"I am as much Nurgle's boy as the Prince of Desires regards you as a little sex toy." Kaleidos chuckled. "In the future... You better stop trying to get us all killed, because once I actually can trust my abilities once more... You want to be a bit more careful... At least when you intend to play with my life again." It was a careful warning, but it was ushered not truly serious... Yet.

"Ah, but you do not know the depths of our relationship," Viator smiled, "She is currently playing hard to get while I'm busying myself with unlocking the doors to the chambers of excellence upon the Obsidian Way."

"And a threat? I'm shocked it took you so long to warn me about your oh so great powers! I am surely, at your mercy!"

"I will not be a noucance" Aphael said to their *savior* at it was all he got to say before the ever eccentric scorned follower of Slannesh made waves with his blade, throwing feaces around the place, that they had been covered in sewage allready was the only thing stoppid Aphael from going off on a tirade against him, he was tired of all this, though unless this indeed was a sacrificial retual, it atleast seemed to be going a bit better now, he would just have to be patient, and not devolve into infighting, meterforical and literal shit flinging, and then things would start working, and soon he would more casually use his powers once again, the holding back annoying him, but he knew it was the wiser choice.

< Into the Plot >
"I can already tell we're not going to get along. " Looking pointedly at Viator the Word Bearer reached out with his staff and tapped him on the chest whilst he was still running his mouth. Suddenly no voice came forth from open jaws, as if someone had just hit the mute button on the Slaaneshi. Worse yet it seemed to dampen his grip on foreign sensations, the annoyance and anxiety of his fellows lost to him as if he were back in the cell. "Now then...up, up, up! Double time boys, we've got to get a meal or three in the lot of you sorry sods. " With a snap of fingers the flensing veil fell away from the gap in the ceiling. Rubble from the sunken structure provided a perfectly climbable ramp up towards the hole and pseudo-freedom. Once top side a gaggle of hooded cultist in flak armor and wielding serrated blades would herd them into the back of a Chimaera. From there it was just a matter of waiting as the transport growled into life and shuttled them off to an unknown destination. Arnok in particular would be receiving a nasty itch in the back of his neck that this might of been a mistake.

@Redthirst @Grall_Stonefist @matt23 @Colapse @Virgil_Corbec @Vulpas

< AIN'T NO BRAKES ON THIS TRAIN > @Draconion @Keidivh Tyre
"Just do it! " Tyre face planted into the dash as the Rhino lurched under another attempt at ripping the entire vehicle into the sky. Alpharius has a brilliant plan to help their escape though, something even a World Eater could of hammered out given time. Taking the bolter he unloaded on the weakest looking points of the back ramp still connected to the Rhino. A combination of mass reactive explosions and overworked engines saw the Helldrake surging up high into the sky as metal tore free and transport roared off. The mist of incense that had accumulated in the area during the struggle was distorted by billows of smoke from the abused vehicle, the blinding smog quickly giving away to an obscuring mob of Sicarus citizenry. The result was the same as vehicle thrust forward and crushed them as easily as it had earlier.

Tyre drooled blood onto the controls as he slumped over them, unconscious even though the face planting had looked more bothersome than actually harmful. No matter! There were bigger concerns like the baleflamer aimed at their open backed getaway Rhino. Alpharius was suddenly crammed up near the driver's seat as a torrent of flame poured into the hold nearly scorching him from existence. It rapidly glided over the floor and closer toward them when the link was suddenly broken by Silim taking that right turn. In the span of approximately thirty seconds way too much happened to know what exactly took place. Silim saw a warning flash for an incoming anti-armor projectile and then they were skidding out of control. An eternity passed by in eleven seconds before they finally came to a solid halt. The Helldrake's screams were a constant companion to the wreck and they only began to grow distant when new shadows soon blanketed the bent and burning hulk in half darkness. A legionnaire had one boot down where the ramp had once been and a flamer pointed at the front where all three were entangled into one big ball of bruises and pain.

"Get Out. "

<Out of the Fire and Back Into The Pan, a.k.a. I Swear I was Keeping To My Lane>

"Cataract in your third eye, Brother?" rasps Silim acidly at Tyre as their flamer-wielding captor makes his appearance .

Placing his hands behind his head, he makes his reluctant way to the outside , disguising his ceaseless search for opportunities at escape or reversal behind a mask of sullen submission.

An exasperated sigh escaped the Alpha Legionnaire as he made his way outside, knowing that attempting to fight a fully armed and armored Astartes in their condition would be a death sentence. But just because he couldn't fight, didn't mean he couldn't escape.

As Alpharius made his way out of the transport he kept a close eye out for any possible means of escape, hoping that the Word Bearers would see them as a waste of time and keep a minimal guard on them.

< And SCENE! >
The Word Bearer leaned in to drag Tyre out by a leg while Silim and Alpharius saw themselves out into a ring of three other Word Bearers, a fifth Legionnaire standing away from them all and making sure a bolter remained trained on the angry mob crowding around the area. Judging by the presence of a marine with a missile launcher it was pretty obvious how the joy ride came to an end. The most curious presence was that of a young man in tan robes. Larger than most of the mortal populace trying to get a view on the event, but smaller than the actual space marines it didn't take long to figure out this one was an initiate; caught up in the accelerated maturation of growing up into a proper trans-human warrior. Silim would be able to distinguish the raw aura of barely honed warp energies that marked him as a nascent psyker as well. Upon seeing Tyre the man stepped quickly to inspect the Thousand Son, stumbling once the body was thrust into his arms and the flamer toting Word Bearer promptly moved up behind Alpharius and planted the body of the weapon upside his head, knocking him out. Silim didn't need any Corvidae sorcery to know a similiar blow was about to greet him, knock out blow upon him a split second afterwards.

< Intermission >
At last everyone was together again. A groggy trio of those that had pissed off the big bird-mollusk-changeling-thing assembled alongside the unfortunates that had delved into the sewers and met up with Sonny. Worth noting at this point was that those who had taken the elevator up, a.k.a being spat up by the daemon, were suffering from a bad case of mass flesh peeling. Frankly it was a miracle they were alive and if Sonny had been a proper Great Unclean One they simply wouldn't be intact enough to peel. Five fully kitted out and healthy legionnaires marched at their sides and backs, the contingent of cultists lead by the masked sorcerer filled in wherever there were gaps along with taking point.

The scenery was at once different and familiar to the rest of Sicarus. No less smothered in devotional sigils, runes and all sorts of profane imagery there was a notable increase in weaponry. Weaponry that looked quite capable of obliterating even properly equipped and nourished astartes. Heavy bolters slaved to clusters of mewling flesh slaves lurked in cloisters upon walls while las-cannons and missile launchers possessed of their own malign intelligence tracked the procession, waiting and hoping for someone to try and step out of line. Large imposing walls stretched out before them and a gate arch lined with images and engravings that stung any eyes unfortunate enough to linger prepared to swallow them whole. It all paled in comparison to the Basilica.

It was impossible not to look. What had once been a distant titan of imposing black stone and steel was now an immense mountain as the prisoners were brought into the Word Bearer's inner ring of operations and thus into the shadow of the Basilica of the Word. Reaching up, up and up into the hellish heavens of the daemon world were hundreds of five kilometer high spires adorned with barbs and spikes of every shape and make. All of them adorned with countless corpses and living offerings that wept blood down the length of the structure. The stench of death reached even down to the ground. The unholy majesty of the sight would soon be robbed from the nine of them as they were herded underground and once more into darkness.

Candles took over the job of providing vision and dry passages became the only thing visible. All this was set to a constant back drop of dull, endless chanting and humming that seemed to originate from near and far in all directions.

"I would suggest you all get used to this. You'll be living down here with the rest of our neophytes until you're in well enough shape to begin redeeming yourselves. " Sorcerer turned to face them all once they reached a junction that split off in, surprise surprise, eight different directions. "You. " Staff was pointed at Kaleidos. "Come with me, Viameritus you as well. You can help as a reward for your efforts. " The neophyte psyker that had been present at the Rhino crash stepped forward with a grin, two of the cultists pushing Kaleidos along or simply dragging him if needs be. Wordlessly the rest of them were all ushered off down another path and introduced to their own individual rooms. Cold, cut from stone and equipped with a single bed and a small selection of obligatory devotional texts the rooms were frankly on par with the quarters an astartes could expect from anywhere else. Such spartan conditions were a comfort to many. Doors were locked behind each of them and only the cultists would remain behind to stand watch.

The next day, or whatever the Sicarus equivalent was, would see them all in isolation. Only when the sorcerer and the neophyte showed up would any of them receive company. One by one they were taken and returned, all of them eventually passing into environs all too similiar to the halls they had recently been trapped in. There they would be branded, for what good was a penal unit if one didn't get to use the explosive collars? Flesh twisted around the site and became hard like carapace. Picking or poking at it just made the area even more resilient and encouraged the nerves around the area to light up in the most painful fashion possible. Curiously, perhaps funnily for some, the Word Bearer would always have the initiate on hand and each time called him along with a different name. Alphilis, Tyrrick, Mordnok and a half dozen other names all were assigned to one ever-grinning man.

Once the Word Bearer's insurance policy was in place things began to look up. Meals became a constant in their lives after varying amounts of years, it was a foul tasting paste that could of been reprocessed corpses as much as actual nutrients but it was food none the less. Days were divided into roughly equal amounts of isolation in their cells and time to train and begin rebuilding former physiques with shared access to the same facilities as developing initiates of the traitor legion. For the foreseeable future this would be life until the Word Bearers decided to call upon them for whatever redemption may entail.

@Draconion @Redthirst @Colapse @matt23 @Virgil_Corbec @Vulpas @Grall_Stonefist @Keidivh

Like before, during his imprisonment, after getting hexed by the damned Sorcerer Viator retreated in the dark confines of his mind, his only mental impulse was the one telling his hand to grab tight the handle of his sword so he wouldn't lose it again.

During the trek towards his new home he pretty much looked and acted like a zombie, letting their captors lead him whenever they needed to go. He payed no attention to the giant Basilica or the buildings around it, in truth he never cared much about Lorgar or his ilk or even their prophecies. Yes, Viator was a loyal servant of Chaos and a devoted follower of Slaanesh, but traveling Her devious paths and succeeding where others failed was his goal, not greater understanding of the mysteries of Empyrian. And in the end, Word Bearers were "too much talk", even for his taste which was funny in its own way given the fact how he acted around others.

Even through before and during the process of branding Viator gave absolutely no output, satisfied with just being there and looking around completely uninterested. Afterwards, once he got into his quarters he went in deep meditation to ready his mind for the return of the sensations and whatever else happens afterwards. Eventually the spell wore off and he received nutrients to speed up the healing process of his body. He didn't really need such help, the only thing he needed was to experience pleasure and both his physical and mental strength would regenerate but it was a fool's hope to expect such thing from his captors.

Of course, the body began healing but Viator wasn't too thrilled about it and he stabbed himself multiple times to make sure he was feeling pain properly once again. On the other hand, the thing that fueled his anger was that his sword was still rusty and in a bad shape, the only proof he needed to see to know that Dark Prince was still unhappy with his performance and that his actual strength was yet to be recovered.

Having no other way to vent his frustrations, Viator picked up his once-great weapon and headed out to the training rings where he would once again start with the practicing of his swordwork. Lack of one arm didn't disturb him much because he only needed one hand to swing Sa'vr'sen'stvo and in the past he usually fought one-handed. So there he went, prepared to dive in some proper duels to regain some of the skill he possessed but which now lied dormant and perhaps, if Slaanesh wills it, even kill some of the Legion's aspirants. That would be a fine way to start feeling better.

OOC Viator is in the training pits, if anyone wants to socialize, feel free to say hi

The great Basilica had been a sight to see, he had never been to Sicarius before his failed quest had ended up in bringing him here, he had never really wanted to go here either, but now that he was here, for better or worse, actually just worse, the Basilica was a sight to see and feel, the wordbearers obsessive need for rituals did fill the place with the power of the four grand gods of chaos, though some of the lesser where ofcause also fed a bit here and there in this grandest shrine to chaos undivided.
As they now decended into the basilica, the place was still marked by power ofcause, but its ganduer was more inclosed, and the sight of the neophyte had been a bit strange to Aphael, though ofcause the word bearers would not think much of them, and other than that, neophytes where such a rare and precius thing amongst his own ilk.

Now he was confined again, but on a much greater premise than his former prison, at this moment, he was to be fed, and reinvigorated, to be part of some sort of perversion of the imperial penal legion, as soon as the doors locked behind them, and Aphael sat on his bed, he fell into a deep tar black sleep, and slept like he haddent done like his mortal days, that was until the *mornings* awakening.

After the surely explosive chaos rune had been marked upon them, one that Aphael new that he on some point would make the bearers of the word regret placing, and they had been ushered on, and fed paste. that he would normally have objected to, their day began, as they now where to train and become marines of a sort again.
In his mind Aphael belived he still could fight, it was all he had done in the prison, though that had been an illusion, and his body was untrained and uncoordinated, and a healthy body assisted creating a healthy mind, witch he needed now that the grand powers locked to his genes was to be rediscovered and reforged in war, so for now he also headed to the training cages, even if he was still dishonered to fight neophytes, he atleast was now longer locked in the goating hell of his former prison.