Chapter 3 - Setting Out
A/N - A shoutout for all 34 followers and 13 favorites, bringing this story to my most popular one yet after only two chapters. Kinda impressive and sad at the same time. :P Also for the 1.75k+ visits. And the reviewers. Must always thank the reviewers. Also, I just wanna give a thanks to my beta, for putting up with the disaster this story was before they started giving me corrections. And that should be all the shoutouts, thanks, etc.
Anyhoo, with this chapter, we finally get to the end of the Warhammer 40k verse, and will hopefully only see it again in small, point of view parts.
For the Greater Good!
It had been a humiliating time, relearning everything that he had thought he had remembered, but remembering things with his head and through muscle memory were two very different things. He had spent nearly three quarters of a year learning and relearning what he needed. He had spent three hours a day at each of the three shrines, retraining his skills and learning more, both with and without equipment. He had also spent three hours learning how to pilot the Vyper and Vampire Raider, and another four hours learning how his space ship worked and how to control it.
Fleet Mistress Ulin had been informed at their second meeting that if he was going to be on it, he will damn well do a job, or he shouldn't be allowed on. Her surprise had been so complete that she had actually recoiled slightly. Arlas was annoyed that apparently his alternate monikers had more sway than he had expected. He was now a passable ship master, or captain to other races, of both his modified Hellebore frigate and the Vampire Raider. He was also now acceptably proficient with the Vyper, and had improved enough with the new equipment to at least get grudging nods of approval from the exarchs of the three shrines.
Those grudging nods didn't mean they would allow him into squads fielded with the host; they were simply admitting he was good enough to run around on his own. The biggest improvement had come from the Warlock shrine, where he had actually got training directly from one of the Farseers. The elder Farseers from the council were far too busy for this, but one of the 'lesser' Farseers that oversaw the Warlock shrine had assisted and been very instructive, even after focusing mostly on rune useage.
He was currently examining the design of 'his' Hellebore frigate, though the term was best used loosely. It was a modified version, closer to a Hemlock destroyer in size but with a light cruiser engine, power plant, weapon batteries, and point defenses. At slightly more than three fourths of a kilometer, it was a ship to be reckoned with. It could outrun almost everything that the Eldar knew of, and what it couldn't outrun, it could easily outmaneuver and outfight. Even after all the training, all the sweat and frustration, however, he still refused to take the captain's chair.
Because the spirit stone set into the captain's gem slot contained the soul a spiritseer, and those types of Warlocks unnerved him. The issue wasn't that he couldn't work with a spiritseer, or that he thought they were an abomination, but there was something about them that set his teeth on edge, and made him strive to keep as many as he could within his field of vision. He could not deny that they were effective, as the crew's ability to perceive the materium had sharply increased after the seer had been set into their wraithbone control column, the only one on the tiny bridge of the vessel. It had not been designed with a living crew in mind, so certain shortcuts could be taken to speed up its creation and deployment, allowing the eight hundred meter vessel to be completed in mere months, rather than the years that would normally be allotted to such a vessel.
The only part of the vessel with life support was the modified Vampire Raider. He would have to be in his armor whenever he entered the larger ship. This didn't bother him, since he had a small private room on the Raider for resting, meditation and planning. Not much more than a small bed, a small table, a chair, and a pair of displays. It meant that, with all the additions and improvements, he could only move a total of fifteen sentients with him. They hadn't been able to compress the Raider's size much, so it was still a fairly large craft.
He finished his final review of his vehicles, and turned his attention to the weapons. Most of them, he was already familiar with and had only needed some time on a weapon range to remember how to use them, with the exception of the fusion gun and flamer. His shuriken pistol was now a twin pistol, it wasn't that different in usage from before, just a bit heavier. The fusion gun and flamer, however, were completely different from his previous experience, and he had spent some of his free time with the weapons at the Dire Avenger shrine to learn more the weapons proper usage and care. Done with his weapon review, he returned each weapon to its storage slot on the Raider, he allowed himself a sigh, enjoying the feeling that maintaining his equipment produced. A combination of eagerness, satisfaction, and a touch of pity for whoever ended up on the other end of his sights.
He returned to the maintenance of his equipment, finishing with his new armor. He was currently only wearing the mesh undersuit and a tabard, less for modesty because such things were not an issue to the enlightened Eldar, and more because the undersuit, without the armor, didn't provide much in the way of color. The black, grey and red tabard added much more to the grey undersuit, but it was one of the few acceptable ways a Warrior of the Path could display some variation in their appearance. Some individuals newer to the Path still had several outfits suitable for the civilians, but many older warriors had neither the time, inclination, nor space for any kind of a wardrobe other than the most essential. He only had four tabards as a matter of fact, one for each Warrior Path he had walked, three undersuits in case one was damaged and he needed to clean the second, a single shirt and leggings acceptable for a civil setting, and his two sets of armor.
He turned to his armors, and took a moment to admire the older armor. Despite the age and simplicity of the armor, it was still a work of art, psychoreactive plates with smooth lines and gentle curves, belying the fact it was effective armor. It was his backup armor now, so he didn't spend much time checking it, the armory singers had already done the repairs. Done with his older armor set, Arlas turned to the one built specifically for this mission, and couldn't quite restrain the feeling of awe that swept through him. It was, without a doubt, a suit that wouldn't have looked out of place on an Autarch, leading a host of Eldar warriors straight into the teeth of an enemy army.
He stroked the helm tenderly, almost lovingly, as he admired the crisp, clean curves of the helmet, retaining the same basic shape of most Eldar helms, but having so much more hidden inside. The fin that normally vaulted above a Ghost Helm had been turned into three smaller ones down the back of helm, reducing the profile while still providing the masking effect. A small bulge on the right side of the helm, containing a large, ruby optic distinct to the rangefinder, giving him increased accuracy with all the weapons, and the vision enhancement goggles some rangers preferred were attached over the main optics. On the lower curve of the helm, just before the jaw line of the helm ended, two sweeping tubes connected to the back; the mandiblasters that made the Striking Scorpions such fiends against unarmored opponents.
The greaves, gauntlets and leg guards were no different from normal armor, other than being made of wraithbone rather than carapace armor, which significantly reduced the weight, giving him nearly unparalleled fine control and dexterity in his armor. He had managed to get a couple pieces of gear for the forearm guards that Ranger's enjoyed. A grappling hook with monofilament wire and launcher, as well as a small display for his off arm. Done with the helm and limb armors, he carefully replaced each on the stand, and turned his attention to the chest piece.
The centerpiece of the entire ensemble, it was as much armor as work of art, and Singer and his crew had outdone themselves, producing a masterpiece. Singer had even stated he would no longer work in the main armory, as he had produced the best piece he could, and staying there would only remind him that everything else he could build would never be equal to it. The chestplate was of wraithbone, but they had managed to inlay rune armor into it, giving him protection beyond nearly any other suit of armor. The large backpack of the Warp Spider jump engine had been streamlined, removing some of the excess plating. The shoulder pauldrons had been inlaid with several runes, further reinforcing the armor, and allowing him to give himself several psy-craft enhancements that would make his mission easier.
After seeing all the equipment he was being granted, he couldn't help but be proud of the Craftworld for being able to manage the crafting of such a set of marvels, especially so quickly. He also couldn't help but feel a thread of fear. This was not the Eldar way, which meant something was wrong, and he needed to do his part to ensure the Craftworld's survival, which meant he needed to get out and do it.
Finished with his last checks, he psychically sent out a thought to the Farseers, that he was ready to leave, and was requesting guidance. *Does the Council have any further guidance for me?*
As he waited for their reply, he started putting on the new armor, keeping only his old cloak. New threads of cameleoline had been woven into the cloak, completely restoring its ability to help him blend into the surrounding area. As he finished carefully putting on the chest plate, the Council replied. *No, Fleet Master Ylbaer has been informed that you are ready to depart. He will begin clearing the Orks from around the webgate immediately. You are to enter the webgate as quickly as possible, and recon the other side as able. Do not let our technology fall into the possession of whatever is on the other side of the gate, and avoid causing more problems than you must. The Craftworld will follow within a decade.*
He sent back his understanding and compliance, noting that what they hadn't told him was just as important as what they had. No one had any idea what was on the other side, so he could engage anyone or anything as he saw fit. No word on if there were webgates on the other side, so he would likely be stuck to taking the long route for long distance travel. Of course, he could just stowaway or steal a local ship, if they had faster than light travel. He finished dressing, pausing only enough to glance at the picture of his mother, himself in his Warp Spider armor, and his sister in her Howling Banshee armor, and another of his first squad when he had been with the Warp Spiders, before heading for the cockpit of his Raider. He had already moved everything he needed into it; rations, spare parts, his few personal effects, extra wraithbone seeds for both equipment and armor repairs, so all he needed was to just leave.
He sat down in the only chair, before psychically commanding the seat to turn. He smiled at the spirit stone embedded in the console, before mentally activating the Raider. *The Farseer Council is letting us go. You ready for this, Yol'Pvera?*
All he got back was a feeling of being mildly insulted, which could mean she was feeling insulted, or was insulting him for his insinuation that she was not ready. Either was equally likely, and he had learned she didn't enjoy communicating with words, having preferred being with vehicles to people, having kept that preference even after death. He mentally ordered the vessel to hover off the tiny hangar deck, and waited for the controller of the star space around the Craftworld to tell him he could leave and where his ship was waiting. Once he got it, he put the engines to the directed speed, turned to the designated heading, and took off toward his ship.
He let his thoughts wander a bit, trusting Yol'Pvera to let him know if something happened that he needed to pay attention to. His ship was a quarter hour from the craftworld, finishing up the last of the tests before it was allowed to leave. There was quite a debate amongst the shipbuilders if the vessel was a variation of the Hellebore frigate or the Hemlock destroyer, as it took heavily from both designs, as well as if it should become a permanent ship in their line up. He had, with the spirit crew's permission, named the ship the Raibh Karun, or the Night Scout in a lesser tongue. None of the crew had bothered to even give him their names, content on keeping their distance from him, including the spiritseer. Not that it bothered him, he was used to being an Outcast.
He grinned at his weak word play, before returning his focus to his craft. A quick check showed that nothing had changed in the last five minutes, so he started plotting out their course. He ignored the annoyance emanating from the spirit stone as he did her job for her, or more accurately did the same job she had already completed in a less proficient manner. Another ten minutes to the Raibh Karun, then an hour to the nearest webgate for ships. After that, a day to get through two more normal webways before he arrived at the Abandoned Webgate's system. And then a quarter of a day to get to the actual Webgate he was supposed to scout. So about a day and a third to get to the part where he could do his job. Until then, not much to do but lean back and enjoy the ride.
He actually arrived at the final system in less than a day, as the ship was significantly faster than he had expected. The journey had been almost depressingly normal and uninteresting and boring. He still made a point of getting into his armor again, and heading up to the bridge as they approached the reversion point back to the materium, out of the webway. He knew the Assault Fleet had been in the system, driving the local orks out.
Six hours later, the Raibh Karun was approaching the gate, which had dismissed its illusions that protected it from detection. The normal shimmering vortex was present in the gate, but what made it vary from the usual webway gates was the fact that this gate's shimmer wasn't the usual whitish silver of starlight, but more a reddish grey of a dying star or fading sunset. It was distinctly unnerving to look at. After a moment, Arlas acknowledged the fear and unease he was feeling, and then dismissed it, before looking at the spirit stone column, with its ten stones and embedded wraithguard, and nodded. *Take us in. Anti-grav engines to half speed, full power to weapons and sensors. I want to know about blockages in this section before we run into them. Keep to the largest path if the path branches, that is the one the craftworld will follow.*
The entrance to the Abandoned Gate was… impossibly large, even to his mind, and he had seen images of the largest craftworlds. Those were sometimes mistaken for small planets, or in Ulthwe's case, it had been mistaken by human space marines for a sun. This gate was large enough that only the most massive of the craftworlds couldn't enter. His own craftworld would easily fit. One concern eased, he would just hope that the interior was as spacious as the exterior implied, didn't dead end, or branch into a multitude of smaller tunnels at some point inside. Or was overrun by daemons, or something equally unpleasant.
They slipped through the gate entrance without an issue, despite its unusual color, but instead of the crisp, clean 'tunnel' interior of silverish white starlight he expected, it had jagged rust colored walls, almost the color of dried blood. He looked over the entrance, before shaking his head. *Looks like there is a massive warp breach somewhere. Warn the craftworld to expect chaos entities to assault them when they are inside. And we need to be ready as well.*
The spiritseer sent back their agreement, and the vessel continued forward. Despite his fears, they were not attacked, even after an hour of travel. Arlas stayed in the bridge, until a blinking light on his heads up display revealed his air supply was down to an hour. He frowned at the display, before sending his annoyance to the seer. *Permission to replace my air, and move two of the crew to wraithguard bodies for defense in case we are boarded? I will move Yol'Pvera to one as well.*
The seer dismissed him with a feeling of agreement, and Arlas took the two gems that had their clamps loosen. A few minutes later, he was in the hangar, placing the gems into the slots on the wraithguards, and stepped aside to let them step out of their housing. He entered the Raider, and sealed the transport, before eagerly popping his helmet seal. Taking in several deep breaths of air that wasn't recycled from his suit, he attached the helm on his hip, and headed for the cockpit. He pulled Yol'Pvera out of her spirit stone slot in the cockpit, and informed her of the current state of the mission, as he moved her to the wraithguard body.
The wraithguard moved through the small airlock separating the cockpit, armory, and his living quarters, from the transport portion of the ship. He spent a moment just enjoying the feeling of being 'alone,' despite the three spirit stones in the hangar of the small frigate. After a moment, he psychically reached out to the seer. *Do you need me for anything, or may I get some rest?*
He wasn't tired yet, but better to get a bit of rest now, rather than be tired later and need to be alert. After a moment of consideration, the seer replied that sensors were currently clear, she was setting their speed to three fourths full to clear the damaged webway area faster, and he could rest if needed. He entered his room, and took a seat in the clear area of the cabin, tiny though it was. He didn't need sleep, only rest, and meditation provided that. He just hoped the rest of the journey was as exciting as the first hour.
It was just shy of the seventh day in the abandoned webgate, when the mission finally became interesting. The webway had been getting steadily darker, which was not a good sign, but the lack of hostile response had been draining as an attack in its own way. Worse, the walls themselves had been… distorting, for want of a better word. He had helped, during his time in the Striking Scorpion shrine, to clear a section of the webway that had been corrupted, and while the color of rust and dried blood that had been present then was here, the sections of the webway here that were simply… empty was something he was not familiar with.
He had seen normal sections, blocked sections, lost sections, even a destroyed section, but this was something new. It was so distracting and disconcerting that no one, not even the spirit stone crew, noticed the warp energy surge until a daemon materialized on the bridge. It was a typical daemon, if such a label can be applied to such creatures, two legs, three arms, a fang filled mouth slobbering everywhere, six beady black eyes glaring hatefully at the only living crew member, and burning blood as Arlas tore it apart with the twin shuriken pistol. *Full speed, now! Get us through this section. All hands, prepare to repel daemonic boarders.*
He wanted to get down to the hanger, but knew that the three wraithguard in there were enough for everything but a major daemon, or a coordinated boarding attempt. He had to cover the bridge while the spiritseer's wraithguard stepped out of its stand. While each stand had a wraithcannon, the traditional armament of a wraithguard, the ship had also issued a second weapon to each wraithguard, meant for use in protecting the airless ship. Most had either a scatter laser or shuriken cannon, but there was one with a star cannon, another with a flame thrower, and Arlas was bemused to see a soul stripping D-scythe in the stand behind the spiritseer's wraithguard.
Her second weapon was a bit more 'normal,' a shuriken cannon, but she also had a witchblade and force shield, something he had only seen on the rare melee focused wraithlords before. As the spiritseer grabbed their blade and cannon, and began shredding the daemons that were boarding the bridge faster than they appeared, he was modestly glad for both the seer's weapons and skill. As he exited the bridge, he psychically heard the spiritseer repeat their earlier orders. *Agreed Pathfinder. Full speed, send another wraithguard to the bridge. Weapons to full, fire on all targets*
Almost immediately, he could feel the three weapon batteries and the point defense clusters begin firing, the ship trembling just barely with every salvo from the batteries. Arriving in the hangar, he quickly saw that the larger space was allowing more daemons to mass. A pair of shuriken cannons and a star cannon were being leveled against them, and while so far none of them had faltered due to the problems of being a soul in a spirit stone, it was only a matter of time. Unless the seer was somehow, in some way, doing something to prevent the problems a wraithguard sometimes suffered from.
Either way, he quickly fired a volley into a forming daemon, sliced another in half with his witchblade, and started issuing orders. *Form up near the Raider. Back to back so they don't get behind you. Wraithguard nearest the door, head to the bridge to help the seer keep it clear.*
The Vampire Raider transport was currently resting in its stand, but with a psychic command, it was raised into the air, giving the defenders an unimpeded view and field of fire, preventing the daemons from massing behind something. So instead, the daemons all immediately charged. Shuriken cannon, starcannon, and shuriken pistol cut them down, with Arlas using his blade on any that survived long enough to get close. He had no idea how long the fight lasted, before suddenly the daemons simply stopped appearing, the few ones not already being torn to pieces by either blade or cannon suddenly flaring in warp fire to vanish completely. But instead of being relieved, he felt fear.
Daemons didn't run.
Not unless something FAR worse was coming. And he could still feel the terrible song of the warp in his mind. They were deep in a breached section of the webway, still well within the twisted weave of the Warp. He sent a questioning thought to the seer, whose reply was only more unsettling. *Bridge clear, still deep in contaminated webway. Something ahead, sensors unclear. Something closer, hard contact, brace.*
The deck shudder slightly as the weapon batteries fired, but whatever the seer had detected was not destroyed, instead slamming into the side of the ship hard enough to be noticeable. A second later, a massive flare of warp energy erupted to one side of the hangar, soaring until it scorched the ceiling. A moment later, a massive daemon, nearly four meters tall, stepped out of the dying blaze, a hideous, hook ended and serrated blade in one hand, warp energies in the other. Its unspeakable face curled into a smile, revealing ragged, rotting teeth as it surveyed the two wraithguard and Eldar in front of it. *For millennia, I have guarded this passage in Hir name with nothing to show for it. And now a ship of Hir prizes seeks to flee Hir grasp? Perhaps such a bounty will allow me to move from this wretched location one more fitting of my stature and position in the Warp.*
Arlas rolled his eyes at the Greater Daemon, knowing it couldn't see him through his helm in the airless hangar. Its angular head with an elongated snout and tiny, almost invisible eyes peered about, as its scaled torso and massive arms flexed idly. For a moment, no one moved, the eldar and wraithguard on one side, aiming at the massive daemon, and the daemon on the other, ready to charge. Then the airlock to the hangar whisked open, revealing a shuriken cannon and D-scythe armed wraithguard pair, who immediately opened fire. The most important blow, the D-scythe shot, apparently missed as the daemon started charging, but at least one shot from the cannon hit.
As the daemon started its charge forward, the other two wraithguards and the Pathfinder fired, though the Pathfinder couldn't help but see the wound from the shuriken cannon closing. At least two of the shots hit, but either the wounds closed immediately from exposure to the raw Warp energies, or its scale or armor, piecemeal though it was, caught and deflected the attacks. It struck once, shearing Yol'Pvera's wraithguard from shoulder to hip, and though her star cannon was still intact, it wouldn't be participating in this battle any more. A second strike, and the second wraithguard that had been in the hangar fell, with a cut through its waist.
Arlas lunged, his witchblade biting deep into the daemon's thigh, but it simply sneered down at him, before dancing out of range, and then charging the wraithguards in the airlock. This time, Arlas heard the shuriken cannon discharge, but the daemon didn't fall, meaning either the D-scythe had missed again, or the daemon was immune to effect of the weapon in the warp fields.
The daemon chopped twice, but a snarl of anger revealed it had missed one of the targets, even as the deck rebounded from a collapsing wraithguard. Arlas charged and slammed his blade into the lower back of the daemon, hoping to sever the spine, but the wound healed even as he dragged the blade through its spine, and by the time his blade had been yanked free, the wound was nearly closed. He desperately jumped back to avoid a slash of that hideous blade, only to feel the deck reverberate again. It was now just him and the daemon. It sneered down at him. *Little Eldar, swear your allegiance to Lord Slaanesh, and I might spare your pitiable existence.*
The helmet made it impossible to tell the expression Arlas had, but he figured it was smart enough to get a hint from his words. *Better idea, I kill you, and then complete my mission with your skull mounted to my transport.*
The daemon actually threw its head back and laughed. *Hehehehehe. Oh, thats…. Hahahahah. That is…. Oh my… That was the…. Hehehehehe. I can't look at you without laughing. Hehehe. Thank you, eldar warrior, I needed that. I am Halrshan-Ishnetrue. Tell me, are you ready to become a toy for my mistress? Hehe*
The threat was mildly defused by the fact the daemon was actually giggling, and not looking directly at the Pathfinder, which the eldar found vaguely insulting. However, before either could reply further, or move, both heard the spirit stone crew in the bridge. *Approaching sensor anomaly. Brace for sudden maneuvers.*
The daemon's face paled, something that intrigued Arlas in spite of himself. He wasn't aware scales showed a change in blood flow. *Sensor… By the Powers, no. You aren't… You are. You fools are. You fools actually are! No. NO. NO! NO ONE IS TO PASS. The Mistress so decreed, and so it MUST BE! DIE!*
The daemon was suddenly in front of Arlas, its blade descending. He frantically activated his jump pack, flashing to the other side of the daemon, only to quickly flash away again as its backswing nearly caught him in the side. The daemon was desperate in its assault, and swung its blade in powerful but unwieldy arcs, but it was out of time. Even as it closed the distance again, the crew broadcast their observations again. *Entering sensor anomaly in three… two… one…*
*NOOOOOOOOOOO-*
The daemon vanished as the countdown ended, and while Arlas wanted to relax, the vessel suddenly started violently pitching, and his head began pounding. Realizing the pain was from psychic strain, he frantically tried to perform the mental exercises to disperse the pain, when it suddenly doubled, and then redoubled. He collapsed onto the hangar deck, in utter agony as he vaguely heard a warning from the spirit crew. *Brace for... evaaaaaasivve… mannnnnnnnuuuuuuueverrrrrrrrrrrs.*
Arlas watched the deck suddenly tilt and whirl unexpected, before he slammed into a wall, and had just enough time to realize that one of the wraithguard's weapons seemed to be flying right at him, before it hit the wall behind his head, and then it crashed down, slamming his helmet into the deck, and all he knew was agony and darkness.