Storm Heralds Reading List

Book1 Maledicti Venator, Serrati Stellas, Tenebris Resurget, Finis Fide, Tergum Cultro, Omni Honore, Carpe Posterum, Vacuus Cymba, Noctem Oritur.

Book2 Umbram Ignis, Ancra Mortis, Fame Cimex, Crux Lapis, Saeva Abyssi.

Book3, Captum Ante, Veneum Filios, Locum Ignotum, Domus Discordia.

Book4 Cincere Tempestus, Ignis in Vacui, Indomitus Bellum, Falsa Verum, Redemptio Opus, Diem Infamia.

Book5 Speculum Enigmate.

Extract from imperial Crusades of the new age: Vol I

Following the Great Refusal at Tectum the Indomitus Crusade entered a brief period of rest and respite. This was not by choice; the damage to the crusade had been so extensive that it was impossible for the fleets and armies to proceed without replenishment. Much has been written of the Living Primarch's logistical genius, rebuilding his forces in months where a lesser man would have taken years, if not decades. Though most Historitors are sparse on the details and conveniently ignore the plethora of records and memoirs that lament the strip-mining of local garrisons and the catastrophic effects that emergency tithes had on worlds in the Saint Karyl Trail.

The Indomitus Crusade's enforced period of rest was a calamity for those worlds still crying out for succour and the private journals of many a high-ranking Crusade officer stored in the Hub-Fortresses of the Officio Logisticarum document how it chafed the Lord Regent to be inactive, even for a brief period. The scale of the threat was obvious to all; not only did the foul minions of Chaos roam free but rebellion, Heresy and Xeno horrors abounded in the Age of Darkness. With the vigilant eye of Terra drawn away alien races were given the freedom to rampage as they will. Orks, K'nib, Talesterian, Tyranid, Eldar, Psybrid, Enslavers, H'rud, Necron, Tau and many more nightmares were able to challenge the dominance of Man and run amok within the Emperor's demesnes. Terrible was the toll in blood required to deny these incursions, sacrifices the beleaguered Imperium was ill-able to afford.

Most of the commonly available texts on the Crusade tend to focus on the large-set piece battles, where tens of thousands of Primaris Marines deployed to scour whole worlds bare. The Battle of Catachan, the Cleansing of Galathamor, the Liberation of Ophelia VII, the Scourging of Gloriphia, the Deliverance of Rynn's World, the Subjugation of the Lhorm Reaches, each a byword for blood-soaked victories and desperate struggles against impossible odds. Yet few Historitors take the time to document the millions of smaller actions that paved the way for these grand conquests. For every glorious triumph there were a hundred covert missions, smaller deployments and missions to far-flung outposts and remote worlds. Far more planets than can be counted only remain under the benevolent aegis of the Golden Throne thanks to the actions of a handful of Space Marines.

Speculum Enigmate Chapter 1

The music was so beautiful that it made Manaar weep, a haunting refrain that plucked at the strings of the heart and stirred the soul. The harp chords weaved magic all their own, carrying the audience to heights of joy and depths of sorrow. The music took the listener on a journey into the distant past, to a time when beauty and grace had ruled the stars, rather than superstition and ignorance. To hear that refrain was to be carried into an age where wise councillors and lords of vision had shaped the galaxy to their will and it appeared the age of peace and plenty would never end. It seemed impossible that string and wood could produce such beauty, that mere hands could draw forth the essence of another age, but it was so. With a perfect harmony of skill and passion the musician had brought forth a vision of the past, before the birth of She Who Thirsts, before the Eldar Fell.

Manaar was sitting on a grassy knoll, a small hillock that rose gracefully among the rolling countryside. He was lean and tall as all his kind were, yet unlike most Eldar his limbs were corded with dense muscle, the product of intense physical training. His face was grim, with a serious cast to his features that on any other day would have made seem as if he never laughed or cried. He was dressed in woven sandals and his Spirit Stone was bound by a short necklace. A grey toga hung over one shoulder, marked with red and black dashes and an emblem of a black triangle with many short bars. He sat alone on the hillock, for no other would sit near him, few were brave enough to dwell near one who had given themselves to the exploration of their most violent and wild emotions. One who walked the Path of the Aspect Warriors as a Warp Spider.

From where he was sitting Manaar could see the land spreading in all directions, lit by a radiant glow that owed nothing to sunlight. He was sitting in a seemingly natural amphitheatre formed by the landscape, one that had actually been deliberately shaped millennia before. The land was pleasant and comforting, designed to welcome the visitor with an agrarian utopia. Here could be found animals and plants that existed nowhere else in the galaxy, species whose worlds had burned in the collapse of the Eldar Empire and had been carefully husbanded for millennia since. Dotted across the bowl in the hills were numerous Eldar, listening to the melody with rapt attention while the Spirits of the ancestors swirled through the Infinity Circuit nearby, drawn to the rising emotions of their descendants. It was a recreation of a time long gone, when the Eldar had bestrode the stars as gods. The vision was only spoiled by the distant walls of Wraithbone, which rose into a high dome stretching over the land, through which could be seen the flicker of distant stars. For this was one of the many domes that covered Craftworld Furta-Rith, one of the few surviving safe harbours for the Eldar race.

The music came to its end with a short crescendo, filling the amphitheatre with triumphant notes then fading away to nothing. The crowd were not so boorish as to clap and cheer, their sensibilities were more refined than any crude Mon-Keigh's. Their approval came in slight nods and hand-gestures of appreciation, a ringing endorsement for those who could grasp Eldar speech. The harpist accepted this praise with a graceful bow in the style used in the high courts before the Fall, signalling the presentation was over.

Manaar stood up and brushed off his toga, then began making is way to the centre of the amphitheatre. The crowd parted before him, everybody making way for him to pass. Furta-Rith was not a Craftworld that embraced the Path of the Aspect Warrior gladly; their speciality was Seers. They as a people were dedicated to preserving the last remnants of a more civilised age so few wanted to be reminded of the violent urges that had brought it crashing down. It was seen as a burden to become an Aspect Warrior, a way to excise their aggressive tendencies and deepest anguish so most avoided drawing his eye. It was a foolish taboo, without his armour and rituals Manaar could not access his most ferocious emotions, all his training revolved around donning his violent nature like a war-mask and then taking it off again. Only those who had once been an Aspect Warrior could understand this dichotomy and Manaar easily marked those who had left the Path by their knowing eyes and sympathetic gazes. Manaar ignored these pitying looks; his pain was not for others to know.

With the crowd making way Manaar soon approached the musician but when he reached her he hesitated. The artist was thin and haggard, her body made frail by countless hours attending to her art. Her skin was blemished and her once golden hair was lank and flat. She looked like she had barely eaten and hadn't slept in days, consumed by the need to perfect her art. Manaar understood that creative urge all too well, he had once walked the Path of the Artist and felt that compulsion to express himself. It had been like a hot coal in his mind, the art dwelling within him crying out to be born, needing to leap free. It had been a passion that gripped him tightly, until he recognised he was becoming lost within his art and had left the Path before it claimed him heart and soul. This artist had been on the Path alongside him but she had not recognised the danger in time. She was lost to her music, trapped forever into one aspect of her being. She could never walk another Path, never learn a new skill, she was an Exarch of Music.

Manaar waited long moments for her to notice him, but the artist was collecting her instruments and did not see him. Manaar coughed politely to draw her notice but she seemed oblivious to his presence so reluctantly he stated, "May I speak to you. I'lreaye, can you hear me? I'lreaye, I am here… Mother!"

This last outburst shocked the artist and she blinked rapidly before turning to him saying, "Yes, who is there?"

Manaar saw the lost look in her eye and knew even now her mind dwelled on her music. Hopefully he said, "It is I mother: Manaar."

I'lreaye replied briskly, "Yes I know that. Manaar, my son, I am not blind."

Manaar knew her attention would be hard to hold so hurriedly said, "Mother, I hoped we could talk. Perhaps we could spend an evening together."

"We…" I'lreaye stammered nervously, "I suppose I could… I could… when I finish my next piece. I have an idea for a new composition."

Manaar knew her mind was already drifting back to her music; she was incapable of thinking of anything else. Sadly he said, "Mother, cannot we simply be parent and child for one day?"

I'lreaye sounded pained as she whined, "Manaar you don't understand. The composition deals with the heavenly movement of the spheres rendered into acoustic form. When it is done we can… when it is done…"

Manaar felt a stab of sorrow as he beheld her pain. I'lreaye was trapped in her aspect, unable to break free. Thinking of anything else caused her pain, the war within her tore at her spirit. She needed to compose and perform, it was a compulsion that drove her night and day. It had been this very flaw in the Eldar psyche that had destroyed their ancient empire and it still lay in the hearts of his race, a snare waiting upon every Path. Her obsession with music held her tight, yet the bonds of family tried to pull her away. Simply being around Manaar caused her anguish, his very presence was a knife unto her heart. Manaar caused her pain by speaking to her and that was a heartache to his own spirit, a sorrow he could only express through the violent life of an Aspect Warrior.

Sadly Manaar said, "That piece was beautiful."

I'lreaye smiled for the first time as she said, "I recovered it from the oldest records in the archives. It hasn't been played aloud since before the Fall."

Manaar nodded along as he lied, "I look forward to your next performance."

I'lreaye's eyes drifted to her instruments as she said, "I… I need to go. I need to compose."

"Go," Manaar sighed, "I will see you again soon."

I'lreaye couldn't wait to collect her instruments and depart, not even glancing back at her son as she fled. Manaar knew she would be heading straight back to her studios, to compose and practice. Likely she would forget he existed until the next time he forced himself into her way. The pain of loss bit hard, he wanted to don his war-mask, to sink into his violent aspect and his hands longed for their weapons so he could vent his torment in a storm of aggression. He swore to dedicate himself to the Warp Spiders and not depart their Shrine again, but he knew it was a false promise; it was one he had made and broken many times over.

He was startled when a joyful voice proclaimed, "What's this, an Aspect Warrior without his armour?"

Manaar spun about to find a friendly face looking at him and he cried, "Joru'l!"

Joru'l smiled broadly as he replied, "Yes, tis I."

The pair of them embraced in the warmest of fashions, touching hands in the ritual patterns of Old Friends Greeting. Joru'l was a childhood friend, one who had shared many a prepubescent adventure in the domes and domiciles of the Craftworld. They had run and played and fought as children do, laughing freely and experiencing the rush of youth, before the strict life of the Path had claimed them. Then they had separated, Manaar had chosen wilder roads to walk: Starfarer, Pilot, Artist and finally Aspect Warrior. Joru'l had chosen more sedate Paths: Farmer, Shaper, Healer and currently the life of the Servant. Yet they counted each other dear friends.

Joru'l looked him up and down and said, "What brings you out of your shrine?"

Manaar nodded at the stage and said, "I thought to speak to my mother."

Joru'l sighed, "You keep doing this to yourself. You would be well counselled to stay away. Embrace your life as an Aspect Warrior, you will never find satisfaction while you try to walk two paths."

Manaar looked down and said, "How can I abandon my mother?"

Joru'l lamented, "Deep are the passions of our race. That is why we need the Paths, to constrain our emotions and hone them. Take me for instance, I find satisfaction and purpose in the service of others. Helping and providing for another is a meaningful existence."

Manaar shook his head and explained, "I have never been content with such things. I need to feel the extremes of passion, to express my pain through action."

"It has always been your way," Joru'l concurred, "Yet there is pointless action and there is purposeful action."

Manaar's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he accused, "Why do I suspect this is no random encounter?"

Joru'l smiled knowingly as he affirmed, "You know me well. Yes, today I have been charged with delivering a message: from your father."

Manaar's good mood evaporated as he growled, "If the Council of Farseers has a request they can approach the Exarchs formally."

Joru'l sighed, "This is not an official mission, your father needs you to do something. There is a divergence in the Skein, he needs you to travel to a Mon-Keigh world and…"

Manaar cut him off snarling, "I don't care what he wants; he can find someone else to be his pawn."

Joru'l was taken aback and stated, "You cannot refuse this missive."

But Manaar turned his back and strode off, spitting over his shoulder, "Tell my father if he wants something from me he can come and ask me himself!" And with that he stormed away, leaving the amphitheatre behind as he returned to his Shrine, determined to seal himself inside and not come out again.