The Librarian sat stone-still, deep in thought. His consciousness expanded over the vast wastes between the stars, and beheld the usual horrors consigned to the planets of the Emperor's Imperium. Titanic, milling hive worlds, dead worlds whistling with the moans of those long passed from the Carrion Lord's light. World upon world was bathed in the golden radiance of the Emperor's interest, laced with a web of warp routes and portals.
One of these worlds was Rathama V, outermost bastion of the Rathama section. The Librarian had heard of the strange goings-on on the necropolis-world, so he paused and began to read the powerful psychic channel that originated there.
Static, nothing but static. Undertoned with a sound like the wails of the dead. More static.
I AM NIGHTBRINGER. I AM BECOME DEATH. STAY AWAY.
The horrified Librarian drew himself out of the psychic currents with a scream. As he toppled over backwards, he heard a knock at the door of his cell. Righting himself, he said, "Enter."
A scout's young face poked itself through the doorway with a look of concern. "Brother Shran, are you well?"
"Yes, yes," said the Librarian called Shran. "ran into a snag in the psi-channels. All is as it should be."
The recruit smiled and nodded. "Always is with you, lord. Good day." The head pulled back.
Staring at infinity for a moment, the psyker activated the vox-bead on his larynx with a thought.
"Captain Fisk."
"Aye?"
"Get in here. Something is amiss on Rathama V."
On a psychic channel not used for centuries, death himself conversed with his retainer.
THE HUMANS SHALL SOON BE HERE. BEHOLD, THE SOUL-FEAST DRAWS NIGH.
Yea, mighty. The warriors of Shala shall not disappoint.
BE WARY, LORD SHALA. THEY COME WREATHED IN METAL. THE SERVENTS OF THE DEAD ONE ARE ON THE HORIZON.
I have fought in your name for centuries, mighty. The warriors sleep, but I may rally them to your standard as soon as you compel me to.
GOOD. STAY YOUR HAND, ANCIENT ONE. MY HUNGER WILL CALL YOU SOON ENOUGH.