Telemachus shook his head, “We have more pressing matters, so I’ll have to –“ “I insist,” Asmodeus said firmly, fixing Telemachus with a hard look. “The Tyrant would be overjoyed to meet the brutal warriors who aided his forces in their hour of need.” Telemachus bristled slightly, his words edged and his eyes matching the hard stare. “Lord Asmodeus, I must refuse. I have a place to be and need to be there –“ “Captain Telemachus. Let me put it in a way your ancient brain will understand. The only way you’re leaving here without meeting the Tyrant, and with having your ship refitted and resupplied is if you and your command were to storm myself and the Guard here, butcher is in pitched combat, and commandeer the Iris for your own use. But, since you chose to mince words, you’ll remain here as our guests until the Tyrant returns. Feel free to dock your ship and make use of the numerous, intact, shops aboard the Iris. You are dismissed,” Asmodeus turned, striding away before Telemachus could conjure any sort of rebuttal. Telemachus just stared at the spot Asmodeus had been, his jaw tightened and he replaced his helmet onto his head. “Isoran, teleport all squads back to the ship and inform the command deck that we’re to dock.” A small rune was winking on his display and he activated it, opening the private channel between him and Coryphaus, “What?” “I’m confused what happened to the Telemachus I know. The one who gleefully sawed the ruler of a planet in half as the man was begging for terms of surrender. All because he had neglected his son. The Telemachus I saw back there looked more like one of the mewling scholars of Guilliman’s brood than a son of the Night Haunter,” there was no real judgement in Coryphaus’ words – he was honestly confused. Telemachus let out a ragged sigh, “I didn’t want to make the Tyrant out enemy. I thought it best if we remained on his good side by playing nice with that thin-blooded, mutant cur…” there was a brilliant flash of light and the squads – with their mortal soldiers – appeared in the teleportarium. Telemachus removed his helmet, leaving the room behind. “I was wrong.” ~~ Coryphaus entered his rooms – staring around at the sigils carved over every inch of the small cell. He had stripped from his Terminator armour and was wearing the simple skin robes he wore into battle. He left his personal cell, venturing into the larger room that had been vacated during one of Hapshan’s murder-rages. There, he saw little Nihil working diligently over the body of the Dark Eldar he had brought with him. It was horribly done, the skin was flayed imperfectly, the boy was breathing raggedly and there was vomit in the corner. Coryphaus sighed, walking over and kneeling down in the old blood beside the boy. He took out his own knife as Nihil looked up, then showed him the proper method, doing so carefully – he didn’t need the whole skin of the Dark Eldar, and luckily it was the back side that was ruined the most. Nihil looked between his master and the example before applying it to his own cuts, earning an approving grunt from Coryphaus. “Master, can I ask you something?” Coryphaus blinked, not bothering to point out the mortal already had, “What, Nihil?” Nihil paused in his carving, looking into the wide face of the larger Space Marine, “Why did you turn from the Emperor?” Coryphaus blinked a few times at the question, he had been expecting it but still found himself unprepared. Adopting a pensive look he first said, “Never ask these questions to anyone other than me, understand?” At a small nod from Nihil Coryphaus continued, “What caused me to turn from the Emperor was, well, our kind had never been the type to fawn – not really. There was always a hard chunk of cynical sarcasm in us. But it wasn’t that for me, I believed in what the Emperor wanted for the galaxy. I still think what he wanted for the galaxy is something worth believing in. “But too much transpired to ever make that vision a reality. The heavy-handedness of the Emperor… Horus... Erebus,” the last word was spat as if it were poison. “So… you turned because you couldn’t believe anymore?” Nihil asked, processing all of this. At my nod he seemed to accept that, “Did Telemachus turn for the same reason?” “No, Telemachus turned because he’s always been a coward. Now, back to work,” Coryphaus rose, turning and padding out of the room as Nihil bent back to the task at hand. He ventured down the dark corridors – the lanes where serfs and mortals rarely ventured – and wandered into the training center. Telemachus was alone, out of his armour, and practicing against the combat servitor within a gothic cage. Coryphaus just watched as Telemachus practiced, evading blows that would have speared even Iaxus and returning with lightning fast cuts. When the servitor went black from too much damage, Telemachus exited the training cage and looked at Coryphaus. “What?” “I’ve been thinking…” (( Choices: A) Coryphaus urges Telemachus to try and collect what they need from others inside Hell's Iris. B) Coryphaus wants to go and speak with Asmodeus himself to try and convince the other sorcerer. Voting closes June 30th at 1pm est! ))
Coryphaus strode along the corridors of Hell’s Iris, mutants turned away from the sorcerer. He walked without his helm with his long black hair tied in a topknot, similar in style to Telemachus. His cloak made the soft swish of leather rustling as he walked, faces stretching and contracting in silent screams of agony. His claws extended from his fingers, the crystal cores embedded at each blade silent – waiting for psy-energy to fill them. The Tyrant’s Guard halted him just at the entrance to the throne room, stripping him of his talons and plasma pistol before allowing him to enter. Coryphaus chaffed slightly at the loss of his talons, but immediately pushed the thought aside in case Asmodeus was a psyker as well as a sorcerer. Steps cushioned by the red carpet that traveled to the throne, Coryphaus walked the length of the throne room before coming to a halt – once again in front of two of the Tyrant’s Guard. “Why have you come before me, sorcerer?” the wet growl echoed from the throne where Asmodeus currently rested his armoured bulk. He leaned forward, wings spreading out behind him and long locks of golden hair falling to frame his face. Coryphaus affected a smile, bowing to Asmodeus – shallow enough to maintain his own dignity, deep enough to feed the ego of the Steward – before rising to look into the jet-black orbs of his opposite. “I came to speak to the mighty Asmodeus Lionkiller, Fallen Angel and Steward of the Corsairs as brothers,” the words were easily forced out – deception came naturally to Coryphaus. Asmodeus snorted, “Brothers? I know how well the Night Lords consider the bonds of brotherhood. Shall I expect a dagger to be driven deep into my back? Or will you do me the courtesy and slit my throat to my face?” Coryphaus laughed, a true laugh, at the words. “You know us well, Lionkiller! But no, I meant brothers in the way others consider the term. As one sorcerer to another, as a member of a founding Legion to the descendant of another. After all, your might in this station has forced us to be your lesser – and it would be a wonderful boon for you to permit us to be equals – if only for this conversation.” It was the blend of obsequiousness, ego stroking, and the preening adoration a man like Asmodeus craved that had the sorcerer sitting back with a feral grin. “Hmm… very well, ascend the stairs, brother, so that we may speak as equals,” Asmodeus chuckled, watching as Coryphaus climbed the steps to stand two below the reclining form of the sorcerer. “What is it you wished to speak to me about?” Coryphaus dipped his head, “As gracious as we are to meet the Tyrant, my Captain fears that we will not arrive on time to complete another of our tasks and has asked me to come and beg your kindness in refitting and restocking our ship on your word.” Asmodeus sneered, “As I told you and your Captain – you will have to meet the Tyrant. Unless…” Asmodeus grew thoughtful. Coryphaus suppressed a grimace, there was always an unless with these types. “No, I do not think you and your Captain would ever do such a thing.” Coryphaus shook his head, “Oh no, great lord! Ask me and I will speak with my Captain immediately. But, I must know what this task is if he is to consider it..” Asmodeus eyed Coryphaus shrewdly before nodding his head and leaning forward once more. “I want you to kill Huron Blackheart so that I may become the new Tyrant.” (( Small update today, hectic stuff at the house. Choices!: A) Telemachus and Coryphaus agree to the plan and help Asmodeus. B) Telemachus and Coryphaus agree to the plan and help the Tyrant. Voting will close 7/4 at 1pm est! ))
