I found myself in a jungle, racing through the foliage away from something that was howling and jeering with a voice that sounded like a dozen chorused voices sneering in discordant harmony. I had no idea what I was running from or where I was running to, just that I needed to get away from the thing behind me that was crooning cruel jokes in the woods behind me. As I ran, trying desperately to avoid tripping on an errant branch or stone, the thing behind me snickered with voices that were male and female, human and monstrous, all at the same time, without any real reason for that to be the case.
"Why are you running, Traveller? I have such sights to show you!" Snickered the Thing.
"Fuck off, you damn Pinhead wannabe!" I spat over my shoulder as I continued running.
"Fuck? Oh yes, I can fuck! Just slow down, and you'll see just how well I can do that!" Taunted the Thing.
"Hard pass!" I scowled, ducking under a tree branch.
"Oh, but you haven't even tried me yet! I guarantee you won't have felt anything like it before!" Called the Thing.
I didn't dignify that with a response, simply continuing to run as fast as I could on as zig-zagging a course as I could in an attempt to throw the Thing off my trail. It wasn't working, and I felt the fear boiling in the pit of my stomach as, somehow, I could tell that the Thing was gaining. It wouldn't be long now until it caught up, almost lazily. Frowning as I grit my teeth against the exhaustion mounting within my muscles, I realized that the Thing behind me could have caught up at any time, but was letting me run myself to the point of collapse for its own amusement. It was toying with me, drawing things out for the hell of it, and that knowledge stung more than the fatigue building up in my body ever could.
It was moments after I realized that, moments that felt like days, when suddenly, the foliage parted ahead of me, and I saw something that looked like it had come straight out of a pulp novel about lost worlds and hidden civilizations. A great stone courtyard with various pillars stretched out in front of me, and behind that was a Mesoamerican-style Pyramid. Frowning at that, but thinking that maybe I could hide inside the Pyramid somehow, I poured on what little extra speed I could in an attempt to outpace the Thing that had been toying with me thus far. As I did so, however, breaking out of the treeline and into the Courtyard of Pillars, there was a multi-voiced shriek of dismay from behind me, and suddenly I felt a presence in the back of my mind as the Thing that had been trailing me suddenly appeared right behind me.
It was horrific, with pincer-like claws for hands, needle-like teeth in its mouth, and pallid, alabaster skin that was so pale it verged on lavender. Glossy black eyes like a doll's eyes stared out of sockets just slightly too big for its head, while taloned, reptilian feet kicked off the ground as the Thing rushed for me, pincers outstretched for my neck. I'm not ashamed to say that the only thing that saved me from having my head snipped off right then and there was that my right leg finally gave out, causing me to stumble and sprawl out onto the flagstones of the Corridor. The Thing, somehow flying with no visible mechanism to do so, sailed through where I would have been had that not happened, and its pincers found only air. As it came down in front of me, however, I knew that I wasn't about to get lucky like that a second time.
"You've been decent Sport, Traveller, but this game ends here. You lose." Tittered the Thing.
As it raised its pincers high, ready to plunge them down and disembowel me, however, a sound like the droning croaking of a frog filled the air suddenly. That forced the Thing to shriek out in anger and turn around. Something was clearly approaching from the direction of the Pyramid, though I couldn't see who, or rather, what it could be. Whatever it was, though, it was clearly no friend of the Thing that had been chasing me. The Thing snarled through pallid lips and needle-like teeth at the approaching Something, brandishing its pincers menacingly as if to ward away a foe.
"Back away, Fool Slann-Thing! This One is Mine!" Spat the Thing.
"I shall not." Came the croaking reply.
"Your time is past, Fool! Should you not be cowering in that pocket realm you believe we do not know of instead of getting between me and my meal?" Questioned the Thing.
"My time may be past, my fellows having withdrawn, but this is still a Domain of My Power, and you will leave it or be forced to leave. Xlanax are not welcome here." Grunted the Something that had just arrived.
"You are willing to risk your very soul for this one traveller? What use could he possibly have to you?" Queried the Thing.
"That is not for a Xlanax to know. Will you leave, or will I have to make you leave?" Asked the Something that had just arrived.
"If he is worth that much to Xholanka the Lost, then that must mean he was worth more than he appears. I will not leave." Answered the Thing.
"Very well. You have chosen this, and in so doing, only have yourself to blame." Warned the Something that had just arrived.
"You wish to fight? Very well, I haven't eaten Slann before. I wonder what your soul tastes like? Chicken, perhaps? I hear that frog legs taste similar." Scoffed the Thing.
It was then that I got a good look at the Mystery Being as the two entities prepared to fight each other for access to me. If the Thing looked like a woman stretched out and made grotesque in a way that vaguely hurt to look at, then the New Being was almost downright mundane by comparison. I suppose the Obese Toad-man on a floating slab of metal, bedecked in glowing trinkets, would be positively tame when compared to a Thing that seemed to be what happened if Clive Barker and HR Geiger had a lovechild that then got way too into taking psychedelic drugs and watching horror movies at the same time. As the Thing began to coil like some sort of biological spring to leap for the Toad-Man's bulbous throat with its pincers, the Toad-Man bellowed out a single croaked syllable in a language I didn't understand, combined with a blast of pure white light limned in gold.
The results were as spectacular as they were messy. The Thing that had been chasing me burst apart at the seams mid-leap, like it had been some kind of cloth doll that was now unraveling to reveal a mass of ichor and eldritch organs underneath the sackcloth. For a split second, I felt like I was going to throw up a bit as the Thing liquified, then the light burst once more, and the Thing unraveled and exploded all at once, leaving behind a greasy purplish-pink smear on the flagstones of the Courtyard, but otherwise leaving no trace of its existence that I could see. Of course, with the Thing gone, the Toad-Man turned its attention to me.
"Come, Traveller, we have much to discuss and little time to do it in. If that Xlanax could follow you here, then the Courtyard is not a good place for such a discussion." Commanded the Toad Man.
I could only nod dumbly, as the Toad-Man lifted itself aloft on the slab of metal once more, floating sedately toward the steps of the temple. Frowning, I had no choice but to follow. If this Toad-Man was powerful enough to do that to that Thing, then I stood no real chance against it by myself. As I followed the Toad-Man up the stone steps of the Aztec-Style Temple, however, my rational mind, driven to fear from being chased by that Thing, began to reassert itself with a vengeance and make sense of what had just happened. There was a floating Toad-Man on a slab in front of me, leading me to a Mesoamerican-Inspired Temple. Where had I seen that before? Not to put much stock in the words of a Thing that had just tried to kill me moments earlier, but I had heard the word Slann bandied about.
"Are you an Old One? Or a Slann?" I questioned.
"Those Terms used to be interchangeable. Now, what Slann are left alive in the Wider Galaxy are too degenerated to do more than sully the name of our shared species. As for the other term, there are those among the Younger Races who would call me that. By your reckoning, I am very old indeed." Responded the Toad-Man.
"Wait, if that's the case, then that means the Thing that was chasing me was a Daemonette of Slaanesh?" I queried, suddenly feeling the urge to panic rise in my gut once more.
"Calm yourself. They will not risk my ire by sending another to my place of power, and by the time we are finished, you will have some capacity of your own to resist such Xlanax." Interjected the Toad-Man, the Slann calming the fear psionically as it did so.
Soon enough, we had made it inside the temple. As we did so, a sort of force field snapped into place in the doorway, and I frowned at its presence. However, there wasn't really much I could do about it, even if I wanted to. I had no idea how something like that would even work, let alone know how to operate one. Turning back to the Slann, I watched it settle the slab of metal down onto a long reclining chair through sheer psychic ability. Then it regarded me with its bulbous gaze, looking straight into my soul as if searching for something. Eventually, the Slann must have found it, however, because it nodded once and began to speak again.
"You will do, Xho'za'khanx. You will have to." Intoned the Slann.
"Do for what?" I asked.
"I understand you are familiar with both this galaxy and with Chotec's little pet project, yes? If so, then you know what is coming and that it must be stopped." Began the Slann.
"If that Daemonette was here chasing me, I'm not sure it can still be stopped." I frowned.
I was, of course, thinking of the Birth of Slaanesh and the utter nonsense that had resulted from the last gasps of the Aeldari Empire going out in a blaze of murderfucking glory that literally spawned a fourth Chaos God. True, time in the Warp, which was where we had to be if this was a Slann's Personal Pocket Realm, was somewhat more wibbly-wobbly than in realspace, but I was getting the feeling that this wasn't one of those times where it mattered. The Slann spoke up before I could explain myself and confirmed that feeling.
"That was unfortunate, but it can still be corrected for, or at least mitigated successfully. If the terminal decline and stagnation of the Galaxy can be avoided, that is." Informed the Slann.
"You're talking about the Horus Heresy. You want me to stop the Horus Heresy? That's not going to happen. His Glorious Golden Bullshittedness doesn't brook rivals lightly, after all. That extends to criticism, even constructive criticism. His Ego can't handle it. Not since he cut out his humanity for his Great Crusade." I scoffed.
"Indeed. Hubris was ever the one known as Neoth's Flaw. Fatal as it will be, he will not heed advice from anyone on the matter." Agreed the Slann.
"So what do you want me to do here?" I questioned.
"I have in my possession tablets of ancient and mystical natures. Touching them with your bare hand will allow you to utilize their powers. They were relics of a time when even my people were young and in need of Gods to guide us. Before we grew into our own. There is much power in them, both mystical and martial. I will allow you to utilize them and even supercharge the powers you will gain from such things beyond what would ordinarily be the case. Not only that, but I will restructure your genetic code to be something more. Something Perpetual, while also using the magic of the Soul to graft you into a new identity in the Galaxy." Answered the Slann.
"All right, so you'll use Old One Biomancy and Soul-Sculpting to make me a Perpetual, one that has some level of history here. I got that much, but what exactly are these tablets, and what kind of powers do they hold?" I queried.
"The First is the Holy Periapt of Itzamchuq, the Celestial Bringer of Magic. The Second is the Mystic Tablet of Garqu'zlat, the Celestial Bringer of the Way of the Warrior. You will require both, in addition to the Perpetuality, to succeed, I think." Responded the Slann.
"That's what, the Celestial Grimoire and Celestial Dojo? I'm familiar with both of those, if so. Is that what you're talking about, though?" I asked.
"I am unfamiliar with those terms. Hold still, and we shall find out if my understanding and yours are aligned." Intoned the Slann.
Then, he reached out with a webbed hand, jangling aurumite and spirit stone bangles, shaking as he snapped out his hand faster than I could try to dodge, placing it on my forehead. For a moment, I considered trying to shrug off the clammy, toad-like appendage, but decided against it. Whatever was going to happen was clearly going to happen, and there was no getting around it. Then, the Slann croaked out a word in a language I didn't understand, and his hand glowed whitish gold at the same time as his eyes did likewise. I felt a sensation not unlike my mind being rummaged through for memories and concepts, not unlike how someone from back home would rummage through a kitchen drawer for spare batteries back in the day. It wasn't exactly a pleasant feeling, but it was bearable enough, thanks to the Slann's absolutely monstrous control over his powers.
After a moment, the light faded, and the Slann withdrew his hand, considering the possibilities. Then, coming to a decision, he nodded at me just like he had the first time he had considered me, before speaking once more.
"I have no idea how one such as yourself could come across this knowledge, save that it may yet prove there are paths connected to the Empyrian that are stranger than even we have seen so far. However, your information is accurate enough when stripped of all religious significance." Acknowledged the Slann.
"Right, but you just said that your people outgrew your gods, didn't you?" I questioned.
"That does not mean that we cannot acknowledge the place they once held in our society. I sense this is not a lesson that would be fruitful to delve into with you, however." Opined the Slann.
"I acknowledge the place Gods once held in my society well enough. As stories, if not as anything real or concrete. Storytelling is a fundamentally human endeavor, after all. Its part of what separates us from mere beasts." I countered.
"To be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape?" Queried the Slann.
"Yeah, Sir Terry Pratchett. I shouldn't be surprised you got more than just what you were looking for in your dig around my mind." I chuckled.
"It is not an entirely unwarranted sentiment. However, it is not one you will find Neoth shares. His society has no room for such spiritual talk, even in the abstract." Remarked the Slann.
"Which makes what happens to it all the more ironic. It'd almost be funny if it wasn't so sad." I smirked.
"Something you must struggle to prevent." Intoned the Slann.
"Right. So what happens now?" I asked.
"No, you will be placed in a state of suspended animation, and when you awaken, you will be back in the Material Realm in a place where you may yet do some good." Explained the Slann.
"Before you knock me out, can I at least get your name? I'd like to at least know the name of my Patron before I get sent to the Hellhole that is the Age of Strife. You can give me that, can't you?" I questioned.
"You have heard it before when the Xlanax attempted to distract me, yes? Why do you require me to tell you?" Queried the Slann.
"Humor me. I am about to try and fix the terminal mess the Galaxy is in before it gets too bad, after all." I pressed.
"I am Xholanka, Known to Some as the Lost. First and Last of the Old Ones." Intoned the Slann, Xholanka.
"First and last?" I asked.
"Time travel is not easily grasped by Warmblood Minds. It is the easiest way to word it." Offered Xholanka.
"Well, then. I guess that's all there is to say, then, huh?" I questioned.
"Indeed. Are you prepared for the procedure?" Queried Xholanka.
"Hit me." I nodded.
"Very well. Hold still." Ordered Xholanka.
Then, he once more snaked out a webbed hand faster than I could react to and placed it on my forehead. As he did so, a nearby stone table ground open, unfolding to reveal a storage compartment where two Aurumite Tablets carved with eldritch glyphs were telekinetically levitated out of the table and gathered up into Xholanka's other arm. With a mighty croak and flash of white light limned in gold, Xholanka then channeled power into both the tablets and me. I felt a strange sensation of heaviness as the white and gold light surged out of Xholanka, through the Tablets, and into me.
Then my entire field of vision whited out, and I knew no more. . .
XXXX
Meanwhile, in a far less safe corner of the Warp, Tzeench, Chaos God of Change, among other things, was paying very close attention to several extremely important things at once, its mind running dozens of parallel trains of thought at a time, all as background processes while it tweaked the nose of its Newest Sibling about the permanent loss of one if their Daemons. True, the loss of something as lowly as a Daemonette would not hinder Tzeench's Brother-Sister too much, especially as the soul fragment was clearly too stupid to avoid blundering into one of the few spaces in the Warp that no Daemon should enter alone. At least not one of that level of power. It was just so fun to point that out to Slaanesh, though.
Unfortunately for Tzeench, such little joys seldom lasted very long. That was the thing about Slaanesh's portfolio as Prince of Pleasure. They could get off on anything, and by their standards, humiliation was relatively tame as far as kinks went. Almost as swiftly as the teasing began, it started to lose potency, leaving Tzeench annoyed at its sibling's seeming enjoyment of their own humiliation. That was when one of the Parallel Streams of Consciousness that Tzeench had running in the background, the one it had dedicated to watching for signs that those Has-Been Toads were acting up again, which had coincidentally been how it had found out about the final death of one of Slaanesh's Daemonettes, let Tzeench know that something was happening again over there.
Pausing the teasing for a moment, Tzeench focused its attention on that train of thought and noted, with some glee, that the Old Toad had sent an actual champion through the Warp, the modified soul of the Prey that Slaanesh's Daemonette had chased into the Old Toad's Realm, to boot. That was interesting enough, but it also presented Tzeench with an opportunity. Currently, the soul was headed for Thramas, a relatively well-defended and wealthy world in the Eastern Fringes of the Milky Way Galaxy. However, Tzeench could knock the soul off course. It wouldn't even take that much effort to stir up an Empyrial Wind to send the Soul elsewhere. Tzeench knew just the place for it, too.
The Grand-Heirarch of Heraldor and his subordinate Hierarchs were known to be slavers, after all. So were their allies in the Clan Lords of Memlock. Both raided the less well-defended worlds in their vicinity regularly, and it wouldn't take much for Tzeench to send the soul to intersect one of their slave ships. That would be perfect, as it would at the very least delay whatever plot the Old Toad was cooking up a bit, while also letting Tzeench further humiliate Slaanesh over fixing their mess that had gotten one of their Daemonettes killed. With a thought and an effort of divine will, Tzeench did just that, then turned to draw its Brother-Sister's attention to the change.
When the Old Toad's new Champion incarnated in the Mortal Realm, the Mortal would find himself aboard a Memlock Slave Cruiser, about to be sold off to a Gladiatorial Arena on some backwater world that wasn't one of the three primary power bases that he could have been primed to take over otherwise. That ought to do the trick. Sometimes, Tzeench's brilliance astounded even itself.
As the Old Toad's Champion began to incarnate on the Memlock Slave Cruiser, just as it was docking at the World of Sheol to sell its latest cargo, Tzeench drew Slaanesh's attention to what it had just done. Tzeench's sibling took one look at the location, then scowled at Tzeench with both halves of their faces. And with that, suddenly, the humiliation of its Brother-sister was once again fun for Tzeench.
Just as planned. . .
XXXX
I woke to a blinding light and a pounding headache as I felt both consciousness and gravity take hold of my body and mind. Blinking groggily, I found myself chained to a wall on some kind of prison barge. Looking down at my body revealed a tattered and soiled uniform of unknown design and colors. Something in the back of my mind told me it was the uniform of a Lieutenant of Hasdrubal's Hammerers, a Battalion-sized Mercenary unit from Qetesh, led by Captain-Commander Hasdrubal Aetius. Frowning and delving further into those memories brought up exactly what was going on and what had happened.
Apparently, Hasdrubal's Hammerers had been contracted to help defend the Quarry Cities of Tsagualsa from an incoming Slave Raid from three of the larger Clan Lords of Memlock. I had been with the first Platoon, Second Company of Hasdrubal's Hammerers. Our platoon had been defending an outpost on one of the Cold and Dusty Plains that seemed to make up the Majority of Tsagualsa's surface. The Outpost, Red Garden, was one of the outlying hydroponic farm outposts that sent food to the Quarry Cities, and as such was a vital strategic target. When the slavers hit the outpost, however, my Platoon was outmanned and outgunned by five to one. That was the kind of number of troops you could fit on a Cruiser in this Galaxy, after all. They were absurdly large, even the Pirate ones.
We'd fought well enough, trading two-to-one in casualties killed or wounded, but it hadn't been enough. There were just too damn many of the Pirates, and the casualty rates were sustainable for them. They weren't for us. When it came to the Clan Lords of Memlock and Slave Raids, the fewer survivors the better. At least as far as the Captains were concerned. After all, fewer surviving pirates meant bigger shares for everyone else. Just so long as you didn't kill so many of them that continuing would be uneconomical, they would just keep coming. Eventually, we'd been overwhelmed, and the outpost had been captured, with me and what remained of my platoon along with them.
Not that I was able to tell how many of us had survived to be captured, mind you. Standard Procedure for the Slavers in this sector was to split up any captive military personnel into different holding bays so they couldn't get the chance to try and plan a breakout and mutiny to take over the ship. I hadn't seen any of my surviving troopers since being shoved aboard this hulk and chained up. No, instead, they'd put me next to a group of mixed technicians and nurses, most of whom were older. Putting me with people who couldn't fight, and thus couldn't be mobilized to successfully capture the ship, was more standard procedure when it came to captured officers. It was proof that these particular Slaver Scum had been at this for long enough to get good at it.
Then, suddenly, I was jolted out of my thoughts by the light intensifying, followed by the sound of footsteps echoing along the raised catwalk in the middle of the holding bay. Two men in flashy robes of ballistic cloth and carapace armor walked down the catwalk. They were followed by a third man with a somewhat scruffier appearance in plainer robes who had an augmetic eye implanted in his face. All three were conversing amongst themselves about the current crop, like we weren't people but commodities to be tallied on the end of a balance sheet. What else could you expect from this crapfest of a universe, though? Slavery was just part and parcel of the Grimdark. That wasn't going to stop me from slitting all three of their throats if I got the chance. The Galaxy would be better off for it, after all.
The First of the three was clearly the Bastard in Charge of the Slave Cruiser I'd been taken aboard after being captured at Tsagualsa. Captain Agron Jurgurtha of the Memlock Slave Cruiser Plunderer was a square-jawed, dark-skinned Bastard whose good looks belied a number of augmetic treatments he'd taken to get scars cleaned up and himself looking constantly youthful. All paid for by money from the slave trade, naturally. In reality, he was as cold a bastard as they came. We'd had briefings on all the major players in the oncoming Slaver Fleet before the Battles had kicked off on Tsagualsa. I knew what was in his jacket, and it wasn't pretty.
The Second one, I didn't know, though. Clearly, he was some sort of nobleman from Sheol, judging by the expensive robes and armor, but I didn't recognize the colors he was wearing. Red, Blue, and Gold weren't any of the Oligarch Families of Sheol that were rich enough to afford a Battalion-sized Company of Mercenaries unless something had changed since we'd disembarked on Tsagualsa. That was always a possibility, given how damn slow and unreliable Warp Travel was, even in the best of times. Right now, the echoes of Slaanesh's Birth were only just fading. I'd be more surprised if I hadn't missed out on some big development in Sheol's Socio-Economic Makeup.
The last one, I also didn't know, but from the fact that his more robes were in the same colors as the Local Nobleman, and the way he deferred to the Local Nobleman, I would say he was a seneschal or bureaucrat of some sort in the service of said Local Nobleman. Decently high ranking on the internal flowchart of hierarchies, too, if the Nobles had invested enough in him to get him augmented like that. Probably the Local Noble's Castellan or something similar, if I had to guess. A servant, but a well-treated and well-compensated one. It wouldn't stop me from slitting his throat if I had to, of course. Servant or not.
"Is this the one?" Questioned the Local Nobleman.
"This is him. It took the better part of two squads of my troops to subdue him before the end. The Bastard managed to take out sixteen of my men single-handedly during the fighting for the Command Post he had set up." Informed Agron Jugurtha.
"What do you think, Zephon? The Gladiatorial Pit?" Queried the Local Nobleman.
"If Captain Agron is telling the truth, he could become your new champion, My Lord." Affirmed the Castellan, Zephon.
"You, Slave. What is your name?" Asked the Local Nobleman.
"I am Hannibal Agricola, Lieutenant, First Platoon, Second Company of Hasdrubal's Hammerers." I answered, glaring up at the Nobleman, defiantly.
"He has fire in him. That will take him far in the pits, if he survives." Smirked Agron Jugurtha.
"If he is as deadly as you claim, that should be no issue." Retorted the Local Noble.
"Listen here and listen well, Slave. You are no longer that man. From now until you have paid for your freedom in blood and gold, you are Hannibal the Gladiator, Bonded Slave to Lord Balthazar Antipatros, Head of the Antipatrid Dynasty of Zis." Spoke up Zephon.
"Or until I break my own chains." I scowled.
"We'll see. For now, though, I tire of his fire. Hit him and bag him up." Commanded the Local Noble, Balthazar Antipatros.
Then, Agron Jugurtha nodded once and pressed a button. Suddenly, I felt a white-hot burning sensation at the base of my neck as something in the collar they had chained me up with fired into my spine. With a choking gasp, I gagged back a cry of pain, only for Agron Jugurtha to press the button again, frowning. This time, I couldn't keep the cry of pain in, and I let out a bellow as the searing arcs of lightning burned into me. Agron Jurgurtha slammed his hand on the button one last time, before the pain became too much, and I slumped to the floor, vision going white. The last image I saw before I passed out was Agron Jugurtha sneering down at me.
As I slipped into unconsciousness, I vowed then and there that I would see he would get what was coming to him if it was the last thing I did. . .
XXXX
AN: All right, so here we have the prologue for the Warhammer Story I promised you guys. As you can clearly see, he's got a lot to deal with to get to where he needs to be in order to provide a viable counterweight to the Emperor, all thanks to a certain Indecisive Mollusc in the Warp wanting to tweak his new Brother-Sister's nose about losing a Daemonette to a blunder in divine combat that shouldn't have happened. Meanwhile, Hannibal Agricola is going to need to break out of the Slave Pits of Sheol and take over the frontier world from the bottom up if he wants to do what Xholanka wants him to do.
Speaking of Xholanka, he's a canon Old One, though he's from Warhammer Fantasy. Keep in mind, though, that this doesn't necessarily mean anything, given how the Warp touches a bunch of different dimensions. At the same time, the canon about Xholanka is that he sent himself back to the beginning of time to escape the War in Heaven, which means that the connection could be as tenuous as anything else involving the warp, and then you add time travel on top. Don't expect any other Warhammer Fantasy Stuff to show up. At least not often, anyway.
At any rate, the next chapter will involve Hannibal waking up in the Gladiatorial Barracks of the Antipatrid Dynasty and getting his bearings, then we'll have a chapter with his first day of Gladiator Training. I'll also have a few images and a character sheet out before then as well.
Stay tuned