Malikus: The Question


Malikus could feel the minute change in the way the wind blew, bringing the scent of Chaos on the winds of magic. Her spine shivered with the energy, the thought of heresy. And if rumors were anything close to truth, this magus, this Izobella was a change in the way the wind blew.

She opened her eyes finally. Malikus had lost herself in dark elf meditation, an art that grew easier to her by the year. But despite her discipline, Malikus couldn’t shake the shred of teaching Izobella was rumored to teach: “The gods of the dark elf are no more special than the gods of the Empire, for both want nothing but your eternal servitude.”

That thought, heresy to the gums, ate at Malikus’ insides, made them tumble with doubt, roll with a sense of uneasiness she was not accustomed too. It conflicted with her training as a sorceress of the dark elf nation. What were the Naggarothi without pride in servitude to Malekith, or even darker, the great ineffable Khaine? But alas, take away those two mere props, those two whips of the flesh, and what had she left?

A gust of dead leaves tumbled past her, bringing the ever present scent of burning villages and the cold scent of death. Death. Was not that the theme? What all beings shared in common was their death, which of course, was the opposite of their crude, ignorant, short lives. And what else did mortals share in common? Ah! Belief! That multi-headed beast that gives animation to the servants of the human Empire and their darker skinned antithesis, the Druchii. And that was the riddle that this Izobella and her cult answered in spades? For what were mortals without their belief but oysters and clams without their shells? Only soft innards vulnerable to the ten-thousand beaks, mouths, and daggers of the world itself, a world embroiled in the Ever War.

The gods in her heart shook when Malikus rose from meditation. The questions in her mind were heresy, yet what if they were right? What if this human magus had questions that the gods of the Druchii could not answer withtheir swords and magic? What if all mortals were really nothing more than slaves to the gods they admired?

Where was ambition?

Where was glory now in being a slave?

She would seek out this Chaos magus and hear her words, for the question the magus was raising would not allow Malikus to sleep.


Author’s Note: This piece was inspired by Prince Hamlet’s “question,” and of course my own character, Izobella. vampyreisobel


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