Outcasts, Chapter 2

There was no fire in the camp. Veritas had decided against it on the odd chance that something wandering through the forest would spot or smell it. He could certainly trust Grognar to defend the small encampment from anything stupid enough to thieve or attack, but less of a mess was almost always a good thing. Veritas watched as Johann shivered and rubbed his arms fitfully in a seated position. His reactions to the rapid transformations were fascinating to Veritas, who was making mental notes of each and every visible effect.

“What exactly are you, son?” Veritas asked.

“Stop calling me that,” Johann demanded with an angry look. “By my count, I’ve played your little game and now it’s your turn. What do you want? What freedom are you looking for?”

“The better part of the details can only be understood later, Johann,” Veritas answered. “I can tell you this much- a very powerful and corrupt individual is making power plays, and it falls to me to stop his agents and foil his plans.”

“So you’re on some crusade then?” Johann asked.

“An accurate description, if simplistic,” Veritas answered. “I don’t do this for ideological reasons. I do it because it has to be done and it seems no one else will.”

“Is there any point in asking who this despot is or are you going to be evasive?” Johann asked.

“Evasiveness is just one of my many talents,” Veritas replied with a smile.

“Well, at least go into further detail about how I’m supposed to help you, and how you think you can help me,” Johann said.

“As to how you can help me,” Veritas began, “your abilities to heal, strengthen yourself, and manipulate magic are of particular interest. You can imagine that my chosen task is fraught with peril. Having such a talented individual upon whom I can rely will be extremely beneficial.”

“So you want a bodyguard?” Johann asked skeptically.

“No, Grognar does that more adequately than you ever could- no offense intended, of course. I need an agent. Someone who can get inside the inner workings of my enemy’s plans and disrupt them when necessary,” Veritas said. “I am known, to some extent, to my enemy, and even if I was not, my nature as a wizard is not so easily concealed. You, on the other hand, haven’t a trace of corruption about you, despite your recent transformation. You can walk in the worlds of the innocent and the damned, and this little quest will take us deep into both. Does that sound like too much trouble for you to handle?”

“No,” Johann answered with a shaking of his head. “Though I find it irritating how everyone sees me as a tool.” 

The sudden rustling of brush and whinny of horses drew the attention of both Johann and Veritas. Grognar was pushing his way into the camp and a massive boar in hand. The animal’s head had been beaten to bloody ruin and the ogre had a firm grip on back of the creature’s neck. Grognar was covered in fresh tusk wounds and bites, but the joy of his victory and coming meal seemed to dull his pain considerably. Despite being half its killer’s size, the boar offered little resistance when the ogre tossed it into the center of the camp.

Johann looked disdainfully at the dead animal and said “I suppose this is dinner?”

Grognar’s look snapped towards Johann and filled with suspicion. “Get your own,” the ogre said while grabbing an entire barrel of ale from the back of the wagon. He lumbered over to the carcass and dropped right onto his buttocks, letting the barrel fall to his side before plunging his hand into the boar’s belly and ripping out a sizable chunk of wet meat. A horrendous smell of organs and plant material at various stages of digestion saturated the air, causing the changeling and the wizard to wrinkle and cover their noses. Grognar licked his lips and took a massive bite out of the creature’s liver. 

“I wouldn’t challenge the ogre for his food,” Veritas said through the fold of his cloak. “He’s a much better fighter when he gets possessive.”

“Right…” Johan replied. 

“But you should learn not to be picky about what you eat. Times like this, where we cannot safely procure the best lodgings, are all too frequent,” Veritas said.

“I can make that boar into the finest meal you’ve heard had, human,” a voice said from outside the camp.

“I did not mean to impugn your culinary skills, Maevel,” Veritas said with a smile.

Two shapes rounded the corner of the wagon just then, each the polar opposite of the other. One was tall, cloaked, and incredibly thin, moving with a delicacy that worried Johann when he realized the individual’s tread made no sound and left no evidence of its passing. The other was squat and broad, with goggles, visibly strong arms, and a myriad of strange devices and weapons within its reach. 

The first approached Johann and he felt compelled to stand and give a proper show of himself. The newcomer pulled back its hood, and revealed itself to be the most hauntingly beautiful person or thing Johann had seen since his creation. She was a female elf, with deep green eyes and a warm complexion. Silken brown hair unfurled from within the hood and flowed down her thin shoulders. She locked eyes with Johann and held his gaze as if testing his strength of will.

“Well, hello to you too,” the shorter figure said. 

Johann’s gaze tore away from the elf and looked to the first dwarven woman he’d ever seen. She pulled her goggles off and thrust out her stubby hand. Confused at the gesture, Johann leaned his head to the side. The dwarf cocked an eyebrow and turned to Veritas.

“Did I do it wrong? Don’t humans shake hands like this?” she asked the wizard.

“I think he’s a little aghast at everything that’s happened to him, Mae,” Veritas answered. “After all, who would dare be rude to you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, uh…ma’am,” Johann said as he shook her hand. “Are you working for Veritas as well?”

“Working for?” the dwarf asked with a scoff. “That crazy wizard asked for my help, and I had nothing better to do.”

Veritas silently chuckled and approached the new arrivals from behind, stopping between them. 

“This,” the wizard said patting the dwarf on the shoulder, “is Maevel Ranulftochter. She is from the hold of Zhufbar, far to the south of here. She’s a brilliant engineer, weaponsmith, and cook, and if I don’t mentioned that she’s more talented than you with ranged and/or melee weapons, she’ll undoubtedly demonstrate. If she warms to you at all, you can call her ‘Mae’.”

“This,” the wizard said patting the elf on the shoulder, “is Vanya Moriel. She is from the forest of Athel Loren and our resident expert in archery and hand to hand combat, as well as a liaison to those bands of Wood Elves that we occasionally run into.”

“Ladies,” Veritas continued, “this is Johann Hartmann. Formerly of the city-state of Nuln. He’ll be traveling with us.”

“Pleased,” Johann said apprehensively.

“And what do you think you can get out of this one?” Mae asked Veritas, looking Johann up and down.

“That remains to be seen, my dear,” Veritas answered, “but I’ll say this much- He hit Grognar so hard that the ogre vomited, and that was after Grognar broke this one’s back against a tree.”

“So he can take a hit,” Mae said. “I suppose that has its uses. Anyway, I’m getting some sleep.” 

The dwarf turned and wandered back to the wagon, removing her weapons and equipment when she got there.

Johann nodded curtly to Vanya, turned to Veritas, and said “I think I can use some sleep myself.”

“Hold it,” Veritas said, placing his hand on Johann’s shoulder. “Time usually isn’t our friend, and while I was thoroughly impressed by your display earlier, I’m afraid you still need work.”

“What are you talking about?” Johann asked, confused.

“What kind of weapon schooling do you have?” Veritas asked, ignoring Johann’s question.

“I spent three years training in Nuln. I was supposed to be inducted as a Knight of the Order of Sigmar Ascendant,” Johann answered. 

“As I suspected,” Veritas answered. “Get your weapons, Johann. Vanya, would you mind?”

“Not at all,” the elf answered.

++++++

“Take a combat stance and stop staring,” Vanya said as she stalked around Johann in a circle, some twenty meters from the camp. She moved as quietly and delicately as a house cat, but with all the predatory prowess of a lioness. Intricate tattoos coiled around her skin like vines and seemed to become hazy and indistinct when Johann focused on them. She twirled short, leaf-bladed swords in her hands and flexed different parts of her tight, whipcord musculature.

Johann drew his tonfa-blades and lowered into his normal stance.

In an instant, Vanya darted across his body. He stepped to move with her, but she planted her foot, turned, and slapped his thigh with the flat of one of her swords before bounding away.

“Too low,” the elf said. “You are forced to commit. Keep your feet under your shoulders.”

Vanya crossed the distance between them in two long strides and launched a flurry of light attacks. Johann parried them all, but he realized she was testing his defenses. He stabbed out with his right, but she spun low and underneath the attack and kicked his legs out from under him.

“Too angular, too predictable. I saw that attack coming before you thought of it,” Vanya said very matter of factly and with no hint of arrogance.

“I’m not an elf,” Johann answered as he picked himself up. “I can become as fast as you, but you wouldn’t want to fight me.”

“I’ve seen you transform, Johann,” Vanya answered, “and I can tell you right now that it wouldn’t help you last any longer. You rely too much on brute force.”

“Do you have any constructive criticism?” Johann asked, growing frustrated.

“There are two keys to surviving battle,” Vanya said. “The first is observation. Keep your eyes open and pay attention to detail. Look at me.”

“I am,” Johann replied.

“No, you’re looking at my face,” Vanya retorted. “Look at me. Notice my weight and its placement. Notice the length of my limbs and weapons. Notice my separation from you. Notice the aggressiveness, or lack thereof, in my eyes and posture. Notice the angles of approach and your surroundings. These are the details with which you form your plan of attack and defense. Accurate anticipation of your opponents can grant you victory against a superior opponent or a score of lesser opponents.”

“That sounds great, but again, I’m no elf. My eyes aren’t that fast. Not like this,” Johann responded.

“Stop making excuses,” Vanya snapped. “A human’s eyes and mind are fast enough to do as I’ve described. Your kind simply lacks the patience to put in the effort. Now hit me.”

Johann charged as soon as the words left her lips. He stabbed toward her neck and stomach, but she side-stepped each strike easily. Vanya reversed her grip on her left sword and jabbed, connecting solidly with the human’s nose and mouth. He staggered, his momentum immediately arrested, and she slammed a surprisingly strong fist into his chest. 

“Are you trying to make this easy on me? Are you afraid to hit a female?” she asked as Johann spat a gob of saliva and blood. “Stop being so predictable.”

Vanya started toward Johann slowly and purposefully. Johann swung downward hard, but hit nothing. Vanya slapped his ribs with her sword, ducked underneath the return strike, and planted another fist in his stomach. She pushed back just in time to avoid his knee, and Johann barely restrained himself in time to stop the tip of Vanya’s sword from impaling his throat. 

“Has my point cut through your stubbornness or do I need to start cutting though your skin?” Vanya asked. “I know you can heal, so I won’t exactly feel guilty.”

Johann backed away and let his guard sag.

“I’ve been fighting this way all my life, and obviously it hasn’t failed me yet,” he said. “Granted, I’ve never fought an elf before, but do you expect me to relearn basic technique?”

“No,” Vanya answered, much to Johann’s surprise. “Your human teachers were not entirely clueless, and you are not a lost cause- I would not bother with you otherwise. You can use what you know, but you are like a scholarly student trying to outwit his venerable elders. Open your mind to new schools of thought…to new possibilities.”

“How?” Johann asked after a long pause.

“You can start by relaxing your muscles,” she answered. “Be lighter on your feet and more ready to move. Have more faith in the quality of your weapons. Maximize your accuracy and minimize the energy you invest in each attack.”

“How do I practice this? In combat, my body is trained to react a certain way,” Johann said.

“Alright,” Vanya said. “Come with me.”

The changeling and the elf headed deeper into the forest. After about fifteen minutes of walking, they came to a short cliff and a river below. The moonlight illuminated the scene beautifully, casting a silver glow off of the gentle current and revealing the waterfall a half kilometer south of where they stood. 

“Relax your body. Think of the water,” she said. “What is water like?”

“Wet,” Johann said.

“Answer the question,” Vanya said.

“Flexible,” Johann replied. 

“And yet, unyielding,” Vanya finished. “Look at the mighty boulder in the middle of that river. Two-hundred of your years ago, that plinth was a third again as broad. When calm water meets a boulder, it flows around it. It erodes the rock precisely, breaking down what is otherwise indomitable.” 

Vanya walked over to a nearby, sizeable rock on the cliff’s edge, placed her foot on it and shoved. The rock fell quickly and splashed into the river below.

“When a boulder strikes calm water,” Vanya began, “the water absorbs and deflects the strength of the intrusion until the boulder is beholden to the power of the current.”

Johann looked at Vanya as the precursors to comprehension crept into his brain.

“You are beginning to see it now, yes?” Vanya asked. “You will always come across opponents stronger, faster, smarter, or more resilient than you. The key to victory is remembering that no attack is unstoppable, no defense is impenetrable, and no opponent is invincible. Understand the flow around you and use it to your advantage.”

“Well said,” Veritas said as he stepped from the shadows. 

Johann and Vanya turned at the sound of his voice. With no small amount of interest, Johann realized that not even the hyper-alert elf had sensed the wizard’s approach.

“There are only a few hours until sunrise, my dear Vanya,” Veritas said. “I think it would be best if Johann gets a few hours rest now and absorbs your lessons for the day.”

A wave of exhaustion hit Johann then, catching him off guard. 

“Sounds pretty good, actually” Johann said. 

“The camp is back that way,” Veritas said, indicating toward the northwest. “Get what sleep you can. Tomorrow, we have a long trek ahead of us.”

After a few moments, the shape of Johann disappeared into the gloom.

“Well?” Veritas asked.

“He’s easily frustrated and inexperienced,” Vanya observed. “He doesn’t like taking orders. There’s no telling how long his control will last when he transforms again.”

“And yet he seemed to take your lessons to heart and agree to my request for assistance rather easily,” Veritas said.

“He had no direction,” Vanya replied. “For the moment, we’ve supplied him with one.”

“ ‘For the moment,’ you say?” Veritas asked.

“I need not lecture you on your own personality, Veritas,” Vanya said. “Don’t play too many of your games with him. If he develops a distaste for them, the repercussions could be dire.”

Outcasts, Chapter 1

A simple oaken table sat in the center of the main tavern, and two men were seated at it, opposite one another.  The smaller man sat with his arms crossed, his head cocked to the side, and his face etched with curiosity.  A hood and cloak hung over his head and shoulders, obscuring all but his interlocked hands and his shadowy, stubbly lower face.  The big man, whose stature made even the heavy furniture seem diminutive, hunched forward with his jaw in his right hand and his left arm crossed and supporting his bulky frame.  He concentrated with the focus seen only in life or death situations, as if he were about to make the most important decision in his life.

Between them sat three overturned mugs.

The big man’s gaze lifted from the table and met that of his opponent.  His eyes narrowed, as suspicious and alert as were possible for him.  Painstakingly slow, his hand fell from his bearded maw and to his hip.  His thumb glanced the massive gutting knife holstered at his side and tapped it repeatedly in wariness.  In a sudden and swift motion, he ripped the blade from its scabbard and slammed it down, burying the tip into ancient wood.

“Cost me a pretty coin,” the big man said in a thick, guttural tone.

With suspiciously little movement, the small man’s hand disappeared into his cloak and reemerged with a small bag of coins.  He let it drop to the table with a mischievous grin.

“Decide,” he said.

The big man let go of his knife and, without looking away from the small man’s hooded face, he tapped twice in front of the mug to his right.  The small man flashed his hand to the indicated choice and tipped it over with deliberate pause.  

There was nothing underneath.  The gathered crowd let out a muffled gasp.

The big man’s head turned in suspicion and he pulled his knife from the table, splintering a chunk of the wood.  He leveled the point directly at the smaller man, whose hand began to drift to the mug on the left.  Just as he had with its twin, the small man tipped the cup, this time revealing a small and soft fruit. 

The big man’s head reclined and his eyes widened in surprise, but he had no words.  He glanced at his knife with the smallest hint of regret before flipping it in his hand and presenting it to his opponent.  The people around them let out laughter and surprise, mixed with the odd boast from someone claiming they knew the placement all along. 

The small man took the tool and it disappeared under his cloak. 

“Many thanks, good sir.  You will give it another try when I return, yes?” the small man asked.  The big man grunted his displeasure as a form of reply before rising and heading to retrieve an ale.

As the crowd returned to their tables, no one noticed the smaller man gather the mugs, and no one noticed that the fruit was gone.

++++++

It was a cool fall evening in Ostland, the wind pushing through the massive pine trees and making the less hardy pull whatever warming garb they possessed tight around them.  The dirt underfoot was damp and dark with from a late autumn rain and sloshed a bit as passersby churned it in their tread.  As Johann Hartmann emerged from the tavern door, the large knife secured at his hip, a robed man rested against the wall not three meters away.

“Fancy trick,” the robed man said without looking up.  “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell the gullible folk in there that the fruit wasn’t any more real than their chance at winning.”

“What’s it to you?” Johann asked with his head turned but without turning his body.

“Not much until you came out with it,” the robed man answered ambiguously. “Let’s have us a little game, stranger.”

Johann slowly turned and drew the blade beneath the cover his cloak.

“I’ll wager my absence,” the robed man continued.  “If you win, I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again.  If I win, I’ll take that knife off your hands and you help me with a few things.”

“I’m no errand boy,” Johann replied flatly.  “If you want the knife, you’re welcome to try and take it.”

“So blood hungry,” the robed man mockingly observed.  “Don’t you want to know the game?”

“No,” was the answer.

“If I can…” the robed man said, ignoring Johann, “…yes.  If I can tell you who you are, I win.”

Johann’s face became one of suspicion.  “Who are you?”

“That’s not the game, friend,” the robed man said with a smile.

“Enough of this.  Who are you?” Johann demanded, exposing the knife and starting forward.

“Johann Hartmann, no?” the robed man asked.  “Though I suppose that was unfair.  Perhaps what you are would have been a better question.”

Johann froze where he stood, not a meter from the robed man.

“Answer my question now or I’ll leave you in ribbons behind this tavern,” Johann said, his voice alive with anger.  His eyes darted from side to side, scanning for any possible backup the man might have.

“Since you asked so nicely, you can call me Veritas,” the robed man said.  “I’m a wizard and a purveyor of information, so before you decide to show me my innards, I think you ought to know we can help one another find what we are looking for.”

“What are you looking for?” Johann asked, his knuckles turning white around the knife.

“Oh, a great many things- a sense of the miraculous, a fulfillment of purpose, and even a measure of retirement from my duties,” the robed man answered.  “But what I’d like your help finding is freedom.”

“Freedom?” Johann asked quizzically.

“No, now it’s your turn,” Veritas said.  “I bet I can guess what you’re looking for.  Could it be…revenge?”

“Yes,” Johann answered after a lengthy pause.  “What do you want with me?”

“Your help,” Veritas replied.  “Your unique talents.  You see, I’ve got a rather difficult task ahead of me that requires a great deal of assistance from individuals like yourself.  Well, not exactly like you, but similar enough.  You’re an outcast, wandering from place to place with more power and anger than you know what to do with.  In your particular case, you’ve found a focus for that anger, but let’s face it- that goal is untouchable without help.  If you can help me with my task, I can help you find the vengeance you seek.”

“Why do you think you know me?” Johann asked.  “If you actually knew who must pay for what they have done to me, you’d flee and be right to do so.”

“Son, I’ve seen horrors that will make your worst nightmares an amicable escape,” Veritas replied.  “And in truth, I don’t know who did what to you.  But I am an individual of many talents and more knowledge than anyone should be burdened with.  Will you at least come to my camp in the forest?  There we would have the privacy to see what use we can be to each other.”

Johann paused, his mind racing over the possibilities.  His instincts told him incredible danger awaited him, but in truth, his life was always going to end violently anyway.

“Fine,” Johann said.  “I’ll hear you out.  But if you cross me, I’ll feed you to the wolves while you’re still alive.”

“Are you always this friendly?” Veritas said with a smile.

++++++

“It’s not much further,” Veritas said. 

As the two walked through the forest, Johann kept his distance from the wizard and kept his senses alert for a trap, but he noticed that for all of Veritas’ easy demeanor, the strange wizard carried himself very well and would presumably be more than ready for any attempt on his life.

A strange sound barked out from deep into the forest.  It was so throaty and guttural that it took Johann a moment to identify it as laughter.

In anticipation of the next question, Veritas said “My companion must have already set up camp.  It sounds like they are having fun.”

“Companion?” Johann asked.

“His name is Grognar.  He’s quite a likeable fellow if you can tolerate the smell and the noise,” Veritas answered.

“Is he a man or a beast?” Johann asked.

Veritas chuckled and answered “A little of both, I suppose.”

At that moment, Johann noticed a wide shape shift in the gloom ahead.  He slowed and tensed, but Veritas kept moving calmly and briskly.

“I do hope you left some food,” the wizard called out into the darkness, and an impossibly thick grunt answered back.  He turned back to Johann and said “That’s the problem with his kind.  They’ll eat anything they can get their hands on.”

“Do you know what is wrong with your kind?” the shape said as it rose and nearly doubled in height.  “You spend too much time talking, not enough time eating.”

As Johann finally reached the edge of the camp, just enough moonlight broke through the thick canopy to reveal a massive male ogre standing next to Veritas.  He was covered in almost as much scar tissue as he was fat, both of which combined to with his bloody teeth and patches of hair to bless the creature with a horrendous appearance.  His arms were as thick as Johann’s torso, and his legs appeared doubly so in thick-skinned leggings.  Bits of metal glinted in the moonlight, revealing a score of poorly kept and oft-used weapons strapped to him and a huge metal plate fastened directly over his belly.  He held the half-eaten leg of an ox in his hand as easily as a man might carry a mutton joint.  Perhaps most unsettling was the creature’s grin, which construed a welcome that was hunger and challenge in equal parts.

“Johann, meet Grognar Maneater,” Veritas said.

Johann leapt back and drew twin tonfa-blades from his back before landing in a low crouch. 

“You brought me here to feed that thing?” Johann snapped.  The question brought a look of surprise and savage anticipation to Grognar’s face as the ogre looked to the wizards.

“Well, yes and no,” Veritas answered, to the ogre’s disappointment.  “I must apologize for leaving a few details out.  My goals require a great deal of subterfuge and finesse, despite what impressions you may get of Grognar.  I have to know that you are skilled enough to be worth including in our little band, and sadly, if you aren’t, the gods themselves won’t be able to stop the ogre from eating you.”

“You want me to kill this thing?” Johann asked without taking his eyes off Grognar.  The ogre released another boisterous laugh at the question.

“Kill? No, no,” Veritas answered.  “Grognar is a valuable friend and ally.  All I need you to do is survive.”

Johann turned toward the wizard in confusion, but the ogre roared and thundered forward, unable to restrain its urge to fight any longer.  Johann thought to roll to the side and evade, but the ogre was so broad that any such attempt would put him in the path of the creature’s hands.  Grognar dropped the leg and clenched his fists with enough force to crack the knuckles, making a sound like popping bones.  The ogre was head and shoulders taller than Johann, who pounced forward to surprise his opponent.  Johann’s knee nearly broke as it came into contact with the ogre’s metal gut plate, but his tonfa-blades stabbed around it and into Grognar’s belly.  The thick, stubborn layers of blubber were unlike anything Johann had cut before and they stopped the blades after a few inches and held them fast. 

The impact of the attack was enough to stop even Grognar and Johann fell back without his primary weapons.  He limped as he rose to his feet and drew a few short stabbing knives, including his recent prize.  They looked pitifully small next to the giant ogre’s bulk.  Johann hurled a heavy knife at Grognar’s head, which sliced open the ogre’s cheek and bounced away.  Particularly irritated, Grognar raised an armored vambrace to his face and lunged forward with a swiping, backhanded blow.  The ogre’s speed shocked Johann, who barely had time to raise his own vambraces and try to block. 

The swing hit with the force of a charging bull and sent the human flying back into a tree.  The wet sounds of a broken rib cage, a broken spine, and a punctured lung brought a victorious and ravenous smile to the ogre’s face. 

++++++

Veritas watched as Johann fell limply to the floor, dead for all intents and purposes.  He thought that perhaps he had been wrong to place hope in the young man.  Even if the man had the rumored abilities, he didn’t have the sense to use them in front of a frenzied ogre. 

As Grognar advanced on the paralyzed and dying Johann, Veritas hoped the human’s unnatural body wouldn’t give the irritable ogre indigestion.

++++++

His limbs didn’t respond.  Perhaps most horrifyingly, they didn’t even hurt.  His chest was on fire, as if he were inhaling sulfur.  He could faintly discern the sound of the ogre’s heavy tread advancing toward him.

Johann refused to end up the excrement of some retarded leviathan.  He had unfinished business.

He swallowed hard and said “Gate of Darkness, open.”

++++++

Grognar stopped in his tracks and sniffed the air, the very acts of which caught Veritas’ attention.  The wizard’s mind’s eye flickered a warning and for the first time, he saw Johann’s true nature.  The human’s soul could be seen drawing itself into his physical body, flooding his every cell with incredible and forbidden power.  His spinal cord and chest healed in mere instants.  His skin took on an ashen hue and the roots of his hair bleached to a ghostly white.  With a tremendous physical effort, Johann raised a rapidly strengthening arm and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. 

“A little fight left in you, lad?” Grognar asked rhetorically.

Johann didn’t answer.  He rose to his full height, stronger than ever before.  He craned his head and neck as if to release a long held tension before slowly opening his abyssal-black eyes and turning to face Grognar.    Veritas realized with fascination and dread that Johann was not breathing, blinking, or fidgeting.  He was as still as stone on the outside, while his imprisoned soul was flaring with power. 

CRACK.  The vibration of the sound his Veritas before he realized what had happened.  In an instant, Grognar had shifted back several steps and Johann stood outstretched like the painting of a man in mid-punch.  The ogre’s gut plate fell to the ground in pieces, shattered by a thunderstrike.  Grognar’s body fat undulated as the ogre ceased his involuntary retreat. 

Suddenly, the ogre’s eyes went wide and dizzy.  Veritas feared the worst, but was immensely relieved when Grognar doubled over and simply vomited chunks of oxen meat into the dirt. 

“Nice punch…” the ogre grunted through a mouthful of digestive fluids as he used a broad hand to steady himself.

Veritas turned back to the straightened form of Johann and looked deep into his cold, dead eyes.  For several seconds, neither moved or said a word.  The white discoloration of Johann’s hair had tripled the area it once covered and it seemed that with every passing second further mutations took hold.  His fingernails began sharpening and extending, his skin drew thin around his whipcord muscles, and elongated fangs pushed their way through his closed lips.  Despite being impressed with Johann’s strength and potential, Veritas readied himself to incinerate the newly forming vampire.

“So…” Johann gasped as much as said.  “Is that good enough for you?”

“It will be as soon as you prove yourself to be under control,” Veritas answered, all of the levity gone from his voice.

“Gate of Darkness, seal,” came the reply.

An agonizing look of pain came over Johann’s deathly face as the transformation began to reverse itself.  His burgeoning claws sloughed off his fingertips.  More natural color returned to his hair and skin, both of which seemed to increase in volume once again.  His teeth took on a less predatory demeanor even as cries of anguish escaped from between them.  Johann fell to his knees and onto his side, spasming and shuddering.

Veritas watched with his mind’s eye as Johann’s soul once against opened itself to the energies of the Realm of Chaos, completing his return to a human state.

“Johann?  Are you alright?” Veritas asked.

For a moment, nothing was said.  Then Johann’s chest swelled and shrank with its first breaths in over two minutes.

“Alright?  No,” Johann said.  “Alive?  Perhaps.”

“Good to have you with us then.”

On the Nature of Souls and the Empyrean

Behold- random hypothesizing on the nature of the metaphysical in the 40k universe, complete with a few ideas stolen from very intelligent nerds and a side of ketchup.

First and foremost, I feel I must define the basis of my little tirade.

What is the warp? The warp is the world behind the world. It is a dimension beyond the three we are familiar with, one that has connections to ours but is forever separated from it. It quite frankly is incomprehensible in is true form, as least as mortal minds are concerned. We must ascribe mortal properties to something that is immortal, or give it mundane relationships in order to abstractly grasp its magical potential. The bridge between the material realm and the immaterial one lies only in the soul.

What is the soul? The soul is a connection between life and the the empyrean. While it is not necessary for life, or sentience for that matter, to possess a soul, it is only through the soul that life can influence and even manipulate the energies of the warp. Souls, when present, are "colored" by emotions, and the most important effect this engenders is a "coloring" of the warp itself. That is to say, where a concentration of souls with powerful emotions is present, the warp reflects these emotions. Most souls can only influence the warp. It takes an incredible willpower and intellect to even attempt manipulation of warp energies, and for the overwhelming majority of sentient life in the galaxy, this is obviously beyond expectations.

So, where to begin?

It is often said that the warp is timeless (note I did it in this blog's very first post) and it is completely ignorant of our laws and theories of physics. I do not believe this is entirely true, or that it fully explains the situation.

By using the warp as a method for faster-than-light travel, it must have some sense of temporal and spatial relationships. For example, if this were not the case, considering the chaotic probabilities of the warp's nature, summoning a demon or conjuring the effects of a spell to your location would be functionally impossible. The energy is as likely to appear on the other side of the galaxy (not to mention 32,845 years after you die) as it is in the functional here and now.

Speaking of the sides of the galaxy, when considering the notion that warp energy shows no signs of influence from outside this galaxy, and the notion that there are almost without a doubt countless other peoples inhabiting the universe, the likelihood is that we see only a part of the warp. This idea requires the acceptance of the theory that there are "parts" of the empyrean, and that they therefore have some spatial relationship to each other.

In terms of time, I believe the warp must adhere to its advance at least partially. Souls and their emotions are present in the here and now. They are tied to mortal bodies and consciousnesses that are subject to the progression of time, and in a bastardization of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, time must have an effect on the warp if the connection exists via the soul. Just as the warp can enter the material realm and influence localized time, so too can time influence areas within the warp.

I then ask myself how does this relate to what happens in warhammer 40k? Well, let's look at faster-than-light travel. A ship fits itself with crew and cargo, and (in the case of any concerned civilization) heads far enough away from any local population so that the energies unleashed in transference between dimensions does not have unwanted side effects. The ship enters the warp and begins traveling towards a destination. This is an incredibly important point, because it requires both a direction and points of reference, which can only exist with some adherence to both time and space. Moreover, in the case of Imperial ships, the Astronomicon is used as a sort of lighthouse or beacon for reference, and entire charts are made of calmer warp routes and safer jump points. I believe that, because souls are the connection between this world and the next, time influences the warp and does so most significantly around where souls are most heavily congregated. Likewise, whether are very few if any souls present, like say, across the vast expanses of empty space in the galaxy, time has little connection and unimpeded journies can be made extremely quickly.

Now, having put this forth, I must address those isolated incidents in which there are reversals of the flow of time. There are not many documented, and certainly travel in the warp must heavily favor a forward flow of time, or it could not be used with regularity as a vehicle for said travel. So why do they happen so sparingly, and why at all? I would say that, like an ocean, there are eddies and stagnant pools created that do not follow the flow of everything else around them. I hypothesize that there are cradles or pockets of warp energy that remain undisturbed by the flow of other energy around them. So a ship that is deposited in one of these pockets could very well emerge from the warp years before it left, or years beyond its intended arrival. Because of the chaotic nature of the warp however, these pockets are not likely to remain untouched forever, and can be destroyed, subsumed, or melded into flows of the empyrean. Obviously, the implications of this are widely unpredictable, save for their unpredictability.

I believe that there is further evidence for my theories. In the terrible book, Battle for the Abyss, a navigator describes looking at the planet of Macragge as something akin to a beacon of light, made so by all the souls. I'm sure Macragge at one point was devoid of sentient life, so if the warp was without a sense space or time, how could the navigator see the effects of the souls together and at that point in time? The Eldar, of all kinds, utilize the famous Webway for travel throughout the galaxy. Those undamaged parts are far more reliable than the warp itself, and though its geometries are certainly alien, it still is a series of tunnels at its most basic. A tunnel must pass through space and time. I could go on, but this is already a pretty long post.

It would be logical to ask what the very purpose of souls is, and by extension why we and others were created with a connection to the warp. The Old Ones are credited with creating most of the races in the galaxy, and as far as I know, all races made by them have souls on some level or another. True, a large number of those races were created with souls so that they could utilize the warp agains the Yngir and the Necrontyr, but that is besides the point. For those races made first, such as the Eldar, why souls at all? I believe the answer lies in the need for expression and connection in almost all of sentient life. The Old Ones, by granting or indeed making souls, gave the "lesser" races a way in which to commune and relate with their creators. I think the Old Ones probably felt very basic social needs, which would have been the motivation behind the imbuing of souls and the crafting of the races at all. Now, one would be justified in believing that the Old Ones did not give souls or make them. I have no evidence or mind to refute that idea, but it doesn't change much. If souls and the connection to the warp are simply products of natural processes alone, than the Old Ones surely knew this and, armed with said knowledge, made the races anyway. Whether desiring kinsmen, worshipers, toys, or whatever, the Old Ones made creatures that could connect to them on both the physical and metaphysical level. This, I believe, is the reason behind it all.

I apologize for the lack of thorough organization and substantial evidence, but for those few who read this I hope you give some feedback and take what you will.

In the beginning...

An attempt to reconcile the ways of the old with the passions of the new:

As humanity first began its journey down the path of sentience, the species' reflection in the empyrean began to grow. Souls ignited with passions and trains of thought never before seen around Earth. Soon, individuals with spirits of impressive potency appeared, such that they could see, feel, and influence the energy of the aether on rudimentary levels. These men and women would come to be referred to by many titles: witches, warlocks, shamans, etc.

These shamans understood the true nature and horror of the warp. Almost without exception, the shamans guided their peoples and protected them from the predations of the occasional warp-hunter that sought to feed on them.

Though the shamans possessed powers beyond the ken of normal men and women, they were still first and foremost human. Their lifespans could not be extended for any great measure, and they died like those around them. Their souls entered the warp and began to coalesce, drawn together by their mutual need for protection and their desire to protect human kind. Over the span of thousands of years, shamans from all over the world died and found themselves drawn to the collective. As one, they fought warp-spawned beasts and shielded the species from the attention of the Dark Gods. With such single-minded purpose and purity of focus, it did not take long (by measure of the timeless warp, of course) for a singular consciousness to form. Thus the Starchild was born.

The Starchild's powers were incredible. The entity's nature balanced and quenched the chaotic fury of the warp's energy in its vicinity. It's touch could cleanse mutation and cure madness. It spoke to newer generations of shamans, giving them healing powers and prescient wisdom, and guiding them to its side when they left the mortal world. Perhaps its strangest and most magnificent power was to keep itself invisible- hidden from the gaze of Chaos, the only power in the galaxy strong enough to tear it asunder.

As humanity began creating civilizations and abandoning shamans and the need for them, it also began exploring its own psyche more. While this brought the species to greater philosophical and scientific heights, it freed the darker side of the mind to flirt with dangers and uncontrolled passions. With fewer shamans passing on their lineage and souls becoming more difficult to manage, the Starchild found its power plateauing, its chosen task increasingly daunting, and itself running out of options. Mankind needed to be protected from itself.

To this end, the Starchild decided to begin influencing human affairs directly. It came to all remaining shamans and called them together. It asked them to join it, for the sake of humanity. The shamans engaged in a mass suicide, and fed the Starchild with an influx of new power. As part of the plan, one shaman from the region known as Anatolia left his wife pregnant with a son. This boy would be a vessel for the Starchild. He would have his own consciousness and identity, but he would also have a special connection to the Starchild, so that he might utilize its wisdom and carry out the entity's perrogative.

This boy would grow to become a man, and he wielded tremendous power. He was functionally ageless and possessed the ability to remake reality as he saw fit. For thousands more years he watched his species grow and experiment. He spent ages learning philosophies and sciences, and shared pieces of his considerable intellect to better the people. At times he took control of a sect of mankind directly, guiding it along paths to set examples that would inspire. On other occasions, he worked behind the scenes, guiding world leaders and trying to influence humanity to work to better itself. But the passions of the human soul proved too restless to be manipulated so discretely.

Humanity spread throughout the stars on its own, taking much of its own beyond the grasp of the Starchild. The Dark Gods, as well as many alien races, began taking interest in the potential of humans, for balance or for Chaos. The Age of Strife took hold, as warp storms cut off huge populations from contact with Earth, and a great many people were slaughtered. Through its relentless pursuit of economic and scientific opportunity, mankind brought itself into its darkest days.

The "New" Man, and indeed the Starchild itself, eventually realized that more direct action was needed. Using unpracticed sciences and the reailty-warping power of the aether, the New Man created himself a more formidable and potent body. He recruited, taught, and learned from the greatest genetecists, arms manufacturers, and logisticians of the day and began a conquest of the globe. With genetically engineered super-soldiers armed with the finest weapons and armor known to man at his side, he marched forth and took control of Earth. The New Man, having tasted the limits to his power and the scope of what he sought to accomplish, turned his steely gaze to the stars. And thus, the Great Crusade began.