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Author Topic: Renewed Love and Precursor to War  (Read 373 times)

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Offline ArchonBalroga

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Renewed Love and Precursor to War
« on: August 22, 2004, 10:51:05 PM »
"An invitation into a Cult Hall, to discuss the finer points of slave trade. I pity that fool who signed his own death warrant."

The transport stopped, deep in the Dark City. Six Eldar emerged, and were met by several Wyches, who escorted them inside. An impeccably clean residence, crowded with male and female Wyches. The one thing Balroga took in was that their armor seemed to vary greatly, he identified the marks of several major Wyche cults in Commorragh. before he could speak up, he and his entourage we placed in a small reception room.

The doors rapidly slid closed.

"This has "trap" written all over it" , the male Haemonculus stated, flatly, almost disinterested. "What do you think, Incubus?

The Incubi Master cast his gaze over the room, over its dark, hardwood walls and into every shadow. A single dim lamp lit the room, bringing soft couches and large, hovering chairs into stark relief. His assessment complete, he gave his verdict.

"Lord, perhaps you should look behind the desk."

Balroga brought out his only weapon, a small knife. While his bodyguard wore full battle armors, he had instead chosen to forsake his thermoplas gear and only wore a thin attire of silk, but kept his flowing black cloak. His mask would, instead of the quite functional Hellmask, be a simple silk cover. He opened a small slit near his thin nose, sniffed once, and seemed to smile.

"Shiara, you can come out now"

A tall Wyche emerged from behind the desk, slender and perilously beautiful as all of her kind are wont to be. She had also forsaken battle wear, but kept her long agonizer whip close by.

"You are quite the innocent fool, Darthis, to believe that you could walk into any seasoned Wyche's stronghold and force an attack. Even more foolish if you thought you could get out alive."

"Hmm, does it really matter? Your persistence to play these games does not amuse me. I still assume you want some business?"

Shiara's voice grew cold, "Yes, Lord Balroga, I have much to discuss with you. I still have not received payment for the Wyches I gave to you, and I now understand that they are dead, slughtered duing your bid to regain a toehold in this city. No matter what may have been between us before, you still need to pay up. My mistress demands it."

"So, what did you have in mind?"

"Always eager to please me..." The Archite laughed, but Balroga continued to stare. "My mistress has a job for you. A certain world has just been infested by mon-keigh, and my mistress has taken a liking for rare jewels there. My mistress always gets what she wants. An Imperial commander is there to supervise agriculture and the construction of various military acadamies. Forces from the Inquisition are also there to investigate psychic disturbances. Also, Iyanden Craftworld scouts have been spotted by preliminary inteligence. They will probably take care of the Inquisition, with some prompting, but my mistress wants you to take down the Guard. One Colonel Tiernan Dasden is in command. I know you have experience with him...?"

"I have destroyed three of his armies."

"Yes, but that was before the incident with the Tyranids...."

Balroga suddenly shrieked, and dropped to the floor, visibly shaken and quivering. His guard rushed to help him, his devoted Incubi Master supporting him with the help of a Sybarite and the Beastmistress.

"Right, I forgot you are a little...sensitive. ..perhaps you'll remember who knows your weaknesses. I will give you a unit of Wyches, accompanied by Succubus Griel..." A short Wyche strode in. "And Beasts accompanied by Beastmaster Athran"

The Beastmistress spoke up, "He already has a..."

She was cut short as she was cut down by a lash of Shiara's whip.

"Hope you don't mind, Darthy, but you know I'm jealous. Good luck, if you fail, my mistress will be after you...."

The group uneasily left, returning to their small Hall, faced with a great challenge to a fledgeling Kabal.

The price of failure is always death to the Dark Kin.
"So I says to my Archon,'Rectum? I dang near eviscerated 'em!'"

 


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