpsuit identifying her as Aleseh Rosu.
The second was a gaunt, fiery-haired man with a wild look in his eyes, and the smell of ozone about him. His name was simply Patrick.
Third among them was a man of massive frame that marked him out as a Chaos Space Marine, a traitor of the Adeptus Astartes, yet of long, light hair, and a far-off look in his eyes, distracted and twitchy. His prisoner's clothes identified him as Marius.
Finally another Astartes with deep bronze skin and bald features. His arms bulged even moreso than his counterpart, calloused and rough from a lifetime of using heavy weaponry. His nametag marked him only as Alpharius.
"Well, this is a fine turn of events." Boris raised his voice, which was almost swallowed by the deathly, dusty silence within the decaying, rusted confines of the stasis chamber. "It seems our Imperial captors have let their guard down."
"Most likely overrun. That's what happens when you cage beings of our magnificence." the one known as Marius tastes the air. "And must have been for some time. This place is deathly quiet."
"There was a great fight here. I sense much death, most of it centuries old. But now we are now longer in the Warp, and can claim freedom!" Patrick cackled,a baleful light glowing behind his eyes.
"Then let's waste no more time here! Come, let us see if these vultures have not yet sold off our gear!" Boris lifts his axe and heads out, the idea that even these Astartes might lead the way not even occurring to him.
"A most astute idea, O callypigian Boris!" Clancy appeared, as ever by the warrior's side, quivering with the prospect of freedom. He was by no means a hardened prisoner like the others, and it would do him well to praise Boris from his shadow.
The others looked quizzically at one another, wondering who this man was that he would brazenly assume leadership of their band when there were not one, but two Space Marines among them. The only one that had not yet spoken was Aleseh. She walked behind them, deciding it was best to say nothing until she had a better measure of these odd folk. Having grown up away from the Imperium, and from the influence of Chaos she belongs in neither group. However, for the present it seemed the best choice to side with them.
With the Space Marines and their knowledge of the layout of the ship, they found their way to the armoury quickly. By luck, theirs were the only weapons not stolen by theft or time. Fresh blood from the craven, mutant descendants of the prisoners and wardens alike, and spent boltgun shells showed that others had come this way before them, clearing a path.
Boris retrieved his armour,a relic from his frozen homeworld: It was a set of powered armour, nothing quite as bulky or powerful as the massive suits the two Space Marines used, but enough to keep out the attacks of cowards that would use means beyond honest combat. He twisted on the horned helm with a hiss of sealing catches coming into place, and the eye lenses lit up red as he looked over his comrades.
Aleseh had seized a heavy flamer and heavy carapace armour familiar amongst veterans of imperial armies and renegades alike.
Marius seized a set of power armour painted in a riot of blazing colours designed to provide the most raucous of sensory overload simply looking at it, and hefted a weapon looking like an over-sized guitar more than a gun.
The Marine known as Alpharius took a more anonymous set of black power armour, locking a huge gun into place: A Heavy Bolter, which fired massive, self-propelled rocket shells designed to blow holes in people upon impact with flesh.
Patrick was merely grateful to be back into a set of mesh-like robes, a set of various charms and trinkets dangling about his person.
"Is that all you've got?" Aleseh asks, checking the fuel nozzle of her large flamethrower, before taking back a battered chainaxe, revving its motor to check that it was still serviceable.
"Boris has no need of other weapons." Boris explained simply. At this the two Space Marines muttered to one another through their helmet radios, asking "Did he just refer to himself in the third person?"
With their weapons in tow, they began to further follow the bloodied trail of footprints left by those that were freed before them.
The trail of footprints, it turned out, led to the bridge. Here, a fierce battle had taken place between the former owners of the ship, some of the prisoners, and whatever allies they had dredged up from the wretched mutants that lurked in the shadows of the ship's bilges.
However, the ship was now connected to another, much larger vessel, and its inhabitants were there to greet them: The fanatical, chaos-worshipers of the Word Bearers Legion of Chaos Space Marines. Showing fealty to Chaos in its entirety, rather than any one Chaos God in particular, they despised those who showed allegiance to any one of the big four deities.
The group was able to negotiate with them. In exchange for whatever treasures still lay within their former prison's drifting husk, the Word Bearers would take Boris and the others to another destination.
Normally, Boris' allegiance to Baphtar, the Lord of Blood and Skulls would have been seen as distasteful. However, the Word Bearers informed them that they had a destiny, and the Mendacious Oracle had demanded their presence.
The voyage took many months, and in the meantime the group replenished their supplies. Yet Boris continued to grow antsy, as he was without any worthy foes to take on and kill, without upsetting the hundreds of power-armoured supermen polite enough to transport them.
As they were ferried down to the wasteland planet of Kyremus, where the Oracle was said to be, the group surveyed their destination. The ground was a vast desert, swept by harsh winds and sandstorms. The wrecks of starships like beached whales groaned and creaked as their titanic adamantium frames settled deeper against the earth, and were draped with blasphemous symbols that showed that the inhabitants of this world had made good use of them as shelters. The largest of which was their destination: The Temple of Lies.