Gazetteer V

The Plains of Nowhere
The Warp

“Mama?”

She was looking at the vast Plains towards the great black mass, to the vortex of the old one. She tapped her claws upon the broken terrain, another tug on her fur drew her attention from her look of concern to it.

“Mama?”

She snapped her gaze to the Little One riding upon her shoulder - it cowered into her fur in fear of her sudden look of irritation, before she cooed gently, and brushed it with her talons, “Oh, Mama is sorry, little one…Mama is sorry. What is it?”

The little beast produced a skin-wrapped tome that oozed with puss and filth, and proffered it towards her, “Read me a Candlemass story?”

She let out a gentle chuckle, and settled back upon her hindquarters taking the book from the little one. Opening it between her talon-tips, she chuckled a little to herself, “Oh, very well, then.”

Plucking it from her shoulder, she set it down upon the ground and wrapped a candlemass vision of an old rotting cottage around them, a long suffering soul wheezed with Grandfather’s cold above them, as she settled in a chair by the fire, and began her tale:

‘Long ago, an Od Mother lived in a little village deep within the Garden. One snowy evening, just as she was preparing her meal, the Old Mother heard a knock at the door. She opened it to find three great beasts standing before her. From their fine features and blessed power, the Old Mother guessed that they were the beasts who rode before the Gods, who had traveled from far away in the Realms. They were shivering in the cold, and little slivers of ice hung from their faces. In their arms, they each carried packages, and these were dusted with snow.

"Oh my," the Old Mother said, "you must be freezing out there. Please come in, and stay for the night."

The three beast bowed in thanks, and followed the mother into her cottage. "Forgive us," one of the beast said, "but we have been walking for a long, long time. Tonight our journey ends, for we are going to the place where the Uncrowned King will be born this very night. We are bringing Him gifts, and we wish only to stop for a while to warm ourselves."

"Of course," the old Mother said, "but you must eat something. I have prepared a nice hot soup. Please join me." She set a table for the four of them, filling bowls with steaming soup, and selecting the nicest meat and eyes to give to her guests.

They all sat down at the table to eat, and the beasts told the old Mother of the joyous birth of a Widderslainte, the Scion of the Warp, about to occur. "We are waiting for the eight-point star to rise," they said, "for we will follow its path. The star will guide us to the place where the Uncrowned King is to be born this very night."

"How I wish I could join you and bring Him a gift myself," the Old Mother sighed.

"Come with us, then," the beasts said heartily. "The Uncrowned King will welcome you, but we must be on our way soon. Will you join us?"

The Old Mother looked around and frowned. "I cannot leave just now," she said. "I must clean the house and prepare myself, but I will come as soon as I am ready."

She bade the beasts farewell, and watched from the cottage door as they set off, following the eight-point star’s path. She waved until she could no longer see them.

Inside, the Old Mother washed the dishes, swept the floor, dusted and tidied the cottage. She bathed and dressed in her finest clothes, and then, looking around, she began to gather gifts to take to the neverborn child. The Old Mother was a poor, hardworking creature who owned little, but she managed to gather several small toys, some sweet flesh and tiny pustules to take with her.

She walked to the door, tightly wrapped her fur around her to keep out the cold, and set off.

The Old Mother looked up at the sky, searching for the star that would lead her to the birthplace of the Uncrowned King. "Oh my," she said, for, no matter where she looked, she could not find the star. She had washed and scrubbed and readied herself for a long time, and as she worked, the sky had shifted.

The Old Woman tried one road. She walked for a while, but eventually, she realized she must have taken a wrong turn. She tried a different road, and then another, and another, always searching the sky for the star the wise beasts had followed.’

Mama looked to the spawnling that had dozed itself to sleep by the fire, and closed her eyes a moment, as she listened to the life above them choke and suffer onwards, covering the little one with her tail to warm it, but the story had anima, and had to be finished.

“People say the Old Mother never did find the right road, and that she is wandering still. And every year, when the Anathema’s followers cry ‘Candlemass’, the children sniffle and cough with the gift that Mama left for them, as she travels the realms, searching for the Uncrowned King so she might anoint Him, and when she does so, His coronation shall be complete. People say that the Old Mother will leave an anointment in all houses where children live, for each and every child and the Uncrowned King, who was born on Candlemass Day.”

Letifer Secundus
Trailwards Regions

Gaedrun took his rubber gloves to the basin and washed the blood from the black surface. He had people to do this, his son always told him: they were a respectable family, they paid the help to dispose of their bodies. He didn’t know where he’d gone wrong with the boy - spoiled him, more likely - let alone his children. So entitled, so very disappointing – still, his granddaughter had some promise.

The body on the slab had stopped moving - enough of it was recognizable to be dumped down Eelstown to send the Circle of Thorns a message. He picked up the flap of skin he’d taken off of the upper arm of the ganger, and sneered at the symbol tattooed there, “Xenos…” he muttered to his companion, “It’s well time was that the Thorns respected territory, now the Imperium is so weak our claim isn’t properly respected. And we’ll show them, won’t we, my girl?” he smiled to Isabella.

The Croc-hound’s four eyes didn’t blink as it stared intently at the corpse, and the Rutyer patriarch chuckled and grabbed a hand from the slab, hurling it towards the beast. There was a loud snap and a series of wet crunches, and a satisfied hiss left the corner where she was bedded down and chained to the wall, he chuckled, “Ah for a life fulfilled eating your Master’s victims, eh, Isabella?” the beast had been with him for a long while now; his memory was foggy as to when, downside of a life extended by rejuvenat treatments.

He sighed and tossed the tattooed skin into the preserver to be added to the usual trophies of gang wars - a petty nostalgic tradition from running in the holds of garbage scows. Still, he permitted himself that excess in the name of nostalgia

He finished washing his hands, and tugged off the rubber smock that protected his clothes, snapping his fingers to bring the guards at the door to attention. He pointed to the corpse, “Dispose of this trash.”

He stepped out as they nervously edged around Isabella’s biting reach to get to the corpse and into the family estate at the top of the spire - up here the light of the Letiferen Star hit the poisonous clouds and refracted into beautiful shapes that almost tricked you into believing the air outside might be welcoming…rather than melting your extremities in seconds if you stepped into it.

“I think I’d like to take a trip downspire.”

The lander shuddered as it came to a slow on the lower platforms of Letifer Secundus, and Gaedrun adjusted his position in his seat, resting on his cane as he pushed himself to his feet – he had been born in the muck, the children he’d grown up with had a high mortality rate, as did the adults. Garbage scows were dirty, poisonous things. But he had survived, he had thrived, he had carved out his own space in the Imperium, taken a title, had a family. With access to the Imperium’s technologies, he could live another hundred years or more if he so desired – he had no interest in surrendering the reigns of his family any time soon. He rose to his feet, and smiled as he made his way towards the hatch. The other Noble Houses hated him, he was nouveau-riche, he wasn’t of the same blood, he’d ‘bought’ his title in recent memory - unlike their ancestors, who had bought it millennia ago.

Let them hate him. He did not need to win over their hearts to remain strong, that was what they all fundamentally didn’t understand: House Durovera, his new ‘allies’ in House Vilas-Lobo - they were both blind. He had seen what the late Warmaster had done, he had seen how quickly his power had grown - it was the people who you needed to win. But when you had spent your life blind to the needs of the many, being told you were of chosen blood, it made you blind to the existence and needs of the little people. But not him, his wealth was built on the favour and silence of the little people, little people had lots of little mouths - eventually, if they spoke out enough, people would notice what they were saying; small people could topple Empires. You could make them fear you, but there will always be a bigger predator for them to fear more than you.

However, if you could make them LOVE you… well, that was the greatest tool of oppression.

Little people who loved their masters stayed in line because they were happy bowing; people rarely gave up comfort unless someone could offer them better, and rarely did any of his rivals offer the little people better than the switch and the iron gauntlet.

The ramp lowered.

Gaedrun Ruttyer would be a man of the people; the Master of the Rat House would be loved by all the little vermin that the Nobility discarded and ignored.

The Mudtown skyport had never known such generosity: it was the height of Candlemass, few gifts could be given down here though. But here was their jovial and caring Master to spread some cheer - before him his House Serfs spread out, carrying baskets filled with wrapped parcels of food, sugary trash devoid of nutritional value but better tasting then the corpse starch folks here survived on; and the reclamators would be giving double-rations of that throughout the festival - all gits of House Ruttyer.

People flocked to him, and he let them touch him, handed them thrones stamped with the visage of the God-Emperor that would feed a family for half a year if they weren’t robbed for it on the way home – which was likely in Mudtown. Still, he had no real fear, all his protection was hidden, and one step out of line would have his box of tricks revealed.

Nobles didn’t come down here, let alone one of the heads of the Great Houses of the Prosperitas Sector. He let the people welcome him, insist that he join them at their tables, at their pokey little shrines to the God-Emperor.

And he did.

For this was how you won wars. With willing and loving submission.

He permitted himself an honest smile among so many fake ones, for it was good to be the Rat King.

Olethros Secunda
Rimward Regions

Olethros Secunda’s beaches were clean once again. The murk of the Machine Cults runoff had taken time to be cleared through machinery and the effort of the Angels of their Gods, but they were purified now, thanks be to the Divine Octad. Ele Ishak had shed her boots at the edge of the beach, and now walked barefoot to the water, her breeches rolled up to her knees. Looking out across the sea, she smiled, and lifted her frock coat a little higher to wade a little further into the surf.

“Allegiant-Admiral Ele Ishak?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the servant who had made his way across the beach: like many of the Cults of the Faith he had been ritually tattooed with pages from the Book of the Way, his skin little more than parchment to remind the faithful of the true words of the true Gods. She absentmindedly reached out to run her finger along his cheek, tracing the passage there with idle curiosity, “Yes?” she murmured, “Speak.”

He showed no reaction to her touch - a penitent, then - his sense of touch removed as punishment for some crime or another, “The Sects welcome you to join them for the ceremony of the eight candles…”

The Imperium had scoured the old temples off the world, but construction had been rapid on new ones. Any hostility between the Sects was put aside here under the clear light of the Eye. The paradise world had once been the heart of the faith, and it would be so once more. She nodded to the servant, then made her way up the beach to retrieve her boots, and head towards the temples. As she dressed, she noticed something in the scrub near the edge of the beach, and picked it up.

It was crudely carved, a figure of some false idol of the Corpse Emperor, no doubt. She brushed her fingers over it, then reached up and snapped the wooden head from its shoulders, before tossed it away, with a smirk, ignoring the strange gut feeling as she made her way from the beach to the Temple district.

Inside the great temple, the heat was intense, and she removed her tricorn and coat, handing them to one of the servants. She stepped into the arms of the Attendant Priests letting them paint her flesh with the markings of the Divine Octad, feeling the blessed burn of the sacred acids, as she continued her journey to the Naos of the Great Temple.

As she arrived, she found herself amongst many of the Noble houses of the Sovereign Order present. The Priests were filing in from their cloisters in the Adyton of the Temple, and one made his way towards her with a smile and open arms, “Ele!”

She smiled and took her brother in her arms, drawing him close so their foreheads touched. Though he had changed with the blessings of the Gods, she recognised him: his body had grown strong, and scales that glittered in hypnotically beautiful rainbows had spread across his flesh. She smiled at him - he might be no longer smaller than her, but even if he were a Daemon Prince, he would still be her younger brother, “Sym,” she smiled widely, “my ship was making war at Lerwick, but I returned when I heard you had been chosen to stand at one of the eightpoints! This is such a blessing for you, and for our family.”

He smiled softly back, “It is not about politics, dearest sister, but the Divine Octad smiles on your ambition for our family.”

She laughed, “Of course, forgive me. May the Octad see you fit as their vessel on this Feast of Candlemass.”

He stepped away and bowed his head at that, as the other priests began to throw palm branches onto the eight ‘candle’ fires at the points of the divine symbol on the floor of the Naos, fanning the smoke into the centre, as the ceremony began.

Though the smoke stung her eyes, she kept her eyes on Symeon, as the chants began to distort the air and her skin prickled with the sacred energies of their ritual, Static washed over her, and her eyes began to grow sore from staring into the unnatural light engulfing the Naos.

And there, the flame danced amongst the candle-flames, a thousand unnatural colours with new names - before it came to a stop in the brazier in front of Symeon. She covered her mouth to hide her gasp: the blessing was on her House, her younger brother’s flesh had been chosen…

He looked up to her, his smile was both happy and sad: when they had embraced they had both known that the blessing came with a price. But he gladly paid it, for the Divine Octad, for their family. He laid his hands upon the brazier…and the warpflame poured into him, the smoke enshrouding him.

There was a pulse, like a heartbeat through reality, a dull throb like that of a newborn into the womb - before blood exploded outwards from the centre of the circle - her brother’s blood turned into an oily rainbow-like liquid that stained the seven unchosen Priests. She smiled wide and wept, both in grief and happiness, tears running to blood down her cheeks, as she felt the throb through the shared blood with her Brother.

The swirling shape in the mist rose - humanoid in shape. Still, she could not make out the Angel who had stepped through her brothers flesh to be born through him into this world, although she knew it smiled upon her in her faith.

It spoke only in the Black Tongue of the Priesthood, but she gasped in awe as the sibilant hisses caressed her ears, closing her eyes, and letting herself be lost to it; the markings of the Serpent cult on her skin seemed to writhe with life as she stepped forwards from the crowds, walking slowly in a trance. Nobody stopped her, nobody denied her passage, as she walked into the mists towards the Angel.

It wore her brothers face amongst a mass of monstrous beauty; as it turned to her, the too-small human face that was being worn like a mask smiled, just like Symon did, its many wings opening behind it and flapping. Its talons reached out to her carefully, and drew her close,

“Allegiant-Admiral Ele Ishak…” its voice was like honey, and made her skin shiver in pleasure as it spoke, clicking its claws together, as its many-limbs took her and it stared into her eyes. It looked at her as a child might a doll but it hissed, “I have been waiting for you for so many years…my love…”

It showed her its true face, and Ele Ishak began to laugh as blood streamed from her eyes.

What walked from the fog was still Ele Ishak, in some fashion, but now she walked with purpose - the Angel rode her mind alongside her, mingling with her thoughts, with her very soul. As she stepped before the Priests, there were gasps, for they could see what she was now, “The Line of Ishak claims the right of Candlemass blessing…” she hissed, her skin and thoughts felt tight with the second presence within her, “for I am Twiceborn.”

They all knelt before her.

Duroverum
Corewards Regions

Katerina had not gone outside without her armour for months, but given her reprimand for sparing the Gearwrights already, she felt it was best to go without the badges of her office to descend into the warren of the Hives of Duroverum. Following the signs of the followers, she moved swiftly, robes swathing a comfortable bodysuit with a bolt pistol strapped to each thigh for protection.

It was Candlemass - even the Gangers seemed to be at peace despite the prior battles on the surface; the dark presence of Lady-Governor Durovera’s Astartes allies from the Void Hounds kept a degree of threat on the surface. Occasionally one of the warriors descended into the dark to keep order, but, other than that, the atmosphere here was one of comfort and happiness, rather than fear.

The Soror stole through the streets, following the sound of hymns and the smell of cooking, as she stepped into the small market-square dotted with tents and various open fires. The Gearwrights were doing better than she’d expected, and even thriving. She sighed and let herself relax as she stood at the edge of the square, not wanting to disturb the celebrations with her presence.

The young woman she’d seen at the landing pad carrying the icon of Saint Gearwright, was she their leader?

Perhaps not - the Gearwrights seemed a far more anarchic group than the rest of the sects down here. Not a cult, as there was no apostate taking advantage the innocent in need of guidance. The Canoness had lectured her on the necessity of not sparking more division in the Ecclesiarchy, but in her soul, she knew she had made the right choice by giving them a chance to find refuge here; this was what the Emperor would have wanted.

Satisfied, she turned to leave, but a smaller hand caught her own battleworn one. Her hand twitched to her weapon but relaxed as she glanced into the eyes of the young woman from the landing pad, who had tugged on her “I remember you,” she smiled, “you were kind to us when no other would be. Will you join us? For a little while before you have to return to your duties?”

“I’m not…” Katerina paused, then, hesitantly, smiled. She would not be missed, and she was permitted to leave the Convent on personal business when she needed to, “Thank you,” she heard herself say “that’d be most kind…”

As she sat and broke bread with the Gearwrights, she looked up at the badly-carved image of their apostate Saint and mused a little - there was something in this faith, something that felt warm and comfortable and right. Perhaps that is why it terrified the apostate Grulge so much…

Sipping a warm mulled distil, she watched as Gangers, normally used to a life of continuous brutality, putting down weapons as they entered the square, for what must have been the first time in their lives and enjoyed themselves a little while.

Eventually, she rose to her feet, not wanting to idle too long amongst them. They were doing well, and that was all she needed to know. But, at this rate, they would need protection, their community was growing, and, sooner than later, they’d be noticed. The expression on her face became one of grim determination, as she nodded to herself.

It was the duty of the defenders of the Faith to protect the innocent.

A hand briefly touched hers, and the woman smiled to her again, “I am Elodie….” the woman said, “Thank you for what you did for us. And I hope you have a warm Candlemass, Soror.” She handed a small piece of cloth with an embroidered skull held in in a palm above it.

Katerina looked at it for a second, before smiling at Elodie, “And a warm Candlemass to you too, Elodie.”

She closed her hand around the cloth tightly.

Prosperitas Gazetteer V – A Candlemass Story

Happy Holidays 2019 from the DuD Team!

This is your Candlemass gift from me, a Gazetteer of festive nonsense (and some plot development).

Thank you to my Game Team who have put up with the slow progress of me getting shit out of my head and down on the page so we can run shit, and have each and all pushed towards helping me help you guys enjoy our story – without them, there is no DuD, so please remember to show them all your thanks.

Thank you to all our players and crew who again, without you guys contributing we couldn’t achieve half of what we’ve done in a short space of time with this LARP, so thank you for what you’ve helped us do.