Things where turning around quicker than Gorzkha could have wanted, not that he cared for his underling other than their subservience for though their current inability to fight proper would see punishment on the whole herd for their weakness.
As the surviving bestigor buried its mace in the nurglite beast, unable to to remove it from the horrid and flappy beast, having ducked under Gorzkha went on the offensive again, braying loudly as he swung if evicerator in a large overhead swing aiming to cleave the skull of the nurglite beast, even it was tough he would fell in one fell swoop.

Proving his worth to beasts @Uriel1339

Though some lesser brays and beastmen backed away as there was a sudden stranger in their ranks yelling about duels, many more started to draw weapons with tempers rising at the one yelling at them in gothic and taking a stance as if he was better.
It might have turned ugly with them just ganging up on Valu since honour and such was long from the mind of most beastmen, though just in time a louder bray came, as one of the bigger bestigors remaining bashed some of the beastmen away with the haft of his large halbard, saying something in beastongue, before looking to the posing Valu, blowing air out his nose in a sorta growl, "You lucky not dead yet, now i kill you" he said taking a broad stance and lowering his halbard at Valu.

Valu - Intermission; Hunt for the Beast [sometimes after meeting with Phocron - @Colapse | @Grall_Stonefist ]
"We will see about that." He brought his chainsword down to point at the Bestigor, starting to circle the massive creature, wings flapping on the occasion, pretending to take off into the skies soon.

"Give the dark gods your last words before I strike you down. For this might be your last chance." The Khornate-pretender said, continuing to circle the beast, wanting to let it come first, evade it hopefully with a low roll and then strike his chainsword through a blindspot of the beast, hitting him right into his leg, if anything just to ruin his balance for the rest of his life (which was to end with this fight anyhow).

OOC: Since I'm not sure if @Colapse does this with rolls or let's us freestyle: Balanced; 1 Attack, 1 Defense.

Valus figh @Uriel1339
instead of answering Valu the bestigor brayed loudly as he launched at the smaller shape changer, swinging his halbard with lethal intent, no warming up or waiting around, the bestigor launched with violence at heart and no pretence.

OOC: All out attack

Satharn took a moment to blink and pause as the sometime Child of the Emperor ransacked his closet. In truth, he'd never wondered about how the Dark Gods clothed their favoured sons, usually thinking of it in terms of human skin or finer hides. In this he was only partially right. After all, human hide was really not very fine leather, and not flexible enough for anything elegant. The cloth treasury of Viator was raided and with a little searching, he had something in almost the right shade of blue. The Night Lord looked very slightly impressed. For Tem, this was quite a feat.

"Well, that's very suitable," he said, "and dark enough no-one could mistake it for the cheery cerulean of Guilliman's numerous whelps. Thank you. I'll need needle and thread, and if you have any of my Master's old robes even rags would give me some idea of proportions. If not, well, I'll venture to get some myself."

He paused, surveying the magnificence of the Son of Fulgrim's quarters. His own were adequate in terms of space, but they needed to be improved. Not to look like this - he didn't see the need for keeping up with whatever fashions passed for chic in the Eye of Terror - but to make them more fitting for a son of Nostramo. He must get some of the serfs to clean it while he worked on other things. Squalor was, after all, apt to breed discontent and that was to say nothing of the smell. An untidy room smacked of a lack of discipline or, as in the case of his beloved Night Haunter, a disorder of the mind.

As he thought on his surroundings, he mused over what Viator had said. He ran the material through his hands, feeling the fineness of the cloth. It reminded him of his father's shirt as he had picked him up, one night when he had returned from a successful meeting with one of the more powerful families of Nostramo, and whirled him around.

"Your father is going up in the world," he had said, smiling, as he threw his young son up and caught him, holding the little boy up at arm's length. Satharn had laughed for the sheer joy of it. He felt like he was flying. His father's happiness and his mother's proud smile made him giddy with his own cheer.

"Will we have to move up into the Spire, Daddy?" he'd asked, suddenly solemn. Taking it literally as only a four year old could do.

"No, we won't, don't worry," his father had replied, dark eyes still twinkling as he looked at his son and heir, "we shall stay on City's Edge. Much nicer. Much better prestige, too, especially with the gardens. Your mother shall be the fairest rose and you shall be our little prince." He set him down, and took him by the hand as he led him out to the front steps of the mansion.

Satharn blinked. Sudden memories of the time before he was changed always surprised him. He did his best not to show it but this time he felt that something probably betrayed his expression. Hopefully, the Peacock was too busy adoring his reflection to notice.

"Adopted son you say, well that makes more sense to me than you might expect. After all, you may know of Sevatar's sometime righthand man, Rushal. I never understood why the Raven joined us, but he wished death to the False Emperor and in that, we are all brothers no matter the hue of our skin." He paused.

"Of course, the Sons of Corax are all pale moon-washed bastards, so he fit right in."

"Thanks for your advice. I'll seek out Phocron, see what he has to say. After all knowing one's allies is a useful thing." It wasn't an elegant speech, but it got him away from the increasingly difficult mire of talking about finer feelings.

And with that, he bowed and left the chamber, intent on his unusual task, unknowing that while he played tailor, the rest of the group were slaying as their gene-sires intended. Satharn realised that he had broken a light sweat under his armour, and put his helm back on. He returned to his chambers, setting down the cloth with care at the end of his bed. He went outside.

Serfs. He needed good strong labour with an eye for detail. Of course, this was the Nightfall, and it was running on dregs. Except - wait. They had acquired a new crew. Surely a couple could be taken as his due. He sought the place where the new 'recruits' were awaiting deployment and looked over the mass of people.

Some were huddled; others sat sullenly alone. A surprising number were just sitting, talking, a few even playing cards. After all, many had served on board a ship all their lives. Same grox shit, different day. Satharn looked over the group before him and considered.

Some of the Night Lords considered that a crew cowed by terror was as natural as the all-pervading darkness that habitually filled a ship of the VIIIth. Others, those with a longer memory like himself, remembered that it hadn't always been necessary. Or force of habit from lesser-willed soldiers. It was true, once, that the VIIIth Legion had been as honoured a posting as any service to the Space Marines, if a little grimmer and more driven than some. Never exactly a place of joyful celebration, but certainly not a rotting hulk. No, there were better times in the Legion's past and more to aspire to than slums and degradation. How could efficient service be expected from wasted, soul-withered husks? This wasn't the Excoratior or the Blade in the Black. Satharn realised that he wanted a flagship worthy of the name. Something that radiated the true, dark majesty of his Lord to all who set foot on it, not just the shallow fear of the dark.

"I need three to serve as my personal assistants. I don't need just brute strength, we have Beastmen for that. Show me who's got intelligence enough to apply their wit. You will be working on cleaning, clearing and mending Marine quarters. If you do well, you will be promoted to Space Marine serf." It was a rank with meaning, even among the VIIIth. He assumed it would still have some cachet with these troops. It felt strange talking of Space Marine this and that, but Legionary wasn't the popular Gothic term. Not, at least, for a few thousand years.

"Bonus points if any of you can sew."

Valu - Intermission; Hunt for the Beast [sometimes after meeting with Phocron - @Colapse | @Grall_Stonefist ]
As the Bestigor charged Valu, he was surprised by the ferocity and speed of the beastman, clearly having underestimated these mutants. He brought his chainsword against the halberd, but relentless beats came down upon him, bout after bout he was pushed further back. Eventually he was literally with his back against the wall. As the next swing came, Valu made a quick roll beneath the next blow, but only landing on his back.

The Bestigor laughed at the patheticness of his foe, insulting the little wannabe fallen angel in the tongue of beasts as he brought his halberd down. Valu rolled away in the last moment, getting quite an ugly cut into his cheek - then again his face already was frakked up, just even moreso now. He finally got back on his feet, panting. He parried another blow, but while hanging onto his chainsword, his defense was broken and the Bestigor was not going to play around, he was a primal beast after all.

Valu screamed as the halberd came down in a diagonal swing, cutting with just the edge of the blade across his cheek as he leaned his head back to avoid getting his head split in two. But the blade came further down across his chest, cutting through the flak armor and causing a significant wound on his chest. Nothing life threatening, yet, but it fueled the shapeshifter with fear that triggered his survival instinct. He channeled all his might to bring down his chainsword back down on the beastman who was surprised by the fact that the human still had a will to fight. The beastman was punished with a tearing into his shoulder. But before anything more than a small blood gush could happen he kicked Valu off.

But instead of fighting further, the shapeshifter made haste to escape. The Bestigor roared and ran after him, bringing his halberd down a last time while he was in range, cutting down across his leg as Valu jumped and took into flight. The shapeshifter slammed into a wall, but pushed himself off of it and luckily with his wings still intact managed to stay towards the ceiling, only swooping down once he was at the door, where he crashed into the hallway, rolled a couple of times and getting as soon as possible back on his feet and running towards the med-bay to treat himself, never looking back even once. Though it was not much running, considering the way he hobbled since his leg was losing immense amounts of blood.


Valu - Intermission; Fighting a God [sometimes after meeting with Phocron & Beastman encounter - @Colapse ]
Attelus stared at the mutated human and laughed. "I see the dark gods gave you a minor blessing. Yet already you feel like you can take on an Angel of Death, just because you bear wings? You must be taught a lesson, son. Thus, I accept your challenge of mortal combat." A servitor out of nowhere came quickly, but painted and dressed in the same fashion as Attelus' power armor.

Once the Space Marine was only in his black carapace and common pants he requested nothing more than his combat knife from the Servitor-Serf. Though what was a combat knife to a Space Marine, was a massive monoblade sword to a mortal like Valu.

Valu charged the Space Marine the moment he got into combat stance. Chainsword and blade clashed. Valu groaned, putting all his force into each blow. But his wounds were not completely healed just yet, his leg one anyway. It only took around five bouts for Attelus to realize that. "You dare to come here and fight me in a weak state?!"

The Space Marine roared at the top of his lungs, his eyes burning with fire of disgust and hatred. Valu was taken by surprise of his reaction and Attelus had no mercy, bringing his foot down into the wounded leg of the Lacrymole, making the mortal squeal in agony. Attelus held his blade against the chainsword with one hand, the other one grasping for the grip of Valu's hands, ripping the motorized weapon straight out of his hands and tossing it away.

Attelus tossed his own blade and grabbed the mortal by the neck, squeezing his throat. "You little maggot. You get one little glimpse of the real masters of the universe, and you believe to be above everyone. But imagine this, you piece of filth. You are still nothing. You have merely begun your path to damnation. And as much as I want to kill you for your foolishness..." He lifted him up and pulled him close so their faces were close.

"It is up to the dark gods to evaluate you if you are going to be worth anything." He dropped Valu, making him land on his back. He gasped and yelped from the pain of dropping on the cold, hard steel floor. But the Space Marine brought his foot down, stomping down onto the already wounded leg, at least one bone cracking and making the alien scream in agony.

"And don't you dare challenge anyone until you actually know how to fight." He kicked the turned-off Chainsword over to Valu and took his leave, the Servitor had collected the combat knife and carried it after his master, leaving the squirming alien to himself.

As the tendril wrapped around Ausarius, he reflexively 'bursted' with psychic power - warpflame and bolts of lightning reaching out and clinging onto that which tried to crush him, running through its nerve endings in an attempt to annihilate its threat entirely.

There wasn't much else that would be done of course aside from that, a psychic reservoir of power sliding into the force spear and being thrown directly at the beast; he'd hoped that if anything, its force capabilities would end this threat.

The tendrils and quivering, the unmistakable flesh growths and spawndom was all a disgusting bit of nostalgia, a pain in his throat that he couldn't make go away; the memories of his Prosperan brethren one that he wished he didn't want gone.

Why must fate be this way?

Spoiler

The Priestess' Quarters

A simple goblet stood on the desk. It was filled with water and untouched. The desk was propped up against the far wall from the quarters' door; sheets of parchment were stacked high on it, some had been torn and discarded and littered the floor, while others still lay on the desk, their dark, red-brown ink drying. Finished sheets were plastered on the wall. The script was Colchisian runes, used to write the ecclesiastical dialect spoken on Holy Sicarus. A pen had been left on the desk over an unfinished page.

Xaviera sat on a chair in the center of the room, facing the wall displaying her handiwork. The priestess regarded it with a distant expression, as though not quite grasping what she was looking at, or perhaps day-dreaming. Then, someone knocked on her quarters' door. That shook her out of her trance. She stood up, turned around, and laid her hand on the chair's back. "Come in," she said. The doors parted to reveal one of the warriors from Schindlegeist. A mortal. Xaviera could not quite place his name, but she had seen him around the Night Lord. He apologized for interrupting immediately, but Xaviera raised a hand to silence him. "It's nothing. Please, go on." The priestess met him wearing nothing but her protective wraps and a modest.

Valu, that was his name. He asked about her recovery, come to review his master's work. "I live, my hide is not yet stripped from my flesh, I am quite content about the Apothecary's work. Thank you," she informed him, and thought that would be the end of it, but the warrior surprised her with a personal request. He rambled on, but once again she silenced him with a raise of her hand. "... What do you wish to know of the Gods, Valu?" she asked plainly, purple eyes studying him, weighing his reaction and his response.

Valu - Intermission; Follow-Up visit with a Patient [ @Kalle ]

Spoiler

Valu smiled as he was given the time and patience to be heard. He smiled softly and sat down formally on his knees, his bottom resting on top of his feet. For many it might be uncomfortable, but not if you know how to balance your weight and keeping your torso straight. The Lacrymole looked up with a glee in his eyes, such as that of a willing student to a wise teacher.

"First of all, I'm glad to hear that your recovery is going well. If you should ever feel unwell, feel free to see me. In and outside of the clinic." He offered with a warm-felt smile, then he placed his hands on top of his knees and took a deep breath.

"I... I'm not sure what I wish to learn more about my path... I know that some individuals, such as Lord Gallek pursue the worship all of them. But... I fear I'm not strong enough for such a path, nor do my personality line up with all of them. Take Khorne for example... The bloodthirst, mindless slaughter in pursue of spreading blood and collecting skulls... I'm not skilled enough to appease him. And I know no matter how much training I would take, I would never be able to keep up with other mortals. Like the beastmen, Kombuse, Fera..." He sighed heavily, lowering his head for a moment as he remembered the two most recent fights. After a long moment he looked up again.

"Neither can I agree with the Plaguefathers' ways. I do not completely understand Nurgle, but I have seen on Schindelgheist what he is capable. And to spread pestilence or even make the dead walk again..." He shook his head and shuddered. "It is an amazing power to behold, fascinating even of how incurable diseases and pestilences can appear in a heartbeats moment and disable an entire platoon... Alas. I learned to mend and heal, and I wish to relieve people from pain - not inflict agony."

He sighed heavily, hoping. No. Praying. That he has not offended those two gods and that they won't seek malice to him. But those thoughts were eliminated immediately as he remembered the words of both Quor and Attelus. Valu was nothing, not even a speck on the gods radar. He bore the same significance as a single grain of sand in a desert. Or a drop of water in a rainstorm. That self-revelation washed his worries away and he smiled once more.

"Which leaves me to either worship She Who Thirsts. Or the Architect of Fate." Valu said determined. "The former being born out of the excess of the Eldar Empire. Bringing pleasures that not even a wildest dream can imagine, but also the dangers of excess, losing oneself in the pursue of those heights. And the latter... One never knows where to stand with him. He lies to even his most devout, never revealing his plans, always changing his opinion and thoughts. Whispering sweet ambitions, while planning your very downfall... So here I am... Wondering what I should do." He sighed heavily, indecisiveness written all over his face and having come to the fellow mortal to learn not just about the gods - but himself. As for where the knowledge he bore came... The Wych explained him some from her travels with the masked daemonslayer Loki.

<Forge> @BuriasDempsey

Couple of hours later, covered in sweat and machine oil, Kombuse managed to find and repair three Rhinos and return them to working condition. The vehicles were in different states of disrepair but that didn't seem to bother the Pact Trooper at all, after pulling out the feat with the Thunderhawk which was close to miraculous, three transports and their simple (compared to flyer anyway) engines turned out to not require more than an hour of work for each. There was plenty of spare material to work with plus Kombuse had a great help in form of dozen servitors, so pretty much everything went smoothly. Of course, the real "problem" to solve will be the issue of a certain Warpsmith that just lumbered back into his shop.

"What the..." Bo'kar looked more than surprised when he saw the Thunderhawk repaired alongside three Rhinos and another human gunship. He stood at the entrance of the Forge for couple of moments before he stormed in, getting to the vehicles and running diagnostic checks on them to see if what his eyes told him was true. It was.

"You, who helped you with this?" Iron Warrior sounded furious as he turned around and loomed over Kombuse, in his hands he had a forge hammer that was as long as the entire Trooper was tall, "Was it Phocron? Fucking snake and his secret friends, did they put you up with this just to make a fool out of me? Is that it?!" one thing was certain, Bo'kar didn't look pleased.


<Treasure Hunt> @Grall_Stonefist

One remaining bestigor of his retinue fell just like Gorzkha suspected, being unable to remove the weapon from the Beast of Nurgle's hide turned out to be its undoing as the daemon's tongue came around and slapped the beastman, momentarily dazing him. With an experienced move the daemon wrapped its tongue around its victim and in one great gulp, swallowed the unlucky bestigor whole.

However that was the last thing it ate for Gorzkha was still alive and not about to be denied by servants of the Plaguefather. With every ounce of strength that he had the warchief swung his new eviscerator and slammed it straight into Beast's skull. Adamantium teeth screamed and destroyed flesh and bone, the daemon was resilient but even it wasn't capable of surviving decapitation (or losing head in a different but ultimately same manner). As it dropped dead on the ground the rest of the Plague host soon dissolved, couple of Plaguebearers that still fought were ganged up and destroyed while the small Nurglings ran away from the angry beastmen, disappearing in the darkness of the "Nightfall's" womb.

Gorzkha and his remaining warriors found themselves in the middle of a silent plague garden\motor pool, while most of the vehicles were ruined even to bestigor's eyes some of them could still be put to good use and not to mention that the gifts of Nurgle which were spread all over the place could be bestowed upon some of his kin which would most likely lead to interesting effects.

OOC You have unlocked Pestigors for your faction. Out of the motor pool, you'll be able to recover 2 Predator tanks. First one has magna-melta as primary weapon, second one has autocannon. Sponson weapons I leave for you to chose. Emote getting them and bringing them back to your herd, I'll add them later to the list


<Navigator's quarters> @Kalle

"I see," Delilah sighed and leaned back, looking less tense now that Xaviera explained her situation. "I'm sorry Xaviera, perhaps...no, I have most definitely overreacted. I didn't want to offend you, it's just the fact that I'm, contrary to some of my crewmen, not taking this switching sides lightly. Admiral Augustine, while being top notch when it came to flying the ship and leading an armada of vessels, failed where it mattered the most and surrounded herself with bad influence people. I just don't want to repeat her mistake, you know? To be deceived, lied to and eventually damned."

"You asked me and...I'll tell you this. For me, peering into the Warp and guiding the ship through it is easy, it's natural. I don't have issue peering through the tides and the darkness doesn't fear me. I mean, it does, but I have been trained on Terra by greatest minds of my house how to evade getting caught in the net, so to speak. So, the Chaos, or whatever you want to call it, is something I'm quite familiar with, or at least familiar enough to know I don't want anything to do with it."

"You say it's an answer, but how do you know for sure? You said you were also forced into service? Then tell me, how do you know for certain that Chaos has all the answers if you have never looked for them outside of its corrupting gaze?"


<Chapel> @WanderingJester

"Just remember what I told you," Curze stood up and left the Chapel, like a wraith of an ancient legend he disappeared in the corridors of his own ship, shadows once again becoming his only company. Quor Gallek rose his head and waited couple of moments before speaking again (perhaps wanting to make sure the Night Haunter was out of earshot).

"Forgive Lord Curze, his mind is...troubled. But it is up to us to help him regain focus, to find those who are lost and help them reach the safe harbor. That will be one of the first lessons that I will teach you, my First Acolyte. To see the fracture and help Chaos fill it. To spread the Word, teach your followers the meaning of it and then lead them to ultimate victory."

"Now go to the shrines you've built. Pray on them, speak to each of the Gods and tell them what you desire most of them and what would you offer them for that desire to come true. Trust me, they will hear you but remember to prepare yourself when their answer arrives."

With the beast of nurgle slumping over before him, its monstreus skull anniahlated by his evicerator, Gorzkha took a few breaths as the remaining Nurglite forces where beaten down by the survivers of his expeditionary force, the bestigors he had taken with him had died, good, such weak specimens did not deserve to breed and revel in the dark farthers gaze.
As he looked around he could mostly see vehicles made unusesable by neglect and nurgles rotting touch, though he did find two predetor tanks that looked like they where in a usesable condition, they would add great strength to his herd if recovered.
Going back to the surviving gors he commanded most of them to run back to the herdstone as fast as they could and get some of the tech savier beastmen to come Down here, as Well as to tell a bray shaman that there was a garden of the plague farther, and that he could take an small amount of the herd with him to build a small herdstone here aswell so those closer connected to the plague farther could dedicate themselves, couse even if Gorzkha was mainly devoted to Khorne, he allowed his herd to worship all the dark farthers.
As they ran off at great speed, leaving only two behind with Gorzkha, mostly as help rather than protection, Gorzkha walked over to the two predetors that looked workable, one with a big mean looking melta gun and two massive flammer sponsons, and another with an autocannon and hurricane bolters on both sides, though Gorzkha knew the strength of hurricane bolters, he sadly dident have a big supply, nor anyone who knew how to make bolts, so for now he focused on the one with the melta and flamers.
After a bit of time, he and the two remaining gors succeded in opening the hatch with a loud clang as it gave after, with ancient dust now falling to the floor, the inside preditibly smelter of very stale air, but nothing a beastman couldent ignore with the rank stink normally acompanying them.
As they started quickly working over the insides, blowing off dust and locating the varius controls and parts. Gorzkha quickly made his way to the drivers compartment, he had never driven a predetor before, But he had experiance with simuler things, and it dident take long to locate the ignition, and after a few prayers to the dark farthers, he hit the ignition, and as if blessed, the engine started coughing a bit as it somehow still worked and started getting fired up after ages of nothing, calling on of the two beastmen up to the drivers seat, Gorzkha made a threatening instruction to how he thought the tank was to be driven, making sure the gor knew failure would be death, as Gorzkha climbed back to the gunner seat, and started trying to open the hatch, and after a bit of forcing Got it opened so he could climb half up through, just in time to see parts of his herd return in force, he pointed to the other predetor yelling for it to be brought back to the main camp as well, so both predetors could be properly marked, blessed, bedecked and fixed to the best ability of his people, and if the engine wouldent start they could pull it back, he dident Care how as long as it was fast and it wouldent break the tank, other than that, the bray shaman knew his task, and Gorzkha commanded the tank to drive forward so he could return to his herd a greater warchief, This would be a night of reveling to celebrate his succes.