ok, just read through all of this, it's amazing, really good work! night lords are my favorite legion and your writing does them justice. fun to be able to participate in it too.
Coryphaus paused in the training cage, turning to see Telemachus striding into the vast hall. Both were stripped to the waist and in the baggy fatigue pants rather than a surplice. Telemachus was holding Mortis Lux in hand as he regarded Coryphaus. “Fighting with a chainsword?” he asked, giving a slight nod of his head toward the battered training weapon in the sorcerer’s hand. Coryphaus looked to the idling weapon, “Reminds me of the time before the Librarius.” He said simply, stepping from the cage and down to the ground. His long dark hair plastered against his back, “Cage is yours, Telemachus.” Coryphaus began to walk by before being stopped – the flat of Mortis Lux pressing against his pale and scarred chest. “… Something troubling you, brother?” he asked with forced good humour. Telemachus looked at him wordlessly until Coryphaus stepped back and into the middle of the vast hall. He killed the idling engine of his sword and cocked his head as Telemachus followed him. “In the Teleportarium,” Telemachus rasped, coming into a guarded position with Mortis Lux grasped in two hands, watching as Coryphaus adopted a guarded position with his sword before him and one hand out to the side. “I saw you, brother,” he hissed the last word, lunging forward and delivering a blinding series of cuts with both hands. Coryphaus was barely able to parry each blow, and required both hands to manage to steady his blocks. “I saw on your face. The others didn’t. They were busy. But I know!” His fangs were bared as he ignited Mortis Lux and sheared through the chainsword – pinning Coryphaus against the far wall with the crackling length of the power sword near his throat. Coryphaus was calm, his black eyes focused on the wide and hate-filled orbs of Telemachus – a simple burst of psychic energy and he’d be free. Both of them knew it was that easy. But instead he just remained pressed against the wall with his arms raised and his hands on display. “Know what, Telemachus? The light -.” A wince cut off his words, the power sword slicing lightly against his neck, the wound cauterized to not bleed but painful nonetheless. “Don’t. We both know the truth, Coryphaus. Tell me, did you hate me for killing her? Would you have spared her, witch? Do you think she would have given you the same courtesy?” Telemachus was shaking in rage. “Answer me!” Coryphaus was quiet for a few moments. “Yes. Yes – I hated you for killing her. I hated her death because I was able to feel something that I had buried down out of the love for a brother ten thousand years ago. I would have spared her. I would have let her live, knelt down, begged forgiveness and spread my arms wide and waited for her blade to fall. That is what faith does, Telemachus. It clouds the mind and good judgement. I hated you. I hated myself. I hated her. Because she made me remember what it was to be human.” Coryphaus shoved Telemachus away with his hands. “Then why didn’t you stop it?” Telemachus asked coldly, Mortis Lux still ignited and ready to burn through flesh and bone. “You had the power – you could have slaughtered me in the Teleportarium and countermanded the orders. Taken the Claw for yourself.” Coryphaus shook his head slowly, “They wouldn’t follow me. They don’t hate me enough to stab me in the back, but they don’t respect or fear me enough to stand with me. Besides – I made my choice at Terra, Telemachus. I chose to forsake the Emperor and stand with my brother. If you still doubt that I’ll leave the Redeemer when we dock at Hell’s Iris. Or you can kill me right here and burn my geneseed to remove any reminder of me.” Coryphaus spread his arms out, “The choice is yours, Telemachus.” Telemachus stared quietly at Coryphaus before turning away, the light of Mortis Lux dying as he strode from the training hall. “Be glad I still have need of your powers, witch, or else I’d string your corpse up as a reminder to my Claw of the fate of traitors.” ~~ “Lord Telemachus, we would like you to know that repairs have finished on the Cruor Redemptor and that your ship is fully stocked – as per the agreement between you and the Tyrant,” the serf was still mostly human, though he had a mouth where each of his eyes should be, and an eye where his mouth should be. “The Tyrant also would like to extend an offer to you and your Claw of service within his fleets. By his own admission he could use ‘Warriors of such caliber and creativity’.” Telemachus offered a tight smile, “Extend our regrets to the Tyrant – but my Claw and I find being beholden to anyone to chafe. But do let him know that the next time we return to the Iris it will be with slaves and offerings for the Blackheart for his generosity.” The serf bowed and withdrew from the Redemptor, Coryphaus watching the mutant leave from the bridge alongside Telemachus. “We’re really going to bring the thin-blood offerings when we return?” Telemachus looked to Coryphaus, his expression flat, “Of course. I’d rather trade flesh and souls with the Tyrant than bend the knee to Abaddon. But that is for another day first – we were going to go to a feral world, correct?” Coryphaus nodded, “We were – though Isoran calculated our requirements and came up with a few other options.” Telemachus sighed, “Of course he did… well, let’s see them.” (( Choices!: A) Feral World that is stuck in perpetual twilight filled with massive plant-based monstrosities: Eden. B) Death World colonized by people and gene-hybrids of bats. C) Penal World of a population filled with murderers and gangers. D) Frontier World exposed to, and adapted to, frequent Dark Eldar raids. Voting closes May 26th! ))
B Lets try to catch some of these Bat hybrids They could make good pets could fill a entire room with them and get them to breed spread them like nurglites spread the plague
Clawed feet drove into the ground and sent Ser Markem Pyper across the stony ground of Chiroptera at a swift pace. His steed let out fitful screeches every hundred paces, avoiding stones and deadfalls with the sounds. The knight glanced behind him again – he had lost the daemon, he was sure of it. Turning his head back around, he let out a cry as a blue claw grabbed him by his iron breastplate and hauled him from the back of his steed. A tusked and snarling face leaned forward, “I’d advise not running again, little mortal.” Ser Pyper was dropped as if he were a weightless child. The looming daemon standing above him. Others emerged from the darkness, none quite as big as the one that had grabbed him, but each vicious in their own right. One had a face like a skull, dull red eyes glowering at the cowering knight, the other had a ridge of spikes running from the crown of its skull and down its back with a crackling talon of gleaming metal. Then another creature emerged, a wraith. Long robes of shadow swirling around the creature as it swooped and swirled around the cowering mortal knight. “From planetary surveys, Subject classification is from the largest city this side of the twin seas. Advisory: keep him alive and use him as our entrance to the city.” Ser Pyper flinched, the voice sounded like a knight in armour – tinny and ringing – but it was utterly devoid of any qualities of life or humanity. “P-Please, no. I… I do not deserve this,” the knight wept, “I am a good and honest man – return to the heavens, daemons. Return there and leave me be. I swear by the Almighty I have not flagged nor failed in my honour.” Silence followed his pleading, Skull-Face nudged the spiked one. The two looked at one another before the spiked one moved forward to crouch in front of Ser Pyper. Its voice pitched low as it spoke, “The Almighty does not doubt your honour, noble soldier. It is the honour of your land that is doubted.” Ser Pyper raised his watery eyes, “T-Truly?” The spiked one nodded its head, “Truly. Be so kind as to lead us to the master of your lands and we shall judge the honour of your master and lands.” Ser Pyper swallowed and nodded his head, pushing himself to his feet and waving a hand for the daemons to follow. ~~ “Well, Telemachus, I feel like the choice of a death world was both inspired and foolish. Though, I admit, if we blend so well in their people’s mythology then this might be an easy in for our recruiting purposes,” Coryphaus walked after the small human, his head turning about to scan the environment. “It’s the furthest out from Imperial space, its people last encountered any Imperial forces during the Great Crusade. Isoran picked an excellent world – the penal world almost won me though. It would have been exciting to have more like-minded brothers within our ranks,” Telemachus was striding purposefully beside the mortal knight. “I think we should have killed the mortal and found the first village on our own. How do we know this man won’t betray us?” Hapshan rumbled from the opposite side of the mortal, his bionic fingers curling and uncurling subconsciously as he stared straight ahead – the baroque metal covering it a blackened iron with hooks and barbs. “Illogical. Subject’s armour denotes a rank equivalent with that of an Astartes in the primitive minds of this world. Killing the mortal would have resulted in negative views from those of both higher and lower stations. In addition – the mortal leads us to its master, if necessary you may kill the master and install the mortal in the station instead.” Isoran drifted along beside them, grav-jets a soft whirring hum as the tech-priest hovered around. Hapshan grunted, “As long as I get to kill something.” ~~ The trek was not too long, though the mortal knight was huffing and puffing by the end of it. A vast wall of black stone surrounded vague outlines of spires and towers. A vast gate of iron-banded wood faced them directly, a massive maw with glowering red eyes formed the portal where the doors were set. Ser Pyper took in a deep breath before marching toward the gates, screeches coming from the dark skies above caused Pyper to flinch at each sound. “I find your presence to be a boon already, great daemons,” Pyper said as they walked, his voice a bit strained from exhaustion. “The sky-shrieks do not descend against predators greater than themselves, this would have been a ride even the most seasoned of knights would fear.” “You might yet be more thankful for our presence,” Telemachus rasped from beside the mortal. “You have been so righteous in dealing with us that if we find the… honour of your master lacking, it shall be you who rules these lands in the name of the Almighty.” Ser Pyper stumbled for a moment before hurrying to keep his steps to match the long strides of the daemons, “T-Truly?” Telemachus gave a slight nod of his head in response, and that alone seemed to rally the knight and make his strides surer. “Good terrain for training new recruits – excellent beasts for pitting them against. This is a good world,” Telemachus muttered – not even paying attention as the gates were raised to allow Pyper and his daemons in. Coryphaus eyed the villagers as they wandered through. Rough made clothing covered most of them, their adrenaline levels had spiked at the sight of their small group. Coryphaus turned his head to both sides, men stepped forward and pressed women and children behind them. Creatures that had the traits of both bat and dog snarled and snapped at the passing Night Lords, winged forelegs flapping at the air to make them look larger. Their marching pace soon garnered a following, fear-filled villagers flooding the lanes behind them as Ser Pyper lead them toward a great squat building made of the same dark wood and stone. Warriors in iron peeled themselves off the walls as they went, marching around the legionnaires, their guide, and the drifting tech-priest. “They aren’t as afraid,” Hapshan rumbled as he scanned the knights. “Self-righteous duty, brother,” Telemachus rasped, “They do not fear us like the villagers because they believe themselves to be so much grander.” A dark chuckle from Hapshan, “Oh, I hope we get to do some killing now…” Soon they had five-hundred knights flanking them – leading them into a massive throne room where the only colours aside from black, brown, and grey seemed to exist. A golden throne draped in red silks with a withered and ancient figure sitting upon it. The frail man sat up and forward at the entrance of so grand an entourage. Ser Pyper immediately moving forward to kneel, “Oh Great Emperor, I have come with servants of the Almighty.” “Oh, great, another Emperor,” Telemachus muttered – Coryphaus and Hapshan chuckling at the tone of their captain. “Then let these servants step forward and speak for themselves,” the haggard, age-ravaged voice of the Emperor rasped. “Let them judge Emperor Carl-Francis, and in turn let the Emperor judge them.” Telemachus strode forward, not kneeling as Pyper did but standing tall and proud, “I am Telemachus of the Night Lords. I have come to judge you of your worthiness and honour as ruler, and thereby judge the worthiness and honour of your lands.” Emperor Carl-Francis licked his withered lips with a grey tongue, “I denounce you, Telemachus of the Night Lords. You are a base deceiver! If you and your vile kin were truly daemons of the Almighty, you would not have come with just a mortal knight. No, if you are to prove your worth you must kill the Great Crag Beast!” (( Choices: A) Grudgingly agree to kill the 'Great Crag Beast'. B) Let Hapshan kill the Emperor. C) Let Hapshan kill the Emperor and save the 'Great Crag Beast' for the initiates. Voting closes May 29th ))
