The Covenant of the Pestilent Sickle

A short introduction:

As some may already know, I recently started the progress on my Dark Eldar/Eldar army in an attempt to reach the following list:
http://www.thedarkcity.net/t8289-1750-eldar-cult-of-nurgle

As is mentioned in the thread regarding this list, I have chosen a rather unique theme for my army. One centered around the worship of Nurgle. I explained this in the thread with the following reasoning:

Randozart wrote:

During the fall of the Eldar, Isha was claimed by Nurgle as his little "plaything" of sorts.
I set out to expand on that idea and take the following ideas in mind:

-Eldar are a doomed race, "struggling" for survival.
-Eldar fear being consumed by Slaneesh.
-Eldar experience emotions like despair to a much greater degree.
-Nurgle and Khorne stand opposed to Tzeentch and Slaneesh.
-Nurgle's tenets are generally based around decay, the inevitable.
-Being allowed to the realm of Nurgle in the afterlife means reuniting with Isha... Possibly.
-Nurgle is the nicest and probably most accepting god to his followers out of all the Dark Gods.

Based on this the idea spawned to have an Eldar cult that believes that by following Nurgle, their bodies are kept immortal, but if they are to die their souls are "saved" by Nurgle, hence being allowed to reunite with their lost godess. Aside from that the cult has already accepted the fact their race is doomed, but instead of fighting this, they'd much rather spread the same despair and decay they are experiencing with anyone that has not embraced Nurgle's Rot yet. However, like most Eldar they do not believe in causing unneeded bloodshed amongst members of their own, unless required by Papa Nurgle. They may sound hypocritical in ways, but in my belief it makes them all the more interesting! ;D

This of course does not stand on it's own without proper elaboration, thus I shall make an attempt to clarify to you the intricate details regarding The Fleetworlds of the Pestilent Sickle

Background

The days of Fleet Captain Nyametus
The "Pestilent Sickle" finds it's origin with a Dark Eldar fleet headed by captain Nyametus Vicant. While not a particuliary ambitious captain, Nyametus' fleet had warriors from an assortment of backgrounds. It was therefore that his collection of vessels was often considered a "city" of it's own. However, due to the nature of the warp and the influence of She-Who-Thirsts upon those Eldar that dared show their faces in the open, Nyametus' fleet was bound to the city of Commoragh and the webway for the time his fleet was not raiding realspace.

It was known by several Kabals he had dealt with in the past that, while Nyametus was certainly not an ambitious captain, he was certainly cautious. The intricate organisation of his vessels allowed him access to a small yet productive Haemonculus coven. One that gave Nyametus access to enigmatic poisons only known to him and members of the coven. One such skilled poison crafters was a Haemonculus only known as "Felcadas" known to enjoy the feeling of poison gushing through his veins.

Since the bonds of trust and honor can be fickle ones, he often had potential "clients" drink a slowly acting poison that would settle itself unless a regular dose of antidote was taken. The only way to remove this intricate poison from one's body was to take a dosage of different antidote only known to the members of Nyametus' private coven. This would allow Nyametus a degree of control over his clients unlikely seen in other organisations. And by handing them small dosages of antidote for as long as they were needed, a bond of dependance would exist between both parties.

As a naturally charismatic leader, there were very few times he had to do things himself. His love of playing people's trust and mind made sure he wouldn't have to go out of his way to endanger himself as an already generally weak bodied figure. This was however also one of his greatest concerns. If his plans were to ever be foiled, however unlikely, he would have no chance of escaping the curse that was placed on every one of his kind: For his soul to end up fueling She-Who-Thirsts.

For days upon end after this realisation any access to Nyametus was blocked off, and even within his prized flagship his officers were unsure of his where-abouts. Nothing of this however was brought forward to the crew to bar any unneeded rumor and prevent potential mutiny. The commanding caste of Nyametus' fleet knew full well that without their captain's charismatic presence, the fleet would fall apart into an unruly mess. And with his brother Beluar Vicant still present nobody dared to speak a word.


The Great Conversion
A command was handed throughout the entire fleet for ALL it's members to gather for a grand meal on the flagship. It was told to all officers this command came from Nyametus himself, and any member to disobey was to be treated as having commited mutiny. It was for that reason that indeed, at the specified place and time all members gathered. For a long time indeed did they feast, but as it drew on Nyametus came stepping into the room. His skin was growing pale and his eyes blackened and his slow yet imposing pace caused everyone in the grand hall to stop eating and stare in complete silence.

His boots could be heard clacking against the floor and his composition had an eerie calmness to it. As he stepped towards his throne, the sense of otherworldy powers flowed from his body. He turned around and sat down assuring that he had everyone's attention. "Beluar, Felcadas, step forward." he said on a serious yet casual tone. As they did so, it was clear they too shared the deep void eyes and paling skin Nyametus showed. As they stood in front of him, Nyametus gestured them to step to his side after which he stood up himself and inspected the room.

"I have brought you all to feast for a reason. And no ordinary reason either. No, the purpose of this feast is to congratulate all of you." Nyametus spoke, a smirk appearing on his pale stature. The room appeared confused and a slight rumor started to occur. "I see... You are all ignorant of the changes that all of you are currently undergoing, but let me show you instead.". Nyametus flicked his fingers, and Felcadas stepped forward, lighting a large, green torch in front of Nyametus' throne. "This torch can mean either one of two things for every single one of us. The moment it runs out can either be the moment you have accepted true immortality, or the moment the... Powerful diseases running through your body at this moment will mean your... Early departure." Nyametus said smirkingly as the room grew upset.

"What is the meaning of this?!" one of Nyametus' officers yelled out. Nyametus stared at him coldly. "The fire has plenty of time left to burn, so I am indeed obliged to explain.". Nyametus looked over the room once more and took off his glove. "What you see in front of you is a body of pure perfection. What do I mean you may wonder? To our ancestors the Warp was an endless source of oppurtunity, a true bastion of potential. Shamefully... Most of us have forgotten after the awakening of She-Who-Thirsts." Nyametus orated as the eyes of the crowd grew more fearful. "I however have found our gateway to the truly fearless starfarers our race once was! The lord of decay has long stood against our hated enemy, the ruinous power..." Nyametus fell silent for a moment and smiled once more "Slaanesh."

The room grew restless and the fear that was contained previously now grew to angry screams and discontent voices. Some members of the crowd started running up to Nyametus but were swiftly taken down by Beluar's beastpack he had kept hidden behind the throne. "Silence!" Nyametus exclaimed. "NO longer do we have to state her name in fear my fellow Eldar. Nurgle, the Lord of Decay is willing to harbor your soul! We were a doomed race ever since the fall, so let us embrace the immortality he is offering us. My body is an example of his great deeds and he's willing to do the same for all of you... That is to those who accept the following proposal... Of course."

The room grew silent once again, the looks of the Dark Eldar in the room were divided between fear, enthrallment and anger. Nyametus looks descerning over the room, judging each Eldar individually. "Good, I see you have come to your senses... The bodies of your fallen comrades before me are an example of the fools who won't make it. But as of this moment a powerful disease that is slowly taking apart your body is gushing through your veins. Those who accept the gift Nurgle has granted you will become like me, an example of the true embodiment of immortality. Those who reject it... Well, they will serve the Lord of Decay in different ways I can tell you. Those willing to follow me even to the Garden, bow before me and you may be granted the Lord of Decay's blessing. Those who reject it, I fear your soul will forever belong to different powers. What say you sons and daughters of the Eldar! Will you celebrate your rebirth with me, or foolishly cast my invitation away to join Slaanesh?!"

Almost hypnotized by Nyametus' rhetoric, many stepped forward and bowed before Nyametus, their belief in his words taking a rapid impact upon their bodies. The conversion swayed more of the members in the room and as the flame grew smaller, and as Nyametus continued to present powerful rhetoric more became convinced of the words of their leader. Some however had run to the back of the room, attempting to force the door. But that too had been in vain, for the moments before the flame began to run out their movements grew slower, their skin started to slowly rip apart and within moments they lay on the floor in agony, giving their last dying breath. Now, the entirety of Nyametus' crew was bowing before him as the flame ran out. Nyametus stood satisfied "You may rise now, sons and daughters of the Lord of Decay. You have now entered a covenant that, if you are to ever break will end up like your fallen brothers and sisters behind you.". In response, many looked over, and all that was left of the few struggling members were groaning bodies, emptied of their soul and only animated by the pestilent essences that had filled their empty shells. Nyametus walked out of the back, Beluar and Felcadas loyally following him. "Officers, enter back upon your ships and remove our fleet from the webway this instant. We are no longer desired by our foolish kin who will eventually suffer their doomed fate." It was then moments later that the fleet of Nyametus headed out, never to be seen anywhere near Commoragh again.


The Rise of a Faction
The departure of Nyametus' fleet had not gone unnoticed, yet very little was done to bar his leave. Little did any of Commoragh's denizens know of the events that had occured on his flagship. It was soon after that his fleet was lost to the endless void of space. Nyametus however knew best of all that without a new "home", his unholy crusade was bound to fail. It was then after a long time of faring almost aimlessly, keeping his crew satisfied with the loot obtained from raids that plans were made to realise Nyametus' newfound vision. For too long he had contemplated the many options his immortality had opened up for him. But in order to regain the fervent loyalty of his crew, rhetoric alone would not suffice. And while on their course many were swayed by the newfound power that had obtained from the safeguard of their eternal souls, there were yet several amongst his fleet that had not fully accepted the fate their captain chosen for them, whispers of the unhonorable title "Brylidassian" mentioned throughout the many halls of the ship.

Time went by, and it became clear that loyalty to Nyametus' cause was not universal. Not by assassination attempts or rumors of mutiny. Those who had indeed not embraced their captain's vision soon succumbed to the destructive curse that Nurgle's disease had laid upon them. Thus, as time went by Nyametus' strong rhetoric and charismatic personality regained him the trust he required to move his fleet as one unified bastion. It was therefore soon after that the first concept of war was made avaliable for the officers to see. Universally their trust in Nyametus was now clear. Not only had the disloyal members been put forward as an example, Nyametus' covenant had strengthened the ranks of his crew.

In order to reinforce their ranks however they required members of their race who they too could show the glorious benefits their covenant had to offer. It was however for a long time that Nyametus had set course towards the minor craftworld of Dras Liran, a craftworld that skillfully managed to conceal itself from outward threats so that they would never have to desperately make use of what little Guardians they have. What was however not accounted for is that, while the distortion fields used to hide the craftworld would fool Mon'Keigh technology, an advanced Eldar fleet would have little issue locating it. This would hardly be an issue if it was indeed only trade Dras Liran did with other craftworlds. But a fleet set for conquest like Nyametus' was never concieved to happen.

It was then, as the fleet drew closer that a message was sent out towards Nyametus. "My sincere greetings to you kin from the Dark City. Our Farseer has been enlightened with your purposes and wishes to speak to you personally. Please approach unarmed and you shall find no resistance from our side." Nyametus smiled and responded "I see no reason to object the Farseer's hospitality. My fleet shall approach as normal and the Farseer can expect no hostility from our side." And indeed, Nyametus approached as normal, soon finding himself docking at the craftworld. His detachment of bodyguards, including himself were met by a large group of Guardians, keeping their weapons in front of them. From amongst the crowd came a well dressed Eldar approaching, bowing deeply as he introduced himself as Harasill. "Greetings oh great Ard-Iadanna, if you would please follow me to the Farseer." he stated humbly. Nyametus smiled at his remark, responding only with "If the Farseer so wishes, I shall abide."

The now well-sized detachment made way towards the grand hall where a female Farseer was indeed waiting, surrounded by half a dozen advisors, similiary dressed to Harasill and two other Farseers, one male and the other female. "Greetings, Nyametus Vicant, I have foreseen your arrival. The honor is mine, captain." the Farseer said bowing towards him. "I see you are aware of my name Farseer. The honor however is entirely on my side. But I assume I may be informed of your name, oh great diviner of what is to come?" Nyametus said, bowing in response. The Farseer raised herself back up and responded shortly. "Elohar." Nyametus raised himself aswell and spoke "It is then my pleasure to meet oh great Farseer Elohar. But, I was told you are aware of the purpose for my visit?".

"I am indeed afraid so Elohar responded with a sigh. "You have travelled the stars Nyametus Vicant, in a way many of us Eldar have thought impossible ever since the fall... But, I have to question your means oh great captain. Your skin has turned pale and blood drenched and your eyes as black as the void. Why is it you desire our craftworld?". Nyametus has a discerning look in his eyes, wary of any potential threats. "Our choices, Farseer, have led us to our home being nothing but a fickle memory none of us can return to. We have chosen for our race to ascend our limitations and feel what our kin of old was capable of experiencing: The freedom of the stars." Nyametus responds seriously, taking but a short moment of silence before continuing. "But as it stands the dream of the Eldar cannot be realised in it's current shape. We are indeed a doomed race at this moment, but our choice towards a way out has led us to be stigmatized by our former brothers and sisters.".

Elohar assumes a concerned look over the course of his story, her advisors potraying the same. She looks up at Nyametis and continues to ask "Then tell me, Nyametus Vicant, what is the choice you made?". Nyametus smiles in response "We have obtained true immortality, and ensured the safety of our eternal souls by engaging in a covenant that is assured to protect us from She-Who-Thirsts. We have been granted protection by the Lord of Decay and Overseer of pestilence. Our bodies have been granted freedom from our previous constraints by following the will of the merciful Nurgle.". Farseer Elohar stares at Nyametus in concern in disbelief, the other Eldar in the room giving a similiar response.

"I..." Elohar falls silent as she attempts to find words to speak with. "I... I... Cannot allow this. Know full well the consequences of your actions Nyametus Vicant, but we cannot come to a mutual agreement." she says, her eyes showing signs of fear still. "We don't have to, oh revered Farseer." Nyametus responds calmly "But I am not prepared to believe your people can endure a siege for long.". The confidence and disbelief in the eyes of the Eldar council make way for despair and fear. "Your options are limited Farseer." Nyametus states in a respectful manner "To shoot me on the spot would mean this hall's floor will be turned crimson by the blood of both your and my men. And to deny my offer would mean almost certain doom for your kin. I am however willing to listen to any proposition you have oh great Farseer. I am assured you can make the right decision for your people."

The Farseer stood for a moment, unmoved and unshaken. Her response was was short "I require time.". Almost immediatly the male Farseer standing next to her flew towards her and shoke her by her shoulders "Sister! You cannot mean... !". Elohar looked up at him and responded with a smile of hopelessness, tears running from her eyes "It's alright brother. We have no way to fight back. All we can do is come to accept the Lord of Decay. Any other fate would ensure our certain doom.". The male Farseer looked at her in disbelief and moved his gaze towards Nyametus, his eyes filling with certain rage. He stepped over to the source of his anger and spoke to him in utter dismay "What have you done Brylidassian?! You have made my sister who had welcomed you so kindly believe that worshipping the ruinous powers is our way out?! If it were not for my sworn loyalty to her cause I would kill you on the spot!". Nyametus looked at him unimpressed and responded calmly "She has made the decision in the best interest of her craftworld's survival. You may wish to thank her unless you wish to face the true meaning of 'despair'.".

The male Farseer, overtaken by his rage draws his blade, but before being able to inflict any harm is stopped by the female Farseer. "Stop it brother! Beyond the slash of that blade lies only death. Your demise would be certain. Do not let your actions be governed by rage! I too find it hard to believe, but sister knows what she's doing. Trust her, please!" she says, bursting into tears herself. The male farseer sheathes his blade and steps back with a muffled "Hmph!". Nyametus looks over at the Guardians behind him, making sure they too follow the will of their leader. "Very well, I must apologize for this sudden intrusion however. I find it only neccesary to share with you the freedom the Lord of Decay offers." Nyametus states empathically.

"I am not unreasonable however. I do wish to ask my ships to be docked at the craftworld and... Elohar. Concerning your role in this, a man cannot value something more than advice. I wish to ask you to join me as Queen of the Pestilent Sickle. So that our bond is ascertained." Elohar falls to her knees, bowing befire Nyametus. "If-... If I must." she responds broken. Nyametus holds out his hand towards her, picking her up and embracing her. "I welcome you to the promised fate of our kin, Elohar. May your people feel the freedom they shall be granted."

[RESERVED ASWELL]