An Ancient Game

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Kaome Sky Deathand
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Re: An Ancient Game

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Thu Jan 28, 2010 10:23 pm

Act II
A Ship of Sin and Silence
As usual, Isar Vruss had nearly found what he was looking for.
The Magos stalked the plated deck in darkness. His form was inked out, his movements shaded and blurred, a side-effect from the Shroud cloak he had spent a good number of years adjusting to his unique bio-energy signature. He had long since retired the robes of his 'office' once he attained the title of Magos and was 'unleashed' from the eyes of Mars. He did not require light to see, his eyes adjusting to the gloom, pinpricks of red where the iris should be. His blade was naked in his right hand, the weapon strangely quiet, as if sensing that stealth was key...for even with all the enhancements Isar Vruss had made to his body, even still that which he hunted was worthy of being a challenge.
Power surged through the Hulk, causing Vruss to maintain his position as the ship adjusted for the movement.

The space Hulk had seemed quiet enough, an act of random chance dropping the ship on his own vessels scopes as he re-entered real space for a course adjustment. He spent two days scanning and another two days of planning a survey team, equipped with weapons and armor, some of his own design. Two platoons of Skitarii and the elite mercenary group of the Forgotten Chosen had come with the Magos.
The first few hours aboard had gone well. There was little to report and nothing of interest to collect. It was only till they delved deeper into the floating wreck that things began to turn for the worse. Strange garbled reports, movement in the dark, and random power surges. Moments after the descent into the next level the comms went dead and the screaming had begun. Now it was all in chaos, beasts attacking from the darkness of the holds, feral, predatory. Though not in the Biological Ordos, Isar Vruss had enough experience and cross-training to understand what it was he faced. Hullghasts.

A Void bulkhead had separated him from the rest of his group, even with his skill he could not force the door to open.
He didn't risk blowing charges either, as the majority of the damage would affect the hull rather than the door itself. That had been some two hours ago according to his inner chron.
Vruss continued his trek into the heart of the ship.
He would find out what lay within darkness...
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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Jericho Veronus
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Re: An Ancient Game

Post by Jericho Veronus » Fri Jan 29, 2010 9:47 pm

“...And with blood I spill, blood I gain.”

Sharpe rose his head as he closed the book of an ancient religion, long since dead to the rest of the universe. On his planet of birth, in a galaxy lost to the stars and light years behind him, he was raised under the following of R’gilk. One of his only practices to survive his transformation into the ranks of the Emperor. His home planet alone housed several hundred religions, as did the several hundred thousand other planets. There was a good chance that he may be the only follower of R’gilk to ever grace the ranks, practicing or not. The Emperor and his Prime Legions had abolished millenniums prior, having claimed to have proven them false, though Sharpe maintained strong ties to his own.

The power surged through the hall in which himself and the Forgotten Chosen stood. A nuisance at first, but as it became more steady, eventually blowing out the lighting, he could tell something was not right. They had stopped momentarily only for a short commemoration of fallen comrades as the hulk had once housed brothers of their former chapters. Though no bodies or traces of blood were present, they all knew full well they would never have simply abandoned the post, but instead fought to their last breathes and even beyond that. Rising to his feet, he carefully folding his prayer cloth before grabbing the vibro-blade slung at his side. It was only one of the several techno-enhanced swords that hung from the far wall of his quarters aboard their own ship. Many of them decommissioned and no longer serviced for battle, both having been wielded by himself and his enemies alike, he still hung them along side his current arms, as a reminder of the flow of his own history through the course of battle.

“zzzzzz…C-deck...zzzzzzzzz…zzzzzzz…reported fire….zzzzzz.zz…ready….zzzzz”

The comm-link was garbled, static interrupting the message that crackled into his ear. From what he did hear, it seemed the Magos' own troops encountered something. The two groups had split up upon boarding the hulk in order to search separate sections. The last solid message had come from them some few hours ago when the Magos has somehow become separated from his own troops by a bulkhead. And the Forgotten Chosen were now on their way to circle around the ship and meet up with him from the opposite side.

“Bravo, link up with them.”

A simply nod and they turned back towards the direction they had just come from. Alpha had already been designated in holding an assault position near their point of entry on the hulk; now with Bravo's advancement towards the Skitarii, Sharpe was left with Delta to carry on in search of the Magos. While few had lazer sightings upon their weapons, very few had actual illuminating light sources. Even Sharpe had none other than his weapon itself. Flipping the trigger on the hilt he kicked his vibro-sword to life. The low hum sounded as it emitted a dim blue light; the sword providing just enough for him to see a small area around him.

Before stepping off into the black abyss of the hulk, Sharpe recited a verse from the book, now within his pack.

"And I step into the darkness, knowing that I am the light to bring its end!"
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May God have mercy on your soul, for you shall find none here!

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Kaome Sky Deathand
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Re: An Ancient Game

Post by Kaome Sky Deathand » Wed Feb 24, 2010 7:00 pm

...scratching, gnawing, clawing, biting, fighting, breathing, hunting, hiding...wretched naked fleshy things, drooling, snapping, blinking, sleeping...can you hear the ships hull sing?...scratching, gnawing, clawing, biting, fighting, breathing, hunting, hiding...lights go on, lights go out...in the dark they feed on doubt. Blue lights bring the taste of meat, blood and bile beneath your feet...scratching, gnawing, clawing, biting, fighting, breathing, hunting, hiding...

"Are you quite finished...?" Vruss whispered into the darkness around him.
Vibrations shimmied through the metal, the hulk groaning in protest at some yet unseen problem. He couldn't be sure, but the Magos suspected either the engines were going through a slow death of mass flux implosion or the core was bleeding out into the power boards. Both were not overly serious as long as they stayed in their current state of slow destabilization and didn't mass react to any changes in the near future.
Silence stretched for a moment as his question went unanswered before once again the clawing at his mind began anew.

...do you not like my mouth sounds? came the scratch scratching against his head.
He didn't answer, for the deamon was only acting out because it did not sense blood to taste and meat to strip from bone and sinew. It wasn't uncommon for the blade to speak if it stood naked in his hand but had no task for itself. Isar Vruss ghosted past a darkened frame when the hairs on what was left of his human hide stood on end. They were there. A moment later his sensors picked them up moving down the corridor. Strange that the wave of fear they carried should alert his human side before the blessings grafted into him. Still...fair warning.

The Magos slunk back into the dark of the open frame and the blade began to sing...

...scratching, gnawing, clawing, biting, fighting, breathing, hunting, hiding...wretched naked fleshy things, drooling, snapping, blinking, sleeping...soon you'll just be food for me, separating body from head and all manner of things to make you dead...scratching, gnawing, clawing, biting, fighting, breathing, hunting, hiding...bleeding, screaming, begging...dying...
Cruor Vult

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion,
simultaneously the source of our greatest strength, and our greatest weakness.

Soon we shall be One...joined in the Word.

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