"Welcome, little Cousin!" Said Freyja.

She waited for her young protege with open arms, eager to help transform him into a waking nightmare. She would make him into a terror, another man-eating monster to loose against the Imperium like an arrow.

She never felt that way about it, about rearing little brothers, sisters, and cousins. In her mind, she was molding heroes, champions of the Gods who would bring bloody vengeance against their enemies.

Grythan was the first of many, a trade of youths between the Nooseman and the Minstrels. If they trained together, their fire-forged bonds would be near-unbreakable. The allaince between the two warbands would prosper on the backs of the generations to come. "You're my dear Cousin Matthew's kicthen boy, aren't you? Come, child, I have a lesson for you. Today we're going to do some meat carving."

Freyja motioned for the Neophyte to follow, leading him into a rather plain looking room within the Sanctum's high black walls. Within, fresh meat laid on a slab; the carcass of a filthy Loyalist lapdog cleaved in two. Bloody holes were ripped out of his chest and neck where his progenoids had been reclaimed.

"I believe you knew this man, didn't you?"

(@cookingintheeye)

Tyr stared at the Neophyte like he’d never seen one before, eyes wide and crazed in the dark. He was jammed into the corner of the vent shaft, wrapped around himself and clutching his combat knife. 

He din’t speak, just stared. The sudden thud and clang of Grythan falling had cut through the regular hum of the vent fans and he was abruptly shaken out of the visions assaulting him. He raised the knife tentatively, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to use it. 

“No, you haven’t.” Darius says as he glares at his crossword. “I’m not very good with kids. Which is ironic considering I have one.”

(Cookingintheeye)

You know, honestly my dear...I don't know. I took the Masque last year, and they were...well not alot of fun. I have done just taking Slaanesh, but that always ends in heartbreak for me.

Sneaking away from the banquet hall turned out to be much easier than Tyr anticipated, all it took was waiting for his brothers to get distracted with the food, or each other, or whatever other entertainment they preferred. He’d had some vague idea that this might at least be an exciting event. Instead anyone he might have actually enjoyed spending the time with stayed behind on their own ship, busy with post campaign duties of one kind or another. 

The layout of the corridors here was the same as any other ship in its class and even after his brief indulgence at the feast it was easy enough to find his way. He’d barely had a chance to eat and he wandered towards the kitchens, hoping for leftovers or the preparations for a second course. 

Finally finding the strength to apologise or at least say something to Tyr, Matthew left for the Apothecarium. He had to check if Tyr was still there first.

Ferox’s wounds were deep enough, and healing slowly enough that he stayed in the Apothecarium to rest until he could move normally without risking ripping himself back open. Tyr din’t mind staying on the ship to care for him, he wouldn’t have trusted it to anyone else to begin with, but worrying about him was a good distraction from worrying about whatever happened with Matthew.

There was disappointingly little of interest to be found amongst the rubble, not that Tyr expected weapons in the ruins of a hab block, but perhaps valuables and trinkets to take as trophies or trade off later. Anything there might have been was burnt or buried, likely not worth the effort to recover anyway.

The sound of humming reached him, which was not exactly surprising, he knew he wasn’t alone. Others would be looking for loot that had survived their assault, but he didn’t recognize the voice and the sound was more interesting than the grey dust and rocrete rubble, so he unlatched his helm to catch the notes unfiltered.

What did surprise him was the delicious smell that filled his nose as his helmet was removed. Whatever it was it seemed to be coming from the same direction as the humming, and it immediately reminded him how long it had been since his last real meal. He dropped whatever useless junk he’d been pawing through and followed the scent, picking through the destruction until he came upon the source and the unfamiliar but recognizable figure of another Astartes apparently preparing food between piles of wreckage.