#14 The Advent of the False Messiah
I heft the Bishop’s ceremonial scythe in my hand. As his Chaplain it is my sacred honour and duty to bear such precious relics for him. Holy tomes, consecrated chalices, sanctified chasubles and other priceless, ancient artefacts are strapped carefully about my person in case he has need of them for this day’s rituals. And what rituals we have in store! I can barely contain my elation. Today is a truly special day, the most special of all days: nothing less than the greatest day in the history of all the mortal realms! For this day is to be the Advent of the Messiah, the great and glorious day of the Apostle Reborn! And my Bishop has been chosen as His herald.
I grip the inlaid wooden handle in my trembling fist and smooth my freshly laundered surplice. I raise my eyes and look out over a multitude of the faithful, Remnant and Proselytes all alike clad in the white of purity and the red of the Sanguine Rose. They are too numerous to count, their beautiful faces shining with holy radiance and the purity of their souls glowing through their skin. I know that, by His grace, my own head too is surrounded by a halo of purest holy light. What honour! What glory! My heart swells and tears begin to stream down my face.
As I look, the Bishop, majestic in his finest vestments, steps forward. Instantly an expectant hush falls upon the multitude.
“The time has come!” he cries, his voice like a silver trumpet, clear as crystal, “The Advent of our beloved Apostle is here! Rejoice!”
Now the multitude bursts into song, magnificent in its melodiousness, beautiful beyond description. I join them, lost in ecstasy as the music lifts my soul still further.
But then I hear more voices. New, even more beautiful voices joining with our own! Another choir is weaving its harmonies in and out of ours. Respectfully, I fall silent. It grows steadily louder, and with its crescendo the mortals' singing is eclipsed by the splendour of this new music. It is so pure I think my heart must break.
Only now do the singers appear to our sight, breath-taking in their radiance, indescribably magnificent. A host of cherubim and seraphim and angels and archangels, hovering on wings of purest white like silver doves. More and more appear until they fill the firmament with the blinding light of their glory.
And then, suddenly, HE appears.
In the midst of His angelic host, flying high above the multitudes of His faithful. The radiance of His magnificence is blinding and yet I am blessed to behold His glory. An indescribable glory that mere words can only lessen.
Our beloved Apostle, reborn.
My heart bursts with love within my chest, my very soul shakes with ecstasy, my legs give way, and I fall to my knees in awe. But, at that very instant, He beckons - to me. And like the sun at dawn, every one of the innumerable multitudes of His faithful disciples rise up into the air to greet Him.
Our Sanguine Messiah.
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| The False Messiah (Abhorrent Ghoul King on Royal Terrorgheist) |
From the sky lurched the rotting remains of a giant bat, decaying flesh sloughing off its cadaverous body as it landed on a sepulchre. On its back balanced a foul, ungainly figure: filthy, dressed in rags, eyes wide with madness. A handful of slightly smaller beasts, human-shaped but with bat-like wings, flapped awkwardly around him, screeching.
Gathered at the tomb’s base was a crowd of pathetic, filthy creatures; possibly once human; possibly once sane. Some wore remnants of shredded robes; others had assorted pieces of rubbish and offal attached to their grimy bodies. Many carried bones retrieved from the surrounding cemetery, on which they sucked and gnawed. All seemed strangely frantic and were grunting and screaming incoherently.
Thaddeon Ven Denst watched the bizarre spectacle from astride his dracoth. He glanced at Lorrus Steelsworn who had removed his helm and was grimacing at the noise. “Can you make any sense of their bawling?”
The Evocator Prime frowned. “Well... it sounds like they might be shouting ‘Messiah’ my Lord?”
The Lord Celestant gathered up his reigns, raised his tempestos hammer and squeezed his mount’s flanks. “He’s not the Messiah, he’s a very –” But his words were drowned by the lightening roar of his dracoth as it surged towards the enemy.
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