Chapter: 6.1

Chapter: Captivity & Escape

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Part: 1

On board: Hemlock-Class Destroyer 'Tears to Ashes'

The Dungeon

Throne on Terra, but the Aeldaris loved listening to themselves talk. Heck, she wasn't even looking at her as she dictated the glorious history and exploits of her Witchblade. Apparently, her mother, who was also a Farseer, wielded it in dozens of battles and so did her mother before and her mother before even that.

Blah, blah, blah, scratched by some space monster no one's ever heard of, blotches of blood from an unknown alien species that looked more like rust than anything, and... Throne! Greybrand would rather listen to a Grox sing opera

The dungeon reeked of mildew and regret, the stench clinging to Inquisitor Greybrand like a second skin. She stifled a groan, shifting against the damp stone wall, the only solace from the biting chill. Across from her, the Aeldari Farseer, draped in shimmering robes the color of twilight, droned on about her weapon's history.

'Ugh, the smell of this place. Like old socks and regret. Seriously, the Aeldari had a thing for drafty dungeons, didn't they?'

Inquisitor Greybrand shivered, pulling her thin robes tighter.

Across from her, the Farseer prattled on about her fancy sword, the "Witchblade." Greybrand imagined the weapon, its obsidian edge whispering promises of power, but all she saw was the Farseer's smug expression, the condescending tilt of her head.

"Seriously, lady,"

Greybrand muttered under her breath,

"must you brag about your great-great-grandmother's toenail clippings?"

The Farseer's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing in surprise. Greybrand held her breath, bracing for a psychic attack. But then, just as quickly, the Farseer's focus returned to the blade, her voice resuming its monotonous narration. Greybrand swore that if she heard the Xeno bitch talk about her great-great-grandmother one more time, she would strangle the Aeldari with her own lustrous black hair!

The Aeldari's back was to her, in one hand, she held the blade aloft and ran the index finger of her other hand alongside the flat of the blade's edges. She traced runes and scratches, marks from claws of creatures Greybrand had never heard of, and frankly, she didn't give a damn about them either. 

"And here,"

The Farseer's voice echoed, sharp and arrogant,

"A scratch from the claws of the legendary Rukhatari, Xarthis the Ravager."

Greybrand blocked out the Aeldari's droning, instead, while keeping her gaze fixed on a crack in the ceiling of her cell, subtly reached out to it with her mind, probing the dense, almost tangible warp energy that permeated within the Hemlock-class destroyer. It pulsed and shifted, sometimes murky and chaotic, other moments clear and focused like a refracted beam of light.

This was no ordinary ship, no hulking giant of metal that the Imperium used in its countless exploits. Ooh no, this was an Aeldari craft, the Xenos, for all their arrogance, were masters of manipulating the warp, weaving it into the very fabric of their vessels and using it to their convenience... to some degree at least. 

Even an Inquisitor like Greybrand, one who rose to the said rank on the back of her psychic talent, it was a maze that needed careful navigating, or else her mind would be lost to the lustful whispers of Slaanesh that haunts every Aeldari vessel.

She began by weaving a delicate veil, a shroud, or perhaps a phantom thought projection that ran off the ship's warp-infused core. It would portray a mundane scene - her being shackled to the wall, just like the Aeldari had left her.

A flicker in the Farseer's movements caught Greybrand's eye. The Aeldari's head swiveled subtly, her eyes piercing the shadows as if sensing a disturbance.

Greybrand was a mind reader. Warp be damned! Give her a brain to fry and she would find every little memory the brain's owner had since birth. But creating deceptions was not her forte, not by a long shot.

But then, as quickly as it appeared, the Farseer's focus returned to the Witchblade in her hand, now narrating the tale of how she beheaded an Ork Warboss singlehandedly. It seemed the mundane held little interest for her in comparison to tales of gallantry. Greybrand rolled her eyes internally.

'Lady, get a new topic!'

Soon, she began weaving a second construct of warp energy, something sharp, malicious, malevolent... something powerful. Her mind gripped the construct tightly, its mere presence bit into her defenses and a line of hot blood trickled down her nose. The psychic pain almost made her groan out loud... almost, but not quite. 

The Aeldari was too absorbed in her lecture on the origin of one particular scratch on the hilt of her sword, made by a Drukhari she dueled half a century back. She didn't notice until Greybrand readied the psychic dagger... didn't react until it was too late, far too late.

When she struck the blow, she had half-expected her shackles to shock her to terra and back, but she still delivered the blow. Failure or success was not the goal here, the goal was to make a statement, a statement that would scream, "Greybrand was an Inquisitor. Not a trophy!" Never a trophy, anything but that.

The moment arrived. With a surge of will, Greybrand unleashed the psychic dagger and watched as it slammed into the Farseer's mind, tearing through her defenses like a comet through the void. The Farseer screamed, a sound that echoed through the dungeon, a mixture of agony and surprise. Greybrand held on, pushing, twisting, savoring the Xeno's pain, a twisted vindication for her capture.

Finally, with a choked gasp, the Farseer crumpled, her body a broken doll. The air crackled with the dying embers of her psychic presence. Greybrand sank back against the wall, drained but exhilarated.

Greybrand struggled to her feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in her head, her eyes scanning her cell for any signs of weakness.

"Come now, Mon'Keigh, if you disliked my tales that much, you should have just told me so. I would have employed a different method to entertain you with."

The Aeldari Farseer propped her chin on Greybrand's shoulder, her arms wrapping around the Inquisitor's waist as she stared at the corpse that soon shimmered into nothingness,

"Although I must admit, that was a neat little trick."

Greybrand tensed at the unexpected touch, her muscles coiling with a mixture of revulsion and instinct. The Aeldari's voice had changed, it no longer had the haughty tone it had when she spoke earlier, instead, it was smooth as silk but laced with a hint of amusement... it sent a chill down her spine. She resisted the urge to lash out, knowing that any overt aggression would only invite further trouble. So instead, she forced herself to remain calm, her mind racing as she calculated her next move,

"Entertain me?"

Greybrand's voice was low, laced with a simmering intensity that belied her outward calm. She met the Aeldari's gaze with a steely resolve, her jaw set in determination.

"I have no interest in your tales, Farseer. How about you let me go and in return, I will grant you an easy death."

The Aeldari's laughter echoed in the dimly lit dungeon, sending shivers down Greybrand's spine. She tightened her grip on her psychic defenses, readying herself for any sudden movements from her captor.

"Easy death, Inquisitor?"

The Farseer tilted her head, her voice now a silken purr.

"Oh, my dear Inquisitor, you are a fascinating creature indeed. But I'm afraid it's not something I desire. As for your freedom, well, it's not something I can offer you... at least not yet."

Greybrand's heart sank at the Aeldari's words, she had hoped to provoke her, find anything of interest, and exploit it to her benefit but it seemed that plan just went up in smoke,

"Then what do you want from me?"

Her voice was barely a whisper, but the intensity in her gaze spoke volumes.

The Aeldari leaned in closer, her breath warm against Greybrand's ear.

"All in due time, my dear Inquisitor. All in due time."

Greybrand flinched as she felt the Aeldari Farseer's hands trail down her waist, her fingers curling into tight fists. The Farseer's hands slid down her hips, slowly and gently brushing against her skin, her touch sending shivers down her spine.

"Oh, I promise to make you squirm as I squeeze you,"

The Aeldari said, moving her hands lower, caressing the curve of Greybrand's hips.

Greybrand could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, her mind scrambling for anything that might break her captor's seemingly endless amusement. She was no fool, she was a trained Inquisitor, but the power a Farseer wielded in the warp rivaled that of a young Daemon Prince.

"Do you yield?"

The Aeldari Farseer said, her whispers sliding down Greybrand's neck, startling her as she pulled away. The Farseer stood before her, a grin on her face, her gaze sweeping over her body. Greybrand felt her knees grow weak at the expression,

"It won't do to have an Inquisitor dressed in rags, now will it?"

The Aeldari Farseer's voice dripped with amusement, and Greybrand's face grew hot with sudden and unexpected embarrassment.

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