A short story...

Tiberius gazed over the fields of Mourn, his usually solemn expression softening slightly. His power armour hissed and whined as he took his gauntlets off, despite his bulk he walked softly. The smell of the lilacs was sweet to his tuned senses, the rustle of the buds a cacophony to his ears. Tiberius’ fingertips brushed the purple flowers of the field, his mind pondered the day coming, the trials of Gargra’ Thor, the bloodshed, the horror, the pain and the glory.

The twin suns were setting over the ridge as Tiberius drew close to the Halls of the Enlightened, he replaced his gauntlets and took a key from his waist, it slotted perfectly into a notch, set into the millennia old gate. It shifted, the stone cracked and shook, dust and spiders fell like snow onto the earth around Tiberius’ large feet, and he made his way inside.

It was dark, so very dark that Tiberius could hardly see. He walked down endless staircases, passed towering statues of former warriors, Tiberius crushed bones and rats under his feet, their filth marring his armour. After several hours of trudging Tiberius arrived at his destination, the room of Martyrs. The entrance was daubed in signs of love, love for the dead, and love for the sacrifice of Saints. He pushed the door open; it was stiff but still functional. The grey stone ground and roared its defiance as it slid slowly open. Tiberius stepped in through the gap.

The room was brilliantly white despite the oppressive darkness in the halls before, there were no direct light sources yet the walls themselves glowed like skin under the sun. The walls were completely bare, the floor carved into spirals from the mountain itself. The ceiling was seamless and covered in murals to the Gods and the deeds of their followers, Tiberius felt that all the ancients had turned their perfect eyes towards him; their spotless lips open in age long fury and now surprise.

True to the words of his superiors there was the tool, set into the middle of the floor, a tall multi-barrelled device, the one that would activate the trial. Tiberius stroked its white marble surface; it shifted under his touch, like a crustacean emerging from its shell the prongs and levers appeared. Tiberius pulled the main lever and almost immediately the glow from the walls dimmed, the light turned red casting a bloody glow onto Tiberius’ handsome face; he licked his lips tasting chalk. The ceiling began to crack; it was so silent Tiberius had not noticed this until the plinth began to rise. Tiberius ascended through the now open ceiling, he felt the sweet scented air on his face, smelt the lilacs, their aroma once again flooding his senses. He emerged out of the temple, rising with speed, the walls around him circular, white marble. Tiberius gazed upwards, the wind tearing the air around his head, now he was rising through marble columns, much like a coliseum, except through the gaps Tiberius saw open air, the orange sky empty and oppressive.

The space marine had now reached the top of the tower; he stepped out, gingerly at first, stance low and tense. He knew he was being watched but could not place the observer; he made his way up stone steps until he was on an open shelf. Tiberius knew that if he fell he would fall for days before he smashed into the ground, the hairs on his neck were on end, one push and it was all over.

Suddenly wind stopped. The fury of the sky was settled. The space marine walked to the edge of the plateau, when he gazed down he saw the purple sea of flowers, they shifted in the wind like cloth, they were so beautiful he wept. The petals were whipped up by unseen hands, they danced to and fro casting shapes in the air, spiralling and pirouetting. The flowers felt no guilt, no responsibility, they were destined to dance, Tiberius loathed them and yet, loved them, the space marine sank to his knees.

The clouds began to gather around Tiberius, he knew that his journey, his destiny was about to start. Almost instinctively Tiberius opened his palm and slowly, a purple flower fell, it settled into the deep furrows on his hand. He looked at it, wiping his eyes with his free gauntlet; Tiberius watched as the flower turned a deep red, his head snapped up, his eyes sharp once again. His stalker, the soundless predator, it was upon him! And it spoke I AM KHORNE, YOUR SOUL IS MINE!