Crimson Slaughter - The Killing Continues: So much raw Warp energy spills out into realspace in the region around the Eye of Terror that time passes strangely there. What may seem a matter of solar days or weeks within that nefarious region might be but seconds of time outside. On and on the Crimson Sabres went, searching each new planet, moon or floating Space Hulk. If any sign of life was found, they proceeded to assault, relentlessly pursuing their quarry until every one was slain. To them, it felt as if their death-bringing campaign had lasted long years already. In the beginning, the Chapter's Librarians diligently recorded the full details of these so-called Renegade Wars -- or so they thought. All who approach the Eye of Terror increase the risk of madness or daemonic possession, and a psychically capable mind is put under even more strain. When the Librarians went to check their datascrolls and chrono-logs in an attempt to verify how long they had been on this final campaign, they found not the accounts of their several score of battles, but instead only gibberish, the ranting recordings of the maniacal voices from inside their heads. Kranon took this news hard. He had hoped to redress the ledger against the Crimson Sabres by sending detailed records of their actions back to the Imperium. In this way, the Imperium might learn something of the noble and heroic sacrifice of the Chapter they had wronged. His deepest wish had been to prove the Crimson Sabres' worth and gain forgiveness from the Imperium, but this had always been a fool's hope. Rightly or wrongly, they had been condemned by a harsh and unforgiving realm and Kranon knew that there could be no return. More realistically, the Chapter Master had simply wished to redeem honour for the Crimson Sabres, perhaps earning a worthy remembrance and memorial.Now, ironically, the only messages the Crimson Sabres had transmitted were garbled nonsense or lunatic ravings -- surely the exact thing that would convince the Imperium that they were indeed possessed and lost. Although the passage of time had become a befuddlement, Kranon knew it had been three solar days since their last battle, a brief sortie where he himself had slain the warlord -- the renegade leader of Grimlod's Raiders. Kranon knew it was only three solar days because already the voices were beginning, a faint whisper, like a distant scratching that he was growing more and more aware of with each passing hour. They had not been able to find enough foes on that barren planet to wash away the murmuring for long. Kranon looked at himself and his army. By this point in the campaign, he had lost well over two hundred of his Space Marines. With no homeworld and no Neophytes in training, there was no way to replace those losses. There were another fifty or so of his Chapter that he could not account for -- that had not been seen for days. At least one of those had reportedly burst out of his Power Armour, becoming a foul and monstrous being that prowled the lower decks of the Red Honour. Whatever it was, it would have to be hunted out and contained. Kranon suspected several of his Librarians had passed beyond unstable and teetered upon the brink of some dreadful transformation. His own blood-brother was locked in a cell and refused to speak to him, calling him a murderous traitor. Even his fleet was becoming grotesque -- gothic spires twisting upwards, spiked railings jutting outwards. Kranon was fairly certain that the corridor leading to the command bridge was now organic. At that moment, at that low point of despair and utter failure, Kranon Sevastus decided that he no longer wanted an unmourned martyrdom. Instead, he wanted to live.