Editing Nobledark Imperium Forces of Chaos (section)

==The Four Champions of the Dark Gods==

=== Arrotyr, Marshall of the Scions of the Old Helm ===
[[Image:Grand Marshal Arrotyr.jpg|thumb|.]]

<div class="toccolours mw-collapsible mw-collapsed" style="100%">''''' Rage Enflamed: '''''

''“Your foolishness is what has lead us to this fate farseer, now you will suffer by the servants of the true god of war”''<br>
- Arrotyr, the Lord of Fire, Marshall of the Scions of the Broken Helm, before breaking off form the 5th Black Crusade
 
Arrotyr came from one most prestigious military families of the Old Eldar Empire’s, one which dated all the way back to the War in Heaven. Indeed, it is only because of his lineage’s accomplishments that it is possible to trace Arrotyr’s genealogy that far back at all. Arrotyr’s ancestor Syndor was once one of the greatest warriors the Eldar Empire ever had. Syndor’s martial prowess and leadership was legendary, having gone so far as to have been one of the commanders present at the battle where Kaelis Ra, the Nightbringer, was finally struck down by Khaine. He was one of the few eldar warriors that had earned the respect of the necrontyr, it was even said that the Silent King himself had wished to meet the legendary warrior on the battlefield. He even gained a nemesis in the necrontyr, Imotekh the Stormlord, who Syndor defeated and spared. Such was Syndor's prestige, his soldiers were undefeated in battle and and at his command they lead the eldar race to victory after victory in the golden age of the Eldar Empire.
 
However, eventually Syndor grew tired of life, and after five cycles of reincarnation Syndor finally decided to retire from this world. It is unclear whether Syndor truly experienced his final death, or if he merely reincarnated again but desired to start completely anew. However, before he died, Syndor gave his descendants one final piece of information. For when the Nightbringer was destroyed by Khaine and the aspect of the reaper was felt by all living beings, Syndor had a vision, a vision of a great burning eye opening, a fire that would consume the eldar race, and afterwards only ash would remain.

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Arrotyr was no less an impressive warrior than Syndor. Indeed, the only reason Arrotyr’s accomplishments were not as impressive as his forefather’s is that he never had a pan-galactic war on the scale of the War in Heaven to fight in. Arrotyr even bore a strong resemblance to his ancestor, with some whispering that he was really Syndor reborn once again. However, Arrotyr’s record was far from spotless, possibly exacerbated due to living in the last days of the Eldar Empire. Arrotyr was well known for his military acumen, but he was also well-known for being ruthless. While many Eldar in those days preferred to sneer at the more primitive races of the galaxy from the safety of the Crone Worlds, Arrotyr actually went so far as to argue hunting down any species that might one day rise to equal the Eldar in power, and his battle plans had a disturbing tendency to devolve into “kill them all and let Khaine sort them out”.
 
Nevertheless, Arrotyr truly cared about the wellbeing of the eldar people. When the great carnal hedonism of the eldar race began and the pleasure cults sprung up in their wake Arrotyr remembered the words of his ancestor, and realized that this was the disaster Syndor had spoke of. Arrotyr would not let his kin be subjected to this fate, but when he tried to stop them, warning them that it would lead to the fall of their race the eldar would not listen, none keen on moralizing form the most blood soaked of their number. Arrotyr and his warriors were shunned by their kin, cast out for their attempts to save them. Arrotyr felt his love for his kind wither, he had tried to save them but they had rejected him, traitor they had called him, a fool that could not rejoice the golden age the eldar race had been graced. But it would not stop Arrotyr, he would not stop to try and save his kind. But as the ages flowed by, his finesse withered and his blood lust grew, his attempts to sway his kind become more aggressive and the vision of fire had soon consumed his sight. His belief in Khaine had been weakened, no god of his would let such horrendous actions be allowed, and when the eldar began to see their wrongs and they felt the birth of a new god to be present, they called upon Arrotyr to return and help save them from their fate.
 
He concluded that there was only one being who could be responsible for the moral degredation of the eldar, the goddess of sex and fertility, Isha. Although many in the Eldar Empire knew the truth behind of the birth of Slaanesh, Arrotyr did not, and so saw Isha as the only “logical” culprit. Arrotyr returned to his race, but he now knew that saving them from this fate could only be done in one way. The Eldar Empire was now little more than an uncontrollable wildfire, and the only way to stop a fire is to smother it. When he returned to the Crone Worlds he began his race salvation, and as thousands of ships filled with eldar desperate to escape from the soul consuming infant of a new god, Arrotyr’s fleet began to fire at the fleeing vessels, he ordered his warrior to make landfall and to slay all eldar in sight. Arrotyr knew the only way to ensure the survival of his race would be to destroy the problem from the base. He made landfall to Shaa-Dome, and headed straight to the largest temple devoted to Isha on the planet. He intended to get rid of their gods who had done nothing to save them, starting by silencing the priestesses of the one who had caused this mess in the first place. As he neared the temple of Isha’s priesthood, he heard a whisper in his head, one who spoke of great favour for warriors and as he slew those who once had ridiculed him the voice grew louder. By the time he stood at the center of Isha’s temple, Arrotyr stood knee deep in the bodies of his kin, covered in blood and a screaming voice inside his head, calling for blood, and blood it would have. The fire had consumed his sight when he leapt into the chamber killing his way through those faithful to the goddess. As he and his men cleaved through the priestesses and acolytes Arrotyr realized that his actions would not bring him the goddess’ head, so Arrotyr ordered his men to continue the slaughter, if the birth of the new god was unstoppable they would at least leave nothing for it to consume. It was at the peak of this slaughter that the voice told Arrotyr his feats and granted him and his scions his blessing. The fire in Arrotyr’s eyes spew out, charring hundreds of eldar and then the fire consumed his body, soon he was a walking inferno, the gift spread, The scions of the broken helm had turned into living fires, turning all around them to ash. Arrotyr’s slaughter had turned from salvation to punishment. As Slaanesh was born and the eye was opened Arrotyr and his scions had left the crone worlds to their fate and instead left to bring those who had escaped to justice.
 
Arrotyr and his warrior’s bodies burned away by the ages, the fire always burning, soon they would be walking skeletons, forever consumed by fire, locked in their armour bringing their kin to justice for the blood god. None could stand against the Scions of the Broken Helm, not the eldar, not even the Imperium, all would be punished, all but his old enemies, for it would be the reawakened Necrons that would drive him back. Imotekh the Stormlord, his old nemesis, had spent his sleep calculating the perfect strategy against Arrotyr, he would be the one to finally defeat the undefeatable eldar. As he caught whiff of Arrotyr’s conquests the Stormlord set his plan into action. Arrotyr had tried to chase down a craftworld and as he had begun to close in on it and the eldar onboard prepared for their final stand the Stormlord struck like a bolt of lightning. Even with the might of a military fleet and the blessing of Khorne the battle only lasted for 6 minutes and 34.4534 seconds, only 0.0002 seconds more than what the Stormlord had planned. The craftworld was saved from Arrotyr’s rage and was deemed beneath notice by Imotekh as he had won his battle. Arrotyr never faced Imotekh face-to-face, in fact he never faced any Necrons, he only knew that the Scions of the Old Helm could not win this battle as fast as the Necrons attacked, and that Imotekh had spared him. This angered Arrotyr even more because for the first time in his existence, Arrotyr had been defeated, and by a foe who even refused to take his head as befitting the creed of the Blood God. He returned to the eye, where he claimed some crone worlds so that he could lick his wounds. But his desire to punish his kin for their faults still burned deep within him.
 
The next chance the two fought again was during the Eleventh Black Crusade. Arrotyr once again made his way away from the main force to bring judgement elsewhere but it would prove to short lived. For once again he faced battle against Imotekh the Stormlord who once again defeated Arrotyr, though this time the battle only lasted for 5 minutes and 4.3421 seconds, and once again he was spared by Nemesor who this time sent Arrotyr a message.
 
“Honored warrior of the eldar, I Phaeron Imotekh, spare you today so that I once again can defeat you. Your ancestor brought my people to defeat and now the tables have turned, I shall forever battle you and I shall forever be victorious, I plan your every move, I foresee your every step. Even when the galaxy is dead shall I fight you. And I will win.”
 
Thus was Arrotyr sent back to the Eye of Terror to lick his wounds once again, this rivalry has continued to the present, every time Arrotyr would gain any substantial leverage into the galaxy the Stormlord would be there and at every battle Imotekh would be victorious, the battles never lasting more than a few minutes. Today Arrotyr and his scions patrol the Crone worlds under the Blood God’s control. Only as a burning figure he plans his next move bring judgement to his kin, but he knows that wherever he goes Imotekh will be there to send him back.

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=== Chosen Taskmaster of Slaanesh ===
By all accounts, a terror.  The exacting, incomparable mind to which the Prince of Pleasure turns to plan the endless celebrations, projects, and adventures of the vast Slaaneshi cult, vested with all the godly power required for the whip hand of Shaa-Dome to manage his master's empire while the resplendent prince reclines.  Though his youthful patron is the least of the Ruinous Powers, Iygonesh Orvas is the greatest of the four Crone champions, with access to more of his master's overwhelming power to twist reality and the warp than any of his rivals (with the possible exception for the Indigo Crow). Slaanesh has so empowered his servant specifically so that the former no-name courtier and cousin of the Eldar Royalty can serve as the executor of his god's will in the Eye and the wider galaxy, utterly exceeding the capacities of the servants of his patron's rivals even as the other dark Gods leave their vaster powers pent up in the deep warp.  In this arrangement, the Taskmaster administrates a vast empire of Crones within the Eye so dominant that the other gods find far less foothold, providing a massive counterbalance of military and political power against the mystical force of Slaanesh's elders.  In dominance of Crone culture Slaanesh builds spiritual power to further contest the other gods, and also take a more central position in the minds of the Imperium as foremost ruinous power, using both the Crones and the Imperium as vast psychic engines to grow its legend.  This youthful vigor and care for the material galaxy, however perverse its expression, is the basis of the Taskmasters mission from Slaanesh, to see the Princedom of Pleasure extended over the galaxy so that all Materium might recognize Slaanesh as the Highest Being and make it so.

=== The Indigo Crow ===
[[Image:Indigo Crow.jpg|left|thumb|]]

<div class="toccolours mw-collapsible mw-collapsed" style="100%">''''' The Enigma: '''''

The Indigo Crow. The Indigo Crow. What can be known about the Indigo Crow?

Well, first of all, the Indigo Crow does not exist, and yet does. For Tzeentch is Lord of Paradox as well as Change. The foremost servant of the Lord of Change can have no unmoving 'I', can have no solid core of an identity; all must be flux. So there can be no "person" (for lack of a better word) which is the Indigo Crow. And yet, Tzeentch itself changes hardly at all, identity changing on geologic timescales. So, too, its many daemons, and so too must the Crow. 

How are these two states reconciled? The secret is that the Indigo Crow is always changing, shifting every second into a totally new and random form. But, every time, that new and random form is the Indigo Crow. A set of unloaded dice coming up all sixes every time, millions upon millions of times in a row. Constant change resulting in no change. The Lord of Paradox is pleased. 

What mind resides in this form of ever-shifting static? Its form is its function is its thoughts, and thus its mind must likewise be both ever-changing and changeless. It can only know either what it is doing, or why it's doing it; never both. While the Indigo Crow knows what it is doing, its motive is in flux; all possible motivations that could lead to its action in a state of superposition, even- especially- those which are mutually contradictory. While it knows its motivations, all possible actions flowing from that motivation are in superposition, less than real but more than imaginary. The Indigo Crow's 'mind' is a pair of quantum waveforms, forever locked in opposing amplitudes. 

Perhaps as a result of this, the Indigo Crow either does not or cannot perceive the world with normal senses. Instead, its only method of perception is divination, foresight and hindsight, pre- and post-cognition. It 'sees' the world as a haze of probability, innumerable possible futures; and for that matter, possible pasts. Although this divination is exceptionally powerful, the Crow cannot see the present. It can see close to the present, very close, but for a second around itself it is blind. This is rarely a problem for it, usually it can see threats coming from far enough away to avoid them. Usually.

As a consequence of this unusual mode of perception, the Indigo Crow frequently acts or reacts in relation to nonexistent stimuli; things that could have happened but didn't, false pasts. Sometimes this is revealed to be another play in a deeper plot. Sometimes it's just delusion. 

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And sometimes it's something stranger still. There are indications that the Indigo Crow is capable of time travel and causality manipulation to some degree. That, just as a skilled pre-cognitive steers the course of history towards his preferred future, the Crow can steer the course of fate towards his preferred past, bringing plots and plans and schemes into being retroactively. Constrained by the need to be consistent with the rest of the universe in the present, but that is not as much of a constraint as one would hope. 

The Indigo Crow, although foremost among the Tzeentchian Crones, does not lead them in any conventional sense. It does not issue directives or prophecy. Instead, on its eternal winding path between the webway academies around the rim of the Eye, it has accumulated a vast parade. Hundreds, thousands, perhaps even millions of sorcerers and madmen follow the Indigo Crow, obsessively examining every syllable that spills from its mouth and every twitch of its limbs for encoded commands and hidden lessons. Many are obsessive in this regard; even on the Crow's rare ventures to real-space battlefields they follow, ignoring artillery shells and laser fire for the sake of their observations, continuing to observe and speculate even as they die in the crossfire. 

On occasion, a Crone who believes they have accumulated enough power and knowledge will challenge the Indigo Crow for its position and secrets. Whoever wins, when the smoke clears the Indigo Crow remains. Its form is its function is its thoughts; the foremost Crone follower of Tzeentch is the Indigo Crow. Always.

The normal forces of the Imperium (for values of 'normal' that include most of the Inquisition and Astartes) have little to fear from the Crow. They are beneath its notice. Not for it the direct clash of steel and sorcery on the battlefield, or even the subtle weaving of plots that cripple whole sectors. In all honesty, the Indigo Crow may not fully realize the Imperium at large exists. Its focus is wholly on the strangest and most rarefied levels of the Great Game. Its opposition is the Alpha and Omega Legions, the Illuminati, Eldrad, Oscar and Isha, Magnus when he was still alive. Be'lakor, [[Nobledark_Imperium_Writing#Just_As_Planned|Tzeentch's oldest foe]]. The Deceiver and Orikan the Diviner with their magic pyramid scheme. Cegorach and his Harlequins. Sometimes Trazyn the Infinite or Ahriman and the Daemon Breakers when they're at the top of their game. And, of course, itself. These are the chosen foes of the Indigo Crow, and its private wars take place on a level most citizens of the Imperium do not even realize exist. 

This might be for the best. On the rare occasions the Crow exerts itself against the pawns, planets die. Or perhaps not; at the level it operates, success and failure is measured in far stranger and more important things than the lives of planets. 

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=== High Conservator of The Attendants of Isha ===

[[Image:Nimina Demthring.jpg|thumb|.]]

<div class="toccolours mw-collapsible mw-collapsed" style="100%">''''' The Evangelist of Nurgle: '''''

Matron Macha was not the first eldar to become the primary mortal focus of the cult of Isha, though she is certainly the fairer that remains in the galaxy's memory. Nimina Demthring, the High Conservator of the Attendants of Isha, is the other, and she is far from beloved by the mother goddess. She was born in the sprawling pleasure shrines of Shaa-Dome, into the worship of Khaine the bloody handed, and worship of an Isha that was witch-mother to her monstrous fairy kin. In the loathsome latter years of the Old Empire Demthring was initiated in the palatial shrine of the all-mother, and in the manic orgies of the fall she and that bleak coven were among those few that remained aloof from the purple cabal's entertainment. That is not to say that foul sisterhood refrained from the debauchery, and in that time Nimina bore innumerable strange children in the name of her goddess, and gleefully partook alongside her depraved superiors in that long corrupted convent. It can be said only that the wicked traditions and sacred fixations of Isha's followers preserved her worship as distinct from that of the gestating Prince of Pleasure, but in the end little but her cult and their prolific brood remained her faithful. As the empyrean hell welled up from the final debaucheries in the heart of the city that lay behind the doors in the hills, and the ships of the Old Empire returned to reign as fire upon the surface of the Shaa-Dome, this last strand of true and faithful worship dragged Isha on through the assaults of newborn Slaanesh. Burning Arrotyr, already damned, melted a shaft through the superstructure of the shellworld and came to strike down the witch-cult and atomize the temples. This he did, and after he slew and burned Isha's faithful in the middling layers the Marshal left again for his firestorm on the surface, driven back in equal measure by his contempt for the resurgent Slaaneshi and the ferocity of the newly realized daemons and cenobites followed.

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Though the near obliteration of Isha's remaining cult did next to nothing to impede Slaanesh's arrival in the universe, it left few but Demthring alive in her service. Arrotyr's hot iron sank deep into Shaa-Dome, and though it was meant to wipe Isha from existence it came just as she would have been made sport of by Slaanesh. As the Marshal and Taskmaster fought their first gory, maniacal war together Slaanesh had eyes for none but Khorne, and when the smoldering ruins of Isha's shrines were again made a boudoir for occult debauchees the mother goddess's witches were nowhere to be found. 

Nimina says it was in this time that Isha manifested before her, wearing the modified and sculpted body of the dying high priestess, and that she nursed the wounded, dying goddess as she hid in that form. They were attended to by Nimina's brood, and dwelt in the ruins of the shrine even as it was brought low by the war of the fall and turned to a charnel pit of discarded flesh and rubbish in the years of Slaanesh's endless victory celebration. Demthring and the high priestess remained in this state of foul hospice until the latter woman expired of her wounds, and of her company. Likewise, there in Slaanesh's midden mother Isha remained until father Nurgle extracted her, or so the High Conservator tells it. She says Nurgle's visits were frequent, doting upon them, adorning the embodied goddess and her with his gifts upon flesh and unclosing wound, until at last he drew up his courage and ferried them away to his estate. Demthring in that time had gathered what little was left of the coven, and by the providence of her loving care for the all-mother her brood came to dominate that near-dead order. Her foul children were the first conservators beneath her in this new cult, and no survivor of Arrontyr's purge had the will or means to contest her. They went with Isha into the realm of Nurgle, and took with them every relic, corpse, and scrap of holy writ.

None were so bold to challenge Nurgle himself when the interlopers dared enter his vast mansion. Few were said to have glimpsed him, down the hazy length of an infinite hall, but those unlucky few were not among the raid's survivors. When a Warmaster, armor long ruined and body wreathed in a mandorla of golden flame, came seeking Isha she quailed and cowered in the chambers her host had quartered her in. The Steward of the Golden Throne, after searching the infinity of that foul house, came upon her in a chamber of fetid paradise. Isha dwelled in a jungle of long abandoned refuse cobbled into a parody of life, and pressing on through trees draped with rotting silk and boughs heavy with slops of fruit the Steward found her, surrounded by all manner of unlife and undeath, not least of which were the Attendants. When first he saw her, Isha was still bedecked in the finery of Nurgle's wife, the body of the high priestess he had so adorned for her. She was bloated and emaciated, gaunt, pallid, gangrenous, and swollen, eyes bloodshot and full of cataracts, flesh pimpled, blistered, and ulcerated, and the carcass she was given was splayed upon a hill of stones alike to coins of dirty ice. She coughed and shook, half buried in the mound, and around her shuddering form the Steward saw the figures of the Conservators. 

Nimina knew this interloper not to be hated Arrontyr, but had really no desire to reveal this to her goddess. She hailed Oscar as if she were the matron of Isha's cult of old, and entreated his congress with her own 'divinity', that he might be among the flock of the All-mother through herself. That the Steward came forewarned by Eldrad as to the situation of captivity in which Isha was held was good, but wholly unnecessary. Demthring was yet a vision of the Matron's beauty, as she understood it, and made great and excited offer of the eternity of wriggling, slick comfort in which Oscar would henceforth abide beside her.

They vied against each other, briefly, and their exchange ended with the rotten body of the High Conservator strewn across the hill of embittered soulstones. The Warmaster took waifish, crone Isha in his arms and fled, and as she left the mansion of Nurgle the goddess seemed to die again. The long deceased form of the high priestess was shed on the threshold of the gate from which they emerged and for a moment, just as long as the rift persisted, Isha stood in glory in the materium before the seers of Eldrad and the assembled warriors. The door shut, the Matron Goddess collapsed into the body of the seer Macha, and the deed was complete. 

The High Conservator was not long dead, and easily reassembled. Nimina hates Oscar, more even than she hates Arrotyr or the Taskmaster. Maybe as much as she hates the Indigo Crow. She wants her sick waifu back so she can go back to nursing her precious baby. She absolutely hates leaving the Mansion of Nurgle, which she views as a perfect paradise, but she is also a weird sort of Isha evangelist. She essentially tries to rally the vat/murder-orgy born rabble to fight her infinite crusades to 'rescue' Isha, and preaches Nurglite doctrine in the name of Isha and calls it chaos undivided. Nimina isn't especially perceptive, adventurous, or deadly relative to the other three or Malys, or Vect, but she's single minded and really persistent, and had been constantly ready for action since the raid. Malys might need to convince or coerce the other faction leaders to fight in a black crusade, Nimina she needs to keep from pouring resources into non-productive sinkholes.

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