StormNexus

It sounded like a roar more than a yawn. Moe’eta’inte awoke from his deep slumber in the darkness of Senf-Duu to the drums of war. He took his time strapping on his armor, not too eager to fight after such a pleasant dream (Meret as far as the eye could see, all chanting his name). When finally he was done he descended the many levels of the tower, through the gates, and to the cliff awaiting his foes with his fellow defenders. Unslinging his double axe from his back he took up a position with a good view of where the raiders would enter the great cavern. The sounds of battle could be heard through the entrance.

All but the archers moved from the cliff to make their stand at the gate. Moe’eta’inte was among them and as the great daemon force marched, he slowly made his way to the back.

Then the sounds were gone. Arrows were knocked, grips were tightened, and stances were taken. The slow and steady breathing of his comrades was all the he could hear.

The whistles of five dozen arrows broke the silence, plunging themselves into the first ranks of the daemon army. Many of the arrows were blocked, but a good number found their marks. Almost as if they were torches in the darkness, the raiders showed their faces, crude swords in hand. Both forces charged, screaming and waving their weapons as if to terrify the enemy and make them turn back. Shields bashed and weapons clashed, many saw the last of their days in the first few moments.

Moe’eta’inte charged spinning his axe above him. He plunged into battle, blocking and slashing, parrying and smashing, pure adrenaline guiding his every move.
Suddenly an unexpected surge of pain rushed from his head and forced him to drop his weapon.

Everything went black for the young daemon.

The place had a familiar scent when consciousness returned to Moe’eta’inte for the first time in weeks. It was dark, but his room was always dark. His head was throbbing with pain. He felt the bandage around his head and noticed it covered his right eye. Slowly he removed the wraps but to his displeasure he still saw only the left half of his bed.

Not too alarmed, thinking it was just a swelling, he made his way across the room to strap on his armor for a walk around the tower. Then he saw his helmet. It looked as though some small pole had been rammed through it, leaving a circular hole in visor.

Grumbling to himself as he recounted his last memories of the battle, he soon realized that an archer got a lucky shot off at his eye. He saw, very briefly, a shiny metal arrowhead flying straight for him. Then he remembered the rush of pain and the pitch black that came soon after.
He had been the lucky one, and he knew it for he laughed maniacally for a long while.

It was then that he heard it, a small whisper somewhere in the room. In the blink of an eye his axe was in his hands ready to strike at anything that may come out. He heard it again, behind him. Quickly without thinking he thrust his axe into mirror on his dresser, shattering it. Then again, this time it would not stop and his head began to throb with pain, and he was falling. But he never hit the floor. Falling and falling, in a black pit of nothingness.

* * * * * * * * *

Moe’eta’inte sat up in his bed, covered in sweat, and tore the sheets from his body. Only a dream, he thought to himself.

Only a dream, said the voice in his head.

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Moe'eta'inte Utete'luhe (Moe)

He nodded to the guards as the gates opened. Moe’eta’inte, now fully recovered, walked the grounds of Senf-Duu, trying to get a feel of how life would be with one less eye.

Not so much harder, he thought as he walked to the smith to get his helmet repaired. Earlier that day, though not admitting it as no one saw it, he had nearly tripped on the stairs during his descent and would have toppled all the way down were it not for a lucky reflexive step and a grab at the guide railing.

Moe’eta’inte paused when he got in front of the A’Uer Uau building. How he had longed to be an Elite. It had been his dream since he first heard of them when he arrived in Senf-Duu. Many times he had walked passed this building and admired those who entered it.

This time though something was different. Moe’eta’inte no longer had any desire to be an Elite. As he watched various members of the company come and go, he felt no admiration. He saw them now as somewhat insignificant. Without another thought on the matter, he walked off to finish the task at hand.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Later that day, Moe’eta’inte was in his room sharpening his axe. Something was off. He looked around but the room was empty. Still, he had the feeling he was being watched. His eyes moved to the mirror and he nearly fell back off his bed at what he saw.

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Moe'eta'inte Utete'luhe (Moe)

Moe’eta’inte saw only himself in the mirror, and he felt a bit foolish. He looked more closely though, at the scars that were cut into hit body. In his time living in Senf-Duu he had helped to defend it many times, though not all the time at no cost. Many times during his life as a soldier he had woken up on his back, sore from fighting and taking hits. Always had he been lucky enough to live to see the next day, but each raid took a piece of his sanity as a being, eventually leaving only a vessel of loyalty and ambition. Loyalty to Horus and ambition to be remembered through the trials of time.

What was he doing to further the word of his Lord Horus? Nothing, he thought. He wanted to do more for his fearless leader, wanted to prove that he was indeed worthy of the title Kheprer.

He decided that he would to take his first steps outside Senf-Duu and begin a new, more righteous life as a blade of the Dark Alliance. He would not return until he had spread some of his Lord’s endless wrath.

* * * * * * * *

Moe’eta’inte slept well that night - at least for a while - dreaming of leading daemon hordes to countless victorious battles in the name of Horus (for he had no real feelings for the Dark Alliance as a whole).
As one of the many battles came to an end, he found himself surrounded by his own forces. He was then confronted by a daemon that looked much like himself – aside from the large horns coming from his forehead and two great wings protruding from his back.

Then came an attack, aimed to kill (alone as he was, anyone who might have been in the room would have seen Moe’eta’inte jerk violently in his sleep), which he parried, though very confused as to why a daemon would be attacking him. The look-alike daemon struck again, this time a wide swing for his legs, obviously trying to get him on his back. This too was blocked by Moe’eta’inte’s massive double axe.

After one look at the now smiling daemon, he suddenly went on the offensive, spinning his axe and launching a series of slashing attacks, then ending with a jump, bringing his axe down to split the betraying daemon in two.

This was blocked with the look-alike’s own double axe, which then lashed out at Moe’eta’inte’s chest, merely cutting the cloth and denting the armor underneath.

The daemon smiled, then jumped back to ready a defense.

Sighing a bit, not wishing to kill a daemon, Moe’eta’inte raised his axe preparing to strike while he looked for weak links in his opponents defense. Then he rushed his enemy, axe raised for an overhead strike.

The still smiling daemon raised his axe as well to block the attack.

But the overconfident traitor then saw his mistake as Moe’eta’inte suddenly switched his plan of action from a high strike to a low one, breaking the attempted defense, tearing through armor and flesh. Finally the smile faded as it was replaced with look of dread.

No blood escaped the torn body, though Moe’eta’inte felt a surge a pain erupt from his own chest. Looking down in disbelief, he saw his own armor had been split. Realizing then that he had lost his axe, he buried the wound in his hands trying to stop the bleeding. Looking up at the other daemon, who was now walking away, he saw his sight slowly start to fade as everything turned white.

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Moe'eta'inte Utete'luhe (Moe)

Moe’eta’inte woke up violently, ripping the sheets away from him and sweating profusely. This had not been the first of these dreams, though this one tormented him the most. He felt as if something inside of him was gone, a feeling he once knew no longer came to him. He stayed sitting up in his bed for the rest of the night.

When finally morning had come, he strapped on his armor, pulled his helm on, slung his axe across his back, and descended the many levels of the tower. He took his time walking to the edge of the cavern and through the many gates to the outside world.

* * * * * * *

He walked for many days and many nights, battling strange beasts of the forest and running from hostile keeps. Every once in a while he would find a safe area to set up a small camp, but it was never for long.

Moe’eta’inte felt insecure and naked whenever it was that he stopped. He was so used to being surrounded by walls of rock and many scores of daemon soldiers. How he hated to be alone on this unknown world. The feeling of being so vulnerable ate at his nerves, keeping him awake for many hours through the night until he could no longer fight off the heavy ropes that pulled his eyelids shut.

You are safe here, rest, came a voice from his head, one night when Moe’eta’inte sat next to a small fire, keeping an eye out for danger. Just as the voice sounded, a figure appeared opposite of him.

Like most of his imaginary daemons, this one looked much like himself. This one though wore an emotionless expression and had no scars at all. His hair was a bit longer and straighter, and his beard was also a bit longer. He was very clean, with a clear complexion.

Moe’eta’inte looked at the flawless image of himself for many minutes, already feeling somewhat relived. His gazed moved downwards into the fire, and he watched it until finally allowed himself to fall asleep, without fear of being dragged off into the night.

* * * * * * *

His dream that night was one of fire. Everywhere scorched stone and burning trees, whole building engulfed in flame. But not empty. Random citizens going about their everyday lives as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Then he saw it, a flag, in the center of the small village, raised high. It was the flag of the Realm of Horus, and the citizens were meret, the slave race, humans. He did not know it then but this village was Sparrowvale.

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Moe'eta'inte Utete'luhe (Moe)

Many, many. many moons have gone by since the night in the forest. Moe'eta'inte had found his renewed place among his daemon brethren in the Realm of Horus and the voices seemed to just go away. He had gotten to see his fire filled dream come true, however disappointing it was (Sparrowvale had indeed caught flame, but only for a few hours before the locals and the other realms doused the flames). Since, no more dreams came to him about domination, glory for Horus, or about his perfect daemon self. It all seemed as though Moe had become content with his, now routine, life.

Wake up, suit up, warm up, eat up, perform sentry duties in and out of Senf-Duu, and occasionally, when rivals were frisky, drill the heavy side of his double-axe into the skull of an invader. Few times he left Senf-Duu for any reason other than to send a message back to another Realm. Even fewer times would he speak with his kheprer kin. In these times Moe'ete'inte had become nothing more than a mere ghost, and that was the way he wanted it.

* * * * * * *
"You are doing well," said the daemoness.
A slight bow of his head, "Thank you,"
"You could be doing better, SHOULD be.. I see you, wasting away your life in that hell hole of a cave. I want you to leave Senf-Duu again. Except this time I want you to take the Nexus, its much faster. You are not just a soldier, see the world for what it is. We are stuck here until they send for us so I want you to get used to it. Go to DarkHaven, you will not be the only kheprer there."
Another slight bow of the head "Yes, Mistress."

And with that Moe'eta'inte's routine had hit a snag.

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Moe'eta'inte Utete'luhe (Moe)

Snag. A noun indicating a break in the original plan. In Moe's original plan, he would be nothing more than a soldier, defending Senf-Duu from invaders and keeping order inside the realm. Now he was to be one of the many representatives given the very honorable opportunity to bring glory to Horus. Every realm sent their representatives across Mellus to interact, make treaties, finish fights, even fight for a common goal on rare occasions.

Great, he thought. Moe never did well with other daemons, now he was supposed to mingle with the very slave race that was once under daemonic control and assorted other species he had no idea about. No good can possibly come of this.

* * * * * * *
The port from Senf-Duu Tower to the capital city Darkhaven via the Nexus was odd. In the blink of an eye Moe had crossed hundreds, maybe thousands of miles, though the scenery had hardly changed. One dark, morbid room to another, only this new one had odd, floating, eyeball creatures who referred to themselves as slaves to some sort of great wizard. Slaves, with the power to travel half a world in the blink of an eye. Who was this wizard, he wondered.

He stepped out of the building to end up in a town square of sorts. This new environment was evil. Had to be.
Nothing good can come of this, he thought as he looked out over the square.

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Moe'eta'inte Utete'luhe (Moe)

A load, violent roar comes from somewhere in the caverns of Senf-Duu, echoing off the walls, traveling through the realm.

A handful of meret stop in their tracks and listen, trembling. They know the sound. Quickly and with practiced steps they follow it, knowing that to be late is to die.

Another roar, followed closely by loud bangs.

Faster and faster, the meret run for their lives to find the noise, wanting nothing more than to do the deed and be gone.

Silence.

The meret surround a sarcophagus, places their hands in designated slots and begin to heave off the massive lid. They get halfway before it is thrown to the ceiling and crashes back down, crushing three under it weight. A figure begins to rise from the darkness within, a large daemonic figure. Slowly, it rises to the full height that towers over the meret slaves before it begins to moves with lightning fast ferocity, goring one slave and grabbing another, devouring its body and soul.

The doors of the room begin to shut, two meret outside start to close the doors while their doomed comrades run for it, screaming in horror. Once closed they can only imagine what goes on inside by the wails and gurgles of the dead.

After several long moments of silence they re-open the doors for their re-awakened master to once again roam the caverns of Horus Realm.

******

It has been many moons since Moe'eta'inte walked among his kin. Much had changed during his slumber, but at the same time, almost nothing had. He walked on through the halls of Senf-Duu, to his right the perfect image of himself he had always walked with since the night in the woods when her first stepped out into the world of Mellus. He understood that no other being could see this image and he accepted it, reveled in it. During his sleep this image of himself had kept his mind content, easy. And while he roamed it kept him company, comforted him while he was alone.

To the top of the tower and through the Nexus, on the ruined mountaintop he watched over Mellus, planning his next journey. It seemed quiet to him, almost too quiet. He remembered, just before he took to his sarcophagus, how everything had been, how noisy this world seemed, how chaotic. He missed it.

With a long sigh he took step to the edge of the mountain and jumped. He soared down the surface and landed with a crash, imbedding his feet into the soft earth and stabilizing himself with a fist. It was time to stir things up, he thought. It was time to find his kin and make this world theirs again.

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Moe'eta'inte Utete'luhe (Moe)