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Prologue The Information Broker leans across the table, his hand clamping over the Rich Patron’s mouth before the man can speak. His eyes, wide with panic, dart around the curtained booth. "Do you want to get us killed?" His whisper is sharp, slicing through the stillness. "That thing is dangerous... even the Inquisition fears it." The Rich Patron mumbles against his palm, eyes flashing with irritation, but the Broker keeps his grip firm. He shoots a glance through the gap in the curtain, where two hulking Ogryn bodyguards stand like statues, their broad shoulders casting long shadows into the booth. Reassured they are alone, he lets go, pulling his hand back as if he’s touched fire. "Keep your voice down," the Broker hisses, eyes still scanning nervously. "Even here, someone could be listening." The Rich Patron leans back, brushing at his finely tailored coat, his annoyance barely concealed. "You overestimate the risk," he says, voice calm but tinged with disdain. The Broker isn’t convinced. He leans in again, voice barely a whisper. "This... mirror... it’s no ordinary relic. It was part of the Emperor’s own Webway Project. Sealed with Imperial tech, covered in purity sigils." The Rich Patron’s eyes gleam, catching the faint candlelight. "All the more reason to acquire it. My rival, zu Rosenstein... he has everything. Except a cursed fate." The Broker hesitates, glancing nervously at the candle’s flickering flame. But his greed is triggered, and sneeks into his eyes. He leans forward, lowering his voice: "Fate is a very exclusive kind of gift." "So," the Patron says, a sly smile curls on his lips. "Can you get it for me?" *** The flicker of the candle fades into a sepia-toned memory. The webway mirror gleams with an unnatural light as it is installed in a massive chamber, surrounded by arcane Imperial machinery. Tech-priests and servitors chant litanies of purity, their movements precise, almost reverent. "A tool forged in secrecy, bound by xenos origins…" The webway mirror is carefully placed into the heart of a larger device, wires and mechanical components connecting around it. A Tech-priest, solemn and hooded, presses a final purity seal onto its surface, locking it into place. "…and contained within the heart of the Emperor’s greatest ambition: the Webway Project." Suddenly, the scene erupts into chaos. Alarms blare, distant explosions echo through the chamber as Imperial guards and tech-priests scramble for an exit. The mirror is left behind, glowing ominously in the abandoned device. "But when the project failed, it was abandoned, left in a forgotten vault…" The webway mirror now gathers dust in a dark, secure storage facility, detached from the Imperial machinery but still encased in its protective frame. A dim light flickers above, casting long shadows that stretch across the floor. "…still guarded, but ultimately forgotten." *** The Rich Patron leans back in his seat, a satisfied smile playing at his lips. "So," he asks, fingers drumming on the table, "you can get it for me?" The Information Broker raises an eyebrow, curiosity slowly overtaking his anxiety. "Where do you want to receive it?" "Oh, me?" The Rich Patron grins, leaning back slightly in his seat, "Not at all! Put it into a cargo box, bring it to the spaceport, and stick a nice dispatch note to Port Gyre on Mars." The Broker seems intrigued but cautious. "And what happens when it gets to Mars?" The Rich Patron leans in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Make sure that when it’s unloaded, there’s a little accident with the servitor grappler. The box gets damaged, the dispatch note unreadable. Zu Rosenstein will have to open it to inspect the contents—he’s in charge of customs control at the spaceport." A slow smirk spreads across the Broker’s face, now fully understanding the plan. "He won’t be able to resist… thinking it’s some valuable trade good he can embezzle… or worse." *** The next meeting takes place in a more private, richly decorated room. The Rich Patron and Information Broker are now poring over blueprints spread across a table, schematics and notes cluttering the surface. "So, you have a plan?" The Patron’s voice is calm, expectant. The Broker nods, pointing at the blueprints. "The webway mirror is held in a deep vault, under Ordo Xenos custody. Heavy security, but there’s a way… with the right incentives." A hefty satchel of thrones lands on the table with a satisfying thud, the Rich Patron’s hand resting on it, fingers tapping. "Money is no object. I trust you have the right people for this?" The Information Broker smiles, a glint of confidence in his eyes. "I’ve already arranged it. They specialize in this sort of… retrieval." *** Night falls over the Ordo Xenos facility, its Gothic architecture looming over the landscape. Guards patrol the perimeter, unaware of the danger closing in. In the shadows, a group of thugs approaches, moving with practiced stealth. The Thug Leader whispers, "We’re in... keep it quiet and fast." Inside the facility, they move silently through dark hallways, avoiding patrols and security drones. They reach the vault—a massive door adorned with purity seals. A thug pulls out a device, attaching it to the lock. The seals burn away, and the door creaks open. Inside the vault, the webway mirror waits, glowing faintly in the darkness. The thugs hesitate, awe and fear washing over them. "That’s it… just like he said," one mutters. "Quickly now," the Leader orders, "before anyone notices." They lift the mirror, securing it in a padded crate. One thug glances nervously at his distorted reflection on its surface. "Let’s get this over with. This thing gives me the creeps." As they make their escape, alarms begin to blare, but they’re already gone, the webway mirror in tow. *** In zu Rosenstein’s office, a monitor shows the spaceport cargo area below. A large crate is being unloaded by a servitor grappler, which suddenly malfunctions, dropping the crate to the ground. The side cracks open slightly. Zu Rosenstein turns from his desk, annoyance creasing his face. "What happened out there?" He walks to the window, staring down at the damaged crate and the servitors gathering around it. "A crate bound for Port Gyre, sir. Damaged in transit… the dispatch note is unreadable," a subordinate reports. Later, zu Rosenstein stands beside the crate. He opens it, finding a faintly glowing mirror nestled inside. A folded note catches his eye. He unfolds it briefly. "To a worthy adversary, may the webway mirror reflect your true greatness." He crumples the note, tossing it aside, but the mirror draws his attention. He traces his fingers along the intricate, alien patterns etched into its frame. Beneath the glass, strange shadows ripple, as if alive. His breath catches. "This... this is no ordinary device." His mind races, recalling fragments of forbidden lore—rumors of ancient xenos technology capable of unimaginable feats, relics tied to powers long buried and forgotten. His heartbeat quickens as the possibilities unfold. He carefully takes it back to his office, preparing for what is sure to be his greatest discovery. "This mirror," he mutters to himself, "could amplify my reach into the Warp... unlock new powers... make me unstoppable." “But the webway mirror’s allure is a trap for the soul… “ *** A surreal, shifting landscape with undefined terrain stretches into a horizonless void. At the center, a dark chasm splits the ground, its edges crumbling into the abyss. Khorne and Khaine clash at the chasm's edge, their blades meeting with explosive sparks. Shadows flicker around them, twisting into monstrous shapes that dance and melt back into darkness. Isha is tenderly holding a grotesque, infant-like Nurgle amidst a garden of withering flowers. The image fades, transforming into Nurgle, now an adult, cradling Isha as he flees from Slaanesh. The background shifts from lush green to decay, a seamless blending of life and rot. Tzeentch and Cegorach are seated at a floating chessboard, pieces shifting and morphing with every move. Their expressions are frozen in wide, unnerving grins, as cracks begin to form across their faces. The chessboard hovers above a void, dissolving at the edges into a sea of black. Khorne and Khaine fighting, Isha and Nurgle in an embrace, Tzeentch and Cegorach playing chess, all just reflections in a cracked mirror. Each shard reflects a different distorted reality. Slaanesh wields the mirror in a duel against the Emperor in the Webway, the shards casting fragmented beams of light and shadow across the battleground. Zu Rosenstein's face, the mirror's shards embedded in his skin, each shard reflecting a different, twisted version of his own face. His eyes are wide, filled with terror and pain as the shards begin to pull towards the center, merging into a singular, nightmarish visage. The mirror shatters completely, its pieces exploding into a swirling vortex that engulfs zu Rosenstein. He is torn apart by unseen forces, his mouth open in a silent scream, spiraling down into the endless darkness of the abyss. *** Morning light seeps into zu Rosenstein’s cluttered office at the top of the spaceport's security tower. He wakes up in his chair, his face pale and drawn with fear. He sits up, trembling, eyes darting around the room as if expecting the dream’s horrors to appear. “Awakening… but the nightmare lingers.” Zu Rosenstein is leaping from his chair in a panic, rushing towards the office window. His movements are frantic, driven by terror. Papers and objects are knocked over in his frantic escape. Zu Rosenstein’s hand as it reaches for the window latch, his fingers trembling uncontrollably. He throws open the window, his eyes wide with a wild, uncontrollable fear. He looks out over the spaceport, but his gaze is unfocused, his mind still caught in the grip of the mirror’s influence. In a moment of frenzied panic, zu Rosenstein climbs onto the window ledge. His face is a mask of terror and madness as he leaps, unable to endure the torment any longer. “There is no escape from the webway mirror’s curse…” A novice in a white robe below sees zu Rosenstein's body plummeting down from the tower above. Shocked faces turn upward, staring in horror. Inside the office, in the background, the mirror is small but clearly visible, standing on a pedestal. It still glows faintly, as if satisfied with its latest victim. “...only the final release.” Final close-up of the mirror, its surface now still, reflecting only the empty office. The faint glow pulses, waiting for its next prey. “And so, the webway mirror waits… for the next soul to dare gaze within.”

Hi, with my guard plog dying a death in amongst all the marine stuff in the wip section i have decided to keep a plog in here as well to get more (some?) specialised feed back My Alcari are all converted cadians mixed with a few female parts from the old phoenix club project. this is as far as i have got on them http://i364.photobucket.com/albums/oo90/RADU_LYKAN/imperial%20guard/guardbases1_zps51013bf3.jpg carapace vets http://i364.photobucket.com/albums/oo90/RADU_LYKAN/imperial%20guard/necromunda/bhvet1side_zpseacee4bd.jpg http://i364.photobucket.com/albums/oo90/RADU_LYKAN/imperial%20guard/necromunda/scumvet1front_zpsbb536ea5.jpg http://i364.photobucket.com/albums/oo90/RADU_LYKAN/imperial%20guard/dodgymeltagrouppic_zpsa4f24111.jpg Marbo counts as before he was de-codexed http://i364.photobucket.com/albums/oo90/RADU_LYKAN/imperial%20guard/m2_zps595b66ea.jpg My bethesdans are a mix of empire archers and victoria miniatures bits, hopefully be painting up some mad robot tread bike cavalry for these at some point fluff blurb http://i364.photobucket.com/albums/oo90/RADU_LYKAN/imperial%20guard/67b3a8d9-d32e-4533-ba47-8ec4c29748fd_zps38bf9563.jpg http://i364.photobucket.com/albums/oo90/RADU_LYKAN/imperial%20guard/bethesdangroup8_zps488fgdvu.jpg http://i364.photobucket.com/albums/oo90/RADU_LYKAN/imperial%20guard/mbf1_zpsxsfleqmk.jpg this guy, Sergeant Major Hardy was done for the blood and glory challenge so wrote him some fluff see spoiler http://i364.photobucket.com/albums/oo90/RADU_LYKAN/imperial%20guard/bt4_zpsk6psljws.jpg this guy, Trooper Strelok, was for the one and all challenge My Kursk are from mad robot miniatures with a few tweaks like old warzone backpacks and the odd barrel swap, so far only this one guy finished but have most of a platoon on its way hopefully soon http://i364.photobucket.com/albums/oo90/RADU_LYKAN/imperial%20guard/kurgansomam3_zpsf2849c24.jpg my Hellainians will be a mix of rough riders and heavy armour, currently this is the plan for the rough riders http://i364.photobucket.com/albums/oo90/RADU_LYKAN/imperial%20guard/rr1.jpg these are my arbites, thinking those beefy shotguns hold special rounds to allow for counts as scions every now and then http://i364.photobucket.com/albums/oo90/RADU_LYKAN/imperial%20guard/necromunda/arbitesx3_zpsb3f8aaab.jpg The pdf of Aridor are veterans of years of guerrilla warfare against orks, using various mounts to match the speed of ork buggies etc http://i364.photobucket.com/albums/oo90/RADU_LYKAN/imperial%20guard/necromunda/Ash%20wastes%20cold%20one%20rider%20front_zpsfnanfdzf.jpg Currently working on a command squad to run with my straken counts as Major Gari-Baldi http://i364.photobucket.com/albums/oo90/RADU_LYKAN/imperial%20guard/PICT2130_zpsec03b25b.jpg these guys will be my entry for the heroes of the guard challenge http://i364.photobucket.com/albums/oo90/RADU_LYKAN/imperial%20guard/strakencommandpip1_zpsyzz6ehft.jpg