Tzeentch Aspiring Sorcerer Riding a Disc
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'Twas The Night Before Commissar
'Twas the night before Commissar, when all through the garrison,
Not a Guardsman was stirring, not even Sergeant Harrison;
The heretics were hung by the gantry with care,
In hopes that it would warn others elsewhere;
The conscripts were nestled all snug in their bunks,
While visions of autoguns danced in their heads;
And Kugelshrieber in his 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the field there arouse such a clatter,
I sprang from the bunk to see what was the matter.
Away to the Chimeras I flew like a flash,
Tore open the camo and threw up the hatch.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below,
But a miniature Warp portal and eight tiny nurglings,
With a little warped driver, so rotten and sick,
I knew in a moment it must be Lord Morlick.
More rapid than screamers his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Gasher! now, Slasher! now, Sour Weeper and Bleeder!
On, Vomit! on Lurid! on, Dander and Ripgore!
To the top of the bunker! to the top of the wall!
Now gash away! slash away! smash away all!
As battered ships that before the wild Warp Storm fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up the wall top the daemons they flew,
With a sleigh full of 'gifts', and Lord Morlick too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and clawing of each little pseudopod.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the waste disposal chute, Lord Morlick came with a bound.
He was dressed all in human skin, from head to his foot,
And his skins were all tarnished with pus and gore;
A bundle of 'gifts' he had flung from his back,
And he looked like a surgeon just opening his patron
His eyes--how they wept! his pimples how scary!
His cheeks were like noses, his nose like an overripe cherry!
His fat little mouth was drown up in a leer,
His fat fingers reaching for a cleaver told me I had much to fear;
The stump of a leg he held tight in his rotted teeth,
And the gore encircled his mouth like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a corpulent belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowelful of corpse-jelly.
He was obese and lumpy, the unholy old wretch,
And I cried out when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of my eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know he had much to dread;
He spoke not a word, only a gurgle,
Likely being a prayer for aid from Lord Nurgle.
And lying a bolter to the side of his head,
And giving a tug on the trigger, his blood soon ran like a river,
Splattering the room with organs important, such as his liver.
The corpse sprang to the sleigh, to his team game a cry
And away they flew through the portal, as they began to die.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"DAMN YOU COMMISSAR STEVE, YOU'LL BE DEAD THE NEXT TIME YOU'RE IN MY SIGHT!"
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