I know not why others claim me mad

By onlywar

Tides of the Warp

I know not why others claim me mad. They mock me, chain me, but they have not seen what I have gazed upon. No, they live their blind days thinking they are safe from other prying mortal eyes. Only those who truly gaze beyond their sight know not what sleeps. I have, for it that lurks, dread watcher, gazer from the dreaming dark. They do not sleep, for they are not mere mortal spawn. The eyes, the eyes are always watching. For even those who walk the waking dream, and those who have looked upon that which cannot die were once just dreams. I was once one who dares not sleep for fear of dreaming, a sailor on a starlight sea of murky truths. I was navigator once, once a helmsman on a craft bound for stars and void borne flotsam yet uncharted. My craft set course for port and I came upon, whether in some dreaming truth or upon a firmer ground I know not, some festering abyssal realm where no light shone except the one. It was in these black and pestilent tides of the Empyrean that I first heard their call, the call of those who I shall not name, lest they waken from their dreaming. Though I know naught what foul abominations swam in the warp’s maddening tides, I hear their call. It speaks, it whispers, it watches. I can feel its viscous tendrils rip my mind. Lost I was, when they found me, gibbering and trembling upon a barren wreck adrift in empty void. Though they have chained me, walled me, they seek to end the dreaming. Yet I still hear the call, the call of the four that are one, Nurgle, it that devours, Tzeentch, it that lurks, Slaanesh , she who thirsts, and dread Khorne it that slays. They call me, beckon me, and command me even. They beckon me to leap into the impossible depths of the warp. Their call grows stronger now; the ancient dead have ceased their sleeping. Would that some in void or on blessed ground or holy Terra did hear my plea, but once the dread dream is cast aside there is nothing save the call of the dark gods. Everywhere I go the call has followed. I have found no peace within these metal walls, for even now I hear them crawling up the winding staircase of my mind. I go now to my doom willingly, for there is no respite even in death, for not even sleep can drown the call. To all who gaze beyond this dream know this: The eyes, the eyes they are everywhere. They watch our every move, and no noise can block their call. To those baleful gods, even death itself dances on their puppet strings

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Categories: Warhammer 40,000 Fiction