Mallikus (1): Heresy

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(A note on the image above. This is the fabulous talent of Lee “Almighty_gir” Devonald, who in all his might, created this lusciously lovely dark elf and shared it over on Return of Reckoning. You can find his wonderful portfolio at http://crazyferretstudios.com. Thanks for the permission of use. )

Heresy

Mallikus thought about Izobella’s most recent missives. They rustled in her mind, and they stung like wasps. To imagine that all of the Druchii tradition of hero worship and deity worship was due to an alien god holding all the strings was deplorable.

Yet the thought had sting.

The thought had venom.

It made her rage, fueled her wanderings with white hate. How many clueless lifeforms died due to this rage? How many trolls fell, warty flesh flash frozen due to her hatred for the idea…the idea that Tzeentch was the One, the All Consuming, the Deity with a Thousand Faces?

She struck out at anything that had a heart beat for days on end, pushing herself into the darkness of her sorcery, seeking a message from the dark elven gods, a message that would redeem her. But there was nothing. Not a whimper. Not a whisper.

Perhaps Izobella was right.

The infection known as Tzeentch may be the only god.

Exhausted, she spent her nights at Druchii war camps, silently absorbed by the flickering flames of the camp’s cooking fire. She thought about how the Chaos troops—humans–manifested Tzeentch over and over again unto infinity. She thought about the marauders who manifested Tzeentch: Great pinkish blue arms ending in crustacean pincers or horrid black raptor claws. There was Tzeentch manifested. And Izobella with flickering red flame, the tentacle clad disc, and the Chaos demons. There also was Tzeentch manifested.

Not once did Khaine raise his hoary head to empower Mallika’s sorcery.

His voice was silent, lost tot he ages.

If you exist, she begged, send me a sign. Send me a nod. Send me a push away from my heresey, or by Malkeith, I will most likely become yet another herald of this dread Izobella.

There was nothing but the changing of the guard at the pickets. Nothing but the humming whir of insects in the night, and nothing but the laughter of fire devouring fire wood.

Insulted, hateful, dejected, Mallikus lay back on her cloak and resigned herself to the oblivion of sleep.

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