User blog:WarpSpawn/Over fluffing

I've done something!, I mean it I've almost really created my first article, thanks to a little insperation from the 40k novel "deamon world" I am ready to post the article just as soon as a polish up a bit (such as grammer and paragraph division) and I could post it now.....if not for a certain flaw kicking in. yes, you've head my whining about how others are going to think about a certain article when I really shouldn't so I will cut to the chase.

Here is an extract, and it is this extract in which I will require your opinion to go ahead and do shit, or put it ho,d hold and revise a little. WARNING: I might have over-done it a little, over "over-fluffed" as my freinds put it-

''' Biography '''

''' Early History and Creation '''

''' Beginnings '''

A’xlthra, although named Ethral by the people of his home tribe, was born on the world of Ulthrus. A mountainous planet of which surface was dominated by high mountains, some of which rose further than that of the likes of Olympus Mons of mars, and was covered mostly in lush green forests that dotted 63% of the surface landscape. Untouched by the great crusade that was set forth by the emperor of mankind nor touched by the events of the Horus heresy, Ulthrus could have been perhaps considered a paradise by the denizens of the imperium, unfounded by technology and stayed from the path of the mechanicus left the planets environment near untouched by any other presence other than perhaps the tribes that had cultivated amongst the high pastures of ore and stone. How Ulthrus remained unfounded by the imperium to this day remains much of a mystery but has been considered perhaps hidden by immaterial forces that desired to remain the planet unharmed. This is well considered perhaps true by the inquisition and those of the emperors warriors for despite being a paradise unfounded upon by most of humanity Ulthrus did in fact play host to the demonic gods of the warp and its pawns.

Despite its majestic output and its seemingly untouched surface, to this day none can input the origins of the humans that were founded upon the world nor when their worship of the gods began. It has been speculated that these were once colonists that were went missing during the great exploration of space in the days of the dark age of technology and have devolved with every passing generation. However, as to be said later by some perhaps instinctual mutation of some whim of the gods themselves, are still capable of creating complex structures out of the environment that much represents the buildings of planets such as holy terra. None the less the planet was divided into its own wholesome factions and settlements each dedicated to any of the four gods, but never to all of them and as such warring between these factions was a common enough occurrence. Each side dedicated to attracting the gods gaze, each individual fighting for a place amongst the warriors of saga’s old of which flew with grace from their mortal coil to immortal form, each desiring to gain their own ground with sword, shield and sorcery.

It was in one of these factions that Ethral was born into and where his destiny seemingly stood. Born into a tribe dedicating itself to Tzeentch and born from one of the many warrior families that did dedicate themselves to his servitude, soon as of birth Ethral was immediately plucked from one of the many birthing huts of the tribe by one of the sorcerers dedicated to the clans prosperous growth and history as of tradition, to be checked of having any small influence of minor gift that would distinguish himself as being touched by the warp and as being done so would be placed with his fellow brothers under strict learning ways of the sorcerers. As such with his tribes tradition, those touched by the warp would eventually, if they lived to that point in time, would become sorcerers and being a tribe dedicated to the servitude of the changer of ways, nearly all of the tribes population were in some way touched by the warp and being done so mutated in one way or another. Those that did not show sign of “the touch” would be cast down from the mountain home to be consumed by either the wildlife of joined by the feral hunting pacts that stalked the forests below, outcasts of whom had been thrown from there tribe as either lacking the requirements of the faction or another undetermined event that rightfully should see them cast down from the gods gaze.

Indicated by the sorcerers of his tribe as being untouched and there for a disgrace to his family, Ethral was cast out by his parents as a youth of perhaps merely two years, having been the bane of his own family who sought only to patronise the child as they too were abused for this damage to the tribes honour and disruption of long line of warp-blessed blood. Ethral was cast from the mountain homes of the sorcerers by his own father and left to rot and die amongst the forest floors without pity or remorse, or perhaps serve as a consumable delicacy for the chaos-tainted creatures that dwelt there. But fate would have it that Ethral did not perish there, or perhaps by some whim of the changer himself, dirtied and injured from the fall, the youth was founded upon by a band of the many u’thi that roamed the great forests, wild men that had to be cast down from there tribe or abandoned at birth to perish within the chaotic greeneries but did so cling to survival. Wild perhaps, but as due with the instinctual mutation that did string through all inhabitants of the cursed planet, not uneducated as one of the roving hunters plucked the youth by the leg and presented his findings to the group, causing many of the fur clad men to chuckle as Ethral lashed out wildly, catching his founder by the chin and causing the masculine man to bite his own tongue. Again Ethral’s life would have ended on the blades of the bone crafted axe that was poised before the child’s body if not for the intervention of destiny as the group’s leader, one of the many u’thi shamans that accompanied the wild bands, halted the axe fall with unknown powers and, still glaring at the child, redirected the blow toward the captor, causing the wild man to fall in a spray of spurting grey matter and the axe struck the u’thi’s forehead.

The group gave whisper to each other as the wild men backed away from the child and shaman, plucking the recently deceased barbarian by the legs to be used as a fine meal later. What purpose did this shaman have such cause to strike down one of their number, and why such an interest in the boy? Proclaiming nothing, the shaman demanded that the gore-covered Ethral to be taken from the deep wilds and to be presented to the Huntslord of the wild men for introduction. Dragging the still shaken youth be the legs, the u’thi took Ethral deep into the under forests, foreshadowed by the great mountains that did play host to the gods pawns, still confused by the sorcerers demand, back to the tribe to present their findings.

After the two days of which it took to reach their location, of which now there was no remains of the dead u’thi to speak of and of prowling the sprawling roots of the chaos-twisted trees, avoiding the chaos spawns that did prowl in the darkness, the band eventually returned to what they referred to as their home. Perhaps more of a small city that it was an actual tribe, even at a young age Ethral appreciated the two-storied high buildings carved from the trees themselves that stood over the great fire that lit the dark forest, their architecture a mockery of the buildings that did dominate the many imperial hive world that were dotted across the stars. The youth was presented to the tribal leader by the shaman as soon as the group made entry into the relatively safe haven, pressing the child to kneel before the bone-armoured chieftain that did sit upon his throne of steel and woodwork. Under a furrowed brow and long white beard, the chieftain, known as Ulmaril of the father-born, questioned on why his favoured shaman had presented to him this skinny youth. Prepared for this, the cloaked sorcerer declared what he had seen within the brown eyes of the child and more importantly, what future he had seen within him to dare bring his form under the shadow of the wizened warrior-chief. None can truly say what the shaman declared to Ulmaril on that day, only that upon leaving the longhouse with child in hand, the shaman declared that the child was one on them and thus should be treated so as such. Many of the tribesmen questioned this at first but laid silent as the cloaked figure informed them that the father-born himself had declared this, of which they hastily fixed up the child using what little herbs that remained within their stock and after a few days of which the child was walking once more, set to work on training the youth in the arts, ways and beliefs that did so rule the tribes survival.

''' The K’thas War '''

By the time Ethral had attained manhood within the tribe, he was already well accomplished within the arts of the hunt and both the beliefs of the tribe and the worship of the gods. Since his arrival, the youth had been the talk of most of the tribe, many questioning on for what purposes did the father-born or, worse yet, the shaman have to take on the young pup as a member of their outcast populace? Having many claims that the child was perhaps cursed or as of others, perhaps playing apart within the great game of the gods, Ethral was mainly shunned at first by both the elders, and the young outcast that ran amok amongst the undergrowth, claiming him of being favoured only because of the father-born, a sort of adopted bastard son that did not deserve a place amongst them of the working group and that he was of the weakling sort, unadapt at the skills of the hunt that did so the tribe thrive upon. By the time of a teen much had changed then as many started to give respect of the child as, upon some unknown time and date, had decided that he would not be mocked and no longer would he run from those that shunned and hunted him. Bringing what skill he had been taught of the hunt to the fore and thus taking his short bow, Ethral enjoyed perhaps for the first time, the thrill of hunting a living creature.

By the time of that of a young adult, Ethral, under the tutoring of the tribe shamans, took a great interest in the worshiping of the chaos gods and the rewards given onto those that served them willingly, so much so that it was now not uncommon for insignificant members of the tribe to go missing, and sacrificial oaths to be heard coming from the Father-born's long house. Indeed for while Ethral eagerly hungered for the attention of the gods so did he too lack the understanding of the worshipping the warped ones. For unlike many members of the tribe, of which often dedicated themselves to one particular god and thus received their blessing, Ethral proceeded to rapidly change where his worship lay, as so did too his mind exchange and weighed of whom would grow the most is power and so would the followers also. It was not long before Ethral’s reckless sacrifices were discovered; the hideous stench carried from the father-born’s longhouse drifting into the main tribe central pathways, alerting the village shamans of the Ethral’s attempts to gain favour. That is not to say that anyone stopped him, as sacrifice to the dark gods was considered a holy thing as of their belief, but did so warn him of the consequences of trading one god for another and the thought of personal gain. Ulmaril himself and his favoured shaman warned Ethral of such doings and the results that were to follow but regardless continued his constantly swaying worship and continuing down the road to domination.

Upon obtaining manhood, the u’thi elders, along with the father-born and the tribe shamans held a great celebration, regardless of the constantly dwindling supplies, upon Ethral and the other young men of his age reaching the first stage of their prime. After the celebration, given both armoured fur and bow, the young men were quested by Ulmaril of showing their true worth to the tribe as huntsmen by hunting down and finding the necessary supplies to restock the vary foundations of which they had recently consumed, with Ethral being placed in charge as with his ability to hit fast moving targets, to hunt down any meat or other consummative that stalked the black forests of chaos. Splitting off and striking on their own within the forests, reassured that their skill would protect them from all manners of danger, it was not long before Ethral heard over the din of rustling leaves and falling branches, the first chocking scream that echoed across the quiet plains, quickly cut of as whatever beast that had attacked their number continued to save the arrogant hunter that had sought its hide.

After much wander and retracing of footsteps, as well as hiding within the green thickets from the lumbering Uk’thi, men who had achieved such greatness as to get so close to obtaining a place amongst the denizens of the immaterial only to fall into that of the form of a gibbering monster, Ethral came across his first target of which seemed at the least killable but not at all expected.

Within the haze of the darkness, Ethral let fly an arrow, closely followed by a scream of pain as the shadowed target was hit. Shouldering his bow as Ethral did stride forward to claim his kill, something gave him pause. From a distance and on closer inspection, the wounded beast, now cowering on the floor with an arrow protruding from his knee, was covered with blue robes of which lay ruined of worship and trinkets, although different, could be said as being similar to those that the tribe did carry with them for luck and favour. The prey itself had its face hidden, a mask of pure silver hiding its features, allowing Ethral’s own features to reflect of the featureless surface. It was at that time that cries of alarm rang out through the forest floors, silhouettes of similar appearance, some of which larger and more armoured, started to appear amongst the shadows of the tree line. Not knowing this new threat but understandably determining that this was perhaps a rival tribe, Ethral darted from his position, retracing his steps until he arrived back at the tribe.

Although laughter ensued as the young hunter, although feared but empty-handed returned to the tribe, Ethral did not stop running until he had reached the long house where he had interrupted the wright of fortitude, an armouring ritual of sorts to grant the father-born and those of his favoured with protection for an up-coming battle. Although shamans scowled at the interruption, Ulmaril none the less silenced them and allowed Ethral to speak. After the hunter had finished his words, the father-born, already armoured in steel and fur scattered the shamans and, looking back to his favoured shaman of whom was no longer stooped and, now that Ethral laid witness to the shaman nearly naked, was perhaps three times the height of a man and of whom masculine features was that of a giant, gave the Father-born a nod in his direction. Ulmaril explained that his shaman, named Ultyrul, had foreseen these events since he had first gazed upon the young lad. He knew that war was coming to his tribe, and perhaps beyond if the chaos sorcerer had been correct, and that it was this war that would bring greatness not only to the tribe but also Ethral himself. Allowing Ultyrul to explain in greater detail, the shaman claimed that war was coming undoubtedly coming, a war that would not only effect the tribe but so too the very foundations of the planet, a war that would see those foundations burn in a firestorm of glory and Ethral’s rise to daemon hood.

Taken aback by this claim, Ethral questioned if this was so his destiny, then when rescue him and whisk away the chances of Ulmaril not ascending to the immiterium? True that he had made sacrifices since his initiation into the tribe and true, he admitted, that his skill was unmatched by any of the younglings that indeed wandered and trained with the tribal elders but this was far from what Ulmaril had managed to accomplish. The father-born had won countless battles, slaughtered a thousand foes and destroyed hundreds of champions in offering their skulls to his chosen god. He had risen from the first outcast to building a small empire within perhaps the most hostile environment on the world and what’s more had it flourish. Smiling, Ulmaril informed the prince to be that, despite all that he had accomplished, Ultyrul had foreseen that in this war that he would fall in glorious combat and that even so should by a twist of fate that he would survive; some event would guarantee his demise as the gods wished.

Certainly doubtful of this claim at first, for even if the father-born, as old as he, has long excepted his fate, then for what purpose did the sorcerer desire him to live, and what’s more why assure his ascension? Assisting another in the rise to power was not unheard of, but then again so was the participant often known for stabbing their mighty leader in the back to further their own ends, especially those of magical properties. Ethral pondered this; all the while Ulmaril prepared for the upcoming battle against the servants of Tzeentch and the gathering of the tribe’s warriors for what he described as “their rise from the shadows”, an event that would see all of them grow to greatness in the eyes of the gods. While the tribal warriors offered their praises to the gods for this opportunity by fire and Ulmaril let loose speeches that raised high the blood of the shouting warriors, Ethral located Ultyrul within the longhouse under chambers; a place restricted only to the father-born himself, disregarding rules while steeped in his own thought and stealing away with the chambers of steel, to question the purpose and his motives of the sorcerer. What Ethral witnessed within those dark chambers was not the shaman he had grown his entire life knowing, nor was it the heavily muscled giant that had stood next to Ulmaril during the wrights that had sought the few chosen’s protection. No, what Ethral witnessed was beyond anything he had ever imagined, a place far from the tribal elder homes covered in animal bones and ruins inscribed with unknown patterns, indeed far from anything he had ever seen or perhaps would ever see again. The sorcerer’s home was covered from every surface in black steel, incrusted in what a well-taught scholar might describe as consoles and vox-casters, holipads that gave off an eerie green glow against the black surface and jutting symbols of worship made from what seemed like flesh moulded into the very foundations. But this was not what had caught Ethral’s eye, because what stood in the middle of all that was unknown to him stood the sight that made his veins run cold and the pace of heart quicken. Ultyrul, now with staff in hand and visage covered head to toe in black ceramite power armour, turned towards the intruder, head hidden behind his helmet as the golden features stared expressionlessly and the young hunter.

The events after none can say, but Ethral returned from that place a changed man, his eyes cold and his expression eternally set into an expressionless face, his name changed and his heart enkindled with trust in the gods. He carried with him too knowledge of what Ultyrul of the black legion had informed him during the long hours within those cold depths. He know for example why his father attacked now and of why to dare come this far into the black forests of the world below, for the home of the Tzeentch worshipers high in the mountains was no longer their home, and it would ironically, forever be changed. His father had been driven out with pitiful ease from his home by the worshipers of Nurglich, the god of disease and bountiful life in a surprise attack that saw most of their number slaughtered and killed or dying from the much feared pestilent rot. Their home overrun with not just disease and bloated walking corpses but so too with what was to be rumoured as cyclopean demons that carried great rusted swords of whom the smallest cut could fell the mightiest of warriors. So too was the knowledge that the upcoming battle with the survivors was not to be the battle that Ultyrul spoke of but rather the beginning that would set in motion a chain of events that would forever change him.

- So, Moar as the saying goes of should I stop and rethink a little bit?