Tarrin sat on his cot, in the middle of the locked metal room trying to probe the ship for psychic presences, running his fingers over the inhibitors on either temple. He gave up once again. He had always known he was a psyker, but he had never thought the the Black Ships would come for lowly him. Now he was doomed to spend the rest of his life in this eight by eight cell, awaiting the day when the Legio Custodes would come and have him sacrificed to the Emperor on his golden throne in a single blaze of glory.
The door began to open. Tarrin stood bolt upright. The door never opened. Even food came through the pneumatic tube system. Perhaps this is it, thought Tarrin both fearfully and excitedly. Perhaps this is the beginning of the end.
A tall gaunt figure strode through the open portal, a long cloak trailing behind him. His face beneath his hood was long and narrow, and he seemed strangely ethereal, as if, if not looking directly at him you would see only what what was on the other side.
"Do you want to live"
The stranger's question caught Tarrin totally off guard. Before he had time to think he blurted "yes"
"Then follow me," the stranger said, lips hardly moving, as he turned to leave the room. Bewildered, Tarrin followed him through the corridor he had not seen since that fateful day oh-so-long-ago, and passed a Guardsman, who stood leaning against the wall, eyes closed, seemingly asleep.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The farseer stood in the middle of the bone-white council chamber, at the heart of the Iyanden craftworld, around him on seats of wraith-bone, as much as part of the room as the walls, sat aspect warriors, warlocks, and spirit-singers; all waiting.
He began "I have spent long in meditation, probing the twisting ways of the future, trying to divine the path of our craftworld's survival. We are on a collision course with several Necron tombships, and since the damaging of our warp engines in the battle against hive-fleet Kraken we cannot evade them, and any attempt to mis-direct them will be met with yet graver dangers. However, it is a battle we can win, if we have the right weapon"
"Alethran." The farseer called. "bring forth the weapon"
In between two wraith-guard sentinels, the wraith-bone wall convulsed and retracted, revealing an opening. An Eldar Ranger came forth, a hovering horizontal stasis cell trailing behind him. It housed an unconscious human.
Gasps escaped from the crowd.
The High Spirit-Seer stood up angrily, and the wraith-guards stirred to life "I don't know what you mean by this Rexathnen," she said, the disgust evident in her voice "Or what madness has taken you, but we will not suffer this mon-keigh to defile this craftworld"
"Patience Tseleeth" the farseer said softly "let me vindicate myself before you act rashly."
Once again his voice boomed over the crowd. "You all here can feel the psychic ability of this human," Rexathnen slowed on the last word, pouring as much derision as could be imagined into its two syllables. "As you can all feel, 'tis weak. However, unlike us this Mon-Keigh will not draw attention in the warp as easily"
Where Rexathnen was going began to dawn on the crowd.
"As this Mon-Keigh has had the benefit," Rexathnen smirked as he said the word "of lacking our immeasurable psychic strength, is their any reason why we should not take advantage of it?"
Tseleeth walked to the center of the council room "Rexath, are you expecting us to train this human in the ways of our people?!?" her repressed anger evident in the very wraith-bone of the council-chamber which was now writhing and shaking, as if struggling not to tear itself apart.
"I expect you" the farseer said slowly "to do what is necessary for our people's survival. I expect no more from anyone"
Tseleeth cooled, though the anger could still be heard in her voice. "Very well, but the mon-keigh will be your charge to train, and you will be answerable for any damage it causes"
Rexathnen bowed. "I could ask for no more." He then turned to leave the room, both the ranger and the hovering stasis cell following him. The hole in the wraith-bone wall sealed after them and High-Bone Seer Tseleeth returned to her seat at the head of the council, as the next weighty matter was brought forth.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The roof of his cell was supposed to be grey thought Tarrin sleepily as he stared at the white ceiling.
He sat up slowly realizing he wasn't in his cot either. Like it was some bizarre dream Tarrin remembered following the spindly man through the empty corridors of the Inquisitorial Black Battlecruiser, and walking into a strange ethereal craft, before complying to a repeated command to lie down in the floating box.
It was too fantastic thought Tarrin rubbing his temples vigorously.
The inhibitor was gone.
He checked all over the rest of his head with his his excitedly shaking hands.
The inhibitor was gone.
Shaking the last traces of sleep from his eyes Tarrin fell on to his knees. "Yes!" Whispered Tarrin to himself, as he threw himself into the warp, like a bird freed from a cage. Once again he wasn't just so much meat and flesh, his mind was free to witness the vast ever-changing realm of the warp; free to bind it to his will.
Tarrin could feel other psychic presences in the warp, wherever he was was thick with them, or seemingly infused with them, the bone-white walls were filled with the souls of the deceased. Moreover there was something else... Tarrin concentrated harder, pushing his conscious mind farther into the warp than he had ever gone before, trying to ignore the threat of demons; he was giddy with his newfound freedom.
There was a dull ringing static that would break out randomly before fading instantly. Like a psyker dropping the veil from their mind in a moment lacking vigilance and immediately raising it again.
But they came from different locations every time. Tarrin shivered. Whatever they were he was surrounded by them. Tarrin tuned out of the warp bringing back his conscious to the bone-white room. It was completely homogeneous, and there were no windows or doors; just a raised sleeping platform that was made from the same material.
Tarrin banged his head against one of the walls. If only he could see out!
Suddenly the wall turned transparent, Tarrin found himself looking over a giant cavern, far below blocks of infantry were practicing maneuvers on the cavern-floor.
Above ground level dozens of figures strode across as many shimmering bridges that seemed to stretch beneath their feet, the white substance extending to accomodate each step.
One figure walked halfway and then stopped, his warp signature blazing in the warp, Tarrin sensing it felt the individual's frustration. Suddenly it faded. The figure turned around and began walking back the way he came, the bridge retreating behind him.
Tarrin watched him closely, and tried to probe into the blankness where he knew him to be. Across the wide gulf the man turned and locked eyes with Tarrin, a look of puzzlement on his face.
Tarrin stepped back and the wall turned opaque before he realized he'd wished it to. The back of his neck was covered in sweat.
Footsteps echoed behind him. Tarrin spun around to find himself face to face with a tall man in a long yellow gleaming cape over a blue cloak with inlaid runes shining in dozens of colors. His shoulder length hair was offset by his headress and his long pointed ears. To Tarrin he looked like some oddly dressed elf out of the tales of legend from his homeland. This was too much.
"What in the name of the Emperor's teeth is going on here"
The man waved his hand. "Patience, your questions will be answered in time." The wall behind Tarrin pull towards the frame, revealing a hole, the alien walked forwards through the hole... and on to a bridge that stretched to accomodate each step. Tarrin followed, trying to probe its mind he found only blankness, not the gaping emptiness of the lack of a soul, but the homogeneous screen encountered when unable to percieve it.
The elf continued walking forward, not looking at the drilling soldiers, gold and blue, far below, not looking at the bridge which quivering stretched further beneath each stride, just looking straight ahead. He began to speak.
"You are the first Mon-Keigh to visit the sacred Iyanden craftworld for over thirty thousand years. This is one of the last refuges of my race, the Eldar. Once long ago, long before your misbegotten Emperor was spawned from the energies of the warp, we ruled this galaxy in the palm of our hands"
He paused, and then as if reading Tarrin's thoughts continued "Yes, we are what your misguided race has sometimes named elves, but out power is more terrible than they could imagine." Catching Tarrin's next question before it was even spoken the Eldar continued "the warriors training below are guardians, they are the craftworld militia unit that is deployed in emergencies."
Tarrin laughed inwardly remembering how inneffective his home militia had been. It had been a joke.
The eldar turned around and Tarrin found himself staring into his steely blue eyes.
"Each and everyone of those Guardians is far superior in equipment, training, strength, speed, and every other conceivable manner than even the Imperial Guard's most elite troops." Suddenly Tarrin felt terribly conscious of how far he was from the ground. "Make comparisons with Human troops with caution."
The Eldar turned and once again began walking across the extending platform.
"My name is Rexathnen... and yours is Tarrin" he said, taking the latter words right out of Tarrin's mouth.
How the hell can he do that wondered Tarrin.
"I can do it" Rexath said, answering Tarrin's unspoken question "because you fail to put even the most rudimentary screen over your mind"
After a long pause Rexathnen spoke again "You are here because we need your help. You have some vital abilities; I, as Farseer of Iyanden, will teach you over the next ten years how to aid us. However" he said turning to Tarrin as the bridge came to the other end of the cavern. "there are a few things we must attend to first." The wall retracted and Rexathnen stepped through the hole. Tarrin followed.
The portal closed.
The bridge stood empty of people, straddling the emptiness of the cavern for a few seconds. Slowly it pulled apart in the middle and quietly it began to creep back to both sides.
Far below the Spirit-Seer yelled an order to the Guardians.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tarrin followed Rexath, weaving through the glistening empty white corridors, listening to the answers to his non-verbal questions as they approached wherever it was they were headed.
"Everything here is made of Wraith-bone," the Farseer said, "it was sung into place by Spirit-Seers, and has the Infinity Circuit hardwired into it, however, normal psykers can control it on more rudimentary levels."
They began walking in silence. Looking to the left Tarrin saw the corridor slope down into a great entrance decorated with twisting statues, and grinning face masks.
"What is that?" asked Tarrin stopping.
"That" Rexath said, "is an aspect temple to the Eldar God of War, Khaine. This particular one is for the aspect of the Banshee."
Tarrin nodded, still looking at the entrance. Quickly some Eldar came out, they were shapely females wearing tight jump-suits that did nothing to hide their feminine charms.
Tarrin stared as they came closer and tried to recall the last time he'd seen a female, all he could remember is that he'd been on the black ship a long time.
When they were a score or so meters away they stopped. Raising his view Tarrin realized they all were staring straight at him, disgust and anger written on their faces. The farseer grabbed Tarrin's shoulder and pulled him away as they continued briskly down the corridor.
The Farseer whispered angrily into Tarrin's ear "You may want to learn to mask your thoughts before you pull anything like that"
Embarrassed Tarrin nodded sheepishly.
Glancing at a rune on the corridor wall, Rexathnen turned, the wraithbone pulling out of his way as he stepped through the portal. Tarrin, as always, followed.
Rexathnen greeted an extremely spindly Eldar standing behind a white counter in a language Tarrin couldn't understand. They talked for a while and then the Eldar behind the desk nodding turned and passed through the retracting wall behind the desk.
"Ummm what's going on?" Asked Tarrin
¨We're at a... medical clinic¨ would probably be the closest translation.
¨We're here to upgrade you slightly, nothing fancy, to put it bluntly, humans are remarkably weak. You have the lowest muscle density and muscle weight ratio in the entire Craftworld, as well as the slowest reflexes"
Tarrin swallowed nervously. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up on end. "And"
"Your situation needs to be rectified. You're going to get some muscle grafts, some nervous system rewiring to increase reflex time... don't worry it will be fine"
The spindly eldar reentered the room, carrying a breathing mask. "Just put this on here..." He said in flawless gothic to Tarrin.
Before Tarrin could protest, the mask was slipped over his head, and the world slipped into darkness.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tarrin waited in the Rexathnen's study for the farseer to arrive, fidgeting oddly. He had yet to get used to the new enhancements; they had screwed up Tarrin's muscle control, and he was having to relearn how to manipulate his body. Whenever he tried to move a part of a limb it would go faster, farther and with more force than he meant; Tarrin couldn't climb stairs without hurling himself into the air an inch with every step. He doubted he would even be able to hold an egg in his hands without breaking it.
If they even had eggs on Iyanden.
The Farseer entered the room, sitting down on his chair, and gesturing for Tarrin to do the same.
"Now," Rexathnen began "There are four main things that you will be taught here. Firstly you will be taught how to screen your mind. This," the Farseer continued "will prevent you from making a fool of yourself, as well as allowing you to use greater psychic powers with a reduced threat of daemonic possession"
Tarrin nodded
"Secondly," Rex said "you will be taught the Eldarin tongue. To control the warp one must properly channel one's emotions, and frankly it's amazing that humans can express any emotions at all with the limited vocabulary gothic supplies. The learning process will be helped by your psychic training, however, we don't expect anything more than an extremely simple understanding of the complex tongue, due to your mental . As well," Rexath continued smiling, "you cannot possibly expect every Eldar in the craftworld to deign to learn your language, simple as it may be"
Tarrin nodded again.
"Thirdly, you will be given basic combat training, as it would be quite inconvenient for you to die on the battle-field with so much time invested in you"
"Lastly, and most importantly you will learn how to use your psychic potential, and how to channel the warp"
"Ummm..." hesitantly Tarrin began to speak, "Why should I do all of this? Why is this my task?"
"Because," the Farseer said slowly as he stood up and headed towards the door, "we saved your life"
"And if I refuse to help?"
"Then we'll kill you." The Farseer said it simply. It wasn't a threat; it was a statement.
"Will you be instructing me in all of this?" Tarrin asked Rex.
"No," said the Farseer a small smile on his face, "I will only teach you how to manipulate the warp, the rest can be handled by people whose time is less valuable"
The Farseer walked through the opening wall, pausing at the entrance. "Do you know what an Exarch is?" He asked, a small smile playing upon his face.
Tarrin shook his head.
"An Exarch" the farseer said "Is an Eldar who falls so far into an aspect of Khaela Mensha Khaine that they will find no fulfilment in life doing anything else. An Exarch" the farseer continued "is an Eldar who can only find satisfaction killing Mon-Keigh"
Tarrin blinked.
The farseer left the room, calling back as he passed out of earshot, sarcasm saturating his voice, "hope you have fun"
Soon a tall well-endowed female Eldar in a tight jump-suit entered... Tarrin recognized her instantly from the aspect shrine.
He smiled weakly.
She sat sinuously on the chair the Farseer had recently vacated and looked at Tarrin.
"Hello Mon-Keigh" she said her voice dripping with contempt. "I'm Santia, the Howling Banshee Exarch"
Tarrin nodded, struggling to keep his eyes and thoughts above her neck.
"I'm here to teach the ignorant alien as punishment for letting my unhealthy temper occasionally get the better of me. As you guess I really don't want to be here. So, if you so much as even think of me in a way I don't like, I'll have on the ground out cold before you can say a word." she added frowning "which I guess could be considered a good thing, as I'm supposed to be teaching you self-defense and to screen your mind. And they say there's no teacher like positive reinforcement.
It was only after Tarrin began gaining consciousness that he realized he'd let his thoughts stray.
"Well," said Santia beginning to grin "I think I might enjoy this after all."