Spine-Catacombs, Astropathic Choir of Orcut VII"With all due respect, even as a servant of the Ordos, just how do you expect to be granted an audience with Governor Ceprus when half the 1st Legion is scouring the hive for us under the impression we're terrorists?"
"I have my Master's Rossette, If they refused to recognize that, they will be openly be showing their Heresy. At that point we will do what is necessary."
Spine-Catacombs Lift 3, Middle Uphive, Descending
Chroyle rubs the sole of his foot earnestly, dead skin and a fluffy, feathery white substance wafting to the floor of the lift as he does so. He looks pointedly to where your hand is hidden beneath your clothing replying rather sarcastically,
"Looks like everyone is busy finding religion in these trying times, eh?"
He shrugs, sliding the boot back on.
"No worries, Wolf, I just forgot my daily anti-fungal's back at Ylesium. The strains in the hive are bit different from what we get back in the jungle at the claustrum. As far as I know I'm not turning into one of the slimy little imps. Trust me, if I was, I'd be the first to tell you to off me."
The lift continues to hum downward at a considerable speed, the diameter of the adamantium-girded wraithbone spine increasing as you descend.
Looking down, Chroyle becomes serious again.
"So, what's the next stop?"
Spine-Catacombs Lift 7, Central Upspire, Ascending
"I have my Master's Rosette, If they refused to recognize that, they will be openly be showing their Heresy. At that point we will do what is necessary."
"All two of us, eh? I sure hope you're right, or our only hope is that the Governor's Spireguard laughs themselves to death when we start making demands."
The lift continues to steadily climb the narrowing shaft branching away from the main Spine-Catacomb, ascending ever upward to the loftiest spires of Orcut VII.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
As the table collapses beneath his feet, Vincent rather smartly slides down the sudden incline, slipping slightly in a splash of rancid gravy, before coming to his feet on the other side of the table.
His right foot lands in something soft and mushy, that gives off an awful smell coupled with a squelching, wet sound. Finding his balance by planting his hand on the still smoking edge of the surgically clean cut in the ancient wood, he rises again, grateful he did not cut his own arm off with the humming saber. Looking ahead, he sees his path to the northern door is largely open, save for the fact that the abomination seated at the head of the table is now slouching visibly in his direction, stunted, pustule-covered arms reaching out hungrily from the seemingly immovable bulk, even as it rocks impotently from side to side.
Triggs angrily screeches something at the guardsmen that is completely drowned out by the awful moaning coming from the Warden's smacking lips and Vincent, not looking back at his pursuers, takes it as his cue to get moving again.
Stollow picks up his pace at the adjutant's behest, raising the table-leg cudgel as he rushes past Glyde, who still saunters casually forward, the pistol tracking the senior clerk as he runs away.
The tall guardsman stumbles to his knees as he tries to vault the heaped mess in the middle of the bisected table, falling awkwardly to the floor.
Before Vincent can so much as note his little gambit's success, the floor shakes beneath his feet as the Warden lets out a long, croaking growl, his rocking body suddenly shifting almost a full meter to his right, the momentum of his morbidly obese body causing the countless rolls of fat to ripple in agitation.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Realizing that Vincent is making for the northern doors, Triggs begins to amble circuitously around the ponderous bulk of the Warden in an attempt to cut him off.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Vincent heads towards the door, but stumbles on debris after only a few meters.
Spine-Catacombs Lift 3, Middle Uphive, Descending
Chroyle rubs the sole of his foot earnestly, dead skin and a fluffy, feathery white substance wafting to the floor of the lift as he does so. He looks pointedly to where your hand is hidden beneath your clothing replying rather sarcastically,
"Looks like everyone is busy finding religion in these trying times, eh?"
He shrugs, sliding the boot back on.
"No worries, Wolf, I just forgot my daily anti-fungal's back at Ylesium. The strains in the hive are bit different from what we get back in the jungle at the claustrum. As far as I know I'm not turning into one of the slimy little imps. Trust me, if I was, I'd be the first to tell you to off me."
Looking down, Chroyle becomes serious again.
"So, what's the next stop?"
"Going to pick up some friends. Then we are heading down to the Auldmaws lair. The foundation of the Astropathic Choirs Spire is down there. If it gets tainted it will endanger the souls of all the psykers, and cut off any communication off the planet. Not to mention if there is any Xenos souls trapped inside it..."
The question remains would Saint Triobrund willingly heal a Xenos as he does those of the Emperor's Flock. Guess there is only one way to find out.
"As for faith, its kinda new to me. Its like you believed, but not really believed you know?"
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum, Several Hours Later
Savalos and Chroyle make their way cautiously from the rusting bowels of an ancient water purification plant near the long-sealed entry to the Spine-Catacomb lift terminus, located in the lower Vaxus Deeps. Thul marks the exterior of the crumbling vehicle dock they exit from with a distinctive gang-tag, conspicuous enough for him to notice but no one else. The ruined vehicle bay opens via a collapsed roadway from the very dawn of the hive's construction into the outskirts of the Pipesource and the acolyte is surprised how much he remembers of the confusing network of pipe-ways and duct-shafts, easily finding his way back to the Sanctum following familiar landmarks and the faded graffiti of his gang.
When they arrive at the gates, Savalos is escorted by his Pack to through the faded majesty of the ancient hostelry to the banquet room, where Luceros waits.
The Alpha bears his neck deferentially as he rises to greet you. Uncharacteristically pale and preoccupied, he appears grateful to see you. It is clear something of significance greatly troubles his normally
hardened demeanor.
Happy to be surrounded by my family again even if its only a brief while. The hair on the back of my neck stands up seeing the worry on Luceros face. He isn't a man who can be rattled easily.
Looking at my fellow Alpha, and knowing time is shorter than I would like I speak:
"So whats the word?"
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Glyde smirks with satisfaction as Vincent stumbles, still moving casually forward to close the distance, easily scrambling over the piles of debris heaped in the middle of the severed table. He keeps the pistol leveled at Vincent's head, making it blatantly obvious that he is holding his fire, as he could easily have shot the senior clerk by now if he so chose. He stops about a meter away, and Vincent cannot help but stare into the unforgiving black hole of the autopistol's too-close barrel.
Stollow ambles to his feet, retrieving his club with a grunt, and picks his way over the shattered crockery and tinkling silverware with long, lanky strides. He moves slightly past Glyde, warily maintaining his distance as he eyes the humming silver blade. His disconcerting eyes are dead and flat, like the polished onyx orbs of a child's doll.
With a hooting, bovine growl and a hideous scraping of flabby flesh across the floor, the ponderous bulk of Warden Kreed shuffles still closer.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Triggs giggles with insane glee and glowers at Vincent from across the table, then watches with satisfaction as the Warden drags his enormous body still closer to the clerk, driven by a supernatural hunger that is terrifying to witness. His momentary unease is gone, satisfied your escape has been cut off, he easily segues back into a gloating diatribe.
"I would have been disappointed if you had not made a last desperate attempt to flee, Mr. Sepheris, but as you can see, it is truly pointless. Come now, you are no guardsman, lay aside your weapon, or I will let Glyde here shoot you as he so dearly wants to do. I shudder to think of what you said to offend him that he hates you so. He is not a man who forgets a slight, nor one you should cross so thoughtlessly. Drop the blade or I'll let him feed you alive, piece by piece, to the Warden here."
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum
Luceros slowly sinks back into his chair, as if what he is about to say is a burden that drags him down.
"It is...my brother. Those we sent to watch the Withdrawn Veil..."
He shakes his head, his skin ashen.
Remembering my fears of the daemon that possessed the Evierator, and its plans for Johnnie I am almost afraid to ask, but must. I need to know if I need to give the order to execute my friend to preserve my family, and safeguard the Inquisition. The weight of being the First Alpha, and Acoltye very suddeningly weighing heavy on my shoulders...
I pull up a seat next to Luceros.
"Go ahead Luceros. Speak your fill. For I have alot of say as well in my turn."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Vincent rises to his feet and carefully backs away from his foes, putting his back to the wall. He holds the saber in a high guard and offers Triggs another rebuke.
"Tsk-tsk, someone your age should know better than to make empty threats. I am too useful to die and you are too much of a coward to cross your master. You will find that Nurgle is even less forgiving of slights than Glyde."
Orcut VII Hive, Central Upspire Prime, The Pinnacle
Sitting in the opulent Library of Orcutian, Uriah steeples his fingers before his face and sighs. Sgt. Einhardt sits across from him in the 'borrowed' attire of a House Rhusche enforcer, the blocky outline of his flak armor visible beneath, but largely ignored for his livery's martial connotations. The psyker's mind drifts back to the lift terminus, where the titanic adamantium-girded hive-spine of Orcut VII, Eldar wraithbone secreted within it, ended in a needle-sharp pinnacle, the tiny pinpoint of porcelain colored material beneath jutting out ever so slightly, forlorn and forgotten in the sealed chamber just below the hive's highest levels.
His catechism comes back to him...
Thou Shalt Not Suffer the Xenos To Live...Thou Shall Not Suffer the Witch To Live...Thou Shall Not Suffer the Daemon to Live...
...heard in his master's stentorian voice.
He wonders at what he has become; conversing with xenos, consorting with witches, called by the corruption of two plotting daemons.
What...
Has...
He...
Become?
The self-doubt still niggles at him endlessly, called to serve for the
first time as Prime at his master's behest, what had he accomplished?
In a word, nothing.
A world, perhaps even the entire Malfian subsector teeters on the verge of catastrophe, its fates entrusted to a newly appointed prime and a band of unproven acolytes. It seems unimaginable that Master Ahmazzi would have trusted such a group with so vital a mission. He could not have known what was at stake here at the outset. Two Prisoners. Both free. Their coming conflict promising a horrific fate for untold billions.
He had failed.
He can see it in the stricken, hopeless expression of the once-unflinching senior guardsman sitting across from him. The scholars and nobles go blithely about their business, perusing ancient tomes of history and governance around them, where the pair are seated at an antique table worth more than the lifelong labors of a thousand Underhivers from Savalos' world. None of them know. Not the senior officios, the heads of noble houses, or even the High Arbiters themselves. A few know amongst the former governor's inner circle, else even Uriah and Einhardt would have no inkling of what had befallen the late Taius Ceprus. Their minds had been easy to delve into, the fear still fresh. Still, they held the secret close, so overwhelmed and disbelieving that such a thing could occur, still preoccupied with the political repercussions that would soon ensue, the likely power-grab by the co-governor Erika dol-Fulcus of the sister hive on the neighboring continent. It mattered not. Such a secret cannot remain one for long, and it was best that he and Einhardt were very far from this place when the panic began. The conversation with the senior Administratum official on this world, one he had rehearsed in his mind so many times since they had arrived on Oremor he had lost count, would never come to pass.
Taius Ceprus had been assassinated.
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum
Luceros, even in his blackest grief, speaks bluntly and to the point, as is his nature.
"Tygault has returned from the surveillance of this Withdrawn Veil. Of the five I sent, five of our bravest, he was the only one to come home."
Luceros cannot look you in the eye, staring instead down at the worn table.
"Tygault is...changed...Savalos."
Raising his head again, he struggles to meet your gaze, his face wracked by anger, sorrow, and for what may be the first time in all his life, true fear.
"He says that the others were killed by my brother."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Vincent backs away slowly, carefully stepping over the shattered plates and broken furniture, the saber held at the ready with all the confidence he can muster.
He spits the vile word and takes some satisfaction at both his own bravery to speak it aloud under such circumstances and the look of stupefied surprise that wipes the smug condescension clear off of Triggs' face.
The bloated fly masquerading as a painted mole buzzes from his cheek in irritation as the adjutant's face wrinkles with rage, to finally settle on the opaque black void of the accursed mirror. The surface of the glass roils like an oily sea, inky tendrils of the Immaterium extending from its surface to squirm and roil in agitation.
Looking behind him, Vincent can see the curving wall of the former astropathic chamber, the cracked and fading aqua-hued frescoes depicting the unit history of the Oremor 7th in all their martial splendor. Without windows there isn't even the hope of egress, even that of choosing his own death with a hundred-story fall to the base of the Keep. The curving skylight overhead is simply too high to reach, it may as well be as far away as the black sky and its winking silver stars beyond.
The wretchedly obese mountain of flesh that is the Warden seems emboldened by the name you spoke, and his jaw works wordlessly in a slobbering, mewling screech of recognition, even as his grotesque body flops still closer.
Triggs says nothing, staring at you in a cold rage, he then turns and meets the taller guardsman's gaze and nods sharply once.
Glyde levels the pistol at your head, his eyes never leaving your own.
Stollow moves forward fearlessly, as if you held nothing more dangerous than a lit candle, swinging the wooden table-leg in a brutal arc, clearly meant to crush your skull.
The club is swung sharply, with such conviction and power that it is all you can do not to backpedal still further. Glancing down at the gnawed, dismembered trunk of one of the dark skinned female wait-servitors, you are grateful you didn't, else you surely would have tripped over the rotting body. Seeing the empty, lizard-grin on Stollow's face you realize that was the huge guardsman's intention all along.
Triggs slowly circles around the table, moving cautiously in the Warden's slimy wake to better position himself between you and the door.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum
Luceros, even in his blackest grief, speaks bluntly and to the point, as is his nature.
"Tygault has returned from the surveillance of this Withdrawn Veil. Of the five I sent, five of our bravest, he was the only one to come home."
Luceros cannot look you in the eye, staring instead down at the worn table.
"Tygault is...changed...Savalos."
Raising his head again, he struggles to meet your gaze, his face wracked by anger, sorrow, and for what may be the first time in all his life, true fear.
"He says that the others were killed by my brother."
My gut twists listening to Luceros words. Not so much that some of my family is dead. We already lost many today, and I know alot more will die before all this is through.
Its the lie that was spoken to Luceros, followed by three words that scream out as danger... Tygault is changed.
There is no way for Johnnie to know who Luceros sent to the Withdrawn Viel. They were all sent to observe. Plain clothes, and under cover they never should have been close enough. I know my Wolves well enough. I also know while Johnnie has become a good arbite. He has forgotten alot of the tricks of the street. Even if he spotted one Wolf if he had gotten careless. There is no way he would spy four experienced hunters. Which leaves the daemon...
The daemon knows and foresee alot, but it doesn't know everything. While it wants Johnnie. Its got time to play with him. He doesn't have the knowledge it seeks.... The Feather. It must still think I do. Aebena's in danger, we all are in danger unless I continue to play along with its charade. Damn daemon and games that must be played.
"How has Ty changed?"
My words come out gravely, and with a timeless finality. I fear the hitchhiker is now inside of Tygault. I wonder what promised whispers it gave to him for his soul. Deep down I know its possible. Ty was always the opportunist. Being a pack leader he would be the one who told the others where to set up. He would know where they were. Being my Fathers friend, and veteran pack leader he would be in the perfect position to take over the gang at Mine and Luceros demise. Fragging Daemon.
The Vaxus Deeps, The Duct Wolf Sanctum
Luceros does not say another word, his eyes speaking for him as he rises and leads his new Packmaster to the makeshift medicae where the acolyte saw Uriah recuperating just a short while ago. In fact, when they arrive there is only one patient, as before, lying huddled beneath a tattered guard surplus blanket in the same cot the psyker once occupied near the middle of the crumbling room. No healers are present, a telling sign given the necessities of the Wolves holistic and spiritual techniques. It is almost as though the patient was under quarantine.
As if no time has passed since your question, Luceros gestures toward the figure lying with its back to you, curled nearly supine on the cot, now answering it.
"You must see for yourself."
Clenching the scerrido in one fist, fearing the absolute worst, Savalos makes a wide circuit of the bed, coming around from just behind Tygault's head.
Seeing his father's one-time contemporary and dearest friend laying there, a shiver runs up his spine, his heart breaking, his mind reeling at what he now witnesses before him.
He could not have been more wrong.
It is and is not Tygault that is curled before him. What he sees is a withered old man, near to death from his venerable age, emaciated and broken. As if sensing him there, sunken, rheumy eyes open and stare up at him from the once familiar face on the sack-cloth pillow. The distinctive, but now faded tattoos on his deeply wrinkled scalp and face making it a certainty.
The familiar voice that comes from the ancient man is little more than a rasping croak when he speaks, but the words, whispered and halting are uttered with a desperate effort to be heard.
Tygault has changed, but it is not in any way what Savalos imagined.
"Sav...Savvy...I...I found J-Johnnie...it was he that did this...to me...just a touch of his hand...he...this for you...
His age-spotted hand, the fingers gnarled and nails jagged, slips from within the blanket and a midnight blue card, faded and scuffed at the edges tumbles from his hand to the floor to land face-down.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Seeing his escape route closing before him, Vincent carefully steps back over the dead servitor, then abruptly turns and charges Triggs.
Even though I have played countless games of chance, and of life and death. Nothing could have prepared me to put on a poker face for that which I am witnessing. The only thing that is for sure is that this was the work of the daemon. Remembering well how time seemed to bend above me, as the Eviserator closed in for the kill. Yeah the daemon isn't finished with us yet...
I take the card from Ty's hand knowing it is mine. Looking at it before laying eyes on Ty's face again. A measure of guilt fills me thinking of the possibility that he would betray the family.
"Ty if I knew this was going to happen I never would have asked you and the others to go there. I would have hunted there myself."
Its hard to find the words when a man I knew most of my life is laying there dying. Daemon really wants to make this person. Killed Emrit, the Old She Wolf. Tried hard to kill me and Aebena. I look up to the ceiling looking for my avenging angel Maia. Wondering if her life as Kalaziel ended as well to allow Aebe and me to escape. So be it daemon. I will give you war.
"Rest well Ty. You've done more than your share. Its my turn to administer Wolves Justice."
I turn to Lucero's;
"We need to confer in private. Now."
I will pray to The Emperor, for strength and guidence.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Seeing his escape route closing before him, Vincent carefully steps back over the dead servitor, then abruptly turns and charges Triggs.
Stollow watches Vincent intently with dead, inhuman eyes that are impossible to read, flicking wet and fish-like from hand to face, hand to face, watching the inexpert dance of the power saber in the senior clerk's hand. He knows he has his quarry cornered, and advances with caution, waiting patiently, confident that Glyde and his autopistol provide the ultimate deterrent against Vincent doing something rash. His lack of expression in no way hides the fact that Stollow knows he is physically and martially Vincent's superior in every way, his body language says it with every step forward, every darting feint with his improvised cudgel.
Vincent does his best to maintain a blank facade, hiding his own intentions as long as possible, even as the grunting, heaving horror slouching toward him from behind draws nearer and nearer. Waiting until the last possible instant, he steps backward over the dismembered servitor, turning his heel as he does so, making to propel himself as fast as possible toward Triggs and the door.
Glyde seems to be the only one truly suspecting what you are about to do, almost preternaturally sensing you are capable of one, last, desperate act.
Glyde yells belligerently to Stollow:
"Dammit! Now! Take him now, he's baiting you! NOW!"
Seizing the opening, Stollow lunges forward the second Vincent turns, swinging the cudgel down in a brutal overhand arc with the intention of shattering bone.
The cudgel sweeps across the wide sleeve of Vincent's robe as he turns, the splinters catching on the fabric for an instant, finally pulling free as he staggers a few steps to the left before recovering his footing and charging past the monstrous Warden toward Triggs.
It is without a solitary doubt the bravest act Vincent Sepheris has taken in his entire life. Were he not absolutely certain his very survival hinged on the courage to run by the groping, flabby, outstretched arm of Warden Kreed he likely would have remained frozen in place. Desperately trying to keep his eyes focused straight ahead on the doors and Triggs, he cannot help but risk a furtive, fearful glance at the awful mockery of bulbous flesh that lurches toward him. Ignoring the nauseatingly wet slapping sound as the thing moves, he pulls himself as near to the curving wall as possible, feeling the barest whisper of air as the Warden's swollen fingers streak by his cheek. He hears Stollow and Glydes booted footfalls as they move to follow him, but his goal is already in sight. Hunching his shoulders, he charges the stunned adjutant, clenching the power saber close to his body while passing the Warden and then transitioning it to a two-handed grasp, bringing it high up over his shoulder and plunging it downward in a chopping swing with all his might at his nemesis.
Vincent is at least given the cathartic satisfaction of hearing Adjutant Triggs' high-pitched screech of abject terror as the Sliver of Calyx hisses down, glimmering with a strobing silver light as it descends. Cowering with his hands over his cowled head, Triggs lunges to one side, dropping to the floor and rolling into the redolent mire of filth surrounding the broken divan where the Warden once sat at the head of the table. Vincent scarcely has time to register the fact that his retribution has been denied, his eyes widening with a flicker of hope now that the path is clear to the large louvered doors.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Glyde cautiously hesitates, but Stollow bolts immediately after Vincent, perhaps due to the angry exhortations of his partner. His long, lanky legs easily carry him over the fallen servitor and the smeared detritus covering the floor, he too leaning toward the curving edge of the room as he darts between the fresco-covered wall and the outstretched arm of the Warden.
Stollow just makes it, the Warden waddling like an avalanche of bulbous flesh to fill the space where both Vincent and the corrupted guardsman stood just moments before. He wails piteously at the meal that just escaped him, rusting chains rattling across the floor with a whip-crack motion of his bloated legs.
Glyde pauses just a moment, opportunistically allowing Stollow to draw the Warden away toward the wall before deftly rushing across the mounded feces and clotted vomit covering the floor in the no-man's-land just vacated by the abomination. He arrives at Triggs' side, the pistol raised and pointed at Vincent's back as the clerk reaches for the doors.
Triggs cowers on the floor beside him, screaming incoherently at the guardsman, pointing his roach-arm in Vincent's general direction while admonishing the deathly calm Glyde in a vile tongue that bears no resemblance to any language Vincent has ever heard uttered before.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
His path clear, Vincent makes a break for the door.
Orcut VII Hive, Central Upspire Prime, The Pinnacle, The Librarian of Orcutian
As Uriah prays, Sgt. Einhardt clenches his hands together atop the table, he lowers his forehead slowly to his knuckles, and then sighs deeply. When he lifts his head again the hardened soldier no longer wears his cold, impassive mask, just a look of pure dread.
He speaks in a whisper, so as not to be overheard, his library etiquette impeccable and somewhat bizarre given the gravity of what he says.
"When word of Ceprus' death leaks out---and it will---the hive will be plunged into utter chaos, Uriah. When all of his potential successors and rivals among the nobility, the executive Administratum Adepta, and the various political blocs start fighting over governmental control there will be next to no hope that anyone will listen to your warning. Hell, it may take direct Inquisitorial intercession just to establish a successor, given how much Erika dol-Fulcus wants to turn the dyarchy into a single governership."
"We can't stay Uphive much longer. Trust me, regime changes of this magnitude, under these circumstances, aren't good for the health of convenient scapegoats such as us."
After I finish praying, I stand and turn to the Sgt.
"I agree, let us go to the meeting point, and we must go quickly."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Standing in front of the heavy louvered door with his pulse pounding in his temples and his hands, slick with sweat, clenched around the Sliver of Calyx, Vincent comes to the jarring realization that he had not expected to survive long enough to reach this point in his escape plan. As good fortune is something that has been in relatively short supply over the last few days, he does not waste time dwelling on how he beat the odds this time. Again thankful for his communion with Logis Blakswann, his eidetic memory calls up a mental image of the claustrum's schematics and the short corridor leading to the lift bank beyond the double doors.
Leery of taking one unsteady hand from the saber for even a moment, and seeing with a quick glance that the doors are locked anyway, he raises the humming power blade behind his head with the aim of slicing down through the resilient Unduz shellwood where the antiquated locking mechanism meets in the middle.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Vincent effortlessly cleaves the lock in twain.
The Auldmaw's Lair, the Font
The stink of smoke and something far more foul lingers in the air of the Auldmaw's once-lair, the titanic font, stained and blackened in many places from the scouring baptism of fire given by the Duct Wolves and Redemptionists less than a day ago mars the ancient monument of Eldar wraithbone with a taint that clings to the xenos-spine of the hive in a way that foully abides in a manner far worse than the charred stench surrounding it.
Luceros waits quietly behind him, at a respectful distance, the honor guard of Duct Wolves charged with guarding their fallen totem's lair further back still as Savalos stands before the fountain.
Shuffling the growing deck of placards from his own Heretic's Wake Deck in one hand, he draws the one he pulled from Tygault's withered hand, looking at it for the first time.
It depicts a spinning wheel with nine, ornate golden spokes, parchment pennants scrawled with tiny, illegible High Gothic script affixed to each. Where the spokes meet a staring eye gazes, somehow promising weal and woe in equal measure, should one dare to tempt the fates and play the great game of Change.
The Wheel of Fortune.
Luceros shuffles his feet on the filthy paving stones from behind Savalos, his Packmaster's long silence clearly unnerving the troubled Alpha.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
The senior clerk kicks the doors open, inhaling deeply the comparatively cleaner air in the corridor beyond like the sweetest, purest breath he has ever drawn into his lungs.
From behind he still hears Triggs shouting almost incoherently at Glyde, the adjutant's former confidence shaken by his brush with death at Vincent's hand a few moments ago.
Preparing to step forward into the corridor, something makes Vincent hesitate, a looming shadow quickly growing before him on the floor, he turns his head in time to see Stollow charging him from behind, the table-leg already cutting the air before him.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
After I finish praying, I stand and turn to the Sgt.
"I agree, let us go to the meeting point, and we must go quickly."
During our trip to the Auldmaws lair I try repeatedly to engage Luceros in conversation. Trying to let him know what I saw amongest the murals of the Astropathic Choir. The face of the daemon, and the sword that the scerrido's are all facsimiles of. That the Font is the base of the spire that leads through the Choir Chamber up to the heavens. That if the foundation falls every psyker in the Choirs souls would be in peril. Not to mention the souls of the Xenos inside the Wraithbone. If the Choir falls then Oremor would be cut off, and alone to the predations of the daemon, and the prisnor. Order has to be maintained. Otherwise chaos will reign.
Saying a prayer to the Emperor, and Saint Trobriund. I remember well what the relic did to the pestilence card. Turning its filth covered visage a pure white. I remove one of the vials from the Golden Aquila, and look to heal the wound the wraithbone has sustained from the filth. Pure waters use to run here once. It should be time that pure whats ran here again.... The Healer Battles The Plague.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
After I finish praying, I stand and turn to the Sgt.
"I agree, let us go to the meeting point, and we must go quickly."
The Auldmaw's Lair, the Font
As Savalos treads slowly toward the wide, perfectly smooth, curving basin at the base of the font, he depresses one of the small wing-tip pearls and releases another one of the small ampules from the golden aquila. The delicate crystal vial containing one of Saint Trobriund's fingerbones and a small quantity of perfectly pure water falling into the palm of his hand with a feeling of finality.
Luceros clears his throat, and whispers from just behind his Packmaster's right shoulder.
"This then, will becalm the spirits in the Auldmaw's waters?"
Savalos nods, and unstoppers the crystalline stasis seal atop the vial. He does not hesitate, pouring the entirety of the ninth vial, bone shard and all, into the massive basin, a drop of water in an otherwise evaporated sea.
He watches as the single drop traces a path along the deep curve of the bowl, slowly passing through the charred wraithbone and the tarry substance that still cakes the Eldar monument. The tiny bead of water seems impossibly blue-white to the acolyte's eyes, pearlescent and perfect, like a world in miniature, the tears of an Imperial Saint. Tumbling before it is the shard of bone, the tomb-like silence in the Auldmaw's Lair so profound, each click of the osseous relic is loud as the Emperor's hammer-blows to Savalos.
He closes his eyes, an upwelling of vertigo filling him, when a single chord from a sonorous choir of upraised Imperial majesty sounds, slowly fading to an otherworldly, ghostly chanting; alien voices, harmonious and melodious, murmuring in his head before falling silent. He leans forward heavily to support himself on the rim of the basin.
He senses the coolness radiating from a great quantity of water, stippling splashes brushing gently against his knuckles. He inhales deeply, his heart pounding in his chest when he realizes the foul stench of corruption and fire has been exorcised from the air, replaced by the pungent loamy scent of turned earth, the now familiar smell of salt air. When he opens his eyes again, it seems to release the sounds of the world from all around him, as if they were held in abeyance until he could see once again.
The towering wraithbone fountain is now filled with pristinely pure, crystalline waters, ripples and snow-white foam carried along by cascading flows from staggered basins above. He can feel the cool air wafted by the water's flow assuaging the weariness in his body, a sensation like being reborn.
Looking up, he follows the almost never-ending, spire-like fountain of unblemished wraithbone to where it vanishes in a perfectly blue sky above. The tapering point looks as if it pierces the shining sun almost directly above.
Something snuffles at his hand before licking it with a sticky tongue.
From somewhere behind the Duct Wolf, an ethereal, vaguely amused voice that is decidedly not Luceros speaks with perfect inflection.
"It seems he likes you."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Vincent spins around too late, the saber flashing down but finding only empty space as the giant guardsman rotates his wrist and thrusts the head of the table-leg into his gut with an overwhelming force that cracks ribs and shocks the clean air from Vincent's lungs.
Rook
I look down at my hand to see whats licking it before I turn around slowly to see who is speaking to me. Seeing how abruptly my surroundings changed I wonder when I leaned on the Font that I fell though a gateway similiar to the mirrior and its inhabitants that abducted Krade.
"Seems so."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Vincent spins around too late, the saber flashing down but finding only empty space as the giant guardsman rotates his wrist and thrusts the head of the table-leg into his gut with an overwhelming force that cracks ribs and shocks the clean air from Vincent's lungs.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Vincent rolls with the blow at the last moment, likely saving his ribcage from being stoved in, but has no doubt that some ribs were broken by the powerful blow just the same.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Teetering from the brutal blow, Vincent somehow remains on his feet, staggering backward and then turning to make a run into the lift corridor.
Practically screeching now, Triggs levels his hideous limb at the senior clerk, waggling it from side to side as he points.
"HE NEARLY KILLED ME YOU FOOLS! I CARE NOT WHAT THE MASTER WILLS, KILL HIM, KILL HIM NOW BEFORE HE ESCAPES!!!
Grateful that the enraged adjutant has finally decided enough is enough, Glyde strides forward, a look of mild irritation on his face. He raises the Armsman-10 and points it directly at Vincent's face, smiling when he pulls the trigger.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II