A Chance to Win some Beta Codes..

Cripling wrote:Withdrawing from this contest since I've already gotten the pre-order box (I'm sorry Anginus, but 2 weeks wait compared to this cheap price that I could get today, not worth it)

i emeber when the games industry used to pay US to test their games. ahhh dem gud old days

Quietus wrote:

Cripling wrote:Withdrawing from this contest since I've already gotten the pre-order box (I'm sorry Anginus, but 2 weeks wait compared to this cheap price that I could get today, not worth it)

i emeber when the games industry used to pay US to test their games. ahhh dem gud old days

yeah.. lots i miss about them days.. next to no gfx hype.. was all about the gameplay..

well got my codes now from play.com so thats good, as for old days... i do miss old wow it was the best.

A moment of clarity... Is this for real? It must be, everything, I can see what things have become. Do I regret any of it? Of course not! This is what I am! But I must say so; this could very well by my last moment here. After this, I feel like things will dissipate. So let this be the confession of my deeds, let this be the story of Jeeves Mardenberg and let this story be passed on to others that would seek the path of my lord. A word of advice before I start though, one that follows chaos can never see a happy ending, sorrows are all that you will be granted in the end… And you will embrace it.

As I write this on the very paper of Epidemius with the blood of many innocent men and women whom fell to my power, keep in mind you reader, that this is the unholy text of Grandfather Nurgle’s true follower.

It had started out like one of the many days that passed for the butcher Jeeves, receiving the daily shipment of meat which he had always suspected to be partly that of rat or some other vermin, but had never built up the courage to tell the delivery man. Sharpening the cleavers that all hung on the wall in his inner sanctum of butchered animals and neatly tied packages to be shipped onward to the Restin’ Inn, the nearby baker that went by the name ‘Lucia Holdt’ who always used them to bake delicious meat pies. Jeeves had to admit that he too had fallen for the baker one time or another, but she already had a husband and he had no intentions of breaking that relationship, at least she would bring him a meat pie every first day of the week, which after a long meeting the town had decided it was Angestag. Even though she had always wished for it to be Festag she had adjusted accordingly in order to keep her perfectly engineered life in order. It was on the 24th of Vorgeheim that this had been decided, only six days ago to be exact. Today there had been no letters for Jeeves in his house which also served as his place of business down in the mildly lit basement. After all, candles seemed to be hard to come by these days in the middle region of Kislev, in the town of Ursan. The people here had long praised the god Ursun and in time named their small settlement after the great bear, settling down from their nomadic ways the city had been formed. However, through the later years as the empire to the south had caused more influence in the lands of Kislev, the inhabitants of Ursan had adapted to the imperial calendar instead that of their old Gospodarin way of counting days. However they had not added all of the imperial’s holidays as their own yet. Mystery Day, New Years Day and the Winter Solstice had been accepted by the council of four that kept Ursan under control with all their laws and politics. Erntezeit was still to be discussed if it was to be merged with their calendar or not, if this would pass, Lucia would surely gain a fortune on selling pies.

After he had finished chopping up the dead animals and packing them into the right amount of assorted bags he decided to go out for walk across town, like he always did on the warmer days of the year. As if in any day here in Kislev was ever warm but still, he wouldn’t freeze to death by going outside at this month and taking a walk was always healthy. He took his bear pelt coat, which according to their now falling old ways; he had slain himself and locked the door behind him with a rusty old key. He’d always wondered how this old wreck of a house still stood; no less provided him with warmth as it had since his birth. It was an old house built ages ago at the very founding of their small town mainly with wood and a few uncut stones at the foundation. However he had never had the time to examine the walls closer, even if he would have held the knowledge needed to build and inspect households. He decided to walk around town today, perhaps head by the Restin’ Inn and have a chat with Birga, the innkeeper. There was no snow at the ground, but strong winds chilled his skin and caused a very cold and desperate atmosphere in the town, he had almost wished for snow to hinder his movements instead, and keep Ursan in the glory it deserved. Well, the glory he had imagined it to hold somewhere while in reality this was untrue as there had never been anything great in the vicinity. Nothing grand had been made, no great events had occurred here and truly there had never been a great hero to arise from this place in Kislev. There were few people outside at this time, a couple arguing in the cold outdoors in order for their children not to hear, even though by now the small ones had probably already figured out what happened when their parents stormed out of the house. There was the drunken Gaspac, he had once fought a marauder and lived and ever since only fallen from his would-be glorious life. Now his days consisted of drinking and sleeping while from time to time telling the story of the Kislevite against the Marauder. After passing a numerous houses he came across the Restin’ Inn, but surprisingly it was closed. This is probably why Gaspac was out walking. Apparently the innkeeper’s father had been stricken with a disease and now required to be tended to on his death bed or at least that was what the weathered note attached to the wooden door claimed. I guess I’ll head back and prepare a meal. There were farms nearby, but none close enough to Ursan for him to eat vegetables every day and hence he was used to eating part of the meat he butchered, but from time to time he would find them in the ‘Greenies’ section of the local store. He passed by the arguing couple again and heard a few words they exchanged about marauders becoming increasingly active in the regions nearby, and that they feared for their children’s lives but didn’t know what to do. Whatever the rest was about he did not care, but took note to the lurking threat in their region.

By the time he got home the sun had set beyond the horizon, and he roasted some meat in his fireplace to eat and then simply go to bed and await the morning that was to come with yet another alone and meaningless day. Darkness came as he shut his eyes and embraced the oblivion of sleep. What he did not know was that he was not alone in his room, and that a dark figure had been waiting in the shadow of the room. A being that emerged at night and disappeared as the morning came.

As he awoke the next day he found his nose filled with blood and some strange growths covering his face, stumbling up from the bed he could barely see through what had appeared as a yellow coloured coat over his iris. He somehow managed to find a mirror after bumping into many ornaments in his room. He wasn’t able to distinguish what actually stood there, if it was him or some strange far away dream. Bolds had sprouted over night. His skin had grown pale and there was some strange liquid emerging from under his eyes. “No! I’m not… Sick…” He had heard tales of dark diseases that would not only kill those that came upon it, but devour their souls too, and he was not to give his up. With fear for his life he stumbled back and forth in the room until at last crashing through the window and landing in the middle of the street without the strength to stand up again to hide his appearance. He was cursed, he was sick, he was going to die. These were the thoughts that continuously leapt through his mind as he laid freezing on the ground with only the lightest of garments on his body. It was early, so early that few except store owners had woken up in order to organize things before the costumers came. In time he started smelling putrid, like a frozen dead corpse slowly decomposing and it wasn’t until the lovely Lucia came walking by that he would be relieved of the great freeze he was experiencing.

“By Ursun!” She had shouted out and dropped her basket of what ever a baker could use; Jeeves was unable to see what came tumbling out of the basket’s interior with all the frozen wax-like substance covering his sight. He also had no idea it was his friend that had found him where he was slowly dying as his ears were bloated and barely able to hear the loudest sound that screeched by. However, he did feel being dragged slowly across the ground back in his house and somehow miraculously placed in his bed again, how the weak woman had managed such a feat was beyond him but not the main focus of his thoughts at the moment. She cleaned of the pus that had stopped emerging at such an insane rate and kept some ice on his burning forehead in order to restore him enough to a conscious state. Even though his thoughts were still filled with the despair of death or possibly worse he tried to speak with her, but along with each word came blood. He tried to understand what she was feeling right now, she had already touched him and would be afflicted with it just as he had been, and die just as he would. He tried to shed a tear and these thoughts but all that came was foul pus. “Don’t worry Jeeves… Things will be right, things will…” She couldn’t make such a grand lie, even if it was to let him have peace as he descended into darkness. She was able to tend to him for most of the day, but she broke in time and couldn’t stand to watch him grow more and more hideous. The next morning as he laid in his bed came a shadowed figure to the lonesome town, clad in a dark jacket and a cap to hide his face the witch hunter had been sent to deal with the diseases that had sprouted in the town. So far it had been considered to be Nurgle’s rot. He intended to kill them all. Even though Lucia attempted to stop the townsfolk they soon gave in and told the hunter where to find the ones afflicted with the rot, there was a loud shooting noise and with that the Restin’ Inn fell on bad days, one in the council was also killed and the one delivery man to work in Ursan, the town was in turmoil by the time the witch hunter Garrein reached the old and decayed house of Jeeves Mardenberg and as he stepped through the door, people were already arguing in the town hall what to do.

The barely living butcher could hear the footsteps of his killer better than anything he had ever had the chance to hear so far in his life. The sound of the door to his room opening nearly caused his decaying heart to stop for a second. The witch hunter placed him next to the bed and loaded his gun. Like the voice of salvation itself, he spoke darkly: “The Greatfather offers you salvation. There is no choice but to comply, or I could kill you right here if you see that fitting.”

Garrein had long been a servant of Nurgle, offering those afflicted with his gifts a chance to live if only they succumbed to the chaos forces of disease. He was a devoted follower, and would always be, hiding within the ranks of the Imperial he was one of few able to contact every person that had been given the great disease of my lord without raising suspicion. Well, until he himself was turned into a hideous beast of the god, but that was not to come for long. I signed the deal, embracing the ideals of chaos with what would have been my last few breaths. I still do not regret it, I could never, the lord granted me life.

He awoke new the morning after, as the witch hunter had claimed for his disease to have been repelled and that the butcher could once again return to work but of course they were all lies, Jeeves was still horribly mutated in appearance and radiated some sort of stench that attracted flies and bugs of all kinds but in order to live he would serve Nurgle, in fact, he didn’t find the idea too bad. He wrapped himself in cloth and always wore a hood and the days kept on like they had before this strange part of his life. A new delivery man took the place of the person that had passed on the rot to the butcher, and in turn the butcher passed it to every person that dared take on the profession of delivering items all over town. Since the clientele was at such a vast amount there was no way for neither council nor law keepers to find who was causing this epidemic. He never set foot outside these days and instead spent his days poisoning the meat he packaged with what ever brew he found fitting for the occasion and the death rate of people in Ursan rapidly increased and many houses went vacant. The day of mystery that year was considered by many as the omen of their destruction, that Ursun had been angered because they had succumbed to the empire so easily, some fled the town and others turned to the gods of chaos for hope of survival. Jeeves found it hilarious to hear the whispers from outside his house by passing citizen. ‘Have you heard? They say his insides were boiled, and that his very bones melted.’ ‘I thought his limbs were peeled off?’ Oh the great times he had listening to their fear of what he had created, the diseases and afflictions that had spread through town but he was not alone to enjoy this. Jeeves the butcher was not the sole follower of Grandfather Nurgle in the town, it was true that Lucia had also seen the proposition of Garrein as the true salvation and embraced chaos as it was, however her ideas of what Nurgle wished were bent on the destruction of the other chaos gods and she devoted herself to finding those that would favour Tzeentch, Khorne, Slaanesh and then murdering them with a blade that she claimed to have been ‘blessed by Nurgle himself’ each time they exchanged wares. Jeeves knew that her mind had fallen ill along with her body and that the winds of chaos had torn apart her sanity. She had fallen on ill times, on wicked and wretched times as her mind was not as it used to be. Still they enjoyed the hopelessness that was being expressed in the city and how terror held rule over the minds of the Kislevites.

Many days, even months passed as Jeeves and Lucia caused most of the population in Ursan to be wiped out in the favour of their god and only lord day in and day out, not a single person suspected them as he used the cunning he had been granted through the series of murders that had come to be. He did not cause Nurgle’s rot to all his victims but mainly diseases of different sort that could never have been linked to the followers of chaos and hence allowed him to work from the deep shadows. Garrein had since long left the town for different people that had been blessed by their lord, but they would meet again, that they all knew. On the 33rd of Emtzeit something happened though. It was a quiet day, a day where little happened in the now desolate town, where once people would be celebrating tomorrow they would instead be mourning the death of so many in the cemetery that had grown the size of the vacant town. A note emerged from the skies, slowly flickering down through the mild wind until at last descending through the chimney of a cursed house. Jeeves saw the strange note lying there in the ashes of his fireplace, and took it as a sign from Nurgle. What he read on the note that carried eyes, tongues and teeth surprised him however. He was shocked; Nurgle had asked him to slay one of his own devoted followers. How could this be? It was not like the chaos god, or at least that was the impression he had been given so far. He let the note go and sat down on a chair, staring into the abyss in hope for clarification. Everything was so wrong here, a note that must have been written on the blessed papers of the great daemons. He was unable to remember the name of any demon that followed Nurgle and instead simply referred to them as the gifted. I have to obey… Don’t I? I can feel the rot starting to overcome me right now. If I refuse, I will, without a doubt die. Was my fate always to be played out like this? Very well my lord I shall murder her- and she shall lose her heart.

He sat down on his last chair that had yet to crumble due to the increasing dampness in the butcher’s home, and waited out the hours one by one for the sun to pass down and night to come. Time passed by until the room became pitch black due to no artificial light and Jeeves stood up, opened the door and began his walk of murder. There was no-one out at this time, but he swore there were noises in every alley and shadowy corner and each and every time had to turn his eyes towards them. The walk wasn’t very long at all but it felt as if his feet were weighted as he passed the houses one by one in this used-to-be merry town. These houses were all as empty as his ideals. However he was not alone to walk the road to eternal faith and blessings. Before him on the cold dirt road stood the baker wearing the same attire as himself, a hood, a shirt and trousers lined with an endless amount of bandage to cover up all the hideous things that had grown to their bodies. As always Lucia held the blade in her hand and Jeeves held none. If he was truly to be the true follower of Nurgle weaponry did not matter. They stared at one another, glaring deep into the other’s eyes from beneath the shadowy hoods they carried. The wind had begun blowing increasingly and was carrying the packed dirt of the road that would prove to be a battleground between the two most faithful followers of the chaos gods. So it was here it would end, between the butcher and the baker on this cold arena. Let it begin, for you… Nurgle.

He bent down and picked up a large rock that laid by the roadside and started walking forward towards her, just as she did. His pace increased, just as hers. They both rushed forth with weapons in their hands and launched their attacks. He could feel the cold metal slicing through his left shoulder and nearly let go of the assault, but no. Things cannot end… Like this. My lord please help me. Somehow his left arm returned from its numbness and embraced Lucia as she tried to remove the dagger that had been overgrown by boils and loose skin. “Your words always broke my fall, but you are not His favoured! You are weak!” ‘Snap’ it said and her dead body fell to the ground slowly. Jeeves did not bother to catch her, her neck was broken and her body was completely dead. As she fell her hood revealed her face for once and she still had that look he had seen on her as she tended to him after rescuing his life. “I suppose I should thank you.” He whispered as his final words to her before dismembering her torso and cutting out the bloodied heart. As the note had directed him he knew where to take the heart. To a place where they could have won, to a place where a drunk had once been considered a hero and with his hopes broken he departed with the bleeding heart in one hand and his flooding tears in the other. He hadn’t cried for so long, it felt like something completely new and it didn’t feel good.

The people of Ursan considered the next days to be a blessing of Ursun itself as the death count came to a complete standstill, some people dared return to their homes and many new wandered there from distant farms. Soon the vacant houses were vacant no more and life once again filled the streets where Jeeves the Dire once had walked and passed unholy judgement on those that he deemed fitting. The body of Lucia was ironically found by the newest boy that had taken the work as a delivery man, they sent note to Kislev that the threat was gone and that they had come to the conclusion it was a follower of Nurgle that had done all the killing, a butcher by the name of Jeeves Mardenberg. Soon witch hunters came from the shadows to dispose of the body and anyone infected, including the newest and last delivery man to ever work in the merry town and then once again descended into the depths of the empire. Garrein was not one of them.

And where did I go you may ask? Well, I took the heart of my last friend to the marked spot where a marauder had fallen to the hands of a simple man, a marauder following chaos without doubt and placed the heart on the grave marker. There in the glade I waited day in and day out until I started hearing voices everywhere around me, strange noises from the shadows and black spots at the corner of my eyes. ‘The trees the trees take the three trees.’ They would say, and I would abide, tearing out three pieces of bark from the trees but they were never good enough. ‘More more!’ The malicious voices would shout and I would abide until my hands began to bleed. Even then they cried out for more torment to me but I could not continue any longer, every tree that formed the edge of the glade had been removed of most of its bark in range for me to take. What a fool I was, not seeing what it represented.

I would have to pay with my own blood to satisfy chaos, make sacrifices like none before.

The bark he had turned red with his own blood would serve as the material for forming the Staff of Nurgle he was to be granted for his great services, and he spent even more days tearing it and patching them together in whatever means necessary, he used skin mostly but sometimes simply made holes and attached them until he emerged from the glade with a hideously warped staff belching out a poisonous aura wherever it was held. Now he was to fulfil his final duty to chaos and aid the daemons on their path to terror as the note had suggested. With the staff and a dagger still sticking out of his left shoulder he tore his wraps away and discarded his hood. It wasn’t as if he could be considered human anymore, between the daemon race and the human one his body had become a living incarnation of Nurgle’s rot. He still carried two eyes but his skin had turned brown and green, his tongue hanging out from his jagged mouth and his fingers had became longer and the holders of sharp claws. His whole body was covered in thorns and boils constantly bursting and re-emerging.

The hideous creature returned to the town and emerged in the middle of the day at the eastern hill overlooking the town there he stopped to observe what had become of the place. People were traversing the streets as if he and his diseases had never struck the city and this was amusing to him as their terror and misery would only grow greater as the daemons marched upon them. But before that, he would make his presence known. “People of Ursan! Your doom has come! For your lack of faith towards the Grandfather Nurgle you will all perish to his wrath! Bow down and repent your foolish ways or die.” Soon he could hear the screams of people fleeing, attempting to cross the borders of the town and even if they would bow down on their knees and pray to the great god of chaos they would still be slain. He called upon the grand powers of the Dhar and raised his staff into the air. This is for you, my lord! He chanted out words etched into his mind by voices unheard in the dark tongue of chaos and watched as the clouds gathered above and a great storm broke out, clouding the sun the town became swept in shadows and the people soon resulted in running back and forth in circles. But things were not over yet; even though he could feel the strain of the Dhar upon him he raised the staff again and shouted out the words ‘By the plagues of Nurgle I open the gate.’ With the dark language, and as such, a tremendous amount of power seemed to shout out from the staff in a horrid and daemonic manner, a cry fit for the darkest beasts of this world and any other. A gateway into the other realm opened up there in the middle of the sky and sent endless hordes of daemonic followers to rain down on the city. Jeeves knew he had done what Nurgle would have wished, satisfied his hunger for everything he desired if even for a second and crumbled down on the ground into a pathetic display of a hurting thing.

The staff turned to dust and he could feel the power of the warp tearing his body asunder second by second and as if granted by his lord himself a note gently landed before him and a pen embodying disease and poison. He took hold of it with his right hand and turned the note around and with this last moment of clarity before he would be gone he would make sure the not was meant for three. He wrote down the story of Jeeves the Dire, Jeeves the Summoner.

Or perhaps simply Jeeves of Mardenberg.

When you read this, Garrein, do me a favour would you? Ask Him to bring her back… Please.

I'm not going to go all out and polish this day in and day out, so this third draft will do. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

well dont say i didnt warn you... nefy wins :p

I'm re-instating myself in the competition moahahahah to take this second box that might be over after nefy wins

who won lol? XD

I did.