House of Cards
Lord Perdurabo crouched at the centre of the pentagram, its interwoven lines defied geometry; the eldritch symbols etched throughout its structure writhed in a constant flux. His flowing robes whipped about him as a tarot deck whirled madly above his ornate crested helm; yet he remained perfectly still, the eye of the storm as the cards danced and spun.
Occasionally a card would snap stock still in front of his golden mask; he would ponder its meaning for a moment before allowing it to return to the maelstrom.
The door to the chamber opened and the echoing buzz of flies could be heard briefly over the clattering of the cards; the mighty form of a Thousand Son Marine, clad eternally in his blue and gold armour, entered and the door closed again.
“Speak Mandulis.” Perdurabo hissed dryly.
“My Lord we have inflicted significant structural damage to the Plagueclaw but this seems to be having little effect.” The voice from the marine was disembodied and slightly metallic; not his own for the Rubric of Ahriman had robbed him of that many millennia ago; but that of the Captain of the Waning Moon addressing through sorcery the master of the Tzeentch fleet .
“The Golden Dawn reports minor boarding actions and significant corruption in lower sections.”
“I detect a hint of concern Captain.” Perdurabo mused as he changed the pattern of the cards dance.
“My Lord, the diseases of the enemy pose no danger to us but the decay wrought to the ships is overwhelming our ability to counter. We are ill matched to defeat a Capitol Ship.”
“Do you question Lord Proditor’s plan?” The cards paused, hanging in the air, turning slowly on their axis. Perdurabo turned his head towards the marine.
“I…No…No My Lord, it is not my place.” Despite the remote connection Mandulis’s apprehension was palpable.
Perdurabo’s eyes burning with power from his visor slits like two blue suns, regarded the armour for a moment more, reveling in the captain’s discomfort at being wrong footed.
“No it is not Captain. We do not need to destroy the Plagueclaw, only delay its actions awhile; assistance will be found from what would seem to be an unexpected quarter and our enemies shall become as friends. Now trouble me no further.”
The marine turned smartly in place and marched back out into the fly infested corridor.
Perdurabo returned his gaze to the tarot, the card that floated directly in front of him was The Emperor.
“Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen.”
The cards danced again.
Lord Perdurabo crouched at the centre of the pentagram, its interwoven lines defied geometry; the eldritch symbols etched throughout its structure writhed in a constant flux. His flowing robes whipped about him as a tarot deck whirled madly above his ornate crested helm; yet he remained perfectly still, the eye of the storm as the cards danced and spun.
Occasionally a card would snap stock still in front of his golden mask; he would ponder its meaning for a moment before allowing it to return to the maelstrom.
The door to the chamber opened and the echoing buzz of flies could be heard briefly over the clattering of the cards; the mighty form of a Thousand Son Marine, clad eternally in his blue and gold armour, entered and the door closed again.
“Speak Mandulis.” Perdurabo hissed dryly.
“My Lord we have inflicted significant structural damage to the Plagueclaw but this seems to be having little effect.” The voice from the marine was disembodied and slightly metallic; not his own for the Rubric of Ahriman had robbed him of that many millennia ago; but that of the Captain of the Waning Moon addressing through sorcery the master of the Tzeentch fleet .
“The Golden Dawn reports minor boarding actions and significant corruption in lower sections.”
“I detect a hint of concern Captain.” Perdurabo mused as he changed the pattern of the cards dance.
“My Lord, the diseases of the enemy pose no danger to us but the decay wrought to the ships is overwhelming our ability to counter. We are ill matched to defeat a Capitol Ship.”
“Do you question Lord Proditor’s plan?” The cards paused, hanging in the air, turning slowly on their axis. Perdurabo turned his head towards the marine.
“I…No…No My Lord, it is not my place.” Despite the remote connection Mandulis’s apprehension was palpable.
Perdurabo’s eyes burning with power from his visor slits like two blue suns, regarded the armour for a moment more, reveling in the captain’s discomfort at being wrong footed.
“No it is not Captain. We do not need to destroy the Plagueclaw, only delay its actions awhile; assistance will be found from what would seem to be an unexpected quarter and our enemies shall become as friends. Now trouble me no further.”
The marine turned smartly in place and marched back out into the fly infested corridor.
Perdurabo returned his gaze to the tarot, the card that floated directly in front of him was The Emperor.
“Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen.”
The cards danced again.
Picture featured 'Chaos Child' by Clint Langley
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