Work Text:
Rouge trader fanfiction:
A Matter of Perspective
Part One: Memory, reflection, doubt
Maddox von Valancius sipped from her cup of recaff as she looked into the endless void beyond the glass of her personal quarters. In this moment, it would seem the darkness stretched on for an eternity, interrupted only briefly by the light of passing stars. Millions upon millions of people across thousands of imperial worlds would look up and have this image be the only thing that they could see, no further evidence of any existence outside their floating rock except for the collection of the imperial tithe. Maddox however had seen countless worlds, some already part of the imperium, others entirely foreign. It has often been said that a rogue trader's true home is upon their voidship; a romantic metaphor for the rogue trader's duty to plunge into the darkness of the galaxy and bring the light of the imperium to the myriad of hapless souls which had not yet received the emperor's glory. Maddox Von Valacius found the phrase only half correct.
She was comfortable on a voidship no doubt, and had experience as a merchant ship’s captain, although the ship that Maddox grew up on was nothing compared to the size of the Von Valancius flagship. Still, some things still held true regardless of size or status. As for its quirks, they were charming-but the weight of the title, the responsibility…it was maddening.
Maddox never truly expected herself to be the one in the command of a vessel such as this. Nor did she want to at first. Unlike many scions of great dynasties, Maddox Von Valancius had begun life as one of the lowest of the low, a unsanctioned birth, one of many born unto a world of steel and steam, of rusted ceilings which served as their skies and the fluorescent lights their suns from which formed their entire world. Maddox continued to stare through the glass and out into the never-ending black. To even experience a fraction of the world outside the floating continents which they served in would be considered a tremendous gift. Of course, almost all spent their lifetime in the deepest bowels of the voidship, living endless days of exhaustion and labor, each voidborn clan assigned to their respective compartment and level. And as the voidship jumped from planet to planet, they would then contend with the roiling warp, behind the metal bulkhelds, whispering and scraping at the walls and sometimes, when it deigned, breaching the vessel and to cause untold horrors and misery.
As long as naval admirals conducted campaigns of annihilation against the xenos, as long as rogue traders delved into the farthest reaches of the galaxy in search of new worlds on behalf of the imperium's constant need for growth, so too would the voidborn travel alongside them. Yet another horde of rabble whose blood served as the lubricating oil for the sacred gears of the imperial machine. Maddox could hardly think of the time that she believed that such a system was entirely just. As a naive child, hearing the tales of martyrs and saints from her parents, Maddox revered the pain and suffering the emperor put his champions through to forge them into legends. After all, wasn't it all the subject's duty to toil in his name? Better to die for the emperor than live for yourself. But as he grew older, and viewed her family's grueling work day after day as part of the cargo ship's crew, and saw that they would be only rewarded with either scraps at the best of times, or outright beatings and even cullings should they draw the upper decks ire, its cracks began to show. Though she didn't know it yet, she was no longer content to be crushed between the gears.
As she was transferred from ship to ship, the same scenes remained, with little difference. Oftentimes, she had a hard time telling whether or not the cruelty experienced were a result of the warps' manipulations, or simply due to sheer coldness of human cruelty. Of course, the ship’s priests all parroted the same sermons, the same white lies. The voidsmen should be content with their lot- they had their purpose that the emperor gave them and they should be proud to fulfill it. After all, their existence was a curse upon the human genome, and it was an act of mercy from the emperor that they had not all been culled already. Maddox could feel herself frown as she recalled the ecclesiarchies preaching. She did believe in the emperor's mercy, only she believed his mercy should extend below to those less fortunate, to give them a chance to rise as high as she did, and not simply act as though merely being allowed to exist was enough. She knew firsthand what relying on the fickle philanthropy of the upper strata would lead when they decided to revoke their tolerance.
The Nobles of the imperium often tried their best to justify their status. No doubt the priests and nobility would say that her place in the world now was because the emperor did indeed have a plan to elevate her above her peers. Maddox was unsure of whether her survival was a divine miracle or simply luck, but regardless, she would make the most of her life. But in truth, having conversed with nobles in the highest spires of the hive quintus, and bartering with scrapers in the remains of gutted voidships , Maddix saw there really was no difference between one born a noble or a wretch. In the end they were just people. And she preferred the “rabble”; they were a lot more honest, both with others and themselves. Perhaps then, when redemption meant something beyond a shot of a bolter and the revving of a chainsword, would the imperium be able to see some modicum of peace. And yet, the mere bearing of a title was enough to elevate one to that of a demigod.
Maddox remembered how the ship officers looked at her on the day of Kunrad’s betrayal, when Theodora's voidship became hers. Some faces looked like they had seen an angel, a divine miracle made flesh. In their exhausted, beady eyes and fanatical stares-she saw they did not see her, Maddox, but an idol. A figure of legend, one carved from marble, not born from the rust and grime of the cargo ship bowels from which she truly came. But there was something other than just admiration-even as Abelard extolled her name she could see it-doubt and suspicion were rampant. She could already imagine the crew whispering behind her back, judging her every move. For every devoted fanatic, there was another conspirator who sought to use her corpse as a ladder.
Maddox had quite literally seen it for herself; only mere moments after the deaths of Theodora and Edelthrad she was given the command of millions of souls upon her voidship and beyond. She was not given command because of any real reason, she just happened to be the last scion of Von Valancius left alive. Her main merit was simply survival, as was often the case throughout her life. And yet again she would have to fear the dark corners of her vision, contend with the daggers of assassins, and now the weight of an entire 10 millennia dynasty resting upon her shoulders.
Maddox felt her breathing grow more difficult. Her shoulders tensed. Maddox sighed, and with a shaking hand, took a litho stick from her coat pocket and, damn it, where was the lighter? Looking through her coat, it appeared that she had misplaced it, which did not exactly help her mood. Suddenly, Maddox was shaken by a voice which was not her own, polite, yet resolute.
“Lord captain”.
She looked over her shoulder, and found Abelard, her Seneschal, standing in the middle of her quarters. How long was he standing there? Only then did she see that Abelard held in his hand an old antique lighter and was holding it towards her, clearly for her to use.
“Lord captain, allow me.”
Abelard lit her lho stick, and Maddox took a short drag, finally able to feel herself become more relaxed.
“Thank you Abelard.”
“You're always there when I need you”.
“Of course Lord Captain, lho sticks an essential part of nearly every naval officer's equipment- there hasn't been a day I haven't had my older lighter on me.”
Having now regained composure, Maddox faced her senechal and noticed he was carrying with him a ceremonial sash.
“Is there something you wished to see me about, Abelard?”
Abelard nodded, and Maddox realized all too late as to why he was here .
“Why yes, the time for Magne Assecio is fast approaching, and I think it's time you began to practice”.
Part Two: Magnae Assecio, a hidden love, a sudden call
The magnae assecio. While Maddox was already the de facto ruler of the dynasty, she had yet undergone the ceremonial procedures which marked her as one of the emperor's anointed champions, and given the value in which the imperium held such rituals, it was a necessary step in assuming complete legitimacy over her position as a rogue trader. She recognized its value, but she still was irritated by its tedium. Maddox was never the one for court intrigue, and a part of her still dreaded it.
She looked at Abelard as he clasped the ceremonial sash around her chest. Despite them being within the confines of her quarters, Abelard drew back two paces, as was dictated by official ceremonial guidelines, and stood at attention. Maddox could feel herself give a faint smile at the old officers' habits.
“God Emperor forbid anyone ever catch Abelard Wesarian not following the proper protocol” she quipped.
He nodded firmly, responding as if he were lecturing a cadet.
“Indeed Lord Captain. Following the proper protocols is the duty of all who serve under the imperium. It is these rules-both spoken and unspoken, down to the most minute, that give our lives purpose and meaning.”
His face softened, the stiff upper lip of an officer replaced by something one might see as parental warmth.
“You may think yourself unworthy of such pomp, but what is a Rogue Trader without proper presentation? “.
Maddox felt her smile grow even wider.
“I’ll take your advice into account. I'll have to make sure the nobles of Dargonus never forget the name of Maddox von Valancius.”
Abelard chuckled.
“Oh, Urbend and his lot will be the easy ones, rest assured.”
“After spending your time traveling halfway across the expanse verbally sparring with a member of the inquisition on the officers deck, I think you're more than prepared for Urbends pestering.”
Maddox rolled her eyes. Maddox cared little for the inquisition and the lapdog it sent to watch them. It was true that both she and Hienrix often held polite conversation from time to time, but Hienrix’s conversation skills outside of an interrogation or bureaucratic report left much to be desired. Still, she knew despite his cold exterior he longed for connection. Despite being an interrogator, there was still a human under there, though he refused to give himself the luxury of feeling and vulnerability no matter how much he wanted it, and that made him interesting, in a pitiable sort of way. And if she was being honest, it was something at times she felt herself.
“I was thinking of actually having Heinrix be present for my ascension ceremony.” Maddox said abruptly.
“Given the nature of his profession, he could prove a valuable asset during the proceedings.”
At this, Abelard seemed like he was going to chuckle, before he realized maddox was serious, in which the lines on his brow creased in worry.
“...If that is what you wish, Lord Captain,” He said, clearly failing to mask his surprise. Maddox saw Abelard's eyes were drawn towards the plate of half eaten rations upon her desk next to several cups of half drunken recaff.
“Lord captain, it would not do you any good to fast before such an important day, one's mind tends to wander without proper nourishment- perhaps I can let Danrok to know to procure some more refined dishes-”
“I can assure you I have been eating perfectly well” Maddox looked at her seneschal grimly.
“And I can assure you that my eating habits have never, nor will have any effect on my sanity’”
“Of course lord captain.” Ablerad responded, resigning himself to defeat.
Honestly, there was a part of her which was also surprised at this decision. She reasoned it would be a good way of keeping an eye on him, rather than him simply slinking away to converse with Achilleas behind her back.
Suddenly, the vox on a nearby servo skull began to sputter, sparks flying as the a signal came through with a painful screech, like a chainaxe slowly scraping against the bulkhead, echoing throughout the rouge traders personal quarters.
“LoRd-C–a-ss-s–eeax-ptIANrr -HeINReeeeeeeeeee”
There was a tremor in the compartment. Vibrations shifted the furniture. A pipe broke, spraying steam into the compartment, and small bits of rusted bolts and nails fell from the ceiling. Maddox's head pounded, and she stumbled, falling to her knees.
“Blast it! Did the master helmsman pilot us into an asteroid?”. Abelard cursed, helping Maddox regain their standing.
Something was wrong. A feeling of dread slowly dawned on Maddox as she saw ice slowly encasing the glass plane, and the room was cold enough to see her breath. Not this. Not now. This was a warp breach-she was sure of it, and she wasn't sure how much she had before the warp broke through. Reflexively, she grabbed onto Abelard's arm, trying to steady herself, but when she looked up, there was not her seneschal, but-a woman?And she was still in a noble's personal quarters, but this was not her room. This was not her ship. A young woman holding a child smiled at her, her face beaming with warmth, but this warmth was not for her it was for the man reflected in her eyes, a man that she never was, yet it was a man whom she knew, and this was not her child-
YOU DO YOU HEAR THE WARPS CALL, WANDERER OF THE STARS? YOU HAVE LONG FELT YOU A STRANGER WITHIN YOUR OWN FATE, IT IS FITTING WE PARTETH A LIFE WHOLLY FOREIGN ONTO THEE, AND RETURN YE TO THE LIFE THOUST ABANDONED
Part Three: Run, you are you no longer, though the eyes of those you trusted, your worst moment is witnessed
Who are you?
What is your name? .
You are naval captain, yes, yes that much is certain, you come from the hive, but not from any fetid underbelly, no, you are of the spires, of the sky, of wealth. No, no that can't be you! You are the void rat, a curse upon the human genome, scurrying along the vents of cargo ships. Except now instead of the voidship, you are in a maze, constructed by your masters, who intend to hunt and kill you for sport. And yet,in this moment, you see through the eyes of a senechal….
The walk under the shadows of spires arched high above the clouds, stalking through decrepit streets. Are the streets in hive cities this wretched? You have heard stories about the horrors of the under hive, but this man is no hive ganger, so what is he doing here? That doesn't matter, you are needed at home. There is someone waiting for you, yes? Your daughter-no, your commander, your lord, your rogue trader. They are missing. And you senechal, emperor have mercy on your soul, are in Commoragh.
In the realm of the xenos, it is pitch black, illuminated by the sickly green glow of lanterns scattered across the cracked streets. This is no doubt the underbelly. The spires of the damnable xenos rise high above you, their sharp edges make them seem like daggers, piercing the very earth and sky, growing ever higher. All around you, you see filth and decay, suffering wretches clinging to whatever scraps of life or sanity that they had left. A sudden hemorrhage came over barely managing to not collapse completely. What was this pressure that ails you! That is bearing down, crushing Abelard's body, no, crushing your body.
Your dream of nobility and purpose is done. You feel your body being hurt-attacked. You try to remember what is happening. You were meant to be traveling across the weightless void above, not this hell from which you find yourself. The gravity presses down, threatening to crush you, as it seems as the very walls of the maze threaten to enclose upon you. You hear a scream of pain along the corridor-it is yours. Someone has attacked you, leaving a freshly made cut across your chest. They wear black armor and are a tall, lanky creature, perhaps a strain of mutant enforcer? You are cornered, but you would not have lived this long if you were defenseless; life doing hard labor in cargo ships has left you with enough strength to throw a mean hook. You quickly dodge his next attack, and slam your fist into his elongated face-the idiot didn't bother to wear a helmet. You hear a sickening crunch-the sound of his nasal bone breaking- and he staggers back.
You turn to the right, running as fast as you can and trying to ignore the pain in your bloodied wound. The nobles are close and you can't let yourself be caught. The hunt is on and you must run. You turn and see a horrid scene before you- another hapless voidborn ripped apart by a winged pursuer, their features distorted and warped. Another mutant plaything for the nobility? Some modified cherub that they sent to kill indiscriminately? It would not surprise you. They had enough resources to build this labyrinth in which you find yourself, the ability to make more horrors should be obvious.
So run, run along the ever twisting stone corridors, ignoring your lack of rest or the pain in your chest as your thin flesh tears under the constant strain of the chase.
You look up, there is no steel barring you anymore, the sky is clear, you could climb these walls, climb out of the maze- but it's a fantasy. You see the sharp spikes jutting out to skewer the world. Waiting for anyone foolish enough to try. You see the bodies hanging on the razor wire, and taste the iron as drops of blood drip down their flesh and onto the blackstone below. You see others, faint and almost spectral. They scream in silence,
‘This way!’
‘Emperor protect me!’
'...hallowed be your majesty, bright be your light everlasting...'
The spikes are long, and they stretch endlessly into infinity . Within the confines of the voidship-you got used to things, the creaking of metal, the expulsion of steam-there was a limit to it, you knew that the world you were in was a finite one. But here, in this back maze, a horrifying thought occurs; what if there is no limit? What if it goes on forever and forever, with no true way of escape? Suddenly, something catches your eye- a little girl, scurrying along the corners and corridors. You have seen her before; though you do not remember when or how, you know the sorrow that this child feels. She is a voidborn like you, pale, dangerously thin, and caked in soot from grueling work in the lower decks. She runs from you, and you feel compelled to follow.
But you do not maintain this clarity for long; it is less painful this time, the vision ; as you run after the child, reality melts away, and you find yourself as the Seneschal again. You are unsure how long this vision will last, you can only hope you break free before your pursuers find you. The senechal trudges through the dregs of the city of the xenos, desperation getting the better of him despite his best efforts. He knows his captain is somewhere. He goes back to his days as a cadette in the Navis Imperialis-there was no primer on Commoragh, the place he was trapped in- it looked eerily similar to the maze she found herself. He recognizes that without a ship, there is little possibility for reconnaissance. His only chance is to find his fellow companions, and hopefully then they can all find a way to be martyrs together rather than die alone in pain and fear .
He sees the metal clad sentries with their strange xenotech weapons in the open. Their weapons were sharp. His would-be killers are occupied, he could move past them and escape, but his eyes are drawn to their cornered prey . Two unfortunate souls; a man quivering on the ground, and the other his torturer, another xenos, though she looked different from her fellows that surrounded her. You do not know why, but you feel kinship with this woman; a secret tugs at your mind- No. No, that can't be right. You need to run. You need to escape. If you do not run they will find you, and they will kill you. That was the single, total premise of the nobles game. `But the vision persists.
You see the woman's face, you see it is contorted in shame and pain. If she does not continue torturing the poor man before her, she will find herself in the same place and fate as her victim. She did not take pleasure in inflicting such suffering, but what could she do? In the end they were both entertainment, it just so happened that her captors found it more amusing to let her live than to kill her. The hunters all surround her, offering her praise and support, their voices graceful, yet their faces are aglow with malice and sick pleasure.
Somehow, though you can only look through his eyes, you get the feeling that the senechal loathes this woman. To him, she is the reason why he has been separated from his lord, and why he must suffer in this den of evil. Yrliet-that was the name he knew her by. She had led him and his lord into a trap held by her kin, only it seemed they betrayed her too after she had sold them out. She is a traitor, and there is only one form of redemption that the imperium offers for such a transgression.
The senechal realizes that the xenos are too focused on Yrliet to notice him. He has only a fust knife and a las pistol he took off the corpse of a beggar, but that is all he needs. Quickly, he charges towards one of the xenos onlookers, and plunges the knife into their neck. They fall to the ground, coughing and gurgling as blood gushes out of their gaping wound. The rest look on, not in shock, but with disturbing ecstasy. It was as if the death of one of their own was the desert to a main course. The senechal roars, ready to fight the rest of the group-but instead, they flee. They are cowards, and in the face of someone unafraid, they crumble.
Now it is just Yrliet and the Senechal. There is a brief pause. Yrleit lowers her head down, like a penitent thief facing their executioner, certain of the senechal's verdict. She does not appear to have the will nor strength to fight, and if the senchal chooses, he can kill her right here and now. Something strange happens, however. He sheathes his dagger and las pistol, and extends his hand towards her.
“You withhold your judgement monkeigh…even after all I have done… ”.
The xenos’s shock is evident on her face. For a moment, there is a flicker of something more: hope.
There is something that prevents the seneschal from carrying out the sentence. Despite his disdain, he knows doing so would go against the wishes of his captain-but even so, while his lord may be merciful enough to forgive the xenos completely, the seneschal is not as kind, and does not hide the full brunt of his hate.
“Were I still in the navy, I may have killed you on the spot….”
The senechal glowers at her. You see through his eyes the faint glimmer of hope on the xenos fade, and her brow furrows once more, recognizing that she was not spared out of kindness, but duty.
“...but you are still the rogue trader's companion, so until we can confirm that she is truly dead, your fate is not for me to decide.”
His words are blunt and harsh. His voice reverberates like the growl of a lion.
“So for your sake, you had better do your damndest to ensure that she’s alive! “
“So be it”.
The xeno accepts her fate, and the two of them march into the black together.
As they walk forward, the world of the seneschal evaporates, and you find that once again your eyes are yours once more. The spectral child still remains, still running, and you are running right behind her. Your body is screaming in exhaustion and pain, but you do not stop. . You have lost your place in the maze, no doubt due to your visions. Slowly, you look around. The child is slowing down at last. As you reach her, you see her standing at the edge of an abyss. Below, a vast darkness stretches down. The child looks up at you, and you see for the first time her eyes, bloodshot and full of sorrow. The eyes of someone far older. She turns away, and you feel the touch of something brushing against your shoulder.
Two voidborn walk past you toward the edge, a man and a woman. The man is hard boiled, having spent his life in the plasma chambers, his black hair is singed. The woman is clearly from the cargo hold, the matted black hair having grown like a shawl over her body after years of improper maintenance. Why did you feel such dread when looking at them, why do you feel such shame? It was only when they turned round did you realize. You see their faces, covered in scars, their tears flowing down their faces.
As they stand at the very edge, a ringing cheer resounds from nowhere, as more and more nobles begin to surround you. Saccharine and self satisfied smiles are plastered on their faces, their eyes are wide with anticipation and revelry. In your warped mind, you cannot tell them apart from the wretched xenos from your dreams of the seneschal. Their righteous cleansing violence has just about ended,but their appetites for carnage and slaughter have not, despite most of the voidborn slime being dead. And now they would enjoy feasting upon the last bits of prey.
“Well run”
That is their sarcastic chorus as they surround the three remaining victims. Two more ghosts appear behind the pale child. She has survived, though to act as though he is undamaged would be a lie; you know that all too well- you are her. They squeeze their arms around you, and force you to look. You are now in the child's place, surrounded by these same ghosts, about to watch your parents die.
Only that is not the only indignity they force upon you
“Give us a speech girl!”
An old man politely commands.
They not only wish you to watch your parents die, they wish you to be happy for it, to be thankful for their benevolence and mercy, to legitimize their wretched game as just, and jolly good fun. After all, they are the blue blooded highborn of the imperium and you a mutant- you should be grateful that they even decided to spare you at all, really, I mean, since when did any voidborn hunt ever allow one to win? The sheer idea was laughable!
All of their eyes are now on you, as they wait with baited breath to hear the lie that will cement your survival. So go on then, give them a speech.
No? Shame. Death it is then, but I guess that's what happens when rabble such as yourself are given a choice. Alas, as you rush to save your parents, as the nobles descend like wolves to tear your weak body limb from limb, you are again beset by another vision- you will not even have the ability to die in your right mind. As you enter what you assume will be your final vision, you see that the senechal has at last found his lord captain. There is a third companion with them now, what looks to be another noble, his chiseled features looking as though they were carved from marble, his eyes dark and foreboding. His name is Heinrix. His presence in the group is strange; the senechal and the xenos do not seem to notice him. While the others observe from afar, you see him come closer to the lord captain. The lord captain is standing at the spiked edge of a walkway, just moments from teetering into the vast unreality below. She is thrashing about, struggling with invisible attackers. Her naval coat is torn, and there is a ragged bloody wound at the center of her chest.
Her face was pale and sunken, with red rings around her eyes. Tears flooded down her face. Her right eye twitched erratically, with specks of blood dripping out. You then realize with horror that she is you, and you are her. You try to fight the illusion, try and go back to your family, to reality, but it's too late. The seneschal goes over to you, and through his eyes you see yourself at your worst. Barely lucid, bleeding out, about to throw yourself off into the abyss to save parents that have long since been dead. A flood of despair and panic washes over the senechal-has she already gone mad-has he failed another he swore to protect? Yrliet looks your way, her face contorted with a storm of emotions. She looks back to you, seemingly wishing to speak, but cannot. Her eyes look at you like someone would look at an animal past its prime. A wave of shame roils over you, you know she will never forget this, she will live for thousands of years, and this moment shall be lodged in her mind for the rest of it. She abandons you, leaving you to your fate. The senechal, seeing his cause is lost, pulls out his las pistol, aiming at your head.
This is where you die. At least you can go back to your parents and-
A pair of hands grab at you. You are no longer in the eyes of your senechal, but you do not feel your brain being ripped apart by his gun either. You see the person holding onto you is Heinrix, his eyes aglow with the powers of warp, casting a purple light across his face. You cannot see anything around you, it is just the two of you, surrounded by a hurricane of warp lightning. Visions of the past and future swirl around you, but they are a blur. You are both suspended in the eye of the storm.
“Maddox. Please.”
In his eyes lay not shock or revulsion-but desperation. Desperation to save you. What did you do to deserve such concern? You feel something crawling at the back of your skull, trying to pull you back, but all you can see now is him. This… is no illusion. He is real. His care for you is real.
“I have pushed my way into your vision but-”
He winces in pain, gritting his teeth.
“I need your cooperation. There is little time.”
He offers you his hand, and you take it. And the two of you soar- high above the storm, though the nightmares, and into the light of a new dawn. At last, you finally break free.
Part Four: Epilogue, recovery, love.
Maddox Von Valancius woke up in a churgeons table, pain wracking through her body. She looked up to see Heinrix, still holding her hand, his entire body trembling, the physic spark still not having left his eyes. Ablerad stood at the left, his head drenched in sweat. Behind the two of them stood Idria Tlass, leaning against the wall. Noticing that she was awake, Idira looked at Maddox and smiled.
“You had us worried for a moment there, Lord captain, iceman over here thought you were going to kick the bucket for real”.
“There was a war breach…how much of the crew was affected”
Hienrix quickly began explaining the situation
“The minor warp phenomena that broke through the ship's gellar field affected only a small portion of the crew- ”.
“However?”
“However, of the sections of the crew that were wracked with visions, a good deal still haven't woken up for their slumber yet, and are unlikely to in the foreseeable future.”
Maddox quickly began piercing the threads together.
“You and Idira used divination to enter my mind and pull me out”
Heinrix nodded.
“An admittedly dangerous and risky procedure, though we had no idea how long your ward trance would last, and with your ascension ceremony so close…”
Maddox placed her hand on his cheek.
“There's no need for justifications, Heinrix, thank you. You saved my life.”
Heinrix’s face appeared immovable as ever, yet his eyes always seemed to betray the longing he had. Still, something was bugging her.
“Hienrix…arent you a biomancer? I had thought that telepathy and divination were not one of your specialties.”
Idiria snickered, looking at Heinrix with a teasing look in her eyes
“You're telling me! as soon as he was aware of your condition, he raced down-”
“I think it would be in both our best interests that the lord captain remain alive and stable, lady tlass”. Heinrix interrupted
Idira only whistled in response.
“Oh, still trying to put up that iceman persona huh? Sorry, but I think I've seen you melt around the lord captain enough to know what's really going on in that head of yours” Idira smiled wickedly.
Heinrix’s face was red, though in embarrassment or fury Maddox couldn't tell. Clearly seeing where things were headed, Abelard loudly coughed into his fist.
“I think that after such a trying experience, the lord captain would appreciate some privacy”.
Thankfully, both Heinrix and Idira took the hint and began to see themselves out, though heinrix took one passing glance at Maddox as he exited the room.
“Abelard”
“Yes lord captain?”
“Mind handing me a lho stick, if you please?”
Abelard smiled.
“With pleasure.”
END