<span style="color: #BFFFFF">"Just which f**king insolent swine dared to even draw near? Who... I want them. I want them in chains that will dig into their flesh, I want their eyes gauged out and their tongue cut to shreds. Bring them to me, bring them to me and take them apart, layer by layer, tear their skin apart in strips and weave a net with their nerves! And then f**k their corpse!"</span><br/>The hiss of a voice, harsh and threatening, didn't need to be loud to convey the message it was meant to portray perfectly. To say that Dracon Asduthara Kaera Ar'ovyn was angry, furious, enraged, or even fuming would not do justice to him. No, he was in a state of rage so intense he wanted to tear men apart with his bare hands and let his eyes feast on the sight of their desecrated corpses.<br/><br/>He stood amid the control chamber, a large part of the circuits burned out, and the screen broken, many thin cracks extending like a web across it. A horribly, horribly expensive vehicle, wrecked by the insolence of some lowly cretin! It would take weeks, maybe even months to repair it, if even! It would be much better if father would send them a new one, but that, too, would take weeks. And it was far underneath a noble like himself to hijack another ship; it would surely be a far cruder vehicle, anyway, a thought that disgusted him in its sheer possibility. No. He was going back home in a ship, blacker than night, marked with the broken crescent and blade, the signs of the Kabal of the Pierced Moon, and nothing lesser.<br/>And he'd return with a river of red blood, a river of red blood of these lowly, filthy, insolent creatures, which were to him nothing but mere tools, toys, dirt upon the soles of his boots.<br/><span style="color: #BFFFFF">"Prepare your gear. I will find this piece of shit, and shear him apart slowly till he understands what it means to make a <span style="font-style: italic">mistake</span>."</span>he growled, his white hand, thin, ghastly fingers running through the strands of his stark white hair, swiping it to one side, for it to hang like a curtain on the side of his face, casting shadows on the noble features he possessed, almost translucent skin, and gleaming, ominous pale eyes, now filled with nothing but sheer rage and bloodlust, desire for violence of the worst sorts.<br/><br/>The three Dusk Blades nodded, disappearing from the control chamber, and Asduthara was left alone. He stepped towards the gaping hole in the engine, which destroyed a large part of the controls, and barred his teeth at it, as the tips of his thin fingers ran down the burnt circuits. His eyebrows were drawn together as a shard of broken glass cut across his skin, leaving a thin stroke of red in its whiteness. He sneered, pulling his hand back instinctively, and watched a small drop of crimson gather up on his skin, as if it were something so alien his mind could not conceive it. In truth, however, it was a sight he was more than acquaintanced with.<br/>The tip of his tongue licked the blood off his hand, relishing in its heavy, earthy taste. A sensation that kicked memories back, and made him gaze up, through the broken visor of the ship into the dim light of the docks.<br/><br/>His frown disappeared, being replaced with an eternally cold gaze, once more settling on his beautiful, yet fearsome visage. He turned, the black of the fabric he wore billowing behind him as he walked back into his personal space. His armor was there, ready for him to don the fearsome suit of black metal, as light as the air, and yet strong. The red of the broken crescent and a wicked blade upon its left pauldron were worn by use by now, but still visible in the shadow of the blade-like protrusions, sticking out from the sharply carved armor.<br/>He adored his refection in the mirror as he looked at himself, he adored the face that stared back at him, cold and hard, yet still fresh with youth, as he carefully dragged the tips of his fingers across his eyelids, coloring them black, in a few strokes pulling the lines down his temples. He wiped them again as he bound most of his hair atop his head; its roots were beginning to gain a shade of grey, its natural midnight black color fighting its way through the bleach that pulled all of the pigment out of his long hair. It has been so long since he last defeated a man. Almost three weeks. No, no, too long. He lusted for fresh blood.<br/><br/>And he felt like his bloodlust would be sated as he, followed by his three Dusk Blades, all almost as intimidating as himself, paced the streets. People gave them looks, odd ones, looks of fear and horror as their tall figures towered above them, dark, noble and terrifying. The scrap of fabric, which once could have been a cloak, or at least a remain of one, clasped to Asduthara's shoulder, along with the skulls, carried as trinkets and marked with black and red runes at his sides, marked him not only as a warrior, but also as one of high standing. For one not acquaintanced well enough with the Kabals of the Dark Eldar, it would be easy to mistake him for an Archon, and not only because he took after his father in appearance.<br/>One of the three Trueborn stepped forwards to open the door of a tavern for their lord, stepping inside and holding it agape for long enough to let Asduthara pass through. It didn't make the Dracon even flick a brow, and he passed through, carrying his head high.<br/><br/>The inside was disgusting. Grime and filth upon chairs and tables was all that he saw, not humans, not orks and Tau. All he saw were slaves that did not yet carry shackles. A look of disgust appeared on his face, almost perfectly mirrored by the Dusk Blades, and he stepped towards to one of the tables. There were no free ones left around...<br/><span style="color: #BFFFFF">"Move, filth."</span>he proclaimed coldly at the human that sat there. The man looked up at him, fear mirroring in his eyes for a moment, upon seeing the tall Eldar above himself, but it then shifted into defiance. He shook his head, and remained upon his space.<br/><span style="color: #BFFFFF">"I commanded you to move. What about that escapes your lowly mind?"</span>Asduthara's voice was poison in silk, low and silent, yet authoritative, with a quality not unlike a shard of ice.<br/>"Go back to whe'ever ya came from, there's no one for ya to boss around." the human growled back to him. For a moment, the Dracon's eyes widened with surprise, to then narrow, regaining their cat-like shape, and he drew back.<br/><span style="color: #BFFFFF">"Caennyr. Excuse him out of here."</span>he snarled.<br/><span style="color: #BFFF80">"With pleasure, my Lord."</span>one of the three grinned devilishly, and stepped before Asduthara, picking the human up by the throat - gently at first, but his grasp grew stronger.<span style="color: #BFFF80">"You made a mistake."</span>he spoke through his teeth, his eyes narrowing as his grip tightened. A sharp snap could be heard, and Asduthara chuckled at the sound. Discrete, yet it wasn't a nice death at all. The Trueborn dropped the body down, kicking it away, and wiping the seat the human sat on before for his Dracon.<br/><br/>Asduthara elegantly seated himself behind the table, not at all minding the odd looks that those around gave him. It was the pig's own fault that it got killed; after all, he did ask before. It was his choice not to move - the punishment he received wasn't even just at all.<span style="color: #BFFFFF">"Insolence in every corner of this filthy world."</span>he scoffed, crossing his arms on his chest.<span style="color: #BFFFFF">"Bring some drinks, Kaestra. I wish to spend here no more time than necessary."</span><br/>One of the Trueborn, a tall red-haired Eldar, nodded to him.<span style="color: #FFBFBF">"Very well, my Lord."</span>he spoke, a sly smile appearing on his thin lips, and he made his way towards the barkeep.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FFBFBF">"Red wine, four times, and be quick, lest you wish to give your last prayers, human."</span>he snarled at the man, laying his arms in wicked-looking armor onto the counter, and leaning in uncomfortably close to the man. The barkeep, an old, tired-looking man, appeared to be done with it all by now. One horrid customer after another, all he got out of himself was a week nod as he scurried to retrieve the wine.<br/>Kaestra graced him with one more evil grin as he took the glasses, bringing them back to his companions and the Dracon, already seated around - and on - the table, eyeing all the other creatures in the tavern with disdainful looks.<br/>Asduthara brought his glass to his thin lips.<span style="color: #BFFFFF">"It stinks."</span>he remarked, proceeding to take a sip from it. Filthy humans, filthy wine.