Hello again chaps, here is the 5th chapter in my wee story. Some of my reviewers made some good points and so I have decided to change the date of where the story is set to 745.M41, hopefully that makes it a little bit more lore friendly. Although I must say, I always intended this story to be self-contained so bear that in mind.

This chapter marks the end of the introduction (as I see it) as the next one will get into the real meat of the story that I want to tell. The next chapter will take far longer than usual as I have to plan out everything and make sure it makes sense. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy the chapter. As always constructive criticism is appreciated.

As I love writing to music, I thought I would share these songs with you. You may notice that sometimes the song in question pertains to the chapter I am writing, or it might be completely random.

Song of the day: Rorke's Drift – Sabaton.


Chapter 5 – The Storm

Locke had only made it to the exit of the triage centre when the metallic ringing of several bells started to clamour down the corridors and across the whole facility. Their purpose was to act as an alarm for the monastery as well as means of summoning the entire garrison.

A shared look of apprehension and confusion passed across the medical staff. Apart from the odd drill, a complete gathering of the garrison's forces in the courtyard was a relatively rare occurrence. None dared to argue with regimental procedure, and so for the second time today, the garrison, joined by the medical wing, filed out to the drill square.

The chorus of hurried footsteps filled the hallways as the Narvosi troops raced out of the ancient building. Each company formed up in its respective position, facing towards the east. 'A' Company on the right, the medical detachment on the left and 'B' Company in the middle. The absence of the three lost platoons from the gutted company stood out sharply to Locke, a physical reminder of those who did not come back.

Each platoon formed up according to its station within the internal hierarchy of its company and the regiment as a whole. The 'Lead' Platoon of 'A' Company, commanded by Captain Waylon and Lieutenant Koenen, took the position of honour on the right-most point of the formation.

Following on to its left in chronological order was 1st Platoon led by Lieutenant Constanzi, 2nd Platoon led by Lieutenant Dumag, 3rd Platoon led by Lieutenant Goldwin and finally 4th Platoon led by Lieutenant Maxim.

With meticulous organization, each platoon was further split into its comprising sections, five in total with seven men in each. As tradition dictated, the 'HQ' section was located on the right.

Pacing behind the lined-up soldiers, the hulking figure of Lance Corporal Kern protruding from the crowd, caught Locke's eye. Even by Narvish standards, the man was tall, standing at 6'8". Unseen by his awaiting friends, the scout lined up behind the tall soldier without ceremony.

Detecting a presence behind him, Kern glanced back over his shoulder to see Locke standing there. He raised a questioning eyebrow, unsure why Locke was present when he should have been at Outpost Landfall with the expeditionary force.

Not wishing to be caught speaking on parade, the guardsman shrugged at his NCO. It was a certainty that the colonel or one of the other high-ranking officers would explain the reality of what had happened. Kern hefted his autocannon into a more comfortable position and gave a brief nod, turning back to his front.

Once all the stragglers had formed up with the rest of the garrison, Sergeant Dunred stepped to the front.

"Company! 'ttension!" He shouted and was answered with a single thunderclap of stamping feet.

All mutterings and conversation ceased upon the command. "Company! Right dress!" Every guardsman's head flicked over to the right; their feet shuffled as the formation spread into open order.

"Eyes front!" At the command, each soldier whipped their head straight so that they were now facing ahead of them.

"Company! Officers on parade! Salutings to the front, to the front salute!" In practiced unison, the individuals within the formation raised their right hand, flat to their temple, before dropping it back to their sides.


With the formalities out of the way, the NCO withdrew allowing Colonel Demetris to address the soldiers. Stern and bold as ever, he strode across the parapet and turned to face them. This situation was out of the ordinary and so many braced themselves for whatever news awaited.

"Listen up and listen well!" Their regimental commander called, his eyes scanning their faces across the entire formation. "You all know me, and you know I am not a man for flowery speeches." This piqued the interest of his audience, indicated by the number of soldiers in the rearward ranks that leaned forward to hear his words more clearly.

"I am here to inform you that those of us sent on expedition and the poor souls at Outpost Landfall… are dead." For a split second, the arrayed guardsman broke parade discipline, shooting shocked glances at one another as they bristled at the news.

Unperturbed, Demetris continued. "Wiped out in a cowardly attack, by xenos who have dared to invade this world that we have only recently come to call home. In a matter of hours, they will be upon us too." He paused, allowing this grievous information to settle as his voice echoed across the Black Cragg mountains.

"As of this moment, we are under siege." The colonel emphasized the statement, gauging their resoluteness as he carried on speaking. Likewise, Commissar Virilus was also scanning the crowd, picking out those who had failed to take this news in stride.

At the back of his mind, Demetris felt a pang of sympathy for any who drew the zealous man's ire. On the whole though, he was pleased to see that the vast majority met his gaze with one of determined resolve. The air was thick with the collective desire for vengeance on the alien race who had taken their comrades from them.

"Your officers have already been briefed on what they need to do. All that is required is for you to follow them as the loyal and brave soldiers that you are. I will not lie to any of you, our chances of survival are slim. Many of us will not live to see the sun rise tomorrow." Another pause followed; he wanted to strike the point home, there would be no use in lying to them, that would only breed resentment.

"I won't offer you false hope, death comes for us in our mountain hold but knowing this, I ask you, men and women of Narvos, to stand with me. Our salvation will arrive in three days, remember that! Will you stand with me? Will you hold the line till then?"

"Yes sir!" The masses shouted in response, their eyes alight with a grim mixture of fear and anger.

"Then with fire and steel, we will make these xenos scum pay for every yard of ground that they take from us! Look to your training, do your duty, and take heart that should you fall, you will soon find yourself at the God-Emperor's side." His words were like a spark to a powder keg, as the assembled garrison cheered and shouted in approval.

Not my best speech but it'll do.

Once the roar of the amassed troops had died down, the colonel addressed one of the NCOs, "Sergeant Durhan, start the collection, if you would!" He commanded.

"Aye sir!" The gruff sergeant said, with a firm nod.


The stout NCO began pacing down the line, "alright you bunch of mangy scrotes!" He shouted with a loud no-nonsense type of voice, distinct from their well-spoken commander as he called over the heads of the still guardsman. His sudden outburst prompted many to tense up even more than they already were, an accomplishment that only a good drill sergeant could achieve.

"You know the routine! Got something you want to send back home? Stick it in the bucket! You live, you get it back! You die, you don't! Questions?" The sergeant asked, his fierce stare roving back and forth across the rank and file.

An unequivocal - "no sergeant!" - was the collective reply.

"Good!"

Durhan wandered down the line of each rank, collecting letters, trinkets, and mementos. Locke dropped the premade letter he had written seven years prior. For every battle he had faced in his seven years, that same letter had gone into the bucket… up till now he had always had it returned.

Never know, might find its way back home this time… that is if there's anyone left alive to send it, I guess.

When it was Locke's turn, the sergeant leaned in close. "Ah, Guardsman Locke, still not giving up that fancy notebook of yours?"

"No, Sergeant. Got too much luck in it." He replied, as he caught a whiff of cigar smoke on the man's breath.

"Aye, we'll need it." Durhan nodded as he moved onto the next guardsman in the rank.

Locke's view of the rest of his section was obscured by the shape of Kern standing in front of him. However, he had fought with his squad mates for long enough to predict what they would bequeath to the pre battle ritual.

Elis, Kern, and Tapia were similar to himself and always deposited a prewritten letter into the vessel before combat. Brandr, ever the hapless bard, would throw in several songs written onto scraps of paper which were held together via crude means. Jaxx would have chucked in that old metal-cast puzzle, a gift from a beloved uncle.

Daud, bondless and silent, wouldn't have given anything to the collection. He wasn't alone in that response; many other guardsmen didn't bother parting with anything. Likely no relations of theirs were either alive or would care. After the ceremony, the formation was dismissed, and the soldiers followed their officers to their designated tasks.

The colonel's speech had done much to put a severe damper on the usual cheery and communal atmosphere. Only Elis's section was able to buck this trend; Locke's apparent survival of the ordeal had done much to raise their spirits.

"Not dead then, eh?" The lance corporal asked, his meaty arms crossed over his chest. A mixed look of disbelief and pride etched across his face.

"Nope, unless this is all a dream." Locke shrugged modestly. "You find your seax, Corporal?" Shooting back a query of his own.

His expression crinkled in irritation. "I did." He hesitated, throwing an accusatory glance in Guardsman Glenn's direction. "The usual suspect, that bastard Glenns. He kept telling me he didn't have it, but when me and Jaxx inspected his kit, it was right there - clear as day."

Locke was just able to contain his laughter.

Jaxx must have used the opportunity to plant the sword. He thought, shaking his head in amazement.

"You rough him up some?" Locke inquired as innocently as he could manage.

"Just a bit. Serves him right, should keep his hands to himself." Before Locke could respond, A shout from nearby drew their attention.

"Locke, you're alive!" Tapia smiled as she rushed over to embrace him in a rib-cracking hug. Kern chuckled at the sight, whistling to their other unaware squad mates.

"Barely." Locke wheezed, gasping for air. The guardswoman promptly released him and flashed him another smile along with an apology.

The sudden commotion attracted the rest of their section. Jaxx came up to him, punching him hard in his shoulder which made the scout wince.

"You cheeky cunt, we thought you'd snuffed it." The rogue laughed, smiling ear to ear.

Rubbing his now thoroughly bruised shoulder. "Takes more than a few xenos to kill me." Locke replied.

"Always were a lucky wanker, eh Tom?" Brandr grinned as he clasped his best friend's hand.

"Not as lucky as others though." He winked at his friend. "The Serina Mcgraph incident ring any bells?"

"Piss off, no need to bring that up."

"O'ho what's this?" Corporal Elis asked as she strode over to her missing guardsman, shooting a curious look in Brandr's direction.

"Long story, I'll tell you later." Locke replied dismissively, catching the look in Brandr's eyes.

Brandr shook his head. "No, you sodding well won't."

"I look forward to it." Their section leader said, ignoring the dismayed look on Brandr's face. She turned to Locke and gave him a quick embrace. "It's good to have you back." The NCO followed this up with another sharp punch to his other non-bruised shoulder. "That's for making all of us worry."

Daud was the last of his section to welcome him back. Ever the creature of habit, his visor was down, and his rebreather was fixed, keeping his visage hidden from the world. Curiously, he was accompanied by his newly acquired pet. A small pine raptor sat upon his shoulder, preening his feathers like a bird of old Terra.

A series of clicks and chirps would spring from the intriguing avian-like reptile. Many of the garrison's troops had tried their hand at domesticating the feisty animals of Deyria... with mixed results.

Ironically enough it seemed that the silent - almost antisocial - Daud had made more headway in that regard than most; he had gained the trust of one of the feathered creatures which now followed him around or sat upon his shoulder. The mysterious sniper clasped Locke's forearm, in the traditional warrior greeting while the raptor merely observed him with blue intelligent eyes.

Uncomfortable in the man's presence, Jaxx thankfully broke the silence.

"How was it Locke? What did the xenos look like?" The guardsman asked nosily.

To many this would have come across as thoughtlessly rude, but Locke had known the wily and lean rake long enough to know that he didn't mean anything by it. Nevertheless, the scout didn't appreciate his thoughts being dragged back to that awful ambush so soon after it had occurred.

He remained quiet for a few moments as he mulled over his words. Recounting the calamitous attack to Colonel Demetris had been out necessity, the last thing he wanted to do was to talk about it again.

"It was bad." He murmured, hoping it would suffice to sate Jaxx's curiosity. "We were boxed in on all sides along the road. It was like shooting fish in a barrel for them." His voice brimming with sadness as the unbidden images of bloodshed and death returned to harass his weary psyche.

Not taking the hint, Jaxx continued his callous line of questioning. "How did it happen?"

"Leave him be." Kern said, emphasizing each word while everyone else watched in silence. "He's been through a lot." His tone brooked no further argument.

Realising his wrongdoing to a close friend, Jaxx apologized. "Sorry Tom, I guess I'm just a bit wound up with everything that Dem said."

Locke graced his friend with a sad smile. "It's alright mate." The scout said, is voice quiet and almost distant while his gaze shifted towards the east. "You'll find the answers to your questions soon enough." The surrounding soldiers of his section shot each other looks of concern, but before anyone could say anything, a shout from their lieutenant cut the conversation short.

"Corporal Elis! Your section is to help Corporal Braedy and Fremund haul sandbags from the stores! Get moving!" Lieutenant Maxim ordered before calling out other NCOs and their allotted tasks.


An hour after the colonel's speech, Guardsman Doyle patrolled his section of wall, his eyes glued to the forests edge. With the sun now in the western sky, the monastery's grounds had begun to grow darker as the sunlight was blocked by the peak of the Black Cragg mountain that the ancient complex clung to.

Doyle hadn't really known what to make of the recent news. Three platoons just wiped out. It seemed so surreal after a year of dull peaceful living. Even now, he half expected them to emerge from the eastward road in marching column whilst lilting a standard tune.

Regardless of what he thought, the reality was that monsters from myth were here, standing on the same planet that he too stood upon. Shaking his head, the sentry toured the ramparts on his patrol rounds, the regularly spaced crenelations slowly passing him by.

The open plain could be seen down below, empty as it always was and as it always should be.

Merlon, clearing, merlon… the verbal checklist went around and around in his mind. He'd often found that patrolling the wall was a lot like sightseeing on a train, where the view of the scenery would be constantly interrupted by flashes of the objects in the foreground.

Clearing, merlon, clearing, merlon, xeno, mer-… wait what? He stopped, retracing a step backwards. The guardsman's mind hadn't deceived him. Peering through the crenel, he saw an eldar warrior standing stock still in the deforested beaten zone; strangely, the alien was holding a palantal tree branch over its head.

Doyle's eyes wandered over the xeno as he took stock of the enemy's apparel. The being's arms, legs and torso were clad in blue body armour made up from many interlocking plates. A black face plate with glowing red eyes stared back at the frozen guardsman. Its elongated white helmet stood tall, like the prow of a mighty ship fashioned with a yellow and blue crest.

The sentry blinked thrice at the statuesque alien down below before his mind began to reassert itself. Shaking with nerves, he turned to his fellow sentries.

"Stand to!" He shouted, voice cracking slightly in his panic. "Stand to, enemy spotted to the east!" The other patrolling troopers soon took up the cry.

Reacting to their clarion call, the various guard platoons digging trenches in the courtyard, dropped their shovels and spades and took up positions along the wall. In a timely fashion, over three dozen lasrifles and a handful of autocannons and heavy stubbers had their barrels trained on the lone xeno who still remained unmoved by the small show of force.


This began a standoff between the two sides. The imperials with their sights trained on the alien were now unsure whether or not to open fire. Colonel Demetris stood atop one of the towers along with Captain Waylon and Major Halbritter. The commanding officer had rushed to the wall as soon as he had been made aware of the eldar's reveal.

Captain Waylon massaged his chin as he gazed down at the alien. "Should we open fire sir?" He asked, glancing sideways at his commanding officer.

Colonel Demetris's mind went to and fro, weighing up their options. In the end, curiosity got the better of him. "No." He replied, not taking his eyes off the aspect warrior. "I think they want to talk."

Blinking several times at his commanding officer, unsure if he had misheard him. "What makes you so sure?" The captain blurted out in disbelief.

"Have you ever heard of the ancient phrase, 'to offer an olive branch'?"

The sudden change in topic caught the heedful officer off guard, but he shook his head all the same.

"I remember reading it in a book once. I think it was called, 'Ancient Origins of Phrases and Sayings from Across the Imperium' or something like that. It was by a chap called…Nikolaus Kursh, I believe." The colonel explained. "An okay read, bit dull in places, but the phrase means 'to make peace with someone'."

The captain raised a questioning eyebrow. "And you think that they're offering us an… olive branch, right now?" Waylon's tone indicating his lack of belief in the colonel's theory.

"I think so." Demetris nodded slowly. "What else could they be doing?" He asked.

"A signal of some kind, a distraction… who knows. What are the chances that these xenos would also know that phrase?"

Demetris bobbed his head as he thought it through. "By all accounts, the eldar have been around for a long time." The colonel responded, keeping calm. "It would be likely that they'd know something about our species and our heritage."

Captain Waylon's mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to formulate an argument in response. He sighed in defeat but remained sceptical. "Something still doesn't feel right. Why would they bother trying to negotiate anything?"

The colonel shrugged. "The fact they have the upper hand seems like a fairly good reason." Meeting his subordinate's gaze. "Could buy us some more time."

Major Halbritter, who had listened quietly to the back-and-forth argument between the two men, cleared his throat which drew their attention. "I'm with Captain Waylon on this one Dem. Smells too much like a trap for my liking. Say the word and I'll pull some of the other platoons away from their work assignments and get them up here. A greater show of force might give them the message that we won't be trifled with."

The colonel, finding himself outnumbered against his closest friends, chewed on his upper lip in thought. There was a lot at stake, that much was certain. They could ill afford to be attacked now; preparations for the coming assault were nowhere near the readiness that would be required.

To waste their already limited manpower, waiting for an attack that may not come for some time yet would be incredibly foolish. As things stood, time was more precious than gold. Taking a huge gamble, Demetris decided to roll the dice.

"Keep the other guard units working, I'll go down and negotiate with them. Tell the men on the wall to stay alert. If they attack, unleash everything you've got and get the rest of the garrison ready to fight!"

"Dem are you mad?" The major blurted out in frustration. "You're our leader! If we lose you, that'll be a massive blow to morale; we'll have lost the fight before it's even begun." He stated, gesturing to the monastery behind them. "If your adamant we meet these xeno bastards, send an emissary in your stead. Please for the good of the men, listen to me."

The colonel sighed. "I understand the risks, but it has to be me. What will the men think if I send someone else in my place?"

Halbritter shook his head, the jowls of his face wobbling as he did so. "Don't be a fool."

Demetris couldn't help but crack a small smile at his friend's concern. "My word is final, I'm going." He declared resolutely.

"I hate it when you get like this." Halbritter shook his head wearily. "Fine, bloody fine, but I want it noted down that I don't like this, not one little bit." The major gestured towards his superior in an almost accusatory manner.

Ignoring the clear insubordination, he nodded at the man's acquiescence. "Understood." He shifted his gaze to Captain Waylon who had returned to staring at the alien warrior. "Will you be my second?" Demetris asked.

The officer hesitated before answering. "I will sir, if your mind is set on this."

"It is." Waylon frowned at him but didn't argue further.

"Hal, bring me Lieutenant Goldwin, I want a map of our new minefield."

Following the marked route of crosses and dotted lines, Demetris and Waylon walked through the minefield just in front of the gate. Nervous looking sentries watched them go, terrified that their commanding officer might stumble onto one of the hidden explosives.

Luckily for everyone involved, there were no mishaps. Once the pair had left the danger area behind, their speed picked up considerably. They both did their best to maintain a confident air as they went to do diplomacy with the aliens.

The colonel had no idea what to expect, although if he could learn more about their enemy's motive, it would help with the defence as well as buying his troops more time to fortify their position. The xeno with the palantal branch finally stirred at the appearance of the colonel and his subordinate as they descended down the winding slope.

Upon reaching the hill's base at the valley floor; the pair of officers saw that another alien had joined his comrade. This one though was far more ornately dressed than his colleague which was a testament in of itself.

This alien's helm was tinted yellow as were his pauldrons which stood out in contrast to his subordinate's colour scheme. Likewise, folded feathery wings of gold and blue sprang from his back. To Demetris, it drew his mind to the artistic renditions of the 16th Primarch, the hero of ancient legend - Saint Sanguinius.

The two parties met in the middle of the cleared beaten zone. Their only audience the rotting stumps of long dead foliage that surrounded them like spectators at a gladiatorial arena. Still, the colonel hoped that there would be no bloodshed… not yet at least.

The two groups paused, and an unsettling silence ensued as both parties sized the other up. Demetris had only fought the eldar a handful of times throughout his career and his accompanying adjutant was no different, but neither of them had ever had a conversation with one.

Seeing them this close without the roar of gunfire or the swish of his chainsword was certainly a new experience. One he wasn't entirely sure he liked. He was struck by how eerie they truly were; everything they did had an inhuman clarity to it - an absolute certainty.

To his eyes they were almost supernatural in their elegance whether that be moving or standing still. Despite their grace, Demetris remained on edge. This was made worse when the alien leader drew his sword before plunging it into the ground. Following suit, the colonel plunged his own chainsword into the dirt.

This was to be the start of negotiations. Quickly rehearsing his opening salvo in his mind, he launched into his introduction, making sure that he was loud enough so that the soldiers on the wall above might hear him.

"I am Colonel Demetris of the 195th Narvos Light Infantry Regiment and this is Captain Waylon." He declared. "You are trespassing on a world that has been claimed by the Imperium of Man in the name of the God-Emperor of Mankind." The colonel accused the alien invaders as he pointed his finger in their general direction. "By the rank assigned to me by those enlightened members of the Astra Militarum, I hold jurisdiction here. You are to leave at once!"

"I am Autarch Menarion of the Craftworld Alaitoc and this is Exarch Caldeer of the Dire Avengers Aspect Shrine." He replied in perfect low gothic as he gestured to his companion. Both Demetris and Waylon were taken aback to hear their mother tongue spoken fluently by an alien. The eldar leader sounded even more haughty and arrogant than any human noble the colonel had ever had the misfortune to meet.

One thing he had noticed in their brief exchange was that the air around the aeldari leader seemed to wax and wane as it shimmered subtly. It was a ward that enclosed the two xenos in a protective bubble.

The farseer! He mused, feeling incredibly vulnerable should negotiations turn violent.

"The day that my people bow to the claims and demands of the lesser races, is the day that I willingly fall on my sword." The alien replied smugly.

"That day might come sooner than you think, xeno." He shot back.

The arrogant alien chuckled at the colonel's implied threat. "Perhaps... but I believe you'll be dead before that ever happens, mon'keigh."

Menarion's manner grated on the colonel and his subordinate. Changing the subject, Demetris attempted to unbalance the xenos leader.

"I see you've brought along a witch; I didn't realise sorcerers were so shy." He gestured at the psychic disturbance in the air.

The alien said nothing for a few moments, weighing up the correct response before he inclined his head in confirmation. "Within the skeins of fate, Farseer Ullaryne saw her own death by your hand in one of the potential timelines. You had ordered your soldiers to open fire during our parley."

The colonel's eyes went wide in disgust at this smear on his character. "I wouldn't dishonour my people like that." He replied emphatically.

Menarion shook his head. "Save your words." He said bluntly, raising both hands towards the forest behind him. "Trust in that she is well hidden, as are the rest of my warriors. Many of whom have you within their sights should your actions turn to violence." His voice took on a clear edge, almost goading the humans to reach for their weapons.

Colonel Demetris and Captain Waylon knew better than to antagonize their opponents too much and remained steadfast. Still, Demetris couldn't stop his eyes wandering through the canopy of the forest's edge. "Likewise." The colonel responded, nodding his head towards the guardsmen who stood primed and ready to fire down into the clearing.

After a pregnant pause in the proceedings, Captain Waylon aired his own private thoughts, much to Demetris's shock. "You and your ilk have killed some of our soldiers." He spat, unable to hide the venom in his voice.

The Autarch shifted his view to the man stood behind Demetris. "We have." The alien admitted with an uncaring openness as if he were only guilty of swatting a fly. "They fought about as well as could be expected from your kind." He added, his bored tone suggesting his level of interest in the topic.

Sensing the boiling anger in his subordinate, Demetris pushed himself back into the conversation before Waylon had time to respond. "Your insults grow tiresome, alien. State your business!" The colonel demanded icily.

he red lenses of his helmet fixed back onto the colonel, sending a chill down the man's spine. "We are here for the Omnicron. Surrender it, and we will let you, and the rest of your guardsmen live."

"Sorry to disappoint you but I don't know what an Omnicron is."

Menarion sighed. "The ignorance of your savage race never ceases to astound me, mon'keigh." He brought up his hand to pinch the nasal rim of his helmet, a remarkably human gesture which Demetris couldn't help but find distracting. "The Omnicron is the artefact that is currently within your possession." The alien explained.

"I see… and if we refuse to comply?" The colonel asked, fully aware of what the answer would be.

There was no hesitance in the alien's voice. "Total annihilation." He said, emotionless beyond the sentiment of his words.

The colonel gave a mock smile to Menarion, that vanished as quickly as it appeared. "Not much of a choice, xeno." The colonel replied, squinting at the idea. "The Imperium doesn't take too kindly to those who surrender to the enemy without a fight. If I accept your offer, I doom all of my men and myself to the firing squad."

The colonel's statement was met with an uncaring shrug from the alien. "Your life and those of your subordinates beyond this point in time does not concern me. Either you choose to fight us and die here today or a few months later at the hands of your own kind. Whatever is your preference." His last few words held a note of relished sadism. This was a being that would do anything to accomplish his goal, Demetris realized.

Intrigued why such a martially minded individual would bother attempting a diplomatic route to begin with, the colonel enquired further. "If we are as weak as you claim then why even offer us this choice? Just attack and be done with it."

"We are a noble, honourable people, and while humanity neither deserves nor is capable of comprehending our mercy, we offer it all the same as is our tradition." He said, placing a hand on his chest as if he were giving an oath. "Besides if a quick resolution can be obtained without bloodshed then it should be taken, should it not?"

"I suppose." The imperial leader said thoughtfully, not paying too much attention to the eldar's spiel. "Is there a deadline for this gracious offer?" Demetris emphasized the word 'gracious' whilst rolling his eyes.

Seemingly unaware of the human's sarcasm, the eldar's response was succinct without an ounce of emotion. "You have until nightfall to give your answer. If you fail to respond before the deadline, we will consider it a rejection of our terms."

How generous, gives us about three hours.

"Very well, give your witch my regards. We're done here." Not wishing to spend another moment in the xeno's presence, Demetris retrieved his weapon, about faced, and marched back up towards the hill with Captain Waylon in tow.


The monastery bore witness to bustling scenes of activity that it had not seen since the garrison had first arrived. A multitude of guardsmen, comprising several sections from 4th Platoon were strung out in a long line that trailed from the storeroom in the upper levels, across the corridor and down the stairwells, finally reaching its end point at the ground floor where orderly piles of building materials were beginning to form. This snaking strand of humanity was a living conveyer belt, transferring essential materials from the storerooms to an area more readily accessible to the garrison's work teams.

No stranger to hard labour, Locke stood in the queue with the rest of his squad along a narrow flight of stairs. His arms were aching from the constant toil of shifting heavy sandbags and wooden logs that travelled down the line in a steady stream of goods.

Still, he couldn't complain too much, the mindless drudgery kept him distracted from what was coming. Corporal Elis, who stood to his left, one step above, caught his attention when she spoke up in between the endless trail of goods.

"Who was this Serina Mcgraph then?" She asked, her blonde hair plastered to her forehead in a fine sheen of sweat.

Grunting as he passed down another full sandbag, he glanced down to his right at Brandr who was stood several places down from the two of them. "Not sure if it's my story to tell." He whispered conspiratorially.

"Go on, we're all friends here." She nudged him with her elbow. "You were there, weren't you?"

"I was." Locke responded, scratching the side of his head; he was unsure if he should spread gossip about his friend.

"Well." She paused as another log had made its way to them from the guardsman above her. "I want to hear it from an unbiased source first."

"Hmmm, you came to the right place." The scout grunted as he took hold of the withered branch and passed it onto Jaxx who was stood to his immediate right. "That famous incident happened at the Archduke's arms. "

She thought for a moment, trying to place the establishment. "The pub in Stonemere?" The NCO asked.

Locke nodded. "Aye that's the one, just on the waterfront." Tipping his head towards Brandr, he continued. "Me, him and a couple of the other lads from the village decided to make a night of it. After a couple of hours of drinking we were all swaying on our feet, let me tell you."

Elis smirked at his avid description. "You two always go on about how Fenwickers can hold their drink. Personally, I think you're both talking shite." She teased as she hefted another heavy sandbag into Locke's awaiting arms.

A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead as he shifted the heavy weight onward. "Bet we could drink you under the table."

"Sure you could." Elis replied sarcastically.

"You're one to talk. Not like the county of Holloden is known for its big drinkers." He teased back.

"Insulting my home county now?" Feigning offence at his response she agreed to his challenge. "I'll hold you to that bet."

Locke shrugged. "Fine by me." He took hold of another roving sandbag. "Anyway, by the time it had gotten fairly late, we were all chatting utter crap in one o' the corner booths. Then who walks in? None other than Serina Mcgraph herself. Bear in mind, Bran's been eyeing up this lass for years by this point."

"I heard my name." Brandr called from lower down the stairwell. "You better not be telling her about you-know-what!" He added with the hint of a threat in his desperate tone.

"Course not mate." Locke lied reassuringly. Turning back to Elis, he kept his voice low as another sandbag came down the line. "Pumped up like a spring jeroda, our dear friend Syemon, moseys on over to the lass, swaying like a wind chime in a gale with the biggest cocksure grin I've ever seen."

Elis cast a look at Brandr further down the line and chuckled at Locke's description. "Oh my." She said, raising a hand to her mouth. "What a sight that must have been."

The scout nodded in affirmation. "Silly bastard nearly falls over as he tries to lean on the wall next to the poor lass. He says to her." Locke cleared his throat as he put on his best dûnn accent. 'Saerina, would be mah honour if ae could buy yer loveleh saelf a drenk.' He mimicked, slurring his words to give the impression of drunkenness.

Unknowingly, Locke had raised his voice high enough that Brandr overheard his impression. "I don't sound anythin' like that!" The guardsman interrupted, in the hope of stopping the re-telling of his embarrassing, drunken escapade. The timely arrival of another hefty log halted the guardsman from following up on his tirade.

Ignoring Brandr's mundane plight with a shrug of his shoulders, he reverted back to talking normally. "Now Serina isn't daft, who's going to turn down free beer?" He asked to his corporal.

Looking pensive, she massaged her chin as she pretended to muse on this philosophical quandary. After a few moments, she came to the inevitable conclusion: "no one with half a brain in their head."

"Exactly." Locke beamed at her. "Bran stumbles away to the wary barkeep, gets two pints of lakeside ale, downs most of his for good luck and gets back to her with the other. By this point he can barely stand, it's so bad that an errant puff of wind would have sent him flying into the harbour. This lass ain't blind either, but her and her mates play along and invite him to sit with them."

Elis cringed at the mental image, face palming temporarily in order to shield herself from the imagined humiliation. Locke grinned at her jovial discomfort and once again did his impression of their friend. "He goes, 'ae'd be d'lighted to.' Sits down next to her thinkin' that he's well and truly in there." He emphasized this by puffing out his chest and standing tall. "For a whole twelve seconds, things seem to be going his way." He paused once more as another slew of building materials bobbed along down the line.

The following interlude allowed him to continue. "Then he goes... and royally buggers it up. Bleary eyed, he turns to her 'bout to say somethin'… and pukes like a vomit volcano. And I mean it when I say. It. Went. Everywhere. All over Serina, her friends, the table and the floor. I thought the barkeep was gonna have a fit when he saw what happened."

"By the throne!" Elis laughed heartily as she handed him another sandbag.

Accepting it, Locke passed it further on down the queue. "The screams of those poor lasses will forever haunt me." The scout shook his head at the sorry memory. "We only just managed to drag him outta there before the pub owner throttled 'im." He snickered, stroking his chin as he remembered some of the finer details of that night.

He was about to enlighten Corporal Elis with a few more of their youthful exploits when a shout from further down the stairwell interrupted him. "Oi, Tom." Brandr called.

Glancing down at the other guardsman; Locke could see that he was awkwardly holding something behind his back. Locke's eyes went wide in realisation as a soggy tea bag struck him square in the forehead, leaving a brown tea stain across his face.

This brought out laughter from the surrounding guardsmen. "Serves ya right, knobhead." Brandr happily shouted after the wet projectile struck home. Commissar Virilus then chose the worst moment to appear. He walked in from the adjoining corridor onto the staircase at the sudden commotion.

"Silence in the ranks! While you lot are dicking about, the alien menace has been spotted just outside our walls, this is no time for idle chit chat or childish pranks!" He reprimanded all those within his line of sight as he marched up the flight of steps to the storerooms. Locke frowned at this reminder of the upcoming battle; he had enjoyed being back amongst his squad mates.

Ever since the garrison had gone into lockdown, the commissar had been patrolling around the entire facility endlessly. Reprimanding and in some cases physically cajoling the common soldier to work harder and faster or face the consequences.

Virilus was in no mood for the, as he called it, 'juvenile insubordination' that afflicted many of the Narvosi troops. Ever one to push the bounds of regimental acceptability, Jaxx muttered under his breath, as the Ruslivite went by.

"Throne, what a hard arse."

Virilus halted instantly, whipping round in a flurry of crimson coattails as he eyed up each and every guardsman in the vicinity. "Who said that?" He asked with barely concealed anger. "Speak up now, you braggard!"

Realising his mistake, Jaxx stared down at the floor to try to make himself fade into the background. Unfortunately, this merely advertised his guilt.

"Guardsman Jaxx." Virilus spoke slowly with a menacing voice, his cybernetic eye whirring as it focused in on the poor soldier. All the colour faded from the guardsman's face.

"I should have known. Was your time at the flogging post not enough for you?" The commissar's tone suggested he'd like nothing more than to see him back there.

The rogue, much to his credit, put on a brave face and tried in vain to keep the stammer from his voice. "Y-yes it was, Commissar." He said nervously.

The political officer's expression softened to a degree. "Well, you're lucky, because of what's happening, I've agreed not to incapacitate any of you ragamuffins for the time being, so I'll let you off with a warning."

Jaxx perked up at this admission, assuming that he'd managed to get off scot-free. "Thank y-." He started before being doubled over in pain as the commissar's fist smacked into his abdomen. With justice done, Virilus straightened his peak cap and marched up the stairs without pause, leaving nothing but silence in his wake.

This tenuous silence was finally broken by Lance Corporal Kern. "I keep telling you Jaxx, that big mouth of yours'll get you killed one day." The NCO said, patting the wheezing soldier on the back.

Brandr directed a question to Tapia, one that was on a lot of people's minds. "What do you see in this guy again?"

Tapia watched Jaxx recover with a mixture of affection and worry in her eyes. "Well, he's an idiot… but… he's my idiot." She shrugged, sending a reassuring smile to Jaxx as he glared at her. "Plus, that big mouth of his contains a very talented tongue." This made the winded soldier snort and the surrounding guardsmen groan in disgust.

Locke had always found it astonishing just how quickly the men and women of the Imperial Guard could set up and fortify a position. Within a couple of hours, the already well defended monastery was turned into a fortress.

The battlements along the wall encircling the crown of the hill had been reinforced with logs, sandbags and various rockrete bricks. The animals in the stable had been led out the front gate to the base of the hill and released.

They would be nothing more than a hindrance and a liability during this siege anyway. Mortar positions were set up in hastily excavated pits while a series of slit trenches were dug in an ever-shrinking series of defensive positions that inevitably led to the monastery's grand doorway.

The colossal doors that hung from makeshift hinges at the edifice's entrance had been reinforced with several more layers of timber sheeting. Within the cavernous building itself, explosives were primed on many of the staircases and corridors that were nearest to the main entrance.

If the xenos breached the outer defences, they would be forced to fight, through the cleverly placed fortifications in the main foyer to gain access to the passages that led to the upper levels. Sandbag emplacements and machine gun nests were constructed at regular intervals along various corridors, stairwells, and rooms.

Reels of barbed wire, kept tightly bound in storage for over a year were now freed and laid across in multiple areas, forcing any would-be attacker to move through the barbed chokepoints into the waiting maws of autocannons and heavy stubbers. Water was collected in every single tankard and jerry can that the monastery possessed and stored along with the garrison's rations in the upper floors in the event that the lower levels were cut off.

The garrison had done an impressive job of preparing for the assault given the timeframe and the limited manpower at its disposal. All that could be done now would be to sit and await the enemy's move. The men of the 195th would not have to wait long; it was fast approaching the eldar's deadline.

With their work complete, the seven guardsmen of Elis Section found themselves on a part of the eastern wall, sandwiched between Hendry Section, who occupied one of the three eastern watch towers, and Lauw Section, who were positioned on their right flank.

The end of the day was now upon them, the light of the sun disappearing behind the stony peaks of the Black Cragg mountains. Locke stood upon the fire step, resting the barrel of his lasrifle on the weatherworn surface of the timber wall.

Major Halbritter had set up a temporary command post within the courtyard; his first order had been that all guardsmen were to deploy in open order. This required that each soldier maintain a two-metre separation in order to reduce the effects of shrapnel, explosives, and other area-of-denial weaponry.

Over the past year, dusk had become synonymous with down time: the part of the day where everyone could unwind and relax. Not that day however, no chatter or merriment echoed out into the evening as every man and woman stood stony faced and ready at their posts.

Taking a quick glance behind him, Locke saw the light mortar crews piling up high explosive and airburst rounds. The network of slit trenches and mortar pits dotted the once pristine parade ground; the scout couldn't help but spare a thought for the vanquished Sergeant Major Dobbs who would have wept over the desecration of his beloved drill square.

The only sounds he could hear was his own breathing, partially muffled inside his rebreather, the jingle of kit as other guardsmen close-by fidgeted or moved, and the occasional whispered utterance or curse. Even the wildlife of Deyria who never ceased their cries regardless of the day/night cycle had fallen silent. It was like everyone and everything held their breath as the tension of the approaching conflict continued to ratchet up.

Locke checked his equipment over and over again in his pre-combat ritual; the waiting period before battle was joined was always the worst part. His lasrifle was fully cleaned and in perfect working order, as it had been the last five times he'd inspected it. The six power packs tightly bound within his webbing pouches remained where they were.

Despite all his preparedness, the feeling of dread and uncertainty refused to leave. The adrenaline was already starting to course through his veins which always left him feeling hollow, as if his insides had all been scooped out and dropped on the floor. He let out a long sigh into the evening air.

"If ya hold your rifle any tighter, you'll snap it in two, like eh." Came a whispered voice to his right.

Locke looked over at Brandr, who had kept his eyes on the clearing. "Can't help it, I always do this." He said, loosening his grip on the weapon slightly. "Nerves, ya know?"

The other man nodded. "Aye that I do." He replied. "You know the Guard saying."

In spite of all the worries and doubts floating inside his head, his curiosity won out. "Which one?" Locke asked, sensing some sort of jest from his friend.

"Hurry up and wait." The highlander snickered.

Locke shook his head at the poor attempt at humour but nonetheless he still felt the corners of his mouth pull up into a grin. They chatted absently for a while, talking about anything other than the current situation, but the tense atmosphere proved too much, and it soon faded.

The scout appreciated his friend's distraction, he certainly felt a bit less agitated even though his hands continued to shake. His other squad mates reacted to pre battle nerves in their own way.

Daud off to his left, adjusted his sights. The sniper's pet pine raptor sat alert on top of the battlement like a dragon guarding its hoard, its head twitching at the tiniest movement amongst the trees down below.

Tapia who was the next soldier along, tuned and retuned her vox caster and Corporal Elis to her left, whispered prayers to their God-Emperor. To the right of Brandr, Kern scratched rude remarks into loose autocannon shells while his loader, Jaxx, played five-finger-fillet with his seax.

White Flares began arcing high into the sky at regular intervals, turning night into day; the moving shadows produced from their flight path danced in macabre patterns across the ground. A couple of minutes after their conversation ended, Locke spotted smoky mist billowing out all across the forest's edge as it slowly spread across the kill zone toward the base of the slope.

Locke felt the uncomfortable pang of nostalgia from the previous ambush. Like the rising of an aethereal tide, the fog rose ever higher; the clearing was soon swallowed up by the damp mist, leaving nothing but a greyish blanket.

Other guardsmen began shouting in alarm at this clearly unnatural mist that was rising up the slope toward them. The speed at which the fog rose to surround their base was incredible; within half an hour, the entire hill was surrounded in the cloying haze like a desert island stuck in the middle of the ocean.

"Like we're up amongst the clouds." Jaxx whispered to himself, as errant wisps of the mist flowed through the cracks in the ramparts.


Lieutenant Dumag stood atop the gatehouse, watching the rising level of the fog with keen disgust. "What xenos devilry is this?" He questioned to no one in particular.

"Sir?" Sergeant Spaar asked in his annoyingly nonchalant manner that never seemed to change regardless of the situation.

"Nothing, Sergeant, it's nothing. Tell the men to fire at will if they see anything… and I mean anything. Got that?"

"Pleasure, sir." He replied, leaving the officer alone on the gate's crenelations. Dumag peered into the mist, willing his vision to cut through to the unseen enemy amongst it. The rustling of soil drew his gaze to the ground just in front of the gate; at first, he wondered if he was seeing things or going mad from the fog. Sure enough though, the snare mines that had only recently been buried, were pushing their way back to the surface like an army of moles surfacing in unison.

The lieutenant became fixated on this unusual phenomenon until he felt the burning glare of something far out from beyond the wall. Shifting his view down the obscured path, the officer's gaze fixed onto two red dots in the fog.

Eyes. He realized quickly.

Just as he made to shout. All at once, the explosives sprang from the ground together and flew through the air until they struck the gate at the same moment.

"Get ba-" Dumag screamed before the rush of the explosion cut him off. The gatehouse along with a good portion of the northern wall disappeared in a bright detonation that threw timber, stone and bodies in all directions.


The sudden flash of light drew Locke's attention as well as many others to the northern sector. "Abyss take us all!" Someone shouted from further along the parapet, partially stifled by the ear-ringing blast bouncing inside the courtyard.

The fragile peace was shattered in that instant. The mist came alive as shurikens and blue laser beams exploded from all around, raking the ramparts along all sections of the wall. Soldiers were flung back in sprays of blood as the razor-sharp molecular discs struck home, punching through bone, slicing blood vessels, and carving up their guts before exiting their ruined bodies. Guardsman Frangle from Hendry section was thrown off the watch tower by the momentum of the shot that ripped out his throat.

More out of instinct born from near constant training rather than any direct order, the guardsmen of the 195th returned fire into the smog curtain that had enveloped them. Red lasbolts plunged into the fog along with tracer shells from autocannons and whistling rounds from heavy stubbers. While impressive, the end results of any of this firepower remained hidden by the mist. Locke could have sworn that he heard Daud curse under his breath from a lack of targets.

Despite mounting casualties, the men of 4th Platoon were faring far better than those on the northern wall. The destruction of the gate had left the battered soldiers of 2nd Platoon reeling, the withering enemy fire was putting them under intolerable pressure.

In no time at all, the platoon was reduced to just under half strength. Leaderless without Lieutenant Dumag, Major Halbritter ordered them to fall back into the courtyard. Firing off a few parting shots, they conceded the devastated fortifications and fell back to the next defensive line in the courtyard.

Mortar crews moved quickly to realign their mobile artillery pieces to cover their retreat; the soft thump of the explosives being lobbed into the air soon filled the old parade square. Explosive and airburst rounds rained down on the lifeless fortifications. The eldar, apparently indifferent to the sporadic bombardment, capitalized on the imperial withdrawal. They surged forward out of the mist and occupied the burning ruins of the gate house and the northern wall.

With a near perfect vantage point, the xenos were able to fire on the exposed flank and rear of the guardsmen along the eastern and southern walls respectively. And they did so, without mercy. All across the frontline, the Imperium's soldiers were cut down by the deadly fusillade. The first thing Locke knew about this was when he heard the desperate shout from Lance Corporal Kern.

"Everybody get down." He bellowed with a voice honed from many battlefields.

Locke had long since learned to trust his squad mates and threw himself flat against the fire step. The rest of his section followed suit, just as a rippling enfilade of shurikens ripped along the battlements where they had been standing.

The alien shooter had chosen his moment well. Tapia had been distracted by a vox message she had only just recently received as the xeno warrior opened fire. The guardswoman was a fraction too late diving for cover; the deadly projectiles lacerated her torso and exited out through her vox caster.

Daud's pet screeched at the sudden smell of blood and dropped beside its prone master. The sniper, furious at the loss of their comrade, whipped around and fired several shots in the direction of the enemy. Locke did the same and sent a small burst of lasbolts towards the squad of dire avengers that were using one of the fallen towers as cover.

"Tom." A weak voice said. Locke peaked over his shoulder to see Brandr slumped against the parapet.

"Shit, Sye! Hold on mate!" He yelled; voice full of concern. He crawled over to his friend while enemy gunfire continued to rake along the battlements. When Locke reached him, Brandr made to speak but could only manage a lung-shaking series of coughs. Locke ripped off the guardsman's rebreather and was met with his friend's laboured breathing while blood trickled out the corner of his mouth.

"Seems…I've sprung… a leak." He said with a bloody smile that quickly changed into a grimace of pain.

"Not to worry pal, I'm gonna get you out o' here." He promised, the oath emblazoned in his resolute expression. Locke hauled his friend up by the armpit, making the wounded man groan in agony before hoisting him up onto his back.

This decision was not a moment too soon. Sergeant Durhan burst forth from the tower to the north. The NCO sprinted along the ramparts, ignoring the projectiles that slammed into the timber fortifications as they whistled all around him. Splinters from these impacts erupted out in all directions, but if the sergeant was struck by any of these wooden fragments, he took no notice of it.

Durhan in his desperation grabbed each soldier in turn, shouting into their helmeted ear to retreat into the courtyard and then the monastery. Corporal Elis soon took up the call along with other platoon and section leaders. The surrounding guardsmen didn't need to be told twice; the soldiers of 4th Platoon abandoned the wall all the while under heavy fire.

Many fell in that hurried retreat; however, casualties would have been far greater if the imperials had stubbornly refused to give up the now useless fortifications.

Major Halbritter watched the battle play out from the lip of his slit trench, close to the centre of the courtyard. The soldiers of the 'Lead' Platoons of 'A' and 'B' Company were deployed around him in a defensive crescent that protected the monastery's entrance.

The smell of cordite and ozone was rank as the soldiers around him put up a screen of light and lead to assist their retreating comrades. He slammed his fist into the wall in frustration at the speed of the enemy assault. The battle was scarcely fifteen minutes old but the positions along the outer defences and the courtyard were rendered untenable.

He gave the word to his vox operator, Guardsman Plais, to inform Colonel Demetris, who was commanding the defence inside the monastery itself, of his decision. The 1st, 2nd and 4th Platoon would fall back into the monastery while under covering fire from his reserves. Once the remnants of those battered units had successfully withdrawn, he would withdraw as well. The monastery grounds were lost, and the noose continued to tighten.


Review Responses:

Oracle14 – I'm glad you liked it!

Blinker182 – I pride myself on my detail, thank you! I shall endeavour to do so!

BIBOTOT – I'm sorry that you aren't enjoying it but it is the story I want to tell. I would like to ask of you to hold off on your judgement (for now at least) until I have produced a few more chapters as really this is just laying the ground work for the setting and the characters. You may be pleasantly surprised with where I go with the story. I assure you there is no charade here, I will continue my story as I see fit and I will not be rushed!

Disciple of Ember – Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I spend so long on every chapter proof-reading, re-reading the dialogue and in general making sure everything is logical and flows well (although sometimes errors get through). It looks like that is paying off. I'm also happy you noticed the characterisation of the regiment and the cultural tinges I wove into the Guardsman. Far too often in my opinion other writers make the IG so dull and bland instead of giving them their own culture, habits, traits and traditions. I was wondering if anyone would comment on the dice, I had the idea when I was going over probability in one of my University modules.

Guest – Thank you!

Fleece Johnson – I'm happy that you're liking the story as it stands so far. One of my biggest worries was that I wasn't making the writing interesting enough but I'm content that you're satisfied with my grammar and sentence structure. I'm a bit of a film and history buff (nerd) so you'll probably notice other references as I go on. I agree with you, the reason that Eldar/Human genre is considered well-worn and cliché is because of the multitude of unfinished and half-baked stories that litter this site. I've already mentioned this, but I'll say it again: you can't write a story based upon character interactions alone. You need an overarching plot to guide the character interaction and drive the action/drama. The lack of this is why so many fics get bogged down and are eventually abandoned.

Expert93 – Glad you're enjoying it. By the time of release of this chapter I hope you haven't being waiting for too long.