"So much for the golden future, I can't even start,
I've had every promise broken, there's anger in my heart,
you don't know what it's like, you don't have a clue,
if you did you'd find yourselves doing the same thing too,"
Judas Priest, "Breaking the Law"
Track 09: Slave to the Deamon Within
Oppari held still as Vamps large hands explored the back of her neck and shoulders. After having the opportunity to clean up, the former Blood Angel was a stunning creature, and Oppari welcomed even the slight informal contact. She felt so small compared to these warriors that had fallen from the Emperors Light, and even Sonata was tall and intimidating for a woman. Vamp sat hunched behind her in the equipment bay, his hair now clean and cut to a more manageable length, like a curtain of gold that terminated sharply on line with his chin. His overgrown beard had been shaved off completely to reveal a firm jaw and fine lips. He examined the chemical harness that had been grafted to her back while the other massive one known as Fugue studied a vial of the drug the former Commissar had come to rely on. With large yet dexterous fingers, Fugue opened the small vial, then using a finger, placed a small drop of the fluid on his tongue. For a moment he rolled it around in his mouth, then swallowed.
"Would you like the good news or the bad news first?" he asked Oppari.
Oppari glanced up at Fugue, still unable to meet his gaze. Come to think of it, she hadn't been able to look any of them in the eye since her arrival. "The good I suppose."
"Well, good news is you can still walk and move."
"And the bad?"
"Not for long," Fugue capped the vial again and set it aside. "This particular drug, in addition to ruining adrenal glands, also destroys the nervous system. Most users die in a few months, very few live for a year. Your life will most likely be short and painful Oppari. With every hit, your nervous system will decay and your body will keep crying out for more."
"Why can't I just quit?" Oppari glanced her her shoulder at Vamp who had also taken an interest.
"You can try. Within three days you will want a hit so badly that you will be willing to do anything. After three days your body will have flushed the drug from your system, and then the seizures will start, then renial failure and finally cardiac arrest."
Vamp sideglanced Fugue, his general dislike for the position he found himself in was even more noticeable in the presence of the Aristocrats that hailed from Traitor Legions. "I thought I was the only Apothecary."
"You are, but I know poison."
Oppari weighed Fugues words and felt Vamps hands leave her back. They were large, warm and gentle and reminded her of her fathers hands. She pushed away old memories and the tears that threatened to come with them then pulled her coat back over her bare skin. "Can the chemical harness be removed?"
"Yes. Easily enough. But the addiction will remain," Vamp stood and picked up the vial, keeping his distance from Fugue. "I can see about finding a suitable replacement drug. There must be something that can be used without causing further damage," he went into the Aristocrats' first Rhino, that had recently been refitted as a mobile medical suite, with Sonata having been its first client.
Lyre had done a number on her with only two hits. Two hits that would have killed a Space Marine in a similar situation. Vamp had been intrigued by the Warsinger's resilience, and had also welcomed the opportunity to study this dark sister. Sonata now shared his blood, and that of his Primarch. He discovered from the former tech adept's notes that she had been implanted with a Larraman's gland and also a Black Carapace, yet had not adapted properly. While Vamp had first been abhorred by the information, there was still that teasing curiosity in the back of his mind, a curiosity that he had been told his entire life to suppress, for it led down dark paths. Now due to his necessary alliance with the Aristocrats, he couldn't think of another time more fitting to scratch those curious itches. If the Great Enemy had no scruples about such things, then perhaps it would be beneficial to make the best of this situation.
Vamp could hear Sonata's voice as a whisper in his thoughts. Just as he could feel the blood of all those that had gone before him surge through his veins. Hers was a high angelic pitch above the steady murmur of his kin, another addition to the steady rhythm of heartbeats and breath of his brothers. Vamp was willing to bet his very life that the Larraman's gland in her chest, and Black Carapace on her body had belonged to another Blood Angel or successor Chapter. His—no, their Primarch's blood had awakened the organs, and that damn demon she had welcomed into her body had done the rest. He wanted to stay and observe, to study and document the growth and development of this unexpected Sister that he had inadvertently helped to create. But in the meantime, there was the matter of this little fallen Commissar to see to.
Rubato broke his silence as he spoke up from his work bench. Oppari had even forgotten that he was there. "There may be another solution for you Oppari, should the pain become too great."
"At this point I'm open to suggestions," Oppari buttoned her coat and stood, feeling small once again standing next to Fugue. She barely reached his waist.
"Have you ever considered devoting your life to the Machine?" Rubato asked in all seriousness.
Oppari added that to her mental list of last-ditch possibilities. "I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," she turned to address Vamp and Fugue. "Thank you both for your advice...my lords."
Fugue waved his hand. "Enough of that shred. You're an Aristocrat. Start acting like one."
Oppari kept hearing them say that, but she didn't quite feel like one yet. So far she had been playing nursemaid to Sonata, who seemed to have an uncanny knack for getting injured. Then again, she supposed it came with the territory. Space Marines were bigger, louder, stronger and more dominating than any human she had ever met. If she didn't harbor such contempt for them she would be tempted to call them gods, to worship at their feet like so many others across the Imperium. Before now the closest she had ever been to a Space Marine was studying a two-week old footprint in dried mud. She remembered how small her own boot had seemed in comparison. Since being in the company of the Aristocrats, she had learned that they were every bit as dexterous and swift as the rumors said, and just as obnoxious and joking as any Guardsman.
In other words, they were more human than they would like to admit.
Oppari climbed the stairs into the main sitting room. The air had since been cleared of all that glittery pink smoke, and Sonata reclined on one of the lounges with a book in her lap. The one known as Legato was seated nearby cleaning a power sword. Oppari crossed the room and stood at Sonata's side. "Sonata, how are you feeling?"
The Warsinger sighed, causing her wings to flutter. "Like shred. But I'm tired of laying in bed."
Legato glanced up from his work and smiled. "Spend a lot of time on your back then?"
Quick as lightning, Sonata reached out and grabbed one of the silver loops on Legato's eyebrow. With her clawed finger holding it tightly she began to pull.
"Ah...Ah!..." Legato leaned in the direction of her tugging, his voice becoming more breathy as his skin began to redden and tear. "Just like that...keep tugging just...like..." his eyelids began to flutter closed as Oppari watched with a mixture of amusement and confusion.
"Listen to me shatterbrain," Sonata tugged a little harder, a drop of blood began to well from the fragile membrane of skin. "You will respect me. I am not one of those joy girls. I have fought and defeated bigger and more powerful than you. I will destroy that lovely face of yours and leave you broken. Have I made myself clear?"
Legato exhaled through grit teeth, his fingers gripping the lounge tightly as his body began to shake. "Yes Mistress."
"Good," Sonata sneered, but she didn't let go. Instead she pulled just a little harder, then twisted, bringing a loud cry of delight from the Space Marine. Oppari watched a drop of blood fall to the arm of the lounge, and began to understand what it meant to be an Aristocrat. They answered to no one, and they expected nothing.
A door in the hall opened and Lyre stepped out, followed by Zither. For a moment Sonata and Lyre met each others gaze, and while Oppari couldn't fathom what passed between them in that moment, they came to some instinctual mutual understanding. Sonata was the first to look away and a not a breath later Lyre began adjusting the cuffs on his coat. Oppari had seen similar behavior in felines and canines, dominance and command asserted in just a glance. Yet there was more to it than that. The Aristocrats had deep respect and trust in Lyre, and Lyre to his credit, did not abuse the faith they had in him. Oppari even thought she saw a small tell of remorse or guilt on the Soul Slaves' handsome features. He cared for his band, and he would sooner cause injury to himself before inflicting it on another Aristocrat.
"Clef," Lyre called. "Ruffati has sent for me. I'm not going alone this time."
Clef emerged from his room, tightening Forsworn's strap to his shoulder. "I would have come if you wanted me to or not."
"Legato," Lyre turned his attention to one of the newest Aristocrats. "You as well."
Sonata let go of Legato's piercing and the Space Marine rose obediently, a smile on his lips from Sonata's teasing. He fell into step easily behind Lyre and Clef. As they departed Legato noted that Lyre and Clef mirrored each other in their movements, not like lockstep, but a true mirror. When Lyre moved his left leg, Clef moved his right in equal stride. It both pleased and fascinated Legato, who sought perfection in all he did. To have a partner that understood and complemented every move, every breath shared, to obtain the perfection that Lord Fulgrim had sought for himself and his Legion, there could be no greater purpose.
He followed behind them through the halls of the Crimson Rhapsody. All around were testaments to the glory and worship of Slaanesh. Legato had rested, and performed his own form of worship since coming here, but now he was inspired to search for more, to enjoy every aspect of this great traveling temple to its fullest. But every thought that crept into his mind paled to the simple blessings of Slaanesh evident by the unity and purpose present in Lyre and Clef. Clef did not deserve to walk abreast with such a dedicated son of Fulgrim, the cocksure child did not have the hard edge that was required of a Soul Slave. As they traveled marble halls filled with statues depicting all manner of physical delights of the Warp, a thought came to him.
Why couldn't he walk at Lyre's side? Legato and Lyre even looked a little alike. Legato could grow his hair longer, and he would be willing to remove his sacred piercings to further complete the illusion. There were even ways he could alter his eye color so they would be true mirrors of the other. Perfection in appearance, in combat and in mind. To become part of a greater whole with every step and every sound a hymn of praise to the glory of Slaanesh and dedication to their shared Deamon Prince Primarch! There was of course the simple matter of Clef, but Legato had toppled older and more powerful in the past. It would take time, but the runt could be dealt with.
Zither led Lyre, Clef and Legato through the many decks of the Crimson Rhapsody and even though the Aristocrats apartments were located in one of the better areas of the ship, it was still akin to crossing a small city to reach Ruffati's spacious quarters. Once again Lyre stood before the huge wooden doors, and once more two servants dedicated to Ruffati opened them wide. The rooms beyond hadn't changed since Lyre had last visited, even though there was a fresh tang of warpcraft still in the air. Zither led the way across the large floor with confidence and familiarity, and Lyre began to question if Clef and Zithers friendship had been orchestrated by Ruffati from the start. Ruffati himself soon appeared at the railing of the balcony and Zither escorted the Aristocrats up a staircase to the upper level.
"Lyre, we meet again, this time under better circumstances I'm sure," Ruffati smiled. "How are you feeling?"
Lyre remembered his last visit, and was still wary of their hosts intentions this time around. He noted the lack of guards and more relaxed atmosphere, as if Ruffati were trying to appear welcoming and casual, which in turn only made Lyre even more skeptical. "I am recovering. Your servants have been taking good care of me, and all the Aristocrats."
"Your band is one of their favorites you know," Ruffati led the group to a side table and selected a few crystal goblets, before lifting a glass decanter of lowe and filling the goblets with the familiar pink wine. "You're relatively neat, easy to please, and don't demand too much of them."
Clef accepted his goblet of lowe along with Zither and Legato. "In my experience, you shouldn't anger the ones who handle your food."
"Indeed," Ruffati sipped his wine, prompting the rest to follow suit. "Lyre, no doubt you're concerned for the whereabouts of your armor."
Lyre wasn't particularly thrilled to get back into his old ceramite shell, but if he was to be any use in further combat, he needed it. Although for as long as he had been trapped, he would gladly run into battle naked if he could. "I would like it returned soon, as I'm sure it will need repairs."
Ruffati began walking, leading his guests toward another large set of doors and into a library. Shelves filled with books extended to the ceiling. Lyre hesitated a moment and performed a quick glance at the books and titles. They covered almost every subject he could think of, and this was only the first room. Doors opened to either side, exposing galleries filled with more of the same, with the occasional desk or lounge. "Your armor...repairs were attempted. But it didn't even survive a gentle cleaning before turning to sand. It seems that once it was free of the curse, it lost all constitution. Not an unusual event, I've had many cursed and enchanted weapons pass through my hands and turn to dust. No, since loss of your armor was my doing, I have taken it upon myself to replace it."
Ruffati opened another set of pocket doors and stepped into a much larger room. Lyre noted that it wasn't a room so much as a silo, a large cylinder that extended for tens of floors upward, each one marked with a balcony and loaded with more books. "Its in original condition," Lyre commented.
"Oh? You noticed?" Ruffati said with a smile, then picked a decanter from a nearby table and refilled Lyre's goblet of lowe. "In the times since the Great Crusade, this kind of layout has been broken down and re-purposed."
Clef looked upward. "What is so special about it?"
Ruffati chuckled. "This entire room, in the event the ship is destroyed, is designed to seal off into a large capsule, and jettison out into space, thereby protecting the gathered knowledge and art contained within. I dare say there are thousands—if not more, such capsules scattered around the galaxy, just waiting to be found. One of my hobbies in fact. When I find one, I launch an expedition to plunder it, claim what I desire, and sell the rest. The Mechanicum is a welcome repeat customer," he ushered them to the center of the silo where a few sitting areas had been arranged, complete with various beverages and casual offerings of narcotics such as slaabur, loh sticks, tobac, and even a few large crystal chunks of opiate-like resins. All of which drew Clef and Legato's immediate attention.
"Clef," Lyre warned when he saw his band mate reach for the slaabur.
"No, its quite alright. Zither, see to it our guests are comfortable. Lyre, there is something I would like to show to you, and you alone. Your...Aristobrats will be fine," Ruffati topped off his own wine.
Lyre gave Clef a subtle nod, but Legato was already reaching for the crystals. Zither plopped down on a couch and looked upward to the top of the silo, where a stained glass ceiling depicting the rise of the Emperors Children blazed in colorful glory. Lyre reluctantly tore his gaze away, then followed Ruffati through yet another set of doors. Now Red Widow was waking up, she didn't like to be separated from Forsworn for long, and could sense the amount of warpcraft in the air. Ruffati stopped before an unassuming section of shelves, filled with more books and a few baubles, and to Lyre's surprise, began to whisper strange sounds.
Red Widow was immediately on guard. This was strong warpcraft, stronger than even anything she could hope to understand and use. The bookcase before them wavered, then vanished entirely to reveal another cylindrical room, but much smaller than the first and heavily shielded from both warpcraft and material attacks. Even before Lyre followed Ruffati inside, he could feel the contents of the room tug at the empty place inside where his soul had been. Red Widow blazed warmly at his back in return, as if to remind him of his debt. The wall formed behind them once more, shutting them in.
The floor of the room was simple granite, pink and polished to a shine, the shelves were simple wood, clean and tidy. On the shelves were a few strange musical instruments. Some were clean and ready to play, others had been augmented or enhanced, and still more had been completely destroyed, only their outlines or shells cleaned and placed among the others. Lyre felt tears begin to pull at his eyes at the sight of them. Whispering another few strange sounds, Ruffati stepped to the center of the room and held his arms open wide. Seemingly forming from thin air, sheets of glass with parchment pressed between them began to form. Lyre joined Ruffati in the center of the floor and watched wide-eyed and tearful as the last of pieces of glass formed from the ether.
"Do you know what this is?" Ruffati finished his incantations and turned to Lyre.
"Yes," Lyre whispered. "These are...the instruments that were played...during the Maraviglia...and these sheets...they are...no, it can't be. After ten thousand years, they can't be!"
"I spent ten thousand years collecting these sheets. At first I had thought that Lord Fulgrim would have taken them with him into the Eye, and so I searched there. And that is how I found the first, clutched in the gauntlet of a dead Noise Marine. That one," he turned and gestured to a sheet behind them. "From there, the collection slowly grew. This is the original, the composer's master copy, broken and thrown through the galaxy."
Lyre dropped to his knees, studying the sheets as they rotated around him, as if they were pieces on some carousel. He had been there that night that the Maraviglia had been performed. Its only performance. His Lord had been melancholy at the loss of his Phoenix Guard to the Eldar. They had defended him to the last from a technologically superior force, yet Lyre had not been part of that action. He and Cornet had been in the care of Fabious Bile, the chief Apothecary of the Emperor's Children as test subjects for the Warp Scream implant. When Fulgrim had returned, he openly wept for the loss of his personal guard, his favored sons. Lyre had been unable to soothe his Primarch's tears, and instead focused on recruiting and training a new force quickly.
Kynska, a talented Remembrancer and composer had finally completed her magnum opus, the Maraviglia, and Fulgrim along with his closest officers and Captains attended the performance. Lyre had been at his Lord's side, but to defend his Primarch, not as a spectator. Even so, he had never heard something so beautiful and horrifying before or since. He could still remember the otherworldly sounds, the curious instruments, and the hole that had been ripped in the very fabric of reality that allowed the deamon hordes to pour through. He remembered that Varosian, a normally stoic Captain, overcome by the sudden cessation of the music, had rushed forward to take up an instrument, and in doing so became the first Noise Marine.
Lyre never entertained the thought that he would ever hear the Maraviglia again, let alone sit in the presence of the work that had come to define his existence.
"A Soul Slave overcome by emotion, now this is something rare," Ruffati chuckled. "This is why I wanted you to see this most sacred piece of my collection. Yet the score is not complete. I am missing one piece of sheet music to finish the Maraviglia. I have men following up on a rumor as we speak. The final sheet is in my grasp. And this is where you come in Lyre."
"You wish me to track it down?"
"No. As skilled as your band is, the Aristocrats are ill-suited for that task...at least in their present form. No. I intend to perform the Maraviglia again once all the pieces have been gathered. But I need your help, your knowledge, you musical intuition, to assemble and arrange it to be played."
"Ruffati, I am honored, but surely if you know there is a sheet missing, then you would rather-"
Ruffati let out a long sigh. "Study the sheets, if you would."
Slowly, Lyre raised his eyes. He had been reluctant to gaze directly upon the sheets, just as he was reluctant to look upon the face or meet the eyes of his Primarch in the past. The first thing he noted, was that the sheets were not parchment, nor vellum, but precisely cut pieces of human skin. The bars and measures had been burned and branded on while the victim had still been living. In place of hand written notes, there were smears of blood or bile across a measure, their points given voice from their location. Another sheet bore precise lasburns, again from a living victim before the sheet was cut. Here a partially healed wound from a bolt pistol created a curve leading to a crescendo. In others, nails or teeth marked notation. As Lyre read the sheets around him, the sounds began to play in his mind and he gasped, then closed his eyes tightly, for once welcoming Red Widow's presence in his mind to calm this sudden and unexpected incursion of the Warp.
He opened his eyes again, guarding himself this time against reading too deeply, and found that the notes had changed. The blood splatters appeared as droplets now, the lasburns were pus filled lesions and numerous other changes. Yet the bars and measures remained constant. The Maraviglia was truly warpcraft in its finest.
"Its very hard to copy a piece of music if it keeps constantly shifting," Ruffati chuckled. "But that's the nature of music. It changes and evolves. I've studied this piece for centuries and still cannot find a pattern if indeed there is one. Kynska was touched by the gods."
"Indeed," Lyre admitted. "I will try to do what I can, but I don't suspect either of us will have much luck until the last piece is found."
Ruffati uttered the strange sounds once more, and one by one the sheets of glass began to fade from reality. "You are one of a very select few that have been invited into this chamber, one of only three others that I have allowed to study the Maraviglia, and the other two are dead. You will tell no one what you have seen, and I will grant you access, under supervision of course, to study it as needed to create a working copy. Until then, I still have need of the Aristocrats. Even more so now that Worlds Aflame and Surreal Scream are no longer with us."
Lyre reluctantly followed Ruffati from the chamber.
"The next operation I have planned is to gather more materiel for sale. Even an arms dealer such as myself needs to go shopping now and then, and I am inviting several other trusted bands to assist. I doubt they will run off with your Warsinger as Surreal Scream had done, but it would probably be for the best to leave them alone. If you ever take it upon yourself to start another fight while on my ship without proper permission, I will take more permanent measures."
Lyre bit back a reply. He was in no position to argue, not if he wanted his band to survive. Instead he asked another burning question on his mind. "And what is to be done about my armor?"
Ruffati chuckled. "It's already been delivered to your apartments. I recommend that you have it calibrated quickly. There is a meeting in the war room this evening that requires the presence of the Aristocrats."
Fugue hadn't exactly been eager to explore the depths of the Crimson Rhapsody. While he shared a Noise Marines delight for the use of sonic weaponry, he did not offer his talents in praise of Slaanesh, and refused to attribute any credit to that particular god of Chaos. However most Noise Marines did offer tribute to the Prince of Pleasure and by association alone, Fugue had become familiar with most forms of worship. Became familiar with, and eventually learned to profit from said forms of worship.
Wherever the former Death Guard walked, he brought with him the many narcotic delights he collected from around the galaxy and the Eye of Terror. Anything from the usual run of stimms like Burn, Shatter, and Float, to casual poisons of lho sticks, tobac, and amasec. Yet his specialties were in the more exotic range, it was difficult to poison a Space Marine, and even more so to create narcotics and drugs that would generate pleasurable effects without killing. It was here that Fugue excelled and where he made most of his coin.
Slaabur was the more common drug of choice for Slaaneshi. Its composition varied depending on available materials, but the form and effect were constant. Slaabur, in a raw unprocessed state, resembled a thick purple sludge created from various common chemicals. The sludge was then mixed with ash that had been ground down to a fine powder; the ash would act as both an oxidizer and catalyst for the drugs' effects when burned. The sludge mixed with ash would form a putty-like substance which could then be packaged and sold. Some used it as incense, others would smoke it. Once lit, the putty would create a light pink to deep purple fog of glittery smoke, while the effects on the mind would vary anywhere between deep relaxation to an increase in sexual desire and performance. The deeper and more glittery the smoke, the higher the price, and the wider range of pleasures one could draw from it.
Then there were the resins and crystals from the Eye of Terror. Some were the fossilized blood of slain demons, others were the concentrated essence of sorrow or joy. All were highly praised and desired as forms of extremes. Fugue never missed a chance to collect these when they crossed his path.
Needless to say that a market for fake and harmful stimms was quite a real danger, and Fugue had a clientele and a reputation to uphold. Testing new sources and ferreting out the unreliable ones took a lot of time, and in most cases quite a bit of experimentation. There weren't many poisons that could kill a Space Marine, but shred if these idiots trying to make a quick credit hadn't come up with a few of the more interesting ones. If they didn't outright kill, then there would be enough damage done to the mind and nerves to make them wish they were dead.
And that was why Fugue valued Riff.
Riff was the highest order of stimm junkie. Fugue didn't know what kind of horror the little Space Marine was trying to run from, but the endeavor pulled him from pleasure to escape, and every rung of consciousness in between. Although he had witnessed states of fury and deep pleasures in his bandmate, Fugue had never seen Riff fully sober. Riff had become so steeped in the many narcotics of the galaxy, that he had become a kind of connoisseur. Fugue could feed him nearly anything, and Riff would recite off a list of ingredients, effects, sensations and setbacks within moments. He was the perfect test subject.
That wasn't to say that Riff didn't have a survival instinct. Once Fugue had injected him with a questionable sample of Blur from an unreasonably cheap batch to test. The Noise Marine had promptly given up his meal, then cut a vein his arm open in an effort to bleed out the bulk of the stimm before it could affect the rest of him. Riff then ran after the dealer responsible and forced his own drugs upon him as payback. Fugue kept that batch and later had it stored in darts that he used against Dark Eldar. Watching those bastards convulse and shiver as the stimm took full effect made up for the lost income. In return, Fugue received a few trinkets and words of praise from one of Papa Nurgle's Demon lackeys.
Nurgle was another god of Chaos that he had no love for. Unlike the other Aristocrats, Fugue was not initially rejected by his Legion, instead he chose to leave on his own. It pained him to see his brothers in the grip of Nurgle's many "blessings" and even more than the rot of their bones, the stench of their fear repulsed him. He had not been there for the Death Guards fall from grace, yet remnants of their history and past were still present and fresh in many warp-addled minds. Quite plainly he had rejected Nurgle, and in doing so, set himself apart from his Legion.
He didn't know who had given him the violin, only that he had been walking away and it suddenly appeared on his person, and its name was equally and suddenly known to him. With "Mothers Tears" at his side, he had thought that Slaanesh was calling him, and thus sought out the crazy frakwits known as Noise Marines. Yet after working alongside Legato for some time, Fugue didn't feel welcomed by other Slaaneshi, they were too selfish for his taste. Yet he still found a home of sorts around Noise Marines, and the worship of Chaos Undivided, even if a particular god had yet to earn his loyalty.
As Fugue and Riff wound their way through the many delights and torments of the Crimson Rhapsody, the former Death Guard reflected on this new turn of events. He genuinely liked the Aristocrats, they were varied and open-minded, perhaps a little too much for even Chaos Undivided. He hadn't been around many Warsingers in the past, but Sonata was far from the burden that many Space Marines had made women out to be. Oppari had a hidden strength to her, and would be a benefit provided that she survived. That brought Fugue's mind back to his task, finding a substitute for that chemical she had become dependent upon.
"This looks like the place," Riff spoke up suddenly. They had traveled down many dark halls, and even more brightly lit stalls searching for a supplier for one specific drug. Fugue had left his Terminator armor behind, knowing that its bulk would be more of a hindrance than a benefit this deep in the ship. Much like Lyre and Red Widow, Fugue kept Mothers Tears close even now. "Just once I would like a shop that isn't such a crummy little hole in the wall. Shred, even on a ship like this, you could open a full salon and no one would care."
Fugue had good and bad experience with both salons and decaying stalls such as this, and for any other drug, he would have gone to a place with a better reputation, but what he was after was rare, and some would even consider it an affront to Chaos Undivided.
Riff pulled open the door and stepped into a small dimly lit space that smelled of bitter spices and herbs. The room was just large enough for the two Space Marines, a wooden countertop, and an aging human man. The walls were covered in many small drawers marked and labeled in gothic print, and the few shelves were packed to capacity with jars and boxes.
"And how may I help you gentlemen this evening?" the man asked.
"I was told you had Silverbane," Fugue said bluntly.
"Space Marines, always directly to the point. Then again, if one of your kind ever learned to haggle, we merchants would be in a world of trouble," the shopkeeper chuckled. "I do not carry Silverbane, it is one of the few things that are forbidden on the Crimson Rhapsody."
Fugue had been expecting this, and opened a pouch at his side, from it he pulled an Imperial coin, one of the crowns from Terra, and placed it before the shopkeep. "This too is forbidden, yet I am sure that if I search your stores I will find many more to accompany it."
The man accepted the crown and hid it away, then turned and pulled open a drawer. After a moment, he placed a small non-descript red paper box on the counter before Fugue. Fugue opened the box and found small dried plants with leaves and flowers intact. He nodded and tucked it away. "And Saints Hood."
The shopkeeper once again went to his stock, and this time set a simple glass jar filled with clear liquid on the counter. More crown and coin changed hands, and Fugue opened the jar. "Riff."
Riff came forward obediently. "Extra- or intravenous?"
"Oral," Fugue put a drop on his finger as Riff opened his mouth like a youth waiting for a treat. Fugue let the drop roll off his finger into Riffs open gullet, then closed the jar.
For a moment Riff stood waiting, his usual appraising expression of expectant confusion making his eyes appear darker. His head suddenly snapped up and he stumbled backward. Fugue caught and steadied him. Riff leaned on him, the light in his eyes returning as the effects of his near-constant stimm binge began to fade away. His skin became clearer, and full coherence returned. "I don't like this Fugue."
"I'll give you something else in a moment. How do you feel?"
"Like a veil has been lifted from me. Like I had been stumbling through a fog and now everything is clear. I feel...sober."
Fugue nodded, then placed the coin purse on the shopkeepers counter, then collected his purchases and his bandmate. "I'll give you something else. It should fade in a few hours."
"Fugue, don't ever give this to me again," Riff covered his eyes with his hand. "Shred I'm hungry. Feel like I haven't eaten in weeks."
"You haven't," Fugue left the shop behind and kept his grip tight on Riff. The Space Marine stumbled hesitantly as if he were just learning to walk.
"Am...am I really sober?"
"You are."
"How horrible...please Fugue, don't ever do this again. Don't ever make me sober again! I can't take it, there is this terrible feeling in my chest," he began to shudder against the larger Space Marine. "Fugue...I..."
Fugue pulled a syringe out of another pouch on his person. "I'll give you some Shatter."
"Anything, I can hear the screams again. Those horrible screams!" Riff was now full-on shaking.
Fugue unceremoniously jammed the syringe in Riff's exposed arm, then hit the plunger. Riff stopped shaking, but the mucus-heavy sweat returned. He then gave Riff a good hit to the ribs and felt the smaller Space Marine grow heavy on his arm as his ability to walk left him. Fugue then lifted Riff to his back and carried him back to the Aristocrats apartments.
He didn't know what had happened in the Dark Angel's past to turn him into a stimm junkie, but he was running from something, some horrible memory that plagued him still. There would come a day when Riff wouldn't be able to run any longer, and Fugue hoped that his brother could finally find the peace even all the drugs in the Eye couldn't grant him.
Lyre, Clef and Monody entered the now familiar war room of the Crimson Rhapsody. Already elements of the other Warbands Ruffati had mentioned were gathered. They took the seats formerly occupied by the late Worlds Aflame and Surreal Scream, yet kept their distance from the Aristocrats and Forlorn Hope, leaving a none-too respectful buffer zone of several rows of seating between them.
Ruffati spared them the grand entrance of brass armored servitors and other fanfare. Iben was already waiting beside the controls for the holosphere. The crest of the Crimson Rhapsody rotated in the space above the projector, elegant, simple and appealing. The lean Space Marine emerged from a side hall wearing his usual purple and white business attire. He began by addressing the gathered bands. "Good evening Sons of Slaanesh."
The gathered bands roared their greetings, and Clef added his voice to the mix for the Aristocrats. Lyre remained seated and quiet. He had returned to the Aristocrats apartments and found the armor that Ruffati had given him, and it was fine work. But he still had no desire to encase himself in ceramite so soon. Instead he gave the armor to Vamp and chose to attend the meeting in a nicely tailored suit of his own, relishing in every brush of silk and leather over his still raw skin.
Once the cheering had calmed Ruffati began to speak once more. "Most of you are coherent, that is a welcome change," he circled around to the front of the holosphere. "Your time is valuable and so is mine. I have summoned all of you here because you are the best in your respective fields of expertise. All of you have also demonstrated a firm grasp of the concept known as 'teamwork.' Even the most ill bred of you," a glance to Forlorn Hope, "Have proven that you have what is needed for the task I now set before you."
Iben touched a few runes on the holospheres' console. The sphere lit up with an image of a slowly rotating planet. A few dark spots of blue-black marked small oceans against a primary backdrop of creams and browns with just a few lines of green, like cracks in an egg.
"This is Bessara, a world just on the edge of Obscurous near the border of Solar. Bessara is home to the Silver Eagles, a codex-compliant Chapter of Adeptus Astartes," the image shifted to a fortress monastery set on a high spire of rock. It was a lovely structure composed of towers and stained glass, like something out a childrens book. A white crown dedicated to the Emperor of Man. "This fortress monastery is home to the Silver Eagles. I see a lot of blank faces in the room, and it's no surprise that you haven't heard of them. They suffered grievous losses in their last few campaigns and have yet to rebuild their numbers sufficiently. And this makes them easy prey. I will not divulge how I encountered such intelligence, but know that it came at a price."
Murmurs traveled through the gathered Noise Marines and Ruffati let his words settle in for a moment. "This fortress is our target. We move in quickly, we move with accuracy and cunning, and we—the Crimson Rhapsody, the Dark Muses, the Vortex Kin, the Aristocrats, Warp Lightning and Forlorn Hope, Sons of Slaanesh all, will overcome the Imperials in their own stronghold and take all we can carry."
"Uh, if I may," Darren of Forlorn Hope stood. "As wonderful as the whole event sounds, uh, there is a reason its called a 'fortress' monastery. From the scans it seems fortified enough even if the Imperials are under strength. In short, how are we getting in?"
"Glad you asked," Ruffati pulled up and stool and sat down. "The floor is now open for suggestions."
"Infiltrate and overcome, so that is the plot?" one of Vortex Kin spoke. The Vortex Kin were a prime example of the more extreme nature of those that worshiped Slaanesh. They favored thin spiked carapace armor to complement their warped and twisted appearance and many had surgical augmentations taken to interesting heights. With patches of skin taken from past friends and foes stitched onto their bodies and cybernetic enhancements that further stimulated their cranial pleasure centers, Lyre wondered briefly if they had been one of Elisions former bands.
"Yes, but I desire to leave as much of the equipment intact as possible. No one wants to buy a broken Rhino," Ruffati countered.
"Should have summoned some Iron Warriors," the band leader of the Dark Muses spat. Each one had shocking blue hair, a trait sacred to the first dark muse: Kynska, the woman who had penned the Maraviglia. They were a hardened band, holding themselves to the quest for Perfection as their Mistress had. Each Dark Muse was an inspiring example of discipline and vanity. They also boasted three Warsingers, triplets that spoke and sang as one.
"The Iron Warriors refuse to answer any of my hails, but that doesn't stop them from buying their weight in bolts of course," Ruffati shrugged his shoulders.
"We care not on how we get in, only that there is enough blood to be shed in honor of our gods once inside," Vortex Kin said.
"We are Noise Marines, we aren't exactly known for our stealth," a Dark Muse countered.
"That doesn't seem to have affected the Aristocrats any," Darren of Forlorn Hope called out cheerfully. Lyre resisted the urge to stamp on the upstarts' boot. The less attention they drew to themselves, the better the meeting would go.
The leader of Vortex Kin looked toward the Aristocrats and Forlorn Hope as if seeing them for the first time. "I had thought that you had better taste than this Ruffati. This rabble is hardly suited to lick my boots, let alone fight alongside us. Vortex Kin can handle this mission, there is no reason to involve these false sons of Lord Fulgrim."
Those words stung, and Lyre was at a loss to fully explain why. Vortex Kins leader was just posturing, as all band leaders and Chaos Champions would do, but Lyre had been at his Lords right hand for longer than that filth had been drawing breath. Red Widow was doing her best to tempt her servant into acting on his frustration.
"Well Soul Slave, have you nothing to say?"
Clef shrugged at Lyre's side. "I believe my leader is trying to figure out if that is your head or your arse on your shoulders. I can understand his confusion, it looks like a face but there is so much shred coming out of it that we could be mistaken."
The leader hissed, rising to his feet along with the rest of his band. "Care to try me boy? Care to experience the true power of the Emperors Children?"
Clef took a quick breath, ready to unleash a Warp Scream tainted litany of insults. Lyre remembered Ruffati's warning about fighting on the ship, and raised his hand, halting Clef's attack. "No crossed swords in the halls of our host and sponsor," he then turned his dual colored eyes on Vortex Kin, his gaze carried the full weight of ten thousand years of battle, and he he did nothing to soften its effect. "Is that all this posturing is about? Pedigree? There are more important tasks ahead than arguing about linage. Yet if you truly wish to pursue this line of questioning and if combat is all that will satisfy, I'm sure Ruffati will provide. But until then I am getting paid to accomplish a task, and if you continue to be an obstacle, you will be removed."
The leader of Vortex Kin studied Lyre, yet there was a slight give in his posture, like he was no longer on the offensive. His hand slowly went to his side where his bolter had been loosely peace-bound for the meeting. Lyre found himself siding with Red Widow, almost wishing the fool would make a move so he could act in self defense. It was a staring contest, and neither the Aristocrats or Vortex Kin could back down without losing face.
Ruffati sat quietly, dataslate in hand and at the ready to make arrangements and sell tickets for a duel of this caliber. A representative from Warp Lightning broke the tense silence, and in doing so, the conflict between the Aristocrats and Vortex Kin was momentarily averted. "It is heavily defended from the outside, and even with the talent present, we do not have the resources for a full assault. Yet we need not throw ourselves upon the walls of this fortress, we only need someone already inside to let us in."
Warp Lightning, were much like the Aristocrats in that they maintained some structure and icons from the Emperors Children's glory days. But in place of the regal purple and gold, their armor was a garish combination of bright colors and patterns. At the leaders comment, approving murmurs rolled through the gathered Noise Marines. "Do you have an inside man?" Warp Lightning asked Ruffati.
"Sadly, no. Or this would have been simple enough to do on my own," he set the datapad aside, disappointed in the lack of declarations of insulted honor and fights to the death.
Red Widow suddenly surged from the back of Lyre's mind to the fore, pushing herself through with little concern for secrecy. Something had drawn her attention and she wanted her slave to take notice. Clef stiffened a little and both of the Aristocrats turned to study Warp Lightning. Seated in the midst of the brightly colored masses was a Space Marine in black armor with white edging. At first it was easy to miss him, he was like a shadow to the band leader. At his side was a guitar-like Sonic Blaster with a dull oily sheen. Red Widow wanted to attack and rip that Space Marine to pieces. There was a threat in her presence and she wanted it removed.
Lyre and Clef discovered that they were no longer the only Soul Slaves in the room.
"An Imperial Chapter isn't going to open their gates to just anyone. Whomever goes in there would need a cover story and good reason."
"Another Chapter of Space Marines would be too suspect, as would any sudden visiting dignitaries. Most Chapters keep to themselves."
Lyre took distant note of the voices around him. His attention was focused on keeping Red in check and being ready to hold Clef back should he lose his grip on Forsworn.
"What else do we know about the Silver Eagles?" Darren asked, his voice cutting cleanly through the others.
"Hm, first intelligent question I've heard out of you," Ruffati began pulling data up on the holosphere. "The planet as you can see is composed mainly of large expanses of hard-packed desert with deep fissures in the crust with trapped water, which have become central hubs for settlement. The Silver Eagles have taken one of these canyons as the location of their fortress monastery. Much like Bearing Hive it too is armed with a series of towers and many overlapping lines of fire. As their name suggests, they specialize in air assault with jump packs and have quite a collection of Thunderhawks and other aerial assault equipment. Most of which I need to fill a few orders, and once I have taken my cut, the lot of you can fight over what is left," the holo began to cycle through images of a lush valley filled with large trees and steep cliffs, with a silver-blue river winding lazily through. The canyon was a paradise compared to the hard dirt of the rest of Bessara.
"The rest of the planet is known for its promethium wells and refineries, and as such had warranted the need for a Chapter of Astartes to act as either a guardian or deterrent for possible invading forces. The major population centers include-"
"What is that icon there?" Clef asked.
"Hmm?" Ruffati glanced at the holo. "And which one out of the hundreds displayed has caught your eye young Aristocrat?"
A low condescending chuckle rippled through the other bands.
"In the target canyon, along the river, there is a small icon," Clef ignored them, but kept track of the other Soul Slave's movements.
Iben tapped a few runes and more data filled the holosphere. Ruffati continued. "It's a small shrine dedicated to 'Our Lady of the Waters,' a local Saint-like figure, yet to be canonized, reputed to have either discovered or somehow enabled the water to flow into the canyon, thereby making it habitable."
Clef smiled. "I think we have our way in."
"Well, do share," Ruffati noted that the rest of the bands, for all of their posturing, they still knew when to shut up and listen.
"That the Saint is yet to be canonized is ideal. We can let our Warsingers, disguised as a squad of Sororitas and an accompanying Ecclesiarch, introduce themselves to the Chapter Master and request permission to perform research into this 'miracle.' When the timing is right, they can shut down the defense systems from within and open the gates," Clef outlined his plan.
For a moment the war room was quiet as the bands digested this plan. The Dark Muses were the first to speak up. "Our Warsingers are only three in number, and as skilled as they are, they still could not take a chapter, even a weak one. That, and the blessings of Chaos run deeply through them. This plan, though interesting, is flawed."
"Forlorn Hope has two," Darren offered. "That makes five."
"Warp Lightning has one."
"Vortex Kin has four."
Lyre then said. "The Aristocrats have one, and also one in training."
Ruffati nodded. "That gives us a squad, with a leader and even an aspirant."
"We would still need an Ecclesiarch. There are not many in the ranks of Chaos Undivided that can tolerate that amount of heresy."
As one the Aristocrats and Forlorn Hope said one name. "Monody."
The Word Bearer turned Noise Marine smiled grimly, then stood. He had been so quiet through the whole exchange that Lyre had almost forgotten he was there. "I seem to have been recommended for this task."
Ruffati smiled. "Could you play the part of an Ecclesiarch?"
"I would give you an example of my talents, but I would risk offending the gathered devotees of Chaos Undivided," Monody said graciously.
"He is still too tall to pass for priest. He would stand head and shoulders over the Warsingers," the leader of Vortex Kin sneered.
"That, can be fixed," Monody stepped to the floor and lifted the hem of his grey robe. For the first time Lyre became aware that Monody had cybernetic legs. His flesh terminated mid-thigh and was replaced by thick trunks of metal and cables, rough battlefield work, but effective. "I only need to ask our adept to shorten them, and that should bring me down to a more acceptable height."
More mumblings rolled through the gathered bands along with a flicker of excitement at the possibilities. "Yet that still leaves the blessings and gifts of Chaos on the Warsingers," Vortex Kin insisted as Monody returned to his seat.
Ruffati called out to the room. "Not necessarily. I know of a few Warlocks that can assist in the suppression of the Warsingers more obvious gifts for the sake of infiltration. The effects will only be temporary of course. Unless anyone has any better ideas, I feel the Aristocrats plan is solid. Does anyone else have anything to add?"
The room grew silent, an indication of reluctant compliance.
"Good, we have a plan," as Ruffati began closing remarks and issued out timetables to the bands, Clef leaned in close to Monody and whispered. "You can talk a demon out of its skin, but could you talk your way into an Imperial Chapter?"
Monody smiled. "I love a challenge."
After the meeting, Darren had kept his word and recommended a couple of his bandmates to Crasis. Crasis agreed to meet them in his favorite bar, Cowards, for a small interview before making a solid decision. Breaking away from the Aristocrats was not going to be easy, and he knew that Lyre and Clef would take it the hardest. He was one of the founding members, and even though Lyre didn't express it, Fret and Elisions loss was deeply felt.
As soon as his prospective bandmates walked into the bar, Crasis knew why Darren had selected them. They were not as young as the rest of Forlorn Hope, and both had the appearance of experienced Space Marines. Both wore their armor, covered in the glyphs and colors of the rest of Forlorn Hope, but each of them had a sense of weight and duty that betrayed the immature markings of their band. Crasis had gone without his armor, leaving it for Rubato to repair while he was away. Each one pulled up a chair and sat at Crasis' table without a word.
"Rondo and Dirge I assume?" Crasis asked.
"Aye," the one on the left, Dirge answered. He was an aged Space Marine, with fine features that seemed to have been sculpted from warm stone. His jaw was firm yet narrow, his hair black, long and thick, and his eyes were set deep with a dull shine like chips of obsidian. He moved with the grace of a feline, measured and slow, not a bit of energy wasted.
Rondo, his companion, both complemented and contrasted Dirge. His skin was weathered with deep lines and wrinkles like old leather. His hair was unruly, braided in places and held with beads of wood or stone with a receding hairline and sharp widows peak. His beard extended to just below his chin and cut across in a straight line giving his head a rectangular appearance. But his eyes were yellow and sharp.
Crasis looked them over again and smiled, then shook his head. "I am Crasis, and forgive me for prying, but what brings a Raven Guard and a Space Wolf into the arms of Chaos Undivided?"
"Probably the same thing that brings a White Scar," Rondo growled.
Crasis chuckled again, already feeling himself begin to warm to the pair. Their drinks arrived, and Crasis pulled his wine closer. Dirge sipped politely while Rondo gazed disapprovingly into his own glass. "I was cast out of the White Scars, although I do not hesitate to say the feeling was mutual."
Dirge nodded. "Both Rondo and I were sent on a death quest to join our lost Primarchs and assist them in any way we can."
Rondo finally picked up his glass and commenced to drinking it all in one gulp. "I for disobeying orders, and Dirge here insubordination. I suppose they reasoned that if anyone could straighten us out it would be our founders. Although if presented with the same choice again, I would repeat my damning actions," he set the glass down and ordered another. "We discovered quickly once cast away from the bosom of our Chapters, that a pair of As-Space Marines have much difficulty surviving on our own."
Crasis could understand. A Space Marines home was in battle. It was what they lived for. Yet there was still much time between battles, a lot of time to get into trouble or pursue other interests. When behind the safe walls of a fortress or in the company of battle brothers, the space between conflicts was filled with training or preparing for the next battle. When cast out of that system, ones options were limited. Either find a battle a to die in, as Crasis had tried to do, or find a new support group.
"Needless to say, our options were limited. No Imperial would take in a pair of disgraced Space Marines, but there were many Chaos Warbands attempting to lure us to their cause. Darren offered us a place without question. He only wanted to know if we could fight, and if we were willing to teach the others to do so as well," Dirge watched as Rondo finished his second glass. "During the subsequent years, we had been taunted, teased, cursed and insulted by those that we once called brothers, By those that we had once protected. While Rondo and I have not given up on our quest, we also know that even if we did find our Primarchs, we deserve every punishment they could give us."
Rondo slammed his glass down. "Enough. You're too sentimental Dirge. Darren said that you were planning on heading into the Eye once you had formed a solid enough band, is this true?"
Crasis nodded. He had discussed it with Darren. Much like his first encounter and subsequent fight with Elision, he felt drawn to the Eye of Terror.
"That is where we desire to go. We are not like the others here, we have different loyalties and alignments. There is nothing I would like more than to get off this ship," Rondo glanced up as a group of Slaaneshi Space Marines entered the bar and approached their table. "Your friends Crasis?"
"Not mine," Crasis turned in his chair to examine the newcomers. There were five of them, clothed in light carapace armor and leather from various sources. The ring leader, a thin Space Marine with long needles lanced through his neck opened his mouth to speak, revealing cracked teeth that were in the process of being replaced with shiny metal caps.
"Well, look at this little Aristocrat, far away from his court," the newcomer made a shooing gesture to Rondo and Dirge. "You two may leave, this does not concern you," with that one wave of his hand, Crasis could taste the warp, sharp in the air, along with a sense of dread intended to intimidate. And it almost worked. Dirge rose to his feet, unaware that was the workings intent, while Rondo only growled low under his breath, his eyes becoming ever more yellow and dagger-like. Rondo reached out and grabbed Dirge's arm, and made him sit once more.
"We're fine here," Rondo asserted, stubbornly unwilling to give any ground.
Crasis knew from experience that this wasn't going to go well. "You have my full attention, Vortex Kin is it? Does your leader know you are here? From what my bandmate had said, I didn't think he would allow his dogs to roam the ship off their leash."
"We have a message for you to deliver to the leader of the Aristocrats," he leaned in. Before Crasis could react to the threat in front of him, three of the other Vortex Kin grabbed him from behind, restraining his arms and legs. Rondo and Dirge now stood, and Crasis roared, knowing that if he showed weakness now he would never be taken seriously in his own band. He kicked out, freeing one of his legs, then raised it, nailing the Vortex Kin before him in the center of his chest, driving in a series of needles and spikes that had been arranged there. Rondo and Dirge now jumped in, drawn more to the prospect of a good fight than for loyalty to Crasis. A spiked gauntlet wrapped around Crasis' thick throat and sharp spines began to pierce his flesh. He leaned forward into the spikes, letting the sudden burst of pain fuel him. The Vortex Kin may have thought him to be soft and easily dealt with, but he was going to show them otherwise.
Rondo grabbed and threw another, slamming him down onto a slag metal table. Other patrons of Cowards began to rise and head for the door. "You like pain? Then I will gladly put you in a world of it!"
Dirge seemed to have vanished into the shadows, and Crasis fought like a demon. Any Vortex Kin he laid hands on broke under his touch, he ripped flesh from bones and tore out their delicate piercings of needles and spines. Rondo was a beast as he tossed them around like so much meat. When they stopped attacking, Rondo and Crasis stood back to back in the center of the room, upturned tables and chairs broken around them. Vortex Kin lay scattered across the floor, limbs ripped from bodies and entrails smeared on the metal tiles.
"No blood," Rondo observed. There should have been gallons of it on the floor.
Then, with a whisper, one of the dismembered arms closest to Crasis began to drag itself across the decking. The taste of warpcraft once again made the air sharp and thin. Next to him a fallen Vortex Kin began to whisper, "As one."
Slowly the others scattered across the room took up the chant. "As one. As one," it grew in volume as warp-fueled lungs joined the chant. "As one! As one!" The arm found another arm, and the two twisted together, rising up onto their combined fingers, walking to another limb. Torsos wiggled and pulled themselves along the floor, joining up to the others. Rondo roared and grabbed the nearest one, breaking the spine and ripping it in half. The two halves found other masses to connect to. Spikes and needles stitched the skin together, creating not five Space Marines, but one large serpent-like mass with five heads perched on top of five arms and hands. The remaining arms and legs extended from the central body, bones and tendon twisting into claws, parting skin to form rudimentary hands.
"By the beard of Russ," Rondo swore under his breath. As the flesh serpent rose above them, coiling around the ceiling of the bar, Crasis could forgive the taboo oath. The serpent fell upon them, taking advantage of their momentary surprise. Large leathery coils restrained Rondo while the five heads with their five sets of metal-tipped teeth went to work chewing their way through Crasis' tunic and flesh. Another set of thin coils wrapped around his body, squeezing him, pulling his limbs in different directions, ripping the bone from their sockets.
Crasis howled in fury when he felt his shoulder pop and the muscle begin to shred, a shout that was dwarfed by the warcry he emitted when his left leg was pulled out of his hip joint. One of the five faces of his attackers centered before his. "Tell the band leader of the Aristocrats, that the same fate awaits them if they do not stand aside for Vortex Kin," there was a final twist of coils and a cracking of his rib plate before Crasis dropped to the floor. Not a moment later, Dirge ran into Cowards with Darren and most of Forlorn Hope in tow.
The serpent dropped to the ground and broke upon impact, shattering into its many pieces, that then joined again and formed into five Noise Marines of Vortex Kin. "We were just leaving. Be sure that Lyre receives our message Crasis," he stepped over Crasis' broken body and then out the door, past Forlorn Hope. Darren held his band in check, knowing that to continue the conflict would not win them any favors. Darren watched as they left, then went to Crasis' side. "Rondo? Are you alight?"
"A few bruises, my armor took the brunt of the attacks, how's Crasis?"
Darren sighed heavily, then called one of his bandmates over. "Go, tell Lyre what happened. Tell him that Crasis has been taken to our billet and we are tending to him. Tell Lyre that I need to speak with him, as one band leader to another," he met Rondo's eyes, "This will not go unpunished."
Darren and Rondo waited patiently by one of the chemical barrel fires in the vast storage bay that Forlorn Hope called home for the time. They had brought Crasis in an hour ago, and a messenger had been sent to the Aristocrats to deliver news of their bandmate. Rondo had a few cuts and scratches, and Darren suspected a bruise or two, possibly a broken bone, but he wasn't in as bad of shape as Crasis. A shout sounded through the renegade Guardsmen, signaling an approaching vehicle. Viola gave the command and her men began to open a door via hand crank.
When the door opened sufficiently, a Rhino bearing the colors and coronet icon of the Aristocrats rolled through and parked in an open area. Darren waited as a tech adept, followed by Lyre and another Space Marine he hadn't met before stepped out. Lyre approached Darren and extended his hand in welcome. "Where is he, and how bad?"
"Over there and very bad," Darren accepted Lyre's greeting then began to lead him to a tattered tent that had been erected to serve as a kind of medical center. He opened a flap and inside Lyre recognized a few of the injured from the assault on Bearing Hive, along with others. Crasis dominated one rear corner of the tent, placed upon a collection of dirtied bedding and wadded paper. "Not much we can do for him. Must be in a world of hurt."
Lyre studied his bandmate. It was hard to tell if Crasis was sleeping or simply unresponsive from the pain. He turned and waved his bandmates over. "Rubato, Vamp. Here."
Vamp pulled a gurney from the rear of the Rhino and activated a hover function, then with Rubato's assistance went to collect the fallen Aristocrat.
"Who did this?" Lyre turned to Darren and asked.
"Vortex Kin. Seems they have it out for your band. Not exactly sure why," Darren watched as Vamp and Rubato carefully loaded Crasis onto the platform.
"Crasis has a habit of making enemies everywhere he goes. He could have said anything."
"I doubt that was the case," Rondo spoke up. "This attack was intended to shake up your band, to make you back out of the upcoming operation."
"Were you with him?" Lyre asked.
"Aye," Rondo folded his arms and met Lyre's eyes. "You think I just sat aside and watched?"
Lyre noted the healing cuts on Rondo's face and the tell-tale totems of the Space Marines' former chapter. "No. I doubt a son of Russ could have restrained himself if he had wanted to."
Vamp pushed the gurney past Rondo and slowed for a moment, studying the Space Marine with an expression of recognition gracing his features. Rondo only smiled. It was odd and somehow appropriate that a fallen Space Wolf to encounter an equally disgraced Blood Angel. "Seems the mighty can fall very far."
"Indeed they can," Vamp answered, then continued on his way.
Darren watched as Crasis was loaded into the back of the Rhino. "We cannot allow this to go unpunished. Just say when Lyre, and Forlorn Hope will follow the Aristocrats to wherever those creatures hide in this ship, and slay them just as you had done Surreal Scream."
"While I share in your anger Darren, I doubt that our host will allow another such breach of conduct during our stay. And if we issued a formal challenge they would not answer since they consider our bands below their gaze," Lyre's grip tightened on Red Widow, his fingers teasing her strings. "But I mean it when I say that they will not set foot on Bessara. They will not share in this operation. They denied the Aristocrats of one of our finest warriors, and Forlorn Hope of a trusted friend. Vortex Kin has signed their own death warrant," without another word, he joined Vamp and Rubato in the rhino.
Crasis began to come around on the way back to the Aristocrats' apartments, whereupon Vamp gave him generous amounts of stimms and sedatives to ease his pain. However the Noise Marines' protests grew silent when he noted that Lyre was seated in the Rhino as well, watching him with cold disapproval. When the Rhino came to stop, Vamp opened the rear hatch to allow for better access to Crasis' wounds. Lyre silently stood and stepped past his wounded bandmate.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" Crasis demanded. "I know you aren't dumb Lyre. You already know why I was alone."
Lyre paused, the disapproval fading slowly into exhaustion. "Crasis, you made it clear to Cornet and I that this was a temporary arrangement. While in my heart, you will always be an Aristocrat, I cannot fault you for wanting to follow your own path. Yet due to your injuries, you will have to sit out of the next operation, and I know that will disappoint you more than anything I could say."
"Shred," Crasis huffed and leaned back against the gurney. "The band isn't the same. There are too many new faces, we've been encased in this ship for too long."
Now was not the time to begin addressing Crasis' trust issues. Lyre could understand his bandmates feelings and intent. "I would like you to stay. Assist Clef after the coming battle. In all likelyhood you might get your wish granted sooner than you anticipated."
"What shred are you talking?" Crasis began to sit up. "I'm beginning to feel that this is less and less about me, and more to do with you."
Lyre sat down on the rear tail of the Rhino, suddenly seeming as if all ten thousand of his years had come down on him at once. "Its almost done. My contract with Red Widow is almost complete and Zithers words weigh heavy on me. You are a Brother to me Crasis, and I do not use that word lightly. This could very well be my last gig. Clef is smart and skilled but he is not yet ready to lead the band. I still have need of you, to protect and teach him. To protect our Warsinger as well. I thought I could, but Red Widow won't have it. Sonata may not like you, but you have never once caused her harm."
Crasis leaned back again. "You want me to lead the band after your contract is filled?"
"Yes," Lyre turned to Crasis, and even Red Widow's clawed grip on his soul could not stop this flow of emotion. Two tears ran down his pale cheek, then onto the silk collar of his shirt. "Because I know that you will do everything in your power to protect them and lead them to victory," he stood, swinging Red Widow from his side to his back. "Please Brother. Reconsider."
Crasis watched Lyre cross the equipment bay and start up the stairs.
Vamp wiped away a bit of Oppari's blood as he finished removing the chemical harness from her upper back and shoulders. He had been able to disconnect many of the harnesses interface points to the woman's nervous system, yet the the primary injection point still remained. That port had been grafted to a vertebrae on her spinal column for a direct connection to her nerves. Rubato had assisted in removal, and noted that Oppari had been far from the first to wear this harness. He added the device to his ever-growing collection of spare parts. Together, Rubato and Vamp fashioned a more accessible insertion point for Oppari's stimulants, of which she had a steady supply of now.
Hours ago Fugue and Riff had returned with custom-made stimms. At first Oppari had been wary, the color and consistency was unlike what she had become accustomed to, but then she heard about the extensive testing that Riff had undergone to ensure a proper blend. Granted, Riff was a Space Marine, but Oppari was still humbled that so much combined effort had been put forth for her survival and comfort. As Fugue had promised, the end result was almost unnoticeable. The jitters were gone, as was the withdraw pain. She could think clearly for the first time in months.
"There," Vamp said softly, as if his words were for her alone. "Keep ointment and lubricants on the interface port, Rubato should be able to assist if you need it," he absently licked a loose drop of her blood off the back of his hand.
Oppari pulled her coat up to her shoulders and felt relief that she no longer had to worry about her clothing snagging the harness. "How can I repay you? I admit that I'm out of my element here, so I don't know if there is any kind of procedure-"
Fugue made a simple gesture with his hand. "You are a member of the band. Do well in battle and we will call it even."
Oppari resisted the urge to scratch the tender skin around the implant. "Thank you. I don't know what I can do that a Space Marine can't, but I'll try," she collected her weapons once more and passed by the Rhino where the Aristocrat known as Crasis slept. Although "slept" really wasn't the right term. He was resting, but he was far from unaware. "Sleeping" Space Marines reminded her of a canine her father had owned. The beast would give all appearances to be in deep slumber, yet if someone in the room so much as looked in his direction, his tail would begin a slight twitch that gave him away.
She climbed the stairs to the main living area to find Lyre, Clef, and Zither seated on couches and lounges that they had pulled into a circle. Riff, Fugue, Sonata, and Monody stood nearby watching. Another thought occurred to Oppari as she observed the gathered Aristocrats. Were all Space Marines this handsome? Fugue and Crasis had the rugged and worn appearance of warriors, yet even their scars and old wounds seemed to only add to their appeal. Vamp had chiseled noble features, yet without the effeminate undertones that both Lyre and Zither shared. Clef and Legato reminded her of the youths she had led long ago, with ignorant ambition always a tell-tale glimmer in their eyes, and a kind of cockiness that time had yet to erode. Even Monody seemed to represent a kind of joyful grace in his aged features. The only exception was Riff, but even he could be handsome if he only chose to quit the stimms.
The Aristocrats were not what she expected Chaos Marines to look and behave like.
Lyre took a deep draw off a lho stick, then set it aside. "Oppari, take a seat, you might as well learn too."
Oppari hadn't expected the band leader to address her directly, but she did as he requested. Lyre pulled his guitar, Red Widow, from a stand at his side. For a moment he caressed the strings, then spoke up once again "Zither, I had promised you that I would teach you to use your weapon once you gathered the materials for your own strings. You held up your end, now so will I. Oppari, as a Warsinger in training, this lesson is as much for you as well."
"Solresol is a language of sound and color, but it is also a language of emotion. To use it effectively as a weapon, you also need to know of the centers of energy in your body. A soul is not bound to the body in only one place. It has seven primary anchors, and many other secondary ones. These anchor points are known by many names, but I will use the more common human term, chakra.
"The first chakra is the root or base, located predictably at your fundament. In Solresol it is 'Do' and red is its color. On an Imperial Gothic
musical scale, it is represented by the note of C. This is the color and sound of basic survival. Your instinct, your ground, your connection to the material," he touched one of Red Widow's strings, drawing out a clear tone. "The second chakra is located at your sex, in Solresol it is 'Re' and colored orange. See Legato if you need any other clarification on refining your technique with this area," Lyre drew on his lho stick as Clef and Zither chuckled. "It is known as D on the Imperial scale," he again coaxed a sound from Red Widow and continued his lesson.
"Third is located at your stomach. Known as 'Mi' and yellow in color. This is the center of your body and source of power. Your hunger for more, your desire. When you fight, many moves are determined by how you shift and alter your power. Remember that." he played the accompanying sound. " E on Imperial."
"Fourth, is your heart. 'Fa' and green. Your love, your dedication, your pure intentions and loyalties are here. F on Imperial. Fifth is located at your throat, and as implied, is the center of communication and expression. 'So' and colored blue. G on Imperial," he once again played the corresponding notes.
"Sixth is your minds eye. 'La' and indigo in color. These are your thoughts, your plans, your dreams, your doubts. Everything that happens in your head is bound to this chakra. A on the Imperial Scale," the note rang out clear in the quiet room. All of the Aristocrats, save for Crasis had gathered to listen. "Lastly, is the crown chakra. This is located above your head. Because it is not part of your physical material self, it is exposed to the warp, and it is where any psychic powers my stem from. This is your awareness, your spiritual self. For many lesser demons, this is the entry point for possession. It is possible to be possessed through your other chakras, but rare. In Solresol it is know as 'Ti' and is brilliant violet in color. On the Imperial scale it is known as a B note," Lyre played through the scale once again, and this time Oppari could almost see the colors, emotions and notes come alive in her mind. Lyre set Red Widow back at his side. "Sound provides an effective method of penetrating an enemy's armor and gaining direct access to their thoughts. Win their emotions, and you win the battle."
"Unless its Tyranids," Riff spoke up. "Frack Tyranids."
Oppari then asked. "Okay, so you covered the basic scale, Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti...what about the in-between notes?"
Sonata answered for her. "In spoken Solresol, we use the Twelve-Tone system. So on a Gothic scale it would be C, C#, D, D#, E, F, F#, G,G#, A, A#, and B. In Solresol this becomes Do, Na, Re, Ja, Mi, Fa, Pa, So, He, La, Ki, Ti. This was done to discourage the use of loan words and sounds, to keep the language pure."
Oppari folded her arms. "Thats still only twelve sounds, I can't even say my name."
Sonata was understanding. "I can explain. The base sounds are created by a consonant and vowel combination. 'Do', 'Re', and so on. But in turn, each consonant can also be paired with any vowel. Resulting in Do, Da, De, Di, Du. Alter the inflection on the vowel for a minor scale, or to indicate gender."
"Still, no open vowels," Oppari insisted
"Thats where 'Na' comes in. In words that require an open vowel, the 'N' sound in silent. Once you begin writing in color it is more easily understood. So your name would be 'No-Pa-Ri'."
Lyre continued his lesson. "These are of course the tones that can be heard by the normal human ear. There are many others outside of a normal range of hearing, and Noise Marines can detect most of them, but again there are still more outside of even that. Sound is a powerful weapon. Zither, I will teach you ways of combining these elements for various attacks and uses in battle. Their effectiveness however is up to you."
Oppari closed her eyes, and rested her head in her hand. "Never thought I would have to learn how to speak in rainbows."
Sonata had enjoyed the little basic lesson in Solresol and a few of the chords that Lyre had taught Zither. By the end of the lesson, the Noise Marines had gathered with their various instruments to display and combine their skills in new ways. Sonata joined in, using her voice to weave a melody and charm through the many layers of sound and stimulation the Aristocrats had created. Even Oppari had learned a few new tricks with her voice to use in battle. As a former Commissar, she already had the ability to project and alter her voice as needed to command and guide troops, now she was even more effective at it. The little woman had a talent, and Sonata couldn't wait to see it grow.
Oppari had already retired for the night cycle, but the Noise Marines were just getting started. These training sessions could last for days, broken only by passing a pipe of Slaabur or the inevitable conflicts that such worship seemed to stir up. Sonata was feeling a craving that she couldn't quite put a finger on. It was like hunger, but she already had her fill of wine and food. She was tired, but her large soft bed no longer called to her. Oddly enough she craved a smaller, darker place to rest. Perhaps her small bunk in the Rhino, while drawing the threadbare curtains tight against the light.
Her hand rested on the doorhandle to her room, when she became aware of someone else in the hall with her. "Hey Monody. You okay?"
Monody as always had a self-indulgent grin on his face that never quite touched his eyes. "I am well, but I am more concerned about you Sonata."
"Huh? Oh my wounds have healed up already, I'm not mad at Lyre or anything. But I'm sure this little brat in my throat will think twice next time before treading on Red Widows turf," Sonata reached up and touched her throat.
"That 'little brat' is exactly what I would like to speak to you about," Monody opened the door to his room a little wider. "Care to join me for a moment?"
Sonata knew that it would do her no good to argue. Monody never took 'no' for an answer. She followed him into his room and noted that save for a few shelves and a censor, all furniture had been cleared from the room. Monody had fashioned it purely into place for meditation and reflection. The aged Aristocrat set a pillow down for Sonata to sit on, then tucked his legs underneath him and sat down himself. Sonata knelt, her wings folding neatly behind her, framing her silhouette. "If you want to speak to me about my demon, know that I have it under control."
Monody lit some incense within the censor. "My dear, I think you and I have a different definition of the concept of 'control.'"
The incense grew thick in the air, and as she inhaled, Sonata felt the demon in her throat become weaker. "Monody, what is that?" she asked in a breathy whisper. The weaker the demon, the weaker her voice.
Monody continued to speak in easy relaxed tones. "Your voice will fade, and I had done this without your awareness because I didn't want your little demon to interfere. I know this is uncomfortable for you, so I will be quick. In short, you must gain better control of this demon. Next time it might decide to pick a fight with a deamon that will claim your life. The most elementary way of asserting control over your demon is to name it. Naming it defines it, and grants you power. A name creates boundaries, but it also creates focus. Right now the demon is unfocused in its efforts to grow within you, and had thus expanded its influence over not just your voice but appearance as well."
Sonata nodded slowly, Monody's words rang true. If she had complete control over the demon to begin with, then she would never have approached Lyre and subsequently caused him more undue pain at the hands of Red Widow.
"The name you choose is between the two of you alone. Only share it with someone you are willing to hand over control of your body to. Names are powerful things, especially to demons. Give it a name and an identity to share in," Monody watched as his bandmate closed her eyes, then reached up to touch her throat once more. "Do you have a name in mind already?"
Sonata nodded again.
"Good. Do you need help with binding and imprinting?"
The Warsinger nodded an affirmative one last time. Just like the night long ago when she welcomed the demon into her throat, she would need to trust in her bandmate. She reached up and placed her open hand over her throat, then felt Monody's hand cover her own. His hand was large and warm, yet with a mild tingle that could either be warpcraft or even his own focused energies. "By the powers granted us by Chaos Undivided, we name you. Heed and obey, we name you!"
Sonata held the name firmly in her minds eye. She felt the demon struggle at first, but in its weakened state it could not stand against her determination coupled with Monody's experience. Grudgingly, it accepted, and Sonata felt her voice return to her. Monody lifted his hand from her throat and returned to his pillow. "Thank you Monody."
"Always willing to help Warsinger. Is it a good name?"
Sonata smiled and nodded and to her surprise, Amp agreed with her.
Once again Lyre felt that ache in his heart as Ruffati closed the bookshelves behind him, locking the Maraviglia away with a few warp-tainted words. "Learn anything interesting?" he asked, pausing to refill Lyre's glass of wine. He had invited the leader of the Aristocrats to study the work again, as well as to have some company.
"I learned that the more I focus on any one page or theme, the more it changes, seemingly with my thoughts. Creating a copy for players to work from is difficult to say the least," Lyre on the other hand found Ruffati a more welcoming presence than his own band at the moment. Sonata was busy training the Warsingers to act like Sororitas, and the other Aristocrats were up to their own musings. He collected Red Widow from her stand by the door. He found that too much of her influence would affect his thoughts and ability to read the notes of the Maraviglia.
"As you suspect, perhaps then once the last sheet has been found, all will become clearer," Ruffati led Lyre back into the large central cylinder.
Lyre paused in the center of the floor, looking upward past the many levels of books and to the stained glass and the face of his Primarch rendered in colored light. "Ruffati, I have a request. I feel it only polite since this is your ship."
"A request? Odd coming from you, but I will try to cater to it if I can," Ruffati removed a few books from a large leather chair, then sat down, gesturing to an equally grand chair opposite to him.
Lyre sat, resting Red Widow at his side. "I wanted to ask permission to perform a working of Warpcraft. We both know the consequences in the event a working goes sour, and when on a planet, this is rarely a problem, but on a ship it can be difficult."
"I don't see why not. I have several venues on board that may be suitable, tell me, what kind of demon were you planning to raise?" Ruffati asked half-seriously.
Lyre rolled the wine around in his glass. He had thought long and hard about it, and even though he had vowed to never do it again, he had also made a promise to help Zither become a true Noise Marine. "I need a venue where I can perform the bonding ceremony between Zither and his Blaster. As loathe as I am to create another Soul Slave to set loose on this galaxy, he did come to me in confidence and has helped the band."
Ruffati had pulled out his pipe and packed with slaabur. "Unfortunately I don't think that would work."
"If you are refusing the space, I understand."
"No, not at all. Zither cannot become a Soul Slave through conventional means. You see, all Soul Slaves are psykers. You are, Clef is, Cornet was. Zither has no psyker leanings," Ruffati lit his pipe and exhaled a cloud of pink smoke. He paused when he saw an expression of confusion and concern grace Lyre's usual sterile expression. "Shred Lyre, you didn't know?"
Lyre felt his blood run cold when he realized just how wrong things could have gone for Clef on Garron VII that night. "No, I had never..."
"Oh don't become so flustered. The Emperors Children were full of them. That spark of psyker in you and Cornet is what enabled you to bond with the deamoness' in your weapons. Likewise it also enabled you to bond with each other in combat. Like attracts like. The past aside, Zither is not a psyker. He had come to me with the same request decades ago. I told him then I couldn't do it, but he insisted that the Night Lords would not have him back until he had been bonded. I sent messages to their current leader telling him why, but they had already written the runt off and were unwilling to let one of their prized warlocks meet the same fate. So in secret, I've been researching possible work-arounds."
"I'm...a psyker?"
Ruffati sighed heavily, then packed a separate pipe for Lyre, adding a yellow crystal to the slaabur before handing it over. Lyre lit it and inhaled deeply, savoring the sensation of his limbs and body relaxing while his mind sharpened. There was a sudden hard bite from the yellow crystal, and for a moment he felt distorted. The colors in the room sharpened, the colored glass on the ceiling seemed to break loose and fall around him ushering his mind up into a new realm of enticements. ~What is this?~ he asked, his mind falling easily into Solresol, the language was more dear to him than Gothic.
~Its a resin. Found only in the Eye. Its been said that its like taking a bite of the Warp. Psykers seem to get the full effect from it,~ Ruffati spoke. Floating in the colored light with Lyre while simultaneously sitting comfortably in his chair. Lyre noted that when Ruffati spoke Solresol, his notes and tones were flecked with the Warp itself. ~And with an added bonus, when you are in this state, Red Widow cannot touch you. She cannot know your thoughts here.~
~Why offer it to me?~
~There are...many things that we need discuss without prying ears. As I had said before, I have great plans for you. The Maraviglia is part of it. And your place as a Soul Slave is the rest of it. First, I need to know, how close are you to completing your contract? How many souls have you fed that fat conceited glutton?~ Ruffati leaned forward, his pink eyes glittering in the warp light.
Lyre sank in deeply into his chair. ~Nine hundred ninety-ninety thousand seven hundred sixty three.~
~So close. This next operation alone could finish you,~ Ruffati breathed. ~Is this what has changed your mind about Zither? You do not wish for Clef to walk this path alone? No, don't speak, I can see your motives clearly now. In my research I have discovered a method that may help Zither, however it isn't a working that you can perform. I will do it myself. Now about you.~
Lyre took another heavy draw off the pipe. ~I had figured there was more to our meeting.~
~There may come a time when you need to shut out Red Widow. For whatever means. When you leave, I will give you a pack of stimms. You can tell them apart from the usual bunch by their yellow coloring. But as a downside, your body will become limp and useless, so only use them when you feel certain that you are not in danger. Red Widow is going to want to push you to claim those last few souls for her ascension. But you must resist.~
Lyre nodded, feeling the weight of the world and his worries begin to fade. ~And why is that? Why not just offer myself up and be done with this?~
Ruffati had been expecting this question. ~Because Lyre. I want you to play the solo in the Maraviglia. With nearly a million souls at your command, you have the power to play the solo and to survive its effects with Red Widow at your side. Once this task is complete, then all of your debts will be cleared, and you are free to do as you please.~
~That is all? Granted such a task is an honor, yet I can't help but feel that isn't the whole story Ruffati.~
~It isn't. But it is the extent of your involvement.~ he exhaled another cloud of glittering smoke. ~I will perform Zithers bonding ceremony before we send the Warsingers down with your faux priest to Bessara. The ritual will be an appropriate way of thanking and invoking the gods before the operation. Of course you and Clef will attend?~
Lyre noted that the colors began to fade a little around him and Red Widow returned to his mind, wondering how and where he had gone. She was pissed, and yes, just a little fearful at his little mental wandering. ~We will be there.~
~Lovely!~ Ruffati tapped the ashes from his pipe. ~I'll start selling the tickets.~
Ruffati arranged for the bonding ceremony to take place in a mid-sized amphitheater in the Crimson Rhapsody, and the turn-out was impressive. Bands and other entities of note packed the seats. All glow globes had been extinguished in favor of other lighting. The seating overlooked a central circular "stage" of sorts with two entrances, much like a gladiatorial arena. Everyone attending had been requested to bring a lit candle, of what color and construction was their own decision. Lyre and Clef moved into the amphitheater, each holding a single red taper protected by a glass shield. They took their seats along with Darren of Forlorn Hope, who didn't carry a candle, so much as a glass amasec bottle with a twisted knotted flaming rag for a wick. As they sat, Darren removed the rag for a moment, took a quick drink from the contents, then replaced the wick. A quick scan of the crowd revealed the Dark Muses, Warp Lightning and Vortex Kin among the masses.
Clef studied the gathered crowds. He and Lyre had chosen simple clothing for this event to keep their minds clear and focused. Red Widow and Forsworn were at their back, each wrapped in a protective layer of rich velvet. "I am glad that Zither is finally given the opportunity to realize his dream, but must it be such a spectacle?" Clef asked.
"Witness and learn," Lyre whispered. "You will remember this moment the rest of your life. What lessons you take from it are entirely up to you."
A deep note, like a growl, sounded through the theater, silencing all voices present. The room appeared to grow darker, even with the presence of so much candle light. The taste of the warp was sharp in the air. Red Widow and Forsworn bristled a little, but remained calm. Servants dressed in black appeared at the side entrance. They walked the exterior of the stage, each setting down a skull that began to burn from within once it was placed. Their task complete, they departed from the same stage door.
Next out of the door was a single lean Space Marine wearing an old and worn purple robe tied with a golden sash that caught the scattered light. The Space Marine removed his hood, and the crowd began to clap their hands. Ruffati lifted his hands up to silence his guests. Once the last echoes had faded from the room he addressed them. "We gather here this evening to witness one of the many wonders the Gods of Chaos Undivided have bestowed upon us. I ask that once the ceremony begins, hold your comments, and your voices. Honor the wishes of that which that brings us here," at this he walked along the exterior of the circle muttering to himself. Lyre could feel both his skin and Red Widow begin to crawl at the sheer amount of power that Ruffati's movements were imprinting into this room. Not just imprinting, but also slowly drawing off the energies of all present to help re-enforce his sacred circle for the ritual. Ruffati sealed the circle and the skulls flared brightly. He turned and held a hand to his side, beckoning to someone yet unseen.
Zither stepped from the side door, naked to the waist and barefoot. On his pale skin intricate symbols and patterns pleasing to Slaanesh had been painted. His thick black hair hung loose down the center of his back and at his side was his now familiar blue-toned Sonic Blaster. Its new strings in place, made and strung by Zithers own hands under Lyre's watchful eye. Ruffati allowed the crowd to clap once more. Each impact of sound, cheer and whistle adding to the already impressive amount of energy that he had raised. Clef held his breath. He had never seen his friend so determined.
Ruffati raised his hands for silence once more. The candle flames wavered and then grew steady. He stood before Zither and held his hand out. "Your Blaster?"
Zither removed the Sonic Blaster from his side and held it out reverently to Ruffati. The spirit inside was a malevolent thing, enraged at its captivity and willing to do almost anything to escape. Ruffati accepted it, then holding it out before him, enabled it to hover in mid-air. Clef watched wide-eyed and Lyre wondered how much of his own binding ritual on the sands of Garron VII that the young Aristocrat remembered. Ruffati took a step back from both Zither and the Blaster.
Thin strands of darkness began to appear at Zithers feet, encircling his legs and body, growing thicker and tighter as they climbed upward. Ruffati began chanting, dark sounds and un-sounds emitted from his being, adding to the growing surge of noise in the room. The Blaster began to vibrate in the air, its strings humming with power and promise. The flames from the skulls began to rise higher as the Blaster glowed with an inner blue aura. Ruffati shouted a few last notes and a ghost-like figure began to rise from the Blaster.
Sargent Limis of the Night Lords rose from the Sonic Blaster and swept his fierce gaze around the room. There was nothing human left about him. His teeth had become long and dagger-like, his hands twisted into claws. His eyes were red and in place of hair he had an impressive rack of horns. He snarled at Ruffati, then turned to Zither. "Couldn't do it could you? Had to go and hire this fop to slit your neck for you?"
Zither remained quiet, accustomed to the abuse.
Limis glared at Ruffati. "You went through all of this trouble to pull me out of that thing, but I refuse to bond with someone so weak. Now put me back until a more worthy warrior comes along."
Ruffati grinned. "I believe I have come up with an arrangement that will satisfy both of you. Now be still," with a wave of his hand, Sargent Limis became stiff, although all present could see the insults begin to build behind his bleeding lips.
Zither became equally ridged. The symbols on his body began to glow deep purple and a blue aura flared around him. Next to Clef, Lyre gasped.
~What is it?~ Clef whispered.
Lyre curled his hand into a fist, then bit his top knuckle. ~Ruffati isn't bonding Zither to the Blaster, he's bonding Sargent Limis to Zither.~
~What does that mean?~
Darren leaned over and answered for Lyre. ~It means that your friend is going to be sharing his body with that demon. Nah, that's not even it, more like, corrupted by the frakwit in his guitar.~
Clef watched with new understanding and even horror. Zither's face contorted into a grimace of pain as the essence of Sargent Limis was superimposed on his body and the two began to merge. Ruffati continued his chanting as the air grew heavier. Limis was fighting him the whole way. Hands, feet, torso, and eventually minds became one leaving Zither standing alone in a vortex of light and sound.
With a word from Ruffati, all the candles in the room extinguished, leaving Zither and Ruffati alone in the dark surrounded by burning skulls. Zither suddenly bore his teeth and roared to the ceiling, then reached out and snatched the Sonic Blaster from before him. His voice had changed, his stance, his very essence had been altered. Tears of anger ran down his cheeks as he hissed. "This time...its going to be a little different."
Clef felt the urge to weep himself as what was left of his friend departed from the stage.
Ruffati, ever the showman, turned to thank his audience to a roar of applause. Even surrounded by so many, Clef had never felt so alone. He sank deeper into his seat. ~How do I help him Lyre? How can I bring Zither back?~
Lyre sighed heavily. ~I don't know if you can.~
"Thank you Rubato," Monody said with sincerity before swinging his legs off the table and dropping to the floor. "As always your work continues to impress me."
"You are too kind," Rubato watched Monody take a couple of experimental steps. "I have included a hydraulic pistons within your legs. With the touch of a button you can shorten or lower your height. I figured it would prove useful if you had to engage in combat."
"Indeed," Monody waddled out of Rubato's work shop and began to navigate his way across the equipment bay. He passed by the medical Rhino and nodded a greeting to Crasis within.
"Well aren't you just the fat little friar?" Crasis shouted after him. "You have finally gone and done it haven't you? Gone full Emperor-botherer. You know a drug merchant isn't supposed to partake of their own stock!"
"Bless you my child," Monody stopped at the open rear hatch of the Rhino and opened his book. "You know, in my time with the Blood Quest, if someone tried to leave and form their own band in the same way you had, they would have been shot on sight. My operation is the least of your worries now Crasis, and this has all been of your own doing."
Crasis began to rise from his bed, face turning red from anger.
"Worry not," Monody placed a ribbon with a bell tied to the end as a book mark. "Lyre has told no one except for me. Normally I would keep quiet over such things...but this has further reaching effects than you had thought of Crasis."
Monody's words were lost on him, Crasis' full attention was on the little bell dangling from the bookmark. "Did Sonata give you that bell?"
"No, I found it, why?"
His anger forgotten, Crasis flopped back down on the bed. "Why do all of us keep finding bells?"
