Dead Corsairs [1]: Bearer of no Word

I opened my eyes once again, it always took some time to sink in, where I was...and more importantly, who I was

The memories started spilling in with a thunderous headache, making me wonder sometimes if this is how the Nails felt to Angron's World Eaters

They always started the same, my uneventful death at Calth by the hands of some random Ultramarine, then my second death during who knows which of Abaddon's Crusades, then again and again until my last one at the hands of the Primarch Guilliman, cursed be his name

That answered the two questions

I was on the "Ark of Penance", dubbed as such by my merry band of misfits, once more reborn into this cold world

I was, am, and if this doesn't change will forever be Zebaal, Captain of the Blazing Moon Chapter, traitor to the Imperium, servant of the Dark Gods and now Leader of the Dead Corsairs

As for when? I knew there was no when in the Warp, only when we left it would we know at what age did the merciless gods spit us out to wreck death until the moment of our rebirth.

I stood up once again to see my twisted reflection on the glass, my Crimson Armor twisted by Chaos as the Traitor Legions wore it during the following millenia after Horus's Rebellion. And as always a bone pauldron lined by gold with no heraldry on my left, a sign I belonged where I was

Time to go outside, see my fellow corsairs

"Time to kill and die again, for is this not what you want of me?" I asked the nothingness, and as always I waited for the laughter of thirsting gods...

#deadcorsairs

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