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Author Topic: What Black Templars are all about!  (Read 1138 times)

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Offline Doomhawk

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What Black Templars are all about!
« on: September 24, 2002, 09:23:39 PM »
And no, this is not a cheese rant or anything of the sort.
I am finding that more and more people are playing Templars for the rules alone, and completely neglecting the feel of their Knightly, honorable, chivalrous, righteous natures. The so-called "typical Templar army" contains the EC, a Chaplain, and six BP+CCW squads in Rhinos. Not only is this army boring to play with and against, it completely lacks the "feel" of what Templars should be like.
I understand that, although some play Templars simply because they want an advantage, many more try to stay true to the fluff, but are unsure of what that is. So, as an example, here is a story-poem, concerning the epic challenge between my Emperor's Champion and the Avatar.
Hope you enjoy it, Black Templar player or not...



Brother Naeron stood alone, and all around him, bodies lay,
Friend and foe, both caked in blood, sun sinking to the end of day.
Naeron was the last of all the Templars who were sent,
The Champion of his Emperor; his strength was almost spent.
Around him was a circle of the alien Eldar,
And towering in front of him, their mighty Avatar:
Sixteen feet tall, rune-sword in hand, with molten iron blood,
Its fury as an avalanche, its hatred as a flood,
Its breath was steam and smoke and flame, its eyes with anger lit,
Its body dripping in wet blood, its mouth a rasping slit.

Naeron, a warrior, clad in armor black as blackest night,
A mantle on his shoulders, shining alabaster white.
The warp-spawned daemon, living hatred given mortal form;
Khaela Mensha Khaine, the fearsome Eldar god of war.
On Naeron’s cloak, grime, dirt, dust, ash, so dark and black and thick;
He tightly gripped his sword-hilt, for the blood had made it slick.
If ever he was certain he must fight, then it was now:
He knew he had to fell this beast – but he was not sure how.

The Avatar stepped forward, with the Wailing Doom raised high,
Its eldritch runes flared brightly, set against the cloudy sky.
And then the blade came slicing down, with speed and skill and strength;
The first blow had at last been struck, the duel begun at length.
Naeron dodged the blow, rolling, with his feet tucked under,
He gazed upon the impact, it had torn the ground asunder.
But swallowing his fear, he hefted up his sword and stood.
Fighting with precaution here would do him little good.

He moved in to attack, but the daemon’s reach was far,
And long before he would have struck, it crippled his left arm.
The blow was such, the force of it had thrown him back eight feet;
If he was to defeat this thing, then things were looking bleak.
But once again he stood, his faith as sword and shield too,
His Emperor was with him, always had been, through and through.

And so he moved to charge once more, the Demon missed, a chance again,
The Black Sword lashed up, poised to strike the killing blow, but then,
The Avatar disemboweled him with a mighty tearing swing;
And Naeron knew, while he yet lived, he must do one last thing.
He sent a prayer to Him on Earth, to let him die with pride,
That he could do this final act, and then be satisfied.

 
The sword struck home, the daemon gasped, a barb into its heart,
It roared, then howled, and then it cried, and then froze with a start,
And toppled over, slamming to the earth with thunder’s crash,
Then Naeron took its head off with a double-handed slash.

The Eldar moved to back away, their caution born of fear,
For he had killed their god of war, and none would dare come near.
For a single endless moment, Naeron stood, his sword in hand,
A guardian angel, invincible, to watch over the land.
But deep within his stomach then, the pain began to well,
And smiling, sword still clutched, Brother Naeron swayed and fell.
What if the hokey pokey really IS what it's all about?


And then, the Emperor whispered his dying words into Rogal Dorn's ear: "Put me in a big golden chair and feed me souls!"

 


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