As the rumours of the Warlord's survival and mysterious disappearance bring a new urgency to House Sathar's struggle for supremacy, certain of the House's vassals seek a faster, bloodier way to fulfil the Writ of Iron...
Raucir knelt in the dim light of the Commander's tent, his gaze respectfully low. He had changed since his inception to the House. His sharp-toothed smile was still as distinctive as ever, but his eyes were filled with hungry darkness.
He was quietly grateful for the shadows.
'Your efforts have not gone unnoticed, Lord Raucir,' said Khitan, poring intently through the maps and battle plans on the desk. She looked up, and for what felt like the hundredth time Raucir raised his eyes and found himself assessing her face.
Khitan Iaga Sathar was a striking creature with a sense of honour that perplexed him. She held herself proudly and demanded respect of the House's servants, and even Raucir's obstinate nature had been quelled by her presence on the battlefield.
'Nor have your less savoury exploits,' she continued, her eyes narrowing at his scrutiny.
'Surely you don't begrudge me my sport, Commander?'
Khitan snorted dirisively, standing and rounding the desk with a hand on the hilt of her sword.
'I'm prepared to ignore your transgressions,' she said with a tight smile, 'but your raiders have been lax in their duty. Murano has informed me of your recent losses.'
Damn that meddling treasurer.
'I no longer have the favour of Lady Yisabell,' he replied, cursing himself for sounding so weak, 'nor her companion.'
'The maidb Allianna, yes,' the Commander finished with a sneer, 'I was made aware of her habits. She has no honour.'
'And yet she was deadly.'
'Even so, both she and the sorceress have disappeared. What do you propose to do about this, Raucir?'
The black guard suppressed a smirk.
'I will require your sanction, Commander.'
'Oh? I have already honoured you with the responsibility of carrying the House banner on the field, and you are free to conduct your little raids. What more would you ask for?'
'Power, Commander.'
Khitan's face set in a thin smile.
'You are bold. I had thought you free of such ambition, black guard.'
'You misunderstand, Commander. I require no lofty position or mewling serfs. Give me warriors,' he said, looking up with a grin.
The Commander folded her arms, looking him up and down with a contemplative eye.
'Will you recover these losses?'
'Give me the power to use soldiers from the House ranks and I will do better,' he replied.
'With just a small force of Satharians under my command I will fill the holds with captives. Fresh and defiant, or beaten and bloody. Either way, there will be flesh and souls for the Witch King,' he said, touching a fist to his breastplate reverently.
'Your eagerness is pleasing, at least. Very well, Lord Raucir.'
Khitan drew her sword, flicking it experimentally before bringing the point to rest against the kneeling druchii's chest.
'Consider your request granted. Recruit those you need from our ranks, with my sanction. I'm sure you can convince our allies to assist you in these raids,' she said with another mirthless smile.
'The greenskins will obey,' he growled, clenching a fist. 'I have their measure.'
'And the servants of the Raven?'
'They will follow the banner of the Kraken.'
Khitan laughed softly.
'Mind your pride, Raucir. You realise what awaits you, all of us, should we fail to fulfil the Writ?'
Raucir risked a nod, concious of the weapon.
'I do.'
'Then stand,' said the Commander, sheathing her sword with a practiced motion, 'and thank Khaine for this opportunity.'
He bowed his head briefly, eyes low. Khitan nodded curtly and moved back to the side of her desk.
'Now go. Reap a fell harvest. I have other matters to attend to,' she said, picking up a tattered scroll and frowning in thought.
'Of course, Commander. Hail Malekith!'
'Hail Malekith.'
Raucir turned and approached the tent flap, bloody thoughts running through his head.
'And Raucir?'
'Yes, Commander?'
He stopped, looking over his shoulder curiously. Khitan was sat behind the desk now, staring directly at him, her eyes hard.
'Do not fail me.'