Fortune
Dave "Rathillir" Lee
Blackrazor@rogers.com
Nathor gazed up into the inky darkness of the night sky, admiring the pale, radiant moons of Coronis; he did not think a mon-keigh planet could hold such beauty. Eerie
silence permeated his surroundings. Taking a deep breath, Nathor closed his eyes and raised his face to the sky, feeling the cold, crisp air chilling his sweat. It was one of
sorrowfully few times that he could rest, and such a respite would end soon.
In the first few weeks of fighting, Nathor's squad had encountered numerous mon-keigh, but most of all, the disgusting Tyranids. They moved in swarms, devouring every
living thing in their path. Their recklessness and mindlessness were repulsive.
At the sound of upturned dirt, Nathor snatched up his shuriken pistol and whirled around, aiming the weapon with fluid accuracy. Several guardians faced him
unflinchingly, their curved, slim armour almost invisible in the darkness. The pale moonlight glinted off their bone-hued helmets. Green slits of eyes peered intently at Nathor.
"Farseer Illandra requests the presence of Morfildor," one guardian intoned, her smooth voice slightly muffled by the black faceplate of her helmet. Nathor nodded in the
darkness, sweeping his dark hair back with a black-gloved hand.
"Then we cannot deny her," he replied, donning his rune-encrusted helmet. "Death has not a stronger beckoning!" Squad Morfildor laughed in grim unison. His dark
robes rustling as he stood, Nathor felt for the rune pouch at his waist before he strode off into the distance. He did not need to look back to see if Morfildor followed; Morfildor
always followed him, wherever he went in battle.
Nathor and his guardians had almost reached the Farseer's encampment before the warlock stopped. He lowered the sound of his breathing until it was inaudible in the cold
silence. The vast, dark fields of grass blew around the squad as a wind began to grow.
Do you hear it? Nathor psychically whispered to the Eldar around him. Each guardian listened for a moment, motionless, then nodded. It was quiet at first, but began to
grow louder with every heartbeat.
Click...click...click...
The Black Guardians silently and swiftly formed a circle around Nathor, each gripping a shuriken pistol and monomolecular edged sword. The warlock flexed his fingers on
his pistol, and stroked the hilt of the lifeless blade at his side.
Inhuman shrieks erupted all around the Eldar as dozens of four-legged shapes leapt up from the fields. The beasts gnashed their jaws and clicked their claws hungrily.
"Lileath!!!" Nathor cried. His troops took up the cry as they launched themselves at the Tyranids. Muzzle flashes lit up the darkness as bursts of shuriken fire sliced
through Tyranid bone and flesh. Cries of pain rang out as two Black Guardians were overwhelmed by several 'Gaunts.
One 'Gaunt lashed out at Nathor, its scythed claws bouncing harmlessly off a shimmering field. Nathor almost contemptuously squeezed off a burst of shuriken fire in the
beast's face. The Tyranid fell back with a squeal of agony.
WARLOCK NATHOR! A strong female voice reverberated in Nathor's mind.
Farseer Illandra!
There are too many, even for Morfildor! The Farseer warned. Return at once!
Yes, Farseer!
Nathor snatched the weapon at his belt and pulled it free. With a thought, the witchblade in his hand flared to life, the dull blade blazing into blinding, electric fire.
"Morfildor, to me!" The warlock screamed hoarsely, swinging the witchblade out in a wide arc. Five 'Gaunts were decapitated in the blow, spraying acrid blood across the grass.
Afterimages from the radiant witchblade danced in Nathor's vision. "Clear a path!" The Black Guardians rallied around the warlock, holstering their empty pistols and slashing out
with their swords. Screams echoed across the flat plains as more Eldar were ripped apart by Tyranid claws. Pushing back his sorrow and rage, Nathor took off in a dash, stabbing
out with the witchblade. One hapless 'Gaunt crumpled to the ground, clutching its smoking wound with its foreclaws and kicking out at empty air. Squad Morfildor became a
retreating circle of swiping swords, but there were too many of the disgusting creatures; it would not be long before Morfildor was overrun.
The Tyranid loped after the guardians like wolves on the hunt. Their chitinous shells and claws became a roiling mass of clicking. In the wicked pursuit, they salivated like
starved hounds with a taste for blood and raw meat.
The Eldar encampment was in sight now, its hazy beacon lights sweeping across the perimeter. Several grav vehicles could be seen, their large, sleek forms silhouetted
against the light.
Squad Morfildor was suddenly illuminated as a large form descended from the sky. An Eldar Wave Serpent hovered over the pursuit, opening its troop compartment hatch.
One by one, every guardian made the leap into the transport. Nathor was the last to board, hitting the compartment floor with an audible thud. The Wave Serpent lifted into the air
again, obliterating 'Gaunts with its grav engine exhaust.
Nathor watched from up high as the Tyranid approached the Eldar perimeter. He watched as a trio of weapon platforms recoiled as they fired an unseen blast. All was
suddenly silent in Nathor's ears, then sound suddenly roared into life again as the vibro cannons' seismic attack tore through the swarm. The warlock heaved a sigh of relief as he
was helped to his feet by Black Guardians. They too were exhausted by the ordeal, but remained unshaken.
"You did well, Warlock Nathor," a voice said from a corner of the compartment. Farseer Illandra sat there, her hands calmly folded in her lap.
"I was expecting an attack," Nathor said, removing his helmet, "but not on me. You requested Morfildor, Farseer."
"And I have Morfildor, Warlock," Illandra said, smiling. "Had I not summoned you, the mon-keigh would have devoured you, and ambushed us. By returning, you saved
yourselves and dozens of Eldar lives."
"The Farseer is wise, as ever," Nathor said, bowing his head. "And she is all-seeing."