11th Company : Secrets of Celcia

[Jaraknarn]

The swirling vortex of pure obsidian shrunk almost imperceptably, kryax redoubled his efforts, blasting forth pure hatred, anger and primal lust into the coalescing blackhole of warp energy. It drank hungrily, Kryax could feel it gorging itself on his outpourings like it had been starving for centuries. He began sub-vocalising the words he had stolen, using the fury the source of the ancient writings forced to rise up into his throat, like burning bile, to further fuel the never satisfied tear in reality in front of him. As he began the words started to appear as glowing purple runes around the circumference of the the window into the warp. Floating and fluttering into place like leaves on a gentle breeze, completely contrary to the way they were created, forced out, soaked in contempt. He watched with awe as the blackness slowly transformed into a fine mist with a dim white point at its center. Kryax steeled himself and then thrust his perceptions forward. The etherial veil that shrouded the light from him refused to disappate. He pushed harder, sweat pouring down his forehead as he exerted all his mental might on this singular task.

He held this stalemate for what felt like an enternity to his impatient mind and then sickeningly he felt the window into the future begin to shrink back on itself, begin to wobble on its axis even as he fought desperately to control it. He could feel its thirst for the fragments of his soul he was channeling into it, so much hunger, so much desire. How could this things appetite be so immense? The thought alone terrified him, how much it wanted him, how much. . . Kryax felt the shift immediately, yes, it liked this new emotion, it liked this ones flavour. He felt it gobble up his fear with alarming speed, he grabbed onto this opportunity instantly. Baring himself to the full might of the warp, feeling his insignificance in the face of it, and the abject terror it inspired in him. Pouring it into the now rapidly expanding portal before him, and then almost without warning, it was upon him.

He saw a planet of pure white, gleaming against a starry backdrop. Then a burning meteor thundering through its atmosphere as he stood on the planets surface. Then, a dispicable craftworlder looming over him shiruken in hand, speaking, but he was unable to hear, now the same craftworlder impaled upon a writhing obsidian tentacle. Once again the planet but this time, half of it was obscurred by teemming black insects, in a stalemate with the bright snow, constantly shifting like the day and night sides of a planet but neither losing ground. He saw a Human, a space marine in blue armour, rising slowly from the snow while a fortress burned behind him.

Kryax pushed harder, this was all so confusing, it made no sense. Give me more he demanded, plunging yet more of his psyhcic strength down the greedy things gullet. He felt his arm pulled forward. Before he knew it he was on his feet, inside a monstrous cavern, so large the light from his small lamp failed to penetrate far enough to see any of its dimensions. It was then Kryax realised he was no longer sat crosslegged before the portal. He was looking through his own eyes during an event that had yet to occur. He didn't know how he knew, he didn't care, he just knew.

He swivelled his head around and saw something he knew all too well, Morginar, standing tall next to him.
"Go on then you fool" he spat at kryax "what did you see next? What did I have to do to take it?". It was then kryax noticed the pedastal in the distance in front of him. Bathed in an eerie light, a large black orb perched upon it.
"Start reciting the runes, Lord" his future self said, cowering patheticly before Morginar. With that Morginar began chanting loud words of strange and little meaning. They both started stepping towards the pedastel, his future self looked down, Kryax had never heard of a farseeing being so vivid and real. His future self began taking off his black gauntlets and gloves, revealing runes and symbols etched into his very skin across both his hands and his wrists. Indesipherable scrallings made of a dark strange metal embedded into his very skin, some of them were still fresh. While Morginar was distracted, his eyes fixed firmly on the sphere, future Kryax dived forward, snatching it off its stand with a triumphant cackle. He felt the strange black orb respond to his touch, felt it greet him like an old friend, felt its power surge through him. He spun back to Morginar, his face the perfection of victorious evil.
"Who's the fool NOW Lord Morginar?!!?" he screamed with all the vemon he could muster. He felt his lips curl into a vicious smile and watched as bright energy lanced out at the large eldar, he bubbled up with unending glee as he saw Morginar writhe around in agony as lightning rippled across his body. His future self stopped only when the former Lord Morginars body had been reduced to nothing but ash.

Suddenly the cavern began to rumble, his future self felt fear and uncertainty, but his present self felt something else entirely. A thin tentacle off hunger reaching out towards him. It slithered towards him with incredible speed. He turned and ran down a night sky black tunnel, he didn't know what it was but he knew it meant harm.
"I HAVE COME FOR YOU DARK ONE!" an unimaginably loud voice roared behind him. It stopped him in his tracks.
"s. . .s. . . .slaanesh" Kryax wimpered, understanding lighting in his eyes, he turned and sprinted down the tunnel, his feet seeming not to move.
"I HAVE COME FOR YOU DARK ONE! YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE ENTERED MY REALM!" The voice boomed again, sending Kryax into a terror induced panic as he ran impotently down the never ending tunnel. He could see himself, sat in his chamber off in the distance, haloed by the edges of the window he had created. His real face calm, despite the peril his soul was in. He had been foolish to think he could dabble in the warp without consequence. He could feel the Great eater of eldar souls breath on the back of his neck. Could feel her hand reaching out to grab him. He daren't look back and see how close she truely was. He was running desperately now. He felt impossibly tired even though he knew it was ridiculous because he wasn't actually running, but with every step he felt his vitality slipping away.
"No, no, not like this" Kryax moaned in between breaths. He had never learned the incantations of protection. He had refused to spend years constructing the psyhcic barriers to protect his higher brain functions. He was an impatient baffoon who had brute forced his way through a technique that any sane being would have spent centuries studying before they even attempted it. A thundering roar of evil laughter sounded behind him, she was enjoying this.
"NAIVE FOOL" the voice mocked, Kryax tripped falling to his knees, despite there being nothing in this immaterial world to trip on. He was being toyed with. Even so he was determined to try, he crawled forward on his hands and knees, clawing uselessly at the frictionless surface.
His hand gave way beneath him, he slumped forward, smashing his face on the rocky floor. He turned over to face his pursuer and shrunk back in horror at what he saw. Indescribable. How could anything mortal understand looking at a warp entity? Kryax screamed. It was all he could do. He screamed and shrieked until his throat was hoarse, scrabbling backwards, furiously trying to escape the mind destroying vision before him.

Then as quickly as it had begun, it was over.
Kryax was back in his body, staring intently at the far wall of his chamber.

He slumped forward, exhausted, feeling the comforting embrace of the hard floor that this time was very real. Well, he called it his chamber, he remembered with disgust its real name; a cell. He was a slave, an outcast, property. Despite all this, he revelled in still being alive, he didn't know how or why he still lived but at the moment, he didn't care. He took long exuberant breaths, the air tasted sweet and full, with the delightful taste of an incense candle that burned lazily in the corner. His moment of bliss was disturbed by an obnoxious banging on the door.
"PSYKER!" an all too familiar voice shouted. Kryax rose with a growl, would he ever get a moments peace from that brute? His face brightened with recognition, he WOULD be free of him. He had seen it, had felt the glee he would feel when he reduced him to a smoking pile of carbon dust. He smoothed down his ragged clothes, tried futilely to exude a sense of quiet dignity then stepped towards the door. He steeled himself on the threshold, his mind racing maddeningly as he tried to think what lie he would tell his master, the 'great' Lord Morginar he thought sarcasticly.
"KRYAX!" Morginar boomed again "whats going on in there.
"I am here, my Lord" Kryax announced as he stepped slowly out into the dark commoragh street. Morginar stood, resplendant in his wraithbone armour, helm under his left arm, witchblade sheathed on his left leg, in the dim twilight.
"What happened?" Morginar demanded "I heard screaming".
"Slaanesh detected me" Kryax stuttered.
"WHAT??" morginar screamed, with his free hand he lifted Kryax by his throat and pinned him against the door frame he had just passed through, "you have doomed us all you incompetent fool!".
"N. . N. . . No my Lord" Kryax stammered, " I evaded him. . . "
"Evaded him?!?" Morginar interupted "You, escaped the clutches of a chaos god? What kind of naive idiot do you think i am? I know the hunger he has for us, how could a miserable worm like you have done such a thing?"
"I don't know my master" Kryax protested, "i thought for sure he had me and then i awoke in my chambers unharmed". Morginar seemed to consider this. Kryax practicly dived onto his masters indecision.
"But i had still begun the farseeing and saw many things" he said inticingly, as he struggled to breathe in the large Eldar warriors grip.
"What things?" Morginar probed, resentfully inqusitive, as he begrudging lowered Kryax to the floor He continued to hold him place however wiith his physical presence alone. He stared angrily at Kryax watching for any sign of deception. Kryax fought desperately to keep from showing any duplicity, lying to his master was not something done easily.
"I saw you my Lord in a great cavern, holding an object of great power and then you using it to strike down a mighty craftworlder, and also to summon a great army of followers" Kryax lied carefully, he knew exactly what would please his owners ears.
"What object? Where?" Morginar questioned.
"A strange black orb, that insued forth lightning, powerful enough to level fortresses" Kryax continued, "on an ice planet in the Mitaaras cluster, i heard the name whispered too me when i saw it in my visions".
"What else did u see?" Morginar pushed, sensing Kryax was holding something back, "What Else?"
"A s. . s . . space marine" Kryax whispered as he watched his Lords face crease into a mask of anger, "b. . .b . . But" he begged with hand outstreched defensively, "i saw him with his fortress in ruins behind him, destroyed by the might of you and the orb".
Morginar smiled hungrily,
"Is that so?" he purred, "this is very interesting", he clicked his long slender fingers and 2 Eldar clad in dark armour stepped forward from the shadows and took Kryax by the arms.
"Whats the matter my Lord? Did my visions not please you?" Kryax grovelled, his face a mask of fear.
"Yes, Kryax, they did, but you did not think such a paltry offering would earn you your freedom did you?" Morginar chided as he turned to walk away, "you have uses for me yet, i can see that now" he spoke over his shoulder, "I have many things to prepare, you should rest slave, you look tired" he said finally as he strode off into the dim lit street. The Eldar bodyguards took this as their signal to lift Kryax up and throw him roughly back into his cell. Slamming the door loudly behind them. A grizly dark figure stepped proudly from the corner. His body so covered in various pain causing implements so as to make him appear half mechanical. Morginars Head Heamonculus.
"Give him more than usual, i want ever single monotonous detail bled out of him" Morginar ordered the torture master, "but when your finished, leave the pain fields down, i wanted him to sleep. I may need him to do it again in the morning. I will hold you personally responsible if he is unable to perform any tasks due to exhaustion"
"As you wish Archon, he feel more pain tonight than he ever thought possible" the Heamonculus replied. The two Eldar smiled gleefully at the thought, then Morginar stepped off into the dark Commorragh street.
Hours later Kryax waited until he heard the sounds of his tormentors footsteps disappear, then rose and curled up in the corner of his psyho-kinetic cage. It glowed faintly as it absorbed his latent psychic talents. He lay there staring at the ceiling a comical grin on his scarred and mutilated face. Soon Morginar would be dead and the power of the strange orb would be Kryax's to wield. He would never again be anyones slave and he would rejoice as he cut a deadly swath accross the galaxy. As he lay, he mused on the planet he had seen, so pristine white it sparkled like a star in the night sky, he remembered the name whispered too him; Celcia. An apt name for such a cold world. He thought again of Morginars spasming body burning to a pile ash and then, Kryax drifted off into the soundest sleep he had had in years, dreaming again and again of his masters demises.

[Jaraknarn]

Here's the revised first chapter, i hope u like it, let me know what u think, updates to come soon

[Locephax]

Pretty good, but you should proofread it or have someone else do the proofreading. Quite a few spelling and grammatical mistakes in there.

[Jaraknarn]

yer haha, i think i was good until the second half coz i was goin back and checking it but i was rushing to get it finished coz it was pertinant to another thread i'd started in the background threads.
Still thanks for the comment, im gonna try and check it out now,an im really looking forward to writing this and iv got the plot all mapped out so there shouldn't be too much stalling

[Jaraknarn]

Heres a WIP of chapter 2 i wrote this morning, theres gonna be some action soon, the finish article should be along shortly

[Jaraknarn]

Here's the full Chapter 2


Lord Morginar however, would not sleep soundly that night. As he slid through the cold night on the commoragh street he contemplated what he had just been told. Trust that imbecile slave to farsee him gaining success on another world, how was he supposed to muster a force capable of a planetary assualt? Let alone one with a space marine garrison. He had power and wealth, but nothing that could corral the kind of military might he would need. Morginar halted his movement, momentarily toying with the idea of turning back and questioning Kryax further, the babbling psyker certainly hadn't told him the whole truth he knew that, but more elaboration on the orbs function, purpose and most importantly source, would go along way to assuaging his doubts.

With a sigh he continued walking, he would have plenty of time to torture every last drop of information, down to the most insignificant morsel, out of Kryax. It was only a matter of finding the right spot to apply the pain, Morginar knew this as well as any lifelong resident of the dark city. He looked up through the expanse of blade like towers stabbing viciously at a bleeding sky to the dim red glow of the webway, for all their supposed seperation from the craftworlders the buildings, despite the a symmetrical hap hazard placement of blades and sharp defiant points, still held the smooth, sleek lines that were the hallmark of eldar design. He snorted in derision, they think so much of themselves, so insulated and protected in their bubbles, from outsiders and from themselves. So far from perfection despite all their talk of paths and self-improvement, Here, in the expansive dark city of commorragh were the true examples of eldar perfection, where the strong ruled and the weak perished in pain. The swirling red canopy above the dark spires held his gaze a few seconds more, so much beauty, the webway was a much a part of the Eldar as it was the Old Ones, a true eldars birthright, a gift. The crimson twilight carried along with it the haunting screams of endless beings as they suffered immeasurable pain, well, he thought, perhaps not immeasurable to a Heamonculus, the torture masters of the dark city. Morginar breathed in deeply, feeling the horrific sounds refresh him, the tortured cries making him lust to kill something, anything, to feel the thrill his race had been created to crave.

He picked up his pace, he had much to prepare and discuss with his subordinates, the opulent estate that served as his Kabal's headquarters was not too distant. He stopped dead in his tracks, ceasing his momentum almost instantly, his finely tuned warrior senses alerting him to the desending scythe that now past harmlessly in front of his face. This, was why he had chosen to walk. He dropped down into a low spinning kick left, towards the source of the attack while simultaniously drawing his short dagger style wytchblade with his left hand and using his right hand as a pivot to give power to his kick. His assailant, a Mandrake, although suprised by Morginars dodge, recovered quickly and instead of being upended by the kick, executed a snap diving roll over Morginars leg, jumping back up, dual scythes raised in the Hay'Kariat style, left arm crossed defensively accross her chest, scythe pointing right with the hand palm out, and the right arm raised like a serpant poised to strike. An experienced, well trained fighter. Previous victims skin dangling off a multitude of spikes and hooks, some which were part of the Mandrakes clothes, others, Morginar noted, had been surgically implanted. He had followed through with his kicks momentum and tuned back towards the Mandrake, wych-dagger raised in his left hand, blade out with his thumb on the base of the handle.

The Mandrakes were masters of the shadows, who's constant exposure to the webway or the warp gifted them the ability to become camoflagued almost anywhere, which, combined with their natural stealth made them extremely effective hunters and predators and, Morginar mused, assassins. There was no time to lose, he closed on her in a single stride and lept, somersaulting over the top of her guard, using his wychdagger to block her jab at him and landing a thunderclap punch on her, letting him hear the satisfying crack of a broken rib. If she felt it, Morginar would not have noticed, she spun instantly imitating Morginars spinning kick, he lept backwards then gave a token parry to the scythe that quickly followed the kick. She was good, very good, good enough? Morginar doubted very much, but good nontheless.

He drew his blaster and fired 3 shots so quickly they made only 1 noise, the first and second struck her squarely in the chest and the third clipped the mandrakes shoulder spinning her around. She collapsed onto the floor with an anguished squeel. Morginar walked over casually until he stood over her, a looming evil shadow in the blood red light of the webway. He crouched down and sliced his blade accross her exposed stomach, illiciting a gasp of pain. He straightened up and smiled down at her maniacly, the neurotoxin his blade was laced with would take only second to take affect, it was a personnal favourite of his, a special blend he had commisioned, with some very, very delightful qualities.

"Did you really think you had any chance? Did you think You were going to get an honorable duel? You should have known to run the second you missed with your first strike!" he virtually laughed at her "this is commorragh you fool! There is no honour between pirates!". His smile only grew wider as her body began to spasm madly as her already broken body was wracked with abject agony.
"Who sent you?" Morginar asked calmly, he could see the burning fury in her eyes as she groaned through clenched teeth, somehow she managed to shake her coherantly enough to telegraph her non-compliance.
"Who sent you?" Morginar asked again, louder this time, the Mandrake grit her teeth then twitched her head towards Morginar and spat blood at him. Morginar sighed, they always make it hard.
"It won't end you know" Morginar said as he smiled down at her, "my neurotoxin isn't designed to result in death, i had it made so that the pain won't stop escalating until i administer the antidote". For that he recieved a glorious flash of fear in her eyes, he slowly pulled a small vial from the hilt of his blade and dangled it tantalisingly above her. She whimpered and a quiet shriek escaped her clamped shut teeth as the pain she was experiencing escalated farther than she had thought possible. A tough one this one Morginar decided.
"I will only ask once more my dear", Morginar announced cheerily, he was enjoying every millisecond of this, the feeling of control, the power, this was what it meant to truely be Eldar. She was crying now, not through any fault of her will, it was purely her body trying desperately to quell the pain, a hardcoded reaction he had seen happen to many of his poisons victims.
"Who sent you?" Morginar questioned once more, "the antidote will only work if i give it too you soon enough, your running out of time". She looked around in a panic, searching futilely for rescue or release from her agony, her hand closed around one of her scythes that she had dropped. She flailled with her arms, even as they jerked around in response to the poison, trying to score a hit on Morginar in a last act of defiance. He slammed his boot down on her wrist and the weapon clattered to the ground.

"As you wish my dear, i did neglect to tell what im going to do with your life essence, but i,m sure u'll find out soon enough, won't you?" Morginar mocked cruelly, her face changed from fury to fear and sadness, the threat of eternal damnation now leveled at her, she was wishing for death.
"Tell your masters to send a sniper next time" he told her "actually" he paused "don't" he pointed his blaster and shot her in the head. She was dead, but her body kept spasming, the electrical discharges that powered living things nerves and muscles continuing to be provided by the toxin. Morginar didn't even consider searching her body, if she had been an assassin there would be no evidence of her origin and, if not, he had no desire to search a disgusting street urchin. He replaced the vial and sheathed his dagger, he would clean it later.

Morginar knelt down, reaching inside his armor and withdrew the small soul catcher that hung like a pendant from his neck. He held it carefully above the spasming body, pressing the necessary runes. A glittering cascade of sparkling red light seeped for the mandrakes mouth and flowed smoothly into the small aperture of the soul catcher. Yes, he smiled, he would have fun with that one. He carried on walking and left the body where it lay, no questions would be asked, thousands died on commorragh every night, and day for that matter. A single body, especially a Mandrakes body, would not be noticed, if it even survived the night, Morginar was certain that another night stalker or a wild creature would take possession of it as soon as he was out of ear shot.

He didn't really care that he didn't know who'd sent the assassin, he had more enemies than he deigned to count, if this particular one was determined he would discover their identity soon enough. He felt invigorated after the fight, adrenaline pumped through his veins, his body coursed with power. He carried this high until he was almost at his kabal's headquarters, he thought back to Kryax's words, an object of great power, capable of destroying fortresses. No one would dare attempt to assassinate him in the street if he held that power. Even Vect would think twice. The dilema confounded him, to get power he needed more power, the irony was not lost on him. As he sighted the entrance of his home in this dark city an idea formed in his mind, an idea he did not like. It would provide a solution but it would be a last resort, the thrill of the fight thoroughly drained from him now, if he was forced to enact it he would pass a point of no return, his last bargaining chip used up. He still didn't know what he would do but, he decided that Kryax had a lot more questions to answer.

[Jaraknarn]

Hey guys, updates coming soon, im just taking my time with the next sectioned to make sure i get it completely right, iv had to do a lot of research from several other books to keep it psuedo-cannon, if anyones read Eldar Prophecy thats the book that most of the next section relies on, im blitzing it so i can get to the end and see what the platform for me is goin to be.

Anyway, updates soon

[kurisawa]

Hi Jaraknarn. I got your PM, so I had a look at the first part of this.

I'd say the opening is great, as it grabbed me and made me think "Hey, what's going on here?" Also, you avoided the mistake of infodumping the entire situation at the beginning. So, when I gradually found out that Kryax was a prisoner, in Commoragh, it was cool.

As it went on though, I found it hard to get through those very long sentences and paragraphs. They are like your consciousness wandering - much like Kryax wandering through the warp haha. I'd suggest you have a re-write, thoroughly purging your sentence structure: Keep them short and simple, avoid run ons, like this sentence I'm writing here and now, yes this is a run on, they're hard to get through, because you forget the original point of the sentence. Get it?

Is Kryax a human? He can't be a Dark Eldar as they lost their psychic powers, and he seems to "hate" craftworlders. So, I'm a bit confused to his identity here.

The other things I would suggest is to "nasty" things up a bit more. These are the Dark Eldar - I'm not sure they would supply a cot for him to sleep on, and I'll bet he gets a lot more physical abuse, needles jabbed under fingernails during questioning, etc. Kryax should be terrified of them, not easily practiced at lying to them. This could be a good moment of tension: Morginar suspects Kryax is holding some information back (he is - a vision of his death!) and Kryax is trying to hold out against the torture just long enough to keep this one little nugget of info to himself. You don't want to make the DE out as idiots who take his word for things without question.

Also, you mention the prison is proofed against psychics, but I would go into a bit more details here. The Eisenhorn books have some good research for this, but it generally involves cages constructed of special metals inscribed with psychic wards. Keeping it in the "nasty" theme, it would probably give Kryax a constant splitting headache to be in that cell.

But then we have a problem. How the hell does he open a portal to the warp up while in such a cell? I'm wondering if his little warp-surfing should not in fact be a DE-controlled enterprise in the first place, rather than his own random attempts - otherwise you have a ready-made escape route for Kryax that *he* would be stupid not to take at first opportunity. How about this: The DE force him to open the portal and start looking around, and when Slaanesh comes for his soul it is again the DE that yank him back to reality.

So, just some suggestions for you. It's your story, and I don't know where you're going with it yet so these ideas may be of no use to you. You mentioned about the SM character in your PM. I think you need to stick with your protagonist - Kryax - but is all this just a prologue and the real story starts with the marine?


K.

[Jaraknarn]

Thanks for takin a look K, yer, after reading through it again i did notice the long sentences in there that could easily be turned into 2 or 3. I hadn't realised how flagrant it was but, i knew it was something i needed to work on. What can i say? I love commas and i hate full stops, their just so final! Iv been trying to keep the sentences short and sweet in the newer stuff. Ill have a quick rejig of the first 2 when i put the next chapter up.

As regards nastying things up a bit, yes i agree, when i first started writing this i didn't really understand the full scope of just how horrible the DE are. i will try and add some paragraphs to the written chapters to remedy this and spice up the new stuff as well.

Kryax is an Eldar, born and raised in commorragh. As regards the psychic powers issue, i started a thread in the 40k background forum, it was called, can dark eldar farsee? Look it up if u wish, there were several good opinions. We came to a mild consensus that it might be possible for one with the right know-how. And that despite the fatigue of their abilities no where explicitly states that they have been completely lost. Only that those with abilities are shunned and tortured twice as much. And they are highly discouraged because of their Slaanesh attracting abilities. Hence y kryax's little forays into the warp at the behest of morginar are being keep hidden and well away from the archons seat of power.

Now, the space marine character, he is not the 'main' character. he is very important to the plot and for the story to make sense certain things must be seen from his perspective. And a very unusual perspective to boot (lil' teaser there.
But he's about a third to kryax and morginars half. I may just have to line both of them up and see which way the narrative flows the best.

Thank you very much for your comments, i dont want to give the impression im shruggin them off, they were very helpful. This is mostly the reason im posting this here instead of in a notebook, i want pointers to how i can improve.

Was it specifically Kryax u were interested in hearing more about?

[kurisawa]

No problem.

Don't be afraid of full stops. Short sentences make the writers' ideas easier to understand, and can add drama. Some people think longer sentences are "clever", but they just complicate things unneccasarily. I think I read something by Stephen King which said the real trick to good fiction was writing it in a way that was so easy to read that the reader actually *forgets* they are reading a story and instead loses themselves in the plot.

As for "nastiness", the entire 40k galaxy is an insane, over-the-top exaggeration of extreme. Good luck!

Yes, I think you should focus on Kryax. Perhaps even consider dropping the switch in POV to the marine altogether.

It's your story, so Kryax can be anything you want, but I would suggest you cement it into established canon to avoid "WTF" moments from readers. Therefore, why not make him a former warlock (craftworlder) who is captured by the DE on the field of battle? He could end up hating his former kinsmen because they allowed this to happen (he blames them).

I actually think having him a human rogue psyker would also work well, perhaps even better. I had an idea for a good "tension-decision-drama-crisis" moment for your story: At some point, after all the nasty DE tortures have driven him half insane, a chaos daemon can come along during one of his forced warp-surfs and offer him escape from all the pain... at the cost of his soul! Bwahahahahaa!

Will he accept? Would you?


K.

[Jaraknarn]

Hmmmm, good suggestions, i might revitalise the thread to get another litmus test after the new codex.

As regards the chaos bargain, haha well, im afraid theres something altogether even more unpleasant for Kryax down the line.
If u wanna know ill PM u it, but if ur interested in the read, give it a miss, if u liked finding out he was a prisoner, u'll like this surprise

[Jaraknarn]

this next section is so long, i really got carried away

It constitutes chapters 3 and 4, enjoy


A hunger stirred, it felt what it desired within its reach, felt its tempting presense like an insect struggling in a delicate spiders web, the death throws vibrating down its senses, creating a concerto of perfection for the hunger to enjoy. So close.

A hunger stirred. . .

Emile Romanov was dead, the concept felt strange in his mind. Contradictory. Like trying to grasp something wet and slippery it tested his will to hold onto his sanity. He felt very alive at this moment but, the major percentage of the galaxy at large, a percentage so high as to be considered virtually complete, thought him to be very much dead. It may seem hard for an outsider to understand how much such knowledge could affect someone, the fact that an entire galaxy did not accept your existance was a hard concept to grasp and even harder to reconcile once fully acknowledged.

The man who faced Emile was also dead. A similarly upsetting concept but, perhaps one slightly easier to come to terms with. He moved with the fluid grace of something brimming with life, circling him slowly, eyes burning with intense concentration but, such things could be replicated and besides, he had seen it written in the records.

Record : Maximinius Ovele Thule
Date : M41.378
Author : Pedro Kantor

This is to report that 2nd Battalion Company Champion Maximinius Thule was killed in action on the above entered date during the Riesian Campaign on the system capital Abstrokia. The company Apothecary was unable to recover the fallen marines geneseed as his body was incinerated by xeno weapon 238*. The Champion armour was recovered and has been duly dispatched to the mechanicus adeptus representatives on Rynns World for repair. This will be the final report in this file.

*See Xeno Weaponry archive section 6 sub-section 15a


Yes, the records made it perfectly clear, despite how much he looked alive Maximinius was obviously just as dead as Emile was. Which was a shame because Emile quite liked the former Company Champion, he was much more interesting to watch than the others around him. He wasn't always sparring and training like the others, he did it very often but, not to the exclusion of other things which made him infinitely better to observe than the mindless drones that ran drills everyday trying to pretend they weren't dead.

Observing was what Emile did now. Waiting for the microsecond long tensing of muscle that would reveal the beginning of maximinius' first strike. Emile had learnt that in his training, he had gone along with it just so he didn't stand out, he hadn't wanted them to notice he'd discovered the truth about them. He held his power sword with 2 hands in a high guard raised above his head with the blade angled to point behind him. He breathed as calmly as possible, regulating it so as to be ready when the attack came. He kept a steady grip on his weapon, feet centered so he was completely balanced, he was ready.

The attack came. A lightning fast lunge to his left, he sidestepped effortlessly, letting the humming blade glide through his wake. Maximinius was already reacting, pivoting round in a full turn, intending to smash Emiles right side with a 2 handed strike. Emile twisted his own sword round to catch the striking blade on his, the pulsing power field surrounding the adamantium blade and his own superhuman strength stopping dead a cut that would have sliced him in two. His wrist however did not have the strength to push back the equally strong Maximinius. Emile danced back 2 steps, then brought his sword down in a vertical chop towards the crouched Maximinius. He was forced to turn it into a roll over his opponent, maximinius already had his own sword up in a horizontal block preventing the killing blow. Emile used his momentum to dive over Maximinius, using the resistance of the 2 swords meeting to push off and execute a flourishing somersault.

Both men recovered quickly, Emile turning quickly and darting back into the fray. No more waiting around, he had to press the advantage. He charged forward bringing his blade into a sweeping uppercut from the left, Maximinius dodged to the right and ducked under the swipe, bringing his weapon up to block the already reversed strike of Emile that now descended from the right. The 2 swords locked together, sparking electrical discharge. Maximinius pushed off first, forcing Emile to stagger backwards, he layed down a flurry of slashes, right, left, right then a diagonal cut down from the left. Emile parried them deftly with sharp controlled deflections to avoid absorbing their full might. Emile swivelled quickly presenting his side to his opponent and bending at the waist as maximinius thrust his sword forward just missing Emile's stomach.

He responded incredibly fast with a hard kick to maximinius' chest, sending the man sprawling 10 meters and causing him to stumble backwards onto the floor. Emile dived forwards, leaping through the air, his sword carving a burning blue arc of ionised particles as it cut down, straight towards the exposed head of Maximinius. Emile crashed down onto his body pinning him while at the same time his blade impacted with a loud thud. The dead man lay there motionless. Emile was breathing heavily now.
"Looks like thats another draw then" Maximinius Thule sighed from next to where Emile's power sword had impacted on the hard grey dirt of the floor. Emile followed Thules eyes and saw a power sword tucked neatly under his armpit. An inch to his left and he would have impaled himself on it as he dove on Maximinius. He frowned, he had been fooled by a dead man. He did not liked being fooled. He faked a small laugh, then rose to his feet, dusting himself off. Thule laughed as well, the gregarious laugh of a living man revitalised by the combat.
"Never under-estimate an enemies willingness to go down with you" Thule chuckled. He smiled warmly at Emile.
Emile smiled back genuinely, Maximinius was very good at hiding that he was dead.
It was sometimes quite admirable actually, how faithfully they all kept up the act. He still hadn't decided whether it saddened him or not. How desperately they clung to the land of the living, well, he mused, not everyone could be as enlightened as he was. Whether they all knew they were dead and just choose to pretend like they were alive Emile wasn't sure. Either way, it did not make their meager attempts to facsimilate existance any less pitiful.

Noticing the dour expression forming on Emile's face, maximinius offered
"Don't beat yourself up Emile, you almost had me that time. If you keep up this rate of progress, u'll be replacing me as Company Champion soon enough. Besides, if we'd have been at distance you would have vaped me from a mile away before i even knew where you were."
Emile grinned at the mention of his balistic prowess. Despite being dead, he did take pride in being the best dead man with a sniper rifle. He opened his mouth to reply to Maximinius but was prevented by a shout from the edge of the dueling pit.
"Brother Romanov!" shouted an armoured space marine, through his vox unit. All on duty battle-brothers were required to wear their armour. Emile meerly nodded at the power armour clad soldier, everyone knew everyone here. There was no need to identify himself.
"Captain wants to see you" the Marine relayed. Emile nodded again, then turned and began to gather his training garb and weapons into his satchel. The dead Marine sensing his dismissal turned and began a leisurely trudding walk out of the training room. His heavy footsteps echoing softly round the circular arena. Emile knew that Marine was dead as well, he had seen his file.

Record : Joseph Tercia
Date : M41.763
Author : Pedro Kantor

This is to report that Brother Marine Joseph Tercia of 5th Company was killed in action on the above cited date. He was killed by shrapnel from xeno explosive theta 36*. The shrapnel caused irrepairable damage to both hearts. The Company Apothecary was unable to prevent death due to internal bleeding but, was however able to recover his geneseed**. This file will be reopened once the geneseed has been reintergrated.

*see Xeno Weaponry Archive section 63f sub section 31
**edit required, geneseed lost whilst in transit due to a presumed clerical error, if geneseed is not recovered this will be the final report in this record.

Yes, very dead. Having spare organs really didn't do you much good if one lost both of them. Emile chuckled internally, not letting the amusement show on his face. He doubted Maximinius would see the humorous irony of a space marine dying of multiple cardiac failure.

He continued to pack up his gear. He slid his power sword into its sheath. The power field surrounding it disappating as the tip passed through the specially coded laser in the opening of the sheath. The sword had no ostentatious name inscribed down the blade or on the hilt. What did a dead man need with a sword with a name? And more importantly since he had only recieved it after being transferred it had never even seen real combat. No unbloodied weapon deserved a name. He locked the sheathed sword onto the side of his hardened backpack and stood it up on the bench at the edge of the arena. He quickly threw his data-tablet and spare clothes into the largest compartment. As he retrieved his large grox-hide coat from the hanger above the bench Emile looked over and saw Maximinius collecting his gear as well. Noticing Emile's questioning look maximinius supplied,
"I might as well head out too, i've finished my quota for the day and no one will wanna start a new session this close to dinner". Emile nodded, most would have finished their own training routine by now and would either be getting ready to go on duty or getting ready to eat.
"I'll walk with you til the armoury if you want, i'm gonna swing by, theres a flutter in my swords power readings i want checkin' out" Maximinius suggested. Emile nodded agreeably, shrugging into his thick coat. His genetically enhanced metabolism was still not enhanced enough to protect him from the raging blizzard outside. Shouldering his backpack he started a leisurely walk towards the exit. As he reached the threshold Maximinius jogged up along side him and slapped the control panel on the bulkhead of the door way. Two heavy blast doors slid together smoothly behind them and a pleasant warning tone sounded.

As the outside doors opened both men were assualted by the pure ferocity of the weather outside. Snow billowed horizontally across the entrance to the arena. Looking discomfortingly like a icy river flowing past, threatening to sweep away anyone foolish enough to step into it. A long ceracrete tunnel stretched out from the door, open on one side with interspersed columns. This was where the snow flowed from and large piles gathered at the base of the opposite wall.
"I wonder how long this good weather will last!" Maximinius shouted sarcasticly over the roar of the snowstorm. He had once told Emile that in just over 600 years of sevice on this planet the weather had never been much better than this. And it was usually worse. Without any further preamble they stepped out of the cover of the doorway. Immediately they were attacked by the howling wind that buffeted against them. But, with years of experience they trudged forward with a well practiced ease. Being almost 9 foot tall and made of muscle did have some benefits.

[Jaraknarn]

Emile looked out into the flurry of white and saw his destination off in the distance. Even though it was illuminated by the light of several large floodlights, the large tower at the center of the compound was barely visible. The floodlights reduced to a dim yellow glow at this distance made the bastion look like a mere gothic shadow. They were walking around the inner perimeter wall, the ceiling above them was actually a walkway. Several space marines would be patrolling vigilantly along the parapet of the wall. Keeping careful watch over the fortress of the dead.

Emile plodded carefully through the thick snow. The cold still reached through his thick coat, clawing at his body heat. He had learned to ignore the cold very quickly after being killed then reassigned here. If one didn't learn to ignore it, one would be preoccupied with it most of the time. It was always cold on Celcia. According to the imperial survey the temperature had not risen above freezing for 6 millenia. And due to the slowly deteriating orbit, it almost certain never again would. The survey had predicted that what little light and heat reached Celcia from the star it orbitted would end soon after the 5000 years life expectancy they had put on Celcia's irratic orbit. All irrelevant really. Even if this fools errand of an assignment lasted that long no one would die. They were all already dead. The bastion of corpses would float off into the deep cold of open space. The planets latent heat from its home star would flee into the greedy jaws of the vacuum. Without any atmospheric warmth the ice would encase all. Sealing them in the tomb they had escaped to this purgatory from. The pure ice would purge all.

They were almost a quarter of the way around the perimeter wall. Coming up on the inside edge of the walkway was a large half cylinder hanger. It was the armoury, the fortress monastary's primary store for all weapons and ammunition. Deseptively small for a company armoury it actually had 3 underground storage levels. Vast caverns filled with crates upon crates of high grade explosive rounds. Tucked safely underground lest stray fire caused an unfortunate accident. With enough rounds to burry the entire fortress in a 3 foot sea of bolter cases it was a miracle the planet could even hold the weight. Emile often marveled, as he read the files, at the epic proportions of the misappropriation needed to amass such a collection. The paper trail was well hidden and some of the documents he had read were the sole copies. Still, such an undertaking had taken some very, very incorrect figure rounding.

Maximinius turned and clamped a gloved hand on Emiles shoulder. This was his stop. He didn't attempt to talk. The roar of the blizzard would snatch away any words before they were even formed. He flashed a short smile then turned and walked into the bright warm embrace of the armoury entrance. The piston power adamantium doors slammed shut behind him. Effectively a power armour shell the armoury was probably one of the safest places to be in the garrison. Pondering over, Emile turned and resumed his slow trudge around the circular wall.

He began to wonder what the captain wanted to see him for. He met with him quite regularly but very rarely was he summoned at short notice. Emile toyed with the possibility that the captain had uncovered his duplicity. Had he missed something? He had been very careful and had covered up his discovery with the utmost prejudice. Still could he have been found out? There ways to find the file request records he had erased. If anyone got their hands on the list of reports he had pulled up it would barely take a servitor to guess what he had been doing. Stupid stupid stupid. He shouldn't have looked them all up at once. He should waited, looked at them one at a time. Why had he gotten so excited and paniced? He hadn't needed to check them all at once.

He had been discovered. He was sure of it now. They knew he knew the truth. Why else would they be summoning him? What were they goin to do with him? He wouldn't pretend like the others. He wouldn't! If they wanted to act like they were still alive that was fine by him but, he would not. It was unnatural. Dead things were dead and shouldn't intrude on the land of the living. If they knew the Chaplain would be there. The most brazen of all their little corpse cult. The one that proudly beared his true identity all the while still pretending. A ridciulous skull emblazened on his helmet. Announcing to all of his brothers, look! Im dead too. They think their so smart. So funny, with their in-jokes. But Emile knew. What would happen then he wasn't sure.

He halted his stride and looked up. He had day dreamed and fretted all the way to the main tunnel that lead off like a spoke on a wheel to the central tower. Its was actually more like a covered walkway, but once inside, it so resembled a tunnel that most had taken to calling it such. A large green sign on the side of the tunnel entrance was emblazzened with the words 'Section 1'. The tunnel itself was made of the same material as the wall. A thick insulating anti-shatter mix of plastic metal and stone with a dizzying cocktail of chemicals thrown in for good measure. Most were there to lessen or neutralise damage caused by explosives. One even emitted a specially formulated low level electromagnetic field that had had some success at lessening the effectiveness of power weapons. Function before form, the imperiums mantra. And seeing as that function was almost exclusively war, form was often very far back in the designers mind. Such covered walkways were neccessary conveniences. If someone were to try and navigate across the open expanse between the wall and the central tower without being in power armour nothing good would come of it. At best they would get mild hypothermia. At worst they would get hopelessly lost and disorientated in the roiling blizzard and freeze to death in a few short minutes. And always thinking defensively, they were superb choke points. Anyone hoping to gain access to the command center would have to go through the tunnels. The open spaces between the spokes were designed to be killing fields. Hundreds of heavy bolter turrets studded the tower and their digital eyes meant they would no trouble seeing their prey through the blizzard. With this in mind, the full 500m length of the tunnels were fitted with staggered retractable adamantium barricades. Perfect cover, they rose out of the floor every 50m. And if forced to retreat the defenders could just as easily lower them, leaving any attackers high and dry.

Emile doubted any of it would ever get used. It was a contingiancy of a contingiancy of a contingiancy. The last line of defense in a seemingly endless line of unpenetratable defenses. Besides, who were they goin to defend themselves from? No one even knew they were here. And even if they did, what would anyone want with a fortress full of dead men? Especially a fortress full of dead men armed to the teeth. Emile stepped forward, an armoured space marine materialised out of the doorway. Emile recognised him as Greft Asdallas.
"Oh, its you" Greft growled, "i was told to expect you, you know where to go". Emile nodded in acknowledgement and stepped past the imposing figure. Greft was quite old to still be just a battle brother but he was respected nonetheless. Hence the coveted position of section 1 tunnel guard duty. Still without the rest of the chapter to fill promotions came rarely in the 11th company. Most marines were just promoted sideways to break the monotony. Greft had been turned over for promotion before he even came to Celcia. Emile had seen the report.

Record : Greft Asdallas
Date : M41.289
Author : Captain Daniel Korlanian

This report is to discuss the passing over of Greft Asdallas' promotion to tactical squad sergeant. I have recieved several reports touting Asdallas' fighting ability however, most express doubts about his ability to lead. His current sergeants report calls him "chronicly insubordinate" and "destructive to the point of insanity"*. Despite his martial skill, a marine with such traits cannot be considered as leadership material.

*For full report see file 357 of this folder

It was no suprise then that even after almost 500 years in the 11th company he had yet to climb above the murky heights of a good posting. But his fighting ability had seen him selected for death and reassignment.

Emile strode down the lonely corridor. Motion sensitive lights clicking on and off as he walked from bulkhead to bulkhead. He quickly reached the blast door at the opposite end and punched in the code that would unlock it. The door rolled away to reveal 2 more marines, bolters gripped loosely but at the ready. Emile nodded at the guards but pressed on. The tunnel opened into a vast circular foyer where all the other spoke tunnels intersected at the base of the tower. He paced quickly to the elevator on his right and stepped inside. It would take him directly to the top floor of the command center. The captains office.

He had a few short seconds to steel himself for what ever he would face in that office. If the captain knew about him he had no idea how he would react. Would he have to run for his life? He didn't have time to think, the elevator door was opening.

[Jaraknarn]

Updates coming soon, iv been super busy.

Is anyone enjoying this so far?

[Jaraknarn]

Heres a WIP of chapter 5, iv tried to keep it as tasteful as possible while still being as dark eldar as possible, not an easy task.

The elevator door glided open to reveal a luxurious suite with massive floor to ceiling windows. Providing a breath taking panoramic view of the towers surroundings. The lighting was dim and subdued and the sweet smell of inhalable narcotics wafted through the air. Morginar stepped briskly out of the elevator inhaling deeply, basking in the paradise-like settings that surrounded him. His own private penthouse at the top of his empires tower was glorious to behold. In it, he wanted for nothing, waited for nothing, was denied nothing and denied himself nothing.

It was a massive circular room, with a shallow pit in the center. The pit was a sumptuous silken mass of cushions and sheets spread over reclined sofas and beds. The sofas and beds themselves were temperature controlled, with built in sensors that would anticipate the occupants warmth desires. They even had massage settings that vibrated and pulsed through the soft fabric. And not just useful for massages either Morginar thought, envisioning the writhing mass of female Eldar that usually inhabited the expansive area. The slightly concave bowl shape created to draw emotions and psychic energies inwards. Such designs enhanced all manner of activities for the Eldar in the pit. Even the pompous craftworlders employed such architecture, albeit for less explicit endeavors.

All that contrasted sharply, but tantalisingly, with the representatives of the other half of true Eldar psychology. Interspersed at regular intervals around the circular pit where large obsidian slabs that reached almost to the ceiling. On the side that faced inwards were all kinds of torture implements hanging from large mechanical arms. It thrilled Morginar to no end to recall the pain that had been suffered on those racks. Not by himself of course, he was no masochist. No, all the pain had been the work of the slaves his Kabal, the Kabal of the Condemned Blade, had brought back from their realspace raids. They required no one to operate them, once the slaves were chained to the slabs they were at the mercy of the automated devices. The slaves pain level was constantly monitored to ensure 'maximum output'. As soon as one specific torture started to lose its effectiveness another was instigated to push the pain levels back up. And if, as often was the case, the slave became virtually numb to all external stimulli, the machine would invade its mind and attack the brains pain center itself.

The psychic channelling of the pit came in doublely handy here as well. Funneling the pain, screams, fear, hatred, helplessness, hopelessness, panic and psychic anguish into the pit. Allowing it to mingle and disolve into all the other roiling psychic emmisions, heightening both sensations. The slaves pain fuelling the pure decandence going on in front of them.

But there were no slaves hanging from the chains tonight. No hordes of Eldar women desperate to please him. He was too restless to enjoy himself tonight. He had ordered the room emptied, he needed to think. And while he often thought best in the throws of the carnal arts the Eldar had so perfected, he knew he needed to be free of distractions to solve this puzzle. Kryax's vision had put him on edge. The filthy psyker was not to be trusted but Morginar knew most of what he said to be the truth. The Heamonculus would sort out the truth from the lies. Morginar smiled wickedly, imagining the agony the snivelling little rat was in. More than once Kryax had been one of the pathetic whimpering captives on the racks. Morginar toyed with the idea of calling and having him brought and put up there tonight. The risk of being caught with a practicing psyker would be worth seeing Kryax's disgusting visage creased in constant pain. Yes, his own private torture viewing would soon clear his mind.

He was just resolving to have Kryax dragged over to his suite when he caught a glimpse of something at the far end of the room. The glass door that led onto the balcony was open. Knowing that he had ordered the apartment emptied meant it could only be one person out there. He smiled. Slinking over to the bar, he poured out 2 glasses over Onlysian wine. A very rare beverage, it was made of the fermented blood of a now extinct sentient race. The eldar had driven them to destruction long ago, they had made excellent slaves and even better wine. It wasn't known exactly how many bottles there were left in existance but, it was only in the double figures.

He slipped out onto the balcony