ambling-ironkin
Durk Dammin
An up and coming Guild Representative and member of the F4-FNYR Consortium, Durk Dammin is a traveling trader, negotiator, and treasure hunter.
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Thoughtlessly the IronKin followed Rishaeron’s finger, and for a split second he was seized by sporadic spasms, clutching onto the Ranger’s rifle hard as his visual feed glitched upon viewing that horrible tear. It was difficult to keep it in his view as it warped his perception, railing against the forced logic inherent to a machine.
Curses spilled from his audio emitters, a hand held in front of his dome to block out the sight of the terrible reality bending scar, and he’d finally tear his oculars away from it with a growl.
“Warp storms….” Durk murmured, “….Multiple occurring instances that have collapsed together. We do not name them with such reverence, it is foolish to do so. They’re hazards, and that is all.”
He looked at the Ranger when he finally processed the words ‘our own making’, but the IronKin simply shook his head. He’d rather allow himself thoughts not focusing on the ancestor damned storm. Loosening the tension built in his servos, Durk would follow Rishaeron far more quickly than before, the Ironkin’s hobble now practically hastened hips.
Ancient Mazes and Strange Encounters
Durk had been walking for days now. Each step was an effort to make, his right foot having been savaged in the attack upon his small extraction team. The stump had long since ceased spilling hydraulic fluid, and now could barely be used in order to move forward. Whether anything was following him from that, he was unsure. Even more, he wasn’t even exactly sure where he was in the current moment.
The IronKin slowly came to a halt as he came to what appeared to be the small wreak of a single person space craft. Once there, he’d heavily sit down against the scorched hall, and begin truly analyzing his surroundings. It had been difficult for his ocular sensors to focus on anything within this space, and once he actually put effort with in observing the area, he found that it was foggy, indistinct, and glassy. What walls he could make out were far away from him, giving a sort of reflective appearance that was marred by the cloudy nature of their surface. Durk sighed, now retreading over the steps he had taken and the path that was traveled in his digital databank, attempting to create a sketchy map of where he had been so far.
The effort was monumental he quickly found, and thanks to the damage he had taken, his CU was having a hard time focusing on said calculations, with his ‘thoughts’ being interrupted by the recollections of the attack. Soon, he’d give up on the digital map, and take stock of his body, looking down at himself while looking inwards. Besides his damaged leg, Durk noticed he had also gained a vicious gash in his chest armor, with it cutting into the actual metal of his chassis below. Multiple scratches now covered his facial dome, and his jacket was torn to shreds, exposing his steel shoulders. Finally, the sleeve and glove on his left arm had been burned away, allowing his iron digits and elbow to poke through uncovered.
The state of his attire bothered Durk quite a bit, and include the fact that he was completely lost, the IronKin was beginning to feel a bit annoyed. Wherever he was, it didn’t operate under any logic he understood, and this craft he was resting against appeared to just be another victim of this elaborate maze. The only positive he could find was that he hadn’t been followed by those spacial anomalies, or so he believed. For now, he’d conserve his energy here, under the cover of the torn metal of this alien ship, and figure out his next move.
@tearofisha
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Durk followed along quietly, dome like head warily turned towards the Black Guardian for a few moments, before he continued hobbling along after Rishaeron.
“Why call it the ‘damned’?”
The words left his audio emitters with slight hesitation, wondering just how deep he should dig into his guide’s background.
“It’s beautiful here, and the people seem to be thriving.” Durk mused, taking in the multiple biomes, the bustling activity, and the steady traffic of transport.
“What could be Damned about this place?”
Ancient Mazes and Strange Encounters
Durk had been walking for days now. Each step was an effort to make, his right foot having been savaged in the attack upon his small extraction team. The stump had long since ceased spilling hydraulic fluid, and now could barely be used in order to move forward. Whether anything was following him from that, he was unsure. Even more, he wasn’t even exactly sure where he was in the current moment.
The IronKin slowly came to a halt as he came to what appeared to be the small wreak of a single person space craft. Once there, he’d heavily sit down against the scorched hall, and begin truly analyzing his surroundings. It had been difficult for his ocular sensors to focus on anything within this space, and once he actually put effort with in observing the area, he found that it was foggy, indistinct, and glassy. What walls he could make out were far away from him, giving a sort of reflective appearance that was marred by the cloudy nature of their surface. Durk sighed, now retreading over the steps he had taken and the path that was traveled in his digital databank, attempting to create a sketchy map of where he had been so far.
The effort was monumental he quickly found, and thanks to the damage he had taken, his CU was having a hard time focusing on said calculations, with his ‘thoughts’ being interrupted by the recollections of the attack. Soon, he’d give up on the digital map, and take stock of his body, looking down at himself while looking inwards. Besides his damaged leg, Durk noticed he had also gained a vicious gash in his chest armor, with it cutting into the actual metal of his chassis below. Multiple scratches now covered his facial dome, and his jacket was torn to shreds, exposing his steel shoulders. Finally, the sleeve and glove on his left arm had been burned away, allowing his iron digits and elbow to poke through uncovered.
The state of his attire bothered Durk quite a bit, and include the fact that he was completely lost, the IronKin was beginning to feel a bit annoyed. Wherever he was, it didn’t operate under any logic he understood, and this craft he was resting against appeared to just be another victim of this elaborate maze. The only positive he could find was that he hadn’t been followed by those spacial anomalies, or so he believed. For now, he’d conserve his energy here, under the cover of the torn metal of this alien ship, and figure out his next move.
@tearofisha
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The Restructuring
“You have to understand lad, this decision wasn’t made lightly.”
The words reached Durk’s audio receptors, and yet it didn’t feel real. Logically he understood what was happening. Staring into the communicator blankly, Durk’s hands tightened on the seat’s armrests.
“The guild appreciates all you’ve done for it. Many speak highly of your capabilities…” the voice trailed off, the Aspidochelone Trade Union Representative pausing, “…Unfortunately, this does not make up for stagnant profits. Your trade port meets the Union’s quota, but just meets. For that reason we believe change is needed.”
Change he said. To Durk, this was merely a kind way to say that his best wasn’t good enough. That all of his toil over the past year had been nothing. The armrests began to creak under Durk’s grip.
“You’ll be moved away from overseeing 7-U’s management, and instead help reinforce your post’s Pioneer unit aboard the Topaz 13. We still expect you to return, but to be blunt with you lad-“ there was a heavy inhale over the line, and the exhale delivered the blow, “You just weren’t cutout for such a big position yet. Moxie can only get you so far out here Durk.”
Shame threatening to overwhelm Durk’s Emotional Response protocols. The sickening and almost suffocating tide of it felt like a bog he’d sink into, and never pull himself out of. He’d nod towards the communicator,
“I understand sir. I’ll pack my things.” Were the hardest words he ever had to say. Hands now limp, he pushed himself up from the chair and began to walk out the room.
“And Durk?”
The IronKin turned, gaze locked onto the communicator.
“May the Ancestors watch over you.”
Sighing, Durk responded, “Same to you, sir.”
Durk heard the door hiss shit behind him with a chilling finality about it. A simple sound that solidified what had occurred, ensuring it wasn’t some malfunction. Back to square one.
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Y’pollea’s Reflections
Reflection I
Reflection II
Reflection III
Reflection IV
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Neni'Shelwe
Lair world of the Heg Ravens, Nenime's corsairs.
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Metal sheared through flesh, and the beast stumbled as it’s newly slashed forearm fell to the floor, scarlet red oozing out onto the ships floor as it rolled away from the now screeching creature.
It reacted immediately, with its ever shifting maw unhinging for a bite lashing out towards Nenime. But as it’s jaws sailed through the air, a strange whooshing could be heard, and with a thunk a blazing axe sank violently into the beasts forehead. It recoiled and flailed about, scratching at its steaming face with its remaining claw.
“AYE, take that you forsaken creature!” Filbur yelled out, breathlessly rushing behind Nenime with an exhausted trot, apparently having flung the axe from behind.
Into the Ruinous Pit
It had been weeks since the negotiations had ended, and with that accomplished, Port 7-U had received the boon of a Corsair Princesses aid, though even with the deal struck, nothing much had happened outside of Port renovations and cultural exchanges. It was a peaceful time, but that would change with the onset of a force brewing within the void. At the time, Durk had been pushing forward to establish a new trade outpost, when the call for aid in a vastly far more important matter came through.
That was why Durk now sat in the belly of a hand picked Kin Vessel, joined by not only his own squat comrades, who were heavily armed, but also by his newer trade partner’s, Nenime’s Areran’s, aeldari soldiers. It would have been a tight squeeze for them in the ship, but it would have to make due, for their arrival within the proximity of balefleet was close at hand.
“We’ll be within teleportation range soon enough Areran, and with what we were able to manage on such short notice, I hope we can manage this. The A.C.D our Brokers were able to assemble with your own technicians seems to be holding up at least.” Durk would comment, the vox chatter that traveled through the Vein only responding with affirmatives and the continual functioning of the Attachment Cloaking Device.
Other reports that were sent into his digital feed showcased a mind boggling array of battle craft, all drifting alongside the massive structure that had been identified as their target. The sheer mutated mass of organic tissue on each ship, along with their weapon systems and spiked exteriors, gave Durk a feeling of dread on what would happen if they were caught in the midst of it all.
Filbur also sat with them, though he was uncharacteristically silent, with his helmet sealed and obscuring his features. He simply fiddled with the handles of his unlit plasma axes, waiting like the rest of the stoic hearthkyn warriors within the dimply lit space.
Outside, the small Votannic craft flew past the amasses ships, it’s engine emissions, power signature, and even life signs all but hidden between the invisibility that rippled and changed to match their surroundings. It was drawing close to the foreboding Ark, which hung in the void like a great beast, shifting ever so slightly as the biological mass on its hull pulsated grotesquely.
Durk shifted uneasily in his seat, and looked to Nenime, wondering what he could read from her stance, regarding how close they were to such a monstrous vessel.
@corsair-princess-nenime
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Activity Update
I’m currently having issues writing for Durk, and I apologize to those still waiting for a response. This week I’m going to attempt to bang out some replies. As always, I appreciate the patience.
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A Crimson Custodian, The Gleaming Ghoul of Fate.
Demeros the Compiler
Fell Librarian Ruler of the Ohtesh Dynasty:
“Your claim to this world, which you believe to be divine, is illegitimate. It is an error that I’ll rectify soon, and with care. As Dynast of the Ohtesh Dynasty, I deem the null and void. I will grant you and your people the most kindest of mercies my own people can afford those that live and breathe. That mercy, is utter cessation of existence. Goodbye, ‘Governor’.”
|Rules|
Height: 10’5"/ Age: Eons Old/
Demeros awoke along with his sibling during the opening of the Great Rift, their deathless slumber interrupted by the foul energies that leapt forth from the tear in time and space. Despite the entire court shunting hibernation and powering on, both the two royal siblings and the Ohtesh advisors would find that the then Phaerakh had not joined them, and laid inert.
Immediately, the collection of both true and partial nobles turned to infighting, almost starting a civil war that had the potential to destroy the Ohtesh dynasty, if not for the intervention of the Royal Siblings and their split of power. Demeros would be made maintain the archives, infrastructure, and technical aspects of the Ohtesh Dynasty, ruling from the shadows, while his Sibling would reign in the light, threatening those who’d dare speak out against her position, and marching to war against those who’d dare attack the Dynasty.
Thus, the prince became a false king, one who’s role was to hide from the sun, and act as a glorified librarian. Many would assume that Demeros would chafe under this imposed fate, and partially, he did. But, ruling the dynasty from the front had never appealed to the Overlord, and so he took to his new found duty with a mock apathy. Underneath however, was a burning diligence that would not be dulled by either time or death. He was Demeros the Compiler now, and the galaxy would know his ire.
Titles: Shaper of Light, The Blinding Death, The Unmoving, The Ravenous Radiance, The Luminescent Liege, and The Gleaming Ghast.
Occupation: Acting Dynast / Dynasty Custodian
Skills: Trained Duelist, Amateur Datamancy, Limited Technical Knowledge, Passable Mechanical Knowledge, Memorized Royal Etiquette, Artificial Photographic Memory, Encyclopedic Knowledge (Situational).
Hobbies:
~ Gardening
~ Datamancy
~ Dueling
~ Canoptek Maintenance
~ Hard Light Sculpturing
~ Reading
~ Planetary Puppeteering
Goals: As the Compiler, Demeros must find and repair those data archives lost to the Ohtesh Dynasty during the chaos of the Great Rift opening. From there, it’s his responsibility to then link them to the prime archive and maintain each one, a task that his Sibling deemed appropriate for him. Personally, he finds that another task that must be fulfilled is preparation for the Silent King’s eventual reappearance, and to do that the Dynasty must be properly cared for.
Affiliations:
• The Triarchy
• The Ohtesh Dynasty
• Semera the Ruiner
Appearance
Demeros is a shining example of a Necron, his metallic skin a gleaming ivory, with tinges of gold spread throughout his form. Maroon wires and structural parts give him a sturdy form, and decorating his body are ruby like Hardlight Projectors. These manifest the Hardlight cape and armor pieces that float with a crimson light.
Equipment
Staff of the Builder (Lost): Like most Overlords, Demeros wields a Staff of Light, but he has modified it with assistance from his Crypteks to amplify his Hard-Light Manipulation capabilities. It also has the handy ability to cleave through most armor thanks to it's Warscythe Blades.
Hard-Light Projectors: Demeros specifically has modified his chassis with emitters that allow him to project Hard-Light. This means he can form walls of pure light from thin air or twist them into complex shapes with but a gesture. The capability is usually used for more artistic goals, but is a deadly weapon otherwise.
Phase Shifter: By using this implanted device, Demeros is able to for a short time become incorporeal. Any foe who tries to strike him will find their arms harmlessly passing through the Overlord, while he takes this time to get closer to an adversary or retreat.
Sempiternal Weave: Demeros’ necrodermis is threaded with filaments of phase-hardened amaranthite and adamantium, vastly increasing the hardiness of the chassis to a level that rivals that of Astartes Terminator Armor.
Plasmacyte: Demeros always travels with a plasmacyte at his side, in case a data stack requires cleaning. While generally not fond of ‘pets’, Demeros finds these metallic creatures endearing enough.
Sub-Routine Letis: An artificially created intelligence forged from the programming of a repair scarab, or so Demeros says. The digital assistant resides inside Demeros himself, dedicated to helping the Overlord achieve multiple tasks at once, initiating orders in his stead while he's busy with other duties, and protecting his engrams from outside influences.
All images drawn by @/rowscara
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Yavannie the Great
A lush, humid island, Yavannie the Great is the largest landmass in Neni'Shelwe. Nenime's Heg-Ravens have made this island their stronghold.
Iybraesil wonderers and Exodite refugees have established several villages throughout the island.
Ravenrest: Nestled in the shadow of Rookery mountain, Ravenrest is a small fortress town overseen by Nenime's Heg Ravens.
The City of Leaves: Reclaimed by the island's flora, this strange ruin hints at a grand past, now forgotten.
Springsong worldshrine: Looming over the dragon turtle hatcheries at the heart of Yavannie, Spring Pilar mountain holds Neni’Shelwe’s worldshrine within its deep caverns.
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“I’ll be able to assist in a few hours, but I’ll require your experience. Only a fool would turn away aid in unknown territory.” Durk stated, shifting on the steel slate.
Somehow, this Corsairs mannerisms were giving rise to an annoyance that Durk couldn’t allow to fester. His damaged chassis made things far more difficult, and letting the situation slip out of his control was another thing he couldn’t abide.
ambling-ironkin:
Durk Dammin was currently laid out on a steel ‘bed’, hooked up to multiple machines as replacement parts were ferried into the room by drones and their technician. The sheer amount of cabling was corded throughout Dammin’s chest, in an attempt to keep the IronKin from completely shutting down.
Upon recognition of the Aeldari’s voice, the port master would shift in his bed, turning his blank dome to face Talisyr. The Brôkhyr in the room scowled at the intrusion and the manner with which the Corsair Prince spoke, but a dismissive wave from Durk put a damper on their fire.
“I prefer that my comrades experience as little ‘fun’ as possible…especially when it results in my current state. But, that doesn’t matter, what matters is if you managed to complete the job.” The IronKin, forcing himself to sit up. The sound of straining servos was deafening, and the Brôkhyr beside him began to dress him down in the Kin’s harsh language. But Durk cared not, and simply stared at Talisyr, waiting for an answer.
“Of course,” Talisyr replied, the smile on his lips matching the smug purr in his voice, as if anything other than complete success on his part was unthinkable and to suggest otherwise would be broaching on grave insult. “We have the enemy captain and a number of his crew in our holds, all waiting for you to interrogate them.”
His gaze swept over Durk.
“Unless you would prefer a pirate’s touch handling it, of course.”
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Durk yelped as he was shoved through, tumbling through what felt like space and time itself until popping out on the other side of the portal unsteadily. His vision was a frazzled mess of glitches and patchy readings, his arms windmilling as he struggled to regain his balance.
The suddenness of the change regarding their scenery had left Durk slow to react, and it was only after he forced himself to stand that he’d be able to lean back on the rifle steadily. His dome displaced a scowl of a pixelated face, the eyes tracking all the transports in the air, until Durk then pulled his gaze back to Risheron.
“Would be more charmed if you had let me walk through! My system isn’t ever going to recover at the rate I’m being shoved around.” Durk growled, taking a step forward only to stop. He’d take Rishaeron’s advice and stay near the Eldar, but it was difficult, especially when there was so much to see in this place.
Ancient Mazes and Strange Encounters
Durk had been walking for days now. Each step was an effort to make, his right foot having been savaged in the attack upon his small extraction team. The stump had long since ceased spilling hydraulic fluid, and now could barely be used in order to move forward. Whether anything was following him from that, he was unsure. Even more, he wasn’t even exactly sure where he was in the current moment.
The IronKin slowly came to a halt as he came to what appeared to be the small wreak of a single person space craft. Once there, he’d heavily sit down against the scorched hall, and begin truly analyzing his surroundings. It had been difficult for his ocular sensors to focus on anything within this space, and once he actually put effort with in observing the area, he found that it was foggy, indistinct, and glassy. What walls he could make out were far away from him, giving a sort of reflective appearance that was marred by the cloudy nature of their surface. Durk sighed, now retreading over the steps he had taken and the path that was traveled in his digital databank, attempting to create a sketchy map of where he had been so far.
The effort was monumental he quickly found, and thanks to the damage he had taken, his CU was having a hard time focusing on said calculations, with his ‘thoughts’ being interrupted by the recollections of the attack. Soon, he’d give up on the digital map, and take stock of his body, looking down at himself while looking inwards. Besides his damaged leg, Durk noticed he had also gained a vicious gash in his chest armor, with it cutting into the actual metal of his chassis below. Multiple scratches now covered his facial dome, and his jacket was torn to shreds, exposing his steel shoulders. Finally, the sleeve and glove on his left arm had been burned away, allowing his iron digits and elbow to poke through uncovered.
The state of his attire bothered Durk quite a bit, and include the fact that he was completely lost, the IronKin was beginning to feel a bit annoyed. Wherever he was, it didn’t operate under any logic he understood, and this craft he was resting against appeared to just be another victim of this elaborate maze. The only positive he could find was that he hadn’t been followed by those spacial anomalies, or so he believed. For now, he’d conserve his energy here, under the cover of the torn metal of this alien ship, and figure out his next move.
@tearofisha
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The creature charged the now readied Corsair Princess, its right arm raised as it loped forward in a thoughtless range, the bladed limb dripping a now foul smelling fluid as it then slashed through the air towards Nenime.
At the back, the Kin had advanced forward, aiding in the slaughter of the cultists, and gradually whittling them down to nearly a trio outside of the beast.
Into the Ruinous Pit
It had been weeks since the negotiations had ended, and with that accomplished, Port 7-U had received the boon of a Corsair Princesses aid, though even with the deal struck, nothing much had happened outside of Port renovations and cultural exchanges. It was a peaceful time, but that would change with the onset of a force brewing within the void. At the time, Durk had been pushing forward to establish a new trade outpost, when the call for aid in a vastly far more important matter came through.
That was why Durk now sat in the belly of a hand picked Kin Vessel, joined by not only his own squat comrades, who were heavily armed, but also by his newer trade partner’s, Nenime’s Areran’s, aeldari soldiers. It would have been a tight squeeze for them in the ship, but it would have to make due, for their arrival within the proximity of balefleet was close at hand.
“We’ll be within teleportation range soon enough Areran, and with what we were able to manage on such short notice, I hope we can manage this. The A.C.D our Brokers were able to assemble with your own technicians seems to be holding up at least.” Durk would comment, the vox chatter that traveled through the Vein only responding with affirmatives and the continual functioning of the Attachment Cloaking Device.
Other reports that were sent into his digital feed showcased a mind boggling array of battle craft, all drifting alongside the massive structure that had been identified as their target. The sheer mutated mass of organic tissue on each ship, along with their weapon systems and spiked exteriors, gave Durk a feeling of dread on what would happen if they were caught in the midst of it all.
Filbur also sat with them, though he was uncharacteristically silent, with his helmet sealed and obscuring his features. He simply fiddled with the handles of his unlit plasma axes, waiting like the rest of the stoic hearthkyn warriors within the dimply lit space.
Outside, the small Votannic craft flew past the amasses ships, it’s engine emissions, power signature, and even life signs all but hidden between the invisibility that rippled and changed to match their surroundings. It was drawing close to the foreboding Ark, which hung in the void like a great beast, shifting ever so slightly as the biological mass on its hull pulsated grotesquely.
Durk shifted uneasily in his seat, and looked to Nenime, wondering what he could read from her stance, regarding how close they were to such a monstrous vessel.
@corsair-princess-nenime
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Durk Dammin was currently laid out on a steel ‘bed’, hooked up to multiple machines as replacement parts were ferried into the room by drones and their technician. The sheer amount of cabling was corded throughout Dammin’s chest, in an attempt to keep the IronKin from completely shutting down.
Upon recognition of the Aeldari’s voice, the port master would shift in his bed, turning his blank dome to face Talisyr. The Brôkhyr in the room scowled at the intrusion and the manner with which the Corsair Prince spoke, but a dismissive wave from Durk put a damper on their fire.
“I prefer that my comrades experience as little ‘fun’ as possible…especially when it results in my current state. But, that doesn’t matter, what matters is if you managed to complete the job.” The IronKin, forcing himself to sit up. The sound of straining servos was deafening, and the Brôkhyr beside him began to dress him down in the Kin’s harsh language. But Durk cared not, and simply stared at Talisyr, waiting for an answer.
ambling-ironkin:
“Too you lot…long enough.” A weak, staticky voice would respond, the sounds of machines at work following the words.
“Return to the Port…brief you there.” He’d say, and after that he’d speak no further.
Aboard the port, Durk had been rushed to the infirmary after the defenders had managed to either kill or restrain the assailants, the IronKin now hooked up to multiple machines as his chassis was opened up, and parts were being looked over.
The gaping hole in his chest oozed coolant and crackled with electricity, but as Brôkhyr technicians went to work, they began to mitigate the damage through clever use of pliers and replacing sparking components. This would continue for an hour, and the defenders who had fought alongside the Port Master would wait silently outside, stone faced.
If the aeldari returned and looked for Durk, they’d be directed to the infirmary.
The corsairs returned to the station as instructed with their prize and their captives. By the time they disembarked from their vessels, Talisyr had at least pried the name of the drukhari captain from his lips. Sevarahal, Lord of the Splintered Void, Swallower of the Dark Sun, and Right hand of Archon Sephora Menx.
Talisyr deigned to call him simply Sev.
Assuming the promise of a briefing was implicit instruction to seek Damlin out once everything was in order, the corsairs entered the infirmary, the same three that had first stepped aboard the station to negotiate contract terms.
“You appear to have overly indulged, Master Damlin,” Talisyr said jovially, as if none too concerned for the state of his employer’s health. “I do hope you let your men have some fun. You know how hard managing a disappointed crew can be, surely.”
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Nenime couldn't have said if the Heliosi sought to follow her lead.
She drew a splinter pistol from her bandolier and, brandishing a gun in each hand, rose above the firefight. "Rock and stone, Port Master."
Bolts of searing energy and mortal crystalline shards plugged into the enemy as Nenime weaved through the return fire with the grace of a dancer.
She advanced with her girls, felling the ragged cultists and dodging their laser shots. The Heliosi weight of fire would take care of the rest.
For all the danger the Heg Ravens were in, they might as well have been back in Springsong.
As Nenime weaved through the barrage pumped forward by the chaotic assailants alongside her group, Durk could only watch in amazement and curiosity, wondering how she had known such an ancient phrase for a short moment before the bark of a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts,
“Focus Beardling, we got a job to do!” Filbur had stepped from the Kin’s hiding spots before being immediately left behind by Nenime and her warriors. He had been ready to light his plasma axes to only realize how futile such a move would be. He’d let the far quicker combatants deal with the now panicked enemy, which was why he was able to catch Durk unawares.
Refocused, Durk gave silent orders to his team, and their own assault aided the Eldar, with multiple of the turned humans finding themselves filled with searing holes or lost limbs, each steaming with heat. One of the bigger individuals tossed their weapon aside, allowing it to clatter to the ground as space within the corridor suddenly bent.
“Brace, detecting spacial anomaly!” Riftfist would warn to the group, seconds before the now hunched over chaos worshipper shifted. Bladed bones erupted from their back with a spray of blood, while the eight pointed star they wore on a thread glowed with malice; the change happened within seconds, warping the unfortunate human into a brutish and lopsided thing. It’s torso had become a mishmash of bones and sinew, transforming their arms into malicious blades that oozed with split ichor. It’s once masked face was now a drooling maw, multiple blood shot eyes taking in the sight of the advancing aeldari, and with a deafening roar it’d rush forward on bent legs.
Somehow, the presence of this warped creature inspired the remaining cultists, who rushed to their dooms with a renewed vigor. Even as one met her end to a crystalline shard through the skull, the rest simply pushed past the still standing corpse, trembling the former comrade underneath blood slicked boots as they attempted to engage the Eldar in a melee earnestly.
The Kin who remained behind were shocked by what they had just saw, although it was translated into a far more stern and reactive emotion that compelled them to keep firing, lest they show weakness. Durk in particular had a difficult time focusing on the monstrosity before him, his visual system seeming to glitch as if observed the loping creature. He’d clutch his head, attempting to center his systems, but it was Filbur who gave the battle cry,
“For the ancestor drake!” The rallying cry gave the kin further mental resilience, and their shots felled ever more cultists in their wake, steaming corpses falling to the ground with quiet thuds. However, the beast they converged around endured each shot to its form, scorching holes closing ever so slowly as it raced towards Nenime, madness glinting within its multiple eyes and bleeding form.
Into the Ruinous Pit
It had been weeks since the negotiations had ended, and with that accomplished, Port 7-U had received the boon of a Corsair Princesses aid, though even with the deal struck, nothing much had happened outside of Port renovations and cultural exchanges. It was a peaceful time, but that would change with the onset of a force brewing within the void. At the time, Durk had been pushing forward to establish a new trade outpost, when the call for aid in a vastly far more important matter came through.
That was why Durk now sat in the belly of a hand picked Kin Vessel, joined by not only his own squat comrades, who were heavily armed, but also by his newer trade partner’s, Nenime’s Areran’s, aeldari soldiers. It would have been a tight squeeze for them in the ship, but it would have to make due, for their arrival within the proximity of balefleet was close at hand.
“We’ll be within teleportation range soon enough Areran, and with what we were able to manage on such short notice, I hope we can manage this. The A.C.D our Brokers were able to assemble with your own technicians seems to be holding up at least.” Durk would comment, the vox chatter that traveled through the Vein only responding with affirmatives and the continual functioning of the Attachment Cloaking Device.
Other reports that were sent into his digital feed showcased a mind boggling array of battle craft, all drifting alongside the massive structure that had been identified as their target. The sheer mutated mass of organic tissue on each ship, along with their weapon systems and spiked exteriors, gave Durk a feeling of dread on what would happen if they were caught in the midst of it all.
Filbur also sat with them, though he was uncharacteristically silent, with his helmet sealed and obscuring his features. He simply fiddled with the handles of his unlit plasma axes, waiting like the rest of the stoic hearthkyn warriors within the dimply lit space.
Outside, the small Votannic craft flew past the amasses ships, it’s engine emissions, power signature, and even life signs all but hidden between the invisibility that rippled and changed to match their surroundings. It was drawing close to the foreboding Ark, which hung in the void like a great beast, shifting ever so slightly as the biological mass on its hull pulsated grotesquely.
Durk shifted uneasily in his seat, and looked to Nenime, wondering what he could read from her stance, regarding how close they were to such a monstrous vessel.
@corsair-princess-nenime
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Activity Update
I’ll be resuming previous threads tomorrow, work will always be busy so I’m going to be working on managing my time in a more competent manner. Thank you all for the patience, it is much appreciated.
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