A/N: So, this was a request made by one Mr. War. He came up with the high concept for this story and then gave me great latitude to run in whichever direction my muse took me. With some further ideas thrown in here and there for good measure. On that note, Mr. War I hope that this first chapter lives up to your expectations. And for any other readers as always kindly read, review, and enjoy.
"Failure and success seem to have been allotted to men by their stars. But they retain the power of wriggling, of fighting with their star or against it, and in the whole universe the only really interesting movement is this wriggle."- E.M. Forester
7.562.456.M41. (Imperial_Calander)/
Ultima_Segmentum, Clayde_System
Princips, Capitol City Briem
Resea Arana_Master Sergeant
Disembarking from the small transport ship Master Sergeant Resea Arana adjusted her pack. Wargear collected over many years, both from her homeworld Cadia and beyond jostled about within it. The weight was comforting, surveying the landing field around her she noted her fellow Cadians marching in their thousands as they too disembarked. They were off to the frontlines, she and her fellow Kasrkin would be at the spearhead of the offensive.
The first major offensive to be mounted on Princip in years according to her superiors. Embroiled in a three-way war the Princip PDF has been admirably holding the line against both the Tau Empire, and a massive ork waaagh. There's even been talk of Eldar pirates taking advantage of the strife. Plascrete structures stood tall—if a bit ravaged by war—around them, the city's name was unimportant to her, but she did know that it stretched on and on for miles. Not quite a hive city, but coming close.
Placing these thoughts away she began to walk, her squad following behind her. They chatted among each other amiably, their conversations lost on her, she had never been a talker. It helped out really, kept her aloof and mostly unconnected from those under her command. She led them to their destination, a chimera waited for them quite a distance off. It would be taking them ahead of the main body of the regiment, straight to the front.
As most of their missions in the past this one was simple in premise, get behind enemy lines and take out greenskin leadership. That was the bulk of the work they'd be performing, orks were quite bloodthirsty, and didn't break easily. But taking away their leadership did provide some respite, if there were no bigger orks to command the smaller ones power struggles would occur as new leadership was established.
The trick was to divide and conquer, if the united waaagh was broken up due to infighting over position then it would make the campaign that much easier. They also had orders to take out Tau where they could. It was going to be an interesting campaign, it had been a while since she last fought either of the xeno species.
"Master Sergeant Arana," the PDF Corporal chimera driver saluted her crisply. She returned the gesture before motioning for her squad to mount up. They obeyed immediately and clambered into the open back chimera, stowing their gear at their feet.
"Take us where we need to be Corporal. I hear there are some greenskins that need to be dead." Arana stated as she followed her subordinates.
"Yes ma'am."
Placing her gear at her feet as the rest of her squad—all four of them—had done Arana began her final inspections. More habit really than for necessity, everything she needed was there and accounted for. Growing up on Cadia left lasting impressions on young minds though. Checking her assault shotgun she scanned the various multi-situational shells at her disposal.
The solid ammunition was heavy, and non rechargeable, but Arana felt the tactical options offered by flechettes, inferno, amputator, and even a few modified bolt shells was preferable. Besides her hellpistol was more than enough should she ever lose her beloved shotgun, training and experience assured her of that.
If all else failed she could always rely on the catachan fang strapped to her thigh as back-up, winning that particular card game had been worth it. Though an angry Catachan claiming you cheated and coming after you with said knife soured the victory a bit. Luckily a lasbolt to his head and a great relationship with the commissar saved her that day…
Feeling the chimera jostle as the PDF Corporal finally got it into motion stopped her long enough to take another look around. As they entered a road proper the city passed by showing a tapestry of the usual scenes. Looting, riots, refugee camps, PDF troopers, and guardsmen heading off to war. It always surprised Arana, how fragile and easily a civilized population could break, and yet the whole of the Imperium kept on ticking.
Catching some of her squad's conversation she turned her attention to them. They were good guardsmen, there had been more of them at one point, but years of war tended to take a toll on manpower. There was Riren their designated marksman, he could hit a mark with his long-las from nigh on two miles off. Hanne was perhaps the best explosives expert she had ever seen, the woman had managed to take down an ork warboss clad in mega-armor with one krak-grenade, one!
Corporal Starkrage, he was about as consummate a soldier as anyone could ask for, always the last to retreat when ordered. Jar managed to somehow patch them all up when they should have died, even Arana had her guts put back into her by the stoic medicae.
Distant sounds of battle became close, the whistle of shells fired by artillery, the whip-crack of lasguns, the bellowing war cries of merciless and excited xenos. Frighteningly enough it was all familiar to her by now, even comforting. Judging by the increasing cacophony she'd estimate they were a mere half-hour away from their latest battle.
"Wake me when we're there Corporal Starkrage," Arana laid her head back, Starkrage's affirmative heard as she closed her eye's. It would be a good idea to get some rest while she could, as for the proximity to the warzone, it didn't matter, not anymore. She fell asleep to the lullaby of xenos war-cries and weapon fire in the distance, familiar as it ever was.
7.562.456.M41. (Imperial_Calander)/
Ultima_Segmentum, Clayde_System
Princips, Capitol City Briem
Shas'La_T'olku Irah
Shas'La T'olku Irah, this was his first deployment, his first trial by fire. On the way to this blighted planet he heard quite a few heroic tales, or horror stories depending on one's point of view. His Shas 'Ui told him of the savage greenskins, brutish monstrosities fit only for extermination. To think that a sentient race would revel so much in chopping up living things disgusted him. And then he heard about the Imperium, a far cry from the gue'vesa he knew, draconian was the best word he could think to describe them. Nearly as brutal as orks, they were possibly an even more harrowing opponent because of their relative strategic experience.
It would be quite the first deployment, a three-way free-for-all of epic proportions. But, it was for the greater good, and Irah knew that would guide him, the Ethereals were never wrong. Why did the Empire want Princip? It did not matter, not to him, he had faith, and that was enough.
Shaking, the manta gunship transporting Irah and his cadre stirred him from his reflection. Heavy booms, and sharp plinks could be heard as the air around them was filled with flak from Imperial and Ork air defenses. No direct hits, the sturdy manta wouldn't go down so easily though.
Strapped into his harness Irah was just waiting for the ramps to lower. They were hitting a weak point in the Imperial and Ork lines, from there they were going to capture mission critical sites within the main Imperial city on Princip. It was a classic employment of the Mont'Ka. As the manta shuddered Irah knew it was time, his gut told him so. From now he would have to rely on his training, his Shas'Ui would guide him, and he would pass his first trial of fire.
The ramps opened and instantly every fire warrior on the top deck with him freed themselves from their harnesses. Irah was a bit behind fumbling as he heard the sounds of battle outside, louder with the manta open to Princip's air. It wasn't long though before he was freed and charging down the ramp with his cadre into the dust choked air of the battlefield.
He took in the sight, their landing zone a large clear area of pummeled structures and rubble. To their front the Imperial lines, to their rear Ork. Monolithic Imperial buildings created a border around the clearing as the two sides had fought it out before Tau arrival.
Advancing across the warzone Irah could see hammerhead gunships zipping ahead of the main body of warriors to strafe enemy positions, crisis-suits were advancing at the sides to quickly circle around the enemy and flank them. Meanwhile he and the other cadres advanced on foot keeping back a ways to lend fire support for their kroot auxiliaries, as the avians charged gue'la lines to engage in melee.
A cacophony of explosions was heard as hammerheads blew out the top floors of buildings on the Imperial side. Effectively denying the gue'la any possible sniper support they may have had. It had the added benefit of dropping large amounts of debris down onto the Imperial line, crushing some, inconveniencing the rest. Kroot and crisis-suit pilots used the new difficult terrain to their advantage as they assaulted the enemy.
Irah sighted in on his first target with his pulse rifle, the pink gue'la face was contorted in anger as it gunned down an approaching kroot. Irah squeezed his rifles trigger, the hyper-velocity pulse of plasma connected not a micro-second later obliterating the gue'la's head from the neck up, helmet included. All around him he heard as his cadre in turn fired as well, each fire warrior taking out a hostile target.
To his rear he heard the pulse fire as more cadres engaged with the charging orks to their flank. The greenskins were so far that the accurate fire of tau gun-lines slaughtered them before they could make any headway. Fire-power combined with their sudden arrival was turning the tau assault into a tactical success. Imperial line faltering Irah heard the order for advance, they walked calmly in their fire-lines, employing their large nanocrystaline pauldrons to soak up any stray Imperial lasbolt and stubber-rounds. Irah felt the thump and heard the ping as a stubber-round hit his own pauldron ricocheting away harmlessly.
Ahead of them he picked out his targets careful not to hit his kroot allies, his own pulse-fire took out at least five more gue'la PDF. By this time the Imperial line was crumbling, elements of their PDF were fleeing the elaborate trench system, crisis-suit pilots and kroot bore down on them. Where the avians weren't battering the gue'la into submission in melee, crisis suit operators were blowing them into pieces with precise heavy weapon fire.
Any stragglers left and retreating got pulse-fire to their backs by the advancing tau gun-lines, or blown to bits by strafing hammerhead gunships. The Mont'Ka was swift, brutal, and decisive, Tau victory assured in a matter of moments. Meanwhile as the Imperials retreated the Tau hammerheads were content to shift focus onto the Ork lines, bombing the resilient greenskins into oblivion to cement Tau hold over the area.
Manta's were now ground-side, acting as forward operations for the Tau forces in the area. From here they would expand their influence and eventually take the city.
"Come Shas'La, we must establish ourselves further in the area of operation," Irah's Shas'Ui stated to him as he halted for a brief moment. His first trial by fire over Irah was taking in the moment, the scenery… the stench. Before him was a charnel house, gue'la bodies everywhere, mostly bits and pieces. A whole torso here and there, arms, legs, the shocked expressions written on dead men and woman's faces… if a face was even discernible.
Seeing the carnage up close was making the Shas'La's gorge rise, and the Kroot going about their macabre ritual of eating the bodies they deemed to possess good traits didn't help. One of the avians shot him their equivalent of a grin as he passed, a gue'la eye hanging from his beak. He ate it up quick.
"These one's have good eyes on 'em, see into a broader spectrum." He threw out conversationally. Irah merely nodded, the Kroot gave an amused chuckle before going back to his carrion.
"Pay them little mind Shas'La, foul as they may be, they have a part to play for the greater good." Irah's Shas'Ui stated drawing the young fire-warrior's attention away from the sight of Kroot feeding. "Our duty is to press on, reports are coming in from the pathfinder teams and drones. At this rate we'll be able to take this sector within the day."
"Yes Shas'Ui, for the greater good," Irah spoke, a slight hitch in his tone. Seeing up close the devastation the rifle in his hand caused, it was rattling, never mind the barbaric Kroot. Such carnage caused at a distance, he couldn't imagine being in the thick of it, fighting hand-to-hand, having to use the oath blade at his hip to kill another sentient being.
To think that the gue'la did such things daily on many more fields of battle than he could imagine, it was a sobering thought. That was the type of enemy he was going to be fighting.
7.562.456.M41. (Imperial_Calander)/
Ultima_Segmentum, Clayde_System
Princips, Capitol City Briem
Watgrad Wilddaggha_Ork Nob
His mind worked… differently from that of many of his kind. In his own thoughts he was one of a kind, properly orky… just in his own way. The massive nob had never been one for charging blindly, no that was for the gits who didn't have cunnin'.
After all if you hit 'em when they weren't lookin' then you got to live longer, and the longer ya lived the more right proppa scraps ya could get in. So, Watgrad Wilddaggha waited patiently as those blue-skinned gits along with their birdy pals advanced past his position. He had snuck skitter-scuttle across no-mans-land the day before, wanting to stab a few hummies in the back, maybe bat a few across the noggin' too.
He had been waiting patiently, for the night, when he could move his bulk around easier without being noticed. Watgrad had been more than surprised when the very appealing booms, and shoota-like weapon-fire had woken him up. From his position in a hummie pill-box he had hid in the night before—the two gits manning it had been asleep and not much of a scrap—he saw as the blue-skin assault had happened.
Blue-skins he had scrapped with before, the yellow clad 'blu's' weren't much fun when ya got proper close to 'em. Not much of a scrap there, but their birdy pals, now they were a 'proppa scrap' as his warlord had been fond of sayin'. Watgrad had been lookin' forward to using his choppa on a few unaware hummies, well more than just two. But, his disappointment was short lived when he realized that he'd be able to get proppa'ly close to some blu's, and their birdy pals.
Unfortunately, it would take more time. Watgrad was cunnin' after all, and he knew if he tried to scrap now… well he'd be un-proppa'ly shot full of holes before he managed to chop any gits. No, he'd just have to grind his teef and wait a bit longer…
"Check that pill-box, make sure no gue'la are hiding out." Watgrad heard the blu's voice clearly, it wasn't too far away. The nob grinned, seemed he'd be getting a scrap sooner than expected. Decked out in his black body paint Watgrad stayed still, there was no light in the pill-box, and he was nigh invisible against the inner wall.
Three blu's entered the fortification, their lights panning around quickly as they scanned for danger. Beams passed over his form, none detected him, stupid blu's he thought. Instead they stopped at the bodies of the two hummies he chopped the night before. The three blu's began to inspect Watgrad's work, oblivious to the danger they were in.
"Kroot, must have gotten in here," one of them said in a nervous tone.
"No, these wounds don't seem right, too large, and old," another noticed.
"Who cares, I'm gonna gag if we have to stay here any longer, let us get away from here. Leave clean-up to the birds." The third bit out, queasiness clear in his tone.
Watgrad had heard enough, the blu's were so close it was maddening. He moved his bulk with surprising stealthiness, the leader blu's head was cleaved clear from his shoulders in one motion. Watgrad threw aside the body like a rag-doll as he closed on the second git.
"Wha..." the blu was cut off as Watgrad's choppa split him clear in two from the top of his head to his groin. By this point the nob was laughing maniacally as he conducted his proppa orky work.
"By the Ethereals!" The last blu squealed from behind Watgrad. He heard the sound of the blu's shoota as it winged his side, but it was only a tiny scrape, not worth the nobs attention. After all, he had a git to smash, right and proppa!
Rounding in an instant Watgrad had one massive hand on the last blu's shoota, ripping the pathetic excuse of a weapon from his hands and tossing it. The next moment the nob brought the same hand around to backhand the blu, the small hoofed being went sailing across the interior of the pill-box. A loud crash was heard as crystaline armour met rockcrete wall, the blu's helmet falling off.
Watgrad was pleased when the blu started to stir from his place on the floor. Rising to his feet the blu drew its pathetic little choppa in a shaking hand, facing the huge nob it was hilarious. Watgrad couldn't help but bellow out in laughter at the sight. Though he was impressed by the little blu, usually they didn't even bother to get into a proppa scrap, liked their puny shootas too much he supposed.
"Oi, now tha's righ' an proppa' ya git. Ba' old Wilddaggha ain't goin' easy on ya!" The nob grinned as he cracked his thickly muscled neck. Advancing on the little blu Watgrad raised his choppa, ready to cleave the git in two. That was when he heard the fall of many hoofed feet. Turning Watgrad was met with the sight of five blu's lined up outside the pill-box entrance, their shootas trained on him.
They held their fire though, not wanting to hit the little blu scrapper just visible past the nobs bulk. Watgrad grinned as he faced the blu's down, then a curious feeling. One he hadn't felt in quite a while, the feeling one got when a choppa was stuck into 'em. Turning back he saw the little blu, with his little choppa buried into his side. Trying to pull the choppa from his side the blu was struggling. Watgrad laughed even more.
"Now tha's the spirit bluey!" He yelled out, the blu looked up at the nob in horror. Watgrad grinned down at the interesting little scrapper and wasting no time batted him away, back into the wall he'd hit previously. Using the distracting movement the nob turned, barreling into the group of five other blu's, crushing one of their heads in his great palm, and cleaving off two more heads with one swing of his choppa. The remaining two were thrown aside as he charged through by his sheer bulk.
Watgrad wasn't retreating, orks didn't do that… no he was running away to scrap another day. He had always been fast, even considering his size, and remarkably stealthy. He heard the puny sound of blu shootas behind him, felt a few grazes as their deadly payload missed him narrowly. Watgrad however was cunnin', and soon enough he was out of sight and far enough away from the blu's to breath—or laugh—contently, it had been short-lived, but it had been a good proppa scrap.
That little blu, had earned as close to respect as could be gotten from an ork. Watgrad would remember the little scrapper, the nob hoped he'd meet him again, to finish their fight. Stopping in a large crater far from the main blueskin forces Watgrad began to touch up his camouflage, adding the differently colored earth to better blend in for his trip back across no-mans-land to his warparty.
He was perplexed when he felt slight resistance as his hand bumped into something at his side. Or rather in his side. Watgrad stared down at the little blu's choppa, sticking out almost proudly from his ribs. The nob grinned crookedly, he'd have to keep it as a reminder, now he was sure he'd meet the little scrapper again. After all he'd have to return the little blu's choppa, it was the orky thing to do… before he pummeled the little git into paste.
7.562.456.M41. (Imperial_Calander)/
Ultima_Segmentum, Clayde_System
Princips, Capitol City Briem
Shas'La_T'olku Irah
Irah, he was shaken. To think he was nervous about the gue'la… that had been the first ork he had seen, and fought in his life. He hardly wanted to think he'd have to fight more of those brutish monstrosities, it was no wonder standard combat doctrine avoided close combat at all cost. More importantly, what was an ork doing on the Imperial side of the battlefield!
Irah was breathing hard, getting thrown into a wall twice will do that to you. Lucky my armour took the brunt of it, was the thought running through his mind. He was grateful that the rest of his cadre had shown up in time to save his skin.
His thoughts crept back to the giant he had just fought. Easily two and a half metres in height it had towered over him. To think they hadn't spotted something that big! Even with their helmet's built in sensors… the ork must have been doing something to cover its presence. Other than the haphazard camo pattern it had covered itself in. Irah was sure he'd never forget that crooked grin of tusks and teeth, or those crinkled piggy, red eyes.
"Shas'La are you alright?" His Shas'Ui's voice drew him from his introspection. His tone surprisingly calm despite five of his cadre having been killed. It spoke of the veteran fire-warrior's experience and resolve. He had been one of the lucky two at the pill-box entrance to have survived after all, and by a narrow margin Irah thought to add.
"Yes Shas'Ui, just a little shaken. First greenskin I've seen in the flesh, lost my oath-blade," Irah managed to get out in a shaky tone. He was still reeling from the blows he took.
"Good to hear you're okay, unfortunately there's no time to rest. That Ork was a freak of nature, the rest of the cadres have secured the area, we must be moving on despite our losses. Our fight is not over, for the greater good," his Shas'Ui stated solemnly. "Get your helmet and weapon Shas'La, we've got more work to do."
Irah nodded, walking over to where his pulse-rifle was still miraculously intact as well as his helmet. Placing the comforting weight of his helmet back on his head Irah felt better, he was just starting to realize how difficult his trials ahead were going to be. He moved out with the retreating members of his cadre.
7.562.456.M41. (Imperial_Calander)/
Ultima_Segmentum, Clayde_System
Princips, Capitol City Briem
Resea Arana_Master Sergeant
Putting another amputator shell into the ork Arana watched as the screaming xeno lost its other arm. In muted amusement she watched as the greenskin bellowed, looking perplexed at the two stumps it now sported. Riren placed a lasbolt into the xenos head a second later ending its misery. Arana had already switched targets, confident in her designated marksman to pick off anything still living that got past her and the rest of the squad.
She was already pumping out more amputator shells into other Orks. Taking limbs with each shot, let's see a lasgun do that to a greenskin was her thought. She concentrated on headshots where she could, but shots to the legs were nearly as effective. They allowed her squad to pick off the crippled xenos at their leisure.
Between her assault shotgun, Riren's precise longlas fire, Hanne's liberal use of frag-grenades from her launcher, and Jar's hellgun fire, combined with Corporal Starkrage's own they were clearing the current area quite effectively. Close to the very edge of the eighth district's front they were encroaching upon a very stubborn, very dug-in ork nob. As far as they could tell it was directing the majority of the fighting in the district.
Bellowing out its orders over the district's pilfered intercom system to spur on its boyz. They knew where the bastard was, the main broadcast station, the problem was getting past all the orks between them and it. It had been one skirmish in the streets to another so far. This latest one being the sixth. Now finished as Arana blew the head off the last Ork alive.
They were close though, thankfully enough. Just left around the building ahead of them onto the next city block, and they'd be at the broadcast station's door step. Though Arana really would rather not have to go through a frontal assault, against what was no doubt a few dozen personal guard surrounding their nob. Even Kasrkin couldn't deal with that, not with just five of them anyway.
She motioned for her squad to stack up at the building corner, she took the lead. Her squad behind her she carefully held a small mirror to get a peak. In the reflection she could see the broadcast building, it was gutted, seemed the greenskins had done some major remodeling. The casting tower was still intact… though it rose ponderously from the blown open ruins of the building itself.
In the middle of a gaggle of Ork boyz running around stood the nob, clad in greenskin karapace. It bellowed its orders into a comically massive microphone festooned with human skulls. Arana took note that they could cross the street to the opposite building without being seen. She motioned for Corporal Starkrage right behind her to go first, he did so without hesitation, running low across the street to the cover of the opposite building.
There he took up position and scanned the area, making sure no orks were around. Finishing his recon he motion for Arana to start sending over the rest of them. The Master Sergeant began to send her squad over one at a time, Hanne, Jar, and Riren. Finally she made the run, keeping low as she had been trained, confident she would not be seen.
Meeting up with her subordinates she began conversation with hand signs. Telling them to follow on her lead, they traversed the building's side finally coming across the fire-escape stairs. They got the ladder down without incident, with the random shooting orks were so fond of the clank and groan of the mechanism went unheard.
Then it was a fairly short way to the upper floors of the building. They would be a good vantage point for what she had in mind. Entering through a window they traversed the deserted habs and found one facing the proper direction. They secured the room not a moment later.
"Riren, if you'd do the honors." Arana spoke in her usual tone, she likened it to commanding, but friendly. The sniper nodded curtly, a slight smirk on his face as he began to move a table to the proper area. He made it face the window about three feet away. Getting up on it he sighted in on the nob with his longlas, taking a moment he shook his head.
"Hanne, could you please loan me your shoulder?" The marksman asked with a smirk.
"I swear if you try anything Riren," the explosive expert threatened doing as requested. Arana could care less about inter-guard relationships, so long as they didn't affect the mission. Riren was an unabashed flirt, and his antics ultimately led to nothing, so she was long past caring about the usual banter between the two of them.
"Never dream of it Hanne, but if you could please hold your breath..." Riren asked as he rested his longlas' stock on his comrades shoulder. Sighting in again Arana watched as the sniper breathed in slowly, exhaled, and then pulled the trigger. A whip-crack was heard, followed by a sudden silence as outside the greenskin mob stopped its antics as its leader fell to the ground, brain fried, and dead.
"Kill confirmed, Ork mob is scattering. We should be good, seems they're clearing from the area." Riren stated professionally.
"Thank the Emperor, that Nob's voice was starting to grate on my nerves," Jar commented.
"How long before we're clear to move out?" Arana asked quickly.
"I'd say about ten minutes Ma'am. We should be able to avoid all confrontation by that timetable, the mob will be spread thin enough by then," Riren reported.
"We can take out any stragglers too, shouldn't be too many after seeing their boss drop dead like that." Hanne threw in as she got away from Riren.
"Good, take the opportunity to eat some rations," Arana said it like a suggestion, but they all knew it was an order. She liked her subordinates to have a full stomach, they could operate fine on minimal food, but she demanded them to keep as aware, fed, and fit as possible. Thus when the opportunity arose she made them all eat.
"Yes Ma'am," was the response she got from them all. The crinkle of ration wrappers was heard soon after. Having the room secured and Riren keeping an eye on the door she felt they were okay for the moment. She pulled out her own ration bar, unwrapped it, and took a bite of the bland substance. She'd been eating the stuff for years, still couldn't get used to the damn things…
7.562.456.M41. (Imperial_Calander)/
Ultima_Segmentum, Clayde_System
Princips, Synchronous_Orbit
Taerosa Denvara_Farseer
Fire, destruction, suffering, the screaming of thousands of souls rent from their bodies. She saw her home in ruins, warped and decrepit, corrupted by the all consuming destruction. The silent, yet unimaginably loud agony of so many of her people. It never ended, the torment, the horror, the vision.
"Farseer, we're approaching the monkeigh world." A voice pulled Taerosa Denvara from her vision. She allowed her runes to lower themselves carefully despite the interruption. These rangers… they had no sense of respect, or rather no sense of common decency. But, they were the only ones willing to believe, and even risk their lives helping her on this dangerous mission.
"You should not be so flippant about disturbing me when I'm looking into the skeins of our future. It could cost us valuable foresight," she replied as she gathered her runes.
"You've already told us the bulk of it. Something bad is going to happen to Faendar, unless we come to this monkeigh world to stop it at the source. What more might we need to know, surely this force you speak of will be obvious when it shows up." The Ranger smirked, he gave off a devil-may-care attitude, Taerosa could hardly stand it.
"It could be very important, especially if I missed all the ways to avoid your death." Taerosa spoke nonchalantly, partially to try and instil some humility into the Ranger before her. Though she'd be lying if she said it wasn't important, every Eldar life counted, even the insufferable fool before her.
Said fool merely chuckled lowly shaking his head. "Farseer, your concern is appreciated, but if I'm to meet my end on this little quest of yours, then it shall at least be a good one I have no doubt."
Taerosa shook her head. "You should not regard your life so carelessly. Thank you for informing me of our approach, now Ranger, if you please. I'll need to change for planetfall."
The Ranger held his hands up. "Not that I'd mind the view, but sure I'll let you have your privacy Farseer. We make planetfall in minus thirty, so change quickly. And my name is Lomon by the way." With that the Ranger left closing the door behind him and leaving Taerosa to her task.
"Rangers..." the Farseer muttered under her breath. Shedding the simple cloth robes she wore the majority of her time she approached the alter which held her wargear. It had been a long time since she was out in the field like this, but still she took pride that her armour was well maintained despite it. First the undersuit, snug, it felt tighter than she remembered. Next her wraithbone armour, that thankfully still contoured her body perfectly, even after so many decades. Her surcoat was next, it was shorter than what she had seen as the norm, reaching only just to her knees. All of the usual unnecessary fabric other farseers wore had always seemed to ask for trouble. The flowing fabric was worn more as a badge of her path than any other practical reason.
Finally, her witchblade, the wavy shape was of frightening sharpness, lined with runes and helix crystalline-psychic matrix. Taerosa felt the blade fall in tune with her as soon as she picked it up, the feeling was familiar and welcoming. Sheathing it at her side she adjusted her surcoat, vanity was unbecoming of an Eldar, but Taerosa would be lying if she said she didn't take pride in her appearance ever so slightly.
Part of the reason she wasn't as trusted as many other Farseers. Among other reasons…
Breathing she turned sharply and went through the portal of her chambers. The Ranger ship was quite… primitive to her eyes, not of the usual wrathbone that made up so much Eldar technology. Instead it was a salvaged and re-purposed Imperial ship of indeterminable origin. The lead Ranger, Lomon, he claimed it helped him and his compatriots recon Imperial space far easier.
Why a sleek and unseen Eldar made vessel could not fit that bill too Taerosa had no idea. But, again Lomon and his were the only ones willing to believe her, despite their quirkiness—something expected of outcasts—Taerosa had sensed nothing but truth, and actual faith in their souls.
As she entered the command deck a catcall broke her from this train of thought quickly… she could not stand Rangers. An icy glare sent the way of the whistler silenced him immediately, though Taerosa did not get the satisfaction of seeing his ashamed expression behind the cloth mask he wore. Looking around she saw that all of the Rangers had gathered in preparation for their mission.
They had quite the assortment of equipment, from the usual fair of long rifles, shuriken launchers, a death spinner, and even a ghost-axe. It was very motley, but Taerosa saw the inherent usefulness in having such a variety of options. It helped that despite her dislike of them that the nine Rangers around her seemed quite competent.
"Down boys and girls, the Farseer is our guest," Lomon spoke as he appeared at her side, he had been hanging back by the entry way waiting for her arrival. "Now, Farseer you've told us the broad strokes, but now that we're in orbit. My pilot will need some concrete coordinates for us to begin this mission of yours."
Taerosa cleared her throat, looking around at her audience. "Based upon the skeins we should land in the Eastern sector of the monkeigh world. From there we will be setting up base-camp within Briem, their capitol city, we need not have exact coordinates yet. Simply find us a safe landing zone if you can, that will be enough for now."
"Anything more than that? I mean there's supposed to be some genocidal threat down there right. So far all our scans have shown are monkeighs, orks, and tau killing each other as per the usual. What's the big problem?" Catcall Ranger asked.
"Baharryss..." Lomon grumbled, about to shut the man up.
"No that's quite alright," Taerosa cut the lead Ranger off. Fixing Baharryss with another glare Taerosa addressed his question. "The skeins are seldom completely clear. But what is certain is that if we do not stop whatever is going to happen here, Faendar will burn to its infinity circuit, every soul on our world lost to she-who-thirsts. When we get down there I'll be able to discern the skeins much clearer, for now I just need you all to get me into that city safely." She paused for effect, "clear enough for you Ranger?"
He held his hands up placating her. "Hey, no offense meant Farseer. Just wanted to know what we'll be up against is all."
Taerosa nodded at the man, then turned her attention to Lomon and did the same for him, an unspoken statement between him and her.
"Alright then you outcasts, time to get the lady where she needs to be. For the sake of our home!" Lomon spoke, a cheer rising up from the assembled crew. They went about double quick to their assigned tasks, getting wargear ready and manning their stations on the bridge.
"Caltar take us down," Lomon ordered the pilot.
"With pleasure," he answered back with glee as he gracefully veered the ship onto its new course. Despite the crude origins of their ship Taerosa was pleasantly surprised when she felt little to no shift as the pilot artfully flew the ship toward their destination.
She was staring out at the growing orb of wartorn world when a vision hit her. Galaxy weary resolve and emotion, naive devotion to a false cause, and savage simplistic glee. The swirl of emotions form their own separate, small speck of light in the warp, yet bright in their part and purpose in the skein. Her own brightness eclipsing theirs, gathering alongside the separate souls.
Hovering above them all, a terrible malice, directed in its purpose, followed closely by another lesser evil… she snapped out of the trance breathing heavy. Gazing around she noted that if any of the Rangers had noticed—as they likely would have—that none said anything.
She suddenly felt a foreign hand on her shoulder making her jump a bit. Looking back she saw Lomon's concerned gaze.
"Everything alright Farseer, what was it?"
Taking a moment to steady herself Taerosa answered. "Just a vivid stirring in the skeins."
"Something important to our mission?" Lomon queried.
"Yes, I think so, but I don't know exactly what it means," Taerosa breathed in evenly. "We need to be on that world yesterday..."
7.562.456.M41. (Imperial_Calander)/
Ultima_Segmentum, Clayde_System
Princips, Synchronous_Orbit
Arhvyn Fahrvan_Archon_Forgotten Mercy Kabal
"Archon, there is something interesting on the sensors." The pallid operator spoke with utmost respect, and even a hint of fear to his lord.
Arhvyn Fahrvan looked up from his prior activity. The poor thing had stopped screaming long ago, and she was near to becoming an unresponsive quivering mass before long. The Archon patted the mewling figure tenderly on her head before he moved from his place above her.
"Send this one to the Haemonculi, have her get it feeling and sane again for when I next need it." Arhvyn motioned for one of his retainers to take care of the quivering figure.
He grasped his klaive, the large blade light as a feather in his artful grip. Stowing the weapon across his back he made his way over to the operator's station. Pleased that he saw a nigh imperceptible shiver run through his underling's form as he came up behind him. Tapping his fingers impatiently on the console where his subordinate was monitoring the planet and the space around it Arhvyn sighed.
"Well, what would be so important for you to take me away from my personal pursuits?" He questioned, as always the underlying threat below his calm calculated tone there.
"This ship just entering atmo, right there," the operator pointed on his display.
"Seems to be another simple monkeigh freighter going to aid with their futile war." The Archon's bored tone was equally unnerving to the operator, when he got bored he became even more cruel.
"Y-yes Archon, but looking closely that flight pattern is much too precise to be a mere monkeigh pilot. That, and our scans are picking up Eldar technology, plus a very high psychic presence." The operator was quick to correct his tardiness, giving the Archon the information he wanted. Suddenly he could feel the air practically freeze as the information hit the Archon, and the operator stiffened as his lords tapping stopped.
"Are you telling me, that there is a Farseer on that ship." Arhvyn asked as an excited tingle ran through his being.
"Yes Archon."
Arhvyn stepped back from the console taking a moment to let the information flow over him. Thinking of the possible prestige such a capture could grant him, perhaps even power should he play his cards right. A Farseer could catapult his Kabal of Forgotten Mercy into a position of power on par with some of the higher houses. If not then the tidy profit gained from the auction would be adequate enough by itself.
"Summon the Forgotten Mercy's best, we have a Farseer to capture." He turned elegantly on his heel heading back to his quarters to ready himself for the raid. He would not be leaving the Farseer's capture to mere chance, he would be accompanying his underlings.
Arhvyn smiled wickedly to himself as the thought of capturing a Farseer sunk in. It was an opportunity not to be squandered.
7.562.456.M41. (Imperial_Calander)/
Ultima_Segmentum, Clayde_System
Princips, Location_Unknown
Archibald Marc
Twelve Hooded figures chanted, they channeled their dark intents and faith into the individual at the center of their gathering. A large figure, in grotesque armor, face peeled back distorting any previously recognizable features. Holding onto a very large, serrated, cross-shaped great-sword planted blade-first into the solid rockcrete at his feet, the central figure was acting as a beacon.
He cracked a sharp-toothed, distorted smile as he received communion with his approaching lord. His signal had been strong enough, it guided his warhost to this ripe corpse-worshiping planet, Princip. Soon warp-fire would sweep across the wartorn land about him, truth would be felt by all who called Princip home as their faith's were swept away.
Various vanguard cells planted under the very feet of their enemies would assure a planet-wide attack when the time was right. Psykers converted to the cause would open rifts to the warp upon his psychic command causing a cataclysmic first strike.
Leaving room only for the one truth to be recognized, and so Archibald Marc grinned.
300-709.