tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14011665782441304682024-03-13T20:12:51.243-07:00Conclave of HarDiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.comBlogger185125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-15174594820549425622023-06-13T11:03:00.001-07:002023-06-13T11:03:18.763-07:00A Grim Tapestry (Complete)<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <span style="font-family: Arial; white-space-collapse: preserve;">A Grim Tapestry</span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-d5e1cdef-7fff-74de-3ecb-61b4935a869e"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Careful you fool” Yarlae hissed. She took a step back from the precipice from which she had very nearly just tumbled, trying not to show the panic that was coursing through her. Far below, wicked, jagged rocks jutted out from the river Tryn’s cold dark waters, a fall would mean certain death. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Thankfully that had not been her fate, her elven born agility and poise saving her. She shot Markas a look of pure venom, masking the flush of fear. In her mind she felt like she was actually falling. Were her tremors borne of terror or anger? Likely both, she realised. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For his part Markas shot her a half apologetic look and a shrug. Markas Weiss was a boorish man of few words which suited her just fine. The man was a dullard anyway and they were here for money not conversation. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The company consisted of her, Markas, a mercurial old warrior who had only ever been known as Wulf and at the rear of the group, Vasilya, a young quiet mage dressed in flowing robes that were entirely impractical for their current endeavour. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And that endeavour was treasure. Responding to a tip from one of Wulf’s many dubious associates, they now found themselves in North Arbora traversing the gully that lead to the Manse de Poulian. The manse was now long abandoned and decrepit but if their source was to be believed, it was also the resting place of a hidden sizable cache of valuables, the ill gotten gains of a band of brigands who’s despicable deeds had finally caught up with them in a very terminal way. She only hoped that the information was worth the price they had paid, their last two leads had been less than lucrative. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">****</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“It was Burgetts lots base you see” the scrawny individual who had only identified himself as ‘Red’ had explained, between swigs of Golden Best. Of course anything served in the Tattered Fox was far from the best of anything but it did taste slightly better than the urine it so strongly resembled. That night the inn was full of heady aromas and bawdy banter, all the better to conduct clandestine conversations. The attendees of this impromptu meeting were well used to tuning out the background activities of the Tattered Fox and Wulf bade ‘Red’ continue with a curt gesture. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yep, Burgetts lot” the informant continued, his reddish mop hung lank and filthy round his temples, framing what seemed to be a permanent scowl. Every now and then his head jerked involuntarily, doubtless the mark of some substance abuse. The tic sent drops of sweat flying with every motion and Yarlae surreptitiously covered her drink with her hand. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“They had quite the stash from what I understand, ‘course that lot committed many a misdeed over the years as you well know”, he shot a knowing look at Wulf and drained his pint. Wulf grunted noncommittally and gestured for a serving wench to bring another round. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“And then of course they were bought low at Halgen’s Hill, the whole sorry lot of them, and all that loot has been just waiting there, at their hideout. Hidden away I've no doubt but I imagine it’s well worth a look at any rate. Just so happens I have the key to the tower where it’s held, taken off Burgett’s very corpse no less! Yours for the right price, if you’re interested that is'', he added, with a sly look. He spasmed again, thankfully before accepting his drink from the maid. He took a long draught from the stein, spilling ale down his front as he jerked uncontrollably once again. He wiped the foam from his lips with the back of his hand and waited expectantly. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Markas stopped picking his teeth with a dirk, planting the blade point down in the dark oak table before sneering unpleasantly. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“An’ why you not gone after this great prize yourself eh?” his rasping voice low and spiteful. “Seems just too good to be true, lest you trying to trick us? Eh?” He jerked the dirk from the table top, waving it accusingly. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Red lowered his half empty stein to the table and raised his hands placatingly. He was missing half his ring finger on his left hand Yarlae noticed. No doubt there was some grim story to be told there, she idly mused. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Do I look like an adventurer, friend?” he retorted. “I’m not like to go off into the mountains on my own, treasure or no treasure. I’m no warrior, as you can plainly see, I'd not last a minute in a fight. No, no I'm not capable of this task, you mark my words, but you lot…” He lowered his hands, reaching for his drink again. “Besides” he added, with a sideways glance, “I only came into possession of the key and the location of the hideout recently didn’t I?”</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Something about the way that he said ‘possession’ jolted Yarlae from her half-reverie. A warrior he most certainly was not but she could imagine him quite capable of a cowardly murder, skulking in the shadows. For her part she believed the man's tale, Wulf wasn’t the kind of man you deceived, not unless you had a death wish. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Negotiations had been made, more alcohol quaffed and coin parted with. The unkempt informant had stuffed his gains into a torn and stained jerkin before slinking off into the night, a wretch returning to his natural habitat. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Now Wulf stood, his face impassive, the key hanging from his belt, his warhammer slung over one shoulder. A two handed weapon, Wulf swung it with a disciplined, practised, ease such that Yarlae suspected him to be a Knight of the Realm. Still, they didn't talk of such things. They didn't really talk at all, strictly business, always. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It had taken a week to reach Blackvale. The nearest town to Manse De Poulain, Blackvale was nearly desolate, not uncommon in Arbora where predation from ghouls and worse could ravage populations. The people who were still there were sullen, drawn, but they had been able to provide some accommodation and supplies. When pressed about the nearby Manse they had only said it was a place of horrors. Monsters dwelled within, they said. No one went near the place. Yarlae had been glad to leave the bleak location, though the road ahead was no less inhospitable. Rising above the dark forests of Arbora, their winding path took them into the hills. Through treacherous crags and climbs they had journeyed and now the more dangerous terrain lay behind them. There was now but a short ascent before them to the manse above. They would be there soon. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Take point” Wulf said to Yarlae, with the natural authority that had made him de facto leader of the company and once again belied his probable military background. Much about him fit that assumption Yarlae realised, from his neat grey beard to the immaculate condition of his armour and weapon. She moved swiftly to the head of the group, shooting Markas a dirty look as she passed. She received a nasty sneer in return though she didn’t see it. Unslinging her bow, she adopted a low crouch and drew an arrow. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Use those half elven eyes of yours” Wulf instructed. “Scout ahead, thirty feet, we’ll follow. Come back once you have checked the path ahead and the gate.” He held up a hand, signalling those behind him. The brigand and mage drew to a halt. Vasilya looked around nervously whilst Markas took the opportunity to scrape filth from his boots with his blade, proceeding to wipe the blade clean on his trousers. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae moved off quickly, even crouched; she moved almost as fast as her normal gait; there was a smoothness and elegance to her motion, a boon of her mongrel heritage, as were her preternatural senses. She was the company’s scout, seeing dangers and foes long before her cohorts. She had never known her father. He had been absent at her birth and ever since. Her mother had refused to speak of him, and the look on her face, the rare occasion that Yarlae might broach the subject combined with the scars that marked her, suggested that her conception had been far from a loving affair. Yarlae soon learned to stop asking. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her mother was taken from her on her 13th Birthday. A simple black fletched arrow through her throat, a simple and swift death that went unnoticed and unremarked. Yarlae had been on her own ever since and had ever since been doing whatever she needed to survive, no matter how unpleasant. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She caught herself again. She had a tendency to drift, often at inopportune times. Sometimes she even fancied she could see things that hadn’t happened yet, Though she couldn’t do it on command. It came unbidden, uncalled, premonitions through daydreams. They didn’t always come true, but often she would find her mind slipping, imagining future events that would then sometimes come to pass. Always minor, and often dismissable as coincidence. Was it just a personality trait? Or another mark of her mixed blood? Either way, it irritated her, almost as much as her ears, too misshapen to be human yet lacking the natural elegance and point of the fey folk.</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Still, those ears had their advantages and she strained them now to hear any activity ahead as she neared the outer walls of the Manse. Nothing. Her acute vision also betrayed no presence. Stayed for a moment, scanning the building, picking out points of interest and checking for any sounds or movement, but there was only silence. Happy enough that she was alone she carried out a quick but thorough close inspection of the gate and wall, noting a possible point of ingress. She looked back behind her, true to his word Wulf and the remainder of the company were about thirty feet behind. They would be hidden to most but Yarlae picked them out with little difficulty. She made her way back down the slope, rejoining them;</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Nothing, '' she confirmed. “It’s quiet as the grave up there. The main gate is barred but there is a small door higher up above the wall that we should be able to reach with that.” she pointed at the coiled rope at Markas’s waist. The main tower seems to be at the back of the complex, I couldn't see if it was easily reachable from outside. I imagine we’ll be able to determine that from the top of the wall.”</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf nodded. “Let's get to it then”. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">II</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Gaining access had been as easy as Yarlae had indicated. Scaling the wall with the aid of Markas’ hook and rope they soon found themselves atop the outer wall standing by the door that Yarlae had spied. Her keen eyes could make out another door on the opposite wall that was closer to the tower. Surprisingly there was no apparent access to the tower from the ground level, a barren courtyard littered with debris but no doors that could be seen, no way of gaining access to the manse proper. Only this door and its twin on the other side. With few other options and no apparent path they proceeded. The door was no match for Wulf’s warhammer, stoved in after a few mighty swings. Silence and darkness lay on the other side. It was growing darker outside too, the sun dipping behind the mountains. They stepped inside and Vasilya muttered an incantation. A sconce nearby sparked into flame from which Markas lit an oil soaked torch. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The passageway ahead was empty save a few hangings and an empty weapons rack, presumably for defending the fort. For a fort it seemed to be, no mere domicile. A chill wind whistled past and the hanging banners fluttered even as the burning torch sputtered. Markas moved the torch in front of him, shielding it from the elements as they moved deeper inside Manse De Poulain. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They proceeded down the corridor cautiously. Wulf and Markas at the fore, Yarlae and Vasilya behind. Presently they came to a staircase descending, it appeared that the path to the tower would be anything but straightforward. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Descending the winding staircase they still encountered no resistance. No horrors launched themselves at the company, there was no apparent threat. Everything was still, even the wind had died down, though the torch still sputtered occasionally as though the very darkness was trying to smother the flame. Only their breathing belied any life at all. At the bottom of the stairs was an unlocked door to a room beyond which another short passage led to another set of descending steps. Wulf stopped, raising his hand in a fist out of habit. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“This isn't right, he growled. If we go down again we will be under the fort. We shall turn back, retrace our steps. See if we can find another path to the tower”. There was no argument, there never was with Wulf. They turned around and retrod their path. However, at the door to the previous staircase a magical barrier fizzed and sparked. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I knew it”, Markas hissed. “A trap!”</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He was not wrong, it was then that they struck. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Over a dozen in number, they emerged from the shadows, ambushing the company from behind. Yet the quartet were not unprepared. They had been on guard since entering the Manse and whirled to meet the horrors head on. Their attackers were fast, blurs of cloth and flesh that struck at a blinding speed in the gloom. Markas fended one off with his torch scorching its flesh and setting its garb alight. It howled as it burned, becoming fully alight unnaturally quickly, ablaze like dry tinder. A flailing flaming figure that illuminated the rest of its brethren. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They were abominations, patchwork monstrosities, deformed and mangled and grotesque. But for all that, they were horribly, identifiably, human. They were amalgamations of several individuals sewn and melded together into new monstrous forms by some unseen twisted architect. Yet they WERE human, men and women, and although their forms were monstrous their faces still carried a very obvious fear. They were scared of the fire. The wretch on the floor had stopped screaming and flailing. The flame was guttering, dying out and turning a mysterious violet as it waned. Soon the only light was again Markas' torch. Emboldened once more by the darkness the horrors attacked again. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the gloom the company fought for their lives. Markas loosed a trio of throwing knives, yet, although all struck true, none of his targets fell. Within moments they were on him and though he tried to strike them with the torch he was overwhelmed, the brand was struck from his hand and fell to the floor, still burning. He grappled with two of the constructs, managing to gain space enough to draw his short sword. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf bellowed as he swung his warhammer in wide irresistible arcs, caving in the head of one foe and crushing the chest of another. Though they fell, they rose once more, mangled face and concave torso closing in on the mighty warrior as he retreated, all the while still swinging his weapon. Though they looked human, they recovered from what would normally be mortal wounds, their ravaged forms continuing to attack. They could be slowed but only the most destructive of blows could stop them. He lashed out once more and fairly split the abomination in two such was the force of his strike. The creature spasmed on the floor, broken limbs trying to gain purchase and rise. These things did not bleed, he noticed. Instead their wounds drew forth a viscous tar-like ichor. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Markas had gained the upper hand. For all his brutishness and lack of charm he was a formidable warrior and he hewed and chopped with his blade, striking limbs from bodies and cleaving his foes apart. More than once though, his blade would lodge in the torso of an enemy, the thick sludge preventing clean strikes. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae also fared well, innate and honed fighting skills coming to the fore. Graceful compared to Markas’ direct approach she fended off foes with her gilded short bow even as she dispatched others with a curved elvish long dagger, it had belonged to her mother and she had lost count of the lives it had ended in her hands. The blade flashed and flickered in the gloom as she sliced and slashed, her half elven eyes affording her superior eyesight in the dark. Yet, for all her prowess and elan, the foes she struck down rose once more. The weapon unsuited to the brutal dismemberment that this enemy required. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Vasilya desperately defended herself against no less than four of the patchwork horrors. Pressed into a corner, she had thrown up a kinetic barrier to protect herself but the strain on her face made it apparent that she had no power spare to mount any kind of attack. Thankfully Markas soon came to her aid, decapitating two of the foe with heavy swings before running the other two through and bisecting them. Wulf, having obliterated his opponents, moved over to assist Yarlae, crushing her opponents with mighty overhead swings. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Presently all of the monstrosities were down, smashed or cut to pieces, hacked apart and torn asunder. Bodies and limbs lay all around. Markas picked up the sputtering torch, carefully coaxing the lambent flame back to life. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What the hell was that?” he scowled, holding the torch low and peering at the vanquished adversaries. He screwed his face up in distaste and spat on the piles of flesh. He tried to clear his sword of the sticky tar like ichor but it clung to the blade, stubbornly refusing to wipe clean. He used the torch to burn the residue off instead, grunting with satisfaction as the blade flared brightly with that strange violet hue. Whatever these horrors had in place of blood, it was highly combustible. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Monsters” Vasilya whispered, visibly shaken by the experience. “But they had human faces, were these… people?”</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf prodded one with his warhammer. “Maybe once, not now. Look, stitched, these things were made, not born” He turned, his face set. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“They seemed to be afraid of fire. We should make more torches lest we encounter more. Their blood burns well enough, we’ll take their wrappings and soak them in it. Find staves for the torches. To it, now!” He barked at Yarlae and Markas. Without another word the half-elf and brigand set to their grim task. Wulf turned his attention to the young mage;</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Vasilya” She turned, a haunted look in her eyes.</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Can you do anything about this door? I’d just as soon not venture further into the depths.” She shut her eyes and held a hand to the door. Sweat beaded on her forehead. The seal on the door grew brighter and thrummed but after a moment she dropped her hand. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“It is beyond me”, she replied, shakily. “Even were I at full power I suspect that these magicks would be too much for me to overcome. Whoever set these wards is mightier than me by far.” She shuddered as the effort took its toll. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“So be it,” muttered Wulf. “Deeper then, into the trap.”</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">III</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The path was long and winding and they were tested several times more as they ventured into the depths. Each time, the monsters were beaten back at minimal cost, the torches holding the foes at bay even as each force increased in number. Vasilya in particular, proved instrumental in their success, conjuring walls of flame to repel the attackers. Still, every encounter took its toll and the fire wall became less potent with every assault as her power waned. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was Vasilya that was the first to fall. Just as, after what seemed an interminable succession of chambers and passageways in the depths, the path began to ascend. Half way up a mighty set of steps seemingly carved into the very walls, they took her. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">From darkened alcoves they sprang, leaping onto the mage and the mage alone. Her screams faded and then halted abruptly as she fell from the steps and plunged into the depths. Though the remaining constructs were swiftly dispatched by the remainder of the company there was no sign of Vasilya amongst the twisted and crumpled forms at the bottom of the shaft. A brief search was conducted but they found no trace of the young mage, and returned to their original path. Yarlae had wanted to expand the search for Vasilya but Wulf wished not to tarry any longer and said as much. No one argued with Wulf. They abandoned the mage and continued. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After a long and perturbingly eventless ascent Wulf judged that they were at around ground level once more. Still they ascended, with no way to leave the winding upward procession of steps and passageways, till finally the path levelled off. Ahead stretched another short corridor, lined once again with tapestries and hangings leading to another exterior door. Once outside, it became apparent that they were on the opposite side of the courtyard, atop the far side of the walls they had gained entry by. Yarlae’s keen eyes could see the barred gate in the gloom some distance away. She could also see a door leading to the Tower, invisible before, hidden behind a rising parapet. She communicated this information to the group before checking the outside of the wall. A sheer drop greeted her. Even her enhanced visual acuity could not detect anything below. There was to be no escape there. She returned to the group;</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf was silent, deep in thought, weighing up the options. They had already lost one of their number and he was greatly perturbed by the exactness of the enemy's strike. They had purposely targeted and eliminated the company's strongest defensive asset, suggesting a tactical acumen far beyond that of mindless monsters. He ruminated, resting on his Warhammer, running one hand through his beard whilst his eyes continued to monitor vigilantly for threats. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Bugger this for a fool's errand” Markas snarled. He hurled his burning torch into the courtyard. It fell to the ground, still ablaze, the light betraying no sign of activity, triggering no response. It was a drop of about two dozen feet, far from impossible but not without risk of injury.</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I’ll get that gate unbarred, let’s get out of here. Yarlae, cover me just in case”. He had the grace to look at Wulf, who paused a moment before assenting with a grim nod, Without another word Markas went over the edge. Hanging onto the wall and bracing himself he leapt away, tucking himself into a roll to mitigate the impact. Nonetheless he landed awkwardly, gingerly getting to his feet before retrieving the torch. He drew his sword and moved off toward the gate unsteadily. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He took perhaps a dozen steps. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They erupted from the ground, seizing him on all sides. He screamed and struck out with both brand and blade but they were swiftly knocked from his grasp and he was overwhelmed in moments. He disappeared under a mound of monstrous forms and was dragged into the shadows, his cries fading into the gloom. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae lowered her bow. She had not even had time to loose an arrow. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nor did they have time to process. The door behind them burst open, a horde of abominations spilling out, grasping and clawing. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae recoiled in horror; she bought her bow back up and fired an arrow almost point blank through the eye of one of the constructs. Wulf roared and swung his warhammer one handed, best as he could, the other brandishing the torch, waving the flame in front of them to try to keep the horde at bay. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> With no other recourse, they fell back, inexorably, along the wall towards the tower. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“We’re being herded!” Yarlae realised.</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Aye” Wulf shouted back “dark forces are at work here child. Still, we have no other choice. “</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At pace, they retreated along the wall, falling back towards the tower. Pressed by the horde. The door looked sturdy but the key at Wulf’s belt performed it’s promised purpose and they hurriedly made to bolt and bar the door behind them. Within moments, however, the door started to shake and rock on its hinges as monstrous bodies slammed against it. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“That’ll not hold long. We need to move” Wulf said. “Come, this way”</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The only way was up. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">IV</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The tower was massive. The first level consisted of several rooms and Wulf and Yarlae made quick improvised barricades with the hope of buying more time. Manoeuvring cabinets and tables into makeshift barriers, anything that might slow the mass of flesh behind them. As they made it to the second floor they heard the door below break. They had run out of time. The barricades became more basic, more hastily constructed, soon, the horde reached them, and once more they were in a fighting retreat, toppling furniture behind them and trying to ensure they were not encircled.</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“There are dozens of them,” Yarlae cried, “we cannot hold!”</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So they fled, fighting from behind cover when they were reached and beating the horde back, before retreating again, the horrors pursuing. Then, fatefully, on the second level they tarried a moment too long and a splintered spar of wood from an upturned table, speared through Wulf, digging deep into his side. It was a vicious wound. The big man grimaced, it was the first time that Yarlae had ever seen him show pain and the sight unnerved her more than she had thought possible. He pulled the spar free and launched it into the nearest foe. Black ichor erupting as the improvised weapon smashed into the fiend’s face. An unsteady retreat followed. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After that, there was little thought of fighting. Wulf’s strength waned, he was losing blood, growing weaker, his torso slicked with gore. With his prodigious might gone they could no longer try to barricade the way. Their flight became headlong, doors would have to hold the foe back best they could. Yarlae half dragged him up to the third floor, though she knew this was not something that she could continue to do, Wulf was just too big. Wulf had come to the same realisation. As they got to the second room on the third floor he stumbled, coughing violently. Yarlae reached for him but he warded her off with a hand, looking up at her with a beard flecked with bright blood. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Leave me, girl, I am done." He leaned heavily on his warhammer and coughed again. The sound of splintering wood came from below. The constructs would be on them again soon. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Go! Fear not lass, they’ll not take me easily. There is life in this old dog yet!" He rose unsteadily and picked up his weapon in one hand. The strain showed on his face as he hefted the hammer. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Begone! Grant me this end I beseech thee. Mark my words, I'll give a good account of myself. They’ll not pass me unbloodied. I task you, hunt down the puppet master of this evil. Put one of your arrows through the fiend’s eye." Yarlae didn’t point out that she had no arrows left. Her gilded bow had been nothing but a cudgel for some time. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf turned, breathing raggedly. A warrior making his last stand. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There was nothing else to say. Yarlae left the man to his inevitable death. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">****</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf was true to his word. By the time his bellows had ceased, Yarlae had reached the fifth level. Loathe as she was to admit it, she moved a lot faster without the old wounded warrior slowing her down. She swiftly outpaced her pursuers, her lithe form vaulting and leaping, darting from room to room. As she ascended she fancied she could FEEL the dark magics at work. There was an oppressive aura that increased as she negotiated the floors of the tower, getting closer and closer to the pinnacle. At the eighth level it was overbearing and actually painful, a pressure that assaulted her mind. She must be close. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And indeed, it was on the ninth floor that a faint green glow could be seen, emanating from the outline of a closed door. Apprehensively she edged the door open, tensing every muscle, ready to respond to whatever threat lay in wait. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There was nothing. The glow was actually coming from above. There was a small hole in the ceiling with a ladder leading up to the green luminescence. Her superior hearing picked up feminine muttering. For sure her quarry. Her bow was battered and bent, the fine elven gilding tarnished and dull. Though it pained her to discard the weapon she set it quietly on the floor, drawing her dagger instead. Silently she ascended the ladder, peeking above the upper floor. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The room was dark, oppressively so. Where the previous levels of the tower had been lit to at least some degree, this level had but one source of illumination. A green orb floating above a stooped figure some eight feet away. The figure was the source of the muttering. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Yes, this one will be mighty indeed. Much better than the last lot, mind you, we will need more stock soon, another town perhaps, the last was disappointing, the next will be better, always better. Improved, superior yes. We take the best parts, make something better from the sum of the parts. Assembly, yes, so many options, so many choices! Need more, hmmm. This leg, no, this one. Yes, that looks good."</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The muttering continued, she rambled without pause, without breath, making little observations, remarking, commenting ceaselessly. Yarlae listened to the woman for a moment but it soon became clear that nothing of use would be gleaned by further observation. She stealthily left the ladder, crouching low, shadows all around. Half dozen steps and a quick strike, that was all it would take. She strained her ears to try to detect the sounds of her pursuers below but there was nothing. This was disconcerting but she couldn’t worry about that right now. Her target was just ahead. Four steps away, three…</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Bah, some of these parts are too old, too used. Barely usable at all, need more fresh meat, hmm maybe this arm? Yes, that will fit. No, that’s too burnt, that one is too mangled. Hmm this one? No, not that one. Need more stock, need more parts, aaah how about this one, how about… YOU?“</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae was but a step away, suddenly the green orb flared, momentarily blinding her. She made to strike but was somehow stuck in place, unable to move a muscle. The mysterious figure turned to face her would be assassin, displaying a wolfish grin. She was stunningly beautiful. Fresh faced and with pale grey eyes which flashed with malice.</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Yes, you. Young, powerful. Imagine what we could make with you my dear.’ Her grey eyes flashed again as she beheld Yarlae’s rising form. She assessed the half elf predatorily. Yarlae matched her gaze. There was something familiar about that face…</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae was stuck fast, no matter how much she strained, her muscles taut. She fought the magic, the charm on her breast flared as it tried to combat and dispel the sorcery being used on her, a scream formed on her lips but she could not give voice to it. . The spell broke and there was a moment of surprise on the Fleshmancer’s face as the dagger plunged toward her heart. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae’s strike was arrested, a hand wrapping around her wrist, slowly forcing the dagger back. She yelped as her arm was bent unnaturally, forcing her to drop the weapon. She looked up into a snarling face, suddenly she understood why the sorcerer had seemed so familiar. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Markas regarded her balefully from the shadows. There was none of his smarm or trademark sneer. His features were slack, expressionless. It was his face but it wasn’t him, or his body. His head had been grafted onto a hulking torso, with huge arms and disproportionately small legs. He had been turned into an abomination, just like the rest. And the woman… a tear ran down Yarlae’s face as realisation took hold. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was Vasilya. Not entirely, the features were merged, morphed with someone else's, but there was enough of the young mage there to be sure. The sorcerer had stolen her flesh. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yes“ purred the fleshmancer, her purloined features lit by the orb, green as emerald. “Your young friend was not much use as a warrior I am afraid, and her meagre magics were far inferior to those that I wield. But her youth was… pleasing and my work does take its toll upon my...flesh.”</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You, on the other hand….. “</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She reached forward and yanked the charm from Yarlae’s breast. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Well, you won't be needing this at least.”</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae winced as the totem was taken from her, then at a nod from the Fleshmancer the monster wearing Markas’ face struck her a savage blow and she knew no more. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">V</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She awoke to the same green glow but she was lying down. More than that, she was strapped down. Her head throbbed. She tried to move but her bonds were too tight. They chafed against her, she grimaced. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Aah ah’ came a voice from somewhere around her head. She twisted trying to see the speaker. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Don’t damage yourself my dear. I need you intact. I have plans for you after all.’</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae didn’t need to ask what those plans were. None of the possible options that she could think of were palatable in the slightest. She became aware of another presence lying near her. Turning her head she could just about make out a large frame and white beard. It was Wulf. Blood pooled around his body, covering the table. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Fleshmancer came into view. Vasilya's visage was noticeably older, clearly the young mages body was not going to last. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Yes" , she confessed softly. "This one has not lasted as long as i had hoped. It’s my own fault I suppose, I have been working far too hard." </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She motioned and Wulf jerked twice and sat bolt upright. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"A truly amazing specimen,’ she continued. ‘He needed little enhancing at all, just repair and replacement of damaged parts. I fear my pets were a little too savage. He must have put up quite the fight." </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae lay, wide eyed in terror as the being she had known so recently as Wulf swung its great head round and regarded her coldly. The damage wrought upon his form had indeed been savage. She could see patchwork skin across his left cheek and down the neck and shoulder. Swathes of repurposed flesh covered his torso, testament to the wounds he had sustained. For all that, structurally at least, it was still Wulf’s body as far as she could see. Some muscle mass had been added to his upper torso but Wulf had never been a small man and his already impressive physique had merely been enhanced not grotesquely deformed and altered. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yes, a fine example of physicality despite his age. Why, I almost considered wearing him myself, after all, I have been a man before, many a time. But his spirit, his will, that was something special, I strove hard to bend that to my domination. It was… taxing.“ Yarlae noticed the weary pause. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“But“ the Fleshmancer continued labouredly, still out of sight. “The result is worth it I think. This one will be in my vanguard when I attack my next target. My champion,“ she demurred. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At her words the Wulf-thing stood. Towering over the bound half-elf. Yarale tensed involuntarily and felt the restraint on her right wrist give slightly. Hope flared within her breast. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Why though?" she asked as she continued to test her bonds. The two leg straps around her shins were still tight, as was the restraint on her left wrist, but the right was definitely loose in comparison. She called upon techniques she had learned as a child, channelling her energies and strength to the muscles in her lower right arm, straining against it. The leather strap flexed once again and she felt the buckle give. She needed more time. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I mean, what can you possibly hope to achieve?" As she spoke she slowed her heartbeat, entering a semi meditative state. Slower, more powerful pulses were what was needed here. She strained her wrist against the bond, every sinew and tendon striving to weaken the fabric of the strap. She was careful to keep her efforts subtle, even though the strap was on the far side of both Wulf-Thing and the Fleshmancer. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Why, domination of course," The tone of the Fleshmancers voice made it quite clear that the concept was as natural to her as breathing. "I will continue to grow my army of followers, each an improvement over their original form. I’ll enhance the population of town after town" ; she gestured vaguely at the tower's walls, indicating outside. "I will build an empire. As time continues I shall continue to perfect my servants. Iteration upon iteration, a masterwork of flesh wrought from sheer will and power!" She had reached a noticeable crescendo and now lowered her voice before continuing. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">"However, for that, I will need your power my dear. AND your flesh." She moved into view as Yarlae continued to work the restraint. "Yet i tire now. My assimilation of all that you are will require much preparation, and research. I shall leave you here for now with your</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> friend</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">." She stressed the word with a nasty smile before gesturing to Wulf-thing. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Your brethren are out collecting parts, they will return soon. Watch her, do not let her leave." </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf-Thing made a strange kind of gurgle that may have been assent before moving to the far wall where it could monitor its charge. It stood there staring at the bound half-elf impassively with dead eyes. The fleshmancer looked down at Yarlae. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">" Farewell my dear, be you soon." She departed, chuckling softly at her own joke. Yarlae heard a door open and close somewhere behind her head, out of sight. She focused her gaze on Wulf-Thing and made a show of attempting to break free of her bonds. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Wulf-Thing grunted in a way far too reminiscent of when he (no, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">it</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">, Yarlae reminded herself) was still alive but otherwise didn’t move. Satisfied that her pantomime had convinced her captor that she was secure, she refocused her efforts on the weak restraint. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This technique had never come naturally to Yarlae, thanks to her mongrel heritage, but her mother had been a good teacher and Yarlae an attentive student. Soon the bond was loosened enough to extract her hand, albeit at the cost of some skin. Now free, she flexed the hand and then surreptitiously slid it down to a hidden pouch on her thigh, extracting a small, sharp, sliver of metal. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She calculated that it would take around three seconds to cut through each remaining bond. Too long. Wulf-Thing could easily reach and incapacitate her within nine seconds, putting to an end any hopes of escape from the tower. She would need to be faster. Much faster. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Once again she called upon her elven side. She began to channel her energy and strength once more, but rather than directing everything to one area she now readied every muscle in her body for one powerful burst of lightning quick action. Elven speed reactions and strength far in excess of what she would normally be able to access. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It would take a little time. A couple of minutes maybe. She would have to hope she had that long before the Fleshmancer wearing Vasilya’s face returned and started to work her foul magics. She felt her body tense, like a coiled spring. Every sinew every muscle, ready to explode into action, tensing, tensing…</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Suddenly, unbidden, images and scenes flooded into her mind-eye. They came in a kaleidoscopic torrent, overwhelming her. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">She was straddling Wulf-Things back, plunging her dagger into his (No, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">its</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">) chest over and over. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was slitting the Fleshmancers throat. A crimson spray erupted from the slash, covering Yarale’s snarling face. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was ducking Wulf-Thing’s blows, weaving in and out of its defence. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was falling through a window, glass shattering and falling around her in glittering slow motion, tumblng into an infinite abyss. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was being flayed alive by dark energies. Screaming in agony as she was ripped apart, layer by layer. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was being torn assunder by the patchwork creatures, the body of the Fleshmancer lying nearby, twisted and broken. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was lying unconscious in an unfamiliar bed, covered in bloody bandages, being tended to by a strange woman. She opened her eyes. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She opened her eyes. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She moved. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae was a blur. In one swift motion she swept the shiv down her body, severing the bonds on her left side before arcing back to free her right leg. Within a single heartbeat she had freed herself and rolled off the table, landing in a crouch on the floor. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She stayed there a moment, waiting to see what Wulf-Thing would do while willing her racing heart to slow. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She did not have to wait long. Within moments she heard that grunt and a rapid but heavy tread. She rolled away from the noise before gaining her feet and risking a look at her foe. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf-Thing’s face didn’t change but it quickly moved toward her. She was caught by surprise by its speed and leapt backward to escape its grasp. She spied her possessions lying on a table behind Wulf-Thing. She vaulted from the wall behind her, leaping first to one nearby bench and then again, evading Wulf-Thing’s grasping arms and landing lightly on the target table. She scooped up the dagger and charm deftly in one hand, pocketing the latter. After a moment's analysis she abandoned the gilded bow one more with no small degree of regret. It was bent and battered beyond repair and she had no arrows to fire. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Besides, she had no time. Wulf-Thing was already upon her. It was fast, much faster than it had been in life. She jumped again, maintaining distance and looking for a way to escape. There only seemed to be only one door, the one through which the Fleshmancer had departed. So be it. But she had no time to think. Once again Wulf-Thing came for her. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She timed her leap to give herself the best chance of clearing the lunging creature but again she underestimated her opponents speed. Lightning fast, Wulf-Thing reached up and grabbed her right ankle mid air. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her flight arrested, Yarlae used what momentum she had to land on and cling to Wulf-Thing’s back. She plunged her dagger into its chest in desperation and stabbed over and over with the blade. Wulf-Thing roared and, Yarlae’s ankle still firmly in his grasp, yanked hard to try to dislodge its attacker. Yarlae screamed as her leg was wrenched in directions it was ill designed for. She desperately stabbed again with her weapon, already covered in sticky tar like ichor, straight into the beast’s left eye. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf-thing howled deafeningly and released its hold on Yarlae’s ankle. The half-elf wasted no time in vaulting from Wulf-Thing’s back, sumersalting and landing as gracefully as she could behind the wailing beast. Her weakened leg instantly gave from under her as she contacted the floor and it took all her resolve to not cry aloud, letting little more than a grimace and a whimper escape as pain jolted through her. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf-Thing was still thrashing and howling and Yarlae made sure to stay on its blind side as she made for the door. Still, she caught a glancing blow from the flailing monster and felt her cheek fracture from the impact, barely remaining conscious. She crawled the last few feet to the door and scraped it open. Wulf-Thing whirled at the noise as she crept through. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae only just managed to close and bar the door before Wulf-Thing’s bulk crashed against it. The bar held but likely wouldn’t for long. It heaved again as she leant against it and took in her new surroundings, grateful to have a respite, no matter how brief. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was in a much smaller room. It was dark, but there appeared to be hangings, racks. Food storage maybe. Her half-elf eyes began to adjust to the gloom. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No, not food. Ingredients maybe. But not food. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They were body parts. She could see them clearly now and her eyes widened in terror. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hung upon meat hooks there were limbs, torsos, parts of both. Scraps of flesh, gibbets of meat, bloody yet not bleeding, preserved by dark magics that prickled her skin. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yet that wasn’t the worst of it. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Among the body parts were heads. Severed heads. They were of varied ages, some old, some young. She wept as she beheld that some of them were but babes. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But it was the faces that truly horrified her. Some held the aspect of surprise, others a piteous expression. Still others were mid scream. Some even seemed to be peacefully asleep. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae slowly became aware of the pounding on the door behind her. Jolted back to reality as her immediate peril asserted itself upon her once more. She looked about her before coming to a sickening conclusion; </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The only way out was through. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Step by agonising step, she made her way through the nightmare larder. Long dead fingers groped at her hair and she kept her gaze averted lest she see accusing stares from above. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After a torturous interminable passage she arrived at the far door. The pounding had continued unabated and she slipped through as quickly as she could. There was no lock or bar so she dragged a nearby cabinet across the door though she held little hope that it would prove much of an impedance. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Spiral steps stretched both above and below. She started heading downward, slowly, painfully, hoping to escape the way she had entered. Fleeing was her only thought, injured and with only a black stained blade to defend herself she would be lucky to survive this night. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Once again though, fate was to turn against her. Halfway down the steps she felt faint and stumbled, her weak leg failed and she tumbled several metres. She landed at the bottom of the stairs, battered, bruised and bleeding. Her head rang as she rolled over and despite the echoing banging from upstairs, her enhanced half-elven hearing picked up something that instantly made her heart sink. Multiple individuals, at least a dozen, maybe more, the floor below, at best the one below that. It appeared that the retrieval party had returned. She was too late. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Instinct warred with indecision in her mind. She doubted she would be able to successfully hide from the horde and if discovered she would have no chance at all in her current condition. She crawled back up the stairs, step by agonising step, all too conscious of both the hammering on the door (and it appeared to be the closest door judging by the juddering cabinet) and the approaching enemies from below. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The only option left was to continue her ascent. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Gingerly, painfully, yet with all the alacrity she could muster, she continued up the dark steps to whatever end. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">VI</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It took longer than she had hoped but eventually Yarlae reached the summit. There was but one door ahead of her and she opened it, slowly stepping through and closing it behind her, though there was no bolt or bar to secure it this time. her body was agony, her senses dull. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Wan Moonlight shone onto a rough stone floor. A window! </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She scanned the room, looking for rope, or something from which one could be made, though inwardly she knew that she wouldn’t have time for such an endeavour. It was then that she realised she was not alone. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sat in a corner with low burning candles either side of her was the Fleshmancer. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She appeared to be in some kind of trance. Her hands moved rapidly over a great book laid out in front of her, her fingers tracing the pages and flicking to pages seemingly at random. She seemed quite unaware of Yarlae’s presence. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae stole only a moment to hobble over to the window and sneak a look below. There was nothing but an inky blackness. Even the threat of a distant dawn failed to provide anything more than a certain oblivion. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So be it then. Just revenge. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She crept over to the oblivious Fleshmancer. Waves of pain swept through her, her vision became as little more than a tunnelled gaze. She saw the haggard face, Vasilya’s face, eyes open but clouded. Yarlae could see now that her fingers were tracing runes and glyphs in the book, flickers of sorcerous energy arcing between her roving digits and the paper. If paper it was, in the low light Yarlae could not be sure that it wasn’t something more terrible. It seemed to Yarlae that faint screams issued from the book but in her dazed and impaired state she could not be sure. She knew her strength was fading fast, she was at the limits of her endurance. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was now or never. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae stabbed down with her dagger, aiming for the carotid artery. It was a swift, clean strike, although torturously slow by her normal standards to her eye. Bright arterial blood fountained as she ripped the blade out through the sorcerers neck in a geyser of gore. The Fleshmancer's head fell back and the body toppled into a spreading pile of blood. Yarlae stood, exhausted, fading, above the laughing corpse. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She frowned. Why was it laughing? </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A blink. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Fleshmancers clouded eyes were looking straight at her, her throat was quite uncut and she was indeed laughing. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae confusedly looked at her weapon arm. It was held in a vice like grip by a meaty pale paw. Wulf-Thing looked down at her, one eye blazing yet dead, the other a black gooey ruin. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“No,” she gasped. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You know, they say that attempting the same thing while expecting a different action is the sign of a diseased and troubled mind.” The fleshmancer’s eyes cleared; “Your mind is certainly troubled, but diseased? Either way, it is mine.” </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“And, thanks to a new rite i have been learning, it will not matter if you are alive, as long as you are not TOO damaged. Besides, more will follow you soon enough. I have many thralls out there, each with tales of treasures and a key to draw would be adventurers and heroes here to become new subjects for my work.” She smiled nastily. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You, my dear, have sadly become more trouble than you are worth.” she looked at Wulf Thing;</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Kill her”, she snarled. “Snap her neck”</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae braced as Wulf-Thing’s other hand clamped onto the nape of her neck. The hand that was gripping her wrist shifted slightly whilst still maintaining its hold. She prepared for the end. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But the end did not come. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Do it!” the fleshmancer screamed. Her eyes flashed. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae somehow found the strength to look up. Wulf-Thing was still looking down at her, but the one remaining eye…</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was human. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was Wulf. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The eye shifted and she followed the gaze and was that Wulf-Thing (no, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Wulf</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">) had twisted it's (no, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">his</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">) arm so that the wrist had been sliced open on the dagger's blade, black viscous fluid running afresh from the wound across the weapon. Seeing her understanding, Wulf’s eye moved once again, this time in the direction of the Fleshmancer who was getting to her feet. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“KILL HER” the sorceror howled, she started to conjure dark energies in her palms, clearly preparing to strike down the half-elf herself. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf released Yarlae’s wrist. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">With every last ounce of strength she had left Yarlae thrust the ichor covered dagger into the Fleshmancer's heart, splashing Wulf’s converted lifesblood across the floor. She sank to the ground, barely conscious as the Fleshmancer gasped and staggered, clutching at the wound, her hands covered in her own blood. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was dimly aware of the candles flaring into a wall of flame as the stinking black liquid splashed across them. At the same time, the door crashed open and she heard multiple bodies tear into the room. As awareness left her she felt herself be lifted in huge arms before being hurled into the air. She managed to partly open her eyes and saw grappling bodies wreathed in flame as she crashed through the window and fell into the gaping void below. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">****</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The inferno was visible for miles around as the tower became a blazing conflagration. Burning debris tumbled and ignited other parts of the Manse and before long the entire structure was aflame. It would burn for days before becoming a smoking desolate ruin. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mikael Renniger was watching the blaze whilst fishing. The fire was clearly too far away for him to render any assistance but he kept staring at it regardless as the sun rose in a red early morning sky. His rod jerked nearby, quite forgotten. He didn’t notice the body in the water till it washed ashore practically in front of him. Spell broken, he rushed to the slight, bedraggled form. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was an female Elf, at least he thought it was, he couldn’t be sure and wasn’t overly familiar with the fey folk. She was slumped over a large piece of driftwood, unmoving. One hand gripped a tarnished dagger that was embedded into the wood. Kneeling by her side he was able to see that she still lived, though barely. She was unconscious, bedraggled, battered and bruised, bleeding from dozens of cuts. But she lived. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Gently prising the dagger from her grip, Mikael scooped Yarlae’s limp form into his arms and bore her back to his village. </span></span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div></span>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-33729270427110410532023-06-13T11:00:00.003-07:002023-06-13T11:00:57.524-07:00A Grim Tapestry: Chapter VI<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <span style="font-family: Arial; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It took longer than she had hoped but eventually Yarlae reached the summit. There was but one door ahead of her and she opened it, slowly stepping through and closing it behind her, though there was no bolt or bar to secure it this time. her body was agony, her senses dull. </span></span></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-1aea9348-7fff-e00d-0ec2-5236534b2870"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Wan Moonlight shone onto a rough stone floor. A window! </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She scanned the room, looking for rope, or something from which one could be made, though inwardly she knew that she wouldn’t have time for such an endeavour. It was then that she realised she was not alone. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sat in a corner with low burning candles either side of her was the Fleshmancer. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She appeared to be in some kind of trance. Her hands moved rapidly over a great book laid out in front of her, her fingers tracing the pages and flicking to pages seemingly at random. She seemed quite unaware of Yarlae’s presence. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae stole only a moment to hobble over to the window and sneak a look below. There was nothing but an inky blackness. Even the threat of a distant dawn failed to provide anything more than a certain oblivion. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So be it then. Just revenge. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She crept over to the oblivious Fleshmancer. Waves of pain swept through her, her vision became as little more than a tunnelled gaze. She saw the haggard face, Vasilya’s face, eyes open but clouded. Yarlae could see now that her fingers were tracing runes and glyphs in the book, flickers of sorcerous energy arcing between her roving digits and the paper. If paper it was, in the low light Yarlae could not be sure that it wasn’t something more terrible. It seemed to Yarlae that faint screams issued from the book but in her dazed and impaired state she could not be sure. She knew her strength was fading fast, she was at the limits of her endurance. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was now or never. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae stabbed down with her dagger, aiming for the carotid artery. It was a swift, clean strike, although torturously slow by her normal standards to her eye. Bright arterial blood fountained as she ripped the blade out through the sorcerers neck in a geyser of gore. The Fleshmancer's head fell back and the body toppled into a spreading pile of blood. Yarlae stood, exhausted, fading, above the laughing corpse. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She frowned. Why was it laughing? </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A blink. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Fleshmancers clouded eyes were looking straight at her, her throat was quite uncut and she was indeed laughing. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae confusedly looked at her weapon arm. It was held in a vice like grip by a meaty pale paw. Wulf-Thing looked down at her, one eye blazing yet dead, the other a black gooey ruin. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“No,” she gasped. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You know, they say that attempting the same thing while expecting a different action is the sign of a diseased and troubled mind.” The fleshmancer’s eyes cleared; “Your mind is certainly troubled, but diseased? Either way, it is mine.” </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“And, thanks to a new rite i have been learning, it will not matter if you are alive, as long as you are not TOO damaged. Besides, more will follow you soon enough. I have many thralls out there, each with tales of treasures and a key to draw would be adventurers and heroes here to become new subjects for my work.” She smiled nastily. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You, my dear, have sadly become more trouble than you are worth.” she looked at Wulf Thing;</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Kill her”, she snarled. “Snap her neck”</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae braced as Wulf-Thing’s other hand clamped onto the nape of her neck. The hand that was gripping her wrist shifted slightly whilst still maintaining its hold. She prepared for the end. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But the end did not come. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Do it!” the fleshmancer screamed. Her eyes flashed. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae somehow found the strength to look up. Wulf-Thing was still looking down at her, but the one remaining eye…</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was human. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was Wulf. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The eye shifted and she followed the gaze and was that Wulf-Thing (no, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Wulf</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">) had twisted it's (no, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">his</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">) arm so that the wrist had been sliced open on the dagger's blade, black viscous fluid running afresh from the wound across the weapon. Seeing her understanding, Wulf’s eye moved once again, this time in the direction of the Fleshmancer who was getting to her feet. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“KILL HER” the sorceror howled, she started to conjure dark energies in her palms, clearly preparing to strike down the half-elf herself. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf released Yarlae’s wrist. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">With every last ounce of strength she had left Yarlae thrust the ichor covered dagger into the Fleshmancer's heart, splashing Wulf’s converted lifesblood across the floor. She sank to the ground, barely conscious as the Fleshmancer gasped and staggered, clutching at the wound, her hands covered in her own blood. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was dimly aware of the candles flaring into a wall of flame as the stinking black liquid splashed across them. At the same time, the door crashed open and she heard multiple bodies tear into the room. As awareness left her she felt herself be lifted in huge arms before being hurled into the air. She managed to partly open her eyes and saw grappling bodies wreathed in flame as she crashed through the window and fell into the gaping void below. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">****</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The inferno was visible for miles around as the tower became a blazing conflagration. Burning debris tumbled and ignited other parts of the Manse and before long the entire structure was aflame. It would burn for days before becoming a smoking desolate ruin. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mikael Renniger was watching the blaze whilst fishing. The fire was clearly too far away for him to render any assistance but he kept staring at it regardless as the sun rose in a red early morning sky. His rod jerked nearby, quite forgotten. He didn’t notice the body in the water till it washed ashore practically in front of him. Spell broken, he rushed to the slight, bedraggled form. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was an female Elf, at least he thought it was, he couldn’t be sure and wasn’t overly familiar with the fey folk. She was slumped over a large piece of driftwood, unmoving. One hand gripped a tarnished dagger that was embedded into the wood. Kneeling by her side he was able to see that she still lived, though barely. She was unconscious, bedraggled, battered and bruised, bleeding from dozens of cuts. But she lived. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Gently prising the dagger from her grip, Mikael scooped Yarlae’s limp form into his arms and bore her back to his village. </span></span></p><br /></span>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-22827565921163908132023-06-13T10:58:00.001-07:002023-06-13T10:58:27.483-07:00A Grim Tapestry: Chapter V<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <span style="font-family: Arial; white-space-collapse: preserve;">She awoke to the same green glow but she was lying down. More than that, she was strapped down. Her head throbbed. She tried to move but her bonds were too tight. They chafed against her, she grimaced. </span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-f5f2ccd1-7fff-9b9e-ea5d-c28eac86855d"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Aah ah’ came a voice from somewhere around her head. She twisted trying to see the speaker. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Don’t damage yourself my dear. I need you intact. I have plans for you after all.’</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae didn’t need to ask what those plans were. None of the possible options that she could think of were palatable in the slightest. She became aware of another presence lying near her. Turning her head she could just about make out a large frame and white beard. It was Wulf. Blood pooled around his body, covering the table. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Fleshmancer came into view. Vasilya's visage was noticeably older, clearly the young mages body was not going to last. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Yes" , she confessed softly. "This one has not lasted as long as i had hoped. It’s my own fault I suppose, I have been working far too hard." </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She motioned and Wulf jerked twice and sat bolt upright. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"A truly amazing specimen,’ she continued. ‘He needed little enhancing at all, just repair and replacement of damaged parts. I fear my pets were a little too savage. He must have put up quite the fight." </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae lay, wide eyed in terror as the being she had known so recently as Wulf swung its great head round and regarded her coldly. The damage wrought upon his form had indeed been savage. She could see patchwork skin across his left cheek and down the neck and shoulder. Swathes of repurposed flesh covered his torso, testament to the wounds he had sustained. For all that, structurally at least, it was still Wulf’s body as far as she could see. Some muscle mass had been added to his upper torso but Wulf had never been a small man and his already impressive physique had merely been enhanced not grotesquely deformed and altered. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yes, a fine example of physicality despite his age. Why, I almost considered wearing him myself, after all, I have been a man before, many a time. But his spirit, his will, that was something special, I strove hard to bend that to my domination. It was… taxing.“ Yarlae noticed the weary pause. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“But“ the Fleshmancer continued labouredly, still out of sight. “The result is worth it I think. This one will be in my vanguard when I attack my next target. My champion,“ she demurred. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At her words the Wulf-thing stood. Towering over the bound half-elf. Yarale tensed involuntarily and felt the restraint on her right wrist give slightly. Hope flared within her breast. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Why though?" she asked as she continued to test her bonds. The two leg straps around her shins were still tight, as was the restraint on her left wrist, but the right was definitely loose in comparison. She called upon techniques she had learned as a child, channelling her energies and strength to the muscles in her lower right arm, straining against it. The leather strap flexed once again and she felt the buckle give. She needed more time. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I mean, what can you possibly hope to achieve?" As she spoke she slowed her heartbeat, entering a semi meditative state. Slower, more powerful pulses were what was needed here. She strained her wrist against the bond, every sinew and tendon striving to weaken the fabric of the strap. She was careful to keep her efforts subtle, even though the strap was on the far side of both Wulf-Thing and the Fleshmancer. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Why, domination of course," The tone of the Fleshmancers voice made it quite clear that the concept was as natural to her as breathing. "I will continue to grow my army of followers, each an improvement over their original form. I’ll enhance the population of town after town" ; she gestured vaguely at the tower's walls, indicating outside. "I will build an empire. As time continues I shall continue to perfect my servants. Iteration upon iteration, a masterwork of flesh wrought from sheer will and power!" She had reached a noticeable crescendo and now lowered her voice before continuing. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">"However, for that, I will need your power my dear. AND your flesh." She moved into view as Yarlae continued to work the restraint. "Yet i tire now. My assimilation of all that you are will require much preparation, and research. I shall leave you here for now with your</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> friend</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">." She stressed the word with a nasty smile before gesturing to Wulf-thing. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Your brethren are out collecting parts, they will return soon. Watch her, do not let her leave." </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf-Thing made a strange kind of gurgle that may have been assent before moving to the far wall where it could monitor its charge. It stood there staring at the bound half-elf impassively with dead eyes. The fleshmancer looked down at Yarlae. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">" Farewell my dear, be you soon." She departed, chuckling softly at her own joke. Yarlae heard a door open and close somewhere behind her head, out of sight. She focused her gaze on Wulf-Thing and made a show of attempting to break free of her bonds. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Wulf-Thing grunted in a way far too reminiscent of when he (no, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">it</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">, Yarlae reminded herself) was still alive but otherwise didn’t move. Satisfied that her pantomime had convinced her captor that she was secure, she refocused her efforts on the weak restraint. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This technique had never come naturally to Yarlae, thanks to her mongrel heritage, but her mother had been a good teacher and Yarlae an attentive student. Soon the bond was loosened enough to extract her hand, albeit at the cost of some skin. Now free, she flexed the hand and then surreptitiously slid it down to a hidden pouch on her thigh, extracting a small, sharp, sliver of metal. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She calculated that it would take around three seconds to cut through each remaining bond. Too long. Wulf-Thing could easily reach and incapacitate her within nine seconds, putting to an end any hopes of escape from the tower. She would need to be faster. Much faster. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Once again she called upon her elven side. She began to channel her energy and strength once more, but rather than directing everything to one area she now readied every muscle in her body for one powerful burst of lightning quick action. Elven speed reactions and strength far in excess of what she would normally be able to access. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It would take a little time. A couple of minutes maybe. She would have to hope she had that long before the Fleshmancer wearing Vasilya’s face returned and started to work her foul magics. She felt her body tense, like a coiled spring. Every sinew every muscle, ready to explode into action, tensing, tensing…</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Suddenly, unbidden, images and scenes flooded into her mind-eye. They came in a kaleidoscopic torrent, overwhelming her. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">She was straddling Wulf-Things back, plunging her dagger into his (No, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">its</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">) chest over and over. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was slitting the Fleshmancers throat. A crimson spray erupted from the slash, covering Yarale’s snarling face. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was ducking Wulf-Thing’s blows, weaving in and out of its defence. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was falling through a window, glass shattering and falling around her in glittering slow motion, tumblng into an infinite abyss. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was being flayed alive by dark energies. Screaming in agony as she was ripped apart, layer by layer. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was being torn assunder by the patchwork creatures, the body of the Fleshmancer lying nearby, twisted and broken. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was lying unconscious in an unfamiliar bed, covered in bloody bandages, being tended to by a strange woman. She opened her eyes. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She opened her eyes. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She moved. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae was a blur. In one swift motion she swept the shiv down her body, severing the bonds on her left side before arcing back to free her right leg. Within a single heartbeat she had freed herself and rolled off the table, landing in a crouch on the floor. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She stayed there a moment, waiting to see what Wulf-Thing would do while willing her racing heart to slow. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She did not have to wait long. Within moments she heard that grunt and a rapid but heavy tread. She rolled away from the noise before gaining her feet and risking a look at her foe. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf-Thing’s face didn’t change but it quickly moved toward her. She was caught by surprise by its speed and leapt backward to escape its grasp. She spied her possessions lying on a table behind Wulf-Thing. She vaulted from the wall behind her, leaping first to one nearby bench and then again, evading Wulf-Thing’s grasping arms and landing lightly on the target table. She scooped up the dagger and charm deftly in one hand, pocketing the latter. After a moment's analysis she abandoned the gilded bow one more with no small degree of regret. It was bent and battered beyond repair and she had no arrows to fire. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Besides, she had no time. Wulf-Thing was already upon her. It was fast, much faster than it had been in life. She jumped again, maintaining distance and looking for a way to escape. There only seemed to be only one door, the one through which the Fleshmancer had departed. So be it. But she had no time to think. Once again Wulf-Thing came for her. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She timed her leap to give herself the best chance of clearing the lunging creature but again she underestimated her opponents speed. Lightning fast, Wulf-Thing reached up and grabbed her right ankle mid air. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her flight arrested, Yarlae used what momentum she had to land on and cling to Wulf-Thing’s back. She plunged her dagger into its chest in desperation and stabbed over and over with the blade. Wulf-Thing roared and, Yarlae’s ankle still firmly in his grasp, yanked hard to try to dislodge its attacker. Yarlae screamed as her leg was wrenched in directions it was ill designed for. She desperately stabbed again with her weapon, already covered in sticky tar like ichor, straight into the beast’s left eye. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf-thing howled deafeningly and released its hold on Yarlae’s ankle. The half-elf wasted no time in vaulting from Wulf-Thing’s back, sumersalting and landing as gracefully as she could behind the wailing beast. Her weakened leg instantly gave from under her as she contacted the floor and it took all her resolve to not cry aloud, letting little more than a grimace and a whimper escape as pain jolted through her. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf-Thing was still thrashing and howling and Yarlae made sure to stay on its blind side as she made for the door. Still, she caught a glancing blow from the flailing monster and felt her cheek fracture from the impact, barely remaining conscious. She crawled the last few feet to the door and scraped it open. Wulf-Thing whirled at the noise as she crept through. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae only just managed to close and bar the door before Wulf-Thing’s bulk crashed against it. The bar held but likely wouldn’t for long. It heaved again as she leant against it and took in her new surroundings, grateful to have a respite, no matter how brief. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She was in a much smaller room. It was dark, but there appeared to be hangings, racks. Food storage maybe. Her half-elf eyes began to adjust to the gloom. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No, not food. Ingredients maybe. But not food. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">They were body parts. She could see them clearly now and her eyes widened in terror. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hung upon meat hooks there were limbs, torsos, parts of both. Scraps of flesh, gibbets of meat, bloody yet not bleeding, preserved by dark magics that prickled her skin. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yet that wasn’t the worst of it. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Among the body parts were heads. Severed heads. They were of varied ages, some old, some young. She wept as she beheld that some of them were but babes. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But it was the faces that truly horrified her. Some held the aspect of surprise, others a piteous expression. Still others were mid scream. Some even seemed to be peacefully asleep. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae slowly became aware of the pounding on the door behind her. Jolted back to reality as her immediate peril asserted itself upon her once more. She looked about her before coming to a sickening conclusion; </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The only way out was through. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Step by agonising step, she made her way through the nightmare larder. Long dead fingers groped at her hair and she kept her gaze averted lest she see accusing stares from above. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After a torturous interminable passage she arrived at the far door. The pounding had continued unabated and she slipped through as quickly as she could. There was no lock or bar so she dragged a nearby cabinet across the door though she held little hope that it would prove much of an impedance. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Spiral steps stretched both above and below. She started heading downward, slowly, painfully, hoping to escape the way she had entered. Fleeing was her only thought, injured and with only a black stained blade to defend herself she would be lucky to survive this night. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Once again though, fate was to turn against her. Halfway down the steps she felt faint and stumbled, her weak leg failed and she tumbled several metres. She landed at the bottom of the stairs, battered, bruised and bleeding. Her head rang as she rolled over and despite the echoing banging from upstairs, her enhanced half-elven hearing picked up something that instantly made her heart sink. Multiple individuals, at least a dozen, maybe more, the floor below, at best the one below that. It appeared that the retrieval party had returned. She was too late. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Instinct warred with indecision in her mind. She doubted she would be able to successfully hide from the horde and if discovered she would have no chance at all in her current condition. She crawled back up the stairs, step by agonising step, all too conscious of both the hammering on the door (and it appeared to be the closest door judging by the juddering cabinet) and the approaching enemies from below. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The only option left was to continue her ascent. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Gingerly, painfully, yet with all the alacrity she could muster, she continued up the dark steps to whatever end. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div></span>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-41679361052765213152023-06-13T10:55:00.001-07:002023-06-13T10:55:37.101-07:00A Grim Tapestry: Chapter IV <div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <span style="font-family: Arial; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The tower was massive. The first level consisted of several rooms and Wulf and Yarlae made quick improvised barricades with the hope of buying more time. Manoeuvring cabinets and tables into makeshift barriers, anything that might slow the mass of flesh behind them. As they made it to the second floor they heard the door below break. They had run out of time. The barricades became more basic, more hastily constructed, soon, the horde reached them, and once more they were in a fighting retreat, toppling furniture behind them and trying to ensure they were not encircled.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“There are dozens of them,” Yarlae cried, “we cannot hold!”</span></div></span></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-a60c8d75-7fff-4ec5-5dbd-483bdf190c6c"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So they fled, fighting from behind cover when they were reached and beating the horde back, before retreating again, the horrors pursuing. Then, fatefully, on the second level they tarried a moment too long and a splintered spar of wood from an upturned table, speared through Wulf, digging deep into his side. It was a vicious wound. The big man grimaced, it was the first time that Yarlae had ever seen him show pain and the sight unnerved her more than she had thought possible. He pulled the spar free and launched it into the nearest foe. Black ichor erupting as the improvised weapon smashed into the fiend’s face. An unsteady retreat followed. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After that, there was little thought of fighting. Wulf’s strength waned, he was losing blood, growing weaker, his torso slicked with gore. With his prodigious might gone they could no longer try to barricade the way. Their flight became headlong, doors would have to hold the foe back best they could. Yarlae half dragged him up to the third floor, though she knew this was not something that she could continue to do, Wulf was just too big. Wulf had come to the same realisation. As they got to the second room on the third floor he stumbled, coughing violently. Yarlae reached for him but he warded her off with a hand, looking up at her with a beard flecked with bright blood. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Leave me, girl, I am done." He leaned heavily on his warhammer and coughed again. The sound of splintering wood came from below. The constructs would be on them again soon. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Go! Fear not lass, they’ll not take me easily. There is life in this old dog yet!" He rose unsteadily and picked up his weapon in one hand. The strain showed on his face as he hefted the hammer. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Begone! Grant me this end I beseech thee. Mark my words, I'll give a good account of myself. They’ll not pass me unbloodied. I task you, hunt down the puppet master of this evil. Put one of your arrows through the fiend’s eye." Yarlae didn’t point out that she had no arrows left. Her gilded bow had been nothing but a cudgel for some time. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf turned, breathing raggedly. A warrior making his last stand. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There was nothing else to say. Yarlae left the man to his inevitable death. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">****</span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wulf was true to his word. By the time his bellows had ceased, Yarlae had reached the fifth level. Loathe as she was to admit it, she moved a lot faster without the old wounded warrior slowing her down. She swiftly outpaced her pursuers, her lithe form vaulting and leaping, darting from room to room. As she ascended she fancied she could FEEL the dark magics at work. There was an oppressive aura that increased as she negotiated the floors of the tower, getting closer and closer to the pinnacle. At the eighth level it was overbearing and actually painful, a pressure that assaulted her mind. She must be close. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And indeed, it was on the ninth floor that a faint green glow could be seen, emanating from the outline of a closed door. Apprehensively she edged the door open, tensing every muscle, ready to respond to whatever threat lay in wait. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There was nothing. The glow was actually coming from above. There was a small hole in the ceiling with a ladder leading up to the green luminescence. Her superior hearing picked up feminine muttering. For sure her quarry. Her bow was battered and bent, the fine elven gilding tarnished and dull. Though it pained her to discard the weapon she set it quietly on the floor, drawing her dagger instead. Silently she ascended the ladder, peeking above the upper floor. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The room was dark, oppressively so. Where the previous levels of the tower had been lit to at least some degree, this level had but one source of illumination. A green orb floating above a stooped figure some eight feet away. The figure was the source of the muttering. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Yes, this one will be mighty indeed. Much better than the last lot, mind you, we will need more stock soon, another town perhaps, the last was disappointing, the next will be better, always better. Improved, superior yes. We take the best parts, make something better from the sum of the parts. Assembly, yes, so many options, so many choices! Need more, hmmm. This leg, no, this one. Yes, that looks good."</span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The muttering continued, she rambled without pause, without breath, making little observations, remarking, commenting ceaselessly. Yarlae listened to the woman for a moment but it soon became clear that nothing of use would be gleaned by further observation. She stealthily left the ladder, crouching low, shadows all around. Half dozen steps and a quick strike, that was all it would take. She strained her ears to try to detect the sounds of her pursuers below but there was nothing. This was disconcerting but she couldn’t worry about that right now. Her target was just ahead. Four steps away, three…</span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Bah, some of these parts are too old, too used. Barely usable at all, need more fresh meat, hmm maybe this arm? Yes, that will fit. No, that’s too burnt, that one is too mangled. Hmm this one? No, not that one. Need more stock, need more parts, aaah how about this one, how about… YOU?“</span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae was but a step away, suddenly the green orb flared, momentarily blinding her. She made to strike but was somehow stuck in place, unable to move a muscle. The mysterious figure turned to face her would be assassin, displaying a wolfish grin. She was stunningly beautiful. Fresh faced and with pale grey eyes which flashed with malice.</span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Yes, you. Young, powerful. Imagine what we could make with you my dear.’ Her grey eyes flashed again as she beheld Yarlae’s rising form. She assessed the half elf predatorily. Yarlae matched her gaze. There was something familiar about that face…</span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae was stuck fast, no matter how much she strained, her muscles taut. She fought the magic, the charm on her breast flared as it tried to combat and dispel the sorcery being used on her, a scream formed on her lips but she could not give voice to it. . The spell broke and there was a moment of surprise on the Fleshmancer’s face as the dagger plunged toward her heart. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae’s strike was arrested, a hand wrapping around her wrist, slowly forcing the dagger back. She yelped as her arm was bent unnaturally, forcing her to drop the weapon. She looked up into a snarling face, suddenly she understood why the sorcerer had seemed so familiar. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Markas regarded her balefully from the shadows. There was none of his smarm or trademark sneer. His features were slack, expressionless. It was his face but it wasn’t him, or his body. His head had been grafted onto a hulking torso, with huge arms and disproportionately small legs. He had been turned into an abomination, just like the rest. And the woman… a tear ran down Yarlae’s face as realisation took hold. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was Vasilya. Not entirely, the features were merged, morphed with someone else's, but there was enough of the young mage there to be sure. The sorcerer had stolen her flesh. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Yes“ purred the fleshmancer, her purloined features lit by the orb, green as emerald. “Your young friend was not much use as a warrior I am afraid, and her meagre magics were far inferior to those that I wield. But her youth was… pleasing and my work does take its toll upon my...flesh.”</span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“You, on the other hand….. “</span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She reached forward and yanked the charm from Yarlae’s breast. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Well, you won't be needing this at least.”</span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yarlae winced as the totem was taken from her, then at a nod from the Fleshmancer the monster wearing Markas’ face struck her a savage blow and she knew no more. </span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div></span>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-3057137187956098742022-05-24T01:59:00.000-07:002022-05-24T01:59:11.565-07:00In the Stars: (Lovecraftish short story)<p><i>While I try to work out the ending of 'A Grim Tapestry' here is an alternate Short that i finished that had been gestating for a while. </i></p><p><br /></p><p> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I used to love the stars.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-e51f35f9-7fff-a928-31e8-4f58c5d7af83"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not that I'm any kind of Astronomer you understand, nor would I even say that I am an avid enthusiast on matters celestial or even particularly well read upon the subject. Nonetheless, I used to love the stars in a very real and romantic way. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Often I would gaze into the night sky, wondering about those myriad pinpricks of light. Mysterious and unfathomable, all encompassing yet so, so far away. What wonders might they hold? Were they looking back at us? Some lifeform millions of years ago staring up at the cosmos much as I was? Of course due to the phenomenal distances involved they were most likely long dead (though I would not presume to guess at the longevity of an extraterrestrial, an existence of multiple millenia seemed at the time unlikely in the extreme) but this minor issue never stopped me from romanticising the night sky. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now? Now I look at the stars with a cold dread. Now I know what looks back, looks back with a malign gaze, waiting. It has waited for those millennia, it’s malevolence unchecked. It waits for its time, for its summoning, its escape. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Would that I had remained blissfully, wistfully, ignorant. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It all started in the most innocuous of ways, a rogue email of all things. I worked at the time as an accountant for a small finance company, the kind of mundane 9-5 (at best) that you dread describing to relatives when they ask that obligatory question regarding your profession at family get-togethers. This wayward communication came from a sender unknown to me that disconcertingly did not accept replies, and was but a single enigmatic line. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Howard, It is time. 2:AM 20/11 St Leonard’s Bridge, ia ia! Praise Nyarlathotep!</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My name is James Phillips and I had no inkling of what Nyarlathotep might be, though I found the structure of the word (etymology had always been an interest of mine) most intriguing, almost certainly of Egyptian origin. but St Leonard’s Bridge was no great distance away. I resolved to attend, clandestinely. My curiosity was piqued. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I failed to remember at the time that curiosity killed the cat. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So it was that I found myself crouching and shivering (why, oh why had I not dressed appropriately for November) in the shadows at the foot of the bridge on the north bank of the River Maloun shortly before 2am. Of course there was always the chance that the mysterious meeting was taking place on the south bank (I dismissed the possibility that they might be converging atop the bridge as even at this ungodly early hour there was traffic) but i considered a 50/50 chance of sating my curiosity worthy of my attendance, even in this winter chill. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The first attendee appeared at two minutes to the hour. Dressed remarkably formally (and to my chagrin much more sensibly than myself) he stood at one side of the foot of the bridge. He lit a cigarette, no, a cigar if the acrid smoke was anything to go by, no more than nine feet from my hiding place in the shadows. He was joined swiftly by two fellows, each approaching separately. They acknowledged each other with a fluid hand movement, fingers unfurling and folding as they moved their hands in a pattern I could not easily distinguish. The gesture was accompanied by a greeting and again I caught the word Nyarlothotep, the noun (for I had deduced it as such) sounding alien yet sonorous, though the rest of the uttered phrase was completely indistinguishable and in some forgeign guttural tongue. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A minute later they were joined by a well-to-do woman, dressed in an exquisite fur lined coat. The strange greeting was exchanged once again and once more when another woman and man turned up half a minute later. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I judged the hour of the meeting had come, indeed from the muffled conversation that was taking place it seemed that they were awaiting attendees yet. One of these would likely be the intended recipient for the missive I had intercepted. I had no way of knowing if Howard had received instruction of the rendezvous by any other means or if he would indeed be absent from proceedings. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was one late attendee, chastised by the cigar puffing man who I judged to be the senior member of the group. The latecomer was younger and I established from the exchange that followed that this was not the intended recipient of the email. I strained my ears to hear what was being said. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“...short, we’ll have to proceed without. He had best be here next time though, our patron awaits, and he grows impatient. The appointed time approaches”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He took something from a wallet and stubbed the cigar out. Object and stump fell to the ground, and the man reached into his winter coat, withdrawing a small ornate dagger which gleamed despite the gloom, it seemed to glow unnaturally, as if the blade itself were a source of illumination. Moments later the luminescence dulled, and the group walked out of sight under the bridge, there was a flash and a low screeching howl like tortured wind rushing. Then silence. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I waited a moment and then stepped from the culvert in which I crouched. I cautiously stepped around, under the bridge… </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I looked around, trying to find any clue of what had happened to the group. The waters were still, they had not been disturbed, the ground was soft but the footprints were indistinct and hard to see. The brickwork foot of the bridge was unblemished, there was no door, no hole, just bricks and mortar. No, there was something. Like glittering gossamer, lines spread across the surface, there was something on the wall. I stepped forward, traced the lines, they were warm. With a growing sense of trepidation I pressed against the brickwork with my palm. To my horror my hand disappeared into the brickwork. My path seemed clear. Ahead, through this portal, assuming a portal it was and I would not become subsumed by the brickwork, or retreat, abandon the quest, return to my job and try to forget. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The latter seemed impossible, but would that i had remembered the adage about the meddlesome moggy’s mortality I would have tried anyway.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I steeled myself and pushed my body through. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wish that I could describe the sensation of my passage. I remember it vividly yet I lack the words to adequately describe it. The tactile sense was one of cloying molasses that I had to claw myself through, presumably my quarry had not experienced this? It seemed a most inconvenient form of ingress. No, I suspected that perhaps the way was becoming impassable, the material reasserting itself into its solid state even as I tried to force my way through. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But the sensation. That i cannot describe, not to any degree of accuracy. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I felt I was being squashed and stretched at the same time, intense hunger and thirst gripped me with the most tremendous headache and burden of suffocation. Yet even this description does no justice to the horror of the feeling I experienced. I knew at this moment that I had made the most grievous of mistakes. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then I was through. I fell to my knees as reality asserted itself once more, gasping for air. Looking shakily behind me I could see only stone, though it was dark green of hue and rippled strangely. Hesitantly i reached out to touch it but it was indeed, just stone. Unyielding rock. There was a burning sensation in my pocket and I pulled out my phone only to drop it almost immediately. It was hot to the touch, and quite dead. After prodding at it a few times it became clear that the device would never function again, so I left it where it lay. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I got to my feet and turned back to the path ahead of me. My mind reeled as bizarre alien geometry assaulted my senses. The view ahead of me was almost impossible to assimilate. Monolithic edifices clashed with an eerie violet sky across which lurid green lightning lashed incessantly. There was no thunder though, Which was all the more disconcerting given that my ears were now bombarded by the most hideous screeching. The wail of a non present wind, banshees screaming and howling. I brought my hands up to my ears but it made no difference. Was this horrifying din being projected straight into my mind, into my very soul? </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The path led downward, rough carved steps in the earth (though I was utterly convinced that I was no longer actually </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">on</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Earth) that disappeared into the ground some twenty feet below me. As I proceeded down the steps I looked back at from whence I had come. I could now see a foreboding temple, hewn from the very rock face, again in that strange dark green stone that seemed to absorb all light.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Was it the very temple that was screaming? It was so hard to tell. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shuddering, I turned around once more and continued down the steps, into the hole in the ground. Suddenly I was in absolute darkness, for although I could see light some distance below me, the surrounding stone reflected nothing. It was like being surrounded by pure void. At least that abominable howling had ceased.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I stumbled through the unearthly blackness as quickly as I could, practically falling through the portal in the floor, except It seemed that the black hole now existed below and behind me, not above. The disorientation was compounded by the stillness in fact everything was absolutely and horribly silent, such that I thought I had gone deaf till I heard my own involuntary gasp. The sky was a pale grey, deathly pallid and featureless. Stark and foreboding. It hurt my eyes and I felt my gorge rise. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fighting the nausea, ahead of me, I could see the group that I pursued. They were some hundreds of metres away moving slowly to yet another colossal temple set in a rock face that seemed to cover the entire horizon, in fact, as i scanned the gargantuan cliff before me i saw that it didn’t actually end, instead it blended into the pale sky as if through a gradient. I averted my eyes from the psyche shattering sight and focussed instead on where I needed to go. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The traversal across the foreboding plain to the temple was blessedly uneventful, if relentlessly oppressive to the extreme. The unnatural stillness was most discomforting, and I found myself almost wishing for the ungodly screaming to come back, anything to break the smothering deathly stillness. Nonetheless I doggedly continued, step after step, one foot in front of the other again and again till finally, I was at the entrance to the temple. Hopefully this was my final destination, I surely couldn’t handle another journey like the one I had just undertaken. Without pausing for a moment, I entered the temple. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Unlike the previous passageway I had traversed, this one was practically luminous. Strange, carvings and shapes writhed and coiled on the walls, all emitting an unearthly light that seemed to be of no colour yet all colours. They hurt my eyes.. My footsteps seemed deafening in the corridor, and I adopted a crouch lest I be detected. Another doorway loomed ahead, massive and thankfully open. I stopped at the threshold. Below me in a large arena, stood the assembly. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They stood in a circle, each facing outwards. The ornate dagger was passed round the group and as each took the weapon they slashed across their palm before passing the blade on. Presently all seven present had bled themselves, clenching their cut hands into fists. Without another word they all opened and threw their hands into the air, blood showering above them, but rather than obeying the laws of gravity and falling, the blood kept travelling up, up, till it was beyond my sight in the darkness of the roof of the arena. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then there was a cracking as of the unending of the world. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Suddenly there were stars visible. Our stars, though they were out strangely out of position, the constellations were nonetheless visible, familiar, reassuring. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was nothing reassuring about what happened next. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First came the chanting, low and subdued before rising in both volume and intensity. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ia Ia, Nyarlathotep fhtagn.. Ia Ia, Nyarlathotep fhtagn.. Ia Ia, Nyarlathotep fhtagn..Ia Ia, Nyarlathotep fhtagn..Ia Ia, Nyarlathotep fhtagn..Ia Ia, Nyarlathotep fhtagn..!!!!</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then, to my absolute and total horror, the stars started to go out. A darkness spread across the starscape in the ceiling, snuffing out the light. The light from the passageway behind me also failed, till all around was cloying darkness. In pure terror i gazed, rapt, at where the stars had once been. Something was coalescing, becoming form in the darkness, though I could barely differentiate between it and the void. Writhing tentacles snaked down from that ungodly abyss. They seemed insubstantial, almost as if made of smoke. That smoke coiled and hissed, its tips entering the circle of cultists, (for what other label could i apply to them?) a tendril penetrating each of their chests. Upon contact each member of the conclave ceased their chants and arched backwards, throwing their heads back, their eyes blazing a cerulean inferno. I barely noticed this peripherally, as my own gaze was fixed above. Three malevolent eyes appeared in the middle of the shape that had blotted out the very stars. A malign intelligence glittered within, utterly unhuman but identifiably self aware. A horrible unknowable sentience, as unfathomable as the very cosmos itself. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then it spoke.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Though I did not comprehend its speech, I nonetheless felt its intent in my mind. I felt my sanity unravel at its words and screwed my eyes shut. The words echoed in my brain regardless. Not just the horrific entity's speech but the response from the assembly. It was not sound though, not really. It was an atmosphere, a sensation of understanding through feeling rather than comprehension through any other sense. At the same time I became aware of a very low but insistent keening in the back of my mind. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was impatient, I sensed, it had been trapped for too long, at the edge of space. It yearned to escape, to be set free upon the Earth, the descendants of those that had imprisoned it. It desired madness, chaos, bedlam. The cultists were but a fraction of a multitude, all over the earth. All sowing discord, dissension, division. They controlled the media, the governments, the tech giants, it was all part of some great incredible plan. Pandemic, panic and pandemonium would be the shattering of it’s chains. Unknowable, unfathomable, indeterminable, it was aeons old, and its time was nigh. It was… inevitable. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even worse, it knew I was there. I felt it. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I ran, I fled headlong back through the now dark tunnel, back across the pale plain, down into the black void that somehow became an ascent to a screaming purple sky. All the time, my mind continued to fracture, the keening in my mind grew louder and louder till the two sounds were a crescendo in duet. I babbled inanely, insanely, incessantly, though there were none around to hear me. I was about half way up the steps back to the starting temple when I mercifully lost consciousness, the screaming still echoing in my ears. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I awoke bedraggled, drenched on the bank of the Maloun. I was taken into care, my mind in ruins, unable to say anything but “</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the stars”</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. My torment was internal, eternal. My mind reeled with all I had experienced, a kaleidoscopic slideshow of cosmic horror playing over and over again. But I was unable to express any of it. I couldn’t write it, I couldn't say it. Only </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“the stars”</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> over and over. I could hear, cogitate, comprehend, but my body was a shell and I was trapped in it. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So it was in a cruel twist of fate that after the evening pills are shoved down my throat I am wheeled by well meaning orderlies out under the starry skies. There to stare, in wide eyed horror at the unkind cosmos till slumber takes me and my dreams are ravaged by thoughts of that horrific monstrosity that awaits out there to consume us all. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the stars that I used to love. </span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-51239643708913260602022-04-24T12:19:00.003-07:002023-06-13T10:55:56.493-07:00A Grim Tapestry: Chapter III<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The path was long and winding and they were tested several times more as they ventured into the depths. Each time, the monsters were beaten back at minimal cost, the torches holding the foes at bay even as each force increased in number. Vasilya in particular, proved instrumental in their success, conjuring walls of flame to repel the attackers. Still, every encounter took its toll and the fire wall became less potent with every assault as her power waned. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">It was Vasilya that was the first to fall. Just as, after what seemed an interminable succession of chambers and passageways in the depths, the path began to ascend. Half way up a mighty set of steps seemingly carved into the very walls, they took her. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">From darkened alcoves they sprang, leaping onto the mage and the mage alone. Her screams faded and then halted abruptly as she fell from the steps and plunged into the depths. Though the remaining constructs were swiftly dispatched by the remainder of the company there was no sign of Vasilya amongst the twisted and crumpled forms at the bottom of the shaft. A brief search was conducted but they found no trace of the young mage, and returned to their original path. Yarlae had wanted to expand the search for Vasilya but Wulf wished not to tarry any longer and said as much. No one argued with Wulf. They abandoned the mage and continued. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">After a long and perturbingly eventless ascent Wulf judged that they were at around ground level once more. Still they ascended, with no way to leave the winding upward procession of steps and passageways, till finally the path levelled off. Ahead stretched another short corridor, lined once again with tapestries and hangings leading to another exterior door. Once outside, it became apparent that they were on the opposite side of the courtyard, atop the far side of the walls they had gained entry by. Yarlae’s keen eyes could see the barred gate in the gloom some distance away. She could also see a door leading to the Tower, invisible before, hidden behind a rising parapet. She communicated this information to the group before checking the outside of the wall. A sheer drop greeted her. Even her enhanced visual acuity could not detect anything below. There was to be no escape there. She returned to the group;</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Wulf was silent, deep in thought, weighing up the options. They had already lost one of their number and he was greatly perturbed by the exactness of the enemy's strike. They had purposely targeted and eliminated the company's strongest defensive asset, suggesting a tactical acumen far beyond that of mindless monsters. He ruminated, resting on his Warhammer, running one hand through his beard whilst his eyes continued to monitor vigilantly for threats. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Bugger this for a fool's errand” Markas snarled. He hurled his burning torch into the courtyard. It fell to the ground, still ablaze, the light betraying no sign of activity, triggering no response. It was a drop of about two dozen feet, far from impossible but not without risk of injury.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“I’ll get that gate unbarred, let’s get out of here. Yarlae, cover me just in case”. He had the grace to look at Wulf, who paused a moment before assenting with a grim nod, Without another word Markas went over the edge. Hanging onto the wall and bracing himself he leapt away, tucking himself into a roll to mitigate the impact. Nonetheless he landed awkwardly, gingerly getting to his feet before retrieving the torch. He drew his sword and moved off toward the gate unsteadily. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; white-space-collapse: preserve;">He took perhaps a dozen steps. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; white-space-collapse: preserve;">They erupted from the ground, seizing him on all sides. He screamed and struck out with both brand and blade but they were swiftly knocked from his grasp and he was overwhelmed in moments. He disappeared under a mound of monstrous forms and was dragged into the shadows, his cries fading into the gloom. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Yarlae lowered her bow. She had not even had time to loose an arrow. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Nor did they have time to process. The door behind them burst open, a horde of abominations spilling out, grasping and clawing. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Yarlae recoiled in horror; she bought her bow back up and fired an arrow almost point blank through the eye of one of the constructs. Wulf roared and swung his warhammer one handed, best as he could, the other brandishing the torch, waving the flame in front of them to try to keep the horde at bay. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> With no other recourse, they fell back, inexorably, along the wall towards the tower. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“We’re being herded!” Yarlae realised.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Aye” Wulf shouted back “dark forces are at work here child. Still, we have no other choice. “</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; white-space-collapse: preserve;">At pace, they retreated along the wall, falling back towards the tower. Pressed by the horde. The door looked sturdy but the key at Wulf’s belt performed it’s promised purpose and they hurriedly made to bolt and bar the door behind them. Within moments, however, the door started to shake and rock on its hinges as monstrous bodies slammed against it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“That’ll not hold long. We need to move” Wulf said. “Come, this way”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: medium; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The only way was up. </span></p>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-76266391867746604682022-04-24T05:34:00.000-07:002022-04-24T05:34:11.095-07:00Gundam? Gundamn! Or: How I learned to stop Warhammering and love the Gunpla<p> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Following on from my last article on GW’s pricing, I actually had a hankering to get on with some painting. Though I might be somewhat disenfranchised with GW's wargames at large, the models are still great and that Underworlds Vampire set have been begging to have some paint slapped on them. </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-e5c4210b-7fff-36a9-cecd-c159ee96cea7"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then I went and broke my hand. It was a fight with Nazis you see, ten, no <b>TWENTY</b> of them. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh alright, the truth is I fell on the stairs and smashed my hand on the bannister, a nice big splintered diagonal break on my fifth metacarpal. Six weeks to two months to heal</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1xsTgRo2Je_G55IS9KAD4Nrsec9bEpUcX5iOiHypxBOo2kxQ-n8B3NOSsu1a9Mx59HnmMZuHVjvo85_2U_-ranbeITFH0bbD4NjBNzTqMUr5DS5tJJgt27koNYAK-cRPDLeIh1mHtegkLS9z4MmxST_YRwoKooAGGf0E9wNeszgeimBbIK2-8F_glYA/s586/x%20ray.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="586" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1xsTgRo2Je_G55IS9KAD4Nrsec9bEpUcX5iOiHypxBOo2kxQ-n8B3NOSsu1a9Mx59HnmMZuHVjvo85_2U_-ranbeITFH0bbD4NjBNzTqMUr5DS5tJJgt27koNYAK-cRPDLeIh1mHtegkLS9z4MmxST_YRwoKooAGGf0E9wNeszgeimBbIK2-8F_glYA/s320/x%20ray.jpg" width="295" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeaaaah, that's not meant to look like that. </td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bollocks, there goes any painting. Kinda hard to hold a model when your hand is in plaster. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thankfully I had a backup. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A few weeks ago, I had (fortuitously) ordered a Gundam model. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj53LFyRwI3Gpu5kikIovqNiEFPnCd_NO_2O3a_2oWzhyXo2qYj7DtfgbIcmLrAhhiPkVgd1TE7WgAbsdErIO70DH0hzn1fxg-MjTz8CG0X3UzbPf5cMnjm6HJAIJ3rYWKVsyf31kzY4EIA5xWPMiqh7YkF74eimrVXco2VnEyWcdiFQmT82ROLlp8XLg/s800/rx%2078%20cc.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="800" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj53LFyRwI3Gpu5kikIovqNiEFPnCd_NO_2O3a_2oWzhyXo2qYj7DtfgbIcmLrAhhiPkVgd1TE7WgAbsdErIO70DH0hzn1fxg-MjTz8CG0X3UzbPf5cMnjm6HJAIJ3rYWKVsyf31kzY4EIA5xWPMiqh7YkF74eimrVXco2VnEyWcdiFQmT82ROLlp8XLg/s320/rx%2078%20cc.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one in fact: Foresight, or mere coincidence?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’d always known about Gundam, in fact I'd got Lee one for Christmas a few years back as he was into making them. But I'd never given it much more thought than that, hardly requiring yet ANOTHER hobby. But, I finally checked out the series as Lee had been urging me to do for ages and found out i REALLY liked the Samaurai-esque design from that series. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well i say series, it was only the first of many. Gundam is an antiwar anime franchise that has been going for over 40 years now and has a LOT of entries across many timelines. In fact it’s the same age as me, having started in 1979. By watching the series and ordering my first kit I had entered into the world of Gunpla. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF43_cgvQiv2uZ0AL0AjWcBfb1w73nRLGA5ZCHluOCo_ukyfd6R4aZOJczpKhv15s4Eh_SYGj_eq_Ltq1_Ye_LWGgUKF1hljj4NvBAaswnwoyj76DK8WoHuRQSUdA79VTbRRuU4RrVQTNPSabny89vn33x_ziepRiAROOYabxYNXPnOG35BpJkA0aP3A/s1132/gundam%20collection.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="1132" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF43_cgvQiv2uZ0AL0AjWcBfb1w73nRLGA5ZCHluOCo_ukyfd6R4aZOJczpKhv15s4Eh_SYGj_eq_Ltq1_Ye_LWGgUKF1hljj4NvBAaswnwoyj76DK8WoHuRQSUdA79VTbRRuU4RrVQTNPSabny89vn33x_ziepRiAROOYabxYNXPnOG35BpJkA0aP3A/s320/gundam%20collection.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My collection thus far: All from the original series. </td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">So: what is Gunpla? </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Put simply Gunpla is short for <b>Gun</b>dam ‘<b>Pla</b>stic Model’ they are kits of the many, MANY suits from the myriad series that, due to some spectacular engineering require no glue to assemble. Exclusively made by Bandai they come on sprues (known as runners in the hobby) of different colour plastics so that painting is not required to complete the model, though there are certainly many that do paint and customise their figures. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So essentially, it’s a mech action figure that you assemble yourself. They have full articulation just like a normal action figure and come in various sizes depending on which ‘grade’ of figure you pick up (more on those in a second). </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The amazing technology that Bandai uses means that different colours and even different TYPES of plastic can be on the same sprue (sorry i don’t use runners, call it 27 years of habit). I was blown away by the rubbery plastic that was on one corner of the sprue that was flexible so the parts could be bent. Incredible. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyVUH0vrqpoVGeXx8qkEZ60wr3UDVZv5s7E2rUarztzUKN1_XEAWEPDKvlFb-fuqYYvgg4spj5pnKBJsC_6GWad36IXF3i1BX02njbDAwOzxBt4ub9f5FDAF3rskph4aBdksd4X5AAtUJozDIGbCrTslScP_Fj0hWUza-kxallVZ0YYQpjmQc9USRLZA/s849/soft%20hybrid%20sprue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="637" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyVUH0vrqpoVGeXx8qkEZ60wr3UDVZv5s7E2rUarztzUKN1_XEAWEPDKvlFb-fuqYYvgg4spj5pnKBJsC_6GWad36IXF3i1BX02njbDAwOzxBt4ub9f5FDAF3rskph4aBdksd4X5AAtUJozDIGbCrTslScP_Fj0hWUza-kxallVZ0YYQpjmQc9USRLZA/s320/soft%20hybrid%20sprue.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See those hoses top right? Softer than the rest of the Sprue, MIND. BLOWN</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">And that’s to say nothing of the engineering of the kits themselves. It's a real marvel how these things go together. The chest sections reminded me of the engineering in Lego, where you build it up in layers for a strong core. The instructions are excellent. Despite being in Japanese, I have never had an issue assembling one of these models. I have now built four and the High Grade models that I have been building normally take a couple hours each. A couple of very enjoyable hours that results in a really cool posable figure. I have a Real Grade Gundam that will be a more complex job, that one is being saved for now. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So let’s go through those grades quickly. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>First Grade</b>: These are generally remakes of the first kits that were released back in the 80's. They are dirt cheap and moulded all in one colour so I'm not sure they really count as true Gunpla. They usually need gluing together too. The first kit I built was actually one of these but I replaced it with a vastly superior High Grade. I do have a Guntank that is FG that turned out ok. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbw1Davy714TolBrngIJ2Ej_p2DBmEkNddfXvcAcKfXLbaP8DhbkX3Gyo_O8YB3MWWPvuUJawmmvm2zQp3RQCkt0KQRxEULZWKZOJrWwYj8a3b87ZQouu88ynQOvqA9g4ZC6dwxMG-qrn16WRrtzvhJq51DMsFybS9QYuoxsQMzTHZ9yhrdywRUiy3Sw/s920/Guntank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="920" data-original-width="690" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbw1Davy714TolBrngIJ2Ej_p2DBmEkNddfXvcAcKfXLbaP8DhbkX3Gyo_O8YB3MWWPvuUJawmmvm2zQp3RQCkt0KQRxEULZWKZOJrWwYj8a3b87ZQouu88ynQOvqA9g4ZC6dwxMG-qrn16WRrtzvhJq51DMsFybS9QYuoxsQMzTHZ9yhrdywRUiy3Sw/s320/Guntank.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was thankfully big enough to stay still and be airbrushed. </td></tr></tbody></table><b style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Entry Grade</b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">: Like it sounds these are the most basic versions you can pick up aside from the 30MM (Thirty Minute Missions) that I don't really consider real Gunpla. Entry Grade have minimal colour separation, meaning that areas that would be different colours on more advanced kits will be one piece here, allowing for easier assembly. They are made of less parts than more advanced grades and though basic, can look surprisingly close to high grade models though they often have slightly reduced articulation. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>High Grade</b>: This is your bread and butter kit, and the majority of the Gunpla that I own are High Grade (when i broke my hand I ordered a bundle of kits). Like the previous two they are 1/144 scale so they stand about 5” high. They will usually come with more colour separation and a small sticker sheet. On average I've found they take a couple of hours to assemble if you want to do a decent job. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjyptEo_E2CsPVEKc-Jxp3tRafcJaPZdpESZCmKDCbeJKWQj0w1IGruGymTF35ftjwGZ6bcsQk3mkL7Ky4DLf8ejzHOlfGRPThJNWdnQ7aoKEvmmnFsMihCKe-AgAz0wm2urL00x_5yqL94lulZFchLMwna_wvnrEJNHV4u71BBxZOH7_28CHtO9GdlA/s849/zaku.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="637" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjyptEo_E2CsPVEKc-Jxp3tRafcJaPZdpESZCmKDCbeJKWQj0w1IGruGymTF35ftjwGZ6bcsQk3mkL7Ky4DLf8ejzHOlfGRPThJNWdnQ7aoKEvmmnFsMihCKe-AgAz0wm2urL00x_5yqL94lulZFchLMwna_wvnrEJNHV4u71BBxZOH7_28CHtO9GdlA/s320/zaku.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A HG Zaku. about £16</td></tr></tbody></table><b style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Real Grade</b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">: These were designed to be a step up from the High Grade while staying at the same scale. They tend to be designed as a core skeleton that you then bolt the armour on to, making for a much more accurate and authentic build. These kits also tend to come with the transfer sheets for detailing your Gundam, there are not as many of them available as they are a relatively new concept (2010) but I think that often they are the better choice if you have a few High Grades under your belt. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQeT_q8s_MSs4w25KzsvGNSBn-uGvmPnL9_22zCoDzzDohlOlBh1UhF0kXWjOsRpLz3tf3VdzML0UX4xXnmrvt2FeJ3l1LPmHvEGOxWEEK3TxKU9lxbshSPu1Zt00GEIWVP83cj9dNYXOmcyToEB-2BfFZqHUSY0W7LnvNauaGBpXSqccRMlctY-M0DA/s600/mk2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQeT_q8s_MSs4w25KzsvGNSBn-uGvmPnL9_22zCoDzzDohlOlBh1UhF0kXWjOsRpLz3tf3VdzML0UX4xXnmrvt2FeJ3l1LPmHvEGOxWEEK3TxKU9lxbshSPu1Zt00GEIWVP83cj9dNYXOmcyToEB-2BfFZqHUSY0W7LnvNauaGBpXSqccRMlctY-M0DA/s320/mk2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RX 78 Mk II. Real Grade, real detail. Soon</td></tr></tbody></table><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Master Grade</b>: This is where we start getting serious. Firstly they are bigger, 1/100 or roughly 7.5” tall. Secondly they are FAR more detailed with loads more parts to the assembly (the instruction manuals are books as opposed to leaflets. They also have room for LEDs and working pistons that move as you articulate the figure. A big advancement from the other kits, i might get one one day (maybe when i go to Japan later this year) but it's a much more intense investment. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Perfect Grade</b>: This is it. The best you can get. They are 1/60 so absolutely huge. Obscenely detailed and complicated with many hundreds of parts, you are looking at dozens and dozens of hours to assemble one. The articulation is beyond compare, with even the fingers being movable, the colour separation is perfect, and there are myriad moving panels and parts, you can even remove the pilot. They are invariably lit by LEDs and cost hundreds of pounds. A bit too much for me to take on I think, (I mean some pieces even need screwing together) but they are undeniably impressive. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">So that’s all the different Gundam (well, not all, as there are variants of each Grade, but most). So, assuming you are still reading, what’s involved?</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqaQT1WlGQoX48SVf_uJkb2PINr-258e3W4Q8vKL0Cms0_0jSNZnqi7_QUuZFSSkICUZaKNA5NFiwua4Nw6UTH0FSwhVk7zCU0qNxEM-Q3OEOo7STHgJiDgnLooqWSdtUVr0E_oLTJoBKCosMGtzaXY54-9C_nBcTWYysJ3wn5oiCX6XIl1IlPkBI1Uw/s1132/fg%20hg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="1132" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqaQT1WlGQoX48SVf_uJkb2PINr-258e3W4Q8vKL0Cms0_0jSNZnqi7_QUuZFSSkICUZaKNA5NFiwua4Nw6UTH0FSwhVk7zCU0qNxEM-Q3OEOo7STHgJiDgnLooqWSdtUVr0E_oLTJoBKCosMGtzaXY54-9C_nBcTWYysJ3wn5oiCX6XIl1IlPkBI1Uw/s320/fg%20hg.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Grade at the front (painted) the HG updgrade at the back. </td></tr></tbody></table></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, thankfully, not much. This is what you'll need</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A GOOD pair of clippers, the ones you use for Warhammer will most likely not 'cut it' (sorry). You will need clippers that give as fine and clean a cut as possible. I grabbed a pair of Japanese ones for 12 quid that seem to do the job just fine. The main reason for this is stress marks. If you use cheap clippers you will most likely end up with marks from the sheared plastic, if not at first then when they inevitably blunt. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A SHARP knife. OK, the knife doesn’t matter too much but you need a sharp blade as you clean up the last bits of burr or ‘nubs’ as they are known in Gunpla. Once you have the plastic flush you can often even out the colour with a fingernail BUT…. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLc8vlxx-Kb1W315OY7DXiZB03P4vnRGs4QRdIZ0XDsdp77TpykeFu-trZy-ti1dS80XDLBgVah0_4ki5aBHyfWC7IF4XMlmXW8dZgkJ7xpwHpaNLU-CO5xFqwqGSCDzNOI7gxNG0vCHhuBmrKlp9SAO9X9HA4QikgS7cAueGNz7SFmYPdMHNIGs5b2g/s849/RX%2078%20mid%20assembly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="637" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLc8vlxx-Kb1W315OY7DXiZB03P4vnRGs4QRdIZ0XDsdp77TpykeFu-trZy-ti1dS80XDLBgVah0_4ki5aBHyfWC7IF4XMlmXW8dZgkJ7xpwHpaNLU-CO5xFqwqGSCDzNOI7gxNG0vCHhuBmrKlp9SAO9X9HA4QikgS7cAueGNz7SFmYPdMHNIGs5b2g/s320/RX%2078%20mid%20assembly.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So satisfying and simple to construct.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Polishing/sanding sticks. These are the best way to get the plastic back to the original colour, work down from a 600 to a 5000 grit and you’ll get a lovely smooth unblemished finish. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then OPTIONAL:</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gundam Markers, these are markers that are used to cover up marks and sometimes to line panels but honestly, if you are reading this you likely have a range of paints that will do the job just as well. When I have two working hands again I'll likely panel line with thinned down paints be they acrylic or oil. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYc5l2yMmJSr8PUsGWkA9cmNhcIphFsiCdtZ5JVGzDWpzfFYZwHE5s8bx6OKIn3PlgQhjSYT-YCqrF4PKPivo1d4IV3n5rbyDJROiHaXRb6jALa6t_yhNGJF5Z-HfNt_XIlpfagzwcsGcbNF-_nwD-YomTnNIChZkRUO_AyLw0FzjtPh3yxqAZVdCIg/s849/RX%2078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="637" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYc5l2yMmJSr8PUsGWkA9cmNhcIphFsiCdtZ5JVGzDWpzfFYZwHE5s8bx6OKIn3PlgQhjSYT-YCqrF4PKPivo1d4IV3n5rbyDJROiHaXRb6jALa6t_yhNGJF5Z-HfNt_XIlpfagzwcsGcbNF-_nwD-YomTnNIChZkRUO_AyLw0FzjtPh3yxqAZVdCIg/s320/RX%2078.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Come on now, that's not bad for a tenner. </td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Honestly, if you have any experience with plastic miniature kits you’ll likely find Gundam a breeze. I have encountered no difficulties thus far and I have REALLY enjoyed it. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But the BEST thing about Gundam? The price. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My first kit, the classic RX 78 which was a high grade kit cost me £9.95 from Chaos Cards. That’s right, a tenner. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Though this was the first kit i bought, it was not the first i assembled. But i WOULD say it's probably my favourite thus far. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">NO glue needed, no paint needed. Although you really should get the stuff I mentioned above which will cost a bit, you could get a cheap pair of clippers for a couple of quid and put that bad boy together there and then (after all there are people who inexplicably do NOT clean up their minis). </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuzx3iKooWErTHEYAVRJN3cjuVag52Nw6Z4b60EZqvNnpLEb4E4NqAa8AD1_oA-iFfDCpnrUwiWj3S_m12pck25qtQhGfuMh-OxQNQiQbJSX0H-djuIKA0jZaXOc1T5CIxnG3j6BjUE9-XKEfK5A1KMEmY481QsdYb2qDKvpUohTQYYe7jAJABLiFCfA/s1132/Rx%2078%20compl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="1132" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuzx3iKooWErTHEYAVRJN3cjuVag52Nw6Z4b60EZqvNnpLEb4E4NqAa8AD1_oA-iFfDCpnrUwiWj3S_m12pck25qtQhGfuMh-OxQNQiQbJSX0H-djuIKA0jZaXOc1T5CIxnG3j6BjUE9-XKEfK5A1KMEmY481QsdYb2qDKvpUohTQYYe7jAJABLiFCfA/s320/Rx%2078%20compl.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two hours work while watching TV. With one hand. </td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">That’s a lot cheaper than Warhammer. A LOT. And it results in a nice big poseable model. It’s frankly a bit of a bargain. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now, we do need to qualify this. Gundam kits are mass produced in China so they are very cheap to produce, but I would argue that they are AT LEAST as well engineered and designed as Citadel’s miniatures (if not better). A good chunk of what you pay with GW is the fact that it is produced in Britain.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And yes, Gundam can be pricey. HG Kits will be between £10 and £25. Real Grade, £25-£35 and Master Grade frequently £50 and above. Perfect Grade? Well over £100, sometimes as much as £200. But you are talking DOZENS of sprues. GW kits frequently hit £100 for three or four sprues. Honestly, Gundam seems much better bang for your buck, even with the above caveats. It’s also worth mentioning that they are even CHEAPER in Japan (man I'm gonna need a big suitcase). Yeah Bandai have been doing this a lot longer than GW but they also seem to do it a lot better. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAG1tZyhpMY4f3kIsd-xo1zbzz1GsomloWAje5X7fQocIzFvVq7h2grFNnmjiNKrpkIwxrkr3_lAUKsYx6wCmItNZZ9Rczs5DaW-AcmoSh7vTVhi8w-VWAdBOj7L9XErM3rxZVvADJXfHr7dVFPtelfzMxQMbNCZlSiHxENOzmrqWfCA4r2CY85dWsmw/s849/Blue%20Gouf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="637" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAG1tZyhpMY4f3kIsd-xo1zbzz1GsomloWAje5X7fQocIzFvVq7h2grFNnmjiNKrpkIwxrkr3_lAUKsYx6wCmItNZZ9Rczs5DaW-AcmoSh7vTVhi8w-VWAdBOj7L9XErM3rxZVvADJXfHr7dVFPtelfzMxQMbNCZlSiHxENOzmrqWfCA4r2CY85dWsmw/s320/Blue%20Gouf.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a Gouf. Some of the names are a bit weird. </td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anyway, I'm not going to be dropping GW. I’m too invested. 27 years in, I can't drop it just like that, even if I am leaning away from armies and more into skirmish games where I only have to paint half a dozen models rather than masses of models that will just be deleted en’masse. But Gunpla was a nice experiment, a nice distraction, and while there are hundreds to choose from, most are frankly a bit OTT for me looks wise as they start having wings and armour on top of armour so they look a bit toy like and lean away from the mechanical samurai look that i like. That said, there are a few more that i want (I’m currently watching Gundam ZZ) so I’m sure the six that i have accumulated over the last three weeks will be added to, after all, I'm still looking at another few weeks before i can use my left hand properly. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anyway, I'll shut up now, this has taken a while to write with one hand in plaster. I urge you to check out the world of Gunpla, whether you merely dip in a toe or jump right in. It’s fun, it’s easy and it’s cheap. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gunpla? Qapla! </span></p><br /><br /><br /></span>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-64843948341039593112022-04-23T13:57:00.002-07:002023-06-13T10:56:11.612-07:00A Grim Tapestry: Chapter II<p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Gaining access had been as easy as Yarlae had indicated. Scaling the wall with the aid of Markas’ hook and rope they soon found themselves atop the outer wall standing by the door that Yarlae had spied. Her keen eyes could make out another door on the opposite wall that was closer to the tower. Surprisingly there was no apparent access to the tower from the ground level, a barren courtyard littered with debris but no doors that could be seen, no way of gaining access to the manse proper. Only this door and its twin on the other side. With few other options and no apparent path they proceeded. The door was no match for Wulf’s warhammer, stoved in after a few mighty swings. Silence and darkness lay on the other side. It was growing darker outside too, the sun dipping behind the mountains. They stepped inside and Vasilya muttered an incantation. A sconce nearby sparked into flame from which Markas lit an oil soaked torch. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The passageway ahead was empty save a few hangings and an empty weapons rack, presumably for defending the fort. For a fort it seemed to be, no mere domicile. A chill wind whistled past and the hanging banners fluttered even as the burning torch sputtered. Markas moved the torch in front of him, shielding it from the elements as they moved deeper inside Manse De Poulain. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">They proceeded down the corridor cautiously. Wulf and Markas at the fore, Yarlae and Vasilya behind. Presently they came to a staircase descending, it appeared that the path to the tower would be anything but straightforward.
</span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Descending the winding staircase they still encountered no resistance. No horrors launched themselves at the company, there was no apparent threat. Everything was still, even the wind had died down, though the torch still sputtered occasionally as though the very darkness was trying to smother the flame. Only their breathing belied any life at all. At the bottom of the stairs was an unlocked door to a room beyond which another short passage led to another set of descending steps. Wulf stopped, raising his hand in a fist out of habit. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“This isn't right, he growled. If we go down again we will be under the fort. We shall turn back, retrace our steps. See if we can find another path to the tower”. There was no argument, there never was with Wulf. They turned around and retrod their path. However, at the door to the previous staircase a magical barrier fizzed and sparked. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I knew it”, Markas hissed. “A trap!”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">He was not wrong, it was then that they struck. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Over a dozen in number, they emerged from the shadows, ambushing the company from behind. Yet the quartet were not unprepared. They had been on guard since entering the Manse and whirled to meet the horrors head on. Their attackers were fast, blurs of cloth and flesh that struck at a blinding speed in the gloom. Markas fended one off with his torch scorching its flesh and setting its garb alight. It howled as it burned, becoming fully alight unnaturally quickly, ablaze like dry tinder. A flailing flaming figure that illuminated the rest of its brethren. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">They were abominations, patchwork monstrosities, deformed and mangled and grotesque. But for all that, they were horribly, identifiably, human. They were amalgamations of several individuals sewn and melded together into new monstrous forms by some unseen twisted architect. Yet they WERE human, men and women, and although their forms were monstrous their faces still carried a very obvious fear. They were scared of the fire. The wretch on the floor had stopped screaming and flailing. The flame was guttering, dying out and turning a mysterious violet as it waned. Soon the only light was again Markas' torch. Emboldened once more by the darkness the horrors attacked again. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In the gloom the company fought for their lives. Markas loosed a trio of throwing knives, yet, although all struck true, none of his targets fell. Within moments they were on him and though he tried to strike them with the torch he was overwhelmed, the brand was struck from his hand and fell to the floor, still burning. He grappled with two of the constructs, managing to gain space enough to draw his short sword. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Wulf bellowed as he swung his warhammer in wide irresistible arcs, caving in the head of one foe and crushing the chest of another. Though they fell, they rose once more, mangled face and concave torso closing in on the mighty warrior as he retreated, all the while still swinging his weapon. Though they looked human, they recovered from what would normally be mortal wounds, their ravaged forms continuing to attack. They could be slowed but only the most destructive of blows could stop them. He lashed out once more and fairly split the abomination in two such was the force of his strike. The creature spasmed on the floor, broken limbs trying to gain purchase and rise. These things did not bleed, he noticed. Instead their wounds drew forth a viscous tar-like ichor. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Markas had gained the upper hand. For all his brutishness and lack of charm he was a formidable warrior and he hewed and chopped with his blade, striking limbs from bodies and cleaving his foes apart. More than once though, his blade would lodge in the torso of an enemy, the thick sludge preventing clean strikes. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Yarlae also fared well, innate and honed fighting skills coming to the fore. Graceful compared to Markas’ direct approach she fended off foes with her gilded short bow even as she dispatched others with a curved elvish long dagger, it had belonged to her mother and she had lost count of the lives it had ended in her hands. The blade flashed and flickered in the gloom as she sliced and slashed, her half elven eyes affording her superior eyesight in the dark. Yet, for all her prowess and elan, the foes she struck down rose once more. The weapon unsuited to the brutal dismemberment that this enemy required. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Vasilya desperately defended herself against no less than four of the patchwork horrors. Pressed into a corner, she had thrown up a kinetic barrier to protect herself but the strain on her face made it apparent that she had no power spare to mount any kind of attack. Thankfully Markas soon came to her aid, decapitating two of the foe with heavy swings before running the other two through and bisecting them. Wulf, having obliterated his opponents, moved over to assist Yarlae, crushing her opponents with mighty overhead swings. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Presently all of the monstrosities were down, smashed or cut to pieces, hacked apart and torn asunder. Bodies and limbs lay all around. Markas picked up the sputtering torch, carefully coaxing the lambent flame back to life. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“What the hell was that?” he scowled, holding the torch low and peering at the vanquished adversaries. He screwed his face up in distaste and spat on the piles of flesh. He tried to clear his sword of the sticky tar like ichor but it clung to the blade, stubbornly refusing to wipe clean. He used the torch to burn the residue off instead, grunting with satisfaction as the blade flared brightly with that strange violet hue. Whatever these horrors had in place of blood, it was highly combustible. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Monsters” Vasilya whispered, visibly shaken by the experience. “But they had human faces, were these… people?”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Wulf prodded one with his warhammer. “Maybe once, not now. Look, stitched, these things were made, not born” He turned, his face set. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“They seemed to be afraid of fire. We should make more torches lest we encounter more. Their blood burns well enough, we’ll take their wrappings and soak them in it. Find staves for the torches. To it, now!” He barked at Yarlae and Markas. Without another word the half-elf and brigand set to their grim task. Wulf turned his attention to the young mage;</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Vasilya” She turned, a haunted look in her eyes.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Can you do anything about this door? I’d just as soon not venture further into the depths.” She shut her eyes and held a hand to the door. Sweat beaded on her forehead. The seal on the door grew brighter and thrummed but after a moment she dropped her hand. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“It is beyond me”, she replied, shakily. “Even were I at full power I suspect that these magicks would be too much for me to overcome. Whoever set these wards is mightier than me by far.” She shuddered as the effort took its toll. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“So be it,” muttered Wulf. “Deeper then, into the trap.”</span></div></span></span><p></p>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-79158999952138390382022-04-11T02:19:00.002-07:002023-06-13T10:56:37.927-07:00 A Grim Tapestry: Chapter I<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: arial;">“</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Careful you fool” Yarlae hissed. She took a step back from the precipice from which she had very nearly just tumbled, trying not to show the panic that was coursing through her. Far below, wicked, jagged rocks jutted out from the river Tryn’s cold dark waters, a fall would mean certain death. </span></span></div><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Thankfully that had not been her fate, her elven born agility and poise saving her. She shot Markas a look of pure venom, masking the flush of fear. In her mind she felt like she was actually falling. Were her tremors borne of terror or anger? Likely both, she realised. </span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">For his part Markas shot her a half apologetic look and a shrug. Markas Weiss was a boorish man of few words which suited her just fine. The man was a dullard anyway and they were here for money not conversation. </span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The company consisted of her, Markas, a mercurial old warrior who had only ever been known as Wulf and at the rear of the group, Vasilya, a young quiet mage dressed in flowing robes that were entirely impractical for their current endeavour. </span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">And that endeavour was treasure. Responding to a tip from one of Wulf’s many dubious associates, they now found themselves in North Arbora traversing the gully that lead to the Manse de Poulian. The manse was now long abandoned and decrepit but if their source was to be believed, it was also the resting place of a hidden sizable cache of valuables, the ill gotten gains of a band of brigands who’s despicable deeds had finally caught up with them in a very terminal way. She only hoped that the information was worth the price they had paid, their last two leads had been less than lucrative. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">****</span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“It was Burgetts lots base you see” the scrawny individual who had only identified himself as ‘Red’ had explained, between swigs of Golden Best. Of course anything served in the Tattered Fox was far from the best of anything but it did taste slightly better than the urine it so strongly resembled. That night the inn was full of heady aromas and bawdy banter, all the better to conduct clandestine conversations. The attendees of this impromptu meeting were well used to tuning out the background activities of the Tattered Fox and Wulf bade ‘Red’ continue with a curt gesture. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Yep, Burgetts lot” the informant continued, his reddish mop hung lank and filthy round his temples, framing what seemed to be a permanent scowl. Every now and then his head jerked involuntarily, doubtless the mark of some substance abuse. The tic sent drops of sweat flying with every motion and Yarlae surreptitiously covered her drink with her hand. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“They had quite the stash from what I understand, ‘course that lot committed many a misdeed over the years as you well know”, he shot a knowing look at Wulf and drained his pint. Wulf grunted noncommittally and gestured for a serving wench to bring another round. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“And then of course they were bought low at Halgen’s Hill, the whole sorry lot of them, and all that loot has been just waiting there, at their hideout. Hidden away I've no doubt but I imagine it’s well worth a look at any rate. Just so happens I have the key to the tower where it’s held, taken off Burgett’s very corpse no less! Yours for the right price, if you’re interested that is'', he added, with a sly look. He spasmed again, thankfully before accepting his drink from the maid. He took a long draught from the stein, spilling ale down his front as he jerked uncontrollably once again. He wiped the foam from his lips with the back of his hand and waited expectantly. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Markas stopped picking his teeth with a dirk, planting the blade point down in the dark oak table before sneering unpleasantly. </span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“An’ why you not gone after this great prize yourself eh?” his rasping voice low and spiteful. “Seems just too good to be true, lest you trying to trick us? Eh?” He jerked the dirk from the table top, waving it accusingly. </span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Red lowered his half empty stein to the table and raised his hands placatingly. He was missing half his ring finger on his left hand Yarlae noticed. No doubt there was some grim story to be told there, she idly mused. </span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Do I look like an adventurer, friend?” he retorted. “I’m not like to go off into the mountains on my own, treasure or no treasure. I’m no warrior, as you can plainly see, I'd not last a minute in a fight. No, no I'm not capable of this task, you mark my words, but you lot…” He lowered his hands, reaching for his drink again. “Besides” he added, with a sideways glance, “I only came into possession of the key and the location of the hideout recently didn’t I?”</span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Something about the way that he said ‘possession’ jolted Yarlae from her half-reverie. A warrior he most certainly was not but she could imagine him quite capable of a cowardly murder, skulking in the shadows. For her part she believed the man's tale, Wulf wasn’t the kind of man you deceived, not unless you had a death wish. </span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Negotiations had been made, more alcohol quaffed and coin parted with. The unkempt informant had stuffed his gains into a torn and stained jerkin before slinking off into the night, a wretch returning to his natural habitat. </span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Now Wulf stood, his face impassive, the key hanging from his belt, his warhammer slung over one shoulder. A two handed weapon, Wulf swung it with a disciplined, practised, ease such that Yarlae suspected him to be a Knight of the Realm. Still, they didn't talk of such things. They didn't really talk at all, strictly business, always. </span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">It had taken a week to reach Blackvale. The nearest town to Manse De Poulain, Blackvale was nearly desolate, not uncommon in Arbora where predation from ghouls and worse could ravage populations. The people who were still there were sullen, drawn, but they had been able to provide some accommodation and supplies. When pressed about the nearby Manse they had only said it was a place of horrors. Monsters dwelled within, they said. No one went near the place. Yarlae had been glad to leave the bleak location, though the road ahead was no less inhospitable. Rising above the dark forests of Arbora, their winding path took them into the hills. Through treacherous crags and climbs they had journeyed and now the more dangerous terrain lay behind them. There was now but a short ascent before them to the manse above. They would be there soon. </span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Take point” Wulf said to Yarlae, with the natural authority that had made him de facto leader of the company and once again belied his probable military background. Much about him fit that assumption Yarlae realised, from his neat grey beard to the immaculate condition of his armour and weapon. She moved swiftly to the head of the group, shooting Markas a dirty look as she passed. She received a nasty sneer in return though she didn’t see it. Unslinging her bow, she adopted a low crouch and drew an arrow. </span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Use those half elven eyes of yours” Wulf instructed. “Scout ahead, thirty feet, we’ll follow. Come back once you have checked the path ahead and the gate.” He held up a hand, signalling those behind him. The brigand and mage drew to a halt. Vasilya looked around nervously whilst Markas took the opportunity to scrape filth from his boots with his blade, proceeding to wipe the blade clean on his trousers. </span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Yarlae moved off quickly, even crouched; she moved almost as fast as her normal gait; there was a smoothness and elegance to her motion, a boon of her mongrel heritage, as were her preternatural senses. She was the company’s scout, seeing dangers and foes long before her cohorts. She had never known her father. He had been absent at her birth and ever since. Her mother had refused to speak of him, and the look on her face, the rare occasion that Yarlae might broach the subject combined with the scars that marked her, suggested that her conception had been far from a loving affair. Yarlae soon learned to stop asking. </span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Her mother was taken from her on her 13th Birthday. A simple black fletched arrow through her throat, a simple and swift death that went unnoticed and unremarked. Yarlae had been on her own ever since and had ever since been doing whatever she needed to survive, no matter how unpleasant. </span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">She caught herself again. She had a tendency to drift, often at inopportune times. Sometimes she even fancied she could see things that hadn’t happened yet, Though she couldn’t do it on command. It came unbidden, uncalled, premonitions through daydreams. They didn’t always come true, but often she would find her mind slipping, imagining future events that would then sometimes come to pass. Always minor, and often dismissable as coincidence. Was it just a personality trait? Or another mark of her mixed blood? Either way, it irritated her, almost as much as her ears, too misshapen to be human yet lacking the natural elegance and point of the fey folk.</span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Still, those ears had their advantages and she strained them now to hear any activity ahead as she neared the outer walls of the Manse. Nothing. Her acute vision also betrayed no presence. Stayed for a moment, scanning the building, picking out points of interest and checking for any sounds or movement, but there was only silence. Happy enough that she was alone she carried out a quick but thorough close inspection of the gate and wall, noting a possible point of ingress. She looked back behind her, true to his word Wulf and the remainder of the company were about thirty feet behind. They would be hidden to most but Yarlae picked them out with little difficulty. She made her way back down the slope, rejoining them;</span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Nothing, '' she confirmed. “It’s quiet as the grave up there. The main gate is barred but there is a small door higher up above the wall that we should be able to reach with that.” she pointed at the coiled rope at Markas’s waist. The main tower seems to be at the back of the complex, I couldn't see if it was easily reachable from outside. I imagine we’ll be able to determine that from the top of the wall.”</span></span></p><p data-tts-block-id="40pkfbiub6wl1uhdmr1" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Wulf nodded. “Let's get to it then”. </span></span></p><span data-tts-block-id="hizzvqf4gv9l1uhdmts" data-tts-multiple="true" id="docs-internal-guid-de20b7dc-7fff-c9f6-21ca-b1fc47e2efd7"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-39212416916448314372022-03-27T09:48:00.000-07:002022-03-27T09:48:16.573-07:00What Price Victory?<span id="docs-internal-guid-b752787f-7fff-56e5-0c84-91fba67c6b94"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Conclave posts, like buses eh? Nothing for ages and then two at once! As I alluded to last time round, after having my say on the state of the rules I'm going to talk about the models today. And the PRICE of those models. Run for cover!</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's going to be a balanced and reasoned piece though (honest) with arguments both for and against the pricing strategy (although there are some examples that are just too egregious to defend). Remember, above all this is just writing practice for me, trying to get back into the habit after much time in the wilderness. I might even finish Cultwar one day (still doing better than George RR Martin is on WOW) </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So, the main argument, the main point of contention: Warhammer/Games Workshop is too expensive. Now this IS a relative point. After all if you are wealthy (which I most certainly am NOT) then it may well be a cost that you can more easily dismiss. A more relevant question I believe would be, Is GW good value?: So that, by and large, is what I am going to discuss, as I said, with points for and against. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Z2z36l-byPlQsMsWh-2zIaqkpygrabS-ryy516NZSN5xDF2x_NgnW3K_ZIRYtI1G6Gj0Ou9k_x5P3oQym8l7xef4tQMLWYDUzoI-fUnjWjDSQYxlsmoMifHFzJJd7wOnEDaeTshi6w7Gq_Tm-TSn4wphfwPsKixMIp7m3rz2XX-fAHP1X7FcdLxukw/s680/peasant.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="680" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Z2z36l-byPlQsMsWh-2zIaqkpygrabS-ryy516NZSN5xDF2x_NgnW3K_ZIRYtI1G6Gj0Ou9k_x5P3oQym8l7xef4tQMLWYDUzoI-fUnjWjDSQYxlsmoMifHFzJJd7wOnEDaeTshi6w7Gq_Tm-TSn4wphfwPsKixMIp7m3rz2XX-fAHP1X7FcdLxukw/s320/peasant.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><br /><h4 style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>1: The Pricing Strategy. </b></span></h4><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We all know that not all sprues are equal. A teeny character sprue can cost the same as a whole unit of ten models. This is because Games Workshop, when calculating pricing, factors in the amount that will be sold. Put basically, you will likely only have one of a character in an army whereas you may have multiples of a given unit a character might be tied to a subfaction. Therefore in order to make back production costs (which include design and tooling and materials and packaging) they charge more for the models that they will sell less of. Seems logical, but then there are exceptions that just don't seem to make sense. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Flayed Ones: £32.50 for ONE SPRUE of five monopose models: Putting aside for one second the HORRIBLE design of these models (forever labelled Fiddly Ones), the price is scandalous. It seems to be the standard these days, after all units of 5 of the new Aspect Warriors are the same price, but at least they are multiple sprues with options. 5 Flayed Ones is completely pointless. Useless, nothing but cannon fodder. The unit size is 5 to 20. 20 would be pretty effective in a game. Shame they would cost £130! Absolutely scandalous and unforgivable, this is some of the worst value I can think of when it comes to GW. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6KzvCPzaPuM2CkZftVr4mHLtuZ4LyqUpRHjHe-KQOSAUEDGAykToNbAU9gCBA7Jvu84Z5mC2DYr1emcvEDdMYoj08X-ouTR0pksRKhw6gWxcpkK1QLboimlKVmPk_dLnkv48_0ye-XQbmyod30QG1OyQaiybWtaW0S4k39GIl0Xq7XeYqWHQ95d6ATw/s934/flayed%20ones.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="934" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6KzvCPzaPuM2CkZftVr4mHLtuZ4LyqUpRHjHe-KQOSAUEDGAykToNbAU9gCBA7Jvu84Z5mC2DYr1emcvEDdMYoj08X-ouTR0pksRKhw6gWxcpkK1QLboimlKVmPk_dLnkv48_0ye-XQbmyod30QG1OyQaiybWtaW0S4k39GIl0Xq7XeYqWHQ95d6ATw/s320/flayed%20ones.webp" width="219" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">£35 AND they suck to make. Double insult</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p>OK, deep breath, I promised this wouldn't be ranty and it would be balanced. Let's have a 'For' </span><p></p><br /><h4 style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>2: Bang for your Buck. </b></span></h4><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The sprues are JAM packed compared to days of yore. The old Cadian Sprue, (still available) has gaps you can fit your fingers through (though the sprue is rubbish as a knuckle duster). By comparison the engineering and tooling that GW uses these days is such that sprues are jam packed with so much on them that it can actually have the adverse effect of finding individual pieces quite difficult! So it could be argued that the new kits, which contain many more parts, actually represent a comparable value even after considering the increased price. Of course there are a couple of caveats. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">: It's just alternate loadouts, unless you magnetise you won't use them all</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">: This problem is just exacerbated when you buy multiples, it's cost saving by GW but you aren't really reaping the benefits. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfr8o2Ll-9nd23c6t1yGIrbEJjpS1JY_K49TMexkEHn5GcgtYJGtQ_KVZDy-HvkBHGsm7qVsq1vnB2auOQqRwjBzneugv0T_zoiuxks5ZHaz7n8_ZEc57XbxaTLTeHM_PhGpTaIdhoMYbse-o6A1CwAyoSAy5AznBzZ0Pm17see4-mKdGHCNMK_TbOQ/s950/cadian%20sprue.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="950" data-original-width="920" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfr8o2Ll-9nd23c6t1yGIrbEJjpS1JY_K49TMexkEHn5GcgtYJGtQ_KVZDy-HvkBHGsm7qVsq1vnB2auOQqRwjBzneugv0T_zoiuxks5ZHaz7n8_ZEc57XbxaTLTeHM_PhGpTaIdhoMYbse-o6A1CwAyoSAy5AznBzZ0Pm17see4-mKdGHCNMK_TbOQ/s320/cadian%20sprue.webp" width="310" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spot the Difference<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Still, it's worth mentioning. To balance this out a bit the new stuff is also way more detailed and well engineered than the old kits with way less mould lines. </span></p><br /><h4 style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>3: Price rises on OLD Kits.</b> </span></h4><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whilst new kits costing more and having way more parts or detail is one thing. Something that is far more difficult to accept is price rises on old kits. Some of them, through various price 'adjustments' and content cuts (halving the amount of models whilst implementing a modest price cut of 20% or so - Dire Avengers, we are looking at you) are far worse value than when they were first released and are pretty damn ropey prospects now. A few examples. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">12 Khorne Berzerkers. £32.50 Pretty Sure these released at £20 for TWENTY</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">10 Catachan Jungle Fighters for £21.50. Again I think these were £20 for 20. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and these models, yeah, they haven't aged well...</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi01-Iu9cTbNeOdxpB62pMUS0i5eK0ctZCqWyd9O3y36509l0Sd3JY9VrLAbFT3jLKep8qtUkwai7x6sQSW2-4ZsDHsUZWh7_W4pqTldntJaMVqmJplESCQYRbbal7KQAJBo0VkVof21MfiaOXrGIgyTynKr47bba2EDjJKACMiUPRB0ENJ1_Ra1M4vPA/s950/99120105040_JungleFightersNEW_01.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="950" data-original-width="920" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi01-Iu9cTbNeOdxpB62pMUS0i5eK0ctZCqWyd9O3y36509l0Sd3JY9VrLAbFT3jLKep8qtUkwai7x6sQSW2-4ZsDHsUZWh7_W4pqTldntJaMVqmJplESCQYRbbal7KQAJBo0VkVof21MfiaOXrGIgyTynKr47bba2EDjJKACMiUPRB0ENJ1_Ra1M4vPA/s320/99120105040_JungleFightersNEW_01.webp" width="310" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of course the Emperor still loves you, just maybe a bit less than the newer models is all. </td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now the thing about plastics is they ARE expensive in the terms of tooling and engineering, so the upfront costs are high, but the actual material costs are CHEAP when compared to the metal of old days. This is one of the reasons that the cost is calculated on how ubiquitous the unit is as I have detailed above. The model needs to make back the cost of the tool. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But these old models made back their cost AGES ago. The material cost is pennies so these are the price raises that I find particularly difficult to justify. No more bangs. Just more bucks. For example, Land Raiders are £65 now. That kit is over twenty years old. It was a landmark kit for its time and still holds up but costs nearly double the cost it was at release. (I am aware that the options have been rolled in though). </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Or consider the Stompa. That's not held up as well in my opinion and now costs £80. It's exactly the same kit that was released at £50. Nothing added, the box might have changed but that's it. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">OK another 'For', admittedly with caveats.</span></p><br /><h4 style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>4: Production costs have increased.</b></span></h4><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now this IS undeniable, EVERYTHING has gone up. Shipping, material, production, resources and utilities, EVERYTHING has increased in cost. However, GW recently reported record profits and in their financial reports we can see exactly what their costs are. It is also worth noting that on top of the recent price rise that they attributed to additional costs, they also raised prices at the beginning of the pandemic, indeed some of the same products were raised in both for a double whammy. More recently, Blood Bowl, one of the more attractive options price wise, endured an increase of 20%. This at a time when cost of living increases are at a record high! </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of course one of the problems there is that Games Workshop is a publicly traded company and above all has an obligation to its shareholders not its customers. Profits must be maintained (and it should be noted that GW's profit mark up is around 35% which most companies could only dream of), dividends paid. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While we are talking about production costs let's go back in time a bit. Let's talk about Finecast. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Metal was quite an expensive and laborious medium to make models out of. Both the base material (originally lead based and then moving to a tin alloy) and the moulds (though a fraction of the cost of plastic moulds) and shipping, metal being rather heavy to transport. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So in an effort to cut costs (and it should be noted that this was stated in the accompanying articles about Finecast) they made the move to resin. Many other manufacturers already used resin, either mass production or boutique companies so we had an idea what to expect. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The resulting product was so poor that 'Failcast' became the accepted term. Horrific quality control and casting resulted in models with defects, bubbles and mould release on the racks. It was so bad that GW bought out Liquid Greenstuff (another terrible product) so that the customers could fix the product. However, it still melted in the heat. It was an abomination and frankly an insult to hobbyists. Finecast is a better product these days but man, it was rough back in the day. I detested working with it. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaBCwUHEl6WA6iLGa-F-97mDd23FMWig1clLwswvrmyevveBGqMicBRBO7OIkXjtVOnszA4cYseEXflpt7XLupdfinK9hmWJSGfwc15GUBquTNUGfk-0BcMuWAt42OY17QqA8VE5e_gc_FdxB8LaDUx8gmKtyNoM_uyCO8XasDPIwvkmBGRKNg2m5dsA/s804/374934-Failcast,%20Failcost,%20Finecast,%20Greenstuff,%20Humor,%20Liquid%20Green%20Stuff,%20Miscast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="804" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaBCwUHEl6WA6iLGa-F-97mDd23FMWig1clLwswvrmyevveBGqMicBRBO7OIkXjtVOnszA4cYseEXflpt7XLupdfinK9hmWJSGfwc15GUBquTNUGfk-0BcMuWAt42OY17QqA8VE5e_gc_FdxB8LaDUx8gmKtyNoM_uyCO8XasDPIwvkmBGRKNg2m5dsA/s320/374934-Failcast,%20Failcost,%20Finecast,%20Greenstuff,%20Humor,%20Liquid%20Green%20Stuff,%20Miscast.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So crap, it became a meme. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The biggest problem though? Despite GW extolling how it was being done so it would be cheaper, all the models went UP in price. The only savings being made were by GW (though to be honest this is debatable due to the return rate, likely the reason why they eventually just told the customers to fix it themselves.) </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Never forget Finecast. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Elsewhere with resin we have Forgeworld, better quality than Finecast, though FW certainly have their own quality control problems - especially with larger kits. For example, the Manta. A couple of VERY large Youtube channels ordered a Tau Manta in a contest with each other, sort of a race to see who could get it built first. When they showed off these very expensive kits they both had broken or warped parts, certainly not the showcase for the product you would think that GW would want. You would think they would be more aware. 'Hey guys this is going to be seen on the internet by a few hundred thousand people, let's make sure there are ZERO problems with it so it looks as good as possible'. These kits are NOT cheap, they should be more or less flawless. Yes, they are advanced kits, not for beginner hobbyists but you shouldn't have to fix things or resculpt details. (I still have flashbacks to trying to assemble a Sicaran tank) </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/wlCaIWX5XhQ" width="320" youtube-src-id="wlCaIWX5XhQ"></iframe></div><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So yes, cheaper production costs, much more expensive models. Ho hum. Let's try to end with one more positive shall we? </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For the record: Warcradle, for my money, has the very best resin for wargaming models. Crazy crisp and holds great detail. Shame they are shifting to plastic too. </span></p><br /><h4 style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>5: Plastic is the superior medium and is worth the extra money. </b></span></h4><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Let's face it, hard plastic is easier to work with. It's easier to cut, to convert, to modify. I still maintain that it doesn't QUITE hold the detail that resin and metal does but it is close. I actually think this is one of the reasons behind the increased scale of newer models. It's easier to detail the kits when they are a bit bigger. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is probably fair to say that GW makes the best plastic figures in the business. They invested a lot of money into the technology and it shows, I have already covered how much better the kits are compared to the ones produced ten years or so ago. With plastic you can kitbash to your heart's content (though it could be argued that it's not quite as easy as it was a few years ago due to the way that the current plastic trend is monopose kits in favour of dynamic poses but limiting where you can make cuts. The below kitbash was achieved with Aggressor body, and lots of bits from terminator kits. And some Admech bits from eBay, oh and an eviscerator from an Assault Intercessor. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBcp6c7sYazmR2WJKkw7RszfKiUYRoXrrtO0MazKfAY5X0iGCpp9yn5HLRPOkrTHtUAUmd6zz84FzVnNP3KMOVS-1SMUFgMhUNr8Lqg1s7FlYz8XHMkrWQrGmp6XPpnssxFX9L_hFkCuuyCDRFbmkD19ozsILv1PnHgKqYc07HBDbNU2DIaBhaJkHQg/s2736/277187251_702045937816827_5281806334803656001_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="2027" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBcp6c7sYazmR2WJKkw7RszfKiUYRoXrrtO0MazKfAY5X0iGCpp9yn5HLRPOkrTHtUAUmd6zz84FzVnNP3KMOVS-1SMUFgMhUNr8Lqg1s7FlYz8XHMkrWQrGmp6XPpnssxFX9L_hFkCuuyCDRFbmkD19ozsILv1PnHgKqYc07HBDbNU2DIaBhaJkHQg/s320/277187251_702045937816827_5281806334803656001_n.jpg" width="237" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An epic Gravis Captain kitbash by my mate Dan Cross </td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So let's have a look at plastic. model for model, they are probably more or less on a par with other companies (you might not want to admit it but it's true) </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Malifaux: Core box, 6-10 plastic models, £40</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Warmachine: 10 Plastic Obstructors £39</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Elder Scrolls: 8 Plastic Barrow Delve models £28</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wild West Exodus 10 Plastic Minutemen £20</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kings of War 15 Plastic Elves £22.50</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now, those kits are not all created equal but it gives us an idea. For contrast a box of 10 Intercessors which includes loads of options and extras is £36.00. So we can safely say that GW is at the higher end of the scale, but not the most expensive. Of course the difference is that for something like Malifaux that box represents your entire force, maybe you might buy another to add certain bits but it is a skirmish game, played with a dozen models or so. In comparison, those Intercessors are but a fraction of a large army, and likely the cheapest. Still, it goes to show that GW is not THAT much more expensive for the most part, that is if you are happy fielding nothing but Intercessors. Heavy Intercessors are £40 for 5. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUhZiE_cbl5qhRDSHuCjtNS0FPIH716kowQ2DLSjb96oMeg0C8yW8MZZX-eJgrERvKP2QithqObzaZun2i8eRsuqFMc1MNruVjjN8zqxUH7ox35yxUJcwdcKDxo3FV-y2HY4Zhu-1XcHiMd8zl6jLNQTjLhYDEVI2BkXiuWUAb9Un0jHWKiid9QdjESA/s920/95519-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="623" data-original-width="920" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUhZiE_cbl5qhRDSHuCjtNS0FPIH716kowQ2DLSjb96oMeg0C8yW8MZZX-eJgrERvKP2QithqObzaZun2i8eRsuqFMc1MNruVjjN8zqxUH7ox35yxUJcwdcKDxo3FV-y2HY4Zhu-1XcHiMd8zl6jLNQTjLhYDEVI2BkXiuWUAb9Un0jHWKiid9QdjESA/s320/95519-large.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half the models, more money. Bargain!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One last point: </span></p><br /><h4 style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>6: I get hundreds of hours of enjoyment for my money</b></span></h4><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is another relative one. It depends on how you hobby. Therefore you may get more value out of something than someone else. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Say for example you ONLY paint. You just like painting Citadel miniatures. Well, honestly you may well look at the cost of, let's say £60 for the new Avatar and assess it as merely a painting project. If it takes you ten hours to paint it, that's £6 an hour. Some expert painters might take four times that or more to paint, therefore bringing that cost per hour down significantly. A gamer on the other hand might just slap paint on it to field it but then might get the hours back in gaming. It's all relative. I mean you pay £15 to go see a movie a couple of hours long. BUT at the end of the day, it's just a plastic model. A painter may well be better served by getting a resin bust or boutique miniature to paint. They will invariably be cheaper. In the same way, if you just want to game you can use cheap proxies, it might not bother you and it's hardly an issue if you are not playing in a GW store or tournament. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And of course this is where things like manipulative marketing (forced scarcity and FOMO) and sales strategies can lay waste to and render chaos unto the most details of discussions about pricing. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before I go, let’s address the elephant in the room. Recasts and 3D printing. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Both of these are obviously far cheaper than buying official GW, but they are also inferior (not terrible by any means but not as good as the real McCoy). Recasts are generally identifiable and of poorer quality than official products (though as I have said FW have issues of quality themselves). </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Same for 3D printing, the cost is minimal (it can be ridiculously cheap compared to GWs products.) but again, i’ve yet to see one that was quite as good as a Citadel miniature . Maybe you just want to get an army on a table and wont care because it’s seen as a whole from three foot away, in that case it may well work for you to have a fully 3D printed army, but I don’t think the quality is there yet. It may well be in future years and GW will likely be looking over their shoulder (almost certainly the point of them diversifying the ‘Brand’ over recent years.) but it’s a consideration for the future, for now Citadel miniatures (though not all of them) are still the benchmark. To be fair though, I imagine most 3D prints would beat those Catachans. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So that’s what I think, but what do YOU think? Sound off below!</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">-AL</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /><br /></span></div>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-28056284055136946912022-03-27T03:08:00.003-07:002022-03-27T03:08:44.369-07:00 We need to talk about Warhammer 40,000<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s been a long time since I wrote anything for this blog. Hell, it’s been a long time since I wrote anything at ALL. So consider this an exercise, a chance to stretch my literary muscles, though not in prose, a chance to get some words down and some thoughts. Even should no body bother to read it, it's decent practice, right?</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-21648700-7fff-8901-bd22-9165d2c98d0c"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Firstly before we get into this examination of the game in its current state, let me apologise briefly for the title. I DETEST phrases like ‘we need to talk about’ or ‘This has happened and we are here for it’ reeking as they do of millennial righteousness, but genuinely i feel this is the right title for the article, 40K needs to be talked about, and I’ve decided to say my piece. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A little background. I first got into 40k 27 years ago in 2nd Edition. Since then i have played every edition apart from 5th. I’ve seen the major transitions in the rule set and seen the game evolve and change over the years. I have to say, although the core ruleset is strong at the moment, the game is in its worst state in years, perhaps a decade. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6hMy9PbmFQ55cY3cJxk5exyMUsmDVilQ6w6Yri2wm32goq7So_xBYfxd6c5iIHfiaaJxIfr9Y9_wVYTtRat8BPXkkJubRqM2g4T8MQ3_o7er-7sS_ETcKwM_TapiOsMQMjpyHXXUEw5Ej4jK_-eVl7QwVY24NDXojNIW7bxEGP-jOc604gdtpMEzYVg/s492/531ca1683e6cc8851800d31f227382b0_full.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="492" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6hMy9PbmFQ55cY3cJxk5exyMUsmDVilQ6w6Yri2wm32goq7So_xBYfxd6c5iIHfiaaJxIfr9Y9_wVYTtRat8BPXkkJubRqM2g4T8MQ3_o7er-7sS_ETcKwM_TapiOsMQMjpyHXXUEw5Ej4jK_-eVl7QwVY24NDXojNIW7bxEGP-jOc604gdtpMEzYVg/s320/531ca1683e6cc8851800d31f227382b0_full.jpeg" width="234" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first ever codex... aah those were the days</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I reiterate, the core ruleset is FINE. I would make a few tweaks (I am a longtime advocate of alternate activations) here and there, but otherwise I think the base of the game is in a good state. I like the way it is scored (though i think secondaries should be randomised and secret). I think morale should play a bigger part in the game, there needs to be some kind of penalty to falling out of combat for sure and i think there are too many strategems but otherwise i think its pretty good for the kind of game GW is aiming for. The main problems come with the way they have proceeded since then. We are talking of course about the Codexes and Codex Creep. About bloating and basing an entire sales model around Meta Chasers and endless supplements or Wargaming DLC as i like to call it. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I think it was 8th edition that heralded the shit of GWs attention to the hardcore competitive scene. I can’t be one hundred percent sure as i’m not part of that playerbase myself being much more inclined to a nice narrative casual game, but certainly the arrival of the Primaris seemed to coincide with an emphasis on acknowledging and indeed, embracing the meta. Since then it has been rinse and repeat, release codex, sell overpowered models, nerf said models (I still chuckle at the memory of all the Feirros plus 3 x Replusor Executioners castles that were unceremoniously nullified shortly after they became such a staple sight in every game.) This is a sales tactic that has endured since and only grown more egregious over the years with successive Warhammer Community articles extolling the potency of whatever the new hotness is, hyping up the meta chasers into a wallet emptying frenzy. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXlqpJP3DTgMNkXti099TUmHIff1ZIDXzo6Uv468HEPjvwMhcFdSN-4lX-tBSDvI1evDfoPZb2dmTi5gNoSpmEPt7rFA3NkeMmRiA4p9Y9zM09oZ2Gsmpv6cPae5GbIQSRuPEsEVc5E7VhNojMJ520YvZqXkBReCO9CsGAzfmECgUF3eYzeYRgSHYV8Q/s754/repulsor-executioner-terrain-piece.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="754" data-original-width="612" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXlqpJP3DTgMNkXti099TUmHIff1ZIDXzo6Uv468HEPjvwMhcFdSN-4lX-tBSDvI1evDfoPZb2dmTi5gNoSpmEPt7rFA3NkeMmRiA4p9Y9zM09oZ2Gsmpv6cPae5GbIQSRuPEsEVc5E7VhNojMJ520YvZqXkBReCO9CsGAzfmECgUF3eYzeYRgSHYV8Q/s320/repulsor-executioner-terrain-piece.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you ever did this you are a total prick and I hate you. </td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">And something else that has become a repetitive release rhetoric is editions. How many times now are we to hear, This is the last edition, the best edition, the definitive edition? The core rules are ever more streamlined as they try to make 40k a fast flowing competitive game rather than the narrative battle game of yore, yet the army rules are growing more and more impenetrable and convoluted not to mention horrendously worded in an attempt to completely mitigate rules lawyering. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Youtube stalwart Winters refused to even review the Genestealer Cult codex so frustrated was he with the rules. (vid below) That’s not a great advertisement for the health of the game considering that he BUILT his channel on codex reviews (though I greatly enjoy his battle reports). Nowadays every unit has multiple special rules, many of which are variations of rules from other Codices. The great thing about universal special rules was, they were UNIVERSAL, now not only do you have to know all the special rules for your own army, you need to have an INTIMATE understanding of all the special rules (and strategems) of your foes (Sun Tzu’s Art of War would suggest this is a good idea anyway) you can't just get away with a surface knowledge. Everything just seems to require so much damn effort now. Maybe I'm just getting old. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/UlJfSIMq_zI" width="320" youtube-src-id="UlJfSIMq_zI"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m not alone though, I was talking with a fellow veteran hobbyist a while back and we were discussing how we tend to lean towards skirmish games these days. Games like Killteam, Warcry or Underworlds are so much easier to arrange, get to the table and play (though they have their own DLC sure enough). 40k with its plethora of different rules (i still don’t know all the different terrain rules), updates, FAQs, errata, points revisions and auxiliary supplements, (which can splinter the rules for a given army over up to half a dozen books) not to mention the crusade books and mission supplements mean that 40k is FAR from a bring and battle game these days. Indeed it’s practically a military operation just to arrange and conduct a game. There will be those who say, ‘well just play open play then’ but i don't want to play ‘do anything you want-hammer’ i want to play WARHAMMER, a nice friendly fun game of Warhammer 40,000 without it being a massive pain in the arse. (The recent Tempest card pack helps with this but is little more than a patch)</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Could be worse, I could be a Chaos Space Marine player. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Which brings us to the next point, aside from codexes being needlessly complicated, codex creep makes everything insanely unbalanced to the point where early codicies like Necrons honestly don't even feel like they are from this edition. Current books have loads of damage reduction rules and things that ignore invuln saves, in fact they are practically obligatory in modern army books, something else that is getting REALLY old. On top of that you have so many stratagems that are meant to add tactics to the game but really don't do anything of the sort, being that the vast majority of them are copies of other faction Stratagems. Some are completely ubiquitous (i don't think I EVER saw an Astartes based game where Transhuman Physiology wasn’t used) and it’s all just designed for unit eradication, maximum carnage on both sides, mutually assured destruction. Space Marines got two wounds and even though they could have made it happen with one sentence in an FAQ, GW deigned not to grant the Traitors the same luxury. Even now in the wake of Adepticon, they are marvelling over the fact that Legionaries WILL get 2 wounds. Who cares? You could have done that MONTHS ago. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It makes little difference as most weapons are damage 2 or 3 now anyway right?</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ5uZgoCLpgV2fiXEnZwkUeQ1gY3KsFWkFUFWDPStEk90Qfb4X-ztnTSQu7j4bIMHNm86dEDn1YzR3fa7uZbkUBX0WoMlTLFfhhSIk1--_tnnPLIg5dtmKXLJgGNEUJ49VreYZwfbaaRidcm_v3OCvuMbxXkf1EmnXlfuyZCVOboyeqWMIO5Ksdx51IA/s740/GW-Previews-chaos-space-marines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="429" data-original-width="740" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ5uZgoCLpgV2fiXEnZwkUeQ1gY3KsFWkFUFWDPStEk90Qfb4X-ztnTSQu7j4bIMHNm86dEDn1YzR3fa7uZbkUBX0WoMlTLFfhhSIk1--_tnnPLIg5dtmKXLJgGNEUJ49VreYZwfbaaRidcm_v3OCvuMbxXkf1EmnXlfuyZCVOboyeqWMIO5Ksdx51IA/s320/GW-Previews-chaos-space-marines.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">REJOICE peons as GW sees fit to FINALLY address your faction. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And thus shifts the meta once more. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So where are we now? Do we wait till tenth edition for GW to yet again fix the game, with promises that THIS time it is definitive, THIS time they have learned their lessons and delivered an edition that will not be a bloated broken ruin in the space of 18 months? Presumably they are already playtesting 10th. Might I suggest that they actually listen to the playtesters? Same goes with Codexes. Here's a thought, if the gaming community is breaking your book within two weeks of it coming out, leading to you having to make changes to fix it two weeks later, then you DIDN'T playtest it properly. It’s ok, it’s only <strike>£30</strike> £32.50 for a codex that is practically out of date as soon as it's released. They should make the rules section out of that paper they use in sticker albums, then you can stick the inevitable patches and balance errata straight into the book. Don’t even get me started on Seasons. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAEJkOvqilOBjeyxE8tnJtM3_M4klFBWNu2wu72lhNUBImx05GfsR8s_-HFQup4ELwOa54fKDdHwT_TmDLNl1OwIHdduwO5BW-kEWv-JBhlQC6521v6WLmQiDyC8Rozzo_5NGb7wDI_ryJjxHQg0Wt8ejZN3gOtFQNfDMUUfDgZ4oyn_uqCciNivSWmg/s1000/HyR3hv42JL82VsqV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAEJkOvqilOBjeyxE8tnJtM3_M4klFBWNu2wu72lhNUBImx05GfsR8s_-HFQup4ELwOa54fKDdHwT_TmDLNl1OwIHdduwO5BW-kEWv-JBhlQC6521v6WLmQiDyC8Rozzo_5NGb7wDI_ryJjxHQg0Wt8ejZN3gOtFQNfDMUUfDgZ4oyn_uqCciNivSWmg/s320/HyR3hv42JL82VsqV.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Warahmmer Seasons: Because the one thing you definitely need is more books to bring to the table. </td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This shit never happened in 2nd edition you know, that was REALLY stable. But then this isn't the same game. You know how many entries were in the second edition Tyranid codex? A dozen. It’s three times that many now. Second edition was far from perfect but it was a very characterful game, where truly crazy stuff would happen, a far cry from the delete-fest that we have now. I find myself watching second edition battle reports most often these days and find them incredibly enjoyable, the people playing them seem to have more fun too. Codex creep wasn’t a massive issue, there was only one supplement needed to play the full game, Dark Millenium (there were cool campaign boxes with cardboard scenery but they were JUST campaigns, no hidden special rules for armies to make them viable). A simpler time, maybe a better time? Or is it just rose tinted nostalgia? </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anyway, that’s about it from me for now. Next article (whenever it might be, i’m going to take a look at pricing. Hopefully it will be less of a rant than this, in any event it should be more balanced than 40k is at the moment. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">-AL</span></span></p><br /></span>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-21947199794240763552021-11-21T06:51:00.000-08:002022-03-27T16:42:45.408-07:00Brotherhood of the Yellow King: Cultwar: Chapter Seven<p dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-d718c5f5-7fff-312d-985a-97d474246ce8">It was dark in the depths of the storage areas under the starport, the wan light left most areas in deep shadow and visibility was extremely low. This did not present an issue for Jerord McKernze however. He had been born and raised in the main hive on Cyrast, he hadn’t known bright illumination before he was nearly a man, hadn’t seen the sun till he was recruited into the ranks of the Astra Militarum at the age of 16. </p><br><p dir="ltr">So, though the environment was that of shadows and gloom, he could see almost as well as he could in full light. Certainly he could see well enough to track his quarry. The Genestealer’s blood glistened on the ground, sporadic patches providing the trail that he now followed. Though injured the creature was still moving fast, evidenced by the distance between the splashes of ichor. However, it had been wounded severely and the blood was plentiful. McKernze had tracked the Genestealer down three levels, determined not to let the xenos escape. Now, at last, he sensed the hunt was coming to an end. </p><br><p dir="ltr">He moved quickly but silently in a half crouch, his years of training in covert operations coming to the fore. His ears strained to hear over clanging chains and whirring machinery and fans, circulating the stagnant air over and over again. His Hellgun was held ready to blast any attacker but he was all too aware that even wounded, the Genestealer could strike at a speed that beggared human understanding, if it came to close quarters combat he would have to rely on his borrowed Tanith blade. </p><br><p dir="ltr">The pools of blood were becoming more frequent, the creature was slowing. McKernze slowed as well. Most likely the Genestealer had ceased it’s flight and holed up somewhere, either in its actual den or an improvised lair. Mckernze located the next splash of blood, in between two chest high crates. He peered into the shadows, even with his adapted eyesight he could see very little. He was so preoccupied with looking ahead that he didn’t see the shape approaching from behind… </p><br><p dir="ltr">However a life in a hive attuned more than the eyes, his ears pricked and he whirled, his finger on the Hellgun's trigger. His target yelped and dived to the side. McKernze frowned, Genestealers didn’t yelp. He looked down and flicked on the light on his weapon, stealth was no longer a viable strategy anyway. The beam shone out, straight into the face of Rosanna Valetin. </p><br><p dir="ltr">“Throne! I nearly shot you!” he breathed, Valentin squinted against the light, </p><br><p dir="ltr">“Sergeant? What’s going on? I woke up a few minutes ago, heard a noise, came to see what it was. “</p><br><p dir="ltr">McKernze frowned again, he thought he had been quieter than that. He was slipping. It was no surprise, he was tired beyond measure, pushing himself beyond the limits of endurance on this fool's vendetta. </p><br><p dir="ltr">“Are you ok?” He asked, ignoring her question. “The ‘stealer, it grabbed you, we thought you were dead.” He switched the light off and held his gun in one hand, reaching down with the other. </p><br><p dir="ltr">Valetin took the proffered hand and McKernze hauled her to her feet. She rubbed the back of her neck, wincing. </p><br><p dir="ltr">“I’m not sure, I'm a bit fuzzy. It dragged me across the roof and I remember struggling against it, I guess my combat harness broke.” She looked down at herself self consciously as if to confirm the harness was absent. “I don't remember anything after that. I guess I fell and got lucky, maybe fell through a vent or something.” She looked shaken, her eyes were glazed slightly and her speech was a little sluggish. There was something very somnambulant about her manner. McKerzne bought her up to speed quickly. </p><br><p dir="ltr">“The bastard ripped apart most of the squad, I sent the survivors back down to the surface. They’re hopefully gone by now but do you want to follow them? We wounded the Stealer, I'm going to find it and finish it off. </p><br><p dir="ltr">Something flashed across her eyes, so quick he wasn't even sure he’d seen it in the gloom. He couldn’t place the expression. It passed and she shook her head. </p><br><p dir="ltr">“No, I'll stay here with you Sarge, I'd never make it down there. I’m not even armed.” She looked down at herself and around as if a rifle might magically appear. </p><br><p dir="ltr">“I don’t have any spares, didn’t expect to find anyone”, McKernze confessed ruefully, he pulled a grenade from his webbing and a combat knife from his waist, passing them to her, she accepted them with a grateful nod, stashing the grenade in her pocket and holding the knife in a reverse grip, readly to slash or defend as needed. </p><br><p dir="ltr">“Keep low and keep quiet and let me know if you hear anything,” McKernze instructed. “I'm following a trail and I think we are getting close.” He turned, set his Hellgun to ready and moved off, following the blood once more. </p><br><p dir="ltr">The creature was definitely slowing. He half fancied that he might come across its corpse lying on the floor, that would be an Emperor granted boon he thought. He glanced behind himself periodically to make sure Valetin was still with him. Something troubled him about her, he wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was just shock, not many survived being that close to a Genestealer. He thought of Ayris, poor Jheeta Ayris, and his expression darkened. She would survive, she was tough. And if not, well, she would be avenged, make no mistake about that. </p><br><p dir="ltr">He stopped, holding up a hand out of habit though he wasn’t sure Valetin would see it in the gloom, her eyes weren’t as accustomed to his were to seeing in the dark. He cursed himself for not thinking of this in advance but he heard her draw to a halt behind him regardless. He turned, Hellgun raised up. </p><br><p dir="ltr">“The trail, it’s gone. Stay here a moment, I'm going to scout ahead a little, I can see better than you. Stay alert, just in case.”</p><br><p dir="ltr">He moved off, crouched, once more hunting alone. He scanned his environment quickly. He was reaching the outer edge of this level, indeed he could just about make out the howling wind. A docking bay was open somewhere, he supposed. Had the Xenos gone that way, hoping for escape outside the facility? It had lost a lot of blood, surely it couldn’t keep moving much longer. </p><br><p dir="ltr">Indeed it seemed the Genestealer had opted for liberty over sanctuary as Mckernze spotted a small splash of blood at the end of a line of crates, heading towards the bays. He headed in that direction, rounding a corridor spotted with drops of the alien ichor and came to Docking bay 19 Theta. The bay was vacant, docking arms hanging idle and loading servitors nestled in their alcoves, dormant. Rain came in from the open bay doors, dripping from hanging chains. McKernze breathed in deep. Even tainted by industrial pollution the fresh air was welcome after suffering stagnant recycled oxygen, he had had enough of that in the Hive to last a lifetime. </p><br><p dir="ltr">Now, where was his quarry? It didn’t take him long to pick up the trail, and as he headed over to the centre of the landing bay he noticed something different. </p><br><p dir="ltr">The Genestealer’s blood here was presented as a smear, a stain that streaked across the numeral designation of the bay. The alien’s formidable strength had failed at last and it had had to crawl or drag itself to continue. It appeared that it weakness had been temporary however as the streak ended abruptly. Nonetheless McKernze was sure that the Genestealer was somewhere in the bay. It was much lighter in this area, Landing Floods shining bright, there were few places to hide. </p><br><p dir="ltr">A cursory examination picked up the blood trail, smaller than ever leading towards the open bay door. McKernze stopped for a moment as the thought that the creature might have healed it’s wound and that accounted for the diminishing trail as opposed to a lack of life fluid. No, though they were horrifically potent entities, they were still living creatures, still organic. Nothing could lose that much blood and recover, not quickly anyway. </p><br><p dir="ltr">As he neared the entrance, rain spattered his face. He savoured it, even as he scanned for his prey. A nearby maintenance gantry caught his attention, or more so the scattered containers strewn across it. Something had been through there, He shouldered his weapon and mantled the obstacle. A spot of blood that most would have missed proved his judgement correct. The gantry stretched ahead and there, a vent, ripped through. There was a shape inside. His keen eyes made out the Genestealer’s outline and he raised the Hellgun to his shoulder. </p><br><p dir="ltr">NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! The scream of denial and anguish was punctuated by a searing pain as something landed on his back and a knife stabbed into him. It was wrenched out and plunged back in again and McKernze roared and spun around trying to dislodge his mystery assailant, though he suspected from the scream exactly who it was. The blade ripped through the meat of his shoulder and upper arm as it exited and he felt his right arm go limp as muscle and tendons were severed. The Hellgun fell from nerveless fingers and he slumped to the floor as Rosanna Valetin rolled and came up in a crouch between him and the Genestealer. Her face was a rictus mask of fury and hate. </p><br><p dir="ltr">“I won’t let you kill it”. She leered. Her eyes were ablaze yet also somehow glazed, as if the fire lay behind smeared glass. She held the knife in front of her, her mouth set in a vicious snarl. McKernze tried feebly to push himself up with his left arm. He could feel blood pouring down his back, soaking his combat vest. He managed to get to his feet, his useless right arm hanging by his side. His Hellgun lay on the floor in a pool of blood, his blood. Before he could even think about grabbing it, Valetin pounced. </p><br><p dir="ltr">One armed, bleeding heavily, half conscious, Mckernze did the only thing he could do. He counter charged, knocking Valetin off balance, even as her blade penetrated his side. They both crashed to the ground and Valetin’s grip was loosened on her knife. McKernze twisted, roaring in agony as the blade ripped through his skin but he managed to wrench the knife from Valetin’s grip. He came to his knees as Valetin also rose, the wind temporarily knocked from her. </p><br><p dir="ltr">“Rosanna, why?” He breathed. “What happened to you?” He clambered to his feet and crashed against the gantry as he stumbled, his flailing legs caught the Hellgun and he winced as the weapon went clattering off the gantry, disappearing into the darkness below. For a moment he leaned heavily on the railing, trying to maintain his footing. Valetin regarded him with cold wide eyes. Her gaze was rabid, the countenance of the insane zealot. </p><br><p dir="ltr">“It is holy, you cannot understand, you are a non believer. Outsider!” She hissed. “It is beyond you all, you are like insects, fodder, i have SEEN the true way!” She stepped to the side, placing herself between McKernze and the Genestealer. McKernze barely noticed, slumping to his knees. His vision was fogging and he was growing cold. Even though he had disarmed Valetin it seemed his hunt was going to end in failure. He prayed for forgiveness from the Emperor. </p><br><p dir="ltr">“Look at you,” she sneered, “dying on your knees, dying without knowing the light, the love of the Yellow King. You were never really alive, scrabbling in the dark, basking in lies and ignorance.” WE will endure, we will rise, we will encompass the stars, we will be EVERYTHING. Will be FOREVER. You will die here, pitifully, pathetically.” </p><br><p dir="ltr">McKernze couldn’t disagree. That did indeed seem to be his fate. He brought his hand up in a futile gesture of denial and crashed to the floor, face down in a pool of his own blood. Valetin grunted in disdain and turned around, walking over to the Genestealer, it looked at her balefully and her expression softened to one of pure devotion and love. </p><br><p dir="ltr">That expression swiftly turned to horror as a grenade landed at her feet. She barely had time to register it before the cooked explosive detonated, ripping her and the Genestealer apart in a storm of shrapnel. The grenade she had in her pocket then detonated, the double explosion wreaking further ruin and catching McKernze in a searing blast. The gantry collapsed and McKernze, barely conscious, tumbled into the abyss amongst a storm of burning twisted metal. </p><br><br>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-70082823697863661512021-01-22T16:36:00.000-08:002021-01-22T16:36:06.957-08:00Brotherhood of the Yellow King: Cultwar - Chapter SIX <span id="docs-internal-guid-45b9d1b9-7fff-16f3-e767-de08c93e6a70"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">VI</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The gunfire came from nowhere. Ulo and Ulk threw themselves to the ground with panicked yelps as bullets impacted all around them, only their size saving them from being struck. Neither was Drakensson spared, the Squat ducking as the piping he was proceeding along sparked with ricocheting rounds.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The sudden attack had come from above. They were pinned. The Canids sought shelter behind some crates, and blind-fired in the direction of the ambush, back into the upper levels of the skeletal surrounding buildings. It was a trap, and they had walked right into it.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Suddenly the situation worsened yet further as figures emerged from the shadows, bearing a variety of ill maintained weapons. Garanthe could swear that they had not been there a moment ago. Around a dozen of them advanced, firing speculative shots in the gloom. They were closing in on the pinned Squat and Canids. Seven more emerged from near the Inquisitor's position, rising from grating in the floor or swinging down from overhead piping and walkways.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Garanthe loosed shots back at the approaching group, blasting a few from their feet with his trusty shotgun. He was suddenly caught cold by yet another ambush and was forced to fall back by some cargo containers. He fired twice more before ducking back and reloading, thumbing shells into the chamber with practiced, calm efficiency.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dolf charged forward with a yell, brandishing his Powersword. felling two cultists with precision shots. He swayed to the side as another attacker swung wildly with a sparking Power Maul. Dolf tried to bring his weapon round but the cultist was too close and he could only parry as the maul was brought down in a vicious downward blow. He darted back to make some room but the cultist's eyes gleamed cruelly and the maul lashed out again and swatted the pistol from the ex guardsman's grasp. A close combat affair it was to be then.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Garanthe surveyed the situation. Almost all of the Inquisitorial Team were pinned; Autogun fire chattered from above, punctuated by high powered rifle shots, preventing the Canid mutants from moving or supporting the isolated Drakensson who had a cultist with a battered flamer closing on him. Garanthe himself was locked in a firefight, conserving as much ammo as possible while still keeping the foe at bay.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Redirection of the fusilade from above signalled the arrival of Andrukas and Deathshead. The addition of the Inquisitorial Crusader and Deathwatch Space Marine in Power Armour altered the balance of the battle drastically. The Astartes' Boltgun killed half a dozen cultists in seconds, figures tumbling from the upper reaches. Andrukas reaped a mighty toll, his Power Sword steaming as cultist blood sizzled on the energized blade. The Canids and Squat rallied. The Tide turned.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yet the respite was momentary. As if responding to an unseen signal even more cultists swarmed from every conceivable recess and shadow like a swarm of insects, their extra arms adding to the allegory.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These newest arrivals toted heavier weaponry, one fired a Webber at the Crusader, enveloping him in strong, sticky strands. Andrukas roared in frustration as his arm was trapped by his own shield, unable to swing his sword, rendered impotent. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">High powered mining lasers cut through the piping where the Canids were cowering. They returned ineffectual fire once again but they were rapidly running out of sanctuary. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Drakensson was backed into a corner, facing the Cultist with the flamer. The abhumans faced off against each other and the cultist snarled maliciously as it depressed the trigger. The Flamer sputtered but failed to ignite and before the Squat could respond the cultist howled in frustration and leapt backwards into the shadows, melting away.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Autofire from above suddenly cut down Dolf, the Guard Veteran toppling to the floor without a sound. Ulk and Ulo braved the pinning fire, the Canids scampering for their lives as the cover they had been sheltering behind was obliterated. Through the Emperor's Divine Grace or pure luck they survived, their diminutive stature making them difficult to hit. Ulk started scaling the objective building as his brother held off encroaching cultists. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Andrukas was besieged by foes, jabbing with their knives at the stricken crusader, trying to find a chink in his armour. Bellowing his hatred he tried to use his mass alone against his attackers but it was futile, he was being swarmed, it was only a matter of time. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Deathshead had moved off. A walking one man army, he stalked towards the biggest concentration of cultists, blasting away with his Bolt Pistol. The mass reactive shells obliterated the hybrids to bloody gobbets of flesh. The Deathwatch Marine was vengeance incarnate and his wrath spoke bloody ruin. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Garanthe was forced back, step by step, by yet another surge of cultist hybrids, these truly were abominations, sporting utterly alien limbs, and melee weapons that puslated and writhed with a life of their own. Their faces held not the faintest trace of humanity, plated and fanged. Xenos filth. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So preoccupied with the danger before him was he, that he failed to check his surroundings. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">His life was almost forfeit. Claws flashed in the dark and only some sixth sense kept him from being decapitated by the lunging creature. Genestealer! No hybrid mutation this, a purestrain monster, Tyranid vanguard organism. A deadly foe. Dropping his shotgun and drawing his Powersword, the Inquisitor was forced into the most deadly of duels. </span></p><br /></span>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-53814561992530887912019-08-27T00:55:00.000-07:002020-02-12T05:34:17.248-08:00Brotherhood of the Yellow King: Cultwar - Chapter Five V.<br />
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The rain was finally easing somewhat, though the skies remained as dour and grey as the sodden ashen earth. Garanthe removed his hat, shaking the accumulated grimy water from its surface before replacing it upon his head. He ran one hand through his short white beard and cleared his throat before addressing his team;<br />
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'Aurelius has identified our target', he began. He conjured a hololith map from a device he pulled from within the depths of his coat. The model of the nearby compound resolved before them showing towers, piping and a mass of large cargo containers and walkways. 'Here' he indicated a spot on the map, 'there is a communications array atop this structure' the indicated building was skeletal, myriad stanchions and access ladders provided a route to the top but on the whole it was open without a great deal of cover. The surrounding towers however, granted a plethora of sniping positions.'We can tap into that relay and retrieve any messages stored.' Garanthe continued, 'Emperor willing one of them will provide a clue to Alistae Carn's location.'<br />
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'Ulo, Ulk,' he continued, 'you will head forward to the array. Scout the area and eliminate any opposition. Your objective is to secure the tower, quietly. Grummond, you will circle round to the rear by this piping. Provide them cover.' The Squat paused wringing his beard for a moment and grunted his assent.<br />
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'Dolf, you'll be with me. We will take up position by these containers. Once Ulo and Ulk have given us the all clear we will move in and I will use the data thief to access and siphon the messages. Andrukas, you will accompany us but remain by the containers in all cases, we may need you to cover our escape. We all meet back here once the data is retieved. The Inquisitor switched off the map and the grid disappeared, Aurelius, I will need you <span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">to interpret the data, so</span> stay here with Deathshead until I return. Honoured Astartes, you will be our backup. Defend the Savant, he is vital to this operation.<br />
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'This was not the agreement' Deathshead rumbled. Even with the volume on his external helmet speakers lowered it still seemed terribly loud. 'I was promised engagement with the Xenos, yes?"<br />
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It was true, the whole reason that Garanthe had been granted use of the Deathwatch was that he had petitioned the venerated Ordos Watchmaster. Approaching the ancient warrior he had explained at length the nature of the Xenos threat, the importance of combating it and the glory that could be had. The Watchmaster's impassive face may as well have been carved from granite for all the expression he showed but he deigned to assign two Deathwatch Battle Brothers to the Inquisitor's resources. Deathshead was one, the other was back on the Fist of Makius. Brother Parius was an Ultramarine, but there was no really difference between the two Astartes. Garanthe found the Ultramarian warrior to be the more garrulous of the pair if anything and slightly more grounded, but that was about it. In combat they were evenly matched. Garanthe had watched them duel multiple times. Parius was the more measured and practiced of the two, a steadier and more deliberate fighter. Deathshead in contrast was unpredictable and more inventive, constantly looking to unsettle and surprise Parius, to test his Battle Brother's stout defence. Together they would be a formidable foe, he had been loathe to separate them. They were born for combat, not to be idle. <br />
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'Patience, Deathshead,' he pleaded. 'I would see us avoid engagement at this early stage. This is recon and information gathering only. You are here in case things go wrong. I pray your Battle Prowess will not be required at this time'.<br />
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'Then you shall not mind if I pray for the opposite, Inquisitor. Yes?' the Marine responded with a slight incline of his head. Garanthe didn't respond, he knew it wasn't an actual question, the inquisitive inflection was just a part of the warrior's speech pattern. The Inquisitor gestured to Dolf and they both crept down the slope leading to the compound and the sea of cargo containers. The two Canid mutants darted a quick look at the Squat and darted off in the opposite direction. Aurelius stared impassively at the disappearing figures, muttering to himself as his styli scribbled and scratched, had anyone been paying attention they would have heard him say 'Be careful Simeon'<br />
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Not far away, hidden in the upper reaches of the tower of stanchions and buttresses, wary eyes scanned the approach to the Complex through a pair of mag-noculars. Javia Wren muttered to herself and adjusted the settings on the device, improving the illumination. She could swear she had seen something, something moving, a shadow, a shape. There it was again. There was definitely something moving out there and it wasn't any native animal. She tracked the object as it ducked behind some piping and headed in her direction. The Holy Magus, he had said they would come, the infidels, the Imperium's lackeys. He had said so and so it had come to be. Of course it had, a thousand shames on her for even a moment's doubt. She lowered the Mag-nocs and reached for her Lasrifle, priming the charge. At a glance she sent Seb who had been standing patiently at her side, to signal Krysa in the opposite tower. Their ambush would be perfect. Her order's were simple; eliminate the outsiders.<br />
<br />
She remembered the moment well. She had been summoned (telepathically - there was no need for a physical message/messenger) to stand before the Holy Magus. Javia had trembled slightly as he conferred his blessings upon her. She had listened, rapt, as he told her of the invaders that were going to come. The lapdogs of the Emperor must be destroyed, he had intoned. There had already been intruders, and though they had been dealt with, there would always be more ever more heretics, unbelievers that would never know the love of the Yellow King. More enemies looking to prevent the Yellow Day and usurp His glory. The Magus's fiery rhetoric had filled her with a righteous fury. She had been chosen, he said. Chosen to defend the Brotherhood and see the Yellow King's will done. Consumed with divine purpose and pride she had selected her team and prepared her ambush.<br />
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She snarled as she raised the rifle and sighted through the scope. The interlopers would be destroyed. Nothing would interfere with the blessed Yellow Day, nothing could be allowed to. They were too close. Every sermon from the Holy Magus was more intense, more frenzied, more righteous. The galaxy was theirs, they awaited only the divine moment to strike. Nothing could stop them, nothing could prevent their ascension. Their destiny was ordained, she would lead this ambush and become favoured in the eyes of the Yellow King. This was her moment, her time. She located her target, breathed out, and pulled the trigger.<br />
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<br />DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-45799915337112006692019-06-09T12:48:00.000-07:002019-06-09T12:48:52.687-07:00Contrast - The Emperor's New Clothes?<br />
Ok so i got to try out Contrast today. My main aim was experimentation as opposed to just getting something painted and the Primaris Marine was first. I'm intending to do an old school Ultramarine army so the first thing i did was try Talassar Blue over a Grey Seer undercoat. Honestly, i was underwhelmed. I found it very blotchy and once it pulled it was very difficult to work with. The fact that the undercoat was so light it really provided a lot of 'contrast' didn't help. The paint doesn't act like a normal paint. It's like a thick glaze mixed with an ink or shade. One thing i would have liked to have done was to mix it with some medium to see if i could get it to behave <div>
differently but alas none was available. </div>
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<br /><br />I tried a variety of different techniques on the different halves of the model. One side received a carefully applied thin coat. The other side a thick one as suggested by GW. The results were disappointing. The thin side was patchy and the thick side blotchy with heavy pooling. It was here that i tried a few different things. <br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
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ONE thick coat</div>
<br /><br />First i used the capillary action on a dry brush to remove some of the pooling. Contrast cannot really be manipulated once it is on the model, because of its viscosity you will just leave marks everywhere. This made things a little better but it was still pretty uneven. <br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
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One thin coat. </div>
<br /><br />Secondly i used a second coat over the first thin one in selective areas to dark the middle of some of the panels, kind of a reverse highlighting. This worked reasonably well but the paint was still really sticky to work with. Ho hum. <br /><br /><br />Next i used some Wraithbone base paint to pre-highlight areas, kind of a manual zenithal highlight. When i went back over these areas i would get a gradient, though again it was difficult to control the gradient. This worked well in some areas and not so well in others, on the helmet it was a bit of a disaster but on the arms it was pretty good and i got a blended effect. <br /><br /><br />The last thing to do was to add some shading with a successive coat of Talassar Blue. This worked OK but in general i was still left with a fairly blotchy model, especially on the shoulder pads and leg greaves. I put a lot of this down to the undercoat though, i would be interested in how a dark undercoat with a zenithal highlight would change things. <br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
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<br /><br /><br />a bit let down by the Talassar Blue i decided to switch it up, i repainted the shoulderpad rims and chest eagle and Bolter in Wraithbone. I then hit the Bolter with (2nd Ed FTW) a thick coat of Blood Angels Red. This preformed more as i would have hoped. I needed to do nothing else with it. Happy with that i used Iyanden Yellow on the shoulder pad rims. This was a REVELATION. It looked great. one coat and i got a bright clear yellow. Painting yellow has officially been solved! Buoyed by this i used some Nazdreg Yellow on the chest eagle which gave me a very passable shaded golden yellow that i would have had to use multiple paints to achieve normally. <br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
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<br /><br />Chalking that down as a success, i used Black Templar on the ribbing between armour plates, which worked well, and Snakebite Leather on the pouches which acted more like the Talassar Blue and pulled too drastically. I tried to water down the Black Templar with water to use on the metallic sections of the Bolter and was interested to see how the water affected the paint. It doesn't really mix with it, it tried to separate from the water. Still i slapped it on and it behaved kind of OK on the model, Blood Angels Red on the eye lenses a bit of Skeleton Horde on the base and i was done with the marine. Not entirely happy but curiosity satisfied. <br /><br />I then picked up a Stormcast, this time undercoated in Wraithbone. I have a Stormcast army and its not grey but it is just undercoated, could Contrast provide a quick way to get them done? I am a slow painter by nature. <br /><br />First up was the purple robes that my Stormcast have, i used Shyish Purple, which was very rich if a little dark. Still, it was behaving very well on the folds of the robes and i was pleased by the possibility of future applications. I then used Black Templar on the armour, this gave me a dark grey with natural highlights on the edges where the paint pulled away. Again, i hit it with a second coat. ET VOILA! I don't think i will ever paint black armour another way. It looked superb, and it was so easy to do! This in itself made Contrast worth it to me, so it's a real shame that GW have once again failed to anticipate demand and sold out immediately. Bravo Black Templar, hope you return to availability soon. <br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
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<br /><br />I was nearing the end of my available time to play about with paints so decided to just hit the model with some different colours to see what happened. Apothecary White on the shield resulted in no discernible difference, the flat surface giving nowhere for the Contrast to work. Nazdreg Yellow as gold on the decoration worked though as did a brown i cannot remember the name of on the scroll. Gulliman Flesh on the face and more Nazdreg for blonde hair did the job there. <br /><br /><br />I tried Basilicum Grey and Gyrph Charger Grey on the hammer head and and trim of shield respectively, some dark red (again sorry i don't recall the name) on the haft of the hammer and Wyldwood on the leather parts and she was done. I was a lot happier with the Storm Cast than the Marine but when i picked up the Marine i did realise that, fully dried it had evened out the finish a bit, even if it was still a bit shiny for my liking.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
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<br /><br />The last thing i did was use some Athermatic Blue on the crystal at her belt, as you would expect this worked really well, looked like it was glowing. I called it a day there. Mixed results overall but a lot learned. <br /><br /><br />Final Thoughts:<br /><br /><br />Contrast is interesting. It doesn't really work like paint at all, it is a thick ink/glaze. The way it works out of the pot is something that, for the most part i really don't like, it's a real shame that there was no medium to thin it down with, i would have liked to see if it made it more workable. Never mind. <br /><br /><br />I also found that some colours worked better than others, some were a dream and others really were difficult to work with. The Talassar Blue in particular was a disappointment although i must admit that it may have been as much to do with the model, Snakebite leather was another that undewhelmed, as did Basilicum Grey. Some of the Contrast Paints are thicker than others more unwieldy and difficult to apply. <br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
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<br /><br />However, the gains outweigh the negatives in my opinion. Black Templar and the Yellows have changed the way i will paint those colours. Forever. I also found a few other colours that will certainly form part of my paint range in the future. <br /><br /><br />So overall, i think that Contrast is a decent addition. More experimentation is required, and i need use the medium at some point but for the most part they do what they are meant to. They certainly work on models with a lot of recesses and detail and depth more than large flat panels. Texture and intricate detail allow Contrast to to do what it does best. <br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
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<br /><br />The finish is also a concern with me, as with inks and heavy glazes it dries a little shiny. Not gloss exactly but still more plasticy and patchy than i would like. It is worth saying though, that a second coat and/or matt varnish can probably negate these problems. It is also worth noting that i did not use as much of the paint as i had thought i would,. it certainly goes quite a long way. <br /><br />Still a lot of people will use contrast as a quick way of painting armies and for hordes and those that will only be concerned with a force that good from a distance they will certainly be a boon. For others their use will be limited but i am sure we will be finding new possibilities and potential for the range for some time yet. </div>
DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-84116456443085783722019-06-09T11:03:00.003-07:002019-06-09T11:03:32.041-07:00Brotherhood of the Yellow King: Cult War - Chapter ThreeIII<br />
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Sefina De'ath leaned back in the luxurious highbacked executive chair, rolled her eyes and sighed for what must have been the hundredth time. For not QUITE the hundredth time she wished she had accompanied the Inquisitor on his mission to Endomaw, hell, been sent with Wraithchild squad to hunt down the Genestealer. Anything would be preferable to this interminable mindnumbing tedium.<br />
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"Emperor Save me" she muttered for what MUST have been the hundredth time, she'd have so dearly loved to have had Ralscon back here so she could kick him in the gut again, repeatedly. She had been all too aware that he had been up to no good and concealing things but she had been astounded by the scope of his devious machinations, she was actually kind of impressed. To conceal and falsify so much data spoke of some innate talent, it was a shame that it had been so very severely misdirected.<br />
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"Damn you Ralscon " she swore, consoling herself with the fact that wherever the former Supervisor Prime had been taken it was likely to be wholly unpleasant for him. The Inquisition were not gentle to heretics. The first stage of retrieving the information was a thorough data sift. In this at least she had been able to secure assistance. Her time undercover in the Administratum had allowed her to identify the most competent and trustworthy personnel and it was no coincidence that these were those that tended not to indulge in the narcotic known as 'Emperor's Caress' that had paralysed so much of Narthley. These individuals had ceded quickly to her authority when she had brandished Garanthe's Inquisitorial sigil. All throughout the Imperium knew and feared the Emperor's Holy Inquisition even if they seldom expected to encounter them in their lifetime.<br />
<br />
She found herself considering the drug for a moment. That it had originated in Endomaw was very clear but for what purpose? Control? It seemed likely but then why suddenly curtail the supply as they had? It made no sense. Then again it HAD reduced Narthley's readiness and productivity to practically zero. Could Endomaw be planning an attack? They were a long way away, they would see them coming well in advance and despite the increased activity in Endomaw there had been no signs of any advance or indeed any increased presence for a week or more now. It was true however that every facet of Narthley had been affected by the prolificity of the drug. Industry, security, productivity, not one element had escaped. However, the withdrawal symptoms and problenms that came with them would surely be short lived. By the time any invasion force made it's way over from Endomaw Narthley would surely be recovered. The worst addicts in the Administratum had been removed for 'processing and even now local civil enforcement operatives (those that were not also corrupted by the Narcotic) were rooting out anyone else who might be under the influence of the Emperor's Caress. This was a gargantuan task in itself for they were much reduced in manpower and Sefina was under no illusion that ALL users could be eradicated, the city would quite literally cease to function in any meaningful way. No, they must all be 'Processed' but they could not all be executed or even imprisoned. At least not till replacement workforces could be sourced. Needs dictated that she must operate in a slightly less drastic manner than usual, it chafed her that her hands were tied in this manner. There was something she was missing, what was it?<br />
<br />
Shaking hear head as if to clear it, she returned her focus to the screen ahead of her. There were reams and reams of data to analyse and check. In the Emperor's name why had the Inquisitor taken the Savant with him? Throne knew hew would have been invaluable in processing this kind of volume of information. Ideally suited to this endeavour, he would have been able to perform the task much faster than she. Sefina finished reading the latest report, made some quick notes and dismissed it before summoning what was probably the hundredth document to be examined. <br />
<br />
Some distance away Keroi Kass crouched in the dark, trying to steady his racing pulse and panicked breathing. Nothing he could do would stop his hands shaking though, nothing except another lift. It had been over a day since his last, prised from the grip of a dead man, a man he had killed, all for the Emperor's caress, and that was just one paltry tab, barely enough for a lift at all. Still, it was better than nothing he had told himself as he rifled his victims pockets whilst swallowing the yellow pill.<br />
<br />
Now he was deep in the throes of withdrawal again, the drug was proving impossible to find Morgal lay dead behind him in the alley, strangely contorted, his twisted body testament to Leroi's desperation. Morgal was no easy target and had put up quite the struggle, borne out by the shallow stab wound to Keroi's side, but in the end he had fallen victim to his own blade. Keroi had thought Morgal was holding out on him but a frenzied search of his corpse had yielded nothing. If Morgal didn't have anyone no one did, you could be sure of that. Still, he had had a nice coat and Morgal's blade was now Keroi's, to the victor the spoils and all that. Along with a stab wound to the abdomen of course. Thing was, Keroi barely felt it, only the agonising, insufferable emptiness from his need for another lift.<br />
<br />
He pressed himself further into the shadows as figures passed by. Black Jacks. They were hunting people down, dragging them off the streets. No one knew why. He'd even had a few friends taken recently. OK, friends might be pushing it, and acquaintances would be kind. People he knew then. Still, there was no denying that something was going down, something BIG. They wouldn't take Keroi Kass though, nuh uh, not without a fight. Keroi shook his head vigorously as the denial went through his mind. Drops of ash laden rain fell from his hair splashing into the greyish puddles below. If there was one constant on Worth it was that damnable ash. Yeah, they wouldn't take Keroi, he was free and had a knife and even a nice coat that he had liberated from Morgal to boot. No actual boots mind you, Morgal's had alas, been far too small. A real shame because the hole in Keroi's let the ashwater in.<br />
<br />
Keroi giggled a little at his internal monologue, he needed another Lift! What was he going to to do? He scratched subconsciously at his chest, there had been an itch developing there for a while, it was getting more and more irritating and persistent. He chalked it up to just another withdrawal symptom. Maybe it was time to go back to normal drugs like Lho, Kick and Freez.<br />
<br />
No nothing, NOTHING compared to a Lift, he needed more Emperor's Caress. Soon the Black Jacks would leave this area and then he could make for a safe place. Maybe Gyrnt's, that old bastard would put him up for sure, wouldn't refuse old 'KK'. It might take a few coins, but he could shiv someone for those easy enough. Money was actually worth something again these days now the Caress had dried up. Rain continued to drip from the rooftops overhead running down his face in violet grey streaks. Presently the enforcement officers left the area. Keroi pulled his stolen coat tight around himself with one hand and with Margal's knife in the other crossed the ashrain covered street and headed towards Gyrnt's place, there was sure to be a mark on the way, maybe even one with the right sized feet.<br />
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<button id="speak-button" style="visibility: hidden;">Speak</button>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-3574455374730850992019-06-05T05:48:00.000-07:002019-06-30T13:30:01.768-07:00Brotherhood of the Yellow King: Cultwar - Chapter FourIV<br />
<br />
The Ashrain was also falling in Endomaw. Worth was a small enough celestial body that it often witnessed uniform weather patterns. Though it was devoid of oceans, there were small bodies of water and these were absorbed into Ashclouds that then deposited precipitation much as any normal <msreadoutspan class="msreadout-line-highlight msreadout-inactive-highlight">atmosphere, the difference being that the rain was grimy and noticeably violet-grey in <msreadoutspan class="msreadout-word-highlight">hue</msreadoutspan>. The</msreadoutspan> rain had saturated the ground here and turned the Ash and dirt into a sucking quagmire that was difficult to traverse and nigh on impossible to clean off, the stuff dried like plascrete.<br />
<br />
Inquisitor Simeon Garanthe hated it. He hated this entire world, it was a miserable ash covered excuse of a planet useful from a meteorological perspective only. It was a surprise to him that the Imperium had bothered settling it at all. A largely automated mining operation would surely have sufficed, there was no merit in populating the small planet that he could see. Throne, he had seen larger and more bountiful moons. Why choose Worth over one of the other more appealing planets in the system? Then again, those planets had their own problems, or so he had heard.<br />
<br />
It was certainly testament to the enduring Spirit of Man that some form of measurable life had been eked out on the Emperor Forsaken world. That in itself was laudable, he supposed. Something to be admired, even if the endeavour was woefully misjudged in his opinion. Even in the hardiest and most inhospitable of environs, Mankind managed to endure.<br />
<br />
For the umpteenth time, Garanthe pulled his boots from the cloying muck and turned to look at the rest of his team. The constant patter of Ashraindrops on his wide brimmed hat irked him to no end and he was gratified to see his discomfort mirrored in his compatriots. Then again it was difficult to discern much from the expressions of Ulk and Ulo, they always looked miserable. The two Canid mutant brothers looked up at him but were difficult to read, largely lacking any human facial features. They were however, utterly loyal and surprisingly accurate marksmen. Also, although bipedal, they were astonishingly nimble and their diminutive stature meant they were ideally suited for infiltration and stealth missions such as this one. The pair looked suitably bedraggled and Garanthe took this to mean they shared in his discomfort. One of them (he could never tell which) shook his head violently , sending droplets of grey water flying everywhere.<br />
<br />
Behind them was Aurelius. The savant seemed entirely unperturbed by the relentless Ashrainfall. In fact, if anything he seemed amused, muttering to himself even as the greyish droplets hung from his nose. His ever-active scribing attachments whirred and scratched as they recorded his observations, some obscure tech-sorcery protecting the writings from being spoiled by the Ashrain. <br />
<br />
Next was Dolf Luminak, he had been a Sergeant of the Cadian Guard, now he had no rank, no regiment. He had been part of Garanthe's retinue for a long time now, had the scars to prove it. The grizzled veteran locked determined flinty eyes with Garanthe for a moment before looking away and spitting bodily into the muck on the floor, a clear sign that he was aggrieved. <br />
<br />
Behind the ex-guardsman stood an entirely different figure. Andrukas Kurr; Imperial Crusader. Cloaked and carrying a massive sword. His armour gleamed under the heavy dark cloak. The Crusader may not have been a subtle figure but his martial prowess was unquestioned. That was why he was here. Heavy back up., battle armour and all. <br />
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As was the behemoth behind him. Utterly dwarfing Andrukas, the hulking figure of the Deathwatch Space Marine would have seemed comically oversized were it not for the palatable threat that exuded from the giant superhuman clad in black Power Armour. He was the very vision of death, destruction incarnate. It was perhaps fitting then, that the warriors name had only been given as Death's Head. Garanthe knew not if this was a given name or some other form of designation only that it suited perfectly. Besides, the taciturn Space Marine had not deigned to divulge further information on the subject. This was hardly a surprise. The Adeptus Astartes were an insular bunch at the best of times. Especially outside of their own chapter. The Deathwatch, being made up of Marines from many chapters, were even more so. Garanthe wasn't even sure which Chapter Death's Head had come from, the silver Grinning Skull on a horizontally halved field of green and yellow was entirely unfamiliar to him and he prided himself on knowing the majority of the deployed Astartes Chapters. Again, Death's Head had offered no information on the subject and would not tolerate questioning on the matter. Garanthe technically had the authority to demand answers should he wish but could see little point in antagonising the warrior. </div>
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Now the Space Marine's eye lenses glowed like coal embers in the gloom. Even if the Inquisitor had been able to see his face, Space Marines were remarkably expressionless beings. Besides, he was unlikely to be bothered by something as trivial as the rain. Space Marines weren't bothered by anything. Garanthe had seen one have his firing arm blown clean off once, the Marine had simply retrieved his weapon from his disembodied arm and carried on firing as if nothing had happened. Space Marines were hard to kill, let alone faze. It was why they were such effective killing machines. <br />
<br />
The last member of the group however, could not have been more miserable. Scowling at the tip of an unlit soggy pipe as if his fury alone could cause it to spontaneously ignite, Grummond Drankensson was not having a good time. His beard was sodden an d drooped mournfully and every time he tilted his head to empty one ear of Ashrainwater the other would fill, which contributed no end to his general misery. Still, he was a stout and doughty warrior, invaluable when things came down to a fight. Which they almost always did <br />
<br />
That wasn't the intention here though, This was a raid, nothing more, to be accomplished as quickly and quietly as possible. in and out, no 'complications'. From the information that they had at their disposal Aurelius had identified a communication array that they could access that was on the outskirts of Endomaw mine. From this they hoped to secure information that would lead to Alistae Carn's location. The data thief device that Aurelius held would leech the messages stored from the array. With luck they information they needed would be contained within. <br />
<br />
Garanthe was convinced Carn was their best hope for uncovering and defeating the Xenos cult that he now knew had infested Worth and Endomaw was the source, the heart of the canker. He could have just obliterated Worth, as an Inquisitor the resources he could call on were almost limitless and he had access to devastating assets that scant few in the Imperium could command. He could have turned the whole ball of ash and rock into nothing more than a cloud of debris, but he didn't know how far the cult had spread in the Celias system and besides, there WERE innocents on Worth, as wretched as they might be. There was a time that this wouldn't have mattered, not factored into his thinking at all, but things were different now. Ever since Hylios. Ever since then and forever more. <br />
<br />
And again there was Carn. Garanthe had kept it to himself but the coded message was impossibly, addressed to him PERSONALLY even though the recording had been made long before he had arrived. The full message had been Ferrum Cordis liberativ me Rex Flava. Iron Heart, Save me from the Yellow King. <br />
<br />
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NO ONE knew him as Iron Heart, new that his cardiac system was artificial, that his heart was a mechanical replacement. None, not one of his team, not even Aurelius knew of the wound he had taken nearly half a century ago which had destroyed his heart, leading to the surgery and the augmetic implant which kept him alive and resulted in him being known as Interrogator Iron Heart. It was a name he had not even been known by for at least thirty years. It was a name none in his retinue knew, there were perhaps half a dozen alive who might, assuming they remembered. Carn though, Carn had known. How? Was he psychic? If so that would mean the Ordo Malleus might become involved, the last thing Garanthe wanted was to deal with those damned Witch Hunters. No, Garanthe suspected something else, something divine. </div>
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As a High Ranking Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos he was privy to many secrets that would drive the average man utterly and irrevocably insane. One of these was the true nature of the Emperor, a withered husk imprisoned within the Golden Throne protecting all of Humanity with his awesome incomparable psychic might. Yet, despite knowing that the Master of Mankind was a being of flesh, Garanthe was still utterly convinced of the Emperor's divinity. </div>
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The Astronomican? a Beacon cutting across the galaxy to guide Mankind through the Warp? The work of a God. Providing aegis for the entire of the Human race with nothing but his mind, safeguarding them from the predations of the creatures of the Warp? Only possible by a God. There was no question at all, not in his eyes. The Immortal God Emperor of Man, Blessed be his name, protected all, saw all, knew all. Thus he suspected that Alistae Carn was more than just Psychic. could he be a conduit for the Emperor? An instrument of His will? Garanthe had to find out. At any cost. <br />
<br />
Not so far away, a trio of cultists in mining suits skulked, safely out of sight in the skeletal innards of a quiescent Boring station. Kyrsa was at the front, crouched, steadying herself with one hand as the other raised a set of Mag-nocs to her eyes. Despite the device's enhanced optics and magnification the rain interfered with her view, diminishing visibility considerably. She cursed vehemently and adjusted the settings, to no avail. No, wait, was that a flash? She refocused and scrutinised the area where she had thought the glint of light had come from. There was definitely something moving. She lowered the goggles and grunted a command at the cultist to her left, he stopped checking his rifle and slung it over his shoulder before descending via a stanchion and disappearing out of sight. The other behind her remained, she could hear his breathing even over the constant downpour. Kyrsa ignored him and activated the short range comm on her suit. She rasped curt instructions and shut the link off, confident that the information would be relayed as needed. Still crouched, she reached for her long rifle, checking the chamber and firing mechanism were free and unspoilt. The intruders had come, just as the Holy Magus had said they would, Glory be to the Yellow King. She would make them regret ever setting foot in Endomaw. Nothing would stop the Yellow day. </div>
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DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-41670732022368414442019-05-31T00:55:00.001-07:002022-03-27T16:27:43.606-07:00Brotherhood of the Yellow King : Cultwar - Chapter Two II:<br>
<br>
Sergeant Jerord McKernze, commander of 'Wrathchild' Militarum Terminus Stormtrooper squad, in service of the Emperor's most Holy Inquisition, held his right hand up in a closed fist, bringing his squad to an immediate halt. Well disciplined and drilled, his team waited with bated breath for their commander's next signal. Jerord strained his ears, he'd heard something, he could swear he had. Now all he heard was the dripping of water somewhere and the sound of operating machinery in the distance. The Stromtrooper Sergeant thought he'd heard a shuffling nearby, the telltale clack of claws on a hard surface. Their quarry, the Genestealer.<br>
<br>
Still, he had to confess, his senses were not exactly reliable at the moment, his mind could be playing tricks on him. Sweat dripped down his face, and it wasn't because of the temperature, no, this was a cold sweat, born of dread. A quick check of the sensor built into his suits wrist revealed no sign of anything, no betrayal of any presence other than his squad. They were just as strung out as he, twitchy and exhausted. They were being hunted.<br>
<br>
They had started with a full squad of ten but now they were down to just over half of that number. Four troopers gone in just two attacks, one ten hours ago and one three hours ago. Three dead and one missing, presumed dead. Or worse. Their quarry had been lightning fast, presenting them only the most fleeting of targets and their reactionary fire had been rushed and inaccurate despite their pedigree as troopers. They had begun 15 hours ago as the hunters, and had become the prey. Then again McKernze considered, had they ever truly been the hunters at all?<br>
<br>
It had been Millins the first time, a blur, a yellow blur, followed by an arc of bright crimson as the Genestealer had ripped him apart, cutting him open from groin to shoulder, ragged wet meat falling to the floor as the creature darted behind some stanchions and disappeared back into the shadows as swiftly as it had emerged. The squad had lit it's path up with Hellgun fire but had hit nothing, the Genestealer had already gone, leaving what had used to be Millins scattered over the floor in piles of bloody meat.<br>
<br>
The second time Valetin had been taken. They had progressed to the higher levels of the docking port and the temperature had dropped, they were checking an open hangar, empty save a small utility pod and some cargo crates that it had been moving. the wind at that altitude whipped across the floor and made the hauling chains chime hauntingly. From out of the hanger entrance they could see much of Narthley laid out before them, paralysed and peaceful. Nonetheless they remained on high alert, vigilant and guarded.<br>
<br>
It had made no difference, the Xenos had erupted from nothingless, murdered Kincade, grabbed Valetin and propelled itself at a speed no living thing should be able to manage towards the edge of the hanger before leaping onto the exterior of the dock and disappearing. Gobbs had the misfortune to be in its way. There was no spray of blood this time, only a bloodcurdling scream that eventually faded as the trooper was hurled into the air and fell out of sight.<br>
<br>
Down to six now, they continued to track the Xenos through the upper levels of the port. Well, track wasn't quite the right word, thought McKernze sardonically, more like stumble about aimlessly till another of them died. He chastised himself for his attitude, mentally sentencing himself to penance later. If there was a later.<br>
<br>
He lowered his hand satisfied that his ears had been deceived. The next search area was a large Storage Bay similar to the one where they had started the search.. The way that the containers were arranged made for three paths through to the rear of the bay. His scanner indicated an abundance of of turns and alcoves in the arrangement of the containers, plenty of spaces for a predator to hide, plenty of choke points and kill zones. It was less than ideal but he had been instructed to find and kill the Xenos and that was exactly what he was going to do. Or die trying.<br>
<br>
With two fingered signals he sent Langers and M'obe left and Signhet and Jarazis right. This left him and Ayris to take the central path. McKernze was fine with this, Jheeta Ayris was a strong and reliable soldier, as tough as they came and there was no-one he would rather have watching his back. He glanced back at her and she shot him a wry grin and wink that said 'after you Sarge' before returning to scanning her surroundings.<br>
<br>
The feed in his helmet crackled and hissed. At this height the atmospherics of Worth affected communications equipment, although not critically. The separated squad progressed through the bay, navigating the labyrinth of containers stacked high and haphazardly, checking their corners and angles as they went. They were exhausted but they were model soldiers, the best of their kind. The Inquisition would expect nothing less, would ACCEPT nothing less. Only the most elite and pure of heart got to serve in the Emperor's Holy Inquisition.<br>
<br>
The Stormtrooper Squad had traversed around two thirds of the length of the Cargo Bay without incident when McKernze's comm crackled into life. A panicked yell followed by the "FSSHK" of a burst of Hellgun fire. M'obe's voice hissed through, "Contact! Contact!" he screamed, his rich Varusian accent distorted further still by the squealing interference. Wordlessly McKernze, broke into a sprint, knowing Ayris would be just behind him. Left, <i>"FSSHK!"</i> Left, <i>"FSSHK, FSSHK"</i> right, and another <i>FSSHK!</i> followed by an unearthly bestial scream , left, right to the other end of the bay and then left, left, right to double back down to M'obe and Langer's position. The comm had gone dead and the only sound was the pounding of boots and the pack on their backs.<br>
<br>
Rounding one last corner, McKernze saw M'obe standing against a container, grinning inanely even as his rifle was held ready. Langers was in the shadows, prodding something with his Hellgun. McKernze stopped and took in the scene, Ayris was seconds behind him.<br>
<br>
Report! The sergeant barked, he was in no mood for this, M'obe snapped to attention and indicated with his rifle at Langers.<br>
<br>
"it's.. it's some kind of scavanger sir" his hard constanants clacking in the Varusian manner. "Emperor above, I thought it was the..." suddenly his face vanished, replaced by a fountain of gore. He didn't even have the time to scream, his head just disappeared mid sentence. The ragged stump of his neck and lower jaw pulsed with the motions of speech but the rest of him wasn't there to form the words. His body toppled to the side and McKernze was already lifting his Hellgun as the Genestealer pounced on Langers who was mid turn. The Stormtrooper was eviscerated almost immediately, the creature's razor sharp talons making a mockery of his carapace armour. Unlike M'obe, Langers DID scream as he died. Mckerze fired, but the Genestealer had already gone and his shots merely cut Langers' corpse to ribbons, steaming offal falling to the ground in bloody chunks.<br>
<br>
The Genestealer scaled the wall of the container and launched it self at McKernze while he was still firing. He would surely have been killed but something slammed bodily into him, hurling him to the side. His finger was still on the trigger of his Hellgun, fire stitching its way across the container behind Langers' remains as McKernze fell. The impact as he hit the hard floor jarred the gun from his grasp, the rifle skittering across the floor into the shadows. He turned the fall into a combat roll and came up on one knee to see Ayris grappling with the beast. Actually<i> grappling</i> with it. He had known she was strong but her desperation lent her reserves of strength beyond normal human endurance. Even so it was only a matter of moments before she was overpowered and even now, Mckernze watched as she was borne to the floor, the Genestealer's claws flashing in the gloom.<br>
<br>
McKernze acted without thinking, years of training resulting in honed reactions and instinct. In one smooth motion he pulled his laspistol from its holster and fired. Two handed, for better stability, two quick shots, best for accuracy, textbook battle action. The two shots slammed into the Genestealer as it retched hot bile at the stricken Ayris, desperately trying to hold the monster at bay. McKernze's practised shots threw it off just enough that the liquid spattered over the floor by the side of Ayris' head rather than her face.<br>
<br>
In all the years Jerord McKernze had served with Jheeta Ayris he had never heard her scream. Until now. As the bile spattered on the ground it splashed up and droplets hit her cheek, even without the sizzling sound and smell of burning flesh, detectable even from afar, McKerze would have known it was acid from her anguished cry. The bile ate into the decking and her cheek, and her resistance began to waver. McKernze thumbed the power setting on his pistol and drained the pack in one final shot.<br>
<br>
The bolt of energy seared a hole into the Genestealer's torso as it sank a claw into Ayris' shoulder.<br>
Wounded at last, it recoiled and screeched, ceasing its assault on the fading Ayris and glaring malevolently at McKernze. The Stormtrooper Sergeant knew his life was measured in scant seconds and prepared to die for his Emperor, when suddenly a volley of Hellgun fire erupted around the Genestealer as Singhet and Jarazis arrived, firing from the hip as they took in the scene. Had they taken a more measured approach they may well have killed the beast but as it was they wounded it enough to deter it from it's attack on McKernze and it fled, leaping impossibly fast and impossibly high above the containers into the darkness, a trail of glowing ichor left in its wake. The entire assault had taken under a minute. In that time two more of his squad were dead and another incapacitated.<br>
<br>
Mckernze threw away the smoking Laspistol, it's power relays were fused and the pack connector port and casing would need replacing, it was useless. He raced over to Ayris, lying unconscious in a pool of her own blood. Kneeling beside her he pulled the saviour kit from his suit webbing. Jarazis and Singhet were scanning the area, Hellguns raised ready to fire. McKernze assessed Ayris' injuries with a practised eye. Her left shoulder was more or less gone, ripped to slivers of meat and splintered bone. The Genestealer's claws had cleaved through the armour like it was tissue and torn the joint below to ribbons, McKernze was astonished that her arm was even still attached. He pushed her ravaged shoulder back together as much as he could and pulled the coagulant/wound packing foam cannister from the saviour kit. Designed to pack wounds and literally hold soldiers together on the front line till proper treatment could be obtained, even this basic aid was beyond the reach of most rank and file guardsmen. Holding flesh together with one hand, he deployed the foam with the other, the foam solidified and constricted as it contacted the flesh, knitting the wound together as it snaked into the muscles and blood vessels, stopping the loss of blood. It wouldn't heal the injury (privately McKernze thought the damage irreprible and thought it likely that Ayuris would lose the arm entirely) but it would keep her from bleeding out. Indentured to the Inquisition she would enjoy better treatment than most were they able to get her to medical facilities. Should the wound be too severe and the Limb unsalvageable then she would be granted a high function bionic replacement, service to the Holy Inquisition came with many priveledges.<br>
<br>
Her life saved, at least for now, McKernze turned his attention to her secondary injuries. Her combat suit was rent and torn, bloody gashes testament to her herculean feat of holding the Genestealer at bay. The worst two of these he used the foam on but many of the lacerations he was able to treat with Synth Skin, a plastic flesh that he could use to dress the injuries. This done he turned his attention to her face, turning her head he could see where the acidic secretion from the Genestealer had done it's terrible work. Jheeta Ayris had never been a typically beautiful woman but her squat freckled face and upturned button nose had a definite charm. Now the right side of her face was a ravaged ruin, Skin eaten away and cheek muscles exposed and heavily damaged. He covered the ragged mess with a layer of Synth Skin, likely the resultant scarring would be permanent. Ayris stirred as the cooling spray contacted and tightened on her ruined face. Her eyes flickered and opened and she attempted to focus on McKernze.<br>
<br>
"Did, did we get it?" that was Ayris, always about the mission. McKernze looked down, and started to put the cannisters back in the Saviour Kit. Valetin had been the squad Medic and she was gone. Like the rest of his squad he only had basic life saving treatment and access to the most rudimentary of items. Ayris couldn't be treated here.<br>
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"not quite," he admitted. "It's wounded though, bleeding, don't worry, we'll finish it off soon. Lie still, you've lost a lot of blood"<br>
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He busied himself putting the Saviour kit back into it's webbing. Ayris closed her eyes again.<br>
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"You saved me" he murmured.<br>
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Ayris didn't open her eyes but managed a half smile, the plastic flesh on her cheek crinkling unconvincingly,<br>
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"Of course I did Sarge, you're the Sarge. I'm not being left to get...." she faded out and her features went slack. Her chest still rose and fell, she was merely asleep.<br>
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McKernze looked at her for a moment and came to a decision. He stood and addressed Jarazis;<br>
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"Get her out of here, double time. Back to the Elevator. Take her down and get her some treatment. Signhet will cover you." He began to remove his armour and combat suit.<br>
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Jarazis hesitated, Markon Jarazis was one of the most loyal soldiers Mckernze had ever served with, it wouldn't be easy to get him to go. "and you Sarge? Please don't tell me you are going to do what I think you are. You're coming with us right?"<br>
<br>
McKernze stooped, retrieving a Hellgun, he wasn't sure whose. Grabbing spare power packs he removed the webbing from his combat suit and wrapped it round his torso. Grenades, ammo, flares, everything useful was stowed.<br>
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"I'm going after it Markon, you can't stop me. That Bastard has killed over half my squad and I want revenge. Either I die or it does. He hefted the Hellgun and checked the charge, repriming the load. "It's wounded and it's bleeding." He stooped next to the creature's pooled ichor and dipped the hellgun barrel into it cautiously. Satisfied that it was non corrosive he shouldered his weapon, scooped some up and smeared it over his torso and arms. He also covered his face and forehead. There was no guarantee that the Genestealer hunted by scent but McKernze would take any advantage he could get. It was unlikely that the Genestealer was still nearby, they had hurt it. It was probably off somewhere licking it's wounds. McKernze would put it down, He would track its trail of blood and end the beast once and for all.<br>
<br>
"If it's bleeding I can find it, I can kill it. I WILL kill it, Emperor willing. Or it will kill me," He Shrugged, "It's that simple Markon, as I say, you can't stop me. Get the hell out of here, Save Jheeta. That's an order"<br>
<br>
Jarazis met his gaze, saluted. He reached behind him and produced a large blade in it's scabbard. It was a Tanith Warblade, 'Straight Silver' they called it. He had been given it years ago. McKernze didn't know exactly what he had done to receive such a gift but it must have been absolutely monumental. He had served besides the Tanith and knew full well how much the blades meant to the Ghosts. They would literally rather lose an arm than part with them. Jarazis had never divulged the details, he was not one for recounting exploits. He has simply said that it was given to him as tribute and that the man that had given him it didn't need it. McKernze had no idea what circumstances would lead to such a situation but respected Jarazis's privacy. Now Markon Jarazis extended the knife to him hilt first in it's scabbard.<br>
<br>
"Do me a favour Sir, Stick this in the bastard, for Langers, for Valetin, for Gobbs and M'obe and Millins and Kincade. Stick him with it good. You can give it back after." McKernze took the knife reverently and attached it to his belt, it was more like a short sword than a typical issue combat knife. He knelt and picked up Ayris gently, Signhet looked on, Hellgun still aimed, he was taking no chances. Jarazis took Ayris from his Sergeant. He was a big man and cradled the unconscious soldier in one meaty arm, saluting again with the other before turning round and heading back the way they had come. McKerze retuned the salute and, checking his equipment one more time, set off in the opposite direction, the Hunter once again.DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-60622959716327844342019-05-24T07:09:00.002-07:002019-05-25T01:46:18.062-07:00Brotherhood of the Yellow King: Cultwar. Chapter One. <div>
I: </div>
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The Ulysses class bulk cargo hauler <i>Thrace's Arrow</i> lumbered through space much like the millennia extinct cetacean that it resembled had journeyed Ancient Holy Terra's long since evaporated oceans. No one would describe the vessel as elegant or graceful. No, utilitarian would be a better term, it was designed for one thing and it did it adequately, though it was in ill repair and ancient. Blocky, grey and slow, it made its way for Celias IV, its holds laden with ore and a small amount of other assorted materials from Worth. However this was not it's only cargo. </div>
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In the deep dark spaces of hold <i>Six-Beta Kappa-Four-Three</i>, inside a weathered container the twin of which languished back on Worth, the Genestealer waited. Suspended upside down in the nondescript crate, it slept, its alien metabolism lowered to near undetectable levels, expending as little energy as possible. </div>
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Nonetheless, even in this dormant state it was aware, aware of it's surroundings, aware of the psychic urges from its Patriarch back in Endomaw. It was aware of the hybrid cult members that had infiltrated the vessel and of course it was aware of the ever present Tyranid Hive Mind, so very far away but always inexorably on the move, drawn to fresh feeding grounds as its Hive Fleets devoured planet after planet, system after system, sector after sector, in a never ending attempt to quell the insatiable hunger of the Tyranid race.<br />
<br />
Suddenly it was aware of something else. An increased level of alarm amongst the freighter's crew, human and Hybrid alike. Rising fear and panic, a warning signal from its Brood Brothers. Then it was aware of a sudden acceleration from the Hauler, the whine of the engines as they strove to supply the additional thrust being demanded of them. The juddering of the hull as it protested against extra forces it was never designed to endure.<br />
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The Genestealer began to unfold itself, pumping adrenal fluids to its extremities and bringing itself to full alertness, preparing to react quickly if needed. It swayed slightly as the vessel was rocked by an impact, then another. The whine from the engines became a scream as the ship attempted maneuvers and velocities far beyond its intended limits. The creature hissed and dropped lithely to the floor, almost silent. It tensed, straining to discern what was going on outside the confines of it's container. The crate was secure and locked but the Genestealer's razor sharp claws would be able to tear through the metal casing of the container in seconds if needed.<br />
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Suddenly the container rocked violently as the hull was torn asunder. The superstructure was ripped apart and laser fire lanced into its inner workings. The Genestealer was aware of the rush of decompression and the squeal of twisted metal, it was aware of the swiftly hushed screams of the crew as they were sucked into the cold vacuum of space, an environment it could easily survive. The creature was aware of the tortured terminal scream of the engines as they went into a catastrophic overload, damaged beyond any hope of salvation. Aware of the roar of plasma fire surging through the ship as something critical gave way.<br />
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Then it was aware of nothing at all as it was utterly obliterated in the searing white hot blast of a critical level plasma engine explosion.<br />
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Far away, though perhaps not in the terms of void combat, Alexys Servil Tayn grunted with mild satisfaction as the hulking freighter simply disappeared in an blinding ball of plasma. Even though the display screens around her dimmed automatically, Tayn still narrowed her eyes at the sudden flash. As the explosion dissipated, leaving just metallic fragments as a cloud of fine debris, she unclasped her hands from behind her back and with a tight smile turned to congratulate her crew on the kill. <br />
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Well, at least those crew that were human. Many of the menials onboard the Strike Interceptor she commanded were mind scrubbed servitors, half human cyborgs that were programmed with just enough information to perform their assigned tasks. Those that still had faces stared blankly at their instruments, performing minor adjustments as needed by the thousand to keep the ship operational and running smoothly.<br />
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Still, as she turned Tayn caught a few human expressions, mostly satisfaction and pride. Gleams in eyes here and there, Most noticeably on Shais Jaroslav, her first officer and lover. The gleam in Shais' eyes spread to her ebony round face and burst out in that smile that Tayn found so very appealing. She fought to keep her own smile from showing and instead focussed on bestowing her praise upon the crew as a whole, using the ships address system to do so. And it was praise well earned, given the speed that they had reacted to the Inquisitor's signal, identified, hunted down and eliminated the target. Everything had performed admirably, not least the aged vessel itself.<br />
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The Strike Interceptor was called <i>Fist of Makius</i>, a sleek lethal predator of a vessel. Old and of a design not exactly of the typical Imperial style. It was more streamlined, with fins akin to an aquatic hunter, its engines were spread around the hull rather than clustered at the back which gave it a unique and at times hazardous level of maneuverability and temperamental handling. Tayn had been its master for 35 Terran Solar Years. Of course those units of time could mean little when the vagaries of the Warp were factored but in any case, she knew the ship and knew it well, even if she didn't know who 'Makius' was, or particularly care.<br />
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No, the ship worked and performed as she desired and that was all that really mattered to her. She wasn't one to get sentimental about such things, being an entirely pragmatic woman, who dealt with facts and cold hard data rather than emotions and feelings. For years she had operated the ship as a hunter, taking bounties and settling feuds. Running escort to convoys and any other work she could get. The ship's appearance had largely kept it out of Imperial service with none wanting to associate with such an unusual and exotic looking vessel, but there was always someone looking to hire a vessel even if they regarded the unorthodox Strike Cruiser with suspicion or disdain. This had not bothered Tayn in the slightest, she knew the truth even if she was one of the only ones who did. Few others knew how she had become Shipmaster and from where the vessel originated and those that did not only ever asked her once, for her steely glare brooked no further enquiry on the subject. <i>Fist of Makius</i> therefore remained an enigma. Dark and mysterious as the depths of space itself, and just as quietly dangerous.<br />
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It was this that had attracted Inquisitor Garanthe to the vessel in the first place. Tayn let her mind drift back to the memory. Five years ago she had been escorting a Merchantman Convoy that was making a supply run through the Danoiris Belt, an area of space thick with nebulae and asteroids. The asteroids in the area churned up the gases of the nebula leading to each piece of space rock being surrounded by eddies and a bright corona of disturbed gas. Some would have found it beautiful. She had not. Tayn had simply considered it an annoyance, the phenomenon cast false sensor echoes and made the Belt a prime spot for an ambush.<br />
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And so it had proved, approximately half way through the belt the convoy had been attacked by xenos Pirates, their jagged yet elegant vessels scything through the gases and seeming to appear out of nowhere. One of the leading vessels of the convoy was crippled in seconds, it's minimal shielding flaring before the follow up shots ripped through the hull, spilling gasses and corpses into the void. However, the Pirates were not looking to destroy the vessel, only disable it, and as it span, powerless and out of control, the raider ceased fire and slowed for boarding and capture.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i>Fist of Makius'</i> retribution was swift; with her armament being almost entirely forward facing, she bore down upon the Raider vessel and obliterated it with a punishing volley of fire. But the Pirates were in number.<br />
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Realizing that the convoy had protection, the three other raiders halted their predation of the other Merchant ships and focussed upon the Interceptor. Their exotic weaponry lanced at the <i>Fist of Makius</i> and under the combined volley the shields buckled. The Interceptor was designed for combat under evasive maneuvers and to be hard to hit. She was not designed to repel firepower of that magnitude and she had been caught cold, exulting in the kill.<br />
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Tayn was no novice ship commander though and took steps to ensure her ship's survival. Gambling that her foe valued the contents of the Merchant Vessels highly, she pulled the Interceptor behind one of the ships and, though fire lanced after her, it ceased as she reached the lee of the vessel. However, the Pirate Vessels were agile and deadly and sought to outmaneuver and surround the <i>Fist of Makius,</i> harrying it and managing to strike it a few more times, punishing it's weakened shields yet further though they could not land a telling or penetrating blow. Tayn had never been prone to desperation but even she was growing worried at the odds that she was facing.<br />
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She decided to use the environment to her advantage, with curt commands she ordered the ship into one of the pockets of gas, gambling that the nebula would hide her ship. It was an extreme risk, there could have been anything in there, another Raiding party could have been concealed within and she would have not known until she was right on top of them. Fortune favoured her though and as two vessels followed her in, the third doubled back to attack the convoy once again, the transport ship's meagre defensive turrets swiftly silenced by the exotic weaponry. Panicked messages spilled onto the bridge as the convoy begged for help from the raiders. Tayn ordered the communications cut, silencing their pleas. Inside she seethed, not at any real empathy for the convoy but for the fact that she had had to abandon it, albeit temporarily, she had pride in her reputation.<br />
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Tayn was jolted from her reverie as Alberto Gaijin her communications officer, hailed her from the other side of the bridge. She listened to his report and strode to the command throne, the prosthetic on her left leg clacking against the polished floor as she did so. Ensconcing herself within the hard metal device she felt the sockets on her neck and wrists open and connect to the mechandrites that snaked up from the throne. Thus linked she was able to connect on the ship in a much more intimate fashion, feeling it's indominable machine spirit. Tayn may not have been an overly sympathetic person but even she acknowledged the awesome presence that was <i>Fist of Makius</i>. That was not all she was privy to though, through the neural connections in the throne she was linked to all the different areas of the ship, receiving information from Engineering, which informed her that the engines had been pushed beyond normal limits and would require minor repairs, weapons bays (engaging in post combat canticles of reloading and cleansing), in fact every department, simultaneously and constantly updated. She was aware of the navigator, holed up in her chamber, not needed to pathfind through the Warp at the moment and performing some inscrutable form of meditation. Satisfied that all was well on her ship she mentally opened the link that pulsed, indicating a message coming in on a secure channel. <br />
<br />
Tayn accessed the communique with a thought, as she had suspected it was a recorded message, a pointed yet polite request for an update on the situation from the Inquisitor. With a sequence of thoughts Tayn submitted a reply, confirming the kill and advising of the minor repairs that needed to be completed before they could return. she wondered how his own mission of infiltrating Endomaw was proceeding and enquired as much. Though the Inquisitor was in no way obliged to divulge, Tayn was direct and didn't care much for etiquette or politics, something he found laudable, he would likely answer. She signed off with the standard 'The Emperor Protects' and dispatched the message with a thought. There would be a delay before the information was received and by then the <i>Fist of Makius</i> could be well on its way. With any luck she would be in a position to aid the Inquisitor should his mssion have not been as straightforward as hers.<br />
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<button id="speak-button" style="visibility: hidden;">Speak</button>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-80449212462766252352019-04-19T11:53:00.000-07:002019-06-05T04:23:44.711-07:00Brotherhood of the Yellow King: Talons and ChainsSupervisor Prime Pascal Ralscon was a mess of chemical highs and lows. Anxiety and adrenaline warred with the dopamine and endorphins coursing through his nervous system, each competing for the position of most prominent effect. Sometimes his eyes would glaze, other times he would jerk uncontrollably in a myoclonic fashion. <br />
<br />
He’d just received notification that the Imperial inspection party had finally docked. A full four days behind schedule. He’d been running round like an Ash Wulf making sure everything was presentable and they had the gall to turn up late! Typical of the bureaucracy of the Imperium, still, it had been extra time to get important things done.<br />
<br />
Getting things done had been a major problem lately however. Supply of ‘Emperor’s Caress’ had dried up in the last week or so, none of his normal dealers were answering his pleas for more of the narcotic. He’d asked his senior staff that he knew indulged in the drug, only to be told that they too were unable to obtain any. He’d even resorted to performing a ‘search and seize’ operation in a desperate attempt to procure another fix. This had yielded but a dozen pills (even though he knew that at least 75% of his workforce were users). and he knew deep down that his façade of relentless authority was fooling no one. Deprived of the release granted by Emperor’s Caress, productivity was at an all time low. Narthley at large had gone from being sedated to utterly paralysed as the supply of the drug had dwindled. Manufactorums were quiescent, Administratums such as the one he was in had massive backlogs which he had elected to conceal rather than deal with. <br />
<br />
And there was only so much that he could hide! He’d deleted, manipulated and concealed as many files and communiques as he could with varying levels of success. He cajoled, threatened and ordered as many complicit staff as he could. The Administratum operated with only the thinnest veneer of efficiency and decorum and Ralscon was terrified that the inspection team would penetrate the veil all too easily. He’d used the extra four days as best he could but he still feared the façade and his efforts would prove inefficient. Even as he looked about all he saw was sullen, lifeless workers in the throes of withdrawal. He was doomed. <br />
<br />
He’d swallowed a couple of his last pills upon being informed that the lander had touched down, he had only another two left. Two more pills and therefore only one more lift. He toyed with these last pair in his pocket, nervously fidgeting as he awaited the team. He was running scenarios and ways he could shift blame through his brain, his weaselly survival instincts coming to the fore. He’d happily throw any of his subordinates under the wheels of the Imperial machine if it would cast suspicion somewhere other than on him. He nervously looked at the chronometer, it had already been ten minutes, the drugs would be wearing off soon, the lifts wore off much quicker these days. <br />
<br />
Presently the doors opened and the two workers he had sent to ‘escort’ the inspection team returned . Ralscon could just about discern the automatic pistols they concealed, hopefully his guests were not so observant. It would be an act of utter stupidity and desperation but in a worst case scenario he was prepared to resort to violence to save his hide. He even had a small 'Snubstub' Revolver hidden in his waistband should the unthinkable happen. After all, the Imperium did not forgive mistakes or poor performance. The two men stepped to the side allowing their charges to pass. A wizened savant emerged from the shadows, stooped and muttering to himself, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. He was ancient and his face was lined and dusty. He wore a russet robe of roughly hewn fabric that looked horrendously itchy. Various attachments and accoutrements adorned his being, giving him the impression of a crustacean in it’s shell. Despite his obvious advanced age the Savant seemed vital and hale, just preoccupied.<br />
<br />
Behind him was a tall woman, veiled yet with a bearing of pomp and distinction. She held herself regally and wore a corseted bodice and a long flowing cloak over a tunic with dark jodhpurs and knee high boots. Raslcon eyed her warily, she looked like she could spring into action at any moment. her poise was positively predatory. She said nothing and just stepped to the side as the last of the team stepped through the door. <br />
<br />
Ralscon had to choke back a laugh and disguise it as clearing his throat. His close brush with impropriety could have been forgiven however, as one of the most ridiculous figures he had ever seen stepped through the portal. Wearing a short duster coat and flared slacks and sporting a wide brimmed hat, he was comically absurd to the extreme. He slouched with an insouciance which didn’t help his diminutive stature and oafish appearance. He glanced about himself casually before stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning forward. A thin cheroot extruded from his lips. <br />
<br />
"Well, he said, with a pronounced drawl", and Ralscon again had to choke back his mirth, "let’s get this show on the road shall we?" <br />
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Ralscon spent the next couple of hours showing the group around, he was deliberately superficial and vague during the tour and glossed over much, doing his best to make everything seem as normal and efficient as possible. For his part the Inspector didn’t seem all that bothered, though the Savant, who had introduced himself as Aurelius Leuker in a twittering and distracted introduction, took copious notes, stylus attachments writing simultaneously whilst the Savant himself tapped figures into a battered datapad. All the while the Savant was muttering to himself, seemingly oblivious to the actual people round him so absorbed was he in capturing information, not a single facet, an iota of input was missed. Ralscon privately feared the detail that was being recorded, hoping that nothing incriminatory was captured.<br />
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The tall veiled woman had said nothing as she stalked, which perturbed Ralscon greatly, he could not get a bearing on her. She was inscrutable, was she a noble, an observer, a bodyguard? The uncertainty was in no way helped by her dogged silence. In contrast her cheroot toting colleague was garrulous to the extreme, though not particularly interrogative. Nonetheless, Ralscon actually had to check himself several times to stop from revealing information that he had intended to remain a secret. Sometimes the tentacles pulsed uncomfortably to warn him just in time, there was something unmistakably awry about all of this. . <br />
<br />
After a general overview of the facilities during which some inane pleasantries platitudes and general enquiries were exchanged (and no doubt logged by the Savant) The group repaired to a conference lounge where refreshments and drinks were served. It was the most opulent room in the entire complex and Ralscon had made sure every comfort was available. Banal conversation (the veiled woman excepted) ensued and Ralscon found himself drifting off when the Inspector, who had eventually introduced himself as Simeon Garanthe, asked; <br />
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“well this ahl seems fhine and dhandy (The man’s drawled Low Gothic was beginning to rankle at Ralscon something fierce and he’d had to ask for repetition more than once) but what about that Carn fellow? We intercepted a transmission from him on the way here, he seemed mighty worried about something but the signal cut out. Now we hear he reappeared a while after? And all this after he was pronounced killed in a shuttle crash? I’d be obliged if you could clear things up for me. Just for the record of course”<br />
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Ralscon blinked a couple of times and leaned forward slowly. He was experiencing withdrawal from the Emperor's Caress and his responses were retarded. He pawed at the rune that activated the Hololith display in the middle of the table. With a judder the Hololith flickered into life, before settling into a crystal clear image showing the Aquila and Chain. Ralscon swallowed hard at the sight of the sigil before keying in the necessary commands to locate the file in question. The Tentacles pulsed a warning at him but he ignored them. He needed another lift! Everything was conspiring against him. Why now?<br />
<br />
"Well," he began hesitantly, "we were initially informed that Prefect Alistae Carn was killed en-route to Endomaw Mine as part of a shuttle accident. He had been headed there to investigate circumstances surrounding Pallas Larkarsky, an Adept Second Class that had visited the mine previously. Larkarsky’s behaviour became.. aberrant following his visit and his reports were erratic". <br />
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He paused and took a sip of his drink, his mouth was growing dry, another symptom of withdrawal. His hands trembled slightly and he placed them on the surface of the table in front of him to steady them. </div>
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"Carn filed some basic reports and left. He stopped at Hyrk Asylum to interview Larkarsky again but the Adept turned out to already be dead by his own hand, an unfortunate result of his psychosis we believe. Carn was on his way to Endomaw when his shuttle was destroyed in a targeting accident. Apparently the shuttle pilot transmitted the incorrect identification signal and was erroneously identified as hostile. A search was made by authorities at Endowmaw but the shuttle was completely destroyed and no survivors were found. I filed Carn as deceased myself. </div>
<br />
"Thirteen days later we received THIS", he thumbed a rune and the video sprang to life. The assembly watched the video in silence. The room darkened automatically for more comfortable viewing and the soft glow of the hololith cast a wan light on the features of those present. Ralscon glanced around occasionally to judge the reactions of the others; The Savant was utterly absorbed, mechandrites and styluses scribbling away furiously. Ralscon could not penetrate the veil the woman wore, he could barely make out any features at all let alone an expression, he was stuck again by her oddness, the sense of wrongness that emanated from her. It was unsettling. Garanthe seemed bored if anything, languidly chewing on something whilst slouched in his chair. He seemed to be paying the recording only the barest of attention and looked very much as if he would rather be somewhere else. Ralscon started to consider if he might be able to make some sort of deal to curtail the investigation. <br />
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Still the tentacles pulsed weakly, they were trying to warn him of something. Blinking, Ralscon realized the recording was nearing it's end. He frowned and activated a switch in front of him, summoning the two armed menials under the pretense of requesting more drinks. He hoped that no one noticed that one of them stayed behind. He was beginning to get a bad feeling about all of this, emphasized by the pressure from the tentacles. He moved one hand from the desk, slipping it into his pocket and toying with the two small yellow round pills, turning them over between thumb and forefinger, it was comforting, reassuring. He longed to take them, to feel the Caress once more. He suddenly noticed that the recording had stopped and that Garanthe had said something, he blinked, tried to focus, bring his mind back to the present. He'd drifted off, he attempted to clear his head. It was difficult. He just wanted to take the pills. Just one more lift.<br />
<br />
…om Prefect Carn?" Ralscon scowled, he'd missed the start of the question. His mind desperately rallied, attempted to re constitute the entire statement. He chewed his lip, pretending to consider the question. Sadly his mind came to the conclusion that it wasn't one that needed consideration and he flushed rudely.<br />
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"No, nothing at all. The words came in a torrent, trying to make up for his delay in answering. The shipment arrived two days ago and that is all we have had from Endomaw since the recording, Carn never arrived. I was going to contact them to let them know we had received the cargo."<br />
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And the shipment, what happened to it? Something had changed, his gaze was piercing, his manner less languid, the drawl practically gone. The gentle pressure from the Tentacles began to build, becoming a piercing pain. Something was terribly wrong. He winced, pulling his hand from his pocket to cradle his temples, barely managing to loosen the pills from his grasp in time. He reached for his drink, his hand shaking uncontrollably.<br />
<br />
"I....I can't, I sent it on! I... It..." No, something was pressing against the Tentacles,. It hurt no less, but something else was definitely there, something was invading his mind! "I, no... I... NO!!!!"<br />
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He stood up, his actions not his own. He pulled the snub pistol from his belt but even as it cleared his waistband pain blossomed in his ample gut. He dropped the gun and looked down dumbly as red spread across his belly, sticky and wet. As he fell back off the seat to tumble painfully to the floor he saw the guard in the room toppling like a felled tree, a neat smoking hole in his forehead. The door slid open but no one entered. Another shot echoed and Ralscon knew that it had come from within the room not outside. It was the veiled woman, it had to be, he could see Garanthe totally motionless out of the corner of his eye.<br />
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Throne, it hurt! Lying on his back he became acutely aware of just how quickly the blood was leaving his ruptured abdomen, running over his hands as he tried desperately to staunch the flow. He sensed movement from behind the table, heard the scratch and scratch of Aurelius Leuker's styluses. He gave up trying to stem the flow of blood and feverishly rummaged in his tunic pocket for the Emperor's Caress. He managed to pull them out between blood slicked fingers and was about to swallow them when a foot savagely stamped down on his wrist, pinning his arm to the floor . He wept, partly from the fresh pain of splintered bone and partly from the loss of the pills which rolled away, tantalizingly out of his reach, yellow spattered with sticky red.<br />
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A gloved hand reached down to pick up the crimson coated tablets. Rising again, Garanthe examined the pills with shrewd eyes. he prodded at them, smearing the sticky blood and taking note of the emblem emblazoned on the tablets. He addressed the veiled woman who's name was apparently Sefina, still sitting in the chair. she nodded slightly and stood, making her way round the table to where Ralscon lay. She touched a device on her arm and the veil shimmered and disappeared. Ralscon blanched. It was the same dark skinned woman that had contacted him about the rise in activity at Endomaw! He had seen her about, here and there, performing menial tasks, delivering reports. She was a spy, a mole! What was she doing here? What was going on? Ralscon started to suspect that he was in big trouble.<br />
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Sefina (Ralscon had no idea if that was the name she had been using originally - he had never bothered to find out) studied the pills in Garanthes's hand.<br />
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"That's them, she confirmed. They've all been taking them, it's rife." She said the last word with a dripping scorn dismissively gesturing outside the room.<br />
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"We'll take care of them shortly" Garanthe assured her, "I suspect the whole facility will be a loss. We need to find out just how far this canker has spread. Get him up."<br />
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Sefina stooped and hauled Ralscon to his feet, shoving him roughly into a chair . Ralscon yelped as he was jerked back to full wakefulness. Simeon Garanthe strode over, standing beside Sefina who sat demurely on the desk. Ralscon had never thought her a creature of grace but there was an undeniable elegance and poise in her repose.<br />
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"Now", he started, "I have some questions for you Supervisor Ralscon and I want you to think very carefully how you answer." Ralscon didn't reply, instead gazing dumbly at the hole in his abdomen. Garanthe leant forward and slapped Ralscon,across the face. Hard. "Pay attention sir! I would recommend that you measure my words, and yours, with great care."</div>
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"Why, who are you? I've done nothing wrong!" Ralson babbled. He was panicking now. Woozy through loss of blood, he was losing lucidity, though pain fought to keep him conscious. Desperation leant him temporary focus. "This is meant to be a routine investigation a check into what hap..." he stopped abruptly as Garanthe bought a small holoicon out from one of his inner coat pockets. It was a Sigil all knew and feared, a stylised 'I' emblazoned with a skull. "Oh Shit." He finished lamely.<br />
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"Oh shit indeed Supervisor Ralscon. As I'm sure you now understand, I am an agent of The Emperor's Holy Inquisition and you have fallen under my scrutiny. You will live to wish you never had. Now. These drugs. What are they? Where have they come from?"<br />
<br />
Ralscon just blinked. His mind was fraying, and his addled brain was slowly but surely rejecting the reality around him. A swift jab from Garanthe to his wound bought him agonisingly back to the present.<br />
<br />
"Aaagh! They just.... appeared." He mumbled brokenly. "I was approached by a Pilgrim outside the building, they were free. He said it was the Emperor's Caress, that it would bring us closer to Him. It felt good, like being touched by the Emperor Himself." The Tentacles pulsed, but they were losing their grip, he felt his mind clearing. Sefina's brow was furrowed and her eyes closed. Ralscon suspected that she was the cause of this sudden relief. A single tear slipped from his right eye as the tentacles finally let go and faded. Realisation and horror flooded in as Eagles Talons gripped tight in their place. But there was no pain, The pain was gone.<br />
<br />
What have I done? He gasped. Tears ran freely down his face as he sobbed. He started babbling then, telling of his meetings with shady figures, the favours they asked, what he had done to accommodate them. He confessed all. The Savant furiously scribbled throughout, recording his treason word for word. Ralscon divulged names, positions, secret file references, everything. It was as if a floodgate had been opened and he could not stop himself, even as his lifeblood oozed slowly from his ruptured gut. Sefina's eyes were no longer screwed shut but she was staring at him intently, her gaze boring into his soul. He knew he was being psychically coerced and he didn't care. He confessed, in detail and at length. Eventually he was done, drained and growing pale from blood loss. Garanthe looked at him and leant over till he was scant inches from Ralscon's face.<br />
<br />
And the shipment? You haven't mentioned the shipment Supervisor Prime, what happened to it? Ralscon squirmed under the Inquisitor's scrutiny. he noticed that he couldn't feel his legs, that couldn't be good. Blood continued to leak from his belly, though the flow was weak. He whimpered pathetically.<br />
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"It's gone! I... I sent it on! Well, no, I did instruct them to open one first, the other has left, bound for Celias IV. But I instructed them to open one, I wanted to know what it was. What glory Carn was so excited by. It would have been released afterward! But I haven't heard back yet, they were...." His voice tailed off and his head slumped as he succumbed to unconsciousness.<br />
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Garanthe looked at Sefina and nodded. She leant forward and jammed an injector into Ralscon's gut. the flow of blood stopped and he started violently.<br />
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"What? Wh....?" His eyes focused and widened as realisation of his predicament hit him again, the stimulant granting him unwanted clarity.<br />
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The Inquisitor leaned back and stood up.<br />
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"Your men are dead Supervisor Ralscon. You have allowed, through a mix of gross stupidity and ignorance, a Xenos threat most foul to take root here and those containers held something more deadly than you can possibly imagine, a creature unlike anything you have ever experienced. We shall have to hunt it down and kill it. The other container will need to be intercepted before it reaches Celias IV lest it reaches there and spreads its seed." He paused and entered instructions into a device on his wrist before continuing. "It is clear to me however that the source of the corruption is in Endomaw itself. I shall journey there immediately to investigate and cast the Emperor's light on that hellish pit of corruption. Still, something troubles me, something about....."<br />
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He whirled, and pointed at the Savant. "Replay the video, the final message from the Prefect, quickly, QUICKLY! "<br />
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The holovid duly flashed back into life and the recording played once more. Garanthe watched the entire playback silently with arms crossed his eyes narrowing in places. The recording ended and he paused, calculating something in his head. After a moment's further consideration he spoke; <br />
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"This is unexpected, most unexpected. It appears we now have a rescue mission to mount as well. Sefina, please make preparations, a small insertion team including Lt Luminak I think, we will need to be swift and silent. This will be an infiltration type Iota operation, in and out, securing one objective. Prefect Alistae Carn." He paused, "On second thoughts also utilise Asset Vermillion Angelus, some heavy presence might be required.<br />
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Ralscon was quite insensible by now. His vision was greying. He tried to speak but couldn't, his mouth forming noiseless shapes in a vain attempt at speech. Sefina asked the question he was trying to pose anyway.<br />
<br />
"I don't see anything Inquisitor, this is just a man in the thrall of the cult is he not? A loss, why would we risk exposure to save him?"<br />
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"Look closer Sefina," Garanthe gestured at the savant, "One more time if you would Aurelius?"<br />
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The playback started once more, Ganvan Seris presently stepped back and Carn started talking and toying with the Aquila charm, absent mindedly.<br />
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"There!" Garanthe exclaimed, "do you see it?"<br />
<br />
Sefina did not and said as much. Garanthe grunted impatiently and pointed at the display;<br />
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"The flashes, the light on the charm he is manipulating, it forms a pattern, a sequence! Basic Imperial code! Throne above how can you not see it!? It's a message, he may not even know that he is sending it, but it is a message nonetheless. In high gothic to boot." He paused, catching his breath. <br />
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"Liberativ me Rex flava . Save me from the Yellow King. I know not what the Yellow King is, though I have my suspicions, but this is actually a brave and loyal servant of the Emperor and he cries for aid! We shall not shy from this request. He stood triumphantly, regally, a complete contrast to his appearance from earlier.</div>
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<br /></div>
"Besides," he said, "I am sure that once liberated he will prove to be an excellent source of information, certainly more than this pathetic detritus here." He indicated the now comatose Ralscon, slumped in the chair, the soft green light playing out over the pallor of his slack features. "Nonetheless, don't let him die yet, I may have more questions for him and despite his blabbering I am sure there are many more misdemeanours to uncover. I shall leave you here while I journey to Endomaw, I need you to investigate further here. Go through missed communiques and reports. I want to make sure that anything that might further our efforts has not been missed." He passed Sefina his Holo-icon.<br />
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"Take this as my authority, do whatever you need to here. Tidy this mess up. Co-ordinate with the local authorities, purge those you need to, use those you can. Call in additional resources if required, whatever you need. Cast the Emperor's light upon this nest of Corruption, purge and purify it. I expect a vast improvement and detailed report by the time I return. Aurelius, come with me, I will need you to cogitate much of the data we have already uncovered. It appears that I have an appointment with the Yellow King and I'd hate to disappoint. Endomaw awaits." <br />
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-30065001190213731712019-01-12T09:34:00.000-08:002019-01-12T09:34:37.888-08:00White Dwarf Review: A Brand New Beginning. How many iterations of White Dwarf have I seen now? I'm not sure exactly but it's a LOT. From the Fat Bloke days through to the split LOTR/GW mag, through to sell-athon glossy revamp, the weekly format, and then back to this new monthly edition which has once AGAIN just been given a spruce up. all new and shiny for 2019<br />
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Well let's have a look shall we?<br />
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The first thing that will jump out at you (if you are a subscriber that is) is the new full cover art, with the banner, price and headings all gone, in fact only the title remains and even that has been rendered in a translucent gloss effect. Quite simply it looks the nuts and I can't wait to see what other issues look like in this subscriber exclusive format.<br />
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Of course they always say that you cannot judge a mag by it's cover and the normal version of the mag looks externally very similar anyway. So it's time to turn the page.<br />
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The first thing you might notice is that the White Dwarf team is a LOT smaller, now numbering half a dozen blokes. Two of those are Photographers.<br />
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The guest editorial goes some way to explaining, saying that the magazine has moved back into the design studio. This is evident throughout the magazine as its focus has changed considerably.<br />
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Gone are the more esoteric and random features, which could turn up at any point in the mag and were frequently swapped about, this is a much more structured presentation. It's also a much more streamlined and focused one and actually if anything even more resembles it's high end peers which go for around the same price point.<br />
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As mentioned, the mag is far more structured now with each game having its own section and all the articles for that game falling within that section. This keeps everything a bit more coherent as you are not constantly flipping through pages to find the content for your chosen game.<br />
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However, contents wise, one of the FIRST things that you will notice is that there are no new release/preorder dates or prices. Not one. You could argue that this is a good thing, after all, they took up a good dozen pages and that is now space that can be used for articles. Besides Warhammer Community seems to have that kind of thing covered (ok not so much the prices) but the prices in WD had been noticeably inaccurate anyway. Possibly as a result of it's three month lead time<br />
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The magazine is bookended by studio sections including the letters page and Vox Chatter along with readers models. These literally go right up to the inside of the back cover. Every bit of space is utilised although the page count is the same overall as the previous edition of the mag. <br />
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The pages feel higher quality too, glossy and thicker, the overall impression conveying a high end magazine as said before. Despite this the magazine is no thicker than before and if anything seems to have slimmed in profile though I do not have an old copy kicking about to compare it to at the moment.<br />
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So after your letters and readers models you have a nice little article from Phil Kelly where he talks about building the lore in the studio. This is the first hint of the change in course for the mag which is only reinforced as you continue to read.<br />
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The Age of Sigmar section is next, the banner at the top of the page turning from yellow/orange to a deep crimson to mark the change. The contents of this section are laid out at the top along with a generic double picture of a Mortal Relams battle scene in what seems to add as a front page for this section. Turning the page once again you are greeted with a welcome return: Fiction in the pages of White Dwarf! This is a short tale about a Kharadon expedition that takes a turn for the worse, its a great example of a short story that ties in well to what Phil was taking about just a few pages earlier. Jervis is back after that with another four pages where he waxes lyrical regarding the FAQ process for AOS. It's good to have him back and the article is interesting and insightful.<br />
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John Bracken (so that's where he went) is up next as he presents six new missions for AOS Skirmish which has been positively forgotten about since Kill Team. I don't play it so cant say more but it's a nice chunk of rules content and not the last by a long shot.<br />
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Next up is a double spread Start Collecting box advert before we head into a modelling article on Ashqy, The Realm of Fire. There's some really great stuff here with painting ideas, conversion ideas and basing examples all designed to represent this Mortal Realm. Really great stuff and I cant wait to see more like this in the future.<br />
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Another quick double page ad for Hobby tools and paint app is next before we get a featured army, an awesome Nurgle/Skaven force with some top class conversions, lots of painting guides and insight from the creator. This large article takes us to over a third through the total page count.<br />
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Nightvault is next up, as the banner turns to green and we get four pages on the game boards and possible tactics you can utilise with the different layouts. then it's kill Team (orange topped) for four pages on a Kroot Kill Team. Six pages of illuminations takes us to the mid point in the mag and a painting article from Darren Latham, probably one of the best miniature painters there is at the moment. This looks like this may be a regular feature (it's called the Pinnacle of Painting' and once again it's four pages. It's good but doesn't really function as a guide. Golden Daemon is next. these last three pages articles have all gone back to the generic golden yellow banner.<br />
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Golden Daemon is the same as it always was, and is 8 pages. Then its the Heavy Metal Challenge. AOS themed, again same as the old. Some lovely work within though, very inspiring.<br />
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40k is next, and again its a fiction piece first, focusing on the War on Vigilus. Robin Cruddace is next, taking about 40k rules.<br />
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Then it's the PROPER return of Index Astartes as we get loads of background along with some new rules including stratagems and relics for the Imperial Fists successor chapter. This Crimson Fist theme continues through the army showcase which is just the studio army and paint splatter (still no new releases being mentioned once again you notice)<br />
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The section is rounded out by the battle report which is between Catachans and Knights against an Eldar Coalition. It's a super tactical game between two experience competitive players. It's a good read and features old school drawn maps, giving you a good idea of what is going on. The last couple of pages are rounded out by more studio chatter.<br />
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and that's your lot! It's a noticeably different focus from previous, even though much has remained the same. It's 146 pages cover to cover and that includes:<br />
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30 Pages of Age of Sigmar<br />
40 Pages of 40k<br />
around 12 pages of 'other games' ( expect this to change a lot between the myriad games that GW offer)<br />
And the rest is Studio stuff. Golden Daemon, that kind of thing.<br />
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There are noticeably less adverts in the mag, probably about 4 of five double pages and some of the content really is very good. It's much more focused on the main principles of the hobby, Gaming, Painting and Modelling and Background. The return of fiction pieces is a welcome return that I have long wished for and there is a noticeable increase on emphasis on DOING rather than selling (adverts notwithstanding)<br />
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Overall it's a great mag improved and while I might miss the more esoteric bits like Temporal distort for the heady nostalgia, I cannot argue that there is more worth in the content that has replaced them. The increased new rules content should also prove far more popular and is a shrewd way to increase readership. This might just be the mightiest version of WD since the Fat Bloke days.....<br />
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<br />DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-31488280867129347462018-12-27T11:46:00.000-08:002020-01-22T09:30:51.245-08:00The Brotherhood of the Yellow King Part TWO:<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #f1c232;">Chapter VII: Renewed</span><br />
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The convoy threw up a cloud of purplish ash as it drew towards the crash site. Two Chimera Transports and a brace of Armoured Sentinels trundled towards the burning scattered wreckage that lay between two large rock formations. A long furrow had been gouged in the earth where the shuttle had impacted, and the path was strewn with debris. A Chimera and Sentinel each ground to a halt at either end of the trail of destruction.<br />
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Brother Lek stomped down the descending ramp of the Chimera that had stopped nearest the initial point of impact. It was dark, the only light came from his suit lamp and from the twisted and burning metal that littered the ground. The searchlight on the Chimera swung around to try to illuminate the gouge torn in the earth. There was little left, most of the pieces here were of the wings, torn away from the main fuselage as the craft had ripped itself apart. Suddenly the illumination increased considerably as a Valkyrie gunship flew overhead before settling into a circling hover pattern, a powerful spotlight casting its beam in a sweeping arc across the crash site. Lek looked up as it moved, calculating the doomed shuttle's path<br />
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An overhead crystal outcrop had been shattered, jagged spikes testament to the damage wrought upon it. Shards littered the area and some of them had impaled themselves deep into the surrounding rock such was the violence of the destruction. Clearly the shuttle had hit this first and the impact had it had altered its trajectory enough to result in a horizontal slide rather than a meteor like impact into the earth. This was the only thing that had prevented the shuttle from being utterly obliterated on impact. The shuttle had then hit the ground on one side and a wing had been torn off, the vessel then cartwheeling along, losing the other wing and shedding pieces of its hull, ripping itself apart as it went.<br />
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Lek kicked a piece of smouldering wreckage aside, there was little debris here that was big enough to have to be investigated but they had been instructed to look for a body. Were they doing the search for appearances sake or were they actually meant to bring the body back? That was for the Magus to decide. Lek could see His Yellow robed form a few hundred foot away, directing the other search team. Comprised mostly of 3rd Generation hybrids they were a little more brutish and less independent but they were truer to the vision of the four armed Emperor and therefore blessed and holy. He could see them flipping over pieces of wreckage, silhouetted by the flames. Another group nearby were gesticulating wildly and the Valkyrie moved to cover them with the spotlight, Ganvan strode over to their position and Lek broke into a run to join them.<br />
<br />
As he approached he could see what had agitated the Thirds, Though there was no single piece of the shuttle left large enough to be called intact, the spread of wreckage did include some larger pieces of fuselage and interior partially covered in the strange grey/purple ash. Seats were strewn across the ground. One of them was still occupied.<br />
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The pilot worked it's jaw and what remained of it's right arm spasmodically. Various fluids leaked from tubes and ruined flesh, intermingling on the floor and soaking into the dark ash, congealing and solidifying. Like the shuttle there was very little of the pilot left and it was only the extensive augmentations and bionics that meant it was still alive at all. Alive might be have been the wrong term, functioning might be more accurate. In any event, it wasn't in that state for long, at a nod from the Magus a hulking Third ripped the pilot's body from the seat and harness in a gush of blood and lubricants. Holding the stricken cyborg aloft in its claws the Third savagely blew the helpless pilot's head apart with a burst of fire from it's auto pistol before tossing the ravaged remains aside with a guttural snarl. No survivors it was to be then. The Magus nodded approvingly and turned to face Lek as the Valkyrie made another looping pass with it's searchlights.<br />
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"Well?" He swept his Staff in a wide arc encompassing the crash site, "any sign?"<br />
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Lek swallowed hard, though he did not fear the Magus, it simply galled and pained him to disappoint such a venerated figure. He bowed his head before replying.<br />
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"My humblest apologies Holy One. No sign of the human, but given the completeness of destruction of the transport it is unlikely that anything significant could be found." He raised his head once more to meet the Magus's piercing stare as he replied.<br />
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"Take no chances, continue the search and ensure that you are thorough. We need to be sure. We cannot afford a repeat of the incident in the mine. It is not time yet." Ganvan's eye's glinted, leaving no illusion as to what he meant. He abruptly turned and stalked away, a Sentinel coming to a halt to allow his passage. He boarded the Chimera accompanied by a guard of Thirds, the ramp closed and the tracked transport ground its way through the ash and departed, leaving Lek in charge of the search operation. Standing framed by fire, Lek swore that he would not fail as he had with the previous human visitor. He strode back over to his squad to organise the search.<br />
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*</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
Some distance away, weary and pained eyes watched the crash site activity though they could not make out any details. Carn didn't know how he was still alive. He had been thrown far from the site of the crash, landing in soft ash rather than hard rock and somehow escaping the conflagration of the shuttle's demise. There was no wreckage around him. It was dark and he was more or less invisible, not least because he was covered in purplish ash. Nonetheless, he had not escaped entirely unscathed. At least three of his ribs were broken and one arm hung uselessly by his side, his shoulder dislocated. He would have to take care of that at some point. Blood and ash also covered his face and he had a number of minor lacerations to his torso and arms. However, from what he could see of the wreckage of the shuttle it was nothing short of a miracle that he had survived. Truly the Emperor Protects, he thought, mentally reciting a prayer of thanks to the Master of Mankind. Through a haze of pain he watched the indistinct figures go about their search. He'd seen one transport depart and now only one remained accompanied by two walkers and a couple of flyers circling the crash site.<br />
<br />
Sprawled in the side of an ash dune Carn contemplated his next move. Injured and suffering from shock there was no way he could take any kind of immediate action. In addition his continued survival even should he remain undiscovered was by no means guaranteed. Aside from natural predators that might hunt him he had no supplies and no idea where he was. The Emperor may have saved him from certain death in the crash but it would be up to Carn himself to continue to stay alive. He resolved there and then however, that he would not spurn the Emperor's gift, he would not waste His benevolence and e would make the most of the miracle he had been granted.<br />
<br />
Wincing, he sat up and reached inside his jacket with his good arm, feeling for the data slate. He pulled the slab from his pocket, gratified that there was no obvious damage, though it was so dark that he could not see much in any case. After turning it over in his hand a few times feeling for any major damage he was satisfied that somehow it had survived largely intact, though it was obviously scratched and battered from its calamitous journey. He elected not to thumb the activation rune lest the telltale light betray his position, He would have to check it's functionality later. He slipped the slate back into his pocket and as he shifted position the sudden pain from his wounds made him pass out and he slumped back into the ash and dust with a dull thud.<br />
<br />
It was daylight when Carn awoke, blearily blinking ash and dust from his eyes. The periodic ash storms that beset Worth had left even more of him covered than before and he actually had to dig himself out, prying clumps of blood soaked purplish ash from his person. He was stiff and sore but at least he could move. The search party were long departed and the wreckage of the shuttle little more than smouldering debris in the distance but he was careful with his movements nonetheless, partly for fear of drawing attention to himself and partly from necessity due to his damaged frame. He slowly extracted himself from the ash and dirt and groggily got to his feet, grimacing as his various pains intensified. Upright at last and granted light to see by, he surveyed his surroundings;<br />
<br />
He stood in a small clearing among pillars of igneous rock and crystals, walled off by a mighty formation of Basalt. indeed the entire area was almost entirely inaccessible save for a gap up between rock formations no more than ten foot across. The odds for him to be hurled from the crash through that small space were beyond calculation, a few foot to either side and his death would have been a certainty. He looked up and bought his undamaged arm across his eyes to protect himself from the glare of the suns. As he did so the Aquila charm glinted across his field of vision, dangling from his wrist. He bought his arm back down and inspected the golden charm. He didn’t remember looping it around his wrist but there it was, more puzzlingly the chain was fused. He likely could break it but something told him that wasn’t a good idea. He looked up at the gap in the rocks again and the floor around him. The suns rays filtering through the gap formed a crude but distinct Aquila on the dusty ground. The charm keened, echoing off of the walls, resonating in the crystals, piercing his soul. <br />
<br />
Alistae Carn had never been the most pious of men. He dutifully worshipped the God Emperor of Man as all good Imperial citizens did, but it was rote, more as an autonomous indoctrinated impulse rather than a deliberate and heartfelt act. His obeisance was as unthinking to him as breathing, an everyday observation. In an instant all of that changed. He crashed to his knees, ignoring the pain shooting through his body. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he gave himself to the Emperor utterly in a way that he had never thought was possible, body and soul immediately surrendered to His will. He wept as he gave thanks for his deliverance and continued protection under His Aegis. For Carn knew in that moment that he had purpose, divine purpose, and he would not fail in his given task. He swore to this in all that he was. Framed by the Aquila of divine light and fuelled by Holy intent, Alistae Carn was born renewed. <br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /><br />VIII: Ash and Blood.</span></b><br />
<br />
<br />
Getting to his feet once more, Carn assessed his condition. He had a large gash in his forehead and half his face was covered in blood, though the wound seemed to have healed. He also had a number of lacerations to his entire body, most of which were minor and clotted with ash. As he had suspected he had a number of broken ribs and upon lifting his tunic he was alarmed at the lurid bruises and subdermal bleeding that greeted him. In addition his shoulder was severely dislocated, such that he couldn’t reset it himself. He tried, leaning on rocks and crystals to gain leverage but it seemed to be firmly locked out of place. Weak as he was he had no chance of correcting the injury. His overcoat was a tattered ruin, torn, scorched and ripped. It was a miracle that the dataslate had fared as well as it had. He removed it and tore the remainder of the garment to shreds, kneeling upon it to allow him to perform the task with one hand. He deftly tore the coat into strips, using some to bind wounds and some to wrap around his head as a hood. Worth’s environment was hostile at the best of times and he would need the protection from the suns. He kept a few scraps to wrap around the data slate to protect it. He needn’t have worried about it betraying his position, it resolutely refused to activate despite him cleaning it as best he could. It seemed largely undamaged but it just wouldn’t power on. Carn suspected it was out of energy, either that or the simple Machine Spirit within was disquieted and refused to comply. Carn was no Techpriest and lacked the devotions or unguents to repair the slate, he would simply have to connect it to a power supply and hope for the best. <br />
<br />
Of course, getting to one would be difficult. It was a certainty that the wreckage would be of no use to him, though he was bound to check it anyway. He had no food, no water and no medical supplies. All he had was his new found faith and that would have to be enough. Making a simple strap from strips he had torn, he fastened the pocket he had salvaged from his coat and tied the ends. With his makeshift satchel containing the precious dataslate he staggered towards the crash site to see what he could salvage. As he walked he realised that his right ankle was damaged too, hopefully nothing more than a sprain. Nonetheless it would make his progress slow and painful. Determinedly he continued, focusing on the wreckage of the shuttle and setting one foot in front of the other heading towards his destination a few hundred metres away. <br />
<br />
So preoccupied was he on his target he quite failed to notice the ash shifting behind him, following him as he walked… <br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
The crash site was even worse than he could have imagined. The destruction of the shuttle notwithstanding, the search party had been thorough indeed in their hunt for survivors. Debris had been ripped apart, scattered and in some cases destroyed entirely, molten puddles testament to their fervent search. There was little left, his would be killers had seen to that. No medical supplies and no food or water, clearly they had intended that should Carn somehow have survived the crash he would die out in the ash wastes. Not that anyone could have imagined that he would have lived through such an event. Still, Carn did not pretend to know how the minds of the impure worked and did not wish to. Sifting through the charred remains and still warm smouldering metal of the hull he found his chest holster, empty and ruined beyond any hope of being able to use it again. Despairingly he tossed <msreadoutspan class="msreadout-line-highlight msreadout-inactive-highlight">it to one side and bemoaned the loss of <i>Emperor's Fury</i>. <msreadoutspan class="msreadout-word-highlight">He’d</msreadoutspan> had the gun a long time and it had saved</msreadoutspan> his life more times that he could count though it was some time since he had fired it in anger. Suddenly he spotted something glinting out of the corner of his eye. Could it be? He stumbled over to it but It was actually an empty and broken bottle of cheap Skee. Up until that point he had not even thought about the alcohol but upon spying the label and glass lying in the ash he felt a longing for that familiar and comforting slow burn. In a sudden fury he scooped up the broken bottle and hurled it at the closest fragment of hull with his good arm. It shattered satisfyingly but the sudden expenditure of energy made him sag. It was at this moment that the Ashworm attacked.<br />
<br />
Erupting from the ground from behind Carn it fastened its many fanged maw on his shoulder and injected its numbing venom, attempting to wrap its body around Carn and haul him to the floor. Carn, weary beyond measure, tried to turn and dislodge his attacker but had neither the strength or momentum to do so. He was lucky It was only a juvenile, had it been an adult Worm he would be dead already and dragged beneath the surface to be slowly consumed. Nonetheless, in his weakened condition he was in a fight for his life. Already the soporific effects of the creature’s bite were spreading through his body and he could feel his limbs becoming leaden and his senses dull. He fumbled with his good arm for the knife he kept in his boot, though he had no way of knowing if it was still in there. The worm, thrashing about, wrapped a coil round his trailing leg, tripping him. He hit the ground on top of the serpentine predator and rolled away lest his attacker try to constrict him further. He sensed his flesh tear at the shoulder, though there was no pain thanks to the numbing agent in the worm’s venom, but the creature's grip on him remained firm.<br />
<br />
Summoning his last vestiges of inner strength, Carn pushed himself to his feet, kicking his leg free. With the Worm hanging from his shoulder, writhing and trying to gain a fatal grip on him, he hurled himself backwards into the piece of hull that he had hurled the bottle of Skee into. The impact pushed the debris back and he fell on his rump awkwardly. The Ashworm, crushed between the hull and Carn's body, writhed and squirmed in an effort to free itself. Carn leaned forward to try to get to his feet but his legs failed him. He managed to push forward with one last herculean effort just as the hull sheeting toppled. The piece of metal had been supporting another section of wreckage and this fell, impaling the worm scant inches from Carn’s body. The jagged metal cut deep and the Worm’s ichor splashed on the surrounding ground, a cloying and sickly sweet smell filling the air. Pinned to the earth the Worm's struggles grew weaker and weaker as it’s lifeblood pooled into the ash. Finally it stopped moving and hung limply from his shoulder, its grip loosening at last.<br />
<br />
Shaking as the adrenaline left his system, Carn reached up and prised the dead worm’s teeth from his shoulder. It fell to the floor with a thud and he cautiously moved away from it though it remained quite motionless. It was then that he realised he was supporting his weight on both arms. He gingerly lifted his bad arm and rotated it at the shoulder, even if there were any pain he wouldn’t have felt it thanks to the venom but it moved easily enough. He surmised that the force of the Worm’s bite had somehow put the joint back into place, truly the Emperor worked in mysterious ways. Even the blood streaming from his shoulder had slowed and congealed. Furthermore he now had a form of sustenance. Reaching once more into his boot he was gratified to feel his knife after all and pulled it out to start sawing hunks of meat from the Ash Worm, deftly avoiding the venom glands. The skin and flesh was tough but the knife sharp and equal to the task. Carn devoured the first couple of strips raw, gulping down the juicy meat, ichor running down his chin, mingling with the blood and ash. Further slabs of flesh he laid on the metal shard that had killed the worm, in the heat it would cook, or at least dry, quickly.<br />
<br />
With a dozen strips laid out on the hull he arose from the butchered carcass of the Ashworm and scanned the horizon. Much of the surrounding area was rocky mesa but it was not hard to see which direction the convoy had gone, the transports tracks were deep and even the ash storms had failed to completely cover them. He would simply follow them till he got to their final destination, Emperor willing. Kneeling once more by the remains of the Ashworm he continued to flense and skin the creature constructing a pouch from a portion of the skin to house the meat in. As an afterthought he totally removed the skin from the carcass and wrapped it round him like a shawl, with any luck the smell might deter other predators and at worst it would provide a little extra protection from the elements. A final survey of the area found little else of use other than a metal strut he could use as a walking stick/weapon and a charred piece of fabric which he wrapped around his shoulders. He imagined that he looked quite the horror now but he had never been a particularly vain or proud man, and besides, now he had a higher purpose. During his final search he also came across the ragged remnants of the pilot, barely recognisable as a figure, little more than hunks of pulped flesh and metal tubes. Carn regarded the tattered ruin; his newfound piety compelled him to solemnly voice a heartfelt prayer for the soul of the pilot, ushering him into the glorious embrace of the Emperor, beloved by all. Possibly a benediction to the Machine God that they worshipped would have been more apt but Carn knew little of such things and besides, he’d heard tell they were one and the same anyway. This was a comfort to him, there was only the one almighty immortal God Emperor, any other concept was the foulest heresy. <br />
<br />
It was late, well into the second cycle as Carn reckoned it, It was still light and hot though. Travelling a long distance at night would be ill advised, no matter the preparations he had made. He had best make a start. He stood up, testing the weight on his leg and supporting himself on the metal stanchion. There was some pain, which was likely a good sign, indicating that the Ashworm’s venom was wearing off. With one final check of his provisions, garb and equipment (including making sure the dataslate was secure and protected) he set off. As he reached the edge of the debris field, using his improvised staff to gain purchase and lean upon, his foot kicked something, dislodging it from the ash where it was buried. Carn looked down. The item was still mostly covered but he could just about see glinting gilt scrollwork and the letters ‘<i>ore Imper</i>’ partially obscured by purplish grey ash and dust. Tears filled his eyes as he knelt down to retrieve <i>Emperor's Fury</i> and gave thanks once again to the Emperor of Mankind. <br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #f1c232;">IX: A Violent Ingress</span><br />
<br />
It was three days (such as Worth reckoned them) later that Carn approached Endomaw mine. His path had diverged from the convoy's tracks some time ago but he had followed the tank treads far enough to be able to see the plumes of industrial waste in the distance and the City of Endomaw in the direction of the tracks. He knew there were no answers to be found in that metropolis. No it was the mine in which Larkarsky had chanced upon whatever it was that so desperately being hidden. His task, his Holy appointed task, was to uncover it and expose it to the Emperor’s light. He would not fail. He had made good progress, fuelled by divine purpose and Ashworm meat, travelling during the day and fitfully resting at night, plagued by dreams and visions. Only once had he had to fire <i>Emperor’s Fury</i> to dissuade a stalking quadruped predator lean of frame and lank of fur that had stalked him one dusk with glowing feral eyes. A warning shot had been enough to drive off the opportunistic hunter and it had not returned. <br />
<br />
On the second day he had come across one of the rare copses on Worth, a grove of strange purplish trees shooting up between crystal formations. Though he had Ashworm meat to spare it was of little succulence by now and he sampled the fronds and leaves cautiously. Most were so bitter as to be unpalatable but he had eventually found a growth that had yielded a sweet nectar that quenched his thirst. He had lopped off some extra stalks with his knife and taken them with him. He had also taken some branches in the hope that he might be able to produce a campfire but alas they proved to be entirely non combustible and he had to endure the bitterly cold nights huddled and shivering. Still, endure he did, triumphing against the elements and hardships, conquering the terrain and inhospitable environment, and now, NOW his destination was in sight. <br />
<br />
He crouched behind a boulder on a rocky bluff slightly overlooking the mining complex. He had never been to Endomaw but he had studied the plans that had been made available. Unlike those of the city these still seemed to be mostly accurate, at least above ground. Carn had no illusions that subterranean developments would have altered the underground layout drastically. For now though, he needed a point of ingress. Lacking any type of mag scope he had to rely on his own eyes but thankfully he had gotten used to the frequent ash storms and squalls and could see through the clouds of dust around the complex. There! A utility entrance, and only monitored by a single guard. Carn watched him for the next couple of hours, hoping to establish a patrol pattern he might exploit but the guard largely kept to his post, departing only for a moment to relieve his bladder against a nearby wall. Carn became resigned to the fact that he was going to have to kill the sentry. He grimaced, he would have much preferred to sneak in without resorting to violence. Not for regard for the guard’s life, he was the enemy and therefore deserving of such a fate. Besides, Carn had killed before, albeit not for some time. No, it was simply a matter of efficiency. He did not want to have to hide a body and there was the chance that the missing guard might be noticed or the alarm might be raised when he failed to call in. <br />
<br />
There appeared to be no choice however, and he prepared himself for the seemingly inevitable confrontation. First he discarded the wrappings that he had cloaked himself in, Scorched cloth, Ashworm hide, tatters of overcoat, all were discarded and placed in a pile at the top of the bluff. After all, there was no guarantee they would not be needed again. He tore off the ragged sleeves of his shirt and made sure Emperor’s Fury was secure in his waistband. His leg had healed somewhat and he had been able to rid himself of his metal crutch the previous evening, he had considered keeping it as it made a formidable club, but his knife was more subtle a killing tool than a metal bludgeon and he was glad to be rid of the weight. Sporting only his improvised satchel, which he securely tied to his chest, and his weapons, he slowly descended the rock face. It was not a perilous or particularly lengthy descent and within a few minutes he was crouched on the ground behind a formation of crystals. He regarded the sentry; the guard seemed slight and though Carn was no longer young he was powerful and had no concerns about besting the guard in a fight. The trick was to make the fight as quick and quiet as possible. A length of large industrial piping would allow him to close within striking distance, although he would not be able to take the guard totally unawares. He would have to hope that the element of surprise and the Emperor’s grace would prove enough for him to triumph. Before he made his move he drew his knife and made a swift short incision on each forearm, he squeezed the wounds to maximise the produced blood and smeared it all over his arms. He then coated them in ash. The cuts stung as he rubbed the ash into the blood but the desired effect was attained. He knew his face was still covered in ash and blood but where he had removed his sleeves his bare arms, though dirty, were showing far too much flesh that might divulge his position. Now thus camouflaged he was ready. <br />
<br />
Taking advantage of a sudden ash cloud he crawled towards the cluster of piping. Keeping a low profile he progressed along the side of the pipe until he closed within four foot of the sentry. Looking between the pipes he could see his target more clearly. Wearing a mining suit and lackadaisically carrying a poorly maintained lasrifle he nonetheless determinedly performed his duty, maintaining a dutiful vigilance. The guard wore a yellow bandanna over his face, presumably to keep the ash out, and stooped slightly, suggesting some deformation. There was a power to the way that he carried himself however and Carn revised his earlier assessment of the ease of the coming combat. The pipe lay between him and the guard and he would either have to crawl under it or go over the double length of piping to attack. Going under would be slow and leave him far too vulnerable. Mounting the piping would prove no easy task though, especially attempting to do so quietly. He looked back along the way he had come, noting where the piping curved and ran along the building that the utility door led to. He carefully crawled back along the pipe and then pulled himself up on top, hauling himself up as quietly as he could, Crouching on top of the pipe he crept back along to his previous position, going slowly so as to maintain his balance. Before long he was near his original position, though he dared not get quite as close for fear of being spotted atop his perch. He was about ten foot away, slightly behind the guard and entirely visible. A leaping attack was out of the question, even in his prime Carn would have been unable to make the distance. He removed his boots carefully, placing the knife between his teeth. Leaving his heavy footwear atop the pipes he lowered himself carefully to the ground. Absolute silence was impossible, Carn was a big man after all, but he managed to descend without the guard noticing. He was thankful he cast no shadow betraying his movement. There were shadows at the foot of the piping however and he now crouched in these, considering his next move. The door was too far away for him to reach and the odds of him doing so without the guard noticing were zero. He began to slowly edge towards the guard, leaving the sanctuary of the shadows and holding the knife low in one hand so as to keep it out of the light. <br />
<br />
Suddenly he froze as the guard turned slightly, cocking his head. Carn contemplated a knife throw but his skill in such things was a far cry from that in his youth. Instead he tensed like a coiled spring, ready to launch himself at the guard should he be made. Thankfully the guard halted just short of seeing Carn and muttered something, bringing his free hand up to his head and cradling his lasrifle in his other arm. He was obviously reporting in, there would likely not be a better time than this. Carn waited for the sentry to finish his communique and then as he turned back Carn crept forward the final few feet. At that moment fate changed. A squall of ash saw the guard spin around to protect his face and suddenly his eyes widened as he saw Carn crouching in front of him. Carn resorted to the knife throw in desperation but as he had feared it was inaccurate and glanced off the guard, the knife spinning into the dirt. The guard went to raise his rifle to firing position but Carn launched forward and lashed out with a sweeping kick, toppling the sentry and knocking the rifle from his grasp. Carn looked to follow this up with a elbow to the guard's windpipe, ending the fight quickly, but the sentry was more agile than Carn had credited and rolled to the side, avoiding the blow. He went to activate his comm but Carn delivered a precision chop which disabled the device and tore away the face mask. The guard responded by hurling Carn away from him and with the few seconds bought got to his feet. Carn stood as well and the two combatants regarded each other.<br />
<br />
Carn was aghast at the visage of his opponent, where he had torn away the face mask exposed was no human face but rather the features of some beast. The nose was more of snout and the snarling mouth showed pointed fangs rather than teeth. What heresy was this? What den of depravity and horror did the mine contain? He must find out, bring it to the Emperor's light and see it burned to purity. First though, he would have to contend with this guard. He launched himself at the loathsome figure with both fists knotted, intending a critical double handed uppercut blow. It never landed, once again with an ease belying his awkward frame the guard swayed to the side, avoiding Carn's strike. Carn had been expecting this however, and the telegraphed blow was in part a feint. He kicked out at the guard's leg, sacrificing balance for the quick strike. His foot crashed into the guard's leg just below the knee, forcing it in a direction in which the joint was never designed to go, and he was rewarded with a bellow of pain and his opponent toppling to the floor. Carn also hit the ground but rolled quickly to come back up to his feet, scooping his knife up in the process. The guard was still on the floor, trying to rise but unable to do so, able to get to his knees but no more. Carn sprang at the guard knocking them both to the floor, stabbing his knife into his foe's torso. The blade pierced the sentry's side and Carn felt hot blood flow over his hands. They rolled, Carn's blade still stuck, as they vied for position and the guard fought for his life. Carn knew that the longer the fight went on the more disadvantaged he would be. He was injured and as they struggled he felt wounds reopen and his shoulder jar painfully. He had to end this quickly. <br />
<br />
The guard got the upper hand however and landed a punishing blow into Carn's face, he felt bone break, though whether it was his cheek or jaw he was not sure. The guard sat astride Carn and smashed another fist into the Prefect's face, snarling in fury. Carn tried to throw his opponent off but his strength was failing him, his gun was pinned underneath him out of reach. In desperation he reached for his knife, still lodged between his enemy's ribs. blood slicked fingers grasped and slipped on the handle as the guard wrapped both hands around Carn's throat and started to squeeze. Carn's struggles grew weaker and weaker as the guard, hissing triumphantly, choked the life from him. No, not like this, he wouldn't fail like this. He wouldn't fail the Emperor, be unworthy of his light! But that light was fading, Carn's vision started to darken as his brain was starved, his efforts to dislodge the guard growing ever more feeble, his mind fogged and despite the situation he started to calm, a strange peace filling his body.<br />
<br />
Then he was free, the guard's crushing weight was gone. Carn was able to move, more importantly, he was able to breathe. He sucked down great greedy lungfuls of air, gasping as his mental faculties returned. looking to one side and then the other he saw the prone figure of the guard. As the blur faded he then saw a knife sticking out of the guard's chest. His knife. He had no recollecting of landing the killing blow, no recollection of even successfully reobtaining the knife. Carn sat up, aches and pains shooting throughout his body as his mind attempted to make sense of what had happened. The guard was quite dead, his rictus snarl intact despite all life being absent from his form. Carn regarded his vanquished foe for a moment and then rolled to his hands and knees before shakily getting to his feet. he leaned against the nearby length of piping, hands on knees, recovering from the fight. He was conscious of the noise the struggle had caused and tried to listen for any activity or alarm over the blood pounding in his ears. It seemed that the fight had not drawn any attention however and after a few moments recovery he cast his mind towards what came next.<br />
<br />
The body caused a problem, though he had been fortunate to engage the guard just after a check in, he would no doubt be missed at some point. However long that took was pretty much how long Carn had undetected. He contemplated hiding the body, there was not all that much blood on the ground and he could kick ash and dirt over that easily enough. But no, the body would be discovered before long and a hidden corpse would cause suspicion. Just then, as Carn was weighing up his options, a solution was once again provided for him. Stalking from the shadows came a skulking form, a quadruped of the kind he had encountered before. Carn snapped his head up and as swiftly as he could, retrieved his knife. The predator was not interested in him though, there was an easier meal available. The beast hesitated as Carn prepared to defend himself, but upon seeing that Carn was making no further aggressive move approached. Still though it would not feed on the corpse, it's instincts taking precedence over it's need to feed. Carn fished about for a strip of the Ashworm meat, selecting the most tender portion, he tossed it to the far side of the dead guard and the beast approached it, sniffing it cautiously before wolfing it down. It was clearly hungry. Carn stepped forward, knife in hand, and threw another scrap of Ashworm flesh. The creature regarded him cautiously with glowing eyes, sniffing the proffered food tentatively before once again eating it whole. Carn used this moment to slit the guard's throat. A slash across the torso would have been preferable but the mining suit was thick and difficult to cut through, though the blade would have done it given time. In any event the result was the same. As the blood poured from the ruin of the guard's throat and Carn retreated, the predator-turned-scavenger turned its attention to the corpse, lapping at the pool of blood before fastening its jaws upon the dead guard's throat.<br />
<br />
Satisfied that he had utilised the Emperor's gift as best as possible and that the guard's death would now be explained away as an animal attack, Carn turned around and walked back to the door without a second glance. He had the presence of mind to retrieve his boots from atop the pipe first, slipping them back on, though he ached and his right foot was swollen. Hefting the door open with a grunt, Carn stepped into the darkness of Endomaw mine at last.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="color: #b00000;"></span><br /></span>
<span style="color: #f1c232;">X: The Truth Revealed:</span><br />
<br />
Pascal Ralscon leaned over the monitor on hands bunched into fists. Ruddy of complexion and wide eyed, he was trying his very best not to get angry, he couldn’t afford to get angry, not now. <br />
<br />
‘Yes I see but.. ‘ he paused as the monitor speakers crackled and hissed.. <br />
<br />
‘It was an accident’ he responded ‘I made a full report, there is no need to…’<br />
<br />
Again he was cut off as whoever was on the monitor interrupted. He cut them off in turn, he was starting to lose his cool. <br />
<br />
‘I really don’t think that this is nece…’ this time he was stopped mid word as the volume of the response increased. A barrage of words followed and his face blanched as he absorbed the import of what was being said. His next words were subdued and meek. He spoke only between instructions and to confirm his comprehension. <br />
<br />
‘Yes my Lord, I understand. Full co-operation. Yes. I will make the necessary preparations for his arrival. Yes my Lord, the Emperor Protects. <br />
<br />
The communication ceased, the picture fading to show the standard background of the Imperial Aquila grasping a chain in both talons. <i>Ad Gloriam Imperator</i> was written beneath the looping chain and Ralscon had just been reminded in no uncertain terms that he was but one link, a very insignificant link, in that chain. <br />
<br />
Now the Eagle was coming. <br />
<br />
He slumped back into his chair, perspiration running from his forehead though it was not warm. In fact he felt cold. Carn might mock his tendency to perspire, calling him 'Persi' but this was something else altogether, borne of dread. His heart was hammering so hard in his chest he thought it was going to burst. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a clear little bag of yellow pills. Each was round and flat and stamped with a curious symbol or brand. He’d paid it no attention at the time. The man who supplied them (at a cheap price no less) assured him that they would make him feel better and that they did was all Ralscon cared about. Apparently they were called the Emperor’s Caress and they were becoming rather popular in Narthley. They were of course strictly prohibited and only available through the rather extensive black market. <br />
<br />
He tipped the bag, three pills tumbling into his sweaty hand which he immediately bought to his mouth whilst simultaneously moving the other hand to his drink. One, two. Swallow, drink. Done. He sat back and almost immediately felt his body relax. His muscles loosened, his senses dulled and yet at the same time he felt his mind open. He could almost visualise it expanding, unfurling like petals, his cerebrum parting and unravelling. He was still alert even though his movement was slowed and his eyes glazed. Now came the second part of the experience: Golden hands, no, tentacles, yellow tentacles it seemed, penetrating his expanded brain matter. The sensation was simply exquisite. Ralscon was far from a sentimental man but he had felt love, and he felt it now, unconditional love for him, spreading through his being. He leaned back into the folds of his chair to better enjoy the sensation, feeling his spirit and mind being enriched, elevated. He soared on Eagle wings, no they were more leathery and bat like than that, ridged and clawed not feathered. Up and up he went, into the clouds, into the atmosphere, into the stars. <br />
<br />
He was suddenly conscious of a flashing light on his terminal. It pulsed slowly, demanding his attention. Suddenly the screen came to life, the Aquila, chain and motto replaced by lines of text, scrolling across the screen, unravelling like thread. It was a report from one of the furthermost relay outposts. He tried to ignore it but the glowing screen and flashing light were insistent. He frowned, this was too distracting. Leaning forward he deactivated the screen. Even three tablets wouldn’t last forever and thanks to Carn he now had an investigation team coming from Celias III to look into things. Even dead, the bastard was causing him problems. He sank back into the chair. Preparations for their arrival could wait, they wouldn't arrive for several days. First, the stars...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<br />
Far off in Endomaw and far less dead than Ralscon believed, Alistae Carn crouched in the dark. Thus far he had met precious little resistance. Three easily dispatched guards, three easily broken necks, three easily hidden bodies. Now, after concealing the latest corpse, he waited. <br />
<br />
It was astonishing how quickly old, half remembered skills had re-established themselves to the fore. His tread was stealthy, even in his boots. His senses were sharpened, his eyes had become accustomed to the gloom and he unconsciously stuck to the shadows, undetectable to the casual observer. He was following lengths of electrical conduit, hoping they would lead to a power terminal where he could try to reactivate the precious dataslate. He stilled his mind as his ears picked up faint footsteps. <br />
<br />
His predator’s instinct kicked in and he reduced his profile, becoming almost completely invisible in the shadows of the vents and pipes. The footsteps grew closer, and he perceived a figure approaching in the gloom. Slight, unarmed. This was too easy. None of the workers he had killed thus far had posed even the slightest challenge, they were easy meat. Carn thought of the different undetectable ways that he could kill the approaching miner. The simplest was to allow him to pass then come up behind, a quick grab, choke hold, stamp on the calf and, snap: Subject terminated. Alternatively a sweep kick, throat chop and neck snap<span style="background-color: transparent;">:</span> Subject terminated. Or a nerve pinch from behind, neck snap: subject terminated. A knife from behind between the correct vertebrae<span style="background-color: transparent;">:</span> Subject terminated. Over a dozen possibilities, each with varying levels of noise and disturbance and therefore evidence, ran through his mind in seconds, the numbers and scenarios playing out like a vid. None of these would actually be used though and he stilled his breathing as the figure walked past. Non-combat; always the best option unless absolutely unavoidable. The other guards had been directly in his way, this individual was not. Besides he didn’t want too many people to go missing that might be noticed. Carn waited for him to turn the corner and then crossed the corridor and continued down the passage from which the miner had emerged. <br />
<br />
The conduits snaked and split a few times, leading to a few wrong turns but eventually Carn found himself standing in front of a data terminal, having had to kill only one more guard, who lay at his feet awkwardly. The terminal was locked of course but another of Carn’s re-emergent skills took care of that as he deftly prised the cover of the input panel loose and rewired the board whilst at the same time placating the Machine Spirit and beseeching it’s forgiveness with a common litany of contrition. His work done, he restored the machine and attached his data slate. Breathing a prayer to the Emperor, he thumbed the activation rune. <br />
<br />
The device hissed and screeched as its abused hardware was activated. The screen flickered a few times and then died. Carn cursed, he didn’t have time for this. He hit the slate hard, jolting the quiescent and damaged Machine Spirit within to life. Cajoling only got you so far sometimes. The screen flickered again and then dulled but the Machine Spirit was strong and the dataslate came to life. The top left of the display was cracked badly but the device was still usable. Carn scrolled through the entries, some of the files were damaged, corrupt. The dataslate's memory had suffered badly in the crash But Carn trusted in the Emperor and sure enough there it was... he opened the file. <br />
<br />
Scan reading the words, he felt his heart sink. There was nothing here, nothing obvious anyway. He scrolled through the text, trying to establish any cipher or code. There were no patterns, no keywords or phrases, nothing. He kept scrolling, past the embedded video files, past the charts, past...there! A video excerpt embedded in the text, an interview with a Professor 'Rex Flavo'. This was it. Expanding the video window he hit play, whilst making sure to record a copy to an undamaged section of the dataslate’s memory just in case. <br />
<br />
Pallas Larkarsky’s face appeared. Even through the damaged screen Carn could see the Adept was worn and haggard, his eyes wide and haunted. He was jittery, frantic. When he spoke however, his voice was calm and measured. He knew the import of his message and how critical it was that it was delivered concisely. <br />
<br />
‘Whoever is reading this message, whether you have stumbled upon it by chance or followed my clues, I implore you, you must warn the Imperium before it is too late. I have escaped Endomaw, but they are coming for me, I can hear them. Worse, I can feel them. In my mind, in my mind oh Emperor save me!’ He made a visible attempt to calm himself before continuing. <br />
<br />
“I had got the feeling that they didn’t want me there, that they were hiding something, and I found it. The door at the main complex, locked by the access panel. The sequence is one alpha four four zeta kappa omega three. I watched them, I have good eyes. They all went, I was alone, they thought I was asleep. But I wasn’t. I followed them. The door, it leads to an antechamber, and there are robes,hooded yellow robes. I took one, put it on, went in through the other doors. The one with the sign. They lead to steps, steps that went down and down and down..' He paused, visibly trying to control himself, aware that he had begun babbling. His eyes bulged and he grimaced in pain, bringing his hands to his temples.<br />
<br />
“Oh Emperor preserve me! They are looking for me, they are in my mind, in my mind! No not yet, not yet, I must tell before it is too late. So I followed the stairs down and as I descended I heard chanting, thousands of voices chanting. The stairs lead to another chamber. Vast. Massive. Under Endomaw. I stayed at the back, I was scared to get closer. They were all there, in a crowd, chanting and swaying. Ganvan was there, Ganvan Seris. He was standing at a pulpit, there was something behind him in the shadows, something huge.’ The memory was almost too much for him and Carn could see the terror in his eyes, but from somewhere Larkarsky found hidden reserves of resolve and continued. <br />
<br />
'The chanting reached a fever pitch and stopped. Suddenly there was silence, Ganvan said something, I was too far away to make it out clearly but he said something about a Yellow King. Then there was a grinding sound and he stepped aside. Something came forward, it was a throne, a throne, and in the throne… no, not yet, not yet!!!'<br />
<br />
Then Larkarsky screamed. The sound erupted from the devices speakers, startlingly loud. Carn looked about him but there was no sound of activity spare the hum of machinery, which was nowhere nearly loud enough to drown out the piercing shriek. Carn scanned the area for a few moments and then satisfied that the alarm had not been raised returned his attention to the dataslate. The aspect of the video had changed, the sky of Worth visible, clearly the slate had been dropped. Afraid to touch the slate lest he disrupt the playback, Carn waited, still glancing about himself warily. The sound of laboured breathing came from the slate and then the view shifted crazily, coming to rest again on Larkarsky’s face. Blood streamed from one nostril, his ears, and most worryingly, his eyes. His voice was shaky, slurred, his eyes were glazed but he found the strength to continue. <br />
<br />
‘It was monstrous’, he managed, 'sitting in the the throne, even from the back of the chamber I could see the claws, the four arms and the eyes, the eyes, they flashed… green'. A vein pulsed in Larkarsky’s temple, slowly, malevolently. The Adept shuddered and continued, wiping blood from his nose.<br />
<br />
'I don’t know what it was, but it was alien, but not a dumb beast, it was flanked by two smaller versions of itself which crept from the darkness. It looked up, it saw me! It saw ME! In that moment our minds were connected. I knew this was the Yellow King, I saw the gulf of space, and things, things! Vast living creatures moving through the stars, tentacles writhing. Always hungry, always consuming. A plague on the cosmos. Endomaw is a cult preparing for their arrival. The Yellow King was surprised, I could tell. He shrieked and pointed at me and as one the crowd turned and dropped their hoods. They were all monsters too! Well n,no not all of them. But a lot of them, and not just their faces. I could see that some of them had extra arms or claws or other deformities. They came for me, as one. I had to run, to get away. As soon as I was out I tried to send a message but nothing is getting through. I can feel a shadow, a shadow preventing me from transmitting. I have to just record this and hope for the best. An invasion is coming,. You must warn them, you must warn them! Warn them about the Yellow king, warn them about the plague, the plague from space.. they are coming… a yellow plague, yellow tentacles from space, yellow...yellow....yellow....<br />
<br />
The last was spoken in a whisper and Larkarsky’s eyes rolled. Fresh blood flowed anew from his nostril and the screen shook as a spasm overcame him. Then the screen turned black. Carn stared in shocked silence at the now dark cracked screen. Despite himself he could feel the terror rising. Suddenly he was shaken from his reverie as a siren started blaring. The terminal deactivated and the dataslate sparked and fizzed as the connection terminated with an overload. Carn snatched the dataslate and ran, stuffing the precious device in a pocket as he fled. Red light pulsed as he sprinted down the corridor, all thoughts of stealth forgotten. He drew <i>Emperor's Fury</i> from his belt, clearing the chamber. He could already hear shouting nearby. There was no point trying to find another terminal to send a signal, any transmissions would be blocked. He had to escape. He headed out the way he had come, retracing his steps from memory. The shouting was getting louder. He turned a corner and there was a miner, no, cultist. They were all cultists. <br />
<br />
Muscle memory bought his arm up and he pulled the trigger. A large hole appeared between the eyes of the miner, (no, cultist, they were all cultists!) and the body crashed to the floor. The gunshot echoed round the corridor and more figures turned the corner. Carn threw himself low to avoid a volley of autogun fire. He rolled and let off four shots, taking out four targets, but there were too many. More fire struck his position and he scrambled back round the corner breathing hard. His skills might have returned but he was still much older than when he had last used them properly. He had no time to rest his weary body however. With the red on the walls blending with the sticky red on the floor, he ran back down the corridor. Instead of heading back to the terminal he purposely chose other passages at junctions, there had to be another way to the surface. His mind raced as he put together an incomplete mental map based upon the paths he had taken thus far. Something he would not have been able to do a day ago now came as second nature to him and he thanked the Emperor for this returned gift. There, a path that he had stopped following not because it had no conduits but rather because it had many, a branching point. A left, a right and another right. Spurred on, he fled down the corridor pursued by shouts and sporadic gunfire. <br />
<br />
Ganvan Seris closed his eyes, the unfortunate neophyte in front of him crashed to the floor, smoke billowing from his eye sockets, mouth, nose, and ears. Ganvan sighed, he disliked losing his temper. He addressed the smoking corpse, slowly emphasising each word, each syllable. <br />
<br />
‘I said, no, mistakes.’ He pulled his golden robe free of the grasping wizened fingers of the neophyte and motioned to the two Thirds that were his makeshift bodyguard. They shuffled forward and removed the body from in front of him. They then departed as he made it clear that he wished to be alone. <br />
<br />
This was a complication, and one that he did not wish for. He could feel the ire of the Patriarch psychically and had no wish to suffer it first-hand. The malign intelligence tasked him. They were so close. Close to the day of truth. The Yellow day. Then it would not matter. Till then, they must remain secret, they must remain safe. Clearly the attack on the Shuttle had failed to eliminate Carn, somehow the Prefect had survived and despite the odds made it to Endomaw. Initially localised, the alarm was now complex wide and the entire mine was on alert. Thus far Carn had killed ten brethren, though truth be told Ganvan mourned their loss not. They were little more than pawns, Fifths and Fourths, of little value. Still it was perturbing that the Prefect eluded them still. He must be eliminated, quickly. Unless…. <br />
<br />
Striding over to the nearest wall he picked up the ornate mouthpiece mounted in its cradle. Finished in bronze It bore the sigil of the Yellow King. It was an ostentatious affectation, but one that he allowed himself. <br />
<br />
'My brethren, hear me. We have an intruder in Endomaw mine. This non believer is not of the Brotherhood and must be caught lest he spread his lies. Heed him not, find him, capture him. Kill him if you must. But I would rather he is taken alive so that he can embrace the glory of the Yellow King. Be warned my brethren, this man is dangerous, he has already killed many of our number. But we are strong, the Brotherhood will triumph. This I have seen. Ad Gloriam Flavo Rex!'<br />
<br />
Speech over, he replaced the mouthpiece. All around he could feel the cult stir, impelled by his words and subtle psychic signals. Carn would not escape, there was nowhere to go and the Brotherhood were too many. It was only a matter of time, and when finally snared he would serve them well. whether he wanted to or not. <br />
<br />
<span style="color: #f1c232;"><br />XI: An Explosive Flight</span> <br />
<br />
<br />
Heavy booted rapid footfalls signalled the group's approach. Shadows rushed past and the footfalls receded into the distance betraying their departure. Had the passers-by been more observant they might have noticed scratches on the vent grille on the wall, or the flakes of rust on the floor beneath. Thankfully for the occupant of the vent in question they were not more observant. Carn held his breath as the latest group passed. This was the fourth, and they were getting more frequent. That suggested that they were focusing the search in this area. He would have to move soon. Further progress through the vents was not an option, the system narrowed further on and Carn was a big man, far too big to fit through the gap. He also could not hide here indefinitely, sooner or later he was going to be discovered. <br />
<br />
His headlong flight through the corridors had lead him towards the central mining complex. He had encountered a couple more patrols, which he had eliminated, and had gone through a clip and a half of Emperor’s Fury’s precious ammunition. Soon he would have to arm himself from corpses. He'd had no chance to do so previously, the last couple of hours had been a mix of frantic firefights and a deadly game of cat and mouse. His re-remembered skills had been stretched to the limit as he strove to evade capture. He had had to blast his way out of several ambushes and dead cultists littered the ground where he had passed, constantly acting as a trail of bloody breadcrumbs showing his path. Eventually he had managed to break free of his pursuers and after a prolonged flight down a seemingly deserted access tunnel (though the cultists had a habit of coming out of the very walls; such was their uncanny ability to ambush) he had stopped, taken a moment to think and upon hearing pursuit once again, elected to hide rather than flee. <br />
<br />
That had been over half an hour ago by his reckoning and he decided that he could remain no longer. Once the running footsteps had receded beyond his hearing he cautiously removed the grate. Almost silently he set it on the floor and slowly descended from the vent. He replaced the grille carefully and swept the rust under a nearby crate on a pallet. His mental map was shattered, he had had no chance to recall pathways or routes during his desperate flight. Going by the build-up of industrial machinery and carts of ore he had seen recently, he deduced that he was approaching the central mine, working his way deeper into Endomaw rather than an exit. He knew this was intentional, that he had been shepherded down various tunnels and paths to an area not of his choosing. Deep down Carn knew he would never leave Endomaw. The number arrayed against him was insurmountable, eventually he would be caught. But his divinely appointed task was not completed yet. He had to get word out, broadcast Larkarsky’s message somehow. Furthermore he needed proof, lest the warning be dismissed as the ravings of a clearly distressed madman. He had no way of knowing how he was going to get this proof. He had no way of knowing how he was going to transmit the message, given that the dataslate seemed dead, the indomitable Machine Spirit within extinguished at last. He had no way of knowing how he was going to even get out of this tunnel. All he had was his faith and that would have to be enough. The Aquila charm at his wrist glinted as if in affirmation of his conviction.<br />
<br />
Carn weighed his options. He knew it was going to be impossible to remain out of combat indefinitely, it was only a matter of time before he was forced to fight. Almost unconsciously he removed his knife from his boot and dulled it in the soot and ash at his feet. More deliberately, he rubbed additional ash and soot over his arms. His exertions and stress, not to mention the inherent heat underground, had resulted in him sweating profusely and his pale skin was showing through the dirt again. He also blacked his face, his mind wandering once more as he absentmindedly rubbed the dirt into his cheeks above his new beard that had grown over the last few days. Looking at the work lights above him he traced the wiring to the wall opposite, isolating the cable that powered the lumin-globes. Looking about him for any signs of activity, he crept over to the wall and reached up, slicing through the chosen wire. Immediately the tunnel plunged into darkness and he heard cries of alarm echo around him.<br />
<br />
Advantage Carn.<br />
<br />
The cultists mining suits had built in search lights but they would be of limited use. From the look of some of the more hulking figures that he had seen, sporting additional limbs and bestial features, they would no doubt have additional senses that they could utilise but he would take every edge he could. He skulked forward like a shadow in the night. Now he was the hunter and his pursuers the prey. A few hundred metres down the tunnel around a bend he saw beams of light up ahead, bobbing up and down as the sources swung about wildly. Carn stopped, the hum of the machinery prevented him from making out individual words but the consternation ahead was clear. He shifted his foot and felt it strike something solid and unyielding. Reaching down he felt cool metal, a track, he must be getting close to the mine itself.<br />
<br />
He wouldn’t get through the group up ahead easily, they were on high alert. He suspected he might drop half the group with a surprise attack before he was overwhelmed, even with darkness as his ally. He ran through simulations and scenarios in his mind, before choosing the one with the greatest chance of success. Picking up a lump of rock he struck the track, the trick was to produce the right volume, too loud, everyone heard it and he was no better off. He needed just a couple of the group to investigate and yet still strike hard enough to make sure the sound was heard over the background noise of the active machinery. Sure enough, two searchlights swung round and Carn ducked behind a couple of barrels to avoid being spotted. The lights panned across the ground, brightening the tunnel a little as the beams of light passed. The extra illumination showed the barrels in stark relief and as Carn noticed that they bore warning signs, another tactical possibility presented itself as his agile yet weary mind absorbed the latest information. He waited for the lights to swing away again, deigning not to try to tempt the bearers closer for the moment. Once he was enveloped in darkness once more he put his new strategy into action. First he leaned against the barrel he was behind, it was heavy. Full, perfect. Next, as quietly and quickly as he could he punched a hole into the barrel near the bottom. A thick, viscous, sticky liquid flowed forth and an acrid yet honey sweet stench followed it. Not Promethium, something else, likely some kind of lubricant for the machines. As long as it burned, that was all Carn needed. <br />
<br />
Carn drew Em<i>peror’s Fury</i> from his waistband, this shot didn’t need to be accurate, the next did. <br />
<br />
Peering back over the barrels he could see that the lights were more steady, much less agitated as the group discussed their next move, or perhaps waited for an update after reporting the blackout. It mattered not, they would be dead soon enough. Levelling the weapon, he aimed for just below one of the lights and fired. The Emperor himself must have guided his aim as he struck true and his target dropped, the light jerking crazily. The reaction was immediate. All the lights swung as one in his direction and he ducked again, if he presented a target then they might fire and that would be a fiery death for him that he had no intention of experiencing. He tried to control his breathing, this would have to be timed perfectly. The lubricant continued to flow onto the floor and he prayed that their lights wouldn’t show the leaking liquid, as it was, it was pooling round his boots. Grunts and shouts followed and then the sound of running. The lights jogged and jerked crazily as the cultists approached. Carn calmed himself, focusing his energies and trusting in the Emperor's guidance, placing himself under His aegis. The lights grew closer, closer, the sound of boots blending with the hum of machinery to provide a symphony building steadily to an inevitable crescendo. Closer, closer. Carn tensed like a coiled spring, he had only one chance at this. The cultists slowed, they were only metres away now, and knowing they were approaching the location of the shooter they were more cautious. Carn’s tally thus far was common knowledge at this point and they feared him. Good. They slowed to a walk, the lights steadying and showing more barrels that Carn had failed to notice. They were right on top of him when one of them stopped, noticing the liquid as it squelched underfoot. <br />
<br />
<i>Now</i>. <br />
<br />
Carn sprang, not at the cultists but over the barrels, still full enough to support his weight without being toppled. The cultists saw little more than a dark blur but swung in the direction of the noise. Carn was not as agile as he once was, but managed a clumsy somersault none the less, getting as far away from the barrels as he could. He hit the ground, rolling as he did so. Gun fire came up after him as he came up into a crouch, twisting and bringing <i>Emperor’s Fury</i> up in both hands and firing in one fluid action. It still wasn’t quick enough, he was struck by a few shots as he fired. His aim was true though and the reaction immediate and violent. Despite this Carn saw everything in slow motion adrenaline and focus sharpening his senses and awareness. The flash of <i>Emperor’s Fury’s</i> muzzle. The alarm on the cultists faces, mouths and snouts parting in snarls. The impacts on the ground, thankfully clear of the leaking lubricant, stitching their way toward him. His shot moving towards the barrels. He grunted as he was hit by autogun fire, spinning to the side in an attempt to dodge further injury. He didn’t see the impact of his shot or the lubricant ignite but he felt the resultant reaction. He tried to get to his feet but in any event was hurled through the air as the barrels ignited and the liquid on the floor burst into flame . The conflagration singed his hair and burned the clothes from his back and <i>Emperor’s Fury</i> was flung from his grasp as he was thrown from the explosion. Further barrels ignited and the roar of exploding flammables was joined by the rumble of dislodged and falling rock as the tunnel caved in. <br />
<br />
Carn hit the ground hard and lay motionless for a moment as the roar subsided, replaced by a loud ringing in his ears. He got shakily to his feet and looked back. The tunnel collapse was total, ground to ceiling was a pile of rock. A few twisted and broken bodies lay around the debris, some of them still burning. Carn saw <i>Emperor’s Fury</i> glinting in the firelight and he stumbled towards it. It took him two attempts to retrieve the gun, such was the disruption to his equilibrium. He had to move, fast. The cave in had eliminated his enemies and prevented pursuit from one direction but was almost certainly going to attract attention from elsewhere. Unsteadily, he moved down the passage, away from the flickering flames and deeper into the darkness of the tunnel. He walked along the track, peering into the gloom. One eye was swollen and half closed and as he moved he became acutely aware of the hits he had taken from the cultist gunfire. Thankfully the majority were flesh wounds, Emperor be praised, and only one really counted as a gunshot wound, low on his right shoulder. He could feel that the bullet was still in there and suspected it had impacted his right shoulder blade. Blood flowed profusely from the wound and he attempted to staunch it with the remains of his tunic best as he was able. He turned down the first side tunnel that he could, it was less likely to lead to anywhere critical but he had to get somewhere away from the source of any reinforcements investigating the cave in. Besides the roof above him was creaking and groaning ominously and he could not be sure that he had not further damaged the entire tunnel structurally. He also seemed to have reached the extent of the circuit he had severed as he came across working lighting and he would swiftly be discovered should he remain in such a lit area. Even if he had been seen however, he would surely have had a moment before being recognised. Burnt, covered in ash and blood, he looked as much like a daemon or fiend from legend as an identifiable human.<br />
<br />
<br />
But he was still human, not a mutant cultist, and he had the Emperor's work to perform. Securing <i>Emperor’s Fury</i> in his belt once more, he carried on down the side tunnel as quickly as he could. Back behind him he could hear commotion as booted feet pounded past and he felt quietly vindicated in his choice. He had no idea just how fortuitous his decision actually was. He had to climb a few ledges and navigate a few narrow gaps but eventually he came to a deserted processing room. The machinery here was loud, with grinding gears and engines drowning out even the residual ringing in his ears. Even better, there was a medikit on the wall. Carn pillaged the kit, taking dressings, pain pills, stimm pills and emergency coagulant, laying them out on the floor. in order of use. First though he had to get this bullet out of his shoulder. He grabbed a pair of forceps, and taking his knife from his boot (and sterilising it), made an incision in his shoulder. He was less dexterous with his left hand but eventually he managed to extract the round, which thankfully was still in one piece. He could feel bits of his shoulder grind as he moved it though and knew that professional medical care was going to be needed, the wound being beyond his battlefield medical training to repair. <br />
<br />
<br />
He used the emergency coagulant to stem the blood flow and gulped down the pain pills and stimms. Dressing the wound carefully he looked about him. The room was very warm, almost intolerably so and he would not be able to stay for long. There was little else of use in the room but another more careful search of the pack revealed a plasma infuser, he jabbed the needle on the end of the device into his side and grunted. The serum within would compensate for the blood he had lost and stimulate the production of new cells. A lucky find indeed, though he was inclined to believe that once again that it was the Emperor providing for him in order to complete his holy task. He lay back for as long as he dared, waiting for the cocktail of chemicals to take effect. His head cleared, strength flowed to his muscles and his aches faded. Sufficiently restored, he rose to his feet. Even the swelling in his eye lessened and he was able to see with both again though his face was still encrusted in blood. The heat in the room was making him sweat heavily and streaks appeared in his camouflage, he rubbed his arms irritably and wiped his hands on what was left of his trousers, it was then that his hands hit the object in his pocket. The dataslate! He had forgotten about it entirely in the frenzied action. He removed it from his pocket and groaned as he saw the damage. Two slugs had hit the dataslate, burying themselves in the inner workings, the explosion itself or at least his subsequent impact into the dirt had cracked the case open and twisted the shell of the device, even worse it had damaged the workings within. The dataslate would never power up again, it was beyond repair. <br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Carn wept, the tears mingled with the sweat on his face and soaked into his beard. It had all been for nothing, nothing! He had failed, he had failed his Emperor. There could be no greater transgression, no greater betrayal of trust and love. <br />
<br />
<i></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>No</i>, he refused to believe it. There had to be a way. There HAD to be. <br />
<br />
His knife lay on the floor, its tip covered in blood. He scooped it up and wiped it clean with his palm. Gently, he prised open the casing of the dataslate even as he apologised to the departed Machine Spirit. Finally the case sprang free and clattered to the floor. Carn inspected the inner workings, tears stinging his eyes. He rubbed them clear and peered at the innards of the slate. He was no Tech Priest but he had rudimentary knowledge of machinery in general. He identified the power core, shattered by a bullet. There was the wiring leading from that to the main processing unit, that too was partially destroyed by a round. Under that however…<br />
<br />
He flipped the chip aside with a flick of his knife. There! Under the processor, the memory shard. It was scratched and cracked, hopefully the damage was no more extreme than before. He dared not touch the crystal with a knife, instead he retrieved another soft sterile dressing from the medikit and loosened the cradle with the tip of his blade. He then held the dressing over the crystal and upended the slate. The crystal dropped into the dressing and he wrapped it carefully, placing the dressing back into it's resealable packet. This was now a cargo most precious. There was still a chance that he could access the data on the crystal if he could find a compatible machine. He dropped the carcass of the dataslate to the floor, silently thanking the Machine Spirit for its brave service. The device deserved better than such an ignoble end but he had precious little time as it was. <br />
<br />
<br />
He had to leave this room. There was no door, he had noticed that when he first entered, but there was a chute above from which the ore was deposited. The processing machine was autonomous, there was no emergency stop rune, no way to deactivate it. Thus Carn found himself suspended above the rotating crushers and milling gears, his shoulder protesting as he pulled himself up into the chute. Thankfully the vertical ascent levelled out relatively quickly and he found himself confronted by a shaft which contained a trough and a conveyor belt. There was space enough though that he could edge alongside the trough if he was careful which was fortunate as ore was moving along the belt to the chute. He had once again been most fortunate with his timing, the Emperor watching over him still. Grunting with the effort and ensuring that the packet was still safe in his pocket, he continued along the dark passageway trying to hear above the squealing conveyor belt to see if anything was ahead. <br />
<br />
The Stimms started to wear off and as the adrenaline they had lent his ravaged physiology departed exhaustion began to take it's toll, but he had to keep going, so much depended on him. Worth, the Celias system as a whole, possibly the entire sector. They had to be warned. Monsters lay in their midst, had done all along, infiltrating and growing like a malignant tumour. But this was nothing compared to the horror that was coming. Unfathomable, ancient and ravenous. Giving up just wasn't an option. So it was that Carn, weary beyond measure, pulled himself along the passageway step by step, toward his final destiny. <br />
<span style="color: #f1c232;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #f1c232;">XII: One final hope</span>-<br />
<br />
A loud shrill bought Ralscon out of his high. Irritably he fumbled for the acknowledgement rune to stop the alert. Realising too late that it was a vid-call. The screen snapped into life and Ralscon sighed with relief when he saw that it was just one of his subordinates and not anybody of real import. Ralscon knew that he looked a state, he had been using the Emperor's Caress a little too much recently, blaming the stress of the incoming inspection crew. Dirty, bleary eyed, with dilated pupils (and losing weight rapidly, though he had plenty to lose) he was starting to resemble the wretches that skulked in the dank dark holes of Narthley, the very dregs of society. His work was suffering too, urgent communiques and updates lay unattended, important missives and instructions disregarded.<br />
<br />
Still, he wasn’t alone, Emperor's Caress usage was becoming more and more prevalent, he knew that many of his own staff indulged for a fact. Indeed, it seemed most of Narthley was using the narcotic, productivity was grinding to a halt and there were rumours that even the Arbites, the very hall of Imperator Lex Lawgivers was riddled with the drug. The end product was that Narthley was mostly very content and pliant but not very productive or effective. Worth was effectively paralysed, Narthley being the biggest recognised city on the planet by far. Given Adept Larkarsky’s reports however, in the past few years Endomaw City had outperformed it and indeed surpassed it in size and capability. That it had done so unnoticed would have surely given Ralscon pause for thought, had he been capable of rational thought. At the moment his drug addled brain was barely capable of remembering his own name, let alone the name of the person on the screen in front of him. <br />
<br />
"Yes?", he slurred, more than one syllable at a time beyond him at the moment. "What is it?" He blinked slowly, twice. It made no difference, his higher brain functions were wrapped in yellow silken tentacles, piercing his cerebellum, probing his knowledge, his memories, though he was blissfully unaware of it. The same was happening all over, the narcotic was establishing a network throughout Narthley and at the heart of that network someone was getting a lot of information. <br />
<br />
The dark face on the screen frowned slightly, she was not a user, not one of them. Ralscon felt an instant dislike of her. She would need to experience the Emperor's Caress, she would be made one with them all.<br />
<br />
"<i>Sir</i>", she said, using the honorific almost as an insult, with dripping sarcasm and veiled distaste. "I thought you should know that we have detected a surge of activity in Endomaw. There appears to be a mass mobilisation of infantry and armour, it looks like an army… what action would you have us take?, We should report this, shall I take care of it?"<br />
<br />
Ralscon frowned, this was an irritation, an unwelcome complication. He knew he should take action but the very thought made the tentacles squeeze on his brain unpleasantly. He didn’t like that, no not at all.<br />
<br />
"Well", he began hesitantly, "have you asked them what they are doing?" He affected an imposing bearing though his head was still clouded and his mind enshrouded, "It could be an...," his mind struggled as extra syllables were needed "...ything", he finished lamely, rather damaging the image of authority he was trying to portray. <br />
<br />
It hardly seemed possible but the look of disdain on the screen increased still further, "We have requested an explanation from the Governor there and he has said that it is simply drills, exercises for their defence force, but there are a LOT of them sir. Perhaps I should contact someone else if you are <i>busy</i>", the tone in the final word was positively vitriolic.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The tentacles squeezed, "NO!" he strove to re-establish some control. "Note it in the log and mark it as handled,. I will take care of it personally and follow up the entry." The tentacles massaged his brain, increasing his mental capacity just enough. As far as Ralscon was concerned though it was just the end of his high, coming back down to Worth with a sickening sense of inevitability. "That will be all," he added, his eyes focusing on the screen once more. He tried to project authority into his tone, brooking no argument. <br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The face looked less than convinced but ceded nonetheless. "As you will it sir. The Emperor Protects." Without another word she signed off and Ralscon was gratified to see the entry marked a moment later. The tentacles seemed pleased and serotonin levels increased, barely perceptible to Ralscon. He put his hand in his pocket, feeling the small packet, only a couple of pills remained. thankfully he had many stashed away, having established a barter and favour system in exchange for a regular supply. A request filed here, an alert lost there, a requisition order rerouted, simple and easy things when measured against that wonderful euphoria that the Emperor's Caress bought. He would do anything to continue to feel like that, no matter the consequences. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<br />
Carn was feeling far from euphoric, he was strung out and weary and nervous. The stimms had long since worn off and his injuries were becoming burdensome. Thankfully, none of this was immediately obvious apart from a pronounced limp that he tried to disguise with a shuffling gait. He exchanged nothing more than brief nods and grunts with the other cultists as he passed and only his stolen mining suit kept him from detection. <br />
<br />
<br />
At the end of the chute he had come to an opening where carts suspended on cables emptied onto the chute before turning round and returning empty across the chasms ahead. He had had the good fortune to discover here, a small locker containing a worn but serviceable mining suit the same as worn by the other miners/cultists. Donning the apparel he had done his best to make himself look as much like his pursuers as possible, he had one chance and it meant being in their midst. Thankfully his scorched scalp was now hairless, his hair burnt off in the explosion in the tunnels. His face was filthy and streaked with blood sweat and dirt and a pair of mining goggles and a rebreather obscured enough of his face that at first glance he passed for one of the Brotherhood. Thus attired he had climbed into one of the emptied carts and waited till he was carried to the other side of the large chamber. Once safely across he had disembarked and attained his bearings. His memory of Larkarsky’s detailed map of this part of Endomaw had told him that he needed to go up, indeed he could see the shaft from which the elevator had descended. He had started his ascent. Acutely aware of the danger around him and that he was conspicuously unarmed. <br />
<br />
Now he neared his destination. He had navigated the tunnels as best as he could, making only one wrong turn, and now he was back in the complex proper. He needed to find a transmission terminal, a way of getting the message out. Carn knew he wouldn’t be able to escape, that he would die here in Endomaw, and his soul was at peace with that. To die doing the Emperor’s work was all that a loyal servant of the Imperium could ask for after all, and his was a holy task indeed. He followed the directions he had memorised from reviewing Larkarsky’s reports and made his way down the light grey corridors, cautiously pausing every now and then to make sure he was heading in the correct direction. Likely all other terminals would be locked out, but he was sure that Ganvan Seris would have a working transmitter, secured, yes but he could bypass security whereas the remote terminals he had encountered thus far were all dead. Lingering around them to try to reactivate the devices would be suspicious to the extreme, this was his only chance. <br />
<br />
He kept his head down, giving brief nods to cultists he passed. One guard stopped him, thrusting his lasgun into his chest. The cultist hissed at him belligerently. <br />
<br />
<br />
"Your weapon, where isss it?" a pointed tongue and sharp teeth betrayed what seemed to be an otherwise human face, though as Carn looked closer he saw faint ridges on the Cultist's forehead. indeed the being's pallor and features were more bestial and alien the longer they were observed. <br />
<br />
<br />
"Jammed, broken" he replied, effecting a rasping hiss himself, though it was a little muffled through the respirator, "going for another" He stayed stooped, shadowed, his disguise would not bear close scrutiny. Carn tensed, ready to make a move, but with the lasgun pointed straight at his chest his chances of survival were infinitesimal. <br />
<br />
The guard's eyes narrowed, "Weaponsss that way", he hissed, gesturing with his lasgun behind Carn, the barrel moved away from his chest just a fraction but it was enough. Carn moved without thinking, he twisted to the side, bringing his arm up to knock the rifle aside. But he was too slow, injury and weariness had dulled his reactions. Fire burned in his flesh as the lasgun blast took him in the shoulder. knocking him to the floor. Even as he was hit point blank he managed to knock the lasgun from his assailants grasp, sending it spinning away. He hit the floor hard, the air ripped from his lungs in a pained gasp. He had no chance to rise though before the cultist was upon him, grasping for his neck, tearing the respirator aside. <br />
<br />
Carn desperately tried to throw the cultist off, calling upon his last vestiges of strength. He managed to roll to the side, landing a few weak blows on the cultist but his attacker swiftly regained the upper hand. Astride Carn, he smashed him in the face and then fastened his gnarled hands around the Prefect's throat and started to squeeze, snarling bestially as he choked the life from his enemy. <br />
<br />
Carn felt his vision darken, he was so weak. So very tired. He scrabbled ineffectively at his foe, grasping at arms that felt like iron bars. He could not move them, this was it, this was the end. He had failed. Everything slowed, he calmed, his mind fogged. So tired. Time to sleep, time to die. Then reality froze, the moment stretched into eternity. Light beckoned. <br />
<br />
Then he was free. He sat up gasping, shaking his head slowly in an attempt to clear the fog. Through a grey haze he saw the cultist on the floor, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle and clearly broken. But how? His head hurt, he couldn't think. He felt impossibly weary but got to his feet nonetheless, impelled by a voice in the back of his mind. In a daze he staggered down the corridor, passing the fallen lasgun. It occurred to him to take the weapon but his body wouldn't respond. He stumbled on, his body somehow knowing where to go. His head was drooped, his eyes half closed. Events seemed to occur as if he was observing them, not performing them, a captive in his own body. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A hundred yards down the corridor he was confronted by five cultists. Without even thinking, he wearily stretched an arm out and the guards were flung aside into the wall with sickening wet impacts. They slid down the wall in chunks of bloody viscera, unidentifiable as humanoid forms. Carn continued to walk unsteadily but unerringly down the corridor, another few corners and another dispatched larger patrol and he was in front of his destination. His eyes were closed by this point but he could see the door regardless, in fact he could see more than the door, he could see eddies, swirls, everything was overexposed, highlighted, more than real life. The door crumpled in slow motion, the thick plasteel crinkling and creasing, before simply ceasing to exist. Carn strode through the open portal, though he didn't know it. Suddenly consciousness reasserted itself, painfully, with a loud 'pop'.<br />
<br />
Carn sank to his knees. Blood streamed from his ears and nose. He shuddered, his body was wracked with convulsions and he remained there a moment on his hands and knees, dry heaving and shaking. Finally he regained some control and rose to his feet, wiping blood from his nose. He looked about him. He was in Ganvan Seris's office, this much he established. On one wall behind a large elegant desk was a comms terminal. He walked over to it, fishing the precious data crystal from it's pouch. His head was still fogged, his vision blurred but almost by instinct he prised open the data panel and inserted the crystal. He broke and made connections, moving more rapidly than he had ever thought possible. Security bypassed, the terminal sprang to life. His fingers danced across the keypad, depressing runes in a combination that broadcast on the widest frequency, he just had to transmit on a wide beam and hope that someone picked up the signal. <br />
<br />
"This is Second Prefect Alistae Carn, personnel number one-four-five-alpha-kappa-iota-six-nine-beta- beta-nine. In the Emperor's name I am transmitting this signal to unearth the heresy and corruption at Endomaw mine. I will never leave this place but it must be cleansed. I am sending testimony from Adept First Class Pallas Larkarsky, it will support wha..... " he threw himself to one side, depressing the transmit rune as he did so. As he sprang away from the console a blast of etheric power hit it. The machine crackled for a second, the machine spirit within screaming as it was consumed by warp power, then it exploded. Shrapnel ripped into Carn but he barely felt it. He had no way of knowing if the signal had got out. His mind whirled, his actions were not his own. Once again he was just experiencing things from within. <br />
<br />
Ganvan Seris strode through the ruin of the door frame, his staff outstretched, Psychic power crackling around the figurehead on top. The same violet fire burned in his eyes. Carn was suddenly frozen in place, even as he observed the event from inside his own body. He saw, rather than felt, his body pushed up against the wall next to the smoking terminal. Observed, rather than experienced, the hypnotising effect of Seris's gaze. He was powerless to act, but he wasn't the one acting. He saw his arms come up, tear through an invisible field. The force was suddenly gone, he saw himself hurl the yellow robed psyker to the side, though he sensed that his own manifestation of power was weakening. All of a sudden his reality was pierced, the bubble effect he had been experiencing ceasing with a roar of pressure and pain. He was back in control.<br />
<br />
Carn staggered past, the Magus made a shaky grab for him as he went past but was still groggy from the psychic blow he had suffered. he flailed impotently.<br />
<br />
“The Yellow Kiiing” Ganvan Seris managed. “The Yellow King has a use for you… come back….” <br />
<br />
Carn himself, the apparent dealer of that blow, was faring little better. Blood flowed freely from his facial orifices and there was a slackness to his expression that suggested something inside had snapped. Mentally Carn was a storm of emotions and thoughts as he struggled to reconcile recent events. He’d had no previous inclination that he was a Psyker. None of the mandatory testing had indicated anything! Then again the same had been for Larkarsky and he had proven himself psychically capable in the extreme, maybe the tests were insufficient. If not a Psyker then what else? Was he possessed? Could it be the Emperor acting through him? Carn wasn’t vain enough to think that he was important enough to be an instrument of the Emperor's Divine will in that way but he WAS on a holy task. No, surely not. What then? <br />
<br />
He WAS acutely aware that he now had no power at all, stumbling along like an intoxicated vagrant his head clearing far too slowly. Carn nearly tripped over the splattered remains of the cultists that he, if indeed it had truly been him, had dispatched earlier on his way to the terminal. The message! Had it sent? He suspected not, at least not in it’s entirety, not the data packet anyway. His words may have been received but likely not Larkarsky’s full account, and there was no proof! Now there never would be. He was battered, exhausted, on the ragged edge of endurance. He had performed his task but now it was time to rest. <i>No!</i> Blazed a thought in his mind.<i> Continue, endure! Bring the Emperor’s light to this nest of Serpents! </i>He balked at the admonishment, starting to wonder if his own psyche was fracturing under the stress. Still, the voice in his mind spurred him on, one foot in front of the other, as quickly as stability would allow. There was but one chance of escape. The elevator up to the surface. <br />
<br />
The floor squelched as Carn proceeded down the now dark (the lights had been snuffed out by the psychic forces released) corridor. He tried not to think too much about the visceral consistency underfoot. Thus far there was no sign of any resistance although he was sure that he heard shuffling not far behind him. Through a door and the ground underfoot turned to hard rock and dust. The voice spurred him on; onward, onward! To escape. To freedom. To the surface! To the Emperor's light! Eventually he emerged from the darkness of the tunnels into the merely gloomy mining chamber. A short slope awaited and at the top of that, salvation. <br />
<br />
<br />
Carn was beyond limits of all endurance and fell at the foot of the slope, weary beyond measure. He began to crawl, to pull himself up inch by inch toward the elevator and escape. He had made it barely ten feet before he heard a sibilant yet mellifluous voice behind him. He turned back to look the way he had come, though he knew in his heart what he would behold. <br />
<br />
“You, you shall not leave, the Yellow King demands it.” <br />
<br />
<br />
Ganvan Seris was there, supported by a hulking brute of a cultist who made no pretence at humanity, rippling muscle and a massive frame were accompanied by gnarled taloned hands and chitinous plates jutted from ripped clothing and torn flesh. The creature's face was bestial yet an alien cunning showed through it's savage features. Carn saw more shadows behind moving and writhing in the gloom. He tried to carry on up the slope, he only had a few dozen feet to go! He was so close! He could see the faded red frame of the elevator, the control panel, the cables leading up to the surface, the criss-cross of pulleys and carts in the air above, like a lattice of wires or a steel spiderweb. So close! He continued to edge up backwards, keeping his eyes fixed on Ganvan. <br />
<br />
The Magus looked weak, spent. A lurid bruise patterned most of his scalp and his eyes were unfocused. He stood only by virtue of the lumbering behemoth at his side. He lifted his head and fixed Carn with a faltering yet piercing gaze.<br />
<br />
“You, you will serve the Brotherhood, you will serve the Yellow King. You have drawn too much attention to us. You endanger the brotherhood! The arrival of the Star Children! You DARE to disrupt our holy work?"<br />
<br />
Ganvan shook as he spoke, though from exertion or apoplectic rage Carn couldn’t be sure. He was continuing to surreptitiously creep up the slope. Under eight foot to the entrance of the elevator, he could make a run for it, he could… <br />
<br />
Just as he went to turn and launch himself up the slope Ganvan held up a hand, Carn was transfixed. The Magus’s eyes burned with an unearthly luminescence, glowing brightly from their sockets. <br />
<br />
<br />
"You. Shall. Not. Leave." the flesh pulsed under his cranium and the bruise spread, vivid patches of sub dermal blood pooling beneath the skin. A violet substance flowed wetly from one nostril. "You. Shall. Serve. Us." Each word was spoken in a low monotonous hiss, it was pleasant though, compelling. Carn bought his arm up and flung it out in desperation, nothing happened. He tried to focus, to imagine hurling the Magus away. Nothing. He was frozen in place, immobile as a stalagmite. The Magus continued; "To Resist is Futile. The Yellow King is Truth. The Yellow King is All…. "<br />
<br />
Carn desperately tried to move, to turn and hurl himself up the slope into the elevator and escape, but it was no use. He was frozen, like prey before a predator. He couldn’t look away from that hypnotic gaze. The Magus stepped forward, still supported by his bodyguard. More grotesque figures followed, Some were beast like, others retained a semblance of humanity. all of them crouched and hissed, glaring with unbridled hate at the escaping Prefect. They spread protectively around Seris.<br />
<br />
"The Yellow King is all..."<br />
<br />
<i>Yellow....Yellow.....Yellow.... YELLOW!! </i><br />
<br />
With a ragged scream the voice broke through the Magus’s hold. Carn started as if slapped in the face. He was free. For a moment shock and surprise held him as much a prisoner as the Psychic power of the Magus had. <br />
<br />
<br />
<i>MOVE!!! </i><br />
<br />
<br />
That one word, one impulse, spurred Carn into action. He knew, knew now who was inside his head, where the psychic assaults had come from. Even as he knew it was only a shadow, a remnant, an impression rather than a full presence. Larkarsky had managed to impart a piece of himself and his power in Carn’s psyche and was aiding him even as the imprint faded. Carn knew not how or when, he was only immeasurably grateful. Tears streamed down his face as he threw himself up the slope and into the steel cage of the elevator. He slammed a hand on the activation rune and breathlessly stood at the rear of the conveyance as the railing slid down and it started to ascend. He saw well the expression of shock and outrage on the face of the Magus and the bestial screams on the cultists as they hurtled up the slope after him. some launched themselves at the elevator as it rose and clung to the bottom, he could see them through the grille in the floor. They started to climb, clawing their way round to the side of the elevator. Others were clambering up the walls, extra limbs aiding their locomotion. Joining them, streaming from subterranean tunnels as the elevator passed, were creatures totally devoid of any human form at all, six limbed and all teeth and claws. They scuttled across vertical rock frighteningly fast, swiftly outpacing their brethren as they headed for the small opening in the rock above. <br />
<br />
<br />
Others were hurling themselves from the caverns walls in an attempt to reach the elevator, most failed and yet uttered not a sound as they fell into the inky oblivion below. A scant few made the leap and impacted on the roof or sides of the elevator, making it rock violently. <br />
<br />
<i>I'm sorry Alistae, I tried, but I'm so tired, fading, not much left... I'm sorry...</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Carn couldn't describe the way the message was imparted, it was less than words, more than a feeling. Thought, distinct and coherent, straight into his mind, into his being, into his soul. <br />
<br />
<br />
"We're not done yet!" he growled, pulling <i>Emperor's Fury</i> from his belt and blasting the nearest cultist from the elevator with a pair of precision shots. "While I live I fight!" He roared, firing another burst of shots at other figures creeping round the steel cage. Sparks flew and the figures fell from the cage, tumbling away into the fathomless depths. "For the Emperor!" he screamed, again and again, firing until the clip was exhausted. Even then he used the pistol as a cudgel, smashing interlopers off the elevator's frame as they got too close. Clawed hands grasped for him through gaps in the walls, scrabbling for purchase as he desperately evaded them, dealing them blows even as he was overwhelmed. One of the cultists threw itself at the winch in an effort to stop the ascent. It died silently as it's body snarled and jammed the mechanism with gore and flesh. The elevator shuddered to a halt. Carn was trapped. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Alistae Carn knew this was the end. The end of his journey, of his path. He was tired. He backed up against the front of the elevator which swung gently as more bodies landed on it. Despite the situation he was calm, at peace. Part of this was due to exhaustion but he genuinely felt at ease even as more cultists and their accompanying creatures ripped their way into the stalled elevator. He swung one leg over the railing, noting with a strange delirium that this was the same railing that Larkarsky had felt he was going to be thrown from so long ago.<br />
<br />
"I spit on your Yellow King" he said simply, and toppled back over the edge.<br />
<br />
As he fell he felt claws grasp at him, but they were too late. Then one talon hooked over the charm round his wrist. For one split second the chain strained, and then it broke. Horrified, Carn made a desperate grab for the golden Aquilla as he fell into the fathomless depths. <br />
<span style="color: #f1c232;"><br /><br />Chapter XIII: The Yellow King-</span><br />
<br />
<br />
It was a vast impenetrable darkness, unfathomable and unyielding. But in that void, a voice. Weak, faint. A whisper. A sigh. <br />
<br />
<i>Caaaarn….. </i><br />
<br />
Then silence, only all-encompassing darkness once again. Until, so ethereal and insubstantial that it was as mist or a wisp of smoke…<br />
<br />
<i>Caaaarn…. Alistaaaeeee…. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
The voice was dying, he could tell, the last utterances of a fragment of a soul irrevocably sundered. Of a remnant drained. Carn himself felt insubstantial, he had no feeling, his body was absent. He had no sense of physicality, only the insistent fading echoes of that voice. <br />
<br />
If he had eyes he could not open them. If he had a mouth he knew not how to use it to speak. He did not hear the words as much as feel them. He had no sense of time, no grounding. In this vacuum of reality the voice eventually spoke one final time. <br />
<br />
<i>This… is the end my…. friend….. </i><br />
<br />
As Larkarsky’s voice faded reality reasserted itself. Not with a rush but with a slow increase, marked mainly by pain. Lots of pain. Carn quickly decided that he had preferred no feeling at all as now he was in burning agony. He tried to move but was utterly immobile, his body broken, shattered and wracked with pain. His eyes were the only thing that didn’t hurt so he opened them. It made no difference. Everything was black, he could not see a thing and had no idea if he was blind or if it was just THAT dark. But however dark it was it was not silent. He heard shuffling, grunting, breathing and a soft hissing. It was getting closer, inexorably drawing nearer and coming from all around. Carn couldn’t even turn his head, couldn’t even lift an arm. His breathing was ragged and wet, his scalp was sticky and as his senses returned there was a strong smell of copper mingled with the chemical tang of ore and mineral. His legs were crushed, covered with rock, stone and chunks of ore, he could not feel them but was aware of the weight of the rock pinning him to the floor. There was a sharp pain in his hand, though it took him a while to isolate it from the general agonies he was experiencing.<br />
<br />
Yes, there was something in his fist, dug deep into his palm, slick with blood. It was sharp, angular. He knew it’s shape, it’s weight, the way it felt. He wept.<br />
<br />
The sound was getting closer. Shuffling, snorting, the scraping of claws on stone. Grunting became audible with accompanying hissed instructions. There were no lights. Whatever these things were they were able to see at least a little in absolute darkness. Heavy objects were lifted, inspected and dropped. They fell with a dull thud and Carn realised they were bodies. They were looking for him.<br />
<br />
And there was nothing he could do, he could only lie there, utterly helpless. He awaited the inevitable. It was intolerable, staring into the inky blackness (though he thought now that he could pick out some semblance of form above him) unable to act, move. More thuds, more grunts and shuffling, getting closer, ever closer. Soon the noises were right next to him, he could hear breathing and soft snarling, it was coming from his right, though there was sound still all around. Then, a boot beside his head. A triumphant hiss. A claw reached down and grasped the front of his stolen mining suit. It pulled and Carn fought back a scream as his body was strained. A grunt from his molester plus a hiss slightly further away and then he could feel rocks being moved away from his lower body. Another hiss and again he felt himself being pulled. The remaining loose rocks and stones tumbled away as he was dragged away and up. It was still dark but he could just about see a shape in front of him. Every nerve in his body screamed, no that wasn’t right. He couldn’t feel below his waist. That wasn’t good. The creature that had hoisted him up grunted in satisfaction and without warning and in one swift smooth motion, tossed Carn over his shoulder. Now Carn did scream, just for a split second before he passed into blissful and peaceful unconsciousness. <br />
<br />
He knew not how long it was before he finally came round but he was being dragged roughly across a stone floor which passed beneath him as he opened his eyes. He was being gripped by the shoulders, which screamed in pain the moment he came to, along with the rest of his tortured body. There was a cultist either side of him. He managed to turn his head slightly, though it was agony to do so, to behold his captor. It was not as hulking or bestial as some but far from human, featuring chitinous plate on its arm and clawed hands. It’s head was bowed and the creature's gaze was downcast. It looked reverent, almost fearful. Amidst the various pains shooting through his body Carn began to feel a deep dread as he noticed many other similarly bowed heads around. There were hundreds, many hundreds of cultists all around him and all had their heads bowed, arms, be it two or three, crossed in front of their chests. <br />
<br />
Inch by agonising inch Carn raised his head to see his destination, his nerves screamed their protestations but he had to know. His vision was still slightly blurred but ahead he could make something large out. Large and yellow. Actually many yellow things. As he was dragged closer, the objects came into sharp and terrifying focus one at a time, each more horrifying than the last. Ganvan Seris was there, looking quite recovered save for a lurid bruise on his head. He was flanked by two large broad shouldered cultists. further to the Magus’ right were actual monsters, bipedal let utterly alien, some had enlarged claws or extra arms, others carried strange looking weapons, some had tentacles for arms, some even had a tentacle mouth. Yet for all that, they stood upright and were of humanoid proportion. It was an amalgamation most foul and repellent . Carn felt bile rise in his throat as he beheld the repulsive creatures. As he got ever closer Carn could see that Ganvan Seris was smiling evilly. The sight repulsed and petrified him even more than the alien creatures had. To the Magus’s left was a space. A noticeable space that unnerved Carn greatly for it was obviously deliberate. Beyond the gap in the menagerie of horrors was another singular figure, more ostentatiously garbed, though he still wore the mining suit, clearly he was some kind of leader or more important member of the cult. Next to him were a variety of cultists, generally of the more mutated form.<br />
<br />
<br />
And yet, for all the gallery of inhuman horrors about and before him it was the space that horrified Carn the most. It was foreboding and ominous. Beyond it yawned darkness, a recess that Carn could not judge the depth of. It seemed as a yawning pit threatening to swallow Carn whole. As his terror began to rise there was a noise, a rumbling and scraping. Something started to emerged from the darkness. Carn was roughly shoved to his knees. He was thankful beyond measure that his legs erupted with pain as he hit the floor. The scraping grew louder and closer. A giant obsidian throne started to emerge from the darkness, and in that throne…..<br />
<br />
The sight unmanned Carn entirely, he began to gibber uncontrollably and then laugh the laugh of a mind frayed and hysterical. One of the cultists backhanded him, snapping him back to lucidity and he stared in wide eyed terror at the Yellow King. <br />
<br />
<br />
It was monstrous, a gargantuan creature in yellow chitin and purple flesh, it leaned forward in its throne, resting its chin on one clawed hand in a monstrous parody of The Ruminator, an ancient statue from the mists of Terra’s past. Two other arms with slightly more human hands lent on the baroque carved arms of the throne and a fourth on the creature’s knee, brutal looking claws flexing. It’s cranium was swollen and enlarged and a prominent bony crest rose from it’s forehead. It’s eyes flashed green and simmered with a sinister alien intelligence. The creature looked monstrously strong, sinews and muscle rippled beneath its chitinous armour. A tail looped down in front of the throne where it crouched, a wicked looking spine at its tip. The monster regarded its captive coldly and Carn felt tendrils of thought penetrate his mind. He shuddered, fresh agonies roaring through his frame from the movement. He looked about him desperately. All around him the cultists were now staring at their Yellow King, their faces rapt. But it wasn’t fear or any kind of obeisance that Carn observed. It was devotion, pure unfiltered love. A reverence and adoration never more true. It was the love a child shows for a father. With a chill Carn realised that this was indeed the case, the creature WAS their father, their Patriarch. The Patriarch for the entire cult and they loved it unconditionally and would die to protect it, every single one of them, without hesitation. THIS monstrous alien was the nexus, the core, the very heart of the entire cult. <br />
<br />
The Patriarch leaned back, it’s cursory inspection of Carn over. It raised its four yellow arms to the sky and barked out a series of guttural syllables. The congregation bayed its approval. Their Yellow King lowered its arms and the noise abated, it extended one taloned claw and beckoned for Carn to be bought closer. His guards gripped him by the arms and dragged him on his knees in front of the throne. Carn knelt there, utterly subdued and pliant. The guards stepped back and the Patriarch reached forward and scooped Carn up in its grasp. Its claws closed around Carn’s torso and his shattered ribs ground together, making him roar in pain as he was lifted bodily into the air. It hoisted him up and held him in front of its face, as if inspecting some morsel. Carn knew this was without a doubt the end. His life was about to finish and he was going to journey to the Emperor’s side. But he wasn’t dying without one last gesture of defiance. He spat bloodily into the Yellow King’s face, crimson expectorate spraying across it’s snout. The Patriarch recoiled slightly and then started convulsing, making strange snorting soft bellows. It took Carn a second to realise that it was laughing. It stopped abruptly and stared at Carn with primitive belligerence, a pointed tongue snaked out and licked the bloody spittle from its face. The Yellow King grinned evilly, malice glittering in its alien eyes. It pulled the helpless Prefect forward and Carn closed his eyes and gripped the Aquila charm tightly as the Patriarch opened its fanged maw wide. At long last, after struggles and trials immeasurable, Alistae Carn finally knew peace. <br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
The investigation team was only three days out. That was all Ralscon could think of as he idly dismissed another alert from the outermost relay station. There was still a lot to do, things to hide, trails to remove, blame to shift. He'd tried to lessen his use of Emperor's Caress in order to improve his productivity but not using the narcotic for prolonged periods resulted in significant pain. No, it was much better to continue using it and escape the pain and reality. The problem was that it was unlikely that the imperial agents heading his way would feel the same. Therefore it was essential that some semblance of normality was presented. He'd already deleted some incriminating records, and files that seemed unimportant to him but had pleased the tentacles to eradicate. <br />
<br />
<br />
Now with the team only days away he had decided that the pace needed to step up. He barked orders at his subordinates, directing them to various tasks. Even as they scurried off to enact his instructions he palmed another pill and swallowed it, feeling the tentacles presence increase straight away. The bliss enveloped him and he sat back in his chair and sighed contentedly. Everything would be ok, he would ensure it. The investigation team would arrive, carry out their probing and leave. He would kill them, he reflected, but he had not the means to do so. Besides, it would result only in more arriving. No, let them come, poke about, he would make sure they left empty handed. None the wiser, nothing would happen. . <br />
<br />
<br />
He was cresting a wave of ecstasy when a light started to flash on the console in front of him. He was about to dismiss it as per usual when a twinge in his temple told him that he should answer. He moved his finger over to the receive rune and duly depressed it. A brief screen appeared showing that the message was coming from Endomaw and then faded as the screen transitioned to video. <br />
<br />
<br />
A tall man appeared, garbed in a yellow robe. He had some kind of contusion to his head and carried an ornate staff topped with a four armed figure. For reasons that he could not explain Ralscon felt very comforted by the figurehead. <br />
<br />
<br />
"Supervisor Ralscon, forgive my interruption of your important work but there is something that you need to know." Ganvan Seris spoke smoothly and smiled with warmth. "There has been a development, somewhat surprising but far from unwelcome. We would have contacted you earlier but we wanted to wait until, well, you will see in a moment." He unfurled his free hand, splaying the fingers. "I cannot deny that we have had a few problems here at Endomaw mine, things have not been going.... smoothly. However, I am pleased to report that all is well now and that we expect to be back at full production quotas soon." He beamed. "Now there is someone else who wishes to speak to you." He stepped to one side and off screen. <br />
<br />
<br />
Ralscon's jaw dropped,. Agape, he stared at the figure on the screen that had been behind the man in yellow. He was severely injured, that was plain but he too was smiling serenely. Even with the bandages and scorched skin there was no denying it. It was Alistae Carn. The Prefect raised a hand in acknowledgement. <br />
<br />
<br />
"Ralscon, damn you but by the Emperor it is good to see you", Carn spoke slowly, hesitantly, in an unfocused manner. If Ralscon hadn't known better he would have thought that Carn was under the influence of Emperor's Caress. He decided that it was much more likely to be painkillers, Carn looked like hell, no doubt he was hurting considerably. <br />
<br />
"Carn", he replied, "You're meant to be dead, the accident....They said..."<br />
<br />
"I was lucky, survived the crash, I was in a bad way though, managed to crawl from the wreckage and they found me in the ash wastes." Ralscon nodded dumbly. "They've been fixing me up for the last week. I still feel like hell mind you," he admitted wincing, rubbing the back of his neck. It's been interesting to say the least. While I've been here I've been doing some investigation of my own. About Larkarsky." As he said the Adept's name his expression darkened and from his sleeve he produced a small charm, it glinted in the light and he toyed with it as he continued. "It turns out that he had been poisoned, exposed to a hallucinogen from gas that is a by-product of the mining process. The miners here are unaffected, long term exposure over time I suppose has built up a resistance. Larkarsky had no such luck. Significant levels of exposure straight away unbalanced him, sent him crazy. Poor bastard. They didn't realise till it was too late." He continued to twist the charm as he spoke. The light flashed off it intermittently. It was irritating to Ralscon but a small matter compared to the disorientation that he was feeling. He put it down equally to the effects of the Emperors Caress and the revelations of the last few minutes. He started to gather his thoughts. <br />
<br />
<br />
"Well it's good to see you Carn" he said, an insincere smile on his face. "You know, there's an investigation team on the way here now to look into the accident, now you can tell them direct that there is no need for concern. When can you get back here?" This was perfect, maybe he could even turn the team around. Ralscon felt the tentacles smooth his worries away. everything was going to work out fine. <br />
<br />
<br />
"'I'm going to be staying here for a while", Carn said, dashing his hopes. "I'm still weak and not really in any fit state to travel. Besides, I still need to compile the report that Larkarsky should have made. Regulations must be followed after all." <br />
<br />
<br />
"Maybe I can send the investigation team to you" Ralscon said, though as he did so he got the feeling that the tentacles would rather he didn't. He was starting to get a headache, that was usually a bad sign. <br />
<br />
<br />
"No! " Carn exclaimed. "It's alright they are just going to get in the way" he smiled beatifically. "Great things are going on here at Endomaw, you have no idea, really. It's going to change things on Worth, perhaps the entire Celias system. It will be truly glorious. Show them a recording of this message, that will have to suffice. I'll be here another couple of weeks I suspect and then I shall return". His demeanour became serious. "I'll have some cargo with me that I'm bringing back to Narthley, samples in large containers. It is imperative that they not be disturbed. If all goes well the whole system will soon be aware. This could really be the chance to put Worth on the map Ralscon, and if we are smart we can all share in the glory." <br />
<br />
<br />
Glory sounded good to Ralscon, very good indeed. "Well it's about time you did something useful rather than being a pain in my arse" he retorted. I'll look forward to your full report. I'll hold the investigation team off here, no fear. It's just a matter of protocol I'm sure. Once they see you are alive and well they will be satisfied. The sooner they are out of the way the sooner we can get back to normal and make preparations for your arrival. It sounds like there is nothing untoward at the mine so I'm sure I can just show them the operation here and get rid of them. Everything is going to be fine. As you say, great things are coming" he finished, with a covetous leer.<br />
<br />
<br />
Carn smiled, his manner was still somewhat languid, slowed, "Yes", he said, still absentmindedly spinning the small Aquilla charm in his fingers. "Everything is going to be exactly as it should be, you have no idea of the magnificence that awaits us, no idea at all" </div>
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DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-58993592238364878962018-12-15T12:52:00.001-08:002018-12-15T12:52:50.849-08:00Conclave of Har Book Review: Visions of Heresy So, as the Horus Heresy novel series finally starts to wind down after over 50 novels, a Third Edition of Visions of Heresy has been released.<br />
<br />
Naturally I had to buy it, and review it. It's expected of me right? I had meant to do the same back when I bought the second edition, comparing it to the first. It's amazing to think that was five years ago now.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0p2CDOkvW24/XBVZT6j6QbI/AAAAAAAAHf0/snTEpcj1ht4KsRGE6-R0b3T3wPsGvHmMQCEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC_0757.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1583" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0p2CDOkvW24/XBVZT6j6QbI/AAAAAAAAHf0/snTEpcj1ht4KsRGE6-R0b3T3wPsGvHmMQCEwYBhgL/s400/DSC_0757.JPG" width="395" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's a lot of Heresy right there...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
The First Edition was released back in 2007 as Horus Heresy Collected Visions and was, as it's title suggests a collection of four separate books. By and large, the artwork was taken from the Horus Heresy CCG, meaning that the illustrations were of variable quality. Alongside these were a number of John Blanche pieces. As these were a direct compilation of the four smaller volumes it also lacked in structure, though Alan Merrett's writing has largely remained unchanged. One thing i DID really like about the early volumes was the presentation of the books. The page colours and the layout really made it look like an old venerable tome, something that has been lost with later editions.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ftLSssixPLA/XBVZYyFrHJI/AAAAAAAAHgI/9urz1ZKCNXcWV9sULznYA-w9X0s3-b_GACEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC_0778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ftLSssixPLA/XBVZYyFrHJI/AAAAAAAAHgI/9urz1ZKCNXcWV9sULznYA-w9X0s3-b_GACEwYBhgL/s400/DSC_0778.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The styling of the collected visions was more in keeping with the black leather Forge World books. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Of course, there was a second edition, released in 2013. This made a few major changes. One was to structure the book more chronologically and into separate theartres of War, Prospero, Calth, Istvaan and so on. There were some additions to the text and some new artwork was added, though a large portion of the artwork was still made up of the CCG illustrations so there was still the odd naff piece, or at least the odd piece that didn't hold up so well at a bigger scale.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8XnVG7f5b3Q/XBVZTkzU7CI/AAAAAAAAHgA/5WkkvhstjaE26XxUIpWF5vaMdCgwod-1gCEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC_0762.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8XnVG7f5b3Q/XBVZTkzU7CI/AAAAAAAAHgA/5WkkvhstjaE26XxUIpWF5vaMdCgwod-1gCEwYBhgL/s640/DSC_0762.JPG" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2013: New and improved Heresy, but lacking that stylistic flare I liked so much.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Mainly the changes were confined to expanded areas of the lore, particularly those that had been embellished by recent novellas and novels. The presentation was also a lot cleaner with white background and a more unified stylistic direction. Neil Roberts stunning book covers had also started to feature, not least his magnificent cover portraying the Emperor battling Horus. The book format had also been changed to match the myriad novels and novellas available at this point.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NJ_HPSPiwno/XBVdz9ErY4I/AAAAAAAAHgg/x7rH5pJcNYccEfWTuA7V9rhHtyamsIapQCLcBGAs/s1600/DSC_0764%2B%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NJ_HPSPiwno/XBVdz9ErY4I/AAAAAAAAHgg/x7rH5pJcNYccEfWTuA7V9rhHtyamsIapQCLcBGAs/s640/DSC_0764%2B%25281%2529.JPG" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2018: Less effects on the cover, but what about inside?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
So it is, a full 5 years later, that we have the Third Edition. By and large the tale of the Heresy is done now, with the end in sight in the form of 'the buried dagger' of course this isn't quite the end. There is still The Seige of Terra to come, made it's own series by the High Lords of Terra. Still, this is the end of the Heresy as we know it, with no further Novellas and Time being called at 54 books.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ip01DFXP8WI/XBVZUYvjw6I/AAAAAAAAHf4/CIUnV-uyqx8ewCgfEv5vNTMeEod8hyvWgCEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC_0765.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ip01DFXP8WI/XBVZUYvjw6I/AAAAAAAAHf4/CIUnV-uyqx8ewCgfEv5vNTMeEod8hyvWgCEwYBhgL/s320/DSC_0765.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those extra 55 pages make for a noticeably thicker tome. </td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
And it is in the latter stages of the heresy that you will find the most change in this new edition. Indeed, you might be forgiven for thinking that you had made a horrible mistake as you leaf through the first portion of the book for you will notice that an AWFUL lot of it is the same. In fact apart from the Neil Roberts artwork that is generously inserted in a much more complete fashion you could be forgiven for thinking that you have wasted your money on little more than a clone. After all, the text is more or less word for word and although a couple of pictures are shuffled here and there, a lot of pages are IDENTICAL.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aoqzM3hNGS8/XBVZU2NrQ2I/AAAAAAAAHf4/b0pY7UE49DAGJ9N-aWBHQv87LFui2jnbACEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC_0766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aoqzM3hNGS8/XBVZU2NrQ2I/AAAAAAAAHf4/b0pY7UE49DAGJ9N-aWBHQv87LFui2jnbACEwYBhgL/s640/DSC_0766.JPG" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Many of the pages are identical.</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
This is pretty much the case sadly, up until you get past Istvaan,V. Basically, thinking of The Horus Heresy in the chronological fashion in which it has been published and considering that Visions of Heresy is effectively a chronological summary OF the Heresy, just with a LOT more pictures... we'll I'm sure you can see what I'm getting at here.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V5MQyAmNt7U/XBVZVfrB2NI/AAAAAAAAHgI/2ReoOhcOGWgJ13Y-MzVNC6uH-i9qeoC7gCEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC_0768.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V5MQyAmNt7U/XBVZVfrB2NI/AAAAAAAAHgI/2ReoOhcOGWgJ13Y-MzVNC6uH-i9qeoC7gCEwYBhgL/s640/DSC_0768.JPG" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The existing Neil Roberts pieces are in exactly the same format </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Put bluntly if it hasn't been covered in the last five years in a novel then it hasn't changed here. Ergo the only new material here is from subject matter covering the last dozen or so novels. Even some of this is expanded rather than brand new, such as Imperium Secundus. Other excerpts are brand new such as The Shard of Magnus, Corvus Corax and the Weregeld, Tallarn, The War of the Solar System, and Wolfsbane. Overall you will find that ALL the new content is in the back end of the book. You'll be looking at pretty much page 290 and the section called Redmarked before you find any real new text.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7SyFCT9viX8/XBVZV0XbGgI/AAAAAAAAHf8/kOnuyPguU1QK4fGygTQgrhhIDUwMEJNlQCEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC_0769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7SyFCT9viX8/XBVZV0XbGgI/AAAAAAAAHf8/kOnuyPguU1QK4fGygTQgrhhIDUwMEJNlQCEwYBhgL/s640/DSC_0769.JPG" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The changes start at the end of the Calth section with 'Redmarked'</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Of course, page 290 in the previous edition was much closer to the end of the volume. The new book is 50 pages longer than it's predecessor. For example Imperium Secundus is page 317 in the 2013 edition and Page 342 in this new version. Of course, as I have already said, at this stage most of the difference is artwork.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ObhOOH7nk-A/XBVZWhifgJI/AAAAAAAAHgE/RrWOpxRuXoIpAHIlizdfv5R3SzwLerY0ACEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC_0772.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ObhOOH7nk-A/XBVZWhifgJI/AAAAAAAAHgE/RrWOpxRuXoIpAHIlizdfv5R3SzwLerY0ACEwYBhgL/s400/DSC_0772.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This section on Tallarn is all new</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
So the meat of the new material is in the last third of the book rom pages 300 to 400. This is where you will find the real meat of the change, up to a point. Of course, the Heresy isn't QUITE over yet and the most recent addition that I could see was the War for Beta-Garmon, subject of the most recent novel Titandeath. That's really not bad, but it does rather suggest that there will be a fourth edition once the 'Seige of Terra' finishes, probably in another four years time. That said, it's already a beast of a book so we could just as easily see a brand new separate art book on the Seige published instead.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-E5buXTOjcrs/XBVZW_msa5I/AAAAAAAAHgE/lnAqOkQTd_ot-ZYzZwMl5C9VOL6erkN-gCEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC_0773.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-E5buXTOjcrs/XBVZW_msa5I/AAAAAAAAHgE/lnAqOkQTd_ot-ZYzZwMl5C9VOL6erkN-gCEwYBhgL/s400/DSC_0773.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another new section, focusing on the end of Corax's journey.</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
In Summary: Visions of Heresy, Updated Edition IS the ultimate version of this mighty art book and as up to date as you could possibly hope for. However, the amount of new material is not expansive, being limited to the rear third of the book and Neil Roberts artwork aside, probably amounting to about two dozen pages (presumably the material written by Guy Hayley). Thankfully the addition of the Roberts book covers has allowed a few of the more egregious CCG originating illustrations to be done away with and although a lot remain, the vast majority of those that were a bit naff have been removed or at least reduced in prominence. So overall you are looking at more of a version 2.5 rather than 3. Not to say that it isn't worth your time, the foreboding feeling I had had leafing through<br />
numerous identical pages had thoroughly dissipated by the time I had got to the end of the book.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Uktefx-DkSY/XBVZX4xUQSI/AAAAAAAAHgE/gOTZfB0IwdAQZGZDruvXv_qXB1aTiKBGQCEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC_0775.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Uktefx-DkSY/XBVZX4xUQSI/AAAAAAAAHgE/gOTZfB0IwdAQZGZDruvXv_qXB1aTiKBGQCEwYBhgL/s400/DSC_0775.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the expanded sections, courtesy of Master of Mankind. </td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
This new edition does render the its predecessor completely redundant but the original collected volumes is different enough to escape this fate. Therefore this new updated edition is an absolute must buy if you only own the original collected volume.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1tJe7geDzV8/XBVZYaSO0JI/AAAAAAAAHgI/YtmkkQXpuCUpalsYSWex-64Sd9pH47QXQCEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC_0777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1tJe7geDzV8/XBVZYaSO0JI/AAAAAAAAHgI/YtmkkQXpuCUpalsYSWex-64Sd9pH47QXQCEwYBhgL/s640/DSC_0777.JPG" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
An example of the later section changes, with the CCG removed and text expanded, </div>
<div>
though the changes are minor as this is the final battle. </div>
</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
Should you already possess the 2013 Visions of Heresy then my own personal opinion is that this one IS updated enough to warrant a purchase particularly if you are a big fan of Neil Roberts art (I have several signed prints). However, you may want to make your own judgment on whether or not you want to shell out for this new updated edition based upon how much those additional 50 pages mean to you.<br />
<br />
<br />DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-40862977610191027142018-12-06T06:11:00.001-08:002018-12-06T06:11:20.197-08:00Into the Blackstone Fortress: The Journey Continues/Gameplay summaryNote: The journey began <a href="https://blog.waylandgames.co.uk/" target="_blank">HERE</a> over on the Wayland Games Hobby Blog so head there if you haven't read parts one and two already!<br />
<br />
Last time: The Explorers overcame their first challenge, fending off a quartet of deadly Ur-Ghuls! Then they came across more in a combat, along with some exotic looking Spindle Drones, a deadly firefight ensued....<br />
<br />
Taddeus calls members of his group foul heretics and mutants! Janus Draik shows off and preens his moustache! The Eldar shoots things from a distance and runs a lot, and the Navigator Espern Locarno forgets he has a psychic shield and almost gets killed by enemy reinforcements! <br />
<br />
Now join us for the latest installment of:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Into the Blackstone Fortress! </div>
<br />
Back at Precipice the Explorers got to relax and recuperate. All wounds, even grievous ones are healed as soon as you get to Precipice. After that each Explorer picks a ship to visit to use the facilities of and trade at. (The Ship tiles are flipped from the 'Support' to 'Facilities' side at Precipice) Explorers get bonuses for visiting their own ship but are not limited otherwise. Locarno opted to visit Draik’s ship <i>The Vanguard</i>, as his own vessel The Traveller was largely only good for resurrecting fallen comrades (though that would likely come in handy later!) <br />
<br />
On <i>The Vanguard</i> you can gamble the Archeotech that you have on a D20 roll: a 1 sees you lose the Archeotech, 2-15 nothing happens, and if you can roll a 16+ you can take another Discovery card. Draik gets a re-roll as it's his ship. Locarno didn’t win but didn’t lose his Archeotech either so it could have been a lot worse. Had he been on <i>The Traveller</i> he would have gained an additional Trading Point but as he wasn’t and his Archeotech was only worth one, he couldn’t afford anything worthwhile from <i>The Vanguard’s</i> resource cards. (Each Ship has its own Resource deck)<br />
<br />
Taddeus visited his own ship <i>The Clarion</i>, hoping to gain insight from the Emperor, he succeeded with his re-roll and gained another Clue! Only two more required to find the first Stronghold! No trading was done by any of the Explorers so it was back out into the Blackstone Fortress…. <br />
<br />
First Exploration Card: Combat!<br />
<br />
<b>Turn 1:</b><br />
<b></b><br />
Straight into the fire; With a big map and three hostile groups this would be a much more testing combat than the last. This time it was Negavolt Cultists and two lots of Traitor Guard. With 4 Cultists and one group of 6 and one group of 4 Guard it was more than double the amount of foes we had faced last time. I was leader again by now and used Janus to make sure that ALL the Explorers would go ahead of the hostiles by using his Gambit ability. <br />
<br />
Espern Locarno was first up and vaporised one of the closest Traitor Guard with an Eye Blast, he wounded another but couldn’t finish him off. Considering the attack used the blue D12 damage die at mid range I really was not rolling well. Still, my rolls got even worse as Janus charged to the front of the group and promptly fluffed all his attacks! <br />
<br />
Taddeus took the right hand side and stove in the cranium of one Traitor Guard before wounding another. The group of 4 was now 2 and they were both wounded. Amallyn Shadowguide was robbed of a shooting target by the pillars that dominated the map and chose to dash into the middle to slay BOTH the Guard left with her blades. Her arrogance was her undoing as Lee missed with all his attacks leaving her woefully exposed. <br />
<br />
First, the Negavolt cultists activated, charging the Eldar Ranger and dealing her a grievous wound with their Taser Goads (which allow for no defence roll against their attacks). The Guard group behind probably would have finished her off but couldn’t get to her as the Cultists were in the way. <br />
<br />
But her respite was short lived as I rolled a 1 on the Blackstone die for the first group's reinforcements. Another SIX guard appeared and made a beeline straight for the Explorers. The Eldar took another two wounds from the hostiles and likely would have fallen there but for the Flamer failing to wound and the Sgt inexplicably choosing to retreat, running away from a certain kill. Tad<br />
<br />
Taddeus got an inspiration point from his kill and the event die result allowed another to be given out so I gave it to Locarno as Janus and Amallyn definitely didn't deserve it. <br />
<br />
<b>Turn 2: </b><br />
<b></b><br />
All of our Gambits fail but Lee, as leader, uses The Vanguard’s support ability to move Locarno from the back end of the track. as all the other Explorers are in an We need a good turn here or the expedition is doomed. The Eldar only rolls one die as three spaces are taken up by wound counters but it is a six which will allow her to retreat supposing she lives long enough to use her Phase Crystal. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1-iUpRVwKA4/XAktfmVeZ2I/AAAAAAAAHbo/FtjVP0rJ7Kwj9lvIPhHSIQRLJuMRlI6GACLcBGAs/s1600/combat%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>Taddeus leads by example, bellowing rhetoric and smashing two Traitor Guard to a bloody pulp. Screaming pious obscenities. Locarno only manages to kill one with his Third Eye and this time I do actually pick up the die to make sure that it DOES have four critical facings (it does - I just clearly suck at rolling it)<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1-iUpRVwKA4/XAktfmVeZ2I/AAAAAAAAHbo/FtjVP0rJ7Kwj9lvIPhHSIQRLJuMRlI6GACLcBGAs/s1600/combat%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #0066cc; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1-iUpRVwKA4/XAktfmVeZ2I/AAAAAAAAHbo/FtjVP0rJ7Kwj9lvIPhHSIQRLJuMRlI6GACLcBGAs/s320/combat%2B2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
The Ranger manages to fend off the attacks of the Traitor Guard and then uses her 6 on a Phase Crystal to retreat, allowing her to escape the Guard AND move through a pillar to relative safety. Her standard move of three hexes is proving to be useful and she easily outpaces the enemy. Lee then uses a destiny die to allow her to roll her Vitality die and heal a wound. <br />
<br />
<div>
Janus cuts down the flamer toting Traitor Guard nonchalantly but is unwilling to wade into the middle having seen how close the Eldar came to being struck down. He is holding up the left gap between pillars and Taddeus the right. Espern Locarno is standing a bit further back lending support and the Eldar Ranger is licking her wounds out of sight. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Traitor Guard get a wound on Taddeus with a Lasgun but the Priest grits his teeth and fights on. Negavolt Cultist stream into the space vacated by the Ranger, only their large bases size stops them from getting to the explorers (there is a limit on how many can fit in each hex) The restricted line of sight on the map is the only thing stopping the Explorers from being cut down like chaff. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ok I must confess around about this point in the game I got SO involved that I stopped making detailed notes. I was having too much fun, sue me!<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Event phase bought back one of the Guardsmen we had killed but Locarno gained another Inspiration point (my crappy dice rolls might have been producing enemy reinforcements left and right but they were also good for Inspiration rolls! Locarno immediately used the three points and flipped his card to the Inspired side. His Third Eye blast changed from 1D12 to 2D8, becoming a lot more reliable (in theory). In addition his vitality improved and his powers became a bit easier to use. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zBfbAerfS1k/XAktjD9CueI/AAAAAAAAHbw/GN5LEJDgCt8fzSS5Cei4drAcH3tMWZkKACLcBGAs/s1600/espern%2Binspired.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zBfbAerfS1k/XAktjD9CueI/AAAAAAAAHbw/GN5LEJDgCt8fzSS5Cei4drAcH3tMWZkKACLcBGAs/s320/espern%2Binspired.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<div>
<b></b><br /></div>
<div>
<b>Turn 3: </b></div>
<div>
<b></b><br /></div>
<div>
Taddeus held the tide here, the Ministorum Priest weathering attack after attack. Nonetheless he suffered two grievous wounds as well as one normal wound. He used a Destiny dice (6+) to heal his own wound and also benefit the Eldar by healing one of hers too as she was in an adjacent hex. Grievous wounds were too serious to heal though. It would be back to Precipice for sure after this fight, we had better make it count. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Eldar took another wound from enemy fire, it was a good thing the Priest had healed her. Thankfully no hostile groups reinforced, so it was just a matter of killing what was left. Locarno made use of his improved powers, blasting Traitor Guard left and right and heading down the nearest corridor to the Discovery Point. With the middle of the field now cleared a little, the opportunistic Eldar saw a chance to Search the Discovery point and did so, drawing a Clue with a 4+ Destiny dice. Taddeus headed to the point on the right hand side of the map/ Janus Draik was in far better shape than the Eldar or Priest and deftly slew another two Traitor Guard. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The last turn saw little action and thankfully no reinforcements. Locarno grabbed another Clue and summoned the Mag Lev to escape. Spotting an escape route the wounded Eldar headed straight for the chamber, her fast movement ensuring she would get there. We now had enough clues to assault the Stronghold. Taddeus searched the last Discovery point and found some Archeotech. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There were few enough enemy left now that we could avoid them, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, another reinforcement group could have undone us but eventually with Janus Draik brining up the rear we all got on the Mag-Lev and escaped. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Where we had a decision to make; we now had enough clues to take on the first Stronghold, however, two of our party were grievously wounded and to do so would likely be suicide. Taddeus and The Eldar would be unlikely to survive another encounter. Locarno did have a wound but thanks to his increased vitality managed to heal it. Strongholds are a series of small encounters followed by a large map full of tough enemies. Best left for another day. Grievous wounds could not be healed till we went back to Precipice so it was time to add another legacy card to the game and return to lick our wounds. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
this time it was the 'No Escape Route' Card. This would mean that in future if we decided to end an expedition we would have to roll a dice. On a 1, 10 or 20 we would be forced to draw another Exploration card to face before we could return to the safety of Precipice. Future explorations would be a lot more perilous...… </div>
<div>
<b></b><br /></div>
<div>
<b>Gameplay Review: </b><br />
<b></b><br />
I really like Blackstone Fortress. It takes the Silver Tower formula, adds the improvements made in Hammerhal and a dash of Shadespire and comes up with something nice and involved and challenging. There's always something going on and the game is constantly changing, almost like a Legacy game. Games Workshop have already committed to expanding upon the game so it will be supported to make you feel like you are getting great value. Even just the core game though, represents a lot of gameplay.<br />
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The presentation is also sensational, with high quality components and a real attention to detail, from the miniatures to the tiles to the various components like the initiative track. It's excellent design. A particular note must be made of the stasis vaults which are custom bags to store your characters progress in between games. The only slight faults that I could possibly direct at the game are the tightness of the rules (expect plenty of FAQs over the next few months) and the slightly awkward card sizes as I would certainly suggest sleeving at least some of the cards. Still these are minor gripes and I highly recommend Blackstone Fortress, I have already played more of it than most other GW standalone games!<br />
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
And of course, our Explorers adventurers will continue...….</div>
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DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1401166578244130468.post-47715466939819711192018-12-04T03:26:00.001-08:002018-12-04T04:42:40.265-08:00The Brotherhood of the Yellow King Part ONE<div dir="ltr">
<b><span style="color: #ffd966;">I: AN OMINOUS PORTENT:</span></b><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><b></b><span style="color: red;"></span><span style="color: #ffd966;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Screams echoed from the dank dirty walls of the asylum, a reverberation of woe and despair that permeated the very air and lent an unsettling ambiance to the already initimidating atmosphere. Prefect Alistae Carn tried not to shudder as he followed the shuffling doctor, who's name he had quite forgotten, through the seemingly labyrinthine dark corridors, trying not to look too closely into the shadows cast by the wan lumin-globes that sporadically dotted the recesses of the foreboding passage.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Emperor damn Ralscon, damn him and his orders, of all the forsaken locales to be sent to. Worth was a wretched enough place as it was, a dungball of a world ignored by practically everybody, including those unfortunate enough to live on it. In fact Carn was pretty sure Worth was ironically named being a particularly small planet, more of a planetoid really. It's real designation was a very boring series of numbers and letters that no one wanted to remember almost like it wasn't worth remembering, hence being relabeled by the first settlers. Worth was devoid of oceans and was primarily comprised of a dense violet grey ash over an unremarkable rock crust dotted with mostly now dormant volcanoes. However, beneath the crust was a wealth of minerals and ores and numerous mining facilities were set up to make use of the only resource that Worth could offer. Other than mining outposts there were small towns and provinces here and there as the inhabitants tried to eke out whatever meagre lives they could. There was only one city and that was Narthley. Here all administration was carried out for the entire planet. Contact with the wider Imperium was minimal, they supplied a tithe of minerals and ores and therefore were left alone, blissfully unaware of the majority of the perils that beset the galaxy.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn was here to investigate the disappearance (and subsequent reappearance) of one Adept First Class Larkarsky. The Adept had been inspecting a mining operation in far off Endomaw on the other side of the planet. A fairly routine survey, the output from the mine had wavered somewhat in recent months and Larkarsky's assignment was to see if there were any untoward reason for the aberration. Everything had been fine for the first couple of <u>days;</u> with regular updates in Larkasky's usual terse, abrupt, fashion (he tended to make his video reports curt whilst laboriously preparing detailed written treatises on anything and everything which he would then present upon his return - almost as if to spite his superiors and make them spend excess time reading his texts for the full wealth of detail). The brief reports suggested that little was awry, although a subtle undercurrent of tension and uncertainty was present. This in itself was not unusual though, Larkarsky was far from a brave or adventurous man and easily perturbed. Were it not for his analytical skills, Carn mused, Larkarsky likely would not have been sent at all. Certainly, he would not have been Carn's first choice.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">It seemed that Carn's judgement was sound, for Larkarsky's updates turned increasingly erratic, and furtive. Almost as if he were afraid of saying more in his communiques. Then, without warning, they ceased. Requests for re-established contact were met with silence. The entire of Endomaw went dark and no response was forthcoming for six full solar cycles. Given that Worth had a significantly slower rotation than most planets this was equivalent to just under three Terran weeks. Then, just as Carn's superiors were about to authorise a rapid strike team to be sent to investigate, Larkarsky reappeared.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">He did not however, announce his presence as per standard procedures. Rather he was apprehended for disturbing the peace in a province named Hyrk far from Endomaw, babbling incoherently and raving about a dark terror, an unfathomable mystery threat that threatened to engulf the entire planet. When he foolishly tried to resist arrest the local constabulary took him down, hard. Larkarsky was dragged, broken and bleeding, into custody where he was found to be utterly without reason, ranting about coming apocalyptic horrors and beings, tentacled and omnipotent, from beyond the stars, that would consume all in their path. Chances are that he would have been executed at that point without hesitation for witchery as it was a particularly backward and superstitious settlement which he had chosen to appear in, but thankfully one of the more astute denizens of the town recognised Larkarksy's administrative trappings and sent a message to Carn's office. Once it was established that the Adept had indeed reappeared, the strike team was stood down and Carn was given the thankless task of journeying to this backwater hole to find out just what had happened in Endomaw. Carn damned Ralscon again, mentally subjecting him to various tortures and agonies in return, he smiled at the thought a bit in the gloom before he realised the doctor had stopped ahead of him.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Shaken from his reverie he glanced at the door that the hunched doctor gestured towards with gnarled bony fingers..</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"He's in here, but I warn you, his mind is cracked, you'll not get anything of any worth from him." The doctor's rheumy eyes, dead of emotion, echoed her expressionless lined face. Hers was a visage and frame that had been worn down over years of dealing with the irredeemably insane. No rejuvenat treatments or augmetics here, in this town. On a more prominent world she could have still been beautiful, vital. But here, here she was a prisoner of her advancing years almost as much as her charges were prisoners of their fractured psyches.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"I've seen it before, oh too many times for me to count, Emperor save me," she continued. "His mind has gone has that one, whatever he has seen or imagined, it was too much. He'll never recover, never." Her mouth suddenly set in a sad smile, she stepped back into the shadows allowing Carn access to the viewing slot in the door.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn nodded his thanks at the shrouded form of the Doctor and approached the door, unbolting the small hatch and sliding it down to peer into the gloomy room within. A faint fetid stench assaulted his nostrils. He tried to breathe though his mouth instead but the air tasted just as foul. He fought the impulse to gag.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Larkarsky? Adept Larkarsky?" he rasped. Only silence greeted him from within, though the space outside the room still echoed with the screams and rantings of myriad maniacal inmates. No, not silence, there was something. He strained to filter out the unwanted sounds, Larkarsky was muttering something. Carn couldn't make it out though, much as he tried. He stepped back from the viewing hatch.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Open it", he brusquely instructed, glancing at the doctor, not unkindly but with a commanding gaze nonetheless. The Doctor looked up and shook her head slowly.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"I wouldn't recommend tha...."</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Is he dangerous?" Carn interrupted, "any threat at all?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"No", she countered. "But he is utterly broken, there is nothing further to be gained by interrogating him".</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"I'll be the judge of that. Open. The. Door."</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">She shrugged and fumbled with a large cluster of metal keys. Carn winced, physical keys? what primitive hell was this? She must have noticed his expression in the gloom for she shot him a dirty look as she located the correct key amongst the bundle and used it to unlock the door. She swung it open and stepped back from the gloomy entrance.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Suppressing a brief uncharacteristic sense of trepidation, Carn stepped inside, trying to ignore the suddenly more prominent odour. Larkarksy was huddled in a far corner, unmoving. Unkempt and filthy, his head was bowed and he was muttering something over and over...Carn stepped closer.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow... "</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Over and over and over, that one word. His tone was haunted and despairing, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. He made no reaction to Carn's approach, even as the Prefect knelt down beside him.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Larkarsky...." he wracked his memory to recall the Adept's first name. "Pallas" he tried, "Pallas Larkarsky!" With the last he reached out and grabbed the man's shoulder.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Larkarsky stopped repeating and slowly raised his head. Carn's mouth dropped agape, horror etched on his face as Larkarsky suddenly launched himself at the kneeling prefect, bowling him over. They both crashed to the filthy floor as Larkarsky's brief silence ended, the maddened Adept atop of Carn.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"They're coming!" he screamed. "Oh God Emperor they are coming, we are all going to die, do you understand? We are all going to die. Nothing will survive, nothing will live. Nothing can stop them, nothing, nothing! Yellow will be all, yellow will be all! Our flesh, our bones our blood! All devoured, all devoured, all devoured!"</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn struggled beneath Larkarsky, though slight of frame, the Adept had a strength born of mania and desperation and pinned the Prefect down whilst screaming. With his eyes screwed firmly shut Carn found the strength to hurl that demented visage away from him and he rolled to the left, away from Larkarsky, poor insane Larkarsky. Opening his eyes he shakily stood up and exited the cell as swiftly as dignity would allow. The Adept had gone back to his huddle and once again was whispering the word 'yellow' over and over.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">As Carn crossed the threshold he closed the door and breathlessly nodded at the Doctor who rushed to lock it. With the cell secured she turned back to the Prefect, who was stooped, hands on knees.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"I told you" she said gently, "he's too far gone."</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn regulated his breathing and futilely tried to get Larkarsky's face out of his head. It was useless, he knew he'd be seeing that image till his dying days. Damn Ralscon. As his terror subsided the adrenaline found a new home in anger. His voice shook as he rose and stood, straight but unsteady, rounding on the doctor.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Why... didn't you tell me he'd done that?" His indignant, hoarse, whisper suddenly turned into an indignant, hoarse, roar, "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME ABOUT HIS FACE?!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"You didn't ask," the doctor returned, though she wasn't quite smug, there was nonetheless an air of insouciance about her reply which rankled at the Prefect. "Self mutilation isn't entirely uncommon among our patients. We tried to sedate him but whatever his torment is it affects his unconsciousness as well as his waking state. His torture is eternal, poor soul." she finished with a downcast look. "May the Emperor deliver him from his hell."</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn didn't reply immediately. In his mind he could still see Larkarsky's ravaged face. The beatings from the authorities were fading to lurid yellows and greens but the gouges, they were fresh, and his eyes......</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"But his eyes, why did he tear out his own eyes?" He shuddered, his breathing was becoming more regular now but his mind was still a whirl of emotions. He would never forgive Ralscon for this.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"As I said, whatever he has seen or imagined he has seen, it was too much. He did it just a couple of days after arriving, he didn't even make a noise while doing it. We didn't know until the next day. He just sat there the whole time while he gouged them out. Was he a friend?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn's normal demeanour reasserted itself. "Hardly, he was barely a colleague. We have never spoken, I don't know the man and now I never will. Tell me doctor, where are his effects?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Stored upstairs securely, nothing has been touched. Would you like me to have them brought to you?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Please have them sent to my offices back in Narthley. There is nothing further for me here." He walked back down the dark corridor, retracing his steps. Whatever had happened at Endomaw, he wasn't going to get the answer from poor Larkarsky directly. Hopefully the Adept's anally precise written reports would divulge the answers he needed. In the meantime he wanted to get out of this hellhole as quickly as possible.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><b><br /></b>
<b>II: THE FUTILITY OF PROCRASTINATION.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><span style="color: red;"></span><span style="color: #ffd966;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn got back to Narthley some time before Larkarsky's effects. He probably could have taken them with him and reviewed the Adept's notes on the return journey in the transit shuttle but quite frankly the experience at the asylum had left him rattled and in no mood to concentrate on anything. He had simply wanted to get back to familiar surroundings and have a very large drink.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">In fact he had had several drinks, a routine that had continued in the days since his return while he waited for the material he was to investigate. Even now he had a tumbler containing a generous measure of Skee sitting on his desk. This was the good stuff too, old stock imported from Celias IV. Smooth and rich, smoky and fiery at the same time. Being a Prefect on Worth had it's perks, few though they were.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">He picked up the glass and swirled the amber liquid round the glass noting with satisfaction the way the liquid clung to the side of the tumbler, a sure sign of the superior quality of the alcohol. He raised the glass to his mouth and drained it in one quick motion, savouring the burn as the Skee went down his throat. Even by his standards he had been drinking more than usual recently. His supply of Skee was nearly depleted and it would soon be time to put in another order, a substantial but worthwhile, borderline necessary, expense.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">And one that could be partially mitigated if he could get off Worth. By far the poor cousin or runt in the Celias system, the Ironically named Worth had not even been considered being named as part of the Celias sequence. Celias I was a Forge World, a minor contributor in the grand scheme of things but one that nonetheless produced a valued line of Sentinel Walkers, Chimera Transports and Leman Russ Battle Tanks. In particular the Plasma weaponry of Celias I was highly regarded even if the limited size of the world inhibited the scale of output.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Celias II was dead. It had always been dead as far as anyone could tell, with surveys showing no signs of past life or civilizations, alien or otherwise. It was however, a source of vapours and chemicals prized as poisons and oddly enough as agents in purifying the byproduct from industrial manufacturing. So it transpired that even this dead world had some value to those brave enough to risk exposure to the noxious and corrosive atmosphere and harvest it's deadly riches. A small dark world, it attracted small dark operations and nearly all of the output from Celias II came from Black Market sources as no one in their right mind would journey there, no matter the bounty. The criminal and desperate however would make periodic raids, often dying horribly as they captured the chemicals they sought.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Celias III and IV though, were settled worlds. Celias IV was the more heavily populated and developed. Celias III was actually the smaller more verdant world and had a problem with unwanted migration from Celias IV as people sought more land to exploit and pillage and stopped just short of all out invasion. Celias IV's population was killing it, there were far too many humans breeding too much and living too long. Choking to death on its own advancement Celias IV was almost used up and people were desperately trying to leave the world and get to its sister planet. In fact Celias III was in a constant state of the brink of war with Celias IV, though in reality it boiled down to little more than sabre rattling as Celias IV was by far more the capable and militarily potent world, They distilled some damn fine Skee though.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Besides, Carn mused. Even Celias IV, dying a slow choking death, would be better than Worth. Anything would be better than this wretched ball of ash and rock. Well almost anything. The Celias system was completed by two more planetoids in outer orbits that were little more than orbs of methane and ice. They were so far away and small that no one had bothered naming them, though they likely had Imperial designations nonetheless. No one went there, no one cared about them and if they disappeared no one would miss them. The only noteworthy thing out there was some listening and relay outposts which kept the Celias system (barely) in touch with the wider Imperium. Contact was seldom made though and it had been years since the last message from outside Celias. Even contact between Worth and the rest of the system was sporadic, cargo transports regularly arrived empty and departed full of ore but messages were far more seldom. Visitors were practically unheard of.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">No, the majority of people on Worth were born there and the majority of people would live their hard lives and then die there. Numbering a truly pathetic 400,000 or so worldwide, the population of Worth toiled and strove and lived their empty little lives and nothing they did really mattered. They were but tiny little cogs in a very big machine, a machine that cared nothing for them and was truly too vast and convoluted to be impacted whether they turned or not. Such was life in the Imperium of Man under the Aegis of the God Emperor, beloved by all.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn sighed and rubbed his eyes, yawning loudly. The Skee, satisfying as it was, often prompted melancholy and caused his thoughts to become maudlin and his mood morose. It was worth it though, totally worth it to numb the monotony, and more recently the horror of Larkarsky's self mutilation which intruded upon his mind so often of late. Sleep was no relief and indeed he had not slept well in days for any rest that he did manage was broken and of little real benefit. He yawned again and contemplated another measure of Skee before deciding against it. Instead he reached for Larkarsky's satchel which had been sat on his desk for the last few days defying him to ignore it. He'd been putting this off for as long as he dared but he could delay no longer. The thrice damned Ralscon had repeatedly tried to contact him for an update to his investigation, attempts that Carn had studiously ignored or avoided thus far.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Come on then you poor bastard" he said to no one in particular. "Let's see what happened to you". He unlatched the satchel, and opened it, emptying it one item at a time. He removed a number of data slates and sheaves of paper. In one of the internal pockets was a small golden Aquila on a chain. There was also a wrist chronometer, some rations; (Larkarsky was the kind to take a working lunch) and a small holoprojector loaded with pictures of people that given the vague resemblance Carn assumed were Larkarsky's family. Replacing all but the papers and the dataslates Carn carefully put the satchel down by the side of his desk, struck by an uncharacteristic sympathy for Larkarsky and his horrible fate. He spread the dataslates (four in total) and pages in front of him and reviewed the material.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">The dataslates were encrypted but he used his security override and unlocked them. One was full, one was half full and the other two were empty. He discarded these latter pair and concentrated on the full dataslate. Opening the directory he saw a number of entries. Scrolling through he discovered that they were all literature rather than logs, both fiction and non fiction with titles meticulously organised and categorised. He opened the one called 'research' but quickly established that there was little of interest to him it mostly being information on mining practices, quotas, and safety standards. He tossed the slate aside without closing the file and picked up the half full slate. Comparing it to the sheaves of paper he saw many duplications and beckoning his illuminator Servoskull closer, concluded that the pages were rough notes in an unorthodox shorthand from which Larkarsky then prepared his actual log entries. Discarding the scrawled notes, he focused on the pad; The entries were ordered by date with multiple entries per day. He opened the first with a tap of the screen and started reading.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<i><span style="color: #cccccc;">I arrived at the small landing port at 3:06:58, enduring a bumpy landing for no discernible reason. My momentary ire at the seeming incompetence of the pilot was diffused as I looked outside of the viewing portal at Endomaw. I had never had the need to visit the mining town previously and this initial impression was such that I had never beheld before. Far from the ramshacke and dare I say primitive, habitat that I had expected, instead I was treated to a sprawling industrial complex, bustling and imposing. Further than I could actually see, smoke stacks and cyclopean edifices towered and stretched into the distance. This was far from the modest installation that I had expected from studying and researching the available information. </span></i><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><i><br /></i><i>Disembarking from the shuttle I was struck by the noxious if not quite toxic fumes, heady and disorientating. At the foot of the ramp a slightly hunched figure in a worn mining suit handed me a filtration mask which I donned with a grateful nod. I looked at the other end of the landing pad and saw a sleek, low slung limousine which I assumed was my transport further into Endomaw. Certainly they could not expect me to traverse any distance by foot given the atmospheric conditions. I approached the vehicle, which I noticed was coated with a thick layer of dust ash and soot, and was gratified when the rear door swung open to reveal a shrouded yet luxurious interior. </i></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><i><br /></i><i>I stooped and entered the limousine, noticing that the fellow that had offered me the mask had followed me and appeared to be entering the drivers compartment. Inside i was pleasantly impressed by the level of opulence on offer. Real wood panelling and luxurious plush upholstery. The passenger compartment was unoccupied so clearly the driver had activated the door by remote. I opened a small door built into the partition between compartments and noted the copious refreshments that lay within as the limousine purred into life and started its journey towards my destination, though i must confess I wasn't sure exactly where that was. </i></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><i><br /></i><i>I thumbed the intercomm and it crackled to life, the amber rune flashing green intermittently and unconvincingly. I asked how long it would take to reach wherever it was we were going but no response was forthcoming, though I thought I heard a noncommital and dismissive grunt. Convinced that I would get nothing more from this strange driver, I deactivated the commlink noting that the front panel was a little loose, and looked around my immediate surroundings. The passenger compartment was spacious and could easily have accommodated a further half dozen individuals with a degree of comfort. There were a few panels and screens that were presumably for entertainment purposes and I ignored these as I was not here for recreation. The windows were tinted heavily and I couldn't see outside though I could discern that the transport was moving at some speed. Studying the array of controls and buttons I established that one of them would change the opacity of the windows and activated it. Immediately the exterior became visible and I was regaled with the sight of dirty walls and skeletal scaffolding as we made our way through the tight streets of Endomaw. Few of the denizens of the town were visible, those I did spy were swathed in cloth, stooped and furtive. More noticeable were the defence forces and within scant minutes I saw myriad tanks and troops either in defensive positions or patrolling. I thought for a moment to ask the driver about this but given our earlier interaction decided against it and resolved to simply further enjoy the comfort that my conveyance afforded, helping myself to sweetmeats and cakes as well as a large measure of some nondescript yet obviously alcoholic liquid. </i></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"><i><br /></i><i>Sipping the potent yet sweet liquor I reclined in my seat and watched the scenery, such as it was, speed by as the limousine wound it's way through the streets of Endomaw. Just by the length of the journey thus far it was obvious that Endomaw was far bigger than anyone had suspected and far more equipped and prepared. Prepared for what I couldn't possibly say but I was sure that there was much more beneath the surface than could be seen and that was even accounting for the fact that Endomaw already was more than I had ever suspected. I pulled my notepad out and made some quick notes, prompts for when I finally reached my destination and got to work. For now, I just put my head back, closed my eyes and dozed for the rest of the trip. </i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn set down the dataslate. He could take no more, inside he was screaming. He had heard tell of Larkarsky's legendary capacity for writing reams without really saying anything, but without actually experiencing it he had really had no idea at all. He reclined, titled his head back and exhaled loudly and slowly. There was SO MUCH still to review, this was but the first of over a dozen similar entries. He now regretted his earlier procrastination, reading Larkarsky's notes earlier might have actually kept thoughts of the horrific experience at the asylum from his mind. Cursing himself for a fool and leaning forward again, he reached for the remainder of the Skee. He was going to need another drink after all if he was going to carry on reading...</span><br />
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<b><span style="color: #f1c232;">III: PRAYERS AND UNEASE</span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">It was dark when Carn awoke, though that was no real indicator of time given that his office had no exterior windows. He'd never minded, there wasn’t really anything worth looking out on in Narthley anyway. Nonetheless it was dark, the Illuminator Servo skull hovering dormant nearby, having deactivated the light after detecting a prolonged period of inactivity, or perhaps picking up on his habitual soft snoring. Carn didn’t know or care, the spirits of these machines were inscrutable at the best of times, primitive though they were. He reactivated the Servoskull’s illumination function and rubbed the back of his neck, massaging the crick attained from his awkward sleeping position and working his jaw, trying to rid himself of the sour taste and numb mouth associated with excessive Skee consumption. Checking his chronometer he could see that several hours had passed. It was the best sleep he had had in an age, though his dreams had, as so oft of late, been infiltrated by Larkarsky’s mutilated visage. In this instance however it had been whilst visualizing much of the ill-fated Adept's logs that he had read. Fading swiftly as dreams were wont to do, he struggled to recollect what he had absorbed before slumber overtook him.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Pallas, (after reading so many of his thoughts, Carn felt he knew him in a way he never could in real life) had awoken a short distance from his destination and noted that there was some change in his surroundings with banners and pendants of a golden yellow hung everywhere, along with repeated occurrences of an odd symbol; again rendered in yellow. An odd aesthetic choice to his mind, especially stark against the drab environs of Endomaw. He noticed too that the tanks and troops that were even more prevalent this deep in the city (for a city it indeed seemed to be despite all reports and available information to the contrary) were similarly emblazoned with the same logo. When his luxurious transport had stopped, Pallas had been escorted by his driver, (who had supplied him with another mask as the Adept had left his on his seat) into a large and strangely architectured building, crenellated with gargoyles and statues of a design that Pallas was wholly unfamiliar with and yet filled him with an unaccountable trepidation.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Presently he was introduced to the administrator of Endomaw, a hunched and robed individual called Geriok Mkawas. The Adept described him as ‘an unwholesome sort with a sibilant speech and exotic perfume.’ After exchanging banal pleasantries they had got to work and Larkarsky had noted their conversation in exhausting and brain numbing detail. Much of it was to do with quotas and production levels, statistical and baffling with percentages and very long figures which Carn really had no grasp of at all. After all, it wasn’t his job, investigating what had happened to Larkarsky and Endomaw (it was still silent) was. Suffice to say for every point that the Adept raised Geriok seemed to have a counter argument, none of which warranted further investigation. In fact Geriok seemed somewhat put out and surprised that Larkarsky had been sent at all. Insisting that nothing was unduly awry and no further action was required. Nonetheless Pallas Larkarsky had dutifully requested to inspect the mining operation itself. This tallied with the first brief report which Pallas had submitted back to Narthley in which he had indicated that he had met the administrator and following a lengthy discussion was now going to inspect the mine. In this report all seemed normal and no sign was shown of the unease that was omnipresent in later communications.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">The journey to the mining site was relatively uneventful though Pallas did remark that his host became ever more garrulous, presumably in an attempt to deflect Larkarksy’s insistent probing. For his part, the Adept noted that the second journey was unremarkable though he found that he was noticing more and more as time went on, including furtive movements in the shadows that had previously gone unseen. Half conversing with Geriok and half analysing the passing scenery, he noted that as they headed towards the mine there were increased signs of building and construction and an higher military presence. Merely for security and deterrence, Geriok assured him with a disarming yet false smile. Nonetheless Pallas noted that Endomaw seemed prepared for conflict and more than capable of defending itself. He surmised that the city was only eclipsed by Narthley in terms of scope and capability. He recorded that there was something else that bothered him but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it and in any event was quickly distracted and enamoured by the vibrant purple foliage that appeared as the limousine left Endomaw city and headed toward the Endomaw Mine.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">That was as far as Carn had got before he had fallen asleep. It seemed that he had made some notes of his own before he had lost the battle for wakefulness and he tidied these up briefly, submitting a short report of his own so as to keep Ralscon off his back for a little longer. He marveled at how someone as seldom spoken as Pallas Larkarsky could be so amazingly verbose when it came to the written word. Every little detail and thought was captured and recorded and seemingly much of it was from his own recollection as unless Carn was missing something, the shorthand scrawled notes contained only very basic information and statistics. Indeed it seemed that Larkarsky may well have had an Eidetic memory such was his power of recall. Carn chided himself for thinking about the Adept in the past tense but then reflected that given his current condition his memory may well be best referred to as a thing that was, rather than is. Rising from his desk he stuffed all the slates and notes into the satchel, deciding to take them home with him. As he did so the Aquila on the golden chain fell from its pocket and he caught it, looking at it for a moment in his palm as it caught the soft light from the Servo skull which dutifully hovered nearby. He resolved to return this charm to Larkarsky if he got the chance, it was the least he could do.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">On his all too brief return to his residence Carn checked his messages, he deleted any from Ralscon and replied to one from an acquaintance that he had socialised with pleasantly a couple of weeks ago. There were also the ubiquitous commercial messages which he ignored and erased. Well, all but one that purported to tell of a miracle Emperor Blessed hair restorative. He ruefully rubbed his own thinning scalp, before deciding that this too was charlatan in nature and consigning It too to digital oblivion. He knelt briefly before the altar in his living area, closing his eyes and making the sign of the Aquila over his chest as he heartfeltly recited a couple of prayers to the God Emperor of Man, Beloved by All. He added a prayer for Larkarsky as well, knowing that the Adept would be quite unable to make his own genuflections. Carn was far from the most pious of individuals but it seemed only right. Rising from the small shrine he activated the wallscreen and took in a propaganda programme before catching up with the latest newscast and assuring himself that all was right, or at least no more wrong than usual, with Worth. Except something was. He couldn’t identify it, but something definitely was. Like hairs raising on the back of his neck there was an unease about him and he glanced about swiftly and furtively before deciding on a small glass of Skee to settle his nerves. The bottle sloshed reassuringly as he picked it up, though in reality barely a few days remained, perhaps less given his current consumption levels.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Pouring himself a more hefty measure than he had first intended he nonetheless sank it in one gulp, immediately pouring another. He found himself initially sipping it appreciatively before once again draining the glass in one swallow. He sat in his most comfortable chair and held out his hands in front of him. They were trembling, only slightly but there was a tremor there nonetheless. Throne, what had befallen him? A quick medi scan (another luxury afforded him by his status) that assured him that physically he was ok, failed to reassure him. A shower and food also failed to remedy the uncharacteristic and unfathomable dread that he was feeling. He even resorted to lighting and taking a few drags on a lho-stick he had tucked in a drawer before he felt nauseous and remembered why he had quit the narcotic in the first place.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">His eyes flickered to the satchel which sat where he had deposited it by the side of his altar. Still open and lit, the faux candlelight cast distorted shadows across the floor and his richly embroidered rug. The shadows flickered and twisted and formed into writhing tentacles and he shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. It was the Lho, he told himself, nothing more. It had been a while after all. Opening his eyes again he was gratified that the shadows seemed more quiescent, though they still moved slightly and unsettlingly. Rising, he shut the altar and the faux candles were snuffed out as the shrine registered the motion. Another glass of Skee was probably the last thing he needed but he poured one and knocked it back anyway, followed by another. The barest trace of alcohol remained in the bottle so he raised it to his lips and drained it. It didn’t help. Worse still, he didn’t really enjoy it, what a waste of good liquor. He tried to distract himself further but no matter what he did he couldn’t stop thinking about Endomaw and poor Pallas Larkarsky. It was with a half drunken air of resignation that he opened the satchel, retrieved the half read dataslate and powered it on. He would know no peace till he got to the bottom of this it seemed. He scrolled to the last read entry and then selected the succeeding log and read with bleary eyes before giving up and accessing the audio settings, connecting it up to his terminal and setting it up to read and record the logs. The equipment dutifully started copying the logs and the machine’s spirit started relaying Pallas’s writings in a dull, scratchy monotone:</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;"><i>"Presently we left the intriguing flora behind and approached Endomaw mine. Still, I found myself marveling at the near luminescence of the vibrant plants, pondering their botanical makeup and how they survived such harsh environments. Were they endemic to this area? Were they native to Worth? Colour aside they seemed unremarkable, perhaps the most intriguing thing about them being how they could propagate in Worth’s harsh and unyielding earth. The Purplish ash dust that covered our home must have some hitherto unknown nutrients that enabled them to flourish, but if that were the case why were they not more widespread? What was the Catalyst that provided them with such a foothold in this area in particular? I must confess that I allowed Geriok to continue his conversation somewhat one sided as I mused the possibilities. Not that I would have needed much of a reason to do so, continued interaction with the man left me feeling decidedly uneasy and unclean though there was nothing specific that I could attribute those feelings to.<br /><br />Nonetheless, before long we approached the mining complex proper and my thoughts were taken from exotic flora back to the Administrator's prattling</i> (Oh the irony! Carn thought with a sardonic smile) <i>which I again deigned to indulge. Geriok was going out of his way to be accommodating, talking in that sibilant way, his words dripping with a honeyed hiss. I noticed that he reclined somewhat awkwardly and unnaturally and found that I inexplicably loathed this man. His bald pate, pale skin, overly white teeth and crocodilian smile all disgusted me.</i>(Carn had no idea what a crocodilian was but inferred that it was non complimentary) <i>The machine droned on heedless of his ignorance. I smiled in return and nodded attentively to his banal small talk, but my head was overwhelmed with the wrongness of the situation and I resolved to make another Vis report to HQ as soon as I disembarked. </i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn had reviewed this report, seemingly made in a shelter or lean to at the edge of the mine. Larkarsky had been agitated, tense and fidgety but advised that he had reached the mine proper and was descending to carry out his inspection and audit. He suggested that preparations were made to send additional adepts to the city as the scale of Endomaw was much more than had been initially surmised. This aside, the report was ordinary, short and to the point, with the promise of a full written report to be prepared and provided at a later time.<i> </i></span><br />
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<i>As we approached the mine complex I was taken aback once more, not by how large the installation was but rather the opposite. Endomaw mine was tiny, nothing more than a few buildings and inactive drills and smattering of earth moving equipment. The limousine pulled up and I got out, remembering my mask this time. though the driver seemed to have one prepared anyway. I noticed that Geriok wasn’t wearing a mask, and hiding a flash of annoyance he breezily explained that he had become inured to the air, at least for short distances, the driver on the other hand had not removed his once and it occurred to me that the grunt I had received when trying to engage him could have been somewhat muffled. My unease grew and I excused myself to make a quick communication back to Narthley in a sheltered spot, I was most perturbed, Endomaw City seemed entirely at odds with Endomaw Mine in terms of scale, it warranted further investigation I felt. This done I returned to the small building which Geriok and the driver had entered.<br /><br />The Driver was nowhere to be seen but Geriok was animatedly remonstrating with another pair before glancing over at me and then back to his compatriots. He beckoned me over, smiling blankly in that reprehensible way. He introduced the two newcomers as Lek and Jerrod, explaining that he had important business to attend to nearby and would return in a while. It was nothing to worry about he assured me, merely an administrative matter that couldn’t be avoided. He left through a large double door to the side through which I very quickly spied a loading area with additional digging machinery and cargo vehicles. As the door shut it locked with a green rune flashing to red. I could only assume that Geriok carried a biometric key that had allowed him to open it, though I thought I might be able to make out a small keypad in the shadows. Turning back to Lek and Jerrod I introduced myself and my assignment, how long I expected it to take me (a couple of days to be thorough but I had overestimated the size of the operation as drastically as I had underestimated the size of Endomaw itself). and what I would require from them in order to complete it. They nodded and advised that they would need to take me down into the mine itself and therefore I would need to don a mining suit, similar to the garb they both wore. Fully understanding the importance of health and safety and standards to be adhered to, I readily agreed. As I was looking to be staying at least a few cycles they hastily arranged quarters for me and said they would take me to these first so that I could prepare for my first sojourn into the depths of Endomaw mine.<br /><br />We went down some steps and into a dank passage with dripping pipes and flickering lights which cast strange shadows on the walls, unnatural and pulsating. I tried not to look at them, instead filling my mind with myriad quotas and statistics. Presently we came to a series of doors and they swung one open revealing a spartan room with a locker, a desk and a bunk. Lek, the more softly spoken of the pair (Jerrod’s tone was nigh on guttural) gestured into the room and bade me enter and prepare myself. They would return, he said, in 30 minutes and then we could continue our journey into the mine. They departed down the corridor and I watched them leave and turn a nearby corner before I closed the door behind me and engaged the electronic lock, I was gratified to see that there was also a secondary bolt as well and I pushed this across to further secure the room. I looked around and was perturbed to note the absence of a shrine or anywhere to pay obeisance to the Emperor. A panel in the far wall next to the bunk slid up at the touch of a dimly lit rune to reveal a wash basin and dirty mirror. I made a mental note of supplies and amenities I would need to request and disrobed and cleansed my body as best as I could.<br /><br />The mining suit presented me with some problems as I was unfamiliar with its configuration. I put on the tunic and heavy mining boots but the over suit was more inscrutable and cumbersome. I donned it as best as I was able and shortly after there came a rapping at the door. Unbolting and unlocking it I was greeted by Jerrod, the larger of my two erstwhile guides and certainly the less approachable of the pair. He gruffly informed me that Lek awaited us and gestured for me to stand still so that he could adjust my suit. I felt no small pride as I noticed that his adjustments were minor and few and accompanied by a semi approving grunt. Properly dressed and equipped, I bent to retrieve my satchel and immediately smashed into the bunk with the bulky suit’s mining lamps. I flushed and grabbed my satchel, mustering as much dignity as I could. If Jerrod noticed he made no sign and had already started down the passageway as I exited the room. More stairs beckoned and as we descended into the lower levels it occurred to me that I was losing sense of placement and direction and without guidance would struggle to return to the surface. Before too long the stairs ended, leading to a small room filled with equipment and tools as well as some workstations and terminals. We exited this room through a grinding and stubborn sliding door and I took my first steps into Endomaw mine.</i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">The machine stopped it's intonation and a dull hiss issued from the speaker grille. The terminal flashed, indicating that it had finished copying the files. It had probably finished a while ago, patiently signalling the completion of its task till prompted. Carn got up and disconnecting the data slate, instructed the machine to continue with the next entry, pausing it for a moment whilst he went to empty his bladder. Returning, he stopped just before he hit play, the selected file was flashing on the screen and at its increased size he could more easily see the file name. Unusual to say the least it conformed to no system or pattern that he could see, Dismissing it as another of Larkarsky’s idiosyncrasies he pressed play before settling back down. Trying not to look into the gloom as he did so. Nine logs down, six to go, and he was out of Skee and afraid to look into the shadows, <i>Emperor save me</i>, he thought.</span><br />
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<b><span style="color: #f1c232;">IV: INTO THE DEPTHS.</span></b></div>
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<i><span style="color: #cccccc;">My first impression of Endomaw mine was that it was a lot smaller than I had expected, much like the above surface complex. Whereas I had, especially given the size of the city that was supposed to only be a town, expected a vast subterranean chasm full of industry and noise, instead there was only a small chamber with a few carts of ore and a trio of tunnels with a smattering of stooped workers in mining suits processing and digging. I tried to hide my disappointment and perplexion and instead followed Jerrod as he strode down the right most tunnel. His shadowed form appeared intermittently as he passed the halogen lights that dotted the passageway and I hurried to close the distance lest I lose my guide and become lost, I noticed that there were junctions at irregular intervals but no signs for navigation and resolved to not stray from Jerrod again as I could see no markings of guidance or direction. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #cccccc;">Presently, after a few minutes walking and a couple of changes of course we came to another small dimly lit chamber. Here, Lek awaited us, somehow looking simultaneously both bored and nervous. He greeted me in his soft tone and explained that we needed to progress even deeper, that this original network of tunnels was little more than the earliest parts of the excavation, created primarily for the logistics of earth moving. A trial and error attitude towards finding the best seams and digging areas. I stepped into the small cage that he was indicating and he followed me, a heavy tread signalling that Jerrod would also be accompanying us. Lek hit a small switch by the side of the cage and with a sharp jolt and anguished squeal the cage started to descend. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #cccccc;">For a few moments we were surrounded by rock as the shaft the cage occupied was closed in and barely wide enough for our conveyance to pass undamaged. I felt claustrophobia closing in and gripped the rail of the cage tightly, trying to control my breathing and not think about the megatons of Worth that were above me. Then the walls of rock gave way and we emerged into a large cavern much more in line with my expectations of Endomaw mine. Though still not gargantuan in scale there was at least a lot more activity and progress apparent. The cavern was dotted with further tunnels from which wire cables were suspended with ore being constantly moved from tunnel to tunnel. As I looked over the railing below me I could see that this mine was deep indeed, the bottom being well beyond my sight, and a sudden movement and shuffling of feet behind me convinced me to step back, even as I put the paranoia down to the remnants of my earlier feelings of claustrophobia. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #cccccc;">"Impressive isn't it?" Lek breathed, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort though I noticed that Jerrod suddenly seemed angry. I nodded, stepping further back from the railing and making a show of taking my communicator from my satchel. I checked the device and was gratified that even this far down the Machine Spirit endeavoured to deliver a reasonable quality of signal, I breathed a prayer to the Emperor and subconsciously touched the chain around my neck, feeling the golden Aquila against my chest. I looked up at Jerrod who was positively glowering at me and quickly looked away, busying myself with the innards of my satchel. In silence we continued to descend, the cage juddering from time to time and preventing my fears from being completely allayed. In time our downwards journey reached its climax and the cage halted at what I estimated to be 600 metres below the entrance of the cavern. Below us the chasm yawned and the bottom of the mine was still out of sight. I saw all this through the grille of the cage floor, being unwilling to approach the railing again, somewhat perturbed by the expression on Jerrod's face. I must confess my legs were a little unsteady as I exited the cage but with solid rock beneath my feet I swiftly regained my equilibrium and started to turn my mind to work once more. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #cccccc;">To his credit, Lek fielded many of my questions adroitly, only a few of my queries proving beyond his knowledge. These, he assured me, another would be able to answer. To this end he led me down another tunnel, one that curved often and sharply. Eventually however, and after a slight incline which I estimated had put us about 80 meteres closer to the surface, we came to a large metal door. Activating a comm panel Lek spoke some pass phrase which was beyond my hearing and the door slid open. Stepping inside I was taken aback at the change in surroundings, metal walls and rooms surrounded me and corridors and other such familiarities of internal architecture abounded. After some time traversing rock and tunnels it was quite jarring but I quickly recovered and turned to face the tall character that was approaching me. He had thin, pinched predatory features and a high pronounced forehead which lent him a regal and imposing air. He introduced himself as Ganvan Seris, a senior figure among the hierarchy of the mine, though he neglected to divulge his exact title. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #cccccc;">Ganvan spoke in an almost hypnotic low and mellifluous tone, clearly enunciated and in the manner of a master orator. I found myself compelled to look at him and he had my complete attention. indeed I was quite rapt. Unable to look away I swiftly assessed him as best as I was able. Clad in a rich yellow robe, he carried a staff of ebony topped with a four armed figure. He too wore a mining suit, though it seemed to be heavily customized, lacking many of the bulky accouterments and lights that adorned my own outfit. Furthermore his suit featured a tall cowl which only added to his stature. His face was gaunt and he was completely bald, in fact so were Lek and Jerrod, not just bald but completely hairless. It was at that moment that I resolved the nagging feeling that I had been experiencing. Every single individual I had seen in Endomaw Mine was bald, completely bereft of any hair at all. A chill ran down my spine as I realised that even back on the journey in the limousine every denizen of Endomaw I had seen had been cowled or hooded. Suppressing the tremor from my voice, I raised this point with Ganvan. His smooth answer that it was prolonged exposure to the ore seemed to ring false to my ears but his tone was soothing and I felt somehow compelled to believe him. He also reassured me, with a disarming smile, that I was safe and it took many months continuous exposure to see any effects. I queried if the hair grew back once the individual was removed from proximity to the ore and Ganvan airily replied that he didn't know. Thinking back to Geriok and citizenry of Endomaw it seemed unlikely but even as my brain tried to work through the sudden haze it was experiencing to argue that the citizens I had seen had surely had minimal, if any, exposure to the ore, I found myself unable to reason or cogitate and indeed the fog became denser the longer Ganvan spoke to me. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #cccccc;">Desperately trying to regain some sense of control and mental faculty I took a Stimm pill from my satchel and swallowed it. Maybe I was just tired and needed to clear my head. I started repeating my earlier unanswered questions to Ganvan, more to break his monologue than anything else, and he answered them immediately and to my satisfaction, though again I couldn't profess to having any real capacity of clear thought at this time. Ganvan gave me a short tour of the facilities, speaking at length about what had been accomplished in Endomaw. The Stimms had perked me up enough that I was at least able to make notes based upon his words and I trusted that they would make sense to me later when it came to preparing my report. After a few hours I was fatigued and requested that the day's activities ended and I be allowed to return to my guest quarters to absorb and compile the data I had captured and more importantly rest. Lek and Jerrod accompanied me and I barely noticed their taciturn silence on the ascent so tired was I, failing to get any understanding of the labyrinthine subterranean complex . As we approached the room I was occupying I noticed them suddenly talking but couldn't make out their conversation as they were a good few metres ahead of me. I had no idea of the route back to my room so was allowing them to lead me, though I must confess I was actually <msreadoutspan class="msreadout-line-highlight msreadout-inactive-highlight">ruminating on the days events rather than <msreadoutspan class="msreadout-word-highlight">focusing</msreadoutspan> on navigation. </msreadoutspan></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #cccccc;">Returning to my room I removed the heavy and now dusty mining suit with some difficulty and locked the door, once again bolting the door as well as an afterthought. I spent a few hours or so working on my notes and recording observations and submitting a short Vid-report to Narthley before sleep took me into its comforting embrace. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #cccccc;">My dreams were most discomforting though, as my unconscious mind attempted to sort and process the days experiences. Twisted dream logic aside, the sequence of events were largely accurate (reality contains less bubbles and spiders). <u>As</u> I descended down to the mine in the cage I could hear guttural snarls and sibilant hisses behind me, getting closer and closer. I leaned over the rail looking into the darkness below and recoiled as yellow tentacles rose from the depths, undulating and writhing as they reached for me. I stepped back, but suddenly Lek and Jerrod were either side of me gripping me firmly by the arms prohibiting my retreat. I struggled as the tentacles approached but could not move in their vice like grip. The tentacles reached my face as Lek urged me not to resist. Within seconds my head was enveloped and I was suddenly pulled over the railings my captors released me. Falling down into the depths, my scream was muffled by the oily grip of the yellow tentacles as I was dragged into the darkness. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #cccccc;">I awoke with a start, sweat pouring from my body despite the relative coolness of the immediate environs. All was still, silent. No. There was something, a quiet shuffling and scraping. I strained my ears to pick out more but struggled with the competition from my hammering heart. Then I felt the cold all too well as the door handle scraped and turned and the door was tried. There was some muttering and then I heard the shuffling and scraping recede until it passed the reach of my hearing. I listened for a while but heard nothing else before sleep once again overtook me and I fell into a thankfully dreamless slumber for the few hours I had till first rise. </span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;"><i><br /></i>
The recording ended once again, and Carn opened his eyes. Though far more detailed the logs were proving less insightful than he had hoped. That there was something untoward was clear but the only one that could provide the information he needed was locked in an asylum and far, far beyond any use. He rubbed his face and reached for the bottle of Skee on his table before remembering it was empty. Damn. Perhaps some still remained in his hip flask. Just as he got up to rifle through his overcoat's pockets he noticed the wall comm flashing red. He didn't remember muting the chime but it was easily enough done and he'd probably done it without thinking. The insistent red pulse continued and he walked over to it, shaking the worst of his fugue off before hitting the acknowledgement rune.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Yeah, who is it?" His throat was dry, his voice hoarse, Throne, but he could use a drink! Besides, he knew who it was going to be. Exactly who he didn't want it to be...</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Carn? Where the hell have you been, do you have any idea for how long I've been trying to contact you? What are you playing at? Throne, you'd better get your arse in gear, I've been voxing you for hours!"</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">The words came in a torrent, Ralscon's reedy yet bellicose tone bleeding into Carns ears, far more than he could take, especially in his current state. He only heard half of his supervisor's rant, tuning out the rest as white noise. He blearily interrupted Ralscon with an irritable growl.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Ralscon, in the Holy Emperor's name, what do you want? It's late and i'm tired. It can't be that important"</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Oh? How would you know Carn? I'm surprised you are aware of anything at the bottom of that bottle of Skee. Now shut up and listen. It's Endomaw. They've started responding to our communications, said they've had technological problems which they've now sorted. I though YOU should know this as it might help you with your half arsed investigation. Emperor knows why I bother though."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn's eyes widened as the salient information from Ralscon's diatribe filtered into his brain. This was the last thing he had expected. He shut Ralscon off with a terse thanks, advising he was coming back into the administratum, He fumbled for his flask, feeling the cool metal at his fingertips. He pulled it out and was gratified that it seemed at least half full. He allowed himself but the faintest of sips though. He needed his head clear and he would also need to save what was left for later. There was one other place that he could get the answers he needed and he could return Larkarsky's charm at the same time by stopping at the Asylum. Besides, he was almost out of logs and definitely out of options. There was nothing else for it, he was going to have to go to Endomaw.</span><br />
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<b><span style="color: #ffd966;"></span><br /></b>
<b><span style="color: #ffd966;">Chapter V:</span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span><span style="color: #ffd966;">SCREAMS IN THE NIGHT</span></b><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><span style="color: #ffd966;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Once again, Carn found himself in front of the door of Larkarsky's cell in the labyrinthine Hyrk Asylum for the Demented and Insane. Wordlessly the same Doctor as before, Speltz! That was her name! unlocked the door and opened it, stepping back and fading ethereally into the darkness. Carn stepped forward into the Adept's chamber, pulling the Aquilla from his pocket and holding it in front of him. Even though he could barely see the crouched muttering figure of the Adept ahead of him in the gloom the Aquila glinted and shone as if light were falling upon it. Carn also fancied that he heard a faint keening from the dangling charm but that was impossible.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Or prehaps not, for Larkarsky's head snapped up instantly. He stood, cocking his head like a bird and advanced on Carn, emerging from the gloom. Carn stepped back but the door had closed behind him. He wanted to turn but couldn't take his eyes off of Larkarsky, stepping jerkily toward him with his arm outstretched like some kind of undead horror. He backed up against the door holding the Aquila charm ahead of him like an offering whilst steeling himself to defend against any attack.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Instead, Larkarsky stopped just in front of Carn. His eyeless sockets glowed like burning embers, and he straightened, regarding the pinned Prefect. He reached for the dangling charm, still shining in Carn's grip but instead of taking it, pushed it back towards Carn's chest.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Keep it Alistae, you will need it more than I." Larkarsy's voice resonated in Carn's skull, permeating his very mind and echoing through his brain. "Much work lies ahead of you, you must discover the truth, the truth of the Yellow King." He smiled beatifically, stepping back and dipping his head before raising it again. The embers blazed with new fury.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"They are coming, I can feel them, in my head, in my soul. They scratch and scream and writhe." His mouth approximated sorrow. "I was too weak, Emperor forgive me. I was too weak at the time. Now I am more prepared. Yet, even now, my time grows short. I wish I could tell you more, but they are listening, they have been since the start. They are in my head you know, did I mention that?" He tapped his temple for emphasis.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn, could do little more than nod dumbly, he gripped the chain tightly, his knuckles white as Larkarsky continued;</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"I have faith in you Alistae, I know you will succeed. You are looking in the right place, the answer is there. I believe you will find the answer before you reach Endomaw, I was so close, too close. I have left clues in my logs, find them. Find them and save us all. You MUST uncover the truth about the Yellow King! I have faith in you," he repeated. "I know you will succeed, the Emperor Protects, Alistae. He protects us all."</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn nodded again, he tried to say something but could not form the words. Why could he not speak? This all seemed so unreal.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Larkarsy turned his head abruptly, sensing something. "We are out of time Alistae, I knew it would not take long, but I had to take the risk, you understand?" Carn didn't but Larkarsky continued regardless; "It is up to you now, this task falls to you, and with that, I am free. Thank you Alistae, thank you for coming back for me, may the Emperor watch over you." The beatific smile returned and suddenly there was a knife in his hand. He drew it across his throat sharply. The light in his eye sockets went out.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn flinched, but instead of the gush of bright arterial blood there was nothing, just a yawning expanse as Larkarsky's head tilted back. He was still smiling. Carn stared in revulsion as yellow writhing tentacles emerged from the ruin of his neck, expanding and writhing and reaching. Now Carn found a voice, and that voice was a scream.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">He was still screaming when he awoke. He was reclining in a comfortable chair on the shuttle. A glass rested on its side on the table from where he had upset it when he started. The remnants of its contents trickled onto the floor via Carn's leg. Carn ignored it, it was the cheap synthesised stuff anyway. The dreams were getting worse. There was no denying it. Always the yellow tentacles, not only in his dreams either. The nightmarish images were infiltrating his waking thoughts too. It was getting stronger the closer he got to Endowmaw. He pulled the compact Autopistol from his chest holster and checked that it was fully loaded. It was a high powered custom model, packing more stopping power than a standard issue Autopistol at the cost of a slower firing rate. In actuality, it was more like a mini bolt pistol than anything else, finished in a brushed dark gunmetal with crimson finials and etched grip. Like all good guns it had a name and this was etched along the casing; <i>Furore </i><i>Imperatoris</i>: Emperor's Fury. It was a good solid gun and it had been a long time since it had been fired.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn had retrieved it from his desk drawer upon his return to the administratum building. Deftly avoiding Ralscon, (though he had left a conciliatory message updating his earlier report) he had feverishly grabbed as many supplies as he could, casting furtive glances at the shadows. He had then booked a transport shuttle and left, charting a route via Hyrk to Endomaw. Now he was no more than an hour from the Asylum and as the monotonous tones of the cybernetic pilot confirmed this fact he sat up and reached for the satchel at the side of his seat.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">It had seemed so REAL, more so than any other dream. His head still swam and he was dizzy and disorientated. He also had a headache, a pounding pressure in his skull that made him wince. Worse still, he could feel something trickling from his nose and wiping his hand across the liquid saw it was a deep crimson. That couldn't be good. Shakily he withdrew the dataslates from the satchel. He'd already reviewed the final log. It had contained nothing of note, just more of Larkarsky's exhaustively detailed prose and further meetings with Ganvan Seris which had left the Adept even more unsettled than before. His final audio log had similarly suggested little more than a more defined unease, though he would not specify the source of it. He'd ended the vidlog with a comment that something was very wrong in Endowmaw and that he should write a book about it some day. A somewhat more sardonic comment than Carn had expected to be honest. He put this down to Larkarsky's state of mind. The man was clearly extremely disturbed and agitated, his anxiety was clear to see</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Even so, there was no denying that there was something he was missing. Perhaps his dream was his subconscious telling him this, he had certainly been rattled of late. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. There was so much still to do, so many mysteries still to be solved. He went back over his notes and the latest few logs, both written and video. However, despite analysing each passage and even going over the videos frame by frame he still could discern or glean no further information. He went as far as to watch one of them backwards in the hope of uncovering a hidden message even as he chided himself for being so naïve. Nothing.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">He sighed and abandoned his studying as he noticed the drone of the engines turn into a pitched whine, indicating that the shuttle was beginning its descent. Right on cue the pilot announced their imminent arrival at Hyrk. Carn hastily gathered up the dataslates, stuffing them back into the satchel before fastening it. He just about had time to tidy himself up a little before the shuttle landed and he swiftly chartered a ground transport to take him to the Asylum. He became lost in thought as the coach proceeded up the rickety darkened path the the asylum, recalling his bizarre dream and Larkarsky's words. He was suddenly jolted from his reverie as the coach ground to a halt at his destination. He hadn't noticed that it had started raining and he was quite soaked by the time he reached the large door. His approach had not gone unnoticed however and he was greeted before he had a chance to knock. He smiled to hide the unease he felt when he saw who was behind the door.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Doctor Speltz, good evening" he nodded, and was rewarded with a flash of a return smile as he was ushered in by the aged psychiatrist. The door eased to a close behind him and he stood in a small puddle as the rainwater dripped off of his overcoat onto the tiled floor. He removed it, grateful for the sudden reduction in weight, and hung it carefully on a nearby rack while grasping the satchel in his other hand. He ran his hand through his wet hair and gratefully accepted the towel that Speltz proffered. Drying himself he followed the Doctor as she headed for Larkarsky's cell with purpose and swift steps despite her hunched posture. Carn hurried to catch up, tossing the damp towel onto a nearby gurney. He left a trail of droplets as he walked, his boots squelching slightly in time with his hurried footsteps.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"So how goes your investigation, Prefect?" she asked without looking back, "and what brings you back here? Surely you don't think you'll be able to get anything more from Mr Larkarsky?" Her voice echoed slightly, they were not yet deep enough into the asylum to hear anything of the inmates.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn waited till he had closed the distance to a couple of foot before answering, "Indeed no Doctor, I am actually here on a personal errand. A mission of conscience if you will. My visit will not last long I assure you. I have urgent business in Endomaw that I cannot delay for long. As with regards to my investigation I am afraid that is classified. All I can say is it is proceeding. Endomaw is the next step. I can tell you no more." He paused as they negotiated a winding set of steps. "How has Larkarsky been?"</span><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Calmer," she admitted, "I would hesitate to say improved, he is still mostly non responsive, withdrawn, but I have noticed a stillness about him that we have not observed before. I find it unlikely that he will ever leave. It is unfortunate but perhaps a mercy, the man inside is still very much lost." Her voice began to be drowned out by maniacal laughter, screams and wails, and nothing more was said until they got to Larkarsky's cell.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"What was it you wanted anyway?" Speltz asked as she fumbled through the heavy bundle of keys at the end of a chain attached to her waist, tutting as she sometimes missed a key in her search. Her hands shook slightly, making her task that much harder.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn opened the satchel and removed the Aquila charm, shaking it free of its chain and allowing it to dangle from his hand. "Just to return this" he admitted, "I felt that he should have it. I'm not sure why, it just seemed important. " He shrugged, "It's hardly going to help him, it just seemed the right thing to do." Speltz looked up as she finally located the right key, her face was sympathetic and sorrowful.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"You might be surprised", she said softly, just about audible over the background soundtrack of the hopelessly insane. "I'm sure he will appreciate it, even if he cannot express it. As I said, he has been... " her words turned to a strangled gasp as she wrenched the door open and she crashed to her knees, bringing a trembling hand to her gaping mouth.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Wordlessly, Carn stepped past her. With careful footsteps he walked over to the body in the middle of the floor. Larkarsky was on his back, a beatific smile plastered across his features. His throat was raggedly cut, a sharp sliver of stone in his hand the obvious cause. Blood pooled around his body, sticky and deep crimson. Though sightless, his expression was one of utter contentment and peace. He actually looked happy. Suddenly the charm shone in Carn's hand, glinting strongly despite the absence of a significant light source to cause such a reflection. In the increased illumination granted by the Aquila he could see that beyond the pool surrounding Larkarsy's body something was written, something red. He stooped and held the gleaming charm over the words. A chill ran across his body as he read the message in blood.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">CARN FLAVO REX VERUM</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn, Yellow, King, Truth.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Below that was a crudely drawn Aquila, the bloody smears fading out at the wing tips. Carn stood up again and sadly regarded poor Larkarsky and his final message hastily scrawled in his own lifeblood. He fancied that he could hear a keening from the charm but as his shock faded and reality reasserted himself he realised that the noise was actually Speltz, who apparently had remembered or discovered how to scream. Carn stood there reeling, as the Doctor's despair and horror blended with the wails of the myriad patients. He recited a prayer for the dead Adept, and then turned and left the cell, passing the doctor without a glance. He leaned against a wall and stared intently at the suddenly quiescent charm as he was left with his own thoughts and screams in the night.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"></span><br /></div>
<b><span style="color: #ffd966;">Chapter VI: DISCOVERY AND DESTRUCTION</span></b><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><span style="color: #ffd966;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn nudged the mug of Recaff in front of him, it was still warm, though barely. He contemplated drinking the beverage but he had no taste for it and frankly he just wanted to leave Hyrk as soon as possible. He had been delayed quite enough already.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">There had been questions, of course there had been questions. He had endured them, the endless repetition and mind numbing monotony of standard enquiries around poor Larkarsky's demise. Carn had informed them that he had no idea why Larkarsky had done what he had, and that he had no contact with the Adept apart from his previous, documented visit. The thing is, he was lying.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Of course he couldn't tell them the truth, they would have detained him even longer and he needed to journey to Endomaw as soon as possible as per Larkarsky's message. For one thing had become abundantly clear to Alistae Carn, over the last day. He might have feigned ignorance, pretended that he knew little to nothing about the events in question, that he was nothing more than a witness to the tragic aftermath of Larkarsky's untimely death, but he knew the reality that lay beyond the veil he hid behind. Larkarsky had been a Psyker.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Not just any Psyker either, to send a message such as Larkarsky had done, (for Carn firmly believed this is what had happened) he must have had no small degree of power and control. However, something much more potent had been hunting him and he had finally been bought low. But not before managing to contact Carn through his subconsciousness. Carn had ruminated over the experience while nodding with a blank expression to the continued probing. Though he maintained his facade of ignorance his professional mind was racing and analysing all of the information at hand. To tell of Larkarsky's true nature would only complicate matters, especially here. Such revelations were not likely to be well received in such a place.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">A weary Doctor Speltz appeared from a door on the left, fresh from her own interview, and sat down opposite Carn.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Hell of a night," she offered.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn just grunted, he couldn't disagree, even if he was sticking to his policy of noncommittal ambivalent interaction.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">You drinking that? Speltz asked. She indicated the full cup of recaff, with a hopeful expression. Carn pushed it toward her and she accepted it gratefully, draining it quickly and letting out a satisfied sigh while visibly sinking into the chair.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"I've seen some things," she confessed. "when you have been doing this as long as I have it's inevitable, but I tell you, tonight is beyond my experience. Words in blood, that smile, not in 40 years have I seen anything quite like it. I'll not forget this night in a hurry and Emperor preserve me, I hope I never have to see anything like it again.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">He was fine the last time I checked you know, only a couple of hours before," she continued when no response was forthcoming from across the table. "Sitting there as usual, muttering. What could have happened within such a short space of time to drive him to do what he did? Don't think it escaped my notice that you happened to turn up around the same time, with that charm. What is it? I heard that noise you know, that strange sound coming from it, I know I didn't imagine it." Her words were coming faster and faster now as the recaff hit her system and did it's work. Her eyes blazed.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"There is something you aren't telling me, something about this whole situation that you are keeping to yourself. I can feel it, you KNOW something." She slammed a fist into the table with as much force as her aged frame could muster. "Tell me you bastard! what are you hiding?" Her voice rose in pitch, becoming strained and shrill. The guards over at the door looked over suspiciously and Carn reached out and grabbed her arm in an effort to silence her. Their eyes met.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Trust me Doctor, when I say you are better off not knowing." Carn reached out with his other hand and placed it on top of the one holding onto the Doctors arm, turning an aggressive and restricting gesture into a comforting one. "I mean it," he added earnestly, "I could easily just say it is classified but in actuality I am sparing you by not telling you. Suffice to say, it is my burden and mine alone, the reason for me coming here is now clearly null and void and it is time for me to leave. I shall say no more." He looked at her earnestly, "You may voice your suspicions if you so desire but time is of the essence and I have much to do. I swear in the Holy Emperor's name that my motivations and aims are pure. I would ask you not to cause me any further delay. I do the Emperor's work and have tarried long enough." He released the Doctor's arm and sat back, clearly indicating she was free to act. He saw indecision and suspicion war in her eyes for a moment before she made her choice.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Fine", she snapped. "I dont care, like I said, i've seen enough shit. Go, walk away and get on with whatever you think it is you have to do". the chair slid back with a screech on the tiled floor as she got up and stalked off to speak to some orderlies clustered in a corner.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Thank you," Carn breathed, though he wasn't sure who he was thanking. He thumbed the Aquila in his pocket, it felt warm, comforting. "Thank you."</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;">*</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Two hours later the transport lifted into the air. Carn sent another quick message to both Ralscon and Endomaw, there was no point in secrecy. He had little hope of infiltrating Endomaw in any case. He said nothing of the psychic message to Ralscon and nothing of Larkarsky at all to the contact at Endomaw, instead only informing them of a rough ETA and making a number of small requests for his arrival. Best to keep his cards close to his chest, he thought. He would offer up as little information to them as possible whilst gleaning as much as he could in return. In any event he had seven hours till he reached Endomaw (it was pretty much on the other side of Worth) and a lot of work and investigation to do. He pored over the dataslate, analysing all the text, replaying the vidlogs and trying to find a pattern in the data. He even refrained from drinking any Skee, (though he confessed to himself that that might have been a different matter had it not been the synthesised stuff) in order to keep a clear head. He accumulated a ream of papers writing down algorithms and potential codes and ciphers that might have been used to encrypt vital information but to no avail.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Useless," he muttered, casting the papers down on top of the dataslate. He reconsidered his abstinence, frustrated beyond belief. No, he needed to stay focused. He cast his eyes to the ceiling of the transport and exhaled deeply. A prayer to the Emperor came to mind and he closed his eyes and recited it reverently. Upon completion of the benediction he opened his eyes, calmed and centred. He looked down at the dataslates and his jaw dropped. He rubbed his eyes, not quite able to believe what he was seeing. No, it was, it had to be, there was no other possibility.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Through chance or divine intervention the papers had fallen across the activated dataslate in a way that showed exactly the first digit from each entry, what had seemed a nonsensical series of numbers and letters was suddenly revealed to be a sequence and a word.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">619519 - HEART</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">There was no chance this was a coincidence, this had to be what Larkarsky had been referring to, but what did it mean? He wracked his memory. He had to be missing something, something that he had seen but had not grasped the significance of, but what? Time was ticking down and he was only getting closer to Endomaw, it was important that he got to the truth before he landed, he could feel it. The analytical part of his mind worked overtime as he tackled the puzzle.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"619519 - HEART, 619519 - HEART" he repeated to himself, as if each repetition would bring him closer to the solution. "Dammit Larkarsky, why did you have to be so obtuse?" even as he said the words, he knew the answer. Larkarsky had been paranoid, and with good reason, he had been compelled to hide the information as deep as possible in order to keep it from the wrong hands. Now it was up to Carn to find the answer. 619519 HEART... what did it MEAN?</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Before long, the strain of analysis overtook him and he fell into a restless slumber. Inevitably thoughts of Larkarsky infiltrated his dream. A kaleidoscopic array of images and sequences rushing through his subconsciousness too fast to decipher. Too much, too much, a tidal wave of information that he could not hope to process. The bombardment continued as his unconscious mind attempted to compartmentalise and filter the information. Then abruptly it ceased and Larkarsky's face appeared in the darkness...</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Alistae....Alistae....he taunted, his voice ethereal and lilting. Carn struck out in his dream, thrashing through Larkarsky's face which dissipated like mist, fading into the darkness and leaving only his voice....</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"I thought I might write a book about this one day...."</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Carn snapped awake as if he had been shaken roughly. His mind was crystal clear. He checked his chronometer, 16 minutes till arrival at Endomaw. He must have slept through the pilot's announcements, he had little time left. 'I thought I might write a book about this one day,' could it really be that simple? He rummaged around in the satchel by his feet, pulling out the other dataslate, the one full of literature. Was it pure luck that he had bought it with him? Or something else? He put such ruminations from his mind and powered up the slate. He scrolled through the meticulously organised entries, his excitement growing as he noted the filing format matched the code hidden in the indexing on the other slate. After accessing various subfolders and files he found the match. 6.195.19. Heart of the Imperium by Maximillian Vos Brynd. He stopped a moment, heart pounding as anticipation filled him, and then thumbed the access key...</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">Suddenly the dataslate was wrenched out of his hand as the transport was violently hurled to one side with a deafening boom. A second followed scant moments later and Carn was launched from his seat as the shuttle lurched crazily. An alarm began to blare and red lights flashed as yet another explosion rocked the craft. A sudden loss in altitude resulted in a moment of weightlessness and he saw the dataslate lift for a moment in front of him, the text tantalisingly illegible to his blurred eyes. Then the moment passed and he crashed to the floor painfully as the shuttle plummeted in an uncontrolled spiralling dive. He groggily crawled toward the comms panel on a nearby wall, calling up the pilot's recorded log. The pilot itself showed as uncontactable, so either it had been irreparably damaged or was fully devoted to the preservation of the shuttle. Slaved into the craft's systems it could quite easily be either. Carn scanned the entries, noting with gratitude the exceptional evasive maneuvers that the pilot had performed to escape certain death. And the cause of the pilot's endeavours? A missile lock, from Endomaw. So that's how it was to be, he thought. He didn't have time to think much else, a shrill tone indicated that the altitude was bottoming out and he barely had time to grab both the dataslate and the Aquila in his pocket before the shuttle hit the ground and tore itself apart in a storm of twisted metal.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #cccccc;">*</span></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"An accident", Pascal Ralscon repeated as the screen flashed off and his dulled reflection stared back at him expressionlessly. The Endomaw Chief Administrator Geriok had been abject in his contrition, explaining that a guidance malfunction on the defence system had resulted in Prefect Carn's shuttle being erroneously targeted and destroyed. There were no survivors. Throne's sake, this was the last thing he needed. The resulting administration alone would be a nightmare, to say nothing of sending additional investigators to follow up on Carn's vague suspicions. Frankly it was becoming more hassle than it was worth. Larkarsky had gone out there, something had happened and he had gone crazy, big deal. Carn? No big loss there, the man was an insufferable drunken arse, he'd not be missed. Ralscon could comfortably draw a nice thick line of finality under the whole thing and not have to think about it again. Yeah he could investigate further but he had no desire to, no one was going to thank him for it anyway, and he didn't want any plaudits in any case. He had no aspirations, no ambitions and no interest in doing anything more than he had to, his mid level bureaucratic existence would do him just fine.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;">"Screw it", he muttered and put all of Carn's materiel and reports into a file, a quick jab of a button and it would no longer be his problem. He prepared a cursory report and sent it off to his superiors on Celias IV. It was someone else's responsibility now, good riddance. As it was he had to fill Carn's position and he hadn't even got a replacement for Larkarsky yet. Shit, he should have added the personnel requisition request to his report, now he would have to send another. His mood soured even further, if there was one thing that he hated it was unnecessary work. Day ruined, and it was all Carn's fault. He was glad the bastard was dead.</span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br /></div>
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DiabolicAlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12983002049849781082noreply@blogger.com0