The bolter roared in his hand. The same dream, always the same dream. The bit of las-fire, the soft caress of wind on his bare flesh, the kick of his weapon, these sensations taunted him every night as he slept. They were no memory that he could recall, and he feared they may be portents of things to come. His body screamed as it was torn apart by cannon shells, and he awoke yet again, drenched in sweat.
The master of the fleet, one Estrum Malchovich, late of the Jovian Fleet, had called His Lordships war council in the grand arboretum aboard the ship. It was an eccentricity of the ship captains that none minded, the cool trees creating a softened space for off-duty deck-hand and soldiers to all enjoy. The dark glade in the centre of the arboretum had been furnished with heavy metal chairs and a wide circular table, at odds with the natural surroundings. It was here that the war council gathered; The Master of the Fleet, taking prime position; Lord Vastus Facing him. Away from the curved their soldiers and captains, each leaders warriors situated to his left, facing their counterpart in the opposing entourage. As captain of the first squad, Yarrow sat two chairs down from the lord commander, separated from him only by the sorcerer Loriaan. At the Lord Commanders shoulders stood the towering Slum Lords of Uruhech. Clad in Bold terminator armour they towered over the form of their current lord, who had bested the in their mighty palace of steel and chains, then made them watch as their world, and their empire, burned before their very eyes. Now they were slaves themselves, slaves to the undying will of the lord Vastus, indebted to be his bodyguards until they, or he, dropped dead.
Malchovich was similarly flanked by his bodyguards, two human auxiliaries, genebulked by the Dark Mechanicum to proportions almost as great as a space marine. Dark lightning crackled up long claws that slid from their skin, ridges of viscous spines along their arms and backs which could shred even power armour like wet paper. Yarrow had seen them fighting alongside their master on many fields of battle, charging forward with Malchovich dwarfed between them, smashing aside any who tried to stand in their way.
At the moment it was a junior officer who held the attention of most of the room. He was a 2nd lieutenant, and was in charge of all communication between the ships in the fleet.
"My lords" he was saying, "We have intercepted troubling communiqués from the other fleet vessels."
"Troubling how?" growled Malchovich.
"They report many strange happenings aboard their ships, strange visions suffered by their human crews, astropathicus troubles, even their Astartes have reported what seemed to them to be prophetic dreams."
At this Yarrow rose slightly from his slumped position, "what do these dreams contain?" he inquired.
"The dreamers report being somehow isolated, alone. They are often fighting, but occasionally they have reported being alone in the most inhospitable of regions. They have reported that their dreams often end in their deaths."
"Have any of the human crew-men experienced these dreams?" asked Lord Vastus.
"So far no, my lord," replied the lieutenant, "however I have warned the captaincy to keep an eye on their mental well-being."
"Very well then. If that is all we must consult with our brothers about this development."