The woods were quiet. No animal sounds permeated its dark expanse. It was because of the hawks; they were perched high atop the trees. Each one stood motionless, not looking, not surveying. They were like statues, like they had simply always been there and always would be. Wings enveloped their inert torsos, warding away pelting sheets of rain with metallic feathers. They were hawks, and yet they were not. The animals knew this, knew something was wrong with the 'hawks'. They were pretenders, facsimiles of the birds they pretended to be. But in the process of donning these false identities, of creating this unnatural amalgam of species, they had become something altogether more terrible and dangerous. The forest wanted nothing to do with them, but still it had to suffer their existence. Indeed, the existence of the forest, ironically, depended on these chimerical aliens. A scream pierced the woods. It wasn't an audible sound, like one someone could simply hear. No, it was one that was felt in the soul, an ethereal scream only the hawks could pick up on. They all seemed to shiver, and their heads turned inward, toward the leader of their grouping. Their leader unfurled its wings, revealing arms, a torso, legs, all encased in armor the color of a raining sky. Tachys, Swooping Hawks Exarch, high priest of bloody handed Khaine, war god of the Eldar, took flight. The other hawks followed suit, each sending a spray of dew drops scattering onto the forest floor as they shook the trees with their sudden take offs. Eldar were in need, and the hawks would provide an answer to their plight.
The hawks shot upwards, straight into the low hanging clouds. Rain sheeted off them as they accelerated. They kept their legs straight and close, their arms close to their bodies to reduce drag. It wasn't long until they slowed, feeling a moments weightlessness as they slowed into a hover. They could not see each other in the cloud; it was like trying to peer through thick, soupy fog. They sensed each other's movements by other, less natural senses. Each could see the bright soul shine of the others in their minds eye. All eldar were psychic things, all had some latent talent in that dangerous art. The Exarch burned brightest of all, and it was this light that the hawks followed more than any other. The priest had slowed their ascent, preparing for the dive, readying them for attack angle. Like their name suggested, they would swoop upon their foes. The exarch's mind tugged at their souls, encouraging each hawk to ready their grenade blisters. The hawks, as one, then angled down, diving at a suicidal speed straight to the ground.
The scream they had all heard had told them all they needed to know about the situation below them. Communication was relayed at the speed of thought. Let the lesser races rely on their speaking devices and their satellite relays. By the time they got their message across, an eldar would have already acted. The scream seared an image of eldar guardians under attack from a numerically superior force. They were mechanically enhanced, bestial human forms. The exarch, blessed with centuries of experience in holy warfare, knew what they were. A human sub-sect called Mechanicus. Creatures devoted to gods of metal and machinery. They would destroy this maiden world of the eldar with their industry, if the hawks allowed them too that is. The eldar guardians below were conscripts, dancers and musicians forced to take arms in times of war to fill niches in the eldar force that dedicated warriors such as the hawks were to few in number to fill. It was a sad fact that in war, the eldar never had enough, and their enemies were always numberless. The guardians were outmatched by the Mechanicus Skitarii that bore down upon them. The hawks would rectify this imbalance.
The hawks dove in a line, mimicking exactly the skitarii formation below them. They all cleared the clouds at the exact same moment, spearing down into the firefight below them. The guardians were about to be flanked, fire teams of skitarii were moving around to the right of their postion, creating an L shape to enveloped the eldar in lethal laser fire that none would escape from. The hawks adjusted in mid flight, taking on a L formation of their own. Grenades released from blisters scattered upon the armor plating of the hawk's suits. The hawks immediately arrested their dive, scattering outwards as a the blistering fire storm of released ordinance ripped through the skitarii ranks. Thanks to their precision, not a single errant grenade landed amongst the guardians. The smoke hadn't cleared before the tide of battle turned violently against the skitarii. Laser fire cut the smoke in angry red lines, melting metal and searing flesh. The hawks had landed to the flank of the skitarii, and assaulted into them with the fury of a hurricane. Feathered crests the color of dried blood raised upon the helmets of the hawks as their lust for kills rose . Mechanicus infantry turned to face the assault with admirable speed, but were cut down if they rose more than 3 feet from cover. The hawks fired and moved, darting with inhuman speed from cover to cover as they bounded forward, closing the distance. Then their Exarch waded in.
Tachys was armed similarly to the hawks, but being an exarch was schooled in the use of more potent weaponry. Tachys wielded the Sun Rifle, and the illumination it caused during battle quickly established to the skitarii why it had earned such a name. Where the hawks took carefully aimed, semi-automatic shots, the exarch produced a storm of searing death. Each trigger squeeze produced a rate of fire nearly equal to the entire squad of hawks. Each blurt from the rifle felled groups of skitarii, like a scythe through tall wheat. The humans were but cattle in the face of the exarch's murderous attentions. Super-heated blood and tissue jetted out from entry and exit wounds as the hawk's fire found their marks.
The skitarii's discipline fell apart. Their attack no longer had form, and soon the guardians, once on the verge of annihilation, counterattacked into the fleeing humans in support of the hawks. The defeat was absolute. Guardians quietly rejoiced amongst themselves, unbelieving of their good fortunes in such a hopeless situation. One amongst them did not take part in this. The warlock, tasked with leading the inexperienced guardians through the crucibles of war, approached the solemn hawks. They stood idle, motionless once again, as if the only thing that moved them was the prospect of future bloodshed. The warlock knew that this was not far from the truth. He too once trod the path of the warrior, just as these hawks did now. He remembered how it felt to kill, how it felt to fly and to hunt. It was…intoxicating. It made all other emotions seem dull and lifeless. It was a dangerous path to walk, a path that could swallow the traveler whole.
As the warlock reached the quiet group, the hawks suddenly parted in unison like a flock of sparrows around a larger hunting bird. The Exarch wished to greet him, it seemed. The warlock felt a flutter in his chest. It had been so long since he had been so close to his old mentor. He took a knee to the mighty warrior, the shadow of Tachys' wings shielding him from the driving rain. The warlock heard the hiss of air release as the armored seals of a helmet were released above him. A voice spoke, not a soul voice, but an audible, feminine one.
'Stand up, hawk Daboa, ill not have one whos flown by my side and shed blood grovel below me."
Daboa rose, finally daring to raise his eyes to see Tachys' face. She was as he remembered her, young and impossibly beautiful. Her eyes were as gray as the armor she wore, with black hair framing a narrow, porcelain white face. Daboa knew her features were misleading, however. Her looks betrayed nothing of her true age, and even less of the violent soul that burned behind those rain colored eyes. He felt an uneasiness he hadn't felt in decades. Being this close to a living embodiment of death had that effect sometimes. Daboa broke his reverie, and finally found his voice.
'Thank you for your timely intervention, great one. We would have perished if you had not arrived when you did.'
The Exarch's eyes narrowed slightly, and she said 'We are hawks Daboa, are we not always timely? We are speed itself are we not? Do you think I have grown slow in my age?'
Daboa blanched at the comment, horrified that he may have offended her. 'No insult was meant, my mistress. We were on the brink. Without your timely support we wou…' He suddenly noticed the slight smile forming on her face. She was toying with him! He laughed despite himself. The exarch placed a hand on her old student.
'It has been long since we have flown together, Daboa. I see that others have noticed your worth. You lead our guardians to war now.'
Daboa looked back at his charges, and his shoulders fell ever so slightly.
'We nearly met our doom, my exarch, had it not been for you we would be the ones scattered across this field in the stead of these barbarians.'
Tachys gently scooped a hand beneath Daboa's chin, turning his face to regard hers.
'Did you not call for my aid, Warlock? You saw the situation in front of you, and you acted. Our way of war is complicated and subtle. Used ineffectively, we would be destroyed piece by piece. Used effectively, and we blend together into an unstoppable force. I noticed a leader in you the first time I met you. It was always the big picture with you, never the trees for the forest, as it were. You did not fail here.' Tachys sighed suddenly, and her eyes seemed to stare through Daboa, like she was somewhere else suddenly. 'I can understand your feelings though. It's like Kael'shea all over again.'
'Kael'shea, mistress?'
'A world, Kael'shea was a desert world. I fought there as a hawk, under Exarch Tachys, before I took on that name for myself. Our Exarch perished, and the hawk took me once and for all. I fear for my hawks, Daboa, just as you fear for your guardians. There are fates worse than death. Kael'shea never ended for me, and I became Exarch, never to walk another path. I will forever destroy, never create. I fear more Exarchs will be born before this conflict ends.'
Daboa meant to say something, but a scream from the empyrean interrupted him. Another call for aid. It was brutally cut off, pain lancing through his mind, forcing Daboa to the ground. Whoever sent it had suddenly perished in great pain.
'That was Krogen… My Exarch, you mus…'
She was gone. Daboa looked up on impulse, seeing fleeting shapes dart into the clouds. He watched until he couldn't see them anymore, lowering his gaze sadly. This war seemed to be only just gaining momentum. He turned to his guardians, seeing the fear in their posture. No doubt they had felt the cry as he did. They needed him now more than ever. Hands clasped behind his back, he walked back through the corpse ridden ground toward his squad. His thoughts were clouded in uncertainty.