[i]The Chill of Night[/i] [i]Shadows danced across the bulkhead as three massive shapes stood behind the wall of fire. The unfortunate psyker trapped in a corner by the ring of fire was an imperial sanctioned adept. He had defected himself in fear.[/i] "Please lord!...I do not know where he ran off to!" [i]The man shrieked and cried as he knew the sorcerer wouldn't hesitate to kill him.[/i] [i]A calm, albeit vox distorted, voice answered back[/i] "I see past your feeble defenses Dubek, I know you know his location." [i]The fire inched closer and Dubek shrieked louder.[/i] "HE RAN TO THE LIVING HOLD, HES IN THE HIVE PLEASE!" [i]The fire licked Dubek's feet and then ceased. The sorcerer stepped through the smoke and grabbed Dubek by the throat. He lifted the man close to his helmet whispering.[/i] "Lie to me again slave, and I will harm you in more ways then you can dream off." [i]He reached out with his other hand, grabbing Dubek's, and broke 3 of his fingers. Dubek howled as the Thousand Son dropped him. Motioning to his two Rubicae he set off down the dark hallway with them in tow. The minor hive city within the ship's bowls was home to many things Nebamun wished to avoid, but his other slave had stollen his grimoire amongst others. Nebamun flexed his left hand, his tendons still stiff since that fateful day on Prospero ten thousand years ago. It did not hinder his abilities whatsoever, but was a constant reminder of failure, hate, betrayal, and most of all...hubris. Hours later the bulked opened and the three Astartes moved into the under hive. Nebamun ignored the stunned look of the newer filth that lived here, they would learn in time. He moved into the central plaza, shielding his mind with the greatest of wards while also searching for his wayward slave's psychic trail.[/i] Open