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Argast Wyrdseeker     Tucked away in the mountains was an old world style warcamp. Senties devoted to Khorne patrolled, spinning their axes, hoping for a fight. The other followers of chaos had their own little tent cities, save for Argast. His tent was near an overlook of the area, so he might survey the land that was soon to be his. His tent was decorated in all that one would expect from a sorceror lord. Skulls, raven feathers and totems, all of which decidated to Tzeench. "Soon....I am sure our followers have convinced to local populace to our cause by now..."
Ixqor Nathrach From one strange place to the next. Though perhaps this would be a bit more welcoming to him. Only time would tell, as chaos loved to fight it self some days. And so he came, from a rift in the warp, torn into reality by his mere power as a sorcerer. Like a psychic bomb, he would be sensed from a mile away from moving so freely from the warp to real space. His rift was outside of the camp, down the path a ways, and not far from where guards and sentries could be watching. The setting felt calm at first, like he landed on another primeval world, untouched by the grossness of man, and it's follys. But no. He felt it in his being. Chaos had corrupted this land. He took a closer look at the grass and soil, and saw it was dying, quickly even before his eyes! He felt both happy, and warry. His armour was adorned in chaos symbols, but perhaps he could be seen as usurper rather than an ally. He moved from the underbrush to the open path, fully clad in his power armor, helmet and all, standing above any normal human like a pillar. Through the grill of his helm he inhailed, audibly. "The scent of woe, and the laughter of gods. I hear it now even. Where are you." He spoke aloud, to himself mostly.
Argast Wyrdseeker     One of the sentries spotted the arrival, and quickly told Argast. The old world sorceror arced an eyebrow under his armor, and rose up. "You are near a camp devoted to the undivided. But I wager from what I feel from you, that is nothing new. Be welcome, fellow sorceror." He says, giving a thud of his staff to emphasize the point.
Ixqor Nathrach Ixqor saw the servent run off to fetch their master, and followed them, only be to be greeted by their would be lord. A sorcerer no doubt, the markings gave it away, and his presence and energy certainly spoke of it to. Ixqor draws his blade once in view of the two, the blade taking on it's daemonic, serpentine form, one of pure warp energy. He holds it to the sky before holding it to his side briefly. The snake holds itself up, as though it too were introducing itself. "Greetings, fellow sorcerer of chaos. I am Alpharius. Sorcerer of no one god, but bound to a duty of my former, now deceased lord. This is the Daemon I wield, who's brothers and sisters I search for. It's name, Jomungandr." The snake, coyly, takes a bow alongside it's master before becoming the physichal blade once more, and being sheethed. "I had always wondered if CHaos had spread to any other realities. I am glad to see that it has, as youc ertainly don't seem to be from mine. It seems your kind is, lacking the technology."
Argast Wyrdseeker     Argast bows as well. "Well met, Alpharius. I am Argast Wyrdseeker, Sorceror of Tzeench. While I wield no deamon, I claim mastery of the Lore of Flame, Shadows, and to a lesser extent, metal." He then looks over Ixqors armor, and nods. "It would indeed seem you are from a time far distant then my own. The most we have are matchlock rifles and steamtanks from the loathesome empire of Sigmar. Blind fools...But come. Join me in my camp, walk among us as a welcome brother of chaos." He says, motioning. Ixqor would pick up on the fact that Argasts armor all but seemed alive, and coursed with chaotic energies.
Ixqor Nathrach Ixqor sheethed Jomungandr and began to follow after this new potential ally, Argast. He would have to remember this man, for he may become one of Ixqor's most powerful allies. As they reached the camp, Ixqor removed his helm. For a man so full of the stuff of chaos, he looked rather human, though his skin was deathly palid. He seemed to have mastered the warp energies that course through him in order to prevent mutation from occuring due to his rampant warp exposure. Otherwise his gear was most certainly from the future. He focused on Argasts armor, flesh metal it seemed, but not like that of a Slaaneshi Daemon Prince, or Chaos Lord. The cultists of the past seemed to take the 'armor yourself with chaos' statement the most literally it seemed, and he admired this devotion. He listened then, to Argasts words and pursed his lips. "Empire of Sigmar? Fools you say? They sound much like the Imperium my reality has come to fall under. But we chaos space marines, and the cults that ferment in the IMperiums festering wounds, fight back, day by day, until the rotting corpse of their false god falls from it's golden throne... Would your world lie in a similar state of nigh endless conflict?"
Argast Wyrdseeker     Argast angles his had at that, his helm remaining in place. "Strange....it does." He also notices the pale color of Ixqor's skin, smirking under that armored face. "You control the power of chaos well, Alpharius. From what I can feel, you should have a mutation. I would share my face, but my armor is permantently fused to my flesh. A gift from the gods. No longer do I require sustinance, or even sleep. A fitting boon for their chosen, wouldn't you agree?"
Ixqor Nathrach Ixqor chuckled and looked to his free hand, and gripped a fist. "Fitting indeed. Tireless are the God's most true, and worthy warriors. Where I 'politely decline' the gifts from our gods, it is with good reason. My armor. It is not made to function with such mutations, and, with some of them being very drastic, it would be very difficult to modify it. And believe me, this armor is more than simple protection. It grants me the strength of ten well built men and women! And it's systems even help treat my wounds as I fight. It is the epitome of being self sufficient, as far as man made gear can go. Now. Abot your realm... SImilar it is. Perhaps the God's chose it for that reason, no?" Ixqor mused at the idea, that perhaps the Gods knew the conflict would never end, and so decided to grace the realm with their presence. "How long has your war lasted?"
Argast Wyrdseeker     "Interesting. I would like to see your armor in action. Perhaps some of my chosen marauders could due with a set...if they prove worthy." He says, staring at one such warrior. He imagined that this warrior would soon gain a set for himself. "Our war...as far as I can remember. I was not born when the first 'Everchosen' lead our brothers and sisters south from the land of Norsca, but that was some time ago. From your question...I imagine that time is not an obsticle for you, yes?"
Ixqor Nathrach Ixqor looked to the aspirant marauder, sizing him up, but giving no jdgements of taunts. He simply turned back to Argast. "I am nearing my one hundredth and thirtyth year of life, and all but twelve of those years have been in service to my God's. There are many like me, brothers, real brothers, by blood and genes, who fight alongside, and against the Dark Gods. Many cling to the corpse emperor. A once powerful, godlike human, who fell, to the first Warmaster of CHaos. By your words, he would be our first Everchosen. Horus. The Warmaster of the CHaos Legions, who fought against his father, known only as 'The Emperor' ten thousand years ago. Ever since, my reality has been at war, against a once great, now corrupt, demegauge of an imperium, refusing to accept what true gods look like, and Chaos. I however, no longer fight in that exact war. AT least not all of the time. My destiny is better served searching for the blades that would match mine own, for they shall fulfill a great prophecy, that may spell the doom of many a false empire." Ixqor gripped the handle firmly, smiling. "It was my masters, my friends, who was betrayed, and felled by cowardly usupers. He left me the blade in his stead."
Argast Wyrdseeker     Argast leans forward, listening closely. He nodded and hmm'ed softly. "Our worlds are similar, yet different. The same story, almost word for word. Both of our Everchosen, or Warmasters, fighting against a fool who refuses to acknowledge true power. It seems their will that we meet. Perhaps with out combined power, both worlds shall see true enlightenment.." Then he looks again to the sword and nods. "You are blessed, doubly so. A deamon weapon, and a destiny to fulfill. I would be glad to help you divine the other blades locations. Perhaps in time, you will be able to help me with something as well...a similar quest."
Ixqor Nathrach "My life would be in your debt, could you assist me in finding these blades. They posses more power than any other daemon weapon. Perhaps, should you see me truly fight, without holding back, you may be able to witness Jomungandr's glory. But that will be for another day, certainly." Ixqor continues walking, looking about the encampment. "Though I may be viable to lead a cult, I have none to follow, and assist me, so you are most certainly a valuable ally of mine. But, the enemies who may face you will not be expecting someone with technology, or genetically engineered strength like mine. And, we are both powerful sorcerers of the Gods. Together we defiantely can accomplish much. I put myself in your service then for the moment. If you are to assist me, of course." Ixqor held out a free palm ho his left as he walked, and from nothingness, a scroll appeared from the warp, spat ot on command. "This will be more familiar to you though I'm sure. A scroll of summoning, bound to mine soul. Merely speak mine name and recite the incantation and I shall be called to your aid. If I am not in a battle for my own life of course, then I shall come to assist you."
Argast Wyrdseeker     Argast accepts, and carefully secures the scroll to his belt. He offers one, conjured from the same place for Ixqor. "Likewise, my friend. Call, and I shall bring the winds of magic upon your enemies. Together, Worlds shall quake and empire's fall." He says.