The Unholy Legions of Anti-Sanctus Chaotica, a Warhammer Online Destruction Regiment, Sweet Persuasion (reposted & cont.)

Quote from: "Machiavelli-Noir"

As the evening continued, the subdued glow of the sun behind Naggaroth's permanently cloudy sky faded into the murky gray of twilight. Dusk would soon be upon the druchii quartet.
Before long, a single pinprick of light could be seen shining through the trees less than a mile from the group.

Each elf shot up a fist to command the others to halt. They paused, and then simultaneously glared at one another in annoyance, then each of them shook his head and muttered quietly to himself.

Noir's body sighed. "Well, here we are then." He turned toward the others. "Dismounting would be advisable, gentlemen and witch. This is not someone we'd wish to alarm or otherwise disturb in any avoidable manner." In the waning light, Malak could just barely make out the look on the dark lord's face. If he hadn't thought it impossible, he could've sworn on Khaine's name that it was worried.

Had Aladriel been concerned, she made no sign of it. "For once, I'd agree," she said.

Cirosmar cleared his throat. "My lord?" He said, "Am I to understand that you expect us to walk a mile in the dark toward an entirely unknown light in the wilderness after we've already been attacked once, and avoided Khaine knows how many other encounters along the way, all on the vague chance that it's actually a reclusive old sorceress who may just as easily kill us on the spot as greet us?"

Malak coughed. "The old bastard has a point," he muttered.

Machiavelli cast a weary glance at the guards. "Do you have an alternative course of action to propose, Narinhil? Malak?"

"Actually," Cirosmar said, "I think we shou--"

"I didn't think so," Machiavelli blurted out. "Come along then."

Without another word, the party dismounted and proceeded on foot. The forest's permafrost was steady underfoot, far sturdier than the snow of the open plains, allowing the legionnaires to move with relative ease. Within minutes, they were in sight of their destination: a solitary house, little more than a large pile of rocks with a weathered wooden door.
A warm glow like that of candlelight shone through the many cracks in the door.

The lord and lady looked at one another. They nodded. Slowly, the two walked up to the dwelling.

OOC:

I hope this has managed to set the scene decently well for the rest of you. Now Kutulu will jump in and honor us with his impression of a crazy old druchii hermit.

A feeling of uneasiness swept over the party as they approached the solitary shack. Nervousness wasn't unknown to a single one of the druchii, but of course none would dare show his fear to the others--that would just be inviting ridicule, death or, around Lord Noir, possibly a tension-relieving orgy.
"I don't suppose anyone would like a nice tension-relieving orgy?" He said, his voice practically a whisper.
Malak, who stood near the rear of the group, gazed longingly at Aladriel's body, her figure a stunning silhouette in the slowly increasing light. "Actually, that sounds kind of--"
"If anyone says anything else at all before we get to the door, I'll rip that person's intestines out through his ass and force the rest of you to eat them while he's still alive," Aladriel said.
There was silence for about a second. Cirosmar kept a dagger between his teeth to keep from laughing. M. Noir's eyes glazed over for a moment; Malak felt a hand forcefully grab his posterior and shake it violently.
The younger elf yelped, but said nothing. Machiavelli chuckled softly.

After what had seemed like an eternity, the quartet finally were within a stone's throw--a goblin's throw, so about four feet--away from the shack. It was much larger than it'd looked from afar: it was an usual structure, four slabs of twenty-foot tall granite leaning against one another with a layer of rotting wood for a roof. There was no door to be seen, merely a small hole in the rock ten feet off the ground.
An unnatural stillness hung in the air; it was warm and humid, as if they'd just wandered into a marsh. The snow around the little house was blacker than the Naggarothi dusk; it even warmed their feet as they walked upon it.
Aladriel strolled up to one of the walls. "Speak up and die" was written on it near eye-level in what was probably blood.
The Dark Lady cleared her throat. "Up and die!" She yelled. The light from the window suddenly turned a deep purple. An opening in the wall appeared; Aladriel smiled and walked inside. The opening disappeared.
Mahk forced a grin across Noir's face. "Up and die!" He said.
WHOZAT? a shriek rang through the minds of the druchii. All four of them winced, trying not to show the pain to their comrades. I said, the psychic voice cleared its throat. WHOZAT? WHOTHEHELLRYOUWHATCHADOINHEREIDONTLIKEVISITORS
IDONTIDONTTHATZWHYIMACRAZYOLDHERMITINTHEWOODS
DIDYOUTHINKTHATHERMITSLIKEDVISITORSORSOMETHINGAND
THATSWHYTHEYLIVEINTHEWOODSINHOUSESWITHOUTDOORSOR
WHATAREYOUGUYSIDIOTSORSOMETHINGISHOULDSICMYDOGON
YOUORIWOULDIFIHADADOGIWISHIHADADOGOHTHATWOULDBE
GREATSOGREATIDLOVEITANDSQUEEZESITFORALLLLLTHETIMES .
There was precious silence once again.
SO ANYWAYLIKEIWASSAYINWHOAREYOU?
"I am the Dark Lord Ma--" he paused. Mahk cocked Noir's head to the side as if considering the question. After nearly a minute, he spoke up again. "I am Noir, son of Gris, Commander in the glorious army of our Sovereign Malekith. I come to you in the name of the Anti-Sanctus Chaotica."
WEDONTLIKEYOUGOAWAY! NEXT!
Cirosmar shrugged and approached the wall. "Up and die." The opening appeared and he ran inside. Malak did likewise, leaving the dark lord outside by himself.
"Don't like me, do you?" Mahk shifted Noir's weight to one leg and crossed his arms.
CANTREMEMBERAONENIGHTSTANDAFTERALLTHEONESYOUVEHADEH?
ITWASCENTURIESAGOICANTBLAMEYOUFORFORGETTING.IZHAVENTFORGOTTEN
THOUGHANDIZNEVERWILLZ!
Machiavelli frowned.
IREMEMBERYOULEFTWITHOUTSAYINGGOODBYEANDINEVERSAW
YOUAGAINHOWDOYOUTHINKTHATMAKESAGIRLFEELANYWAY?
Noir let loose a heavy sigh. "Look, I--"
ISAIDWHYSHOULDILECHUIN?IDONTOWEYOUANYTHINICAN
SQUAWKFORTHESEIDIOTZYOUBROUGHTANDLEAVEYOUTADIE
Several minutes passed by. Eventually, the Dark Lord nodded to himself af if satisfied. He spoke again. "Kota. As you may or may not have already heard from your guests, we have business to discuss. Legion business. The Anti-Sanctus Chaotica has need of your services for a bit of an endeavor that we've gone through the trouble of wandering out here to accomplish. They could do this without me, perhaps, and you could indeed simply leave me here. However, I can guarantee you that, if I were to die here, you would not have heard the last of me."
Mocking laughter echoed through his mind. LIKEYOUCANSCAREME?
"Yes. Yes I can. Or ought I get out the olive oil again?"
The laughter stopped suddenly.
YEAH...OKAY. BUT YOULLAGREETOWHATEVERTERMSISAYAFTERIHELPYOU!
"Oh, fine."
The opening appeared once more, and the dark lord slowly walked inside.

The interior of the stone house was softly illuminated by a fire pit in the center of the earthen floor. Scorch marks of varying sizes and severity covered virtually every inch of the granite walls. The only furnishings were a gnarled old wooden stool and an extremely luxurious four-poster bed crammed against a wall. Although the ceiling stretched higher than a full-grown elf holding a halberd could reach, the house was extremely crowded, the room being no wider than twice the length of the bed.
The three druchii were sitting by the fire as Noir entered; they exchanged amused glances among themselves. The sorceress herself was off in a corner digging through a surprisingly luxurious-looking chest of drawers.
Much to their chagrin, she turned around and spoke before they could say so much as a single snide word to their lord.
"HEYLOVERBOYSCARYMANPANTSFACE!" Kota said in a voice much like a squeal. She smiled, revealing her three remaining teeth. Tattered robes hung over her body like the curtains of an abandoned mansion. All the colors and intricate patterns of a magician of her rank had faded away, leaving only irregular splotches of black and slightly less black across the raggedy cloth.
Her face was still youthful, but the severity of her druchii features had been greatly heightened, giving her an almost feral look. It was as if she were a lioness with a young woman's skin draped over her face. Her stark black hair hung in tangled clumps down past her waist.
"Hello indeed," M. Noir said in a neutral tone. "Tell me, dear pups," he glanced at his fellow legionnaires. "How does our hostess strike you?"