The Darkblade mortification

genus Malus mumbled in his quietus, lost to the foggy pipe dream that only a hard nighttime of Clar Karond 's cheapest could bring on. He was sprawled on silk sheets, an unusual lavishness but one necessity for the conservation of what little sanity he retained ; after the chaos, and the fight against said chaos, of the sea-borne expedition against the Skinriders, a scheme-riddled venture which had successfully claimed the life of his dear brother Bruglir but failed to deliver the read/write head of either Urial or Yasmir, after all that clock time on the cursed water, genus Malus needed a day or two of true, complete remainder. He dozed on in this refutable physique planetary house, still stuporous but, after a steaming bath, at least no foresightful grimy.

He did n't put forward at all when the door to his individual chamber opened and a hooded figure of speech slipped inside. The phantom who 'd entered the room seemed to pause at the good deal of the splayed-out highborn and cocked its head. Malus let out a cranky snoring and muttered some ancient curse, giving the human body a start. The could-be bravo strode over to the silken bed and loomed over the man known as Darkblade. The hooded person began to muff in the plication of their cloak, perhaps rooting out some poison dagger or some other weapon of murder.

Malus groaned and suddenly thrashed out at some inconspicuous opposition, then bolted unsloped, sweating. The shadow was taken by surprisal and stumbled back, cursing in unison with the highborn. genus Malus'sleepy heart widened in alarm at the sight of this trespasser. He instinctively reached for his brand, but it was n't where he 'd left it. His legs were already swinging out to take in inter-group communication with the earth as he prepared to shout for his retainers.

The figure of speech threw back their goon. `` My Divine, it 's me ! ``

Malus narrowed his middle, the cry for Hauclir dying in his throat. The bushed Son still came out regardless, now edged with angriness. `` Hauclir. '' It managed to be as much a head as a menace or a command. The highborn had become accustomed to employing all three tincture at once with this execrable mercenary.

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

The highborn eased himself back onto his bed. It must have been the hour of the wolf or there abouts ; this was no time to arouse a resting noble. Facing the ceiling, where, to the chassis business firm 's credit, fine homo pelt had been hung from short crotchet to cover the brickwork, Malus addressed his retainer. `` What in the darkness female parent 's figure are you doing in my chamber ? I expressly odered you to guard my door and pull up stakes me in repose until dawn. ``

Hauclir grimaced, as if unsure what to say. After a here and now he cleared his pharynx. `` I brought the ... commodity you asked of me, my nobleman. ``

'' What goods ? '' Malus barked.

'' You know ... '' Hauclir looked over his berm at the open door. He had n't thought to close it. `` The individual good. ``

'' Speak clearly man ! ``

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

Malus paled and craned his neck opening to look at his retainer. `` What did you say ? ``

'' The lubricant, my Divine. '' The old captain produced the vial from his gown. A shed light on liquidity glistened in a little glass nursing bottle, lit by the crackling luminousness of two low-burning brazier in the expensive chamber.

'' I did n't ask for any ... such affair. '' Malus swallowed hard. He had no retentiveness of asking for such an uncomely affair. Even with his forefront still buzzing with drink, he felt something stir deep inside his body.

'' Perhaps my overlord has drunk too lots of the house wine. You asked me not four hours ago. say me you wanted the fine human being spit. ``

genus Malus could have sworn something was tickling him playfully beneath his rib, slithering about his full of life variety meat. His heatbeat quickened. Was the daemon playing some twisted trick. T'zarkan, he thought, what have you done ? The Drinker of Worlds could n't turn over vocalisation to a reply courtesy to the inebriant coursing through the highborn 's system of rules, so he let Malus jazz the response in other ways.

The motherfucker son of Lurhan let out a gasp of delight as T'zarkan slowly built up insistence on his prostrate, tickling the interior workings of the Druchii genital organ. Malus felt his tool instantly harden, and then stay on to harden, growing secure than it ever had before. It was as if the daemon was teasing his penis to grow, to dilute, to fill with malefic seed. Wracked with slow waves of heavy joy, the highborn forgot all about Hauclir. His boldness became purge. His cautious external respiration gave way to wet panting. Lust and desire coursed through his sensual organic structure. The devil sparked a sexual appetence that would have put a Slaaneshi priestess to dishonour. Malus needed an electric receptacle. Something. Anything.

His manus raced down his bare chest, tweaking the tit as they went, rubbing the whiteish skin, alighting nerves. When they came upon the leather covering his groin and legs, they set to mould deftly untying tassels and loosening the garments. He could n't disembarrass himself from their oppressive clutch quick enough. He tossed the pants away. There before him, towering up, much like the Idol of Kolkuth funnily enough, was his rooster, a magnificent steeple ready to unleash fists of angry semen. The skin was as pale and luminescent as the ease of his increasingly corrupted descriptor, though here majestic veins throbbed just as firmly as black I. The pink tip swayed with each pump of blood line. He knew on inherent aptitude that his hands would not be enough tonight.

It was now that he looked up, eyes ablaze, and remembered that he was not alone. Hauclir remained there by the bed, his care snag between the steaming pant that had landed by his feet and by the fantastic actions of his lord. The consideration realized he was being watched, and began to back up away slowly, afraid.

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

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

'' seed closer, my retainer. '' The highborn 's Logos slipped out, almost unbidden. Malus was n't just chuckling. He was laughing in his creative thinker. The mirth spilled out and onto his lips. Hauclir eyed the man 's malicious grinning with trepidation.

'' Good. Now, disrobe yourself for me. '' Malus'head was a theatre, and the audience was in uproar. His fragile look joined in with the unwell cheering.

'' That 's it. Now, give that vial, my sweet Hauclir. '' Malus was in pain from the laughing. His rib had gone tight. The fanciful audience was in outright chaos, standing, shouting, laughing, rioting with pleasure.

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

'' lubricating substance yourself. '' Malus enjoyed the manic revel raging at the back of his head. block the pleasure of the maraud. Forget the joy of plotting. Forget all the power in the world. This was everything that mattered. How had he never thought to ask the daemon for gifts with such ... delicious turn before ? He should get forced himself on Yasmir, given her a cock Bruglir could never go for to harden in his wildest of ambition. Hell, even Urial. Fucking that misbegotten cripple would have put him in his place. Malus'head swam with ill cerebration and untamed intimate conquest.

'' Like this ? '' Hauclir had applied some of the liquid to his finger and daintily begun spreading it about his unwashed slot. The whole affair was surreal, but a part of the servant wished that he 'd had a bath prior to ... what his lord was about to do to him. He was no stranger to buggery ; 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 Malus ? Hauclir shuddered, his own heavy penis barely upright, frigidity with dread.

Malus roared like a hungry brute. 'Yes ! Now bend, muggins !'he wanted to say. The flame of desire showed him the mental image of a prostate Hauclir, his pink arsehole puckered and afraid of the mighty pounding it was about to take.

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

Hauclir froze, trying to conceive of what god-awful torture awaited if this was n't what his lord wanted.

'' Lubricate your cock, dear, good Hauclir. '' Malus reeled at the dustup springing from his tongue. What was he saying ? Suddenly his mettle went taught. T'zarkan 's eel-like tendrils coiled nastily about him. What is this shenanigan, genus 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'backtalk. `` Now, penetrate your lord ! ``

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

The retainer crawled onto the bed, his face still a picture of pure veneration. He rubbed more of the lube about his manhood, then tipped what remained of the vial into and around his God Almighty 's anal handing over as Best he could. With unwilling hands, he clasped Malus'waistline, and poked his one-half flaccid cock into the rupture. He let out a thin moan. Malus was sloshed than any human he 'd had before, let alone a Druchii.

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

Oh, it 's all genuine, said T'zarkan, the Bible coming in slithery rasp through Malus'auricle, over the sound of Hauclir 's noisy breathing and the speech sound of his balls slapping about with each thrust. You were a fool, Malus, T'zarkan continued, to think you could drown me out with your alcoholic beverage or your Druchii intermixture. The daemon savoured every second of Malus'physical pain and mental screeching. I am your skipper, the imbiber of humankind intoned, and you will not blank out that. You felt the unfeigned mogul I offered, the daemon pulled on the vena that ran through the highborn 's hammer to illustrate his distributor point, the natural action giving a twinge of discomforting pleasure, but now you will receive an impossibly small taste of the punishments that await all those who fail me !

***

Outside the chamber lurked another material body, though this shadow was naught at all like the one which had slipped into the highborn 's room. This shadow was blacker than shameful, practically invisible to any who might chance upon it. Whereas Hauclir had cut a bumbling figure, this one was skilled to a deathly level. A true superior of stealth. A lawful assassin. The anatomy home 's owner prided herself on affording her frequenter rarely-paralleled discreetness and safety device, but this interloper had slipped in completely undetected, and would slip out in much the like personal manner. In fact, this person had travelled all the way from Hag Graef, and such was their ability to remain hidden, that they were still believed to be right there, asleep, at this very second.

Arleth Vann left zilch to probability when it came to genus Malus, the Druchii they believed to be the prophesied Scourge. genus Malus had, as usual, proved troublesome to his architectural plan and decided to outride away from the Hag for now, and so Arleth was practically obliged to micturate the space and quietly steal upon his lord, if only to check up on the man and wee sure that the future Maker of Ruin had come to no ill fortune. He had been pleased to see the highborn safe and sound, asleep on silk sheets and enjoying some rest. He could n't say the same of Hauclir, but he bore the a la mode addition to the house 's force no ill will. He had been about to leave, after making arrangements with some of the topical anesthetic cultists to make his lord 's hitch in this place just a little more secure, when he 'd heard ... well, the night 's frivolities.

The two men in the chamber yonder were still at it ; Arleth could hear it all : their yell, their moan, the creak of the bed, the smacking phone of peel on peel, the slippery noise of lubricate penetration. It made him frown as repressed feelings of his own bubbled up about his sex-starved body. There had been no time for loveplay in the synagogue, and since he 'd left to fall in up the true up organized religion, only combat and the joy of killing had been on his mind. But this ... if the Lord of ruination could indulge in such acts, with the likes of Hauclir no less, than perhaps his own pleasure was not something forbidden ...

As genus Malus was ridden hard by Hauclir inside, outside the elbow room Arleth began to play with himself for the first fourth dimension. He reached down into his flowing robes and tugged at his waking cock. The little heavy podium began to uprise hard at his touch. He tried to remember how he 'd seen the whores and slave pleasure each other. Before long, he was pumping and jerking away, letting out small moans of his own to companion those of his beloved high servant of Khaine.

***

Malus lay broken on the bed, the stench of sex heavy about his lithe body, and the bodily fluids of Hauclir splashed all about the sheets. His own stopcock had gone off multiple metre, adding to the damage. The shape house owner would be expecting a generous fee for the cleanup that her slaves would be required to execute the following daybreak. He was still lying there, lost in brackish thought and the black bile of one who 's been fucked against their will, as Hauclir hastily cast his robes about himself and began making for the room access. Despite the Night 's caper being entirely at his Almighty 's invitation, Hauclir felt dirty at what he 'd been party to, and had decided that the next course of action was to find a drink, a bathtub, and then a female person hard worker to affirm his sexuality upon.

As the servant made it to the doorway, praying all the while to the Dark Mother that he 'd be allowed to leave with his head, Malus stopped him with five short words.

'' Hauclir. Never speak of this. ``

Hauclir nodded. `` Never my lord. '' He could n't confront genus Malus. Instead, he left in disgrace, slipping out of the door. He remembered to fill up it this clip. 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 woven affair. He wiped his bare foot on the rug, then scampered away. He needed that drink badly.

Malus lay there, looking up at the flesh hook, whips and Sir Ernst Boris Chain dangling from the nighttime ceiling, refusing to let his eyes piddle from the pain still throbbing about his rear. He 'd withstood the fell torture of Drachaus, Valkhaurs and his own sweet sib ; he was n't about to dishonor himself with an expression of weakness before T'zarkan. He closed his eyes. He would get revenge. He had his hatred. The daemon could n't take that away from him. The daimon could only animate Thomas More of it. And with hate, all affair were possible .