NationStates Jolt Archive

((This is going to be the kind of post you've come to expect from me. Horrifyingly violent and utterly depraved. If you can't handle graphic depictions of insides becoming outsides then zark off. I warned you.











"Abandon hope, all ye who enter here." - Dante's Inferno))

"Kessin, my dear servant. I know you can hear me." Rath's voice is soft, almost gentle, a purring tenor unfiltered by the rasping artifacts within his helm. Here, deep within the Dark City, translation is not necessary.

"Kessin, I have playthings for you. Come now, wake up." A light touch starts the broken haemonculus awake, a caress that leaves the addleminded woman no dignity. "Yes, very good. New toys. Make uglies?"

He hardly waits for the eager nod before gesturing for the slaves to be brought into the chamber. It is a large hemisphere, a dome taller than three men, with a sloping depression for a floor. The center of the floor is a grate leading to a processing aparatus, to render down the biproducts of the tortures conducted here. Next to the grate, a tray has been fitted into a podium-like device, and is covered with all manner of blades, needles, heating devices, and other objects of less certain use and function.

Five slaves are muscled into the room, each already stripped nude and manacled. Each shows varying signs of starvation, malnutrition, sleep deprivation, drug abuse, and physical abuse. The last slave, a man with hardly any flesh on his bones, must be physically dragged in.

Rath steps along the line of pathetic slaves, a hand coming to rest on the head or should of each.

"Selotha, formerly of the Necropolis Kionash. Lolewhin, purchased from Morgoth and meant for Sirithil Kinslayer. Nesrin, a baker from Silmesse. Jacob, whose identity doesn't matter, for he shall be a gift to the Deceiver. Finally, this broken man is Seyash, one of the Aelosians captured in Silmesse. Each of them is to be rendered into a grotesque, and returned to their homes. A message to the powers, to our former allies and Kin, that we are strong and we are ruthless."

Kessin's eyes glaze over as she totters towards her victims. Drool dribbles from the corner of her mouth, spatters on her bare breast and the floor. Her flayed leg drags and scrapes as she moves, leaving a half-congealed smear of blood. A giggle bursts forth from somewhere within her as she caresses and examines each in turn. The grand words of her Archon didn't matter to her, just the sweet pain that has already begun to take root in the souls of these... soft objects in front of her.

She doesn't even notice the recording device left behind with the disappearance of her Lord and his servants.

Her groping fingers grasp the handle of a long, thin tool, as red as blood and with a small bulb on the business end. The bulb leaves reddened and charred flesh across the chest of Lolewhin, flesh that bubbles with the boiling layer of fat beneath. The thing's scream echoes hollowly within the chamber, resonating until it is a single perfect note of woe.

Down across the belly the bulb drifts, cauterizing the wounds as it goes so that only some clear fluid seeps forth. A flick of the control of the device causes the bulb to crackle with electricity. This, then, she presses to the sensitive parts of the elf's body: the wrists and fingers and lips. What lies between the man's thighs she leaves pristine for later use.

Almost before the device slips from her fingers, a flaying knife begins working at his arms. She skillfully peels off flesh in intricate patterns, like some kind of brutal tattoo that leaves the subject oozing blood. She takes a moment to admire the way the exposed muscles contract and move with the agony, this efficient machine-toy being taken apart and modified.

However, his ragged screeching begins to annoy her. A needle and thread press themselves into her hands. She giggles again, pointy end... fleshy bit.... In and through and back again the needle dives, sealing his lips with thread made of gut. A pat on the cheek and a smile do not seem to reassure him, nor does the large hypodermic needle pressed into his forearm. The cocktail of drugs staves off shock and loss of consciousness, but does nothing to dull the pain.

She slices the skin of his thigh into strips, and begins weaving them together like a basket, securing the design with applications of thread and needles. The patchwork pattern spirals up over his legs and his hips. Now, then, she gives his crotch proper attention, grafting the strips of skin to his penis so that he cannot walk without aggravating the wounds.

She steps back to look over her work, and smiles with sudden inspiration. A sharper, shorter blade slits his eyelids in half vertically, and a series of needles tack open the sockets, so that he cannot close his eyes. This done, the simple woman slips back into sleep, completely oblivious to the men who come to take the former elf away.

____________________________________________________________

The entire ordeal is broadcast from one of the lurking piratical ships near Mars, on all manner of frequencies and all addressed to "Sirithil Kinslayer".

“Sirithil kinslayer?” said the Deceiver, upon intercepting the message, “it appears ocular evidence is needed to convince Rath of my possession of Mieka...”

--------------------------

Samara looked at the eldar woman in the stasis field, hanging in midair like a frozen statue, and tightened her grip on the knife. Four Necron lords, without their weapons surrounded the cylinder. Samara pressed a button, and Mieka fell from the air as the stasis field was deactivated. The lords seized her and held each of her limbs down.

“Hello Mieka,” said Samara, “I’ve heard much about you, indeed, I’m somewhat reminded of myself by you, but now I need something from you,” she held up the knife, and let Mieka examine it, as professional courtesy, and then moved down to her right wrist, slicing, and watching as the former dark eldar Archon’s blood splashed across the floor. After a moment she applied a thin spray of a synthetic substance to the stump, and stood up, carrying the severed hand.

“Put her back on display,” ordered Samara, as she turned to walk away.

“If you wanted my help, I would have given you a hand...” said Mieka watching the almost human woman leave, as the Necrons picked her up and positioned her again. Samara chuckled, and half turned, “Funny,” she said, “Very funny.”

Samara gave the hand to a waiting medical drone, “Put it on life support.” She left the drone to think of a means of sending the hand to the Dark Eldar leader.

OOC: ... Yep, Raem has returned, prepare for a lot of missile fire...

IC: Aboard the battleship Wraith, a fitting name for a ship made to hunt the Eldar and Dark Eldar, klaxons wailed as marines, gunners, and all other manner of soldiers rushed to prep the ship for battle. Not unlike the ancient Men-of-War, the torpedo bays were fluries of activity as the Wraith's crew loaded torpedos, and closed the inner launch doors. Slowly, the Wraiths' three Battle Reators, as the crew called them, came online, charging both the Accelerate Particle Cannons that lined the ship and the massive cutting beams.

On the bridge, orders were being given at a frenetic rate, yet a unusual sence of order pervaded the massive battleship.

"Wraith, status report!"

"Captain, all missile tubes loaded, all outer and inner doors have been closed, all AP guns are charged and ready, Anti-Capitalship Cutting Beams are ready. The ship is at 110% battle readiness"

"Good, stand by, start gathering the rest of the fleet. Key the intercoms"

"Yes sir, you are live"

"This is the Captain to the Crew of the TMV Wraith. As you all know, today we received a sickening message from the Dark Eldar. In this was shown the greusom death of an elf, Lolewhin, this elf was a Noldor. In the past the Sindarin and Noldorin races have not been the most friendly of groups. Even so, this is something we cannot stand for. As a warning, Thelas High Command has placed all fleets on Strat Alert Zero, all stations, stand by for SlipStream. Captain Out! Leutenant, engage Slip drives, set course, grid sector, zero mark two four."

The massive ship moved into the slip event that appeared infront of it. Departing for a destination unknown to all but the captain.

"So, an Aelosian soldier turned into bits in an international broadcast", said the ShadowPrince. Although his face was as made of stone, his fists were clenched, and the veins of his neck were protuding. Around him one of the courtiers threw up his dinner over the red carpet of the throne room, another one, a delicate maiden, was crying.

"This...this is the worst thing I've seen. No matter what we will seek retribution for what they have done", he said, grasping the hilt of the ceremonial sword of Doriath, Aránruth.

"Prepare my fleet, today I'll return to the old ways of the warrior. I'll get revenge against our Dark kin, to teach them not to mess with the survivors of the once proud Kingdom of Doriath", he continued, raising from his throne.

A long cheer could be heard inside the throne room as the Prince left his chamber. "The ShadowPrince walks the path of Khaine again", "May the fury of Oröme be with you", said the crowd.

Hours later, the first Wrath Fleet left the orbit of the Craftworld, dissapearing in the warp...One VoidStalker Flagship, three Shadow Class Cruisers, three Eclipse Carriers, five Aurora Class Light Cruisers, five Solaris Class Light Cruisers, fifteen Aconite Class frigates, fifteen Hellebore Class frigates, twenty four Nightshade Class destroyers, twenty four Hemlock Class Gunships, all were gone in a moment. They were the elite of the Aelosian Navy, the most refitted ships, the best trained crews, under the orders of the most gifted and talented Admiral of all the Empire, the ShadowPrince himself.

OOC: She hasn't tortured the Aelosian soldier yet, just the random Noldor...

And to both Aelosia and Thelas, Ream is in the web, this evil is to commemorate the taking of Commoragh by Manmen...

"Selotha, formerly of the Necropolis Kionash. Lolewhin, purchased from Morgoth and meant for Sirithil Kinslayer. Nesrin, a baker from Silmesse. Jacob, whose identity doesn't matter, for he shall be a gift to the Deceiver. Finally, this broken man is Seyash, one of the Aelosians captured in Silmesse. Each of them is to be rendered into a grotesque, and returned to their homes. A message to the powers, to our former allies and Kin, that we are strong and we are ruthless."

The entire ordeal is broadcast from one of the lurking piratical ships near Mars, on all manner of frequencies and all addressed to "Sirithil Kinslayer".

OOC: I think he did it...to all of them, and he didn't, it's just a matter of time until he does. And I haven't start hostilities, I said that the fleet left the Craftworld searching revenge against the Dark Eldar...and if this is a conmemoration, we will conmemorate the day hundreds of Dark Eldar dissapears in plasma explosions...

To Thelas

The Corporation urges you to think before you act. First of all, you have not the right to interfere with the justicial system and workings of another nation. Second, you do not know if the said victim was innocent of commiting any crime. Thirdly, there is little sanity to be detected in avenging the death of one with the possible slaughter of hundreds, if not thousands. Time after time again, your nation has proved to be lead by hot headed military and political leaders, and we fear that one day this will lead to your demise. Thus we urge you: do not act until you have given this the proper amount of thought and consideration.

OOC: I think he did it...to all of them, and he didn't, it's just a matter of time until he does. And I haven't start hostilities, I said that the fleet left the Craftworld searching revenge against the Dark Eldar...and if this is a conmemoration, we will conmemorate the day hundreds of Dark Eldar dissapears in plasma explosions...

OOC: Indeed. She hasn't yet. But also, how do you plan to attack a city in the webway with a fleet... A 'ground' attack would be more logical...

OOC: And how I suppose to make a "ground" attack from a craftworld?. I need to move a fleet first. Anyway I don't think my fleet will ttack "the" city, the orbital bombardment of a small colony, or a military facility will suffice. Maybe I will start a little blockade...

OOC: And how I suppose to make a "ground" attack from a craftworld?. I need to move a fleet first. Anyway I don't think my fleet will ttack "the" city, the orbital bombardment of a small colony, or a military facility will suffice. Maybe I will start a little blockade...

OOC: I was assuming you had access to the webway, sorry.

Tag... and OOC question have you just sent Siri's person or all of them?

((Just the one for now. Since Aelosia's so eager, I'll do his next.))

To Thelas

The Corporation urges you to think before you act. First of all, you have not the right to interfere with the justicial system and workings of another nation. Second, you do not know if the said victim was innocent of commiting any crime. Thirdly, there is little sanity to be detected in avenging the death of one with the possible slaughter of hundreds, if not thousands. Time after time again, your nation has proved to be lead by hot headed military and political leaders, and we fear that one day this will lead to your demise. Thus we urge you: do not act until you have given this the proper amount of thought and consideration.

OOC: Just my annpyed point about secret OOC, YOU WOULD NOT KNOW. The Thelas fleets went on full alert, well you know Thelas, every day practicaly the fleet goes on alert, that captain was only speaking to the personel in the ship, so you don't know...

Well I'm booking me next I actually know roughly what my response may be... (I think you are sending these poor souls on to us?)

To Thelas

The Corporation urges you to think before you act. First of all, you have not the right to interfere with the justicial system and workings of another nation. Second, you do not know if the said victim was innocent of commiting any crime. Thirdly, there is little sanity to be detected in avenging the death of one with the possible slaughter of hundreds, if not thousands. Time after time again, your nation has proved to be lead by hot headed military and political leaders, and we fear that one day this will lead to your demise. Thus we urge you: do not act until you have given this the proper amount of thought and consideration.

OOC: Just my annpyed point about secret OOC, YOU WOULD NOT KNOW. The Thelas fleets went on full alert, well you know Thelas, every day practicaly the fleet goes on alert, that captain was only speaking to the personel in the ship, so you don't know...

Well considering you had a fleet above Sisgardia after the events in DNL last week, maybe we expect you to burst into yet another situation where your interference is not desired. So indeed you are right that we don't know about that ship, but we're still sending you the message.

Episode 2

Pain flares like a spotlight in her eyes, robbing her of her breath. Gasping, heaving, writhing, Kessin gapes at the air in desperate need. She can hear herself whimpering, even as her subdermal dispenser floods her system with anasthetics.

She can taste blood in her mouth, and she can feel the difficulty of her own breathing. A broken rib, then. Well, she's survived worse. He gaze rises up to the armored owner of the boot.

Rath again, his helm absent this time. He really is quite handsome: skin the same tone as ash or very light granite. One might be inclined to think he was made of granite, for all the give and softness in his features. His eyes drift over her bare breast, to the ugly bruise already blooming like an obscene flower beneath her translucent skin.

"You have work to do."

The grate of the floor, still slick with the blood of the elf, bites into her hands and knees as she scrambles to obey. The slaves are still there, all but one spaced out and on the razor's edge of overdose.

The one, the weakling, the Aelosian pilot dragged from the wreckage of his shuttle, rests propped up against the podium. The spark of life had nearly gone out before the technologies of the dark ones could revive him, but that had taken great pains not to permit him the release of death.

He must be hoisted up by the manacles at his wrists to give Kessin proper room to work. His meek groan makes the childish dark eldar smile.

She begins muttering to herself unintelligibly, a quipping sing-song of meaningless syllables. First the severs the tendons on the back of the pilot's hands. Two quick slices lay open the backs of his palms to the bone. She works the skin back an inch or two to excise the tendons fully. The thin strips of tissue she sets aside while she pays further attention to his hands.

First, the flesh of the fingertips is stripped away, leaving half an inch of exposed bone at the end of each finger. This she sharpens with a special tool, until his hands are bloody claws capped with talons of bone. She affixes strips of metal to his palms, so that his hands will forever more remain half-curled and inflexible, proper weapons for her new plaything.

She carefully slits his throat vertically, a small incision just above the larynx. Forcing his mouth open, she pulls his tongue down through the back of his throat and out the incision. When she sews it up, she is careful to leave a hole in the throat through which he can breath.

The skin of his chest receives her attention next, so that the Aelosian's shuddering breaths may be visible to all. She stitches the skin back with the tendons removed earlier.

A quick glance appraises her work. She clucks her tongue at no one in particular, and smiles slowly.

A half hour of careful work lays open the man's thigh to the bone. Using a kind of drill and a bit of some kind of adhesive, she affixes a small device to the bone itself. It is a cylinder, hinged so that it may be clasped about the bone, and covered with small blades and needles. She quickly sews his leg back up, only to repeat the procedure on the other limb.

As the guards come to remove the half-consious eldar and the recording of his torture, Kessin happily licks the blood and gore from her fingertips, humming a tune that was popular in her childhood.

_____________________________________________________________

The broadcast of the recording originates deep within the Raeman desert, and is prefaced only by a voice-over commanding the attention of "The Aelosia Kionash".

"All Dark Eldar soldiers you meet will be shot on sight", ordered the ShadowPrince to his Command staff. "However, I want prisoners, not bodies, try to catch many of them alive. I want grow men, spare the women and children. The prisoners will be boiled in oil in our main square".

"That includes the prisoners we caught in the Silmessë skirmish?", asked a woman, dressed with the wraithbone armor of the Howling Banshees, in her face the hatred mixed with sickness.

"Of course, put them on the hand of our Drows, they'll do the dirty job for us. I want the boiling to be transmitted to the webway", said the ShadowPrince, an evil grin in his face.

"I think those prisoners are going to like it. They love pain, I have heard cries of joy as I fired my flamethrower against them", answered an old general dressed in the outfit of the Fire Dragons.

The next day, on the Aelosian Colony on Mars, fifty six Dark Eldar from Manmen were boiled in oil in the entrance of the Dimbar mines, after being judged by a judge and a jury by the Aelosian law, all guilty of charges of crimes against elvenkind. The oil and the holoprojection then was sent in a escape pod to Raem...

The first Dark Eldar to come across the transmission merely rolls his eyes and makes a crude joke about pornography to his gangmate.

"I have sent to you several portions of a tasty soup, Archon Rath. I hope you could enjoy it, it's the kind of soup you would love, your own men boiled in a pot", said the ShadowPrince at the end of the tranmission...

((Bippity boppity bump))

== BUMP ==

((On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...))

Kessin stares into the eyes of the third victim, the nameless human. Blood drips slowly onto him, dripping from where a second human has been hung by its feet and its wrists slit. Blood splatters over his forehead and face, making him cough with the taste of the drug-laced blood. The blood trickles into his nasal cavity, making him sneeze and cough and causing his eyes to water with pain.

Kessin giggles, a hand clapped to her mouth, at the sight of the human's discomfort. She leans down slowly, presses her lips to his. Blood drips silently into her matted and greasy hair, trickling over the back of her skull and down her face. Trails of blood taint the kiss with crimson smears. Suddenly, Kessin bites down on the man's lower lip, and jerks her head back to rip the flesh completely free. His shriek is a gurgling, faint affair, wracked with coughs, as he struggles not to drown in his own blood.

Kessing reaches over to pluck one of the softly glowing needles, each nearly ten centimeters long. She trails the tip over his skin, leaving blood to well from the scratch as the needle passes. The tip of the needle digs into his skin at the shoulder for a brief moment. Then it pierces his flesh, slowly pressing deeper, through the major musculature at the collarbone. Another needle sinks into the other shoulder, and one each at the back of the knees effectively hamstrings him.

Her delicate marble fingers pluck a scapel-like blade from the tray. She carefully cuts through the skin at his shoulder before pressing deeper, to sever the tendons, muscles, and other connective tissue at the joint. Then, a good heave and a bit of twist make the entire limb simply pop free (with a sickeningly wet popping sound). The drugs thickening his blood keep him from bleeding to death while she seals off major blood vessels and sears the wound with a flame. Little more effort is required to remove the other arm and the legs, as well.

Two quick cuts cut through the corners of his mouth, where his lips used to meet. Then, Kessin climbs up onto the table, giggling madly. She waves to the poor bastard, before raising her foot and stomping, with all her weight, upon his crotch.

The scream that tears from his throat rips the cuts at the corners of his mouth wide open all the way to his jawline, leaving his cheeks as ragged flaps of flesh. Kessin giggles again, and waves for the guards to take him to the C'tan.

____________________________________________________________

The only transmission of the torture is a small device which plays the scene over and over again, which is delivered with the man to one of the Yngiri colonies, at Eldamar.

The small embassy of elves in Eldamar were of course, thoroughly horrified by the entire thing, shortly after the arrival of this horrifically malformed figure, three tall ‘humans,’ in sharp suits, and with long faces, arrived and removed the shattered remnant of the man, and all material related to him from the records.

---------------

The reply to the message was shot off in a tight beam to the Dark Eldar who delivered the grotesque abomination, obviously pre-recorded.

It showed the Deceiver sitting on a sort of throne, on either side of him are the other C’tan, sitting to the left the Nightbringer, whose form was shrouded in black, and only the smouldering sulphur pits of his eyes could be distinguished clearly, on his right, a creature that was obviously The Dragon, due to it’s non humanoid form, it instead reclined on a flat table.

At the feet of the Deceiver, chained to a ring on the throne, was Mieka, obviously on powerful drugs of some description, she stared blankly into the middle distance, an expression of contentment on her face. She reclined on her right arm, in an unconsciously attractive, though not of course to a C’tan, pose, despite her right hand ending in a prosthetic limb, deliberately designed to look exactly like that of a Necron warrior.

“Ah always good to see a craftswoman at work. And I see that you clearly still fail to believe that I have my pet here,” he added, reaching down and patting Mieka on her head, “thus I’ve had a little gift made to reciprocate your kindness.”

The Dragon’s prehensile paw extended beyond the field of vision for a moment, and came back with a dismembered hand, ending in a metal slab, just about where the upper wrist ought to be. A small dome with glowing green eyes was visible where one would perhaps wear a watch. The hand scuttled off in the direction of Mieka, and jumped onto her leg, eliciting little reaction.

“How does one send the hand of Mieka to the Death’s Hand Kabal?” he asked smiling, “In any case, I have heard of your ascent over the rest of your race, you are indeed, even more worthy than your predecessor. Perhaps you are worthy of increased attention in the future.”

bump

((Hooray, only two left. For the next, something special...))

The routine is, by now, quite familiar to the lobotomized Haemonculus. Wake up to find a slave chained in place, near the podium upon which her tools are arranged. This time, however, a small platter of gems has been left with the tools. Each gem is the color of ash, streaked with veins of black and cracked. Drained spirit gems, the former residences of the souls of dead Eldar. They were taken from the Necropolis infinity matrix during the raid, and kept as a kind of fine wine, aged to perfection, for consumption later.

Kessin strokes the gems lightly, fervently wishing that she had been able to partake of the sweet agony that surely such a soul had felt. Her regret is as short as her memory, however, and her instincts take over.

She studies the woman, the sole survivor of Necropolis left. The woman is tall and thin, emblematic of the entire race. Her beautiful features are marred by weeks of hunger and streaked with countless tears. She had suffered so much, and the suffering had left a stain upon her soul.

Kessin moves swiftly to claw out the woman's eyes, jabbing savagely with her thumbs until the once-pretty sapphires are simply gooey white jelly dribbling down the eldar's cheeks. One gem in either socket, the fit is perfect. A bit of thread stitching secures the gems in place, letting them stare out as the woman's sunken eyes.

Next, the scalpel slowly sinks into the woman's throat. The skin parts like the most delicate fabric, the blade drinks deeply of her blood. The eldar's larynx is quickly excised, and replaced with the third of the five gems.

Kessin taps her chin thoughfully, smearing blood and gore on her pale alabaster skin. Her eyes roam over the victim's face and neck, and slip down to her emaciated torso. Ah... there.

It is a matter of less than a minute's work to remove both of the woman's nipples, and some of the underlying tissue. A little creative restructuring of the skin of her breasts secures the gems in place, and leaves the woman nothing more than a living mockery of the Kionash ways.

____________________________________________________________

The woman is delivered to an Yvressi embassy on Mars, borne by another slave, with the recording of the torture surgically implanted in his abdomen.

OOC; NOTE TO SELF, never read any of Raems works before going to sleep...

((Thankyou... thankyou...::bows::))

ooc: yay, you used the smiley thing :D

Horror and disgust. The rape of Necropolis was a sin they could never forgive, and now the Fallen had done what they had never thought possible. They had added to that sin, they had increased it to a level they had never considered. Hatred was all they felt, but they would not, unlike the Mon-Keigh and lesser races race into this revenge blind. All that would occur would be a stealing of their course. They rededicated themselves to the mission.

The Unfortunate woman was taken aside and with the same care one gives to the sick laid to rest peacefully never feeling that moment of death. Of course the true work now began for the soul, a decade two maybe more lay ahead of them... to calm the soul and allow it to enter the infinity circuit of Tor Yvresse. One soul, one person from Necroplos would be remembered for eternity, eventually.