The Corsair

Here we are again.

It goes on!

Commorragh is going to be cut off for a bit now, but is still featured at least a few times during this story.
A lot of familiar Dark Eldar, Craftworld Eldar and other Eldar will be around from the Dooms Hidden.

I suggest reading it full first (big task there) but I guess this can be read without knowing it's events. Kind of. You can find it here: http://www.thedarkcity.net/t6400-the-dooms-hidden-complete

I am also brewing up a little mini-story that will follow some other characters, but we will see for that later.

The name here is a placeholder, it is likely going to be changed.

There will be no character list, at least not before an interlude (likely after chapter 10 again), but there will hopefully be less major characters to follow around.


But without anything further to say, I will say the prologue.




Prologue

The city was in ruins.

Smoke billowed from wrecked homes and stores. Amongst the wreckage, there were few indicators as to what each had been just a short time ago.

Silence had fallen for now.

A few figures emerged around the smoke, slowly walking their way to gather around in a circle. Their bulky armour was battered, scorched with marks from dozens of different weapons.

A vehicle drew up to open its hatches and a large man with an armour filled with impressive ornaments came out.

“Chaos threat eliminated.”

“We fought well, brothers.”

“For the Emperor!” one of them shouted, raising his weapon to the dusty and dirty air.

Another one removed the helmet, as did the one who arrived by the tank.

“We discovered something unsettling, however. A xenos artefact. We don’t know what it is for, but the heretics were trying to hide it from us.”

“Must be a powerful weapon, captain. This matter must be investigated further...”

The ‘captain’ suddenly grunted painfully as his spine was shattered and he collapsed on the ground, his power armour still largely intact.

A stream of bright laser-fire swarmed the area, and the space marines tried to react to all the threats now beset on them.

A cloak of darkness engulfed one of the marines, who soon noticed two swords through his chest when he could see again.

One of them backed inside the razorback, but as soon as the hatch closed, a stream of dark matter coming right next to it blasted through critical points of the rear armour, causing an explosion.

Silence descended upon the city once more, this time after a much shorter battle.
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She landed her hand softly on the warm wraithbone. It felt refreshing, but also reminded her of distant memories.

She considered putting on the helmet.

Not this time, I think. It doesn’t matter.

She looked up and caressed the wall.

The circular room had a blue glow in it, coming from the lights on the ceiling far above her. It was strengthened by the spiritstones laid neatly across the table that circled the wall. The only exit was through a gap between the tables.

She thought of it as a poor replica of the one she had known in Lugganath, but she tried her best as the caretaker nevertheless.

Someone walked in behind her, and she quickly pushed the ghosthelm away and turned around with a practiced calm look.

A young eldar male in clean, rich blue robes awkwardly entered the room. He had short hair that looked like they had been combed and cut for hours. After a while, it looked like some clever disguise for a beggar from the streets of Commorragh to act as a member of craftworld elite.

“Are you ready?” she said, trying to sound convincing as a seer.

“Yeah.” He was nervous, and he swept his arm across his leg, trying to get the robe from tripping him over. “I just want to talk with him.”

She smiled. “Don’t bring up any topics that will be too embarrassing.”

“...I think I have to.”






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Comments are welcome, of course.

Chapter 1
Speak

Loud chatter, clattering noises and sudden bursts of laughter. It was the mess-hall of Clash, the commanding ship of the corsair fleet.

The room was shaped to the letter Y, with all entrances and exits in the form of stairs and an elevator at the intersection. The mess was effectively divided into three parts, which usually meant some people favouring one side over the other, always choosing a table from where they are used to be around.

The walls were a mix of purple with white outlining. They reached up to the ceiling partly curved, which led to a few benches forming pleasant and long alcoves by the edges.

The main kitchen of the ship took form around the mess, circling it for a round wheel with small entries to the mess through the ends of the Y-shape.

The central elevator was a round one, opening up in the mess to three directions and going vertically both up and down. The elevator worked through a system of wraithbone so simple yet mostly found too complex or uninteresting by the crew.

But it was all Circene could do not to jump at joy of the magnificent sight.

Or, at least so she thought.

“There he is!” her mother whispered next to her, pointing at an approaching eldar in a black robe. “He will be happy that we have arrived.”

Circene smiled broadly, and accepted the incoming hug as an informal greeting, like the place seemed to be.

She looked past her father and saw the flicker of many eyes, many people. The company here would be interesting, she knew.

“You already know your way around, Circene?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Well, we can just get something to eat here then. It is quiet around here for now.” Circene’s father was tall. He had a small tattoo on his wrist, she remembered, but it was now covered by the robe with thick sleeves. It was the rune of Storm Guardians, she recalled.

Circene followed her father, who was looking around in a rather desperate fashion to find a table with enough room for the three of them.

There was a large group of other eldar in black robes, which was where her father had been. But there was not enough room in the oval-shaped table. The chatter in that table continued, not too bothered by the absence of one of their members.

“There is room here.” Circene turned to look at a young eldar male with a mostly bald head and a few scars across it. He was dressed in simple black and grey, and his movements seemed a bit stiff. His speech wasn’t too fluid either.

He was seated next to another male who had his head bowed low, his eyes seeming to have focused on the purple floor. He was also dressed in similar clothing, but he had a vest of bright red. He had well-cut black hair, which was most which Circene could see of him.

Sitting across them was an even younger female. She was still older than Circene, though. She had a bob-hair of slight orange, and yellow clothing that could have been a dress or a simple robe. Circene paused to look at her for slightly longer.

“You can sit”, the first eldar male repeated.

Circene sat next to the third one, and her mother next to her. Her father seemed hesitant, but then sat next to her mother as well.

“Who are you?” Circene asked. She was indeed curious. The variety amongst the eldar in a corsair ship was often quite large, and you couldn’t always tell where they were from.

“Y... Yrag.” He seemed to have a bit of trouble speaking.

Circene turned to the man next to him, who finally lifted his head to stare right back.

Circene’s eyes lingered for a moment at his neck. It was oddly red, and she could see the beginning of a fresh scar in it. Then she noticed his eyes.

They spoke of both violence and murder, with only a few hints of discipline. Circene knew the man had to be from Commorragh.

He didn’t speak. Circene wondered could he.

The woman next to her spoke after the quick silence. “I am Yulethan’ia Bezeania. Pleased to meet you.” Her eyes seemed cautious. She looked at the silent man across her and they briefly exchanged looks. She turned her head down, as if embarrassed of something.

“I am Circene. I have lived on a maiden world for a lot of my life, but I have now followed my parents to join this fleet!”

Yrag nodded slowly. He definitely had some kind of a disability, which could explain those scars. His eyes seemed a bit empty for Circene.

She didn’t listen as her parents were introducing themselves and trying to figure out who to talk to. She looked around the mess-hall some more.

There wasn’t any staff for the kitchen as much as she could see. The food, served for the rest of the ship free of charge had to be fetched from small windows at the walls. There seemed to be many kinds of food available. She didn’t see any plate with a similar meal.

“You new?” The whisper came right next to Circene. An eldar boy, couldn’t have been much older than her, had sneaked up to the table. He had a short robe of white with a long collar. He also had a knife quite visible by his belt. He couldn’t have been older than three or four or maybe five decades, but Circene was still positive that it didn’t necessarily mean he couldn’t use the weapon.

“Yes. Who are you?” she asked, trying to sound polite again. Deep inside she disliked it when she had to sound polite.

“Thir-Sen, junior cadet. Best Nightwing-pilot in this room."

“I see.”

“You will want to be careful with some of the people here.”

“Really.”

“Are you hungry? There is a good seat near here.”

“...alright.”
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“Ready?”

“Ready!”

“Starting the engines.”

“Is the prince onboard?”

“Yes, what about...”

“Everyone is here, go already!”

“Engines roaring!” Tunnfe called out as she boosted up, looking through the viewport and watching the radar for anything unexpected.

Exiting the planet went out just fine, faster than she had expected.

Her pilot’s seat was a little uncomfortable, but she had mostly had an easy time learning how to pilot the landing ship used by the corsairs.

The appearance from the outside reminded her a bit of a commorrite raider with its dagger-like form, but the ship was much bigger. And of course, it was sealed for travelling the realspace. She was thankful of the webway, still. The corsairs still enjoyed wandering without it, but Tunnfe had gotten used to being out of the confines of the other realm during the last few cycles.

She had been with the corsairs for only a month, though. It was so little ago when she was still a haemonculus with a daring and tiresome task of enforcing the goals of her coven. But the betrayals and deceits that had been done to her had made her cut ties with people who she had even cared about, as siblings.

It was two centuries ago when she was initiated as a member of the Coven of Banished Apocalypse. During all that time, and before it, as well, she had used plenty of genetic manipulations on herself. She eventually even had given up the use of legs for transportation, using a small skyboard instead. Now she had reverted back, and walking often felt like a pain for her. But she didn’t want another reminder of an organization that had allied with daemons. Or enslaved them. Or the other way around. She didn’t really know.

“Did we get anything done?” someone asked.

“...No. Our objective here may get quite complicated. At least the webway portal remains untouched", another replied.
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“I am not sure if that indeed is the case. I had little idea to who you were.”

Yris was in the background, concentrating on the spirit, and slowly repeating its words as they came.

“Your employer was Thefan. We were not sure of his connection to the case.”

“I wasn’t technically employed by him. It was... closer to forced labour.” Yba was remaining calm, remembering that he was supposed to be on the same side as he had been.

“I see.” Yris’s eyes were closed, but her hands shook slightly as she focused on communicating and projecting the infinity circuit.

“So what happened then, exactly?”

“Kozerog and I entered the mansion. Our goal was the entry to the Heart and the Grandmaster. We thought you were his guards, and I sent Kozerog to dispatch you both. And your bodies we left were you were.”

“So you didn’t find the place?”

“Well. I did, and got separated. Kozerog was able to act well independently, however, and he found another passage. I was probably found by then. And later killed.”

“Did... you stay conscious?”

“Yes... sometimes.”

“Did you hear the members of the coven talk?”

“They didn’t talk. There was one who I believe to have been Ekkart...”

“Who?”

“Ekkart.”

“...okay.” He knew he could trigger a vision if he tried. He was getting better at doing it while still awake all the time. “Carry on.”

“Well, he seemed to be... gathering people. I think this is enough for that topic. My soulstone was recovered in the end, that is all.”

“Okay.”

The old man’s voice sighed. Yba could still not make out any form that was in the infinity circuit, but the speech was loud and clear.

“Another thing, then. You heard who I was?”

“A Dreamer? No, I have no knowledge of them.”

“I see. I have heard my father was a corsair-warlock.”

“I wouldn’t know such a person.”

This conversation is pointless, then.

They both remained silent. Yris soon reacted by severing the link, causing a ghostly smoke to fade back on to the walls. The Tears of Isha, soulstones, lined on the walls ceased their excessive glowing and seemed to return to normal.

“I am leaving”, Yba muttered while removing the robes he was wearing. “This idea was stupid.”

“You never expected any conclusive answers, didn’t you? You knew that he wouldn’t know much, no more than the Prince.”

“The Corsairs know little, then. This one had never even helped me with anything.”

“He was a pilot of a Crimson Hunter. And old. He may have been there with the command to kill you, but you are still alive.”

“I am alive because some haemonculus dragged me away and used me as an energy source. I don’t owe him anything.”

“I didn’t say that.” Yris’s eyes discreetly followed Yba as he stormed towards the door. “Maybe you will find someone who knows”, she yelled, trying to get him stop before he would just leave.

Yba did stop, only to stare at her for a moment. He left the robe on to one of the tables, next to the ghosthelm, and left.

Yris sighed. She had too many things to do.
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The dream faded, and reality came back. Mozarz had to agree though, reality didn’t seem too much worse compared to the dreams anymore.

It was still always the same. She saw her face, and how suddenly a void separated them from each other.

The dream means of her trying to kill me. Somehow.

She didn’t know what time it was, but in the corsair ship, it didn’t matter. Time of the day was no importance, and everyone kept their own schedule. There was always someone up somewhere, so she was never sure when to find privacy apart from her small quarters.

The room was indeed small. Tiny, in fact. Her old apartment had at least been wide, even if it did have dangerous critters and insects housed into it. Here, she was locked between four walls with only one exit to a hallway.

She looked past the window blinds, wondering if anyone was out there. She had little to do in her room. She had no personal belongings kept there, and she had tried to keep it as empty as she could in fear of even more claustrophobia. She wasn’t sure if it was helping.

Someone walked past the door. It was Yba, she thought.

For a moment, she considered going after him. She had not spoken to him much, even though she thought she should.

During her time here, she hadn’t indeed been forced to anything, but it was clear that the corsairs were nudging her to do at least something. So far she had just wasted a lot of time standing around in the ship’s one and only beauty salon. She didn’t like it both because the keeper of it was male, as well as that they didn’t take any payment for the service of the most frequent customers. The corsairs here seem to have a long history of practicing their traditions for exchange instead of more common trading.

The food was also free. She wasn’t sure if they would demand something if someone would drop by for food more often, but the mess so far was apparently a service maintained by the Prince himself. It kept the whole ship fed.

Maybe she would find another profession. Maybe she would just join the corsair on their raids and see how that goes. She didn’t enjoy fighting, especially since she had so often had to escape gangs of hellions. But at least she had lived through them all.

But now she was hungry. She decided to leave any important decisions for another time. Again.