The smoke rose, shaking, from the man's tabac stick, which was held a little too tightly. He did not like what was happening to him: he had been at home, minding his own business, not bothering a soul. No one knew his origins, where he had come from; all they knew was that he was an artist, nothing more. For them it had been enough. He had come to Gamma Erdoi Alpha Minor to live a life of non-consequence, doing private commissions and occasionally drawing for the children of the town he resided in but no more than that. He could not afford to do more than that. They had found him anyway.
Found him and took him to their ship. In the middle of the night, but then the night had always suited them best. Now he was sat here, in a darkened room, alone, told to wait and not move.
He had been given food, water and - when he asked one of the grim giants for a smoke - he had been given some by the black clad army man that now stood in the corner of the room. Encouraged by still being alive, he had tried to strike up conversation, but the other man was not talking except to say "be quiet".
Was he a prisoner? He thought he probably was, and once again he cursed his fates that had brought him to this place in time.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and without pause or thought he took one look at the sharpened teeth that glinted in the darkness and wept. The guard was dismissed and the giant stepped into the meagre light that was afforded the weeping human.
The giant was pale-skinned, dark-eyed, with long dark hair, his armour a midnight blue with many adornments upon it, his skull painted helm hanging at his belt. Light seemed to bend itself around him and then scurry away as if the mere touch of the man scared it to death.
After all, who would not be scared of the master of terror itself? The Lord of the Night, King of Nostramo Quintus, The Black Prince, these and a thousand other titles had been given to the Primarch that stood before him. As the giant neared him, he felt his bowels and his bladder loosen and was unmanned in the most humiliating way possible.
"I have come for you, Gavan Polarick." The voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but a whisper from the deepest depths of mankind's primordial fears. Then again, what else could have been expected?
"I-I did what was asked of me," Polarick squeaked.
"Yes, I know, but we are going back."
"Going back where?"
"Do not toy with me. You must have known this day would come. We are going back to where it happened, and you are coming with me."
"P-please L-Lord I do not…."
The face, pale and almost ghostlike in its intensity, moved down and in, the lips parting to show his filed teeth once more. He said nothing and yet the gesture was clear. Polarick lowered his head in defeat.
"Very well."
Konrad Curze smiled despite himself and stood to his full height before turning and walking out of the room. He curtly told the guard to transfer their guest to better quarters and to get him cleaned up, all his belongings to be brought up from the surface and left in his quarters.
Polarick put his head in his hands and wept once more.
