To Plunder The Stars Themselves, Episode III

[Machine God]

"Holger get some of the crew to dispose of the bodies from the ship, we are going to the Bridge" said Draak as he heard Captain Ackard.

 

+Kill-team Cutlass you heard the Captain, to the bridge+ said Draak already running, +Post haste!+

[Mazer Rackham]

The hammer of the heavy bolter ceased, felling the clutch of Naval Ratings, wheat before a thresher.

 

Orphiel's eyebrows shrugged, it was one less problem to solve, and in truth the likelihood of top-tier intelligence the Loyalists could provide would have been limited to none-existent.  The Tempestus Prime probably knew more, but that, just like the weak hope of the invading Armsmen was scattered liberally over the engineerium floor in smoking kibble.

 

However, all was not lost.

 

The Ironclad's petulant fusillade and orders for the evacuation of the remains provided a slight opportunity.  Orphiel almost discounted it, as the vox reports came in from Captain Achard.  Draak gave his order to hurry to the bridge and the others began to leave.  He dallied a moment, offering a shrug with Brynjarr and scrawled a number doodle on one of the slabshields with the point of his blade.

 

He turned and followed the others.  It wouldn't do to came in last, but he wasn't going to be the first.

[Necronaut]

Prisoners?!...

 

What a needless tax on their precious and extremely finite resources. Interrogating this lot would be a waste of their time and efforts as well; these inquisitorial troops and naval irregulars were intended only to slow them long enough for the larger predators to close in for the kill. Their flesh would yield no secrets, their minds would offer little additional insight into who pursued them. And what were they to do with any new information anyhow? The Iron Gods were in no position to go to war with the Inquisition, much less with a sector battlegroup.

 

Draak's admonishment of Orphiel elicited a snort of mirth from the apothecary.

 

Finally, someone with some sense…

 

The sudden fusilade of heavy bolter rounds produced a bark of laughter.

 

+++

 

In the silence that fell over Cutlass following the outpouring of ordinance from their erstwhile sergeant, Vesalius turned to size up each of the remaining members of the kill-team, those who had made it this far on their merry crusade. Brynjarr and Orphiel exchanged a look which spoke volumes, while Vesalius monitored their vital signs. A slight uptick in Orphiel's heart-rate. The apothecary knelt down beside the lumps of meaty viscera that once constituted a squad of naval ratings, as if checking for survivors where clearly there should be none. One could never be too sure.

 

At the order to return to the bridge, he watched the robed Astartes surreptitiously inscribe some sort of mark onto one of the slab shields borne by the fallen bullgryns with the tip of his sword.

 

What game are we playing now, eh?

 

Orphiel and the others fell in behind their sergeant and tramped up to the bridge, but Vesalius tarried a while, waiting until they were out of immediate visibility. He stood and sauntered over to the fallen shield, drawing his chainsword as he walked, and dropped to his haunches beside it, searching for the graven symbol.

 

Ah, there it was. A small numeric symbol of some providence which he could only guess at, but he knew its purpose immediately. A message was being sent, that much was clear: a trail of breadcrumbs to lead his friends from back home through the dark forest, no doubt. His helm-picter captured a still of the sign for later analysis, and for his secondary report.

 

Hmm I think not, friend…

 

The engine of his chainsword revved briefly and sparks flew as its teeth chewed into the crude plasteel armament, utterly obliterating what had been left behind. He smiled to himself with pale, scarred lips while he inspected his work. Better to leave nothing to chance.

 

As he started to rise a strange noise caught his attention. By some quirk of fate, one of the mortals had somehow managed to survive his execution at Draak's hands, though it was survival in only the loosest sense, and was an existence that would be measured in minutes. He watched with amazement as the human, what remained of him, lay on his back, attempting to grasp something that only his eyes could see. He gasped for air, wheezing horribly into blood-flooded lungs. Vesalius watched his lips mouth words which could not be made out even with his gene-enhanced hearing and the sophisticated sensor suite built into his helm. He mag-locked his chainsword to his hip and scuttled over to hold his ear to the mortally wounded man's blood-flecked lips.

 

"... not yet… G-God-Emperor please…"

 

The dying man coughed up blood, splattering the apothecary's white helm.

 

"... so cold… God-Emperor h-h-help me… God-Emperor protect me–"

 

Vesalius placed his enormous gauntleted hand over the man's throat and squeezed with a bone-crushing grip, watching intently as his victim's eyes bulged at the sudden imposition. The human clawed weakly at the Astartes's armored fist, but to no avail. Soon he moved no more.

 

"I'm afraid, my friend, He does not protect. "

 

He shook blood from his gauntlet and drew his razor.

 

"That duty is left to those such as me… "

 

+++

 

His laughter echoed throughout the enginarium as he trailed behind the rest of the squad.

 

Edited May 3, 2022 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

While you are still climbing towards the Bridge, you feel the telltale shipwide shudder of warp translation. It seems you have escaped the Rhogau system and Inquisitor Von Lombard's attempt to capture you.

 

But how?

 

When you enter, Achard is sitting on his command throne, his brow furrowed and his eyes staring at the protective shutters covering the main viewers as if he is trying to look beyond them into the Immaterium itself. His officers are rushing to and fro, caring for necessary tasks, but he sits silently.

 

After more than a minute, he notices you have arrived and immediately rises, snapping his fingers at several crewmen.

 

"Operations! Plot and replay the last twenty minutes of augur contacts on the main hololith. Watch this…" he looks dumbfounded "...though I guarantee it raises more questions than it answers..."

 

Once again the hololith shows the Rhogau map. The Dagger Thrust is still stationary, the Imperial patrol ships drawing ever closer. Just as Achard said, boarding craft have been dispatched. The trap is sprung, the noose is drawing tight.

 

Then more contacts suddenly flicker into existence, impossibly close, and closing at a faster rate than even the Cobras could achieve. Six… eight… seven… the contacts fade in and out, disappearing and reappearing, scything back and forth across the column of Imperial ships. The pips representing the assault craft vanish first, then the larger vessels start to pull back and gather into a defensive formation.

 

"Long-range scopes caught one of them uncloaking as it made a strafing run against the Leobardis," Achard continues numbly, waving to his operations officer again. "Play the footage."

 

The hololith changes, now recreating a piece of magnified picter imagery. The Endeavour-class is plainly visible, lagging somewhat behind the faster ships of the patrol. Then a section of space out above its starboard flank begins to shimmer and move, the light of distant stars fuzzing as something swoops closer. Then it blurs and shifts even more to reveal a vessel, though it is nothing like the gothic cruciform of the Leobardis.

 

It is smaller than the Cruiser, an elegant, organically-rounded spear blade of a ship, clearly not of human design. Long spars joined by some kind of membrane, reminiscent of sails or perhaps draconic wings, arch gracefully from its back and flanks. A stream of las fire pulsates out from rounded weapon pods and explosions are stitched across the Imperial's starboard side, then the interloper has passed beneath it and faded back into nothingness. It was there for no more than a minute.

 

Achard looks around you, his face a picture of incomprehension.

 

"Saved… by bloody Eldar! Again!"

 

***

[Beren]

Svelk felt his psyche torn by the confrontations he was witnessing. His nature ws inclined towards the same temperament of Draak and Veslius. Survival on the Ring had given no room for captives beyond the most cursory of interrogations, those better served by devouring their enemies minds as well. Nothing born of prisoners but waste, and blood denied to the void. To hunt, to kill, such was the most fundamental purposes of their being. All else was lyered on top, chains by which their creators had sought to restrain the killers they had forged.

 

... and yet.

 

The rules of the Ring were not the rules of the Iron Gods. If they were, he would have bludgeoned Draak into unconsciousness for wsting his ammunition as pointlessly as he had. Brynjarr, even Orphiel - as slippery as the hooded marine had proven to be - he would trust at this back more than his fellow predators.

 

Then, Achards words.

 

Svelk is already running before the captain has finished his sentence, armoured boots pounding down the hallway. He ignores the sensation of warp transition, bursting into the control deck with weapons drawn. Only when he sees that there is no immediate threat does he reholster his wepons, to turn and regard the images on the holith.

 

Eldar. Corsairs. Void ghosts. Sharp bladed raiders whose ships swam the void in silence, emerging to strike unheralded and unwarned before fading away again. Orks, demons, renegades, ... Many were the fears of the ship-born. In the eldar that fear was mingled with respect.

 

Svelk cocks his head. He's never seen an eldar ship. He's heard many tales. He's ignoring the Captain's exlamation of astonishment.

 

He's... just watching. With something close to admiration.

[Machine God]

"Here be Dragons indeed" laughed Draak.

 

"Captain do you actually believe that these Xenos are the same ones as before when the ship was in the Viorda System?" asked Draak. "What reaction, if any did you get back from Talek Varn or Degier when you submitted your log report?"

 

Draak knew something of the lore about the Eldar, that his Clan Chapter had unearthed in their Xenarite exploration. Everyone knew to be wary / careful in dealings with the ancient race, although they weren't as old as the Sleeping Ones.

 

"Whilst they feast on the battlegroup they won't follow us in the Warp. It is said that they have...." Draak stopped talking, not wishing to give up all his secret knowledge. Draak looked at Odysseus.

 

"What are your thoughts on this Odysseus?"

 

"Orphiel, I saw you and Degier whispering. Did he say anything about the Eldar? enquired Draak. "Or were you just talking about Zachariah?"

 

Draak watched another playback of the footage to better gain understandings. "Captain Achard forgive me this indulgence, but have you cast an augury of the Emperor's Tarot?"

[Mazer Rackham]

"Orphiel, I saw you and Degier whispering. Did he say anything about the Eldar? enquired Draak. "Or were you just talking about Zachariah?"

 

He allowed others to answer as he examined the hololith, brows arched in a mix of surprise and suspicion.  He felt the tension ache of holding his face rigid and relaxed, working his jaw.  Captain Achard said they had been saved by the Eldar, but Orphiel knew better, trusted only the fact the Eldar could not be trusted.

 

+Regrettably neither, Serjeant.+

 

He considered the matter further, thinking of Degier's genuine terror of looming danger.  He believed the Librarian if for no other reason Degier had convinced himself of some doom.  He knew something of the Eldar, secrets were his trade after all.  Mostly he was aware of the veneration their Seers held, the preaching of cause and effect, the interventions almost at random, which then often ended bloodily for the human participants.

 

Perhaps they could be on the same galactic page as the Wicked Witch of the Crag.

 

He smiled inside his helm, feeling the press of his face against the snug osmotic gill.  Librarians were a superstitious lot.  Confirmation bias alone would send Degier into paroxysms of nihilistic trauma.  He bit off the mischievous glee lurking behind his tongue.

 

+However, I think the Librarian should be consulted,+ Orphiel supposed, firmly.  +On the Xenos, at least.+

[Trokair]

Placeholder

[Lysimachus]

Achard grunts, obviously still somewhat bemused by the situation.

 

"There is no way to know, Sergeant. Sightings of the Eldar are rare enough that it seems likely to be the same ships, but hardly certain.

 

I would not like to speak for my Lord Varn, or Lord Degier, but if pressed I would say they thought it made for a very odd coincidence. But at that point in time, there was nothing more to speculate on.

 

As to your other suggestion, I don't much go in for tarots and auguries… but I could have one of my officers go through the ship's Archives if you wish? You might be able to assist him, Brother Brynjarr?"

Edited May 3, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

"Thank you Captain Ackard for humouring me, a most succinct answer. My former Chapter and I don't go in for the Tarot either, but I have always found naval personnel to be a bit superstitious and that was why I asked." answered Draak.

 

Draak looked again at the hololith...

 

Now where have I seen those markings before?

 

Int 44 + Ciphers (Xenos Markings) = 44. Result: 30, Pass 1DoS

 

[A.T.]

Odysseus knew little of the Eldar, but their divinations were warned of in the teachings of the librarium. His words were at best supposition and perhaps little more than superstition
but his council had been asked and an answer must be given, "The xenos seek neither to save nor follow us, they have seen a future amongst the myriad echoes in the warp and seek to ensure it comes to pass, or not."

 

He tilted his head, "place no trust in their actions, all they do they only ever do for themselves. But for all their manipulations they can never full close the door... all paths are possible if there is the strength to take them".

[Black Cohort]

"I for one do not like seeing Xenos intervening in our affairs."

[Lysimachus]

One thing that the Chapters of the Astartes have in common with the warriors of the Aeldari is the proud use of bright, distinctive heraldry that identifies them more clearly than any name. The colouration of the xenos ship shown in the picter footage is bright green with fiery orange sail membranes, so Draak, Brynjarr and the Bridge officer search all historical records for any Eldar factions that display those - or similar - markings. After nearly an hour of trawling the Dagger's datalogs, they return. At a gesture from the breacher, the mortal officer steps forward to explain their findings.

 

"Archives don't have much, sirs. Thousands of reports of Eldar raids, of course, but in most cases there's not enough detail to make a firm connection between them and what we've encountered here? There are a handful of accounts that do link Eldar wearing those colours…" he displays a blurry picter image taken of a slender Eldar warrior clad in green armour and a tall orange helm, "…with a raider group that has supposedly been encountered several times across Segmentum Tempestus. Sometimes striking against Imperial assets, but sometimes assisting them to defeat other threats. The oldest fragment we have dates to the thirty-fourth Millennium. We did find one result that seems to be a definite match, but it's entirely unsubstantiated. A report from another ship's log, a vessel owned by a Rogue Trader who claimed to know something of xenolinguistics and to have even spoken briefly with one of their Captains. He named their group as 'Taka'Yoake' and suggested that a possible translation into Gothic might be 'Dawn Falcons'? That's it, though. Sorry, sirs."

 

It seems that, from this source at least, there are few answers to be had. Achard frowns irritably.

 

"That tells me nothing. Maybe we need to just stick to the task at hand, and worry about the xenos later?"

 

***

[Mazer Rackham]

Orphiel's lips tightened to a thoughtful pout.  He slid his attention over the assembled pirates, understanding of their peculiar skills deepening.  More secrets leached from nothing.

 

He agreed with those present, Decimus' caution, Achard's pragmatism.  The industry of Brynjarr and Draak in their lore mining.  The only odd man out was Svelk, the Assaulter standing in rapt attention of the hololith.

 

Whether bewitched by the efficacy of the Eldar's attack runs, their beautifully organic ships, or the timely intervention, was his own mystery.  Orphiel smiled - it was as it should be.

 

With little more to contribute, he studied one of the dataslates passed around by the bridge crew, canting his visor to appear as though he was absorbed, yet leaving enough room to keep an eye on everyone between paragraphs.

[Lysimachus]

Achard and his Navigator spend two cautious days winding their way through the warp, stopping in randomly chosen empty star systems, waiting just long enough in each to ensure that you are not being followed. Once the Captain is convinced that no other ships are hiding in your wake, they set a course back towards the first star marked by Lang. Then, over the next three and a half days, the Dagger Thrust follows a path set out by the former Lieutenant, identifying and travelling in turn to the other stars that will take you closer to your final goal, the Pride of Kings.

 

As more time passes, it seems increasingly clear that your escape was effectively covered by the madness that erupted in the Rhogau system. No one can make sense of the fleeting interference of these 'Dawn Falcons', though rumours and tales surrounding it have become the biggest topic of shipboard conversation, from the command deck to the lowest bilges.

 

But as you translate into the fifth star system after Rhogau - according to Lang only one more warp jump away from reaching your final goal - it appears that you may not have to wait any longer for the xenos' intervention to be explained. Achard calls you again to the Bridge and wordlessly points to the main viewer.

 

Waiting for you, hanging quiet and motionless in space in plain view of your augurs, is an Eldar vessel in brilliant green and burning orange. For those with some knowledge of the voidcraft of this perfidious alien race, the ship is identifiable as something broadly comparable to a heavy Escort, or perhaps a light Cruiser. While you cannot be absolutely certain, its profile seems to match the all too brief readings taken of one of the raiders that acted to undo Inquisitor Von Lombard's trap.

 

Achard clears his throat.

 

"They were hailing us as soon as we left the warp. What should I do?"

 

***

 

Odysseus:

Ever since the arrival of the Eldar 'saviours' at Rhogau first allowed you to escape from the system and into the warp, you have been troubled by an intermittent, low pitched buzzing. For the last five days it has come and gone, at its loudest barely audible to even your enhanced hearing, but seemingly not heard at all by any of your Astartes squadmates or the mortal crew.

 

***

[Machine God]

"Well Captain Ackard we are clearly outgunned. We can't go around them or through them and retreat isn't an option, I suggest that diplomacy would be the answer" said Draak. "They hailed us so we answer. If you will permit me, patch me through."

 

"This is the Dagger's Thrust of the Iron Gods! How might we assist the illustrious Aeldari of the the Taka'Yoake?"

[Mazer Rackham]

Orphiel let the Ironclad do the talking, although with some distaste for playing to the arrogant Eldar type.  Yet it was obvious that some kind of discourse was what the Xenos wanted, and giving them crumbs may prove useful in turn.

 

Their previous ambush of the Imperials demonstrated how efficacious they were in battle, even without the difference in warship displacements.  He wondered how many of the raiders lay undetected beyond the obvious vessel, flickering out in the darkness, pretending to be stars, or discarded by the Augermen as mere eye-strain.

 

The real question dogged the potential parley.  A whisper behind the curtain.

 

Was it to warn, threaten, perhaps offer terms?

 

Or was it merely to delay?

[Lysimachus]

The Captain nods and his vox operator transmits Draak's greeting.

 

Just over a minute passes. Then, suddenly, standing brazenly at the heart of the Bridge is a tall, slender figure! …or perhaps not? Though the form initially appears solid, light from the various displays passes through it as it moves. A psionic projection? Or some arcane technology far beyond the Imperium's hololiths?

 

Whatever the method may be, the alien in the image has an ethereal, phantom quality. Long robes - blown by a gentle breeze you cannot feel - and a few delicate, rounded armour plates cover its body. A tall staff surmounted by some unknown xeno symbol is held easily in one hand, and faintly glowing gemstones decorate both armour and staff. The Eldar's head is bare, its features narrow, elegant, male but somewhat androgynous. Its skin is pale and smooth. White hair and a few faint lines around the eyes are likely indicative of great age, but far more so the eyes themselves. Impossibly old, these eyes give the impression of having seen the passage of not just centuries, but millennia. The creature looks around slowly, his stately gaze passing over the men and Astartes standing before him.

 

"Hail, Iron Gods. Regrets for this intrusion, I felt it would be wise if we were to speak in a manner in which we could look one another in the eye."

 

When he speaks, his voice is… strange. Mellifluous, birdlike, yet somehow still crisp and precise. The Low Gothic language is clearly spoken, but with emphasis placed in odd, alien ways. Words are chosen and subtly stressed in a manner that implies some hidden meaning - perhaps even many meanings - beneath what is actually being said, but such cryptic subtexts are indecipherable, beyond the ken of most human minds. Likewise the Alien's graceful, feline movements add to its words, imparting or altering meanings with the flick of a single finger. Even after a thousand years of study, a human could not hope to properly understand the complexity of Eldar communication.

 

"I am Ilith'ar'dryan, Farseer of Taka'Yoake. It is… impressive… that you know of us. We need no assistance at this time. Rather, we are here to give you aid by means of a warning, and to help you to fulfil your quest to find the vessel of your forebears. It is soon within your grasp."

 

***

[Machine God]

"Greetings Farseer Ilith'ar'dryan of the Taka'Yoake, I am Draak. What is this warning that you wish to impart to us?"

[Mazer Rackham]

"It is… impressive… that you know of us..."

 

You mean 'unfortunate.' Orphiel decided.

 

"..we are here to give you aid by means of a warning, and to help you to fulfil your quest to find the vessel of your forebears. It is soon within your grasp."

 

Orphiel smiled, canting his helm to feign rapt attention.

 

He didn't believe this bastard any more than he'd trust the visions of an Obscura addict.

[Necronaut]

Vesalius took a half step back at the sudden appearance of the eldari apparition. His left hand unconsciously moved to the small of his back, grasping the handle of his quick-razor. He knew it would avail him nothing, but it gave him some measure of comfort nonetheless, knowing he had something solid, crafted from leather and steel with which to ground himself.

 

The ghostly eldari psyker spoke with an almost amused tone, like an instructor who was much too in love with their own voice prattling on inanely to their adolescent charges. The apothecary attempted to remain impassive, but couldn't help a small sneer creeping into his features behind his beaked helm.

 

So you already know the whereabouts of the derelict, xenos? How delightful. And of course you come to offer aid unsolicited, just out of the goodness of your alien heart, no doubt. You and the rest of your friends playing hide-and-seek there in the void around us.

 

Vesalius turned to look at the back of Draak's helm, wondering what devil's bargain they were about to strike with these creatures.

 

A high gothic phrase came to him unbidden: cui bono?

[Lysimachus]

The ancient Eldar seems amused by the brevity of Draak's response and the silence from the rest of the team. Obviously, no one wishes to give anything away. But one so adept at unspoken communication can easily read the hidden tension in your stances, the readiness for violence.

 

"Your mistrust is… understandable," he replies softly. "Ah, the duplicitous, arrogant Aeldari! Such a view of my kind is hardly surprising… or without merit. However, do not forget that Taka'Yoake has already aided you more than once. Elysium. Viorda. Now Rhogau. Perhaps if I were to explain the reasons why we have done this, it might allow you peace enough to listen to my words?"

 

***

[Machine God]

"Explaining yourselves would indeed be helpful" said Brother Decimus.

 

Draak accessed his Elysium files. Yes the Eldar had been there, it was on the pict files and audio logs.

 

"Elysium. Ah yes, the Aeldari Ranger that fired on my Brother here, and then withdrew" said Draak as he stepped forwards and looked down at the Eldar. Eisen whined a feedback protest as Xenos words were played back through external helmet speakers:

 

"If the worm Von Caeryd will not stay to protect what is his, why would we? We leave you to your pathetic squabbles, mon-keigh."

 

"We have been patient Farseer, you invaded our bridge with your hologramatic projection. We were polite, you know us to be a belligerent race no doubt. We have broken away from those ways, but still we are warriors and it is hard to stay the blades of distrust. Deliver your prophesy helpful Taka'Yoake."

 

 

Edited December 17, 2022 by Machine God

[Black Cohort]

"Explaining yourselves would indeed be helpful."

[Lysimachus]

Ilith'ar'dryan nods his head a fraction at the two Devastators' words. He does not look at all embarrassed by Draak's recall. It is difficult to read any expression on his face, but if anything, he seems slightly exasperated by the memory, though oddly not necessarily with you?

 

"An unfortunate start, admittedly. Some of my younger kindred struggle with acting in haste, and speaking with proper respect. As soon as I understood what was really happening that day, I ordered them to withdraw. You have my sincere apologies for any injury your warriors suffered. But be clear that even then we were aiding you. Had we been determined to continue against you, your attack would have failed."

 

The Farseer is quietly confident in his words.

 

"But perhaps I am moving ahead of myself. Very well. I shall endeavour to impart understanding. I have heard that your kind, those few who know our name at all, call us 'Dawn Falcons'."

 

He smiles then, like a lector patiently listening to the underdeveloped speech of an infant.

 

"It is a most… literal… translation. Other meanings there are. 'Taka' might also translate to your tongue in certain contexts as 'tall', in others as 'honourable'. Likewise 'Yoake' - the dawn - further speaks of both beginnings and endings. Thus, a deeper… truer… meaning might be 'to end with honourable purpose'. Ours is but a small Craftworld…"

 

The ancient Eldar's smile suddenly turns inward, becoming bleakly self-mocking. There is a strange humility in his posture too, an odd quality not usually seen in a member of his typically condescending species.

 

"Small!" he breathes the word out in a hiss of remembered pain. "The entire Aeldari race is small…! We of Taka'Yoake have long understood that our time is past. Too much was lost in the great Fall. All that remains are remnants, the bitter dregs of an empire that once spanned the breadth of the galaxy. It shall never rise again."

 

The xenos' hands move apart in graceful symbolism, somehow conveying a sense of loss but also of resignation.

 

"Acceptance is wisdom. But who should stand up in our place to claim the sovereignty that our leaders cast away in their hubris and pride? The vile, soulless Necrontyr? The base and lowly Krork? The foul servants of Sha'eil? We would not see this galaxy of ours cast into ruination. Only in your Humanity… the Mon-keigh as my younger kindred would describe… could we see the smallest potential to become worthy inheritors. As such, the Farseers of Taka'Yoake long ago resolved to aid you, to see you survive, to grow, until the day that your kind is ready to come into that inheritance.

 

We read the skeins of time and fate. We look ahead to observe the dangers that might one day envelop Humanity before it is ready to master the galaxy. We turn such dangers aside before they can be birthed, when that is possible, and do our best to forewarn and forearm you against those we cannot prevent.

 

Yet our path is… not highly regarded, our assistance often spurned. To most of our kin we are outcasts, or even traitors to those war-loving children who blindly insist that the Aeldari Empire can rise again. Of course, your race looks upon us no differently than any other 'xenos' to be 'purged'. We have therefore learned to guide from the shadows. In truth, it would have been preferred that we had not taken such overt action at Rhogau, but necessity commands. And perhaps it was fated that we should meet? Perhaps. After all, the time of your purpose draws close."

 

Ilith'ar'dryan places his hands and fingers together, forming a strange pattern. He looks troubled, even fearful.

 

"The warning, as promised. A time of trial approaches, a time of suffering like few others in the history of your empire. It has the potential to be the worst. The last. The fates show us a vision; the body of your Imperator nearly torn in two, a bloody, jagged wound weeping life and madness. Sha'eil… Dathedian... The death of countless billions of your kind. It cannot be prevented.

 

But we do what can be done to prepare you to face it. There is a chance that this dark tide need not spread and swallow the galaxy whole. The right worlds saved, the right… linchpins? …defended at the right time? A line can be held. Survival is still not guaranteed, but it becomes… a possibility."

 

The psyker pauses again for several moments, considering how to express his next point.

 

"Our casting of the runes of fate also told us where and when we would cross paths with the followers of one who might hold back that vast tide of destruction - in this part of the galaxy, at least. The 'where' was the asteroid your kind knows as Elysium."

 

He smiles thinly, seemingly in genuine if oblique amusement.

 

"We have learned to trust the guidance of the runes most faithfully, but I confess I personally struggled to accept the one named Arian Von Caeryd as a 'saviour' of anything. He was everything that is the worst of your species. Weak, self-serving. Neither the will, nor the strength of arm to save."

 

He makes a strange gesture, expressing relief and appreciation.

 

"But full of far sighted wisdom are the runes! The 'when', the day that fate had determined that we must send a delegation to that place? It was that same day that Elysium was taken in the name of your 'Iron Gods'! Coincidence that we came there together on that day? I think not. Again, you have my apologies for my followers' initial violence, but when I realised what was truly taking place, I had them retreat immediately."

 

He makes another odd gesture here, a flat palm moving slowly across his body. Perhaps he is attempting to draw a line under what he sees as an unfortunate misunderstanding?

 

"And your master, Talek Varn, the Tyrant of the Solios Nebula?" he continues. "A far different man to Von Caeryd. Another flawed being, certainly. But honourable in his own way, and having the driving will to accomplish anything! And the strength of arm? If you succeed in your quest for the vessel and its 'treasures'… then perhaps."

 

As you listen to the Farseer's words, you may be feeling the conditioned revulsion that is part of the Astartes' birthright. Even to see its alien form standing calmly on the Bridge of your ship is unnatural, entirely wrong. Instinct demands that you denounce everything the xenos witch says as manipulative lies, from his group's supposedly benevolent purpose to the warning that he now gives.

 

However, whether you believe him or not - whether he speaks truth, or lies through his alien teeth - you might also notice the parallels between his claims and the prophetic words of Brother Degier about the greater destiny of Talek Varn and his Iron Gods. A prophecy now repeated by a second, independent source. Could it actually be that Varn's… your… presence in the Solios Nebula will one day serve Humanity in some great and worthy way? Is it possible that the retrieval of the Pride of Kings is even more vital than you thought?

 

Of course, for some of you the fate of Humanity itself is only of concern inasmuch as it affects your personal prospects for survival and advancement. But if such a time of peril is really approaching, then you will likely still want to put as many layers of protection between the danger and your own skin as possible?

 

***