Editing Nobledark Imperium Writing (section)

== Nails ==

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My eyes grow dim. My strength is spent. My rage is quenched. My blade is clean.

I was born in poverty, I think. Simple eyes of a child do not see clearly. Was it poverty? We weren’t unhappy. At lest I don’t think we were.

I can’t remember their faces any more. That’s a lie. I can remember their faces. I always will. Mother. Father. Sister. Brother. Grandmother. Uncle. We all lived together in one small home above the bakers shop. I think that’s what my parents were. Bakers. Not warlords. Not priests. Not great warriors or adepts or wizards. I wanted to be like them. I should have been like them.

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I don’t remember what happened to them. That’s a lie. I do. I do. Oh God I do. I don’t want to. If I do I am that screaming, weeping child again. No more. No more. Never again.

I was weak and tried to run. Better if I had run back into the burning home. Better to have ended there.

When the Warlord found me it was at the head of army like no other. All I had know of armies were cyber-flagellants and howling marauders spurned on by men with whips. But not these. They marched with eerie harmony and brought death with precision. No berserker charge, no frenzy, no bloodlust just the steady unstoppable wave pouring into Carthisisa.

I was a pit fighter. I murdered people for the entertainment of other people. They gave men the pick of the slave pens for my troubles. They expected me to indulge base urges. They wanted me to fall like them. Be a Not-Person. I picked for the sake of pity and charity of the most wretched and hopeless.

One of the giants came to my door and I stood before him, my adopted children behind me. I was big but he was a two head taller than me at the least and clad in armour like a tank. Expressionless eye lenses swept over me and mine and I prepared to sell myself dear. I don’t know how but I knew he met my eye through that helmet and he looked away and moved on.

Scholars like I am not sometimes say that history goes in circles. That things happen because they have happened. One tragedy only needing one just like it as cause for more. In that moment I felt the hateful wheel of fate wobble. I was still alive. My family were not enslaved, out masters were dead, we were free.

At the head of this army was the man who I would spend most of my life serving. I would give my life for the sake of my sons and daughters. I killed for him. I lead his soldiers. I became like the monsters he had set upon my masters. I gave my health and my sanity for him.

Why? Because he didn’t ask that I kneel. He demanded that I stand. That I never again bow my head to unworthy men.

I lived longer than I should have. Longer than I was expected. I watched my children grow up and become mothers and fathers and grandparents and eventually die. A few even managed to die peaceful. It seems a novel way to go. I will soon go that way, to no ones surprise more than my own. All bar one of my children are gone, one way or the other. I am told I have many descendants but I have not met them. They are distant to me but I wish them only goodness, to be and to have. Kharn is still with me. I remember when he was a snotty nosed child with scabby knees. He has grown and I am proud.

He is a new type of soldier for a new era. I am a relic of an old one.

I feel it now. I sit in my chair and I know that I have seen my last sun rise. My heart slows. My bones grow cold, but I feel warm. Though I am filled with darkness the light will lift me away.

I have regrets. I have lived too long not to. Few will mourn my passing.

I will not see the sunrise and that is good.

+++ Data-slate entry attributed to Angron the Red Angel, Primarch of the Warhounds +++

+++ Property of Carthissia National Museum of Posterity +++

[[Special:Contributions/204.210.204.209|204.210.204.209]] Those Nails you carried in your heart should never have been yours to carry. We will carry your name but those nails have been laid to rest [[Special:Contributions/204.210.204.209|204.210.204.209]]

> "Nails" Addendum made by unknown hand several years after acquisition of the Data-slate. Meaning has been of much speculation down the years but no conclusive answers of who or why has been gathered.

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