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 Piercing Dark.

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Cavash
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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Thu Jul 26 2012, 14:01

@Alys Dwr wrote:
Explain the problem away with the warp or some sort of temporal anomaly generated by a webway portal. It's the GW way to do things Smile

Al

Or get it eaten by Tyranids, Squat style! Razz

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Wed Aug 01 2012, 15:25

Sorry about the time that the proofreading is taking. Should be finished soon as I now have far too much free time.
Third chapter has been updated.

Edit: Fourth chapter updated.

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Thu Aug 02 2012, 14:05

What can I say Filius? All the time I spent saying let me have a read of some of your work; now I have - Wow!

A great story written in pace with the setting.

Looking forward to the next chapter.

I have sent you a pm Smile
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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Thu Aug 02 2012, 15:40

Thanks, Rite'ash.
Your comment is much appreciated. Smile

Edit: Chapter five updated.

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Sun Aug 05 2012, 14:15

Soi, I've finally got my creative juices flowing again and you should be expecting a new chapter some time this week or the next.
I also felt compelled to write more seeing as I haven't given you another chapter in a month.

Preview:

Chapter X

Faroughk crouched, perched as she was, upon the ram of Dernia’s Chariot of Grandeur. The loss in numbers that her Cult had suffered was immense, and now only forty of the previous two hundred members had survived. She had cut down the two other Succubi as they attempted to persuade her not to join Dernia’s grudge match against their void dwelling kin. She did not care what others thought; she had been promised Spirit Stones by Relliach Korvesh and she would claim them.

As the storage bay’s doors slid open the background drone of labouring slaves and gathering Kabalites broke the peaceful whirring of the gravity generators, disturbing her deep concentration.

“Woman, keep your foul feet from my craft!”

When she realised that it was Dernia who had joined her in the hangar bay she was certain that some sort of insult or imaginary offence would be inferred by him. Around him a shamble of armed guards formed a barrier that kept out his other followers. Scribes scurried along, waiting to be dismissed after writing down the thoughts he spoke aloud. They hung on his every poetic word and willingly praised his genius works of artful literature. Drug dispensing monstrosities walked ahead of his position to fragrance the air with rare and luxurious scents. Slaves were forced forward with the column, each one screaming at the crack of a Dracon’s whip. Only the Janissary Tr’anrik was permitted within the ring of guards.
“How long?” She sighed with indifference, padding her way down onto the deck. Her soft feet betrayed no sound as she began to feel her way forward towards the gathered court.

“A matter of hours, Archite. We have found their Wraithship and the nebula in which it hides. I doubt that they will not have spotted us, but I want to make sure that they know who will extinguish their existence.” His voice projected through the crowd easily as they all fell silent under the vigilant gaze of Tr’anrik.

Raising his hand, the Grand Archon dismissed his followers. The mass of servants and guards quickly dispersed, each bowing their head but never turning their backs on him. One servant handed him a bottle of iridescent blue liquid that flicked to neon green in the light and two fluted crystal glasses before bowing courteously and backing away.

“What is the meaning of this, Dernia?” She demanded as he handed her a crystal glass.

“Can I not share a drink with an old friend?”

“It is not that you can’t, it is that you don’t.” Graciously she accepted and forced a smile over a confused grimace.
“In truth, Faroughk, I do not feel that I have respected you enough, or even shown appreciation for your services to my Kabal and to my Dynasty.”

“So this is you repaying me?” She raised the glass to her lips, but Dernia struck it to the ground with the back of his hand.
“No. That was me repaying you. That drink was poisoned and I spared you from the pain of feeling each and every one of your organs shut down, I spared you from the terrible stress of stemming the bleeding of your heart. You owe me.”

“How kind of you.” She murmured sarcastically, not shocked anymore by his random displays of rapidly more characteristic narcissism.

“Sometimes,” He started the thought as if it would be deep and sentimental, “I do look back” he continued “over the many cycles of which we have spent together and I have to think, and think very deeply, about this pressing issue: you have spent the last two millennia in my company and yet you do not question me saying ‘I do not feel that I have respected you enough’? Maybe I should find a right hand servant better equipped intellectually.”

“Fine.” Her uncaring answer genuinely surprised the Archon. He had planned out this conversation and mapped every possible route he thought it could take, yet somehow he had overlooked this one. The strange part was that he did not know, for the first time in his life, if she was lying or not.

“I am glad that we agree. Once we are back in T’llionoch your contract shall be nullified and your Cult shall no longer be affiliated with the Pierced Heart.”

“Why wait until we reach your territory? Why not when we return to Commorragh?”

“Fine.” He felt lost for words.

“I am glad that we could come to a non-violent solution.”

“I am sure that the word is ‘peaceful’.”

“No.” She denied firmly. “No it isn’t.” She couldn’t have stressed that point enough. Faroughk did not need to, however, as Dernia understood exactly what she meant. For a brief moment they both stood opposite each other staring into each others eyes like focussed duelists before Dernia finally bowed and placed his helm upon his face, shrouding the new, rare, expression of emotion.

He could have killed her, he could have ordered Tr’anrik to scalp her and make a new Hell Mask. He could have ordered for the remnants of her Cult to be ruthlessly hunted but he found himself not wanting any of that.

Slowly he turned, the tanned cloak of Mon-keigh leather twirling effortlessly with him.

“Follow, while you’re still in my service.” He held back the venom. “We have a reunion to attend.”

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Sun Aug 05 2012, 21:19

Another awesome chapter Cavash!!! Well done!!!
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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Sun Aug 05 2012, 21:33

Thanks Zehra. That is just the first paragraph, however. I have more done but not finished.

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Thu Aug 09 2012, 01:10

Quote :
“Fine.” He felt lost for words.

“I am glad that we could come to a non-violent solution.”

“I am sure that the word is ‘peaceful’.”

“No.” She denied firmly. “No it isn’t.” She couldn’t have stressed that point enough. Faroughk did not need to, however, as Dernia understood exactly what she meant. For a brief moment they both stood opposite each other staring into each others eyes like focussed duelists before Dernia finally bowed and placed his helm upon his face, shrouding the new, rare, expression of emotion.

This exchange really stood out for me. The entire chapter(ette?) was short but powerful, condensing a lot into a small space. It feels to me not that Dernia is an emotional wasteland, but that he isn't quite yet. And he wants to get rid of that last troublesome little bit. Your characterisation is excellent!

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Thu Aug 09 2012, 01:26

Thank you very much, Malys.

There shall be much more of Dernia and his exploits to come; you might even find out if you're right and what happened to make him like this. Well, I won't give away too much, but bear this in mind: the void is fun!

I'm not even sure if what I just said was coherent, but I stand by it nonetheless.

Writing about him seems to be rather easy and natural, so thank you for picking up on the characterisation.

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Thu Aug 09 2012, 18:04

Full chapter update time!

Chapter X

Faroughk crouched, perched as she was, upon the ram of Dernia’s Chariot of Grandeur. The loss in numbers that her Cult had suffered was immense, and now only forty of the previous two hundred members had survived. She had cut down the two other Succubi as they attempted to persuade her not to join Dernia’s grudge match against their void dwelling kin. She did not care what others thought; she had been promised Spirit Stones by Relliach Korvesh and she would claim them.

As the storage bay’s doors slid open the background drone of labouring slaves and gathering Kabalites broke the peaceful whirring of the gravity generators, disturbing her deep concentration.
“Woman, keep your foul feet from my craft!”

When she realised that it was Dernia who had joined her in the hangar bay she was certain that some sort of insult or imaginary offence would be inferred by him. Around him a shamble of armed guards formed a barrier that kept out his other followers. Scribes scurried along, waiting to be dismissed after writing down the thoughts he spoke aloud. They hung on his every poetic word and willingly praised his genius works of artful literature. Drug dispensing monstrosities walked ahead of his position to fragrance the air with rare and luxurious scents. Slaves were forced forward with the column, each one screaming at the crack of a Dracon’s whip. Only the Janissary Tr’anrik was permitted within the ring of guards.

“How long?” She sighed with indifference, padding her way down onto the deck. Her soft feet betrayed no sound as she began to feel her way forward towards the gathered court.

“A matter of hours, Archite. We have found their Wraithship and the nebula in which it hides. I doubt that they will not have spotted us, but I want to make sure that they know who will extinguish their existence.” His voice projected through the crowd easily as they all fell silent under the vigilant gaze of Tr’anrik.

Raising his hand, the Grand Archon dismissed his followers. The mass of servants and guards quickly dispersed, each bowing their head but never turning their backs on him. One servant handed him a bottle of iridescent blue liquid that flicked to neon green in the light and two fluted crystal glasses before bowing courteously and backing away.

“What is the meaning of this, Dernia?” She demanded as he handed her a crystal glass.

“Can I not share a drink with an old friend?”

“It is not that you can’t, it is that you don’t.” Graciously she accepted and forced a smile over a confused grimace.

“In truth, Faroughk, I do not feel that I have respected you enough, or even shown appreciation for your services to my Kabal and to my Dynasty.”

“So this is you repaying me?” She raised the glass to her lips, but Dernia struck it to the ground with the back of his hand.

“No. That was me repaying you. That drink was poisoned and I spared you from the pain of feeling each and every one of your organs shut down, I spared you from the terrible stress of stemming the bleeding of your heart. You owe me.”

“How kind of you.” She murmured sarcastically, not shocked anymore by his random displays of rapidly more characteristic narcissism.

“Sometimes,” He started the thought as if it would be deep and sentimental, “I do look back” he continued “over the many cycles of which we have spent together and I have to think, and think very deeply, about this pressing issue: you have spent the last two millennia in my company and yet you do not question me saying ‘I do not feel that I have respected you enough’? Maybe I should find a right hand servant better equipped intellectually.”

“Fine.” Her uncaring answer genuinely surprised the Archon. He had planned out this conversation and mapped every possible route he thought it could take, yet somehow he had overlooked this one. The strange part was that he did not know, for the first time in his life, if she was lying or not.

“I am glad that we agree. Once we are back in T’llionoch your contract shall be nullified and your Cult shall no longer be affiliated with the Pierced Heart.”

“Why wait until we reach your territory? Why not when we return to Commorragh?”

“Fine.” He felt lost for words.

“I am glad that we could come to a non-violent solution.”

“I am sure that the word is ‘peaceful’.”

“No.” She denied firmly. “No it isn’t.” She couldn’t have stressed that point enough. Faroughk did not need to, however, as Dernia understood exactly what she meant. For a brief moment they both stood opposite each other staring into each others eyes like focussed duelists before Dernia finally bowed and placed his helm upon his face, shrouding the new, rare, expression of emotion.

He could have killed her, he could have ordered Tr’anrik to scalp her and make a new Hell Mask. He could have ordered for the remnants of her Cult to be ruthlessly hunted but he found himself not wanting any of that.

Slowly he turned, the tanned cloak of Mon-keigh leather twirling effortlessly with him.

“Follow, while you’re still in my service.” He held back the venom. “We have a reunion to attend.”
_________________________________

She couldn’t put this down to luck. Her success was the result of her own skill and stealth mastery.

Even though she had not been able to slake her thirst for blood on her way into the manor using deception and trickery. No matter how well defended it was, it was still under the protection of Humans and so she didn’t expect them to do the job as well as on of the True Kin. From here the mission would be easy. Sneak though the halls, find the Inquisitor and wrench his skull from his spine, showering herself in the nutritional essence of his demise.

Or maybe not. She realised that she was getting overly excited and took a brief moment to breathe deeply to rid herself of the intrusive urges. This was a reconnaissance mission, not a bloodbath.

The interior of the manor was filled with leather lined furniture, ancient tomes and walls of polished black wood. Usually she would have considered such design to be crude and primitive, but something about it, something in the air, made her fond of this establishment.

Not wanting to raise any suspicion she pressed her back flat to the wall as she approached a crossroad in the hallways. In the middle stood a Human clutching what looked like a high power version of their usual pitiful weapons. He also wore better armour, not that it would help him against knife or rifle.

She remained perfectly still as he looked in her direction and moved his head forwards, trying to discern shapes in the low light. She held her breath. Her suit was advanced but light could be seen to diffract through it when she moved. There was no chance of that happening in those conditions, though; she just liked to stay alert. Concluding that everything was normal the Mon-keigh turned away. Fatal mistake.

Her half metre monomolecular knife effortlessly pieced the base of his skull and extruded from his mouth in the form of a glistening deadly tongue that silenced him the moment his neck popped.

She had no time to drag him into darkness, or clean up the blood. She only had one chance to slay the Inquisitor and this was it.

Quickly she slid towards the main build up of life, following the readings of her helm. The largest presence of souls seemed to be on the floor below the central atrium.

Then she realised that they were on the ground floor.

What sort of scum throws a great feast in a cellar?

That would be where he was, she was certain.
_____________________________________

The darkness clad Raiders skimmed effortlessly across the desert’s surface. The Craftworlders that they had captured and decapitated had been impaled upon the bristling spikes and blades of the skiffs. Their armour had been stripped of their Spirit Stones and now, out here with the last wisps of life escaping their cold bodies, they finally learnt what fear was.

“There.” Tarrar’s green hued hand pointed over to a distant wreckage, his acute eyes picking up what seemed to be the struggle of a living creature. The pilot adjusted their course to come in line with the crashed Falcon, the other Raiders moving into a perfect hunting formation behind him.

The wind whistled between his razor horns and the anguished captives groaned as the Thirster claimed them one by one.

The flotilla of misery adorned Raiders was a pleasing sight to Relliach Korvesh. The Prince’s condition was getting worse and if he was aloud to die then he could never show his face in Commorragh again, let alone within the Pierced Heart Kabal. Genuinely joyous to see his mundane servants he stopped scraping the sand and dirt from around the Prince and stood tall upon the ridge, one hand raised to beckon the Incubi over. Relliach’s face had started to wrinkle out in realspace where She could dreadfully lap away at his soul, striking a sorrow filled melancholy into his ever thought and action.

“Tarrar, what took you so long?” He demanded, his once authoritative voice frail now. His sturdy and certain form heavy limbed and feeble.

“Our pursuit of the Craftworlders was successful. We slaughtered many and deterred the remaining Taskforce. Those who we did not catch fled to the stars.” The obelisk warrior jumped from the craft with ease, his skilled feet making little sound and raising almost no dust.

“I care little for our doomed kin. I am certain that the Kabalites shall be taking care of them shortly.” For the briefest of seconds he vainly stopped, noticing that a long, previously black hair had aged right before his eyes. He was suffering dearly.

“Tarrar, free the Prince. Bring him on board.”

“As you wish.” He nodded before strolling towards the wreckage with one of his skull masked brothers. With no noticeable struggle they began to force the Falcon from atop of the Archon’s son; a great feat of strength indeed.

“You there.” Relliach pointed to the physically smallest of the Incubi as Tarrar carried the unconscious prince over to the Raider.

“What is your command?” He asked ever so obediently.

“Come here.” He pointed to a spot on the ground just in front of him. “Tarrar,” He called, “Join me with your student, would you?” His request, was of course, an order.

“What is this warrior’s name?” Relliach asked, night-pool eyes sparkling inquisitively.

“Sent’ryk Kull, Incubus Sohei, Sir.”

“Do you have any attachment to this particular Incubus?”

“I feel no attachment to anything, sir.” Smiling at Tarrar’s response Relliach withdrew a small diamond from a hide pouch at his hip and placed it in the palm of his bodyguard’s hand.

No more words were spoke that night, but the dark was filled with the final piercing screams of the Incubus as he met his end at the hands of his former mentor.
_________________________________________

The Wracks had surrounded him in the midnight halls of Haughraskaivaach’s spire-laboratory. He has entered broken and wounded with the intention of getting his sister regenerated, but the hindrance posed as these abominations was really not helping his urgency.

“Let me through!” He had ordered, only to have numerous hands from all directions claw and scrape at him. After a brief panic he realised that they meant no harm and were taking away implements that could be used as weapons, but that was not the point. The filth dared to touch a Prince of the Cavash Dynasty? How insolent! There were too many of them for him to fight back and soon they were dragging him through the labyrinthine three dimensional maze that would no doubt lead to the domain of the flesh moulder.

His legs attempted to scramble after him but found his energy lacking and the Wracks moving too fast for him to keep up. Eventually he allowed them to drag behind him, much to his displeasure.

If he had one criticism of how they did their job it could not be on their efficiency. It seemed that they all wanted to be noticed by their master and would labour until they died just to achieve it. The criticism came at the knife that was held firmly against his spine as to deter him from trying to escape.

Though the tunnels they snaked in silence compared to the harrowing cries of those in the hands of the Twisted Flesh Coven. Sometimes he needed to avert his gaze as the neon green lights from wall mounted Amniotic Chambers burnt at his retinas. In the thousands of Chambers resided the servants of the Pierced Heart. Many were foetus’ that would grow into the citizens or Kabalites of the Kabal whereas others held twitching, writhing monstrosities that exuded the horror of the millennia that had passed.

Sometimes they would pass hunch backed servants shrouded in robed who would scrawl notes upon mile long sheets of parchment while other robed servants tended to delicate apparatus connected to any number of glowing wires and tubes that protruded from it before burrowing deep into the crystal walls.

Finally, after what seemed like hours in the endless tunnels he was harshly thrown to the ground, his head cutting open with the impact.

“Master Luckr’yth, how kind of you to visit so unexpectedly.” A voice radiated from the very centre of the room. The voice carried from Haughraskaivaach so fluidly that it almost seemed like it came from the mouth of a god.

Haughraskaivaach was stood in the centre of the room, looking into a deep crystal sarcophagus with great intrigue, inspecting whatever was inside. From Luckr’yth’s position upon the stairway three hundred metres above he could not make out what it contained.

“My visit is one of necessity.” He strained as he stood. Deciding to take the right-hand staircase he slowly descended while he examined the Revitalisation Tubes. These were similar to the Amniotic Chambers he had seen, yet many of them held fully grown Ynneas Eldarith, yet some existed purely as skeletons while others were a mass of muscle coated by a thin sinuous film. He couldn’t help but jump as he peered into on Tube and the victim inside opened its eyes suddenly, starring back at the Prince.

“Of course,” The Haemonculous continued, “Nobody ever ventures here for a love of science and pain.”

“Master flesh sculptor, I require a favour.”

“A favour?” His eyes lit up as he turned to the Prince who had just finally finished on the stairs. “You are asking for something that you may never be able to repay, boy.” He walked towards Luckr’yth, starring at the cut on his head. Raising a skeletal hand he summoned the Wracks to join him. “Which one of you is responsible for Master Luckr’th’s injuries?” He asked, voice unusually forceful from such a small creature.

“I am, Master.” One stepped forward, head dipped in shame.

“Do not worry, Te’lnos. Accidents happen.” His smile horrified the Prince before a single skeletal finger pressed upon the shoulder of the Wrack. As if in a second he body had just dehydrated he burst into a smothering cloud of dust, his iron mask echoing like a lone drum upon impact with the ground. “Oops.”
He then turned back to the Prince. “What would this favour be, son of Cavash?”

Luckry’th answered by opening the pouch at his side and gently pulling his sister’s hand from within.
“Really? A hand? It seems too feminine to be yours.”

“It is all that I have left of Althianesh. I need her to be regenerated.”

“Of course, Prince Cavash. I shall regenerate her for your father. This, however, is a favour from you. I am bound by my word to serve the Grand Archon however I can, but he did not ask me for this. So, this leaves me in a difficult situation. I will regenerate her, but you still owe me something.”

“Whatever you want I shall provide you with.” He answered, dreading whatever the depraved creature would ask.

“Something dreadful shall befall our peaceful home soon enough and I wish for it to be prevented.”

“You need my help?”

“Indeed.” He said. “I could easily do this myself, but it is not a difficult task, so it shall clear your debt to me.”
There was a pause as the Prince anxiously waited. Seeing as Haughraskaivaach was of an extreme age he didn’t have any sense of urgency, a fact that made the young Prince grind his teeth.

“I need you, son of Cavash,” from a sheath at his hip he smoothly withdrew a red tinged blade with a number of jewels and complex circuitry inlaid down the sides, “to take this knife” He held the blade and handed it to Luckr’yth, “and slay your brother. When the task is complete you are to return it to me. Am I understood?”
Luckr’yth could only nod as he took the knife. He had been rendered speechless by a threat that had not been made.
_____________________________________

Archon Na’ttyin Reltoss, favoured concubine of Dernia Cavash, slipped past the Gun Servitors and through a small gap in the open door, as not to make anybody aware of her presence. Down a dark stairway she moved, loving the conditions in which her prey chose to hide. This mission was coming to its end, an end that she would most likely remember.

Stopping at the bottom of the staircase she listened intently. No real speech could be heard, only the whimpers of the unfortunate.

Maybe the Inquisitor fancied himself a Haemonculus.

Slowly she made her way down a corridor, following her ears to the source of the noise. The dank hall led to a slight opening where the felt fresh and full of pain. Just breathing it made her ecstatic.

She forced herself to stop as she felt the thirst niggling in the back f her mind. She wanted to charge in and slaughter the enemy, but that was not her task.

Crouching, she forced herself to focus. She was in the open but, even though shrouded by her suit, if somebody was lucky then they could spot her. Looking ahead she counted a number of Humans in white coats tending to clicking Cogitators and various other primitive appliances. They did not need to die… yet.
Easily she passed them in the cover of the shadows.

After many minutes of navigating the underground research facilities she finally made it to the central, largest, room.

In this chamber many creatures lay strapped to operating boards, the implements of surgery lying on trays all around them. Down below a man worked on the subjects, dissecting the living and the dead alike. He was shorter than most humans and had a bionic right eye that probed into the open wounds of his experiments. Unlike the other scientists he wore a plain black robe that enclosed his body from neck to ankles. It was very plain and looked very much like a garb of the Inquisition.

This must have been the Inquisitor she had been sent to dispatch.

Raising the rifle she lined up her shot and then… then she stopped. She noticed something. The Humans being experimented on were by far not Human. They were tall, pale and had very, very, pointed ears.

They were Dark Eldar.

What was the Inquisitor doing to Ynneas Eldarith and what gave him the rite to defile their bodies? Mon-keigh scum!

She felt a personal grudge now, one that could not be satisfied by the pop of his cranium under sniper fire.
She slung the rifle upon her back, withdrew her knife and advanced.
______________________________________

When the Wraithship’s shields had been disabled the Void Javelins rained down upon it, the arcane boarding spears puncturing the hull before releasing a great burst of Haywire energy to seal the breech shut and disable any defences and systems within the local area. Then the Javelin would unravel and from each one forty Kabalite Warriors emerged armed with Splinter Rifle, Shredder and complete contempt and disregard for their kin’s lives.

The assault from Dernia’s flagship, The Harrowed Soulscream, had been ruthless and merciless in equal measure. In an odd tactical form of intimidation it had storm straight through the nebula towards the Craftworld vessel. The Phantom Lances had laid many of the frigate vessels to ruin before the remainder of the Pierced Heart assault fleet had emerged from all sides, blocking off any route of escape.

Bombers streaked over the Wraithship’s surface, disabling communication arrays and annihilating shield generators until, finally, the flickering shields dissipated. The fighter vessels engaged their cousins and grand dogfights and displays of skill. Then, only when the defences of the air force had been utterly crushed and scattered did the Javelins rain down in their hundreds.
____________________________________________

Dernia was the first from the breach, his blaster set to spray dark matter in a corrosive cloud upon his foe. Four Guardians dissolved as the Javelin unravelled. Those who remained opened fire, their Shurikens causing little more but dark flashes upon his Shadowfields before he cut them down with wanton carelessness. He surged forth like a one man blade storm, cutting down those who did not immediately turn to flee. His blade moved far too fast for the Craftworlders to react. His first strike landed on the chest of a Guardian, the Huskblade evaporating his entire body. The next cut the hand from another who swung too wide with his combat knife. He fell to the same fate as the other. What happened next was just a blur, but five more fell, each suffering a precise incision that proved awfully fatal. It was then that his Trueborn followed, Faroughk and Tr’anrik leading them. Thirty Trueborn made way into the hall, their Shardcarbines proving to be for more deadly that the Shuriken Catapults that only managed to strike four of the Dark Kin.

“Forward!” Tr’anrik barked at the men as the Guardians began to fall back. Dernia and Faroughk had engaged the frontline of Guardians, attempting to immobilise and injure more than they killed.

Dernia, since entering the ship, had slung his Blaster upon his back equipped the long fingered Agoniser which his father had once worn. The five elegant swords swiped at the bare faces of those foolish enough not to take helmets while his Huskblade slaughtered those who attempted to fight back.

It only took seconds to clear the area of any threat, a fact which irritated the Archite very much.

“Where is the witch?” She hissed with vengeance on her mind.

“All in good time, Archite.”

“If somebody else slays her, Archon, then I shall not be containing my rage.”

“It is not just the witch we need dead. That Autarch needs to be slain too.”

“You need him slain. I do not.” She answered, reminding Dernia of the situation.

“Indeed. We are both here to slake our thirst. We are both here for personal reasons, so, lets enjoy this strole, shall we?”

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Thu Aug 09 2012, 19:50

Quote :
“Of course,” The Haemonculous continued, “Nobody ever ventures here for a love of science and pain.”

If Haemonculi did not have such a great and cherished mistrust for each other, I would suggest some kind of exchange visit between your own and Mistress Selventhrane. It's good to see Haemonculi getting a share of the spotlight on their twisted habits. I enjoyed your earnest Wracks and the description of the spire, too Very Happy

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Fri Aug 10 2012, 00:45

Thank you for the kind words, Malys.

I think a meeting between Haughraskaivaach and Vriss Selventhrane would be odd indeed. Interesting, yet odd. Afterall, as you said, Haemies are cautious and do not trust one another. I think, however, that Haughraskaivaach would be interested to see The Mews.

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Fri Aug 10 2012, 06:16

This was an awesome update!!! And what is that Inquisitor doing? I thought it was heresy to even touch a xeno?
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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Fri Aug 10 2012, 13:46

Thanks Zehra.

Well, the view on heresey depends on the philosophy of the Inquisitor. If they are the most puritanical Thorian then they could see even allowing a xeno to live without punishment i the Emperor's universe to be heresey. Some, however, such as the Xanthists utilise Daemonic weapons whereas others who believe in the Xeno Hybris philosophy believe that there is a lot to be learned from alien technology.

Also, some puritanical Inquisitors believe other Inquisitors to be traitors and heretics but are not able to act as their master usually does not see much problem in some radical research, although they must constanly watch over them to see if they cross the line.

The best book to learn about the Inquisition is, in my opinion, the Eisenhorn trilogy, as it shows how puritanical Inquisitors can cross over onto the verge of heresy

Also, if I told you what he was doing there wouldn't be any mysetery in it, would there? Very Happy

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Sat Aug 18 2012, 03:34

http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/5575580/Untitled

Essentially, this shows the most frquently used words in Piercing Dark so far, ignoring basics like 'the' and 'and'. The bigger the word the more it has been used.
I seems that I haven't made Dernia arrogant enough to sit repeating his name yet, I thought that it would be much bigger.

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Sat Aug 18 2012, 09:41

Give him time. I have faith that Dernia can do it Very Happy

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Fri Aug 24 2012, 17:25

Now that would be an odd scene to write.

In the next installment you can look out for:
Space!
Cheese!
Cities!

Now it is time for some brainwashing!
Twisted Evil It's so exciting! Twisted Evil

Anyhow, the next chapter should be coming in the middle of next month sometime, I just wanted to say that I am farely busy at the moment with writing other things and doing other stuff.

Thanks for reading, people, and I hope that you enjoy the rest.

Edit:
Surprisingly I have the next chapter finished, but I need to proofread it. More to come later on today, probably! Very Happy

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Wed Aug 29 2012, 19:23

Exclamation Exclamation Exclamation One thousandth post Exclamation Exclamation Exclamation
____________________________________________________________
Chapter XI.

“Koroth’risse, you have returned? It feels like a matter of hours since you left?” The Archon stormed through the hall, suspended by her lightweight Ghostplate Armour. She had been too busy to notice her uncle’s arrival.

“What are you talking about, Luckr’yth? I never left, as a matter of fact I had never intended on leaving.”

“Oh.” He was surprised. Her presence would get in the way, but he knew that he would have to cope. “I thought that you had departed with my father to war with the Craftworlders.”

“Of course not!” She scoffed in derision, the arrogance carried by the Cavash name dripping from her words like the precious life essence from a fatigued slave. “Why would I grace those cowards with letting them taste the dirt of my boots treading them down into the mud from which they crawled? No, I did not leave. I had more important business.”

“Then I suppose you are here for the same reason I am?” Luckr’yth’s voice took on a darkness that could only be matched by his father’s heart.

“What may that reason be?” She halted, looking the Prince in the eyes with a stare that drank knowledge.

“To welcome him home, of course.” He casually smiled. It was a false stab that set the Archon off guard.

“Oh, of course. We can’t have him upset on his return from his traumatic endeavour. It would be rude to ignore his needs and desires at this terrible time in his existence.”

They continued marching down the hall, every Warrior that guarded the way saluted as the royalty purposefully strode, their bodyguards following neatly behind them in regimented lines.
“I know of the mission Lord Cavash sent you on, Koroth’risse. So, why are you here when you know he is safe?”

She ground her teeth while drawing her Power Sabre. “Then let us not waste any time!” She exclaimed as she kicked the wooden door into Prince Talludesh’s chamber off of its hinges.
“What the-”

“You!” She shouted at Relliach Korvesh before he could finish cursing. “What do you have to say for yourself?” She walked quickly, crackling blade placed at his chest. Even when she had reached him she continued to walk until he had backed up against a wall.

“I returned the Prince safely, have I not?” He asked as he brushed down his armour while Tarrar placed an oversized hand on the Archon’s shoulder and pulled her away.

“You left him in realspace for far too long. His soul is starved, who knows how much longer he had to live. You are treading on thin ice, Dracon Korvesh.” She shrugged the metal grip away.

“I did not leave him out there, did I? I searched for him; I brought him back where others returned only wanting their share of the plunder. Surely I am a hero here?”

“I am just glad that my brother has been returned safely.” Luckr’yth smiled until he noticed Haughraskaivaach watching over one of his students as the young Haemonculus tended to the Prince’s wounds.

Haughraskaivaach had seen Luckr’yth enter but had no interest in the politics of the Kabal and hence abstained from the quarrel.

“Shut up, Luckr’yth. You’re starting to sound like one of those Craftworlders.”

His hand struck her like lightning. He cheek grew red as she reeled back, the blood from her split brow cascading down the flawless surface of her face. Her bodyguards surrounded the Prince but he did not heed their threats, more interested as he was in the shade of crimson that was starting to envelop his hand.

“Do not disrespect me, Koroth’risse. Next time you shall receive more than just a beating.” He did not smile as he relished in his niece’s shock but clasped his hand with the other behind his back after straightening his silk robe. “Lower your weapons, Kabalites.” He ordered, looking between them with authoritative, shifting eyes.
“Who are you to threaten me and order my men?” The Archon cried in outrage, barely containing her murder-lust.

“I am the head of the Pierced Heart in father’s absence. You didn’t think that he’d leave such an important role to the likes of you, did you?” His contempt was flowing free now as the bodyguards backed off, intimidated. Dracon Relliach Korvesh took his place at the Princes side, Shardcarbine in one hand, Power Sword in the other.

“Now, with the utmost respect that one could have for a tubeborn wench such as you, please leave. You are ruining my peace, and you do not want to be here when it breaks.”

“You disgrace our name, Prince. I cannot stand for it.”

“What do you suppose that you could do to gain retribution on your part for this imagined offense?”

“The only thing that I can do.” She wiped the blood from out of her eye and unclasped her Ghostplate, handing it to a servant beside her.

“You wish to fight me?” Luckr’yth asked, neither surprised nor amused.

In way of reply, Koroth’risse drew an elongated knife that cut cleanly through the air in front of her.

“As you wish.” Luckr’yth sighed as he backed away, right hand out in the open while the other remained hidden.

“You don’t realise it, do you, Prince?” She asked as she pounced forward, knife slashing angrily.

“Realise what?” He asked coolly while tripping her feet and throwing her into the audience.

She shook herself off, trying to hide her discomfort. “You are already dead.” She drove forwards relentlessly blade causing the Prince to weave and duck between the blurred strikes just to keep his body in tact.

“Do not assume anything, Archon.” He spat as he finally grabbed her knife wielding hand and twisted it to the point tendons snapped and she leant forward screaming. His other hand now appeared completely empty and struck down on her neck, separating head from shoulders. Her body tumbled down into the quickly growing puddle of her own arterial blood. Smiling, he turned to the crowd and waved his hand.

“You are dismissed.” It took a moment for the crowd to get over their confusion, but even as they left they mumbled to one another questions that would certainly go unanswered. “Relliach, would you mind giving me a moment alone with my brother? There are issues that I must sort out with him.”

“Of course, Prince.” He bowed respectfully, barely containing the wide grin on his face. “You can have all the time you need. I shall return to my Blood Halls and oversee the new recruits for a while. Please, inform me when he wakes.”

“I will be more than happy to.”

“Good. Tarrar, follow!” With that order he left, leaving only the Prince with his brother and the Haemonculi.

“Those micro-dermal razor implants work wonders, flesh crafter.” He approached Haughraskaivaach, stepping over the dead body of his niece.

“If you keep on slaying your relatives, young Cavash, then I will be a very wealthy man.”
“Indeed.”

“So,” the ancient creature turned to the Prince, “are you here to finish our deal? Althianesh’s hand is resting safely in stasis, waiting for confirmation of Talludesh’s assassination.” Haughraskaivaach smiled before looking down at the sleeping failure of a warrior. “He is resting. This would be the perfect time for such an assassination to occur.”

“Haemonculus, I have changed my mind.”

After a brief moment of Haughraskaivaach’s face slumping, the old mad creature turned to the Prince. “What?” His mellow voice was filled with question now.

“I refuse to slay him without real reason. You will still rebirth my sister, and my niece, before my father returns home. You wouldn’t my Father to return home to find that you have neglected them.”

With a long, drawn out laugh that made Luckr’yth on edge, the Haemonculus smiled once more as he walked to the door to leave, assistant quick to follow. “Bad move, young Cavash. Very bad move.”

Not feeling threatened at all by the insane surgeon, Luckr’yth sat down in the chair at Talludesh’s bedside and helped himself to the delectable savoury cheeses on a platter on a small, round table.
__________________________________________

“I have no time for Aspect Warriors!” Dernia slashed through the torso of the last Striking Scorpion. The hall had been filled with them. They had been hiding in the dark, waiting to ambush him, but did not think that his eyes forged in night could see them.

His squad had attempted to support him as he advanced, but nobody could keep up with his drug abused body. He had the door covered with his Blaster; nobody would be entering while the squads attempted to catch up with him. Even the Archite had been lost behind him, pirouetting and dancing through airborne pools of blood while her blades went to work on any Guardian she passed.

Zigor N’jhi!” He mumbled in anger. Dernia did not like to wait, but even he needed backup while storming heavily guarded positions. If he walked through the door then he would be cut to ribbons. Four of his battalions had cut in to the surrounding chambers, causing so much damage to the interior of the ship that six rooms had collapsed to cause a two mile wide skirmish field. The air out there was a mass of screams, the crack of Splinter weapons and the smooth chink of Shuriken Catapults.

“Lord, reports indicate that this is the location of the heaviest fighting.” Tr’anrik sprinted beside his Archon while the troops approached from the rear.

“What does that mean?” A faceless Dracon asked.

“It means that they are protecting something. Something that I need.” Dernia answered while cutting the arm off of the Dracon for interrupting his conversation. “Has anybody confirmed the target, Janissary?”

“No, sire. Autarch Beltaan has been spotted leading his men in the vicinity, however.”
“What of the Farseer?”

“Farseer G’ost has not been sighted.”

“Hmm, this could be an issue. If she is not on the field then she is engaged in her witchcraft. Can you feel it, Janissary? Can you feel her soul singing out a ballad of life and unrestrained fear?” Dernia knew full well that the Janissary couldn’t feel it. Not many Dark Eldar could feel the distant chiming of a Psyker’s soul, but he had been exposed to them many times in the past and recognised the primal hate that he felt growing inside of him. “We must stop her. Janissary, hand me my crown. One must look his best while in the middle of a war. It is a matter of manners, after all.”

With one smooth gesture, Tr’anrik placed the black crown upon his master’s head after accepting his lord’s helmet. The crown dripped malice and despair; it created an unnatural aura that could offset the powers of a psyker. It was a witch’s bane, an item of loathing among them. It was known as the ‘Pariah Crown’. The crown was an ancient artefact that he had liberated from a now extinct race known to the Imperium as ‘Varanids’.

“Men, wide spread, disciplined fire. I want efficiency, not erratic brawling. Am I understood?” Dernia looked to his men with his real eyes, their internal hunger frightening the soldiers. “Good.” He smiled as he charged out into the open.

The continuous crack of Splinter fire that came from the newcomers cut into the Craftworlder’s flank. They had one passage fortified, temporary weapons platforms struggling to keep the advancing enemies back. Until a few minutes ago they had two passages, but Dernia’s detachment had secured one and was now cutting through the defences of their cousins.

The Craftworlders had immediately attempted to muster a strong counter attack but found that they could not stand up to the punitive onslaught. Dernia’s ancient model of blaster had been set to spread a corrosive dark-matter mist into the enemy lines that quickly dissolved any armour or rubble that they had been using to hide behind. With his Huskblade he desiccated anybody who was not fast enough to escape. To his left Faroughk ground through dozens of foe at a time, sometimes letting off a laugh of pleasure at the useless efforts of their enemies. Behind Dernia a supporting squad of Trueborns ran forward, their Splinter Cannons and Shardcarbines giving a furious rain of covering fire. Behind them, lead by the Janissary, came the rest of the Warriors. They marched slower than the Trueborns, but made sure to shoot any enemy they spotted, dead or alive.

At the head of the passage Dernia had spotted the Autarch. His Green and red armour still fresh in his mind from their last encounter. He was walking towards the open now, flanked on each side by a squad of Warp Spiders. His eyes locked intently with Dernia’s before he placed the Scorpion Helm upon his head and broke into a furious sprint. Over wreckage and bodies he charged, Aspect Warriors quick behind him. His legs moved furiously as the invading Kabalites attempted to get to cover. It was strange how one reckless commander charging into a hail of Splinter fire without fear could cause the average soldier to break from his position and hide. He leapt from one rubble mound to another, firing down on the Kabalite positions. Some had attempted to return fire, but whenever they did that a number of Warp Spiders would appear among them, blades drawn and ready for murder.
“Stop, Cavash. You are not welcome here.” The Exarch’s voice resonated.

Paying little attention the Archon slung his Blaster over his back and attached his long fingered Agoniser to his right hand while he waved his Huskblade around in his left.

“You do not know what you are dealing with, Autarch. You only know tales, myths of what will happen. I, on the other hand, have seen it. You cannot be expected to prevent the casket from opening, you are only a Craftworlder.”

“I see that there will be no changing your mind, cousin.”

“Hand over the casket now and I will let the Craftworld keep your precious Spiritstone, fully in tact.”

“Your threats mean nothing o me, Archon.”

“Very well.” Dernia looked at him as the Autarch still closed the distance. “Then fight well, I do often grow bored of slaying masses of your kind with no challenge presented.”

With a scream the Autarch vanished with a sudden crackle of blue lightning. Where would he re-enter?

Dernia was forced to spin quickly, Huskblade striking the shoulder of a Warp Spider that tumbled away beside him. Soon after four more combusted into reality, guns blazing. Dernia’s Shadowfields barely withstood the shots, the surface condensing into a black wall as impact was made. The first died without any resistance, but the second was faster. He strafed to his left as Dernia swipe with the Huskblade. He was fast, but foolish. He had walked straight into the path aft he Agoniser, on long sword-finger penetrated the helmet, impaling the eye and exiting the other side of his head.

Dernia kicked him aside and raked the third across the chest before turning his momentum into a brutal high kick that met the throat of the last, causing his neck to break from the whiplash.

“This is it? This is how your disciplined soldiers wage war?” Dernia laughed openly, not fearing potential sniper fire.

Then, above him, the Autarch took form. Autarch Beltaan’s entire bodyweight slammed down on Dernia, but luckily the Archon had half turned to see him and had grabbed the wrist of the Autarch, holding back his mighty Power Blade. Dernia smiled in the face of death and struggled to keep the Power Blade away from his face. The Autarch was pushing down hard but could not fight against Dernia’s drugged strength. The Agoniser cut a deep gorge in the Autarch’s helmet, striking the Mandiblaster from the top and shattering an eye lens. The Kabalites moved up, laying down extreme fire that shredded the advancing Scorpions to ribbons.

Dernia through the Autarch aside and rose as Beltaan rolled, avoiding the Huskblade that lay beside him.

With one hand Beltaan discarded his helmet and threw it at the Grand Archon while he started to sprint. As Dernia batted it away with the Agoniser Beltaan was in the air right in front of him, feet poised to kick Dernia to the floor. The wrist mounted blade was raised like a scorpion’s tail as he flew through the air. Dernia was wide open with no defence.

The kick met his back, but much higher than anticipated. Surprisingly it seemed that the Autarch had miscalculated his height after vanishing and, instead of impaling the Archon, rolled over the ground in front of him and slashed open the chest of a Sybarite. He turned rapidly and deflected a punch from Tr’anrik who was now bringing round his Power Sword for the killing blow.

Beltaan stopped the Sword with his Blade and tripped up the red armoured psychopath, sending him into a small ditch.

“If you will not leave, Archon, then I must destroy you.”

Dernia paid no attention but rose with a storm of blades that Beltaan struggled to deflect. Dernia did have one question, however. How had the Autarch warp-jumped without his helmet? He had bee exposed to the warp and needed to be cleansed.

“Do not bother, Craftworlder.” Dernia shouted, Agoniser making contact with the flesh of the Autarch’s arm. The pain of every nerve in his body setting alight caused him to scream for mercy. “When you fight The Cavash your seconds are limited.” He smiled as he struck the Autarch repeatedly, face flesh splitting and bones cracking with every consecutive hit.

His laughing was maniacal, but at least he had got into a fight that wasn’t completely one sided. After the body fell limp he ordered Tr’anrik to dispose of it appropriately to which the Janissary made sure it was dead before taking it to be thrown in the nearest star.

“Kabalites, come. We must visit G’ost. She has waited too long for a reunion.” Dernia smiled to Faroughk as they marched through the lines of newly enslaved Craftworlders.
_____________________________________________

She had moved forward, past the deceased and dying Ynneas Eldarith, with some considerable speed. She felt that she needed to avenge her kin for being touched by this lowly creature. Archon Reltoss was right behind him before the Inquisitor realised the presence of another creature in the room. By then it was too late. Her knife had pinned his hand to the surface he was experimenting on, and as he screamed she slammed his head from the desk, causing a momentary silence.

She wanted answers, and even though she would have liked to have seen his pain with her own eyes it would be impossible to understand him without the translator in her helm.

“What are you doing, Human?”

“Help!”

“Go on, shout for help. Make my day.” She deactivated the stealth system and grabbed a flaying tool from her belt. This man was definitely an Inquisitor, but not the one that she needed to kill. “Now, cooperate, lest I have to waste my energy dragging you home.” The Inquisitor was silent. “What is your name, Human?”

“I’ll never tell you.”

“Mistake.” She smiled as a long sheet of skin peeled from his neck up to his forehead. “What is your name?”

“Your torture won’t get you anything.”

“You believe in a God, yes? Your God Emperor saves your soul upon death?”

“The God Emperor protects souls from the likes of you, xeno.”

With a chuckle she stole away one of his fingers and admired it in the light. “Your Emperor can only save you if he can get to your soul upon death. If it were trapped within a city out of his jurisdiction, then what would happen?”

“I would be damned. It is better to have one soul consigned to oblivion than risk an entire planet’s worth.” He breathed deeply, not wishing to give her access to the pain she desired.

“How selfless of you. Although, what if your soul, your master’s soul, and the soul of every Imperial on this planet were snatched away from the light of your master?”

“Then I will have failed.”

“Good, so you understand my threat. I am giving you one last chance, tell me your name and what you are doing, or have this world fall silent.”

The Inquisitor couldn’t resist. She would be caught, and even if she killed him it would be a small price to pay for her death. “I am Inquisitor Terna Helix, Ordo Xenos.”

“What are you doing with the bodies?” She cut deeply into his leg with her flaying blade.

“Ah!” He cried out as the blood dribbled to the floor. “Research, scum! You are doomed, yet you don’t realise it.”

“I’ve been doomed for far longer than you realise, Inquisitor. What are you researching?”

“That is the question now, isn’t it? Not even I know that. I have orders and I carry them out, I do not ask why I do what I do.”

“Where is Fathul?”

“I won’t-” his words were interrupted by the fusing of his lips from the Archon’s flesh moulding tool. It was supposed to be for battle wounds, but it worked well enough on lips.

“Come with me, you shall be my guide.” She laughed at the silent screams that failed to echo.
_______________________________________

It was definitely an uncomfortable awakening. His dry lungs spluttered for air but only found the amniotic fluid that contained him. His brain ached; his body throbbed from muscular atrophy. He felt asphyxiated, his eyes burnt yet his heart was frozen. So much sensation in the shortest time. This was horrifying after being faced with the emptiness of nothing.

Everything was wrong, he needed to get out, he needed air… he needed pain.

He thrashed and pounded against the tube containing him but only found that he was slipping. He felt weak and vulnerable, never before had he experienced such shame.

Khaine, his soul thirsted.

His vision stung, but soon he could make out nearby shapes. A hooded figure stood, watching. It may have been a woman, but he couldn’t tell. If it was he had no way of concealing his bareness. Slowly she looked up to meet his sight and smiled.

“Welcome back to life, Dayl’akrin. You will be busy.”
___________________________________________

Somebody had, very wisely, based a skirmish around the gravatic generator. Now, when Dernia wanted to move as fast as possible, he was forced to drag himself along the walls of the Wraithship. When back in Commorragh Dernia would launch and inquiry and have the culprit tortured to death, then maybe rebirthed and killed again, possibly, depending on how he was feeling, he would repeat it a couple more times to really get the message across.

He grumbled to himself as he crawled along the walls towards the source of the psychic energy. He couldn’t feel it, thanks to the crown, but he noticed the discomfort and nausea of his men. Watching one of them vomit while not under the influence of gravity was hilarious. As the hot liquid jettisoned from his face his body streamed back, knocking a couple of others flying.

What really annoyed Dernia about no gravity was when he encountered resistance. He couldn’t use his Blaster’s mist shot as the mist sometimes lingered due to the resistance of the air and would make it impossible to reach certain areas. If he used the single beam shot he would be propelled back backwards into the ranks of the scum that crawled behind him.

It certainly was infuriating.

“Come on!” He ordered as he moved around the corner punching a Guardian in the face. The force of the punch sent the Archon and the Craftworlder in opposite directions, but Dernia planted his feet against the wall and launched off like a fierce Barracuda hunting its prey.

He landed on large Wraithbone doors that he was certain would be where the Farseer resided.
“Faroughk, are you ready?” He whispered.

“Of course.” She snapped, blades prepared for murder.

“Don’t kill her straight away, she is needed for a moment.”

“Fine.” The Succubus launched through the doors spinning, her knives cutting open the chests and throats of anybody who got in the way. The Farseer did not notice them straight away as she was engrossed in a trance, her eyes leaking potent blue light as she muttered accursed words that Dernia did not want to hear.

“Farseer. I am pleased that we have been able to meet again.” Dernia bowed in mid air.

“Welcome, Archon. I wish that we could have met on friendlier terms, like on our last encounter, but it was not written in the stars to be.”

“Of course. This day was inevitable. I suppose you know why we are here?” Dernia’s question caused the Farseer to turn away from the black sarcophagus to face the Kabalites.

“You want my death.”

“Well, she does.” Dernia motioned to Faroughk. “After what happened last time I would say that her anger is reasonable.”

“Yes, I remember. She’s the Wych. I touched her soul.”

Faroughk moved forward, only stopped by the hand of Dernia. “You risked her life that day, Farseer. I must admit that you prowess as a battle-psyker is… admirable, but I cannot have somebody damn any of my court.”

“She is not in your court anymore, Archon.”

“Ah, your farsight continues to impress me, yet you have not told me the right reason why I am here.”

“You are here for the casket. The casket we put to rest many thousands of years ago. You wish to take it to the Heart of Darkness where the warp struggles to reach. It will not work, it will be opened.”

“If it will be opened then what are you doing to it?”

“Postponing the definite.”

“Well, it is a shame that I must see you die, Farseer, but-” Dernia punched the Succubus unconscious halfway through his sentence. Killing the Farseer would be idiotic. “You must come with us.” He placed the crown upon her head and her entire spirit was silenced.


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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Wed Aug 29 2012, 20:02

An interesting twist at the end! Very Happy As I read on I am becoming aware that I am not quite up to speed on who is who (I thought she was Luckr'yth's sister for some reason). What about a short who's who list or a Dramatis Personae? I'd find that helpful. I really want to know how the whole twisted dynasty works out Smile The fight scenes flow very well, so I don't want to stop and go and check who is who in the middle of a fight but I could do so more easily if I had a Cavash Cheat Sheet Very Happy

I would suggest a bigger section break between the changes in subject, though, as it's a little hard to know when we've switched scenes otherwise Smile

Quote :
She laughed at the silent screams that failed to echo.

Sometimes a spare, elegant sentence like that is all the more chilling for its simplicity. Well, that's my long-winded version of "wow, nice" Very Happy

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Wed Aug 29 2012, 20:09

Thanks for the Advice, Malys. In future I shall put a line between praragraphs, I'll put them in the current chapters too.

I shall put up a list of the characters and who they are at the start of the first post, I can see how it is difficult to remeber which character is which, especially seeing as they have DEldar names.

Thanks, Malys. Very Happy

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Wed Aug 29 2012, 20:23

You are most welcome. I'm probably going to save who's who in a text file for my convenience Smile

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Wed Aug 29 2012, 20:27

lol. I'll update the list of characters as more are included. At the moment I only have Dark Eldar characters up, but that isn't the whole Cavash Dynasty. There are more, but I left them out as they are not included in this tale.

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Fri Aug 31 2012, 19:01

Just, for self advertisement's sake, I will shortly be starting a story named 'Night Hydra'. It will be a story about how an enraged Hellion stands up to Kabals in an attempt to fight for what he owns.
I shall be releasing the first Chapter in the near future.

(Obviosuly, saying a fight for those he loved would be more appealing, but he this is Dark Eldar. What he loves is what he owns!)

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Sedarofe
Hellion
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Join date : 2011-06-14
Location : Tinkering around with playthings in "the lab"

PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Mon Sep 03 2012, 02:52

I have but one notion which fits what I read, I have no mouth but yet I must scream...
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Cavash
Lord of the Chat
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Join date : 2012-04-15
Location : Stuck in an air vent spying on plotters

PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   Sat Sep 15 2012, 18:30

Indeed, it suits it well!

I don't know when I will be updating this, but hopefuly it will be soon. I will get writing tonight.

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PostSubject: Re: Piercing Dark.   

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Piercing Dark.
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