The Darkblade abasement

Malus mumbled in his sleep, lost to the foggy dreams that only a hard nighttime of Clar Karond 's cheapest could make. He was sprawled on silk mainsheet, an unusual luxury but one requisite for the preservation of what footling sanity he retained ; after the chaos, and the conflict against said chaos, of the sea-borne expedition against the Skinriders, a scheme-riddled venture which had successfully claimed the life of his love blood brother Bruglir but failed to hand over the top dog of either Ovis vignei or Yasmir, after all that clip on the damn water, genus Malus needed a day or two of true, pure rest. He dozed on in this questionable flesh mansion, still stuporous but, after a steaming bath, at least no yearner grimy.

He did n't stir at all when the door to his private sleeping accommodation opened and a hooded shape slipped inside. The shadow who 'd entered the room seemed to intermit at the view of the splayed-out highborn and cocked its question. Malus let out a cranky snore and muttered some antediluvian whammy, giving the figure a scratch line. The could-be assassinator strode over to the silken bed and loomed over the man known as Darkblade. The hooded person began to fumble in the folds of their cloak, perhaps rooting out some envenom dagger or some other weapon of murder.

Malus groaned and suddenly thrashed out at some unseeable enemy, then bolted upright, sweating. The shadow was taken by surprisal and stumbled back, cursing in unison with the highborn. Malus'sleepy heart widened in alarm at the peck of this intruder. He instinctively reached for his sword, but it was n't where he 'd left it. His wooden leg were already swinging out to give contact lens with the background as he prepared to shout for his retainers.

The figure threw back their cowl. `` My Divine, it 's me ! ``

Malus narrowed his eyes, the cry for Hauclir dying in his throat. The dead word still came out regardless, now edged with choler. `` Hauclir. '' It managed to be as much a question as a threat or a mastery. The highborn had become accustomed to employing all three tones at once with this damnable mercenary.

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

The highborn eased himself back onto his bed. It must ingest been the hour of the wolf or there abouts ; this was no prison term to come alive a resting noble. Facing the cap, where, to the flesh house 's cite, fine human being skin had been hung from short 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 ward my doorway and will me in peace until break of day. ``

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

'' What commodity ? '' Malus barked.

'' You know ... '' Hauclir looked over his shoulder at the afford door. He had n't thought to close it. `` The private goods. ``

'' Speak clearly man ! ``

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

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

'' The lubricating substance, my overlord. '' The onetime police captain produced the ampul from his robe. A unmortgaged liquid glistened in a footling methamphetamine nursing bottle, lit by the crackling light of two low-burning brazier in the expensive chamber.

'' I did n't ask for any ... such thing. '' Malus swallowed hard. He had no memory of asking for such an indecent matter. Even with his head still buzzing with drink, he felt something stir deep inside his body.

'' Perhaps my lord has drunk too much of the household wine. You asked me not four hours ago. differentiate me you wanted the o.k. human spit. ``

Malus could have sworn something was tickling him playfully beneath his costa, slithering about his lively harmonium. His heatbeat quickened. Was the devil playing some twisted prank. T'zarkan, he thought, what have you done ? The drinker of world could n't give voice to a reply courtesy to the alcohol coursing through the highborn 's organisation, so he let Malus hump the resolution in early ways.

The bastard son of Lurhan let out a gasp of joy as T'zarkan slowly built up pressure on his prostrate, tickling the interior works of the Druchii genitalia. Malus felt his shaft 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 get, to stretch, to fill with evil come. Wracked with dim moving ridge of heavy joy, the highborn forgot all about Hauclir. His face became flushed. His conservative breathing gave way to wet heaving. Lust and desire coursed through his sensual soundbox. The daimon sparked a sexual appetence that would have put a Slaaneshi priestess to shame. genus Malus needed an outlet. Something. Anything.

His handwriting raced down his bare pectus, tweaking the nipples as they went, rubbing the whiteish skin, alighting cheek. When they came upon the leather covering his breakwater and legs, they set to cultivate deftly untying tassels and loosening the garments. He could n't free himself from their oppressive clutch bag quick enough. He tossed the pants away. There before him, towering up, much like the matinee idol of Kolkuth funnily enough, was his tool, a splendid spire ready to unleash clenched fist of angry semen. The skin was as picket and luminescent as the rest of his increasingly corrupted form, though here purpleness vena throbbed just as hard as total darkness ace. The pinkish tip swayed with each pump of rakehell. He knew on instinct that his hands would not be enough tonight.

It was now that he looked up, middle ablaze, and remembered that he was not alone. Hauclir remained there by the bed, his attention stock split between the steaming pants that had landed by his substructure and by the grotesque activeness of his lord. The consideration realized he was being watched, and began to back away slowly, afraid.

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

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

'' Come finisher, my retainer. '' The highborn 's quarrel slipped out, almost unbidden. Malus was n't just chuckling. He was laughing in his judgement. The gleefulness spilled out and onto his brim. Hauclir eyed the man 's malicious smile with trepidation.

'' commodity. Now, disrobe yourself for me. '' Malus'straits was a field of operations, and the audience was in hubbub. His thin spirit joined in with the unwell cheering.

'' That 's it. Now, afford that vial, my sweet Hauclir. '' Malus was in pain in the neck from the laughing. His ribs had gone tight. The imaginary interview was in in a flash chaos, standing, shouting, laughing, rioting with pleasure.

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

'' lubricating substance yourself. '' Malus enjoyed the manic revelry raging at the rachis of his head. leave the joy of the maraud. forget the joy of plotting. leave all the power in the world. This was everything that mattered. How had he never thought to ask the daemon for gifts with such ... delectable human action before ? He should feature forced himself on Yasmir, given her a cock Bruglir could never desire to harden in his wildest of dreaming. netherworld, even urial. Fucking that misbegot cripple would take in put him in his post. Malus'head swam with pale thought and untamed sexual conquest.

'' Like this ? '' Hauclir had applied some of the liquid to his digit and daintily begun spreading it about his unwashed slot. The totally thing 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 buggery ; when he 'd been ordered to ingratiate himself with Bruglir 's bunch on their in conclusion escapade, that had been something his gustation had been opened to. But with Malus ? Hauclir shuddered, his own fleshy penis barely erect, coldness with dread.

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

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

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

'' Lubricate your hammer, lamb, affectionately Hauclir. '' Malus reeled at the words springing from his tongue. What was he saying ? Suddenly his fondness went taught. T'zarkan 's eel-like tendrils coiled nastily about him. What is this trickery, genus Malus thought, challenging the fiend. T'zarkan, the hearing that had been laughing all along, was aching to excuse, but first he continued to turn to Hauclir through Malus'mouth. `` Now, penetrate your Maker ! ``

With a striking flourish, genus Malus found himself fling his consistence around, raising his lordly buttocks to Hauclir 's take aback facial expression. `` shoot me like one of your salty cabin boys ! ``

The retainer crawled onto the bed, his brass still a motion picture of pure fear. He rubbed to a greater extent of the lubricant about his manhood, then tipped what remained of the phial into and around his lord 's anal retentive enactment as best he could. With unwilling hands, he clasped Malus'shank, and poked his half flaccid stopcock into the breach. He let out a slim groan. Malus was squiffy than any human he 'd had before, let alone a Druchii.

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

Oh, it 's all actual, said T'zarkan, the words coming in slithery rasp through Malus'ears, over the audio of Hauclir 's noisy breathing and the strait of his orb slapping about with each thrust. You were a sap, genus Malus, T'zarkan continued, to think you could drown me out with your alcohol or your Druchii mixture. The demon savoured every s of genus Malus'physical pain in the neck and mental screams. I am your master, the drinker of mankind intoned, and you will not forget that. You felt the true power I offered, the daemon pulled on the veins that ran through the highborn 's cock to exemplify his decimal point, the action at law giving a stab of discomforting delight, but now you will receive an impossibly small taste of the penalty that await all those who fail me !

***

Outside the chamber lurked another name, though this shadow was nothing at all like the one which had slipped into the highborn 's room. This shadow was blacker than black, practically invisible to any who might fortune upon it. Whereas Hauclir had cut a bumbling figure, this one was skilled to a deathlike stratum. A true skipper of stealing. A avowedly assassin. The physical body house 's owner prided herself on affording her patrons rarely-paralleled discretion and safety, but this intruder had slipped in completely undetected, and would slip out in much the same manner. In fact, this person had travelled all the way from Hag Graef, and such was their power to remain hidden, that they were still believed to be right there, asleep, at this very second.

Arleth Vann left null to chance when it came to Malus, the Druchii they believed to be the prophesy flagellum. Malus had, as usual, proved troublesome to his design 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 Lord, if only to watch up on the man and make sure that the future tense Lord of Ruin had come to no ill fortune. He had been pleased to see the highborn prophylactic and sound, asleep on silk sheets and enjoying some relief. He could n't say the Lapplander of Hauclir, but he bore the latest addition to the household 's forcefulness no ill will. He had been about to leave, after making organization with some of the topical anaesthetic cultists to make his lord 's hitch in this space just a little more secure, when he 'd hear ... well, the Night 's frivolities.

The two men in the sleeping accommodation yonder were still at it ; Arleth could discover it all : their vociferation, their moans, the creaking of the bed, the smacking sound of skin on peel, the slippery randomness of lubricated incursion. It made him frown as stifle feelings of his own bubbled up about his sex-starved body. There had been no sentence for loveplay in the Temple, and since he 'd left to connect up the true faith, only combat and the joy of killing had been on his judgement. But this ... if the Godhead of Ruin could luxuriate in such acts, with the the likes of 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 play with himself for the 1st clip. He reached down into his flowing robes and tugged at his waking tool. The little heavy pulpit began to grow hard at his mite. He tried to call back how he 'd seen the harlot and slaves pleasure each other. Before long, he was pumping and jerking away, letting out short groan of his own to follow those of his beloved high servant of Khaine.

***

Malus lay broken on the bed, the stench of sex heavy about his lithe dead body, and the bodily fluids of Hauclir splashed all about the sheets. His own cock had gone off multiple times, adding to the damage. The flesh house possessor would be expecting a generous fee for the cleaning that her slaves would be required to perform the following dawn. He was still lying there, lost in brackish cerebration and the melancholy of one who 's been fucked against their will, as Hauclir hastily cast his robe about himself and began making for the door. Despite the night 's romp being entirely at his lord 's invitation, Hauclir felt dirty at what he 'd been company to, and had decided that the next course of action was to get hold a drink, a bath, and then a female slave to assert his gender upon.

As the retainer made it to the doorway, praying all the piece to the Dark mother that he 'd be allowed to leave with his psyche, Malus stopped him with five short words.

'' Hauclir. Never speak of this. ``

Hauclir nodded. `` Never my lord. '' He could n't face Malus. Instead, he left in shame, slipping out of the door. He remembered to close up it this time. As he left, he stood in a puddle of something vile on the earth. He looked down, cursing his lot. He stepped away from the alcove and over to a nearby rug, a richly waver affair. He wiped his marginal animal foot on the rug, then scampered away. He needed that drink badly.

Malus lay there, looking up at the flesh lure, whips and chains dangling from the dark ceiling, refusing to let his eyes water from the annoyance still throbbing about his rear. He 'd defy the cruel straining of Drachaus, Valkhaurs and his own sweet siblings ; he was n't about to shame himself with an grammatical construction of weakness before T'zarkan. He closed his eyes. He would get retaliation. He had his hate. The daemon could n't strike that away from him. The daemon could only inspire more of it. And with hate, all things were possible .