Moments and Pieces (40k)
Posted: 2013-08-02 01:13am
A writing exercise to get me writing again. I have... well, the title pretty much says it all, so I am writing them down in a deliberately Chaotic and nonlinear manner. I hope you all enjoy the weirdness while I rev back up to prior projects.
---
Moments. Fragments of a larger whole all spin together, pivoting upon each other in an intricate dance. Gears and clockwork, celestial bodies in motion, each individual frame meaningless on its own.
Tickticktickticktickticktick
The place is not quite a bar despite its sale of various intoxicants to the patrons but not quite a mercenary board due to the lack of anything quite so structured. It is more of a neutral ground were the scum of the galaxy swirl about and accumulate.
Ork freebooterz butt heads with each other while eyeing up the other patrons as a source of a scrap and some flash, one way or another.
Eldar Corsairs from all corners of the Webway look down upon the lesser races while sizing them up to serve as cannon fodder for whatever their next scheme is.
Kroot stay to themselves, hunched over the rewards of their last job, feasting upon their ghastly prize and seeking out the source of their next meal.
But most of all were the humans. Outcasts from realms Imperial and Chaotic, they were the greatest patrons and victims of this place, swept up by forces beyond their control. Lost and Damned in every sense of the word, the only common feature among the wildly varying knots of humanity clustered about the tables was the will to survive.
Some had been born in the dark corners of the galaxy where daemons or Kabals or worse held sway and were marked by their exposure to alien energies and technologies, twisted things for whom the predatory nature of the mercenary life was a step up from their former existences.
Some had turned traitor, defacing the symbols of old loyalties with crude marks of their new masters, who or whatever they might be.
Some were the ostensibly loyal to the Emperor but had been swept into darkness and had done things to stay alive that would sign their doom were they to return to their comrades.
Among the riotous collection of species and qualities of equipment, a single man stood out for the simplicity of his dress as he drifted among the tables. A simple set of tunic and trousers made from uncoloured linen, the plain clothing and lack of obvious weapons marked him as particularly dangerous among the heavily armed and armoured patrons of the meeting place. A drained, waxy complexion that was tinted with unhealthy blues in places and a crudely crafted copper talisman depicting the burning eye of the Changer of Ways gave hints as to the true nature of the oddity.
Drifting through the crowds towards the rear of the place where the light dimmed and the patrons became thinner, more specialized in their talents, and more dangerous, his steps began to take on a more determined structure until he was drawn near magnetically to another singular oddity.
Clad in bronze armour of primitive, baroque styling that covered and concealed the underlying form, the figure was hunched over a table, face buried in the viscera of a disembowelled Kabalite warrior, the faint slurping sounds indicating the drinking of blood. The bright red fluid clung to the armour in unnatural ways, remaining fluid and crimson despite the congealing and browning that should have happened. Instead, the drops and splatters filled into near invisible etchings on the armour, forming patterns and motions that hurt the eyes of the uninitiated. If the blood and ferocious, martial mien of the figure allowed for an educated guess that it was a follower of the Blood God, then the sword on its back, seemingly still hot from the forge and radiating hate, confirmed it.
Face down but not unaware, the figure pointedly ignored the unarmed man. In return the man just smiled enigmatically and said, "Hello sister."
Tickticktickticktickticktick
Nochte. No one knew if it was a planet covered in crashed Space Hulks or a Hulk of such immense size it had obtained planetary mass, but either way it was a world so coated in the jumbled industry of unknown and unknowable species and cultures that its urban complexity surpassed even the Hives of Terra. In population however there were considerably fewer souls within the convoluted place that was not quite within reality, the Warp or the Webway. That was because Nochte was a hunting ground.
There were many paths to Nochte but few that lead away from the brightly lit, sunless surface. Of the paths that could be counted as reliable if inconsistent the majority were claimed by the denizens of Commorragh, although the unstable nature of the place made it unsuited any purpose other than as a dumping ground for the unnecessary and a playground for the bored, and in recent years the closest thing to true control of the labyrinthine realm had solidified under another.
For Archon Urthin of the Kabal of Strangled Heart it was to his enormous, if hidden, irritation to be in the presence of the one that pulled the strings of the anarchy that was Nochte, for the creature did not have the good graces to be Eldar, or even particularly impressive. Just a human with a Warp-spawned pocket watch and a particularly unnerving habit of appearing where he was unwanted. Still, the thing known as Xelau was useful for the purposes of mutually beneficial business arrangements and so Urthin tolerated its presence.
The fact that his presence in Nochte meant that he would be devoured alive - quite literally, if he was lucky - if he returned to Commorragh, and thus had need of business with the human rankled him almost, but not quite, as much as being in the presence of a being, let alone a non-Eldar, with more power than him. Simultaneously unfortunately and fortunately for Urthin he had the capacity for self assessment that let him know on every level that he needed the resources the Xelau could offer if he wanted to build his Kabal up to the point where it wouldn't be laughed out of Low Commorragh, let alone the rest of the Dark City.
"Your information, as typical, was as needed, although your price remains a touch steep for my tastes," Urthin commented as the guts of the undefended human ship his inadequate handful of warriors had dragged through the Webway offered up the bounty of thousands of would-be 'pilgrims' for their laughably pathetic corpse of a deity.
"Whatever remains after you have taken your fill is too steep a price?" Xelau asked with a grin that Urthin desperately wished he could erase. Unspoken between the two was the fact that Xelau received any of the spoils galled the Archon.
Shifting the conversation without segue, lest he provoke the ruler of Nochte into being annoying, Urthin asked with bored curiosity, "So what have you cooked up for the mazes this time?"
Xelau responded by pulling out his demented little toy and staring blankly at the hands for a few moments before he asked, "Tell me, what do you know about the Glass Plague your kin devised?"
Tictkictkictkictkictkick
Stripped naked, her flesh was pale and bloodless like it had never been before, all vitality drained by the concoction of arcane chemicals flowing through her veins that simultaneously kept her conscious and unable to move as the knives and saws cut into her, excising ruined muscle and bone and replacing it with new material grown in sickly tanks nearby.
"I can tell by your neural patterns that you can hear and understand me, so I wish to reiterate what I said before now that I have your full attention and when it will be sure to be seared into your memory forever," the bloody surgeon stated amicably as he continued to slice bits of her away.
"What you did was not unique, the galaxy is too big and old for that, but it is impressive nonetheless and you should feel some sense of pride at your accomplishments. While only your new god has a full accounting of the number of such events, they must assuredly possess a mortal count. The fact that you have kept your stolen weapon assuredly indicates some level of approval from the brute, so you must have done something right there," the surgeon explained as he finished reconnecting the nerves in her new right arm, sending a fresh spike of pain as feeling returned to what had temporarily been a phantom limb.
"Of course, even with such a formidable weapon you wouldn't have lasted much longer had we not ended the trial. The mortal body can only take so much," he explained while casually flicking a shattered piece of bone from his gore soaked gown. "Which is why we need to fix you up a bit for the next trial."
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Wind blew ash and sand over the skeletal remains of the city, the metal ribs of hollowed out buildings bearing the partially melted slump of having been struck by intense blasts of energy. The war had claimed many, and even now whether any life would remain on the world remained known only to the gods.
Deep below, the only thing to have survived the heart of the conflict sat and waited even as the windborne detritus of atomic battle settled over it and began to entomb it within the geology of the ruined world. It could wait.
It had to wait.
Fortunately it had all the time it could ever need, so waiting did not matter.
Tickticktickticktickticktick
He left the neutral ground with the mark on his neck already fading, and with his back turned to her, a pleased smile on his face. He had not taken nine steps from the door when she rushed out and said, "Sorcerer! Hold!"
Turning back to her with a schooled look on his face, he repeated what he had said before with, "Again, not quite. You wish to continue our discussion?"
From beneath her ursine faceplate, she growled, "You really intend to kill him?"
"I have a plan for it, eventually, yes," he responded evenly.
"Good enough for me," she replied with a shrug of her armoured shoulders as she moved to stride alongside the dangerously unassuming man.
Meeting her stride as she reached him, he asked, "What changed your mind?"
Her eyes flashing in the darkness behind her faceplate and her voice becoming a growl, she responded, "I heard him crying out for me. I've always followed that sound when I hear it, and it has yet to steer me wrong."
"You'll find him."
"Which?"
"Both."
"Good."
---
Moments. Fragments of a larger whole all spin together, pivoting upon each other in an intricate dance. Gears and clockwork, celestial bodies in motion, each individual frame meaningless on its own.
Tickticktickticktickticktick
The place is not quite a bar despite its sale of various intoxicants to the patrons but not quite a mercenary board due to the lack of anything quite so structured. It is more of a neutral ground were the scum of the galaxy swirl about and accumulate.
Ork freebooterz butt heads with each other while eyeing up the other patrons as a source of a scrap and some flash, one way or another.
Eldar Corsairs from all corners of the Webway look down upon the lesser races while sizing them up to serve as cannon fodder for whatever their next scheme is.
Kroot stay to themselves, hunched over the rewards of their last job, feasting upon their ghastly prize and seeking out the source of their next meal.
But most of all were the humans. Outcasts from realms Imperial and Chaotic, they were the greatest patrons and victims of this place, swept up by forces beyond their control. Lost and Damned in every sense of the word, the only common feature among the wildly varying knots of humanity clustered about the tables was the will to survive.
Some had been born in the dark corners of the galaxy where daemons or Kabals or worse held sway and were marked by their exposure to alien energies and technologies, twisted things for whom the predatory nature of the mercenary life was a step up from their former existences.
Some had turned traitor, defacing the symbols of old loyalties with crude marks of their new masters, who or whatever they might be.
Some were the ostensibly loyal to the Emperor but had been swept into darkness and had done things to stay alive that would sign their doom were they to return to their comrades.
Among the riotous collection of species and qualities of equipment, a single man stood out for the simplicity of his dress as he drifted among the tables. A simple set of tunic and trousers made from uncoloured linen, the plain clothing and lack of obvious weapons marked him as particularly dangerous among the heavily armed and armoured patrons of the meeting place. A drained, waxy complexion that was tinted with unhealthy blues in places and a crudely crafted copper talisman depicting the burning eye of the Changer of Ways gave hints as to the true nature of the oddity.
Drifting through the crowds towards the rear of the place where the light dimmed and the patrons became thinner, more specialized in their talents, and more dangerous, his steps began to take on a more determined structure until he was drawn near magnetically to another singular oddity.
Clad in bronze armour of primitive, baroque styling that covered and concealed the underlying form, the figure was hunched over a table, face buried in the viscera of a disembowelled Kabalite warrior, the faint slurping sounds indicating the drinking of blood. The bright red fluid clung to the armour in unnatural ways, remaining fluid and crimson despite the congealing and browning that should have happened. Instead, the drops and splatters filled into near invisible etchings on the armour, forming patterns and motions that hurt the eyes of the uninitiated. If the blood and ferocious, martial mien of the figure allowed for an educated guess that it was a follower of the Blood God, then the sword on its back, seemingly still hot from the forge and radiating hate, confirmed it.
Face down but not unaware, the figure pointedly ignored the unarmed man. In return the man just smiled enigmatically and said, "Hello sister."
Tickticktickticktickticktick
Nochte. No one knew if it was a planet covered in crashed Space Hulks or a Hulk of such immense size it had obtained planetary mass, but either way it was a world so coated in the jumbled industry of unknown and unknowable species and cultures that its urban complexity surpassed even the Hives of Terra. In population however there were considerably fewer souls within the convoluted place that was not quite within reality, the Warp or the Webway. That was because Nochte was a hunting ground.
There were many paths to Nochte but few that lead away from the brightly lit, sunless surface. Of the paths that could be counted as reliable if inconsistent the majority were claimed by the denizens of Commorragh, although the unstable nature of the place made it unsuited any purpose other than as a dumping ground for the unnecessary and a playground for the bored, and in recent years the closest thing to true control of the labyrinthine realm had solidified under another.
For Archon Urthin of the Kabal of Strangled Heart it was to his enormous, if hidden, irritation to be in the presence of the one that pulled the strings of the anarchy that was Nochte, for the creature did not have the good graces to be Eldar, or even particularly impressive. Just a human with a Warp-spawned pocket watch and a particularly unnerving habit of appearing where he was unwanted. Still, the thing known as Xelau was useful for the purposes of mutually beneficial business arrangements and so Urthin tolerated its presence.
The fact that his presence in Nochte meant that he would be devoured alive - quite literally, if he was lucky - if he returned to Commorragh, and thus had need of business with the human rankled him almost, but not quite, as much as being in the presence of a being, let alone a non-Eldar, with more power than him. Simultaneously unfortunately and fortunately for Urthin he had the capacity for self assessment that let him know on every level that he needed the resources the Xelau could offer if he wanted to build his Kabal up to the point where it wouldn't be laughed out of Low Commorragh, let alone the rest of the Dark City.
"Your information, as typical, was as needed, although your price remains a touch steep for my tastes," Urthin commented as the guts of the undefended human ship his inadequate handful of warriors had dragged through the Webway offered up the bounty of thousands of would-be 'pilgrims' for their laughably pathetic corpse of a deity.
"Whatever remains after you have taken your fill is too steep a price?" Xelau asked with a grin that Urthin desperately wished he could erase. Unspoken between the two was the fact that Xelau received any of the spoils galled the Archon.
Shifting the conversation without segue, lest he provoke the ruler of Nochte into being annoying, Urthin asked with bored curiosity, "So what have you cooked up for the mazes this time?"
Xelau responded by pulling out his demented little toy and staring blankly at the hands for a few moments before he asked, "Tell me, what do you know about the Glass Plague your kin devised?"
Tictkictkictkictkictkick
Stripped naked, her flesh was pale and bloodless like it had never been before, all vitality drained by the concoction of arcane chemicals flowing through her veins that simultaneously kept her conscious and unable to move as the knives and saws cut into her, excising ruined muscle and bone and replacing it with new material grown in sickly tanks nearby.
"I can tell by your neural patterns that you can hear and understand me, so I wish to reiterate what I said before now that I have your full attention and when it will be sure to be seared into your memory forever," the bloody surgeon stated amicably as he continued to slice bits of her away.
"What you did was not unique, the galaxy is too big and old for that, but it is impressive nonetheless and you should feel some sense of pride at your accomplishments. While only your new god has a full accounting of the number of such events, they must assuredly possess a mortal count. The fact that you have kept your stolen weapon assuredly indicates some level of approval from the brute, so you must have done something right there," the surgeon explained as he finished reconnecting the nerves in her new right arm, sending a fresh spike of pain as feeling returned to what had temporarily been a phantom limb.
"Of course, even with such a formidable weapon you wouldn't have lasted much longer had we not ended the trial. The mortal body can only take so much," he explained while casually flicking a shattered piece of bone from his gore soaked gown. "Which is why we need to fix you up a bit for the next trial."
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Wind blew ash and sand over the skeletal remains of the city, the metal ribs of hollowed out buildings bearing the partially melted slump of having been struck by intense blasts of energy. The war had claimed many, and even now whether any life would remain on the world remained known only to the gods.
Deep below, the only thing to have survived the heart of the conflict sat and waited even as the windborne detritus of atomic battle settled over it and began to entomb it within the geology of the ruined world. It could wait.
It had to wait.
Fortunately it had all the time it could ever need, so waiting did not matter.
Tickticktickticktickticktick
He left the neutral ground with the mark on his neck already fading, and with his back turned to her, a pleased smile on his face. He had not taken nine steps from the door when she rushed out and said, "Sorcerer! Hold!"
Turning back to her with a schooled look on his face, he repeated what he had said before with, "Again, not quite. You wish to continue our discussion?"
From beneath her ursine faceplate, she growled, "You really intend to kill him?"
"I have a plan for it, eventually, yes," he responded evenly.
"Good enough for me," she replied with a shrug of her armoured shoulders as she moved to stride alongside the dangerously unassuming man.
Meeting her stride as she reached him, he asked, "What changed your mind?"
Her eyes flashing in the darkness behind her faceplate and her voice becoming a growl, she responded, "I heard him crying out for me. I've always followed that sound when I hear it, and it has yet to steer me wrong."
"You'll find him."
"Which?"
"Both."
"Good."