Mark of Chaos by C.L Werner Read Free Book Online Page A

They twitched spasmodically, and the arms began to move. Reaching up, the figure drew its black robe from its chest, exposing a tautly muscled, lean torso covered in scars. The skin of the torso was a sickly pale colour, and blue veins could be seen under the translucent skin.
    From the shadows, a grotesque shape moved towards the kneeling figure. Its movement awkward, it slithered across the floor, stopping just outside the red powdered circles. Its malformed, babyish face was perched atop a worm-like tail, and it pulled itself forwards with a pair of tentacle limbs. Its eyes were slitted like those of a snake, and they glittered yellow.
    Raising itself with some difficulty, it lifted one tentacled limb over the red powder, and then another. Its face twisted in concentration, it carefully shifted its weight forwards, leaning on the side of its face, and lifted its tail over the circle. Carefully it repeated the manoeuvre, so that it sat before the kneeling figure. It raised itself as high as was possible on its tail, mouth opening soundlessly, exposing small, sharp teeth.
    The robed figure reached out and picked up the disfigured creature, turning it around so that its tail touched its belly. The thing squirmed, gnashing its teeth, and its tail began to burrow into the figure's flesh. Its tentacles too began to burrow deep into the pale figure's belly, pulling the creature further and further inside the black robed man's body. Soon all that could be seen was the hideous face of the creature, and then it too was swallowed by flesh. Colour began to return to the kneeling figure's pale body, and the blue veins disappeared.
    Closing the black robe, the figure rose to its feet. It swept a hand in front of its body, and a sharp wind entered the cave, scattering the red dust. The circles disappeared, and the figure marched from the cave to meet the victorious champion.
    Hroth was pleased with the new addition to his standard. Slaaeth's head, hanging by its long white hair, stared blankly ahead. The chosen's mouth was hanging open limply, and his tongue lolled from his mouth, almost a foot long. As much as he had disliked the Slaanesh champion, there was no doubting that the gods had favoured him, at least for a time. His head was a worthy addition to the trophies of Hroth the Blooded.
    Stomping through the dense undergrowth, swatting twisted, grabbing branches out of his way, he recalled the words of Slaaeth. Sent like a dog , he had said, to fetch the staff for his master.
    He scoffed. No one was his master, he thought, kicking a rotten log from his path.
    He hated the dark, dense forests of the Empire. He knew that they served his purpose, for even when its armies were at full force the weak Empire men could not patrol every square mile of the massive forests that filled their lands. Dark things lurked in the hidden depths where no men trod, and thousands of beastmen infested the deeper reaches of the forests. Still, Hroth loathed feeling so enclosed. The trees were giant twisted things that had grown into all manner of contorted shapes. Their branches far overhead wove into an impenetrable covering, letting no hint of light through. Thick, rotting mulch covered the ground, the thin layer of ice that lay atop it cracking as Hroth stepped through the dark wilderness.
    The darkness itself did not bother him. No, he was used to that. In the homeland of the Khazags, months of travel to the far northeast, almost half the year existed in darkness, for the sun rose barely above the horizon. The land of the nomadic Khazags was open, and almost completely free of vegetation. Good horseman land. Craggy dark rock covered its slopes, ragged and sharp. Steaming pools of sulphur-rich water could be found amongst some of the rocky peaks, occasionally bursting forth as towering geysers when the gods were hungry. That was the landscape that he was comfortable in, with the skies open above him, never with a roof over his head.
    He also hated