Jonas Roberts, High Magus of the Iron Warriors 39th Grand Battalion, Daemonbreaker, Chainer of Knowledge, and Sunderer of Schemes, was deep in concentration. His opponent stood before him, awaiting his next move. The move that would ultimately decide not just the outcome of this match, but the fate of that which he held most dear. He pondered for a long moment. Countless stratagems were weighed and discarded. Finally, he sprung into action, like a serpent leaping for his prey.
"Fours," he intoned gravely. This was the moment of truth.
His opponent held his gaze... and smiled.
"Go Fish," said the man sitting opposite him. "Got any twos?"
Jonas slumped in his seat, melodramatically. The sorcerer sat on an old and worn metal chair sat in front of a simple table, a selection of cards and bottles littering its surface. On the other side a Tech-Priest sat, a calm but victorious smile on his face. Such mechanical cultists are not ordinarily the sort to waste their precious time in social engagements, much less petty games such as these, but Roderick Vivar was far from ordinary. One might even go as far as to call him gregarious; for a Tech-Priest at least.
The grooves on the floor indicate that this improvised setup is frequented often by the two, and observing their surroundings makes the reasons quickly become clear. The room it was situated in was a small, out-of-the-way corner on the 39th Battalion's flagship, giving them some much-needed privacy; given the misfits and fools populating much of the ship, this was a scarce and valuable resource. Beyond that, a large panel stood on the wall beside them; a vidscreen that was linked to hull-mounted sensors to provide the closest thing to a window this vessel had. During normal realspace travel, it provided quite a lovely view of the celestial bodies passing by.
Alas, the sensors had been retracted to their storage casings during the flagship's voyage through the warp. Partly for their own protection, but also to avoid exposing those within to the unfiltered sights of the Immaterium, which have been known on occasion to drive men to madness. And worse.
"I should know better than to bet anything remotely precious on a card game against you by now, Ricky," groaned Jonas despondently. "I can see into your mind, and you still beat me nine times out of ten! You must be cheating somehow."
Roderick, or Ricky to his friends, merely smiled enigmatically, the irony of his companion's statement clearly not lost on him. This was far from the first time he had made such comments. "I am but a vessel for the will of the Omnissiah," he intoned. "And at this moment, I trust that His will involves several bottles of your highest quality Amasec changing hands to this humble servant."
"Alright alright," Jonas grumbled, pulling a chilled container from underneath the table the two compatriots were sitting beside. "I shall have my vengeance one day, feeble mortal, mark my words..." the Magus hissed, a deranged expression spreading across his face. His maniacal expression held for a moment, but inevitably a twitching at the corners of his mouth betrayed his facade, and the two descended into hearty laughter.
The telltale noises of the Gellar Fields powering down indicated that the ship had arrived at its destination at last, and begun to phase back into the Materium. The two shared a drink as the vidscreen beside them began to display once more, the drink bringing a satisfying burning sensation to Jonas's throat. For several long moments, the incomprehensible hues of the Aether seemed to remain, merging with the scintillating light of stars and cosmic hues of distant nebulae. The solar system they arrived in seemed to warp and wave, the lights and colors of the planets and sun taking on an unearthly presence.
"Never gets old, does it?" said Jonas, his voice taking on a soft and wistful quality. "Sometimes... I think this was all worth it, just for these moments."
"Oh?" queried the tech priest.
"I'm sure you've realized by now that none of us are here by choice," said Jonas, a sad smile on his face. "Not here, on this ship. In this damned Battalion." He took a long swig of his bottle, gazing at the worn and groaning walls around them. They were a patchwork of riveted plates of ceramite and plasteel, of varying make and grade. The outer hull was little better, pitted and tarnished, a remnant of what might have once been a fine and elegant work of engineering that any Warsmith would be proud to call his own. This was a ship that had seen many hasty field repairs. One well overdue for a proper drydock disassembly and overhaul. Or perhaps a mercy kill. The Magus's smile faded to a bitter scowl.
"The illustrious 39th Grand Battalion!" Jonas exclaimed, waving his arms melodramatically. "Ass end of the Iron Legion! Run by a Warsmith that even Perturabo himself probably couldn't stand! This, my friend, is where they stick all the people they don't want to think about. Where hopes and dreams go to die!"
Roderick placed one augmetic limb onto his shoulder reassuringly. "Take heart," he said, his voice as soft as his voicebox could manage. "For the Omnissiah would not guide us here together for no reason. I will have purpose yet, and so shall you."
Jonas smiled wryly. "You know, I envy you, Roderick," he said, shaking his head. "I don't know what you've gone through, but if you've wound up here you must have had as many misfortunes and setbacks as I." Jonas stared down in the direction of the bottle in his hand, but his eyes were gazing somewhere far away. "Yes, I have no doubt you've had more than your fair share of that," he murmured. "Of the world kicking you to the curb, of your ambitions being stomped into the dirt, of your schemes coming to naught. And yet, you remain resolute. you have your faith, your mission in life, your dream..."
Jonas lifted his eyes to the vidscreen once again, his gaze intense but unseeing. "I lost sight of mine a long time ago," he said, tonelessly.
Roderick was silent for a long moment. "You have yet to inform me of how you ultimately arrived at this position, Jonas," he said, finally. "What circumstance has brought you here?"
Jonas let out a mirthless laugh. "Oh, it's the same old story you could hear a thousand times from a thousand different people," he said, bitterness and a hint of wry, self-deprecating amusement slipping into his voice. "A young man, invested with strange powers he doesn't understand that set him apart from the rest. Some shadowy entities from the depths of the Sea of Souls promising him power and prestige and glory if he but follows them." he shook his head, derisively. "You get the idea. And look where those promises of power and prestige got him, in the end."
Taking a short swig of his bottle again, Jonas stared out at the fading wash of the warp coating the distant stars. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, and a small but genuine smile began to form. "But even so..." he began, the words coming haltingly to his lips. "...Even so, even if my dreams of the future are faded and out of reach, even if it was all for naught... maybe it was worth it, anyways."
He turned his gaze back to the Tech-Priest beside him at last, staring at this strange augmented cultist that had somehow become his fondest companion. "Yes, perhaps it has all been worth it," mused the magus. "For moments like these. Sitting here, enjoying the view while it lasts. A bottle of half-decent Amasec in my hand... and a good friend at my side."
"Indeed," Ricky said, a fond smile on his lips, clinking his bottle to his companion's in an impromptu toast. "I shall drink to that."
And so they did.