The Darkblade mortification

Malus mumbled in his sleep, lost to the foggy pipe dream that only a laborious night of Clar Karond 's cheapest could produce. He was sprawled on silk shroud, an unusual luxury but one essential for the conservation of what piddling sanity he retained ; after the pandemonium, and the battles against said chaos, of the sea-borne hostile expedition against the Skinriders, a scheme-riddled speculation which had successfully claimed the animation of his beloved brother Bruglir but failed to deliver the straits of either Urial or Yasmir, after all that prison term on the cuss water, genus Malus needed a day or two of true, pure repose. He dozed on in this questionable material body household, still stuporous but, after a steamer bath, at least no longer grimy.

He did n't stir at all when the door to his private chamber opened and a hooded figure slipped inside. The shadow who 'd entered the room seemed to pause at the sight of the splayed-out highborn and cocked its head. Malus let out a cranky snore and muttered some ancient curse, giving the figure a start. The could-be assassin strode over to the silken bed and loomed over the man known as Darkblade. The hooded person began to bollocks in the faithful of their cloak, perhaps rooting out some poisoned obelisk or some other weapon of murder.

Malus groaned and suddenly thrashed out at some invisible opposition, then bolted upright, sweating. The shadow was taken by surprisal and stumbled back, cursing in unison with the highborn. Malus'sleepy eyes widened in alert at the sight of this intruder. He instinctively reached for his steel, but it was n't where he 'd left it. His pegleg were already swinging out to nominate impinging with the land as he prepared to shout for his retainers.

The flesh threw back their hood. `` My lord, it 's me ! ``

Malus narrowed his eyes, the cry for Hauclir dying in his throat. The dead watchword still came out regardless, now edged with ire. `` Hauclir. '' It managed to be as much a question as a scourge or a command. The highborn had become accustomed to employing all three musical note 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 wolf or there abouts ; this was no meter to inflame a resting noble. Facing the ceiling, where, to the frame house 's credit, fine human peel had been hung from unforesightful hooks to cover the brickwork, genus Malus addressed his consideration. `` What in the Dark Mother 's name are you doing in my chamber ? I expressly odered you to guard my door and leave me in peacefulness until aurora. ``

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

'' What goodness ? '' Malus barked.

'' You know ... '' Hauclir looked over his shoulder at the unfold door. He had n't thought to come together it. `` The private goodness. ``

'' Speak clearly man ! ``

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

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

'' The lube, my Godhead. '' The former police captain produced the vial from his gown. A clean liquidness glistened in a piffling glass bottle, lit by the crackling illumination of two low-burning brazier 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 indecent thing. Even with his brain still buzzing with drinkable, he felt something stir deep inside his body.

'' Perhaps my lord has drunk too much of the house wine. You asked me not four time of day ago. Told me you wanted the finest man spittle. ``

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

The SOB son of Lurhan let out a gasp of pleasure as T'zarkan slowly built up insistence on his prostrate, tickling the inner workings of the Druchii privates. Malus felt his cock instantly harden, and then continue to harden, growing stronger than it ever had before. It was as if the daemon was teasing his penis to grow, to stretch, to satisfy with malevolent seed. Wracked with behind wave of heavy pleasure, the highborn forgot all about Hauclir. His face became flushed. His cautious breathing gave way to wet heaving. Lust and desire coursed through his sensual trunk. The demigod sparked a sexual appetite that would have put a Slaaneshi priestess to shame. genus Malus needed an vent. Something. Anything.

His work force raced down his bare chest, tweaking the mamilla as they went, rubbing the whiteish hide, alighting mettle. When they came upon the leather covering his groin and legs, they set to work deftly untying tassels and loosening the garments. He could n't free himself from their oppressive clutch quick enough. He tossed the pants away. There before him, towering up, much like the perfection of Kolkuth funnily enough, was his dick, a splendid steeple make to unleash fists of angry semen. The skin was as pale and luminescent as the rest of his increasingly corrupted form, though here purple mineral vein throbbed just as hard as black ones. The pinkish tip swayed with each pump of lineage. He knew on instinct that his hands would not be enough tonight.

It was now that he looked up, oculus ablaze, and remembered that he was not alone. Hauclir remained there by the bed, his aid split between the steaming bloomers that had landed by his substructure and by the grotesque action mechanism of his lord. The servant realized he was being watched, and began to back 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 door, '' he commanded.

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

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

'' Good. Now, disrobe yourself for me. '' Malus'capitulum was a theater of operations, and the audience was in uproar. His fragile spirit joined in with the under the weather cheering.

'' That 's it. Now, open that vial, my sweet Hauclir. '' genus Malus was in pain from the laughing. His rib had gone tight. The imaginary audience was in instantaneously bedlam, standing, shouting, laughing, rioting with pleasure.

'' My Divine ? '' 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 revel raging at the spinal column of his head. Forget the pleasure of the maraud. Forget the joy of plotting. Forget all the mogul in the world. This was everything that mattered. How had he never thought to ask the daemon for endowment with such ... delicious enactment before ? He should let forced himself on Yasmir, given her a cock Bruglir could never desire to harden in his wildest of dream. nether region, even urial. Fucking that spurious cripple would make put him in his lieu. genus Malus'foreland swam with ghastly thoughts and untamed sexual conquest.

'' Like this ? '' Hauclir had applied some of the liquid to his finger and daintily begun spreading it about his common slot. The wholly matter was surrealistic, 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 alien to buggery ; when he 'd been ordered to ingratiate himself with Bruglir 's crowd on their live on adventure, that had been something his sense of taste had been opened to. But with Malus ? Hauclir shuddered, his own sarcoid penis barely erect, frigidity with dread.

Malus roared like a hungry wildcat. 'Yes ! Now bend, fool !'he wanted to say. The flame of desire showed him the trope of a prostate Hauclir, his garden 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 reckon what satanic torture awaited if this was n't what his lord wanted.

'' Lubricate your dick, dear, dear Hauclir. '' Malus reeled at the words springing from his tongue. What was he saying ? Suddenly his heart went taught. T'zarkan 's eel-like tendrils coiled nastily about him. What is this trickery, 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 deal Hauclir through Malus'back talk. `` Now, get through your lord ! ``

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

The consideration crawled onto the bed, his nerve still a photo of pure fear. He rubbed more of the lubricant about his manhood, then tipped what remained of the vial into and around his master 's anal retentive passage as best he could. With unwilling manus, he clasped Malus'waist, and poked his half flaccid turncock into the rift. He let out a slight moan. Malus was soaked than any human he 'd had before, let alone a Druchii.

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

Oh, it 's all material, said T'zarkan, the Son coming in slithery rasp through Malus'ears, over the sound of Hauclir 's noisy breathing and the sound of his formal slapping about with each thrusting. You were a chump, Malus, T'zarkan continued, to think you could overwhelm me out with your inebriant or your Druchii concoction. The daimon savoured every indorsement of Malus'forcible pain and genial screams. I am your professional, the Drinker of Worlds intoned, and you will not forget that. You felt the true power I offered, the fiend pulled on the veins that ran through the highborn 's cock to illustrate his point, the action giving a twinge of discomforting pleasure, but now you will meet an impossibly low taste of the punishments that await all those who fail me !

***

Outside the chamber lurked another figure, though this apparition was nada at all like the one which had slipped into the highborn 's room. This shadow was smuggled than black, practically unseeable to any who might chance upon it. Whereas Hauclir had cut a bumbling physique, this one was skilled to a mortal level. A true master of stealth. A true assassin. The physical body family 's owner prided herself on affording her frequenter rarely-paralleled prudence and safety, but this intruder had slipped in completely undetected, and would slip out in much the same personal manner. In fact, this somebody 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 nothing to luck when it came to genus Malus, the Druchii they believed to be the prophesied nemesis. Malus had, as usual, proved troublesome to his architectural plan and decided to stay away from the Hag for now, and so Arleth was practically obliged to seduce the distance and quietly steal upon his Godhead, if only to suss out up on the man and create indisputable that the time to come Lord of Ruin had come to no ill fortune. He had been pleased to see the highborn secure and sound, asleep on silk sheets and enjoying some rest. He could n't say the Lapp of Hauclir, but he bore the recent addition to the menage 's forcefulness no ill will. He had been about to pass on, after making musical arrangement with some of the local cultists to pretend his lord 's halt in this billet just a little more secure, when he 'd learn ... well, the night 's frivolities.

The two men in the chamber yonder were still at it ; Arleth could get wind it all : their call, their moans, the creaking of the bed, the smacking auditory sensation of skin on skin, the slippery noise of lubricated insight. It made him frown as keep down notion of his own bubbled up about his sex-starved body. There had been no time for loveplay in the tabernacle, and since he 'd left to join up the reliable religious belief, only armed combat and the joy of killing had been on his nous. But this ... if the Lord of downfall could indulge in such acts, with the like of Hauclir no less, than perhaps his own pleasure was not something forbidden ...

As Malus was ridden hard by Hauclir inside, outside the room Arleth began to bet with himself for the first time. He reached down into his flowing gown and tugged at his waking rooster. The piffling fleshy ambo began to arise hard at his spot. He tried to remember how he 'd seen the woman of the street and striver pleasure each other. Before long, he was pumping and jerking away, letting out little moan of his own to accompany those of his love heights retainer of Khaine.

***

genus Malus lay broken on the bed, the mephitis of sex heavy about his lithe eubstance, and the corporal fluids of Hauclir splashed all about the sheet of paper. His own rooster had gone off multiple sentence, adding to the damage. The pulp house owner would be expecting a generous fee for the cleaning that her striver would be required to perform the following morning. He was still lying there, lost in brackish thoughts and the melancholy of one who 's been fucked against their will, as Hauclir hastily cast his gown about himself and began making for the door. Despite the night 's laugher being entirely at his Almighty 's invitation, Hauclir felt dirty at what he 'd been party to, and had decided that the adjacent grade of action was to bump a drinking, a tub, and then a female slave to assert his sex upon.

As the retainer made it to the doorway, praying all the patch to the night mother that he 'd be allowed to leave with his head teacher, Malus stopped him with five short words.

'' Hauclir. Never speak of this. ``

Hauclir nodded. `` Never my lord. '' He could n't present Malus. Instead, he left in shame, slipping out of the threshold. He remembered to close down it this time. As he left, he stood in a puddle of something vile on the priming. He looked down, cursing his luck. He stepped away from the alcove and over to a nearby rug, a richly meander thing. He wiped his spare substructure on the rug, then scampered away. He needed that drink badly.

Malus lay there, looking up at the flesh hooks, party whip and mountain range dangling from the night cap, refusing to let his middle water from the pain in the neck still throbbing about his bum. He 'd withstood the cruel torture of Drachaus, Valkhaurs and his own sweet sibling ; he was n't about to shame himself with an expression of weakness before T'zarkan. He closed his eyes. He would get retaliation. He had his hatred. The fiend could n't assume that away from him. The daimon could only root on more than of it. And with hatred, all things were possible .