It had been only a few hours since they had entered the Webway, and most of the Craftworlders were already feeling the effects of soul-draining the Webway had on every Eldar who used it. The Rillietann seemed fine, though, leading the way with uncommon energy. The apparition of the former Inquisitor walked ahead of them, a misty figure in the crackling blue energies of the unfathomably vast Webway.
"Are we… close yet?" Tarashe's voice was pained and tired. "I fear that we are reaching our limit for travel."
"Not yet," Draco replied, turning back. His features were aswirl with the energies of the Webway, distorting his apparition somewhat. "But we may rest if you need to do so."
"Please do," he nodded. At'lia, the Harlequins' leader, withdrew a small, ornate device from her satchel and pressed the azure gem that was inlaid into its center. Within seconds, a webway portal shimmered into existence and they stepped through it, though Draco stayed behind, unable to leave the Webway.
Slowly but surely, Tarashe felt the effects of the soul-drain ebb from his body. As the sharp blue glare of the Webway faded, he felt grass rustle underfoot and smelt the rich tang of an oxygen rich atmosphere.
Looking around, he took in the sights. Lush temperate vegetation grew around them, a rich mixture of greens and blues, while the sky was a normal blue, tinged with the yellow of a setting sun. Obviously, many of the plants here did not make extensive use of the usual chemicals required for photosynthesis, considering their strange pigmentation and orientation of leaves. Some of the larger plants reacted to their presence, though Tarashe sensed no sentient will within them. Extending tendrils to the newcomers, they seemed to be energized by their presence.
"These plants," At'lia caressed a tendril with a silken-gloved hand. "They react to psyker energy."
Intrigued, Tarashe materialized an orb of psionic energy in his gauntleted hand, feeling the flow and thrum of power throughout his body. The plantlife seemed to sense this as well, achieving a sort of resonance with the energy as it radiated toward them. His fascination turned to alarm as the tendrils grew closer and closer to them, and he drew his witchblade quickly, intent of slicing any that grew too close for comfort.
"They mean no harm," the Harlequin mistress chuckled melodiously. "They merely react to our presence as plants would to other forms of nourishment, like sunlight."
"I see," he sheathed his witchblade, but kept a suspicious eye on the plants nonetheless.
"It is nearly night," At'lia noted, looking up into the sky. "Perhaps we should make camp for now."
Tarashe nodded. "Yes, it would be best."
It did not take them long to actually contrive a shelter of some sort, as the tendrils were content to form small roofs over their heads in exchange for the psyker energy that each of the Eldar radiated. Tarashe himself had been trained in the manipulation of Wraithbone from his time as a Bonesinger, and it was with this skill that he was able to construct a decently shaped pavilion from the trees and vines growing around them.
As night grew closer, he heard the calls of the local wildlife. Birds and bigger animals teemed around them, their seeming unfamiliarity with the Eldar emboldening them. One particular felinoid-looking creature seemed to react to Tarashe's presence as his own Gyrinx would have, nuzzling his leg with its face. It did not mind at all when he reached down to stroke its finely furred back, which elicited a throaty purr from it.
"Odd," Tarashe looked at it quizzically. "It behaves as if it is domesticated."
At'lia nodded, her holomask flitting between its reserved smile to the toothy grin it usually favoured. "This world might be another Maiden World that has not been rediscovered by Eldar of any Craftworld, seeded by the Eldar in ages past."
Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the felinoid ran off, slipping through a small crevice between the tendrils that formed the pavilion. Soon after, it returned with a small, rodent-like creature in its mouth, which it placed at Tarashe's feet.
"The thought is appreciated," At'lia laughed. "But the gift is not."
It was not long before accommodation was contrived for his retinue. With a little experimentation, he was even able to form a decently sized bed, which he draped fabric over. For a moment, he realized that this sort of existence was exactly how the Exodites lived. It was a simple, sometimes difficult life, but going back to nature did have its distinct advantages and appeal.
As he closed his eyes, he heard the faint melody of At'lia's flute and the soft sound of singing from the assembled Harlequins as well as some of the Aspect Warriors. There was laughter and murmurs of praise – the sound of happy fellowship, and Tarashe could not think of any better way to drift off into sleep.
***
The sound of clashing swords and warfare burned through Lyra's mind. The screams of the dying, the howls of rage at the fallen, it thrummed through her mind like plainsong. Among distant flashes of light, she saw planets turned red and yellow in the glare of the Warp, thousands butchered by the murderous hordes of Chaos. She saw blanched corpses withering in the void, dead for thousands of years, but unable to rot because of the vacuum of space. Death, death was everywhere. In reality, in the Warp, in her mind as well. There was only War.
She saw the floating city of crystal in space once again, but this time, she knew what it was. Veldoran's home. The Craftworld of Ulthwe and its mighty fleet. The banner of Ulthwe was emblazoned across the side of the mighty city-ship, the weeping Eye of Isha. She saw its light shine bright against the backdrop of the Eye of Terror, a defiant bastion against the Great Enemy. She felt Veldoran's fierce pride at having served his Craftworld to the best of his ability, but the muted sorrow of never being able to go home again. Ulthwe, like a mountain, refusing to bow even to the horrific gale of the Great Enemy. The Damned, the other Craftworlds whispered of them. Veldoran knew better. They were all damned in one way or another. How could anyone resist the tantalizing ministrations of Chaos for so long, and yet survive with sanity and willpower intact? Only Ulthwe had stood the test of time and came forth the stronger.
She saw the ravening hordes of Humanity, their worship of the human psyker known as the God-Emperor, she saw the horror of their zeal, the atrocities they would commit upon one another, and upon those unlucky enough to cross their paths. Appropriately, their symbol was a skull, representing death for all those who crossed their path. Again, her mind took her to the Golden Throne, and the skeletal ruin that lay nestled within the gargantuan machinery, sustained by the souls of a uncountable human psykers. He stared at her with his horrifically empty eye sockets again, imploring her to understand, in a voice that no one could hear. A voice that echoed several thousand years into the future, but was doomed to be ignored by the zealous masses of humanity. His torment, she felt it gnawing at her mind even as she gazed across space and time at his withered visage.
"Stop…" she whispered at first, before it transitioned to a full-on scream. "STOP!"
There was the jarring transition of an improperly halted psychic rite. Frost encrusted the furniture around them, psychic rime from the ritual's drawing of energy from nearby sources.
"I apologize. The experience of a mental-exchange can be extremely unsettling for those who have not received the proper training," Veldoran looked up at her, his eyes appearing violet in the dim light.
"It wasn't the experience. It was… just what I saw," she ran a hand through her raven hair, breathing deeply and slowly as he had told her to. Her back was turned to him. "Is the future really going to be that horrible? I just can't believe it."
"We are often confronted with situations where it is difficult to accept what reality presents to us," he stood up as well, gazing gravely at her. "All we can do is learn to accept them and move on. To continue to delude oneself is the gravest mistake that one can make. That is the lesson we Eldar learned during the Fall. It may seem like a small thing, to ignore the future and to continue as you always have, but you do so often at the cost of others. My ancestors made a mistake, a mistake that their children pay for to this day. And will continue to for many, many generations."
She was silent.
"You wished to know more about where I came from," he pointed out. "Do you regret me showing you the truth?"
"No," she shook her head. "I don't."
There was a moment of awkward silence before Lyra nodded and wished him good night. Tomorrow, their intended journey to the capital city ruins would begin. It would be thus that his debt to her would be fulfilled. He had originally intended to find a way to make a life for himself in the barren wastes, but now, the strand of his fate was tied inextricably to hers. He saw no end to their travels, nor to the troubles that seemed to constantly nip at their heels. For now, he would see where it would all lead to. Hopefully, it would one day be his chance to return home.
He left Lyra's house, clad in a light jumpsuit and armed with his witchblade. It had been a while since he had practiced Warlock swordplay, though he had spent a good amount of time in combat. The time spent fighting weaker opponents had left him sloppy and ill-focused. It always paid to be at full readiness at all times, even in the best of circumstances.
A few residents walked past as he practiced, stopping to watch but moving on in time. Jenny Stahl had come up to talk to him for a while, asking after his health and that of his companion Lyra. He answered as politely as he was able to while he exercised. It often struck him how easily humans trusted each other. Performing one charitable deed had netted him a decent reputation within the town, something which he felt was both amusing and fascinating at the same time. It all seemed so laughably optimistic, despite the dreary backdrop of a world ravaged by nuclear war.
She left him a bottle of purified water, an expensive gift in a world where irradiated water was a standard. As he gulped it down, he ignored the strong taste of plastic in his mouth. It was a handsome gift, despite its simplicity, and for that he was thankful. Thankfulness was hard to come by as it was. Every little bit helped.
He chuckled at his own thoughts. Spending too much time among them had made an optimist out of him. Just when you think you've seen everything…
They made good time to the outskirts of the DC ruins, passing by several raider encampments and bloatfly nests. Their light-footedness served them well, slipping past the encampments with the Raiders being none the wiser. Lyra had suggested taking them out, but Veldoran had flatly refused, citing the times when he had to bail her out of such "adventures".
"We will not engage those barbarian humans," he growled. "There shall be no more talk of 'practice', or 'making the world a better place'. It is pointless and costs us time and munitions."
Like a scolded child she sulked, grumbling under her breath. "I bought the ammo; you don't have to spend a single cent."
"If the battle becomes unmanageable, I will have to step in once again," he huffed. "This is not just about the currency you have spent on munitions."
"Jeez, you sound like a grumpy old man," she snorted in a very unladylike fashion, reslinging her rifle across her back. She had traded in the old one and begun to use Tenpenny's instead. Of course, some preliminary camouflage had been applied to ensure that the shine of the well-maintained weapon did not give her away during combat situations.
"I may be three hundred and sixty of your solar cycles, but I assure you, I am not old," he retorted, before adding hastily. "By Eldar standards."
She narrowed her eyes. "Three hundred and sixty? Jeez. And to think I was attracted to you. People would think I have had a fetish for wrinkly old men."
"Just how am I 'wrinkly'?" he sighed exasperatedly, eliciting peals of laughter from Lyra. He shook his head again and let out another sigh.
Giving him a toothy grin, she checked her Pipboy. "The bridge should just be over this rise."
As they lifted themselves over the steep rise, they were treated to an excellent view of the bridge leading to the DC ruins, as well as the external ruins themselves. Even from this distance, they were able to spot signs of movement along the pavement adjoining the irradiated river. Through her binoculars, she saw that the moving dots were, in fact, giant humanoids with orange-hued skin. "Hmm. I think those are Super Mutants."
A slight click-whirr told her that Veldoran was doing the same through his mask, filtering out the afternoon glare and giving him an excellent close up. "They do fit the description of Super Mutants. I suggest caution, given their reputation of being formidable fighters, particularly in melee."
The bridge itself was devoid of life, and so, they inched closer to it, wary of any ambushes or wild animals seeking their demise.
As they strode briskly across the broken surface of the bridge's road, Lyra felt a distinct sense of unease descending upon her. Firstly, there was little to no cover if it came to a fire fight. Second, she had a strange feeling that they were very much unwelcome in the location they were now.
"Watch where you're going, sweetie," she heard a voice whisper in her right ear. She turned, but there was no one there. The voice was a woman's, warm and familiar, but for the life of her she could not match a face to that voice. She stopped dead in her tracks, looking around bewilderedly.
"What is it?" Veldoran asked. He had also stopped.
"Something's wrong," she said slowly. "We need to watch our step."
Veldoran was silent for a moment, while he considered it from a tactical viewpoint. The entire bridge was, in essence, a chokepoint. There did not seem to be any active fortifications, no emplacements nor bunkers of any sort. But why would anyone wish to fortify this position?
It struck him with the force of a sledgehammer. To keep the mutants in, or to keep humans out. It did not matter either way.
With a telekinetic burst, he scoured the bridge's surface with a force akin to that of a gale-force wind.
Bits of dust and rock were flung to a side, revealing fattened discs that lay in several indentations on the bridge's surface. There were several consistent beeping noises, which they interpreted correctly as the signal for imminent detonation.
"Get down!" Veldoran shouted, pushing her to the ground.
The mines exploded, showering them with bits of stone and gravel.
Thankfully, they had been underneath the shrapnel radius, which would have peppered them with ball-bearings and put enough holes in vital organs to kill instantly.
"Shit," she cursed. "That was too close."
"I concur," Veldoran replied, helping her up again. "We must be more cautious from now on."
It was tedious work, shuffling through the debris and making sure that they did not step on any undetonated mines. So far, she had found two, which she managed to evade by moving slowly over them. Veldoran had flung the nasty things over the bridge, where they detonated underwater with a subdued 'ploosh-foom!'.
The rest of the way across the bridge was relatively uneventful, the mines had only been laid near the beginning of the bridge anyway.
As they crept carefully down the road down the bridge, they spotted several armoured men looking nervously at them, weapons at the ready. They seemed tense and on edge, a given considering the fact that Super Mutants were about. When she walked up to them, rifle still slung, they relaxed visibly. Their leader, a man in faded denim pants and shirt with a leather jacket, looked her over with the eye of a merchant. She knew that look, especially how it lingered around her backpack and pockets. It made a decent change to the other looks she had from men.
"Good day, miss," the leader smiled toothily, revealing tiny gaps where his teeth had fallen out. "My name's Wolfgang, Crazy Wolfgang."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Wolfgang, I'm Lyra," she replied politely, ignoring the lascivious leers from his guards. It seemed a nice change of pace that he was more interested in her wallet than in her chest. "Are you a trader of some sort?"
"Why, how perceptive of you," he replied cheerfully. "I am indeed a trader. I collect odds and ends that I find in my travels, and other more interesting items that people sell to me when they find themselves in need of money."
The trader spared Veldoran a glance as he strode up to Lyra's side, his hand placed squarely upon the pommel of his witchblade. He was staring at one of the guards, who was also looking intently at Lyra, and not in the typical way which most would expect.
"Any energy cells in that pack? Ammunition?" she asked. "Maybe stimpaks?"
"Yeah, I got a few," he unslung his pack, withdrawing a few small wooden boxes of ammunition. "Stimpaks are in short supply at the moment, but I'll be heading back to Canterbury Commons soon enough to replace em'."
"How many can you part with?" she asked.
"Three," he replied. "I'll give you a good price for them too."
He quoted a figure, smaller than the usual price Moira tagged her items with.
She raised both eyebrows. "Does the discount extend to the ammo?"
"Heck, why not," he replied. "I get good business from adventuring Wastelanders like yourself. Might be better off for me in the long run, too. Put a few more bullets into them Raiders, right?"
She shrugged and smiled. "We're going into the DC ruins, so it's more likely to be Super Mutants than Raiders."
Some of the Guards looked at each other and whistled in awe. Wolfgang's face fell somewhat. "You sure? Pretty girl like you got no business in that mutant hellhole."
Lyra rolled her eyes. "I may be female, but I can handle myself."
Wolfgang held both hands up in a placating gesture. "Whoa, I didn't mean nothin' by that. You look like you're well kitted for the job, but y'must know that the insides of the DC ruins are swarmin' with them muties. I heard tell about them feral ghouls too."
"We're still headed that way," Lyra said. "Thanks for the warning, though."
"I like my customers to be repeat customers, know what I'm sayin'?" he grinned good-naturedly. "Anyways, here's your ammo, and there's your caps, so we won't be holdin' you up any longer. Take care, y'hear?"
With a small smile on her face, Lyra continued onwards, Veldoran trudging along silently beside her. She was about to turn around to wave to Wolfgang one more time, but Veldoran grabbed her elbow in a tense grip.
"Continue walking," he whispered. "One of them is a mercenary spy. He recognized you."
"What do I do now?" she whispered back.
"Just keep walking. We will wait for him to strike," he patted his witchblade's sheath.
They kept walking for a minute or two, seemingly oblivious to their stalker. Suddenly, a flicker of danger-sense ran down her spine, and the female voice that had warned her of danger before, reverberated in her head. "Duck and cover, sweetie. Mind your head."
Immediately, she did as she was told. Veldoran bolted aside as well, wrong-footed by Lyra's evasive action. Just as they did so, a sniper bullet hit the ground where Lyra had stood a mere second before, raising a small cloud of dust.
Cursing, she dashed to a side, behind a destroyed car. Shots pinged around the structure of the ruined vehicle.
"Fuck, he's a sniper," she caught sight of Veldoran, behind a short ruined wall. Experimentally, he stuck his witchblade out, its glow catching the sniper's eye immediately. He took the shot within milliseconds, and the bullet ricocheted off the flat of his witchblade, which survived undamaged. However, the force was nearly enough to wrench the weapon out of his hand.
"He is too far for me to influence his mind," Veldoran hissed.
Thinking quickly, Lyra retrieved her mirror from her pack, using its reflection to catch sight of the sniper. She managed to gain a glimpse of the building as well as a minor reflection as well, which she assumed to be his scope. Raising it a little more, she tried to get a clearer image, only to have the damned thing shot out of her hand, the shards littering the floor around her.
"He's good," she looked over at Veldoran, who nodded grimly. "I can't take him without getting shot."
"That would be highly inadvisable," he replied, risking a look out and nearly getting shot in the process. The bullet scraped past his shoulder, his armour protecting him from the worst of it. Reaching over to touch it, he felt a deep gash across the wraithbone plate."I am unsure if either of our armour can withstand the weapon he is using."
"I'd like to avoid that if at all possible," she replied.
"There is little choice, Lyra," he said. Sheathing his witchblade, he outlined the plan he had in mind to her, mentally.
"That's insane, Vel!" she growled.
The Warlock's plan was simple. He would throw himself out, and take the bullet, allowing enough time to kill the sniper. It was simple, but risky, considering the unknown quality of the weapon, and also the time needed to actually find the bastard.
"We have little choice," he repeated harshly. "Make ready!"
Lyra steeled herself.
"NOW!"
With lightning speed, he leapt out of cover, spying the sniper's nest immediately.
At the same moment, the sniper fired, the tungsten-cored bullet hurtling towards Veldoran at high velocity. Veldoran saw the bullet approach in perfect clarity, and he summoned all his strength to deflect it, channelling the Warp into a telekinetic shield. As the bullet encountered the shield, he gasped.
The force was incredible, but he managed to deflect the force into the surrounding area. With the whiplash of concussion, a cloud of dust rose into the air, obscuring him from view.
Within a half-second of the impact, Lyra took the shot. Only Veldoran had seen the nest properly, but that was enough. Within her mind's eye, she saw the target, and squeezed off the shot. There was nary a sound when it was all over, except for the reverberation of the two high-powered rifle shots.
Several hundred metres away, the mercenary sniper slumped facefirst into the dusty floor of apartment he had used as his sniper's nest, the perfectly round hole in his forehead dribbling blood and brain matter.
Veldoran fell to his knees, exhausted. The sheer amount of power he had to channel to deflect that bullet was positively astounding. He had never done anything like this before, without the proper armour.
The bullet, still intact, dropped onto the splintered concrete ground with a quiet 'clink'.
"Veldoran!" she rushed to him, her hands holding his shoulders up.
"I... am not wounded," he panted. "Just... give me a moment to rest."
She looked over to where the bullet had fallen and picked it up, turning it over in her hands.
"This is no anti-personnel bullet," she said, her voice low with horror. "This is from an anti-materiel rifle."
"What?" he looked at her, not understanding.
"It's used to destroy vehicles," she explained. "Whatever it is-"
"It shows their dedication to your demise," he finished. "It appears that Tenpenny's death is insufficient to stem the tide of assassins on your trail."
"Come on, lie down for a bit," she coaxed him gently. "Before you hurt yourself."
"I concur," he said, before slumping unceremoniously onto the ground.
***
It was an hour or so before Veldoran finally came to, and even then, he was extremely weak, and Lyra had no choice but to find them shelter for the night.
Leaving him to rest in an abandoned apartment, she made her way to the sniper's nest. Sadly, the massive rifle that he had brought along was irreparably damaged, having dropped several stories out of the window which he had fired from. On the sniper's corpse was more ammunition, a few grenades and a holodisc that held the same contract from Tenpenny. Evidently, he had not been informed of Tenpenny's death.
Veldoran had taken his mask off, laying upon the backpack he had been carrying. As far as she knew, he was asleep, and for good reason. The feat of mental strength he had performed was horrifically powerful, and it had taxed him to the point of utter exhaustion.
As she sat down next to his sleeping form, she sighed, dusting her hands off. For a moment, she stared at him, before allowing herself a small smile.
"Thank you," she whispered, before leaning over and planting a gentle kiss on his cheek, which she immediately regretted, considering his past reaction to even a flicker of attraction from her.
He did not stir, and his breath was calm and consistent. She heaved a sigh of relief.
"Sleep tight," she murmured.
***
"Did you hear that?" Initiate Jennings said, his eyes wide with fear. "That sounded like gunshots."
"We're surrounded by hundreds of Super Mutants. Hearing a gunshot in such a situation is routine," Paladin Vargas replied, rolling his eyes. "Keep your shirt on, we're the Brotherhood of Steel, not boy-scouts. We've trained for this."
Jennings nodded, but the fear was still in his eyes.
Sentinel Sarah Lyons was standing at edge of a door-length window, her keen eyes scanning the surroundings for contacts. So far, the Super Mutants had taken the hint with the daily cullings near the GNR building. Vargas' laser rifle had seen to most of the intruders, with one kill awarded to Reddin and Jennings each. So far, despite Jenning's jumpy demeanour, he had been a relatively solid shot. All he needed was the experience and the confidence that came with it.
Vargas thought otherwise, taking every opportunity to scold and reprimand the initiate despite Lyons' insistence not to.
"He needs to learn how to take it," he had retorted. "It's called character building. God knows he needs some of it."
Something was wrong. She could feel it.
The gunshots that Jennings had heard were no ordinary gunshots. They were too loud, and the reverberation was far more than one would expect from the hunting rifles and assault rifles the Super Mutants favoured. Whoever was out there was well-equipped...
"Vargas, go get Reddin, we're heading out," Lyons withdrew from the window, fixing Vargas with a cool stare. "Those aren't just any gunshots Jennings just heard, those are from a high-powered sniper rifle."
Vargas raised an eyebrow. "You can tell?"
Lyons nodded. "We've got someone out there with ordnance that is too powerful to be ignored, and I want to find out who it is. Come on, let's move out."