"I'm not your sister, spawn of Commorragh," Jain Zar snapped, staring with barely suppressed hatred at the creature's forehead where her shrine's sacred rune was carved into withered flesh. It would be a matter of a single heartbeat to leap at the Scourge and tear her limb from limb, until only this disgusting chunk of muscle and arteries beating inside fiend's chest remained. The Phoenix Lord found her heart beating faster, muscles tensing and rage boiling through every cell of her body as if she were a volcano preparing to erupt at any moment. The air around her became hot, with taste of burning iron and blood, rippling and distorting. All these sensations took no more than a second to pass and she quickly restored her balance. Slaughter wouldnt serve her purpose right now - skills and cold surety over emotions and hatred, that was what Hand of Asuryan taught her personally millenia ago. She took a small breath before replying the creature as calmly as the living embodiment of Khaine's wrath possibly could. "That's not of your business, Amasylermar. Mon-keigh will be my tools to manipulate, you can do with them whatever you wish once my mission is over, but until then you will obey my every command as if I were Asdrubael Vect himself. Is that clear to you?" She glanced around into shadows and added, "the same applies for your crew and the thing which crawls behind you," Jain Zar said and twisted her head towards the Scourge where a Mandrake was crouching silently behind.
Ethoch paid little attention to the legionnaries. He hummed to himself silently along with tapping his staff rhythmically on the floor, while taking in the sight of a cursed one's corpse he had exploded with his music. Whatever his Lord would decide, he would follow.
The slip of Jain Zars calmness might had lasted only for a second, but for Eldars even it can be an eternity. Their kind may live for centuries, if not millenniums, but they have not yet grown indifferent to flow of time, cherishing every fleeting moment. And cherish Amasylermar did. The hatred burning them to cinders, the embodiment of Khaine's wrath incinerating them to ashes with her presence alone. The hate, fury, detestation, hostility, animosity. How this demi-goddess could end their existence effortlessly. Just the plethora of feelings washing over them alone is gratifying. Amasylermar was left basking in afterglow as Jain Zar reclaimed her composure. "It is clear, oh Jain Zar. Your exploiting of moi may not be as machinating as in Commorragh, but there is no deliverance for I from your wrath. I, we all, are at your... mercy." Amasylermar can't hold back a grin as the last word leaves their lips after a small pause, like there would be some hidden meaning, inside joke behind it.
As the bickering between heretics and machines hit a lull, a voice eerily broke the silence. " Kneel. " The word was grated and audibly ancient as it emanated from the towering form of Nurrahk. Though the Phaeron himself was devoid of a soul and 'real' emotion, his ancient voice still managed to convey a very real and primordial menace. It wouldn't take a statesman or demagogue to understand that the marines had managed to draw the artificial ire of Rahmzens Phaeron. He'd bled entire systems for entities the wretches before him could barely even begin to comprehend. Nurrahk himself had played his part in a war that shook the very heavens. The humans had no idea how truly and utterly lucky they were to have not been beheaded right then and there. Even should the mighty Angels of Death resist, they didn't have the luxury of immortality. Nor, as Nurrahk surmised, did they have even an iota of experience over the combined minds of two Phaerons. Nurrahk then turned his soulless gaze toward the others present. A Phaeron was present and he alone was worthy enough to speak at his leisure. The very same gaze would then find its way toward the Overlord known as Akhenhotep. Their positions when it came to status weren't very far off and, that said, Nurrahk wasn't overly perturbed when said Overlord spoke out of turn. While he was right to chastise the humans for their arrogance, the right had been Nurrahks. Finally, the Phaerons thoughts returned to the infected and their imminent return. They were said to be driven to an unending hunger despite that being quite impossible. It was said that, during the shattering of the C'tan, one in particular was responsible for said hunger. As he awaited a response from the human dregs before him, Nurrahk allowed his mind to wander for but a moment. The memory burned brighter than any other save for the Bio-Transference. The heat, light, and sound attributed to the breaking of a C'tan, Nurrahk could still remember it. He had witnessed the death of a god. The fallout of this death was a far-cry from the flayer virus yet it still clung to Nurrahk. Had the breaking of their chains damned them all? Nurrahk couldn't help but ponder that silently.
This ape doesnt'seem to know anything about the flayer-curse. Well, what did I expect? Okantakht knew that the curse caused an unnatural hunger for blood, and so the Flayed One would normally attack only living beings. It is quite possible that the appearance of these humans is the cause for the unnatural reactions of the cursed. They shouldn't stay here. It could cause damage. And as he pondered about his course of action, he heard the Arbiter speak up: "Kneel." No, this won't work. Nurrahk acted like any freshly awoken phaeron would. Only was it a waste of time. From his research and experiences, the sons of the "Emperor" of mankind could only be mindshackled or killed. And sometimes negoitiated with. Maybe. For limited time. In rare cases. Mindshackles. Why not? We will have his information a lot faster that way. A black orb appeared in the hand of the old phaeron, flaring up as he contacted his ship in order to summon his scarabs. Out of habit, he also checked the astronomical data, for he was quite able of astromancy. And then he stopped the scarabs. This is.........how displeasing..... The shifting in his eyes increased, more nauseating than ever, as he turned his head towards the Marine and started speaking: " We.......will consider your offer. Return to your vessel, we have a ship so we do not need further....help.... in that matter." As if I would ever set my foot on their inferior scrapmetal constructions. "Since your kind can be quite......slow.......we will even show you the shortest way to the surface" Turning to the Phaeron next to him he uttered words in the language of their ancestors: "Nurrahk the Arbiter, it is your good right to subjugate these inferiours to your will. But new factors have come into play. I will inform you fully once we are on my ship, but this much will I say: We absolutely must not refuse these apes. It sounds strange, I know, but as it is now we should get them off your crownworld immediately, for I suspect the Cursed will continue to rampage as long as there are beings of flesh present." Gesturing in the direction of the Alpha Marines he added: "Please consider it."
@BlackNecron | Turning as he heard the weighty menace in Nurrahk's voice Akhenhotep ceased his examination of the dead, taking in the situation fully. The Space Marines were insignificant, insects compared to him and the two Phaerons, but the choice currently presented: facing more Flayed Ones or finding a cure for the accursed virus, and the primitives' belief that they knew about such a thing, focused his attention. Okantakht's words also got his attention though and Akhenhotep gestured for his Cryptek and Lychguard to follow him whilst returning to the gathering, listening in while Okantakht spoke to Nurrahk. "Why not just take whatever info the primitives think they have? Why lower ourselves to working with them?"
With the sliver of a nod, the old Phaeron answered Nurrahk's question: "You are exactly right. Truthfully, I was about to call my mindshackle-scarabs. But it seems the data isn't on my side this time. From what I could see, taking their knowledge won't bring any results, but instead bring great catastrophy for our race. Maybe because they only know who has the information and we would for some reason not be able to find him, or because they lied but this ......cooperation......will have some other important boon for our cause." And as he stored the now again blackened orb in his pocket dimension, he added:"I will have to inquire further, but not now. Not here."
Akarahel looked at the lords conversing around him, still somewhat indifferent about the lives of the humans and even less so about the squabbling of lords he owned no allegiance to. He of course stayed silent as he had no words to add and simply wanted to get moving and or deal with the infected heading their way. He took his weapon into his hands in a relaxed position still pointed at the ground. He didn't want to insight an unnecessary conflict with the primatives but he will not be taken by such disgraceful creatures as the flayers unprepared.
"I'm sure we understood each other, Amasylermar, for I dont repeat my words twice," the Phoenix Lord said coldly. She believed not a single word of the creature, of course, to do otherwise while dealing with commorraghans was the shortest way to find yourself betrayed. It mattered not, Jain Zar thought, until she could control the Scourge and her crew's behavior. And she would be under surveillance, of course, just as each of her to-be "allies" would. "Prepare to leave Commorragh in one cycle, you have coordinates to find me. Arrive without delays, this is my first order, your ship will have to enter the real space from the Webway at the exact time. Failure is not an option, Amasylermar - if I fail, you fail with me and your master wont get his prize, I've heard what Vect does with those who displease him," under her mask, it was Jain Zar's turn to grin malevolently. "Our meeting is over, you have business to do". She turned around and activated a small Webway portal, preparing to leave. She only hoped Tandreus would deliver the device she gave him aboard the Necrons' ship - the mon-keigh didnt need to know its function, he just needed to make sure it reached the soulless ones' vessel and remained there - otherwise everything would be ruined. With this thought occupating her mind, she stepped into the flickering portal and disappeared from the foul ship.
Within the depths of the Imperial Cruiser, designated Sword of Orion, the tedium of daily activity continued onwards, unknowing and uncaring of the recent developments uncovered by those in the command bridge. It was another day in the void, another day between battles and war, and for the thousands upon thousands of souls that toiled away to ensure the ship kept sailing, the respite was a welcomed one. Service crews and taskmasters kept up the steady stream of maintenance, keeping the vessel plowing through the void, whilst regiments of guardsmen, being shepherded along in the vessel, would either be engaged in combat drills, or enjoying some time to themselves, if their commanding officer was so giving. Wandering through the various halls at their access, talking among themselves, looking for a good time in the under decks. It was the echoes of these soldiers, that stirred another who dwelt in this area, among the imperial guardsmen, yet separated at the same time. Rising up from where he knelt, his mind clearing from the self reflection he'd indulged himself in previously, the giant was clad in armour of azure coloration, contrasted only by the red that shone upon his left gauntlet, which relaxed from it's clenched fist at the moment. With the memories of his fallen brothers, and the failure he owed them, being driven back from his conscious thought, Brother Santana would stand up to his full height, surveying the room around him. Once again, his face, uncovered from the helm that rested mag locked at his hip, would turn into a soft grin, as he'd consider the humans outside. He'd been upon this vessel for some time now, enough that he'd come to grow accustomed to the sounds of the men and women who fought within the Astra Militarum. His hosts had been kind in his recovery, he admitted this, for they'd granted him a small chamber, as they would any of their own, and access to their training grounds, should he desire it. At first, the collection of soldiers had seemed curious at the Astartes in their presence, and he'd endured many stares and whispers as he made his ways through the halls, and outright questions from those bold enough to face him plainly. One time in particular, he'd answered his chamber door, to find a nervous looking soldier, perhaps not even of his twentieth year, asking him if he'd like to go for some "Drinks". Confused at first, Santana soon heard the hushed laughter of the man's comrades, hidden around the corner, seeing how this dare would go through. With a face impassive, and almost harsh in it's casting, he'd choose to reply with a simple. "Aye." And that was how he'd found himself spending the night drinking with a somewhat uncomfortable group of guardsmen, and their very smug comrade. In the weeks since, the mysticism of the Angel of Death seemed to have waned, as soon, he was just another aspect of life. As the warp travel continued, Brother Santana had spent his time preparing, training, tending to his armour, and waiting. Now, after more than a month of his recovery, he was more than prepare to strike back at the galaxy that resisted Mankind's right to rule. Though his rank had not granted him access to the councils and orders of those who ran this vessel, he'd heard whispers among the crew he walked with, that soon, their time of recuperation would be at an end. Standing in his room, head bowed in almost prayer, Brother Santana hoped for just that. He was a sheathed blade, and he desired to be drawn, and used once more against the enemies of man.
