After Grox

Character activities imediately following Grox Mutilations mission.

Silas sat outside the shed. He was slumped against a wall. Mind tortured by what the Reaver had said. He would die for the Black, Jeb died for the Black, Carlige died for the Black. Am I really so weak? Traitor he called me. Live free he said. Silas knew in his heart that no matter how hard he tried to deny alegiance to anything that might hold him down, He owed the Black more than what he'd given it. He had run when the Martin burned, he had flipped when he was caught, now he was killing free Runners on the orders of the very orgonization he had sworn himself against over Jeb's still warm body. Well, the Mechareavers weren't really Runners, but they were still a part of that world. I'm a slave. A slave who swore never to be captive to anyone. That reaver in the cell is a better and freer man than I am. Who cares that he's a Mechareacer, he was still a runner. Sort of. He told me of an Ibra Carlege, The relative of my own dead skipper. A rallying point for the Black. A beacon of freedom for those like me, sick and tired of the frakking Imps grinding us under their heel. Should I seek her out? Should I make a run for the Black and take up a new banner? Do I even want to? Silas drew his necklace from under his shemagh, remembering the promise he and Jeb had made after the death of the Martin: Live free, or Die Free. His fist closed on the trinket. Yeah, I'll seek her out. I'll work for the Imps only as long as it takes me to break free. I'll lie, I'll cheat, I'll sabotage their efforts against the Black, and at the first opportunity, I will jump from a leaking ship with the cutter still warm in my hands and join my brothers and sisters, fellow sons and daughters of the void. Live Free, or Die Free. Either way, my conscience will be clean. *** In the dead of night, Silas sneeked out to the sight of the fighting from the previous night, his voidborn sight guiding him through the dark. He found the bodies of all the men who died there, all his brothers of the void. He dug a ditch at the edge of the forest and laid their bodies gently in it. When he had covered them over with earth, he found a flat stone as wide as a human head. With the heating coil of his combitool, he scortched the shape of a winged bullet - the symbol of freedom on the Black run - into the rock. This small headstone he laid upon the freshly dug earth, then muttering an apology for their unfortunate encounter, he left, and returned to the capital before sunrise.

In the encampment, a man skirted down the length of the look out post. His trinkets were wooshing with the air as he repelled down the length of the large pole, hidden beneath the canopy of the massive Graecian trees. His barefeet hit the ground and he took off running. Several of his mates were hollerin' for him to slow down, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. He got to the largest tent, pushing past Cruk and Trakkor, and he came to a sliding stop. Bayor Blackwas rising, angry at the sudden intrusion, but before the inevitable fit of anger and the lashing could strike his flesh, the young man exclaimed loudly. "We have a problem! Belladona's crew just went off the grid," He said, just raising his arm in time to take the brunt end of a whip lash, the tip catching his cheek. Bayor Black pulled back his whip for a moment, raising his voice with a thunderous roar, "What are you on about?" "Belladona's skimmer just went offline. Something happened. I don't know. You told me to come to you if anything happened." Bayor Black paused, taking a small grin. "Aye, go and send a communicae to Augustina. I'll get the lads ready." "Sir?" the young man said, daring another strike. "Seems like we got Imperial trouble. 'Bout time too, I've been itching for a good scrap. Freeloading don't get the blood pumpin like a good fight!" Bayor said with a chortle.

The sniper has gone. Aksai was awake the whole night, waiting for something. Waiting like the predators that roamed Annazir. His new goggles allowed him to see like the ferocious catbeasts that had felled so many of his kin, and they didn't miss the tall, lanky man making a sneaky run from their quarters. After a while of waiting under the cart he was hiding under, he dusted himself off, his suspicions doubly confirmed: The sniper knows more than he tells. The warrior looked in the direction the sniper had disappeared to, gauging his options. Confront him with whatever he was doing and catch him red-handed, or wait until he comes back and then confront him? Aksai snorted and took the goggles from his eyes, allowing the darkness to fall. ---- On the morn of the next day, Aksai busied himself with pressing on his four shiny idiots, barking short orders at them and forcing them to run through all of the traditional Annazirian training regimens for children. Except the beast-hunt. Much to his dismay, the noble had managed to evade his grasp this day, sliding away somewhere whilst he wasn't looking. "Cough! Stop coughing! Come here!" the warrior shouted as the weakest of the four collapsed, as usual, in a fit of coughing and wheezing. He jogged to the wheezing little man and pulled him up, holding him steady. "Always cough." Aksai now looked at the young man, a picture of misery and phleghm, and continued in a softer tone "Never a fighter, Cough. We think new for you." The former progenii looked at the warrior in confusion, for he had never before allowed a break for him "You are weak as sick man, Cough. Warrior, you are not." "Break!" Aksai then shouted to the other former progenii who promptly fell to their butts, except Khekking Moron, who leaned against a wall, wheezing. "You read, Cough. You write." the warrior looked away from the wheezing youth, hiding his face "Teach me."

Grendal has always been a thinker. Analyzing data, considering the options and choosing the optimal solution to the issues at hand. This way always worked for him as a noble, an officer in the Grand Armee, and finally an Adept of the Administratum. Or did it? The Administratum on his home-world, with all its power, resources and influence, was brought down by nothing more than a ragtag mob of unwashed and untrained rioters who payed no heed to the intricate rules of the game nobles played since the beginning of time. They acted with nothing more than brute strength and no consideration for the results of their actions. He found Aksai's ways very similar to that. Thou a member of the same Inquisitorial departamentum, Grendal just couldn't get the Administratum nomenclature out of his head, he simply couldn't make himself like the huge warrior. With all other people building he could quickly build great relations but this one was somehow different and maybe this was the source of his dislike. The last fight he was forced into by the brute also left him strangely perplexed. From one side he despised personal conflict as a matter fit for lowborn scum but from the other he simply couldn't deny the rush of adrenaline he felt during the combat. It drove him to irrational cruelty and apparent resentment from the friends of his combatant who he mutilated far beyond the point of reason. Deep, deep inside however he had to admit the truth. He enjoyed that. The racket made by Aksai searching for his would be trainee brought him quickly back to reality. The huge warrior might have been right about the need to develop his fighting abilities after all but that that didn't mean he was going to allow himself to be humiliated in public. He was a noble after all. Sneaking away from the building they spent the last night in he saw Silas sleeping like a child. The words he had spoken to their captive yesterday might have been unknown to him but Grendal spent far too many years in the political arena to miss the obvious signs. Silas was determined to do something really stupid this time and Grendal would be ready for the inevitable fight. And this time he will fully enjoy the blood rush.