Chapter -1 Starvation

This was not the dream.

-Final Phrases of Jaus Avandaer

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Prologue:

Starvation

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The flesh of his brother was the sweetest he had ever tasted.

For 2 months he hid within the Underhive. The deconstructor swarms dominated right here now. Not the Low Masters. Not his brothers. Like locusts, that they had flayed all matter they deemed hostile. The good halls and grand tunnels of rune-scribed bone peeled from existence. Now, he hid inside an unfamiliar nest of steel. The swarms had changed natural matter they ate with chilly steel: a complete usurpation of what was.

By the final days, he survived by feeding off mind-dead aratnids, devouring them palps, flesh, and all.

Above, the world shook because the battle continued. Nuclear detonations lessened however didn’t cease. They by no means stopped.

Within the winnowed darkish, he sat, stewing in emotions he lacked the vocabulary to clarify. Childish rage bled into despondent sorrow. His Low Masters had deliberate. Plotted this for years. They created his sort, the ghouls, to function their instrument of vengeance. Expanded the Umbra to create a really labyrinthine stronghold under their enemies.

After which, they waited. Schemed. Waited for the Guilds to battle amongst themselves as that they had so many instances earlier than. When the day lastly got here, they rose and took the Warrens, starting the rebellion to liberate their homeland, to reclaim the stolen flame of their gods and rightful Heavens.

Numbering a billion sturdy, they flooded up from their staging factors, rising by way of the soil on towers of bone. It was to be a bloodletting, a reckoning lengthy owed to the final true devoted of Noloth. In a tidal wave of savagery, fury, and bloodlust they rose to face the Guilds in what was to be the feast of flesh; a campaign for all that was holy.

They lasted three months. The Guilds massacred them for 3 extra.

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Beneath the slope of the tower, he caught the scent of recent blood and souring flesh. The style was acquainted. Intimate. He knew it to be near his personal. There, in a shallow artillery-made basin, one other of his sort lay useless.

A gauss-flechette lay buried within the cranium of his brother. Dying mustve come immediately. But, the place the thoughts was useless, the blessed blood inside their veins struggled on, the self-moving ichor of the corpse wrestling vainly in opposition to the tungsten shard, attempting to dislodge it.

The ghost slipped out of him, taking with them the present of lucidity. Deserted by energy, unconsciousness fell upon him like grime on a coffin.

It was solely when the primary circulation of blood splashed in opposition to his tongue that he woke once more. It tasted wealthy. Deep and pure. Like a nu-dog, he lapped on the circulation, slaking his thirst. He heard the pulsing heartbeat of one other. It was so near him. Weakly, he nursed himself on the mans opened wrist, savoring the candy taste of blood.

The ghoul opened his eyes towards his savior.

Contemporary amidst the caustic toxin hissing from the wastes, the scent of citrus spilled out from the person. His hair was darkish as coal and his pores and skin was like copper. There was nothing really outstanding about him when it comes to top or mass. Nor did he infuse his flesh with any unholy metals.

Kneeling down, the mans eyes shone with an unnatural blueness. It was as if the clearest sky had determined to see by way of him.

You look hungry, the person mentioned, pulling a dice of tasteless meat from his coat.

Starvation. Meals. Style.

The feeding that got here was frenzied. Blind. The substance went down barely chewed, and a heat settled instead of chilly empty ideas.

He felt the mans arms slide underneath him, lifting him as if he bore no weight. He gave no wrestle, for there was no order to withstand.

For the primary time, he felt an invader contact him and inflict no violence.

He succumbed deeper into the mans arms.

Stunned to see any of you topside, the person mentioned, chuckling as if he discovered a diamond within the tough. Suppose the Guilds had one another to take care of. Sloppy. The person spoke the heretical tongue with a gradual tempo that appeared to return with age. However there was one thing deeper in it. Do you might have a reputation?

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Title? He had recognized his brothers by scent and sound. Bestowed crude titles to a few of them and the meaner masters, although he would by no means admit it. However names have been for the chosen, and he was merely a thrall. A creature lucky sufficient to serve the blessed.

He had no title. Shivering, he shook his head feebly, the meager act taxing him to his restrict.

The person hummed. Suppose nicely have to repair that. The sunshine of the darkstar settled on them. As they emerged from the shade of the tower, weak breezes licked chills throughout the devastation, rising as whistles by way of cracks in crevices, singing a relentless trill to their egress from the ruins.

The person mounted him with a wry stare. You bought the look of somebody who walked out of one of many Low Hells, consang, anybody ever let you know that?

He considered that. Solely reminiscences of vulgar violence answered his recollections. No.

Effectively, you do, the person continued. Time upon time in the past, earlier than all this, earlier than even the Fall, people used to call their blood after concepts. Expressions meant to align them to the Heavens of sure gods. In all probability why my kin have been so mad once I took the title Walton. Like throwing the blessing again of their face.

He seemed down once more, his face taking an inscrutable expression. Youre a survivor, you already know. Deserve a superb title. One thats worthy of you.

Worthy?”

Inform you what, the person mentioned. Sick give naming you a shot. And, down the road, should you ever discover a higher title, you are able to do what I did. How does that sound?

He didnt know what to say. Primarily as a result of nobody had ever requested his opinion earlier than. Uncertain what to do, he simply grunted.

Calling you Survivor could be laying it mighty thick. However fortunately, the identical which means can belong to completely different phrases if you already know sufficient tongues. He cocked his head down, and, for the primary time, smiled. How about I name you

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