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12/10/09(Thu)05:09 No.7073766For a moment, irritated as I am by that blow to the back of the head earlier, I consider murdering her to quench the unceasing fire that burns within me. My hand, taught to war by Khorne and turned to slaughter by my hatred for the Imperium that would have held me back from my craft, twitches in anticipation of ripping her spine out.
But it does not. For in the back of my mind, something is holding me back. Like the catch in a combination lock, finally pressed into the final alignment, an old part of my brain begins to whirr, and click. The howl of Khorne fades, and for the first time in ten thousand years, my mind is silent.
And I begin to remember. So young I was, when first I held a weapon. My father had taught me to cut wood with an axe, a heavy maul with which to cleave logs in twain and stack cord upon cord behind our cottage. From the first winter I could walk, I was helping my father carry firewood to our home, to keep it warm in the frozen cold of winter. I was a good boy. A strong boy. But not strong enough to...
I remember the sound of song, and the cheer and the laughter of the Holy-Day, when we would consume squash-pies, and eat the meat of the jowel-bird. I remember my mother. I remember my father, I remember... My sister. I remember when the beasts came, and took them from me. I remember... |
