I looked into the eyes of God and asked him what beautiful meant. He showed me this...
Lonely name before the might of Sigmar. Lonely might before his as well. For the ringing of the angelic for the power of the god, the uniter of the man. All is lowly, all is not true to purest form to a formation of the righteous spirit without him. I am referenced as Daniel Allman: Destroyer of Men, Crusher of Hearts. For my whims of power can crush the mightiest beast of chaos. Lest my whim for the lust is still the equal. With my saber high, heads will naturally fall below. My hunt my destruction of chaos is the greater of me. Behold! Man stronger through faith and glory not tempt my sword either. My pilgrimage comes through the blood of my enemies. Man forming with chaos becomes a satin, a beast that the world of holy truth must cast aside through a stroke of justice. The world of the women, the endowed fleshly women of the land of the Empire, the holders of momentary pleasure shall know my greatness. Yet! There hearts are weak with sentiment, ignorant to the dangers of the world. They need not worry for I protect them from all beasts. Afoul with guilt, their heart yearns for more. But I must yield for them, chaos is not a sedentary machinations. It is a questing thieving batch of heathens set off to destroy all of civilization. Virgin Queens, I must be wary of you. I must leave this secluded island of lust to protect. Hordes of chaos beware, for the Empire, for Sigmar!
The future has been destined from the womb. Man and Women of power to unite to form a man worthy of the beauty and power of the nobles. My future is to destroy chaos. I’ve known this always. But! At the age of ten, the clouds parted in the sky. The sun beamed down with the rays of all that is true, all that is good. Sigmar showed his face. “Mighty child of mine, go out and learn to fight, learn to destroy, the hordes of chaos do not wait for the weak. Neither should man, make of yourself a warrior. Make of yourself a warrior capable of destroying the fiercest monsters. I grant you strength of thirty mean in the hands of one. Go out and maim.” And so destined, by the god Sigmar himself. I taught. I taught myself to be a warrior, through the guidance of priests, through he courage of Sigmar himself. I have already destroyed much of chaos, yet it grows. It is ever unstopping, ever haunting. The hands of men need to grow more numerous and with more strength. The future shows me more battles, more pain, more glory. My faith in hand, my sword, the smell of pitch. The black haze of the gunpowder fills the air, in a fugue my bravery lurches out. Through the chest of my set mortal enemy I grab his heart, my hand with the tint of ‘orken’ blood. He will feel the pain of my people. He now feels the wrath of Sigmar.
The noblest of the civilian pursuits. Perhaps not quite as useful as the metallurgists or the engineers of the black powder, but it holds a pursuit for which man can grow closer to Sigmar. Man can change the nature that the lord Sigmar made, the lord that came to earth and united all the men. One can change a charlatan’s metal, to the metal of gold. The metal which Sigmar himself loved. The beaming reflection holds a trace of the lord. It takes patience, it takes the power of an ever in conflict soul to control itself and make itself whole. The man of will musters strength to bring domicile way to a tumult of ordered wilderness. Through my magic I’ve become part of the golden order. With dwarven runesmiths minds unite for the power of savior. We must transmute the weak metals, the metals which as a sheath it would still not be as powerful. As a tool, the flesh would not break. We must harness the power for the noble cause, for the noble people of the Empire, but above all for Sigmar, the Heldenhammer.
I do as I may, because of Sigmar. My head is not on a stick with the hands of chaos groping, mangling, chewing at my flesh. My blood not spilled on their voluptuous lips with hate, my life-blood being sucked dry. Empire can do as it pleases for Sigmar. It is no longer slave to the whim of chaos. It shall not ***** itself any longer to a road of bloodshed. The clamor between men no longer occurs. Men united, not for their own virtues. But of strong vice being overcome by a powerful virtue, Sigmar himself. He is the Heldenhammer. He is the Slayer of Untold Evils. He is the cause for destiny bound by those who wage against death, against the sin of nature. With him, our powder will be true, our steel, sharp as the cry of a lady in the night, and our faith true, ringing proudly with the death of chaos.
