The Wellspring of E'auvennade
Turning, Savalos nearly faints, his head swimming, brief flashes of the Auldmaw's Lair flickering and superimposing themselves stroboscopically over his field of view; Luceros' concerned face, the pitted stonework and walls that are no longer there. Leaning with one arm back against the rim of the font, he looks down at the thing that was licking him just as it retracts a long, tubular pink tongue into its fang-filled muzzle. Wiry, dark-green fur coats its back and flanks like spiky moss, tapering away toward the withers and head which is armored in dark brown chitin. A trio of wide, vertically-oriented eyes, stare back at him intelligently, a low, chittering series of purr-clicks following from its thick throat. The duct-wolf-that-was turns and pads away, tucking its tertiary leg beneath as it resumes it lounging place on a woven reed mat at the foot of the fountain, seemingly content that this interloper into its territory poses no threat.
His vision still swimming, Savalos turns to the voice, completely unaware that the place where he now stands is vastly different from the Wellspring Uriah visited. Where once only tangled clusters of morels grew in scattered bunches, towering, thirty meter tall fungoids now vie with the fountain itself, lending the shade of their gigantic drooping caps to the sun-speckled glade. The restless jade green sea has gradually eroded the vast promontory to a fraction of its former height, the waves now lapping at the edges of the tall tube-grasses blowing their fragrant spores inland.
In truth, a truth that Savalos could not possibly know, only the Eldar monument and K'lei-eth remain the same.
The voice speaks again, melodically, perfect in pitch and tone. You find yourself becoming enthralled by the speaker before you even fully understand what it is he is saying.
"You know who I am."
It is not a question.
I watch as the Duct Wolf scampers off, and lays down next to its master. Thinking it was always Silus's wish that we could live with the duct wolves side by side without the use of his sceptre or coercion. I smile to myself briefly knowing that his dream can one day be possible.
Looking up at the Eldar its almost like a dream. Funny how I thought this day would never come regardless of all my training.
"I know of you. Its my hope I will get to know you. Beautiful duct wolf."
Gesturing to the beast.
"Last time one licked me it was sizing me up for a meal."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Time stops for the senior clerk.
Vincent stares down the barrel of his own weapon, his tunnel vision only broken when movement forces his eyes to dart to the right, following the rippling advance of the Warden as he rises like a wall of putrid flesh behind the oblivious guardsman, Stollow. Always wary, Glyde's attention shifts ever so minutely as he pulls the trigger, and Vincent survives only because he is already dodging away from the slouching horror, unlike his counterpart.
Just the same, the muzzle flash blinds Vincent when his own gun fires upon him.
After a sharp report there is a painful sensation where Vincent Sepheris' left earlobe used to be, but he is already ducking reflexively, adrenaline pounding through his veins, the anguished roars of the Warden deafeningly loud now in his ears now.
The Wellspring of E'auvennade
Savalos' vision finally clears, and he watches as the tall figure becomes more distinct to his watery sight. K'lei-eth strides forward through the gently blowing cloud of rose-red spores, the fungal blooms seeming to part before his passage. The Eldar is tall, with pale skin as smooth as the seamless wraithbone font behind you. He wears emerald-colored robes that are festooned with living plant-life layered between the intricately woven folds and plaits, blood-red flowers blooming from the shoulders and hems like they were ornamentation that was sewn on rather than grown. A delicate and tapering conical headdress covers the xenos' slightly elongated skull, the stony material delicately fluted coral of deepest green. He idly holds Silus', and now Uriah's scepter in one hand, but you know without a doubt that he lays far more claim to it than either of them.
His eyes are brilliant and timeless, young and old at once. A purer viridian shade you have never laid eyes upon.
"You could only come to know me, monkeigh, as the Remyr here (he points to what you referred to as a duct wolf), knows you. Take no grudge with my words. It is through no fault of your own that your kind are so short-sighted and ephemeral."
A slight crease to the Eldar's lips hint at a mercurial smile.
"Worry not. You would be poor fodder for one such as he, the flesh of your kind will not be known to the Remyr for many years yet."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
With bloated, waggling arms, Warden Kreed reaches out for Stollow, who just now senses the danger.
The corrupted V-Block guardsman somehow ducks under the gruesome reach of the abomination, stumbling toward you at a crouch to escape its grasp.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Collecting himself somewhat amid the caterwauling din of the Nurglite behemoth, Triggs steps forward, eyes ablaze in anger, white powdered makeup and rouge melting from his livid, sweating face like dissolving skin to reveal the sickly greenish pallor beneath.
You know something terrible is about to happen when his eyes begin to bleed a runny yellow bile that hisses and burns furrows into the flesh of his cheeks as he weeps.
Vincent feels his gorge rise uncontrollably, his stomach turning from a tight knot to a cauldron of boiling vomit in an eyeblink. The hot mass surges up his throat, stinging and searing the already raw flesh, but the release never comes, his yawning lips forming a wide bubble of bile that fails to burst, keeping the hot pillar of puke trapped in his throat where it begins to suffocate him.
The Wellspring of E'auvennade
"You could only come to know me, monkeigh, as the Remyr here (he points to what you referred to as a duct wolf), knows you. Take no grudge with my words. It is through no fault of your own that your kind are so short-sighted and ephemeral."
A slight crease to the Eldar's lips hint at a mercurial smile.
"Worry not. You would be poor fodder for one such as he, the flesh of your kind will not be known to the Remyr for many years yet."
I smile a bit looking at the Duct Wolf.
"I take no offense in your saying. Heard that kind of talk all my life. No one can truly understand another. Rich vs poor, one race vs another. Its all based upon our experiences. The important thing is we try, and meet on common ground."
I offer my hand in friendship.
"I may appear as just a blink of the eye compared to your longevity. But our mutual enemies see your time as just an instint in the scheme of things. That the rash, and the wise both have need to help each other. For those who wish us ill have long memories."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Through sheer force of will, Vincent expels the suffocating vomit from his throat, showering the pair of guardsmen facing him with a wave of bile and the half-digested remnants of his last meal. Ironically enough, that meal was in this very room, though the guardsmen are unlikely to appreciate this as Vincent does.
The Wellspring of E'auvennade
With a look that might be construed as either haughty amusement or affable chagrin, the Eldar Exodite tentatively holds out one long-fingered hand for Savalos, allowing the acolyte to grasp it loosely before the xenos divines the proper protocol for this uniquely human gesture. He then tightens his grip firmly before releasing the forthright mon-keigh's hand, an inscrutable chuckle escaping his lips.
Savalos cannot be sure if the Eldar genuinely enjoyed the friendly gesture or is wondering at what his kindred would think that he willingly bonded with a being that the majority of his people regard as little better than animals.
"You possess true wisdom, Savalos Thul, a virtue few of your race have cultivated to an extent that they can perceive the long view. Indeed, we share a common adversary. I am indebted to you in no small measure, for even you do not fully comprehend the sacrifice you have just made in purifying the Wellspring of E'auvennade. Such an act, like the Wellspring itself, resonates through time, and you will witness the consequences both good and ill. May the wisdom you possess carry you through the regret that is to come."
It is hard to tell, but K'lei-eth's expression seems to grow contemplative.
"Some become lost on their Path, by choice or fate, I pray that you will stay true to yours."
The Eldar makes a strange, splay-fingered gesture, passing his hand over your forehead through the air along the vertical axis of your body. This solemn evocation leaves you as uncomprehending as he was moments ago when you offered to clasp his hand. Sensing your confusion, he bows his head slightly, and offers the following by way of explanation:
"I have marked you as a friend to the Biel-tan. The future may yet come when your act of generosity to my people shall be returned with gratitude by my kind. In doing this, it will be known to those who See."
As the spores continue to float around him, K'lei-eth looks out across the majestic sea, his green eyes shimmering with the reflection of the light on the water.
"Your presence here...in this when...was unexpected... the kilithikadya holds surprises it seems, even for one such as I."
He turns to regard you again, his robes flowing in the balmy, almost desultory wind off of the water.
"So, my friend, why are you here?"
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Determined not to die, a combination of Vincent's powerful individuality and the advanced noetical psychic defense techniques taught to him on Sepheris Secundus allow him to expel the probing tendrils of the Immaterium, and by dint of this, the vomit from his asphyxiating body. He quite unintentionally expels the bile, filth, and last remnants of his repast with the Warden into the faces of both Glyde and Stollow, blinding the latter as a result of their close proximity.
Sensing the failure of his invocation, Triggs seethes, shrieking again to his lackeys even as the resultant consequence of his channeling of the Immaterium manifests.
Distracted in his fury, the umbral cloud seeping from the mirror begins to solidify into ropy tendrils of shadowy blot, unnoticed by Triggs until it rings the ranting adjutant and envelops his body in a spiral of black energy, slowly lifting him three meters into the air until he hangs suspended just below the darkened skylight, a cloud of flies materializing from the wreathing substance to buzz angrily around his head and face. Vincent and the guardsmen feel the wash of it as a tangible force, cold and unrelenting. In direct contradiction of what his present circumstances would suggest, he feels a ravenous, uncompromisingly powerful feeling of hunger. It takes all of his willpower not to scrounge across the filth-ridden floor for anything remotely edible.
The adjutant's anger turns to abject terror, his fear chilling to even Vincent for its sincerity. Triggs begins to screech in servile obeisance, begging for forgiveness.
"No! NO! I plead with you Master, forgive your humble servant! I only seek to be an instrument to your will, I beg of you, I crave your pardon, my sire! PLEASSSSSSE!"
With a lack of subtlety that would be comical under almost any other circumstances were not Vincent Sepheris in mortal terror for his own life at such a display, whatever force holds Triggs aloft drops him as abruptly as he was lifted.
The traitorous adjutant lands with a crash, and a wheedling cry of pain escapes his lips when his slipper-clad foot is forcibly impaled on the filthy tines of a sizable serving fork wedged upright into the cluttered floor.
After K'lei-eth finishs marking me with the sigil.
"Thank you for the honorific. I hope to continue to do it justice."
"As for wisdom... I don't know how wise I am. Just follow my gut, and do what I feel is right. As for regret, I don't know. It can weigh heavy on a man."
"Why am I here?" I laugh.
"In all honesty I wasn't expecting to meet you. Was just trying to remove the taint from the Font. Felt it needed to be protected. Definately wasn't expecting all this."
I gesture to my surroundings.
"If there is a reason for me being here I would say help, and knowledge. I need to find, and save a man named Decius Krade. He has knowledge to keep the prisnor still a prisnor. Hopefully by doing so we can keep the corruption and filth from spreading."
"For me personally there is a daemon. Its a hitchhiker, hops from body to body. Its one of those with a long memory. Came across a fresco depicting a battle against it. A man held a sword that my scerrido resembles in that fight. My gut is telling me this daemon has been killing off every bloodline that was in the battle against it. I've already lost friends, and family to it. Would have had me too if it wasn't for my guardian angel... Earned a scar from where it punched through my face."
I laugh again.
"Sorry guess I am being long winded... Guess I am asking advice on how to beat this thing. Kill it, imprison it. Tell when its possessing somebody... Can't let it, or the prisnor escape."
I look tired, and the many days of wariness show in my face and eyes.
"Got to save Oremor. There is to much at stake."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Seeing the confusion, Vincent seizes the opportunity to put ground between himself and his enemies.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Inhaling deeply to catch his breath, Vincent expels the last of the bile and mucus from his throat with a hacking cough, all while backpedaling through the sundered door. He watches warily through stinging, watering eyes as Stollow, and to a lesser extent, Glyde, try to wipe away the vomit shower from their faces.
Looking beyond the taller guardsman, the senior clerk's eyes go wide when the Warden Colonel suddenly rears up to his full height, doughy legs still kicking his bloated, slouching form across the filthy floor. Raising flabby, rippling arms the size of grox haunches above his head like a child throwing a tantrum, he brings them both down on Stollow with all of his prodigious weight behind the hammer-blow, an enraged, bellowing roar drowning out Triggs' screeches of pain.
The tall man falls as if pole-axed, crumpling to the ground in front of the ravenous behemoth the Warden has become. The morbidly obese monstrosity shambles forward until the grotesque rolls of his distended stomach flop across Stollow's legs, pinning them as one huge, meaty claw reaches down for the shrieking guardsman's hair to pull him upright.
Vincent need see no more, turning on his heel and running into the narrow lift-access corridor as the Warden waddles, sidling his huge form around to better grasp his prey. Glyde, his escape cut off, slowly backs into the corridor as well, cursing as he wipes the last of the filth from his eyes.
The wet smacking sounds made by the Warden's salivating mouth, coupled by his bulk blocking the egress from the corridor around the ruined door, silences Triggs' pained cries from the banquet hall as surely as any vault door.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Behind the Warden, Triggs struggles to his feet again, still wailing for his Master's mercy.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
The Wellspring of E'auvennade
Still looking out across the sea, K'lei-eth nods in acknowledgment of your words, the thing that will be a duct wolf one day padding along behind him obediently.
"Knowledge."
The Eldar actually sighs.
"Were just knowledge enough to defeat such a foe, I would be the most ably armed of all. I regret to say, it is not, however."
He turns to face you again, the sun over the roaring surf glinting through his elaborate headdress, causing flecks of golden light to dance across the moss-coated flags of the font courtyard in front of Savalos.
"To be victorious, to save this world, our world, you must dare to play the daemon's game, as Krade has. The continuum is known to him; the warp and the weft, the ebb and the flow. He always was an apt pupil. I can see why he has chosen you and your fellow acolytes in this, his final gambit."
I laugh.
"Explains alot." Exspecially why the Old Man was so excited when he saw I could play a mean game of cards.
I am silent for long while organizing my thoughts, and weighing what will be probably be the most important decision of my life.
"Alright, I'm all in. As you said our world... our home."
If I ever want to have any hope of raising a family. To see my children, and there childrens children grow up without fear. I'm going to have to step up and ward against the things that cause nightmares. If I have a son. I don't want him to see the expression of terror my mother had as his last memory of his mother. Yeah I'm all in.
"Where do I start? What cards are we holding?"
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Seeing his escape before him, Vincent sprints down the corridor. Screeching to a halt at the elevator, he impatiently taps the call button, glancing furtively behind himself as he does.
"Where do I start? What cards are we holding?"
"I understand your human colloquialism's meaning. Ah, the placards. Krade was ever one to play at them. An amusingly quaint manner of augury, but I cannot scoff at the results he achieved with them. Your peculiar little 'Tarot', while infinitely less sophisticated than what is possible by casting the Runes, seems a perfect methodology for your unpredictable race."
Farseer K'lei-eth looks curiously at you, as if seeing something hidden for the first time.
"You carry the touch of his divination on your person even now, do you not?"
"Where do I start? What cards are we holding?"
"I understand your human colloquialism's meaning. Ah, the placards. Krade was ever one to play at them. An amusingly quaint manner of augury, but I cannot scoff at the results he achieved with them. Your peculiar little 'Tarot', while infinitely less sophisticated than what is possible by casting the Runes, seems a perfect methodology for your unpredictable race."
Farseer K'lei-eth looks curiously at you, as if seeing something hidden for the first time.
"You carry the touch of his divination on your person even now, do you not?"
"You mean these cards? Yeah."
I pull the ones I have out of my furs.
"Was my mothers cards that she gifted to me. They got confiscated a few years back. Used them more for playing than divining until recently."
I am quiet for minute trying to think of the best words to describe my thoughts.
"They've been reappearing... Sometimes in the place waiting for me. Sometimes delivered, other times they fall out of the air... Only the Arcana so far. Half the Arcana are still missing. Haven't seen any of the other cards."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Vincent runs as quickly as his weary, bony legs will carry him, reaching the lift doors in a matter of seconds. Looking back over his shoulder as he gropes for the call button, he can see Glyde backing cautiously down the corridor behind him. Neither he nor the guardsman are able to avert their eyes when the Warden lifts the flailing body of Stollow off of the ground by the nape of the tall man's neck. The Warden's thick, supernaturally strong arms, covered in filth and weeping pustules, easily yank the V-Block guard upright, pulling him close in a flabby embrace. The corpulent face stretches in a loathsome grin of expectant ecstasy even as Stollow screams for deliverance. Knowing that his hunger will soon be sated, multiple, bulbous necks shift, releasing scuttling parasites from beneath the folds as the Warden adjusts his head, clamping down on Stollow's upper arm like a hungry man sampling a delectable popover. Blood sprays across the lacquered shellwood of the lift corridor walls as the guardsman's flesh bursts like an overripe ploin from the pressure. With maddening joviality, the thing that was the Warden Colonel of Ylesium Claustrum begins to laugh, a deep, booming, satisfied chuckle.
Realizing that the bloated mass of the Warden now blocks all egress from the corridor, and not wanting to wait around and see if Stollow will sate his inhuman appetites, Vincent focuses all of his attention and getting the hell out of his present predicament. Finally looking down, he sees the flashing red indicator on the lift controls:
-ACCESS DENIED+++IMPROPER SECURITY CLEARANCE-
Cursing, he begins rifling through his robes, frantically searching for the Warden-Colonel's ward accessor. Finding nothing, he turns around again, his heart sinking both from the fact that the device is not there, and from the sudden silence now that the screaming has abruptly been cut off.
Like some horrifically fat reptile, the Warden has tilted his bloated head backward, a grotesque gagging sound filling the corridor as he gobbles down the rest of Stollow, swallowing him whole, only a pair of booted feet still protruding from the horror's liver-colored lips.
Glyde has seen enough, he turns and runs toward the lift-door as well, his stony expression on edge, but still showing no fear, the closest you have seen to an emotional reaction from the cold-blooded guardsman.
Seeing you still standing there, he slows his approach, raising your own pistol and pointing it at your head again.
A tremendous, ripping belch erupts from somewhere behind him, and with a clatter of chains, the wet, flopping, scraping sound of the Warden dragging himself across the floor begins again.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
The Wellspring of E'auvennade
"You mean these cards? Yeah."
I pull the ones I have out of my furs.
"Was my mothers cards that she gifted to me. They got confiscated a few years back. Used them more for playing than divining until recently."
I am quiet for minute trying to think of the best words to describe my thoughts.
"They've been reappearing... Sometimes in the place waiting for me. Sometimes delivered, other times they fall out of the air... Only the Arcana so far. Half the Arcana are still missing. Haven't seen any of the other cards."
K'lei-eth's emerald gaze pins you in place.
"Herein lies your first lesson, then."
He looks pointedly toward the cards fanned out in your hand.
"Who is the one who has been leaving them for you?"
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Vincent plunges the Sliver of Calyx into the sealed door of the elevator, aiming to rend a man-sized hole.
The Wellspring of E'auvennade
K'lei-eth's emerald gaze pins you in place.
"Herein lies your first lesson, then."
He looks pointedly toward the cards fanned out in your hand.
"Who is the one who has been leaving them for you?"
"Seeing moves have been played for my recruitment, and the anticipation of my return by friend and foe alike. I'm not going to assume I know who is returning the cards to me. It should have been the Old Man as it was him who took the cards from me in the first place. But I can't take that chance."
"All I know for certain is Krade was in the middle of a game when he was abducted. His Regicide board just sitting there with pieces waiting. While he was abducted by the Prisnor, and the Daemon came later searching. Took the mirror. I think the Daemon as was the Prisnor are both pieces of the Regicide board. Its Krades opponent who is the real threat that needs to be stopped."
"Which reminds me. What do you know of mirrors as doorways?"
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Vincent cuts deeply into the mirror-sheen of the lift-doors, grateful that marring it erases the bloody, gluttonous horror of the scene reflected in its surface. Wrenching with the humming power saber with all of his might, he carves, the metal squealing and sparking with the effort as it is rent asunder.
He stares into the gaping black cavity revealed beyond, a feeling of desolation welling within him.
Of course. The lift is on one of the upper levels.
From behind the senior clerk, the raspy killer's voice comes.
"Looking for this?"
Turning, Vincent sees Glyde striding slowly toward him, right hand leveling the Armsman-10 at his head, left hand dangling the ward accessor.
The Wellspring of E'auvennade
"Yes, Regicide. This, of all Krade's human diversions, always intrigued me. It bears certain similarities to a game played by my own people, and we shared many a contest in his time here."
K'lei-eth listens to your description of Krade's suspended game with sagely interest, nodding to himself once again. A vaguely arrogant, but supremely confident mannerism you have seen several times thus far in your short time with the Eldar. Like a tell.
"If both daemons are indeed pieces in the Game being played, then you are correct, neither is his actual opponent. Discover who this is, and you will unlock a greater truth, one that could perhaps shift the balance in this conflict."
The Eldar Farseer cocks his head to one side, a mercurial look of amusement playing across his thin lips.
"You prevaricate, however, Savalos Thul. Before we speak of mirrors, what is your answer to my question?"
I am quiet for a long time thinking about K'lei-eth's question. Thinking about all the players I am aware of, and what I know of there capabilities. How the cards were found and placed, and the symbolism behind them. As well as the snippets people have told me, and what I have figured out that has transpired in the last three years since I took my long walk...
"Maia"
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
I am quiet for a long time thinking about K'lei-eth's question. Thinking about all the players I am aware of, and what I know of there capabilities. How the cards were found and placed, and the symbolism behind them. As well as the snippets people have told me, and what I have figured out that has transpired in the last three years since I took my long walk...
"Maia"
K'lei-eth actually smiles, and Savalos finds the Catechism of the Xenos returning unbidden to his thoughts, and he reminds himself that whatever alliance he has made, the fey majesty of the Eldar is not a thing to be seduced by, or trifled with. This being is truly ancient, beyond his human comprehension, and the acolyte suspects that he has witnessed a rarity in such a simple gesture, something as eternal and infrequent as a conjunction of Oremor's triple moons.
"Maia? Or is it Kalaziel? Is it not fascinating that the names we give unto things or beings can color so much our perception of what or who they are?"
The Farseer lets you consider this for a moment.
"Your answer, while not entirely correct, is true enough in its own way. The child you knew as Maia, now Kalaziel by Krade's naming, is the one that has left the placards for you, albeit at another's behest. The name is an interesting one, do you know its significance, Savalos Thul?"
"Its an ancient Terran name by the sounding of it. How old, and its meaning I can't say. Sounds angelic though."
"You said placed by anothers behest. If not Krade then who?"
"She may be called Kalaziel now, but I've seen the Maia I know still inside."
The Wellspring of E'auvennade
"Its an ancient Terran name by the sounding of it. How old, and its meaning I can't say. Sounds angelic though."
K'lei-eth begins to pace in a wide circle around you, his narrowed eyes returning to the sea.
"You are correct, the name is an homage to one of your Emperor's many angelic attendants. Krade once told me the literal meaning of the name is, 'the seraphim who thwarts pestilence'.
"You said placed by another's behest. If not Krade then who?"
"The child-angel serves Krade, and placed them at his behest, but there is more at work here than the machinations of mere mortal beings. You are not naive, Savalos Thul. I know full well that you and your companions have witnessed the portents, perceived the visions, and experienced firsthand the fraying of time itself, all presaging the doom to come."
"She may be called Kalaziel now, but I've seen the Maia I know still inside."
The Eldar Farseer turns back to face you, the blinding radiance of the sun over the cresting waves casting him in silhouette, making his expression unreadable. Even so, despite even his alien nature, you can sense the subtle indications of well-concealed surprise in his posture and the timing of his reply. You are a gambler, and know your tells.
"Perhaps. Perhaps you have."
You are not certain, but there seems to even be a hint of admiration in his voice.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Glyde stalks forward, stopping a few meters away, well out of your reach. His strange, predatory eyes stab into you, almost daring you to challenge him. The sharp smell of cordite still accompanies the ghost of gunsmoke trailing from the muzzle of the Armsman-10.
From behind, the Warden-Thing bellows again, the clank of chains and soft scrape of bloated flesh across the stained wooden floors heralding his coming. He will be upon you both soon.
Glyde pivots on his heel, turning almost to profile, never once looking back, more to give you a clear view of the horror that slouches its way inevitably down the hallway than anything else.
Despite his own mortal peril, he seems to relish the thought of a standoff.
"The Master desires you alive, regardless of what I might wish. Drop the blade and you might see tomorrow, clerk."
The Grey Way, Dolmen-Rue
Uriah stops at the end of the twisting alleyway, pushing his finger to his ear to better hear the microbead as it crackles to life, the festive shouts and ribaldry from the thoroughfare beyond the alley's mouth forcing him to turn away and lean on the oddly canted stone wall, away from the worst of the noise. Einhardt stops in his tracks, signalling the psyker that he will stand sentinel so that the voidborn may answer.
Oktammor's gruff voice follows:
<<<"Uriah, Uriah, do you receive?">>>
The Wellspring of E'auvennade
'the seraphim who thwarts pestilence'.
"The child-angel serves Krade, and placed them at his behest, but there is more at work here than the machinations of mere mortal beings.
"Good name, but she's still my Maia..."
"Yeah I've seen more than most ever want to. I've seen a few daemons for lack of a better term. Small ones covered in filth. Hiss like cats when you kick em. Saw another kind seemed to be ethereal made of flame. Burned up Ishmael real bad. Don't think we killed it. But its gone. The Hitchhiker... I saw it in the Eviserator, think I saw a mural of it in the Astropathic Choir... We're going to need all the help we can get to stop that thing."
I smile when I sense his change in posture.
"Maybe when we have time, I will teach you how to play cards. Its similiar to Regicide as in the long game. Have to play each hand at a time. As the old saying goes. Got to know when to hold em, know when to fold em... Think you would enjoy it."
"The meantime we have alot of work to do."
The Wellspring of E'auvennade
K'lei-eth gestures for you to follow him, and begins to make his way toward the Wellspring, passing below the purple, dappled shade that dances beneath the looming fungoid caps.
"Then let us begin."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
Glyde stalks forward, stopping a few meters away, well out of your reach. His strange, predatory eyes stab into you, almost daring you to challenge him. The sharp smell of cordite still accompanies the ghost of gunsmoke trailing from the muzzle of the Armsman-10.
From behind, the Warden-Thing bellows again, the clank of chains and soft scrape of bloated flesh across the stained wooden floors heralding his coming. He will be upon you both soon.
Glyde pivots on his heel, turning almost to profile, never once looking back, more to give you a clear view of the horror that slouches its way inevitably down the hallway than anything else.
Despite his own mortal peril, he seems to relish the thought of a standoff.
"The Master desires you alive, regardless of what I might wish. Drop the blade and you might see tomorrow, clerk."
"Why should I trust you? Triggs did say you were nursing something of a grudge. Did I kick your dog? Your mother? They are so difficult to tell apart."
The Wellspring of E'auvennade
K'lei-eth gestures for you to follow him, and begins to make his way toward the Wellspring, passing below the purple, dappled shade that dances beneath the looming fungoid caps.
"Then let us begin."
** spoiler omitted **
"Sounds good."
Rook
The Grey Way, Dolmen-Rue
Uriah stops at the end of the twisting alleyway, pushing his finger to his ear to better hear the microbead as it crackles to life, the festive shouts and ribaldry from the thoroughfare beyond the alley's mouth forcing him to turn away and lean on the oddly canted stone wall, away from the worst of the noise. Einhardt stops in his tracks, signalling the psyker that he will stand sentinel so that the voidborn may answer.
Oktammor's gruff voice follows:
<<<"Uriah, Uriah, do you receive?">>>
"I am receiving you, Oktammor"
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
After your goading remark, the cold fury in Glyde's jaundiced eyes betray nothing about the reasons for his antipathy toward you, but it is abundantly clear that it runs deep. The murderous impulse to pull the trigger makes his already tense jaw quiver with forced restraint.
Hearing another vaguely bovine roar from the monstrosity behind him, he takes another pace forward, jabbing the gun in your direction.
"Drop the blade and stand aside or you will die. Last chance, or I'll vent your Mara-accursed ass."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
The Grey Way, The Vermillion Ring, Hypogeum Sub Level B, Cogitator Hub Cross-Conduit Terminus #117
The hulking guardsman, Hurchal, leans his cinder-block sized head toward the dented metal door leading into the cogitator hub chamber, raising a warning hand as Ivaanov and Kaltos converse rapidly in binary about the scenes and sounds playing on the pict-screens.
"Hey, 'summuns comin!"
I scan the images of the corridor leading to the room trying to catch a glimpse of who or what might be coming.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
As the guardsman prattles on in his asinine manner, Vincent nonchalantly slides his free hand along the door of the elevator to grip the edge of the hole he cut in the door. As Glyde finishes his threat, Vincent swings himself bodily through the opening placing the door's intact portion between himself and the guardsman.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II
As Vincent grasps the edge of the cloven door, there comes a loud rattle of clanking chains, followed by a growling exhalation of foul air as the bindings on the Warden pull taut from where they are anchored to the banquet hall floor. The Warden-Thing groans in impotent rage, gnashing its rotten, blunted teeth and scrabbling at the floor with its flabby arms trying to gain purchase to pull free. Frustrated in its efforts the abomination wails piteously.
A vulpine smile crosses Glyde's face at the sounds of the Warden's struggles, this is followed by what can only be a look of grateful satisfaction when you attempt to flee once more.
Without another word, the very moment you begin to move, he centers his aim with the Armsman-10 and fires.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, The Aerie, 99th level, Unduz II