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rats-and-robots · 2 months

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Spoilers for Marazhai's 'True' romance path, I pretty much just transcribed his lines up until a point.

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Garion’s cackle echos through the hall… and only distant yelps and screams respond. It fades as his head falls back, chest heaving. Gore cakes his coat, mats his hair, makes his mechanical parts grind. His eyes remain wild, basking in the buzzing rush that remains.

Marazhai stares at him. His wounds are stinging. Places where nails have left little trenches in his skin as they desperately try to fight him off. The one stab wound from a broken pipe. Endless bruises. All of them are but pitiful whimpers for his attention when compared to the sight before him as Garion's eyes slide shut.

“Magnificent…” Marazhai's voice comes quietly, yet Garion's eyes slide open and his head rolls lazily to one side as he acknowledges the drukhari. A noise escapes him, a questioning one, and Marazhai happily explains, “No feast we have ever had on this ship has been so… perfect.” He tilts his head and steps towards the man, “I think back to my best raids and the memory of them pales in comparison to what transpires when we... share this ecstasy with each other.” Garion straightens up with a small smile on his face. The madness still doesn't leave his face. And why should it? He turns to face Marazhai completely, giving him his full attention as he listens.

“When we first began… I thought this was all a little game.” He reaches a clawed hand out, and Garion considers it, eyes narrowing, but he allows Marazhai to cup the side of his face in the hand, “A chance to stave off the boredom of being among the mon’keigh by sharing the true passions of the Aeldari with one of them. I thought your mon’keigh heart would quickly flounder under the weight of my truths and you would flee–and then I would have a new reason to torment you…” Garion laughs quietly, clicking his tongue and leaning into his hand. His eyes dart away for a second. Desperate to have his eyes back on him, Marazhai continues, “And yet… here you are. And I see in your eyes the same obsession that drives me… Incredible.” Garion's eyes search the distant wall, and then slowly move up to look at him. Something has changed in those eyes, and it almost makes Marazhai apologize. For what, he does not know. Has he overstepped a line? He can't think of one–

“Is that so?” Garion's voice interrupts his thoughts and his eager eyes hold their focus on that of the Rogue Trader. The human pulls his face away from the touch and he spins to turn away, going up onto a small platform not far away, skipping all three steps in one smooth motion. His eyes stare at their domain, at the bodies they've piled up. And now there's something thoughtful in those eyes. Marazhai tilts his head, moving to follow, but staying on the lower platform. Garion enjoys being taller, and Marazhai finds it suiting to be looking up at him. He waits, patient and unwilling to anger the man by interrupting whatever thoughts he has by speaking again.

“And what next? After all of this? What comes then?” Garion finally speaks, turning back to him. His eyes are hard, stern, questioning him like a prisoner.

“Next?” Marazhai can't help but gasp softly as he thinks of all that will come of all their nexts, “Eternity.” He steps forward, towards the stairs but stopping at them, no further, “Many eternities, formed from the moments we experience as we forget ourselves together in a bloody haze…” Garion walks closer, his eyes staring hard into Marazhai’s eyes, searching for a lie, for a crack, and Marazhai smiles, knowing he will find no such thing, even as he stops at the top of those stairs, “Each moment is worth centuries when your obsession is shared by your equal.” He reaches forward again… but Garion does not move towards it. He tilts his chin up– away, even. And it takes all of Marazhai's willpower not to chase after it. Not to take one of those steps and grab him. But he knows better than to–

“Eternity? Surely you could become boring within an eternity.”

Marazhai flinches. His hand twitches. Confusion slips across his mind but he doesn't speak it. He lowers his hand and tilts his head to the side, baring his brand obediently, “I will take great pains to avoid such a fate. And I will begin… right now.” Is… is Garion still playing? Was he wrong in thinking that Garion is also desiring an end to the game? What is he doing?

“Hm. I see.” He abruptly turns away, “I don't think I'm interested.”

Marazhai knows agony in all its forms. Or he thought he did. “What…?” His voice is a trembling gasp, “No…” This agony is new, and this one he does not enjoy. He snarls and ascends the tiny rise with a single stride.

“Did you not hear me, Marazhai?” Garion snaps, and it makes him falter. He spins on his heel to face the drukhari, his lips peeled into a grimace, “I am done playing with you.”

Marazhai's voice rises, sharpens, but still it trembles, “No, you cannot… you cannot… abandon me!” The steel of Garion's expression changes, but Marazhai is too panicked to read the new one that sits there, “We are bound by the ties of possession!” He shakes his head, denial, anger, and unadulterated fear shake his voice, “It may have once been a game, but after all you have been through in my charge… after the branding…!” His voice cracks. The tremors of his voice have spread to his jaw and he clenches it tightly to cease them.

There's suddenly a blade on his neck. Garion's hand is in his armor, pulling him into it. That blade. That blade that had once been his, that carved countless enemies and victims of the Reaving Tempest, now pressed against a pulse point. Pressed against the brand. A twist of his wrist and it would be flayed off his throat, removed and revoked... But... The Lord Captain doesn't move.

Steel-silver in Garion's eyes swim like mercury, and it searches. It searches his expression. Searches him for any sign of lie or misdirection. Anything.

“...you're serious?” The two words are only barely audible over the beating of his heart in his ears, but they are heard, “You… this…” Garion's words start and stop and start again, and then the fluid hardens to cold metal; Garion's expression teeters on rage, “But how can I know this isn't yet another part of your game?!” His teeth bare to the hot air between them, blood smeared across their yellowed planes, “Everything is a game, a test, you beat at your cage to see if you can bend the bars, are you trying now to whine so softly so I'll let you out??”

Marazhai falters. Garion doesn't believe him. After everything… he sees now the distress in the man's eyes. Desperation. He wants this to be real… but he's terrified it isn't. Terrified to fall for a trap that isn't there.

Marazhai doesn't speak again. He just presses his neck deeper into the blade, blood welling up around it. Steel eyes jump down to the weapon, to the blood, and Marazhai feels the blade retreat by a mere fraction of any measure.

“...you would let me kill you? Now?” The man's brow furrows, “You have a Kabal at your behest. You are not bound here. If I were to turn you away, abandon you, you are still an Archon. You have power. Servants. Endless torture for your every whim...” Disbelief makes the metal soften again, but slowly, as he stares at the tiny rivulet of blood that slides down the blade, “...why?”

“...I don't like repeating myself.” Marazhai wants it to be a hiss. It refuses to be one and is a whisper instead.

Garion's eyes snap back up to continue their search. The silence drags on for a moment more. Then, so quiet that even Marazhai wonders if he hears it, comes a whisper;

“...this wasn't supposed to happen…”

Marazhai's face tenses in confusion, a question plays on the flesh of his lips before Garion repeats himself, louder, pressing the blade until Marazhai is almost certain his life will be bleeding out into the Prince of Pleasure's throat in the next second.

“This wasn't supposed to happen!!!”

Garion's eyes begin to water and Marazhai scowls at that, “No one else! There was never supposed to be anyone else!” Garion yanks the blade away from his throat and throws it to the ground, it bounces and disappears into some corner of the blood-caked room.

“You're supposed to be a pet! Nothing more!!” The hand in his armor doesn't leave, instead yanking him closer, their foreheads clashing painfully as Garion's eyes become silver fire in his demands, tears flowing freely.

“Why?? Of all cruelties you've inflicted on me… of all wounds you've carved into my flesh, this one is by far the worst. How dare you…”

Marazhai nearly flounders, confused, lost, and stranded without explanation, “What–”

A hand fists in the metal and yanks, pulling on the prongs so deep in his flesh and sending pain shooting through his chest before–

“I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you!!”

The sentence is all but a roar, but Garion deflates once it's said, “…It should have stayed a game… I should be gutting you. I should be casting you into the cold void. But I'm not.”

Marazhai's jaw is tighter than a steel trap around thrashing prey. Hell, his own throat feels caught in such a trap. A snare. A thin steel wire–like the long cut bleeding freely in his neck–cutting off his air and keeping him silent.

“...prove it. Prove to me that it isn't a game any more.” Garion hisses through his teeth, barely moving the clench of his own jaw. Another word is trapped behind his teeth, but it will not come out.

“How?” His knees fold under him as he pushes the word past the snare, kneeling in front of the man, “Tell me, anything, and it shall be done.”

Garion stares at him for a moment, looking down at him again.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“...” Garion hesitates. Marazhai's gaze is still. Certain. He would slit his own throat then and there, if only the man would ask… and there is no question in his mind. No doubt. No wondering how he ‘fell’ this far. He's here now. There is no reason to questioning his place in this world. This is it. This is where it always should have been. The collar has been on for years and it's not going anywhere now.

“Kiss me.” Marazhai flinches a little at that, but before he can even start to do so, another word comes out of Garion's mouth. The word trapped now loosed into the world. A word that falls out like molten metal pours out of a crucible, burning his throat as it comes, white hot and falling like slag to the ground, “Please.”

There is no further thought. Marazhai's hands are grasping the sides of Garion's head and not a breath leaves either of them until the burn in their lungs is hotter than the molten flavor of the kiss. Garion brings out the teeth first, hissing in a breath in the briefest parting. It's Marazhai who breaks it last, a laugh on his tongue.

“Shall we continue? Elsewhere…”

“Oh, temptation tells me to take you here and now, Marzi… yes. Go. Flee, my pretty prey. Before I change my mind and mix our blood with those who don't deserve it.” Metal claws hook in his armor and Marazhai lets the human yank him to his feet and shove him backwards. Marazhai laughs, a mad thing, and nearly stumbles down the little steps before darting off through the lower decks.

Behind him, Garion growls, a gutteral roll of his throat. It sends a shiver up his spine. The sound of heavy, metal footsteps following him quickens his step like a whip on his flank.

The chase has begun again. The usual end to their Feasts... But this one, oh, this one will be different.

As will all the ones to come.

#ress writes #garion von valancius #warhammer 40k: rogue trader #marazhai aezyrraesh #marazhai #garion/marazhai #yeets this into the world and runs to work #domino effect(fanfic)

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rats-and-robots · 3 months

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Abelard is used to the Rogue Trader’s… eccentricities. It isn't heretical to simply enjoy tighter spaces… but it certainly is odd that the man is often curled up–fingers silently flipping through some tome or another–high up in a crevice of the ship’s walls where he could, potentially, listen in to the goings on of his retinue.

Abelard has learned to scan the upper lines of the ship’s walls when searching for the Rogue Trader, but has also taken to doing so idlely, just to see if the oddly dexterous operator has found somewhere new to inhabit.

He doesn't do this to hide, he is easily spotted if one knows where to look. Most don't bother looking up.

Odd indeed. But right now, it is some measure of very, very humorous.

Garion von Valancius is lounged in the intricate mechanics of the ship like some feline beast on some jungle tree branch watching and listening to the ongoing bickering between Marazhai and Argenta. Abelard has taken to standing aside, noticing that Argenta–having been around the Lord Captain as long as he has–has also spotted him, throwing glances upward at the man every few seconds to glare at him for finding amusement in this. Marazhai, on the other hand, has just made a scathing comment about the Lord Captain, using that insulting word to refer to the Rogue Trader.

“I believe I instructed you not to call me mon’keigh, Aezyrraesh.”

The drukhari jolted with all the grace of shattering glass, whipping around to look for where the voice came from. Argenta just laughed, and Abelard quietly chuckled into his hand.

“Up here.”

The dark eldar finally looked up, his face suddenly flush with fury and embarrassment, at a loss for words for a moment. Garion smirked down at him, the stretch of his cheeks distorting the warp-burn scar on the side of his face, patiently waiting the stunned xenos’ expression out. Finally, something came out of that fanged mouth, “What are you doing up there?”

“You haven't apologized–” Garion’s head tilts to the side, “–for your blatant disregard for my orders.”

Marazhai flinched, his eyes looking hard to one side, reminding Abelard of a spurned canine. He bowed his head ever so slightly, “My… apologies, Lord Captain…”

The Rogue Trader laughs openly, the metal claws of his replaced arm tapping along the metal he reclines on. “How obedient... You should behave even when you think I'm not around. Farris learned that lesson decades ago.” Abelard would swear an almost… hungry look crossed the drukhari’s face, but he promptly ignores it.

Garion clicks his tongue, the taunting grin falling away from his face, “However, as I've told the rest of my retinue; I am from a Forge World, I am far more comfortable in the recesses of machinery and cable than the open spaces. Out there,” he motions to the hallway, “I am exposed from many angles. Here, I am exposed from only one. Much of my idle time is spent in places like this.”

The drukhari considers that, head tilting to one side, “How interesting. Yet you're cornered there, not exposed and yet trapped. And what of your large open throne and Cathedral?”

“I despise the openness of both, but they are expected of me.” The smirk does not drop from the Rogue Trader's face, “Do you really think I am trapped, Aezyrraesh? Do you plan to attack me? With a sister of battle and my loyal Seneschal behind you?”

“No, but–”

“I am not trapped.” The interruption comes with a tone of finality, “And even were they gone and you with every intent to kill or torture me…” Fabric shifts, and the man draws a long blade previously sheathed in his sleeve, “You would swiftly find that I carry as many weapons as you have spikes in your armor.” The blade is hidden again, “Are you satisfied?”

A snicker and a sneer, “Never.”

Argenta makes a disgusted noise and the argument starts anew. Garion and Abelard share a glance, a simple look that simply said ‘don't let them kill one another’ before the Rogue Trader rolled from his side onto his back in the small space and drawing his datapad back up.

Abelard walks over, leaning against the wall below his Lord Captain, “Should I stop their bickering?”

“They can handle themselves against one another. Just make sure they don't stain my carpets or waste their lives on one another if they draw their weapons.” A small ‘beep’ from the datapad as the man has fully tuned out the argument once again, “Ones with passion such as theirs should have the opportunity to deal it out with one another. The battlefield will be more tolerable if they settle themselves now.”

Abelard tilts his head back. He forgets, often, that this is not, in fact, the Lord Captain's first time commanding such a large group, he still seems so young, and yet he handles the rabble with astonishing grace. He had once been a Crime Lord, had a council beneath him of valuable assets as likely to stab him in the back as they are to be doggedly loyal. He supposes someone like Marazhai may even be more familiar to him than someone like himself.

“Will you openly spar with him as you have the rest of us?”

This seems to make the trader pause. Abelard can only guess what is on his mind in the silence that draws out after it–from Garion, anyway. Did a drukhari, of all xenos, deserve the tradition of the von Valancius flagship? Much less the same one that had antagonized them for so long? At least, that is the line of thought he assumes.

“...Yes. I simply have to finish recovering from Commorragh.” The barely-audible murmur was followed by another small beep. A quiet admission that his oldest wounds still scream at him from being back in the blackened city.

A nod, “I will have the observation deck prepared as soon as you are ready.”

The two warriors huff at one another and part ways, finally. Marazhai shoots a curious look towards the Lord Captain before making his way down the hall.

#agoraphobia oneshot #warhammer 40k: rogue trader #rogue trader fan fiction #abelard werserian #marazhai aezyrraesh #sister argenta #garion von valancius #crime lord scum is actually an iconiclast who knew #coughcough hesahereticactually coughcough #eventually ill get to garion/marzi #eventually #i have to lay out Garion's story first #i gotta have convoluted world building or its not me lmao #ress writes

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rats-and-robots · 2 months

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Why does Garion look so wildly different every time I draw him.

Anyways have a WIP. Detail shot of Garion under the cut.

#i have like 0 artistic consistency #garion von valancius #warhammer 40k: rogue trader #marazhai aezyrraesh #marazhai #garion/marazhai #ress games #ress draws

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rats-and-robots · 18 days

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"Hah! I still can't believe the great and mighty Von Valancius was brought down by a mere beast!" Calligos' laughter, a loud, uproarous thing, carried through the strange, shifting jungle. Garion huffed against his back. Calligos carries on, taunting Garion for jumping into the fray. He's not wrong, Garion is a sniper, not a brawler, and this had been made viscerally clear today. His right leg is unresponsive and dented, he'd been forced to accept Calligos's help back. And this help consisted of a fucking humiliating piggyback ride to their little makeshift camp. ... His mind is not, thankfully, on that, though. He's thinking about how soft Calligos's fur cape is. How easily he carries him, even for all the metal in his body. How his laugh carries through the trees. And internally, he's praying. Praying to the Ruinous Powers that Calligos does not realize where his hand has gone. He is never going to get a chance like this again. Especially not after how mad he knows Marazhai is going to be.

#calligos winterscale #garion von valancius #warhammer 40k: rogue trader #ress draws #help they're cute #Garion's situationship with Calligos is absolutely both toxic and tragic #but in a world where Garion is Iconoclast they're insanely in love

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rats-and-robots · 2 months

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Blades clash. Sparks jump from the incompatible metals in bright yellows that die in seconds.

"Alright, Aezyrraesh. One melee weapon. Ten minutes. We fight one another until the timer sounds. No more, no less."

The drukhari's face hasn't been anything but an offended scowl since Garion challenged him. It remains now, creased in anger and the desire to hurt this damned human.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The timer made loud clicks, like a metronome, as it counted down. He could hear it and it grated with each little noise. That is, when the clashing blades did not drown it out.

"Are you prepared, Aezyrraesh?"

His last name. That which he shared with his sister, his mother, both. Not that which was his and his alone.

Garion took two steps to one side. Marazhai took two to the other. Garion makes a face at him that sang of disappointment.

Why?

Marazhai snarls and darts at the man. And blades sing again. They jump and slide around each other. It's a discordant battle, but the mon'keigh continues to keep his soft flesh away from the fangs of his blade.

"I told you not to call me that, Aezyrraesh."

And why does the Rogue Trader's voice ring in his goddamn head??

Spark. Clash. Tick. Slash. Tick. Lunge. Strike. Clash. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tick. Step. Tick. Step.

Two steps to one side.

And Marazhai finally sees it. He steps in time with the timer.

And so Marazhai measures his steps the same, in time.

And Garion grins.

They clash again.

Clash. Tick.

Spark. Tick.

Lunge. Tick.

And suddenly discordance becomes a smooth song. A regular back-and-forth. A simple two step. Garion presses twice, and then is pushed back twice.

It's a dance.

Garion is dancing with him.

The scowl has dropped as he focuses on the ticking, now less of an annoyance, and more of a guide. Someone in their 'audience' says something, but he's focused on the dance.

And now he understands. Anger has failed in favor of analysis. What he understands he can exploit.

Sparks fly and, with an intentional twist, blades fly. He has disarmed Garion, but Garion has disarmed him similarly. The dark metal of his blade clatters on the floor and spins, bounces, and then slides to stop at Garion's feet. Garion's mon'keigh blade has gone farther away from himself, but is closer. The timer keeps ticking as they watch each other.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four beats pass as they watch one another. Garion jerks his head towards the Imperium-issued blade at the next... And then the next he suddenly ducks to snatch the drukhari's blade. Marazhai darts for the smaller mon'keigh blade and the dance begins again.

At first, he's awkward. Garion has fought with the weapons of his kind before. He's never handled a human blade, and Garion refuses to let up. His own blade tastes his flesh as Garion slashes his arm open. It's a flash of shame and fury. How dare the Rogue Trader draw first blood between them! A cheer from some of those watching only deepens the wound to his ego, sharper than the wound on his arm.

He maneuvers the weapon and watches. He times Garion's strikes with the ticking of the timer. He has to bare a weakness, an opening, at some point. He has to.

And there it is. Without thinking, his wrist twists and a deep gash blooms open in Garion's flank, his blood spraying to the floor of the ship. Garion's laugh cracks out like lightning. Now unmuffled by the screams of the arena, Marazhai can admire the madness in it.

Blood has been drawn, and it continues to pour. Skin parts from skin as both combatants learn one another. He recalls seeing Garion and Farris battle in the arena.

Tick.

It's the same tempo.

Gore.

Slash.

Bleed.

The same tempo as the two had merged with one another in battle. He understands now.

And, as stated before, what he understands he can--

A harsh ringing sounds out and the dancers part.

Time is up. Both are panting and bleeding. Garion's arms spread like a ringleader calling for attention.

"Oh, I could sing." The man's head tilts back and he cackles before drawing breath again, looking to the drukhari.

"Aezyrraesh."

"Marazhai."

The dark eldar narrows his eyes at the man saying his name. His name, not that of his family. Garion's arms fall. There's a slash above his lips and the man's tongue wicks out to swipe the blood off of them. Garion tests his name on his tongue again.

"Oh, Marazhai, what a fight. You... Why, I think you're the first of my new crew to match with me. Farris excluded, of course." He spins the eldar's blade in his hand and tilts his head, "I look forward to fighting with you in the future."

Marazhai grins and tilts his head, "It was pitifully easy. Predictable."

Garion shrugs and winces slightly. A laceration on his shoulder makes the movement painful. He rubs at the muscle above it, "Once you recognized it. And only with the timer ticking in your ear." He taps the flat of the curved blade on his leg, "You struggled before you realized it. Never once hit me until you knew."

Marazhai scowls. He knows the man is right, but he doesn't say anything. He takes a step forward, offering to return the man's blade to him, but--

"Keep it." Garion's grin is half-stained with blood, blood that slipped from that cut on his cheek and snuck into his mouth, "And I'll keep this." He spun the blade in his hand, "You could do with learning human weapons anyways, if you're going to work among us."

Garion turns and Marazhai glares daggers into his back. He furls his hand closed around Garion's blade.

Oh, he likes this one.

#ress writes #garion von valancius #warhammer 40k: rogue trader #marazhai aezyrraesh #marazhai #garion/marazhai #domino effect(fanfic)

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