Chance encounters, excerpt from: Diary of a mad Druchii

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[Zemok]

The scent of death permeated the air.  Carrion birds circled far above the campsite.  Far more fresh than these days’ old corpses was the Orc pinned to the ground beneath Zemok's blade.

The Orc grunted in pain as Zemok twisted the blade slightly, causing a fresh gout of blood to pour from the horrid chest wound.  Zemok concentrated, and a faint purplish pulse of energy radiated from the orcs wound and trailed up the exotic blade of his long sword to be absorbed into the flesh of his hand.

The cut just under his left eye knitted itself together, then vanished altogether as the dying Orc watched his life force being absorbed by the deranged Druchii.

"mmmm, the lord of murder is happy with this feast." Zemok purred.

He turned towards the chosen warrior who lay nearby, incapacitated, but very much alive.  

"I will ask only once.  Who is responsible for this destruction?"  Zemok said quietly.

"I do not answer to you, Druchii.  Let go your vile power and I'll show you destruction!"

Zemok arched an eyebrow, and then burst into maniacal laughter.  "Yes, I suppose you would, though I imagine it would be a bit more difficult without your arm hmmm?"

The chosen scowled at his severed arm, laying several feet from him, still holding the massive sword he had attempted to cleave the Druchii with.  He ignored the copious amounts of blood spilling from his severed stump as he strained against the barely visible bonds of dark magic which held him.

"I will not let you live, your life is forfeit.  However, if you answer me, I will let you have your last dance!  What say you?  Die in glory honoring Khaine?  Or die a sniveling weakling to be forgotten faster than these carrion birds can flense the corrupted flesh from your bones?"

The captive chosen pondered Zemok's request, eyes narrowing in distrust.  "Tell me true, Druchii.  For a simple answer, you will let me die a warrior with my sword in my hand?"  

The darkly armored Druchii tilted his head to one side, contemplating these words. "Yes."

The chosen coughed, blood mixed with phlegm dribbling down his deformed chin. "It...It is the Anti-Sanctus Chaotica...they...we...kill everything."

"Hmmm.  Perhaps you should have been better at it then.  Either way, the lord of Murder appreciates your contributions.  Personally, I could care less."  With that said he walked over to the chosen and drove the sharpened nail of his index finger through his eye and into his brain.  Dark magic pulsed as he consumed the Chosen's ravaged soul.

"You said you would let him die with his sword in his hand."  A voice boomed from behind Zemok.

Zemok turned nonchalantly, his long, loose black locks and the hem of his robes rustling in the chaotic wind that had suddenly sprung up with the voice.  

"I did not lie.  He died with his sword in his hand."  Zemok said smugly, a self satisfied smirk gracing the Druchii's thin lips.  He carelessly pointed one hand in the direction of the Chosen's severed arm, which still spasmodically clutched the hilt of a massive sword.

"One of yours, I presume?"  Zemok arched an eyebrow at the dark robed newcomer.

"Was."  The mysterious figure rasped.

"Then perhaps it is you I seek."  Zemok said as he sheathed his blade.

"Perhaps you should be careful what you seek.  You have killed my men; by rights I should slay you." The hooded figure snarled.

Zemok cackled, his golden eyes betraying his loose grip on sanity.  "It will be as Khaine wishes.  I care not whether you try to kill me or not.  You may live or not, it matters none to me."

The hooded figure raised a gauntlet covered hand towards Zemok. "I could strike you down with but a thought, you know."  He threatened.

"Your point being?  Try it if you like.  Or try it not.  We have something in common, you and I.  Or perhaps, more truthfully, I have something you need, and you have something I want."

"What would that be?  Speak quickly or your life is forfeit."

Zemok cocked his head to one side, madness dancing in his eyes.  "Do you not know?  All of our lives are forfeit; it is simply a matter of when.  To know when is the domain of the gods.  Perhaps you would be mistaken and it is not my life that would be forfeit at this juncture, but your own?  Or perhaps you are right.  Either way it would please Lord Murder, he cares not, nor do I."

"Are you mad?  What is it you want of us?"  The figure demanded.

Zemok flashed a sardonic smile.  "Your name for starters, no needs to not be polite.  We can kill each other at a later juncture."

"I may kill you yet, but you have me intrigued for the moment I must admit. These two were sub par supplicants any way.  They won't be missed.  I am Shadddow."

Zemok nodded slightly. "I am Zemok, the bearer of Khaine's will, or should I say, one bearer of Khaine’s will.  I am not alone; many like me walk the world now.  Times are changing.   A time of blood is upon us, and Khaine wants his due."

"Aye, but what do you want?"  Shadddow demanded.

Zemok blinked and simply stared at Shadddow.  "What else would I want?  I want your soul."

He smiled broadly then and clapped his hands together. "But all that can wait.  I want this...Anti-Sanctus Chaotica of yours to lead the blood purge.  I require blood and souls to placate the great lord murder.  Your group will be a valuable tool for me.  In return, I can offer the blessings of Khaine upon the order.  Providing of course, that they are better than this fodder."  He said, waving a hand over the corpses of the former supplicants.
"I will not waste my time on the unworthy."

Shadddow stared hard at Zemok.  "We shall see.  As you said, we can kill each other later."

Zemok smirked at Shadddow. “Indeed, you have the right of it.  Lead on to this sanctum of yours.  Perhaps we shall pave the way in blood.  I am always thirsty."

[Mahk Noir]

Enjoyable. You ought to consider joining our inhuman resources department, if the banter you are capable of producing is any real indication of your wit.

[Shadddow]

I highly enjoyed this, Zemok came to me and hammered out the details and came out with a great finished product.  Perhaps one day when I am not swamped with work/school I will write a response  :twisted:

[Zemok]

I have no idea what your "inhuman resources" department is, but I assure you, I am more than capable of matching wits with any lackwit out there, or pair of wits, in your case.

Often times matching wits with a pair of wits is easier to contend with than matching wits with those who only have one set.  Those with only one set to work with often take time to sharpen said wit while those bearing more than one set of wits in one tiny head often dull themselves by the constant struggle of bashing said wits against one another, nicking and marring the razor edge of their once formidable wits along the edges of their shared wit(s).

On the other hand, a pair of wits can oft times be more deadly an adversary than one well managed set of intellect and cunning.  Two sets of wit weilded in perfect harmony is quite a sight to see and experience, though far less common than the tangled mess of wit one usually see's in one that is struggling to master two sets of wit vice the normal singular set.

In short, long, or however you prefer, I can match wits with anyone, and if I fail to do that, why, then it is generally a simple matter to rectify the situation by making a point of introducing a sharp point into their softer organs, preferably a kidney or a heart.

Zem

[Zemok]

OOC:  Fast forwarding a bit and changing up the tactics.  After all, for some random reason I entitled this "Diary of a Mad Druchii".  I suppose it should have something at least slightly resembling a diary, or I suppose I could go for confusion and never actually post a diary entry, but then people would be torn between wondering if this was in fact a clever ploy, or if I am so ignorant that I do not know what a diary actually is.  In summation...the answer you are looking for is "Yes".

Insert date here ( OOC after Dread Lords meet, before game release)

My journies thus far with a "Dread General" of the Anti Sanctus Chaotica have been amusing to say the least.  My newfound taste for blood and murder have temporarily sated via timely encounters with various tribes as we crossed the Chaos wastes recruiting soldiers en route to this so called "Sanctum."  

Now I am lying to myself in my own memoirs.  I am neither sated, nor are my tastes for blood or murder in any way "newfound."

Regardless, that is another tale, which I already know the details of, so at this juncture I see no reason to tell myself about myself of things I already know about...myself.  Then again, the rest of this entry will be about myself, since I see no reason to talk overly much of my travelling companion because, frankly, he is a means to an end and means nothing.

So, to catch up to speed.  There I was, several weeks after my encounter with Dread General Shadddow, being led down a set of stairs into what I presumed was a chamber of some sort.  I say this because the Dread General had the audacity to place a sack over my head to keep me from seeing my destination.  

I thought it rather quaint at the time, and it kept me from having to stare at his rather ugly contenance for awhile, so, in retrospect, I believe he was doing me a favor.

The dark interior of the musty bag was certainly an improvement over the stink of hundreds of chaos ruined troops wearing sweat and blood stained armor.  The sack also kept me from having to view the various monstrous mutations of the troops.  

At some point our course diverged from that of the main host.  I, at this point had assumed that most of the recruits would never see the insides of the Sanctum, which I would discover later to be a true assumption.

Of course, I already know this, so telling myself this is a rather unecesary, but perhaps I will forget one day, or someone else will read this in hopes of becoming even a portion of what I am, who knows?

Anyway, where was I?  Oh, yes.  The stairs.  I was being led down a very long set of stairs.  I could smell the corruption of the place, which really didn't bother me any, as where there is corruption and ruin, there is typically murder and power.

After all, power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely.  And who does not absolutely want power?  Those who say they don't are either lying to themselves or simply stupid.

So...The Dread General leads me to a chair, where I sit and the hood is finally removed.  I was at a long table with many chairs, quite a bit more elegant than I expected.  There was no one present but myself, and the retreating back of the dread General.  I helped myself to a goblet of bloodwine and settled down to wait, kicking my feet up on the table.

I heard a faint scream in the far off corridors at that point that brought a faint smile to my face.  Yes, I could call this place home.

[Zemok]

As I sat sipping my bloodwine,(a rather fine vintage, might I add) I heard the clomping of heavy armor plated boots, and the bouquet of chaos and death approaching.  I ignored this, preferring to concentrate on my bloodwine, which, if I haven't mentioned, was quite a good vintage.  Besides, I could only come to two conclusions about the rather loud approach of my visitor.  One, it was some lowly soldier come to give me instructions, in which case I had no use of him and would most likely kill him when he had the audacity to think he could speak to me.  Secondly, it could be the so called mighty Kutulu himself come to speak to me, in which case I would most likely kill him when he had the audacity to think he could speak to me.  Or perhaps I would let him speak first.  I have not yet decided.  Have I mentioned this bloodwine was rather good?  Perhaps I will let him speak first then.  It would be a shame to kill a host who put forth such a delicacy to his guests.  Or not.

When the creature opened its vile mouth, it appeared that it was, indeed, not Kutulu.  How dissapointing.

The unnamed warrior tried to speak.  I stress tried, due to the fact that all he managed to say was "My Dark Lord Kutulu commands you...urrghsszz!"

This probably had something to do with the fact that the tip of one of my ritual blades seemed to be touching his thigh between the hip joints of his armor.  The dark magic of my lord Khaine pulsed through the blade, and I must say Khaine was pleased.

The Chaos warrior in question slumped to his knees, the strength draining rapidly from his distorted limbs.

"I could kill you with a thought at this juncture you know.  Your soul is mine.  It would be wise, in the future, if I deign to let you have a future, to choose wisely your choice of words, respect, and tact when approaching one of Lord Khaines disciples. Especially one who is irritated by being left in an empty room for hours on end."

He appeared to take my words to heart, for I could see the whites of his terrified eyes through the visor slit of his heavy closed face helm.

"Now, I will tell you this once, and once only, so listen carefully and use that tiny brain of yours."  I stared deep into his eyes with my own bronze colored orbs.  I am sure he found this disheartening, for even with his life literally balanced on the tip of my blade, slowly sucking the life from him, he averted his eyes from my gaze.  Good, he should fear me.

"I will speak with this 'Kutulu', and him alone.  No more lackies, servants or half wit guards, or he will find me sitting atop a pile of fresh corpses from where I will pass the judgement of Khaine."

With that, I released him from my hold, having syphoned enough of his pathetic life force to empower my Khaine given abilities.  He slumped to the floor and lay there quivering, the idiot.

"Get up!  Go now, run fool!"  I roared at him.

Apparently he heard me, for he crawled, staggered and lurched across the great hall and down a nearby corridor as fast as his weakened body could go.

I sighed and took another swig of the bloodwine, using my newly replenished power to cleanse my system of any poisons or toxins that may have been within the wine.  A pity, really, as it also deprived me of intoxication as well.

Frowning, I sat upon the table crosslegged, the leather and steel of my armor scraping across the polished finish and drew both of my ritual blades, laying them across my lap.  I stared into my wine goblet before me, and must have drifted into my thoughts, for I found myself remembering the events that led up to who I now was, compared to who I use to be.


Once, I had been a Druchii Cold One Knight.  A younger son of a minor noble in Haeg Graef.  Those had been simpler, if less fulfilling times.  Days were spent scurrying about the city, and training, hoping to one day reap enough rewards to attract the attention of  father, or perhaps to be rewarded by father by NOT attracting his attention. Perhaps those times were not as simple as they first seemed.  Then again, what was ever truly simple in a Druchii's life.  Even death was not as simple as one would think. Regardless, life had set me on my course as much as it could.  Typical Druchii machinations and schemes dominated my days, and tormented my nights.  I wanted the things any young Druchii noble wanted.  I wanted my father's power, I wanted my elder siblings dead or fallen from grace so that I could reap the rewards of their place of birth.  All these things and more I schemed, as did every other young Druchii in the city.  In retrospect, those were very tedious games at best.  Indeed, life was rather tedious, until that fateful day.

A large force of humans and another of High Elves were in the Chaos wastes for some reason.  I believe now it had to do with some obscure artifact, but I will never know.
Nevertheless, the results are predictable either way.  Humans and Elves had collided with mutated Chaos afflicted humans, and we would collide with them all.  We would not tolerate humans and our hated cousins so near our own precious borders.

The inevitable battle had followed on a fog filled morning.  I led the charge of the Cold One knights, as father ensured I would, whether out of a sense of pride, or because he was trying to kill me, or both, I could not say.  The battles were viscious, enemies appearing and dissapearing in the fog, manuevering, attempting to flank us.  Time after time I led the charges that would break the enemy lines, until there were no more lines, only a maddening chaos of individual battles.

During this I lost my Cold One.  A small group of humans peppered my mount with crossbow bolts, and charged with wicked axes.  My Cold One ripped the head off of one of them, and a mighty swing of his stubby tail crushed the ribs of another, but the multitude of wounds he had received took their toll, and the wretched humans brought him down, and me along with him.  I slammed the tip of my lance clean through the mouth and head of one warrior, and decided to let him hold it for awhile so I could deal with the others.  I leapt clear of my failing mount, a wild swing of my sword cleaving the skull of another.  Two warriors left, and me down to one sword and no mount.  I figured there were worse ways to go, so, being the faithful little Druchii I was, I bellowed out a warshout of "Khainne!!!" and charged back into the fray.  I deflected the clumsy (yet powerful) attack of the first human, but the second warriors axe blade bit through my armor and knocked me sideways into the first one.  Through the blazing pain in my ribs I took advantage of my position and stomped hard on the first humans knee, hearing a satisfying crunch as he went down.  I then turned my attention back to the second, who insisted on swinging that mammoth axe at my head repeatedly.  I soon remedied him of his inclination to do so, as being split from throat to groin by a savage sword stroke has a tendancy to do.

My fortunes had turned to the worst in this battle.  Now wounded without my mount, the rest of them scattered throughout the fog, random sounds of combat coming from many seemingly impossible directions.  I attempted to make my way back towards any of my Druchii cohorts to no avail, instead I came upon a High Elf Swordmaster.  Where he had come from I have no idea, though he appeared to be as bewildered by the sight of me as I was by him.

We fought long and hard, but truth be told I was quite outmatched.  Several minutes later he had pierced my heavy armor several times, I was bleeding profusely, and I had not so much as laid a blade against his flesh. Finally, with a mighty swing, my blade shattered beneath his, and the shock of it drove me to one knee, the hilt of my sword and the remnants of the shattered blade flying from my numbed grip.  As he prepared his death blow, I did the only thing a decent Druchii would...I grabbed up a handful of dirt and threw it into his face as I pulled a dagger from my boot and thrust it into his throat.  Thus victorious, I grabbed the remains of my shattered sword and something happened as I stumbled about the battle.  Lust for the kill took me over.  I killed everyone I could find, Human, elf, Druchii, it did not matter.  I vaguely noticed that the other Druchii were doing the same on the strange fog filled battlefield.

Things became a bit hazy from there.  I recall a great reaping, but I could not tell you who I killed, during that time.  My next clear memory is of leaving the mists.

I came upon Father, and a priest of Khaine unscathed, as they had not entereded the battle. I marched up to Father, directly past the so called priest.  As I passed I left my dagger buried in the priests throat, the only sound a suprised gurgle as he sanke to the ground behind me.  Father shouted something at me, but I did not heed his words.  In fact, I have no idea what words he spoke.  I simply swung my shattered blade at his face.  Apparently I caught him off guard as well, for the best defense he could muster was a startled yelp as the jagged edge of my sword buried itself into his eye socket.  Perhaps he should have joined the battle like a proper Druchii.

After that was the waiting.  I knew not what to do, so I simply waited.  

Eventually, the other Druchii forces found us, or more precisely me, sitting in between the priest I had killed and my Father with my sword hilt jutting from his head.

The other Druchii did not take to kindly to this, and would have slain me on the spot but for some servant of Khaine who evidently recognized his Lord's work.  He suggested instead that they bind me in shackles and take me to Khaines temple, where they would sacrifice me to Khaines Cauldron.  And so it was done.

I was caged like an animal and brought to Khaines temple.  I had left Hag Graef a proud young noble, and returned caged like a criminal.  

A mockery of a ceremony was held, my brothers jeered me, the commoners pelted me with stones and rotted fruit.  I was paraded about the Hag like a side show.  Everyone expected the Cauldron to kill me.  It did not.  I emerged from the Cauldron unscathed, and indeed uninjured.  My eyes were changed from their original coloring to Molten Bronze.  I can no longer recall them ever being any different.

I resided in the Temple after that, a Disciple of Khaine.  They tried to teach me their ways, their rules, but that was not the role Khaine had in store for me, or indeed the others like me.  Our role was more direct.  Our role is to take to the front of battle, the high tide of the combat lust, the thirst for blood and pain.  The temple soon cast me out, to do Khaines will in my own fashion, out in the world, where I could not make the elders uncomfortable.

So I sought out this Anti Santus Chaotica to be my weapon of choice.  My calling, I know now is to ensure those like this Dark Lord Kutulu and his brood are kept functional so they can keep spreading the taint of Chaos, of murder, of pain throughout the world.  So Khaine wills it, So let it be done.

The sound of footsteps echoing against the flagstones of the floor brought me forth from my reverie.  Many footsteps this time, apparently he brought friends.  No matter.

I drained my goblet in one long pull and settled in to wait.  To lay eyes upon this, Kutulu.

[Mahk Noir]

Keep it coming, and don't dally.

[Kutulu]

Keep it coming, and don't dally.

ok, ok - I'm ready to post something on this - maybe this evening.

[Zemok]

OOC:  I figure at this point, Kutulu, or who ever walks in...and since I don't like playing other peoples characters in a story (unless they are just walking in and out cameo style...) I figure I'll leave it open for others to put their two cents in now.

Have fun with it.

Zem.

[Kutulu]

The sound of footsteps echoing against the flagstones of the floor brought me forth from my reverie. Many footsteps this time, apparently he brought friends. No matter.

I drained my goblet in one long pull and settled in to wait. To lay eyes upon this, Kutulu.

The sounds of a multitude of footsteps drew closer from the corridor leading to the chamber where Zemok sat holding his empty goblet.  Yet, the candle light from that chamber seemed to be retreating from those in the passageway.

Suddenly a lone figure stepped from the shadows.  He was entirely clad in armor... the blackened plates of metal all covered in quite a bit of dirt and obvious chunks and bits of random flesh.  The grinding of different armor segments against one another made a grating sound, like metal cutting through bone.  The chains of his Dream Shredder flail crashed together with each step.  Where-ever the grime covering his armor seemed to crumble away, various runes seemed to emanate a pulsing maroon glow.

The hulking figure walked slowly past Zemok and around to the end of the table.  Laying his two handed flail across the table before him, he sat and stared quietly at Zemok.

After a brief, but uncomfortable moment, the Dark Lord Kutulu spoke.

"Well Druchii... your poison is not what it used to be."

As Zemok knew Kutulu was not speaking to him, he instantly became aware of the dagger at his throat.

Standing behind his chair was Lady Aladriel SwiftPain.

"Of course it is!  This is one of my kin, and he was simply able to use death to his advantage."

Kutulu nodded, and finally acknowledged Zemok.

"You killed several of our pawns.  You survived the poisoned bloodwine.  I even hear rumors that you are the sole survivor of a certain blood-bath."

The Dark Lord reached over and took the same vessel of poisoned bloodwine, filling his own goblet.  After  pouring the entire contents of that goblet directly into the slats of his helmet that covered his mouth, Kutulu continued.

"So, now you are in an interesting situation.  You have a brethren Druchii behind you, but it is possible she is the first that you have ever met with a greater desire to kill than your own.  Tell me, do we kill you and cut our losses, or did our gambit bring to us something more valuable than another pawn?"

Kutulu set his goblet down, placed one hand on Dream Shredder and waited.

[Zemok]

Zemok grinned widely and inclined his head slightly towards Kutulu, as much as he could with the exquisitely sharp point of a dagger to his neck.

"Brilliant!  Well played!  I must say, I expected you to come up with something entertaining, but I had expected more of the brute squad, and not a sister from the Temple.  Outstandingly done!"

Zemok let loose a tittering laugh from deep within his chest.  "I am certainly getting more impressed with the company you keep, though the poison bit was a tad cliched, don't you think?"

Zemok gazed off into space for several moments, apparrently forgetting the dire straights he had placed himself in, or perhaps he simply did not care.  It was hard to say.

After enough time had passed where even Kutulu himself began to grow fidgety with the silence and seeming lack of interest of his guest, Zemok spoke again.

"It seems we are at an impass, dear "Dark Lord."  You apparrently are clever enough to have achieved the upper hand in this situation, and are wondering if you should slay me for my impertinence."  Zemok issued a quirky half smile towards Kutulu, then focused his bronze orbed gaze intently upon the Dread Dark Lord of the Anti Sanctus Chaotica.

"Of course, the perceived balance of power is often just that, a perception.  I am sitting here, immoble, and undoubtedly will be dead before I can so much as sneeze, if that is your preference.  I do not doubt the skill of the dagger weilders hand, or she would not have snuck up on me unnoticed.  I must confess that I have heard whispers of her name within the Temple, and usually with a tinge of fear, and a quaver of terror in the voice at that.  If I were the type to fear my own death, I would most likely have need of a new set of undergarments."  

Zemok grinned happily, though the expression did not reach his eyes.  "There is an interesting plot twist to this marvellous entertainment, however."  Zemok said as his gaze bored deep into Kutulu's own eyes.

"You will notice by now, that you are sweating profusely, and your muscles will have begun to twinge slightly.  See, I took the opportunity to add a few of my own ingredients into the wine myself.  Coincidentally, said ingredients are only known to the devotee's of Khaine.  Ironically, the only two people within this room able to save you from an excruciating death would be myself and the dear woman holding this  lovely dagger to my neck. "  Zemok smiled broadly now.

"You must act quickly, and take this into consideration as well.  While dear lady Swiftpain does indeed hold the knowledge to cure you, I have taken it upon myself to combine certain elements of various poisons.  While she knows all of the individual elements, can she diagnose each individual element and their mundane treatments in time?"  Zemoks grin became even more radiant, at complete odds with the dead, non caring yet intense gaze of his eyes as they bore into Kutulu's.

"Also, you must take into consideration, will she bother to cure you?  Or will she bargain with her newfound position over you to her own benefit.  She is, after all, Druchii."


"I could cure you with little more than a touch, as I have taken enough power from your minions to satisfy the task if I so choose.  Why would I do this you ask?  Why would I come here except to show my skill and value.  Your organization can further my own goals, and I can further yours.  I am not a sniveliing follower of anyone however.  I will participate under my own terms, some of which I will gladly share, some of which I will keep to myself.  Now, think quickly, because while you will not die for several hours, you have less than 30 seconds in which to be cured."

With that zemok glanced in dismay at his empty goblet.  "Do be a dear and have one of your lackies tend my goblet, I fear I am out of drink, and the dialogue of this conversation has left me quite parched."

Zemok grinned and held forth his empty goblet, the unwavering point of Lady Swiftpain's dagger apparrently forgotten at his neck.

[Raulen Grimblade]

The doors to the chamber swung open. A Druchii figure clad in wicked ebon armor strolled in rolling a rather large keg of Bloodwine. His eyes were drawn to Kutulu. "My lord" he acknowledged with a nod as he turned to Zemok and seemed to size up the Disciple. He shrugged and continued to roll the barrel to a corner. After pouring a goblet for himself he did a turn on the back of his left heel and strolled back towards the door only to stop several yards short. The Druchii spun once again  and walked towards Zemok, taking the empty goblet and replacing it with the filled one in his armor clad grip. "My lady" he bowed. She shot him an icy glare.

He sighed and made his way back to the door, noticing a path of blood on the floor. He crouched down and removed his massive iron gauntlet, whisked his finger in the fresh blood and touched it to his tongue. He cringed, "Ack! Chosen blood..." he spat and replaced his gauntlet, continuing his trek.

Raulen Grimblade, The Blood Advocate, strolled out the door, whistling nonchalantly.

OOC: Theres your damn blood wine.

[Kutulu]

Kutulu nodded slightly to the Blood Advocate as, with concentrated effort, he casually moved his right hand from Dream Shredder to an odd rune on the side of the table.  Upon compression, a small square panel in the ceiling flung open, and another* captive high elf fell to the floor just behind Kutulu's chair.


(ooc: Wait for it!  There's more to come - so hold off a bit longer.)

[Zemok]

ooc:  This sounds interesting.  I'm off to find a new apartment in the mean time!!

Zem

[aishrod]

Outside I was leaning against the wall. Waiting....

I heard a thud, there was no mistaking the scent of a High elf in the room, by the noise he had fallen.

Upon walking into the room, my War hardened eyes scanned the room in but a moments time.

I noticed close to me two Druchii, one being Lady Aladriel, holding up an unkown person to me, at knife point. This other Druchii's cold smile let me know of his intentions. His hatred of Khaine glazed his eyes.

Further down the room I saw Lord Kutulu, the person, or beast, to whom I had sworn my allegiance to.

Behind him a High elf. Hope in his eyes, being released so close to our obviously poisoned Lord, he must have thought us to be careless. He pulled out a small dagger from his foot. Lifted it high above his head, looked forward. His hand never made it down.

Without missing a beat, step, skipping a breath, hardly flinching at all, I pulled a sword, imbued by the God Khain and driven by my hatred for elves. The sword didn't miss, it never misses. Clear across the room, directly into the High elf's chest. I continued to walk forward, staying calm and collective on the outside. In the inside I was excited, getting the blood of a High elf this early in the evening was a rare occasion after all.

Upon walking up to the High elf who was standing there eyes wide open in fear, as the hope had been drained from his body, he was holding on to his last thread of life. I took the sword from my left hand and sliced his head clear off.

Both Swords now glowing, getting fed, and feeding me with power. It was a good morning indeed. Turning to my Lord, grabed his Goblet. Smelled it, then made the preperations. Offering my body as a temple for the God Khaine, I refilled the goblet with a remedy. No other knows the ways of healing better than a Disciple of Khaine. I place the goblet back by Lord Kutulu.

Upon strolling out of the room, I glance at Zemok, and smirk. There was no more need for me.

May 2012

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