"Freyja! Cousin!" Grythan cried out as he ran towards his elder cousin with something wrapped in a cloth burlap, what ever laid beneath it hidden from his cousin's view. "I brought my art and surgiacal tools, like you asked!" The boy exclaimed excited to having his lesson tutoured by Frejya for once.
"Welcome, little Cousin!" Said Freyja.
She waited for her young protege with open arms, eager to help transform him into a waking nightmare. She would make him into a terror, another man-eating monster to loose against the Imperium like an arrow.
She never felt that way about it, about rearing little brothers, sisters, and cousins. In her mind, she was molding heroes, champions of the Gods who would bring bloody vengeance against their enemies.
Grythan was the first of many, a trade of youths between the Nooseman and the Minstrels. If they trained together, their fire-forged bonds would be near-unbreakable. The allaince between the two warbands would prosper on the backs of the generations to come. "You're my dear Cousin Matthew's kicthen boy, aren't you? Come, child, I have a lesson for you. Today we're going to do some meat carving."
Freyja motioned for the Neophyte to follow, leading him into a rather plain looking room within the Sanctum's high black walls. Within, fresh meat laid on a slab; the carcass of a filthy Loyalist lapdog cleaved in two. Bloody holes were ripped out of his chest and neck where his progenoids had been reclaimed.
"I believe you knew this man, didn't you?"
@cookingintheeye
Ah, good, now he was understanding.
That was exactly what the EBastess intended to do. She would, before slaying the Tamplars' prozed mortal entourage, kill what they treasured most; their hope, their faith in their false god.
"On me! And tell me you've something that makes fires."
She wouldn't just smash their idol; she was going to burn it. She'd relish the mortal cries of anguish as they beheld their precious Emperor go up in flames, but the fire would serve another purpose.
Hopefully it'd catch. Hopefully it'd spread.
The smoke of a forest fire would obscure them from the bolts and chainswords of their enemies. The ashes and flames themselves could be weaponized against their foes, and, should the Gods be on their side, perhaps a few of them would burn with their false idol.
The fire would draw them out like a hive of kicked bees, and when they came to find their charges, they've find them arrayed out in pieces as though they'd stumbled into a human abattoir.
"We burn it!"
“Incendiary grenades would cause panic and ignite the structure; could also make the sheep panic and panicked sheep tend to knock over lamps and oil. I say we throw a few inside, maybe even block the exits first to make sure none inside escape!”
Keeping up the pace, Grythan’s gloved hands played and fiddled with the grenade in anticipation of such violence. The seconds seemed to drag on as if they were hours as sweat began to bead at Grythan’s forehead, he just wanted to the violence to start, just the thought of having such easy prey was an absolute tease to the young marine.
“A burning should please the dark prince of excess! Can I? May I throw the first one dear cousin?”
A sick smile etched on his face, seeing such easy pickings was like ecstasy from Slaanesh’s tits themselves crying at Grythan to maim and burn such a boring structure.
"Be my guest!" The elder Astartes answered.
Good!
He was learning from his hunt. SHould the two of them survive this ordeal, than she was going to inform his warband that a warrior of his calibre needed armor immediately.
If they survived .
The risk of death at the hands of the Corpse Worshipers was very real. That was why they were doing this. Should they cause as much chaos as they could, the Templars would not expect it. After all, there was no good reason ( aside from sheer annoyance) to slaughter the mortals and burn down their fane. There was no good reason to set these woods ablaze. But such a display of carnage would please the Gods and ensure that the souls of the blasphemers would never move on. Freyja's own tooth grin was hidden behind the snarling daemon's face that was her helm, but it was there, fully displaying teeth filed down to predatory points. Every part of the Mistress of the Noosemen was a weapon, even her smile.
With a devilish smile and the click of a grenade unclipping from Grythan's belt the only sound that echoed out was the thudd of metal tumbling down a wooden void as Grythan lobbed it at an opening.
At first, there was deafening silence peppered with muttered confusion before a flash erupted from the shrine's opening, hot gases screaming out of any openings as the payload went off in the shrine's core.
Thick, heavy smoke bellowed from the ruined shrine much to Grythan's delight. A cackling laughter left his throat as he threw another one in for good measure, glancing back at his older cousin for the approval he so desperately desired.
"Glorious days! Can't you smell the hints of bubbling fat upon the smoke? Maybe I'll even get a few cadavers out of this mayhem!"
