Sword of Kahine, Flame Dragon-Ship - Yldaleth

Yldaleth felt devastated. As an Autarch, she was responsible for keeping the Craftworld safe. Yet here she stood, one of the few of the Craftoworld's leaders still alive, evacuating those eldar who survived. Every eldar of Al-Samah would go through trying times, and she was to blame. It was now her responsibility to announce to the Exarchs, their plans for the future.

The seer council of Craftworld Ulthwe had contacted them, offering shelter. With no choice left, they'd accepted and were now on their way to a nearby webgate, big enough for their entire fleet. All of the Exarchs would have to prepare for building new shrines, and take on more disciples. Now more than ever, she wished Laethorn stood there with her. As the only other Autarch of the Craftworld, he too had been responsible for managing the defense. And as had happened many times both leading up to the battle, and even before it, they underestimated their foes. Laethorn and his advisors had been attacked in their shelter slaughtering his warlock bodyguards, and reducing him to less than ash. And as every other spirit stone, they had failed in getting him back. She herself had also been attacked, although she'd managed to escape and find a new place to plan the battle from.

Looking to her sides, Beltevar and Kaymon, her surviving bodyguards, stood to support her. Usually this hall were to be used to brief the Exarchs for an upcoming battle. And looking at the door, she could see that said Exarchs were still flooding in and taking their respective places. They had all taken off their armor and changed into their tabards, each showing the symbol unique to their shrines. She even recognized some of her old Exarchs, those she had trained under when she was younger. Belhynn of the Shining Spears, Tenvae of the Howling Banshees and Faenthanil of the Dark Reapers. She nodded respectfully to them, and turned her gaze back to the door.

He was instantly recognizable, as the only one still donned in his armor. It was the face, however, that drew her attention. She felt a spike of guilt, before she quickly suppressed it. That thing walking there were not the promising Bone Singer she met many years ago. She was saddened that she was partly to blame for driving him down the warrior's path, but she was furious when he became lost on the path and went on to be the cause for His reawakening. Looking at him, she could see that he himself was also furious. Well, more than usual. Seeing the last exarchs take their place, she began.

"Exarchs, today is a day of fury and mourning. This is a loss, from which we can never recover. Not before we once again can lay claim to the galaxy. We are the remains of Al-Samah, and this great loss in exarchs that you can see around you, is reflected across the entire fleet. As we shed tears, and promise vengeance for those lost, we've been granted help from our kin of Craftworld Ulthwe. They have invited us to settle with them, offering us sanctuary when we have none. Those of us on the leading council, have decided to accept, and we are presently on route to a nearby webgate to..."


To say Gilfarion was not glad about what he was hearing would be an understatement. First their negligence, now abandonment? Did they not owe those who had fallen, to avenge them? To make sure their sacrifice was not in vain.

Looking up at Yldaleth, he still didn't understand how she had come to this. He remembered a time when her own instincts were enough to guide her. Now she bowed to the whims of the farseers. The same farseers who believed they knew more of war, just by divining the future. How many times had they not been warned? It was sickening seeing Yldaleth still listening to their words.

As she finished, the exarchs headed out. Some would most likely go to find their students, while those who had none left would return to their chambers. Gilfarion stayed, however. It was time to talk.


As she was heading over to him, she was idly wondering what he wanted. She dismissed her bodyguards, and stood in front of him. He had a look of cold fury, with an aura of disapproval. Most of the wounds he had suffered had been taken care of by the healers, though there were still some scrapes on his face. His blond hair also looked like it needed some caring.

"There is something you wish to say", she stated.

"You have failed."

She tensed up. She could feel the lingering effect of Khaine's hatred, compelling her to do something about this blatant disrespect. She took a few moments and said, "And you forget your place. It is not now we should fight. We have lost too much."

"Had it not been for you mindlessly following the farseers every order, we could have prevailed. The farseers chose the place to do battle. That they trusted their runes too much and chose the Craftworld, only proves how we cannot allow others to dictate, when we know better."

"IT IS THE FARSEERS WHO SAVED US! IF IT WEREN*T FOR THEM, THERE WOULD BE NO ELDAR!"

"And we have chosen to lay our fates in their hands for it. Look where that path have taken us."

She stayed silent. She did not want to do this now. The silence reigned for a bit, before Gilfarion broke it.

"I'll stay no longer."

She looked at him, tilting her head in confusion.

"I am done with all this. The last of my pupils succumbed. Your decision will leave them, and all the others unavenged. This cannot stand. I shall deliver vengeance."

He turned towards the door, and just before he rounded the corner, she cast one final glance at the fourth of her old mentors.


Craftworld Ulthwe

The room was unnaturally dark, only illuminated just enough to see the two individuals sitting, facing each other. Around them, runes had been drawn, circling the entire room multiple times. Right in the middle, between the two warlocks, a number of small colored crystals lay, each engraved with runes. The warlocks were sitting, deeply contemplating what the runes were saying.

"This is beyond what I had expected", the first one said.

The second one only nodded.

"The farseers will make the announcement soon", the first one tried again.

The second one looked up from the runes.

A Craftworld lost to those never born

The hated shall retrace the steps

A weapon of the lost

Destruction guided by the dead

"Ilnera, we need to take this to the farseers", the second one stated.

Ilnera tilted her head in acknowledgement, though he could also see doubt.

"You hold doubt?" the second one asked.

"There is much more yet to be revealed, than what has been shown. The farseers are seeking to incorporate the survivors of Al-Samah into Ulthwe. Their time is taken, and cannot also be burdened with this."

Now it was Amorar's turn to be confused. "You believe we should not tell them?"

"No, but instead of taking it to the Council, we should seek out a single farseer. Perhaps they will be able to assist us understand this."

"You've already thought of one?"

Once again, she showed acknowledgement. "Farseer Helonin."

"Then let's go."

Amorar gathered the runes, while Ilnera contacted the farseer. As they agreed to a place to meet, Amorar's thoughts wandered back to a particular part of the vision.

He saw himself. Around him, was a bloodbath. An old one. Years old. The corpses, or rather the parts still there, were interesting however. Humans. Scattered everywhere. He recognized the weapon marks. They had fallen by eldar hands.

Suddenly the vision version of him crouched down, blade held at ready. The Striking Shadow. Though it had been long since he were with the Scorpions, their training still came naturally.

But just as he turned to see what he was looking at, the vision ended.

Shaking his head, Amorar headed out the door.

Author's Note

I have discovered that I am not the best in putting out chapters. So I apologize for that.

Don't own 40k, only own creations.

SD signing off...