"On the ancient temple of Antenorian forge, Angry of vengeance the forgotten nemesis come. Over plumbum gates they spread the scourge, to steal their metallic glory great slaughter is done." Constanze the Prophetess, burned as a Heretic 687.M38.
OST - Sopor Aeternus - Imhotep
Through me you pass into the city of woe: Through me you pass into eternal pain: Through me among the people lost for aye. Justice the founder of my fabric moved: To rear me was the task of Power divine, Supremest Wisdom, and primeval Love. Before me things create were none, save things Eternal, and eternal I endure. All hope abandon, ye who enter here. ~ Dante Alighieri 256.M1-321.M1.HolyTERRA, La Divina Commedia, Inferno, Canto III
Sinister echoes and clangors resound in the deep, immense caves of Yorg, than silence. A planet that doesn't exist, that can not exist, a non-place, sung by bards in the most nefarious infernal rings. The forges of Yorg, the deafening furnaces of pestilence and steel, where dumb zombies silently work, lashed by demons under the evil sight of the dark mechanicus tech-priests. Yorg, the living, steel tomb. A dead planet beyond the eye of terror, living in the immortality of the dark power that sustains it, and without which will flake off in an instant: Nurgle. A Slaanesh sorcerer in power armor holds back the anger, in the midst of such great putrefaction. Powerful yet insignificant, insignificant stands in front of a titanic effigy, immense, no end in sight. So great is that it seems part of the main cave of Yorg, but it's not. Titanic huge engine, the first, the largest among all its own. In a non-planet, in a non-place, a Nameless fallen and an archduke of the deepest infernal rings are face to face. The sinuous voice of the blasphemous Nameless priest pours into the immensity of the cave, alone in the middle of an iron void. In response, like the thunder of a rotten god, immense echoes the voice of the Prince of Ade: terrible, unholy, unclean.
<< I come to you, in the name of Abaddon the despoiler, the one and only true heir of the imperial, golden throne. >>
<< The true heir of the imperial, golden throne, you say? The narration of the last ten thousand years is false and tendentious. Written by those who call themselves: imperium. >>
<< It's time to rewrite it in a new, eternal light, Great and Unreachable Shu-Turul, Lord of the Death's heads Outlaws battlegroup, Destroyer of the system of Amnithia, Minas Carados, Elberor, Tunga; Dominator of Yorg and choosen of Nurgle, the Great father. But we need the proper instruments. >>
<< Instruments, you say? For what Abaddon the despoiler has sent you here, nameless? To incense and pray our glorious putrescence? >>
<< No, immortal, covered of glory. Your most beloved revenge marries our greatest treasure, glorious instrument of victory. On Piombus, headquarters of the damned Hells Angels Legio Metalica battlegroup, lurks and hides an ancient artifact. There, where lies the secret of steel, your maxium premium, there lies guarded a book, among millions, in the deepest and darkest libraries of the Adeptus Mechanicus. I summon you and your legion. I promise you revenge. I promise you glory. I promise you the secret of steel! >>
<< The huge gates of Aurelio are between us and the city of Charcall. It could take months of siege to shoot them down, as long as we have all this time to lay a such long-term siege, undisturbed. Even at the head of a massive cultists and black legion army, nothing will guarantee us a certain superiority to march to victory. And if we fail, who knows when we will be given a second chance. Piombus system will be fully psychically protected and interdicted from the warp jump. >>
<< In the decisive hour, my Immense, one who will open the iron gates will be found. Indeed, my Rotten Majesty, we have already found him. Immortality, after all, is not a trivial gift. >>
<< Nameless. You can go, now. Go, and tell Abaddon that we will march togheter, again. it's time to rewrite history with their blood. >>
Shu-Turul, its legs are stubby and immense, two huge gates into a microcosm of horrors. On each of them the immense face of a horned demon vigil on every maggot, worm, nurgling, zombie or unclean beast entering or leaving its body. Billions of flies buzzing and project by festering boils and countless cannon mouths. The dome one time devotee on its shoulders has now exploded into a sprawling writhe of pulsing veins and infected tissues, pregnant of pestilence and horror, ready to be thrown by huge, immense howitzers. Its entire body is a collection of damned faces screaming their pain and dark fate. Its left arm still bears the immense plasma annihilator, while the right arm bears four, terrifying missiles: weapon of mass destruction. Its head is a deformed neck from which emerges a hideous demon face, unwatchable, with an eye that almost overflows by a falling orbit. It started its march at the Emperor's side, conquering the galaxy and founding the imperium in his Name, but this march ended up with Horus, destroying what tried to build.
Shu-Turul, died without dying, there, where the temple is an empty, transfiguring, glorious ruin of guns and turrets, immortal in a filthy, self celebrating, pompous putrescence. The dome is empty, but it lives: Imperator class titan, immense engine of death. It borns as Nova Lux, built to found a new light, a new dawn for the Imperium of men, but to date, in the imperial archives, it's only known by the name of its traitor legate and the horrendous list of stellar systems attacked and destroyed by his nefarious Legion: the Outlaws Death's head battlegroup, now Legio Mortis.
