The Rising Tide [Faction - The Reborn Imperium]

[Astoach]

[Part I]

"And that's all anyones going to believe after all It was your knife and I am but a weak and feeble ... woman!"

Astoach could only pause in his assault, a very distinct tendril of white hot fathoms of spite growing taught within the recesses of his musings. "What?" he inquired, turning around, fully abandoning his mission to retreat back to [member="Evelina Montecratise"], captured within the midst of his blatant ire. His voice was sullen and almost whispered, going inaudible through the audio of combat that roared like a concert as fighting raced across the hall. It was a barbaric culture, even to the Paladin who had met its embrace with equal ferocity and, even at the point of murder, seemed to continue in escalation of foul humiliation which, by the grace of all things tasteful, would not be repeated in words. Astoach could only imbibe the horrors of combat, whilst Evelina vomited under the emotion weight of such trauma, tearing apart her appearance in whatever desperate attempt this was to whatever she sought. The Paladin approached recklessly, however, stretched beyond reasonable lengths of irritation with her threats. He did not understand how he could further emphasize his point, that he held authority, that he was in charge, and that she should surrender this situation to his control.

He had made his threat, that she, should the threats continue, would become an additional casualty. He had meant it wholeheartedly. After all, following the failure of his psychological siege and subjugation, the death of his well-esteemed "targets" had already become prominent due to her fault. She was an obstacle. He held his axe and hoisted it with both hands horizontally, swinging back the bearded head of the blade so that it might rest in a chopping motion, ascended beyond her field of vision as he impeded upon her safe shelter. Before he descended upon her and made his intent know, however, a fierce blow struck him from behind and sent him airborne. The axe dropped with a clatter and Astoach, blindsided and winded, slammed atop Evelina's table under which she hid, shattering the frame. Nonetheless, he certainly felt the breakage of bones as an all too familiar feel of a particular, iron-enforced haft slammed into his back side, smashing his left scapula and -- dearly against his wistful prayers -- perhaps breaking his back as well. As he collapsed upon the splintered counter and wooden china, he felt far too weighted by pain for motion and, in this paralysis, was subject to his attacker's slow approach.

"I'll admit Paladin, I'm impressed by your skills as a warrior. Already two of my brothers have fallen before you," said Galak, steadily approaching the pair of Paladin and Pretender, with the latter remaining hidden from his vision. "Yet, for your deceit, you are unworthy of a warrior's departure. I will maim you, humiliate you and break you as you so intended for us. You are UNWORTHY!"

 

[Astoach]

[Part II]

"I'll give you five seconds to disarm yourself and surrender to the might of the Im-" Galak pounded a mighty fist into Astoach's solar plexus, further fracturing the mighty table at the Paladin's back through the sheer force. Astoach was already crippled, doomed to a few days bedded to recovery, but as additional blows rained down like icy hail from a winter storm, permanent disability became a very realistic threat. Yet, fighting was subdued as pain stitched through his form, his spine splintered much like the counter, initiating screams of agony from the cold blooded man like wails from a newborn babe. Then, he was further silenced into the intermingling darkness that lingered between consciousness and the unknown by an additional strike, catching him in the side and caving away the resisting bone, allowing the knuckles to sink into the flesh with sponge-like consistency. All of this occurred on the table above [member="Evelina Montecratise"] and expelled waves of force through clouds of oaken shrapnel upon her, should she remain hidden. "For Blieth, brother in blood and bone. You might swallow your teeth and chatter on of my submission but your hollow threats are naught!" barked the Commander, delivering further strikes as Astoach dipped into an inert void of soundless, sightless existence. "You're bomber was a farce, your threat to kill -- also a farce -- and now, you attempt to weave fabrications of soldiers through my mind? ANOTHER FARCE!"

Astoach's head lolled back, blood seeping from his mouth like thick syrup, gently sinking into the shattered crevices of the tabletop and flowing into draining pools, which poured into the underside and dripping like a poor man's faucet unto the body of Evelina, should she remain present and unaware. Yet, regardless of her stance towards surface which bled ever so steadily, with rhythmic grace of pitters and patters of crimson life, Galak shouldered his mighty axe, Thorne, preparing to silence his opponent once and for all. Towards this moment of climactic sundering, Galak paused to embrace the momentum of passing time, allowing Astoach to savor that last essence of existence, unconscious as he may be, providing some monumental crisis he assuredly was unworthy of. Yet, it was tradition and -- as conservative as Galak Nulash, Bear of the Firefist was -- he honored his slippery opponent's prowess with silver tongue and biting blade, having neared success towards the final moments of his motions, flawed only by the suicidal intent of the woman. The woman, where was she hiding? He could only wonder, distracting himself further from the wickedly bent twist of fate which fell upon them.

There was a brief second as the sensitive ears might prick upon that subtle click. Those with abnormal, nonhuman hearing might recognize the sound, that brief snap of unified rifles being switched to lethal effectiveness preluding a vicious campaign, readying for glorious conquest upon this hallowed ground of battle. Yet, through the thunder of idiotic gamorreans pistoning fists and chairs towards each other's faces, the brief moment of stillness was nonexistent, allowing only brief seconds to garner moment to safety before the door erupted into great spears of blue incandescence. In the swift moments that followed, forces beyond the bright breadth of the sun-laden doorway erupted into heavy fire with unspoken (as if it were ever necessary) intent to kill, plowing down the flabbergasted throng of gamor's population in a great sea of flowing sparks and flesh-tinged smoke, smelling ripe of overcooked ham. In the fleeting minutes, Galak had since vanished, downing himself among the piles of dead to conceal his hulking form and, in the depraved genocidal annihilation, so too did all survivors, burying themselves along the trenches of scorched gore in the midst of desperate prayers for survival.

In midst of flurry, the troops were swift to flank around the perimeter, trapping the survivors within a tremendous lock from either side of the hall and leaving them exposed to additional flurries of blasterfire. Creeping along the cover of upturned tables, flung and broken against the outer edge of the hall, puncturing columns in entrenched sanctuaries for the survivors, a small team of soldiers rounded up along the table where their Paladin laid, splayed across the wooden rubble, now thorny and impaled into his back in small pikes of upturned wood. Provided, Evelina still remained concealed beneath, they would be unaware. Instead, they currently fixated, if uninterrupted, upon recovering their prophet as the structure was culled, conceived of unknown command. Lieutenant Gallow, leader of the 001st Hangman Platoon, was a gaunt fellow, with wispy, pale hair that sprung up from his skeletal scalp, whose skin sunk low to his skull, as if electrocuted. Overseeing the operation and Astoach's recovery, he was without helmet, and personally pulled his commander, unarmed, into his own embrace, gentle as to not disturb the gingerly fragmented spinal cord. "Lord Paladin, we have arrived," said the man in a hollow monotone, his deep gaze casting over the broken man with unfeeling concern. "Wake yourself, do not flee to the cold embrace of the unknown. Imperium Incantum, direct us!"

 

[Lucien Cordel]

Evelina felt the palladin land atop her safe harbour, sending what was at first a shower of dust down on top of her. She could cope with dust, it wasn't entirely unhygienic but certainly added to her image as a poor woman who was in fear of her life. In fact she was in fear of her life, Galak would certainly kill her if he found her. That was plain and from the fight raging on at all sides. She felt a thud as [member="Astoach"] was once again slammed against the tabletop and splinters of wood fell down upon her. Usually this would be a cause for concern, her image was after all her most important asset. Today however she would play the role of the timid damsel and the worse she looked the more pity she would get.

Then another blow came to pass and the table she was under fractured, great cracks running up it's length. Should she stay or go, she couldn't decide which was safer so she crawled to the other end of the table but remained decidedly beneath it. If she was going to get hurt she would rather it be a bash on the head from a split table than a loss of limb from a pigs axe. above she could hear the man's expression of pain. It seemed that he had a backbone and it was now shattered, she almost pitied him ... almost. Galak began to scream about the string of farce that the mighty paladin had weaved, she did hope these imperial soldiers who were inbound were real ... the joke would be upon her if they were not.

Through the tables cracks she could make out the bodies of the merc and the man. another blow, there was blood now. So much blood, she felt sick again but there was nothing left to throw up and heaving would be too loud, she tensed her stomach. 'Don't make a noise' she repeated in her head. Down at the other end of the table the blood was pooling and slithers were advancing across the table she would soon be under the drip. So much blood, she was convinced the man was dead, he'd stopped moving, that both solved and created problems ... his imperium wouldn't kill her but the mercenaries might, well they would likely 'exploit' her first. She would have some of their blood mingling with this paladins if they did and then she would die. She was pained by this, to be buried in an unmarked grave and in her present state. That was distressing. She saw the merc raise his axe it was over they had lost ... then they hadn't.

Behind her she heard the great bronze doors fall open beneath the wait of armed might. His soldiers were real and their reality was her salvation. She cried heavy teas of relief, thus further enhancing her chosen image ... running makeup whilst not desirable among the high society was the common style of the distressed maiden. The volley of blaster fire had driven Galak and his denisens back, she doubted that would change things for the mighty paladin. He might have his head still attached but surely he was dead. The scent of iron radiating from the blood intermingled into the scent of cooking fat to create a symphony of vilness. From her hiding place she could see a legion of feet moving through the dead and dieing. She was tempted to run to the soldiers but in the heat of battle a fleeing woman and a threat began to look one in the same. No twas better to stay where she was and cry. She relaxed her head and released great sobs.

Through her tears, both manufactured and real, she could see the body of the paladin picked up like a babe in arms. This man looked serious but in her state that translated into gallantness, now was her time to take back to the stage. Still weeping she crawled from beneath the rubble "Oh thank goodness " she mumbled repeatedly through tears. She made a show of trying to stand "Your Lord Paladin ... he tried to stop them ... " She wailed making a point of turning to him and shrieking "Oh God ... Is he dead?" She took a series of ragged breath " He ... He was defending me ... Oh god" She thrust her head onto the soldier nearest her still weeping and mumbling 'oh god' over and over. Covered in blood, dirt and wood splinters she looked every bit the distressed maiden. "Please protect me ..." She weeped into the soldier "Don't let them hurt me again.

 

[Astoach]

"Oh thank goodness " she mumbled repeatedly through tears. She made a show of trying to stand "Your Lord Paladin ... he tried to stop them ... " She wailed making a point of turning to him and shrieking "Oh God ... Is he dead?" She took a series of ragged breath " He ... He was defending me ... Oh god" She thrust her head onto the soldier nearest her still weeping and mumbling 'oh god' over and over. Covered in blood, dirt and wood splinters she looked every bit the distressed maiden. "Please protect me ..."

Gallow blinked, capturing a vision of the maiden-in-distress with the expression of one who had just drank sour milk. "Protect you?" he inquired hesitantly, casting a rather odd glance back to his fellow men, who stared onward, just as captivated by the swift twist to current events as the near-massacre raged throughout the building. "Protect you, ah..." His gaze, in turn, had sunk into his Paladin; who in his broken state, caught by moments of distraction, lay in deep unconsciousness, nuzzled against the Lieutenant's chest; praying that he might awaken to provide some direction. Should he have been, chances were he would have likely ordered this woman shot for initiating the chaos but the soldiers, however, remained in the dark to this subject, and, in their masculine prowess, saw naught but an innocent women in distress, they were overcome an instinctual decree to protect, bristling their backs and awaiting formal order. "Men," began Gallow sternly. "Hold positions around the Lord Paladin and the woman, we'll let the Mynocks push up the middle and make way to the Blood Hand atop those steps."

The Blood Hand, as decreed, had thrown over their colossal long table, creating cover of wide birth across the upper echelons of the hall, giving the opportunity and height to pick off advancing Imperium troops, forcing them, in turn, to shuffle into cover. Gallow's team, the Whistleblower Squad, led by their sergeant Calp, shoved over the fractured line of tables, digging in beneath the rubble and joined by advancing forces, who crawled up the length of the hall, attempting to avoid the rain of now red blaster fire which descended from the pantheon above. "Lieutenant Gallow," shouted Calp, the continuous rate of fire, erupting from the Blood Hand, steadily increasing as more blasters, all of heavy-fire orientation, adding to the fray in presence and overall noise, "The Mynock squad can't advance down the center! Captain has sent new orders: the 001st Hangman and the 004th Brace Platoons are to force their ways along the flanks of the hall and route the targets! Reduce causalities and claim effective results immediately." He motioned towards said-targets, only to have his hand erupt into sparks, blown clean off by a glancing blow of blasterfire and downing him in a sea of screams. Gallow only grimaced, largely at the strategy rather than the gore, and spun about to address the rest of his men, still clutching Astoach, "Hangmen, up yourself and press the assault. Keep the cover, stay out of the open, and help your brothers spitroast these sithspit sons of b-"

He ducked, dodging an additional chunk of bolts that spat overhead. "Force be with us," he muttered, the hair protruding from his balding scalp smoldering in such a brush with death. Yet, that moment of surprise, gingerly mixed with disbelief, soon lit aflame in vengeful ire and Gallow, swiping his hand in military fashion, directing a flattened palm towards the rear end of the Hall, barked, "Hangmen, push forward NOW!" The jolt of rage from their commanded was enough to send them scattering, with the platoon advancing like roaches across the soot-stained floor. Gallow, meanwhile, remained situated with Astoach and the woman (should she remain, casting only awkward glances towards her until he slipped over, depositing the Paladin to the floor, beside her provided her presence remain persistently planted by this cover. "Woman," he would say, motioning to the Paladin, unconscious upon the ground, concealed from the mercenaries, "Remain here. The Hall is free game, moving is suicide with their range of vision; stay here and watch over the Lord." He arose, crawling along the length of the cover, only to cast back an additional stare and spoken thought, "And, take care of him; should he be dead, well, it's much easier in human nature to make assumptions than rationalize. Correct?" However, should she be gone, he would simply depart in silence.

[member="Evelina Montecratise"]

 

[Lucien Cordel]

"Yes, yes he was so very brave" She wailed into the soldier's shoulder "so very brave" He was brave. That was true; he was brave to stroll into a hall full of mercs and demand subservience , brave to force her to stay, brave to kill the blind merc. "Now I need you to defend me please , they will kill me ... or worse" she clutched tighter to the soldier. She smiled into the soldier's shoulder when the head soldier announced that there was to be a perimeter set up to protect them. She stepped away from the soldier then, eyes puffy

"I'm sorry to be a fuss " She whimpered and shuffled to be next to the paladin, If their was to be a fire fight she felt being beside the palladin was the safest place to be.

A roar echoed above the fighting. it seemed the imperium was in trouble. She did so hope she was wrong, if the soldiers fell she would die. They had a new strategy it seemed and the strategy was not popular with Gallow. Of course she couldn't understand most of what they were saying. She screeched as blaster fire rained over her head he curled up in fear and became lost in her thoughts until such time as the lieutenant spoke to her . He was going, she was to stay. She could subscribe to that . Then he threatened her, she curled up further mainly to hide her smile. It was rather quaint being threatened in such a childish way.

"Of course" She answered softly "I'll take care of him"

He wasn't going to die by her hand that was certain, her life and his are intrinsically connected by this time. He died, she died simple as that. So with a sigh she watched him depart then moved over to be close to [member="Astoach"], if he awoke she'd see it before the others had chance.