Children of the Warp - Warhammer 40,000 RP (IC)

[anathemas501]

If one were to look upon the Heretek slave as Malephar continued onward to inspect the others, they would notice that she was slumped over as she stood there obediently. Not only was it a symbol of submission, but her body posture also denoted that she was physically exhausted, as if she had been subject to intense manual labor or had endured a harsh torture at the hands of her master. Despite whatever had occurred to cause her extreme fatigue, Anathemas did not dare to whine or show disapproval. She had been conditioned not to, nor did she voice her opinion lest she become burdened with more torture from her master.

Anathemas felt a strong tug on her slim shoulder from the Sorcerer who kept his large armored hand on her. She turned her shadowed visage up to gaze upon the one she referred to as master. She could feel his large fingers begin to drum upon her shoulder once more, beating at a comfortable, lazy pace. The Sorcerer looked down upon her from underneath his helmet as if she were nothing more than a plaything for his own twisted sense of amusement. Their eyes met as Anathemas attempted to drop her gaze from him. The slave did not move her head any further and she stood there immobile and unmoving for several long seconds, looking into the helmeted face of Rabanus. It was as if the Sorcerer had captured her attention with his eyes and would not let go. Her body began to tremble slightly before she finally let out a soft whimper that was barely audible to those around her.

With her quiet whimper, Rabanus released Anathemas from his gaze. She immediately shrank back a short distance before Rabanus's hand gripped her shoulder, rooting her in place. She stood up taller now, no longer slumping in her physical exhaustion. Her body still trembled and her skin was damp from perspiration. In addition to this, she now examined every one around her wildly as if she saw them as threats to her. Her mecha-tendrils were raised slightly in her alert, almost frightened state. With her right clawfinger, she pressed a button that was on her left wrist. A soft hum could be held before a barely perceptible pop could be heard. A stim injector. A concoction of drugs was administered into her.

As the drug traveled through her circulatory system, she felt as if she was being caressed sensually down her body as her senses became more alert. Her mood became more calm as she began to experience a light sense of euphoria. Any pain that she was experiencing before she had the drugs injected into her system melted away. Anathemas sighed softly and stood calmly once more at the side of her master. The drug was very short-lived however. It was designed to give a quick boost in a high stress environment that called for clear thinking and a calm head. She would feel her fatigue soon once more.

While still feeling the effects of the light euphoric mood that the drugs produced, the Heretek caught a glimpse of the monstrous experiment known as Ferrus on the edge of her peripheral vision. Her head turned accordingly so that she could gain a clearer picture of Ferrus. She noted the painful implants and technology that was upon his form, studying it. Then, her attention turned to the wire and harness bound female slave that Ferrus had his eye on. It looked pitiful, emaciated, and weak. If the slave were to stretch up to her fullest length, she would be near the height of Anathemas, give or take a few inches. Its face and body appeared as if the slave had undergone several years of torture and punishment at the hands of its Chaos masters. Scars and brands of Chaos littered her deformed body. Anathemas felt slight pity for the thing. It would be better off dead than alive at this point.

[Perditious C]

So, this was his team, then. It was an eclectic, yet formidable host, they will do nicely, if anything at the very least a worthy offering to the Ruinous Powers. Malephar now had all he needed to know from his team, making his way towards the Storm Eagle. The Astartes turned about to see the experiment seize a wandering slave, "No time for games, creature! You'll just have to have your fun when we make planetfall. Everyone, aboard! We head for Gobannus, the Dark Gods smile upon us this day!"

Malephar enters the hatch, making his way to the back of the cabin and locking himself into the command chair. He waits for each one to file into the Storm Eagle, the Astartes sit to one side whilst the Acolytes sit on the other, locking into their chairs as the craft seals the hatch. He feels the craft lift up vertically and drift towards the hangar bay, in his mind he goes over what he had gleaned from his recruits. Of the Astartes the Sorcerer, the son of Perturabo, and the Plague Marine seemed they'd be the least trouble, at least outwardly. Any Tzeentchian is worth keeping an eye on and the Iron Warrior hadn't stopped glaring at the Heretek since he arrived. His kinsman, well, his hate for him was more than obvious, surely feeling slighted that a mighty warrior of the 1st company served under him. That brought a slight grin of satisfaction to Malephar beneath the ceramite of his helmet, it was also good for him to be angry, an angry warrior is a ruthless one. As for the Acolytes, they all seemed subservient enough, they would play their part. The freak was a different story. Whatever terrible creation he was meant to be, he was surely an early prototype, he would need watching as well. None the less, his assets would be more than he needs to complete the assignment.

As the Storm Eagle made its way out of the belly of the Stygian Reprisal it weaved through the debris of shattered Mechanicus ships that were laid waste to in the first orbital battle. Malephar tapped a sequence of buttons on the arm of his chair, bringing up a tactical hologram of the forge world which hove in the middle of the cabin. Pressing further buttons zoomed into one area in particular, revealing a shattered city surrounding a massive fortress, a reb blip flashes on an area a few miles from that citadel, "here is the drop-off point. We are to breach this fortress, here, Axiom of Faith. In order to do this we will need aerial support, however this cannot be achieved until we disable the AA defenses on the west side of the fortress. So, our first objective will be to destroy those guns, once this is done we will call in the bombardment and breach the citadel. Further instructions are to be given once we are inside. Any questions?"

[Laurenced]

The Champion spoke to Ferrus and this finally caught his attention. The creature, as it turned to Malephar revealed that along certain points it showed stitching encircling his legs, was interested in stating through its monotonous tech-orchestrated voice "Any drive for that fun you implied, Malephar has long since been scythed out of me.... No this slave, She will assist me in working". The White puss still flowed into him and soon the she-slave began to calm and appear relaxed.

She didn't dare look the Creature in the eyes, the slave still feared Ferrus. The hand on her pathetic and withered head. the hair, which once could of been a golden and glowing blonde, was now a shriveled tangled and thin mess of petrified white. She still feared the wrath of punishment, taken to cruel lengths by something that looked on its own possibly more frightening than the Astartes.
Ferrus turned back to the she-slave and saw her still cower, the corners of his bound lips turned down in frustration. He spoke again "What was your name, slave?" The Slave didn't answer.

Ferrus spoke again, the audio deeper, frustrated "What. Is. Your. Name, Slave?" She shivered and said "I... Its been so long.... Don't remember." and with the answer Ferrus looked away to the Champion and Others leaving. The creature thought for a name and came upon a familiar one, It wasn't sure why but It would do. "Your name will be Mal'shira till you do remember...." She nodded and slowly lifted her head only to see Ferrus walking away.
"Gather those bags, Mal'shira.. We're leaving." Ferrus was at the hanger doors when she hurried and gathered the bags of las-pistol clips. "Mal'shira.." She faintly muttered in succession. Something finally came over her, she felt nice. It was alien to her, so long was it that she felt that.

They climbed into the Storm Eagle, each other member looking to the two. Ferrus sat and Locked himself in, The gaps in his leather showing more stitching encircling his arms, while Mal'shira huddled into a ball beside his legs.
Peering down, Ferrus saw the slave huddled tightly and clasped to it's vaguely human legs like a vicious parasite who refused to drink what passed for Ferrus' drug addled blood.
The tight room allowed the Smell to intensify for all around him, the white puss working its way around his blood stream and out as gas as it breathed. Those around him, The Blank, The Sorceror, The Witch, The Plague Marine, The Iron Warrior, The Champion and the slave. The Light smell of Terran Atrium flowers, A waft of electrified air, The Soft odor of a sugary Ambrosia, the Festering reek of a rotting Ogryn, the Ashen smell of fire, A smell of spent bolter casings and Cinnamon, could each smell for each one.

The Blank was given flowers while the sorcerer was given electricity, The Witch was given a sugary ambrosia while the plague marine was given the smell of a corpse. The Iron Warrior was given the smell of ashen fire while the Champion smelled the heat of a used Bolter bullets. Ferrus smelled nothing for that creature was the odors source but its slave was fortunate to receive such a simple smell as the Cinnamon cane.

Ferrus felt the eyes of the champion upon its body. Ferrus looked to him and said, through the box embedded in both his hands that seemed to echo as if one voice "What do you think when you see me?"

[Perditious C]

Malephar caught a whiff of the scent that wafted through the cabin. Though his Astartes biology could discern the composition and its source, none-the-less it smelled of spent gunpowder. The chemical was some sort of memory-reactive drug, obviously intended to soothe or pacify those who inhaled it; it worked well. However, despite the pleasing scent, it did little for this one, and likely the rest of the Astartes.

The Champion's Mk II helmet glared at the monstrosity as it asked its question. It was a simple, irrelevant inquiry, but the Astartes answered simply, "I see a mistake. Something that was never meant to be. Fortunately for me, you -did- happen, and I will use you as I see fit to dismantle the rotting Imperium." Malephar scowled beneath his helm, seeing the slave the freak seized earlier was with it. The last thing he needs is extra baggage to slow them down and the instant she becomes a problem he would dash her skull on the ground.

[DoctorThrax]

The sorcerer's helmet lenses swirled with intense warp energies, just waiting to be unleashed. All the same, he regarded his brethren in the cramped loading bay one by one with those very same eyes. He fixed his gaze intently on the deformed beast and its new plaything. Rabanus had always regarded the usage of combat stims as weakness, though he was also quick to recognize the value in exploiting addiction. It was this very method that he had first utilized to enslave the heretek Anathemas to the whims of Chaos. Though he had no interest in enslaving the great drug-addled beast that had been thrust into the squad with the rest of the squad, he could not help but wonder silently to himself if some unknown master was pulling its strings, feeding its ideals and commands into the beast's poisoned body.

A scowl from their champion Malephar allowed the sorcerer to momentarily set aside his concerns, as questions rose to the forefront of his labyrinthine mind. "Do you fear this simple creature? Or do you fear that he will compromise our mission?" His questions conjured further questions that followed. "What is our mission, for that matter?" A thousand more far less relevant questions drifted across his ancient mind, though his lips spoke no words after this. The time would come when Chaos would account for all answers, he thought to himself. It is simply a matter of patience. He considered patience to be the way of the Night Lords, and thus his way as well.

[anathemas501]

Anathemas tiredly looked around her as the drugs, that had been injected into her previously, wore off in her system. It would be a long while before they reached their destination. Though she had been augmented by technology, the Heretek was still human. She had biological need, and those biological needs included sleep. Sleep to recharge her body from the torture and stress that had been placed upon her body. As she drifted off to sleep in her seat, she detected a smell that was very pleasant to her. Oddly enough, it smelled of sweet-scented wildflowers. These wildflowers aroused memories of her childhood. Though Anathemas spent much of her time with learning electronics, she also loved to run around as a girl and pick wildflowers that bloomed during the spring on her homeworld. Anathemas opened her eye and looked around to locate the source of the smell. With sensors that had been installed into her, she determined the source of these almost ambrosia-like scents were exuded from Ferrus. The chemical that was being injected into him, was evaporating from his veins and escaping from his skin. After having found the source of the smell, she decided to rest herself. She laid her head back down and fell asleep after a few minutes, dreaming twisted dreams.

[Laurenced]

The Storm Eagle shook as it flew through the atmosphere. Ferrus counted the shakes as the flight began. A Shattered mind could still count.
He counted on and on within his mind, Occassionally the number being spoken aloud.
Even with one thought he counted the shakes of the Storm eagle, He still spoke to the Sorcerer. No he thought. He's a Wizard in a tin can..

The wizard in a tin can was Tzeentchian, like many sorcerers though His slave was nothing like the creatures own. A name but she was bound with the deep scent of tech like Ferrus itself. The Heretek would be source of bile in his mind, She was an amalgamation of the technology, of a forge world, placed in for what passed for morals amongst the robots and called "Enhancements". A mock to the very concept. A willing disturbance in the body that called Ferrus weak for being unwilling.
Her master was no better, A traitor, an ego, a coward to Ferrus but he would admit a fault if he was proven otherwise but never would he say
the heretek was better.

Ferrus would walk directly into the Ecchelsiarch Palace with a sign that said "Your Emperor is a corpse" before he would say that.

Ferrus looked to the Champion as he had answered and then spoke through his own wretched tech saying "A Rotting Kingdom for a rotting king... I need only be given the opportunity to personally kill the greatest on this planet and i will be satisfied. Chaos Unending.." but there was little time between Ferrus speaking and the sorcerer retching its ugly words into the conversation.
It questioned whether one of the Black Legion was fearful of it, The freak.
"You call fear in unprovoked. Fear of the mistake. Perhaps it is not he, -Sorcerer-, who is afraid but others of a less...." The creature turned it eyes directly to the Sorcerer. "....brutal nature. Less brutal and more..." Ferrus then peered directly to the Heretek. he began from when he left " -cowardly- design" but the Heretek appeared asleep, Sleep was what became curious about her. Could such a thing like Ferrus and her sleep.

The creature returned its gaze to Maelphor and said "I will kill any who block us from our target. Tech-guard, Mechanicus cultist, Astartes. They will see what happens when a mistake turns against them" He looked away from the Champion and watched the Blank. Could he smell it?, Ferrus wondered.

[Keepvogel]

Nanbar put away his cleaning cloth and stood up, resting his long las across his shoulder. He casually followed the rest onto the transport, walking all the way to the end of the cabin as the others sat down. He saw with satisfaction how the flies and bile retreated back into the armor of the plague marine as he walked past. Siting down next to Kylara he got out his stubgun and began to check the weapon. Nanbar always kept a vigilant watch over his equipment.

As soon as the pressurized doors closed he became aware of an odd smell. Flowers? Yes he thought so. Were they.... Bellicose flowers? It was almost impossible. It was a kind of flower which only grew on Nanbar's homeplanet, left behind so many years ago. Where was it coming from? Looking around, Nanbar quickly caught the eye of Ferrus, looking at him once again. Examining the exoskeleton the creature had strapped to it's back, Nanbar grinned. So that was its source. Maybe he was supposed to let his guard down because he smelled some idiot flower? Nanbar wasn't that sentimental. Nanbar wasn't sentimental at all.

Still grinning, Nanbar made his fingers into a pretend gun, and jokingly shot Ferrus with it. 'Headshot' he mouthed. Angry enemies always were easier to kill.

[OCTAGONZ]

The bloated suit of armor was one of the last to enter the Storm Eagle. He had been seemingly asleep from the time the Commander had looked him over to the time he ordered them to board the transport. The Plague Marine shook himself off, the great swarm of flies that appeared to follow the vile-looking Plague Monstrosity suddenly lifting off - all at once - from the boil-ridden mark III power-armor. His movement was trademark of his kind; He dragged his feet, each step hitting the metallic floor like a falling tree. It was as if the Plague Marine still slumbered within his pestilent shell of fly-infested armor. He looked like a sleepwalking giant.

He did not bother to strap himself down to one of the walls of the cabin, obviously fit with standing. Though it may have had something to do with the way he looked. If he had sat down, would his split stomach spew bile into the air, causing his foul aura to fill the cabin quicker? Besian's eyes peered at each of the figures in the cabin, his cyclopean eye constantly shifting from Cultist to Astartes. When his gaze finally landed on the Tzeentchian Sorcerer, The Plague-ridden shell emitted a foul, guttural noise from his gullet. An unnameable, steaming liquid slowly flowed from his helm, dripping down his chest, onto the floor of the Cabin. Where the liquid landed appeared to slowly rust and melt away, as if decaying.

The Plague Marine blinked constantly. Perhaps it had something to do with the flies that always seemed to crawl across the orange, pus-covered surface of Besian's single eye. Whatever it was that caused him to do this, it made an unsettling sound of sandpaper slowly being pulled over wet mud. As his stench began to reach every corner of the cramped cabin, so to did the swarm of flies that boarded the small transport ship. The curious little insects buzzed about the cultists and astartes alike. The swarm never seemed to cease flowing from the Plague Marines armor in such cramped conditions.

The Plague Marine seemed to sway with the movements of the ship as it navigated its way through the debris of the battles that came before. Often letting out a guttural howl or belch in pain as his kind was known to do. Mid-flight he reached to his side, grabbing one of the shrunken yet - somehow at the same time, in a very unsettling way - bloated heads that hung from his waist by small, filth-encrusted ropes. He lifted it up, turning it so the horrified face stared up at him. He used two fingers to curl the lips into a disgusting smile. The Plague marine tilted his head back, his neck cracking as he did so, and laughed. Though, one could only tell it was a laugh through the manner in which he yelled out each bark-like yelp. He slowly sighed, letting the head drop back to his side.

The plague marine then reached for his Bile Spewer. He began to carefully inspect it for any flaws. Peering closely at each improvisation he had added over the ages...

[Perditious C]

Malephar cackled at Rabanus' question of fear, "I think you ought to know the answer to that," an Astartes feared nothing, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't concerned about the freak botching the operation. He trusted the Warmaster, however, if he felt the experiment would be a valuable asset then he would have faith in his judgment. "As for our mission, the Warmaster seeks a piece of powerful Archeotech hidden in the bowels of the Axiom of Faith. He would not disclose all the details of the object's capabilities, only that is was called the 'Atlas'. Lord Abaddon desires the device greatly and stresses its importance in his 13th Black Crusade, that should be all we need to know for now."

The Storm Eagle rocked as it entered the lower atmosphere of Gobannus, which was choked in a thick veil of pollution and, since the invasion, the smoke of a thousand fires. the craft juddered as it was buffeted by the shockwaves of distant mid-air explosions. The pilot activated the Storm Eagle's comm, "3 minutes to destination." The Storm Eagle rocked violently, they were hit. Red lights flashed in the cabin, followed by a warning claxon and another address by the pilot, "starboard engine hit, offline! We're going in, brace for impact!" Malephar held fast to his chair, this wasn't the first time he's had to weather a crash-landing and, gods willing, it won't be the last. The howl of the Storm Eagle's port engine struggling to keep them aloft filled their ears, the Champion hoped the Plague Marine was able to secure himself as he didn't want his effluence spilling over him and his host.