The Darkblade chagrin

genus Malus mumbled in his rest, lost to the fogged dreams that only a hard night of Clar Karond 's cheapest could farm. He was sprawled on silk sheets, an unusual sumptuousness but one necessary for the conservation of what slight sanity he retained ; after the Chaos, and the battles against said bedlam, of the sea-borne expedition against the Skinriders, a scheme-riddled venture which had successfully claimed the life of his beloved pal Bruglir but failed to drive home the heads of either Urial or Yasmir, after all that time on the cursed water, Malus needed a day or two of truthful, staring eternal sleep. He dozed on in this confutable material body business firm, still logy but, after a steaming bath, at to the lowest degree no longer grimy.

He did n't arouse at all when the doorway to his private chamber opened and a hooded figure slipped inside. The shadow who 'd entered the room seemed to intermit at the tidy sum of the splayed-out highborn and cocked its head. Malus let out a cranky snore and muttered some ancient curse, giving the anatomy a start. The could-be assassin strode over to the silken bed and loomed over the man known as Darkblade. The hooded individual began to screw up in the sheepfold of their cloak, perhaps rooting out some poisoned dagger or some other weapon of murder.

Malus groaned and suddenly thrashed out at some invisible enemy, then bolted erect, sweating. The dark was taken by surprise and stumbled back, cursing in unison with the highborn. Malus'sleepy eyes widened in alarm clock at the sight of this intruder. He instinctively reached for his sword, but it was n't where he 'd pull up stakes it. His stage were already swinging out to puddle contact with the ground as he prepared to cry for his retainers.

The figure threw back their goon. `` My lord, it 's me ! ``

genus Malus narrowed his heart, the cry for Hauclir dying in his throat. The dead tidings still came out regardless, now edged with choler. `` Hauclir. '' It managed to be as often a interrogative sentence as a menace or a statement. The highborn had become accustomed to employing all three tones at once with this damnable mercenary.

'' Aye, my lord. '' Hauclir gave a curt bow.

The highborn eased himself back onto his bed. It must have been the time of day of the wildcat or there abouts ; this was no prison term to wake a resting noble. Facing the roof, where, to the flesh household 's credit, amercement human being pelt had been hung from little claw to cover the brickwork, Malus addressed his retainer. `` What in the Dark Mother 's epithet are you doing in my chamber ? I expressly odered you to hold my doorway and go forth me in peace until sunrise. ``

Hauclir grimaced, as if timid what to say. After a moment he cleared his throat. `` I brought the ... goods you asked of me, my Creator. ``

'' What commodity ? '' Malus barked.

'' You know ... '' Hauclir looked over his shoulder at the open room access. He had n't thought to close it. `` The private goodness. ``

'' Speak clearly man ! ``

Hauclir took a cryptic breath. `` The lubricant. ``

genus Malus paled and craned his cervix to search at his retainer. `` What did you say ? ``

'' The lubricator, my lord. '' The early master produced the vial from his robes. A clear liquid glistened in a little shabu bottle, lit by the crackling visible radiation of two low-burning braziers in the expensive chamber.

'' I did n't ask for any ... such things. '' Malus swallowed hard. He had no memory of asking for such an uncomely thing. Even with his header still buzzing with potable, he felt something stir trench inside his body.

'' Perhaps my overlord has drunk too much of the house wine. You asked me not four hr ago. Told me you wanted the o.k. human spit. ``

Malus could have sworn something was tickling him playfully beneath his ribs, slithering about his vital organs. His heatbeat quickened. Was the daemon playing some sprain trick. T'zarkan, he thought, what have you done ? The Drinker of cosmos could n't afford vocalization to a reply courtesy to the alcohol coursing through the highborn 's scheme, so he let Malus know the result in other ways.

The SOB son of Lurhan let out a gasp of pleasure as T'zarkan slowly built up insistency on his prostrate, tickling the inner working of the Druchii genitalia. Malus felt his prick instantly temper, and then remain to harden, growing stronger than it ever had before. It was as if the devil was teasing his penis to arise, to stretch, to fill with evil seed. Wracked with tardily waves of heavy pleasure, the coroneted forgot all about Hauclir. His face became sluice. His cautious breathing gave way to wet panting. Lust and desire coursed through his sultry trunk. The daemon sparked a sexual appetite that would have put a Slaaneshi priestess to attaint. Malus needed an retail store. Something. Anything.

His helping hand raced down his bare chest, tweaking the nipples as they went, rubbing the whiteish skin, alighting nerves. When they came upon the leather covering his groin and wooden leg, they set to ferment deftly untying tassels and loosening the garments. He could n't free himself from their oppressive clutch quick enough. He tossed the pant away. There before him, towering up, much like the Idol of Kolkuth funnily enough, was his cock, a glorious spire set to let loose fists of tempestuous come. The skin was as pale and luminescent as the rest of his increasingly corrupted form, though here purple mineral vein throbbed just as gruelling as Black person ace. The pinkish tip swayed with each pump of blood. He knew on instinct that his hands would not be enough tonight.

It was now that he looked up, eye ablaze, and remembered that he was not alone. Hauclir remained there by the bed, his attention tear between the steaming pants that had landed by his feet and by the grotesque action mechanism of his Almighty. The consideration realized he was being watched, and began to stake away slowly, afraid.

You 'll do, Malus thought, chuckling to himself. He rose to his genu, pointing his cock at the hapless Hauclir. `` Close the door, '' he commanded.

Hauclir, with trembling paw, did as he was commanded.

'' Come closer, my servant. '' The highborn 's words slipped out, almost unbidden. Malus was n't just chuckling. He was laughing in his mind. The hilarity spilled out and onto his brim. Hauclir eyed the man 's malicious smiling with trepidation.

'' trade good. Now, disrobe yourself for me. '' Malus'head was a theatre, and the audience was in uproar. His flimsy intent joined in with the sickly cheering.

'' That 's it. Now, open that phial, my sweet Hauclir. '' Malus was in hurting from the laughing. His rib had gone tight. The imaginary audience was in unlimited chaos, standing, shouting, laughing, rioting with pleasure.

'' My lord ? '' Hauclir did as he was told. His face resembled that of a human slave brought before the sacrificial altar.

'' Lube yourself. '' Malus enjoyed the frenzied revelry raging at the back of his mind. leave the pleasance of the raid. forget the joy of plotting. blank out all the power in the earthly concern. This was everything that mattered. How had he never thought to ask the daemon for natural endowment with such ... delicious Acts of the Apostles before ? He should have forced himself on Yasmir, given her a cock Bruglir could never hope to temper in his wildest of dreams. Hades, even Urial. Fucking that spurious cripple would throw put him in his place. Malus'head swam with regorge intellection and wild sexual conquest.

'' Like this ? '' Hauclir had applied some of the liquid to his finger and daintily begun spreading it about his plebeian one-armed bandit. The whole affair was surreal, but a part of the retainer wished that he 'd had a bath prior to ... what his lord was about to do to him. He was no stranger to anal sex ; when he 'd been ordered to ingratiate himself with Bruglir 's crew on their last adventure, that had been something his tastes had been opened to. But with genus Malus ? Hauclir shuddered, his own fleshy penis barely erect, cold with dread.

Malus roared like a athirst skirt chaser. 'Yes ! Now bend, fool !'he wanted to say. The flames of desire showed him the epitome of a prostate Hauclir, his pinko asshole puckered and afraid of the mighty pounding it was about to take.

But the highborn 's sassing did n't say 'Yes'. It said, `` No. Not like that. ``

Hauclir froze, trying to imagine what unholy torture awaited if this was n't what his God Almighty wanted.

'' Lubricate your stopcock, dear, affectionately Hauclir. '' Malus reeled at the word springing from his tongue. What was he saying ? Suddenly his centre went taught. T'zarkan 's eel-like tendrils coiled nastily about him. What is this hocus-pocus, Malus thought, challenging the daemon. T'zarkan, the hearing that had been laughing all along, was aching to explicate, but first he continued to direct Hauclir through Malus'mouth. `` Now, click your Almighty ! ``

With a dramatic flourish, Malus found himself fling his body around, raising his lordly buttocks to Hauclir 's shocked grimace. `` Take me like one of your salty cabin boys ! ``

The retainer crawled onto the bed, his brass still a picture of pure fright. He rubbed more than of the lubricant about his humanity, then tipped what remained of the ampul into and around his lord 's anal passage as best he could. With unwilling hands, he clasped Malus'waist, and poked his one-half flaccid turncock into the break. He let out a tenuous moan. Malus was tighter than any man he 'd had before, let alone a Druchii.

Locked in his own mind, Malus looked askance at the demigod, his desires having turned to horror. This could n't be tangible. This was worse than any nightmare he could possibly have.

Oh, it 's all existent, said T'zarkan, the words coming in slithery rasps through Malus'ear, over the sound of Hauclir 's noisy external respiration and the phone of his balls slapping about with each thrust. You were a fool, genus Malus, T'zarkan continued, to think you could submerge me out with your inebriant or your Druchii mixture. The daemon savoured every endorsement of Malus'physical pain in the ass and mental screams. I am your professional, the Drinker of human race intoned, and you will not forget that. You felt the true might I offered, the daemon pulled on the nervure that ran through the highborn 's rooster to illustrate his decimal point, the activeness giving a stab of discomforting pleasure, but now you will get an impossibly small taste of the penalty that await all those who fail me !

***

Outside the sleeping room lurked another figure, though this shadow was aught at all like the one which had slipped into the highborn 's room. This shadow was bootleg than black, practically inconspicuous to any who might probability upon it. Whereas Hauclir had cut a bumbling figure, this one was skilled to a deathly level. A true sea captain of stealth. A confessedly assassin. The bod household 's proprietor prided herself on affording her patron rarely-paralleled free will and base hit, but this trespasser had slipped in completely undetected, and would drop off out in much the same manner. In fact, this someone had travelled all the way from Hag Graef, and such was their ability to stay on enshroud, that they were still believed to be right there, asleep, at this very second.

Arleth Vann left nothing to chance when it came to Malus, the Druchii they believed to be the vaticinate curse. genus Malus had, as usual, proved troublesome to his plans and decided to stay away from the Hag for now, and so Arleth was practically obliged to make the distance and quietly steal upon his Divine, if only to mark up on the man and make sure that the hereafter Lord of ruin had come to no ill fortune. He had been pleased to see the highborn safety and sound, asleep on silk shroud and enjoying some rest. He could n't say the same of Hauclir, but he bore the latest addition to the household 's force no ill will. He had been about to leave, after making placement with some of the local cultists to make his lord 's stay in this blank space just a little more secure, when he 'd heard ... well, the dark 's frivolities.

The two men in the chamber yonder were still at it ; Arleth could find out it all : their cries, their groan, the creaking of the bed, the smacking auditory sensation of tegument on cutis, the slippery stochasticity of lubricated penetration. It made him frown as repressed spirit of his own bubbled up about his sex-starved consistency. There had been no time for loveplay in the synagogue, and since he 'd left to join up the unfeigned religion, only armed combat and the joy of killing had been on his psyche. But this ... if the Godhead of wrecking could indulge in such Acts of the Apostles, with the the like of Hauclir no less, than perhaps his own pleasure was not something prevent ...

As Malus was ridden hard by Hauclir inside, outside the elbow room Arleth began to wreak with himself for the low time. He reached down into his flowing robes and tugged at his waking cock. The fiddling fleshy stump began to grow hard at his touch. He tried to commemorate how he 'd seen the cocotte and hard worker pleasure each other. Before long, he was pumping and jerking away, letting out little groan of his own to go with those of his darling high-pitched handmaid of Khaine.

***

Malus lay broken on the bed, the reek of sex heavy about his lithe body, and the corporal fluids of Hauclir splashed all about the sheets. His own hammer had gone off multiple times, adding to the impairment. The flesh theatre owner would be expecting a generous fee for the cleaning that her hard worker would be required to do the following morning. He was still lying there, lost in briny intellection and the black bile of one who 's been fucked against their will, as Hauclir hastily cast his robe about himself and began making for the room access. Despite the night 's romp being entirely at his master 's invitation, Hauclir felt dirty at what he 'd been party to, and had decided that the next course of action of action was to retrieve a boozing, a Bath, and then a female person slave to assert his sexuality upon.

As the retainer made it to the door, praying all the while to the Dark mother that he 'd be allowed to leave with his head, Malus stopped him with five brusk words.

'' Hauclir. Never speak of this. ``

Hauclir nodded. `` Never my lord. '' He could n't front Malus. Instead, he left in shame, slipping out of the door. He remembered to fill up it this metre. As he left, he stood in a puddle of something vile on the ground. He looked down, cursing his luck. He stepped away from the alcove and over to a nearby rug, a richly interweave thing. He wiped his stark metrical foot on the rug, then scampered away. He needed that drink badly.

Malus lay there, looking up at the flesh come-on, whip and irons dangling from the dark ceiling, refusing to let his eyes water from the pain still throbbing about his rear. He 'd withstood the cruel torture of Drachaus, Valkhaurs and his own sweet siblings ; he was n't about to shame himself with an formula of failing before T'zarkan. He closed his eyes. He would get retaliation. He had his hate. The daemon could n't take that away from him. The daemon could only prompt More of it. And with hatred, all things were possible .