Post by jasewin on Nov 28, 2018 12:28:17 GMT
Kagan Gaskins was a man of integrity, strong work ethic a pillar within the pharmaceutical factorum he worked. His downfall was unseen, much like the 8 pronged tendrils that snapped at him.
Should we take a step back 7 Terran years Kagan was a very different man, not the skull faced visage he became known for, a pious and kind soul who cared for the people he worked with giving away rations to children and attending his morning prayers without fail. One day it changed, subtly but significantly.
Amilie was her name, and within the dirt, blood and grime she appeared like a haze. They shared distant glances and smiles across the noisy engines of the factorum. Kagan Obsessed, he must have her. Whether she felt the same was a mystery but he was sure he could conquer her, and so the tendrils snapped.
So it went on for weeks that felt like months, months that felt like years. Until one day, a whole 6 months later, he plucked up the courage to speak to her. At the end of the shift, it would be done, if not just to silence the obsession.
And so he waited at the exit port, a whole hour went by. He couldn’t have missed her, he could catch glimpse of her through mists of powder and sweat, he couldn’t have missed her, again the tendrils snapped.
Kagan went back inside, he shouldn’t have. Hearing clattering and footsteps he made way to the female sterilization rooms. He heard the rutting of pigs distantly, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach until I hit the bottom at which point it boiled to hatred, anger, fury. He was a good man people looked up to him, surely he deserved to be happy, and thus the hives of necromunda were not fair much like the father imperium. The Tendrils Snapped.
As he stepped into the room he heard a yelp, a female voice, followed by a grunt, saying something like shut up bitch. His pace quickened around the corner.
“What are you doing!”
There he saw Amilie a vision of beauty even through the tears. Being pressed against a wall by the fat mound, that was the factorum taskmaster, a knife to her throat. Kagan must have startled the fat, entitled, blob and the blade glided cross her throat releasing the claret within.
“NO!”
Kagan tussled with the pig of a man, popping his nose. The knife was dropped. The weight of his opponent eventually started to get the better of him and the fat man started to choke Kagan.
Kagan grasped and was unable to move the man he looked around for something to use as a weapon. The knife. Within seconds he had it and it was hilt deep into the fat blob’s side. As the taskmaster squealed like the pig he was, Kagan proceeded to drive the hilt into his chest, face and throat a total of 24 times. Kagan wasn’t to know that this was the same number of times Amilie had had to endure that bastard.
As the rush calmed, Kagan looked to Amilie her last breaths leaving her body, her last feeling being of Kagan’s lips against hers, a final goodbye. So the tendrils rooted.
Kagan had to be quick to leave he couldn’t be caught with the task master and soon the sterilization room would be decontaminated. So there would be no proof of Kagan’s involvement.
Later that night Kagan was drunken, sobriety being a luxury that he could not afford. At Cranks drinking den there was a imagery of low lives and mutants. One so happened to pull up a chair next to him.
“How dare he take a taste of her beauty.” The hooded figure hissed
That grabbed Kagan’s attention. It was his thought as he looked down upon Amilie.
“If only I had the power to stop it”
“Oh, but you do. And I know of people that can help”
“Get away from me, mutie.”
Kagan noticed the bulbous head of the sub human. It disgusted but intrigued him at the same time.
“Please, I know you are hurting but I know a way to make the pain stop. I am Vorhees by the way, Torsten Vorheese”
He put out a calloused hand and Kagan took it.
A few more drinks and a sob story later kagan was on route to some ‘lodge’ lower down the spire. As he walked in he noticed the low lighting and a couple, maybe two couples, his vision was hazy, debasing themselves for each other. The lodge had an aroma of opiates and iho sticks. How they could afford such luxurie was unknown.
The morning alarms rung and Kagan woke with a cloudy head remembering only a ritual involving cutting his palm and a kiss from what appeared to be their spiritual leader.
Before he knew it Kagan had become devout to the lodge. He had worked his way up in this year and was a true disciple of the cult. The Emperor had failed him, where was his Imperial justice, where people born to privilege claimed whatever they want, while the oil in the machine gets trodden on. So the tendrils rasped at his mind.
One evenig Torsten pulled Kagan to a side.
“You know why I brought you to this lodge, don’t you?”
Kagan remained silent
“To lead it, I have foreseen you will lead this cult to glory and avenge your people”
“Surely not, Faddius leads the coven well and were you not his right hand I would slit your throat and present the blood to him to drink.”
“Oh, oh oh just wait, I suggest a test. If the maiden of the kiss thinks Faddius worthwhile, take this next time you make sacrament.”
Kagan looked at the bottle dubiously.
“It’s a dual test you take the poison, you survive you are chosen by her, If he drinks your blood and dies, he was never worthy of your devotion anyway.”
Later that night Fabbius died, Kadan lived.
Should we take a step back 7 Terran years Kagan was a very different man, not the skull faced visage he became known for, a pious and kind soul who cared for the people he worked with giving away rations to children and attending his morning prayers without fail. One day it changed, subtly but significantly.
Amilie was her name, and within the dirt, blood and grime she appeared like a haze. They shared distant glances and smiles across the noisy engines of the factorum. Kagan Obsessed, he must have her. Whether she felt the same was a mystery but he was sure he could conquer her, and so the tendrils snapped.
So it went on for weeks that felt like months, months that felt like years. Until one day, a whole 6 months later, he plucked up the courage to speak to her. At the end of the shift, it would be done, if not just to silence the obsession.
And so he waited at the exit port, a whole hour went by. He couldn’t have missed her, he could catch glimpse of her through mists of powder and sweat, he couldn’t have missed her, again the tendrils snapped.
Kagan went back inside, he shouldn’t have. Hearing clattering and footsteps he made way to the female sterilization rooms. He heard the rutting of pigs distantly, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach until I hit the bottom at which point it boiled to hatred, anger, fury. He was a good man people looked up to him, surely he deserved to be happy, and thus the hives of necromunda were not fair much like the father imperium. The Tendrils Snapped.
As he stepped into the room he heard a yelp, a female voice, followed by a grunt, saying something like shut up bitch. His pace quickened around the corner.
“What are you doing!”
There he saw Amilie a vision of beauty even through the tears. Being pressed against a wall by the fat mound, that was the factorum taskmaster, a knife to her throat. Kagan must have startled the fat, entitled, blob and the blade glided cross her throat releasing the claret within.
“NO!”
Kagan tussled with the pig of a man, popping his nose. The knife was dropped. The weight of his opponent eventually started to get the better of him and the fat man started to choke Kagan.
Kagan grasped and was unable to move the man he looked around for something to use as a weapon. The knife. Within seconds he had it and it was hilt deep into the fat blob’s side. As the taskmaster squealed like the pig he was, Kagan proceeded to drive the hilt into his chest, face and throat a total of 24 times. Kagan wasn’t to know that this was the same number of times Amilie had had to endure that bastard.
As the rush calmed, Kagan looked to Amilie her last breaths leaving her body, her last feeling being of Kagan’s lips against hers, a final goodbye. So the tendrils rooted.
Kagan had to be quick to leave he couldn’t be caught with the task master and soon the sterilization room would be decontaminated. So there would be no proof of Kagan’s involvement.
Later that night Kagan was drunken, sobriety being a luxury that he could not afford. At Cranks drinking den there was a imagery of low lives and mutants. One so happened to pull up a chair next to him.
“How dare he take a taste of her beauty.” The hooded figure hissed
That grabbed Kagan’s attention. It was his thought as he looked down upon Amilie.
“If only I had the power to stop it”
“Oh, but you do. And I know of people that can help”
“Get away from me, mutie.”
Kagan noticed the bulbous head of the sub human. It disgusted but intrigued him at the same time.
“Please, I know you are hurting but I know a way to make the pain stop. I am Vorhees by the way, Torsten Vorheese”
He put out a calloused hand and Kagan took it.
A few more drinks and a sob story later kagan was on route to some ‘lodge’ lower down the spire. As he walked in he noticed the low lighting and a couple, maybe two couples, his vision was hazy, debasing themselves for each other. The lodge had an aroma of opiates and iho sticks. How they could afford such luxurie was unknown.
The morning alarms rung and Kagan woke with a cloudy head remembering only a ritual involving cutting his palm and a kiss from what appeared to be their spiritual leader.
Before he knew it Kagan had become devout to the lodge. He had worked his way up in this year and was a true disciple of the cult. The Emperor had failed him, where was his Imperial justice, where people born to privilege claimed whatever they want, while the oil in the machine gets trodden on. So the tendrils rasped at his mind.
One evenig Torsten pulled Kagan to a side.
“You know why I brought you to this lodge, don’t you?”
Kagan remained silent
“To lead it, I have foreseen you will lead this cult to glory and avenge your people”
“Surely not, Faddius leads the coven well and were you not his right hand I would slit your throat and present the blood to him to drink.”
“Oh, oh oh just wait, I suggest a test. If the maiden of the kiss thinks Faddius worthwhile, take this next time you make sacrament.”
Kagan looked at the bottle dubiously.
“It’s a dual test you take the poison, you survive you are chosen by her, If he drinks your blood and dies, he was never worthy of your devotion anyway.”
Later that night Fabbius died, Kadan lived.