Festerruman Sachiel
The Warmaster
Festerruman Sachiel
The High Prophet of the Pact of Apophis, Supreme Commander of the Pact, Warmaster of the Pandemonium Tribes, Master of the Sons of Sachiel, Lord General of the Wild Hunt.
| Age | Unknown |
| Species | Unknown |
| Gender | Male |
| Height | 300 CM |
| Weight | 300 Kg |
| Force Sensitive | Force-Dead |
ABILITIES
Sachiel possesses formidable combat capabilities as a result of over a hundred years of battle experience and what he claims to be Apophis blessing. Despite his brutish weapons, he is deceptively fast and able to become seemingly a blur in melee. His strength is so great that with a single great blow, he can send half a dozen men flying into the air with every single bone in their body shattered.
EQUIPMENT
-LG-5 laser gauntlet
-RSKF-44 heavy blaster
-Sacred Power War-Mace
-Arkanian energy shield
HISTORY
[Note: This sheet is going through some reworks. Any association with 40ks Chaos is no longer intended.)
Not much is known about the early life of Festerruman Sachiel during his time in the world of Pandemonium. Pandemonium was a world that had been largely forgotten about my the Galaxy at large, cut off for nearly eight hundred years by Hyperspace Storms that had prevented travel to the planet. It was once the center of a multi-systems empire whose name and true spread have long been lost to history. It had been a hungry world, farmland having long run out by encroaching cities or killed off by the toxic smog of industry, demanding goods to feed its massive population lest mass starvation occurs.
As a result of the sudden and unexpected severing from all of the surrounding worlds, Pandemonium fell into chaos the moment the supply ships stopped coming in. A once vibrant and technologically advanced society turned on each other as resources began to run dry. First panic and general disorder gripped the population then food then riots, resource hoarding, and finally complete anarchy. The planet-wide unified government shattered into tribalistic factions that battled each other over what little was left. Wars raged and resulted in the massive use of biological, chemical, and thermonuclear weapons of mass destruction that killed billions and forever scarred the sacred landscape of the proud world. Gone were the massive cities that covered sub-continents, left only moldering ruins, testaments to how great Pandemonium had once been. Gone were the massive seas, most dried up by the starving population or so forever radiated that all life had died. Gone was the memory of their Empire, forever.
They had turned their entire world into a post-apocalyptic wasteland, a living hell for all still left alive. The only fortunate ones were the dead.
After the initial resource wars had ended after four hundred years of constant war, fought by descendants that could barely comprehend why they were fighting it in the first place, the planet fell into relative peace. Not because everyone had come to their senses and decided that the entire thing was pointless, but rather because the factions left simply did not have the strength to wage large-scale wars. A population that had once been in the tens of billions had been reduced to only a few hundred million, forever wandering the desolate waste of Pandemonium.
Wars still raged across the planet, lead by nomadic feudal tribes that wandered the irradiated wastelands. Petty empires rose and disintegrated; tribes formed, were destroyed and re-formed as diminishing, brutalized shadows of lost glories and forgotten triumphs.
At the time, it was noted that a cult was rapidly gripping the world. A world so seemingly eternity-wracked by war and conflict that a wave of nihilism swept many of its inhabitants. Such feelings manifested in the belief that there had to be a reason for all this chaos. That there was a being of supreme anarchy whose sole purpose what to reshape the world into utter chaos. They called this deity, Apophis.
About 800 years after the loss of contact with the rest of the Galaxy, the first records of Festerruman Sachiel would emerge in the nation-tribe Hagia. He was an extremely difficult birth, his mother dying in the process from the excruciating pain. She had been forced to deliver him in a filthy stable next to animals for the simple reason that she was a virgin. She had been completely isolated from men her entire life, being the daughter of a powerful City King. When it'd been found out, her father had thrown her out and told her never to come back, her child would never be his heir.
He was foolish for he did not know the truth, for Anarchy had chosen her to bear his incarnation to the mortal world.
As his mother, whose name he would never know, died with him in her arms. It is said that above the stable, on that cold night, rain that tasted of salt fell. The grief of Apophis.
Sachiel was taken in by one of the stable-hands called Josiah. So the boy was raised by until he was a young man, working as a shepherd driver on the very land he had been born on, unaware of his true destiny.
One day, as he led his flock to the far side of the wilderness in the mountains. There he witnessed a most curious sight, a dead bush claimed by a fierce flame that almost hurt to gaze directly upon. Sachiel saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up. He saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up. So Sachiel thought, “I will go over and see this strange sight, why the bush does not burn up?”
It came seemingly from the wind, a dry whisper that he had at first not paid any attention, for how could the wind speak.
“Sachiel!” He suddenly heard, he looked all around, yet he could not find the source of it. At first, he was terrified, had he gone mad, or had the spirits come to claim his soul? “Sachiel! Sachiel!”
And Sachiel said, quite despite himself, “Here I am.”
“Do not come any closer,” The voice said. Sachiel realized that it was coming from the burning bush, how could this be possible? “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is my holy ground.”
And so he did.
The bush spoke once more. “I am Cheaos, the true God of this universe. I am the God of your Father, the God of Ramiel, the God of Tabris, and the God of Lilin.” At this, Sachiel hid his face, because he was afraid to look at this terrible and awesome sight.
At this, Sachiel hid his face, because he was afraid to look at his God. He was crying, for he could not believe himself so blessed to be allowed to be in the presence of such a holy being.
“And I am your father.”
At this, Sachiel passed out. When he came to, he was still in front of the burning bush. He could not simply believe what had just been said. “I beg your mercy, Lord, but what did you just say?”
“I am your father, Sachiel. I chose your mother to give birth to you. But the cruelty and foolishness of her father, your grandfather, cast her out. Listen to me closely for your destiny awaits."
And so Sachiel did indeed listen and was preached upon the gospel of Anarchy by Khoas. The Galaxy had sinned greatly in the eight-hundred years that Pandemonium had been isolated and Apophis had decided that the slate must be wiped clean. To do so, Khoas needed to be brought into the physical space to enact his will. For this to happen he told Sachiel that he must enact as much chaos and anarchy upon the Galaxy's heathens that reality itself would open. Apophis would crawl through this tear and would bring about paradise to this mortal plain.
"You shall be my Prophet, my Son," the Bush declared, "Those who follow my word shall treat you as if you were me made flesh. For that is what you are. Now, go forth and spread my word!"
Sachiel went down from the mountains and preached the gospel to his family and village. His adopted father Josial disagreed and so Sachiel killed him. The people of his village listened and many did indeed convert. Those that did not, Sachiel had burned as heretics. Quickly his gospel spread beyond his village to the many settlements and soon Sachiel had created a formidable host indeed.
Where Sachiel differed from the other warlords and warbands was that he created an elite honor guard that while insane and fanatical to his God, was a refined, trained, and disciplined military host known as the Pact of Apophis. He had heard of the elite armies of the Galaxy and modeled the Pact after them. Instead of the traditional way of genociding a foe when conquered, he assimilated them into his tribe as long as they swore loyalty to him and his God.
He returned to the City King who had once been his father and slayed him too, absorbing the city-state into his ranks. The gutters were soon filled with the blood of unbelievers and infidels who had refused to convert.
When he sat on the throne that his father had once sat on, Sachiel received a vision from Apophis. Simply bringing chaos to Pandemonium was not enough. A single world was not enough to satiate His need. Like a plague, their reach must expand.
"Let the Galaxy burn." Sachiel declared before the raving hordes of his followers.
Over the next decades, apocalyptical wars of conquest erupted all over Pandemonium. None could stem the tide of Sachiel as he destroyed kingdom and tribe alike one by one. Near the end his enemies all united, putting aside centuries of hate, to unite against the Prophet but they stood no chance. Sachiel defeated them and crucified them in their millions for their heresy. But in the last moment before the final tribe fell, they unleashed a hidden arsenal of anti-matter bombs that irradiated the entire surface in order to spite Sachiel.
This would not stop Sachiel's great crusade. Vast entire subterranean cities were founded, tens of thousands of kilometers of bunkers and passageways dug, and a vast underworld of industry and manufacture geared specifically to the production of arms and equipment. Workers willingly worked themselves to death in the name of their prophet to create the weapons of war he needed. Great birthing factories were established to create the soldiers that the Warmaster would need.
After 50 years of preparation, Sachiel's tendrils have now begun to extend into the Galaxy. His agents spread his holy word and seek to spread discontent among his potential foes. Cults are established in secret, ready to explode forth to bring ruin to the worlds they have infiltrated. His Death Brigade has begun assaults on primitive worlds, slaughtering entire populations and taking their vital resources to feed the ever-hungry industry of Pandemonium.
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