Part Eleven - Damnation of the Fiefdom
The Magnian Fiefdom long stood as the sanctuary of psykers, where those touched by the Warp could hide under the unwavering protection of the Feather of Magnus, the relic used to keep the Warp-powered reflex spell operating. The Planet of Sorcerers was little more than fragments held together by sheer psychic will and the prowess of the greatest of their rank. Chief among them were the Councilers of Fourteen, the last of the Thousand Sons, and Syliel Allean, the last of the Aeldari. These living members of ages past, united in their scarcity and talent in the Warp, kept the Feather powered for ten millennia.
Yet all technologies and spells fade with time, and few ancient things stay entirely intact. The Feather's color drained and its link to the lost Primarch gone, it fell to the ground without ceremony, but with much terror. All those on the Planet of Sorcerers were themselves sorcerers, in tune with the Warp and its nature. The falling of the shield was felt by all, and Allean immediately took a portion of Brethren Psykana to search for a new power source capable of shielding the planet and all its psykers. Yet as they left the world but three days after her declaration of expedition aboard their Legiones Astartes Huntress Destroyer, one of the few warships left from the Thousand Sons Legion, tragedy struck.
A Mars Cruiser and two Gladius Frigates baring the sigil of the Phoenix Imperialis appeared from the Warp, immediately launching fightercraft and drop pods at the planet. Each of the forty Space Marines deployed to the world had a blank strapped to their back, and carnage ensued. The Planet's defenders, too accustomed to the Warp's power, were caught entirely off-guard when their attempts to smite the fallen Angels simply failed. None of the Astartes needed to draw their blades, for simply getting too close was death enough. The bastion of psykers was under assault from a ruthless, brutal force of berserkers and madmen, armed with equally brutal weaponry.
Yet this would be their downfall, for pools of psyker blood filled the streets, powering old runes and countermeasures with each death. Even as the lunatic warriors of the dead god of excess and pride marched ever onwards, ancient automata and warp-powered turrets spun to life, posing challenges to even the Emperor's Children. But the war would not be won like this, for as the Phoenix Imperialis' soldiers retreated with kidnapped psyker slaves for endless depravity back at their homeworlds, the unit's commander, Captain Thio Excrutatius, sent a psychic message to a somewhat far off empire in the reaches of the void. It came with coordinates, a brief description of the foe, and with the amount of psykers revealed, even a psychic beacon to focus on. He had divined the falling of the Feather, for he himself was a psyker.
For a week, the children of the Warp repaired, rebuilt and mourned their losses. Then came the second wave, not of the Phoenix Imperialis, but of the Holy Clergy of the Emperor's Will. A Black Templars Battle-Barge, ten cruisers of various classifications, and a few Huntress Destroyers owned by the various Ordos within the Holy Clergy. Bombardment, drop pods, and fightercraft rained from orbit, and the Magnian Fiefdom fell to the burning of promethium and mad zealots. Two billion psykers died within a span of hours as chunks of the planet fell away, the strength of her defenders fading as their numbers dropped dramatically. The Councilers themselves were reduced to thirteen, as only one stood defiantly to defend and die with his people. The rest opened a rift in the Warp and left for a new chance.
Through the Warp, Allean and her party flew. With accurate estimates and divinations, she knew her world's plight and yet found no results. Refusing to tell the crew or her soldiers, she kept the horror and tears to herself. The Void gave no answers, and the crying death wails of the Warp was all she heard from that side of reality. Until finally, her ship was latched onto and dragged across the Warp's length. Fearing some remnant of the Gods or some unaffiliated Warp predator had found her ship, she prepared the guns before her fears were hushed by silent, psychic words of reaffirmation used in ages past to herald salvation; "Do not be afraid."
And then the land before her was brilliant. It was everything she hoped for, it was all she wanted and more. A glistening starship that could dwarf any craftworld, clad in the typical Aeldari gold and the mourning Ynnari black and white, with purple stripes of metal plating and ancient Aeldari sigils and runes built into the ship's structure. It stood with an escort fleet of Imperial and once-Drukhari vessels - now repainted and modified to resemble the flagship - and the psychic presence of the crew meant only one thing.
Aeldari. A massive ship full of them too, enough to pass as a moon in mass. It was a ship that surpassed almost any before it, an unbreakable monolith filled with the knowledge of her ancient species. Free from the shackles of She Who Thrists, the Aeldari had learned the lessons of the Empire of old and they sought to capitalize on the second chance. Yet another presence was aboard the ship, one far stronger than any other aboard. After docking and witnessing the majestic innards of the godlike starship, she was face to face with Magnus the Red, who had forgone his daemonic master during the Cataclysm. Upon reaching his presence, she could do nothing but bow and kneel before the great presence, and the wise red Primarch chuckled at the sight. "You need not bow before me, Farseer. In fact, I believe I should towards you. Your dilemma is known, and the Yahshua has already set its course towards my old realm. We will punish the ignorant, but we will not war them, for such violence will only beget more."
Once the Yahshua had dropped from the realm of the Warp, no ship in the Holy Clergy's arsenal could hope to escape, much less win. Even the massive and ancient Battle-Barge had nothing to offer as it was all but destroyed in a single salvo from but a twentieth of its armament. The survivors on the Planet cheered in victory, they had weathered judgement and now salvation had come. Gunships fell to the world, and to greet them were Rubric Marines with their will restored, if not body. The comparatively puny demi-company of Templars and a few hundred surviving Sisters stood little chance against such an enemy, as Wraithbone constructions and the hundred thousand sons of Magnus purged the foe with Aeldari and Imperial weaponry alike.
With the Planet evacuated and the survivors of the Holy Clergy's attack left alive purposely to tell their masters the terrible fate which befell them, the Yahshua and her escorts disappeared into the Warp once more, with a Primarch to lead them and the ancient Aeldari to train the younger species' psychically gifted lessons to hone their potential. The Magnian Fiefdom had fallen, but the Conclave of Sorcerers had risen in their place.
