Author's Note: This short-story and now novella, was once a submission to Black Library back in January; for reasons explained already in the "Author's Note" of"In Darkest Night"(another short-story with the same Kill-team; if you haven't yet, feel free to read and review) I decided to post it here. For additional background I added this short prologue and an epilogue that weren't part of the original short-story, which itself was already a little over 16.000words long and has not been changed.

From Oblivion
Prologue

The room was kept in twilight and what little light there was, was of a purple hue. White smoke billowed lazily in the air, crawling around pillars, over tables and loungers, which were well-cushioned and covered with expensive silk. The air itself was warm and even somewhat humid, heavy with the sweet scent of perfume and the grey fumes excreted by some intoxicating plants that was mingling with the dominating white smoke.

Music echoed through the windowless hall, slow and sensual, the only sound except for hushed words and occasional laughter or chuckles. At the centre of the room was some sort of round, open fireplace made of stone, though the wood wasn't truly burning. The white smoke spread from there, a dozen people having gathered around it. They enjoyed drink and food, while a woman nearby played a flute-like instrument, shaped like a 'Y', her fingers running over the holes of the two tilted arms.

She didn't even truly know what she was playing; somehow the music just appeared in her head, demanding to be played. Even to her it was hypnotic. She couldn't stop her fingers from moving and she didn't want to, even if she had to give her final breath for this music. It was so wonderful, utterly fulfilling…she felt it in every fibre of her being, her heart having long adjusted to its rhythm.

For a moment the musician's eyes opened and she looked at the object standing in the fireplace. It looked like an urn of some kind, made from basalt-like stone. The most beautiful aspect of this object however were the engraved ornaments. They were of alien creatures, two-legged and reptilian in appearance, with long tails and clawed feet. The bodies were humanoid and covered with scales, though the heads appeared bird-like, with a curved beak full of teeth and fierce eyes, several small horns growing from the back of their heads, almost like crests. They were so detailed that the musician almost expected them to move to the music.

The woman closed her eyes again and continued to play the song, her mouth already dry, her lips chapped. She shifted her feet, or what used to be human feet; her legs were now ending in delicate, ebony hooves like those of a deer. She didn't even care when two small horns began to grow from her temples, breaking slowly through her pale skin. There was only the music, this perfect composition of sound.

Once more she opened her eyes, seeing another woman admiring beautiful scales in shimmering colours that were now growing along her arms. The woman was so mesmerised that she didn't even notice how the man sitting behind her on the lounger began to kiss her shoulder and neck, his hands starting to roam her body.
The musician looked back to the smoke, her gaze now being met by two utterly black, slanted eyes, outlined by the silhouette of an elongated face, crowned by several horns of varying length. It was as if the smoke itself formed this being, the musician's heart racing, not because of fear but excitement.

Play.

The sweet, velvet voice was suddenly in her head and without objection she obeyed, as she had done before. It had been this voice, which had explained to her how the build the flute and had taught her to play it to its liking. Oh, she was a dedicated student and she would continue to follow its teachings; she would reach perfection! Her body began to sway and her thoughts became clouded. The contours of a body began to appear in the smoke, wide shoulders with four limbs attached. It would join them here soon!

Go on. Play, little bird.

How could she possibly refuse? Her lungs were beginning to hurt and the sweet, metallic taste of blood was in her mouth, but she cared for neither. There was the gently touch of long fingers upon her cheek and she leaned into it...

Suddenly the door on the far side of the hall burst open, the wood broke as the wing was torn from the hinges. Weapons were fired, laser and ballistic alike. She could hear how stone was broken and furniture was torn to shreds, people screaming in pain. From the corner of her eyes the musician saw those who were still unharmed run, red flashes passing by, barely missing. Somewhere a male voice shouted orders, but the woman couldn't make them out. She was now cowering at the ground, her back pressed against what had been her seat, her gaze still upon the shape in the smoke. Fear had dug its claws into her; she didn't want to die, not now, not when she was so close!

Finish the song.

She nodded once, her eyes widened with fright; they would come for her as well. She needed to hurry, she could not disappoint it.

Finish the song and you'll be safe.

The musician believed it without even a touch of doubt. She would be safe, she would live. All she needed to do was play its music. She was so certain by now that this wondrous creature had provided her with this symphony that it was somehow feeding it to her mind. Oh, what else could it show her, make her experience?

Suddenly someone emerged from the shadows and as she turned her head she saw that he was wearing the heavy, bluish-grey armour of the Adeptus Arbites, a maul in his right hand, a rectangular shield in his left. Frightened she stared at him, watching him lift the maul, his expression hidden by a face-concealing helmet. Tears ran from her eyes; no, not now!
A ghostly hand reached out for him, took hold of the metal collar and tossed his body away like a doll. The head hit one of the pillars and the Arbitrator remained motionless on the ground.

Relief washed through her veins; it truly protected her. It were now tears of gratefulness and gladness that gathered in her eyes…and cold steel pierced her neck from behind. Her body stiffened as she felt the blade going through her flesh and emerging at her throat. The music stopped, the mouth-piece of her flute slipping slowly from her chapped lips. No! Impossible; it watched over her...did it not?
An angry hiss filled the room and she saw how the shape of smoke was torn apart, as if a silent explosion was taking place, only affecting the creature. The smoke that had filled the entire room sunk to the floor, remaining there like a layer of fog, exposing the urn upon the now dead fireplace.

The blade was pulled from her neck and her body collapsed. She felt the pain, but it was…pleasant. It was so intense, stimulating every fibre like the music had, if more crudely that she could not help but enjoy it. And she would follow whereto the creature had already gone, away from this dismal place.

The musician smiled even as the blood ran from her wound, her head on the cold floor. She looked upon the man, who had killed her as he approached the urn. The energy sword was still in his hand, her blood dripping from its tip. Aside from his weapon, she only saw the dark coat he wore and a silver badge, a shimmering column with a white skull; an Inquisitorial Rosette.

Her sight darkened and the world turned black. And then she felt nothing anymore.

Inquisitor Jeremias Lysander looked upon the hive-planet below his ship as he stood alone on the observation deck. It had been a few days since he and his Acolytes, along with the Adeptus Arbites, had rooted out the Slaaneshi cult. Usually such would be the work of the Ordo Hereticus, but this investigation had not begun with worshippers of the Ruinous Powers.

The elderly looking man stroke his short, well-trimmed, white goatee thoughtfully as he recalled the events that had started everything. Imperial agents had found evidence that the great merchant house of Vendedor was trading with xenos and he had begun investigating them. Posing as a trader himself, he had managed to purchase several goods of none-human origin, mostly having been acquired originally in the Tau Empire.

But Lysander had waited, he had wanted to know the exact extent of Vendedor's trade and relations with the xenos. The Inquisitor had sent his agents to uncover all who had close connections to the house, while he himself had continued on to play his role, slowly gaining the trust of the man he'd first begun to transact business with.

Finally the rather high-ranking family member had granted him to see more exclusive commodities. It was then that Lysander had first laid eyes on tainted xeno artefacts. While not a psyker himself, Jeremias Lysander had been around long enough to sense such unholy powers and the small statue he'd seen had radiated with it.

In that moment he had realized that waiting any longer was not an option.

With the help of his operatives, he'd gotten his hands on private communications as well as records and in a staged heist had stolen the statue, along with other commodities to conceal the true purpose of the break-in.

In the intensive studies following the theft, Lysander had learned that Vendedor had sold several of these objects and his psykers had revealed that the artefact was not only tainted by the ruinous powers, but also contained a trapped daemon. Several of his psykers had lost their minds to gain this information and the Inquisitor had executed more than one himself. He had then sworn that he would find each of those artefacts and see to their destruction. As well as the destruction of Vendedor itself.

Since then they had tracked down every object of the same nature as the statue, had brought justice to those foolish enough to use them like the Slaaneshi cult and now everything was finally in place to strike at the house itself. Before Vendedor would realize who was coming for them, they would be crushed by the Inquisition and their fellow servants of the undying Emperor of mankind.

While he reflected on the past events, he heard the door sliding open behind him, followed by the sound of footsteps. Someone walked with a swift pace, the noise echoing through the almost empty observation deck, which only contained a few armchairs and low tables. Often the Inquisitor would sit here, either when they arrived at a new world or before a mission. There were few things as wondrous and beautiful to look at as planets from space, no matter how often he saw them.

As the other person came closer, Lysander tore his gaze from the hive-world and looked over his shoulder to see his Interrogator Faruq Hafiz approach him, a data-slate in his right hand. The Interrogator was only in his mid-twenties, his skin tanned, his black hair short and curly. He was neatly dresses with a black vest over his white shirt, with only his heavy boots emerging from his black suit pants falling out of the picture. Faruq looked pleased. "Do I assume correctly that our suspicions are finally confirmed?"

The young man smiled. "Yes, everything leads to the merchant house Vendedor, but no further, every single artefact found; they have not purchased them from anyone else."

"That makes six." The Inquisitor concluded and took the data-slate, skimming the first paragraphs quickly. "They are all of the same origin. Do we know where Vendedor has their source, if not through trade?"

Hafiz nodded and tapped on the slate's screen once, opening a new document. "We finally got hold of these particular records. The house has put a lot of resources into expanding their 'mining' enterprise on an uninhabited world named Karpos." He paused, allowing Lysander to flick through the pages until he reached the dispatches. "And internal messaging revealed that not only their own soldiers are protecting their newest property, but also a significant number of kroot mercenaries."

One of the Inquisitor's eyebrows rose. "Well, well; why so much trouble for a few natural resources?" Lysander mused loudly to himself, his eyes still running across the text.

"There is also mention of certain cargo that is occasionally being shipped from there, though its exact nature is never disclosed." Hafiz rubbed his chin, as he often did when something worried or bothered him. "However one transmission mentioned a 'temple' and 'ruin'."

Lysander didn't immediately reply and continued to read, just in case some essential information still escaped him. But it seemed that they had learned all that they could and he looked up from the slate, meeting his Interrogator's gaze. "Then I believe we have all our targets. It's time we make our move against Vendedor and all of its associates."

"I suspect a simultaneous move against all involved?"

The Inquisitor nodded. "Indeed. Navy, Guard, Arbites and of course our own forces; we'll make sure that nothing remains."

"What of Karpos itself? Aside from the kroot and soldiers, there could be more artefacts in that temple, perhaps even daemons." He was obviously troubled by this possibility and rightfully so, his arms now folded in front of his chest. "Should we risk the possible corruption of our soldiers?"

Most people did not even know that daemons existed and for good reason. To task the Imperial Guard with this mission was out of the question; the presents of Chaos alone could be enough to corrupt their faith and make it crumble. Even his own trusted Storm Troopers Lysander did not wish to risk in such manner. He sighed. "No; we cannot anticipate how powerful the influence of the Ruinous Powers is on that world, much less in the temple itself." He perhaps could give this task to a fellow Inquisitor, but there was another option and he began to smile. "We'll send them the Deathwatch." An experienced team could face both aliens, heretics and daemons alike; and it was less likely that one of them got corrupted through the short-term exposure, than Acolytes or common soldiers.

Hafiz nodded slowly, apparently having expected this suggestion. "Then we should contact one of the Fortresses immediately."

The Inquisitor was looking out the window again. His Interrogator was correct; if they wanted to act soon the Deathwatch would have sent their Astartes within the next few days. "Indeed; I even have a Kill-team already in mind."

"Sir?"

"Schiavona." Lysander told him and then turned his head back. "I trust you remember them." The Inquisitor had even led that team himself at one point; well, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he'd led it along with the Space Wolves Volund Thundertooth. In the past century and a half, the Rune Priest had turned the Astartes under his command into a well-oiled machine.

Another nod and the young man smiled now as well. "I do; it's only been a few years."

"Good and if the past is any indication, they should handle this mission quite well." Briefly he wondered if some members of the team had changed in recent times.

Even though he wouldn't work directly with Schiavona again, Lysander certainly wouldn't mind if that Red Scorpion had returned to his chapter by now; he had been…difficult to work with, a dissonance in an otherwise well attuned squad. Well, perhaps Volund had managed to have him finally fully integrate himself. "Come, we need to compile quite a message for the Astropaths." As he walked Lysander felt quite satisfied and could not deny a certain zest for action; all wheels were finally turning.

Like a white snake searched the street its way through the Garden of Seers, their temple-like building with its Halls of Everlasting Contemplation at the centre, protruding magnificently beyond the trees. Yaidev looked up to the Towers of Sagacious Foresight, which bordered the dome itself, one for each clan of Saim-Hann. Even as Seers, rivalries between the kindreds were never forgotten, though both garden and temple presented some neutral ground. It had been some years since she'd last visited her ancient home and the eldar felt a touch of nostalgia tug at her heart.

Yaidev was a Pathfinder, a Ranger who had wandered among the stars for centuries and yet had made the decision to remain an outcast instead of returning to her home, unlike most who eventually returned to walk the various Paths of the eldar.

It was a dangerous existence for her, not just physically but for her very soul. Unprotected by the focus a Path provided, her mind and soul were in greater risk of succumbing to temptation, as well as getting lost to She-Who-Thirsts. Therefore the outcasts with their 'turbulent' minds were only briefly welcomed on board a craftworld, as they attracted the attention of daemons and it was for this reason that most outcasts returned to the Paths at some point.

Only those with a strong will and capable of great discipline became Pathfinders, or at least were capable of it. Others who neither gave up wandering and returned, nor had the necessary qualities most Pathfinders possessed could lose themselves to the darker aspects of the eldar nature, essentially becoming as their fallen kin of Commorragh.

But Yaidev had prevailed and continued her travels usually alone, only occasionally joining other outcasts on their journeys, or even Harlequins, who among others had taught her much about swordplay and how to use her psychic abilities safely, despite having left the Paths. She was no Farseer, but the skills she had, had more than once been of great help in various encounters, even lifesaving. And yet she often returned from her journeys to help her kin, whenever there was need of her. This time one of Saim-Hann had called for her, an old friend.

Perhaps it was not strictly true that she was usually alone, though the one to accompany her was not an eldar. Even now as she walked through the garden, a great beast was at her side; a dragonhound.

The animal was build similar to a big cat or wolf, though with no fur, only warm, leathery scales. Its long and narrow head looked like that of a dragon, the teeth of its upper jaw exposed, two small horns growing above his eyes and more like a crest along the back of its skull, starting at the jaw. A slightly longer pair of almost straight horns grew horizontally from its temples and there was a horn growing from each elbow of its front legs and the heels of the hind legs.

From the middle of the skull, along its spine to almost the base of its tail emerged about half a dozen bone-spikes, the longest at the neck about twenty-five centimetres long, leather skin connecting them all, creating a sail-like structure. A similar one was around the last third of its powerful tail, though shaped more like a leave.

Another noticeable feature were the black strips along its body almost like a tiger's if not as long, all connected by a stripe going from the tip of its snout to the tip of the tail, except for those on its upper limbs. The remaining colours were warm and earthy tones, brown at the back, changing into orange to saffron and at last white at its belly and throat. The same colouring was true for the sails, yet without the white.

The eldar called them Peish-Isturrith, whispering reptiles, as they could create rustling noises with their sails, used both for threatening and communication. They could be found on a few Exodite homeworlds and there Yaidev too had found her companion, which she'd named Kurnous, after the ancient and long dead god of the hunt.

Finally Yaidev reached a peaceful pond, bordered by shrubs, which were adored with beautiful flowers, their warm colours reaching from dark red to bright yellow. Weeping willow-like trees let their branches grow towards the water, a few of the silver-green leaves touching upon the surface.

She sat down on a bench next to one such tree, the curtains of leaves parting in front of it like an archway. Kurnous lay down close to her on the lawn, his ever exposed, ebony claws digging a few times into the ground as he stretched his limbs. Yaidev began to tickle him behind its crest, just where the head met with his neck, the hound growling approvingly, the tail moving back and forth across the lawn.

Together they waited for some time, but Yaidev had come early on purpose to enjoy the garden's beauty. Nothing seemed to have changed, as if time itself had stopped on Saim-Hann, forever preserving it in the state she'd left it in about a millennia ago; an illusion of course, but a pleasant one to indulge in for just a while.

The birds sang merrily in the trees and the Pathfinder noted with some amusement that a couple of them eyed Kurnous curiously from a high branch. They certainly had never seen something like him before.

When soft steps could be heard from the path, the dragonhound lifted its head and opened his amber eyes again, fixed on the approaching eldar. Like most Seers he wore long robes of red and white, a green cloth around his abdomen, his dark brown hair falling open over his shoulders today.

He looked at her with a gentle smile as the Pathfinder rose from the bench again. "Yaidev Sionnarie, it is truly a pleasure to see you again."

"Farseer Methran'el; the pleasure is all mine." She replied with a smile of her own, bowing her head respectfully, her right hand placed on top of her heart. "It has been a while since last you've summoned me."

"A long time to be away from your home." Yaidev didn't reply and the Farseer turned to the dragonhound. "Ah, Kurnous; you've grown."

The hound moved his tail again, when Methran'el ran a hand from the top of the snout up to the base of the sail. The elder Farseer had a certain soft spot for all kind of animals, though Yaidev was glad that he'd not brought his gyrinx along; it was difficult to say how Kurnous would react to the cat-like animal. "Yes, he's mature now, though he remains ever playful."

"Certainly he's a welcome companion on your travels."

"Indeed, though I often leave him on my ship." She told him, regarding her Peish-Isturrith. "I do not wish to risk his life needlessly on my missions, especially those I can best perform on my own."

Methran'el removed his hand from Kurnous again and met her gaze, his expression turning sterner; he was clearly deeply concerned. "As a matter of fact I have an important task for you Yaidev, one I wish you to undertake alone." He sighted and retrieved a gem from one of his pockets, doubtlessly containing some sort of information that she would reqiure. "And there is little time left."