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Post by Ssilmath on Feb 12, 2014 15:12:55 GMT 10
“Inform Lord Rizos that the Snowbound starport is now fully secured,” Dantalion growled quietly, glancing at his dataslate for the hundredth time that day. The slave he had spoken to bowed and scurried away, eager to please his superhuman masters. The Astartes paid him no heed, turning instead to attend to yet another banal task. “Now, what of the harvesting delays? I was assured by Gresh that his technosorcery would accelerate the growth rates.”
“Ah…Well, it appears that he may have been mistaken, my lord.” The human who answered was a favored servant, bearing the crimson robes of a priest. Why this warband put their religious leaders in charge of civil matters was a mystery to Dantalion, but their particular brand of worship held secrets that he needed. And so here he stood, a Sorcerer capable of pulling a fortress apart with only the force of his will, listening to an incompetent mortal explain the particulars of an insignificant harvest to him.
“That will not please Gresh, not in the least,” Dantalion muttered as the human droned on. He was not even sure what the mortal was named, nor what his position or title might be. All that mattered was that the timetable for harvesting this mudball of a planet was going to be pushed back another two months. Two more months of mindless work, far below his status as a superhuman lord of war. Yet he had sworn his service to the Dark Apostle Agaros, and Agaros had tasked him with assisting Lord Rizos in administering Acreage. The fact that it involved pointless, worthless work did not absolve him of his oath.
“See to it that progress is monitored, and report any deviation from current projections,” he cut in, silencing the mortal’s words. Without allowing any response, he turned and left the briefing chamber. The harvest report was the final task he had requested an update on, and so he left it to the humans to sort out their own tasks. All were religious figureheads, tasked with both the conversion of the populace to the Eightfold Path, and the conversion of the planets resources into a form more useful for war.
The Sorcerer walked across the courtyard and onto the battlements of the curtain wall that surrounded Ceres, the sole hive city and capital of Acreage. The city had put up a determined defense when the Blood Dogs had first arrived, the wall and its many void shield generators proving to be stronger than any artillery the warband had brought with them. Then Lord Rizos had called upon the Sorcerer, asking him to prove that his title was earned and not idle boasting. And so, Dantalion the Walbreaker had crafted a terrible sorcery and rent the walls with a word.
Even now, a year later, the slaves worked night and day to repair the massive hole that had been torn beside the gatehouse. The garrison inside had died swiftly or surrendered, and the sacrificial pyres had burned for weeks after the victory. The more religiously inclined warbands always wasted far too many lives making offerings to the Dark Gods, and the Blood Dogs had once been a part of the Word Bearers though they had long splintered away. Despite that, they had kept the religious fervor and unblinking fanaticism that had defined their predecessors.
“Two decades of servitude. Their rituals and daemonic pacts had better be worth the price,” the Sorcerer muttered, gripping the battlements tightly. “An oath is worthless if the promised reward does not match it.”
“An oath given seeking a reward is an oath ready to be broken,” came the reply. Another Astartes had joined Dantalion, his bone white armor etched head to toe with profane scripture. “For is it not written? ‘The unfaithful seek here and there for power and wealth, turning on any they must to serve Avarice, their master. But the Faithful serve their lord, and he serves his lord unto the gods themselves.’ You would do well to study scripture as well as your arcane lore, Dantalion.”
“Lord Vaelphor. So wonderful of you to interrupt my meditations and provide me with insight into your enlightenment,” Dantalion growled, turning to face the other. His own black and green armor was a dark contrast to the Blood Dogs bone and crimson, though it too was covered in blasphemous writings. “My oath shall last until the appointed time, or until the death of your lord. But it is an oath of mutual benefit, not one of servitude. The Ruinous Powers have little to offer me after all that they took.”
“They took what they needed to, to free you from bondage,” Vaelphor replied, removing the chainsword from his back to look at it. The sword was huge, a two handed affair difficult even for an Astartes to wield. The Imperial Aquila was still visible underneath the symbols of Chaos that now adorned the chassis, a focal point proudly declaring the abandoned past. “They call to all who live, all whose souls drift in the endless sea. But only those with the courage to answer the call can be freed.”
“Only to reenter bondage it seems,” Dantalion countered. His own staff, once adorned with a golden Aquila, now bore a two headed dragon as its head. He raised his gaze to the sky, eyes narrowing against the glare. “No, I freed myself of my shackles only to fall prey to opportunists who style themselves as gods. Call it blasphemy if you will, but I care not. Your faith is of no consequence to me or my goals, and this your lord knows. Now, if you would…”
The Sorcerer trailed off, eyes glazing over as he continued gazing upwards. The other Astartes followed his glance, recognizing the signs of a psyker in a warptrance. The Sorcerer’s lips moved quietly, a jumble of names and arcane words too swift to be followed. Dantalion’s babbling was interrupted by a chime in Vaelphor’s comm bead, the tone indicating a message from the orbital defense platforms.
“Vaelphor here. What is the situation?”
“Multiple warp rifts my lord. Imperial signatures.” The officer in charge of the platforms was a veteran of many wars, bred by the finest Imperial Naval families and converted to the service of Chaos well into his career. Vaelphor had never heard the man shaken before, but his voice conveyed none of its usual confidence. “At least three Battleships, a dozen cruisers and an Astartes Strike Cruiser. They are assuming an inbound formation, estimated 5 days until arrival.”
“Prepare your defenses, Admiral. I will ask Apostle Aderoth to petition our patrons for more naval assets. Until then, hold them off as long as you can.”
“His forces will be able to protect, but will not be enough to hold Snowbound,” Dantalion cut in, his momentary transfixion at an end. Vaelphor eyed the Sorcerer quizzically, but did not question his words. “I have foreseen it, so long as the last of their forces arrive in time. Either way, I have much to do.”
“What tasks have you set for yourself, Dantalion?” Vaelphor secured his chainblade, joining the Sorcerer as he walked quickly away from the parapet. “As it is written, ‘Secrets may be kept at all times, save in matters of brotherhood and war.’”
“Your master has tasked me with ensuring that this worlds harvest is denied to the Imperials,” the Sorcerer replied, smiling before removing his helmet from his belt and placing it on his head. His faceplate gazed upwards once more, a low chuckle escaping the vox. “The Ravens have arrived as well. Things are going to be quite interesting.”
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Post by The Mask of the Father on Feb 14, 2014 21:59:14 GMT 10
Saurus stood, arms crossed, and tapped his foot impatiently. "When are they going to be here? We've been waiting an hour already for these.. Blood Dogs," he spat.
"You need to be patient Saurus. The important thing here is that we are getting paid. Gods know we could use the materials, and our great leader needs more.. flesh," Varus said, with a hint of disgust.
"Well they'd better hurry," replied Saurus, "It’s impolite to keep your newest lackeys waiting to get paid." As he said it he began to pace around what was referred to as the VIP area, although everyone knew it was just a place for Astartes and crime lords to do business.
Varus sighed, "Calm down Saurus." He looked over to the bar where some of the their crew sat. "Of course." Varus scooped his helm off of the padded seat and put it on. The already red tinted bar took on a redder tone once his eye lenses were powered. "I'll be back in a moment. I have to go have a little talk with the flesh cultists harassing our serfs."
As he began to walk out of the curtained corner area, Saurus called after him, "You could just not interfere. They should know not to mess with the cultists by now. We've been here long enough!" Varus chuckled to himself. Of course the serfs knew not to do anything with the cultists. It was just a way to combat his excruciating boredom. As Varus walked over towards the bar he couldn’t help but notice that every table he passed glanced at him and then quickly looked away, as if that would somehow protect them. He chuckled again to himself. Such fragile creatures they were that his simple presence intimidated them. Maybe it was the winged Mark IV helmet or the skulls and Astartes helmets that were chained to his armor that out such primal fear into them. Of course it was always possible that the warband that controlled the station had instilled this fear into them. As he mused on these things his pace had slowed drastically. Varus shook his head in an all too mortal way to clear his thoughts. Upon reaching his intended target he reached out with a massive hand to gently tap the shoulder of the flesh cultist. She turned to him with a look of fear.
“M-My Lord,” she stammered, “What can I do for you?”
His booming voice was turned neutral by the vox speakers, “You can stop harassing my crew. If you continue I may just have to return the favor by flaying and wearing your skin.”
The fear she wore plain to everyone. He heard he swallow before replying. “Yes Lord. I wasn’t aware that they-“
Varus held up a hand to interrupt her. “Your apology means nothing. Leave. Now.”
“Y-Yes Lord. Right away,” she stammered before she quickly scurried from the area.
One of the men at the bar looked up at Varus. “Thank you sire, she wouldn’t leave us alone. I swear they get bolder every time we return here.”
“Think nothing of it Charton,” Varus addressed his artificier. “I know you could have handled it, but I needed something to occupy my time while we wait here.”
Charton smiled at his lord, “Well we still appreciate it sire, although you are beginning to sound like Saurus.”
Varus decided he’d humor his servant and take his bait. “Oh? And how’s that?”
“Well,” Charton said as he sipped his drink, “You’re getting impatient.”
“I don’t have the luxury of sitting at a bar and drinking myself to death while waiting for an emissary who is over an hour late,” he replied, smiling under his helmet. He’d always enjoyed these back and forths with Charton, unlike his brothers who would only speak to mortals if they were required to. “While I hate to have to stop this banter, but I’d best return to Saurus before he goes insane from this infernal waiting. When we return to the ship after the operation I expect the replacement gear you’ve been working on to be finished.”
Charton brushed his brown hair out of his face, “Aye Lord. It will be ready if any of your armour needs to be replaced.”
“Good.” With that, Varus turned to return to Saurus and Isadovan. On his way back his comms crackled to life with Sergeant Vaco’s voice.
“Captain, have the delegates arrived yet? We’ve been standing guard for what seems like forever. Our brothers grow more and more restless with each passing minute. They are eager to go to war against the lapdogs of the False Emperor again.”
“Apologies Sergeant, but you must wait longer. The Blood Dog delegates still have not arrived. I’m about to ask Isadovan if we should fine someone else willing to hire us, as painful as it is to be sold to the highest bidder like flesh. Continue guarding the Thunderhawk. I will inform you if the situation changes.” Varus hated to keep his brothers waiting. Vaco’s squad was thirsty for blood, some more than others due to corruption. While Vaco himself was untouched, the corruption seemed to be spreading through his squad like a cancer. Truly it was unfortunate for they had been such skilled warriors through the Crusade and most of the Long War. He’d offered Vaco reassignment, yet he’d refused. Why he would do such a thing still eluded Varus, but he didn’t dwell on it.
“Aye Captain, we will continue as ordered,” Vaco’s voice replied over the vox.
As he returned to the waiting area he was greeted by Saurus. He didn’t wear his helm. Although all sons of Nostromo had black eyes with no irises, Varus was always surprised how Saurus’ seemed to pierce his eye lenses. His face was rather unscarred, which was unusual for someone who had fought during the Great Crusade.
“Was your little trip enjoyable? Have fun leaving me here with Isadovan while he is in one of his trances?” Saurus pried.
Varus chuckled, although through his helm’s vox speakers it sounded more like a grunt. Seeing the displeasure on his brother’s face he quickly stopped. “No one made you stay here.”
Saurus raised an eyebrow and slightly grinned, “You truly think that? Come now brother, we both know that if we left him alone he’d trade everything we have to appease the abomination that lives inside him. We’d be left with nothing but our armor and gladi.”
Varus stole a glance past his brother at the form of the former captain sitting on a large, curved couch, surrounded by the thralls he’d bought and hired. He scowled. “That creature has cost us important resources. He’s slipping deeper and deeper into possession.” Varus sighed, “But we swore an oath. We would not abandon him until he lost his usefulness.”
Saurus shook his head, “Brother, he is useless now. We trade more and more resources for slaves for him just so he can appease his ‘guest.’ I grow tired of serving such a creature. Isadovan is losing control. He’s losing himself. We should grant him mercy and end his suffering before he loses everything.” Varus could see the plea in his brother’s eyes. Saurus wasn’t one to plead or beg, so he truly wanted to end the suffering of their former mentor.
“I understand where you are coming from, but he did get this job with the Blood Dogs, even if they haven’t shown up yet. He still has use.”
“Brother, listen to yourself. You are letting emotion cloud your judgment. I understand that we used to be his subordinates during the Crusade, but the man we followed is no longer there. He has slipped. He indulges himself more often than before, while we suffer with lack of equipment and resources. He has even killed serfs during his.. sessions. We may have sworn our companies to him after Tsagualsa, but the man we swore to fight for is no longer there. We need a new leader Varus. I know you don’t want to lead and I am ill-suited to take command, so that leaves two options. We must look into acquiring a new leader from our warband, or we must usurp him and swear out warband to someone else. Perhaps we could even find a leader who would let us go back to raiding instead of being mercenaries for these bands that aren’t from the First Legions,” Saurus argued. Varus had seen the look in his eyes very few times before. He was serious.
Varus slowly shook his head and sighed. “You are right brother. We need to do something about him. I would rather not have to, but since you are so insistent I will concede and agree. I’d rather swear ourselves to another band of Curze’s sons if we that is our desired route. However we will discuss this in more detail after the mission, if the Dogs ever show up.” The noise of a door opening and armor servos drew Varus’ attention. He smiled to himself under his helmet. “Well, it looks like they finally had the good grace to show up.”
This was primarily composed during sleep deprived hours so it most likely isnt as good as it couldve have been.
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