Locum Ignotum Chapter 6
The land dipped before them, sinking into a shaded dell surrounded by trees. A few birds and insects chirped but otherwise it was silent. Few farmers favoured this spot, the slope was too steep and the trees not fruiting so it was largely ignored. It was a calm and quiet spot, a place few ever went and so the perfect place for a Librarian to meditate.
Into that dell Bylan and Wrethan marched, striding down the slope at a measured pace. They were outwardly confident and sure of step but in his hearts Bylan felt a wisp of trepidation. They were going to see a Psyker at work, one they knew well but still anything to do with the Warp unnerved them. Astartes were indoctrinated to loathe and revile the Warp and despite all the noble deeds of Librarians their eldritch ways were unsettling.
Bylan shifted the weight of the Standard to avoid a low-hanging branch and he asked, "+How long as Arvael been here?+"
"Two weeks," Wrethan replied, "And he hasn't moved a muscle the whole time ."
Bylan mused, "+Do you think he's found anything?+"
Wrethan muttered, "He better have."
Silence fell as the pair marched onwards and then passed into the centre of the dell. In the heart of the space were two forms. The first was a black Menhir; it was twenty foot high and marked with strange glyphs. They seemed to be scattered everywhere in this strange land but dew little notice, as if the inhabitants had grown so used to them that they no longer even saw them.
The other form was that of Arvael, who was sitting on a rock with his head bowed. His armour prohibited him from crossing his legs but otherwise he seemed to be in quiet meditation. He obviously hadn't moved for a long time, sharp leaves and twigs had gathered in the corners of his joints and his face was damp with misty dew. His eyes were closed and his breathing slow yet his psychic hood glimmered with power, hinting at the activity of his mind.
Bylan swallowed a knot of anxiety and said, "+Any change?+"
"None," Wrethan replied, "He is unmoved."
Bylan asked, "+Is that good or bad?+"
"Who can say," Wrethan stated, "The ways of the Librarius are not for us to know."
Bylan said, "+The Captain will be disappointed, I wanted to bring him good news+"
Wrethan eyed him and remarked, "You remain very loyal to Captain Toran."
Bylan frowned and said, "+You say that like it's a bad thing+"
Wrethan thought for a second and said, "We are fortunate to have a skilled and considerate Captain, yet loyalty to one person can be misplaced. Remember our first duty is to the Divine Emperor, then the Chapter, then our officers."
Bylan shook his head and said, "+How can that be a problem, Captain Toran is utterly loyal+"
"Of course," Wrethan said, "Just remember he is not immortal, the day may come when you have to serve under another Captain."
Before Bylan could reply there was a groan and both of them looked over to see Arvael stirring. They waited as he shook his head wearily and then slowly stood up, spilling detritus from his joints. Arvael opened his eyes blearily and said, "How long?"
Wrethan replied, "Two weeks."
Arvael croaked a response then drew a tube from his gorget and drank deeply from his armour's recycled fluid supply. After a moment he said, "It seemed longer."
Bylan was eager for news and questioned, "+What have you found?+"
Arvael worked a crick from his neck and said, "I found some answers and many more mysteries."
"More detail, less metaphor," Wrethan growled.
Arvael frowned but said, "I have sent my mind's eye across this strange land, scouring it end to end. I examined the mountain tops and the sea bottoms, the vaults of heaven and the deep places of the earth. Then I sent my vision into the tunnel network beyond, exploring every branch and tributary, every possible means of escape."
"+Did any of them pan out?+" Bylan asked.
"Not a one," Arvael said, "The tunnels are arranged like some great web, spread over the surface of the warp. They all lead back to this landscape, drawing any wanderer here no matter what route they choose. There are numerous portals to allow entrance but none lead back out. It's hard to describe but the portals are like valves, they let specific objects in but not out again, choosing them according to some unknowable criteria. And before you ask, no I can't force one open from this side, they don't work like that."
Bylan was disappointed and said, "+So you found nothing useful+"
"I wouldn't say that," Arvael replied, "I am convinced this place is an artificial construct, not a natural phenomenon. Someone built this place, for a purpose. Look at the sky and the land, it's all too perfect. This whole environment has been deliberately sculpted, apart from the lack of metal in its structure it's a perfect recreation of a planetary environment. Even the ecosystem has been tailored, from the flora and insects all the way up to the herd beasts and apex predators. Whoever wrought this construct made it as a residence for some form of human analogue life-form."
Wrethan sounded vexed under his skull-helm as he queried, "Xenos?"
"Most definitely," Arvael stated, "No human Psyker could form a construct like this, perhaps the Eldar at the height of their empire could have done it but not anymore."
Bylan pressed, "+But why would anyone make all this?+"
Arvael explained, "I have narrowed it down to three possibilities, the first is Malevolence. There are numerous hostile races that feast upon others in various ways. This construct could be like a fishing net, drawing in prey for easier consumption."
Wrethan mused on this and asked, "So where are the fishermen?"
"Perhaps they went extinct," mused Arvael, "This is place is inconceivably old."
Bylan didn't like that thought and probed, "+What are the other options?+"
Arvael drew in a breath and said, "Curiosity, the builders may have wanted to observe and study certain lifeforms under controlled conditions. This construct could be a vast specimen container or zoological habitat. A place to keep their subjects in captivity and study them. Perhaps even to preserve endangered species and save them from extinction."
Wrethan shook his head and said, "Too cold and impassive, the universe hates humanity. Nothing save the Emperor cares for the preservation of Mankind."
"+What was the last possibility?+" Bylan pressed.
"Desperation," Arvael said, "This construct could be a vast lifeboat or bunker, a place to escape terrible dangers. I cannot conceive of a better hiding place, nothing in the Materium or the Warp can reach here save that which is deliberately drawn in. One could ride out the death of the galaxy in here."
Bylan was bemused and said, "+But why didn't they leave a way out, why would they seal this place away forever?+"
"Depends on what they were running from," Wrethan muttered, "So, do you have any practical leads to follow?"
"Maybe," Arvael said gesturing at the Menhir, "These stones are the nexus of this whole place. They channel empathic power, amplifying it and relaying it on to the next. The matrix they form gives this place its shape and structure; generating this environment and maintaining it. They also give the construct its immunity to the corrosive effects of the Warp itself and make it undetectable to Daemonkind."
An idea struck Bylan and he blurted out, "+So why don't we blow a few up and crack open a door!+"
Arvael fixed him with a glare and said, "For the same reason one does not overload a Plasma reactor while standing directly underneath it. The devastation would be catastrophic, untold destruction would unfold. We'd be lucky if all it did was to drop us into the Warp."
Wrethan gazed up at the Menhir and wondered, "If these things channel and relay power then the question becomes, where does the energy originate from?"
Arvael nodded in appreciation and said, "Exactly, that is the key to everything. At first I thought they drew energy from the Warp itself but I was completely wrong, the empathic power is generated internally. There is a source to this place, one that eludes me. But if I can find it and understand its nature then I may be able to discern a way out."
"+How are you going to do that?+" Bylan asked.
Arvael answered, "I need to talk to Samandriel again, I'm sure he knows more than he's letting on."
"Good," Wrethan said, "This is your highest priority."
"Well I better not waste any more time," Arvael said and with that he led them out of the dell, leaving the Menhir behind.
It was in many ways a shame, for had Arvael continued his scrying then he may have realised that he had missed something. While he had scryed the entire interior of the construct he had failed to realise that its very nature obscured the Warp beyond. If he been able to see beyond its walls then he would have witnessed the way the Warp's tides were heaving in turmoil, lashed into a frenzy by the rampant devastation sweeping the galaxy.
The Warp was broiling with unprecedented violence, surging into a hurricane of empiric destruction. Arvael had no way to know it but far way Cadia was breaking up, the great fortress-planet of the Imperium literally shattering under the onslaught of Abaddon the Despoiler. The Dark Gods of Chaos screamed in triumph as reality tore apart, sundered by the formation of a great rift that split the galaxy in twain. From the debris that was once Cadia to distant Ultramar the Cicatrix Maledictum opened, unleashing carnage on a scale humanity had never conceived before.
The effects on the construct were equally devastating, though none inside knew it. The tunnels heaved and rolled, like drifting rafts on a stormy ocean and the etheric walls were battered by tornadoes of Psychic ruin. The construct shivered under the strain, battered by storms well beyond those it was designed to cope with. Terrible stresses frayed away at the substance of its existence, tearing and clawing at the weft of its composition; all it would take would be the slightest flaw to spell its doom.
A thousand miles from where Arvael had been meditating a Menhir began to shiver. It was the same black stone as the rest of its kind but this one had a flaw, a tiny crack left by the erosion of time. The Menhir quivered like a string on a bow and a keening note arose, though there were none to hear it. Abruptly it shattered under the strain, spraying rock shards for miles around. Where the Menhir had stood was left a black crack, a dark rift standing in mid-air. It swayed and danced like a black flame for a moment and then erupted, expanding to form a doorway.
Out of that door came an armoured boot, belonging to a figure who stepped through the rift into this new world. The being was a Transhuman giant but not one akin to the Storm Heralds. His armour was a deep purple, covered in lurid etchings and sickening images. He had spikes on his gauntlets and shimmering silks at his waist.
His face was powdered and smooth, not a hair to be seen anywhere on him while the skin of his scalp had been peeled back, held down by nails to reveal the reinforced bone beneath. In one hand he held a Charnabal Sabre and in the other a Plasma pistol with an eight-pointed star upon it. He was both irresistibly alluring and sickeningly revolting. Any mortal who laid eyes upon him would have wept, both in terror and admiration, knowing that they could never be so beautiful, so perfect. He was an Astartes taken to the uttermost extreme, every facet of his being honed to its greatest potential, no matter how perverse it could be.
His eyes swept over the fresh, unspoilt land, taking in the virgin country and pure vistas. A broad grin spread across his face, revealing pearly teeth as behind him the black rift flared again and again and again. As an army of degenerates poured into the landscape Jubila, Lord of Chaos and favoured of Slaanesh, felt avarice stir in his hearts and he said, "Well, well, well… this looks promising."
