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 The Deadliest of Games

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Archon Kheraq Sionyx
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PostSubject: The Deadliest of Games   Sat Apr 06 2013, 19:38

The arena crackled with anticipation; the audience, clad in the finest their lords would allow were baying for blood. The arena itself bore two banners, one a lush green with several stylised blood drops, the banner of the Wych cult of Raining Blood; it's companion however would appear grotesque to those who did not share the Eladrith Ynneas' aesthetic sense. The material was flayed human skin, chosen for it's smooth ruggedness, and on it's surface was the glyph of a claw painted in freshly spilt blood. This gruesome icon belonged to the Archon who endorsed the Wych's bloody arts. That endorsement belonged to Archon Kheraq Sionyx, lord of the Kabal of the Bleeeding Claw. His violet eyes, having witnessed five millennia of intrigues and rapturous bloodshed, witnessed further sanguine masterpieces from the Raining Blood cult. Across Commorragh, it's Wyches were known for staging the most gruesome death, where worthy opponents are subject to the slowest of demises. For Kheraq, the Wyches have indeed put on quite the show, Q'alandria had indeed chosen a rare oponent, an Astartes Chapter Master. The Succubus was close to finishing the Mon'Keigh off. His blood ran like rivers, thanks to the toxins that laced her weapons, preventing it from clotting. The Marine charged, bringing his thunder hammer to bear. Q'alandria simply leapt over the clumsy blow, soil cast into the area she once stood. As she landed, the Succubus lashed her agoniser into the blood. The Chapter Master turned, Q'alandria lashed her whip hurling the blood into his eyes. Taking advantage of the distraction, the Succubus vaulted over the enhanced human, lashing her agoniser across his back, critically damaging the reactors of his backpack and sparking the nerves into a frenzy of beautiful pain. The audience roared in delight and Kheraq's heart pounded in exaltation of this splendid ruin.

With the burden of his inactive armour and poisons from his numerous wounds, the Chapter Master fell to his knees, dropping his immense thunder hammer. Q'alandria, knowing her prey was at her mercy, she circled the fallen Astartes. She whistled, a Wych hurled a weighted flail into the arena. Catching it, the Succubus had sheathed her venom blade and proceeded to perform a deadly dance. Weapons began striking the pool of blood, spraying the rapturous audience, they applauded even more. Q'alandria pirouetted into the air, lashing her agoniser and flail around the disabled Mon'keigh's neck as she landed. She gazed up Kheraq and smiled; the Archon nodded and returned the smile. Content with this gesture, a light tug was all that was need to part the Astartes' head from his shoulders. The audience roared as the decapitated head rolled into the blood pool. Q'alandria moved to retrieve her blood soaked trophy, grasping what hair the enhanced human had and raised high for the Eldar to see, the applause shook the arena as they admired such beautifully wrought death brought forth by such a darkly radiant artiste. Kheraq was reminded why he endorsed he cult of Raining Blood, it's Succubus was the epitome of carefully wrought sadism brought upon those who deserved it.

As the Archon turned to exit the viewing balcony, the sound of wings beating in the air echoed into his tapered ears. He turned, a winged figure darted above the crowd and perched itself on the balcony rail. The creature's wings were covered in vibrant feathers, it's helmet a bloodied gold and carried a sword at his hips. "My lord Kheraq, I have a message from your...client." The Solarite reached out his clawed hand, palm upwards, a scroll, wreathed in a purple substance, lay in the middle. The Archon smiled "my thanks Arqul'Qan, I see the payment has reached you intact." The Scourge cocked his head to the side, "indeed it has, If you permit me lord I yearn to return to my aerie, the Ynnealidh vexes me greatly." "You may", replied Kheraq and the Solarite vanished into the skies. The Bleeding Claws Archon exited the ziggurat, Arlqashir better have something.

_________________
"With these hands, we strip the hope of fools. With our blades we strip their flesh. With our engines of swift agony we take their freedom. With our desires we feast on their souls".

Battle chant of the Kabal of the Bleeding Claw[i]

In the depths of the Dark city, cute little bunnies and rainbows ain't good for an Archon's health.
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Lady Malys
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Sun Apr 07 2013, 19:21

Nicely descriptive! I also liked your names, if that makes sense - they have a good Dark Eldar feel to them. I'm intrigued to know the Scourge's message ...

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Archon Kheraq Sionyx
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Sun Apr 07 2013, 20:32

Oh you'll found out my lady, in due time, part two will be up soon.

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"With these hands, we strip the hope of fools. With our blades we strip their flesh. With our engines of swift agony we take their freedom. With our desires we feast on their souls".

Battle chant of the Kabal of the Bleeding Claw[i]

In the depths of the Dark city, cute little bunnies and rainbows ain't good for an Archon's health.
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Thor665
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Mon Apr 08 2013, 01:28

I found the appearance of the ziggurat in the narrative sudden and jarring as my mental image of the arena did not include it - maybe adjust for that a hair? Also, this is a personal crazed niggle of mine, and I'll spare you any other grammar/spell check comments, but 'its' and 'it's' are two quite different words with different meanings. It's means 'it is/has' and should never be used for the possessive form, which is its. It's something that bugs me and it's in your story and rearing its ugly little head like it's rightfully the owner. Wink

Liked the descriptions, and the flow of the battle was very organic which was nice. Lush descriptions are always a huge plus.

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Archon Kheraq Sionyx
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Mon Apr 08 2013, 14:43

Here it is fellow Archons, a further insight into tale of intrigue coated in a layer of blood to add flavour.
-------------
The message indicated that Arlqashir would be in one these buildings,.Kheraq's eyes took in the sight of these slums, the notorious Sec Maegra, or Null city to the lesser races that called such a squalid place home. Most Archons would have balked at the prospect of coming here, preferring to let their underlings do the dirty work for them; the Lord of the Bleeding Claw however did not look at this place with the eyes of a visitor, but rather that of a prodigal son returning home. This place, where Commorragh's refuse had flowed to had shaped him into what he is now. With his lofty position however, it would have been unwise to go alone, so Kheraq brought four Incubi with him. The narrow filthy and corpse-strewn streets were to narrow even for a Venom to enter, forcing the retinue to go by foot...not that it concerned the Archon. The memories of this place remained as fresh as when he had ran through them as a child, rarely for pleasure mostly for necessity. "Follow me, do not stray...there are worse things that lurk here than us." The Incubi nodded silently, Kheraq gestured them follow him.

This place has become worse in my absence, the Archon had realised. More corpses, mostly Eldar with some alien bodies, littered the streets. Brawls between Hellion gangs grew more violent as they competed over every scrap of filth encrusted territory their hands could keep a slippery grip on. Another foul thing came in abundance in Sec Maegra, the Parched; pain-starved Eladrith Ynneas reduced to nothing more than animals, scrapping over any nuance of agony their wasted frames can get. Kheraq's mood became sullied, on their own these barely-Eldar creatures pose little threat, it is in numbers that they proved problematic. Warily, the group pressed on, each maintaining a stealthy approach. Whilst the Archon had confidence in his bodyguard's, it was insane to antagonise the hornet' s nest. Slowly they moved, watching the streets of this necropolis, waiting for fights to break out between the locals and then slipping away when the bloodshed is at its most enthralling. Then silence descended on Null city, Kheraq paused; this place was never quiet. Then the sound of screeching and cursing pierced the silence. Hellions, thought Kheraq, and many judging by the sounds of their whooping, an unavoidable fight.

A part of the Archon bristled at being kept from his objective, but his heart pounded at the prospect of a fight. "Draw blades, they know we're here." Just as Kheraq drew his custom made huskblade and blast pistol, the first Hellion came into view. A beam of eye-searing darklight surged from the pistol, vaporizing the wretch in a single shot. More came, thirsting for the blood those trespassing in their territories. The gangster skyboards unleashed deadly splinter salvos, Kheraq activated his Shadowfield; the tendrils of dark energy had absorbed the incoming shots. Glancing to his sides, the Archon saw that his Incubi were still standing, but this was only the beginning. The Hellions swooped down onto the trespassers poised to shed blood. Another blast from Kheraq's blast pistol rendered another wretch into non-existence as the darklight beam reacted furiously with organic matter. The Incubi were the first to strike at the Hellions, their deadly klaives cleaving through ucky enough to be in range of this storm of blades. Another divebombed into Kheraq only to be rendered into dust as the smoking huskblade stripped the marauder of every drop of moisture. Then something smashed into the Archon, knocking him to the sewage laced floor, his sword clattering to the floor. His suspicions were answered by a feral snarl, a Hellion was on top of him, probably dislodged of his board. Enraged, the wretch pulled out a wicked looking dagger, aimed to cut out Kheraq's heart. The Archon immediately grasped his assailant's wrist, twisting it so that he would drop the blade. The Hellion snarled, foam dripping from filed teeth that snapped at Kheraq's throar. Clearly the street rat was in the throes of cheap street drug highs and would not see reason until the effects wore off. The Archon palm striked the frenzied Eldar and made for the huskblade. His efforts were answered by a sharp pain as the Hellion grasped his turquoise-laced ebony hair. In response' Kheraq quickly pounded his fist to his chest, activating a drug dispenser filled with grave lotus. A delightful burning sensation entered the Archon's anatomy as his limbs were filled with strength and vigour. Immediately, the Lord headbutted the drug-crazed wretch, knocking him to the stars if it were possible. Sensing an opportunity, Kheraq wrapped his hands on the Hellions face. The Archon poured his strength into his arms, his opponent clawed at his armoured limbs in vain. A sickening, if pleasurable crack and the Hellion's body went limp became the fruits of Kheraq's labour. Retrieving his huskblade, the sound of moaning and snarling had reached his ears, the source emerged from the shadows. Figures, pale even for Eladrith Ynneas and t heavily desicated; "Parched!!" Declared Kheraq, knwing that they will overwhelm the two warring factions. "Non-lethal strikes, leave them for the fiends", ordered the Archon as he switched the power setting of his sword to that of a standard power weapon. Slicing through the fleeing Hellions, the group fled into the alleyways. The agonised screams of the street rats were music to Kheraq's ears as the Parched feasted on their pain.

It would be several alleyways before they stumbled across a door marked in the symbol of the Bleeding Claw. This must be the place, Kheraq's eyes gazed at the peculiar locking mechanism that adorned it. A sanguine toll lock he realised, in Commorragh one could never be too cautious for those who not so will fall prey to that which lurks in the shadows. The Archon pulled dagger from his cloak and brought it gently across his cheek. The sharp tang of pain wad nothing compared to the greater scheme of things. Content with this bloody offering, Kheraq allowed the drops to fall off the dagger into the basin. A gentle chime answered the sanguine offering, and the door gently slid open. A voice then emerged, "ahh lord Kheraq, I see you have made it relatively intact." The Archon sneered "I could say the same of you...Arlqashir". A withered Eldar emerged out of the darkness, clearly too far gone for the standard pain indulgence to return him to a youthful figure. The old Eldar smiled "perhaps I didn't need to..." Arlqashir fiddled with his robes "now....shall we get down to business?'

_________________
"With these hands, we strip the hope of fools. With our blades we strip their flesh. With our engines of swift agony we take their freedom. With our desires we feast on their souls".

Battle chant of the Kabal of the Bleeding Claw[i]

In the depths of the Dark city, cute little bunnies and rainbows ain't good for an Archon's health.


Last edited by Archon Kheraq Sionyx on Tue Apr 09 2013, 01:58; edited 1 time in total
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Mngwa
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Mon Apr 08 2013, 16:49

Interesting, enjoyable combat scenes. Cant wait to see more Very Happy
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Lady Malys
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Mon Apr 08 2013, 17:24

Good fast combat with a real sense of immediacy!

I would agree with Thor that you maybe need to proofread it before posting, as there are a few grammatical errors such as missing words Smile Nothing major, it doesn't detract from the pace of the tale, but it does throw the eye out a bit. I'd be happy to offer to proofread for you if you like Smile

I really like the idea of the sanguine toll lock ... I want to steal that if I may? Very Happy

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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Mon Apr 08 2013, 17:29

I have seen english written in language horrible enough to not notice any grammar mistakes at all until I look for them... but true, the "its" and "it's" is important!
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Archon Kheraq Sionyx
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Mon Apr 08 2013, 18:32

Thank you Lady Malys, I'll take you up on your offer. I have to type these stories up on my phone and it makes a few mistakes. As a result, I'm so busy fixing the phone's mistakes I often overlook my own mistakes. Plus you get a first look too! Very Happy

P.S. No assassination attempts please Wink

Also, despite the grammatical butchery, I'm glad people are enjoying my stories. Next up more intrigue and a bit of sleaziness for good measure.

EDIT: Also feel free to make use of the Sanguine toll lock Smile

_________________
"With these hands, we strip the hope of fools. With our blades we strip their flesh. With our engines of swift agony we take their freedom. With our desires we feast on their souls".

Battle chant of the Kabal of the Bleeding Claw[i]

In the depths of the Dark city, cute little bunnies and rainbows ain't good for an Archon's health.
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Archon Kheraq Sionyx
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Location : The place you'd least expect

PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Tue Apr 09 2013, 15:15

The room which Arlqashir had led them into was bland to say the least. Clearly he had chosen this place because of its inconspicuous nature. After all, the most megalomaniacle Archons would have perceived this place as disgusting to the point of insult; the Bleeding Claw's emphasis on practicality, as espoused by Kheraq, would deem this task as a necessary evil in the scheme of things. Arlqashir gestured towards a wooden stool, plain even for Sec Maegra. The Archon stooped to accept this seat, "A drink dear Archon? Kheraq replied, venom lacing his words, "After what my party has suffered, I deserve much more than a mere drink, don't you think Slave trader?" The older Eldar was taken aback by the Kabalite Overlord's words, a simple assertion of dominance within the convoluted game that is the Dark City. Content with the results, Kheraq broke into a charming, deadly smile, his tone relaxed "But in this case I will accept the tipple you offer me, I hope for the sake of this deal that it matches my tastes." The Slave trader broke into a nervous smile and proceeded to pour out a luminescent blue liquid from a lavishly decorated bottle. The Archon eyed Arlqashir closely, the slight tremor in his action conveyed his unsettled disposition. It suited the Archon to deal with such matters when potential partners were in such a state. "Now then Arlqashir, to the discussion of the matters for which we have gathered. I hope for your sake that what you have proves useful". The old Eldar visibly shivered slightly, handing over a glass containing the azure liquid he replied "Oh it was worth your ordeal my lord, I would wager my very soul on it." This one is proud, thought Kheraq, malleable and amusing at the same time "Be careful old one, I would not be so eager to gamble that which is of immense value." The Archon reached into his cloak and pulled out a pyramidal gemstone, shimmering with energies that tugged at his very soul...a soul trap was indeed quite a sinister means to make a point. The Slave trader chuckled nervously. But isn't a gamble worthwhile if the outcome is certain?" "Has your age addled you Arlqashir? You should know that in Commorragh the only certainties are birth, betrayal and death." Kheraq's brow furrowed, "A much as I enjoy discussing the intricacies of our deadly home I would rather we get back to business...", he raised his eyebrow "...Wouldn't you?" The Slave trader rushed to his feet, moving into the shadows, the sound of clutter echoing in the room.

Whilst the commotion continued, Kheraq decided to sample the beverage. Initially suspicions arose in his mind that it may be poisn but then dismissed the thought. Arlqashir had nothing to gain from the Archon's death, merely his own demise...it pays to give the Incubus shrines a bonus to avenge his death. Having took the caution to practice a mithridatist discipline, he brought the glass to his lips. A beautifully sweet aroma caressed Kheraq's senses as he poured the liquid through his lips. Immediately a sensation struck the Archon, first it began as a delicately sweet taste., but it changed into a spicy nuance that tingled his Eldar senses. Just as he noted asking the Slave trader where he found this delectable treat, Arlqashir emerged from the shadows, three tied up scrolls each made of the hides of humans. "This is what I have brought you dear Archon, my records of clients perusing their living wares and purchasing mine in return." The Eldar laid out the records and briefly glanced up at Kheraq, "Who is that you seek my lord." His heart simmered as the name emerged from his lips, "Sadakhar El'Varanak, it is he who I seek." Arlqashir chuckled "Ahh him, the good Archon is no doubt one of my best customers." The flesh merchant paused "What business do you have with Archon of the Sanguine Feast Kabal?" Kheraq sneered, "That, old man, is for myself only. If you place great value on your tongue, I suggest you restrain it .... I'd hate for you to lose profits if you cannot barter with them." Arlqashir gulped, "Tell me what you desire lord." The Archon smiled "Much better Flesh merchant, I want to arrange a meeting." Rubbing his forehead, "There will be a price Archon" "The fact you still live should be enough for you...but alas I am in a generous mood, that and you have more value to me with your soul in it's wretched form. Your outlet shall have my endorsement, but we shall discuss further details later." Kheraq rose out of his seat and approached the door. He turned slightly "one more thing Slave trader..." Arlqashir leapt to his feet "yes lord?" Kheraq chuckled."Where did you acquire this fine drink?"

-----
Let me give thanks to my proofreader Lady Malys, she has certainly made my works more bearable to read. BTW I consulted my DE codex, definitely Sec Maegra Smile

_________________
"With these hands, we strip the hope of fools. With our blades we strip their flesh. With our engines of swift agony we take their freedom. With our desires we feast on their souls".

Battle chant of the Kabal of the Bleeding Claw[i]

In the depths of the Dark city, cute little bunnies and rainbows ain't good for an Archon's health.
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Fri Apr 12 2013, 19:55

Another chapter to whet the darkest of appetites.
--------------------
Speeding through the air like a bloodstained raven, the Venom approached the archway that led to the fortress of the Bleeding Claw. By many standards, this sign would appear dull ...were it not for the glowing cage that hung through its centre. A wailing began to echoe, a grin emerged from Kheraq's lips. "Take us up to the cage pilot ... An old friend deserves a visit." The Archon's commands were answered with a sharp vertical ascent that tugged at his innards. The Venom slowed as it reached the cage; as it levelled, a figure clad in black rags charged from within the cage. From what could be seen, the wretch's flesh was shriveled ... just like the Parched.

It snarled "Kheraq! Kheraq! Give me back my Kabal!!" The Overlord chuckled, "You will get it back my lord ..." A sarcastic emphasis was placed on the last word. A cruel smile caressed his lips, "... When She Who Thirsts finally clutches Vect to her twisted bosom." The creature howled, torment, rage and insanity carried across the aetheric currents of Commorragh. "Keep wailing Thalisarin, your pain is most invigorating." Indeed, the pain emanating from the deposed Archon was one rarely experienced by many, Kheraq felt it nourish him, temporarily healing the wounds of his immortal soul. "Back to the keep, let this one rot forever more." The Venom then proceeded to carry on to its initial destination. As the fortress came into view, memories from the past began to surface, eliciting another smile from Kheraq's lips.
-------------------------
4,500 passes ago

The cycle had gone by smoothly, for Dracon Kheraq; no assassination attempts had befallen Lord Thalisarin .... At least not yet anyway. Standing by the rather blandly adorned window, gazing at the patrolling Kabalites in the courtyard below. His eye picked out one of the warriors, Zadqa'al, a blaster nestled in his arms. The Dracon nodded and the Kabalite aimed the darklight weapon high and then pulled the trigger. In the wake of the searing beam, the sound of splinter fire broke out within the fortress. A civil war had begun within the ranks of the Last Whisper Kabal. Kheraq smiled, whilst the numbers were equal, he had another trump card to play.

[u]Not too far away ...
Akadrinael clutched his shardcarbine closely, infighting had broke out within the Kabal. Why? Why now? The thoughts nagged at the Trueborn's mind. The traitors had come, his fellow Trueborn had slaughtered them. A neighbouring squad had not long ago arrived, under the guise of an assisting force. The ensuing had left five of Akadrinael's squad dead and the traitors fleeing. The Trueborn paused, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway. The assembled Trueborn braced themselves, ready to shoot at whatever came in range. The source of noise soon came into view. Surprise ushered itself into Akadrinael's heart; Wyches, of the cult of Raining Blood. The Trueborn spoke. "Lady Q'alandria I ... " The Succubus put a finger to the Trueborn's lips. Then pain shot through Akadrinael's stomach. He looked down and his eyes widened with horror, Q'alandria's venom blade was embedded in his gut. With burning agony crawling through his veins, the Trueborn watched as the Wyches leapt into his warriors, ululating as their blades spilt Kabalite blood. With a wicked smile twisting across her divine features, the Succubus wrenched the blade from Akadrinael's torso, his vision darkening as the weapon's toxins scorched his mind into nothingness.
---------
"My lord we must get you to safety" cried Kheraq.

"The Wyches have turned their blades on us" exclaimed another voice. This one made the Dracon feel nauseous.

"Yes Ishaerath, you have quite quite a talent for stating the obvious."

A shrill voice pierced the air . "Silence Dracons, now get me out of here!" 'Oh we will lord Thalisarin." Kheraq intoned, sarcasm edged his voice. The party pressed on, the sound of battle drew closer; the Dracon now saw his opportunity.

"You two should proceed ahead ... The transport holds only two." The old Archon twitched. "You have my thanks, be sure to devour them for me ."
As the two turned around, Kheraq drew his power sword and thrust it through Ishaerath's spine. The sycophantic Dracon's agonised screams made Thalisarin turn with a snarl.

"Kheraq? What is this?"

The Dracon laughed triumphantly. "Do you not see old fool? I had planned this for centuries .... You should have seen the machinations that were unfolding, but your insanity has blinded you." The mad Archon fell to his knees, his twitches growing in intensity.

"You were my favourite ...after all I had done.." Thalisarin's sentence was cut short as Kheraq punched him, knocking out several teeth. Contempt now etched his voice.

"No .... you have done nothing for me, save waste my time and now all that you have belongs to me." It was in that moment that the last few strings of Thalisarin's sanity were finally cut; the deposed Archon began to wail and claw at the floor. Such a pitiful sight had brought much cruel pleasure to Kheraq's black heart. As the triumphant traitors entered the room, the newly crowned Archon raised his sword, poised to put the wretch out of his misery ... Another idea crossed his mind. "Do not kill him, I have something better in mind." Then Kheraq approached Ishaerath's corpse and thrust his hand into the exit wound. With sickening squelch, he ripped out his rival's heart and gorged upon it. Satisfied, Kheraq turned to his Kabalites. "Cast aside the Last Whisper, we shall call ourselves the Bleeding Claw Kabal."

-------------------------
The gates of the Bleeding fortress came into view. A lone figure stood above the entrance. He said he would wait for me in my successful ventures. Kheraq smiled, tonight shall be a celebration; one more machination on this long road of existence. Soon he will embrace his precious plaything, soon he would embrace his precious Anuriath.

_________________
"With these hands, we strip the hope of fools. With our blades we strip their flesh. With our engines of swift agony we take their freedom. With our desires we feast on their souls".

Battle chant of the Kabal of the Bleeding Claw[i]

In the depths of the Dark city, cute little bunnies and rainbows ain't good for an Archon's health.
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Sun Apr 14 2013, 22:59

The gates of the fortress opened slowly, like the jaws of a yawning beast. The Venom swooped in, Kheraq had always enjoyed a daring entrance. History rarely remembers the safeplayers, lest it was their caution that led to their downfall. The courtyard was quiet,  save for the occasional growls and hisses of exotic beasts and the bountiful screams emerging from the oubliettes of the Bleeding Claw's residing Haemonculus coven. Kheraq generally preferred to keep the 'celebrations" of his return to a minimum....the Kabalites had more important things to be doing; mainly protecting the Kabal's interests and keeping visitors on their toes. The Venom slewed to a halt, the Archon leapt of the carriage. Four figures stood to greet his return. The first made what was left of Kheraq's heart flutter with excitement. His deep, dark eyes, long, crimson hair and youthful features appealed greatly to the Archon. Anuriath was only 175 passes old, yet he had proved himself useful in the past. Most intriguing of all, the Dracon had willingly submitted himself to Kheraq; Anuriath had his own murderous streaks, brought on by envy of those who draw too much of the Archon's attention. Next to him was was a more unusual looking Dracon; his hair was gaudy even by Commorite standards. Each long strand was coloured in every facet of the spectrum and beyond. Most unusual of all, this one enjoyed wearing a leather Mon-Keigh greatcoat over his ghostplate armour which reeked of chemicals and wore an excessive amount of make-up The Dracon was known only as the Gravelotus; he had a peculiar affinity for the streets of the Dark city, the Hellions in particular and knew how to get them what they needed to keep them on side, drugs. Next was a female Eldar, her lilac hair tied half up and adorned with gemstones. Her elegant robes led others to believe she was just here as a member of the sisterhood of Lhilitu, but Kheraq knew better. Mistress Ebonadrin Adahlia was responsible for the armaments of the Kabal, knowing the ins and outs of the tools and engines of ruin. She and Gravelotus had a peculiar arrangement, one that involved stimulants and copulation.

Last but not least, the remaining figure wore the black iron mask of the Wracks and wore a robe of flayed skin over a butcher's apron. At least Haemonculus Barashagal had the decency to order his servants to wear something over their scarred hides. No doubt the Wrack was here to deliver Kheraq's decrees to his master. The Archon smiled.

"A felicitous greeting to my favoured assets."

The four Eldar bowed, most  likely so that they could keep their heads in a desirable location.

Gravelotus spoke next,  laced with the razor sharp wit that Kheraq had enjoyed . "Alas, our fair Archon has returned from the depths of Hell Itself."

The Lord smiled. "No Dracon, if Null City and Hell were both in my possession... I would let the Mon-Keigh have the corpse infested slum and take residence in Hell."

The Sister of Lhilitu approached, her Sun-vapour perfume conveyed nuances of celestial bliss. As she drew closer, Kheraq could not help but catch a flare of jealousy in Anuriath's dark eyes; it amused him slightly. Ebonadrin 's silky, almost unearthly voice slithered into the ears of the gathered entourage.

"Was it so bad my lord? Perhaps I could entertain later on with my latest masterpieces?"

"Dear Ebonadrin, how could I say no to a demonstration of your deadly arts?"

Chuckled Kheraq, who then turned his attention to the Wrack. No doubt here to bring
ews that was of importance ... To the Haemonculus himself only.

"Aaahh, what delectable news has old Barashagal for me dear servant? Or rather what does he desire that I can give?"

The Wrack bowed slightly, his breath echoed from his mask.

"My master desires to meet with you Lord. He seeks your appraisal of his next masterpiece."

"I, Wrack, will decide whether or not Barashagal's next sin against nature is abominable enough for my tastes. Tell the old one that I will speak to him when I see fit. Go now, lest I give your master an excuse to experiment with replacement legs."

The Coven servant bowed swiftly and rushed away, black iron metal scratched the floor with each footfall. Kheraq then turned his attention to the one person who desired it most. That small flare of jealousy that glistened in Anuriath's midnight black eyes, had turned into flames. Chuckling, the Archon caressed the younger Eldar's cheeks.

"My dearest Anuriath, was that envy that shone through those precious gems with whom you see?"

"Was it so obvious Lord? My apologies dear Archon if I have offended you, but you have spoiled me rotten."

Kheraq moved closer to the Dracon, catching the scent of youth that thrilled him so deeply.

"Indeed I have my sweet. Fear not, you have not insulted me. Rather you flatter me deeply, perhaps you would care to reveal in due time."

The Lord then focused his attention on the others.

"To the great hall, we have much to discuss."

As Anuriath was the last to to turn around. Kheraq shot out his arm, catching the young Dracon's arm. The Archon pulled him closer; he gazed into those eyes once more. Then he moved in closer, whispering into Anuriath's tapered ear.

"Tonight young one, I will spoil you till your soul becomes delectably black."

_________________
"With these hands, we strip the hope of fools. With our blades we strip their flesh. With our engines of swift agony we take their freedom. With our desires we feast on their souls".

Battle chant of the Kabal of the Bleeding Claw[i]

In the depths of the Dark city, cute little bunnies and rainbows ain't good for an Archon's health.


Last edited by Archon Kheraq Sionyx on Fri Jun 28 2013, 20:47; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Sat Apr 27 2013, 01:25

More than that, I didn't get my topic notification that there was more! :O Can I blame your iPhone for that too? Razz

Now I've caught up on my reading I am looking forward to knowing more about these four colourful (and doubtless violent) characters - Dracons are in such a pivotal position that they make intriguing players, above the run of average Trueborn, but not at the heights of Archon. Yet. These four look as if they will provide some interesting political dynamics.

Quote :
a peculiar arrangement, one that involved stimulants and copulation
As do so many arrangements in the Dark City ... though not all as discretely but accurately summed up as this! Very Happy


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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Fri Jun 28 2013, 20:50

Finally, that edit is done people. For the next chapter it gets even sexier. Shocked 

_________________
"With these hands, we strip the hope of fools. With our blades we strip their flesh. With our engines of swift agony we take their freedom. With our desires we feast on their souls".

Battle chant of the Kabal of the Bleeding Claw[i]

In the depths of the Dark city, cute little bunnies and rainbows ain't good for an Archon's health.
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Sun Jun 30 2013, 19:04

Here it is people,  as promised for you connoisseurs of intrigue
----------
The great hall of Kheraq's fortress was quite the sight for newcomers. The walls, ornately gilded as they  wer, were also adorned with a more gruesome feature. Banners and pennants, hewn from the flesh of vanquished prey and painted in their life's blood, wafted gently in the hall's artificial climate. The floor itself, made of blackest obsidian, had small channels filled with the vitae of doomed slaves. At the heart of the chamber stood an iron statue of Kaela Mensha Khaine; the rivulets of blood seemed to flow up the statue, into the lord of murder's very hands, which then dripped into two basins which recycled the sanguine fluid. At the statue's feet, a throne  of lavish furs and flayed human skin still adorned with a peak cap and black greatcoat. The Archon remembered its acquisition well; centuries ago whilst raiding a Mon-Keigh world, the hideous rhetoric of a human officer pained Kheraq's delicate tastes. He smiled, it seemed  he did the officer's underlings a favour when he snapped the pathetic wretch's neck as he swore he saw something akin to relief or whatever grotesque parody of emotion they felt. Snapping back to the present, the Archon immediately sat upon his throne.

Content that he was comfortable, Kheraq clapped his hands three times. Immediately fifty slaves, freshly taken from their Craftworld kin were herded in by fifty Kabalites. With a swift nod, the warriors thrust poison-laced daggers into the backs of the unfortunates. The deliciously crafted toxins, made by Gravelotus himself, immediately took hold, setting the Eldar slave's nerves alight with agony as the malevolent fluid insidiously kept them alive for as long as possible. Kheraq sighed with pleasure as the powerful waves of torment nourished his withered soul, filling his limbs with vigour and  perverse delight. Breaking his reverie, the Archon then turned his attention to his lieutenants and began to speak of what occured during his meeting with Arlqashir.
------------------
Several hours later

Kheraq's thoughts were still occupied with the events of the meeting. After relaying the details of his deal with the Slave-Trader, the Archon had announced that they will convene again on the next cycle. In the meantime, he told Anuriath to meet him in his private chambers, intent on keeping his oath to spoil his plaything further. Before he would join the Dracon, Kheraq sent Gravelotus, along with several Trueborn of his own choosing, just to make sure that Arlqashir was behaving himself. As he began to leave, the eccentric Eldar pressed something into Kheraq's palm and grinned.

"A little something special for my lord and his favourite toy."

"A new creation of yours, Dracon?"

"Just a little something to heighten the pleasure of the moment dear Archon; to magnify the sensations as you embrace and toy with another."

After the flamboyant Dracon left, Kheraq initially suspected that the vials passed onto him contained a deadly poison. Then again, after smelling it and remembered it emanating from Gravelotus himself, no doubt the Dracon had tested it in one of his ... liaisons with Ebonadrin. Content with this conclusion, the Archon made for his abode. His appointment with Anuriath awaited.
----------------
After stripping himself of his armour, Kheraq had stood within the candlelit twilight of chamber. The Archon then undid his fastenings, letting his turquoise-streaked  hair flow freely. He turned, a smile graced his lips and his heart began to pound; Anuriath stood there, clad only in a plain purple robe. His crimson locks flowed free; Kheraq moved in closer, catching the scent of voidshade wisping delicately from the younger Eldar as it tingled the Archon's senses. Grasping the vial Gravelotus had given him, he crushed it in his palm. An invigorating scent emerged from the faux-glass as it vanished, invigorating and heightening the senses of the two lovers. The Archon then slippe his hand onto Anuriath's shoulder and began to pull away the Dracon's robe; revealing more pale skin that wrapped itself delicately around his taut musculature. The young Eldar then proceeded to disrobe Kheraq, revealing the blood-henna markings that he enjoyed painting upon himself. The Archon gently caressed the Dracon's pristine cheeks and then moved in to lock his ebony lips with his. The two found themselves lost in their moment of passion and as nails dug into pale flesh, their lithe figures collapsed onto the soft bed.
------------------
Let me give thanks once more to my proofreader Lady Malys, for helping to make this story a feast for the eyes and imagination cheers 

_________________
"With these hands, we strip the hope of fools. With our blades we strip their flesh. With our engines of swift agony we take their freedom. With our desires we feast on their souls".

Battle chant of the Kabal of the Bleeding Claw[i]

In the depths of the Dark city, cute little bunnies and rainbows ain't good for an Archon's health.
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Sun Jun 30 2013, 20:10

You are welcome Smile Another atmospheric and expressive chapter, and proof once more that the personal is political ...

Quote :
the hideous rhetoric of a human officer pained Kheraq's delicate tastes

And a dead Commissar will always get my approval Twisted Evil 

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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Sun Jun 30 2013, 20:29

Had to catch up a bit, but now I have read all until now Very Happy
Still some typos at a few points, but that happens all the time. Microsoft Word is great, since it easily notices even some grammar mistakes... even though you have to keep telling it that "Commorragh" is a word, and try to stop it from auto-correcting "eldar" into "elder".

As with the story...
Nice to read of a such successful dracon! This guy surely doesn't care of CW Eldar's extinction if he just goes and kills 50 of them Twisted Evil
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Sun Jun 30 2013, 21:16

What can I say, Eldar pain is more delectable than Mon-Keigh. Twisted Evil 

_________________
"With these hands, we strip the hope of fools. With our blades we strip their flesh. With our engines of swift agony we take their freedom. With our desires we feast on their souls".

Battle chant of the Kabal of the Bleeding Claw[i]

In the depths of the Dark city, cute little bunnies and rainbows ain't good for an Archon's health.
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Tue Jul 02 2013, 19:54

Another chapter for the depraved voyeur.
----------------------------
The Moon-tiger furs brushed gently against Kheraq's skin as his eyes opened. He smiled, guessing that he spoilt himself just as much as Anuriath. The Archon reached for his favourite Dracon, only for his hand to caress empty pelts. He quickly rose, only for his amethyst eyes  to gaze at a small gemstone. Immediately, Kheraq reached for it; as soon as his fingers brushed against its surface, azure light suddenly burst upwards. The rays coalesced and danced with each other until they melded, forming a face that made him chuckle. Anuriath, in his unusual politeness, had left behind a holographic message. Probably in the hope that Kheraq would not cast him aside for his  insolence. After last night however, the thought did not dare to show itself. The message spoke.

"My sincerest apologies that I'm not within your chambers, Lord Kheraq. Alas my duties as a Dracon needed to be done. Last night was sublime, you spoiled me as you said you would."

The holographic Anuriath paused, then a smile emerged from his lips.

"Now it is my turn, I took the liberty to leave you little surprise in your bath chambers, I hope my Lord enjoys it greatly."

Kheraq raised his eyebrow and then proceeded to discover the little something that the younger Eldar had left behind. As he pushed aside the gemstone-laiden bead curtains, what he saw brought a devilish grin to his face. The bath was filled with rose-tinted water, yet there were no flower petals. Kheraq then looked upwards; his eyes caught sight of three heads. Each one was hollowed out, containing a candle shimmering between colours. Pathways of dried blood snaked until they reached the edge of the bath. The Archon discovered the explanation for the water's pigmentation and a stream of words flowed from his lips.

"Apology accepted, my precious fiend."
-----------------------
After the invigorating bath and sliding on his armour, Kheraq decided that there was business that needed to be settled. Barashagal, Haemonculus Ancient of the Coven of  the Tormented Visage, had desired to unveil his latest abominations. The old Fleshcrafter, as vexing as he was,  had proved himself a vital asset for the Archon's [plans - past, present and future. As he exited the gateway of Great Hall, Kheraq had paid attention to the daily flow of Kabalite life. Warriors were herding captured beasts and slaves into their pens. Sometimes, both 'accidentally' ended up in the same area and it was somewhat convenient that their Overseers had taken bets on how long the scuffle would last ... not that the Archon cared. There were plenty more slaves out there in realspace rpe for the picking. Any Kabalite who had crossed his path swiftly bowed, with fists pounding against armoured chests. Kheraq smiled, these Eldar answered to him but not a shred of loyalty was given. For him, that just made life even more interesting, though none of those that had tried to challenge him had particularly unique plots they kept his awareness sharp.

The Archon's thoughts were abandoned after the entrance to the Tormented Visage's oubliette came into view. It was a simple hole, leading into a dark chasm, adorned with a curtain of shrunken heads and embalmed hands. In front of it, stood a lone Wrack; Kheraq had wondered if this was the same one whom he had terrorised the previous cycle.

"I've come to speak with your master, no doubt he has explained the ramifications for delaying me ... from both of us."

The Wrack simply nodded and then stood aside. The Archon then moved forward; with each footstep bringing him deeper into the real darkness within the Nightmare City.
--------------------------------------------------------
Cacophonous screams echoed throughout the passageway - the Haemonculus Ancient and his macabre servants were busy. The gloomy cavern was lit only by purple lights emanating from within still living heads sown into the wall of living flesh. The waves of beautiful pain grew more intense as Kheraq drew closer to the heart of the oubliette. The wailing grew louder as well, transforming into a sweet sound that sang deep into the Archon's shriveled, black heart. For a moment he pondered whether this was the reason that the masters of pain walk the path the that they are on; given that some may have lived during the dark days of the Fall, he could see the appeal. Suddenly, a cackling broke Kheraq from his thoughts. Barashagal was very close indeed. As if on cue, the Archon stumbled into a chamber that he had visited many times in the past. The walls were lined with pods, each containing an Eldar in some stage of regeneration. With each fresh scream, the more fully formed interred shivered as the scream's source nourished their ruined forms. From the banner poles hung eerily intact skins, each painted in sigils that trapped the unfortunate victim's soul.

Then Kheraq's eyes focused on to the center of room. There lay a table, with an unfortunate victim strapped to it. The poor wretch appeared barely touched; perhaps Barashagal had started on a new project. A long, black serpentine thing suddenly emerged from the shadows, snaking along the wretch's face as if sampling his tears... Probably was. That same insane cackle sounded again. This time it was very close. It was followed by words spoken from a most ancient serpentine throat that had endured many millennia.

"Aaahhh, Dear Archon; how pleasssant of you of to join usss!"

Kheraq smiled.

"Indeed Barashagal, perhaps you would endeavour to stop skulking in the shadows so that my eyes can watch where you slither."

In response, a figure walked, or rather, slithered out of the darkness; were Kheraq not familiar with the nightmarish thing that stood before him, he would have died of terror. Barashagal's face lacked flesh - instead it was a skull, possessing burning orange eyes and snake-like fangs that were framed by wrinkled skin. A scalplock of blood-slicked grey hair hung across the Haemonculus Ancient's right shoulder. His pointed ears had earrings of shrunken heads, just like the necklaces that were wrapped around his neck. The Lord of Pain had three pairs of arms; the first comprised of bionic claws, laden with vials containing fluids that Kheraq would not desire to flow through his veins. The middle pair was organic, but augmented to resemble the rending claws of a Tyranid creature, albeit a more full hand for grasping tools. The last pair were small and appeared barely developed, designed only to reach for whatever malefic tools Barashagal had at his belt. Most grotesque were the writhing mass of bony tentacles that protruded from his spine that carried him forward, the 'greatcoat' of flayed faces and the open chest cavity that revealed the repulsive organs that remained within. The Haemonculus cackled again.

"Why would I sskulk, dear Archon? Like the Lhamaeans I like to show off."

He hissed.

'In my nightmares perhaps, Fleshcrafter." responded Kheraq, clearly wanting to get the formalities out of the way. "Perhaps you would care to indulge in this unfortunate ... thing's fate."

Barashagal's long, ebony tongue snaked across his teeth.

'Merely my first meal Archon, I have my own tastes just as you have yours."

The Bleeding Claws Lord sneered.

"Then I am glad I do not share yours Barashagal ... Now can you tell me what sin against nature you have committed."

"Gladly..."

The Haemonculus then stroked the strapped down human with his Tyranid-like limbs and made coughing noise akin to chuckling.

"You my friend, I shall feast on later."

The human screamed so loudly, Kheraq swore all Commorragh could hear him.
-----------------------------------
Thanks once more to my smouldering Succubus, Lady Malys for aiding in perfecting my work and Barashagal is not flirting with Kheraq. If he were we should be worried. affraid

_________________
"With these hands, we strip the hope of fools. With our blades we strip their flesh. With our engines of swift agony we take their freedom. With our desires we feast on their souls".

Battle chant of the Kabal of the Bleeding Claw[i]

In the depths of the Dark city, cute little bunnies and rainbows ain't good for an Archon's health.
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Tue Nov 12 2013, 08:48

A long awaited chapter for the depraved connoisseur.
-----------------------------------------------------
The deeper Kheraq followed Barashagal into his oubliette, the more intense the waves of finely-wrought pain that crashed into him, almost knocking him to the floor. To his surprise, the tunnel was surprisingly austere; but, the Haemonculi prefer to compare themselves to artistes, saving the most blasphemous of their abominations for last. The Archon had to admit that as much as he despised Barashagal, he had certainly created numerous entertaining creatures. Many passes ago, the Ancient had created a monstrosity comprised of several Mon-Keigh sowed together in a perverse mockery of unity. The truly unlucky ones were attached to the more disgusting parts of the human anatomy; "Fitting thaat ssuch creaturesss should feast on the excrement that they truly are",  said Barashagal in justification of his...artistic expression. Alas, Kheraq had almost died of laughter after watching the mewling creature as the smell of necrotic flesh and dung permeated the air; not that he would give his enemies the satisfaction of his own death. Snapping back to the present , the overlord of the Bleeding Claws continued to follow his depraved guide deep into the heat of his domain. He did not doubt that whatever the Flesh-Crafter had in mind would not disappoint him. The Archon broke himself from his reverie and looked ahead. He and Barashagal stood before an immense door, if one could call a wall of writhing and pulsating flesh as such. The Haemonculus Ancient clapped his mechanical hands and as if on cue, a Wrack emerged from the shadows. In his wake, a Tau slave followed as the chain which bound him rattled. Though the greyskin was severely malnourished, his short height and once-stout frame revealed him to be of their so-called 'Earth' caste. Barashagal gestured to his acolyte, passing the lesser being's chain to the infernal being. The Flesh-crafter then pushed the Tau to the front; to the alien's horror, and Kheraq's mild distaste, a tendril of bio-matter swiftly shot out, ensnaring the unfortunate greyskin. The slave howled in terror as the wall of flesh began to drag him; desperately he clawed at the floor, only for his nails to be torn out by their futile attempts to gain some purchase. As soon as the Tau made contact with the living wall, it slowly began to engulf him as a sickening slurping noise echoed in the passageway. The lesser being's screams grew silently as soon as his head was swallowed by the mass that guarded the heart of its maker's perverse realm. Its disgusting appetite sated, the 'wall' began to open; a pulsating red light emerged in the thing's wake. Chuckling in his usual infernal manner, Barashagal bowed in mock prostration, gesturing his hands towards the entrance.

"Enter my lord, into the crown jewel of my dominion. Our... guessst is waiting for ussss."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Slightly paranoid that the wall-thing would absorb him, the Archon increased his pace slightly. Afterwards he looked around; the Sanctum of Barashagal made the outer parts of the oubliette seem like a pleasure garden in comparison to room Kheraq had just entered. The entire chamber was made of flesh that pulsated as though it were breathing; those who had earned the 'special attention' of the Haemonculus Ancient were held fast to the blood-slick organic walls by freshly amputated arms and fleshy tentacles. As much as the room offended Kheraq's aesthetic sense, he could not deny that this place was a nexus of pain; had the Archon known he was heading to this unexplored part of Barashagal's layer, he would have saved those slaves for another day. The sheer waves of agony this place contained threatened to push aside Kheraq's revulsion at this living chamber, slowly replacing it with a sense of intoxicated giddiness. Needing something to focus on before the life-giving pain overran his mind, the Archon cut straight to the chase.

"How has our guest been Barashagal? I hope he has taken well to your hospitality?"

A dry rattle emerged from the Ancient Eladrith Ynneas' throat.

"I will tell you thisss dear Archon, he is unwilling to leave, so enraptured is he with aiding my talents."

The Haemonculus clicked his genestealer-talons; in response the chamber began to groan like a human slave excreting more of their kind. The muscled-floor trembled, as though it were convulsing. It squelched as a dais of grotesquely melded, still living bodies rose through it. The unfortunate beings groaned in agony, their existence being reduced to nothing more than mere furniture. Bound in flesh-hooked chains was a pale figure who bled from numerous cuts and missing anatomy parts; to Kheraq's surprise, the figure looked like one of the Parched he had seen in Sec Maegra, yet in such a pain nexus as this place. Fascination and intrigue laced Kheraq's words as he spoke.

"My my Barashagal, you have certainly been giving our guest quite the welcome; care to indulge your secrets?"

That dry, rattling chuckle came again.

"Dear Archon, an artissst can only reveal so much of his techniquesss into such macabre wonders..."

The Haemonculus paused; if he could grin then he would be doing so.

"But I shall indulge a little, it is just a hint of one of mine and dear Gravelotus' sweet elixirs. A hint of powerful anaesthetics with drops of blood from what the Mon-Keigh call 'pariahs' bathed in the depths of my sanctum's vortex of sweet agony. Grant one of our own a taste of its esoteric delights and..."

Barashagal gestured to the bound wretch.

"This is what you get; an individual who can feel the agonies I sculpt into his flesh yet he cannot derive a substance from it. Melding the combined pains of my talents and an unsatiated thirst to create a most delightful symphony."

Kheraq, as enthralled as he was, was determined to conclude his business, lest the waves of pain in this place render him senseless.

"If you are done showing off Haemonculus, I don't suppose you'd care to divulge if our friend here has repaid our hospitality?"

Barashagal licked his teeth.

"Only with screams lord Kheraq, He probably saves his answers for you."

"Then it shall be me that claims them."

The Archon then approached the wretched thing bound to the dais flesh. The eyes within his haggard face were closed, yet they were rolling rapidly beneath the wrinkled flaps of skin that covered them. Barashagal drew closer, his cybernetic limbs were now dripping with an ichor that steamed as it made contact with the fetid air. The ancient Haemonculus gently placed one of them against the prisoner's chest. As the smell of chemically burnt flesh permeated the air, the unfortunate being's eyes snapped open as he screamed in pain. Kheraq grasped him by the face, his clawed gauntlets dug deep enough into the emaciated cheeks to shed blood.

"What is your name wretch?"

The victim did not speak. The Archon turned to Barashagal, a sinister smile cracked the lord's lips.

"I see you left the ears intact."

Swiftly, the Archon drew the dagger at his waist. A simple flash of silver and the victim was howling in pain as his left ear fell to the floor. Blood spurted from the newly inflicted wound.

"Care to be more forthcoming now then?" Kheraq asked once more in a casual tone.

"Ulq'ainaeth." He replied through gritted teeth.

Kheraq smiled in faux-warmness.

"Well met dear Ulq'ainaeth... These days I am perplexed by a problem that I believe you could aid me with."

The emaciated Eldar looked at the Archon, frenzied desperation burned in his eyes; yet he somehow regained as much of a composed appearance he could muster.

"Is it the directions to She-Who-Thirst's bosom?" He spat. "Well the answer to that conundrum is the very blade you used to part my ear from me, though I have suggestions where you could..."

A shot of agony coursed through Ulq'ainaeth's body, Kheraq delicately thrust the blade into one of the bound Eldar's freshly healed wounds; it dripped with the same steaming ichor that coursed through Barashagal's limbs. Kheraq sighed in false hurt.

"Alas friend, there is no need for such rudeness in polite company, my question is very simple: How can I arrange a meeting with your master?"

Ulq'ainaeth simply sneered.

"My lord Sadakhar does not meet with a low Halfborn such as you Kheraq."

How little you know, thought the Archon as he backhanded the arrogant fool, who in turn spat out his teeth to the floor. Barashagal, with the eagerness of a depraved child, picked up the teeth; no doubt to create something to adorn his hideous frame.

"I have a proposition for your master, I believe he will be interested in what I have to offer."

"You have nothing that the noble house of El'Varanak could possibly want, save the very hide from chest."

Simply chuckling, Kheraq stepped backwards; Barashagal slithered forth, his six arms carrying what look like hypersteroid and osseoviral pumps. Ulq'ainaeth's eyes widened in horror.

"Stay away from monster! You will not make an esteemed Dracon of a great noble house into one of your lumbering meat puppets!"

The Haemonculus remained silent as he drew closer to the bound noble. He snarled as Barashagal punctured his haggard flesh with the devices; veins burning as they began to inject him with their malefic fluids. Dreading what was eventually going to happen, the Dracon caved in.

"Wait, my master has an eye for that Succubus of the Cult of Raining Blood."

Kheraq chuckled.

"Then it is a good thing that me and Q'alandria have an understanding. Her cult holds the Bleeding Claw's sponsorship.

Ulq'ainaeth stared at the Archon, his eyes almost pleading. He spoke through strained teeth as his limbs grew physically heavier.

"Then my lord will have cause to listen to you, release me and I can arrange the meeting."

The lord raised his eyebrow.

"Will you now?"

"Yes! Yes! Lord Sadakhar will now of your mercy! Please lord let me go!."

Sneering at the wretch showing such weakness, Kheraq simply began to work out the room. He stopped for a brief second.

"I hope your Aberration will enjoy the company of his new friend Haemonculus."

"Ohhh, that he will dear Archon."

Laughed Barashagal menacingly. Ulq'ainaeth snarled out of rage and fear, now knowing that his fate was sealed.

"Whoreson!! I will see you in She-Who-Thirsts' flesh-pits when the time comes!"

Kheraq simply broke into laughter.

"After you my dear Dracon."
---------------------------------------
So what do you guys think of my comeback chapter? Your reviews are my splintermind...must....have...reviews!! Shocked

_________________
"With these hands, we strip the hope of fools. With our blades we strip their flesh. With our engines of swift agony we take their freedom. With our desires we feast on their souls".

Battle chant of the Kabal of the Bleeding Claw[i]

In the depths of the Dark city, cute little bunnies and rainbows ain't good for an Archon's health.
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Lady Malys
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PostSubject: Re: The Deadliest of Games   Sun Nov 17 2013, 19:12

More tales of the twisted hive of a Master Haemonculus ...

Quote :
the Haemonculi prefer to compare themselves to artistes, saving the most blasphemous of their abominations for last.
I would definitely agree. They see themselves as master artisans of the flesh, and the body as a machine to be refitted and modified as needed. You capture this feeling well, and also the sense of unease they generate in anyone who's not of their own persuasion, even an experienced monster like Kheraq. Taking away the ability to thrive on suffering while in the very throes of it is a spectacularly twisted, yet therefore so very suitable thing for a Haemonculus to have thought of.

It's good to see the politics and plotting unfolding as well - I want to go back and read over the whole thing to make sure I am not missing out. I look forward to more!

And lastly

Quote :
"Whoreson!! I will see you in She-Who-Thirsts' flesh-pits when the time comes!"

Kheraq simply broke into laughter.

"After you my dear Dracon."
Sharp, to the point and at someone else's expense: perfect Dark Eldar humour Very Happy

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THE DARK CITY :: 

OTHER DRUKHARI DISCUSSION

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