Archaon: Everchosen

by Rob Sanders

Kastner roared at the spuming heavens above. He had never seen such a storm. Rolling banks of clouds swallowing one another – spreading, surging and raging with lightning of pinks and blues. His chin fell and his gaze reached the clearing floor. He found tracks – the trench the greatsword had been carving behind him cross-crossed itself many times in a pattern of madness. Lines and circles. The black earth of the clearing was churned up in the impression of a star. An eight-pointed star.

‘What are these gods of havoc and darkness?’ Archaon had put to Father Dagobert. ‘What do they want with me?’ ‘There are as many creatures of dread haunting the Wastes and the corruption of men’s souls as there are evil desires in the world, master,’ the priest had told him. ‘Of the Ruinous pantheon, most find themselves afflicted by the dark will of four. Four ancient afflictions of existence. Like the four walls of a prison cell, holding the conflicting hopes and fears in men’s hearts hostage. He who would war with all else – the spiller of blood, the flame that heats the ire in men’s souls – causing it to bubble over into the world.’ ‘I have felt this affliction…’ ‘As all men have,’ Dagobert said, ‘since the first fist or the first stone was lifted in violence. ‘Go on, priest.’ ‘He whose dark desires are the very nature of desire itself,’ Dagobert said. ‘He who lusts. He who thirsts. He who both tempts and is temptation.’ ‘You said there were four,’ Archaon pushed. ‘He who is the end of all,’ the priest continued. ‘The constancy of suffering and desperation – whose sign is seen the world over in the diseased and the gasping hopes of the dying.’ ‘And?’ ‘He who is the very storm of change,’ Dagobert said. ‘The volatility and vitality of a world ever in motion. The embodiment of men’s appetite for… more.’ Archaon nodded. ‘I have known all of these afflictions,’ the dark templar said. ‘And they have known you, my lord,’ Dagobert told him. ‘As they know all men.’