Black Crusade (Inactive)

Game Master Nethru


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"I used to be on thousands of hololiths across the length and breadth of the Imperium. Now you’re telling me I’m not even recognized by warriors of the Legiones Astartes. How the mighty have fallen." he said.

The warrior raked his armoured fingers through the mane of filthy hair, revealing a pitted, pale face that defied any attempt to discern his age. He could have been thirty or three thousand. War was written across his features in a lattice of old cuts and the pockmarks of heat-scarring. Battle marked him even if age had not.

Eyes of sick, slick gold watched you all without blinking. Amusement flickered there, warming his cold, metallic stare.

It is the High Chieftain of the Sons of Horus, 1st Captain Ezekyle Abaddon. He no longer wore the great black war-plate of the Justaerin, nor was his hair bound up in the ceremonial topknot of the Cthonian subterranean work-gangs. He was a hollow shadow of the invincible warrior who once graced victory hololithics and Imperial propaganda transmissions,


First Captain of the Sons of Horus, Favored of the Warmaster, Master of the Justaerin, and many more epithets are yours and precede you. Yet it is hard to take a picture of your current state and the one we knew once. I apologize for not recognizing you Captain Abaddon." a lot of respect for the man ruthlessness and pride that he held once, even if it is evident there might be chance he is no longer that man.


Deathraven studied the man before him.

"You know who we are. I take it you also know why we are here?"


Ulasht salutes Abbadon stiffly. "Take no offence High Chieftan. I fear I expected to see you in your traditional armor and not in this. .. state. We have sought you out as we need you and the Vengeful Spirit to rise once more. Your leadership and battle skills are needed. The Sons of Horus are in dire straights, perhaps never so dire since the fall of Lupercal".


Menstra's status light reappears on the groups huds yet he still lingers just out of sight.

"The White Seer awaits our discovery. My captain does not."

If the name Abaddon bears any meaning to the Nightlord he does not betray it as his bolter remains leveled at the 1st Captain's chest.


Lheor grunts, "Drop your weapon, Captain Abaddon. We’re here to steal your ship."

Abaddon smiles at Lheor "Come with me brothers we have much to discuss."

He turns and starts heading down the corridor which he came from his servo-skull following. Khayon follows (assuming everyone else does as well).

He leads you into a large chamber that once housed ten Battle Titans of the Legio Mortis, including towering structures of ammunition crates, loading gantries, repair cranes, and the arcane engines required by the Mechanicum in the maintenance of its god-machines. The Titans were gone, as was all evidence of their presence, but the huge chamber was far from empty.

The bones of an immense serpent creature were bound to one wall, displaying a beast large enough to swallow a Land Raider without chewing. The shortest fangs in its three-horned skull were the length of a chainsword, the longest were the height of a Dreadnought. Every tooth’s outward curve showed a ravine of sorts gouged into the ivory. Grooves, to let blood spurt from a bite and to prevent the fangs remaining stuck in prey. Several of the skull’s foremost fangs were shattered in the uneven breaks of blunt force trauma.

He walked through the chamber without touching anything, and you all followed suit. Order was a myth amidst that mess. Rotting corpses from more species than you could quickly count hung from chain meat hooks, while whole and partial skeletons were bound to the walls or left in heaped piles among the chaos. Scrolls of parchment filled whole crates, while hundreds of datapads blinked in and out of battery-charged consciousness. Dozens of machines rumbled and hummed as they went about their function – on the deck, on the walls, on the ceiling.

Machine parts and weapons were scattered across the deck in disarray. Salvaged suits of armour lay here and there without any semblance of organization. Every Legion’s colors showed in the cannibalized disorder. Weapons from hundreds of cultures and eras were either preserved in shimmering stasis fields on marble plinths, or left to rust and corrode on the deck.

It was like you walked into a war museum that was hit by a hurricane.


Deathraven seemed to pay special attention to the weaponry while passing through the area where they were stored. He didn't touch anything, and he didn't slow down, but he looked at everything he could, gauging their function and deadliness.


Abaddon notices Deathraven eyeing the golden halberd of an Imperial Custodian. "It’s gene-locked to the warrior who once wielded it," said Abaddon, "but I can activate it for you, if you wish."


"Who else is aboard the vessel with you High Captain?"


"Perhaps later, High Captain. I would enjoy testing such a weapon. It was always my opinion that the Emperor saved the best playthings for his vaunted Legiones Custodes, while we did all of the heavy fighting."


"Sargon is on the lower decks in his meditation chambers" Abaddon replies.

"The Oracle lives? We thought him dead." Khayon said.

"Well that's impossible I spoke to him only three days ago." Abaddon replied.


"Would you care for refreshment?" Abaddon walks over to a barrel with warnings of acidic toxicity, poured the liquid into flasks of twisted white metal for everyone.

Lheor was the first to take his helmet off and drink it down quickly. "This is quite good first captain."

If any of you try it left a faint burn on the back of the tongue and had the raw chemical taste of engine coolant.

It appeared as if Abaddon was trying to be hospitable.


"That explains it. He must have come back here somehow when he took his leave of Akkad and the others. Nice trick. A ritual, no doubt, but an extremely powerful one."

Deathraven accepts the drink, removing his helmet.


"I am not entirely surprised to learn that he is here. Did he seek Falkus under your direction High Chieftan?"


Abaddon nods. "Yes I summoned you all here with Sargons assistance."

Khayon cut in before he could say anything else. "Why did you abandon your legion?"

Abaddon sat at a table placing his bolter down taking it apart before he replied to Khayon.
"Horus’s war was over. That war mattered, this one does not. With the real conflict left in ashes, why should I care about this meaningless, endless skirmishing between the Nine Legions?"

You all can see Khayon's expression change as he became a bit angry.

"Something to say, Khayon?" Abaddon said challengingly.

"The Third and Twelfth have lost more warriors to each others’ blades than they ever lost in Horus’s rebellion. Ahriman has murdered the Fifteenth. Few souls can even deal with the cursed Fourteenth since their loss to the God of Life and Death. The Eighth are here only in fragmented numbers at most, and the Fourth rules over its isolated bastions, rising only to trade and raid at the vanguard of daemonic machine hordes. Of the Twentieth, no one can say with any surety, but–
Khayon said.

"They’re here," Abaddon interrupted with a smile. "Take my word on that. You are not the only ones I have summoned but have the honor of being the first to arrive."


Deathraven watched Abaddon's smooth, unhurried motions with a trace of envy at his fluid grace.

"Do we need to wait for the others to find out why you summoned us? Do you intend to stop the Emperor's Children from creating their own version of the Warmaster?"


Aldegund was busy analyzing all the weapons and possibilities in his mind to create, practically ignoring most conversation and just going through the motions while his mind only saw opportunity to create and advance his cause.
"I think the question is why have you issued a summons then, just as Deathraven says" as he drinks the liquid "I like it, might be able to improve it with some time as well as make use of the scattered weaponry, retrofit some servo-skull for working..." as Aldegund begins to converse to himself without noticing, every time in a more quiet tone until he is silent, mumbling about weaponry designs, blueprints and such things.


"You suggest something grander."
Only now does Menstras abandon his faulty concealment, stepping amongst his cousins with helmet in hand. Gripping the chalice gently he raises the acidic compound for inspection.
"What do you intend the coming army?"


Abaddon smiles at Aldegund. "‘It is adrenochrome, harvested from the adrenal glands of living slaves, and mixed with several artificial compounds, including a formula that I developed while trying to synthesise ectoplasma."

Abaddon turns looked into all your eyes, each in turn. When your eyes met his golden gaze, there was a feeling of being honoured by trust, of being taken into his confidence.
"Horus," he said. "Have you heard how the Neverborn speak of him? They name my father not for his victories but his failures, calling him the Sacrificed King."

"Sometimes I wonder where free will ends and destiny begins. But that is a discussion we shall have another day. Horus cannot be allowed to walk once more. Not because of destiny, or fate, or the whims of the Pantheon. The First Primarch died in shame and failure, my brothers. My last gift to the Legion I abandoned is to let them die with dignity. The Emperor’s Children and their allies threaten that dignified end. Each of you is already primed to work towards that very task. You could call it manipulation if you choose, or call it a simple aligning of goals. I’m done with cold allegiances and temporary alliances. If I’m to return to the battles raging throughout the Eye, I seek something more real. Something pure. A war that means something. Now, I have the ship you want, I share the goal you wish to achieve, but both of those truths pale against the fact that I have the answers you require."


Draex drinks the liquid hurriedly, burping out loud. The drink burns in the back of his throat but with his broken mind the pain pleases him. Draex goes and smashes the on the ground stomping on it to finish it off.

Draex salutes the high chieftain tapping his breast plate twice. The world eaters werent ones to care for rank much but Abbadon battle prowess has earned his respect. Not caring before draex now gives attention to the conversation regarding mission specs. Intrigued by the prospect of new comers to enter this boring game of waiting aboard ships.

"Are there any hostiles on this planet we can dispatch while we wait?"
Draex asks with trembling hands


"It was rumored that you were made of hi own gene-seed, perhaps, we could recover at least that, to recover your legion numbers and loyal warriors. I think you were attempting the wrong synthesis for a drink with that last formula you added" as Aldegund drinks some more

"I beg to digress on you having all the answers, albeit, it is something more akin to you hold the rest of the cards in the deck, while we are forced to play the only hand we have. Yet you still have to figure out what card we really have."


"Answer me this, are you all still legionaries of your legions? The Emperor and his failed sons gave your Legions the names they bare. Do they still ring proud in your heart and soul? Are you still the sons of your fathers, respecting them and embodying their failures? Do you see their flaws and weaknesses, and wish to repeat them? Sargon looked into the paths of the future and told me there was more to all of you than the call of worthless bloodlines. Was he wrong?" Abaddon said to you all.


"We will always be legionnaires, we were made like so, I will always be an Iron Warrior and Trident of Lyssantra, I am proud of who I am." as Aldegund pauses "I am a Son of Perturabo, I respected him and condemn him for his weaknesses, I know his flaws and the weakness, yet I don't wish to repeat them. The past makes us who we are today Abaddon, but not who you could be in the future, that is your choice and yours alone, just like it is for each of us."


"I am Fallen. My Legion disavows me and denies my existence, while scouring the galaxy to erase those who thought as I did. Humanity betrayed the very tenets on which they were raised from the darkness. I have no Legion. I have no name. I have no brothers. I have no Warband. In truth, I seek something to believe in once more. A worthy goal. Something worth fighting for. Something worth dying for."

He pointed at the bolter that Abaddon was rebuilding.

"That bolter is nothing without a hand to wield it, and a sharp eye to aim it. Worse than nothing, it is useless. Right now, that bolter is the same as the Legions. The same as all of us. Shooting in the dark at nothing. It needs someone to give it purpose, to use it as it was meant to be used."

Deathraven sat at the table opposite Abaddon and stared into his eyes. The gold hue was startling, and not as he remembered.

"You are not the same man that I remember, High Captain Abaddon. You have clearly changed since Horus's betrayal. You were always as hard as any stone, but now you shine like one that has felt the touch of the most skilled gemsmith. You also obviously have plans past ending the madness of the Emperor's Children. I ask you plainly, warrior to warrior, where do you intend to lead us if we choose to follow you?"


Draex chimes in mockingly sad voice

"My Primarch never loved me, the emperor turned his back on us for doing what he created us to do. My cousins called me a savage. Humans who we sworn to protect feared us. Do i not hurt. Do i not bleed." in an instant draexs axe is in his hands making engine reving noises shaking the axes as if it is sawing through another victim. Spitting on the ground

"I love who i am, a killer. A reaper of skulls. Its the only thing that brings me peace these day, and the only way i can quiet these nails for a few brief moments. Sub sectors have folded in to imperial rule at the mentor of our approach. Now i could careless who they fold to as long as there is blood to be shed"


"I will see what was denied my brothers reclaimed or burned with the Emperor's name on their dying lips. I would he feel each death of his precious Imperium cut into his conscious. Let him watch his work destroyed as we march sector to sector purging his treason. All this for my Father. For my Legion."

Menstras takes a deep drink of the concoction, savoring the acidic sting as a reminder of all he'd lost.

"That is the extent of my duty. I have served enough masters in my time that I will never kneel to another."


"All those words of hate, destruction and revenge brothers"

Aldegund shakes his head slightly.

"There will always be blood to be shed Draex, the Imperium of man has already become something he did not wanted Menstras, and I doubt he can feel the millions of loses we incur upon the worlds of the Imperium and those fools that remained loyal to him."

As he rubs his brow as if carrying heavy weight and he is exhausted.

"What do we gain by destroying each sector Menstras, nothing, to wage a war you need resources, and just pillaging, plundering and burning as we go will leave nothing for us either to continue such war effort"


"I was born a Luna Wolf. When Lupercal became the Warmaster, I became a Son of Horus. Now that Lupercal has fallen you ask me to shed my skin and start again. What skin will I wear if I follow you High Captain? What great duty would you have me perform? Certainly the Emperor's Children must be stopped but what then?"


Abaddon grins at everyone.
"I miss what a Legion could do, and the fact it was empowered to do it. All of our forces now... They are legions in name, colour and the dregs of culture, but they are a horde, not an army, linked by fading loyalties and fighting to survive. Once they were bound by brotherhood and fought only to win. Our kind no longer wage war, we raid and pillage. No longer do we march in regiments and battalions, but scatter into packs and warbands."

"You believe you are the one to change all that, Abaddon?" said Khayon.

"No. No one can change it now." Zealous fervor burned in his golden eyes. The veins beneath his skin pulsed blacker. "But we can embrace it, my brothers. How many among the Nine Legions cry out to be part of a true Legion once more?"

"There’s strength and purity in what we’ve become," said Abaddon. "There’s a savage honesty in the Nine Legions’ warbands now. They follow warlords of their choosing instead of those assigned to them. They create traditions rooted in the cultures of their parent Legions, or completely defy their origins according to their own whims. I admire that unshackled freedom and have no desire to walk back from where we stand. I’m speaking of taking what we have and... refining it. Perfecting it."

"We were born for battle. We were made to conquer the galaxy, not to rot here in Hell and die upon our brothers’ blades. Who are the architects of the Imperium? Who fought to purge its territory of aliens and expand its borders? Who brought rebellious worlds to heel and slaughtered those who refused the light of progress? Who walked from one side of the galaxy to the other, marking their passage in a trail of traitorous dead? This is our Imperium. Built across the worlds we burned, over bones we broke, with the blood we shed."

He pauses a moment and looks to each of you.

"You see it, too," he said, baring his teeth in a snarling grin. Like the rest of the Justaerin, his teeth were engraved with Cthonian runes of fortitude and resolve. They seemed very apt all of a sudden, in the smile of a pilgrim returning to his people to become a crusader. "You feel it now, don’t you?"


Draex nods his head in agreement with words of aldegund

Quote:
"there will always be blood to shed."

" and hell to pay"

Draex looks into the eyes of abbadon feeling a peace he has long since felt since his emotions nearly bleached beyond recognition. Seeing order a calmness in his eyes that are full with hidden purpose, the nails HAMMER into his thoughts again and again for allowing such an intrusion of serenity. Draex tics violently breaking eye contact with the high chieftain. Blood pools down his nose which he wipes off with a tooth of his great axe and snorting the rest back.


"I agree High Captain, but with this new endeavor we must rename our selves as we all have when we meet the Emperor's sons."

Aldegund bring our his chain sword to the table and begins dismantling it.

"We are like this chainsword, fragments of something we once belonged to." as he begins to put the pieces together, with skill as if he had done it thousands upon thousands of times. "You might think when I put this back together it is just the same chiansword, but it is not, just like our legions weren't the same, but as you can attest we are all legionnaires and as different from each other as we could be."

Aldegund pauses to add a bit more to the weight of his words

"Abaddon, you seek to reshape what you already have and use it, to craft a single legion from all legions or at least those who would throw their lot with you, but are you seeking to become as your father and lead all legions or something else entirely different and so how?"


"A new war," Khayon said slowly, softly. "One not born of bitterness nor founded on revenge."

Abaddon nodded. "The Long War. Not a petty rebellion swallowed by Horus’s pride and his hunger for the Terran Throne. A war for the future of mankind. Horus would have sold the species to the Pantheon for the chance to sit on the Golden Throne for a single heartbeat. We cannot allow ourselves to be used the way he was. The Powers exist and we can’t pretend otherwise, but nor can we allow a sacred duty to devolve into such weakness, as Horus did."

"Revelation is a process. I am wiser than I was during my father’s rebellion. I have seen a great deal more of what the galaxy can offer, as well as what lies behind reality’s veil. But I’m not arrogant, my brothers. I know there’s a great deal left to do, and a great deal left to learn. All I know for certain is that I’m finished with my years of walking alone. So now I reach out to those most like me – in thought, in action, and in ambition. I do not offer any of you a place in a tyrant’s plan. What I offer is a place at my side as we find a path together."


Deathraven takes a moment to think about what was said. He had to agree that the battlefield needed to change. The war needed new purpose. He also refused to be beholden to the Powers. If they wanted something from him, then they had damned well better be ready to pay for it.

"I will join you, Abaddon. I will be as your brother, as long as this journey is an equal one. I will not be your hound to fetch and get as you order about, but I will share your counsel and learn your new-found wisdom. One unifying vision. A true brotherhood in deed as well as ideal. Together, we will forge a new galaxy in fire and adamantium. Not an Imperium, but something far greater. If you agree to this, my Oath is yours."


"Brotherhood," Lheor said quietly. "Brotherhood for the brotherless."

Abaddon tapped his heart three times in that familiar Cthonian gesture.

"Did any of your servo-skulls detect a wolf?" Khayon asked

Abaddon raised a scarred eyebrow. "One of Russ’s warriors? Or do you mean the Kanas lupis mammals of Old Earth?"

"The latter. A Neverborn, incarnated as a Fenrisian wolf. I have not heard from her since we came aboard." Khayon replied

"I believe I’d remember seeing one of those aboard. I assume this creature is yours?" said Abaddon.

"Yes, she is mine." Khayon replied

Abaddon’s laugh was a bear’s wet, rumbling growl. "You call it “she”. How wonderfully sentimental."


"We need to inform Ashur-Kai to expect others. Can Sargon reach him as he reached Ulasht? If not, I should take the lander and return to the ship. Given the Emperor's Children's ambush at our last meeting site, he may understandably assume that anyone else arriving here while he cannot contact us is another trick. It would be inauspicious for our new brotherhood to be baptized in our own blood."


Abaddon places his hand on Deathravens shoulder guard in re-assurance.
"Do not worry brother, no one will find us here. You only found this place because I allowed it. Sargon is no astropath. I have the brains of three astropaths floating in suspension fluid and wired into the psy-resonant crystals that grow across the ship."

He gestured to a collection of organs and broken crystals in a transparent cylinder of sickly grey juice. "It is the beacon I use to find my way back when I return from my wanderings. One of the brains came from an eldar priestess. She put up quite a fight, let me tell you. Sargon maintains the life-support engine, though. I’ve never developed the expertise to keep it functioning myself."

Abaddon turned his gaze back to Khayon.
"How is your sister faring, Khayon?"

You could see the irritation rising in Khayon's features again.

"Your sister?" asked Lheor.

Abaddon answered "The Anamnesis. Forgive me, I assumed it was common knowledge."

Lheor gaped. "That she-wretch floating in the suspension fluid, down in the Core... That’s your sister?"

Khayon appeared to not want to answer the question but Lheor press with questions "Why would you let the Mechanicum do that to one of your own blood?"

"There was no choice." Khayon said rounding on Lheor, "She was infected by one of the psychic predators of our home world. It pulsed its eggs into her mind, and the creature’s young devoured half of her brain tissue before they were successfully removed. She could become the Anamnesis, or live in agony as a stupefied shell of the woman she was."


"I guess they didn't see her fit for better implants at the time, the Mechanicus wretches can be like that. There are highly complex cerebral implants, but she would have not been all there either. Basically she would retain memories of the undamaged areas and her other half would be more like a computer devoid of feelings, capable of learning, but the information would be interpreted by the remaining brain tissue."

"I assume this is how they acquired machine spirits in Prospero? There were so many rumors of legions using different ways, but this one is truly superb and hopefully well documented"

Aldegund continues to imagine the craftmanship of those implants are usually reserved for the adepts of the mechanicus and those above them.

She is one of the best machine spirits I have conversed with, which is to say a lot, since most machine spirits depending on were they are have a certain predesposition of how, but Anamnesis is different..."


Space Marine Dark Apostle 2/18 wounds 3/3 infamy fatigue 1

"There is wisdom in your course. The pantheon is dangerous beyond compare, but the greatest hope for a strong, united humanity that can take the path of transcendence. I will follow your path, come what may."


"The Mechanicum needed a living psychic humans for this new process they were using for machine spirits and my sister was the first and last they performed like this before the wolves destroyed our planet. The only reason I allowed it was due to her condition." Khayon said softly.

Abaddon tapped his fingertips to his heart, three times. "Forgive me, brother. That wound is fresher than I realised. I meant no insult or offence."

"It is fine," Khayon said. "I am... protective of her."

Abaddon stood. "Come let us go to Sargon and see if we can find your wolf."


As the group walks Ulasht walks beside Abaddon.

"A war for the future of mankind High Chieftan eh. What do you envision as the end goal for such a war? The destruction or the replacement of the Imperium of Man? Such a war, with either goal in mind, can only be successful if the Emperor is dethroned and his current kingdom splintered."


Deathraven looked shocked at the revelation that Khayon's ship bore the spirit of his sister. Not at the choice that Khayon made, but at the fact that he had been given a choice at all. Truly, Magnus had been what one might call 'progressive' in his thinking, if one were truly charitable, but to allow his Legion to continue to have contact with their families? That had been unheard of.

"The Emperor is all but dead. He doesn't rule the Imperium, the lap-dogs of his Administratum do. He is less than a servitor. He's a golden power cell. Those who claim to rule in his name have never even met him."

Deathraven looks completely disgusted at the situation.

"At least Horus was allowed the dignity of death as befits a warrior of his stature! His soul, if you believe in such a thing, has gone on to it's damnation or reward. It's not some flashlight used to guide children in their fear of the dark..."

He took a deep breath, reigning in his anger.

"Apologies. My outburst is unseemly."


Aldegund taps Deathraven shoulder and he nods "Keep that chin up or lose it legionnaire" as Aldegund smiles to him and turns to Ulasht "To rebuild you must destroy, and if we are to save man from itself so be it, let us make war then, but this time under our own terms as brothers, legionnaires, and comrades in arm."

Aldegund remains silent for a moment "Let us go find your wolf then" as Aldegund keeps to himself the possibility to maybe teach Khayon how to speak to a machine spirit and commune with it for now.


"You have it wrong Deathraven. The Emperor is a symbol which the Ecclesiarchy and the Administratum look to justify their authority over the Imperium. With the Emperor removed as that symbol the Imperium will fall into chaos. That way lies victory. Fighting the Imperium as it is currently constituted will be a war of attrition, I seek victory not a means to justify my existence for untold eons".

Ulasht glances at Aldegund, "I am pleased with the concept that the High Chieftan has posed but I still seek confirmation as to what our new Brotherhood will seek to accomplish. Certainly, any resurrection of Lupercal must be stopped, but what then? What sacred duty is ours to keep now? Our blood and the blood of countless fallen Brothers forged an Empire for the Emperor, what will our Brotherhood forge now?" Ulasht turns back to Abaddon for his explanation.


Abaddon nods to Aldegunds statement.
"Even if it takes us a millennium the Imperium will fall and we will take back what is rightfully ours with the death of the Emperor. We will discuss our plans further once everyone is gathered."

He leads you down three levels deeper into the Vengful Spirit when you finally come to a chamber and you see Sargon meditating in a humble isolation cell with nothing but a cold metal pallet for slumber. He was still clad in the crimson of his Legion, the ceramite inscribed with layers of Colchisian runic scripture just as before. Sargon looks shockingly young for a legionnaire of his age. He looked freshly inducted from his Legion’s reserve companies, no more than two decades of life behind him. Grievous burn-scarring ran from his chin down his neck, and into the collar of his gorget. A plasma burn. There was the wound that stole his voice. He was lucky it had not severed his head.

Sargon rose from his knees, greeting you with a familiar gesture in Legiones Astartes battlefield sign language. His fist rested against his heart, then his hand opened as he offered it towards us – the traditional greeting between loyal brothers, showing proof of no weapon in his grip.

He smiled at Akkad looking thankful his brother was still alive.


"A symbol is not a leader. They have his image, but not his wisdom. I agree that he needs to be removed, but we are not facing him."

Deathraven returned Sargon's salute in the customary manner.

"I am pleased that you were not lost to the warp as Akkad had feared."


Ulasht turns to Deathraven, "We can continue our debate later Brother, we do not see eye to eye on the motivations of the Emperor. For now the knowledge that we agree to a solution is sufficient".

Ulasht salutes Sargon without apprehension knowing that Abaddon was behind his contact with Falkus.

"Sargon, when the Baleful Eye was lost in the warp. Falkus and the Justaerin Terminators were corrupted by the Neverborn. Since boarding the Taloc, we have lost communication with them. Is there anything you can do that will allow them to regain control of their faculties?"


Sargon does the negative sign at Ulasht.

"Sargon have you seen Khayon's wolf?" Abaddon asked.

Sargon made the left-handed gesture for ‘engage target’ followed by palm over his heart. Several more signs followed ones none of you recognized as traditional battle cant.

"Sargon has your wolf. She attacked him, and is now... incapacitated." Abaddon told Khayon.

In what took a half a heartbeat Khayon was on Sargon pinning him to the ground with his punch knife at Sargons throat.

"WHERE IS MY WOLF!" Khayon growled to the prophet.


Deathraven grabs Khayon, yanking him off of Sargon.

"Calm yourself! If you keep losing control of your pets, we are going to keep putting them down."

He steps between Sargon and Khayon.

"Sargon, return his wolf so we can be about the real task at hand, if you would. Please."

1d100 ⇒ 23 vs 60


Khayon Str Check: 1d100 ⇒ 87

Khayon is pulled off Sargon and lets loose an intense telepathic shout that hits everyones mind in the area.
WHERE IS SHE!

power: 1d100 ⇒ 40 vs 90

Everyone make a willpower check please

Abaddon and Telemachon wince a bit and Lheor falls to the ground blood dripping from his nose. Sargon does not appear to be affected at all as if he didn't even hear the telepathic scream.


Willpower check 1d100 ⇒ 35

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