Thread: They Who Thirst (Dr. Nibbles & SomethingEsoteric)

Smoldering ashes of the once noble and peaceful hamlet danced through the desecrated air in an apocalyptic ballet. The collection of homes and farms that once harbored simple townsfolk of the Stirr were now left in ruin, their inhabitants to meet a far worse fate. No man, woman or child, no sick nor elderly, nor blind, nor deaf, nor dumb were spared by the onslaught of madness and slaughter that the Targoth'Ur brought. In an instant, entire families had their lineage blotted out by the dark moon that was their assailant, killing all their kin in a fell swoop with martial prowess and blind rage only Norse Champions could provide. Iridith stood atop a toppled tree, riddled with arrows and half burnt, a young man who died clutching his sword in one hand and dead child in the other was crushed beneath its mass. She smiled and breathed in heavily, enjoying the ripe smell of burning flesh and oaken houses, the screams of tortured captives and the cackling laughter of her pleased subordinates it was a good hunt. She leaped from the cindered log, her bare feet sinking slightly into the soot and mud beneath her. With grace, she gingerly stepped passed the toppled corpses of the Stirland militia. What a pathetic military, she thought to herself. The militia was ill-armed and poorly trained, they were no match for the mighty amazons of the Tagoth'Ur, a seldom few were. In the past larger tribes and towns had been easily conqured by the seemingly minute force of Iridith's tribe. Rumors spread through out the Chaos Wastes of a mighty nomadic tribe that ceaslessly raped and plundered the lands of the Wastes and the border states of the Empire. Many had tried to cash in on their luck or obliterate them, retaining their fame. All had failed. What few understood was that this all female warband was far from ordinary, each was blessed with a gift from the Prince of Excess itself. All the Tagoth'Ur were beautiful women, flawless skin, shapely forms and fit, toned bodies. Though each woman born unto Tagoth'Ur parents bore a shocking mutation a male penis. It was a secret that the Tagoth'Ur did not fight to hide, nor did they openly display this fact, though it is definite that it was the soul reason they leave the women alive, raping them endlessly and using them as breeding houses for new, tainted souls eager to serve Slaanesh. It would be much easier for their seed to flourish if the men were born as lady-boys, or at least normal. But the dark gods, as proud and gifting as they are, have a twisted and sick sense of humor. On the rare occasion a boy is born unto a Tagoth'Ur sex slave, he often kills his mother in childbirth, ripping himself from her womb with gnashing teeth, razor talons and mighty claws. These boys are born mad and mutated beyond reason and only desire to murder a vicious and potent weapon indeed. These Forsaken Sons are trained like wild dogs to kills from birth, and when they come of age they are armored in thick, black metal and unleashed into the foe so they may meet a warriors death and be released from their hellish un-life. Running her hands through her long, unkempt hair, Iridith stood before some of her mightiest champions as they chained and ripped the commoner clothing from a young woman, ripe for child baring. However the girl was frail, most likely ill or baring some disorder due to her home's closeness to the Wastes. She would not last past one child, if that. Is this the only one? she asked in their grievous dark tongue, frustration obvious in her voice. I'm affraid so, my lady. Replied one of the champions, attempting not to show her obvious fear of her chieftain. Why? Iridith asked coldly, staring down at the warrior with piercing eyes of diamond. Th-the farmstead, where the women were being kept, stammered the champion, looking to the others as if yearning guidance. It was... burnt down... with the women inside. Ah yes, smiled Iridith, oddly cheery, turning away to head the direction she came At least we know Slaanesh will feast wholly on souls tonight. Haha, of course my la- before the champion could finish her sentence of relief, Iridith spun on the ball of her foot, unsheathing her ax and severing the amazon's head from her supple shoulders. The young girl screamed and the remaining two champions looked in worry at their leader. And yours will join them... Iridith spat, wiping the blood from her ax on the thin fur cloth of the champions corpse. The Exiled One will be in Stirland in four passes of Morrslieb. We promised him brides! If we fail do you understand the consequences that could follow? Iridith was furious, her heart racing her chest heaving, she wanted to kill again but she would need every able soldier she could if they were to take Theamoor Hold. It was there she set a specific prize for herself the Duke's Daughters. Chain her up and throw her in the carriage... we ride at dawn.