Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10715889.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
  Fandom:
      Warhammer_40.000
  Relationship:
      straight:_human/human, gay:_human/human, lesbian:_human/human
  Character:
      Original_Male_Character(s), Original_Female_Character(s), Khorne_(WH40k),
      Nurgle_(WH40k), Slaanesh_(WH40k), Tzeentch_(WH40k)
  Additional Tags:
      "Woodles", Grimdark, Ruinous_Powers, Imperial_Guardsmen_(Adeptus
      Militarum), Sisters_of_Battle_(Adepta_Sororitas), Adeptus_Ministorum,
      Ecclesiarchy, Space_Marine(s)_(Adeptus_Astartes), Chaos_Space_Marine(s),
      Officio_Inquisition_(Imperial_Inquisition), Torture, BDSM, War, Violence,
      Suicide, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Murder, Mutation(s)
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-04-24 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 35226
****** Trappings of An Acolyte: Book 1 ******
by Marsevees_Black_(Dunblak_Vizgoth)
Summary
     The story of a mortal imperium (imperial guardsman-Astra Militarum)
     soldier’s submission into the worship of the chaos god Slaanesh and
     his eventual rise to the status of demon prince.
Notes
     This is Vizgoth.
     I'm writing this because Game Workshops is going into the 'End Times'
     and is likely to screw with something. As such I wanted to give my
     two cents before the whole thing goes bonk. Also because there's not
     enough fluff type writing of Slaanesh stuff. It has more than a few
     errors, both grammatical and phonetic so don't expect too much. I'll
     add tags as I go or as I think of them. Truthfully, I don't know if
     I'm going to be doing any more of this series because of Me'n
     Dunblak's work on 'Stranger Rainy Days' and the 'Pokemon Year One'.
     Not to mention the other projects and work. But if I get around to it
     I will.
     I don't own anything from Game Workshops or anything of the Warhammer
     franchise.
     This is R+ or even X-rated. If you're 17 and under don't read this.
     You have been warned and disclaimed.
***** Plea *****
Chapter 1: plea
 
I do not have many memories of before. That moment I chose to become what I am.
But the ones that I do have, are explicit. A putrid father who hated me, a
mother who whored herself out to earn money for our household, a black ship
full of dead brothers and sisters whose unborn cries haunted my mother every
night. And the thought. That one tiny thought that crawled into my mind as a
child. ‘If the emperor of mankind is so great how are the forces that oppose
him seem to be winning? Why do bad things keep happening even when we are here
in the Imperium?’ It was as fleeting as it was dangerous. At the time I
remember sweeping it aside like unwanted dust. But I forgot to throw it out.
And so the thought lingered.
Then I could not have known what true beasts and monsters oppose the Imperium
of mankind. How futile their religious bowings to the dying Emperor are.
Pathetic and tragic. Such a beautiful song of pain. So bittersweet it makes one
wish to vomit.
 
 
995.M41
“Get out yew stupid brat! Go get some money!”
The anemic youth scampered into the fumed alley as quickly as his thin legs
could carry him, stumbling into small mounds of trash along the way. He began
his long journey through the hive city, the day to day routine that kept him
and his family just above death. If only by a single thread.
All around buildings where stacked upon one another, squeezing together to
provide the miserable inhabitants at least the luxury of living space. Bright
signs flickered and speakers whined. Occasionally the voice of a Chaplin could
be heard over speakers, giving a sermon from the divine teachings of the
Emperor of Mankind.
The Emperor protects. The Emperor preserves. The Emperor saves.
The boy frowned, he had never seen it. Brat had never seen the Emperor, let
alone heard his voice. A voice that was said to be divine. Voice of the god of
Mankind. But then again, what god could men make? Father would make god of
liberties, freeing himself of all worry and strife. Mother would make god of
happiness and equality, sacrificing her own lifeblood to cure the ills of her
family. Brat was little different. He was selfish. He wanted for other things.
But for the moment he could not think of them. For now, he wanted mother to
live another day.
Brat moved like a cat through the streets, his eyes keen and his ears always
open. The mangy locks of blond hair gave him the look of a rabid feline. His
blue-grey eyes sharp as a predator’s. Survival was his life, his purpose.
Mother was counting on him.
The boy named Brat moved along a route beginning he had designated C. Each day
he took a different route beginning and wound his way through the maze of
constructed steel. Then at the end of the day he would return through a
different beginning. Maintaining a constant flux of travel to make sure he
would not be ambushed. For if he did, he would not survive. That would be death
for mother and Brat.
Since he was born, Brat knew no other name. Occasionally father would say
something like cur or whelp. Brat assumed these were names to make him do
better. Or a threat. Or an insult. But probably the later of the three.
Despite his wild look and animalistic behavior, Brat was cunning. Smart like a
rat that knew where to get the best food, when it was dangerous in an area,
when to move on, when to hide, and when to strike. Since father made no attempt
to educate him and mother was to weak, Brat taught himself. Now in his sixth
year, he could read and write. Learning quickly to mimicking signs and
interpreting how people spoke about them Brat had gained understanding of his
own language. It was not perfect, but it more than compensated.
He smirked to himself with a little pride as he stealthily moved through the
shadows. Brat would collect food and money. Steal if he had to, and bring it
back to mother. Mother would live tomorrow. Brat would make sure of it.
Yet when he reached home, his pockets full of goods, the will of men robbed him
of that small reassurance. Brat’s father lay on the ground, a few bruises on
him but otherwise untouched. He seemed to be droning on in one of those fleet
songs he always sang, alcohol thickly slurring his speech. Glowing red and
yellow light consumed his former dwelling. Brat could not tell if the screams
he heard were the wails of his mother crying in agony or the shriek of the
flames as they purged the hovel construct of a hive dwelling.
Imperial Guards watched as they spoke their dogma. The foremost amongst them a
Confessor who blessed the house and was casting out the diseased plague. In the
mind of the Imperial soldiers they were doing a service to the hive. Purging
the sick woman from the rest of the inhabitants saved the city from an
outbreak. But that did not matter to Brat. To him, they had set fire to his
mother and burned her as if she was some heretic. Exactly like a heretic.
Rage filled the small body as he lashed out at the guardsmen, not entirely
intending to do harm so much as display for them the pain they had caused him.
Jumping on one’s back, Brat yanked at the man’s ears and tore the left one off
entirely. Before any of them could reach the nimble child he leaped off his foe
and was biting another leg. Hoots and growls of pain filled the small confines
of the alley, echoed with the fading sound of burning material.
“What is this?” An authoritative voice boomed from behind them and a captain
stepped from the shadows, his grim face like stone. “Have the Emperor’s
soldiers come across an enemy they cannot defeat?”
The guardsmen snapped to attention and saluted the captain. “Sorry sir! It
won’t happen again sir!”
“I would presume not.” The grizzled captain mused as he glanced at the boy.
The child was no more than six years of age by his count, scrawny and bony. But
full of fire and there glinted in his eyes keen cunning. Hidden behind those
emaciated sharp features was a survivor, the captain felt it in his bones.
Taking a few steps to where the child crouched, the captain knelt before Brat.
“Is that your pa?” A gloved hand gestured to the inebriated father.
Brat nodded.
“And your ma?”
Blue-grey eyes turned to look back at the flickered flames, the fire reflected
in shimmering mirrors.
“I see.” The captain sighed and bowed his head. “Well, as it is there is little
you can do now.”
The six-year nodded in agreement and stayed silent, content to listen or at
least accept his death at the hands of these men. At least then he would join
mother quickly.
Suddenly standing up the captain pointed to one of the guardsmen. “You! Take
the boy, there should be a Schola Progenium somewhere in this damn heap. Take
him there.”
“B-but sir, won’t he wander somewhere on his own? It’s not exactly our problem
sir.”
The captain leaned in close to the soldier so his deep-set eyes were evident
and their faces nearly touched. “Did I stutter guardsman?”
Brat watched in confusion as the guardsman shook in his boots. “n-n-n-No-no
Sir.”
“Then you know what my commands are. Take him to the Schola Progenium. And
don’t show your face around the barracks until you do!” The captain spun on his
heal and exited. Brat only caught a glimpse of the name on his shirt. It read,
Cpt. Samuel Mikael Garret.
“C’mon then!” The guardsman hauled Brat up by his neck. “I haven’t got a cycle
to waste kid.”
And so it was. Brat and the guardsman traversed the narrow alleys. Up through
the more civilized parts of the hive city they went, elevators and stairs
assisting their ascent until they had arrived before the Schola Progenium.
There Brat would spend the next four years training and learning. Growing into
a clever student. His body grew into lean muscle as his malnourished form was
given sustenance and care. Brat’s body took on an almost graceful form,
sculpted curves layered in smooth flowing muscle. And his mind never ceased
learning. Then on his tenth year the Imperial Guardsmen, or the Astra
Militarum, came knocking. Archivers and book keepers had made note of Captain
Garret’s investment in the boy named Brat and saw him as a worthy tool of the
Imperium to fight the forces of chaos.
 
How little I knew then. A weak child, albeit resourceful, who questioned why
the Imperium of Mankind slaved thousands to its will. Why they sent them to
unknown places. Why they never came back. But my questions were soon answered.
Perhaps it was fate that led me through my service in the Astra Militarum,
perhaps it was Tzeentch and his cunning plans that guided others to forge my
fate. However, I humbly believe that it was my one guiding light that led me
here. To this palace of everything and nothing.
 
001.M42
Even stubble failed to grow on Brat’s face. His sharp features remaining barren
of manly qualities. Not that it mattered. Less hair was a boon in conflicting
environs and he had not even grown into full manhood.
As his first deployment with the Imperial Guard, Brat was sent to the Babab
Sector in the Ultima Segemntum with a small fleet of ships. The planets were
mostly habitable, if not hostile, and the young man fought alongside the
Tallarn Desert Raider regiment as well as other famous Imperial Guard regiments
for a time, learning quickly all languages and mannerisms he saw. Soon he could
walk about and act as one of the locals. The Desert Raiders called him “Wander
Child” for he was still only 12 years of age and he could wander through a
settlement as if he lived there.
From the war torn sub-system he was dispatched with dozens of others across
several systems. Each a different battle and nature. But all the same. Some
died, Brat lived. The youth was plunged through fire and blood as the
battlefields soaked into his spirit. And little by little, he felt parts of him
that he could still call human die in the silence. Good men and bad men fell
alike. Civilians were protected but were not the priority. It was always kill
the heretics. Kill the mutants. Kill the traitors. Kill the xenos. Kill the
deserters. No life ever flickered before Brat’s eyes. All was death. Even when
he saw the fabled Adepta Sororitas, valiant women who put aside their lives
that could be lived in relative peace to fight, Brat knew they would die. The
youth watched as they were killed as any other soldier of the Imperium. Those
that lived wailed and sang prayers to the Emperor to watch over their beloved
sisters. Brat also offered a prayer, but knew it would do little good. Then the
Guardsmen and Sororitas would attack the enemy lines with vengeance and justice
on the lips of the warriors. Even the fabled Adeptus Astartes fell in battle.
The great warriors of the Imperium laid low by hubris and justice. The irony of
it made Brat sick. An endless circle of blood. Coiling around minds and hearts
like a snake, with the great Imperium of Man supporting it from Terra.
The violence and dogma of Imperial warfare became imbedded in his mind. It
stung and burned as he fellows were cut down. Commissars would rage and wave
their pointy swords around them. Propaganda would spew like puss from their
mouths. A friend of his, an older soldier who had once been a part of the
suicide bomb squads would always mutter as they went into battle “You will die
when assaulting a fortress with a competent commander. You must strive to make
your death useful”. At night, the priests would preach away their sins, seeking
to allay their ills by reading from the Imperial books. By day his fellows
would fall in battle with prayers on their lips. And the ever hopeful promise
that the Emperor protects.
And the god-Emperor of Mankind never did.
They were alone on the battlefield with nothing to gain except survival to the
next day of conflict. And Brat survived. Ork invaders were repelled, Eldar
raiders turned back, Chaos cultists ambushed and slaughtered, Tau massacred at
the whim of his ever calculating mind, and savage men ensnared in the hive
child’s cunning traps. It was not long before he caught the eye of the General
Staff. To have lived as long and accomplished so much, even at such a young
age. An individual such as that must be rewarded. With a transfer.
Uprooted from the war wastes of the Vidar Sector, Brat was sent with a new
batch of troops through the Warp to the jungle planet of Catachan in the Ultima
Segemntum. Perhaps there he would be of used. With his survival skills, the
General Staff reasoned the hive whelp would be a valuable addition to the
Catachan Jungle Fighters regiment. The dead world would either make him a
valuable soldier or a dead one.
Unfortunately, his ship, the Imperial frigate named Empirical Yearning, never
made terra firma. Khorne raiders and Dark Eldar slavers converged in the skies
above the jungle planet. And the frigate was caught in the middle. Brat and a
few of the other guardsmen, men older than himself that cried like babies
terrified of nightmares, managed to fly a rickety troop transport down to the
surface. Around them the metal groaned and shrieked. Chaos and Eldar fighters
blasted by, unleashing unholy fury on one another. Grown men bawled and
screamed around Brat as the young man merely waited. If death would come it
would be swift, if not then he would find a way to survive. He did not waste
his breath on prayers to the Emperor. Such things were of no used to him. Brat
had already hardened his heart against the one who had given the young Imperial
Guardsman nothing but grief.
Their miracle worker of a pilot managed to make a half-landing as the vessel
crashed into the jungle landscape. It’s construction instantly breaking apart
and corroding in the morass they had landed in. Brat fled the vehicle only
after making sure the pilot could not be saved and most of the other soldiers
had left. The poor man who attempted to get them safely to the ground had given
his life for them, a large branch had pierced the cracked screen and embedded
into the pilot’s seat where his head once was.
Only then did Brat say a prayer, not to the Emperor but for his comrade in
arms. A real man whom Brat could touch and speak with. Who had given his life
for Brat’s.
“Where the fuck did those fuckin’ pointy ears come from? And those traitor
marines?” A panicked voice nearly yelled outside the transport, echoing into
the hollow shell of a vessel.
Brat frowned. Guardsmen weren’t given specifics of who and where anything came
from. If one lived long enough they might begin to pick up on where things came
from and what they were. He was fortunate enough to have stolen documents from
dead commissars and commanders when he had the chance. After memorizing their
contents as hastily as possible, he would burn them. Always the survivor Brat
planned on living for a while more and wanted to know his enemies when he faced
them. Inside the Segemntum Solar there was little chance of chaos attacking
Imperial forces. Most tides that came from the Maelstrom and the Eye of Terror
were turned back by the Adeptus Astartes or the legions of Imperial Guards that
were stationed between then and the Warp tears. But the forces of Eldar and
Chaos had gotten through by some happenstance. Or plot.
The youth shook his head as he clutched his laser rifle and headed to the open
back of the troop ship. It would not do to wander in fantasy when reality
needed addressing. Although he had fought Eldar before, Chaos marines were new
to him. He knew of the four Chaos gods, Tzeentch the Changer of Ways, Nurgle
the Plague Lord, Khorne the Blood god, and Slaanesh the Prince of Pleasure.
According to the texts he had read each was a personification of darkness,
unholy things birthed within the Warp. Seeded by the sins of all that is unholy
and the pagan xenos races, they sought to eradicate mankind with every lasting
breath. But then how different were they from the Emperor who sent his forces
out to be slaughtered in this seemingly unending war?
“SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!” A roar echoed among the trees and resounded
throughout the little clearing.
Brat sprang out of the wreckage to find all of the other Guardsmen had
scattered. It just had to be Khorne didn’t it? Couldn’t have been Tzeentch or
Slaanesh, no. Just had to be Khorne. He frowned as he quickly sloshed through
the waist deep mire and onto the tree-rooted shore. At least it’s not Nurgle
and his damn plagues.
The thought of falling ill to one of the innumerable diseases carried by those
who worshiped the Plague Lord sped his legs as the young man sprinted through
the forest, shedding most of his gear as he went. Being overburdened was less
comforting than being prepared. Brat slung his las-rifle over his shoulder and
quickly climbed a tree that looked suitable for a temporary nest.
Climbing to the topmost branches, Brat overlooked how the battle went. From
what he could tell the Dark Eldar were being driven to the surface by the
Khornites, their nimble ships being pressed closer and closer to the ground
until they were forced to land. From there the ground assault was beginning,
the bloodthirsty Chaos marines bellowing their war cries as the shrieks of the
Dark Eldar answered them in return.
Where to go now? Brat mused to himself as he scanned the horizon. Might as well
join them in hell. Fight to the foreseeable end. If I get caught sneaking out
the Commissars will brand me a traitor and xenos lover. Win-win for me I guess.
There was a flicker at the edge of his vision and Brat’s arm snapped up,
grabbing ahold of the striking Coiling Death Cobra before it’s fangs could
touch his flesh. “Sorry to disappoint.” He murmured without looking as he
snapped the serpent’s neck and tossed the corpse aside.
Brat climbed down the tree and with rifle clutched in hand made his way through
shadow and wood.
He did not have to go far before the bellows of a Khornite and cries of agony
filled the air. The young guardsman moved like an animal, creeping through the
undergrowth with the barest of sounds. A skill he had honed over years of
persecution and constant danger.
In a small, shaded clearing a Khorne berserker was in the midst of decapitating
the last of Brat’s small squad. The red armored behemoth stood eight feet tall
and covered in spikes. Smoke and flames seemed to gush from his mouth. On his
shoulders were the collected skulls of his kills. Prizes for his god.
A small thought dripped into the young Guardsman’s mind as to which Chaos god
he would choose if he had to pick one. The twelve-year-old dismissed the idea
and focused on the corrupted space marine. He would have preferred a more solid
environment to impede his opponent’s attacks but the woods would do fine. Brat
looked around quickly and spotted exactly what he needed.
With a grim smile on his face Brat made his way around the clearing until he
was positioned to the Khornite’s left, a side the former space marine seemed to
favor. Making sure he was at equal distance between his target and the intended
destination, Brat took a deep breath.
“Dicks for the Ass Throne!” His adolescent voice hollered from his crouched
position. Eh, sounded better in my head.
However, the insult had the intended effect. The Chaos marine zeroed in on the
source of the outburst and charged the impudent fool who dared insult the
mighty Khorne. His chain sword buzzed as he slashed through tree and
undergrowth alike. As the hulk of living armor bulled towards him, Brat stepped
back.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Now. Just as the angered Khornite was about to swing a charging blow Brat
leaped and rolled beneath the huge warrior. The Chaos marine sidestepped to
halt the motion of his charge but failed to take notice of his surroundings. In
an instant he was besieged by dozens of carnivorous plant heads, each dripping
with venom and hungry for flesh.
Brat skittered back into the undergrowth, waiting for either of the two survive
the encounter as he lay in waiting. To his credit the blood warrior put up a
valiant fight, his chain sword cutting through the heads of the plant and
dismembering most of his floral foe. But Brat had chosen his trap well. When
the plant and marine seemed to cease their struggle a bed of snakes lashed out
from a concealed pit in the ground. The ruckus had disturbed them from their
rest and they responded in kind. Poisoned fangs pierced fabric where armor did
not entirely cover and soon the Khornite was tearing slithering snakes from him
with his power gloved hands.
Unsurprisingly, the Chaos marine outlasted the swarming serpents. Though Brat
was admittedly disappointed he expected as much from a worshiper of Khorne. A
person who would revel in battle and death alone. Fighting was in the corrupted
marine’s spirit and would not easily relinquish. Bellows of smoke bloomed from
the red helmet as the Khornite seemed to catch his breath.
Huh. Poison works after all. Brat thought to himself, worming his way around
the marine to face the large back. At least as a stopper that is. Have to think
of something more potent next time.
Before he could more an inch further, his instincts told him to freeze. Brat
locked himself in position, daring not to breathe and holding himself as close
to the ground as possible. Two black clad banshees shrieked over his prone form
and beset upon the injured Chaos marine.
As the Dark Eldar slashed and sliced with their curved venom swords, Brat
looked on in morbid fascination from his hiding place as the intimate dance of
agony played out before his eyes. The Dark Eldar would cut into the enraged
space marine and nimbly dodge his strikes. Each blow was calculated to deal the
maximum amount of pain with the least amount of damage to the sufferer’s body.
On and on it went like this, slicing, cutting, until the Khornite’s body was
infused with so much poison it was on the edge of giving up. With a final howl
of frustration, the dying marine grabbed the nearest of the two Dark Eldar and
wrapped his opponent in a spiked death embrace. From his position, Brat could
hear the Dark Eldar’s armor crack and bones underneath. The xenos warrior
writhed for a few heartbeats before the Chaos marine tore the Dark Eldar’s head
and spine from its body.
The dying Khornite bellowed one final cry. “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD G-”
In a flash the remaining Dark Eldar warrior decapitated the Chaos marine. Brat
looked on as the Dark Eldar removed its own helmet to reveal the sharp features
of a woman. Long auburn hair and dark blue eyes adorned her pail skin. Upon her
neck was tattooed the arrowed wheel of chaos and the image of a swirling eye
below her bottom lip. A symbol of the Yme-loc Eldar craft world branded into
her forehead. The female spat on the Khornite’s carcass before pillaging his
body. She expertly collected blood from the body as well as several other
fluids. With her knife she carved out several organs and stashed them in a box
pouch of sorts that seemed to be intended to preserve the remains.
Having finished with the dead opponent the female Dark Eldar moved on to her
companion. She tisked at the headless sight of her former comrade and began
doing the same to the Dark Eldar corpse.
Brat began to understand that this was a matter of ritual for the woman. A
collection of things essential for her further survival in the Dark Eldar
society as well as her personal way of honoring or dishonoring her opponents.
After each item she needed was gathered, the female Dark Eldar took up her
prizes, performed a small chant, and then left. Leaving the young Guardsman
alone with the still armed, decapitated corpses.
Trudging back into the clearing, Brat went about digging graves in the clayed
dirt the best he could. A few hours after sundown he laid the last of his
fallen comrades to rest and covered them with soil. It was not much, but it
would have to do for now.
As he looked from the graves to the two dead warriors Brat frowned. Where is
the Emperor and the Imperium now? Have those damn Commissars and nobles robbed
this planet of reinforcements?The young man, not yet eighteen years old, gazed
up at the stars. If the Emperor of Mankind is so great, why do the forces that
oppose us seem to be winning?
Brat sighed as he tried to keep his eyes open. But to no avail and soon he was
overtaken by sleep. In his dreams he returned to his home in the hive.
-----
Arriving a conquering warrior, he was given welcome and honor for his
conquests. But he refused them. Relief and comfort were offered to him. But he
refused them. His brilliance and intelligence were finally recognized and he
was promoted into the halls of generals. But he refused them. Silently like an
animal he crept back into those dark alleys of the lower quarters. Back to that
burnt-out hovel he had once called home. From there he tracked the scent of his
prey to a small shack of a pub. He waited patiently and saw his prey stumble
out of the glowing den of liberations just like he always did. The man threw up
in the alley and the young man crawled up behind him. In an instant he had a
knife in the man’s leg and another in his arm. Twisting, tearing at flesh and
muscle. It was only him and the man now as he laughed with glee, slashing into
the man like the Dark Eldar had. Biting into the places that brought pain but
never relinquishing this morbid pleasure to ending death. At least not yet.
He flayed the skin off the man’s torso, severed the man’s legs off and
cauterized the wounds. He removed his organs one by one until only the
essential ones remained. With one eye gone, the man looked on in horror as the
young man reached under his exposed ribcage to grasp the heart that beat
faintly. With one last plea, the man reached up to the youth with bleeding
fingers.
“Please my son! Have merc-AUUGGGHHH!” The man seized up as his heart was
crushed inside his chest and stilled for the last time.
“Goodbye father.” Brat kissed the bloodied lips of his sire before leaving the
corpse in the alleyway with a smile on his face.
-----
Awakened by the strange dream, Brat found himself cloaked in night with the
pattering of rain all around him. Faintly he could see flashes and hear screams
from the forest just beyond the clearing. Red bandanas were illuminated by
incandescent discharges of las-rifles. The shots skittered and bounced off red
clad monstrosities that bulled into their ranks.
Seizing up his own las-rifle Brat took aim at the Chaos marines and fired. Few
of his shots struck but from his position it was impossible to get an accurate
bead in any case. When he moved to get into a better position, a bolter round
from the bandana group thudded into the tree where his head had been a moment
before. The young Guardsman leapt into the undergrowth and scrambled to get
behind the tree as more shots pummeled his position. As he was about to call
out to them a wayward grenade sailed through the air and exploded on the
opposite side of the tree.
The ground shook as Brat was knocked off his feet and cast into the forest.
From his sundered position the pain-wracked Guardsman screamed in anger. Both
at the false protecting Emperor and at his fellow Guardsmen. His wailing
protest against the universe only drew more attention to his position and more
grenades. The ground upheaved and shook all around Brat. Covered by dirt and
smoldering plants, he lay unconscious until dawn.
By the time he awoke the fighting had passed. Corpses littered the cut forest.
Scars of violence marred the elegant trunks of the trees. Blood seeped into the
ground where divots had been carved or forced open. It was a useless nightmare
that the original dreamers never seemed to wake up from. This endless war of
the fortieth millennium of man.
Truly,Brat thought to himself as he surveyed the corpses of the Catachan Jungle
Regiment. The Emperor has failed to stand against this tide. So he sends his
expendable tools to wage constant battle against forces his Chaplin’s proclaim
as evil. Leaving his proud soldiers to die in the mud like worms beneath the
feet of gods.
Looking up at the rising sun Brat shook his head. “If this is what it means to
be an Imperial then I do not want it.”
But where would I turn? I have no home. They will kill me for deserting. Brand
me a traitor and force words that are not mine out of my mouth.The young man
pushed a hand through his long golden-yellow locks. Maybe. Yes. That is what I
must do.
With resolution in his heart Brat stared into the open sky.Fuck the Commissars.
Fuck the Imperium. Fuck the Emperor. Fuck all those tea-bagging, shit-eating
motherfuckers. I’m not going to be their little bitch any longer. They can kiss
my white ass for all I care. As long as I can mess their stuff up I don’t give
a flying space fuck.
The youth gave a mournful smile as his eyes met earth again. “I’m sorry
mother.” He whispered in a quivering voice. “It looks like I won’t be able to
see your smile again.”
Brat turned to his attention to the shattered bodies that were gathering
insects. Of all the texts he had read, none of them had described how to make
contact with the Warp. Just a tangle of references to blood sacrifices and
pagan rituals that were purged on the outer worlds. As with everything else
that the Imperium of Man considered ‘dangerous’.
He needed something to invoke a message to his future superior. Something to
gain recognition. Something. . . .
Ah.A wicked smile easily sliced across his thin cupid-bow lips. I could do
that.
 
In the middle of the night, in the fortress of the Catachan natives a shadow
whisked through the dark. The demon of dark laid his traps and hideous
machinations in place, careful to make sure they did not back fire on him. As
the sun began to dawn the intruder shrank away with the fading shadows with a
devious grin upon his face.
By the time the screams had reached the guards it was already too late. Those
within the compound had already breathed the acidic air and the fumes were
slowly eating away at their lungs. Others found themselves in less fortunate
circumstances, bound hand and food on a bed of snakes. The guard realized they
had been bested as the carnivorous man-eaters, spikers, and brainleaf plants
grew around the walls and buildings. It took less than a day for the population
to slowly succumb to the torturous fate designed by the anonymous shadow. Those
that lived long enough away from the snakes and flora were forced into a slow
death by acidic air.
One lone survivor, crippled by wounds he received from the man-eaters, managed
to escape the deathtrap. He wandered for days, avoiding the Chaos patrols and
the calls of wild animals. The man neither slept nor ate and on his third day
of short lived freedom he stumbled into a Dark Eldar encampment all but dead.
In his final breaths, the Dark Eldar were able to torture two words out of the
fading Catachan warrior: “fortress overrun”.
Taking these words to mean that the human settlement was defenseless the Dark
Eldar rushed into the cathedral of death. Their cries of horror and pain equal
to that of the humans who suffered before them.
As the next morning dawned, the 12-year-old stood on a treetop. Brat’s supple
form was naked and drenched in the blood of his victims, with hands upraised to
the burning sun. “Prince of Pleasure! Oh great Slaanesh! Hear my cry and know
my offering! I swear my soul and fealty to you!”
A moment passed with only the sounds of the forest echoing around him.
“Slaanesh the Perfect and Beautiful!” And now I am just making shit up.The
youth thought to himself as he continued his prayer patiently. “If you accept
my offering give me a boon that I might know your favor lies with me!”
Nothing happened and he began to feel disappointed. Perhaps a Chaos god had
better things to do with his time. After all Chaos was fickle by nature. Then
something stirred in his belly. A queer wiggling feeling that sent wondrous
electricity up and down his spine. It squirmed and moved toward his belly
button until it seemed to hit his abdominal wall. His belly button seemed to
close and a slit began to form vertically in its place. The slit of flesh grew
to a handbreadth or roughly 10.5 centimeters (~ 4 inches) in length.
Slowly, as if it were a newborn, the slit opened to reveal a vertically
positioned eye where his belly button once was. Its green iris glowed slightly
as it stared up at him from between his slightly defined abs.
The youth stared in wonder as he could see himself staring down at the eye and
the eye staring up at him simultaneously. He tried blinking and the lids of
flesh seemed to push the slightly protruding eye back into his stomach, like a
mother telling her child it was not yet time to come out. He opened the eyelids
and he could see from his navel eye again.
Slaanesh had indeed heard his cry. Upon his chest, right where his clavicle met
his sternum, he found a miniscule purple mark. The glyph of Slaanesh. A circle
connected to an upturned waning crescent moon and the line that bound them
bisected by a downward waxing crescent.
He smiled and accepted his new life. With the blessing of Slaanesh he would
sever himself from the Imperium to live his life as he so pleased. In his mind
a small voice seemed to whisper to him, telling him that he would be watch and
be judged.
 
Having accomplished my intended goal, I began to form my own rituals. I
scavenged the remains of the fallen Dark Eldar for any feasible equipment or
supplies I could use. Like the woman I gathered all the important components of
the bodies yet unmarred by insects and such. As I did a small spark kindled
within me. A wonder anatomy and biology. I had read that there were other
species out there. And I wondered at their existence.
Never the less, with spoils in hand I made my way back to the abandoned Dark
Eldar ships. I chose the smallest one, a Corsair-class escort I was later to
learn, and stowed my belongings. It was clearly intended to hold at least 70 if
not 100 crewmen. However, I was the only one alive and of mind to be rid of
Catachan soil.
I did not know it then but the ship carrying the Dark Eldar woman I had seen
had managed to break through the Chaos ships and had returned to the webway for
repairs.
After a frustrating day of sorting out a crude idea of the Dark Eldar language
I managed to get the starship up and running. Soon I was flying through the
atmosphere and into space. The star filled void lay before me and not a one
challenged that vision. Thinking carefully, I set my course for the Segmentum
Obscurus and Coronis Agathon. My reasons being that it was far away from most
Adeptus Astartes chapters and around the planet lay a host of largely unguarded
settlements. Not to mention it was near a place the Dark Eldar ship designated
the “Void of Infinite Souls”. For despite my militant encounters with the race
I genuinely considered them as my elders in a way. They were known as the most
pagan. And in my mind at the time that meant they were the ones most likely to
know of the forbidden arts and of Slaanesh.
With that in mind I departed through the void with a smile. Destiny was waiting
for me to embrace her. And I did not intend to disappoint.
***** pul·chri·tude *****
Chapter Summary
     Unleashed into a daunting new world, Brat escapes alone into the
     webway with only a Dark Eldar ship and it's wares at his disposal.
     But what awaits him at the other end of the tunnel?
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Chapter 2: pul·chri·tude
 
 
Humans were not an extraordinary species. The Eldar, extraordinary. The Tau,
impressive. The Orks, intriguing. I could have done without the Tyrranids but
beggars can’t be choosers. In such grand company Humans seemed mediocre.
Perhaps it was the Emperor’s attempt to make ubermensch that put me off. Who
knows.
However, there is one thing the humans have over most other races. The ability
to adapt and mold themselves to an environment. They may change little
outwardly but on the inside all the little fluids and psychological mechanics
rearrange to compensate. It is really quite fascinating to perceive in person.
Especially if you are the one controlling the situation.
 
Alarms screamed their banshee wails as the Acolyte formerly known as Brat tied
to tear the Dark Eldar escort out of the webway. He had foolishly allowed the
onboard computer to regulate his destination and before he knew it, the small
ship was traversing through the Warp. Knowing little of the Eldar webways and
remembering the horrors of what he had read, the youth attempted to drag the
starship out of its path by force. But to little avail.
Once the system had been locked on there was little going back. Yet the
singular passenger began to attempted a manual override in his panic. Ripping
out a few cords and finding a toggle that broke off in his hand the ship
screamed in response to his frantic attempts to get out of the warp. Even if he
was recognized by Slaanesh himself, the Acolyte did not want to risk his body
being torn apart by unfriendly chaos forces.
The escort suddenly careened to the side, rolling over itself and spinning into
what seemed to be another vortex of pale blue light. He would have found it
beautiful if he had not been fighting to maintain his own balance. There was a
sound of ripping and tearing, and a loud pop as if the entire ship had broken
through an atmosphere.
As the former Guardsman looked out the window he saw stars. His ship floated in
the shadow of a moon, and beyond his concealed position he could see what
appeared to be a large asteroid also drifting. A voice chirped in the Dark
Eldar tongue and large letters appeared on a monitor next to a diagram of a
small system planet. An alternate text line appeared in Imperial gothic, as if
the computer knew the origins of its pilot. Tephaine System Sector, Adrantis
Sub-sector, Calixis Sector, Segmentum Obscurus.
Planet Reth and its two moons, Tyder and Sedwyr. The latter being a large
asteroid that hovered in orbit. According to the text, or what the youth could
translate of it when comparing it to several language convertors, Reth was a
pleasure world open to the nobility of the Imperium. It supported a large
population of over six hundred million and a small garrison of aquatic based
troops. There was also a space station that served as a casino and a reported
Defense Monitor escort-class Imperial starship.
The Acolyte frowned. Reth had a 379 Terran day year orbit around its star and
spun on its axis to create a 22 Terran hour day. Tropospheric composition of
Nitrogen 78%, Oxygen 21%, Argon 1%, Carbon Dioxide 0.3%, trace amounts of water
vapor. Mean temperature of 31 degrees Celsius. Equatorial Circumference of
roughly 36641.5 kilometers. Gravity pull at 0.89 G. An aquatic world hosting an
archipelago of thousands of islands dotting a turquoise sea.
The Planetary Governor was a pompous and hard-assed man named Jedidiah de Caul
whose family had taken over due to a coup several centuries ago.  Reth still
retained, to some extent, its status as a favored destination for senior
Adeptus Terra functionaries and Imperial nobles, it also boasted a small, yet
influential, complex for the treatment of mental disorders operated by the
Orders Hospitaller of the Adepta Sororitas. This facility, the Asylum of Saint
Vero, was based on Reth's third largest island, treated over a million inmates,
all suffering from a variety of mental illnesses. It was a conglomeration of
hospitals, clinics and shrines maintained by the dutiful and dedicated sisters.
His frown deepened as he kept reading. Spies working for the Dark Eldar had
heard disquieting rumors that many of the unfortunate patients of the St. Vero
asylum were in fact psykers brought to the planet for reasons unknown. The
Inquisition had, on occasion, sent its own most troubled members to a secret
bunker, known as the Chapel of Blessed Peace, sited below the asylum and
protected by psychic hexagrammatic wards, silver seals of great potency, and a
special detachment of Inquisitorial Storm Troopers of ancient charter.
In summary, many valued Imperial servants whose talents are still deemed useful
to the Imperium, are sent to Reth for a period of recuperation, and in some
cases, mind-cleansing.
Beautiful, is it not my servant?A voice quietly whispered in the youth’s mind.
It is not something I can approach easily oh great Slaanesh.He replied with his
own thoughts, adjusting to the faintly familiar feel of the presence of
Slaanesh. Or perhaps his messenger. He did not know.
You have been sent here as a gift young one. Take as you so desire. The fruits
you see before you are well within your grasp.The call of the Prince of
Pleasure was certain. Make name for yourself my servant. For you are no longer
the wretch who eats filth off the street. You are a worshiper of the mighty
Slaanesh! Seek and you shall find!
As you say, my Prince. The Acolyte bowed and waited for the feeling to recede.
A name?
Sharp trilling notes dragged his attention away from his thoughts and to the
window. He could faintly see a large glimmer against the darkness slowly float
away from orbit. From the silver glint and lazy course, he took the starship
for a merchant vessel of some kind. Either on an import of export run to
another planet within the system.
While he could live comfortably by himself in the Dark Eldar ship for several
years he yearned to feel ground beneath his feet again and breath unfiltered
air. After checking to see if the orbiting station was on the other side of
Reth, the youth moved the Corsair-class escort forward to view his future
prize, staying as close to the moon’s surface as possible. The aquamarine globe
was indeed beautiful. Several masses of green and yellow marked the larger
islands while the smaller ones were all but indiscernible. The local patrol
starship was nowhere to be seen and the former Guardsman dared a scan for it.
Nothing.
He collapsed into a high back flight chair that was thin in width, built more
for the slender forms of the Eldar but accommodating his just fine. Now. How do
I get to the surface?
Tapping his finger against the chair side he gazed at the planet before him as
his ship hovered in suspension. On the surface of Reth white clouds stirred and
curled across the planet scape. Though it looked pleasant there were a few
larger clouds that appeared to be forming into cyclones of sorts, their forms
darkening as they swirled together in a spiral. Perhaps he had arrived in
monsoon season and the yearly rains were due for the tropical planet.
The idea latched into his mind and he bolted out of his chair. Using the
computer intelligence, a pagan object within the Imperium, he calculated the
planet’s storm systems and found what he wanted. A large storm cell several
kilometers in diameter and its path placed it over several of the smaller,
uninhabited islands. His starship was approximately a kilometer long and a
tenth of a kilometer abeam. Finding a place to land and successfully hide the
Dark Eldar vessel would be hard but not impossible. The main problem was once
he was on the ground the star ship would be all but impossible to get back into
space.
Shooting out one more hesitant scan and finding no sign of the Monitor-class
patrol vessel, the Acolyte moved his starship forward toward the surface. If he
was quick enough the locals would not pay much attention to his vessel as it
entered the uppermost atmosphere. Once he was above the storm cell he was
aiming for, he would slip into the clouds. The water vapor would cool his ship
as he slowed and rotated with the cyclone. The maneuver, while risky, would
power the storm and aid the camouflage of his ship. In the haze of the clouds
he could scan the landscape and determine where he wished to land.
As the Dark Eldar escort entered the atmosphere alarms sounds resounded and
outside the window red burned at the underside of the starship. Flying a
kilometer-long starship was not exactly in the former Guardsmen’s repertoire of
skills. Fortunately for him, the onboard computer had partial control of the
craft to keep the pilots from killing themselves. There was a manual override
but the young man did not know where it was. Just as he planned, the ship
slipped into the clockwise spin of the storm. The thermodynamic exchange
between the Dark Eldar vessel and the rotating weather cell charged the
composite cloud as the two danced in the swirling circle. Burning a vaporized
path around and around the eye of the storm until the heat on the starship was
all but gone. Scanning the surrounding islands, the Acolyte tried not to get
sick as he kept his vessel in orbit around the moving eye. 
It took longer than he would have wished, most of the suitable islands were
occupied by some form of settlement or another. Others were too small to
appropriately hide his large vessel. And there were small patrols dotting the
sea. Nothing that would be able to detect his presence but still concerning if
they were to happen on his landing spot.
And then he spotted it. A circular island 15 kilometers in diameter that was
large enough but almost devoid of inhabitants. It was a dead volcano that had
risen out of the sea to push up against the sky. There were sheer cliffs of
black volcanic rock facing the east and north that arched away from the volcano
in the center of the isle. A sandy beach spread to the south with a coral reef
guarded from the sea by a natural breaker formed of outcropping coral and
rocks. To the west a mangrove lagoon lay a little inland, sheltered from hard
surf by the coral breaker yet sustaining its natural habitat with the excess
water brought to it by the occasional high tide. Scans revealed caves large
enough to squeeze the starship in were located where the north cliff face met
with the furthest slope of the dead volcano. The only settlement was a
submarine pod grounded to the sea floor by deep reaching posts. A small
dwelling that would house only ten people at the most. It’s extensions
diverging out like branches from the main bubble. The inhabitants probably
utilized an amphibious vessel to visit their little paradise.
With the storm raging around them, the dwelling was sealed tight. And best of
all, there were no naval patrols nearby. Slaanesh had indeed sent him a gift. A
wondrous little paradise with which to experience his new gifts.
Like a wraith the Dark Eldar Corsair slipped from the roaring storm and
descended the rain swept jungle island. Roaring exhaust glowing in the
downpour, the vessel gracefully flew over the tree tops toward the black stone
outcropping. With delicate handling it turned completely around and slowly
backed into the large cavern. A few scrapes and groans accompanied the tight
fit as the starship disappeared into the subterranean enclave, darkness and
space shrouding him from all sight.
Fully concealed in his new nest, the Acolyte smiled in content as he shut down
the engines. Sirci perhaps. Or Marahn-Marhna. Aloshi? Ysalda?
He smiled. Why not all of them?
Marahn-Marhna Sirci Ysalda Aloshi rose from his seat. Soon the lithe youth
would begin to stalk his prey, the objects that could fulfill his already
growing desires, but first he needed to know them. Unlike most Slaanesh
worshipers, he did not intend to die giving himself entirely to pleasure. But
rather find a way to elongate and accentuate that pleasure. To draw it out.
Slowly, painfully, blissfully drawing it out until that final moment. Then
SNAP! The wondrous release would be his to treasure.
But for his hunt Marahn would need tools. Luckily enough, the Dark Eldar had
trophies in abundance. Each private quarter of the ship was adorned with a
persona of individuality and the things each had held dear in this life.
Weapons, armor, poetry, clothing, furniture, stimulants; all he could ever want
was here. One room even had a small box shrine dedicated to Slaanesh. Something
that would have been kept private.
Finding the largest cabin occupied by strange devices and exquisite woodwork,
surely belonging the leader or captain of the ship, Marahn decided to make it
his personal room. The round bed was extravagantly large, with mattresses
softer than clouds, and purple silk sheets that felt as feathers. Along the
walls cleaned skulls and weapons marked the former owner’s past victories.
Large containers of questionable liquids bubbled and cast eerie colors across
the room, their manufacture drawing power from the starships core. Several
wooden crosses stood erected against the left wall with buckled cuffs attached
to the ends. Whips, beating sticks, balls with straps to either side, small
spheres on long strings were enshrined next to them. Though he had little
experience in the erotic field, Marahn could not wait to find out what they
were used for.
In one of the two wardrobes bolted to the wall, the youth found a variety of
clothing that would have been thought scandalous in the Imperium. Skirts,
loincloths, tube tops, straps that connected together to look like clothing,
dresses that would only cover one side of the wearer, and an assortment of skin
tight body suits that had zippers in odd places.
Yes. This would be a good nest. A place to store things for his survival, for
his quest, for his future. Here Marahn would make a place for his future
family, those that he would show the wonders of the universe to.
Turning his attention to the outside that lay just beyond this metal husk,
Marahn felt his want pulling him. But not yet. No. His will won over his
passions. In order to survive he must remain cool-headed. Planning,
calculating, and then when he knew he had his pleasure safely within his grasp
he would strike.
As a former Guardsman of the Imperium he had plenty of practice stalking, but
this new hunt required new skills. Skills needed to be developed and practiced.
The word practice rolled in his mind like a succulent treat.
Yesss. I will practice.The beautiful youth smiled wickedly in the gloom of his
nest. Practice makes perfect.
Taking an extendable impaler spear, its forked spear head glimmering cruelly in
the darkness, shouldering a leather satchel, slipping on a dark green
loincloth, putting a sheathed wych knife around his neck on a cord, and
squeezed into a skimpy florescent tube top of different shades of blue that
only covered his male breasts down to his abs. From his middle his navel eye
glowed green and flickered around eagerly.
Marahn-Marhna giggled at the feeling of as his eye moved around in his stomach.
It was a wondrous feeling. Like being tickled on the inside. The benefit of
sight was an added blessing.
With a hiss of metal and a wailing cry, the newborn Acolyte rushed from his
black cragged nest and down into the jungle forest. Few things would try to eat
him here and the largest things he could find that would be of much danger were
large crustaceans that were reminiscent of Terran shrimp. Although to call the
cat sized decapods dangerous seemed a tad silly as they trilled and hissed at
each other from their puddles of water. Squabbling amongst themselves like
children.
Making a trap from saplings and using one of the Nautiline as bait, Marahn
managed to catch a tropical parrot. It’s brilliant blue feathers glittered gold
and purple as they flailed in the air, the black beaked bird crying out. Its
struggle ceased with a flick of the wych blade as the youth ended the
creature’s life. Almost faintly he could sense its spirit leave, departing for
the Immaterium from which it came. Or wherever animal consciousness’s were
formed in this backward universe.
After collecting the blood from the dead bird, Marahn carefully placed the body
in his satchel. The wondrous feathers were something he would prize later. Like
a predator he stalked silently through the jungle.
The jungle island, while seemingly blossoming with life, was sparse in its
production of food. Few fruits grew and although there were animals, they were
not very big and providing no substantiating meal. Never the less, Marahn made
his way patiently around the vast volcanic summit. He wished to observe the
inhabitants of the submarine house. Their comings and goings. If it was a
transient dwelling or if it was stuck within that one position. But most of all
he wondered whether or not the planet’s naval patrols came to his island often
and if the undersea house was used by multiple people over a season.
Rain and lack of maps hampered his advance, but the Acolyte was not without
knowledge. He had survived the desert wastes of Tallarn and navigated the
jungles of Catachan. A small island such as this with prominent land marks was
child’s play. In the first day of his travels he had assembled a portable tent
that was light enough to carry around with him. On the third he walked within a
stone’s throw of the beach but kept himself hidden in the tree line. Marahn did
not want the rich nobles seeing him just yet. He worked through the shoreline
woods toward the lagoon and slept there on the third night.
During his stay, he discovered poisonous eel-snake type creatures dwelling
within the roots of the lagoon’s trees that only struck when hunted. Capturing
one and using a diluted form of its venom on himself, Marahn realized it was a
form of paralytic neurological catalyst. Locking up the skeletal muscles but
leaving the vascular and all other systems free to operate. The cunning Acolyte
made note to collect some later and take them back the ship. They would provide
an interesting study to his future anatomical inquiries.
In so observing the aquatic vipers, the athletic youth wondered at the infinite
biological abilities other animals possessed. And in part wondered if he too
could partake of their wonder. Marahn-Marhna knew that the Dark Eldar were one
such race who did not shy away from biological adaptation or augmentation.
Perhaps in the future he would seek their council for things more than
spiritual matters.
From the trees the Acolyte watched the tourists travel up to the beach on their
submersible during the morning and retreating into the waves during the
evening. They were jubilant folk who seemed to have little care for how their
positions in the Imperium were held up by the feeble shoulders of countless
workers. Never the less, Marahn reserved judgement. The group consisted of two
older males whom the Acolyte guessed to be father figures, five young females
around nineteen or twenty, a pair of obnoxious twin brothers in their late
teens and had the same lithe build, and an older mother figure who appeared to
be well developed into her late thirties. As a group, they would flock to the
beach in revealing swim suits and laze around as they days passed by.
The five females appeared to be a group of friends supervised by one of the
older men, only one of which appeared to be his daughter. The twin boys
belonged to the other man and the curvaceous woman who oozed with the essence
of maternity from her being.
Being adolescent assholes having never spent a day doing actual work, the
green-eyed twins were always flirting with the women and attempting stunts to
express their masculine prowess. Which only demonstrated their hormonal
stupidity.
More than once Marahn caught the man with a daughter, one he had named Whitecap
due to the long white hair he sported, stealing glances at the married mother.
Or perhaps it was the husband who he had named Bronze after his lavish tan, who
was to say?
The younger girls held a more diverse group. There was that one black-haired
slut that flirted with the twin boys in hopes of getting her first experience,
or perhaps her second. A pail blond that seemed to always read books earned
silent praise from the unseen predator as he shadowed the groups day to day
movement. Sisterly brunettes with light brown hair and caramel colored skin
were more adventurous and perhaps more experience than the rest, often striking
out into the forest to explore. Every few trips Marahn would stalk them at a
distance while watching them. The last girl, the daughter of Whitecap, who had
a platinum mane of hair and emerald eyes, did not talk much and often spoke in
facial or body expressions.
Though the Acolyte’s hunger urged him take them now, Marahn-Marhna willed it
back down. There would be time for pleasure but for now he would endure the
bitter pain in order to achieve that release that would taste sweet after such
a long wait.
After spending a week observing his quarry, the worshiper of Slaanesh made his
way back to the far north of the island and disappeared inside his grotto nest.
He had much to prepare and nothing but time to prepare it.
As he bathed in the starship’s shower system, Marahn noticed that his body was
taking on a pail complexion. His slender tanned form had been burned by so many
different suns over the years it had grown brown. But now it seemed to revert
to a basic sort of hue. And while his eyebrows, eyelashes, head hair continued
to grow all other follicles began to wither and fall off. Leaving his skin
creamy smooth.
Slaanesh you flatterer! Marahn grinned like a giddy girl. If you keep going
like this then you’re going to discover my weak spot.
He stopped and cocked his head. Where the heck did that come from? Oh well,
might as well enjoy the feeling while it lasts.
Cleaned of his travels and tossing his used clothing into what he perceived
cleaning mechanism, the Acolyte stalked toward his gathered findings in the
nude. Pulling out the parrot he had taken pains to preserve, he began plucking
the bird. Each feather was unique and a wonder to behold. Though vibrant blue
in color they glittered all manner of purple, yellow, and green even in the
faintest of lights. The down feathers he would find use for later. The longer
pinion feathers he had the thought of twining in his blond hair when it grew
past its current shoulder length. The brush of soft feathers on his naked form
and the sounds echoing around him seemed to molest him. Rapturous in the
simplistic feeling.
Do the pleasures of feelings never cease? The Acolyte smiled to himself as he
finished with his task. Now for a little ‘private’ time.
Looking around Marahn-Marhna did not see anything else that needed immediate
looking after. Eventually he shuffled over and toppled onto the large round
bed. The sheets smelled of former trysts and hedonistic nights, the scent of
herbs and elixirs whiffed into the new owner’s nostrils. With such passionate
memories swirling around him, he could not help but touch himself.
Slender fingers gently squeezed his soft balls, rolling them around in their
smooth sack before working up to slightly trace the length of his flaccid
shaft. Heat and blood rushed as primordial rituals thrummed throughout the
Acolyte’s body. Soon enough his shaft had become ridged at the faint caresses
of his hands. In addition, a new sensation was brought to his attention. The
feeling of emptiness inside and the slight twitching in his ass.
With curiosity, the Acolyte rolled onto his side though not bothering to look.
The bed sheets were a sea of comfort on which Marahn-Marhna explored his body.
Though he had long been in the Imperial Guard, never did he have time for
sexual instruction. As such he only knew the basics of self-taught lovemaking.
And only with himself. Something he would rectify soon.
Suckling on a finger to get it wet, the Acolyte reached behind him. The saliva
ribbon breaking and made a glistening bridge as he moved his finger toward his
back door. With a firm press and an unmanly moan, the slender digit wormed in
past his clenching virgin sphincter with some effort. His anal muscles spasmed
and clenched tightly around the intruder as if interrogating the finger for its
sudden appearance. Experimentally sliding it in further, Marahn-Marhna felt his
finger bump up against something. The small push sent a spasming jerk through
his hips and spine, making his thin frame arc back like a bow.
Again and again he pressed the nub hidden underneath fleshy layers of his
insides with greater and greater pleasure. His bowels twitched and squirmed
around his finger as the Acolyte urgently pressed in further. He was a mass of
sweat and whimpering girly moans as he writhed on the round bed. His pleasures
adding to past memories and drifting like incense to his claimed Chaos master.
Before long the Acolyte felt his ass clench and his entire being tense as
blinding white overcame him, wet bliss shooting from his erection to stain the
already dirtied sheets. Though it had been more from his ass experiment than
from his faithful phallic stroking.
Drowsily crawling off the bed and along the floor, Marahn-Marhna wondered in
his mind if one of the drugs on the shelves would aide in his future revelries.
Kneeling and grasping a large corked beaker, the Acolyte opened his welcoming
mouth with tongue stuck out lewdly. Tipping the glass container so its red
liquid contents would pour directly down his throat, Marahn uncorked the
beaker. Heavy fumes wafted into his nostrils and a sudden sense of euphoria and
desire overcame him almost instantly. His mind was buzzing like air with no
restraint, bouncing in all directions at once. But the Acolyte realized his
mistake to late as the scarlet liquid flowed down into his mouth and directly
into his throat.
 
My first experience with stimulants was one of the few times I have come close
to death. For three days I was nothing but blissfully unaware of anything my
body was doing. By some fortune or fate I woke up unharmed and unconsumed.
However, I was shaken and frightened at my loss of control. From that point on
I resolved to take greater precautions and steps to ensure I would never again
fall to total pleasure. At least not without the equal desire to get out of it
alive.
 
Light and throbbing noise awoke the Acolyte. As he opened his eyes Marahn-
Marhna saw that he was no longer in the safe confines of his grotto nest.
Instead he lay face up in a small puddle with the sun’s unforgiving rays
piercing through the sparse jungle canopy. It was almost beautiful. Save for
the excruciating headache. Turning his head, Marahn saw crushed and beat forms
of the Nautiline as well as the corpses of birds pinned with wings outstretched
to the trees all around him.
Groaning at his aching head and stupid mistake, the Acolyte hauled himself out
of the puddle. All other things were to come later. For now all he wanted was
to get back to the Dark Eldar ship and rinse off. Blood from his kills had
caked up to his forearms and sandy loam was in his blonde hair. It did not help
that some kind of fluid was flowing out his pucker and down the inside of his
thigh. Thankfully it was not blood. Slaanesh only knew what or who that came
from.
It did not take long to reach his den and the Acolyte found that his hiding
place remained a secret from all except himself. With relief the slender, pail
youth climbed back into the cave. Careful to not cut his feet on the sharp,
dark rocks Marhna felt only slightly relieved that he had survived this
imprudent event. He had survived, yes. But as for his unknown actions that he
could not remember, consequences were sure to ensue soon. If he had taken it
too far and moved on his prey beneath the waves, he would soon be discovered.
Even though he could have a chance of evading for extended periods of time, to
Marahn this was one of the worst outcomes.
But for the present a bath was required. Scrubbing every inch and pore of his
body, Marhna felt his woes wash away in the familiar warm water. When not
looking over his shoulder in the Schola Progenium, showers had been his down
time. Somehow the steam and semi-solitude seemed to wash all other troubles
away. But very much not like the current shower he was taking, there would
always be a predator stalking behind him. Whether it was an instructor, one of
the older students, or even one of the younger ones in their employment. There
were always predators that were hungry for blood. And schemers always looking
for some chance at getting a leg up.
Even now. The Acolyte thought as he turned the heat up as hot as he dared and
let the water run over his bowed head. All the gods of Chaos are fickle, even
if they are honest about it. In the current employment of Slaanesh I need to be
careful. Pick my fights carefully. And targets warily.A smile formed on his
heat numbed lips. I can name my predators at least. All that is left is to
prepare the way and the plan should fall into place.
Quickly shutting off the water and stepping out, Marhna grabbed a wash cloth
and noted more of his body hair had fallen off in the shower. All that was left
was a slight fuzz on his arms and a small patch of yellow above his shaft. His
skin had grown smoother but had changed little in color.
Drying himself and wrapping the cloth around his chest like a woman would, the
Acolyte stepped through the metal capillaries of the Dark Eldar ship back to
his claimed chamber. Marhna set about gathering up things for his next trip. Or
his last. If the visitant nobles had glimpsed him then he would have to make
quick on his relocation. As much as the new hungers the Prince of Pleasure had
gifted him begged to be sated, the acolyte would not be swayed. Once already he
had fallen into delirium. It would not do to fall twice.
With the same gear and clothes assembled, the Acolyte prepared for his second
trip down the mountain. In addition to the weapons and satchel, Marahn decided
to take an additional storage container. He searched about until he found a tub
with a strap that would serve as a creel, a satchel to hold live fish in.
Marahn also selected several containers full of drugs like the one he had taken
previously as well as an injection pistol. They may not have the same effects
that they did on animals as they did humans but at least he would have a decent
idea before taking them himself.
Assembling his stuff and putting the cleaned clothes he wore his last trip on,
the Acolyte set out again. On a paranoid precaution, he had set charges to go
off in the ship if anybody set off any of the tripwires he had placed before
leaving. In case Marahn would be separated from his nest, he did not want
anybody else to know of his individual presence.
As the Nautiline could not survive out of water they were of no use to Marahn-
Marhna aside from test subjects. The birds were valuable to him for the fact
that their feathers could be used for trade. He would also collect a few of the
eel-snakes to take with him when he was ready to leave this planet. Some he
would use as experiment subjects and leave two alive as venom donors. The
paralytic toxin that was in their fangs would come in handy.
The sky had darkened and the lights of moons and stars shown on the possible
footpaths. Creeping away like a shade amongst the shadows, Marahn-Marhna
glanced back to the grotto and let out a sigh. If this did not pan out, then he
would be down a ship and no place to go but into enemy lines. And as sweet as
innocent Imperium citizens may be the Acolyte did not put his trust in nobles
if he had to. Marahn turned his back on the cave and began his journey down
into the jungle.
 
It took a few days this time. Working his way down.
The Acolyte took the long road, skirting the tree line around the dormant
volcano and climbing halfway up to survey his little niche. There were a pair
of patrols boats to the north. Marahn watched them for a time, making sure that
they did not have any friends in the area. But when he was sure they were just
there for show, he slipped down the mountain again. Taking to the jungle in
earnest.
Though his time had been mainly spent in the deserts of Tallarn and hive world
slums before that Marhna welcomed the forest. And it welcomed him back. It all
but consumed his presence as he whispered through it like a spirit. Not even
the brilliantly feathered birds noticed as one of their flock went missing
without a sound.
Spending the better part of a week, the Acolyte stealthily injected Nautiline
with various individual and mixed drugs that he had brought with him. Studying
their behavior was a chore but it paid off. Though crustacean in nature the
Nautiline were extremely vivid in their reactions.
From what Marahn noted red meant a combination of hallucinogen and upper
stimulant. Green was a type of sense stimulus combined with a nerve component
that allowed for faster reaction time. Black was not to be touched as the
Nautiline he had injected had swelled to the size of a large dog and had yet to
come down from its rampage of fratricide. Pink was the kicker which was a nice
blend of stimulant and hallucinogen that allowed the mind to feel relaxed while
going through a dream like state. Lastly was the purple that was something
Marahn believed the captain had confiscated from the Dark Eldar follower of
Slaanesh. The Nautiline he had injected the purple with had gone into a trance
of sorts. It began attacking as well as mating with its own kind. All in a calm
almost lackadaisical manner as if nothing in the world was wrong. When purple
came against black the former just sat contently until black had beaten it to a
pulp and feasted on its corpse.
Definitely not something to taking leisurely. Though it would be interesting to
use it as a weapon.
Likewise, the birds became a constructive hobby. Though self-forced hours of
dissection and stitching in the early morning Marahn-Marhna became slightly
attune to their working of anatomy. As well as the processes necessary both
death and the preservation of life. If a limb was broken it had to mend
correctly. If a vital artery was cut it had to be pinched or rerouted. Though
major workings still alluded the Acolytes grasp.
Traveling and working his way down to the lagoon, Marahn made sure to keep his
distance from the aquatic dwelling family. It was not time to appear. Not yet.
But that did leave time for observation while taking some living samples. As
Marahn-Marhna milked venom from the eel-snakes and taking a few for keeping,
the Acolyte kept an ear open.
The group was split into packs as he had suspected. The older man named Jethro
or Whitecap was visiting the planet with his daughter Mithra. Jethro appeared
to be a widowed noble from somewhere high up in the Imperium but still trying
to balance parenting with work.
Annabeth, the wife, her husband Logarth, and their twin sons Jefferson and
Nikola were also nobles but from a different type. While Jethro seemed to come
from a governmental position Logarth was steeped in business. From the glances
Logarth was giving Jethro and the stern eye contact between them, Marhna would
guess there was some intense tension there. Either they had a long-standing
rivalry or Logarth flag polled for multiple people besides his wife. There were
extremely familiar gestures between the Logarth family; not only between father
and mother but with their children as well. But then who was a humble servant
of Slaanesh to judge?
As for the assorted female youths they appeared to be the friends of Mithra.
The blond book reader, Yolinda, kept to herself and was neck to neck with
Mithra, the platinum haired daughter of Jethro, in the maturity competition.
Dark haired Alice the slut was obviously the one who had begged the whole
vacation into existence. Not to mention she was the one trying to join the
overly familiar Logarth family. As for the brunette sisters Mika and Mina, they
seemed to be on the path of a military profession. Marahn surmised that if they
lived through training it would be a short career. He personally knew all too
well that becoming a cog in the machine meant sacrificing your body and soul to
the Imperium. The only escape from that was either death or heresy.
Marhna pitied them. They had little inkling in their little youthful lives how
hollow their existence was. How much blood was spent on keeping this little
paradise of theirs safe from daemons, slavers, and such.
After the twelfth day had passed, Marahn-Marhna began formulating how exactly
he would strike his prey. Personally, he did not want to kill or claim them
all. It would be far too violent and the screams of women did not sit soundly
with his claimed heart. No, he decided on a different strategy: corruption.
The Acolyte would come to them in dress as an offering from some wayward party.
Stranded on this lone isle with no other place to go until he had to fulfill
his task of “pleasing” the guests. Even if they rejected his notion, which
Marhna knew Logarth would not, they would still invite him into their house.
There he would subtly suggest some things and maybe slip a few drugs to lighten
the mood. Where it went from there he would let the dark of night decide. After
all, the shades of a men’s hearts come alive in solitude.
He would allow his victims the choice he never had himself. The choice of the
heart and mind. While his was made on the battlefield these were mostly
innocent, naïve folk. None had seen the horrors this new age of endless war
wrought. None had lost comrades in their arms as their lifeblood seeped out
through cruel wounds. They were yet untainted by the dark abyss that ever
hungered for more. And so the Acolyte warranted them a chance. The group could
turn back to their lives of high calling or drink fully of the sweet seduction.
They would have the choice to leave the table any time it pleased them. Any
less and Marahn-Marhna would feel as if he had insulted life itself. After all,
people should be free to make choices of their own should they not?
Collecting all that he needed and having satisfied his curiosity of his fellow
island goers, Marahn-Marhna began his trek back to his grotto. With no
inquiring curiosities to overview this time, the Acolyte returned to his cave
with the familiarity and quiet of a large cat.
After dumping the pair of captured eel-snakes into a water tank, Marahn began
preparation for the hunt. The scene of pleasure and deception was being set
behind the curtain. And although he would have to manipulate the puppets a
little, Marahn-Marhna wanted to cut the strings and see them dance on their
own.
The Acolyte went about the ship collecting the things he would need as well as
studying any documents he could translate from the Dark Eldar libraries, both
the ship’s databases and personal stashes.
The former captain of this vessel had an affinity for sexual torture and
domination. She kept extensively detailed records, even going so far as to draw
diagrams and sketches of the scenes she had formed with constructs of flesh.
Though he did not share the former commander’s fanaticism for physical torture,
the Acolyte did get a sense that she did it more for the psychological impact
it had. Small things made big differences. Even a feather could topple a
boulder if it landed in the right spot.
That, and soft-skinned ridding crops were best for ass beating.
Going through the notes and comparing the text to the on-board translator,
Marahn-Marhna began forming a list. Firstly, he would need the proper outfit.
Something that oozed ‘sex slave’ yet would accent his façade of innocence and
timid appearance. After sorting through several dresses the ships former crew
left behind, the Acolyte landed on a handful that were saucy enough to seem
revealing but covered enough of his body to hid his third eye and the small yet
obvious glyph that the Prince of Pleasure had marked him with. It would also
need to look expensive. In that way, the nobles he was targeting would hesitate
to remove it from his body.
One in particular caught his eye. The fabric was silken smooth, as if touching
the ocean itself, and colored a rich purple with subtle stripped hues cutting
across horizontally like a tiger pattern. The high-collar neck gave the
Acolyte’s figure an appearance of slenderness as it wrapped his throat and neck
in a silken tube all the way to his jaw. His slender shoulders were left bare;
the lengthy fabric being held up by the lovely noose around Marnha’s slender
neck. Flowing down, the main body sheathed his form like a magenta waterfall.
Ruffling only at the bottom with little curved accents. A pair of slits opened
the sides of the dress to his curvy legs now devoid of blemish or any possible
future of hair growth. Coming up all the way to his hip on the left and up to
the knee on his left. As for the back of the dress, it was almost entirely open
from shoulder down to his hips. Just barely hinting at the curves of Marhna’s
toned yet supple ass.
The Acolyte decided to ditch any thought of a bra. It would defeat the purpose
of the meek impression. Considering what he was going to get into, by the time
he arrived his nipples and areolae would probably be like miniature mountains
beneath the soft dress fabric. Panties however were a different matter. The
right pair would scream docility and submissive while attempting to maintain a
hint of purity in a scandalous environment. After more review, the Acolyte
found a tantalizing pair of black lacy bikini bottoms that were definitely not
made for swimming. Hints of blue swirled through the butterfly design, giving
it a midnight’s dream appeal.
Marhna also found a pair of white gold hoop earrings that went along nicely
with the rest of his apparel. On the 10cm diameter rings were a pair of what
the Acolyte took to be black pearls. The small beads of darkness glimmered and
seemed to have a faint red glow emanating from their pierced core like a still
beating heart.
Second, he would need the proper equipment. There was an assortment of things
his hunger wanted to try out but only a few that he actually needed. The
Acolyte reminded himself that he was going into a household of presumed
faithful imperialists as an avatar of the Prince of Pleasure. It would not do
to misrepresent his new master. Slaanesh offered luxury, gratifying indulgence,
and the pursuit of perfection. So for now Marahn-Marhna would stick with the
basics.
A ‘butt plug’ and lubricant would be nice. It said he came prepared for the
occasion. A bottle of expensive looking of exotic wine said he was not supposed
to leave until the deed was done. But of course it was not as simple as that.
The plug and lubricant were to get him loose enough to take whatever his guests
gave him, though Marahn-Marhna planned on it only being the two fathers. As for
the rest, the wine would be the trigger. And maybe some scented candles.
Finding a rather expensive looking crystal glass full of dark blue looking
liquor, Marahn-Marhna dumped three-quarters of the Dark Eldar beverage. He had
no idea if regular humans, let along himself in his present state would be able
to handle a swig from the Dark Eldar brew. A taste of only one drop confirmed
his suspicions. The liquor, whatever it was, had been laced with drugs and
elixirs. It was a witch’s pot full of violent hallucinations waiting to happen.
The Acolyte would have to find a plain beverage that was not as strong as the
first but would still was a few marks above any average human drink.
Thankfully, the Dark Eldar had stashed some Catachan Rum on board before they
had foolishly decided to raid the already overrun fortress. It was all stored
in large wooden barrels waiting to be syphoned into glasses and bottles. All
the Acolyte had to do was knock a nuzzled peg into one of the barrels and poor
the smooth amber liquid into the crystal. Lastly, the Acolyte poured in a dash
of red and a droplet of pink from the concoctions he had tested a few days
earlier.
He watched in fascination as the liquids swirled together, mixing and twisting
behind carefully etched crystal. The concoction formed a dark red, amber-ish
look wreathed in swirling black. It looked to the Acolyte like a beating heart.
Full of sin yet still beating with strength and life blood. Absolutely
fascinating.
As for the scented candles, they were easier to find. The crew member who had a
shrine to the Prince of Excess had ingeniously fit incense sticks inside
scented candle wax. Though this would ordinarily be self-defeating, the candle
wax retreated from the heat of the incense. Allowing it to ‘burn’ like a
regular candle.
The Acolyte consulted the ship’s onboard computer as to the meaning of the
symbols designating each candle type. From what the computer translated for him
there were ones for meditating on battle, ones for meditating on torture, ones
for dreamless sleep, ones for putting a victim’s mind at ease, ones that forced
illusions of one’s fantasy reality on the subject, ones that induced one’s
absolute nightmare, ones that made little smoke butterflies, ones that put the
user in a trance, ones that pulled the user out of a trance, and ones that
summoned daemons from the Immaterium into a host body.
Yes.Marahn looked over the tools of his masquerade. It is ready. The stage is
set. Now all that’s left is the beautiful fool.
Placing all his necessities carefully in several bags Marahn-Marhna decided
against bringing a weapon of any kind. He would place himself in the hands of
his prey. If they handed him over to the planetary garrison, then there was
little he could do about it. ‘The cards will fall as they will’ Old Gregorov
would probably say. The big Stormtrooper had taken three shots to the throat as
he made a suicide charged at a well defended trench. Apparently he had
disobeyed the inquisitor whom he was assigned to and the bastard sent him on a
‘holy mission’ to ‘cleanse his soul’.
Marahn-Marhna sneered in disgust as he headed for the shower stalls for one
last rinse. His now hairless body looked like something out of a dream. While
still obviously masculine it curved with feminine beauty. His blue-grey eyes
sparkled like starlight and his blond hair flowed from his raven peak down a
little past his shoulders now. Aside from the apple on his throat no one would
mistake him for a man if he went out in that dress. Warm water washed over
smooth, hairless skin that had grown a tad paler in the past week.
The Acolyte let the warmth embrace his form as he leaned his back against the
wall and covered his shallow chest with his arms. I guess this is how humanity
falls. The former guardsman chuckled at the thought. Well, here’s to falling so
that others may rise to the occasion.
After finishing his last little ritual, the Acolyte tied up his wet hair in a
ponytail and collected his things. He left the comfort of his grotto at dusk
with the two bags and the exotic clothes he had used before for hunting, the
loincloth and tube top. The darkness seemed to guide him, pulling him toward
his prey.
Marahn-Marhna traveled down the mountain, down into the lagoon where he bathed
again. Cleaning his body thoroughly, both inside and out. Dousing himself in
oil and incense, the Acolyte washed every inch of his beautifully androgynous
form. If one were to behold him, they would think the stars and moon had
birthed a siren in the flesh of a boy.
He would perform this minor ritual twice, once now and once before he would
make his approach. The Acolyte patiently waited as the sun rose over the
archipelago ocean with a dazzling light, the sea shining as gold beneath the
morning rays. Marhna sat patiently, content and at peace to merely enjoy the
rising sun at the beauty behind the birth of a new day. His prey would come to
him. For now, the small things, like the sound of the waves and the smell of
the sea and the warmth of sunlight contracting with the cool ocean breeze, were
enough.
Always the little things. Marhna smiled as he closed his eyes and felt the
light embrace his shut-out sight in an aura of warm colors. Here’s to heresy.
Chapter End Notes
     If you're wondering why I'm using metric instead of standard it's
     because a lot of the info is in metric (lengths, distances, weights,
     etc.) and I didn't really have time to convert all of them.
     Also, let it be noted that I have played some of the games and read a
     few of the books, but most of the information I draw from can be
     found online. If you, the reader, is lost on something you can look
     it up with relative ease.
***** Hospes *****
Chapter Summary
     With ruin descending from the island steps, creeping down between
     shaded jungle trees as it goes, how will the Imperial nobles content
     with the prospect of pleasure beyond their imagining?
     Or have some already tasted and thirst for more?
Chapter Notes
     Don't read this chapter if your squeamish.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Chapter 3: Hospes
 
As per usual, the ocean visitors came up from the waves in a submersible craft
of some sorts. From the ninth hour of the day they frolicked about the beach,
laughing, eating, singing, playing, and enjoying themselves to no end. Stopping
only to break for a noon meal, the Imperium nobles enjoyed the peaceful sunny
day. Truly believing that all was right with their little world. Shadows of
worry and doubt only reached the most burdened at night when the darkness came.
But in the shinning sunlight, all worry faded from their minds like wax.
Freeing the flame of thought and conscious from succumbing to darker concepts.
So caught in the extravagant beauty of the pleasure world that they failed to
notice the approach of a lone figure coming up the beach. The twins, Mika and
Mina, were the first to spot him. A pail slender figure standing meekly against
the wild ocean winds; rich purple dress billowing like a banner heralding a
coming storm. As more eyes turned to the unexpected visitor the more questions
began growing in the minds of the nobles. Yet drawing nearer, it became
apparent just how out of place the unanticipated flower was. Dressed like a
high-class escort and shuffling barefoot through the hot sand; carrying nothing
but the clothes on her back and a wrapped bundle. Pale blue-grey eyes like
ghostly gems glittered worriedly, dancing between each of the nobles but
careful not to look directly at them. Expensive jewelry glittered in the golden
light, their cost showed in their glamorous extravagance yet paled in
comparison to the flowing blond locks that flittered about the escort’s head
like strands of gold.
Jethro was the first to approach holding out an open hand signaling the young
flower to stop her advance. “What is your name and your business here?”
The others had stopped their activities and gathered in a small, disjointed
group. Like lambs in a slaughtering pen. Never the less they stood together,
unsure of this new arrival.
Eyes still flickering back and forth, and body slightly shaking with apparent
worry the escort made a quick bow from the waist. “A thousand apologies my
lords and ladies for intruding upon your respite. I was sent here to see to any
needs that you may require.”
The phrase hung in the air, not even the wind could blow it away. There was
little doubt in what it meant, but the reasons as to why it was spoken
remained. As if realizing the tense silence, the flinching escort began to
shuffle her feet back and forth.
“Are my lords and ladies displeased with me?” The small voice quivered and was
almost unheard on the wind. “Is my appearance repulsive to your senses?”
While Logarth and Annabeth remain somewhat stoic besides the faint look of
interest in their eyes, Jethro grimaced. He had approved of this vacation with
Mithra and her friends because he wanted to avoid encounters exactly like this.
It was ill manners that noblewomen had been constantly seeking his attention
and that of his daughter since the untimely death of his late wife Rebecca. Now
this whore, innocent and pitiful as she may be, was sent to appease the lack of
intimacy others presumed Jethro felt at the absence of his wife. As if Rebecca
could be replaced. Logarth and his constant, indiscreet advances helped
nothing. Jethro was so caught up in his anger at Logarth that the touch of a
hand upon his muscular arm shocked him.
Jethro looked down to see the emerald eyes of his daughter stare up at him,
full of compassion and wonder that so reminded him of his wife. Oh sweet
Rebecca. Look how our daughter has grown.Though his frown lessened the stern
father did not smile as he looked back to the now visibly shaking escort. Like
a wild yearling just getting used to its legs. It must be her first time
outside the care of her master’s house. Poor little thing.
Looking closer, the purple draped pleasure slave was younger than his own
daughter. Perhaps had seen 15 or 16 Terran years at most. Her prepubescent
breasts had yet to blossom, though her adolescent curves could be considered
attractive in some form. And she stood there, an offered slab of meat to taste
and sample as much as the nobles could want.
With a long sigh Jethro finally conceded, rubbing the stubble that had grown on
his strong jaw. “What is your name?”
The gruff words seemed to have a worse effect than intended as the pale blue-
grey eyes flickered worriedly. She was frantically thinking that it was in the
worst possible etiquette for a lord of the Holy Imperium of Mankind to ask the
name of a simple servant, one who was little more than a flesh toy at that. A
lord of his stature, or of any stature for that matter, should not bother
themselves with the name of a lowly servant who was only a few steps above a
servitor.
A blush crept up from the escort’s flat chest and neck to her face. She kept
her head to the side and eyes down as she replied. “I am called Sirci, my
lord.” The small voice contained enough muster as the girl could visibly
manage.
“Sirci.” The name rolled almost salaciously off Logarth’s tongue before Jethro
could reply.
Grimacing, Jethro frowned at Logarth as if to state that he disapproved of the
other man’s behavior with his beloved daughter stood to his side.
“Please don’t send me back.”
The voice was barely heard on the wind.
Jethro turned his gaze back to the lone escort, his eyes widening slightly and
cursing himself with his own thoughts. Disregarding the escort and shunning her
from their house would mean severe punishment for the slender youth. Even if
her master retrieved her from this island the likelihood of the escort keeping
her own mind, or at least what little she had at the moment, was none. She
would become a beautiful animal in a cage. Subject to the whims of other noble
men and women of the Imperium as they pleased until the pitiful creature’s
value wore out. And while it would only darken his sleep but a little, Jethro
hated for his own daughter to see her father as the initiator of such horrid
events. Mithra, though she was still but a youth at the age of 15 Terran years,
had a quick mind and was sure to find out what her father had done.
The nobleman gave a tired sigh as he gave one last look over the young woman’s
body and the package that was no doubt meant to sweeten the deal. “Very well.
Sirci, you are a guest in our house. Nothing will be required of you save for
what you wish. I will have none of us order anything of you and you may rest in
separate quarters so as to keep your privacy. I would expect nothing less from
myself and my companions.” Jethro was sure to put an emphasis on guest,
glancing Logarth as he did. The bronzed skinned noble smirked but nodded his
consent. “We will accommodate you for the night but no more than that.”
Blue-grey eyes brightened like stars in the night though they quickly were cast
down at the noble’s feet when the escort remembered her status. Still it did
not keep the joy out of her voice. “One thousand and one thanks my lord! I am
not but a humble servant but if there is any way I can ease your respite and
make it more pleasurable, by your permission I would gladly serve you.”
“What is in the parcel you hold?” Logarth ask, keen eyes still roving over the
escort’s nubile body. Though he had acknowledged Jethro’s wish with a
consenting nod, he was not above taking advantage of a situation.
“Oh.” The escort unwrapped the soft leather cloth to reveal a dark liquor of
some kind still sealed with wax inside a crystal container and several vanilla
colored cylinders that smelled of honeysuckle and wildflowers in spring.
A slight blush tinted the escort’s pail cheeks, coloring them a bright pink.
“These were meant for other things, but if they would please my lords and
ladies they are made by some of the finest artisans the Holy Imperium has to
offer. These gifts would be a waste on the body of a servant such as I.”
Before Jethro could speak, Logarth had closed the distance and swept up the
handcrafted gifts with a grin. “Nonsense! Treasures such as these should be
shared by all!” His hands strayed ever so close as to touch Sirci’s
immaculately soft skin as he did. “Whether they be servant or lord, a body’s
needs are meant to be fed. And drinks are meant to be drunk.”
With a simple exposition and familiar gesture Logarth had already started
ushering the slender but sensuous Sirci into their little group of escapists.
Jethro forced himself not to object, subduing his ire and steeled himself with
placidity. The others were slow to accept the new arrival and their communion
was backstopped even more when they each saw the small yet distinctive apple
nervously bobbing up and down at the escort’s throat. Without a shred of doubt,
this innocent looking flower was indeed a young man with the bodily curves of a
woman.
Yet only the twin boys seemed to look on Sirci with disgust, and even that was
quickly replaced with a hunger as they stared at the strange liquor that seemed
to dance within the crystal container.
In his mind, Jethro wondered why would another from the Imperial Administratum
would send a feminine boy not yet 14 Terran years by the look of it to lay with
him. Did they mean it as a jest or a ploy? The white-haired noble fought the
urge as he saw that Logarth seemed to have little qualms with letting the
mysterious yet apparently overwhelmed servant stay with them. Even Mithra was
drawn to the escort in her own way and Jethro admitted to himself that the
servant had no guile.
Somewhat at ease about the matter, the nobles went back to their activities
with the new servant Sirci attending their needs whenever he could. Even going
out of his way to provide as much comfort for the nobles as possible. Altering
their umbrellas to give them just the right amount of shade. Even serving them
drinks from their own supply so those of noble birth would not have to move a
finger.
Though given relief from her-Jethro caught himself. His duties, Sirci still
seeks to appease us and make us most comfortable. His master had trained him
well. Not only does the boy go about quickly to meet our every need, he
anticipates them and acts accordingly with joyous spontaneity.
The moment was somewhat ruined when Logarth asked the feminine slave boy to oil
the noble’s back least the sun burn his skin. Sirci, ever eager to serve and
ignorant of any alternant implications it seemed, gladly did as she-. Did as HE
was bade, going about oiling Logarth’s already bronzed skin with a fine sheen.
As the heat of the day passed and the sun began its descent on the horizon of
Reth, the nobles began packing up their things. As the eighth hour past noon
approached, a clunky submersible vessel sprang up onto the beach like a metal
turtle. It slowly flopped part way onto the cooling sands with hilariously
waving metal flippers and finally subsided in contentment. The front opened
like a gaping maw, threatening to devour all who dared come close. But in the
opening was a comfortable set of seats, enough for thirty or forty and space
for room, despite the monster like metal shell that protected it from the
pressure of the sea.
With the setting of the sun painting clouds purple and orange on the horizon,
the nobles sought rest underneath the cool waters of the tropical sea. Each did
not mind the trip as the rather awkward contraption, once full of its
passengers plus one, pushed itself back into the waves and was soon swimming
down into the coral depths surrounding the volcanic island. The box like
construct took them down to the sloping floor, just where the island ridge
dropped off to the bottom and attached itself to the submersed living quarters
with aquatic grace that belied its maneuverability on land. A whine and a hiss
seemed to echo around the metal container as a circular door opened on the
side, revealing a large transparent walkway illuminated by lights and what
little sunlight now penetrated the ocean surface. A myriad of aquatic creatures
were settling into their nightly routines as they swam sluggishly through the
deep blue water. Though Sirci looked all around with wonder and awe few of the
nobles even bothered looking out the glass to see the wonders that passed them
by. Each locked either in thought or conversation as they moved into the
strange tubular dwelling with large oval like rooms.
From the outside, the shell appeared formed of some kind of white material. But
on the inside was an extravagant get away fit for its Administratum occupants.
Shinning wooden floor planks gleamed in the light with furniture that were
cushioned to feel like clouds. The entire complex was dotted with subdued but
natural yellow lighting. Though the occupants most likely had little idea how
they worked.
Jethro noted that Sirci looked like a child seeing a palace for the first time,
eyes wide with delightful glee as he took in all that was around him. The boy
escort even sniffed the air a little and made something of a squeak, mentioning
the smell of fresh flowers in the air.
To his credit, Jethro smiled as he wrapped an arm around his daughter. At least
the young one can appreciate the finer things in life. Even if he is a pleasure
slave, Sirci knows when she-, He sees beauty.
However, Logarth’s hungry grin arrested the serine moment, causing the white
haired noble to frown. That fool had better keep his hands to himself. All the
time we have spent on this so-called trip of leisure he has been staring at the
world with that same look. By the Emperor, if he so much as breaks my word to
Sirci by touching her, HIM, then he will find himself one finger short.
But the look was not for the pleasure slave alone, Logarth also eyed the bundle
Sirci had been carrying and the contents it bore. The thought of tasting and
experiencing the contents was beginning to weigh heavily on him.
When they entered the main room, dominated by wall built sofas and elegant
circular tables and sloped walls, each of the nobles went about their own
habits. Mithra and Yolinda squared up to finish a previous game of chess while
the twin sisters, Mika and Mina, watched. Logarth’s wife and two sons sat next
to one another, uncomfortably close than anyone else. The two boys slipping
into stagnant positions that would have been offensive if they had not been
family, one draping himself over Annabeth’s lap and the other nuzzling into the
soft place between his mother’s arm and bosom. Jethro was content to watch his
daughter and Yolinda play as he lounged in one of the few wooden chairs around
the room; keeping a wary eye on Logarth.
It did not take long before the industrial noble broke away from the constant
habits they had formed over the past weeks. “Sirci, my dear,” The large man
flashed one of his enigmatic smiles as he ushered the sashaying escort over and
handing him the bundle. “Open the drink for us. I have a keen sense that
whatever that wondrous liquid is, it must taste of glory.”
The escort nodded eagerly, if not ignorantly, before Jethro could object and
set the candles down before trying to open the crystal. Sirci comically tried
to break the wax seal on the container, his face turning several shades of red
and his cheeks puffed out as his lithe but thin arms attempted to pull the top
off the crystal flask.
Logarth, in a seemingly virtuous manner, smiled before relieving the escort of
the container. “Now then my dear, I think it would be best if stronger hands
took upon the task. Yours, while most certainly willing, are unsuited for tasks
such as this. Allow me to open and you to pour.”
Sirci nodded with a brilliant smile on his face. As Logarth undid the red wax
around the neck of the crystal flask, his wife took up one of the set aside
candles. “It would be a waste not to use all of these gifts if they were so
prepared for us to use.” The busty and curvaceous woman gave a sweet smile at
the girlish escort. “Sirci, could you light these after serving everyone up a
glass? I am a bit of a connoisseur of scents myself and, I am afraid to admit,
eager to see what these wonderful things have to offer.”
“Of course my lady.” Sirci’s excitement knew no bounds as she retrieved the
wisping black-red liquor from Logarth and a set of heavy whisky glasses. “I am
always happy to serve.”
Before any responsible or logical argument could be made to the contrary, a
glass was either in the hand or by the side of all the nobles. The swirling
pattern taking independent shapes of their own inside the glasses, as if the
breath of air had given them new life. Even Jethro had to admit he was
intrigued as to the flavor of the contents.
Whether they took a sip or a gulp, each of the nobles partook of the smooth
liquor as the innocent looking Sirci took childlike joy in lighting the candles
and setting them about the room. The flickering flames and the slight tinge of
smoke created a sultry atmosphere of fantastical proportions. The nobles felt
at ease as more and more of the gift liquor burned smoothly down their throats
and warmed their bellies. Even those who took sips like Mithra and Yolinda or
the twins Mira and Mika felt the inquisitorial need to taste more.
The air became heady as senses came alive, the taste of the liquor was fire in
their mouths and the scent of the candles filled their nostrils. Each felt more
alive than they had before. The twin boys and Annabeth took up more salacious
poses and seemed to constantly writhe to get in a better position. Mithra
kissed her father good night and made quickly for her room, her belt cinched
forcefully around her waist and her shirt tucked tightly against her slender
form. The daughter of the Administratum noble walked stiff legged back to her
quarters with a faint squelching sound trailing her.
Jethro was too busy minding the others that he lost track of Logarth and Sirci
entirely. With one quick gulp, the white maned man all but slammed his glass on
a nearby table and shot to his feet. Taking in a deep breath he stormed from
the room. Hot air swirled around him as he chugged in huge draughts of the
scent laced atmosphere through his flaring nostrils, the smoke of the candles
doing little to sooth his rising temper. By the time he arrived at Logarth’s
quarters a vein was throbbing on his forehead and his face was a scarlet red as
if he had spent too much time in the sun.
Feminine squeaks and unadulterated moans were clearly heard from behind the
door, the song of only passion sung in disconnected notes. However, when the
Imperial noble threw open the door the sight he beheld was not one he had
anticipated. Instead of Sirci submissively taking the advances of sure and
sturdy Logarth, where Jethro had assuredly imagined taking the young but
willing flesh with nothing more than authoritative ferocity; a completely
different scene unfolded. The proud noble that oversaw thousands of lives and
supported the Imperium with untold industrial factories knelt before the pale
pleasure slave, his bronze skin contrasting as sharply with Sirci’s silken
flesh as the actions of which he was partaking. The boy had his slender hands
at his somewhat flat chest, teasing his obviously erect breasts. His legs were
somewhat contrapposto, the right raised a little on his toes to allow better
access to the intimate flesh that lay between his thighs. Logarth had swept
away the front of the dress and kept a clinging grip on the silken fabric, his
right hand in a death grip around the boy’s luscious hips. Arched up on toes
with his right leg, Sirci looked like he was in pure bliss. The bronze
nobleman’s left arm and hand mashing into the escort’s pale thigh so that it
looked like he was pressing against thick, pliable cream. As the slender youth
cried out in unmanly pleasure with eyes close and salivating mouth open,
Logarth was eagerly suckling on the boy’s manhood with his pink tongue
occasionally darting out to swipe another wet trail along the underside of the
youth’s shaft. The soft flesh looked unfitting to be on a true man, almost silk
like skin coating Sirci’s precious loins and a rod that would be of little use
pleasuring women. Yet now a burly noble with skin of bronze now bobbed up and
down the small appendage, pleasuring the boy and seemingly eager to bring him
to erection.
It must have been Jethro’s gasp that alerted the two lovers to his presence.
Logarth looked up at his friend with that same hunger in his wild eyes though
now a look of contentment was quickly replacing it. He came up from Sirci’s
small half-erection with a pop and a slight flair of thick saliva before
flashing Jethro with a grin.
“Well. If I had known you were going to join us, I would have brought some of
the liquor as well. Something to add to the flavor.” He squeezed tightly at
Sirci’s plump, panty flanks as he planted a passionate kiss on his inner thigh,
eliciting a lusty moan from the girlish escort.
“I-I told you not to-” Jethro stuttered to form words.
“I know what I promised you and I will have you know that I am here voluntarily
at Sirci’s request, albeit a very shy one.” Logarth chuckled deep in his chest.
“Did you know that Sirci even wanted you to join in if you could? I told her
that you would not. But look how happy she is to see you now.”
Jethro looked to see Sirci’s lust hooded eyes staring back at him, the boy’s
body trembled slightly in excitement and his small shaft stiffened. His small
gasps seemed the only thing that Jethro could hear as the echoed in time with
his pounding heartbeat.
“I- what?” The mumble managed to get out of his dry throat, his gaze never
breaking with Sirci’s own pleasured stare.
“Sirci wanted you here Jethro.” Logarth went on. “I may have coaxed her into
letting out some of her tension but you are the one she is mindful of. The one
who she fantasizes about as I have been kissing her. She wants you Jethro.”
The white-haired nobleman looked torn, desperately staring at the feminine
escort; waiting for Sirci to say it was not true. His body a tensed rock and
his own loins stirring tight in his trousers.
“Please.”
A gasped whisper was all that it took before Jethro was upon the smaller youth,
his lips aflame as they firmly pressed against the escort’s own in a passionate
embrace. Those same lips that had not kissed a lover since the death of his
late wife now opened and closed, seeking to dominate the boy’s curved lips with
his own.
Jethro could find no reason why he kissed the girlish boy. Why he desperately
needed to dominate her mouth, her lips, her form. All of him. Every part
submitting to Jethro like a willing servant should. Why his heart was aflame
with a burning need that he had only felt in the embrace of his sweet Rebecca.
How his loins arched and strained, aching to be attended to. Yet Jethro did.
The nobleman unconsciously roved his rough, large hands up and down the
escort’s pale and slender form. Following all her- His curves. Memorizing every
arc and slope of Sirci’s form. Running his hands over the boy’s sensitive body,
even swiping over his silk covered breasts and feeling how erect they were. How
close they were to the barely budding breasts of a young maiden.
Deep within his mind some part of him cried out in shame that the boy was
innocent, no older than his own beloved daughter, but was overwhelmed by the
intense heat and hunger that now drove him. Jethro moved behind Sirci, his hips
grinding into the crevice of the escort’s cloth covered ass as Logarth resumed
his work at the front. Sirci arched into Jethro’s strong, solid form. His body
a trembling leaf against the nobleman. Gasping at the feeling pleasure from
both sides, Sirci twisted his head to stare up into Jethro’s hungry eyes with
his own bright blue jewels. The look of lustful hunger passed between them and
in an instant Jethro’s mind resounded with a surprising clarity.
He saw the need within Sirci’s eyes. She wanted him truly and honestly, without
shame or chastity. She hungered for his touch and the thought of him filled her
mind as much as she filled his. The insignificant pleasure slave acknowledged
his dilemma and his want, and knew it as well as she knew her own. And she
would take all that he would force upon her without complaint or plea to stop.
Sirci wanted him to take her as much as he wanted it.
The nobleman responded in kind by bucking hard into the slave’s back. Humping
the small frame like some animal in heat. Together, the threesome formed some
sort of immoral pillar of flesh. Writhing against one another in shear passion.
Oblivious to anything save what contact rippled between them. The heat was
insufferable. The hunger was untamable. And the need was unbearable.
Collapsing onto the nearby bead, the trio of lovers disassembled only to grope
once again for each other. Seeking out the touch they so desired.
Jethro had shaken loose of his clothing. His bare muscular form pressed tightly
against the demure Sirci. His large, throbbing shaft sliding between the soft
pressed flesh of her thighs. Grinding against the panty covered ass and rubbing
against Sirci’s own delicates.
While the two lovers were busying themselves with their animalistic voracity,
Logarth had positioned himself in the reverse pose of his lovers. The heady
nobleman was able to fully enjoy the view of Jethro’s thick shaft thrust
between the pale thighs and Sirci’s own shaft strain against the underwear he
wore. Without hesitation, he busied himself again with the oral lavations of
his lover’s privates. All the while his own grand shaft, a 30-centimeter
monster, jerked in the air.
Meanwhile, Jethro had enough of the straining cloth that bound that luscious
ass from him and ripped the expensive panties asunder. Leaving only the
expensive and revealing dress to give some sense of modesty. It was in that
moment he had a remarkable moment of clarity in this heated madness. Twin hills
of glutinous pale silk lay before him. And as the sweet soul turned to cool his
outburst Jethro drew in full the sight that of his slave’s manhood. It was not
a weak little thing. The shaft throbbed hard and as it twitched above Jethro’s
more impressive member, the nobleman guessed it to be around 12 centimeters in
length, a few centimeters short of his own 20.3 shaft. An average specimen but
not something to be unproud of. And below lay two spheres wrapped in impossibly
soft, smooth flesh. Jethro moved his hand to clasp one of the hairless mounds,
shocked by how brutish his large hands seemed against the fair and pliant skin,
and moved it to reveal a round disk wedged in between the two cheeks. He looked
into Sirci’s blue-grey gems. The slave’s spittle washed mouth dripped from
having given as much attention to Logarth’s need as much as the nobleman had to
his own. Beneath the look of want and need there was an affirmation.
Logarth, sensing a change in the group dynamic, placed himself in alignment
with the other two. Jethro jerked up, taking the pliant Sirci with him, so as
he knelt on the large mattress with back straight. Before him lay Sirci the
pleasure slave with ass inviting and thighs still squeezing against his hard
shaft, mewling like a bitch in heat. And beneath them both, laying like a
muscular morass, was Logarth with his glutes thrust up to meet Sirci’s hips.
The white-haired nobleman took hold of the butt plug and gently tugged at the
device until it came out with a wet pop. Quickly tossing the tool aside, Jethro
looked in wonder at the smooth derriere and succulent pink passage that gaped
slightly before him. The developed pucker had looked to be molded and carefully
maintained. Its sphincter open slightly to give a wondrous view of light pink
insides that promised a gratifying opportunity.
Already lubricated by Logarth’s lustful tongue lashings, Jethro’s manhood now
rose imposing like a pillar above those pillowy hills. All it took was one look
from the poor creature’s face. Submissive yet compliant. A somewhat fearful
look but wholly willing.
In one mighty thrust he buried himself halfway. Sirci all but screamed at the
sudden intrusion. The fullness of the live phallus stretched his insides and
moved against his inner walls. Heat expanded throughout his body as he felt the
unseen parts of his body roughly pushed as Jethro’s manhood shoved against
them. Forcing them to surrender to their new master.
The force of the powerful thrust pushed Sirci forward, slamming his own loose
erection into the welcoming and prepared hole of the nobleman beneath him.
Logarth’s loose hole welcomed the slave’s intrusion with a squelching embrace
as his ass seemed to ease the passage into warm, wet depths. The rumbling groan
of appreciation was all the nobleman communicated in thanks.
With pain in back and pleasure in front the slave Sirci looked about ready to
faint. Then Jethro began to move. Wrapping an arm around the feminine boy’s
thin torso, his hand groping hard against stiff nipples and immature breasts,
the nobleman held up his lover’s small frame. Thin arms braced the slave’s
frame against the two immovable pillars, one on Logarth’s back and the other
around Jethro’s hip. Flesh slapped against flesh and the atmosphere grew
sultry. The three amorous participants began to sweat and the dew drops became
a sheen on their hot skin, glowing in the dim light of the bedroom.
Thick walls kept their cacophony of moans, grunts, and groans from prying ears
as the three labored in ecstasy. Jethro thrust in an out, his manhood a
lubricated piston as it sought to gain further entrance to Sirci’s wet
velveteen depths as they squeezed and clenched around him. The pleasure slave
seemed to be enjoying herself as her boy-pussy was violated; braced against the
pillar of muscle behind her. His essence inside her filled her completely.
Seeking to breed her ass like a real woman. And like a real woman, Sirci keened
and moaned for it. Doing her best to draw out the nobleman’s seed. Lewd sounds
of hammering flesh and lubricated friction matched her mewls like strangled
notes in a luscious rhapsody of pleasure. Beneath it all Logarth remained nigh
motionless. Heaving great draughts of air as he took the relentless pounding
from above. The boy’s light shaft pleasing his ass as he violently jerked his
iron hard shaft between the pyramid hump of his legs. While Sirci’s own little
cock was not enough to satisfy the nobleman, it was long and hard enough to
press against his walls. And every time Jethro thrust into the boy the little
shaft would twitch and bounce within his ass. Vibrating in joy at her wish
being fulfilled. At Jethro filling her up and treating her as he wanted, like
his woman. Taking her and making love to her as he had to his wife. Perhaps
even more so.
As the three carried on, bracing into one another as they all sought after
ecstasy. Jethro to make love as passionately as he could to the little Sirci.
Groaning like a bull and mounting the slave’s small frame with powerful
thrusts. And become more and more aggressive with every moment. The arching
Sirci took every centimeter of it. Moaning as the shaft plundered his precious
depths. His form coated in a slick sheen of sweat and his body vibrating at the
ceaseless conquest. With back arched like a bow and breasts pressing against
Jethro’s ungiving grip, Sirci begged for the nobleman to give it to him. To his
credit, the ordinarily selfish Logarth asked nothing of the two lovers. He bore
down on his own need with concentration. And to be sure, it was coming soon.
His sack tightened as one particularly backed thrust drove Sirci’s shaft down
into the nobleman’s rear. Sparks ignited within Logarth’s bowels, his milking
hand unwavering in its duty had finally drawn on primal urges. His body began
tensing as he continued to draw his need forth with quicker and quicker jerks
of the hand. Only with great concentration did he keep his hips from curling
forward in animalistic want. Coolly, Logarth doubled his efforts.
Above him Sirci was all but done. The poor slave was near spent between a
driving force and an immovable as well as pleasurable constraint. He was the
leaf in the wind. The slave’s rear was dragged back by Jethro’s cock, freeing
his own moderate shaft from Logarth’s accommodating hole. The slave’s left
nipple was all but bruised at the rough affection Jethro had imparted through
the expensive, clinging fabric of the now damp dress. He had taken to nipping
at the nape of Sirci’s neck as well. The sharp affections leaving small bites
like a dog marking his mate. And as soon as Jethro had finished his short
withdraw from the slave’s pucker he would slam back into the wet hole with a
slap and a muted splatter, driving the boy’s body back into Logarths. The
slave’s hips tightly compressed between the two masses of muscles. His petite
frame apparently not as robust as those of his lovers. He wailed and whimpered
as he was pounded and milked with pleasure. His insides stirred incessantly as
the lust dazed nobleman behind him battered his boy-pussy with singular
intention. The very thought of it was too much.
Sirci managed to whine in between whimpers that he was close. Words lost on the
two noblemen as they continued their debauched work. He cried. Once. Twice.
Then he was undone.
The pleasure slave screamed out his release, eyes shut tight and mouth agape
with tongue flailing out. His body strained as his back arched against the
muscular pillar behind him. The noble’s shaft ground against the carnal spot in
his ass. Liquid lightning poured through him as his being melted with pleasure.
Nipples hardened as carnal certainty flooded his being. Tight ass clenching
down on Jethro’s hard shaft like a woman’s pussy, Sirci came with a whimpering
wail. His cock spasmed in Logarth’s ass. Small strings of white ecstasy pouring
from him as the tight clenching walls of the nobleman’s sphincter milked out
every last drop.
Jethro grunted at the newfound suction, his own erection pulled into climax as
the wet walls contorted and slithered around his shaft. Potent seed long saved
since the death of his wife poured into the pleasure slave’s ass. Claiming
every niche and corner of his insides as spurt after spurt of white essence
poured into him. Jethro’s thrusts turned into heaves against the boy’s ass. The
final throes of his orgasm hilting into Sirci’s hips in short lunges. Sirci
moaned, her hips and ass spasming at the nobleman’s finish.
Feeling the slave’s essence pour into his ass and the violent throbbing of the
12-centimeter shaft generated Logarth’s own finish. His muffled roar all but
shaking the bed as he drew out seed from his mighty shaft; jerking the iron
hard rod and spilling a fount of white onto the sheets. It seemed like an
eternity before the nobleman had emptied his loins beneath him.
Just as Sirci was about to faint, Logarth turned. His muscled form pivoted,
sliding his hips against the slaves and pushing him away. The light weight
Sirci bucked to the side. Only managing to crawl out from between the two
noblemen and slumping off the bed with a muffled thump.
Logarth, gifted liquor in full effect flooding the passages of his mind and
calling forth the darker parts of his being, grabbed at the spent Jethro. Eyes
wide with lust and smile stretched wide with madness, the nobleman hissed with
anticipation. He twisted Jethro down onto the bed as he pinned one of the man’s
arms behind his back. His first orgasm had no apparent effect on his virility.
Still hard with veins now bulging out from the skin, his massive manhood burned
with anticipation. His crazed eyes dead set on Jethro’s muscled ass and the
unstretched pucker that clenched tightly.
“You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment Jethro.” The lust
consumed nobleman breathed in an intoxicated breath. “But finally you are MINE
to claim as I wish!”
The white-haired nobleman grunted in reply. Anger and hate filled his eyes. Yet
Jethro could not deny his position was indefensible. He was completely at
Logarth’s mercy. And the bronze god want-to-be would have none. With no warning
the conquering shaft slipped against Jethro’s rear and buried itself against
the feeble, virginal resistance. The white-haired nobleman cried out at the
unfamiliar and painful intrusion only eliciting a heinous laugh from his
dominator.
“Emperor your tight!” Logarth hissed as he thrust forward. Uncaring of the
bludgeoning of his lover’s unprepared anus. “Just wait till I am finished with
you! You’re going to be so! Loose! You will not be able to stand for a year!”
Unnoticed and unheeded the pleasure slave silently, slowly slipped out of the
noblemen’s line of sight. He found a closet behind the bed with an inward
turning door. Perfect. Slinking along the floor, the pleasure slave slipped
inside without a sound. As he slouched against the closet wall he barred the
door with several implements. It would take more than a drug fueled man with a
hundred kilos on him to break it open.
The feminine boy flipped aside the front of his sweat stained dress and drew
his knees up into him. A slender finger delved cautiously into his pummeled,
stained depths with a squelch and withdrew slick with Jethro’s spent seed. As
the willowy member pulled back out His ass weakly clenched in feeble effort.
Too spent by the night’s activities to properly work. Its looseness would
tighten with time.
He opened his mouth and suckled the wet digit, cooing in pleasure as the thick
coagulant slid down his sore throat. Out of sight, out of mind. The boy giggled
as he heard the pained throes of passion echoing through the door.
Ah. Marahn-Marhna Sirci Ysalda Aloshi smirked as he closed his eyes and settled
in his hiding place. How the mighty have fallen.
The Acolyte fell asleep to the sounds of lust and betrayal as the noblemen
debauched each other in the darkness of night. A smile of satisfaction and
contentment tugging lightly on the corners of his smooth lips.
 
 
Waking in the darkness and stillness was not something the Acolyte was unused
to. His internal clock woke him as it had in the days in the trenches. The
difference being, this time he woke to sweet and blessed silence.
Marahn-Marhna drew his legs under him and shakily stood to his feet. It was not
every day one got clobber fucked by a pair of nobles but the Acolyte did not
let it bother him too much. It was time to see how his handiwork had gone with
idle hands at the wheel. Marahn took great care not to make a sound as he
pulled aside his make shift barricade and opened the door.
The first immediate sight was that of the bronze skinned Logarth still on the
bed erect. Yet upon a more cursory look the nobleman did not breath or move. In
fact, his muscles seemed to be strained in permanent flexion. Eyes wide and
mouth stretched in an eerie grin. Every muscle in his body tensed up like cords
of rope.
Quietly the Acolyte slipped from the closet. He crouched as he made his way
over to the bed. If the nobleman was still conscious Marahn-Marhna would finish
Logarth off himself. However, when the Acolyte placed a couple of fingers upon
his neck there was no pulse to be felt. The noble’s skin was getting cool and
was clammy with crusted streams of dried sweat.
Beneath the ridged mass was Jethro, legs splayed to either side and arms bound
behind him as he lay on his back. Logarth’s hands were locked around the
nobleman’s neck as his tensed fingers dug into the dead flesh. Jethro’s body
showed signs aligning with the obvious death by strangulation. His skin was
pale and turning dark. The nobleman’s ass was all but prolapsed out onto the
bed, and there was blood on Logarth’s still hard shaft as well as the former
noble’s anus. The still red liquid had been splashed slightly on the sheets
beneath them. Marahn-Marhna surmised that Logarth likely roughed up Jethro too
much. The friction between flesh had rubbed the anal passages raw and likely
caused the internal bleeding. Regardless, Logarth had continued to fuck the
white-haired noble until his insides were loose enough to be dragged out.
Whether or not this was after the death by strangulation, the Acolyte could not
tell. It was a moot point, but Marhna made note of it anyway.
That erect phallus may come in handy as an experimental device.Marahn-Marhna
thought to himself as he crawled onto the bed to get a better look at Logarth’s
bloody shaft. I’ll be sure to cut it off and preserve it when I can. But for
now, let’s see how the rest of the household are doing.
He opened the door to the main room quietly like before and peered in through
the crack. No sound was heard and no movement was seen. Yet the Acolyte acted
with caution. Time on the battlefield had given him reason to be paranoid. Of
both enemies and allies alike.
Carefully slipping the door open until it was enough for the small framed
Acolyte to shimmy through, Marahn-Marhna slid into the hall. Like before he
concentrated on his surroundings and moved so he would make only the faintest
of sounds.
In the main room he found most of the other Imperium guests. The scene was that
of terrible ecstasy.  Annabeth the mother lay on her back naked on one of the
short tables, her once fair skin a patch work of bruises and bites. Her head
hung loose over one side with her hair falling to the floor in a beautiful
brown cascade like waterfall. At the other end her legs dangled at the knees.
There was foam at her mouth and her eyes appeared to be stretched out of their
sockets. She had a glazed yet content look on her face as if she had died in
the middle of something. There were dried strings of semen and saliva running
up and down her body. Centering around her mouth and, the Acolyte guessed, her
womanhood. Logarth’s wife had likely been sexed to death and Marahn-Marhna
spotted the most likely culprits.
The twin boys, Nikoli and Jefferson, lay near their mother. One had keeled
over, his pose of someone in death throes, with the gifted wine beaker stuffed
neck first down his throat. The youth had likely tried to down the whole
beverage and though it would be best to insure not a drop was wasted. The neck
had lodged in his throat and the large, round body of the glass did not allow
any further entrance into Jefferson’s throat. To his credit there only looked
to be a few milligrams left of liquid.
Nikoli on the other hand had sought to satisfy his thirst in a different way.
His form and that of Alice the dark-haired slut where still conjoined on the
floor where they had expired. Alice was on her stomach with Nikoli on top of
her. It appeared they had expired from over exertion.
Only one of the twin girls, Mina, could be seen from Marahn-Marhna’s little
hiding place. A power sword that had surely been given as a gift or for
practice, or maybe perhaps both, was shoved down her throat. The edge barely
discernable as it poked against the skin of her stomach from the inside. And on
the hilt there was something wet still faintly glittering in the dim light.
Seeing that all was quiet on the home front, the Acolyte opened the door a bit
further before breaching the sealed main room. No sound was made as Marhna
stepped through the aftershock like a wraith of old. Carefully, he inspected
each one of the corpses to ensure that they had all passed away from the mortal
plane.
While Mina and Jefferson were definitively dead. The others, however, needed a
closer inspection. Nikoli was a mess. When the Acolyte flipped the youth over
it revealed all the burst blood vessels that had stained his stomach with red
as it settled. If Marahn-Marhna would cut Nikoli open, he knew he would find
all the larger arteries had ruptured from stress. Alice was in the same
condition as her lover. The blood vessels in her eyes were of a scarlet red and
there were black dried tears of blood staining her cheeks. Her demise seemed
centered around her hips though, and on closer inspection it appeared that her
first time was her last. An unusually high amount of blood had come out of her
womanhood. Whether the blood vessels in her womanhood ruptured because of
penetration or climax, the Acolyte could not tell.
That left the mother, Annabeth. Curvaceous and slightly alluring even in death.
The Acolyte crouched at the dead woman’s abused womanhood and sniffed
cautiously. Searching for that particular musk scent. Marahn-Marhna drew a
little closer before stopping. Sure enough, the scent of spent seed was there.
While Logarth was busy with Jethro, his twin sons had taken the woman who had
given birth to them. If the blue on her finger tips was any indicator, one of
them had used her mouth as she suffocated under their affections willingly.
Nobles were an odd bunch.
The Acolyte found it slightly ironic that upon each of the bodies he could find
a slight mark in random places. One per body. Each having the appearance of a
purple bruise formed beneath the skin. But there was no mistaking the crescents
nor the tailed sun-disk. A follower of Slaanesh knew better. All of them had
succumbed to their desires and deep in the night the Prince of Pleasure had
come whispering. They belonged to Slaanesh now. Their spirits would be used at
the Chaos god’s leisure.
Looking around, Marahn-Marhna did not see any of the Dark Eldar candles he had
brought with him. And there were still three occupants unaccounted for. As
before, the Acolyte crept through the house toward the off-shooting rooms.
Coming to a branch, he went left down the clear walled hallway. Lights on the
floor being his only guide as the sun had yet to reach the height where it’s
lights would shine down into the depths. Breaching the door to the solitary
bubble room he discovered the blond-haired Yolinda twisted and splayed out on
the floor. Around her form were dozens of shredded books and torn out pages in
every open orifice she had stuffed paper sprouted like some bizarre seed of
knowledge had sprouted in her stomach and had pushed its way out. There was
little need to check what had caused her demise.
As the Acolyte returned to the hallway he made his way down the other branch to
find an empty but orderly room. Going by how neatly everything was organized
Marahn guessed this was the room belonging to Mika and Mina. He made sure that
there was no person or thing hiding, let alone monitoring, in the room before
leaving.
That left one room in the house unaccounted for. The one belonging to Jethro’s
daughter, Mithra. Like a pail shadow, the Acolyte made his way down the last
transparent corridor toward a slightly cracked door. Only a slice of light came
from the abode as no sound could be heard. And no shadows flickered in front of
the door. All was quiet.
Aligning his grey-blue eye with the door, Marahn-Marhna peered in. Just as
before, nothing stirred. He could make out the collapsed, tanned form of Mika
as she knelt on the floor with her ass in the air and face on the ground.
Marhna almost squeaked with glee as he spotted Jethro’s daughter.
Platinum blond hair kept up and out of her face, the emerald-eyed Mithra was
dangling in lewd juxtaposition. Across her body sheets had been knotted and
wrapped tight. Her legs, arms, and torso kept elevated by the sheets tied to
the ceiling. The bed ware bound both her legs to they could not extend from the
knee, curled up into her stomach and connected to a series of bands around her
neck so it looked as if she was sitting cross legged. Keeping one arm extended
upward while the other seemed painfully wrapped behind her back with bands
intertwining so that even her fingers were splayed apart. The sheets wove over
her form like coiling snakes, bracing her chest in a multitude of knots and
holding her hostage in their tight embrace. Mithra’s breasts were squeezed
between a complex web of knots that was reminiscent of a spider’s web or a
turtle’s shell and a number of knotted cords grinding against her crotch.
The Acolyte paused to admire the intricate work, and was in awe of the patience
and effort one would need to endure the entire process. To wait for all the
knots to slip into place. Only one truly someone with keen dedication to the
art of submission and bound passion could do such. Then the slight sound of
breath exhaled from nostrils and gaged mouth reached Mararhn’s ears. Unheard
before, the Acolyte’s ears keened for it now. Hearing the small pants clearly
now.
With a satisfied sigh, Marahn-Marhna opened the door with as little sound a
possible and slipped into the room. Mika’s corpse was rather opposite of her
twin sisters. Where Mina had died kneeling upright with sword thrust down her
throat, her sister died on her knees with her chest and face to the ground. Her
own sword buried in her bloodied point first all the way to the hilt. Even it
was her first penetration, the keen blade would have torn her soft entrails
fiercely. The killer edge no longer contained in protective sheath, its raw
malice able to cut anything it could. However, mixed with the blood was a
clearer fluid and amongst the smell of death and anguish was the slight
feminine scent.
Of the ten residents of the submarine pod only one had survived the night.
Bound and tied up like a butterfly in a web. Mithra’s mouth was sealed by the
same sheet material, a large knot balled up as a seal between her lips. Saliva
still dripped in long strings from her mouth and down her chin. Her face placid
and at peace. Those emerald green eyes closed against the world, and blissfully
unaware of anything as time and circumstance had passed her by. Laying trapped
within her own blissful moment. The sheet bindings like a spider’s cocoon
wrappings around its prey.
Marahn-Marhna Sirci Ysalda Aloshi felt slightly relieved. His party did not end
the way he would have liked, even it did end more or less how he expected, with
only one other person to share his burdens with. Misery loves company, or so
one of his former battle buddies once said.
Still, I promised myself to let them make their own decisions. She will come or
go of her own will.The Acolyte bowed from the hip to Mithra’s chandelier form.
He took a moment before coming back up. Now, back to work.
Over the next few hours the Marahn placed the deceased occupants of the
submarine house to rest. He took Mika from Mithra’s room first as he did not
want to disturb her. Wrapping the tanned twin in extra cloth sheets he dragged
the body back into the living room. Going to Yolinda’s room he did the same for
the formerly knowledge hungry reader.
Having mostly assembled the nobles, the Acolyte went about his business.
Carefully drawing out the two power swords from the twins he laid the deadly
blades out on the floor. As he did not have any other surgical instrument the
lethal munitorum-type sword would have to do. He also secured one of the
bathing rooms as well as alcohol and several large containers.
With everything set Marahn-Marhna went to work. Activating the power sword,
Marahn first dissected the twin’s hearts to find each had become rumpled.
Almost forming runes in the way the warped arteries were shaped. But that could
wait until later. Yolinda’s mind was of great interest to the heretical youth
so he simply shaved her head of all hair, pulled out the pages from her upper
esophagus, and cut the whole thing off before submerging it in a chemical
mixture of inedible alcohol labeled ethyl alcohol. Doing the same to for the
twin sister’s hearts, the Acolyte moved on to the other twins. The sons of
Logarth.
Jefferson did not seem much to write home about so to speak so Marhna left him
alone. However, Nikoli was of special interest. As the Acolyte cut the youth
open he took in every detail. Only bothering to inspect the major organs and
how his biological systems had apparently failed. The one thing Marahn-Marhna
did salvage from Nikoli was an unusually large set of kidneys and the
discolored grey adrenal glands. The possibility of synthesis later was worth
the harvesting.
Moving back into the bedroom, he once again gazed on the deathly pail form of
Jethro and rigid Logarth in their death throes. It took a while to get the
muscularly stressed Logarth off the bed with his slender frame, but Marahn
prevailed in getting the giant lummox onto the floor. With careful strokes of
the power sword, he nimbly dismembered the noble’s manhood and scrotum in its
entirety. He even took pains to collect the prostate and some of the urinary
tract and the perineum before preserving the still stiff assembly in a large
container.
Finally, the Acolyte wrapped each body almost lovingly in white bed sheets
until they looked as if they had been mummified. For Mika and Mina, he placed
their power swords in their hands and wrapped the weapons in the same cloth as
their masters until they were one.
Marahn smiled at his progress and was somewhat pleased with himself. He even
offered a small prayer of thanks to Slaanesh as well as for each of the noble’s
souls. The Acolyte had no misgivings. Chaos was a terrible and fickle thing. It
was Chaos after all and the Imperium did not call them the Ruinous Powers for
nothing. But he reasoned that their spirits at least deserved some sort of
commemoration. In addition to the biological samples he harvested, Marahn-
Marhna also went back through each of the rooms to find any prevalent texts
that could be found. Though it was few in number as the sheer amount of
political propaganda in most rendered them useless. However, some statistical
annals and doctrine codices looked like they might come in handy.   
With his work done, the Acolyte arranged the bodies neatly as possible and
stashed the samples taken out of sight as well as wrapped to conceal their
contents. Marhna then spent the next few hours cleaning whatever rooms he could
without disturbing Mithra. When all was the way it had been before chaos had
descended in the form of a feminine boy slave, it was time to wake the
daughter.
Thankfully, he had a candle for that. Distinguished from all the other candles
by the Dark Eldar runes that spelled, as near as Marahn-Marhna could tell,
‘wakefulness’ and a blue ribbon Marhna tied at the bottom before he left.
One last time, the Acolyte ventured to the daughter’s room. Marahn-Marhna stuck
a knife, edge sharp enough to cut the binding cloth, in the girl’s grasp before
backing toward the door. The Acolyte carefully put the candle inside the
threshold to Mithra’s room and lit the pungent incense. As the first wisp of
smoke wisped from the glowing orange wick, he closed the door to a crack and
silently disappeared back to the main room.
 
Mithra awoke from her blissful sleep wrapped in a constricting cocoon, a knife
of liberation in her hand. Careful to cut herself down, the daughter of Jethro
found herself unconcerned with her present circumstance. That the thought of
waking up tied to the ceiling was something normal. Yet her memory persisted
that the act itself was far from normal. The only ones who were tied up and
bound were prisoners and heretics. Doomed to be judged at inquisitorial
tribunals. Never the less, Mithra felt at peace with the prospect of being
bound in tight fastenings. The thought even made her heart race.
It was in the echoing throb of her own pulse that she noticed. A lack of sound.
Of lively. Of anything save the muted roar of the ocean surrounding the
submarine abode. And there was a faint smell of pungent smoke like the burning
of rose petals.
A small cylindrical candle sat smoldering with an orange glow right inside her
threshold. Its wisping smoke already creating a thin smog throughout her room.
Mithra gazed in slight wonderment at the pool of wax that had oozed onto the
floor. She remembered the girlish boy had brought candles with him and had lit
them throughout the main room at Annabeth’s behest. And there was also the
liquor. That oh so smooth and warming spirit that seemed to swell within
Mithra’s body with only one sip. Last she had seen the Logarth’s twins were
guzzling down their seconds while nuzzling up close to their mother.
Which brought her back to the present. No sound. From previous encounters
Mithra knew that excess of young males equaled quite a bit of vibrant
communication. Yet she had not heard so much as a whisper.
Mithra pulled off her damp clothes and pulled on a new tunic shirt and breeches
before heading out of her room. The air seemed fine, circulation vents working
properly, yet there still was a vacuum of activity. The evidence of absence.
However, when she entered the main room it became evident why.
Eight white forms wrapped carefully in cloth and bundled up tight like mummies
lay in on the floor with their feet pointing two the transportation pod. Mithra
felt as if she should be sick. But nausea escaped her. Her stomach refused to
clench and her mind did not seize up. The Daughter of Jethro looked upon the
bodies of her friends and family with only feeling her heart as it beat with
agony. Tears came unbeckoned to her eyes and slipped like hot rain down her dry
cheeks. But no cry left her lips. No scream of pain or horror ripped from her
throat.
As the Imperial noblewoman silently stepped forward she noticed the girlish boy
kneeling with back straight at the foot of the bodies. He respectfully
positioned himself at the exit door with hands on his lap and his head bowed.
If the servant did notice Mithra he gave no indication. The extravagant dress
he wore now was rumpled and his golden hair bound up in a short ponytail. Not
even this seemed to detract from the puzzling beauty that emanated from the
girlish boy who waited with closed eyes.
Mithra walked over to the bodies noting each was placed according to family.
Logarth, Annabeth, and the twins Jefferson and Nikoli were easy enough to spot.
Then came Yolinda and Alice, the twins Mika and Mina with the outline of their
precious swords bound with them, and finally her father Jethro. A lonely sob
finally quaked from Mithra’s mouth. The orphaned daughter slowly stumbled
forward to kneel at her father’s feet. She wailed her agony beneath waves of a
tranquil ocean. A little speck that had lost everything that had been her
world.
After what seemed to be hours of grief, Mithra gave a shuddered breath. “Did
you do this?”
“No.” Came the calm and clear reply.
Red eyed and sorrow stained, Mithra turned to the pail girlish boy. “Why?”
It was not why it had been done, why it had occurred, why anything. It was
simply why. A human question so long forgotten and often not spoken in the
Imperium of Man.
Blue-grey eyes opened and stared back. No fear, no shame, no hate nor passion.
Only a slight bit of regret and sadness showed within their depths. “Because it
was what all of you chose.”
“What we chose?” Mithra closed her eyes and her brow furrowed. What did the boy
mean?
“You chose to let me in. You chose to partake of the wine and candles. You
chose to delve into pleasures outlawed by Imperial creed. You chose.” The one
called Sirci replied. “Post hoc ergo propter hoc.”
The young noblewoman’s emerald eyes widened. High Gothic? From a servant? The
tongue of nobles and ecclesiarch spoken from the mouth of a lowly retainer?
“Are you saying we are at fault for this?” Mithra’s voice shook a little. Just
who am I talking with?
“I am not the cause if that is what you are asking. I am merely the catalyst.”
He pointed to each of the bodies and to Mithra. “It was by the consent and
decisions of each of you that led to this outcome. I have by no means forced a
conclusion or consequence upon this house. The reason for this lies with the
individuals.”
“You shall not!” Mithra cried. “You are the one to blame!”
Sirci calmly shook his head almost saddened by the accusation. “No. Whatever
befell each of you was of your own making. The only part I played was the
invitation of such. Just as a door can be opened if closed, a door can be
closed if open. Though I do sympathize with your plight. Brevis ipsa vita est
sed malis fit longior.”
“Our life is short but made longer by misfortunes.” Mithra translated out loud,
turning back to her father. “How can you sympathize with me?”
“Nos sumus filii belum. Sed pulvis et umbra sumus. Tanta stultitia mortalium
est, et matres, et Abominatio.” The boy simply replied with a shrug of his
shoulders.
We are the sons of war. Yet we are dust and shadow. Such is the foolishness of
mortals and the horror of mothers. Mithra’s eyes widened even more. “Wh-what
brings you here?”
“Many things. Least of which would be greed. This planet reeks of it. The
second would be that I am have been in need of shore leave for a very long
time.” Even though he had not moved, Sirci’s presence permeated throughout the
main room.
Mithra shied away, clutching at her chest as if to shield herself even though
his words seemed to entice her. “And what are you to do now?”
“The better question my lady,” He looked her in the eye, his own blue-grey orbs
soft and concerned. “Is what will you do?”
At the slight confused look upon Mithra’s face, Sirci explained. “You are an
Imperial noble. You have been living in this submarine abode for a few weeks
now. All others are dead where as you, Mithra daughter of Jethro, have lived.”
The words had the proper effect. Reality was slowly dawning on her mind.
“In truth you could escape this. Being branded a heretic is not something
nobles are accused of often I would imagine. Though I do not have much
experience in the matter myself. You could return to your old life and live out
your days as a servant of the Imperium.” The strange girlish boy seemed quite
calm about all of this.
Mithra hesitated to ask. “And what would happen to you?”
Another shrug. “I would be framed for the death of all those here and whatever
else the Imperial courts decide to shove down my throat. Then I will be
tortured for years until I either die or submit to the Emperor’s mercy. The
latter of which would end with my head rolling off into some forsaken chamber
pot.”
“But why?”
“Simple.” The self-purported soldier gave a genuine smile that lightly curved
the edges of his lips. “I believe you should make a choice. For 12 years, I
have been the Imperium’s expendable fodder without one say in anything I have
done. If given the opportunity I would like others to make the choices I have
never been able to make. If you walk away from this that will be your choice. I
can even take blame for the deaths of the others if you like.”
His eyes became hard and the smile disappeared into calm impassivity. “But know
this daughter of Jethro, never again will you feel. Your life will be built on
the dark hole that is a lie. And one day it will consume you on your deathbed.”
The accusation hung heavy in the air as Mithra bowed over her father’s body.
Platinum hair veiled her face from sight. “And the alternative?”
“To make sacrifice mean something.” Sirci quietly responded. “Though think
carefully before accepting. If you come with me you turn your back on the
Imperium of Mankind. They will not be so kind as I am, nor considerate. Where I
am headed is a place of dizzying pleasure and treacherous ecstasy. If you came
with me you would experience things you could not currently comprehend. I will
show you worlds and systems beyond imagination. Life will take on many new
shades and you will have chances to experience what you want. However, the cost
will be high. To journey with me means to forfeit your spirit. You will have to
do unpleasant things to survive, most of them you will most likely not enjoy.
Upon your death, you will be the plaything of the denizens of the warp. Tossed
and turned between terrible beings for eternity.”
“You do not gloss your words well.” Mithra chuckled despite herself.
He gave a solemn nod. “I do not want to betray you or give you false notions
Mithra. My path is already laid out. Whether I succeed or fall short is yet to
be determined.”
“You would give me this choice?” She asked. There was a hint of hope in her
voice or perhaps a strain of disbelief.
“I would have you make it your own. Yours it will be. I will have no part of
it. I have given you the consequences of either as far as I foresee them.” The
false servant stood and went to the back of the main room, coming back with a
large bundle carefully balanced in his arms. “I will wait in the exit hall for
your decision.”
“Before you leave, what is your name?”
The pail girlish boy turned. His dress was rumpled and unkempt. Even though he
wore a kind smile on his lips, his eyes shown with worry but not for himself.
It shocked Mithra when she realized it. He looked alone.
“I have many names. Some old and some new. I was once known as Guardsman Brat.
But you may call me Marahn-Marhna.” He smiled gently before exiting through the
door.
He left Mithra with what remained of her friends and family. The girl pondered
his words as she stroked the bindings where her father’s hands would be. He is
three years younger than I and yet he has gone through so much to become this.
A deserter from the Astra Militarum is heretical. Punishable on sight. And yet
he walks as if free. What of me? If I went back to the old life would anything
change? Will this to be my fate? Slowly succumbing to guilt and uselessly
blaming him till the end?
She looked down on Jethro’s covered face. “What would you want for me father?”
But there was no answer. She was alone, just like Marahn-Marhna. If she went
with the strange boy she would not be alone. His company promised that. And she
would be able to unleash her feelings without restraint when she wished. If she
blamed the soldier she would be chained to the lie for the rest of her life.
Emperor forgive her but it would constrict her. Her existence would be bound to
that of the Imperium. A crushed cog in a giant machine.
Mithra placed a kiss on her father’s head and stood, opening the door to the
pod. Loyal to his word, Marahn-Marhna sat gazing up at the swirling myriads of
fish and sea life surrounding his glass world. Her presence did not seem to
bother him that much. He waited patiently for her words.
The platinum haired daughter spoke, her emerald eyes keenly measuring the
stranger who had walked in her door. “What will you do with the bodies?”
“It depends on your decision.” He watched the fish for one moment longer before
looking at Mithra. “I would like to bury them if at all possible but if you
insist on returning to the Imperium of Man then I will have to set a stage.
Make it appear as though I was initiating some ritual.”
Mithra nodded and asked her other question. “What happened to you? What made
you choose this life?”
The boy’s gaze turned back to the marine life. His eyes hardening and softening
as memories flickered through his mind at unknowable speeds. “Let me answer
your question with another question.” Marahn’s voice was hard but not cruel,
crushed beneath 12 years of horrifying circumstance. “Does the Emperor
protect?”
The young noblewoman nodded though not in agreement. She understood the
implication quite well. If the god Emperor of Mankind did truly protect then
why did his people suffer? Looking at the lonely youth, Mithra saw it was that
same question that burned within him.
She knew the answer but asked anyway. “Does he?”
“No.” Marahn-Marhna shook his head sadly. “He does not.”
“Whom will you turn to if not the Emperor of Mankind?”
He pulled one of the dress straps from his shoulder and let it fall far enough
to reveal his slender chest. Where his collar bone met his chest a purple rune
marked the boy’s allegiance. “Prince of Pleasure, the ruinous power of Chaos
known as Slaanesh.”
Mithra was slightly disturbed at the claim and yet in awe at how Marahn-Marhna
was at peace with it. “And what is your intention?”
Pulling the strap back over his slender shoulder, Marahn smiled. “That is for
me to know and you to find out.”
The daughter of Jethro nodded. “Very well then.”
“You will join me?” He asked hesitantly. The hope for company evident in his
voice.
“I will.”
He stood with a smile and bowed. “Mithra, daughter of Jethro, welcome. I will
do my utmost to aid you and promise to lead where ties will not forever bind.”
She knelt before him. “I, Mithra, daughter of Jethro Faust, accept your
invitation of adventure and accompaniment, and swear my allegiance to you,
Marahn-Marhna, as my guide from this point forth.”
“So may it be.” Marahn-Marhna spoke and lifted Mithra back to her feet. There
were tears in his eyes as he embraced her. “Welcome to the pack.”
They held each other for several moments before separating. The two souls
vibrant with joy.
Her new existence fresh, Mithra wondered. “Do I give my spirit to Slaanesh as
well?”
Marahn shrugged at the question as if it was of no big concern. “At the
appointed time of your choosing. You can also dedicate yourself to one of the
other Ruinous Powers. All of them. Or even none of them if you so wish. I would
not want to force the decision on you.”
The new follower smiled. “Then I will follow your example and offer my spirit
to Slaanesh.”
He nodded. There was a slight twinkle in his eye. Something that looked to be
relief or happiness. “Very well. But I must warn you as I have before, this
path is not for the faint of heart. It is dark with many twists and turns. If
one is not careful they can become lost and I am afraid the most I can do for
you is guide you in the right direction. Choosing where you will go is your
choice.”
Mithra seemed content with that. The Acolyte picked up his bundle and put it as
gently as he could in the pod. Next, with Mithra’s permission, he began putting
the bound bodies into the pod as well. Carefully placing each to make sure they
would not bounce around when they ascent.
As he labored, Marahn asked questions of his new accomplice. The nature of Reth
and how things operated. If there was something he wished to know he sought it
out using the memories and senses of his disciple. Nothing was left to chance.
Everything from Inquisitional forces, including the ‘star gazers’ known as the
Tyrantine Cabal, to the Adeptus Ministorum and the Adeptus Famulous of The
Order of the Eye, a rigid Adeptus Sororitas order focusing on court dealings.
When Marhna showed the noble a map she was able to give him an in-depth history
of some of the systems themselves. Slowly, Marahn-Marhna was forming a plan.
However, it would require some other things first. The pair of deviants rose to
the surface as the sun reached mid-day. One by one the white bound bodies were
brought out of the iron hull. And one by one they were laid to rest beneath the
shaded palms. Marahn-Marhna waited patiently for Mithra to say her prayers,
having no knowledge if they would be of any use or not. When the sky started to
darken, Mithra stood. Her duty done. Together the two began their walk up the
island hills toward the sheltered caves.
Before the moons rose to shed their light on the archipelago, the pair had made
it back to the grotto. Guiding his companion along the safe path as he went,
the Acolyte welcomed Mithra Faust into his nest with him. In the dark shelter
they plotted together. They schemed of the coming months and years. The Acolyte
would never tell his destination, but welcomed Mithra to join him to find out
for herself.
The trap was set, and a few days later a signal was sent over the Vox. A small,
insignificant little thing. Harmlessly calling for assistance from a visiting
pair of noble families. Naturally the Planetary Defense Force sent only a few
of their people to deal with whatever problem the Administratum had. How much
trouble could the nobles have gotten themselves into anyway?
Chapter End Notes
     The death of Mika and Mina (how they died) was intentionally
     symbolic. One gave her voice (in some cultures the essence of self
     comes from their name or that an individual voice can have great
     impact in the world) to the Imperium and the other gave her womanhood
     (the essence of birth and new life, and her identity as a willing
     proliferator) to the Imperium. Though whether this was a sacrifice
     received or even for the Imperium is up for debate.
     As for the others, I believe I spell it out in the descriptions of
     how they died.
***** Exodus Thoughts *****
Chapter Summary
     Noble Houses have fallen. Daughters left orphaned. Who will rise from
     the ashes to reach for the stars?
Chapter Notes
     I really wish I could copy and paste the EXACT text from Word Doxc.
     It gives the story a more definitive feel.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Chapter 4: Exodus thoughts
 
 
Sabrina Praxin bounced at the helm of the fast water craft. She had been on
routine patrol, if one could call going solo because the ass that was one’s
partner bailed because they were ‘tired’ routine, when a command port had
called her over the ship’s Vox telling her to head to an island to the far
south of her quarter. According to the order a couple of families were in need
of some assistance of sorts. No other answers were given and the following
silence spoke to the unsaid order that she was to go with no questions asked.
The Imperial Guardswoman’s slight blue-purple eyes flickered in annoyance. Her
one-sixteenth Cadian heritage was on her father’s side while her dark blue-
black hair and fiery temperament was from her mother. Her cap currently kept
her short bangs off the left side of her face. Sabrina was never one for
growing out her hair long, preferring to keep it short. When she had joined the
Imperial Guards she made a habit of buzzing down the entire right side and
keeping the left in a pixie cut. It was functional and what she privately
considered ‘attractive’ though not many other women shared her sentiment. One
of the few had been a female commissar who said it was ‘one of the best
defenses against grappling and hair getting in one’s face’. It was not a
compliment.
Out of frustration Sabrina rubbed her nose, slightly bent from the time she had
gotten into a fist fight with another recruit during training. She hunched her
short 175 cm form down so that her face would not catch as much spray that was
whipping over the front of the boat. Sabrina hated running errands for the
Administratum but at the same time it was her duty. Nothing could change that.
As a small act of rebellion, the Imperial Guardswoman loosened her cap and
enjoyed the wind as it weaved through her hair.
When she arrived at the island it was well past midnight. The only thing that
was to be seen was the glittering beaches and the faint flashes of lightening
on the horizon. Carefully, Sabrina pulled the patrol boat close to shore and
dropped both anchors before hopping out. Her lithe body worked over 13 years in
the Imperial Guards had made her lean and tough.
Her original posting at the age of 14 was on Luggnum with the Sewer Rats 3rd
Light Infantry, though she was not one herself. The harsh mining conditions and
occasional bout with tunnel filled xenos were deadly, but efficient school
room. In the mines, she learned comradery, discipline, patience, and respect.
But Sabrina never thought that one of the overseers would be so stupid enough
to send her to Reth as some armed servant. Never the less, the Guardswoman
endured. Her day brightening up the most when she sent packages bought with her
pay of Throne Gelts to her friends in the trenches. In turn they would send her
a letter back or a picture, censored by the Inquisition and approved by the
Commissar of course. Their presence, even in the smallest bit, gave her peace.
Peace that helped her deal with stupid ass nobles and their stupid ass parties
with their stupid friends and fucking stupid mistakes. Sabrina breathed a
prayer to the Emperor to help her keep calm. Last time she was called out to
assist was when one of the nobles had broken an Aquilla Lander and a tech-
priest was called in just to soothe the machine spirit.
“Just hope these uptards aren’t the same as the last batch.” Sabrina grumbled
under her breath as she waded through the shallows. She grabbed the speaker for
the Vox transmitter and reported back to the broadcast connection. It would
reach the all the nearest bases including her own. “AP-497 Guardsman Praxin,
Unit 28703, responding to Administratum request of support on island no. 98.
Will take estimated 24 hours to designate problem. AP-497 will call if time
variance is altered.”
There was a faint hiss and a voice responded back over the Vox merely for
protocol’s sake. “AP base-port no. 4, we copy your call Guardsman. AP base-port
no. 4 will relay and dispatch replacement. Emperor Protects.”
“Emperor Protects.” Sabrina sighed as she bit back the aggravation of her rank.
On Luggnum she had advanced to Sargent because of her abilities to coordinate a
group efficiently. Nothing large scale, just a squad or two of Guardsmen. As
soon as she was transferred to Reth her rank was bumped back to Guardsman.
Though Sabrina did not mind too much. She would rather be a rat in the low
ranks than one of those in the upper ranks that bickered back and forth.
Her patrol boat had a reasonably shallow draft and would keep afloat for a few
hours. But something seemed off. The darkness of the island was a bit too
foreboding. Sounds of the winds and waves echoed with the hums of nightlife.
The slight chirping and clicking of Nautiline, the swoosh of a disturbed
parrot, the songs of frogs and various other insects. Sabrina had never
personally visited this island. To her it was a spot on a map that was somebody
else’s patrol route. But if the time she had been on Reth was any indication
something felt off. All seemed well as nature thrummed with life, even at
night. Yet there was something unmistakably wrong. An eerie aura had settled in
the night like some unwelcome animal that had snuck into the house.
Taking her Preysense Goggles, the only thing she managed to keep from her stint
in the Luggnum, Sabrina broke from the heavy waves and trotted up the beach. As
she approached the intimidating air seemed to dissipate the further inland she
went until it had all but disappeared among the trees. Though she put on the
goggles, Sabrina did not see anything different appear amongst the vegetation.
In fact, all the usual suspects grew louder. The birds, insects, amphibians,
and hidden animals raised their calls in the night.
With the sounds ringing in her ears Sabrina did not notice that she was getting
hot and sleepy until she accidently walked into a tree. The rough contact from
head to groin, especially around her hips, woke her up a bit but also grasped
at the strange want to against something. Something hard and rough. Something
to relieve an entirely too natural itch in her pipes. The well-disciplined
Guardswoman shook off the feeling and continued her march, now at an incline
because of island no. 98’s spiral terrain.
But the further she went into the woods the further the foreign sensations ate
at her consciousness. The tropical night could not displace the heat she felt.
Nor did the racket keep drowsiness from slowly shutting down her mind. There
was a faint scent lingering on the air.
Sabrina faintly recognized the smell of the Ghostfire flower before crumpling
to the jungle floor. Her eyelids drooped and breathing made her feel heavy.
There was a feeling of breath on her face, the scent of bitter fruit rind
filled her nostrils, and a yellow glowing figure tinged in pale white and pink
buzzed in her fading vision.
A voice rippled at the edge of her conscious, a faint melodious and soothing to
the spirit. “You show promise Paxrin, truly a fitting specimen. Wandering in
her at the beck and call of your masters like a good little dog.”
Sabrina felt her loins clench at the last word. Though she did not know why the
implications made her wet and hot.
“However, as you are ours by right of capture we will do with you as we
please.”
She let out a small moan not knowing herself if it was one of pleasure or
rebellion.
“But I do not want you to think ill of me so I will make you a deal. If you can
endure our good graces for the next four days then we will set you free.
Otherwise you are ours to keep. Understood?”
Sabrina did not have the chance to nod or shake her head as she was smothered
in darkness, a musty cloth covering her eyes, nose, and mouth. Dragged deeper
into the black jungle the deafening chatter of night life seemed to grow
louder. The Guardswoman fell asleep as the pair of deviants hauled the
unconscious protector of Reth up to their grotto.
In truth, the Acolyte and Mithra never wanted to corrupt or turn the
Guardswoman. They just wanted to have some fun. In the former captain’s cabin
they strung up Sabrina Paxrin like she was some animal about to be gutted.
Though not quite. The Acolyte brought out most of the toys he could find in the
ship, at least the ones that would not cause too much bodily harm, and went to
work. It was only a minute before the Guardswoman regained consciousness,
blindfolded and only one toe on the ground as she was skillfully tied up in
silk cord, and only a minute more before she started to struggle at the
skillful hands of Mithra and Marhna. They were the wind itself, ebbing and
shifting across her body. The chilled environment did nothing to stop the trio
from breaking into a sweat as the two heretics worked to bring Sabrina to
ecstasy. As the Acolyte gently kneaded her average sized bust Mithra roughly
ate out the lowly Imperial Guardsman’s pussy. Her tongue lashed back and forth,
side to side, up and down, inside and out as her teeth gnashed open and closed
around her victim’s nethers, but never once biting. The noblewoman’s face was
mashed against Paxrin’s cunt and her hands jerked roughly at the carefully
constructed web she had weaved. A tug here or there would tighten around the
Guardswoman’s sensitive areas, and to be sure, Mithra made full use of them.
She played the poor Sabrina like a worn-out fiddle. Clenching and squeezing
every last drop out of her. Working her like a limp puppet. All Sabrina could
do, blind to the dark world around her and constricted amongst an unseen web,
was moan and gasp and whimper.
Soon she was a shuddering mess on the edge of climax, her legs quivered as her
nethers all but gushed clear fluid, her toes curled as she bit her lip against
a whimper, and her belly spasmed in preparation for what was soon to come. But
it never did. The two self-taught lovers never allowed her to reach that sweet
abyss. Instead they left her entirely, hot and horny with nothing but the air
to caress her. Sabrina moaned in horror and agony as she quivered in the ropes
like a moth caught in a web. She was left with nothing. A feather whisked back
and forth in the wind as her body came down from the hedonistic affections. Her
body began to ache as it realized the position she was in was not entirely
comfortable and was expending energy. Muscles began to tense.
And then the caresses began again.
On and on for hours it went. Marhna and Mithra would bring the guardswoman
close to climax and then abandon her on the edge of her release. Only shifting
her around to tie her up in a different position. All three were drenched in
sweat and their touch had become a bit rougher. Sabrina could no longer tell
the difference between a hand and a mouth. There might be fingers up her
womanhood or it could be a could be a cock. The Guardswoman did not know.
Everything was aching pain and pleasure. Her world was balanced on binding rope
and sweat slicked touches. She cried out and begged for them to continue but it
fell on unhearing ears. The pair would draw out every inch of pleasure they
wanted from the woman and they would do it their way.
Just as Sabrina thought she was going to collapse from the exhaustive
attentions she felt the roiling of her loins again. The constant but unfinished
caresses of her nethers had left her a bit sore but the Acolyte had brought out
some lubricant and continued. As her body betrayed her yet again the
Guardswoman felt herself draw closer to climax from the vigilant touches of her
invisible lovers. She knew she would not receive that one precious pearl she so
desired. That final step as her body would fly, but still she groaned and
pissed herself in pleasure despite of it. Even now she could not deny the lewd
attentions. How they made her want and ache for more. How she would have loved
to stay forever like this, even if she never finished. An endless life of
agony, strung up like a puppet caught in string and never able to finish.
But as she neared her end, the Guardswoman faintly noticed the pressing fingers
and the tightening ropes and the slathering mouths did not stop. The closer she
got the more they seemed to work to get her there. In the back of her mind
Sabrina Paxrin knew they would not let her go but she wanted it anyway. She
wanted their rough and unfinished loving. She screamed for them to continue.
Blasphemous curses flew out of her mouth, urging them on as they sped up their
calculated caresses. Her pussy was all but nub with sensation as a mouth sucked
and licked at her clitoris. It wept as something stroked in an out of her
overworked depths. She could no longer tell if it was fingers, a cock, or an
arm. All she could feel was how it pressed against her walls and threatened to
crush her g-spot. Her nipples felt like they were a foot long as hands snapped
at them and fingers pinched, pulling them down until Sabrina cried in pleasured
pain. Her c-cup breast squeezed between the binding ropes to puff them out from
her chest until it felt like she was being milked. A mouth even spared the time
to collect the sweat from her writhing and rippling stomach as climax quickly
approached.
However, this time was different. This time they did not stop.
A scream ripped from Sabrina’s sore throat as her body seemed to tear itself
apart. Pleasure ripped through every nerve of her being as the administrations
continued. Her bowels spasmed as her body twitched and her toes curled. She
mewled like an animal in heat as she felt her nethers gush whatever remaining
water she had in her body out and she could almost swear her breasts began to
leak milk. The exhausted Guardswoman groaned as she was slowly eased down from
her first climax of the night. Her lover’s fingers and mouths becoming more
soft in their strokes until it was only like a small drop of water rippling in
a pond.
Before Sabrina could murmur her thanks, those same caresses began again. The
Guardswoman cried tears of joy and pain. Her mind now set only on the pleasure
she was given. The smell of flowers and tropical fruit swirled around her as
the unseen hands worked to bring her to another climax.
The Acolyte and Mithra worked from midnight to sun up. Learning all about how
to give pleasure to their toy. When Paxrin looked to be exhausted they made her
drink some water, which the Guardswoman chugged down by the canteen, and began
again after a few minutes. The self-taught lovers each analyzed not only how to
bring their pet’s body to ecstasy but also how to make it more pleasurable. Her
week spots becoming apparent and they would pounce on them when they thought it
would give an interesting advantage. The pair also learned what they themselves
preferred in lovemaking. Their styles manifesting themselves as their worked
continued in cohesion with one another and a system evolved.
As morning rose the Dark Eldar ship’s notified the lovers of the time and the
lovemaking reached one last climax before ceasing entirely. The Guardswoman
looked like her spirit was a frayed rope. She would never be the same after the
night she had with these two lovers. As Mithra and Marahn slowly let her down
and unbound her, Sabrina lay still on the floor. Her body overtaxed with the
night’s events that she was little more than a drooling, quivering mass of
nerve bundles and twitching muscles. They gave the still blindfolded Paxrin
water and left the room. A single candle wisped it’s fumes like incense on the
floor as they left. The Guardswoman dreamt of pleasurable days and nights as
she slowly regained her strength.
 
It was midday before Sabrina woke up under the shade of a palm tree. The bright
sun shone through the tropical canopy and the chitters of Nautiline rang from
unseen pools in the underbrush. Her head throbbed as if she had too many
libations the previous night and her muscles felt like she had gone through a
Commissar’s purification beating ten times over. But there was no mistaking
that ache that was deeper than flesh. It gripped her insides as she flexed her
toned abs and breathed. There was no denying that throbbing memory of being so
filled then feeling empty.
Groaning as she sat up, Sabrina checked her gear.
“It’s all there.” A melodic voice seemed to whisper on the wind.
She painfully turned her head to see a pail girl with golden blond hair
standing behind her. The girl had a somewhat saucy look about her. Adolescent
breasts perked out of her cyan colored tube top and a loose-fitting vest was
all that kept her obvious washboard abs from view. Her long, slender legs were
covered in loose fitting saggy pants. The smirk on her face was echoed by
mischief in her eyes. There was a purple rune of some sort on between her
collar bone and her chest but Sabrina was too tired to make it out. A hooped
earing of gold hung from her left ear and it almost tinkled as she tilted her
head cutely to the side. There was something about her that screamed tomboy.
“We made sure everything was in order, just the way you came in.” The strange
girl spoke again, her voice like a spring wind bringing the scent of flowers.
“You endured for four days, and as promised you are free to leave Guardswoman
Paxrin.”
Sabrina could only nod as she stood up shakily. Her body screaming in torment
as her sore muscles tried to ease back into some position of comfort. Memories
were muddled but she vaguely did recall something about the night, or nights,
before. Something about enduring for four days and they would set her free. But
only if she endured. Had she really?
Taking one step was painful enough as the Guardswoman attempted to start down
the slope to the beach. But a deeper ache throbbed within her. That persistent
itch, squelching between her thighs as memories of the erotic night before
began to dribble back into her mind. And the more she thought about them the
more her uniform grew wet at the pants. The throbbing grew to a dull ache that
pounded with every beat of her heart, begging to be sated just once more.
She knew it was possibly the worst decision she had ever made but she would
never know unless she asked.
Sabrina turned, wincing at the ache of her muscles and the soreness of her
nethers, and called after the disappearing tomboy. “Hey!”
The figure turned, mostly hidden by the brush between them. She still wore that
smirk on her lips. Almost as if-.
“Yes?”
“What happened last night.” Sabrina blushed and looked to her feet. “Could you,
um-”
The strange girl was in front of her before she knew it. Silent like a shadow
as she leaned forward. Long, thin fingers delicately stroked the Guardswoman’s
flushed neck as the shorter girl smiled gleefully.
“Yes?”
“I just mean, could you-um-y’know. Possibly do that-um-.” Sabrina stuttered,
shifting her eyes up and away as the blond stepped within a hairsbreadth of
full contact.
“Do what exactly my good Guardswoman?” A wet, warm tongue licked up Sabrina’s
throat to her jawline. Hot breath teased her face.
The Imperial Guardsman Sabrina Paxrin look down into those blue-grey eyes with
pained want.
“I want more. Please.” She whimpered. Her body held up only by the will of this
blond mistress and her soft touch.
“Very well then.” The tomboy hissed.
The smaller girl thrust her body up into Sabrina’s, grinding her thigh against
the Guardswoman’s nethers. Thin fingers sharply grasped her throat and thumbed
her jawline as the other hand darted around and down her back to roughly
squeeze Sabrina’s ass.
“As you asked, so we shall give.”
Sabrina could now make out the symbol on the tomboy’s chest. A circle connected
to an upturned crescent by a line, bisected by a downward turned crescent.
Somehow the look of it made her wetter as the tomboy’s thigh ground between her
own.
“Shall we?” The pleasing touch was gone as the blond walked up the slope,
flashing Sabrina a smirk over her shoulder.
With a dumb smile on her face, Sabrina Paxrin followed after her up the hill.
 
That day AP base-port no. 4 was notified that Unit 28703 would be spending more
time on the island as the nobles were in need of assurance. However, the
Sabrina Paxrin had fallen in with heretics. Ones that sought a way off planet
and she was all too willing to oblige them.
They reviewed everything they knew and shared information. Sabrina was shocked
to learn of her lover’s histories. One a former Imperial Guardsman like herself
and the other an orphaned noblewoman unwilling to bow to the Imperium. She
guessed their ages at twelve and fourteen approximately, but it astounded her
the level of maturity and intellect Marahn-Marhna demonstrated. For one so
young he was truly gifted, but guarded the fact carefully.
It also shocked Sabrina that of the three she was the tallest and oldest
standing at 175 cm and 54 kilograms, most of it lean muscle. Where as Mithra
maxed out at 170 cm 44 kilograms, and Marahn-Marhna the Acolyte at 165 cm with
43 kilograms of pure muscle and bone.
However, there was no mistaking who was in charge. The Acolyte never missed a
moment, his eyes always roving over the map Sabrina had brought up with them.
Marahn-Marhna asked her about the waterfront bases, military barracks, patrol
schedules, anything relevant he could think of. Even rumors were discussed.
Before long they had formulated a plan that was to Marahn-Marhna’s liking. It
involved a great deal of risk but well worth the effort. Fortunately, there
were multiple fail safes in case of parts of the plan backfiring.
The newly formed trio splint, the Acolyte and Mithra were dropped off at one of
the larger archipelagoes while Sabrina made for the spaceport docks. With a
little extra cargo and a wicked smirk.
 
Marhna moaned as he gently bounced up and down on the old man’s lap. His own
erection flopped and leaked as his stomach rippled, pale skin flexing over
tight muscle. The two of them, the nobleman and he, were alone in the circular
library chambers. At least the only people that was.
A hum echoed in the air as metallic wings tinkled like windchimes with every
wing beat. The infantile blobs of flesh and robotics was not to be confused
with living persons. Though one could easily mistake them for one. The love
angel types, both male, floated around on anti-grav generators and singing in
soft melodic voices echoing from fabricated voice boxes. Marahn-Marhna had seen
them before as an Inquisitor had once visited his camp in the time he had been
a Guardsman. The Inquisitor was heralded by servo skulls and a flight of
cherubs. They were more machine than flesh and rumor had it that they were vat
cultivated tissue with nerves grown around machine parts. Little more than an
advanced machine toy for the Ecclesiarch and well to do of the Imperium to play
with.
Blue-grey eyes warily glanced at the two cherubs as they spurted pleasure
inducing pheromones into the air, invisible to the normal or naked eye. Yet
they were there. The Marahn-Marhna’s own inspired lustfulness was evidence of
that.
Keeping his mask of pleasure on his face, the Acolyte patiently waited for the
old man to reach his end. Kylax Adnromidez was a man of great power on Reth and
of greater influence. He was a man that looked to be in his eighth decade with
white hair retreating from his scalp. His seat back was diagonally positioned
so he would not strain himself and so his great fatty girth did not prohibit
the Acolyte’s performance. His wrinkled, leering face was studded with metal
tubes and wires. Various implants and enhancers that were installed over the
years in service of the Imperium of Mankind. However, the looked on his face
said more than necessary. All his staff were male with the exception of one old
lady who stayed in the kitchen out of sight. And Kylax had been more than
willing to accept the prospect of a willing pleasure slave with no questions
asked. If he had to guess, Marahn-Marhna would most likely say that the noble
had diddled the cherubs when he had nothing else to abuse. Using the two flesh
machines as toys was probably the least disgusting of his sins.
However, this stage of the plan was essential. And all that was left was to
finish the act. Kylax had already spilled all the information the Acolyte
needed, and a little more. It was not so much that his tongue was loosened by
seductive wiles, but rather that he was quick to defend his pride and boast of
all his holdings. Including the Asylum of Saint Vero.
And he felt like he was just about to pop. The Acolyte worked harder to bring
Kylax to finish. His succulent ass coiling tightly against the knobbed and wire
haired phallus. It was an interesting experience to say the least. One worth
experimenting with later. The nobleman grunted deep within his barrel chest as
his wrinkled scrotum tightened. Useless seed spurted in several thick blobs
into Marhna’s rear as he pretended to receive pleasure from the semen alone.
The Acolyte would savor the memory for later. As the noble Kylax sat panting,
Marahn quickly stuffed a bundled napkin in to the man’s mouth and jammed a
small wooden shank into his left eye. It pierced the pericardial jelly with
sharpened ease and shot into the brain where the carefully placed notches
grabbed easily at the grey matter. With jerking torques the Acolyte stirred the
shank violently while his other hand shoved against Kylax’s lower jaw to keep
his mouth from opening, pinning the nobleman’s head against the back of the
chair. It only took a few spasming jerks and a long muffled scream before the
former Kylax Andromidez sat dead in his chair with the Acolyte still nude on
his lap.
Calmly reaching for his robe on the floor, the Marahn-Marhna took out two more
slivers and proceeded to plunge them in. One of silver he dug into the right
eye. One of iron he planted ad the bridge of the nose and heaved in. Finally,
he took out the Dark Eldar Wych knife and carved an eye into the nobleman’s
forehead. Once he was done the Acolyte carefully pulled himself off the dead
man and pulled Kylax’s pants back up. With the now limp cock cleaned and
stuffed back in his buttoned-up clothes it appeared as if he just been stabbed.
A little superficial binding around his wrists and arms, and it seemed that an
entirely different crime had occurred.
Marahn-Marhna waited until the butler type cherub appeared. The chubby nude
flesh-machine hummed in on superficial wings and began rearranging the room.
His basic commands were to clean after ‘business’ was concluded and escort the
two love angel types out. While the bundle of flesh and wires was flying
around, Marahn-Marhna took a few tomes from the dead man’s library. An
eightieth edition Lectitio Divinitatus by Lorgar Aurelian caught his eye as
well as a much heavier book Ancient Arcana and Wicha. The Acolyte bemusedly
worked through them while the butler type shooed out the other two cherubs.
Pulling out a spare ink bottle from the elaborate desk near the large glass
window. In a moment, he would slip through one of the panes and make his escape
but the now was for preparation. Marahn-Marhna dipped his finger into the black
ichor and walked over to the large wooden doors leading into the personal
library. The same doors that the dead Kylax Andromidez faced from his chair.
Using whatever came to mind, the Acolyte squiggled symbols and runes that had
no particular meaning what so ever. They were not meant to be interpreted but
rather to set his pursuers off track when they found the nobleman dead. He made
sure to embellish, drawing a large circle with the eight-pointed star of Chaos
inside. In the middle, he drew a circular eye surrounded by flame. The Acolyte
stepped back to admire his work and gave a nod of approval.
Checking one last time around the library, as his facial eyes roved over some
of the top shelves the eye in his stomach looked through those in the bottom
shelves. He finally settled on taking a few sector-subsector star maps and a
small essay pamphlet labeled ‘Tyrrant Star’.
With all his work done, the Acolyte took his loot with him and slipped through
the window. Out the large mansion he went, clawing his way along the sheer
brick wall, wiggling down a pillar, and then silently making his way through
the jungle that used to be Kylax Andromidez’s garden. Down on the beach further
away, Mithra waited for him and together they made their way toward the Asylum
of Saint Vero.
The building had multiple stories both above and below ground. Built in a
circular pattern with branching structures and towers so that when one looked
down from above it resembled a large sun with outlying rays. Sisters of the
Order Hospitaller went about in light colored vestments, treating all who came
into their care. But if they were anything like the Sisters of Battle Marahn-
Marhna had witnessed before they were not to be underestimated. Neither were
the Tempestus Scions, Imperial Guard Stormtroopers, that guarded whatever was
buried beneath the asylum. Thankfully, Marahn-Marhna had found all he needed to
enter and exit at will. All that was needed was to dispatch a few of the
Stormtroopers and create a little chaos.
An airshaft dug in the side of the hill dropped down into the facilities below.
Some pulled in air while others expelled used air. Those that were the latter
had a pronounced amount of vegetation around them. While the designers and
architects might have thought this was a good replacement for camouflage, it
was also an easy way to spot them if one knew where to look. Thankfully the
system required several levels of ducts to pull and push air from the
Inquisitorial basement. That meant several layers of fans and maintenance
walkways to access them. And they were, rather unsurprisingly, accessible from
the air duct.
A few minutes of tinkering with the door and keying in the proper passcode,
courtesy of the now dead Kalyx Andromidez, the underground was open to the two
of them. Mithra Faust and Marahn-Marhna disappeared underneath the foliage of
the jungle.
Through twisted metal mazes and dust infested tunnels they crept. The extra
supplies were heavy but Marahn-Marhna was adamant they take the large bundles
with them. They were crucial to their exit. Both heretics spent the next hours
following the architectural lay out and dodging servitors that were busy
repairing various parts of the air conditioning system. But before long they
shuffled through a wall grate at floor level. Popping up in a bleach white
hallway that had an elevator on one end and ending in to a perpendicular
hallway. The only visible marks were of large black arrows indicating
directions and various Imperial sigils painted in blackish brown. Everything
reeked of dogma, cleaning fluids, and dried blood. There seemed to be a Vox
broadcasting system that played the hymns of the Emperor in a low monotone.
Helping the noblewoman out of the work shaft, Marahn broke open one of the
larger bundles to reveal two flamers. Unleashing another bundle revealed a
small supply of holy promethium containers.
“What are those for?” Mithra asked, partly curious why flamers were crucial to
the plan and partly wondering if she was going to get to use one of them.
The Acolyte smiled as he worked a container of promethium onto both arsonist
weapons. “Well, this place is sealed up with defenses designed to keep
heretical psykers and whatever else is down her in. There are only a few guards
on this level and the cell blocks marked ‘for observation’ so I think the ones
I want to find are here. If they aren’t we just hop ship and be out of here.”
“And if not who or what will we be taking with us?” The platinum blond quirked
an eyebrow.
“A valuable ally.”
It appeared enough of an explanation for Mithra. “You still have not told me
what the weapons are for.”
The Acolyte’s smile grew a little wider. “Fun fact, the more oxygen a flame has
the more the color of said flame changes. If you add enough oxygen and reduce
the soot enough, then it becomes a blueish color.”
“I learned that from a Scion specialist believe it or not.” Marahn looked up at
Mithra as he lighted the pilot light. “But of course, any weapon that looks
wrong or does not conform to doctrinal code is deemed heretical.”
Mithra frowned. “What happened to him? The Tempestus Scion?”
“A Commissar reported him to his Inquisitor and the man was sentenced receive
the Emperor’s Mercy.” Marahn-Marhna’s face turned neutral as he stood and
hefted one of the flamers, peering down it’s all but useless iron sight. “He
was shot while kneeling before the Imperial Aquila and his body burned beyond
recognition. Ready to go?”
Grabbing the other flamer that he offered her, Mithra nodded. “I follow you as
I have sworn.”
“Then let’s commit some heresy.” The Acolyte grinned.
The deviant pair walked down the corridor and took a left, right, then another
right. Their bag of spare promethium in the Acolyte’s hand. Their light
civilian clothing would be not match to the Stormtrooper armaments but the
Acolyte was counting on a bit more than surprise to get them out. A sudden
clomping of boot indicated whenever a guard was near but the two of them were
always out of sight. Unheard and unnoticed by the vigilant guardsmen.
“Be sure to cover our back.” Marahn-Marhna whispered. “If you see a guardsman,
pull the trigger and scream as loudly as you can. Tap my back if you
understand.”
Mithra nodded out of habit and patted her companion of the back. She had never
killed another before but she also knew that if they were caught in this
sublevel of the Asylum they would not be spared.
After two more left turns they came upon their last corner. Around the bend
were a squad of four Scions guarding a set of sealed doors. The Acolyte held up
five fingers for Mithra and counted down. When he reached one, Marahn-Marhna
took a deep breath and screamed as high as his voice would go. Shoving away
from the corner wall, he unleashed burning fury as he went. Blueish-yellow
flames swirled against the walls and rushed toward the Imperial Stormtroopers.
They barely had time to call out before being engulfed in the hellish inferno.
Oxygen was sucked out of their lungs and the moisture in their mouths
evaporated in seconds. All their gear was burnt or melted as the heated
promethium consumed all. Those that were not killed outright by the heat were
left to die of shock on the floor.
The Acolyte and Mithra strode past the former Stormtroopers. Licks of flam
still writhed along the walls and floor, and eating away at the burnt corpses.
Despite the fiery onslaught the door had remained unscathed and unnaturally
cool to the touch. With a twist of the rotating wheel handles the locking bolts
rolled back into the door and they stepped through. What greeted them was not
what Mithra was expecting. Unnaturally white walls and incandescent bulbs mixed
with the smell of blood and burnt skin. There was row upon row of cells, each
bearing the same paint scheme as the walls. There was a master control switch
near the side of the door that opened the first set of cells. A similar panel
was on the front of the next block, out of reach of the occupants.
“Stay here.” Marahn commanded, spinning Mithra around so she faced the burning
entrance. “And don’t look back until I tell you too.”
Mithra nodded and lifted the flamer, kneeling down rather than stand so she
would not have to lift up her weapon.
Seeing his orders were received the Acolyte went about his business of checking
each cell for what he wanted. The first few were as expected. Gibbering masses
of flesh inside otherwise spotless cages. Then came several more humanoid
shapes, some with extra appendages and others missing two or three. After that
were people that better resembled humans and it was on the tenth cell in the
block that Marahn-Marhna found who he wanted.
In the corner of the cell talking to himself was a three-eyed man. Tubes and
wires popped in and out of his body. Nodes that were as numerous as liver spots
dotted his skin. His third eye wiggled in his forehead as he mumbled on and on.
Ever repeating the words “lost, lost, lost”.
He stuck a key in the lock and pulled the door away. “You are found my friend.”
“Friend?” The man asked from the corner, his emaciated body bobbed and
shuddered with each breath. “What friends do I have in this place? Alone with
the voices.”
Marahn-Marhna crouched next to the man, careful not to look him in the eyes.
“Friends that come to take you away. Away from this place.”
“To the ocean?”
“Yes. To the ocean. For we would be lost without you.” Marahn-Marhna bowed his
head slightly. “Will you come with us, to the ocean?”
“To the place of the lost we go, but never to return here? To this place of red
and black?” He asked. “Of screams and spells?”
“No.” The Acolyte replied. “Never back to this place.”
“Then I will come with us. Us will take me to the bright ocean like promised.
Where dark waters flow forever.” The man attempted to sit up but his muscles
had grown weak.
Putting an arm under the him, Marahn-Marhna aided the man’s ascent to his feet.
“What is your name friend?”
“Navigator Selaphiel Voyshiad, aged 31 Terran rotations, head 179 cm above feet
on floor, does not want to others to know that weight has been reduced due to
Inquisition purifying.” The navigator’s groan echoed from deep in his chest.
The Acolyte smiled. “Don’t worry, we friends will not tell. And I can promise
you we will get your weight back from the Inquisition. I am Marahn-Marhna, the
star-haired is my friend and yours as well. Us is with we.”
Selaphiel nodded his acknowledgement. “Friends with us.”
As one they shuffled out of the bleached cell and into the corridor.
Animalistic moans and hisses heralded their exodus.
“Take me!” A desperate voice called after them.
Marahn-Marhna turned his head to see a man thoroughly marked by scarification
and ritualistic tattoos reaching out through the walls of his cell. Eyes wide
with pleading hope, bent and mangled fingers grasping in the air.
“Why?” Blue-grey eyes dissected the skinny man up and down.
The man stretched his scared face against the bars. “I can help you! I swear it
on my soul just get me out of here! Please, I beg you!”
Marahn-Marhna gave Selaphiel his flamer to use as a crutch and walked over to
the crying man’s cell. The occupant was almost as skinny as the navigator with
tattered remains of robes and vestments. His black eyes were full of despair
and days spent under the unmerciful hand of the Inquisition. Sweat had caked on
his bald head and down his neck to his back.
The Acolyte jerked his chin. “Swear your soul to me.”
“I swear my soul.” He replied.
“Swear to me. Your name; your soul.” Marahn-Marhna hissed.
“I, Grinich Hyveron Kylos Phrondul Koatt Vayrus Hotatle Zalgier, former primary
psyker assigned to the Gudrunite 335th Rifles, swear my life and my soul to you
forever. Please, free me from this prison. Please.” Grinich looked seconds from
breaking but held a firm face for preservation of his faith.
Dark wells stared back into hard shards of blue-grey. Air warped between the
two as they studied each other. Two beasts of war circling one another.
Measuring, and sizing the other up. Marahn walked calmly over to the psyker’s
door, unlocked it and pulled it open. He took hold of Grinich’s shoulder and
led him out.
“You do as I say, and if I think you are excessive or betray your oath I will
end you personally.” He whispered in Grinich’s ear as he passed.
The two prisoners huddled against each other for support as the Acolyte
retrieved his flamer. Before the foresworn family departed their prison Marahn-
Marhna turned to flip the master switch. A shriek of metal resounded as all the
first row of cells began to open slowly, occupants stirring at the sudden
activity. Blue flame and faux screams were the Acolyte’s vanguard as the small
group exited the cellblock. Marahn-Marhna in front with his flamer on its
second container, Grinich and Selaphiel shuffling along in the middle, and
Mithra as the rearguard with her own flamer at the ready. As quickly as
possible they retraced their steps, shooting gouts of obstructing flame at any
Temptestus Scion that neared their position. The famed Stormtroopers were met
with terrifying walls of blue fire and those that were not killed outright
heard an unnatural scream accompanying the mobile mass arsonist fury.
When they neared the wall vent Marahn-Marhna set aside his flamer and dropped
the bag of excess promethium containers. From the last of the three large bags
he pulled extra clothing that he threw to the navigator, psyker, and a pair to
Mithra for them both. He then twisted the end of the now empty bag and sealed
it with a know so there was a small pocket of air inside, and placed the bag in
with the unused promethium. Unscrewing several lids from the containers, the
Acolyte also pulled out an egg-shaped metal device with a very menacing ring
pin attached to the top.
“Is that-?” Grinich began to ask.
“An Eldar plasma grenade, yes.” Marahn-Marhna answered without looking up from
his work. “A little goodbye present for all the confused and hard assed
Inquisitors who run this asylum.”
Tying a string around the grenade pin he carefully placed it in the two bags
with the leaking promethium and shoved the whole packaged at the threshold of
the elevator. He carefully made his way back to the group, an unwinding cord of
sting in his hand. Like ghosts they disappeared behind the grate, setting it
back in place as they left, and were gone.
Behind his comrades, Marahn-Marhna waited until they were a descent distance
from the hallway before he tightened his grip on the string. There was a
stretched tugging and then the string went slack. A few seconds later the
catwalk they were on shuddered and it felt like a giant had taken a power
hammer to the entire facility. The earth rumbled around them as dust began to
shake loose and fog the air conditioning tunnels.
Four heretics clad in long robes climbed out through the door hidden in
foliage. They mirrored the crowds around them and headed for the docks where a
boat was waiting for them. Behind them smoke and dust mingled as they sped away
over the waves toward the spaceport. By the time the Temptestus Scions had
amassed in the halls of the underground Asylum to figure out what was going on
they were too late. The guards could only speak of screams and blue flame. Not
to mention there were now warp infected creatures roaming the halls.
Commanders and overseers were notified as the wheels of bureaucracy spun
without traction. An earth-shattering rumble echoed on the horizon as an
explosion like none before peeled through the tropical air. For those close to
island no. 98, the island itself seemed to be suddenly engulfed in flame and
dark clouds. Boulder sized rocks fell from the sky, raining down against
anything alive or not for several miles. But the worst was yet to come.
The volcano, asleep and content for many years, had been angered by the sudden
explosion. Beneath the rock shelves of Reth’s surface plates shifted and hot
magma surged. The long slumber had ended and the great titan of island no. 98
was awakened in its full fury.
As the Acolyte boarded the surface to void transport he felt the shockwave curl
underneath his feet. He smiled with small satisfaction. Everything had gone
better than he had planned as they even had a new member to add to their
growing faction.
Marahn-Marhna looked up to wave at Sabrina Paxrin as she and Mithra hugged each
other. Grinich was already through the inspection gate with Selaphiel with
Marahn-Marhna coming in behind them. The small craft would take them to the
void where they were to board an armed freighter named Holy Servant. From then
on it would be relatively easy to seize hold of the isolated community.
The Acolyte smiled. Almost too easy.
 
As the Master has commanded me, I will go forth. I shall seek the Acolyte and
serve him. He shall be my chosen Champion and I shall be his Herald. As the
Prince wills, so it shall be.
Chapter End Notes
     Just a few suggested songs:
     Bartholomew- The Silent Comedy
     I'm so Sorry- Imagine Dragons
     Eyes on Fire- Blue Foundation
     Fitzpleasure- Alt-J
     The Winter- Balmorhea
     Bowsprit- Balmorhea
     Below the Hurricane- Blitzzen Trapper
     Hey Mama (Distro REMIX)- by Nicki Manaj and Afrojack
     If I had a Heart- Fever Ray
     Dog Days are Over- Florence + Machine
     Apollo 69- Goblins from Mars
     Karma (hardline)- Jamie N Commons
     And of course, We will Rock You- Queen
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