At Ghorzkha's words, Corbulus regarded him coolly from the side, his helmet back on. Crossing his arms, he stood to the side of the hall, content with merely observing the festivities. Nero on the other hand finally gotten over his initial apprehension, and a large piece of meat in his hand and a drinking horn in another. The young wolf worked to stuffing himself while washing things down with whatever was in the drinking horn. The Alpha Wolf merely looked to the chieftain of the beastmen, before saying, "any sacrifice to the dark gods pleases me, so long as they are pleased themselves."

Corbulus gave a glance over to the minotaurs in the cages, splitting and taking pieces of the dead caprigors before feasting on their flesh within. "As to those 'youths,' they doomed themselves when they attacked me; a lesson many learned too late." Neither astartes had been particularly bothered by the carnage resulted from the Alpha Wolf kicking and tossing the beastmen to the cages, though Nero seemed more cautious with the Minotaurs' presence afterward. The Wolves of Horus, though only one of them eating and drinking at the moment, now observed the feast, while Corbulus kept one eye on the lone human in the room in her power armor.


@Grall_Stonefist
@Vulpas

Talking to the Son of the Phoenix

What was it about the Emperor's Children that made them so punchable? Satharn had long ago resigned himself to the fact that Asher and his compatriot were the only ones he might be able to get along with. Whether it was their insufferable arrogance, or their pride, or their attitude that they were better than everyone, this one had it in spades. And Legionary Tem was not a fantastically temperate man.

However, he restrained his impulse to school the Astartes for his lack of respect for his gene-father and, once the initial impulse had faded, he realised that Viator had, in some fashion, tried to take care of his Lord. Probably for his own ends; he couldn't see him doing it out of altruism. But he'd done it. And there was information in what he said, under the posturing and preening. So he contented himself with a roll of his black eyes.

"Of course he slaughtered the beastmen. They're mutants. And yes, I am different," he said, as if it was obvious, "how good is your spoken Nostraman?" Shaking his head, Satharn strode away. He had wine to find.

Once he was out of view, he managed to keep the steel in his step until he was inside the room where the wine was kept. Then he slumped against a wall, head back, allowing the feelings inside him to spill out and relieve the pressure. His Primarch was alive. The one central pillar in his life - lost - the only purpose he had found had been to follow his teachings - and now he was alive, not whole, perhaps, shattered by who knew what grief or madness, but alive. Satharn shook. Tears sprang from his eyes. He closed them, feeling the sting, wishing he was - what? He had no experience with this. He hadn't truly known loss, not really, except the loss of his Lord. He was too young to understand the loss of his family because he had not lost them in a conventional sense, he had become an Astartes. He had lost battle-brothers, but Night Lords were not famous for affection between battle-brothers. Now the single most important event in his life was madly, gloriously undone.

Satharn eyed the wine. He wondered, briefly, if it was strong enough to get an Astartes drunk.

It probably wasn't. Lord Curze wanted wine, so he would have wine. He took some in an amphora he found stacked in a pile by the barrel. He took a rag from his belt and rubbed his face. He couldn't look as if he was crying. In any case he had to get back to his chamber first to check the wine for toxins and take stock of the best way to approach with it.

It was then that he had returned to his chamber and shortly afterwards, found himself answering Fera's questions.


A Son of the night @Vulpas

"Well, now, that is a tale," Satharn said, sitting down on chair, which was fortunately made for an Astartes. He wanted to go immediately to Lord Curze but he also wanted time to gather his thoughts. This would help him do so. Hopefully.

"I must admit I don't know where to start," the softly-spoken Astartes said, wondering again about the wine. "He is my Primarch. We are the Eighth Legion, created to serve his purpose and in his image. That is how it once was, and how it should have remained. We are - were designed to bring terror to the enemies of Mankind. Now we no longer serve the False Emperor, and we exist to show his rule to be the hollow thing it is, and to teach why men fear the dark." He paused.

"Our true purpose is to serve justice. This is what my Lord requires - that we punish the guilty. That we show criminals the error of their ways in simple lessons even the most basic can understand. Through terror we ensure that we are clearly understood: break the law, and you will be punished. That is how it was and how we served."

"We fought with sudden and extreme brutality, but we had a purpose behind that. Bring one world to its knees, and the next ten will stay compliant. They understand the lesson of terror. It was never meant to be for its own sake." Satharn grew distant, his already soft speech getting softer. "It was once enough to know that the Eighth were on our way and whole worlds would return to obedience. It was my gene-father's lesson. And it worked. But now ... his own father betrayed him. He betrayed us all. Retired to nurture his dreams of godhood and left us all, abandoned, in the dark."

"We solaced ourselves with slaughter and revenge and made what war we could upon the armies of the Corpse-Emperor and long may he rot." Satharn spat. A small section of deck plate sizzled.

"As for fighting under him we specialised in the sudden and lethal strike. Then we would retire into the darkness to strike again. We fight best in the dark. We do not announce ourselves with trumpets and fanfares. You will know us by the skinning pits and the lines of flayed corpses arranged in the town square."

Satharn blinked, aware that he had been reminiscing. "I would answer any more questions you have, but I have an errand to run, so please excuse me," he said, after hearing her reply should she make one. "We can speak more later." He looked preoccupied. It wasn't that the Night Lord aimed to be rude. It was just that his Lord wanted wine.


In the Hall of the Midnight King

Satharn straightened his armour out and made the best of what he had to make himself presentable. Then he picked up the amphora, and set out back to his master's chambers.

With a light tap on the door, he entered and stood waiting in the darkness. He was at home in the light level, but he was aware that the Night Haunter had the power to make it so that he would not be seen. Satharn remained without his helm, his Astartes senses straining for the slightest clue. He was putting his life in peril. For him, there was no alternative. His gene-sire would be able to lead them all to glory. And first, he needed his son.

"Sire, I bring wine," he said, speaking in serpentine Nostraman, the syllables whispering out into the dark. "My last breath is yours. I stand in midnight clad, ready to bring the night."

Initial Venture onto the Nightfall​

Orghast had only the foggiest recollection of such a vessel. Never having step foot inside it himself, the Astartes could still recall that the name had been of some import so many, many years back at the start of the Long War. Ten millennia had not been entirely kind to his memory, even if in the unreality of the Warp it had felt more akin to half that at best. Whole place felt decrepit in ways similiar to what he was familiar with, and ways that bothered him like any right thinking creature expecting to travel on board. It had the rust and neglect of some of the older Death Guard leviathans, just without any of the corruption that kept such matters more cosmetic than of actual detriment. A hole here was a drop and security risk, a hole on the Festering Vengeance was a living portal to another deck, or a digestive stomach should intruders brave the gap. The trip to the throne room saw Orghast say nothing, thinking only a little more. Nothing prepared him for Curze.

Orghast was aghast. Two things suddenly fell into place: The Nightfall and why his hound, whom had been trained by a World Eater no less, had refused to enter. Konrad Curze lived and was... in a sorry state. Orghast knew damn well that meant nothing if pitted against the likes of them, but it still evoked something akin to pity and disgust in him. Pity at seeing the likes of a Primarch reduced to tatters and so very out of it, even one who was never that well liked among even his traitor kin. Disgust came from a resemblance to Mortarion, own legion father who even now sat on plagued world and just.... moped. Of course moping may of been some integral part of the great game that daemons played, Primarchs were already leagues above other mortals; daemon primarchs doubly, if not triply so. Whatever the case, Orghast washed aside such feelings and displayed proper respect for all the short period of time leading up to the outburst. After that all bets were off, not out of distaste, but rather the marine figured it didn't matter. Not once would he be so foolish as to assume such things were unnoticed though. Konrad Curze was many things, even to those who only heard of him, and absent minded did not seem to be one of them.


OOC: Will detail Orghast's room another time, just wanted to get something out.

A Daughter of Logar - @Kalle

"Now that is a truly Complex, Question" Fera said a smile from under her helmet seem to form, "I Serve only one god, The only god the god of war and I serve him by Strengthening myself and testing myself and my steel over and over until I can be fully forged by the flame of wars then possibly die on the field to become one of his servants to fight forever more." Fera said a partial part of pride seemingly come from her as she spoke of serving the god of war.

-Medbay @Uriel1339
"Got it I shall begin treatment when I return to my room." Fera said as she looked about the medbay, "I have a feeling we will need more people if we are to bring the forces of this ship up once more." Fera said looking around the empty med bay before thinking on what possibly lay in the rest of the ship.



- A red Son of prospero @Vlayden

"I shall Ausarius I shall, Try to stay safe and alive during our travels and battles, If you need support fire from afar, Vox me on the battlefield if we fight together," Fera said before going off gaining only some useful information from the thousand son but basic information could still be used.


- good old fashion party @WanderingJester @Grall_Stonefist
"Sounds quite entertaining, and quite filling for a feast, This sacrfice sounds like it will make things quite bloody as well." Fera said accepting her seat by the Beastmens thrones, Her hand going to her helmet she worked near the jaw plate of her helmet, and spotted quite a few glances from the beastmen, As her jaw plate was removed it revealed only a small part of her face, The bottem part of her face revealed. Several scars darting about near her mouth, Scar covered with by dirt and grime of war even some dried blood was near a mix of it.

As Fera Grabbed a plate of good ripping a part of flesh off for herself, she brought it to her mouth to reveal a row of unordinarly sharp teeth tearing into the meat she took a chunk out as she began eating Several smaller beast men attempted to come upon her only to receive a snarl and a fist to the face, She took a drank after this drinking from the booze the beastmen had filling her stomach after the long fight that she had endured on Schindlegeist, one of her eyes as she feasted drifted on one of the marines that were in the hall as well one she had seen and heard on the planet. She wondered and thought for a moment if he was eyeing her.?



A Son of the night - @Jorimel
"Indeed, May you have luck on your objective Satharn." Fera said as Satharn left already thinking on what he said on as she left, Why would a primarch Retire and leave his armys behind? Why would he abandon them and not take them to serve under him?" This question would stay and Feras mind as she continued moving about the ship.

Ghorzkha just gave what would pass as a beastmans sly smile, having succesfully offended the so called alpha wolf again, yet he also enoyed how his diciple seemed to have loosened up quiet a bit, falling more into the spirit of it than his master.
Taking another drought as well as eating a few more bites as Fera spoke, Ghorzkha could do little but laugh a bit, not the roaring or grunting but the more silent and amused, a feisty woman indeed, "Sacrifice is not only for our dark fathers. Centigor hates life, allways angry and drunk, cursed with life." he said before once again rising from his throne " BARH UIF GUUIZHU SARDH FOPHDUISUSPU" He yelled though this time things turned silent.
A bray shaman rose to the herdstone, togther with a herdstone keeper, though before the latter even realised it, a jagged dagger had stabbed him in the belly, and after a quick bray of pain, the brayshaman cut sidewards, gutting the keeper, before he himself calling, "NDUIBHS FOPHDUISUSPU" and with that the beastmen split creating a path from another room up to the heardstone, and distressed yelps and sounds could be heard as two small centigors got forced up to it by a number of gors let by 2 bestigors.
They where then forced upon the alter infront of the herdstone, and the bray shaman called out, "AKASH TARRH HU NDUIBHS KWARE WOGUUSEZH AKUBHUF" before slicing the throat of the first one, as all the beastmen in the room brayed at once, before moving on to the next one, though this time he moved to the middle of the alter, gutting and starting a damend bloody work with the innards of the second centigor, not giving it a slow death.

"Entertained?" Ghorzkha asked his guests as the bloody work contenuid.
Though when it was done the *music* returned and all the beastmen celebrated with much more intenisty.
@Vulpas
@WanderingJester

Corbulus watched as the beastmen chieftain enjoyed himself, seemingly even more so now with the mortal female sitting near him. He had not paid much heed to the head table, scanning the room for possible threats, exit routes, and keeping an eye on the Minotaur cage. However, the Alpha Wolf had a feeling of being watched, and not in the sense of Curze knowing and seeing all on his ship kind either. He would turn his helmet towards the head table, and if the woman or Ghorzkha decided to observe him, they would each get a stare down through the Mk III Iron helmet from him.

Suddenly Ghorzkha stood and shouted something unintelligible out into the feast, and the room quieted down dramatically. Then one of the beastmen suddenly turned and stabbed one of his subordinates before gutting the smaller beastman. Just then, another shout from the throne split the room, and two even smaller beastmen fought as their keepers led them to the herdstone, where the same beastman split their throats, allowing their blood to pour over the alter. As the sacrifice continued, the chieftain, seemingly pleased with himself, asked their opinion on the 'entertainment.'

"Hardly," Corbulus replied, unimpressed. "You neither drawn out their deaths so that their pain may please Slaanesh nor did you remove their heads and consecrated them for Khorne. We're on the greatest of all the Night Lord vessels, yet the ceremony did not involve the sacrifices being flayed either. A thorough lack of focus and purpose here; you might as well be hosting an execution, with the mercy you showed. I hoped that you will at least let the bodies decay properly, as to at least pay proper respects to Father Nurgle." Behind him, Nero finished the last of his foodstuffs, before replacing his helmet. The young wolf felt more at ease now at the festival, though at his master's words he seemed wary of any sort of retaliation from the beastmen around them.


@Grall_Stonefist
@Vulpas

<Forge> @High_Adept_Zeth @Maleth

Spending time within the forge, both of the hereteks did their own thing with some success. Material needed was provided, couple of servitors were also placed under their command or in better wording the hereteks did it themselves since Warpsmith didn't seem to care much about them at all, too busy with his own work, and the repairs went underway. After fixing their own upgrades and bionics, they started doing the repairs on the gear of the newly formed warband. As for the requests made by Corbulus, Sobek wouldn't be able to find any extra materials to create the needed altars (if he even wanted\knew how to do it) since Bo'kar supplied them with only the basic stuff and he wasn't the sort from which you could ask for extra and expect a positive outcome, unless of course you tried to steal from him, although that didn't seem like a prospect a sane person would do.

In any event, the work was hard but ultimately it payed off and every member of the force aboard "Nightfall" had their weapons and armor working properly again.


<Medbay> @Vulpas @Uriel1339

"Vengeance?" Ukris said out loud, repeating the words as he tumbled something through his mouth, something alive, before he gulped it. "Vengeance is a good drive, especially in a place like this. You will possibly find many who would help you fuel that passion...I for one, will help you with the thing you seek. You will be my apprentice and I will be your master. You will learn about things you never knew before and in return, you will help me when such need arises."

Turning to Fera, the Plaguebringer nodded towards the darkness in the back of the Medbay, where couple of free beds were arranged and prepared to receive wounded, but haven't had that pleasure in many years. "Look carefully around you fallen one, the pitch black of the Night Haunter's vessel guards more secrets then you think. You would do well to remember that there are many eyes watching you, listening your every heartbeat, catching the smell of your sweat and not all of them are friendly like me and my brother Orghast."


<Depths of Nightfall> @Uriel1339

The corpse would indeed try to attack him, but in the way he expected at first. "Valu," he heard an additional voice calling out to him, one he didn't know. "Valu. Valu. Valu." now there were three more and these ones weren't coming from the back of his head. Around him he saw hanging marines shifting, the chains rattling as every single corpse tried to turn around and look at the Lacrymole.

"Valu, we know you," the corpse which he was trying to fight against started "bleeding" the black ooze from its empty eye sockets, the sight even more disturbing. "Valu, we want you. Valu, we want you. Valu, we want you to join us," more of the voices were added to the choir and Valu felt the body he was hanging on starting to turn, but before he could do anything the corpse in front of him opened its mouth and vomited the black ooze all over him. First thing he felt was burning, but not in a physical way, the feeling same as if your dreams and hopes were crushed after realizing the cold truth that you couldn't achieve what you wanted to. Second thing that the Lacrymole felt, or rather figured out himself, was that the thing he was now swimming in was no blood, or actually any sort of organic material he knew. It was something ugly, disturbing and quite possibly belonging to some other damned plane of existence, not a good thing to try and take a sample of.

Third and final thing he felt was a fist squeezing his body, the corpse he was hanging on reaching back and managing to catch him by his tail, after which it tried to dislodge him from him and bring him forward where he could do whatever he wanted with him.


<In the Hall of the Midnight King> @Jorimel

For some, it would be foolish to try and enter the lair of the Night Haunter uninvited, no matter in what kind of a state he was, but not to one of his sons. Or at least that's what Satharn hoped for as he closed the doors behind him. Since there was no reply at first, he looked around and eventually found what he was looking for. Behind the small throne there was an additional chamber, smaller than the first one but perhaps a bit more important. Satharn spotted couple of weapons racks inside as well as hooks on the walls where you could place your trophies on, this time tho nothing was on them, just a whisper of the past.

The only thing of note however was the piece of armor loosely hanging on a rack in the back of the room, quite familiar sight for Satharn for it was Curze's own ancient suit of power armor, so-called Nightmare Mantle. On the floor in front of it Satharn could also see both of his primarch's power claws, looking as if casually tossed there without any care. Relics of the bygone era, just cast there in the dirt like some trinkets barely worthy of note. But before the legionary could do anything about it he heard the familiar rasping sound of his father's voice, spotting him moments later standing close to his armor but looking away from it, going through a set of some short swords that were fixed on a stand nearby. He was still dressed in his rags, looking pretty much the same like before.

"Leave that on the table next to Sin-eater and come," there was a hint of recognition in Curze's voice now that Satharn could catch, although with the primarch you could never tell. "I want you to tell me a story, bringer of the night. A story about how a young man was betrayed by his loving father and was cast out to seek the only comfort he could in the only way he knew. I like that story pretty much and I would want to hear it again." add to that hint of recognition a dangerous undertone that made even Satharn's skin crawl. Primarch was still looking away from him, his long fingers almost caressing the tips of the swords in front of him, the Night Lord seeing that they were pretty old and in a state of disrepair, but the edge had a familiar dark sheen on it customary to Nostramo-made weapons. Of course, to him they were swords but to a being like Curze they were little more than knives.

"Shaman, does as spirit walk tells, he sacrifice like bearers of word also show him. He in contact with dark fathers. Not strange they cast you away like hornless bray, and he do not offend master by botching his skills, sacrifice is ritual, as shaman prophetize" Ghorzkha answered. Though not with a laugh, ofcause the wolf would think he knew better than the children of chaos, not that it mattered too much now, two centigors had been sacrificed, to teach the rest, and the herdstone remained blooded. And all beastmen knew that now it was time to feast and drink until one could no more.
@Vulpas
@WanderingJester

Listening to Ghorzkha, Corbulus sneered behind his helmet. "Then either the Son of Lorgar did a thoroughly incompetent job or your shaman lacked the effort or potential in learning the proper ways. Neither surprises me. As for myself, if the dark gods tossed me away, we would not be having this conversation right now; I would be reduced to a mess of flesh known as a chaos spawn or, more likely, dead. However, to address your comment: better to have lost their favor and be able to regain it than to never have it in the first place."

Corbulus waved his hand lazily, gesturing at the beastmen around them, who seemed to lack any blessings from the dark gods at all on them, aside from their continual existence. He made his replied not in a tone that indicated annoyance or offense on his part, but rather in a bored, corrective way. One an adult would take to a particularly upstart of a child. Behind him Nero had his helmet back on, his trigger finger twitching slightly, though the young wolf still hadn't reached for his weapon, yet.


@Grall_Stonefist
@Vulpas

Toiling in his laboratory deep within the primary Forge aboard Nightfall, cleaning his hands with disinfectant Sobek took a deep sigh of relief . He did not know what butcher occupied his position previously, but it took him half a day to clean his newfound workspace from the blood and fluids that were encrusted in every surface of the laboratory.

Only once it was bearable to work with, did he occupy himself with the task given to him by the Forge Master. Luckily no servitors came to his queue anyway, so he did not lag behind. It gave him not only time to prepare, but also drudge up any useful memory he have had about working on the machines of flesh, finding he had only precious few of them, and mosty in a form of a medicus. He was a machine-healer, not mender or shaper of flesh! However such differences mattered little to the powers that be. The need to adapt was vital to hi survival now.

Luckily the first servitor he recieved was completely offline, or dead, if one can call such things living in the first place. As the prone form of, what Sobek guessed was a monotask servitor, shook slowly as the two-way transport belt brought him from a large hole in the wall, Archimandrite engaged a lever next to hole and a large pincers decended upon the ever-moving track, picking up his newest charge and carelessly dropping it into an appropriate slab.

Inspecting his unfortunate patient, Sobek noticed under the surgical white light of the lumens, rad burns upon its skin and signs of heavy corrosion on its metal. Reactor scrubber - probably on a endless monotask loop routine on cleaning toxic residue from plasma chambers. No one serviced these kind of servitors until they either broke down or started to melt.

Activating the rad-censer on the wall, Sobek got to work, myriad of tools and scrapped diagnosticae equipment all around him on equally diverse tables and trolleys. As the servitors kept coming, the slabs in his laboratory kept filling. Only after a third servitor did he get some idea how the process of Servitoria functioned. With nervous patience of a man that is only driven on by the sweet taste of discovery and knowledge he proceeded with his grim work.

After a fifth one, he finally had a repaired servitor, fully functioning. That one, he kept as a sign, his first work completed upon this new path he now walked.

Losing the sense of time and after countless works completed, servitors arriving on the two-way transport belts and then returning the same way, Sobek worked on with frantic motions and fevered thoughts of someone who remained awake for too long.

He did not know with what schedule the servitor came and went on. Its possible that some mechanic or another Master of a vassalized Forge piled them up and sent them in a batch but the transport belts kept rolling without any new work on `em, so Sobek stopped thinking about it.

Standing straight over the sink that exhumed the stench of disinfectant, Sobek dried his hands before turning his beaked mask looking across his laboratory. For a moment lumens around the place flickered but kept illuminating a utilitarian grey chamber filled with red-stained slabs that constantly sucked on residual vitae and oil that remained on them. Though the window he saw Bo`kar in the same position he was before, continually working on a Land Raider. Sobek wondered about passage of time and how much as passed since he boared this gargantuan vessel, but he had no chronometer and he was too tired to search and ask anyone.

In one corner a ring of large tables covered a large portion of floor, with enough room between them for a slim humanoid to pass between them. With a silent drone a servitor in the color of abyssal void and trimmed with borders of gold, worked among the scrap and spare parts. The servitor was Sobek`s first work, and one of two charges he kept for himself. Its name was Alpha.

Beta, who was his latest work and more advanced then Alpha, sported additional limbs on its sides and on right shoulder, sorted heavier pieces of equipment on the floor, like broken tracks and short-circuted chevron-stripped servo-arms taken from heavier classes of servitors.
These two would be his personal assistants, aiding him in more mundane matters. However their previous monotask routines, too crude in their functioning, would not simply do, for Sobek needed versatility. Not understanding the deeper mysteries behind the corticle programming and its wetware, he simply copied and loaded all the subroutines he found in other servitors.

As the need arise he would shift between various subroutines with a jurry-rigged control rod fashioned in a walking cane. Testing it a few times, Alpha and Beta jerked with newly uploaded subroutines, and behind his mask Sobek would`ve smile if he could at his work. With a bit of freedom and quiet here in this forgotten corner of this derelict starship, he acomplished more then in he could in a entire month on Schindlegeist.

As the two assistants continued his work, Sobek walked to a corner where he placed a metal bunk, too tired to walk all the way to the crew`s quaters. Under the pale-blue light of the data-slate given to him by Lord Corbulus,he wondered and planned for the `morrow. For the first time in years he was excited, almost giddy at the prospect of waking up and working on something new. For the first time in his tortured existence since the Eye of Terror spat him out, did he had a goal he liked and would be happy and fulfilled to do.